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bloody-bee-tea · 1 year ago

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24 Days of Satosugu 2023 Day 11 - Direct

Satoru stares up at the tattoo shop in front of him, dread pooling in his gut. He never thought of stepping foot into one of these, never even wasted a moment to think about getting a tattoo and now that he has to he feels vaguely sick.

He wonders if it’s too late to turn back, or if he simply can make a run for it still, but he knows that it’s futile. Shoko will know and then she’ll be merciless for at least another year, and rightfully so.

Satoru lost that bet and the stakes were exactly this: getting a tattoo at a tattoo parlour of his choice.

“Fuck me,” Satoru sighs out, before he straightens up and steps into the shop. It’s kind of homey and not at all what Satoru expected; there are warm colours everywhere, it’s decently warm in the shop and soft music is coming from a speaker somewhere.

It would be a nice place to stay if it didn’t mean that Satoru would have to get some ink into his body.

“Hello there,” a voice calls out to him, and Satoru’s eyes snap to the person behind the counter.

It feels a bit as if the entire air is being sucked out of him, because the guy is hot in a way that makes Satoru believe his image might have been taken directly out of his head.

“Hi,” Satoru breathes out and the guy gives him a kind smile.

“First time?” he asks and there is real sympathy in his voice as if it isn’t strange at all to see a grown-ass man nervous like this.

“Yeah, that easy to tell, huh?” Satoru asks, scratching the back of his head.

“You get an eye for it over the years,” the guy explains with a shrug. “I’m Geto Suguru, what can I help you with today?” he then asks and Satoru warily steps closer to the counter as if a tattoo could jump at him any moment.

“I’m here to get a tattoo,” Satoru says, trying to put some conviction in his voice but he knows he failed when Suguru raises an eyebrow at him.

“Are you now? Could have fooled me,” he laughs out and Satoru is mesmerized by him.

“Rude,” he still gets out somehow and feels strangely accomplished when it makes Suguru laugh again.

Satoru thinks that might be a sound he could get addicted to.

“Are you certain you want to get a tattoo? We also offer piercings, if that’s more to your liking,” Suguru offers after a moment and Satoru wishes he could get a piercing instead, but the bet was specifically about getting a tattoo.

“I am,” Satoru lies straight through his teeth and Suguru levels him with a look.

“Sure,” he replies, clearly not believing a word Satoru said but he does lean on the counter, looking expectantly at Satoru. “What kind of motive were you thinking, then?” he wants to know and it brings Satoru up short.

He didn’t think about a motive. He didn’t even think of a place where he could stomach getting a tattoo yet and it must show on his face because Suguru snorts.

“I see you came perfectly prepared.” He walks around the counter and shows Satoru a little seating area. “We have portfolios of our artists here. Why don’t you browse through them and see if anything catches your eye. If that happens, we can talk it over. Alternatively, we can brainstorm and I can draw something for you.”

“You’re a tattoo artist?” Satoru blurts out and briefly looks Suguru over.

There are no visible tattoos on him, and it’s kind of throwing Satoru off if he’s being honest.

“I am. Not everything has to be visible,” Suguru tells him with a wink and Satoru has to fight the urge to ask him to undress.

“Huh,” he instead somehow gets out and allows Suguru to push him down on the couch, dropping a folder into his hand.

“Go through these. I’m right here so if you have questions, feel free to ask, alright?”

“Thanks,” Satoru mutters, staring at the folder in his hands as if it’s going to bite him and then he turns because he’d rather watch Suguru walk away.

It’s a sight to behold, that’s for sure and it’s only when he vanishes deeper into the shop that Satoru turns his attention back to the folder.

He flips through it, before he takes the next one and then the next and while there are some nice and even beautiful artworks in there, nothing speaks to him.

Satoru thinks he is perfectly able to appreciate all of them on someone else’s body but he simply cannot imagine any of them on his own.

“So, how is it going?” Suguru asks eventually, having returned from whatever it is he was doing in the back and Satoru leans back with a sigh. “I see,” Suguru chuckles out and sits down next to Satoru. “A more personal approach might be it, then.”

Satoru isn’t sure where he got the sheets of paper and the pencil from but they are in Suguru’s lap now and he’s looking expectantly at Satoru.

“What kind of motive would you like?”

None, Satoru wants to say but he can already hear Shoko laughing at him, and he’s not going to give her that satisfaction.

“A butterfly?” Satoru blurts out, because it’s the first thing on his mind after seeing approximately twenty in the folders and Suguru freezes momentarily before he presses his lips together as if he’s trying to suppress a smile.

“Sure,” he easily agrees and then Satoru has the agonising pleasure of Suguru swiftly sketching him something.

Satoru is never going to admit it but he’s completely mesmerized by Suguru’s hand, by the swift and sure moves it makes and he certainly doesn’t do a double take when he spots a hint of dark ink at the base of Suguru’s hand.

“Like this?” Suguru asks after not even five minutes and shows Satoru a beautiful, delicate butterfly.

“It’s gorgeous,” Satoru says, because it is but still. It’s not something he wants on his body.

“But you’re not convinced,” Suguru easily reads off his face and Satoru shrugs.

“I’m just—not decided yet.”

“How about this then,” Suguru says and hides the butterfly away again.

Satoru hopes that it will eventually see the light of day again, even if it’s on someone else’s body, because it’s simply too pretty to hide away.

“You think about it some more and when you have a more concrete idea, you come back. I’m here most days, so we can figure out what you truly want. How does that sound?”

It sounds a bit as if Suguru is asking him out for a date, Satoru thinks before he vehemently pushes that thought away. Suguru is at work and he’s just being professional. It’s completely inappropriate for Satoru to think something like that.

“Sounds good,” he weakly says and certainly doesn’t mourn when Suguru gets up and walks away from him again.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you again, then,” Suguru tells him with a small smile and it occurs to him that Satoru never even told him his name.

“Satoru. Gojo Satoru,” he introduces himself belatedly, and Suguru’s smile grows bigger.

“Until the next time then, Satoru.”

~*~*~

Satoru is back in the tattoo shop three days later. He still doesn’t want a tattoo and he barely has an idea what he possibly could accept on his skin, but he wants to see Suguru again. He wants to hear him talk again and he wants to see him work again.

“Satoru, you’re back,” Suguru greets him when he steps into the shop and it makes Satoru freeze in surprise.

“Suguru, hi,” he finally gives back, his mind whirring because Suguru remembered his name.

“Are your thoughts any clearer now? Do you have an idea you want to discuss?”

“Yeah, actually,” Satoru lies straight through his teeth and waves a sheet of paper at Suguru.

He did come somewhat prepared after all.

“Oh,” Suguru says, clearly surprised himself and he comes around to take the paper out of Satoru’s hand.

“I’d like something like this, maybe. But—I’d like you to draw it,” Satoru says, because he can’t get Suguru’s butterfly out of his head.

It was just a sketch, done in no time at all, but something about it was so beautiful, so fragile—Satoru simply wants to see Suguru draw something again.

“I see,” Suguru says, folding the paper back up again before he hands it back to Satoru. “Take a seat, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Satoru does and true to his word Suguru is there before Satoru can do something stupid, like miss him.

“Didn’t take you for a flower guy,” Suguru idly mutters as his pencil flies over the paper and Satoru doesn’t actually know what to say to that so he simply shrugs.

Suguru gives him a smile in return, which feels like more than Satoru deserves, because he has no intention of getting that flower tattooed. At this point, he’s simply hogging Suguru’s attention and keeping him from his work.

“Listen, I can see that you’re still kind of uncertain about this,” Suguru says, still drawing and not meeting Satoru’s eyes. “I have a long-time client come in soon, I think he’d be fine if you’d want to watch him get a new tattoo? If that would help?”

“I—” Satoru cuts himself off. He has no intention of getting a tattoo, ever; it would just be a waste of time for him to stay and it will probably only be a disappointment for Suguru. “Sure,” he finds himself saying anyway and his stomach lurches a little when Suguru gives him a smile at that.

“I’ll ask Sukuna when he comes in, which should be right about—”

The door opens and a heavily tattooed guy comes in. He looks scary as hell, if Satoru is being honest, but then he gives Suguru a big grin and suddenly he’s not so scary at all anymore.

“Geto!” he calls out and Suguru waves at him.

“Sukuna, hey,” he gives back, getting up. “Listen, this is Satoru. He’s still a little nervous about his first tattoo, and I thought it might be a good idea if he could watch today? Maybe that’ll settle his nerves.”

“Sure thing,” Sukuna gives back with a thumbs up. “First times are scary.”

He says it without judgment just like Suguru is acting as if there’s nothing wrong with Satoru being hesitant, and nervous and undecisive. Satoru would have never thought these people to be so welcoming if he’s being honest and he is a little bit appalled at his own prejudice.

“Thanks, man,” he replies and then he’s being swept away by Suguru and Sukuna.

He stays the entire appointment, if only to have Suguru explain everything in that soothing voice he has, but when he stumbles out of the shop three hours later, Satoru knows one thing for certain.

He’s never going to get a tattoo.

~*~*~

Satoru is back not even two days later and Suguru laughs right in his face.

“Very rude,” Satoru huffs out, already turning on his heel to walk back out again, but Suguru quickly comes around the corner and catches the sleeve of Satoru’s sweater.

“No, Satoru, stay, it’s just—you looked like hell last time you walked out of here, I didn’t expect to see you again.”

It hadn’t been the most pleasant experience, watching Sukuna get that tattoo but Satoru is ashamed to hear that Suguru noticed.

“Yeah, well—” Satoru says and then doesn’t actually know how to finish the sentence.

“What are you here for?” Suguru wants to know, a sparkle in his eyes and Satoru shrugs, looking to the side.

“I thought maybe we could brainstorm some more,” he weakly says, knowing that no matter what gorgeous design Suguru comes up for him, it will never see the light of day, and Suguru seems to know the same, because he shakes his head.

“Listen, Satoru. It’s painfully obvious that you’re not a tattoo guy. You don’t want one. I can only guess as to why you stepped foot in here for the first time, but it certainly wasn’t to get a tattoo.”

Satoru deflates, even though there’s no judgement in Suguru’s voice.

“It’s a dare. I have to get a tattoo,” Satoru admits and Suguru shakes his head.

“Never let something like a dare decide this. That’s just stupid.”

“Don’t I know it,” Satoru sighs out and Suguru belatedly lets go of him. “Shoko will laugh at me for the rest of my life, though.”

“And your poor ego couldn’t take it,” Suguru says in sympathy and then laughs when Satoru pouts at him. “Okay, hear me out, and I might be overstepping here,” Suguru then says and Satoru is all ears immediately. “You’re not a tattoo guy and yet you keep coming back which makes me wonder, not gonna lie,” Suguru tells him.

Satoru prays to all the gods he knows that he doesn’t flush as brightly as he feels right now, but when Suguru smirks at him he knows it’s a lost cause.

“Why don’t you take the direct approach to whatever it is you want?”

“Because this is your workplace and it would be kind of inappropriate to ask you out here?” Satoru blurts out and then fights the urge so slap a hand over his mouth.

“I own this shop. If I find it inappropriate I’ll ban you, easy as that. So why don’t you try it out?”

There’s not much Satoru has to try out, not with the way Suguru looks at him, he’s certain of that and so Satoru takes a deep breath.

“Hi, I’m Satoru. Would you like to go for a coffee with me?” he asks, almost feeling not at all stupid and something warm blooms in his chest when Suguru smiles brightly at him.

“Hi, I’m Suguru, and it would be my pleasure. I leave in an hour.”

Satoru matches his smile and thinks that if everything could be as easy as this, then he might even get a tattoo one day.

Not today, though, because today he has a date with the cutest tattoo artist he knows.

(Satoru does eventually get a tattoo. Suguru asks him to trust him and so Satoru does; he walks out with a little infinity symbol on his hipbone, the initials S and G tattooed in the loops. Suguru never tells him if those are supposed to stand for Satoru’s name or Suguru’s own and Satoru thinks, in the end, it doesn’t matter. It will always be them, together, anyway.)

#bt writes #jjk #24 days of satosugu 2023 #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #no curses au #tattoo parlor au #tattoo artist geto suguru #flirting #fluff

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wheelsup · 3 years ago

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the taming of the shrew | two

if i be waspish, best beware my sting

after some setbacks, penelope is willing to do anything to get you back on board. but has spencer already ruined things?

A/N: hello! im so sorry that this posting schedule is super inconsistent. the more i thought about this chapter, the less i liked the more technical aspects of it. but! i hope you enjoy to plot aspect of it nonetheless <3 thanks for reading!

category: fluff, slow burn series, spencer reid x fem!reader

wc: 4.4k

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Since that phone call with Penelope, she’d been over nearly every night for a week with plates of treats and onslaughts of apologies. Each time she came knocking, you told her there was no amount of persuasion that could change your mind. And yet the following night, she’d be there, a new type of pastry in hand and a new set of reasons why Spencer was worth the trouble.

First, she brought blueberry muffins and reasoned that deep below that prickly exterior, he really was everything she promised –– sweet and caring. But that must be deep, deep down. Like, The Lost City of Atlantis, deep down, because you didn’t expect it to surface any time soon.

Then, she brought fudge brownies and explained that his behavior wasn’t personal –– he was getting snippy with everyone lately. And while you maintained that anybody would have a hard time getting along with Spencer, you were absolutely positive that it was now impossible for you.

Quite frankly, it wasn’t just Spencer who was unwilling to play nice. You hated him. More than you’ve ever hated a stranger.

You wished him a lifetime riddled with minor inconveniences that would drive him to the edge of insanity. You wanted him to miss all his trains by just a quarter of a minute; close enough so that he could see it leave the platform, knowing he almost made it on. You wanted him to constantly feel like he was about to sneeze. You wanted his socks to be perpetually wet, and if he should happen to put on a dry pair? You hoped he stepped in a puddle.

That was all you could think about as you laid out on your couch, munching on one of Penelope’s lemon bars while she paced around your apartment. She kept going on and on advertising Spencer to you. As annoying as it was, she was also saving you a ton on groceries that week.

For the most part, you filtered her out. Not a single word that came out of her mouth was believable anymore, especially not when she was talking about Spencer. Despite what Penelope thought of him, you saw in him what she refused to accept.

As her speech came to a close, she looked at you like she expected a response to dignify her prattling.

“Give it a rest, Penelope. He’s a lost cause,” you laughed dryly. “He doesn’t need –– nor does he want –– anyone in his life.” At the very least, he definitely didn’t want you.

“Yes, that’s the problem!” If you’d been listening to her, you would’ve heard her saying the same thing. “He doesn’t want to date!”

Your head just about exploded when she said that.

There had been countless, fruitless conversations about this, and all along she saw the gaping hole in her supposedly airtight plan?

“If he doesn’t want to DATE, then WHAT was the point of this?!” Your fingers pressed the bridge of your nose; you suddenly felt a headache coming on. Funny how it always happened around the time of day that Penelope came to visit.

Penelope stopped pacing. She stalked over to your couch, picked your legs up by your ankle, and moved them to make space for herself. You begrudgingly sat upright as she took her place beside you.

“Because he’s not himself anymore. He’s not open like he used to be. Not to the people who care about him the most, and certainly not to the world.”

Penelope toyed with the hem of her dress, distracting herself from her quivering lip before pressing on, “Spencer Reid has always wanted love. And it’s not right that he no longer believes he can have it.”

You hadn’t seen Penelope look so desperate until now. It was concerning. Because what could make her look so hopeless? What could make Spencer so hopeless?

“Penelope, I don’t know what’s wrong with your little friend, but… there’s a lot more bubbling inside him than you’re letting on.”

She chewed up the insides of her cheeks, wincing to herself at your incredibly accurate claim.

“You are hiding something, aren’t you?” You narrowed your eyes on her. You were no detective, or whatever exactly her team did, but she was just awful at concealing her thoughts.

“It’s not my story to tell,” she murmured.

She could already feel herself about to give it away and doubled down her mental defenses against it. Focusing extra hard on keeping Spencer’s privacy intact. If only you knew her track record with secrets, you’d be proud of her for staying quiet this long.

“What isn’t your story?”

“That his girlfriend died last year.”

She spilled it before she even realized what she was saying. You’d just asked so nonchalantly that she forgot she was talking aloud. Penelope turned purple, terrified now that the whole truth was out there.

You couldn’t even take satisfaction in the fact that your trick worked. You were just as mortified as Penelope, and if you weren’t already sitting down, you knew you’d need to. You assumed there was something deeper going on with him, you didn’t think it was a dead girlfriend. That was some Nicholas Sparks shit.

“He pretends like he’s fine but I know he’s not. And if he found a way to move on, maybe he’d start feeling as okay as he claims to be,” she sniffled before snot could run from her nose, tears lining the rims of her eyes. “I know I should’ve given you the full picture, but I didn’t think you’d go for it if you knew…”

You were too floored to process it all right away. This added a whole new layer of complicated to an already uneasy arrangement.

“Well, I know you’re right about one thing. I would’ve said no.”

She gave you a set of pleading eyes, praying you’d see where she was coming from.

“I know,” she whispered defeatedly. “But maybe... now that you know, you can understand why he acts out the way he does.”

“Penelope, I can’t just… make someone move on, or –– or get them to believe in love! Especially when it’s fake.”

How on Earth did she expect you to pull that off? Did that guy from A Walk to Remember move on when Mandy Moore died? You hadn’t seen the ending of the movie, but you assumed not.

“I’m sorry, this is just… a lot bigger than the favor I thought it was ––”

“What if I could return it?” she cut in. The gears in her head started to turn, figuring ways to patch up the holes she made.

“There’s nothing I need from you.”

That couldn’t be true. Penelope looked around the room and it didn’t take her long to think of it.

“I can help you sell your art,” she tempted, gesturing to the scattered canvases. “You make all your income from this, right?”

You didn’t want to give any fuel to her fire, but you nodded. “What if… what if you didn’t have to settle for local buyers? What if I told you that you could make way more money selling them to the whole world?”

You chortled at her idea.

You were a local artist, through and through. Your art got put in local galleries and sold to local buyers. Nothing more, and that was fine with you. You realized it a long time ago that it was just a pipe dream to think you’d be more.

“I’m serious! You could get a separate painting studio, and stop living in one? Huh?” She wrapped her hand around your shoulder, waving the other in the air, urging you to picture it with her. “Imagine this: a kitchen that’s separate from your living room. A bed, inside it’s own four walls, and more than twelve feet from where you cook your meals.”

Pushing aside her so blatantly insulting your apartment, if that were a possibility, you’d want nothing more. But it already sounded foolish and you hadn’t even heard how she planned to pull it off.

“Penelope, I’m fine where I am. I make the money I need, and that’s... it’s fine.”

She gave you a pointed look. “You know, I can hack all search engine results to make sure you are what comes up first anytime someone enters the word ‘painting’, right?

An airy chuckle left your lips. Of course she could. You patted her thigh twice and stood up, prompting her to follow you to your door –– hopefully, so she can show herself to the other side of it. “Still no, Pen.”

“Just take some time to think about it!” Her voice carried through the wood as you shut it on her.

There was this one bench in Kenilworth Park – the one that overlooks the crystal clear pond – that you’d always been able to rely on to fix any problem.

There was hidden magic in the bushes that sprawled out from the edges of the water, surrounded by spiky green blades of overgrown grass. A simplicity you loved in baby ducklings paddling into the tiny body of water, swimming close together so they don’t get lost in, what seems to them, a whole ocean. And clarity provided by the freshest air in the world, under the shade of the big oak trees on a late summer afternoon.

But at the present, none of that came close to being enough.

The artist’s block started off as a minor inconvenience, but without your permission, had stretched into weeks of steadily declining motivation. Each new idea felt even worse than the last, and you were acutely aware that there would come a point where you’d officially hit maximum capacity for how awful they could get.

Still, that didn’t seem to light a fire under you. You happily coexisted with the blank pages of your sketchbook. Staring down at them, laying open on your lap in their stark-white glory, you felt like you were playing a waiting game. If you stared long and hard enough, maybe they’d flinch.

Unfortunately, you never got to find out who won, because your phone rang inside your pocket. As if the caller had interrupted an incredible genius at work (which couldn’t be farther from the truth), you hastily raised the phone to your ear, slamming your sketchbook shut.

“Hello?” Your voice wasn’t as kind as it could be for someone with nothing better to be doing. Two seconds later, you learned who was calling and came to regret it.

“Hi, This is Rebecca from District Arts, calling with a message from Andre ––”

“Oh, hi!” you tried to walk back your previous tone, straightening up in your seat and pitching your voice higher, “Yeah, I’ve been waiting to hear from him!”

While Rebecca intimidated you, Andre happened to be your closest friend at the gallery. He worked closely with the artists to curate their collection and help them make sales.

“Does he want to sort out what to set the opening bid prices at for my new pieces?” A handful of days ago, you sent him pictures of your new work and were waiting to hear his thoughts. You’d always been able to trust his opinion, and a vote of confidence from him might be just the thing to inspire you.

“Uhm…” There was a criminally long pause on the other side of the line, ended by Rebecca’s weary inhale. “Unfortunately, we’re calling to inform you that your pieces will not be included in the next rotation.”

For a minute, you weren’t sure what to make of what she said. You’d never heard those words before.

“What – what do you mean?” you laughed nervously. She probably misspoke. Perks of friendship aside, Andre always included you in sets.

“Ugh, let me just get him…” her voice faded away as she put the phone down.

That wasn’t exactly the reassuring statement you were looking for. In the time it took for the call to switch hands, your confusion finally melted in. And then quickly boiled into anger.

The District Arts gallery changed their entire collection every two months. The pieces shown accepted rolling bids throughout the full eight weeks, finally selling at the end of term to their highest offer. After that, the pieces got taken down, sent to happy new owners, and the entire gallery reset with entirely new works.

So if you missed one rotation, that meant waiting two months to get back in.

“Andre, how am I just cut from the gallery!” you barked before he could get a word in. If he didn’t like your work, he could’ve just said so.

“No one said that ––”

“Okay, let me rephrase.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, something you found yourself doing quite frequently lately, and took a deep breath in and out. It was seemingly just for show because it did absolutely nothing to calm you down. “Why wouldn’t you put me in the next set? I’m in all of them!”

“I know you are!” He sounded just as upset. “It’s just that… we give you the biggest space we have, because you always manage to fill it up. But this time… I’m not so sure you can.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed. “What makes you say that?” You asked that, but you knew.

“You’ve only finished three pieces… I’m worried how you’ll deliver seven more before we set up.”

“But… it’s four weeks away, I could do ––”

“And it took you four weeks to make what you have... I’m sorry. We couldn’t take that gamble.”

He took your silence as an opportunity to turn off the work talk and speak, just friend to friend.

“You know that I trust you and I’d hold that spot if I could. But, I also know what you’re going through right now, and… I don’t know, maybe letting yourself rest would be a good thing?”

Your heart paused. By, “knowing what you’re going through”, you assumed he didn’t mean the little artist’s block.

“If you’re implying that I can’t do my job because of what happened with Cyrus –”

“I’m not, I’m not....” he backtracked as quickly as he could. “But take another look at the paintings you showed me and tell me if they feel like you.”

Even if he was right, you wanted to fight him. You wanted to cry. You wanted to beg that you didn’t need that big space; you were willing to downsize and just turn in the three that you had. Even if they got shoved into the corner where hardly anybody bothered to look. You just couldn’t afford to go two months without the income.

But even with tears beading up, you realized that the gallery couldn’t afford it either. They needed to bring in money and you couldn’t do that for them this time. So they were right to go to someone who can.

“Right,” you sniffled, recollecting yourself so he can’t hear the shakiness in your voice. “I understand. It’s a big risk, like you said… It’s for the better.”

Andre tried to thank you for being understanding and spewed some sort of encouragement. The words flew over your head. You managed to toss in a few ‘mhmm’s and ‘sure’s at the right places to coast you along until the call finally ended.

As soon as it went dead, you dropped your phone to the side and brought your hands to your face, rubbing them furiously over your cheeks. Your fingertips pressed hard into your eyelids, trying to forcibly reabsorb the tears threatening to spill.

It almost worked, until you tried to breathe.

A full sob escaped in that one gulp of air and you succumbed to it. But the loud crunching noise of some pedestrian walking over the falling leaves destroyed your sense of privacy, and you quickly wiped away all signs of your breakdown. The crunching stopped just short of your bench and on instinct you flicked your eyes up to see who the intruder was.

You did a double take. It was him. That fucking asshole.

He was standing there, looking dumber than you could even remember, with his hands in his coat pockets and a curious look on his face as he watched you cry. Tucking your sketchbook under your arm in haste, you made it a point to stand up with as much aggression as possible, rolling your eyes at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” you barked. “No need to yell at me this time.”

You bristled past him, barely refraining yourself from checking his shoulder as payback. You wanted to believe you were better than him, but it did sound incredibly tempting. He stood there for a moment before turning on his heel and following you.

“Wait,” he groaned.

You didn’t listen, neither stopping nor slowing down.

“I said wait,” he huffed as he caught up to you, popping up at your side and jogging along as you kept going.

“Yeah, because I need to listen to a guy who yells at strangers in bookstores.”

Now that you’d brought up the elephant in the room, your feet started moving even faster, working double time to get you away from him.

Damn the fact that he had those long legs. He didn’t even break a sweat trying to keep up. He was inescapable.

“Well, if you waited like I asked, you would’ve gotten an apology for the ––”

“Gee, thanks!” you yelled, stopping for only a second to turn to him and give him a mocking bow of your head, hands clasped together like you were praising at his altar. “I was waiting with bated breath for that! Thank you, kind sir, for now my life can go on.”

“Look, I’m actually sorry,” he snapped. Then in realizing the irony, softened his voice, “I’m sorry for being rude. I was having a bad day… not that that’s an excuse.”

You stared at him blankly, just watching his mouth moving quickly and waiting until it finally stopped.

“Did you need something?”

“Did you… did you not hear what I just said?!”

“No, sorry,” you smiled, voice sweet like sugar. “My ears filter bullshit. Wanna try again?”

He scoffed, looking away like he couldn’t believe you before stepping even closer. “What’s your problem?”

“Me!? The fuck –– what the fuck is your problem?” You turned and stormed off again, seething at his audacity. Spencer just couldn’t relent his annoying tendencies and followed yet again.

“My problem is that I’m trying to be nice, and you’re not letting me!”

You got a good, hard laugh out of that. “Okay, first of all, having to apologize for yelling at me and pushing me isn’t exactly the best starting point for the journey of becoming a nice person.”

“Like I said, I was having a bad day.”

Under your breath, you muttered, “Well, I hope this one’s even worse.”

“Why are you such a ––” He stopped himself from finishing that thought. Even in his worst mood, he wouldn’t cross that line.

But he didn’t need to finish it, you knew exactly where he wanted to take it. The soles of your shoes scraped against the loose gravel as you came to a grinding halt, ears ringing.

“A what?” You turned to face him, a sarcastic smile on your face growing wider as he started to shrink more and more. You got up close in his face, daring him to say what he really wanted to. So he could reinforce your belief in exactly the type of person he was. “A what?”

Spencer pursed his lips and shook his head, refusing to say it no matter how much you challenged him. If he wasn’t going to have the balls to say it, you decided to take it upon yourself.

“Tell you what, you keep thinking about it and get back to me the next time you’re in a cunty mood.”

The word he was thinking of was probably not as bad, but you had a habit of escalating things. Even if you took this one too far, you didn’t care.

Before you tried to take off again, Spencer’s hand flew to your elbow. He tugged you back, forcing you to turn around and face him. He didn’t know his own strength; without any resistance, you came stumbling into his chest, at risk of falling over if it weren’t for his tight grip on your arm.

It took you a beat to push him away with both your hands on his chest, vocalizing your disgust for being so close to him.

“Can you stop trying to disagree with me for a second? I’m trying to tell you that you’re right, I was being a… well, you know…” He avoided the word. Apparently ‘cunt’ was where he drew the line. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.”

Your nostrils were still flared and blood hot as ever, but he made you pause. He looked sincere, if not a little tinged with guilt as well. You were suspicious of it.

“You saw me crying and felt bad, didn’t you?”

He laughed darkly. “Well, I saw you, yes. Did I feel bad? No.”

“Oh, my God,” you growled, berating yourself for getting close to believing he might be capable of decency.

“I’m joking! I’m joking.” He squeezed your elbow twice in earnest. “I did feel bad, but that’s not why I wanted to say it.”

“Okay.” You weren’t ready to give him a real smile, so you flattened your lips into a thin line and nodded once slowly, and left it at that.

You still weren’t a fan, but the apology did dampen some of the resentment. Maybe he wasn’t the worst person alive. You’d settle for saying top ten most annoying, instead.

Minutes later, you came to the startling realization that he was still on the path, just two paces behind you. You flinched when you saw him out of the corner of your eye, not expecting him to still be here.

“Uhm. Where are you… why are you still following me?”

“I’m not. My car’s that way,” he gestured to the parking lot at the end of the long walkway. “I forgot my loaf for the ducks.” He didn’t mean to offer that information up, it just slipped out. He could practically see your smug expression coming before it even got there.

“You’re not supposed to feed bread to the ducks. It’s bad for them.”

“I don’t.” He didn’t care to explain this to you, but he couldn’t have you thinking he was any less competent than he really was. “It’s a special bread made from water and seeds that were ground into flour. It’s duck-safe.”

“They make duck-safe bread?” Now that was something you’d never heard before.

“No… I make duck-safe bread,” he said softly under his breath.

You didn’t know how else you were supposed to react to that besides laughing wildly.

“You make it?” He nodded like you were the crazy one here. As if he wasn’t the one spending his spare time grinding up seeds and baking loaves of bread for ducks, donning a frilly pink apron and oven mitts as he did so. At least that’s how you imagined it. “Why not just feed them the seeds?”

“Because, loose seeds will sink in the water and can potentially clog waterbeds and cause foreign bacteria growth in the pond.”

“So you… hand-make the seeds into a little loaf of bread so it doesn't do that?”

He confirmed. You pondered silently for a moment, then absolutely had to ask, “You ever eaten the duck bread before?”

Spencer was caught off guard by that question. His cheeks deepened to a rosy color.

“Yeah, well, it was the house so…” he laughed nervously and stared at his sneakers. “It’s actually not too bad.”

You weren’t entirely surprised by that. You remembered what his grocery basket looked like, and given those same options, you probably would’ve tried the duck bread too. Still, you cracked the smallest of grins at knowing he makes bread for ducks. The one, sole redeeming fact you’ve learned about Spencer.

You reached your car first, and Spencer stopped in front of it with you.

“I’m actually sorry, you know,” he whispered once more, hand resting at the top of your car door as you opened it. He wasn’t talking about the incident at the bookstore.

“Yeah…” For a while you were so busy being angry at Spencer that you forgot about your own problems.

He noticed your nose was still red around the edges, eyes still a little bleary. “Are you okay, by the way?” His voice was too soft, too genuine.

You shook your head no.

“Is there anything I can do?” You shook your head again. And then you had an awful thought.

You knew he was just offering to help just to say it, because that’s how people react when you say you’re not okay even if they don’t care. But there actually was something he could do for you… Something that Penelope could do.

“Uh, no but…” you fixed your hair and tucked it behind your ear, seamlessly switching to a flirtier voice. “If you still feel bad about the other day, you’re welcome to make it up to me.”

Spencer cocked his head to the side, unsure of how he could do that.

“Hang out with me sometime.”

“H-hang out?” You could tell that it flustered him, even if he tried to play it off. He swallowed thickly, nose twitching and brows scrunched together.

“Relax, I really do just mean hang out.” You were lying through your teeth. He didn’t need to know that.

As if he didn’t want to think about it for a second longer and just get out of this conversation as quickly as possible, he agreed without thinking it through. He didn’t even ask why an almost complete stranger would want to hang out with him.

You stuck your hand out, expecting him to hand over his cell so you could put your contact into it. He rocked on the balls of his feet, watching as you input your contact and sent yourself a text on his phone.

“Hi, this is…” you read out your message as you typed, pausing at just the right place. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Oh-uh, I’m Spencer.”

A devilish grin took over your face, hidden from his view while you were looking down at the screen. He was going to be easy to fool.

agh! im still not in love with how this chapter is turning out, but it came to a point where i just had to stop fiddling with it and just post it. any feedback or comments about this story is very much appreciated 💕

thank you so much for being on my taglist 💕

if you’d like to join, the link is at the top of my masterlist

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid series #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid slow burn #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid enemies to lovers #criminal minds fic #mgg

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markleesthighs · 4 years ago

Text

good 4 u

pairing: guitarist/singer!y/n (fem) x badboy!jeno

genre: angst, fluff (if you squint), smut, strangers to lovers to enemies

song: good 4 u by Olivia Rodrigo

a/n: mentions of cheating, breakup, depression, underaged drinking (please be safe!!) picture/GIF from @pureboyjun

Everyone told you to watch out, everyone warned you about him, Lee Jeno. You and Jeno weren’t in the same friend group, you were as what society called an “art freak” with streaks of colors in your hair and black eyeliner. You also always kept guitar picks with you, always wanting to sneak into the music room and practice on the electric guitar. The wannabe’s compared you to an Avril Lavigne-type girl. Your best friends were also your bandmates, supportive of you and your dream, unlike your parents. You and your parents had a deal, as long as you kept good grades you could continue to play music as a “hobby.”

You also worked at a music store, which is how you ran into Lee Jeno. He was looking for vinyl of a specific artist which happened to also be one of your favorites so you knew exactly where it was. He thanked you and you hoped that would be the last you’d see him. But he came in every day to talk to you and eventually had the courage to approach your lunch table. All your bandmates glared at Lee Jeno, knowing his reputation and his motives. Once he left they’d all trash him for trying to talk to you.

“y/n you shouldn’t really associate with him.”

“Yeah, all of his ‘fangirls’ will tear you to shreds.”

“Jeno hits and runs, you better stop talking to him before it turns into something dangerous. You’ll only get hurt.”

You didn’t think much of their words, since Jeno wasn’t really your type anyway. There’s no way you could ever fall for him. Oh boy, were you wrong. Jeno went out of his way to swoon you in any way he could. He’d walk you home at night, visit you in the music room and at work, he’d even invite you to his lunch table where you’d be met with his other ‘bad boy’ friends. He would get you your favorite coffee, just the way you like it, and get your lunch order so you wouldn’t wait in line. All of this attention grabbed the attention of his fangirls, constantly threatening you about how “Jeno is mine!” and bullshit like that. You honestly didn’t care because you reassured them you and Jeno were not dating.

That was until he invited you to a party, saying that you could meet his one friend that was also into music and could help you break out into the music industry. You agreed, excited to meet someone in the industry. When you arrived at the party, you met his friend who worked at Columbia Records, you bonded and everything got his contact information in hopes of getting an internship. Jeno met up with you again, asking you to repay him, in a game of fear pong (beer pong with truth or dare elements). You agreed, joining him on his team against Johnny and his girlfriend. One of the dares you guys had to do was make out for one minute or drink. You were about to drink when Jeno grabbed your face and started to make out with you.

God, did he taste good. His lips were soft brushing against yours the taste of beer and light cigarette smoke made his lips only more addictive. Everyone watching was hooting and hollering at the two of you. Jeno licked the bottom of your lip, which you opened your mouth to let his tongue enter, causing your tongues to fight for dominance. Jeno’s ultimately dominated and touched your throat. You gave a small moan which only made Jeno kiss you harder. Johnny coughed causing you two to stop.

“You realize you two were making out for like 5 minutes right?” Johnny laughed.

You pulled away but Jeno held on to you by your waist.

“What can I say, Suh, she tastes really good, I wanted to savor it.”

That made you blush. You guys continued the game and you and Jeno won, out of excitement (and slight intoxication) you kissed Jeno. He looked at you in shock and you apologized before he kissed you back. Since that game, you two were attached to the hip the whole night. Jeno didn’t feel safe letting you go home so he let you sleep with him in a bedroom upstairs. When you guys were tucking in for the night he wrapped his arm around you pulling you closer to him.

“y/n, I love you.”

You giggled “You’re drunk Jeno...get some rest.”

“No, I mean it.”

“You’re really funny.”

“Do you need me to prove it to you?” He spoke in a deep voice, shifting his body to hover above yours.

“If I didn’t love you do you think I’d be feeling like this right now?” Jeno whispered into your ear. When he leaned down you felt his member rock hard against your thigh.

“J-jeno, you’re confused, do you know what you’re doing right now?”

“If you want me to stop I’ll stop. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I can take care of myself in the bathroom if you don’t want to do it.”

As Jeno was moving off your body you wrapped your arms around his body to pull him back.

“N-no, stay, please.”

“Are you sure y/n, you sure you want to do this?”

“Y-yes.” Little did you know that you would regret sleeping with Lee Jeno.

Jeno kissed your lips softly, knowing how tired you both are. You felt his member twitching with every kiss. He moved on to your neck, leaving soft kisses and a purple mark on your collarbone. He moved all the way down your stomach down to your flower. He kissed your thighs and ate you out vigorously, he was sucked down on your clit while fingering you. You were trying to hide your moans but Jeno hit your sweet spot almost every single time, causing you to not be able to contain yourself. You were tugging and pulling at his har which also caused him to moan. You were about to climax when Jeno pulled away which caused you to whine and pout. Jeno kissed your pouty lips as he pulled out a condom from the drawer (be safe kids!) and tore it open and put it on his member.

He looked at you and asked again for your reassurance and you nodded.

“I’ll be slow and gentle I promise.”

He slowly slid into you as you clenched around him you squeezed your eyes from the pain, he was a lot bigger than you thought. Jeno moans harmoniously along with you as he waited for you to let him move.

“P-please m-move..”

Jeno smiled as with every thrust he kissed you, he made you feel comfortable in his arms.

“F-faster, please...”

“What’s my name?”

“J-jeno! Please!”

“That’s daddy to you.” He said as he thrusted harder inside of you.

“Y-yes, daddy, please go faster.”

“Good girl.”

Jeno pushed harder and faster as you moaned louder and louder, finally climaxing with Jeno. Jeno removed the condom and threw it in the trash as he walked to the bathroom and cleaned you up along with a few kisses.

“Hey Jeno?” Jeno turned to look at you.

“I love you too.”

After that night you and Jeno were going steady for a couple weeks until he ghosted you. He stopped talking to you and his friends would laugh at you or Jeno would tell you to go back to your old table. You heard their conversation as you were walking back.

“I can’t believe Jeno got her to sleep with him.”

“Easiest fucking $100 he’s ever made.”

When you went back to your bandmates you were broken. Endless nights of tears and suicidal thoughts swamped your mind. Why me? Why did I have to fall for his stupid trap? He only wanted me for some cheap cash huh? How can he just move on so easily? Did nothing we have mean anything? Well screw that and screw you, Lee Jeno.

“Hey y/n?” One of your bandmates asked.

“Battle of the bands' championship for the school is coming up, do you know what song we are going to cover?”

You looked at Jeno. “Oh, I fucking know what song we are going to sing.”

You and your bandmates got the sheet music for good 4 u by Olivia Rodrigo and practiced it until it became natural for everyone. Finally, the battle of the bands' championship occurred. It was hosted by your school to fundraise for the music program and scholarships. Before your group came up, you all huddled, and they all gave you the words of encouragement you needed to perform in front of Lee Jeno.

“Sing it from your heart bitch.”

“Kill him with those words.”

“Make him feel like the shit head he is.”

As they hyped you up, you felt much better as you all walked out to stand on the stage. You saw Jeno in the crowd with his new supposed girlfriend. You began playing the first notes on the guitar.

Well, good for you, I guess you moved on really easily You found a new girl and it only took a couple weeks Remember when you said that you wanted to give me the world?

You stared right into his eyes singing every lyric, letting him know what a scumbag he was for dating someone new in a few weeks when he confessed to you after he fucked your brains out. What kind of a person does that?

Now you can be a better man for your brand new girl

You raised your hand and pointed right at him and his new girl who looked like every other bitch who wanted to get with Jeno, you couldn’t compare to her, you had to show Jeno he made a mistake leaving you for $100. You wanted to make those $100 worth nothing because he left you for someone who’s only worth $1.

Well, good for you, you look happy and healthy, not me If you ever cared to ask Good for you, you're doin' great out there without me, baby God, I wish that I could do that

You sang you heart out to those lyrics almost feeling emotional. How could Jeno sit there with a smile on his face while you almost crying during this set. You then realized Lee Jeno is an emotionless piece of shit. But just this once, you wanted to see him cry.

I've lost my mind, I've spent the night Cryin' on the floor of my bathroom But you're so unaffected, I really don't get it But I guess good for you

It wasn’t fair that you cried endless tears, while Jeno came to school with a smile on his face. Your eyes would be dark and baggy from all the crying and endless sleep, but he came to school happier and brighter than ever, fuck you Lee Jeno.

It's like we never even happened Baby, what the fuck is up with that?

Everyone forgot about you and Jeno the moment he dropped you. How come everyone took his side and let this slide past everyone? Did no one care about how you felt? How humiliated you were? How can someone forget something like that?

And good for you, it's like you never even met me Remember when you swore to God I was the only Person who ever got you? Well, screw that and screw you You will never have to hurt the way you know that I do

Jeno and you became strangers, nobodies, to each other just back at square one, how did this happen? He would complain about how his friends would make fun of his music tastes and hobbies, making you think you were the only one who understood him and supported him. You wanted to make him feel guilt and shame for toying with you.

Maybe I'm too emotional But your apathy's like a wound in salt Maybe I'm too emotional Or maybe you never cared at all

You’ve thought about how you were the problem, that Jeno didn’t want you for you. He would act reassuring when you were in bed, but once he left you, he brushed off every concern you had. He never had any feelings for you. He never cared about you.

Before the final chorus you pulled out a picture of you and Jeno printed out on paper and one of your bandmates set it on fire. The picture of Jeno’s face starting to well up with tears when everyone in the gym started to stare at him. It was music to your ears.

Good for you, you're doin' great out there without me, baby Like a damn sociopath

You were now crying in the last chorus not out of sadness but out of joy, finally, Lee Jeno knows what it’s like to have his heartbroken. All of the other girls and guys were screaming and singing along with you, you were jumping and high-fiving all of them, rocking out to the music. Your mascara was dripping down your cheeks and you looked emotional and powerful.

Well, good for you, I guess you moved on really easily

As you played the last chord on your guitar everyone was cheering. You thanked everyone for the performance as your group hugged your bandmates thanking them for getting you through the performance. You turned to look at Jeno one last time to see him crying. It was beautiful.

good 4 u, Lee Jeno.

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shesawriter39049 · 4 years ago

Text

|FEVER| M|

Pairing: Namjoon X Reader

About- Namjoon just has a kink for letting you do whatever the hell you want with him...Whether that be putting him in a hot pink suit shirtless! Or, telling him he’s a good boy as he fucks you into oblivion!

OR- Namjoon and yourself hooked up 5 months ago when the boys were in London on Tour, and you were the creative director for there British GQ & Harper’s Bazzar Cover! Now, months later he’s prepping to release his second mixtape “RM vs Rap Monster”. Opting to go a complete 360 from his first release Mono in all realms. So, with that being said BigHit thinks he needs someone with a little more... “umph” Take a wild guess as to who they call...

WC:1.2k (Sneak peek)

WARNINGS: Switch OC (Top & Bottom...but there's no real dom/sub tones here) Service top/power bottom Namjoon, praise kink, Fingering, Unprotected sex(Back shot), come play, dirty talk, light choking, light overstimulation, (This is lowkey a little softer than it sounds) The OC kinda leads this, but Joon isin’t the cliché “sub” he just likes letting her take control.

NOTE- Just my take on the OG cliché Artist X Stylist AU (Though she’s more of a full package, Art Director/Stylist/Photographer ETC) I have tried to add some minor elements to make it a little more realistic. I will say I typically stray from “Idol-verse” just because if we’re being real, the cultural difference alone sometimes stunts my creativity...BUT I just had a little fun with this one...so I hope you all enjoy it. Also, I don’t go into much physical details but in my mind regardless of race, aesthetic wise the OC is a huge contrast to what he’s use to which is part of her appeal. I picture a tatted Barbie of some sorts...

SIDE NOTE: No shade, but shade, I was lowkey inspired to write this bc I have very strong opinions about the creative team at BH....

*** Let me know if you guys want the full thing or not...I kidna flaked on posting because it is such a cliché lol

SONG- FEVER DUA LIPA FT ANGELE

~~~~~~~

“Well, it’s a yes for me” Eyeing him in this Hot pink-fitted Burliti suit, which you paired with a very sheer black Arnar Mar turtle neck. The minute you saw the piece on the runway you’d been dying to get it on someone with melanated skin, and it just so happens, the boys are fresh off the US leg of their stadium tour! So, lucky for you, baby boy’s been in the sun a lot, and Namjoon’s currently a sinful shade of brown and you're totally here for it…

Then to top it off, the mesh material of the turtle neck creates the perfect silhouette around his offensively toned chest, outlining the muscles sinfully. Eternally snorting at the way the fans are gonna thank and curse you out all at the same damn time once they see the looks you’ve pulled for this man!

And yes, you had your crew bring extended shades of foundation and concealer, because his face and neck will match if your name is going to be attached to these damn photos!

Head tilted to the side as you silently observe the way he rakes over his reflection in the mirror, it’s a sixth sense you’ve acquired as a stylist at this point. Half of your job is essentially being a hype man/self love coach, real shit, a lot of these artist aren't always as...confident as one may think!

And just like clockwork Namjoon runs his palm down his thighs, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles on his pants for the umpteenth time in the span of oh I don’t know 30 seconds? Which in turn prompts you to say….

“You look good Joonie...” Musing over your second glass of Don, the compliment was genuine, tone warm, soothing even, not a hint flirtation insight because that wasn’t your motive. You weren’t trying to get him flustered you’re just trying to gas him up a little, you wanted to see Namjoon get alittle cocky and feel himself!

Ears perking up like an overgrown puppy, head whipping in your direction “Yeah?” The way this man’s eyes just lit up like the soul skyline. I just-goddamn, an almost bashful smile toys on those plush lips of his, and you can’t help the way your chest flutters with nothing but fondness.

“So fuckin cute” Flutters off your lips, as you hide a smile of your own behind a half empty whine glass. The delivery was so faint it almost go lost in the background music floating through the air. However the slight flush hitting his cheeks let you know Namjoon heard you whether he wanted to admit it or not!

”Mmmhmm, the color looks fuckin insane against your skin, not to mention, the way everything's going to pop once we tone your hair a little! “ Eyes drinking him in from head to toe, though there was nothing suggestive playing within your iris. Very much aware of time and place and right now your genuinely looking respectfully! Seeing if any alterations are needed, making sure you like where everything sits along his frame. Making notes in your phone of places you want to pin and adjust later...snapping a couple shots here and there.

Licking his lips anxiously as he plays with the lapels on the blazer “But like-I mean-I- dont’-It doesn’t look like I’m... trying too hard or anything?” Brows furrowed in the center of his face, jaw tight, wincing slightly at his own words, almost as if he was afraid of your response. The vulnerability within his delivery was more than evident, and no matter how common this is with artist, it’s still just as devastating! Regardless of how much he tried to play it off as if he was just making casual conversation, you can see how blatantly uncomfortable he is . Gazing back at you wide eyed, and uncannily exposed, pointing at the outfit in question. Licking his lips anxiously as he plays with the the blazer, switching posses subtlety trying to get a better feel for the suit.

You stayed silent for a minute, taking the time to actually process before speaking which is rare, not gonna lie. Gaze piercing as you hop off the bed, wine, and accessories in hand, swaying closer. “It’s fashion”. The baited pause almost implied that’s all you had to say, as if one-word was self-sufficient, and in your mind it was...but you knew better than to just leave it at that.

“Art at its finest Mr. Kim” You smile something a little devious, and he flushes even deeper as you slowly start to invade his space eyes locked with him meaningfully. You can physically see the shift, the closer you get, Namjoon starts fidgeting slightly under your gaze but he doesn't back down.

“It gives you room to play, create...it’s something that let’s us connect to people without saying a damn thing.” Suddenly the hand that wasn’t holding your alcohol has become a prop, flailing around haphazardly as you spoke, pointing at the various pieces hanging on clothes racks in your suite! The penthouse has essentially been transformed into your own personal walk in closet for the next 5 or so days! “It’s a statement. A opportunity to tap into a side of yourself that maybe you can’t always verbally articulate to the world around you! More importantly, it’s supposed to be fun, it’s literally something that can be removed within seconds! I mean we all have to wear clothes so why not just enjoy it?” Head cocked to the side as you appraise him, brow quirked, eyes warm, yet there's a clear challenge playing within your gaze.

Namjoon’s watching you intently, almost as if he’s taking mental notes as you speak...the heaviness within those dangerously honed eyes of his could almost be unsettling to some, but you quite like it. Made you feel as though he actually gives a flying fuck about what you’re saying.

“In my opinion the only time it looks like someone’s “Trying too hard” Making little air bunnies with your spare hand “Is if they look uncomfortable in what they’re wearing, confidence is key, and I know you know that better than anyone RM!” You muse batting your lashes in Namjoon’s direction, and he dimples back at you, eyes sinking into tiny crescents, face rivaling the color of his suit, trying to hide said smile behind his own glass of champagne.

“I could put you in a damn clown suit...” Words trailing off your tongue lackadaisically as you grow distracted searching the bar for a specific chain from John Hardy. “Which” Focus snapping back in his direction making the later splutter a little “Would be fire as fuck if I did by the way, but-” Namjoon ended up cackling midsentence, almost choking on his drink in the process, fist pounding against his sternum.

Yeah..killing the leader of Bangtan wasn’t really high on your list tonight....

“Ayee, none of that shit...” Smacking him in the back a little more so just to be an ass because he wasn’t even choking anymore “Don’t die on me until we at least get this damn photoshoot done, I had to cancel my trip to Jamaica for this shit!”

Now he’s damn near choking and his laugh was contagious, it’s just.. loud, carefree so yes, your cackling, and there's nothing cute about it. But you honestly don’t care, you let yourself get lost in it! Finally able to feel the atmosphere in the room start to shift to something a little less scripted and a little more organic...

Throwing his hands in the air as If he’s waving a nonexistent white flag “I’m sorry, noona” There’s a pout playing in his lips, not exactly aegyo per say, but it’s fuckin adorable “Blame PD-nim, it’s his fault we had to do this so last minute” Wheezes from his throat, in the form of a slight whine, almost rivaling Jimin if I’m honest.

You already know he was laughing more so due to your delivery, specifically, your casual use of profanity over anything else. This is actually something you use to be self-conscious about, especially at your first shoot with the boys, at the shoot for GQ . Well aware it wasn’t as common in Asia for people especially women to use “fuck” like a comma. So you were hoping they wouldn’t be offended, or uncomfortable by your dialect, and, thankfully they didn’t seem to mind. Much like Joonie over here, they found it entertaining over anything.

“Yeah, a huh, sureee...” Eyes rolling to the back of your head playfully as you start lightly altering the suit in question with clips and pens. “Stay still babe” The pet name slipped off your tongue effortlessly, honestly, that's what you call most people in your life. However you were far too focused to notice how wide eyed and flustered the man before you became upon hearing it directed at him so casually.

A faint little “Sorry” muses off his lips as he gnaws on his inner cheek, trying to stay still as you ghetto-rig hems into place until you can get this under your sewing needle.

“ No, but real shit…” You sigh, taking on a slightly more serious tone “If you step in front of that camera like you own the bitch, regardless of what your wearing..., then they can’t tell you shit! If your comfortable there’s no such thing as trying too hard” You shrug nonchalantly like that was the simplest concept known to man, downing the rest of your drink “Alright, that’s all, thanks for coming to my Ted talk” Waving him off as if you’re about to leave the room and he pouted playfully, jokingly begging you not to leave him yet...it felt good to be able to banter like this. The shift continuous shift within the atmosphere was more than welcomed…

Hesitantly you watch his eyes find their way back to the full length mirror, which promptly smacks you back to reality!

Unfortunately you didn't fly all the way to Seoul just to drink, and shoot shit with Namjoon for hours on end, your actually here to work…

Sooo...

“Alright” Placing your arms on his shoulders, giving him a reassuring squeeze as you peer over his shoulder. Meeting his gaze through the glass, chin resting gently against the blade. “Back to the reason you came Mr. “I’m sooo anxiously” Shooting him a teasing little smirk in the process “The suit, yay or nay”

So, here’s the thing technically the official fitting is tomorrow, and as far as his team knows he’s in the studio with Yoongi and Hoseok finishing up a song!

Which of course raises the question as to why he’s here..alone..mind you..no staff or security in site.

Just Kim Namjoon and yourself.....

~~~~

Heyyyy, Lemme know if you guys want this or not, it will leave kinda open ended because it was supposed to kinda be a 3 part mini series initially. Part 1 ends the morning of the shoot, the full thing is set to be around 6/7k! Spoiler, the company is going to want to keep her around for more than just Namjoon’s solo project....

Also, YES...I did see that they actually put Tae in that Burliti suit (I wrote this long before that shoot was released)...I actually hated the way it was styled it though...I never thought I’d say this but MGK’s team did a better job than BH....

#Namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon x you #kim namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon smut #bts #bts smut #bts au #kpop #kpop smut #kim namjoon x you

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what-the-witch-stuff · 3 years ago

Text

Landings Through the Grapevine

Chapter 2: Unfulfilled Expectations

Masterpost: here Go to: Ch.1 | Ch.2 |

_________________________

"I have news for you. One good, one bad" Shane said hours after the dance, when everyone was busy cleaning the place up. "Wait! Help me with that table first...Allright. Shoot". Shane grabbed the other side of the table and together they heaved it off the ground to carry it back to Marnie's farm. The path that led to the narrow bridge which divided the forest clearing from the rest of the village, was not large enough for them to carry the table side by side. So Shane volunteered to walk backwards while Riley gave directions. For a few moments Shane didn't say anything but occasionally looked at something over her shoulder. Then he lowered his voice:

"Ok, so...Mr. Darcy" – that was code for Elliott – "has been mingling with my aunt for almost the entire festival and now they both keep looking over at you".

"What?"

"Don't look! I didn't want to say it earlier, because I wasn't sure. But given how Marnie has been really chatty today, I bet she's playing matchmaker again"

"Oh for fuck's sake! What about Elliott?"

"Don't know, maybe he finally figured out that you don't understand his poems, or something"

"Shane!"

„I'm kidding. Don't act so horrified. Also, it's true!"

„No! It's not."

„Okay. Remember the poem he 'gifted' you at the Feast of the Winter Star? What was that about?"

Riley was preparing to answer him in a know-it-all manner but soon realised that she had actually no idea what to say. She hoped her death glare would shut him up for good. Alas, it didn't.

„You can give me the evil eye all you want. I already cringed to death when he started performing it in front of the goddam tree."

„Maybe a few metaphors and references go over my head sometimes, but that's because I never read much poetry before.

„Or maybe his writing is as inflated as his ego"

„Stop! For Yoba's sake, just tell me what's up with him!

„How should I know?"

„Then why tell me?"

"I thought you would want to know these things"

"Well, what does he look like? Does he look upset or anything?"

"Ehm",– at that Shane peeked back over her shoulder, looking rather pained as he tried to awaken his interpersonal skills: "Well he looks like a schmock, so nothing new there. Maybe that's just his –oh shit!"

"What?!"

"He's coming"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Stop! Jesus, Riley have you never been to highschool? You don't look at people you're talking shit about."

"Ok! ok, act natural !"

"You're the only one acting like a headless chicken", he hissed under his breath.

"Well, maybe I would be calmer if you –"

Shane dropped his side of the table. It came to the ground with a soft thud and Riley almost lost her footing from the sudden yank it caused on her side, forcing them to an immediate stop shortly before the bridge. This interrupted Riley's tirade and in hindsight saved her some embarrassment, as Elliott appeared by her side soon after, brushing a strain of hair behind his ear : "Good day, you two. I am so very sorry I didn't get to chat with you sooner. Can I help you with that?", he asked, having seen them struggle but obviously mistaking the situation at hand. Before Riley could even say anything, Shane intervened again : "Glad that you ask!" he said in an overly friendly manner while stretching theatrically and making a face: "My back is killing me! If you don't mind, I'd rather go see if I can help with something else" and with the blink of an eye, Shane and Elliott had switched places.

"You're welcome!", Shane murmured while brushing past her and he was gone. Meanwhile Elliott was getting into position and testing the table's weight while Riley could do nothing but watch him dumbfounded. When he noticed her staring, Elliot winked: "Shall we then?"

"YES! I mean, sure. Thanks for the help", If Riley's face looked as flushed as it felt right then and there, Elliott was gentleman enough to pretend not to notice. "Please, don't thank me! I should have been more involved with the preparations to begin with. I was just so caught up with my newest draft, that I had forgotten all about the dance until a few days ago. Oh, also, I hope I wasn't interrupting anything between you and Shane?", he added, leaning slightly towards her in mock-conspiracy.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it did look like you've been arguing, before I came over. I hope it was nothing serious"

"Ehm... I was just worried. His, eh... his 'back pain' is quite bad, but he didn't want to bother Harvey during a holiday", Riley lied between her teeth, as they made their way over the narrow bridge.

"Poor fellow, no wonder he seemed rather miffed today. But he danced like a champ!", Elliott stated sympathetically.

"Yes, he knows how much it means to Emily and didn't want to let her down"

"See, I was wondering about that a little. I did expect the two of you to be dancing today"

At that, Riley tripped over nothing, looking at Elliott with such astonishment that she almost forgot to warn him about the slight slope the path would be taking, shortly after the bridge.

"Sorry, who?"

"Well, you and Shane….?"

"Huh?"

Elliott then must have come to some sort of realisation, for it was now his turn to look flushed and embarrassed.

"Oh, Let the greater part of the news thou hearest be the least part of what thou believest." he exclaimed ruefully and smiled at her apologetically: " I should have known better than to make assumptions. I am sorry, Riley. It was something I overheard, please pay no mind to it!"

Riley suppressed the urge to ask him if he had been quoting Shakespeare again, as in 5 times out of 7 she had already been wrong. And by now, she had the nagging suspicion that Elliott chose anything but Shakespeare, just to mess with her. Instead, she stammered: "N-No, it's fine! Shane and I are close, but we are just friends...'', and almost Riley would have given into the temptation of adding something like: '...just as you and Leah, if I am not mistaken?'. But she discarded that idea as soon as it came to her. Too obvious. Though Riley was dying to get her hands on any piece of information about what kind of relationship he and the artist were cultivating, she had to be careful. The last thing she needed was the awkwardness of unrequited feelings or the loss of a friendship because of it. However, remembering Shane's assumption regarding Marnie, she continued : "...Though I do believe Marnie wouldn't mind me as her niece-in-law. But neither Shane or I see that ever happening,". She then laughed. But, following her gut instinct, she kept an eye out for Elliott's reaction, who, still dealing with his own embarrassment, couldn't help but wince slightly.

Bingo.

Shane's words were practically echoing in the back of her mind: I bet she's playing matchmaker again.

– ‘Yes she is and you won't like to find out with whom exactly', Riley thought grimly.

To say this was news to her would be a lie, sadly. Last year it had been just a few questions, if Riley was seeing someone, or if she fancied someone from the village already. Before long, Marnie had gotten more obvious about her actual motivation: "Have you met my nephew, yet? Shane. He is from Zuzu-City too. Oh, I need to introduce you to each other, next time you visit."

But said introduction flopped big-time. It had been difficult. Well, Shane had been. But Riley now knew that this wasn't anything personal. She had involuntarily witnessed his downward spiral until the fateful day at the cliffs, where Shane had finally hit rock bottom. Since then he was getting the help he needed and they could manage having a conversation that wasn't ending in a disaster. Nevertheless, as she and Shane clearly never hit it off, Riley thought that Marnie had moved on and was satisfied with talking her up to some other bachelor instead. Apparently, she had been wrong. "Please, do not believe that I usually engage in petty gossip." Elliott exclaimed and Riley knew, if his hands were free, he would probably underline his words with some dramatic gesture: " This is not why I wanted to talk to you. I would never bother you with such shallow conversation!". They finally reached Marnie's farmhouse and were greeted by Gunther and Clint, who were busy sorting Marnie's belongings back to where they belonged. Soon Elliott and Riley were relieved of their task and hurriedly shooed away. "Riley, you did enough! You've been here all day and surely your farm does not run itself", Gunther called over his shoulder as he and Clint disappeared into the house, leaving Elliott and Riley to themselves. „Well, I don't want to keep you from your duties..." Elliott eventually said rather deflated, after some seconds of them just standing there.

„It's fine! Really. I have time to chat."

„Are you sure? I would hate to inconvenience you", though Riley could easily tell that Elliott was just saying that to stay polite.

„You aren't, believe me. What did you want to talk about originally?"

Elliott immediately straightened his posture, his demeanour getting more relaxed as Riley's question offered him the chance to return their conversation back towards familiar territory.

He suspensefully cleared his throat.

"I wanted to thank you, for you have played a significant role regarding my latest draft. Well, draft is a bit much. It's more of an outline, actually."

"Really?!", Riley could not believe her ears. This was like the beginning of some obscure fever dream, where Elliott would finally announce her as his muse and declare his undying love for her…. Totally hypothetically of course, because Riley would never fantasize about such a corny situation! Ever.

"Yes! For as much as I frequent the library, I just recently noticed the marvellous collection of exhibits you have been providing to the museum. I would've never thought for our tiny valley to be such a place of wonder and history! I must be honest, my latest works were getting nowhere and I dreaded starting a new manuscript. I had gotten quite far with my latest piece. But all these treasures have ignited a new spark within me. Now I can hardly put my pen to rest. But I need more inspiration!". Elliott got more excited the more he talked. It was no longer just polite enthusiasm but an almost childlike delight that made his eyes sparkle in a way she rarely got to see on him.

"Oh that's wonderful! But how can I help you with that?" Riley was getting somewhat confused. If Elliott needed more information on the artifacts, he would be better off talking to Guntehr instead. And following that line of thought, Riley couldn't really fathom what Elliott needed of her, to fuel his newfound inspiration.

"It's about this Adventurer's Guild..."

The answer was: absolutely nothing.

"Oh", Riley tried not to sound or even look unhappy about this revelation and Elliott seemed too fixated on his own issues to notice anything, for he continued talking: "I have seen you standing next to that older gentleman, today. What was his name again?"

"Marlon?"

"Yes! He is the guild's leader, I suppose ?"

"Eh, yes, you could call him that."

"I would like to ask him a few questions. I would love to hear some of his adventures. He looks like a man who has many stories to tell. However, I struggle to get a hold of him!

Surely, I tried asking around. But before today, I didn't even know whose company he keeps. I have never seen him in town either, other than during holidays, which is why I had hoped to talk to him today. But shortly after the dance I lost sight of him and he was gone! I could tear my hair out, Riley! That man is like a ghost. How am I supposed to write about fantastic tales of danger, when I have no authentic experience to write from?!" Elliott had talked himself into such a frenzy, that he ended up being short of breath. While he needed a moment to collect himself, Riley used this pause to talk some sense into him.

"Well, you will be happy to hear that the guild building is actually very easy to find. It's right next to the entrance to the mines.", she informed him, trying to push away the feeling of disappointment. "Office hours are between 2 pm to 10 pm. Normally, entrance is only allowed for adventurers only, but technically you would be considered a potential client. And If you really cannot get in, then Clint, Willy and I see Marlon often enough that we can relay a message to him." "Is that so? Thank you so much, I knew I could count on you! I will seek him out first thing tomorrow!". With that he made his goodbyes and hurried back towards the meadow, presumably to find Leah and share his progress with her. She looked after him until his silhouette disappeared from her sight and with a groan Riley decided that it was indeed time to head back to her farm. The gleeful excitement she had felt at the prospect of being alone with Elliott, had vanished to sober disillusion. She wasn't even in the mood to get worked up over the whole Marnie-situation. Therefore, she decided to no longer think about whatever had transpired today. That would be future-her's issue to deal with. When Riley entered the premises to her own farm, the sight of the seemingly endless plot of land filled her with awe, like it did everytime. Proudly, she watched her cows, chicken and ducks peacefully napping in the sun and listened to the faint rustling of leaves above her head, as she finally made her way towards home.

#stardew valley elliott #stardew elliott #stardew valley #sdv fanfic #sdv farmer #elliott stardew valley #elliott x reader #sdv elliott #original female character #stardew valley farmer #elliot sdv

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booksrbetterthanpeople · 4 years ago

Note

The Artist Family? (new movie)

A month has passed since Marc and Nathaniel met and fell in love at age fourteen, now they’re dating

To celebrate their one month anniversary, they decide to visit one of the most romantic spots ever- The burned-down forest they met in- Only to run into some trouble

The mobs from their previous homes have still been looking for them since the incidents and were finally able to track them down

The couple manage to escape the angry mob with the help of Marc’s spiders and a friendly severed hand who cause a distraction

So they can get away quicker, That drives them in an old hearse he found in a graveyard

Marc: Mi querido, why must hoards of angry villagers follow us everywhere?

Nathaniel: *Kissing Marc’s hand* Meyn ziskeyt, I swear to you, we will find someplace so dark, so sinister, so dastardly that no one in their right mind would be caught dead in!

*They arrive in Paris*

Nathaniel: Huh. I see it’s changed over the last few centuries. And I’m noticing a lack of guillotines.

As they lament about how they can’t keep running for the rest of their lives, That, who was recklessly driving, runs over something in the middle of the road, right near an old funeral home shrouded by fog and cut off from the rest of the city

Marc/Nathaniel: *Excitedly* We hit something!

They rush to see who or what they’ve hit, and see that the figure is a blonde, pale young man who seems to have most of his organs missing

They realize that the person they ran over is Félix Culpa, a young man who died centuries ago, but was never given a funeral because the mortician prepping him got the plague. He regains consciousness and goes to attack the two, but Nathaniel just hands him their bags

Nathaniel: Thanks, man. Hey, you mind showing us around the place?

And that’s how Félix became their butler

When they arrive at the old funeral home, they’re given a very warm welcome.

Spirit of the House: GET OUT!

Marc: ... It’s hideous.

Nathaniel: It’s horrible...

Marc/Nathaniel: It’s home.

Weeks goes by, and more people begin to occupy the home, making amazing first impressions

Marinette and Alix actually snuck in and have been living in the walls for a short period of time until Félix found them

Marc found Rose resting in one of the open graves in the backyard

And Juleka Samara-crawled out of the swamp with her hair covering her face

The six of them share their backgrounds, sympathize with each other about how they were run out of their homes, and make the decision to change their last names to Artist

Now they’re sixteen while Alix is still fifteen

Meanwhile, down in Paris, Gabriel Agreste is taking the fashion world by storm, and his clothing (All basic and dull) is a big hit in Paris (For reasons no one understands but they won’t say anything for fear of not fitting in)

His son, Adrien Agreste goes for a bike ride through the woods with his two friends, Nino and Alya, where they come across the gate that separates outsiders from the Artists’ home

They’re immediately scared away when Marinette opens the creaking gate that sounds like the end of the world when opened

Also, Alix’s sinister sixteen is coming up in a few weeks, and part of the celebration is a swordfight, which she is nowhere near ready for

Nathaniel: Alix, you need to practice. It’s the day your family and friends judge you and pass judgement on your worth as a human being!... It reminds me of Hanukkah.

During one dinner, Marinette asks a question that shocks everyone

Marinette: Do you guys think things beyond the gate have changed?

Juleka: ... What?

Marinette: It’s been years, surely things must be different now. Earlier today, I swore I heard people.

Marc: Outside is forbidden.

Marinette: But-

Marc: Forbidden!

Back in the city, Gabriel is anticipating the arrival of tourists to buy his new line of clothing which he calls, Conformist

While filming a commercial, a red balloon floats astray and makes its way towards the Artists’ home, which Marinette finds as she’s “helping” Alix prepare for the Swordfight

Alix: Why are you helping me?

Marinette: Because. You are like my sister... And... I... Love... You...

Alix: ... You seem trustworthy.

Big mistake

Marinette: *Walks inside with the balloon* Good news, Alix is gone.

Marc: *Holding a sword to Nathaniel’s neck* Mari, go dig up Alix.

Marinette: You and Nathaniel are once again weakening this generation.

Nathaniel: *Points to balloon* Mari, where did you get that?

Marinette: I’m not sure.

Marc: Strange. There’s usually a murderous clown attached to the other end of these.

Juleka: *Gasp!* And what is this?! *Plucks a piece of pink confetti off of Marinette’s shoulder*

Nathaniel: Smells like cotton candy. *Off their confused looks* I was young and stupid, alright?

The Artists go outside where they find rainbow confetti raining down, and the fog that covers their home is lifting up, revealing to them the town

Much to Marc’s protests, Nathaniel suggests they go see the place for themselves

Marinette: This day is becoming most miraculously disruptive.

While filming another commercial, the Artist Family’s house is in the camera’s shot, and Gabriel passes out the second he sees it

*Somewhere else* Nino: ... I feel an overwhelming sense of... Joy.

The Artists arrive in their hearse, and immediately capture the attention of the other Parisians. They’re given strange looks wherever they go, and sometimes people run away screaming

No one has run them out with pitchforks yet. Yay!

Alix: Guys! *Pulls a tire off of a police car* They’re just giving these away!

Juleka: Alix, mind your manners, people might want tires, too.

After getting coffee grounds, the Artists come across Adrien, Alya, Nino, Chloé, and Lila in the park, prancing around in pink and blue outfits and singing about being conformists

Rose: Wow... That is absolutely horrible!

Marinette: ... *Dumps coffee grounds* I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. However, that blonde boy... Intrigues me

And it seems the feeling is mutual when Adrien steals glances at the gothic girl with braids

Rose: ... Yeah, I’m done with this song. *She hikes up the hem of her robe, releasing hundreds of bats that scare off the crowd* Done and done!

Done with these people, Marc wants to leave, Nathaniel insists that things have changed, but his boyfriend is still reluctant... Cue Gabriel

He insists on hiring interior decorators to fix up the Artists home (So tourists aren’t scared off) Marc, with some urging from Nathaniel allows him to do so.

Marinette: That man seems deranged. His face reminds me of a death mask.

*Somewhere else* Nino: In the future... I will have a new friend. Blue hair. Braids.

Back at the Artists Home, Nathaniel, Juleka, and Rose help Alix prepare for her Swordfight

Rose: Of all the Sinister Sixteens I’ve seen, Nathaniel’s was the stuff of legends.

Juleka: So no pressure!

Gabriel, Adrien, the design crew, and the news crew arrive, ready to remove the gloom and macabre form the Artists’ home

Félix: *Answers the door* Youuuuuu raaaaaanng?

Adrien: *Calling Alya and Nino* Hey, so I’m going into the creepy mansion. If I don’t come back, I’m dead... I love you too, Nino... Yes, Alya, I know he’s your boyfriend.

Much to his relief, Adrien is left outside and goes around back to explore

Gabriel: I do hope this isn’t a bad time.

Nathaniel: The worst!... Do come in.

Gabriel spends most of the time making light criticisms and jabs at the decor, the Artists themselves, their clothes, and Marc’s spiders (Which he considers the greatest insult)

Meanwhile in the backyard, Adrien is nearly killed by a crossbow. To his horror and awe, he finds the shooter: Marinette in all of her dark glory

Immediately, he develops a small crush on her. She’s not like the other girls at school who constantly cling to and flirt with him because of his father’s wealth

He tries his hand at impressing her by shooting an arrow, but accidentally shoots Rose, which actually does impress Marinette

Adrien: So, why haven’t I seen you and your siblings at school?

Marinette: We’re coven-schooled. But, blondie, do tell... *Leans in close so she can hear Adrien’s rapid heartbeat* Can anyone attend your school?

Gabriel and his crew leave, having made no renovations to the Artists’ home. And when Nathaniel explains that family and friends will be coming over for Alix’s Sinister Sixteen, that just motivates the designer even more

Down in Gabriel’s secret lair, he spies on the Parisians through a social media app where he fills the comments section with rumors about the Artists, saying they’re anarchists and breed spiders... Okay, so they’re not all rumors

*The Next Day* Nathaniel: Monochrome, I know the man is an eccentric, but- *Marinette appears behind him* Aah!

Marc: Mari, you know Nathaniel scares easily. Practice your lurking on someone else. *Marinette appears behind him* Better. Now what’s on your mind?

Marinette explains that she wants to atener school, much to Marc’s horror and Nathaniel’s excitement. She needs to torment more kids her own age.

Marc doesn’t want her to go, worried she might fall under the influence of the... Conformists, but Nathaniel somehow convinced him

Marinette walking into school: Ah, so these are the gates of hell.

Adrien, while being crowded by girls he doesn’t even like (Especially Lila and Chloé) becomes awestruck when he sees Marinette walking in. She looks like a beautiful demon queen

Lila and Chloé see this and try to intimidate her, but this is what Marinette says,

Marinette: Listen you future plastic surgery disasters, I’m not locked in here with either of you. You and your outdated, distasteful “outfits” are locked in here with me. And don’t you forget it.

Alya just might dump Nino so she can ask this girl out. Polyamory works too. / Adrien: Back of the line.

Mendelive’s biology class: They’re dissecting frogs.

Adrien: Aw, I feel bad for doing this.

Marinette: Relax. Rose showed me how to do this hundreds of times. *Cue Frankenstein equipment* FLIP THE SWITCH! *Adrien flips the switch and electrocutes all of the frogs* LIVE! LIVE MY CREATURE!

The frogs come to life and attack Lila and Chloé. Karma at its finest. Alya and Nino are impressed by her more than ever

Alya: It is an honor and a privilege to watch you work, spooky girl.

Back at the Artists’ Home, it’s game night! They’re playing the game of Death, but Marc isn’t focused. It’s late and he’s wondering where Marinette is

Finally, she arrives, but much to Marc’s horror, she has a Ladybug hair clip! He’s in so much shock that his face flushes red and a bat has to drink his blood

Marc: What. Is. That?

Marinette: Adrien calls it a “Pop of color” says it brings out my... Smile.

Marc: You don’t have a smile.

In order to see what’s going on with his sister/friend, Marc suggests they do ‘Tea & Seance’ like old times... Only she bails to hang out with Adrien, and they give each other makeovers as acts of rebellion

Meanwhile, Alix is upset because she still can’t get the hang of sword fighting and Nathaniel has been working so hard to help her

Marinette returns from her hangout with Adrien, almost making Marc faint when she shows up wearing pink and her hair in pigtails.

Marc: Okay, this is where I sever the line! You are not going back to that school!

Marinette: *Gives him the evil eye before leaving* You can’t tell me what to do.

Juleka: Dear Hades, that is some evil eye.

Horrified by Adrien’s new gothic look and attitude, Gabriel spreads more rumors about the Artists

Frustrated by the lack of support from her family/friends, Marinette runs away and goes to stay with Adrien

Alix: I always knew it would end up like this. Just didn’t know when.

Marinette: Farewell, Alix! I will never forget you, but I’ll try.

The next morning, Marinette, Alya, and Nino are helping Adrien look for his phone, which Gabriel his hidden punishment for his new look

While looking, they stumble across Gabriel’s lair and discover he’s been spying on everyone in Paris. Gabriel discovers them snooping and locks them in Adrien’s room while he goes to greet the tourists... And some unexpected guests

Nathalie: *Dials Gabriel* Gabriel, it’s an emergency. They’re here! The Artist Family!

The Artists more... Eccentric family members (Gina Dupain, Uncle Wang, Master Fu, Luka, Fei, Jagged, Penny, and the art teacher for example) have arrived to attend Alix’s sinister sixteen.

Things are going well so far. Juleka reunites with Luka, Fei battles Gina to the death, but Marinette still hasn’t arrived, so they do the sword fight without her... Which Alix fails.

As Nathaniel consoles her, a cannonball shoots through the wall. Gabriel somehow got a catapult for the mob to use

Marc: It’s Gabriel. He’s turned the town into a mob.

Juleka: I oddly admire his determination.

While the mob fires more cannonballs and destroy the house, Alix tosses her sword and grabs her explosives, successfully protecting her family... Until a cannonball blocks their only exit and she runs out of ammo

Just as the ceiling begins to fall and it seems like the end, Marinette, Adrien, Alya, and Nino come in just in time and save them all thanks to the possessed tree

She and Marc reconcile

Marc: I’m so glad you came back.

Marinette: Of course. There was no way you all could survive without me. You’re like weak kittens.

The Parisians begin having regrets about attacking the Artists (Mainly cuz they almost killed a bunch of kids), but this is interrupted by Gabriel

Gabriel: I will relish hounding you all until that nuclear waste dump you call is house is destroyed with you all in it!

Juleka: Oh, you are just begging to be dragged down to hell, aren’t you, Gabriel?

Marinette: And this family will never run from the likes of you again. *Her death glare stuns Gabriel*

Nino: Damn, I gotta learn how to do that.

Adrien finally stands up to his father and exposes how he’s been spying on everyone in the city while Alya live streams everything. Gabriel is now ruined

Months later, the Artists’ Home has been rebuilt by the guilty Parisians who learn to accept their new, weird neighbors. Also, the Spirit of the House has returned

Adrien and Marinette start dating while Alya and Nino share a mutual pining for the girl

#miraculous ladybug #marc x nathaniel #the addams family #the artist family #marinette dupain cheng #alix kudbel #nathaniel kurtzberg #marc anciel #rose lavillant #juleka couffaine #answered ask #ask me stuff #addams family au #mlb au #mlb crossover

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btsficsforthehumble · 4 years ago

Text

adj.: 1. Modern, unfamiliar, or different

2. Not based on or conforming to what is generally done or believed

pairing: reader x ot7

genre: college au; angst, fluff, smut, poly, ot7

Summary: You begin your first year at a prestigious university, set out on achieving your academic goals when a series of men step into your life that change the way you view the definition of love.

Part Four

Warnings: explicit language

Word count: 2k

Your alarm forces you out of a deep sleep at eight on the dot. Groaning, you blindly press the snooze button and flip your face into your pillow, not quite ready to deal with a new day. You let yourself doze for a few minutes, longing for the dark pull of sleep to take you back.

Now, you had to be at your class in under an hour and you were stressed. Seeing how much time had passed in your drowsy state allowed a fire to be lit under your butt, encouraging you to quickly jump in the shower and get ready for the day. All the while, all you wanted to do was answer the call of your abandoned bed.

After rushing around your apartment, you finally stepped out in some light brown corduroys and an embroidered blouse tucked into the waist. A light jacket thrown over top, you felt put together enough to start your day. Even with the rush, you managed to grab a couple of your million muffins from your baking spree yesterday and a to-go mug of coffee. You learned your mistake yesterday, when you showed up to morning classes without caffeine to push you through.

Walking across campus, you watch other students scurry off to their own morning classes. It still being the first week of the semester, most people hadn’t lost the motivation to go to their early classes just yet. You really hope that you won’t fall victim to that… you can’t afford to skip in a class you struggle with.

Once you arrive at your classroom, you head to the same spot you sat last class, and plop your bag down as you get your muffin out to eat before class. Setting it out, you sip your coffee and scroll though your phone, checking your inbox that had accumulated honestly way too many emails overnight.

Your eyes glued to your phone, you don’t even notice when a large hand swipes the muffin right off your desk.

Still absorbed in an email about volunteering for a local animal shelter, you hear someone sit loudly in the seat behind you. Ignoring it, you continue to read though the details of the email --- it looked like the animal shelter for your city, Autumn Leaves Adoption Center, was accepting new volunteers and was looking for students from your university specifically. You had always had a huge soft spot for animals, so you were excited at a chance to spend time helping out.

You glance up from your phone when you finish, and immediately notice your muffin missing from it’s spot on your desk. Bewildered, you begin to search around the classroom with your eyes to locate the stolen baked good. Not finding it with anyone on your sides or in front of you, you swing around to check out the suspects hiding from view.

Ding ding ding!

You found it. Well, you found half of it. The attractive boy that had pestered you yesterday had the other half of your precious muffin stuffed in his cheeks like some sort of squirrel. Caught, he gives the best grin he can with his mouth full, including his eyes crinkling and his eyes shining with mischief.

“Excuse me, you can’t just steal people’s breakfasts right off their desks! Who raised you?!” you whisper yelled. You could feel the blood rush to your cheeks from being flustered, and hoped he couldn’t see.

“Wuh yahr warn ehten et,” he replied, cheeks still full.

“Ugh, at least swallow first you animal!”

“Well, you weren’t eating it,” he flashes a grin.

“Um, excuse me sir, who allowed you to go around stealing people’s food the second you deem them to be not interested in it,” you snapped.

“Oohhh, can you say that again?” As he spoke, he raised an eyebrow while his eyes traveled up your body.

“Say what?” Your flat tone gave away your high level of irritation at him.

“Call me sir again, sweetheart. I think you and I both liked it,” he leaned forward as he spoke. His gaze was challenging, almost to see if you were able to handle him.

The truth is, if this asshole hadn’t just stolen your goddamn muffin you’d be happy to do so --- outside of the classroom --- anytime. The guy, you remember being named Taehyung, had gorgeous dark curls that anyone would dream about pulling on. His dark eyes were enigmatic, and by every definition intense. Tanned skin, clear and smooth only made him seem more ethereal. HIs natural looks, coupled with an artistic and sophisticated fashion sense, made him look like a character of a k-drama.

But, this guy had some audacity if you’ve ever seen any. So, you weren’t going to give into his charm as easily as he wanted.

Slowly, you lean forward on his desk, allowing him to get a good view of your tits while you lift a hand to his mouth, to swipe away excess crumbs that had been forgotten during his cookie monster moment. You lightly trace his bottom lip with the pad of your thumb, pushing down just hard enough for the flesh to ripple.

His eyes become more hooded, obviously thinking he had won you over with his charms.

“Why would I call someone sir, if they need to clean up after like a child, hmm?” You dropped your voice as you spoke, not only trying to limit prying ears but also to give yourself a more sultry sound.

You lean back and retract your arm. But instead of letting it drop, you raise the hand you had reached out to him to your face, and pop your thumb into your mouth. While your lips are still encircling your thumb, you let your eyes meet his.

Honestly, you weren’t expecting him to look as affected as he does. His eyes are narrow, surely from your jibe. However, you see that he seems to be breathing a little heavier than before, and that his hands were gripping the edges of his desk with more force than would be considered normal. This makes the veins and tendons pop on his already large and beautiful hands and you can’t help but let your eyes linger on them for a little.

“Mmm, I did a good job with these muffins, I can tell even with just crumbs,” you say after popping your thumb out of your mouth.

Catching you off guard, a cheery voice asks from over your turned around shoulder, “Oooo, are you sharing muffins? I love muffins!”

You turn around in your seat quickly in response. “Oh, uh, yeah.” You bend over and grab the other muffin you brought with you, thinking you’d eat it as a snack later in the day. Oh well.

You hand the muffin over, and quickly realize this is the same guy that sat in front of you yesterday, the cute one with the even cuter smile.

“Yay! Thank you so much! You’re my new favorite person!” he declared. He was giving you a smile even bigger than the one that you had swooned over prior, and really looked like the embodiment of sunshine. “My name is Hoseok, but you can call me Hobi.”

“I’m y/n! And don’t worry about the muffin, I have about a million back at home. I went on a bit of a baking spree yesterday,” you giggled.

You hear a surprised scoff come from behind you. Apparently, Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome is unhappy with the heat you gave him, now knowing that not only did you have much more at home, but had another with you. And you gave it away. You can’t help but let out a small smile at his indignation.

“It’s nice to meet you y/n! I hope I’ll get to have more of your treats in the future, this is delicious!” Hoseok says, already taking a bite.

You give him a wide smile in return. “If you want, I can save you one of whatever I make. I love to bake new things all the time.”

Hoseok begins to reply, but is cut off by the professor starting class. His eyes widen a little, surprised at the intrusion, but quickly sends you an apologetic smile as he turns around to face the lecturer.

Prepared for social hour to be over, because frankly, this was way too much for you at 9 am, you pulled out your notes. As you straighten up, you feel a presence behind your ear. Being this close, you could smell a musky, dark, masculine scent wash over you.

“I hope you save some for me too, sweetheart. I’m a growing boy,” Taehyung huskily murmurs, quiet enough to be missed by anyone else.

Cheeks hot at the double meaning of his words, all you manage to get out was a flat, “No promises.” Hoping to appear unaffected by him, you go right back to paying attention to your professor. Hoseok, in front of you, was oblivious to your and Taehyung’s hushed conversation and was busy scribbling away in his notes. You take a deep breath, and follow suit.

Unfortunately, calculus is as hard as you remember. As the professor lectured, you could feel whatever understanding you had previously drift away. You write notes at a furious pace, in hopes that whatever you copy down you’ll understand at a later time.

You sigh after your professor dismisses class. You are feeling frustrated that even during the first week, you seem to be slipping behind in your understanding of the class material.

“Hey are you okay? Class was a lot today, huh.” Hoseok turned around in his chair to speak, seeming to have caught your pitiful sigh. You glace up to meet his eyes, your expression slightly sheepish.

“Yeah, I’m okay, just not very good at calculus,” you admit with a small smile.

He gives you a sunny smile in return. “Do you wanna study together? I actually like math. I know, I’m strange for that.”

Your eyes widen a little in surprise. He barely knows you but is offering to help you with the subject you struggle with the most. It was a no-brainer.

“Oh my gosh, yes! I’d love to have a study partner for this class. I’m so worried about falling behind.” You feel your face fall into a small pout at your confession.

“Can I join? I’m not too great at math either.” You jump a little, completely forgetting about the human pain in the ass behind you.

“Of course! The more the merrier!” Hoseok beams, looking past you to the boy behind. “I’m Hoseok, but everyone just calls me Hobi.”

“I’m Taehyung, nice to meet you.” He gives Hoseok a grin as he introduces himself, seemingly never not up to trouble.

“You too! Do you guys want to meet tomorrow? We can go to the coffee shop around the corner from here,” Hoseok suggests.

You nod, and Taehyung gives a noise of agreement behind you, before asking, “Do you guys want to trade numbers? That way we don’t have to wait to see each other to get help.”

Internally, you sigh, having a feeling he was going to use your number for more than just that. Regardless, you comply. The three of you swap your phones, inputting your contact information, and stand to exit the classroom as a new stream of students enter waiting for the next class to start.

“Bye guys! See you tomorrow!” Hoseok flashes his signature sunny smile as you depart.

“Bye Hobi!” You smile at him in response. Taehyung gives his own goodbye to the boy.

After Hoseok heads off a different direction, Taehyung leans closer to you to give you your own farewell. “Goodbye y/n, see you tomorrow sweetheart,” he basically purrs at you.

You give him a glare in response. “Bye, Taehyung.” After, you swiftly make your exit. That boy was a handful, to say the least. But, as much as you hate to admit it, he was hot. Like really hot. While Hoseok had that ‘boy next door’ quality, Taehyung oozed sex appeal. You were really going to have to train yourself to act normal around those two, if you were going to be spending extended time alone with them. Heading to your next class, you decide that is a problem for later.

#BTS #ot7 #ot7 x reader #poly ot7 #fanfic

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rokutouxei · 4 years ago

Text

catching your attention

genshin impact | G | 2930 albedo / aether

Aether loves Albedo’s company, but not when he’s ignoring him and has all of his attention focused on sketching… well, him. He’s stubborn and in love enough to find a way to catch Albedo’s attention back.

It starts like this: he and Aether are in the heights of Dragonspine, after a trek on the lookout for a specific, elementally-infused kind of starsilver. A blizzard had trapped them into a small cave, and it was an easy decision to make that it would be better if they wait it out instead of daring to walk back to the alchemist’s camp at the foot of the mountain.

Albedo starts a fire with some wood he’d found and some sort of pyro potion in his bag. Paimon’s line of sight goes back out to the white-gray of the hailstorm.

“Looks like we’ll be out here all night,” she muses. “Paimon hopes we can get out soon because I’m getting hungry.”

Aether pulls out a sandwich from his bag as if by second nature. “Mora meat?”

“Mora meat!” Paimon exclaims, before snatching the food from his hands. With that, she retreats to the other side of the fire, happily munching on her snack.

Aether has memorized all the necessary tricks to get Paimon off his back, and like this… with Albedo so close… well, it would be a shame not to use them.

Said alchemist is sat down on one side of the fire, and Aether crouches down by him, a serious expression on his face. “We won’t have time to finish your experiment by tonight,” he says, rather guiltily. “Sorry.”

While his elemental sight may have made their trip much easier, they still ended up making a turn in two in the wrong direction, taking up extra time. Albedo only shakes his head. “It’s alright. The materials aren’t time-sensitive. They can wait until tomorrow. On the other hand, I will have to apologize, as this trip will delay your return to Mondstadt and take you away from your Guild duties.”

Aether waves his hands in the air dismissively. “It’s alright, Katheryne isn’t too strict about those,” Aether says. “Not much to sketch in here, though, huh?”

“To the uninterested eye, yes. But the patterns of the rock formations are quite fascinating if they’re to be studied, or perhaps even mapping the interior of the cave.” Albedo pauses. “However… there’s something more involved I’d like to put to paper, if I may.”

Aether cocks his head to the side. “What is that?”

“May I sketch you?”

The traveler blinks, as if not quite believing what he’d heard. “…Me?” he asks, pointing to himself. He faintly recognizes the sharp thrumming of his heart from underneath his shirt. When Albedo nods, he shrugs a little awkwardly, despite being all fire and light on the inside. “If you’ll have me, then alright. Not much intrigue in this face.”

Albedo begins to pull out his sketchbook and some pencils from his bag. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. Sometimes it’s more of memory-keeping than it is about research and alchemic purposes. It’s not every day I get caught in a blizzard with you.”

For some reason, that makes Aether’s face flush. Albedo can be so smooth at times—like he doesn’t even try. “Well, then go for it. It’s an honor to be drawn by you, Chief Alchemist.”

“Please, there are no titles here, just you and me.” Albedo turns toward Aether, who is fidgeting just the littlest bit from nervousness. “Would you mind—facing a little bit—” Before Aether can react, Albedo is reaching out and tilting Aether’s face towards him, fingers on his chin. Aether is sure Albedo can see the up-and-down bob of his throat as he pulls away. It’s alright; he’d caught the redness in Albedo’s ears too, anyway. “There we go. Perfect.”

With that, Aether coughs out remnants of his surprise and nervousness by clearing his throat, and Albedo returns to his seat, hiding behind his sketchbook and pen and faux concentration.

Paimon shakes her head, looking up from her now-empty wrapper of Mora meat. “Silly boys,” she says, with a sigh.

It is pretty obvious to everyone who works with Albedo for even the shortest amount of time that it doesn’t take long for him to get lost in his work; all focus and long attention span and seriousness, he can go at his alchemic experiments for hours without interruption, not even for a drink or a bite or a toilet break. Once he gets into his zone, there’s no stopping him, unless one yanks him forcefully out of his little mind-field, not that many people have ever tried.

It becomes pretty obvious to Aether, ever since that blizzard night on Dragonspine, that the same can be said about Albedo and his sketching.

Albedo likes to draw. What was once specifically for research grew into more of a hobby. Now, when there is nothing urgent to do, he finds himself heading to places where there might be something nice to sketch—scenery, a living thing, an object. He can lose track of time there. He gets engrossed in his work as he catches the details he adores the most. Then after that, he packs his materials and heads off to the next best place.

The alchemist generally likes to draw things that catch his interest, so when he admits that he finds himself wanting to sketch Aether far more often than he thought he would, Aether feels a surge of embarrassment—and still-secret joy—fill him. He thought to himself: this would be the perfect time to get to know Albedo more, maybe get closer to him. No ulterior motives, of course, just wanting to be familiar with a friend, of course…

But Aether quickly finds out that his imaginations of what a sketching session would be are far from reality.

At the start, Albedo sometimes participates in idle chatter, a little ramble on what he’s planning to draw and how he approaches his sketch, but within a few minutes, he goes quiet, and all disappears. It’s just him, his sketch, the visual of his subject, and nothing else. It would probably take something drastic like a trio of geovishaps to truly take him out of this trance-like state, because it’s pretty solid.

(Heck, Aether’s tried. He’s blurted out an I love you! while Albedo was sketching him and the latter hadn’t even noticed. Aether still doesn’t know what to feel about that.)

At this point in their… friendship, Aether wouldn’t dare admit that when he offers a trip out to Starfell Lake or Dragonspine or Stormterror’s Lair, he just wants to hang out with Albedo, not… be forced to sit still and observe his—well, objectively, very rationally, handsome face, his teal eyes, the platinum blonde hair, so soft in its braid, his boyish face, the…

Well, the important thing is, sometimes he just wants to be a ‘more than a friend’, not… a model.

So he tries.

Slowly moves until he’s out of position to see if that will snap Albedo out of it and force him back to place. It doesn’t work. Moves sharply, like he’d gotten a flash of pain and fell out of place. There’s a blink of concern in Albedo’s face for a moment before it disappears, and it doesn’t work. Aether tries singing. Aether tries talking to himself. Aether tries calling out Albedo’s name, louder and louder each time. Hell, there was one time Aether tried to call the attention of a ruin guard. He loves indulging Albedo, loves to see the other man’s works more than the average person, but sometimes he wants his active, conscious presence, not an artist’s focused absence from the world.

Aether knows the drawings could be the smallest admissions of love, the proof that Albedo wants to treasure these memories he has of Aether, but—

He wants Albedo here. In the now.

And Aether is stubborn and will find a way to make that happen.

“What’s the easiest way to catch Albedo’s attention?” Aether asks Paimon once, while they’re off in Liyue, and out of the hearing ears of anyone who could out him ahead of his own confession.

Paimon blinks at him curiously. “You seem to catch his attention pretty easily.”

“No, not like that,” Aether clarifies, “like, interrupting him when he’s drawing or in the middle of an experiment. I don’t know how to talk to him when he gets like that.”

“Have you tried to yell his name?” Aether nods. “Move in front of him? Shout? Surprise him?” Aether nods at everything. “Huh, he’s pretty stubborn when he concentrates.”

“I know. If you have any idea, would you tell me?”

“Of course! Paimon would love to play matchmaker!”

Aether spits out the bite of sunsettia in his mouth. “No!”

“Honorary Knight,” Sucrose greets him, as he enters the Knights of Favonius’ alchemy room. Timaeus confirmed that Albedo was at the Dragonspine camp today, so Aether decides it is safe to visit Sucrose and that she would be alone. “How can I be of assistance?”

“It’s a… bit of a personal matter,” Aether mumbles quietly, sitting on top of one of the empty desks. Sucrose nods and listens patiently, twiddling with her thumbs as he describes the issue at hand.

She makes a face of confusion, then concern, before shifting back to an awkward smile. Her cheeks are pink, as well—god, Aether knows, but what a reminder that this is really such an embarrassing situation he has gotten himself in.

Sucrose says, “I’m afraid even I don’t know how to get his attention when he gets into that state. Mister Albedo is pretty intense about his research, and so we try to make sure to get all questions answered before he begins any experiments. He can go on for hours, after all, and we wouldn’t be able to contact him.”

“I see…” Aether sighs, slowly losing hope that there’s anyone who knows how to solve his little Albedo problem. “Well, thank you for your time, Sucrose. I’m sorry if I interrupted anything.”

“Oh, no, please, any time,” she beams. “If anything, I believe Mister Albedo is very taken by you if his sketches are any indication. I’m sure if there’s anyone who will be able to find a way to get his attention in the middle of his focus, it’s going to be you, Honorary Knight.”

Aether flushes, thanking the gods he’s already got his back turned and on his way to the door. “Thank you, Sucrose!” he calls out, before closing the door behind him.

Geez, who else is he supposed to ask?

“My, if the Honorary Knight himself is offering to buy me a drink, how am I supposed to say no?” Kaeya cheers, seated by the bar in Angel’s Share. Charles had been kind enough tonight to offer Aether a glass of an alcoholic drink as well—but only one, he squints, still doubting his age. Not like Aether can show an ID proving he’s a thousand years old. Kaeya insists on a toast. “How can I help you today, Aether?”

“It’s about Albedo.”

“Ohhh,” Kaeya smirks. “Come to me for relationship problems? I’m flattered.”

“It’s not—” Aether groans. There’s no getting out of this when it’s Kaeya. “Just help me out, okay?”

Surprisingly, Kaeya listens very attentively as Aether describes the situation, especially in the way Aether’s ears get redder and redder with every sentence. And it’s not from the alcohol, either. Kaeya swirls his glass of Death After Noon carefully, “hmmm”-ing and “mmhmm”-ing every few seconds.

“I see. So you want to get your boyfriend’s attention sometimes.”

Aether glares. “He is not—” he sighs. “Yet, at least. I hope.”

“That’s the spirit,” Kaeya laughs, taking a swig of his drink. “You know, there is something I’ve noticed about Albedo when it comes to you.”

“To me?”

“Yes, to you,” Kaeya nods. “See, when we’re in the same room, even if he’s not particularly part of the conversation we are having, if anyone so much as whispers your name, he turns toward the sound like a moth to the flame.”

Aether flushes. “I-is that so.”

“Mhm, definitely so. You can ask Jean and Lisa,” Kaeya says, awfully confident. It takes a moment for Aether to register that even Jean and Lisa know, and he’s a little mortified. “Now, this is a shot in the dark, but how about you try doing it the other way around?”

Whispering? How will that even work? Kaeya’s practical advice is always rather useful, but when it comes to things like these it’s easier to believe that he’s just fooling whoever is asking him, so Aether doesn’t really put much faith in its results. Still, he wishes for the best. Whatever that is.

So one day, when they are over Starsnatch cliff as he gathers cecilias and Albedo sketches the view, “Albedo,” he whispers carefully when he gets close enough, “I love you.”

Albedo tears his gaze away from his sketch and looks at him with surprise in his star-bright eyes.

Aether wills his soul to leave Teyvat at once.

It takes a while for them to negotiate their relationship into blossom. Albedo has long acknowledged it, but now he has to reckon with his emotions, as he tentatively confesses his return of feelings. But that’s far from the end of it, as apologies are exchanged with compromises made between a traveler who has to go out and far away more often than not and an alchemist who only knows his lab and his sketchbook, and very little on love and relationships and affection.

Still, it is there, and now that they’ve both come to light about it, it grows.

(Paimon, upon hearing of this later, sighs in relief.)

“Do you know how many times I’ve confessed to you in the past?” Aether asks, as he and Albedo walk back to Mondstadt, armfuls of cecilias in their hands. “Twenty-five. All of them while you were sketching. You never noticed.”

“I’m sorry,” Albedo says awkwardly, stumbling a little and kicking a pebble out of his path. “It was never my intention to ignore you, but even if so—”

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Aether laughs, nudging him with his shoulder. “At least now you heard it. I can’t believe it’s Kaeya’s advice that would work after all this time. Feels a little silly now.”

“Sir Kaeya is definitely more socially adept and mindful than I am, so I am not as surprised it’s his word that allowed us to get to…” he trails off. “Well, this.”

Aether smiles and to Albedo, it’s like morning.

“I just—I just have one request though, Albedo,” Aether says, as they round the path overlooking Windrise. “I know how important sketching is to you, as an art form and—well, for memory-keeping.”

“You remembered.”

“I did,” Aether nods. “But now, now that we’re—well, this,” he gestures with what of his hand he can move, “I would like it if you could… well, if we could leave the memory-keeping for later, and… turn to memory-making, you know? Live it now, while I’m here, while you’re here.”

Albedo looks like he’s being torn apart for a brief moment, wondering if there’s anything deeper about what Aether had said, but then he relaxes as his eyes turn back to him.

For the here. For the now.

“Anything for you,” he says, voice gentle like cecilias in the wind.

They’re sitting in Starfell Lake in the middle of the night after a venture off the beaches of Stormbearer point. They spent half the entire day with each other, talking and enjoying each other’s company; and now, Albedo is quietly sketching him as he usually does. Aether is looking out at the lake, reflecting on the Statue of the Seven, the first he’d ever seen here in Teyvat, when he spots a little flutter of red coming from the other side of the lake.

“Is that—”

“Ah! Mister Honorary Knight! And Big brother Albedo! It’s me, Klee!”

“Klee? What are you doing out here at this hour?!”

“Fish-blasting! Don’t tell Master Jean! Come with me!”

The little girl in red begins to run towards them, and Aether turns to “wake” the other. “Albedo,” he whispers, and the latter slips out of his trance.

Before he can even ask what is it, Klee’s voice rings clearly through the field again. “Mister Honorary Knight! Big brother Albedo!”

There is, again, that flash of pain in Albedo’s face, eyes trained on the sketch. He’d finished Aether’s eyes but hadn’t fully drawn his braid out yet, just the fluff on his head. Before he can speak, Aether holds his sketching hand in his.

“Albedo. Let’s make memories here.”

The alchemist takes a deep breath and smiles at his boyfriend. “Alright.”

With that, Klee still a few meters away, Aether lifts the sketchbook to cover their faces, hiding them from sight as he presses a sweet kiss on Albedo’s lips, quick and soft.

“What are you doing back there?!” Klee asks, peering from above the sketchbook, just as they’ve parted. There’s a scarlet glow on their faces she can’t quite see in the moonlight—thankfully.

Aether grins as he puts down the sketchbook on the grass, turning to lift Klee in his arms. “Our little secret!”

“Noooo!” Klee frowns, but then laughs as Albedo pats her on the head. “Klee wants in too! Tell Klee!”

Albedo smiles at her and then at Aether. “How about we keep our secret, and we keep your secret from Master Jean?”

Stars form in the little girl’s eyes. “Oh, that’s great! There’s lots of fish to go kaboom!”

Aether and Albedo hold hands all the way to Klee’s favorite fishing spot.

#albether #aebedo #genshin impact #aether #albedo #what tags does this fandom use holy shit #fic #rated:g

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cobaltusami · 4 years ago

Text

Tropical Vacation pt. 1

Hey hi hello! So I'm going to be starting to post the 50 follower special over the course of this week, I have proof read 10,000 words worth of writing so hopefully by the time I have all the parts already written posted, I'll have the rest of it done or almost done!

There aren't any real tickles In this part because I was setting up for the rest of the story, but there's a close encounter near the end. Next part will have lots of tickles!

Characters In this part: Makoto, Leon, Mondo, Chihiro, Taka, Sakura, Hina, Hiro, Celeste, Kyoko

Words: 1,944

PT 1: [You are here.], PT 2: [Click here.]

It was a normal day In Hope’s peak academy-- If there was ever such a thing. The students were gathered In the dining hall eating breakfast as they normally do and chatting amongst themselves.

The energy was pretty calm today, Hiro cheerfully pointed out upon arriving, only to be told not to jinx them.

But alas, all good things must come to an end.

“Hey, do you hear something?” Makoto asked hesitantly. Kyoko nodded and closed her eyes momentarily, focusing on the odd sound.

“It sounds like… Ocean waves.” She concluded, her lavender eyes scanning the room curiously.

“Ocean waves? Why would we be hearing the ocean?” Makoto pondered aloud.

“Hina, Is that not what It sounds like to you?” Kyoko asked the swimmer, who had perked up at the mention of the ocean.

“You’re totally right! I hear It too!” She agreed.

Leon looked to his left where a speaker was attached to a support beam. “It’s coming from over here. Don’t tell me, Monokuma…” he trailed off with a heavy sigh.

As if he were Beetlejuice and his name had been mentioned 3 times, a wild Monokuma appeared from out of seemingly nowhere. “I thought you students might benefit from a change in scenery! I wouldn’t want you getting TOO depressed, You might get too depressed to kill anyone!”

The whole room heaved a collective sigh. “For the last fuckin’ time, We aren’t going to kill one another! So you can go fuck yourself!” Mondo snapped.

“But Robots don’t have the right parts for that!” Monokuma retorted, looking dejected. “How could you be so cruel? Pointing out my insecurities like that…”

“Yeah yeah, This Is great banter and all but--” Leon wasn’t about to sit through another hour of Mondo and Monokuma going back and forth, not after the last time. “What the hell do you mean, ‘Change of scenery’?”

“Good question, Kirishima!” Monokuma responded. “Oh, Whoops, Wrong series!”

“Has Monokuma finally lost it?” Hiro whispered. “What’s he talking about? Series?”

“I dunno... Did Monokuma ever have It to begin with, Man?” Leon whispered back.

“Anyway!” Monokuma cleared his nonexistent throat. “I thought I would liven your surroundings up with some ambience for a while, What do you think? Pretty realistic huh? You can practically feel the ocean breeze right?”

Makoto exchanged glances with Kyoko, not trusting this little shit for a second. “That’s It?”

“What? Were you expecting more?” Monokuma asked, tilting his head.

“There’s not going to be like a shark In the pool or anything… Right? This is it?” Hina asked hesitantly.

“Don’t give him ideas.” Makoto said, exasperated.

“Eh? Why would I do that? I want you to kill each other, Not become shark bait!” The bear retorted. “If you don’t believe me, go check around the school. I don’t have time to explain my feng shui to you, I have places to be!”

As abruptly as he appeared, He disappeared In an annoyed huff. Leaving the dining hall confused.

“So, Does everyone else think he’s using paranoia as a motive again or Is It just me?” Leon asked in a deadpan tone, a few students nodded in agreement.

“I for one would welcome a change in pace! Perhaps he is legitimately concerned for our mental health!” Taka spoke up. “We should absolutely check out the school after breakfast to see what’s changed!”

“T-Taka… Bro…” Mondo sighed. “Monokuma don’t give a shit about us, This Is obviously a trick.”

“What did he mean by that?” Chihiro asked quietly. “He has places to be?”

“He was probably just bullshitting us as usual.” Leon replied.

Kyoko hummed quietly, skeptical. She had also caught that unusual dialog line.

“Let us finish breakfast and then go look around.” Celeste suggested, taking a sip of her tea.

Everyone agreed and the energy of the room returned to It’s previous lightheartedness.

Upon exiting the room afterwards, the students noticed inflatable palm trees and random piles of sand scattered across the common area.

Makoto stared at the ‘decor’ In awkward silence, there’s no way it could be this harmless… right?

“It appears as though Monokuma really did do some redecorating…” Kyoko hummed thoughtfully, though not fully convinced of the remodel either.

“It’s…” Hina trailed off, an inflatable Monokuma wearing a grass skirt catching her eye.

“Tacky?” Leon suggested, kicking one of the Monokuma decorations out of his way.

She eyed a giant inflatable flamingo as she replied. “Kind of cute? I mean, At least It’s different.”

“Different, It certainly Is…” Sakura mumbled, sticking by Hina’s side just in case any of these inflatable beach toys decided to spring to life like Monokuma and try to attack the Swimmer.

“I think It looks fuckin’ stupid!” Mondo scoffed.

“Not just that, Monokuma has completely made a mess with all of this sand everywhere!” Taka seemed more outraged about the mess than the ominous looming threat.

“Sakura-- Look at that!” Hina pointed excitedly at a massive flamingo floaty. You could literally fit multiple people on it. “It’s so cute! I’m so gonna put this in the pool!”

“Hina, What do you need an inflatable this large for?” Sakura sighed. “You don’t even use them.”

“So that we can both chill on it together and pretend we’re at the beach, Duh!” Hina giggled, The martial artist couldn’t help but smile and shake her head at that.

She was about to say something in response but felt something light land on her head, She instinctively grabbed it and inspected it. It was a pink lei. “What the… Where did this come from?”

“The fuck?” Mondo grabbed a blue lei off of his shoulder.

Hina perked up as a yellow lei landed in her hands. She looked up in the direction It came from to see Chihiro standing atop a massive duck floaty that was similar in size to the flamingo. In their hands they had several more lei’s.

“Chihiro, where did you find those? These are so cute!” Hina squealed, happily putting the lei on.

Chihiro giggled. “I found them sitting in a box next to the door.” They replied, smiling.

Sakura and Mondo both looked up at Chihiro in silence for a moment as they both processed what they were looking at. But once they did…

“CHI!” Mondo yelled, alarmed.

“Chihiro!” Sakura gasped.

“Y-Yeah?” Chihiro asked meekly, startled by the unusual reaction from their friends.

“What are you doing up there??”

“Get down from there right now before ya fall and hurt yourself!”

“What are they now, Chihiro’s parents?” Leon asked, exasperated.

“I mean, If I had to pick anyone here to be my parents, I’d pick these two.” Makoto chuckled quietly.

Chihiro frowned and went to climb off of the duck’s head but they stumbled and squeaked as they went crashing towards the floor.

Mondo dove for the small programmer but Sakura had already seen they were gonna fall so she had taken off in their direction.

Sakura managed to catch them in her arms but didn’t anticipate Mondo also diving for them, she figured Mondo would have seen she was already on it but evidently not.

Mondo ended up colliding with Sakura and the two went tumbling to the floor, luckily Chihiro hadn’t been collateral because Sakura had just put them down.

“OW FUCK!”

“Ugh…”

Leon and Hiro both cracked up laughing at the two, but quickly stopped when Taka and Hina sent them death glares.

Mondo laid there, winded. His upper half was draped across Sakura, She had tried to catch him to break his fall but underestimated how much momentum he’d built up and they both ended up hitting the floor a few times whilst they tumbled.

“Oh no! Are you guys okay?!” Chihiro gasped, rushing over to them with teary eyes. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t think anyone would get hurt!”

“Hurt? Who says... we’re hurt?” Mondo tried to put the programmer at ease, mustering up a lopsided grin. “I’m fine, what about you Sakura?”

She was silent for a moment, Most likely also winded from hitting the floor so hard.

“Sakura?” Mondo repeated, pushing himself up off of her, his hand brushing against her side. Her eyes snapped open, suddenly very alert as she jerked upwards into a sitting position.

“Y-Yes. I’m fine too.” She blushed, her arms wrapping around herself self consciously.

Mondo made a confused face. “What’s wrong? Ya hit your head?”

“No, I… Nevermind.”

Chihiro’s face scrunched with confusion too as they replayed what had just happened in their head. Then they realized. “Ohh! I think I know!”

“What Is It?” The Biker asked, turning his head to look at the small student.

“I-It’s nothing. I suppose I’m just a little bit winded from you landing on me.” She said calmly, her face unreadable.

“Well… That could be too…” They mumbled, thinking over It more carefully.

Suddenly, Hina began laughing, as she had apparently figured out what happened. “Oh my god! Mondo! Dude she--”

“Hina!” Sakura interjected quickly, sensing danger. “Don’t even think about It!”

“Will someone just tell me what the fuck is going on!?” Mondo snapped.

“I can’t say It, Because Sakura might kill me If I do.” Hina snickered.

Chihiro sat down next to the Martial artist. “Are you hurt…?” they asked quietly, putting their hand carefully on her side.

She flinched visibly and looked at the small student, blushing. “N-No. I’m fine, Really.” she tried to reassure them. Because she was too busy worrying about Chihiro, she didn’t catch the look of realization across Mondo’s face. Ohhh and the evil grin that followed…

“Sakura, Don’t tell me…” Mondo grinned as the white haired student looked back at him. “Are you ticklish?”

She recognized the almost predatory look in his eyes, and quickly put distance between them by backing up then rising to her feet. “No.” she responded In a serious tone.

Mondo stood up and was slowly advancing towards the slightly nervous woman. “I think you’re lying~”

“Taka!” Sakura said suddenly. “I think Mondo’s bleeding.”

“What!?” Taka was quickly in front of his Kyoudai, checking him for injuries, also effectively standing in his way.

“Wh-what? No-- Taka I’m fine! She’s tricking you!” Mondo stammered, incredulous that Taka would fall for such an obvious trick.

“Trick or not, I need to make sure you’re okay!”

This gave Sakura a chance to get away from the biker, sneaking past back to the safety of her room.

Once Taka was sure that Mondo wasn’t bleeding, he backed off. “Ogami! This isn’t fuckin’ over!” He called down the hall in vain.

“I believe It Is!” She called back, Hina was nearly on the floor laughing her ass off.

“S-Sorry Kyoudai…” Taka meekly apologized.

Mondo sighed. “It’s fine. You were just worried.”

Taka was about to say something else but felt a lei being placed around his neck, he looked down at it in surprise. It was red to match his eyes. “Ch-Chihiro?” he stammered, turning around to face the Programmer.

“I saved the red one for you, there was only one in the box and I thought it would look the best on you.” They smiled.

Taka teared up at the kind gesture. “Th-Thank you! I shall treasure this for as long as I shall live!”

Chihiro giggled as they hugged the strict student, making him even more teary as he returned the hug.

“Using Taka against Mondo to escape Is really smart…” Leon said quietly to Makoto and Hiro.

“Yeah, How come we never thought of that?” Hiro replied.

“That would require you all to have a functioning brain in your heads.” Celeste smiled as they gave her pointed looks.

Kyoko smirked at this, apparently agreeing with Celeste’s sentiment.

#danganronpa tickle #Almost Lee!Sakura #Mondo Is a lil shit #Chihiro Is too pure--#Hiro and Leon are my last two braincells I swear...

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mirrorforevers · 4 years ago

Text

the wrong side of the bed • damon albarn/reader

smut with feelings, i guess. sorry if is this is too long – this prompt excited me too much. i hope you guys like daft punk - though this is not a songfic, but you’ll get why - and i promise i’ll write something not involving sadness and alcohol someday. this is unbeta’ed, and english is not my first language, so have mercy

thank you so much for the music teacher prompt, anon! hope you enjoy it x also, just in case you haven’t read my graham/reader fic yet, here it is too.

tw: unprotected drunk sex

word count: 4.477

Music has been a very important escape mechanism for you recently. Your job has been hellish, and getting your degree has also been a chore - in the midst of so many deadlines and professional disappointments what has been a light for you is Damon Albarn, your newly divorced music teacher who is old enough to be your dad.

You detail these little “buts” as a mantra whenever the subject is him, whether in internal monologues or when you talk about him with your close friends. You never really believed in relationships between two people of very different ages, and you felt like you needed to remember those details whenever you could to keep that completely carefree crush from becoming something you couldn't control.

You started taking classes with him every Saturday after you were cast on your city’s production of a musical. You knew it was a very small step for a career in the industry, but it was very significant for you. You were exhausted from any activity that involved learning given how tired you were from college, but learning music with Damon was definitely something that you didn't even place in the same mental category. It was with him that you vented about how your week was, how you missed your parents who lived absurdly far away from you, it was with him that you shared the small victories of the day-to-day that were too insignificant even to share with your longtime friends. Which is funny, since this symbolic relationship was built in a matter of 2 months. Damon, in the beginning, was very reserved and “gray”, and it was amazing how in a matter of such a short time he shown himself to be someone so energetic, observant and empathetic; although a little bit of a control freak sometimes. When the wild waves of life seemed to take you everywhere at the same time and left you lost, despite so little time in your life, Damon became a constant.

And it worries you.

What are you going to do when the money to pay for his classes runs out? Certainly, although significant, what you had seemed to be was, above all, a friendship of convenience. You were very different people, with very different aspirations, and especially at very different points in life. As much as you liked each other *as friends* and considered yourselves people you wanted close by, Damon had a well-lived life to sustain. He would not have time much less willpower to listen to your complaints and insecurities in a context that did not involve an exchange relationship. At least, that's what you thought.

Saturday was also one of the two days you could wake up late, so in addition to having a rare time for your leisure, you were able to rest at least a little more than normal. That particular morning, you noticed that there were two missed calls from Maggie on your cell phone. Maggie was one of the producers of the musical. She used to bring you very decisive and very good news. If she called you, you did whatever it took to answer her right away. An unbelievable wave of anxiety takes over you. “Hello, Mags, you called?” You say, excited, but very nervous. Dealing with people who have your dreams constantly in their hands is somewhat stressful. You bite your nails.

“Hey, Y/N, yes. Um. You okay?”

“Yeah, thanks for asking. What happened?” You notice that Maggie's tone is different. The funny thing is that everyone is always so apathetic in the artistic world, and Maggie was the only person you knew so far that showed any kind emotion.

“So… you were dropped.”

Ah.

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

“You… were dropped. We made some changes here and there and you won’t be on our show anymore. If anything changes again, we’ll call. I promise.”

“Thank you. Bye.”

“Good luck, kid.”

Um.

Your stomach drops, and for a moment you feel like you've been punched. Maybe you've been wrong all along.

My God. My God. My God.

You feel like your entire world has collapsed around you. There aren't even reasons for you to keep going to class. All that effort and money spent... are now in the trash.

Artists spend a lot of time investing in themselves. You always have to become better. Faster. Learn techniques. Reinvent yourself. Stay beautiful. And you don't believe that in your first real experience in this world... that happened. Most likely a friend of the director took your place.

My God.

You swallow the tears, after all, you told everyone you knew that you knew how this world worked and you wouldn't be shaken if something like this happened. No one is watching you right now - but you still feel that you would disappoint them if you cried.

But you couldn’t smile anymore. Nothing could take away your expression of shock and uncertainty.

Not even funny posts on Reddit. Not even funny memes sent by your friends in the morning.

Nor the message from Damon confirming the class of the day.

I won't be able to go today ☹, you type, and you erase it.

Hey, I got dropped from the musical. you type, and you erase it.

How are you doing? Definitely not.

I’ll be there! 😅 You hit send.

Hope we finally figure out that bloody solo, he replies.

You do not answer.

You change your clothes, without your motivational playlist playing in the background this time. The beginning of a great plan going on in your life was no longer there. You didn't even pick up your headphones and the subway ride was completely silent, except for the ambient sound.

You arrive at school, and Damon welcomes you with the usual tight hug, and wide smile. You give a yellow smile in response, and he immediately realizes that something is out of place. “Is everything okay?” His expression quickly changes to one of concern. Your stomach drops even lower. Maybe it hit the ground by now.

“I…”

You don't want it to end. Your dream ended, but not this, too. This cannot end. “Can we try another song today? One not from the musical?” You ask, exasperated.

“Uh… I mean-”

“Please?”

"Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?" He laughs nervously. “But... the musical’s why you’re here. I’m confused--”

“I know, but pretty please?” You insist, cringing by now to keep from crying.

“Um. Sure – but did something happen? Tell me. I’m-I’m here to help.”

“I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. Please.” You feel your voice weaken more and more. You don’t wanna cry, though your eyes are already burning. “Please, Damon.”

“Right. Okay.” He says, raising his hands in defeat. He starts collecting his material.

“What are you doing?”

“No class today. Something clearly happened and we need to talk it out.”

“I-I got sacked. But there’s no need to…”

“I got it. C’mon. I’m not a monster, I won’t charge you for talking it out. All we’ve worked for… fucking cunts.” There’s the visceral side of him. “You gotta tell me how it happened.”

“Okay.”

He only leaves your two chairs in place.

After you two sit, he starts. “This happens quite a lot in this world. And every student reacts the same.” Though this sounds a little too insensitive, you imagine it’s the truth, and his tone does the job of conveying his compassion. “Did they call you? Or did you find out through somewhere else, like Patti LuPone?”

“Huh. At least they called me. They just straight up told me I’m no longer in the cast.” You say, totally not comforted by that. But it would be even worse if you found out by other means. “I don’t know what to do now.”

“Don’t let your spirit be broken by that – you’re really talented, and I don’t like paying compliments. You know that.”

“Talent is not enough sometimes. That’s also something you’ve said to me before.”

He goes silent, and you start apologizing in the same instant.

“No, no, you didn’t hurt my feelings.” He interrupts you. “That’s true. But you’re really young, I shouldn’t have said that to you. Shit like that happens all the time. We learn a lot from it and you have your entire life ahead of you. That was… limited of me.”

“I know I’m almost getting my degree, and there’s other things for me to do… but fuck. I-- I really wanted that. You know how much.”

“I do. I also know exactly how you’re feeling now. We’re always so excited when this kind of thing happens. We plan our entire lives based on that one fragile and uncertain plan, and then boom, it’s gone. We always count on the fact that we’ll eventually have to decide between our career and something else when the choice comes, but what do we do when it doesn’t come? I know how that feels. Also--”

He grabs his guitar. You roll your eyes. “Don’t tell me you have a song for that.”

“I don’t.” he answers. “But I do have a story to tell you.”

For the next two hours, he tells you all about a very ambitious audiovisual plan that he tried to engage in his early 30s. Among countless questions and answers, Damon Albarn showed you through his history how very determined he really was. He goes into the most minute details about the ideas he had for a film and several concept albums for a virtual band that, in your opinion, sounds like something very innovative and, at the same time, incredibly palatable to the mainstream. You thought that the band he was part of when he was even younger was already very wronged because, from what you heard from the demos, they were really incredible, but the fact that such a project didn't go ahead ... just proved to you more and more that talent sometimes really wasn’t enough. Just when you thought you couldn't admire that man more.

“So, believe me when I say I know how that feels.” Goddamn. He looks at his clock, and almost jumps at how the time flied. “Bloody hell, I have another student in like, 5 minutes.”

“God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. This is a tale very few people know about. I’m glad I shared it with you.”

“…That had potential. Don’t give up on it.”

“Don’t give up on your plans either. I really mean it when I say you’re talented as fuck.”

You couldn’t help but smile through the dried tears and puffy eyes. You say your rushed goodbyes. But before can you leave the room, he holds your arm. “Wait. I know it’s hard, but don’t spend the rest of the day thinking about it. Do you want to do something tonight?”

“Uhhh—what you have in mind?” You can’t believe your ears.

“I don’t know. Do you drink?”

“More than I should.”

“Perfect. So I know a place we can go. Any preference of hours?”

“After 7 pm, I guess?”

“Works for me. I’ll send you the address soon then.” He says. You stand still, frozen, still processing what just happened. He’s blinking as if he just told you how’s the weather outside. “Now you can go.”

“O-kay. See you in a few hours then, Damon.”

“See you in a few hours, Y/N.”

You tried to hide your excitement, in vain. You smiled like an idiot.

This was one of the scenarios of your daydreams when you were walking around, talking quietly to yourself. Damon Albarn, your newly divorced music teacher who is old enough to be your father, just asked you out. You don't care if it was pity. After such disappointment, you allow yourself to create a little more of that stupid, inconsequential hope that your life would take an exciting turn for the first time.

He sends you the address a few hours after your class/conversation, when you were starting to get ready to meet him. It was a pub that you already knew well, and had visited with some friends in the past. You choose a dress that has become your “uniform” recently, for valuing your body type well and for translating your style in a way that is both stylish and very comfortable. When you finish getting ready, you take a deep breath. There is a world of difference between what you wanted to happen and what you think will happen. But you do not care.

The tragic call you received in the morning barely crosses your mind on your way to the pub.

Upon arriving, you find Damon - always so punctual - sitting in the corner of the lounge fiddling with his cell phone while he takes a few sips of a drink that you have no idea what it is made of. You never took him for a complex drink guy. He is really full of surprises. You feel slightly self-conscious out of a sudden, stomach churning in anticipation. He raises his eyes, and his gaze meets yours. His usual welcoming smile makes all your worries go away. You couldn’t help but smile wide too.

“Hello there. A stark contrast to this morning’s Y/N.” He notes, looking you up and down after you two share a tight hug, that smile still there.

“My plan tonight is to forget everything that happened before we talked, okay? Just let me forget about the call!” You answer, playfully, trying to pretend you weren't in the least ... affected ... by the way he received you.

And the time you spend together goes as usual. It’s amazing how there’s no space for awkward silences between you two. To one thing you tell him, he brings you three more things to tell, and vice-versa. You two just… click. You make each other laugh, and even if things don’t go the way you daydream about, which is totally okay, given that he’s twice your age and you’re not sure if you can handle the implications that age difference has, you’re glad to call him a good friend. He’s amazing, and you’re having a great time with him.

By your fourth beer and his fifth fancy drink, your conversation enters a territory that hasn’t been truly explored by you two yet. His romantic past. You only knew he was divorced because he mentioned it very vaguely one day, nothing else. You didn’t know why, who was her, or when. But apparently, he was about to tell you.

“We were both really… young… and didn’t have a clue of what we were doing with our lives. She was a musician too, Justine. Not anymore.”

“Because of what happened between you two?” You ask, the beers gradually taking the indiscretion filters out of you.

“Maybe. I don’t know. She seemed tired of everything. She wanted a life I’m not sure I would be able to live. I also pressured her a lot, I tried to create a version of her that somehow fitted all my expectations and, long story short, we weren’t right for each other. But I still think she’s incredible. I still admire her a lot. Not sure how she feels about me though.”

“Are you still in love with her?”

“Oh, no. There’s a big difference in admiring someone and being in love with them, kid.”

After that sentence of his, for the first time that night, an uncomfortable silence hangs between you - Instant Crush, by Daft Punk, almost ironically, starts playing on the pub's speakers. You feel like you're in a movie.

You're still a kid, aren't you?

“Definitely.” You finally answer him, finishing 70% of the bottle in a few gulps. You become a bit more lightheaded after that, and your eyes start to struggle to focus. You try to hide how slurred your voice wants to sound. “I confess I still don’t know how to really differentiate between the two.”

“Oh yeah?” His wistful tone gives place to one of amusement. “You never told me about your exes. Feel free to.”

“This is not about them.”

He turns to you, after a one-sided staring competition with his own cup. His voice is calm, and somehow even deeper, when he asks you: “Then who is this about?”

You gulp. The cramped space you were sitting on somehow feels even smaller. And hotter. You feel drops of sweat sliding on your belly. You’re sitting by his side, not in front of him, and that interaction feels almost… primal. You two are trapped by a huge table in a corner very few people can see.

“I think I need to go to the loo.”

He lets you, and you feel his eyes following you to the restroom.

My God. My God. My God.

You take a much longer time to do everything than you really need while reflecting on the dialogue you just had. You feel the ground is starting to spin, and the desire to sleep on literally any place grow. You’re drunk. And confused. And anxious.

You spend some good minutes staring at your own face in the mirror before you return to your table. He’s still in the moment, judging by the contemplative look on his face. This is the point of no return.

This is no movie – this is a fucking RPG.

“It was full,” you justify.

“Yeah, it’s always pretty crowded in there.”

That goddamn awkward silence again. You try to talk at the same time, but he wins.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Yeah.” You clear your throat. “It’s… about a guy. He’s a…current… thing. Not from the past.”

“Right.” His tone is serious, more teacher-like than he has even acted while actually teaching you.

“I met him through an ad. I was looking for music teachers in my area and I found him. He had a fair price.” He was now smiling in disbelief, shaking his head. You’re both tipsy and you don’t care if your words are slurred anymore.

“And?”

“I have classes with him every Saturday. It’s the event of the bloody week for me. I can’t believe I’m saying that now because at first he seemed quite intimidating and not open to any meaningful interaction. Like, all frowns and monosyllabic answers and all.” You steal his drink, and he’s not even bothered. “We talk a lot, and even though we talk every day I somehow always thought he didn’t give a fuck about me when we were out of class. That he only saw me as a student, not as a friend, you know? I think about that chap every single day too. He’s handsome--like. Fuck. And he pays attention to everything I say. He’s always so nice to me, he makes me feel welcome. A part of… something.” You take a few more sips, and he gently takes the drink out of your hand, mouthing an ‘enough’. “He’s old enough to be my dad and I feel guilty for thinking of him that way. He invited me for drinks when my world fell so I could get my mind out of the shambles my life’s in and I almost died because I’m madly in love with him for a while now, but I don’t want to ruin everything. I don’t know what to do now. People shouldn’t start things thinking of how they’re going to end, but, you know?”

“They should, though. He’s indeed too old for you. And your life isn’t in shambles.”

“But…”

“Everything sounds pretty lovely in theory, but, he’s probably thinking that he’s going to slow you down in a way. You’ve got too much life to live. He’s probably really tired of everything he’s already lived.”

“But I love him. He makes me laugh! I don’t wanna have children.” You whine.

He muffles a laugh. “It’s not that-“

”Please take me home tonight.” You plead; your tone more serious now. “I know what I’m doing, I know where I am. Just please take me home.”

“Y/N…”

“Please, Damon. If you don’t feel the same then fine, call me an Uber and I’ll get over it.”

That triggers something in him, apparently, and he kisses you deeply and intensely. His hands caress your back and the whole kiss, though a little disjointed because of the state you’re both in, is full of affection and love. His lips taste of strawberry vodka, and your mind is spinning.

When your lips part, you stare at each other for a while, thousands upon thousands of thoughts per second, unsaid. “Are you sure you wanna come with me?” He asks, kissing your hand.

“Yes. I am.”

After he fumbles with his keys, you’re finally in his apartment – it’s surprisingly nice and tidy. Judging by how carefree he’s with his looks, you imagined that characteristic would overflow to other aspects of his life.

From the Uber drive home to his door, his hand never left yours.

He locks the door, and you stand staring intently at each other, sizing each other up like men before a fight. This time, you start the kiss, with a little less hurry than before. But the desire is still burning hot on both of you.

“Do you have any idea of what you’re doing to me?”, he murmurs, discarding his jacket while he does his best to not break the kiss. You take this as a signal to start taking off your clothes too, starting by kicking off your shoes. It has become a choreography of sorts - his hands grasp your buttocks and pulls you closer after you’re done with them, drawing a gasp from you.

“I wanted you for so long.” You reply, your hands exploring his body below the fine fabric of his shirt. You motion to take it away from him, and he lets you, completely entranced by how red your lips look from everything it went through. He guides you to his sofa, quickly adjusting it so it’s comfortable enough and serves as a bed for both of you.

He lies down first, eagerly waiting for you to stay on top of him. You finally do, and you feel like a goddess from the way he looks at your body. You take off your dress, and now you’re almost fully exposed to him. You have no bra on, and his hands immediately travel to your breasts, fingers running tantalizingly over your nipples to get them stiff and erect before he pinches them between his fingers, smiling at the whimper his actions elicit. You start bucking your hips on the rough fabric of his trousers, and you feel him harden below you. “God, you’re… something else.” he whispers, and you respond with another whimper, biting back a full on moan when your clit hits the perfect spot. You separate your legs a little further so you can feel him better, drawing a groan from him. He takes this a signal to take his jeans off, eyes not leaving your hips.

Now that a distance of an entire layer is shortened between you, the contact is even more intimate, and the bulge of his cock straining against his underwear is driving you mad. You’re aching for him. He brushes against you and your moan is higher than you expected, and you immediately cover your mouth in order not to wake up his neighbors. As he feels the wet heat of you around his painfully hard cock, he takes your hand out of your lips, grip then tightening on your hips as he pushes you down right on to him. Your moan is even louder. “Let them hear.”

“Fuck-Damon-I’m getting so close--” As if you just gave him a command, his hands now grab the flesh of your inner thighs, massaging them further and further up until he reaches the center of your arousal, and the sound you make when he pulls your panties to the side and runs his finger between your folds while still grinding against you is somewhere between a whine and a whimper. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he says, voice rough from how excruciatingly aroused he is. “Come for me, baby.” Your clit was more exposed now, pressed more tightly against him and you whine in relief when your orgasm finally floods through your body.

Before you could fully recover, he finally frees himself from his underwear and, with your help, effortlessly aligns himself with your (quite ready) entrance. You bury your head in his neck the moment he enters you in one swift motion and your moans are almost like cries by now - the overstimulation is driving you insane. You take his face on your hands and give him a passionate kiss while he gradually picks up a merciless pace inside of you, the more heated the kiss becomes the more shamelessly you ride his cock. “Shit,” he mutters, massaging your breasts in an almost desperate way. It’s too much - you’re almost becoming one.

You could tell by how frantically he fucked you now that he wasn’t going to last much longer. His thrusts were becoming irregular and you were so close once again. His head falls forward, buried in between your neck and shoulder - his cock twitches inside of you and his movements become staccato, his mouth curving into a beautiful ‘o’ shape as he comes inside of you. His movements stop before you could reach your second one, but the entire situation you were on was so arousing to you that just by touching yourself while still feeling him inside was enough. Not letting you alone in this, one of his hands focus on one of your nipples while the other one is below yours, providing pressure above your clit. And like that, you come undone a second time, head above his shoulders.

For a few minutes, your panting was the only thing that could be heard inside of the apartment.

“Thank you. You were amazing. ’s been quite a long time.” He notes with a tender kiss on your forehead. After a while, and with much reluctance, he slides out of you, and gets up to fetch a warm, wet cloth and carefully clean you both, finally collapsing next to you with a groan.

“It was everything I expected.” You confess, smiling.

“Did you… think about me like that when you…?”

“Of course. But let’s save this talk for another Saturday.”

#damon albarn #graham coxon #alex james #dave rowntree #blur #britpop #fic #prompt #au #smut #damon x reader #damon albarn x reader

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hanawrites404 · 3 years ago

Text

Journey

@oc-growth-and-development

(trigger warning : smoking, mention of death)

Another day, another restorative morning, as if nothing else can motivate me enough to finally cut my laze and start the new day already.

I got off my bed and my eyes instinctively gazed out the window beside me at the wall. As usual, there wasn't much outside, just the same trees and lawns you would find in any other neighbourhood, yet I never seem to get tired of looking at them over and over every time I wake up. It was like a part of my everyday morning ritual which I definitely shouldn't miss, and honestly, I was fine with it. I was not the type of person to actively look for spices in my life after all, and even if I start to crave for it someday, I just wait for it to come to me.

Otherwise, everything just gotta be restful, that's all I want, to be honest.

The water was pleasantly chill to bathe in, too, and so was the dawn's sea breeze swishing through the balcony as soon as the curtains were tucked out and the windows were pulled open. If anything warm right now, it was the brisk sun and the brimming cup of steaming café au lait thawing my bare arms and fingers as I stepped out to lean onto the grill of my terrace. My feet were bare as well, touching the cool tiles beneath them as I felt the tingling sensation through my nerves.

I was still in my pyjamas, my hair up in a bun and it was still seven. Other than some elder citizens walking outside to get the minty air rushing and stray cats and dogs yawning and stretching, the scene in front of me was almost deserted.

It all felt quiet, but it wasn't prickly. The birds were still tweeting, the bulk of leaves rustled in a shimmer, and I could even hear my sigh as I blew the hot vapour from my cup, my lips slowly savouring the coffee bit by bit. It was very peaceful, I liked it.

But unfortunately, it wasn't real.

"미스......미스.....일어나 미스!"

I jolted up from the unfamiliar voice presumably calling out for me. So it was all a dream? I wasn't enjoying a utopian morning at my balcony back in Miami?? But it all felt so real....from the taste of coffee to the warmth I felt of the drink. So it was all my imagination? Wow huh....looks like the power of my mind is going to be a mystery to me for a while. I never knew that my brain could fool me into believing that I was relaxing at my home, and not dozing off in a Korean tourist bus.

"Ugghmm...Huh?" Still groggy from my sleep, I blinked twice before looking outside the window of the bus. By the look of it, I think we had come to the final stop. Before letting out anything else from my mouth, I silently turned my gaze onto the one who broke my slumber, namely the bus conductor.

He is looking right at me. Come on, say something....!!

"U-Ummm...." I stumbled, my index slowly moving to point at the complex the bus had stopped near at.

"역???" I cringed as I tried to pronounce the exotic word. Fuck. I didn't expect my voice to crack right in front of the bus conductor. And before anyone raises a question, no. I don't know Korean. I just happened to memorize only the important words I might need to communicate during my journey to Korea. But while I was still at home I felt pretty confident in myself, what happened to me now? It wasn't unusual of me, I am a human after all and I get nervous at times too. Yet it was.... surprising.

Hmm...it must be the anxiety of being in an alien country where everything is different from what I am aware of and what I have experienced so far. Different ambience, different language, and different people. Very strange and foreign, to be frank. But fresh and young, like a bite of a ripe green apple.

Nevertheless, the conductor just laughed at me and patted my shoulder very strongly. Ouch but Woah, now I could see why he was hired as the conductor. Strong arms, sharp eyes, along with a charm of his own to make people at ease. Even to a 'lost' newcomer like me.

"Yes yes! 역! Correct! Wanna come out??" With a grin twinkling on his bright face, he stepped away to let me through. I felt more relaxed than before as soon as I heard English from him, and it was pretty fluent too.

A small relieved smile broke on my lips too as I grab hold of my guitar case and my backpack and get up. My legs had gotten a bit numb inside my boots from not moving them much throughout the ride, and my jacket was almost off my shoulders.

"감사합니다" I quickly muttered before adjusting everything on me and stepping out of the bus. I didn't want to stammer again and, even if I wasn't in a hurry, I still wanted to make sure I reach where I was called to at an early hand.

"Have a safe journey!" The conductor waved at me, and I gladly turned around to return the gesture before entering the lobby. After I had made it inside, I left my belongings at a convenient place and went to the bathroom to fix my face and clothes.

I had been travelling for almost twenty hours; An eighteen-hour flight and a two-hour bus. It was back-to-back, and hardly I had the time to refresh myself properly and smoke a bit, but now was my chance to do so before I carry on to reach my destination.

With the help of the large mirror on the wall, I first removed my contact lenses and then washed my face and combed my hair. It had grown pretty long. But I wasn't planning on cutting them any sooner. I also dusted my jacket and jeans off and straightened my t-shirt inside.

After I was sure everything had been set, I put my lenses back on and vaguely looked around the room, and finding no one except me, I quickly stand near the ventilator above me and light my cigarette. What I was doing right now poses a threat to my health and is illegal, but this was a guilty pleasure of mine. I admit it shamelessly because why not. I have nothing to lose. We all are gonna die one day, so it's better we make the most of our lives and I was just doing that. Nothing more, nothing less.

Just because I said I don't seek adventure vigorously, does not mean I don't have any thrill in my life at all. I do have it. Everyone has it. You just gotta make it interesting in your way, and that's how you gotta roll, champ.

Anyways, after a couple of puffs, I got disposed of the cigar and shooed off the smoke around me. It was only after everything seemed clear that I washed my life hands and dried them, then left the restroom and grabbed my luggage back before I started to stride again, to the reception counter.

After all the formalities were taken care of, I finally breathed the outside air of Korean afternoon. The sun was luminous and overhead, but the heat wasn't as severe as back in Miami. The number of clouds here are much more than there, or was it just for this particular day? I had no idea.

I am not a tourist here. I came here for a business trip, you can say. A man from here, a freelancing musical artist, had personally requested and invited me for a musical collaboration. The deal itself sounded quite intriguing, also with the fact that I'm half-Korean thanks to my father's lineage, yet ironically I have neither ever seen Korea with my own eyes nor I have witnessed its culture. Until today, that is.

So here I am now, strolling in the middle of the bustling city surrounded by college students touring around, laughing and talking with their classmates and munching on unique dishes and snacks I had never seen before. And while I was busy observing them, someone bumped into me, breaking my contact.

"Oh! 실례합니다!" It was a young blond guy, wearing a light blue hoodie with a couple of smiley badges pinned to his chest. He quickly bowed after apologizing and for briefly taking a glance at my face, hastily trots in the opposite direction. I eyed him, judging by his clothes and the books he was carrying in his arms, he looked like a college student. Hmm...no wonder why he was in a hurry. He must be late to class or something.

But anyway, I continued walking. That musical man had told me to wait near the back alley of a coffee shop that was close to the station. Hmm, that would be easy to locate. The coffee shop was right in front of me! Hah, how easy.

And so, without wasting any time, I ambled towards the cafè. It was a cute little shop, in my opinion. The smell of roasted coffee beans and bubbling creamy milk was evident in the atmosphere, and the colour scheme of the shop had pallettes of vanilla and caramel. It was like I had entered not a shop but inside a nestling coffee cup! Pretty cool, especially for someone who loves coffee like me.

Also, a bunch of customers were inside too. This place was not lonely at all. Some couples were on a date, singles who just want peace of mind with a complimentary cup of coffee, and business workers too! To be honest, I liked one of the employee's suits too. It was of a short brunette woman with glasses. She was kind of cute too. And by how she was still typing away rapidly on her phone even while on her break, tells how much of a busy woman she must be. Damn, God forbid that I ever be this much busy in my career.

Working even at breaks. Scary, in my opinion.

Needless to say, that wasn't why I was here for. The city was new to me so naturally, I would be curious, but business comes first in such a case. And in this case, it's my case. So bringing myself back to schedule, I leave to the back alley, waiting for that man so we could finally meet after talking through emails and phone calls.

But......what was that man's name again?

Ah....Zen.....

Hmm, weird name. But as someone who prefers to be called CJ than Catherine Joseph, I am no one to say so. Or even judge so.

Zen......I wonder what kind of person he would be in flesh. Same friendly and confident as the impression of him in my mind? Or just some different personality I never saw coming? Well, only time will tell that. But right now, we wait.

#catjose #mystic messenger oc #mystic messenger cmc #mystic messenger mc #mysme cmc #mysme oc #mysme mc #mysme #mystic messenger #cmc #oc-tober

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stuntgirlatthevampiremansion · 4 years ago

Text

To the Rhythm of the Ocean

Pairing: Jake Kiszka/reader

word count: 2,226

warnings: first person POV, the reader is mentioned to be an artist and bisexual but it is not important to the plot. Other than that its just a fluffy day at the beach. 😊

A/n: at last, I finally wrote a fic. It is extremely self-indulgent and was inspired by some anons that @safari-karrot got that I definitely did NOT send ;). I also want to thank Kate for being my beta! I worked pretty hard on it and im proud of it. Hope you enjoy!

-----------

Walking into the elevator of my apartment complex, I was able to let my shoulders relax and my guard down for the first time all day. The day at the studio was intense today, and for all the wrong reasons. No matter how much I tried, I wasn’t able to create anything, as if all of the motivation and drive to do my work had burned out. I was burnt out. I was lucky enough to score an apartment next door to a pair of twins, Jake and Josh, who quickly became good friends. And even more fortunate, they had come back home this week from recording with their band, which meant I could spend my afternoon with them instead of alone in my own apartment.

I entered my house and set my bags and work down on the dining table. It was impossible to make out where the table was under pile of unfinished sketches and work plans, but that was a tomorrow problem. I put on the kettle to make some tea and shot Jake a text asking if I could come over.

Jake... in the last couple of years that i have known the twins, the have become an indispensable part of my life. We take turns cooking for the three of us and hosting movie nights, an even go do laundry together. Having them away for so long felt like a hole had been carved out of my soul, and it also made my harboring crush on Jake ache deeper and deeper. He was unlike anyone I had ever met, we understood each other in a way I never thought I would have with anyone, yet he was still an enigma. He was insanely talented and driven, and he was smart. And kind. And funny. And extremely easy on the eyes. I would never tell him this though, his friendship is all I can get, and I’ll learn to live with that.

His text came back telling me that his door was open. I finished and drank my tea, washed my face, changed into more comfortable clothes, and made my way next door.

When I came into the twins’s apartment Jake was sitting on the sofa playing his guitar, a small notebook sat on his lap. At my entrance, he sent a smile my way, but continued playing.

“Where is Josh?”

“He’s out filming. Why, did you need him?”

“No, just wonderin’.”

“You know, if you just want to hang out with me to try to get into my brother’s pants, you could have just told me. And I want no part of it. Here I was thinking we were best friends.” He teased and wiped fake tears from his eyes, but his smile said that he was just messing. That did not, however, stop my nerves. Best friend.

“I do not want to get into your brother’s pants, Jake. They wouldn’t fit me.” I took of my boots and plopped on the couch next to him. “I’m your best friend?! What about Josh, Danny and Sam?”

“That’s different, they’re my brothers.”

“Hm... I guess you’re a fine friend too, one could even say the best one I’ve had.” Friend.

“And the best one you’ll ever have.” He set his guitar down to his other side, “how was the studio today? Any new paintings?“

I let out an exasperated sigh “I wish. I am incredible burned out, I can barely even pick up a pencil! I have gotten close to nothing done all week and Rachel keeps asking me out, I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Rachel? What did you say?” If I didn’t know better I would’ve thought I saw pain flash across his face.

“I told her no, but that is besides the point. I’m just so out of it...”

“You do look like you need some adventure.”

“You could say that”

“You know what?” He got up from the couch and pulled me to stand with him. “I’ll give it to you. Go get dressed, I’ll get everything ready.”

“What? Where are we going?”

“If i tell you it wont be a surprise. Now go to your house and get ready.”

“Then what do I wear?”

He seemed to think about it for a while, then said “something comfortable, but tropical.”

“Jake, that tells me absolutely nothing—“

“You’ll figure it out. Now leave, and don’t come back unless you’re on party business.” It was futile to keep going so I just stuck my tongue back at him and walked out of the door and into my apartment.

I settled on wearing a short blue sundress, boots, and a pair of sunglasses. I walked back into his apartment to find Jake in the shortest shorts i have even seen him wear, an unbuttoned white shirt, and his signature combination of necklaces and a bucket hat. “Are those Sam’s?”

“No, I own shorts too.” He put down two boxes on the coffee table and looked me over once. “That is exactly what I meant! Now carry this to the car.” He handed me a box full of snacks and drinks and we made our way down to the car.

I rode shotgun. He still refused to tell where we were headed. No matter how much I pushed and tried to wear him down, he just said to wait and find out. We got busy talking and listening to music and I gave up asking. Instead, I admired the scenery passing around us, and I admired Jake, with the windows down, his hair wild in the wind, and rocking out to our playlist. He had the ability to make me happy by just taking me on a drive. He didn’t even have to try.

Eventually the buildings turned into trees, and the trees to palm trees, until finally we arrived at a clearing by the ocean. Jake parked the car, “We’re here!”

“You brought me to the beach!” He brought me to the beach! The ocean! The one place I loved most in the world. “I could marry you right now!” I threw my arms around him and jumped out of the car. My boots were off in a second and by the next my feet were already in the water. Jake did the same before joining me at the shore.

“So, was it a good surprise?” I could hear his smile without even looking at him. And he knew the answer before I even spoke.

“The best! Thank you, Jake. Really.”

We set on an easy pace through the shore, side by side. Each picking out seashells and skipping rocks on the water. The sun wasn’t unbearable, for it was afternoon. The sky was blue and almost cloudless, the only thing that altered it were the shapes of birds flying overhead. The sand was coarse and stuck to our feet, but it wasn’t burning. The sea... it was an array of the bluest blues one could imagine, all coexisting for our pleasure. Jake was glowing, and I must have been too, I was incandescently happy.

Back at the car, I set out our snacks and liquor while Jake put in some music. Halfway through our first meal and first bottle, Jake turned up the radio, and waited for my reaction.

“I love this song!”

“I know you do, thats why I put it.” He took our food and put it away on the roof of the car; and for the second time today, pulled me by the hand to stand. “let’s dance”

His touch sent electric currents up my back. Best friend. “this song isn’t danceable, Jake!”

“It is if we want it to be.” And he held my hand in his and dragged me towards the clearing. The breeze was calming, the sea was a splendid blue. The waves lapped at the shore, not strong enough to disrupt our song.

Turns out, the song was danceable after all; and so were all the others that came after it. We held each other while we took turns twirling and laughing, belting our lyrics and acting out the drama of the songs. Every lick of his fingers on my skin left a burning sensation, yet I couldn't get enough. If he knew what this was doing to me... If he knew I was drunk on him and falling on every shared glance, every smile, every touch.

The sun started its descend and our dancing got closer. He held his hands of my waist, my chest pressed against his, my hands on his shoulders as we swayed around our little ballroom of a clearing. My spine tingled, with every inhale, I got drunk in his scent of pine and peppermint.

We got lost in our dancing, and then he got lost in the horizon. The sky had started to turn all shades of orange and pink, the water glimmered upon our eyes like tiny mirrors. A pelican flew over us and dived into the water in search for dinner.

We had stopped moving, yet his hands remained placed at the small of my back, he looked at ease. My fingers twirled a strand of his hair, he didn’t mind.

He looked like he belonged in the landscape, to the oranges and pinks that tinted the sky, he belonged to nature.

And I belonged looking at him, within arms reach yet so unattainable. He would always be a mystery. There was always more to him than met the eye, and even after years of knowing him, I hadn’t deciphered him completely. And I didn’t intend to, he was just like that. And he wasn’t mine to understand like that.

If all I would get were stolen glances with the setting sun as out witness, I’d take it. Because right here, right now, the sight before me was one to behold. Jakes eyes were transfixed on the horizon, his mouth agape. The sun was finally hiding behind the waves, which mean our day was coming to an end. I tried not to think about it, I wouldn’t let the sun steal the light of this day from me. Ocean breeze ruffled his long hair, and as I saw the last light of day melt into his golden brown eyes, I knew that home wasn’t a place. Home is a person. And he was mine. But he would never know, for I doubted I’d be his.

I was thrown out of my daydream when he slightly pulled back and chuckled. “ So home is a person, huh?”

“I— “ I said that out loud. Shit shit shit. I just stared at him like a deer in the headlights. There was no way to dig myself out of this, so I remained silent. Though my hear was beating like a drum and I was certain that he could feel it due to how close he still held on. Best friends don’t say that.

There was a shit-eating grin on his face, one that said he certainly knew what was going through my head. Instead of taunting me further, he said the words I’d most longed fo hear.

“Then you are certainly mine”

Nothing could stop the smile that broke out across both of our faces at that. “And you mine”

Before he had time to reply, I grabbed his face and pulled his lips to mine. There was static in the air, his lips were incredibly soft and tasted of coffee and chocolate. His mouth moved with expertise against mine, he held me close. Closer. Closer even still, until there was no space left between us. My heart was pounding, he licked at my bottom lip asking for entrance, which I gave, and deepened the kiss. My hands held on to him tightly, as if he would disappear would I let go. He dipped me slightly and I swore I would fall on the sand if he hadn’t held me. The purple sky could’ve turned bright yellow and I would have paid no attention.

We pulled apart for air and the sun was completely gone.

“Jake, I—“

“I know, I feel it too. I have for a while.”

“I was so scared that you wouldn't. Ive felt this way for you for the longest time, I—”

“But I do!”

“But you do!”

He pecked my lips and whispered close to my ear “And if you want, we’ll make it official. Right now. You and me, and a million sunsets to come.”

“I’m yours for as long as you want me, Jake.”

“And I’m yours forever, y/n. Even when i’m far away.”

No words could describe what I felt. It’s as if my blood was replaced by honey and my ribcage contained the moon in all her love and glory. “I wish I could stay here forever, in this moment. With you, and round the world.”

“Check the trunk.” He smiled too wide and untangled his arms from mine.

I reluctantly let go of him and walked towards the car. He tossed me the keys and I popped the trunk open to see the second box Jake hadn’t let me look into. I opened it and found all sorts of camping gear: One tent, two sleeping bags, toiletries, even pajamas. Jake creeped up behind me and slid his arms around my waist. I turned around with an incredulous grin.

“Is that a tent?!”

“That is a tent, sweetheart.”

The end.

—- A/N: I literally CANNOT write unless its in 1st POV. This is 100% self-indulgent, and I have no idea how to write a kiss. Hope you enjoyed it nonetheless!

#Jake kiszka x reader #Jake kiszka/reader #Jake kiszka fic #Jake kiszka imagine #jake kiszka #greta van fleet imagine #My writing

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daringyounggrayson · 4 years ago

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Here’s part 2 for the fic I wrote for @batfam-big-bang! Once again, thank you so much to my amazing betas @huilian, @tintinnabulation-of-the-bells and @yellow-warbler and my incredibly talented artists @annasartverse, @noroomforcream, and @zeribip <3

Summary: The double homicide at Haly’s Circus is not Bruce’s first case involving a child, and while there’s no overt indication that Bruce should react differently to this case, he supposes that his previous cases did not involve the witness known as Dick Grayson. On the surface, the Grayson case seems like any other gang case, but the more time Bruce spends with the boy, the more he begins to doubt his own instincts.

Part 1: AO3 | tumblr

Part 2

For the first time since this whole thing started, Bruce regrets not hacking into the Child Protection and Permanency system and forging a foster license. Sure, it would have raised a few eyebrows, and yes, dealing with the repercussions would have been exhausting. But he could have handled it; he has more than enough money to bribe the right people efficiently, and when required, he can be rather charismatic. As much as he hates to use his influence in that way, it would have been for a good cause. A less than ideal mean for a more than necessary end. And at least then Richard would have been safe.

Batman swoops in through a window, sending pieces of glass shattering around him as he takes down one of the Zucco’s henchmen. Shouting erupts across the room, but Batman’s already taken down another member, securing him with zip ties.

“Where’s the boy?” he growls into the man’s ear.

“B-basement,” he says, voice garbled through his split lip.

Bruce stands, quickly surveying the room for a door. Spotting one, he runs toward it, flinging the door open and triggering more shouting. He leaps down the stairs, listening as the shouts turn into screams. In another scenario, Bruce would drop a smoke bomb and work in the dark, but they have guns held tightly in their hands and Bruce doesn’t trust them to avoid their hostage. Instead, Bruce takes them down overtly, his work somewhat sloppy as he hurries to disarm and restrain all of them so he can get to Richard as quickly as possible.

“Are you alright?” Bruce asks when he finally makes his way to Richard. He removes the gag gently and then moves behind the boy to cut the overly-complicated restraints.

“I think so—ahh,” he breaks off into a hiss and flexes his hand. When the rope falls, he brings his right wrist in front of himself, hiding it from Bruce’s view.

Bruce moves back to the front of the chair and kneels. “May I?” Richard nods and Bruce takes his right wrist. It’s already swollen, and Bruce is almost positive that it’s broken. Other than a small grimace, Richard remains stoic during the brief examination. “It’s likely broken. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Richard shakes his head.

“Did they hit your head, give you anything?”

“No, just my wrist.”

“Do you remember who did it?” Bruce asks.

“The tall guy with the beard. I think he went back upstairs when they heard you come in,” Richard explains.

“Hnn. Can you walk?”

Richard nods, standing. He braces his right wrist with his left hand, holding it against his chest as Bruce leads him out of the house. “I got out of the ropes when they tied me up the first time,” Richard tells him, a touch of excitement—maybe pride—in his voice. “He grabbed my wrist before I could run away, though. I heard it crack when he twisted it.”

The excitement drops toward the end, but the detail of Richard’s escape attempt explains the complex restraints.

“Bastard,” Bruce says under his breath, but Richard must hear it because a ghost of a grin crosses his face. “You were very brave tonight. I—I’m glad you’re safe, Richard.”

Richard hums. “I’m just glad you showed up when you did.”

Bruce and Richard make their way to the ambulance parked across the street as the police rush into the house that’s now behind them. Gordon meets up with them, telling Richard he’d like to speak with him after he’s been treated.

Gordon glances at Bruce quickly, and before Gordon rushes off to join his officers, they share a moment of relief. Because the thing is, Zucco already tried to kill the boy once, and tonight, they had been expecting to find a dead child at worst and a dying one at best. To see that Richard escaped with only a broken wrist is cause for celebration, but it also begs the question: Why didn’t Zucco have him killed immediately? And what was he planning on doing instead?

Bruce intends to stay with Richard until someone else arrives to ride with him to the hospital. However, those plans are cut short when he sees a familiar shadow leap from a nearby roof.

“Don’t go anywhere without Gordon,” Bruce tells Richard. The boy nods, and when he turns to the paramedic, she nods too.

Bruce runs toward the shadow, but he quickly realizes they’re already too far ahead.

He calls the car and does his best to follow the shadow from the street. They’re moving fast and with a new purpose, one other than avoiding Batman. For a fleeting moment, Bruce wonders if the shadow is leading him to a trap.

The shadow leads Bruce to a familiar area not too far from where Richard was being kept. He’s lost the shadow’s specific location, but he’s confident that he’s caught up with them enough to go on foot. A good decision, too: the sound of shattering glass followed by a scream leads him to a nearby garage.

“Help!” a man yells, followed by another round of breaking glass.

Bruce picks up his pace, sharply turning into the garage only to find the people he’s been looking for for weeks: Tony Zucco and the Shadow. The Shadow is wearing a dark suit with knives across their chest that glisten in the light; their mask covers their entire head, the eye region reminding Bruce of an owl. They’re approaching Zucco in a calculated manner, knife held comfortable in one hand. There are pieces of glass bottles all over the floor, bottles Zucco most likely threw at the Shadow as a form of self-defense. Out of bottles, he’s left to crouch behind a garbage can and yell for the mercy of strangers.

“Batman, help! He’s trying to kill me!”

Zucco’s words are pointless—Bruce is already on top of the Shadow by the time he’s finished saying them.

The Shadow dodges easily with a grace Bruce knows he will never be capable of. The Shadow pushes Bruce aside and aims at Zucco again, but just before they can release the throwing knife, Bruce knocks them off course. Zucco cries out when the knife makes contact with his flesh, but it doesn’t cut his chest—he’ll live.

Bruce waits for the Shadow to make a move, fully anticipating for their spar to continue. The Shadow, however, has other plans.

They turn to Zucco. “This is your only warning: Do not harm the Grayson.” And then they’re gone.

In a matter of seconds, Bruce has Zucco restrained and handcuffed to a shelf, but the Shadow is long gone by the time Bruce chases after them. There is some relief in knowing the Shadow is closer to an ally than another enemy, but Bruce knows nothing about them or what their motives are. All he knows is that they aimed to kill tonight. This Shadow may not see Batman as an enemy, but until proven otherwise, Bruce will have to consider them as a threat.

Bruce returns to the garage, relieved that Zucco is both still there and not dumb enough to remove the knife.

“The police and the paramedics will arrive shortly,” Bruce tells him. “In the meantime, you are going to answer some questions.”

Zucco sneers. “And why would I do that, huh? I’ve done nothing wrong; I’m a victim tonight.”

“Richard Grayson is the victim,” Bruce growls. “His parents are victims. You are a murderer.”

“Says who? Some circus brat?”

Bruce is in Zucco’s face faster than either of them can blink, holding him up by his collar. “Don’t test me. What did you want with Grayson?”

Zucco’s quiet. Bruce shakes him once.

“We were just going to give the kid a scare, alright? No harm done. Just trying to teach him how things work in Gotham,” Zucco says.

“Why?” Bruce presses.

“The kid’s been spreading some nasty rumors; it’s disrespectful.”

“What. Were. You. Planning.”

“Okay, okay,” Zucco says, handcuff clanking against the shelf as he struggles in Bruce’s hold. “We weren’t going to kill the kid, alright? We’re not stupid. We were just going to send him off with a few friends for a while. They would have brought him back in about a week, nothing too bad.”

Bruce has seen the people who take trips after getting in trouble with some of the local gangs, and he wouldn’t describe their experiences as “nothing too bad.”

“Names.”

After Zucco spits out a few names, Bruce moves to a nearby building to wait for the police and paramedics, not able to stand being near Zucco any longer. He’s hoping this is it; that he can tell Richard it’s over.

Just when Bruce can make out the sound of sirens, Alfred informs him of a call from his civilian phone. Bruce takes it.

“Bruce Wayne,” he says in a cheerful voice. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi Mr. Wayne, this is Ms. Briggs with Child Protection and Permanency. Congratulations: You’ve been matched with Richard Grayson.”

oOo

To say Alfred was caught off guard by Bruce’s announcement that a child would be coming to stay with them for an indefinite amount of time would have been an understatement. Still, the older man has grown used to such surprises by now and he handled it well.

“For future reference,” Alfred says, breaking the paradoxically loud silence between the two, “I would appreciate slightly more notice before we have houseguests.”

“Alfred,” Bruce breathes, a hint of pleading in his voice. Alfred has already lectured him, and while he’s sure more lectures will come tomorrow after the man has slept and regained his energy, for now they share a shaky truce. Bruce hopes it can be maintained for the rest of the evening. “I told you as soon as I knew.”

As soon as he hung up with Ms. Briggs, Bruce had gone home and explained everything to Alfred in person. He assured Alfred that he’d had every intention of obtaining the foster license legally, and only then hacking into CPP to match himself with Richard if it became necessary. He told Alfred about Martin, how he must have been responsible for the early foster license, and that matching with Richard must have been a coincidence. Although, had Alfred asked, Bruce would have admitted that after tonight’s events, he’d planned to forgo the legal route and place Richard in his care, effective immediately. Honestly, he would have preferred the latter; now he knows he’ll be receiving a phone call any day from a Mr. Martin Sinclair to cash in on the “favor.”

(Hopefully, a favor is all that will come of this.)

Alfred sniffs. “I believe you have already admitted quite the opposite. Unless you are implying that you have been unaware of your own actions for the past month?”

“I was going to tell you,” Bruce says—again—now referencing the foster license itself and not Richard’s new custody arrangement. “Until tonight, I was starting to think I wouldn’t need it. Richard seemed to be doing well.”

“So you said.”

Bruce sighs, sliding a pillow into its case. An apology readies itself on his tongue, but he’s already given enough for tonight, so he swallows it. “This will be temporary, Alfred. Just until I can find a safe family to adopt Richard.”

“Of course.”

They finish putting the room together in silence. Alfred avoids looking in Bruce’s direction, which only makes Bruce’s guilt grow more. He knows this is the right decision, even if it’s not ideal. Bruce thinks Alfred knows that too, not that it seems to be doing much to smooth things over at the moment.

“I think that’s as best as we can make it with such short notice,” Alfred announces.

“Thank you,” Bruce says. “For your help.”

Alfred looks at him for a few seconds, a soft expression on his face. “Shall we wait downstairs for the lad to arrive?”

oOo

Two hours later, Bruce is pacing in the foyer, still waiting for Richard to arrive. It’s late, so late that it’s almost early.

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon, sir,” Alfred tells him—again. “Be patient.”

Bruce grunts, but he stops his pacing and takes a seat next to Alfred, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands under his chin. The more time passes, the more anxious Bruce feels and the more he doubts himself and his capabilities. Capabilities which seem to have dwindled since receiving the phone call.

Alfred rests his hand on Bruce’s shoulder and sighs like he can hear Bruce’s thoughts. Bruce leans into the touch, patiently waiting for Alfred to speak.

“You have a big heart, Master Bruce, you always have. It’s the trait I am most proud of,” Alfred says. “Deciding to take in Richard, while very characteristic of you, is an enormous responsibility—as I’m sure you are well aware. I believe that you can rise to the challenge and be an outstanding guardian, but for as long as the boy is with us, he will have to be your first priority. Not Gotham.”

“I know, Alfred,” Bruce murmurs.

Alfred hums. “I am willing to assist you as needed, but assisting is all I will do. The boy will be under your care, not mine.”

“I know, Alfred,” Bruce murmurs again. “I . . . Thank you.”

Alfred squeezes Bruce’s shoulder once before letting him go. “Perhaps this will be good for you. Perhaps you two will be able to help each other.”

Bruce doesn’t know what to say, so they slide back into their silence. The silence is no longer loud, however; it’s comfortable, the way it should be.

Not even a minute later, headlights cut through the window. Bruce and Alfred both stand, moving toward the door. Bruce opens it and he and Alfred walk outside, watching from the porch as the car comes to a stop. Ms. Briggs gets out first and moves around to the back, opening the door. Richard steps out of the car, head tilted back and eyes glued to Wayne Manor, taking in its size. Bruce’s eyes, in turn, are glued to the blue cast on the boy’s wrist.

“Ms. Briggs, Richard,” Bruce greets with a warm smile, leaving Alfred on the porch as he approaches the car.

“Hello Mr. Wayne,” Ms. Briggs says, holding out her hand. Bruce takes it, and they shake twice before releasing.

She places a hand on Richard’s shoulder briefly, encouraging him to offer a quiet, “Hello Mr. Wayne.”

“You can call me Bruce if you want,” he says, to which Richard only nods.

“My apologies again for this happening so late,” Ms. Briggs says, “but as I explained on the phone, we have quite a special case here. I have some papers for you to sign.”

Bruce gestures toward the house. “Please, come inside. We can take care of everything there.”

“Perfect. Richard, do you want to grab your stuff from the trunk?” Ms. Briggs asks, pressing a button on her key fob as Richard nods and walks toward the back of the car.

“Here, let me,” Bruce says, following Richard. “I don’t want you to make your wrist worse.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Richard says in a barely audible voice.

Bruce smiles again, a smile Richard doesn’t return. It feels out of character, but the behavior isn’t unexpected; Richard has had what is probably the second-worst night of his life and he’s once again surrounded by strangers.

Upon opening the trunk, a wave of anger runs through Bruce when, instead of luggage or a backpack, he finds a garbage bag.

Bruce looks toward the social worker, who has moved to the porch and is speaking with Alfred. Bruce looks back to the trunk and picks up the bag, closing the trunk before he can give it another thought. “How are you feeling, Richard? I know tonight has been more than difficult.”

“I’m okay,” Richard tells him, still using that quiet, reserved voice.

Bruce hums, leading the two of them into the house. “You’ll feel better after some sleep.”

Richard continues his odd silence for the rest of the meeting. Bruce hands the garbage bag full of Richard’s clothing to Alfred, who takes it up to the room they had prepared. Bruce signs the papers and says goodbye to the social worker in record time, thanking her for everything she had done that evening as she leaves the house.

He turns back to Richard, taking in his empty expression, the bags under his eyes, and the blue cast on his right hand. He thinks of Richard sitting without his parents in a hospital emergency room, how he had been forced to go to his old foster home and pack up his belongings in a garbage bag. This would mark the third time he had been forced to move in with strangers, the third time he had been forced to shove his belongings into a garbage bag.

Bruce kneels in front of Richard, looking him in the eye to try to gain his attention. “Richard?”

Richard blinks, moving his eyes to look at Bruce. “Sorry.”

Bruce shakes his head, dismissing the need for an apology. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Richard tells him softly, voice hollow.

“Hn." Bruce thinks, trying to decide if he should push or let it be for now. He looks at Richard—his drawn face and closed posture—and goes with the latter. "Are you hungry?”

Richard shakes his head. “I had some crackers and juice at the hospital.”

“That doesn’t sound like very much to eat,” Bruce says. “How about we go into the kitchen and see if anything sounds good to you?"

“Can . . . can I just go to bed? I’m really tired.”

"Okay." Bruce stands, nodding in resigned agreement. “If you’re sure.”

Bruce takes Richard upstairs, pointing out his own bedroom before going into Richard’s.

“If you need anything, I’ll be right down there,” Bruce tells him. “You can wake me up for anything, even if you don’t think it qualifies as an emergency.”

“Okay.”

Bruce swallows, then takes them back to Richard’s room. He shows him the ensuite bathroom, pointing out where the extra toiletries are kept as well as the shower covers for his cast. He also shows him how to work the shower, just in case he wants to take one before coming downstairs in the morning.

“Do you need help putting your clothes away?” Bruce asks, not allowing his eyes to linger on the garbage bag Alfred placed near the dresser.

“No, I can do it.”

The I can take care of myself echoes in Bruce’s head; Richard had used the phrase directly during one of their early meetings, but now he only implies it.

“If you change your mind,” Bruce says, and Richard nods in understanding. “I’ll let you get some sleep.” Bruce moves to the door, pausing in the doorway and turning to face Richard once more. “Goodnight Richard, I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “Goodnight Bruce.”

Bruce hesitates for a moment, then closes the door with a soft click and goes to his room. Once there, he paces, waiting for something to happen. Nothing does.

He pulls out his phone, checking his news alerts to find that Zucco, predictably, hadn’t been taken to the hospital by the police. He had fled the scene, and while there had been a chase, the officers lost him. Bruce groans, running a hand through his hair. With how long it took the social worker to arrive with Richard, Bruce could have stayed to escort Zucco personally. Maybe then—

No. Going to the manor and waiting for Richard had been the right decision. Even if Bruce had stayed with Zucco, that was no guarantee that he wouldn’t have bribed someone to let him go, and with the kidnapping earlier, the station would have been too hectic for Gordon to do much. But Zucco is getting anxious, reckless even; he’ll be easy to find again.

Still, Bruce doesn’t get much sleep that night.

oOo

The first week with Richard is stressful. Bruce doesn’t go into work that entire week, which he’s sure he’ll regret when he’s eventually forced to return and finds a nightmare waiting for him. He spends most of his time trying to find Zucco, either from the cave or in the streets, meaning he hasn’t spent much quality time with Richard. Richard doesn’t seem to mind, preferring to spend most of his time alone even when Bruce is available. Bruce isn’t sure if this is the right thing to do, but he allows it. The boy is adjusting, after all, and Bruce doesn’t want to push him too soon. (Not that he’d know what to say even if he did want to push.)

From what little he’s seen of Richard, he’s learned a few things: the boy is still grieving, badly, and that grief is mixing with trauma. Bruce has awoken to screaming from night terrors on three separate nights in the past week, and he’s sure there have also been plenty of nightmares that Richard hasn’t shared with them. Richard doesn’t seem to get much sleep as a result, and Bruce has found him passed out in random parts of the manor twice.

What Bruce hasn’t learned, he already knew: Richard is very bright and observant. He’s managed to maintain his athletic abilities, and Alfred has told him that the boy wakes up early to exercise each morning. Bruce has asked Richard about his exercises, both out of curiosity and to ensure he wasn’t hurting his wrist. From the sound of it, Richard would enjoy the equipment Bruce keeps downstairs. That’s not possible, of course, so he invites Richard to use the house’s gym and Bruce makes a note to himself to buy some gymnastics equipment.

By the end of the week, Richard seems more comfortable, but he’s still quiet and reserved for the most part. There are glimpses, however, of the enthusiastic boy who would wait up at night to talk with Batman, and also glimpses of a happy boy from an earlier time.

It’s around this point that Richard starts sneaking out again. Bruce has been expecting it, and the alarm system informs him that Richard has departed before Alfred does. Bruce had already left for patrol, but he quickly circles back and is able to meet up with Richard before he’s technically even off the property.

“Now that’s impressive,” Richard says when Batman jumps out of the car and lands in front of him. “How do you keep finding me anyway? Did you put a tracker on me or something?”

“No.” Well, not tonight.

“Are you one of those computer hackers?”

“When it’s necessary.”

“That’s so cool! Could you teach me?” Richard asks, rising up on his toes ever so slightly.

“Hn.”

“I’m going to take that as a maybe,” Richard says, grinning.

“What are you doing out here?” Bruce asks.

Richard shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

They’re in the woods surrounding the manor. When Bruce was Richard’s age, he had been too afraid to go in them alone during the day. It’s definitely not where he would have gone to relax.

“How is your new foster placement?”

“Fine, I guess.” Richard rubs the inside of his elbow. “Do you think when this is over they’ll let me go home?”

As Batman, Bruce had asked Gordon if it would be possible for Richard to be placed in Haly’s care. Someone had reached out, but Haly hadn’t been willing. “I’m sorry Richard, but that doesn’t seem very likely.”

Richard looks away, sniffing. “Figures.”

Bruce kneels down, taking Richard’s cast-free hand in his own.

“I just want to go home.”

“Is that where you were going tonight?” Bruce asks.

Richard shakes his head but says nothing.

“Then where?” Bruce presses.

“I . . . I was going to try to find Zucco,” Richard admits, looking anywhere but Bruce. “I was going to take a bus downtown and ask around; say he was my uncle. I thought that even if I couldn’t find him, he would hear that I was looking for him and come after me again. And then, and then you could arrest him.”

“Richard.” Bruce’s heart is pounding in his chest, eyes wide with fear for this child. “You know how unsafe that is.”

“Like you care!” Richard screams—screams—at him, pulling his hand out of Bruce’s grasp and throwing both of them above his head in anger. “My parents have been gone for two months”—Richard’s small fists land across the bat emblem with no regard for his cast and containing more strength than Bruce expected—“and Zucco is still out there! If you’re not going to do anything, then I will!”

The boy is crying—heavy, angry, hurt tears—and for a moment, all Bruce can do is stare at him, barely breathing as he watches the tears and feels the fists pound against his chest. He thinks this is my fault and he wishes that that thought wasn’t as true as it is.

Bruce grabs Richard’s hands, pulling them back down gently. “I’m sorry. This never should have happened to you. And I’m sorry I haven’t been able to find Zucco yet, but I am looking for him.”

Richard isn’t fighting his hold, but he’s still crying, gasping for breath every few seconds. “You promised! You said you would bring him to justice—that’s what you said!”

“I know. And I promise I’m doing everything I can. This case is my top priority.” And that’s the truth—the rest of the truth is that it’s not his only case. There are several other open cases that have needed his attention, the Shadow that he can sense watching them right now being one of them.

Richard’s lip trembles, but he doesn’t say anything, just stares at Bruce with a look of disappointment and doubt.

Bruce swallows, running the case through his head before calmly presenting it to Richard. “I’ve been collecting evidence and sharing what I know with Gordon. Last month, we found one of the men, Garry Peters, who was responsible for putting the acid on the lines. A warrant was put out for his arrest and he confessed. He’s not currently in custody, but he will be tried in court and he’s been fairly cooperative with the police in exchange for protection. He’s refused to confirm that this was Zucco’s plan, but he’s given other names.”

Richard’s breaths are slowing down, and he’s looking at Bruce eagerly. Richard already knows some of this information—Batman had told him personally—but it’s clear from Richard’s reactions that he had not known all of it.

“Peters shared the name of his two partners that night, Emmanuel Hebert and Rachel Clay. Both of them have been arrested. They also received bail, but they’ll be at the hearing. So far, everyone we’ve spoken to has refused to confirm Zucco’s involvement.”

“But I saw him,” Richard insists.

“I know, Richard. But Zucco is being protected, so even with your testimony, it’s difficult.” Bruce hates everything about this case, and having to explain this to Richard makes it that much worse. “But there was a breakthrough about two weeks ago when someone came forward with evidence that Zucco purchased the type of acid used on the lines. This person also provided more proof that the three people who were arrested worked other jobs for Zucco in the past, as well as circumstantial evidence that Zucco hired them for this job. It was enough for Gordon to get a warrant for Zucco’s arrest. That’s why he went after you last week.”

Richard nods, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he absorbs the information.

“He was spotted near where you were kidnapped but he escaped before an arrest could be made. I’ve been trying to track him down, but I’m also trying to collect all of the evidence I can to ensure that when Zucco goes to court, he won’t be able to walk.” And that Zucco’s charges will reflect what truly happened. Zucco had intended to kill the entire Grayson family that night, and Bruce will see to it personally that that is reflected in Zucco’s charges.

“What if you can’t find him?” Richard asks. “What if he leaves the city, or the country?”

“I will find him.”

“Let me help,” Richard says. “You could use me as bait, that would—”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I am not putting your life in danger, and it’s completely unnecessary. Zucco is getting nervous; finding him will be much easier now.”

“Can I come with you?” Richard asks. “I’ll stay in the car, like last time.”

“Not tonight.” Bruce pauses. “Will you let me take you back to the house?”

Richard bites his lip. “Are you going to come back here again?”

Bruce looks at Richard, trying to decipher what his question means. “Yes. If you want, I can visit you every night and give you an update on the case until Zucco is found.”

Richard nods. “Then I’ll go back.”

oOo

Every night for the next week, Bruce keeps his promise and shows up at Richard’s window to give him an update as Batman. He tries to keep it as detailed as he can and answer all of Richard’s questions, but there’s often not much to report. Richard enjoys the conversations though, and he often leads them to discuss things other than the case. By the time Bruce leaves, Richard has done most of the talking. Richard, Bruce supposes, is lonely.

Bruce feels more comfortable talking to the boy as Batman, and he wonders if that’s because Batman is less of a stranger to Richard than Bruce Wayne is, or if it’s because Batman can help the boy in a way Bruce can’t, meaning that there’s less guilt talking to him as the former. There’s also the fact that Bruce is keeping up something close to his public persona at home, ensuring that Richard doesn’t learn his secret. It’s exhausting and likely adding to his problems, but it’s necessary for now.

Bruce’s comfort and exhaustion doesn’t matter, however. The boy is hurting and lonely, and Bruce needs to make more of an effort to help Richard, not just his case. Richard is his priority, and Bruce needs to start acting like it.

“Ah, Master Bruce,” Alfred says when Bruce exits the car. “I would have called, but I thought it best not to worry you unnecessarily.”

Bruce pushes his cowl back. “What happened?”

Richard steps out from behind the car.

Alfred clears his throat. “I found him in the cave. It appears we have taken in another detective, sir.”

oOo

“I could help,” Richard insists for the millionth time this week. “You could train me and I could be your partner.”

“No.”

“I’m already a professional athlete,” Richard points out. “I’d be really easy to train.”

While true, that’s far from the point. “No. I’m not training a child soldier.”

Richard huffs and rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t be a child soldier; I’d be a hero. Like you.”

Bruce spins his chair to look at Richard for the first time. With a hard glare, he tells him, “No. That’s final.” He spins his chair back around to face his screen once more.

Richard leans against the chair. “Why not? You need someone to watch your back and I’m right here. I could be your lookout, or at least your getaway driver.”

Bruce closes his eyes, exhaling in a slow, controlled matter, pretending he’s calm. “Richard.”

“Just give me a chance,” Richard whines. “I’ll prove that I can be a good partner.”

Bruce stands quickly, sending his chair rolling behind him. Richard takes a step back, but Bruce is too worked up to realize that he’s probably scaring him. He glares down at him, and the boy shrinks under his gaze. “No. This is not up for debate.”

Richard’s face crumples, then turns into a scowl. “You can’t tell me what to do. I bet I could find Zucco faster on my own anyway.”

“You are not to leave this house. Is that clear?”

Richard is silent for a long time. Bruce’s stomach twists, but he can’t give in.

Richard wipes his sleeve across his eyes before dashing back upstairs. Bruce sinks into his chair; he’s clearly not cut out to be anything close to a father.

oOo

A few days later, Batman receives a tip telling him where Zucco is expected to be later that night. Richard has been ignoring him since their fight, and Bruce has been trying his best to give him space.

“Richard?” he calls, knocking on the closed door. There’s no answer. “I have a lead on Zucco. If everything goes as planned, I’ll be taking him in tonight.”

Bruce hears the floors creak, telling him Richard has come closer to the door.

“You can’t come, but if you want, you can sit on the comms with Alfred.”

When there’s no answer after two minutes, Bruce sighs and steps away from the door, wondering how long children can stay mad.

oOo

Bruce has been Batman long enough to be able to look at a criminal and tell how desperate they are. Zucco is incredibly desperate, and when people are that desperate, they do stupid things. Reckless things.

“Put down the gun,” Bruce says firmly, holding back a growl. He quickly ducks as Zucco pulls the trigger, missing Bruce by at least a foot.

“Take me in and that kid will be dead by morning, understand?”

Zucco has a lot to lose by going to prison; there are many who would be happy to see him in a place where they have the upper hand.

“No one else dies.” This time, Bruce doesn’t hold back the growl.

He throws one of his metal discs, taking out Zucco’s gun. The man yells in frustration before taking off, tipping over whatever’s in his path to put something—anything—between himself and The Batman.

Zucco is already at his car and fumbling with the keys by the time Bruce catches up to him. Bruce is fast, but not faster than a car; he raises his hand to call the car just as something swishes past his ear. It lands near Zucco, and he yelps as it makes contact and forces him to drop his keys. Bruce picks up his pace, turning ever so slightly to see who threw the object. He’s expecting to see the Shadow again, but instead he sees a small boy running toward him, dressed in dark green athletic tights, a red leotard, green gloves, and a green mask over his eyes made out of what used to be a beanie.

Despite the attempt at a disguise, Bruce can immediately tell it’s Richard, and for a second, his world freezes over.

But then Richard is passing him, waving and smiling as he goes. He’s chasing after Zucco, who has decided to ditch the car and run toward the pier instead, zig-zagging as he goes.

Bruce presses the button on his belt. “The car will be here shortly,” he hisses at Richard when he catches up to him. “Get inside and stay put until I get back.”

“Make me,” Richard says brightly, speeding up and passing Bruce again. He’s pulling out an object from his pocket, aiming it at Zucco. Bruce recognizes it as his own throwing discs, something the boy must have grabbed from the cave.

He throws it and hits Zucco’s foot, making the man stumble.

Bruce grabs Richard’s left hand, pulling him back. “Car. Now.”

Richard, to Bruce’s surprise, listens. He slows to a stop as Bruce passes him, and Bruce reaches for his restraints as he approaches Zucco.

“You hiring kiddies now, Bats?” Zucco taunts through panting breaths. He’s backed into a corner, and he’s watching Batman with wild eyes. Something glints in the light, and Bruce recognizes it as a knife just before it comes racing toward his shoulder.

Bruce moves swiftly, dodging the blade with practiced ease. Zucco comes at him again, this time going for the restraints. Bruce jumps on top of the railing, careful to maintain his balance as the old wood wobbles under his weight. Zucco kicks at the railing, causing a piece to break off just as Bruce jumps back down to avoid falling over the edge.

He sweeps Zucco’s legs out and is on top of the man as soon as he hits the ground. Zucco swipes at Bruce’s hand with his knife, hitting him for the first time that night and making Bruce lose the restraints as well as a few drops of blood. Bruce disposes of the knife and tries to manually restrain Zucco, but Zucco is throwing punches like his life depends on it and it’s all Bruce can do to block the hits.

“Batman!” Richard yells.

Bruce follows the sound of his voice to see that the boy has found a hiding spot on a nearby roof. He’s pointing in the opposite direction, and Bruce shifts his gaze to see that two men have joined them, both of them armed.

No.

“Shoot!” Zucco yells.

A clink of metal followed by yelling tells Bruce that Richard threw another disc and hit his mark; a gunshot tells him he only hit one gun.

Bruce can’t see for sure, but it doesn’t sound like anyone was hit. The commotion is enough to make Zucco slow down, and Bruce uses that to his advantage and grabs a new pair of restraints from his belt, clapping them on Zucco’s hands. When he has Zucco handcuffed to the pier, he looks for Richard. Bruce sees him climbing down a fire escape, several discs held firmly in his hand like he’s intending to fight the two men by himself.

The men, thank god, are more worried about Batman than the kid and give him their full attention. They’re both holding guns again and they set off another round. Dodging them requires a level of attention and energy Bruce doesn’t quite have, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thankful that Richard threw another round of discs, taking out one of the guns and hitting the other gunman in the arm, causing him to miss.

Bruce picks up his speed, jumping as he takes out the still-armed man. He kicks the gun away and throws a bolas at the other man before he can reclaim his own weapon. As he’s tying them up, Richard is running toward them, collecting the guns as he goes.

Both men are tied up by the time Richard is standing next to him, breathing a little fast but not nearly close to being out of breath.

Bruce wordlessly presses the button on his belt to call the car for the final time that night.

“We make a good team,” Richard tells him, a brightness in his voice that Bruce hasn’t heard in days.

“Get. In. The. Car.”

oOo

“What happens now?” Richard asks.

The two of them are sitting on a nearby roof, watching as Zucco and his two henchmen are put into separate squad cars.

“They’ll be taken in for questioning. Gordon has assured me that Zucco won’t qualify for bail, but I can’t speak for the other two. There will be a preliminary hearing, hopefully sometime this week, and depending on what happens there, a court date will be set.”

“Why wouldn’t there be a court date?” Richard asks, eyes never leaving the scene below. “You said there’s enough evidence to convict.”

“There is,” Bruce assures. “Zucco might take a plea deal.”

“Oh.”

They sit in a solemn silence until the squad cars pull away, Gordon riding in the car with Zucco. It isn’t until they can no longer see the cars that the two wordlessly move to their own car and go home.

oOo

Bruce sends Richard to bed without a lecture, deciding it can wait until the morning. Right now, Richard is still ecstatic about his adventure, and with Zucco finally in custody, Bruce is in a forgiving mood and doesn’t feel like crushing Richard’s spirit.

By the time he finishes writing up his report, Alfred has gone to bed and he expects Richard to have done the same. When he passes his room, however, he sees that the light is still on.

He taps on the door. “Richard? Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Richard replies quietly.

Bruce opens the door to find Richard sitting on his bed, still wearing his red leotard and green tights. Bruce crosses the room and takes a seat next to Richard on the bed. He doesn’t know what to say, but his instincts tell him that staying is the right thing to do.

“You can call me Dick, if you want,” Richard—Dick—says, looking up at him with the eyes of someone who’s seen far too much for someone so young. “That’s what everyone back home calls me.”

A smile tugs at Bruce’s lips, and he allows it to rest on his face for a moment. “Alright, Dick.”

Dick smiles too, but it lasts even shorter than Bruce’s.

“How do you feel? Bruce asks.

“I’m . . .” Dick stares at his hands, furrowing his eyebrows. He shakes his head, starting again. “I’m glad Zucco’s in custody, and I know you’re probably mad, but I’m glad I was there. It felt good. But I don’t . . . I don’t think I feel any different.”

Bruce pauses, taking in the statement. “What do you mean?”

“I thought it would be better, once we found him, but it’s not.”

Oh. “The grief, you mean.”

Dick nods and mumbles, “It’s stupid.”

“No.” Bruce wraps his arm around Dick’s shoulders, pulling him into his side. “No, sweetheart, it’s not.”

For the longest time, Bruce had thought that if he could just find his parents’ killer, it would fix everything and he would feel normal again. Maybe not completely, but when you’re hurting that badly, something is better than nothing.

“I miss them,” Dick says, a sob finally running through him and shaking his whole body. “It hurts all the time, Bruce. I just want it to stop.”

“I know.” Bruce rocks Dick back and forth, running a hand through his hair. “Shh, I know.”

Dick cries, and Bruce holds him. It’s not much, but it’s something.

oOo

“Good.”

“Oh, come on, B, that was great!” Dick calls from the mats. “Amazing even.”

Bruce smiles; the tumbling sequence had been impressive. “Hnn. Go again.”

“You said we could spar if I stuck it,” Dick protests.

“Afraid you can’t stick it twice in a row?” In reality, Bruce is trying to test Dick’s stamina, trying to figure out where his limit is and how far they can push it.

Dick rolls his eyes but jogs back to his starting place, takes a breath, and then goes again. Bruce watches as he launches himself into the air and contorts his body into a series of flips, landing briefly on his hands before going right back up. Dick lands for a final time, sticking his landing perfectly and breathing heavy. He lowers his arms and looks at Bruce. “Can we spar now?”

Bruce still struggles to understand how casually Dick can execute those skills like they’re nothing. “Water break. Then we’ll spar.”

“Yes!” Dick runs off to grab his water, and Bruce can’t help but chuckle at the enthusiasm.

Today has been a good day, and Bruce finds himself thinking about how the past two months have gone by in a whirlwind, filled with highs and lows.

The Grayson case has been officially closed. The court date has been set and everything looks like it will go in their favor. Despite the success of the case overall, there are still several loose ends that eat at Bruce on nights when he can’t sleep. The biggest being the Shadow, although that problem has seemingly solved itself. Bruce hasn’t felt the presence in weeks, and he hasn’t found a trace of the possible-vigilante anywhere. He hopes that whoever it was simply retired of their own accord, that something worse hadn’t befallen them. Like Haly’s true involvement with Gotham’s gangs, however, Bruce has been forced to accept that it's a mystery he’ll never truly solve.

More important than the case, Dick has been doing much better. He’s opened up to both Alfred and Bruce now, and he feels comfortable coming to them when he’s struggling. Even better, the night terrors have become less frequent, as have the regular nightmares.

Just as Alfred had predicted, Dick has been good for Bruce, too. He provides a light that Bruce so desperately needed, and he’s made the manor feel like a home again. Bruce is realizing it’s something he doesn’t want to let go of anytime soon. He’s seriously considering making Dick’s custody arrangement permanent, though he’s still unsure how to broach the topic without making everyone uncomfortable. After all, Bruce still doesn’t feel cut out to be a father most days, and Dick has made it clear he doesn’t want a new one.

Another change since Dick first moved in is that they’ve been spending a lot of time in the cave, training Dick both physically and mentally for vigilantism. The boy hadn’t dropped the topic since he helped take down Zucco, and after only a week of pleading, among other tactics, Bruce had given in. He’s still holding out hope that this will turn out to be a phase, a temporary aspiration, but the further they go, the more certain Dick seems.

Bruce isn’t exactly happy about it, but he knows that Dick will do this with or without him. Bruce’s job is to keep the boy as safe as possible. Happy or not, Bruce can’t deny that Dick is good, extraordinarily talented for someone his age. He has the potential to be better than Bruce could ever dream.

A weight slams down against his back as Dick latches onto him. “Prepare to be defeated!” Dick yells into his ear.

Bruce grabs Dick’s forearms, pulling him off his back and onto the mats. Dick jumps up from his back and lands on his feet, falling into one of the stances Bruce taught him.

“Let’s see you try,” Bruce says, eliciting a smile from Dick, who has gained a mischievous glint in his eyes. “On three. One.”

Dick rises on his toes, preparing to charge.

“Two—”

“Three!” Dick shouts, cutting Bruce off as usual and running toward him.

Yes, Bruce thinks as Dick dodges Bruce’s defensive maneuver with a flip and a laugh, today is a good day.

#batfam big bang 2020 #dick grayson #bruce wayne #nightwing #batman #batfamily #batfam #court of owls #elizabeth writes

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