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five-rivers · 3 years ago

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Boo!

Warnings: general body horror, blood (sorta), graphic injury

Danny lazily watched the white blob ghost drift across the school's front lawn. He should really do something about it before someone freaked out and called the GIW, or, worse, his parents. But it wasn't doing any harm, and it seemed a shame.

White was an unusual color for a blob ghost. Danny wondered if it meant anything. Frostbite would probably know.

The blob ghost spotted him and changed directions. Danny sighed, a thin trickle of vapor falling from his lips. Did it really want to fight? Really?

It stopped a few feet away. Its little black eyes narrowed in effort. "Boo!" it chirped, waving stubby nub arms.

Danny raised his eyebrows. That was surprisingly cute.

"Boo!" it said again, very obviously as loudly as it could. It wasn't very loud, but…

Oh, what would it cost him?

"Oh, no," said Danny dramatically. "A terrifying ghost! Whatever shall I do?"

That sound reaching his ears was, if he wasn't mistaken, a very ghostly giggle.

"I know! The only thing I can do is flee!"

He let the little ghost chase him around for a few minutes before leading it to a secluded spot where he could safely store it in the thermos. He heard giggles from it for the rest of the day.

"Oi, Fentwimp!"

Danny wasn't religious, but if there was a God, he was asking for patience. "Yes, Dash?"

"Did you really get chased around by a blob ghost yesterday? I thought even you weren't that weak." As he spoke, he shoved himself into Danny's personal space bubble.

Danny flattened himself against the lockers and looked away. This is what it would cost him, apparently.

"He fought off the ghost pirates with the rest of us just fine," said Sam, coolly, attempting to insert herself into Dash's personal space bubble.

"Yeah, hiding behind us the whole time! And then he flaked out at the end, like usual."

Danny blushed and hunched his shoulders. He couldn’t really refute that.

"He was thrown off the boat, Dash," said Tucker. "Did you expect him to suddenly sprout wings?"

Dash made an abrupt move towards Tucker, and Danny, already feeling vaguely threatened, reacted, grabbing Dash's hand and twisting.

"Mr. Fenton! Mr. Baxter! What are you doing?" Mr. Lancer jogged up to them, slightly out of breath. "Detention, both of you," he snapped.

"But the game-"

"I don't want to hear it," said Mr. Lancer. "You've gotten three warnings about this behavior this week."

Dash turned a baleful glare on Danny.

"And you, Mr. Fenton. Your record can't take much more of this."

Danny felt himself wilting. Mr. Lancer made a face that might have signaled regret.

"Bring your homework with you. We can make it into a tutoring session."

"Okay," said Danny.

"Well, that was completely unfair," said Sam.

"It's fine," said Danny. "I'm going to go to the bathroom before class starts."

He didn't wait for a reply and just peeled off, heading for the 'haunted' bathroom no one else used. Well, he supposed if bleeding so much ectoplasm in it that most of its surfaces faintly glowed counted as haunting, then it was.

He walked around the corner in the privacy hallway and stopped, surprised.

"You brought friends," he said to the white blob ghost. There were a dozen little blobs of various shapes and sizes, ranging from white, to teal, to apple green in color.

"Boo!" they chorused at him.

Ugh. They were so cute and they knew it.

"Boo to you, too," said Danny, amused. "You're frightful little guys, aren't you?"

They chittered at him, and one of them bravely ran into him.

"Oh no," said Danny, edging towards the stall, "I've been attacked! I'd better hide in this tiny but very secure room!"

The ghosts giggled. Danny smiled softly. He might be a massive screw up as a human, but at least he could amuse tiny ghosts!

Danny plowed a trench into the football field that would likely have the custodial staff shaking their heads tomorrow. This fight was not going well.

He floated up, ignoring how his shoulder and the ankle Vlad had swung him by both throbbed. "Why are you picking a fight with me at school?" he yelled, beyond frustrated.

"Some plans, my dear boy, require preparation. Not that I'd expect you to understand that, what with your continual tardiness. You've already have one detention this week, didn't you?"

That was, in fact, the only reason he was still at school. He'd only just out the extra hour when Vlad triggered his ghost sense. "Why, you-"

The next thing he knew, he was writhing on the ground, white hot heat - electricity - burning through his bones, leaving him heavy and panting. Vlad reached down while Danny was still twitching, pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and crushed it with a flare of fuschia energy.

"Tut, tut, Daniel. You'll never get far if you can't even remember I can duplicate. Ta!"

It took Danny several tries to get up and slink back to the school. If any teachers were still there, maybe they'd let him call Jazz for a ride. He didn't want to think about walking home on his probably sprained and definitely throbbing ankle (not to mention his arm, which was also messed up). With his powers turned off, neither of them would be healing soon. His stuff was all still down there, anyway.

He took a shortcut through the old part of the school, using the door with the loose lock. It was quiet and slightly dusty here, except where a few trails of footsteps had wiped the ground clean.

"Ha! There you are, Fentertainment!"

"You have to be kidding me," said Danny, not thinking about what he was saying. He was starting to feel uncomfortably hot. "Did you really stay a whole half an hour longer looking for me? What's wrong with you?"

"Hey!" snapped Dash, pushing Danny into the lockers. Danny hissed, pained. "What's wrong is that I missed the game tonight, loser! So I've got a lot of pent up aggression with no outlet!" He yanked the locker near Danny's head open, picked up Danny by the collar of his shirt, and shoved him in.

Danny flinched back instinctively when Dash slammed the door, not wanting to get his fingers shut in it. There was another clang outside.

"Good luck picking that lock, Fentwipe!"

Danny blinked stars out of his eyes, trying to process what had just happened.

Oh.

Crap.

Normally, this would be a non-issue. Normally, he had ghost powers. Normally, he didn’t have two injured and incredibly painful limbs. Normally he was in his own locker, or had his phone, or it was the middle of the school day.

"Wait! Dash! You can’t leave me here, I can't get out!"

"Yeah, right! I've seen you get out of worse!"

Again. Ghost powers.

This was almost certainly not Vlad's plan, but still inconvenient. And possibly disastrous, because now, instead of mostly being out of the way for the next three hours, he was totally out of the way for the next three hours.

Or longer. Vlad may have improved the Plasmius Maximus.

The lights in the hallway went off. It was dark in the locker without the benefit of ghostly vision.

Danny wasn't one to give up easily, however. Surely, even if he couldn't pick the padlock on the outside, he could batter the door open.

This evolved not to be the case. The metal door stayed tightly shut, and all Danny had for it was new bruises.

He really would just have to wait, then. He settled, trying to find a position that wasn't as hard on his ankle and shoulder. It was basically impossible in the half height locker, but there wasn't exactly anything else he could do in here.

Other that overheat, it seemed. He was sweating so hard he was almost shivering, and… was his sweat glowing? It wouldn't surprise him if it was. The Plasmius Maximus made his ghost half dormant, it didn't erase it.

He swallowed back saliva and the realization that he was going to be hyperaware of all the weird stuff his body was doing until he got out. There was nothing to distract him from it.

Also, why was he drooling so- Ah. Not drool. Ectoplasm. He was leaking ectoplasm. From his mouth. And his nose, too, it felt like. Enough so that it was getting hard to breathe around, especially with his abruptly increased need for oxygen.

He'd gotten some weird side effects the first time he'd been hit with the Plasmius Maximus, but nothing this bad… or gross.

"Boo!"

Danny jumped, jostling his injuries. It took him a minute to get his heart rate back under control.

"Hey, could you help me out?" Danny asked. He spit some ectoplasm to the side to continue. "Phase the lock off or something? Please?"

The ghost regarded him for a long moment. Its eyes felt deep, its intentions, unknowable. It was easy to think of blob ghosts as being like children, what with their size and mischievous ways, but this ghost was very likely older than Danny.

It left, phasing out of the locker.

Well, that was a bust.

Once again, he was left in the locker with his pain and increasingly fuzzy thoughts. He was really overheating. And leaking. That was a thing. This was so gross. He just had… it had to only be, like, two hours, now. Right?

There was a light in the hall.

“Hey! Help! I’m-” He choked a little on the ectoplasm. “I’m stuck! Help!”

There wasn’t a response. Until the blob ghost stuck its head into the locker.

“Oh, you,” said Danny. “Don’t s’pose you brought help?”

As if on cue, another dozen blobs crowded into the locker. And then another dozen. And then Danny lost count because there really wasn’t enough room in the locker, and they were crowding into him.

One blob ghost, or even a dozen, wasn’t really all that intimidating. They weren’t strong. But Danny was human and injured, and this was a lot. It was kind of like staring down a swarm of rats. One rat isn’t a problem for a human. But many…

One of them curled around his injured ankle, squeezing just hard enough to have Danny choking on a scream, another cuddled into the hollow of his throat. A few licked at the ectoplasm still dripping from his mouth and nose.

There were now enough in the locker with him that the first group were phasing into his skin. Not trying to overshadow him, but very intimately there. One of them was even phased halfway into his eye, and definitely not invisible, which looked and felt really weird. But he couldn’t get away. He could hardly move at all, what with all the still-tangible ghosts in the locker.

But they were cold. Icy, even. His temperature began to stabilize. That’s when he noticed the little ghosts were purring and softly singing. Well. Okay. They were helping.

A few more of them pushed in between him and the metal of the locker, cushioning him slightly.

Danny suspected that if his core was awake, it would respond to the sounds. But it wasn’t. Still, Danny wasn’t immune to the sound of cute little ghosts purring any more than he was immune to the sound of kittens purring. It was cute and soothing.

Unable to move and exhausted from earlier, Danny found himself slowly drifting to sleep.

Someone watching from the hallway would see the lights in the locker gradually dim and vanish. If they stayed for a while longer, they would see something that looked very much like Danny Fenton phase out of the locker.

But Danny Fenton did not have eyes colored black from lid to lid.

#danny phantom #ectober #ectoberhaunt 2021 #ectober 2021 #ectoberhaunt treat #ectoberweek2021 #ectober week 2021

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ktheist · 4 years ago

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lips? sealed. legs? spread.

premise. because of the pandemic, you’re forced to have your graduation online. but that’s not stopping you from driving down to the beach to celebrate with your friends. it just so happens that you’re the main attraction of the night.

muses. jimin x reader, taehyung x reader, jeongguk x reader, yoongi x reader, yoongi x jimin.

word. 3.6k

warnings. consensual gangbang. public sex. unprotected sex. sex on the beach. bigdick!tae, bigdick!jeongguk, thick dick!jimin

note. this is pure absolute filth. idek why i wrote this.

it started with truth or dare before the word “boring” comes out of park jimin’s mouth and a “strip” added to cure that boredom to get you through the night. lisa manoban ends up stripped down to her panties and bra and steps out of the game.

“nah, i’m out, you guys have fun though.” she waves her hand in surrender, picks up her clothes and slips away from the circle to emphasize on her withdrawal from the game.

a series of ‘aww’s and ‘boo’s follow from you and the rest before hoseok disappears five minutes later, saying something about needing to take a number 1 but never coming back and getting forgotten by everyone.

he’s probably left to check up on lisa who said she was going to grab some snacks from the convenience store that’s just three minutes away from the beach.

the flames of the custom made bonfire dance in the night, cackling and laughing when it’s your turn to discard your bra. the chilly air making your nipples stand. your cheeks are burning as you cross your arm over your exposed chest. the hesitant way you look down and bite your lip is enough indication that you’re thinking twice about being the sole winner of tonight’s strip truth or dare. kim taehyung attempts to place his jacket around you but is met by a series of protests.

“if you wanna put on a jacket, you gotta be prepared to admit defeat. that’s the rule.” or so jeon jeongguk announces.

“never heard of that rule before.” kim jennie looks at him with an elaborated twist of her eyebrows to show the utter confusion and absurdity she finds in his words.

“yeah, well, now you know,” jeongguk winks.

it’s either because of the man’s flirtatious advancements or because she really needs to go to the bathroom, that she stands up, pick up the shirt and the only piece of article she’s taken off and walks towards the cars. somewhere a few feet away, the lights of the convenience store and closed diner illuminates the area.

jisoo shoots you a look that you shoot back with another look of determination. if there’s anything you’d never be caught dead doing, it’s raising the white flag before jeon jeongguk does.

so she ends up chasing after jennie on her own.

“anyone else wanna be loser?” jeongguk asks, vanity apparent in his voice.

you wonder how it’s not shivering in the cold with how he’s stripped naked to his boxers.

“i need to get some water,” seokjin announces and struts towards the direction the girls were headed.

he’s one of the lucky few that managed to keep his clothes on throughout the game.

it’s become an unspoken knowledge that the ones who backed out will go home in seokjin’s jeep.

there’s only you, taehyung, jimin, jeongguk and yoongi.

namjoon was the first to leave because his girlfriend called him crying for some reason and he’s the kind of man that would come running to his girl. somewhere in your heart, you feel a tinge of jealousy for chaeyoung for having such an amazing man who loves her to the moon and back.

“this is getting boring.” jimin confesses for the second time of the night, bringing the bottle to his plump lips.

“let’s play 7 minutes in heaven.” jeongguk suggests, “we’re all bored here.”

“but there’s just one girl...” jimin murmurs to himself.

“so? you can make out with one of us,” taehyung winks.

but jimin’s shyly looking down and smiling is the last thing you expect to see. he’d usually just brush off his best friend’s advancements by laughing or flirting back but never speechless.

“alright, here’s the bottle,” jeongguk says afer gulping down the whole content of the beer and lifting the opaque glass in the air, “game’s simple, it’s like spin the bottle but instead of making out, you spend 7 minutes in one of the cars.”

“no –not my car,” jimin complains, throwing his head back, probably recalling that time when he lent jeaongguk his car and in the morning, started blowing everyone’s phone up by spamming the group chat, sending death threats to jeongguk for those stains in the back seat.

“i’m out.” yoongi says simply, but doesn’t move from his spot which is sitting on the log between taehyung and jimin.

his porcelain skin is painted auburn from the fire in front of him. he raises the beer to his mouth and starts downing it.

“ugh okay, okay, how about just making out here for 7 minutes?” jeongguk mediates.

that receives a moderate response of ‘not-so-thrilled-but-not-against-it’ kind of nod.

jeongguk places the bottle down on the ground and yoongi plainly points, “that’s not how physics work.”

“shh,” the younger man shushes him up, “it’s gonna work.”

then he spins the bottle just a few centimeters above the sand. the opaque bottle spins in the air for the briefest moment before it lands on the grainy sand, it’s top pointed straight at you.

“okay, so me and ___ are the first pair.” he grins, excitement flashing across his eyes.

jimin goes next, mimicking jeongguk’s techniques and the bottle points at yoongi. all of a sudden, a strangled silence settles in.

the elder man makes an impressed nod –probably surprised at how things turned out.

“okay, tae, you spin the bottle and if falls on me or ___, you can join us and if it falls on jimin or yoongi, you can join them.” jeongguk says as if he’s done this plenty of times before.

you attempt to pick up your shirt when jeongguk clicks his tongue and wiggles his index finger in the air, “nu-uh, the game’s still going on, you put on any of the clothes you’re not supposed to have on, and you’re out.”

“that’s a dumb rule and i’m cold.” you roll your eyes and slip on your shirt anyway.

your nipples appear more protruded underneath that thin layer of material but it’s better than having to cover them with your arm.

jeongguk groans but doesn’t say anythng else as taehyung picks up the bottle and spins it.

in the end, you have a pair and a trio.

since taehyung is right next to you, crash your onto with his. it takes him a moment to register that the seven minutes start now before he swipes his tongue over your lower lip and you let him in, tasting the bitter beer in his mouth while he suckles on your tongue.

you expect taehyung to play along for the first few minutes and let jeongguk and you have a go at it. but the proactive advancements aren’t unwelcomed.

“hey! come on!” jeongguk whines somewhere in a distance –he’s sat across from you.

it doesn’t take long to make his way over and starts kissing your shoulder, sitting on the vacant end of the log. it’s the hand that snakes under your shirt and gropes your breast that makes you moan into taehyung’s mouth.

jeongguk pinches your nipple almost painfully, as if getting payback for starting without him.

when you don’t budge and wrap your arms around taehyung’s neck, he stops his assault on your sensitive buds and slips his hand under your panties. you gasp, body frozen from the unannounced intrusion and he takes that chance to turn your face to him, capturing your lips.

taehyung sighs softly, as if foreseeing that jeongguk would sweep you away from him. and you thought it the end of that.

but instead, you feel more slander fingers than jeongguk’s on your other breast that jeongguk didn’t touch. they’re gentle and handle you like you’re a delicate porcelain doll.

and like you said, taehyung’s touches aren’t unwelcomed.

that, paired with jeongguk’s careless fingers on your clit, easily makes you moan out in pleasure as sparks course through your veins, stars behind your eyes, your arm around jeongguk’s neck and your mouth tore away from his.

jeongguk lets out a low whistle as caresses your sensitive clit in a circular motion and stops when your hand grasps his wrist, telling him you need a break.

“wait, out here? dude, you can’t be serious,” taehyung lowly cautions as jeongguk shifts behind.

you barely get to focus your eyes after coming down from your high, noticing the two men making out behind taehyung where you last saw them. yoongi’s hand is in jimin’s pants.

“baby, can i put it in?” jeongguk’s voice is uncharacteristically silken and sweet.

it doesn’t take a genius why.

you throw a glance over your shoulder to see him pumping himself, his tip glistening with pre-cum.

“no, i want tae’s.” you say vindictively.

“what – “ the aforementioned man’s eyes widen, skin appearing olive gold next to the fire.

“may i, tae tae?” you smile, fluttering your lashes and smiling coquettishly as you caress him through his pants. just like jimin, he only lost his shirt in the earlier game.

his adam’s apple bobs as he contemplates your offer but spreads his legs open as though welcoming your touch.

“i...” he says thickly, “i don’t have a condom on me...”

“it’s fine, i’m on birth control,” you shrug, lips still curled into a suave, inviting smile.

then his head shakes in the smallest nod.

“yeah?” you ask, head tilted ever so slightly to the side in an innocent gesture.

“yeah,” he echoes your words, eyes screwing shut, “please.”

it takes you close to no difficulty to take him out. you ravel in his size –he’s possibly the biggest you’ve ever seen. taking him in your mouth, you let jeongguk pull you panties to the side and slip his tip past your entrance. he groans, appreciating your warmth while you coat taehyung’s length with your saliva.

once you’re sure taehyung’s all ready to take you, you lift yourself up, earning a whine from jeongguk whose closed eyes shoot open as if he just woke up from a delightful dream and crashed into reality. you lower yourself onto taehyung, humming in appreciation like jeongguk did as the taller man stretches you out to fit his size.

once you’re sat on his lap and taking him to the hilt, only then do you pay attention to jeongguk who’s directing your hand to wrap around his length.

you start to move your hips, appreciating each delicious graze of taehyung’s length stretching and molding you to fit his size while pumping jeongguk’s shaft and lowering your mouth to wrap around his tip.

“i’m close,” taehyung murmurs breathily, his hand ghosting over your hips as though barely fighting against his primal urges to grab your hips and move you to his desirred tempo.

“you can come inside,” you say, tearing your mouth away from jeongguk for the briefest moment to throw your head to meet taehyung’s hooded gaze.

“please, can i cum inside you too? after tae?” jeongguk asks, knowing full well that he’s walking on thin ice with you.

“no.” you deny curtly, making sure to shoot him a glare to emphasize your disapproval.

“fuck,” taehyung’s voice cuts through the night as he’s pushed to his limit. those large hands dig into your skin as he bounces your ass on his lap the way he wants it.

and you let him. moaning against jeongguk’s tip as your brain shortcircuits. you barely notice the way jeongguk’s thrusting his length down your throat –much deeper than you’d allow him, just because you’re not a fan of his arrogance but also can’t completely resist it.

once you and taehyung stop moving, jeongguk easily lifts you up from taehyung’s lap and place you down on his.

“jeongguk,” you say warning, not at all pleased that he handled you like a ragdoll but can’t help the way you tighten around him –he’s winning in girth compared to taehyung.

“don’t move –i promise i won’t come inside you, just please let me feel you around me,” jeongguk’s basically begging as he hugs you close to him –it’s probably to get you to stop any inch of movement but your stomach is fluttering and your cheeks are immeasurably hot.

you bite your lower lip from moaning.

while he’s holding you so tight, your clit is rubbing against him and you’ve got the fattest dick inside you.

there’s no way you can sit still.

you move your hip in a circular motion, the groan coming from jeongguk’s lips being music to your ears.

“fine,” you push the mated hair from his face when he pulls away from your shoulder and looks at you in the eye, they appear to be twinkling in the flicker of the flames, “you can come inside.”

the last thread of his sanity seems to snap. he lays you down on your back and because the log isn’t long enough for that, you end up having your head laid on taehyung’s thigh, his just-cummed dick still out in the open. every time jeongguk thrusts inside you, you end up brushing against it.

taehyung, having lost his reserves about sex in public, smiles down at you and places a hand underneath your head to support you while his friend is thrusting in and out of you like a mad man who’s never tasted a woman in his entire life.

eventually, taehyung, the moans and the squelching sounds disappear into a blurred mess. you don’t know where you start and where jeongguk ends.

when you come to, you’re staring at the starless night sky, breathing heaving into steady breaths as you feel satisfaction tingles in between your legs. a mixture of jeongguk and taehyung’s cums pour out of you and onto your stained panties.

and in the peaceful cackles of the bon fire and the sound of waves crashing, a shadow blocks your view.

“uh, ___,” jimin says hesitantly.

“hm?” you look up at the man with his length out –he’s probably the shortest compared to taehyung and jeongguk but his girth could give the latter a run for his money.

“we got turned on looking at you guys,” jimin stammers, cheeks flushed while yoongi stands next to him, stroking himself to the sight of your glistening and naked body.

“come here,” you giggle, pushing yourself up.

“let me,” taehyung whispers, sending shivers down your spine as he holds out his hand for you to use as a support.

you don’t realize how spent you are until you decide to stand up but almost go tumbling into the ground again a second later. you would’ve faceplanted into the sand if taehyung hadn’t caught you. he helps you to sit on his lap and holds both your legs up.

your panties are now discarded on the ground while sticky, white cum drips out of you freely and park jimin’s got a front row view of that.

you should be embarrassed but the last of your braincell’s got fucked out of you by jeongguk who’s now passed out on the sand, snoring away like he’s got no care in th world.

jimin’s face is beat red as he slips right inside you. it would’ve taken more teasing if you were to take him without jeongguk and taehyung’s jizz dripping out of you.

“you mind if i give you head instead?” you ask the elder man.

“not at all,” yoongi shrugs but that unbothered facade comes crumbling down like sand castle as soon as you wrap your lips around him, hand covering where your mouth can’t reach.

well, you can, but deepthroating’s jeongguk’s made you too tired to take another man deeper than you do now.

you sigh softly when jimin starts moving. he’s gentle with his strokes, as if making sure you’re gradually getting used to him. probably because he knows he’s thicker than the average men. and jimin being jimin, will probably make sure all his partners are comfortable (how ever comfortable you can be butt naked in the open and with sand sticking to your soles and exposed flesh.

but all that easily melts away as jimin hits that one spot that gets you throwing your head back on taehyung’s shoulder. even when he goes faster, he’s still attentive of your reactions and actions.

you’re not sure how he can read you when it’s covered in yoongi’s cum. he’s the fastest to cum out of all the four boys. somewhere in your mind, you thank the universe for giving you a fast and easy blow.

when yoongi steps away, you shift your focus to jimin, “i’m coming,” you murmur.

it takes a few strokes more for you come at the same time, jimin throwing his head back, barely moaning out. it’s as though his reservations still cling onto him and stops him from losing himself.

jimin pulls out with a sigh, legs barely able to stand so he tumbles back to one of those empty logs and zips himself up.

just when you’re about to pull your legs together, all of a sudden, conscious of how exposed and naked you are –taehyung’s hand stops you.

“taehyung...” you murmur, cheeks burning at the way you’re spread and bare with multiple men’s cum dripping down your ass.

but he doesn’t seem to mind as he slides his fingers down your stomach and slips two of them past your entrance, coating those slender digits with the cum inside you.

his motion starts picking up and until he’s thrusting his fingers inside you like he would his dick. you’re grasping his arm and biting your lips at the sudden yet different rush of pressure you’ve had up until now. with the pleasure jimin left you, it doesn’t take long for it to built up in the pit of your stomach and spreads through your body likes the waves against the shore.

the rest that follows is a blur. you remember foregoing your undergarments and slipping on your jeans and shirt before having taehyung sweep you off your feet and carry you to the car.

“t-tae! i can walk!” you try to protest but he simple chuckles.

“you can barely stand.”

you can only cast your eyes to his collarbones –anywhere besides his eyes as you recall the throbbing sensation between your legs.

jeongguk, having been kicked to wake by yoongi, scampers to stand up and follow the three of you. he falls a step behind and complains the whole way to the car, saying something about “can do that too”.

whatever that is.

when you reach your home, the lights in the living room are still on and you’re quite literally screwed.

“come on, i’ll help you to the porch,” jeongguk says ever so casually as he undes the safety belt.

yet something instinctual makes you hurl out words of rejection right there and there despite your brain telling you that you’ll barely make it three steps out of the door without crashing against the ground.

“no, i’m good.” you huff, swigging the car door open yet you hear another car door open and the sound of feet hurriedly shuffling over and in no time, jeongguk’s arm is around yours.

“i don’t need your help,” you hiss under your breath despite the relief that floods your system from jeongguk’s support.

“what are the chances of your parents letting you coming back past curfew slide because the face they saw walking you up to the porch is mine?” he makes a compelling argument.

before you can even refute, the front door swings open to your father’s glum expression. though his face lights up like christmas light as soon as he sees the man next to you.

“jeongguk! well, i’ll be damned,” your father beams, hands on his hips, “i didn’t know you two made up.”

“evening, mr. ___,” jeongguk nods in greeting, pretending not to hear the last part.

“thanks for walking me,” you say, strained.

gathering all that’s left of your might you take a step forward and out of his arm to stand next to your dad, waiting for him to leave.

“did someone say jeongguk?” your mother comes running from the couch, “oh, how’s your mother? is she well?”

“yeah. too well, actually. she’s been into yoga lately, keeps saying she’ll be able to beat me in arm wrestling,” jeongguk chuckles, scuffing his sole against the ground, hands buried inside his pocket.

“yeah, it’s getting late, don’t you think?” you cut in.

your parents seem to take the hint, your mother wishing him a one last, “tell minhee i said hi, yeah, son?”

“will do,” he smiles, eyes travelling to yours only to have him drop his gaze. “have a good evening mr. ___, mrs. ___.”

then he’s walking back to the car where you can see taehyung waving his hand from the passenger seat. only then, does an actual smile curve on your lips as you wave back, pretending not to notice the slouch in jeongguk’s figure.

that’s the last you talk to jeongguk privately. sometimes, when you’re texting in the group chat, you can’t help but reply to his dumb memes. yoongi and you exchange music in private message while you and jimin are ‘best friends’ on snapchat and you occasionally reply to taehyung’s insta story.

no one spoke of that night.

it’s as if it never happened.

the girls asked about it but you simply brush it off, “oh we had some drinks and decide to go home because it wasn’t fun with half of the squad not around.”

they don’t believe it.

but they don’t push it either.

but they probably thought you made a mistake and that mistake having something to do with your summer fling slash childhood friend, jeon jeongguk.

part of it was true.

except you fucked half of the boys in your group of friends.

it’s a month later, did you get a text from jeongguk on one ordinary friday night, after coming home from work. after going back to seoul.

jk: hey

jk: me and taehyung are going out for a drink

jk: since we live ten minutes away do you wanna come?

#taehyung smut #jungkook smut #yoongi smut #jimin smut #bts smut #taehyung scenarios #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #yoongi scenarios #jimin scenarios #bts fics #jungkook fics #yoongi fics #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfics #taehyung fanfics #jimin fics #taehyung fics

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frogs-are-pretty · 3 years ago

Text

Demon Brother headcanons for trying to get their attention

You're trying to ask them on a date but they're ignoring you, then you figure out the best way to get their attention

Includes demon brothers, lord diavolo, barbatos, simeon, and solomon

No Luke cause that's your brother, tf??

Lucifer

He was outside of RAD talking to Lord Diavolo about something

You honestly didn't know what they were talking about but hoped it would end soon

Barbatos knew you were there but also knew where this was going

Lord Diavolo knew you were there too but thought it best not to say something since it was Lucifer you wanted

You were starting to get aggravated

Then you had an idea

You went and held his gloved hand

He was taken aback by the sudden weight on his hand

He turned and saw you and your hands intertwined with his

He would've been happier for the affection if it wasn't in the middle of his conversation with Lord Diavolo

He asked what were you doing with an intrigued yet confused tone

"Well I was trying to get your attention but you wouldn't pay attention to me. Anyway, there's a new place that opened up that sells different varieties of princess' poison apples. I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go with me."

"Why you didn't ask Beel to go? He likes princess' poison apples."

Yes Lucifer liked them more than Beel does, but he didn't see why you had to interrupt the conversation to ask him

You ad to repeat the part where you wanted to go with him, only him

That's when he asked if you were asking him on a date

Once he figured that out he agreed and told you that your going as soon as be finishes talking to Lord Diavolo

Diavolo let him go since he knew how long you've been waiting to ask him

You two walked and he did not let go of your hand at all

Mammon

He was trying to sell something to a demon

Or was he trying to get them involved in a new scheme?

You didn't know and couldn't care less

He kept talking while you tried to get his attention and you were getting fed up

Then you realized what you could do

There's two ways to do this

Route A- hug him from the front with your arms around his shoulders

He'll be flustered and all you have to do is let go but keep your arms draped over his shoulders and he's a cherry red tomato

Route B- hug his side and snuggle ino him

He'll still be flustered but just look up and he'll almost lose the ability to speak cause of how cute you look at his side

He'll ask what your doing in either case cause your getting in the way of money

"You weren't paying attention to me and I wanted to ask if you will to go to the human world with me. There's this new place I wanna go to and Lucifer said I could bring someone if I wanted and I kinda wanted to bring you."

"Of course you'd want to take the great Mammon!"

He didn't get that it was a date

You had to be more specific on why you wanted to go with him until he realized it was a date

It made him happy that his human wanted to go on a date with him

The demon was quickly forgotten about when he realized this

You two went to the house of lamentation with his arm around your waist

Leviathan

He's talking to someone about some game

Possibly an online mutual or someone with an interest in it

Either way you we're being ignored

You knew his rants can go on for hours

You were seriously having thoughts of kicking him, then a better idea came

While his head was still enough, you kissed his cheek

He stopped dead in his tracks and looked over at you

He flushed red and asked why you did that

Part of his redness was because this happened in an anime he saw once

But it was mostly because you kissed a yucky otaku

"Lucifer switched cooking shifts with me and I wanted to know if you wanted to make some of that food we saw in the anime we watched the other day. We're gonna need to shop for ingredients too."

Of course he agreed to make some anime food with you, but he was taken aback that you wanted to make it with him

He didn't know it was a date and you could tell by how calm he was compared to when you kissed him

You put emphasis on the fact you wanted to make it with him

That's when he realized it was supposed to be a cooking date

Leviathan.exe has stopped working

He lost the ability to speak but you knew he wanted to

You grabbed his hand while looking on your D.D.D for the ingredients

Once he calmed he built up the nerve to put his arm around your shoulder

He was over the moon when you leaned into him

Satan

He was talking to someone about some book

All you needed was 3 minutes of his attention and he couldn't spare that

He was getting into the conversation and so was the other demon

You were getting annoyed and wanted to punch one of them

But a thought overpowered that one

Right when he was still enough you grabbed his hand

He immediately stopped and looked over at you

He'll be greatful for the gesture and considered rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb but didn't

"What was that for?"

"I wanted to ask if you will go to this new bookstore that opened up. There's also a cat cafe near it too."

You lost him at bookstore

He was dragging you by the hand to go there

You had to physically stop him so you could tell him it was a date

That made him even happier to go

You both walked there hand in hand

Asmodeus

He was telling Solomon about something

You didn't know cause you wanted to punch both of them

The conversation felt like it qould never end

You were considering actually punching them but then something better came to mind

You hugged Asmo from the front with your arms around his shoulders

He stops before giggling a bit and hugging you back

"Awww, what is this for?"

"I wanted to ask you if you would go to this store with me that just opened up."

He agreed and asked Solomon to come too

That's when you had to say that you wanted to go with just and only him

The dots connected immediately

He kissed your nose agreed

He held you with trying to speed up the conversation with Solomon so you two could go

You didn't care now cause you got what you had to say out

You were also happy that you were so close to Asmo right now and he was stroking your back

When their conversation finished, he walked with you there with his arm around your waist

Beel

He was talking his fangol coach

You didn't know what about exactly and you couldn't care less

All you wanted was to talk to Beel and apparently that was asking for too much

You were about to give up when you had an idea

You grabbed his arm, pulled him down and placed a kiss on his temple

He looked over at you curiously

"Mc, are you ok? What was the kiss for?"

Don't get him wrong, he loved the kiss. He just wonders if there was a reason

"There's a new restaurant that opened up and I wanted to go with you. And maybe also go to a movie."

His mouth was already salivating at the thought

He agreed but really wanted to finish talking to his coach first

His coach let him go cause Beel's been a better player since you arrived

Beel almost dragged you, but stopped when you called his name

You had to elaborate more on why you wanted to go with him

When he realized it was a date he was even more existing to go

You walked there holding onto his arm and he loved how small you looked next to him

Belphegor

He was talking to Beel and he didn't notice you cause he was sleepy

He was awake enough to hold a conversation with his brother but not enough to notice the obvious next to him

You were mad with him and wanted to stab him awake

You decided against it

Instead you held his hand

It was warm and soft so you could've fallen asleep to just at the touch

The sudden heaviness made him finally look at you

You figured he was awake enough tobhear what you needed to say

"Do you want to go to this stuffed animal store later today with me? I want to get you something from there, my treat."

The fact you added my treat made him curious

"Why did you say my treat? Usually people only say that if..... Mc, are you asking me on a date?"

Your silence answered everything for him

He pulled you close to him and buried his head in the crook of your neck

"Ok, but let me nap right here real quick."

You and Beel laughed a bit

You allowed him to use you as a pillow to sleep and talked to Beel

When he woke up you two went to the stuffed animal store

He had his arm around your shoulder cause you were so comfy earlier, why would he let go?

Lord Diavolo

He was talking to Barbatos about some royal thing or something

You knew you couldn't always have his attention but just this once for 2 minutes you wanted it

You were growing impatient

So you decided to hold onto his arm

He felt the weight and looked over at you

The way you were holding his arm had him worry a bit

"Mc, are you ok?"

"Yeah, I just wanted to know if you wanted to go to a restaurant with me. Maybe not today, but someday soon."

He immediately asked if it was a date

When you confirmed he was so happy

He put a hand over one of yours

He tried to quickly finish his talk with Barbatos

When he did he asked him to make the reservations at the best restaurant he knew

He was excited to go on one with you

When you did go with him, he had you hold onto his arm again

He loved how your fragile human body looked against his

How you weren't scared in the slightest either, even in a world of demons

It was everything to him

Barbatos

He was talking to Diavolo about butler things or whatever

He knew you were there but couldn't talk

He also had a vague idea on what you were going to do

Seeing multiple different timelines mad eit hard to know exactly what was going to happen

The conversation with Diavolo was making you irritated

You decided the best way to get the butler's attention

You put a hand on one cheek and tried to pull him towards you for a kiss on the cheek

Then he turned his head so you ended up actually kissing him

He looked at Diavolo

"If you'll excuse me, my Lord." He turned to you "Is there something you need? Or did you already get what you need?"

"I wanted to ask if you'd go to the movies with me one day. There's a movie playing but it was released a while ago so the theater should be empty."

"Sounds like a date."

Diavolo told him to go and decided himself that what they were talking about could wait

Barbatos followed the orders and took you to the theater

He walked you there with his hand on your back

He did put his hand on your waist cause he knew you'd prefer that instead, and he'd do anything to make you happy

Simeon

He was talking to Luke about the Celestial Realm

Or was he saying how angels aren't so drastically different from demons?

It didn't matter because the angel was ignoring you

All you knew is that Luke was too busy being in his "the devildom is evil and so are the brothers" mood to tell Simeon you were there

You wanted pull his hair out

But you thought of something better, better for both of you

When he was sighing from Luke's mood, you hugged his side

He put a hand on your back when he saw it was you

Luke was surprised himself to see you there

"Mc! What are you doing here? Did those demons scare you out?" Luke asked, still in his mood

"What are you doing here? Did you need something? Are you ok?" Simeon asked, now stroking your back

Damn, this angel knows how to make you feel loved

"I'm ok Simeon. I just wanted to know if you'd go to a restaurant with me. But not like, as friends."

He got the message with the last part and agreed

He was greatful, knowing that you liked him back

And enough that you asked him on a date before he asked you

Luke was excited that you two were going on a date

You spent the next thirty minutes talking to Luke and Simeon, with Simeon's hand still on your back

Solomon

He was talking Asmo

Asmo was being Asmo so Solomom couldn't really pay attention to you

You wanted to hit Asmo at the moment

Then you wanted to do something else, so you did

You reached down and held his hand

He looked at you and held back a slight laugh

"Is there something you need?"

"I wanted if you'd go to the human world with me to go to a new store. Ya know, just us."

Immediately realized it was a date and said a flirty remark back

He was happy that you had feelings for him, the only other human in this world of demons

Asmo was upset that you didn't ask him for a date

You simply reached over a gave him a head pat and he liked the touch

You both went to Lucifer and he changed you using his magic into your human world clothes (the magic just immediately changes clothes, no nudity)

He walked with you hand in hand, planning on taking you to dinner there too

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daydream-believin · 4 years ago

Text

What About the Smaller Picture (2)

Summary: Merlin knows best. And what he feels is best for you and Douxie right now is to sit around and wait for him to come back from New Jersey, Merlin-knows-when. (2) Your first day in Arcadia, it sure is something. (1) - (3)

Warnings: swearing, proofing is for nerds

Word Count: 2211

a/n: i hope to be able to make you feel the awkwardness radiating off of every part of this series

Hisirdoux’s special welcome tour didn’t exactly do its job of making you feel welcome. You supposed that was more of a problem with you than the town. It definitely wasn’t of any fault of Hisirdoux’s. If anything, he was being a little too warm. It almost felt fake.

People appeared to like Hisirdoux. All across town, he would greet friends, introduce you to them. Kinda like he was showing you off. You did not know what for. He barely knew you, yet he talked about you like you were an old friend returned to him. Like he was proud of you or something. You supposed he was establishing a cover story. And you weren’t sure why. Why not just say you were new in town? What tracks was he trying to cover here.

You stopped paying too much attention to what Hisirdoux was telling others about you. He was telling them that he cared for you. That he missed you. It was a lie, sure. But just hearing those words come out of someone else’s mouth were making you melt. It had been so long that it was hard for you to recall the last time a person said such nice things about you. That was sad. You supposed the blush on your face did good to add to the story he was telling. Made it more believable. You felt really pathetic that this guy you barely knew lying through his teeth about you was actually making you blush as if it was real. As if anyone really thought those nice things he said about you in real life. Man that’s really sad. Moving on.

The town itself looked a little rough. Like it had seen better days. It was apparently a hub of magic, so it probably had. A lot of the damage you saw looked very recent though. That made sense. The whole reason you wound up here was because you befriended a girl traveling with a pack of trolls migrating from this very town. When asked why they were migrating, Claire, the girl, had told you that their home had been destroyed in a recent battle. “The Eternal Night” they called the battle. You, of course, knew about such eternal night. You had heard of the prophecy, you just didn’t expect it to happen in your lifetime. And you may had freaked out just a tad when it came along earlier that month, the unexpected solar eclipse confusing you and your studies before you figured out what was happening. However, you had assumed the battle took place underground, you know, cause trolls. The town you explored with Hisirdoux told a different story. At one point you saw a troll walking by, under an umbrella, following a red-headed human woman with a baby in her arms. And the locals didn’t seem to care. No one batted an eye. Strange town.

What really baffled you though was what happened later in the day, back at the bookstore, when you cast a simple spell. Nothing too flashy, just a little levitation on a book Hisirdoux had sent you to find up on a high shelf you couldn’t reach. When he saw you, Doux made a really panicked gasping sound. He threw himself in front of you, shielding you from the people who were not even there, startling you, and throwing off your focus. The book landed on both of you with a thunk.

“You can’t do that,” his voice was hushed despite you two being the only ones in the shop at the moment, “It’s business hours. The mortals don’t know about wizards and they shouldn’t see magic,” he stressed.

“But- uh,, They look just fine with the trolls?” Confusion was written across your face.

“That’s different. It’s different. Look, the situation is weird, okay,” He made a little X with his hands. “But I can’t have you casting spells around the shop. Or in public, period. The mortals can’t see anything, okay?”

“Okay, okay. My bad. I won’t do it again- Promise.” Your face was hot with embarrassment. This was your fault for assuming. Fuck, he probably thinks you’re a wild card now or something. Not a good start to your professional life here. Or your relationship with this Adonis who’s reprimanding you.

“While there are some other wizards around town that I’ll introduce you to tonight, to stay safe, generally just keep the magic for when we’re alone and out of sight.”

“Oh, yeah, uh- Okay”

He grinned. Suddenly, he leaned in, catching you off guard. “It can be a special thing,” His voice was even softer as he was so close to you, “just between the two of us.”

Oh. So he meant when just You and Him were alone and out of sight. Ooookaaaayyyy. He winked to you as he separated himself from your side, and went off to the back of the store to continue unpacking a shipment he had just got in. He left you there, clutching that damn book to your chest, face now hotter than before, if that was even possible at all. Oh no.

Fuck, it was fucking day one. Day one! Day fucking one and you were developing a crush. NOPE. This was not something you were going to do. Uh-uh. Nein. There was no fucking time for this. Well, you didn’t really know how much time you had with Merlin and his addiction to being perceived as mysterious or whatever the hell was wrong with that asshole you worked for now, but the point is you did not have time for this! Hisirdoux was too much. Merlin really should have had the decency to warn you that he was hot. This wasn’t fair. Not only was Doux beautiful, but he was a touchy person. You weren’t going to stand a chance.

The thing is you had been sooo worried about how you and Hisirdoux were going to get along, you even brought up the concern to Merlin. To be honest, you had thought the old wizard to just be annoyed at your worrying, and that’s why he reassured you it’d all be fine. That you and Hisirdoux would get along swimmingly or whatever just get out of my hair kid. You were so afraid Hisirdoux would have to warm up to you like a cat being introduced to a new kitten. Afraid that he’d resent you since you were technically Merlin’s apprentice too now in a sense. And he was used to being number one, no one else to compete with for Merlin’s sparse pride since Morgana went astray. Merlin assured you Hisirdoux was very friendly. But like, would it kill the geezer to give you a warning that he’d be too friendly.

While you were having your little crisis, Douxie was humming along to the song in his head, stacking up the new books onto a display, trying his absolute dilly darndest not to think about what just happened. What he did. That wasn’t weird, right? Oh fuzzbuckets, he did something weird. He was just so used to playing up the flirty persona he’d developed he hadn’t even stopped to think about if he’d be making you uncomfortable. And he really wanted you to be comfortable. Plus, he felt pretty guilty he had to stop your tour around town to go accept a shipment he forgot. Strangely, he was really concerned about the impression he was giving you. Caring about what another person thought of him was not very in character for him. Not counting Merlin, of course. He was going to have to make this up to you. He really needed you to think he was cool. For professional reasons, of course. Definitely.

~ ~ ~

“SO! I recommend the steak because it’s the least disgusting thing on the menu.”

You gaped at the wizard sitting across from you in this sticky booth, peeping your head over the kitschy French-themed menu you held. He had no menu. In fact he refused to even touch it. Great. What did he know.

��I- What do mean ‘least disgusting’, Casperan.” You were almost afraid to ask.

“I mean that kitchen is filthy and the steak is your best bet for something edible.”

“Why. Why would you bring me here if the food is terrible.”

You were always weary of greasy chain restaurants, but you had expected this one to be at least a little decent, since it was a smaller Cali chain and Hisirdoux had fucking brought you to it your first day in the town. Surely he was kidding.

“I just wanted to show you where I worked nights. So you’d be able to find me easier if there’s any trouble. Besides, you can’t say you’ve been to California if you haven’t had Mr. Benoit’s. It’s like In-N-Out burger. Remind me to take you to an In-N-Out burger later this week.”

You blinked. “Oh – uh, okay.”

Hisirdoux continued, “I can’t have my phone turned on during my shifts so you’ll have to come get me directly if it’s a big enough problem. Make up an emergency. Are you good at improve?”

You looked around the restaurant, getting a feel for its layout, taking notice of where the kitchen and back doors were located, making mental notes of all exits. “Ah, well, I’m good at lying, if that’s what you’re asking…”

“Good enough.”

The waiter came to take your orders. Hisirdoux shared an inside joke with him. It should have been awkward, them laughing away at something you didn’t understand why you sat there quietly, but you were a little too fixated on how pretty Hisirdoux looked when he laughed. It was mesmerizing. The waiter took your order. You got the steak.

~ ~ ~

It was very important for you to establish connections in Arcadia’s wizard underground. Or at least that’s what Hisirdoux thought. You weren’t particularly a social butterfly. It’s not that you didn’t like having a large group of friends or anything, you just never really had a reason to have one. And Doux was hell bent on introducing you to every person in this town in one day apparently. You had met twenty-three wizards in counting over the last hour being shepherded through this off-brand apple store. You had so far learned no names. How did he expect you to remember these peoples names. Scratch that. You knew one name. Zoe. Just because she was very annoyed at your and Hisirdoux’s presence in her workplace, and was very vocal about it. That being said, she didn’t make any real effort to get you to leave. You wished she would though. You were getting overwhelmed. Today had been incredibly stressful, with a lot of information to take in, and with only a brief rest when Doux was handling things at the bookstore. You wanted to go home. Geez, home. You realized that Hisirdoux had yet to show you home. Where was home.

You tugged on his hand to grab his attention. “Hey, I’m- uh – tired? Really tired. Can - can we go home?”

“OH. Yes! Home. Right away. Yes.”

Douxie possibly maybe had been avoiding home all day. It just, it wasn’t much. He had no idea how you were going to react. His space was small already without adding another person to it. Of course, it wasn’t any smaller than any of the one-room cottages that entire families used to share, but it was tiny for modern standards. Okay to be frank it was a back room. Not technically even an actual apartment. But it was his home. And now it was your home too.

Okay, so Hisirdoux lived in his bookstore. What was probably supposed to be a break room was his entire living space. It was… cozy. You set the backpack that carried everything you owned down on the floor and headed for the lumpy plaid sofa. It was nice and old, like a sofa should be. The plaid pattern covered any stains that might have been there. Hisirdoux sat down next to you, starting to fiddle with his hands. You looked around, took it all in. The was a kitchenette off to one side, a bed to the other side. The sofa was in the sort of middle ground. Notably, there was no table, barely any counter space, and various teacups on the coffee table, so it was a safe bet that he just ordered take out every night and ate it on the sofa. The twin bed was on the ground, and the quilts that covered it had visible holes. It struck you that this bed was the only one in the room. The one room.

“So I’ll take the sofa, until we get you a bed. I’ll, uh, figure something out with the space. We can put up curtains or something.” It was if he had read your mind.

You nodded, unsure of anything to add. This was,,,, going to be fun. A challenge. A test to see how long you can act normal while living in extremely close quarters with a funny medieval supermodel. Merlin help you. Something moved in the corner of your eye. You gasped.

“Kitty!”

“Oh, that’s Archie.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Talking kitty. How bout that.

#douxie x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie x y/n #douxie imagine #hisirdoux casperan imagine #Douxie Casperan x reader #douxie casperan imagine #tales of arcadia x reader #tales of arcadia imagine #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #my writing #watsp

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jawllines · 4 years ago

Note

Sorry to be annoying but I asked awhile ago and I think tumblr ate my ask but did you ever do tattoo Harry blurb? I love them and I miss them:( I’ve looked through your tags and there isn’t any on there if you have posted one

I CAN POST ONE I WROTE A WHILE AGO RIGHT NOW :D I DONT THINK I POSTED HERE BUT LET ME KNOW HERE YOU GO PET

“Baby -- baby, c’mon!”

It was rare that Harry ever woke Y/N with more than kisses and cuddles. Maybe an abrupt shoulder shake if the both of them slept through their alarms (and, considering that they are the only ones with the key to open up their own respective stores, they never typically arrived late facing happy employees -- or in Y/N’s case, employee -- Niall, in particular, was always more of a grump in that situation than Riktor even), but even that still managed to be tender, and soft. He always treated her so delicately, as if she were made up of porcelain in the morning and it was imperative to speak in a low, soothing voice with careful touches or she might shatter. And she really didn’t think it was because she was an absolute terror to wake up -- Y/N did quite well, even as early as 5 AM she was still in somewhat of a pleasant mood, certainly nothing to be fearful of -- she thinks he’s just gentle in the morning. He’s gentle all the time, but for some reason or another, he’s extra soft with her then.

They had both had a bit of a busy day, so by the time that they made it back to Y/N’s flat (Harry said he liked it there best because it smelled like her, and -- well, he softens her up and calls her Darling when he wants them to go over there, so it’s hard to say no), both of them were ready for bed. Neither of them could barely keep their eyes open as they scarfed down the burgers they’d picked up on the way home, and once they’d finished and brushed their teeth, they toppled into each other on the mattress. Y/N would reckon they both fell asleep before their heads had even hit the pillow -- she doesn’t even remember crawling beneath the blankets.

Apparently she had though, because now as her brain tunes in with the world around her and she realizes that the distorted voice that had begun to prod her dreams was actually a grumpy, dry throat Harry, she’s cuddling herself closer in the covers. This only makes him grumble at her more, “You’re such a blanket hog,” he whines and Y/N finally blinks her eyes open, being greeted with Harry’s disgruntled, pouted face illuminated by the sunlight beginning to slip through the blinds, “I’ve been trying to unravel it for like ten minutes, but you’re all wrapped up! I’m cold.”

Y/N smiles sleepily at him, not understanding the gravity of the situation entirely as she begins to un-burrito herself from the covers, “G’morning, beautiful,” she murmurs as she does so, finally disentangling from the blankets and while she was a little less warm, Harry was quick to wiggle in beneath them, “Sorry.”

“Don’ be sweet when m’tryin’ to be angry with you,” she puckers her lips at him dramatically, and though he sighs, he leans in and presses their mouths together softly, “Your kisses aren’t g’na sweeten me up, m’still grumpy, blanket hog.”

She can only hum as she cuddles closer to him, “Sorry,” she repeated, this time adding, “Like to swaddle myself like a lil’ baby. Reckon you weren’t holdin’ me well enough last night.”

An offended gasp leaves through his lips soundly, enough that it startles her, but his arms worm around her waist and draw her closer to his body, “Brat,” he grumbled, dipping his nose into her throat, “I held you so well and you just wiggled right out of my arms and took all the covers with you.”

“Like a worm -- I wiggled out like a worm or somethin’,” she tried to sit up but his arms tightened around her, “This worm has to pee though and she’ll soak the bed if she isn’t allowed.”

His arm loosens around her, “This worm sounds like she’s a sleepy sort of delusional that requires about two hours more of rest.”

Y/N stumbles toward the bathroom in her room, “Noooooooo,” she whines, frowning at nobody, not bothering to swing the door shut before she plops on the cold toilet seat to relieve herself, “We’re supposed to go get hot chocolate, no more sleep.”

“Baby, it’s 6 AM and I’ve been up the last 30 minutes freezing my bits off!” He calls back to her and she giggles some, her eyes trying to accommodate to the bright white lights of the bathroom, “Sleep just a bit more and we’ll get the hot chocolate when we wake up next.”

She waits until she flushes and washes her hands to respond to him, and though she knows that she is definitely going to crawl back in bed and fall asleep, she stands at the foot of it with her hands in fists at her hips. He had let his eyes flutter closed by then but she thinks he could feel her eyeballing him, so he looks up past the mountain of blankets now covering him so she could only see his eyes and his nose, “What’re you doing?”

“You’re telling me, you don’t wanna go at 6 AM, three hours before the kiosk even opens to get hot chocolate with me? You must really hate me, don’t you?”

He huffs a sharp breath through his nose which is how he usually laughs in the morning, when he can’t muster up the strength to have a proper giggle, “Absolutely loathe you, baby doll, but could you please come back to bed so I can loathe you in the warmth?”

It takes little persuading -- as she said, she knew she was just going to crawl right back in beside him -- and instead of relying too heavily on the blankets to provide her warmth (like wrapping up half of it around her so she was cocooned entirely. . .this is what she normally does, and she would say that’s probably why Harry almost never has any of the covers in the morning), she relies on him. Picks up his arm so that she can fit herself underneath it and lies her cheek on his chest, “Your pits better not be smelly.”

“I make no promises.”

. . .

“I love your hair.”

“Stop it, Sweetheart, I’m g’na start blushing.”

They had slept for four more hours rather than the two Harry had originally suggested, but that always happens with them. Y/N would say that they are just too content cuddled up with one another that they milk it for all it’s worth. If one of them wakes up before the other, then they just settle their head back down and close their eyes again. Unless they had somewhere to be, of course, but Harry had a free Saturday (no clients schedule, even though Saturday’s could often be some of his heaviest days) and he’d elected to spend it with her -- whether they were awake or asleep didn’t much mater, they just liked to be near each other.

When they finally did wake up, they lazily got dressed into about thirty layers so they wouldn’t freeze outside. The weather had grown frigid quite quickly this November, and neither of them stood the cold very well, but there was a park lined with little pop-up kiosks with hot chocolate, sweets, little holiday goodies, and an obscene amount of knitted blankets (it was a clever marketing tactic, Y/N thought -- everyone is more willing to spend money on a blanket when they’re freezing cold - she and Harry had certainly fallen for it today). Y/N bought them shoe warmers to keep their toes at least not numb, and Harry lets her borrow a pair of his gloves because she keeps forgetting to buy some of her own. They both have hats fitted over their heads too, and since Harry’s let his hair grow out, his curls stick out from beneath the pumpkin orange print and Y/N can’t stop staring at it. She’s always loved his hair, she told him as much one of the first nights they’d sat on her bookstore’s floor and talked about just a bit of everything. Back when she barely realized she had a crush on him. . . .when she didn’t know that in just a little time, she would be over the moon.

And she’ll never forget that people used to make him feel like shit about his hair, so she maybe overcompensates by telling him every time she has thought about loving it. Which means today, in the span of a short three hours they’d been awake, Y/N had complimented his hair about twenty different times. If she was running her fingers through it, fixing his beanie, or just staring at him, she let him know just how much she adored his curls.

“I hate to tell you this, Button, but your cheeks are already red as apples,” she shifted the paper cup of hot chocolate from her hand closest to him to the other, so she could reach up and tuck them behind his ear, that had reddened from the cold, “The air has you more bashful than I ever could.”

“Not true,” he murmurs, lowering his voice as he knocks closer to her ear, “I always blush when you go down on me.”

“God,” Y/N shakes her head, “You’re too much, d’ya know that?”

He laughs, nudging her with the cold tip of his nose, “You want the peppermint bark? We’re coming up on the seller.”

“Of course, I want peppermint bark,” she reaches for her wallet, “I’m stocking us up for the next hundred years or so.”

Harry slows for a moment, sliding his gloved hand into her own and squeezing, “Hey,” he begins, his voice soft, somewhat reflective and it brings her attention to him at her side, “Y’know when -- you remember how you said you just get random flushes of love for me and s’a whole lot and you just don’t know what to do with it?”

Y/N nods, “Yeah, like every waking minute practically. Why?”

He smiles shyly, “I’m having one of those moments.”

“For the peppermint bark?” She teases, but his brows furrow and he swats her shoulder playfully, “Hey!”

“I’m trying to be sweet on you, and you’re still going on about this bloody chocolate,” he rubs the arm that he swats, even though Y/N has so many layers on plus the blanket that she bought wrapped around her, that he made no real contact with her body.

Y/N pulls him in for a hug, narrowly avoiding a child running past them as she does so, “Oh, you know m’only kidding. I love you too, Bug, more than words can describe and ten times more than the chocolate I reckon. . .well, unless it’s made really well this year.”

“I’ll leave you here, blanket hog.”

#blurbs #Anonymous

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bourbonbees · 3 years ago

Text

Suptober Day 15- Blue Skies and Apple Pies

Patience and Pie

Summary: Dean, Cas, and Jack spend some quality time baking an apple pie for Sam and Eileen. It's not perfect, but what is? Other than their family, which Dean would argue is pretty damn perfect. Domestic fluff, pastry related mishaps, and flirting ensue!

Read below the cut or on Ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34521685

“There’s no way vodka is supposed to be involved in making a pastry.” Cas argues, stopping Dean from pouring the alcohol into the pie crust mixture. Dean simply heaves a sigh and pulls up the recipe he’s found on some mommy blogger website.

“It does, see! Even Marie says it makes the crust flakier. Honestly, do you think I’m that much of an alcoholic? Wait, don’t answer that.” Dean groans, handing his phone to Cas and letting him read the recipe, waiting patiently, hand on his hip, apron covered in flour.

“Why does she go into such intimate detail about her husband’s work schedule. Where is the recipe?” Cas’ brows are furrowed as scrolls down the article trying to find the recipe, having to go almost all the way to the bottom of the webpage.

“Who knows. All of them do that, overshare. Apparently, that’s a requirement of running a recipe blog, a tendency to over share and owning half of everything you can buy at Crate and Barrel.” Dean explains, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“You know what Crate and Barrel is?” Cas questions, glancing up from the phone and studying Dean suspiciously.

“Don’t act like you don’t hide all those home store catalogues under the bed like some sort of weird porn stash. You thinking of redecorating or something?” Dean teases, gently kicking at Cas’ ankle with the toe of his boot. He found the stash a week ago and has been avoiding bringing it up, just in case Cas was planning to run away and start a new life somewhere more normal.

“Well, you know, ever since Sam and Eileen moved out, this is more our place. You, me, and Jack. Not that I don’t appreciate the simplicity of the Men of Letter’s design sense, but it could do with a bit of a homier touch. Jack deserves a normal home. Don’t you think?” Cas does make a good point, he makes a lot of good points, that’s probably why Dean loves him so much.

“I like it here.” Jack announces as he walks into the kitchen, clearly eaves dropping just outside in the hall.

“Hey kid, if you’re going to lurk, at least make yourself useful.” Dean, tosses Jack an apron and hands him some apples and a fruit peeler.

“Okay! What do I do with these?” Jack asks genuinely, nearly running the peely end of the peeler over his thumb. Dean sometimes forgets the kid is only a toddler since he looks much older, until he does things dangerous things like these. He springs into action, taking the peeler from Jack and holding it by the handle.

“It’s for peeling the apple, like this.” He demonstrates, holding the apple and peeling a strip of the skin off.

“Oh, okay. I understand now.” Jack nods, taking the apple and peeling it over the trash can.

“Ah, it does say vodka. My apologies Dean. But you do understand my skepticism, since you tried to pour bourbon into your cereal that one time.” Cas points out, leave it to him to bring up Dean’s questionable drunk choices.

“I was drunk. It was cocoa puffs, logically, bourbon and chocolate pair really well together.” Dean defends, taking the peeled apple from Jack and starting to cut it into small slices.

“He’s technically right, the flavors are kind of similar.” Jack supplies, always quick to defend Dean.

“How do you know what bourbon tastes like?” Cas asks, Dean raising a finger to his lips to tell Jack to be quiet.

“I don’t.” Jack lies with a shrug, taking another apple and peeling it, pointedly not looking at Cas.

“Damn it Dean, we talked about this. He’s too young to drink.” Cas immediately catches on, hand on his hip as he watches Dean cut up the apples.

“So quick to blame me. What’s wrong pumpkin, don’t you trust me?” Dean tries his best version of Sam’s puppy eyes, hoping it will work on Cas.

“I trust you to be the parent that allows all sorts of shenanigans.” Cas says with a fond shake of his head.

“Shenanigans. You’re so old.” Jack laughs, finishing peeling up the rest of the apples.

“I am, millions of years old and you two make me feel every single one of those years old. If I weren’t an angel my hair would certainly be gray.” Cas points out, running his fingers through his hair, distracting Dean from the work at hand.

“Fuck!” Dean swears when he accidentally nicks his finger with the knife.

“Swear jar!” Jack calls out, pointing to the jar that was mostly full of dollar bills that belong to Dean.

“Not now, he’s hurt. Swearing has been scientifically shown to reduce pain. He gets a pass.” Cas is already next to Dean with a paper towel, wiping up the blood before using his grace to heal his finger.

“You don’t have to do that you know. I can handle a little cut.” Dean frowns, he hates when Cas uses his grace for small injuries like this, he knows it drains his energy at least a little bit. Cas, as always, just shakes his head and places a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Now be careful.” He adds sternly, backing up so Dean could finish cutting the apples.

“What can I do next?” Jack asks, setting the peeler on the counter.

“Get the sugar and these spices.” Dean instructs showing Jack the recipe on his phone. With that Jack disappears into the pantry on a quest to find all the things Dean needs.

“It’s your fault you know, that I cut myself. You’re too sexy for your own good.” Dean says softly, winking at Cas once they were alone.

“I don’t mean to be.” Cas blushes, licking his lips as he watches Dean put the apples into a bowl.

“See that’s the problem, right there.” Dean is tracking Cas’ tongue, then his lips, he crowds him against the counter and kisses him deeply, pulling him closer by his tie.

“Oh, is this adult time, should I go?” Jack gasps when he comes back to the kitchen with the sugar and spices.

“What, uh, hmm. Oh, no.” Dean fumbles as he comes back to reality, moving away from Cas.

“Sorry Jack, Dean has poor manners.” Cas chuckles fondly, shaking his head at Dean.

“I don’t mind. I’m just happy that you’re happy.” Jack says honestly, earning a smile from Cas that melts Dean’s heart. It is moments like these when he realizes how incredibly lucky he is to not only be alive, but to have such a loving family.

“Okay, here, you add the sugar and spices to the apples.” Dean offers, wanting to let Jack help some more.

“On it!” Jack nods, lifting the sugar sack, about to pour the whole thing into the bowl of apples.

“No, Jack. Use the measuring cup. Two of these.” Dean laughs, handing Jack a stainless steel one cup.

“Oh! You need to be more specific. I’ve never made pie.” Jack says with a roll of his eyes.

“You angels, so literal.” Dean groans, Cas placing a hand on his chest in mock offense.

“You humans, so cryptic.” Cas mocks, Jack giggling and giving him a high five.

“Whatever, I knew what I meant.” Dean shrugs, handing Jack the spices one by one along with the measuring spoons.

“That’s the problem Dean, you think everyone thinks like you do. In my eons of experience, no one thinks like you.” Cas jabs, picking up a hand towel and gently swatting Dean with it.

“Thank you!” Dean beams.

“Wasn’t a compliment.” Cas corrects, flinging the towel over his shoulder.

“Oh well. Good thing I love you.” Dean says it so casually these days, it wasn’t always like this, it used to be an incredible feat for him to discuss any of his feelings let alone tell Cas he loves him in front of anyone. Cas knows this, and every time Dean says it, he lights up.

“Can you stop flirting and help me. What’s next?” Jack asks impatiently, making Cas laugh.

“Stir everything up, here, with this you animal.” Dean snorts, handing Jack a wooden spoon when he almost digs his hands into the bowl.

Once the filling is mixed, Dean helps Jack carefully add it to the crust. They work together to put a lattice work crust on the top, it’s lopsided, but they conclude that neither Sam nor Eileen would care when they gave it to them.

As the pie bakes the trio watch Harry Potter and the Sorcer’s Stone for the 3rd time this week. Sam has lent Jack all of the Harry Potter movies to educate him further on nerdom. They’ve yet to make it past the first one, since Jack concludes it’s the best movie ever, then begs to watch it over and over.

When the pie is ready they load it into the Impala along with the massive pile of gifts Cas has insisted on buying. All of it for Sam and Eileen’s baby to be.

“Babies need lots of things you know. Some of this, I bought it for Jack but never got to use it, obviously.” He explains as they struggle to close the door and squeeze Jack into the back seat.

It’s all worth it when they see Sam’s face as they bring the massive amount of gifts into the little cottage of house he and Eileen live in. Out back, where the party is set up, a baby shower. There's cupcakes and balloons, it's all so precious, it's rare they get quiet moments like this. Moments to celebrate and do normal family things. Eileen gives Jack the biggest hug when she sees him arrive with the pie, her bump making it difficult for them to get close.

“How did you know?” She signs.

“Sam told us you were craving apples.” Dean says proudly. It’s a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky, the blue almost rivaling Cas’ eyes.

Almost.

#suptober21 #castiel #dean winchester #destiel #fan fiction #saileen #jack kline #supernatural #ficlet

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 4 years ago

Text

Firewood

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Collection/Series: Western AU- Putting Down Roots

Pairing: Sheriff Din Djarin x Female Teacher Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: M

Warnings: Sexy, sexy thoughts, but we all know that Sheriff Din is a proper gentleman who would never sleep with you before you’re married. But, a girl can look.

Summary: You were certain your old school headmistress would give you a clip round the ear and drag you off to teach you a lesson about propriety and ladylike behaviour if she saw you. Fortunately, she wasn’t there to distract from the sight that had caught your attention.

Notes: Oh, hello, is this another firewood chopping fic? Yes. Yes it is. Do I have a thing for big, strong men chopping wood? Yes, apparently so.

Jeans were invented in 1873 so yes, Sheriff Din, 100% can wear tight jeans to show off that fine butt.

Archiveofourown

You were certain your old school headmistress would give you a clip round the ear and drag you off to teach you a lesson about propriety and ladylike behaviour if she saw you. Fortunately, she wasn’t there to distract from the sight that had caught your attention.

Every stove and every fireplace in Navarro was wood burning, gas was still a new fangled thing and hadn’t reached your little mining town yet. The metal log burner in the centre of the schoolhouse was no exception and it was on this particular Saturday, when working on marking some of the childrens’ books, that you noticed your store of firewood was rather shoddy. Something that while not an immediate concern would grow to be as the weather began to turn colder and the snow piled up outside. The children would need to be kept warm, otherwise they just simply wouldn’t learn right.

It had been something you mentioned in passing to the sheriff that morning, you hadn’t expected him to do anything about it and certainly not immediately. Just made small talk when he’d popped in to check on you and mentioned that the wood store was getting a little low and that you'd need to sort it soon before the weather turned. You should have known that Din, the mother hen, caring and considerate man that he was, would have taken it upon himself to correct the problem and quickly.

Had you known that that wasn’t just going to the general store and buying more logs, but instead cutting down a couple of trees near the school house and proceeding to cut them into fire logs, then you...well, you would have definitely still mentioned the problem to him. After all, the sight was definitely an enjoyable one. Not that you’d admit that to anyone. You were supposed to be a respectable lady. A school teacher. You shouldn’t have had any thoughts on Din Djarin and how he looked chopping wood.

It’s how you found yourself looking out one of the large windows of the schoolhouse, lip bitten between your teeth and chin resting on your hand as you watch Din lift a large log over his broad shoulders and to a tree stump he’d designated for wood chopping. He managed to make carrying the heavy load seem easy, like it barely phased him, he simply redistributed his weight and stance to make the walk easier.

He’d forgone his many layers. His hat had been placed off to the side, his usual button-up was off, now only stood in a grey union suit unbuttoned, indecently so, showing off pronounced collar bones and dark chest hair and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows displaying his thick forearms. His suspenders dug delightfully into his wide shoulders and the wide planes of his chest were captured fetchingly in the clinging fabric of the undershirt.

Your headmistress most certainly would have clipped you around the ear you think. It was unbecoming, unladylike, most certainly not decent to watch him with thoughts of how easily he could lift you over his shoulder. How nicely it must feel to be pulled into those arms and rest your cheek against his chest. How strong his palms look and how delightful the muffled grunts he let out sounded. Most certainly unladylike, improper and you shouldn’t have sat there and watched, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tear yourself from temptation.

There was just something, something about the way his shoulders tensed as he brought the axe back over his head before bringing it down with a sure stroke, cleaving the log in two. Something about the strength of those thick forearms, the scars that littered them from bounties he’d collected and a life of hard graft. Something about the sweat that beaded on tanned skin, that caught your eyes as you followed in down his prominent nose to his perpetually pouting lips.

As Reeva would say, Din Djarin was a whole lot of man and you thought perhaps a king among men. He could capture your attention just with a change to his stance or a look, you were sure every unmarried woman in town would happily marry him. He was incredibly handsome, but what made him something special you decided was his nature.

He was unfailingly kind, sweet and gentle, he always made sure to look out for others. Every act of service was a sign of his devotion and appreciation to his community, of who he was. He would get birds out of chimneys, sweep the porch for elderly citizens, hunt down a missing pet or build a schoolhouse. You knew that you never had to worry with Din around, the moment you mentioned a problem or difficulty he would be there offering to help without asking for anything in return. A king among men indeed.

A grunt brought you out of your thoughts and back to the view before you. Large palms and dexterous fingers twisted around the wooden handle of a heavy axe, feet planted wide to give him a better stance, jeans tight against his hips. Did the man have to own such tight trousers?

“Oh, Miss Adams, I’m terribly sorry.” You can’t help but mutter as warmth floods your body, your skin feeling too warm in your heavy skirt and blouse. A itch settling deep in your stomach. Your headmistress would have made you go to confession if she knew, forcing you to admit that your eyes and mind had sinned oh so terribly for gazing so covetously at the sheriff, at Din.

You couldn’t help it. You wondered what it would be like. To be married to him, to lie besides him on a cold night, those large palms sliding soothingly over your hips, your belly, your thighs. Wrapped so tightly in him that it would be impossible to figure out where you ended and he began. What would that deep, soothing voice feel like rumbling against your skin.

A breathy sigh leaves your lips at the thought and you wonder how you’re supposed to ever talk to him again without thinking about how he looks in that exact moment as fabric clings tight to his body and his dark hair begins to curl at the edges from sweat and the humid air.

You decide in that moment that he can’t ever know. It’s as simple as that. He simply can’t find out about these feelings you have or the power he holds over you. It just wouldn’t do, wouldn’t be proper. You shall simply go out there and thank him for cutting more wood for the schoolhouse, offer him a drink of water and be done with it.

You rise with determination, hands brushing your skirts smooth before grabbing the glass you use during the school day. The outside water pump is a handy little thing, you think as you fill the glass with cold, clean water. Despite the children often using it for mischief at break times, it does everyone a world of good to have easy access to water at the school.

“You look mighty thirsty, sheriff” You call out to him, one hand lifting your skirts to help you walk over the uneven ground, the other holding the glass of water out in front of you.

When you reach him you offer the glass, he takes it with a thank you and you try not to stare too hard as he throws his head back and gulps the water down fast. His neck extended, Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow.

“You know you didn’t have to do this...I could have bought some wood for the fire.” There was a small school fund for that sort of thing, the mayor had reluctantly set it up so that you could buy chalk and other things that the school would need and have to replace over time. While wood was certainly not a cheap item, it was something you budgeted for every single year.

“Cyar’ika, there’s no way I'm letting you spend good credits on firewood when there are plenty of trees for me to cut down. Besides, I’m not busy.”

“Din…” You want to protest, remind him that he has better things to do that cut firewood for you. Mostly because you worry that you’re taking advantage of his kindness. What possibly could you offer in return to a man who was capable of doing everything himself?

A hand reaches out, thumb brushing your cheek briefly and gently, “Just let me help you.”

It’s the gentle touch and the quiet plead in his voice that has you admitting defeat. There was no use fighting his nature and asking him to stand by if he noticed you in need of something. It just wasn’t in him and it was something you liked greatly about him.

“Thank you. You’re always looking out for us.”

His hand drops from your face to the back of his neck, rubbing it in a gesture you were beginning to recognise as a sign that Din was uncomfortable or nervous. More often than not when it came to feelings of any sort. “Well, I gotta keep my eye on you, make sure you’re doin’ alright.”

“I...have you...have you ever thought that you deserve someone keeping their eye on you too? To look out for you, I mean.” You rush through that last part to take some of the possible innuendo from your words. Not that your eyes had been anywhere but on Din as of late, but...you didn’t mean it like that. You could feel an embarrassed warmth radiating up your neck and into your face at the implication of your words.

There’s a tug at the corner of his mouth, “Oh, I noticed you’ve been doin’ a mighty fine job of that yourself, cyar’ika.” It’s unusually playful coming from Din and it has your mouth drying up as you swallow harshly. Had he noticed you watching him cut wood? Or the other day when he helped carry some of Mr Hewitt’s goods into the general store?

“I’m...I’m just looking out for you. Is all.”

He hums, clearly not quite believing you, but lets it slide. You’re a proper lady and he knows if he teases too much he’ll scare you away. Maybe one day he’ll let you in on the secret that he caught you peering out of the school window watching him. But, today he lets it go, lets you walk away back into the school house with the excuse that you have more books to mark.

If he decides to roll the union suit down to his waist and continue cutting wood with his torso free of clothing, then that’s not to tease you at all, it’s just because the weather’s gotten mighty hot lately. If he happens to notice you at the window again watching him then he doesn’t mention it and it means nothing, nothing at all.

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

Mando’a Translations:

Cyar’ika - Sweetheart, Darling

#din djarin x reader #din djarin / reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian reader insert #reader insert #readerinsert #western au #putting down roots #din djarinxreader #din djarin/reader #female reader #female identifying reader

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plunnies-n-shit · 3 years ago

Text

nothing new under the sun

Night Vale, New Mexico. Population of about six thousand according to the last census. When was the last census? Who knows, apparently the file was fairly corrupted, so they peg the population at about six thousand and call it a day. Driving in with the moving van, Night Vale looks to be something between American Gothic in the desert and every little town marked by rising fast-food chain signs that pops up around highway exits. Pretty, but. A little unnerving.

“...there is no word yet if this will affect voting at all on Election Day, so until further notice expect polling stations to be open. As always, voting is mandatory, and secret police officers will arrive to escort you when it is time for you to cast your ballot…”

And now, Desmond supposes, it’s home. He already talked with the homeowners’ association president while his stuff was unloaded, and by the time he got back all of his stuff was in the room it was marked for. They were careful, too. Desmond is kind of impressed, and kind of really wishes he’d been back in time to thank them for their effort. The radio stays on while Desmond starts to unpack, in accordance with the homeowners’ association’s rules.

“Just every other Saturday,” they said. “Just for the community updates.”

“... We welcome a new resident today. Now, Listeners, I don’t know about you, but one of the things about Night Vale that I take pride in is our sense of community. I expect our new resident to receive as warm a welcome as we can manage. And in celebration, Big Rico’s is doing a promotional buy one get one free on any slice of their house special. Remember: no one does a slice like Big Rico. No one…”

Well. At least the radio host has a wonderful voice. Melodic, almost. And definitely calming. It almost puts Desmond in a trance as he starts to go through the boxes in the kitchen, putting away food and making a list of what he will need to pick up from the store to start making this place livable. Shaun really picked out a nice place for him. A two-story townhouse, right off the square, otherwise small, but with a surprisingly expansive kitchen. All modern appliances, but dark wood flooring and wallpaper that makes Desmond think of grandmothers and apple pie. Not that he’s ever experienced those two things together himself, but…

The phantom of Ezio kneels down beside the window that faces the street, and Desmond can tell just from his expression that he’s kneeling down in front of Maria, trying to get her attention. Maybe to talk to her. Maybe to get her to eat something. Maybe to just make sure she’s still alive. Desmond averts his eyes and blinks away the burning threat of tears.

“... and now, dear Listeners, the weather…”

Yeah, no, kitchen is a bust with Ezio in there. Desmond wanders into the living room, picking around boxes to throw himself on the couch. He should set up the T.V. Or some of the shelves. Or maybe even go upstairs and set up the bed, so he’s not sleeping on a mattress on the floor. He should be doing anything, but.

Connor passes from one room to another, talking to someone, and when he turns around a corner and out of sight the distant ghost of his laughter echoes in Desmond’s ears. And in the window there’s Altaïr, head pillowed on his arms as he stares out into the street-- over Masyaf, in his eyes, Desmond supposes, recognizing the easy lines of that boneless slump. Or over Jerusalem, because the only two places Altaïr ever felt safe enough to relax like that were Masyaf castle and Malik’s bureau.

Ezio drops onto the couch, dragging a hand down his own face with a heavy, inaudible sigh. Some days Maria responds, but most days she doesn’t. But as much as it hurts, just seeing her alive is a balm on Ezio’s soul.

Desmond tips his head back and closes his eyes, and lets the gentle melody of today’s weather wash over him.

Happiness, and safety, however bittersweet. Desmond’s… never really had that before. He might have, for a short while in Monteriggioni, in the Sanctuary, but even that is poisoned by the weight of the world, and like Atlas he can’t quite bring himself to shrug it off, not quite yet.

But as fingerstyle guitar gives way to violin, Desmond thinks that, maybe, here, that weight is a little easier to bear.

#q's plunnies #Assassin's Creed #welcome to night vale #nothing new under the sun #desmond miles

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jean-does-not-have-a-horseface · 4 years ago

Text

Steamed Buns and Spicy Fried Chicken

Woooohooo guess who was inspired for tooth rotting sappy birdie romance? You guessed it, me! Here's a little piece for honey baby Hawks.

Pairing: Hawks/ Reader

Summary: Hawks takes you on an impromptu first date on the roof of the tallest skyscraper in Fukuoma and things take quite the romantic turn.

Tags: romance, fluff, the smoochies™

"I think you should let loose for once."

The small urban street you're walking in is flooded, deemed and outshone by the numerous dark silhouettes of bypassers that seep onto warm golden light that eagerly emits from each tiny shop. Their voices are loud and they merge into one another creating an unbearable buzzing that you can feel thudding in the hollows of your chest. Yet, despite that, despite your ears filtering most of the words that are spared from left and right, rising amongst others, you make out his voice perfectly.

The playful raspy voice licks on your eardrums and spreads a honey flavored pleasure and despite the fact that it makes you freeze on the spot, you can feel his words spill out of your ears, drip onto your earlobes and rush their way to the back of your neck.

Your hand irrationally sneaks up to your nape and taps on the harsh skin there in hopes of catching a guilty crimson feather on the spot, but you're surprised to find that you're merely shivering on your own. You let out a huff of air exit your mouth as you bring your empty fist and rest it on your uniform clad chest, the skin in your fist tingling from the raw force of your skin-digging fingernails.

"I'm loose all the time." You shrug.

"No you're not!"

Your eyes don't bother leaving the shop's window and tangerine lights bathe your face in the most iridian way while white quivering dots of adoration dance on your (e/c) orbs, as if they flicker like the dying fire of a candle light.

Before you, protected by a transparent tempered glass that looks like it has been licked to a shiny perfection lay the most beautiful sight you could ever set your eyes on. A plethora of round, puffy, ivory colored buns that gush ribbons of beautiful delicious steam. You almost taste the fluidity and jiggle in their teeny tiny movements as they coo next to eachother, your mouth watering by the extraordinary delight that causes serotonin to blast through your brain like a firework.

Your mouth is drenched in the bitter taste of craving, the all too familiar sheer saliva produces in gushes from the underside of your tongue and your wet muscle can't do anything other than bow down to it, bucking away every few seconds for the watery substance to wash inside your mouth.

"You're so stiff even when you're looking at something that you like." Hawks dares to speak again, and you bask away from his voice that is masked with what you perceive as arrogance.

But it's not.

It's not, but there's not way for you to know because you fail to notice how his hand shoots up to you to comfortly rest on your shoulders or how he pulls it away as if he's been electrocuted even before he manages to reach you. It's not, because you've only chosen to perceive him as your cocky millennial boss. It's not, but you won't let his kindness get through you. And that what's killing him ultimately and all the time.

At least, that's what he has come to understand from your interactions. Nevertheless, tonight's air feels a different type of fresh.

But for now, before letting his mind be filled with any other thought that bothers him, he can't help but stop and stare. He's standing only a few meters behind you, his feathery wings shivering from time to time as he refuses to jolt his body to your direction. His golden honey colored irises are fixated on you and a contintinuous thudding inside his chest is slowly growing louder by each passing second.

Could it be what he thought it could be? The mellow sweetness of a live that he's yet to even proclaim to himself taps in the back of his brain occasionally and tonight it's decided it's going to break down the norms. The little pitch of self control bows before the coiling in his stomach, the little monster that is cooking him up and torturing the words he doesn't ever dare speak out loud.

Looking back, Hawks would be lying if he said that he hadn't arranged your patrols in perfect synch. You were the perfect jewel to his agency, the most fierce adding to his team. With the heart of a true, selfless hero you had wiggled your way into the hearts of the citizens, and apparently, into his own as well. And rightfully at that because when he was a high profile celebrity bathed by the cold, yellow light of the limelight that followed him everywhere, you remained a vessel of self sacrifice for the masses a strong youth that strayed away from the public eye.

He was amazed by how you had stated that you didn't want publicity when you took his offer to be scouted by him. He was even more amazed by your borderline barbaric nature at times, but he attributed that to your brute quirk. Inhuman strength and stamina was what you had been blessed with and you had taken your abilities to a level that no one in your category could ever reach, rightfully earning your hero name, Amazona.

And somewhere between being you feisty, angsty and a little bit of a naive sweetheart Hawks had found himself unable to rip himself off your presence. He usually contemplated on whether he annoyed you or whether you were just secretly hating him, but despite the snarly remarks and the harsh glares you'd shoot him, the kindness and respect you showed to his person was unmistakably honest.

And thus the throbbing of his heart pumps scarlet blood in violent a gushes in his veins and a tiny spec on his thigh twitchs quietly, probably by the exhaustion of previous days and his eyes squint in borderline adoration while he is watching you as soft creases of skin accentuate the sides his puffy undereyes. Hawks feels his body shiver despite the warmth his camel jacket provides for him and his shoulders spasm slightly in quick bird like movements.

He has never seen you under such light both quite literally and metaphorically, but there's something about the way coral colored LEDs concentrate on illuminating your hair and the way your eyes shine in the wettest glimmers that allows them to remain wide in this heavenly state. Hawks feels unable to resist to this gut churning charm and for once, he decides to close the distance between the two of you.

He hopes he's right to do so because his anxiety is chewing on the inside of his intestines like a hungry wolf.

People occasionally comment on his public appearance, they throw small waves at him and mouth small greeting words but at the moment he misses all of them, his eyes fixated on your reflection in the window. Lingering his gaze between your reflection and your side profile Hawks' mouth falls agape, a few strings inside his chest close to ripping. He takes a notice of how your eyelashes graze over the top of the apples of your cheeks, or how your lips curl upwards in the tiniest bit, despite your lips being pushed in a thin line, resting between your teeth.

"I mean... take a picture it'll last longer." He comments awkwardly, as if it's something that will make you let him in and that previously reluctant hand of his is wiggling its way into your clothed shoulder.

You shake your head, your face falling into it's typical nonchalant expression. "Haha, very funny Hawks."

"What?" He smiles a sultry beam at you, his right eye squinting almost to a tiny blink, making you click your tongue.

You grunt a small yet harsh groan and snap your head to the opposite direction of his, trying to escape his golden gaze as you feel your insides boiling with anger as your hands cross under your bussom. He never fails to amaze you with his arrogance and his constant teasing, but tonight he's way too close to you and you need to be alone because shit, his cologne is making the inside of your nostrils cream in orgasmic jolts. Well, with a sniffling and and cringle of your nose you try to attribute the runny nose to the chaste kisses of tonight's wintery breeze.

"Do you want to buy them?"

"What?"

"You're basically ready to propose to these buns, might as well have them in your stomach."

Its only for a second that you turn your face to his direction, your foot stomping on the ground as your pouty face stares back at him. Your puckering lips are prominent, the little creases on them carrying all of the fun in your expression and in the fragment of a second Hawks' espression falls into a stable, serious one, mimicking you.

"Quit acting like a child, you want the buns right?"

Despite the fact that there's little distance between the two of you you feel like you are miles apart. And for some reason your heart screams at you that you want to get closer. He emits a burning hot light that pulls you in and it's hard to ignore. You've never wanted to admit that you were drawn to it but here you were, watching his chest falling and rising underneath his camel jacket, your brain freaking out as it tries to regulate the air supply to your lungs in any case your breathing can match his.

What is it about him that makes your heart pulse and your stomach coil? You were supposed to be mad at him for being sarcastic over your buns, weren't you?

Your legs rub together, the longer pieces of your skirt wiggle in the air as another cold breeze blows on you. You don't realise how you come to nod to him, but it happens before you even have time to hold back in your reactions.

Hawks is known for his unmatched speed and thus your gut oozes in panic as you see him turning his feet to the direction of the store's door. Your hand extends unconsciously to his direction, sort, swollen fingers grip onto the white feathery fur of his jacket, giving a tiny tag on the spot. Fortunately it's enough to make him stop.

"No."

"No?"

Honey eyes stare into yours from over his shoulder while a few of his red baby feathers dance in your vision. Long panting sighs emit from both of you, materializing in the air and falling perfectly onto each other's ears despite the surrounding commotion. Hawks takes back the few steps to you and you prompt him forward with your hand.

"Ever since I came to Japan," you confess, your voice barely under your breath, but he still catches it "I promised myself I'd first have them only in a special occasion."

"Oh really?" He questions, his bushy brow quirking. "Can this occasion be me helping you let yourself enjoy letting loose for once?"

This time you don't shrug, you simply knowingly nod.

Hawks doesn't need to be told more, if he is quite frank. The impromptu need to act like an irrational teenager hits him and a smirk is plastered on his adorning face. This time he doesn't hesitate to run inside the store, shagging your hand away from his jacket. His head shoots in your direction every few seconds, taking in the glints of surprise in your expression and the everlasting amusing nature of your pouting lips.

When he exits the store with an enormous, thick duffel bag your lips automatically loosen up, your spit forcing it's way down your throat. You fix your eyes on him harshly and huff through your nose in slight defeat. Under any other circumstance you wouldn't let him know he's broken down your usual defense but today is not a normal day.

Hawks reluctantly gives you a prompt by tapping his hand to the small of your back while the delicious smell of the freshly steamed buns reaches your nostrils and hits you like a tsunami. If it's even possible you swear that Hawks smells even better than the buns and the non existent distance between the two of you only proves to you how enchanting the smell of coconuts and axe wood is.

"Are you hungry?"

You cock a brow to his direction, your hands finally letting loose from the linking they had perfected over your chest and coming to sway loose on your sides as your mind goes to work. You feel your stomach protest and scream in excitement at the thought of food and before you ever have a chance to speak out a loud growl violently makes it way to Keigo's eardrums. For once, your brows don't furrow as you watch him fall into a dazzling moment of bubbling laughter, you simply smile back, a few chuckles escaping you as well as your stomach protests again.

"My speed is unmatched even by your stomach!"

"Yeah."

Despite the fact that you're not immensely talkative, your voice is rather soft and fluffy. Hawks is smiling at you with a wide luminous grin as his chin cringles and wiggles everytime his lips switch positions on his face. His chin hair puffs as he comes to scratch it; the slightest indicator that he's trying to put his mind to work.

"Well how about spicy fried chicken?"

"I also want fries."

You don't miss the way his face lights up when you speak the words.

"Come with me I know a place!"

....

The downside of living in an urban, overpopulated city in Japan lays on the fact that the sky is lacking its eternal beauty, the white ball spectrums, the numerous shining jewels that form shapes which are aknowledged by all generations and all cultures; stars. In a respectful attempt to make up for such atrocious deprivation Japan offers a vast scenery of over illuminated roads and buildings, decorating the ground instead of the sky.

As a pro hero you've come to understand the importance of being able to look down while trying to aim for the stars. And nonetheless the city that lays below you is alive, much like its winged protector who's sitting right beside you while you lay on the tallest rooftop in Fukuoka, munching on the delicious food you previously purchased while roaming around the town.

His shaggy bleached hair is flowing as the strong winter breeze blows on you creating a halo of blond hair around his laid back head, emphasizing his angelic appearance. His cheeks shine in a sheer peachy red and every time he sniffles the little watery substance that begs to run from his narrow nostrils his nose shines like a prohibited red button on a remote control.

You hate to admit but there's something biblical in the way you're looking at him. Mostly because you keep comparing him to an angel when he's not even close to being one. In fact none of you is. And you pretend to blind when it comes to that fact, momentarily hoping he'll see you as an angelbird too. Not as bird of prey.

You bite onto your chicken breast with a slurp, avoiding to make your eyes meet his despite how much you want to. Hawks is enthusiastically enjoying his food as well, gobbling on numerous tenders of the chicken in his large carton bucket.

You steal glances at him occasionally as you try to keep up with the conversation he has started -something about how he plans on financially supporting new costume designs for all of your team in the agency because he wants to enhance your capabilities with costumes that don't get in your way. And when he looks back at you with the slyest of glares you purge your lips together and snarl away, giving into that little cat and mouse game the two of you currently beg to always have established.

You decide it's the way that he looks under any light that makes your heart skip beats and then race at despicable paces. The blood producing and pumping organ is rooting for him, it's basically hanging from the tip of his tongue, ready to fall down along with the words that he speaks to you.

When you reach with your hand for your buns though you find your wrist cooed inside Hawks' fist before you even have a chance to realise that it has happened.

"Nah ah!" He says, wiping his hands with the napkin in the small paper bag next to him while managing to offer one to you as well "I gotta show you something first."

He blinks his honey orbs in yours with a lingering hint of a tease in his smile, his brows wiggling continuously in a playful manner. You gulp down some saliva, the strong desire for the buns you've had for so long urging you to muster up a snarly remark at him.

"Please I don't want to see your dick on the first date." You chuckle.

"Very funny, I actually wanted to help you let completely loose before you taste the buns, you know so you enjoy them to the max. Plus they don't get cold, it has something to do with the baker's quirk yada yada." He smiles and you nod at him sturdily. "Ah wait, so this is a date?"

Cheeky bastard, of course he wouldn't let that slip.

Naturally, you pretend to resent the way his hands come to cup the sides of your face by pushing your brows together but your heart is hammering beyond the point of regulation at this point. He blinks his eyes into yours for the upteenth time this evening and teasingly bites his fuller lower lip as he notices you're staring at it.

Instantly you take notice of a small freckle that rests on his lip and you almost feel your self heat up by the idea that even his flaws seem to be so fitting to his picture perfect and it's pulling you even deeper into him.

"Hawks, you're so pretty that it hurts to look at you." You breathe, panting cold puffs of air onto his face.

His eyes squint painfully as he pulls in impossibly closer. "Keigo. It's it's just us call me Keigo."

With his lips barely brushing against yours you take a deep breath, preparing your self for what's about to happen and how much you're only craving for it. His nose is pressed against yours, your tips freezing up eachother as your breaths mix under the crystal air. He is so warm that you feel your cheeks sweating, your lip is probing down to stay agape for him as he leans in closer.

And as your heart spreads to the point you think you're going to black out he pulls back a few of his feathers lifting you up in the air and right onto his back. Your eyebrows furrow in a whiny manner but you refuse to let it show further, your lips protesting in the absence of the kiss they had been expecting. The way he's keen on edging you whether it is for your sweets or a secretly long awaited kiss is driving you beyond wild.

A few feathers run away to his demand, picking up any mess you've left behind while lifting the duffel bag in the air before vanishing into thin air.

Hawks flies swiftly in between skyscrapers while taking leaps from now and then to avoid being spotten by the media. You pass by thousands of buildings, your eyes fixating on every possible angle of the town you've never similarly witnessed before. The few sounds of surprise you let out every now and then only sound like a robin's song to him, prompt long him to maneuver his way higher in the air.

He's not done leaping down the building in an almost too dangerous manner, his excessive speed making it hard for you to feel anything other that rushes of adrenaline in your whole body. Your hands instinctively spread wide open over his wings and you think you hear him grunt a little moan as you press your chest to the base of his wings to steady yourself.

"This is astonishing." You admit, cooing your head to the crook of his neck.

Suddenly an idea strikes you, the impulse that has been gifted to you by the ability to slice through the air on top of the winged hero catching up to your adrenaline rush. It's crazy to think about and it could go deeply wrong but your gut is telling you to trust the man who has just set an intimacy between you by merely giving you his coveted first name.

"Hey don't close your eyes, here's the best par-"

"Drop me!"

"What!?" Hawks practically screams

"Didn't you say I should let loose? Drop me off birdie, if you're fast enough you can catch me right?"

Reluctantly he turns his head to your direction, catching you with the corner of his eye. Slyly you bob your head to his direction, shooting him an amused, genuine smile and that's all he needs to comply to your wish. If he can manage to pull this off he might have a little plan up his sleeve.

"Shit, this is the craziest idea I've ever heard." He hisses. "Try not to scream because the media will notice."

He says, to which you nod with determination.

As you slide from his back gravity starts to pull you in maniacally, furiously putting tons of dead weight into your body. Your ears fall deaf to your surroundings, a mellow tingling silence conquers the depths of your brain as stories of strangely illuminated skyscrapers start to appear. Your stomach drops and twirls while a numbing sensation overtakes it, it feels tons heavier than a kick in the stomach by a Nomu.

Your eyes are focused on Hawks and the gleaming worry in his eyes that contrasts with the childish, sheepish smile that is plastered on his lips. Buildings rush in vertigos around you, the strong feeling of gravity still taking a toll you is now more prominent than ever.

Before you can start feeling a hint of worry two lean arms come to wrap around you and you skyrocket in the open sky; the warmth of Hawks' skin pulls you in and you find yourself being twirled in the air, feathers flying everywhere around you as scarlet wings swoon all over your form before they jet on his back like a bird of pray.

The only thing missing is a vast moon on the background.

Hawks' is looking at you again, his eyes traveling the distance between your eyes and lips feverishly a thousand times per second, as if he's hesitant to make a move, as in if he can't hold back now, he won't be able to do so ever. One gloved hand reaches for the tuff of hair that's stuck on your chin. A slight, boiling touch is placed on the spot she drags it opposite to the tress of hair, aiming to tuck it behind your ear.

Simultaneously his other hand prompts you on him, resting on the small of your back tenderly. Once the task of getting your hair out of the way is done he cups your cheek, feeling your hammering pulse even through the harsh leather material of his glove and you lay into his palm like a touch deprived puppy, ogling at him with such adoration that sets his gut on fire.

And it's only then that he doesn't hesitate to slam his face into you, because this is the easiest way to go with it. He knows that if he waits for a little longer he will hesitate, he will try to mask away his eagerness and the anxiety you're causing him with snarly remark and he doesn't want that. He wants to feel how your lips will feel against his.

Your lips respond to his immediately, shyly moving against his. When he is sucking with passion, hungrily opening up his mouth to savor every spec of your lips you act sophisticated, tenderly opening up your mouth and closing it over his lower lip, giving him tiny little sucklings and kitten licks, casually worrying the flesh of lip between your teeth.

You resist pulling back for air, your chest begging you to let it melt under his touch and you comply, feeling your insides turn into hot destructive lava, swiping every vital organ in its passing and only he and his cooking tongue can stop your body from turning into Pompeii.

Your own hands grip on his face, pulling him impossibly closer and now you decide on fighting back, angrily opening up your mouth with need to rub it against his. Soon it's teeth that are colliding and noses that are bumping and chins that crush into one another as your tongues lick around each other, your saliva mixing in the sweetest mixture you could ever taste.

It's him that pulls back with a hitched breath and an erotic look on his face. His cheeks are bright red, if possible more so than his wings, his lips swollen and his eyes half lid. If you know him, he's about to let out a comical remark.

"Do you kiss everyone like that on your first date or just me?"

See, you know him way too well.

"Ah, so this is a date!?" You mimick his previous remark, causing a bubble of laughter to escape him as he bumps his nose into yours. "This is what happens when you tell me to let loose."

"Well maybe you should let loose more often."

And he's right. You should. But for now you want to enjoy his sweet feathery pecks while you nom on your mountain of red bean paste buns. He's worked hard on making sure you will enjoy them so you own him that one.

Don't you?

AHHHH THANKS FOR READING ALL OF THIS SMOOCHES TO YOU :*

@sasageyowrites @nobody-knows-anymore here you go babes, I hope this is something.

#hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami x y/n #hawks imagine #mha hawks #hawksbnha #bnha hawks #bnha #mha #boku no hero fanfic #boku no hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction #keigo x you #keigo imagine #keigo takami #hawks

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ihearthes · 4 years ago

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Quarantine Christmas Part 2

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x y/n Rating: Smut Word Count: 2768 (Part 1) Fiction Chalenge via @caitlin‘s fiction party via @sweetcreatureinthedark

Part 1

December 24, 2020

“Smith!” he bellows way too early and cheerfully as he pounds on my bedroom door. “Happy Christmas Eve! Come on! Let’s go for a jog.”

“Arrrrggggghhhhh,” I growl. “No.”

“If you hike the Hastain Trail with me, I’ll spring for coffee afterwards.”

“Go away, Styles.” Drawing the pillow over my head, I try to block out the sound of his voice.

“Fresh air will be good for you.”

“You’re not going to give up, are you?”

“Not on your life. I hate hiking alone.”

“Fine!” Throwing the covers off, I don my newly cleaned leggings, sports bra, and a t-shirt before opening the door and marching past him in my tennis shoes. “Bully,” I accuse.

“You’re mad that I’m forcing you to take care of yourself?” Although he sounds offended, that smirk is back.

“Whatevs, Styles. Let’s go.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

He sets off at a brisk pace, and I trail behind him slightly. After all, I’m still waking up.

“Keep up, Smith!”

Just to be ornery, I slow my stride, taking my time examining the plants next to the path. When I next glance up, Harry is a solid quarter mile ahead of me, and I contemplate turning back, finding a picnic table and taking a nap on it until he’s done.

But no. That’s not to be, as he turns and jogs back to me, keeping his legs pumping as he moves backwards.

“You’re going to trip on something,” I caution.

He grins. “You care about me!”

My eyes roll so far back into my head that I swear I can see my own brain. “No. But I care about Glenne, and she would be mighty upset if I had a part in damaging you.”

“Mhm.” The smirk is back, and as hard as I try to keep a sour look on my face, it’s challenging. “Where was Christmas supposed to be?” His question is casual, but it causes me to flinch.

“Indiana,” I snap off the word like one would a twig on a dying tree. Immediately, I feel guilty. “Sorry.” My mumble is quiet, but loud enough for him to hear and nod in silent acceptance. “You don’t deserve rudeness. What about you? London?”

“Holmes Chapel. With my mum, my sister, and her boyfriend.”

“Ah. Is it cold there this year?”

“Fairly mild. And Indiana?”

“Cold, cold, cold. Maybe even snow still on the ground.”

“Yeah. Christmas in Los Angeles is quite different.” Harry gestures around the trail, and I smile.

“Definitely.”

“What are your favorite traditions?”

By the time we loop back around to the start of the trail, we’ve exhausted the topic, and I realize my mood has improved tremendously.

“Thank you, Harry.” The words are soft, and I try to insert as much authenticity as I can into them.

I have the pleasure of watching his eyes soften as he observes me over the top of the car. “Coffee next! And a trip to the grocery!”

“Grocery? You’re cooking?”

“WE are baking and then cooking.”

“Really?”

“Yep. We’re going to create a mashup of our traditions.”

“No fucking way!” I exclaim, excited at the prospect. Sitting up, I search for a piece of paper and a pen. “I didn’t bring my purse, Styles. Give me your phone.”

“My phone?” Confused, he gazes at me while at a stoplight.

“I need to write down the ingredients we need to buy. Let’s see. We can’t make some of the cookies we each like because I don’t know if Glenne has cookie cutters in the right shapes. So how about some ginger biscuits?”

When he nods, I gesture for his phone. “Come on, Styles. I need to look up recipes and make sure we get the right ingredients.”

Reluctantly, he unlocks his phone, handing it to me. “No snooping,” he warns, shaking his finger in my direction.

“Puuuuuuullllllleeeeeasssse. As if.” Using his browser, I search for a recipe for the ginger biscuits for him as well as one for thumbprint jam cookies, copying the ingredients into his Notes app.

“Now, for dinner,” he begins, and my fingers pause as I wait for his next words. “Mum used to do a roast, but I don’t eat meat anymore. Just fish. And your family always does turkey. How do we compromise on a protein?”

“Scallops? Salmon? Both delicious and something I would consider fancy enough for a holiday meal.”

“Excellent!” Harry declares. “And can we agree on brussel sprouts and yams?”

My whole being is excited at the prospect of this meal with Harry. Suddenly there’s a silver lining to spending my favorite holiday away from my family.

As he turns off the engine, I rest my hand on his wrist until he twists to look at me. “Thank you, Harry.”

“You already said that.” He rolls his eyes, but the crinkles send a different message.

Less than 30 minutes later, we’re back in the car with the trunk full of groceries, including prosecco. After stopping for the promised coffee, we return to Glenne and Jeffrey’s house, unloading the food.

“Mind if I take a shower before we start?” I ask, looking down at my clothing. “I feel dusty still from the trail.”

“Let’s both shower --” He stalls at my shocked expression “-- in separate bathrooms, Smith. Then let’s see who can put together the worst Christmas outfit from whatever we can find in the guest bedroom where we’re each sleeping.”

A grin crosses my face. “Oh, you’re going down, Styles!” Rushing out of the room, I’m confident that my ears are playing tricks on me because I think he responds with “I would love to go down on you.” He must have said something completely different, and I shake my head to clear the thought.

When I emerge later, I’m wearing my grey sweatpants which I’ve pinned garland to along with one of my green hoodies and a giant wreath draped around my neck like a necklace by a red ribbon. Arriving in the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks by the sight of Harry wearing a skirt of wrapping paper over his also-grey sweatpants, along with a variety of bows stuck to his Green Bay Packers hoodie.

He shrugs, “Apparently they use that guest bedroom for storing wrapping paper.”

I laugh as I pluck one of the bows off his hoodie and place it on my chest after removing the wreath.

“You win,” I concede. “I’m surprised there’s so much Christmas stuff in their house.”

“Eh. The Azoff family celebrates everything.”

“Lucky us, then.”

Side by side, we create the dough first for the ginger biscuits and then for the thumbprint cookies. After he slides the first pans into the oven, Harry crosses his arms. “Scrabble while we wait for them to bake?”

“Oh, it’s on!” I agree, and we settle at the dining room table to play the game.

“Fine. You win,” Harry pouts over an hour later as I play my final letter which manages to be on a triple word score tile.

“Woo hoo!” Stuffing one of the ginger biscuits in my mouth, I chew thoughtfully. “These are pretty good. I might make them again next year.”

“Same for these,” Harry grins as he chews on one of the thumbprint cookies. Crossing his arms on the table in front of him, he leans toward me. “Now how about you tell me exactly why you turned down my account when Glenne offered it to you?”

Shock courses through my body, and I freeze, knowing my face is likely turning into a candy cane red.

“She told you?”

“Of course she told me! I had specifically asked for you, so I was a bit heartbroken when she told me that you refused.”

His word choice makes me raise an eyebrow. “Heartbroken?”

“Devastated? Wrecked? Disappointed? Take your pick, Smith.”

Swallowing, I make eye contact with him. “I’ll tell you why I turned down our account if you’ll tell me why you call me Smith.”

His tongue darts out and wets his lips as his green eyes bore into me. “Because you remind me of a Granny Smith apple.” Confusion must sweep across my face, as he continues talking. “You’re tart at first, but you can be sweetened. I’ve witnessed it in the past as well as just the last two days.” His face colors, but he continues speaking anyway. “Plus I suspect you’re incredibly juicy, and I would love a sample.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Had Harry Styles just made a very obvious overture? Yes. Yes, he had. My eyes float over his face, searching for any indication that he’s lying, but the sincerity is striking.

First I look at my entwined hands, and then I decide to show the same courage he has exhibited. “I turned down your account because I couldn’t possibly work for you when I’m this attracted to you. It’s bad form to want to --” I can’t decide on the appropriate word, so I settle for “-- jump your client.”

The smirk is back, and it’s followed by an uproarious laugh. “This is too rich! To think that we could have been having some sort of relationship all this time is mind-numbing.” Rising, he holds out his hand. “How about we consummate our mutual attraction?”

“In the middle of the afternoon on Christmas Eve?”

“You got a better idea of how to spend our time?”

“Swimming?” I tease.

“Smith?”

“Yeah?”

“Take my hand.”

His words and tone make it clear that he’s interested in moving forward with this. My own body’s response is in sync with his. Gently, I place my hand in his as I rise from the table. Twisting his body, he also shifts his hand, leading me in the direction of…where? A bedroom seems too rushed. Not that my hormones would agree.

But no. We walk down the two steps into the living room where he turns on the Christmas tree lights before settling on the couch and tugging my arm so that I join him. “Oh, wait.” Rising, he approaches the sound system, and soon the strains of Christmas music fill the space. Returning to my side, he settles with his arm around me.

“Smith…” His words are a whisper, and I rotate my head in his direction as he brushes his finger over my cheek. When our lips meet, I swear I can hear the angels sing. His mouth is soft and tender, and I twine my fingers through the hand draped over my shoulder as I open wide to allow him to enter. Our tongues tangle in heat and dampness that also seems to pool between my legs. He tastes of the lemon curd thumbprints we had jointly made, and I relish the flavor, wanting more.

Shifting closer to him, I tilt my head to provide greater access, and his hand drifts to my sweatpants. Withdrawing from me, he examines our clothes. “Mind if I remove this garland?”

“Not at all,” I purr. “As long as I can get rid of these bows.” The wrapping paper skirt had already been ruined when we sat down for the Scrabble game.

Rather than unpinning the garland, though, he hooks his thumbs into my waistband and draws the sweatpants over my hips. “Up, Smith.” I lift my bum as he removes my bottoms, leaving me in my panties.

In return, I inch his hoodie up his chest and off, tossing it over my shoulder, heedless of the bows that seem to desire to stay attached to the musician. Can’t say I blame them.

“Hmmmm,” he murmurs before capturing my lips again.

When we come up for air, my hands have managed to roam his chest, tweaking his nipple and wrenching a moan from his mouth. For his part, his hand has drifted over the small piece of cloth separating my treasure from full access. His thumb rubs a pattern over the fabric, and soon I’m panting.

“Fuck,” I mutter as we separate.

“Yes please” is his cheeky reply.

“Dork,” I indict.

“Mhm. Take off that hoodie. Please.”

Willingly, I oblige. Before the material has hit the floor, he’s capturing my nipple in his mouth, and I throw my head back as fire stokes through my body from my tits to my core. “Shit,” I proclaim.

His fingers return to the scrap of cloth covering my center. As his thumb teases my clit through the silk, a finger slips underneath and into me. Without thought, I cry out, my lower body rising from the bed to get closer to heaven.

“Been a while?” His voice is rough, sounding like sandpaper as he dislodges from my breast.

“Too long,” I pant, “but you’ve always had the power to bring me to the brink just with a look.”

“I see,” he smirks, and normally I would want to smack him, but this time, I find it endearing.

“I want --” I gesture to his sweats, and he grins.

“If I refuse?”

“Then my treasure box can close pretty quickly if I don’t have something in my hands.”

Harry laughs. “Fair enough.” Shucking his sweatpants over his hips, I find that he’d chosen not to wear underpants as his cock springs upwards into my waiting hand.

“Shit. I need lubricant.” I complain.

We gaze at each other, the lust clear. Jumping up from the sofa, we race together to Glenne and Jeffrey’s bathroom. I scour the lower cabinets while Harry throws open the linen closet. “Got it!” he announces, holding the bottle over his head.

“Thank God!” My relief is real. Grabbing the bottle from him, I find I can’t move. Now what? Where do we go? We can’t very well do the deed in their bed.

Grabbing my hand, Harry once more takes the lead, and we end up in his guest bedroom. I gesture at the bed, and he strips off the duvet before lying down on his back. Crawling onto the mattress, I settle between his thighs, tilting the bottle of lube and squeezing a fair amount into my hand. Relaxed, I hold my hand over his cock, allowing droplets to fall. His eyes plead with me, and I grin at him.

“Impatient, Styles?”

“Desperate for you, Smith.”

With that pronouncement, I wrap both hands around his length, allowing my fingers to glide gently along his shaft. One hand falls underneath where I can tickle his balls playfully. When his hips start bucking, I withdraw from him completely -- albeit slowly with a final few long strokes.

His eyes fly open, and he pats the bed next to him, so I lie there.

“Smith…”

“Shhhh. Hush, Styles.”

Miraculously he doesn’t say anything, but he does reach out and shift aside the fabric over my vagina before he delves a finger inside. I know I’m wet. Hell, I can feel the dampness.

His finger teases me, and I writhe under his attention.

“Fuck, Styles. I’m gonna…”

“Do it!” he orders, and my lower body creates a bridge as my hips rise into the air while my thighs tremble in ecstasy.

As I land back onto the bed and earth itself from my recent visit to heaven, Harry carefully removes my panties and throws them over his shoulder.

“Condom?” He inquires.

“IUD. You clean?”

“Yep. Got tested not long ago. You?”

“Fuck me, Styles. We deserve this.”

“Indeed,” he grins just before he plunges into me, and I cry out at the feel of his length inside me, filling me and touching every part of me.

“Shit.” My breaths come in short spurts as he pumps into me. I can’t seem to catch my breath as my second orgasm starts building. “Shift to the left, Styles.”

“You got it, Smith. Can you scratch at my back?”

“You bet.”

The communication is nice as we guide each other to what pleases us the most. As much as I want to take our time, it’s not nearly long enough before I feel my insides begin to clench in a familiar way.

“Fuck, Styles. I’m coming!”

“Me too, Smith! Fuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkk!” He stretches the word into multiple syllables as I feel his seed squirting into my womb, stopped only by my birth control. His fingers reach between our bodies as he manipulates my clit until I see stars and arch my lower body to become closer to him.

Collapsing on top of me, his breathing is as uneven as my own.

“Merry Christmas, Smith,” he murmurs while we’re still joined.

“Merry Christmas, Styles,” I reply, hugging his body tightly to mine. No telling if we have a future, but this holiday is going to be one for the books.

A/N: This short story is dedicated to those who aren’t able to join family this Christmas due to the Coronavirus. Be safe. Be healthy. Make the best of the situation. Sending you BIG HUGS!

#harry styles #original writing #my writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles reader insert #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction

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pockyxx · 4 years ago

Text

“ kitty-cat cafe ”

kuroo x reader

genre: fluff. (kuroo’s s/o works at a cat cafe, he finds out.)

With your boyfriend’s birthday coming up you desperately wanted to buy him something nice but at the same time you were broke. You’d gone back and forth with newspaper ads, looking for the best place to work that would also fit in with your school schedule.

So, when a position for a waitress at a cafe just a quick train ride from your house and a flexible schedule-- it seemed like the perfect opportunity. Not to mention the pay was great.

The job was never suppose to be permanent, and you knew that which was your subconscious reason to not tell Kuroo. It just seem too complicated to tell him about it.

He’d ask questions like: why do you even need a job? Or he’d mention something about the required attire for the job. It was the only downside; having to wear a maid-like costume along with a cat tail and a cat ear head band.

The school day was over and looking down at your watch your shift started in just over thirty minutes, which gave you plenty of time to get there and to get into uniform.

“Hey kitten, you staying to watch the practice match?” Tetsuro asked, slinging his arm over your shoulders, stopping you from making your way to the train station.

It had been apparent how much you’d been absent at his practices and it made you feel awful but then again, you weren’t going to tell him about your employment.

“I’m sorry babe but I can’t today, I, uh, have to help my grandma with house chores.” That had been one of your more convinent excuses since Kuroo had already met your grandmother before.

He sighed before letting you leave but not without a kiss to your forehead. Pressing your lips as you walked to the train stop, all you could think about was Kuroo’s disappointing expression.

It’s only for a couple more week, you reminded yourself. His birthday was just around the corner.

“Hello Master, welcome to the kitty-cat cafe!” You flashed a fake smile at one of the customers as you ushered him to a table, offering a menu, “i’m y/n so if you need anything, I’ll be here to serve you.”

Even though you had a cheerful tone, you felt absolutely exhausted and just wanted to go home and sleep. Only two more hours left on your shift, though, so that was a positive.

Running back from the kitchen to the tables, you’d received a great sum of tips although it didn’t make up for the aching in your feet. The shift was nearing it’s end and there was just one more table you needed to wait on before heading home.

“Welcome Master, to the kitty-cat cafe! I hope you’ve had a paw-some day!” You’d been sorting menu’s in front of your face and didn’t notice who was sitting in front of you until it was the moment to introduce yourself.

“Y/n?” The quiet voice asked, tone dripping with shock. Your mouth falling open, you looked down to see Nekoma’s second year setting staring right back up at you.

“Kenma?!” You almost screamed but managed to keep your voice low to not cause a sense, “what are you doing here?” Your tone was snappy. He looked at you, then to his surroundings, like it was a trick question.

“I was getting a video game from the store down the street and I wanted to eat something.” He took the menu that you’d just laid down into his head, “what are you doing here?”

Groaning and pinching your nose, you realized you’d have no choice but to explain to not only Kenma but inevitably to Kuroo.

“I’m trying to save up some money-- mostly to buy Tetsu a gift for his birthday.” You mentioned.

“So I guess he doesn’t know about... this.” He was referring to the frilly outfit you had. Nodding, you looked down at your feet, almost shamefully.

“The gift is suppose to be a surprise. So I didn’t really want to tell him so if you could-”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him.” A wave of relief washed over you at the pudding head’s promise. “Now can I have an apple pie?” You gave him a genuine smile before going back to the kitchen to take his order.

It was a Friday afternoon and coach Nekomata had let them have a rest day, considering how hard they’d been working the whole week. It was also a day you had to work a double shift.

“Kuroo, you don’t have to come with me to the game shop.” Kenma insisted, knowing that you’d be close by and he respected the promise he’d made you just a week earlier.

Kuroo frowned as they took their seats on the bus. They’d planned to hang out in the evening so he didn’t understand why Kenma didn’t want him around.

“But I want to look for something in that shop too, I heard they’re selling periodic tables with studio ghibli characters on it so I want to check it out.” He turned his head from the setter.

Kenam huffed, leaning back in the train seat, trying to focus on the level he was playing on his switch while also coming up with an excuse to ditch Kuroo.

“I just want to go alone.” He muttered, eyes shutting at the ‘defeat’ written on his screen. He looked up at the raven haired boy, “I need to go alone... for personal reasons.”

Kuroo’s mouth dropped into an ‘o’ shape as he started to connect dots that weren’t really there. He smirked down at his junior,

“Kenma, are you meeting a someone there?” He wiggled his eyebrows, teasing his friend, only to receive a dirty look from him. Rolling his eyes Kenma knew that he’d just have to take a risk.

Kenma help his breath walking past the kitty-cat cafe, hoping Kuroo would pay no mind to it and thankfully he didn’t. At least the first time they passed it.

Now, it was nearing evening and the two had spent their day at the video game store only to walk past the cafe on their way to the train station.

“Kenma, I’m hungry, why don’t we stop and have something to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.” He quickly shot back, trying not to seem extremely suspicious. Although Kuroo wasn’t buying any of it.

“I doubt you’ve anything to eat besides this place looks...” He dragged off looking through the window of the cafe. His eyes then proceeded to widen, feeling his mind go blank as he saw one worker in particular.

“Is that?.. y/n?” He turned to Kenma who was avoiding eye contact, he really didn’t want to get involved in your relationship drama. “Oh my gosh, it is.” He stated, slowly walking to the door the the cafe, he needed an explanation.

They were greeted by a different girl as Kuroo noticed you slip back to the kitchen, not sure if you had seen him walk in.

“Hello Master, welcome to the kitty-cat cafe!“ The waitress introduced. Kuroo’s heart sped up, is that what you said to every customer who walked in? As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he got a little jealous. “Someone will be back shortly to take your orders.”

The boys sat down at a booth, Kenma unbothered while Kuroo rested his head in his palm, mind racing on what he was going to say to you. He didn’t even know how to properly react to this situation, it seemed like something out of a girly manga.

While on the other end, you were walking up to the table you were suppose to wait on when he recognized two familiar sets of hair. Your heart stopped. You turned, shaking your head, not believing what was happening.

“Hana, I’m not feeling well I think I need to leave early.” You lied as your coworker looked at you and then back to the customers. She raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

You went and sat by the back door, bringing your legs in your chest. It felt awful having to lie to Kuroo about your job but it felt even more awful that he had to find out like this-- you were certain he’d seen you, or why else had Kenma willingly come in?

“Y/n?” You finally break a little bit, tearing up as you covered your face with your hands. Kuroo’s voice was calm given the circumstances. “Are you alright?”

Shaking your head, you looked up at him, taking a deep breath and standing up. You were still in the cat themed maid outfit, trying to hide your embarrassment.

“Baby, I can explain honestly.” You put your hands up in defense, sighing in defeat. “This job is only temporary.”

“I’m not mad that you’re working here, a little upset all these other guys get to see you in such a cute outfit... but I’m just a bit angry that you didn’t tell me.” He stated, it was understandable but you tried to ignore his statement that he was jealous of all the other male costumes (although it would be funny to bring up later).

“It’s just, I don’t understand why you needed to work, if ever needed something you could’ve come to me. You know how close our families are too.” He was right, you’d known Kuroo since childhood and had been dating him since your last year of middle school. You sniffled, finding your way into his arms.

“I just needed some money, that’s all.” You whispered, biting your lip you decided it was time to spill the beans. “Truth be told, I just wanted to buy you a nice gift for your birthday. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier”

He laughed hysterically, pulling away from the hug, hands on your shoulders, scanning your adorable outfit one more time.

“I think this sight is a gift enough.” He grinned as you fell back onto his chest, cheeks red. He placed a gentle hand on your back. You knew looking back on this moment would make the two of you laugh.

“I have to go change, my shift is just about over.” You wiped the tear stains away while Kuroo nodded.

“Come back to the booth with me and Kenma.” He gave you another reassuring smile. You nodded your head, making your way back to the staff room to take off your uniform.

The night sky was out and it was just you and Kuroo walking along the empty sidewalk on the way to his house. The moon shone brightly and casted beautiful shadows on his face.

“I just wanted to say sorry again, for everything.” You mentioned to him as he stopped in his tracks, taking your frowning face and cupping it with his hands. He scanned over every part of your face, every curve, freckle and even pimple.

“Y/n you don’t need to apologize.” He ran his thumb over your blushing cheeks, “it’s okay and honestly, I’d put on a maid costume for your birthday too.” He chuckled as you rolled your eyes, someone expecting more romantic words to come out of his mouth.

“I think I might just take you up on that offer.” Now it was Kuroo’s turn to flush a deep shade of red while looking away from your eyesight. Giggling, you placed your ear against his growing heart beat.

Kuroo rested his chin on top of your heart, squeezing you into a hug. He mumbled something thinking you wouldn’t hear it.

“After my birthday though, you better quick, I don’t want anyone else’s eyes on my s/o.” You jotted that down mentally, making sure to not only hang up the maid costume but to tease him for being so jealous.

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let-it-raines · 4 years ago

Note

Prompt - David and Mary Margaret discover this great groupon deal for an autumn leaf changing tour and cabin rental in Vermont, but the catch, it's for 4 people. Enter in the reluctant best friends that can't stand each other. (And you know, the cabin only has 2 rooms)

🍁 found on ao3 | here | 🍁

-/-

Here’s the thing about Killian Jones: Emma doesn’t hate him.

She really, really doesn’t. Hate is a strong word that she saves for people like Neal and the asshole who took her parking spot and made her lose her skip and her bigger paycheck last week. It’s not a word she uses to describe her opinion of Killian Jones. That would be better described as mistrust or slight animosity or dislike. In the nicest of terms, it could be described as nonchalance and uncaring, maybe a little bit of annoyance, but those are only true when she hasn’t seen him for awhile and has forgotten how annoying he can be.

Right now, annoyance is the exact word she would use to describe her relationship with him, mostly because his appearance was unexpected and unwelcome.

A month ago, Mary Margaret called Emma and told her that she and David won a trip to Vermont for a weekend of walking trails to see the leaves changing. It included free lodging, free dinners, tickets to a farm where you could pick your own apples and pumpkins and sit at their restaurant on the lake and drink the cider brewed at that very farm. It sounded nice, like the plot and setting of a Hallmark movie Emma only watches when she’s at Mary Margaret’s loft, and Emma told Mary Margaret that she hoped they had a good time.

Then Mary Margaret told her the trip was actually for four people, invited Emma and their mutual friend Ruby, and Emma figured why not? Her job has been stressing her out lately, and it’s a free vacation. Who passes up a free vacation?

Ruby Lucas apparently does in order to go to help her grandmother with the catering of a last-minute wedding, and Emma didn’t know about that until she got in the back of David’s truck and saw Killian Jones sitting in the spot that was supposed to be Ruby’s.

She feels cheated.

This was supposed to be relaxing even if it was going to be spent watching David and Mary Margaret be overly affectionate with each other, and now she has to deal with Killian for an entire weekend.

That’s two days and twelve hours too long if she includes today…which she definitely is.

They’ve been in the truck for a little over three hours, which means they should be at the lodge soon, and Emma’s trying to focus on the scenery outside. It’s gorgeous, much more rural than what she’s used to living in the central part of Boston, and from what she’s heard of the lodge and the trails surrounding it, it’s only supposed to get better.

This is good. This can be a good weekend. Maybe she can go off on her own for most of it, and she won’t have to be with Killian or the lovebirds. They’ll be too busy getting lost in each other’s eyes, and he’ll be too busy flirting with every woman around. There’s definitely got to be opportunity for her to go off on her own.

If not, she might fling herself into a pile of leaves and never emerge for air.

And she’ll definitely blame it on Ruby for not telling Emma about her last-minute cancellation.

When they do eventually arrive at the lodge – after thirty minutes of Killian complaining about one of his coworkers – it turns out to look more like a small castle than anything else. It’s made of gray stone and covered in ivy and weeds while still being maintained. There’s a round fountain in front of the entryway, and behind the building, Emma can see the path that leads down to the lake and the hills that are full of trees behind it. Every tree is a different shade of red, orange, green, and yellow, and Emma has never wanted to take a picture of nature so much in her life. She’s about to live out the life of one of those girls on Instagram who only do things for the aesthetics, and for a weekend, she can’t say she minds.

What she does mind, however, is that when David hands her the key to her room, he hands Killian a key to the same room.

The same room as in her room.

Her. Room.

Hers.

“No.”

“Why are you saying no?” David asks, tilting his head in question.

“No, as in no I will not share a room. I thought I was getting my own room.”

“It’s a couple’s weekend, Emma, and I bet you would have been fine sharing a room with Ruby.”

“Yeah, because Ruby’s…”

“Ruby’s not me,” Killian interjects, wrapping his arm around Emma’s shoulder. She tries to shrug it off, but it doesn’t move anywhere. It’s deadweight up there, and Killian has unfortunately turned so he can’t see her death stare. Not that it would have any effect on him. “You see, Dave, it’s just that Emma is wildly attracted to me, and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to contain herself knowing I’m only a few feet away from her, especially when she discovers I sleep in the nude.”

“Oh my God.” Emma moves from underneath Killian’s arm, her strength coming back to her, and moves toward her – their, ugh – door. She turns the key, which is for some reason the old fashioned kind and not a card. “Please stop talking, Jones. I am not wildly attracted to you, and I can handle sharing a room. I’m not a child.”

“See, I knew the lass could do it.”

He winks at her and does this ridiculous eyebrow thing at David, and Emma is seriously considering paying thousands of dollars (she googled this place when they walked inside, and it is not cheap) for her own room.

“We’ll meet you guys in the lobby in thirty minutes, okay? We’re going on a tour of the grounds with our guide and then dinner, so dress for both.”

“When is the hike?” Emma asks, lingering in the doorway.

“Not until tomorrow. I’ll get Mary Margaret to send you the itinerary.”

“She already has. I just haven’t looked at it.”

“I’m not telling her that,” David laughs. “See you soon.”

Emma waves, smiling at David, and turns into the room, dragging her luggage behind her. It doesn’t take long before she’s stopped in her tracks, her sneakers snagging in the carpet, as Killian runs into her back.

“Bloody hell, why’d you stop like that?”

She opens her arm to the bed – singular – in front of them, which would look cozy and soft and all of the good things if she had it all to herself. “If you didn’t bring clothes to sleep in, you’re sleeping in your fucking jeans,” she mumbles before turning toward the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

This is fine.

This is all fine. Emma has been through a hell of a lot worse, and maybe Killian won’t be an ass. Maybe he’ll be the gentleman he always claims to be.

She’s never believed him for a second when he’s said shit like that.

Emma changes out of her leggings and sweatshirt into a pair of jeans and a thick sweater, grabbing her red plaid jacket and a beanie and placing them to the side for when she leaves. She puts on some mascara, a swipe of lipstick, and brushes out her hair. This is as good as it’s going to get, and she doesn’t mind that. Mary Margaret will tell her that tomorrow or whenever they go to the nice dinner that she’ll have to dress up, and Emma is giving herself a break on the makeup until then.

She had to pile it on every night this week for work, and her skin is screaming for a break.

Killian knocks on the door, telling her to hurry up because he has to get ready too, so she takes five extra minutes…out of spite…because she knows it’s just petty enough for it to rub him the wrong way. She doesn’t feel bad about it either. Killian would do the same damn thing.

“You look nice,” Killian tells her when she opens the bathroom door and he’s standing on the wall opposite the bathroom, leg propped up and arms crossed over his chest. His eyes trail up and down her body, and Emma moves out of the doorway. A shiver runs down her spine, but she ignores it.

Definitely, definitely ignores it.

It’s cold up in Vermont, even colder than in Boston, and these old walls aren’t helping.

Killian takes approximately two minutes to get ready, all of which is probably spent getting into ridiculously tight jeans, and then they’re begrudgingly walking to the lobby where David and Mary Margaret are waiting for them already talking to the guide, a peppy woman named Anna who is like the redheaded version of Mary Margaret when Mary Margaret is in one of her “everything is a fairytale” moods.

Anna takes them throughout the property, giving them the history of the place while offering up different amenities that are not included with the package they won but still accessible if they’re willing to pay. There’s a spa, a gym, three different hiking trails, an option to take row boats out on the lake if the weather is nice, and there are two different restaurants on the property. They also offer drivers to several places around town, including the grocery store and the farm they’ll be visiting tomorrow after their hike, and Emma is sure several other things are said. She zones out about halfway through, distracted by the view of the trees and how they’re reflected on the lake. Everything is in an orange glow right now, one that brings comfort to Emma.

She’s always liked sunsets. It’s cheesy and she’d never admit it out loud, but she likes the predictability of them. They don’t always look the same, but they happen every day, even if she can’t see it. She likes that, having that constant. It’s not something she has a lot of, constants that is, and she takes every one she can get.

Maybe this weekend won’t be so bad.

If she says that enough, she just might believe it.

-/-

Dinner is nice.

The food is good, the wine surprisingly good since she was pretty sure it was going to be some funky homemade stuff, and even more surprisingly, the company is great.

When she thinks that, she wonders if the alcohol content in the wine was higher than the server said it was.

All the good thoughts about Killian go away, however, when they’re back in their (still so awful to have to think) hotel room, and Emma is awkwardly sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing lotion on her arms. Killian, thank goodness, is in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt, so he’s not even going to attempt to sleep naked.

She was 100% sure that he would try, and she’s honestly kind of sad she won’t get a chance to slap him.

On the cheek.

On his face.

She doesn’t want to slap him anywhere else.

Okay, that wine’s alcohol content was definitely higher than it should have been.

Killian plops down on the bed, the mattress shaking beneath him, and tugs the covers over him. His movements jostle her, and she grits her teeth as she finishes moisturizing. He turns on the TV, puts it on some show she has never heard of, and Emma tries to keep calm. She’s tired. She’s going to fall asleep quickly, and the TV won’t bother her. She falls asleep every night with the TV on, so this is nothing new.

Emma turns down the corner of the bed on her side and slides underneath before flipping the switch for the light. The room darkens except for the TV and the glow of the alarm clock, and Emma closes her eyes. They’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, and she doesn’t want to be walking around wishing she had an IV of coffee to keep her awake.

Slowly, sleep comes for her, tugging at the corners of her eyes, and just as she’s about to succumb to it, the comforter is tugged off of her, leaving her foot exposed to the cold air of the room.

What the hell?

Emma tugs it back, shifting her leg to have it covered, and for a moment, she’s warm. Warm and cozy and not even the too loud laugh track on the TV is disturbing her.

The fact that Killian pulls away the comforter again is, however, disturbing her.

Actually, it really freaking annoys her, so she pulls it back. Hard this time, and Killian grunts in response and rolls over. she feels his foot brush against her calf, and she kicks out, moving him back to his side. It’s only a queen-sized bed, so there’s not a lot of room for them to stay separate. She’s about three seconds away from finding pillows or their suitcases and putting them in between the two of them so he stops encroaching on her space.

And taking her comforter.

Because it’s definitely hers. Just like this room was supposed to be.

Killian wasn’t even supposed to be on this trip. It was supposed to be Ruby, who definitely would have stayed on her side of the bed. Better yet, she probably would have met someone and would be staying with them, and Emma would have this entire bed to herself.

It’s so comfortable that it’s a shame she has to share it. She’s not used to that anymore, and she likes to stretch out.

The comforter moves again, and Emma grips onto it, holding it where she is and tucking it underneath her ass to keep it as steady as possible. At this point, he has to be doing it to annoy her, and Emma is not going to lose this battle.

She’ll stay up all night if she has to.

“You know, Swan,” Killian mumbles, “normally I prefer to do more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back than fight over the covers.”

Emma groans and rolls over on her stomach, pointedly kicking out at him. “Shut up, Jones.”

“If that’s what the lady wishes.”

Emma mutters into her pillow, and for a few minutes, as the blanket stealing calms down and the TV quiets, Emma wonders if she could feasibly fake some sleeping disorder that has her punching Killian in the face all night.

She can be a pretty good actress sometimes. She could probably pull it off.

She doesn’t do that, though, because she eventually falls asleep, one foot sticking out into the cold air.

Damn you, Jones.

-/-

There’s a warm body nears hers.

That’s the first thought Emma has when she wakes up – after thinking of how annoying her alarm sound is. The body warm and solid and a little hairy, and it takes her two seconds to remember where she is and who she’s sharing a bed with. She knew she should have slept on the floor last night because in no world does she want to have her leg pressing up against Killian’s leg and her ass…

“Oh my God,” she murmurs, eyes blowing wide as she turns and moves her body as much as she can. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my Goooooooood.”

“What are you yelling about?” Killian groans, shifting behind her, which only makes it worse.

“I’m not yelling,” Emma hisses. She pushes away and sits up, and there’s no need to even adjust the comforter because none of it is on her. “What are you doing near me?”

He raises his brow, wrinkles on his forehead popping up. Getting a look at him now, she knows the ruffled look he sometimes does with his hair is natural, and for some reason, that really freaking annoys her.

“I was sleeping until you decided to have a conniption.”

“Yeah, well that’s because your dick…oh shit.”

Emma wasn’t going to say that. She really wasn’t, and from the way Killian’s brow is arching higher, she knows that she’s messed up. She’s given him the perfect set up for all of his innuendos, and knowing him, she’s never going to be allowed to live this down.

What a great start to her morning.

“Usually that’s not the reaction, but I understand your shock, love. You weren’t prepared, and it’s, well, a lot to take in.”

“Oh my God, shut up.” She takes the pillow from behind her and smacks him with it as he laughs. He’s getting far too much enjoyment out of this, and she’s wondering how long she would be in jail if she smothered him. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Make it cold and bracing. I think you might need it.”

“Yeah, I’m not the one with morning wood, but you keep thinking that.” She gets off the mattress and reaches down for her bag. Killian may have unpacked his stuff, but she didn’t bother to do that, even if it means everything is wrinkled. “Please don’t take care of it while I’m showering. That’s just…we have to share the bed, Jones, and I’ve worked in hotels before. I know they don’t always change the sheets.”

He mock salutes, the cheekiest grin on his face, and this is really going to be a long day.

-/-

It’s a long day.

Before she can even get coffee in her, she’s dragged out to the hiking trail. The sun hasn’t fully risen, and they’re supposed to be watching the sunrise and how it matches up with all the changing trees. It’s beautiful. She knows it is, and she does manage to take some pictures that she’s sure capture about half of the beauty. The thing is that despite her best efforts, she didn’t sleep well, and she’s only running on adrenaline and annoyance.

Mostly at Killian.

He’s been staring at her all morning, a joke on the tip of his tongue about their morning, and he’s started to make them several times before Emma shoots him a look or elbows him in the stomach. Mary Margaret has given Emma several funny looks, and if she wasn’t so wrapped up in David and the romance of the changing leaves and the sunrise, she’d probably ask about it.

Mary Margaret is not one for subtlety or staying out of someone else’s business.

David guides them over the trail, which is somehow all uphill despite no discernible incline, and eventually the come to a perch with a few of the lake and the lodge, miles of trees surrounding it. Emma doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything quite like it, and now she can truly see why so many people travel here just to stare at some trees.

“It’s something isn’t it, Swan?” Killian asks as he walks up behind her, the heat of his body making the chill of the air fade for a moment.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

“I didn’t think looking at trees would be your thing. I don’t take you as much of a nature person.”

Emma turns to face him and crosses her arms over her chest. “You don’t know me well enough to know if I’m a nature person or not.”

He steps closer, invading her space like he always does, and maybe she’s a bit of a liar when she says he doesn’t know her. “Just who are you then, Swan?”

Emma cocks her head and straightens her back, not letting him overwhelm her. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He smiles and nods, lashes fluttering until his eyes are hooded. “Perhaps I would.”

“We better get moving if we want to make it to the apple orchard on time,” David tells them, making Emma jump away from Killian and smooth down her flannel over her stomach. “You okay? You look flushed.”

“Just the walk,” Emma lies. “I’m sure that’s all.”

-/-

“I will throw this apple at your head.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Emma groans, audibly, and plucks another apple from the tree and puts it in her basket. It’s getting a little heavy, and not in a million years could she eat all these apples before they spoil. They’re not for her, though. They’re for the farm and its cider and pies and tarts and all the other apple goods they make. She must admit that it’s a brilliant business plan, having people pick the apples for you and then make them pay for it and the food and drinks.

She can’t believe people actually pay to do this. The hike, she gets, foraging for your own food, not so much.

Emma picks an apple out of her basket, one that kind of looks gross and a little squished, and she tosses it at the back of Killian’s head. It hits, just barely, and she stops as he reaches up to touch his hair.

“What is wrong with you?” he hisses, turning around to glare at her.

“You’re the one who has spent the last ten minutes being invasive to my personal life, so what’s wrong with you?”

“Asking if you were still seeing Graham Humbert is not invasive.”

“It is definitely invasive.”

Killian’s shoulders shrug, and he steps closer to her. Really close, actually. He does this obnoxious thing where he’s always encroaching on her space when he speaks, swaying closer and dipping his head down until their eyes are level. He’s doing that now, obnoxious, downright cocky grin gracing his lips, and Emma backs away, dodging some low-hanging apples, until her back is against the tree and she’s putting her basket on the ground. She really hopes there aren’t ants crawling all over her, but at this point, she’s too distracted to care.

For every inch that she moved, Killian matched her. And now, he’s more in her space than ever, the heat of his body warming her more than her jacket. How is he that damn hot?

Only in the temperature sense…not in the other way. She is obviously still a little tipsy from the wine last night that she still maintains had a higher alcohol content than usual.

He chuckles, and his eyes look at her before glancing down at her lips. It’s not even a quick glance. It’s pointed, and Emma knows she was meant to notice it.

“Please,” Emma huffs, “you couldn’t handle it.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

She wants to say something back, some smart, snide remark that will make him frustrated, but she also wants to prove him wrong. Emma doesn’t care what anyone else has to say, and she’s heard all the rumors. Kissing Killian Jones is not going to have an effect on her.

So she grabs the lapels of his coat and pulls him forward until his mouth is on hers and Emma’s head is pressing into the back of the tree. The bark scratching the back of her neck would be uncomfortable if she wasn’t so focused on Killian. He’s not kissing her back, his lips rigid against her, and she’s just about to pull back and give him shit over being a horrible kisser when he moves. His hand comes to her hair, yanking on the strands as he tilts her head the way he wants it, and his prosthetic rests at her waist. Every thought she had about him being stiff was wrong.

She’s never felt anyone move like this.

She’s also had some pretty damn good kisses in her life, but she can’t remember the last time one took her breath away and made heat curl over her skin as soft lips moved over her and slightly rough stubble scratched against her skin, likely leaving her red.

Emma can’t remember the last time she was kissed well, and damn, what a shame that is.

She could get used to that.

But she knows that’s a dangerous thought, and this is a dangerous game she’s playing. If she’s bringing cards to the table to play, she has to be open to the possibility that she can lose her hand.

Emma isn’t open to that right now.

So, she pulls back, just barely though, and tries to catch her breath as Killian does the same. He’s panting, and in any other circumstance, the sound would be like heaven to her, a strong indication of what’s to come next. Not in this one, though, and when Killian moves in, she pulls away.

“That was,” he begins, seemingly trailing off in a search for the words to describe what just happened.

She doesn’t know either, but it doesn’t take her long to figure out what she wants to say.

“A one-time thing,” she finishes, knowing she has to say it as she looks at him and the flush of his cheeks. “I’m going to find David and Mary Margaret. Don’t follow me. Wait five minutes and...” she glances down toward his jeans “…calm down.”

He mockingly bows, same smug smile she’s used to back on his lips. She knows how they feel now, and that feels wrong.

“As you wish, milady.”

-/-

The late afternoon lunch (or is it early dinner considering the time?) is awkward as hell. They’re sitting at a small, supposedly cozy table in the midst of the most romantic patio ever created (think of all the string lights in the world and then double it) with wine and cider in their glasses and good food on the table in front of them.

Emma wants to run away.

She can’t.

It really freaking sucks.

And it doesn’t help that Killian keeps looking at her with these big blue eyes that she doesn’t normally see. He looks earnest almost, and she doesn’t think Killian Jones has been earnest a day in his life.

Then again, how much does she know?

“Oh, this is so romantic,” Mary Margaret sighs. “I’m so glad we won this trip.”

“Does romance include two of your mates sitting at the table with you?” Killian asks. “Dave was playing footsy with me earlier we’re so cramped in here.”

“Was that you?” David hisses, cheeks going red, and Emma starts to laugh. That’s the best thing she’s heard all day.

“Yes, it is romantic even with you and Emma here. And with David somehow mistaking your leg with mine.”

“In my defense, Killian’s calves are only a little bigger than yours, sweetheart.”

“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted.”

“Flattered, of course,” Killian says. “I have bloody fantastic legs. Ask Swan here. She felt them up last night.”

Emma kicks out her foot at Killian under the table, not one hundred percent sure she’s actually hitting his leg, but then she sees the slight wince. Gotcha.

“So, what are we doing after this?” Emma asks to change the subject. “Another hike? More apple picking? Second dinner?”

Mary Margaret sighs, “a carriage ride back to the hotel, but they’re going to take us the scenic route.”

“Of course they are,” Emma mutters, stabbing her food and stuffing it into her mouth. She’s going to need more wine.

-/-

The carriage ride is worse than the dinner. For one, the horses smell horrible, much worse than the food, and the carriage is somehow smaller than their table. She’s pressed completely up against Killian, their sides aligned, and he has his arm over her shoulder while they share a blanket. She tried to refuse, but it’s gotten really cold. Her nose and her fingers are going to fall off soon, and she’s as zipped up as she can be.

David and Mary Margaret practically make out across from them, and even though Emma knows more about their sex life than she would ever want to know, sitting his close to it as a horse drags them along the road is not something she’s comfortable with.

“Make it stop,” she murmurs into Killian’s shoulder, half to keep her from having to look at David and Mary Margaret but mostly to keep her nose warm.

“I’m afraid we have to ride this one out, love. If you want, we could share our own kiss…again.”

She hits his thigh underneath the blanket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever helps you sleep through the night.”

-/-

She doesn’t sleep through the night.

She’s too aware of her surroundings, of the warm body a few inches from her own.

It’s all too much, even if he didn’t try to steal the covers tonight, and if she wasn’t so damn stubborn, she’d sleep on the floor. She told herself she would do that tonight, but now it feels like admitting defeat.

Emma doesn’t like to admit defeat.

-/-

They go for another hike the next morning, their last morning in Vermont.

Emma sticks next to David the entire time, asking him mundane questions she doesn’t care about just to keep the conversation flowing and to keep Killian from making any jokes she doesn’t want him to make. It works, mostly, and Emma is even able to enjoy herself and the view for a lot of it. Boston can be gorgeous, but she’s going to miss a lot of this.

It’s the picture perfect dream, but Emma knows perfection doesn’t exist. And in pictures, it’s almost always photoshopped.

Doesn’t make it any less stunning as she stares out at it all, and it doesn’t make her want the picture perfect dream any less. The one where she isn’t so scared of getting hurt again and where she lets herself have fun, lets herself feel safe.

Lets her heart in on the decision making with her head.

-/-

Emma sleeps on most of the car ride back to Boston, and when she wakes up, it’s with a sore neck and tired eyes. It’s also in front of her apartment. She thanks the Nolans for the weekend, and very slowly, it dawns on her that Killian is no longer in the car. They must have dropped him off first, and she doesn’t know why, but it stings a bit that she doesn’t get to say goodbye to him as well.

That’s the lack of sleep talking, obviously.

Emma would never miss saying goodbye to Killian because that would mean she was going to miss his presence. She wouldn’t do that, though. Of course not. Because she didn’t have a good time when he was around. He didn’t make her smile at all this weekend.

He never makes her smile at all.

If Emma was using her own superpower to detect lies, there would be a blaring red light over her head with a little bell blaring in her ears.

She is ignoring it in favor of stuffing everything about this weekend in her bag and not looking into it. It was pretty. Nice pictures were taken, good food was had, and nothing else happened.

(Ding, ding, ding.)

-/-

Life returns to normal. She goes to work, goes to the gym, is occasionally dragged out to bars and clubs with her friends on the nights she isn’t working.

(She does finally get that guy from two weeks ago, and the paycheck is worth the struggle.)

Killian is around a lot more than he usually is. He’s in school getting his degree in software engineering on some scholarship he got from his service in the Navy, and he usually bartends at night. That job fizzled out, though, so when they all have pizza night or go out or meet up for lunch, he’s usually there.

Emma finds it odd, but she doesn’t mind.

She doesn’t pay much attention to him because she’s making a conscious effort specifically not to pay attention to him, not until he misses a fantastic opportunity to make an innuendo, and she realizes he hasn’t been making a lot of those lately. They’re there, sure, but not in as high of a quantity as they usually are.

It’s weird, but the weirdest thing about it all is how much she misses them.

Huh.

When did that happen?

When did the flirting stop annoying her and start making her laugh? When did she start liking it?

Liking him?

The thought comes to her without true warning and without permission. It’s wiggled its way out of the deep caverns of her mind and made it to the surface, gasping for air so it can live out in the open. She has a physical reaction to it, her hands coming to cover her mouth as she inhales a deep breath that has everyone looking away from the TV to look at her.

“You alright?” Ruby asks from her spot on David and Mary Margaret’s couch.

“I’m fine,” Emma lies, knowing her friends won’t push her further. They’ve known her long enough to know not to do that too often. “Just need some water.”

She gets up from her chair and walks toward the kitchen, her mind running faster than Usain Bolt, and she tries to focus on pouring herself a glass of water and on the football game that’s on. She doesn’t even really like football, but it’s kind of a fall tradition around here. She just has to go with it.

Everything is fine. This is fine.

This is…this is crazy. It’s even crazier that she can’t tell if her body is experience fear, joy, or some insane mixture of both bottled up with all of the adrenaline it can muster.

“You sure you’re alright, love?” Killian asks as he walks into the kitchen puts his plate in the sink. Of course he followed her in here. He, unlike Ruby, Mary Margaret, and David, has no qualms about bothering her. “You look a bit flushed. You’ve gone red around your cheeks.”

“Fine,” she lies again. “I’m fine.”

If she says that word enough, it’ll be true.

“Are you certain because I – ”

“Why don’t you flirt with me anymore?” she blurts before she can stop herself. She must be going crazy because this is insane. Who has taken over her body, and can she get it back please? Preferably before she does something stupid like kissing him again.

Then again, that wasn’t all stupid. It felt pretty damn good.

Killian arches his brow, his forehead wrinkling, and she knows she’s about to get some dumbass answer. He scratches behind his ear with his prosthetic. “Because if I’m to win your heart Emma, as I’d like to, I’d like to do it in a way that doesn’t piss you off, as much as I do love that. It’s quite entertaining for me, especially when you go red as you are now. It’s a becoming color on you, but I realize my methods of getting your attention were a bit childish.”

Well, okay then. Maybe not a dumbass answer.

This is a weird, weird few minutes.

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve been doing the adult equivalent of pulling pigtails on a playground?’

He shrugs. “Aye, I guess.”

Emma, once more, doesn’t know what to do or say, so she lets instinct drive her. She steps forward and places her hand on his shoulder, looking him dead in the eye. They’re ridiculously blue, and it’s just not fair. “Asking me to dinner would have worked much better than that. Food has always been the way to my heart, especially if it’s cheap, greasy, and will make my stomach hurt afterward.”

She leaves the ball in his court (or in his possession on the field since they’re watching football and her sports metaphors should make sense, and she’s 82% sure that’s a correct metaphor), and walks away before being pulled back by her wrist until she’s looking at him again.

Once more, he’s earnest, and she’s still getting used to that.

And those blue eyes. Those too. They don’t have to be all devilish all the time.

“Would you like to go to dinner with me, love?” Killian asks, hopeful, kind smile on his face.

Genuine. He’s genuine, and she feels that little flutter that she hasn’t felt in awhile, not since she kissed him against the apple tree to prove a point to herself that she wouldn’t be affected by kissing him.

Emma really is a bad liar, especially when she’s lying to herself.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

#leaves are changing (and maybe he is too)#cs prompts #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan #wellhellotragic

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musecharm-writes · 4 years ago

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Bad Influence, Pt 1 (Steve Harrington X Reader)

Summary: You wish you hadn’t stolen the cigarettes. You hadn’t gone into Melvald’s with the intention of stealing them -- you were going to buy them, you swear you were going to buy them. But you had realised after picking up the carton and reaching into your pocket to get your cash ready that you hadn’t brought any money with you. And, of course, you knew you should put them back and leave… But you’d run out two weeks ago, and you couldn’t deal with the cravings any longer, and there were only so many times you could sneak from your mom before she started to catch on.

(Note: There’s not much Steve/Reader interaction yet; this part is just to establish the plot. We get to the fun stuff in the next one.)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

One would think that, on the most important day in a person’s entire life, something special would happen -- there’d be a rainbow complete with gold and a leprechaun, or stars would fall from the sky, or farm animals would spontaneously sprout wings and learn to fly. Steve Harrington wouldn’t know; the only special things that have ever happened to him were armageddon, the end of the world, and doomsday, in that order.

The day that Steve’s life was changed forever (without anyone having to face certain doom this time), nothing unusual happened at all.

Well, almost nothing. Then again, Steve supposes there’s something a little less than usual about you.

You’re being dragged out of Melvald’s by Hawkins’ finest when Steve first lays eyes on you.

Your hair is disheveled, your face is flushed, and there’s a wild look in your eyes. You’re writhing in the hold of the cops gripping your arms, probably to keep you from running.

Though he isn’t sure why, Steve can’t help but stare.

Robin comes up next to him, taking a sip from a thermos of coffee. “Ho-lee shit, what’s goin’ on over there?”

Steve shrugs, his eyes still fixed on you even as you’re being read your rights and fitted with handcuffs.

Coincidentally, as Callahan has you bend over the hood of his patrol car so he can frisk you while Powell slaps the cuffs on, your head is pressed to the hood so that you’re staring right in Steve’s direction. The two of you lock eyes for what feels like forever before you’re being jerked upright by your arm and manhandled into the backseat of the car.

Steve feels a sharp, elbow-shaped pain in his side.

“OW! What the-- Why did you do that?”

Robin smiles, clearly pleased with herself. “Because you were being weird. Plus, I said your name, like, a bajillion times and you either didn’t hear me or you were pretending.” She squints critically at him. “What’s your deal, Harrington?”

Steve shakes his head. “Nothing. Nothing’s my deal, I don’t have a deal. You’re the one with the deal, elbowing me in the ribcage like that, you could have done some serious damage to my… ribs.”

Robin doesn’t seem convinced -- not at all, actually -- but she apparently isn’t that invested in finding out what Steve’s “deal” is, because she just shrugs and says, “Whatever. Let’s go get breakfast or something, I could eat a horse.”

A few minutes later, they walk into Benny’s Burgers only to find Jonathan and Nancy sitting in the booth nearest to the door. Nancy spots Steve and waves.

Steve nudges Robin and cocks his head in their direction. “You in?”

She shrugs. “Sure. Jonathan’s cool.”

Steve snorts. “Behave yourself, Buckley.”

“We’ll see,” she replies cheerily.

As they sit down, Nancy says, “Hey, did you guys hear about the commotion at Melvald’s earlier today?”

Steve opens his mouth to reply, but before he can even finish inhaling, Robin answers with, “We didn’t, but why don’t you ask Stevie here what he ‘heard’ about the ‘commotion at Melvald’s?’”

Both Nancy and Jonathan turn their full attention to Steve, and he mentally curses Robin so hard he’s sure she can hear it, based on the shiteating grin on her face.

“...Steve?” Jonathan says gently.

Steve sighs in exasperation, the force of it puffing out his cheeks. He shrugs and lifts a hand, splaying his fingers. “I… Sort of. Saw…” He hesitates, looking between Jonathan and Nancy, seeing their expectant expressions. He sighs again and runs a hand through his hair. Out with it, man. “I saw somebody getting pulled out by Callahan and Powell, all right?”

Nancy’s brow furrows. “Who? Why? What happened?”

Steve shrugs. “Dunno. Whoever it was, they definitely had a couple screws loose.”

Nancy says nothing for a moment. Then, she says, “Jonathan, do you think your mom would know anything about it?”

“Maybe. We can ask her when we go back to the house.”

Robin cocks her head. “Why are you guys so interested in finding out about this, anyway?”

Nancy and Jonathan share a look and then after a moment they turn back to Robin and shrug in unison.

Soon enough, the waitress is coming to take their orders, and the conversation turns toward other things.

While Robin and Steve are chowing down on brunch, you’re sitting in the Hawkins Police Department, waiting to find out how hard they’re going to punish you.

You wish you hadn’t stolen the fucking cigarettes.

You hadn’t gone into Melvald’s with the intention of stealing them -- you were going to buy them, you swear you were going to buy them. But you had realised after picking up the carton and reaching into your pocket to get your cash ready that you hadn’t brought any money with you.

And, of course, you knew you should put them back and leave… But you’d run out two weeks ago, and you couldn’t deal with the cravings any longer, and there were only so many times you could sneak from your mom before she started to catch on. So you’d slipped the carton of cigarettes into your pocket and headed for the door.

And then the woman behind the counter shouted, “Hey!”

You’d just panicked and started running, and… well, here you are.

The Chief of Police stepped out of his office and called one of the cops who brought you in over. They talked in hushed tones for a moment, looking like they were having a disagreement, and then the other cop -- Callahan, you’re pretty sure, the one with the glasses -- comes back over and takes your cuffs off.

“Chief Hopper wants you in his office,” Callahan says blandly, gesturing toward the door the chief is standing in front of.

You take a deep, shaky breath, trying to quell your fear, and then you stand up and go to face your doom.

Chief Hopper doesn’t say anything to you as you pass him on the way into the office. His face is a careful mask of neutrality, which makes you even more nervous than if he’d been staring you down -- at least if he was doing that, you would know what to expect.

As you go in, the chief follows you in and closes the door behind you, which just cements the knowledge that whatever’s about to happen isn’t going to be fun for you.

“Have a seat,” he says, pointing at the chair on the other side of his desk as he walks around to the other side to sit in his own chair. You do as he says, watching as he pulls out a carton of cigarettes and clamps one between his teeth. He looks up at you and offers the carton out to you. “Want a smoke?”

You swallow. You wonder if this is some kind of weird test. “No thank you, sir.”

“You sure?” He asks, the carton still extended across the desk. “From what I hear you’re pretty fond of ‘em.”

You feel your face flushing with embarrassment. You stare down at your hands for a moment and then, sheepishly, take a single cigarette from the proffered carton.

He lights both of your cigarettes with a Zippo he pulls from his shirt pocket and watches you from under the brim of his hat as you take a drag and exhale smoke on a relieved sigh.

“So,” Chief Hopper begins, smoke escaping from his mouth, “my sources tell me you were stealing from Melvald’s General Store. A carton of cigarettes and nothing else. First time you’ve ever gotten into trouble. Know what that tells me?”

You swallow and then shake your head, bringing your cigarette to your lips again for another long, slow drag. If you’re about to be locked up and have your parents told on you, you wanna savour this cigarette, because it could well be your last for a while.

Chief Hopper continues to look at you for a moment, and then he leans back in his chair. “That tells me that you’re not what we in the business call a bad apple. I don’t wanna put that idea in your head, or anybody else’s, and you spend one night in jail, that’s what’s gonna happen. You get me?”

“I…” You knit your brows. “I’m… not sure I do, sir.”

Chief Hopper sighs through his nose, making smoke stream out through his nostrils. “I’m saying that I don’t want to put you through the ringer just ‘cause you’re a kid who made a dumb mistake.”

You blink. “Are you-- You’re saying you’re letting me off the hook?”

“Not quite,” he says. “You still committed a crime. Wouldn’t look good for me if you just got to walk away without any consequences. No, you’re not off the hook, but I talked to the owner of the store and got permission to come up with an alternative method of punishment. As long as you accept it, that is. We can always just let you do time anyway, if that’s what you want.”

You shake your head immediately. “I’d prefer not to, sir.”

He nods, satisfied. “Right. You’re gonna be working at Melvald’s for the next two weeks. You’ll be working alongside Joyce Byers, and she’s gonna keep an eye on you, so make sure you stay out of trouble, okay?”

You arch your brows. “I’ll be working at Melvald’s?” You wonder how the hell he managed to work that out with the owner.

“That’s what I said. Think of it as community service; can you handle it?”

“Yessir,” you say, nodding.

“All right then. At the end of each week, I’ll be coming in -- off the books -- to check in. As long as you do as you’re told and keep your head down, this’ll all blow over before you know it.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes, and you try to blink them back before the chief notices and thinks you’re a huge crybaby. “Thank you, Chief Hopper.”

He stands up and leans over the desk, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “It’s no problem, kid. Just don’t make me regret it, all right?”

As you stand up, you nod again, suddenly determined. “I won’t, sir, I promise.”

His lips quirk up at one side. “Call me Hopper or Hop, kid. Nobody I like calls me sir.”

You smile hesitantly. “Yessir… Hopper.”

As Chief Hopper is walking you to the door, you can’t help but ask what you’ve been wondering for a while now. “Ch-- Er, Hopper?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you doing this for me?” You pick at the hem of your shirt nervously. “I mean, not that I’m not thankful, I’m incredibly thankful, I just... don’t understand why I’m not being punished?”

He’s silent for a moment, perhaps turning your question over in his head, and then after what feels like an eternity, he finally answers with, “When I was your age, I made some pretty dumb mistakes, too. I never had anybody willing to back me up, and I ended up doing a lot of shit I’m not proud of because there was nobody there to bail me out when I got into trouble. When I come across kids who need that, now that I’m an adult myself, I tend to wanna help ‘em out.”

You can’t help but feel awestruck. Chief Hopper is nothing like the stories you’ve heard; he’s so fair-minded, and kind, and selfless, it kind of makes you feel like crying again. You feel visible in a way that’s almost uncomfortable.

You kind of wish you could feel this way all the time.

“Thank you,” you say again.

“No problem, kid,” Hopper says, opening the door to his office. “Now scram; you’ve got about eighteen hours until you show up for your first shift at Melvald’s, and if you’re more than fifteen minutes late I’ll have someone escort you there every morning for the rest of the week.”

As you leave the Hawkins Police Department, you feel lighter than you can remember feeling in a long time.

#stranger things x reader #stranger things reader insert #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #x reader #reader insert #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #robin buckley #jim hopper #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #writing #writing blog #reader insert blog #x reader blog #theft #smoking #cigarettes

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justablobfish · 4 years ago

Text

Finding a present for that person that is impossible to find a present for

Day 13 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list

Read on AO3

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

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It's going to be Jaskier’s second time visiting Kaer Morhen.

Two years ago, Geralt had asked him only a few days before they were scheduled to separate for the winter. It had all been rather sudden and the whole season had passed in a blur of anxiety and excitement.

He hadn't even met the whole family then, Geralt's little brother Lambert hadn't made it to the keep that year. Then, the year after, Jaskier got delayed by his family until he couldn't make it to the keep anymore; the path had already snowed over.

This year though - this year Jaskier is determined to make the most of his time at Kaer Morhen and charm his way into the hearts of Geralt's family until they can't imagine winter without him anymore.

Step one is to make a good first impression after the Wolves haven't seen him in so long. And the easiest way to do that is to get the perfect welcome gift for everyone scheduled to be there.

He comes across the first gift mere weeks after the snow of the previous winter has melted. After the tedious experience with his parents he decides to spend some time in Oxenfurt to recuperate.

In his favorite dingy little bookstore he finds the perfect present for Eskel.

Yes, yes, a steamy romance novel might not necessarily be the best way to prove himself to his lover's family, but the cover of the book shows your usual handsome warrior with very revealing clothing clutching a swooning damsel in distress in his overly muscular arms. Except this protagonist is drawn with an enormous scar covering the left side of his face.

He's extremely handsome. So is Eskel, of course, but whenever Jaskier tells him as much he just dismisses the compliment. With this book though, Eskel will have to believe him that scars are seen as attractive by quite a number of people. Why else would they draw the cover like this?

His second gift he also finds in a bookstore, though this place couldn't possibly be more different than where he found the book for Eskel.

The "Ye Olde Books" in Toussaint sells only the most esteemed antiquities to rich noblemen who never intend to read them and only display them to prove their supposedly good taste and to exaggerate their riches.

Jaskier quickly determines the oldest book the store has on offer. It's still younger than the recipient of the gift, of course, but the fairy tale stories it holds should still be similar enough to the stories that must have been popular when Vesemir was a child.

After the events of the last winter Jaskier at least managed to guilt trip his parents enough that he has no trouble paying for the delicate tome.

As for Lambert, Jaskier didn't meet him the one year he spent at Kaer Morhen, but he and Geralt ran into the younger Witcher on the Path once. It was a brief encounter and Lambert didn't seem to particularly like Jaskier.

Geralt reassured him afterwards that it's nothing personal and that Lambert doesn't like anyone.

Even though they couldn't possibly be more different, Lambert somewhat reminded Jaskier of himself. Jaskier is happy with his place in the world now, but he had to carve it out for himself, which hadn't always been easy. He remembers a time when he, too, felt trapped in the life he was born into, never good enough to satisfy his parents or to become a person in his own right, not just the heir to a legacy he wanted nothing to do with.

So the bitterness Lambert carries around with him feels very familiar.

His third gift, therefore, is just as expensive as Vesemir's and on top of that requires a large amount of convincing to work out. Luckily, Jaskier has practice annoying someone enough until they agree to anything. He spent most of his life perfecting the skill with the involuntary help of his lover.

By the time winter comes around again, the specially commissioned Gwent card will have started distribution. Though of course Jaskier will carry a copy of the new Lambert hero card with him as well and present it to Geralt's younger brother. He's made sure it would be stronger than the White Wolf card that became popular in recent years.

Ciri's gift is easy enough. Jaskier simply buys the biggest, fluffiest teddy bear he can find. Ciri is going to roll her eyes at him and claim that she isn't a kid anymore, but that's exactly what makes it the perfect present. With all that destiny business, the kid forgets far too often to allow herself to be a child sometimes.

How to get this monstrous thing, which is nearly as tall as Jaskier, back to Kaer Morhen is an entirely different story, though…

The gift for Yennefer isn't hard to find either once he meets up with Geralt and travels with him again. In a run-down little general store in a village in the middle of nowhere, in the furthest corner of the shop, hidden under a fishing net and a set of gardening tools, lies the most atrocious knitted sweater Jaskier has ever seen. There's no reason to abandon old traditions, even if he and Yennefer don’t meet up at Oxenfurt anymore. And in case Yennefer doesn't attend Kaer Morhen this winter, he'll simply keep it around until the next time they meet. The knitwear is so incredibly ugly, it would be a shame to waste it.

Geralt informs him one day that Lambert will bring a plus one. Not a boyfriend or close friend or anything, just a superficial acquaintance. The fact that Lambert risked his own hide to save the man's life is - apparently - entirely coincidental and without meaning. It's just that this other Witcher of the Cat school has no other place to spend the winter. Nothing more.

Geralt calls his little brother an emotionally constipated idiot and Jaskier can't help but burst out laughing at the hypocrisy.

Jaskier isn't sure whether to get this Aiden a gift as well since he never met the man, but as so often in his life, fate takes matters into its own hands.

He's perusing his favorite clothes store in Vizima when he finds the most beautiful scarf. It's big and woolen and perfectly flashy. Every handspan or so the pattern and colours change completely. All in all it shows every colour of the rainbow.

That is not the gift for Aiden, of course. But it's going to look great on Jaskier, especially since Geralt still insists he wears that old grey winter cloak. Granted, the cloak is warm, but oh so boring looking. The scarf will be just the right accessory to add a bit of color to his winter wardrobe.

The gift for Aiden he comes across as he leaves the store. A little boy, who must be the owner's son, sits at the side of the road and busies himself with thread and needle.

Curious, Jaskier steps closer and finds that the boy is attaching pieces of felt to a simple hairband.

Once the kid is done he puts the headband on and the felt pieces stand up in such a way that it appears like the boy has kitten ears growing out of his head.

Jaskier considers for a moment but then decides that if this Aiden is voluntarily hanging out with Lambert, he must have a good sense of humor. He buys the headband off the boy and heads back to his and Geralt's inn room.

Maybe it's because he's traveling with Geralt and can't really go looking for a gift for the White Wolf, but by the time their departure for Kaer Morhen rolls around, Jaskier has a little something for everyone, except Geralt. He doesn't even have an idea what he could gift to the man. Anything practical like a new whetstone, better armor or a fancy dagger is something that Geralt is far better equipped to pick out himself. Jaskier has little knowledge about such things.

And while Jaskier has spent the last twenty years of his life convincing the big oaf that he deserves pretty things every once in a while, too, Jaskier can't think of anything that wouldn't just be in the way when they eventually set out on the Path again.

The end of autumn creeps closer and closer and Jaskier’s head stubbornly remains empty. It shouldn't be this hard to think of something that Geralt would enjoy. After all, Jaskier has known him for over two decades now. But it seems like everything he could get his favorite Witcher he has already gotten him at some point during their travels.

He still has no idea when they pass the last village on the way to the Witchers’ keep.

Or when they start making their way up the mountain path.

Maybe there's a pretty rock he can pick up?

What? No, that's a dumb idea. He's not just gonna pick up a random rock just because he's desperate. At this point he'll just have to accept the fact that he has no gift for Geralt.

They reach the keep after two days of tedious climbing - not something Jaskier missed from his last visit - and are greeted at the gates by the other Witchers. Geralt's family members each welcome Geralt with a short hug and a pat on the back, while another man, who must be Lambert's tagalong, awkwardly stands to the side. Vesemir and Eskel nod at Jaskier courtly, Lambert only grunts at him.

Jaskier makes eye contact with Aiden who rolls his eyes at him apologetically over Lambert's behaviour.

Then Geralt brings Roach to the stables and they all quickly make their way inside.

In the large dining hall they meet Yennefer and Ciri. Apparently they only came here a day earlier via portal, making Jaskier and Geralt the last to arrive.

"I have welcoming gifts!" Jaskier addresses everyone.

Eskel reacts to his present with eyes narrowed in confusion. Then they grow wide with realisation and wonder.

Lambert scoffs when Jaskier hands him his parcel. He doesn't scoff again after he unpacks it.

Aiden grins at him widely and immediately puts his gift on.

Vesemir simply hums appreciatively. It reminds Jaskier far too much of Geralt. He supposes the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Ciri, as expected, reacts with a pout and the declaration that she's not a child anymore. Still, she clutches the plushy to her chest and refuses to let it go when Aiden says he'll take it if she doesn't like it.

Yennefer snarls at her sweater and quickly turns away from the group to hide it, but just like Ciri does with the teddy bear, she clutches it to her chest protectively.

Which only leaves Geralt.

"I, uh…, " Jaskier stutters and stares at his empty hands.

"Hmm," Geralt hums. "Saving the best for last?"

He grabs Jaskier by the shoulder, turns him around so that he's facing the room. He hugs Jaskier from behind and places his chin on Jaskier’s shoulder.

"Seems like you got me the best gift of all," Geralt hums. "Look!"

Confused, Jaskier glances about the room. Vesemir and Eskel are sitting in a corner, flipping through their respective books. Lambert is chasing Aiden through the room, who has stolen his Gwent card and is waving it around tauntingly. Ciri holds the teddy out to Yennefer, who's holding her sweater to the bear's chest to see if it would fit him. There's nothing out of the ordinary that Jaskier can spot.

"I don't under-" he begins.

"Everyone's here," Geralt explains. "My whole family in one place for the very first time. I couldn't possibly ask for more."

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #Jaskier #geralt of rivia #eskel #lambert #aiden #vesemir #ciri #Yennefer of Vengerberg #theblobfishwrites

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