#i have enough cash to last me until it's over so it's not a problem

[nordic-language-love]

so today i learned that fucking atms close over the holidays :| like are you for fucking real japan

[auroralwriting]

spencer smut perhaps? he's all shy but the second your lips touch his he snaps?

guilty as sin

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader (18+)

you think spencer's too shy to do anything, until he gets a taste of you

word count: 2.7k

warnings: smut, dirty talk, p-in-v, wrap it before you tap it, sort of dom!spencer, multiple orgasms, spencer is whipped, season seven spencer is implied, soft and fluffy but also a smidgen kinky, spencer’s a gentleman, he’s still a nerd, begging, orgasm denial, he’s also a tease, light praise, it’s smut you get the gist

"Oh, come on? You're seriously going to sit there and tell me nothing happened with Lila Archer?" Emily laughed as she sipped on her beer.

It was a chilly autumn night. Your team had just returned home from a case a few hours prior. You were still dressed in your work clothes, like the rest of our colleagues. Somehow, you were convinced to go to the bar before it got too late into the evening. A sort of celebration that you all had caught the killer so quick with only two casualties. That was rare. Emily had even convinced Hotch to join you all. Since meeting Beth, he'd began to grow out of his shell. It was nice to see him happy again.

The liquor in all of your systems was enough to allow the silly conversations to flow with ease. Seeing as Emily and you had not been on the team when the Lila Archer stalking case was worked on, you had a fair amount of questions.

"You were with Lila Archer, alone, for hours on end," Emily took a sip of her drink as she continued her mini-rant. "and you didn't bang her?"

Derek emitted a slight chuckle, "Well, she did make out with him in the pool."

"The pool? Spence, you dog!" You gasped, quickly following it up with a laugh.

Deep down, this conversation bothered you. Maybe it was due to the fact that you had the biggest crush on Spencer. Or it could have been the way JJ was staring at you, no doubt profiling you. She was the only one who knew of your feelings for the genius. Of course, she was nothing but comforting and supportive. JJ was trying to catch a read on if she should end this conversation before it really got to you.

"I- She initiated it," Spencer weakly defended. "I just, well, kissed her back." The whole table erupted in oohs and laughs.

You kept your longings locked from the man. Kept in faded color, lowercase, locked away inside some secret vault you kept in your heart. It was better this way.

"You don't have it in you to do anything more, my man." Derek slapped Spencer's back. His words, meant to be supportive, just plain were not. "A man of honor, truth, justice, pat-"

"All right, I think we've all had enough to drink tonight." Hotch cut off Derek's drunken ramble. "Let's all make sure to call cabs home."

You grabbed your belongings, just a jacket, purse, and scarf, and stood up along with the rest of your friends. Everyone bid each other goodnight, small hugs passed along. Reaching in your purse, you went to grab the twenty you'd left, just in case. Your purse, however, was seemingly empty, besides a lipstick and your wallet. "Oh, shit." You muttered, having no way to pay for a ride home.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Spencer asked, hearing your call of distress.

Shaking your head, you pursed your lips. "I don't have any cash to get home."

Spencer was quick to reply, "Oh, well why don't you just ride with me? Riding with another person is thirty to fifty percent more safe than being alone, especially while intoxicated. Uh, you can just spend the night, I know you live further away and I'm sure you're tired."

"Thanks, Spence. I'll pay you back," You offered as the two of you walked outside. You felt a chill run up your spine due to the cold, September air.

"It's no problem." Spencer nodded, reaching over to slightly tighten your scarf. The touch of his fingertips on your neck was enough to warm you up completely.

Penelope gave you one last squeeze as you hopped inside the cab with Spencer. The ride would only be fifteen minutes away from his apartment, which wasn't bad.

You stared out the window, watching as it fogged. You dragged your finger over the condensation, drawing yourself a little picture to keep occupied. Your eyes cast up on their own, deciding to focus on the reflection in the window. You were sure glad they did. Spencer was staring at you, unaware that you could see him. His stare sent another round of shivers down your spine.

Always the gentleman, Spencer helped you out of the car once you'd arrived to his apartment. It hit you that you'd actually never been to Spencer's apartment before. You wondered if it looked anything like you'd imagined.

And it was. Exactly as you'd imagined, actually. Dim, warm lights that gave a cozy feeling. He had a brown, leather couch with a green blanket over the top. Books were scattered all over the apartment, but it was done neatly. They were probably organized in a way that would only make sense to Spencer.

"Sorry it's such a mess," Spencer apologized, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

"It's not at all," You replied. "I guess you've never seen my place."

Spencer hummed, "I haven't."

Being a good host, Spencer offered to make you some tea. You sat at his island while he poured some water in a kettle to heat up.

"So, you know you can be honest with me, right?" You decided to awkwardly start a conversation. The silence was just not doing it for you.

"Of course I know that," Spencer nodded. His back was turned to you as he prepped your mugs.

You shook off your nerves, "Did you actually not sleep with Lila Archer?"

Spencer turned around at your words. "I didn't sleep with Lila Archer." He confirmed. "If I did, you know Morgan wouldn't stop talking about it for the rest of our lives."

A small chuckle came from you. "He really wouldn't." You mused.

"Plus, she's, uh, not my type." Spencer boldly continued after a pause of silence.

"What is your type?" You asked curiously, heart increasing, a deep hope he said you were his type.

"I don't know." Spencer mumbled.

The kettle began to whistle, you could see Spencer's body physically relax at this. A distraction. He passed you the tea which you graciously thanked him for. The two of you sat in a comforting silence as you drank.

Spencer looked so gorgeous in this way. His hair was a bit disheveled, untamed from the long flight. His eyes held no signs of tiredness. Your case was in California. You'd left this morning. He must've also slept the whole way home. His brown locks mesmerized you. Oh, how you wanted to curl your fingers in them. Not to mention the ghost of stubble on his face. You imagined tracing your fingers over it softly, wishing to feel him shiver under your touch.

Maybe it was the remaining alcohol still in your system, or maybe pining after him wasn't doing it anymore. You don't know what came over you when you leaned forward, your nose nearly touching his.

Spencer didn't move, you didn't move. It was an odd standoff. "Spence," You softly mumbled his name. You could see his eyes staring down- oh. At your lips. Somehow, you knew he wouldn't do it You watched the way his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed a gulp of nerves.

It was like he couldn't speak. But you knew it the moment you locked eyes again. You'd know that look anywhere; desperation. It was probably gleaming in your eyes, too. You could definitely feel it.

A sudden wave of confidence crashed over you and you felt yourself pushing your lips against Spencer’s. It took him maybe a full second to process what was happening. His large hands came to grab your face, pressing you closer to him. The kiss felt like nothing you’d expected of Spencer. He took control over the situation quickly. He pushed against you hard, slipping his tongue between your slightly parted lips. It was messy, rough, yet filled with such genuine passion it was dizzying.

“Spence,” You pulled back breathlessly. His eyes were filled with something new, something more lustful.

He softly shushed you, hands still on your face, pulling you back in. It was slightly teeth-clashing, hot. “I’ve been waiting for this,” Spencer muttered between kisses, his voice a near whine. “Just couldn’t make the first move.”

Spencer pulled back, rushing around the counter to where you sat. He pushed apart your legs to stand in between them. His fingers grabbed your chin, thumb on it and his first finger under your chin. He gently forced your head to look up to him. His cheeks were flushed, and you assumed yours were a near identical reflection.

“Tell me what you want,” Spencer whispered. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give you anything, everything.”

“You, I just want you.”

That’s all it took for Spencer to kiss you again. your hands went around his neck to pull off his tie, your hands then moving to unbutton his dress shirt. His worked just as quickly to undo yours.

“Not here,” Spencer muttered, eyes falling to your half-bare chest. “My room’s down the hall.”

With Spencer’s hand in your own, you quickly ran to his bedroom, a soft giggle escaping your lips and how cliché this all felt. Spencer couldn’t help but smile at your amusement. You leapt onto his bed, landing on your knees as you wrapped your arms around his neck, playing with the hair that ended on the back of his head.

“Hi, boy genius.” You smiled, voice soft and warm. It reminded Spencer of a hot vanilla latte, or maybe something like a cinnamon roll. Sweet, warm, delicious.

“Hi, pretty girl.” Spencer replied, thumb rubbing sweetly over your cheek.

You both stared into each others eyes for a moment, taking in the delicacy of the intimate moment. Spencer slowly pushed his lips onto yours. It was the most gentle kiss of the evening, and it reminded you that Spencer wasn’t doing this because he felt like it. No, you were his type. Not Lila, you.

Spencer and you slowly discarded the rest of your clothing, allowing Spencer to slowly drag his fingers over your bare skin, admiring your beauty. “You’re almost as beautiful as Aphrodite,” he muttered. “I would say prettier, but the ancient Greek believed it would curse whomever was called more beautiful because Aphrodite wanted to remain the most beautiful.”

Even during moments like this, you loved Spencer’s rambles. Slowly, Spencer began to kiss all around your jaw, moving down your neck and to your chest. Your hands found his hair as you arched into him. He spent some time licking and sucking on your chest, loving the way you sounded for him, the way you pulled on his hair. He loved the smell of your skin, how soft it felt beneath his lips and tongue.

“Spencer,” you whined, pulling harder on his hair.

The man looked up to you, eyes gleaming as his mouth popped off you with a small pop. “Yeah, baby?”

“I need more,” you replied.

“Like what?” Spencer teased, slowly dragging his finger down your stomach. “Need more here?” He asked, playfully biting at your chest. “Or… here?” Spencer’s fingers trailed over your thigh, slowly moving from the inside to the out.

You groaned, “Oh, there! Please, there!”

Spencer also groaned in reply, “Didn’t take you as a begger,” he muttered. “but I love it.”

Slowly, Spencer moved his finger to your aching core. It slowly ran through your folds, causing you to moan loudly. “Spence,”

“Is this all for me?” Spencer cockily asked, referring to your wetness. You nodded quickly, pulling him down to kiss you once more. As he kissed you, he slid a finger inside, just to the first knuckle to gather some of your slick. He brought it back out and slowly began to circle your clit with it. Pulling back from the kiss, you became a mess of moans, whines, and breathy sounds. Spencer slowly kissed up and down your neck as he played with your sensitive bundle of nerves. “This enough for you, baby?”

“Inside,” you stumble out. “Please, inside me.”

Spencer couldn’t help but give you exactly what you wanted. How could he when you begged so nicely for him? He brought that same finger back inside, plunging it until it reached his final knuckle. Slowly, he began to pump it in and out of you, allowing you grace to adjust to the new object inside you.

“How’s that?” Spencer asked.

“Good, so good,” You babbled.

His finger multiplied and became two. They pumped in and out, adding slight curls to his fingers every now and again. His thumb went back to your clit, slowly rubbing it for added pleasure. “This what you wanted, sweet girl? This what you’ve imagined me doing to you?”

“Yes, yes!” You moaned.

Spencer smiled, “I’m not going to lie, I’ve imagined this moment for the last year.” In any other occasion, you would’ve became bashful at the declaration, but you were already too far gone with the alcohol and pleasure in your system.

It was then Spencer’s fingers hit your soft spot, causing your back to arch. “Oh, baby!” You cried out, grabbing onto the man above you and wrapping your legs around his waist to feel him deeper.

“There?” He asked.

“Oh, yes! There!” You answered quickly.

Spencer worked his magic, adding another finger as you stretched for him. It didn’t take long for your first orgasm to hit you like a sea of stars. Spencer softly shushed you, helping you relax.

“You okay?” Spencer smoothed your hair as he looked at you carefully.

You nodded, “Please, Spence. I want you.”

Spencer wasted no time lining himself up with you, allowing some of your slick to gather on his hard-on. He pushed in, causing you both to groan in unison.

“Oh my god,” he breathlessly said. “You’re so tight, oh my god. Baby, you feel so good.” His voice raised, slightly higher than normal as he resisted the urge to move until you said so.

“Move, move, please,” You told him. He wasted no time pushing his hips forward and backward, pulling your legs up around his hips once more.

He fit you so good, so right. Everything in that moment felt perfect, like he was made for you. You were made for him. It took Spencer less than a minute to be snapping his hips in record time. You felt like your eyes were going to roll back at the pleasure.

Spencer grabbed your chin the way he did earlier, “Look at me, baby. Wanna see your pretty eyes.”

Still reeling from your last orgasm, it took you no time to feel your climax approaching once more. “Spence, I need to come,”

“Not yet,” He groaned. “‘M almost there, baby. Hold on,” You felt a loud whine emit from your throat. The sound of it made Spencer’s dick throb, and you felt it. “Doing so good for me, honey. Oh, god, I’m almost there. So good.”

You were on the brink of orgasm. You weren’t sure if you could hold it any longer. “Spencer!”

“Where?” He asked.

“In, oh my god,” You practically were yelling at this point.

“Let go, baby,” Spencer’s words were all you needed to finally reach that sweet, sweet release again. You felt him spill inside you, the warmth making your orgasm feel even better. Spencer’s arms slowly gave out above you, and he slowly fell onto your chest. He pressed his lips to your hair, a sweet gesture.

The two of you laid there, catching your breath. You played with Spencer’s curls as he gently rubbed your cheek with his thumb. “I kind of have a crush on you,” You admitted jokingly, knowing he knew.

“Yeah?” He chuckled. “I do too.” He sat up, pulling out of you. You wished he didn’t; it felt so empty. “You gotta go pee, right?”

“Yeah,” You groaned lazily, slowly sitting up. “Hey, you’re gonna take me on a date after this, right?”

Spencer nodded with a smile, “I already have it planned. Now, go use the bathroom so we can fall asleep together.”

You mock saluted at him, “Yes, sir. I’ll be right back.”

Who knew your night out would lead to the best night of your life?

[pastorpresent]

insp by this right here, by @septicsoldier13. thank you for the prompt lovely! :))

-

They were short on bills this month.

Logan's shitty job at some scummy bar didn't exactly leave him rolling in cash (not to mention the seventy dollars he was docked for drinking the supply), Wade hadn't made all that much in commission, and Al's disability cheque didn't stretch far.

Rent was covered, so was water and electric, but that left heat unpaid.

Logan figured it wouldn't be a big deal. It was July- and there was a pretty intense heatwave hitting the city currently. They likely wouldn't need the heat for the next month anyway.

The apartment was chilled, but it wasn't cold by any means, which was why he was confused when he got home one evening and Wade was walking around making dinner with a blanket draped over his shoulders, and what looked to be two sweaters on, alongside thick sweatpants.

Logan was sweating just looking at him.

"I know you're pissed I got docked the alcohol money, but aren't you overplaying it a little, bub?"

Wade jumped at his voice, clearly not hearing him enter. The blanket dropped to the kitchen floor, and the merc looked mildly embarrassed.

"I was... cold," he said quietly, and it was... odd. There was no jokes, none of the usual outrageous comebacks, and Wade was just staring at the blanket now crumpled on the floor, almost with a fucking longing expression, and Logan would admit that often the idiots jokes flew right over his head (he wasn't exactly caught up with the last fifty years of media), but he really didn't get this one.

"You were cold? It's not hot in here but it's not cold," Logan pointed out, pretty much over Wade's dramatics.

He'd had a long shift at work, split up about four fights, kicked three people out and chased two couples trying to fuck in the filthy bathroom all between making stupid drinks as his own fingers itched for alcohol.

All to say, he really didn't have the energy for whatever dumb joke this was a part of.

"You're gonna give yourself heatstroke, and you look fucking ridiculous," he deadpanned, and Wade shrugs, doesn't say anything, which makes something heavy settle in Logan's gut.

Whatever, not his problem, right?

He left to go shower.

//

Wade had stripped down into sweats and a single sweater by the time they retire to the couch.

Logan is in his vest and flannel pyjama pants, and he's warm, but he doesn't mention Wade's layers this time.

The TV is on, some shitty episode of some shitty reality show Wade insists he has to watch, and Logan's focusing on it, until he's not.

His attention wanders over to the merc sat on the other end of the couch. It's not uncommon, Logan tends to spend more time watching Wade react to whatever dumb shit is on rather than watch it himself, for reasons he doesn't have the energy to analyse.

Somethings wrong.

Because Wade isn't watching the TV either. His eyes are distant, staring at the floor, and he's shivering violently, teeth practically chattering as he curls in on himself, knees hugged to his chest, and it's like he's...

"You're cold," Logan concludes aloud, but this time the words hold no frustration, because he'd seen Wade be committed to jokes before - but never on this scale. It's not a joke, or some sort of prank at Logan's expense.

Wade nods, and Logan is up and crouching in front of him immediately, sticking a hand against his forehead. Wade practically leans into his body's warmth, shuddering, and jesus christ - the mercs skin is like ice.

"The hell? Are you sick? Can you even get sick?" Logan touched the exposed skin of Wade's wrist, and sure enough - it was freezing.

Wade laughed softly, "I'm always sick, it's just... another side effect," he explained, and it took Logan a minute to recall what the cause of Wade's scars was. The cancer.

"But... your mutation, that stupid programme, I thought it cured you," Logan frowned.

"Not... cured. Just sort of put it on the back burner. It can't kill me, because my body is constantly regenerating the cells it kills, but it's there, and sometimes the symptoms hit a bit harder than usual," Wade explained, looking self conscious, as if this was something Logan would mock him for.

"Why the fuck didn't you say something when we sacrificed the heating this month?"

"We needed it the least-"

"I would've found a fuckin' way if I knew you'd suffer! I'm going straight down there tomorrow, I'll use my tip money to pay it," Logan stated, and Wade's eyes widened.

"No, peanut, you're saving that up for your motorcycle-"

"Fuck that, I'm not having you be uncomfortable in your own home," Logan huffed, "now wait here," he tossed a blanket from the chair over to Wade, then headed to their bedroom.

He headed to Wade's set of drawers first, but pivoted to his own. His hoodies were bigger - more fabric, more warmth, right? Definitely. He didn't just want to see Wade wrapped up in his clothes. That would be fucking dumb, because he wasn't a thirteen year old girl with a school crush.

He grabbed the obnoxiously pink Hello Kitty blanket from their bed too, and then stuck into Al's drawers and grabbed the hot water bottle she used when her back was giving her a hard time. He grabbed one of her heating pads from the medication cupboard too, making a note to buy her some more the next time he did their grocery run.

A few minutes later, items in hand and hot water bottle sufficiently warmed, he reentered the living room.

Wade had the blanket over his lap, but Logan could still see the slight tremble of his shoulders, as much as he was now trying to hide it.

His stomach twisted with guilt for his earlier words.

Logan sat beside him, "lift you're shirt up, just for a minute," he ordered as he opened the heat pad.

"At least buy me dinner first, or I'll kiss and tell. Who am I kidding? If we kiss I'm definitely telling, I'll go on the local news-" Wade's usual tirade of rambling was somewhat comforting, not that Logan would ever tell him that, but even so it's usual flow was lost behind the chattering of teeth.

"Wade," Logan interrupted, trying for exasperated but knowing he probably fell a bit short, "Shirt up, bub," he repeated.

Wade still looked hesitant, staring at him like he'd lost his mind, and Logan sighed, grabbing the hem of the sweater and doing it himself, using his other hand to stick the heat pad on.

"What are you- oh," Wade shivered again, arching his back a little into the heat source.

It only took a second for Logan to reboot his brain, and he quickly dropped Wade's shirt.

"Here," he shoved the hoodie, blanket, and hot water bottle into his lap, and Wade stared at the collection, and the tiny tug of a smile made Logan's heart jump a little in his chest.

"Awh peanut, you're the sweetest," he gushed, and it was supposed to be a tease, he knew that, but there was also something genuine there.

"Just warm yourself up," Logan muttered in response, avoiding his gaze.

He returned back to his seat, occasionally glancing over to Wade. The merc settle back down, both blankets wrapped around him, drowning in Logan's hoodie, the hot water bottle hugged to his chest.

He looked... cute, his nose and eyes visible beneathe the layered cocoon.

Logan did go back to focusing on the show, but he didn't stop his sideways glances, and it didn't take long to notice Wade was still shivering a little.

"Are you still cold?"

"No-"

"Wade," Logan warned, practically growled in his direction, and the younger man sighed.

"It's not... I know I shouldn't be, it's just... weird. It's like it's embedded into my fucking bones, I can't..." Wade trailed off, and he sounded miserable.

"Just come here, you dumbass," Logan said, rushing the words out before he could change his mind.

And if Wade looked at him like he was crazy earlier, now he was regarding him as if he'd grown a second head.

"You've done more than enough, Lo. I just need to get my shit together-"

It wasn't up for debate, and Logan wasn't fucking debating it. He grabbed Wade and yanked him closer, earning a yelp of surprise.

He made quick work of pulling him in close, an arm wrapped around his shoulders and dragging him into his body heat.

"Logan, you really don't need to-"

"Shut up and watch the TV," Logan grumbled, staring pointedly at the screen as to not meet the eyes burning holes into him currently.

Wade did give in eventually. He snuggled down into Logans side, head resting on his shoulder and a sweater-pawed hand coming up to lay on his chest. Logan wrapped an arm around his waist in response, tugging him impossibly closer.

Wade did stop shivering, eventually, and there was a mumbled 'thank you' against his neck.

Logan just squeezed his waist in acknowledgement, and neither made a move to separate.

//

The next time, Logan didn't need Wade to say a damn thing.

It wasn't the bills going unpaid this time, either, because Logan prioritised heat as much as he did the base rent when working out their money these days, and had even spent some of his spare cash on an overly loud but functional portable heater as the weather grew colder.

(Of course Wade's favourite method of warming up remained... him, but Logan really had no qualms with that. He found himself almost a bit jealous when Wade opted for the heater before himself, usually when he was busy, and Logan found himself purposefully dropping whatever he was doing to sit on the couch and drag Wade up against him. He absolutely did not glare at a portable heater, because that would be insane.)

No, this time they'd been invited to a Christmas night out alongside the X-men.

Logan had been reluctant to go, still not all that comfortable seeing the team after previously seeing them all... but Wade had begged, and pleaded, because apparently this was a yearly thing and he'd never been invited before.

That alone had only served to piss Logan off more, but Wade had been so excited - and so he sacrificed their quiet night in for a pub crawl around the city.

He'd already caught Wade shivering a few times in the warmth of their apartment that day, but the merc was quick to deny it, likely thinking (and accurately so) that Logan wasn't going to let him go if he thought he was having a bad day in terms of maintaining his body heat.

He'd watched Wade dress with a frown, "at least stick a shirt on under your sweater. You not got any clean sweats you can wear? Those jeans are too thin," Logan had lectured, and Wade had pouted in that way that typically spelt trouble for the older mutant.

"I don't wanna look stupid! Have you seen what I'm working with here? The least I can do is dress nice," Wade gestured to his face, to his scars, and Logan had to bite his tongue to stop himself from immediately jumping on the defence, because he'd probably call Wade gorgeous or something equally as eyebrow raising in the process.

"Fine, but you bring a jacket," he said, and Wade rolled his eyes but agreed.

They'd been out for a couple of hours. The drinks were flowing (Logan had cut himself off at three beers, which was a personal best), and everything was going... oddly well. Logan felt more at ease around the team than he had since he arrived in this universe, and it was nice.

He was talking to Hank, when Scott came over and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Sorry to interrupt, but Wade's asking for you, Logan," Logan frowned.

Wade had dissapeared a little while ago in order to go dance with Storm, Morph and Jean.

"Where is he?" Logan asked, already on his feet.

"Bathroom. He doesn't look great, dunno if he's had too much to drink," Scott replies, and Logan nods, heavily doubting the explanation.

"Thanks, Scott," he says, before making his way through the crowd and into the bathrooms at the back of the club.

When he enters, Wade is perched against the sinks, shivering violently, his whole body trembling and teeth going so fast he could hear them clinking together. He had his arms wrapped tightly around himself.

"W-won't stop, m' cold," Wade whimpered, the embarrassed flush on his cheeks standing out harshly against his pale palour.

Logan's immediate reaction is one of frustration, "I told you that you needed more layers!"

The scolding only earned a small nod, and a sniffle as Wade looked away.

"I'm sorry, I know. I'm just... gonna go home," he said, pushing up from the sinks to leave, but even his legs were shaking, and when he tried to walk the violent trembles knocked him off balance.

Logan was quick to catch him, wrapping his arms around the merc. Wade leaned into his warmth almost instinctively.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Logan said, but his voice held more concern than anger now, as he steadied Wade on his feet.

He didn't expect the mutant to burst into tears.

Logan didn't do great with tears, especially not when it was somebody he genuinely cared about. He very almost ran out of there, went to grab Jean or Storm or even Hank - anyone who was better at this shit than he was, but he had a feeling Wade wouldn't appreciate anyone seeing him in this state.

Shit, did he even want Logan here right now? He might have asked for him earlier, but he clearly wasn't being much help. He'd made him cry, for fucks sake.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, I know I should've listened I just- I wanted to just feel slightly normal for once," Wade cried harder, and Logan found himself pulling the shaking merc into his arms again, tucking him against his chest.

"I'm not mad, bub. I get it, I do. I'm just worried about you," Logan sighed, and God, Wade really was like a block of ice on his hold.

"'M sorry," Wade hiccuped, and Logan shushed him softly.

"It's fine, honest. Let's get you home and warmed up, hm?" Logan suggested, running his hands over Wade's arms in an effort to ease the chill.

"Yeah," Wade agreed tiredly, and Logan guided him out the bar, giving Jean an excuse of Wade not handling his alcohol too great (which was at least somewhat true, because the merc was definitely teetering into the emotional drunk category if his display in the bathroom was anything to go off) and hailed them a cab home.

He helped Wade to the couch, burying him in blankets and setting up the heater directly in front of him. When he turned to leave, a hand escaped from the mountain of fleece to curl around his wrist.

"Cuddles? Please?"

Logan was surprised he didn't turn into a puddle on the spot. It was fucking ridiculous. If anyone else dared to grab him like that, make such a request with big devastated puppy dog eyes, he would've sliced them into three even pieces.

Wade was making him soft. He didn't feel as repulsed by that thought as he probably should've.

"In a minute, bub. Let me go get you some stuff first, alright?"

Wade nodded, letting go reluctantly.

Logan made quick work of gathering the usual. It had become almost a routine at this point.

He made Wade a hot chocolate too, knowing how much the merc adored the sugary drink. He was only making it to warm him up though, obviously.

When he returned, Wade had burrowed completely beneath the blanket pile, and Logan had to immediately shut down the adorable that his unhelpful, traitorous brain supplied.

He put the hot chocolate on the table, and the smell had Wade popping his head out, staring at the drink.

"You made me hot chocolate?"

"Don't get used to it," Logan replied, and shoved a pair of his own sweatpants and his own hoodie against Wade's chest.

"Get these on."

"These are yours y'know," Wade said, running a hand over the sweatpants.

"Yours are dirty," Logan shrugged.

They were. Apart from a black pair at the bottom of his closet, but Logan was prepared to swear under oath that he'd never seen them before in his life.

Wade made quick work of getting changed. Logan turned to face the wall, and while Wade didn't say anything, Logan could feel the assholes smirk.

Once he was done, Logan joined him on the couch, climbing beneathe the layers of blankets despite the fact that he tended to run pretty hot. He could get closer to Wade this way.

He stuck the heat pad on his neck, the hot water bottle against his stomach (Wade's very own one now, with hello kitty sewn onto the cover - early Christmas gift from Logan) and wrapped him up in his arms, until Wade's entire body weight was resting against him, sprawled against his chest.

"Logan?" Wade asked after a while of silence, the only sound being the TV and humming of the heater.

"Hm?"

"You're the best wolverine," Wade said softly, and Logan glanced down at the merc, snuggled against his chest, eyes half lidded. He'd stopped shivering.

"Only for you, bub," he hummed in response, very almost kissing the top of his head, but settling on running a hand through it instead.

Wade made a happy sound, and Logan was just glad no one was around to see the stupid smile it put on his face.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCXDP FIC IDEA: The Dauntless Matchmaker

Danny Fenton is short on cash. He has been short on cash almost all his adult life, but usually, he can pull through untill the last minute before breaking and asking his family for help.

It's a pain in a half trying to find a job that is flexible enough to accommodate his "Health" issues.

He needs time off to keep his agreement. See back when he was sixteen, he realized that the ghosts that had been bothering him were all trying to challenge him for his power.

At first he looked like easy prey- being new and all- but the more fights he won the more his reputation rose and that made the ghosts attack less frequently.

They just became harder since the big guns wanted a crack at him. Danny proposed that the fights be in neutral grounds- the ghost zone- since fights in Amity Park were ruining his haunt.

Haunt Rights were highly protected and respected in the Infinite Releams.

His adversaries agreed under the condition that Danny responded to the battles within two hours; otherwise, they would haunt him in the human world.

Ghost fighting in the Infinite Releams to keep the ghosts busy, and nowadays, only the strongest bothered him like a bi-weekly challenge from dead beings that don't understand scheduling.

It worked out.....until he couldn't explain why he was missing so often in the human world. With the help of some friendly ghosts, he was able to fake a diagnosis of some muscle disorder and has been living with the excuse that he would go MIA because of it. He missed a lot.

Often enough to have almost every job he's gotten to fire him.

This brings him to his current problem. Yes, Danny can argue that he has a disability but to do so would mean having someone look into it and realize it's not real.

So when Charlie from the Tea MadHouse tells him not to bother returning tomorrow after a four-day-long battle, he can only sigh and turn in his tea maker apron.

He might have to call his parents to ask for help on this month's rent. That's a bitter pill to swallow.

If only there was a job that he could do that had no problem with him taking multiple days off without notice.

"Pardon me. I need a moment of your time." a voice calls out. Danny twists around, turning his neck slightly downwards to meet the green-eyed stare of a young boy.

"I have a proposition for you. My elder brother requires a fake lover to fool our family butler into thinking that he has moved on from the heartbreak of his last disastrous relationship. Not that anyone could blame Dowd for ending things with Drake. In any case, seeing as I have witnessed your unemployment, I figured you would do well for the job."

Danny blinks "I'm sorry?"

The kid pulls out a wad of cash. Danny can practically hear the ca-ching sound surrounding the boy as he raises a brow.

He gapes as the youth slaps the cash into his hand without so much as a blink.

"Do we have an accord?" The boy asks while Danny slowly turns the money in his hand.

"Whatever you say, temporary in-law," He says after flipping through the bills only to realize it's a hundred-dollars. A quick count of how many he's been handed causes his eyes to almost pop out of thier socket.

It's more then enough for this month's rent-hell he has some left over for at least four months!

"Excellent, we are expected at dinner. If Drake acts surprised to see you merely tap the table six times, then four. He shall fall into line and build off our lie."

Danny scrambles after the kid, nodding to himself. "Six, then four. Got it. Ugh, does the dinner have a dress code?"

It sounds like it would since a young boy just gave out hundreds like it was nothing. Danny would feel bad showing up in an old pair of jeans and a faded t-shirt.

Maybe he has a formal shirt somewhere.

The boy's green eyes flickered to him, then his watch on his wrist. "An impressive observation. Pennyworth will not be impressed by a poorly dressed paramour. We have time to purchase a suit. Come along."

Danny has no idea how someone so small can walk so fast. He feels his breathing is coming in quick bursts, but the boy doesn't seem winded at all. He winces when the boy enters a well-known suit place that is very pricey. "Is this coming out of my pay?"

"No. This shall be covered by the company card," The strange child says, holding up a black card with a quick flick of his wrist. At the sight of it, two store attendants appear at their side, offering assistance. Danny has never seen such power.

"W-wait we have a company card?" He shutters, overwhelmed by the attendant pushing him into a changing room and a light blue suit in his arms.

"Yes. However, you have a limit on what can be spent with it. I shall review the details later regarding your medical, dental, and vision benefits."

"I GET DENTAL?!"

"Of course. America's ridiculous health programs will mistreat no employee of mine simply due to lack of funds. " The boy scoffed, sounding offended by the very idea.

Danny doesn't care how long he needs to pretend to be this boy's boyfriend, and he'll sign a contract right now.

_______________________________________

Damian waited for Fenton to finish trying on all the suits the personal sellers had pushed onto him. He personally thinks the light blue was the best but it doesn't hurt to try other options.

They need Fenton to look his best to woo Drake and get him to stop acting so pathetic.

Yes, Dowd had broken up with him for reasons Damian is unaware of, nor does he care enough to find them, but Drake has had plenty of people break up with him before and remain on good terms with him.

Just look at Brown.

Drake had also always bounced right back after the breakup, usually because he would get tied up in either work at Wayne Industries or Red Robin.

Yet, for some reason, unlike all the others, Dowd leaving has not only been messy it also threw Drake into a downwards spiral.

He has refused even to get dress- walking around in a bathrobe and fluffy slippers- eating ice cream and sobbing over photos of Dowd for hours on end. He taken a leave from Wayne Industries and mostly stayed on monitor duty as Red Robin.

At other times, he plays sad songs and watches romance movies with a dead look in his eyes. Usually there were crumbs of some unknown spicy chips all over his face too.

Really it was unseemly.

It's been four months of this, and Drake does not seem to be getting it together. Damian had researched online, and all of the articles indicate that he should have felt better by the third-month mark.

He would have left the fool well alone only Pennyworth is beginning to worry. And Damian refuses to let Pennyworth worry over something fixable.

His research showed that a "rebound" was highly recommended (if done correctly), in the healing process of a breakup. Drake refused to find one, so Damian assigned himself the task of finding one for him instead.

He considered Drake's past lovers' looks, interests, and personalities. Then creating a list of what was considered a good candidate he wandered around Gotham in search of someone who would be a perfect rebound.

His efforts led him to Tea MadHouse- a tea shop with a surprisingly good coffee menu- where Daniel Fenton worked. Over three weeks, Damian had watched him, categorizing the pros and cons that Drake would find within Fenton, and concluded that he would be perfect.

The fact Fenton has lost his job now only worked in his favor. He'll convince Drake that Fenton is a decoy for Pennyworth - since Drake was getting fed up with all the hovering- and he would never notice that the real target of this fake relationship would be Drake himself all along.

Fenton will woo him, sweep him off his feet, make him forget Dowd and ride off into the sunset with Drake none the wiser. It was full-proof.

Damian will make Drake rebound on Fenton, even if he has to throw the idiot at the other teen. He is getting awful tired of the concerned glances whenever Drake slumps his way into a room.

No other reason. He certainly didn't care about Drake that much nor did does he lay awake at night wondering how Drake is doing now that he does not have someone to hold him.

Drake doesn't sleep well alone.

"How do I look?" Fenton stepped out of the booth wearing the light blue suit. It made his eyes pop and framed his body well.

Yes, muscular. The body of a boxer. Drake will lose his mind over those biceps.

"Ravishing." He tells the nineteen-year-old. Damian barely bites back a smirk as Fenton flushed, painting a pretty picture. Drake enjoys talking his lovers up, and Fenton will do well to receive plenty of compliments. "Let us be off."

Drake won't know what hit him.

[occamstfs]

Ni Hao!NYC

Morally conflicted journalist puts off questions of ethics until it's just too late. Finally assigned to put his name next inflammatory content Sam finds himself more than appreciating Chinese culture.

Various white to Asian Muscle growth and racial change ahead!

Like many, I saw the final pictures on twitter and had to do something with them haha! Ended up with a piece just a tad different than usual! Hope you all enjoy! -Occam

Samuel Johnston knew he worked for a rag but as long as the checks cashed he could afford to mute his conscience. They made money not from sales so much as some rightwing think tank who wants their views affirmed in any way they can get it. So he lays low and pens little puff pieces, avoiding anything too controversial and introduces himself as an accountant to anyone he cares enough to lie to.

He’s quite adept at staying out of sight and mind when it comes to the doling out of any especially charged or problematic issues. Making sure to bury his own work any chance he gets, even using a pen name in case someone accidentally stumbles on his writing. It’s gone well enough so far he thinks! Sam tells himself that really working for NY:Red isn’t that bad, surely it’s even good that he’s got the job rather than anyone who believes the shit they write. Right?

No job is without its problems, he tells himself. So far he’s done a commendable job keeping his nose down with an almost supernatural ability to duck away from bigwigs or management. That is until now as he’s summoned by name to his boss’ side. His proficiency at staying off the radar of management has kept him from a one on one with the man in charge for some time, but now he is sitting on the top floor outside of Mr. Howard’s office, surely waiting to be assigned some horrible project.

“Come in!” Sam hears the surly man shout before promptly stepping into the gaudy office. He’s immediately taken aback as somehow the editor looks almost younger than he does in the many pictures Sam has seen. Sam hides his shock at the man’s jet black hair as well as he hides the general fear and disdain that begins to send adrenaline pumping towards his mind. Mr. Howard doesn't notice at least, getting straight to business, “I can tell from yer writing that ya like the city Sam, can I call ya Sam?”

Samuel opens his mouth to reply but the chief just continues on, “Anyway I love all yer little toilet paper stories but how do ya wanna write with the big leagues?” This time Samuel stays strong and gets a word in before being steamrolled again, “Actually I-” “I’m puttin’ you on the most important case we have Sam. Surely ya’ve noticed all this, what's da word, influx? Invasion? Bah. All the Asian shit that’s startin’ ta creep in on our city’s culture!” Samuel makes an awkward face as despite knowingly working for the racist, it’s different to hear the words out loud.

He holds his tongue out of shock or fear and his boss continues on his diatribe, “The last couple a schmucks I had on the beat just up’n left me high and dry can ya believe it! Old friends I thought!” He grumbles as he scratches his chin, moving away his hand it seems his beard thinned? He shakes his head in irritation and Sam would swear he saw his jowls tighten and wrinkles smooth over. “Anyway kid. Go out and do some prelim research. Have something on my desk by Friday or yer out just like those galoots!” Samuel stands for a second unsure if he’s allowed to leave before his boss looks up to glare with eyes Sam would’ve sworn were blue when he walked in.

Sam rushes out the door and to the elevator, riding it back to his floor, debating between writing a preemptive resignation or keeping mum and keeping on payroll for one last week. Profiteering from a culture war he may be but he’s not about to regurgitate genuinely racist talking points. He taps his foot impatiently as he thinks about just how cushy this gig is though. “Fuck!” He decides to call the only other confirmed decent human being he knows here, his friend Nick who works in the fashion dept.

The two go to grab coffee at a chain next door, Sam tries not to notice how they’ve started selling Vietnamese iced coffee. “Fuck man I can’t do it! Literally just one conversation alone with Howard was a wake up call.” Nick smiles like he has no problems with working for the dirtiest rag in the city, “Chill out Sam. Huward had my manager on the same beat and he, uh, Hidaka said that is said to just look busy for a bit and we won’t need to worry about all this racist shit anymore.” Sam squints his eyes at his friend, he’s not usually so easy breezy about work. He also racks his brain trying to figure out who Hidaka could possibly be. That can’t be his boss. No way Howard would let someone not white lead a department.

Seeing Sam lost in thought Nick reaches out and grabs his hand in a way Sam couldn’t imagine him doing before this second. In fact as the second drags on he stares down in the hand in shock, feeling the warm hand squeeze his forearm. He looks up to his friend’s face searching for any clue to the cause of this odd behavior. Sam smiles awkwardly and half-jokes “Hah hah, uh- Who are you and what’d you do with Nick… Hah.” Nick bursts out laughing, patting him on the arm jovially and leaving a hand larger than Sam remembers resting on his own. “Hidaka-san just showed me how to worry less about this job un?”

Sam inspects him closely for anything amiss, it looks like he’s picked up a bit of a tan? His hair is messier than usual and definitely a little darker, his skin is alluringly smooth and Sam can feel the heat his body is generating despite sitting across from him. Looking at his clothes Sam finds another surprise, his shirt almost looks strained! As if Nick has been hitting the gym for sometime, maybe it’s just been a while since he’s seen his friend in person? 

Assuaged in the slightest, Sam ignores the glowering red flags and follows this lede, “Woah Nick have you been working out?” Nick blushes and Sam at the very least sees his friend is as shy as ever. He goes to scratch the back of his head straining his shirt almost to its ripping point as he responds, “Ah a little haha! どうぞ(please) don’t you worry about me. Since you have no desire to write the article, why don’t you go ahead and check out the little Asian market down the street for fun? It was quite a good time when Hidaka-san brought me earlier this week!”

Sam awkwardly smiles as he wonders why on Earth Sam is suddenly referring to his boss like this, it’s almost like he’s performatively speaking Japanese. Taking a second to pause Sam looks at the haircut as hands unseen style it into something fashionable he puts two and two together. Thinking to himself, ah! Nick must just be a weeb! Tension disappears from his body with a sigh of relief as he wonders how he didn’t notice before now. He gets up to follow his friend’s advice, what better way to stick it to the man than support the people he aims to malign right?

He bucks up and grabs a Vietnamese iced coffee for the road, tossing a “Sayonara,” at Nick with a wink to which he perks up and slightly bows. Man, how did he not notice before Sam thinks yet again. Blissfully unaware, leaving just as kanji symbols appear on Nick’s keyboard and his friend responds to an email in a language he didn’t know this morning. Blue eyes growing coal dark as his tanned, increasingly muscular arms tap away at the keyboard.

Sam spends the bulk of his day at the little Asian street fair and has an absolute blast. Any residual stains on his mind from his unpleasant morning absolutely fade away as he goes from booth to booth sampling cuisine and chatting with diasporic cultures the world over. Time flies as he goes into journalist mode and basically interviews first gen Chinese immigrants about their time in the city. He finds himself beyond immersed in the conversation, continuing to learn from the couple as the tables around them begin to pack up for the day. 

He offers to help the older couple pack up and they happily take the aid, striking him bashful as they talk of what a sweet young man he is. “Wa! 哇强 (strong) Too!” The wife chuckles as she jokingly feels his less than impressive arms. He was having a better time at this little fair than he ever could’ve imagined, enough so that he thinks about going to stick it to Huaward then and there. Huaward? Whatever. His mind slightly off put by whatever that was, in an uncharacteristic act of transparency, Sam lets it slip that he works for NY:Red. The expressions on the kind couple’s faces immediately sour and Sam is quite shocked that they even know what the paper is.

There is a glint in the husband’s eyes as he starts to motion Sam away from any further aid, “谢谢 (Thank you) for your help, Sam. There have been a few, hm, bad men wandering around from that paper and I uh-” He looks around his table and grabs some miijiu they hadn’t put away yet. His wife nods, her face somewhere between rueful and hopeful as she watches her husband offer Sam the glass. “Again, 谢谢, er thank you for your help young man, enjoy this for the road 好的? (Yeah?)” The two turn to each other and begin talking to each other in mandarin alone and Sam takes the hint.

Kicking himself that he fumbled the capstone on such a pleasant afternoon, though finding solace in the rice wine he’s walking away with. He is blissfully unaware as the couple watch him drink and head down the street debating if everyone from that paper really is an asshole. Grimacing as they think about the vitriol spewed at them by NY:Red readers they decide they had no other recourse. Pleasant as he seemed Sam was consciously working on the side of hate and that could not be simply overlooked.

Sam quite enjoyed the rice wine the couple left him with, it immediately smooths over any lasting regret or concern about his interaction with the couple. They don’t know anything about him! He’s nothing like his other coworkers. It feels as if he’s had far more to drink than the small container they left him with should allow, but every time he looks down there always seems to be more mijiu to entice him. It would be impolite not to finish their gift he thinks; his confident stride quickly shifting to a stumble as he wanders home. 

His phone goes off as he gets an email from his boss, Mr. Huang?  Can’t be right. He squints at the email, deciding he must really have overdone it on the mijiu and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. Beyond the obvious difficulties in ambulation being drunk, Sam is unable to notice as his proportions slowly begin to shift. His ever-so lanky body begins to feel dull and heavy as the warmth of the wine fills his chest to capacity and then some as he leans against his apartment door, wiping his feet on an unfamiliar doormat. 

He kicks his shoes off by the door on some new instinct and immediately goes to collapse on the couch. His small sofa creaking as he puts more than his usual dead weight on it. His legs that usually hang off the end lengthen even further as his thighs grow meatier. Pecs press into the cushions as he snores. He is swiftly ushered into an unfamiliar dreamscape, the jubilee of the fair and the bewildering amount of wine he drank produce a vivid carnival of culture in his subconscious.

He sees the old couple at their stand and begins to speak with them in their mother tongue, seeing the delight as a load is taken off their shoulders. His dreamself seamlessly conversing with a fluency unearned. Sam stirs in the waking world as his mind existentially changes to match his morphing body. His blond hair grows thin and longer as its tint stains darker. Twitching in REM the green eyes that he prides himself on speckle with brown before they are entirely overtaken, becoming a rich cacao like the thick eyebrows framing them.

The discomfort of a new language forcing itself into this memory begins to wane as he prides himself on how fluent he is in both Chinese and English. His hand goes to scratch his pecs and he smirks in his sleep as they pulse larger, knowing pride is not the only thing surging within him. At the edges of his mind he feels the memory of learning a language, words written on a blackboard in chalk, English and Chinese both. For the life of him he cannot recall which of the two he’s learning second. An alarm set on his phone blares and he jolts awake to get ready for work.

Throwing on a shirt, Sam freezes as he sees his reflection. Hundreds of little questions seize his mind, those aren’t his eyes are they? Did he dye his hair last night? Are those abs? God his arms look good don’t they!? As they race through his mind and grow rampant they fixate on how attractive he suddenly feels. Rubbing his pecs and feeling them bounce he cries out to himself, “该死！Uhhh, Damn I look good!” He poses in the mirror and takes in every new angle of his powerful body. Taking note as his body hair seems thinner, and decidedly darker wherever it remains. He looks close at his pit seeing his once dense bush of curly hair thin out and straighten, before the memory of even having dense body hair is washed from his mind.

His phone goes off again and his work is immediately brought to the forefront of his mind. “Fuck I didn’t read Huang’s message!” He finds email after email from his boss, only the first few mention the wretched assignment they last talked about. Sam’s eyes widen as he continues to skim through the emails as the topic lines quickly show some drastic re-prioritization from his boss. Only then does he realize that he’s been reading his boss’ name as Huang. His boss is white. Rather his boss’ whole identity is based around being white! Huang isn’t, right? Incredibly he clicks the last email, subject line Vacation, and is immediately greeted with a mouth watering picture of a powerful man. Everything comes to a stop as he can’t help but gawk at this man’s body.

Ni Hao Sanuel- take the day off shi de? Still only half dressed Sam balks at just how bizarre this is, rereading the name Sanuel he is thrown for a loop as his mind reconfigures this. Tearing his eyes from the man’s torso he finally looks at the cocky face and sees a thread he recognizes,  “天啊! (Holy Shit!) That’s Mr. Huang!” He shuts his mouth before he drools like a dog at his boss’ arms. God, this is unlike him though right? He tries to dig through his memories of the editor in chief as the caustic racist he was yesterday, but with each uncovered the image of Huang changes as this dreamboat playboy overrides more of what was.

Sanuel readies to just stay in for this day of assigned vacation before he gets another notification, this time from his friend, Nobu? An image of Nick flashes through his mind, a handprint burns on his arm, and the taste of Vietnamese coffee dances on his lips. “Meet me on the boardwalk うん？” Sanuel rolls his eyes at his friend tacking on Japanese like that, willing his mind not to think about how his friend’s contact ID now says Nobu. Must be one of those, uh, his own thoughts trail off as he successfully abandons concern to head to meet his friend.

Nearing the meeting spot he looks for his usually cleancut friend, the only body present however is a massive Japanese man awkwardly flexing at himself in a reflective surface. Sanuel shyly speaks up, “Ni Ha-, uh Hey? Have you seen a guy named Nick around here?” The apparent bodybuilder beams and goes to engulf Sanuel in a hug shouting, “Oi! Shan! took ya long enough!” His eye twitches hearing the name, as this man effortlessly lifts him off his feet in a hug far too intimate for colleagues, and certainly from whoever this stranger is!

Shan pushes against the massive man, his body heat broiling him on this already warm day. He strains his eyes looking at the man grabbing him and suddenly it hits him, “Nobu?” The man promptly lets him go and pats him on the back with a laugh he would’ve never expected to come from his sheepish friend in the fashion department. “Wanna go have some ice cream or something Shan?” He feels the need to push back against his friend calling him Shan but as he hears it a second time he can’t recognize the names as anything but his own.

Shan pauses as he sees Nobu stop to chat with some Japanese tourists and something about the picture doesn’t sit right. God it’s that talk with Huang getting him all worked up again that,uh, racist? He clutches his head as contradictions between his past and present collide in his head and he slams his eyes shut as he cannot determine what is true about his current reality. Shan falls to the ground with a deep thud, slightly hyperventilating, his body grows larger as he takes deep breaths from the stress.

Hearing him collapse Nobu runs over to help him up, this time with more effort as his friend’s comatose body continues to put on muscle and grow heavier. Still, having the impressive figure he does, Nobu rather easily gets him on a bench and sits next to him, “クソ野��？(Fuck dude?) You alright?” Shan slowly nods as his friend throws an arm around him. Looking down at his own arms as they pulse with muscle, he feels his eyes strain as the structure of his face begins to change.

Shan's jawline sharpens and his skin smooths. Stubble that has been a cornerstone of hiding his facial blemishes vacates as his hair stains black and flops longer. He feels clarity grace his mind as he stares at large hands on the ends of pale, hairless, muscular arms and he wonders if he is even himself.

He voices these concerns to Nobu who just laughs them off. “Hah! Of course dude, same Shan I’ve always known!” “那- that’s not my name Nobu.” His friend grins shyly in concern for his friend's mind. “It can't be my name. I’m-” grimacing before he continues as it takes everything in his power to speak against the realities in front of him. Memories of a world quite far away, moving to New York long ago, the youngest in a family of Chinese immigrants, “I’m white aren’t I Nobu?” 

Nobu can’t help but laugh again at the beyond bizarre statement. He jokes about Shan hitting his head when he fell. “You’re the most 2nd Gen Chinese わるがき(brat) I know bro! Imma go get us some ice cream while you chill out.” Shan stares at his friend as he abandons him, feeling his eyes tighten as they shift into the monolid eyes that his memories swear he’s always had.

Shan retreats into his mind racing against his changing memories to find a pillar of truth to grasp on. He sees himself at the gym with Nobu, his black mop of hair flicking sweat into the air as he poses with his bro. He sees just yesterday at the Asian fair, helping an elderly couple pack up their table, twitching as he would’ve sworn that went differently. He remembers sitting at the office getting no work done as he plays on his phone, 是的！that’s it! His job. There’s something there, if only he can remember what the problem was there.

He sees Nobu begin walking back with sweet treats, Nobu works at the paper too. Oh 呃/Duh! He smirks as he goes for his wallet to grab a business card. His eyes see the obnoxious red logo he knows before they read text that will send him irrevocably forward, Shun Jiang - Ni Hao!NYC. His body fills with warmth like a machine overworking as his mind races with information about his new reality. Sweat drips from his hair as he can no longer even struggle to recall his claimed existence as a bystander at the vile paper they produced. His brown eyes steep to a dark black as they glaze over.

“Shan-baka! Here’s a popsicle!” Nobu shouts as he returns to his overheated friend who immediately bursts from his stupor. “混蛋!(Asshole!) It’s Shun- thought we were close!” Nobe smirks as he starts to eat his own ice cream. Unable to recall anything too in depth he feels a pause as he wonders what his Japanese friend is doing working for a Chinese newspaper, before he answers it himself. Clearly his subconscious is more at place in whatever new reality he faces. Their paper is for all NYC’s Asian immigrants. Nobu works writing, or more often modeling, for Konnichiwa!NYC! Huang really was a genius for the idea.

Shun smiles, thinking fondly of his boss as he enjoys the short break from the summer heat that Nobu brought him. Back at the headquarters of their paper everything shifts from the rag it was and into a paper connecting the disparate Asian immigrants of the city, printed in any language they can find translators for, Ni Hao, Konnichiwa, Annyeonghaseyo, Namaste!NYC. Each day striving for a better, more inclusive New York City. Shun beams with his new face, no longer burdened with the just concern of his peddling vitriol, instead possessed with a desire to spread his culture far and wide.

———————————————————————————

As I was writing I remembered a similar series by the now gone Dumb-and-Jocked!

If interested do check out Horizon Zero: One, Two, and Three for quite a different take on a journalism themed Racial Change!

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Help wanted

Scud Frohmeyer x Werewolf reader SMUT🔞🔞

"Fuck me if I’m wrong but scud just being pounced on by a desperate werewolf girl in heat would kinda be hot" AKA That request @norman-fucking-reedus sent my way (thanks!)

Your home was a mess. Your life was a mess, especially this last week. So much it made you forget to top up your drugs, and only found out when the symptoms of what you tried to keep away started kicking in.

You texted Scud, your dealer, to get your usual ready and you'd be on the way for pickup right away.

The worst part? You had to make a detour to an ATM, and had to take the bus instead of your car because it broke down last week and the bill to get it fixed was too high for your shitty paying job.

Busses kept running late, and three ATMs in you got the money to pay Scud but still needed to catch the last bus to get to his place.

By the time you made it up the stairs of his apartment building you were squeezing your thighs, sweating and almost panting as you agressively knocked on his door.

In your head it took him way too long to answer, tripping over your own feet into his apartment the second the door opened.

"Wow girlie, you alive?" His hand was on your arm, catching you with that stupid druggie smile on his face.

The heat spread from his touch right to your core, having to yank yourself free and bark at him to get your shit.

"Go grab my order, dumbass. I got your cash." Your voice held a growl and you wrre having a hard time controlling your shift.

He watched your eyes change and fangs protrude, turning and bending down to sift through his werewolf specific drug drawer, taking his sweet time to open his phone and check what exactly you needed, going bag by bag until he found the right one. He could hear your deep, growling breaths behind him but he wasn't gonna let you rush him. He wouldn't fuck up an order just because his customer had never heard of patience before.

He was taking too long. You didn't get your drugs in time and the consequences were biting you in the ass hard right now, as your claws reached to grab his hips to straighten him up and spin him around before shoving him backwards, making him land ass first on the bed.

"Yo, calm down doggie. I was getting your shit ready." He was up on his elbows when you pounced and straddled him, manhandling him onto the bed properly and shredding his shirt with your claws, taking some of his skin as well.

He was about to complain when your hips dragged over his and all he could do was whine along with you.

"Too slow. 's your problem now too.." Scud watched you grind yourself on his sweatpants covered cock that was getting painfully hard.

He'd never been interested in nonhumans, except for taking their money. But this? This was a welcome surprise.

"The hell do those drugs do?" You couldn't even answer him, mewling and panting with your tongue half out of your mouth, so close to finishing. Just a few more rolls of your hips and you were howling out in pleasure.

“Goddamn, that was hot.” He was breathing heavy himself, and ready to get away from underneath you to hand you your drugs and fix his problem, but you weren’t letting him go that easily. Your clawed hands were at the waistband of his sweats in one swift move snd shoved then down far enough to get his cock freed. Scud immediately reached to wrap his hand around it while you worked your own pants off, grabbing both his wrist in your clawed hand and holding them above his head. Your other hand wrapped around the base of his cock and squeezing hard as you lined him up with your entrance and sank down on him, taking his entire length in one move. You were barely keeping your control in check, needing to hold on so you wouldn’t accidenally kill him, but it was so hard to stay human. With your hands wrapped around his wrists above his head you kept bouncing on his cock, letting out small bits and pieces of your wolf to satisfy it more. Scud felt yoir body change against him. Long soft fur suddenly brushing against his leg where your tail swished while you rode him, a claw suddenly poking his sweats covered skin too where your feet changed into back paws.

Your fangs had been out for a while, aching to take a bite out of the cutie's arm.

"Fuck, baby 'm getting close.." You barely heard him mewling over the ringing in your head as your ears changed and pointed up.

You kept riding him, desparately chasing your high, needing to come without a single care for the one beneath you. He was begging to slow down, not even making it to his second full sentence before choking on his words as he came, spilling with a high pitched noise that barely made it out of his throat.

Even with him writhing you didn't stop, keeping up your pace while he pleaded to stop.

"Pleasee slow, slow down.. 's too much.." His begging was like music to your ears, only spurring you on to keep going. Removing one clawed hand from his wrists you moved to hold his hips still, he kept twitching and it threw off your rythm.

Scud's moans got louder with every squeeze of your walls around his cock, feeling himself get close his second orgasm quick.

"Feels nice, druggie." Your words fell onto deaf ears, seeing him with his head rolled to the side and breathing heavy. "Come on, keep up." You gave his hip a harsh squeeze, breaking the skin with your claws and earning a soft cry, voice cracked and hips twitching as he came for the second time.

Tears were freely spilling down his face, drool collecting at the corner of his mouth. Entirely fucked out he twitched with any of your touches.

Feeling him twitch inside of you as he came was so good it had you clench around him,making him a sobbing mess beneath you. Your own sighs and pants were becoming more desperate with each roll of your hips. You let go of his hands and bringing one down your body while he mumbled complaints. To o stubborn to ask for help you were pleased he took the hint and rubbed lazy circles on your clit. A few more thrusts with the added pleasure was all it took to have you come with a howl before collapsing on your dealer.

His hand came back from between you two and ended on your ass, absentmindedly squeezing as you both came back down to earth.

"Just call next time." The soft mumble of his voice was right next to your ear, making you grunt in response.

Your dealer was a goddamn idiot, and the only supplier near you so you had no choice to buy from him. But you might have changed your mind about him today.

Yay more Scud content!! We love our funky lil' stoner man.

[solarwonux]

Business Proposal || knj (9/?)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au

Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love

Warnings: slow burn, angst, fluff, flirting, semi-edited, smut, fingering, eating out, unprotected sex.

Rating: mature, 18+

w.c: 8.0

Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.”

A/n: lol, hello, I'm sorry for being so MIA lately. I kinda have had half of this written since November but my mom came to visit me in Korea and I forgot about it haha. If you are still here thank you for sticking around! Enjoy! Let me know your thoughts!

Prev | next

m.list | series m.list | wattpad

10 Years Ago

Things were finally looking up.

“If you just remember everything we have gone over you'll be fine.” He simply says like it's no big deal, waving you off. 

You on the other hand are filled with the gnawing pain of your nerves. As you look down at your notebook filled with an equal mixture of correct and incorrect answers. 

Maybe things weren't really looking up. 

“I think we should do a few more.” You rush out, flipping to a new page. In that exact moment, the buzzer in Namjoon's hand goes off, and he stands up. 

He pushes in his chair and walks to stand beside you, putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Over studying is not the answer.” He says gently, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before walking away to pick up your drinks. 

Your protest dying as you burn daggers into his back. You aren't sure if it's a good thing that he has so much faith in you. When you don't have an ounce in yourself. Especially when in two days you'll hopefully end your misery with the dreaded math final. 

It's been two whole months since you've started your weekly tutoring sessions with Namjoon. You aren't completely lost in class anymore. If you are, you just come to the broad man and drown him in all kinds of questions. With this tactic you've even managed to get an eighty-five present in your last math test. 

The only thing left for you to pass is the stupid final.

You have been seeing Namjoon a lot more this week. Scheduling, and practically begging him to squeeze you into his tight schedule since Monday. A request to brush up on equations and gain some clarity on things you might have forgotten. To say the least, your test anxiety has reached a whole new level. You visibly look exhausted, your skin is oilier than usual, sporting a few painful pimples on your chin, and your hair looks so greasy despite just washing it in the morning. You should feel slightly ashamed for even leaving your house looking like a hot mess, but your thoughts are suffocating. Staying in would make the panic in the pit of your stomach worse. 

Especially when you and your tutor have recently discovered your inability to do word problems. The main reason why you keep calling Namjoon at three in the morning. Even though he thinks you're just being paranoid, especially with the silent sigh of defeat you hear through your phone speaker. He tries his best to reassure you that you're going to be fine at the end of the day. 

“There will probably be three, five at most. He had said last night when you called. 

Thankfully he had stayed up revising his final paper, instead of being three dimensions deep in dream land like on Sunday when you called. Still, even though he had muttered out a tiny complaint, he stayed on the line with you. Until you were calm enough to fall asleep again. 

In just three months your acquaintance has blossomed into a full on friendship. Along with your sneaking suspicion that both Taehyung and Jimin like him better. It was obvious last Friday night when Jimin had a small end of the semester get together at his apartment. Namjoon got so drunk he performed the entirety of Grease Lightning on karaoke. Including the dance break with special guest and step brother Jeon Jungkook. 

Later on in the night the older of the four cried about the final scene in the Titanic. It was a rollercoaster of emotions, but heartwarming to be able to see a different side of the Philosophy student. 

“Look who decided to join us.” You jump, placing your pen down in your notebook, closing it to hold your page. You turn around, feeling a wide smile come onto your face when you lock eyes with the other source of your happiness these last few months. 

“Hobi,” you exclaim, holding your arms out to him. He chuckles, and leans down giving you one of those awkward hugs one gives when the other person is sitting down. It only lasts a few seconds and then he is leaning his head back to plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek, making you cringe. 

“Ew,” you pout, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. He chuckles, pecking your lips lightly and then taking the seat next to you. 

“Joon says you need a break from being a math wizard.” He chuckles, dragging your notebook to him. He places his arms over it keeping it hostage.

You whine crossing your arms in front of you, pouting like a child. “But what if I don't pass. I don't want to have to take the class a third time.” 

Namjoon shakes his head, sets your chamomile tea in front of you, and sits down. “I already told you, you won't. I did the math last night. Even if you get a sixty five percent, you'll still be able to pass the class with a B.” He states firmly and takes a sip from his coffee. 

You huff, sinking further into the chair. “I don't want a B, I want an A.” 

Hoseok snakes an arm over your shoulders and brings you close to his side.” “Then you will pass the class with an A honey cakes.” He kisses your temple before resting his cheek on top of your head. You take a deep breath, nodding and snuggling closer to him.

“So are you two dating now?” Namjoon leans back in his seat, crossing his arms in front of him.

Hoseok waves an arm, brushing off the question that has been surrounding the two of you these past three weeks. “You know it's not like that.” He answers before you can. He pulls his arm away and sets them both on top of your notebook. He sends you a knowing wink. 

“Yeah you out of all people should know it's not like that.” You back up Hoseok, sticking your tongue out at the other. “How's Rina by the way?” You challenge making the man next to you burst out in a fit of giggles. 

You see, most of the things Jungkook told you about Namjoon prior to your first meeting have all been lies. Or just not the whole truth.

Namjoon was a broody person. He did put his studies as one of his priorities in life. And he didn't want a relationship. 

Yet in the last few months you have gotten to know the career driven man. You've also managed to peel back some of his layers. 

He did have his moments of indignation, but he could also be very playful and funny. This side mostly comes out when Hoseok is around or when he wants you to get your mind off the things that have been stressing you out. He does have a strong work ethic, but he also knows when to take a break. 

There have even moments in your tutoring slash now study sessions when he forces you to take walks. He says it helps clear your head, but you also know it's his way to get his ideas to flow again whenever he feels stuck. 

During these walks you've managed to find out more things about him. He loves museums because he's shit at art, and knowing that there are people out there who aren't makes him appreciate the art a lot more. At least once every two months he visits the tree he and his father planted his mother’s ashes at to update her on his life. He cares so much for Jungkook and his mother even if he doesn't show it all the time. And despite not wanting a relationship he has been head over heels for the girl he's been casually hooking up with for the last two years. 

Though he won't come out and say it himself. You have witnessed the way his face settles down into something calmer. And his eyes light up whenever his phone rings and her name pops up on the screen.

He once spent thirty minutes talking about a joke she had told him one night. Spoiler alert, it wasn't a good one, but it was adorable watching him try to get it out in-between chuckles. 

You also know he shares the same negative sentiment Jungkook has about your current relationship with his best friend. But just like he claims that his relationship with Rina is complicated. So, is yours with the ray of sunshine you get to now call friend.

“She's fine.” He shrugs, clearing his throat and looking out the window. You share a look with Hoseok before letting out a fit of shared giggles. 

If someone had once told you that your strict math tutor slash friend would turn into a shy mess with just the simple mention of a name. You would've thought they were fucking with you. Even if it still surprises you a little bit. 

“You should just ask her to be your girlfriend.” Hoseok chimes in. 

Namjoon throws his head back groaning. “It wouldn't work out if I do, plus that would require for me to act like a boyfriend and I'm not ready for that kind of commitment.” He speaks with his eyes trained on the high ceiling of the cafe. 

You lean forward placing your elbows on top of the table and wrapping your arms around the hot mug. “You already do Namjoon. A switch of labels is not going to change anything. And don't you think she deserves some kind of confirmation and respect when it comes to your relationship?” You finish tilting your head to the side. 

“I do respect her though, which is why I don't want to ask her, like you just said a label won't change anything.” 

You let out a sigh, “I didn't say that you didn't respect her. I just think that from a girl's perspective she might be feeling a little bit confused with your words and actions. You say the two of you aren't anything serious but then you act like you can't live without her. If I was in her shoes I would feel very frustrated. So, maybe you don't have to make this big grand gesture or ask her to officially be your girlfriend but just clarify things between the two of you. If you aren't serious about her then so be it but if you are then tell her that.” You finish and take your first sip from your tea. 

“I agree with honey cakes, just be a little more straight forward that's all.” Hoseok shrugs before standing up. 

Namjoon rolls his eyes, and looks between the two of you. “And what about you?” He counteracts childishly. You knew it was coming. In his eyes the two of you giving him advice when you're in a similar situation is a bit hypocritical. Plus you and Hoseok are on the same page so it's di–

“That's different.” Hoseok speaks before you. “And this is about your love life not ours.” He states stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

“Whatever.” Namjoon brushes off. You sigh, aware that if you choose to continue the conversation it will end in the three of you having a petty argument. You look at Hoseok as he leans down, placing a delicate kiss on your cheek, making the man witnessing the affectionate gesture scoff in annoyance. 

If he wants to say something he doesn't voice it instead he opens his leather bound notebook to a new page. 

Hoseok ignores him and stands up straight. “Are we still on tonight?” 

You nod. “I can't stay for long though I want to catch up on sleep.” 

“Fine then just one movie it is.” He winks before turning on his heels. Leaving you behind with the grumpy man. He looks up from his journal, opening his mouth, but you raise a hand to stop him. “It's different Namjoon.” 

Namjon clicks his tongue in annoyance and shrugs. “Whatever, let's just do one more world problem before calling it a day.” 

“Fine,” you huff, sliding your notebook in front of you and opening it to a clean page. 

Just one more day and you'll be free from this torture. 

Hoseok's apartment is everything you expect from the maximest man. Just upon walking in you are hit with waves of bright colors. By the doorway there are different KAWS figurines that you can only imagine cost a fortune. Yet they greet you with their x'd out eyes as you remove your shoes. 

Then you have to pass by the Supreme beaded curtain to finally enter the living room. A bright red leather couch is settled in the middle. With wine colored pillows and a black throw blanket that you've adopted since the first night you spent in Hoseok's arms.

Abstract art lines the walls behind the television. There are more figurines lining the shelves in between books, records, and framed pictures of his friends and families. Along with a few miscellaneous items that he's told you he's obtained over the years.

His TV is huge. Takes up almost the whole wall, but your favorite to watch movies since he installed a surround system upon moving in years ago. 

You still remember the first night he invited you over. It was after spending two whole weeks texting non stop. He simply asked if you wanted to watch a movie with him and you thought why not. 

One night led to another and now another. It always starts the same. The two of you spend days teasing one another through text. Lewd texts along with pictures. You come over for a movie and then you end up underneath him. 

When it's over, he lets you use his shower while he orders takeout from the vegan restaurant a block down the road. And the two of you resume watching the movie as if neither of you were panting each other's names in pleasure. 

A simple arrangement with absolutely no strings attached.

It was what you were expecting when you came over tonight. Not that you don't mind the nights in which you do come over and nothing happens other than the deep hearted talks over a slow record playing in the background. But that wasn't happening either, because ever since you arrived at his doorstep, the overzealous man has been quiet. Biting the inside of his cheek and moving around you far enough to raise suspicion. 

It has your mind traveling back to the conversation that occurred in the afternoon. Was Hoseok having second thoughts? Or was there more to his actions than what you were picking up? 

“Hobi,” you whisper the minute he enters his living room with a bowl of popcorn stepping over your legs that were resting on his coffee table. He silently settles down next to you, on the other side of the couch with a gap wide enough to fit a person in between. 

Now you're more than positive that something is wrong. 

You groan, “I think I'll just go home then.” You mumble, pushing the throw blanket of your shoulders. 

This is enough to catch his attention. His eyes are wide behind his dark rimmed glasses and he sits up. “What why?” He tilts his head in confusion. 

A dry chuckle escapes your lips. “You obviously don't want me around, so I'll just go. I need to go to sleep early anyway.” You shrug, slipping your feet in his fuzzy slippers and swiftly start making your way to grab your stuff in his room. 

“No I–wait.” Finally, he speaks up, earning an eye roll from you that he can't see as your back is still turned. 

With haltered steps you spin on your heel to face him again, “What? You've been acting strange since I got here. So, if you don't want me around I will just go home.” 

At lightning speed he sets the bowl of popcorn on his coffee table, and stands up. He makes hasty steps towards you and when he is finally standing in front of you, he sets both of his hands on top of your shoulders. 

“Don't leave…I'm sorry.” Hoseok's eyes cast down past your face. They settle upon the graphic on your old washed out t-shirt. He takes a deep breath and looks up again. His face twists into something you can't decipher. It's a look you've never seen him wear, and it settles hard into your chest. 

He looks troubled, chewing on the inside of his cheek. His eyes dart to five different focal points. You know he's arguing with himself. When he finally looks at you in your eyes again. You can't help but shrink a little bit. 

His features have hardened, and you want to reach out to smooth over the little worry lines in the middle of his forehead. Guilt washes over you. 

For what? 

You don't know but you hope more than anything that you'll soon find out. 

“Can we talk?” He speaks up, letting his arms fall down, his knuckles brushing against your skin. 

For a second you think he's going to pull away. Retrieve into his body, but when he grabs your hands and laces his fingers with yours. The guilt in the pit of your stomach dissipates and you're left with confusion. 

When you don't answer his question, he repeats himself. This time differently, “I just think we need to talk, I've been thinking since this afternoon. I want to check up on you, and I guess us.” He clarifies, and now you're filled with a different kind of emotion. As much as you're relieved that you didn't do anything wrong per se. You are slightly annoyed that he couldn't just tell you that when you first arrived. Instead of ignoring you until you reached your breaking point. 

Frustrated, you say slowly, “Then just say that, instead of ignoring me.” 

Hoseok closes his eyes and sighs, nodding his head before speaking, “you're right I'm sorry. I just have a lot on my mind and I am not sure how to bring any of what I'm thinking about up.” 

“Hobi, just say it. We agreed on clear communication when we realized that this was going to be more than just a one night stand.” You sigh, beginning to walk in the direction of his couch, stringing him along. “Whatever is on your mind, just say it.” You push him onto his couch and take the seat next to him, your body fully facing his, and you fold your legs beneath you. 

He nods, running a hand down his face. “I don't think this is working anymore.” He whispers, eyes trained on his ceiling. 

Okay you were definitely not expecting that, but instead of voicing your surprise, you squeeze his hand. Encouraging him to continue. 

He does, “I think I'm slowly falling for you, well I don't know I'm confused about my feelings.” He whispers the end and falls quiet. 

As much as you want to run away and hide at his confession. He looks troubled and you wouldn't be a good friend if you just left him to wallow in his thoughts. No matter the pressure that has settled in your chest. Or the fact that your heart thinks you're running a marathon, making your ears feel like they're about to fall off too. 

With every passing moment you're finding that it's getting harder to breathe. You aren't dumb, the atmosphere has also changed, but it isn't because of his confession. It's because you are also a bit confused about your feelings.

You clear your throat, “W-What are you confused about?” 

He stops his staring game with the ceiling, shifting his whole body to finally face you. “Do you know why both Kook and Joon are so against us?” 

The question throws you off guard but you suppose it has to do with what he's going through. You do have an idea as to why your friends are raising a brow at your relationship. Jungkook’s warning the first day you met the barista is enough for you to get a rough idea of what they mean. But you want to hear it from him. 

Still you don't know if you can trust your voice so you shake your head. 

He continues, “I've never been in a relationship because I don't trust people to love me the way I know I can love them. So, I just sleep around, and when I get bored I break it off.” 

 “I know. They warned me about you when you immediately showed interest. And trust me I knew what I signed up for when we agreed to keep seeing each other. I don't expect anything more than what we are doing.” You tilt your head to the side.

“I know that's why I'm confused. At first that's all I expected and wanted. But then I don't know I feel so full and empty when I'm with you. I don't want you to leave when the night is over. You're the last thing I think about and the first thing I want to see. I've never felt this sure and comfortable with anyone ever, and I don't know what to do because we both know this isn't forever, your forever is with someone else, and so is mine. But for now I just want to be with you and know what it's like to fall in love and with you.” He takes a deep breath. “Even if it's just for a little bit. You know that next year I'll be leaving for that design school, and I'm sorry but nothing and no one is going to stop me. I've waited too long for this opportunity. I know I'm being selfish to ask you this, but can you please find it in your heart to let me be yours until then?” 

Hoseok finishes. And you're left to your own devices. To deal with your emotions as they spill out of you in hot tears. You've never had someone confess to you so passionately before. Actually nobody has ever bothered. And even though it's semi depressing you can't help but feel on cloud nine with all his words wrapping around you in the warmth that he radiates. 

Without thinking you kneel, and wrap your arms around his neck. “Okay let's do it.” You beam and he matches your smile. He leans in to kiss you but you place your hand over his mouth to stop him. 

Confusion plagues him like a bitter sting. You laugh, “But only if you agree that when everything is over there's no drama between us, and if I ever get married you have to design my wedding dress.” You remove your hand, and cradle his cheek, rub your thumb over his eyebrow. 

He chuckles, rolling his eyes. “You will get married.” 

“Nah, but it's okay. I've accepted my faith.” You shrug, resting your forehead against his. His hands come up your cheek, squishing them slightly.

“You will honey cakes, that's why I'm already planning your dress design in my head.” He wipes your forgotten tears, and tilts your head to the side. 

You feel your breathing get faster, as his heart shaped lips rest centimeters apart. “How are you so sure?” You whisper, swallowing thickly at the end. 

He smirks, with a glint in his eye. Like he knows something you don't, “because I know someone who is also falling for you but they’re to dumb to notice “ 

“Who?” 

“Secret,” he says before finally crashing his lips onto yours.

Hoseok’s room is equally as loud as his living room. It’s a little more diluted with simple decorations and a huge abstract painting on the wall in front of his bed. His bed takes up most of his space, adoring a black duvet with black sheets. He has three pillows and two of those you’ve taken ownership of. His brown dresser holds little trinkets of things he buys or finds in the pockets of his pants. It’s also home to a series of designer colognes. Your favorite one was definitely Terre d'Hermes. Somehow the smell always fills with comfort. 

Your favorite part of his room–other than his bed–was his desk. They say you can tell a lot about a person by just looking at their work space. 

He’s a messy artist. His sketches are always thrown around, or pinned on the corkboard hanging over his desk. He has two bookshelves filled with sketchbooks and magazines. Sometimes if you’re lucky he will leave his sketchbooks open, awarding you with a small glance of his work. He has different notebooks for different magazine cutouts. Each one labeled something like, ‘street’ or ‘formal’ or ‘one-day.’ The latter always peaks your interest but you’ve never thought to ask. He has a thousand different sketching materials, and so many colorful markers. You just know that he was that kid in class with the sixty-four crayola back. 

He's passionate about his craft. A passion that shines through everything that he does. Especially when he’s sharing that passion with you. Now, as he lays you down onto his soft mattress. He kisses his way down your neck, slowly pushing your shirt up to reveal your stomach and the few stretch marks that appeared one day in your early adolescent years. 

For years it was hard to be intimate with someone in fear that they would disgust your partner. But the one thing you learned while growing up was that most men didn’t give a shit unless they were getting it. 

Yet Hoseok, your boyfriend, now. 

He cares. 

In a good way. The first time he saw you naked he almost came in his jeans. Your curves were all in the right places. You have enough skin to grip onto, and he loves all the marks and imperfections your body has. 

He couldn’t understand why you were so beautiful in the soft glow of his bedroom lights? Why he didn’t have the words to describe how his heart was literally beating against his ribcage?  Why for the first time in his casual dating experience he feared he wouldn't be able to give you the pleasure you deserved? 

So, that first night together, he took his time. Trying to get his thoughts under control. He painted your body with featherlight kisses. Determined to leave his trace imprinted in your body for however long you two would engage with each other. 

Everytime you came over. He did just that. He took his time, choreographing a dance with your body. It was a no-brainer that he had fallen for you. Something he knew shouldn’t have happened. He had plans for himself. He had a future mapped out since he was teenage. Though, he had the sneaking suspicion that you wouldn’t stop him from achieving his goals. That you would support him through everything. He should’ve stopped his feelings for you from growing. 

He kept them quiet until his portfolio got accepted. Until he saw the brief glances Namjoon gave you when he thought you weren’t looking. Perhaps it was the jealousy that made him confess. Or that his time with you was now limited. Whatever the reason was that led him to his confession, he only hoped that you felt the same. 

You giggle, the beautiful melodic sound grounds him as he wraps a calloused hand around your right breast, circling his thumb around the pebble. 

You're his girlfriend now. 

He, your boyfriend and he will bring down the moon for you tonight if you asked him too. 

“What’s so funny?” His curious stare meets your amused one. 

You had failed to keep your giggles at bay while he made out with you on his couch. He let a few of his own out when he had had enough of kissing and grinding in his living room, and guided you into his room. 

He loved the sound, and he loved that it was only because after months of dancing this tango you were still shy underneath him. 

“Nothing, it’s just that Mickey is staring at us.” You whisper gasping when he grinds his lower half against yours. Hoseok playfully rolls his eyes, reaching and turning around the newly added picture of his family dog on his bedside table. No more prying dog or human eyes around to interrupt the two of you. 

His attention returns to you. Gaze burning with lust as he leans down, pecking your lips lightly. “Can you stay over?” He says, kneading your breast again. The teasing touches were driving you insane. But this is how you preferred it. Slow and intense, tangling your body with his, until the two of you became one. 

“I’ll make an exception if you promise to drive me to my class tomorrow with a free coffee.” You smile, pushing your chest into his hand. 

He shook his head, reaching down to your lips. “Hustler.” He mumbles, capturing your mouth in a slow sensual kiss. “You got yourself a deal baby girl.” 

Your body shudders at the nickname. He only used it when it was just the two of you. He knew the effect it had on you. “Can I take your shirt off now?” He smirks. 

You let out a pleasurable sigh, nodding your head, before verbalizing a soft, “yes.” 

He pulls away, sitting back on his heels, peeling his shirt off before helping you with yours. He discards the two of them somewhere behind him. He pulls you towards him again, resting his forehead against yours. A bright smile adorning his perfect face. 

It makes your stomach crumble, knowing that from this moment on.

Hoseok would always be the one who got away. 

Your big “what if.” 

Your biggest treasure. Your safe place. Your blueprint for a future with someone else. The love story that was made to end. But one that burned so bright that would have you telling your future daughter to never be afraid of love. 

“Can we go slow today?” You run your hands down his torso, playing with the belt buckle of his expensive belt. 

“I’ll go at whatever pace you want me to go, baby girl.” He reassures,  his fingers play with the bra strap that had fallen down your shoulder. 

You tilt your head, looking at him with soft eyes. And he swears he feels himself melt. 

The next few minutes were a mess of soft kisses and clothes being discarded. Each article of clothing, landing with a soft ‘thud’ against his bedroom floor. You’re on cloud nine, his lips kiss down your neck, your collarbone. His hands part your thighs, baring your cunt to him. He sits back, mouth watering at how wet you are. He couldn’t wait for a taste. 

He could never wait. And he never did. 

He kisses your mound before wrapping his lips around your clit. He savors the sigh that escapes your mouth. He smirks when he immediately feels you grip his hair, pushing him further. Just like he couldn’t resist, you also couldn’t.

He sucked, distracting you from his finger circling around your entrance making you gasp in surprise when you feel him insert one. Slowly thrusting it as he licked you like a man who has been starved for weeks. 

“Hobi,” You sigh, pushing his head further. He fingers you faster until he feels you clench around him, and he stops, making you whine. 

“Please,” you plead. He chuckles against you, inserting another finger. This time he doesn’t give you time to adjust. You feel him thrust into you with no hesitation. His mouth sucking on your clit, swirling his tongue around it playing with the nub. 

You were withering, moaning his name, and anything your mind could conjure up in this moment. 

Overwhelmed with blissful pleasure, you grip his bed sheets, bucking your hips into his face. He groans, knowing you were on edge from how tight your grip on his head was now. And he did the one thing he knew would drive you insane. He slowed down, until he came to a complete stop. 

“Hoseok,” you groan, slamming your hand onto his comforter. He chuckles, lifting his head. Your body was flushed, your lips swollen, your hair splayed out around you. He loves bringing you to this moment. 

“You said you wanted slow.” He grins, taking his fingers out of your pussy. Loving the way it clenched over nothing now. Almost as if it was begging to be played with again. 

You roll your eyes, pouting. “Not this slow. I want to come.” You say, sitting up on your elbows. 

“Oh baby you will.” He winks, licking his fingers clean. He leans over, pecking your lips quickly. “You will come as many times as you want. But I want the first one to be around my cock tonight.” 

You gasp at his words. You knew his mouth was lethal but sometimes it still surprises you. The lust lacing with his soft timbre made you weak in the knees. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. 

The word ‘slow’ is forgotten from either of your vocabularies, while the two of you kiss hungrily. Sucking on tongues, teeth clashing, hands touching and clutching onto anything and everything. 

Hoseok lays you down on your side, climbing in behind you. His teeth nips at your bottom lip and he wrapped your leg around his hips. He kisses down your neck, while you help guide his cock to your entrance. He locks his eyes with yours as he slowly pushes himself in. His arms wrap around your torso, and he pushes you closer to his chest. 

Both of your heartbeats are in sync. Racing against the clock, basking in pleasure that you never want it to end. 

“Move please.” You say, lifting your face to kiss him. 

He begins to move his hips, making you gasp into each other's mouths. It’s a sloppy pace from the start but you don't care. You want more, so you met his thrusts halfway. One of his hands palms at your breast. He alternates between swallowing your moans and leaving his mark on anything he can get his lips on. 

“B-Baby.” He moans, resting his forehead on yours. “I’m close, are you?” He thrusts, letting out a low moan when he feels you clench around him.

He didn’t give you a minute to answer, before he was lifting your leg higher around his waist, allowing himself to reach the deepest part of you. “Touch yourself baby.” 

You moan his name, letting go of his hand, your finger meeting your clit, rubbing it in circles. Trying to keep up with his unrelenting pace. And soon you feel him still behind you, eyes shutting in pleasure as he spills himself inside of you. His orgasm triggers the coil in the pit of your stomach as you feel your release wash over you in a tidal wave, making you push his cock and cum out of you. His fingers frantically come down to meet yours as he helps you ride out your wave. He whispers praises against your skin while you come down.

Hoseok kisses your lips slowly, chuckling before whispering words that you will forever hold near and dear to your heart. 

“I love you.” He pushes your hair away from your face. “I love you so much to know that one day I’ll have to let you go.”

You giggle, turning in his arms, nuzzling your head into his neck. “I love you.” 

You feel him laugh, twinkling his fingers down your spine, “Let’s get matching tattoos.” 

You look up at him, raising a brow before shaking your head. “You just made me squirt, told me you loved me, and now you want to get matching tattoos?” 

“What better way to commemorate the best ego boost.” He shrugs. 

“You’re insane.” You untangle yourself from his embrace. You stand up, putting on his shirt. 

“I didn’t hear a no.” He says smugly, putting his arms underneath his head. 

“Because you’re an insane idiot who makes me agree to things like these.” You smile, before walking out of his room. 

“Great, I’ll make an appointment.” He shouts after you, “I love you.” He adds after a moment. 

You enter his kitchen, and turn on the lights. You can feel your smile take up your entire face. For a moment you realize that for the first time in a long time you felt happy. 

So yeah, maybe, things were finally looking up. 

“You’re late.”

Namjoon says after taking a slow sip from his coffee. He looks at you from over the rim of his glasses. 

You roll your eyes, setting your bag down on the empty chair. “It's raining, and I forgot my umbrella. I had to wait for the rain to stop.”

“You could’ve texted to let me know.” He shrugs, setting his cup down on the coaster and flipping the page of his book. 

You sigh, before (gently) throwing your phone onto the table. “It’s dead. And before you ask, no I didn’t bring a charger. No, Jungkook wasn’t in class today so he couldn’t give me a charger, an umbrella, or a ride. Jimin is sick. And Taehyung doesn’t even go to our school. He's probably getting high with his new fling, so I wouldn’t have been able to ask him either.” You say, listing all the solutions he would’ve thought about in seconds. 

“Mhm,” he nods, closing his book. “And your boyfriend?”

Annoyed, you let out a whine, crossing your arms in front of you. “I don’t know, let me go downstairs and ask him. I’m sure he can stop managing a business to give me an umbrella.” 

Namjoon leans his elbows against the table. “Trouble in paradise?” He tilts his head, clasping his hands on top of his book. 

You shake your head, pulling out your chair and slumping down in it. “Hobi and I are fine. It’s not like he’s leaving in two months or anything.” You throw your hands up in exasperation. 

It’s month seven into your shining relationship with Hoseok, and you should’ve known that things would start to hit the fan sooner rather than Later. Your boyfriend was in the middle of the most tumultuous change of his life. Things were moving quickly and his time dedicated to you was bumped down his monstrous daily to-do list. 

Yet you couldn’t do or say anything because isn’t this what you signed up for? 

“Ah, so there is trouble.” Namjoon chuckles before opening his book again, setting his fancy leather bookmark aside. “This is exactly why I don’t do relationships, they just attract problems.” He adds, giving you a pointed look. 

You roll your eyes, “Shut up asshole, not all of us can be like you and Rina.” 

“Sure you can, it's simple just don't attach any strings to it.” He shrugs, underlining a sentence in his book. 

“Two people who have been only exclusively seeing each other for years literally the definition of strings attached. You can keep denying it all you want but she’s your girlfriend. You guys do all the couple-y stuff.” You grumble, leaning back in your chair, looking out of the window. The gloomy weather adds to your shitty mood. 

“She’s not, we are not dating, and I don’t need to talk about this with you again. Rina and I are on the same page.” He finishes, taking a long sip from his coffee.

“Well, how would you feel if Rina was spending time with another guy, completely ignoring your presence when you walk into her coffee shop all wet and angry because your professor basically told you your topic for your essay was shit.”

Namjoon smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like you’re jealous of Yuri.” 

“So what if I am?” You bite, “I understand that he’s training her to take over his position, but all he talks about is her and what he needs to teach her when we’re together. And whenever I come in they’re always laughing at something behind the coffee machine. And I know she’s nice and all but I would like his attention too.” You scoff. 

Namjoon hums, tapping his index finger against the table. “Do you trust him?” 

The question doesn’t catch you off guard, the obvious answer is on the tip of your tongue. But with how things have been going lately. You can’t help but hesitate. 

“I don’t know anymore.” You whisper looking down at your hands, turning the ring on your middle finger. “I know I should, and I do…I think I do. It’s just things have been so shit lately and I feel like a burden to him because of everything he has to do.” 

Namjoon lightly kicks your foot under the table, making you raise your head to meet his gaze. “I don’t know if I am being of much help, but he loves you. I know that whatever is happening he’s not doing it intentionally. Just talk to him about it.” 

If only it were that easy. 

“I’d love to but he never has time.” 

“Why not talk to him now then.” He says reaching into his bag to take out his cigarettes and lighter. 

“He’s busy downstairs with Yu–” 

“No, I’m not busy now.” 

You jump at the sound of your boyfriend's voice. You turn your head to look at him. A small tray with a mug of probably chamomile tea on top of it. His hair is shorter than the last time you saw him two days ago. He got a haircut and didn’t even tell you about it. That’s how low you have made it on his list. He can’t even send you a stupid picture of his new haircut. He can’t even send you a ‘goodmorning’ or ‘goodnight’ text. He also probably forgot that you were nervous for the meeting with your professor about your essay topic.

All these realizations make you want to roll into a ball and cry. You knew your time with Hoseok was limited. You just didn’t expect for the end to be so torturous. 

“That’s what I told her.” Namjoon speaks, narrowing his eyes at you for a second before turning his attention to his best friend. “She’s jealous of Yuri, because you’ve been spending too much time with her.” He shrugs, walking quickly to the stairs before you can bury him ten feet underground. 

You hear Hoseok let out a heavy sigh, and take the seat next to you. “Honeycakes,” he starts.

“Nice haircut.” You interrupt, slumping into your chair more. It earns another heavy sigh from the man sitting next to you. 

“Is Yuri the reason why you’ve been so upset lately?” He says placing a hand on top of your knee underneath the table. 

You let out a dry laugh before shaking your head. “No, it’s not her. It’s how you’ve been acting lately, it’s the time you’ve been spending with her. It's never having time for me anymore. It’s forgetting our date last week. It’s not even telling me that you got a haircut.” You finish, closing your fists to keep yourself from crying. 

Hoseok gives your thigh a squeeze before leaning back in his chair. “You know how things have been lately. I’m trying so hard to do everything I need to do. I don’t mean to be so dismissive but I can’t juggle everything at the same time.” 

You flick off a piece of lint from your jeans. “It’s nice to know that I’m just something you juggle around.” 

“That’s not what I meant. You knew what would happen when I started my application process. You said you understood.” 

“I did, or I thought I did Hoseok. I didn’t think I would become so secondary to you.” You sniffle. “I love that you’re chasing your dreams, but this is me trying to support you. I’m trying to understand how you’re feeling. But you stop me. You have shut me out and now I’m just something you remember sometimes.” You close your eyes, feeling the tears fall down your cheeks. 

The last thing you wanted was to be crying like this in public. 

“I-I want you to tell me when you’re having a hard time like you used to. I want you to feel like you can relax around me when we’re together. But every time we are together, we either argue, you don’t talk, or you talk about work, deadlines, or how you can’t wait to move. How do you think that makes me feel Hoseok?” 

Hoseok sighs, and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “I’m sorry.” He kisses your temple. “I wish you would’ve told me earlier before it got to this point.” He whispers, rubbing your back, while you lean your head onto his shoulder. 

“But Hobi like you said, this is what I signed up for. This is what I agreed to.”  You add bitterly. 

“Yes Honeycakes, but you’re still my girlfriend. And I know that I haven’t been the best boyfriend lately, but I do care about you and I do love you.” He lifts your head from his shoulder. He gently grabs hold of your face, making you look at him. “Just like how you want me to talk to you when something is bothering me, I also want you to talk to me.” 

You close your head sighing, “You’re right, I’m sorry that I keep making things difficult.” 

He shakes his head. “You don’t. I’m the one that can’t seem to keep my girlfriend from doubting me. I’m the one who hasn’t told her how much I yearn to be in her presence at every waking moment.” He says, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “I love you, and I think that’s why I’ve been so avoidant lately. I know that our days are numbered and I would rather ignore the fact that I’m moving away soon than cherish the moments I get to spend with my family, my friends and you.” 

You nod, holding out your pinky out to him. “I promise to keep trying my best.” 

He hooks his pinky with yours bringing your laced fingers up to his lips. “I promise to keep trying my best too.” 

“I love you,” You whisper, letting go of his finger and wrapping your arms around his waist. 

His low laugh makes his chest vibrate against your head, “I love you.” He adds, rubbing soothing circles over your back. “Now, can you please drink your tea before you get a cold. I texted you earlier asking if you needed an umbrella but you didn’t answer. And now look at you coming in here all pouty and wet.”  

You raise your head to look at him, opening your mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the forgotten voice of your friend. “Her phone’s dead.” Namjoon throws his lighter onto the wooden table. 

Hoseok tsks shaking his head, reaching over to push the tray of your lukewarm tea closer to you. “I should’ve known. I knew you didn’t charge it last night, just like I knew that you left your umbrella at my place.” He pinches your cheek. “How did your meeting go?” 

“He basically said that I need to restart my essay topic over again.”

Hoseok laughs, bopping your nose with his own. “Well did he say those exact words?” 

“No but it was basically implied.”  You emphasize. 

“Fine, I’ll talk to your study partner if my baby isn’t being told that she’s a genius all the time, then what am I paying him for.” He jokes, which earns a glare from said study partner. 

“You’re not paying me, idiot.” Namjoon rolls his eyes, grabbing his brown leather messenger back and stuffing his cigarettes into the front pocket. 

He’s grateful that he came back to smiles and not tears. The stoicness of his actions makes the two of you laugh hard. Your laugh resonates longer in his mind. It always does. No matter how much he tries to deny it. You always resonate longer in his mind. But he pushes that fleeting thought aside. 

Namjoon is happy. 

His friends are happy. 

Things in his life were finally looking up. 

“I have to go, but don’t be late next time and charge your phone.” He says hoisting his bag onto his shoulders. 

You nod, saluting in his direction, before bursting out into a fit of giggles as Hoseok tickles your side. 

Namjoon doesn’t stay for longer than he needs to. He’s already running late to meet Rina, but he can’t hide the smile taking up his space.

He can’t help but feel proud that things were finally looking up for you too. 

a/n: I hope you have enjoyed it. I will try not to be so MIA and upload a little more frequently rather than every 6 months haha. But my life has been pretty busy lately. In the past few months. I have moved to a different part of Seoul and I got a new job. I basically just hang out with my friends when I have free time haha. I also do dance class 3 times a week, and I started personal training last week. But I will try to manage my time better because I do miss writing and this story!

[elf-kid2]

Modern Witchers

So this contractor drives into this tiny town, way out in the sticks, in the kind of beat-up white van used by many tradesman, and allegedly favored by murderous kidnappers.

He's got white hair that you're not sure is bleached or not, strange eyes short manners. Maybe (probably) he kinda gives you the creeps. White van, stranger-danger, big guy with muscles, and all. Bad vibes.

But you've got a problem, no denying: there's SOMETHING in those woods that doesn't belong there, and recently, when the local boys went to DO something about it... that SOMETHING went from killing livestock, to killing people to. And you know, once those types of creatures get a taste for human blood... best to deal with it sooner, rather than later. Hence, the out-of-town contractor.

Witchers specialize in hunting monsters, after all.

Better to put together a fundraiser to pay the (frankly, outrageous) fees now, then to have to pay all that later, plus the surcharge for beasts that've killed multiple people, plus pulling together the funds for more funerals.

A stitch in time save nine, as the saying goes.

He's got a musician hitchhiking with him, which you weren't expecting. Some hapless hitchhiker with a dufflebag over his shoulder, and a guitar on his back, who got lost on the way to Vegas, or Nashville, or wherever it is starry-eyed musicians go to Make It Big, these days.

Auntie said that any hitchhiker with sense'd be better off walking down a lonely road, instead of getting into a van like that, driven by a man like that. But I guess it takes all kinds of kinds, and that musician hadn't been murdered yet, so make of that what you will.

Anyhow, the musician started busking in the farmer's market-- some decent covers, a few original songs, and some kind of surprisingly catchy jingle for the contractor who'd given him a lift into town. It was pretty good; live music is always a treat when you can get it, and it'd been a while since the last Bluegrass Festival.

He knew how to charm people, work the crowd, how to ask for "donations to the fine arts" without being irritating about it. People dropped cash, and pennies, and quarters, into his open guitar case, at any rate.

I reckon he scraped together at least enough for lunch, form himself'n his friend. Witchers are surly and stingy as anything, y'know, so I wondered why he wasn't covering the meal, with how much he'd charged for slaying the monster...

...But I overheard mention of how he'd had to get that van fixed up at Joe's Auto-Mechanics, over by the old factory in the valley-- and everyone knows that Joe's Auto'll charge three times what the repairs are worth, with parts that cost ten times as much as they oughtta. Lord knows, those scammers'd be out of business, if there were any better options within 50 miles of their shop!

And that is why if you think your truck's getting ready to break down, you should try an' make sure it breaks down closer to home. And also why I figure it makes sense that even a Witcher'd be short on cash, after dealing with 'em.

Anyway, the Witcher spoke with the Sheriff, and he went out monster-hunting that night.

Meanwhile, that hitchhiking musician was playing at the local bar, and let me tell you-- he was pretty damn good! Played a few drinking-songs, and the kind of songs you can't play in front of the kiddos at Farmer's Market, played some catchy tunes that had people dancing and clapping along...!

I particularly enjoyed the murder-ballad about the woman who turned into a vengeful fire-monster when she found out her man was messing around with other women. Very clever wordplay, "flames of desire lighting up your funeral pyre!" Good stuff.

Then the Witcher came in-- fresh from the contract, and half-covered in mud and blood! Barkeep wouldn't even let him sit down until he'd hosed off the worst of it, out back!

Musician-- Jaskier, he called himself-- raised a toast to a successful hunt, and another to monster-hunters who let loving families sleep safely, and rowdy drunks stumble home un-eaten, and soon enough somebody was buying that Witcher a drink, and the barkeep gave him a plate of food on the house, and it was good times all around!

Beats toasting newly-dead friends, and drinking to forget the monsters at the door, any day.

The thing is, this is a small town. Not a lot of people come visit, and if they do, they're generally staying with family. Which is to say, there aren't any motels around here.

Now, that contractor, that Witcher, he'd asked around, beforehand, about what was available, in terms of overnight accomodations-- which, let's be honest, isn't much around here. Come morning, I saw that beat-up van parked outside the Rosebud Bed & Breakfast.

Now Rosebud's is a nice place, a respectable establishment, but we all know they've had some trouble since that big storm last month, when a tree smashed through the roof! Las I checked, that Bed & Breakfast only had the one bed fit for guests to sleep in!

Might've been a rather one-sided bidding war, or a tight fit, with two out-of-towners vying for a roof overhead, that night. But that's none of my business.

Jaskier the musician left town with the Witcher-- Geralt Rivera, I think the name was-- same as he came in. Well, makes sense that he wouldn't want to stay long enough to put down roots, a young musician on a mission to see the world and/or become rich and famous.

The Witcher, Geralt, did good work with the monster, too. I guess that's why they're the experts... Some folks are talking about having what's left of the beasty taxidermy'd, did you know? Might make a decent tourist attraction, or a decoration for Town Hall, or something. I don't know.

Anyway, all that's to say... don't let anybody tell you there's not still a need for Witchers, in the modern day.

[mister-eames]

darling, you have to give me more flesh on the scenario “what if arthur went to mombasa aka cobols backyard to fetch eames on doms request” would inception still have happened? or would end credits roll immediately? You can’t dangle that scenario infront of me like a carrot infront of a horse and say nothing :(

I love this question!! <3 I could write a whole novel on the possible canon-divergence, aha, sorry this took me a to minute to reply x I imagine it went something like this:

Above the din of the gambling house Eames suddenly notices two things at once.

One, the sharp scents of Davidoff Cool Water and nicotine.

The other is the barrel of a gun pressed in-between his shoulder blades.

Between his restless fingers the chips stop moving before resuming again. Saying nothing, Eames places the chips on the unluckiest number he can think of - if the person behind him is who Eames thinks it is, not a single sliver of luck can be wasted on something as frivolous as a dice game.

"Now, now," says Eames, sitting up straighter until the gun digs into his back. "Is that a firearm or are you just happy to see me? Goodness. You could at least buy me a drink first."

The dice roll on the table. Eames has lost. He wears his best look of disappointment as the dealer collects his chips, fewer than before, but still enough to cash in on. Currency comes in all shapes and forms and, hearing the tap of Arthur's loafers behind him as he's followed to the cash exchange, Eames very much get's the sense he'll need every last iteration of currency to bargain with.

"That's an interesting way of spelling Mombasa," Arthur says somewhere over his shoulder.

After all, Arthur is a man who plays to win.

---

"So," Eames deshells a pistachio and pops it in his mouth, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, dear Arthur?"

On the other side of the table sits Arthur, composed of long lines, angular limbs and dark fabrics, hair slicked back so perfectly it can only be a product of industrial-strength pomade and Arthur's sheer will. A pair of wayfarers are perched upon his nose, an old pair. His face is angled to the view outside beyond the terrace.

The nail of Arthur's right thumb, bitten short, digs into the side of his beer bottle.

"I'm here to offer you a job."

"That so?" Eames pries open another another pistachio, leaning back in his chair. "Tell me, was the gun to my back part of your offer?"

"Had to make sure you wouldn't run."

"What makes you think I still won't?"

"You won't," Arthur says confidently. "Not when you hear what I'm selling."

"And why would I buy anything from you," Eames asks, following Arthur's line of sight to the people milling in the market below, "when I could simply cash in on the price on your head?"

The challenge hangs in the air, suspended, awaiting Arthur's repartee. Instead, Arthur sighs, finally sliding the frames off his face, slipping them into his breast pocket. His expression turns pinched. "You won't," he repeats. He sounds less sure.

"I might."

"You would've done it already."

There it is. Eames shifts in his seat, throwing an arm around the back of it. "How'd you end up pissing off Cobol Engineering, hmm? Let me guess."

"How'd you know about that?"

"How did you know where to find me?"

"Inception," Arthur says suddenly.

"...Pardon?"

"The job," Arthur clarifies, a little uncomfortably. "Our client is asking for inception."

Eames stares at him.

Under the weight of Eames' gaze Arthur seems pressed to project nonchalance, sitting up straighter in his chair, re-adjusting his legs until they mirror Eames' outstretched ones. Eames knows him better. He's already catalogued all of the little things that are different with Arthur since they last crossed paths - some for the better - a nicer suit, longer hair. Some for the worse. Tired lines. A tie tied too tightly, begging to be made crooked. Bitten nails.

The problem with Arthur is that Arthur cares so much that it's written all over him.

"You do recall what happened the last time we attempted inception, yes? How horribly we failed at it."

"Yep."

"And you recall telling me from the get-go to the get-gone that it wasn't possible?"

Arthur shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. You still think it can be done."

"You don't," says Eames, confused. "Which leads us to the inevitable question of why you, Arthur, are here, risking your head to ask me onto what you in your mind consider to be a fruitless endeavour."

"Cobb wants you on the job. You'll get paid."

"Try again."

The exhale that escapes Arthur's nostrils seem to deflate him a little. The too-short nails stop digging into his bottle as the hand retreats to his lap. "If we're to succeed, the client will secure Cobb's return to the states."

"In shackles, I hope."

He shakes his head. "To his kids."

"I'm still failing to see what I get out it."

When it's clear that he won't capitulate, Arthur sighs. "What do you want?"

To never be in the same room as Dominic Cobb ever again. To wind back the clock three years. To live out his retirement in peace.

"Something priceless," he says instead.

"The opportunity to achieve inception isn't priceless enough?"

"No."

Going quiet, Arthur appears to think on this. "This is the last job," he says after a moment. "No more. He'll either go home or go to prison."

He says it like it's fifty-fifty; luck; the toss of a coin. Eames considers this, wondering uneasily if he is the element that will give weight to one of the coins sides - which yet, he isn't quite sure. Which Eames wants, he knows even less.

"And you'll be a free man."

"Yes."

"And what are you planning to do with yourself after?"

"That," Arthur raises his chin, meeting his gaze, "I will let you decide."

Lightning crackles up Eames spine.

"...That is priceless, indeed."

"Yeah," Arthur smirks. "So, what do you say?"

Eames writes down an address on a napkin. He slides it over and stands.

"Meet me here in an hour. I know of a chemist that might be useful."

Arthur blinks down at the napkin. "Why? Where are you going?"

Eames tilts his head towards the bar where a middle-aged suit sits, eyes flicking towards their table.

"Giving you a chance to shake your tail."

Arthur looks over to the bar and swears under his breath. "Does this mean you're taking the job?"

"Depends on whether our friend over there shoots first. Go on."

"Wait," Arthur says, placing a hand on Eames' arm. He raises an inviting eyebrow, eyes brightening brilliantly. "I've got a better idea."

---

Twenty minutes later emerge from a narrow alley with a matching pair of bruised, bloody knuckles, an unconscious body slumped in the shadows of the alley.

Eames grins at Arthur, who is already smiling wide at him.

Something in Eames' chest is in freefall, starting from his throat, right down to his sternum. The same thing that always robs him of any good reason when it comes to Arthur - the one that hits the reset button in his doldrums, like pulling the lever at a poker machine and says come on, try again, hoping that he might make dividends this time. A horrible lack of certainty; a wonderful, frightening unfurling of possibilities and hope.

Arthur's shirt is crumpled to hell; dirt and dust mar the cuffs of his suit jacket, the shine of his loafers. He places his wayfarers back onto his face and Eames thinks hello again. Hello Arthur, the man who is both nineteen and twenty-nine in Eames' mind, who has kept the same sunglasses from five years ago and wears Davidoff Cool Water because it was what he wore when he needed something cheap and accessible and never quite grew out of it, even when he has the means to afford 'better'. A creature of habit - and sentiment.

"Cobb wanted to come to ask you," Arthur says, tone light, shoving his bloody hands in his pockets as they rejoin the greater crowd, sides brushing as they close in to avoid getting separated.

"Thank christ he didn't."

Arthur hums agreeably at the sentiment. "What would you have said, if he had?"

Eames shakes his head, not even needing to think about it. "I'd tell'im to piss off. Probably had sold him out before he touched soil."

"Come on. You would not have."

"Would've. There is not a single thing in Cobb's coin-purse that would sway me to sign up for this," he insists.

Arthur rolls his eyes, squeezing past Eames to get through a narrow opening in the crowd. Eames follows closely, eyes trained on the back of him.

Well... maybe one thing.

He'll take the job. And after that... Eames has some ideas already.

[krirebr]

soooo i just realized heads will roll is kind of a road trip au lolol 🤭 and we all know jakey boy is a bit of a doof, so how about "... do you have any hobbies?"

It absolutely is!! It's one of the things that has me really excited about it. This takes place just a day or so into their road trip, and right after the first part of their story, which I have not written yet. 😂🤦‍♀️ Thanks for playing, Brandy!!

Realize

Pairing: future hunter!Curtis x slayer!reader x hunter!Jake

Warnings: A little bit of angst, I guess

You woke up in the back seat of the car, still on the road. It was pitch black outside. You must have slept for hours.

Curtis and Jake were having a hushed conversation in the front. You weren’t sure if they were being quiet because they didn’t want to wake you or didn’t want you to hear.

These were prime patrolling hours. That’s what you should have been doing right now. Instead, you were on the run, headed to who knows where with two complete strangers, the few personal possessions you’d been able to fit stuffed in their trunk. You were the most on your own you’d been since Gilliam had found you.

You leaned forward so your head was between the front seats. “Hey,” you said, and Jake turned toward you, while Curtis kept his eyes on the road. “I could use a bathroom break."

Jake looked to Curtis. “We could probably all use a stretch,” he rumbled.

Curtis hummed, then looked down at his dashboard. “Might not be a bad time to get gas, I guess.”

Jake messed around for a moment on his phone then said, “There’s a good exit about 10 miles up.”

Curtis moved his head enough to let you know he was talking to you when he asked, “That good enough?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” you said as you sank back into your seat. You didn’t say anything else until you got to the truck stop, but you noted the way Jake kept turning his head to look back at you.

As soon as the car stopped, you jumped out, heading inside to find the restroom. After relieving yourself and trying to clean up a bit in the sink, you headed out to the convenience store, aimlessly strolling the aisles as you looked at snacks. You didn’t have much money on you. That would probably become a problem. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care right now. Right now, you wanted chips.

As you tried to decide what kind you wanted, Jake came up and stood beside you. “Curtis wants to drive through the night,” he said, “put as much distance behind us as we can before we stop at a motel or something.”

“Sure,” you said, as you grabbed a bag of something salty. You went to get in line to check out and Jake followed you, a bottle of some neon-colored drink in his hand.  

There were a few people in front of you, so you just stood quietly, awkwardly, as you waited. Until Jake cleared his throat. “So,” he started then paused. You looked over at him, and he ducked his head shyly. “You, uh, you have any hobbies?”

“What?” you asked.

He moved his hand in the air awkwardly. “You know, hobbies. Things you do in your free time.”

Free time? Every waking minute of every day of the last six months had been spent training and studying so you’d be able to fulfill your destiny—killing vampires. Kickboxing, aerobics, self-defense, reading arcane mythology—it’d all been for that one purpose. You didn’t do anything else. “Uh, no,” you said, “no hobbies,” as you finally reached the front of the line. You put your chips on the counter and then Jake added his drink and handed over the cash. You started to tell him he didn’t have to, thank him, something, but he was already heading out the door. 

He stopped to hold it open for you, then fixed you with one of the warmest looks you’d ever received. “Well,” he said, “first order of business, I think, is to get you some hobbies.”

Kris's 700 Celebration

Tag lists are open

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @femefetalelevelingup

[moralesmilesanhour]

baby's breath and burnout. 01

summary: a flowerbyte florist x tattoo artist au. wc: 1,800

Margo had been working at Jessica Drew’s flower shop for four years now.

The tall, dark-skinned black woman’s face was smooth and shiny in the way that soon-to-be mothers’ faces tended to be when the younger entered her shop for the first time. One hand rested just below her stomach, while the other adjusted and re-adjusted the arrangement of hydrangeas sitting in a green vase by the cash register. 

Margo had her hair freshly slicked back with what must’ve been a pound of gel, ending in one big puff at the back of her head. Her eyeliner was winged sharply at the edges of her eyes, the only sharp thing on her face with her rounded cheeks and gently-sloped nose. 

“Margo, right?”

A tooth-gapped smile spread across her face when Margo’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Your friend told me you were coming.”

“I gotta warn you, I don’t know much about flowers, but I can work a register.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure you learn a thing or two about flower arrangements,” Jess waved her hand dismissively. “I’ll have you shadow me for a little bit, then you’re on your own.”

“Sounds intense.”

She shrugged.

“If you can cut flowers and put ‘em in the right order, you’ll be fine. Most people just get roses anyway.”

Margo laughed, revealing a smile that mirrored the other woman’s.

a new customer.

The bell above the door rang to welcome a new customer. Margo was in the middle of getting the last hydrangea settled into the middle of the vase, her back to the entrance.

“Welcome to Jess’ Flowers, how can I–”

“Hey, you!”

She stopped dead in her tracks when she recognized the man who had tattooed her two weeks ago. He wore a white graphic t-shirt instead of a hoodie, the sleeve just short enough that Margo noticed unintelligible lines of dark ink peeking out from beneath it.

She couldn’t remember what had been written on his name tag (something starting with an ‘M’), but he seemed to remember hers.

“Margo?” 

“Yup,” Margo replied as she abandoned her vase to get behind the counter. “I remember you had an ‘M’ name too, right?”

She hummed the ‘m’ sound, waiting for him to complete it. “Miles,” he said with an easy grin. “My last name’s Morales, so I’ve actually got two of ‘em.” 

Margo had her sleeves rolled up, so the new ink on her forearm was visible once he approached the counter.

Miles pointed to it, “Can I see?”

“Sure.”

She held her arm out, not expecting him to gently take it as he had at the tattoo parlor to examine his work with a furrowed brow. He ran his thumb across her wrist as Margo watched his face for any sign of error. It looked perfect to her, but you never know, right? 

She was frozen in place until Miles let go and nodded approvingly.

“It healed up really nicely, you did a good job.”

“That’s a relief. The way you were lookin’ at it, I thought I might have to get it removed,” she laughed.

“Nah, it’s just that I’ve had clients come back with all types of infections,”

He began counting on his fingers as he rattled off bits of advice, clearly no longer focused on Margo.

“I tell everybody ‘keep it clean and dry’, ‘don’t scratch it’, but then they don’t, and come back asking me to re-do it–”

Miles stopped himself before he went on a tangent about proper tattoo aftercare. He lowered his hands.

“...Thank you for following directions, is what I’m saying.”

“No problem! It’s one of my many talents,” Margo said. 

She stood there, hands primly folded behind her back as she smiled like a doofus.

A silence took over for a few seconds before she suddenly remembered her job.

“Uh, right. Did you want anything?”

Miles blinked twice before it came back to him.

“Y-Yeah, yeah, sorry. I had just walked past and saw y’all had roses?”

 “We do,” Margo said carefully, her smile faltering.

“Who’s…the lucky lady?”

“They're, uh, for my mom,” he corrected, scratching the back of his neck. “I'm visiting my folks’ house for the first time in a while.”

“Oh,” Margo nodded slowly as her face heated up with embarrassment.

“Well, that’s real sweet of you. The flowers are in the back, just–um–gimme a second!”

She rushed out from behind the register and to the back of the shop, where a pile of un-trimmed roses lay waiting. She was supposed to get that done half an hour ago, at any rate.

If you worked there long enough, putting a bouquet together became as mundane as taking orders at a drive-thru: Cut the dead leaves, snip a couple inches off of the stems at a 45-degree angle, just so. Rinse and repeat.

After doing this, Margo wrapped the blooms tightly with pink paper.

Had she not been so frazzled by Miles’ sudden appearance, she would’ve told him that there were other flowers that moms liked. Men always came in with only roses in mind, for any and every occasion. Yet another thing Jess had been right about.

Margo wrapped the bouquet neatly in a bright red ribbon, after adding bits of baby’s breath in between the roses as filler. Creative liberties.

“Here you are,” she held it up proudly like a newborn. “Hope your mom enjoys these.”

“Me too,” He joked as he cradled it just as gently in his arms. He was careful to not wrinkle the paper too much or ruin the flowers. A hopeful look crept onto his face.

“See you around?”

Margo reclaimed her spot behind the register and waved. “Maybe.”

She would bury her face in her hands for saying this as soon as he left, but it made Miles laugh.

the day in question.

Margo fiddled with her sleeves as she entered the tattoo parlor a couple blocks from her workplace. It was sandwiched between a pet shop and a boutique, and the slightly uneven entrance gave you the impression that it was being crushed between two invisible hands. 

A brown-skinned Indian man with a full head of wavy, mahogany locks stood behind the front desk. He had it cut into choppy bangs in the front, with slightly longer bits peeking out from the nape of his neck. The bangs were held up by a bright blue headband, which stood out against his orange hawaiian shirt. He smiled at her, though it didn’t reach his wide eyes. The slight bags beneath them made him look happier than he was regardless. 

“Here for an appointment?”

“Yup, tattoo.”

“Do you have a sketch or a picture of the design with you?”

Margo reached into her tote bag and pulled out the sheet of paper that Gwen drew on. 

“Cool. He’ll be here in a second.”

The cracked and peeling leather of the waiting bench squeaked beneath Margo’s weight as she bounced her leg up and down, her nerves mounting by the second. The designs crowding the wall across from her were all flaming skulls that gnashed and snarled, or stoic samurai surrounded by dragons that curled tentatively around them, all shaded with dark hatched lines. She had all but forgotten Gwen’s advice to check at least one of the artists’ social media before going; she had just up and left the house with the feverish excitement of doing something drastic. 

Margo tried to imagine what her tattoo artist would look like, but couldn’t conjure up anything more creative than a pale hipster wearing a black beanie and a t-shirt with the name of a band she had never heard of written on it. The thought dissipated when a man’s soft voice caught her attention.

“Margo? Margo…Kess?”

Margo had to crane her neck to get a good look at the lean black man standing by the front desk. 

She got the beanie part right. Pale, not so much. 

He wore a bright red hoodie with the sleeves rolled up to reveal an expanse of deep russet-brown, completely devoid of any ink whatsoever. This would’ve invited the possibility that he was there to take her to the room where her assigned artist actually was, if he wasn’t in the middle of removing white gloves stained with ink at the fingertips. 

The man looked around the room for a good minute before locking eyes with Margo, and it was then that she remembered to answer.

“Oh, that’s me, sorry!”

She shot up from her seat with an awkward grin plastered across her face. This made him burst into short, breathy laughter.

“Then why you ain’t say nothing? Had me looking around an empty room like a dumbass.”

The light, easy tone of the man’s voice softened his crass language. His smile dazzled her when he held out a now-gloveless hand for her to shake.

“I’m Miles.”

“Margo–ooh, wait, you know that already. My bad.”

This made Miles snort and laugh even harder.

“I think we’re gonna be good friends, Margo. Follow me.”

Margo held her breath, trying to remain stock-still as Miles pressed the cold stencil to her forearm. She didn’t so much as speak until he was finished applying it.

“Sorry for not bringing that in beforehand. I kinda did this on impulse, y’know?”

“That’s alright, it’s just a flash,” he rose to his feet from the stool he was sitting on. “It’s cute.”

He held her gaze with warm brown eyes that seemed to sparkle with mischief when they caught the light. She averted her eyes to look at one of the drawings on the wall behind him.

“Thanks.”

The hum of the machine had made Margo nervous at first.

“How much will it hurt?” she asked with a false air of humor. “Scale of one to ten.”

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out now,” he looked up briefly with a grin. “It’s on your arm, and the needle’s not that big, so…I’d say about a two.”

“How do you know?”

The question gave voice to the thought she’d been holding onto since she walked in.

Miles chuckled softly. “I got ink, just not where you can see it. You ready?”

With this new-found assurance, Margo relaxed into the big leather armchair as Miles went to work. He was right; she only felt a tingling, bordering-on-itchy sensation as the needle traveled across her skin. Gwen hadn’t colored in the sketch she brought in, which meant that there was no shading or coloring to be done. Margo had a monarch butterfly on her arm before she knew it.

“You like it?”

Miles flashed another smile at her as he spread a cool gel over the tattoo. He already knew what she would say.

“Are you kidding?” Margo lifted her arm and held it up to the light. “I love it.”

[countmothra]

More misc. Abbey operation thoughts because I’m insane.

• There is an Infirmary of sorts within the abbey that will deal with the populations more minor to moderate health problems. But for anything severe like broken bones and serious and chronic illnesses they go to the nearest hospital for licensed medical attention.

• The abbey also has a Nursery/Daycare area because there are obviously kids living in the abbey because some siblings of sin come into the church already with kids or choose to have kids.

•Speaking of which, and going off an old headcannon of mine. Children in the abbey are raised communally, sure they know who their parent(s) are but everyone pitches in regardless of if it’s their kid or not. Only exception is Emeritus kids, they are raised ONLY by their immediate family (parent/s, siblings, grandparents) to make sure they have as much exposure to their future role as possible.

• Some of the siblings plan activity nights. Be it making crafts, watching a movie or playing board games, it’s all meticulously planned with sign up sheets and a suggestion box.

•Every six months there is 100% a day where EVERYONE in the abbey is tasked with deep cleaning. Nobody is safe from cleaning day. Ghouls, siblings, papas, higher clergy member, everyone is put to work scrubbing every last stone in that abbey until it shines. The chapel of ritual stinks like dead human sacrifice and Sister Imperator is tired of it.

• Old lady knitting club. Just a bunch of the oldest sisters of sin knitting and talking shit. Imperator goes on Fridays to decompress and gossip.

•there are secret passages in the abbey that some of the teenage inhabitants of the abbey hide in to do the typical rebellious teenage things like smoke weed and drink the wine they stole off the altar.

•BIG! LIBRARY! Books, lots of ‘em! All over! Just a whole bunch of physical media meticulously stored in a library for anyone to use for any purpose. Books? Hell yeah! Vinyl records? Of course! Cassette tapes? You bet! CD’s? Whole section of them! Film reels? They may not be pristine but they got those too! VHS tapes, DVD’s, they have it all archived.

•jobs for each and every sibling and ghoul are posted on a bulletin board outside of imperators office, just in case anyone forgets.

•piggybacking off my last batch of headcannons, they definitely sell some of their excess produce when the Papas aren’t actively touring. Money is still coming in from albums and whatnot, sure, but it’s nice for the ministry to have that little extra cash.

•The papas teach some of the religion classes and it’s a gamble on who they teach because their class could be made up of adults just entering into the fold or literal toddlers who can’t even spell “cat” yet.

Which brings me to silly scenarios that have 100% happened because I said so.

• Primo had to teach toddlers once. They did not care about the simplified version of how Lucifer fell, all they cared about was the sick new monster truck in the toy chest. Primo did have to admit that this monster truck was pretty cool as it was one of the cars where you pull it back enough and it goes forward on its own. (You know what I’m talking about)

• The old ladies in the knitting club are old enough to remember when each of the Emeritus boys were born. So whenever a rumor spreads about one of those boys, they are the first ones to discuss it. “Did you hear that Nihils youngest boy got drunk and started doing the most bizarre things to the furniture?” “Terzo?” “No! The younger one! Copia I think his name is… oh I remember when he was just a tot…” these devolve into wandering down memory lane.

• When Imperator goes, it’s mostly to gossip and drink wine. She’ll maybe knit a scarf…maybe…

• Terzo taught a class of teens once, and never again. Two teen girls pointed out how damaged his skin was and that he did a shit job covering his grays with box dye. He never wants to do that again.

• During those big cleaning days twice a year, it’s never the chapel that’s the filthiest, it’s the ghouls quarters. It’s always the ghouls quarters.

[painting-warhammer]

Magus in the style of Queen (Deltarune)

Definitely a messier one, and a drop in quality. Really just the result of me wanting to have a fun figure I did on the side for a series I'm obsessed with. Commentary under cut.

For practice figures, literally what I will do is just go through the Games Workshop store, see a figure and then realize "holy crap... I could paint this like [_____] from a series I like!", or in other words, how every Warhammer fan over 40 paints their Tyranids as the xenomorphs. It ends up being the equivalent of a mini-painting "doodle" or "warmup" in between working on the "real" army. I don't really think about or worry over making a larger "thematically connected" army.

What's kinda sad is that, with Queen in particular, I actually did buy another Genestealer Cultist figure with the intent to paint them as a Deltarune character. I have a primed Abominant that I was planning to paint as Lancer and the King.

Even separately from that, I considered having Lancer on his bike as an Atalan Jackal. But you'd have to get a full set of five, and honestly I just want the one popping a wheelie.

Not to mention, goddammit, that now I actually have Green Stuff. I shouldn't have primed them! I could have connected the hammer to his stomach and made the spade... at the very least, I should have given them their coneheads. Damn.

Anyways, Queen. Not a lot to say, you can see paint going over the lines and somehow only the wineglass-turned-staff is the only good looking part. I didn't busy myself too much with details and I think this was unfinished; I don't remember what state I considered this to be in when I last touched it a year ago. I might give some shade to the gown and the head, and boots and cowl deserve an edge highlight or two. Apologies to trypophobes when it comes to whatever the fuck my primer did to the inside of her thigh...

It's also to kinda say fixing her up is not my top priority. I finally have enough figures in my actual army to play the game (this took LITERALLY three years) so that's where my focus is going to be. That's not to say no forever, but it is to say TTFN.

What I was really hyped about was the base. I took a copy of Fairly Oddparents: Breakin' Da Rules for Game Boy Advance, an absolutely awful Megaman clone that will not be missed. and then sanded it down until it was just small enough to be based. I drew with a marker the relative circumference I had to get it to. I suppose I could have freehanded the wires but I'm sick of my bases being dirt and debris, I wanted something nice. Only problem was the glue gun definitely made a big ol' gap between the base and the basing.

I think most of the fun of this one was daydreaming about how this fits in the 40K universe. Her standing on a microchip is probably impossible, that's only a factor of her being the size of one in real life, but who knows. I imagine that she's from a Genestealer Cult that had infected a Forgeworld, specifically. I think there are gameplay mechanics to venerate a bug version of the Omnissiah? Don't know for sure.

That's all for now! If you have started following me or read my other posts, thank you for all the notes across all of them. It's very humbling; I really don't think these are very good and I think any goodwill is based on who they are rather than any ability/talent rendering those people. The next few posts are going to be my actual army and the lore I wrote up for them, but that doesn't mean that's the end of the "[Warhammer Character] in the style of [Thing From Franchise]" posts. I have three that are started and unfinished, and I might do touchups or even outright re-dos of the previous ones I've posted. Thank you for your support. I don't do this for cash [what Warhammer fan can?] or clout so getting even a like has been very encouraging and flattering.

[sgtmickeyslaughter]

65+87 please?

this has been sitting in my drafts for almost a month lol, i hated it when i wrote it but i just stumbled upon it again and realized it was sad to leave it sitting unread even if its not my favorite - so i hope someone enjoys my slightly angsty take on the prompt

65 First Kiss/Date + 87 Unresolved Sexual Tension

If it were anyone else calling Mickey ‘patient’, he’d laugh in their face.

But Ian had brought out much more outlandish qualities in him over the last few months, so it's no surprise that when it comes to him Mickey could find nearly endless patience. 

Three months ago, standing in front of Ian with his lungs screaming from the cold air he listened to Ian tell him that yes, this was him breaking up with Mickey. 

Mickey looked at Ian for a second. Looked at his pale, shivering form and couldn't find any anger for him. He was fucking heartbroken, and had to turn and look down the street just to take his eyes away.

“Take your meds, Ian” he simply. “Break up with me, sure. I can’t make you love me, I don’t want to. But you have what it takes to get control of this thing, with the meds or therapy or whatever and you’re really, really going to regret it if you don’t just because you were too busy being a mopey asshole to try.”

 “Fuck you, Mickey. I’m doing this because I love you, I’m letting you go, you don’t fucking owe me anything.”

Mickey shook his head, indignation finally welling up in his chest. He pushed the gate open harshly and stomped up to stand toe to toe with Ian “you’re doing this for you, because you want it to hurt. You think you deserve it, and you think I deserve it too.”

Ian looked so tired, like he wanted to cry. So Mickey just huffed a sigh, bringing a hand up to his cheek, patting it once before turning to walk away. 

“I can’t do it with you watching” Ian said suddenly. “I can't make any promises but if I’m going to try to make it work with the meds and get myself back on track, I need to do it alone.”

Mickey looked back with a huff, he knows that Ian wasn’t trying to be mean, but he couldn’t help but feel like Ian was blaming him. And maybe Mickey was the problem, Fiona and Lip and even little fucking Debbie had told him enough times that Ian needed to be in the hospital. 

“But if I can get to a better place, can I come find you?” Ian asked hopefully.

It was like their moods had swapped in a matter of seconds, Mickey just drew his mouth into a tight line, shaking his head slightly. “Let’s not make any promises to each other,” was what he decided on before walking away, back the way he came to crawl back into the den of misplace objects that had taken over his home and get drunk.

The next morning Mickey called over some guys he knew from the moving business that went bust to buy all the suitcase shit and haul it away. He took all the baby stuff Svetlana left behind and shoved it in the attic, working away at a bottle of whiskey as he went. 

It was like doing an autopsy to see how fucked up his life had become over the last couple of years. Unearth a condom here, a little baby sock here, Mandy’s blonde hair dye-

Mandy, Mickey realized with a pang of horror. Mandy left and he’d hardly even noticed. He spent the rest of the afternoon calling (almost) everyone Mandy knew and narrowed down where she moved to. He woke up the next day before the sun was completely over the horizon and started driving South East. 

Kenyatta might not have seen it in the moment, but he got very lucky that all it took was a bullet in the leg to get Mandy into Mickey’s car. 

She got a job at a high end restaurant, as hostess and then quickly moving up to waitress. Mickey started small time dealing again, making just enough cash to cover his meager expenses. They didn’t really hang out for a while, both siblings holed up in their rooms, licking their wounds. 

Mandy left him alone until he came home with a busted up face after he missed off the wrong supplier with his big fucking mouth. She hounded him after that, about getting his GED with her, going to community college.

“What are you going to do when dad gets out?” she asked, following him to the kitchen.

“Hope that this stint of fucking guys for a few months liberalized his views on same sex relationships” Mickey snarked back.

“Mickey, come on.”

“Or claim there was a gas leak that made me crazy for dick” he continued sarcastically reaching into the fridge.  

“Look Mickey, you’re twenty years old, you have no record as an adult and you should be making an effort to keep it that way unless you want to end up in and out of prison like dad” Mandy said testily, snatching a beer out of his hand.

“What the fuck do you want me to do Mandy?”

“Jesus!” she exploded. “The only thing I’ve ever seen you give a shit about was your stupid fucking boyfriend. You’re worse than me!”

Mickey just stared her down with a brusque fuck you and started walking away. 

“He’s getting out in less than a year Mickey,” she warned. “I’m saving up to rent my own place until then, and I suggest you do the same.”

She was right, he knew that and he just wanted to be a pigheaded asshole for a little while longer so he started scrolling through craigslist ads for security until something caught his eye. 

He lied through the interview, surprisingly at ease as long as he was able to be pulling a con in some way, even if he was just lying about who he was. He was armed with the knowledge that he’d bribed Linda Karib into saying that he was a valued member of the security staff at her large, upscale market and that Mandy would pick up the phone and follow any lie he’d told them.

“You got a job where?” Mandy asked incredulously, picking up the two suits he’d been given as a uniform from where he’d tossed them on the couch after he was hired.

“The Art Institute” He said around a mouthful of cereal. “You know, the big building on Michigan Ave with the Lions out front.”

“Why the hell did you want to work there?” Mandy asked incredulously. 

“It pays more than any other security gig I could get without a GED,” Mickey said. “And it’s like really cool, I’ll be guarding fucking Van Gogh and Michelangelo.”

“Yeah, guarding them from fifth grade class trips,” Mandy teased. “There’s a Michelangelo in Chicago?”

Mickey scowled and sucked his teeth, “you know what I mean.”

Against all odds, Mickey loved his job. He was vigilant enough to keep kids and entitled adults from touching anything they weren’t supposed to, but mostly spent his time rotating with the shift changes, getting exposed to something new and beautiful. Ancient Korean pottery, massive modern canvases, baroque paintings applied to wooden triptychs, and he had a front row seat to all of it.

He had nothing but time to think, he’d start his shift hating the painting across from him, and after a few hours he’d come to understand it, if not like it. 

It kept his mind off of Ian, which was important. He’d be reminded of his ex-boyfriend in a particularly golden shade of red, or the odd bright splash of green, but after a while he’d learned to let those thoughts come and then quietly escort them out without any anger or resentment. 

In short, four months after Ian broke up with him, Mickey was relatively happy and fulfilled. He had a good relationship with his family (the only member that mattered anyways), a job he liked (well, didn’t totally despise), and modern technology took care of everything else (grindr).

He was getting ready to meet up with a guy from the app when a wrench got thrown into the whole machine. He had showered and gelled his hair, putting on a clean shirt that showed off his arms, he was grabbing his wallet from the kitchen table when he noticed the shock of red hair contrasting with the grey of his living room. 

Ian turned around once he’d realized Mickey had come out of his room. Mandy must have let him in, seating him on the couch and leaving him like a sadistic little gift for Mickey to find, the fucking bitch. 

Mickey froze, hand outstretched as Ian turned to face him, scrambling up off the couch. 

“Hi Mickey,” Ian said breathily, attempting a grin. He looked good, healthy and normal. He looked like the Ian that left Mickey in his room to run off to the army, just a little older. 

“Uh” Mickey said, unhelpfully. “What are you doing here?”

Ian surveyed him up and down hesitantly. “Your sister let me in,” he said lamely.

Mickey raised his brows to say not the question I asked, fuckhead.

“Do you want to go get something to eat?” Ian asked nervously. 

“I’m not really hungry” Mickey said stupidly, not understanding why Ian was standing in his living room.

Ian deflated slightly “we could get a drink, or just go for a walk or something.”

“What are you getting at, Gallagher?” Mickey asked tiredly.

“I’m trying to ask you on a date” Ian said with a halfhearted smile. “I’ve been on my meds consistently for three months now so I thought-”

“Congrats, Ian that’s really great” Mickey said, bittersweet. “But if you got your shit together because I was gone, I should probably stay away.”

“No!” Ian blurted out. “No, I got better so I could see you again. I wasn’t going to put you through anymore than I already had.”

Mickey didn’t say anything to that, so Ian continued. “I know that I hurt you when I said that I needed to do this alone. But I’ve been working for the past few months to try and become someone I was proud of, so I wouldn’t feel so fucking sick every time you looked at me.”

Taking a deep breath, Mickey tried to calm down. He wanted to yell, he wanted to hug Ian, he wanted to leave and never see him again. But most of all he saw that he was being given the chance to start over, and he wanted to take it. 

“Fuck it, yeah, let's go to dinner” he agreed. 

“I thought you said you weren’t hungry,” Ian asked curiously, grinning wildly. 

“I can always eat,” Mickey said, finally sliding his wallet into his back pocket. “Can we get pancakes?”

“Yeah, hell yeah. Let’s go get some flapjacks” Ian agreed excitedly. “Wait-were you going somewhere?”

“Nah” Mickey dismissed. “Faceless Jonny can murder some other twink tonight.”

Ian laughed. It didn’t have that hyper, nasty quality Mickey had grown to flinch away from. 

It seemed like they agreed to set any uneasiness aside for the night so they could sit together and share a stack of pancakes. 

He told Ian all about the rescue mission to Indiana, the way Kenyatta charged at him in the living room before he could get his gun out and had to hold his own against the absolute mountain of a man before he managed to get his gun out. He told him about the spring he’d mostly shared with his sister, about the museum.  

“You do what?” Ian said, letting out a stalling laugh, nearly choking around a mouthful of bacon. 

“Stop laughing, it’s fun and I make good money” Mickey grumbled. “We can’t all be training to save lives.”

“Do you wear the little suit?” Ian asked, ignoring him. 

“Do you?” Mickey shot back. 

“Not yet but I will,” Ian said proudly. 

Ian didn’t share very much about what he’d been doing. Mickey managed to figure out that he was working working at Patsy’s for a while, before he started EMT training, he talked a lot about his family, Debbie getting pregnant and Carl going to juvie, but he had this was of talking around himself that made Mickey realize he probably spent a lot of the last few months pretty miserable. 

“So, I mean-this is our first date, right?” Ian asked with a grin, leaning forward on his elbows.

“Yeah, I guess so” Mickey said hesitantly.

“So, tell me stuff I don’t know” Ian said like it was obvious. “You know, siblings, childhood, likes and dislikes.”

Mickey snickered sarcastically leaning back with his arms crossed “number of siblings unknown, childhood was horrific. Likes; guns, redheads, tattoos, dutch renaissance painting, italian futurist sculpture, Bon Jovi, high fructose corn syrup. Dislikes; boston accents, bostson sports teams, men who can’t fight, vegetables that aren’t fried, and any pop song on the top 100.”

Ian grinned wildly, giddy and joyful “That is a very comprehensive run down, A+.”

Mickey chuckled a little, leaning forward and letting out a quick thanks. He turned to Ian and motioned for him to start talking.

“Five siblings. Mixed childhood, mostly good. Likes summer, professional hockey, pop music, thin highlighters, bad boys-hey, don’t kick me!-call of duty, and these days green tea. Dislikes Romantic comedies, football, mood stabilizers, menthol cigarettes, and hoodies without zippers.”

Mickey grinned at his stupid list, and his stupid smiling face. He felt himself getting sucked back into Ian’s magnetic orbit. 

“Would you let me take you out again?” Ian asked eagerly. “This was a pretty good first date.”

Reality came crashing down on Mickey again, and he remembered that this wasn’t really their first date, that nothing was normal between them “are you sure you’re ready for-whatever if is you’re trying to get out of this?”

Ian’s face fell, “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. I’ve spent the last few months trying to get to this point so I could come back to you.”

Mickey leaned forward to make eye contact with him, trying to decide wether or not to trust him. His eyes were wide and anxious but steady. Taking a deep breath and praying that it wasn’t a mistake. 

“Yeah, okay. I believe you,” Mickey agreed. “But I’m not doing this again, if we break up again it’s fucking over, I’m not going to spend the rest of my life running around in circles with you.”

Ian nodded enthusiastically “yeah, no, that makes sense. I don't want to do that either.”

He paid the check and they left together, when they got back to Mickey’s house he nodded up at it with a grin, “come in, Mandy won’t be back until later.”

Hesitating slightly, Ian took a deep breath and paused. “So, I’m totally ready to start dating you, totally ready. And I’ll come up to watch a movie or play video games or just hang out, but I don’t to have sex tonight, or for a little while.”

Looking down at his crotch automatically, Mickey pulled a questioning face. 

“It works,” Ian supplied with a blush. “It’s back up and running and everything. I just-once I could finally think clearly, I started getting this really uncomfortable feeling like my body isn’t mine, because I didn’t make choices I’m proud of, all the time. I’m still kind of struggling with that so if we can just go out and not fuck for a while that would be great for me, but-”

“Ian chill out. That’s fine, we can hang out.” Mickey said urgently. “You’ll want to eventually though, right? ‘Cause if this is a never again thing we'll need to figure-”

“No! No, definitely not never again, just like give me a couple weeks” Ian amended.

“Yeah, that’s fine. However long you need” Mickey agreed, walking up the stairs, “come on, I’m gonna’ kick your ass at the new grand theft auto just as bad as all the others.”

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

Ian groaned and flopped down on Mandy’s purple comforter.

“What’s got you all moody?” Mandy asked, uncapping a bottle of nail polish. 

“Your fucking brother won’t get naked for me” Ian whined.

“Ew! Jesus Ian” Mandy shrieked. “Just apologize for whatever he’s pissed about.”

“He’s not pissed,” Ian insisted. “Why would he be pissed?”

“I don’t know, why else would he be holding out on you?”

“On first date after we broke up, I mean-I guess that was our first date period, I told him I wanted to take it slow, at least with sex. After everything I’d done before getting diagnosed I just-didn’t want to jump into a physical relationship right away” Ian explained. 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Mandy agreed. 

“Yeah but that was almost three months ago and I have been very ready for a while and making it very fucking clear, but every time he shuts me down.”

“Shuts you down how?” She asked noncommittally, carefully painting her big toe. 

“The other night we were making out on the couch so I was trying to take his shirt off and he just pulled it down and looked at me like I was trying to fucking deflower him.”

Mandy let out a laugh, moving on to her other foot “have you tried telling him point blank that you wanna’ bang?”

“Kind of, not in so many words but I’ve tried to imply, in a seductive way, that I am really, really beyond ready and that by balls are starting to hurt.”

“You’re just being dramatic,” Mandy dismissed. “Just tell him what you’re telling me, which is what you should have done a week ago.”

“Yeah, I should have just told him. But now it’s like, weird. Like it’s weird that he’s purposely ignoring the like, big neon sign stuck to my forehead that basically screams I’m horny.”

“Maybe he’s not ready,” she said disinterestedly.

“He was three months ago,” Ian said, eye brows drawn. “So you think I’ve like, turned him off?”

“I have no idea, Ian!” She exclaimed. “I’ve already talked about my brother’s sex life way more than I wanted to this afternoon, it’s weird that you guys sleep in the same bed every other night but don’t have sex. And if you’re not the one with the problem, maybe he is.”

Ian laid back, deep in thought until Mandy kicked him out so she could get ready to work. Mickey got back an hour later, dressed in his dark suit. It didn’t fit him perfectly, but it made the darkness of his hair and eyelashes stand out even more. 

He said hi to Ian quickly before disappearing into his bedroom, unaware of Ian perking up and following him. “Mickey?” He asked curiously through the door. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hold on,” came a muffled reply.

“Can I just come in?” Ian asked impatiently. 

He waited a beat, then Mickey came out fully dressed in jeans and a teeshirt “jesus, where’s  the fire?”

“Why won’t you have sex with me?” Ian blurted out. “I mean, we both want to, unless I’m reading the signs wrong but the sexual tension feels pretty fuckin’ intense.”

Mickey licked his lips and looked away, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You don’t know what I’m talking about?” Ian asked incredulously. “So you’re going to pretend that I haven't been basically practically jumping you every night for the last few weeks?”

“Whatever, you’re the one who didn’t want to have sex” Mickey shot back defensively. “You haven't said anything else since and I know I can be-y'know a little pushy, so I backed the fuck off.”

Ian moved forward quickly, moving to bring both hands up to Mickey’s cheeks and pulling him close before allowing his hands to travel downward slowly until he could tuck his hands comfortably into the back pockets of his jeans. “I get that it’s been weird not having sex, and I really appreciate you being so considerate, but if it’s alright with you I’d like to to back into your bedroom and suck your dick to say thank you for your extraordinary patience.”

From this close, Ian got to actually feel the affect this words had on his boyfriend and watch as his cheeks flushed and pupils dilated sightly. “Yeah,” Mickey nodded, nonchalant like his voice didn’t pitch up a couple octaves. “Yeah, I mean you can do that, if you want.”

Smiling, Ian ran a hand up his back so that he could lead Mickey back through the doorway by the back of his head, rubbing and rocking it lightly, stomach flipping in excitement.  

Believe me - I will be revisiting museum security guard mickey again, taking down heists, helping lost kids, and knowing where all the major pieces are so when wimpy little art students like me come in looking for specific pieces he can give directions -the possibilities are endless.

link to AO3

[istadris]

Hello!

Ok, so...if it wasn't a problem, do you have something you would like to share about "Accidental Ghost King Luigi"?

I saw that you mentioned it and it really caught my attention, a lot of thoughts came up when I finished Luigi's Mansion 3 and I love expanding them.

So most of the ideas were discussed here, but I can scrounge up some more.

TL;DR for this AU : E.Gadd passes away, leaving in his will everything he owns to Luigi, who is now probably the richest man in the mushroom kingdom between the estates, the cash and the employees, living or not. (Spoilers alert : once Luigi realizes exactly how much he owns, he freaks out so much he hides under his blanket for several hours, with Mario patting the bundle and occasionally slipping snacks under it).

Then once he calms down enough, he wants to give everything away but it turns out to not be that simple, explains the Toad in charge of giving the will to Luigi:

"What if I DON'T want all of this ??"

"I don't know about the ready money or the coffee shop, but by all ghost and Boo laws, you are the rightful master of these places that you earned through Right of Conquest until someone else comes to dethrone you."

And it turns out, yes, by beating King Boo three times, on his haunting ground, with the last time being a direct challenge to Luigi and his kin, Luigi effectively conquered him, with all of his ghosts and Boos. And King Boo was a very powerful ghost. Luigi is now King Luigi.

"Why was E.Gadd even the owner of these places then, he wasn't the one chasing ghosts there !"

"Oh, he wasn't the actual owner of anything: before the dark moon incident, the ghosts were not agressive and let him play around, and afterwards, he acted as your steward to maintain your domains in your absence"

"Wait, is that why King Boo keeps coming after me ? Not just by revenge?"

"Oh yes, definitely, you dethroned him three times, that's a bad number for a spirit."

Peach, who has to deal regularly with a king ruling over a place where 90% of roaylty dealings involve kidnapping : "oh, Luigi dear..."

Except E.Gadd comes back. As a ghost. And he's still obsessed with science, but now without any of these pesky mortal ethics or boundaries. To the point his experiences go from "eyebrow-raising in the methods but ultimately for the greater good" to "mad scientist except this one is perfectly aware of what his potential enemies can do and acts accordingly."

At first he seems relatively reasonable...until Luigi refuses to give him back Gooigi AND the rest of the ghosts, too. Maybe he has grown fond of his new "subjects", or maybe he senses giving E.Gadd full control of the ghosts is a bad idea.

"My boy, do you think you could use my own creations against me ? I know them better inside out than you can ever do !!"

E.Gadd doesn't take it well.

E.Gadd is now very curious and vindicative towards this meddling new Ghost King who dares to get in the way of his research.

E.Gadd issues a challenge. And by challenge we mean that he takes possession of Luigi's territories. Probably kidnaps Mario & co, AND Polterpup (he knows how to capture ghosts, and he knows how helpful the ghost pup is to Luigi). Oh, and he steals and breaks all existing Poltergusts.

Now Luigi is stuck in a dangerous place with a mad ghost after him, unarmed, alone...except for King Boo, still stuck in his container, that he managed to grab on the way out of the laboratory.

King Boo is angry at Luigi for stealing his title, but he certainly isn't going to let the professor beat HIS nemesis!! What will the rest of the spectral community say if the one who defeated him loses his new title so fast?? Luigi isn't sure about the logic behind this reasoning, but he'll take any help he can get.

So now it's the team up of the century, and by that I mean King Boo snarking and loudly complaining from his container, asking again and again to be let out, while Luigi tries to survive and to keep KB inside the container (he has enough on his plate, he doesn't want another mad ghost after him); all while KB actually guides Luigi through the mysteries of ghosts and spectres, as well as the intricacies of the Ghost King title. But even after King Boo manages to get out of the container at some point, he still sticks by Luigi. You can guess why.

A Very Important Plot Point: King Boo gets frustrated by how much time Luigi takes and decides to shove some spectral power in him to level the field.

That's a fun surprise : King Boo's spectral essence boosts up Luigi's Thunderhand (that he had stopped using due to how taxing it was on his body; but now the Boo power helps circumventing this energy tax). KB acts as the new "source" and makes it way more potent, especially given his own affinity with lightning.

"Isn't that cheating ?"

"Have you even MET ME ??? Here, have some of my power, it should AT LEAST give you a boost so you won't die right after touching a gho-"

*huge thunderbolt crashing on the house frizzing everything electrical device*

"....WHAT WAS THAT"

"Uh....it never did that before."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN "IT NEVER DID THAT BEFORE ?? YOU COULD HAVE TOLD ME YOU HAD LATENT MAGICAL ABILITIES!!?? WHY DID YOU NEVER USE THEM AGAINST ME !!!???"

Later, when they manage to free Mario, KB eyes Mario suspiciously for a loooong moment as both brothers look in hope.

Then he shrugs : "Nah, not gonna happen"

"What?? Why ??"

"It's more fun if Luigi gets my power, he's my nemesis. Just ask Bowser to lend you fire powers next time you see him"

"That's ridiculous, with everything at stake..."

"More seriously, you are NOT my nemesis. You did NOT deal with my powers as intimately as Luigi did"

"Don't put it that way please"

"Even if I wanted to provide you power, Mario is much weaker to my powers, he wouldn't be able to harness them."

[unholyhelbig]

PART TWO OF SPIDER!PERSON SOULMATES

[a/n: Thank you all for the response to the first part of this! Here is part two, and depending on demand I may do a third part. Let me know!]

Title: Magnetic

Ship: Kate Bishop x gn!reader

Disclaimer: I did not proofread, if there are mistakes, I'm sorry!

Trigger warnings: mild injuries, horrible parenting, labs [?]

Main Masterlist | Ao3 | Request Prompts

Read Part One | Join my Taglist!

Summary: Reader is a spider!person from earth-2099 and Kate Bishop is curious about why she's so drawn to them.

There was a trivial feeling to packing a duffel bag that you pilfered from the nearest thrift store. It was resting between a tapestry of crudely drawn frogs and an old vacuum cleaner that was still caked with dirt. It was small and the upholstery was falling apart, but it was enough for the little clothes that you allowed yourself.

If you had a few more weeks here, maybe you would have bought the frog tapestry and hung it up. The walls of your apartment were just as empty as they were two months ago when you painfully slid across the gravel rooftop of the very building you rented in.

You’d dislocated your shoulder and leaned up against the door to push it back into place, trying to swallow back the metallic taste in your mouth. The landlady opened the door and eyed you, her cigarette lit and angry in the dark. Old pink curlers were in her hair, and she blew a puff of smoke into your face.

They’d just had a room open up, and you used what little cash you had to pay the first half of rent for the month. That night you slept curled up on the wooden floor with your sweatshirt under your head. It was the most peaceful sleep that you’d had in months.

Kate and Peter lived across the hall in an equally shitty apartment that was somehow done up nicely and with a certain type of style that every Peter Parker you had met in the past couldn’t pull off. It was just your luck- to find Kate Bishop so soon after you had crash landed.

It infuriated you that there were so many rules along with the lack of rules that dimension hopping possessed.

Don’t interact with other versions of you- which, wasn’t a problem. There was only one you and it was difficult to keep track of that much.

It’s better not to mess with fate. Really- keep to yourself and don’t’ do anything superherolike because you carried a signature, and that was easily trackable. The last thing you wanted to be was trackable.

Don’t fall in love with a different version of your person. This is the one that you broke all the time, without fail.

It’s why you were shoving everything you owned into a bag and lifting up the floorboard in the back corner of your closet to retrieve the pocket watch. It used to be a pocket watch, anyway. Your father had enhanced it and tinkered until a portal tore into the universe and he stepped into it, hoping that it would work.

It did. From there he changed that pocket watch to something wearable, something that you could alter on your wrist. When you stole the original watch, you used to it jump to Earth 267, only for a moment, to disable the tracker before you hopped three more earths and found someplace to sleep, and cry, and think.

You squeezed the cold metal, breathing in. There wasn’t time to linger. You shoved the golden watch into your pocket, slung the duffel bag over your shoulder, and opened the door to the hallway. The green overhead lights tinted everything in a dingy blue, the carpet in the corridor smelled of mildew. You’d left the brass key and an apology note on the empty kitchen counter, which wasn’t your style, but also a hell of a lot nicer than the other tenants that occupied the space.

A small breath escaped you as you stared at Kate and Peter’s door. Part of you expected one of them to burst through it, but everything was silent, save for the methodic drip from the water pipe in the stairwell.

Two weeks ago, Kate had stolen you from the elevator the second the rickety doors screeched open. You were carrying a well-done steak that was left to congeal with mashed potatoes and gravy after a patron took a single bite. You’d wrapped it in tin foil, your body aching.

You were ready to crash on the single bed pushed against the back wall of your apartment, entirely content on scarfing down cold food and reading another chapter of a pulp horror book you’d thrifted along with a lamp without a shade.

“Y/n, you have to help me.” Fear and questioning must have flashed across your face, because Kate squeezed your arm and a warmth flooded your stomach. “There’s this massive spider in the shower, and Old Woman Harbor told me to shove it.”

“It can’t be that big.”

She deadpanned “It has its own zip code. Please, I’m begging you.”

“Where’s Peter?”

You asked the question even as you resigned to your fate and let her grasp your hand, tugging you towards her apartment. It was decorated much nicer than yours, seeing as it had furniture, and smelled thickly of cinnamon. There was a comfort that radiated from the space- it was lived in, it was personalized.

“Pete? Please, he’s more afraid of spiders than I am.” Kate turned to you, watched as your eyes flitted around the room, taking in the art, and the books, and the records. “Rescue me, fair warrior, for I am at the mercy of an eight-legged creature from darkness.”

You had scooped the spider onto a piece of paper, using a mug that was holding discarded pens and keys that led to nowhere. It was a big spider and you tried to ignore the way it blinked at you as you slid open the window and gently set it on the damp fire-escape.

The door that you stared at now didn’t open to that familiar comfort, or that deep cinnamon scent. You pulled your hood over your head and pushed into the stairwell. Instead of going down, towards the street, you went up to the place where it all started.

The pocket watch that weighed down your clothes packed a punch. There was an electromagnetic pull, everything would raise into the air and then come crashing down. Better some gravel than the shitty furniture you had acquired.

A light drizzle cool your cheeks, the lights from buildings around you were blinking on and off with activity. There wasn’t a moment in this city where it wasn’t raining. You couldn’t tell if it was the earth, or the season. Either way, you looked up for a few, long moments, letting the drops soak your collar.

Lightening flashed, shading the limestone of the building, your breath as it pushed through the air. There had been dozens of universes, each one different than the last. But the tugging, the importance of this one, lingered against your skin. No rain could wash it away. No amount of swallowing your pride could make any of this feel right.

You clenched your eyes shut and fought back emotions that clung to you. This was better for everyone. It was better to leave- because the one moment that you had let yourself be you was enough for your father to pick up on a signal. He’d rip through the city if you stayed. Rip through Gary, and Peter, and Benny, and Kate.

“You were just going to leave, then?”

Kate.

She was silhouetted by the dim light of the stairway, but only for a moment. The door fell closed behind her and suddenly, the two of you were alone on the rooftop. Even in the darkness of the night, you could see the anger written across her face. It wasn’t quite disgust. Not yet.

Her words rumbled over the rain. “You’re a coward.”

“I’m not going to fight with you. Not again.”

You set the duffel bag down and turned to her, took a few steps away from the edge of the building. There was a good distance between you. Water had matted her hair down and dripped from the point of her nose and slope of her chin. There was hurt in her eyes.

“You’ve never fought with me.”

“I’ve seen how this plays out.”

“With all the other Kate’s!” she raised her voice, gesturing angrily. “Dozens of them, from what I figure. You appear in their lives, and then leave and how do you think that makes them feel? How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I’d rather you be in pain than dead. Do you not understand? I’m fated to be with you, but you’re also fated to perish in every single universe where we cross paths. I’ve mapped them, I’ve… I’ve lived them and I may be a coward but better a coward than the cause of your demise.”

You had closed the gap between you. She was taller by a few inches; the furrow of her brow was prominent. Your bones itched to pull her close, to ignore the rain, and the cold, and feeling of defeat in favor of her body against yours, if only for a moment.

She whispered. “Eventually, you’re going to run out of worlds. Don’t you think it’s worth it to fight for the one you’re in right now? To fight for me?”

Pain ripped through you and you gave in to the cold of the rain that soaked into your clothes. You had resigned yourself not to cry in front of Kate Bishop. But water was dripping down your face and you could hardly muffle the sob that pushed through your throat.

“All I’ve ever wanted to do,” Your voice cracked, “was fight for you, Katie.”

The archer had softened, her head lilting to the side for only a moment before her angry exterior dissolved and her hands were on both of your cheeks, applying gentle pressure. Her eyes were red, strands of black hair adhered to her forehead.

She finally said, “Tell me. Tell me what happened.”

You ended up in her living room in front of one of the original fireplaces. The brick supported the building, and that was the only reason they hadn’t been repurposed into something cheaper. Old Woman Harbor didn’t’ pay for central heating, or air, but the brick hearths made up for it. You had lit your own once, reading by the warm glow.

Kate had supplied you with sweatpants and a T-shirt that smelled like lemon, like rosemary with a hint of detergent. She’d draped a blanket over your shoulders and handed you a cup of mint tea despite your protests. You both sat cross-legged, parallel to one another, knees barely touching.

Your duffel bag was by the door, dripping water onto the floor. You’d slid the watch from your sweatshirt and into the pocket of the pants you were provided with. Your nose was still red, cheeks pink from the steam of mug you held under your chin.

“I thought I answered all of your questions.”

“Don’t get defensive.” Kate pulled her knees to her chest, rested her chin against them. “I need you to tell me why your father is after you, why he’s so hellbent on making sure you don’t exist anymore.”

You took a scalding gulp of tea, mint filling your lungs. It burned, made your eyes pinch with water, but it was a better pain than remembering something you had tried so hard to forget. Your instinct was to run away from this Kate. But she was so, so much like yours- the one you had lost and yearned for.

She watched you quietly, taking in your movements and your procrastination. There was no pushing, not anything past the initial question. The warmth from the fire was beginning to settle into your bones.

“My father is a geneticist. He spent his entire life trying to splice the DNA of different things with humans, and his partner, Lyla- she specialized in interdimensional travel. They were funded by Alchemex, given free reign of the labs and unlimited funding.” You swallowed the artificial sweetener taste on your tongue. “Everyone thought they were capable of wonderful things.”

Kate’s voice was barely a whisper. “What changed?”

“My father became obsessed with creating the perfect creation. He started taking DNA from bats and splicing it with monkeys. Wolves and hamsters, fish and lizards- you name it and he tried to achieve it. He was getting to the point where he wanted to splice human DNA with something more. Lyla was the only one who could reign him in, not even my own mother could get through to him.

“Christmas Eve, Lyla was staying late at the lab, and her technology faltered. It was an interdimensional travel device that was stronger than a pocket watch they toyed around with in college. Either way, something went wrong, wires got crossed and suddenly, Lyla was gone.”

“Into a different dimension?”

Your eyes were damp, clouded with emotion. You shook your head and when you curled into the cup in front of you, a tear escaped, landing on the soft fabric of the blanket. You were quick to wipe it away, to steel yourself.

“My father can still talk to her. I don’t know how, I was never the science kid, you know? Music was my thing. I was a prodigy, even. Miguel, my brother, he was the one that followed in my father’s footsteps. The one who gained his respect.”

You hugged the blanket closer to you, shuddered into it. Kate flinched as if she wanted to move and comfort you, say something to ease your worries. But you both stayed where you were.

“A year after Lyla, I came home from college for the holidays. It was Christmas Eve, and though my mom begged my father to stay home for the day, he went into the office. I was sent to Alchemex to get him.” You laughed wetly, using the back of your hand to wipe away moisture “Which was stupid. He didn’t like me. He barely tolerated me.”

This time Kate did reach out, her fingers were like an electric current as they touched your knee. You flinched, then settled into the familiarity of her grip. You placed your hand on top of hers, constricted your fingers around hers. It was holding you in place.

“The man that I saw that night was not my father. I knew that we had our issues, our lack of connection, but there was this cold, detached look in his eyes. He didn’t say a word, didn’t even blink.” You whispered the next part, not finding the words. “One minute he was there, the lab was there, I was there and the next everything was black, there was this horrible pain in my temple.”

“He knocked you out?” Kate asked.

“Yeah, he did. A hell of a lot of force too. When I woke up, I couldn’t collect my thoughts, not all the way. The only thing that I could think about was my mother and how she had worked so hard on dinner and how it was getting cold. Which is so, so stupid, right? Worrying about the quality of mashed potatoes when my own father had me strapped to a lab table.”

You frowned, trying to remember. This part of your story was ebbed in pain. You were in and out of lucidity. There were lights that fuzzed at the edges and a surgical mask over your fathers face. He didn’t talk, but you pleaded. As much as you could, but knew it was worthless.

“He was ready to take his experiments to the next step. He wanted to try to morph DNA with a human and I was… I was there. I was convenient for him.”

Kate’s voice was soft, weak. “Jesus Christ,”

“When he wasn’t in his lab, he was traveling, searching the world for animals and insects that would aide him when he did finally perfect his craft. One of the spiders he brought back from his travels was the Evarcha Culcivora. The vampire spider.”

She blinked at you, clenching her jaw “The what?”

You laughed, some joy returning to your words. “Yeah, cute little thing, actually. It’s a jumping spider, and got it’s name because of it’s taste for blood. It doesn’t bite humans, though. Just mosquitos.”

“And that’s what he chose to…?”

“Mm, and it worked too. The pain was blinding, nearly unbearable. It felt like a million hornets had been shaken up in a glass and then pumped into my veins. Through all of it, I had broken free of the table, had enough strength to get away from him. I did the cowardly thing and I ran.”

“Coward? Y/n, he altered the DNA of his own child. There is a difference between being a coward and being alive.”

“I felt like a coward, and I suppose the habit stuck.” You shook your head, trying to clear the jumbled memory of pain and fear. “I… I couldn’t get my thoughts together. I blindly grabbed at his inventions.  The only thing I could remember was you. The you in Nueva York. There was a ring on my finger, and when I looked at it, I knew where to go.”

Kate swallowed hard, closed her eyes for a long moment. When they opened, they were stormy, saturated in despair, and longing. You couldn’t read the other emotion, her thumb moving over your knuckles.

“It’s the biggest mistake of my life. Leading him there.”

“He killed her.”

“Shot her twice in the stomach.” Your throat tightened. The collar of the sweatshirt Kate leant you was damp with tears. “Whatever sanity he had left was gone the moment he pulled that trigger. So, I pulled the one on the pocket watch. I let it take me wherever it wanted to.”

The silence lingered between you both, wood cracking as fire ate its way to the core. You took another gulp of your tea, it was cold now, coating the back of your throat with a fresh flavor. Kate had pulled her hand back into her own lab, stared at them for a long moment.

“Running is the only thing I’m good at.” You broke the silence. “I carry this… signature. Each time I use the watch, or do anything that’s remotely spider-like it pings on my father’s radar. He’s torn whole universes apart looking for me. Looking for one of his only successful fusions.”

“So, the other night, when you swooped in and helped Peter and I?”

“He knows. So, logically, it would make sense for me to go back up to the rooftop and get to the next universe.”

“And illogically?” Kate asked, raising both of her eyebrows. “What’s that option?”

“Kate,” You warned “There is no other option. I’m not strong enough to fight him. What he did to me, it gave me increased speed, and agility, and strength. Fuck, it even gave me fangs. But he’s too powerful.”

She groaned dramatically “Do you always have to do everything by yourself? Y/n, you’re not alone here. You have me, and Peter.”

“While I appreciate that, Katie, I don’t think it’ll be enough.”

“Okay!” She sighed, lowering her voice “Okay. Then I’ll call Clint and he’ll call the rest of the Avengers.”

You frowned and took a long gulp of your lukewarm tea. The mint made your throat tingle, your fingers twitching around the mug. The Avengers. You’d met all of them individually, in between universes where they fought their own battles- aliens from different worlds, and creatures that rise from ash.

“Clint,” You whispered, eyes finding Kate’s soft grey ones “What is he to you here?”

“My… my mentor. I wouldn’t say we’re best friends, but I mean, I think I’m wearing him down.”

You laughed; the sound filled the room like a crackling fire.  Kate gave you a proud smile that reminded you of a parent watching their kid walk for the first time or accept an award on stage. It was endearing and made your heart hum with longing.

“Good, good. I’m glad.” Again, you looked down at the muted brown liquid in your cup. “Katie, while that is incredibly noble of you, I have a feeling that the Avengers have bigger threats then my world hopping.”

“You won’t know unless you ask. And don’t give me that bullshit about getting turned down in different universes because this is my universe and if you haven’t noticed, I’m extremely charming and persistent.”

“I’ve noticed,”

Kate swallowed hard and took her hand from your knee. You fought a complaint about the lack of warmth, of comfort, but her palm was quickly against your cheek. She smelled like rain, damp and silent. Kate’s thumb moved soothingly, tracing the contours of your face.

“I know what it’s like to want to run, y/n.” her voice was a choked whisper “But just this once, please, stay. We can figure this out.”

“Kate,”

“Seeing you up on the roof, with that pocket watch, knowing that you could vanish into another universe in the matter of seconds and I’d never… I’d never see you again, it scared me. I don’t scare easily.”

You sighed, closing your eyes, clenching them so hard that you could see stars. When you opened them, she stared right back, so resolute and solid and touching your face. You had tried so hard to keep away from every single Kate Bishop you came across, for her safety. You hadn’t felt her hand since a ring weighed it down.

Every part of you wanted to give in and let her hold you, let her comfort you and make everything okay. Her words made you believe they might be.

“Forty-eight hours.” Kate begged “Give me 48 hours to fix this, and take you out on a proper date.”

There was apprehension in your voice, and in your stare. Kate would move earths for you, that was clear by her expression, her contemplation. “Okay, Katie. 48 hours.”

Taglist 💜: @lovelyy-moonlight