#and tired of the general fandom silence about him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

icallhimjoey · 3 months ago

Note

Not sure if you've done this but it fits the general mood of the fandom lately: I want grovel-y Joe. Knows he really fucked up but he's a guy so he doesn't know how to fix it so he just throws anything at the wall to see what sticks. And honestly we're not sure if we'll forgive him but we're definitely sticking around to see how far he's willing to go.

(yes I am in therapy 🤣)

okay im using this request to fix whatever that bullshit was that i wrote before this - hope you enjoy! Wordcount: 3.8K

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I'll Let The Sun Decide

Joe realises it in the morning. Feels like the biggest fucking idiot in the world.

Correction: the biggest fucking idiot on the moon.

He watches you walk out of his bedroom after leaving a perfect cup of coffee, exactly how he likes it, on his bedside table and everything about that makes his heart ache.

After the way he behaved last night, he knows he doesn't deserve a sweet gesture from the girl who looks like she only managed to sleep for about two hours.

You look exhausted.

He only catches a glimpse of you, and a few seconds later he can hear the coffee machine go again. You're making a coffee for yourself after making him one, and Joe can't help but groan his face into his pillow.

Fuck.

He didn't reach out for you in the night.

Your one fucking rule.

He vaguely remembers going, "Hmm?" after he raised his head off his pillow in a jolt.

"Just me." You'd whispered, nothing malicious hidden in your voice, because it was after midnight and it wasn't the time to continue whatever you'd started earlier that evening.

He should've reached over then.

He hadn't. Not even a knee to your thigh, or a toe to your foot.

Nothing.

He should've been happy you'd come back to his flat instead of going to your own. You could've so easily decided to avoid him for a bit, but you didn't. You said you'd come back, and then you did, and, fuck.

He hadn't reached out.

He hadn't even read the texts you'd sent. Left you with a bunch of grey ticks.

Well.

He had read them, but only in the notification bar.

He'd seen the messages about you making it to the office safely. Of how Charlotte was there too - you'd do the work together and you'd be done much faster that way. A little later of how you'd just be another hour, and of how you'd let him know when you'd leave.

He wanted you to feel bad about choosing your work over him, so he withheld the coloured ticks and had felt real fucking smug over it. It was sickening how right he'd felt about his actions in the moment. Every petty little thing justified, just because you'd hurt his feelings.

You'd climbed into bed after he had already fallen asleep, and the feeling of movement next to him pulled him from his slumber. And then, instead of reaching over like he should have done, he had sighed all heavily, like he was really fucking annoyed that you'd woken him up as you got comfortable under his covers. He'd rolled over and ignored you. Turned his back and festered in his own anger like a moody teenager because he truly believed you deserved it.

What a fucking loser.

Didn't touch you all night.

The realisation slaps him in the face unexpectedly, and your early-morning kind gesture is what flips the entire script. What a fucking loser of a boyfriend.

You've made the deadline.

Joe sees it when he opens his messages after taking a perfect sip of hot coffee, and it's weird how he feels awful about himself and proud of you at the same time.

He didn't need to let the world burn over such a tiny inconvenience.

Joe hates the moon.

Longs for the sun.

The moon is cold and dark and he's all alone up there, only warmed by the light the sun will bring him.

The sun. Or, the messy-haired girl with tired eyes in soft clothes too big for her body who brought him a hot cup of coffee before she even made one for herself. Either or. Same thing.

Joe stares at your messages in silence, gives you the coloured ticks he should've given you last night, and feels heavy guilt find home in the pit of his stomach.

You finished all the work in time. Probably have done a real good job at it too. Did it at the office, away from Joe's bad temper, and managed to actually focus and forget about how he told you to fuck off when you were already on your way out anyway.

What a dick-move.

Fragile ego syndrome, you'd guessed then.

That dick-move is what had you second-guessing going back over to Joe's for a while. Maybe going back to your own flat was the smarter idea. Avoid the confrontation and just text him the next day, after he'd cooled off a bit.

Maybe he'd actually read those then.

Another dick-move.

Joe could be so annoying sometimes, but it was easy to read him and you knew that just a little consideration of your time would fix whatever this silly issue was. With that in mind, you'd made your way back over to his.

You knew his dick-moves only meant he was going to feel bad about himself come tomorrow morning.

And you were right.

Besides an annoyed sigh and a soft grumble, you didn't get much else from him when you got into bed.

That was fine.

Again, you didn't think it was the right time to continue a fight anyway.

But the morning brought something new.

You woke up before Joe did and it took a few seconds for you to remember. To realise your prediction was right. Joe hasn't reached out in the night. No silent I still love you touch under the covers for you.

And it stings.

Could make you cry if you thought about it long enough.

Joe's stayed on his side of the bed, facing away from you, and you tell yourself that at least you've come back to his flat like you said you would. You finished the work you had to finish, and did the right thing by returning.

But then, you concluded, you also haven't reached out to him at all, and immediately felt bad.

Joe can be so annoying sometimes, but you do still love him, and a warm palm to a shoulder blade could've at least let him know.

It would've made you the bigger person.

Which, you still were. You came back, didn't you? But Joe was being an absolute child and you didn't want to sink down to his level.

You should've reached over. Should've touched him. You have no good excuse for not following the one rule you came up with after your first real argument, and now you feel bad.

Shit.

The coffee is to make up for it. At least a little. To say, I'm sorry I didn't reach out, here's me doing that now.

"Morning," you whispered when you saw him stir and open a squinty, confused eye.

You didn't wait for a reply. Just left the coffee there and walked back to go and make yourself one too.

Joe watched you leave and the moon came crashing down.

He knows what the coffee means.

He's read your messages, can hear you make breakfast in his kitchen and decides he needs to reach out too. With his coffee in hand, he gets up and makes his way over to his living area where he finds you rubbing your fist into an eye through a yawn, with a carton of eggs in the other hand.

"Morning," he croaks, and sees how it's only just starting to get light outside, it's so early still.

It feels a little weird and embarrassing to speak to you right now. To remember how you'd been in this same room just a few hours ago, and he'd told you to fuck off.

Fuck off, he'd said. To his girlfriend. Had meant it with his whole chest too. What a fucking idiot.

You turn your head to give him a small smile that doesn't reach your eyes, and ask, "Do you want some eggs?"

The moon can die.

He doesn't want the moon.

The moon is too far from the sun. He wants you closer and happy and well-rested and for your smile to overtake your whole lovely beautiful face when you see him and he hasn't got the faintest clue where to even start to fix it.

He doesn't know how to turn all the feelings in his chest into words to convey how sorry he feels. Has no idea what to say. Has no idea how you'll react to a verbal apology either.

But you look so soft, shoulders slouched, the scrunched up bit of fabric that held your hair up and out of your face as you slept about to slip out. And, even though he can tell it's not a real smile, you're still giving him a kind face. You're being civil.

You've made him a coffee how he likes it and just offered to make him some eggs and, Jesus, he's just the most awful person ever, isn't he?

The overwhelming need to wrap himself around all of you takes over.

Joe leaves his coffee on the side and steps closer to attach himself to your back. You accept it, and he can feel how you let your head rest against the side of his as he hugs you, arms tight around your waist.

He's glad that you let him.

But he also feels the defeat there.

The, Joe what the fuck, that's waiting to slip out of your mouth. Maybe it's why you're keeping things surface level. No time or energy to get into an actual conversation right now. Just breakfast eggs and perfect coffee.

That's okay.

Joe doesn't know what to say anyway, and he'd love some eggs, actually.

"I'd love some, but," Joe kisses the side of your face, does it quick so he doesn't have to feel you pull away from it, and then gently moves you aside. "Let me."

A first attempt at fixing it.

Joe finishes breakfast whilst you go for the quickest shower of your life. When you turn the water off he asks what time you need to leave from the kitchen. His eyes find your coffee that's going cold, and he thinks it's so stupid that you have to be back at work so soon.

This time he doesn't feel sorry for himself, though. This time he feels sorry for you.

It's a big difference.

You've only just left the office, Joe thinks. And sure, sometimes he makes long hours and feels like he lives on set, but you're in an office.

He knows that's different.

Worse.

You've got to go and present all the things you've finished and he knows you like it just as much as he does. That being: not at all. There's no use in getting angry at you.

He sees that now.

You're just as much at fault for not being able to go out with him last night as he is. That being: not at all.

Joe watches you take a few hurried mouthfuls of egg on toast, and he wants to tell you sorry before you leave.

He doesn't.

Isn't sure how, and feels like a literal child because, Jesus Christ, they're just words.

But you smile at him, even though it's only small. And you let him kiss your cheek on your way out. And when you've left, it's not even eight o'clock, which is too fucking early, and he decides he needs to give you more quiet I love yous that he didn't give you under the covers in the night the way he should've done.

You get flowers delivered to the office that afternoon.

It's a large bunch, beautiful colours, and you can't lie; it absolutely makes you smile. You can tell it's expensive, and you know he's paid extra for the same day delivery, but... he didn't reach for you last night, and you didn't reach for him either, and whenever you think of Joe, that's all that comes to mind.

You'd seen him turn to stone.

So cold and careless.

Had seen in his face how he didn't give a single shit about how inconsiderate he was being.

A bunch of flowers isn't going to magically make that visual go away, but it's nice that he' tried's trying, and you try to hold onto that.

When you leave the office that day, you text Joe that you're headed to your own flat because there's food in your fridge that needs eating before it goes off, and your dishwasher is half filled with dirty dishes that have been in there for about a week already, so you kind of need to go turn it on, and there's probably also a load of laundry you could do, plus a quick pass of your floors with a vacuum, maybe.

Joe doesn't get to read it for a few hours. Busy day on set. When he eventually does, sort of annoyed that you had to wait for his coloured ticks again, he texts back, "Yours?"

And you text back so quickly, it makes his guilt grow.

"don't forget your key, im gonna lie down "

Perfect, Joe thinks. He'll sneak in and maybe get some of your shit sorted whilst you kip on your sofa.

But when he walks in, you're not on the sofa. You're already in bed, and that's sort of heartbreaking, because it's so early, and Joe finds the food that's about to go off uneaten in your fridge still. Finds the dishwasher still half filled, smelling rank, dirty dishes growing mould in there. He also sees the full hamper that needs sorting and washing, and, how had he even had the gall to assume that you could just make time for him at a moment's notice when you hadn't even been able to take care of any of this?

Joe starts the dishwasher.

Sorts your dirty laundry and starts a dark wash.

Cooks the food that's about to go off and places it in plastic tubs to have at another time.

Notices you've not taken the flowers that he had express delivered home and tries not let that affect him, but fails.

You're not sure what it is that wakes you. The beeping of the dishwasher, or the clanging of plates as Joe places the clean ones back into their cupboards. When Joe comes to find you, you're on your side, facing away from the door, but Joe can see you're awake by the light from your phone that silhouettes you.

"You're awake," Joe says, voice surprised, and it makes you turn to look over your shoulder.

"Hey," you say softly, and Joe's eyebrows knit together automatically at how sad you sound.

"Thanks for the flowers," you turn in bed to let Joe kiss you as he bends over to place a small one to your forehead. "They got delivered during my presentation."

"Was it embarrassing?" Joe asks, sitting down next to you, one arm either side of you as he leans over. Kisses you again, but on your mouth this time.

"Very. Vanessa just barged in with them."

"Did you like them?"

"Hmm," you nod and give a little smile. Joe's glad for it, but he feels there's a distance there still. You're keeping your hands to yourself, even though his bare arms are right there.

"I um," Joe starts, and wants to start listing all the things he's done. Wants to tell you how he's been sweet, and kind, like you were with him this morning, and he wants those things to be the silent I love yous he should've given you last night.

But then he changes his mind and says, "Did the, um... did the presentation go okay?"

You nod, because it did go really well, actually. Thank fuck. But Joe doesn't ask any more questions about it, and he seems to hesitate to even speak at all. Seems to want to say something that he's clearly not saying. Afraid to say the wrong thing, maybe. You wonder if there's a sincere I'm sorry hiding in there somewhere.

"You seem tired..." he skirts around the issue, and it's disappointing, but not surprising.

"I am tired."

Then Joe looks at the empty space in your bed for a moment and gets up. Starts undressing. Leaves his clothes in a neat pile on your dresser and goes to brush his teeth.

When Joe looks at himself in the mirror, he frowns.

Fucking idiot.

Look at that coward.

He rests both hands on the sink, hangs into his shoulders, breathes through flared nostrils, and feels like a failure. You must think he is one too.

He didn't reach over last night.

With his toothbrush still in his mouth, he steps back into your bedroom and inhales a deep breath through his nose before he mumbles a barely audible and a very foamy, "I shouldn't have..."

He hears himself, grumbles low in this throat and turns on his heel, spits the toothpaste out and comes back.

Starts again.

"I shouldn't have said those things. Last night. I was being a dick, I shouldn't have done– well, anything, really. I was being mean just to be mean, I'm–"

"Joe," you interrupt, your voice soft.

You didn't reach out either.

"No," Joe argues, moves to sit back down next to you, arms back either side of you, hands pressing into the mattress. "You have nothing to be sorry for, I just," Joe sighs. Frowns. Doesn't know what to say.

What can he say to make you run a hand up one of his forearms?

"I didn't..." he tries once more, but falters again. Drops his head and knows he can't cry because he is not the person he's hurt.

He didn't reach over last night.

"Hey. I didn't either."

You read between the lines, even though your vision goes blurry with tears. You can hear the words Joe isn't saying and can read the thoughts he's not communicating. Joe's face always tells you a million things. You wonder if he's aware how easy he is to read.

You also wonder if he's aware that it's not going to be enough.

Joe swipes a thumb across your temple, close to your eye, and catches a tear that was about to slide into your hair.

He swallows thickly. Tries to swallow down whatever's hurting his throat.

"I don't want to live on the moon..." he then mutters, regretting how he set the world on fire. He wants to live on planet earth, even though it's all grey and black ashes now. He'll plant flowers there. Will feed them water, and will politely ask the sun let them grow.

Will ask you.

You're the sun.

You get to decide.

You don't fully understand what Joe means, because it sounds ridiculous, actors and their theatrics, but you tell him you don't want to live on the moon either and he huffs a laugh at how absurd that sounds coming from your straight face that's pretending it's not actively crying.

You're the sun.

Of course you don't want to live on the moon, silly.

"Your priority–" you start, breath hitching, but Joe is quick to interrupt.

"You. You. Us. I'm... it's us. I promise, it's us..." Joe sighs again, seemingly upset at remembering his own behaviour.

"Saying that is easy, though," you start, finally letting your fingers slowly wrap around one of his arms.

A touch.

It's enough to make Joe's whole face crumble.

He ducks down. Lets his arms find your shoulders to pull you up a little so he can hug you properly, both arms wrapped tightly around your frame, his face hidden into your neck, and you know Joe's only crying because of your fingertips touching his wrist. The smallest things can get him sometimes – so dramatic.

But you continue, "I believe that you believe that your priority is us, but when you're stomping around your kitchen, blaming me for shit I have no controll over, telling me that it's my fault that I–"

"No," Joe mumbles into your skin, and pulls back just enough to press his forehead against yours. "No."

And you give his forehead a slight push with yours and you want to say, yes.

Yes that's what you were doing.

Yes that's what happened.

Yes you got caught up in all of your own feelings and forgot that I have a whole set of my own.

But then Joe whispers, "I'm sorry." and you can't help but go absolutely lax in his hold.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. I love you, I'm sorry." he whispers his apologies against your mouth through heavy breaths because he's doing his best to not cry, but he's failing, because then he feels you shake with a sob, and, fuck that, he'll banish himself to the moon, actually.

He'll live up there no matter how miserable it is, and he'll take whatever sunlight he can get, and he'll be thankful for the rays you'll allow to even reach him at all.

"You didn't t-touch–" you stutter, and immediately feel Joe squeeze you tighter.

"I'm sorry, I love you. I'm so sorry." Joe whispers right into your ear. Keeps repeating it, over and over and over.

Your one rule.

He should've never broken it.

It's good to hear the words, the I'm sorrys tumbling over his lips, and you'll accept them for now. But actions speak louder than words, and you know that there will probably be a time where the way the world treats Joe will make his head grow to twice its size again. He'll do and say similar shit. Won't want to meet you halfway, but will demand that you make the trek all the way over to him, won't care what the ground will look like, and won't care if you're wearing shoes for it or not.

Joe doesn't know it right now, but you can see into the future and know it will happen again.

And when it does, you'll grow a little colder.

Let some of your rays die out.

"Here. Lay back." Joe says after holding you for a while, and when your head finds your pillow again, Joe curls around and uses every body part of his to touch yours under the covers.

Every inch of skin touching yours is a big fat quiet I love you that he'll repeatedly tell you all night. He's not gonna let go.

He knows he's on the moon still. Up there, all alone. Cold. In the dark.

He said he's sorry, but knows it's not enough.

Wants off, but is smart enough to not set foot somewhere he's not allowed yet.

He has said that he's sorry, and now he needs to wait for the sun.

Wait for you.

And he'll touch you under the covers until you're ready.

Whispers the promises into your hair as you fall asleep.

You get to decide.

He'll let the sun decide.

---

The Taglisted

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add yourself

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fastbrother · 5 months ago

Text

Detention (E, 1k words)

Harry spends his eighth year recontextualising his relationship with Draco Malfoy.

Tags: Only One Broom, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Fluff and Smut, Praise Kink, Top!Harry Potter

Author's note: Drarry one-shot I wrote for @kk1smet's birthday. Thank you for creating such wonderful art for this fandom, and for letting me use it here! K's original art post can be found here, and you can see more of her art at the bottom of this post!

* * *

They’ve been fighting since—well, since forever. But also since noon. The sky is dark now, and Harry has run out of patience. He turns on his heel, leaving Malfoy to scream into the void.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going back to the castle. We’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Out of the question. I’m not spending another day—”

Harry can’t think of many things crueller than the detention McGonagall came up with for them. Another day stuck in the forest with Malfoy and he might just crack. But he’s already cracked, hasn’t he? He’s cracked about a thousand times today.

“Suit yourself. If you can find unicorn hair in the dark, then by all means, go and find it. I’m going back.”

And with that, Harry mounts his broom.

“Don’t you dare leave me here alone.”

“Then hop on.”

There’s a break, a little silence.

“Fine. We’ll go back. But I’m flying.”

“Whatever,” Harry says, too tired for another fight. He dismounts, and offers the broom to Malfoy.

The sound of crushed leaves fills the air as Malfoy comes closer, then grabs the broom in one swift motion.

They get on.

Why did Harry think it was a good idea to only bring one broom? He’s uncomfortable, seated much too low, and has nowhere to put his hands. He hates not being in control of it, too. Malfoy flies with too much grace, a sin he didn’t know existed until that very moment.

Time passes slowly.

Harry’s just got used to the precarious balance when a Thestral whizzes by.

“Ah,” Harry says, against his will, and wraps his hands around Malfoy’s waist. At the same time—or was it earlier?!—Malfoy’s hand lands on Harry’s calf, making Harry swallow the sorry he was about to blurt out.

Surely, Malfoy will say sorry himself. Or remove his hand.

He doesn’t.

So Harry doesn’t remove his hands either.

They land, and Malfoy’s hand lingers for a second too long.

They’re silent on the way to the castle. It’s bizarre, because the two of them are never silent. They bicker in class, when they’re forced to sit together for “the optics.” They bicker in the corridors, when they bump into each other. They bickered all day today. And now they’re silent, too silent, and the ghost of Malfoy’s touch buns a hole through Harry’s jeans.

Their footsteps echo against the stone walls. And then they stop. They’ve reached the staircase where their paths diverge. Harry has to go up the stairs, while Malfoy carries on.

They look at each other, neither of them moving. Then, at the same time, they act. Malfoy clears his throat. Harry walks towards a broom closet.

Malfoy follows him in. It’s dark, much too dark to see, but he hears Malfoy dropping to his knees. He lets out a sound when he feels Malfoy’s hands parting his robes. The sounds intensify when Malfoy takes his cock out, and puts his mouth on it. It’s all so unexpected, so wonderfully wet and generous, Harry feels around until he touches Malfoy’s head. He’s really there.

Fucking Draco Malfoy. Is on his knees. Sucking him off.

Harry finishes in his mouth, and only afterwards realises he’s been panting.

* * *

Harry corners Malfoy after Charms. Since last night, he’s had time to think. Truly, he’s had so much time to consider everything that’s ever happened between them, all the nuances of their relationship, all the ways in which they came together. And with all that knowledge safely stored in his brain, Harry locks the door.

Malfoy sinks to his knees. The light spills through the arched windows, and Harry can look into his eyes as he takes Harry in.

“Jesus Christ,” Harry says, watching Malfoy’s lips strain against his cock. “I want to fuck you.”

Malfoy is a good little boy, because he releases his cock, stands up and bends over Flitwick’s desk. Harry lifts up his robe.

“You’ve finally shut up,” Harry says, inserting one finger into Malfoy’s hole, pulling a moan out of him. “I love that.”

Harry doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but figures out enough. When he’s close, he pushes Malfoy back on his knees and comes all over his face.

Malfoy licks it off his lips. He’s finished in his pants.

* * *

Harry fucks Malfoy everywhere he can. He fucks him in deserted classrooms. In broom closets. The prefects’ bathroom. He fucks him so much and so often, they’ve both fallen behind on schoolwork. When they get detention for it, Harry fucks Malfoy on the forest bed.

* * *

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Harry says, looking down at Malfoy. It’s the Christmas hols, and all of Malfoy’s roommates are away. It’s the first time they fuck in a bed.

“You’re beautiful,” Malfoy says, and drags Harry into a kiss.

* * *

“You’re insatiable,” Draco says when Harry falls into step with him after breakfast. “We have Potions in five minutes.”

“Five minutes is plenty of time.”

Draco rolls his eyes, but lets Harry drag him into a broom closet.

They waste most of the five minutes kissing, and then another five undressing. By the time Harry comes all over Draco’s chest, the bell ringing is a distant memory.

“If we get detention again, I’ll kill you,” Draco says while he picks up his robes from the floor.

“Don’t worry,” Harry says, cleaning them off both. “You go first.”

Harry waits two minutes before going into the classroom.

“Professor, sorry I’m—”

His gaze falls on Draco, sporting a red tie and looking at Harry in horror. Just like everybody else.

Harry looks down at his own green tie.

“—late,” he concludes, amidst rising bouts of laughter.

“Shh,” Slughorn says, trying and failing at suppressing a grin. “Ah, nothing like young love, is there? But also, detention to the two lovebirds.”

Harry shrugs at the Gryffindors’ shocked faces, then sits down next to Draco.

“Sorry,” he whispers, a hand on Draco’s knee under the table.

“I’ll never forgive you,” Draco says solemnly.

That night, they fuck—and sleep—in Harry’s bed.

Super adorable chibi art of them fondling each other on the broom © @kk1smet! 💖

#drarry #drarry fic #hpdm #harry potter #draco malfoy #hp fic #my writing #drabbles #detention #happy birthday k!!!

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sohnric · 5 months ago

Text

SUGAR TALK — S. JAEYUN

pairing: jake x fem! reader

genre: childhood friends to lovers au, vacation au, summer au, fluff. a tinge of first love au. jake and the reader discussing their feelings. shy jake (somebody protect him)

wc: 1.7k

warnings: swearing, a sexual joke :(

a/n: thank u @csenke my beloved for beta reading and hyping me up into posting this i owe you my whole entire LIFE. also lowkey fuck u for dragging me into yet another fandom. anyways my enhablr debut :)) kinda nervous.... pls be nice or else ill cry

A midsummer night in Italy reveals many things you and Jake managed to hide over the course of your friendship—all over a quarrel about ice cream.

“Is it good?” you ask, pointing towards the ice lolly in Jake’s mouth, your legs propped up against the wall right next to where his back is resting. You’re currently laying on the floor– because the heat in Italy makes it unbearable to sprawl on the bed during summer, just the blankets laying under you being enough to make your body flood with sweat.

“I asked you if you wanted it,” he grunts, taking his eyes off his phone screen and gazing at you through the hair falling into his forehead and shielding his vision, “and you said no.”

“Okay, and? I’m not asking to have it, I’m just asking you if it’s good–”

“So you don’t want a taste, yeah?” he challenges you. A second of silence passes by as the two of you stare at each other wordlessly before he sighs, right as you open your mouth and utter out your next comment.

“I mean, you can just give me a taste, it wouldn’t hurt you–”

“I’m not sharing my ice cream with you,” your childhood best friend says, shaking his head at your greediness.

“Why not? I was generous enough to let you have the last one, so you may as well share it with me in this terrible, terrible heat–”

“I’m not letting you lick my ice cream, that’s disgusting,” he mumbles. That comment is enough to have you snicker out loud– because even though you and Jake aren’t teenagers anymore, your brain is still somehow stuck in the age where everything sounds like a sexual innuendo to you– but you manage to make the situation even worse when you let out your next comment, shocking the boy.

“You’re saying that as if it’s the first time we would be exchanging saliva.”

Jake almost chokes on the ice cream, nervously licking his lips. You and him have been childhood friends– with your parents being in the same friend group since high school, it was only natural for them to want their children to be each other’s safe haven as well. And it worked, for the most part– you could never imagine a better person to grow up with than Sim Jake, the energetic boy that lived just down the street from you– but that doesn’t mean you and him don’t have your fair share of memories you rarely talk about.

One of them being you kissing Jake when you got drunk for the first time. You just turned seventeen and although your parents were mostly understanding of your bad life choices, showing up home after underage drinking still wasn’t the wisest idea, and so Jake convinced both of your parents that you were staying over at his friend Sunghoon’s house instead. That boy can be really convincing when he tries to, and with the phone calls done and the fake arrangements in place, you two spent the night together in the nearby park.

In your drunken state, you managed to say a sentence that stayed in his mind to this day and haunted him on some nights: “You’re too pretty. I could honestly kiss you right now,” said slurred and with a voice tired– and without asking for his thoughts on the matter, you leaned in and just followed your gut.

He kissed you back a few moments later– messy and uncoordinated– and although young Jake wanted to talk about the matter while it was still at hand, you fell asleep in his lap on the top of a skating ramp shortly after, leaving him dazed and confused, watching over you until the sun rose.

It’s now 4 years later, and somehow, you thought that bringing it up on a family trip to Italy– in the middle of the night, sitting on the cold tile floor of your shared hotel room– was the best time to talk about it.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t remember it,” you joke, watching the boy get a little red in his cheeks. “I was the drunk one and I remember, so there’s no way you don’t.”

Jake gulps down the ice cream melting in his mouth, averting his gaze from you completely. “I mean, it was my first kiss. Of course I remember.”

The moment the words escape his mouth, you feel like cotton was stuffed into your ears and the whole world stopped spinning. Your throat goes dry and you momentarily panic– you had no idea that you technically took your friend’s kiss virginity until now. Guilt washes you over– because what if he wanted to save it for someone else? Someone more worthy, someone he liked? What if he wasn't ready? You made that decision for him, and suddenly, you feel insanely bad– wishing that the ground would swallow you alive.

“So that’s why you were such a bad kisser–” you say instead, trying to act nonchalant– to which you earn yourself a kick to your side, having the boy laugh in embarrassment.

“Hey! It’s not my fault you caught me unprepared,” he says, shaking his head at you.

“Well, for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry,” you hum in all seriousness. Now is your time to avert your gaze from the boy, pointing your eyes towards your legs resting up against the wall. There is a moment of silence following your sincere words, and just when you think the situation got too awkward to continue talking about the incident– which is why you never really brought it up in the first place– Jake speaks up again, breaking the quiet atmosphere of the hotel room.

“For what?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“For kissing you without asking,” you say, furrowing your brows. “It was selfish of me. Had I known it was your first kiss, I wouldn’t steal it all for myself,” you snicker, feeling a little shy.

“Oh,” he hums just before you hear him laugh airly at your words. “I mean… I enjoyed it.”

“Did you?” you ask, allowing yourself to look back at the boy– noticing the softness of his eyes when he watches you, something in the air tensing, but making you feel like you’re floating, light. “Because you seemed pretty frightened back then.”

“That’s because I was embarrassed,” he explains, laughing. “I had a huge crush on you back then, so it was kind of a big deal for me,” he hums, a tint of pink appearing on the tips of his cheekbones, eyes glimmering a little in the low light of the room.

Now is your time to let out a dead-pan “Oh,” the shock of the new information still settling into you. With how long you’ve known Sim Jake, you thought you could read him like an open book– easily and clearly. Most of the time, you were really in tune with his emotions and thoughts, you could predict what his opinion would be on most things and how he’d feel about certain situations– leaving you checking in with him whenever you sensed he’d be down but wouldn’t outright tell you to your face. But maybe you were wrong to believe this assumption– maybe you couldn’t read your best friend as much as you thought you could.

Because you would’ve never thought of this being a reality.

“You didn’t know? I thought you knew, but you didn’t want it to be awkward between us so you didn’t mention it,” he laughs, taking in the situation with much more lightness now, seeing how affected you are by the simple confession. This is not how you imagined this conversation to go.

“No?!” you exclaim, baffled. “How the fuck would I know?”

“Now come on, Y/N,” he sighs, shaking his head at you in disbelief, “I invited you to prom. I think that might have been a clear sign that something was going on,” he snickers before he continues munching on his ice cream. After speaking the fact into existence, Jake seems to be less nervous about the topic– approaching it with almost utmost nonchalance, leaving you space to process with panicked thoughts instead.

“I thought you invited me because you had no one else to invite,” you said, blinking slowly as if rebooting your brain.

“You thought I had no one else to invite?” he laughs, now in disbelief at your words. “I was cute in high school, thank you very much. You think no one else would wanna go with me?”

“Okay, don’t get all cocky on me now,” you grunt, huffing and pointing your eyes towards the ceiling.

Your brain takes on the challenge of projecting every single memory of Jake and your high school self together, seeing all those situations with much different eyes. You remember telling your friends about how sweet of a guy Jake always was– carrying your stuff for you, helping you with your Science homework, walking you home after your tutoring, buying you lunch– ‘any girl would be so lucky to date him!’. Your little advertisements never worked out, though, because your best friend never really cared about any other girl in the first place.

Now you kind of see why. And it leaves you wondering– are the late night calls you two shared when you’re away at university really just two friends missing each other? Does he get overly-protective over you because he wants to take care of you, or is it jealousy? That one time he called you ‘his girl’, was it perhaps something deeper that you missed?

“Are we talking past tense, though?” you hear yourself speaking out, and you don’t know why you’re suddenly holding your breath.

When you look at Jake, the popsicle is in his mouth and his brows are raised in question. Thinking he’s confused, you ask again. “Or do you still have a crush on me?”

The boy chokes a little on the ice cream, making you laugh at his animated response. His cheeks grow deep red, and he seems to be avoiding your gaze. Now, you’re no expert at body language, but if you were asked, you’d say this was a telling sign.

“You know what? Just keep the ice cream,” he says instead, the sweet, cold treat levitating in front of your lips now. Satisfied, with butterflies fluttering in your stomach and your fingertips tingling when they come in contact with his skin around the wooden stick, you take the popsicle into your mouth with the knowledge that you won.

Mid-july, melting into the hardwood floor of your Italian hotel room, you feel like there is something within your storyline that is slowly coming full circle. Maybe after years of denial, you’re finally going to face the feelings left unsaid.

#bjnet #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen drabbles #enhypen scenarios #jake sim #jake sim x reader #jake x reader #jake sim drabbles #jake sim scenarios #jake fluff #jake sim fluff #enhypen fluff

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blueberrymocha · 6 months ago

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hii! I love ur hcs i don’t want to is fandom to die either LOL! Could i pls request main four x reader slow dancing hcs?

main 4 slow dancing head canons ⑅⋆˚✿˖°༉‧₊˚.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

ׂ╰┈➤ fluff

➢ characters: gon, killua, kurapika, leorio

➢ word count: 562

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

gon

✯ this boy is such a ball of energy

✯ so he’d love to dance with you anytime

✯ and while he’s not particularly skilled at more formal dancing,

✯ he knows the general motions so he wouldn’t mess up too much

✯ while you’re dancing, he’ll talk every now and then in a soft voice about anything

✯ like the time he danced around the living room with aunt mito

✯ or what you two should do tomorrow

✯ he’s also gonna praise you regardless of how good you are

“woah y/n! i didn’t know you were such a great dancer.”

✯ as you step on his foot…

killua

✯ you’re gonna have to do some crazy things to get him on the dance floor with you

✯ he just never learned how to dance and doesn’t wanna look silly

✯ but if you’re completely alone and beg him for hours… he’ll give in

✯ hopefully you have some prior experience because you’re gonna be guiding him through the whole thing

✯ honestly he’s never even seen people slow dance

✯ but luckily, he’s already fluid and a quick learner so he’ll pick it up eventually

✯ although he’s not putting in a ton of effort so he does mess up a few times

“you’re doing that part wrong, it goes like this.”

“then why’d you teach me the wrong way?”

✯ when you probably taught it correctly and he just wasn’t paying attention

✯ once you’re done, he’ll tell you how he’s never doing this again, you’re the worst teacher he’s ever had, and now you owe him

✯ but you’re pretty sure it wasn’t as bad as he makes it out to be

kurapika

✯ he’s actually quite good at ballroom dancing

✯ neon probably dragged him to one too many formal events before he decided to learn

✯ but after a long day at work, it’d take a lot of convincing to get him to dance around for the fun of it

“love, you know i’m tired.”

“you’re always tired, just humor me once please.”

✯ unfortunately he has a hard time saying no to you

✯ don’t feel too guilty though because he enjoyed it a lot

✯ the two of you holding one another in comfortable silence, moving to the same rhythm, gazing into each other’s eyes

✯ any negative feelings he had that day completely dissipate

✯ eventually, he comes to a stop, laying his head on yours (or on your neck if you’re taller), giving you a quiet thank you and smile

leorio

✯ he’s not good at dancing, honestly i wouldn’t even ask

✯ on top of that, he’s very stiff and it just doesn’t come natural to him

“you know i’m horrible at dancing, don’t you?”

✯ he’d definitely preface with that, but if you don’t mind, neither does he

✯ and after putting on some music from the seventies, the two of you dance around your living room

✯ you might have to stop occasionally to reteach him a move, but he’s a good sport about it

✯ and good at applying your criticisms

✯ so who knows, maybe he’s half decent by the time you’re done with him

✯ at the end of the night, you joke about entering a competition

✯ and really, he wouldn’t mind dancing in public next time, as long as you’re having fun

#hxh x reader #hxh hcs #hxh headcanons #hxh imagines #hxh gon #hxh leorio #killua x reader #hxh fanfic #hxh killua #leorio x reader #kurapika x reader #hxh kurapika #gon x reader

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akookminsupporter · 1 year ago

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JIMIN AND JUNGKOOK AND THE HATE THEY DON'T DESERVE.

Being part of this fandom when your biases are Jimin and Jungkook is not easy. Forget about whether you believe there is something more between them; being a fan of them in this fandom is difficult. Every day is a new reason to feel helpless, upset, disappointed, and afraid that they see all the hatred they receive. Hatred they don't deserve, particularly Jimin.

I will never tire of saying how wonderful Jimin is and that, even though I don't know him, I can tell he is a good person, friend, and colleague. A respectful, affectionate, hardworking, dreamy person. One of those people who doesn't seem real, one of those people who are perfectly imperfect. And that's why I'll never understand why he receives so much hatred and why many in this fandom allow it.

Jimin has always been the number one enemy of Taekookers and many Solos, for different reasons but one in common: envy. These groups have always been able to say whatever they want about Jimin, and practically nothing, aside from his fans and Jikookers is said in response. And what's worse, when these fans say something to defend Jimin, they are labelled as Solos or reduced to mere shippers. Jimin cannot be defended, apparently.

The hatred they, particularly Jimin, have been receiving since their trip to Japan with Jungkook was announced is sad. What has happened since before the rumours that Jimin and Jungkook would enlist together in the army came out has crossed all kinds of limits. Jimin has been insulted in the vilest ways I have ever seen in my life, and virtually no one says anything—no one, except the usual ones, of course. When the rumours surfaced in the Korean press, the hatred intensified. Haters once again realized that they could say and do whatever they wanted, and nothing would happen to them because, once again, the fandom, in general, did nothing to defend Jimin, to silence the haters. Funny how that doesn't happen when it comes to another member.

After Big Hit confirmed that not only Jimin and Jungkook would enlist together but also that they would do it under a special program that guaranteed they would be together for the duration of their military service, hell broke loose. Disinformation became an everyday thing, insults, mockery too, and the target remains the same: Jimin.

You are guilty when you do something wrong, but you are also guilty when you do nothing when you see others doing something wrong. I believe even the latter is worse. Jimin and Jungkook decided to apply for a program that guarantees they will be together throughout their military service for reasons they only know and don't have to disclose, nor do they have to give explanations. That decision, which surely was not easy to make, must be respected by everyone, period. Not questioned, not belittled, not explained to fit into absurd narratives.

The way Taekookers always paint Jungkook as this manipulable person, incapable of making his own decisions, who always does what the company, according to them, tells him is deplorable, disrespectful, and further proof that they don't care about Jungkook. The way I've seen many diagnose Jungkook with different things, in treating Jimin as a helpless and weak being who needs a bodyguard with him to say that they applied to the program because they had to and not because they wanted to is insulting. And yet virtually no one says anything.

Jimin and Jungkook will never be the enemies that many want them to be. They will always be the two members who seem to be the closest. They will always be the ones who understand each other with just a look. They will always be the ones with the same sense of humour, who laugh in the same way, and who simply share more things in common. They will always be the ones who promised to go to the moon together and the ones who seem to have no secrets from each other. Those who comfort each other, who are there when one is sick etc.

JIMIN AND JUNGKOOK WILL NEVER BE THE ENEMIES MANY WISH THEM TO BE.

Reducing all the hatred they are receiving right now, and that they have always received, to a shipping issue is insulting, it's cowardly. If your conclusion is to blame Jikookers only, ignoring absolutely everything that Taekookers say daily, what Solos and akgaes say daily, let me tell you that you are a hater too. And you are, in a way, worse. YOU are the problem. If you are unable to stand up for them because you think it will make you a shipper, you are the problem because it goes beyond that. If you are afraid to defend the love, affection and trust that they obviously have for each other, if you are afraid to acknowledge that they are close, that they are great friends, you are the problem too. No one is asking you to accept that Jimin and Jungkook are married or anything like that, what many of us would expect from everyone who claims to be a fan of BTS, is to defend the members of EVERYTHING and EVERYONE. If you are incapable of doing that, you are the problem too. You are also a HATER.

I hope the time the boys are in the army serves to clean up this fandom from so much rubbish. I hope they find a fandom that supports all seven of them unconditionally when they return. That respects them and only wants the best for them.

But in this life, nothing is that easy, right? I'm afraid to think about what they will say when the documentary is released and what will happen when whatever Jimin and Jungkook filmed together is released. In a way, I'm glad they won't be here when all that comes out because the chances of them not seeing any of that will be high.

#jimin #jungkook #bts #bts military service #toxic fans #toxic stans #toxic shippers #jikook

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btheleaf · 2 months ago

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Fandom: Legend of Korra Characters: Pema & Lin Beifong Words: 726 Rating: General Audiences Read it on AO3 @flashfictionfridayofficial

“This was all Kya’s idea, you know.”

Pema turned her tired eyes on Lin who was just coming over to sit next to her. “What was?”

“This.” Lin gestured a lit cigarette at the group playing their game and then up at the sky. “On the full moon.”

Pema looked at the moon and then back at Jinora, Tenzin, Bumi, and Kya who were still playing the game they invented earlier in the night and flinched as another ice ball exploded.

“Waterbenders like full moons.” Pema was so tired that she wasn’t sure if she understood what Lin was saying, but hoped that was a decent response.

Lin’s lips pressed together in what could have been a smile, but Pema really wasn’t sure about that either. She watched the ember at the end of the cigarette glow and fade before Lin tossed it down on the stones to stomp it out.

“Come on, Pema.” Lin finally exhaled the smoke. “You’ve been married to him for over a decade, you never noticed how he gets around the full moon?”

Pema shrugged. “I guess he gets a little wired.”

She looked back out at the courtyard and flinched again as yet another ice ball exploded. Bumi started yelling that Tenzin was cheating, and Kya told Bumi he was bitter because he’s old and, well, bitter and old. The healer punctuated the sentiment by sticking her tongue out at him. Pema wondered if she should sneak down and snag the wine bottles while Kya and Bumi weren’t looking.

“None of them really sleep when there’s a full moon. They get it from their water tribe genes. I’m surprised you don’t know.”

“I’m not exactly in the business of staying awake all night. I do have four young children.”

“Three.”

Pema bristled. “She might have her tattoos but she’s still only eleven years old and you better remember that.”

“Touchy subject?” Lin put her hands up in a gesture of surrender when Pema didn’t dial down the glare. “I’ll back off.”

The two of them turned their attention back out to watch the group in silence. Kya sat in a chair and would pull water from the nearby spigot to form it into a hollow ball of ice. Pema didn’t know exactly what they were doing, but it looked like Tenzin, Jinora, and Bumi were fighting for control of the ball with their airbending while Kya zoomed it around in random patterns.

After watching for a while, Pema decided there must be a small hole in the ball somewhere that each of them was trying to get at. She curled her legs up to her chest and wished the four of them would go to bed. Tenzin, Kya, and Bumi were still injured from the Red Lotus attack, and Jinora’s skin must be hurting after the days-long tattooing sessions with Tenzin. She bit her lip in worry and flinched again as another ball exploded.

Jinora’s arm jutted out a couple seconds before the ball shattered like broken glass and she exclaimed with glee, jumping around while the others praised her. Bumi and Kya’s praise wasn’t quite so eloquent after all the alcohol, but they were trying to reel in the swear words, especially with Tenzin's pinpoint flicks of air to the forehead that he kept using as reminders.

“Looks like Jinora got the gene too,” Lin said casually.

“The gene that makes them stay awake during full moons?” The words came out flat because she was so tired, but truthfully, Pema thought Lin was being ridiculous.

“Mhm.”

“Everyone is still excited from the ceremony, that’s all.”

“Kya convinced Tenzin to have the ceremony today because she wanted to party all night." Lin pulled out another cigarette. "You’ll see as she gets older. The other kids are probably like that too.”

“Great.” Pema yawned.

Lin shrugged and lit her cigarette. “You get used to it.”

“I’m going to go take the wine away. Pray to a powerful spirit for me.”

Pema uncurled from her seat and walked down the hill towards the group. Lin chuckled and laid out on the grass; her eyes locked on a twinkling star.

“Give her strength, Uncle Aang.” Disgruntled protests from Kya floated up the hill not a moment later and Lin laughed again as she stood. “Okay, okay. My wife, I’ll go cut her off.”

#flash fiction friday #pema #lin beifong #my fic #tenzin #kya ii #bumi ii #pemzin #kyalin #jinora

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ideas-scattered-dreams · 2 years ago

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/ / silence? anger.

fandoms: genshin impact AU: SAGAU player au?

imagine that... You were just minding your own business and playing genshin as you always do when u have free time. you always do farming, collecting, taking pictures of your characters, doing quest as the usual. You hummed being satisfied of your works, you ran up in hills and killing some hiluchurls with your characters of choice. you were a silent player playing this game, like most games u play always being silent and if needed to talk you would. you never really need a reason to talk, what would the character do? reply? that's laughable. Though, the thought of the characters replying is nice, as you can have a conversation with someone your familiar with and don't need to be uncomfortable with each other... you smiled and chuckled at your own delusion, a character wouldn't be programmed do so here, but u don't mind to think of that way.

The character u control is enjoying your presence and your elegant face in the skies. they don't mind being used for your own gain or just to have fun in general. though they wish to hear your voice rather than a sigh and a hum. they have seen a lot of your emotions that are visible on your face but not once voiced it out... until now ofc. 🌙━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━⭐ You were currently doing a quest that involves... ill abort or albert. you HATED that guy with pure sin and anger, u couldn't stand to be around him, you would glare and just avoid him at all cause, especially when u use barbara (or main her), but i guess this was your unlucky day, you had to interact with him. You saw him behind the cathedral... again. agh you knew why he is there but u cant program him to just leave and jump off a bridge to the water,' now what does he want..' you approach him hesitantly just moving your character slowly, like micro slow. agh... When u got close to him u couldn't stand him. like omg he ugly asf, you wish u could actually kill him with your character right now... you grumble and had a frown adored about your face, teyvats skies grew gray and winds grew harsh... the citizens wonder why u are angry and upset.. they couldn't have that right? if you were angry at someone, they should be disposed off quickly... the character u are using glared daggers at abort or albert for making you upset, this man just had to anger their grace with his presence.. before abort finishes his first sentence, you beat boxed that bitch hard. "stfu u looking like that one father that cheated their wife with a fuckin maid and still say your sorry even when u got her pregnant, what's up with you goofy ah outfit? bro looks like a a fuckin cabbage that your hair complements lookin like mayonnaise and what is with your posture? man even madame ping and the other granny grandpas has better back sides, you look like a whole ah gorilla, what's with the hair? did u dye it yourself bc u want to fit in the blonde air way? you look like bakugo madapaking katsuki Walmart version, bro i see others lookin like u in this game but you be the WORST one, bro looks like dottores failed experiment that lived a day to tell the tale. are u fucking jobless to stay here and fucking stalk our sweet deaconess barbara? i aint even surprised by you being jobless, bro i'd be surprise if your not homeless. bro thought he was albert Einstein but bro is just a weirdo stalking mf don't even stare at me with those fucking eyes i wish to PLUCK OUTTTT... "

You panted from that long speech and walked away from him, not looking back to see his shocked face and a group of acolytes behind him including Jean looking angered and disgusted. You were to upset to do your routine with your character for now as u are tired from yelling at abort... maybe u will ignore his quest and do another later.. you sat them down on one of the cathedral seats outside and planted a kiss on your finger and placed the kissed finger to your characters lips and exited.

After you left, teyvats skies thundered infront of abort, the characters you used has their weapons out ready to murder the fuck out of abort.. i mean.. you wont notice if he is gone right your grace? 🌙━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━⭐ the next time you logged in the game, you dont see abort anymore, like he just.. didnt exist in the first place... but who are u to question? good radiance he is gone, this made your mood happy and hum. this isnt a dream right? this feels 100% real, hah. what a nice reality.

#➥🌙dreamer.ideas #sagau #genshin #sagau x male reader #sagau x female reader #sagau x gn reader #sagau x reader #genshin impact #i really like this one hehe

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maskedteaser · 6 months ago

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i find myself really wishing there was more reader x Javier fluff in the rdr2 fandom (or...fluff in general. there's so much smut.) so i was wondering if you could cook something up! :D (Preferably masc reader, but beggars can't be choosers LOL)

ofc i got you! beggars can be choosers on my page :)) I TRIED TO POST IT 3 TIMES AND TUMBLR IS JUST GIVING ME "SOMETHING WENT WRONG WHILE POSTING THIS.." ERROR!!! HELP!!! not proofread!

warnings: male reader written by a girl, teeth rotting fluff lmk if i missed something

CEREZO ROSA - JAVIER ESCUELLA X MALE READER

The silence between you two was not uncomfortable, it was needed as you two were almost out of breath. You two were running around the cute meadow you recently found and decided to ask Javier to join you on a little picnic. He was not sure at first, since he was scared that people around the camp might need him and that it was not okay to just leave without anyone knowing, but after some time of you almost begging him to just come with you on a little walk… Just on a little walk! He agreed, sighing heavily. But it was all but a little walk. You left early, right after you both had your first meal of the day, and before you could even notice the sun was going down already! Oh, how time flies when you're with the good company, huh? Chores already forgotten, whole camp not being important when you two were sitting, looking at each other, since you were each other's most precious, important things in the whole world. His soft, dark eyes slowly moving around, looking at you, trying his best to remember every detail of this moment. His hair was being gently moved by wind, and you just couldn't be happier. You got up, feeling a bit hungry, and Javier followed your moves with his soft gaze.

⎯⎯⎯⎯ where are you going, lindo? ⎯⎯⎯⎯ he asked, a bit unsure, clearly curious. Single strand of his hair fell on his nose, which he quickly fixed.

⎯⎯⎯⎯ we packed some fruits to eat while we're here, remember? ⎯⎯⎯⎯ you replied, smiling. Bending over, reaching to a little bag that was laying on the ground. You took two cans of your favorite canned fruits, one for you and one for him, obviously. When you got back, you sat next to him, even closer than last time. Leaning on his arm, you tried to open your can, but it was harder than you'd imagine, so you just sighed, giving it to Javier. He quickly picked up his favorite knife and opened it without a problem, he just spilled some juice on his hands. When you saw that, you giggled, thanking him for opening your food. Soft mutter escaped your lips when you felt the melting flavors on your tongue, sweet, a bit sour but definitely delicious. You closed your eyes for a bit, tired, you knew you were safe, since you were with Javier. If you looked up, you would see how red his cheeks got, the feeling of your body being so close to him was so much to process, you were close to each others, of course, but he was not sure how close. Could he call you his? How could he ask you for permission to be his partner, his boyfriend? Everyone around always told him how weird were people that liked the same gender, but he never thought that he'd have to experience it on his own skin. But when Javier falls, he falls HARD, that's why he was so nervous back then, scared to move a muscle, scared — because he didn't want to scare you away. He realized he loved you at the beginning of that summer, days went by, but the summer showed no sign of ending, as if that magical summer would last all year until another one finally took its place. For some reason he felt scared, he didn't want this time to end, because what if you distance yourself from him when autumn comes? What if the magical moments you two lived through will get erased withing a blink of an eye? Your future was uncertain, everything about it. But there was one thing Javier Escuella was sure of — the fact that he loved you, that no matter what people will say, he will love you, no matter what slurs he'll get called out by others, his love for you will only bloom more. Because when he looked at you, his little amorsito, he felt that nothing else matters anymore. You were not only the person he gave his heart to, but also a friend that understood him well and was always there to hear him out. Javier wanted to hug you, to put his arm around your shoulder and just sit there in silence. He knew he had to confess to you sooner or later, but it was so hard for him. His love was confessed around once or twice in his life, he was not experienced at all, especially not with guys. But as soon as he was close to making up his mind and finally speaking, feeling like this might be the right moment, you moved, your body moved, and he got distracted, by your smell, the warmth you shared with him. Oh, he looked down at the top of your head, and he couldn't believe that you didn't do that on purpose. There was no way you were that oblivious! He felt his heart race, so he put his hands on his face, trying to calm down.

⎯⎯⎯⎯ what's wrong? ⎯⎯⎯⎯ you said, feeling the arm you were leaning on moving slightly. You sat back up, looking at him, covering his face. You put your food aside and gave you the worried look. He peeked through his fingers, and god how he hated that look on you, because he knew that you truly cared for him, yet you for some reason still weren't his? It made him feel so guilty of not confessing earlier, but he was literally scared.

⎯⎯⎯⎯ I just… ⎯⎯⎯⎯ he started, but sighed, not knowing what to say. ⎯⎯⎯⎯ I… I just think that… Do you think there is any chance for us to be… Um… More than friends? I- I'm really sorry if that's too out of the blue and!- ⎯⎯⎯⎯ he was silenced by your face moving closer to him, by you leaning closer, putting both of your hands at each side of his hips, gently touching the green grass.

⎯⎯⎯⎯ … Oh, Javier… ⎯⎯⎯⎯ your voice showed a mix of emotions that went through your head, and that's the reaction he feared the most. He'd actually prefer if you just slapped him or called him a slur, but now… What were you? ⎯⎯⎯⎯ I always thought I was wrong for feeling this way for you… I was so sure that you'd never like me back… ⎯⎯⎯⎯ and then he heard… Relief. His eyes went wide, and his first instinct was to grasp your shoulders, which he did, not thinking much of it. His smile was precious, almost filled with child-like joy, as he replied: ⎯⎯⎯⎯ If we're weird, then let us be weird together, flor, I'll never let you be weird by yourself. ⎯⎯⎯⎯ he said, leaning to kiss you. His lips were dry, hungry, but the kiss was still so soft and full of love, full of happiness. Will you return that kiss...?

SIGNED TEASER IF THIS POST WILL NOT GET POSTED CAUSE OF THIS ERROR ONCE AGAIN I'M GIVING UP!!!

#rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella x you #rdr2 fic #teaser.writing.rdr2 #sorry for adding arthur tag guys :( i want to promote my things

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jjpopeclub · 6 months ago

Text

BEST FRIEND SHOULD FUCK MORE || JJPOPE BLURB

pairing : jj maybank x pope heyward

summary : first time concept ?

fandom : outer banks

warnings : smut. minors DNI. boys ship. oral (m. receiving). some teasing.

enjoy <3333

It was hard to sleep when you were too hot, and it was even harder when you wanted to fuck your best friend who slept next door.

Pope was tired, especially after having binge-watched Gregg Araki’s movies with JJ, The Doomed Generation, Splendor, Mysterious Skin, that movies connecting queer and gay romances. It made Pope curious about his sexuality, wondering if he could be with a man himself. He had always found the girls very pretty, and he was persuaded to marry one of them, to make his life with a woman. But some scenes remained in his thoughts. Then it did not help to be next to a completely sexy JJ, barely dressed, wearing only a boxer. It did not help to hear the tension, the breathing and the palpitations of the blond during the sex scenes as if he wanted to touch himself so much. Finally, he did. Pope pretended to see nothing when his best friend began to caress himself, his hand in his underwear. He pretended to be focused on the screen, doing the best he could to ignore his buddy’s moans. Except it was clearly impossible.

And then JJ pretended to have an urgent urge to go pee. But Pope knew it was a lie, so by an unhealthy and ambiguous curiosity, by the very desire to see his best friend jerk off in the bathroom, he also got up. In a religious silence, he had opened the door. JJ was sitting on the toilet, legs apart, shaking his cock so hard, moans of pleasure and exasperation at the tip of his lips. He had spit in his hand, before smearing his erection with saliva and making quick comings and goings. His fist was firmly wrapped around his size, the dripping pre-cum of his glans. He had rolled a few drops against his thumb before using it to go faster. It felt so good, the weight and pressure of his palm. Pope had been discreet, he had looked down at his boxer to realize that the situation had excited him. So excited he was hard.

Was it okay to want to fuck with your best friend? The whole world wanted to fuck JJ, and that made sense. But Pope? He felt terrible to feel such a twisted feeling. But if girls could fall in love or have sex with their close friends, why not him? Slowly, he had slipped one hand inside his underwear to grab his boner. Slightly harder than JJ’s. He had quickly imitated the blond’s gestures, covering his growls so as not to be tense. He could feel his balls contracting, he could feel all the blood boiling in his sex. It was such a good feeling. The boys masturbated together. It was normal. But did they fuck together? Pope was so confused. With his sexuality. With JJ. With what he wanted. With everything.

JJ was getting more excited. But the object of his fantasy had changed. Now he was thinking about Pope. He thought how much his mouth could make his dick come in minutes. It was no longer a desire but a need. And he needed it now. The more he pushed his fist against his firm length the more his legs trembled. His breathing was short. And Pope was a voyeur who was spying on this little show, masturbating. His fingers were pressed against his erection, and he had never gone so fast in his life. It was as if he felt the urgent and urgent need to enjoy. When JJ ejaculated, he had directed the whitish streaks on his belly. His abs were now covered in cum and sweat. He was hot, terribly hot. He was hesitant to go back to his best friend.

When he came back, Pope was in his place. He was staring at the screen, but with an indescribable expression. JJ had not asked about his face. They had finished the last movie before falling asleep. Finally, Pope was asleep.

JJ couldn’t do it. It was impossible. Jerking off in the bathroom wasn’t enough for him, but how do you tell Pope what he was thinking, how do you tell him without fear of being judged? He had turned so as to face Pope, not turning his back on him. And maybe it wasn’t a good idea to have him in front of him because now he wanted to kiss him. Inside, JJ was panicking. He was panicking because it was the first time he felt something, the first time a boy did it to him. Everything seemed easier when he was with a girl.

He put his face up, and did what he always did, look at his lips. Finding a handsome man, it didn’t mean anything. Beauty was a vast and slightly superficial context. It had nothing to do with sexuality. Yes? JJ thought too much, and it kept him from sleeping even more. He had gently pressed his lips against his, pushing his mouth a little more on the other. He had closed his eyes, as if refusing to see what he was doing.

— "What are you doing?"

Pope had opened his eyes. JJ had backed away. But strangely, he had not panicked. His eyes were shining, the light of the moon revealing his face. Pope did not seem upset or disturbed, just curious. He wasn’t going to lie that he hated it by being aware of the pleasure he felt when JJ kissed him. His kisses were sweet, and his lips cold and slightly damaged.

— "Dude. That’s not what you think."

— “I think that’s all I think,” Pope replied, getting closer to JJ, and kissing him in turn. “But don’t worry, I liked it.”

While JJ was gentler, Pope was more aggressive in his kissing. It was as if he had already kissed a man. He had swung over JJ, and had his tongue in the blond’s mouth, and then sucked his lips. It was fun. Pope felt so confident, it was like he was realizing his dream. He was living it with the same excitement.

He pulled out of his best friend’s mouth and went down. He pulled up his shirt before licking his abs. He licked it like there was still cum on it. JJ was unable to stay put. It was new, so new. He was struggling to realize what was going on.

— Tell me what you want, JJ, tell me what you want me to give you."

— "Doesn’t that disgust you?"

— "It would be a lie to say yes. Look, how hot you are. I want you."

— "How long has it been?"

— “Since you touched yourself in the bathroom.”

— "What?"

— "Next time, call me. Don’t do that. Why use your hand when you can have my mouth?"

— “Damn, suck me, man.”

Pope had begun to put kisses on his hips, while he lowered his underpants, going down on his legs. He’d licked his tummy, tickled his belly button, and then walked down the path to her cock. It was hard. Exactly, like before. Pope had looked at his best friend whose legs now encircled his neck.

— "Is this your first time doing this?"

— “Yes, but I really want to try.”

— "Do you know how?"

— “Relax, it’s going to be okay.”

JJ had tried to relax but it was a bit complicated when we weren’t supposed to be attracted to boys but ended up getting sucked by his best friend. Pope had licked the glans, covered it with saliva before hitting his cheeks with it. He had pressed his finger on the drop of pre-cum, creating a small wet net that he had destroyed by starting to suck the blond. JJ wondered if Pope was lying when he said he never had that, because he was doing too well for a beginner. Her mouth was perfect, she took her cock so well. It should be illegal to do such a good blowjob to your best friend, it should be illegal to be Pope Heyward. JJ had not resisted the urge to kiss him again, totally not caring that five seconds rather, the boy had his cock in his mouth. Their tongues had mixed in such an wild way.

— “Patience, needy boy.”

Pope had pushed his friend boy away, crushing him on the mattress gently and continued his blowjob. He kept a hand on the blond’s chest to hold it in place, while he took it in his mouth. Fuck, JJ’s moans were so exciting, it made him hard. In general, JJ was attractive but he was even more so in bed.

— "Are you sure you’re not gay?"

— "JJ. Just be the cute boy you are, that’s all. Would you do that for me?"

— "Cute?"

— “Yes, cute.”

Pope had tightened his mouth around JJ’s cock. He had descended, to the point of deep-penetrating his sex into his mouth, almost at throat level. JJ was going to go crazier. He’d been sucked by a bunch of girls, but they weren’t sucking like Pope. Everyone had his way, but Pope had divine lips. Fortunately he was not a believer, because he had lost his ticket to heaven.

JJ’s cock was sensitive, and when it was stimulated in this way, it was completely responsive. The simple touch, the simple tongue stroke, made her tremble. The blond felt embarrassed, embarrassed to have so quickly want to cum in the mouth of his best friend. It was only a few minutes ago, and he was already on the verge of the explosion. He was so nervous. When he released his sperm into Pope’s mouth, he was unable to look at it. He felt ashamed even though Pope told him it was okay, and it was nothing serious.

He had straightened up. The truth was that it had not been awkward between them. Pope and JJ were best friends, and they knew each other for a long time, so if it happened, it had to happen.

— "I think we should talk about that."

— "What do you call that? The fact that we kissed? The fact that you jerked off in my bathroom? Or the fact that I sucked you and you came into my mouth?"

— “That’s exactly it. We’re going to have to name this thing between us. We can’t just call ourselves best friends anymore, can we? I mean, John B is my best friend too, but I would never do that with him. It would never happen.”

— “I hope so.”

— "What do you mean?"

— "I don’t share you, JJ Maybanks. If John b wants a guy, he’s gonna have to go get another pogue. ”

— “Because you’re suggesting it’s going to happen again? We’re going to do it again?”

— “ Because you really thought you could start this and stop it now? You know me better than that.”

— "Because you think I’ll accept that you put your dick in my hole?"

— “You were kind enough to put yours in my mouth, so it would be pretty fair, don’t you think? Take turns. You got the top hole, I got the bottom hole.”

— "You can always dream of it."

— “Ok, let’s make that game with, rock, papers, scissors.”

JJ agreed. And he lost. It made Pope smile..

— “It’s too bad for you.”

— "Shut up, will you?"

— "Be rude, and I will be even more rude when I will have my cock deep balls inside you."

— "I swear if you hurt me, I’ll hurt you even more."

—“It’s going to be okay. You need to relax.”

— "How can you tell me to relax at a time like this? And don’t tell me to relax by the way."

— “JJ.”

— "Yes, thank you. I know my name."

— "Don’t be sarcastic. We don’t have to do this tonight, or even tomorrow. It’s still new, we can wait."

— “Do you mind?"

— “I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life, I can wait a little longer.”

— "You think it’s romantic to want to fuck me all your life? Because I don’t."

He looked up. And Pope lay down beside him.

— “That’s not what I meant.”

— “So what did you mean?"

— "How happy I am that you are in my life."

— "At the same time, who is not happy that I am in her life? I am fantastic."

— "Seriously, JJ? Do you have to ruin this moment?"

— “You know, I thought I’d be terrified of doing that with you. I mean, I never did that. I was afraid things would go wrong between us, but you’re a good guy. You couldn’t disappoint me.”

— “Do you think we should watch another movie now that we’re awake and horny?"

— “Okay.”

— “By the way, next time. Touch yourself here. I want to see you. ”

~ ~ ~ ~

@JJPOPECLUB

#jj maybank #pope heyward #jj x pope #jjpope #jjpope fic #obx fandom #obx boys #obx gay #obx netflix

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sunnyupsidedown · 2 months ago

Text

Tender

Word Count: 1873 [AO3]

Rating: Explicit

Summary: It was so different from their usual encounters. There was no opening remark to set the scene. No falling into a role to be a slightly different version of themselves.

A/N: Wrote this months ago and originally wasn't happy with it BUT I wrote something (in a different fandom) that I'm even less happy with so this doesn't feel so bad anymore lol. Time to release it to the wild. Written because I craved something tender between Jack & Alan.

It was always eerie to be in his house when no one else was around. It wasn’t exactly silent with the creaking of the wood and the thin walls letting every noise imaginable filter in from the street, but without the constant chatter of children, the sounds of cooking in the kitchen, and the general hum of life, it might as well have been a graveyard.

The weeks he sent his family to the seaside while he stayed back to work was only worth it because it gave his family a time to forget the situation they were struggling through. Emily and Tom still brought up stories of chasing gulls and collecting shells and every repetition brought a smile to Alan’s face.

This time his family was packed up and sent to Cheetham Hall. He would be joining them in a few days time after he took care of an important deadline. Alan didn’t know if it was better or worse that he wouldn’t be there to see his family meet Lady Cheetham.

In the meantime, Alan would stay with Jack once Alan picked up the list of items his family forgot to pack but remembered as they were about the hop on the train. With the items quickly located and stored in a bag by the front door, Alan and Jack stood in Alan’s attic bedroom with Jack leaning on the wall by the door and Alan digging though his desk to find his newest draft. It wasn’t quite evening yet with the sun’s golden rays illuminating the dust motes floating in the air.

“We could stay here for the night,” Jack broke the silence.

“No.” Alan’s reply was instant as he continued to page through some of the papers in a side drawer. Alan felt the heat of Jack’s body as he crowded up behind him.

“You’ve slept at my place, let me sleep here,” Jack tried again.

“Well you’re fucking rich. Still no.” Alan sniped back.

“It would be quite a novel experience.” Jack snaked an arm around Alan’s waist and bent to tuck his chin on his shoulder.

“Oh fuck right off!”

“When will it ever be just the two of us here again?” Jack continued unphased.

Alan turned in the embrace and took in Jack. The juxtaposition between Jack and the hovel of his room raged a war in his mind. Jack stood tall and at ease with entire worlds in his ice blue eyes. They suddenly flicked to the side and a smile quirked his lips.

“Oh, what’s this?” Jack asked, sliding a hand from Alan’s waist to an item in his desk drawer.

Alan could feel his face heat with the sight of Jack’s handkerchief between them, but the truth came out of his mouth when he opened it just to see what Jack would do. “Writing inspiration. What else could it be?”

He wasn’t disappointed when one of Jack’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes darken deeply. Jack stepped closer with a question in the way his eyes dropped to his mouth and it was like their lips were magnets. Jack true north and to Alan’s south. Alan shifted up on his toes, tilted his head, and wrapped a hand around the back of Jack’s neck, helpless to the pull.

A hand slipped around his thighs and then he was sitting on his desk. The strain in his neck relieved and the angle changed to something deeper, dirtier.

Alan was at a precipice. If this went on any longer, if he did not stop what was happening, his only haven would no longer be his alone. It would forever hold the memory of this moment with Jack. Jack was a large man with even a larger presence. Alan thought back to the first time Jack was in this room and the uncertainty of the future. If Jack didn’t survive… If Alan didn’t survive... If Jack grew tired of him after the danger was gone and tossed him aside like an old newspaper, then he would be left with no space untainted by the memory of Jack. No refuge. Jack blurred the boundaries of easy fantasy and cruel reality.

But now, months later, Jack was here with him in the room again. Alan slept over at Jack’s at least twice a week but saw him almost everyday: for lunch, for dinner, for tea, for a walk, at the Blyth’s while Spinet was rebuilding. Bella won’t stop smirking during family meals when he can’t seem to keep Jack off his tongue. There was a certain room at the Hawthorn residence that Alan refused to call his. He doesn’t even sleep there but it holds a few suits that have been forced onto him and a desk with a few favored notebooks and pens.

His attic room was no different with traces of Jack creeping in with the handkerchief, a borrowed pen, a smooth rock from Cheetham Hall.

Jack pulled back but stayed close with his forehead leaning on his. “Have I ever told you…” The rumble of his voice, thick with desire, sent a shiver down Alan’s spine. “...that I didn’t have a favorite color until I saw how light reflects from your eyes?”

And suddenly the decision was made. He was falling from the cliff, hurling himself from the edge to reach the man in front of him.

Alan brought their lips together again briefly before pushing Jack back. Alan’s chest heaved. “I want to feel your skin pressed against mine.”

Getting undressed was easier for Alan. His ensemble had less layers, less fiddly pieces. He finished and watched a shirtless Jack start on his pants. Even naked, he could see the wealth in Jack from the full flesh on his body and the shine of his hair. But with the backdrop of the tiny attic room and without the outside wrappings of a lord, it was easier to see Jack as the sum of his actions. Almost like they were equals in society.

Jack stepped out of his drawers and Alan was there, running his hands through the soft hair on Jack’s chest, absorbing the heat of his body. Alan pushed Jack two steps back to the edge of the bed. Jack got the hint and sat with Alan falling into his lap with a kiss.

Alan’s hands roamed the broad expanse of Jack’s back, lightly running his nails up and down. His fingers slowly made their way up into Jack’s hair and pulled. He could feel Jack’s prick jump against his own and a moan escaped him. Alan kissed down Jack’s throat and bit on the soft spot at the base of his neck. The desire to consume everything that was Jack Alston overwhelming.

Jack suddenly lifted and laid Alan down on the bed. A quick rummage in his still open desk drawer had Jack tossing a jar of lotion on the bed and then his mouth was on Alan’s body consuming him in return with a whispered, “You’re going to drive me mad.”

Jack started at his lips, then the soft skin under his chin, his neck, his collarbones, each nip at his nipples pulled a gasp from his throat. Jack kissed the spot under his last ribs almost ticklish with its lightness before he’s between his legs biting the sensitive skin of his inner thighs.

“Don’t choke this time,” Alan managed to get out and he’s rewarded with a pinch to his thigh that makes the molten core of his being burn hotter.

Jack wasn’t necessarily good, not that Alan had much hands-on experience in either direction, but the fact that it was John Frederick Charles Alston groaning around his prick in his mouth made up for all of it.

Alan’s entire body trembled when a slick hand slid between his cheeks. Jack sucked hard and pushed a finger in and Alan couldn’t stop the near shout from leaving his body. Jack continued to gently open him up. So, so gentle it was almost too much. Alan had to pull Jack up into a kiss.

It was so different from their usual encounters. There was no opening remark to set the scene. No falling into a role to be a slightly different version of themselves. Right now, kissing in Alan’s small attic room striped bare, they were Alanzo and Jack. No lords, no journalists, just two men.

It was terrifying.

It was exhilarating.

Jack lined up and pushed into Alan with a grunt in one smooth stroke. They stayed there breathing, staring straight at each other. Jack had his arms bracketed around the sides of Alan’s head, his hair mused from Alan’s fingers. A red blush bloomed on his cheeks, down his neck, on his chest. His eyes soft and open with a tenderness that made Alan want to weep. And maybe he did because Jack ran the pads of his thumbs under his eyes and dropped a soft kiss to his forehead, to his nose, to his lips and lingered.

Alan hooked an ankle around Jack’s back to let him know he’s ready and Jack moved like there was all the time in the world. Each stroke a slow eternity driving Alan closer and closer to insanity. Jack shifted and the angle changed and the pace was suddenly unbearable.

Alan used his legs again to nudge and Jack moved up and around to hold Alan in his lap again, giving him all control. With Jack’s hands on his hips to steady him, Alan moved faster, though not by much, like anything faster would break the moment building between them.

A hand found its way to him and softly stroked in time with their movement. Jack sighed his name into his mouth and Alan was unmade with Jack releasing in him a few moments later.

Alan came to with his arms hooked around Jack’s shoulders and breathing into the hollow of his neck. They shifted again together. Careful so Jack didn’t slip out because Jack knew that Alan liked the feeling. Alan moved to kiss Jack deeply in return because that was what Jack liked. It was startling to realize the language they have created together. A type of cradlespeak built from their time together. A mingling of them so that a light pull of his hair has Alan leaning in closer and a nip at his lips has Jack running his hands in slow circles on Alan’s back.

They stayed curled into each other until the late afternoon sun faded into the oranges of evening. Jack breathed softly in sleep, a hand resting on Alan’s chest. He would wake him soon because there was still no way he would let Jack sleep overnight in his cramped bed. He himself didn’t want to sleep in his cramped bed with Jack taking up most of it.

Now in the haze of evening, Alan couldn’t remember why Jack’s mere presence in his haven was such an ordeal. It was always going to be a losing battle. He was already ruined the moment he laid eyes on him on that boat. The gravitational pull between them was too strong. Too heady. And he was in so deep that no matter what, he would be obliterated.

#a power unbound #the last binding #jack alston #alan ross #write junk #m

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klbwriting · 10 months ago

Text

Not Romeo, Not Juliet

Chapter 6 - Life's Key

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: none, this is just friendship building fluff

Summary: Jason goes to meet YN at the playground

Keep thy friend / Under thy own life’s key.

— ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, ACT 1 SCENE 1

Jason spent most of Saturday getting new gear together. He wasn’t going to let one run in with some thugs stop him from keeping Crime Alley, or just YN in general, safe. He needed to update somethings, get a kit he could keep on him at all times, and get something sturdier than an old hockey mask. He called around, finding some grappling equipment, smoke bombs, a couple knives, and finally a helmet that he could wear that would protect his whole head. It took about 2 hours to gather everything and hide it in the garage where Dick wouldn’t go looking. And Dick was a suspicious fuck at the moment.

“So, this fight, was it the same jock again?” Dick asked over breakfast on Sunday morning after spending all Saturday at a work function and just generally avoiding Jason. He assumed that Dick was waiting for him to come to his big brother to talk, but after his disparaging remarks against YN Jason didn’t really want to do that.

“Yup,” he said, emphasizing the p. Dick sighed at the curt answer, so Jason elaborated, having had time to flesh out this story. “I was leaving school after practice, they were leaving after some football thing, guess they still keep going even though the season is over, and the one from before threw his helmet at me, that is where this is from.” He motioned to the bandage on his face. Dick worried his jaw, looking like a cow chewing grass.

“And you didn’t go to the hospital?” Dick asked. Jason stared at him. When had any of them ever gone to a hospital? Jason was pretty sure he was still considered legally dead in some places. Dick sighed. “Ya, that was dumb, realized that when I said it.” They sat in silence for several minutes, Jason pushing Dick’s horrible eggs around on his plate.

“I’m going to run lines tonight with some of the seniors from Hamlet,” he said, wanting to make the concerned look on Dick’s face go away. Let him think he had made friends with those assholes. “Thought you weren’t big fans of them after that whole open mic night prank?” he asked. Jason shrugged.

“I’m not, but they’re fine to work with on the play, plus there’s this junior playing Gertrude who is pretty, she’s going to be there,” he said. He wasn’t lying, the junior was pretty, but he had no interest in her. Plus, there wasn’t really a practice session going on that night anyway, he just needed an excuse to be out of the house that night.

“What is she like?” Dick asked. Shit, Jason hadn’t expected this. He scrambled.

“Um, she’s pretty, blonde, kind of a badass, carries a dagger, likes the Yankees, ya know, weird in a school full of douche bags,” he said, describing as best he could to describe Annabeth from the Percy Jackson series. If you going to describe a fictional crush might as well pull a real book girlfriend you wish you’d had. Dick nodded.

“Sounds like your type,” he said, smiling. “Glad you’ve found someone in your school.” Jason kept his face neutral but was confused. He never thought Dick was the classist type, but maybe that was why he was so against Jason spending time with YN. Would be a real dick move considering that Jason himself was once from that same gutter. Just because he got lucky (or stupid) and stole a couple tires didn’t mean he was anything better than YN. She was going to Gotham Academy for a reason, scholarship or maybe an arts grant if her acting was as good as her singing, so she definitely wasn’t just a random person on the street. None of this made sense to Jason and that made him angry.

“I have to do some homework, I’m going to head out, its stuffy in here,” he said, throwing a look to Dick. Dick looked confused but just nodded. Jason grabbed his back of tricks and his phone, checking again for another message from YN as he headed to the garage. She had sent the one message to meet and then stopped, not even confirming she’d gotten his reply. He wanted to go check on her, but once again, he wasn’t going to be a stalker, so he went to a nearby park instead.

After several hours of actually catching up on homework and reading through The Turn of the Screw for a lit class he let curiosity get the better of him. He pulled out his laptop again and booted up some of the software that Dick thought he didn’t know about. Nightwing needed to find people, and Oracle knew all the tricks, so Jason copied Dick’s hard drive and took them. Red Mask (name to be changed, that one still sucked) needed to find criminals too. He searched up YN’s name and found…nothing. She had a mother, no father listed, an address, no social media, no outstanding warrants, no bills even. The only person who had anything was her mother, who had ridiculous medical bills, but no rent to pay. Jason frowned. This screamed a mysterious benefactor. Who was helping them and why? He looked at his phone, seeing that he needed to head over to the playground, so he closed up shop and headed off, making sure to pick up some tacos on the way.

YN was sitting at the top of the slide when he arrived, climbing down the dumbwaiter shaft that used to seem a lot bigger when he was small. She smiled when she saw him, but quickly pretended to yawn, not looking in his direction anymore. He smiled a little, maybe he wasn’t the only one with a crush. She looked at her phone before sliding down.

“You’re late,” she said, crossing her arms. He held up the bag. “What is that?”

“Tacos?” he offered, holding it out to her. She opened it and moved to where her things were, sitting down on a blanket. “Thought we could eat first, and these are the best in Bludhaven.” She took one and handed him back the bag, producing two water bottles from her bag and cookies.

“My mom sometimes bakes on good days,” she said. Jason looked at the cookies and then at her, a questioning look on his face. He knew her mom was sick, but she didn’t know that. “My mom is sick, cancer, but some days she’s really active and today was one so I just thought I’d bring a snack…”

“Thank you,” Jason said, taking a cookie and biting it. He made a face. O these were amazing. “Holy shit.” She laughed.

“Ya, that’s typically the reaction,” she said, eating some of the taco. “Jesus, these are good too.”

“Ya, but I didn’t make those, although mine would be better,” he said. She gave him a quizzical look. “Hey, I cook a lot, when I lived with Bruce we had Alfred and he taught me everything I know.”

“Was he like the in-house chef?” she asked, finishing one and grabbing another as he chowed on the cookies. Jason shrugged.

“He was kind of everything. We didn’t have like a big staff or anything, just Alfred, everyone else came once a week or something to do cleaning or the gardens and shit,” he said. “Fuck I sound like such an ass.” YN shook her head.

“No, you don’t, that’s what you lived, you’re not an ass about it. Not like you’re bragging that you made this Alfred clean your dirty underwear or something. He taught you to cook, that’s nice,” she said. Jason smiled at her. “Now, how are your rehearsals going?”

“Trying to spy on the competition?” he asked. She raised her eyebrows at him. “They’re fine, although pretending to even Chelsea is difficult.” She laughed and pulled out MacBeth. “How are yours?”

“They’re fine, I’m having some trouble though, do you mind pretending to be my husband?” she asked. He chuckled.

“You ask me that without a ring?” he teased, walking over to her, taking the script she offered. Scene 1, Act 7. “Remember, I have only read this so my MacBeth will probably suck.”

“You can’t be any worse than the guy playing him at school,” she said. Jason nodded and let himself slid into the roll of the king tortured by destiny. YN was amazing as Lady MacBeth, and then Ophelia, or Horatio, or Polonius, she was a chameleon. After an hour or so of practicing they sat on the swings, competing to see who could jump off further. Then it was tag around the playground. Jason hadn’t let himself have fun like this since…well since he was playing there as a child. They finally settled back on the blanket sitting and leaning against each other.

“You’re amazing you know that?” he said suddenly, looking down at her leaning to his shoulder. “And just because you’re the best actress I’ve ever seen.” She blushed deeply.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the compliment easily. He watched her as she stared straight ahead, not looking at him. “You’re so flawless when you act,” she said softly. “Its like you can just sink into being another person, it’s a little scary honestly.” Jason sighed.

“When I was living with Bruce it was like I had to be two different people. He was most of the time an alright dad, but when he was in a mood, mostly when he was trying to teach me something, I had to be like a perfect son, a little carbon copy of him. It was like slipping into a mask, hiding who I was or who I wanted to be,” he explained, telling her things he’d only ever told his therapist. “And then I died…” He stopped and she looked at him.

“You…died?” she asked softly. He sighed.

“Yea, this past summer, the um accident I had, I died for a few minutes and it wasn’t Bruce’s fault, but I think afterwards he just, wasn’t right. Didn’t want to bother with my antics anymore. It broke something so now I’m still just trying to figure out who I was when I was his son and who I am now,” he said. “And Dick has been great, trying so hard to be a good brother and almost father, but even with him, I have to wear a mask still. The only person I really feel like I can be me around is you.” He felt a hand on his unbandaged cheek, he leaned into it.

“I feel similar,” YN said. Jason nodded for her to continue. “My mom, I have to be brave, even though she’s going to die, and soon, and I don’t have anyone else. I don’t know who my father is, we have no other family that knows I exist. Apparently, my mom was still a teenager and had some kind of affair with a married man. And despite the fact that she was raped by an adult her family blamed her so now its just us. And when I’m around her I have to be perfect, like after the open mic when those guys threw water balloons of Kool-Aid at me and I was covered in red sticky goo pretty much, when I got home, I had to pretend everything had been amazing so that she wouldn’t get sicker from stressing out about me. I don’t really have anyone to talk about that stuff with.” Jason turned her face to look at him.

“You have me,” he said softly. She nodded and, in that moment, he could have kissed her, could have taken another step, but he could see that wasn’t what either of them needed. At that moment they didn’t need the romance that was there, they needed the friendship that was also there, just as important and just as powerful. He pulled her into a hug, holding her close for several minutes until his phone went off.

“My brother wants me home to get some sleep,” he said. She nodded. “Let me walk you home.”

“Sure,” she said. She stood, taking his hand. He held it as he walked her back to her apartment. “Are you going to be safe?” she asked.

“Ya, my bike is just down the street actually,” he said, pointing towards an alley nearby. “So, I don’t want to stress your mom out, but maybe I could come to your place next time?” She nodded.

“And if you ever want to, you can come to mine too,” he said. “If you ever get over to Bludhaven.” She smiled and leaned up, kissing his cheek over the bandage gently.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” He nodded and watched her get inside before driving home, feeling several pounds lighter and freer than he had in years.

#jasontodd #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #redhood #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #notromeo

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madamefluffnstuff · 4 months ago

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TES Summerfest 2024, Day 2: Golden Secret

Day 2 of TES Summerfest 2024! Hosted by @tes-summer-fest.

I mean it's a day late but this week has been hectic.

Fandom: Elder Scrolls Online Pairing: None Rating: T Warning(s): Imprisonment, Captivity, Kind of sort of Kidnapping (it's Meridia, she's a spiteful hag, it comes with the territory), Gaslighting, Has a Happy Hopeful Ending I Swear (TM), Darien gives himself a second chance. Spoilers for the Daggerfall Covenant questline and the Summerset DLC. Words: 977 AN: Darien is a good source of angst but Divines I need to give him a chance at hope. And I need to quit making stuff that breaks my own heart, this can't be good for me. Or for my followers.

Darien is imprisoned by Meridia for trying to escape again and she locks him away. All he has are his thoughts to motivate him.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the name "The Colored Rooms", the realm itself was... not very colorful. The only exception to the blues, greens, and browns was the brand new "prison cell" Meridia whipped up. This mockery of a Nirn jail was a porcelain-white hue with garish gold accents and bars, only big enough for a single prisoner.

Coincidentally, there was, in fact, a singular prisoner in the cell. His back pressed against the wall, wrists in shackles attached to said wall level with his head. As if just chains weren't bad enough, Meridia just had to put it where he could constantly see his hands, but not be able to use them.

"Well, now you've done it," Darien Gautier muttered to himself, glaring at the golden bars and crumpled paper sheets in front of him. He rolled his shoulders and clenched his fists to get some circulation flowing.

He cursed himself again for getting caught. He managed to get a few letters out, even a small pamphlet that somehow made its way to Summerset. But as he was about to send another letter, the Lady of Light discovered his little secret.

Meridia scolded him like a petulant child. Didn't he appreciate what she was doing for him? Saving his friends, keeping them alive? Dissuading the other Princes from coming after them? Giving them a chance to make a name for themselves?

Be the heroes they were meant to be?

Something about that last line made something snap in the back of his mind, and- in the heat of the moment- Darien leapt to his feet and did something he never thought he'd have the guts to do;

He talked back to a god.

What he actually said, he didn't remember. Couldn't remember, maybe. All he did remember was there being a solid ten seconds of stunned silence. Then a blinding white light. And finally, him waking up in the cell with a killer hangover-like headache and his arms in chains.

His memory as a whole was foggy most days, but he didn't dare to write any of it down for fear Meridia would find out and take that from him too. Little bits and pieces would come back here and there. Those fleeting memories were precious to him.

The Lion Guard taking down the werewolves in Camlorn. The liberation of Shornhelm with Countess Tamrith and Captain Jenaeve. When they almost lost the good Captain. Gwendis helping him find the smugglers' tunnels. Skordo calling him a "long-legged bastard", asking him to slow down when they were being chased.

Hearing second-hand Gabrielle mention to the Antiquarian's Guild how she wanted to save him.

"Gods DAMN IT ALL!" He nearly roared in frustration. The metal bar on the wall creaked as he leaned forward, gasping for air as he fought back frustrated tears. "Why... why is it... like this..."

Darien slumped back and slid down, the chains clinking and rattling as his eyes slowly closed in exhaustion. Whether or not he realized it, his tired body was forcing him to rest. He was simply too drained.

Then, without warning, it clicked: His friends. His comrades. Allies and fellow soldiers.

The entire Lion Guard, the Countess and her sister. Skordo the Knife. House Ravenwatch. Gabrielle. The late King Dynar. His own father, the General.

They were waiting for him. They were actively looking for him. He couldn't give up on them or himself. Not when so many people cared about him and were awaiting a miracle.

He opened his eyes warily, half expecting to see Meridia glowering at him. To his relief, she was nowhere to be seen. Darien decided to wait a few minutes to make sure there were no watch guards nearby where they could hear him. Then, slowly, he rocked himself enough to get on one knee. He balled his hands into fists and started to pull against the wall.

"Got to do this," he muttered in a voice just barely above audibility. "Have to... get out... Have to do it- nngh!- for them..."

Even Daedric metal has its limits. As he grunted and strained against his confines, Darien could hear the binds groaning. He grit his teeth;

"You can do it, Darien. Just- just a bit- more-!"

Without warning, the shackles on the wall snapped and shattered, the noise startling him a little as the support bar flew over his head and clattered on the floor. He looked at his hands in disbelief, he was really free? Fists clenched and unclenched. He didn't dare believe it.

Darien stood up on shaky legs, testing himself and his balance. Once he steadied, he rubbed his sore wrists and looked around. The coast was clear. He was more determined than ever now as he stalked over to the golden prison bars. A quick glance told him they were not as sturdy as they appeared far away. Another trick from Meridia?

It didn't matter now. His body moved somewhat automatically as the blood rushed through his veins, vigor and vim flowing through him. He grabbed two of the gold rods in an iron grip and pulled. The bare minimum effort was all it took to completely dislodge them. Suspicion took over a moment, this was too easy for his comfort.

Maybe Meridia didn't expect her protege to try to escape again and didn't bother to make them as strong. Psychological tactic, very similar to what he had seen a few times as a soldier. But he reminded himself it didn't matter right now. The chains were off, the bars removed, and a door was open. Darien took a cautious step outside the prison cell. Looking around, he was still in the clear.

When he turned back around, the jail was slowly fading into Oblivion.

He looked left, right, and made a mad dash for the pathway where he last spotted a portal to Nirn.

#tes summerfest 2024 #tesfest24 #eso #golden #secret #the elder scrolls #elder scrolls online #darien gautier #eso darien gautier #daedric prince #meridia #elder scrolls meridia #tw captivity #tw imprisonment #tw gaslighting #tw kidnap mention

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endlesstwanted · 5 months ago

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Loud Beat, Broken Beat, Lost Beat

Entry for @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt #264 — Counting Clocks. Read under the cut and on Ao3 here.

Fandom: Challengers (Movie 2024)

Rating: General Audiences

Characters: Tashi Donaldson, Art Donaldson, Patrick Zweig, Reader

Tags: Character Study, No Plot/Plotless

Summary: A character study on Tashi and the image people have of her.

Wordcount: 288

Tashi has always been a mystery to everyone. At some points, also for herself.

Punctual like a clock, efficient like the ones made in Switzerland, and hardworking like one with infinite battery.

For Art, Tashi was a puzzle he enjoyed not knowing the answer to. Every part of her worked together like a thousand clocks working at the same time, clicking at the same time, as overwhelming as it was comforting.

Art knew some sounded louder than others, but he couldn’t know why. And he didn’t want to know why, because he liked that at least something of Tashi wasn’t God-made.

It was proof that she was human. And Art didn’t need to know which clock was better than which because they were all the same and they all sounded perfect.

For Patrick, Tashi was a soundtrack of drum beats that never stopped and never got old. Something he would never get tired of. Something he liked to sit and watch.

There were different tones and rhythms, shooing away the silence that haunted her like it haunted him. It was messy and exciting and made him grateful that his heart pumped blood.

The only thing that could get closer to being a disaster about her. Maybe that’s what Patrick can never get away from.

If you ask her, Tashi won’t let anything go.

She’ll make you rethink your words and explain with detail what’s making you fail and stopping you from being a pro tennis player. She’ll make you want to ask her a thousand more questions, trusting that she had answers for all of them, and knowing your life would never be the same after her.

But once the clicking starts, you can only sit, and watch.

#flash fiction friday #challengers #tashi duncan

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inner-sakura · 6 months ago

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Even Superheroes Need Sunscreen!

Rating: General Audiences Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Relationships: Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng Chapters: 1 of 3 Summary: Two very tired teen heroes + one afternoon nap in the sun = quite possibly the most ridiculous reveal ever. [Or, the one where Ladybug and Chat Noir rely a little too much on their super-suits, Tikki waxes poetic about SPF, and Alya gets the last laugh. And the first. And many subsequent ones as well.]

Read it here

chapter 1: burnout

At last, springtime has come to Paris.

The sun is shining, the birds are singing…

“GRAWWWWWWWR!”

The akuma du jour lets out one final enraged cry, before dissolving in a swirling, malevolent cloud of purple.

Ladybug gazes on tiredly, the object she’s just purified still crushed under her right foot. When she thinks no one is looking, she gives it an extra stomp for good measure.

It was the first nice day that Paris had seen in months, and she spent the majority of it chasing after a giant, fire-breathing monster—complete with razor-sharp fangs and a viciously spiked tail that had sent her and Chat Noir careening through the walls of at least thirteen buildings by her final count.

Mostly Chat though, she thinks, wincing apologetically as she meets her partner’s eyes.

He tilts his head in confusion as he helps Monarch’s latest victim to their feet, question clear in his gaze.

All good, LB?

She nods discreetly, smiling at the young woman who’s glancing between the two of them with a confused sort of awe.

Once the Miraculous Cure has been cast, and they’ve ascertained that she’s well enough to see herself home, Ladybug and Chat Noir vault away, neither willing nor particularly interested in sticking around much longer to deal with the growing crowd.

They run side-by-side for a while, vaulting over rooftops and around brick chimneys in silence, until they’re certain the coast is clear.

“UGH!”

Chat collapses first, rolling into a somersault as he lands on the roof of an abandoned building. Instead of rising as she’d expected, he remains splayed out on the ground, limbs akimbo.

“I thought that fight was never gonna end!”

Grateful for the excuse to give in to her burgeoning exhaustion, Ladybug drops to the ground next to him, trying not to let on just how tired she actually feels.

She rolls her neck, groaning when it lets out a pop.

“I know, right? I had to recharge two separate times. I haven’t had to do that in forever! I can’t tell if that means Monarch is getting better at this, or that I’m losing my touch...”

“Well, it’s definitely not the latter,” Chat snorts, shooting her a sideways look. Ladybug tries her best not to flush at the indirect compliment. She’s only partly successful. “Honestly, I think it was just a lucky break on Monarch’s part. That woman’s sheer pigheadedness could have rivaled even Chloe Bourgeois on a bad day.”

Ladybug chokes on a laugh, surprised to hear such a jab falling from Chat’s lips. Although occasionally cheeky, her partner was normally much more mild-mannered; polite almost to a fault, even with people Ladybug herself found to be hopelessly annoying.

Clearly, she wasn’t the only one who was more tired than they were letting on.

“Aww,” she leans into his space, her hand rising to pet his hair. “Sounds like someone’s a grumpy kitty today. Not getting enough beauty sleep?”

Chat purses his lips, green eyes narrowing at her teasing.

“I think we both know that is not the case,” he says archly, gesturing down the length of his body as though to say ‘Uh, hello? Have you seen me?’

Ladybug’s eyes flick over him briefly, taking in the lean musculature of his torso underneath the black leather; the breadth of his shoulders, and the slim taper of his waist that would have made even the most seasoned of runway models weep with envy.

Okay, fair point, she acknowledges with a proverbial tip of her hat. Though she’d rather die than admit it aloud.

Instead, she gives him a conciliatory scratch behind the ears.

Despite his earlier pique, Chat’s body language is anything but displeased as he leans into her touch, nuzzling the hand currently playing with his hair. After a few increasingly slow blinks, his eyes fall shut and stay that way, a contented smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he basks in the attention.

Her lips quirk up almost unwittingly in response.

This cat, honestly…

Ladybug slowly reclines next to him, propping her head on one fist as she takes the opportunity to examine his profile.

No, she concludes after several moments. If Chat Noir is losing sleep, it’s not at all apparent in his physical appearance. He’s as handsome as ever, if not more so—his skin and hair practically glowing under the late afternoon sunlight.

The teenage girl beneath Ladybug’s mask feels a stab of envy at the evenness of his complexion, the length of the blonde eyelashes fanned against his cheeks. Even the glossy shine of his hair is impressive.

She runs her fingers through his bangs, pushing them back from his forehead. Chat smiles in his sleep, turning toward her like a flower seeking the sun.

At this point, it’s obvious to Ladybug—and probably to anyone else who has ever beheld him in all of his glory—that Chat Noir needs no assistance in the beauty department.

If he wasn’t so busy getting thrown through walls by overgrown lizards, battling supervillains, and saving the lives of everyday Parisians, he could have easily been an actor or a model with his looks.

Ladybug wonders, not for the first time, what kind of life the boy on the other side of Chat Noir’s mask lives.

But mostly, she wonders what it might be like to touch him without her gloves on. To feel the silkiness of his hair, the warmth of his skin, the softness of the cheeks on which his eyelashes rest.

Her fingers pause in their ministrations.

Best not to go there, she thinks, pulling her hand away as she lays down fully beside him.

The roof tiles are toasty beneath her, the heat seeping into the muscles of her back making it that much more difficult to fight the exhaustion weighing down her eyelids.

With a jaw-cracking yawn, Ladybug lets her eyes slip closed, enjoying the warm spring sunshine caressing her face.

A quick power nap sounds like exactly what she needs right now. Especially if it’ll help chase away any more intrusive thoughts about her slumbering partner and his unfair prettiness.

-x-

Sometime later.

“Chat,” Ladybug slurs, fighting the pull of unconsciousness as it tries to drag her back under. She prods at his shoulder. “We shouldn’t—sleep here.”

All she receives for her efforts is a grunt.

“We could…” Burn, she wants to say. But she’s so comfortable, and Chat’s arm is curled over her waist, and sleep is so pleasantly heavy on her eyelids.

Surely a few more minutes couldn’t hurt.

-x-

Even later still.

Ladybug wakes to an annoyingly high-pitched beeping, sounding uncomfortably close to her head.

She groans, trying in vain to roll away from the noise.

Except it keeps following her, blasting into her eardrums with the proximity that could only originate from one source.

Earrings. Tikki!

Ladybug bolts upright, squinting blearily as she attempts to get her bearings.

The first thing she realizes is that the light has shifted significantly since she last opened her eyes; the shadows stretching across the rooftop to nip at her heels, afternoon warmth rapidly giving way to the deepening chill of evening.

The second realization is that Chat is still stretched out languorously beside her, dead to the world, and they’ve clearly been napping for not minutes but hours, judging by the way the sky has melted into a dazzling array of pinks and oranges and golds. It’s a breathtaking sight, and one that Ladybug normally would have found quite beautiful, if she wasn’t so busy freaking out about Realization Number Three—

Which is that she has maybe thirty seconds, tops, before her transformation unravels around her, taking with it her anonymity, her dignity, and any semblance of relaxation she may have achieved during her impromptu slumber.

Catapulting to her feet with a lack of finesse that even her superpowers can’t disguise, Ladybug scrambles for the chimney on the other side of the roof, accidentally stomping directly on top of Chat Noir in the process.

“OOF!”

She’s just ducking behind the brick wall when his indignant yowling reaches her ears, the magic of her detransformation whooshing over her in a rush.

“What the heck kind of wakeup call was that?! Seriously, bugaboo, we've got to work on your bedside manner—” Chat pauses, his voice growing concerned when he fails to locate her. “Bugaboo?”

“I’m over here,” she calls, quickly digging in her purse for her emergency Emergency Snack Stash. “My transformation let up unexpectedly so I need to feed my kwami.”

Tikki harrumphs around a mouthful of macaron, her expression less than pleased.

“It wouldn’t have been unexpected if you had de-transformed like you were supposed to, instead of falling asleep immediately after a long battle," she snipes.

Marinette winces apologetically, knowing instinctively that she’ll be making up for this gaff for a while. Most likely in the form of copious amounts of baked goods. Her parents are probably going to think she’s stress eating again.

Chat’s voice is closer the next time he speaks, although still a respectful distance away in light of her de-Ladybugged state.

“Looks like we overslept, huh?” She hears the sound of his baton click, followed by a beep. “We were asleep for two hours? You’ve gotta be kitten me!”

Marinette barely waits for Tikki to swallow her last bite before she mutters her transformation phrase, stepping out from behind the chimney to level Chat with an unimpressed stare.

“Really, at a time like this? My kwami is going to be giving me shit about this for the next forever and you’re hitting me with reused puns?”

Chat’s jaw drops.

“Reused puns?” He appears appalled at the notion. “I would never!”

He crosses his arms, his expression one of pure indignance. “When have I used that one before?”

“M. Pigeon 38 and 56,” she rattles off automatically, realizing a beat too late that memorizing every single joke someone has ever told is not the kind of behaviour a Normal Person with Exclusively Platonic Intentions might exhibit.

For a moment, Chat merely blinks at her. Then, his eyes widened, his face lighting up with glee.

“My lady, are you blushing?” He sounds delighted by the prospect.

“What? No.” Ladybug scoffs. “Why would I be blushing?” After all, as Marinette, she’s said far more unfortunate things under far worse circumstances. This inadvertent admission, while embarrassing, was barely a blip on the mortification scale when compared to the world-ending natural disasters she’d been capable of when her crush on Adrien was at its peak.

Still, Chat seems unconvinced. “Then why are your cheeks that beguiling shade of pink, hm? You can’t fool this cat’s eyes, bugaboo. We have excellent vision, you know.”

Ladybug scowls, turning back to glare at him. Her mouth snaps shut on her retort, however, when she notices that Chat’s skin is pink as well, his cheeks and the tip of his nose a rosy shade of red.

“Wait, how long did you say we were asleep for?” She flips open her compact, blood draining from her face at the time she sees listed in the upper corner.

“Chat, we slept for almost two hours! I’m not blushing, I’m sunburnt! And by the looks of it, so are you!”

Underneath the pink, Chat's face goes ashen.

“Oh no,” he moans, crumpling into a ball. “This is bad. This is really, really bad.”

Ladybug falters, taken aback by the intensity of his reaction.

“It’ll be alright, chaton,” she crouches next to him, her hands fluttering uselessly over his shoulders, too confused to even properly offer him comfort. “Just put some calming lotion on it when you go home. Aloe works well in my experience—”

“No, you don’t understand,” his wild green eyes snap up to meet hers. “I am not allowed to get sunburnt. This is a disaster. My Fa—“ here he stumbles, averting his gaze as she helps him to his feet.” —facialist is going to kill me!”

Ladybug drops his hand, her prior concern completely evaporating.

“You get facials?”

Chat looks offended at her disbelief.

“Of course,” he sniffs. “How else do you think I maintain this youthful glow?”

Ladybug rolls her eyes, wincing when the action tugs at her inflamed skin.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, you might want to get inside before that ‘youthful glow’ becomes visible from outer space.”

Chat sputters.

-x-

When she gets home, Marinette applies every single cream, lotion, and gel in her arsenal to try to bring down the redness in her face.

And when even that doesn’t work, she calls in the big guns.

-x-

“Oh, Marinette, what have you done to yourself now?” Sabine frets, patting cool lotion onto her cheeks.

Marinette grimaces, both at the sting of the motion and her own stupidity.

“Next time you want to lay out in the sun in swimming goggles of all things, at least promise me you’ll wear sunscreen.”

“Yes, Maman...”

-x-

#miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #ladynoir #ml fanfiction #miraculous fanworks #otp: made for each other #my fics

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