#been thinking about him all day. @ my brain: why him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theliliesofthevalleies · 2 days ago

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The skeletons wordlessly point around the room as if the reasoning should be obvious. Obviously he had been put in the summoning circle.

Danny puts a hand over his mouth and closes his eyes in contemplation for a moment. He takes in a long deep breath and looks at the skeletons. “And.. no one thought to.. I don’t know.. alert me to the fact that there is a whole living person in the offerings room..?”

All the skeleton’s just shrug and go back to pampering the now stunned and speechless Robin who is staring up at Danny from where he’s seated on the floor. “You’re a lot younger than I thought you’d be. Honestly that’s a relief. I was worried I was being offered as a bride to the ghost king that was going to be like.. old and gross..”

“You were offered as what?! You’re fourteen?!” Danny stares at the teenager no older than himself and crouches down. “What do you mean as a bride for me? Why would they even assume I wanted a child bride…?”

Robin, now removing his mask because, fuck it why not if he’s stuck there might as well, shrugs as he looks back up at Danny now showing him that he is in fact Tim Drake. “Don’t know.. don’t really care. I would however like to get home. My.. adopted father and his other adopted adult child are probably looking for me and considering that the last time a Robin went missing he was murdered.. they are probably losing their minds..”

“Right right.. uh.. well.. I have to ask Clockwork about how to send you back.. because the Infinite Realms sort of identifies you as.. my property now.. and the fact that you are technically dead..” Danny looks like he’s ready to hurl from the thought but he straightens up.

Tim looks up at him with wide eyes and blinks a few times. “I’m dead..?” He pat his own chest and looked at himself all over.

“Only technically.. you were given as an offering.. the only way to send a living being to the Infinite Realms is to kill them.. or half kill them.” Danny thinks for a moment. “Honestly when we get you back. You may only have a half life.. you may be a Halfa now..” He shrugs and starts leaving the room. “Come on. I’m not going to force you to stay locked in here. Though.. m aybe put your mask back on. Some of the residents of the Infinite Realms still like to keep your identities a secret for themselves..”

Tim stands and places his mask back on his face trying ti ignore the reeling in his head from finding out he had apparently died. “So. You already knew who I was..?”

Danny with a dejected look and tears welling up in his eyes. “No.. I was one of the residents that enjoyed keeping your identity a secret. But it’s okay.. you just proved my theory so…”

Tim nods. “Right.. sorry about that..”

They make their way to Clockwork and find out it will take a while to send Tim back home. In the meantime Danny and Tim spend a lot of time together getting to know each other. Danny brings Tim a change of clothes when he comes back from school one day.

By the time they manage to navigate the stupid rules of the Infinite Realms two months later Tim is on the verge of his fifteenth birthday and has realized feelings are starting to bloom in his chest when he sees Danny. They agree to stay in contact and when Tim is dropped off on the day of his fifteenth birthday he leans over and kisses Danny’s cheek before running off to find Bruce and Dick who, as he predicted had in fact lost their minds.

It takes a lot of explaining to get them to calm down and understand that he A.) didn’t run away and get murdered. B.) didn’t die at all. Which Tim knows is a lie but he doesn’t want Bruce and Dick to freak out about him dying. And C.) is very much alive despite the blood loss of cult members trying to sacrifice him to what is essentially a god.

(Idk if op wanted this to turn into ship but I’ve been reading a lot of DannyxTim fics lately and that’s where my brain went. Lol.)

Bonus. When Jason comes back as Red Hood Tim can tell because Jason has a similar aura to Danny. Danny comes to visit and when he sees Jason he tells Tim that Jason has corrupted ectoplasm and he’s not sure how but his core is shattered. Danny and Tim set out to help Jason and they manage to clean his ectoplasm before Jason can bring his who reveal and revenge plan to fruition.

Once his ectoplasm is clean and Danny got his core into mostly one piece Jason all but loses interest in his big dramatic revenge plot so Tim brings him to the manor one day and Bruce freaks out.

Danny and Tim explain to Bruce what was up and that now that his ectoplasm is clean and his core is mostly whole now would be the best time to talk to Jason about all the things Jason is angry about.

(Side note I really like the idea that Danny helps Jason right after the first time he meets him and it freaks Jason out because, why the hell is the replacement and his boyfriend randomly finding him and why is the replacement’s boyfriend shoving his hands in his chest. It sort of freaks him out. But it helps the Pit rage so he honestly lets it happen.)

DPxDC Prompt #17

There is a room Danny's Keep he set up shortly after defeating Pariah Dark. It became necessary when the broader magical community realized Pariah had be defeated and therefore a new King took his throne. Danny found himself briefly bombarded with waves of attempted summonings.

Which, the summonings themselves, wouldn't have been so bad. Turns out people can't just drag the King of Ghosts to themselves on a whim. Danny has to actively accept a summoning to get pulled to it. And if he just decides "No," the pull and whispers go away. No problem there.

No, the problem is the offerings. And sacrifices. The things that people put in the circle as payment for even attempting to summon him. Like having to put a quarter in the payphone just to listen to it ring and ring and ring as the person on the other end of the call doesn't pick up. Since the summoning magic regarded these things as belonging to Danny even if he rejected the summons, they usually ended up just materializing in front of him if he didn't go to them.

Which, okay. It was funny that time he got to end a fight with Vlad very fast when a whole gold bar materialized and dropped on his head. And the food was nice sometimes when it was late and everywhere was closed and his parents had left samples in the fridge to contaminate everything into animation again. But the goat head dropping from the ceiling onto his desk during on of Lancer's English tests was not appreciated. Even if it did get the test rescheduled and the whole school shut down for a few days to investigate the "potentially satanic activity."

So, yeah, it was a bit of a problem. Fortunately, it was a problem with a relatively simple solution. Danny set up an inbox. With a bit of help from Tucker and Pandora, and a couple tips from Clockwork; all summoning offerings and sacrifices would now go straight to the dedicated room in the Keep.

And! As a special touch, the summoners would also get a chipper, automated voice saying, "The Ghost King you are trying to summon has more important things to do than answer you right now. Please leave a message in the circle with your name, date, location, contact information, and reason for summoning. The Ghost King will get back to you at his earliest convenience." Sam's stupid fancy girl gala voice had been perfect for that little message.

It was the perfect solution. Danny no longer had to deal with randomly materializing offerings putting his secret identity at risk. Pariah's skeletons, who had been antsy for something to do now that they were no longer bent under the thumb of a cruel tyrant, were instructed to take care of all the offerings; making sure everything was always cleaned up and put away. And all Danny had to do was stop by periodically to check in and "Officially respond" -ie, write a fuck off note- to the summoning messages (Clockwork's insistence).

A perfect solution. Up until Danny checked in one day to find the skellies pampering a whole ass boy. No. Not just any boy. Danny recognizes that costume.

"Why is Robin here?"

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sometimesanalice · 2 days ago

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Morgannn!! 💖 oh I’m so, so happy you liked this! Fluffy, fun, and flirty vibes for days!

I’m so happy that it was something that made you smile! 🥰🥰

More for you!!

Oh, this was absolutely delightful and fun and exactly what I needed after this week! I broke into giggles and a smile more times than I could count! I love everything you write, but sometimes you pop off with the best little details and phrasings and it's such a joy to read your writing!—🥹🥹🥹

And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

Quite literally the vibe for modern dating, and especially with how many men always forget Feb 14th is a holiday!!!!!— I just imagined her being like “are you sure??” like five times and this guy being like “it’s a Wednesday like yeah”. But truly, the amount of me not utilizing the notifications on their built in calendar is a CRIME. But especially on international hearts day!

And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Men don't appreciate good fashion. That's why we dress for the group chat and ourselves!— the girlies(gn) just want to look and feel cute! But also, you know that group chat was popping off with the🔥 emoji, lol

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

This visual this gave me! A beacon of pink! Get her a drink!— goodness knows miss ma’am needs one! She was just trying to go with the flow and have fun! But I loved trying to find ways to highlight just how out of place she was there, not only like with how she felt but also the setting!

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

STOP, THIS GOT ME!— I MEAN CAN YOU IMAGINEEEEE

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

Snaps for Selleck mention.— the OG mustache man!

Oh.

AN ITALICIZED OH, SO YOU KNOW IT'S GOOD!!!— ITALICIZED OH SUPREMACY!! (Also I’m so endlessly tickled by the amount of support the italicized oh has gotten 😂 I know I posted about it specifically, but I love how much love we all have for those two little letters!)

You watch stunned as he saunters away, admiring the way the light wash jeans he’s wearing form to his long legs, before taking a moment to send a string of words punctuated with more than a few exclamation points to the group chat.

This was entirely too relatable. Those jeans are too slutty and the group chat must know! (nothing wrong with taking a lil pic either 🤫) — I was so obsessed with the idea of her being like “you guys won’t believe what happened” and her phone just blowing up the other night of her best babes wanting allll the tea! You know the brunch talk is going to be popping! (But the slutty beans and that cock walks are a lethal combo!!)

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

This whole pool scene was so fun! You captured Jake and Bradley's game with so much descriptive detail, it made me want to watch the movie again! Jake would absolutely get hustled, that man has too much ego to not get played.— ahhhh!! This is the best thing you could have said because Morgan I know nothing about pool lmaooooo 😂 I was reading as much as I could and snooping on r/billiards to figure out what was going on hahaha! All the while cursing myself for deciding her ace needed to be her sneaky pool shark skills. He would SO get played, he wouldn’t be able to help himself!

In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold.

This is quite literally one of my favourite ways a kiss has been described. So visual, yet you can feel it. It's going to be rolling through my brain for a bit, I love it!— stopppp!!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 there’s always so much pressure to try and get a first kiss right, so that makes me so happy that it landed well with you!! 🫶🏻

For the Plot

Summary: Things aren't looking too good for you, sitting alone at the Hard Deck waiting for a man who might not show. Until Bradley Bradshaw sits down across from you and turns your entire night upside down.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Length: 7.7k

Warnings: fluff, so much flirting, and an italicized oh

Going on a first date on Valentine’s Day is unarguably the worst possible idea that anyone has ever had.And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

The guy you were planning to meet tonight was cute enough, even if you were still undecided about the mustache. And while the chats between the two of you had been pretty good as far as it goes getting to know a literal stranger, you were hopeful that it could be even better in person. The fact he was in the Navy was still a bit of a consideration for you, but not a deal breaker.

In retrospect, the name of the bar should have been your first clue and the location paired with the causal beachy exterior covered in planes should have been the second.

You had been expecting to see more than one girl all done up in pinks and reds tonight, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. And you swear to god, somewhere you hear a record scratch as you step into the Hard Deck, because you are surrounded by nothing but a sea of olive green and khaki and denim.

And you have never been so clearly out of place in your entire life.

There was nothing about your ensemble that was even remotely fitting for the literal Navy bar you’d found yourself in.

The ice pink mini slip dress you’d dug out of your closet was admittedly a little much for a first date, but since it was Valentine’s Day you figured why not lean into it a bit. And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Or so you’d thought at the time, because now it was a decidedly you problem.

The silhouette was simple enough, with the gentle drape of the cowl neck and the barely-there spaghetti straps, but the shiny sheen of the fabric made a statement of its own. It wasn’t something you got to wear very often for as much as you loved it.

But then you’d gone ahead and paired it with the tallest, most ostentation heels you had. The effort had been worth it though because the pearl encrusted block heels made your legs look like they went on for days. Even if it had been a feat trying to get the dainty buckle done with the way you’d been rushing out of the house with your beaded bag in tow.

The whole look was something you’d sure would come with Cher Horowitz’s seal of approval. However, the patrons of the Hard Deck you were less sure about. And even though there were civilians- like yourself- scattered about the bar, none were anywhere near as dressed up as you.

There are more than a few pairs of eyes on you as you stand there with your feet glued to the uneven wooden floors, as the door with its porthole-shaped window slowly closes behind you with a squeaky creak. The twinkle lights above your head felt more like a spotlight, illuminating how out of place you are in this moment.

Your hand is still clutched on the handle unsure whether you’re going to make a run for it or not. You are more than a little tempted to hightail it back to the parking lot and text your date to claim a bout of food poisoning from the safety of the driver’s seat in your car.

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, trying not to panic. Officially a victim of your own bad decision making.

You take a quick scan of the room, trying to decide what your next move should be. There’s a woman behind the bar with kind but clearly inquisitive eyes. A blonde with a wolfish smile eyes you from where he stands next to a man with broad shoulders bent over what must be the pool table, hidden behind the paneled half wall. By a dart board, there are a couple men with their heads turned towards you, the game seemingly forgotten as they discuss the spectacle that is you.

There are hundreds of planes dangling over the bar, patches and plaques littering the walls and rafters, rounders suspended from the ceiling laden with too many ceramic mugs to count. It was all done with a heavy-handed, maximalistic approach that you’d take a moment to appreciate under any other given circumstances.

When you spot an open table tucked away in the corner of the room it feels like life raft to the iceberg of a situation you’ve put yourself in. Mindful of the scuffed, uneven floors- because the last thing you need is to eat shit or twist an ankle in front of room full of curious onlookers- you hustle over to the spot in hopes of having a moment to regroup.

Once you’re situated- shrugging off the ivory cardigan you’d topped your outfit, trying to keep the nervous sweat that wanted to break out over your body at bay- you pull out your phone and check the time only to realize you’re devastatingly on time. Five minutes early, to be specific.

So you wait.

And check your phone again and the notifications in the dating app, just in case you missed something.

And wait.

You try to play it cool, skimming posts on Instagram and replying to some overdue texts. Finding anything you can to keep yourself occupied to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach the longer you sit there. Alone.

Now you’re not just simply embarrassed, you’re mortified.

You can still feel the eyes, the energy steadily shifting from curiosity to sympathy over the last thirty minutes you’ve been waiting all alone in the corner of a Navy bar you had no business being in for a man who clearly wasn’t going to show.

So much for doing it for the plot, you think to yourself with a shake of your head.

Another minute ticks by with no message and you decide you’re more than ready to hightail it out of there. Fully aware that you’re about to become a topic of conversation that won’t have to be restricted to only covert glances and muffled whispers. But hopefully, they’ll at least wait until the door closes behind you before the chatter starts up for real.

With a sigh, you reach for your beaded bag, just as a large body slips into the chair across from you, with an ease that is in contrast to the bulk of muscles you catch in your peripheral vision.

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

It’s the smile that you catch first. Not quite a grin, but something familiar and friendly and charming in the way it crookedly pulled to the left. Followed closely by the rich chocolate brown eyes that were squarely trained on you with a look that was just as earnest as it was playful. But what surprised you the most was the way he was sitting in the stool across from you just as comfortably as if he was supposed to be there all along.

There was no way you could have prepared yourself for the sheer level of attractiveness of this man.

He was in a league of his own with those curls and wide shoulders. The white and olive green stripped crochet shirt he was wearing didn’t hurt either, especially the way the top buttons were undone giving you glimpse of a chain around his neck and the chest underneath it. He didn’t need to be in uniform- or even in a Navy bar- for you to tell he was a military man. Not with the confident way he held himself.

Even if the mustache he was sporting made it feel like the universe was playing tricks on you, but he more than wore it well.

You huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “What gave it away?” you ask. “The way I’ve been watching the door? Or just the general look of regret and embarrassment?”

“Embarrassed? What do you have to be embarrassed about?” His eyebrows pull together, perplexed. He shakes his head like he disagrees with even the suggestion of it. “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is the guy who is missing out on sitting across from you right now.”

You give him a soft smile of your own in return for the cinnamon sweet words. There’s a genuineness in his tone that makes some of the tightness that had settled in your shoulders from the moment you’d walked in release.

“That’s kind of you, but I think I’m going to head out,” you say, nodding to the door you never should have stepped through in the first place.

He gives you a teasing tsk. “And let a dress like that go to waste? Now that would be a shame.”

The appreciative look in his gaze that sets off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. And then his eyebrow ticks up, just a little. Part invitation, part dare. And you can’t say you’re not intrigued.

There’s a decision to make.

You could leave now and cut your losses. There was a reason you had a back-up pizza in the fridge and had left you well-loved copy of You’ve Got Mail sitting out on your coffee table.

Or you could stick around and see what happens next.

You tilt your head at him, just as teasing. “Would it now?”

“It would,” he states, sincerely.

Before you can reply, your phone lights up with a new notification, pulling you out of the whisky haze you’d found yourself in.

His eyes dip down to your illuminated screen. “Is that him?”

“It is,” you confirm, almost regretfully. You open the app and skim the message. And then read it again.

There’s no sorry, no apology for cancelling a half an hour after the time for the date that had been his idea in the first place. And then he’d even had the audacity to tack on a cavalier maybe another time at the end.

Unbelievable.

He lets out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

“Apparently, I should have been the one to remind him that the fourteenth of February is a calendar holiday and a fan favorite day of the greeting card companies.” It’s so ridiculous you’d laugh if you weren’t so annoyed by the lack of consideration and the not-so-subtle blame he’d tried to shift on you. “Even though I did double check if he was sure about meeting up today, I guess I didn’t realize I actually needed to spell out ‘Valentine’s Day’ for him.”

The man across from you doesn’t bother holding back the less than impressed look on his face. And you decide you like that about him, that he wears his thoughts so openly. It’s refreshing.

“Do you mind if I take a look at his profile?”

You shrug and pass your phone over. You were planning on blocking West the second you had a moment anyways. You see him roll his eyes and guess it has something to do with the amount of shirtless gym selfies.

He snorts as he scrolls, “Please, his mustache has nothing on mine.”

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes good-naturedly, as he hands you back your phone. “But am I at least a close second?” There’s no mistaking the flirtatious tone in his voice.

You hum and take full advantage of the opportunity to look at him unabashedly, mapping the contours of his face because you can.

To simply call him handsome would be an understatement.

The way the golden light of the sunset is hitting him you catch some sunkissed strands in those soft looking waves of his hair. There’s the beginning of some crinkles around the edges of his eyes. You notice the scars on his face, some that look long healed and others that are still a light pink- like the one on the side of his neck and beneath is ear. And that mustache on him worked for you, one hundred percent.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he lets you assess him that leaves no question as to whether or not he’s been flirting with you. You like the way he’s looking at you and the way he’s easily made you forget about being overdressed and how uncomfortable you were even just five minutes ago. You’re having fun. And while you still haven’t answered his question from earlier, you have no doubt that he’d show you a good time if you let him.

“Maybe not a close second, but yours is certainly up there,” you tease.

He grins. “I can work with that.” There’s something about the way he adds on for now that has a spark dancing up along your spine. And then he sticks out his hand, “I’m Bradley.”

It’s a good name. It suits him. It’s one you think you’ll enjoy the way your tongue will curl around the letters of it in your mouth.

When you give him yours in return, he sits up straighter in his seat, like he’s won a small victory.

You don’t doubt that he’s the chivalrous type, the fact that he’s gone out of his way to come over to try and turn this evening around for you says more about him than any dating profile with nonsense questions and overthought answers ever could. But with a man like him, one who’d swoop in to save the night of a stranger because she looks like a damsel in distress, there’s an answer to a question you need to hear first.

“Bradley, this isn’t a pity thing, is it?” You were right, you like the way saying his name feels. You drop your hands into your lap, as you search his eyes. “Because if it is, that’ll make me feel worse than being stood up did.”

The way the words were sitting out and open on the table between the two of you made you feel vulnerable in a way you didn’t like. But you’d rather know now before anything goes further. Doing it for the plot or not, your ego could only take so much bruising in one evening.

He pins you with a look so serious that you feel it down to your toes. “Trust me, this is furthest thing from a ‘pity thing’, as you put it,” Bradley says, his tone slipping down a few gravelly notes. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.”

Oh.

A thrilling rush of warmth courses through you as your cheeks heat up.

You nod, trying to not look as affected as you feel. “Ok, I believe you.”

“Good,” he smirks, his gaze dropping down and lingering on your lips. You didn’t realize you’d trapped your lower lip between your teeth, you release it immediately. “Because you should know, I would have come over sooner- the second I saw you, actually- if I’d known. That’s some dress, sweetheart,” Bradley continues, “Plus, you’d be doing me a favor.”

You couldn’t help but be curious, so you lean in closer. “Oh, how so?”

Bradley mirrors you, crossing his thick forearms over each other and leans in that much closer. “I haven’t had a Valentine in years,” he says it like he’s letting you in on a secret.

For the first time all night, you don’t regret wearing the dress. You don’t regret the ostentatious shoes or the glimmering beaded bag. You don’t regret walking through that creaky door. You don’t regret showing up tonight.

How could you when you’ve just been served the best plot twist you’ve possibly ever experienced? A meetcute you never could have seen coming.

You realize just how close your faces have gotten and lean back in your seat, from fear of thinking you might do something stupid, like kiss him. “Will you stop with the big cow eyes, if I agree?”

Those crinkles around his eyes deepen, “Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.”

You press your lips together trying to hide your smile, all too thoroughly charmed, but the corners of your mouth curl up all the same.

“Trust me, you have plenty.”

And Bradley’s own smile gets even wider.

Anyone in the bar can see how pleased with himself he is at your words. It rolls off of him in steady waves and swirls around your shins and ankles.

He makes a show of settling further into his seat, now that it is officially his seat. “What’re we thinking? One milkshake, two straws?”

You play along and pretend to ponder the offer for a moment. “That seems more like a second date type of activity, does it not?”

“You’re right, something to look forward to for next time,” he responds, not missing a beat. “So, can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

There wasn’t a menu or anything on the table when you sat down, so you aren’t sure what all is offered here. You thought you might have caught a glimpse of a laminated stack near register when you’d first walked in, but you hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention to yourself at the time by getting up again and wandering around and reminding people just how out of place you’d been.

You look around and see a mix of ceramic steins, pint glasses, beer bottles, and a few stems of wine on tabletops and in the hands of the other patrons.

The noise of the bar had become a faint white noise in your ears as the two of you talked, but it comes back in full force now.

“If they have rosé, I’d take a glass of that.” It isn’t hard to miss the hesitation in your voice, feeling a little silly defaulting to your usual go-to. You don’t imagine they go through a ton of pink wine here. “But, uhm, anything on tap would be fine too, if they don’t.”

Bradley’s lips twitch up. Not in a smirk, but something caught between amused and something else you can’t quite describe.

You try not to fidget under his warm gaze, “What?”

He slides out of his stool and rounds the table, setting a big hand on the armrest near your elbow, “There’s something you should know about me, sweetheart.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, more than a little breathlessly. Feeling a little high off of the smell of his leather and vanilla cologne, and something underneath that that reminds you of kerosene in a way that makes you want to breathe him in even more.

Bradley dips down close, his lips just a whisper from your ear, and murmurs, “Pink is my favorite color.”

Your head tips back on its own as you laugh. Its unabashedly loud and bright and delighted thing that fills the nooks and crannies of the corner you’d tucked yourself away into. And if a few heads turn your way because of it, that’s alright with you.

You don’t believe him, not one little bit. But that’s part of the fun. The back and forth, the flirting, the banter, the teasing. He’s so quickly turned this night around for you, you already know your cheeks are going to hurt by the end of it.

The sound of Bradley’s own laughter chases after yours. It’s warm and raspy and boyish, and you like the sound of it. You like him.

“One rosé, coming up,” he says, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before he steps out of your space. “There’s nothing I like more than a girl who commits to a theme.”

You catch his wrist, his skin warm under your palm. “Wait, what’s it really?”

“Red,” Bradley says, then gives you a slow once over, making your pulse spark in your veins. “But you’ve got me second guessing myself now.” He gives you a wink and then heads towards the bar.

When he comes back, only a few minutes later, he has glass of familiar pink wine in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And oddly enough, a straw tucked into the pocket on his shirt.

“It’s almost a perfect match,” he notes, when he sets it in front of you.

“At least I won’t have to worry about staining if I end up spilling on myself.”

Bradley chuckles and moves his stool in closer to yours, sitting back down with more smooth grace than a man with his build has any right to move. He tips the neck of his beer towards you, and you lightly tap your wine glass against it.

You take a sweet sip. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, with a teasing lift of his eyebrow.

“What’s your move?” you ask, running a glossy tipped finger around the rim of your wineglass.

“My move?” And there’s that grin again, one he doesn’t try to hide as he takes a sip of his own. “‘m pretty sure I’ve been showing you my moves since I sat down. I’ve never been good at being subtle.”

Bradley pulls the straw from his pocket and taps it a few times against the shellacked woodgrain table top. He takes the flimsy wrapper carefully starts twisting it, a little furrow of concentration forms between his brows, spiraling it until it’s pulled taut against itself.

You set an elbow on the edge, resting your chin on your hand as you study him. “But what’s the big move? I know you have one,” you press further.

His hands are big, calloused and rough, but capable. You want to know the story behind the scar that’s near the base of his thumb. You note that he wears his watch on the right instead of the left, and you pocket that new discovery for yourself the way a kid enthusiastically collects rocks in a park.

Bradley takes that piece of paper and folds it in half before twisting it again.

You watch in fascination as that pleased grin transforms into a confident smirk, like he’s enjoying even just the thought of showing you his big move. He looks like good trouble.

Bradley’s eyes slowly lift to yours, his hands pausing whatever he’s doing with that wrapper. He shoots a thumb to the left towards the end of the oval shaped bar. “You see that piano over there?”

“Mhm.” It’s an almost purr.

“That’s my big move.”

You feel your eyebrows lift in surprise. Bradley gave off such hometown golden boy vibes, you’d never have expected that he’d be the musical type too. The idea of seeing those hands fly over a set of black and white piano keys made your stomach tighten deliciously in anticipation.

“Am I going to get to see it?”

His gaze is steady on you when he replies, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll show you my move.”

A grin stretches across your face and you feel downright giddy, as you wiggle your shoulders in triumph.

Bradley shakes his head amused, and then refocuses his efforts on the task he’d started with the straw wrapper. He struggles only for a moment- those large fingers getting in the way- as he tries to open the end just enough to slip the tail though. He gives it one more final twist, securing the loop, before inspecting his handiwork.

“Now, since we’re valentines and all, it seemed only fitting that I get you- well, make you- a little something.” Bradley gives you a soft, boyish smile as he holds out his palm towards you, and in the center of it is a perfectly crafted paper ring. “Sorry, I couldn’t find you a Ring Pop on short notice.”

The words escape you for a moment at the sheer sweetness of the gesture.

Gently, you take it from his outstretched hand, and slip it onto the pointer finger of your right hand, adjusting it with care until you have it situated just right.

“I usually wouldn’t be able to accept something so grand on a first date. But for you, I’ll make an exception,” you say, liltingly. “Thank you, Bradley.”

You look down to appreciate it again, more than a little tempted to take it off and tuck it securely into your purse for safekeeping. For as much as you liked your dress and bag and your shoes, that little paper ring was now your favorite piece of the outfit you were wearing.

When you glance back up at him, his cheeks have the faintest pink hue to them. The little nonchalant shrug he tries to give you does nothing to hide how pleased he looks. “I make a mean daisy chain too. We might have to wait a couple months for Spring, but I’m good for it.”

Your mind flashes with an image of you and him in a park with a picnic basket sat between the two of you, and those large hands of his threading celery green stems together. It’s a pretty picture.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular modern day Renaissance man.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he rasps, silky smooth. It makes goosebumps raise along your arms. “Now, I’ve told you mine. Can’t say I’m not dying to know what your big move is. Am I going to get to see it, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse, lifting your glass to take another sip, “If you’re good.”

Bradley hooks a foot under you stool and tugs you just a few inches closer. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your position on kissing on a first date?”

You bend forward towards him and think you hear his breath hitch, you smile. “I’ll keep you posted.”

You’re still looking at his lips when a shout from across the bar startles you both.

“Bradshaw!”

Bradley mutters a string of curses and then blows out a breath, giving you a smoldering look that tells you that the conversation is far from over. You’re more than willing to let him try and change your mind about where he lands in the mustache rankings.

You look over your shoulder to see the with the sharp smile from earlier waving your date over to the pool table. “I take it you know, Malibu Ken?”

“Unfortunately.” A mischievous look coasts over his face. “But I’ll get you all the Ring Pops you could ever want if you say that to his face.”

You laugh. “I’m holding out for that daisy chain.”

Another holler rings out from across the room, the same Southern drawl as before.

“Seems like he wants your attention. Is he a Leo?”

He snorts. “You know what, he just might be. But more like he’s been waiting for the right moment to annoy me since I ditched him to come talk to a pretty girl instead.”

You try not to preen at the compliment.

“The relentless type, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I think I’m about thirty seconds from him queuing up “You Make Me Feel So Young” on repeat just to fuck with me,” Bradley explains. There’s a story there and you want to know more. “I know I still owe you the big move, but is it alright if I try to show off a little for you now? Just to get off my back for the rest of the night, then I’m all yours.”

You feel like you’ve just pulled an ace from your pocket.

“What are the stakes?” you ask, intrigued.

“Two hundred dollars and a whiskey,” Bradley replies.

You let out a low whistle, trying to school the catlike grin that wants to overtake your face. “That’s a lot of Ring Pops.”

The corners of his mouth curl up. “I was thinking dinner for our third date,” he says. “I’m buying for our second, of course. But it’s only right that we split the spoils of war.”

The sound of a brass band rings out over the staticky speakers and Bradley hangs his head down and lets out a long-suffering groan. You playfully pat his shoulder in faux commiseration.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, but you already know your answer. “Okay,” you agree, “Just as long as you’re okay with a little respectful ogling. You like my dress, and I like those jeans you’re wearing.”

He laughs, it’s a throaty rich sound. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

You gather for you purse and sweater as Bradley stands. His hands come to your waist, helping you off the chair, your bodies closer than close. It’s a forward move- he knows it, you know it- but with him, you don’t mind at all.

Bradley offers you his hand and you take it in yours; his fingers slip between yours easily like the two of you have already done this before.

The two of you only make it a few steps before you tug on his hand, waiting until he looks at you from over his shoulder before asking, with a lifted brow, “Bradley Bradshaw?”

He huffs out a not-so-exasperated sigh, “I blame it on the 80’s.”

“Whatever you say, Brad-Brad.” It’s the one and only time you’re ever going to say it, you decide. You like saying his name too much to shorten it. And his back may be turned to you now, but that now familiar chuckle still makes its way to your ears.

Bradley leads you to the bar first, where he buys another glass of rosé and a beer for himself. When you try to pass your credit card to the woman behind the counter, he takes it, and rasps into your ear, “Let me.”

He tucks it right back into your purse as the sound of brass instruments starts up yet again.

“Like a dog with a goddamn bone,” you hear him mumble. And you press your lips together to keep from laughing. Sure, you’d rather be seeing his big move, but you can’t claim not to be amused by all of this.

He nods to a group of people in the corner near the popcorn machine when the two of you enter the alcove with pool table. Some of his other friends of his you assume.

You send them a little wave, one that they return in greeting. You can tell they’re curious, but you’re grateful when they resume their conversation instead of making you feel like your date with Bradley had become a spectator sport for their viewing entertainment.

The first thing Bradley does is introduce you to his friend. It’s a little thing, but he does it without prompt or awkwardly leaving you to take the initiative yourself. You appreciate the way he is still prioritizing your comfort the way he’s been doing it since he first sat down across from you.

The second thing he does is pull out a chair for you. Not with a fanfare, not with a flourish. But like it’s something that’s innately ingrained in him. You get the sense that the gentleman thing isn’t an act with him, it’s who he is.

Jake rests a hip against the table. “Sorry to interrupt your date, but Bradshaw and I had some unfinished business.”

You wave him off, it’s not a big deal. Not when you’ll have the rest of the night with Bradley. Plus, you’re eager to watch this play out between them, curious about their gameplay.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with,” Bradley rumbles, as he arranges the balls in the rack. And you wonder if he lost the lag before he’d made his way over to your table for one.

He comes back over to you, and leans on the ledge next to you as he chalks his cue. You’d thought about slipping your sweater back on, with the outside chill pressing against the line of glass windows at your back, but Bradley had more than enough warmth radiating off of him that you didn’t need to.

“You that eager to be out a couple hundred, Bradshaw?” Jake grins, as he leans over the side of the table. He turns his gaze to you and sends you a wink right before he breaks, sending the cue ball barreling into the others with a resounding clack, scattering them across the table.

And then they’re off.

It’s a rapid fire of back-and-forth banter between the men as they take their shots. Mostly good natured, but undeniably competitive. Smirking when they land their shots, and snarking over fouls. Clear that neither of them wants to lose.

Jake is all confident posturing, playing low over the cue with a lightly too tight grip. It’s the only thing that gives him away that he’s not the easygoing player as he wants people to think he is. Choosing higher risk shots that would highlight his ability versus some of the more straightforward options laid out for him, and skilled enough that it pays off most of the time. But after a couple rounds you note he’s too quick to stand up after taking his shot, not enough follow through because he’s too eager to see if his gamble pays off.

Bradley is all loose-limbed ease, clearly comfortable in both his skin and at the table. You can tell he’s probably playing quicker than he normally does, clearly trying to hurry up the game for your sake, even though he doesn’t need to. Although he does take his time as he positions himself around the table, only adjusting his bridge every now and then. Always with a 1-2 shot, a warm-up stroke followed by a steady hit. Watching him you catch his tendency to throw out his elbow of the follow through.

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

When Bradley’s not up to play, he’s by your side, right at your elbow. And when he is, it’s your eyes he’s looking into the moment he stands back up, seeking out your reaction. But more than once you feel his eyes on you as you watch them play.

True to your word, you to admire him in those snug fitting jeans. And when he catches your appreciative gaze, he sends you a wink before lining up his next shot.

Jake sinks another solid into the pocket he’d called only moments ago, and turns his dimpled smile at you, “You still sure about your date with the old man, chickadee? I bet I could show him up in that department too.”

The way he says it, you know he’s just teasing, probably just to rile you date up and get a reaction from him.

“Unfortunately for you, I think I have a thing for mustaches now,” you toss back, unbothered. And Bradley smiles into his drink.

You watch as Jake lines up his next shot and hits the white with a compact stroke.

“Double hit,” you declare.

“Dammit,” Jake curses.

You look over to see Bradley looking at you with a focused look on his face. Like there’s a theory clicking into place, one he needs the answer to. Wordlessly, he hands you the cue.

“You sure?” you ask.

“Two hundred dollars sure,” he states.

You take it from him with a sly grin.

Bradley’s thighs brush against the front of your knees, you know if you parted them even a couple inches, that he’d fit just right between them. His hands landing on your waist again as he assists you off the stool you’ve been perched on. And you’re starting to think he just likes an excuse to touch you, not that he needs one because you already more than like the feel of his hands on your body.

You walk the pool table, running a finger around the rails as you do. Evaluating the balls on the table like they’re chess pieces. The slow clip of your heels on the floor like the tick of a clock as you take your time deciding your approach.

“You’re the stripes,” Jake offers helpfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll even let you have a free shot.”

And you can’t help but laugh because this is going to be fun.

“Bradley?” you ask, leisurely chalking your cue.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you mind?” You gesture to the spot behind you, and he catches on quick with a not-so-subtle glance at the short hem of your skirt.

He sets his beer down and comes to stand behind you, there’s just enough space between the two of you that you don’t have to worry about hitting him with the cue, his broad from proving you the coverage you needed to bend over the table. While you don’t think you’d mind Bradley seeing the silk thong you had on underneath your dress, you weren’t exactly up for flashing the whole bar.

You haven’t played in a while, but it’s a muscle memory at this point, as you map out your moves. Seeing the lines and angles and arcs in your mind’s eye before anchoring your bridge.

You look at Bradley from over your shoulder, only to see his eyes are trained on the ceiling with his tongue pressed against his cheek. A gentleman, albeit not an unaffected one. A tendril of smokey gratification curls its way along your spine. You turn your head back to the pool table looking between the cue, target, cue ball, target.

It’s a smooth stroke with a satisfying crack. A clean three-rail shot that lands the striped five into the pock you’d intended for it.

“Damn” is all Jake says. His eyes you up, clearly impressed.

“You sure about that free shot, Jake?” You stand up and smooth out your dress, just for the show of it. “Or do you want to make it double or nothing instead, Malibu Ken?” You hear Bradley snort from behind you.

And just like you thought, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, “Deal.” Jake turns to Bradley. “I just let your girl hustle me, didn’t I?”

“You sure did,” Bradley says with a grin, but his eyes are on you.

Neither are surprised when you sink your next shot too. The six sailing into the left corner pocket.

On your next shot, you may or may not deliberately foul. A tactical choice that sets Jake up with a less than ideal position on the table, knowing it’ll be a difficult shot for him to make.

“Now you’re just toying with me, aren’t you?” Jake grouses.

You just smile and take a sip of the rosé that Bradley hands you, neither confirming or denying.

Surprisingly, he banks it. But his good luck only lasting through that one play. Because on his next, the ball glances off the side rail at too acute an angle to reach the intended pocket and he groans.

Not quite ready to be done, you ease off a little. Enough that they both know you’re going easy on him to extend the game longer, just so that he can catch up to you.

But soon enough, soon there’s only your eight ball left on the table.

“Looks like you’re about to be out four hundred dollars, Jake,” you say with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Just put me out of my misery already.”

You turn to Bradley, who has been carefully positioning himself behind you the whole time. You hold out the cue to him and ask, “Do you want the honors?”

He shakes his head. “Go on, finish him off, sweetheart. I’m enjoying the show.”

And when your final ball tips into the side pocket, Jakes resounding groan is drown out by the whistle Bradley lets loose between his thumb and pointer finger, as you turn towards him beaming.

“The atm’s by the restroom.” Bradley sounds only too happy to remind Jake as he closes the gap between the two of you.

You look over his wide shoulder, “As for the whiskey, something expensive please, Malibu Ken.”

Jake huffs a grumble but nods all the same as he goes to round up your winnings.

“Scored four hundred dollars and a valentine, that’s not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” you preen to Bradley.

“Think that might have been the best thing I’ve seen all year,” Bradley announces. “The hottest too, if I’m being honest.” You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze. His finger slips under the thin strap of your dress that had fallen off your shoulder somewhere along the way. He slides it back up and into place, treating it like some delicate thing the same way he did that paper wrapper. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Normally, this is when you’d rerack, but you’ve never had a Bradley Bradshaw looking at you before.

“I took a class in college over the summer as an elective credit, and it turns out I had a knack for it,” you explain with a playful little shrug.

“I’ll say.” He takes another step closer. “Did you just show me your move, sweetheart?”

“One of them,” you grin.

You don’t have to press up to his height, not with your pearly heels.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring his lips to yours for a kiss. A sound of surprise escapes from his throat. You feel the curve of a smile before his hands slide around your waist to pull you closer.

The scrape of his mustache against your upper lip sends electricity racing along every nerve ending in your body. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. It’s unhurried, like he’s been waiting to savor the feel of your mouth against his. Exciting and new as you learn the taste and touch of him. You knew it was going to be good, but even so, it’s better than you could have expected.

“Think you just snagged that number one spot of my list of favorite mustached men,” you say against his lips.

“Suck it, Selleck,” he rasps.

You inhale the amusement of his light chuckle, letting it go to your head like champagne bubbles, before he slips a hand around the base of your neck and pulling you in close once again.

A couple hours later, you find yourself at home on the couch. Your cheeks a little sore from how much smiling you’d done tonight, as Tom and Meg trade words over a plate of caviar on screen.

It was only much later that night you’d gotten to see Bradley’s big move.

He’d surprised you with his voice and the talented way his fingers glided over the white and black keys. An expensive glass of amber colored liquor sitting atop the old piano as he played, and four hundred dollars tucked safely away in your purse.

You’d given him your number when he’d walked you to your car, only distracting you for a few extra minutes with his mouth, before you’d left for the night, hoping that you’d hear from him soon.

A notification lights up your phone, and a ribbon of thrill unspools through you.

You sigh when you see that it’s a notification from your dating app. You’re wary to open it, not wanting anything to color your night, but you figure now is as good of time as any to block the guy who had nothing on the one you’d spent your evening with.

When you see the name of the person who’d sent you a message, you click into his profile with lightning-fast fingers, skimming all the details to things you hadn’t had a chance to learn yet.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 𝟑𝟓

𝐉𝐨𝐛 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐚

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

There is a picture of him in uniform, grinning to someone out of the frame. And another one of him shirtless on the beach, surrounded by some of the faces you’d seen tonight at the Hard Deck.

But it’s the answers to the prompts that he’d picked, that set your heart fluttering.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫.)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬: 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡��𝐭: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

That one makes you laugh.

You open the message from him, one that had been sent with a rose.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞? 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧? 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐩.

You don’t even have to think.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

And you can’t help but grin to yourself as look at that paper ring still on your finger. Because you know, this app won’t be on your phone for much longer.

Not now that you’ve met him.

Happy Hearts Day, friends! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#thank you for reading and reblogging!#I’m just so happy you liked it!! 🫶🏻#the babe with the big move

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yangjungwonisms · 2 days ago

Text

Naive- YJW

Warnings: NSFW| MDNI

~hi all, literally got this idea last night and had to write it~

Jungwon wasn’t an experienced man, in fact he spent most of his time trying to pretend he wasn’t attracted to you. Which is crazy considering you two were dating, and you had been for several months now. It isn’t like he didn’t want to do anything else, god he was dying to do more with you. He was just nervous. On the other hand, It’s not like you were super experienced yourself, but there were things you knew that he didn’t. The most you two had done was kiss. They were fantastic kisses, Jungwon had always been a great kisser. But he was holding himself back. There had been a handful of times when you’d start getting carried away while kissing that he could feel himself getting worked up. The very first time you sat in his lap while making out with him he got hard immediately. He didn’t know what to do, what his brain was screaming for him to do was to rut up into you. Instead, he sat there stiff. In more ways than one.

You were so excited the first time it happened, you had been waiting for the day that your beautiful and innocent boyfriend would give into his desires. All you really wanted to do was make him feel good. You just didn’t understand why he was so hesitant. You tried to encourage him but saw how embarrassed he would get so you decided to shut it down. As eager as you were, it wasn’t worth making him uncomfortable. So you decided the next time the situation arose, you’d simply talk to him about it. You just didn’t think that would happen today.

He had been acting weird all afternoon, you couldn’t put your finger on why that was. He on the other hand, was very close to losing his sanity. He had been with you all afternoon and from the minute you had walked through the door he was rock hard. It was everything about you. The slightly low cut shirt you were wearing leaving just enough to the imagination, but that was making him damn near salivate. It took everything in him not to bury his face in between your breasts. You also happened to be wearing his favorite pair of jeans, the ones that made your ass look fantastic. And you smelled so good too, god he was done for. He had been doing his best to avoid being too close to you if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. But it was a battle he was losing. It wasn’t like you weren’t aware of what he was doing, you could see the hard on he was trying and failing to hide. He was only wearing sweatpants but you could see the outline of him so clear that you knew he couldn’t have been wearing anything underneath. The longer you looked at it the more you wanted to reach out and take him in your hand. Fuck this, you thought, this is getting ridiculous. You’d had a long week and all you wanted was to be with your boyfriend. Without another word, you got up crossed the room and sat down next to him on the couch.

Without realizing it, his body relaxed into yours. Damn, he did miss you. He hadn’t been afforded much free time lately to spend with you. Out of the corner of his eye he sees you start to flash a smile at him. One that could make him do anything you wanted. His body is moving on autopilot, because before he knows it he’s reaching a hand out to cradle your cheek. You nuzzled your face into his hand in such a delicate way that he could feel himself giving in. “Hi sweet boy, missed you”. Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his lap he leans in to place a chaste kiss on your cheek. You shook your head mid kiss leaving your boyfriend confused. “Was my kiss not enough for you baby”? You roll your eyes at him before leaning in. “If you’re going to kiss me won, do it right. I’ve needed to be kissed by you all week. Do this for me please”. He never could say no to you. He tried to take the kiss slow, but you wouldn’t let him. One of your favorite things was sneaking your tongue into kisses with your boyfriend. He was always so shy at first, but you could hear the little groans and sighs he was letting out before finally giving in. You tried to pull away from the kiss to catch your breath but as quick as you had pulled away Jungwon had kissed you again. He tried to be nonchalant about moving your hands into his hair, and you let him think that you truly believe it was your idea.

He’s sick, he knew when he moved your hands into his hair that he was getting worked up. He really thought he’d be able to control his body, but when you gently tugged on his hair you felt his hips jump up into yours. He pulled away immediately, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You were well aware of what was happening. He was fighting a battle with himself, one he usually won. But this time, he was already too far gone. You tried to kiss him again but he moved away from you so fast it gave you whiplash. Your hands, still in his hair, gave another experimental tug, hoping it would bring his attention back to you. He let out a hiss and took a deep breath. “Baby, it’s okay”. His face was still in your neck but he had started slowly moving his hands down to settle on your hips. “It’s embarrassing baby. I can’t”. You coaxed him out of your neck and got him to look at you. “s’not embarrassing baby, don’t you wanna feel good”? He did want to feel good, he wanted it more than anything. So maybe it was time he let go.

“I do wanna feel good baby, so fucking bad. I’m just in my head about it”. A surge of affection shot through you hearing his confession. “Oh baby boy, let me help you, yeah”? It really hadn’t occurred to him that you’d be willing to do this for him. He’d thought about you so many times alone in the comfort of his own home fucking into his fist. In fact, the amount of times he had cum to the thought of you was embarrassing. He was getting stuck in his head again, you were sitting in his lap looking so beautiful for him and he was leaving you waiting. “God I want that so bad baby”. You took it upon yourself to start leaving kisses down his neck, moving down to his collarbones which was a spot you noticed was sensitive for him. “Can I touch you baby? Make you feel good”? He was quick to nod his head, throwing it back and shutting his eyes in anticipation.

You move off of his lap, going to settle in between his knees. He’s shaking in anticipation, not sure what to expect from you. You reach your hand out to touch him over his pants experimentally. As soon as he feels your hand cupping him through his sweats he can’t control his hips grinding up into your hand. You take a few minutes simply feeling him up over his pants. His moans started out breathy and quiet at first but grew in bass by the second. When you go to move your hand away from him he lets out a whine, missing the contact instantly. “Feel okay baby”? His thoughts were racing, he didn’t know what to think. There also wasn’t anything that could’ve prepared him for how good your hand would feel on him. He didn’t respond, no actually, he couldn’t respond. He was fucked out already and you had barely even touched him. “Jungwon, do you want me to keep going”? Again, he’s quick to shake his head yes. “please baby”. You go to start pulling his sweats down so you have better access to him. He can’t maintain eye contact with you with the way you’re ogling his cock.

He’s too obsessed with the way you’re looking at him to notice that you asked him a question. “Do you want my hand or my mouth baby”? Selfishly he wanted both, he just didn’t know how to ask for it. He doesn’t answer so you reach out and cup his cock. “Oh- fuck. Fuck I can’t think. Hand. I mean your hand baby. I want your hand please”. Then you do the sexiest thing that Jungwon has ever seen in his life, you spit into your hand before reaching out to start stroking him. You keep a slow pace at first, not wanting to overload him with too much at once. You’d think he was getting fucked the way he was moaning. He had an arm thrown over his face, shielding him from looking. It’s then you decide to speed your hand up, stroking him faster. “Oh fuck me. Oh god, baby”. You had only been jerking him off for a couple of minutes but Jungwon was seconds away from cumming. He was embarrassed that with such little stimulation he was about to cum incredibly hard. So without a second thought you lean in and start kitten licking at his tip. You don’t miss the way his eyes shoot open at the action. He has his hands at his side desperately clutching at the cushions on the couch trying to ground himself.

You’re obsessed with the power you’re wielding over him. But now that you have him here in front of you moaning so prettily for you, you were prepared to give him everything he wanted. You take the next few seconds taking him in your mouth fully. On pure instinct his hands shoot to your head. They’re holding you loosely unsure of what to do but when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and your gag reflex kicks in he accidentally bucks up into your mouth. The way you gag around his cock makes him dizzy. He never imagined just how tight and warm your throat would feel, but he’s in another world right now. He almost cums then and there when you look up at him and smile. He swears you became 10 times more beautiful to him in that moment with your mouth full of his cock.

Jungwon was trying to be good, he was trying so hard to keep his hands to himself but the way you were sucking him off was overwhelming him. Everytime he hit the back of your throat his grip on your hair tightened. And every time that happened his hips would buck up into your mouth. “Oh fuck baby, I’m sorry shit, I- It feels so fucking good oh my god. I can’t fucking stop baby, I’m sorry”. You weren’t sure what exactly he was apologizing for until his hands stilled your movements altogether and he started fucking into your mouth. He kept apologizing with every thrust he made. At first, his thrusts were shallow, unsure of how to move his hips but then once he was more certain of himself his pace started to increase. It was almost like you weren’t even there, he was so lost in pleasure he was essentially fucking himself with your mouth. And you’d be damned if that didn’t turn you on. He was moaning like crazy, unable to control anything other than the pace at which he was fucking your throat. “Fuck baby, I’m so sorry, feels too fucking good I can’t stop. Oh fuck baby, oh fuck”. He was starting to babble the closer he got to finishing. You were entirely too worked up by this point, so when he wasn’t looking you snuck your hand down into your pants and started touching yourself.

He didn’t really pick up on it until you started moaning around his cock. The sensation alone would’ve been enough to finish him, but then he saw your hand moving in between your legs and saw the way you were fucking your self that he knew he was done for. “Oh fuck are you touching yourself pretty? Oh god, can I see please”? Heeding his request, you stop for a second to pull your bottoms off fully. If he wanted a show he was going to get one. It was almost shameless the way you held out your hand to him. He wasn’t sure what you wanted him to do at first, then he realized you wanted him to spit into your hand. He watched as you brought your hand back in between your legs and spread his spit all around. His movements had stilled for a second, too fascinated just watching you play with yourself. Everything you did was dirty, the way you touched yourself was with a ferocity that he didn’t know you had in you. Then he saw you start to fuck yourself with your fingers that reminded him where he was and what he was doing. Slowly his hips started to move again, but his eyes never left your pussy. He was so fascinated with what you were doing and how you were doing it. He made a mental note to ask you to fuck your self in front of him later so he could see it up close. He’s nearly worked himself back up to the edge when he makes one last request for you. “Baby, can you match my pace? Wanna see you finish when I finish. Oh fuck you’re so pretty. I think I’m in love with you oh my god”.

All it took was a few more minutes of you both fucking yourselves to have you cumming. How he’s able to wait to finish after you is crazy to him. He didn’t realise you were so worked up for him. He now has a blinding grip on your head. He feels terrible that he’s just holding you there while he makes himself cum. But he doesn’t feel bad enough to stop himself. “Oh yeah, that’s it baby, fuck your mouth feels so good. Oh fuck I’m gonna cum baby, gonna make me cum oh fuck”. He’s overwhelmed by his impending orgasm so much so that he isn’t thinking. He figured he was going to finish in your mouth but in a haze he pulled you off of him in just enough time to cum all over your face. Seeing it, he let out the loudest groan you’ve ever heard. “Oh fuckkkkk, oh god you look so fucking good with my cum on your face baby”. It’s then you reach out to stroke him through his orgasm until he’s shaking with overstimulation. You keep stroking him until he’s hard for you again, this time it takes mere minutes for him to cum for you again. He cums so hard his hips are stuttering and he can hardly keep himself from falling over. He is well and truly spent. Without another word he picks up his phone and snaps a photo of you with his cum all over your face that he is for sure going to use the next time he’s alone and desperate for you.

Later, when the two of you are relaxing you can’t help but notice the permanent tint on his face that he’s had ever since earlier. You think he��s embarrassed because he told you he loved you for the first time with his dick in your mouth. You truly didn’t pay it any mind, you figured it was just in the moment. He is embarrassed but he’s more upset than anything. He does love you, he wanted to tell you before all of this happened and he can’t believe he said it while you were choking on his dick. “You look deep in thought won, what’s going through your head”? But you on the other hand were worried he felt pressured into it. He could tell you were overthinking everything and even though he wanted to crawl into a hole he needed to make it clear that he wanted it. “Baby, I know what you’re thinking and no you didn’t pressure me into this. I wanted it, very badly. And I really enjoyed it. God I actually fucking loved it. You’ve gotta let me watch next time you touch yourself please, it’s all I can think about”. He was begging himself to shut up, but the look on your face showed you were enjoying his word vomit. “Yeah? I enjoyed it too”. At that he gestures for you to sit in his lap and when he pulls you into the warmest hug you’ve ever gotten you know for certain you’re in love with him too. “Jungwon, I- I love you”. His eyes shot open, and if you didn’t know better you would say they started watering. “Baby do you mean that”? You just shook your head and leaned in to press a little kiss to his cheek. “Fuck baby, I love you too. You have no idea”. The confession of his love for you sent warmth through your body. You were ready in that moment to give him anything he wanted. You lean in to his ear, biting the lobe teasingly. “Do you wanna watch me now baby”? That was all it took for him to stand up and pull you into his bedroom where he had you teach him how to make you feel as good as you made him feel. By the end of the night he was a pro at making you fall apart with his mouth, paying you back for earlier.

#kpop fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop writers #enhypen #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #kpop fluff #enha jungwon #enhypen smut #yang jungwon #jungwon smut #enhypen jungwon #jungwon enhypen #jungwon #enha smut #kpop smut

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vidals-harkness · 15 hours ago

Text

circle sewn with fate, unlock thy hidden gate (part 1)

summary: your perfectly 'normal' friday morning got interrupted by the mad search for a coven with a witch who's reputation precedes her.

fic type: angst

pairings: agatha harkness x teen!reader, teen x teen!reader

word count: 1.6k

series masterlist | masterlist

You sat at the kitchen island and watched your mother go off her rocker and ballistic about…well, everything. It was entertaining, to say the least, but it was also nothing short of absolutely irritating.

“Coming in here after all that time, thinking she’s gonna…” she muttered angrily. “Look at my front door!”

“Well, if you weren’t such a hopeless lesbian and just, I don’t know, talked to Mami, we wouldn’t be here, would we?” You scoffed, annoyed.

“What?” She rounded on you, before yet something else caught her eyes. “Ugh! Whose shoes are these?”

“Probably the guy you kidnapped,” you shrugged, nodding at Teen, who stood at the closet entryway, trying to undo the tape from his mouth.

“Okay. She’s unstoppable,” she said, pausing for a moment.

“No, she’s not, you’re just being stupid,” you said, rinsing your bowl and putting it away.

“And you’re giving me attitude?” She scoffed.

“Oh, tragic,” you rolled your eyes, walking over to grab a broom, ready to sweep the mess up.

“The house is yours, random boy. Be sure to tell the vengeanceseekers I said hi,” Agatha said hurriedly, gathering some stuff. “Y/n, grab stuff we can use to survive on the road—“

The boy bunny-hopped to the doorframe, and spent a moment taking off the tape around his mouth before blurting out, “Take me to the Witches’ Road!”

Both you and your mother froze, looking at each other.

“Come again?” The older woman said, brow raised.

“The Witches’ Road,” the boy repeated. “I want you to take me there. Please?”

“Is this twink for real?” You asked, eyeing your mother.

“Hey!” He protested, only to receive a shrug in return.

“The Witches’ Road doesn’t exist,” Agatha said, crossing her arms to face him.

“You’re lying,”

“Am I?”

“That’s just what real witches say to keep the amateurs out,” he replied. “The Road will give you the thing you want the most,”

“And what could you possibly desire? Free glitter eyeliner for life?” You snorted, leaning on the broom.

“Dude, what is your problem?” He said, irritated.

“Hey, I’m my mother’s daughter,”

“The road does give you what you desire,” Agatha interrupted. You already sensed the cogs turning in her brain and it made you sick. “If you make it to the end,”

“And I can. I will,” he said indignantly.

“Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully, casting you a sideways glance which you reciprocated with a scowl. “The Road is no place for a kid,”

“I’m 16!” He protested. “Oh, sorry. Teen,” she replied mockingly. “I don’t know where you heard about The Road…Books, the Ballad, legend, lore…But it will kill you,”

“Didn’t kill you,” he countered.

“Cause she’s a stubborn bitch,” you huffed under your breath.

“Well, I’m exceptional,” she said simply.

“That’s my point,” he said.

“No, please don’t fuel her humongous ego—“ you sighed.

He rolled his eyes and added, “Okay, so, confession, I know an egregious amount about you. I’ve been obsessed since I first read up on your Salem days,”

“So not only are you a twink, you are also a creep, fantastic,” you nodded sarcastically.

He rolled his eyes at you, continuing, “One of my favorite “you” eras,”

“That’s a good one,” Agatha nodded appreciatively. She looked at you and said pointedly. “At least a omeone appreciates my work,”

“That’s why I came here last night,” he said. “That’s why I saved you from the spell you were under,”

“If you’ve got the goods to break a spell cast by the Scarlet Witch,” Agatha said, eyeing him curiously. “Why do you need The Road?”

“I mean, I’ve studied, don’t get me wrong,” he said, making her smile tightly in acknowledgment. “But that can only take you so far. I wanna blast, to shield, to levitate—“

“So you want a shortcut,” she interrupted. “The Road promises that what’s missing awaits you at its end,”

“Oof,” you chuckled. “That’s rough, never meet your heroes, Teenie,”

“Shut up,” he snapped, turning back to Agatha. “Power is what I’m missing. Sounds like it’s what you’re missing, too,”

You paused and watched your mother nervously. She was a strong woman, crazy every now and then, but she wasn’t stupid, was she? She couldn’t possibly take up on this offer with some random kid she kidnapped under a spell.

“Nope. Too risky. No time,” she said finally, about to walk off again.

“If you wanna run, fine,” he shrugged. “But these people who are coming tonight sound serious. You really think you can outrun them with no magic at all?”

“Twink’s got a point,” you sighed. While yes, it was an idiotic thing to do, the Road was safer than the Seven, without a doubt. At least there, death would be quick and painless and devoid of any nightmarish methods.

“Who are you?” Agatha asked, squinting at him.

“My name is…” his words distorted, and you saw his lips vanish completely, only to reappear again after he had finished.

"Say again," your mother demanded, eyes squinting slightly at the sight of it.

"I'm..." there it was again. Distortion, something scribbled over his lips.

Your mother and you shared a look. 'Something's up,'

"Interesting..." she mused, eyeing him curiously. "I'm driving,"

You groaned. This woman was on a whole different level.

"I don't like this, Mom," you muttered, catching her by the wrist. "I really don't,"

She shook your hand off her. Ouch. A glare graced her sharp blue eyes. "Trust me,"

"When was the last time those two words meant anything to you?"

"When was the last time you weren't so suspicious?"

"Whatever," you huffed.

Of course it was like this. Power, power, power. You couldn't remember the last time she'd stopped, paused, asked you 'how was your day, baby?' but she wasn't that kind of mom...was she?

Fix it, fix it, fix--

You shook your head. Stupid voices. This is what happened when Death and Chaos raised a child. There was nothing you could fix. Not when the thing you wanted to fix was...

...sitting at a makeshift car.

"Need your pills, Mama?" You scoffed, walking right past her, grabbing the keys, only to have them snatched from you by Agatha.

"You’re driving," she tossed the keys in Teen's direction, much to your dismay.

The crisp Westview afternoon beat down upon you, with sharp sun gleaming over suburban rooftops, casting sharp shadows over the empty streets. It was quiet, normal, calm--

"Miss Harkness! Miss Harkness!"

And there it went, right as you were enjoying it. Teen.

"What do you know about covens?" He asked, enthusiastically.

You rolled your eyes. "Calm your ass down, fanboy,"

"Y/n," Agatha warned before walking and continuing, "Just that they’re drawn together by mysterious forces of fate, and that they’re the truest form of sisterhood and--"

"Oh, my God. Are you taking me to meet your coven?" He gasped, interrupting her.

She shuddered. "No. Those harpies are dust. But we do need a coven to access The Road,"

"Right. Of course, that makes sense," he muttered.

"Wow, it can understand common sense," you gasped sarcastically. "Well done, Junior,"

"Fuck off," he huffed. He caught up with Agatha. "It is the Witches’, plural possessive, Road,"

You glared daggers into the back of his head as he sat in the front of a Subaru, Agatha beside him. Jealousy, ugly and burning, twisted in your chest. What was she trying to do, palling up with this random kid she kidnapped on a Thursday evening in delirium? Had she no sense? No dignity? No grief?

Your fingertips tingled, and the voices rose. Fix it, fix it, fix it. Fix what? Fix a relationship like porcelain? Fix this power-hungry woman with a thirst for nothing else?

"So where do we just find a coven?" Teen asked.

"You call yourself a witch?" You scoffed. "You got some homework to do, Twinky,"

"Wherever you are, a coven there shall be," Agnes shot you a look through the mirror.

"That’s beautiful,"

"Hardly," you scoffed.

"She's right. It’s definitely not," Agatha shrugged. "But it is the Covenstead Rule. Within any three mile radius, there will be a collection of witchy enough people to form a coven,"

Teen fished around in his pocket and held out a worn journal. "Can you actually jot that down for me?"

"Ooh, where's the unicorn fluffy pen, Twinky?" You teased. "Gushing about your dream guy from class in your diary?"

"No," he gave you a pointed look. "There’s a pen in the glove compartment,"

"Oh," Agatha had that look in her eye as she got the pen. "Okay. Of course. Will this be…" she promptly flung it out the window.

"I'll remember it," he shrugged. "So, with a Covenstead, it’s unlikely we’ll find witches as high profile as you--"

"Yeah, there’s no such thing, Teen," she interrupted. "You know, but all we need is a bit of talent. Even the most downandout witches, when in close proximity with each other, bring out a magical spark,"

"A spark you seem to have lost," you muttered as the car stopped. Here, the energy felt strange--buzzed like a frat party, but calm like before a storm. Your eyes landed on it: Madame Calderu's.

A psychic. You hated psychics. Know it alls who had no notion of personal space or intellectual personal space.

"You think there’s a real witch in there?" Teen asked as Agatha did up her hair.

"Nah, probably some ugly fucking harpy," you scoffed, shoving past him.

"We’ll see if she knows the secret handshake," Agatha shrugged. On seeing that he was believing her, she groaned, "No,"

A grin spread over his lips. "I feel really optimistic about this,"

The shop was dim, lit primarily by the candles of the space. It smelt of incense and essential oils, and it made you want to throw up. Trinkets hung from every place, and it made your chaotic thoughts more chaotic than usual. The lights glinted off the surface of the crystal ball--which warped the floral tablecloth it was placed over.

And right then, a voice.

"Welcome to the curious,"

@eletricheart, @misty-melody, @mmemalwa, @skittlebum, @lexietargaryen, @natashasmuse, @angelbeingatitspurest, @skittledemon, @wandasreallover , @gaylorvader, @lovelyy-moonlight, @lizziescutiepie, @rosierogie, @lanadelreyaesthic, @circe143, @babybeeelle, @kafkas-left-titty, @delusional-4-fake-people , @filmedbyharkness , @nothecoffeemachine03, @believe-in-magic13 , @liloandstitchstan , @scarlettwidow09, @pixelfaery, @darkexil, @agatha-harknesses-housewife

hi bao buns! sorry this is SO overdue, i've been swamped with work, motivation problems, and now studies. i figured it'll be exhausting to write out such huge chapters for every episode, so i might break them down into parts <3 thank you for your patience!

love, jace.

#baby witch from death #miniseries #agatha all along #agathario x reader #agatha harkness x child!reader #mom agatha #angst #teen x reader #billy kaplann #billy maximoff #agatha harkness

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infiniteeight8 · 1 day ago

Note

Ironstrange: soulmarks show potential/compatible soulmates and change (appear, fade, etc). Tony has one that has never changed, no matter how often he interacts with Strange. How does Stephen win him over?

I ended up doing a fair bit of mental world building to get this to work in my brain. I hope the result is interesting!

“Tony,” Stephen says, approaching him after an Avengers meeting has wrapped up. “Could we speak in private?”

Tony has been dreading this day ever since he spotted the mosaic decorating Stephen’s chest and realized that the design filling one of the hexes matched one of the pie slices in the circle Tony bears on his shoulder. But there’s no avoiding it, not really. “Yeah, alright,” he says, and Stephen’s brow wrinkles at the reluctant note that Tony doesn’t even try to suppress. Might as well start lowering his expectations now.

Tony leads them into a spare conference room. No point in making this too personal. Hitching one hip up on the table, he waits for Stephen to close the door behind himself and then waves for him to go on.

“We have soulmate potential,” Stephen says carefully.

“I’m aware.”

Stephen is quiet for a moment. “I take it you’re not interested in pursuing that.”

Well, this is already going better than expected. “I’m not,” Tony confirms.

“May I ask why?”

“Sure,” Tony offers lightly and waits.

Impressively, Stephen doesn’t seem frustrated or impatient despite being forced to ask the question again: “Why are you not interested in pursuing a potential soulmate?”

“Because I’ve been down this road before,” Tony says bluntly. “Three times, actually. Potential soulmates who come to me full of pretty promises about what our future could look like if only I’d let them in, give them a chance, open up. They push and they push and they push because they’re so sure we’re going to be perfect together, and when the mark never activates they get angry and resentful and blame me for not trying hard enough. I should have learned from the first two, but the third… The third was Pepper. At least I managed to salvage a friendship out of that one.

“In my experience,” Tony went on, “soulmate potential doesn’t improve relationships, it ruins them. I’m not interested in going through that again.”

Stephen is quiet for a long minute. Tony waits for the argument for how Stephen is different. Maybe he’ll claim the silver mark—a platonic soulmate—on his chest means he knows how this works. Maybe he’ll argue that they have more in common, both being heroes. Maybe he thinks magic gives him extra insight into the whole soulmate concept.

“I understand,” Stephen says eventually. “I hope we can be friends, eventually, but I imagine you’ll want some distance first.”

He turns and opens the conference room door, and it’s then, when Tony is still staring after him in disbelief, that Tony feels the flare of heat in his shoulder.

Stephen stops, but doesn’t turn back. Tony yanks his shirt off and cranes his neck to peer at his shoulder. “Well, look at that,” he says, bemused. Stephen’s pie slice shines gold. “Apparently all I needed was for someone to respect my choice.” He looks up to find Stephen still in the doorway, shoulders tense. “Get back here, Stephen.”

Stephen closes the door and hesitantly comes back to stand before Tony. “You’re sure?” His eyes go to Tony’s shoulder and the golden mark.

“I’ve never had an activated mark before,” Tony says. “The variables have changed.” Stephen arches an eyebrow and Tony rolls his eyes. “That’s a yes. I’m sure.”

Stephen smiles. “Good.”

#IronStrange #ficlet

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canary-clan · 1 day ago

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PART 1/2 this moon has warnings! Careful

Very long Rambling below + If I forgot warnings tell me! Also idk if I'm keeping starclan as 'starclan' or just 'The Stars' for future

Aaaaahhh I've been waiting to draw this page! Since the very first leader doesn't get a full ceremony I thought 'what if the life ceremony was shown in relation to her deaths' (I havent played to far so idk if I can accullally do this for every one of Canarys deaths)

It is mentioned briefly in dialogue but since I don't think it will come up again I'll go into my ideas for Dove and Canarys history with each other...

Burrow-Clan was a very traditional clan that followed 'old rules'. Canary was the Star Keepers apprentice (a story teller and prophecy interpratior) a role created because having your doctor have visions of doom during treatment wasn't ideal... Dove really looked up to Canary, he wanted to be just like her but most of all Dove wanted to be able to talk to the stars... to be special to be helpful and important, but he couldn't even see glimpses of them at all, no matter how much he tried.

Then one day Canary disappeared. Its not unheard of for cats to be lost in the tunnels but it still hurt Dove deeply, he constantly was the subject of rumor for being the next star keeper after Canary since they were close. He resented this, the job was all he ever wanted but it cost his time of grief and made him have to constantly lie about his (lack of) connection to the stars

Moons/years pass, and he is woken up by... Canary? Sure this is a dream he indulges this fake version of his friends request to follow her out of the tunnel... and to take a forest walk to meet some of Canarys friends. But as they walk he realises. This doesn't feel like dreaming he can feel the dirt move under his paws and he can see the way leafs sway on the trees...

This is real. Canary is real, and alive... they are far from Burrow-Clan camp now when he turns around... and sees that Burrow-Clan has caved in, collapsed in... Canary stop him from running back... Canary knew she had to! She talked with stars and they knew everything and she didn't save them she left she disappeared and came back for what? Him?!? Why it didn't make any sense...

And now they are in a new clan... Canary-Clan. How dare she pretend to be leader when she didn't save her clan, his family.

(I dont know if any of the above is even readable or makes sense but I'm really tired so I'm not going back to reread it) I'm not a writer for obvious reasons, just needed this out of my brain.

#clangen #clan generator #canarymoons #clangen comic #tw death #tw animal death

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fall0utmind · 12 hours ago

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I'm very picky with abo fics in general but your sick fic au? God it hits the spot perfectly!!

It has everything: Marc hiding that he's hurt, the people around realising that he's hurt but not Just How Badly Hurt he really is, dramatic and public reveal of just How Bad things really are. The guilt!!

Good god the guilt!!! The flavours of it, Marc who has been living with it and internelising that this is somehow his fault and that he's a bad omega, for a decade, (doubt that'll just disappear overnight!) maybe when Marc eventually wakes, barely aware and delirious from pain, He apologisees to Vale for having to deal with him again.. (you did say Marc blamed himself for Vale rejecting him, might as well twist the knife. Just hope Vale's alone when he says that cause Alex might just murder vale on the spot if he hears that).

Vale's guilt hitting him like a truck at first once his alpha realises that it's his fault that that his omegas in pain!! Seeing Marc unresponsive in a hospital bed, so small and fragile, and it's all because of him.. is it bad that I kinda want Vale to think deep down Marc hates him for doing this to him? Potentially Even More miscommunication? Because in vale's mind why wouldn't Marc hate him? Vale has been making his life a living hell for the past decade! Why would Marc want anything to do with him after That?

The guilt from Alex, and the other people close Marc, over not realising just how badly he was hurting, Pecco and the rest of the academy boys realising that by being around Marc they were causing him pain!!

Also speaking of the academy boys, you mentioned that Honda were a makeshift pack for Marc, and since Lucas now with Honda would someone accidentally say something to make him even more suspicious? I doubt anyone would intentionally say something, wouldn't betray Marc's trust like that, especially not to vale's brother, and I assume Marc would have been very careful with making sure noone fully knew just how serious things were, but like surely they noticed some things? Like Marc doesn't nest, doesn't scent, straight up disappears for days when he has a heat and comes back looking like hell?

Anyways sorry for the rambling! I can't wait to read this fic 🫶

Talking about two AUs at once is ruining my brain a bit. I keep buffering and getting confused 😭

Anyways, this has been in my asks bit for do long and I'm so sorry about that.

We sound like we value very similar things in fanfic, ngl. Cause what I really love in fics are:

- lots of hurt, especially when the MC is hiding his pain

- a huge amount of angst and pain - the closer we get to pain levels you can't come back from, the better.

- public realisations of the hurt that's been caused

- followed by loads of fluff

So, about what you said. Oh my God, yes. Marc internalising it is definitely going to happen. He thinks that it's all his fault, not outwardly but somewhere deep inside for sure. And yes, you're right. It's going to take him a long time to get over it and to stop internalising that he's a bad omega, and it's his fault. I can imagine that when he's first nesting again, and he's really struggling to do it, and he just thinks it's because he's a shit omega 🥺🥺 *again, Vale, when i get you 🔫🔫

But YEs what you said..

When Marc wakes up, there is a steady hum of machinery in the air and a steady beeping, which he feels would become irritating after a whole. He is barely conscious, everything's feeling dreamy, and pain still radiates through his body. He turns to his right, wincing as pain shoots through his side, a grimace on his face.

When he opens his eyes again, he meets Valentino's eyes. He has to blink rapidly to ensure he isn't still asleep, pinching himself lightly. Vale bats his hand away and Marc PANICS. Profuse apologies fall from his chapped lips as his eyes dart around in panic. Marc can't believe he's fucking it up again, making valentino sit here with him, when he's already made it clear that he doesn't want Marc. Because Marc is a bad omega. Who doesn't even deserve a pack.

"No, no. This wasn't meant to happen"

"I'm so sorry, valentino, I know - I know you don't want me. I'll leave, make sure it doesn't happen again. I'm sorry. You don't need to deal with me. You shouldn't have to. I'm so bad at this. A bad omega. No alpha should have to deal with a bad omega, " he rambles.

If he was more conscious, less drug-fueled, he wouldn't be saying this. Embarrassment curls in his gut, and yet he can't stop.

When marc drags his gaze back to Valentino, he chokes. There are tears in the older man's eyes and panic written all over his face.

Even better if Marc's family are there. Can you imagine Julia and Alex shouting at Valentino, can you imagine the hell that would break loose?

"You. You did this! You don't deserve to be an alpha"

"How dare you. You have no idea what he suffered. Get out!!"

I am living for this ask, it's so good. The idea that Vale thinks Marc hates him and the miscommunication is so good. More angst is fantastic.

I am obsessed with the idea that Valentino's alpha is freaking out. Firstly, at the sight of Marc, his omega, small, pale, fragile, and so SO unwell. Because of him. Im imagining that he actually doesn't realise it's his fault at first - instinct just took over when he saw marc collapse, and he ran, refused to leave marc alone, growling at anyone who got too close. Fuckkk. Then could you imagine, the doctors coming back in, saying it's bond sickness and pack withdrawal. Valentino frowning. And then it hits him like a tonne of bricks.

Valentino vomiting everything he's eaten into the nearest bin. His alpha thrashing inside of him, torn between the need to be near Marc and the all-consuming self hatred. Gosh 😭😭

And then yes, the idea that they miscommunicated, that Valentino tries to put space between them because clearly marc hates him now.

Then ALEX and MARCS FRIENDS

Stopppp everyone jusy realising they were indirectly hurting marc. The sadness they all feel. The way that he's better, everyone sticks closer to him, scenting him constantly and always keeping him nearby. They all stick nearby in the next, too, constantly touching.

Marc absolutely hating it- the pity and guilt.

Finally about luca - yes, I love this idea too. I think maybe he Overhears someone say something about how worried they are about marc. They realise luca is there and panic!!!! And then, yes, they won't tell him what it's about, but he's very suspicious.

So he starts to scout, information gather, goes to hound dani and dovi for information about what's happened. I think he only begins to realise as marc is already getting sicker. By that point, it's almost too late. He tries to warn Vale, but he won't hear it. 💔💔💔

Also, yes, people are definitely suspicious. I've touched on this briefly, but people notice for sure. Only the people close to him notice the lack of scent. His teams and teammates notice the whole no heats after 2018. A couple of people notice the coming back from heats like shit from 2015-18 (there are some theories, also some not nice words from certain people). But no one wants to ask. It's a bit taboo. Plus like it would feel like going against Vale. So people notice, but they don't do anything and don't say anything (it makes the guilt so much worse)

Thank you for rambling. I loved all of your ideas and answering this!!.

#motogp #marc marquez #motogp rpf #rosquez #my fics #valentino rossi #asks #abo sick fic #alex marquez #luca marini

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iheartinkonpaper · 15 hours ago

Text

i'll be like one of your girls (or your homies)

Everybody loves you, baby

“Hey, blondie.”

Somehow, in the span of four months, Art had managed to forget just how big Patrick Zweig was.

Sure, he was tall, but Art was, too. Sure, his body was incredibly toned and bulky from years upon years of intense conditioning and tennis playing but Art’s, though more lean, was toned, too. Sure, he had big hands, a big, gorgeous, face, and, based on what glimpses of skin he’d accidentally caught in the locker room and what he’d barely felt during that feverish night in the hotel room back in June, a big– no. Why was his mind going there?

You should trademark your face

But the biggest thing about him was his presence. How the energy shifted, became heavier, hotter, more, when he was in a room. How he held court without even really trying, permanently at ease and entrancing crowds of people in his little Patrick spell by flashing his sweet little Patrick smile and saying even sweeter little Patrick words.

Linin’ down the block to be around you

“Hello? Earth to Art!”

Art blinked. Patrick had been standing in his dorm doorway for god knows how long at this point, laden down with heavy bags full of clothes and tennis gear. It had been four months– by far the longest it had ever been– since the pair had last seen each other. Art hadn’t been able to sleep last night, tossing and turning at the thought of seeing his best friend after so long.

All day, he had been thinking about how he would greet him. How he’d run into his arms like they were an old married couple and Patrick would ruffle his hair like they were best friends and everything would be okay again because they were something in between. And now that the moment was here, he had frozen.

“Well?” Patrick had an eyebrow raised, clearly confused and a little glimmer of something in his eyes. Could it be apprehension? Anger? Hurt?

But, baby, I’m in first place

Art turned off his brain and finally stepped forward and pulled his best friend in for a hug. Now Patrick was everywhere. His arms were wrapped around Art’s back, one hand smoothing it up and down his spine in a way that made his brain short circuit. His smell, a smell that Art could only describe as The Patrick Smell, overwhelmed his senses. His curls brushed up against the side of his jaw. His nose pressed gently up against his shoulder as he tucked his head there.

“Finally,” Patrick murmured into Art’s neck, causing his face to go hot in a blush that he prayed he wouldn’t see. “There’s my Art.”

“Missed you so much,” Art managed to choke out despite his pounding heartbeat and increasingly muddled brain.

What was going on? He was hugging his best friend. They were the touchiest pair of best friends either of them knew; there was always an arm slung around a shoulder, a hand on a thigh, a leg tossed over another leg. That was just the way they were.

Patrick, much to Art's embarrassment, was the first to pull away, striding into Art's tiny little shoebox dorm and surveying it, picking up and putting down trinkets, looking at the posters on the walls and the papers on the desk.

"Man, I can't believe we're no longer roommates," Patrick muttered, sitting down on Art’s tiny twin bed, looking him in the eye and leaving him with no choice but to nod along. Art walked over and joined him, careful to leave a few feet of space in between them. Patrick’s brow furrowed slightly at this, but he quickly wiped the expression away. Art was mollified. He knows something is wrong with me.

Face card, no cash, no credit

"Yeah me neither," He said, because it was true. It was crazy. "It's weird that your face isn't the first thing I see every morning."

Patrick laughed and grinned, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh yeah? Whose face are you seeing instead?”

Art felt himself turn pink again under Patrick’s gaze.

“Um, no, I, I haven’t really, um, slept with, or I guess I should say, um, hooked up, since–”

“Dude, that’s not what I meant,” Patrick interrupted, laughing in that easy, lighthearted, Patrick way–much to Art’s horror. “I meant if you have a roommate or anything, but I’m all for hearing about my little Artie’s romantic conquests.”

“I don’t have one,” Art whispered, studying his hands under the heat of Patrick’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Don’t have what? A roommate or a romantic conquest?”

“Both. They never gave me a roommate at the beginning of the year and I haven’t… had sex at all,” Art replied in a tone that he fought to keep cool and casual, daring to look up and meet Patrick’s gaze. Clearly, he was slightly shocked, but there was something relaxed and assured about that shock. Something relieved.

“Dude, no way you haven’t gotten laid at least once this year. Girls aren’t throwing themselves at you from every direction?”

Art felt his face turn warm again and Patrick grinned.

“Aw, don’t go all shy on me, Donaldson. You know girls love a pretty face like yours. And you’re tall and you’ve got muscles and you’re smart and actually, like, sweet. What’s not for them to like?”

Yes God, don’t speak, you said it

Art flushed again, and this time, he could tell by the quirk in his eyebrow that Patrick noticed.

“No, Patrick. I’ve had plenty of offers, trust me.” Calm, cool, collected. Calm, cool, collected.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you take them?”

Look at you

“Not interested.” Calm, cool, collected. Definitive.

Patrick’s lip curled a tiny bit and narrowed his eyes in a way that made Art feel like a petri dish under a microscope.

“Sure you aren’t.”

Art was hot, hot, hot, all over. His mind was a jumbled mess of half-baked excuses and wild stories that he could use to distract Patrick and, god, Patrick, Patrick and his face and his eyes and his hair and his hands and–

“That’s it, Donaldson. You’re thinking too loudly. Relax. It’s just me.”

Art smiled weakly. That was the problem. It was just him.

Patrick’s eyes lit up.

“Hey, let me tell you about this insane hookup I had a couple weeks back,” Patrick grinned, flopping back on Art’s bed.

Art flopped back with him, staring at the ceiling and praying to God that he would make it through this alive. Sure, he’d listened to Patrick’s sex stories in extensive detail countless times, but that was before.

Skip the application, interview

“So we were on a date at this new restaurant in New York. Shit, I can’t remember the name, but it was so fucking good, Artie. Had these sweet potato fries–I know you love those– that almost made me orgasm before we even got back to my hotel room, I swear. Anyway, we get back to the hotel and get in the elevator, and he–”

Art felt his heart freeze in his chest.

“He?” He squeaked out, pushing himself upright.

Patrick looked at him like a deer in headlights. Helpless, Art watched, for the first and what he hoped was the last time in his life, Patrick’s walls go up before his very eyes. He sat up so that he was sitting face to face with Art, so close that they could feel each other breathing.

“No, Patrick, Patrick, I’m-I’m not homophobic or anything I swear, I just…didn’t know.”

Art could barely breathe. Could barely think. Could barely anything.

Patrick’s face relaxed a little, but Art could tell he was still nervous.

“Well, that’s me. I’m bisexual. Bring out the rainbow flags” Patrick cracked a small smile.

“What made you realize it?” Art whispered, daring to look at him.

He looked shaken, a little relieved, and, suddenly, a little… embarrassed?

Sweet like Maribou

Patrick was silent, and bowed his head down to his lap. This caught Art off guard. Patrick was never like this.

“You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to,” Art quickly reassured him. His heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest and run away. He knew it was now or never. Knew now that Patrick wouldn’t judge him for what he was about to say because he was the exact same way.

Still, he felt like he was going to throw up when he said, “It’s just… I think I might like guys too.”

It was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Patrick looked up, meeting Art’s eyes with an overwhelming cocktail of emotions in his own.

He took a deep breath, then mirrored Art’s question from a minute ago.

“What made you realize it?”

Art felt the same way that he did when he was strapped into the drop tower at the amusement park near his childhood home, waiting for his seat to plummet down, down, taking his stomach and his breath along with it.

“You.” He whispered.

“Art,” Patrick breathed raggedly, eyes now wild and alive and searching Art’s for any sign of deception. “Art, I swear to fucking God, if this is some sick, fucking, joke because now you know I’m bisexual-”

“Patrick. I mean it.”

Maybe it was his tone, quiet and firm. Maybe it was the crack in his voice. But there was a shift in Patrick’s gaze that told Art that he knew he was telling the truth.

“Patrick, I can’t be around you normally anymore, I-”

A slow, cocky, smile, spread on Patrick’s face.

“Oh yeah?”

Art squirmed under his gaze.

“Yeah,” He continued, voice breathy and quiet. “I don’t really know when this started, or why it started, but you’re just so pretty, you know, your face and everything. and it just makes me so mad because I can’t look away, and when you talk, I feel like you’re hypnotizing me or something because it’s all I can focus on, no matter how stupid whatever you’re saying is, and when you touch me, fuck, Patrick, when you touch me, I feel like I’m on fire. “

Look at you

Art was breathing heavily. Patrick was grinning like he’d just won a billion dollars and slowly, hesitantly, reached out and cupped Art’s jaw. His eyes went wide and he let out the tiniest, most pathetic, little whimper at the contact that Patrick would be playing on repeat in his head every night for the rest of his life.

“Seems like you have some pretty big feelings, honey.”

Art turned tomato red at the pet name and Patrick’s cheshire cat grin only grew wider.

“What are you gonna do about them?”

Art’s body went on autopilot and he leaned in and pressed his lips to Patrick’s.

Give me a call if you ever get lonely

They were kissing. What Art had imagined every day for the past few weeks (months, honestly) was finally happening.

And god was it better than any half-formed horny fantasy he could conjure up in the middle of Econ 101. Now Patrick was really everywhere, his hands moving from his jaw to smooth up and down his torso, his curls brushing Art’s forehead, his strong thighs pressing against Art’s, and, best of all, his lips on Art’s. Art wanted, no, needed, more.

To Art’s dismay, Patrick pulled back after a few seconds with a concerned look on your face.

“You didn't move a muscle. What’s wrong?”

Now it was Art’s turn to be the deer in headlights. He felt so good that he could barely even process what Patrick just said. Patrick seemed to realize this and laughed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe how fucking lucky he was.

“Aww, I’ve barely kissed you and you’ve already gone dumb, huh?”

In any other circumstance, Art would be embarrassed. Instead, he nodded.

“Fuck, Patrick, need you so bad, please,” Art whined, too far gone to care about how ridiculous he knew he looked and sounded.

Who was Patrick to deny such a pretty beggar?

Torturously slowly and languidly, Patrick pressed his lips back to Art’s. It was probably the most delicate Patrick’s ever been, Art vaguely thought as Patrick’s hands smoothed up and down his waist and they gasped into each other’s mouths. Now Patrick’s fingers were knotted in his hair, and he slipped his tongue into Art’s mouth and tugged on his curls gently at the same time. Art moaned, his brain short-circuiting.

“I know. It feels good, doesn’t it, Artie?” Patrick pulled away to breathlessly whisper against Art’s lips, laughing quietly when Art only whined in response.

I’ll be like one of your girls or your homies

Patrick pushed Art backwards, not breaking the kiss, so that they were both laying down, slotting his hips between Art’s.

They both groaned at the contact, a breathless ‘fucking shit’ slipping out of Patrick as their clothed crotches pressed together.

“Please, Patrick,” Art gasped, closing his eyes and pressing his hips into Patrick’s desperately, hands clawing at his back. He barely even knew what he was asking for.

“You feel so good, Art,” Patrick moaned as he pulled away from Art’s mouth to kiss along his jaw. “So good for me.”

Art let out a sound like he was a girl in a bad porn video.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” Patrick laughed weakly, his voice shot. “Always knew you’d be into that shit.”

His smugness was short lived as Art, trance seemingly broken, pushed up against him and flipped them over so that now he was on top.

“Shut up, Patrick,” Art whispered, grinding his hips into Patrick’s with increasing fervor, soft pants and whines escaping his lips.

“Fuck, Art, you’re so–” he broke off in a groan as Art bit his lip gently–” needy. Me kissing you wasn’t enough, huh? Just had to get on top and take what you need from me, didn’t you? You’re such a slut, Art.”

Say what you want, and I’ll keep it a secret

Art gasped at the word, moaning as his neck dropped into the crevice between Patrick’s neck and shoulder.

“I’m–I’m not a slut.”

“Oh yeah? Then why are you grinding on your best friend, fuck, like you’re one?”

“I’m–”

Art broke off in a moan so loud Patrick was sure people in England could hear it, sticky whiteness shooting out and making a mess of his boxers.

“There we go, Artie. That’s it. Let it all out.” Patrick murmured as he rubbed his back up and down as he shuddered and whined, cheeks pink and lips parted in pleasure.

Art looked straight out of a renaissance painting, all messy curls, pouty, swollen lips, big, glassy eyes, and flushed cheeks. It was that very thought that sent Patrick over the edge, a quiet groan leaving him as he too made a mess of his boxers.

“Well.” Patrick was first to speak after a few minutes of silence aside from their labored breathing. “I learned a lot today.”

Art turned pink again and Patrick laughed, ruffling his hair.

“I wanna shower. I always shower after…sex,” Art muttered. “I’m all–”

“Can I come with?”

You get the key to my heart, and I need it

#art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson x patrick zweig #artrick #challengers

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