#There’s a few I couldn’t take off the list even if I crossed ten lol

[awesomesauce-n-sassypants]

share ten different favorite characters from ten different pieces of media in no particular order, then send this to 10 people (anon or not, your choice) 🎥🎬📺

Tony Stark

Raleigh Beckett

Shawn Spencer

Burton Guster

Buzz Lightyear

Mushu/Cricket

Altivo/Khan/Maximus

Spirit

Ian Malcolm/Ethan Hunt

Alec Hardison/Eliot Spencer/Parker

[jerzwriter]

Touche

Book:                   Wake the Dead

Pairing:                Eli Sipes x F!MC (Zoe Rivera)

Rating:                 General

Category:            Fluff

Summary:           It’s for the good of the colony… but who will win a battle of wills in the kitchen?

Words:                 797

A/N:                     The final part of this reverse uno request from @dr-colossal-pita I'm posting it on 10/14/2022… right Ren? LOL The prompt is highlighted below.  I’m participating in @choicesmonthlychallenge – Flufftober – Baking  as well as @choicesficwriterscreations - Naughty & Nice - Baking

A/N2: Really grateful for this opportunity to explore this story/pairing a little bit more as I start an HC for this duo. I have one more like this before I go to the start.

I’m tagging my Perma list – Again, if you don't want to be on any future Wake the Dead fics, so if you wish to be omitted and put on OH only, please let me know.  Thank you!

CHARACTERS BELONG TO PIXELBERRY STUDIOS.

The heavy copper pot fell into the sink with a loud clash that echoed down the empty hallways. Sitting by the fire in the great room, Angel's eyes went wide. She stopped reading and looked nervously at Troy, still lounging comfortably on the couch just a few yards away.

"Should we go in there?" She asked.

He shifted positions, making himself even more comfortable.

"Are you out of your freaking mind? I'm staying as far away as possible."

Angel's brow furrowed, she had come to like Troy, trust him even, but she was questioned his judgment now. 

“Are you sure? I mean, there shouldn’t be that much noise coming from…. What if… what if Zoe needs us?”

Troy’s head fell back, and he clapped his hands loudly, boisterous laughter reverberating off the lodge walls as he sat upright.

“Angel. Sweetheart, trust me on this. I’ve known Zoe for twenty of her twenty-five years, and you do not want to go in there right now.”

“But what if she needs….”

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “No. Nah-ah.  No.  Zoe does not need our help. If anything, Eli may need us. But I think it will be fun to let Mr. Lone Wolf learn this lesson on his own.”

“And we just?”

“Continue relaxing. I know better than to enter a kitchen with Zoe Rivera, and after today, I’m sure Eli will too.”

Back in the kitchen, Eli turned slowly turned to face Zoe, who had taken a seat at the table. They were equally flustered, but you’d never know it by looking at him; his face was as unreadable as ever.

“Shall we try this again?” he muttered.

“No,” she insisted, her eyes locked on the distressed wood table.

“You need to learn. You’re twenty-five years old. How did you never….”

“Because I didn’t live alone in a cabin in the woods, Eli! I was at the Tower. Our duties were well-defined, and this was not my responsibility.”

He walked toward the table with a sigh, the thick wood chair scraping against the floor as he pulled it back to sit across from her.

“Well, you don’t live at the Tower anymore.”

She lifted her head and looked at him with narrowed eyes. She hated it when he made sense. Without a retort, she attempted to steer the conversation.

“Why are you teaching me anyway?”

“Who else is going to do it? Angel’s eating habits are worse than yours. Shannon is a bit scared, and when I mentioned teaching you how to cook to Troy, he laughed for ten minutes straight and mentioned something about me thinking zombies were tough.”

A quick snort escaped Zoe as she tried to contain her laughter, but she couldn’t prevent her lips from curling into a smile.

“You should listen to him,” she smirked. “He knows me better than anyone.”

“Yeah,” Eli shrugged, standing to take a new pan out of the cabinet. “But he doesn’t know me. Trust me, I’ll out stubborn you. Now, shall we try this again?”

“Nope,” she dug her heels in. “You couldn’t even pay me to do it.”

He glanced sideways at her, pouting like a pechulant child with her arms crossed in front of her chest. It was his turn to suppress a laugh. This was the same fearless leader he knew? Maybe a different approach was needed.

“Not even for me?” he half smiled.

She turned her head, startled. Did he just say…. She was almost tempted to jump to her feet and try, but…

“Not even for you.”

His jaw clenched as he leaned against the counter.

“You’re the leader of this colony, Zoe. You need to know how to do anything to sustain your people. So if not for yourself, if not for me, will you do this for Olympus?”

His words hit like bricks. Their cat-and-mouse game was reaching an end, and he was about to be victorious. He turned away and covered his mouth to hide his grin as she sheepishly walked his way.

“Don’t look so smug,” she smiled, bumping him with her shoulder as she took the spot next to him. “I’m doing this for Olympus. Not for you.”

“I know,” he shrugged, handing her a spatula. 

“But you’re doing this for me,” she teased.

“I’m doing this so people will know the joy of a pancake and not have to sustain on ration bars you’d gladly feed them. Now, flip!”  

“Fine! But when we go outside, will you pretend I was really hard on you? I don’t want to ruin my rep with Troy.”

She turned to him. What was that sound? Was Eli Sipes… laughing?

“Well?” she asked, her eyes glimmering with amusement. 

“Sorry, Zoe. Not even if you paid me.”

[alrightberries]

dante’s inferno

request: wassup homie could you maybe write a college au fic where levi and reader are rommies, then one day reader brings home an adopted cat without levi's prior knowledge? You could decide what happens next lol. Tysm 🥺

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff, semi-crack ❈ word count: 4k

❈ summary: college au. in which you bring a stray cat to your dorm and your neat freak roommate won’t let you keep it.

alternatively: a compilation of college shenanigans where you and levi are best friends who are bad with feelings (ft. an unamused cat named dante)

❈ trigger warnings: profanity. mentions of alcohol and smoking. implied smut.

a/n: this was supposed to be loosely based on the nine circles of hell according to inferno by dante alighieri— hence the title— but i did my research wrong so now it’s loosely based on the seven terraces of purgatory according to divine comedy. i’m keeping the title tho.

Inspired by this art by @ryuichirou on tumblr.

Permission to repost art was granted by the artist. Do not repost/edit the art without explicit permission from the artist.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

i. first terrace: pride

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why?”

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why.”

Levi’s tongue clicks in annoyance. His eyes glance next you where the offending creature lay on your bed; tail curling, paws kneading at his your favorite fleece blanket. Quite frankly he’s a little offended when the little shit has the audacity to glare at him back.

He’ll never admit it, but his ego’s a bit bruised because the cat’s glare was slightly better than his.

“I said no,” he firmly replies, looking back to you. “It’s bad enough I have to share a room with an anarchist who has no respect for boundaries—“

“One time, I forgot to use a coaster that one time!”

“—and now you expect me to share a room with a dirty fur ball who does nothing but eat, shit, and sleep?”

“He’s a cat, Levi.” You murmur, scooping the cat into your arms. “And he has a name,” you give a nervous smile when you see your rommate grit his teeth. He feels a headache coming.

“You named it?”

“Dante is not an ‘it’.”

Levi makes a move to step closer but immediately stops when the ‘Dante’ hisses at him.

“Aw, he likes you.” You coo.

“Clearly,” he replies unenthusiastically. “Listen,” he sighs. “I respect your cat’s pronouns but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to stay. Or do I need to remind you of the mac and cheese incident?”

Okay, maybe he was on to something. If you got caught with a pet in the dorms you’d breach your third and final warning, and you’d be forced to dorm off-campus. The fact that you were still here after the mac and cheese incident was solely because Levi pulled some strings (aka asked Erwin, golden boy of the campus who owed him a favor, to pull some strings).

But you couldn’t just let Dante go. There was something about him that felt so familiar; something about his black fur, thin silver eyes, unamused snarl, and overall grumpy demeanor. Especially endearing was the way he’d grumble and pretend to be annoyed whenever you tried to cuddle him but would complain if you stopped.

You just couldn’t figure out who or what he reminded you of.

Maybe you would’ve figured it out too if you weren’t so distracted with watching Levi and Dante stare at each other. Your eyes dart back and forth between the grouchy cat sitting on your bed and your grouchy roommate sitting on his desk. Both were slightly crouched over with their heads tilted up in a show of dominance; they were engaged in what seemed to be a glaring contest, gunmetal irises unamused and mouths taut in a snarl as they protected their territory.

You sigh. You really, for the life of you, couldn’t figure out why Dante felt so familiar.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ii. second terrace: envy

Levi is not jealous. He’s not.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he sulks alone on his bed. His arms are crossed and his lips are in a pout, eyebrows knitted in distaste, occasionally glancing to your side of the room where you sat up on your bed. He’s sure whatever movie you chose to watch together is interesting and all, but right now all he could pay attention to was that stupid cat. Sitting on your stupid lap. Getting its fur stroked by your stupid hand. Getting all the love and affection his stupid self should be receiving.

It was him you should be cuddling, not Dante. Saturday nights were reserved for him and you, not you and a cat while he happened to be in the room. He’s been trying to make a move on you since high school and he can’t fucking believe he’s losing your attention to a cat. Sure, he’s always been too chicken to make a move and had to suffer seeing you get together with assholes— as per your type during your emo high school days— but this was a new low. He can’t wrap his head around the concept that he’s losing his longterm crush to a motherfucking cat.

When you coo at how adorable the fleabag was for what felt like the 50th time that night, Levi decides he’s had enough of the cuddle-hogging piece of shit.

Wordlessly, he crosses to your side of the room and lifts the cat from its perch, ignoring your protests as he sets it down on the floor and tells it to ‘scram, you little fuck.’ He uses a hand to dust your lap free of any microscopic cat particles Dante probably left behind before lying down his head down once he was satisfied. He grabs your hand to put it on his hair.

“Stroke.” He orders, eyes closing.

“What? No! You pushed off Dante.”

“He was in my spot.”

“You couldn’t have given up your lap pillow for one night?”

“One night?” He scoffs and turns to look at you. “You’ve been abandoning me for two weeks. That disgusting, tic-infested, rabies-carrying slob has no business sitting on your lap.”

“He’s not disgusting, you gave him a shower before you agreed to let me keep him. And I took him the vet to make sure he had all his shots. He’s clean, Levi.”

“Tch, good. Now throw him out and let him find someone else to freeload from.”

“Okay, what’s going on?” You guffaw. “You’ve been grumpier than usual. And why’re you being such an ass to Dante? He’s just a cat.”

“Don’t think he’s special in some way. I’m an ass to everyone.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re always extra mean to him?”

He doesn’t reply. His lips are downturned into a frown when he looks away with a click of his tongue, and you realize with a sigh you won’t be getting an answer from your cryptic roommate soon. Your fingers start mindlessly stroking his undercut when you get lost in your thoughts— a habit you developed through years of Levi using your lap as a pillow. He always complained the first few times you did it but you knew it calmed both him and you, and that it put both your minds at ease. Moreso Levi right now, apparently.

You’re keenly aware of how he seems to curl up into you the more you keep going. You watch as his shoulders slump down when you stroke the side of his face, and his eyebrows relax slightly. From your angle, you could even see the way his eyes close in content. Maybe even a tiny smile if you were being delusional.

Your lip twitches upward.

“Oh my god, Levi, are you jealous of a cat?”

“Shut up and play with my hair.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iii. third terrace: wrath

“You owe me a new cravat.”

You blink up at your roommate. “What?”

“You owe me a new cravat.” He repeats. He pulls from his pocket a white piece of fabric— barely recognizable— torn into shreds, releases it mid-air. It gently lands on your open palm.

“Wait, did Dante do this?” You ask, eyeing the slik in your hands.

“Unless you went feral in the middle of the fucking night and decided to cut up my clothes, yes.”

“Oh my god, Levi, I’m so sorry. I swear Dante will never—“

“You actually owe me three cravats,” he interjects. “The first two I overlooked since they weren’t that expensive but I draw the line here.” His lips are downturned into a frown, eyes poorly concealing his clear distaste. “This one’s my favorite and it was made from silk.”

You eye the fabric in your hands once more before nodding in understanding, setting down the once beautiful cravat before taking out your wallet. It was only fair that you paid him back; he was being more than generous with letting your cat stay and keeping it a secret, and now you wonder how many bad things Dante’s done that Levi’s overlooked or simply never brought up with you.

“Sure, I’m really sorry. How much do I owe you?”

Levi doesn’t say anything. Instead he pulls out his phone and types something on what you could only assume was google, most likely looking for the same brand of the cravat your cat had just torn into shreds. You weren’t entirely sure how much those could cost, but surely you could afford—

“What the fuck!” You screech, eyeing the page with very, very hefty price tags listed. Holy fucking hell where did he even get the money to buy something so expensive. Gulping, you nervously look up at your unimpressed roommate. You already knew he was taking it easy on you; his aura was the only thing intimidating, at least he wasn’t giving you the murder eyes. And even though he was a man of his word, you were thankful he hasn’t reported Dante.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that Levi looked pissed beyond belief.

“Uhm... can I pay you with a check that’ll definitely bounce?”

“You will pay me in cash.”

“Fuck, fine!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iv. fourth terrace: sloth

Levi silently works on his desk. His laptop’s open in fromt of him, numerous notes from classes and books from the library surrounding him. The gentle sounds of clicking and clacking echoe throughout the room as fingers typed at the keyboard, eyes concentrated and lips pulled taught as he focuses on his task. He’s on a roll. He’s almost done with this part of his research, nothing could snap him out of this, he just needs to—

“Levi, when do you think Dante will come back to me?”

He stops typing and grits his teeth.

This is how it’s been the entire night. Ten minutes of peace before you ask him some stupid questions that could’ve been answered with common sense.

“Fuck if I care.”

“Do you think it was something I did?”

He resumes typing. “Yes.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“No.”

“Even after all we’ve been through?”

“Still no.”

“I miss him,” you sigh. “I miss him so much.”

“Then you shouldn’t have left the door open.”

It’s been a week since Dante escaped the dorm and Levi doesn’t understand why you’re still so depressed about it. I mean, you only lost a cat that you loved and treasured and treated like family. Surely a week of moping around in your pajamas and eating nothing but chips and soda was catharsis enough.

He hears you shift in your burrito blanket, presumably to turn away from him so you can sulk into the wall next to your bed. Good. Now he can get back to working on—

“Levi do you think Dante-“

“Enough.” He grits, slamming his laptop shut.

“Where’re you going?” You ask, eyeing the way he hurriedly stuffs papers and books into his bag along with his laptop.

“Out.” He replies, grabbing his keys and his coat. “I can’t stand this shit anymore.”

Your head is burried in your blankets when he slams the door shut and all you could do was slump down because great. You lost Dante, and now you’ve royally pissed off Levi.

Great. Just fucking great.

Unlike your cat, however, your roommate comes back hours later, just before curfew. He doesn’t bother with a hello— he never does— and neither do you, opting to stay hidden underneath the sheets. Though suddenly, there’s a dip in the mattress followed by a pur next to your head.

Could it be?

“Dante?” You murmur, lifting your head from underneath your cocoon of fabric. Small black paws and silver eyes meet your gaze. “Dante!” Immediately sitting up, you pulled him to your lap, scratching his little head and cooing about how much you missed him as he purred and curled into to you.

Levi would never say it, but he missed seeing you smile at the little fleabag.

You turn to look at your roommate. “How’d you find him?”

“Asked around the campus. He wandered into another dorm building and probably thought it was ours.”

“Well yeah but... I thought you hated him?”

“I do.” He replies instantly.

“Then why’d you find him?”

“I hate him, not you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

v. fifth terrace: avarice

“I fucking hate both of you,” Levi grumbles, staring at the dorm.

Towers of boxes lined his supposed to be clean dorm room. He had a hard time prying the door open since it was blocked, and he wasn’t even sure how the boxes weren’t blocking out the light from how high they were piled. Dante’s sat on a stack of box directly next to the door, purring and flicking his tail around. Levi squints his eyes and glares at the little shit.

“You especially.”

“Mrow?”

Levi’s day had been, with no irony or sarcasm at all, amazing. He got a good grade on his research paper; the guy in front of him at the cafe accidentally ordered an extra serving of (coincidentally, Levi’s favorite) tea and gave it to him for free; and he got full marks for the presentation he’s been worrying about for weeks. His class even got dismissed early so he had an extra hour for lunch. He knew you didn’t have classes, so in honor of his great day he thought he’d do something nice and take you out for lunch. His treat, of course.

But any trace of his good mood vanished when he went back to the dorms and got greeted to a room that looked like it came from an episode of Hoarders.

This is what he gets for trying to be nice.

“Levi! Is that you?” You called out.

“What the fuck happened?”

You laugh sheepishly— at least Levi thinks you do. He couldn’t see you beyond the hundred boxes that took up your shared room. He hears some rustling and the sound of things being moved around before finally your head pops out from behind a wall of brown, smiling at him apologetically before walking towards him (and tripping a few times).

“Remember when I said I’d order some toys for Dante as a surprise?”

Levi’s eye twitches. “Don’t tell me—”

“I accidentally ordered 10,000 instead of 10. Online shopping struggles, am I right?” You nervously chuckle at his pissed off face. Levi was not in the mood.

Your smile widens as you make twinkly gestures with your hands. “So uh... surprise?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vi. sixth terrace: gluttony

The clinic is still when you first entered.

The harsh smell of alcohol and sterile metal makes your nose grimace, and the coldness of the thermostat brings goosebumps to your arms. Behind the wall, somewhete in the waiting room, cats are hissing, dogs are barking, and you could even hear the sound of birds angrily chirping and rattling their cages.

Dante cowers in fear on the silver table, and your heart aches. His ears are down and his fur’s standing on its ends, but you couldn’t comfort him. Not right now, at least. The veterinarian still needed to do a few more checks.

You gulp, “how’s... how’s Dante looking, doc?”

“Not good,” she murmurs. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and she takes a deep sigh as she eyes the information on the chart. “It’ll take months before he can walk properly again, possibly more if we don’t do anything about it soon.”

“Don’t tell me... is he—-”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she sighs. “But your cat is heavily obese.”

The corners of your lips twitch down into a frown, and your palm is warm when you start to stroke Dante’s fur. He calms down a bit from your touch, less on edge but still guarded as he warily eyes the doctor’s gloved hands.

“But I don’t understand,” you reply. “I’ve been following the recommended diet you put him on, and I haven’t been feeding him anything other than the cat food and vitamins you recommended. How’s he still obese?”

“Well, we could look into other solutions, but for now I think we ought to look at whether or not Dante has an underlying health problem.”

Levi tunes out the chatter between you and the vet, bored eyes staring into nothing. He’s leaning against a wall and he’s watching the cat carrier. Your bag’s slung over his shoulders and your coat’s in his arms, and he was sure you didn’t even need him to be here for “moral support.”

He mentally scoffs. You probably just needed a chauffeur to drive you for free, and honestly, Levi would rather feel like a chauffeur than a coat rack.

His eyes make contact with Dante’s, and all the fear in the cat’s eyes is suddenly gone, replaced with a steely glare and bared teeth. A warning, one no one else notices but him.

Levi gives him a solitary nod, understanding what Dante wanted to say.

Don’t tell Y/N I’ve been sneaking to the neighbors.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vii. seventh terrace: desire

There’s something about the buzz of alcohol and nicotine that makes Levi confident—- the liquid courage in his veins and the smoke in his lungs clouding his judgement. Perhaps that’s where he finally gets the balls to cross the room, drunken eyes on your equally intoxicated ones, before he pulls you in for a kiss.

The kiss starts slow, with lips just interlocking and lightly testing the waters. But then he feels your tongue make its way inside his mouth and your fingers weave into his hair to tug him closer, and Levi loses the last threads of inhibition he has. His tongue massages yours and one of his arm wraps around your waist, the other comes down to grope and knead your ass. He feels you walk backwards and your hand pulls at his tie, dragging him with you. Suddenly he’s trapping you against a wall, lifting one of your legs up to wrap around his hips so he could grind his crotch into yours.

Levi doesn’t expect his first kiss with you to be like this; messy and full of tongue and spit, full of fingers clawing at clothes and small grunts escaping your lips. He was hoping it’d be more romantic, with warm cheeks and fingers softly intertwining, shy kisses exchanged through little smiles.

But he’s not about to complain—- he’s wanted to be with you for years, and god he loved having you like this. Loved having you all hot and desperate, trapped between his firm chest and the wall. His cock is hard in his pants, and he just about growls when he feels you start to undo his belt, the fly of his pants coming down as you got on your knees and stared up at him with innocent eyes as you pull out his aching boner. There’s a cheeky grin your face when you pump at his length, and your tongue peaks out of your mouth before—

“Levi, are you okay?”

His eyes snap open, and he’s greeted to the sight of your worried face directly above his.

“Fuck!” he yells, and his forehead slams into yours when he flinches away. “Sorry, sorry” he quickly ammends when you yelp in pain.

He’s covered in sweat, he notices. Chest heaving, heart beating a little too loud for his liking, and he silently pulls the blankets over his cum stained boxers when you sit beside him.

God, he was really hoping you wouldn’t notice the fact that he came in his pants like a high schooler. And it was before dream you even got to suck him off. How much more pathetic could he be.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yeah, m’fine, it’s just...” your eyes are distracted, staring off into space. Fingers trace his thighs, and you sigh. “You were having a nightmare,”

Levi blinks. “What?”

“You were having a nightmare,” you repeat. “Kept tossing and turning and groaning in your sleep. And you kept making these... funny faces,”

“...right,” he nods. Sure, a nightmare. A nightmare he never wanted to wake up from.

It takes about ten minutes to reassure you that yes, he was fine, don’t mind the way his cheeks are flushed, he was just... shaken up from his nightmare, is all. Then you’re back to bed, sleeping the night away, and twenty minutes later he’s on his way back to bed too; this time with a fresh pair of boxers and a content look on his face, all thanks to him finishing off his fantasies in the communal bathroom during his shower.

The door makes a quiet click when he shuts it behind him, and he freezes when he catches sight of Dante sat up on your bed, tail flicking behind him as he gives Levi a knowing look.

Levi squints his eyes, and he threateningly whispers, “you tell no one.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

epilogue

The half empty room brings a frown to your face, and all you could do was pout as you sealed up the last of the boxes.

“Why do you have to leave again?” you ask, and Levi turns around as he finishes folding the last of his clothes. He shrugs. “Cats aren’t allowed in the dorms.”

You owed him your entire college career, that much was sure. The RA’s found out about Dante, and Levi had taken the fall to spare you. He wasn’t required to move out since it was only his first strike, but he insisted on doing so so that Dante wouldn’t be alone, saying he already found an apartment nearby and he’ll never hear the end of it from you if he didn’t take Dante with him.

Bullshit. Levi had a soft spot for Dante, you knew that much. He wasn’t doing it for you, he was doing it for himself. Though normally you’d be overjoyed to know that Levi really did secretly like the cat he pretended to hate so much, this time, you were just pissed. You couldn’t believe a fucking cat was stealing away the guy you’ve been in love with since high school. Sure, you were too much of a coward to ask him out, but he was basically your boyfriend already—- the entire campus knew you inadvertently had dibs on each other.

“Yeah but... do you have to leave me alone?”

“I asked you to come with me, and you said no.” He points out. “I still don’t see why when we’ve been roommates since we were freshmen.”

“It’s different off-campus!”

“How?”

“Because it’s like... it’s like we’re moving in together, y’know?” you reply. “And it seemed wrong to move in with you when we’re not even dating.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, handing you a spare key to what you could only assume was his new apartment. You glance between him and the key in your hands, and he rolls his eyes when he realizes that you still don’t get it.

“I know we’re doing this backwards since couples don’t typically move in before the first date,” he says before gesturing to Dante. “But we already have a son, and I know you’re his favorite parent. We can share custody until you can move in with me.”

You blink. “What?” Your brain stopped working when Levi referred to you as a couple, and you’re pretty sure your heart stopped beating too. At this point, anything he said went in one ear and out the other. He flicks your forehead.

“Hey— ow! What was that for?”

“You weren’t listening.”

“And you’re being a prick!” you grumble. “It hurts, y’know.”

He scoffs. “What do you want me to do? Kiss it better?” he scoffs.

Your mouth moves faster than your brain, “I’d rather you kiss me.”

Wait. What?

Before you could go back on your words, Levi shrugs. Warm palms gently grab your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his. Your eyes widen and you momentarily freeze, brain definitely not working anymore. He hesitates when you don’t make a move, but then you’re shyly leaning forward, and that was all the confirmation Levi needs.

“If you insist,” he whispers, and suddenly your words die on your tongue when his lips interlock with yours.

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[ynisamenace]

Headcanons for Tamaki, Bakugou and Eraserhead being in a relationship with dom! black reader

a/n: hi guys, I’m so happy and so grateful for all the follows and notes you guys have given me over the past few days💜. I’m working on a part 2 of ‘Party for One’ but here’s some headcannons I made for the meantime.

Amajiki Tamaki

Tamaki has always been more submissive in general. He tended to be a pushover at times which makes it easier for people to mess with him, which makes his anxiousness skyrocket at times. 

That was until he met you. You became friends with him after he graduated high school, fresh faced and promoted at his hero agency. You caught his eye the first day he came to work at his new office and stuck with him finding his shyness adorable but also helping him improve in his confidence.

He was entranced by your beauty, the way your tiny afro smelled like (favourite scent) when you walked by him, your lovely voice greeting him every morning, the way your vibrant melanin-filled skin contrasts with his paleness; your constant presence made him develop a crush on you but he never had the confidence to tell you to your face.

You of course weren’t aware of his little crush and his jumpiness and nervousness with you because you thought it was just his normal anxiety. It wasn’t until you overheard him talking to his friend and co-worker, Fatgum that you realized what it really was.

After that you actively sought out Tamaki just to see him be so flustered by your presence 😏 but after a while you had pity on the poor boy and asked him out for coffee and it all went uphill from there.

Loves buying you flowers and dropping them at your desk before you come into work every morning. Seeing your face light up as you read the little notes he leaves you makes the butterflies in his stomach flutter. He just loves seeing you smile in general this man is so whipped😩

He asked you to move in together after the first 4 months of dating and although you disagreed at the time, after your 6 months anniversary and him basically pleading about it every 5 mins, you finally gave in cause how could you say no to that face🥺

NSFW below

As soon as you officially moved in with him, Tamaki before more affectionate... way more affectionate. Cuddles, kisses, squeezes; everything he could to show you how physically attracted he was to you.

The topic of sex comes up one day when you’re both on the couch, you on his lap and him trailing kisses down your neck. You’ve never gone past steamy make out sessions with eachother but it was clear that you both were very much ready to take the next step

Despite his shy demeanor, Tamaki is way more confident as well as loud in the bedroom. Loud whimpers as you trail your nails down his abs which turn into loud moans as you free his cock from his briefs giving him the best handjobs he’s ever gotten.

Tamaki sometimes does feel insecure about your relationship and about you having to have asked him out first, so he tends to overcompensate in the bedroom. This man is a huge power top. He loves making you feel good, he loves you telling him what to do and will do anything you ask with no hesitation.

Could eat you out for breakfast everyday if he could and definitely incorporates his quirk into it👀. Loves when you trap his head between your thighs it makes him feel warm. He loves when you tie him to the bed and edge him for hours on end while kissing his pretty tears away. He gets off on being vulnerable with you like that and has the most mind blowing orgasms once you decide to take pity on him.

Loves when you sit in his lap and let him suckle on your nipples while caressing his hair. Soft moments like that are what make him fall in love with you even more. Pegging also makes him fall in love with you even more, but more in a sexual manner. Looks at you like a goddess whenever you have his legs spread out, driving your strap-on into him so hard it makes his eyes cross.

Aftercare is so soft and private with you two. Untying his limbs from the bed, putting ointment and kisses on his bruises, cleaning him up with a wet rag and finally laying next to him on the bed, his face in your chest as you whisper praises and sweet nothings into his hair. God he was going to marry you one day.

Bakugou Katsuki

 Bakugou met you while in U.A High but didn’t start dating you until almost 3 years after graduation You had never interacted that much in high school as you always saw him as the immature, rash and not considerate of others feelings

  He gave off an air of someone commanding and who would never submit and you had never really cared for such men; the macho ‘call-me-daddy’ type men he actually did jokingly tell you to once when you guys were arguing which just made you steer clear of him more, angering him further.

 After graduating, Bakugou became more mature, choosing to develop himself into a better person than he was in high school, and became the no 2 hero of Japan, creating his own hero agency. You started working at his agency 2 years after graduation, you also steadily climbing the ranks of the hero world landing in the top ten heroes list. He began harbouring a crush on you soon after, looking for ways to finally confess to you but were still adamant on avoiding him, still believing him to be the same immature boy that he was in highschool.

  One day, Bakugou couldn’t take it anymore and cornered you in a hallway, confessing quickly while a light blush was dusted on his cheeks. He also apologized for the way he acted in highschool and basically pleaded to go on a date with you although he’ll never admit it lol

   After his confession, you both started hanging out more both at work and outside of work. He officially asked you to be his girlfriend after the third date when he came to your apartment to cook your favourite dish for you after a grueling day at work and you happily agreed as long as he promised to continue cooking for you which led to you two moving in together a year later.

  Dating the number 2 hero in Japan was not easy to say the least. Late night and early mornings plagued both of your lives, sometimes not being able to catch eachother at home at the same time for weeks on end. This led to arguments that turned into silent treatments until you both came to your senses and apologized to one another. He hates fighting with you, fearing you’ll leave him due to his occasional outbursts.

  When you guys do fight, he apologizes through gift giving and cuddles, since he’s not very good with words. Loves buying you brightly coloured clothes and jewelry that matches your skin tone because you look ethereal to him in them. Sometimes steals glances at you just to admire your skin and whatever protective style you’re wearing.

NSFW below

   You and Bakugou had a long talk before you both started getting intimate. Although he was more mature, he still didn’t want to be submissive in the bedroom as he thought it would make him less ‘masculine’. He kept refusing until you managed to wear him down one day, him grumbling about how stupid it would be.

  Oh how wrong he was because this man thrives off of your dominance now. A bratty power bottom, he loves making you put him in his place, which is always under you. Something about you having the confidence to ‘dominate’ the number 2 hero in Japan makes him melt. Is very much into cock and ball torture and just humiliation and degradation in general. Loves seeing you in leather cause it gives you that dominatrix look that makes him whimper

  Very teary eyed when getting pegged and loves when you grab his hair to pull him back and lick his tears away. But at the same time, loves when you mercilessly keep pounding into him despite his tears, choking back a sob as he orgasms for the umpteenth time.

  Is the type of sub that looks like a dom out in public but has a vibrating buttplug inside him during meetings as he glances to you as you smirk and turn up the intensity every few seconds.

  The biggest brat ever omg he will rile you up on purpose just so that you can punish him by locking him in a chastisy cage and riding his favourite strap on you put on him, all while denying him the pleasure of touching you. That’s when he begs the most, mind dumb and babbling nonsense until you finally let his pretty little cock out.

  Aftercare is in equal parts for both of you as sometimes you get dom drop after long sessions. He knows that it can make you feel guilty o sometimes regretful and makes sure to tell you how much he loves you after every session. You also reassure him that he is more than enough for you, limbs tangled together in bed as you doze off next to him.

   His lips curl into a little smile as he falls asleep as well, thinking of you and the engagement ring he’s yet to give you in his bedside drawer.

Shota Aizawa

 Aizawa had never actively looked for people to date. He felt like he had too much on his plate already with class 1-A and didn’t think anyone would be willing to date someone whose life was so hectic. So when you joined U.A as a new teacher in class in class 1-B, he didn’t bat an eye only glancing at you at times as you pass the hallway.

 Glances turned into stares which turned into thinking about you and how your mini twists framed your face so perfectly and how soft your skin looked and how your darks eyes drew him in and-

 Fuck

  Ok so maybe he did have space on his plate for dating cause duh look at you.  He asked you out by whispering in your ear during homeroom one day as he dropped off a stack of papers on your desk. You were taken aback by his boldness but accepted nonetheless. You didn’t know it, but Aizawa had fallen for you long before he got the balls to ask you out😏

 You dated for 3 years and lived together after 2 until you walked into the kitchen one morning and saw him on one knee, flowers petals everywhere and a small smile as he asks “Marry me?” You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry oh to be proposed to by Shota Aizawa😭

 He loves referring to you as his wife and loves when you come to 1-A to give him his bento box, even though he acts like he hates it. Let’s you in his sleeping bag for a nap in the break room, even though Present Mic comes in to annoy both of you most of the time.

 Melts when he sees you interacting with the kids in 1-A, even heard Deku slip up and call you mom once when you came to his class to greet him.

 Nsfw below

 Speaking of kids guess who has a big fat breeding kink. Even though you both know you’re not exactly prepared to have kids at the moment, the risk that comes with him making love to you raw turns him on. You definitely exploit his kink by telling degrading him, saying how he doesn’t deserve to cum inside you with his useless cock and that just makes him want to prove you wrong, rutting into you faster as he whimpers about making you feel good.

  Loves when you take him from behind and bend him on a surface and fucking him like a little whore, scarf stuffed into his mouth as a make-shift gag when he gets too loud. Especially when you do it on one of the desks in his classroom after hours, the embarrassment of a seeing a student sitting on it the next day making his brain fog and his cum leak out, painting the floor and the desk white as he spasms in your hold, tongue lolling out as you press him to the floor to clean up his mess.

  Is into somnophilia and has woken up many times to you bouncing on his cock, refusing to let him cum until you’re satisfied with the amount of orgasms he’s given you.

 Has definitely sniffed your panties before, even pocketing them into his dress pants and taking them to work with him, all so he can use them to fist his cock in the staff restrooms, panting like a dog in heat as sobs your name into his hand, secretly wanting to get caught by you.

 He loves your aftercare so much. Running baths for both of you, kissing the hickeys and scratches you left on him and letting him lay in your arms when his body gives out. Genuinely loves pushing past his limits with you because he knows he trusts you.

  Definitely the best husband and the best lover ever 10/10 would recommend.

Tags: @itzgabz22

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Hot-shot, Hot-head | Clint Barton

Hey lovelies! Here's another one for Dinner at Dizzy's! I actually really like this one. Clint Barton is super close to my heart. I remember watching the avengers for the first time when it first came out (and Thor before that) and just falling in love lol. Treat him well lovelies and please do enjoy.

Appetizers (Tags): Fluff / Angst (more so fluff)

Entres (Pairing): Clint Barton x F!Reader (third person)

Sides (Prompts): 7: “Teach me.”

Notes: None, requested by an anon

Word Count: 2.9k (lol I don't even have an excuse anymore)

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

“God damnit!” She hisses as the bow string snaps back against her fingers, the sting making her fumble the bow.

She catches it— like she always does— but not without another curse. She resists the urge to slam the hunk of metal against the grass, her muscles squeezing so tight she could scream. He makes it look so fucking easy. It’s not— it’s impossible. She wants her pistol back and glass of water. Water or wine. Same thing. Screw Barton and how ridiculously nimble he is— she thought she was supposed to be the agile one.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. She bites back a groan when she hears footsteps sound from behind her, rolling her eyes before spinning on the brunette, scowling at the gleeful squint of his bright blue eyes. He’s always so smug. In all of her years of knowing him that has never changed.

“Told you it’s not as simple as it looks.” He simpers, his smile so wide she wants to throw him to the ground right here, right now, and slap it off.

Slap, kiss— same thing.

“If you came out here to mock me, Barton, feel free to not.” She scrunches her nose— it’s the only thing she can do to keep the smile off her face.

Why does his grin always have to be so infectious? She wants to be annoyed still— she was annoyed before she turned around so why can’t she still be annoyed now? It’s infuriating and awful and so damn endearing. God, if she could go back to training and strangle Fury she honestly just might. What was he thinking, pairing her for fucking life with Clint Barton. She glances at the man and the smirk in his eyes and she presses her lips together.

He notices— of course he notices, they trained together, their reflexes are the same. It’s what makes them such good partners— they were created to be a team. Fucking Fury. Well, a team in one sense at least. The other not so much. She shoves the thought to the back of her head, finally letting the smile break out on her face.

“Someone has to, hot-shot.” He settles against the tree behind him, muscled arms crossing over his chest, puppy dog smile still just as wide.

God where the fuck is she supposed to look? There’s nowhere left— not the corded veins along his arms, not the golden skin peeking out of the collar of his t-shirt, not the the glint in his icy eyes that she can’t tell whether it’s from the sun or is just always there— she’s being attacked on all sides and all she has is this stupid bow— his stupid bow.

She drops her shoulders, rolling her eyes again and caving to his larkish voice— she always does. “I guess it’s fair. Shouldn’t rag on you so much for your terrible shot—”

“I don’t have a terrible—” He begins to protest, pushing from the tree and stepping closer to her.

She presses her fingers to his chest when he gets a few inches away, trying to keep her breathing in check. “With a pistol. Ten years later and he still interrupts. Good to know some things never change, hot-head.”

She beams up at him, palms flat against his broad chest, forcing herself to ignore the heat seeping from the thin material. It feels like at any moment he’s going to burn her, much too hot for his own good. Being this close to him she can smell his woodsy, citrus scent— like the damn sun— and she takes a step back. Co-workers. Partners. Best friends.

Nothing more.

“Ten years later and she still does everything in her power to make me interrupt. Terrible shot. Who taught you to fight so dirty, huh?” He peers down at her as he pushes past her, fingers flicking at her jaw, and she bites her tongue because it’s starting to feel like he’s asking her to say something she’ll regret.

“Uhm you? You did— weren’t you the one who kicked my knees in on the first day of training?”

He’s a good few feet in front of her now— stupid long legs— and she sucks in a breath of fresh air, her skin tingling as her body cycles him out of her blood. There’s no point, he’ll be back in a moment. He’s always back— always annoying and around and warm.

He glances back over his shoulder— “You mean right after you broke my nose, right darlin’?”

She lets her gaze flick to his nose and the faint bump on the ridge where she had jutted her palm into it all those years ago. The academy nurses are good— she can only see the blemish when she’s looking for it. Too bad her jab is better. It suits him at least— everything does.

“I did do that, didn’t I?” She hums, meeting him once more and standing on her tiptoes to get a better look. He leans down, staring at her from over the crook. “Maybe I was marking you Barton— I made ya’ pretty.”

He hands her the arrows, fingers clasping over her own for a moment, encasing her in that warmth again. “Couldn’t have found any other way, huh?”

She has to force herself to meet his banter, suddenly breathless and woozy, still wobbling on her tiptoes. “Thought you liked the violence— you did back then.”

He holds her gaze, fingers tightening so minutely that she’s sure if she were anyone else she wouldn’t have noticed. She wouldn’t notice how his eyes skim over her face before flicking over her head quickly, how his shoulders square defensively, how even when there’s no one around he’s always watching her back. But she isn’t anyone else— she’s her and she notices everything he does.

He meets her gaze again, muscles easing slightly, and her lungs scream at her because all she can taste is lemons and juniper.“Oh I love the violence.”

She tugs the arrows— and by default her hand— from his hold, searching desperately for an escape in the open air in front of her. The targets taunt her from across the field, the little pin prick holes in the middle of the red bullseye leering. She wants to throw the bow again— where the fuck is her gun?

“Why am I doing this again?” She groans and he laughs, his hand curling around her neck, thumb digging into the knots in her shoulder blade.

“‘Cause one day you won’t have bullets.” He supplies, voice too close to her ear for her to make much sense of the words. They’re like honey— too sweet, too slow.

Still she shrugs. “Won’t I have you, though? You planning on ditching me, Barton?”

Beyond the teasing she can hear the insecurity laced in her words and she wants to slap herself for potentially ruining the sunny afternoon. She can practically feel the switch in the atmosphere. The lighthearted banter fading into cold seriousness. She swallows, closing her eyes. Even after ten years she’s still terrified that one day she’s going to wake up and he won’t be in the kitchen pouring the sugar into her coffee and burning the toast. Joining the academy was her chance— at freedom, at family— and Clint was— is— the payoff of those hard years. She would be utterly lost if one day he just wasn’t there.

His hand stills, thumb still pressing into her skin, chest tensing where it just barely brushes her back. For a moment they just stand there, the only noise being the soft thud of the bow landing in the grass. A few seconds later the arrows join. She doesn’t drop them on purpose— she would never carelessly throw his things around— she just can’t feel her hands anymore. When she brings them together, wringing them together, she isn’t surprised to find them trembling. She can feel him start to shake his head, hair brushing against her temple before the words are even out of his mouth.

“Don’t even say that. Don’t. Or think about it. Ever again— you hear me? I thought I was the dumb one.” He tries to say it like a joke— she can hear him forcing his tone to stay light— but his voice is too gravelly, his words spiking too low.

She presses her lips together again, nodding. “Sorry—” she mumbles, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead, sinking back slightly to knock her shoulder into his chest— “was just— just over thinking, I guess. Stressed myself out.”

He wraps his arms around her shoulders, squeezing her against his chest. She tips her head back, putting her weight on him. It’s not unusual— it would be more unusual if she didn’t cuddle into him. That’s why she does it despite how terribly she wants to pull away. She can’t stay in his citrus arms— in this fever dream. She needs to break the spell. Maybe spend some days in the woods soon, alone, resetting her brain. She’s had to do that a few times.

“Not going anywhere.” He mumbles, hands closing around her arms, his jaw— scratchy and rough from stubble— rubbing against her shoulder. “You know that. Not now, definitely not in a fuckin’ appocalypse—” she laughs at that and he rocks on his heels, letting out a soft hum— “We’re in this together. Where the hell would I even go?”

He whispers that last part, probably hoping she wouldn’t hear, but his mouth is right there and she’s tuned into everything him. She can hear the worry, feel the rumble against her back. Shit. They’re both spiraling now and she’ll be damned if she brings her down with him. She has to do something.

“Teach me.”

He freezes behind her, hands softening their grip. When he speaks his voice is a little tighter than normal— hesitant, maybe. “What was that, darlin’?”

She goes to pull out of his arms again, bending to retrieve the bow, but she only ends up pulling him with her, the giant man curling around her easily. Too easily. She clenches her jaw, fighting the sudden urge to whirl around and push him to the ground.

Push him to the ground and climb on top of him.

“Teach me how to use this stupid thing, Barton. Can’t do it— you were right.”

Apparently she doesn’t have whirl around— he does it for her, spinning her so quickly that the heavy metal almost whacks him. He pries it gently from her fingers, releasing it back onto the grass. She almost protests— what the hell was she so afraid of dropping it for when he practically just threw it? — but before she can he’s pulling her off her toes and spinning her around.

“Clint what are you doing—”

“Ten years— it’s taken ten years for you to say those words.” He laughs and she swats the nape of his neck, rolling her eyes, feet dangling off the ground. It’s all she can do to not curl them around his hips. “And you tell me my ego is big.”

She scrunches her nose at the man, eyes dipping over his crinkled eyes and triumphant smile, once again fighting the curve of her own lips. “You’ve been waiting for me to ask for help?”

He snorts, dropping her on her toes before slumping onto the grass, sprawling out on his back— clearly not about to actually do as she asked. “No— if you wanted to learn that badly you would have by now. You’re not stupid, just stubborn.”

Clint leans up, warm hand curling around her ankle and yanking, pulling her feet out from under her and sending her flying. Before she has time to scream— hell, to even think about screaming— his arm is hooking around her stomach, catching her midair and lowering her easily to his chest. Ten years and she’s still never ready for that. She goes to drive her elbow back against his ribs but he catches her, grabbing her arm and instead pulling her to rest across his stomach.

She grumbles but turns anyway, cheek pressing against hard, warm muscle, meeting his gaze from where his head rests on his folded arms. “Then what?”

He flashes her another toothy grin— that can’t be good. “Was waiting for you to tell me I was right about something. Took you long enough.”

She scowls. “Shut up, will you?”

“Awe, is someone angry that I won?” He teases, his voice warmer than the sunshine on the bits of her exposed face.

“Barton, I said shut up.”

His laugh is too easy. Too musical. It rumbles against the parts of her that are pressed against him and makes the rest of her ache, wanting to be pressed against him as well.

“Geez, someone’s touchy today.”

As if to enhance his point he runs a gentle finger over the top of her spine, right where her tank top stops, and she has to clench her jaw against the heat that pools in the pit of her stomach and the shiver that races down her back. It’s the final straw. Ten years is a lot of straws— maybe she’s a hoarder of said straws— but finally her last one has broken. She can’t take it anymore. She bolts upright.

“Shit—” he mutters lowly, probably not intending for it to reach her ears, before speaking louder— “c’mon darlin’ I was just messing with you—”

She swings her leg over his stomach, knees caging him underneath her, thighs spreading deliciously over his warm abdomen, and his mouth snaps shut. He’s up on his elbows, no doubt because he had been worried and was on his way up to check on her, but now it only serves to bring them closer together. For a moment all she does is look at him, chest heaving, palms pressed against his chest and anticipation laced in every muscle. Each breath he takes tortures her— what’s he thinking?

She’s never thought Clint Barton to be a mind reader but maybe anything is possible at this point because as soon as she thinks it his crystal eyes narrow, his pink lips quirking up. “Are you going to make the first move or do I have to?”

Butterflies erupt in her stomach— wait, no, that’s just her gut twisting as he flips her over so fast that she doesn’t have time to blink. Dammit he’s quick. She’s quick too, though, legs finally curling around his hips to keep her back from crashing against the ground. She doesn’t remember wrapping her arms around his shoulders but when her head stops spinning she can feel her fingers digging at his arms. Her back eases against the ground, one of his arms slipping under her head, his other hooking around her thigh and pressing her that much closer to him.

His nose bumps against hers, breath hot on her lips, and she doesn’t try to fight the smile this time. “You didn’t give me a chance.”

His lips brush against hers, just a wisp— a promise— of what’s to come, and she squeezes her thighs tighter, pulling a raspy groan from his mouth. “Gave you ten years, didn’t I?”

She hums, lips pressing against the corner of his mouth. “You did— what on earth is wrong with you Barton?”

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re really something, you know that?”

She kisses the other corner, just barely brushing her mouth against his as she passes, reveling in the way his hips push her harder into the grass. “Someone’s touchy today—”

The rest of her words are cut off— they’re swallowed— by two warmer-than-sin lips. He tastes like candy. Like red licorice and lemon drops. That’s all it takes for her to kiss him back, hands slipping into his hair and yanking— maybe she should be gentler but she can’t help it. She’s been patient, she’s paid her dues. Besides, if the moan that rips from his lungs and passes over her tongue— all needy and wild and lemon tinted— is anything to go by then she would say he doesn’t mind it. His tongue slips into her mouth, caressing hers, and she returns his moan with one of her own.

“Why— he mumbles into her open mouth, pausing momentarily to tug her bottom lip between his teeth and groan— “why didn’t we do this earlier? Like—” his lips skim over her cheek, up to her ear, tugging on her earlobe next— “like ten-years-ago sooner?”

She turns her face towards him, following him as he moves down her neck, lips pressing against his cheek. She doesn’t want to detach from him now. She doesn’t think she’ll ever want to. Her mouth slants against him, teeth nipping at his jaw, and he hikes her higher up his body. Her fingers are still tangled in his silky hair, raking through the strands and trying to memorize the feeling.

“I don’t know.” she mumbles against him— she can’t bring herself to find a witty remark, she just wants more.

He pulls back, ducking his head, lips swollen and eyes sparkling. “That was passive of you, hot-shot.”

“Barton.”

For once he doesn’t need to be told twice, leaning back down, nose bumping against her with another brain melting chuckle. She arches up, impatient for his touch. Before his lips skim hers he says something else, though. It’s like he can’t help but annoy her every chance he gets.

“Maybe you’re the hot-head after all.”

[krreader]

BTS scenario → you being upset about them not spending time with you on your days off due to a comeback.

pairing: bts x reader fandom: bts warnings: language  genre: angst ; hints of fluff word count: 1.6k+

a/n: hmmmm this one was kinda tricky for me to be honest. not sure if one can be angry at them for having to work when they do, but at the same time, being in a relationship, I know that sometimes these arguments just happen out of frustration, so I guess it’s fine lol. hope you lke it though ♥

kim seokjin

Jin knew that you only had a limited amount of days off during the year and so these days were extremely precious to you. He wanted to spend them with you, so that you two could make the most out of the time that you had to yourselves, he had told you so himself.

But when it was time for it, he was nowhere to be seen. Why? Because they had a comeback in a week.

And so here you were, waking up in the middle of the night when your boyfriend finally came home from.. whatever he was doing to prepare for this comeback.

“Sorry I'm so late,” he whispered when he realized you were awake. But when he wanted to kiss your cheek, you pulled the blanket over your head. Jin let out a heavy sigh, “Okay.. you're upset. I understand that and I respect that,” he laid down behind you, leaving only little space between you, but not enough so that he'd touch you.

He didn't say anything else after that, waited if you would eventually.

You didn't.

And so he accepted that and gave you the space that you needed, with hopes of you understanding him in this situation eventually.

min yoongi

“It's... it's just dinner, Yoongi,” you tried to argue, already holding the bag of takeaway in your hand.

Since he hadn't come home at all today and you wanted to at least see him on your day off, you had decided to come to him instead.

But the first thing he does when you walk in, is ask you to leave again.

“I don't have time right now,” he was obviously stressed. And in the way that he was already beginning to get angry with you.

Yet, it wasn't him that should be angry here. Because being stressed was one thing, but letting that out on the woman that came all the way here to see her boyfriend and spend a little time with him, that wasn’t okay.

“Forget it then,” you dropped the bag on his desk, “I'll sleep at my friend's house tonight. Just in case you were thinking of ever showing up at home.”

He didn't realize this at first, only when he indeed showed up at the apartment at some point in the middle of the night, only to find the bed completely empty.

He had a lot of making up to do once this comeback was over.

jung hoseok

If Hoseok hated one thing the most, it was to see you sad. And to see you this sad, with tears shining in your eyes.. that truly broke his heart. 

He simply had no time that he could spend with you right now, not even when it was your week off. He wished it was different, but there was nothing he could do.

“Hey,” he wanted to touch your cheek, but you shoved it away before he could.

“Why is it always the band? Why is it never me, Hoseok?”

“What.. what do you mean?”

“It doesn't matter when or where, the band is always what comes first. Never me,” you sobbed, “Is that going to be our future? Is it always going to be me being second?”

Hoseok didn't know what would happen to BTS in the future. He didn't know whether the band would exist for another two, three or ten years. So he couldn't give you an answer to this question... or at least, not one that you'd want to hear.

But not giving you an answer was the same as giving you an answer that would hurt you.

“I see,” you said in a broken voice as you turned around to leave.

Hoseok couldn’t even follow.. because if he did and said something, he’d have to lie to you and he didn’t want that either.

kim namjoon

With your job, you had designated days off. Namjoon knew about these beforehand. Months. You didn't expect him to switch his entire schedule around for you, but you at least expected him to squeeze you in for a few hours, since you didn't have a lot of time in the first place.

“I thought we had the day off, babe, I really did,” he tried to explain himself over the phone, “I'll try to make it in time for a late dinner, okay?”

At this point, it felt like you just wanted another reason to be mad at him and he served it to you on a silver plate.

“Forget it, I'll just eat on my own.”

“Hey, stop being like that..”

“Like what, Namjoon? Pissed that I, yet again, will be spending the entire time that I have off from work on my own because your comeback was scheduled at the same time? You want me to remind you that this is the second time it happened this year?” he was quiet for a moment, so you added: “Don't tell me what I can and can't be upset about.”

But you were an independent woman and didn't need him to enjoy yourself.

So instead of being with you, Namjoon had to watch you have fun on your own through your Instagram story. Genuine fun, not the one that you pretended to have just to make him mad. He could tell when your smile was fake after three years of dating.

park jimin

“Where are you going?” you sat up in bed, pulling the blanket higher to cover your exposed chest as you watched Jimin put his clothes back on.

“I told you.. we have a meeting today and then after that I want to practice the choreography some more.”

Yes, he did tell you that. But you trusted that he would simply skip that for one freaking day. He had already cancelled all your other plans for this date day and when was the moment he decided to show up? When he knew you were down for some sex. Sex, that you haven't had in weeks because of him always being so busy.

“God, I'm such a fucking idiot,” you let out a snort and shook your head, “You know what, Jimin? Don't bother coming back anytime soon. Just.. be with your precious band.”

“Hey, woha.. calm down,” he turned around, his expression both confused and angry, “You know what kind of job I have, why are you angry at me for that now?”

“Because you knew that the only three days I got off in ages were today and the two days after. You only stopped by to fuck me today and the next two days you already cancelled all of our plans because of interviews and what not. Sex was important enough apparently, but I’m not.”

“(Y/N), that's not..-”

“Again, don't bother,” you got out of bed and walked into the bathroom, “Just leave, Jimin.”

Not like he had any other choice. After all, he had that stupid meeting that he now wished he had cancelled.

kim taehyung

You hated having this argument in front of his band members, but once it started, you couldn't stop it anymore.

You had gone to BigHit to go and pick him up for dinner, but then he gave you the same excuse as the last three days in a row.

“I'm sorry, but we're not done practicing yet. I'll just see you later, okay?”

You had taken this week off months before, and obviously hadn't known that he was having his comeback in a few weeks time. So now, you were finally off work and he was loaded with it.

It was probably really unfair of you to hold that against him, but after the third time of him canceling your plans on you, you just exploded.

“You always do this, put everything else before me,” you said, crossing your arms in front of your chest. The two of you had left the practice room and were now standing outside of it, arguing in the hallway, “Why am I never your priority, Taehyung?”

“You are my priority, just not when there's a comeback.”

It was the truth, as much as it hurt your feelings. Didn't mean that you appreciated hearing it in that moment. He could have said something else than the truth, but he opted to hurt your feelings ten times more than he already had.

And so you left without another word and Taehyung had no other choice but to go back inside, knowing that all of them were waiting on him.

He sat down next to Hoseok, who asked: “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” he said in a quiet voice, but the tears glistening in his eyes told a different story.

jeon jeongguk

You had been so excited for this, had spent all year planning all the cool things that you two could do once you were finally on your trip.

You had taken two weeks off, months before the trip and it was only two days before you thought you were to take the flight, that Jeongguk dropped the bomb.

“I tried, believe me, I really did. But there is just no way that I can squeeze this trip into my schedule right now.”

“What?” you asked, more sad than angry at first. That only made it ten times worse, though.

“To take so much time off before a comeback... they just won't allow it. I'm really sorry, (Y/N).”

But sadness quickly turned into anger. Because if he had known about this beforehand, why did he only tell you now? Now, when you had actually already started packing which only got you more excited. When you made all those lists of places and restaurants to visit? Why was this apparently only important to you?

“Alright.. fine.. I’ll go on my own, then.”

“What?” he furrowed his eyebrows, “No, you.. you can't!”

“Watch me. Seriously.”

And you did exactly that. You went on that trip on your own because fuck him for that move.

[drabbles-mc]

House Call

Neron “Creeper” Vargas x Reader

Request by my #1 @est1887: Ok here goes for creeper can you make it fluffy lol I love a good love story clearly lol: “Anything, just call me okay” “Call me now it urgent” “Actually I just miss you”

Warnings: language, mentions of blood/injuries, hospitals

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: Soo this is my first time writing for Creeper and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out! I may have gotten a little carried away...hence the 4.9k but this was a really fun one to write haha. Hope you guys enjoy! xo

Taglist: @mayans-sauce @thesandbeneathmytoes @paintballkid711 @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @queenbeered @sillygoose6969 @sesamepancakes @yourwonkywriter @chibsytelford @gemini0410 @multiyfandomgirl40 @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @garbinge @amandinesblogofstuff @bucky-iss-bae @encounterthepast @everyhowlmarksthedead @rosieposie0624 @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo 

He winced, letting out an exaggerated groan as you stitched up the cut. You knew it probably hurt, but you also knew him well enough to know that he had been through much worse and wasn’t so dramatic about it. You smiled as you continued his stitches, “Pretending it hurts more than it actually does isn’t going to make me give you stronger painkillers, you know.”

He instantly dropped the act as a smile crossed his face, still looking up at the ceiling for a moment before looking at you, “What if I’m really convincing?”

Your eyes met his for a moment as you arched on eyebrow, “You’re not that good of an actor, Neron.”

He chuckled, and a genuine pang of pain shot through him as he did so he tried to still himself again. You hated how often he seemed to get banged up, but he was at least a good patient. You weren’t positive that he always took the full amount of recovery time, but all of his injuries seemed to heal with minimal issues so you couldn’t complain. His stitches always stayed clean, and he swore that he always did the full run of whatever types of meds you had him on when necessary. For someone who seemed so accident-prone, he took good care of himself.

There was a comfortable familiarity between the two of you. Friends may have been too strong of a word, but whenever he had to come and see you, or the rare occasions that you had to stop by the clubhouse to patch someone up, you always enjoyed talking to him. Even if it was while you were swabbing out and stitching up stab wounds or bullet holes.

You were putting a light bandage over the stitching so it wouldn’t get dirty. The slice went down the inside of his bicep and it wasn’t exactly the shallowest cut. It would take a bit of time to heal but you had no doubts that he would be back to normal sooner rather than later.

“I think,” you lightly traced your finger along his arm, inspecting your work, “you’re good to go.”

“Sending me away already, Doc?”

You smiled, “You’ll have to come back soon anyway so I can keep an eye on your stitches. You’ll be seeing me again in no time.”

“You always take such good care of us,” he was looking down at his bandage.

“That why you keep getting busted up?”

“It is a bonus.”

You laughed and shook your head, “Right. Well, I’m gonna send your prescription out. It’s a low-dose pain killer. Nothing crazy. Only take it if you need it. You know the drill.”

He chuckled, “Something like that.”

You looked at his arm and let out a small sigh, “Alright. Just because I know how you boys are, and that cut isn’t exactly in an optimal location, I’m gonna give you my number so you can get in touch with me if something starts to feel off or the stitches rip,” you scribbled your number down on a piece of scrap paper before handing it to him, “Anything happens, just call me, okay?”

He nodded, carefully folding and tucking the paper into the pocket of his kutte, “Thank you.”

You nodded, saying goodbye to him before walking out of the room to send his prescription to the pharmacy. The other doctors didn’t understand why you always jumped at the chance to treat the guys from the MC, but you did genuinely enjoy their company. They were all good to you, and you weren’t put off by the ink and kuttes like some of your coworkers.

He walked out of the room while you were sending out his prescription. You only noticed because you could hear all of his friends in the waiting room, instantly starting to crack jokes at his expense when he walked over to them. You smiled, shaking your head slightly—you couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying but you were sure that it was amusing.

Once it was all sent out, you made your way over to Creeper and the few guys from the club who had been there waiting for him to get patched up. They were all smiles when you walked over, and it was impossible to not return the gesture.

“You guys are in charge of making sure that he doesn’t get any new injuries while this one is healing, alright?” you gave them all pointed looks, “And no bikes for him until further notice.”

“They aren’t my parents,” Creeper said with a chuckle and a shake of his head, “I can take care of myself.”

You glanced at the bandage on his arm, “Mhm. I see this,” you laughed as your eyes met his, “Give me a call if anything happens, okay?”

He nodded, “Sure thing, Doc.”

As you walked away, you could hear Angel’s voice, “Give her a call? Alright, ‘mano. Good for you.”

You chuckled quietly as you walked off to see your next patient. There were, but one of your favorite things was the fact that you really got to meet and help so many different kinds of people. Stumbling into the circle of the MC had been completely out of your control, but you were glad that it happened. You just so happened to get assigned the right case in the free clinic a couple years ago and since then, you were essentially on Bishop’s speed dial whenever anything went down. He knew you were good at what you did, and could be discreet about it.

Days came and went, and you hadn’t heard anything from Creeper, or anyone for that matter. You supposed no news was good news, but you were curious to know how your patient was doing. You didn’t have his number, though, he only had yours. So you waited. You waited for a call from him, or a notification from the hospital that he had scheduled his follow-up appointment. Either one would be fine by you.

You were just getting off your shift, walking out to your car when your phone started to ring. You didn’t recognize the number, but you picked up anyway.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Doc,” you recognized his voice immediately.

“Neron,” your tone was cautious as you fished your keys out of your purse, “Why do I get the feeling that this isn’t a good call?”

“Because…it’s not,” he chuckled, “It’s not terrible. I just…did something stupid.”

“Oh did you?” you shook your head as you sat down behind the wheel and threw your purse over into the passenger seat.

“Think I could come in and have you fix me up?”

You sighed, “I’m leaving for the day. Text me your address and I’ll just come to you—you shouldn’t be driving anyway.”

“O-okay,” he fumbled over his words for a moment, “I, I can do that.”

“I’ll see you soon,” you laughed, “Don’t do anything else until I get there.”

You were surprised by how close he lived to the hospital. And, by extension, how close he lived to you. Your house was only about a ten-minute drive away from his, if that. You knew it was a small world, but you didn’t think it was quite that small.

You walked up and knocked on the door, medical bag slung over your shoulder. You’d taken to keeping a decent amount of supplies on-hand once you became the on-call doctor for the club. A few moments later he opened the door, a nervous smile on his face.

“You called?” you offered up with a laugh.

You noticed some of the tension disappear from his body as he nodded, stepping out of the way to let you in. You didn’t know what you had been expecting the inside of his home to look like, but what you were seeing didn’t surprise you. Everything was clean and orderly, but it was sparse. He didn’t strike you as the kind of man who was super into interior design anyway.

You took off your shoes, nudging them off to the side as you followed him to the living room. You noticed that he was keeping his arm pinned to his side, trying to hide whatever damage he’d done. It was amusing to you solely because he was going to have to show you what happened if he wanted you to fix it.

He sat down on the couch and you pulled a chair over from his table so that you could sit in front of him facing him. You looked back and forth between his face and his arm, waiting for him to start offering up some sort of explanation.

“Before you get mad,” he gestured with his good arm, “let me explain.”

“Please do,” you smiled as you started taking things out of your bag.

“I was being good,” he was almost pleading, “I was staying home—no rides, no club shit. Figured that since I’m stuck in the house I might as well get a few things around here taken care of.”

You looked at him, eyebrows raised, “Did any of the things that needed to be taken care of involve any kind of heavy lifting?”

“I didn’t think it was heavy! Not until,” he finally showed you his arm.

A few of his stitches had definitely ripped. It would be a quick and easy fix, but you could tell by the look on his face that he felt like he was about to get in trouble in the principal’s office. You smiled as you carefully undid the bandage and started wiping the dried blood away.

“It could be worse,” you said with a chuckle.

You could see the relief in his body language when he realized that you weren’t frustrated or upset with him. His injury wasn’t at the top of his list of concerns—he knew that you’d be able to fix it. He just didn’t want you to be pissed off at him during or after the process of doing so.

You re-wrapped his arm and reiterated your previous instructions as you did, “No rides, no heavy lifting. You are a one-armed man for the foreseeable future,” you reached into your bag and pulled out a sling, “And just in case you forget I’m gonna strap you down with this,” you laughed as you fitted it onto him.

He shook his head, but smiled, “This isn’t necessary, Doc.”

“Clearly it is,” you laughed as you leaned back in the chair.

A few beats of silence passed before he looked you in the eyes and let a small smirk pass over his face, “Thank you, by the way. I owe you.”

You shook your head as you packed everything back into your bag, “You don’t owe me. I’m happy to help.”

You were putting the chair back in its rightful place when he asked, “I was gonna order pizza if you want to stick around. I know I just made your long day even longer,” he chuckled nervously, “It’s the least I could do.”

You smiled, nodding, “Pizza sounds good.”

The evening was much more comfortable than you thought it might be. It was the longest that you’d spent with any of the guys from the club, especially in a one-on-one setting. Creeper was easy to be around though, and he kept your laughing. You really didn’t even notice the time going by as the two of you lounged on the sofa, television on just for background noise.

“I would love to stay,” you stood up and stretched, “But I don’t get to stay home on bedrest tomorrow,” you laughed.

“Can doctors call in sick?” he asked with a smile.

You nodded, “We can. I try to save my sick hours for hangovers, though.”

He walked you out to your car, and you couldn’t believe how dark it’d gotten. You tossed your bag into your trunk and shut the door with a quiet sigh. Despite how long your day had been, you couldn’t deny that the ending to it all had been worth it. You hadn’t expected to have so much fun, to so badly want to stay a little longer.

“Thanks again for this, Y/N. I owe you.”

You smiled and shook your head, “The only thing you owe me is updates. That way I know your arm is still attached and healing.”

He laughed and nodded, “I can do that.”

You hugged him gently, careful not to press against his injured arm, “Take care of yourself, Neron.”

His smile was soft, “Get home safe.”

Telling him to keep you updated was all it took for him to keep in touch with you. Over the next few days, seeing text messages from him were welcome distractions in the midst of a lot of chaos at work. At some point in the morning, he would always send an update saying that he still had both arms, and that he was still wearing the sling. He would usually include whatever joke the other guys had made at his expense that day, just to reassure you that he was still taking it easy. You’d usually text him back on your lunch break, if you got one, or just when you had a spare moment to breathe for a couple minutes.

Soon it was more than just the once or twice a day check-ins. Slowly but surely the conversations started lasting all throughout the day. You obviously weren’t always able to respond to things right away, but nonetheless the two of you kept the conversation going regardless of what it was about. It was the first time in a long time that you had someone that you could talk to all day and not get bored. It was nice.

You were texting him as you were leaving work late one night, drained and pissed off at a call your supervisor had made. You were glad that you had a couple days off before you had to be back so you could cool off a bit and not say something that you’d regret.

“Free tonight?” you figured the worst that could happen was that he would say that he was busy.

You got his reply as you sat down in the driver’s seat of your car, “Yea. You ok?”

You sighed but smiled as you typed out your response, “Shitty day”

His reply was immediate, “Come over whenever. Not like I’m going anywhere anytime soon lol”

You chuckled, shaking your head. You let him know that you were going to go home to shower and change and then you’d be over. You hadn’t been back to see him in person since you fixed his stitches. And, despite the fact that the two of you had been texting every day, you found yourself missing him a little bit. Even though it had been a rough day, you were glad that you would be able to stop in and see him.

You knocked on his front door, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Showing up for something that wasn’t medical felt a little strange. You had no idea why there was a hint of nerves coursing through your body, but there was.

He opened the door, a smile spreading across his face, “Hey, come on in,” he stepped aside so you could come inside.

You slipped out of your sneakers and turned around to see Creeper staring at you. There was a smirk tugging at his lips and you felt your face get hot. You tugged at the hem of your tank top, letting out a nervous chuckle, “What?”

He shook his head, “Nothing. Just never seen you outta your scrubs, Doc,” he smiled, “Beer?”

You nodded, “Please.”

You collapsed down onto his couch and he appeared a few moments later with two open beer bottles, handing one to you. You took it happily, taking a long drink from it as he sat down on the couch next to you. He looked over at you, concern flashing across his features for a moment. Before he could ask you anything, you beat him to the punch.

“I know I’m not in my scrubs,” you looked at his arm, “But I’m still your doctor. What happened to the sling?”

He laughed, shaking his head, “I’ve been on my best behavior. No mishaps. I can’t go one night without it?”

You smiled, “Fine. One night,” you paused, can I look at the stitches though?”

He shook his head, “No. You had a long day. You’re not here to be my doctor. Just relax for a bit, will you?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, “Fine,” you sipped on your beer, “No big club plans on a Saturday?”

“Just following the doctor’s orders.”

You laughed, “Man, she must be a real buzzkill.”

He chuckled, “Yea, but she means well.” You gave him a light shove as you let out a laugh. He smiled, “You this mean to all your patients?”

“Just the ones who make fun of me.”

He finally got you to start venting about what had been going on at work over the past few days, but that day in particular. He didn’t say much, just nodding and encouraging you along. He could see that you just needed to talk about it, to be able to be bitter and complain about it so that you wouldn’t combust from keeping anything inside. Throughout the course of the conversation he’d gotten you each a couple more beers. You took them gladly, just happy that you were able to unwind and have some good company.

As it started to get later, you found yourself not really wanting to leave. It was comfortable at his house, with him. You didn’t quite know what it was about it, but you really had no desire to go home.

He’d put a movie on, and somewhere along the way you found yourself leaning against his good side. You settled against him, soaking up the heat that was emanating from him. He cautiously draped his arm around you, his hand resting lightly on your side. You let out a quiet hum of approval and felt the tension disappear from his body.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you woke up to the sound of Creeper snoring. You forced your eyes open, trying to get your bearings a little bit. Your head was rested in his lap, blanket draped over you and his hand still resting on your side. He was leaning back against the couch, head tilted slightly upwards as he slept. You sat up slowly, running your hands over your face.

He felt you stir and started to wake up. You smiled over at him as he wiped the sleep from his eyes, “Sorry I ended up crashing here.”

He chuckled, tiredness still weighing on his voice as he struggled to wake himself up, “No worries. Glad you got some rest.”

You got up and got ready to head home, already feeling like you definitely overstayed your welcome. He wasn’t rushing you out, but he wasn’t going to try to force you to stay, either, assuming that you had other things you had to take care of. He still walked you out to your car despite the fact that it was daylight now. He hug he gave you lingered for just a little bit longer, and you didn’t mind.

“Thank you. Sorry again about the impromptu slumber party,” you laughed.

He smiled, “You don’t gotta apologize.”

You fished your keys out of your purse, “Don’t forget to make an appointment for your stitches soon, alright?”

“Was hoping you’d be willing to make a house call for that.”

You smiled, cheeks getting hot for a moment, “I might be able to swing that. I’ll stop by sometime next week.”

The following week, you were making your way out to your car after your shift. Things were a little calmer at work, and your frustration had decreased drastically. You were digging around for your keys when you felt your phone vibrating in your pocket. You pulled it out, brows furrowing in concern when Bishop’s name flashed across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey…everything alright?”

He didn’t sound overly worried, “Yea. Just wanted to ask a favor of you if I could.”

“What’s up?”

“You think you could take Creeper’s stitches out early? Need him on deck for some club stuff. He’s gotta be able to ride.”

You sighed. You know that realistically he’d probably be fine, but you couldn’t pretend that you wouldn’t be worried about whatever it was that was going on. You weren’t going to say no, though. “Yea, I could do that. Was planning on taking them out this weekend anyway.”

“Great. Think you can stop by his place tonight?”

“When do you need him by?”

There was a pause—he didn’t want to answer the question, “Tomorrow.”

“Fuck, Bish. Seriously?”

“I know. I’ll owe you.”

You chuckled, “You sure will. I’ll stop by his place tonight.”

“You’re an angel.”

“Yea, remember that,” you laughed as you hung up the phone. With a sigh, you texted Creeper to let him know that you were on your way to his house as per Bishop’s orders. He probably knew already, but you still felt weird popping by without saying anything first.

He opened the door for you when you got there, a smirk on his face, “Wow. I bet Bishop that you weren’t going to cave on taking them out early.”

“If your arm didn’t seem to be healing so well, I wouldn’t be,” you shook your head slightly as you got ready to take his stitches out, “You’re lucky you’re such a good patient.”

The two of you were quiet as you went to work on his arm. It really wasn’t the worst thing in the world that the stitches were coming out a little ahead of schedule. He’d been careful with his arm, and you really didn’t have any pressing concerns about it. Your worries branched far outside the scope of his latest injury.

“Do I get to ask what’s so important that Bishop needs you to speed up your recovery time?”

He raised his eyebrows slightly, “You really wanna know?”

You sighed, shaking your head, “No. It’s probably better for my sanity if I don’t.”

“You worried?”

You flicked your eyes up to him for a moment, “Usually urgent club business ends with at least one of you guys needing to come and see me to get patched up. Odds aren’t really in your favor.”

He laughed, “I guess you’re right.”

Neither of you said anything more about it. As much as you wanted to stay, and maybe pry a little more into what was going on, you fought the urge. You knew that he probably had last-minute shit to take care of, and it wasn’t your place to get in his way. You slung your bag over your shoulder as you headed back towards the front door of his house. The knot in your stomach wasn’t going to go away until they were all back and safe from handling whatever it was that they were getting into.

After tossing your bag into your car, you turned around and wrapped him in a tight hug. For the first time since he got injured, he was able to properly hug you back. He kept you snug against him for a few moments, and you really didn’t want him to let go.

You finally stepped back, “Please stay safe, alright?”

“Doctor’s orders?” there was a small smile on his face.

You laughed and nodded, “Yes. Doctor’s orders,” you paused, gnawing at the inside of your bottom lip, “Let me know when you’re back?”

He nodded, “I will.”

“Good. Okay,” you stepped in and hugged him again, pressing a light, quick kiss to his cheek before getting in your car, “Stay out of trouble, Neron.”

He smiled, “I’ll do what I can.”

A few days ticked by and you hadn’t heard anything from anyone. Which was perfectly on-brand for the MC, but this time it made you worried. You had debated texting creeper, but you stopped yourself. They were busy, probably wrapped up in dangerous shit. The last thing that he needed was you bothering him. Still, though, you wished that you knew what was going on.

You were pulling something together for a very late dinner at the end of the week. Your shift had gone way longer than it was supposed to. You were too tired to cook, but it was also too late to get anything delivered. So you were pulling random things out of your cabinets in the hopes of putting together something that resembled a meal.

Your phone buzzed once on the counter. You glanced over and saw that you had a notification from Creeper. Instantly you opened the message, “Call me now. It’s urgent”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you called him. Your hand trembled as you held it up to your ear, waiting to hear the worst when he picked up on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“Neron?” you couldn’t hide the worry in your voice, “Are you okay? Where are you guys? Are you all safe?”

“One question at a time,” there was a touch of humor to his voice, and you couldn’t tell if you found it reassuring or frustrating.

“What’s wrong? You said it was urgent,” your heart was pounding inside your chest.

“It is,” he paused, “Kind of. I mean,” you heard him take a deep breath, “Actually, honestly, I just miss you. Been thinkin’ about you all week.”

You let out a laugh, some of the tension disappearing from your body, “I miss you too. So…you’re still in one piece?”

He chuckled, “Yea. Me and everyone else.”

“Where are you?”

“About to head home.”

“Can I come over?” you blurted out.

You could tell he was biting back a laugh as he responded, “Yea. Of course.”

You let out a sigh of relief, “Alright. I’ll see you soon.”

When you pulled in, you saw his bike in the driveway and knew he was already home. You didn’t bother knocking this time, electing to just let yourself in. He was standing in the kitchen, looking in the fridge when you walked in. He turned around, smiling when he saw you. Without giving it a second thought, you all but ran over to him and wrapped him in a tight hug. He laughed, arms snaking around you and squeezing you tight. You shut your eyes, taking a moment to just breathe him in as one of his hands came to rest on the back of your head.

“I really did miss you, you know,” his voice was softer than you were used to. It was the first thing either of you said to each other since you got there.

You smiled against his chest, “I missed you too.”

He pulled away from you a little so he could get a good look at your face. You could see the exhaustion in his features, but you could see the happiness too. His hands stayed rested on your hips as he spoke, “I know I’m technically not your patient anymore,” he cracked a smile, “But if you wanted to keep stopping in to make house calls, I wouldn’t mind.”

You laughed, hands resting on the sides of his neck, fingers lightly tracing over the ink there, “You wouldn’t, huh?”

“I like you,” you could tell by the look on his face that he was choosing his words carefully, “And I like it when you’re here. Feels more like home. Not being able to talk to you for a week…really fucking sucked.”

You smiled, liking his simple honesty, “I agree. And…I like you too.”

He pulled you closer, fingers drumming lightly on your sides, “Can I kiss you?”

Your eyes widened, not expecting that to be the next thing that he said. Despite the shock, you smiled and nodded. The grin that broke out across his face was contagious, but you didn’t have time to really take it in as he cupped your face and pulled you in so your lips crashed against his. You practically melted into him, hands sliding to rest on his chest. His thumb traced along your cheekbone as his lips moved against yours.

You pulled back to catch your breath, and you could feel his chest vibrating with laughter beneath your hands. Your face was hot and you found yourself smiling when he pulled you close and rested his forehead against yours.

“I guess you were right,” you said with a quiet laugh.

“About?”

You chuckled, “About this being urgent,” you smiled and closed your eyes as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

You rested your head against his chest and sighed, leaning into him. He wrapped his arms around you, one hand sliding gently up and down your back. His arms felt strong, and they made you feel safe. You didn’t know for sure what was in store for the two of you next, but you were ready for whatever the next adventure was.

[goldencuffs]

pen pal

Laurent starts writing emails to inmates in Marlas Penitentiary in his third year of university. The only reason he considers doing it at first is because of Auguste, who writes in one of his weekly emails in the middle of a long, sour summer: These emails help, you know. They keep me sane.

The sadness Laurent feels at reading that is immeasurable. He has to go for a run afterwards, because running is more productive than crying. If Laurent starts crying, he won’t do anything else for the rest of the day. Or week.

He keeps writing to Auguste every week, but as he does so, he feels like he could do more.

A few weeks later, Laurent tells Auguste about it over the phone. Laurent never lies, or keeps things from Auguste. The last time he did, he ruined Auguste’s life. 

Auguste, as usual, sounds tired over the phone, his voice scratchy and low. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Laurent bites his lip, phone pressed against his cheek. He always makes his calls in his room, with the blinds drawn, the lights turned off, the door closed, so the room is washed in darkness. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to understanding how Auguste lives now. This is the only thing he doesn’t share with Auguste, because it would upset him deeply. Auguste always thinks he makes these calls in the open, with the sun beating down on him, the wind through his hair — the kind of life Auguste will never have.

Laurent is acquiescent. He says, “Okay.”

They talk about Laurent’s classes, the new neighbour who has really loud sex, and the cat Laurent is thinking of adopting. Auguste assures Laurent that he is eating and that no one has given him any trouble.

When the call ends, Laurent wants, desperately, to go out on a run. Talking to Auguste always does this to him; leaves him jittery, chest concaved, heart racing. The guilt swallows him. So Laurent punishes himself: he keeps himself locked into his room until the following morning.

Summer ends, but the heat in Marlas is relentless. Laurent and Auguste continue corresponding over email and phone, never talking about things that actually matter.

Laurent gets asked out on a date by Pierre, one of the men who lives in the neighbouring apartments. Laurent says no, and Pierre pushes him, hard, against the wall.

Laurent is left with a large bruise on his bicep. He’s fascinated by the colouring; the purple blends seamlessly in with the blue, which runs into the black. He can’t stop touching it all week, pressing his fingertips down on it until his eyes water.

Pierre is an affable man. He is always polite in the elevators, helps the elderly lady across the hall with her groceries and hosts barbeque parties in the communal area. He hadn’t seemed like the kind of man who couldn’t handle the word no. Then again, Uncle had been like that too.

On Friday, Laurent gets drunk for the first time in eight years.

The following day, he gets to talk to Auguste. Laurent is too hungover to hide his own despondence.

Auguste notices. Laurent doesn’t want to waste their ten minutes on something that will upset Auguste. He will eventually tell him; Laurent doesn’t like keeping secrets anymore.

As the call beeps, letting them know there’s only thirty seconds left, Auguste says. “Look, I’ve been thinking… I think it’d be nice if you sent some of the guys here some emails every now and then.”

Laurent perks up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” says Auguste, a smile in his voice. “But I’m going to send you a list of people, alright? I don’t want you emailing some creep.”

“Of course,” Laurent says, breathless. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love —” The line cuts off.

Auguste’s email drops in his inbox on Tuesday at eleven am, like clockwork. In it, he includes the names of other inmates that are reasonable, suitable. There are five names. Laurent request the email IDs of all of them and sets about writing.

He only gets two responses. One is from a man named Alexon, who says he isn’t interested in corresponding right now, and the other is from Ancel, who writes fuck of. Im not a cherity progect.

Laurent writes Ancel another email, assuring him he’s not a charity project, but that goes unanswered.

Auguste laughs — or Laurent assumes he does because his email says LOL! — when he tells him about it.

So, Laurent goes on the Marlas Penitentiary website. Underneath the How to contact loved ones tab, there’s a link that says: Become a Penpal! Change a life!

Laurent clicks on it.

There are, surprisingly, hundreds of inmates, all of their pictures shown in neat, square boxes, alongside their name, age, sexuality and religion.

Laurent scrolls through dozens of them. He makes note of the younger ones, the ones he might be able to carry a conversation with. He also filters his search to life sentence because Laurent doesn’t want to give someone the opportunity to demand to see him in a few months.

Near the end, Laurent sees him.

It’s hard not to be captivated by his photo. He’s one of the few people smiling in it, and it was obviously taken outside of prison. A large man with curly, styled hair and dark eyes grins at him, teeth white and straight, cheek dimpled. He’s wearing a suit, arms crossed over his chest, arms bulging, shoulders wide. Laurent has never seen someone so attractive in his life — didn’t think people in the real world could look like this, let alone end up in prison.

His profile says: Vallis, Damianos Theomedes. 27. Bisexual. I’m bored in here. I need to keep myself sane. Send me something if you can actually keep a conversation going. Thank you for taking the time to read through this. Sorry I don’t seem nicer. I used to be.

It’s definitely… different. Laurent marks him as a maybe.

Later, Laurent asks Auguste if he knows anyone called Damianos in Marlas. Auguste responds with a, “Nope. And I know pretty much everyone here. So that’s not a good sign.”

“Why not?”

“It either means the dude is a complete recluse, or that he’s barred from most communal activities. Like I said, not a good sign.”

But something about Damianos’ profile keeps Laurent intrigued for the next several days.

He isn’t sure what it is; the picture, of someone who once led an obviously lavish style, or Damianos’ words, I need to keep myself sane, an echo of Auguste’s sentiments. Also the Thank you had been unusual, as well as the I used to be nicer. Laurent used to be nicer, too.

Laurent ends up Googling Damianos’ full name that night.

There are about twenty articles to sift through. All of them detail a violent, horrific crime, where Damianos murdered his own brother in his penthouse.

But even that doesn’t deter Laurent. He remembers how the media, the court, the lawyers had presented Auguste: as someone vicious, cold and calculated, the complete antithesis of how Auguste really was.

The articles about Auguste had been eerily similar. All of them mentioned how shocking it was that a doctor at the top of his game could senselessly murder his own uncle, but very few of them mentioned why Auguste had done it.

They made it out like Auguste was some bloodthirsty maniac, bent on revenge, and not a caring, protective older brother who had been horrified by their Uncle’s actions.

It’s why Laurent decides to give Damianos the benefit of the doubt. If he does end up being a creep, or a weirdo, then Laurent has the luxury of never speaking to him again. He’s not being stupid about this.

His request is fulfilled two days later. Damianos’ email ID is attached at the bottom.

Laurent sends his first email that afternoon.

[agwitow]

Alpha Wolves

content warning: swearing, mild violence

Marcus yawned, his jaw cracking, and shook out his pants. It had been a long night, helping two pups with their first change. They were already packed into their parents’ SUVs, fast asleep, and on the way to their homes. In a few months they would be good to join a pack. It wasn’t always as simple with new shifters, but those two each had a parent who was one as well. Even at eight and ten, they knew a fair amount of what it meant to be a lycanthrope.

Dressed in sweats and a light cotton long-sleeved shirt, he ran a hand over his jaw and sighed. Full moon changes always made his hair grow. Even though he’d been clean-shaven before the change, he had what felt like two-days of growth now. Shaggy hair didn’t bother him nearly as much as a beard did, though by the end of the three days he’d need to get that trimmed as well.

He padded barefoot into the little cabin that served as his base of operations while helping new shifters and started a pot of coffee brewing. He hated the stuff, but it would be at least a couple hours before he could head home to sleep, so he needed something to keep him awake.

While it percolated, he checked his phone. Three emails from work, two from the pack, and some spam. He’d just opened the first email when the phone rang.

“Porter Consulting.”

“Mr. Porter, it’s Deputy Palerma from the EKSD,” a male with a pleasant tenor said.

East Keddol was a small town several miles from Hapburgh, the city Marcus lived and worked in. It was in the interesting position of being almost perfectly between Hapburgh pack territory and Redview pack territory. Surprisingly few places fell into the odd in-between spaces between packs, and, as far as he knew, no one had developed any specific protocols for dealing with them.

“How can I help you today, Deputy?”

“We have a shifter—twenty-three-year-old male—who attacked his friends when he shifted for the first time. Miss Davidson recommended I call you.”

Kaelyn Davidson did for the Redview pack what Marcus did for the Hapburgh one. She was, if he remembered correctly, also a month or two out from giving birth. Handling an adult shifter who’d already hurt people was probably not high on her list of ways to spend her time.

“I see. Is your new shifter awake?”

“No. We had to hit him with a tranq to be able to bring him in. He’s changed back, but hasn’t woken up yet.”

Marcus snorted. Safety Departments were, mostly, better than the old police system, but sometimes they were still a little too trigger happy. At least it was a tranquilizer dart instead of a clip of bullets. “I’ll send someone to pick him up. He’s going to wake up before they get there, and he’s going to be cranky and hungry.”

“I’ve taken the class on shifters, Mr. Porter,” Deputy Palerma said, sounding offended. “There is a post-shift recovery kit in the fridge.”

He stifled a sighed. “If that’s all you have, that’s fine, but it would be better if the new shifter could get freshly made food. Eggs, nuts, oats, cottage cheese or Greek yogurt, and pumpkin seeds are best. Avoid meat, if possible, especially red meat.”

“I thought shifters need protein the morning after?”

“We do, and the foods I listed are all high protein items. New shifters can find meats to be… an issue at first. As I’m not able to speak with your young man at present, it’s better to be cautious.”

There was a moment of silence on the line before Palerma said, “Alright. Who will be coming, and when should we expect them?”

“It’ll depend on who is free.”

“Can’t you just tell someone to do it? You’re the alpha, aren’t you?”

Marcus had to grit his teeth to keep from groaning. That damn study from the 40s. “That’s not quite how things work. All pack members have proper ID.”

“Fine,” he said, the word ending with an annoyed click of his tongue.

“Thank you. Someone will be there between 10:30 and noon.”

Once they’d said their farewells, Marcus sent out a quick message through the pack’s group chat.

New shifter, East Keddol holding, possible alpha complex. Any takers?

He set the phone down and poured himself a cup of coffee, adding enough cream and sugar to make it mostly palatable, before settling on a stool at the tiny kitchen’s bar-height table. He’d drunk half the cup before a chime indicated he’d gotten a response. Two more chimes rang out before he’d picked the phone back up.

Eddie: I’m free but never handled an alpha complex b4 wdin2k?

Ksenia: lol take a muzzle

Julianne: y can’t the Reds take em?

Marcus rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighed, and replied: Kaelyn’s 8 mo. Pregnant. Take the green SUV, put him in the back, and keep the divider up.

Eddie: is it that dangerous?

Thomas: alpha-complexers are just assholes

Julianne: TOM! There are CHILDREN in this chat

Thomas: no regrets!

Marcus temporarily turned notifications off for the group chat, replied to the most important of the work emails, set up reminders for the other two, then headed for the cabin’s futon. By the time he’d make it to his apartment in the city, he’d barely have any time to sleep before he’d need to head back out to meet the new shifter. So he’d nap on the futon and feel stiff for most of the afternoon.

#

A little after 2pm, the rumbling and crunch of a vehicle coming up the gravel drive to the cabin announced the arrival of Eddie and the new shifter. Marcus set aside his laptop and headed out to the porch to greet them. He was still barefoot and wearing sweats and the long-sleeved shirt, but he’d run a trimmer through the beard so he felt less like a back-woods mountain man.

The car had barely come to a complete stop before the back door opened and a young man stepped out with a glower. He was around average height, with enough muscle mass to indicate he worked out at least somewhat regularly. Dark blond hair hung to his shoulders and a thick beard wrapped his jaw—though whether that was a stylistic choice or the moon driven change accelerating his hair growth even more than it did for Marcus was unclear.

“You Marcus?” the young man demanded.

He raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms, and leaned against one of the porch supports. “I am. And you are?”

“Joseph.”

He nodded and shifted his gaze to Eddie, who’d stepped around to the front of the SUV. “How was the drive?”

Eddie shrugged, his gaze darting to Joseph and then away. “S’okay. Wouldn’t want to do it again, though.”

“Don’t blame you. Thanks for doing it, though. See you next week for a run, okay?”

His shoulders relaxed and he smiled. “Of course. Later, Marcus.”

Joseph scoffed. “Like he would be any good.”

Marcus shook his head and stepped down off the porch. He was a little shorter than the new shifter, though broader in the shoulders and with more muscle mass. “You will respect each and every member of our pack, or you’ll be sent to Palstead Institution. It is not a pleasant introduction to being a shifter.”

“Whatever, man. Just give me whatever stupid speech you’ve got so I can challenge you.”

“There will be no ‘challenging’ here.”

“Fuck that. I ain’t no submissive bitch.”

“What you do or don’t do in the bedroom has no relevance to this situation.”

Red flooded Joseph’s face a moment before he took a swing at Marcus. He’d obviously had a little bit of training, but the movement was still too big to be truly effective.

Marcus side-stepped and twisted a little so that he had more leverage as he placed a palm against Joseph’s arm and pushed. It wasn’t a big push, but the kid had overextended himself and it knocked him off balance enough to make him stumble. He took a step back and waited for the next attack he knew would be coming.

Joseph didn’t disappoint. He came up swinging wildly, rushing toward him as if he couldn’t decide whether to beat his face in or tackle him to the ground.

Marcus calmly deflected each blow, leading Joseph in a circle as he side-stepped and backed away from the attacks. Less than a minute later, Jospeh was panting and struggling to even come close to landing any blows.

“Have you finished with your temper tantrum, yet?” Marcus asked.

Joseph glared at him but stopped, bending over with hands on knees as he panted.

“You seem to be under the misunderstanding that pack members fight each other. Different packs rarely even fight each other.”

“How…how do you know who’s alpha, then?”

“There is no ‘alpha.’ Not the way you’re thinking, anyway.”

“What?”

Marcus sighed and took a seat on the ground. The grass was soft and, thanks to a sunny morning, contained no hint of dampness. After a moment’s hesitation, Joseph slumped down as well. “Pack is family. Would you pick a fight with your dad to try and take over the family?”

“No…”

He shrugged. “Picking a fight with a pack member makes about as much sense. We each have a role to play, and that role is based on our skills and personality and knowledge. Not on who we’re able to beat up.”

“Aren’t we wolves? At least partly?”

“Yes. And that’s how wolves behave.”

Joseph stared at him blankly.

He sighed again. “Come inside. I’ll make you a tuna sandwich and you can read one of the brochures.”

Joseph followed him inside, silent, but with a simmering edge of anger beneath his exhaustion. Once the full moon was over and the forced changes weren’t sapping his energy, he would be a real pain in the ass if Marcus couldn’t nip the problem in the bud.

“Here,” he said, picking up a glossy tri-fold and handing it over. “Have a seat. Read. I’ll make the sandwiches.”

He settled onto a stool, shoulders hunched and brows drawn. “Why Alpha-Dog Theory is BS,” he read. “Seriously?”

“Mhm,” Marcus replied. “Some of the pack wanted to title it It’s Not Your Inner Wolf, You’re Just an Asshole, but that seemed a bit confrontational.”

“… Oh.”

“Mhm.”

(Moon-Bound - part 2)

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[sylvie-writes]

Bad (2): What Happened?

First inspired by this song ➳ Bad by Lennon Stella

(Ransom Drysdale x wife reader)

Summary: What went down that fateful night...

A/n: I got carried away, and kinda forgot about the real plot lol. So there’s more fluff than angst... I think. 

Disclaimer: this chapter is sort of a filler before we get to the real shiz. 

Warnings: Cheating, mild profanity, poor writing. Ransom being an asshole (rip all the soft Ransom stories I’ve written)

As always, plz pardon any mistakes, the stories are always proofread but I tend to make many mistakes regardless.

Series Masterlist 

Picking up from where we last left off: About two months ago, your work gave its employees a week off for the holidays. It was once in a blue moon that you got to see your family, so you seized this opportunity. You wished your husband could have come, but Ransom had to stay behind to help Harlan with an upcoming novel. In truth, Ransom never saw himself reverting back to his bad ways, but who knows what entices people to change… 

They always say to choose a job that you love. Something even your own parents had drilled into your head as a young child, trying to prevent you from their own mistakes. It was known then, that if you chose a job you didn’t love, you would be metaphorically chained like a prisoner bound to the wall, or in your case, the job. 

Well, you followed their advice, and chose a job you were passionate about, something you didn’t mind studying about all those years ago in college. It’s not that you didn’t love your job, but you were tired, very tired. Life was fast paced and you were running out of fuel, so to say. So this morning when your work offered you an exclusive week off, you took the offer, worked quickly yet precisely, and flew out the door, before it was dark. Normally, you’d work more than the normal 9-5 shift, it was more like 9-7 for you, anyway.

Ransom was supposedly off today, and you wanted nothing more than to kick off your break, by eating a nice lunch with your husband. While you gave your holiday wishes to your friends, you shot Ransom a quick text asking him to call you. 

So, just as you drove down the highway, your phone steaming your favorite playlist to the car’s stereo, Ransom’s name popped up on the large screen, a picture of him in college, showing up. (yeah, you liked to tease him about his college years, when he thought he was all that and a bag of chips.) 

“Hey Gorgeous! What’s up?”

“Well… you interrupted my carpool karaoke.”

Your husband laughed along with you, before you dropped your surprise on him.

“Other than that, my work gave me the week off. No biggie though.” 

Being married to Ransom and having known him for many years, has given you a real sense of sarcasm to say the least.

“That’s amazing! You deserve it, my love.”

“Ohh, quit trying to butter me up, Ran.”

More laughter from his end, making a large grin grow on your face. Only you could ever make Ransom laugh at the stupidest things, that’s just the kind of bond you two shared. 

“Anyhoo, I was wondering if you wanted me to come pick you up for lunch?”

“Sounds great, love ya.”

“Love you too.” The rest of the drive to your house was enjoyable. Today had been spectacular, something that hadn’t happened in ages. As you continued to drive, all the amazing occurrences from today settled with you in the car, a permanent smile on your face the whole way.  

You pulled into the driveway, opting to stay in the car just to keep the warm air flowing from the vents, sending Ransom a quick text.

A few minutes later, the man himself came out, his brown suede trench coat on, your own raspberry pea coat slung over his left arm. 

The passenger door popped open, and Ransom’s warm lips pressed slowly against your cheek, instantly warming you up.

“I figured you might be cold.”

A deep laugh resonated in his stomach as he reached over the console to hand you the jacket, the one you had forgotten this morning. 

“Thanks, hon. So, where do you want to eat?”

You looked over to Ransom, whose eyes had been lovingly glued to you since he’d gotten in the car.

“How about that little sandwich shop in town?”

A bright and sweet smile graced your lips, stunning Ransom with its effect on him. His own eyes crinkling up as his frowning lips slowly formed into a content smile.

Once you had reached town about twenty minutes later, Ransom rushed out of the car the minute you had stopped the engine. His actions leaving you confused when suddenly a blurb of tan suede halted and revealed the missing man, who was now pulling your door open.  

“Wow Mr. Drysdale, since when did you become such a gentleman.”

You teased Ransom, wrapping your arm around his, embracing his warmth, and playfully kissing his nose. 

“Since you became Mrs. Drysdale.” 

His little quip caught you off guard as you weren’t expecting a response from the man. As a result of that surprise, your cheeks slightly warmed, causing you to shyly look down. It was a given, what had just happened, as Ransom knew your reactions like the back of his hand. 

That arrogant jerk knew very well what he had done and slightly leaned over to kiss your bowed head.

Confidently, Ransom spoke up, and without even looking over at him, you just knew he was smirking. 

“Still have that effect on you, huh?” 

Before you could banter back at him, your arm interlocked with Ransom’s was tugged, prompting you to look up. 

Apparently, when you were just mindlessly walking to the restaurant, Ransom had another stop on his list. One full of eye-catching flower bouquets. Blood red roses, yellow lilies, variegated tulips, you name it, they littered the glass window of the flower shop. 

As you stepped into the shop, the distinctive smell of baby’s breath filled your senses. You were still interlocked with Ransom, so at this point wherever he walked, you went. Also meaning he’d dragged you to the counter despite your words of defiance.

“Ransom, you don’t need to buy me anything. All I want is to eat lunch, with my husband.”

“And that you’ll get.”

Just when you’d thought you’d won this argument, the man continued.

“Along with the bouquet of carnations and baby’s breath please.

Your husband spoke up just a bit louder, so the man behind the counter could hear his order while also making it known to you that you were indeed gonna accept these flowers. 

Ransom quickly paid for the bouquet, coming back to lock arms with you and hand you the flowers. It was a simple bouquet yet the meaning behind the choice a lot stronger. Coral carnations ideally intermixed with the snow-white baby’s breath. The soft aroma from earlier, now in a bouquet held by your cold hands. 

When you were young, your grandmother would always buy carnations for her home, specifically the coral ones. She’d tell you about each flower and how they were all unique, capturing your curiosity. As you got older, you became more versed in floral design and structure. Soon, you were going every other day to buy fresh carnations for your grandmother. When you had first brought Ransom to meet her, she told him about the story behind carnations and when you were always buying them. 

To this day, Ransom remembers, and the carnations have since then become your flower.

If it weren’t for the constant wind, the temperature would have been enjoyable, but now your hands were slightly shaking and Ransom noticed. Taking your free hand in his, he then put your conjoined hands in his coat pocket.

Just a few more blocks and you had finally made it to the humble little sandwich shop, one Ransom had actually introduced to you. 

Mr. Miller, the owner of the shop happily greeted you both. Over the years you’ve lived in Massachusetts, you and Ransom have become regulars at this shop. It may have been a small place, with seating for only thirty people, yet the food was outstanding. Especially Mr. Miller’s Monte Cristo, your’s and Ransom’s favorite. To no surprise, that is in fact what you ended up ordering. 

As you sat at the booth, the two of you laughing and enjoying the time spent with each other, never once did it cross your mind that this was it. That this was not gonna be the normal anymore. It’d become a memory you’d end up savoring for the years of the future.

Because little did you know, that was the last time he’d ever buy you flowers, the last time he’d ever laugh with you…

The last time he’d ever really love you. 

That very next day, you woke up early to pack your bags for the unbearable flight to come. You absolutely hated the airport, but then again, who doesn’t? It was a constant marathon and by time you make it to all your gates, you’d probably lose ten pounds from running so much. There was no peace at the airport, especially with the holiday rush and you dreaded it. If only your husband could have come, it would make things ten times better, but he can’t and you aren’t going to miss this opportunity. It’s been a few years since you’ve been able to go home, and truly relax for the holidays. The years before, you’d only get to spend the weekend, but now you have the whole week and in the end, it’d be worth the living hell at the airport. 

By 10:00 am, you were all ready to go, Ransom carrying the bags to your car, sulking as he did so. He really wanted to go with you. Believe it or not, but Ransom would love to spend all his time with you if he could, except Harlan really needed his help to finish up a few things. 

With everything packed, it finally came time for you to bid goodbye. Sure, it was a week away, but this was your first Christmas as a married couple, and you couldn’t spend it together. Had things been different, you could have, but Ransom understood you missed your family. For once in his life, Ransom Drysdale thought about someone else’s benefit beside his own. 

The car running, you flung your arms around Ransom, who stood at the door, coffee in hand, balancing it as he reciprocated the hug.

He could feel your tears on his neck, running through his sweatshirt. Your head was buried in the crevice, and your sobs made his heart shatter. Ransom couldn't bear it anymore, because soon he’d be the one crying. A warm hand, ran up and down your back while soothing whispers rang in your ear.

“Oh sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay.”

Your sobs that racked your body soon ceased, Ransom pulling back to give you his best attempt at a smile. His eyes worriedly scanned over your red ones before pulling you into a soothing kiss. Releasing your lips, Ransom once again gave you a comforting smile, handing you the coffee, knowing you had forgotten your own. 

“Go on, you’re gonna be late, my love.”

On tippy toes, you pressed your lips to the corner of Ransom’s, slowly leaning away, then solemnly heading to your car. 

That night, you had called Ransom, telling him you made it safely and that you’d facetime him tomorrow. In his voice, Ransom hid his sorrow, but in truth, ever since you left this morning, he’d been wallowing in despair. What better way to drown out your sorrows than to actually do that? So just as Ransom hung up the phone, he dashed to the car and to the nearest bar, slowly easing the pain via eight beers. 

Just about to ring up the bartender for a check, a small, womanly hand slowly wrapped around his forearm, setting it back down on the counter.

“Hey stranger.”

Ransom was so intoxicated, he struggled to even focus, but all he knew was that a woman was sitting in front of him and he sure was missing his wife. It was wrong, but at that moment, his priorities blurred the minute the girl’s lips smothered his. There weren’t boundaries anymore and he knew damn well, that this lady was making his thoughts and good judgement dissipate, he forgot why he was even there in the first place. Right now, you were in the back of his drunken mind, and Blair in the front. Literally and figuratively. 

The two broke away from the kiss for air, and Ransom soon remembered the woman staring seductively at him. At this moment, the man was no longer in his own mindset and was reverting back to his old self. The playboy Ransom Drysdale was out tonight, not the man bound by the ring on his finger. 

“It’s Blair right?”

She nodded, a few waves of chestnut brown hair moving with her head. Soon drinks long forgotten, Ransom threw down a one-hundred dollar bill, taking Blair by the hand, and out the door. As he gripped her warm hand, he could feel the cold metal of his wedding ring, slightly breaking him out of his lustful haze as mentally kicked himself for what just almost happened. He let out a small laugh, you were always there to keep him in line, whether he accepted it or not. And thank god for that, he thought. After that little reminder, it was like he had sobered up.

About to send Blair back into the bar, lips peppered small kisses to his ear and his fresh mindset was thrown out the window. The sober thoughts now gone. Starting that car engine and driving out with Blair in the passenger seat, Ransom was unknowingly throwing away the best thing to ever happen to him. By doing this, long gone was the better man you had helped make Ransom become.

 If only he had been strong enough to fight the temptation and listen to the little warning the symbol of your love (his ring) gave him...

And that night, as Ransom washed away his longing for you with Blair, you laid awake in your childhood bed, happily replaying the memory of lunch with Ransom just the day before. Soon, you’d be reliving that memory in your head, more often than once, but with tears streaming down your face. 

taglist: @kiwihoee @buckybarnesthehotshot @memissbee @tricereads @tonystankschild @coffeebooksandfandom @ria132love @what-is-your-wish​ @maan24​ @bval-1​ @jemimah-b99​

If I’ve messed up and tagged the wrong person, please lemme know. I’m very tired and typing up the taglist was probably not the best idea.

[gaitwae]

Celebrating Queens •||• Thor x Reader

Tag List: @winterfrostsarmy @lucywrites02

Request: “Can you do a oneshot/drabble whatever lol for Thor finding out the reader has never celebrated their birthday, and deciding to throw them a sort of party? but it's just thor and the reader. either female reader of gender neutral, your choice :))

+-+--

The news hit the god of thunder as a bit of a shock. Obviously, he hadn’t celebrated a Midgardian birthday of his own because the dates probably wouldn’t match, so you didn’t think a small tidbit like “I don’t celebrate my birthday,” was going to make much of a difference. Obviously, it would take some weight off your relationship around the day you were born. Obviously, you would just mark the calendar and remember your age in case someone asked. 

Obviously, you were wrong about your birthday being insignificant. 

“My love, my love, my love,” Thor began, pleading first thing in the morning. He practically knelt next to you so you would be eye-to-eye, setting both hands on one of your shoulders. The thunder god’s smile held the begging of a thousand puppies. “Your birthday is important! It’s a day to celebrate you, and all the wonderful things that come with you.”

“You’re a complete and utter romantic,” you sighed. You gently peeled his paws off of your body. You turned to your partner and held his rough, scratchy, adorable face in your own palms. “I appreciate it, Thor. I really do. But I don’t see the point in celebrating myself. I don’t particularly even like myself.” You laughed.

“I like you,” he protested. He pouted a fat lip at you. You found it was getting hard to refuse Thor. He knew what he wanted to do, and you knew he was one of the few Avengers who could walk away with exactly what he wanted. “It isn’t about celebrating yourself, Y/N — it’s about letting others celebrate how much they love you.”

“I love you too,” you said. “But I don’t need to be celebrated. Why is this important to you?”

Thor kissed you gently, holding your face firm with all ten fingers. “Because it’s another chance to make you happy, princess. If you don’t like it, we don’t have to do it again.” 

From the look in his eyes… it couldn’t be all bad to simply give in. You could try anything once. You shrugged, giving him nonverbal permission. Thor grinned and made his way down the hall with childlike glee. 

“What have I done?” you mumbled. You shook your head, wiping your face with a heavy sigh. 

+-+-- 

You walked into the common room with suspicion for the next week and a half. You were terrified that Thor was going to throw a huge party, one that would do nothing but put you on the spot for half of the day. You had a hard time believing what he said about birthdays, and he never asked exactly when your birthday was. He was so caught up in trying to make you feel loved. Why did he have to be so sweet yet so annoying?

The day of the party was the first surprise. It was a day anyone would have picked: a Saturday, your technical day off. You walked into a dark common room, having completely forgotten that Thor had been trying to throw you a birthday party. 

You flicked on the light.

“Surprise!” 

You screamed.

It… it was just Thor. Thor, Natasha, Steve, and Tony all sitting on the floor together with a small cake in the middle. Each of them had a silly party hat on, holding a delicately wrapped box close to their chest. 

“I… I thought there was going to be more to this,” you admitted. “It’s just the four of you? Where’s everybody else?”

“Busy or uninvited,” Thor said. “I figured your first birthday should be with the people you’re closest to. Come sit, princess.” He set his box on the ground and waved you over. 

There was no harm in humoring him this time. You sat down next to all of them, crossing your arms and your legs. “I’m not wearing the hats — that’s where I draw the line.” You watched as Steve held the cake up to Tony, who lit the singular candle in the middle. The cake wasn’t expertly frosted with pink icing, red sprinkles, and cursive brown icing-writing that said ‘HAPPY’. It was definitely handmade. Your heart melted a little. Thor couldn’t bake for his life, but you recognized his handwriting in the icing. Tony could have just bought a nice cake. Steve had pink all over his hands and Nat had a papercut or two on hers.

“Fair enough,” Nat said. She got out a knife to slice the cake. “You can’t avoid us singing, though. Also, you should open Thor’s present last.”

“Why?” you asked, arching a brow.

“You wouldn’t want to open the others afterwards.” She said it like it was obvious, which it probably was to her. “Start with Tony’s and go right — no — left. Sorry. On your left.”

They started singing to you, and you blew out the candle. You didn’t know what was supposed to come with blowing out the candle, but you did it anyway. Tony handed you a fairly large box, and when you opened it, it was a perfectly tailored set of… blue undergarments.

“Tony!” Your face became warm and your eyes felt like they were going to pop out of your head.

“What? Pepper says they’re comfortable! I was trying to be nice and get you something you’d wear all the time.” He held his hands up in defense.

You shook your head and took Steve’s gift. It was a smaller package. You opened it. A little vintage watch. “Aw. Thanks.” You found yourself smiling. Nat put hers in front of you before you could even object. You opened it, but frowned. This was one of her jewellery sets.

“What is this?” you asked.

“You’ll understand in a second,” she promised. She smiled and tried to keep from giggling. “Also, I’ll want those back.”

“Oookay….”

Thor put his in your hands after taking the jewellery set away. “I don’t want an answer right away,” he said before you even got your thumb under the paper. Your heart twisted.

“This isn’t…”

“Open it.”

You opened the gift. You closed it. You kept staring at Thor in disbelief. “This isn’t.”

“It is.”

“You didn’t.” Thor had put a silver wedding band in a small wooden box, along with a letter you didn’t have time to read. “You didn’t!”

“Marry me.” He smiled and sat back. “I don’t want to just celebrate my princess… I’ve been thinking about celebrating queens, too. Will you be mine?”

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone's Symphony | Day Two / Part One | Hades

Hey lovelies this isn't completely done (this chapter, I mean) but this was a good spot to post it because it's been a while and I'm proud of this part. The next part will be about the same length (I'm guessing) and will be the long awaited bathtub scene! enjoy, and sorry for how ramble-y this chapter is. It's on purpose LOL!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: PTSD in action on both parts, self-loathing

Word count: 2.7k

Previous | Next

Master List

Maybe saying yes is the wrong answer. It certainly goes against the protocol his commander explicitly told him to follow.

Stay inside, Barnes. Keep the curtains closed, limit the amount of lights on inside the house. Don’t let her out of your sight— not even for a second.

It was all basic, day one things that any rookie would know. Bucky is a lot of things but he isn’t a rookie— he’s been around the block his fair share of times and then some. Still, the last thing his commander had told him rings through his ears as he crosses the threshold of the Wilson’s family residence and feels the sun, warm and steady on his face— and on his one, good arm— for the first time in twenty-four hours.

Be a ghost, Barnes, or you might just become one; you understand me?

Bucky had answered yes, again— obviously. Maybe that’s just a thing he does; saying yes when he doesn’t know what else to say. Saying yes when he should be saying anything but.

But what?

But it’s not like it really matters— there was no other choice that time. He’s a soldier, he was given his orders, and— whether he likes it or not— Bucky always follows his orders.

The door creaks shut behind him, a little loud for his liking but the sound of the willow trees snapping in the yard are enough to drown it out for the most part— Well, Bucky always follows most of his orders.

That was also before everything went straight to hell, though— before no one thought to tell him that he's not dealing with a victim; he’s dealing with a survivor. Fucking military— he should have known they’d leave the important details out. They’ve been shoddy since the forties, always squirreling away information from the little guys. Eighty years later, one hundred and six years old, and he’s still a little guy. No closer to gaining an invite to the big kid table than he was at twenty-six when he still had two good arms. If anything he’s further away now, begging for scraps when there was once a point in his life where he at least had a seat somewhere.

With someone.

Nothing’s changed— nothing will change and he doesn’t expect it to— but this time there’s a difference.

There’s a big one.

It’s the canyon between grief and watching your family get slaughtered in front of you; the insurmountable jump from longing for those you’ve lost and having them ripped away from you so violently that you can’t function. Can’t sleep. Wake up scared. Jump away from every touch, every noise, like every shattered vase is out to personally kill you—

Why the fuck wouldn’t they tell him that the girl he’s supposed to be protecting has PTSD? He may be old— the term may be different now— in his day they used to call it shellshock— but it’s yet another thing that hasn’t changed. Nothing ever changes; not really— not for him.

Soldier.

Scientist.

Same fucking difference— the signs are still the same and she has all of them.

He would know— he should have known from the moment he walked through the door— they should have told him!

He saw the pictures. Saw the scarlet circles and lifeless eyes and blood. Fuck, there was so much blood and that was just a grainy photpgraph from a junky projector! He couldn’t smell it— couldn’t taste it— through the pictures but he has an imagination— well, what’s left of one at least. He can’t say he didn’t leave most of his creativity in those hills of Austria— gods only know he left most of everything else there— but even if he had left all of it he wouldn’t have to dig far for a memory of his own. They don’t tell you as a soldier that fresh blood smells like rotting honey— that it lingers in your clothes and hair and on your goddamn lips for hours.

Soldier.

Shooter.

Fucking psychopath with a gun and one arm and snow still shoved so far down his throat that he can’t breathe—

No, if they don’t bother telling their soldiers then there’s no way anyone thought to tell the cherry pie angel. They probably thought it would ruin her sweetness. They probably didn’t even think to tell her at all. Bucky definitely didn’t. He should have. If he had, maybe he would have been able to catch her before the flies ate through her wings completely. Maybe if he had just done his damn job instead of being sucked in by the sticky marmalade of her laughter then he would have seen the way she was melting right in front of his face. July in Brooklyn does that to a person.

It brings the flies to the cherry pie.

The flies to the rotting honey.

The flies to too fucking late— he had twenty-four hours and instead of doing something he just let her sink. Some guard dog he is.

Bucky watches as she gingerly sits on the edge of the white swing, her movements stiff, almost mechanical. She lifts her feet as soon as she’s down, toes hanging a good few inches off the ground as they curl around the thick bayou air, clenching and unclenching rhythmically. They never touch the bamboo mat and her eyes never lift from the shoreline— not even when he takes a couple measured steps towards her. It’s unnerving, to say the very least.

“We can’t stay out here too long.” Bucky isn’t used to speaking this quietly but it feels like if he doesn’t level his voice to match the whispering of the wind across the bulrushes then he’ll be hurting her more than he already has.

Her answer isn’t any louder than his— the only reason he even hears it at all is because he refuses to look away from her. He only hears her because his eyes are already on her lips, willing her to stop sinking her teeth into the soft flesh. Please, please, please stop—

“I just need a few minutes.”

Her eyes are wide and rimmed with red, toes continuing to work against the breeze with the same automatic movements. Clench. Unclench. Clench. Unclench. He doesn’t understand. It’s like she’s trying to work the feeling back into them— or maybe like she doesn’t know that she’s doing it at all. Hell, if the way her eyes have glassed over means anything then he would wager that there’s a good chance she doesn’t even fully know she’s outside. Yeah, that’s shellshock alright. Clench. Unclench. Clench. He doesn’t realize he’s copying her movements until his jaw aches.

Unclench.

“I know, doll. I—” He finally tears his gaze from her rigid figure— from her bruised lips— looking as well to the horizon. Maybe she’s on to something; maybe the waves will tell him how to help her— “I know.”

Can they tell him how to help himself? He shuffles forward again, stopping at the edge of the swing, gaze sweeping from the water to the barriers of the premise. Who is he kidding— of course they can’t. This isn’t about his salvation anymore. Those days have more than come and gone. Now it’s about hers— it’s about an assignment and keeping ten toes and ten fingers connected to two legs and two arms. Right now is about an order and Bucky Barnes can certainly follow orders— maybe that’s all he can do.

He gives the shaking girl who— despite everything— is swathed so prettily in the shade of the porch another once over.

Maybe but maybe not too.

Maybe he can’t follow orders at all.

Maybe he can’t afford to think about it for too long.

Because if he can’t follow orders then what can he do?

Bucky is still staring at her when she speaks again but her sudden words still make him jump nonetheless. “There’s room.” Her voice falters for a moment, lips hanging open and eyes faraway, before she continues. “If you want to sit, I mean. There’s room.”

He shouldn’t— he knows he shouldn’t, sitting isn’t a part of his orders— but he does. He couldn’t say no to her if he wanted to.

“Thanks.”

He definitely doesn’t want to say no to her.

“Sure.” Her voice is barely a hum— barely there at all— and he can’t choose whether to look at her lips or her fingers, which are now following suit.

Clench, unclench. Clench, unclench.

It’s an impossible decision— much like the ones from his days as a soldier— but it demands a choice from him nonetheless— unlike the ones from his days as a pawn. Her nails drag over the wood, snagging every so often, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Clench. Can she even feel him next to her? Back in the day— before that day— he used to watch his comrades do the same thing. He used to do the same thing. Sometimes he still does. He knows exactly what he would want someone to do for him.

He makes the choice for an impossible decision, wrapping his hand around hers until their fingers are laced together. “You can talk to me, if you want.”

It seems to work, if only marginally, because she stiffens for a moment, fingers flexing around his. Bucky can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, the way she grips his hand so unsure of herself. Is she unsure of herself, though, or is she still lost somewhere in the depths of her mind, drowning in her rotten honey thoughts?

Her hand stills— an answer in itself— before her voice, slowed as though stopped by lips that have been glued shut, sounds. “Do you ever feel like you’re drowning?”

It’s not what he’s expecting but what else is new— neither was she and yet he’s here, listening to the moments they’re allowed to be outside— all of zero moments, that is— tick away as her toes clench and unclench.

Tick, tick, tick— what would his commander say.

“Yes.”

Steve used to ask him the same thing, Bucky adds silently, but only when they got older.

He supplies, “I think maybe that’s a part of being human.”

Tick, tick, tick— his commander wouldn’t say anything, he would just put Bucky on probation.

Still, he doesn’t rush her— he can’t. He won’t. She just told him she’s drowning; he’s not going to be the ocean to her frenzied attempts to stay afloat. He’ll just hold her hand, and keep looking over her shoulder, and then over his own, and when the time comes he’ll tell her they have to go, because that’s what she’s expecting. He would know— there have been times he’s wanted someone to do the same for him.

Tick, tick, tick— this is worth probation.

“I don’t think I like being human.” She hums back.

No, Bucky wants to say— no, I don’t either, doll.

Being human sucks and he’s not very good at it. He would know, he’s been a lot of things— been compared to a lot of things. Robot. Popsicle. Dog— yeah, he’s a real jack of all trades and so far human isn’t near the top of his ‘favourites’ list. Maybe that’s because if he wasn’t human then he wouldn’t be any of the other things either— maybe if he wasn’t human then he wouldn’t be so easily turned into a monster.

Tick, tick, tick— maybe.

Tick, tick, tick— have his thoughts always been so disorganized?

Tick, tick, tick— maybe it’s the shellshock.

Bucky doesn’t say any of that, of course.

What he does say is— “What would you like to be instead?” —as if he can make everything all better himself.

He can try, at least. He’s been compared to a slave too. Being hers doesn’t sound all that bad.

Thunder rolls over head and it sounds more like a grandfather clock— or the impatient tapping of his commander’s fingers— than anything Bucky’s ever heard. Still, he waits to move. Tick, tick, tick. He waits for a lot of things.

Bucky waits for the sky to turn grey— for the first droplets to mix with the salty bay air and blow against his neck and face.

It’s familiar, the sticky, salty rain, and he isn’t expecting it.

He isn’t expecting Delacroix to remind him so much of his own home in Brooklyn.

He isn’t expecting the way that sitting next to this soft creature feels so much like sitting on the docks with Steve the summer before his enlistment. Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning— Steve had said it at one hundred but he may as well have said it then, at eighteen, too. Because little did Bucky know, Steve had always felt a little bit like he was drowning and now Bucky, at one hundred and six, always feels a little bit like a bad friend.

Like a bad brother.

Like a bad dog— he should have scented it out all those years ago but instead he just waited.

Tick, tick, tick— all he does is wait.

Bucky waits for her to squeeze his hand once more— for her tiny fingers to alert him that she’s ready to move.

Maybe if Bucky had waited until Steve had told him that he was ready all those years ago then Steve would have waited for Bucky to be ready too. Because as he sits here, his skin turning swampy in the sticky, salty rain he realizes that no, he wasn’t ready for Steve Rogers to leave him behind.

He wasn’t ready to face the world alone.

He wasn’t even ready to face Brooklyn alone. Sometimes he still waits at the deli for him and orders the hero sandwich because even though he doesn’t like the absurd amount of pickles, Steve always had. Maybe if he eats enough— and waits long enough— then Steve will come back.

Tick, tick, tick— for a man who isn’t patient, Bucky Barnes sure does do a lot of waiting.

Bucky waits for her answer— because that’s what matters most. Not Steve’s wishes, not his commander’s impatient tapping, not even his own nostalgia that’s starting to make him, too, feel like he’s drowning. He used to love swimming in the Atlantic but when he licks his lips and tastes salt he’s sure it would take a miracle to get him to go in again. It would take a hundred years— or maybe just eighteen— and a push from a man who left Bucky almost as fast as Bucky had left him.

“I want to be a god—” she says it so suddenly that he jolts, eyes scanning their surroundings before realizing it’s just her determined, honey hollow voice sounding from next to him— “I want to be god— or invincible— or anyone but me, I think. I just don’t want to be me anymore. So yeah, I want to be a god.”

She still sounds so far away. Like she’s underwater— like Steve that time he wanted to see if Bucky could hear him scream from under the surf. He couldn’t but he told Steve he could. It doesn’t matter anymore— not right now. Only she does and her airy confession.

It makes Bucky’s heart clench and, as a reflex, so does his hand.

He releases the pressure accordingly— in his hand, not his heart— unclench— and as he does she adds— “and I want to take a bath.”

In that moment, despite his worry for her, he’s ecstatic she isn’t looking at him because if she had been then she would have seen the way his jaw drops. It takes him a moment to answer— a moment to pull himself out of the gutter his frozen-robot-dog brain drags him to— but he settles on one thought in surprisingly record time.

He can’t make her a god but he can sure as hell watch her back if she wants to take a bath.

He can’t make it all better but he can do that no problem.

So of course he stands, squeezing her hand one last time before saying, “okay, doll.”

Maybe Bucky is following orders after all. Maybe it’s a matter of choosing which— whose— orders to follow.

____________

Tag list: @xhollycowx @remembered-license @dumble-daddy @hellotvshowtrash @thesummerbucky @elijahs-wife @cari1bunny @im-just-star-dust @motherofallthesmallthings​ @hazardoushallucination​ @em-august @nuttytani @brown-eyed-babes @imaginearyparties

(message me if you want to be added / removed from the tag list -- I'll hold no resentment if you do LOL)

[alirhi]

random snippet again

as promised, @feralgoblintea here's the (temporary) scene where the two sisters meet for the first time since one went missing as a child

note about the nickname: Rachel's middle name is Miranda; everyone has called her 'Andy' from that since she was a little kid. it's explained in her story, but not in this scene, so I just wanted to explain it here lol

"Your parents are very eager to know where you've been and what you've been going through all these years," the doctor told her, deep voice oddly gentle and soothing. Rachel smiled sadly; his voice reminded her of Amadeus. "Most of all, they want to know that you're alright."

She knew he thought she was crazy. Her parents definitely shared that opinion, which was why she was here to begin with. Still, she couldn't help asking, "And, in your professional opinion, am I?"

He caught her lightly mocking tone and snorted, leaning back in his chair to mirror her pose. "In my professional opinion," he shot back, though the sarcasm left his tone before he even finished his sentence, "you've been through Hell, Rachel. The trauma you've suffered is very, very real. If you're asking, do I believe in demons and portals and time travel, I'd have to say no. But that pain and fear came from somewhere... I'd like you to come back in for regular sessions, if you're up for it; see if we can cut through the fantasy, see past the demons and find the real monsters who hurt you."

"That's why I'm not coming back." She stood, shaking her head a little. "I'm not surprised you don't believe me - I probably wouldn't believe it, myself, if I hadn't lived it - but it's a bit frustrating. What I told you isn't metaphors or delusion. It all happened, and I'm not interested in having someone rip it all apart and try to make me doubt my own memory."

"They call that 'gaslighting' these days."

Startled, the blonde whirled around to face the source of the new voice; a woman she sort of vaguely recognized was standing in the doorway, hand on the knob, smiling at her. After a long moment, her brain helpfully edited the image before her to make it make sense; wild red hair to dirty blonde, violet eyes to mismatched green and blue, face younger and body smaller and more plump. "...Beck?!"

Rebecca's smile widened and she stepped forward with a nod. "Hey, Andy."

"Oh my god!" With a laugh and a delighted screech, she launched herself across the room and threw her arms around her little sister. "What are you doing here?"

Nearly squeezing the breath out of her, the younger woman murmured, "I heard you were back and had to see you. Stand your ground, Andy. Don't let them make you forget or doubt that it was all real. We know the truth." She released her, only to bring her hands up to grip the sides of her sister's head. "Magic is real."

Rachel froze, staring at Rebecca's mouth long after it closed and the two long, wicked fangs that had drawn her attention were hidden from view. "...What happened to you?"

"Not here. I'll tell you everything, but not here."

"Okay." Without so much as a backward glance at the shrink, she followed the redhead out of the office, past their fretting parents, and out into the bright sunny day that made Rebecca hiss.

She cringed and immediately donned a beat-to-hell baseball cap and a pair of dark sunglasses. "Fuck, I hate sunny days."

"You always did." Rachel couldn't help smiling faintly; so many years had passed, more than anyone in the world around them could ever understand, and yet so little about her baby sister had changed.

"Yeah, well... I've only gotten more sensitive to it."

Once they'd made it deep enough into the woods behind the Industrial Park that there was no risk of anyone overhearing, they stopped, and Rachel asked her point blank: "You're a vampire, aren't you?"

Rebecca laughed, gratefully leaning back into the shade of the nearest tree. "Only in our lives is that a casual conversation starter. And yes. Thankfully I'm old enough that daylight won't kill me. It's just unpleasant."

With her own accidental time travel in mind, the blonde asked, "How old are you?" Thirty-seven, she knew, in the eyes of the people around them; to them, Rachel herself had only just turned thirty-nine, and yet both sisters looked at each other with exhausted, haunted eyes millennia older than they could ever hope to make anyone else understand.

"As a vampire, or in general?" She smirked, shrugging off her own question before her sister could answer. "In general is harder to pin down, but I've been a vampire for about six thousand years, give or take a few."

Leaning against a tree roughly opposite Rebecca's, Rachel mirrored her smirk and crossed her arms over her chest. "I was Queen of an entire planet, and then POW and slave on a second, then a fugitive... I managed to send my older daughter home, before I got stuck on a third planet with my boys and little girl. It's been about ten thousand years."

"You have kids?" Rebecca grinned, once again showing those distractingly long fangs. "Me, too! I have two daughters, Madeline and Alice."

"Senna, Kieran, Caspian, and...Cassie," Rachel told her in answer to her unspoken question. She couldn't help blushing as she listed her children's names; she'd since learned what senna was, and hadn't actually given her younger two children names beginning with the same sound on purpose. It had just sort of worked out that way.

"Twins?"

She shook her head. "Caspian's my stepson, kinda, and Cassie was named after-"

Rebecca flinched, remembering. "After Cassie Wade, right? I was so focused on figuring out what happened to you, and then fighting to survive, I'd forgotten she went missing with you."

"She..." Clearing her throat, the blonde squared her shoulders and pulled her strong front around herself like a familiar safety blanket. "She saved our lives; she didn't make it. And, yeah. I named my youngest after her. Anyway, they're all grown, and Kieran..." Jaw clenching, she forcibly dismissed thoughts of her rapist and merely said, "He's my perfect warrior prince. Well, King now. I love them all, and desperately miss Senna, but Kieran, despite his more questionable choices, has a special place in my heart."

Rebecca took her sunglasses off and studied her for a moment before venturing, "Y'know... I literally eat rapists for breakfast."

That got a startled bark of laughter from her big sister, who shook her head. "Even if my boy hadn't already killed him, I doubt his gross, rancid blood would sit well with you. He wasn't human."

The redhead shrugged, smirking again. "Doesn't have to be. I've eaten Fae, elves, one vampire that pissed me off royally..."

"Not such a picky eater anymore, huh?" she teased, grinning. "Was it some badass revenge on your sire or something?"

Laughing, Rebecca shook her head. "Nope, no sire. I'm the OG vampire, babe. The first of the species. My younger daughter, Alice, is the first of the natural born vamps."

"So, wait... You could still get pregnant after you were turned? What?" Rachel frowned, beyond confused. "And how the fuck...?"

"I'm not dead," her little sister explained with another laugh. "Everything's slowed way the hell down, but hasn't stopped. I can't have kids with a human, or probably most Fae, but a certain trickster God..."

"...God?"

She grinned and nodded, though her haunting violet eyes looked sad. "Loki. He's Alice's dad."

"Huh. So the Gods are real." Rachel snorted. "Go figure. And my sister banged one."

"I loved him," the other woman whispered, staring at the ground. She opened her mouth as if to speak further, then seemed to reconsider and closed it again, clearing her throat.

To spare her from some clearly painful memories, whatever they were, Rachel asked, "What's a Fae?"

"Fairy," was the simple enough answer. "Fairies are real, too. Maddie - my oldest - is Fae."

Is she Loki's, too? She didn't dare ask - Loki was clearly a touchy subject - but she was dying to know.

As if she could read her mind, Rebecca, still avoiding her gaze, explained, "I was still mortal when I had her. Her father was Fae."

As the light breeze shifted the leaves above them, making the light dance across Rebecca's ghostly white skin, Rachel finally noticed the scars. At first, they'd looked like tribal tattoos, done puzzlingly in a silvery-white. When she realized they were actually a complex web of ancient scars, she also noticed they covered every inch of her sister's flesh that she could see around her shorts and tank top. Her face was the only place free of the oddly beautiful swirling lines, though she did spot a faint scar on her forehead, running from hairline to cheekbone and through the outer edge of her eyebrow.

"Is Madeline's father why you hunt rapists?" Is he the one who tore you apart?

"He didn't rape me... Technically. But yes, he's the one who scarred me." At her startled look, Rebecca smirked; it utterly failed to reach her eyes, but it was a start. "I can read your mind. I'm trying not to - I find it unspeakably rude and invasive - but when you're actively thinking about me, it tends to cut through my shields. The scars are from a spell he worked on me; blood magic. It's what made Maddie's conception possible, and chained me to him for years."

"Kieran's father was my greatest enemy; Crown Prince of the people who'd been attacking and slaughtering mine. King by the time I escaped." She didn't know what made her suddenly share this, but it felt like the thing to do. Her sister had told her something deeply personal and troubling; it seemed only right to meet candor with candor. Besides, Rachel and Rebecca had been two peas in a pod as children, as close as two sisters could possibly be. There was no amount of time that could strain their relationship. "I was captured in battle and kept as a slave for around a year and a half."

"How did the other three come about?" She smirked again, shoving her wild red hair back off her face impatiently. "Even when we were kids, I'd have bet just about anything that you're gayer than a rainbow, so how do you have so many kids?"

Rachel laughed, rolling her eyes. "Political marriage gave me Senna - born in a dungeon, thanks to me being pregnant during the battle and not knowing it yet. She was smuggled home to her father after she was born. I made a friend in that Hellhole, Emil, and he'd been raising Caspian; he's not his biological father, but that never mattered, just like it didn't matter to me that I didn't give birth to him. That boy's just as much my son as Kieran. We were supposed to go back to my home when we escaped, but something went screwy and we ended up on Achlys, instead, where I met my girlfriend and we all decided to just settle and raise the boys."

"So you cheated on your husband?" Rebecca's grin was teasing - and, thank god, reached her eyes at last! - but Rachel still threw an acorn at her when she said, "You whore!"

"I never saw him again! And he wouldn't have given a shit," she explained with a laugh. "I was, like, his third or fourth wife. And like I said, it was purely political; I was Queen, he was my advisor, he wanted power and I wanted an heir. Enter Senna, who boosted Raziel from random noble to father of the next Queen, and assured that there would be someone to take the reins if I died."

"So..." Her sister began ticking points off on her fingers as she spoke. "Shrewd political moves gave you Senna, you're co-parenting Caspian with a friend, we won't speak of Kieran's origins... How and why was Cassie a thing?"

Rachel shook her head, gaping at her. "A thing? That's nice, Beck. Real nice."

"Gods, you've missed so many cultural shifts, dude." Rebecca shook her head right back, trying not to laugh at her. "Just answer the question, old lady."

"Emil and I, and my girlfriend Trinity, all talked and decided to hell with conventionality; we all love each other, so we'll all be together. Em's my exception, I guess; the only man I've ever been attracted to even after seeing him naked. Our boys were grown, Senna was long gone, we'd made a whole new life for ourselves, so we decided to have another baby. Enter Cassie." Rachel sighed, staring off into space. "And now she's grown, Kieran's back in that awful place trying to turn it around, married to a great girl, Caspian's there with them to help..."

Though she had a feeling she knew the answer, the vampire asked softly, "And your lovers?"

"...Dead. Cassie - Cassie Wade, I mean - died in prison, Trin and Em were killed in the second war." A bitter smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. "Kieran and Cas are running a third."

"There's always another fucking war," Rebecca grumbled. "I've watched so many of them come and go, fought in two, myself... It never really ends."

[hockeyboysiguess]

feel free to ignore but you ever just think about preppy little brock boeser having a punk gf w tattoos and piercings who becomes best buds w petey because they just quietly judge everyone who comes in their vicinity together...i have many more thoughts about how soft she is w b and the dogs and gets nervous about meeting his v midwestern family as an alt-looking person but I cant articulate them lol I just feel like prince charming boeser is one of the least shallow hockeys and it would be cute

i have never thought about this before this moment but my 12 year old scene phase just came out and said HELLO THAT COULD BE US and now i’m having war flashbacks but here are some thoughts below the cut!

You met Brock like a typical modern day millennial, at a party with some mutual friends

He was really friendly and sweet all night, but you didn’t think anything of it

In full honesty, he wasn’t your usual type and you were pretty damn sure you weren’t his, so it hadn’t even crossed your mind until you were heading out of the party and Brock had run up after you. 

“Hey, can I buy you dinner sometime?” 

You were stunned to say the least, but said yes anyway

It was kind of the best first date of your life and Brock’s too 

You balanced each other out easily

Brock was a golden retriever and you were a little storm cloud, but golden retrievers really like splashing in puddles so it was kind of perfect somehow? 

The first time he brought you around his teammates and their girlfriends you were a little nervous to say the least

All the other girls were blonde and preppy and just traditionally pretty

You weren’t insecure at all. You paid for your tattoos. You designed them. You were proud of them. Brock thought they were “fucking rad” were his first words when he saw them all for the first time

But everyone else was in black leggings, a white t-shirt, and a jean jacket with their curled blonde hair and you definitely felt a little out of place

Brock just pulled you into his side, and kept tossing the conversation your way

It didn’t take long for him to get you telling stories about work and your family and Brock’s dogs and you fit right into the group

Petey had been absent from the bar that night and came out to lunch with you two the next day 

The first ten minutes were awkward to say the least. You couldn’t get Petey talking

That is until some incredibly hungover woman came in with an outfit that you couldn’t wrap your head around, a loose purple velour track suit with JUICY on the ass, her hair in the famous middle-aged mom look, diamond drop earrings, and black kitten leather heels

You couldn’t hold back your face and Petey caught it

“I don’t understand,” you mumbled looking at her. “Why?” 

“She’s going somewhere,” Petey added. “Not sure I want to know where that is.” 

“Me either,” you replied

And you were in with Petey from that moment on 

The judging siamese twins

Brock always said you two reminded him of the creepy siamese cats from Lady and The Tramp

You and Petey went as the two cats for the following halloween

“Petey, are you stealing my girlfriend?”

“Are you giving me the opportunity to?” 

“Shut up and get the fuck out, Petey. Let me spend time with my girlfriend without you for once. Go get your own girlfriend.” 

Brock just adores you

You’re all over his Instagram, photos from games, date nights, Valentine’s Day, your birthday, Coolie and Milo’s birthday parties

He’s just think you’re “the prettiest, coolest cat around” 

You always groan whenever he says so, but he’s just a simp for you

You get a new tattoo? He’s checking it out the second you get back to his place, asking you all about it, ranking it on his list of favorites

He’s just into you, which means he’s into whatever makes you feel good and makes you happy

The day he drops the, “Hey, if you can take a few days off, would you want to come back to Minnesota with me?” you panic

If Coolie hadn’t been snuggling in your lap, you scratching his ears, you might have just bolted out of his apartment

You definitely weren’t his midwestern parents’ idea of a girlfriend for Brock, there was just no way

And his family was so important to him that you’d been trying to put this off for as long as you could because you saw it as the inevitable end to your relationship, the time you’d had to say goodbye to Brock and you just weren’t ready to do that, maybe not ever if you could help it

He was just so good to you and such a good partner

“My mom keeps asking if you’re coming,” he says to you. “She really wants to meet you. I’ve obviously told her all about you. She’s so excited to meet the girl I’m crazy about.” 

“Are they even going to like me?” you ask him 

“Baby, they already love you,” Brock laughs. “I’ve told them allllllll about you. They’ve seen all the pictures of us. They love you already.” 

[straykats]

ok i have something for you,,,,,, from the list, in this order, 5,11,6,10 while on a zombie apocalypse stuck with your brothers old best friend, Chan 👀👀👀 whenever you feel like writing again tho! I miss seeing you in my homepage, but I hope you're taking care of yourself!

wow i remember seeing this and getting all teary eyed emoji lol ty again, for ur small msg. i hope this is satisfactory! 

---

5. “I can’t sleep, can i sleep here?” // 11. “Don’t cry” // 6. “We’ll figure this out” // 10. “I care about you.”

----------

The wind howled outside, rattling the walls of the warehouse that you and some others were using as refuge. It was unsettling and left you almost petrified, but given the circumstances, it wasn’t unexpected. There was movement in the corner of your eye. Someone had turned to lay on their side. You let out a breath of relief.

It was late - maybe midnight, you weren’t sure. The only windows in the warehouse were on the second floor, but it had been agreed that no one was to walk up the stairs at night. The zombies were attracted to sound, and the metal stairs creaked impossibly loud with every step. It was too much of a risk - but you were restless with anxiety and worry. You didn’t know the whereabouts of anyone you cared about, and it didn’t help that you had lost your phone in the initial panic of everything. You had an idea of where it could have fallen - there was a ditch that you and the others had had to cross, and it had not been a friendly ditch. There were still stains from your fall, your pants dark and dirty up to your mid-thighs.

The warehouse was still and quiet besides the sounds of the wind and rustling leaves, and you couldn’t help but think that if there was constant movement or whispers, your fear might be lessened. But it was late, and everyone was asleep. The group of you - just less than twenty - had all collected one another in an attempt for group survival. Tomorrow would be a lot of travel, for it was unwise to stay in one place all the time. Besides, there was the need to stock up on food and water. 

In a sudden fit of adrenaline and restlessness, you jump up. It physically hurt to force yourself to stay in one place when you were buzzing with anxiety. Your eyes scanning the warehouse’s ground floor, you find a stack of crates in the corner of the opposite walls. They were stacked high, and could have reached the second level had it extended across the entire warehouse. 

You find yourself walking towards the stack of crates. It was something to do, and they looked sturdy enough not to fall. They were all large crates. The plan in your head was simple - climb to the top, hopefully be tired, and sleep on top of all the crates.

The first part of the plan was executed with more ease than you thought it would be. While the crates were long and wide, they were no more than a meter high. You were climbing the last crate when you finally see that you weren’t alone up here.

“You know, I saw you eyeing this mountain of crates, and I really thought you wouldn’t climb it,” Chan whispers. He was eyeing you with amusement, and unable to come up with a reply, you roll your eyes. “You’re really your brother’s sister, aren’t you?”

Your brother, who was studying overseas, had been friends with Chan for the majority of his childhood. Chan had stopped coming over in their last few years of highschool, but he had continued treating you to snacks from the canteen, and helping you with subjects that your brother didn’t take. Chan never treated you like a stranger - always like a younger sibling.

Sometimes, you almost feared that that’s all Chan would ever see you as.

“What are you doing up here, anyways?” Chan shuffles over, handing you a jacket he had discarded to the side. They say that hot air rises, but it was definitely colder up here.

“I can’t sleep. Can I sleep here?” 

You were surprised how worn out you sounded. You had been forcing yourself through the last few days, always making sure everyone around you was okay. You had known Chan was in the group you were travelling with, but there hadn’t exactly been much chance to talk. It seemed that now, in his familiar presence, you were more at ease and letting your guard down.

Chan nods, moving to the edge of the crate to let you lay down next to the wall. You nestle down, using the jacket he had given you as a pillow. Closing your eyes, you will sleep to wash over you. You could hear the wind, but it was like even the night knew something was wrong. There were no crickets or cicadas. No owls. 

You try to focus on something else; the smell of Chan’s jacket. It smelt like him, his cologne. It was a more recent smell, but even the smell of dirt and trees from days of travel and survival rung a bell in your head.

You remembered a time when you were all younger. Your brother and Chan had been playing soccer in the backyard, and you had insisted - with as much determination as a ten year-old could muster - that you be put on one of the two teams. You may not have been the best player, but they enjoyed teasing you, dribbling the ball up to you in what had seemed to be a very obvious line, until they quickly maneuvered past you.

There was another memory you recalled. You were older, now. Just starting highschool. The three of you had visited a park in the neighbourhood, and even though the boys insisted you not try, you had attempted to climb a tree. When you’d fallen and twisted your ankle, Chan had stayed behind with you while your brother ran back to get your parents. Chan had always looked out for you, and he had held your hand and wiped dirt and tears off your face as you cried. 

Memories filled your brain - memories of when times were simpler, and you were younger, and everyone was together. There had been no need for survival, at least not in a serious sense anyways. There had been no unsettling silence, no fear of zombies. You missed the times when that was all in the movies.

And now… Now it was real, and you didn’t know how long you would survive. How long Chan would be here. You didn’t even know where your family was or where your friends were. They could very well be infected, or dead-

You inhale a shaky breath, catching Chan’s attention.

“Y/n, you okay?”

“Mhmm, yeah.” You turn your head to dry your tears against Chan’s jacket. “I’m fine.”

It was a weak attempt at a lie, and a sob rips through your throat. Putting a hand to your mouth, you try to stay quiet. Chan’s eyes widen in shock and he quickly moves to your side, putting a hand on your arm and comforting you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He frowns at his words. “Sorry, that’s a stupid question. Don’t cry, y/n, please don’t cry.”

Had it been anyone else, you’d have thought that they feared your crying would draw the attention of the zombies. But you could hear the worry and care in Chan’s voice.

“Sorry, I just-” You force yourself to sit up, a shuddering breath enters and exits your body. It’s followed by two more as you wipe your tears away. “Sorry.”

“Hey, no need to apologise.” Chan bends his head, trying to catch your eyes. “We’ll figure this out, okay?”

You nod, because that’s all there really is to do. There’s no point arguing and bringing up the negatives. It had been a hard few days for everyone, and there were more days to come. Everyone knew that. There was no point focusing on the negatives.

“Go to sleep, y/n.”

The short cry had worn you out, had let the ache of a whole day’s travel fall onto you. You rest your head down, and Chan watches you as you do. You look up at him, trying not to sniffle like a little kid. You weren’t a little kid anymore, needing him to look out for you. 

Chan offers you a reassuring smile.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” you ask, already feeling your muscles melt at the chance to rest.

“I’ll sleep after you.” He’s stroking your hair, pushing it out of your face

“You won’t go? You’ll stay here all night?”

So much for not being a little kid anymore.

“Of course. I care about you, y/n.” As you close your eyes, you feel him place a kiss on your temple. “We’ll get through all this together. I promise.”

[pogueshomecoming]

Best Friend

requested? yes: JJ and reader are dating but they get into a fight and the reader turns to her best friend John B for help.

pairing(s): mainly platonic John B x reader with romantic JJ x reader at the end

fill out this survey to join my taglist(s), here’s my masterlist, and requests are open

warnings: descriptions of a mild argument, swearing, not much else. JJ being cute at the end.

word count: 1.4k

++

You couldn’t decide if you were angry or sad about the fight you and JJ just had. Mostly mad at yourself for letting it go so far because you could’ve stopped it.

It started with arguing about something simple. Now you can’t even remember the details, but it escalated to the fact that JJ never wanted to get married, and you did. Questions about his motives and doubts about your entire relationship were brought up, and instead of saying you’ll agree to disagree, you both stomped off with anger written all over your faces.

So now, you’re arriving at John B’s place. You knew John B before JJ and the others. He’s been your best friend since you can remember. Your parents took legal custody of him so he could stay in the Outer Banks.

JJ wouldn’t be here. He probably went to find Pope and rant about the fight to him, just like you were about to do to John B.

“John B? Are you home?” You open the door without hearing any answer.

“Hey! Y/N, down here.” You turn around to see him waving at you from the Pogue.

“Oh, thank god.” A sigh of relief leaves your mouth as you jog down to the dock.

“What’s up? You good?” It’s like John B could see the steam coming out of your ears.

“No. I fought with JJ. Need to vent about it, you okay with that? Okay. Thanks.” You step onto the boat, giving John B no choice.

“Yeah, that’s fine, but we’re taking the Pogue out for a test drive. I think I fixed her.”

“Okay, whatever.”

John B pulls the boat out onto the marsh. You’re not going to talk while the boat is in motion because you can see John B analyzing everything about it. How it runs, the noises it’s making, the mechanics. You’re not going to complain, it gives you time to figure out what to say to him.

Until the boat sputters and starts losing speed until you’re at a complete stop. The boat rocks a little as the wake dissipates.

“Fuck. Okay, you start talking, and I’m going to start working again.” He waits for you to nod before he gets his tools back out. You move to the front of the boat out of his way.

“First, I was telling him about an argument my parents had, but I meant for it to be funny. Like, it was about how they were washing clothes, and they ended up not talking for an hour. Just because my dad didn’t want to sort the clothes, but she did. I was trying to tell him it was amusing that something that little could still aggravate them after so many years cause that’s the kind of thing you argue about when you’ve just moved in together, right?”

“Mhm, right.” John B doesn’t look at you, but he lets you know he’s listening.

“And then, out of nowhere, JJ is like ‘yeah, that’s fucking stupid and I’ll never get married cause of things like that.’ And I just looked at him, like what the hell? That’s not even what we were talking about? So I called him ridiculous for saying that. He said it wasn’t ridiculous because every marriage he’s seen turns to shit. Which isn’t true, because my parents are still together, so are Popes and Kies. After that, he spent ten minutes listing all the reasons why marriage is stupid and why he’d never even consider it. I got my feelings hurt. I questioned why he was dating me if he didn’t want to get married, and then he was getting defensive because ‘we aren’t that serious,’ so I got more upset. We’ve been together for a year, John B. We’re seventeen, obviously not ready for marriage, but I’d consider it serious?”

John B sits up, looking at you, his lips pressed together in a straight line, his head moving from side to side while he thinks. “So... you’re arguing about marriage at seventeen.”

“Yes, obviously, it’s stupid. But we’ll get there, don’t you think we’re considered serious?”

Your best friend has to weigh his options here. He sees the expectant look on your face. He also knows that JJ has never considered a relationship serious in his life, but JJ hasn’t ever had a girlfriend like you before. John B knows what you want his answer to be.

“Well, I’m not sure if I’m a fair judge because I’m spent 12 hours with a girl and decided I loved her. If it were me, yeah, I’d say a year was serious. But me and JJ aren’t the same so you-“

“Thank you. Anyway, we both started yelling. I don’t remember the details of that part, but eventually, he says,’ Well, if that’s what you want the outcome to be, we shouldn’t be together because I won’t do it.’ And I yell ‘fine!’ And he yells ‘fine!’ And then I stomped off and ended up at your house.” You cross your arms, letting out a sigh.

John B is silent for a few moments, eyes focused on his tools. You have to clear your throat for him to look at you again.

“Oh, so technically you broke up, you didn’t just fight.” He sits back, resting his chin in his palm.

“Uh, yeah. I guess so. Oh god, I didn’t even realize it. I was so angry and heated at the moment. What the Fuck? John B! What am I supposed to do? Why would we break up because of a conversation about marriage at seventeen? Shit. We have to go back so I can talk to him.” You run your fingers through your hair and then press your fingertips to your temples.

“Hey, it’ll be fine.” John B stands and comes to sit next to you. An arm slings around your shoulders, and he pulls you into his side. “I think JJ will realize how stupid it was just like you did. You both know you said things you didn’t mean, so it’ll work itself out. JJ would be stupid to let something like this ruin the best relationship he’s ever had, and I’m not just saying that because you’re my best friend.”

“Thanks, JB. You really think he’ll come around?” Your cheek rests on his shoulder, but you look up at him from where you are.

“Yeah, I do. And if not, he gets his ass whooped for breaking your heart.” A smile rises to his cheeks, and you both laugh.

“Alright, so can you fix this thing? There’s someone I need to talk to.”

The sound of a boat nearing brings John B’s attention away from you.

“Looks like he came to you first.”

You lift your head to see The Phantom, and JJ behind its wheel. Pope is with him, waving with a big smile.

“Need a tow?” JJ yells.

“That’s my boys.” John B stands up and laughs. He starts to get out the ropes to tie onto the bigger boat. Pope does the same, and you’re left to look at JJ, who’s already got his eyes on you.

“What are you doing here? How did you know?” You ask.

“Well, I said some idiotic things to my girlfriend, who I adore and love with everything I have, and I needed to apologize. Oh, uh, and I knew the Pogue was being shitty, and I knew John B wouldn’t be able to wait until someone else looked at it to take it out... so there’s that too.” JJ smirks at you, and you roll your eyes but giggle at the same time.

“What did I tell you, Y/N?” You look back at John B and he smirks. “The best friend is always right.”

You roll your eyes but nod at him anyway. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“If you two are done being sappy, I’d like for my cute ass girlfriend to join me over here on this boat, please,” JJ yells out.

“I’m coming!”

++

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taglist: @pogue-h

(I couldn’t decide whether to label this for John b or JJ so I’m putting it under both lol I apologize)