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chubbology · 4 years ago

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The Munchies

prompt: a stoner feedee's girlfriend uses him to test out new edibles and deals with his munchies

Remmy returned home from visiting relatives on the last day of December, and he was very glad to be back. They’d fed him well and his pants were tight, but all the small talk and bad vibes had been as much of a drag as usual.

He opened the door to his apartment and breathed in a familiar, potent scent.

“Baby!” Brianna ran from the kitchen and tackled him.

“Happy almost New Year! Wanna hear my resolution? Baking and getting baked. Check it out.”

She brought him over to the counter, where she was almost done filling up three containers of what Remmy had no doubt were various edibles. He ignored the kitchen mess.

“I’m liking what I see,” Remmy laughed.

She preened and then pinched his love handle. “I bet you do."

"These aren’t your typical brownies, though," she said. "This is gourmet.” She kissed her fingertips in a muah.

The first container was full of moist shortbread, the second with a kind of apple crumble dish that looked divine. Last but not least, the third had a jumble of what like peanut butter cups.

“Try something!” Brianna gushed. She seemed to be a little floaty already. “You’re gonna be my new taste tester. I think I could really be good at this. Make some cash, too.”

So Remmy tried one of the peanut butter cups. His eyes widened, and he smiled. “Bri, these are incredible.” He ate another.

“Take it easy. Two should get you stoned. So says the recipe anyway.” Brianna rubbed his pudgy forearm as he eyed the rest in the container, biting the inside of his lip. “Hey. If you’re just hungry, I can fix that. You wanna eat?”

“I’m starving,” Remmy said. A lie, since he’d had a big lunch before driving back. But he could eat.

“Okay, I’ll get you something! Pay day was Monday. Let’s splurge. What do you want?”

McDonalds, Remmy’s mind supplied easily, in an almost salacious tone. His relatives thought they were too good for McDonalds, and now his body thrummed with the desire to just get a truckload of those greasy combos and revel in the guilt and satisfaction of eating every last unhealthy bite.

Then again. Brianna probably wasn’t okay to drive right now, he didn’t feel like getting back in the car, and the scale told him he’d hit 240 recently, “Let’s just order in.”

“Sounds good to me.”

That night, as they ignored the idiots on television bringing in the New Year, the two of them picked at the apple crumble - which tasted as brilliant as Remmy had suspected - and lounged around, enjoying their high. Brianna barely touched her Chinese takeout, and Remmy ate all of his. Then hers. Then he started grazing the kitchen for more food.

Over the course of the next week, the two of them finished off the rest of what she made, plus some more recipes that turned out delicious. Brianna got a pleasant high every time, and Remmy enjoyed the edibles, too, although his experience was slightly different. It was just—

He just—

He got hungry. Munchies but on unholy overdrive. Cranked to eleven and a half. With every high, Remmy became a little more overwhelmed by the sheer amount of food he felt compelled to pack away, savory and sweet. Takeout and fast food and quarts of ice cream. Nuts and fruits, too. Jar of peanut butter here. Tub of icing there. He’d never been very active, so it came as no surprise when his clothes began stretching over his chest and belly and thighs and ass. He popped a button getting dressed one morning and couldn’t stop thinking about it the rest of the day. He hadn’t realized it would happen so quickly, his body converting all the calories into flab. Flab that padded him out chubbier than he already was, and then more on top of that. In the mirror, he started to look big.

Brianna seemed unfazed by her boyfriend’s growing girth. She took to her baking resolution with as much gusto as she did anything that interested her, and even into March, April, and May, she was selling the edibles well and raked in money that almost made her day job obsolete. Remmy was constantly praised for being “the bestest taste tester ever” and enjoyed a steady stream of free highs to balance out the lows of spending most of his time working his IT job from home.

Working, gaming, watching old movies. Remmy already stayed sitting most of the day, but as he gained weight, gained a lot, filling out his desk chair to its limits, crumbs becoming his constant companion, he felt even less like standing up. His weight climbed to 280, 290, 300.

June, July, and August passed uneventfully, and pretty happily, too. Brianna stopped asking him what food he wanted from the grocery store and just bought him things. Bought him things she knew he’d eat when he got high, things that made his ass spread wider on the couch, his arms round out like sausages, his pudgy chest start to really droop. The scale said 320, 330, 340.

Remmy gave up trying to gain control of the new appetite Brianna’s heavenly edibles seemed to install in him irrevocably. When he craved, he ate, and he ate. And like a dam breaking, his body surged with so much excess fat he began spilling out of even his newest clothes.

He was a little ashamed, sure. But quite a few of his relatives were fat, so they couldn't talk, and it felt like sweet revenge to embarrass his irritating parents by becoming so overweight. As for everyday life, well, he just moved around from room to room slower, wore the same stretchy clothes a lot, and that was it. Remmy did mention his weight in passing sometimes to gauge Brianna’s feelings about it, but Brianna only ever giggled, called him cute, and passed him her venti sugary monstrosity of a coffee concoction, which he thoughtlessly sucked down to the dregs, ingesting a thousand-plus calories just like that. This made her eyes sparkle, huge and utterly endeared.

“Like a piggy,” she said, thumbing his fat cheek. “Always willing to eat.”

In bed, she made it clear she liked him the way he was, and was becoming. And it wasn’t long before Remmy realized he was into how big he was becoming, too.

They continued like this. Getting high together and watching movies and making out and snacking. Well, Brianna snacked. Remmy feasted. Gorged himself, to put it precisely, with Brianna’s enthusiastic help. “You look good soft,” she’d tell him, playing with belly fat that his stretchiest t-shirts couldn’t cover anymore.

Remmy would swallow another bite of a snickers and spread his huge thighs a little, with effort. “You call it soft, but I’m the one who gets tired moving from the office to the kitchen.” I’m so heavy, he wanted to say. God, I’m so heavy.

“Just move your computer to the kitchen then,” she said. “Duh.”

It was a seed planted that came to fruition a month later - when Remmy��s food cravings became unmanageable and his weight climbed past 360 - that he felt he would simply be more productive during his day job if his breaks to get food from the kitchen were shorter.

By November, whether he was high or not, Remmy was grazing all day, everyday. What Brianna got from the store became insufficient, and he started a habit of ordering take out most days. In big portions. His scale creaked at 375. When Brianna wasn’t home, he sometimes ate takeout on the scale to see if the number would rise.

On Remmy’s birthday in early December, Brianna made a fresh batch of his favorites again: the peanut butter cup edibles. After ordering pizza for delivery, she got in the shower, and Remmy scarfed down three of the big cups as soon as they cooled. Then he waited, leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone, belly hanging, feet hurting. He didn’t want to go to the effort of sitting on the couch and getting back up again when he could just stay in the kitchen, where he knew he’d end up anyway.

He scratched his supple underbelly. Found a pack of Twizzlers and started eating those.

Soon enough, his breathing slowed as he felt the high slowly come over him. And, as expected, his whole body immediately began to tingle for satiation. Fattening food sung to him from the pantry and fridge and freezer all at once, and it was all going to make him so huge and heavy he wouldn’t be able to stand on his own wide feet, but he wanted it anyway.

He didn’t care if he was pushing 390 now. He’d blown up, yeah. Inflated from a thick guy to obese and waddling. At this point, he was so pumped so big with blubber that he couldn’t twitch without jiggling, but so what? He was hungry. Being high made him want to consume, and so he did. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.

Remmy opened the fridge and took out his birthday cake, which Brianna must have stuck in there after getting home from work. He couldn’t wait to eat it properly. There was no way he could wait until after the pizza came. Besides, it was his birthday. Remmy took off the plastic lid of the round, triple chocolate cake and felt his nerves light up with anticipation. He was going to eat it all, and there was no stopping him.

He found a knife and cut himself a slice three times the size any reasonable person would take. Desperate to get the goodness into his mouth without delay, he skipped a fork and bit right into the gooey, dense cake and mouse and fudge. God, Brianna was so perfect for getting him the unhealthiest cake imaginable. She knew he didn’t care if he was ten pounds heavier tomorrow, if his fat ass ripped his sweatpants open, if he ate so much he couldn’t haul himself to bed—she knew he needed this.

He ate slice after slice, and it was mostly gone when Brianna got out of the shower, looking sexier than usual in her matching purple lingerie. She’d gotten chubbier with so much junk food in the apartment, and fat clung to her in all the right places. But her pudge was a far cry from his angry-red stretch marks and neck rolls. Hell, his moobs had grown bigger than her tits.

She found him in the kitchen, eating and holding his drooping belly, and she rubbed his back, cooing at him when he apologized.

“It’s okay. I figured you wouldn’t be able to wait all night. How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Remmy said, but all he could think about was getting his next bite. As she watched him, he tried to hold out. Tried to prove he could stop eating for two seconds. Three seconds, four - his resolve broke and he crammed the rest of a slice into his mouth and chewed, choking back a moan.

“You get the munchies so bad, don’t you?” Brianna grinned and leaned against his belly, patting and cupping his weighty breasts in the way she knew pleased him. “Let’s get you sat down. I’ll bring you what you need. Just sit and relax and watch whatever you want.” They moved to the couch and Remmy sat, the cushions wheezing, his thighs and belly quivering. Brianna tucked the remainder of the cake into his pudgy hands. “Don’t worry about a mess. It’s your birthday. And there’s more where that came from.” She winked. “I just needed to keep this cake refrigerated because it’s fancy. There’s a whole sheet cake on top of the fridge that’s cheap and huge. Covered in icing. Perfect for munchies.”

Remmy could only feel a wave of relief at this news. There would be more cake. And after that, there’d still be more junk in the cabinets. There was pizza coming. His high was just right. Brianna turned on the television to his favorite show and he settled further back into the cushions, feeling his second chin swell out and engulf his first. Everything was just right. He was lucky to have Brianna and food. So much food.

A year later, around the same time, Remmy skipped his usual trip to see his relatives for the holidays. At 520 pounds, it was simply too much effort to move.

Thank you to the reader who commissioned this work!

I'd love to write more. Check me out <3 etsy.com/shop/Chubbology

#weight gain #fic #female feeder #male gainer #named

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mycrofts-gunbrella · 3 years ago

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Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part Five)

Word Count- 3921

Morning had come around a lot quicker than you had hoped it would, the sunlight peeking through the curtains and birds singing outside making drifting back off an impossible task. Though you felt well rested, you simply just didn't want to move anywhere any time soon. Last night had begun with Mycroft shyly placing his hand on your hip as your back pressed close to his chest, but this morning had ended with Mycroft on his back and you with your head resting between his chest and shoulder, hand crossing over with fingers hooked over the pyjama's pocket. You'd never expected to be the type to wake up earlier than Mycroft Holmes, particularly not two days on the bounce, but you wouldn't complain. He looked so peaceful as he slept, the sunlight turning his auburn hair far more ginger, his freckles on his nose matching. You slowly reached one arm backwards, blindly feeling around for your phone on the bedside table and reading through your messages. You grinned seeing a text from Greg and had to fight the small laugh that threatened to escape you.

'Hey, just thought I'd check in on you both and see how you're getting on. I hate to feel pushy but we do really need to start that paperwork, today ideally. Figured I'd pop round later if it's alright- I need a sodding nap first though. Spent the majority of last night receiving phone calls about mysterious activity around St James', load of dodgy cars sending people away, loads of papers.. don't suppose you saw any of that down your way did you, makes life easier?"

Your fingers typed a response- 'Uhh..guilty as charged.. Myc was in jeans and a Who top, daren't be seen by the public..I'll get him to fix it when he's up x'- a grin playing on your face. Yeah okay you felt a little bad, but Greg had dealt with worse. After pressing send, you scrolled further through your notifications, spotting one from John. Nothing major, just checking in and inviting you both over for late lunch, mentioning briefly how it'll do Sherlock some good seeing his brother, even if he doesn't believe it himself- evidently also receiving a message from Greg as he also explained how it would make Lestrade have to do one less visit for paperwork if you popped over a little earlier. Before you could type an answer, you felt Mycroft shift beneath you, stretching out the arm that wasn't trapped beneath your body.

"Morning Sleeping Beauty." You teased, turning your head and placing a small kiss on the Holmes' chin. Mycroft blinked, rubbing his eyes and offering you a 'good morning' in response as he eyed up you typing on your phone.

"Needed to be whisked away to catch a criminal mastermind already?" He asked, sitting up a little as you moved to give him a little more space, his arm still loosely tucked behind your back, though his torso now free.

"Your deductions in the morning are lacking.. though close. Mastermind, but not criminal. John and Sherlock have invited us to late lunch, Greg's popping over to start the first part of paperwork handling, only the basic stuff this time round, so figured it would make it easier on him only having to go to one home before we left." Mycroft breathed deeply, fingers raising to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I think I'd have rathered the criminal." He spoke, already mentally planning the afternoon, the conversations he would likely have, the way Sherlock would behave. What if he still hadn't forgiven him? It was surprising enough that you had let him off so easily, but Sherlock was different. Sherlock was a Holmes, and someone of whom already had feudal tendencies with Mycroft, it was bound to end terribly. As though you had read his mind, you moved your hand to take his from his face as you noticed his fingertips whitening as he pinched harder.

"Hey, it'll be fine. He doesn't blame you, he's been far too silent for that to be the case. From the way John sounded, it actually seemed more like he was worried about you, though you know he'd never admit that." Mycroft hummed in response, not being able to find the right words to say before reaching over and grabbing his own mobile. "World ending yet?"

"Not yet. Though with any luck, quarrels could happen before lunch." He mused, one side of his mouth raising slightly in a playful smirk.

"Mycroft you can't wish for conflicts amongst empires to get out of a meal with your brother."

"Can't I?" He raised a brow.

"Anthea wouldn't allow it anyway. We're on strict instruction to not go into work for the next couple of weeks, nations be damned. Lunch sounds far more appealing too." You slid yourself out of bed and grabbed one of the bags from Anthea that you brought upstairs last night, taking a handful of clothing items and tucking them under your arm.

"But it isn't lunch, is it? It's LATE Lunch, settled approximately around 3pm, too late for lunch, too early for dinner. It's impractical by any means; you starve yourself at real lunch so you do not ruin your appetite, and then by dinner time you're hungry once again. And if you eat at both of those times as well as the late lunch, your feeding schedules become on par with a bloody Hobbit." You rolled your eyes and headed to the bathroom. "Though you may be more accustomed to such choices given the height similarity between yourself and Mr Brandybuck."

"Cheeky sod, not all of us have glorious Holmesian legs. I'm sure you'll survive a few hours.. Oh, you also owe Greg an apology." You chuckled, opening the message back up and tossing your phone in the general direction of Mycroft's lap before going to get dressed. After reading the message, you heard Mycroft let out a laugh from the other room, the rare kind that you knew made the sides of his eyes crease and his head tip back slightly in amusement; you were sorry you missed it.

Leaving the bathroom, you couldn't help but notice the silk pyjama clad man standing mindlessly in front of his open wardrobe, glancing over each individual item of clothing. Wandering behind him, you moved up on your tiptoes and peered over his shoulder at the rows of suits. You were still dressed relatively comfortably in a pair of skinny jeans and a t-shirt, which you felt was appropriate for the later meal that would likely be somewhere like Angelo's- but you equally knew that Mycroft's idea of 'comfort' lay within his three pieces, pocket squares and oxfords.

"Don't panic, I'm not going to begrudge you of your precious suits today. You deserve it after actually going through with my wardrobe choice for you.. I didn't actually expect you to do it." You laughed, squeezing his shoulder fondly. "We slept in late again, there's barely any morning left." You commented, glancing over at the clock that read 10:53am. "Can I tempt you in Elevenses, Mr Baggins?" You grinned, your Lord of the Rings reference not being missed by Mycroft. He cast you a playful glare, fighting the urge to childishly poke his two fingers up at you. "What? Not judging my bedside manner this time?"

"It is useless to meet revenge with revenge; it solves nothing." He quoted Frodo without hesitation, bastard probably already planned that you'd quip back with something smart and already armed himself with Shire related comebacks. You, in contrast to Mycroft, did have the tendencies to become childish and did opt for the two fingered response, an adoring smile unnaturally paired.

Not many people got to know of Mycroft's little nerdy side, and you took pride in being one of the few that did, though you took more pride in him for being able to easily reel off the quotes. Though he had told you before that The Lord of the Rings trilogy had been his favourite of everything you made him watch, then when he read the books? You wouldn't hear from him for hours at a time while he binge read through them for the tenth time round, and of course you had noticed the varying editions of the three books on his bookshelf in his personal office, rather than lining the shelves in his small library room. If anything, it just made him more endearing.

Though it was nothing compared with his love of Doctor Who. Bless his heart, you had taken him to watch David Tennant's Richard II a few years ago for his birthday and he was insistent on waiting behind after the performance to catch David leaving and got him to sign his special edition box set of his DW seasons. He even had a photo taken with him, his expression being easily comparable to the likes of a child who just got a puppy for Christmas- and, much to his dismay, the photograph had had a prime place on your desk at NSY since the event.

You made your way downstairs, calling out something about making omelettes and leaving Mycroft alone to get ready. His fingers skimmed across the expensive fabrics, tugging out an olive green suit and red tie and pocket square to match. The smell of the food you were preparing began to fill his nose, making his stomach growl as he rushed to the bathroom to get dressed. After removing his pyjama top, Mycroft caught a glance of himself in the mirror, prodding at the pudge of his stomach that settled just over his pyjama bottoms, before sucking in flat and looking again. Maybe he should forego the omelette and just wait until later.. another growl.. okay maybe just a little, just so he didn't raise suspicion. He sighed, stomach relaxing back to its natural state before finishing his morning routine, tugging his trousers up a little higher than usual to tuck away the offending belly fat.

Mycroft had always suffered with his weight, he knew that. He also knew of his past, how he would skip meals, or spend hours upon hours on his treadmill, or the time he was under Doctor Chinnery for just shy of three years following his habits of completing his meals with his fingers down the back of his throat over the toilet just after his job promotions exceeded and he found himself in much higher rankings- public appearance being far more important than any personal preference. Though his eating disorder had improved, the years of therapy didn't miraculously improve his self-confidence. It was one of the many reasons he preferred inviting others for dinners, or at the very least having his days to himself when he knew he would be going out later in the evening. Spontaneous meals out like the one he would be attending in a few hours, or having somebody at home with him while he waited for said meals threw him off balance completely- his usual routine of fasting beforehand as to not appear rude or raise suspicions when he ate in public being disturbed significantly. You knew of his past, deduced it, actually, and had been nothing but supportive, trying your best to convince him for years that he was perfectly healthy and encouraging him to eat better, to actually consume meals. He was thankful, of course he was, but it didn't help his insecurities around you, no matter how welcoming you had been or however many compliments you gave him. His body was covered in stretch marks and areas of loose skin from his weight loss over the years, his chest hair, though scarce, was a coppery ginger and his body was covered in so many freckles he looked like an explosion at a dot to dot factory. It led him to remember the other reason why he had never previously attempted to pursue a relationship with you; if he was disgusted and horrified at the appearance of his nude body then what on earth would you think when that time eventually came around? He daren't even try to imagine your face. You'd worked with Sherlock long enough to have seen him wander around naked and Mycroft had to admit that his brother at least had a body worth parading about in the nude, then there was Gregory who, despite not having an exactly chiseled body, still had the rugged good looks and toned chest- a physique that clearly represented the physical aspects of his occupation- there was no doubt you'd compare him to them and he would come up short every time.

"Myc? You gonna be long? Yours is going to be freezing!" Your voice had knocked him out of his thoughts and he quickly shrugged on the rest of his clothes, straightening his tie in the mirror and plastering on a small smile as he headed downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Apologies.. the cufflinks failed in succession to cooperate at first." You had eyed him suspiciously, knowing that Mycroft had worn enough suits in his lifetime that he could probably find a way to put one on to completion in 5 minutes in the dark with oven mitts on.

"I know I've been so against the suits, but I have to admit that you look incredible.. I think that one's my new favourite." You commented casually, placing a quick kiss to his temple as he sat at the table. "That colour is lovely." He quirked a brow.

"New favourite? You've had old ones?"

"Obviously." Imitating Sherlock. "Charcoal pinstripe with that light blue shirt- brings your eyes out wonderfully... and your bum." You winked, positively enjoying the pink that dusted the man's cheeks, and the way he would open his mouth to speak and then close it before any words came out. In his defence, he was really not used to receiving such compliments. And in your defence, you weren't particularly used to giving them, not like that anyway. You'd blame Greg, he was a terrible influence and an incredible flirt- using his charm to at the very least try and make you laugh when you had shitty days.

You lay his plate in front of him, a coffee to its side, before beginning to tuck into your own meal. You had learned early on that if you didn't wait until Mycroft was able to eat then he likely wouldn't eat at all. While drinking his coffee fairly happily, you hadn't missed that the vast majority of Mycroft's breakfast was still on the plate, cut in smaller pieces and rearranged to appear as though he had eaten more than he truly had. Frowning, you didn't press- knowing better than to point out his behaviour and just being thankful he had eaten anything at all (about a third of the omelette and half a slice of toast if your judgements were correct) but had elected to keep an eye on him. You finished your own food in silence before crossing the cutlery over on your plate and beginning to speak.

"I figured if we left now we could have a bit of time for you to go through the first set of paperwork, Greg should be getting there in the next 10 minutes or so, and then by the time we finish and have a cup of tea it'll be time to go out." You suggested, taking Mycroft's plate to clear away after he had sent a nod to show he was finished. He made a small groan at the need to go at all, but soon acquiesced, sent a text for a car and stood to go to the front door. Tugging on a hoodie, you opened the door and took a step back, the wind shooting in your face and making you scowl. Mycroft made an amused sound and offered you the scarf of his that you had worn last night. Rather than taking the garment, you stood and waited for him to wrap it the same expert way that he had the night before. "I also text Greg to run by my flat and grab my coat so I'll be able to stop stealing your expensive scarves soon.. though this one feels so lovely I may text him again to leave it on the tube." You laughed, stepping back outside once again and walking with Mycroft to the end of the road where a car was waiting. Mycroft had wanted to respond, to make a comment about how he didn't mind letting you wear his things, how he actually quite liked it. But he stayed silent, offering a small smile instead and a soft hand at the small of your back. Mycroft opened the door for you, climbing in after and settling against the plush seats of the lavish car.

As the car began to move you tensed a little, a thought popping into your head.

"Myc.. does Sherlock know yet? About us? I might have hinted at it a little when I spoke to Lestrade earlier but I didn't press.. I just.. I didn't know if you were telling people." You asked awkwardly. Christ it made it sound like you were in some forbidden relationship. Mycroft's jaw clenched a little.

"I wasn't aware it was secret knowledge, if that's what you are asking Y/N. In response to your question, no. I haven't spoken to Sherlock at all since.." He trailed. "And I am not the sort of man to walk into a room and actively announce that kind of thing. But you should know that he will likely deduce it the moment we walk through the door being as you are wearing my clothing, your hair smells like my shampoo and your skin still has traces of the scent of my soap. So if you didn't want anybody to know, then I strongly suggest we rearrange our plans for this afternoon." Who was he kidding? Of course you didn't want people to know that you were actually together now- you would look ridiculous being such a pretty young woman with a man like Mycroft in tow. You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off. "If you are going to say you could argue the soaps then it would simply be futile, he knows I have your regular brand at your disposal; he'd know you used mine in the form of... sentiment." The last word felt wrong on his tongue now, knowing you had hoped to keep your.. relationship.. behind closed doors. Mycroft Holmes was a very private man, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't want knowledge of your relationship to be at least semi-public, having felt a little giddy when you'd chosen to cross that line with him.

"What? No, I wasn't going to talk about the sodding shampoo." You grinned, reaching a hand over to place on his knee. "Jesus Myc, I asked because I didn't know if YOU were comfortable with people knowing. I'm pretty sure everyone inside that flat knew I fancied you the last few years, I'd proudly walk in and show that my pining eventually paid off. I just know you have appearances to keep up and I didn't want to ruin that, or embarrass you in front of Sherlock." For what seemed like the millionth time in the last few days, your words surprised Mycroft. He felt his jaw loosen and he took a breath, moving only to briefly place his hand over yours for a small squeeze and moving back again. You didn't expect him to say much, he was Mycroft Holmes, not Romeo Montague, but the small smile you sent back his way let him know that you understood his thoughts. The drive to Baker Street was only 10 or so minutes from Mycroft's home so you soon arrived in no time at all, the slick black car smoothly pulling up outside number 221.

"I can only hope my dear brother deduces our relationship correctly and doesn't make a vast attempt to embarrass me in front of his peers.. again." Mycroft knocked on the door, his words casting you back to a Christmas you had all shared a couple years ago.

It was a small gathering, consisting of the pair of you, the Baker Street boys, Greg and Mrs Hudson, and a few weeks beforehand, after multiple arguments of whether or not presents should be shared, Mrs Hudson had come up with the wonderful (terrible) idea of secret Santa which, incase you wasn't aware, isn't a fun game when played with two Holmes' that knew everybody's present and Secret Santa before the packages were opened. You had pulled Mrs Hudson and couldn't have been more thrilled, neither could she when she opened her new tea set- a simple floral design decorated its sides, but she was thankful no matter the pattern, the last teapot having been found at the hands of Sherlock housing human eyes. Conveniently enough, Mycroft had pulled your name and elected to subtly buy you a personalised travel mug for work. After you had opened it, Sherlock had scoffed, muttering something along the lines of "Mycroft isn't that shit at buying presents. He bought you a necklace at first but felt too embarrassed to give it to you in such a public setting and panic bought that cup." Continuing on about how Mycroft had put a lot of thought into your original gift and how it was unusual and how it "obviously" meant he favoured you and was attracted to you. Mycroft had left shortly after that, not making eye contact with any of the silent people in the room and climbed into the back of his car, but you had followed suit and clambered in after him- easing the tension by ignoring Sherlock's allegations and giving him the envelope that you had in your pocket. You had told him you had bought him something special anyway, even though he wasn't who you were supposed to buy for, because you cared for and appreciated him- he had opened the envelope slowly and his eyes widened, that rare smile appearing on his face when he was presented with the Richard II tickets. After your exchange Mycroft had given you the necklace anyway, spouting derogatives about his brother's deductions as he did so. It was a small silver chain necklace with a sparkling silver pendant that, upon closer inspection, you had noticed was a police badge.

You smiled fondly at the memory and instinctively placed your hand above your sternum, feeling the small piece of metal beneath your clothing that you hadn't taken off in two years. You turned to face the man beside you a little more, placing a hand on his shoulder and reaching up on your tiptoes to place a lingering kiss on his lips, moving back only when you heard the latch unlock in front of you, and noticing the ever so slight pink tinge to Mycroft's bottom lip from the lip balm you had put on earlier. "That should make it easier to get it right." You commented, fighting the small grin from your face as you noticed Mycroft standing in the same way, lips parted slightly from where your own had been moments ago, a matching pink dusting his cheekbones. The door opened revealing a smug looking Sherlock.

"Be careful Mycroft, you'll catch flies like that if you aren't cautious enough."

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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

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Ok I know cigarettes are like.. BAD ok. But I keep having this thot about riding javi on his stupid ass couch as he smokes a cigarette and you just take it from his lips and smoke as you quite literally ride him into the couch. He thinks it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Hazy Vision (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: After a long weekend together, Javier has to go back to work. You really miss him.

W/C: 3.4k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, babes), lots of dirty talk and innuendos, references to a lot of sex outside of what happens in the plot, creampie, language, mild overstimulation. LOTS of talk of cigarettes and smoking. brief mentions of food and alcohol. afab reader.

A/N: you broke my soul, anon. and for that I love you. p.s. HAPPY BIRTHDAY @theteddylupinexperience!!! hope u have an awesome day and that this is a sufficient gift lol

It’s hot as hell in Colombia, and your air conditioner broke.

Javier is gracious, of course. He’s your boyfriend. He cares for you. He’d do anything for you, even with nothing in it for him. It’s a bonus to him that you’ll get to spend the foreseeable future at his place, since every repairman in the country is working at full capacity.

Another bonus is you wearing his clothing. At first, it was funny to him. You didn’t grab any extra clothing when you first came over, so it was natural that you’d grab a shirt of his to sleep in. Then the morning came, and you wandered around his apartment in a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt. He had to admit, you looked stunning like that. So casual, carefree, painfully domestic. You’d pounced on him in bed after two coffees and insisted that you spend the weekend in bed entirely.

So you did. Saturday was spent mostly nude in his big bed, your head pressed to his chest or occasionally to his lips. When Javier asked if you wanted to run to your apartment for more clothing, you’d pouted. “But it’s hot outside. I don’t wanna go all the way over there.”

As much as you enjoyed your own clothing, there was such a charm to wearing Javi’s. His clothes were big on you, even as they pulled tight on his thick arms and broad chest. They were comfortable too, and smelled just like him. It was a perfect comfort when he was at work and you sat bored in his apartment.

Javi sighed and asked if you’d like him to go get some. You gave a wide grin, and he begrudgingly made his way to your apartment. He packed you a bag of enough clothes for a week, and promised you if the air conditioning wasn’t fixed by then, he’d do it himself. And when he got back, he’d absolutely wreck you.

When he returned, he made good on his second promise and the two of you spent the whole day in his bed. A few lazy rounds of sex, lots of little kisses, and murmured words of affection into the other’s ear.

It was so perfect that it was really no surprise that Sunday came and went the same. You’d showered in the early morning, and Javier joined you. Shower sex occurred. Then you made breakfast and ate it in bed with him. You dozed in and out of sleep together for a few hours too. When noon rolled around, Javier treated you to a wonderful hour of his face buried between your legs, eating you out and never stopping. More sleep. You watched some television, snuggled, talked about the week behind you and the week coming up.

You ordered and ate takeout for dinner, also in bed. You finally drifted off late at night and groaned as Javier’s loud alarm woke you.

“Don’t go to work, baby,” you whine, throwing your arms around him.

“I just spent two days in bed with you. What more do you want from me?” He murmurs sleepily, sitting up and running a hand through his messy hair.

“All of your love and affection,” you say cheerfully, as if it’s not hard to give. Javier has already found it isn’t difficult with you. You’d had it since the moment you met.

“Cute, very cute,” he chuckles and taps your ass as he gets out of bed.

Even with the air conditioner pumping chilled breezes through the apartment at full speed, it’s as if the heat outside has settled inside of you. Your skin isn’t sweating but you feel flushed, stifled by all the clothing you’re wearing. So you strip down a little, heading to Javier’s room for something light.

As you remove your top, you smile as you see your favorite of Javier’s shirts. It’s a bright magenta, and you slip it over your shoulders. It’s a light material, but you leave it unbuttoned, exposing your lacy white bra beneath it. You keep the white shorts you’re wearing on. Looking in the mirror, you wish there was a way to show Javier how good you look right now. Instead, you settle for the fact that it’s… fuck, it’s only 4.30?

You’re restless. You’ve done plenty today: cleaned Javi’s kitchen, watched some telenovelas, read from an interesting book you were making your way through, organized his bedroom, and it’s still only 4:30. If you’re lucky, Javier will get home around 5:15 at the earliest. You know his job is demanding; he could be there all night.

Desperate for anything to do, you turn to one of Javier’s vices. Grabbing the pack of cigarettes from the counter, you make your way to the couch and plop down, resting your feet on his coffee table. You take out a single cigarette and ignite it with the little flick lighter Javier keeps on the end table.

For the next ten minutes, you breathe slowly, inhaling and exhaling the nicotine. Your eyes slip shut as your head rests against the back of the couch. You’re tired and lazy and still so fucking warm for some reason.

The night passes painstakingly slowly. You watch the 5:00 news, then the 6:00 and the 6:30. Finally, around 6:45, the doorknob jingles and Javier enters.

You’re cooking dinner by then, the stovetop sizzling with something good. It smells wonderful, he notes as he drops his briefcase and keys by the door, but there’s something even more enticing in the kitchen.

His radio is playing loudly, and you dance around the kitchen to the music as you cook. There’s sunlight filtering in through the windows, the last rays of the summer sun starting to descend. The large shirt fans out as you twirl, revealing the soft bare skin of your lower back. You’re already driving him crazy and you don’t even know he’s home.

He walks into the kitchen, and you look up with a grin as you see him. “Hi, Javi,” you sing as you wrap your arms around him, on your tiptoes. “Missed you today.”

“Missed you too… is that my shirt?” He asks, and you laugh happily, looking down at your outfit.

Javier finally processes the rest of the look and it sends a chill down his spine. Your breasts look so perfect, as if they’re perched there just for him. They are, but he doesn’t know that yet. “Yeah. I know we have the A/C pumping in here, but it still feels so hot,” you shrug, turning back and stirring something in the pan.

Javier wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin perching on your shoulder. “You look good in my clothes,” he murmurs.

“I think it’s making me pick up some of your habits,” you giggle and nod to a glass of whiskey to the right of the stove. “I’ll pour you one. You keep stirring these,” you tell him and kiss his cheek, sliding out of his arms.

He gets changed eventually, out of his work clothes and into a t-shirt and a rare pair of shorts you never knew he owned. It must be hot at the Embassy, you consider, and even though it’s cool in here, the effects linger. He must feel the heat the same way you do.

The two of you sip your glasses of whiskey as dinner cooks, and Javier’s eyes rarely leave yours. When they do, they’re on your chest or your ass in those little white shorts.

“Go sit down,” you tell him as the food finishes. “It’s almost done, and it’ll need to cool before we can eat it.”

He nods in agreement and meanders to his couch, lying down lengthwise and sighing. You glance over at him and smirk a little. You’d planned this all day, been missing his body and his strong arms. His warmth was missing when you attempted taking a nap in his bed. He was right where you wanted him, lighting up a cigarette. The food is done, just needs to cool now.

“I was so restless today,” you smile as you wander similarly to the living room. He takes in your legs as they stand in front of him, rubbing a hand up the back of your thigh and admiring what he sees.

“And why was that?” He asks before blowing out a cloud of grey from between his lips.

You shrug. “Missed you. Had nothing to do, really, since this isn’t my house. But mainly I missed you.”

He grabs at your thigh, thick fingers pressing into the soft flesh, and you smirk down at him. You straddle him, stealing the cigarette from his lips. You let it dangle between yours and smile down at him.

He looks up at you, dazed. Between your hips hovering above his and the nicotine slowly buzzing its way into his brain, he’s beyond contentedness. “Missed you too, sweet thing,” he murmurs, splaying his fingers across your thigh. Your hands are similarly pressed to his chest, fingers spread wide against the cotton-covered skin, skin that you can tell is warm and turning pink from a rush of blood. “Got to take you whenever I wanted this weekend. Had to wait all day to get home and fuck you again.”

His words make you shiver, and you pass the cigarette back to him. When he takes a drag in, you grind your hips across his slowly. “How was work today?” You ask, though you really don’t care. You know the answer when it comes to Javi: stressful, annoying, frustrating, tiring.

He shudders too, and you can feel his cock hardening beneath you. “Shitty,” he sighs. “Fuckin’ Stechner. I swear to god, I’d let the narcos take him.”

You chuckle softly, starting to drag your hips across his aching crotch. “They wouldn’t want him. They’d want someone like you,” you mumble, leaning down over him. “That would really bring the gringos down.”

He’s in Heaven, he really must be. Your tits hang in front of his face, and you steal his cigarette and take another drag, your hips continuing to grind into his. There’s the smell of cooking from the kitchen and in all honesty, Javier is blissed out already. “No they wouldn’t.”

You giggle and kiss the side of his face, giving him the cigarette again. “Mm, maybe you’re right. Too stubborn. Or your girlfriend might go crazy and go after them from withholding her boyfriend’s dick from her.”

Javier chuckles lazily, taking one last drag before stubbing out the remains in the ashtray. “Wouldn’t make it 24 hours before you’d kill them all. You know how you get when you’re determined.”

You nod, lifting your face to kiss his lips slowly. It takes a few moments, passionate and deep and tasting of cigarettes and that whiskey. You pull away and his eyes dart between yours. “I’m going to get up, and you’re going to take off your clothes,” you mumble, your lips only millimeters from his.

He smirks up at you and steals one more kiss. “Then get up and let me undress,” he murmurs, and you stand to the side for him.

He chuckles and sits upright again, pulling down your shorts and admiring the panties beneath. He rubs his fingers across your folds through them, and he can already feel your wetness gathering. “Oh fuck me, honey.”

“You can if you get your own clothes off,” you tease and pull off his t-shirt yourself. He pushes off his shorts and boxers, kicking them aside as it reveals his rock-hard dick. You smile and lick your lips a little. “Lay back down.”

He does exactly that, smiling. You slip your panties off and straddle him again, your breasts bouncing in your bra with the movement. His pink shirt follows you along, and he can’t help but run his hands up your sides, admiring you in the hue. “Pink is your color.”

“Only when it’s yours,” you giggle, dragging your hips into Javier’s erection. He shudders and you guide yourself to rest with his dick pressed into your folds. “You ready for me?” You ask, fingers splayed on his chest again. This time, they lay on his caramel-colored abs, making you smile at the juxtaposition between now and just a few moments ago; blue fabric separated your hands touching him, now you can only feel bare skin.

“Go ahead, baby,” he assures you, his large hands grabbing your hips and lining you up.

It doesn’t take more than a second for you to sink down on him, moaning and tilting your head back at the feeling as you slowly take more and more. “Javi,” you whimper softly, toes curling at the sensation. “You’re so fucking big,” you whine, and it’s true. He is, his dick almost painfully long as it presses up and into your cervix already.

“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, his eyes closed as he takes in the sensation of you on top of him.

“Light another cigarette,” you order him, his cock fully sheathed inside of you. He nods, sitting up to reach the pack, and both of you make soft noises at the grind it gives, the base of his cock against your entrance.

He flicks the lighter and holds it to the little white stick. The end glows orange. “Good,” you nod and begin to lift yourself up and push yourself down as Javier takes a long drag from the cigarette.

You involuntarily tighten at how fucking good he looks beneath you, a light sheen of sweat starting to form on his forehead, smoke trailing from between his lips. “Javier,” you groan, your eyes slipping shut as you begin to bounce on him.

He knows exactly what you want, what you need to make this all that much better. His free hand no longer rests on your hips but circles your clit with two fingers. “There we go, baby girl,” he moans out at the way you sound from the motion. You sound wrecked, and he can’t get enough of it. “Mm, fuck, take what you need from me.”

Javier opens his eyes to look up at you. The sight is fucking magnificent: your tits bounce against that white lace, the pink fabric of his shirt draped against your sides. Just when he thinks you couldn’t look even hotter, you snatch his cigarette.

You cry out his name again and again as you slowly take a puff, the sensation too much to bear. Gripping the cigarette with your teeth, you press both hands to his chest and ride him faster, harder.

Your face is furrowed in concentration, sweat sliding down one temple. A bit of grey smoke obscures your face to him, but it’s still a fucking sight to behold. It’s everything he’s ever wanted and needed and more, a girl like you wearing his shirt and smoking his favorite cigarettes while you bounce on his dick, that sexy body moving along with his.

He can’t even thrust up into you. You’re grinding your hips down with every time you bottom out, his dick pressing right against your g-spot. He can’t even try. It’s fucking amazing. One of his hands reaches up to allow you to take a drag from it. It’s incredibly intimate, not just the way you’re obliterating him but the way he holds the cigarette to your lips. He takes it away for you to puff the smoke from your lungs then brings it back.

It doesn’t take long with the combination of everything. You shudder and pass the cigarette off to him fully, too occupied with what you’re doing. “Fuck, baby,” you whimper, his fingers pressing faster against your clit. “Really close.”

“Yeah?” He murmurs, taking his own puff from the cigarette before stubbing it out to his side on the coffee table. His long arms can easily reach. With a hand now free, he grips your waist and guides you up and down on him, just the way you like it.

His hand drifts higher, reaching your neck. He doesn’t squeeze or grab, just rests it there. Holds you in place, almost. It feels good, his hands roaming your body, and you cry out in pleasure.

“Come on, honey. Cum for me,” Javier urges.

Only a few more seconds pass before your peak washes over you, sending you into sheer bliss. Javi’s fingers don’t slow in the slightest, and he takes this opportunity to begin thrusting up into you as your bouncing involuntarily slows.

Your hand slides over where his rests on your neck, lacing your fingers through his. You cry his name and your head falls against his hand, eyes fluttering with pleasure.

Javier is now the one in control once more. He brings both hands to your hips and thrusts up into you, his movements sharp and harsh. His hips smack yours and the tip, buried deep inside of you, hits your g-spot, sending you into a pleasant state of overstimulation. “Fuck, Javi,” you whimper, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

Everything feels so warm and tender, your walls oversensitive now. It doesn’t matter to you in the slightest; rather, you relish it. You bring one hand to your clit and rub it yourself, shuddering. “Come on, Javi,” you plead, regaining yourself and working your hips back against his.

It’s all so good and so much and overwhelming. He can barely use any of his senses other than touch, can barely hear you as his head spins with the feeling of teetering on the edge. “Gonna cum, baby girl,” he groans, and you work your hips harder into his, desperate for it.

He can tell, and it makes him lose control. He spills hot and deep inside of you, the heat rushing through his body expunging the warmth that’s built inside of him all day from the goddamn Colombian summer. “That’s it, fuck,” he cries out as the orgasm rolls through his body.

The feeling of his cum spilling inside you is just enough, in tandem with your fingers. You cum a second time, your walls squeezing him tight, milking him dry of anything he can produce. “Javi,” you whimper, and he only notices you’re cumming for the second time when a warm gush rushes across his hips.

“Fuck, good girl, baby,” he breathes out as he comes down from his high, you equally as overwhelmed on top of him. After a few moments of heavy breathing, you remove yourself from around him and lie there, pressed to his chest.

Javier’s legs are bent at the knee, surrounding you on either side of your thighs. They press into you, and you lay on top of him with your ear pressed over his heartbeat. It’s still frantic, but it’s coming down. Javier wraps his arms around you, a finger tracing slowly up and down your spine through that damned pink shirt of his.

“Why do you love this shirt so much, hm?” He asks, breaking the warm and tired silence between you.

You chuckle. It’s certainly not what you expected to be asked, but you like it. “Kind of think I look like you when I wear it. I think what you saw just then is what I see normally. You on top of me, fucking me hard, sometimes with a cigarette.”

“Oh, you looked just like me,” he laughs sarcastically, shaking his head. “And when I have I ever fucked you while smoking?”

“Just like you,” you repeat in a soft and happy murmur, a small smile gracing your face.

“Jesus, you really must have missed me today,” he chuckles softly.

“Withdrawal, I guess. You leave me, I have to pick up another vice. I sat here smoking for a while today.”

“First of all, I did not leave you,” Javi chuckles softly. “And really?”

You shrug. “It just came to me to do it. It wasn’t great or anything, but it was something to do. To pretend you were there with me.”

Javi sighs and kisses the side of your head. “Well, should we go eat before the food is fully cold?”

You laugh. “I think it’s already cold, Javi.”

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rendevousz · 4 years ago

Text

not a lonely birthday

teen!actress!reader x platonic!jeremy renner

brief reader x marvel cast

req by @maximeevansblog : The reader (me ) is dating jeremy renner its the readers birtday, and jeremy renner spoiling her, taking to the hair salon and to the nail salon , and the trows a party for her, and he asks her to marry him, and a couple months later the reader is asked to been on say yes to the dress and alot of fluff please (i'm so sorry i couldn't write your exact request. i added the other cast too but it's still mainly jeremy renner so i hope you enjoy this still)

summary: you thought you were gonna have to spend your birthday alone but jeremy had other plans.

word count: 3296

note: i told her i couldn't really write romance because my blog is mainly teen!reader and she said i could just turn it into an x teen!reader so i did. i mean, i can write a non teen!reader but it probably won't be anytime soon so i'm not taking requests that aren't x teen!reader as of now <33

"are you sure you'll be okay?"

"yes, mum, i'll be fine here. i've been doing fine for the past two and a half months, what's another week without you guys gonna do to me?" you told your mother on the phone, rolling your eyes at her excessive, unnecessary worrying.

"we're so sorry about this, sweetheart," you heard your dad speak and you figured he must've been listening the whole time. your mum must've had it on speaker since the beginning of the phone call.

"you shouldn't have to spend your birthday all alone. i promise we'll make it up to you, honey." your mother spoke again and you groaned. "i keep telling you that it's fine. and what do you take me for, a loner? i've got the others here, mum, i'll be fine." you told her, a smile ghosting over your lips at how concerned she is of you.

your birthday was coming in two days and having a whole movie to film meant that you weren't allowed to leave the country for just a weekend to celebrate it with your family. so, they worked around your schedule and planned a trip to visit. unfortunately, your idiot of a brother managed to get himself into a skating accident and had to be hospitalised, affecting their whole plan of coming to celebrate your 18th birthday with you. well, not on the day of your birthday, at least.

"i'll make sure sarah'll bring you out to celebrate, okay? i'm so sorry about this, y/n." you could practically hear the pout in her voice and you held back the urge to tell her off for profusely apologising, you didn't want to receive a beating when she finally arrives here.

"i'll be fine, mum," you whined. "as i said, i'll be filming on my birthday too so i'll at least be with the cast then. it's never a dull day with them. and i'll be waiting for your gift from sarah on my birthday." you teased her. you knew she had a habit of getting birthday gifts way too early. for once, she was grateful for that because she had given sarah—your manager and also a family friend— your birthday present for her to safe-keep in case anything like this happened and she couldn't give it to you on your birthday.

"i'll give you permission to whack your brother once we come." your dad tells you seriously and you laughed. "thanks, dad. i'll be sure to remember it. anyways, i have to get back on set soon. i'll talk to you guys when i can?"

"of course, honey. have fun on set!" your parents bid you goodbye and you hung up with an adoring smile on your face. you missed your family and having been able to hear your parents' voices for a mere five minutes was enough to cure it for even just a little bit. sure, you were disappointed that you weren't going to get to spend your birthday with them but spending it doing what you love—acting— with the people, aside from your family and friends from home, that you love—the cast— didn't sound so bad.

"i'm so sorry about this, darling." you heard someone say, effectively breaking your train of thoughts. you turned to the source of the voice, meeting the hazel eyes of your manager and long-time family friend, sarah. she pulls you in for a hug that you groaned into but still returned. you rolled your eyes playfully when she let go. "i'm not upset, sarah."

"i know. but you're disappointed." she says softly, fixing your costume after the hug messed it up a little. "maybe i am, but it doesn't matter. i chose this life so technically i brought all of this upon myself. i signed up to have a normal life stripped away from me." you told her honestly, internally cringing because you hadn't meant to get that deep.

"y/n," her hands rested on both of your shoulders and she looks down at you with that stern mum glare she'd give you whenever you were being a little troublemaker. she was practically your second mum, having promised your own that she'd take care of you whenever you had to travel for filming.

"i know, i know, i'm sorry. i didn't mean it in a bad way. i love my job but it sucks that i have to be far away from family, you know?" you sighed. "i understand, darling. it's hard but hey, i'll be with you the whole day, okay? we'll go out and have a nice girl's day out together, do whatever you want. that sound nice to you?" she places a gentle hand against your skin, careful not to rub the fake dirt and wound makeup on your face.

"that sounds great, sarah. i have only a half day of filming that day, right?" you ask her, knowing she remembers your schedule better than you yourself do. "yup. anyways, they need you on set 3. get out there and make me proud, darling."

"and....cut!" the director called out and you dramatically dropped limp against the wire harness attached to your body, the wires holding up your weight so you didn't drop down to the floor but also didn't have to remain standing on your own.

you heard sebastian laughing, him being the closest to you in the scene you had just filmed. "you tired, y/n/n?" evans chuckled as he walked towards where you and seb were standing. "yeah, i just wanna sleep right now." you told them, standing up on your own when a crew member wanted to get your harness off.

"well, at least you get to rest now. you're done for the day right?" seb asked, the three of you now walking to the snack table together. "yeah but sarah wanted to take me out so maybe not rest but i'll get to relax. that's good enough," you say, peeling off a banana and taking a bite while the two men drank some water.

"she's taking you out later today? is there a special occasion?" chris asked and you smiled at him. "nah, nothing much. she just thought i've been stressed lately." you lied. you didn't want to seem attention-seeking for telling chris and sebastian that it was your birthday so you settled on a little lie.

"she's not wrong. you have been working hard and you deserve a relaxing evening off work." seb agreed.

"oh she's walking over here right now. are you going now?" chris asked, eyes trained behind you as he watched sarah coming closer. you turned around, meeting her frown-etched face and you blinked profusely in confusion. "i thought we're going in two hours?"

"y/n, i'm so sorry. some stuff came up and i have last minute errands to run all day," she told you, offering a guilty expression when your face dropped slightly. "oh.. i– um, yeah, it's fine."

"are you sure it's fine? i promised you though," she frowned. "it's fine, i know you have a lot to handle and it's totally fine if we don't go out today. i'll just take a nap and be on netflix all day, i guess." you joked but sarah didn't laugh. "sarah, it's fine. you know i've been wanting to catch up on a list of shows. when else will i be able to do this?" you assured her, trying to mask your disappointment.

"i have to go now. i'll make it up to you, darling, i promise." she gave you a hug before running off somewhere. you felt bad for her because she probably had to be running here and there all day but it didn't change that you were disappointed. maybe you really did deserve this for choosing this life.

"hey kiddo," you felt someone ruffle your hair and you were almost going to go off on them for doing that before remembering you had just finished your last scene for the day. an arm rested over your shoulder and you looked up to see jeremy taking over sarah's previous spot.

"um excuse me? do we not exist?" chris joked when jeremy didn't greet him nor seb. jeremy rolled his eyes at them, turning back to look down at you. "you did great today, kiddo." he complimented and you smiled, thanking him.

"wow okay, i guess we really don't exist, huh? c'mon seb, let's go somewhere else where people appreciate our presence." evans sassed, glaring at you two as both men strutted away.

"good riddance," jeremy said, dropping his arm so that you two were now face to face. "happy birthday, y/n." he says, handing you a little bronze coloured box. you gasped as you took it in your hands.

"how'd you know it was my birthday?" you asked him, eyes wide in surprise. "of course i know your birthday, kiddo. after all, you are my favourite co-star." he grins, gesturing for you to open the box.

you did and your hand immediately flew to cover your mouth in shock. "jeremy! you didn't!" you gently took out the necklace from the box, examining it closely. the charm was in the shape of your favourite animal and the chain was gold. this must've costed him a fortune.

"jeremy, you didn't have to!" you exclaimed, pouting at him to prevent yourself from bursting into tears right then and there. "kiddo, i love you a lot, how could i not?"

playing clint's adopted, eldest daughter in the films, as well as a member of the avengers, you and jeremy worked together a lot. he helped you a lot with practicing your lines and emotions for specific scenes and you bonded over so many things you two had in common. even off set jeremy still acted like your father so practically everyone knew how close you two were. if sarah is considered your second mum, you'd say jeremy is your second dad.

"so i heard sarah bailed on your birthday date today," he says as he helped you put on the necklace, smiling fondly when you looked down at it happily. "thanks a lot, jeremy. you really didn't have to," you hugged him tight, the man chuckling as he hugged you back.

"and sarah didn't bail. she just has errands to run all day. can't blame her, she's a busy woman." you told him. "yeah yeah, anyways, how 'bout i take you out instead? a birthday lunch and a day out with your favourite cast mate?" he wiggles his eyebrows at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

"you don't have anymore scenes to shoot?" you ask. "i do but i have plenty of time before then." he replies. you agreed happily and he tells you to meet him outside the set in an hour so you two could change out of your costumes.

"you ready for the best day ever, kiddo?" jeremy asks as you entered the passenger seat. "best day ever? then shouldn't we invite the rest?" you teased, buckling your seatbelt. "hey! i'm pretty fun too!"

you chuckled at his childishness. "i'm kidding, you are fun. now let's go already, i'm starving." you complained and he started the engine, letting you play whatever songs you wanted as background to your small talk.

you had lunch first at your favourite restaurant but not before you two had a debate of whether you were allowed to because you were supposed to be on a diet during the length of the movie shooting and him ultimately going 'to hell with that diet, it's your special day' and then dragging you in. after that, he said he had a surprise for you and told you to just get in the car.

when he finally stopped somewhere, you realised it was a pretty well known hair salon in town and you tilted your head in confusion. why would he bring you here?

"you said you wanted to dye your hair, didn't you? let's do it." he says nonchalantly, unbuckling his seatbelt before you both exited the car. "are you crazy? we're still in the middle of filming!" you exclaim in disbelief. this man was crazy.

"yeah but it's not like they can't just get a wig of your current hair and use that for the rest of the filming. scar and lizzie wear wigs all the time, you can too. now let's go dye that stupid colour you want!" he cheers, tugging you along with him by your wrist, into the salon. you chuckled at his antics, letting him drag you.

the next hour or two was spent with you worrying that your parents would kill you for this, or worse, anthony or joe. you knew it would be a meltdown for them if you came back with your hair a completely different colour.

jeremy assured you that the russos, as well as your parents, would not get mad at this but you were pretty sure you'd get an earful from both pairs. you made him promise that he would talk to both parties that he was the one who convinced you to do this. but once your hair was done, all worries flew out the window as you admired your new hair.

"you look great, kiddo. this colour looks good on you." he looks at you with a fond smile, trying to resist the urge to ruffle your newly done hair but failing. you pouted at him when he did so, reaching up to fix it again. "sorry, y/n/n, couldn't resist," he states, pinching your cheek.

"alright, next stop now, let's go!" he pulls you by the wrist once again and you let him, used to him doing this already. the next time he stopped, you damn right almost had another heart attack because again, this man was crazy.

he did not just bring you to a nail place. surely he isn't about to let you get your nails done, right? the russos would have your head and his too if you were to get them done and casually get back to the studio.

"no." you said firmly, crossing your arms over your chest as you stayed seated in the passenger seat. "c'mon, y/n/n," he whined, throwing a tantrum outside the car door as he tried to get you to leave the car.

"no, jeremy, they'll literally send me back here to get it off because in case you forgot, in all my scenes, i don't have fancy nails." you reasoned, noticing that jeremy has now moved to your side of the car and the passenger seat door has now been opened, the man continuing to make a fuss closer to you now.

"no they will not, i'll make sure they don't. c'mon kiddo, it's your birthday, let's have a little fun!" he says but you were still unsure about the whole thing. "i don't know.."

"okay fine i guess i'll tell you this now. they didn't want to tell you until later today because they wanted it to be your kinda birthday present but your avenger suit has changed. it's not like the one in the last movie, it's got gloves now! and the rest of your scenes excluding the last few ones are all in your superhero suit right?" your eyes widened at this new information, a smile growing on your lips.

"wait, for real? are you sure they're not just fingerless gloves?" he smiles down at you. "yeah. i planned this day well, okay? put some trust in me, geez," he sassed, moving out of your way as you finally exited the car.

"this better not be a joke, renner, because if it is, i'll have your head." you threatened jokingly. "yeah, yeah. oh also, can you just pretend to be shocked when they tell you about your suit upgrade? because i really wasn't supposed to tell you this." he scratched the back of his head awkwardly as you walked two walked into the nail salon.

the entire time, he awkwardly sat at the side, waiting for you to be done. when you were though, he quickly got up, as if he had been restless sitting down the whole time.

"they're pretty," he says as you walked back to his car. "yeah, i really like them. haven't had my nails done in a long time." you replied, getting in the car and waiting for jeremy to get in on his side. once he did, he immediately started the engine and started driving back to the set where he had to continue shooting and where you knew sarah would be waiting for you.

it was after many different topics and finally arriving outside the set did you decide to get a little emotional. "hey, i just wanna say thanks for today. i thought i was gonna spend the day alone watching netflix all day like some loser but you made this day really enjoyable. you have no idea how much this really means to me, thank you so much jeremy. i love you." you pouted at him, trying not to cry. "aw kiddo, of course. you're an important person to me. couldn't let you be a loser on your special day," he teases, bringing you into a hug where he didn't miss his chance to ruffle your hair.

once you let go, he kept an arm around your shoulder as you both walked in. he opened the door for you both and you almost jumped in place.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

your jaw dropped at the sight in front you. every single one of your co-stars, along with some crew members were wearing party hats holding up a banner that said 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Y/N'. sarah was in the middle, holding a huge birthday cake with a smile on her face. you slowly walked towards her, hand over your mouth in shock.

sarah gave the cake over to robert before opening her arms up for you. you gave her a tight hug. "you didn't have to do all this," you say, letting go of her. "jeremy and i planned this right when your mother called beforehand and told me they couldn't come in time." she explained.

you turned to jeremy who had been standing next to you the whole time, giving him another hug which he happily accepted. "you guys didn't have to." you told them, trying not to cry at the thought that these people loved you enough to do this for you.

"but we wanted to. and the rest wanted to join in too. now before you start bawling your eyes out, let's get this party started!" he cheered.

"but before that, make a wish, kiddo." robert tells you after evans finished lighting up all the candles. you closed your eyes, making a wish and blowing them all out. everyone cheered before walking away to grab food or to talk to others. or in your cast mates' cases, fighting over who gets to give you your present first.

"you knew it was my birthday!" you exclaimed when you locked eyes with evans, who was in the middle of a brawl with both mackie and robert. he laughed out loud. "yeah! i did! your lie couldn't fool me, child!" he says dramatically, before being pushed aside by robert.

you laughed as they continued to fight right in front of you about who you love more and therefore getting to be first to give you their gift. they even managed to slip in a few compliments about your new hair, while they were literally fighting. you watched in glee, realising that even if your biological family couldn't make it for your special day, you still had a second one to make it special.

taglist <3

@amourtentiaa @rqmanoff @abitofeverythinggg @andreasworlsboring101 @cay-writes-fan-fiction514 @teenwonder @sevenmorningstars @fleurlovesbucky

#marvel cast x reader #marvel x teen!reader #marvel cast x teen!reader #jeremy renner x reader #jeremy renner x teen!reader #x teen!reader #chris evans x teen!reader #sebastian stan x teen!reader #avengers x teen!reader #avengers x reader

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flaminpumpkin · 4 years ago

Text

Small treasures

“Five more minutes,” Bruce grumbled as he distantly heard the door open through his sleepy haze.

There was some shuffling sound around the room and then it was flooded with bright morning light as Alfred mercilessly opened the heavy curtains, the rays of sunshine hitting the Bat right in the face, making him scramble for the covers to hide his sensitive eyes.

“Very well, Master Bruce. Breakfast will be ready for you in the kitchen.”

He was so used to Alfred’s barely hidden exasperation after all these years that his words took longer than usual to register with Bruce. A frown appeared on his face as he finally realized what was wrong with the butler’s statement.

Alfred never served breakfast – or any meal for that matter – in the kitchen.

He would rather shoo everyone out with a spatula full off batter than let anyone eat where he cooked. Bruce couldn’t even count the number of times he had seen Dick or Tim appear in the dining room with a sheepish look, a thoroughly exasperated Alfred hot on their heels.

Pushing the sheets away just enough to uncover his head, Bruce peeked over his shoulder at the still open door, eyebrows knitting further in confusion.

“What?”

Something caught his eyes.

There was a piece of yellow paper on the nightstand. An origami bat, he realized after finally deciding to emerge from the sea of sheets and pillows he had buried himself in during his sleep. He reached for it and took the little paper animal gingerly between his fingers, eyes focusing enough to read “unfold me” written in elegant cursive right at its center.

Bruce did as he was told.

Dear Master Bruce,

My words most probably confused you as the kitchen is a place I do not tolerate for anyone to eat in. But, need I remind you, there always has been one peculiar occasion where I allowed you to do so.

Bruce stared at the note, confusion growing.

Oh.

His eyebrows raised a bit, pleasantly amused. There was indeed one occasion Alfred would let him eat in the kitchen while he worked. What did the kids put Alfred to this time?

Led by his curiosity, Bruce climbed off the bed, fully awake now as he put on a shirt, and padded out of the bedroom, towards the kitchen.

No one was there when he arrived, which wasn’t odd per say but he had learned to be cautious over years of attempted surprise parties. There was a plate though, on the little table, with French toasts that smelled like butter and cinnamon and a cup of coffee with probably enough sugar and cream that it didn’t even taste like coffee anymore.

It was a breakfast Alfred had always prepared for him on the morning of his birthday after his parents’ death. He would put the plate on this same table and work silently as Bruce happily ate, the two of them sharing the same space in the simplest way. It wasn’t a grand gesture but it had meant the world to him nonetheless.

Another little origami bat was waiting for him, propped against the cup. A small smile tugged at his lips.

Bruce put it aside before starting to eat, careful not to stain the paper with coffee or grease, only taking it again once he had cleared the table and washed his hands. He unfolded it with the same care as the first.

My happy place.

(Took a piece of bread. Alfred said yes. Thank you.)

Cass

The dance studio on the third floor.

A while back, Bruce had decided to redesign one of the biggest rooms on that floor in a place where Cass could dance that wasn’t the ball room. He had wanted for it to be a place only for her, where she could express herself and spend time however she pleased, without anyone bothering her. His greatest recompense had been the radiant smile on her face before she had locked himself in there and played music until late that night.

The next course of action wasn’t too hard to guess so Bruce quickly folded the paper back into its bat form, slid it in the pocket of his pajama pants, along the first one, and headed for the next place.

As expected, he found another bat in Cass’s dance studio, tucked into the folds of a bright orange knitted scarf. There was a running joke between his kids saying that it was because Bruce always forgot to take a scarf with him during winter that his Batman voice sounded so bad.

One thing was for sure, he would not forget this one.

Hey B, remember that time you told me you were proud of me and then proceeded to suffocate me with your muscles? Just kidding, you give great hugs. Like, super comfy, 10/10. But yeah, go there next.

Steph :p

He huffed at Stephanie’s words, eyes rolling with fondness. He remembered perfectly what she was referring to.

The young woman had been staying in the manor for a few days that time, Alfred being keen on keeping her under careful observation after she had been hit with a new type of fear gas while on patrol with Dick. She had continuously apologized to Bruce, blaming herself for Dick’s injuries.

Until the third day, where he had found her reading in the library, curled up in one of the love seats. Before she could utter a word, he had crouched down and grabbed her hands firmly.

“You do not need to apologize or blame yourself for anything, do you hear me? You managed to drag Dick and yourself out of this building while under the influence of fear gas when most would have stayed frozen in place. I’m sure he will agree that a few scratches and broken bones are far better than what would have awaited him if you hadn’t been there. I’m proud of you, Stephanie Brown. More than you’ll ever know.”

After that, she had thrown herself at him and Bruce had hugged her for the better part of an hour until Alfred had come to fetch her for some blood analysis.

This time, when he walked into the next place of this little treasure hunt, he found a laptop, sitting open on the table next to one of the windows. The windows of the library were wide and high and the spot where the next gift awaited was one of his favorites.

So he let himself sink in the armchairs cushions and started to play the video.

“You better not ruin this, Todd,” Damian was saying, standing next to the piano in the lounge of the west wing, violin already positioned on his shoulder.

Jason was scowling at the piano in front of him, focused.

“Just take the lead, brat. I’ll follow.”

“Could you two focus, please?” Tim said off camera.

The other two huffed with the same affronted look towards the camera.

Then the melody started and both of their faces softened. It was gentle, melancholic. Almost sad if you asked Bruce. But he listened with a smile on his face, bemused at the sight of his two quick tempered sons playing with a soft kind of intensity together, Jason following Damian’s lead flawlessly – probably the result of hours of practice. It was truly beautiful and he knew that the melody was one of Damian’s compositions.

But it was over too soon for Bruce’s taste so he played it a second time, closing his eyes. And then a third as he read the next message, only heading for the next place once it was over.

Blah blah blah, some cute shit about us bonding, blah blah blah. Just get your ass to the garage old man.

Ps: Remember your Aston Martin? I think I scratched it a bit but I’ll blame it on Timmy anyway.

Jay.

Bruce knew exactly which car Jason was talking about (and knew perfectly that he didn't scratch it). An Aston Martin DB5 he had inherited from his father. Nobody had driven it in ages when Jason had brought it up during dinner one evening, not long after he had taken him in.

“Isn’t that James Bond's car?”

“It is. But it’s been so long since the last time I used it, I’ll probably need to pop open the hood before anything else if I want to drive it again.”

“Can I help you fix it?”

Jason’s eyes had been so full of hope and excitement when he had asked Bruce. He had laughed before agreeing. The next day, Alfred had had to come and pry them away from the car for lunch because both of them had forgotten about eating in their eagerness.

He noticed a tape case on the board as he approached, in front of the wheel. Bruce opened the door and climbed in so he could reach for it easily. On the piece of paper tucked between the clear case and the tape, Bruce could see every song scribbled, one in each of his children’s handwriting. He recognized a song by The Clash in Tim’s handwriting – of course – and Midnight Sonata in Damian’s. The other titles and artists were mostly lost on him, except maybe for that Belgian one Cass listened to a lot.

I can’t count the number of times I fell asleep there while you worked and you had to carry me back to my room.

Dick

Bruce couldn’t recount either.

Although he remembered fondly the first time Dick had fallen asleep in his study, curled up in one of the seats across his desk while he worked on some urgent papers for WE. They both had been so young. Bruce being completely new to parenthood, he had seeked out Alfred who had only fixed him with a blank stare before sending him back.

“Don’t you dare wake up this child, Master Bruce.”

He had actually managed to pick up the gangly child without waking him up, even if rather awkwardly, and had carried him all the way to his bedroom uneventfully. Only to trip on one of Dick’s schoolbooks once there, nearly dropping him.

They had both elected not to mention it to Alfred and, to this day, it was still something only the two of them knew about.

When he arrived at his study, another message was waiting for him in the seat Dick used to sleep in, along with a gift card for that 24 hours coffee shop that had opened recently in downtown Gotham. Bruce let out a breathy laugh at that.

I know you always listen when I play, Father. Why do you think I leave my door open when I do?

D. Wayne

And here he thought he had been smooth. However, he should have expected that his son would pick up on his habit of passing by his room while he rehearsed with his violin.

But Bruce couldn’t resist the pull in his chest. Damian was a gifted player, just like Jason, able to translate raw emotions in barely a few notes. It always put his mind at ease, smoothed out his most troubled thoughts even for only a few moments. He had caught everyone at least once, standing outside of his youngest’s door, listening to soft melodies in a rare moment of peace.

It was silent moments shared with everyone, brought together by Damian's deft fingers. Something he had been doing knowingly and willingly apparently. It made it all the more special for Bruce.

There was no gift when he went searching for the next clue in Damian’s room. Or so he thought.

Sitting on his son’s music-stand along with yet another yellow origami bat, was an open partition. It was still in work, Bruce could tell. Notes were hastily written with a pencil, a few stains where some had been erased. Nothing out of the ordinary for Damian and his creative mind. Except for the title.

Ode to Family.

Thankfully, no one was around to witness the shuddering breath that escaped him as he read. He exited the room still unable to breathe normally, heart so full he almost felt like suffocating, and walked towards his next – and probably last – location.

You spent hours trying to teach me how to dance the waltz there after I told you I wanted to take Steph dancing for her birthday. I still don’t know how to dance but we had fun.

Tim

Indeed, Bruce still regularly caught Tim stepping on his partner’s toes during charity galas and other events. But he suspected the young man of going to great lengths to not learn how to dance correctly because it usually dissuaded most people from asking him to dance with them. And god knew how much his son disliked dancing.

That was why it had greatly surprised him when Tim had asked him for help.

“I wasn’t really the best boyfriend to her so I just… I thought I could at least be a good friend and take her dancing? She loves it when Cass takes her in the studio and they dance so I just thought… Yeah…”

Five hours later, Tim had made absolutely no progress. He had known the steps by heart at this point, had it memorized and yet, he couldn’t seem to stop stomping on Bruce’s toes. To both Dick’s and Alfred’s delight.

His eldest son probably still had videos of it, he thought as he entered the vast and empty ballroom. There was nothing out of the ordinary or out of place and Bruce almost expected for his family to sneak up on him and surprise him when he noticed one last, black origami bat on the wooden floor, right in the center of the room.

He crouched down and unfolded it slowly, warily even, some would say.

Terrace on the second floor. You know, the one where I inelegantly asked you to marry me and you just stared for a good five minutes before laughing. (And saying yes, of course.)

It wasn’t signed and even if the message wasn’t telling enough, he would recognize that hasty scribble everywhere.

Bruce took off, climbing stairs two by two and running down hallways. His heart was pounding in his chest.

He had been gone for six months. Six excruciatingly long months of absolutely no contact, of not having any means to make sure his husband-to-be – yes, that idiot had asked him to marry him just before leaving – was still alive and well. Six months of worrying, of his children asking nervously if he had any news of his whereabouts.

Bruce barged through the French doors leading to the wide terrace on the second floor of the manor and, surely enough, everyone was there. Absolutely everyone.

“Happy birthday, Spooky. Half a century, we gotta celebrate,” Hal drawled with an easy grin.

“Someone take the cake away from Hal. Right now, before they ruin it!” Bruce heard someone say distantly and, next thing he knew, he had taken the few steps still separating them and was kissing Hal, holding him close by the lapels on his jacket.

There were groans, cheers and something that sounded a lot like someone telling them to get a room. Hal laughed against his lips, pecked him one last time before pulling away, opening his arms widely with a grin. A clear invitation for everyone to pile up on them which everyone took with great enthusiasm, barreling into them and crushing Bruce and Hal under their combined weight.

#batfam #bruce and his kids #that's it #batlantern #at the end #as a treat #cuz I love these old men #bruce wayne #batman #happy birthday batsy #this was supposed to be a short drabble i don't know what happened #clemwrites

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quicksilverownsmysoul · 3 years ago

Text

13 Going on 30 pt. 4

A Peter Maximoff x reader fanfic based off the movie 13 going on 30

Summary: You are so excited when the most popular girl in your school agrees to come to your 13th birthday party. But after a cruel prank you find yourself wishing that you were popular and older. By some miracle your wish is granted but isn’t as wonderful as it seems. You turn out to be a major jerk and you don't even talk to your best friend Peter anymore. Can you fix everything and get back to normal or are you stuck living like this forever

Warnings: Nothing really it’s pure fluff, a little angst and some suggestive content

Word count: 1648

“What?” Your voice cracked as you stared up at him with watery eyes. You reached towards him grabbing onto his forearm. He shrugged you off, stepping back from you. “Petey, you’re my best friend.” You said, lip trembling. He just shook his head sadly. You threw yourself down on the couch and buried your head in your hands.

Peter moved to sit in the chair next to you, he sat awkwardly as he watched as you started to cry. He reached his hand out and gave you a pat on your back. “There, there don't cry.” You started to cry harder at his poor attempt at comfort and he grimaced. He had never been great at comforting you, even less now that he barely knew you. “Can I get you anything?”

“A water.” You hiccupped out through your tears.

“A water? Do you want ice or like-

“A pillow.”

“What?”

“A PILLOW I WANT A FUCKING PILLOW.” You screamed turning on Peter. He jumped out of his seat and nearly tripped over himself rushing to get up.

“Okay okay! I’ll get you a fucking pillow. Okay?” He watched you with nervous eyes as he stumbled out of the room backwards, scared to break eye contact with you.

You sat on the couch clutching the pillow to death, slowly sipping the water he had brought you. Peter watched you with cautious eyes flinching anytime you moved, honestly he was pretty scared of you at the moment. You sniffled and lifted your head up to look at him. “So you really know nothing about me?”

He avoided your piercing gaze and kept his eyes cast downward. “No, um you kinda dumped me as your friend and started hanging out with Lucy and all of them. And then we parted ways after high school, we went to different colleges and I never saw you again.” He gave you a small smile. “Until now.” You nodded at his answer and finished off your water. You looked around his apartment, it was exactly how you imagined it would look like. You let out a laugh at seeing the arcade game behind him.

“I see you finally got the pac-man machine. You always said you were going to get one when you got your own place.”

“Yeah.” He said let out a light laugh. “I can’t believe you remembered that.” He took your empty glass and placed it back on the counter. “Look (y/n) I think you should go back to your apartment. I can help you find it.”

“Okay.” You stood up, pulling your coat back up, you let him walk you to the door, he slipped on his shoes, as usual they were already tied. He never did untie his shoes, always said it was a waste of time. You turned around and the game in the corner caught your eye again. You turned to face him with a playful smile on your face. “I’ll let you take me home but only if you let me try and beat your high score on pac-man.”

“Take you home?” He smirked. “I don’t think you know what you’re implying.” You gave him a weird look and he blushed realizing your mind hasn't gone where his had. He cleared his throat and tried to steer you back towards the door. “I really think you should be getting home.”

“Oh?” You asked, placing your hands on your hips. “Are you trying to get rid of me because you’re scared of me beating your high score?”

“What? No.”

“I think you are. I was always better than you at it.” You smirked at him.

He scoffed, mirroring your stance. “‘No you weren't.”

“Yes I was.” You narrowed your eyes playfully at him. “So are you going to let me play or are you too chicken?’

Peter rolled his eyes. “(y/n)-”

“Bwak.” You said begging to cluck like chicken, you had your arms making wing motions. He laughed at your imitation.

“What are you thirteen?” You just clucked in response before moving closer to him. You were inches apart, challenging one another with your stances.

“So are you gonna let me try and beat your score.” He mirrored your smirk, a happy feeling overtaking him. He had forgotten how much he had missed hanging out with you. And how much he had missed all your silly antics. “You're on.”

After beating Peter’s high score three times he walked you back to your apartment. “Told you I was better.” You bragged again as you guys stopped in front of your building.

‘Yeah yeah.”

“This was fun.” You said tucking your hair behind your ear. Peter watched you, noticing that somehow you still possessed all your old habits.

“Yeah it was.”

“We should do it again sometime.”

“I don’t know-” He trailed off as he saw your eyes staring up at him. Those same puppy eyes you would give him when you guys were kids. The ones that would make him walk off a cliff if you asked. He let out a sigh with a reluctant smile. “Yeah we should.” You smiled brightly at his words and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

“Thanks for taking me home Petey.” You walked in your building leaving Peter to stand there in shock

“Uh yeah.” He said not even realizing you were gone. He was too busy holding his fingers up to touch the spot where you had kissed him. He shook his head and started back home, he couldn’t believe after all these years you still had him wrapped around your finger.

The next day you felt a little more prepared to take on the day. Though you still woke up and pinched yourself hoping it was all a bad dream. You had gotten a call yesterday from Lucy who told you that there was a party for your company tonight. Apparently Poise had a party they were supposed to premier at and you and her were supposed to host it and make sure the company got good publicity out of it.

You showered and sat down on your bed still wrapped up in your towel. You looked over at the phone nervously. Peter had given you his number after you had practically begged for it. You desperately wanted to call him and invite him to the party, but the thought of him rejecting your invitation was daunting. You debated with yourself for a moment longer before picking up the phone and quickly dialing before you could change your mind.

Peter was still in bed when you called. He was groggy and half asleep as he reached into his nightstand trying to find the phone. “Hello?” He opened his eyes and saw that he had picked up a pringles container. He grumbled and threw it to the side. He picked up the actual phone, rubbing his eyes trying to wake up.

“Hello?” His voice was raspy, you could tell he had just woken up.

You smiled to yourself at hearing his voice on the other line. Letting out a little giggle at his morning voice. “Hey Petey.”

His eyes widened at realizing it was you. He had to clear his throat, smoothing his hair down even though he knew you couldn't see him. “Hey (y/n). Why are you calling so early?”

“Peter.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s noon.” He glanced over at the clock by his bedside. Sure enough it read 12.

“Oh.” You laughed at his lame response and he smiled at hearing it. “Anyway why are you calling? Don’t you have some big company you're supposed to be running?”

“Actually we have the day off to prepare for this party Poise is holding tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! And I was wondering…” He could hear the hesitancy in your voice. “If maybe you would…”

“Come on (y/n) spit it out.”

He heard you let out a little laugh. “If you would like to go to the party with me?” He felt the phone slip form his hand, as a blush over took his features. Were you asking him out? He could hear your voice on the other line calling his name. He scrambled to pick it up and pressed it back to his ear. “Yeah I’m here.”

“So can you come?”

“Like as a date?” It was your turn to be embarrassed. You struggled over your words as you tried to get a response.

“Nonononono. Not like that, not that I wouldn't want to go on a date it’s just.” You took a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t know anybody there and it would be nice if you would come. Please” You added.

Peter felt his heart sank a little and he didn't know why. “Yeah I get it. Um.” He looked over at the calendar that was pinned to his walls, so far all the dates were empty. “I’ll see if I can make it.”

“Really?” You asked holding the phone closer, trying your best to hide the excitement in your voice

“Yeah just give me the address and I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’re the best Petey.”

“I know.”

Peter wrote down the address on a scrap of paper and went over to pin it on the calendar. He glanced over at his phone, it was still blinking, by now he had about a million voicemails from her. But the thought of calling her back filled him with dread. He looked back over at the calendar and his heart fluttered looking at the address. At the implication he would get to spend the night with you. Something he had held hope for for a long time now. He sighed and sniffed himself making a face. He was definitely going to need a shower no matter what he decided to do. But deep down he already knew what his decision was going to be.

Taglist: @raincoffeeandfandoms @no-mercy-bby @superwholokian309 @lejardinfleur @duchessnibsrp @steamboat-local @waspyyy @instabull @xxspqcebunsxx @coffeeandteaintheevening @kitwalkerangel @joshdunstoothbrush75 @xmaximoffic @chiswritingandreadingcorner

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macbetha · 3 years ago

Text

below the cut, you'll find an interest check chapter for quatervois, a nancy drew pc fic. it's francy and also my idea of my absolute dream game. please let me know what you think and enjoy!

+++

After Ned breaks up with her and she loses her father, Nancy struggles to find her old vigor for detective work. While on vacation in London with Bess and George, Nancy accepts the urgent invitation to return Blackmoor Manor. Her English getaway quickly turns into an investigation once Nancy realizes the true reason Nigel Mookergee asked her back to the moors. Finding Deirdre Shannon at the manor under the same pretense only sets Nancy’s nerves further on edge. It isn’t until the Hardy Boys show up in Blackmoor that Nancy gets a glimpse of who she once was. With a manor full of suspects and a glass heart cracked open, Nancy is determined to find the truth.

Dear Ned,

How are you? It’s been a while. I’ve always started off my letters telling you about my latest case, but I’m not on one right now. I’m sure that’s hard to believe. Bess and George have whisked me away to London. I’m sure you would love it here. This is the first time I’ve seen Bess and George since I sold the house in River Heights. I stayed with Kyler and Matt in Ireland for a while. I needed a change of scenery. Their daughter just turned two. I’m somewhat jealous I’m happy for them. Anyways, I miss you I hope you’re doing well. I’m sure New York is lovely at Christmas time. I hope Stephanie is I wish Stephanie well How is Stephanie? I hope Stephanie is doing all right. I appreciated the card Stephanie sent when dad passed away. Warm regards, Merry Christmas, Love Nancy

She stares down at the letter as if the red ink were her own blood. It feels just as wounding, seeing her emotions made physical in the words on the paper. Only when a tear splatters on the page does she break free from her trance to the past. Nancy is the only person in her hotel suite, yet she works to rid the evidence like one of her own suspects. She pulls her feet up in the desk chair and crosses her ankles, holding the arch of her right foot – it recently became the victim of her latest culprit. Nancy’s foot got caught under the getaway car’s tire, and she is lucky to even be able to walk after the event. Months later, it’s stiff as hell with the most intense cramps she’s ever endured. Heart racing to forget the night it happened, she focuses on the snowfall out the window – counting little sparkles of snowflakes, though the world blurs when she squints. The doctor thought her failing sight as well as the daily headaches were on account of being hit in the head so many times.

She busies herself with choosing a postcard to send Hannah and Nancy selects one with a cat dressed up as a royal guard. The cuteness puts a smile on her face, however small – she hopes it’ll do the same for Hannah, but there is no telling. Nancy had the gut-feeling Hannah was lying about recognizing her the last time Nancy visited the nursing home. Torment swirls like wind to fallen leaves. She doesn’t have Hannah or Togo to come home to. Togo passed just before Nancy’s thirty-second birthday, and Carson fell ill soon after that. Nancy looks to her hotel bed where Mr. Woogle Woggle sits tucked between two pillows. It seems he is the only one that hasn’t left her. A knock on her hotel door reminds her that is simply not true. Nancy rights herself, fixing her posture to the stance of someone passionate, and she opens the door. Bess and George greet her with blazing smiles; Nancy gives silent thanks for their presence in her life. She would still be in Scotland with Kyler and Matt, had Bess and George not insisted to take her on a vacation. Nancy imagines that their insistence was due to them wanting to keep Nancy from spending Christmas alone on the road again like last year. “Nancy,” Bess stresses. “You’re never going to guess who we ran into in the lobby!” Horror strikes dull and loud in her ears. Surely, it’s not Ned. Please, don’t let it be Ned. George says, “Give you a hint: they were involved in one of your cases.” Nancy’s despair leaves her throat tight. She glances down the hallway, preparing to yank Bess and George into her room and dial her Cathedral contact to get them set up in witness protection.

“That didn’t narrow it down at all, George,” Bess says with a roll of her eyes. “Nancy’s been on hundreds of cases.” Nancy’s strain creeps into her one word: “Who?” Bess and George beam. “Maya Nguyn!” ++

Nancy follows Bess and George to the elevator in a hurried stupor. No thoughts can she conjure as she steps free from the elevator walls which seem to close in on her; Nancy marches into the lobby and notices a woman in the crowd of tourists. She stands with her back to Nancy, her hair drawn up in a bun, and her chin is lifted high with no time for games. Maya turns around and her bright red mouth stretches into a smile. “Nancy!” “Maya,” Nancy huffs in disbelief. She tenses in Maya’s sudden embrace before all but falling into it. This is something good I did; Nancy cherishes with shut eyes. This is someone I helped. When Maya pulls back, Nancy says, “What are you doing all the way out here? You said in your last letter, you were still in Washington.” “My house is technically there,” Maya nods. “But I get to work on the road more these days.” Her brows crease over a sympathetic smile. “Bess and George tell me you’re kind of in the same boat.” Nancy shrugs, struggling to hold Maya’s concerned gaze. “It’s just easier,” Nancy lies. Maya seems to see right through it, but she doesn’t speak on it. Nancy will have to thank her later. George says, “Maya offered us free tickets to a play she’s reviewing tonight and get this – it’s at the Globe Theater!” “Remind me what’s so special about a globe theater,” Bess sighs, checking her nails. “Not ‘a’, Bess, the.” George shakes her head. “The Globe Theater – well, technically it’s a reconstruction of the first one, but it’s where Shakespeare wrote his plays.” “It’s the opening night of a new play,” Maya explains. “And Nancy, you’ll never guess who the star is.” Nancy cannot take anymore guessing games. “Brady Armstrong.” Maya blinks. “Well – yes, actually.” Nancy frowns. “Wait, really?” “Yes,” Maya laughs. “I’ll be conducting an interview with him after the show if you want to go backstage and chew him out for all the stunts he pulled back in the day.” A spark of vigor heightens Nancy’s senses. That doesn’t sound bad at all. Still – “Are you sure we won’t be a distraction or –” “Nancy.” Maya’s hand falls on her shoulder. “You saved my life. You’re the furthest thing from a distraction.” Gratitude floods her before Nancy nods. “All right, then.” +++ The walk to the Globe would be depressive what with the sky being the color of a soaked napkin, but the Christmas decorations lift everyone’s spirits. Nancy limps by a shop playing Christmas oldies through the open door and she is borne back to her father listening to records over cocoa on Christmas morning. She tries to push the memory from her mind, then she thinks of building snowmen with Ned and having snowball fights that turned into the sweetest kisses she’s ever received. The music won’t stop. There are three Christmas trees in the display window and their flashing lights strike pain behind Nancy’s eyes. She pants through a sensory overload before someone squeezes her hand. Maya smiles in understanding as Bess and George walk obliviously in front of them. “It’s hard,” Maya says. “This life on the road. You pick up a few habits.” Nancy squeezes her hand in thanks before tucking her own in her peacoat’s pocket. “I want to enjoy this,” she admits quietly. “But I think the holidays are always hard.” Maya nods. “It won’t be this way forever, Nancy,” she promises. “I’ve got my fingers crossed for you.” Cross your fingers, there’s a story behind this door! Nancy swallows around the lump of panic in her throat. She plasters on a smile. +++ The theater is packed with noise and touching and all-around boisterous patrons. They find their seats in the crowd and Nancy doesn’t watch where she’s going – she must keep her eyes on the open ceiling to remember how to breathe. She sits down at the end of the group and Maya passes out programs. Quatervois, the title reads. Bess says, “What does that mean?” “It means you’re at a crossroads,” Maya says. “A turning point.” “Sounds a little dramatic,” George grumbles. Nancy traces the swooping lines of the title with

her thumb, repeating the process until the lights go down. The masked chorus emerges from the shadows and gives a synopsis: Down from Olympus a great hero emerges, Mighty in his strength and courage! A choice he must make Shall he ignore fate? Will he choose love, Or follow his destiny there-of? When Brady saunters on stage in an impossibly short silk chiton, it’s an out-of-body experience for Nancy. He still hasn’t grown his ponytail back, so Simone could very well be in the audience right now. Nancy rubs her aching temple at the thought. Brady begins his journey as the character Diogenes, a demigod that was supposedly – according to the play’s plot – written out of ancient Greek mythos. Diogenes must defeat those who want to leave him forgotten in history, lest he admit that he can’t win this fight and live his life like everyone else. Nancy assumes the play’s ending too soon. She imagines this will be a droll experience written only to paint Brady as a glorious hero that can conquer anything – but she is quickly surprised. Brady is stabbed in the final act and addresses the audience in a wail: And so my story ends a breath too early, No time to even be weary! The moon shall pass over my corpse, And the sun will beat down on my ashes with no remorse. Today, I have failed my quartervois Alone, forgotten, and lost. When the curtain falls, Nancy’s mouth is parted in disbelief as a tear burns down her cheek. They don’t receive a proper goodbye with Maya since the rest of the crowd is bustling toward the exit. She does have time to say that Brady is producing a new television series and will be scouting some locations further into Essex; Maya will be following the film crew there for test shoots. She embraces each girl individually and holds Nancy for a beat longer, whispering, “You’ll call if you need to talk?” “Of course,” Nancy says by impulse. “Same to you.” +++ Nancy is proud of herself for going out, but when she closes the door to her hotel suite, her back thunks against the wall and she must take deep breaths for several minutes. She decides to treat herself to a bubble bath even though it’s nearly midnight. She rolls her hair up into a bun and looks at it in the mirror, how haphazard and messy hers is in comparison to Maya. Nancy isn’t jealous – but she can’t help but notice when people are thriving. She wants to figure out how to do it herself and hasn’t found the cure yet. The bath is claw-footed and deep. Nancy sinks into the steaming water before goosebumps rise on her arms, and her freckled skin blushes in the heat. The water does wonders for her foot. She eases her head back on the lip of the tub and nears a light doze when her cell phone rings. It rests atop a stack of towels by the tub. Nancy wipes her damp hand off before looking to the screen. Frank Hardy. Nancy answers and taps the speaker button to relax back in the tub. “Hey.” “Hi, Nance,” Frank says, his voice a familiar balm after such a stressful time. “What’s going on?” “Things aren’t too different from last week’s call,” Nancy smiles. “But I’m on vacation with Bess and George.” “Oh wow! That’s awesome. I hope it’s been fun.” Nancy’s glazed eyes blink. “Yeah,” she rasps. “It’s nice.” She clears her throat, searching for her old enthusiasm. “But what about you? How’s Joe?” “Same as usual, a pain in my ass.” Nancy chuckles before a distinctive lift raises Frank’s voice. “We’re actually getting ready to get on a plane for a case – but I wanted to make sure everything’s good with you.” Nancy’s hand closes in a fist on her raised knee. “Gosh, it’s been so long since I’ve been on a case.” “Not really. You just took a few months off to stay with Kyler, right?” “Yeah, but that’s the longest I’ve ever gone without a case since I started.” “I’d give you ours if I could,” Frank says. “Really not looking forward to such a long plane ride. Oh, they’re calling for our gate – but do you want me call you when I land?” Gratefulness is a warm glow in her heart. “No, that’s okay – but

thank you. Be safe on your trip and tell Joe I said hi.” “Can do.” Frank pauses. “I – tell Bess and George I said hi.” “Can do,” Nancy repeats. She chews her lip. “See you soon?” She feels foolish for saying something when Frank is headed to a case. While the weekly phone calls have kept Nancy sane, it would be even better to see the Hardy Boys. “I’ll make it happen,” Frank promises. “See you, Nance.” After they hang up, Nancy struggles to get out of the tub with her swollen foot. She gets into a pair of sweats and wraps up some ice in a washcloth, then holds it against her foot. Nancy mulls over her conversation with Frank, wondering how much of her poor mood could be due to not solving a mystery. With a deep yawn, she tosses the soaked washcloth in the wastebasket, not able to walk to the bathroom to put it in the sink. She cuddles up to her teddy bear and flicks the lamp off when her phone rocks to life on the nightstand. Bewildered, Nancy turns the lamp back on to look at the screen. The number is unknown; she sees her hand tremble around the phone. She lets the call go to voicemail before the phone vibrates to life once again. Bracing herself, Nancy answers. “Hello?” “Yes, hello – I’m trying to reach a one Nancy Drew?” The voice is British and eerily familiar, like Nancy heard it in a dream. “This is she.” “Splendid! Oh, you wouldn’t believe the trouble I’ve gone to in order to find your number.” “Sorry? Who is this?” “Why, Nigel Mookergee. We met at –” “Blackmoor,” Nancy whispers. “Nigel, hi. What’s going on?” “I’m afraid the manner of my call is not a jovial one,” he says. “How should I explain this? Well, I suppose from the start. You see –” He sighs. “Don’t tell anyone I’m speaking of this, but the Penvellyns have fallen into a bit of… financial trouble.” Nancy says, “’Financial trouble’?” “It’s certainly not my business to spread, but yes. It’s not that they are a poor family by any means, but one diplomat’s salary is not enough to keep up a castle.” Nancy sits up, grabbing a pen and notepad from her bedside table. She jots as Nigel continues. “The Penvellyns began to host historical tours at the manor – much to Mrs. Drake’s dismay, I might add. Jane wishes to expand the business to the paranormal side of things, and I don’t quite agree with the idea myself, but she insists it’s just what the manor needs.” Nancy finishes scrawling and says, “So, you’re working for the Penvellyns now?” “Yes. I’m afraid there’s been some situations – inconsequential events, if you will – that need a glance over.” Nancy arches a brow. “You mean an investigation.” “Ah, such a serious word. I simply want to make sure we are fully prepared to expand the business.” Nancy’s eyes narrow. “Right. When would you need me there?” “As soon as possible -” Nigel catches himself. “I mean, at your earliest convenience.” Nancy glances over her notes, running her hand over the page filled by red ink. She closes her eyes against the sight and says, “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

thank you so much for reading! please let me know what you think and stay safe. and please consider following me here and on twitter! xoxo

#nancy drew #nd #nancy drew pc #nd pc #CUR #clue crew #blackmoor manor #curse of blackmoor manor #francy #frank hardy #nancy drew fanfiction

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rjhpandapaws · 3 years ago

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Will Never be Boring

Ch 3: A Weekend in Blue

Once they made middle school being a grade above everyone wasn’t s bad. They had a little more control over their classes and the electives were all mixed grades so he still had a chance to be with his friends. Understandably they all tried to match up. He wound up with a lot more creative type classes than he originally planned for. Connor wasn’t particularly creative. He preferred numbers and provable things, but getting to spend a little of his time with Markus everyday more than made up for it. Over the years Markus had added painting to his talents, and Connor was always blown away by the sheer amount of feeling in them. He always seemed delighted when he got to see Connor’s child like messy drawings in turn. Personally, he despised them. Middle school brought more work with it so it became more difficult to hang out as an entire group. They began to section off a little and it left Connor feeling strangely. He had always thought the group of them would stay close. It wasn’t like there was fighting or anything, they were just drifting. His dad said these kinds of things happened sometimes, and that they would come back together eventually.

Markus made a few of his own friends, but in all of that he tried not to leave Connor behind. He knew Markus’s birthday was coming up and Connor was trying to figure out what to do for it. He wasn’t very creative so a homemade card or poem was immediately out of the question. That left using his saved up allowance to buys something, or giving up. He did his best to come away with something that wasn’t overly predictable, and failed horribly. He eventually decided on a book of advanced painting techniques and a new paint set to go with it. Better than the sketchbook he’d originally been debating, but not great. In the end it didn’t really seem to matter much because he wasn’t invited to the birthday party. The only people that got to go were the friends from his various art classes, which Connor found strange. Connor tried to be reasonable about it. He wasn’t very comfortable around Markus’s new friends. Maybe he had been trying to respect that. It didn’t lessen the sting, but this made it easier not to be upset. He was sure Markus had a reason. In the years they had been friends he had never been to Markus’s house. The most of he knew of it was that he lived up on the hill where all of the nice houses were with his brother and his grandpa; though Connor had never met either of them.

It was about a week after the party, and after the gifts had made their home at the top of Connor’s closet, that Markus approached him about it. He looked just as uncomfortable as Connor felt. They hadn’t really talked since Connor’s birthday, and he had been trying his best to make peace with the fact that Markus was drifting away from him. Just like everyone else. “Hey Connor?” He asked once they were settled in their art class, “Can. uh, can we talk please?” He looked down and tapped his fingers against the table to try and get rid of some of his nervous energy, “Are you sure you want to talk to me? Why not talk to your other friends?” Markus was quiet for a long moment and Connor realized that he might have been a little harsh. “Because,” He said eventually, “They aren’t the ones I hurt without meaning to. I’d like a chance to explain myself if you’ll let me.” It was is turn to be quiet this time. In part because their teacher was talking and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself; and because he wasn’t sure he was ready to learn that Markus had outgrown him too. “Okay.” He said quietly, “If you want to.”

“Will you listen, or are you still upset?” He asked and waited for Connor’s tentative nod before he continued, “I know I probably should have said this before the party and I’m sorry for that; but I didn’t invite you because I knew you would be uncomfortable. As much as I wanted you there, I couldn’t invite you knowing you would be miserable if I did.” He explained, “My plan had been to have that party last weekend, and one for just the two of us this weekend. Um, if you, well if you still want to anyway.” Connor could have cried, but he wasn’t about to have a breakdown in class, “Of course I still want to.” Then, after he had collected himself a little more, “I’m sorry for being rude.” “It’s fine. I’m just glad you aren’t upset with me anymore.” He smiled. Just like that, things were back to normal. Markus had his other friends, but he also didn’t seem to have plans to leave Connor behind. The weight of wondering where he had gone wrong that had been threatening to bury him was finally off his shoulders. He could breathe again. When he got home the first thing he did was try to wrap the presents he had bought Markus. Just this once, his homework could wait.

A single interaction with one of Markus’s art friends was all the proof Connor needed. While Echo was very kind, she was also very touchy and Connor was immediately uncomfortable. She stopped when he asked her to, but he still chose to excuse himself from the interaction. He was glad now, that Markus had thought to keep him away from this. As he headed to the library he heard one last thing. “I don’t think your seventh-grader friend likes me much.” Echo told Markus, “Did I do something wrong?” “No.” Markus said kindly, “It just takes him a while to warm up to people.” He supposed that was true enough. He was just wary. Kids his age were loud for whatever reason and it got to be too much a lot of the time. It was just easier to keep his distance and wait for someone to come to him. He still felt a little guilty though, Echo had only been trying to be nice. Maybe on a day when he had more spoons he could try again, and just try and stay out of arm’s reach or something. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings and he wanted to fix it.

Friday he came to school with an extra bag. Inside were the things he needed for the weekend and the presents he had gotten for Markus. He was equal parts excited and nervous. He hadn’t gotten to meet Markus’s family and he was worried they might not like him. The plan was to ride Markus’s bus at the end of the day and then again on Monday morning. Of course, if he got uncomfortable he could always call his dad to come get him, or walk home if it came to that. Perks of living in the same neighborhood he supposed. It wasn’t that he expected things to go wrong, it just eased his anxiety to know that he had a way out if he needed one. Markus seemed to understand which was nice. Since it was their first big weekend like this, Markus had helped him come up with a color system. Blue meant things were fine; yellow meant that he needed a moment to himself to try and get it together; and red meant it was time to go home. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use red, but just like his exit plan, it was a nice thing it have in case he needed it.

The day passed faster than he would have liked and he wasn’t ready for the sheer number of the kids on the bus. His bus was usually pretty crowded, but never like this. It made a little more sense why their neighborhood had three different buses now. “Color?” Markus asked s they settled in one of the seats toward the back. “Blue.” He replied. He hadn’t been expecting this many kids, but he was okay for now, “I’m alright.” Markus took his hand and squeezed it, “You can always listen to your music if you need to, that’s what I do sometimes.” “I might.” He replied, but for now he wanted to try and stick it out for as long as he could. He managed about half of the ride before he had to put on his noise cancelling headphones or risk having a panic attack. It wasn’t that anything in particular had happened, the constant chatter had just grated on his nerves more than he planned. His bus wasn’t exactly quiet, that was categorically impossible for middle schoolers, but he was used to his bus and not this one. Markus only squeezed his hand again and then let him be until it was time to get off. He was thankful to be free of all that noise.

“How do you deal with that every single day?” He asked after he had taken his headphones off. Markus gave a nonchalant shrug, “I’ve lived with Leo my whole life. They aren’t any louder than him on any given day.” “I suppose that helps.” He said distantly, he wasn’t ready to deal with more noise so soon after the bus. “You don’t have to worry about him though.” He replied, “He’s got plans tonight at least. It’s just going to be the two of us and my Grampa tonight, so the house should be pretty quiet today.” That was reassuring at least, “Okay. Is your Grandpa nice?” Markus actually laughed at that as they turned up a long walkway, “Yes, he is. You don’t have to worry about anything Connor, I promise.” “Got it.” He said, but he still took Markus’s hand. They were quiet the rest of the walk to the door. Connor was trying his best to relax. Markus said there was nothing to worry about, and Connor wanted to believe him, but his anxiety wasn’t as easily swayed. “Color?” Markus asked when they got to the door. “Blue.” He replied after a long moment, “I think.”

That seemed to be a good enough answer because Markus turned his key in the lock and pushed the door open. Along side being the biggest house Connor had ever seen, it was also the fanciest. Despite all of that, as he stood in the entry way with Markus’s hand in his, he didn’t feel at all out of place. “Grampa,” Markus called into the house, “We’re home.” “Okay kiddo,” Came the reply from further in the house, “I’m in the gallery.” Connor took off his shoes out of habit before they went any further into the house. Markus didn’t, but waited for him before he lead him up the stairs. They set their stuff up in Markus’s room before they headed for the gallery. The more he saw of the house, the more in awe of it he was. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting Markus’s grandpa to be like, but it didn’t include him being covered in tattoos or wheelchair bound. He did his best not to stare, and instead tried to look at the paintings that were scattered around the room. Some were properly placed on the walls, but most were leaned against the walls, furniture and even other paintings. Every single one of them took his breath away. He knew now at least where Markus’s sheer talent came from.

“You must be Connor.” He said with a smile as he wheeled himself closer, “I’ve heard great things about you. I’m Carl.” “It’s nice to meet you sir.” He replied and shook the hand that was being held out to him. Carl laughed, “Sir makes me feel old, just call me Carl, or Grampa if that’s easier on you.” “Okay si - Carl.” His trip up earned him an amused smile, “Did you paint all of these?” “Most of them.” He replied, “Some of them are Markus’s.” “Grampa,” Markus cut in, “He doesn’t know.” “I don’ t know what?” Connor asked as he looked between the two of them. “Grampa is the famous painter Carl Manfred.” He clarified. “Was.” Carl corrected with a sternness to his voice that left Connor a little rattled, “I haven’t done much public work since my accident. I’d like to keep it that way, so this knowledge stays in this room. Okay?” Connor made a zipper motion over his lips and both of them smiled, “Okay.”

They stayed in the gallery for a little while longer and Connor wandered around to get a better look at the paintings. After that the night was pretty normal. They had dinner, worked on homework, and talked about their classes with Carl. It was almost like being at home. This wasn’t nearly as nerve wracking as he thought it was going to be. After they had gone to Markus’s room for the night Connor got the presents out. He didn’t miss the smile that came to Markus’s face. “Before you worry,” He started when he noticed Markus was starting to look uncomfortable, “I bought these before your birthday.” He relaxed noticeably, “Okay, that’s what I was worried about.” “Anyway, happy late birthday Markus.” He picked up the two wrapped presents and held them out to him. Markus took them and Connor watched the joy spread across his face when he opened the reference book and thumbed through it. His smile only grew when he got yo he small paint set. He set the paints on his desk then put the book in a very specific place on his shelf. When he finished he settled beside Connor still beaming. “Can I hug you?” He asked.

“Yeah.” Connor had barely gotten the word out before he found himself caught in an embrace that was tight enough that it bordered on painful. “Thank you so much.” Markus said into his shoulder, “These are the only art related present I’ve gotten that weren’t from Grampa.” “What can I say” He replied as Markus pulled away, “I know you.” “You panicked didn’t you?” He asked. “Maybe.” He agreed. The weekend after that was spent with Connor sitting very still. Despite the fact that he was coerced into modeling for the two of them by Markus, he found himself hoping that Monday never came. Or at the very least, they could have a weekend like this again soon.

#Will Never be Boring #WNbB #Growing Old with You au #GOwY #RK1K #Conkus #dbh Markus #dbh Connor #dbh fic #dbh

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adobe-outdesign · 4 years ago

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TIOL LIVEBLOG: PART 4

holy shit, game-canon character time

Note: I’m busy tomorrow, but I should be able to finish up the liveblog on Wednesday.

Spoilers under the cut:

Part 4, Chapter 1

I like how Joey is still into old-fasioneds like in DCTL

Part 4, Chapter 2

Joey Drew discovers how packaging design works

Part 4, Chapter 3

"we didn’t need Henry. he was holding us back. did I mention how much I didn’t need Henry oh god please take me back”

Joey: “I wasn’t gay for Henry” *NateA: “yes he was”

I like the contrast with Nathan considering Joey humble for not holding a grudge with Henry, but in reality he just stole all his shit and Henry left due to poor work environment

BATIM AU where Henry enters Joey’s apartment at the end and starts smacking him with a copy of this book

Henry is so bland that Joey instantly forgot his face rip

Apparently Abby is only the interim head of the art department. Not the impression I got from DCTL but whatever

not even sure if the archives are canon (probably not) but I wonder if Joey’s habit of visiting art shows factor into it

Assuming he’s not lying (which is a pretty big assumption) Joey made the BG rather than Henry. Makes sense, I don’t think they debuted until after Henry left

Henry: give me credit Joey: anyway Abby was my inspiration

“I half expected that you would be an animated character, not an actual human being” this is either more Joey-is-story-Bendy stuff, or foreshadowing for BATDR

bruh if you think people want an honest-sounding lie instead of a critique you’re not a very good art director

“a small man with a surprisingly low voice came over to talk to him” is a weirdly specific description but I don’t think it’s anyone or else Joey would’ve mentioned it

“I might even argue I don’t even have a subconscious anymore” Joey walks into his board meeting calls everyone a bitch and leaves

I feel like Joey’s reaction to Abby’s sketch is exactly how he reacts to the deformed ink creatures whenever they’re made

Abby’s like me in the “can draw realistically but can’t draw cartoons” corner

Part 4, Chapter 4

"I have excellent control over my emotions” is like, fucking hysterical

Joey spends so much of this book just dragging Henry into the dirt aljfd. we get it you had a bad breakup

“Boris was special” wondering what the hell that means

“Boris came to me in a dream, Alice was a pain in the ass, the Butcher Gang were a mistake”

“Something that wasn’t Bendy. I will never understand that drive” is a pretty clear nod to Henry wanting to be with Linda, which makes for a nice contrast with Joey regretting not having a family of his own

It’s weird, because Joey keeps saying he made Bendy, yet the scene in which he was made clearly shows Henry doing it. Like he didn’t even try to hide it

Part 4, Chapter 5

"I did make a mistake once. I fixed it” the only time Joey has done that in his life, ever

Part 4, Chapter 6

I’m assuming the chapter title is an intentional reference, given that this is a well-known song (not this remix specially, just in general

youtube

honestly I kind of love Sammy’s backstory

he blatantly says it wasn’t his birthday a page after he said it was

Jack just like, radiates Good Vibes(TM)

I can see why they’re friends. Jack takes all the attention off of Sammy who really doesn’t want it

see I knew Jack was gay. no straight person dresses like that

Joey has like, a major issue with having the urge to shove people off of high places

no one: Jack:

I’d also like to point out that this is canonically the first time they’ve been confirmed to be friends. This does imply some tension between them, probably because Jack’s need for attention rubs Sammy the wrong way sometimes

Sammy just walked up and made Joey his bitch. iconic

Part 4, Chapter 7

I like how Joey shows them the little animation of Bendy dancing from Chapter 1, nice touch

I have no idea how to take Sammy’s “you need a girl” other than he’s been drinking his respect women juice

Sammy: “maybe I’ll worship a God if you make a good enough one” Joey: “is that a challenge motherfucker”

In terms of characterization:

Henry seems right, nothing else to say there

I know some people have said Jack being an attention whore doesn’t fit with canon, but he mentions needing a quiet place to compose here, so I think he’s just the type of creative who can’t focus with noise and not someone who doesn’t want to be around other people by default. Him brushing off Joey getting their award is a bit more questionable, but I also noticed here that Sammy was the one who dictated if they both took the job (Jack obvs. wanted it but still). I don’t think him wanting attention and him being a pushover are two incompatible ideas.

Sammy is much better here than in DCTL (he’s not being an open bigot, for starters). I do question if he’s being a bit too much of an asshole though. Don’t get me wrong, he is, but I got the impression from BATIM (and the Hot Topic Q&A) that he can be an asshole sometimes, but isn’t 24/7. Seems a hair too aggressive here, especially as he doesn’t have a reason to be pissy. He’s not openly mean like he was in DCTL though, so like I said, it’s better.

#bendy and the ink machine #batim: illusion of living #the illusion of living #joey drew #henry stein #jack fain #sammy lawrence #liveblog #outdesign posts things #honestly I think Jack is one of my favorite batim characters

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ot7always · 4 years ago

Text

Forget-me-not

Word Count: 7.4k

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Village!AU. Angst. Seriously, it hurts.

Warnings: Mentions of war. Death, grief.

Rating: PG-15

Summary: As much as this had always been a possibility, you never thought that one day your best friend would actually be stolen from you.

A/N: This fic is part of my 1k Milestone Requests that was picked randomly out of the pool of requests I got!! Thank you to the lovely @jinpanman for sending such an interesting request in!! When I started writing this I had just come off of writing so much fluff, so I thought: I guess it’s time to write ANGST and this physically hurt me fhkfldhgf

“Y/N!” a voice called out loudly from downstairs, startling you enough to drop your sewing needle into the mess of fabric on your lap. Your sister had once again managed to tear one of her dresses running around doing whatever it was she did with the neighbour’s youngest son. Not that you could have boasted any more appropriate behaviour when you were her age.

“Just a moment, mother!” you responded, eyeing the damage. Truly, it wasn’t as bad as she made it sound when she came to you in a panic, dirt on her hands and tears on her cheeks. Surely it couldn’t take you more than a few minutes to fix.

“Come now, love! There’s a messenger from the capital outside!”

That had your brows furrowing instantly. A messenger? Here? Surely your relatively small, riverside village was of nearly no importance to the capital aside from paying the annual taxes.

“Coming!” you shouted, rising quickly and tossing the garment onto the chair behind you. The sewing could certainly wait, whereas the capital did not wait for anyone. It was possible the messenger had already started his spiel, and you were much too nosy a person to sit at home while something interesting was happening.

You slipped into your shoes quickly before rushing downstairs and out the door, hoping you still appeared as put together as you had that morning. Perhaps you should have thanked your mother before running full-speed toward the village’s centre, but it was much too late for that now.

When you arrived, a well-dressed man was already standing in the centre of a crowd, luckily only seeming to have just begun speaking.

“-sends his regards from the capital, but also his deepest apologies.”

Before you could ponder his words much, a sudden towering presence beside you stole your concentration for a moment.

Dark brown hair unruly, coat hastily done up, boots unlaced – how Kim Namjoon managed to make looking like a total mess a fashionable statement, you could never understand. But according to the whispers you heard as you went about your day, his unkempt, boyish manliness had stolen many ladies’ hearts in your little village. You would almost be annoyed, if not for the fact that he was so oblivious.

He shot a quick, dimpled smile your way, returned by one of your own before you both concentrated on the man’s speech once again.

“-army had taken a massive hit after the last war. As you know, that was only one year ago, and we have yet to recover properly after the close victory. And it appears that Reina is looking to take advantage of this.”

Reina. A country nearly 2 weeks away by horse, one who recently allied with Xenia through marriage, who your Kingdom’s army had barely defeated last year.

Unease settled over the crowd immediately. You grabbed for Namjoon’s arm instinctively, his hand raising to cover your own only a second later. This couldn’t possibly be what you thought it was, right?

“War appears to be imminent, and it can only be so much longer before tensions snap. We cannot let the Kingdom fall without a fight, and we are calling on all of our allies for assistance. But it is not enough.”

You sucked in a breath.

“The capital has decreed for all able-bodied man over 20 years of age to report for training and assignment. Women may volunteer to join the forces.”

Whispers and hushed cries of disbelief rang out through the crowd, but were quickly quieted by the continued announcements.

“You are expected to be in the capital within one weeks’ time. You may report to me for additional details. That is all.”

You turned to Namjoon with a helpless expression colouring your face, but the one on his was already one of resignation. Every man knew this could always be a possibility – hell, the same thing had happened only years ago for similar reasons, though that that time, your best friend had been too young to be conscripted.

But not this time.

“Namjoon-”

“It’ll be fine,” he cut in quickly, trying to quell the steadily rising despair taking over your features.

It seemed that the other men in the crowd felt the same sort of sad acceptance, hushing their daughters, wives, and friends in the same way.

As much as you might as joked to anyone who asked that Namjoon was nothing more than a nuisance, you hardly went a day without seeing him. His family home was only down the street – a fact you’d learned only days after you grew old enough to play with the other children on your own.

His tiny body had come barreling into your smaller one in a rush, sending your 6-year-old figure straight into a nearby bush. And as any young girl would do after having torn the new dress gifted to you only weeks earlier, to no fault of her own, you recalled throwing quite the tantrum.

You only saw more and more of him after he brought you to his home in a hurry, pushing you towards his mother in a wordless plea to fix whatever problem he caused. And so she mended your dress, urged you to return for tea the next day, and thus began your odd relationship with the clumsy boy.

You were not quite fast friends, your friendship with his mother developing much more quickly than any relationship with him. The younger you was quite adept at holding a grudge, and you didn’t dare forget that this was the boy that almost ruined your birthday present.

But, as children did, you got over it before long, especially after learning that you would be attending the same classes that same year. While a year older than you, an unfortunate illness had befallen him two years prior, holding him back several months.

After weeks of taking the exact same walk to and from school, you’d warmed up to the boy quite a bit. He liked to show you his strange collection of rocks, and in exchange you showed him your collection of fabrics you’d collected from old clothing and blankets over the years. The fact that you’d acted interested in each other's odd habits must have been a testament to your strengthening bond.

Spending your days with him became second nature over time, right up until he’d grown at least a head taller than you and become more man than boy.

You’d seen each other through almost all of life’s troubles; studying together in a harried panic, hurriedly throwing together gifts for birthdays you’d forgotten, and eventually cheering each other on in finding an occupation for yourself.

It must have been a surprise to the other villagefolk that it was you who had become the teacher, and not Namjoon, because it was him dazzling your teachers with grand speeches and uncanny wisdom for his age. Though they could not be surprised long, for it was Namjoon who spent many months of the year in neighbouring villages, and sometimes even the capital, studying to be a doctor.

There were few people in your village with the capabilities to study such a profession, but Namjoon excelled. He preferred not to boast of his abilities, but you heard frequently from your mother that many travellers sung his praises. Your best friend was a rare gem whose future appeared to span far beyond the tiny walls of your village.

Which was why you could not simply accept that he would go off to war, possibly never to be seen again.

“How can you be okay with this? How are you not panicking? Namjoon, I-”

You were unaware of your rising volume until steady hands settled on your shoulders, moving to shield you from the curious eyes now pointed in your direction. How could he possibly take care for your reputation when the country was asking him to give up his life?

“We always knew this might happen some day, Y/N. You know it as well as I do.” His words were firm, but his eyes spoke different words, pained words. Words that he could not say here, for to publicly voice his displeasure would not be taken well. Especially not when so many of the men around you had already gone to war and returned.

He was right that you knew this could happen – you would be a fool not to realize such a thing. Even your father had been lost to war when you were only a child, as is the reality for many children in your village. But did that make this any easier to bear? No person could say that preparing for a possible goodbye made the event any less gut wrenching.

“I’m worried for you,” you eventually whispered, head tipping back to stare into those eyes that had become a constant in your daily life, eyes that, one week from now, you might never see again. That thought sent a new wave of dread through your very being, a hole opening in your chest at the thought of Namjoon riding off, never to be seen again.

“Y/N,” he said, squeezing your shoulders in an attempt to pull you out of your head and back into this moment with him. “I need to speak with the messenger. Will you wait for me by the pond?”

You could only nod mutely, afraid that if you were to open your mouth, the only thing that would come out would be more words of displeasure.

“I’ll come as soon as I can okay?” he asked gently, voice filled with compassion. A part of you was ashamed that he was here comforting you when it was his life on the line.

When you didn’t make to move on your own, the hands still on your shoulders nudged you to turn around, further words of assurance falling from his lips.

It was as though you had been possessed. Your mind felt suddenly blank, your chest empty, your movements not your own. You hadn’t even realized you were approaching the pond near your home until the water was glistening right in front of you.

You stood as close to the water as one would dare, what with the notoriously slippery rocks at your feet. You stared at your reflection in the crystal-clear shallows before you, as though she could tell you how to deal with this situation. And as you watched your skirts sway gently in the spring breeze, you wondered if your eyes appeared as empty as your soul felt in this moment.

Being here only spurred up more shared memories. Summers spent playing in the water, digging up insects, even chasing each other over the wet rocks, much to the disdain of your mother.

Not only that – this place felt safe. It was where you came when you were upset, where you always were when Namjoon came looking for you to make things better. It was where you found him when he was contemplating whether he was fit to be a doctor, where you assured him that he was the most intelligent person you knew of.

Without even realizing it, you had begun digging up every good memory you had with Namjoon, as though to mourn them before you’ve even lost him.

It seemed that a part of you had already accepted the possibility of losing him forever, already accepted that as many memories as you had together, you might never have the chance to make any more.

But rather than sadness, sorrow – all you felt was a gaping emptiness within you as you stared, unblinking, unseeing, into the water before you.

Was something wrong with you, not to feel? Someone akin to family was about to be ripped away from you, yet your eyes were dry. Shouldn’t you be screaming, sobbing? Didn’t he deserve at least that?

“Y/N.”

You didn’t have the slightest idea how much time had passed before Namjoon was calling your name, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You turned slowly before meeting his eyes, the distance between you unusually large. He appeared as though he didn’t know what to do with himself, as though you hadn’t spent over 15 years at each other’s side. He looked to be brimming with words he wanted to say to you, but his eyes remained fixed on you, his mouth shut.

“So?” you managed to force out, voice sounding distant even to your own ears.

He only gave you a pained smile in response, closing the space between you and eventually sitting next to the place you stood. When he patted the ground at your feet, you joined him.

Minutes went by with both of you silent, gazes staring blankly across the water, as though failing to address the subject at hand would render it nonexistent.

However, patience was never your strong suit, and you could not hold your tongue any longer, even if you would only receive bad news in return. Though, it appeared Namjoon had the same idea.

“What-”

“I-”

As quickly as you had both opened your mouths, you had stopped talking. A slight smile finally cracked your stony expression as you met Namjoon’s eye, his expression sheepish, as though he could have known he was going to cut you off.

“You first,” you chuckled, tension seemingly broken as you watched Namjoon collect his thoughts.

“I spoke to the messenger...” he started, taking another breath as you acknowledged him with a low hum. “He told me I would be able to work with the doctors there.”

You perked up immediately at his words, hope blooming in your chest. “So you won’t have to fight?”

But the troubled expression on his face told you it wasn’t that simple.

“Not on the front-lines, but I’ll have to be close by. Wherever they decide to send me.”

“You’ll be in the camps.”

“Right.”

That coiling feeling in your gut returned. “And the camps get raided often.”

“Right,” he murmured. “I could...”

“You could die.” You cut him off with a whisper, turning your head away to hide your furrowed brows, nails digging into your forearm as though the physical pain could ease the burden in your heart. “How are you not more upset?”

“Part of me always expected for this day to come,” he sighed, hand drawing senseless patterns into the rocks at his feet. “As a man in a country at war, it’s like I was born just to die.”

“Don’t say that. Why do you accept your death so easily?” you forced out through gritted teeth, burying the sorrow in your chest that was creeping up your throat, threatening to burst at the seams. Did he value himself so lowly that it was so easy to throw his life away for his country?

“There’s nothing I can do about this, you know that,” he said lowly.

“I know,” you replied simply. You did. But that didn’t mean you could accept it so easily. You should have been more like him, should have expected that this might eventually happen to the two of you, but too much of you didn’t want to think about a reality without your best friend in it. Perhaps it was naïve and foolish of you, but you were happier thinking that the time you had with Namjoon was not defined by an hourglass that tipped at the notion of war.

The silence that followed was heavy, the emotions that laid between you more than words could express.

To think that his hulking presence in this place you grew up together – when he visited you in the classroom with treats for the children, when he ran through the village streets with your sister on his back – to think that one week from now, those might just be memories, never to be seen before you again. Was it selfish to mourn how lonely you would be without him?

You thought you could hold yourself together until you returned home, but it was the arm circling around your shoulders and the words that came next from his lips that broke you.

“Will you remember me well?”

It was as though the single thread holding you together snapped, sorrow rearing its ugly head as tears spilled from your eyes. You kept your face from him, but no matter how quietly you cried, the heaving of your shoulders, gave you away.

Namjoon didn’t comment, only pulling you closer so that your head could rest on his shoulder.

“You’re so stupid,” you sobbed, voice strained as you angrily wiped at the tears on your face. “I hate you.”

You swore you heard Namjoon snort at that. After all, he heard that phrase from you at least 5 times per week.

“I know, I know.”

You finally turned towards him, but before he could get a good look at you, you buried your face in his chest and wrapped your arms around him. When you realized that this could be one of the last times you held him close like this, another strangled cry was wrenched from your throat.

He didn’t dare comment on how tightly you were holding him, nor how wet the front of his shirt was becoming.

Another comment on how well he was keeping himself together was on the tip of your tongue before you felt the shuddering of his body beneath you.

Namjoon was a silent crier if you’d ever seen one, and if not for the breath catching in his throat, it would have been hard for anyone to tell without seeing him.

You didn’t know how long you sat there like that, half-sprawled across his body, tears falling until there was nothing more for your body to give. Namjoon’s hands trembled in their place on your back, and you wished more than anything that you could make this easier on him somehow. It was his life on the line, after all, and not yours.

“Y/N,” he whispered, the sound wrought with emotion.

You pulled from him enough to meet his eyes, the pain you found there a reflection of your own. His hand rose to wipe at the wetness on your cheeks before moving to lace his fingers with your own.

“Take care of my mother for me. Please.”

You nodded gravely, reaching for his other hand as well. “Of course,” you replied, breaking eye contact lest you fall apart all over again. “Only until you get back.”

“Only until I get back.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noted the setting sun above the tall trees surrounding you, though you still had no grasp on how long you had been here together. Everything felt to be a blur of fear and despair.

“When do you leave?” you asked.

“In five days.”

You nodded. Five days left with your best friend before you had to send him off to a war he might not return from. You were certain those days would be spent busy right from dawn until dusk, but you would steal whatever moments with him you could.

You eventually returned to your original position sitting beside him, facing the water as a slight breeze sent a shiver through you.

“We should head back soon,” he said, but he didn’t sound to want to leave very much. “It’s getting dark.”

“Stay with me a while longer,” you murmured, reaching for his hand.

So he did.

The days following passed in a whirlwind. Despite your dedication to spending as much time with Namjoon as possible before his departure, it proved difficult with the preparations he had to make. Writing letters to his colleagues, saying goodbye to old teachers, securing a horse, packing his belongings – there was unfortunately not much time left for the two of you to simply spend with each other, though you stole what moments you could.

It was almost surreal, what you felt in that time. You couldn’t help the tears that came that night after the pond when your mother held you. Since then, it had almost been an endless cycle of sorrow followed by emptiness, over and over and over.

But the morning before Namjoon would set out on his own, you were determined not to break down again. You were determined that you would send him off with a smile, no matter how difficult it would be to manifest one. He deserved to leave on a good note, not having to comfort you yet again right before he left. You should be the one making him feel better, not the other way around. You would support him as best you could, and momentarily put aside the worst-case scenarios that had been circling through your head ever since the words came from that messenger’s mouth.

“Were you waiting long?” came a voice from behind you.

Turning around, you smiled as you met Namjoon’s eyes, his body already clad in a riding outfit and sturdy boots. It looked good on him.

“Not at all.”

The two of you had decided to spend the last of his time in the village together at the pond. It felt fitting – it was a place ever-present in your childhood memories together, a place you felt a strong emotional attachment to. Not only that, it was peaceful here. Quiet. Perfect.

“Sit with me,” you said, settling yourself in the grass beside a basket you brought with you.

“Is that what I think it is?” he questioned, clearly trying to keep the childish excitement from his voice, though failing.

When you removed the cloth covering what laid within, you had to keep yourself from laughing at Namjoon’s sudden intake of breath.

“Apple pie, fresh from the oven about... an hour ago?” you hummed nonchalantly, not bothering to hide your grin at his excitement. “It’s not exactly breakfast, but I thought you would appreciate it. You can take what’s left with you.”

“You really know how to cheer up a guy, don’t you?” he breathed, sending a reverent ‘thank you’ as you handed it over to him.

As he distracted himself with the pie, you took the chance to study him.

You quickly dispelled the thought that you had to memorize his face now, burn the picture into your memory while you could.

What startled you was that he looked... happy. Well – as happy as he could be considering the situation, but truly, he looked content. As though accepting his fate was no difficult thing, as though he wasn’t leaving his family behind within hours.

Perhaps you should not have been so surprised, though, as Namjoon had always been someone who adapted well to change and thrived wherever he went. All you could do now was have faith that that would hold true now.

“Something on my face?” he teased, snapping you out of your thoughts before darting a slightly embarrassed glance his way.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How much I’m going to miss you.”

A flash of pain went through his gaze before he snapped his head down to hide it. A pang of guilt shot through you at the sight.

“I’m sorry,” you hastened. “I promised myself not to be negative today, I just...”

“Can’t stop thinking about it, right?” he mumbled.

“Yes,” you whispered, reaching for his hand as you pushed the leftovers of the pie out of your way. “But it’s okay. You’re so stubborn I know you’ll come back.”

Your words had their intended effect, those dimples you’d come to grow and love making their appearance again as he exhaled a laugh. The momentary joy you saw there, though, was quickly put away and replaced by an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone sounding unsure and entirely unlike him. A furrow worked its way between your brows immediately and you were about to comment on his apparent nervousness, but he spoke up before you could. “I need to tell you something.”

“Hm?” you responded, caught off guard. “Okay, sure. What is it?”

“I... This is – Well...” he stuttered, taking you off guard even more. Anything that rendered Namjoon an ineloquent speaker must have been weighing heavily on his mind.

“Namjoon?” you prodded, tone laced with concern. You had never been one to mince words with each other, and so his inability to come out with what he was thinking was unusual.

“I’m sorry for doing this to you right now,” he blurted out in what must have been half a breath. “But I don’t want to leave here with any regrets, you know? In case... well, you know...”

“You’re scaring me,” you said, your heartbeat increasing already just from watching him fumble around with his words.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he breathed. “But before I go, I just have to tell you that I...”

He took a long pause then, several moments passing as he gathered himself. Just as you were about to cut in again, he said the words all at once, almost too fast for you to process.

“I love you.”

You spent a moment staring at him blankly as you registered what he said.

But once you did, you were left no less confused than you were before.

“I love you too, Joon, you should know that-”

“No,” he interrupted loudly, wincing slightly in apology when you jumped in surprise. “That’s... that’s not what I meant.”

That’s not what he meant? What else could he have possibly-

Wait.

Namjoon spotted the exact moment you realized exactly what he meant by his words, confusion, realization, then confusion again flashing in your eyes.

It was silent for several moments as you simply stared at him, no part of you knowing what to do with this knowledge.

“What?” was what you settled on, and you inwardly cursed yourself for not having anything better to say.

He gave a bit of a self-deprecating laugh then, and something in your gut wrenched knowing you were the cause of that sound. He broke eye contact, bravery seemingly used up, instead staring blankly into the water.

“I know it’s unfair to tell you this now, and honestly,” he paused as his lips upturned in a mirthless grin. “I don’t really know why I did. It doesn’t change anything.”

You wanted so badly to be able to comfort him, but you couldn’t tell whether your touch would just make it worse.

“I-I don’t know what to say, I never-”

“I know you don’t feel the same way. I just had to get it off my chest since...”

He let his words trail off, both of you already knowing what he was referring to. There was no use saying the same thing again and again.

“I never thought about it,” you whispered, glancing over at Namjoon in a new light. In love with you? You couldn’t say there was never a moment where you thought you and him could be together like that – you'd spent much of your life together, after all. But it was never something you’d entertained seriously, never something you allowed to linger in your brain.

“I know,” he said, and you ignored the way his voice cracked at the end of the phrase. “I just didn’t think our story would end like this, you know?”

“Namjoon...”

“I thought I’d have time to muster up the courage, time to make you fall in love with me too,” he continued. “You always told me I was naïve.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I should have said something earlier, stopped hiding, stopped pretending...” He sighed. “There’s no use dwelling on it now. Find someone who makes you happy, okay?”

It was as though all of the words had been stolen from your body. You didn’t know what you could possibly say to him, how you could possibly ease his pain. And despite not having known, you couldn’t help the guilt that washed over you. You were the one causing him this pain, you were the one somehow too oblivious to see something in the man you claimed to know everything about. And at the same time, you wished he said something before, because now was too late – whether you could have been happy together didn’t matter now. Fate was cruel with her strings.

“Y/N.” His stern tone broke you free from your thoughts. “It doesn’t bother me now, okay? I just... couldn’t leave with secrets.”

“I understand,” you responded, though you could not stop thinking on the notion. What you might have been together had he not been called to war, had he had time to enact his grand plan to win your heart.

But none of that mattered now.

After several minutes of heavy silence, his voice startled you out of your melancholy.

“I need to say goodbye to my mother.” He stood, offering you a hand to join him.

“I’ll walk you,” you offered quietly, not letting go of his hand. He didn’t comment on it.

You felt almost dazed after his confession, the two of you arriving at Namjoon’s family home within what felt like seconds.

When you looked up at him he was staring at you quizzically, and you quickly removed your hand from his own.

“Will you meet me at the gates in a half hour?”

The gates. The place where you would say goodbye to your best friend, not knowing if or when you would hear from or see him again. You pushed down the dread once again, determined to show a brave face.

“Of course,” you replied weakly, sending him a smile that surely didn’t meet your eyes.

Before he could express his worry at your behaviour, you patted him on the back as you set out for the gates.

The entrance to your village was a beautiful place – surely the most beautiful in the entire area. One of the village teachers had a special gift for horticulture, tending to the hedges and flowers almost every day. You had tried your best to help him when you were young, though it was quickly proven that despite your love for flowers, you lacked the ability to care for them properly.

The primroses were in full bloom, the array of colours surrounding you from where you sat in the grass. The butterflies were rampant this time of year, enough that some of the grumpier citizens likened them to pests. But you had always admired their beauty, silken wings of white, yellow, and orange fluttering gently through the warm breeze.

Perhaps such painful goodbyes could be made slightly easier in scenery such as this.

The grass was soft where you sat waiting, nothing like the thick, pointed blades near the pond. You allowed your fingers to trail through the greenery on either side of you, closing your eyes and tipping your head back to greet the warmth of the sun, only having just taken its place in the morning sky.

You didn’t move even as you heard the clacking of hooves on cobblestone, as footsteps approached and arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind.

He was warm, and safe, and alive, and you would give anything and everything to keep him that way.

But sheer will and sacrifice could not win a war, no matter what the folk tales claimed.

You allowed yourself to relax into his hold, despite the awkward position of Namjoon hovering above you.

You didn’t remember doing it, but at some point, you must have pulled him down with you. Because the next thing you knew you were in his lap, face hidden away in his chest as you trembled, holding back tears.

The hands on your back and on your head almost hurt in the way they were crushing you to him, but you didn’t dare complain, not when you were doing the same to him. Not when this one moment needed to last you until you could see him again.

If you could see him again.

But now was not the time to explore that train of thought once again.

Pull yourself together and be strong. For him.

Forcing yourself to take several deep breaths, you eventually pulled away from him enough to look into his eyes for the first time since he walked up.

You didn’t know whether to be happy or sad that the deep brown of his eyes held only a resigned acceptance, lips upturned in a smile that looked more self-deprecating than anything.

Neither of you dared to break the silence, and it dawned on you then that to anyone else, you might have looked like lovers, wrapped together amongst the flowers, gazes locked.

Yes, fate was cruel with her strings.

The bell from the clocktower several blocks away was what broke you free of the moment, your heart dropping in your chest when you processed what you’d heard.

The seventh hour.

He had to leave now.

You stood up wordlessly, almost as though you were in a trance. You couldn’t bring yourself to lift your head up, staring intently at your feet.

“Y/N.” His voice came with a gentle hand on your cheek, tilting your head up to keep you from hiding any longer. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Don’t make promises you can’t keep.

“Okay,” you whispered, covering his hand with both of your own.

A moment passed before you led him to where his horse was waiting. You managed to crack a smile at the sight of the remnants of your pie bagged and tied messily to the saddle. With a knot like that, you were dubious that it would make it to the capital in one piece without being left behind.

You clung to his bicep the entire time you walked the horse past the gates, your fingers digging into the flesh as though you had the power to keep him there.

His hands moved to cup beneath your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his eyes one last time before he left.

You didn’t even blink as his gaze darted across every inch of your face, memorizing it as if he didn’t see you in his dreams every night already.

“I guess this is it,” he murmured, allowing his thumb to stroke mindlessly along the soft skin of your jaw.

It wasn’t often that he got to touch you like this, and he would make this one moment last a lifetime if you would let him.

He gave you a smile then that was small but as genuine as you’d ever seen it, and your face was lighting up in return before you even gave it any thought.

You only nodded, afraid in that moment of what would leave your lips if you dared to part them.

His hands left you slowly, leaving warmth in their wake. When he turned his back to you, about to climb atop his horse, you didn’t know what came over you then. The warmth, the pain, emotion you couldn’t put into words – something in you snapped.

You saw the breath leave him in a sigh, and right as his leg begun to raise from the ground-

“Wait!” you yelled, yanking his arm to turn him back around, a yelp leaving him as he almost lost his balance.

His eyes were wide with alarm, but you didn’t give him the chance to ask what you were doing before you threw yourself at him.

When your lips met, sparks didn’t fly, nor did time slow to a pause.

But something within you blossomed at the touch, a hand raising to rest against the nape of his neck even as he stood frozen with shock. His hands hovered in the air as his mind struggled to catch up, struggled to process the fact that you were kissing him.

Just as you were about to spring away from him, concerned by his utter lack of reaction, he groaned into your mouth, arms circling around your waist.

You’d clearly awoken something in him, his lips responding to your own with vengeance, pulling your body as close to his as possible. Your neck ached fiercely at the harsh angle, but that was the last thing on your mind.

You couldn’t pinpoint what this feeling was – you only knew that you didn’t want to let it go. This warmth, this safety, this moment with the sun warming your skin, his hands clutching you, his lips soft, patient against your own.

What started out hurried and desperate soon became slow and calm, but your heart was pounding in your chest regardless.

It was the horse’s whinny at your side that broke you from your daze, your lips separating as you looked at him wide-eyed.

“Y/N-”

“Come home safe,” you cut him off, finally disentangling yourself from him and stepping back.

He looked like he had so much he wanted to say to you, and you shared the sentiment.

But there was no time if he wanted to reach the capital before sundown.

He would just need to come back.

With a sombre nod and a quick touch of his fingers to his lips in disbelief, he turned to finally mount his horse.

You locked eyes once more, forcing your mouth up into a smile as you weakly waved farewell.

But your heart hurt, your eyes stinging.

All he could do was try his best to return it.

And with one last tilt of the head from both of you, he set off.

Come home safe.

Please.

It was a long and grueling six months.

You were beside yourself once Namjoon left that morning. It must have been days before you felt well enough to leave your bed, but time was a blur then. Your sister did her best to comfort you, cuddling her much smaller body into your side until you both fell asleep.

But you could not spend all of your days moping. Not when you had your own responsibilities in your home and with your students. Not when that would be the last thing Namjoon wanted, either.

Each time a letter arrived from Namjoon, your hope renewed. They came every few weeks, one for you and one for his mother.

You always ran excitedly to her house when a letter came for you, eager to share what words he was able to put down in a rush at the camp.

He was clearly a busy and well-needed man, stationed at one of the more populated camps on the edge of the battlefield, tending to the wounded at every hour of the day.

Despite his short letters and scribbled words, he always included petals or pressed flowers in his letters to you.

It made you giggle when you opened the first one to find a badly-crushed hyacinth stuffed into the sheets.

It was no secret that you went through a phase in your adolescence in which you loved to collect flowers in notebooks. You’d had many short-lived passions, but this one lasted for years. Books and books of dried, pressed flowers, enough that your poor sister sneezed whenever she entered your room.

It became routine to find flower after flower in his letters to you, and you had to admit that your heart fluttered each time, excited to see what he included for you that time.

The flowers on the other side of the country were much different from your own, and it was no small thrill to see what beauty was in store for you with each letter.

Stretching your arms far above your head, you sat up in bed, having been woken by the sunlight streaming in despite your closed curtains. Perhaps you would soon need to invest in buying some heavier, darker fabrics.

Hopping out of bed quickly and tossing on your skirts and apron, you gave yourself a quick once-over in the mirror before heading out to wash up and make breakfast.

You were often the first one up, your mother much preferring reading or knitting until late at night, lit only by lanternlight. Your sister, on the other hand, slept early and woke up late. The girl got an obscene amount of sleep, though you supposed her growing body must have needed it.

You didn’t mind the quiet, your hushed footsteps and soft humming only ever interrupted by birdsong and crickets chirping.

You were in a particularly good mood as of late, constantly receiving news of battles gone well and your country’s forcing advancing. The village elders had told you that with the way things were going, the men should be back in about a month or two, perhaps even sooner should your opponents surrender.

The thought of seeing Namjoon again in only a month had a soft smile spreading across your face before you had realized it.

You didn’t know what you were feeling for Namjoon, didn’t know if it was love, but you knew that with every letter, he wrapped himself around your heart even more.

Reaching the kitchen, you reached for a hair bandana before turning in search of flour. Perhaps you could make pastries before your family woke up?

But as you turned, a flash of white in your peripheral caught your eye. Spotting an envelope on the near the front door, the bandana fell forgotten to the floor, feet racing across the room.

Scooping the envelope from the floor, you hurried over to the table, setting yourself down into a wooden chair in preparation for another of Namjoon’s letters.

But when you examined the letter closer, you frowned.

It was addressed to you, but the handwriting wasn’t one that you recognized. Who else ever sent you letters? Who could you possibly not recognize despite them knowing where you lived?

Doubt and dread rose in your gut, but when you turned the envelope around, you could have sworn your heart stopped.

A military seal.

Bright red, and clear as day.

With trembling hands, you reached for a nearby knife to cut the envelope open.

Pulling the paper from inside, you had to muffle a cry when you unfolded the letter, a flower falling into your waiting hand, Namjoon’s writing covering the page.

Unlike his normal, scribbled, rushed handwriting, this was meticulous. Neat.

It made you feel sick.

Already feeling like you were sinking, you begun to read.

My dearest Y/N,

I pray to anyone who may be listening that your eyes never see the words written on this page, that I return to you a stronger man, prepared to do anything to have you kiss me again.

In the event that you are reading this, I’m sorry.

I asked my commander to send you a letter in the event that I do not make it out of this war alive.

It pains me to write this, and I fear staining the paper with my tears as I do. There is nothing I want less than to leave you alone, than to leave you behind as I leave this plane.

There was something you said to me once when we were perhaps 11 or 12, I’m not sure if you remember it. It was after we got into one of our silly, petty fights, and I ignored you for a several days.

When we met again, I remember that you were crying. Your eyes were wet and red, and my heart hurt then. You told me, “Never leave me alone again.” I told you I wouldn’t, and I never did something like that again. From then on, I promised myself that I would never leave you. I would stay by your side in whatever capacity you let me.

I'm sorry. I’m sorry I broke my promise, and I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to come back to you.

I love you more than words can say, and I’m sorry.

I never want to cause you pain, and it kills me knowing that if you ever have to read this, I won’t be there to ease the hurt.

I want you so badly to be happy no matter what, and I want nothing more than for you to look back on our moments together with joy. Please don’t let my death take that beautiful smile from your face forever.

I’m sorry.

With all my love,

Your Namjoon

You didn’t know when you had started crying, but fat teardrops covered your hands, splashing against the ink on the page.

Why?

Why did your story have to end here?

You tried to quiet your sobs, but it was no use. You were lost to sorrow, overcome with pain, your vision blurry with tears.

As you balled up your fists in rage and agony, you felt something poke into your palm.

The flower.

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you looked down into the palm of your hand, and another gut-wrenching cry was pulled from your throat.

Because there laid a browning, wilted, crushed, forget-me-not.

Tagging: @jinpanman @ezralia-writes @wwilloww

#houseofddaeng #btsgoldnet #btsguild #ficswithluv #heartsforbts #hyunglinenetwork #magicshopnet #mikrogalaxynet #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #bts angst #namjoon angst #bts fic #bts fanfic

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allyreactions · 4 years ago

Text

Dating Wayv | Lucas

- masterlist requests : OPEN

⚠ read my guidelines before requesting ⚠

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♡ pairing ; Lucas x fem!reader

♡ genre ; fluff, smut, angst

♡ word count ; 1.8k

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~ A/N : this wasn’t a request, but I just had to write this.

~ Admin Ally

* gif credits to the owner *

♡ how you meet :

you met Lucas at a restaurant downtown

he was at a team dinner with his members and manager

you were out celebrating your best friends birthday with several of your girlfriends

“two more bottles of soju please”

you decided to go all out tonight

treating your friend to bulgogi and soju, and whatever else she wanted

shot glasses clinked at the table

“happy birthday!” you all cheered

as you were eating your meal

you and your friends kept glancing over to the table filled with cute boys

it seemed as if they were celebrating something as well

one of the guys in particular caught your eye

or well ... ear

you kept hearing an infectious laughter fill the small restaurant

every time the boy laughed, you and your friends would giggle at how cute it sounded

you turned your head towards the sound

and your eyes were met with the giggling boy

it seemed as if he was aware of the giggling coming from your table

you quickly turned your head back

your cheeks flushed a light pink

after you all had finished your meal

your best friend wanted to go to the club a few blocks away

as you and your friends filed out of the restaurant

gathering by the curb

you fumbled through your purse, looking for your phone

“hey guys, I left my phone inside. I’ll be right back”

you turned around to head inside

and almost bumped into the crowd of people exiting the restaurant

you walked back over to your table where one of the employees was cleaning the dishes you and your friends had left

“did you see a phone by chance?”

the lady shook her head and continued piling the dirty plates

you felt someone tap your shoulder from behind

“is this your phone?”

it was the boy with the infectious laugh

“yeah, where’d you find it?”

“you left it when you were paying your bill. the lady at the counter found it.”

the floppy haired boy handed you your phone

“thanks”

you replied, nodding your head with a smile

your cheeks beginning to turn a light shade of pink again

you weren’t quite sure if it was because he was so cute or if it was the alcohol in your system

“you’re welcome”

you left the restaurant and rejoined your friends on the sidewalk

before you and your friends left for the club

you unlocked your phone, just to make sure nothing was messed with

and you noticed a new number in your contacts

“Lucas ♥ ”

♡ first date :

your first date with Lucas wasn’t anything too fancy

he seems more like the laid back type when it comes to first dates

he believes it’s more about the connection and the getting-to-know-you portion of the date that matters

not how much you can spend on the person

so instead, Lucas invited you out for a walk along the Han River at sunset

he picked you up from your apartment around 5pm

the two of you grabbed some street food before heading down to the river

you walked side by side on the path

you discussed basic things about each other

like your jobs, your hobbies, your family, and your friends

Lucas’ hand brushing against yours every few steps

he really wanted to hold your hand

but he was too nervous

he wasn’t sure if it was appropriate yet

and he wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with pda

as the night went on and the sun began to set

Lucas found a bench for the two of you to sit on and enjoy the evening sky together

he swung his arm over you, resting it on the bench behind you

your heart felt like it was gonna pump out of your chest

Lucas looked over at you with kind eyes

you smiled back at him shyly

“you’re really pretty, you know that?”

your cheeks turned bright red in response to his comment

your face felt hot

a smirk spread across his face

“no really, I think you’re adorable”

Lucas leaned in closer to you

his words were sweet

“I think you’re pretty cute too” you said in reply

it wasn’t until 11pm that you had returned home

Lucas walked you back to your apartment

he wanted to make sure you got home safe

you stood in front of your door

you played with your fingers behind your back

picking at the skin around your nails due to the tension between you too

“I had a really good time tonight” Lucas said

he looked down at you

his height making you feel small under him

“I did too” you replied looking up at him

“I hope I can see you again,”

he ran his fingers through his hair,

a nervous habit of his

“I’m sure you will”

you smiled up at him

the two of you stood in silence for a moment

the tension only growing

“goodnight, Y/N”

Lucas gently placed a kiss on your forehead

your eyes fluttered closed

you enjoyed the feeling of his soft, pillowy lips on your skin

he pulled away and looked you in your eyes

his ears were bright red with embarrassment

it was cute

“goodnight, Lucas”

you stood on your toes and kissed his cheek

♡ living together / couple stuff :

living with Lucas is interesting

not in a bad way,

just that there’s never a dull moment

the two of you are always giggling over something

Lucas is kinda clumsy

his long limbs are always knocking stuff over

or he’s tripping over something

or he’s knocking you over and causing you to trip

he sometimes forgets his size and his strength in comparison to you

but it’s not a big deal

any accidental bruises caused by his clumsiness is followed by lots of kisses

Lucas is kinda clingy when he’s around you at home

mainly because he tries to spend as much time with you as possible while his schedule is free

if you guys are ever just chillin on the couch, watching a movie

Lucas is snuggled up next to you

bedtime?

he’s the big spoon, with his arms wrapped around your waist

he’ll probably run his fingers through your hair, humming against your ear as you fall asleep

when he’s not home and he’s away on promotions,

he loves getting on a video call with you

it doesn’t matter if he can only speak to you for a few minutes or a couple hours

as long as he can see you and hear your voice

and if he can’t video call you, he’ll send you texts

especially when he misses you

he’ll send a lot

I can see Lucas being the type to send you a funny meme that Hendery sent him

or text you the joke that Yangyang told him

showers / baths with him are always nice

I feel like he’s into bubble baths

I’m talkin’ like the tub is overflowing with bubbles kinda bubble baths

those kinda baths end up in the two of you blowing bubbles in each others faces

and making bubble beards and laughing at how goofy you look

but bath time can also be relaxing

Lucas will have you lean back into his chest while he gently splashes water on your naked body

he’ll wash your hair, gently massaging your scalp

and you’ll wash his body, swiping sudsy washcloth over his chest

Lucas isn’t the most romantic all the time

but he does try to do something special for you every now and again

whether it’s a big or little gesture

tbh I think he’ll get some tips and advice from his members

if he knows he’s gonna be late coming home from practice, he’ll bring home your favorite take out

he also loves taking you out to fancy restaurants, treating you like the queen you are

also because he loves seeing you dressed up

and he loves showing off the fact that you’re his

♡ arguments :

the two of you don’t get into arguments a lot mostly because Lucas isn’t a fan of confrontation so he tries his hardest not to mess up or do something stupid just to avoid any sort of disagreement between you two

if you ever get into an argument with Lucas,

it’s probably because of how messy he can be

he’s not a slob, but he isn’t the most organized person

and that can bother you sometimes

you’ll get upset because whenever he’s home from promotions, you’re always picking up after him

or he’s sleeping in too much,

which doesn’t allow the both of you to spend time together while he’s home

those kind of things get sorted out pretty quickly though

Lucas realizes he’s in the wrong, and he’ll do anything to fix things between you

he’ll look at you with those puppy dog eyes, and suddenly all’s forgiven

he’s is such a sweetheart

such a gentle soul

so when he knows that you’re mad at him, it crushes him

he’ll try his best to distance himself from you

giving you some needed space

he knows you’ll come to him when you’re ready to discuss things

but whenever he’s mad at you

(which isn’t often)

he tends to be passive

Lucas is more of the silent treatment kind of guy

because he doesn’t want to raise his voice at you

or say something he’ll regret

♡ sexy time :

Lucas is a switch, but he’s more dom than anything

a playful dom, at that

I think he mainly subs when he’s in a lazy mood

and it’s just easier for you to take control in those situations

he also has pretty good stamina

so two rounds isn’t unusual for him

also he just has a lot of energy overall

going along with his stamina, he’s also into over stimulation

giving and receiving, but mostly giving

he loves watching the way you fall apart in front of him

climaxing over and over

it boosts his already big ego

Lucas has a size kink

he loves knowing how big he is in comparison to you in every way

his loves wrapping his long arms around your body

holding you close to him while you make out on the couch

his huge hands leaving bruises on your hips

holding your hips in place while he goes down on you

his long, thick fingers pumping in and out of you

marking you is his favorite thing

you’ll be showering together

you’ll stand in front of him with your back towards him

and he’ll be washing your hair

he’ll peel your wet hair from your shoulder

“oh, look at that”

his finger will brush over the purple mark on your neck

he loves looking at the marks he leaves on you and reminding you of the moment in which he gave it to you

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