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weirdmorefics · 5 months ago

Note

Could you pls do a fake dating fic with Colin bridgerton? Tysm xx

A Life Long Scheme

A/N- Sorry for the delay! I really do have the fanfiction writer curse! I say that every time but I mean it! I got my appendix out and rode in an ambulance. They don't even play music in them FYI.

Readers Pronouns- She/Her

Word Count- 2,512

Summary- You convince Colin to fake court you to gain the attention of other suitors but jealousy consumes Colin.

I knew I would have a hard time finding a suitor from a young age. My family may be wealthy enough to attend balls but certainly not enough for a sizable dowry for each of their children. I grew up competitive trying to prove myself worthy even if I came with a small dowry. My siblings relied on their looks but I was determined to be the best at everything. I will treat coming out like I do life competitively. As the eldest, I must set an example.

I was lined up with the others coming out into society this year. They all nervously played with their clothes and looked to the floor. I too felt like doing that but I kept my emotions bottled tightly in my chest and held my head high. We all took our turns bowing in front of the Queen she looked completely unbothered by us, dare I say bored.

I was last in line she looked me up and down and said, "I am unsure if anyone qualifies as a diamond this season."

I can't fight back the sharp inhale I take, I can physically feel my heart launch its way into my throat. I feel as if I may hurl as she gets up and walks away escorted by her guards. I look around at others visible shock. I can't help but feel the Queen just left because of me. I mean I was the last one. I need to do something! I can't fail already I just came out into society!

My night was filled with pacing and plotting. There has to be a way to impress Her Majesty. My Mama tried to comfort me but Father quickly told her there was no point in speaking to me when I was like this. I hate to admit but he is unfortunately correct. Once I am in a thought spiral there is no getting out. I thought of other seasons for most of the night as I lay in bed. What did they do to gain the Queen's attention? The most notable season of late would have to be Daphne's. I can't recall the last time The Ton has seen a marriage done with such haste before. She had a massive amount of suitors after her though that was only after The Duke's appearance.

The idea hit me suddenly I launched out of bed, put my carpet slippers on, and ran out of the house. I am lucky my family sleeps so soundly because I am sure I sounded like a horse trotting as I ran through the house. The Bridgerton manor is right next to ours, so close in fact that I grew up playing games with all the Bridgertons. Colin has always been my dearest friend (even though Mama always told me a male friend was improper). I knew Colin would go along with my plan, we have been scheming and pranking since we were children. This should be no different! It unfortunately hit me how late it was when I stood in the darkness of the Bridgerton Garden. I was here now I refused to backtrack just because it was an untimely hour.

I used the bushes to help guide me to Colin's familiar window. Once there I gathered tiny pebbles and started ricocheting them off his window. It did not take him long to wake and open the window with a messy bedhead and a lit lantern. His face instantly flushes at the sight of me.

"My god Y/n what are you doing out here in this state!" He shouts

I follow his gaze to my clothes and feel my face heat. My god, I did not think this through as I stood in front of Colin Bridgerton's window in the dark, in my silk nightgown. I will see this through the damage is done. "I have a plan," I smile.

He sighs and rubs his forehead, "Oh no… you are lucky my sleeping schedule is still askew from traveling abroad. Now get inside before someone sees you!"

I met him in the drawing room and he refused to look me in the eye, "So what is so important that you have decided to grace the house with your presence at this ungodly hour."

"I am here to present you with a proposition," I clasp my hands as he finally looks at my face suspiciously.

"And what might this proposition be? I can assume nothing good," he questions.

I roll my eyes and pace as I recite my plan."As you know Daphne was utterly suitorless during her season courtesy of Anthony. However, the moment a Duke entered the picture she had men competing for hand. They could not care less about Anthony's interventions."

Colin nodded confused, "Your point?"

"My point is I need competition! So I propose that you pretend to court me! If you will? I know you are aware of my Papa's financial situation… I mean the whole ton is after Lady Whistledown published his unfortunate business decisions and his one-too-many daughters for a dowry. None of this will matter if I can get a suitor who loves me and will help my family but that can't be done if I can't attract a suitor!" I continue to pace as Colin looks entirely unsure of what to make of this situation. I take a deep breath, "So what do you say?"

Colin looks at me with puppy dog eyes, "Of course Y/n. You are my dearest friend. I must know why you decided to discuss this so late at night in your…" he flushes again and looks to the ground. "In your nightgown."

I suddenly became all too aware of my attire and became a stuttering mess, "the conversation was of utmost importance the time of day and clothing choices have nothing to do with it!"

Colin smirks, "I see."

"I must save my Papa's business if not for him but for the chance my sisters will get to marry for true love and not for financial gain," I sigh. Colin's eyes which were once teasing turn to sadness, "Do not look at me like that Colin. I don't need your pity, I need your help."

He nods and straightens his posture, "Of course Y/n. Of course, I will help."

I quietly snuck back into the house after speaking to Colin. The plan was set in stone he would be the first dance on my dance card and we would round up potential suitors together. We were joined at the hip for every event and I purposely chose the busiest times to promenade so the most amount of suitors would see us.

I soon began to gain the attention of many suitors and even had many coming to my house to call on me! Mama was so proud I was so happy to take her mind off the situation with Papa.

Mama pulled me to the side of the drawing room, "Maybe hanging out with the Bridgerton boy will help you! Maybe their fortune will rub off on us!" I was proud to inform her I was to promenade in the park today with Colin. It was odd to see her smile with excitement instead of pale at the thought of her daughter spending her time with a man who never planned to court her. I wish she wasn't only proud of me when I wasn't doing something that benefited me in finding a wealthy suitor. It's no matter though, I will do anything to make her proud, and it feels like I'm finally doing it. She spent the whole morning with me to find a suitable dress for my outing.

Colin arrived promptly at the time we set previously and accompanied me to the park. As we promenaded I felt many eyes on us they truly believed Colin would court the daughter of a family barely escaping financial ruin. It is truly almost humorous how easily we have swayed the ton.

"It is truly working Colin! Mother is so proud that I will be the one to save my family's reputation. Such a shame she picked such a layered gown for one of the warmest days of the season," I whisper and fiddle with the seams of my dress.

Colin sighs, "How many suitors are you getting from this Y/n? They can't all have honorable intentions given your beauty and your family's standing."

I roll my eyes, " Why Colin Bridgerton are you jealous? I would not think you are the type. Do not worry you will always be my dearest friend. No husband could replace you."

His face turns serious, "I am just worried. I hope you are doing this for the right reasons and not for the sake of your Mama… and I am most certainly not jealous."

For someone who said he is certainly not jealous he didn't sound quite certain. That, however, is not what distracted me. "You think I want to marry a man not for love but purely for financial gain? It is every woman's dream to marry for love! We can't all have the privilege to do so! Especially one born into a family with a gambling addict for a father and a mother too frail to defend herself. My mother has been preparing me for coming out since I was a child! This is my job as the eldest! To secure a good future for my siblings so perhaps they get the opportunity to marry for love as I will never get to!" I back up as if I may burn from Colin's shocking gaze but I still point a finger at him, "And the fact that you don't already know this Bridgerton is having me question if we ever truly were friends! Perhaps all those travel stories in your head leave not much room for anything else."

I storm away from the Bridgerton, I think after his initial shock he calls for me but my rage prevents me from looking back to see if it was true or a cruel trick of my ears. It was perhaps not the greatest idea to run off from a suitor with no chaperone. Maybe I wouldn't have found myself in such a precarious situation if I had chaperone. I find myself cursing my father in my head for his terrible gambling habits that prevent anyone from wanting to associate with the likes of us. Therefore getting me into this mess in the first place.

"Y/N L/N, we have been watching you for quite some time. Your father never described your intense beauty but how could one put it into words?" The seedy man approached me.

I smiled politely, "Thank you! May I inquire how you know my father?"

"Oh darling I think you know why we are here. I mean the whole ton knows about your father's habits shall we say." He smiles menaceingly and I think to myself of course this has to do with his damn gambling habits.

I back up in case I have to make a quick escape and he unfortunately catches on. He grabs my wrist to keep me in place, "We have been very patient with your father. Given his position in the ton, we thought we could be lenient with his payment schedule. However, it turns out we were mistaken. What is more shocking is the fact that his daughter thinks she has a chance of finding a suitor with no dowry."

"Sir please unhand me," I try to pull away from his grasp.

"You think being in the company of the Bridgertons will help your family situation? Perhaps we could take you as payment? You do draw a lot of attention despite your social ruin. We could use you to bring more men to the establishment," he smiles sinisterly.

I yank my hand away even harder out of fear but his strength still outmatches mine, "Why would I ever help you put more families in financial ruin!"

He laughs, "Darling you think you have a choice?"

His eyes narrow at something behind me and I hear Colin's voice, "I believe the lady asked you to unhand her."

"This does not involve you, sir," he growled.

"You see it is my business when you have your hands on my betrothed, Colin growls back.

My eyes furrowed in confusion. He had been fake courting me of course but we certainly did not discuss a fake betrothal.

The man laughs yet again, "I read in Lady Whistledown that you were courting her but the fact a Bridgerton would sink to the likes of the L/N family."

I took in a shallow breath and Colin growled in response. This situation was going quickly downhill.

"You will not besmirch the lady's name! Now I won't ask again unhand her!" Colin shouts.

"Whatever you say," he smirks and tosses me to the ground. Colin's grimace seems to only encourage the man more, "I'd honestly prefer to use her to replace her father's debt but if you want to drag your family name down with her so be it." He walks away with a peppy jaunt in his step and I glare at him from the ground.

Colin quickly helps me to my feet, "I would have dueled him right here and now if I was not in the presence of a lady."

I brush the dirt off my gown, "It's fine. I'm fine. I will handle it."

"No, you will not! you will not take a step towards that insipid man," he yells.

"Well, Colin you don't really have any choice in that matter! Do you? You are just fake courting me. Or fake betrothing me now? I don't know. I have lost track honestly!" I rant.

His face turns serious, "Y/n I care for you! I would forsake my whole family name for you! You think I do not burn with rage every time I see a new man attempt to call on you after I started court you! I noticed your beauty and your smarts before any of these men did! The fact that they only noticed you once another gentleman entered the picture is disgraceful! I will always notice you Y/n! I will never let your family go through this! I hope to be a love match for you and help your family."

Tears collect in my eyes. As the oldest sibling I've never been the one that was cared for but the one that does the caring. Colin's words made me feel full. I try to tease but it comes more out as a sob, "Mr. Bridgerton are you proposing to me."

He smiles, "I think it is about time I finally proposed to you after you always proposed your schemes to me. So what do you say Ms. L/N? Would you like to continue proposing schemes to me for the rest of our lives?"

I nod aggressively smiling. There was no stopping the happy tears now.

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captn-trex · 2 months ago

Text

playing pretend

Rex x F!Reader / Bi!Reader

word count: 4.2k

description: Rex is a good friend of yours, and any good friend would teach you how to flirt, right?

warnings: reader is bisexual, a few suggestive lines of dialogue/sexual innuendo, friends to lovers, that's it I think

a/n: I really went back and forth on whether to make the reader bi or not lmao. I suppose it could get less reads because of it but eh. at the end of the day I write for my own enjoyment, so here it is

You drummed your fingers unrhythmically on the table, watching your ‘target’, so to speak, from across the bar. You pursed your lips, brows drawn together in concentration as your mind worked something up.

“Are you-”

“I’m finding it” You cut off the clone Captain, holding your hand up as you continued watching the woman at the bar.

She was honestly gorgeous, you couldn't have possibly missed her when she walked in. Her hair falling to her jaw and hanging over her forehead and into her eyes, those big blue eyes…

Okay. Maybe you were getting a little ahead of yourself, you didn't even know the woman. But you wanted to know her, and that was enough.

“Nothing is going to happen if you just keep staring, you know” Rex informed you with a teasing grin, and you directed a lazy scowl in his direction.

“I'm aware, just give me a minute” You turned back to watch the woman once more.

She was now on her tiptoes, leaning over the bar a little to talk to the bartender, and you gulped, looking back to Rex. His expression was nothing short of amused, watching you fawn over this mystery woman and not having the guts to go and speak to her.

“You're really not helping right now” You grumbled, and he just grinned back at you, shrugging.

“I know, it's funnier just to watch”

“Some friend you are” You rolled your eyes, but there was no real animosity behind it.

You and Rex had been friends for a number of years, with you working as an engineer in the heart of the Republic. You didn't get to see him very often anymore, especially not with the war stretching the GAR so thin, so you cherished these moments you did get with him. You felt sort of bad, having gone to the bar to catch up with him and now having your eyes glued to someone else.

“I can't understand what the fuss is all about” Rex admitted as he took a swig of his drink.

“What? You must be joking” You laughed, “She's probably the most stunning person I've ever seen”

Rex scrunched his nose a little, a shrug in his shoulders, “Eh, not my type”

You blew out a long breath, shaking your head disapprovingly, “You're missing out then”

“Seems you'll be missing out too” He replied quickly, amusement dancing in his eyes.

You nudged his shoulder a little, “Once again, not helping”

You let your eyes wander back to the woman in question, who was somehow still alone, and now holding a drink. She was stood leaning her back against the bar, her eyes scanning the room as she swirled her drink with the straw provided.

You sighed, but it wasn't a dreamy sigh of admiration, it was shallow and exasperated. Rex frowned a little, the heavy breath audible even over the loud volume of the bar. He bit into his cheek a little before he spoke.

“What's actually stopping you from going over?” He asked, the sincerity in his voice surprising you.

You turned to look at him again, and found the look he was giving you to be all too inviting. You shifted in your seat a little, looking down to your lap and musing on how it was exactly that kind of look, from his eyes specifically, that made you so nervous to go and speak to the woman.

You had always secretly harboured some more-than-friendly feelings for the Captain, and had tried to make that known. After a while of trying, you presumed he was deliberately ignoring your advances in the hopes that you'd stop, so you did. Though it didn't stop the way your heart raced when his amber eyes met yours with such an intensity as they just had.

Truthfully, it was the complicated feelings that you had for the Captain that had shaken your confidence, and you found yourself unable to even try. Especially with him sat right there.

It was particularly odd. In every other aspect of your life, you were reasonably confident, or at least sure of yourself and your abilities. However when it came to the realm of romance, you had no such luck.

You couldn't tell Rex that it was your ridiculous crush on him that made you feel this way, you know he would blame himself and just keep apologising for ever shaking your self-worth. Though, it wasn't his fault, it was you.

You, ever the romantic, that loved far more easily and deeply than apparently anyone else.

“I'm just no good at… flirting, and… all that stuff” You admitted, your voice a little quieter than it had been the moment before.

Rex studied you carefully, his eyes scanning your suddenly nervous demeanour.

“That's bullshit”

Your gaze snapped back to him, your expression almost scandalised, “What?”

“You're so outgoing, there's no way” He argued, but you just shook your head at him.

“It's not just about being outgoing” You countered.

“Then what is it about?” He crossed his arms, leaning forward so that his elbows rested against the table.

You laughed airily, “I'm not sure, why don't you tell me?”

“You want flirting advice from me?” Rex smirked a little, one eyebrow lifted as his eyes bored into you.

“No, I-” You rolled your eyes once again, then came to a stop, “I guess that's not a bad idea actually”

Rex was a little bemused, you could see that much plain as day on his features. He bit into his lip a little, watching you with concentrated eyes for a moment.

“Alright, I'll give it a shot” He conceded, and you gave him a small grin.

“Okay then, where do we begin Master Rex?" You asked with a slight air of teasing.

“Please don't call me that” He huffed, shaking his head, “But I don't know, what's your usual approach?”

You should know. You couldn't stop yourself thinking it.

“Uh…” You thought for a moment. What was your usual approach? “I guess I try a compliment, and then if that lands, I… try and work whatever response they give into some kinda… story, a tidbit, an explanation, that sort of thing. To get talking or whatever”

“Right” Rex frowned for just a second before his expression returned to neutral. You almost thought you'd imagined it. “And that doesn't work?”

You huffed, “Well obviously not, if it hasn't got me anywhere yet”

Rex hummed thoughtfully, giving you an odd sort of look that you really couldn't place.

“What is it?” You asked. You were open enough with him that you could ask freely and you knew he'd give you an honest answer.

“Nothing” He dismissed it.

At least, you thought he'd give you an honest answer.

“Okay, why don't you try flirting with me and we can see where it's going wrong” He suggested, his regular demeanour returning.

You gave him your best disgusted look, “Flirt with you? No thanks”

He just rolled his eyes, “It's just pretend, come on”

“Pretend or not, it's still you” You pointed out, desperately trying to contest the way your body was reacting to the thought of actually flirting with Rex. Or more accurately, Rex flirting with you.

“Oh please, you should be so lucky” He pushed at your side a little, his face pulled into a teasing smile.

Oh, how right he was.

“Come on, humour me” He urged.

You sighed aggressively, giving in, “Fine”

The task was a lot easier said than done. What could you say to Rex that could go under the radar enough that he wouldn't realise you were actually interested in him? Your mind drew a blank.

But those eyes… the ones that drew you in like nothing else, they were just watching you, same as ever. Could you really compliment his eyes? Or would that be too much? Had you complimented his eyes all those moons ago when you had tried to gain his attention? You couldn't remember.

“Say Rex” You gave your best over-the-top voice, accompanying it with a sickly sweet smile, “Did you know, you have the most wonderful brown eyes?”

Rex chuckled at your ridiculousness, “Stop fooling around, come on, do it properly”

“Hey! How do you know that wasn't me doing it properly?” You acted offended, but Rex just gave you a pointed look and you huffed, “Fine, fine”

You knew what Rex was like, always too eager to help, so you put your ego aside for a moment and just gave in to letting him help you do this. You took a deep breath before beginning, mustering up a little courage.

“You know Rex…” You began, your tone regular with an extra hint of wonder, and leaning ever so slightly towards him, “I've never met anyone with eyes quite as beautiful as yours”

It was said in such earnest, almost wistfully, that Rex actually seemed a little startled. He quickly recovered though, and leant in a fraction himself, continuing the simulation.

“That right?” He hummed, looking at you down his nose a little, “You can't have met very many people in your life then”

You frowned, though your lips indicated a small smirk, “Don't sell yourself short Captain, It's true!” You insisted, “They're very captivating. Some might say they were brown, though I might say they were more amber than anything, and-” You leaned in even closer, your eyes narrowing a fraction as they looked into his, “That's right, there's a little bit of gold in there too”

Rex was thoroughly captivated. He wondered how you could say you were bad at flirting when you had him absolutely wrapped around your finger in only two lines. Not only was it your words, but it was everything else too. Everything about you. Your presence enveloping him, your face so close to his, your eyes searching his so deeply, inspecting him in a way that made him feel alive rather than scrutinised. It was enough to make him weak in the knees, so he was thankful for being sat down.

“I think you're just saying that” He spoke lowly, giving you a chance to back down, to take it back.

You shook your head resolutely, your smirk blooming, “I'm not a liar if that's what you're accusing me of”

“I wasn't-” Rex's voice was taken from him at the feel of your hand resting atop his thigh. He had armour on, of course, but had he known you were going to do that, he would have dressed down in civvies this evening. Even the light weight of your hand, the knowledge that it was there, was all that was needed to send his heart into overdrive.

“What was that, Captain?” You teased.

He gave you a look of warning, though it wasn't anywhere near as serious as he was pretending.

“Loth-cat got your tongue?” You purred, your eyes flicking down to his lips and back up again.

Rex was being driven insane. He tried to remind himself that you were just pretending, in a little game that he had suggested, no less, but that was doing little to quell the desire he felt for you.

“You know, if that loth-cat could be so kind as to give it back, I'm sure we could find another use for it” You spoke quietly, your gaze intense as you said the most daring line yet.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the alcohol in your system having loosened your lips, but your nerves were far from durasteel. You realised how close you had really got to him then, your leg pressed into his as your hand rested on his thigh, your mouth maybe an inch from his.

Rex spoke your name in a low tone. It sounded breathless, but like some sort of warning nonetheless. You maintained your composure as you drew away from him, as if to act like nothing was wrong, like you hadn't crossed a line.

“So, how'd I do?” You asked nonchalantly. You could feel your cheeks burning, so far from feeling calm and relaxed like you tried to appear.

Rex took a moment to come back to himself. He had been so completely lost in the moment, and though he kept trying to remind himself, he had forgotten it was supposedly all to help you learn how to flirt. His heart ached a little at the full realisation of that fact.

“Uh-” Rex cleared his throat, “Yeah, that was good”

“Any pointers?”

“Nope” Rex said, a little too quickly, and looked towards the bar, “You should get going if you want to catch her alone”

You brows drew together in confusion for a second, then you followed his line of sight to the woman, who still stood at the bar. Suddenly the prospect didn't seem as exciting.

“Right, yeah” You struggled to get a smile back onto your face, and you were sure it must've looked more like a grimace. “Wish me luck” You added, slinking out from the booth you both inhabited.

You didn't wait for his reply, you were honestly too mortified by the whole ordeal. Maker, what were you thinking? At least now speaking to this woman wouldn't be the scariest thing you did this evening.

Rex watched you walk up to the woman with the utmost confidence and begin talking to her as if it was the easiest thing in the world. He couldn't help the twist of jealousy in his gut as she seemed to respond to your advances, and the two of you settled into a conversation. Though soon enough, the woman looked towards him and pointed, which made you turn and look at him. He had no idea what was going on, but luckily you trudged back to the table to let him know shortly thereafter.

“She wasn't into girls” You grumbled, slouching back into the booth.

“Ah, I'm sorry about that” Rex said as honestly as he could. He meant it, in certain ways. He couldn't imagine what it would feel like to be rejected for that reason, so he did feel for you, but he would be lying to say he was sad that you stopped flirting with someone else.

Rex desperately wanted all of your attention on him again, the way he did just minutes ago. You were almost as close as you had been before, your knee almost touching his, but it wasn't enough.

“Eh, it's fine. She was nice about it at least” You shrugged. “She was pretty interested in you though” You added with a small smirk, looking over at Rex to gauge his reaction.

“Oh” He seemed a little surprised, “Really?”

You nodded, “I think she wanted you to go over”

“Uh…” Rex frowned a little, his eyes flicking towards the woman and back to you, “I'm good. It's like I said, not my type”

“If you say so” You rolled your eyes a little, “What even is your type then?”

Rex gave you a weary look, a small smile blooming, “I'm gonna keep that to myself”

“Why? You have a thing for Wookiees or something?” You teased with a grin.

Then it was Rex's turn to roll his eyes, “I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer”

“I'm going to believe it until you give me a different answer” You crossed your arms, a smirk taunting him.

Rex just watched you for a moment, weighing in his mind how bad it would really be to just come out and confess to the way he truly felt about you. In some ways, even if you didn’t feel the same way, it would feel better to just get it off his chest. Then he could maybe stop thinking about you when it served him well not to. Like in the middle of missions. That was really quite irritating.

He settled on, “I think my type is women who don’t want me”

“Yeah, you and me both” You laughed, and Rex just gave an apologetic look which you ignored, “But something tells me you're lying”

“Lying about what?”

“That women don’t want you” You said as if it was obvious.

Rex gave you a strange look, “It's really that hard to believe?”

“Yeah, I mean-” You hesitated, and you couldn't help but think it would've been less obvious to just say it confidently, “You're a nice guy, and you're good looking, what's not to like, right?”

“I'm good looking?” Rex repeated, one of his eyebrows raised.

“Alright, I said it once, don't make me say it again” You rolled your eyes to brush off the question, “Anyway, who's this girl that doesn't like you back then?”

Rex huffed, looking away from you and tracing his finger around the top of his cup, “No one, you wouldn't know her”

Your heart sunk a little, despite Rex's assertion that this woman didn't return his affections.

“Alright well why are you under the impression that she doesn’t like you?” You asked, leaning forwards onto your elbows.

“Um…” Rex tried to think of a good reason, “I'm not sure, we're good friends so it's kinda tough”

“Well have you ever actually expressed that kind of interest in her?”

Rex cast a glance over at you, “No, not exactly”

You let out a short disbelieving laugh, “Well why not? How can you expect her to know you like her if you don't even show it”

Hearing those words coming straight from your mouth only drove home how stupid he was coming to realise his actions had been.

“I'm not sure, I don’t know what I could say at this point” He shrugged, looking back into his almost empty cup.

You rolled your eyes once more, “You could just tell her you like her”

“It's not that easy” Rex sighed. It was strangely therapeutic to actually talk about it, but it was definitely a little strange to be talking to you about it.

“Why not?”

Rex didn't reply, and you watched him with interest as he chewed on his bottom lip, his finger tracing his cup again. He looked particularly deep in thought.

“Okay well, what could you say then?” You changed your approach.

“I don't know” Rex huffed and looked up at you with some kind of thoughtful expression, “Maybe you could help”

You frowned a little, “But I don't know her…?”

“Right, but…” Rex paused, “If it was you, and someone was trying to show you that they liked you, what would be good to say, or do”

“Um…” You took a moment to look away and think.

Rex took note of the look of concentration on your face and his heart swelled a little, touched that you were taking this so seriously.

“I suppose… Maybe you'd want to get a little more physically intimate with them? you can kinda test the waters that way” You said, “Nothing crazy, just some quick touches, gets them thinking about it you know? If they respond positively to that then maybe try some more lingering touches”

“Ok, got it” He said assuredly, and, following your instructions, reached over and pushed some of your hair off of your face and behind your ear.

He could hear your breath catch in your throat, and fought to keep the smirk from his face. Your eyes widened a little, and he silently took great satisfaction in it. It seemed that you had responded positively to it, which boded well, according to you.

“What then?” Rex asked, keeping his tone light and acting clueless.

“Um, then…” You began slightly nervously, “I suppose you could give them some little compliments every now and then, or observations you make about them, to show you pay attention to the small things”

“You give really good advice, you know that?” Rex asserted, leaning his head into his hand and looking at you intently.

You were absolutely frozen. Was he meaning to do this? Or was it somehow just coincidence that he seemed to be following your instructions.

“Go on” He urged, moving his leg so that his knee rested against yours, “What after that?”

You took a shallow breath, “Maybe you could… try to spend some more time with them just one-on-one, or just try to be around them more. You know, give them your full attention. If you're friends already that shouldn't be too hard”

“Okay, I can do that” Rex said in reply.

He slung his arm over the back of the booth, now facing you and locking you into his gaze. It was electrifying, and the concentrated and adoring look in his eyes was something you could definitely get used to.

“What next?” He reminded you to continue.

“Uh, I- I'm not sure, maybe something will happen in that time” You shrugged, finding it hard to maintain eye contact with him.

Rex hummed thoughtfully, and placed his hand gently on your knee, lightly tracing his thumb over your skin, “What might happen?”

There was no way this was coincidence.

“Whatever you want” You murmured without giving it much prior thought, causing Rex's eyebrows to raise.

“Is that right?” He asked in a low voice, almost asking for confirmation that you understood it was you that he was interested in, that he was getting you to help in winning over yourself.

You nodded, not speaking for fear that it would just be an undignified squeak.

“Well, if that's the case…” He spoke with a smirk.

He then slowly slid his hand up your outer thigh, his eyes still locked with yours, and he pulled you towards him and onto his lap so that you were straddling his legs. Your breath had been stolen from you, and you let your hands rest against Rex’s chest as you looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Is this okay?” He asked quietly, his hands resting on your hips as he made sure.

“More than” You confirmed breathlessly, and his lips quirked into a half-smile, half-smirk.

“Good” He whispered, brushing his nose against yours, “Because I think this is a little overdue”

The feel of his lips against yours far superseded anything you had ever imagined, and it was something that you had thought about a lot. Though now, with it actually happening, your mind was empty, drained of thoughts and letting him take over everything.

His lips captured yours with a passion that had been long held back, and it was clear that he was done being secretive about it. He needed you to know just how long he had wanted this, how much he desired you. His hands held you hips firmly, fighting the urge to pull you into him further as you snaked your hand around his neck and deepened the kiss. You ran your fingernails gently down the back of his neck, and he shivered in response, his grip on you tightening.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his to regain the breath that had been so fervidly taken from you. When you opened your eyes and met his, you both started to laugh. It was almost too good to be true, and equally baffling that it was happening, after being just friends for so many years.

Rex grinned at you, shrugging a shoulder, “Like I said, a bit overdue”

“I'd say more than a bit” You argued with a wide smile.

Rex chuckled, “I mean, I have been waiting years, so yeah. More than a bit”

You rolled your eyes affectionately, pushing his shoulder a little, “Why didn't you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” He challenged.

You pursed your lips, “Hm. Touché”

“Doesn't matter now” Rex said in a murmur, and brought his lips to yours once more.

This kiss was much more reserved. Ardent but quick, an evident deep affection being shared. You missed the feeling of it immediately, chasing after his lips when he pulled away.

“Hey now, no need to be so eager” Rex chuckled teasingly.

You gave him a mock frown and a small irritated whine, and he laughed again.

“All in good time Mesh'la” He spoke smoothly, one hand coming to rest against your cheek, “Why don't we get out of here? We could even test out some of those other uses for my tongue”

Your eyes widened, remembering your earlier words, and then a small victorious smirk wound its way onto your face, “I think that sounds like a good idea”

#trex writings #clones #tcw #clone troopers #501st battalion #captain rex x reader #the clone wars #star wars #captain rex #clone captain rex #captain rex x you #rex x reader #clone trooper #clone wars #star wars the clone wars #sw tcw #star wars clone wars #divider by saradika

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phantomskeep · 3 months ago

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The Early Bird Gets The Worm - Chapter 2

The Early Bird Gets The Worm

Chapter 2 - A Bird, a Babe, and a Butler All Walk Into a Cave

Written by @agent-sushi-fbi & myself uwu

Read it on AO3 here!

Masterpost | Chapter One | Chapter Three

When Danny had first ventured into the darkened alleyways of this dirty city, he didn’t expect to run into some weirdo in a skin-tight black and blue suit. Fellow dumpster divers? Yeah, sure. He figured that fighting off a family of possums was normal when scrounging around for any scrap of something to fill his stomach.

He didn’t even know where he ended up honestly. Danny got a headache anytime he thought too hard about the details of where he was or how he got there or even who he was. He knew his name was Danny. He knew he was small (he had looked in a mirror, thank you, but it felt wrong somehow, like a funhouse mirror upside down) and he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be small. But thinking about stuff like that hurt a lot–kind of like a metal fist bashing into his skull.

Danny wasn’t really sure how he knows what that feels like, yet he was sure that was the best comparison.

What he certainly wasn’t expecting at tonight's garbage dump feast was being kidnapped by a vigilante. Was it really kidnapping though if he kind of went along willingly out of pure curiosity?

Although, man, was he glad (not that he'd ever admit it out loud) that this random vigilante decided to kidnap him tonight. After Nightwing had bundled Danny up onto his motorcycle once their meet-up with Batman was done and peeled out of the inner city of Gotham, the bird-themed hero brought him to a hidden entrance in the hills that led to a literal cave. He had watched when they pulled up as a reinforced steel panel lifted into the rocks above their head, leaving a gaping maw that Nightwing just zoomed into. Lights activated with motion sensors as they sped into a huge room that was full to the brim with gadgets and computers that lit up at their arrival. Danny could only stare in awe of how awesome and improbable it all seemed.

Seriously, how crazy were these Fruit Loops?

The man had started explaining some boring stuff about the cave when they arrived, but the massive freaking T-rex had immediately caught Danny’s eye and he stopped paying attention to Nightwing. It was like a switch was flipped, his cautious suspicion he’d been holding onto was thrown out the window, and now all that he could think about was flying himself up to the giant dinosaur and touching it. Danny was sure if you looked at his face at that moment, there was no other thought behind his eyes beyond must touch right freaking now.

Nightwing must have sensed the gremlin energy pouring off of him because next thing Danny knew, the collar of his jacket was being grabbed before he could move from his spot at the entrance. He pouted up at the man, demanding with his eyes that Nightwing let go so he could play on the dinosaur like he was a kid. But wait, maybe he should say because he’s a kid? He is a kid right, being all small? But he still wasn’t sure if that was correct. He mentally shrugged and thought: Eh, who cares? All Danny could see was shiny scales glinting in the fluorescent lights lining the cave.

And Danny? Danny was but a simple man (boy…maybe a crow?). He sees a shiny thing and must have the shiny thing.

“Danny, don't even think about it,” Nightwing intoned. He gripped Danny's jacket a little tighter and pulled him closer to the man's side. He totally did not pout at being squished into the vigilante. One hundred percent, no siree. No pouting here.

“Think about what? What are you thinking that I'm thinking?” Danny shrugged, acting casual while his eyes flitted back and forth between the vigilante and dinosaur. “There's no thoughts going on up here, I can promise you that.” He knocked on the side of his head to prove his point, but Nightwing looked unimpressed.

“Master Nightwing, I presume you brought this child back to the cave for medical attention?” Danny's nose bunched in confusion as he heard another, older and British, voice enter the chat. He turned his head around, looking for the source and spotted an older guy in a butler outfit paired with a mask, much like Nightwing��s, appear around the corner.

“Agent A! Good timing!” Nightwing jovially responded, yanking Danny around like he weighed nothing (shut up, he was a BIG MAN!) and presented him like a scrungly, dumpster-infested gift to Agent A. Danny crossed his arms and attempted to sit criss-cross while hovering in the air in response. He hoped it showed both men how displeased he was being carried around like a kitten.

Agent A only raised a single eyebrow, humming as he set down the tray he had been holding on a nearby table. Danny felt a little awkward at the look, like the man was able to be disappointed in him for nearly trying to be a brat and was waiting for Danny himself to realize it.

“Hmm, well Master Nightwing, would you be so kind as to introduce the young Mister to me?” Agent A's attention (thankfully) shifted to Nightwing and Danny huffed a near silent breath in relief.

Danny shifted uneasily, eyeing the new person. “How do I know you’re not some sort of government spy trying to steal my spleen?”

Nightwing let out a tired sigh, patting Danny’s greasy hair with his free hand. “This is Danny, he’s in need of some medical attention like you said. Starting with an attitude adjustment, I think.”

The young boy spluttered, smacking away Nightwing’s gloved hands. His feet dropped to the ground as he glared up at the vigilante who had finally decided to let him go. “I am perfectly fine, thank you very much! You’re the one who kidnapped me, so what kind of attitude should I have in the first place?”

“You came with me willingly!” Nightwing cried out, throwing his arms over his head in exasperation.

“You bribed me with sandwiches! I see no sandwiches here!” Danny rebutted, tilting his chin up and moving around like he was towering over Nightwing (he decided it was best to ignore his current height).

“Danny, you’ll get your sandwiches after Agent A and I check you over--”

“You’re a dirty liar and I hope you know that I will haunt you in your nightmares.” He squinted his eyes at Nightwing and Danny made a mental promise to himself to follow through with the threat…whether he knew how to do it or not. He would figure it out though if he didn't get the food he was supposed to be shoving in his mouth right about now.

Nightwing just sighed, bringing a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Okay, kiddo. Whatever you say, I'm too tired to argue.” Danny pumped a little fist in the air at his win.

A small cough caught the quarreling black-haired duo’s attention. They both shifted their gazes back to where Agent A was watching them bicker. Danny resolutely ignored how they acted in sync and shifted a few inches away.

“If it may please you, Mister Danny, while Nightwing gets you set up in the medical bay I can make you a few simple sandwiches.” The older man turned a pointed look towards the youngest present. “Are there any allergies or preferences that I should be aware of?” When Danny shook his head negatively, Agent A turned to leave for…wherever he had spawned from before.

“Thank you, A.” The vigilante called to his retreating back before starting to herd Danny over to a well-lit corner of the literal freaking cave with actual bats. He still couldn’t get over it.

Danny glared up at Nightwing, eyebrows scrunched in a face of pure childish pout. “I would like to state that I am doing this under heavy protest.”

“Duly noted.”

The medical bay was stocked full of random bits and bobs of probably important looking equipment. From IV lines to a full x-ray machine, Danny had to take a moment and question just how loaded these guys must be to have this stuff at the ready. None of this looked second-hand or even well-used to his untrained eyes, though he couldn't remember if he really had much of a reference for this stuff. As he was ushered onto a cot, Danny couldn’t help the shiver of fear involuntarily creeping up his spine as he sat down.

Watching Nightwing move around brought a thin feeling of panic racing through his veins. The sterile smell, brightly unadorned walls, and the constant hum of devices plugged into every outlet. There was a mayo cart near the end of the cot he sat on, not much on it but Danny couldn’t tear his eyes away from the larger-than-they-should be tweezers and the forceps peeking out from under the sheet covering it.

“Alright, Danno, we’re just gonna check you over real quick,” Nightwing told him, bustling around the small space comfortably. Danny felt like he couldn't breathe at the nickname for some reason he couldn’t recall. But that wasn't right? Because he was pretty sure he didn't have to breathe, which is wrong because a human should be breathing, right? He raised a shaky hand to his chest and yep, it was definitely not moving. Danny had stopped breathing at some point without realizing and it wasn’t affecting him, which was weird. But he still hadn't stopped watching the gleaming silver taunting him as though the instruments would start moving on their own towards him. So, he couldn’t bring himself to care about his own unnaturalness. “Now, I'm not the one with a history of medical care and knowledge. I know more than most. but I’ve only got enough in this old noggin for some basic first aid. Agent A will be the one actually looking you over in a bit.”

Nightwing continued to chatter on, but Danny couldn't bring himself to focus on his words until the man stepped in front of the instruments, blocking them from Danny’s line of sight. He sucked in a sharp breath for the first time in minutes, but Nightwing didn’t act like he heard him as he reached over to remove Danny's jacket.

“Now, real quick I'm just going to do a surface check,” Nightwing rubbed Danny’s hands between his own rapidly. “Jeez kid, you're like an ice cube! We'll get you some warm clothes after we make sure you don't have any injuries. I'm gonna look for any bruises or cuts or anything broken so I can bring it to A's attention. Okay?”

Danny didn't respond. His eyes had started scanning the room and landed on a tiny centrifuge on the counter a few feet away. It looked off, it wasn't spinning at least, but the sight of it caused questions to blur in his mind. Were they going to take his blood? Why would they do that? Lots of reasons he knew, but couldn't name a single one. Why couldn’t he think of them? Would anything happen if they did take his blood? Why was he worried? Was there something that Danny should know, should remember, that he just couldn't? It was important, it had to be important! They were important, they were terrifying, they were his everything, they were his end–!

He felt his mind screech to a sudden halt, narrowing in on the blinking red light of the power button. The centrifuge just taunted him innocently as his mind panicked. Danny felt his chest going up and down, but his lungs still felt empty while his heart beat so fast he could feel it in his throat. He could hear his own heart beating.

What if he was some kind of monster behind his memories? What if Nightwing and Batman arrested him, handed him over to someone? No, no, no! He couldn't let them! He couldn't go back, not to that place or to them--they hurt him, there was no way he'd go back! Danny refused to be sent back to the—!

Suddenly his thoughts stopped. Danny felt light-headed, all of his questions still swimming in his mind, but not as loud. He felt…calmer, but not at the same time? Who was he thinking of? What was he about to remember?

“Danny? Danny, bud, you alright there? It's not normal for you to be so quiet.” A voice spoke next to him, low and anxious but Danny's mind didn't really register it was Nightwing. He just sat there, his limbs heavy and eyelids sinking in exhaustion. He's not sure why he's suddenly so tired, but he felt his mind drift to the thought of flying through the skies with a blue shape holding onto him tightly–laughter chasing them in the wind.

********************************

To say Dick was panicking would be an understatement…He was absolutely losing his shit. One minute, Danny was perfectly fine (if a little bit nervous) but the next he was dissociating and hyperventilating! But without the very important part where he breathes! His little chest was moving up and down rapidly, but there didn't seem to be any air coming in or out of the boy.

“Danny? Danny, bud, you alright there?” Dick smiled, hoping it was a bit comforting. “It's not like you to be so quiet.” He spoke in hushed tones, but hoped that his goading brought the boy back to his former spunk for even a moment and snap him out of his altered mental state. When he got no response out of it though, which worried Dick even more.

When Danny’s eyes had rolled back into his head and he passed out, just as Dick was reaching out for him? He felt his heart stop. But when Dick barely managed to catch the small boy before he fell off the cot? That was the final straw. He quickly cradled Danny in his arms and faced the main portion of the cave.

“Agent A! I need your help, come quick!”

A hurrying of footsteps alerted him to Alfred arriving, but after calling out for assistance, Dick's eyes never left Danny’s face. There was a clatter as Alfred hastily dropped the sandwich tray he had been carrying onto the counter, the older man stopping next to Dick with a distraught expression. “What has happened here?”

“I don’t know, one second he seemed fine and then he just stopped talking!” Dick reached a hand up to gently cradle Danny’s small face, turning his head up to look at his pseudo-grandfather. “I tried asking him a question and he just passed out all of a sudden.”

With a quick nod, Alfred took Danny from his arms and laid him down on his side. Dick couldn’t help but notice just how small the boy looked laying on the adult sized cot. His breathing was short and shallow–nothing like how it was supposed to be when someone was sleeping restfully.

“Get the oximeter set up on him, lad. We’ll need to take his temperature and get a baseline.” With a determined nod, the young man set off to do just that. As he clipped the small, child-sized plastic equipment Bruce kept in the med bay for whatever reason, Dick couldn’t help but run through what had happened prior to him absconding with Danny to the top of Wayne Tower. Did he notice anything wrong with the kid besides the obvious? Did Danny act like he was protecting a wound of any kind while they spoke? He had no idea, but he sure was some detective for not noticing. Dick scoffed at his own thoughts and rushed back to Alfred.

“Was there anything that might have happened to cause any kind of head injury to the young lad?” Alfred questioned as he slipped a thermometer under the unconscious boy’s tongue. He held it there, never looking away from his patient as he questioned Dick. “Any symptoms of a fever or cough that may indicate he is sick or suffering from an underlying issue?”

Dick shook his head, impatiently waiting for the oximeter to give him something. When it continued to show nothing, he felt his heart sink. “Not anything I was there for. The kid was dumpster diving when I found him…looking for food.” He closed his eyes, trying to recall what exactly had happened earlier that night. “He kept swaying around when I got close to him though, like he was exhausted or something but trying not to show it.”

Alfred hummed, pulling the thermometer from Danny’s mouth as it beeped a cheery tune. “His temperature is not where it should be, but not out of the question with the weather and how thinly he is dressed.” The butler gave a sharp nod, depositing the used thermometer off to the side and moving towards the blood draw station. “We’ll need to perform a blood panel on Mister Danny, it’s a very high possibility that his blood sugar is low, as well.”

Dick felt his shoulders deflate, glancing helplessly between the kid he knew he was getting attached way too fast to and his grandfather. “And what if his blood sugar isn't the problem we're having here? What if something else is going on?”

Alfred's eyes softened a little around the edges, his steps a little less hurried, though still confident nonetheless. “Then that is simply one diagnosis we will be able to remove from the realm of possibility. Now, please help me get Mister Danny cleaned up a bit. I daresay, we cannot have the child catching an infection from the street grime finding its way into an injection site.”

“Got it–okay.” Dick pushed his shaking hands to still as he hurried over to one of the cabinets alongside the walls. He opened the drawer housing the many rags they use in these types of situations, a box of alcohol wipes, and a small bucket he filled with water at the sink to take over to Danny’s bedside. Setting them all on the nearby mayo cart, he started gently scrubbing away the thick layer of filth coating the young boy’s arm until the skin turned near pink. Doing his best to not think about just what was happening, the vigilante cleaned up the young boy with Bat-trained efficiency.

“He’s ready,” Dick announced as he swiped an alcohol wipe repeatedly over the now-cleaned flesh. Alfred hummed as the older man wrapped a latex band around Danny’s upper arm, watching as the young boy’s veins slowly thickened with blood swelling. With a gentle precision, Alfred prodded around before reaching a hand out to press lightly above the tourniquet. Instinctively, Dick passed over a needle and syringe to him, keeping the empty tiger tubes in his palm until Alfred asked for them.

Just as the cool metal of the needle began to poke into Danny’s veins, the boy’s fist snapped out, almost knocking the empty tubes out of Dick’s hands. They were shocked enough by the response–both men startled more than they expected–that Dick found himself taking a half step back and Alfred was pulling the needle away from Danny's arm to ensure he didn't poke the boy in the wrong spot by accident.

“Danny?” Dick called out, his surprise hurriedly making way for relief. “Oh my, Danny! You scared me–” Snarling greeted his approach and instantly stopped Dick in his tracks. His arms were held up in an aborted hug as he watched Danny inch upwards and lean forward so his weight was supported by his wrists. It couldn't have been comfortable, but Dick wasn't sure if Danny even realized as his eyes remained tightly shut–lines appearing around them that made him seem so much older than his young age was.

Danny’s noises intensified when Alfred began to move again, the needle still held tightly within his right hand. Although they didn't open during all of this, Danny's eyes were trained on the gleaming silver as though it personally offended him. Dick’s gaze flitted between the two others for a moment before he had an idea.

Lowering himself a little so he wasn't too tall in this moment, settling into a crouched position that put him eye level with Danny, Dick took a deep breath. “Alfie, I need you to take a step back for me.”

The old butler raised a brow and did not move, keeping his eyes on Danny with continuous aborted attempts to reach the child. “Master Dick, I do not know what you are planning–”

“Sorry Alf, I just need you to trust me,” he held a hand out, interrupting the butler and accepting his consequences for later. “I've got an idea, but I need you to step back a little first.”

Alfred tsked in disapproval, but did as Dick asked and the young man watched as a little bit of tension left Danny's face. “Okay okay, now I need you to slowly lower the hand that’s holding the needle.”

“Now, really Master Dick.” Alfred didn't complain, but he made his displeasure known. “This young man is now my patient, so I must treat him. Would you please allow me?”

Dick resisted the urge to sigh. He felt like right now was not the best time to be arguing, it could only lead to Danny running from them, from him. Dick didn't know how he knew that probability, but he felt it in his very bones. Every second they wasted, he knew that it would lead to Danny running as fast as his small legs would take him.

“Alfred, please, I'm asking you to trust me right now,” he begged. Waving a hand at Danny’s current state as though to prove his point. “There's something happening, and I think that we need to follow Danny's lead here. If I know grunts and growls from B, then this is an angry or scared one. We have to step back, ok?”

Alfred glanced away from Danny long enough to stare into Dick's eyes and sigh under his breath (Dick didn't actually hear the noise, but he knew it happened). But without argument, he moved his arm down slowly, never letting go of the needle–but rather just removing it from Danny's direct line of sight. The snarls didn't completely disappear, but they lowered enough in volume that he could almost say the kid sounded like an old fridge humming to life for the first time in years.

Turning to the (obviously freaked out) child in front of him, Dick put on his best showman's smile for him. “Danno, it's okay, no one will hurt you.” There was no response, not that Dick thought there would be. “No one will ever touch you again without your okay on it, is that alright?”

A blank stare was the only reply Dick received, making his worry increase. He did his best to not show it, his smile steady and sure as he kept gently talking to the scared boy in front of him. “What’s got you all worked up? Must not like needles, huh, bud?” With the utmost caution, Dick slowly reached out a hand. When Danny’s snarling continued as before without raising in volume, the vigilante kept creeping closer and closer. “Needles are pretty scary. I used to hate getting shots, y’know? Batman would have to bribe me with ice cream to get me to do it.” Dick dropped his voice to a stage whisper as he gently touched Danny’s shaking arm. “He still has to bribe me, even if I’m not scared anymore. It gets me free ice cream, how could I say no to that?”

Alfred chuckled despite himself at Dick's words, no doubt remembering all the times he had to quell Dick's tantrums when he had to get all of his vaccinations after moving in. “It is true, Mister Danny. Master Nightwing was quite the rambunctious child and the main aggressor in Batman's multitude of gray hairs coming in early.”

Dick frowned at Alfred. He wasn't that bad growing up! But before he could protest his angelic childhood nature, he heard a quiet snort. Whipping his head back around from where he was about to defend himself to Alfred, Dick watched as the lines on Danny's face receded a bit and there was a tiny quirk to his lips.

Deciding sometimes it's better to join them than try and beat them, Dick moved forward. “Oh yeah, for sure, I was a total monster! There was this one time where Batman told me I couldn't go on patrol with him after I kept playing with Poison Ivy's plants,” Dick started in a hushed whisper, as though he were telling a secret. Danny leaned forward, his eyes still closed but not as tightly and he thought he could almost make out a sliver of color from them. “Well, I couldn't stand for that, of course! I was all of eight-years-old and totally knew better than Batman himself, so I went out anyway but in the opposite direction of his patrol. I figured if he didn't see me, he wouldn't know.” Dick shrugged casually, leaning back a bit with a faux-cocky smirk.

“How, pray tell, did that end up working out for you, Master Nightwing?” Alfred was smirking. That was never a good sign for any of them.

Dick looked away from the old butler, keeping Danny in his peripheral as he muttered. “I slipped on some ice that Mr Freeze had left on the ground and slid into the middle of traffic. Batman got a call from Gordon about ‘an extra traffic light the city didn't authorize’ and told him to come get me.” Dick pouted remembering how Bab's’ Dad kept chuckling at him the whole time Bruce gave him a silent lecture on the police station roof. “I was grounded from everything, not just patrol, for a month. A whole month!”

A small huff of laughter caught Dick’s attention, and he could see Danny’s shoulders lower from their tense position. Dick gave a quick glance over him, checking for anything wrong, and just seeing that the little boy was much more relaxed. Within seconds his little head was lolling around like it weighed more than he could handle. Dick jumped up and grabbed hold of Danny's shoulders before he could slump over and fall off the cot. With the same amount of caution one would use to approach a rabid dog, Dick slowly laid the once again unconscious child back down. He stayed still for a few tense moments, waiting for Danny to react negatively at the change in position. When there was no aggressive movement, he breathed a sigh of relief. Turning his head to face Alfred, he spoke in a hushed tone. “Maybe we don’t draw the kid’s blood just yet.”

“Master Nightwing, we need to find out what’s wrong with the young lad.” The old butler set the needle down on a nearby table, locking covered eyes with Dick’s own. “It could be something that needs immediate treatment.”

“Is there any way we could get that information without drawing a panicked child’s blood?” Dick hissed.

Eyes narrowing in displeasure, Alfred spoke with a sharp tone. “Master Nightwing, it would do you well to remember the manners Batman and I taught you.”

Dick sheepishly looked at the ground, mumbling out an apology. “But, A, c’mon. He clearly doesn’t like needles for some reason. Why don’t we just wake him up, or do some tests that don’t involve drawing his blood?”

Alfred twisted his lips in a way only the man himself could, eyes trained on Dick who was anxiously rubbing his hands together, waiting for an answer. When Bruce wasn't here, Alfred was in charge. (Aw, who was he kidding? Alfred was always in charge, but when Bruce isn't here the arguments are a lot easier).

“As you wish, I will view Mister Danny's current status without the transfer of biological tissue of any kind,” Alfred agreed easily, moving past Dick to properly dispose of the needle he had opened. “But I tell you this now sir, if there is an underlying health issue then I won't be able to do anything if his condition worsens in this situation. So I suggest coming up with an idea for when the young sir awakens.”

Dick nodded while feeling like groaning in misery. He barely knew the kid–how was he supposed to act as a health surrogate for this tiny child right now? The vigilante put his hands on his hips as he watched Alfred work, removing Danny's dirty outer clothing. Alfred’s facade broke for a second as he made a face at the two filthy, thin jackets covering the boy’s still covered arm and the ripped flannel around his waist. The old butler methodically cleaned every part of Danny's arms and face that were covered in dirt, and Dick watched in awe as the most adorable freckles appeared on his round baby cheeks. He needed to squish them and coo at the little boy right that second, having to use every ounce of Bat-trained restraint to not coddle the tiny human.

“Nightwing,” Dick took in a sharp breath, instinctually standing up straight. He hadn’t been expecting Bruce to be back to the Cave so soon, normally the man would stay out as late as possible on patrol. “Report, now.” Bruce's voice garnered no argument, a tone demanding answers. Dick knew that he probably had some kind of traumatic response reasoning or whatever for needing to know literally everything for a sense of control. But Dick had a traumatic response to fight at every turn when being spoken down to.

“Not now B, if you can’t tell there’s something going right now we’re a bit busy with,” Dick grit his teeth as he responded, unable to tear his eyes away from the laceration on the back of Danny’s left arm that Alfred had just uncovered. What could have made that? A kitchen knife perhaps? Dick wanted to get a closer look, but he knew he’d just be in Alfred’s way right now. “So if you could kindly fuck off until later, that would be great.”

“Language, young sir,” Alfred admonished him absently.

Dick felt his cheeks heat up, but didn’t move from his position in the doorway where he was watching everything that happened. He didn’t want Bruce coming close to Danny. “Sorry A, my bad.”

“Nightwing,” Bruce–no, Batman–intoned. Dick wanted to ignore the man. God, did he want to just flat out pretend he wasn’t there and focus on this tiny bundle of cuteness that filled him with a strong urge to protect said bundle from any and all harm.

But Batman was someone that couldn’t be easily ignored.

“What part of ‘not now’ do you not understand?” The younger vigilante quipped, trying to play the part of happy-go-lucky-Dick-Grayson everyone always seemed to expect from him. It was exhausting most of the time these days, but somehow easier to just fall into his assigned role than live with the anger brewing in his chest bit by bit.

“I don't have time for your remarks, Nightwing,” Batman scolded. At this point in his life, Dick can tell Bruce's frowns apart as well as he could the grunts. This was an ‘you are lucky you're my kid, otherwise I'd sock you in the jaw’ kind of frown. He didn't earn those too often, surprisingly. “You let an underaged civilian into the Cave without consulting me first. Explain your actions, now.”

Dick’s lips curled, snarling at Batman. “What I did was bring a scared, hurt little boy to a place that I knew would give him half-decent medical attention. It’s better than dropping him off at, I don’t know, Ma Gunn’s?” With an ugly type of satisfaction, he watched as the blow hit its mark. He could read Batman’s body language well enough by now to see the half-hidden wince, the slightest uptick of his shoulders. Hopefully it was enough to make Batman be Bruce for half a minute so they could have an actual conversation, rather than a screaming match.

“You're out of line, Nightwing,” Batman frowned, the creases in his mask deepening as he stalked towards Dick. A dark feeling wormed its way through Dick's chest. It was an awful thing that made him feel like a shit son for being cruel to the man who raised him, but also felt glad he could inflict just a little suffering back at Bruce for his emotionally constipated actions over the years. Dick felt sick at the words that just came out of him. “I suggest you stop now, and let me move past you.”

Dick jutted out his chin, shifting on his feet to broaden his stance and better block off the entry to the medical bay. “Absolutely not.”

The two stared each other down for a moment. Dick didn't move from his post, crossing his arms defiantly as Bruce tried to stand up to his annoyingly taller height in an act of intimidation. Too bad for him, it stopped working after the last time he betrayed Dick's trust, right before he abandoned the mantle of Robin that he had built.

“Nightwing, that was not a request but an order. Move now.” Bruce made to shoulder his way around Dick, but the younger’s lithe form moved to block him.

“I don’t care. I’m not letting you take a kid–who just fainted–out of this cave! He needs medical attention and Alfred’s the best of the best.” Dick argued defiantly. Maybe a little childishly too, if he had to admit it. Dick knew that Danny would do well to be treated properly in a hospital, but after what he witnessed in that room with hardly the basics in medical care? He wasn't letting that kid anywhere near a hospital without his consent right now.

“Alfred, while skilled, is not comparable to a trained doctor who can treat this child and get them the help he needs.” Bruce put his hand on Dick's shoulder and he roughly shoved it off, feeling the skin burn despite layers of kevlar and spandex separating them. “You are acting irrationally right now–”

“I don’t care, Bruce!” Dick shouted, shaking with a barely-contained rage. He felt his chest burning with it, unable to hold the words in and since there were no younger siblings or small children around (and awake), so he didn't stop them. “I don’t care that Alfred’s not a trained doctor. I don’t care that you’re so against this! What I care about is the fact that this little kid trusted me enough to bring him here, to get him help, when he very clearly does not trust anybody!” Dick moved, getting up in Bruce’s face as he went on his tangent. He was so fired up, he couldn't even notice Bruce's dominos widening in shock. “You should know better than anyone what it’s like to have a kid dropped right in front of you and know that you need to help! Hell, how many orphans have come through here, again?”

Dick huffed loudly, his breaths causing a slight mist in the damp cave as he watched Bruce process his words for a moment. The man barely moved the whole time Dick was ranting and he was honestly shocked he got out what he did without Bruce shutting him up. Or Alfred complaining about how they were disturbing his patient.

“Exactly, Dick,” Bruce agreed. But his voice was low and dangerous, the tone he saved for when he was incredibly angry. Dick only ever heard it when the man was facing Joker or The Riddler after their antics affected large groups of people and led to deaths. “I have seen multiple orphans walk through this manor and through this cave. I have watched as you were consumed by rage and tried to avenge your family with your small hands, still growing as you filled these halls with so much sorrow it couldn't fit in a tiny body.” Bruce's fists clenched at his sides. “I watched as you followed in my footsteps, becoming Robin and channeling your anger before just leaving everything behind. I couldn't stop you.”

Bruce jutted his chin out, the vein in his neck popping as he remembered Dick's younger years. “I watched as…as Jason, so filled with hatred and rage entered the manor. He hid his food and tried to protect himself even when no one was coming after him, and then he took over Robin. He was the happiest I had seen him in those days,” Bruce's voice quieted some, but the steel in his tone grew sharper. “Then I watched as he died. He died because he was Robin, because I took him in.”

Bruce pointed at Dick suddenly, and the accusatory finger felt so strong he took a step back in surprise. “Tim was not one I expected, and I tried to push him away for his own good. He'd have been better off not being Robin for his own sake. Even a life lived like his could have become better than the one he has now, risking his life on the streets when he could be at home developing film or skateboarding with friends. A normal life, without the mission,” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Dick, I know what it's like to see an orphan child and want to help them, of course I do. But sometimes, even with good intentions, there are people who want to help but in hindsight probably shouldn't. They could end up making the child's life even worse, completely without trying.”

The guilt that Dick had been feeling washed out in a seething tsunami of fury. All throughout Bruce’s speech, the acrobat felt regretful over what he said to Bruce. Maybe the man actually understood how fucked up his relationships with his kids were? He was mentally debating how to apologize to him for what was said and move forward, maybe turn this into an actual conversation for once. Yet, Bruce's words at the end gave him pause. He made some points Dick could find himself agreeing to in other circumstances, but to say that he shouldn’t be around Danny? Because he would make the kid’s life worse? That's just catastrophizing and projecting his own guilt onto Dick!

“I want you to think about how old you were when you took me in, Bruce.” Dick said, slowly and clearly as he stalked closer to his father-figure. “You were only twenty-two. Fresh out of traveling the world, leaving behind all your responsibilities to start out on your own quest to avenge your parents. To lead a one-man crusade against all the bad things this screwed up city has to offer.” The younger man glared up at Bruce, hoping that he was communicating just how royally pissed off he was. “I’m two years older than you were. I have a full-time job as well as having a normal life outside of the suit. I have decent relationships with my co-workers and I have not only successfully led teams, but I have been fighting towards The Mission for most of my life. I have friends inside and out of being a vigilante who would be more than happy to help me if I asked them to. And, unlike someone I know, I would actually ask.”

Dick shook his head bitterly. He felt the insane urge to laugh right now, but none of this was funny. He knew that.

“I know I can take Danny under my wing and raise him well. I have a great example of what not to do, after all. But, what happened to the one kid you ever bothered to actually adopt, Bruce? Where is he now? Would you say that being under your care made his life even worse?” They both knew he was talking about himself, but Dick wanted Bruce to say the words he was always afraid to admit out loud about their relationship.

Dick felt a sick sort of satisfaction still though at seeing Bruce's shoulders shake minutely. There was not a lot that could rattle the man, but bringing up the mistakes he made raising his kids would always do it--you just had to know what signs to look for. If Jason had been here for this, or even Tim, they probably would have tried to stop their fight before it got to this point. His brothers never enjoyed being around him and Bruce at times like these, but it still made him feel awful in a way to speak to Bruce like this. But he was so upset at the situation he couldn't bring himself to care.

He barely managed to dodge the swing Bruce tossed his way, ducking down to his haunches as the man pushed his weight forwards. Sliding around his legs, Dick hooked himself around Bruce's ankle to bring the bigger vigilante down, but Bruce only stumbled a bit. Dick tumbled a few feet away and popped back up, lowering himself into a half-crouched stance in case Bruce came towards him again. But he didn't, Bruce just stood in the entry of the doorway, huffing like an angry bull as he whipped his cowl off and turned burning blue eyes onto Dick.

He peeked around the man's wide shoulders at Alfred, who stood in the background like a sentinel over Danny's quiet form resting on the bed. Somehow the kid was still asleep through all of the noise. If he weren't facing Bruce, Dick would laugh at the sight of the kid’s slack jaw and an ever growing puddle of drool under his chin.

“You have no right to talk about situations you don't understand, Dick,” Bruce ground out, his voice gravelly with the emotions he never let out. “The choices I made were–”

“Really shitty?” Dick quipped as he rose from his crouch. “Because, yes. They were, I agree.”

“They were the best choices I could make at the time,” Bruce corrected, lines deepening on his face and aging the man even more. “I was young and I had a child dropped into my lap–”

“More like yoinked from the cops, but go on.” Dick shrugged at the man, body language loose but his nerves were shot now that he was further from Danny. “Keep digging that hole B, maybe soon it'll be big enough to fit you.”

“Nightwing, stop this now–” Bruce started to lecture. But the step backwards he made caused Dick to snap. He was too close to Danny and Dick was too far. He had to protect!

“No! This isn't Batman and Nightwing time B,” Dick began marching forward, fists trembling in front of him with each step. “This is Dick and Bruce, man and ward time. You and I are talking, it is not you giving me orders!”

Stopping in front of his father-figure, Dick looked him dead in the eyes. Blue met blue. Frown met frown. He stood up to Batman who was keeping him from the child his heart had already claimed.

“So how about we talk, old man?”

160 notes · View notes

endereies · 1 month ago

Text

JUST A SHOULDER TO LEAN ON - PART 2

Pairing: Matt x Reader

Contains: You always go to Matt whenever things get hard, but little do you know he wants you to be there by his side permanently.

Requested?: yes by several people - thanks for the love ♡

Author's notes: Sorry that this took almost 2 weeks to write, I have mock exams this week and barely any time to write this but I hope it was worth the wait. This is also my longest piece to date so that's insane. Love you angels !!

Word Count: 5783

Part 1

It had been several months since you last went to Matt’s house to cry about your boyfriend. That’s because you two broke up. Whenever Cam stepped out of line again, all you could do was think back to that night.

"M'sorry, you don't deserve any of this, never...Please don't believe anything he says. He has no idea what he is talking about."

And he was right. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve being treated like shit all because he wanted the luxury of alcohol. You thought it would pass, people often do things they aren’t aware of when they are drunk. You believed that lie for almost two years. Two wasted years. You hated every moment of the break-up, you both were drunk this time.

“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy here, I let you move into my apartment, I let you have whatever you wanted, I let you into a high-end life. You aren’t actually throwing all that shit away because you’re a little upset.”

You were practically seething at the point, your chest heavy with anger. Clenched fists lay by your side that held back harsh words. You weren’t crying this time. You got that out your system before your first drop of alcohol that now lingered as a lump in your throat. Small twitches of your eyelids and lips became more common with each idiotic word he spat out.

“No. Cameron, you forced me to move in, you gave me what I wanted to shut me up and I couldn’t give a shit about that ‘high-end’ life. You walk all over me! You don’t like me, you only like the idea of me”

“Oh? Really y/n. I made you into someone people actually respect. Before me did you ever actually get anywhere. Now you’re out all the time going to the opportunities I gave you. ”

“As if you actually notice that I leave the house. I leave here a lot because even subconsciously I knew I didn’t want to be around you.”

“Exactly, you are always away y/n. When was the last time we even had sex.”

Sex? Sex. That was his concern? After the time we have barely even spent as a couple, barely acting like we could be friends. Yet, his main concern is fucking me.

“You’re such a slut you must be getting it someone else.”

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that? We are done Cam. Fucking done.”

“What the fuck are you on about. Don’t say shit that you don’t mean.” He spoke sharply while clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Go on and fuck the barmaid if you’re so desperate to get laid, Cameron.”

You were lucky enough to have your parents live close to you, ones that were willing to take you in while you sought out an apartment. You hated to admit it, but you still loved Cameron, even if you didn’t want to. You despised him and yet at the same time all you did was miss him. Feeling like a walking contradiction was hard, to yourself and everyone around you. Everyone knew how you were feeling. That doesn’t mean they had to like it.

Matt especially hated it. Hated the way you talked about cam like you did something wrong. He knew how selfish he was being, but he couldn’t help it. Not when the girl he loved kept speaking about someone that wasn’t him. He wasn’t sure if he ever would be in that position. When he heard news of your break up with Cam. He sighed in reluctant relief. He relished in the knowledge that you were single so much he almost forgot your hurt. You didn’t feel the same as Matt, you weren’t as happy for it all to be over.

Parties were the worst for both of you. The alcohol placed around the rooms just reminded you of Cameron, for all the wrong reasons. His words when he was drunk were so cruel. They ridiculed you. Even so, the way the liquid burned as it poured down your throat distracted you from the negativity. Until you threw it all up of course. That ended up being most nights no matter how much you regretted it in the morning.

“Matttt!!” Your voice yelled his name once you saw him walk through the main doors, already slurred from the shots you’d taken.

“Hey, nice to see you.” Matt shoved any hesitancy to the side and focused on your smile. It was due to the alcohol, he knew that. Doesn’t mean he couldn’t pretend it was due to his arrival. It was your smile and that’s all he cared about.

“Did Nick and uh- Chris show...?” He nodded and hinted to the pair already at the bar.

“You must have missed them, I was just parking the van. Why?” Nick smiled at you and waved once he figured out that you were looking at them. A slight nudge from him caused Chris to do the same, his hand partially covered by his jacket.

“Wait what.?” You dragged your attention back to Matt with an embarrassed smile.

“Why? Were you looking for them or..” The blare of the music along with the drink in hand made it harder to understand him. You looked up at him with curious eyes, but he shrugged it off.

“Doesn’t matter… How many drinks have you had?” You held up your cocktail to your lips, taking a sip from the straw before shrugging. “I think this is my third.”

“Just take it easy alright, don’t want you getting shit-faced again” Matt sighed heavily as he took in your tipsy state.

“I’m not Cam, okay? I can handle my alcohol.” With another sip of your drink, you stormed off. Not before guilt could fill your mind. You hated only thinking about Cam, but you couldn’t help it.

You had left Matt standing by the main entrance of the venue, looking off to the direction you walked off in. He saw your sweet smile return to your face once you met back up with Tara. Relief filled him momentarily that someone else was at least looking after you. The way your mood switched suddenly left him slightly shocked. He knew you were taking the breakup hard, but he also knew alcohol was not going to help you in any way long term. Eventually he breathed heavily and moved along with his night.

Matt sat next to his brothers at the bar and leant against his palm while his other hand reached for his wallet. It wasn’t long before Nick slid a drink to him. “I figured you’d be here soon, so I got you a drink already.” The drink fizzed in front of him and Matt took no time in letting a big portion slip past his lips.

“What just happened back there?” He let his eyes fall to his brothers, both taking sips of their own drinks as they tried to study his expression.

“She is just drinking a lot and I’m a little concerned, the sudden switch up is making me worried about her.” Matt grabbed his glasses and swished the liquid around before placing it back on the bar mat.

“You know she isn’t over it dude, Cam I mean. After two years of that bullshit, I’m surprised she is just drinking a little more.” He knew Nick was trying to be reasonable, but it was hard to find reasons why anyone would miss a guy like that.

“But it’s him. He was, no, is, a dick. Surely, she knows that.”

“Of course she does, that’s why they broke up.” Chris leant forwards on the stool to speak over Nick’s shoulder. “She realised that he was treating her like shit. Doesn’t mean she can’t still love the idea of being with him. Y/n just needs time, she’ll get over it one day.”

“See even Chris gets it.” He smirks as Chris elbows his arm. “Just be there, that’s all anyone can do.”

Matt spent that night checking in on you every few hours and eventually was also there when you threw up in a plant pot, followed by a few tears. You knew you were being stupid as much as the next person. Yet, you just didn’t want to be in a position where you would be sober enough to message Cameron again.

But it wasn’t easy.

A few weeks later and it was soon Tara’s birthday. With all the chaos surrounding your ex-boyfriend you quickly found yourself running out of time to get her a gift. So, you thought it would be a good distraction from Cameron if you dragged Matt out the house for a day of shopping. Living in LA meant that you could get anything, anywhere.

You found yourselves standing amongst racks of vinyls and posters which were organised by certain artists. However, neither of you could find any fitting enough as a gift.

You stumbled among some racks of some rock and metal music, which seemed more appropriate for Tara. Going down the alphabet, you came across a Foo Fighter’s record covering their greatest hits.

“Y’know, Cam used to play this album whenever he was playing poker late at night. That’s how I knew to leave him alone.” The words slip past your lips with ease, as if it’s a casual and happy memory. But it’s only making Matt clench his jaw and lick his teeth as he nods at you.

Matt nodded at your mention of Cam. “That’s…cool” he mused, his casual demeanour hiding the sting in his chest each time you brought up Cam. He hated how your ex-boyfriend still shadowed every conversation like an unwanted guest. He forced a smile at your comment, his mind was filled with a mix of annoyance and jealousy as you laughed about Cam. He hated how you could find humour in something involving the person he disliked so much. He tried to hide his true feelings, keeping his response casual. "Yeah, that sounds like him."

The record slipped back into its original position alongside other similar artists while you continued looking. The meek smile on your face lingered before it was replaced with a poignant one. You had failed to notice the way he sighed next to you.

“You think she will like some metal instead?” All Matt wanted to do was steer clear of this section, hoping it would clear both your minds of Cam.

He relaxed when you nodded and placed the vinyl back into the racks. he knew why it irked him so much, but he wasn’t ready to admit that to anyone, not even himself. He had to, he was aware but anytime he thought too much about it, it brought him back to moments like this. Where all you did was think about Cameron, whether it became vocal or not.

He hadn’t realised it, but he had zoned out, deep in thought and now found himself now standing around some posters hung up like clothes. It was the average mixture between random decoration for a room of shows or films and the tour posters for several concerts. Matt pondered for a moment before scrolling through the first section.

“Hey what abo-“ The poster he had pinched between his fingers fell through as he noticed you had already picked one up. It was just an old movie poster, released years ago. He barely even recognised it until he saw the name. “What’s that..?”

“Just an old poster, I actually got this for Christmas last year…Well it was actually January but whatever.” Your head shook lightly pushing a strand of hair back behind your ear. “I don’t think I have even seen this film, maybe as a kid?”

“Y/n. Can you stop talking about him.”

“I- uh what?” Your head whipped sideways to look at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion that slowly faded away upon noticing his stern expression.

“All you do is talk about him, I’m sick of hearing about him.”

The awkward silence hung in the air while you both stared at each other for a few moments in shock of the situation. The noise of footsteps and the general buzz of people faded into background noise as you both stood there. Neither one of you knew what to say, just looking into each other’s eyes with slight turmoil.

Matt looked away for a moment and sighed, rubbing a hand across his face before looking back at you with a kinder appearance. He didn’t want to upset you, that much was clear by the way his eyes softened.

“Listen, it’s not you,” he spoke gently, his hands shoved into his pockets. “I just can’t stand hearing you talk about him all the time. Every conversation we have, you end up bringing him into it.”

Your gaze fell to the floor as you listened to his words, guilt hitting you slowly. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, he was right. You weren’t entirely surprised by his words, but it still stung. You knew you talked about Cam a lot, you knew you were still hung up over him. However, you couldn’t get rid of the gut feeling knowing you were irritating the only person who always listened.

Silently, you took a deep breath, your eyes wandering back to the display in front of you. Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of the folded movie poster in your hands, the paper crumpling under your fingers.

“I- I guess I do talk about him too much.” A sheepish smile crossed your face as you scoffed, the slight acceptance creeping into your voice.

“I get why you do it, it’s just frustrating when all I want to do is hang out with you.” His body leant against the edge of the rack filled with the posters. He hadn’t failed to notice the guilt in your expression, and he made his best attempt at a smile to diffuse the situation.

It was hard not to laugh at the irony of the situation. Talking about Cam with Matt was usually a source of comfort. Now, it was the reason for this tension.

“Sorry, I don-“ You were cut off with Matt’s hand covering your mouth, his cold rings hitting the sides of your lips.

“I don’t wan’ you apologizing for some dumb shit, I just-“ His head hung low as he paused to breathe. “Let’s focus on Tara and her gift, yeah?” Hesitantly, his palm lowered from your mouth, allowing you to respond.

“Mhm…” Your fingers absentmindedly fidgeted with the edges of the movie poster once more before placing it on the rack.

Two weeks later and it was finally time for Tara’s party. They were hard to miss from the blaring music emitting out the speakers, not that you minded her music taste. The entirety of the venue was packed with people, most of which were already tipsy. Lights were shining into every corner possible, switching between every which colour. It was humid and it all hit you as soon as you entered the main doors, allowing no easy transition. However, with the amount of time that you had spent in these environments the past few weeks meant that it was a quicker process. The stench of alcohol was one almost every person you talked to, whether they had drunk themselves or not.

Despite the average chaos that spilled around you, you found slight solace in the familiar atmosphere. Parties had become more of an occurrence since your breakup with Cameron, alcohol aiding in drowning out heavy thoughts. That was enough for now, even if it was only temporary.

After you bought your usual drink order, you mingled your way through the crowd before finding a glimpse of Matt’s chain as it reflected the party’s lights. He seemed to have gravitated towards the bar, sitting with his brothers.

A quick glance over his shoulder revealed you, threading your way through the crowd. His gaze followed you, and a flicker of concern crossed his features, knowing well that alcohol was now a fixture in your system.

“Y/n, hey what’s up” He had tried to maintain his friendly advances, no matter how much slight worry seeped in.

"Hey, just thought I'd come say hi to my favourite people." You lifted your half-empty glass to your lips and took a sip, savouring the tart liquid. You managed a smile, the effects of the alcohol evident in your slightly hazy eyes and flushed face.

“You clean yourself up nicely, kid.” You looked to the side and saw Chris’s smile beaming at you.

Normally you would wear a simple black dress that accessorised your skin nicely but for this event you pulled out a high lined piece.

It was a sleek, shimmering material that her body effortlessly, hugging every contour, emphasizing your curves. A slit starts at your knee allows for a quick glimpse of skin, adding an element to its design. The silver material captures the disco light with every movement. The gown continues to flow down, stopping at a dangerously low open back that shows off your skin.

“It is a Tara Yummy party, you expect me not to go all out?” You laced your thoughts with sarcasm which you covered with a giggle.

“Fair enough, you certainly look the part.” Chris let out a quiet laugh, barely audible over the heavy music, before leaning back towards the bar to sit his drink.

As the hours of the night lengthened on, you found the liquids pouring faster into your system. Dared to do a shot turned into three and before you knew it, you were sick. The upstairs bathroom became your new best friend as you made a poor attempt at holding your hair back.

It had been about thirty minutes since Matt heard the cheering of you downing a Jager bomb without any reaction. He hadn’t wanted to ruin your fun, instead he favoured watching you occasionally and hoping to keep you out of harm. After all, with the amount you had chosen to drink recently, he wasn’t going to risk anything. He wasn’t going to let you risk your safety.

With a reliant hunch, he walked towards the upper half of the venue. It was almost reminiscent of downstairs with an identical layout. The main differences where in the wallpaper and painting designs. He couldn’t focus too much on it. You were his priority.

The sounds of gagging, followed by a harsh sound gave Matt a clear indication where you were. He raised the back of his fist to the door and knocked three time before voicing himself. “y/n..? it’s just me, okay? May I come in, I’m worried about you.

You simply hummed in approval, cut off by a dry heave that left a sting in your abdomen. It was a sight that no matter how many times he found you in this position, he never got used to it. Not that it meant he’d leave you alone on the cold tiles.

The door shut with a soft click when Matt pressed the sole of his foot against the painted wood. He was currently busy taking off his leather jacket that had been around his body all night. Luckily, the floor was smooth, so he placed the jacket loosely around your bare shoulders instead. Even sober you’d refuse to wear one, unless it followed a strict set of guidelines. More often than not you would end up leaving a venue with someone else’s clothing on you, typically Matt’s.

“Hey…” His voice was soft, making you quietly aware of his concerned kindness. “How you feeling, kid?”`

He chuckled when you met his gaze with a hard stare. It was a stupid question. Anyone could look in and would immediately know what was happening. Your dishevelled appearance was a noticeable change compared to hours before. Strands of hair pulled themselves out the hair tie and framed your face with sweat.

“Yeah, that’s my bad. Want a water or anything?”

“Nuh uh, I’ve got one ‘ere.” The water in the bottle swished around as you lifted it slightly, dropping it once you knew he saw. It was compressed by what he could only assume by the force of your hand when you threw up.

You hated throwing up, like any other person. Yet in these states only Matt ended up remembering how bad they were.

Once you heaved again, he took the hair from your clenched fist and pulled it up neater than you did. With relief, you used your now free hand to hold the toilet as the drinks came up again. The water bottle came into grip again but relaxed when you felt Matt’s hand rest on your back. Due to the low cut of your dress, he was directly soothing your skin. His touch burned into your skin, and you couldn’t tell whether it was because it was hot or the slight shock of his actions.

“Just breathe...in…and out, yeah?” Suddenly, his breathes became louder, giving you a clear example of what to mimic. They were steady and at a slow enough pace that you didn’t feel overwhelmed. “See, you’re fine.”

Matt helped you lean up properly so that you could drink some water to wash away the bitter taste in your mouth. “Bet you have sobered up a bit, huh?” You chuckled as your back slumped against the cold porcelain.

“God, m’such an idiot.”

“You know you’re not, it’s just some…unfortunate choices” His hand moved from your back to your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He hated how you felt bad for being in this position. Of course, throwing up your guts at a party was never ideal but there was obviously more than that. He just waited until you opened up to him.

“It’s not though. Matt…I’m being so stupid by doing this to myself” The slur in your words had lightened but it was still evident through certain words.

As soon as the sides of your lips relaxed and your body drooped, he noticed almost immediately, sliding so that your shoulders were touching. His own lips pulled themselves into a tip lipped smile when he saw your eyes lose their vibrancy.

“Cam broke up with me and all I seem to do is fall back onto alcohol. It’s like I’m fucking turning into hi- “

“No.” His hand twitched by his side, unable to decide what to do. “You aren’t him, you never will be him. Don’t think like that all because of a few drinks.”

“But I- “ With a swift movement, he raised his hand to your mouth again.

“Don’t. I’m not having you lie to yourself kid. You aren’t like him, not even close. You think I’d be here if you were anything like him?” Underneath his grip you silently shake your head followed by the removal of his hand.

“Exactly. I ain’t reminding you of the obvious again.”

“But. What exactly am I doing here.” The hurt in your eyes became more prominent as tears flourished.

“Coping. No one said the method was healthy but…” Matt took his hand off your shoulder and laid it between his tucked knees. His neck turned to face you, your head already facing his.

“Am I the only one who wishes we had gravity falls playing right now.” For the first time in a few minutes you cracked a smile, wiping away tears before they fell.

“If this place didn’t have shit signal, I’d already have that loaded up.” Whilst he talked, he grabbed the toilet roll quietly and handed it to you without another word. He bumped your aim playfully, getting you to focus on anything but the tears.

“You wanna know something…?” You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you spoke. “The more I think about it, the more I see that…you actually treat me better than Cameron ever did. You’re actually the reason I broke up with him, knowing what I could have instead of him. And…I don’t mean to talk about him, I know you hate it. Frankly, I do too, but it’s difficult not talking about someone who impacted me as much as Cam did, no matter how negative it is.”

During the entirety of your ramble, Matt stays silent. His heart is pounding in his chest at your words. You were drunk, sobered a little by the throw up. But still drunk. He isn’t sure what to take to heart and he doesn’t want to get his hopes up by anything stupid. His tongue darts between his lips, wetting them before returning to his mouth which felt just as dry. Whatever feeling this was, he hated the way it tugged at every thought he’s ever had about you. He has always wanted you to speak this way to him, see that you deserve better. Hopefully deserve him. But when it came down to finally hearing those precious words. You just had to be drunk.

“y-yeah..? I didn’t know I impacted you that much. I just wanted to be a good friend to you..” God, he didn’t like the way that word rolled off his tongue.

“You’re more than just a good friend to me, Matt. You do know that, right?”

Fuck.

He hated this. Hated the way you spoke so gently to him, like a wild deer in the woods. Hated the way you let yourself look at him like that. Hated the way he wanted to pull you that little bit closer. He hated that you were drunk.

“We should get back to the party, people are probably wondering where we both are.” Matt’s body quickly pushed itself up, back onto his two feet. His hand reached out to you but his gaze didn’t meet yours anymore. “You feeling better..?”

The sudden switch hadn’t hit you yet and you simply mumbled a small ‘mhm’ and took his hand which ended up around your shoulders.

That night ended for you quite early. Apposed to your normal standards, you went home as soon as the clock it 12. The sky still seemed bright with the amount of light that surrounded the venue.

You hadn’t interacted with Matt after your small talk in the bathroom. He ushered the both of you out the room and left you shortly after. He didn’t seem panicked, more rushed than anything. The way the subject switched so quickly took a while to register in your head and when you finally realised it, he was no where to be seen. Whether he left the party or not was still up to debate, but you didn’t exactly try and find him as much as you should’ve.

The following morning was rough, the drinks you had taken had gone to your head and given you a headache, it wasn’t that bad compared to ones you had before. However, you still found yourself lying in your bed for hours after taking medication. The songs that you played in your headphones was a contrast to the ones that blasted last night. They were on a dim volume and were calming instrumentals. With the way your head ached, you weren’t about to risk making it worse.

A light yawn left your mouth, and you thought it was about time that you got on with your day. Taking some medication helped tremendously and you ordered yourself some fries to satiate your hunger.

One thing managed to throw you off, Matt hadn’t messaged you yet. It was almost a guarantee that he would message you, especially after a night out. Not a single message had come through. He didn’t have to message you, but he always did.

That’s when it hit you. The conversation in the bathroom before he left you for the rest of the night. Surprisingly, you remembered the majority of the dialogue you shared, your drunk self making you share more than you would ever sober.

“You’re more than just a good friend to me, Matt. You do know that, right?”

“Matt…Hey.”

You found yourself standing at the porch of the triplet’s house, rocking back from the heel to toe of your feet. The floor was slightly wet from a small rain shower mere hours prior. Creaks echoed when the door opened in front of you showing Matt’s familiar frame.

“Uh, hey? What’s up” You had tried not to notice the way his posture stiffening, but it was hard when he had failed to make it appear subtle. “Need anything?”

“Sorta, I need to talk to you, can I come in?” A shaky breath stood in the air between you both before he nodded and stood aside. His house was the same as ever, a constant other than him that you appreciated.

“Where are Nick and Chris?” You loved the pair to bits but frankly, you didn’t want them to stand around you and Matt while you had this conversation.

He shrugged slightly, walking into the kitchen. “They stayed with Tara last night, gonna be home in a few hours.”

“About last night…” You trailed off, looking down before you began again. “I know that I was drunk but- I do remember the conversation we had. Well, most of it and I-”

“It’s fine, you were drunk, it’s already forgotten, okay?” His hand waved in the air as if to dismiss your words, but his soft smile made your stomach and expression twist.

“No Matt... that’s not it. Look, I may have been drunk but what I said, I meant it. You do treat me better than Cam ever did, and you make me feel safer than he ever did. I mean it when I say that you’re important to me. I care about you and I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable last night. I really am but…” The sentence trailed off as you breathed deeply. He approached you slowly.

“y/n…”

“I don’t want to lie and say that you don’t mean that much to me. You’ve stood by me for years, especially recently and I don’t- I don’t want to lose you because of what I said.” Both your fists clenched somewhat as you kept talking.

“Y/n.”

“When I broke up with Cam, the only thing that went through my head was your words. The ones you said to me after a big fight we had, and I ended up crying in your room. The idea of not having you in my life-”

“Y/N.” His palms gripped the sides of your shoulders, his expression pleading with you to listen to him. His eyes search yours momentarily before drifting quickly to your lips. “I wouldn’t trade you for the world, you know that right...?”

“Y-yeah..? really?” He raised his eyebrow after you spoke, as if shocked you’d question that.

“Doubt that again and we will have problems, m’kay?” All you could do was shy away and nod silently.

He gently gripped your chin, lifting it so you faced him straight on. “I mean it…you’re so important to me…so important. You aren’t gonna lose me that easily.”

You followed his gaze and met his own lips, the silence growing longer. His eyes fluttered back up to your eyes, trying to read your emotions. Slowly but surely his hand floated from your shoulders to the tips of your fingers, always colder than his. Matt’s body grew closer to yours and it became evident when you saw his feet slide to meet the rest of his body.

“May I…?” The way he spoke was so gentle you almost missed it. You looked at him and cleared your throat softly as you nodded gently.

Even with permission from both sides it was hesitant. Both of you had been friends for years with not even a single conversation about love lives. Matt had spent the better part of two years pining after someone he couldn’t have. Yet now you were here, standing directly in front of him. Before you could change your mind, he leaned in.

It was soft, your lips barely touching each other. It was just enough for the feeling to be real. His hand grazed the side of your neck before reaching into strands of your hair, tilting you forwards. His eyes were barely open, wanting to somewhat see this moment he’s dreamed of become a reality. You pushed it a little deeper, feeling the extent both of you were willing to give. It was slow but it meant everything. You felt your breath hitch slightly and your stomach grew an unfamiliar feeling, one you never had with Cameron before. You couldn’t help but crave more, more of him. His lips pressed against yours softly, you could feel his breath against his. The hand that held your fingers moved to your waist line and snaked around the fabric that hugged your skin. His lips moved against yours for only a few more seconds before Matt broke away.

He pulled back just enough to speak gently. “God, I know its cliché, but I’ve wanted to do that for a fucking while.”

You giggled at the mere thought of it. Matt couldn’t help but scoff when he heard the chuckle fall from your lips.

“I don’t think you really understand how much I hated when you talked about Cam, as if you still loved the idea of being with him.”

“I don’t. I promise you that.” You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“You might have to prove that one to me again.” His attempt at flirting just made you giggle again as you rolled your eyes.

“You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that.” It was now his turn to roll his eyes at you. His head angled gently as he captured your lips in another but shorter kiss.

“Fucking finally, you two are actual dumbasses.”

Matt was quick to break the kiss and both your heads whipped around to see both Nick and Chris staring at you with folded arms. Their bags rested against their shins which seemed to be abandoned long ago.

“Wow matt, one night alone and you spend it with a girl. Nick, you owe me 50 bucks.” Begrudgingly, Nick pulled out his wallet and offered him the money which Chris instantly snatched.

“Wait, you two had a bet on us?” There was now some distance between you and Matt, only brought together by occasional eye contact.

“As if we wouldn’t, what do you take us for.” Chris has seemed so sure of himself, and his smug expression lingered on his face. He nudges Nick before giving him a certain look. Matt mouths a small sorry towards you, knowing this was going to be the new normal.

Taglist !!

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ohbabydollie · 9 months ago

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omg as a kitchen porter/ waitress i am actually drooling over chef schlatt pls do more on this x 🫶🩷

ofc! (for clarification i did get inspo from bistro huddy n when i worked in a kitchen) (also had to take a break from so much smut writing 😭)

let’s say reader is a waitress now!

schlatt asks you specifically to make him drinks bc “he doesn’t know how the machines work”

“perfect, absolutely perfect, y’know no one else can make a drink as good as you y/n”

if someone else makes the drink he’s like “yeah, it’s a drink for sure”

other waiters are complaining about “favorism” because he won’t tear into you when you forget ring in an order and will have it made on the fly

he does tear into other servers though

you bring him energy drinks whenever you start your shift

especially if he’s working a double you make sure to keep him supplied

he gets jealous if you show another cook more attention than you did him that day but won’t ever admit it

talking shit about some customers while he’s cooking

“then they were like why haven’t we gotten our drinks yet? like sir, you were seated not even 10 minutes ago and we’re packed” you said grabbing a fry “not to mention the way his little sugar baby was giving me the stink eye, like i don’t want your crusty lipped rude ass grandpa”

schlatt lets out a chuckle at this “shit, tell ‘er ya got a hotter man waitin’ in the back”

if you had a boyfriend when you started at the restaurant, he got dumped real fast when you realized how shitty he treated you in comparison to schlatt

“and you won’t believe it! he got fired and called me in the middle of dinner rush to complain! then i got home and he was complaining about how dirty the apartment is, like i was home to make the mess and not to mention he asked when dinner would be ready!” you complain to one of the cooks

“really, must be awful n/n” he says as schlatt walks in “hey n/n” schlatt says smiling “came ‘ere for some fries” he asks with a smile

“no, i, i was just venting” you say with a soft sigh, now calming down

“really? ‘bout that piece a shit boyfriend huh?” schlatt says getting a slice of cake for you “here ya go sweetheart” he says handing it to you “ya deserve at least one man who don’t treat ya like trash”

he doesn’t stop with the flirting even once the two of you are dating

“ugh, these people tipped like shit” you groan “i’ve got a tip for ya, but you’ll have ta take it in private” schlatt says as you giggle making the other line cooks groan

“i’m gonna puke all over the food if the two of you don’t stop” alex groans

when you go into the freezer to scream, schlatt asks what’s wrong and depending on what it is, he’ll try to help you out

he gives you fries and little treats when you want them and when he thinks you can use them the most

you’ll bring in little things for the kitchen from time to time

they love you because you’ve managed to melt the heart of their asshole boss

“aww, you guys are so cute” one of the waitresses says smiling

“how ‘bout you shut the fuck up and go run food” he says muttering some more unsavory words under his breath

#schlatt x reader #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt x you #jschlatt x y/n #schlatt x y/n #schlatt x you #jschlatt fluff #schlatt fluff #jschlatt hcs #jschlatt headcanons

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therealvinelle · 2 months ago

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Would Carlisle/Alphard work? (Platonic or romantic)

... curse tumblr for I had drafted my reply to you. ALAS.

No.

Carlisle is not for Alphard

Alphard is an extremely cynical person who admires Tom Riddle for his strength and infallibility. Tom is the most extraordinary person in the room at any given time, and always true to himself. As far as Alphard is concerned Tom is a demigod among men, the sort of natural force who doesn't live by the same rules the rest of us do and wanting him to change is the last thing on Alphard's mind.

Would he admit this to Tom's face, never, Tom has enough of an ego. Alphard will call him a lunatic and ridiculous, and mean every syllable. Did he fall in love with a violent lunatic with impure blood who was beating up not just Alphard, but his closest relatives and all his friends in school, also yes.

It's the whole package of Tom that makes him appeal to Alphard, from the physical beauty to the uncompromising personality, to the way he can't ever be fully predicted, and the tragically romantic backstory. Being in love with him is just a point of fact for Alphard at this point.

Even becoming Lord Voldemort is something Tom never claims is anything but what it is, and while Alphard is horrified and heartbroken Tom remains the person he always was. Readers of The Man Who Would Be King will remember Alphard lasted one week before being married to Tom again.

Carlisle, by contrast, while unbelievably beautiful and just as extraordinary, is a man who has made self-delusion a cornerstone of his life. He loves his family and wants them to care about human life as much as he does, so he'll give them little nudges like going to their victims' funerals or have family votes where thankfully the majority voted against killing an innocent girl, and not think about what it says about Edward that he killed people for pleasure for four years because- well, he came back.

And he walks around talking about how great, how humane, how wonderful his family and their way of life is. While living among humans, thereby risking the deaths of innocents for no reason other than "it's our lifestyle!" (and the even worse, underlying reason of "if they don't live with humans they might forget humans aren't food...")

Loss of control isn't even a hypothetical, this happens to the Cullens semi-frequently.

Alphard would think he's a fool and a killer by proxy, and despise and pity him. To him, Carlisle is easily worse than Voldemort.

Alphard is not for Carlisle

The trouble with Alphard is that he is what Caius would be if Caius was worse. He's mean, he's judgmental, and he's cynical, all qualities Caius shares only Alphard is somehow worse. He's just so mean.

More troubling yet, he is very principled and harsh on himself but lives cease to matter to him where his loved ones are concerned. Had Aro said "Here is my Horcrux, it's a fifteen-year-old Aro who must be fed a soul to gain a body" Carlisle would have pressured him to either repair his soul, and left when Aro didn't do so. Alphard, by contrast, "Ope, guess we're finding him a soul then."

Alphard is a very ruthless person, he may be principled but should his line of reasoning lead him to murder being the solution to a problem a loved one is having then murder it is.

Alphard also reacts to Tom becoming Voldemort much the same way he would infidelity, as it's not really the suffering Tom inflicted that bothers him but the betrayal of his own character as Alphard knew it (and he'd have had a much harder time getting past actual infidelity. That would have been a crisis). His faith is restored because he sees enough of the goodness he fell in love with. His niece Bellatrix is much the same, of sure she's done bad things, Alphard is intellectually aware of this fact. It's getting hard to deny that she probably has tortured and killed people, and delights in it. Well, have you considered the fact that she's precious and perfect?

Andromeda's marriage to Ted is on par with Tom and Bellatrix's life choices in that Alphard's not thrilled with it, but he can look past it because he loves her that much.

To Carlisle this man is genuinely insane and terrifying. Carlisle can move past his friends killing to live because it's what they've always known and he sees the good in them in spite of that. Alphard would frighten him, there is plenty good in him but Carlisle would correctly put together that the man is one line of reasoning away from killing anybody at all.

Carlisle stays as far out of his way as he can, and warns others to keep their distance from this one.

Can these two even be in a room together?

I think if they meet in the library and only talk about books, they'll have a grand time. Just don't let them talk about anything personal, at all.

#carlisle cullen #alphard black #alphalord #twilight #twilight renaissance #Harry Potter #Aro/carlisle #aisle

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fillingthescrapbook · 28 days ago

Text

Let's Talk About: A Change of Plan

Not episode-related but… is anyone else seeing the yellow oval shape on the bottom right corner of their screen when they watch anything on Dropout's website?

That out of the way--

Brennan making Evan a long-backer was not on my bingo card… but it makes sense. Regardless of how Erika, Danielle, and Aabria feel about it. Evan's energy from the very beginning was giving plank-body.

And since we're on the subject of Evan-- I am definitely vibing more with this aggressive and allowed-to-be-angry side of Evan more than the poor little meow meow we used to get before. Like, sure, I get that he wasn't sad all the time during the first season, but the energy was there. He was a sad boy. And I am learning now that I really really do not like sad boys.

Last episode, I mentioned Erika as being exceptionally great at shrinking. I did say that Lou and Danielle were doing amazing jobs as well (although not with those words exactly), but this week's MVP is Danielle Radford. Those lines of improvised dialogue that were a mile-a-minute long were simply incredible. Impeccable. And that's not to mention how she had Sam react to Evan freaking out about the discovery of how he died. "Together. Alone. Not us." Indeed.

Oh and that small reveal about Sam's family life? I want to hug Sam (to)B(decided).

And then we get to Cocaine Sam. And having her be the one to greet Boudy-boots. Amazing. Exceptional. No notes. (Also: Cocaine has to be an integral part of the Never Stop system mechanics now, right?)

Now, I'm not gonna go through everything that happened one by one. I never do. But here are the things that really stood out to me this episode, and why Misfits and Magic Season 2 is winning me over from my…lack of enthusiasm for the first season.

Number one: The breaking of wands. Erika's was sort of an accident. As explained in the Adventuring Academy, Erika saw that a tiny score was made on her wand. To allow it to break more easily. This discovery helped inform her decision to break it "accidentally" in the previous episode. The other players then realized that all their wands had been scored. And that a mechanic has been put in place for when said wands were broken. A mechanic that has now been fully explained in this episode.

I love this mechanic. I love that it--whether intentional or not--is a symbol for breaking Misfits and Magic off from "the franchise." Because the wands have become so intrinsically linked to said franchise. Although, I must admit--from a sentimental point of view--it hurts to see them break the wand. Although, at the same time, I guess that's why it's so powerful. It's their link to the magical world. It's one of the first things that showed them their potential. Much like the franchise was for many of us. And it's become very important for us to break off that connection to see that there's more magic to explore. That we are not limited to the wands. And the brooms. And the familiars.

And oof. The familiars. Aabria caught me off guard with that reveal. Like the road we were walking on were paved with figurative bones but the confirmation still took me aback. Because funny season, ha ha! We killed a player's character. We killed a major NPC. And we're killing familiars. Funny!

That's not a dig at Aabria. I love what she did. One of the most affecting episodes of television I've seen in recent memory is from How I Met Your Mother. It had a visual gag of a countdown. And the whole episode was filled with mishaps that were propelled by humor and love. And then when the countdown reaches 1--it punches you in the gut. And you were warned. But you still didn't expect it. And it feels so bad--but it's done so well. That's what Aabria did.

And that brings me to my second reason why Misfits and Magic is beginning to win me over.

Aabria is handing us character progression that is steeped in gray morality. Characters who rubbed us the wrong way are learning to be better people, while still being their snotty selves. Characters we liked have found themselves getting lost not because they're inherently evil but because of inaction, because of self-preservation coupled with their avoidance to step out of their comfort zone. There's grace in the way Aabria shows the players how their friends have fallen. And I think it's beautiful.

So, yeah, I am coming around to Misfits and Magic. Will it beat both Burrow's End or A Court of Fey and Flowers as a better Aabria season? I don't know. ACoFaF is one of my favorite Dimension 20 seasons ever and Burrow's End is also pretty high up. So probably not. But will I look back on Season 1 more kindly now? Definitely yes.

Last two things I wanted to mention:

First, the sudden volume drop when Evan stopped yelling-- I can't imagine what the poor sound guy who got the full burst of Brennan's highest vocal had gone through. Thankfully, Sam Reich takes care of the Dropout crew well.

And last, when K responds with "maybe the Tumblr users are gonna help?" to Evan's diatribe? Oh, K. Most of us are already struggling with one thing or another and are paralyzed by bigger things. If we had wonky magic to deal with on top of that? Oh ho ho, K. Oh ho ho.

#dimension 20 #misfits and magic #misfits and magic 2 #d20 spoilers #aabria iyengar #lou wilson #erika ishii #danielle radford #brennan lee mulligan #let's talk about

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twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 1 year ago

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Hi !! So happy requests are open

could I have a Gardenia for Duece 😍😍?

Deuce Spade:

Gardenia - the love of a friend who doesn’t want to just be friends.

You had agreed to dance as just friends.

Deuce remembered his first day in NRC, the chaos that had erupted around him and how you had still spoken to him without hesitation. You had never seemed afraid even when his scary side came out, you had always been gentle when his frustration festered and had encouraged him to keep pushing forward even when his studies seemed impossible. It came to the point that you talked daily, and Deuce walked you to class each day even if your classes were in completely opposite buildings (he thanked the Track club for pushing him as hard as it did because he might be in much more trouble without it). Stamping you with the ‘best friend’ title just seemed right, especially when he spoke with his mother about you, but lately it had almost felt like an insult. Just a best friend, that was all? It was more than enough, he tried to rationalize, he didn’t expect anything else from you other than being a loyal friend yet somewhere along the way he must have started to see you in a different light.

You looked show-stopping in your masquerade outfit, the elegance with which you held yourself, the way you moved gracefully from place to place, laughter being shared with all kinds of people, it led Deuce to truly believe you were royalty. Even with a mask on your face he’d recognize you anywhere, the curve of your smile a dead giveaway to your identity; he had spent many days looking at it, admiring it, memorizing every line in your face to the point his dreams of you felt all too real at this point. But you were friends, just friends, and his admiration was of the friendly sort; it wasn’t unusual to admit that your friends were attractive and constantly invading your thoughts, was it?

You had been the one to approach him with the offer of a dance, trying to stifle your giggles as he stumbled over himself. Did he know how to dance? Not like this, admittedly, he wasn’t really a man who had ever explored the culture of masquerade balls. He was on the track team, able to control his limbs and feet, moving swiftly from here to there, but he didn’t know how that might translate to dancing. You pointed to where other couples were mingling, getting swept off their feet and over the dance floor with a flourish that made him jealous. He wanted to show you off like that, twirl you around and make you the center of attention; it meant people would see your connection, that he was the one who could support you and hold you up like this, that you were meant to be his partner —

His dancing partner, that is.

Deuce agreed to a dance after watching others do it for a few moments, having the steps repeating in his brain to the point it’s all he could think of even when you moved closer to him. You do successfully steal his attention when you grabbed his hand, shocked blue eyes meeting yours as you smiled at him again. He let you lead to a comfortable spot before the music changed into a tune that was inherently slower than before, the moves the same but the steps much slower this time. His hands rested high on your body, almost to the point he seemed uncomfortable and stiff.

“You can put your hands lower, Deuce. Relax!” You even helped him, lowering his hands until they were touching your waist, though he hovered over it for a moment like he was afraid to touch you any lower. “It’s okay, I know you won’t cop a feel or anything.”

Deuce gasped a little at that, the grin breaking out over your face telling him you were just messing with him again — he wished he could get you back for that. For always toying with him, even if it was in an unintentional way. Just one time he wanted to leave you breathless, thinking of him for days and wondering what it was he felt for you. He could make a move now, lower his hands just a little more, grip your waist just a little tighter or even move them to your back to bring you even closer to him. You almost seemed expectant, eyes never leaving his face as you danced together, not even when you almost bumped into another couple.

With just one move, Deuce could show how he felt, he could be honest with his feelings.

The ball was in his court now.

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Twisted Wonderland Imagines #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #Deuce Spade #Deuce Spade x Reader #Scenario #Flower Prompts

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kimbappykidding · 1 year ago

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Imagine having a crush on your MC partner Yunho

You'd had a crush on Yunho for a while. You were in a sister company to Ateez and so had crossed paths numerous times and were always stunned by him. At first, you thought it was just because he was physically very impressive. He was so tall but also knew how to carry himself and looked like some celebrity model. So every time you trailed off when he walked by you claimed it was because of that but your members weren't having any of it. "Y/n you weren't checking his height out you were checking him out!" one of them said and you blushed. "No! I was just seeing how broad his shoulders really are" you tried but they all shut you down with how much you were blushing. Eventually, you just stopped arguing that you weren't attracted to Yunho and admitted you were. Your members could all understand why and agreed he was very good-looking but when they found out about his personality they realised he was perfect for you!

Similar to Yunho, at first glance you were quieter and “normal” but once anyone got to know you they found you were funny, mischievous and had a habit of cheating or messing around. So when you finally went on the radio show with Ateez and your members saw this side of Yunho they were thrilled. You were surely the perfect match and they were sure you’d both realise that if you were in front of one another. So they decided the two of you had to be put together and when a spot came up to MC with an Ateez member they suggested you straight away. You agreed, figuring out of all of Ateez you wouldn't get Yunho and then found out he was hosting with you. Your girls all claimed it was fate and you disagreed but were shocked at the coincidence...and excited.

You were nervous to be working with him but the time rolled around in no time and you were right in front of him. You forgot how tall he was. You were slightly above average height-wise but compared to Yunho that was nothing. Only when he bowed did he actually come near your height and when he stood up you were barely to his shoulders. "It's really nice to meet you" Yunho said after introducing himself "I know we’re obviously aware of one another but I'm excited for us to be actually working together". "Me too" you smiled “we’ve crossed paths so many times but never got to work together so this should be fun!”. Yunho nodded “yeah I can’t believe it’s taken us this long to work together, we’ll have to make the most of it hey?” he asked shooting you a gorgeous smile that made you pause but luckily Yunho moved on quickly. "Is it true you recorded all the lines for your latest title track Diadem in just one shoot? You didn't have to redo any?". You stared at him in shock "yes it is, how did you hear that?". "I saw an article about it and thought it was so impressive because that song has some really hard notes. You must be an amazing vocalist". You blushed "thank you, I guess I was just having a really good day". "I'm sure it was all you" he said with another beautiful smile and you couldn't stop smiling all through the shoot.

Afterwards, the producers congratulated you both, saying you worked really well together and Yunho thanked them. You got your mic packs removed and were going to find Yunho to say goodbye to him when he beat you to it. He appeared behind you and gently said your name. "I'm going to head off but wanted to say it was so nice working with you and here" he passed you a piece of paper "that's my number, I thought it'd be a good idea to exchange numbers in case one of us is running late or anything but you don't have to give me yours if you don't want to". Blushing lightly you shook your head "no that's a great idea, I'll text you the minute I get my phone" and Yunho smiled "looking forward to it, see you next week" and he left, leaving you feeling like you were walking on air. When you saw your members they were all thrilled by your chemistry and when you explained everything else they were ecstatic. "He was flirting with you! He likes you!" one member cried but you calmed them down the best you could. "Yes I think he was flirting and being nice but that's probably just his personality. It doesn't mean anything". The girls claimed you naturally fit together though and said things would be different by the end of the award show season. You didn't let yourself get excited but hoped they were right. The night before you were next due to MC Yunho texted you asking how your week had been. You replied telling him it had been exciting as you were getting ready to do your first fully English song and asked how his week had been. You chatted all evening and it only ended when Yunho was going to bed. He told you he had to sleep now and wished you a goodnight. You texted him back feeling all fluttery and couldn't wait to see him the next day. You showed up early to the show and Yunho was there early too. You sat next to each other in hair and makeup and talked the whole way through which was odd for you. You were talkative but not usually so soon after meeting someone. It took you a while to feel comfortable with someone but Yunho had such a nice happy energy. You felt instantly at ease with him and he was super easy to talk to. It was slightly intimidating given how good he looked, especially after hair and makeup, but then he'd smile and you'd feel comfortable again. This week's show was even better because you were both more familiar with one another and your chemistry was even stronger. The director was so pleased with you and wouldn't believe that the two of you weren’t friends before this. "You seem effortlessly close like old friends" he said and Yunho shrugged "there are just some people who you meet and it feels like that. That's just me and Y/n" hanging an arm around your shoulder and you blushed vividly. You were so pleased with how things were going and the slight flirting was driving you crazy. You knew your attraction to him had morphed into a full-on crush. You were falling for Yunho and you were making no effort to slow yourself down. Once the director walked away Yunho told you there was a party tomorrow tonight that his members were organising and he invited you and your members. "It'd be cool to hang out outside of work" he said and you were sold. "I'll check with the girls but I'm sure we'll be there" you smiled and Yunho looked genuinely really pleased. The girls all agreed to come quote "because there was no way they were missing out on this" and so you arrived as a full unit. Hongjoong was at the door and you worried he might not know you were invited so got your text from Yunho ready as proof of your invite but he smiled when he saw you. Y/n and Demeter!" he smiled addressing your group name "it's so great to have you all here! Please come in" and he waved you all inside. "So are all of Ateez just super nice?" one of your members asked and you shrugged "I have no idea I've only spoken to Yunho". "Well he clearly speaks about you to the others" one of your members said shooting you a smile and you blushed before someone called your name making you turn even pinker.

"Y/n you made it!" Yunho called and turned to see him heading straight for you. He had his arms open and gave you a hug which felt really nice. "Yeah of course" you said "I never asked though is it a special occasion? Someone's birthday or something?". "Nope" Yunho smiled "just an excuse to throw a party...but Wooyoung will probably try and tell you it's his birthday so if he does just ignore him" he told your members whom all nodded laughing. "So Yunho Y/n tells us you've been having a lot of fun MCing together" your leader said and you tensed but Yunho just smiled. "Yeah so much fun! From day one we just got on really well and the directors are very pleased with our performances". "I can see why you're both so natural together" your leader continued and you shot her a warning look but again Yunho smiled "I know right it's so great when that happens" and he smiled at you making your angry mood swiftly turn into happiness. Your member smirked seeing how you couldn't seem to be angry around the cute tall boy and knew they'd be teasing you about that later. Yunho got you all a drink and stayed with you for a while before leaving to help Seonghwa move some chairs. When he went all your members shot you smiles and you tried not to look at them. "Y/n he's even better than you said" your leader said and you blushed "he's just perfect right? See why I can't tell him I have crush on him? Someone as great as him must have girls lining up down the street". "Yeah but they're not you" one of your members said nudging your arm and the others agreed. "Y/n you are smart, funny, sexy, strong and so talented! Yunho would be so lucky to have you". "Plus the two of you have amazing chemistry which he picked up on! He's aware of how great you go together". "Yeah but as work colleagues, not as a couple". "If you can get along as friends that's the first step" your leader told you and you nodded "well for now I'm very happy being his friend" and they decided if you were happy so were they...but someone else was very excited "Guess what I heard!" San called bounding over to his members and Yunho winced "San how much have you had to drink?". "A lot but that's not what's important...guess what I heard!" he whined. Yunho sighed "I don't know, what did you hear?". "I heard Y/n talking with her members about how perfect you were and how she's got a crush on you". Yunho sat up taller "what? When?". "Like 5 minutes ago. I stuck around to eavesdrop and then hurried to come tell you". Yunho frowned "San you shouldn't spy on people" and he nodded "I know I know but aren't you glad I did? Y/n's super pretty and you like her right?". Yunho blushed nodding "yes" and San smiled "so what's the problem? Go ask her out!". Yunho looked down "I don't just want to rush into anything San. We've got 6 weeks left to MC together and just because she has a crush on me doesn't mean she wants to date me. She could've just meant she likes my outfit or something...either way I don't want to go in too fast. I'm enjoying getting to know her and there's no way we have to label it so quickly". San nodded "you're scared" making Yunho blush because he was. When Yunho first saw you he was stunned because he thought you were so pretty. This was back when your group first debuted and his eyes went to you each time he saw you. When you came on the radio show he gravitated towards you and found himself sitting up anytime you talked. However you weren’t too talkative in groups and when you left Yunho always wanted more. So he finally caved and watched videos of you and your group. That clinched it for him. You looked effortlessly cool but your personality was so different and he loved that. He loved people who seemed really intimidating but were huge softies, that was kind of how he was and it immediately made him warm to you. When he heard you were MCing he volunteered to be your partner and Hongjoong and Seonghwa smiled at him but didn’t say anything. Yunho’s heart sped up when he saw you the night of the first show and he bowed just to hide his face from you. He was nervous you wouldn’t like him but then your chemistry was something you didn't even have to try with and it all just seemed to fall into place perfectly...a little too perfectly. Yunho was worried you might be too good as friends and that’s all you saw him as. He didn't want to ruin your energy by stepping too far too soon. He figured he'd flirt with you more to work out if that was an option and get to know you more. After that he’d act but honestly he was scared, San had hit the nail on the head.

Yunho sighed "you know what? Yeah I am scared to ask her so please don't tell anyone about this, not even Wooyoung". San pouted because he never kept secrets from Wooyoung but he reluctantly agreed "fine" and Yunho smiled "thank you San". San rushed away and Yunho watched him go before his eyes fell on you. You were across the room talking to your members and you looked so comfortable and happy. Yunho blushed realising if San's words were true you liked him. He couldn’t believe you'd noticed him and decided he was an attractive guy. That thought made him so happy and also a little nervous. He'd kind of dated before but he'd never felt this giddy about anyone and this felt different. You looked up and saw him. You looked down blushing and Yunho blushed too. He waved to you for something to do and you waved back. Yunho smiled and went to go find his members so he could hide behind them. The following week you were at your MC job and Yunho had done a great job of pretending he didn't know you liked him. However, there would be times that caught him off guard. He'd see you out of the corner of his eye and notice how beautiful you were or hear your voice and blush thinking this girl liked him. It was a lovely comforting thought to have and in those moments he struggled to pretend he didn't know. Luckily you hadn't noticed but Yunho knew he couldn't keep it up forever. After the show, you congratulated each other on another successful run. The manager suddenly appeared and said a friend of his was a fan and wanted to speak with you. The man appeared and launched into why he was your superfan. Yunho walked away to give you space and chatted with the staff waiting for you to finish. However, 10 minutes later you still weren't done. The man was still talking tons and you looked like you couldn't get a word in edgeways. Yunho got this man was probably thrilled to meet his idol but you were clearly trying to leave and he wouldn't let you. Yunho came closer and heard the man saying something about a restaurant. "We could go there my treat and I can tell you more of my suggestions" he said. "That's really kind but I already have plans" you said and spotted Yunho. "Oh doing what?" the man asked clearly calling your bluff. Yunho saw you blank and stepped forwards "Hey Y/n do you want me to grab your bag from your dressing room so we can make our reservation?". The man turned and saw it was Yunho. "I'm so sorry am I making you late for something? Please go" and he bowed letting you leave. "Thank you! you whispered to Yunho as you walked away and he nodded "no problem, you looked like you needed help getting rid of him. What were his suggestions?". You made a face "oh you know ways I can be a better idol. He was giving me fashion tips and telling me to go on a diet". Yunho's eyes widened "he did not!". "Yep! He claimed I was perfect but could be improved". "Well then you're not perfect if you can be improved" Yunho said before realising what he said "not that I think you're not perfect...I mean nobodies perfect but I think you're as close as it gets". You blushed "I'm not but thank you" you said "it was really cool of you to pretend we had plans". "Yeah no problem but I was wondering...do you have plans? Because if not maybe we could do something?". "I don't" you said "what do you want to do?". "Maybe go grab food? I'm starving". You smiled "food sounds great". You ended up grabbing the last table at a restaurant around the corner. You got a nice place in the back where it was quieter and more private. You realised in that moment you'd never been properly alone with Yunho. There had always been staff or other members with you but here it was just the two of you. You were sat across from this beautiful guy and you blushed a little as you realised that. Yunho noticed and smiled "what? Is there something on my face?". "No I erm just thought of something". "What?" Yunho asked laughing and you decided to be truthful but not completely. "I just thought if people from my school could see me now they'd be so surprised. An amazing career, cool MCing job and sat here with you...very surprised indeed". Yunho chuckled "so was school not your favourite time?". "Not at all" you laughed "I was the weird music kid always singing under her breath with braces for 5 years and sucked at everything that wasn't creative. They found out I wanted to be a singer and used to tease me about it". "Well look who got the last laugh. You're a beautiful, successful idol whom they get to watch on tv each week". You laughed "that's true" and Yunho held out his glass "let's toast to our success. To being great MCs for our remaining shows" Yunho said and you clinked glasses. After your meal, Yunho asked if you wanted to get a drink at this nice bar nearby to celebrate your successful runs and you agreed. However It was a little louder than expected and you were slightly overwhelmed. Yunho was searching for a table with you following when he was engulfed by men. You were scared he was being attacked until you realised they knew one another. Yunho greeted them all before introducing them to you as friends from his school. They invited you to join them and they seemed nice but you didn't want to sit with a big group. Especially as it seemed like a lad's night and you'd be the only girl. So you were all ready to have an excuse to leave when Yunho declined their offer. "Thanks but I think we'll go find a table together". "Hey I don't blame you she's stunning" his friend said with a wink that made you blush "see you around". Yunho turned to you slightly pink and smiled "so should we find a table in the back somewhere quiet?" and you agreed. Once you'd got seated you could still see Yunho's friends and any time they passed you they greeted you both but especially you. It wasn't creepy and they were actually quite funny, the one who winked at you in particular was hilarious and you smiled as he made faces to you as he passed your table. Yunho noticed and turned to you. "You know my friend Wei, he's a nice guy. I noticed you blush when he winked at you...I could give you his number if you liked?" Yunho asked and you blushed once more. Yunho laughed "is that a yes?". You laughed "no I just blush easily. He seems like a nice guy but he's not my type". Yunho once again couldn't resist and leant forwards "oh? So what is your type?". You froze and Yunho realised San had been telling the truth. You were into him! He also realised he'd put you in an awkward spot so smiled "should I go first? I like girls who are funny, kind and who it just feels natural with. Who I have natural chemistry with". You blushed as he said that "yeah it's nice when you don't have to force it". Yunho nodded "like between us" and you nodded "yeah we work well together". "I see it beyond work though" Yunho said "do you?". You nodded "yeah" and Yunho smiled "I'm pleased to hear you say that because if I'm being honest...my ideal type is you". You blinked "it is?" and Yunho nodded "yes. When I found out I was MCing with you I was really excited because I've always found you very beautiful. Then when we had such a natural chemistry I couldn't believe it". You blushed "I couldn't believe it either because I felt the same way". Yunho smiled "I might've had an inkling about that". You cringed "oh no was I really obvious?". Yunho shook his head "no my friend is nosey" and he explained about San. "Why did you never say anything?" you asked and Yunho shrugged "I wanted to let you act on it on your own. I didn't want to pressure you or let you know that I knew in case you got embarrassed". You blushed shaking your head "and they say being a nice guy never gets you the girl" and kissed him.

After that you and Yunho started dating and you still couldn't believe you'd managed this. Your members all screamed when you told them and then assured you, you deserved this. When you next saw Yunho you worried he'd change his mind or something but the smile he gave you banished any thoughts of that. You grabbed a coffee a few hours before you had to be at the show to MC and was hurried over to you when he saw you. "I'm so pleased to see you, you look amazing" he said hugging you and you smiled hugging him back "so do you! I thought black was your colour but now I'm thinking it might be every colour". Yunho chuckled "you're one to talk, come on let's go inside" and he took your hand leading you inside. MCing together now you were dating was actually quite fun. Every look between the two of you was exciting and exhilarating because there was this secret that nobody around you knew but you. Yunho could make you feel special with just a look and the hardest part was trying not to blush when he smiled at you. You were interviewing NCT127 on your fifth week and you thought it was going great. The boys seemed to like you and were bantering with you but you noticed Yunho didn't seem as happy. Just from how he was standing you could see how tense he was and frowned. In the commercial, you asked Yunho if he was okay and he nodded but had to rush away for hair touch-ups. When he returned he was better but you could tell something had bothered him so after the show you went to find him in the Ateez dressing room. The guys saw you and called out to you in greeting. Yunho spotted you and smiled "hey, you okay?". You nodded "I was coming to ask you the same thing". Yunho frowned "you noticed that huh?" and you nodded "is everything okay?". He sighed "come on" and looked for a private space. The only one was the dressing room so he led you in there and closed the door. It wasn't big so you were facing one another not too far away but all that was on your mind was whatever was bothering Yunho.

"So what's wrong? I'm worried" you said and Yunho immediately reached out for you. He put his hands on your arms "Y/n you don't have to worry about me". "But I do because you're my boyfriend" you said and Yunho smiled at that before it dropped "well I hope you still are after this" and that worried you. You were expecting the worst when Yunho said "I was jealous seeing you with NCT". "What?" you asked after staring at him confused for a few seconds "why?". "Because the guys all liked you and Taeil was flirting with you so much". "He wasn't...was he?" you asked and Yunho shrugged "I thought he was, he definitely checked you out when he came onto set". You paused "I didn't even notice because I was so focused on you". Yunho blushed "that makes me feel so special...I knew I had no reason to be jealous. You're a good person and I trust you but I...sometimes I feel really insecure and worry I'm not good enough for you". "I feel the same thing...well not the same! That I'm not good enough for you" you clarified and Yunho looked at you "really? but you're so much hotter than me!". "I beg to differ" you said smiling at him "but it's a relief to know you feel those things too". "Definitely" Yunho said "are we just intuned in everything". "Hmmm let's see" you smiled "what's going through your mind right now?". Yunho looked at your lips and smiled "that I really want to kiss you". "Ditto" you replied and kissed him. The two of you had kissed before but never this passionately and neither of you wanted to stop. Being trapped in a small space helped push you together and the pent-up stress and tension from the day also didn't hurt. Yunho looked so good in his shirt and all day you'd been wondering what it'd feel like to touch it so you gripped it with both hands and pulled Yunho closer. Yunho seemed to love this and slid his arms around your waist holding you flat against him. "Yunho we're leaving" Hongjoong called abruptly ending your makeout and you both jumped apart. "Yunho?" Hongjoong called again and he nodded "yeah we'll be one minute". Yunho was breathing heavily and when he looked at you he laughed "that was fun". You smiled "it was, I want to do it again". Yunho smiled "we're heading straight home. Do you want to come with us? No pressure on going any further or doing what we just did I just thought it might be nice..." Yunho was saying when you took his hand "yes" and he smiled. The guys didn't bat an eyelid when he said you were coming with them and on the way to the car you chatted with Yeosang and Mingi. Yunho watched you with a happy expression and someone chuckled. He turned to see Seonghwa and Hongjoong beside him. "Sorry if I was interrupting something back there" Hongjoong said and Yunho blushed "it's okay, a dressing room in a room full of people is never the best spot". The two agreed and Seonghwa smiled seeing the joy on Yunho's face "you two are happy aren't you?". Yunho nodded "very much, I know it's early and everyone at this stage feels amazing but there's just something about her that I can't get enough of. That makes me excited every time I see her...I really like her". As it happened, you looked back right at that moment and caught Yunho looking at you. You both blushed and smiled at one another. "Well I think it's clear she feels it too" Hongjoong smiled and Yunho hoped he was right. When you got home San and Wooyoung started organising a drinking game so you agreed to join in. You and Yunho sat together and he told you anything you didn't want to drink, he'd handle. He hung an arm around the back of your chair and was so sweet and protective. The alcohol just made you want him more and when the first game ended you nudged his leg. He got the message and told the guys you were heading off. They all waved you off some following you as Yunho led you upstairs. His room was nice and tidy. You looked around it seeing a bit of him everywhere and smiled "good first impression". "Would you have dumped me if it was a mess?". "Maybe" you joked and Yunho came towards you "then I'm really glad I tidied up in here" and you nodded "I'm really glad too" and kissed him. You'd been thinking about kissing him ever since you broke away earlier and it was worth the wait. You got right back into a rhythm and you wondered if you'd ever want to do anything other than just kiss Yunho. A jacket was blocking your access to Yunho's shirt and when Yunho realised what your hands were trying to do he happily shrugged it off and you resumed. You trailed your hands across his chest feeling the muscle there and couldn't believe this boy was yours. Yunho jumped as your hand trailed across his peck and you pulled back to make sure he was okay. "Sorry was I being too hands-on?" you asked. Yunho shook his head "not at all I really liked it" he said his voice nice and deep and you smiled. "I can take it off if you want?" he offered and you blushed but nodded. So clothes started coming off and when Yunho's breath started getting really ragged you pulled away. "Yunho” you said "do you want to keep going? Or just stay here". "Keep going...if you do?" he asked and you laughed "yes so catch" and you jumped. Yunho did catch you and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Yunho smiled "I like this". "I feel tall" you laughed and he smiled "I'm going to be making you feel lots of things" and he carried you over to the bed to fulfil his promise. *** Your final show together was due to happen in 1 week and you were both sad about it. "I know we'll see each other all the time but I like working with you" you said to Yunho one morning and he smiled "I have too. If any other opportunities come up we'll have to gear them". You nodded "totally". "I'll miss you" Yunho said "is that stupid considering we're dating and see each other each week?". "Not at all" you said "you're so cute" you said and Yunho smiled "if you say so" and kissed you. Your final run came quickly and of course the show seemed to zoom by. It went really well and before you knew it you were onto the last segment. You knew there would be gifts because that always happened but you saw Yunho had obviously had something to do with them this time. You'd told Yunho once in a throwaway comment that you liked blue galaxy orchids because you thought they looks so cool and beautiful and that was the bouquet you were given. You gasped when you saw them and looked to Yunho who was smiling widely, his eyes glued to your face for your reaction. "They're beautiful! They're my favourite! Thank you so much" you said taking them and the other hosts smiled watching you. "We also got you a little present inside" another host said and you looked into the bouquet to see small white box. You opened it and inside was a small turtle pendant which you could wear on a necklace. You'd also told Yunho you loved turtles and here he was showing you he listened to everything you said! You couldn't wait for the cameras to end so you could throw your arms around him. As soon as they called cut you did just that! You pulled Yunho to one side so the other idols couldn't see and hugged him. "Yunho this was all amazing! You didn't have to do all this..." you said looking down at your flowers. Yunho smiled "I know but I wanted to. This hosting run has meant a lot to me before it we barely knew one another and now...now we're together" he said with a smile "so I wanted to commemorate it". "But I didn't get you anything" you said with a frown and Yunho took your hand "you don't need to, trust me you've already given me so much. The perfect gift some might say" he said and you chuckled "you're so smooth. How do you come up with all these lines?". "You inspire me" he replied and kissed you. You both wanted to just run off together but had to go to the afterparty to thank all the idols you'd interviewed and see anyone who'd supported you. So you entered, agreeing to give it one hour and then be done. You started with your members and then got some drinks with your other hosts and idols started coming over including NCT 127 from your infamous interview. All the boys came over and you were talking to Mark and Yuta while Taeil spoke to another host. So you figured Yunho had been wrong because Taeil clearly wasn't interested in you...and then he appeared. Mark had gone to get a drink, Yuta going with them and when that space opened up Taeil appeared. He smiled when he saw you and he had a very nice smile so you smiled back. "Congratulations!" he said "you did such a great job, you should be really proud of yourself". You smiled "thank you, for your compliment and your part in it. You were the perfect interviewee and the fans really loved your interview". Taeil shrugged "An interviewee is only as good as his interviewer, it was all you really". You smiled "you're too modest" and Taeil shrugged "or I just think highly of you. Are you considering hosting again because if you are I'd really like to be your partner". You were debating your answer, trying to find a polite way to shut him down without shooting him down when you felt a hand on your waist. "Well I hate to disappoint you but you might have competition" Yunho said and Taeil laughed. "Ahh I see, she was such a good partner you can't wait to work with her again?" he asked. Yunho smiled looking at you "definitely and I'm a little biased towards her for personal reasons". You could see Taeil debating everything in his head, his eyes darting towards Yunho's hand around you and so you decided to help him out. You hooked your hand through Yunho's and smiled "we're together". "No way! Congratulations!" Taeil said "that's so cool, we're you together before this?". "Nope, I'd had a crush on her before but this brought us together" Yunho said. Taeil smiled "that's really great and I totally get you're first in line but if you ever need a friend to team up with let me know" Taeil said and with a smile he left. Yunho began to panic the moment Taeil left because he knew he'd kind of forced you into that. While the two of you weren't actively keeping your relationship a secret you also hadn't talked about when you'd reveal it and Yunho had never checked with you. So he expected you to yell at him or storm away feeling blind-sighted but you did neither of those even though they were well within your right. You just looked at Yunho with a smile "fancy a dance before we leave?" and he nodded, leading you to the floor still feeling shaky. Once you started dancing the world faded away and Yunho sighed "I'm sorry for outing us to Taeil, I just got territorial". You smiled "I know but it's okay". "You're not mad?" Yunho asked and you shook your head. "I think you mgiht've been right about Taeil and you weren't rude overbearing. You didn't come in yelling or announce it right away. There was time for me to tell you to back off and I didn't mind Taeil knowing". Yunho sighed "that's such a relief because I know we didn't discuss when we were going to tell everyone and I wouldn't ever want to make you do something you're not ready for". You shook your head "you didn't, I'm happy for people to know we're together". Yunho smiled "well in that case...there's a room full of people and I can think of a surefire way to let them all know". You smiled and leaned up to kiss him. Idols all across the room noticed in different ways. Your members squealed and smiled happily. Ateez were proud of Yunho and all grinned, knowing they were going to tease him about this later. NCT nudged Taeil figuring he'd be pissed but he told them all truthfully that there were no hard feelings. Meanwhile, you and Yunho didn't notice any of it. You were wholly focused on one another and there wasn't a lot that could change that. You were the only ones in that room. A very successful MC run indeed!

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user211201 · 6 months ago

Text

The Interviews

--- Originally posted on 2021-02-07 by dumb-and-jocked. ---

“Can you guys believe we actually made it?” Elijah exclaimed proudly. Even as the tallest of the trio at 6’7, he had to arch his back to see the top of the skyscraper in front of him. Elijah had worked hard to get his degree in business, so the prospect in front of him made him feel like he was touching the finish line. He had applied for an interning position in the financial department, and the company had been so impressed with his application that they had set up an interview immediately.

“I will admit, it is pretty incredible,” Dylan added. He was in the middle of the three, having a little over average height at 5’11 and pretty good muscular tone. What really stood out about him though was his voice, for it was a powerful bass that could shake concrete walls and was completely recognizable at any event. He too had applied for an interning position in the financial department, creating a little friendly rivalry between the two.

“I’m still surprised we all made it.” Although Joe was almost a foot shorter than the giant Elijah at 5’7, he made up for his height in sheer body mass. Back in college, he had been the star wrestler of the college, giving him a body packed with pure strength and flesh. One wouldn’t be able to guess it, but Joe was also skilled in another area: accounting. He was so talented in fact that he had actually been scouted out by the company.

“I guess we should head in,” Elijah stated, making his way forward slowly. “If we actually want to work at the Carmichael Corporation, we’ll have to ace these interviews.”

“Oh yeah, like that’ll be hard,” Dylan jeered as he walked through a set of grand swinging doors. “My record is pretty well stacked. I think I have the best chance out of the three of us for this position.”

“Dude, I’m going for accounting.” Joe gave a rough eye roll, before walking off to notify the secretary of their presence.

“And like I have any competition,” Elijah scoffed as Dylan and himself took a seat on a nearby bench. “Once they see that my name was on the Dean’s List every semester, I’ll get in for sure.”

“You only got that because you were the captain of the basketball team,” Dylan mocked.

“Did not,” Elijah hurled back.

“Did too!” Dylan retorted.

“You understand that I actually worked for those grades, right?” Elijah felt himself get heated as his muscles grew tense.

“Oh you worked for them alright,” Dylan mumbled. “On your knees.”

“Excuse me, bro?!”

“You heard what I said, coc-”

“Gentlemen!”

A sharply dressed male was staring down at the two bickering companions. The man was furiously tapping a pen against his clipboard, obviously irritated. Standing tall in front of the two, he was wrapped up in a gray 3-piece suit with a checkered tie that fit well against his sculpted body. His face showed that although he acted superior, he had to be a similar age to the two young men cowering below him.

“My name is Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV, and I am one of the Accounting Managers here at the Carmichael Corporation,” he began pompously, effortlessly taking control of the situation. “If you want to work here at the Carmichael Corporation, the first concept you must learn is respect and decency to and in the workplace.”

“Sorry,” Dylan and Elijah replied in unison, deeply embarrassed and annoyed by the stuck-up prick.

“Now, I assume I will be performing one of your interviews today,” Yale took a moment to look at his clipboard. “Is one of you Joseph Koroll?”

“That’s me.” Joe appeared from behind Yale, surprising the other man a little bit. After checking in, Joe had quickly run to the bathroom to wash his face, finding he had accidentally missed a few hairs when he had shaved this morning. Not noticeable, just a little itchy.

“Exemplary,” Yale responded, causing Joe to give the other two looks that said What’s with this guy?

“Let us make our way to a correspondent room, we have a lot to cover in little time.” Before Joe could comprehend what Yale had said, the other man was already walking towards an elevator. Joe quickly scurried along, waving to his pals before he was lifted up.

“How do you think he’ll do?” Dylan pondered.

“Better than the two of us so far,” Elijah pouted.

— —

“Joseph Koroll.”

“Yes?”

Yale sat straight at his desk, constantly giving off an ill-tempered glare as he peered back and forth between Joe and Joe’s resumé. What made it even more intense was that Yale’s eyes had an oddly captivating color to them. The two sat in a small conference room on the 15th floor overlooking a part of the city below. Joe didn’t feel that nervous–he actually felt quite confident–but the giant yellow chair he sat in made him seem much smaller than he actually was. Even for his muscular figure, he barely filled half the seat, and his head did not make it anywhere near the top. Not only that, but the chair was placed in the center of the room, giving him more attention than he needed.

“I despise that I must admit it,” Yale sighed. “but your experience and credentials are rather splendid.”

“Thank you?” Joe replied back, a little confused.

“If you want to be a part of the Carmichael Corporation however, there are some aspects that must be changed or enhanced.”

“I understand.”

“The Carmichael Corporation is not some urban start-up with jeans and herbal teas. This is a very demanding industry, one that expects all employees to be obedient and loyal.”

“Of course,” Joe nodded along. “That would make sense.”

“I do not know or care what went on at your last position, but if you want to succeed in this company, it is imperative that orders from a superior be followed. Would you be okay with this level of obedience?”

“Yes sir.” Joe slyly added in the title, sensing he had to accept a power shift.

“That is more appropriate,” Yale smiled. “Now, let us first address the things that need to be changed to be hired. Your attire is the most noticeable facet, as it is unsightly to say in the kindest of terms.”

“Unsightly?” Joe was surprised, finding his red sweater and black slacks quite refined before making eye contact with Yale.

“And that is the kindest of words,” Yale snickered back. “If you want to succeed, you will need to learn how to dress like a man. Let me read you a small excerpt from the company handbook.”

Yale stuck a hand into his bag and pulled out the largest book Joe had ever seen. It had to be at least 1000 pages, yet Yale had no trouble finding the exact description he was looking for.

“Blazers are classic items that work for semi-formal occasions and casual office places. Even as a man transitions to daily suits, a blazer will always have a place at a garden party or fraternity alumni event. Ties and bowties are a delightful way to add color to an outfit. Business attire defaults to long ties, and more conservative workplaces require more conservative choices. Consider emulating the attire of your superiors.”

Yale continued, “Supports should be practical and supportive. Belts are fine for casual outings; however, braces are more desirable for suiting, both for support and style as it allows a more traditional and flattering cut. Similarly, undergarments should provide support and coverage. Briefs are the most appropriate underwear choice, as it provides support without being extraneous. It is also compatible with tennis and golf; sports you will be expected to participate in and the only sports you will be allowed to play.”

Yale paused and took a deep breath. Once he had finished gathering himself, he looked over at Joe and gleamed with satisfaction. “I believe it is secure to say that you have already anticipated these particular needs of the company. Am I assuming correctly?”

“Yes sir,” Joe quickly replied. He had made sure to dress in one of his casual outfits today, something comfortable yet reputable. Along with a navy blazer that had been hung on the door, Joe had paired his classic navy polka-dotted tie with a blue button-up and wool dress pants. Sheer socks silently encased his Size 11 feet inside expensive-looking Oxfords, while two bright, yellow suspenders and a hefty watch worked as the statement pieces. He’d also made sure to shave his beard into a beautiful stubble, something that really made him seem both masculine and well-kept. Joe had originally been concerned that the look was a little too casual, but the fact that his superior had noticed it brought a smile to his lips.

“Superb,” Yale acknowledged. “If you are hired here, you will be expected to meet a certain standard of fitness.”

Yale once again examined Joe before meeting eyes, causing Joe to respond with a smug look.

“Interpreting what I have seen and read, I suspect you will be engaging in a routine similar to the one when you were in varsity golf?”

“Very similar, indeed.” Joe resituated himself in the chair, sitting a little straighter to truly show off his 6’1 height. His tight clothing did an impeccable job showcasing his muscular build, which wasn’t as massive as a bodybuilder’s but definitely imposing. He kicked up one of his Size 14 feet onto his knee, knowing he could now get a little more comfortable.

“You will also need to adapt to our image of masculinity, Joe. This is something that has an adjusting definition for everyone here at the Carmichael Corporation. Do you understand what I am referring to?”

“Not exactly, sir.”

“To explain further,” Yale eyes had a piercing gleam to them. “the duty of a man is to understand that when lacking in some areas of presence, he must identify other ways to consume the devoid territory. Men are meant to take up a certain amount of space, no matter their stature. This does seem appropriate, correct?”

“Yes sir.” Joe completely interpreted what Yale was referring to. It was only natural that some men had larger presences than others, so it was Joe’s duty to match that same standard. Readjusting in his seat once more, Joe felt his wide, plump bottom jiggling about, consuming the entirety of the extra wide seat. He bagged his pants as he sat, causing the crotch of his pants to ride up and give him a distinct moose knuckle. The fluid movement accidentally made him hard, but Joe knew no one would be able to see his 4 inches.

“Now, I believe the next issue is your tone and speech.” Yale pulled out his handbook once more and flipped to another random page.

“Our manual refers to multiple accessible forms of dialogue, but you will be working with men of all ages from assets and banking within accounting. Therefore, it would be best if you learned how to speak slower and adapt your vocabulary to something better cultivated.”

“Why would that help me exactly?” Joe questioned.

Yale, once again annoyed by Joe’s indecency, glared directly at him before explaining. “It will deepen your voice and give you more presence, which will be extremely helpful in business. You will also be able to use a fuller, more masculine tone–much like my own. I expect that is what you desire?”

“Yes sir.” The words spilled out in nearly double the time they had before. Joe’s tongue felt heavy as he spoke as every syllable seemed to require extra effort to spit out.

“Finally, if you aspire to work at the Carmichael Corporation, it is imperative that you adjust your title.” Yale moved along calmly, not at all caring about Joe’s confusion. “Joe is a very informal name. Lazy and lackadaisical. It sets you up casually in a professional world, agree with me?”

“I guess I don’t know…” Joe muttered, his voice sluggish and insensitive.

“In business, you know how important it is to give the right impression. The men in these industries expect a certain standard of professionality, even in your title. And you must give yourself every possible advantage.”

“Yes, of course sir,” Joe monotoned.

“Professionally, I think you should introduce yourself as your full name, John Millard Koroll.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience, but that is not-”

“And where is your surname from?” Yale interrupted. “Is it German?”

“No, it is most certainly-”

“Make it German. It will give you a much more asserting presence. And I reckon a suffix would add some competency as well. From now on, we shall refer to each other by our full names to emulate what the atmosphere is like here at the Carmichael Corporation.”

Joe was still at a loss over the last few comments. He was starting to feel a little panicked over the thought of losing his own identity to the corporate world, but before he could think any further on the topic, Yale stepped in.

“That will work for you, will it not,” Yale stood up from his chair and extended a hand, making sure to share a mutual gaze with Joe. “John Millard Koehler III?”

“By all means, Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV.” John Millard’s thick, slow voice drawled out. He got out of his own seat and shook Yale’s hand in a firm motion.

“Splendid!” Yale replied. “Then I can confidently declare that you are precisely what the Carmichael Corporation is scouting for. John Millard Koehler III, you will be starting as early as next week.”

“That is just grand!” John Millard responded cordially. “It is truly an honor, my gratitude, Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV.”

“The honor is all mine, you will be an illustrious addition to our department.” Yale sat back down in his chair and ushered John Millard to do the same. “Before I dismiss you, let us discuss acquisitions and the baseline salary. Here at the Carmichael Corporation, we want to make sure that you can ‘be audit you can be’.”

The two chortled merrily at the accounting joke before getting back to business, knowing they had a prosperous future ahead.

— —

“It’s been almost an hour,” Elijah exhaled. “Shouldn’t Joe be done with his interview by now?” The two other men were still sitting on the same bench, waiting for anyone to come and greet them like Yale had appeared before. Countless businessmen had passed in front of them, but all of them seemed so eager to work that they didn’t recognize the recently-graduated college students.

“I don’t know,” Dylan replied honestly, twisting a lock of his curly mane within his fingers out of boredom. “I mean maybe this is the corporate world and everything takes a little longer than expected.” He then stretched to loosen up his joints, showcasing the body of a former running back for everyone to see.

“Yeah, but how many questions do they have to ask to see if Joe is a good fit or not?”

“Apparently a lot.” Dylan began swinging his legs back and forth like a child on a swing to entertain himself. The Size 13 canvas shoes went to and fro, hypnotizing him more than they should have. Elijah watched on too, somehow entertained by the small amount of movement.

“Ahem.”

The two young men quickly shot up off the bench, standing solid. In front of them was a brawny man between the pair’s heights. He looked to be somewhere around sixty, as displayed by his slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair, prominent jaw, and robust torso. His body was brilliantly exhibited in a multi-layered suit, one that displayed every shade from silver to slate.

“I assume the two of you are here for the hiring process, correct?”

The two men nodded their heads quickly.

“Very good.” The man made a quick glance at Dylan and motioned him to follow. Dylan did just that, giving a thumbs-up to Elijah before disappearing down a hall.

— —

“Dylan Pringle.”

“Yes… sir?”

Dylan watched a small smile creep onto the man’s lips after his little addition. There had been a few minutes of back and forth eye contact from Dylan’s resumé and Dylan himself, but he wasn’t feeling too apprehensive. Although the man seemed extremely uptight, Dylan knew there was nothing in his credentials that wouldn’t seem impressive. Plus, the man had already seemed to take a liking to Dylan, as he had been escorted to an expansive office that Dylan assumed had to be the man’s own. It was simply decorated with a few modern black-and-white pictures and two tables lined with retro leather chairs. There were also a few closets and coat racks holding different suits and other formal wear, probably owned by the man himself.

“I must inform you that the position you have applied for has already been filled.”

The sentence came as a shock to Dylan, causing him to twitch a little in his seat. Dylan was so perplexed that he had to examine the man’s eyes carefully to see if he was telling the truth. He was surprised to discover that they had an oddly charming hue.

“I would regard that as a godsend however, as you were not at all qualified for the position.”

“What do you mean?” Dylan’s bass tone became thundering. “I have everything the job requires… and more!”

“Surely you meant to say ‘Sorry Sir, is there another position open?’ as here I thought you were serious about working here at the Carmichael Corporation.”

Dylan was once again caught off-guard.

“Hmm, they told me you were more articulate.” The man made a disappointed grimace before moving on. “I was willing to offer you another position working under me rather than in the financial department as it seems you have no competence in the area. That is generous of me, is it not?”

“Yes, definitely sir.” Dylan was relieved that he still had a chance to work at the Carmichael Corporation, especially after applying for a job he never could have performed.

“Good.” The man walked over to a table and grabbed a rather large book. Dylan was able to catch a quick peek as the man passed by, noticing the pages were lined with questions and guides. Dylan hoped these weren’t all going to be used in the interview for the other position.

“There are a few things you will need to learn quickly if you expect to succeed in this business, do you understand?”

“Yes sir.” Dylan made sure to maintain eye contact to confirm his answer.

“Very good. First, we have a completely reasonable dress code here. I know you may not have expected to wear a suit every day, but it will be required. And by a suit, I expect a minimum of 3 layers in some shape or form.” Dylan cringed in his seat barely, knowing that his black turtleneck and jeans probably didn’t make the cut.

“Sir, are you-” Before Dylan could protest, the man pushed forward.

“I find a certain degree of conformity aids in office morale, is that not fair? I can tell by how you present yourself you also believe this to be true.”

“It is fair, sir.” Dylan agreed. He always made sure to wear multiple articles underneath his blazer, as it made him feel more polished. Even though he was forced to take off his tan blazer at the door, it had allowed him to expose the other garments on his body. These included matching tan pleated pants that graciously showed off his hefty pouch, a white button-up with matching white suspenders that strained heavily against his pecs, and a striped tie that shared the same charcoal color with his wing-tipped derbies. Readjusting his glasses, Dylan waited patiently for the man to continue.

“I believe it is also appropriate to have a strict haircut policy. Your hair is to be cut every two weeks, and I will refer you to my own barber. You will style it neatly and you will use whatever product I chose.”

“Sir, if I may interrupt.”

“No, you may not.” The man glared down on Dylan. “I expect to see comb lines so sharp that even from a mile away a man could tell you know how to use pomade. Understood?”

“Completely, sir.” Dylan felt like this task would be no problem, as he already maintained his hair strictly. Brushing a hand across his scalp, he was delighted to feel his sharp quiff still held stiffly in place with not a single hair sticking out. He also made sure to rub a hand across his jaw, feeling up the sculpted beard contemptuously.

“Now, you recognize that you would not be starting at the top, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“Meaning that you would have a certain number of superiors, including myself, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“So to clarify,” the man began, making sure that their eyes met so he could verify. “You would be an inferior male, underneath me and a plethora of other men.”

“Wait, that isn’t-” Dylan’s booming register was somehow once again cut off.

“You will need to present yourself to this position accordingly, but I believe it is fair to say that will not be an issue.”

“That is accurate, Sir,” Dylan replied reverently in a soft, creamy tenor. He understood where he was on the ladder, and how he’d have to act accordingly. Still sitting in his chair comfortably, the 5’7 man brought his legs closer together, allowing the sides of the Size 8 feet to touch. While doing so, Dylan felt his micropenis twitch eagerly inside his tight briefs, sending an excited reaction to the hole between his two jiggly, doughy buttocks.

“You will also be expected to attend to some other needs of mine,” Sir started. “Dry cleaning, note taking, errands, and the like.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“You will be loyal, you will be obedient, and you will be my dedicated servant.”

“Sir,” Dylan’s meek voice began. “What do you-”

“To work and succeed at the Carmichael Corporation,” Sir declared through fiery eyes. “it is imperative that orders from a superior be followed. Understood?”

“Yes Sir.” Dylan was willing to do just about anything that could give him an advantage in business; anything that would make his superiors pleased.

“So with that said,” Sir leaned back in his chair happily, dropping the handbook on the desk and crossing his arms across his chest. “If I were to ask you to, say, change your name, would you do that for me?”

“Yes Sir,” Dylan lied through his teeth. He was willing to do just about anything, but not that.

“Here at the Carmichael Corporation, we like to go by our full titles as they allude to more professional, defined statuses.”

“Absolutely, Sir.”

“Let’s first start with Dylan: just a gross, common name. You agree?”

Dylan didn’t, but the thought of a superior changing his name was suddenly tantalizing.

“Personally, I believe you would be more suited as a Dorrance. And for the surname, well,” Sir chuckled wickedly to himself. “Pringle was never an actual name, just a detrimental snack. You would be much better suited with Peabody. Classic, but preppy, which seems to be the direction you’re taking. Though I believe you should at least be a Junior.”

Before Dylan could fire back a string of arguments, Sir had ascended out of his throne and extended a strong palm.

“Congratulations, Dorrance Rotterham Peabody, Jr.,” Sir seemed very pleased with himself. “You will be a great fit as my new personal assistant.”

“Thank you immensely, Sir!” Dorrance replied, jumping out of his chair in excitement and eagerly shaking the man’s hand. “How soon may I begin to work under you?”

“Right away, boy.” Sir made sure to emphasize the demeaning word. “I have a few outfits I need you to sort through and approve of, as you know my taste quite exquisitely.”

“Of course, Sir.” Dorrance followed Sir to a table covered in sheets displaying different suits and styles. He immediately immersed himself into the work, separating out the preferable blacks, navys, and grays from the disgusting other palettes. This extremely pleased Sir, so much so that he wanted to reward Dorrance with something special. So, Sir gave Dorrance’s butt a big appreciation swat as he strutted away, causing Dorrance’s ample rump to shudder within his pants as he continued his work.

— —

Elijah grimaced, noticing the time on the gigantic clock inside the main lobby had only moved by a minute. The wait had been a lot longer than he had expected, forcing him to cancel an event with friends and a hookup from Grindr. It had been about an hour since Dylan had been taken away to his interview, and almost 2 hours since Joe’s disappearance. He was concerned about what this meant for them, but he was becoming more concerned about what this could’ve possibly meant for himself. Maybe he didn’t have a chance within the Carmichael Corporation. Elijah was beginning to feel as if the employers had completely forgotten him when a young man magically appeared before him, answering his plea.

The man wore a tight fitting suit, seemingly strained at both the broad shoulders and around the crotch. It was exceptionally subdued, a rather pale black color with a white button-up shirt and a gray tie with a subtle windowpane pattern. He carried a briefcase that looked both rather expensive and rather ordinary. The young man stood ramrod straight, his muscular build hidden by the extremely high rise of his pants, sitting above his belly button just under the rib cage. His powerful jaw–while covered in a little youthful baby fat–spread wide and hung low, giving his face a square, lantern shape.

“Elijah Grove.”

“Yes?”

“I assume you are the last respondent today?” His voice was slow and deep, catching Elijah off guard.

“I guess?”

“Do you guess or do you know?” The young man seemed to get rather disgusted by Elijah’s uncertainty. “If you expect to succeed at the Carmichael Corporation, you are going to have to know.”

“I-” Elijah was almost sure he saw the young man’s eyes flash dazzlingly as he began. “I know I am the last respondent, yes.”

“Grand.” The man ushered Elijah to get up and tread closely behind. Following quickly, Elijah was surprised to see that they were leaving the building.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Elijah chose his words carefully. “Where are we going?”

“I am fond of conducting my interviews over promenades,” the young man replied. They steered their way around crowds of businessmen as they ventured into the streets, making random turns here and there. “It shows how well you can think on your feet, literally. It is an aptitude you will need to be proficient in if you want to become an Associate like myself.”

“Associate?” Elijah blinked a few times out of confusion, knowing that he had applied to work as an intern in the financial department. Although he was a few inches taller than the young man, he was having a little difficulty catching up, causing him to fall in and out of the conversation.

“Indeed,” the man misinterpreted the question. “I was recently put in charge of development acquisitions and advanced from Junior Associate to an Associate. Fascinating, is it not?”

“Sure.”

The two strolled a little further out of the city, moving away from the busy center where the Carmichael Corporation headquarters stood. They came upon streets a little emptier then before until they finally turned into an old park. It was actually quite beautiful, covered in old knotty trees and overgrown plants. Birds were constantly chirping and squirrels chased after each other like there was no tomorrow. It was also littered in large stones, adding an oddly picturesque feel to it. Elijah was surprised that he had lived in the city for so long and had never once been to this place.

After a while more of walking, the man led them to an old picnic table before turning around and offering a large, rough hand. Confused, Elijah accepted it and the grip practically shattered his bones. Elijah had kept his body fit since his high school basketball days, so he was surprised to feel such a sheer strength in the young man’s shake.

“My name is Keating Eckley Whitlyn, Jr.,” the young man stated before placing his briefcase down and taking a seat at the table. “Our interview should not extend too lengthily, as I have some imperative work to attend to after this.”

“What would that be?” Elijah asked earnestly, his jovial tone a major contrast to Keating’s flat, molasses-like demeanor. At 6’7, it was fairly difficult for him to get his skinny legs under the table, but he managed.

“I have been assigned to a downtown acquisition project, a potential development on 520 Porter where we need to clear the lot.”

“Huh, okay,” Elijah strangely got interested. “So what is it that you are removing?”

“Currently the future site of the Carmichael Settlement on Porter is occupied by this park we are lounging in right now.”

“This park?” Elijah was surprised. “But it’s stunning! There’s so much life and nature here. You wanna tear it down?”

“It is an eyesore and it occupies a lot with high economic potential. It is better suited for development.”

“How could you be such a soulless jerk?” Elijah scolded, getting angrier faster than he had anticipated. He began caring less and less about the job and more about his own morality. Sure, Elijah got how important money was, but he didn’t think he would be able to live with the guilt of destroying an animal’s habitat, let alone an entire population’s. “Don’t you understand what you would be doing? The impact this will have?”

“I’m offended by your tone.” Even after being insulted, Keating’s voice still sounded low, slow, and empty. His eyes however seemed to flare up before he continued. “And yes, I understand exactly the impact this will have. It will create a serviceable, profitable property for the Carmichael Corporation, which in turn will compensate me with enough money to survive. That is what any respectable man like you and I would desire.”

“Survive?” Elijah mocked, now getting extremely annoyed that Keating had compared the two of them.

“Obviously.” Keating wasn’t defending himself, but instead explaining what he thought was a common fact. “I just bought a house out in Fenwick, the only neighborhood in this squalid city with expansive acreage, tree-shaded streets, and good schools. It is very difficult to purchase a home in that neighborhood, especially one with the seven bedrooms, four floors, and private tennis court I required. Plus, I’m working on my country club application. The application fee alone is $50,000. Looking over your records earlier, I had gathered that was something you desired as well, correct?”

“Yes, that is true.” The idea was buried inside Elijah’s mind. Far from feeling like a fresh fantasy, it was embedded deep, as though it had always been there, as though he’d always wanted to buy a giant mansion in a gated neighborhood with an expensive country club. It was always the goal to move out to Fenwick for corporate shark Elijah.

“I am relieved that that is settled.” Keating opened his briefcase to reveal a combination of different documents, papers, and a massive book that Elijah couldn’t believe fit in the bag. Keating proceeded to pull it out and flipped open to a page somewhere in the middle.

“To become an Associate, you will first be assigned underneath me as a Junior before moving up the ladder. You will still make a good deal of money however, so do not feel too unsettled. Do you understand?”

Although they were maintaining a shared gaze, Keating was not able to read the confusion on Elijah’s face.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s correct.” Elijah was here for a position in the financial department, not to be an Associate, so he was embarrassed to point out the error that Keating had made. Not embarrassed enough however to not correct him.

“As a Junior Associate, you’d start with a baseline of 100 plus three percent commission with incentives quarterly based on goals and projects,” Keating answered, once again misreading. “I believe that will be appropriate compensation, am I accurate?”

“Yes, indeed you are,” Elijah replied cheerfully, glad that the issue was all cleared up. He had wanted to start as an Associate right away as he was worried it the Junior position wouldn’t give him the pay he had hoped for, but apparently it wasn’t that far below. Plus, if he did well, he could quickly move up like Keating had.

“Your job will require calls, lots of calls,” Keating droned, his piercing eyes drilling right into Elijah’s. “Calls to landowners, historical groups, insurance companies, auctioneers, all with their own opinions and interests. A few calls will be less productive, with upset protestors yelling at you about our improvement upon the lot. You will have to decelerate your speech to command attention better. Be direct and contain emotions. You will be better suited to appear calm and in control at all times. There is no need to ever appear energetic or excited.”

The hurling of information confused Elijah. “So you are saying I shouldn’t care about the clients?”

“Yes,” Keating confirmed. “You can try being sympathetic, but you will quickly find that being stern and direct will get them off the line quicker so you can return to work. Based off of what I have already perceived, this will not be a hindrance.”

“Thank you.” Elijah found himself mimicking Keating’s voice: deep, dull, and disinterested.

“There are many perks of the job, including a corporate gym on the fifth floor which I highly recommend you use.” After investigating Elijah’s long, fit body, Keating brought his eyes back to Elijah’s own. “We expect every man to have a sense of presence at the Carmichael Corporation. Currently, you are far from meeting those standards.”

“What do you mean by that?” Elijah responded. It was hard for a man of his height to keep a healthy weight. A high metabolism meant he was always fairly skinny, but he didn’t expect it would be such a problem.

“The gym is a good source of weight training,” Keating continued, ignoring the question. “I personally workout an hour before work each day and one hour afterwards. You will be expected to maintain a similar routine. It appears however that you already understand the importance of presence, but if you are interested in a tour of the corporate gym I would not be affronted.”

“Thank you, I would be very fond of that.” Elijah smiled politely after his reply, moving his legs a little under the picnic table. At 6’3, it was a little difficult for him to keep his well-defined legs under the table, but he managed. Although he’d left golf after college (and hoped to get back into it with his admission into the country club) Elijah had made sure to keep his body in excellent shape by working out almost everyday. His proof could be seen through the skin-tight quarter-zip sweater and the black khaki’s that hugged his meaty quads and calves.

“At the Carmichael Corporation, we do have a dress code, but it is reasonably undemanding.” Keating turned the manual around to show Elijah. The page that Keating had flipped to displayed a model covered head to toe in a full, very dapper yet very posh suit. Elijah’s eyes fluttered quickly before looking back to Keating for confirmation.

“‘Reasonably undemanding’?”

“I would say so. A suit works as the foundation of a man’s future in business.” Keating closed the handbook and placed it back into his briefcase. Elijah could have sworn a tiny smile crept onto the corners of Keating’s mouth during the action. “I appreciate that you have already generated this knowledge.”

“I’m glad you noticed,” Elijah flourished, his voice still plodding. Elijah had made sure to pick out an outfit that had shown off all of his best features. First, a drab, beige, perfectly-cut jacket with matching pleated pants, accompanied by a striped salmon button-up that contrasted well against his pale skin. He had matched his coffee-colored tie to similar shaded Size 13 tassel loafers and a pair of bronze supports that were hidden expertly beneath his coat. Finally, he had styled his blond hair into a fashionable ivy-league cut, making sure to also get a fresh shave earlier that morning. Just the thought of himself in the outfit made him perk up inside his white briefs, bringing his dick to a 6.5-inch mast.

“There are only a few more things we must address, one being your character and ethics.”

“What is it the company expects?” Elijah asked.

“You must understand,” Keating glared. “the Carmichael Corporation expects every man to share the same morale system. We want a unified front; a collective conscience per say.”

“Alright,” Elijah accepted. “What are these shared values?”

“There are the equitable ideals like marrying a woman of the same class, having an abundance of children, and being a member of good standing at multiple prestigious clubs.”

Elijah sighed to himself quietly while still maintaining eye contact, disappointed in these old-fashioned beliefs.

“At the Carmichael Corporation, we also have intimate objectives that stand high above the others. You must want to move upwards on the corporate ladder. You must want to fully commit yourself to your work. You must want to embody everything a man should be: big, strong, soon to be rich. You must want to be every title a man should own: sportsman, fraternity brother, and avaricious. You want money, do you not?”

“Yes,” Elijah confirmed deliberately. “I want money.” This brought a greedy sneer spread to Keating’s face. Elijah felt like a low, deep, and great truth had awoke inside him. Luckily, the Carmichael Corporation’s principles had aligned perfectly to his own.

“Very good.” Keating eyes also seemed to grin wildly. “Now, two imperative adjustments I would personally like to make. The first is your name.”

“My name?” Elijah opposed.

“Yes, you will need something stronger, more outdated to establish yourself as a man of the Carmichael Corporation. Is that not true?”

“Yes, I do believe that to be true,” Elijah suddenly affirmed. “Please tell me what you think my name should be.”

“Your name is not the only dilemma however, but also your nationality,” Keating resumed. “I believe a British origin would give you a brilliant presence. More mannerful, much more respectable, and it would help establish you as a leading man. Plus, a legacy will give you generational value. What do you think?”

“I-”

“But,” Keating cut off before Elijah could even attempt to reply. “I should not be bashful in saying that you already represent all those factors. Care to agree, Emerson Foley Gillingham-Smyth?”

“Most certainly,” Emerson acknowledged accordingly in a pretentious accent. He was a diligent, hard-working, and prosperous Brit, and those were only the first words that came to his head. Some may have called him smug and arrogant, but he was really just confident and self-assured. He resembled the epitome of a real man, as displayed by his stunning suit that contrasted his tanned skin eloquently. His dark, chestnut hair and beard also gave off a shocking amount of masculinity. Just the thought of himself and his own superiority made him perk up inside his white briefs, bringing his dick to a 9-inch mast. He was by no means a repulsive sodomite, but he could admit a handsome man when he saw one. And he was a handsome man.

“So what do you convey, Keating Eckley Whitlyn, Jr.?” Emerson began, taking a stand with his Size 15 feet planted firmly beneath him. “Do you believe I could become a Junior Associate at the Carmichael Corporation.”

“By all means,” Keating replied, getting up and extending a hand forward. “You’ll be a fashionable fit.” They gave a single sturdy shake before finishing their business. While heading towards the exit, they held a light conversation about stocks, each having grabbed a business edition of the Times along the way.

Gripping the paper tightly as they drifted away from the park, Emerson felt almost restless. The idea of stripping away that atrocity of a park to add in a new, profitable site was so thrilling it was mildly arousing. After his success here, Emerson knew he would receive a promotion, which pleased him mightily. Making their way across a boulevard, Emerson watched the Carmichael Corporation’s headquarters come into view, the place where he knew he would accomplish everything he desired.

#preppification #jocktoprep #gay to straight #straight to gay #cock shrink #top to bottom #bottom to top #lib to con #political #Carmichael Corporation

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warping-realities · 1 year ago

Text

Carmichael Corporation - The Interviews (by @dumb-and-jocked)

It's no secret to anyone who follows me that I'm a big fan of the work of two authors @callmecallmecrazy and dumb-and-jocked. And here we have the result of one being inspired by the other's work, something I also did in my own work. I feel fulfilled in making images for the next stories, starting with this one.

“I guess we should head in,” Elijah stated, making his way forward slowly. “If we actually want to work at the Carmichael Corporation, we’ll have to ace these interviews.”

“Dude, I’m going for accounting.” Joe gave a rough eye roll, before walking off to notify the secretary of their presence.

“You only got that because you were the captain of the basketball team,” Dylan mocked.

“Did not,” Elijah hurled back.

“Did too!” Dylan retorted.

“You understand that I actually worked for those grades, right?” Elijah felt himself get heated as his muscles grew tense.

“Oh you worked for them alright,” Dylan mumbled. “On your knees.”

“Excuse me, bro?!”

“You heard what I said, coc-”

“Gentlemen!”

“Sorry,” Dylan and Elijah replied in unison, deeply embarrassed and annoyed by the stuck-up prick.

“Now, I assume I will be performing one of your interviews today,” Yale took a moment to look at his clipboard. “Is one of you Joseph Koroll?”

“Exemplary,” Yale responded, causing Joe to give the other two looks that said What’s with this guy?

“How do you think he’ll do?” Dylan pondered.

“Better than the two of us so far,” Elijah pouted.

— —

“Joseph Koroll.”

“Yes?”

Yale sat straight at his desk, constantly giving off an ill-tempered glare as he peered back and forth between Joe and Joe’s resumé. What made it even more intense was that Yale’s eyes had an oddly captivating color to them. The two sat in a small conference room on the 15th floor overlooking a part of the city below. Joe didn’t feel that nervous--he actually felt quite confident--but the giant yellow chair he sat in made him seem much smaller than he actually was. Even for his muscular figure, he barely filled half the seat, and his head did not make it anywhere near the top. Not only that, but the chair was placed in the center of the room, giving him more attention than he needed.

“I despise that I must admit it,” Yale sighed. “but your experience and credentials are rather splendid.”

“Thank you?” Joe replied back, a little confused.

“If you want to be a part of the Carmichael Corporation however, there are some aspects that must be changed or enhanced.”

“I understand.”

“The Carmichael Corporation is not some urban start-up with jeans and herbal teas. This is a very demanding industry, one that expects all employees to be obedient and loyal.”

“Of course,” Joe nodded along. “That would make sense.”

“Yes sir.” Joe slyly added in the title, sensing he had to accept a power shift.

“Unsightly?” Joe was surprised, finding his red sweater and black slacks quite refined before making eye contact with Yale.

“And that is the kindest of words,” Yale snickered back. “If you want to succeed, you will need to learn how to dress like a man. Let me read you a small excerpt from the company handbook.”

Yale stuck a hand into his bag and pulled out the largest book Joe had ever seen. It had to be at least 1000 pages, yet Yale had no trouble finding the exact description he was looking for.

“Superb,” Yale acknowledged. “If you are hired here, you will be expected to meet a certain standard of fitness.”

Yale once again examined Joe before meeting eyes, causing Joe to respond with a smug look.

“Interpreting what I have seen and read, I suspect you will be engaging in a routine similar to the one when you were in varsity golf?”

“Not exactly, sir.”

“Now, I believe the next issue is your tone and speech.” Yale pulled out his handbook once more and flipped to another random page.

“Why would that help me exactly?” Joe questioned.

Yale, once again annoyed by Joe’s indecency, glared directly at him before explaining. “It will deepen your voice and give you more presence, which will be extremely helpful in business. You will also be able to use a fuller, more masculine tone--much like my own. I expect that is what you desire?”

“Yes sir.” The words spilled out in nearly double the time they had before. Joe’s tongue felt heavy as he spoke as every syllable seemed to require extra effort to spit out.

“I guess I don’t know…” Joe muttered, his voice sluggish and insensitive.

“Yes, of course sir,” Joe monotoned.

“Professionally, I think you should introduce yourself as your full name, John Millard Koroll.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience, but that is not-”

“And where is your surname from?” Yale interrupted. “Is it German?”

“No, it is most certainly-”

“That will work for you, will it not,” Yale stood up from his chair and extended a hand, making sure to share a mutual gaze with Joe. “John Millard Koehler III?”

“By all means, Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV.” John Millard’s thick, slow voice drawled out. He got out of his own seat and shook Yale’s hand in a firm motion.

“That is just grand!” John Millard responded cordially. “It is truly an honor, my gratitude, Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV.”

The two chortled merrily at the accounting joke before getting back to business, knowing they had a prosperous future ahead.

— —

“Yeah, but how many questions do they have to ask to see if Joe is a good fit or not?”

“Ahem.”

“I assume the two of you are here for the hiring process, correct?”

The two men nodded their heads quickly.

“Very good.” The man made a quick glance at Dylan and motioned him to follow. Dylan did just that, giving a thumbs-up to Elijah before disappearing down a hall.

— —

“Dylan Pringle.”

“Yes… sir?”

“I must inform you that the position you have applied for has already been filled.”

“I would regard that as a godsend however, as you were not at all qualified for the position.”

“What do you mean?” Dylan’s bass tone became thundering. “I have everything the job requires... and more!”

“Surely you meant to say 'Sorry Sir, is there another position open?’ as here I thought you were serious about working here at the Carmichael Corporation.”

Dylan was once again caught off-guard.

“Yes, definitely sir.” Dylan was relieved that he still had a chance to work at the Carmichael Corporation, especially after applying for a job he never could have performed.

“There are a few things you will need to learn quickly if you expect to succeed in this business, do you understand?”

“Yes sir.” Dylan made sure to maintain eye contact to confirm his answer.

“Sir, are you-” Before Dylan could protest, the man pushed forward.

“I find a certain degree of conformity aids in office morale, is that not fair? I can tell by how you present yourself you also believe this to be true.”

“Sir, if I may interrupt.”

“No, you may not.” The man glared down on Dylan. “I expect to see comb lines so sharp that even from a mile away a man could tell you know how to use pomade. Understood?”

“Now, you recognize that you would not be starting at the top, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“Meaning that you would have a certain number of superiors, including myself, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“So to clarify,” the man began, making sure that their eyes met so he could verify. “You would be an inferior male, underneath me and a plethora of other men.”

“Wait, that isn’t-” Dylan’s booming register was somehow once again cut off.

“You will need to present yourself to this position accordingly, but I believe it is fair to say that will not be an issue.”

“You will also be expected to attend to some other needs of mine,” Sir started. “Dry cleaning, note taking, errands, and the like.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“You will be loyal, you will be obedient, and you will be my dedicated servant.”

“Sir,” Dylan’s meek voice began. “What do you-”

“To work and succeed at the Carmichael Corporation,” Sir declared through fiery eyes. “it is imperative that orders from a superior be followed. Understood?”

“Yes Sir.” Dylan was willing to do just about anything that could give him an advantage in business; anything that would make his superiors pleased.

“Yes Sir,” Dylan lied through his teeth. He was willing to do just about anything, but not that.

“Here at the Carmichael Corporation, we like to go by our full titles as they allude to more professional, defined statuses.”

“Absolutely, Sir.”

“Let’s first start with Dylan: just a gross, common name. You agree?”

Dylan didn’t, but the thought of a superior changing his name was suddenly tantalizing.

Before Dylan could fire back a string of arguments, Sir had ascended out of his throne and extended a strong palm.

“Congratulations, Dorrance Rotterham Peabody, Jr.,” Sir seemed very pleased with himself. “You will be a great fit as my new personal assistant.”

“Thank you immensely, Sir!” Dorrance replied, jumping out of his chair in excitement and eagerly shaking the man’s hand. “How soon may I begin to work under you?”

“Right away, boy.” Sir made sure to emphasize the demeaning word. “I have a few outfits I need you to sort through and approve of, as you know my taste quite exquisitely.”

— —

The man wore a tight fitting suit, seemingly strained at both the broad shoulders and around the crotch. It was exceptionally subdued, a rather pale black color with a white button-up shirt and a gray tie with a subtle windowpane pattern. He carried a briefcase that looked both rather expensive and rather ordinary. The young man stood ramrod straight, his muscular build hidden by the extremely high rise of his pants, sitting above his belly button just under the rib cage. His powerful jaw--while covered in a little youthful baby fat--spread wide and hung low, giving his face a square, lantern shape.

“Elijah Grove.”

“Yes?”

“I assume you are the last respondent today?” His voice was slow and deep, catching Elijah off guard.

“I guess?”

“Do you guess or do you know?” The young man seemed to get rather disgusted by Elijah’s uncertainty. “If you expect to succeed at the Carmichael Corporation, you are going to have to know.”

“I-” Elijah was almost sure he saw the young man’s eyes flash dazzlingly as he began. “I know I am the last respondent, yes.”

“Grand.” The man ushered Elijah to get up and tread closely behind. Following quickly, Elijah was surprised to see that they were leaving the building.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Elijah chose his words carefully. “Where are we going?”

“Indeed,” the man misinterpreted the question. “I was recently put in charge of development acquisitions and advanced from Junior Associate to an Associate. Fascinating, is it not?”

“Sure.”

“I have been assigned to a downtown acquisition project, a potential development on 520 Porter where we need to clear the lot.”

“Huh, okay,” Elijah strangely got interested. “So what is it that you are removing?”

“Currently the future site of the Carmichael Settlement on Porter is occupied by this park we are lounging in right now.”

“This park?” Elijah was surprised. “But it’s stunning! There’s so much life and nature here. You wanna tear it down?”

“It is an eyesore and it occupies a lot with high economic potential. It is better suited for development.”

“Survive?” Elijah mocked, now getting extremely annoyed that Keating had compared the two of them.

Although they were maintaining a shared gaze, Keating was not able to read the confusion on Elijah’s face.

The hurling of information confused Elijah. “So you are saying I shouldn’t care about the clients?”

“Thank you.” Elijah found himself mimicking Keating’s voice: deep, dull, and disinterested.

“‘Reasonably undemanding’?”

“There are only a few more things we must address, one being your character and ethics.”

“What is it the company expects?” Elijah asked.

“You must understand,” Keating glared. “the Carmichael Corporation expects every man to share the same morale system. We want a unified front; a collective conscience per say.”

“Alright,” Elijah accepted. “What are these shared values?”

“There are the equitable ideals like marrying a woman of the same class, having an abundance of children, and being a member of good standing at multiple prestigious clubs.”

Elijah sighed to himself quietly while still maintaining eye contact, disappointed in these old-fashioned beliefs.

“Very good.” Keating eyes also seemed to grin wildly. “Now, two imperative adjustments I would personally like to make. The first is your name.”

“My name?” Elijah opposed.

“Yes, you will need something stronger, more outdated to establish yourself as a man of the Carmichael Corporation. Is that not true?”

“Yes, I do believe that to be true,” Elijah suddenly affirmed. “Please tell me what you think my name should be.”

“I-”

#male tf #mind change #reality change #corruption #preppification #preppy #dumb and jocked #favorite

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enhypens-hoe · 11 months ago

Text

Cherry - Kang Taehyun

pair: i.c shop worker!kang taehyun x customer!femalereader

genre: idek, smut

summary: your friends have been trying to get you to go to this ice cream shop. Not for the ice cream for the worker and well you have to do a dare for missing girls night. Where does it lead you? The sweetest place on earth and you have to admit he's attractive.

warnings: small smut 'scene', use of "slut" once, cursing, p in v sex, lmk if theres more.

divider creds: @/yeomgyuu

★ starring: txts’ Beomgyu and Soobin as Terrys co-workers

Thighs spread out on the counter as your moans grow louder and your head bangs on the wall. “Fuck.. omg yes right there” you squeeze your eyes shut as he rams his hips into yours. “nghh oh baby” you scream out causing Taehyun to slap his hand over your mouth.

“You want Beomgyu and Soobin to hear what a slut you are?” he asks you, thrusting harder than before. You shake your head at him and whimper into his palm. “Are you close? Give it to me come on cum on my cock.”

“I’m cumming shit!” your orgasm hits you hard and Taehyun doesn’t cum too long after you.

How’d you even get into this situation? Well…

ding! the bell above the door chimes as you enter the ice cream shop. It’s cute the decorations are pastel and pink. Omg… maybe I should’ve come sooner you think while you wait in line.

Your friends have been recommending this place to you for a long time but not for the ice cream. It’s because of the person scooping the ice cream. They say that the guy who works here is ‘right up your alley’ whatever that means.

Now you would never go to an ice cream shop just for some guy that your friends think you’ll spend the rest of your life with. But you skipped girls' night and in exchange you must do a dare. Your friends quickly gave you the dare and now thinking about it they seemed happy that you missed girls' night.

So, here you are waiting to look at a guy who is- absolutely gorgeous what the fu-

“Hi! What can I get for you?” the guy with the pink hair enthusiastically speaks to you. His name tag says Taehyun… cute. “Oh, if you’re unsure we do samples too.”

“Hi, sorry what do you recommend?” you try not to stare at him, so you decide to play it safe and pretend you’re looking at the different varieties of ice cream.

“I really like Cherry.. it’s my favorite. So, I’d recommend that.” He tells you not taking his eyes off of you. “Okay! Sounds good I’ll have that.” you respond finally looking at his face again.

He nods before asking you “And would you like that in a cup or cone?” You grab your wallet to pay as you reply, “Cup please and thank you.” ‘It’s my pleasure’ he replies grabbing an ice cream scooper to scoop your ice cream.

You watch as he scoops the ice cream his hands are veiny and big. You wish that they were wrapped around your body. Oh, how you want him to run his fingers through your hair.

“And here you go I hope you enjoy it!” his bright smile returns as he holds the cup for you to grab it. “Thank you” your face heats up as you walk away to a table.

After some time, you decide to snap a pic of the dessert so your friends can see that you completed the dare. The group chat messages flood with questions asking if you think he’s cute. You laugh to yourself taking the last spoon of ice cream.

“Hey, did you like the ice cream?” You lift your head and see Taehyun eyeing you as you finish your last spoonful. He doesn’t take his eyes off of your mouth as his sits down across from you. “Mhm! It was really good thanks... for the recommendation.”

“Good I’m glad you liked it.. uhm well actually the shop’s closing but-” you cut him off “Oh my gosh I’m so sorry I’ll get going” you get up from the booth and bow. Terry grabs your wrist before you can walk away, and he gets up from where he was sitting.

“Actually I was going to say you could stay. While I close up I mean if you want and we could get to know more about each other. I’d like to know more about you..” He finishes his sentence slightly biting his lip.

Yes please. Oh my- I’d love to know much more about him. “Yeah.. Yeah I think I’d like to know more about you too.” you smile at him.

@enhypens-hoe 2023 - do not steal, copy or translate.

#kang taehyun #taehyun smut #taehyun x reader #taehyun txt #txt smut #txt x reader #taehyun hard hours #txt #txt imagines #kpop imagines #kpop oneshots #kpop smut #txt fic #txt oneshots

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sandcobangevent · 13 days ago

Text

Missing you comes in waves (and tonight I'm drowning)

by @jonk-md and @glitterymumfriend

“Wait – wait, no, shit-” John scrambled for his phone, almost dropping it in his rush to activate the screen. Staring back at him was confirmation that it was 11:56am on Friday, 18th September.

His dad’s birthday was 17th September.

He’d forgotten his dad’s birthday.

He couldn’t believe it. He forgot. He forgot.

Distantly, he could hear Mariana calling his name, feel Sherlock’s hand on his shoulder. But he couldn’t do anything but stare at his phone screen until it went dark again, guilt pooling in the pit of his stomach.

He felt his lips moving, was vaguely aware of himself telling them he needed to call his mum. They might have said something in response, but John walked away in a daze, absently dialling Carol Watson’s phone number.

“Don’t be silly, Johnny love! It’s alright, I know how busy you are with that charming detective of yours.”

“I just- I’m really sorry, mum.”

“Nonsense! I was fine – I had a grand old time at the bingo with the girls, they kept me company. Speaking of, would you believe that Annie’s youngest has gotten herself engaged? Annie wouldn’t stop going off on one about the ring not being the right cut of diamond but frankly if that’s her only complaint it must have been a stunner, you know what she’s like-”

John hummed non-committally, shuffling things around his desk as he listened to his mum fill him in on all the gossip. Usually he’d have cut her off, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it this time.

He already felt like he’d failed her, once again.

After a while, she trailed off, wrapping up the tale of how Mr Prescott’s dog had gone for the milkman again. “You still there, love?”

“Yeah, yeah I- sorry. I’m still here. That sounds lovely, mum.”

She was silent for a moment, before he heard her sigh. “John, lovely, it’s OK. It’s been over 20 years since he passed on. You don’t need to check in on your old mum every year, I promise. I miss him – I always will – but I stopped grieving for him before you flew out to Afghanistan that first time. Was too busy worrying over you instead!” she joked. Her voice sounded a little wobbly, and John felt even worse.

He forced a chuckle in response, reaching out to idly run his fingers over the top of the framed photos on his desk.

“Don’t go fretting about it like you always do. I know how much you get stuck in that head of yours – don’t do it now. Go talk to Sherlock and Mariana, head out for a pint or something and enjoy your day.”

“Alright, mum. Take care.”

“You too, Johnny – love you!”

“Love you too.”

The line disconnected, and John dropped his phone on the desk with a sigh, slumping into the chair and placing his head in his hands. He did his best to focus on what his mum had said – that she was OK, that he shouldn’t worry himself – but he couldn’t shake the shame.

The feeling that he’d failed her. Failed both of them.

John Watson didn’t leave his room for some time.

He knew the others were concerned about him, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. How did he admit to his two best friends that he’d completely forgotten his dead dad’s birthday, all because he was selfishly occupied with the podcast? That he’d not had the wherewithal to message his mum, even once, on the day?

That on top of all of the guilt and shame, he still missed his dad even after 25 years?

It was as if he’d plunged into an ice-cold lake the moment he’d seen the date. Like he’d been wandering along the surface, blissfully unaware until the once-solid floor had given way to murky water. He could make out the light from the surface above him, but everything felt distant and fuzzy, thoughts overruled by the fight-or-flight panic over an inability to breathe.

He doubted they’d be harsh with him – they were both far too good people to kick someone whilst they were down. But a small part of him, one that was surprised whenever people chose to stay, chose him, was too scared of risking it.

He played it off as tiredness, though he was fairly sure neither of them were convinced. But they were, as previously stated, good people, and didn’t push him on it. Instead they fussed from a distance, placing a cup of tea on the coffee table next to him without asking, or putting an old match re-run on in the background as they got on with their individual activities in the evening.

Hell, Sherlock had even complimented him about his idea of luring the murderers to 221B again.

As much as the quiet affection from the others warmed him, however, it was underpinned by a swell of guilt each time. That voice in the back of his mind told him that he didn’t deserve the care and attention. He’d been an awful son to both of his parents, and was wallowing in self-pity and keeping the truth of it a secret like a coward.

He tried to contest it – his mum had said herself that she was fine, and that he shouldn’t beat himself up over it. But every time he tried to remember that – to cling to it as if it were a rope – the self-loathing twined around his legs even further, pulling him deeper to the point where he was starting to lose sight of the surface.

He was almost relieved when he made it to bedtime and was able to hide away in his room again without being questioned. Perhaps he just needed a night to process things, and he’d be a bit more level-headed on how to resolve it all when he woke up?

He should have known it wouldn’t be that simple.

He was at his early 10th birthday again, and his dad was in goal. He aimed, kicked, and watched in excitement as the ball just skimmed past his dad into goal. He’d scored!

But when he turned his attention to his dad again to brag about it, something was wrong. His dad’s mouth was moving, but he… couldn’t hear it.

He couldn’t hear his dad’s voice.

What did it sound like again? Was his voice on the higher end of the register like his, or deeper like Sherlock’s? Was there an accent?

He couldn’t hear his dad’s voice.

His appearance was the next to go. Between one blink and the next, he couldn’t remember the colour of his dad’s eyes any more. His features started blurring, fading away one by one. His hair, the shirt he’d been wearing, how tall he’d been.

Panicked, John reached out, flinging himself forwards to grasp at the figure that had replaced his father between the goalposts. It was too late, however – as his hand went to make contact, it passed through as if cutting through smoke, the edges of it curling up and away from him.

The form of Harry Watson dissipated.

He was gone, and John had no memory to cling to.

A distant sobbing noise caught his attention, and he wheeled around to see his mother. Not as she’d been back then – how she’d looked when he’d last seen her. He tried to go to her, but she took a step back, her bloodshot eyes meeting his as she scowled at him.

“How could you?!” she screamed at him, cheeks soaked by tears and hands clenched to her chest, “How could you forget him? How could you leave me?”

“Mum-”

She didn’t hear him. Instead, she turned and stalked away, out of the garden and into the distance. He tried to follow her, but he couldn’t move his legs. He tried to call after her, but when he opened his mouth no sound escaped.

Like his father, Carol Watson faded away.

Like his mother, John Watson was abandoned.

He was alone.

He didn’t come to awareness with a yell, the way he often did with night terrors.

Instead, John woke quietly, tears streaming down his face onto the pillow and chest aching with loss.

Once he realised it had been a dream, he climbed out of bed, turning on the desk lamp and reaching for the photo of his dad. He stared at it, taking in every minute detail as the memory – his actual memory – flooded back again. His dad’s eyes were hazel, like his. He’d been wearing his Star Wars t-shirt and shorts on the day, and his voice when he’d praised John for his penalty skills had been warm and slightly nasal.

Overwhelmed by the sheer relief that he still remembered, John’s body shook as he began to sob. He hugged the photo frame to his chest, biting his lip in an attempt to be quiet so as not to disturb Sherlock the next room over.

He felt like he was still drowning in that ice-water lake, still trying to claw his way to the surface but unable to. The same trapped feeling from his nightmare bled into his waking mind, leaving him powerless to do anything but cry as his thoughts spiralled.

He’d remembered this time, but what if he woke up another night and didn’t? He didn’t have any videos of his dad – his mum had never been able to afford a video camera when he was younger, all they had were disposable camera photos.

And his mum – he knew she’d put on a brave face often enough when he was a kid, both when his dad had been deployed and after he’d passed. She’d been inconsolable when the news first reached them – the neighbours had come over to look after them both once they’d heard Harry Watson had died – but she’d fought to keep herself together for him in the weeks, months that followed.

What if she had been putting that mask back on again to protect his feelings when she’d told him she was OK? He was torn between the urge to take the next train to Swindon to see her and the worry that if he did so, his fear that she was actually suffering would be confirmed.

He felt exhausted, and curled back up on the bed with the photo frame still gripped tight. The murky depths of his emotions dragged him under, and he fell asleep feeling like he’d never be warm again.

His lack of proper sleep was impossible to hide that next morning, and the concern from the others was even more palpable. John could barely make himself respond to anything, unable to even try and muster up a laugh as Archie rolled off the sofa whilst asleep.

Eventually, Mariana couldn’t take it any longer.

“OK, that’s it – what’s going on, John? You called your mum yesterday - is she OK?”

John swallowed, equally relieved and anxious that the topic was coming up. He took a steadying breath before responding, trying to twitch his lips into a facsimile of a smile.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” he replied, “Talked my ear off about Tockenham’s hot goss , as usual.”

“Oh yeah? Any more news on Charlie’s mysterious beau?”

“Nah, they’ve kept pretty tight-lipped on- wait, hang on, how do you know about that?”

“We catch up pretty often, John. She asks me to give her updates on what you’re up to, given you won’t tell her any details yourself.” Mariana replied, smirking at him.

Usually, he’d sputter indignantly at the comment, but the mention of his usual avoidance made him feel even worse.

Mariana noticed, and her smirk disappeared quickly, replaced with a greater look of concern. She stepped forwards, leaning against the kitchen table he was sitting at and placing a hand against his arm. “Seriously, come on. What’s wrong?”

He sighed again, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling in order to avoid her gaze. “It’s stupid. It’s just… Thursday was dad’s birthday. And I was so distracted getting the episode uploaded, I didn’t realise the date. I forgot my dad’s birthday, Mariana.”

“Oh, John…” she bent forwards, pulling him into a hug.

“I’m so sorry.” she murmured against his temple, and John squeezed his eyes closed to avoid crying again. He pressed his head against her shoulder, taking deep breaths in order to try and calm himself.

“I usually call mum on the day, check in on her. Even when I was on my tours, I did my best to secure a video call on the day, or at least send an email.” he explained, absently processing the shuffling noise from the doorway indicating that Sherlock had just arrived in the kitchen, “Every year – and when I was home with her, I’d buy her some flowers or chocolate or something. But I didn’t this year. I didn’t think to, because I didn’t remember.”

“Was she disappointed? Is that why you’re feeling upset?” Mariana asked, letting go to lean against the table again and face him. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

“She says she’s OK, but-”

“But you don’t really believe her. Or, at least, your anxiety is telling you she’s lying.” Sherlock’s voice chimed in, finishing the thought. The detective circled around, taking the chair across the table from him, piercing eyes studying him intently.

Unable to speak through the lump in his throat, John nodded.

“Oh John, I’m sure she’s alright. It’s been over twenty years, right? And if you’re still feeling awful, maybe you could do something belated?” Mariana suggested, rubbing his arm soothingly.

Above his head, where the surface of the lake glittered faintly, a shape formed.

A life ring.

John reached for it, finding it to be just out of reach. But it was there .

“Do something…?” he rasped, turning to look at Mariana. She nodded, and the ring bobbed a little closer.

“You mentioned flowers – you know, I saw an advert the other day for a company that sends same-day delivery bouquets. You order one, and they’ll send the request to a local florist who can deliver them to the address you provide.”

This time, his fingertips brushed against the edge. Feeling slightly renewed, John kicked at the knot of doubts around his ankles, trying to free himself.

“She’s always loved dahlias,” he murmured, “do you think there’s a chance they’d have those?”

“They do generally bloom in Autumn,” Sherlock pointed out, “and whilst they have multiple meanings assigned to them within the language of flowers, one of those is ‘inner strength’. Sounds like a fitting choice.”

Something sliced through the vines around him, and his next kick brought him closer to the surface. And, as he searched on his phone and found an offer for a bouquet of mixed dahlias available for delivery in Wiltshire, his hand made contact with the ring and clung to it.

“Oh they’re absolutely gorgeous , sweetheart! Judy from across the road looked jealous as anything when that cute delivery lad came by with all these flowers for me! Bet she’ll be grumbling away at the next bake sale.”

“I’m glad you like them, mum.” he replied, breathing slightly easier at the happiness in her voice.

“I’d love anything from you, love, you could get me a £2 bouquet from Tesco and I’d be thrilled. But they really are beautiful.” she took a breath, before adding, “I’ve placed them in your dad’s favourite vase, on the kitchen table. Brightening up the room, as always. Oh! Speaking of brightening up, you’ll never guess...”

John listened to his mum chat away, somehow able to find even more things to talk to him about only one day later. Soon enough though, she said her goodbyes, explaining how she was meeting up with some of the book club for a couple of drinks.

“You tell Mariana and your Sherlock that I say hi, won’t you?”

“He’s not- I- alright, mum. Will do, I’m sure they say hi back. In fact, you know Mariana does, since apparently you two chat now!”

“Oh don’t worry too much, lovey, I’m keeping all the embarrassing childhood stories to a minimum! Toodles, love you!”

“Love you too- wait, what do you mean childhood- aaand she hung up.” he sighed in frustration, but aside from the concern that Mariana knew stories he’d wanted to keep buried he felt far more at ease than the last time he’d ended a call with his mum.

He wasn’t completely recovered yet – he was out of the lake, but the ice-water was still clinging to him, keeping him chilled. He was out of danger, though, and from the noises coming through the door to his room he suspected he’d be feeling even closer to normal by the end of the evening. Mariana had called an emergency movie night after his flower order had been placed, and had promptly ran out the door to gather supplies. He hadn’t seen her since – had spent most of the morning and early afternoon taking Archie for a long walk around the park – but he’d heard her shuffling around 221A as he’d climbed the stairs past her door.

Plugging his phone in to charge, he left to join the others in the living room.

He walked out to see bowls of popcorn on the table, pillows and cushions clearly raided from bedrooms scattered across the sofa and armchair, and the TV on, paused on-

“Is that Back To The Future ?”

“Yeah, seemed like a good choice for an impromptu film night.” Mariana confirmed, flopping into the armchair – her usual viewing spot – and tilting her head towards the sofa.

Sherlock had settled into his normal half of the sofa at the same time, and met John’s eyes from across the room. “You mentioned, once, that your father enjoyed the trilogy. That he’d watched them back-to-back a few times.”

John swallowed, taking a steadying breath at the rush of emotion that hit him. “Y-yeah, he-” he cleared his throat, working his jaw for a moment before carrying on, “he really loved sci-fi movies. Apparently he dreamed about getting a DeLorean for years after the movie came out. Mum says when I was born he’d argued the cause for me to be called Marty – Martin, legally, of course – but she shot that down pretty quickly.”

“Good thing, too – imagine being Martin “Marty” Watson!” Mariana teased, “You’d have been stuck with some stupid nickname like, I don’t know… Martian? MegaWats?”

“Hey! I’d have rocked the nickname MegaWats! Could have been known for my electric personality, eh?” he replied, grinning as he dodged the cushion Mariana flung at him whilst booing.

Sherlock sent them both an unimpressed look, but there was a barely-contained sparkle of humour in his eyes. The sight of it alone helped to ease some of the permafrost chill – he could feel his fingers again, and used them to retrieve the cushion from where it had landed.

The next moment, it hit Mariana with a satisfying ‘ thump ’. She squawked in mock-outrage, but before she could send it back Sherlock cleared his throat.

“Perhaps we can get on with watching the film now that we’re all gathered?”

Chuckling again, John settled onto the sofa and grabbed one of the bowls of popcorn. After some shuffling around, everyone was settled and Mariana hit ‘play’.

Mariana mentioned that she’d seen the movie once, years ago, but that she hadn’t really paid attention to the plot of it before. Sherlock appeared to be caught somewhere between bafflement and outrage at the storyline.

Now and again, John found himself pointing out something about the movie that reminded him of his dad – like how his childhood dog had been called ‘Einstein’ after the Doc’s dog. That had caused Mariana to demand to see photos of ‘Einstein Watson’, which John promised to find when he next went back to Tockenham.

Between those moments, however, John zoned out of the movie, having seen it so many times he didn’t need to focus on it. Instead, he switched between watching the screen and watching the other two.

These two people, who had known him less than a year and yet felt closer to him than any friends he’d made in the past. Who had listened to his worries and had put in the effort to try and support him. Who had remembered his dad’s favourite movie after one conversation, and had gone to the effort of setting up a movie night to watch it with him in the hopes he’d feel better.

And he did – he’d felt the tension leaving him as the movie progressed, breathing coming easier as he listened to Mariana laughing at the Doc’s antics, or Sherlock’s outrage at the idea a car would vanish into another point in time at just 88mph. A glowing warmth forming at his core, pressing outwards and chasing the chill he’d been trapped with since he’d first spotted the date on his phone.

As the movie came to its conclusion, with the DeLorean vanishing into the sky as the credits started to roll, Mariana sat up and stretched, yawning as she tiredly rubbed at her eyes with one hand.

“Right, I think I’ll leave you boys to it. Have a good night’s sleep, whenever you both eventually go.”

“Good night, Mariana – and thank you, again, for everything.”

She stepped over, ruffling his hair before bending down to press a light kiss to his forehead. “Of course, John. You’re one of my best friends, I wouldn’t leave you to suffer alone. I’m just glad you got around to telling us what was going on.”

“Yeah – sorry for worrying you. Have a good night!”

“You too. Night, Sherlock!”

“Mm, good night Mrs Hudson.”

The other two rolled their eyes at each other, before Mariana let herself out of the door. John heard her descend the steps, before the familiar sound of her flat’s door closing.

He knew he needed to call it a night – he hadn’t had all that much sleep the night before – but he couldn’t make himself get up.

“You’re avoiding going to bed. You’re still upset by something.”

John flinched, turning to face Sherlock. The other was studying him, looking concerned.

“I… what?”

Sherlock nodded towards his hands, drawing John’s attention to how he was picking at his nails. A nervous habit of his, and one that the consulting detective was well aware of.

He shrugged self-consciously. “It’s stupid, Sherlock. Don’t worry, I’ll get over it.”

“If it’s causing you enough upset to block you from going to bed when you’re clearly exhausted, it’s not ‘stupid’. What is it?” his gaze was zeroed on his face, now, kaleidoscopic eyes taking in every detail as if he was studying an elaborate painting.

Knowing it was futile trying to lie to him, he closed his eyes, trying to figure out how to explain.

“I just… worry, Sherlock. What if this is just the first sign that I’m starting to forget him? He’s my dad, he was the love of mum’s life, what if I start to forget more than just his birthday? What if I forget his face, or the sound of his voice, or all the other details I’ve tried so hard to keep hold of?”

A lightbulb seemed to go off in Sherlock’s head. “You had a nightmare last night. Not night terrors, not memories of the war or the bomb. It was about your father, about forgetting him.”

John sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, mate. I, uh… I dreamt that I forgot him, that everything I had stored in my head disappeared. As I said, it was stupid.”

“Yes, it was.”

John’s head shot up to stare at Sherlock, hurt by the comment. Sherlock met his gaze, however, and continued. “It was stupid, because it’s not something that would ever happen. Nightmares often are nonsensical – a culmination of negative images your psyche produces as it sorts through everything you’ve taken in. This one is no different.”

“How can you be so sure, though? I already forgot his birthday, who knows what will slip my mind next time?”

Sherlock’s gaze flickered over him, eyebrows drawn together in thought. After a moment, he seemed to reach the internal conclusion he was working towards, because he nodded slightly before meeting his eyes again.

“It’s not possible, because there are various behaviours and interests of yours that display the ways in which you remember your father. Would you like me to prove it?”

John’s heart skipped a beat, cautious hope forming. He trusted Sherlock, knew the detective never said something he did not mean. Not to him.

“Please.”

Sherlock nodded again, before looking away. His eyes flickered around the room, before focusing in on the muted TV, displaying an old re-run of Match of the Day.

“Your chosen support of Swindon Town is one indicator.” He began, eyes looking towards the screen but somewhat distant. John had seen this behaviour multiple times before when Sherlock had been processing things internally, figuring out how to vocalise his thoughts. He watched quietly, taking in how the light from the screen highlighted his features. After a pause, Sherlock found his words and continued.

“Whilst I don’t know a great deal in the way of sports teams, I know tat people will generally select their favourites for three key reasons. Either it’s their home town’s team, a team that is especially successful, or the individual grew up in a household where that team were already being supported.

“Your support of Swindon Town FC is a combination of the first and third reasons. From what I gather of the league tables – and your various outbursts of frustration – it is safe to rule out that Swindon’s team could be considered ‘successful’.”

“Oi!” John protested, jokingly. Sherlock glanced at him, flashing a boyish grin before continuing.

“So, focusing on those two reasons. Swindon is geographically the closest town with a larger, more well-known team, true, but Bristol isn’t too far away and both of their teams appear to be doing rather better in the league. So that would indicate the need for another reason.

“That other reason was something I noted when we visited your childhood home a few months ago. Amongst the various trinkets and wall decorations in the living room was a signed Swindon Town FC shirt, dated from 1985. Four years before you were born, and not something you brought with you to London, so not yours. No other visible team memorabilia around the house outside of your old room, so not Carol’s. Ergo, it belonged to your father. He was a Swindon Town supporter and, because of that, you grew up to be one, too.”

“What else?” John asked, “Supporting a football team doesn’t really seem that solid, if I’m honest.”

“Your music tastes,” Sherlock replied, shifting sideways on the sofa to face John more directly. John shuffled to match him.

“What about them?”

“In a similar vein to sports teams, many children will develop a fondness for music they heard growing up. Your taste is very eclectic – despite your tendency to sing that waterfall song whenever you’re brushing your teeth after a good day – but there’s a clear preference for the genres of rock and pop, often older tunes rather than the ones playing in the charts now.

“On days where the topic of parents arises – be that Mrs Hudson speaking to her father back in Spain, or a case that focuses on a parent-child relationship – you have a tendency to listen to certain artists and songs more often.

“Another observation I made in the home, past the football shirt, was the shelf of CDs above the sofa. Mostly bands and artists from an older time, based on the designs on the spines that I could see. A few names I recognised from the playlists you’ve shown me before. The CDs themselves haven’t moved in some time – the spines facing the room were clear, as was the shelf they’re on, but the tops of them were coated in a layer of dust. They’re in an awkward position, being above the sofa. When dusting, your mother runs the cloth along the shelf and the section she can easily reach, but does not make the extra effort to reach higher to dust the top.

“The CDs aren’t hers – they are your father’s collection. And on those days when you play certain tracks more often, those songs are from artists that appear on that shelf. You are thinking of Harry Watson, and listen to songs that remind you of him as a way to feel closer to him.”

They had drifted closer together without John realising. John took a shaky breath at the wash of emotions brought on by how much Sherlock had observed of him without him even realising. However, he still wasn’t convinced.

“A lot of people listen to the music they grew up with, though. That doesn’t necessarily make it about me remembering my dad.”

“A fair counterpoint – well-reasoned, well done Watson.” the detective replied, offering him another smile. “In that case, I’ll move on to something more specific. How about the way you hold cutlery?”

“What?”

“When using a knife and fork, you hold the knife in your left hand and the fork in your right. If it were only a fork you were using, it could be excused away, as it could be if you were left-handed or ambidextrous. But you aren’t – you’re right-handed.”

Sherlock reached across, taking John’s left hand between his own. One wrapped across the ends of his fingers, whilst the other took his wrist in a gentle grip, just below the tan-line from where his watch usually sat.

They’d held hands before, but this felt different – more tender, more intimate somehow. Sherlock’s fingers were cool, but points of heat emanated from every point of contact between them. He swallowed nervously, turning his attention back to Sherlock, whose eyes were still focused on his wrist.

“You wear your watch on your left wrist, and favour picking things up with your right hand – your dominant one. Carol is the same, from what I have seen of her, and appliances around your childhood home were in positions favoured by right-handed people. The handle of the kettle pointing to the right, for example. So, why do you hold cutlery with the technique often used by left-handed people? Because you grew up mimicking someone who was left-handed: Harry Watson.”

“How can you tell?” John asked, hushed. Sherlock’s thumb swept gently over the tan-line, and John’s breath hitched.

“In photos of your father, I could see a watch on his right wrist,” the detective explained, his thumb continuing to brush over the pulse of John’s wrist. “There was also a particular photo of him holding a rifle – a training session based on his uniform and the surroundings – which had his left pointer finger held against the trigger.

“Harry Watson was left-handed, and you learnt to copy him in the way you held cutlery, despite being right-handed like your mother. You still do it today. It’s a habit you share with him. One you aren’t doing consciously, meaning it’s written into your subconscious – something that’s very unlikely to change.”

Sherlock’s fingers squeezed around his own, and John squeezed back, before using his other hand to adjust their grip so that their palms were touching. He placed his free hand on top of Sherlock’s, their conjoined hands a source of heat that warmed him through.

“Then of course, there’s the photo on your desk.” the detective continued. His voice sounded slightly unsteady, and a light flush had started to form across his cheeks. John stared, entranced.

“You are a sentimental man, and have a few important photos in your room. But specifically, it’s the one of you and your father I want to bring up.

“It’s faded, the colour desaturated in parts but otherwise undamaged. Sunlight damage. Photographs can start to fade when exposed to sunlight, due to UV rays. Given the age of the photo and the state that it’s in – plus the fact that it’s current position on your desk avoids any sunlight reaching it – I can deduce it’s been out on display near-constantly since it was first developed.

“Your room in the house was covered in posters and photos, but only a few have made it to London with you. One is of your mother and people that I believe are your grandparents, based on similarities in features. One is the photo you have of us, Mrs Hudson and Archie from a few months ago. And the third is you and your father.”

Squeezing his hand again, Sherlock continued. “It’s a treasured photo, and one you clearly rely on. You think of your father often, and care deeply about the visual reminder. This leads me on to my final deduction.”

“Which is?” John breathed.

“You are not adept at remembering dates. In fact, you keep nearly every date that’s important to you on your calendar. Friends’ birthdays, anniversaries, special events. You have nearly all of them written down – to help you remember them. But not your parents’ birthdays.

“This is because they are so important to you that you have managed to remember them, unprompted, every single year. You said it yourself: this was the very first time you forgot your father’s birthday.”

Sherlock’s eyes locked with his, gaze intense and earnest. John felt like he was unable to breathe again, but this time the feeling didn’t scare him.

He was with Sherlock: he could never be truly scared of anything so long as he was there.

“Do you understand the importance of that?” Sherlock continued, “That fact, alongside all the others, combine to provide only one possible answer. You care deeply about your parents, especially your father, and his memory is so completely entwined with your day-to-day life that you will never be able to truly forget him.

“Mistakes happen, John, you’re human. But you resolved it as soon as you realised. A bad son would have stopped caring years ago, wouldn’t be so hung up on this that he suffered nightmares from it. You love them so much that you have continued to remember, even during some of the most stressful times of your life. You have faced so much pain, so many events that would make a weaker man crumble, and you have continued to think of your parents, remember them, and care .

“You’re a good son, John. You are a good man, and Harry Watson would be proud of you.”

Eyes stinging, John let go of Sherlock’s hands to pull him into a hug, ensuring to wrap his arms around the other’s upper back. He pressed his face against Sherlock’s neck, taking deep breaths to avoid crying. He felt Sherlock’s arms twine around him in return, pulling him closer.

With that final confirmation, all of the remaining despair left him, melting away under the blazing heat of Sherlock’s conviction. John doubted he’d ever feel cold again, so long as he was close to the man shining like the sun in his arms.

He pulled back after a while, but was reluctant to move away. Instead he studied his friend’s face. They were so close, he could feel the other’s breath against his cheek, could pick out the multitude of colours in his eyes.

“Sherlock…” he began, biting at his lip anxiously. Sherlock’s eyes flickered down, zoning in on his mouth, and he watched the detective swallow.

“ John. ”

Without thinking about it, one of John’s hands rose to gently cup his face. Sherlock’s breath stuttered, his eyes closing as he pressed into the touch. It was John’s turn to swallow, his thumb absently smoothing against the other’s cheekbone.

The signs were all there, but he had to be certain that he wasn’t reading into things.

Truthfully, John felt as though he and Sherlock had been circling around each other over the past few months. He’d become aware of it after he’d been shot by Abe Slaney, in the following weeks where Sherlock had hovered and fussed in his own way.

He noticed how they’d both hold onto each other perhaps a little longer than necessary, how they’d had more quiet, gentle conversations away from the recording on his microphone, how sometimes he’d stare at Sherlock only to realise he was staring back.

The emotional rollercoaster that had been seeing Carrie again had left him scared – scared that Carrie’s words would bring his myriad flaws to the surface and Sherlock would observe them and decide he wasn’t worth it.

However, Sherlock hadn’t seemed to pay it any mind. If anything, the lingering touches and quiet stares had increased, to the point where a day without coming into contact left John feeling unsettled.

Bringing himself back to the moment, John took a breath, and released it shakily.

He had to be certain, and for that he had to be brave.

“Sherlock,” he began again, pausing as the other’s eyes fluttered open again to meet his, “I want to be clear, you can say no. If you aren’t interested, or- or anything, say no and I won’t bring it up again.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed slightly, eyes darting across his face. After a moment, he blinked, eyes widening slightly in realisation. “Are you-”

Be brave, John.

“Can I… can I kiss you?” he asked, voice wobbling.

He watched, awed, as the other’s cheeks flushed red. As his pupils dilated, and he licked his lips before replying.

“ Please .”

The second that word had left Sherlock’s mouth, John closed the gap between them. His other hand rose up, joining the first in cradling the other’s face as if he were made of crystal. Sherlock kissed him back almost immediately, one hand curling against the nape of his neck as the other was placed between his shoulders.

John Watson had enjoyed his fair share of kisses in the past, but none of them held a candle to his first time kissing Sherlock Holmes.

After an indeterminate amount of time, John pulled away, pressing light kisses to Sherlock’s cheeks, his nose, his temple, before returning to his lips again. Sherlock hummed into the kiss, the hand at his nape pushing up to card through his hair whilst the other hand pulled the doctor closer to him.

Eventually needing to breathe, John pulled back again only to press his forehead against Sherlock’s, awed by the dazed expression on the other’s face. His hands slid down from his jaw to his shoulders, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into Sherlock’s collarbone.

“Was that- was that OK?” he found himself asking, a twist of nervousness in his gut despite everything.

Sherlock brushed their lips together again briefly in response, before rubbing his cheek against John’s in a way that absently reminded the doctor of a cat nuzzling. It was oddly endearing – something that John thought often about the consulting detective.

Opening his mouth to tell the detective as much, he was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. He felt Sherlock chuckling quietly at him and grumbled amicably.

“Alright, alright, it’s not that funny.”

“It rather is, I’m afraid. But it’s understandable, you’re already running on fewer hours sleep than your body is used to, and emotional stress can be exhausting.” Sherlock replied, pressing another gentle kiss against his temple before moving back. John missed the warmth almost immediately.

“But I don’t wanna go to bed, I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months!” he whined, too tired to be embarrassed by his own honesty. Another pretty flush formed over Sherlock’s face, and his expression flickered from surprise to amusement.

“I’ve wanted the same. But I promise you can kiss me again in the morning.”

John blinked, waking up a little at the implication. They hadn’t explicitly defined anything, but did that mean…?

“What about the day after? Do you promise I can kiss you then, too?”

Sherlock gave him a look that was so tender, so full of warmth and affection that he was worried he’d start crying again.

“I promise,” he vowed, quiet but emphatic, “tomorrow, the day after… as many days as you want.”

Well, in for a penny…

“All of them. I want all of them, if that’s what you want too.”

Another kiss, lingering.

“Nothing would make me happier, John.”

__________

Check it out on AO3 too!

#sherlock & co #sherlock and co #fanart #fanfiction #john watson #sherlock holmes #mariana ametxazurra #event #flash bang #flashbang event

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ponderingmoonlight · 1 year ago

Text

The razor's edge

Pairing: boyfriend!Megumi x reader

Word Count: 1,3k

Synopsis: The news that your boyfriend Megumi got badly injured on a mission makes you come to Jujutsu High immediately to stand by his side.

Warnings: mentions of death, injury, language

„Where is he“, you breathe out while sprinting down the dark hallway without an aim.

Your mind is clouded with pure fear. The worst that could have happened has happened. Shoko’s voice took on a worried tone that you’ve never heard from her before when she called you earlier. You don’t know much expect that Megumi has a gaping hole in his abdomen and was saved by her. A close call, nearer to death than to life.

“Hey, (y/n), here!”

Finally a familiar voice. Your eyes search the room for Yuji’s pink hair. He waves you over, sweat drips from his forehead, auspicious blood sticks to his clothes. You run towards him as fast as you can, whole body trembling in fear and embrace him in a tight hug. What happened? Was is because of the competition? He told you not to worry, that serious injury was prohibited and both schools usually complied with that. Nothing more than a few scratches, he said. Nothing more than a few scratches…

“Shoko just took him with her to rinse the wound again. I’ll be honest, it hit him very bad. Half an hour ago we didn’t even know if he’s gonna make it. But he will survive, Shoko fixed him up again”, Yuji explains briefly while patting your back slightly.

You don’t miss the gleam in his eyes and the deep lines of concern that adorn his otherwise carefree face. It must have been a really close call.

You can’t help but let yourself fall out of his arms on a nearby bed. Pictures of Megumi flood your mind, the way he never admitted that he wants to cuddle but always pulled you closer in the middle of the night, his collected façade that crumbled when you broke your leg last summer and how he had his eye on you ever since. He may seem cold and indifferent, but you know so much better. He is the most caring, affectional and sacrificial man you know. You knew this day would come. Being a jujutsu sorcerer carries a high risk, no matter how skillful he is. Megumi always told you that such things can happen and that you shouldn’t worry about it, that he’ll always return to your side.

Your lips begin to tremble while your eyes burn like a thousand fires in a desperate attempt to stop yourself from crying. He wouldn’t want you to feel this way. But still…

“I can’t lose him”, you mumble, tears falling down your long lashes.

But still, your fear of losing him is catching up with you. So far his words have been no more than a theoretical construct, a risk that seemed far away. But in one fell swoop it became a hard-hitting reality.

“Don’t worry, Megumi is tough and probably wouldn’t allow himself to leave you behind”, Yuji assures you with a little smile while patting your shoulder lightly.

A little laughter escapes your lips. He’s probably right. You wipe the tears from your face in an unladylike manner and give Yuji a sweet smile. Even though he’s pretty much done himself, he can’t help but replying it. Megumi is lucky to have a girlfriend like you – they like to remind him of that as much as they can too.

Minutes feel like hours while you stare at the aseptic ceiling above, Yuji by your side in silence. Is it a good sign that this takes so long? Or did something really bad happen? You try to close and rest your burning eyes for a moment but are immediately struck by the imagines of a lifeless Megumi. No, you can’t rest now. But on the other hand, the thought of standing up and walking around drains you even more. You probably just have to preserve, surely everything is as fine as it can be. But what if it’s not? What if he’s taking his last breaths behind one of the closed doors?

“Oh, there you are, (y/n). Megumi has been bugging me with his questions about you since he woke up.”

Shoko enters the room as casually as usual and pushes a hospital bed in front of her. You jump up, heart almost leaving your chest. Legs moving by themselves, you start sprinting towards him despite the dizziness that almost brings you to your knees.

“Megumi”, you breathe out.

God, he looks so horrible that your gut twists in terror. His face is covered in bruises, clothes still soaked in blood as well as his usual black hair. So much blood…You can tell by a look into his tired eyes that he is completely exhausted. But the worst are the fresh bandages around his otherwise naked abdomen. You swallow hard while a new wave of tears threatens to overwhelm you.

“Hey (y/n)”, he replies with low voice.

“You’re awake. And alive.”

Your shaky fingers cling to his arm. He’s alive, he’s warm, he’s here. He’s severely hurt, but alive. Everything is going to be okay. He survived.

“I don’t feel that alive to be honest, more like death warmed over. Thank you for coming, seeing your face motivated me to stay awake.”

You can’t anymore. Your body completely collapses onto him. Uncontrolled sobs fill the entire room, your head rests on his chest while your fingers cramp into the blood soaked fabric of his shirt. A wave of relief and distress rolls over and swallows you completely.

“I’m sorry for doing this to you. Absolutely nothing went like planned, special grade curse spirits attacked us”, he briefly explains, his voice utterly sore.

You focus on his frequent breath, his calm heartbeat echoing through your head and the hint of his delicious smell under the obscene whiff of his blood.

He’s fine.

Like a mantra, you repeat this sentence over and over in your disordered head. You don’t have to worry anymore. Your body can stop to tremble now. Your crying is unnecessary. But still, you can’t stop. The thought of almost losing him rips you open from the inside and shows you will all harshness of fate how valuable and fragile even his life is.

“(y/n), look at me.”

You take a deep breath. Calm down, everything is fine now. With bloodshot and puffy eyes, you focus on his breathtaking gaze. His dark blue orbs could calm entire oceans, it is so easy to get lost in them.

“I’m here and everything is going to be okay, do you hear? Now please stop crying, I hate seeing you shattered like this because of me.”

Gently, his fingers trace along your cheek, caress your face in the mildest way. You instantly melt into his touch and silence your loud thoughts for a brief moment.

“Don’t you dare to ever do something like that again”, you mumble against his chest.

At the moment, he feels so good that it hurts. Just the thought of never feeling his gentle touch again, to never snuggle up against the warmth of his body eats you up alive.

You can’t help but grab his hard biceps and press your lips firmly against his. Megumi is the air you breathe, the love of your life. You will never let him go again, no matter who’s watching.

“Okay, I-I think we should g-get going”, Yuji stutters along with an awkward laugh.

“Wow, you scared him away. Show me how you did it”, Megumi mutters into your parted lips.

“Oh, I will go into heavy detail about that.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi x y/n #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro x y/n #fushiguro x you #jjk megumi #jujutsu megumi #fushiguro #fushiguro megumi

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quillsareswords · 2 years ago

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How about a Damian x reader where the reader is friends with Jon and even though she doesn’t like him, Damian gets jealous and it ends in him confessing. And maybe a kiss 🤔🤔🤔🤔

A/N: ...these were all supposed to be under like 400 words...I looked up six hours and 2,520 words later and here we are. anyway sry no kith bc I didn't feel like it 💅

WARNINGS: misunderstanding, language, argument, raised voices

MASTER LIST in BIO

You're nicer to Jon than anybody else you work with, including him. You go out of your way to talk to Jon. You ask him if he wants anything from the vending machine. You laugh at his awful puns.

He hates to say it irritates him, because Jon is a very kind person, and he deserves the same treatment. He deserves soft touch and secret jokes and a bright smile.

He deserves you. Out of everyone in the room at one of these inane hero mixers, Jon deserves you most.

Despite this, the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

(Nevermind that you pick him immediately for missions, or that you already know what he wants from the vending machine and you memorized how he takes his coffee, or that you're the only one who laughs when he cracks the darkest joke anyone in the room can stomach. That probably means nothing.)

He plants himself in the farthest corner of the room and sulks. He catches your eyes a few too many times, so he looks anywhere else. At anyone else.

He decided a few weeks ago that avoiding you would be for the best. Hopefully, his feelings for you would wither without the sunlight of your presence. Hopefully, the bright petals of his heart would lose some vibrance and stop distracting his brain.

It's a ridiculous hope, really. It's been months since he realized these feelings, and he hasn't yet seen a day he wanted you any less. At this rate, he's positive he could lock himself away on the other side of the planet for a few years and still be able to pick your voice out of a crowd.

He'd tried to show you. In his own, roundabout way. He'd let you catch him staring. He'd seek you out when he could. He'd try to brush his hand against yours when you walked together. He wrote embarrassing poetry and hid them among your things. He did things he had seen in movies where the guy always gets the girl, because he didn't know what else to do.

He did everything he could do, except tell you to your face. He tried, once. He could bring himself to do it. He'll never admit fear, but he didn't like to think about what would happen if you didn't feel the same way.

"What are you brooding about now?"

He jerks, scowling already. "Nothing," he snaps. "I'm not brooding."

He very intentionally doesn't look at you, leaning against the wall beside him, but he does catch your reaction. He doesn't have to see you to hear the pause in your breathing, the hesitation before you reply. He's surprised you. He's not normally so curt with you for no reason, and you both know that. If he focuses, he can feel the quick once-over you give him, as if you could find that reason somewhere on his person.

"Drag of a party, isn't it?" you try again. "I tried to sneak you one of those little breadsticks at the snack bar, but I think Impulse would've bitten me."

(He had seen you, actually. Superboy at your side, chattering about something he couldn't hear, you'd skulked around, waiting for an opening, but Impulse was prepared to die defending those breadsticks. He must have skipped breakfast.)

He doesn't reply. He keeps his arms crossed, continues staring past the clusters of chattering superheroes, out the Watchtower windows. If this had been weeks ago, he would have brushed it off and told you that he'd fight for them himself if he got hungry.

You're a strong person. You've drawn lines in the sand for yourself. If you don't like the way someone treats you, you'll avoid them as much as you possibly can. You won't stand around and take it. You told him that much to his face the first time you met him: be nice to be, I'll be nice to you; pull that attitude with me again and I'll let the next guy shoot you in the face. It's how you treat everyone. He respected you for it, which is how you wedged yourself into his good graces in the first place.

Therefore, if he goes out of his way to upset you now, you'll avoid him too.

There's that bitter taste again.

"Is everything okay?" You lean forward, trying to get within his line of sight, or to get a better look at his face. "Seems like you're in a worse mood than usual."

"It's no business of yours," he grunts. "Go find someone else to pester."

At the very edge of his vision, your expression ripples. His resolve does, too. You take a moment before you speak again. "Did I piss you off?"

No. You never piss me off. I'd rather talk to you for a day than anyone else for a lifetime. He swallows.

"Listen, if you had a bad morning or something–"

"I thought I told you to find anyone else to bother."

Bother is a low blow and he knows it. You had a boyfriend last summer who'd called you that just before you broke it off with him. You confided just how much it stung to Damian after he caught you sniffling on a rooftop in Gotham.

He thinks it might have been too far, but isn't that the point? To jab at you just enough that you abandon all efforts at a friendship with him?

Your grip on his arm catches him off guard, and you take the opportunity to drag him to one of the doors at either end of the room.

You shove him out into the empty hall and make sure the steel slab latches behind you. "What is your problem?" you demand, planting yourself between him and the door.

"I don't know what you're talking about–"

"Don't play stupid, I know you aren't." Your tone is metallic in his ears, cold and hard. "You're being a dick. I wanna know why."

He is being a dick. "I am not."

You stare at him. He meets it head on, and realizes that it's the first time in the entire conversation that he's looked at you.

You're good at hiding things from people. You've got a knack for screaming internally and looking bored externally. It doesn't matter what the situation is, you always look like you've got it all under control.

He can see in that one look that you definitely aren't. Your breath is quicker than normal, your eyes are fractions wider, your posture is off-center. Your expression is wide open, waiting to receive whatever excuse he lobbies at you. You're distraught about this.

A realization lodges in his throat. Either you're so upset by him that you can't mask it, or you trust him enough that you aren't holding up that mask at all.

He looks away. Shakes his head. "I don't have time for this."

"Oh, what? Have a busy day of standing alone in a corner and staring off into the distance?" You cross your arms. "If you didn't feel like being pestered, why did you bother showing up?"

It wasn't his choice, actually. He knew you'd be here. His father tricked him anyway. Told him it was, League business, won't take more than an hour. You wanted to see the Watchtower again anyway, right?

You don't give him time to respond. "If you have a problem with me, say that. Don't talk to me like I'm some idiot who can't take a hint. Especially in front of a bunch of coworkers."

"Fine; I have a problem."

"Great, fantastic! He does have a problem." with you." You throw your hands up like you've just discovered the cure to dementia. "What's the problem, Wayne?"

He glares at you. You don't look so out of sorts now, so he holds it. "I'm sure you'd like to know."

You set your hands on your hips. "Well I'd like to know if I can fix it."

So would I. "You want to fix it?" He starts heatedly, scraping together some barbed speech about how you're too focused on what others think of you, but you beat him.

"Yes!" Your expression opens again, like clouds parting for sunlight—except, instead of brightness, he only sees the near-desperate eyes of a woman trying to salvage a friendship she didn't even know was crumbling. "You're one of my best friends, Damian. I don't want to lose you over something stupid if I don't have to."

One of my best friends. One of. Friends. He hangs on your every word, loses sleep over the slightest touch, forgets where he is when he looks into your eyes for too long—and he doesn't even rank at the top of your list. He's not your best friend or your boyfriend. He's one of a few.

On any other day, he'd take a deep breath and remind himself that you don't owe him anything. It's his problem that he did the stupid thing and fell– caught feelings, not yours.

But today? It sets him off.

"I suppose it bothers you so much. Don't you have anywhere better to be? I'm sure Jon would appreciate your company far more than I could," he snarls.

Any hurt in your eyes fizzles into confusion. "What? What are you–"

"You're right, I'm not stupid. I'm not blind, either." His voice is rising, but he's still got enough sense to keep this as private as he can, surrounded by super-powers. "I see how you act with him. I know you love him."

You reel. You can't help laughing, breathy and incredulous. "Love–? What in the fresh hell are you talking about?"

"Don't try to deny it."

"Uh, I am going to deny it because it isn't true."

He steps forward, as if he has a chance at intimidating you into admission. "You're kinder to him than anyone else. You treat him like he hung the sun. You go looking for him first at every opportunity." He's gesturing with his hands, too. "You make it so obvious, I don't know how I'd didn't see it before. Maybe I am blind after all."

"You're so wrong," tell him. You're uneasy again. Twisting away from him by fractions, inches. Just enough to be doing it subconsciously, like a guilty man in an interrogation room. You still don't back away from him, don't let him snatch the reins of the situation. All of this only fuels him more.

"You aren't stupid either. I know that. You know that." He stops for a breath, just one, and you see just how hard he's breathing

He's never been this agitated by something like this before. It's true, when he's pent up and angry about something he can't simply remedy, he goes looking for fights to pick and outlets to unleash upon. But he's never found that in you. His indirect anger has almost always spared you, a few sharp words aside.

"I'm not saying that I do feel for Jon," you interrupt, "but if I did; why would it bother you this much?"

He's never cared before. You know he hasn't—you've gone out of your way to make try to make him jealous once or twice, talking about boys you have liked or flirting with someone right in front of him, and it's never gotten you more than a raised eyebrow or an eye roll.

Something intuitive, grown from too long spent at his side, flutters to life in your mind. An idea, a theory, a hope.

For the first time since you met him, he stammers. He trips over his words once, twice, then promptly snaps his mouth shut. On the outside, his face pinches angrily, lips pressed together grimly. Inside, he screams into the void and scrambles for a handful of words he can stitch into a decent excuse. All the vocabulary of five different languages, half the vocabulary of four more, and all he can come up with are incoherent expletives.

And like the kind, patient person you are—for him, at least—you wait for him. You stand there after he's run his stupid mouth and acted like some bratty elementary schooler, and you wait for him to figure out an explanation instead of turning away from him. He told you he didn't want to talk to you and instead of telling him to get over it or writing him off completely, you tried to fix it.

It sucks all the fight right out of him.

Finally, he says your name in a way that makes your lungs seize. "You have to know," he says quietly. "You must."

You think you might. "Know what?"

Five steps away from you feels too far, so he makes it two. Not enough to crowd you, not enough to hide. "You really don't have feelings for Jon?"

You chuckle. "Jon's…nice. He's really nice, and he's a close friend, but…he's just not the guy for me," you admit. "And for the record, I definitely don't think he hung the sun."

It earns you a little smile. Small victories, you suppose.

You're still watching him expectantly. He could lie his way out of this. He could tell you that he thought Jon was cheating on you, frame it as though he was trying to save you from heartbreak. He could tell you a lot of things, frame himself in a lot of ways.

But he doesn't want to do this again. You didn't have feelings for Jon, but you just as easily could have. You'll have other men groveling at your feet eventually. You'll choose one of them, eventually. He has a chance, right now.

He takes a breath to steady himself. It's full of your favorite fragrance, and he finds that instead of making him any more nervous, it becomes a little easier to breathe.

He thinks of all those terribly unrealistic movies his sisters and Dick watch. He thinks of making out in the rain and dramatic confessions and passionate kisses. He tries to imagine himself there instead. He tries to put together something that you'll remember forever, even if you turn him down.

But he's standing here, looking at you, waiting for him like you always do.

"I'm in love with you," he says. "I'm–...I love you."

It's strangely freeing to say out loud. He anticipated anxiety. In every scenario that ran through his mind, he'd been terrified. In the worst cases, there had been tears or gunfire or both. He'd say it, in whatever way he could conjure up, and it would feel like he was stepping off a cliff.

Now that he's here, and he's said it, you're smiling at him like you're welcoming him home.

"Oh, Damian," you whisper, and your eyes are glittering like a reflection of a sunrise, and your palms are so warm on his shoulders. "I love you, too."

#QFWW #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #quillsfebuarywritingweek #damian wayne #still not rly happy with this but eh

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