#i have round glasses that i literally need unless i feel like bumping into shit and squinting at everything

[silly-little-guy-and-co]

Guess who just convinced their friend into doing a duo cosplay of Harry Du Bois and Kim Kitsuragi? THIS GUY 🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅

[shoichee]

Hello! Can I perhaps ask for no. 28. “Make me” from your prompt list for my beloved Imayoshi? It's so nice seeing him here on your theme and avatar and that pERFECT url, it feels like I finally found my people.

HELLO HELLO, and YES I WAS SO SURPRISED THAT NO ONE TOOK THIS URL... considering that it was just an alternative spelling of shoichi and its a rlly short handle too mwehe // im sort of a particular person when it comes to how something looks, whether itd be outfits, drawings, coloring, and the UI of a blog, u name it.... i may have spent hours trying to have the perfect colors for this theme PLEASEEEE, but without further ado here is our man, our little shit, Imayoshi

@knb-kreations howdy! another new work posted here!

Imayoshi x Reader

28. “Make me”

Word Count: 2331

prompt list here

»»—————　☼　—————««

Imayoshi doesn’t exactly know how he feels about you.

Scratch that, he does know. He’s quite amused at the shenanigans you pull on others around you, and a lot of times, you actually elicit a few dry laughs out of the guy. Other times though, he’d wish that you would just shut the fuck up, especially when all he hears amidst his studying was your loud “whispering” and “hushed” jokes. How you were always nearby no matter where he is was still a mystery that he casually ponders about from time to time. Perhaps your natural tendency to project your voice creates the illusion that you were near when you really weren’t?

No matter, such trivial thoughts can’t occupy his mind when college entrance exams loom closer. Then again, they weren’t particularly difficult; they were simply a hassle to secure near-perfect scores, especially when his chances of admittance rely critically on how well he does.

“That’s an awful drawing of a samurai,” Susa comments, snapping Imayoshi out of idle thought.

“Ho? Is it really terrible if you were able to tell what it is?” Imayoshi chuckles. “The point of a drawing is to convey the right idea or emotion. It seems that my drawing skills hit a bulls-eye with this sketch, no?” He playfully spins his pencil around, patiently waiting for his reply to goad him.

All Susa does in response is to roll his eyes before he turns his full attention back to his notes. He knows better than to try a comeback against Imayoshi, who can easily make it backfire against the person with a pleasant close-eyed smile. Imayoshi, seeing Susa’s nonverbal resign from engaging further banter, also looks down back to his book of scribbled notes and chicken-scratch drawings before he exhales an inaudible sigh.

School just doesn’t cut out to be mentally stimulating for him. It’s a little too repetitive and mundane for his taste.

“Argh!! Oh no!” your voice rang out, despite your poor attempt to be reasonably quiet. “I forgot applications for the Coca-Cola scholarship are due today!”

Coca-Cola… what?

Everyone looks up to warily eye you, and your few friends, who are currently rushing to pull you down and slap their hands over your mouth to mute you, were panicking at the new attention you managed to garner. Even still, your mind seems more fixated on whatever was on the laptop’s screen, rather than what they were doing to you.

Imayoshi can’t help but stifle his audible mirth from how you manage to change the mood of the entire library within seconds.

“How do you even forget something as important as a huge scholarship like that?” Susa says in dismay. “Makes me kind of wonder how (l/n) would handle life after graduation, to be honest.”

“Well,” Imayoshi begins. “I wouldn’t worry too much. It’s best not to underestimate (l/n)-san. Surely we’ve learned our lesson with Seirin?” He toys with the pencil grip before he sporadically draws some lines loosely resembling another sketch.

“Drawing again?” Susa raises a brow. “Have you even been studying?”

“Well,” he replies. “There’s still plenty of time before exams—months to be exact. Could you even study with the current distractions in here?” At his own words, he nudges his chin in your direction.

“It’s not just any exams though, it’s—”

“Whether they have more importance or not doesn’t really concern me. After all, standardized testing isn’t worth stressing out for when we’ve taken essentially the same thing all our lives.”

“What most are worried about is the content inside the exams, Imayoshi,” he said, carefully treading into dangerous waters with Imayoshi’s tendency to take all replies as mind-game challenges for his own amusement.

“‘If you have been paying attention consistently throughout the year, you wouldn’t be having much trouble…’ that’s what you once oh-so-wisely said to Wakamatsu yesterday, hmm?” His mimicking tone drips a hint of arrogance. “Unless you mean to tell me my ears do not work? But by all means, please feel free to correct me.”

“That’s different,” he sighed, his face clearly evident that he was done with Imayoshi’s shit. “That exam only tested content for the past year, not your entire academic repertoire over the courses of middle and high school.”

“I’d like to think that the logic still applies the same way.”

“Well,” Susa heaves with a languid stretch. “You generally score better on the exams than me, so you’re probably right. Still, don’t neglect your studying.”

“Right, right, Susa-senpai~”

“... Please don’t call me that again.”

“... If you say so,” he said, but his smile blatantly showed his real intentions of never stopping his irritable quips. Susa gets ready to pack up his book bag before he heads out the door with a friendly wave. Imayoshi half-heartedly returns the gesture with a casual wave of his own. He immediately notices you also packed up and about to leave with a worried frown, and of course, while audibly mumbling your concerns and makeshift schedules to accommodate time for last-minute essay writing. By now, all of your friends have left for home.

“Ah, biology lab due next week, kanji worksheets due tomorrow, hmm, um, how would I finish this on time… ah, calculus test is tomorrow too, ah shit… should I ask someone to tutor?—ah, but it’s super last minute, and there’s still that scholarship… argh, fuck!” Your voice peaked in volume at the end, and the librarian immediately shot daggers at you.

“Shhhhh!”

“A-Ah! S-Sorry, sorry!”

Imayoshi was watching you with his chin on his arm propped up on the desk, unable to control the smile that escaped his lips. You really were entertaining to watch, and you never cease to bore him.

He turns away to crack his neck and roll it around before methodically packing up his writing utensils and notebooks. Soft shuffling filled the air as he rearranged the items inside his bag. As he turns to pack the last thing on the table, which happened to be the notebook filled with his idle doodling, his face slightly softens at the drawing he did after the samurai. Yes, the one Susa chastised him for when he could’ve been studying. Yes, perhaps he was right when he was terrible at drawing after all; your panicked face and wild hand gestures didn’t really translate well into paper, and it looked a little too much like a horror comic and less than a sketch of you. Still, he’s oddly proud of it.

Imayoshi promptly pushes the chair in and leaves the library, but when he rounds the corner of the adjacent hallway, he bumps into you.

“Er—hi! I mean, please, uhhh… if it isn’t too much to ask—canyoupleasetutormeforthecalculustesttomorrowbecausemyfinalgradedependsonthat?”

Imayoshi winces at the sheer volume of your voice and plugs his ears in out of habit to block out some of the decibels. Wakamatsu was eerily similar to you in that regard. Only difference between the two of you was that you were deceptively intelligent. Extremely so.

��My, my, if it isn’t (l/n)-senpai!” He fakes a surprised look, earning him an eye roll on your end. “You need someone like me to teach you the works?”

“I—what? We’re literally in the same calc class, Imayoshi,” you retort. “Besides, drop the ‘senpai’ honorific. It feels so slimy when you say it so disingenuously… Aren’t we both 3rd years too?”

“I’m so hurt,” he mocks. “What if I was really genuine with you?”

“Look, right now, no remarks from you, Evil Glasses,” you say. “It’s really, really urgent and I don’t know how to grasp the material for the class lately, plus my essay, ugh…” You rub your fingers against your temples in an attempt to make the stressful headaches disappear while Imayoshi simply watches with his eyes slightly open.

“... You usually do well on all your exams, no? Unless my eyes and memory fail me.” It was true; even though you were as loud-mouthed as Wakamatsu, you would often shock a lot of people when your name always appeared in the higher percentiles of exam results. Apparently most students and teachers associate your rowdy personality with an expected subpar academic performance. He has you to thank for when your score reports always cause reactions of utter disbelief from the teachers. You really do liven up the school and make it a lot more unorthodox.

“I guess…” you mumble. “But I really wanna do especially well for this one because math is my weakest subject, and you always score the highest for these types of exams, so…”

“It may be my best subject,” he says, leaning slightly closer to your face. “But I’m not the one with the highest scores in any math subjects throughout these years, and we both know that quite well, don’t we, (l/n)? Why don’t you come clean about the real reason why you’re here?”

“Oh my literal fuck—Imayoshi, you’re one of the best students in calc right now regardless of exam results,” you petulantly huffed, not backing down from his intimidation. Imayoshi notes your cheeks reddening, and he figured it was either because of the close proximity between your faces or the fact you were frustrated… perhaps both. “And you’re the only one around here on campus who I could ask!”

“Really now,” he chimes, moving closer to whisper in your ear. “Are you sure?” With incoherent stammers, you backed away from him, slapping your hands against both of your ears to protect them.

“W-W-What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Looks like I won this one, (l/n)-san,” he purrs, relishing the fact that only he could render you this quiet. “Ho? What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

“I—Shut up!” you lamely shoot back. “You can just say no if you really don’t wanna do this—urgh, I’m leaving, I’m not gonna waste any more time—”

“How hurtful,” he dryly remarks, standing up straight again after leaning for a quite a while. “It’s almost as if you’re rejecting me~” He knew you would always take his bait and quip back (unlike Susa), regardless of whether or not you tell him that you weren’t going to engage further.

“As if,” you snorted, making another exaggerated eye roll. “You’re the last person who would ever be hurt from this.”

“Dear me!” he exclaims. “Have you ever considered that perhaps I don’t help out people for free? Did you think I would be a gracious, selfless person who would help you like a saint?”

“Okay, fine! Perhaps I didn’t think that far ahead, okay? You just were the first person that came to mind, and I thought asking you wouldn’t hurt.” His smirk widens almost maliciously at your words, lips already opening to deliver another irritating quip before you immediately spoke again to stop him. “Okay, Imayoshi, you little shit, just shut up—I don’t wanna hear anything from your mouth right now.”

“I don’t see any reason why I should listen to you at all,” he muses. “Why don’t you make me?” He has a shit-eating grin plastered across his face, eagerly eyeing your next move, and as he expected, you let out a frustrated noise that prompted passerby students to shoot pointed looks towards the both of you.

What he didn’t expect was for you to take a huge step towards him, unceremoniously pull him down to your level, and press a reverberating smack on his lips. His eyes are immediately blown wide open to look at your embarrassed, but determined face. His fingers unconsciously move to touch his warmed lips.

“... That was quite romantic, wasn’t it, (l/n)?” he dryly says, recovering almost immediately from the shock. All the other students fled from the blatantly bold scene to save face. Not that Imayoshi really cared.

“Okay, you know what? Bye, I’m not gonna play anymore mind games with you,” you grumble. “Essays and studying aren’t gonna be done by themselves—wah!”

Imayoshi gently tugs you back to reciprocate back a kiss, meticulously slipping his hands behind your head and on your waist to accommodate you. Your eyes are completely open from the shock that the Imayoshi Shoichi was actually kissing you. You don’t close your eyes from the sensation, completely entranced when you make eye contact with his half-lidded eyes watching your every reaction closely. The kiss ended all too soon, and Imayoshi separates himself from you, secretly admiring your dazed look.

“That was quite a strong reaction to just a simple kiss.”

“I—that was not just a ‘simple kiss!’”

“Now would you like to tell me the true reason why you approached me?”

“You’re… insinuating that you know something.”

“Well we wouldn’t know unless you come clean,” Imayoshi purrs. “I can sometimes be wrong too.”

“Ugh, what the hell—fine, I am quite enamored by you, and uh, I… find it infuriating to be with you, but it also gives me butterflies… so I thought I could be with you more… if I asked you—don’t get it twisted, though! I still need your help to study!...” He covers his mouth to suppress a laugh at your honesty.

“Was it really so hard to say that in the beginning, (l/n)-san?”

“Okay, that’s it! I’m really, really leaving! Fuck off, Imayoshi, I swear to—”

“Ho? Just a minute, darling~” he tuts, reaching to hold your hand. “Perhaps if you offer more kisses as an incentive, I’d be more inclined to offer my expertise.”

“How quaint,” you dryly reply. “It’s almost as if we’re in a relationship.”

Imayoshi can’t help but bark out a genuine laugh. You even managed to pick up some of his mannerisms so quickly.

“That’s an interesting proposal, (l/n),” he murmurs. “Should we try that?” You tut at him irritatedly as you tug your interlocked hands while speed-walking ahead.

“Hurry up, or I’ll consider breaking up with you right now.”

“Ah ha!~” he chuckles at your attitude. “How mean, (l/n)-san! Too bad that we both know that’s not going to happen anytime soon.”

[ohholyfanfics]

Cherries & A Little Loving| Tom Holland

The First Date & Cherry Jars

Based off this prompt request here: Cherries

Note by Ellie: Part two maybe, I have another draft which is a continuation of this thats like another 3.4k words in. But anyways I hope you guys enjoyed and I tagged everyone who asked for a part too. Also much thanks to @oyesmendes​ for their support in getting me to finish this today.

His heart was beating a little quicker than usual as he moved in record speed. After practically begging for the night off, and much to Harrison’s dismay Tom wish was granted. He had been sweeping and vacuuming the whole flat for the past four hours, it was safe to say Harrison was getting light-headed with the smell of bleach and some wired scented candle Tom had purchased a bit too much off.

“Mate, she’s only gonna be over for a few hours..” Harrison reminded him as Tom sent him a glare while he pulled a couple of jars of maraschino cherries from a reusable bag. The blond’s eye widened before a loud laugh filled the small kitchen.

The brunette couldn’t help the fluttering feeling spreading through his body, he knew she was joking back the other night. Yet a certain part of him truly wanted to wow her, and he had spent his free time looking up the most romantic but super low key ways truly impressing a bird you fancied. So far he thought he was doing okay, and having Harrison laughing at his attempt truly wasn’t doing any good.

“Seriously mate..” he mumbled picking up a jar and turning it over reading the label. It was the same ones Steve always bought at the bar, the same ones that she had taken a liken too. “You must really like her huh?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders as he pulled a few more ingredients from the bag. As much as he wanted to wow her with his amazing skills, the truth was there wasn’t really a lot he could do in the kitchen. So he did the one thing he could do, he picked something he was decent at and decided that shrimp tacos were the way to go. He also, may or may not have tested a different recipe almost every day and brought it to his co-works for their thoughts and opinions.

“I just want to impress her is all, kinda wanna make up for all the shit date she’s been on.”

“She already likes ya mate.”

“It doesn’t hurt to put in a little effort Harrison.” he hummed while pulling out a cutting board placing the fresh shrimp on it. “plus I’m kinda hoping this would actually lead to something more.”

By the time she was set to arrive Tom had everything prepared, and he was freshly showered. After a few changes of outfits and messing with his hair in the mirror he had decided comfort was best, the last thing he needed was to look like he was trying too hard. When a soft knock was heard at the door, he had just finished filling a tiny little plate with the cherries. He couldn’t help but stop at the little mirror in the hallway giving himself a once over before finally opening the door.

Tom swore right then and there that God had personally sent down a choir of angels to sing when he opened the door. Her smile was blinding and she looked perfect beyond comparison. Her legs were covered in black ripped jeans as her torso was covered with a light pink sweater. Her makeup done similarly to the night of her awful date, and her hair was left in a tight bun.

“Um Hey.” He breathed out as she giggled softly leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Hey, oh wow, it smells lovely in here.”

His cheeks flushed as he closed the door behind her, he watched as she neatly placed her shoes beside him and a warm feeling rushed through him. It felt all so perfect almost as if that spot was meant for her.

“Um thinks..” he breathed out as his cheeks flushed. Truth was, everything kinda went south after he hopped out of the shower. After accidentally knocking over the filling for the tacos, he knew there wasn’t enough time to even try and remake more. Naturally, after a few curses and a quick clean up, he decided pizza was definitely the best way to go.

Way to go mate.

“I hope you don’t mind but I ordered us pizza.” He sighed softly with a soft frown. His hands were a sweaty mess as she looked at him. “I had this whole taco night thing planned out but I acciden-“

“Hey, it’s fine really,” she mumbled with a soft smile. Her right hand rested on his lower arm as she gently rubbed the spot causing a wave of fire to shoot through him. “you didn’t have to do all that Tom really.” 

“I just, I want you to have fun tonight.”

“Tom, I couldn’t literally be sitting at the bar watching you make drinks and get people pints and I would still be having fun.”

“You don’t have to say that.” he flushed as she giggled softly.

“I don’t have too but I mean it.” she nodded as his cheeks flushed. There she was standing before him, literally stating that she didn’t give a flying fuck about what they did. She honestly just admitted that she enjoyed being with him, she enjoyed his company and that right there was more than enough. 

“But I did get you something.”

Walking back into the room with a plate of cherries, her whole body became fuzzy and light. Her heart rate increased as he stood before her, the bright red treats making her eyes water as a soft giggle escaped her lips.

“You really know how to wow a girl.” she stated before she looked around at the small flat and an idea came to mind. “do happen to have flour? Cheese, ya know basic pizza ingredients?”

His smile widens seeing where and what she was trying to do. Her hands were gripping his own as her eyes held a twinkle in them that had him begging for air, and his whole world spinning. He hated to admit it by Harrison was right, he could’ve gone out to some fancy place ordered take out and she still wouldn’t care. After all, she had just admitted that she enjoyed being in his presence and that right there was enough to ease some of the nerves he was feeling that night.

“Yeah, I think we do.”

“Then let's get a cooking chief Tom.”

His eyes were loving as they watched her read the instructions out to her. Tom had managed to pull all of the basic ingredients needed out as they stood beside each other, her hands rested on her hips as she started to measure the ingredients while he carefully watched with a soft smile and a look in his eyes that one would describe as love.

“Have you ever done this before?”

She stopped measuring the yeast as she looked at him with a soft smile and a slow nod of her. Her breathing controlled and relaxed as she went back to measure and pouring everything in the bowl he set out for her.

“My brother and his best friend are both in the restaurant business, so pizza nights were a huge thing growing up.”

“You have an older brother?”

“Three brothers actually, I’m the only girl,” she stated as he raised an eyebrow.

“Should I be worried?”

“Not unless your plan on hurting me to a point of no return.” She teased bumping her hips with his. He rolled his eyes taken the bowl from her. “what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Ever made pizza? Do you have any siblings?” She asked watching as he mixed together the things in the bowl before letting it rest.

“I mean we’ve bought the pre-made dough before if that counts..” he chuckled looking back at the bowl and back to her. She nodded her head telling him it was fine.

“Just gotta wait till it gets all foamy and bubbly.” she stated looking past his shoulder. “should take at least five minutes or so.”

“Gotcha ya, but I’m the oldest of four.” He started as she smiled softly. This was a different side of the bartender, a more shy and reserved one. “All boys no sister.”

“Oh no, your poor mãe Tom..” she giggled softly as he tilted his head in confusion. Her eyes widen lightly understanding the look.

“Mãe means mom in Portuguese.”

“Ah, a woman of many talents I see..”

It wasn’t long before the pair were adding the olive oil, flour and salt.  Tom insisting to be the one to mix it all together, not having the heart to go against him, she took the pleasure of adding more flour as needed. His hands mixing as she floured a clear surface.

“Want me to do it?” she asked as he handed her the small sticky ball of dough. He watched with fascination her skilled hands working the dough as it formed the most perfectly round shape he’d ever seen a person make. Her flour-covered hands reaching for the cup as she rolled out the dough.

“I think I need to get a roller..” he breathed out as she giggled softly giving him a wink before continuing rolling it out. “ now what?” He asked as she placed it on the baking sheet.

“Now you place it in the oven for a few minutes.” she breathed as she placed in the preheated oven. “just until it’s a little to pre-bake the crust, my brother always says 5 minutes for pre-bake.”

“He sounds like a wise man.” Tom smiled as she nodded her head chewing on her bottom lip. “Does he live around here?”

“No, he actually moved to Birmingham.”

“Ah not too far than..” he breathed as she nodded her head and took the crust out from the oven. Her eyes soften as she looked back at him with a soft smile to match her eyes.

“Now for toppings…” she asked, holding out a jar of cherries as he laughed, shaking his head.

“Definitely not, but I’m not opposed to pineapple.”

“Where have you been all my life.”

Tom was surprised at how well everything had turned out. They spent the remaining of the time cleaning up the kitchen as the rest of the pizza was baking. A small glass filled with her go-to drink at the bar, and a bottle of beer for him. His mind relaxing completely as she slowly opened up in his presence, making his heart swell at the beautiful woman before him.

“I have to say, I thought I’d fuck up.”

She giggled softly and took a sip of her drink. She found it completely and utterly adorable at his confession. The mere thought that he had put so much thought into something that was supposed to be simple, yet it was so simple but the most fun she’d ever had on a date.

“I don’t think so Tom.” she breathed out as his smile widened reaching for another slice of pizza.

It was safe to say that the date had gone absolutely better than he had expected. It was a rather low key date, but totally something that she loved. She also let him know just how much she had appreciated all his efforts and even pressed the softest of kisses on his lips before slipping through the door. Tom was on cloud nine the next morning and Harrison took that as a good sign.

That same night was like any other, the usual Saturday night crowd. His mood was a little brighter and it most definitely had something to do with the young woman who just walked in. His eyes held nothing but adoration as he quickly pulled out the white plate with the treats.

“You know Steve is gonna give you shit for all the missing cherry jars.” Harrison piped up as Tom shrugged his shoulders placing her drink and plate as she approached. It was a Saturday and she never came in on Saturdays, Tom knew that Harrison knew that. Hell, even the young college freshman knew it.

“Hey, darling.” He smiled softly as she sent him a smile and a small wave in Harrison’s direction. 

“Is it weird that I miss you?” she breathed out chewing on her bottom lip as he let out a small laugh shaking his head. Truth was, the few hours they had spent together before he left for work truly wasn’t enough, he found himself craving more and more of her.

“No.,” he stated as he filled up an empty pint, their eyes meeting briefly. “Cause I missed you too.”

Her cheeks flushed as she played with one of the cherries on the plate before her. Her cheeks red as she avoided his eyes. Harrison couldn’t hide his amusement as he gave Tom a small nudge, in assurance. The two had spent a good while analyzing everything that had gone on during their date and little hang out at the coffee shop down the street before he had to get ready for work.

“Mate, she wouldn’t have asked to see you if she didn’t feel something towards ya.” he breathed outpointing the neck of the bottle in his direction.

“Still mate, I just really like her.”

“Didn’t she say she liked being with ya?” Harrison stressed as Tom nodded his head, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. “that’s a good sign, plus she doesn’t strike me as the kind of girl to play with feelings.”

“I don’t know mate, I just-it’s intense what I feel.”

“Maybe this runs deeper than a crush Tom.”

She brought the last few cherries to her lips as she studied the place. The pub had become a signature hangout spot for herself and her friends. Will’s being a bit too far of a drive and no one really wanted to drive that far for drinks. The first time they walked in was a little shorter than three months ago, and that was the first time she and Tom had met.

“I’ll be done with my shift soon.” He announced as she smiled brightly and leaned closer to him. Her butt lifting off the barstool as her hands rested on the counter.

“Wanna meet me at my place?” she smiled softly as his cheeks burned at the thought of finally having that alone time with her that he caved.

“I don’t wanna-“

“Stop with that Tommy..” she cooed as Harrison let out a chuckle at the nickname that slipped past her lips.

“Yeah Tommy, stop..”

The two couldn’t help but laugh at Tom’s expense. Harrison giving her a soft wink before grabbing a clean up and working on a drink as he left the two alone.

“I’ll make something to eat, I bet you're hungry..”

“If you don’t mind.”

She waved him off leaning closer and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, he smiled softly looking at her with so much love in his eyes it was overwhelming. Her cheeks flushed as she stood up straight, took her bag, and promised to have dinner ready and told Harrison she’d be sure to send Tom home with leftovers.

“I like her,” Harrison smirked looking at his flushed friend who nodded his head with a bright smile.

“Me too mate.”

Tom whipped his hands with the towel as he threw it with the others. His hands a little clammy as he took a hold of his coat, his head spinning at the thought of going over to hers. Sure, it wasn’t as late as he had thought but it was certainly not a time he would be planning to go to a girl’s house, Netherlands a girl that he wasn’t officially seeing. Though he did like to think they were a bit past the uncertainty of emotions.

“Tom a word.”

Shrugging his jacket on, Tom followed Steve into the back office. The door closed behind him and he suddenly felt a wave of nerves flood through his body. He tried his hardest to pinpoint anything he could’ve possibly done that was against policy rules, other than the cherries, he couldn’t find any. He did his job fairly well, and Steve had even stated time and time again that he was one of his best bartenders. The last thing Tom needed was to get fired before his job was finalized.

“I’ve noticed a few of our cherry jars have been missing.”

Tom’s cheeks redden with the smirk on his boss’ face, Harrison was right. He sighed more than ready to defend himself.

“I get you like the girl mate, just try and not give out too many cherries okay?”

“Shit I’m not fired?”

A loud laugh filled the room along with Tom’s nervous chuckle as Steve shook his head. He knew how much Tom needed this job and the last thing he was gonna do is lose a bartender over some shitty cherries no one really ate.

“Course not, just try not to give her too many.”

“I’m no- I don’t- fuck” he was a wordless mess as he tried his hardest to defend himself, of course, he came out short. “Just wanna impress her.”

“Does she like you?” Steve asked with a raised eyebrow. He had missed the sweet little encounter and knew that Tom deserved a good girl in his life.

“I think so, I’m actually heading to her in a bit.” He mumbled with a dreamy smile on his face as Steve let out another laugh.

“Bring her a jar.”

“You sure? I have some at home.”

“You have cherries at home?”

“The same brand actually..” he admitted embarrassedly. He really was pulling out all the cards in hopes of impressing this girl, even though he already had her. “It’s her favorite thing.”

If that Tom left the bar with a small brown bag carrying a few jars of cherries. Harrison couldn’t help the smug look in his direction as he waved him goodbye. His mood shifting as he pulled his phone out wondering if it was okay to text her, or should he wait until he actually leaves his place to do so. There was so much uncertainty it was doing his head in. He was an adult acting like a lovesick teenager and he wasn’t sure he wanted it to ever stop.

Picking the later, Tom stopped by an open corner store buying a display of flowers that he deemed acceptable. Once he was changed, showered and he may or may not have spent a few moments wondering if it was appropriate to spend the night at her place, after a few inner battles he decided that he didn’t want to get too ahead of himself and possibly spoil something that could be so good. So with a bouquet of flowers and a bag full of cherries Tom made his way to her flat.

To say Tom was completely and utterly shitting himself when he arrived would be an understatement, he double-checked the address twice. He didn’t know much about her but what he did know he was learning to love, but now sitting in a rather posh neighborhood in central London his breathing was a bit ragged and his hands a sweaty mess.

Her door was decorated with the most adorable welcome sign, that his mother would no doubt question where she could get one as well. He couldn’t help but smile at the pink and white flower plants leading up the steps to her front door. It was black and unfit for the small colorful display she had set up, the lights were on, unlike the others around them.

Taken a deep breath, he looked over his outfit. Jeans and a hoodie, simple but perfect for the small little hang out, but was it a hangout? What if this was another date and he had completely overlooked the whole situation. Before he could even think twice he was ringing the doorbell and his heart was beating out of his chest as she opened the door.

“You came..”  

“Of course I did darling..” he breathed out giving her a smile as he reached out and handed her the flowers.

“You didn’t have to get me flowers Tommy..” she breathed out shutting the door behind him. His eyes taken in her flat, the white walls lingered with pictures and a small little menu that he could only guess was from her brother’s bar.

“No worries.” he smiled pulling her in with one arm wrapped around her waist. Her cheeks flushed as she rested her free hand on his chest. Her eyes twinking as she pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Ready to eat?”

“Starved.”

“Perfect, I made my mae’s famous pasta.”She smiled as they walked down the hall towards her open kitchen. Tom noticed that the house seemed to follow the same color scheme. Everything was really white and clean, it was simple and it screamed her. 

“What’s in the bag?” She asked as she turned to face him with a raised eyebrow. She watched as his smile widen as he pulled out two little jars of the cherries she was munching on. 

“You really gotta stop spoiling me with all these cherries Tom..” she breathed out as she got closer to the brunette with a giddy feeling spreading all over her.

“Why’s that?”

“Cause I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go.”

“That’s the plan sugar.” 

Taglist: 

@littlebookbengal​ @mars1599​ @averyfosterthoughts​ @tholland96​

[thetriggeredhappy]

idk if you've done 31. speedingbullet before but oh man, that would be such a wholesome blessing ♡

missed the festival in town this year unfortunately bc travel reasons, time to live vicariously through these fictional 60s/70s gays again. (warnings for sappy, mentions of vomit in goof contexts, mentions of weed because im a creature, food)

31.) “Can I kiss you?”

One of these days, he’d figure out how to get Sniper out of his shell. He was sure of it.

He’d tried just about everything he could think of. He’d invited Sniper to the movies, to tag along to help with a shopping run, out to eat at three kinds of restaurants for lunch and two for dinner. Hell, he’d ended up roping Sniper into a double date, himself set up with a fiery-tempered girl who’d dumped a drink on his head and then written her number on his arm, Sniper with the tag-along friend who apparently needed to get out more. The date hadn’t gotten much of anywhere, the girl and him half-arguing the whole time and Sniper and the other girl staring at their plates and hardly even chiming in when invited. It had taken a bit of pestering to get Sniper to go out again after that.

He dragged Sniper to team meals, to bars, to clubs, to casinos. To a museum, to the farmer’s market, to a flea market. And each and every time he brought Sniper somewhere, the man ended up pacing along beside Scout, hands in his pockets, quietly chiding him when he got argumentative with civilians and quietly laughing at him when his bad luck had him making a fool of himself.

He just wouldn’t open up. Scout told him story after story, showed him all his own interests, presented every kind of joke he could think of, and the guy wouldn’t budge. Wouldn’t start telling his own jokes, wouldn’t start telling his own stories. Wouldn’t commentate on the things around them unless directly asked, and never once suggested where they should go next.

If Scout didn’t like a challenge so much, he would’ve ripped his own damn hair out.

The fair was his last resort. If he couldn’t get Sniper to open up somehow with the excitement and variety and overall greatness of an entire fair, then he was denouncing the man as a robot who did not feel things or have real emotions and turning him over to Engie for further study.

This was the middle day of the fair, meaning it was straight up bustling. Every stand had at least two people at it, and all the food booths had lines, and all the rides had even longer lines, and the number of teenagers stood around with each other was downright astronomical. This was a big fair, too, one of those harvest-type once-a-year nothing-else-ever-happens-in-this-state festivals that people would come from all over the place to go to. Engie had a lot to say on those kinds of things, and in fact had been the one to suggest Scout go check it out after hearing about it from some other old person when he was out doing some work-related supply run stuff.

Scout was most excited, as he often was, by the food.

The first thing they did once they got in the place was beeline to the first booth, some caramel corn thing, to get a small bag of it. Sniper commented lightly on his restraint. The second was to go to the next booth, which sold cotton candy. They got one cone to split between them. The third was to go to the next booth, which was one of those fair-specific food trucks. Sniper was starting to catch on.

“Aren’t these… well, the same sorts of food you can just find in a city somewhere?” Sniper asked, voice lowered so that only Scout could hear him.

Scout put on his best expression of complete shock and offense. “What! No, it’s totally different! The hell you talkin’ about? Fair food is awesome!”

“I mean… I’m not so sure, mate,” Sniper said carefully, glancing over the colorfully-painted sign.

“I—okay, hold on,” Scout instructed, and turned to pay as he was handed his latest portion of food, the Bucket ‘O Fries. “I mean, c’mon, check this out! It’s a bucket of french fries, what’s to dislike?”

Sniper looked at him blankly as they walked away from the food truck. Scout breathed in and began to elaborate.

“I mean, okay, the quality of the fries? Not great. I’ll admit, they’re fuckin’ shit, garbage oil sticks, and they’re also just straight up delicious. They’re the best trash. They’re the truck stop diner bacon of french fries. They’re tasty nightmares. I’m literally gonna like, sweat oil and salt after eating these, and it’s absolutely worth it. You can’t get this specific brand of perfect awfulness anywhere but at a fair. And, and? It’s in a bucket. That’s hilarious. Food in a bucket is awesome. Like, it’s maybe the closest a food place can get to calling its customers animals without making them eat from a trough, and I’m all about it. And you get to keep the bucket. Like, I just have a little plastic trash-lookin’ bucket now. What part of this isn’t objectively the greatest?”

Sniper considered the question. “Well, don’t imagine you’ll be able to eat all those,” he said after thinking about it for a moment. “So, not ideal.”

“Dude, don’t even worry about that. Best part of a carnival like this? They’ve got all this horrible garbage food, and like thirty feet away—“ He stopped in his tracks, and Sniper stopped as well, following his line of sight. “—They have spinny rides that’ll make you puke.”

Sniper was still. Scout watched him, waiting for a reaction. “Rides make you throw up?” he asked after a second.

“If I eat a whole fuckin’ bucket of french fries before I get on, then hell yeah they do,” Scout said cheerfully.

Sniper considered that, or maybe just stared at the ride and all of the screaming and hollering people aboard it.

“How many foods come in a bucket, y’think?” Sniper asked.

“Uh, you got fries,” Scout said, lifting his Bucket ‘O Fries to demonstrate his point. “You got fried chicken. I went to this place once with chicken tenders in a bucket with fries.”

“So just a combination of the first two,” Sniper said.

“Oh my god, what? Dude, no way, fried chicken and chicken tenders are wildly different, you kiddin’ me?” Scout gasped. “Barely the same food group!”

Sniper shifted his feet, still watching the ride. “How’re they different?”

“Don’t even get me started, man,” Scout warned.

“Do you even know the food groups?” Sniper asked next, voice flat in a way that Scout had learned meant Sniper was joking.

“Sniper, as a connoisseur of absolute garbage, you insult me,” Scout deadpanned back. “Let’s take some laps of the games and stuff before we go on the rides, I gotta have time to appreciate these fries before they’re being sent into a trash can.”

Sniper shrugged in agreement, following Scout as he started off towards some of the games.

Scout blew a good twenty dollars on the bottle ring toss game, pleased to hear Sniper chiming in every time he made a particularly bad throw. The next booth over had Scout making a repeat performance with the cane ring toss game, except he did manage to win himself exactly one prize, a sticky hand which only ended up directly in his pocket due to the look of immediate dismay on Sniper’s face when he saw Scout wielding it.

“Hey, if there’s one of those shooting games here, think you’d wanna play it? Show up some people?” Scout asked.

Sniper shook his head. “Mate, even out here in civvies,” he started, plucking at the shoulder of Scout’s civilian t-shirt and the chest of his own choice of clothing, a green-grey button-up, “I imagine an Australian washing out the place and a Boston bloke cheering him on would earn enough looks to get us recognized. Especially since you’ve still got the hat and I’ve the glasses.” He tapped first the bill of Scout’s hat, then the side of his own shades.

“Then we fake some accents,” Scout said cheerfully.

Sniper raised an eyebrow, which Scout had long learned was the closest thing to emoting that Sniper managed most of the time. “As if you know how to fake accents,” Sniper said, a note of disbelief showing through.

“What, you think I don’t?” Scout challenged, bumping elbows with him partially by accident as they needed to squeeze between two gaggles of people.

“Do one, then,” Sniper said simply.

Scout cleared his throat, raising his chin. “Oi, look ‘ere, mind tellin’ me where you might find a hotel ‘round ‘ere?” Scout said in an approximation of a lighthearted British accent.

Sniper stared at him. “The hell’d you learn to do that? That was damn well spot on,” Sniper said, both eyebrows raised now.

Scout kept grinning, ducking ahead for a second to squeeze between two intersecting lines of people. When Sniper caught back up he started explaining. “Me an’ one’a my brothers spent these two summers pullin’ this scam,” he started to explain. “We’d pretend to be tourists in town for tour group stuff, sneak into tour groups around the middle’a the day with these old busted cameras he got off people and fake accents so people thought we were from somewhere else, get into buffets for tour-specific stuff and eat for free and leave again,” he explained. “First summer we did it for like two months straight with different tours, second summer we only made it a month in before we had to cut it out.”

“Why?”

“His ex-girlfriend apparently got a job as a tour guide. That was, uh, the second time I ended up in custody that summer.”

“Hooligan,” Sniper murmured in a way that made Scout unsure if he was being made fun of, scolded, or congratulated.

They ended up at the ball toss at some point, which Scout did end up knocking out of the park a few times until the attendant told him to please move along already, reasoning that they already had a frankly ludicrous number of stuffed animals. Indeed, Sniper was carrying three large ones, and Scout had another one in the arm not carrying assorted food.

“I’m namin’ this guy Cotton Candy,” Scout said matter-of-factly, hefting the blue-pink-and-white rabbit up higher as it started to slip from his grip. “And I’m naming that guy Fry Bucket.”

“Which one?” Sniper asked, glancing between the three stuffed animals in his hand.

“That one,” Scout said, bumping a the yellow-and-purple-and-white-and-black slightly-suspicious-looking cat with his elbow. “Because the colors are bright like the bucket.”

“What about the other two?” Sniper asked.

“Eh, they’re yours, up to you.”

Sniper didn’t speak for a moment, just shifting the stuffed animals a bit. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I don’t got a use for four of these guys,” Scout shrugged. “Already I’m thinkin’ about whether Pyro’s gonna want Fry Bucket or Cotton Candy more.”

“What’s that second name about?” Sniper asked. “Is that a brand?”

“…What?”

“Cotton candy.” Sniper’s accent wrapped around the words strangely. “That a specific kind? The, er, blue-pink stuff?”

“…Of cotton candy?” Scout asked slowly.

“Yeah. It’s fairy floss, so is cotton candy then just a certain—“

“It’s fuckin’ what?” Scout asked, eyes lighting up.

Sniper paused for a few seconds. “…You people made up your own name for somethin’ again, haven’t you?” Sniper asked, sighing.

“Fairy floss? Okay, let’s talk about this. Let’s talk about that name.”

“No, we already did this with the bonnet and hood thing, and the… prawn and shrimp thing. So you people call it cotton candy. Noted. Moving on.”

“So like, the tiny winged girls, fuckin’—so goddamn Tinkerbell, she brushes her teeth, right? And she’s gotta be thorough. Ain’t gonna get no gum disease here in fuckin’ Neverland, no way, no adults here so no dentists so that’d go pretty bad. So she’s gotta floss, right? And she uses a goddamn cloud-lookin’ pillowy thing? It’s fairy floss?”

“I didn’t invent all of Australian slang,” Sniper interjected. “You can’t judge me for my country’s choice in naming things. I can’t help it.”

“It’s cotton candy, man! It’s cotton, like outta some kinda pillow, made with sugar. I don’t get why you would call it somethin’ else.”

“Apparently Ireland and those blokes up there split the difference, called it candy floss,” Sniper added in before Scout could get too carried away.

“It’s still not floss! Couldn’t pick a different one? Called it, what, fairy cotton?”

Sniper’s lip twitched up for a moment. “I’m nearly sure that’s some sort of code word for hooch, mate.”

“What the fuck is hooch? Are you speaking English? Am I in fuckin’ wonderland right now?” Scout asked, downright baffled.

“Hooch. Marijuana, cannabis. Mate, you said you grew up in the city, the hell you mean you don’t know what hooch is?”

“Who the fuck calls it hooch?! Man, I knew that Australia was weird, but seriously, it’s gotta be crazy down there,” Scout laughed.

They continued to wander the fairgrounds for awhile longer, and while Sniper was a bit more talkative than usual, Scout couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his imagination and his quietly trying to prompt Sniper into saying more. Eventually Scout could tell that the fairground was nearing closing time, crowd thinning alongside the various booths starting to close up shop and haul things away and lock stuff up for the night.

“I don’t think we’re gonna get around to that eating a ton of food and throwing up thing,” Scout said, a little bit put out.

“Sounds…” Sniper started to say, and stopped again quickly.

Scout waited. “What? What were you gonna say?”

Sniper hesitated. “I was going to say that it… sounds a bit juvenile, don’t you think?” he said slowly. “Not quite as fun as an adult.”

Scout considered that for a few seconds. “…Yeah. Maybe,” he conceded. “Haven’t done that since I was a teen. Might not be as great anymore.”

Sniper hummed. Scout kept talking, as he was used to.

“I mean, back then stuff was also pretty weird all the time,” he said, fidgeting with the handle on the fry bucket. “There was school, then practice, then I’d go home and have stuff with my brothers goin’ on all the time, some kinda shenanigans to pull. Now it’s just work, then I go do chores, then I’m all tired and don’t wanna do nothin’ except go to sleep, then I go to sleep and it’s the next day and I got work again. If I don’t got chores or whatever it’s fine, but man. When did I get all boring, y’know?”

“I don’t think you’re boring,” Sniper said quietly.

Scout looked at him, but couldn’t quite catch his expression the way he was holding the stuffed animals. “Huh? What’d you say?” he asked, fully aware but giving Sniper a chance to take that back or spin it into a joke the way just about everyone did.

“I don’t… I don’t think you’re boring,” Sniper said again, a bit louder now. “You’re interesting. You’ve got big opinions on just about everything, a million stories, a bunch of secret talents that only ever happen to come up at odd times. And you’ve got a lot of jokes. You’re…”

He trailed for a moment as they passed a small group of teens, chattering and laughing among themselves.

“You’re funny. You’re interesting,” Sniper said simply. “Not boring.”

Scout didn’t fight the smile that pulled at his face. “Well, look who’s gotten sweet all of a sudden,” he marveled aloud. Sniper readjusted the stuffed animals he was holding, bringing them closer to his face. “Well, speakin’ of sweet, want some more fairy floss before that place over there closes?”

Sniper nodded somewhere behind the layers of fluff and foam.

Their last stop was out towards the edge of the fairgrounds, the big ferris wheel they had set up. It was the tallest thing at the fair, no contest, and while it definitely wasn’t the biggest ferris wheel Scout had ever seen, or even been on, it was still surprisingly nice.

“Imagine that’s the sort that they need to break down to transport, rather than just keeping it on a trailer,” Sniper said almost offhandedly, following Scout’s line of sight.

“You know stuff about ferris wheels?” Scout asked, blinking.

Sniper shrugged. “Needed to for a job. Just the basics.”

“Huh. Cool.” Scout continued to look at the wheel. “Hey, I know sometimes they don’t shut those off at night, to like, promote the fair. Think they’ve still got an attendant working?”

“Probably not,” Sniper said, glancing around at the line of closed tents and booths around them.

“Wanna just hop on board?”

Sniper looked at him with a slight head tilt. “Why would we do that?”

Scout grinned. “Hey, we aren’t plannin’ on coming back here tomorrow, might as well make a grand exit and get kicked out,” he reasoned.

Sniper’s head tilted slightly further, almost disapproving. “We’d get arrested. The boss would be furious.”

“Assuming they call the cops and the cops get here before we’re gone. What’re they gonna do, be mad? Call our parents? Give us a stern lecture?” He elbowed Sniper. “Come on, let’s live a little!”

And then Scout was off, headed towards the wheel.

“I didn’t agree to this, technically,” Sniper said, hurrying to follow, voice slightly raised.

“But you’re gonna do it anyways!” Scout chimed.

Sniper did not argue that point.

The security was foolproof. A padlock and chain on a gate that was three feet high and had horizontal bars, as well as another lock on the control panel lever. Scout, known for his ability to jump vertically to well over his standing height, was quiet simply unequipped for such a challenge.

Sniper did have to hand over the stuffed animals before he could hop the gate, but soon Scout was placing Fry Bucket on lever duty and the other three nearby to stand guard, then he and Sniper were clambering into one of the cars and headed up.

It was going fairly slowly, to be fair. It took a solid minute for them to get only a bit above halfway up, and it spun them up backwards, meaning most of the view was obscured.

“Other wheels I went on usually spun the other way,” Scout commented lightly, kicking his feet up despite the slightly awkward angle. “Kept stopping to let people on and off, too. Way smaller, though.”

Sniper hummed. Silence fell.

Not long after they’d reached the apex and started heading back down again, Sniper sighed quietly. “I’m sorry if I got sharp with you,” he apologized, very serious. “I just… crowds aren’t much good to me. Too much noise, too much action. People too close. Gets me on edge.”

Scout was suddenly treated with the memory of just about every outing he’d gone so far as to take Sniper on, almost all of which involved crowds. “What?” he asked, taken aback. He pulled his feet down, sitting up. “Really? Dude, why didn’t you say nothin’? I’ve been takin’ you out to real bustlin’ places for like, two months!”

Sniper made a listless gesture. “Didn’t want to ruin your fun just because I’m a worrywart,” he replied, even quieter now. “And I doubt you’ve got many places you know that don’t involve whole masses of people. It’s your whole element.”

Scout couldn’t really argue with that. “Well, then I would’ve been letting you pick where we hang out,” he said stubbornly.

Sniper’s eyebrows drew together. “What? I thought you just wanted someone to bring with you when you went out,” Sniper said, clearly confused.

Scout blinked. “Dude, no. I’ve just been tryin’ to find a place you’d like to hang out in, see if I could get you to talk about anything. You’re always all quiet, I figured it was because you’re bored.”

“Of course not. Opposite, really. Gets overwhelming, I try my best to shut my mouth and pay attention.”

Scout needed a minute to loop his head around that. “Oh. Huh.” They reached the bottom of the wheel, but neither moved to get up, and they just continued on their steady path up again. “I… shit. Dude, I had no idea. I thought you were just hard to please.”

Sniper shook his head. “No. The places are always nice—this is nice—but I just…”

He trailed off. Scout waited for him to sort through his words.

“I just prefer… things like this,” he decided on. “Instead of noises and movement and close quarters and a hundred food smells.”

Scout’s mind went ahead and dealt with that one for a good minute. “Close quarters,” he repeated. “So this isn’t good either?”

“With other people, other folks,” Sniper clarified. “I’m fine with closed spaces.”

“Well, I’m other folks,” Scout said.

Sniper looked away, off to one side. “Not really,” he said, words almost lost to a breeze that decided to blow by just then. “You’re just Scout. I’m fine with you.”

Quiet again.

They made it to the top of the ride again, and Scout found himself relaxing a little bit. He tilted his head back.

“Can’t see the stars out here so good,” Scout said, looking up at the sky.

“Light pollution,” Sniper murmured in agreement, looking up as well. “I can hardly see any at all.”

“You’ve still got your shades on,” Scout half-laughed.

Sniper reached a hand up as if to push his glasses up his nose, and just kept his hand there on them for a few seconds.

“C’mon, not so many stars, by they’re still good ones,” Scout urged.

Sniper hesitated for a moment before he pulled the shades off, folding them, hanging them on his shirt. His gaze fell down below for a moment, then up to the sky. He had pretty eyes. There were some wrinkles around them, the kind of thing that meant Sniper either laughed a lot, or spent a lot of time in the sun, or a mixture of both. Scout realized he’d probably have his own pretty soon with his lifestyle. He found a lot of things funny.

Sniper briefly glanced at Scout out of the corner of his eye, then back away again.

“You’re staring,” Sniper said quietly, gaze falling to the tents and stands as they started on the inward down curve.

Scout looked away, also out at the area they’d just been in. Only a few places still had lights around them. The area was mostly dark, the tent blockings around them lit mainly by the gently changing lights on their ferris wheel. “You should take your shades off more,” Scout said.

Sniper shifted. “I use ‘em at work,” he replied. “They help me shoot.”

“You weren’t at work today, or any of the other times we went and did stuff,” Scout replied, tipping his head against the back of the seat, rolling his head to look at Sniper. Tiredness was creeping up on him, not in a cranky way, just in a lazy way.

“Why would I take ‘em off?” Sniper asked, not looking at him.

“So I can know where you’re lookin’,” Scout shrugged. “And because you look good, and they hide your face.”

Sniper’s eyes fell to his own knees, which he gripped in both hands. “Maybe that’s the point,” he said, voice rumbling against the lowest volume he could manage.

Scout kept looking at him, then back up at the sky as they made it to the upper half.

“Scout, I have a question,” Sniper said, eyes locked downward.

“Mm,” Scout hummed.

Sniper took a breath, exhaled. Looked over at Scout, made eye contact, maybe for the first time without the barrier of tinted, reflective lenses in the way. “Can I kiss you?”

Scout wasn’t sure what his expression was in the following several moments of silence, but it made Sniper tense, paling under the colorful lights, visibly sinking at roughly the same speed as the car they were in as they passed the apex.

“I’m sorry, I just—“ he started to stammer, backtracking as Scout did his best to mentally try and sort out the can of worms that was just opened. “I thought, we—ferris wheel, you sayin’ that I’m, I’m good looking, and—“

Scout saw the way he was fidgeting, fiddling, hands no longer able to be stuffed in his pockets to prevent it.

“—and you won those stuffed animals for me s’well, and you’ve been taking me to dinner, tryin’ to make me laugh, and—“

He couldn’t quite look at Scout, and maybe he could never quite look at Scout, and maybe that’s why he never took his sunglasses off. Maybe that’d why he kept his hat’s brim low. Maybe that’s why he held things up near his face.

“—and I just assumed, I, I’m sorry, I’m godawful at picking up the clues on that sort of thing, and maybe I just imagined things, I—“

“Do you wanna?”

Sniper’s rambling stammered to a halt. He didn’t look at Scout. “What?”

“Hey. Look at me.” It took a minute, but he did, tipping his head up first, eyes following a second later. Crow’s feet. “Do you wanna kiss me?”

Sniper managed the tiniest of nods.

“Out loud,” Scout added, voice level.

Sniper took a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like to,” he said.

Scout tilted his head up for a second. They were headed back up and over again. Stars.

“Yeah,” Scout decided. “You can, if you want.”

Sniper had to take a second to process that. But then, slowly, he placed his hand on Scout’s shoulder. He second-guessed himself, hand moving instead to rest on Scout’s cheek, tilting his face only on accident, and then Sniper was kissing him.

It felt nice. Scout reached up slowly so as to keep from scaring Sniper away, an arm wrapping up around his shoulders.

By the time they pulled away, they were at the bottom of the wheel again. Sniper managed to smile at him, so visibly relieved and contented that it almost left Scout reeling, the sudden input of reaction making his head spin.

“You taste like fries,” Sniper informed him quietly.

Scout laughed.

[tdystmr]

au where werewolf!jaebeom meets grim reaper!jinyoung who somehow knows everything about him 🤩

b a c k g r o u n d i n f o 🍓

jaebeom is a half-breed werewolf. his dad was a hunter who met his mother while she was shifting and they somehow fell in love and had him

half-breeds are kind of shunned in the magic community because human blood is known as ‘contaminated blood’ hence jaebeom kind of hates everyone and rathers be alone. he has only an acquaintance at work, choi youngjae, who’s nice enough to try to socialise with jaebeom even though the older has shut everyone in the museum out

jinyoung is a grim reaper - not only for humans but for the magic community as well. it’s not common to be assigned to work for both and he knows he has to be some horrible criminal in order to be sentenced to such painful work

he only remembers bits and pieces of his past life, the main thing being a werewolf. that’s the reason why he’s been keeping an eye on jaebeom ever since he realised that a werewolf was in the same city as him.

p l o t 🍓

they bump heads, literally, on the street

jinyoung, obviously, had planned it but jaebeom was an unsuspecting werewolf who was simply in a rush to go check out an art piece the museum was interested in purchasing

jaebeom is immediately suspicious when jinyoung recognises what he is

jinyoung, being oh-so cryptic, invites him to meet at a nearby library. it’s kind of where jinyoung lives ( imagine a place like the grim reaper’s in goblin, those hidden wall kind of things )

he disappears and leaves jaebeom with a note that jaebeom decides to stuff into his pocket and ignore

but ofc he can’t just ignore it so he caves in a visits a few days after

jinyoung is waiting there for him and sneaks up on him, resulting in jaebeom reacting in self-defence and pining him on the floor

they eventually move to jinyoung’s house and jinyoung reveals that he’s actually in need of jaebeom’s help. part of being a grim reaper ( in this au, anyway ) is to not only help souls pass over but to deal with any unnatural causes of death

recently, there’s been a serial murderer of some sorts on the loose and jinyoung has reason to believe it’s a werewolf or a pack of them

jaebeom obv looses his shit because he hates anything to do with his own kind and stomps out of there

but jinyoung continuously reappears in his life until the werewolf finally caves in

*queue crime fighting duo jjp*

e x t r a c t 🍓

‪jaebeom hates crowds. it’s all skin-to-skin contact with sweaty strangers, a cacophony of noises that send his senses into overdrive. it doesn’t help that his ears or nose are more sensitive than the average human being’s, nor does it‬ help that the upcoming full moon is making him even jumpier than usual.

using his broad shoulders and strength, he pushes his way through the crowd, ignoring the curses and glares he gets. he keeps his head hung low, his messy fringe creating a curtain over his eyes. still, he pushes through the sea of people until he can finally breathe in fresh air instead of body odour and musky heat.

the building he’s looking for is about another street down, about a good five minutes away, and the sweltering heat beating down on his back puts him in a worse mood than he’s already in. still, he trudges on with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, eyes set on the gravel below him.

of course, not looking up has it’s obvious consequences, and it’s not long before jaebeom feels the tell-tale hardness of another head collide against his.

it happens in a split second. his sunglasses slide off the bridge of his nose and to the floor, pathetically clattering against the gravel. the man looks up at him and his pupils zero in on jaebeom’s exposed icy blue left eye, sending him into a state of alarm.

immediately, he reaches up to cover it with a hand, right eye still trained intently on the man’s expression. his hands are clasped around the spine of his book, a thick leather-bound book with scraps and markers sticking out of the side. his eyes are soft and round, pink lips pursed into a light frown which confuses jaebeom even more.

“watch where you’re going,” jaebeom growls, trying to distract the man from staring even more. the man says nothing, still. he bends down and picks up jaebeom’s glasses, calmly wiping the black lenses with his clean white shirt. holding it up, he frowns at jaebeom, who frowns back.

“aren’t you taking this back, werewolf? you need it to hide that eye of yours, don’t you?” the man asks as if it isn’t a big deal, as if it’s an every day topic.

jaebeom sputters, caught totally off guard. who is this man? “what the hell are you talking about?”

the mysterious stranger nods towards his covered eye, unimpressed with jaebeom’s effort in lying. “i know what your kind looks like, though i haven’t seen one so up close in a century,”

“a century...?” jaebeom trails off, hand slowly dropping from his face out of shock. how the hell is that possible? what the heck? unless...

“what are you?” jaebeom aggressively questions. the man shrugs, annoyingly nonchalant, as he takes jaebeom’s hand and presses the sunglasses into it.

“you’ll know soon enough. when the time comes, we’ll meet again. i’ve decided it,” the man says, a small, irritatingly knowing smile on his lips. he brushes past jaebeom in his surprised daze, disappearing into the crowd that jaebeom came from.

when he snaps out of it, he’s standing alone in the middle of the pavement, hand holding his glasses out like an idiot. he quickly puts them back on, mind snapping back to attention as he slowly goes over whatever the hell that was.

glancing back, his mind races with possibilities. another half-blood? or a pure? a fey, maybe? or a wizard. maybe a warlock, seems nosy enough to be one. maybe i could track him down. if only i had something left-

it was as if the man had known jaebeom would have turned to his instincts. on the floor, lay a sleek black card embossed with silver writing.

DON’T BOTHER SNIFFING THIS.

MEET ME AT THE LIBRARY TWO BLOCKS DOWN IF YOU WANT TO KNOW. I’LL BE THERE, WHENEVER YOU FEEL LIKE IT. I’M LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING YOU AGAIN, WOLF BOY.

- P. J. Y.

“wolf...boy...?” jaebeom mumbles, fingers running over the neat letters. it’s slightly warm as if fresh out of press, and jaebeom wouldn’t be surprised if this PJY dude had burnt it on the spot.

a part of jaebeom - his primal, savage wolf half - tells him not to do it because it could be a trap. the other part - the ever-curious human half - tells him to go dashing to the library right this instant to look for this man and demand answers.

instead of deciding because jaebeom loves being spontaneous and doing whatever the hell he likes, he shoves the card deep into his pocket and chooses to ignore it. he trudges on despite the nerves prickling at his spine, as if someone is watching him.

better to blend in than make a break for it. calm down, you can take him if he returns. just move along and ignore it, he tells himself.

but he can’t ignore it. for the rest of the day, the new prickly feeling of the edges of the card bugs him through his jeans, but he somehow can’t bring himself to throw it away. it feels heavy, like stone, way more than a stupid piece of card stock should be.

t a g s 🍓

crime fighting / detectives

minor gore / fight scenes / blood etc.

acquaintances > friends > lovers

mutual pining

slow burn

unnatural beings / magic

angst / fluff / smut

alpha!jaebeom

backstories / hidden pasts

character death

would also like to plug my ongoing fic silver lining - wizard!jinyoung x crown prince!jaebeom ✨ look for me on twitter @ tdystmr as well eheh

[dazedandinked]

Bad man, sad man - (Chapter 1/2)

Fandoms: Peaky Blinders (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett

Additional tags: Crossover, Alternate Universe, Season 3 Spoilers, Mentioned Character Death, Strangers to Friends, Friendship, Humor, Light Angst.

Summary:

Birmingham. Gray skies, dim light and tumbledown houses all served with a thick layer of dust on top. A place spat out from Hell, completely Godforsaken. Like, literally.

The perfect place for a demon like Crowley and a haunted man like Thomas Shelby.

A/N:  Hello everyone! This is my first work in a very, very long time and I really hope you all enjoy it as much as I do. It's quite an unusual crossover, but I love these series too much and I was really inspired by their characters.

You can find it on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/17984987/chapters/42482834

Chapter 1: None of my pain and woe can show through

Birmingham.

Gray skies, dim light and tumbledown houses all served with a thick layer of dust on top. A place spat out from Hell, completely Godforsaken. Like, literally. Crowley got off the train (obviously he could pop himself out everywhere, but he really had a passion for cars, trains and all the-engine related stuff) and inhaled sharply, lungs filled with the intense taste of smoke. Just like home, he thought.

From the very first moment he stepped out of the coach, he understood. Surrounded by pain and despair, it wasn’t surprising that a demon could feel some kind of attraction to this miserable, bleak hole. But there was… more.

According to Crowley, every nook of England was soaked with hopelessness and suffering - it was 1924, what did you expect?- but he knew that something, or rather someone, had brought him there. He heard him call, a loud hearth-wrenching prayer (not the usual buzz of human thoughts), and, for the first in a time in a very long time, he couldn’t resist answering.

He strolled through the narrow streets of Birmingham, following the low cry. Excitement and curiosity building up into his chest.

***

Crowley stopped in front of the heavy wooden door.

A church. Seriously?

He slithered silently through the narrow nave,  moving closer to the pew where the man was sitting. The light was weak, but the demon could still see his shape: dark short hair, shoulders slumped under the weight of his coat. The more he walked, the more he could feel the distinctive heat of the fury and the cold  sadness that guided him. And the strong smell of whiskey.

Another lost, drunk soul looking for comfort in a church, nothing unusual. But Crowley heard his prayer and he wasn’t looking for God. He was swearing and shouting, this mind lost in a flow of painful thoughts. He wanted damnation, not redemption.

Everything hidden under a mask of indifference.

When he was by his side, the demon sighed heavily to make the man aware of his presence. He tensed, the hand running to the grey flat cap on his lap.

“Looking for some quiet, uhm?”

The man looked carefully at Crowley, blue clear eyes still alert despite the alcohol. He tried to figure out if the red-haired man next to him was a threat (a business rival, a disappointed client or another killer), but he didn’t quite fit the picture.

“You don’t look like a devoted christian,” Crowley added.

“Neither do you,” he sniped coldly, “and not a priest for sure.”

Crowley  laughed with a choked hiss from the back of his throat. “ Amen, I suppose.”

He took a seat next to the other man, bumping their shoulders lightly and making him feel noticeably uncomfortable. Oh, this was one of Crowley’s favorite things about interacting with humans: they don’t have the faintest idea of what they are looking at, but they could feel the danger (some kind of primal self-conservation.) Nevertheless, the man’s face didn’t show any emotion, still cold and restrained. Crowley surprised himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, he could like this human somehow. Well, everyone knows that he’s an unconventional demon.

“You’re not from Birmingham, I would recognise you. Not the kind of man who can go unnoticed. Where’re you from?”

“London,” a lie he got used to saying among may others.

“And you are here for business? Pleasure? Quite an unwelcoming place for a vacation, I must say Mr. …”

Too many questions, Crowley thought, they never talk this much. People usually get too nervous and scared to speak and the demon had to use all his abilities to make them at ease, ready to confess all their sinful wishes. He quite liked this standard procedure.

But not him. Too drunk, maybe?

“Anthony  Crowley.”

“Thomas Shelby,” and they exchanged a brief handshake. Thomas couldn’t not notice that Crowley’s cold hands (colder than his own) had some tiny scales-like scars.

“Anyway, I’m here for business. I go wherever my presence is required and you look like someone who might need my help.”

The demon made the round dark sunglasses slide down his nose, showing his bright yellow eyes just for a second (he had a thing for drama.) Normally he would have been a bit more subtle, using the right amount of charm and touching the right spots. But there was something about Thomas he couldn’t place. He didn’t feel the instinct of hiding his true nature and he couldn’t understand why.

The man beside him didn’t flinch as Crowley expected, the only reaction he got was raised eyebrow and a gaze full of curiosity. The demon couldn’t imagine that this wasn’t Tommy’s first time having visions and seeing what Hell probably looked like.

Crowley smiled.

“How can I help you, Mr. Shelby? What’s the wish that makes you burn like this?”

“I don’t need help. People come knocking on my door asking favors, the whole city owns me.”

Crowley raised his hands, a small smile on his lips. It never happened before that someone resisted his offers.

No matter how much time you’re around, he thought, there always is a first time.

“Ehi ehi, didn’t mean to offend, your reputation precedes you,” Crowley paused to compose himself and bring out his most persuasive voice, “but just between us, if someone could make your wishes come true, what would you ask for?”

Thomas frozen still, trying to swallow the tension. He felt the eyes of the man staring right into his soul behind the dark lenses. If he still had a soul. For the first time after France he realized he was … weak and vulnerable.

No one makes Thomas Fucking Shelby feel weak. It was a fact.

“I’m not talking about your kind of business. I’m just a poor sinner who’s asking for a bit of trust.”

“And it takes one to know one,” the other ended.

Thomas sighed, turning his eyes on the cap again. Crowley made a small smile: finally, he could see the wreck on the perfect facade.

The levee is going to break, the demon thought. And it did with a last desperate glance.

“I want everything,” he spat out, his cracking voice, “I want them to feel the way I felt when they took her away from me. Oh, God, she was too much for me, I knew it. I should have let her go when I had the chance… An— And I want to take everything away from them, Russian bastards.” and than he rambled something angrily in Romani (Crowley supposed.) Thomas took a deep breath. “I want them to feel empty and hunted as much as I do, and I want to be the cause of their despair. I want back all the strength they took me away.”

The fury and the hatred in Thomas’s eyes disappeared when his gaze met Crowley’s, understanding all the things he had just said, wishing he could take it back. It was the first time he spoke about what had happened, and he did it with a stranger. He stared at the floor, taken aback by his own feelings. Shame, for sure, but also… relief? He was back at five, when he confessed Polly he had stolen from the shop at the end of the road, his cheeks burning and eyes blurred with tears. Fortunately, he had drunk enough to blame the whiskey.

He expected to be mocked, and he was quite surprised when the man beside him just put a hand on his shoulder. Crowley smiled… softly. Was it — compassion? No, impossible. But it really felt the way Aziraphale described it. And he couldn’t stop. If other demons could see him now, they wouldn’t make him forget.

“Is that all? No money, no women… Not an island in the middle of the Pacific?”

Thomas shrugged, smiling slightly. “Too ordinary?”

“Oh no, just— you were right since the beginning. I don’t think I can help you.”

Thomas stared in confusion. “But I— I answered your question, I told you what I want and…”

“Of course, but it doesn’t make any sense, you know? Asking me something you already have, and you can do on your own.” Crowley winked, patting Thomas’ shoulder again.

“The situation is bad, I know, but you do look like a man who can handle all this shit. You’re still in charge. Maybe, the only thing you really needed was someone to talk about all you’ve been through.”

Thomas stared at him, finally regaining the determination lost a couple of glasses ago, and  Crowley knew his (terrible) job was over. They sat in silence a bit longer, looking at the small altar. Crowley glanced dismissively at the huge cross hung on the wall.

Shit, this is not my job. One of your tacky dressed guys should be here, not me!

But he was happy no other creature had answered the call. And he was not sure he had done a good action, in the angelic sense of good, after all: Thomas was back and he’d have continue doing his violent job.

Oh well, you could have come and done it your way, he thought, giving a last accusatory  look at the sky above the ceiling.

His mental argument with the upstairs was still going when Thomas cleared his voice.

“A drink. We definitely need a Drink. Unless your city taste is too sophisticated for a simple pub in Birmingham,” he smirked and then got up, walking toward the exit without waiting for Crowley. The demon laughed and followed him.

"I don't really care where the pub is as long as its whiskey is good.”

"Oh man, don't worry about that.”

And they walked through the narrow streets of Birmingham again, until they reached the Garrison.

***

Believe it or not, that wasn't their last drink together.

[einstein-robin-hood-blog]

NAKED LUNCH WITH POOH AND PIGLET By A. A. Milne and William Burroughs

Chapter One - In which Piglet plans a special luncheon for Pooh’s Birthday

Although Pooh was a bear of very little brain, Piglet was positive that he did, in fact, have a birthday. So he set himself to making plans for a picnic party with all the fixins: pickles, olives, tuna subs with chipotle mayonnaise, and lots of honey. Christopher Robin thought it was a fine idea: “I’ll make my famous brownies!” he shouted. Christopher Robin’s brownies were known all through the Hundred Acre Wood. He packed them with the finest herb. One small brownie would have you drooling buckets and put you over until well into next week. Christopher Robin ate two with every meal. He weighed exactly 375 pounds.

Tigger stopped by and took a look at the piece of paper that Piglet was using for his to do list. The first item was “MAKE LIST.” “Oooh hoo hoo! Listy ma twisty listy! Are you making a list, Piglet?” Before Piglet could respond, Tigger started in: “Humpitty chump chump, who needs a little bump? Bump bump a rump.” He took out a little glass bottle of coke and started waving it around.

“That coke is wack,” said Eeyore as he ambled into the clearing. “Owl cuts it with so much crap that you have to snort half a dozen lines before you feel anything.” He paused a moment before adding: “It’s very disconcerting.”

“Well, no one’s making you do Owl’s coke,” Piglet offered.

“That’s rippity roppity right,” said Tigger. “And Owl says if you keep talking trash about the product, I should pop a cap in your ass.”

“But I’m a donkey,” moaned Eeyore. Then he asked Tigger if he had any Quaaludes. “No,” said Tigger, “but I have some ether that will straighten you right out. Bloopity, sloopity, snoopity.” Eeyore said “Fine, I guess,” and sighed a deep sigh and tromped off to the meadow, his big ears flopping against the can of ether.

Piglet finished making his list, looked it over and announced that he had everything he needed back at his house, except the honey. “We must have lots of honey,” he told the group, “or Pooh will be jonesing really bad.”

Tigger stopped bouncing for a moment and told Piglet “I can get you honey, but it’ll cost you. We’re hard up right now because the bears are done hibernating and they’re raiding every beehive in the woods.”

Piglet asked him how much he wanted, and Tigger said one hundred acorns of the brightest shade of green. With the caps on.

“It’s a deal,” said Piglet, “can I get it by noon Saturday?”

“Does Pooh shit in the woods?” responded Tigger, “no problemo, amigo.”

Chapter Two - In which Pooh’s birthday party does not go as planned

Piglet decided to have the party at the Paint and Sip on West Pico Boulevard. They had a deal - a party of twelve got the first round of refills free. And the Paint and Sip on West Pico was the only one in town that had Tej - the Ethiopian honey wine that Pooh couldn’t get enough of.

Tigger showed up with the honey and threw in a few bags of Turkish opium as a birthday present. Tigger warned Piglet “Tell him no more than two bags at a time. Or else he’ll never come down. Or wake up, for that matter.”

Pooh showed up with guns blazing - literally. He had a chrome plated .357 magnum in each paw and announced his arrival by firing off a few shots into the air. Owl dropped some pellets and took off for the highest branch he could find. Pooh had his entire entourage of low rent she-bears with him - Kim, Kourtney, Khloe, and Kylie.

All of the she-bears squealed with delight every time Pooh fired his guns. Except for Khloe. She hated guns, and wasn’t too crazy about Pooh, if the truth be told.

“Why do you have to shoot your guns so much? It’s so uncool. And someone could get hurt.”

“What you talkin’ ‘bout?” Pooh responded. “Nobody gets shot, unless I want them to get shot.”

“Fine. I’m going to get myself a jar of honey and a glass of Tej and find a shady spot under a tree.” Khloe started to storm off, when Pooh stopped her.

“Now hold on there, darlin’, you know safety is job one with your Pooh Daddy.”

He holstered his guns, grabbed a tuna sub off the buffet table, and led Khloe over to the Honey Tree.

“Baby you stand here, and you’ll see something. Don’t move.”

He had Khloe stand with her back against the tree and balanced the tuna sub on her head. Then he measured off ten paces, drew one of his guns, and turned to face her.

Christopher Robin spoke up: “Ten paces? Kid stuff. My uncle Maurice could hit that sub at ten paces. And he has cataracts and a twitch.”

“Ten paces seems like a perfectly reasonable distance for an occasion like this,” Eeyore said. Then he wandered off to the buffet table, because he had heard that someone had put out a bowl of Quaalude salad.

But Pooh was stung by Christopher Robin’s remark. He was also extremely wired from too many lines of Owl’s third-rate blow. He paced off another 20 yards. Then he turned, faced Khloe, and drew one of his revolvers.

You’ll never guess what happened next.