#i swear i can draw better than this. um. hi

[korvidking]

womp womp

[drjholtzmann]

this is dreamling more than dead boy detectives but it's been in my head since reading issue #25 after s1 of sandman. so, now feels like a good time to release it into the world. i just want them all to get in each others way

(season of mists spoilers)

------------

It’s not often that Hob smokes. It’s an expensive habit, and secondhand smoke and all that. But it’s hardly going to kill him, so he’s usually got an ancient pack on hand somewhere. Handy, especially in situations like this. Not that there’s ever been a situation like this before but, well. You live long enough. 

He slips out into the beer garden of the pub, lighting up almost absent mindedly, the action still muscle memory. 

“What the fuck,” he mutters, rubbing his thumb along his lower lip, “what the fuck. Dream, if you have bloody anything to do with this, I swear to god, Morpheus. What the fucking fuck.” He closes his eyes, lets his head fall back against the brickwork. Despite it all he huffs an exhausted laugh. Because sure. Of course. Yeah, why not. Of course this would happen. “Jesus Christ, Morpheus. Even if this isn’t you, bloody… fucking wish I could just ask.” It’s all said barely above a whisper. Just in case. Always just in case. He blindly ashes his cigarette and heaves out a heavy breath, “Lord above,” he scoffs, raising the cigarette to his lips again. 

“Hob?”

Hob startles, eyes snapping open, head knocking back sharply against the brick. “Fuck – ow – Dream?” He raises his free hand to rub the back of his head, wincing slightly. “That, uh… that worked better than expected.” 

“You were calling for me?”

“Yeah… sorta. I didn’t… think it worked like that. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You did not. I had thought briefly of you.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Hob grins. “How come? You miss me already?”

Morpheus sends him a withering look. 

“I, um… dreamt of you. While ago. Was that – real?”

“It was.”

He nods, thumb nervously tapping the filter of his cigarette. “Uh huh. Figured. With the wine, and…” he trails off. The hollow feeling of that dream, or rather, of that waking coming back to him in full force. “You said some ominous shit. Then I said some ominous shit. Was that real, too?”

Morpheus nods solemnly. 

“Right. Don’t suppose you’ll explain that?” Morpheus remains silent. “Right. Course not. Things okay, though? Now? I mean,” he gestures to his friend, “you’re here. That must be good, yeah?”

“Yes. And no.”

“Great. Fab.”

“What I thought I was facing has… changed.”

“...’kay. Well, can I ask you a question?”

Morpheus pauses but, after a moment, nods.

“S’it got anything to do with the dead kids hanging out in my pub?”

“What?”

“Yeah, couple of boys who look like they should definitely be in school – about, oh, fifty years ago. At least.”

Morpheus’ eyes don’t actually widen in alarm, but there is something to that effect happening… not quite in his expression, but in his aura, perhaps. Hob gets the feeling that if he were a cat the fur along his spine would be standing on end. 

“So… it is related?” 

“Perhaps.”

“Definitely, then.” Hob takes a short puff of his cigarette. 

“Show me?” 

“Uh… I don’t know if they know that people can see them. I don’t know if people who aren’t me can see them, actually. So just, um…” the caution dies in his throat as he realises who it is he’s talking to. Morpheus will do what he will, Hob’s advice be damned. 

Dream draws close, peering in through the windowpane of the door back into the pub. “How do you know?”

“You get pretty good at feeling when things are off once you’ve been around the block six hundred years or so. Also, they walked in through the closed front door. As in, passed right through the solid wood and glass.”

“I see.”

“Why are they here?” 

“To sample your fine selection of craft beer, perhaps?”

“Oh, he’s joking,” Hob has joined his side in peering not-so-surreptitiously through the door. “‘Mortal plane’ here, not here-here.”

“Death must have been busy… It is not like her to leave a job unfinished without good reason.”

“Must’ve…? What the fuck could be so horrific that Death is being kept busy?”

Morpheus, beside him, is silent. Deadly still. And it tells Hob all he needs to know. 

“Dream,” he hisses, “what the fuck is this? What’s going on?”

There is a long pause. “I ought not to tell you.” Dream murmurs, still facing the glass panel of the door.

“And I ought not have two dead teenagers in my pub. All things relative.” 

“They are causing no harm.”

“I don’t doubt that. It’s you I’m worried about now.”

“Your concern is of no use. What I mean is that they are no poltergeists, not aggressive, there seems to be nothing demonic about them.”

“Which means… there are poltergeists and demons running about at the mo?”

“I told you, I ought not say. There are diplomatic proceedings to take place.”

“You get that that makes even less sense, yeah?”

Dream seems to, at last, with an almighty eye roll, give in. “Hell is closed,” he hisses, turning to face Hob directly. 

“Hell is closed.” Hob repeats back, dumbfounded. “And that means… The devils are all here?”

“Precisely.”

“But the boys… aren’t devils?”

“They are not.”

“Okay. That’s good news. And the devils?”

Dream shrugs, sharp and languid. “Anywhere. Everywhere.”

“Great. Okay. Less good. Very much less good. So, uh. What… do I do? Am I supposed to exorcise them? Because, I have to be honest – would really rather not do that.” 

“You are under no obligations.”

“Oh.” 

“They could not be here without Death’s knowledge or her say-so. She will come for them in time.”

“Oh.” Inexplicably, Hob’s heart sinks a little.

“They are not alive, Hob.” Dream says, looking him in the eye. “They cannot live forever as the dead.” 

“Hm. Yeah. S’pose.” He looks through the windowpane at the two boys, chatting animatedly at a corner table out of the way. “They’re just kids, though. Barely got a normal life.”

“You cannot save them, Hob.”

“Why not?”

“You cannot. They may not be destined for Hell, but that doesn’t mean they can stay amongst the living.” 

“Says who?”

“The universe. Death, herself.”

Hob smirks, tilting his head down a fraction to look up at Dream from under a quirked brow. “You know what I think of Death.”

And Hob catches the tension at the corner of Dream’s mouth that he knows, whatever he might say to the contrary, is a suppressed smile. 

“C’mon, what if I just help ‘em live a little? While they’re here?”

“Hob.”

“What?! Can’t a guy be nice?”

“I have meetings to attend to.”

“That’s not a no.” 

“I think it a poor choice to flaunt immortality in front of two who have died so young. I would caution against it.”

“Okay. Fuck, fair point. But they don’t have to know about me. They wouldn’t somehow know, right?”

“I would caution against it, Hob Gadling.”

[straykids-gives-me-life]

A/N: I absolutely LOVE this request sm so ofc I'm going to write it. Hope you like it @aaasia111 ❤️

------

♡ Chan ♡

"Love, how many times do I have to ask you to not speak to him?" Chris says, his volume slowly rising.

"Why shouldn't I?" You yell.

"Because he wants to fuck you! I can tell!" He shouts, turning to look you in the eyes.

His lips are the only think you can focus on right now. Every ounce of anger you had in your body 5 seconds ago has just left the room. You are so lucky to have this God of a man.

"Y/n, are you even listening to me!?" He continues.

"Y/n!"

Nope. His lips are getting in the way.

Without a second thought, you grab him by the back of his head and pull him into a kiss that one can only describe as... messy. Your lips crash together, and your noses are smushed against each other's.

Chan's eyes widen before he slowly settles into the kiss, his tongue sliding along your bottom lip and slips into your mouth.

You're fully lost in the kiss until he pulls away and just says.

"So let's say it's a draw."

♡ Minho ♡

The door slams. Oh god. He's mad.

"Y/n, what the fuck is wrong with you?" He asks, anger laced in his voice.

"What do you mean?" You ask, confused.

"What do you mean 'what do I mean?'?"

"I'm confused, can you just tell me what's going on?" You say.

"Who's Kai?"

Um. What?

"Sorry?" You say, even more confused than before.

"Oh don't act like that. Who the fuck is Kai?"

"I seriously don't know what you're talking about, I don't know a Kai," you respond.

"Y/n I swear to fucking God."

He pushes his hair back, but you can't help but focus on his lips. The red tint is making you go feral. You know what it felt like to kiss them, and that's all you want to do. His tongue slips out of his mouth to dampen them before he starts to speak again.

"You clearly know a Kai because he's been blowing up your phone all day!"

"How do you know that?" You ask, your eyes still locked on his lips.

"Because your phone is still connected to my watch but that's not the point here. My point is-" he sees the way you're looking at him and his speech halts a little. "Um. Yeah. My point is that uh... you shouldn't be speaking to other guys."

"I'm not though that's the thing. Min, do you really think I'd cheat on you?" You say, trying to make him realise he was being irrational.

He looks at your lips. A small grin creeps onto his face before he just mumbles the word 'no'.

♡ Changbin ♡

"Y/n can you stop being such a bitch for two seconds!" He shouts, throwing his headphones across his desk, turning to look at you.

His lips, oh my god. You could just kiss them all day.

"Changbin-"

"No, y/n!" He yells, standing over you. "Youve been nagging me all day and saying I've not been paying you enough attention! You know I'm fucking busy, what is your problem?"

His lips.

"Changbin, let me speak." You say.

"No. Its my turn to speak now."

Oh shit. You were losing your mind to his fucking lips.

"Ho many times do I have to tell you that-"

You cut him off by harshly pressing your lips against his, your hand creeping around to the back of his neck.

He groans into your mouth slightly before melting into the kiss and forgetting about the argument completely.

♡ Hyunjin ♡

He always does this. Leaving his shit all over the room.

"Hyunjin," you say, barging into the bedroom.

He looks up at you. His lips looking enticing as always.

"Yes, love?" He says the words escaping so angelically that your knees felt weak.

How could you be mad at him when he looks and sounds like that?

"Can you please stop leaving your things lying around?" You say all anger leaving your body.

"Oh shit, sorry, love. I keep forgetting to pick them up," he says, his voice so soft.

"It's okay."

"Can I give you a kiss to make it better?" He says, a grin creeping onto his face.

"Maybe."

♡ Jisung ♡

"I don't fucking care, y/n! You were flirting with him!" He shouts, his face getting redder and redder.

His lips looked so kissable though. You needed to defend yourself but you couldn't think straight with them right in front of you.

"Okay! I'm sorry! I thought I was just being friendly!" You yell, your brain going blank.

"Bullshit."

He looks so angry which just makes him look even hotter to be fair.

He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, leaving a residue behind that you just want to kiss right off.

"Can you stop looking at my lips and talk to me?" He says, the cockiness in his tone being so obvious.

This was going to be a long ass night.

♡ Felix ♡

"I don't care, y/n! I don't care if you need to do anything, I'm busy!" He shouts, making you flinch a little.

It was extremely rare that felix got this mad, so for you to see him like this got you feeling some type of way. (😏😏😏)

His lips were looking extra good today too which didn't help you at all.

"Why don't you care!" You yell back, trying to make it seem like you were laying attention to something other than his lips.

He walked forward, making you step back, repeating the process until your back was against the wall, and he stood in front of you, looking down at your figure.

"Because I have better things to do," he says, coldly, the lack of emotion actually hurting you a little.

"Felix," you say. "What is going on with you lately?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, catching your eyes landing on his lips. "But, I've figured out what's up with you right now."

♡ Seungmin ♡

"Shut the fuck up, y/n! For once just be quiet!" He screams, twisting his face up in rage.

God, he was pretty.

"How many times do I have to tell you to shut up before you get the fucking picture!"

Tell me to shut up and then kiss me, and I might listen, you think.

His lips oh my god.

You could die.

"Tell me what is so difficult about shutting up!"

You couldn't. What the hell was wrong with you?

"Come on, tell me." He sounded so stern.

"Nothing," you say, your voice being quiet, the effect of his lips alone messing with your head.

"See? Not so hard."

He was going to be the death of you.

♡ Jeongin ♡

"Y/n, can you just go away for just one second!" He shouts from next to you, scaring you a little. "You never give me any space, I swear to God!"

Ummmm, why did he look so fine right now? And his lips? Death.

"Um," you say, your head frazzled by his features. "Sure."

"Thank you." He says, scoffing at your behaviour.

"But first," you say, inching closer to him.

"Let me do this."

You grab his face and crash your lips together, his eyes widening before settling into the kiss, his fingers locking into your hair.

After a minute or so, you finally pull away and look back at him smugly.

"I'll leave now," you smile.

"Well, I think you had a very strong argument there," Jeongin says, making you laugh.

---

I hope you guys liked this cause it's literally 1:06 AM right now, and I am wasting away. LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH THO. BYE GIRLIES <3333

[starsstuddedsky]

Blonde Phase

Renjun x gn reader

summary: spontaneous hair decisions always end in regret. that's what you expect to hear when you tell renjun you're bleaching your hair, but instead you find support, and even his help. you should appreciate his wholehearted support but instead it has you wondering: why doesn't he care?

genre: fluff, minimal angst, technically they're in grad school but that's not particularly relevant, non idol au,

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, spontaneous hair decisions (i do not endorse), lmk if I missed any

wc: 4.4k

a/n: in the immortal words of charles boyle, the most intimate thing you can do with a lover is wash their hair. yknow i made fun of him for that until i wrote this. i see it. also its been so long since ive finishing anything, pls forgive me if this is bad. renjun i love u. as always I'd love to hear what you think <3

“I’m bleaching my hair.” If you say it fast enough, Renjun won’t be able to talk you out of it. The plastic bag swings around your wrist as you walk across the parking lot. “I’ve already bought the bleach and gloves and stuff, and I’m going to do it, today.”

He’s quiet for so long you check to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. “Okay.”

You almost drop your phone. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, drawing the word out. “Was I supposed to say something else?”

“Um, yeah?” You say. “You have opinions about literally everything. You talked me out of buying those pants two days ago.” You finally get to your car, tossing the bag onto the passenger seat and half-falling behind the wheel.

“That’s because they were made of polyester, and the thrift store was still charging $15,” he says immediately. “That was a scam.”

“Money is temporary, drip is forever.”

“Those pants would have lasted a year max, before they fell apart, and you still haven’t learned how to sew so you wouldn’t even be able to mend them or upcycle them.”

“You know what, I didn’t buy the pants, so this fight is moot,” you say. You set the phone on speaker, turning the engine on to blast the AC.

“Well, not moot. Technically I won,” Renjun says.

“I’d respect you more if you weren’t insufferable.”

“Here I was thinking you appreciated my insight,” he says. “You even asked for it.”

“I did not!”

“You literally asked about bleaching your hair.”

“I said I was surprised you didn’t have an opinion, not that I wanted to hear it,” you say.

“Semantics,” Renjun says. “So what time do you want to come over?”

You frown. “Tonight?”

“The roommates are out of town for the whole weekend, and I have way better ventilation,” he says. “I’d much rather bleach it without passing out.” He pauses. “You do want help, right?”

“Honestly, I was not expecting support. I was fully ready to fight you on this,” you say.

He snorts. “Come over whenever, I'm not doing anything today.”

“See you in twenty minutes.” You hang up, feeling a strange ball of tension roll around in your gut. That was… too easy? Renjun always has something to say about your admittedly impulsive tendencies. But if he’s going to help you’re not going to reject it—knowing Renjun he’s probably already watching Youtube videos and learning more than you will ever know about bleaching hair.

And it’s Renjun. When have you done anything without his help?

.

.

Renjun opens the door wearing a wearied expression. He doesn’t bother to greet you or even smile, just unlocks the door and steps to the side.

“Hi to you, too,” you say, trading your shoes for the spare slippers resting by the doormat. You follow Renjun into the space that serves as kitchen, dining room, living room, and Jaemin’s miniature gym, with weights and mats stacked next to the television.

“Who the hell clogs a toilet and then leaves for the weekend,” Renjun says.

You set down your plastic bag full of hair products and frown. “That’s disgusting.”

Renjun leans against the counter. “And you didn’t have to spend the last forty minutes trying to unclog it.”

“So which of the guys are you going to murder?” You try to guess, running through his roommates: you find it hard to believe Jaemin would do such a thing. Jeno maybe, and Donghyuck would certainly think it’s funny. But, in all honesty, it could have been any of them.

“Don’t know,” Renjun says, “but knowing them, they’ll make a pact to protect each other.”

“Seriously?”

Renjun pauses, gaze sheepish. “It’s what I did when I accidentally killed Jaemin’s little succulent that survived his college dorm.”

You fake a gasp, placing a hand over your chest. “Every day I learn something new about you. That’s devious.”

“I was drunk!” Renjun says, holding up a finger. “And Jeno and Donghyuck pushed me into it, so it was equally their fault.”

“If you say so.” You glance around the apartment. “Where are they all?”

“Jaemin’s visiting family, Jeno has a soccer tournament, and Donghyuck said he’s going camping with Yangyang.” Renjun says, counting off with his fingers.

“Donghyuck and Yangyang are friends?”

“Yeah, according to them they bonded over dealing with me.”

“Those were their exact words?”

“Dealing with my ‘stupid ass,’” Renjun says.

“That’s more on brand.”

Renjun nods.

You think about Yangyang, Renjun’s friend from when he was a kid. You’ve met him a few times now, especially since he’s moved half an hour away from Renjun. He’s fun, always bringing out a chaotic side of Renjun whether it’s dancing on a bar or bringing out angry-Renjun. But Yangyang and Donghyuck?

“That’s a terrible friendship. They’re going to ruin you.”

Renjun nods again, but you see the smile hiding in his eyes. He can rant all he wants, you know he’s excited his friends are getting closer with each other.

You point at the bag. “So where are we doing this?”

You half expect him to lecture you about rash hair decisions but he just gestures to the kitchen. “I figure right here should be fine. The tiles should be pretty easy to clean and probably could use some bleach anyway.”

He drags the chair with a rickety leg from the dining table. You dig through the bag and set everything on the counter. While Renjun cracks a window open, you begin to mix the developer and the bleach, curling your lip at the sharp scent. Renjun joins you, pulling on a pair of gloves.

“Wow that’s strong,” he says, wincing.

“Yeah,” you say. “Definitely a good idea to do it here.”

When the powder is finally combined, you sit on the chair, Renjun following behind you. You section off your hair together, then he grabs the bowl and the brush.

He holds the thick paintbrush brush up against your hair, glancing at you, giving you one last chance to back down. You give him the nod of approval and he shifts back to focusing on your hair, brushing the bleach into it as carefully as he spreads paint on a canvas. He works section by section, carefully drenching your hair with the creamy solution.

“So, are you going to tell me why you decided to do this?”

You can’t resist turning and glancing at him. “I thought you approved.”

“I didn’t try to talk you out of it,” he says, “that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about how you came to this decision.”

You nod until Renjun uses his gloved hand to hold your head straight. “I suppose that’s fair.”

You pause, trying to find the right words. But you find yourself drifting back to Renjun. Why didn’t he ask this before the bleach was in your hair? It’s not like him to keep his opinions to himself. When you first met him, he was yelling at Donghyuck for going to a philosophy seminar just to fight with the notorious bigot of a professor (which Donghyuck did and then got kicked out, and proceeded to get the professor suspended). You only knew Mark back then, a friend from another class who invited you to meet some of his other friends in the dining hall. When Renjun turned to ask what you thought, you said Donghyuck should do what he thinks is right. Renjun didn’t hesitate to call you an idiot then. So why isn’t he calling you an idiot now?

To his credit Renjun doesn’t rush you. He continues to paint the bleach into your hair, content to wait for you to figure out an answer. Except you’re thinking about all the wrong questions. Like, seriously, why do you want him to call you an idiot?

“I want a change,” you finally say. “I’m stuck in a degree that will make me absolutely no money when I graduate, I can’t afford to break my lease, and don’t have any major relationships that need upheaving, so, hair.”

“‘A change?’” Renjun repeats. “Like, you woke up this morning and thought, today I’m going blonde?”

“Like, I have this feeling in my chest, this aching feeling that there’s something I need to do, someone I’m supposed to be, something more than the person I see in the mirror but I’ve made my decisions and I’m happy with my decisions and I genuinely like who I am. So, hair.”

You see Renjun’s hand falter out of the corner of your eye, halfway between the bleach mixture and your hair. He freezes for a heartbeat then continues to move, lifting some hair off your ear, careful not to brush the bleach onto your skin.

“‘So, hair,’” he says.

“Are you really going to repeat everything I say?”

This gets a short laugh from him. “I think the fumes are getting to me already.” He pauses, setting down the brush and stepping in front of you. “For what it’s worth, I like who you are, too. I’m really glad we’re friends.”

You smile at him. “Me too,” you say. “I definitely would have fucked up trying to bleach this on my own.”

.

.

“There’s still some bleach left,” Renjun says after he finishes with your roots. “You’re sure you don’t want your eyebrows to match?”

“Why don’t we do your eyebrows,” you say. “Better yet, why don’t we shave them off?”

Renjun sets down the brush. “Okay, no eyebrows.”

You grin at him. “That’s what I thought.”

He helps you get a plastic bag wrapped securely over your head, then sets the timer.

“What do you want to do for the next half hour?” You ask. “Preferably something that requires little to no movement.” You gesture to your head. “We’re not winning any frisbee tournaments tonight.”

“It was one time,” Renjun mutters, shaking his head and stepping around you plop down onto the couch. “We can watch something.”

You follow him, sitting on the other side, a cushion between you. The space feels strangely empty. Though you’ve spent plenty of time alone with Renjun, even alone with him at his apartment, the silence is usually interrupted by one of the guys getting bored of playing League, or coming back because they can’t go out to a bar without someone forgetting their ID, or in desperate need of Renjun’s expert advice (read: Jeno never remembers to ask Renjun to look over his submissions until 12 minutes before they’re due). The cushion between you never stays empty for long but the moments stretch on, only making the distance feel greater.

You wonder, not for the first time, how long it’s been since you’ve thought of Renjun as just a friend. If he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much about what he thinks. And if he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much that he suddenly doesn’t think.

You sneak a glance at him, fiddling with the remote for a couple seconds before realizing he grabbed the wrong one. He’s certainly always been handsome—that was undeniable from the moment you met him. But more than just being good looking, it’s Renjun himself. Not just those dark eyes, but the way they burn with passion (even when he’s arguing about the proper number of appetizers to order). It’s his perfectly shaped lips, the way they betray how he feels with a slight curve up or down—and his smile. Always, always his smile, beautiful and breathtaking even though you’ve seen it a thousand times.

He turns, a little furrow in his brow. “What?”

“Hm?”

“You’re looking at me funny,” he says. “Did I get bleach in my hair or something?”

You turn to face the TV, trying to pay attention to the show Renjun chose. “I wasn’t looking at you funny,” you say. “I wasn’t even looking at you.”

“If you say so,” Renjun says, “but if there’s a blonde spot anywhere in my hair, I’m so making you pay for it.”

You shake your head. Where the hell did those thoughts come from? Renjun, more than a friend? Sure, you’re close with him and sure, he’s objectively attractive, but you’ve never had those thoughts before. Well, at least not sober.

“Um, why are we watching Singles Inferno?”

“Because I asked and you were too busy not staring at me to answer, so I put it on,” Renjun says. “And don’t you dare try to tell me you don’t like it. I saw you rant on your Instagram story the other day.”

“Okay, but you don’t get it,” you say. “This bitch really has the audacity to to—”

“I saw your post,” Renjun says. “Believe me, I get it.”

“If you didn’t want to hear about it you should not have turned it on, because now I can’t stop,” you say. Renjun rolls his eyes but even as you delve into a full on essay about the horrible men particularly common in dating shows, you see the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile.

.

.

The timer goes off halfway through an episode.

“Saved by the buzzer,” Renjun says. “I’m putting a ban on anything reality TV related for the next three hours.”

“You’re the one that brought it up,” you mutter without any real annoyance. Despite his banter, Renjun dutifully listened to your rants, and even got mad along with you.

You drag a chair to the sink while Renjun drapes a towel over your shoulders. He puts on gloves and unwraps the bag, letting your hair fall into the empty sink.

“Close your eyes,” Renjun says gently. He tilts your head back, cupping the back of your head for a moment before pulling the head of the sink faucet out. He runs the water, long enough for you to peek your eyes open.

You’ve gotten used to seeing Renjun focused. He gets a little furrow in his brow, always glaring at his work. Before you were friends, you used to think he was actually angry, that his frowns and short tone were real. You’ve learned since then, it’s not his emotions, it’s his passion. The frown only comes out when he’s focused, trying to be perfect. When he cares.

“Unless you want bleach in them, close your eyes,” Renjun mutters, with absolutely no malice behind the words. His eyes shift to meet yours and that’s how you know you’re right. He can glare and bluster all he wants, he can’t hide his eyes, warm and shining. Like when he’s looking at his art, his gaze is a combination of soft and intense, creating something stronger than affection. Except he’s not looking at his art, he’s looking at you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your heartbeat pick up. Despite every attempt to shut down the thoughts, they race through your head, a stampede grown out of control. Renjun, who you’ve only known a year and a half but who has become one of your closest friends. Renjun, who never fails to share the only opinion you really care about. Renjun, who you can’t imagine life without. Renjun, who you’ve never dared to imagine life with.

He places a hand on your forehead, bringing the faucet closer to rinse your roots while keeping the water from pouring onto your face. You prepare for a cold shock but the water that soaks into your hair is the perfect temperature—not scalding hot, not freezing cold. Some water sprays over his hand, falling onto your eyelids and cheeks.

“Sorry,” Renjun murmurs. He holds the head farther away, running his fingers gently through the roots of your hair. He’s so close you can feel his breath, warm against your temple. You can feel his body, hovering over yours, and maybe it’s just your imagination, but warmth seems to emanate from it.

His friends would laugh at you if you described Renjun as soft to their face, but it’s the only adjective that captures the way he works the water through your hair. Soft and gentle and careful and nothing like the Renjun that has to corral everyone into his car at 3 in the morning. And yet this Renjun doesn’t feel like a stranger to you.

Washing your hair takes a lifetime, but as soon as he steps away and turns off the water, you miss it. You miss him, even though he’s only a couple feet away.

“You can open your eyes now,” he says. As soon as you do, he tosses a towel at you. It hits you in the face before you can get your hands up.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” Renjun says, not sounding sorry at all. He manages to hold back the laugh but still grins at you, unashamed. He steps forward and pats your face dry, with the same gentleness as before, though there’s still a mischievous glint in his eyes. You yank the towel away before he gets any ideas, drying off your face on your down and wrapping it around your hair. You wring it out a couple times before letting go, doing your best to get it to fall evenly around your head.

You raise your eyebrows at Renjun. “Okay, how bad is it?”

“Okay, first of all, I’m insulted that you think there’s any way I’d fuck up you hair,” Renjun says. “And it looks really good. Blonde suits you.”

You take a deep breath and pull out your phone, studying yourself in the mirror and… he’s right. The color is even, somewhere between blonde and orange that is unavoidable when using bleach. Radical hair changes generally end in tears but looking at yourself in the mirror, you don’t feel the usual dissonance. The hair is different but somehow more familiar than the “normal” you that doesn’t feel right anymore.

“I’m right,” Renjun says.

You smile. “Yeah, you are.” You put down your phone, meeting his eyes. “Thank you, Renjun.”

“For what?”

“Doing all of this for me,” you say.

“It’s the least I could do,” he mumbles. “You’re my friend.”

You shake your head. “Thank you anyways.”

Renjun just shrugs and grabs the bowl, rinsing out the bleach in the sink. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s avoiding your eyes.

You do your best to clean up the bleach from the floor, busying yourself until Renjun finishes. You wonder if you’re imagining the tiles getting a little bit whiter. Finally, he turns off the water and glances at you.

“You’re really happy with it?” He asks, sounding more like he doubts you rather than changing his opinion.

“Yeah,” you say, standing up. “I think it’s the ‘me’ of right now, you know?”

“Not really.”

“Like, I feel disjointed, and blonde hair is definitely not me, but it's the me that feels kind of all over the place, so even though it doesn’t look like me, it looks like me.” You wring your hands together, fingers tinged red.

“That makes no sense,” Renjun says, “but I think I get what you mean.” He smiles. “And I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you to have any regrets.”

So he did think this was a potential mistake? Why didn’t he say anything?

Renjun turns back to the sink, but before he can turn the water on, your voice calls his name. “Renjun?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Why didn’t you fight me on this?”

He doesn’t move for a long moment. You wish you could see his face. “I have been told by certain people,” he begins, which is code for Donghyuck and Yangyang certified their position as Renjun’s worst nightmare. He turns to face you, wiping his hands on a towel.

“That I have a tendency to be overly opinionated in a generally negative direction. And I thought about it, and I realized I'm never really fully supportive, whether it’s a big decision, or, like, coffee, and I’ve always been this way, but, apparently, it’s especially… apparent with you.” He frowns. “This is all coming out wrong. I’m trying to say that it’s different when I’m around you. I’m different.”

Your eyes jump between his, trying to decipher what he’s saying. “Different?”

“I care a lot about you,” Renjun says, “more than anyone, actually.”

“Oh.” You blink once, twice. “Wait, you like me?”

Renjun’s eyes shift to the floor. “Yeah.”

You can’t help but let out a short laugh, reeling at the absurdity of it all. Renjun likes you? But he’s Renjun. Even though he’s the most common main character in your daydreams, you never once realistically thought he might be fantasizing about you too. But he likes you.

“I really didn’t want to say anything, I mean, before anything else you’re my friend, and I don’t want to ruin that,” Renjun says rapidly. “We’re good friends, and I really didn’t want to be the guy that pretends to be your friend but just wants to date you the whole time, that’s really not what I was trying to do, it’s just—”

“Renjun.” You put a hand on his shoulder and he freezes mid sentence, mouth still hanging open a little. Before he can move, you lean closer, the type of line you’d only dare to cross in your dreams.

“I’d like to kiss you,” you say softly. He blinks, eyes darting between your eyes and your lips.

“I’d like that,” he finally breathes. So you kiss him.

It starts light, his lips exactly as you imagined—soft and warm. His arm works its way around your waist, pulling you closer. The other works its way into your hair, still wet and sticking to your head. Renjun kisses like he’s been planning this for a long time, and maybe he has. Every movement is slow and careful, until he’s stolen all your air and even then you don’t want to pull away.

Your bravery fades the minute you meet his eyes. You bury your face into his chest, your cheek resting against your own hand. Renjun wraps both of his arms around you, holding you snugly in place.

“I like you, too,” you say into his chest. It’s the cowards route but if you look him in the eyes the words will never come out. “If it wasn’t obvious.”

“It wasn’t actually,” he says softly. “I think I drove all of my friends insane trying to figure out whether I should confess or not.”

“They all know?” You groan. “We’re never going to hear the end of this.”

“Yeah.” When Renjun laughs, it shakes your whole body. You can feel the rumbling, overtaking his heartbeat. “It’s okay though. It’s worth it.”

You turn your head, emerging from the sanctuary of his chest and tucking your head so that you can see his face. He smiles at you with the familiar warmth you’ve come to expect.

“Yeah,” you say, “it really is.”

Renjun grins.

“Your hair on the other hand…” He says.

“I thought you liked it!”

“I like it,” Renjun says, “but when has Donghyuck ever liked a single change to anyone’s hair?”

“Since when do you care what Donghyuck thinks?”

“I’m just saying now that we’re officially dating, my friends are going to be extra annoying,” Renjun says.

“Extra annoying? I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Don’t underestimate them.”

You groan, pressing your face back into his chest. “It’s not too late to get some hair dye.”

“You are not changing your hair because of my dumbass friends,” Renjun says.

“You like it?”

“You like it,” he says. “That’s the only opinion that really matters.” He pauses then adds, “But yeah. I like it.”

You grin, lifting your head to kiss his cheek. “Maybe we should dye your hair too.”

Renjun snorts. “Oh yeah?”

“We could have matching couples hair.”

He laughs out loud this time. “Maybe we should just get some shirts.”

“Three minutes of dating and you already want matching shirts? Huang Renjun, be honest.” You push off of him until you can place your hands on his shoulders and look him in the eyes. “Are you obsessed with me?”

“Yes,” he says, layering his voice in sarcasm that still isn’t enough to hide the truth of the admission. “All day every day, all I think about is you.”

“Well, see, that can’t be true because if you were that obsessed and I’m this close, you would already be kissing me because—” You forget whatever you were going to say, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when Renjun is kissing you like this. Your hands at his shoulders slink around his neck, while his wrap around your waist, leaning so close to you, you feel your back begin to dip.

Huang Renjun is poison, the kind that turns into a heart-shaped puff of pink when the bottle is opened. You melt into his kiss and it’s still not enough. You could die, right this instant, and you don’t think you’d notice. Death itself wouldn’t be able to tear you away from this moment.

“Renjun!” Donghyuck’s voice thunders through the kitchen. “How dare you? You bastard, you’re cheating?”

You jump apart, turning to see him looming in the doorway. His glare settles on you, and you see the exact moment he realizes he recognizes you.

“Jesus Christ, you could have knocked or something,” Renjun says.

“I live here too,” Donghyuck says automatically. He squints, then looks at Renjun, then back at you. “YN? Your hair is blonde.”

For some reason, you raise your hand and wave at him. “Hey!”

“Oh my god!” Donghyuck cries. “Yangyang owes me thirty dollars!” He races back out the door, screaming something that’s lost as the door swings shut.

You glance at Renjun. “Cheating?”

He frowns at the door, still a crack open. “Did he… seriously think you were someone else? That I was cheating on my unrequited crush?”

His eyes shift to yours. A heartbeat passes and you burst into laughter. His friends might be annoying, but they’re still endearing. You press a messy, smile-infested kiss to his lips and wonder if you’ll ever get used to the giddy feeling.

There’s plenty messy in your life, plenty to doubt. But watching Yangyang and Donghyuck drag their backpacks in (apparently Donghyuck forgot his power bank and they decided to give up on camping) as they attempt to interrogate Renjun on every detail, you can’t help but feel like it doesn’t really matter. You don’t doubt Renjun. You don’t doubt blonde suits you. And you don’t doubt the power of a last minute hair decision, not anymore.

thank you for reading!! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated

[munson-blurbs]

IT'S SPOOOPY HALLOWEENIE!

Dum-Dum.* Kit Kat. Eddie.

*"I don't know what that is" - in an Australian accent.

Idiots in love/Artist!Reader/Eddie Munson

Warnings: drug use (weed), reader can be read as gender neutral, mention of Billy Hargrove, sitting on Eddie's lap

WC: 778

Divider credit to @saradika (also, Dum-Dums are a brand of lollipop)

Knock knock.

The sound of someone at the door startles you, drawing your attention from your unfinished sketch and to the curly-haired boy clutching a piece of paper in his ringed hand.

“Sorry, uh,” Eddie says with a nervous laugh, “didn’t mean to scare you.” When you don’t reply, he looks around the otherwise-empty classroom. “Is now a bad time, or…?”

You gather your thoughts, heart pounding a mile a minute at the sudden interruption. “N-No, you’re fine,” you stammer. God, he’s so cute. Cheeks tinged red with bashfulness, free hand shoved into his back pocket, frizzy curls brushing against his denim-clad shoulders. “Something I can help you with?” you ask when he remains standing in place.

“Oh! Um, yeah.” He shuffles over to you, as though reminding himself to put one foot in front of the other. “You draw, right? Like, sketches and stuff?” He winces at his stilted attempt at an opening, especially given the fact that your sketchbook is open right in front of you.

“Mhm.”

“Cool.” Eddie nods. “Could I ask you to draw this? It’s for my uncle’s birthday next month.” He hands you the photo, and your heart instantly melts. It’s a picture of him and who you assume is his uncle, and Eddie can’t be much older than ten years old. He’s wearing a blue shirt with an S in a diamond hastily drawn on the front. A faded red towel is tied around his neck in a makeshift cape. The older man stands behind him, half a KitKat bar hanging from his lips like a cigarette. “It was my first Halloween with him.” The first time I ever celebrated Halloween, actually, he thinks, but keeps that information to himself.

You carefully study the photo, careful not to leave fingerprints on it, even though there’s already a smudge in the corner. “I, uh, I don’t know what those stains are,” Eddie mumbles. “I can’t offer a lot of money, but if you smoke…” he mimics taking a pull from a joint, “I can hook you up for free.”

“You sure?” You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t want you getting in trouble or anything.”

Eddie dismisses the notion with a wave. “What’s he gonna do, call the cops?”

“Fair enough,” you agree with a smile.

You hadn’t realized that when Eddie had offered to smoke you up for free, he’d meant smoking with him. Over the next few weeks, any free time that wasn’t spent drawing the photo of him and his uncle–whose name was Wayne, you’d learned–you spent with him in a haze of marijuana. Sharing giggles, splitting family bags of potato chips when the munchies inevitably hit, snuggling up on his couch and sleepily watching sitcom reruns consumed your afternoons. To an outsider’s perspective, it looked like you two were together. Truthfully, you had no idea what you and Eddie’s status was.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” you sit up suddenly, shifting under the blanket and reaching for your backpack. “I finished this last night.”

Eddie’s bloodshot eyes go wide, and you swear that their glassiness is fueled by more than just pot. “This is…wow,” he breathes out, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is even better than I imagined.” He doesn’t know the technical terms for what you’ve done, but you’ve perfectly captured their enthused expressions, the joy in their eyes evident even just through pencil shading. “You’re amazing.”

And maybe it’s the compliment, or the high, or the way he’s been nestled into you for the last forty minutes, but you tilt his head towards yours and kiss him. Your mouths collide clumsily, and he seems shocked at first, but he quickly eases himself into it to deepen it. One hand cups your cheek while the other pulls you onto his lap so you’re straddling his lithe waist. 

“Wanted to do this for a long time,” he murmurs into you, not wanting to fully break the kiss. “Ever since I first saw you, I thought you were so goddamn pretty.”

“I’ve had a crush on you since you jumped on the cafeteria table and called Billy Hargrove out for leading all those poor girls on,” you admit with a laugh. “He turned bright red.”

Eddie inhales, shrugging his shoulders haphazardly. “Earned myself a pretty little black eye for that.” His nose nudges yours as he leans in to kiss you again. “But it was totally worth it if it meant you noticed me.”

You pull back slightly, taking in his beautiful brown eyes, the tiny patch of stubble where he’d missed shaving, the flyaway hairs on his temple. “Can I keep noticing you?”

“I’d be sad if you stopped.”

--

[orphic-musings]

The warmth was never yours to begin with

Characters: Alhaitham x gn!reader, slight Kaveh x gn!reader

Genre: Angst, hurt (only slight comfort?)

Warnings: Some swear words, bittersweet ending

Summary: Spending time as Alhaitham’s unofficial assistant, you’re bound to be affected by his unfairly beautiful appearance. But is his aloofness disinterest, or do you even stand a chance in the first place?

Notes: This was randomly in my drafts and I had never posted it? Sorry for going completely AWOL lolza. I have some requests in my inbox but I might turn off requesting because it’s so hard for me to write unless it’s one of those random moments when I just go off and I don’t want people to wait forever for a reply. I’ll try my best to get to some that have been already submitted! Also, I suck at titles ☠️

He never says much to you, but the fact that he allows you to nap in his office while he works, or to tirelessly ask him questions about every subject on Teyvat. Despite his exasperated sighs, he always answers. And sometimes you can catch small slips in his stoic demeanor. Like the soft smiles he graces you with every time you bring him a cup of tea.

The two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm after time. Most people around the Akademiya recognize your unofficial title of “the Scribe’s assistant”. Al-haitham gets your convenient assistance while you get to spend the day in his handsome presence.

“Here’s your ink refill!” You say, carefully placing the fresh bottle on his desk.

“I didn’t ask for-“ He trails off as he notices the near dry bottle he was about to dip his pen into. He gave a light chuckle, appreciating how you were sometimes more observant than him.

“Um, would you like to join me at the tavern tonight. There’s a special on drinks.” You teeter on the balls of your feet before his desk, a clumsy smile on your face.

“I can’t. My useless pest of a roomate is coming home tonight and he didn’t tell me what time. He’ll tear the place apart looking for a way in if I’m not there to unlock the door.” He doesn’t look up from his work, but he does pause to nearly snap his pen in half.

“It’s funny how you only speak passionately when it’s about the person you hate the most. Perhaps I should invite him for drinks instead, if only to get him out of your hair.” You give a cheeky smile, which he only catches with a quick glance, but he only replies with his signature scoff.

He carries on with his work, and it continues uninterrupted the rest of the day. You occupy yourself by either sitting and reading or tidying up here and there. As the end of the work day draws near, you see Haitham busy as always. You make your way to the door and turn to bid him farewell, but hesitation gets caught in your throat. You step outside his office.

On your way to the tavern you pass by his house, merely out of curiosity, and sure enough a rather frustrated blonde man is waiting outside.

“Well if it isn’t the genius architect!” You exclaim while walking up to him. His face lights up when he sees you, as if you’re his saviour.

“Ah the honorable assistant, to what do I owe the pleasure? It wouldn’t happen to be about the keys, perhaps?”

“Unfortunately no, Al-haitham’s in another work trance. But I have a better idea. There’s a drink special tonight at Lambad’s, my treat.”

He grins and pushes himself off the doorway to stand next to you.

“I’ll gladly take you up on that offer, but I insist I pay for my fair share. Since that numbskull scribe doesn’t pay you… I can’t believe how he mooches off us unfortunate paupers.” He motions dramatically as you both walk off towards the tavern. “I don’t understand why you act so starstuck with him, that leech.”

You give a small laugh and wave him off. “If it weren’t for your debts I would think you weren’t getting paid either.”

“Hey! That’s…” Kaveh turns away and pouts in lieu of finishing his sentence, earning a laugh from you. Your banter continues on into the night as the two of you share drinks and laughter. By the time most of the bar has cleared out, Kaveh is unsteady on his feet and his cheeks are aflush. You escort him home while he talks away the rest of his energy. With him practically draped over your shoulder, you knock loudly on the door. Your giddy smile falters as you see Al-haitham’s looming figure open the door. Tired eyes glare at the two of you, and while Kaveh is too inebriated to notice or care, you feel shame prickle your cheeks and a weight settle in your stomach.

As you shrug Kaveh off your shoulder you half expect Alhaitham to let him fall to the floor. Instead, he keeps him upright with an outstretched hand barely touching his shoulder. In a sharp motions he tugs the swaying man inside and pulls the door closed. Before it slams shut Kaveh nudges his foot in the frame, mumbling a “get home safe”, though the words got a bit jumbled. You were halfway through a smile and wave when Haitham slammed it fully shut.

Now standing in front of their house alone you feel the chill of night creeping up your back. You already miss Kaveh’s warm company, his exaggerated and dramatic ramblings. But mostly his eyes that listen even when his mouth is busy. They see your every movement, signs of discomfort and excitment. They see through you and hear all the words you’ll never speak. It’s moments like those where you can really see his genius.

Alhaitham is a cold man, but he is by no means emotionless, or even lacking in empathy. You just thought he had a great control over them, and was selective with what he showed. Maybe too selective. But now you find yourself dreading seeing him tomorrow, wishing instead the night with Kaveh would never end. In truth, you have no obligation to him, but showing up seems less daunting than having to confront him. The walk back to your home is an eternity. Every moment you’ve spent with him, where you knew you felt his hesitation. When his silence felt so loud, when he could not feel farther out of reach. You knew better. But to say you could’ve prevented feelings would be untrue.

»»————-　♡　-————««

Alhaitham is an asshole. But you told yourself he was an asshole that liked you, just to be near him.

You finished organizing all his papers before dawn. His office is cleaner than you’ve ever seen it, even after only being there for 40 minutes. Every single document, new and old, are organized alphabetically. There is tea ready to be made, he only needs to boil the water. It’s spotless, and the sweat rolling across your skin makes you proud. You did hard work, and a good job, and it shows.

You leave quietly, and still only the few desperate students roam the halls hurriedly, paying you no mind as you steal away. Part of you hopes he appreciates this, or even notices it, even though you know you shouldn’t care what he thinks. It hurts for you to realize it, to face this damn situation. Love is a curse and you can’t shake it no matter how painfully you wish you could. It’s a curse and it makes you want to cast one of your own upon him.

As your mind tries to think about what you’ll do next, where you’ll go, you take a deep breath. Calm down. The rapid pace of your heart slows, and the anger and shame that ran thick like ink in your veins dissipates. There is no one at fault here, no reason to be angry or to feel regret or shame. Feeling achingly human and vulnurable, you lean upon a balcony on treasures street. An icy breeze lingering from the night caresses your face while you watch the sun timidly rise. It radiates colour all across the sky with pastels like soft breaths from Celestia. As it moves higher more vivid colours follow, sparking life into all they touch. Beneath the brilliant rays the water glitters and all the plants and trees are splotched with gold. Finally you feel its soft warmth reach you, touching your skin gently, and your hearts soars. The sun reminds you that you aren’t alone, and that it will still be there rising every morning, and it will still kiss you when you feel alone.

Inhaling, you close your eyes, relishing in the pure bliss of the moment. When you exhale you open them again, and your heart feels light. It doesn’t matter where you go, you realize, because you will still have yourself, and the sun, and all the land it touches. You remember where you are suddenly, and you turn to look up at the Akademiya far above you. Alhaitham will likely be settling into his office now, and the image of his unfairly beautiful face still stings you a little. But it leaves you with no bitterness, not anymore.

[7ndipity]

Arcade Date

Jimin X Reader

Summary: When you worry that you've screwed up on an important exam, Jimin decides to try and cheer you up with a cute date at the arcade.

Warnings: Swearing, lil suggestive,

A/N: Thanks to @minnie1013 for this request! Sorry it took me a lil while to get to it, I hope you like it!

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

You're expression was noticeably deflated as Jimin picked you up for date night following your last class of the day.

“Hey, how’d the exam go?” He asked sweetly, pressing a kiss to your temple as you climbed into the passenger seat.

“Don’t ask.” You groaned, burying your face in his shoulder.

“Was it bad?” He asked, frowning.

“It felt like my brain went through one of those rug cleaning machines. I bombed, I’m sure of it.” you groaned, leaning back in your seat and closing your eyes.

You don’t know that, I’m sure you did your best.” He said reassuringly. He felt so bad for you, he’d seen how hard you’d been studying lately in preparation for this test. You’d been running yourself ragged, staying up till all hours of the night to cram whenever you could. “When do the results come out?”

“Next week.” You mumbled. “Ugh, I don’t know, can we just talk about something else, please?”

“Sure,” He agreed easily, eager to distract you. “How ‘bout we talk about the fact that you haven’t kissed me in almost six hours and I’m about to die from withdrawals?”

You let out a tired huff of laughter at that. “Alright, you big baby.” You said, finally giving him a smile, albeit a tiny one, before leaning over and connecting your lips to his, instantly feeling your body start to relax at the familiar feel of him against you.

You pulled back suddenly, looking up at him curiously as you licked your lips. “Are you wearing my chapstick?”

“Um, Maybe.” He admitted, avoiding your eyes.

“Would you stop stealing my shit?!” You shoved him lightly, laughing in disbelief.

“It’s not my fault you pick better flavors than me!” He tried to defend with a pout. “And I didn’t steal it, you left it at my place the other day.”

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes. “Let’s go, I’m hungry.”

The rest of the drive to his place was somewhat quiet, it was clear you were still feeling down, staring silently out the window, lost in thought, while Jimin tried to wrack his brain for a way to cheer you up. Struck by a sudden idea, he made a quick left turn, drawing a curious look from you as he changed routes.

“I thought we were going to your place for dinner?” You asked.

“Change of plans, I’m taking you out.” He said simply.

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.” He said, giving you a mischievous look before turning his attention back to the road, biting back a grin.

Several minutes later, you pulled up outside a familiar building with various game posters plastered on the windows.

“The arcade?” You looked at him in surprise. “We haven’t been here in ages.”

“I know, but I figured you deserve some fun, so here we are.” He said.

“Chim, I don’t know…” You said.

“C’mon, it’ll be good to take your mind off things. Or are you afraid of me beating you at DDR?” He smirked, raising a brow at you in challenge.

“Oh, you’re so on.” You replied.

The two of you spent the next couple hours squaring off against each other in various games, starting out light-heartedly enough, until you started to get overly competitive and started to attach increasingly ridiculous bets to each game, from having to pay for the all snacks to Jimin having to give you a lap dance for beating him at DDR.

“That one was a joke though, right Y/n?” He asked out of breath, growing nervous at your silence. “Y/n?!”

Before you could leave though, Jimin made it his mission to win you a plushie from the claw machine, spending easily twice the amount of money that the toy was actually worth in his attempt to succeed.

“Jimin, it’s okay, you really don’t have to-”

“Aha!” He yelled victoriously, holding the plush animal up in the air as a trophy before presenting it to you. “For you, my love.”

“Aww, it’s so cute!” You cooed, accepting the toy and petting its head. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.” He asked, examining the toy closer. “Is it a bear or a dog?”

“It doesn’t matter, he’s our child and I love him!” You said, making his heart melt as he watched you hug the toy to your chest.

“What?” You asked, catching his expression.

“Nothing, it’s just nice to see you happy like this.” He said with a small smile.

“I’m always happy when I’m with you.” You said softly, feeling shy for some reason at that admission. “Anyway, what should we name our child?”

“Greg.” He replied without hesitation.

“GREG?!”

“What?!”

“Does he honestly look like a Greg to you?” You asked incredulously.

“You try coming up with something better, then!” He said defensively.

You thought for a moment. “B-Bartholomew.” You said slowly.

“Absolutely not.” He rejected. “That sounds like a 17th century tailor.”

“That was my grandfather's name.” You retorted.

“It was not!”

You continued to argue all the way back to the car, before you paused to look up at him, admiring the way he managed to look gorgeous even under the artificial glow of the streetlights.

“Jimin?”

“Yeah?” He replied, turning to look at you.

“Thank you for tonight.” You said, smiling softly. “You were right, I needed this.”

“Of course." He said, gently grabbing hold of your hand. “You know anytime you need a pick-me-up, I'll be there for you."

“I know.” You said, pushing up on your tip-toes to press a quick kiss to his lips.

You don’t know what you did to deserve Jimin in your life, but you would be forever grateful to

have him.

[vashbug]

Dropped into No Man’s Land Ch 2

Summary: Vash has a hard time trusting you. You tell him about Earth. You realize something important.

Notes:  Chapter 2 of my silly Trigun Isekai fic. Okay, that's all I'm posting for today! I think two chapters is enough for now. I hope you enjoy :)

First Chapter: Here

Read on AO3: Here

***

You let out a nervous laugh as you watch Vash's face go from jovial, to curious, to suspicious in the span of a few seconds. He's taken a cautious step back, and suddenly you feel like he's looking at you as though he's calculating the trajectory of a bullet. Vash might be all too trusting, but he's not stupid, and you're an outlier in a world he knows almost everything about.

The moment drags on for a little too long, and you can see Vash's right hand twitch slightly at his side near his gun. You know he won't fatally harm you, but you sure don't want to get shot today. You make the mistake of sparing a quick glace at the holster strapped to his thigh, and it takes a millisecond for him to take that as a threat and draw, aiming directly between your eyes.

"Hey! Woah!" You put your hands up quickly. You know he's only doing this because he feels like you've deceived him, but the sight of his gun makes your blood run cold regardless.

"What are you," He asks, "and why are you here?" He's practically growling, and if you were watching him on TV, the tone in his voice would make you shiver. Instead, you feel like you might throw up.

"I'm human, I swear!" Your mind is struggling to process what is happening, and you're having a hard time finding the right words to defuse the situation. His glare is colder than you anticipated. "I told you the truth! I swear on my life."

Vash doesn't move a muscle as he stares you down. "Explain why you know who I am, then. I need to know if you're a threat to the people who live on this planet or not."

Ah, that's what this is. He couldn't give a shit whether or not you were here for him, he just wants to make sure you won't hurt anyone. Your mind clears somewhat and you're able to speak.

"Oh," you chuckle nervously. There's no point in hiding it now, whether he thinks you're insane or not. It's better than having him shoot you. "You're sort of... famous. In my time."

For the first time in a minute he moves, slightly lowering his gun. He looks surprised. "What?"

"Theres..." You need to phrase this in a way that makes sense, and in a way that doesn't make you so embarrassed that you beg him to shoot you. "There's a book about you. Where you're the main character. It's a... western, about a gunslinger named Vash The Stampede. He wears a red coat and travels from town to town helping people. Or trying to," you smile sheepishly.

He takes a moment to think this information over. "So in your... reality or whatever, there's a book about me? That you've read?"

"Yeah, I mean, it doesn't seem like it's entirely out there that at some point our realities have crossed, given that I'm here." You feel a lot more confident now that his gun isn't pointed directly between your eyes. "Maybe the author dreamed about you or something."

"How much does it say about me?" His curiosity is obvious now, though he's still trying to mask it with suspicion. His gun is lowered all the way down now, still in his hand.

"Oh, well, it... It says enough about you that I know who you are, but you seem a little different from the Vash in the book." He seems exactly like the Vash you know, but you're trying to save face a little, in case you get any details wrong.

"Okay..." He doesn't seem entirely convinced. "Then tell me something no one else knows about me."

This takes you by surprise. You didn't expect a quiz. You have to think for a moment. "Um, I know that Rem grew red geraniums."

He looks surprised again. "That's... That's not good enough. There are plenty of people who know that." His face says he's expecting another answer.

You feel sick to your stomach. You look him directly in the eye, so he knows that you're serious. You know what you have to say, but you desperately don't want to open old wounds.

"You saw something terrible; something when you were young, back on your ship." You eye him cautiously, careful with your words. "After you saw that, Knives was asleep, and Rem told you about the train, and the ticket..." You stop, sure this is enough. You don't dare to elaborate further.

It's Vash's turn to look sick. He carefully places his gun back in it's holster and sits heavily on the ground, his head dropped between his knees. "There's only a couple people that know that," he mutters.

Your heart aches for him, but at the same time you feel relief flood through you. You slump back and sigh. He raises his head and gives you an apologetic look. "Sorry, this is just so weird. When I realized you knew me, I was worried you were an alien... here to threaten humanity... or something." He looks ashamed, his cheeks red with embarrassment. It's obvious in the way his shoulders hunch forward that he feels bad about threatening you. "If it makes you feel any better," he pulls his gun back out and releases the cylinder with a click, showing you the inside. "I'm out of bullets."

You glance between him and his empty gun with your mouth open, not sure of what to say. Then you laugh-- a real laugh--and the sound makes his face brighten. "Damn it... you really are him."

He laughs as well, and for the first time since you've met you're both smiling at each other. He takes this as forgiveness and snaps his gun shut again, hiding it away once again. The two of you sit quietly for a while, watching the fire flicker in the dark, trying to process everything.

"So..." You look up at the sound of his voice and find him tracing circles in the sand with his prosthetic hand. He looks like a little kid about to ask their parents for something they're not supposed to have. "In this book... what other things do you know?"

"I'm not sure if I should tell you," you say, trying to sound playful. Truthfully, you were worried about this. Would telling him too much alter the timeline? Was it even the same timeline?

"Please! Just a little!" He half-walks on his knees over to your side, lacing his hands together and giving you the biggest puppy-dog eyes he can manage. His big blue eyes sparkle with anticipation. "I just want to know a little, you don't have to tell me anything life-altering; nothing about the future."

You fold immediately. Damn it. "Okay, I'll tell you. But only the light stuff! I don't even know if this is the same timeline I know." He sits upright, legs crossed like a child ready for story-time.

So you tell him about his friends, mostly, steering clear of any major events. He knows Wolfwood, Meryl and Roberto already, but the timeline diverges slightly and he ends up separated from them, with plans to meet with them again after Vash makes a few stops. You don't have time to ask him for details, as he's playing 20 questions with you at break-neck speed. After a while you run out of things to tell him about, and he begins to ask about your timeline and your Earth.

"What's it really like there?" His eyes are wide, and he leans closer and closer with each answer you give him. "Is flora really everywhere? Do you really watch movies? And just how many people are in your town?" He hangs on every word you say, and the fire begins to die from neglect.

"Well, flora really is sort of everywhere, except for in the desert, but even then there's specific vegetation there." You're careful not to use the word plant in this context. "And I do watch movies... And..." You have to think for a moment. "There are about 9 million people in my city? It's one of the biggest." You have to guess the population size.

His already wide eyes grow even wider. "9 million... In just one city." He thinks about it for a moment, and then his tone turns quiet and serious. "Is it... peaceful?"

You know the answer he is hoping for by the look on his face.

Your heart throbs painfully in your chest. "Well..." You look down at your hands. "It's more peaceful than here." You give him a weak smile, and you know it's not convincing. "It's not the same as here, really. I mean, I don't think you can even compare the two. People have more peaceful days than not, depending on where you live, I guess." You quickly realize you're not cut out for this conversation; you're not sure how to explain that there are so many contradictions in your life on Earth.

You look at his face in the dying firelight. For the first time since meeting him here, you see that familiar look, the one that exposes just how old and tired he truly is. You're not sure if he's disappointed with your answer, and you don't have the heart to ask.

"But," you continue, reaching over and taking his hand in yours. You figure you know him well enough to do this much. "People are mostly good. And we all help each other when we can. There are so many people from my Earth that are trying to make it a better place. I forget sometimes, that the Earth is a good place. It is... It's beautiful." You smile at him, this time genuinely. One of your hands holds his right, the other tracing circles into his palm. You notice that his hands are bigger than yours.

His eyes search your face, and while his expression is still worn-down, something else is there. Surprise? Curiosity? You can't place the feeling.

"Rem would have really liked you," he says quietly, looking down at his hand in yours. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you, but she wanted the world to be a better place. She wanted everyone to get along, just like that." His voice hitches slightly in his throat.

You're surprised at the mention of Rem, and suddenly you're keenly aware of your hands, your finger tracing it's slow circles over his gloved palm. You know it's a huge compliment--an honor, really--to be compared to Rem. Your face turns hot, and you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears. You can feel him looking at you, but you can't meet his eyes. You have to change the subject.

"The fire..." You glance at the dying coals. "We should probably keep it going, it's getting cold." You pull your hands away so you can wrap them around yourself.

"Ah!" Vash looks as though something in him has snapped back into place as he makes a show of fussing over the fire. He seems like his usual, cheerful self as he pushes sticks and kindling into place. The fire comes back to life, and you're both bathed in the warm glow.

"Thank you," he says into the fire after a while. "For telling me about Earth. I hope you get back there someday. It sounds like a wonderful place." He turns his head to look at you as he says this, a smile that reaches his eyes spreading across his face.

He is so sincere it makes you want to cry again. You're not sure if you want to curl up in his jacket or curl up in his arms. He's still smiling at you, and you're sure he knows exactly what effect he has on people. Several thoughts cross your mind, all of them having to do with touching him or kissing him, and you have to fight to hold down your embarrassment. You decide it would be best not to act on any of them, though he's still looking at you, and he's so close...

Instead, you pick up your cracked phone and look at it once more, Idly turning it over in your hands. You concentrate on picking the sand out of the crevices, trying not to think about Vash. You look at the cracks in the screen, thinking it would probably still work if you could get it to turn on. You know you won't get a signal, but you'd at least have whatever is saved on it...

You exclaim so loudly Vash nearly falls into the fire.

"Ah! What that hell? What is it?"

You ignore him as he watches you scramble on all fours behind him, reaching for your bag. "My laptop!" You pull it out of your bag and brush the sand off of it, frantically opening it and pressing the power button. "Come on..." You plead. Please turn on.

Vash moves to sit behind you so he can look over your shoulder, obviously curious about your strange tech. His proximity is dangerous, with his chest practically pressing into your shoulder, but you don't have time to think about that.

You have to contain a shout when the screen blinks on. You can't believe it. It's working. You sort through your files and find that everything is unchanged, and this fact brings a small comfort to you. A piece of home.

But more importantly, you're looking for something. You search your downloads folder for the file. Vash watches you without making a sound; his gaze could drill a hole through your face and hands.

And there it is. Thank god for poor reception on the subway! If you really want to read something on the way home, you have to download it and send it to your phone so the poor cell reception doesn't prevent the next chapter from loading.

The fic your friend sent you, the one you didn't finish, sits in your downloads. The absurdity of it makes you laugh and nearly tear your hair out. Vash looks at you, concern and confusion written across his face.

You scan through the pages you've already read, heart thrumming in your chest.

Your hunch was correct. The events of this world, the one you've fallen into, aren't following the plot of the original. No, they're following this specific story. Vash separating from his friends, on his way to Octovern to buy gun parts; it can't be a coincidence. You've fallen into the story you were reading when the car hit you, right where you left off.

If you can't get back home, you'll need a way to protect yourself.

It doesn't seem like much, but with your combined knowledge of the original story, this is the closest thing to a weapon you have here. You might as well be able to tell the future.

This is it. This is how you'll survive.

[pokemenlovingmen]

Oh neato new blog!! I enjoy reading peoples different interpretations of characters through x reader imagines, and it’s nice to see another one pop up. If you’re comfortable with it, would it alright if I request a scenario using any Pokémen of your choice developing a crush on a male reader who’s a big, intimidating buff guy..but in personality is actually a softie and an attentive single father to his young child. (Who is tinyyyy. Just a lil thing to contrast dad) I like romance and found family..what can I say.

oooooh that sounds so fun and cute!! Since it seems like you meant one guy, I’ll do one dude, but a longer post! Usually that’s my form, one person gets a longer post whereas multiple get shorter segments… however long it takes me to adhere to that. Because I have no self control. Anyway, my man of choice for this ended up being Grusha, because some nice and warm fluff should melt that frosty exterior.

And on the romance and found family thing, you are speaking my language fluently, you’re talking to a guy who worships those things in fan content. You can’t!! Go wrong with it!!

Soft as Snow

Grusha x Intimidating Male Reader (who has a kid!)

So. In your relationship Grusha might be a bit uh.

❄️ — Grusha is not a kids guy. Not at all. He’s the literal opposite of sunshine and rainbows. But hosting arguably the most intense and therefore exciting out of Paldea’s gym matches and spending so much time in a snow-covered mountain that is, realistically, so much fun for a kid to go to, he sees a lot of kids. Usually glued to their parents, which he’s grateful for, because rounding up some kid who runs off is about the last thing you can expect him to do successfully. So all in all, he limits his interactions with kids as much as humanly possible, but understands his job puts him around them a lot.

❄️ — A frequent culprit of drawing in rugrats he’d really rather not interact with would be the Cetoddles he looks after. He supposes he can’t blame the kids, they’re pretty cute and definitely not something you see anywhere but the mountain. And that’s exactly what gets him awkwardly interacting with some unknown little girl when he’d rather be doing anything else.

❄️ — A little girl had come to look at one Cetoddle, and with no parents in sight, he had to stay near. So, sighing, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks over, making the Cetoddle chirp excitedly when it sees him. He clears his throat and makes some horribly awkward attempts at small talk at this random child, no older than seven, who is just staring at him so intently now.

❄️ — “You, uh… like Cetoddle? Yeah… um. I think he likes you,” he tries, but he’s no… well, any other gym leader, even Larry, would be better at entertaining some random child while phoning the league staff on site that some unsupervised kid is running around.

❄️ — But he never actually has to make that call, because you run up shortly after he hesitantly approaches, frantically calling your daughter’s name. Like good lord, she is so fast. You blink once and she’s gone. You’re pretty fit, but even now you’re sweating profusely from all the times she’s bolted off on you.

❄️ — Grusha just stares at you as you approach, bug-eyed and wondering how the earth didn’t literally rumble as you ran up. Because holy shit, you’re massive. Legitimately built like an Ursaring and for a second he fears for his life and regrets ever approaching this kid thinking she was lost, because he could swear at the speed a guy who looks like you is approaching, you’re about to bite his head off for getting near her. Once again, interacting with kids proves more trouble than it’s worth, considering he’s so sure this is going to genuinely cost him his life. People get rash when it comes to their kids, understandably.

❄️ — But instead, you look at him, then at your daughter and immediately fall into bowing your head muttering thanks and apologies. “Oh, hey, I’m so sorry, she can be so fast when she wants to, I hope she wasn’t pestering you and your Pokemon for too long!”

❄️ — While you’re gently chiding your daughter for running off and imposing on a stranger, he looks from her to you. Then to her. Then to you. She’s not even, like, a quarter of your size. Being a former athlete, he’s seen some built dudes, but you’re giant and he’s still taken aback by how different your attitude was compared to your appearance and how doting you clearly are over your daughter. (A big heart AND nice body? Grusha isn’t even aware of how many of his boxes you tick because he’s just never thought about those things since his accident.)

❄️ — He clears his throat, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh. No problem. She wasn’t causing any trouble.”

❄️ — Both of you awkwardly mumble out some small talk (Grusha really isn’t one for talking and you’re kind of struggling to hold up the conversation), but when he mentions he’s got to get back to the Gym, you’re shocked. Oh! He’s the gym leader?! THE retired snowboarding prodigy?

❄️ — Turns out you and your daughter had just moved to Paldea, and to warm up to your new home, you’re taking her to see a few of the Ten Sights of Paldea. She ran off when she saw the Cetoddle on their hike, though, and you’re pretty surprised you just kind of bumbled into a pretty famous trainer who you’ve seen in a lot of informative pamphlets and ads for the region. It also makes you increasingly apologetic for your daughter imposing on him because he definitely has a job to do, and shouldn’t be pulled away from it.

❄️ — The conversation doesn’t last much longer, and you part ways shortly after. Grusha doesn’t even realize how attractive you are to him, you’ve got his heart thumping but he doesn’t even consider feelings for someone being a reason why. He’s just sort of resigned himself to be alone. But deep down, seeing a man so attractive (like phew. you are FIT.) be so caring and soft is actually really resonating with him. Basically, you’re a type he doesn’t even know he has.

❄️ — He’s a bit surprised when he sees you and your daughter again after a week or two, back on Glaseado. You wave and give him just the sweetest, happiest greeting when you meet again and sheepishly explain that your daughter became fascinated with the local Ice-type Pokemon and had been begging to go out and see them again. (He’s not sure if he can imagine that child emoting. His interactions with her, including now, all she’s done is hug your side and stare blankly at him.)

❄️ — But you’ve done something rare, and like most of his feelings, Grusha doesn’t realize it—you’ve struck a chord with him somehow and he’s too much of a die hard, stubborn loner to understand why. So when you meet for the second time he awkwardly offers to let you and your daughter meet the local Cetoddle pod that he watches over a lot.

❄️ — It’s cute. Seeing someone of your towering stature playing with the Cetoddles, who somehow don’t fear you at all despite how intimidating you are. They’re crazy about you, probably because they see how your daughter interacts with you and just flock to your parental nature. That and your daughter herself just having a good time while you laugh with her, sometimes throwing halfhearted snowballs because you know if you actually tried to could hurt someone with one, and she mostly just wants to pelt you with them than get hit herself. (Kids)

❄️ — The whole time, Grusha’s watching, not even aware of how smitten he is. But someone else is, because after a bit he’s startled by something shaking violently on his poke ball belt, and then with a crack! and no other warning out comes his Altaria, which grabs his scarf in its talons and drags him the hell over to you. When it shoves the flustered Grusha your way, it lands and begins preening itself, instantly capturing your daughter’s attention. (Because what kid wouldn’t want to pet the fluffy cloud bird? Altaria’s cute, and it knows it.)

❄️ — While Grusha’s giving his dirty traitor of a Pokemon the stink eye, you just give this warm and hearty laugh that has his heart doing flips all over again, and pat Altaria on the head. “Aw, this is a friendly one! Isn’t it pretty?” (To which your daughter vigorously nods.)

❄️ — “Uh, yeah, sorry…” he glares at it, and out of the corner of its eye Altaria glares back. “She’s usually not like this. I don’t know what her issue is.”

❄️ — “Haha, it’s no problem!”

❄️ — Then silence. And silence. …And silence. Grusha’s out of things to say, which didn’t take long at all. You cough. He clears his throat. The both of you watch your daughter and his Pokemon play in the snow. He’s only just now realizing how strangely desperately he wants to find something to say to you. And then, while playing with your daughter, Altaria gives him another Look.

❄️ — Oh. Oh, Altaria knew, too. Altaria was trying to bide him time. Well, he couldn’t let his Pokemon companion’s efforts go to waste, as embarrassing as it was…

❄️ — “So, uh…” he clears his throat. “Wanna… come back to the gym with me? Got a coffee machine there. Get something to warm you up.”

❄️ — Your eyes light up and it feels like his heart just got body-slammed. “Hey, that sounds great!”

❄️ — You call your daughter, and he calls his Pokemon, both running at the promise of some hot chocolate from the coffee machine. As you and him are both turning to head back in the direction of the gym, you completely miss a certain interaction nearby.

❄️ — Your daughter tugs on Grusha’s scarf, and when he looks down at her, she gives an unsettlingly blank stare as she studies his face. Finally, as if it’s a complex equation she just solved, she happily announces: “You’re nice.”

❄️ — Oh, uh… thanks? Those are the words Grusha wants to say, at least, but your daughter keeps going with a genuine verbal gut-punch.

❄️ — “I think you and my daddy should get married.”

❄️ — Kids say the darndest things, huh? (You exchange numbers by the end of the day, and who knows… maybe one of you will follow your daughter’s advice some day. But definitely not today. Grusha has to go crawl into the void and die of embarrassment first.)

[baronessblixen]

Prompt: 26. "Honestly, why would I care?"

Angsty humor: All Mulder wanted to do was drop off a report. Now he has to deal with a drunk Skinner. (wc: 1,482)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 28: The Truth Is (Not) Found In A Glass of Whiskey

It’s late and the Hoover building deserted. A few floors down, Scully is putting on her coat, and waiting for him. Mulder hurries through the hallways, glad to be alone here, and not roped into small talk by anyone. As much as he prefers the quiet and solitude this late hour brings, he knows that Scully doesn’t.

While she may not want a boring 9-to-5 job either, she’d like to spend an evening or two at home. Alone, probably. Or with a friend. Maybe even someone who is more than a friend. His thoughts are faster than his legs and he has to shake it off. To him, spending time with her is the highlight of his day. Any day. Monday to Friday, Saturday and Sunday. To her? He hasn’t asked. Is afraid to find out.

Now all he has to do is drop off this report and then they’re off. Part of him is hoping that he’ll find a case that will keep them busy this weekend. While Scully is probably hoping for the opposite. That thought makes him smile. He lifts his hand to knock on Skinner’s door before he remembers that it’s after hours and his secretary will have left hours ago. Same as Skinner.

He walks into the outer office, intending to put it on Kimberly’s desk. But then he sees that the door to Skinner’s personal office is ajar. There’s dim light coming from within. He peeks through the gap and sees his boss sitting at his desk, a bottle of dark liquid in front of him.

“Sir?” he asks, knocking softly on the door.

“Mulder? What the fuck are you still doing here?” The swear makes Mulder wince. He’s never heard Skinner curse like that.

“Dropping off our latest report. We, um… it took a while longer. I wanted it to be on your desk first thing in the morning.”

“Scully made you do it, huh?” His boss is grinning, but it’s askew. Mulder glances at the bottle – whiskey, from what he can tell – and sees it’s more than half empty. There’s only one explanation: his boss is drunk.

“We wrote it together, sir.”

“Sure, sure. Hand it over.” Skinner takes another gulp from his glass and as Mulder walks closer, he smells the alcohol. It’s making him dizzy.

“Are you all right, Skinner?” he asks once he’s standing close. The other man’s eyes are disoriented, his pupils dilated.

“Never been better. Ever have your heart broken, Agent Mulder?”

“I, well-”

“No, of course not,” Skinner goes on, ignoring him. “Someone like you probably breaks hearts.” He’s not going to correct his boss, even though he’s completely wrong. Mulder thinks about Phoebe, about Diana. His heart has been broken repeatedly. Right now, though, it’s not what Skinner wants to hear.

“Do you want me to call anyone?”

“Who would you call?” Skinner narrows his eyes. “There’s no one. No kids. No wife anymore either. I’m alone, Agent Mulder. Alone. Take my advice.” He crooks his finger, motioning for Mulder to come closer. He does so reluctantly and he’s too slow. As soon as he’s in reach, Skinner grabs his tie, drawing him close. His breath reeks of whiskey as he speaks.

“Don’t fuck it up with Agent Scully. She’s the jackpot, Mulder. You probably don’t deserve her, so if you fuck it up, I will find you and I will hurt you. You hear me?” Mulder gulps and nods.

“Sir, um, Agent Scully and I aren’t-”

“Oh shut it, Mulder. Who are you kidding here? I see you two together. I know you try to be discreet but honestly, why would I care? You do what you want in your time off. Hell, you do what you want anyway. All your case files are proof of that.” He pats the finished report Mulder has just dropped off at his desk.

“Thank you, sir,” he says lamely, not knowing what else to say. Explaining his complicated relationship with Scully would take hours, and right now, in his state, Skinner wouldn’t understand. Mulder barely understands it himself and he’s stone-cold sober.

“Where is she, anyway? You two are attached at the hips. She leave without you? You let her leave?” Skinner’s voice is getting louder and more agitated. Mulder wishes Scully had come up with him because he’s at his wit’s end.

“She’s downstairs. I told her I’d drop this off and be right back down.”

“Then go, Mulder. Before she finds someone better. They always do.” Skinner sighs, bringing his glass to his lips, only to realize it’s empty. Instead of pouring himself another glass, he grabs the bottle and takes a huge swig.

“Sir, I think maybe you’ve had enough.”

“You’re not my father, Agent Mulder. Hell, I could be your father. Go to your room!” He laughs and Mulder uses the moment to snatch the whiskey bottle out of his hand. “Now, Agent Mulder, you give that back.”

“Sorry, sir. This is for your own good. You can have it back tomorrow.”

“Mulder, that bottle of whiskey is my only friend.”

“That’s not true. Scully and I are your friends. You have plenty of friends.” Mulder isn’t sure that’s the truth, but he doesn’t know anything about Skinner’s personal life.

“I don’t. My wife took them in the divorce. She took everything. My heart, too. Mulder, you treat Scully better than that, okay? You hear me? You don’t let a woman like Scully get away. Promise me.”

“I promise,” he says.

“Mulder, are -” Scully walks into the office and both Mulder and Skinner turn to her.

“Speak of the devil,” Skinner slurs. “Or rather, angel.” He laughs again. Mulder throws Scully a helpless look, hoping she understands. And she does.

“Sir, I think- we should call you a cab.” Scully is by Skinner’s side in an instant and he looks up at her like a puppy.

“You’re too good for him. But you love him. Can’t do anything about that.” She turns to Mulder, her eyes asking him what all of that is about. He just shrugs. They have bigger problems at the moment.

“Who can we call, sir?” Scully asks.

“There’s no one, Agent Scully. No one. Just my bottle and Mulder took it from me.”

“We’ll call you a cab and we’ll- we’ll make sure you’re okay.”

“Gotta use the bathroom,” Skinner says. He gets up from his chair and stumbles. Scully tries to keep him upright but Skinner is heavy. Mulder helps her and together they manage to get him to the bathroom. They exchange a look, wondering if they should let him do this on his own. Ultimately, they decide to wait in front of the bathroom, trying to give their boss some dignity.

“What happened here?” Scully asks quietly.

“He was like this when I got here,” Mulder says. “I think he’s sad. I think someone broke his heart.”

“Poor Skinner. We can’t leave him alone, Mulder. Someone has to stay with him. We can’t just drop him off at a hospital. What will people think?” He nods, knowing she’s right.

“He can sleep it off at my place.”

“I’ll stay with you.” His eyes grow big. “Unless you don’t-”

“Oh, I do,” he says softly, touching her arm. “I don’t want to deal with him alone. And I always want you around, Scully.” She smiles at him. “Just so you know… Skinner thinks we’re dating and you coming with me will not defuse the situation.”

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing. He said I shouldn’t fuck it up between us and when I tried to tell him that we aren’t dating, he didn’t believe me. Not that it matters, but he doesn’t mind.” He can’t quite suppress his grin.

“Oh, did I interrupt you two?” Skinner staggers out of the bathroom, a dopey smile on his face.

“You didn’t interrupt anything. Come on, sir,” Scully says, taking charge. She flanks him and nods at Mulder so he’ll do the same. The three of them are an odd pair as they make it through the Hoover hallways, but at least there’s no one here to see the A.D. like this. His secret will remain safe with them.

“Where are we going?” he asks as they get into the elevator.

“Home,” Mulder says. “You’re staying with me and Scully tonight.”

“Knew you two lived together. Could never prove it, but I knew it.” He taps his heart and then his forehead. “Sometimes you just know. You better invite me to your wedding, though.”

“Sir, we-”

“No, Scully, not you too. I already told Mulder it’s fine. It’s so fine. You two do you.” He giggles like a schoolboy and can’t stop. “You know what I mean.”

“This is going to be a long night,” Mulder mumbles, and Scully nods. Skinner, completely unaware of anything that's going on, just laughs.

[teawizard]

Hi! Um, may I humbly request Razili in your animal crossing style? It's been so fun seeing your renditions of people's ocs and the Madrigals themselves!

Optimistic-violinist and I think that she'd probably be a peacock with normal personality and her phrase would probably be 'I can fix him'

She generally has a purple pirate coat and one day I swear I will actually draw that 😬

Omg, hi!! I'm so happy you and @optimistic-violinist requested Razili! Beautiful beautiful girl!

I actually thought about her design (along with some other OCs) when I was designing the Madrigals and I thought about making her a monkey, but your suggestion is a lot better ':D

I still know very little about her, unfortunately, 'cause I am in the middle of TBTK and I haven't read anything Razili-centered yet (so that I don't catch possible spoilers), but I will finish TBTK one day just you see!!

Wanted to draw her with a coat you mentioned, but I thought the outfit would look too busy + I know nothing about historical pirate coats + it would obscure the tail so yeah :) (attached the sketch with the coat under the cut though)

I really hope I did her justice!

(I'm still taking requests, btw!)

Also, regarding her tail - I know that female peacocks usually have less colorful tails than the males have, but on Nookpedia some female 'ostriches' have beautiful colorful tails and Razili deserves one too

[aforrestofstuff]

Chapter 173 Expert Review: The "Hey, my boyfriend saw you across the bar and we really dig your vibe" Edition

The cover makes me so uncomfortable it's like I'm at a party and said something weird just as the music went quiet and everyone heard and they're all looking at me and everyone hates me and I'm so anxious and

Welcome to the Chapter 173 Expert Review! I have completely lost count of how many of these I've done. If you're coming here for a well-thought-out meta-commentary on the hit series franchise anime manga One Punch Man, then look elsewhere because I put a grand total of ten minutes of thought into this post that took me 45 minutes to write.

I hope you're all well. If you're new here from Twitter then yes, I'm really always like this and I apologize. I don't know how to segway to the actual commentary, so um......... here we gooooooo.....

I don't know what I was expecting. Could I have predicted that Murata would yassify Bofoi? Probably. Do I ever want to come to terms with the fact that he did? No.

Shut up I'm not saying anything. I'm not saying anything. I'm not. He looks like he's wearing those really oversized dentures at Party City. His head looks more like an egg than Saitama's. Why does he still look kinda.... no I'm not gonna say it. I'm not. I'M NOT. GET OUT OF MY HEAAADD RAAAAAAEERERARAAAAWW

I'D FUCK HIM!!!! I'D FUCK BOFOI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'M TIRED OF PRETENDING HE'S NOT AN ENDEARING SORT OF UGLY OK IM SICK OF IT!!! I'M GONNA DESTROY HIS OLD MAN CERVIX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I WANNA FUCK HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

How many enemies has Saitama made just by existing already. Is this number three? Sonic, God, and now Bofoi? Oh, well, I guess Saitama did fuck up his robots but that was self-defense 100% and it WILL hold up in the court of law.

Oh, okay. Now we have a better idea of the timeline since Saitama became a hero.... only two months???? Dude, I've had packages lost in the mail for longer than that.

I kinda thought he'd been a hero for at least six months. I guess what Garou said about coming back to fuck up the heroes after six months at the beginning of his arc was only a sort of red herring to make it seem like he'd be the world-ending Shibabooby prophecy, but in relation to how long Saitama's been a hero, turns out my guy only fucked shit up for like, what? One month?

Was this just obvious to everyone else except me. I really should've never learned how to read dawg.

THANK YOU Amai Mask for being the "Please explain the plot so readers with the comprehension skills of fourth graders can know what's going on" character in this because I swear to fucking god I had no clue what anyone was talking about.

Also, Ninja Leader makes an appearance as Blast's totally super platonic partner. Supposedly they were "searching for a mysterious cube" together. People these days make up such weird euphemisms for skipping work to fuck each other in a ditch, I swear. 🙄🙄🙄

A couple of things:

Is Blast wearing the Ninja Leader's glasses in the present? Oh, so they really were super platonic, huh.

You mean to tell me bro aged THIS MUCH in two years? 700 days ago he was late-twenties rager at Planet Fitness and now he's a 57-year-old salt and pepper daddy at the gay bar?

I guess it could have something to do with his powers, manipulating space-time and all that. Blast teleports through something that is basically a copy-and-pasted black hole, which could explain why time flows differently for him, but doesn't time slow down near a black hole? So he should be aging slower if anything.

So, did God age him? Is this even the same Blast that came in contact with God? Something something uuuhh time travel something something...

I don't fucking know. This could also just be a case of "Murata doesn't know how to draw people that look their age" although he's been getting better about that, at least... Just seems ODD to me that Blast has aged like an avocado in a manga where characters only seem to look younger as time goes by.

Very noble that he's fighting God alone with the Interdimensional Justice League and their Pocket Dimension Pool Table to protect everyone else. Something still feels fishy about this, though........ especially since he's a deadbeat ass dad in the webcomic. I don't trust a GODDAMN thing this boy has to say. I DONT CARE IF HE'S HOT!! And I think that is so brave of me.

Forrest has a theory and everyone's gotta hear about it a million times until he's proven otherwise.

Y'all already heard me say how God has one-sided beef with Saitama because Saitama broke the limiter God had placed on him, and I suppose that alone is still a decent reason for God to be pulled to Earth, but I still think God's full body (and power) is imprisoned in the dimensional seal Blast was screaming about as Saitama was fighting Monster Garou V2.

And Saitama's habit of fucking shit up as collateral for saving the world is further eroding God's jail cell, so he's unknowingly helping his enemy get closer to him. This fucking goober.

It makes sense because the massive body in the seal looks like a fully-formed person, whereas whenever we see God free, he's always a sort of unfinished skeletal figure. He's incomplete.

Is this another one of those things where it seems painfully obvious to everyone else except me. Y'all are free to hop in my inbox and call me a dumbass if you want.

Final thoughts because this review is already too goddamn long and I wanted to shitpost a bit more but I guess I can do that on other posts because I'm TIRED.

All in all, we really needed a good expo-debrief chapter to put everything in perspective because the Monster Association arc was a load of reveals with not a lot of resolutions. I think the ending was still very anticlimactic because, although we were introduced to a lot of shit like God and Blast and whatnot, none of that was really tied up in a satisfying way, nor left on an interesting cliffhanger. Just more and more questions. Even Garou's arc hasn't ended really, and all the development he and Saitama had gone through was forgotten (for NOW, because of Genos' core, but I digress) so it almost feels like... not much really happened at all. Nothing really ended, it was just a collection of more plot threads beginning.

I wish ONE waited a bit longer to really delve into God and Blast because I think the Monster Association arc could've been a lot more comprehensive and well-paced if it had just been (mostly) contained to what was happening between the heroes and monsters. But I can appreciate how comprehensive the plot is now after the fallout, just... the road to get here was rocky. I lost all the tires on my jeep.

I'm excited for Psychic Sisters.

In conclusion: if you were at the Whole Foods down the street and took a blue bike tied to the railing then you're a fucking bitch GIVE IT BACK!! THAT'S MY FUCKING BIKE!!

GIVE BACK MY FUCKING BIKE!!!!! YOU STOLE MY BIKE!!

p.s. -- I'm still waiting for the Zombiedad and Child Emperor Get Milkshakes Together omake. Murata, pls. Also give my bike back.

Thanks for reading. Please, I need my bike.

[thereaderarchive]

Spiders

• for @romionemicrofic prompt: Beginnings | words: 623 | Rated: G

Ron had an awful day. The worst. One of those days that make him question every decision and road he took to get to this point in his life. Two young siblings died in crossfire in battle after an (allegedly) routine stakeout. Moreover, Harry was hurt, Robards scold them for impulsiveness and threatened to separate their partnership, and he hasn't eaten all day. He is a mess, tired, aching and wants to cry.

He enters Harry's hospital room and crashes on the chair. Harry is asleep, and Ron rests his head on the bed beside his best friend's hand. Quick steps are heard followed by a bang on the door that's opened before Ron can muster the strength to raise his head and Hermione is there, gaping and dropping all the papers, files and books in her hands.

"Harry? Ron, is he-?"

"He's fine, asleep under potions, the healers said he needs rest," he says waving his wand and summoning all Hermione's things to stack them neatly on the bedside table.

"Oh... fucking hell," she says starting, "I was scared shitless thinking you both were..." she waves a hand. Ron snorts at her swearing and lifts himself to kiss her on the forehead and lets her sit next to Harry to give her the opportunity to check on him herself.

"Just resting. Did you eat anything today?"

"Oh- um, no, I don't think so. There is this problem with- argh- the Wizengamot is opposing the-I've been in reunions all day and-" she stutters when her mind is quicker than her mouth, Ron smiles.

"I'll get you something, wait here," he says taking his robes from the back of the chair and putting them on.

"Ronald, don't move."

He doesn't have time to react before she's slapping him on the shoulder. It hurts. Ron has always suspected that carrying so many books was an exercise for her, she's surprisingly strong.

"What the- Hermione!"

"Spider," she says apologetically, showing him her palm with a crushed spider.

"Oh," he takes her hand and looks at it for a minute.

Two siblings died. Harry is hurt. Hermione hasn't eaten all day. He wants to cry, he is tired and hungry and the world feels too fucking heavy tonight over his shoulders and a bloody spider finds a way into his robes... but Hermione has his back.

"Marry me," he whispers.

"What-"

"I want to begin every day knowing you will be there to kill all the spiders that threaten me and I want you to know I'll be there to remind you to eat for eternity. And I want to know I'll see your face after Harry and I do something stupid. It's not the best proposal and I don't have a ring but I'll do better later- I just- I love you. You know that, don't you?"

Hermione kisses him, both palms on his cheeks, he's curved and she's on tiptoes.

"This is perfect. Yes. Yes, of course, I'll marry you. I love you, too."

They kiss again, smiling with tear-wet faces. Ron grimaces.

"You- you did clean your spider-splattered hand before touching me, right?" He asks, trying to keep his cool. The key word is 'trying'.

"Um," she said, twitching her lip. "Remember you love me, you said it just now!"

"Hermione!"

"You can't change your mind!" She says casting a scourgify over his face and her own hand. It tingles.

"Are you crying? Am I dead?" Harry asks groggily.

"Not tonight, mate," Ron smiles.

"Cool," Harry says closing his eyes.

"You'll be my best mate."

"-ready am?" Harry says, voice drawing slowly, falling asleep again.

"We'll tell him tomorrow," Hermione says, hugging Ron's middle. 

Ron kisses her head, "I'll get us something to eat".

[theteasetwrites]

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Chapter 91: Contingency

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 11 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: mild swearing, references to anxiety, generally chaotic/anxiety-inducing situations, pregnancy... ❧ Word Count: 5.7k

❧ In This Chapter: It's been a week since Aaron and Gabriel left to investigate a settlement, and two days since Daryl left with Hornsby and the Commonwealth Army to find them. Now, you're alone, with the kids, and nine months pregnant. It can't get worse, right?

❧ A/N: We're back??? With a new chapter??? Wow. Cool. Crazy. So um we're getting to the end of The Beginning! Or is it? Is there ever really an end? Or a beginning for that matter? These are the existential questions of the series I guess? Idk it's not that deep. Anyway, there is (sadly) no Daryl in this chapter. He's off being a sexy boyboss with great hair and trying to get back to his family to get them out of Commonwealth, but for now, it's Reader (she's basically her own character by now lmao) and the kiddos just hanging out in Commonwealth, trying to stay alive lol. Lots of stuff going on in their world rn, but the priority is, of course, Daryl Jr.

Two days, and no word about what was going on with the soldiers they sent out to investigate the attack at Riverbend. When you’d tried to ask, inquiring about the safety of your husband and brother, you were told that you were on a “need to know” basis. In other words, if you needed to know, they’d tell you. 

Hornsby must’ve decided you didn’t need to know, because when you confronted Mercer, he told you the same thing.

The stress of it all was beginning to get to you, more than it ever had before. You swore that even living on the road for six months after you lost the farm was easier than this. Then again, you weren’t about nine months pregnant, taking care of four children, and worrying desperately about Daryl and Aaron, all while outside your apartment, hundreds of Commonwealth citizens protested in front of the City Hall, demanding justice after learning about Sebastian’s schemes. At least you had a roof over your head, and plenty of food.

Food that was burning as you stood staring out the kitchen window, watching the protesters brandishing handmade signs, with the words Find him!, Money for LIVES, and How many more have you killed? You absentmindedly held the ten-year-old amethyst around your neck as you chewed your lip in thought, wondering about nothing and everything. 

The people chanted, “We want justice!” over and over and over again. You couldn’t blame them. You’d be out there with them if you weren’t cooking breakfast for the kids. 

What’s that burning smell?

“Aunt (Y/N),” Judith’s voice alerted you. 

“Hm?”

“The pancakes are burning.”

“Oh!”

You scurried back to the stove, where sure enough your pancakes had been charred beyond edibleness. “Shoot,” you huffed, always mindful not to curse in front of the children. “Sorry.”

The four children, Judith, RJ, Gracie, and, of course, your Robin, were sitting at the circular dining room table, each tending to their own crafts. Judith and RJ were drawing, Gracie worked on her beaded jewelry, and Robin was experimenting with watercolors (Daryl had bought her a new set a few months ago). 

As you scooped the burnt, lifeless pancakes into the trash can, Robin stood up to take her water cup and brushes to the sink, where she diligently washed her art supplies. “Mommy,” she said, “when are they coming home?”

You didn’t have to ask, you knew she was referring to her father and her uncle. 

The other children’s heads perked up at the question, as if they, too, were very curious about the answer. 

“Soon, I’m sure,” you replied, offering them a reassuring smile. It was oh, so tiring to pretend that you weren’t incredibly worried that something had happened to them, but you had to put on a brave face for the young ones, especially Robin and Gracie. “Don’t tell me you like their cooking better.”

Robin shrugged as her lip quirked into a precious little smirk. “No… I like Daddy’s pancakes better, though.”

Daryl could only really make two dishes: blueberry pancakes, and stew with squirrels or possum or some other type of roadkill. 

You scruffed up her hair in faux teasing. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I do too.”

The little girl returned to her seat to continue her painting, and just as you were about to prepare another batch of pancake batter, you felt a sharp tightening in your lower belly, which you were reluctant to admit you had been feeling a lot more lately. 

You exhaled a sharp hiss as you held your belly instinctively, slightly doubling over. It was the worst cramp you’d felt yet, and it’d only been getting increasingly strong. Of course, you were brushing it aside as Braxton Hicks contractions, but the closer you got to your due date, April twentieth, the more you began to worry. Really, the baby was due to come any day now, though you were too afraid to even acknowledge it. Daryl wasn’t here, and him not being here terrified you. There was no way you were going to have this baby without him holding your hand. It simply couldn’t happen that way. He gave you strength, made you feel safe. Most of all, you knew he’d hate himself if he missed it, seeing his son’s first moments. 

“You okay?” asked Judith, while Robin looked wide-eyed and panicked as you winced in pain. “Aunt (Y/N)?”

You shook your head, as if to dismiss the concern. “I’m fine,” you said. “Baby’s just… restless.”

When you lifted your head to calm yourself, you found your eyes drawn to the crowd outside again, particularly to two people, a man and a woman, who were fast-walking through the crowd with a stern, cold determination in their eyes and a harshness in their step. They looked to be heading towards the downstairs entrance to your apartment building, and when you stepped a little closer, you could recognize their faces. 

Eugene had told your inner circle about a run-in he’d had with two of Hornsby’s minions. If you remembered correctly, it was them, and you weren’t about to risk anything. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Gracie, noticing your face deepen with concern.

“Um… maybe nothing…” Your paranoia got the best of you, and you turned to face the children, trying your hardest not to scare them, though you looked drained of color and slightly wide-eyed. “Okay, we’re gonna play a game.”

Judith furrowed her brows. “Game? But what about breakfast?”

“We’ll have breakfast later,” you said, frantically beginning to clear up the counter. “Right now, we’re gonna play the, um… Quiet Game.”

Judith and RJ hid in the shower, while Gracie hid under your bed. Robin was the last one to hide, while you scrambled to make the place look less lived-in, in case Hornsby’s goons really were after you and the kids. After all, you had quite a bit to do with Connie’s exposé, and you were starting to wonder if Daryl and Aaron were facing problems with the Commonwealth outside the walls. It’d make sense for them to go looking for you and the kids, to ask you questions… Robin didn’t understand that, but she wanted to.

“What’s going on?” she asked, with all the innocence of a six-year-old (almost seven, she would have you know). “Why are we hiding?”

You sighed as you knelt down to hold her hand, looking her sternly in the eyes as you spoke. “I’m not exactly sure, but… I think there might be some people looking for us, some people we’d rather not talk to. Do you understand?”

Her silvery blue eyes blinked rapidly as her mouth gaped slightly in confusion. She was much too precious, much too young to really understand everything that led to this. 

You held her shoulders and offered a smile, though it was hard to smile when you began to hear the heavy, fast-paced footsteps coming up the stairs in the hallway. 

“Look at me, baby,” you said. “Everything’s gonna be fine, just… listen to me. I need you to hide in that cupboard, the empty one by the fridge. Quiet Game means you gotta try to be as quiet as possible, otherwise you’ll get caught. Like Hide and Seek, but you really don’t want to be found. I’m going to be outside, right on the balcony. I’m too big to hide anywhere in here without getting caught, but if they find you, you make a lot of noise and I’ll help you, okay?”

It was a lot for her to process, but she was a smart child, and obedient. If told to stay quiet, you knew she would, even if she didn’t completely know why. “Okay,” she said with a nod. “What about the baby?”

You looked down to follow her gaze, which was directed at your belly. “He’s fine,” you said, and when you heard those footsteps begin to slow, but come closer, you stood up to quickly open the cabinet and coerce Robin’s small body into the cupboard. “Stay in there until I say the coast is clear, and be quiet.”

Before heading towards the balcony door, you pulled a freshly sharpened butcher knife from the wooden block on the counter, then silently opened and closed the door to hide against the wall on the balcony, waiting.

Soon, you heard a knock at the door, and you were sure your paranoia had paid off. The door opened just a few seconds later, and though you couldn’t see inside the kitchen, you knew they were there. You felt them there, as if your motherly instincts told you your child was frightened, and she was.

Robin’s breath hitched as she peered out through the small crevice between the cabinet doors, allowing her to see the large, bald man walking around the kitchen, while a woman with dark hair entered her bedroom, then Judith and RJ’s bedroom, then the master bedroom, then the bathroom… 

The man stayed in the kitchen, though, his presence terrifying the young child, though he seemed to not know she was just a few feet away from him, cowering in the cabinet. 

Memories floated to the surface, invoking that same feeling of dread as when she’d hidden herself in that secret compartment within her closet back at home, while the evil giant in the dead man’s mask who still haunted her dreams a year later lumbered around her bedroom, looking for her. 

When she felt a lump begin to form in her throat, and a whimper about to release from her lips, she cupped both hands over her mouth to silence herself. The man came closer, though, examining the fridge, upon which were several drawings, paintings, and photographs that had been collected by your family the last seven or eight months. 

There was one that had been taken at the Autumn festival, with you, Robin, RJ, and Judith in your costumes, and Daryl dressed as he normally did, but a sweet, soft grin upon his face as he held Robin’s hand, who held yours, too. His other hand rested on Judith’s shoulder, and yours on RJ’s, with your belly much smaller than it was now. Carol had taken the photo, and when it developed, you were almost tempted to make holiday greeting cards, though you knew that kind of thing was both unnecessary and slightly annoying. In any case, it belonged on your fridge, until the bald man took it, and stuffed it in his pocket.

He moved away from the fridge then, allowing Robin to silently release her breath as a small tear trickled down her cheek. 

The woman soon emerged from the hallway. “It’s empty,” she said. “Are you sure he didn’t say anything else?”

“Dixon was the only name that came through,” the man replied, sending a fresh wave of panic through the youngest Dixon’s chest. 

She watched the woman cross the kitchen to peer out the glass door leading to the balcony, and for a moment, Robin feared that the woman would open it, though if she knew her mother well enough, she figured that woman would be in big trouble if she did open the door and find you.

Indeed, you held your knife close to your chest, blade pointed upwards and ready to strike if the woman came outside. 

There was silence for a while, when the woman crossed back over to the dining room table where Robin and the other children had been sitting just minutes ago. 

She investigated the assortment of craft materials splayed out on the table, and spoke once more before they left: “Let’s check the school.”

When you heard the door close, and waited a few moments in silence, you quickly returned to the kitchen to open the cabinet, ushering Robin out. “Come on,” you said, still trying to be quiet. “We’re leaving.”

To where, you weren’t exactly sure, but you had friends here, so surely someone from Alexandria would take you in. One thing was certain, you weren’t going to leave the Commonwealth, not with your baby so close to his due date. 

You retrieved the other kids, and instructed them to pack their school backpacks for the day. Whatever was going on, you didn’t like the sound of what the man had said, about the name “Dixon.” It seemed as though you were wanted, by Hornsby.

When the kids were prepared, you slung your purse over your shoulder and picked up the emergency hospital bag Daryl had meticulously put together (intending to be even more prepared this time when the baby would come). You turned to face the curious, confused, and slightly concerned children, then gave them yet another assuring smile. “We’re going on a little adventure today,” you said, in a slightly sing-song voice. They weren’t buying it. They were all too smart.

As you turned to open the front door, you heard more footsteps just outside, and the sound of shifting movements. Great, you thought. We’re America’s Most Wanted.

Your voice turned serious once again. “I need you guys to go back to the bedroom and wait,” you said quietly, gesturing towards Robin’s room. “And don’t come out until I call. Go.”

They each nodded obediently, retreating to Robin’s bedroom. 

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure as you prepared to answer the door. This time, though, a familiar voice called out to you from the other side. “(Y/N),” said Carol, whispering rather loudly. “Are you home?”

With a sigh of relief, you slowly opened the door, revealing Carol, and then Jerry behind her. The further you opened the door, the more surprised you became. 

Negan’s face showed itself, slightly smirking at you. It was a familiar sight, but not an expected one.

Your brows furrowed as your jaw dropped a little. You hadn’t seen him in… almost a year. Not that you particularly missed him. “Negan?”

He smiled, lifting his hands a little as if to present himself as a gift. “Well, if it isn’t the goddamn Ice Queen herself. How are you, sweetheart?” His eyes immediately trailed to your stomach, where one hand cradled your baby bump. “Ho-ly shit, you’ve been busy.”

The three visitors came inside, with Jerry standing “guard” behind the front door. Though at first you were mostly irritated to see Negan again, he quickly made himself useful, sitting down with you and Carol to inform you about what was going on outside the walls. But of course, the first question you could ask him was, “Daryl and Aaron, are they all right?”

“Depends what you mean by ‘all right.’”

You glowered at Negan, both worried and incredibly annoyed by his Negan-isms. “Now is not the time.”

“They’re alive,” he said. “But they’re being hunted. Maggie and Gabriel are with them, too. What I know is that Hornsby brought Daryl, Aaron, and Gabe to Hilltop with the whole Stormtrooper Squad, and Maggie didn’t, uh… respond well.”

“What exactly happened?” asked Carol.

“Hornsby tried to scare Maggie by interrogating Hershel, so the thought is that he is somehow gonna use the kid to draw her people out.”

“And Daryl wouldn’t let that happen,” you said, understanding your husband’s motivations to turn against Hornsby. “Right?”

“Your man turned an automatic rifle on the bastard and tried to hit him with a car at full speed,” he replied. “I’d say they aren’t exactly on good terms.”

“And that’s why they came here,” figured Carol. 

Negan nodded. “Uh huh.”

You thought for a moment, processing the whole thing. “But if Hornsby sent those two,” you said, “that means he’s keeping it under the radar.”

“Which means we might be able to get ahead of them,” Carol added. “And him.” You could see the cogs working in Carol’s mind. She always had a plan, even if they weren’t always the best plans. At least she thought of something. “Jerry, do you still have access to that attic space?”

You looked wide-eyed between Carol and Jerry, not knowing that there was such a thing. “Attic space?” you asked. 

“Contingency plan,” replied Jerry. “It’s stocked with supplies, too. No one knows about it. Well, except Carol.”

“Keep the kids there and get word to the others,” instructed Carol. “Tell them to be ready to move on your signal.”

“Get ready for what?” you asked. “I mean, it’s not like we can just… stroll out the front gate.”

“That’s why me and Negan are gonna try to get some insurance,” she replied. 

That sounded all fine and dandy, but there were still some things to be discussed. “I hate to sound self-centered,” you said, “but, where exactly do I fit into this plan?”

“Aren’t you pregnant?” asked Negan. “Or are you hiding a watermelon under that dress?”

If you weren’t trying to get along with Negan for the sake of your family and friends, you’d consider telling him off, but there was no time to argue. “I’m pregnant,” you said, “but the kids are my responsibility. If anything happens to them—”

“(Y/N),” said Carol, reaching over to place a hand over yours. “Jerry will take care of the kids… You should stay here. You can’t be running around.”

Indeed, your feet were swollen and aching terribly, and your legs could barely carry you. To get through the crowd undetected, you’d have to be quick on your feet. You weren’t physically able to do that now. Not with a good ten pounds added to your abdomen. 

Still, there was that other terrible feeling: loneliness. If Jerry took the kids by himself, you’d be alone, and you were scared. As much as you hated to admit it, after everything you’d been through, being without Daryl, or even Aaron, this far into your pregnancy, when you were sure you were going to go into labor soon, was difficult. You couldn’t say that in front of Carol, though. She was known to be unforgiving and, at times, rather coldhearted, even to you. 

“Okay,” you said. “But… Jerry, please don’t let anything happen to them.”

He offered a smile. You trusted him immensely, but he wasn’t you. “Of course.”

You fetched the children from Robin’s room, telling them that they were to go with Uncle Jerry and to listen to everything he said. The other children joined Jerry in the living room, but Robin took a moment to hug you, holding her stuffed white rabbit in one hand as it dangled over your back. 

“I love you, sweet pea,” you said, squeezing her tight as you kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you later, once this whole thing outside dies down. Maybe Daddy and Uncle Aaron will be home by then.” You pulled away to smile at her, and to brush her bangs aside. The almost blonde highlights in her wavy, caramel colored hair shone in the sunlight that poured through her bedroom window. She looked so much like her father, especially when you first met him. Her cheeks had that same delicate contour, but she was more youthful, and more perpetually curious looking. You supposed she inherited that from you. “You’re so precious to me,” you said. “You know that?”

She chewed her lip, then lowered her head as she spoke. “I don’t wanna go,” she said. “I wanna stay with you… Daddy told me to take care of you.”

Your eyes widened as you let out a chuckle and a snort. “What? That’s silly, I’m supposed to take care of you.” You poked her belly to elicit a small hiccup from the child. “Dog will take care of me.” You nodded to the sleeping canine, lounging on Robin’s bed.

She shook her head vehemently, with an adorably stern look on her face. The tightness in her lips was uncharacteristic of her, but it was always interesting to see a new side of Robin. “No,” she said, for the first time in her life being particularly disobedient, and stubborn. “I’m not going nowhere. I’m staying with you. That’s what Daddy would want, and that’s what I’m gonna do.”

You tilted your head and sighed. “Robin Elizabeth,” you said, and she knew that when you used her two names, you were serious, “where is this coming from?”

“Dixon’s stay together,” she said, showing you her bracelet, the familiar beads spelling out DIXON. “And you shouldn’t be alone. You and the baby.”

“Robin, I—”

“Almost ready, kiddo?” Negan’s voice interrupted you unintentionally, and Robin smiled at the man, though her eyes remained serious. 

“Hi, Negan,” she said, crossing her room to hug him. “Where have you been?”

“Oh, here and there… Hey, you ready to go with Jerry?”

She looked between you and Negan, then firmly stood her ground. Well, as firmly as she could. She still wasn’t quite used to this “rebellious” thing. “I want to stay with my mom,” she said, putting on her grown-up voice she’d recently developed. “I’m not going anywhere without her.”

You shook your head and crossed your arms, unsure of what to do. “She should go with the others,” you said. “It’ll be safer once they get to the attic.”

“Kid, why don’t you let me talk to your mom for a minute?” he asked. “Maybe I can talk some sense into her.”

Negan? Talking sense? Into me?

Robin headed into the living room, and Negan gently shut the door behind her, turning to face you as you sat yourself on the rocking chair by Daryl Jr.’s crib. “She can be stubborn,” you said. “But not like this. She always listens to me. She might… fight it a little, but she listens.”

Negan huffed as he leaned against the wall, his eyes trailing around Robin’s bedroom, then finally landing on you. “She should stay,” he said. “In case…” He gestured with his finger towards your abdomen. “You know.”

“Pfft,” you scoffed. “What is my six-year-old daughter going to do? She’s just a child herself. I need… I need Daryl. I’m so scared. Everything is just… not working out the way I thought it would.”

“How did you think it would go?”

“Well,” you sighed, “I didn’t think Daryl and Aaron would go rogue, but I know they have their reasons. This place isn’t like what we thought it was. Or maybe it’s exactly like what we thought it was… I don’t know. I just… I thought I could have the baby here, and then go back to Alexandria, once everything was fixed. Carry on, like it was before the Whisperers. What I really want is to not be afraid for once. For a while, I guess I wasn’t, but it’s always there. Fear. The older I get, the more I realize that it never goes away, and that we just find more things to be afraid of.”

You felt the baby kick inside you, as he had been doing for a while now, though this one felt stronger than all the others. “Now, this baby… I’m afraid he’s not going to have the life Robin did, and I’m afraid that Robin won’t have that life again, either. I thought… I thought they would be okay. I think I got my hopes up again. I always get my hopes up. God, I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” replied Negan, in that serious tone of his. “You were trying. Trying to live. And, Hell, it’s working. You’ve made it this far.”

“But you said they’re hunting us, hunting our people. Trying to kill them. What kind of life is that? And for this?” You gestured to the air around you. “This place is corrupt. It’s like… everything bad about the old world in one place.”

“Maybe,” agreed Negan. “But what’s important right now is sticking together, and your kid, she’s smart. She knows that. Let her stay with you. Besides, no one can keep her safer than you.”

You laughed and shook your head. “Well, Daryl could… But I would do anything to keep her safe.”

You thought for a moment, stroking your abdomen as you felt another kick, and another, stronger contraction. Negan eyed you worryingly, then stepped closer, kneeling down to face you. “You all right?” he asked.

“Mhm. Fine.”

Negan was suspicious, but he also knew you well enough to know that if you really thought it was bad, you’d say so. “What’s the story?” he asked, nodding towards your stomach. 

“What do you think?” you asked. “Do you know how babies are made, Negan? Or is that beyond your comprehension level?”

He chuckled under his breath. “Yeah… You know, I got married.”

You scrunched your face in confusion. “What?”

“Yeah, met a lady out there… Her name’s Annie. She’s with Daryl and the others right now, actually.” He smiled as you continued to stare at him in bewilderment. “What, are you surprised?”

“Frankly, yes. What woman in her right mind would—” His smile began to fade, and though you had no reason to, you felt a little bad. You still hated him, but you felt bad. Just a little. “I mean, um… I am a little surprised, yes. You don’t… seem like the marrying type.” That was a nicer way to say what you were really thinking, which was that any woman who would willingly marry Negan either didn’t know about his past, or knew about it, and was an equally morally bankrupt person.

“Hm, you know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the Ice Queen is a little jealous.” 

Your eyes widened in amusement. “Jealous? Oh, please, don’t make me laugh. I’m nine months pregnant, my bladder can’t take it.”

“Oh,” he said, standing back on his feet, “that reminds me, Annie’s pregnant, too.”

You huffed and folded your arms over your belly. “You’re messing with me, right?”

“Nope,” he said, hitting the p sound especially hard. “Not as far along as you, but she’s got a bun in the oven.”

You tilted your head and glared slightly at him. “Is this information supposed to make me like you or something? Some kind of… Negan redemption arc?”

He only chuckled, then turned to leave Robin’s room. “You gonna be okay, you and her, and the baby?”

“Fine,” you said. “Daryl Jr. isn’t coming out today. I won’t let him.”

Famous last words.

Robin sat upon the window seat in her bedroom, looking out to keep an eye out for Jerry and her “cousins” as he led them through the crowd. The protests continued, with chaos remaining mostly under control, which soothed your anxiety just a little as you worried about the children. 

Wherever Negan and Carol were, you hoped they were getting the information they needed to intercept Hornsby and his men and get Daryl, Aaron, and the others back home. Meanwhile, you just had to stay vigilant, hoping no more goons showed up at your door to question you. 

At least you got to stay home, keeping watch at the living room window, and trying not to worry too much about the increasing strength and decreasing intervals of your contractions. 

Dog sat curled up on the couch, keeping an eye on you, as if Daryl had instructed the canine to keep you safe, too. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had. “What are you looking at?” you asked him. “I’m fine.”

You weren’t fine.

Not long after that, you felt a much larger contraction, one that had you completely doubled over as you dropped your binoculars on the hardwood floor. “Oh, God!” you cried out, now kneeling on the floor, already tearing up from the pain. Your hand reached out to grab the edge of the couch as Dog jumped up to stand by your side, his nose nudging you repeatedly. The canine began to whine loudly, and soon Robin was hurriedly approaching, eyes wide and voice full of panic. “Mommy?” she asked. “Mommy, what’s wrong?”

“I…” You shook your head vehemently, your speech gone for a moment as you tried to process the pain. “The baby’s coming… The baby’s… definitely, definitely coming.”

The child froze, unsure of what to do. After all, what was she supposed to do? She had no idea how to help you, but she knew about the emergency bag by the door, the one Daryl constantly was adding things to. She scurried across the room to pick up the bag and bring it to you. 

“What do I need to do?” she asked frantically. 

“H-help me up,” you said, holding out your hand. You felt horrible, having to ask little Robin to help you up, but there wasn’t any other way you could get up, and you needed to get to the hospital. She did what she could, though she was too weak to help you up completely. 

Once you stood on your feet, you took the bag from her, and shakily crossed the room to sling your purse over your shoulder. “Come on,” you said breathlessly, realizing you had no choice but to take Robin with you. There was no way you were about to leave her alone. “We’re going to the hospital.”

It was at this moment you desperately wished you still owned a car. You hadn’t driven one in so long you wondered if you even remembered how to drive in the first place, but that didn’t matter—all you could do was walk. 

One hand holding your bag, the other holding Robin’s hand, the two of you walked quickly through the protesters, trying to tune out their shouting as you walked. 

You were fortunate that the hospital wasn’t too far away, but when the sound of a man’s voice over a megaphone sounded, you stopped in your tracks, keeping Robin close.

“A swarm has been detected five miles out!” he said. “Lockdown has been instituted by order of Governor Pamela Milton. Return to your homes immediately.”

The chanting began to die down, but the citizens still bickered in confusion. “After curfew, anyone found on the streets will be arrested for their own safety.”

He continued speaking, repeating his message, and mentioning something about “the brave Commonwealth Army.” You didn’t care to listen, as you had no other choice but to keep walking in the opposite direction of your home. You came here with the intention of having your baby at a hospital, and that’s what you were going to do.

Robin held your hand tighter as you moved faster, the contractions getting stronger and longer with each passing moment. “Come on, baby,” you said, not wanting to lose her in the chaos. “We’re almost there.”

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“I don’t know… but we need to keep moving.” You tightened your grip and kept her closer as people began to move faster, anxiously returning to their homes. Soon you were swarmed, people everywhere you looked, pushing and shoving as a stampede began to form. “Stay close to me,” you said to Robin, pulling her against your leg. “Stay—”

Another intense, sharp contraction had you doubled over, stopping momentarily as you lost feeling in your legs. You felt the wetness of your water breaking, dripping down your legs underneath your maternity dress. If you had any lingering, hopeful doubts that this was actually labor, they were gone now. 

The immense, terrible pain of your contraction forced you to let go of Robin’s hand as you fell to your knees on the concrete sidewalk, with dozens upon dozens of people trampling over each other, and over you, too. You quickly realized you no longer held your child’s hand, and you turned your head frantically to look for her—she was nowhere to be seen. 

“Robin!” you cried out, tears flooding your voice as it cracked in desperation. “Oh, God! Robin!” 

You tried to stand, but several people had pushed you back down as they stumbled over you in the stampede, of which you were in the middle. Another contraction had you screaming in agony, holding your stomach as you wept, crying out Robin’s name in the ensuing chaos. 

“Help!” you finally yelled, no longer able to pretend you could do this alone. “Please! Help me!” It was humiliating, and you felt so weak, but at the same time, what else were you supposed to do?

For a moment, your eyesight became hazy, and your head swayed back and forth deliriously until you began to fall over completely, but when a hand cupped underneath your arm, lifting you up, you came to.

“(Y/N),” huffed Ezekiel. “You all right?”

You shook your head as you tried to make out his face, and when you tried to break free from his grasp, he held you tighter by your arms. “Robin!” you said. “Robin, I can’t find Robin! She was holding my hand, and then…” 

Ezekiel noticed the water around your feet, and the stain on your dress. “Your water broke?” he asked, and you could only nod, sobbing as you looked around for Robin. 

Soon, you felt another hand on your shoulder—it was Connie, with Kelly by her side, and thank God they were there. Ezekiel’s mind moved at the speed of light as he thought of what to do in the chaos of the moment. “You two get her to the hospital,” he said, making sure Connie read his lips. He turned back to you, making sure you were paying attention to him. “I’m going to find Robin,” he said. “Get to the hospital.”

In your panic, you could only nod and wipe your face of your tears, as Connie and Kelly held your arms and helped direct you towards the hospital, clearing the way through the crowd. 

You couldn’t say you were completely conscious, because at times you felt like you had passed out from the pain and the worry and the fear, but your friends kept you stabilized, until the pristine whiteness of the hospital flooded your vision, and soon you felt yourself become horizontal, on a hospital bed, you presumed, if your mind was in any state to make presumptions.

The rest was a blur, a cocktail of profound agony and confusion. Outside, you swore you heard screaming, and something akin to canisters being dropped, but maybe that was your imagination. In any case, at some point you’d passed out, but not before hearing one last thing. It was very faint, fragile, blurred by the heavy beating of your heart.

It was the sound of a baby crying.

~

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[bluedemon1995]

“I want you and I know you want me too.” Enjoy!

Keith bites his lip, almost drawing blood, wanting desperately to butt in but knowing Katie would want to speak for herself. So, despite how much he wants to do so on her behalf, he keeps himself in check, somehow. Keeping his eyes on Katie, he’s taken by surprise when Lance stood abruptly, moving fast enough that he actually knocked his chair over.

“I don’t think so buddy, in fact, I know so. Go on, anda, sal de aquí. She does NOT”, at this point he slaps his hand on table and continues, “want you. I’m her bestest friend. I would know! And let me tell you, she doesn’t need some guy with a stick up his ass who thinks he knows everything!”

Keith froze, feeling vindicated by Lance’s take but also completely surprised at how strongly Lance rebuked Griffin. Why was his response so strong? Since when did Lance dislike Griffin? What was he missing? He eyes, tracked to Katie, as they always seem to do late, not wanting to miss Katie’s response? He bit his tongue a little more and managed not to say anything to Griffin even though he wanted more than anything for her to agree with Lance.

Not Griffin, please. Please. Heart pounding, he could feel his muscles tense. Like he was bracing for impact. Quiznack!

Katie sighed, replying firmly, “Lance, not your place!”

“What?! You’re not saying I’m wrong! You aren’t pining for him. He doesn’t make your race. Nor are you flushed and pining for just five more minutes of his time. In fact, James is always so full of himself, exactly what you hate. And I think you are-!“

“Lance!!! Stop, seriously.” She ran a hand through her longer hair, pulling slightly and then squaring her shoulders. Redirecting her gaze to James, she starts, “James, um, yeah, so, funny enough, I actually had no clue you were interested. I, well shit, I feel really unprepared for this. I honestly, don’t know what to say. But having this conversation at a full dinner table in the middle of the mess hall, well, this is probably not one of your better ideas.”

Griffin stands and takes a few steps closer to Katie, coming around the table to sheepishly state, “Yeah, I didn’t really think this through.” He grabs his neck and crouches down so he’s right next to her chair and I feel my fingers curl tightly in a fist.

Griffin continues, with no idea that I’m desperately trying not to act on the desire to punch him, repeatedly.

His eyes cut to me, then go back to Katie. He continues earnestly, “I’ve been feeling this way for a while and I, needed you to know how I’ve been feeling. I did NOT mean to put you in a tight spot or anything. I’m sorry. I’m usually way smarter than this, I swear. How about we table this for later? Maybe we can have a private dinner and maybe drinks?”

Keith blinks, when the fuck did his hand move to her chair? He didn’t think he could refrain from hitting him if he actually touched her.

Katie smiles and nods shyly. Shyly? What the hell? What does that mean? I look to Hunk and mouth, “What the heck?”

Hunk shrugs but doesn’t look too concerned. At this point, Katie’s alarm goes off and we all know it’s time for her to head back to the lab. Keith tries not to look too relieved. No actual date was set. Katie is rushing around throwing out her mess, with Lance practically in her pocket. What was he telling her now?

Keith waits for a few minutes, trying to formulate a plan. He shoves the rest of his burger in his mouth and stands, going to the conveyer belt for dishes on the opposite side of the room. He has to move. No time to lose, not now.

Suddenly he shoved back and pulled into an alcove. Straightening, he meets Griffin’s hard look in kind. They size each other up, and Keith resolves to not say a word. He doesn’t owe him anything now.

“Why couldn’t you just stay gone man. I had a plan. Isn’t there a ship that needs blowing up or some people that need saving?”

Keith looks up, “Look, I actually don’t have anything against you personally. Not anymore.”

Griffin smiles, relaxing at those words. Until Keith continues, “So you see, this actually has nothing to do with you. And if has everything to do with the woman I’m in love with. So, yeah there probably is a ship that needs blowing up or some people that need saving out there. But right now, I’m here on a purely selfish mission, to save myself.”

Luckily Cosmo appears so he continues, “So, hopefully that clears things up for you.”

He quickly moves with Cosmo at his side. He’s trying to think, but he can’t seem to focus. All he feels is panic. He’s too late. He’s missed his shot. He feels like he can’t breathe. He wants to scream and break things but fuck, he’s past temper tantrums. Making his way to his room on autopilot, he’s trying to think back and determine if Katie ever seemed like Griffin was something she was interested in.

Suddenly he stops at the hall where his room was to see Hunk, Lance and Shiro standing at his door. Hunk is looking at him, with pity? Damn, he was too late. He stops, right in the hall and staggers against the wall. Closing his eyes, he tries to pull himself together. But Shiro grabs him and pulls him into his room, “Hey, stop. Whatever you’re thinking just stop.”

Lance leans agains the now closed door. “Stop babying him Shiro. Look, I just put myself in the line of fire for you. It better be worth it, so tell me straight, are you back, and are you back for Pidge?”

Keith startles, he can feel himself start to deny but no, he’s done running. Done pretending that he was just a friend. Running only hurt him. He stands, looking Lance eye to eye. “Yeah. I’m back and Katie, well, I don’t know how she feels but, I, I love her.”

Keith braces for the questions, the threats.

Silence. Huh?

Hunk smiles and in two steps has him engulfed in a spine crushing hug. “Thank God! It’s about time buddy. Okay, what’s your plan? Should I make her favorite dishes?”

As he’s released, he looks at his other two friends, who are both smiling and looking relieved. Keith looks down and sees Cosmo, wagging his tail with a seemingly inquisitive look as well. Oh. Guess he was the only one surprised by his feelings.

Hours later, Keith is dressed in his best black jeans, black t-shirt, black boots and his current favorite leather jacket. He has an extra helmet and is sitting on his bike outside of the lab. After some well timed calls, he knows she should be heading out now and her car is currently in the shop. So while Matt was supposed to pick her up (and at his request in the far end of the parking lot) but hopefully she would be open to a ride.

He sees her wave to her interns and turn to the lot Matt was supposed to be in. He takes her in, knowing she was oblivious to what he saw. Her hair was haphazardly pulled back and she had on her leggings with a flannel and her worn in boots. But more than that, Keith could see the smirk that never failed to pull on his own emotions. He saw that even though it was late as hell, all of her interns were with her, not because she demanded but because they wanted to help her, see her genius at work, hell she was probably the only senior staff member who broke rules regularly. He knew for sure; her staff were the only ones in the Garrison who dressed down, wore jeans and tshirts with puns or whatever they wanted. Because she pushed. She fought. And damn if that wasn’t sexy as hell.

He took a breath, calling out, “Hey short stack.”

Keith saw her laugh, and even though he couldn’t actually hear it, he knew what it sounded like and damn, he wanted all of her. All her laughs. All her smirks. All. Of. Her.

She sauntered over, taking her time. “Dude. Did you just join the Blades because their uniform fit your aesthetic?”

Keith grinned. He liked the way her eyes moved up and down him. Score another one for Lance. He was going to rent a car and dress up but Lance said no. Instead, he pulled his hair back and dressed him like a kid. Obviously, he knew what hit Katie’s buttons.

He took a deep breath, “So I know Matt was going to pick you up, and he could still. But I was hoping you’d wanna take a ride with me.”

Katie stood, just beyond his reach. He wanted to haul her up to him, hold her and tell her how much he wanted her. Always. Even when he was oblivious to his own feelings, even when he was fighting them. But it had to be her choice. Always. But damn, he wanted her.

Katie slowly nodded, “Yeah, a ride sounds good. Let me go and get a jacket.”

Now he did reach out, grabbing her hand and slowly pulling her closer. When she was right in front of him, he shook his head. “No need.” Shrugging out of he jacket, he swings it around her shoulders, “Wear this. I’m good, I run hot anyways. So, you in?”

Keith’s hands reflexively tightened on the jacket pulling her infinitesimally closer. So close he could feel her body heat, smell her shampoo and see her bite her lip. “Yeah, I’m in Kogane.”

Keith grins, “Yay.”

Laughing, Katie pulls her arms though the sleeves and grabs the helmet on the seat. Keith moves to help her with the strap and quickly get on the bike, pulling his helmet on as well. Reviving the engine, he waits until her arms wrap around his middle and then takes off.

First, he drives, rather aimlessly until he finds himself on his way back to his shack. Or well the shack he used after Shiro disappeared. Stopping and stretching, he couldn’t help loving how she looked in his jacket, or how when she raised her arms, he could see the skin of her belly. He took an instinctive step forward.

He reached for her hand, “Katie, it’s time. Fuck Griffin and his shitty timing. I was doing this from the day I landed. I want you and I know you want me too. But I don’t just want your body. I want it all, your body, your mind, and your heart. I want it all.”

He knew he was intense. He knew he was possessive. He knew he had a laundry list of issues. But, if anyone could handle him, it was her. Always her.

[invisibleraven]

"I named my little plant after you." for Willie/anyone plz and thank

“William?”

Willie winced, it was never good when Caleb called for him. He wasn’t a bad boss per se, but he had high expectations and let it be known one could expect recrimination for disobeying.

“Yes sir?”

Caleb smirked at him. “Caleb please. I swear I’ve told you that a hundred times.”

“Yes si-Caleb. What can I do for you?” Willie asked, hoping his posture was correct, that he looked obliging enough.

“I want to get a floral arrangement for Delores, it’s her birthday soon and we like to recognize our biggest donors,” Caleb said. “Can I entrust this task to you?”

"Of course you can sir-Caleb. Any florals to avoid?" Willie asked.

"No marigolds," Caleb said, waving him off. "And charge it to the company account, plus arrange delivery."

Willie gave a nod and went off, sagging in relief as he left the office. Okay, flowers he could do. There had to be a hundred florists in LA alone, and he could peruse a few to find something suitable.

Only after a few calls Willie was drawing blanks. He wanted to do this right, so something better than the normal dozen roses or piles of baby's breath. He decided going in to the stores would probably be best, so took off for the afternoon, confident Dante could cover for him once he told him it was for an errand for Caleb.

He went to a few places, but none struck the right chord. Then finally, a little place, just down the street from a nice coffee shop, and strangely a tattoo parlour. Dahlia's Bloom was small, but it looked amazing inside, wild colours and out of the box bouquets on display, the air warm and filled with different smells.

Plus the cutest guy standing at the counter, oh so carefully spritzing an orchid. His dark hair falling into his green eyes, a bridge of freckles across his nose.

"Um hi?" Willie called out.

The guy looked up, and then gave a truly disarming smile. "Oh hi! Welcome to Dahlia's! What can I do for you?"

Willie explained his quest, and the guys-Reggie he said his name was-hummed, considering. "Well purple hydrangeas usually mean wealth and gratitude, plus some sweet peas add to that, and some yellow lillies for a pop of colour?"

"That sounds perfect," Willie said. "I know it's a birthday bouquet but I think it's moreso a bribe to get her to keep giving, so Caleb will love that. Can you do a simple card and deliver it by the end of the week?'

"We certainly can!" Reggie assured him, and they went over the details before Willie paid, and reluctantly left. There was something about the warm atmosphere of the flower shop that made him feel at home, and it was weird leaving it to go back to the concrete and steel of the city. Willie was wondering if he could find a reason to come back again, recapture that feeling.

As it turned out, Caleb received glowing praise from Delores, and he told Willie to keep the florist on retainer, as there were a lot of events coming up that required flowers.

And Willie was more than happy to go back every time.

Most times he got Regie, and that sent a secret thrill up his spine that didn't bear examining. Of course, he also got Reggie's sister Julie a few times who smirked when she heard his name, and told him that Reggie would be sad they missed each other. Once he even got Rose, the matriarch of the Molina family who threatened to call Reggie in when she heard he was that Willie, but Willie managed to dissuade her. But just barely, because he had been fairly tempted to see Reggie again.

The next time he went in, Reggie was there with the same orchid, though it looked to be in much better shape, a couple new blooms on it. "Hey, the little guy is looking good!"

Reggie beamed at him. "Oh yeah, Wils is thriving!"

"Wils?"

"Oh, I named my little plant after you," Reggie explained. Then he blushed a bright pink. "Honestly I was planning on gifting him to you on your next visit in... maybe with an invitation for coffee afterwards?"

Willie felt the heat rush to his cheeks. "Oh um, I don't know what to say..."

"Say yes!" Julie called from the back.

"Please!" Rose shouted.

Reggie ran his hand over his face. "I swear to god. Mami you and Jules are embarrassing me!"

"Lo siento cariño!" Rose called.

Willie chuckled. "Well after all that, how can I say no?"

"Please don't feel pressured because of my family," Reggie said.

"Honestly I was working up a way to ask you out, and instead kept chickening out by coming up with reasons to come back," Willie said. "So, when's your break?"

Rose came out, shoving a leather jacket at him. "You're off for the rest of the day, have fun!"

Reggie sighed, but offered his arm to Willie who grinned and took it. And wondering if he could sneakily ask Julie or Rose for Reggie's favourite flowers to give him on their second date.