#ignore the one in the bottom right corner i did it on a receipt in a moving car

[aaabatteryy]

nikolai drawings because i miss him

[haevnlii]

how i make aesthetic scripts on (web/pc) google docs.

part 2 <33

~ darlinqsdomain

ignore typos i give up.

Last time, i did a lil tut on bundling/mixing images for an aesthetic doc — this post, i wanted to do tables (as i promised) but i'm also going to try fit in a second part to mixing images.

tables are super easy to deal with, on pc at least - but again mobile gd doesn't allow you to organise tables like web version does.

O1 / hiding one coloumn or row of a table / invisible tables.

this is super simple to do. just start with adding your table, obviously.

if you don't know how to do it, go to insert > table > select desired amount of rows/coloumns:

tables, when you add them, don't allow you to write in an empty space beside the table — you'd have to add another coloum to the side of the table you're writing on, and for the sake of the aesthetic ;; you'd probably want it to look invisible.

to do this, just select the line/border of the table you'd like invisible, then go to border width > 0px. (this is better than changing the colour to match the background, personally)

if you have for whatever reason have a lot to make invisible (or only want one border visible), you can just right click the table/table border > table properties > colour > change the px to 0. then from there, just changethe borders you want to your ideal size/colour. :)

and this can work however you like:

notes

Layering images on tables is super tricky. Sometimes using "in front of" or "behind text" options in a way "glues" them to the table ;; it's super hard to remove. It's easier to do on top corners. Bottom corners just extend the table's length unnecessarily depending on the case — but if your text fills in the extra space, you can still try. That said, it cannot go on the exact corners, GD fixes it to be inside the table.

You can have different sizes and shapes for each border. I like doing this for a paper/receipt type aesthetic sometimes 😭✨ The setting is beside the border size option (border dash)

You can change the background of the table by going to the table properties > colour. It changes the colour for one cell at a time so, if you have multiple cells (sections of the border) ... uh, have fun with that..?

You can now (carefully) decorate your tables however you want. You can add images beside them but be careful to not have GD fucking CLIP THEM TO THE TABLE MY FUCKING GOD-

but yea there's not much to say on it? it's a simple process ...

example from my hr script <3

O2 / bundling images 2.0

OKOKOKOK so now that that's out of the way, i want to do a continuation on the bundling images. you can do this to make any aesthetic you want. personally, i like to make gifs, personal "cutout" png images, etc. and layer them to have that collage bullet journal type aesthetic? 😭✨ it's time consuming to make it super pretty in the end, so if you like putting unnecessary effort into your scripts like i do, go all out.

examples ///

all of these are completely separate pngs and backgrounds bundled and layered with other pictures. you have to be careful with which setting (behind text/front of text/wrap text/break text) you use as putting "behind text" makes the image harder to select. i suggest putting "in front of text" for pictures you'd likely move more / pictures that should be on top of all the other ones.

if you're on windows... i use snip & sketch. i find the picture i want, then change the setting to "freeform snip" - this allows you to have the kind of cut-out paper look? as seen in the corners of my pictures above.

just zoom in (for better quality) on the pic then snip it to your desired shape.

and when you do, it'll come out as that - if you want, you can crop out the unnecessary bits if you accidentally got some in the snip. then you can add them to google docs as desired.

personally, these pictures go on the bottom of all the others as backgrounds / addons. so i usually use "wrap text" or "behind text". that said, i also advise you crop it (on google docs) to that there's space to select and move it, if you have too many images overlapping it. this makes it easier than moving every single image out of place to get to it.

to do this - again - just double click the image then crop it way out of its actual size until there's a piece outside all the other images you can just click to move it. not advised for the images using "wrap text" setting unless you intend to have it affect the text. 😭✨

help for this is in my last post (link is in the top of the post) but you can just go crazy with it now. 😭✨

notes

i use background removers (remove.bg especially)

pinterest is your best friend for these - keywords are tricky to use. personally, i use "minimalist tattoos", "chinese post bullet journal stickers", and just keep clikcing on images and going to similar ones until i get to the ones i want. why chinese? idk either but it just gets me where i want 😭😭

if you want to use circular, square, etc. - wrapped text (like this:)

i use mockofun !

for like- some of the text, though, i just make a random page in the doc, write it how i want, ss it then go the my bg remover - and then go back to my doc with it. yea...

and uh yea. im bad at explaining // 😭 please ask for clarification if you need it because i feel like i wasn't being very clear here.

to finish off-

additional keywords i use:

mail bullet journal stickers

(insert bug/thing you want) aesthetic

[optional description] washi tape [bullet journal/aesthetic]

[optional description] border [aesthetic]

[chiwhorei]

green scrunchies

pairing: dom!k. ukai x sub!fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: 4.1k

warnings: swearing, spanking, smoking, daddy kink, dom/ sub dynamics, brat taming, subspace, dirty talk, degradation, age gap(reader is 22ish and ukai is 26ish) spitting, fingering, oral (fem receiving), edging, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, a little dumification, public nudity (kinda), unprotected sex, tattoos (there’s a tattoo in a really unholy place), this is just filth okay

a/n: i have been sitting on the bulk of this piece for a fucking month and am honestly so surprised i finished it. this was inspired by a picture i saw of a really naughty tattoo and my mind want crazy and vomited on to a google doc.

hymn: nothing’s gonna hurt you baby by cigarettes after sex

“but today isn’t a day of honey-sweet ministrations.”

Ukai Keishin is a gentle man. The team of highschoolers he coaches, his friends, hell, even his mother would beg to differ. But they were not privy to the Keishin you know. The man that serenades you with Elvis Presley while cleaning up after closing the store, grabbing your waist and pulling you into a clumsy slow dance as his gravelly voice croons into your ear. 

He’s entrancing. Hypnotizing you, almost two years ago now, in the most tender pursuit possible, so softly you were unaware of falling deeply in love with him until you had already tipped completely over. Turning to an ink pen and scraps of receipt paper to flesh out the feelings he worried would not sound perfect when they hit your ears. To this day, you’re not entirely sure if he meant to leave the pages to his extemporaneous romance novel for you to find on purpose, but you have your suspicions.

You were in your second year of college when you met Keishin, only 20 years old at the time and clueless to any world outside of studying frantically from one exam to the next. Chasing after a degree you could pursue your dreams with and getting tattoos that would piss your parents off, you crashed into him, literally. 

While walking to class with practiced steps and flipping through a small stack of notecards, you frantically try to accomplish last minute cramming and making it to class promptly at the same time. With one final attempt to understand the scribbles in front of you, you take a sharp turn into a brick wall. A flurry of white papers thrown into the air and falling back down like snow.

It happened in a minute, a minute that held sixty of the longest seconds to ever pass; from the moment you smack your nose into his cemented chest to the moment he saves your head from kissing the ground below. “You need to watch where you’re going, kid.” He says with a cigarette pressed between his teeth. It all happened in that single minute, your soul escaping and crawling into his jacket pocket without even realizing. It’s been there ever since, for safekeeping, of course.

He’s perfect in every way. But just as he is soft and loving, Ukai is not one to take shit. Especially when his sweet, shy baby girl is being a raging brat. It’s like any normal fall afternoon, slightly chilly and crisp on your walk from class. The air is biting at your skin, but the temperature is not what sends a piercing shiver down your spine. You know that as soon as you get home, Ukai Keishin is going to ruin you. 

“What are you doing here, princess?” Your presence is made known with a soft ding from the bell above the door, but Ukai doesn't look up from his magazine when acknowledging you. 

“I live upstairs?” Your tone is light and playful. You decide to test the waters, wondering how much Keishin will let slide today.

“Don’t be dense, little one.” He graces you with his eye contact for the first time, “I know you have a Biology lecture on Friday afternoons. So, why is that cute little ass here instead of on campus?” His lips are pulled tightly in a thin line and he rakes his eyes down your body. You’re wearing a short pleated skirt and a baggie pull-over. Exactly what he picked out for you this morning. Well, almost exactly. He was already opening up the store by the time you woke up, so the clothes were placed neatly on his side of the bed. What he didn’t pick out though, were the stockings currently brandishing your mid thigh, cutting off the supple skin with the soft, black cotton. 

“Oh! My professor cancelled lecture today so I came home early to have lunch with my loving boyfriend.” You smile sweetly, dropping your backpack and rounding the corner of the counter he is sat at. Ukai hums softly- dismissively- and lights a cigarette, his eyes don’t give away any emotion, so you are left hanging off the end of the burning cherry. Has he caught on yet? Maybe the thigh-highs would be enough to distract from your real surprise. 

Before you can ruminate on the thought, a wide, kind smile spreads across his face. If you didn’t know any better, this smile would be comforting. Your boyfriend pats his lap, motioning for you to take a seat. You adjust yourself to fit snugly and lean into Keishin’s chest. He presses a chaste kiss to your temple and takes a drag from his cigarette. Customers trickle in slowly, and you stand a few times to ring up their purchases, always the dutiful girlfriend. Keishin watches you with adoration in between paging through a magazine, everything you did was so perfect, even if it’s just scanning a few groceries. Such a good girl you are. 

It’s not until you sit back down, and he adjusts your hips to settle back into him that he is made aware of the game you’re trying to play. And he is pissed.

“Princess, did you not like the clothes I picked out for you this morning?” He has fully caught on to you at this point, and you both know it, but he isn’t going to show you his hand quite yet. 

“Of course I did, Daddy.” You bury your burning cheek into his neck, letting the familiar smell of cologne and campfires calm your clambering heartbeat. 

“I see, then why are you wearing these…” Keishin’s voice trails off and pulls at the material of the thigh-highs, snapping it against your skin.  

“Actually,” he interrupts, “I have a more important question. But I need you to be a good girl and answer honestly.” Keishin whispers into the shell of your ear and nods a goodbye to the elderly man leaving the store. You two were alone now, the promise of other customers wandering in diminishing quickly with the time of day. 

“I’ll be a good girl Daddy.” You try to coat your words in velvet as best as you can, but Keishin scoffs, clearly unamused. 

“That’s rich, princess. Now tell me, did you go to campus this morning without panties on?” You knew the question he was going to pose, you could have even saved him the breath. You knew you were going to get caught, I mean, that is why you did it. But now, faced with having to atone for your sins, the confidence in your original actions was melting away. 

“I forgot to put panties on this morning, Daddy. I’m sorry.” You try to pout in the sweetest way possible, but Keishin knows. You’re lying through your teeth.

“Tsk, you forgot. How could you forget if I laid them right on top of your skirt this morning?” He fishes in his pocket and pulls out a damning article. As he moves the exhibit into evidence, light pink thong hanging off of fingers, you resolve that your little game was over long before you even tried to start. All you can do now is wait with baited breath and flushed cheeks for his next move. 

“Stand up princess.” Ukai grabs onto your hip bones and lifts you upward. He spins you around to face him and perches his elbows on his knees. “Show me what’s mine baby girl.” His request, his demand, rolls off the tongue like icicles. You know what he means, but still stare back dumbly, mouth wide at what he was insinuating.

“You know I don’t like repeating myself, little girl.” His words stir inside you. If he sees how wet you’re getting, you’re done for. There’s no escaping this moment though. You take a deep breath in a feeble fight against the suffocating feeling in your chest, and lift up the end of your short, black skirt so he can see you. All of you.

Your precious, sumptuous thighs now in his view. He studies the lines of the tattoos not covered with your stockings. Beautiful floral designs in delicate black ink. Keishin thinks the work you get done is always so beautiful. Every addition befitting you perfectly. He loves tracing the pads of his fingers over the art in softer moments. This moment though, was not soft, and the tattoos on your thighs were not the subject of Ukai’s attention. 

He flicks his eyes up to meet yours briefly, and trails down from your quivering bottom lip, to your delicate, freckled collarbones peering sweetly from your large sweater. He drags his darkening gaze down further, cherishing every inch until he reaches your hips. Nestled in between the apex of your thighs, in small, dainty writing lays his prize.

“My Daddy Will Kill You.”

No matter what you did, he would always be there, snugly under the second layer of skin. When his fingers weren’t intertwined in yours, when he couldn’t have a protective hand in your back pocket. Whenever he was away with his team for tournaments or just when you were in class. He was always on you.

“Such a gorgeous little cunt you have.” He leans back in his seat, watching you fidget under his stare, “Whose cunt is this, baby? Is it your classmates? Is it your professors?” You bow your head in shame at Ukai’s insinuation, you know that going to class with a bare ass and a short skirt was going to get you in trouble. How could you resist though, when the punishment always feels so good.

“You’ve been acting like a petulant brat recently. I’ve been letting things slide because I know how stressful your senior year of college has been.” His tone is exasperated, but his eyes are calm, level, dark, “I can’t ignore this, you know that right?”

“I know, Daddy.”

“Your class was cancelled. So that means we get to start the weekend early.” He pulls your hands from your skirt, letting it fall back into place and holds both of your hands in one of his much larger ones. “Go upstairs and sit on the bed. I want you in just your skirt and those cute little tights you were so keen on wearing. I’ll be up in a few minutes.” 

“But Daddy…” you really did like to test your luck sometimes, but the look he gives you, slightly shocked and more than lightly infuriated, was enough to make you hurry to the back and up the stairs to your shared apartment. You kick your sneakers off at the door and head straight to the bedroom. You pull the sweater over your head and unclasp your bra. Usually Keishin likes to do that step for you, savoring the way you shiver as he brushes the straps off of your shoulders, but today isn’t a day of honey-sweet ministrations. 

You tremble like a puppy as you wait for Ukai and almost jump out of your own skin when you hear the front door creek open. Usually you are met with a bellowing voice upon his entry, walking through the door with a hearty, “Honey, I’m home!” even if you had only walked in a few steps ahead. Now, all you can do is wait as he mulls about the apartment with lackadaisical intent and a deafening silence. After a few agonizing minutes and feeling like he made his point, Ukai finally appears in the doorway, arms folded and pressed tightly to his hard chest with a categorically sadistic smile on his face.

“So, you do know how to follow directions?” You gulp loudly and nod your head, but quickly correct yourself. If you don’t use your words you’ll make things worse for yourself. “Yes, Daddy. I know how to follow directions.” It’s not a lie, obviously you are aware of his rules, you just prefer breaking them. Your response is small compared to the loud, sarcastic laugh falling from his throat. Ukai steps towards you slowly. 

“You are such a little tease, I came up to kiss you goodbye this morning and found these still sitting on the bed.” He pulls the thong out of his pocket again and drops the lace into your lap. “You left them there because you wanted me to find them. You wanted me to know you were sitting in class with a bare cunt.” There’s no use trying to find an excuse to push past your locked jaw, because he’s not really asking a question. 

“I left them on purpose, Daddy. I’m sorry.” Your mea culpa is underwhelming to say the least, and you both know it. You may be pleading guilty to all charges, but you don’t seem eager for absolution. 

“You are such a little attention whore. My timid, darling girl has been acting like an insolent slut recently. What am I going to do with you?” His voice sounds questioning, but unmistakingly rhetorical. He’s known what he was going to do to you from the moment he spotted your panties weighing the bed down this morning.

“Turn around baby.” Ukai unbuckles his belt, and you turn away from him, tucking your legs to sit upright. He gathers your long h/c hair from where it was settled around your face and meticulously braids it to lay flat on your back, attaching the green scrunchy from his wrist to the bottom. 

Just like a calling card, Keishin always had a scrunchy of yours around his wrist. Whenever you are hunched over the kitchen table in the middle of writing a paper, he pulls your hair behind you and fastens it into a bun, careful to keep it loose so as to not invite a headache, and kisses the crown of your head. Regardless of where you are: shopping, date night, visiting him at practice, if he notices your hair becoming annoying he will slip it from your neck and twist it into the green scrunchy.

And when you are about to be punished, Ukai pulls your hair into a neat, low braid.

You feel him run his hands from your shoulders to your wrists, pulling them gently behind your back. He presses your palms together and gives them a squeeze so you know to keep them together. Ukai pulls off his shirt, and  frees his undone belt from his jeans, folding it in half and running the cool leather up your thigh. He swats softly at your skin, just enough to make you flinch. 

Ukai tosses the belt to the ground, deciding he would rather you feel the sting of his palm, and sits down next to you on the bed. You face him with your hands still laced together behind you and let him position you to lay across his lap. The side of your face and your shoulders lay flush against the bed and your ass is raised up above his jean-clad thighs. 

“You know the rules, right my love?”

“Yes, Daddy. If I lose count you have to start over.”

“There’s my smart girl. You look so beautiful like this.” He lands a smack on your right cheek, actions greatly contrasting his soft, almost taunting tone. “It’s such a shame you’ve been acting like such a whore.” 

He delivers slap after slap on your bruising ass and you count every one out to him, briefly considering what would happen if you stopped counting, but you know that your punishment is already going to be harsh enough. You’re a masochist, yes, but not an idiot. 

“Why do you always seem to be on your best behavior when I have you over my knee, darling?” Ukai connects his palm with your tender flesh again. “How many was that baby?” 

“Fifteen, Daddy.” You speak in an even tone, if your boyfriend catches on to how much more you like this than he already knows, you’re, quite literally, fucked. 

“You really know how to play me, baby. I’m always wrapped around your little finger.” He starts to knead your ass cheek with his large hand, skimming the tips of his digits against your wanton cunt. He’s testing you, wanting to see if you’ll start squirming or unclasp your hands from their position behind your back, but you hold steady.

“You leave me naughty little surprises. I had you on my mind all day, thinking about this naked little pussy walking around campus. One tiny slip and you would have shown everyone what’s mine.” Another sharp swat to your butt reverberates through the room and you can barely mumble out your counted response. 

“But that’s what you wanted isn’t it? You wanted everyone to see this slutty pussy of yours didn’t you?” Whether that was the truth or not doesn't actually matter, you know not to make an excuse. You are just meant to count and thank. 

“You need to stop squirming, princess, or you’re going to royally piss me off.” Ukai continues his relentless pace, two thick fingers pistoning deep in your dripping pussy. This was one of Ukai’s favorite games, finger-fucking you to the point of the bed under you slamming into the wall. Your job was to keep completely still. One arch of your back or escaped moan and he would land a sharp slap to your puffy, untended clit. 

He’s actually being quite generous despite the circumstances. Usually, you would be propped on your hands and knees, but Ukai has laid you flat on your back with one leg tossed over his broad shoulder. The position, while easier to keep your body still, does mean that Ukai’s piercing, hungry gaze has you pinned like prey under him. The completely pornografic sounds of his fingers are making your head spin. The fact that he’s been hammering his fingers relentlessly into your g-spot for an hour, is starting to make your mind foggy, all thoughts are starting to slip from your brain and your boyfriend can tell.

“God, baby, I love making you absolutely stupid for me. I bet all you can think about is my cock filling this little cunt up, huh?” His words are sneering, taunting. Your response is a babbled agreement and plea for his cock, and the sight of you so completely fucked out makes the bulge in his jeans strain even further. The feeling of his fingers in your squelching pussy is dulling all other senses, so when he pulls the digits away, you can’t help the cry that rips from the back of your throat. 

“Don’t worry, precious girl, I’m going to give you what you want. What you’re fucking desperate for.” Ukai pushes himself from the bed and removes his jeans and boxers, and you watch as his thick cock springs free to slap against his abdomen. The sound makes you mewl, your cunt clenching in anticipation. 

As Ukai crawls back onto your shared bed, his head dips down in between your legs. He licks, flat and languid across your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue with a feral groan.

“Please, Daddy. Please fuck me. I- I need you. Wa- want to be your good girl.” You find your words as best as you can to beg for him, the sweet cadence of your voice and the way your weak arms reach out for his messy bleached hair signals to him that you’ve fallen completely into a foggy, submissive haze. You tug lightly at the tresses and the impressive self-control he has kept up thus far snaps like plywood under a heavy boot. 

Ukai takes one more deep, hungry lick at your soaking pussy and sits up, pushing your legs further apart, digging his nails into the soft skin under your knees. 

“Open your mouth, Princess.” You are quick to comply with his request, sticking your tongue out and looking up at him through your lashes. You hear the sound of him spitting, his saliva and your arousal coats the thickest plane of your tongue, but connecting one thought to the next becomes impossible as Ukai pushes his thick cock into you at the same time.

“Jesus Christ, no matter how much time I take to get you ready you’re still so tight. God, you make it really hard to stay mad at you.” His hands keep your legs pressed up to your chest, pushing his thick cock into you at an agonizingly lazy pace. Ukai was right, it didn’t matter that he had finger-fucked you into the mattress for an hour, taking him was a tight fit every time. As he buries himself in you, the intoxicating burn of being so full takes all of the air out of your chest. His thick cock stretches you so far, you swear he can feel your own heartbeat within the walls of your tiny cunt. He’s barely halfway into you and you can’t help but constrict, the tinny flavor of your orgasm crawling up from your spine to your mouth. 

“There’s no way I’m letting you cum already.” Ukai snickered sadistically, thumb brushing across your tattoo, the dirty secret you shared, right over where you need his fingers most. He wasn’t going to touch your deprived clit yet, and hoping for him to do so was a waste of energy. 

“I’m sorry Daddy. I promise, I’ll be good.” Your tears are rolling down the side of your face, wetting the sheet next to you. 

“You’re a pathetic mess and I’m not even all the way in you yet. I would save the tears if I were you, babydoll.” You try to compose yourself, but Ukai’s words of dismissive degradation give your whimpers more body, sobbing and babbling as his cock bottoms out. 

You can feel every inch of him, hard and thick and so so full inside of you. Ukai pulls out of you completely, his soaking tip rubbing on your labia before slamming back in to the hilt. His pace becomes brutal with every thrust, original slow pace completely unknown to you now. There’s no way you're going to be able to stand properly after this. 

“Daddy, please. Please let me cum. Need to cum, Daddy. Need to be your good girl.” A series of calls for your daddy and prayerful begs are the only things you know at this point, drool and tears covering your face.

“You know what, Princess? I bet I could make you cum with just one touch to that little clit.” Ukai takes one hand off of your thigh and hovers over where you have needed him since you woke up this morning. “If I’m right, I’ll make you cum again. If I’m wrong, you’re not gonna cum at all.”

You can feel the warmth of his finger looming over the neglected bud, the anticipation is overwhelming and cruel, but all worth it as soon as he pushes the rough pad of his thumb down. Ukai presses a single, taught circle into your clit and the coil wound tightly in your stomach snaps with incredible force. You know there is a scream that rips from your dry mouth, but you can’t hear it with the blood rushing through your ears. Ukai works you through your first orgasm, stilling his thrusts as until you come floating back down.

“I know this slutty little cunt better than the back of my hand. Now, my precious little thing,” You watch as Ukai hooks your limp legs over his shoulders, lining his throbbing cock back to your slopping entrance. “Let’s do that a couple more times.”

“Wise men say, only fools rush in. But I can’t help, falling in love with you.”

You feel your senses coming back to you slowly, with every delicate touch Keishin glides over your skin. He pulls you back to reality with sweet touches and the deep, gravely sound of his voice. After several meticulous moments and even more words of praise, Kei delivers a delicate kiss to your forehead and carries you to the shower. You take a deep, relaxed sigh as he massages your aching muscles under the hot water. After drying your exhausted body with a fluffy towel, Keishin helps you into a comfy pair of leggings and one of his sweatshirts. 

“Take my hand. Take my whole heart too.” Your boyfriend’s broad arms wrap around your waist, hands finding purchase under the orange sweatshirt currently drowning your form, and you melt into his chest. “Because I can’t help, falling in love with you.” You turn around in his arms to steal a kiss, but as your lips attach to his a small laugh bubbles up from your stomach. 

“What are you giggling at?” Keishin eyes you curiously, and you start laughing even harder.

“Oh nothing, I was just thinking about the bloody nose you gave me when we first met.” You cackle at the memory and feel Keishin take an exasperated but amused sigh, joining your laughter with his own.

“First of all, Princess, you ran into me.”

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[arrowflier]

if you still taking prompts, I wish you could write something about... since Ian's always over-worrying about Mickey's safety, what if he gets a call saying something happened to his husband? maybe Ian's freaking out thinking Mickey could be locked again or hurt so he runs to get him? Thank you!!

Spoiler alert--nothing bad actually happens to anyone in this ficlet.

--

Ian is at Whole Foods when the call comes.

They usually go together, Mickey whining about rich privileged fucks and overpriced organic shit but coming anyway to, and he quotes, “make sure you don’t drop our whole paycheck on fuckin’ tomatoes this time.” But Mickey had begged off today, claiming he didn’t feel up to “dealing with those judgmental dicks at the checkout actin’ like cash is fuckin’ dirty”, and Ian hadn’t pushed.

Now he’s wishing he had.

“You need to come now,” Sandy is saying into his ear, voice tinny and thin through the cheap speakers of his second-hand phone.

“Where are you?” Ian asks her numbly. He kneels down on autopilot, picking up the now-bruised oranges he had been holding when she greeted him with the words, “hey, it’s Mickey.” The tile floor is as unforgiving on his knees as it was on the fruit. He turns one of the oranges over in his hand. He had been planning to make Mickey fresh orange juice with that later.

“That little corner store by your apartment, you know it?” Sandy is asking him.

Of course he knows it. That’s were they run to in the middle of the night when they run out of lube, or beer. Where Mickey bought him flowers once and tried to pass it off as an error by the cashier, until Ian found the receipt in the bottom of the bag. Where they take Franny to pick out candy every other Friday when they pick her up from school.

“Yeah,” is all he says. “I know it.”

Then he’s hanging up, and running out of the store, leaving an overturned basket and the handful of oranges on the floor in his wake.

His heart is pounding as he runs toward home. Not toward the apartment—toward Mickey.

His heart is pounding and his legs are churning and his feet are slapping the pavement with every step, chest aching to force air into his lungs. But his brain is moving faster.

He doesn’t know what happened. He should have kept Sandy on the line longer, gotten more of the story, but it only would have slowed him down. But he doesn’t know if Mickey is hurt, or in trouble, or in danger of being carted off to prison again for daring to live his life on parole.

And Ian’s mind has never exactly been his greatest ally to begin with, so it’s no surprise that the scenarios it comes up with as he runs aren’t exactly comforting.

As he rounds a corner, narrowly missing an old woman and her shopping bags, he pictures Mickey injured, collapsed on the floor of the shop, like back at the Kash and Grab when they were just kids. He won’t let anyone near him like that, no one but Ian, and he’s bleeding out onto white tile waiting for his husband to save him.

Crossing the street between cars and ignoring the honks, he pictures Mickey backed into a corner by his father’s cronies, refusing to look for an escape as Sandy frantically tries to call for help. He still doesn’t know how to back down, would never back down from men like that, would never let them take what they have and try to turn it ugly. He’d held a gun to his own father’s face, more than once, but thanks to Ian he didn’t even have one now.

Approaching the shop, finally, only to see the familiar red and blue flash of police cars, he pictures Mickey cuffed to the counter inside, glaring at the officers and spouting curses to the questions they ask. Knowing that despite living clean for over a year, they could take him in any time they wanted, with no more evidence than his last name and his rap sheet.

Ian dashes across the last street, desperate now, only to come to an abrupt halt as soon as he’s close enough to take in the scene.

Because there’s Mickey, all right. Not hurt, not cornered, not arrested.

But stuck.

Ian’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and he bends over, hands on knees, to catch his breath and his heart. Mickey is whole, and healthy, and right in front of him. Well, in front of him and up a little, pacing along the edge of the single-story shop roof.

“Hey!” Sandy calls out from the entrance of the store. Ian keeps his eyes on Mickey, who starts at the sound and looks down, gaze quickly finding Ian. He grimaces when he sees him, and starts pacing faster.

“Uh, hey Sandy,” Ian manages, finally looking to her just long enough to take in her shit-eating grin before he’s back to watching his husband. “What exactly is happening here?” The question might come out a little unhinged sounding, but sue him, he’s allowed.

Sandy comes up next to him, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand as she joins him in observing the roof. “Apparently,” she tells him, voice raised enough that Mickey can probably hear, “Mickey here got robbed.”

Mickey can definitely hear, if the finger he throws up toward them is any indication.

“Robbed,” Ian repeats faintly. “On the roof?”

Sandy snorts. “No, you moron, in the store. Some kid swiped his bag on his way out, then went up the maintenance ladder. Mickey followed, but,” she shrugs. “Little fucker started jumping rooftops, and Mickey couldn’t keep up.”

“Uh huh,” Ian says, nodding once. “Okay. So why hasn’t he come back down?”

“Ladder broke,” Sandy offers, and Ian closes his eyes.

“The ladder,” he parrots. “Broke.”

“Yup,” she says, popping the P.

“And your first thought,” Ian continues, “was to call me, and tell me that Mickey was in trouble, giving me a heart attack in the middle of the fucking grocery store, instead of finding another one?” His voice rises until he’s nearly yelling, and when he opens his eyes, Sandy is wincing.

“Um,” she answers. “Sorry?”

Ian just sighs, deflating immediately.

“Mick,” he calls up to his husband.

The response he gets back isn’t even addressed to him.

“The fuck did you call him for?” Mickey shouts down to Sandy instead, finally stopping his incessant pacing. “It was supposed to be a fuckin’ surprise!”

“Well, I am surprised!” Ian yells back. “Thought you didn’t like heights?” That just earns him a middle finger, as expected.

“Why aren’t the cops helping?” Ian asks Sandy at a normal volume, but Mickey catches it and responds before she can.

“Cops ain’t here for me,” he grunts, rubbing at his nose and looking to the side. “Shopkeep called ‘em about the burglary, they got the kid ‘round the other side of the building.”

“What did he steal, anyway?” Ian questions, but Mickey goes silent.

Sandy tells him anyway. “He had a big order come in,” she whispers to Ian. “Told me all about it, had me come help pick it up. Something about some fancy booze and chocolate you like?”

Oh. Ian’s heart, now recovered from its scare, warms.

“Come on, Mickey, come down,” Ian cajoles. He wants to hold his husband.

“Oh, brilliant fuckin’ idea man!” Mickey rants. “Why didn’t I think of that?” He pretends to think for a second, then adds with an overdone gesture, “Oh yeah! Cause I don’t wanna break my fuckin’ neck!”

“It’s one story, Mickey,” Ian points out. “I could probably reach the gutters if I jumped.”

“Yeah, well, not all of us are giant gangly fuckers like you!” his husband shouts back.

Ian rolls his eyes.

“I meant,” he says slowly, “that if you hang down off the edge, I can reach you, dumbass.”

Mickey is silent at that, then promptly sits and scoots so his feet are hanging off the roof.

All the warning Ian gets is “don’t drop me, fuckhead,” before Mickey is sliding down right into his arms, sending them both stumbling backwards until Ian regains his footing.

They stay like that, pressed together from knees to chest, Ian’s arms around Mickey’s waist and Mickey’s looped around his neck, until Sandy coughs from behind them.

“Adorable,” she drawls, and they both flip her off this time. Ian hold Mickey tighter instead, and kisses his hair.

“So,” he whispers into Mickey’s ear, “Sandy scared the shit out of me about this.”

Mickey just hums into his neck.

“I think you might need to make it up to me,” Ian adds. “What’s this I hear about a surprise?”

Mickey pulls back just enough to scowl at him. “Surprise got pinched,” he mutters. “Evidence now or something, greedy pig bastards.”

Ian grins. “I’m sure you can think of something else,” he muses, shifting to that they’re side by side, and starting off in the direction of their apartment. He waves over his shoulder at Sandy, a clear dismissal. “You’ve never lacked for ideas before.”

Mickey sighs, but leans into him as they walk.

“You’re gonna make me buy you fruit again, aren’t you?” he asks, resigned, and Ian thinks of the oranges he had left at the store, and the tomatoes that Mickey liked to tease him about.

“Maybe,” he answers, and smiles all the way home.

[myriadimagines]

Chips and Orange Soda (part ii)

Brooklyn Nine-Nine One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Jake Peralta

Other Characters: Amy Santiago

Warnings: theft, threats of violence

Summary: When a series of bodegas are robbed, Holt assigns Jake and Rosa on the case. You, a cashier, become a suspect, but Jake has a gut feeling that you’re not a suspect at all. In fact, he thinks you’re the key to solving the case.

Part One: Chips and Orange Soda

Word Count: 2,319

A/N: the second part to my submission for @locke-writes​​‘ writing challenge!! admittedly it gets kind of into an ethical dilemma that i didnt mean to go into and that’s unnecessarily deep but you’ll see what i mean ajskdhas but anyway disclaimer again!! not in law enforcement!!! this is not accurate when it comes to crimes!!! i really hope the reveal/ending isn’t too disappointing and that u guys still enjoyed the story!!! it does get a little more serious in this part but i still hope it’s in character/tone with the show!!

reblog/feedback/comments are very much appreciated!!!

Jake is careful to open up the door of the bodega, which is all bordered up with tape as the shattered glass has yet to be replaced. The inside looks better at least, no longer sectioned off with police tape, and business seems to be going on as usual, with customers in between the aisles and some at the counter. Jake resists the urge to grab a snack for himself, and he glances around the room, frowning as he realises there’s no sight of you.

Jake finally approaches a young man manning the cash register. “Hey man, is y/n in?”

He shakes his head. “Sorry dude, they don’t work Tuesdays.”

Jake smacks the side of his head, remembering how you mentioned it to him. He moves to exit the store when he notices the live security footage playing on the screen behind the counter. Pointing it out, Jake says, “Hey, looks like you got your cameras working again.” 

The man looks over his shoulder, before turning back to Jake with furrowed eyebrows. “What?”

Jake frowns slightly, his hand falling to his side. “y/n told me that your cameras were down last week.” 

The man remains confused, staring at Jake as if he’s speaking another language. Slowly, he finally responds, “Nah, they’ve been working fine. I don’t know what y/n’s talking about.” 

Something inside of Jake’s stomach twists, and he frowns. Despite how hard he’s been trying to defend you, he can’t help but admit to himself that you’re not making it easy. He digs through his pockets, pulling out an old receipt, and he grins to himself as he flips it over and finds your number on the other side. Pulling out his phone, he cringes slightly at his 6% battery level, and he hopes he has enough to make a call.

Dialling in your number, he raises the phone to his ear. It rings a few times before someone finally picks up the phone. Taking in a deep breath, Jake says, “y/n? It’s Jake, the detective from last week. We… we need to talk.” 

—

Jake paces around the briefing room, shaking his head as he tries to piece everything together. After coming back to the precinct following his failed attempt to find you at the bodega, Jake had filled up a corkboard with pictures and other small pieces of evidence he and Rosa were able to gather, although it was looking rather sparse. Your lie about the security cameras definitely presents as an obstacle, but he tries not to think the worst of it. He hasn’t told Rosa yet, who had gone out to meet with the forensics team again, fearing what her reaction would be towards you. Maybe you were mistaken, maybe the robbers managed to figure out a way to wipe the footage. But something about the situation doesn’t sit right with Jake, and he lets out a defeated sigh. 

“Hey, Jake,” Amy peeks her head inside, knocking at the door, and Jake looks up. She gestures back to the bullpen as she continues, “You’ve got someone here to see you. Sounds like they’ve got some information on the bodega robberies.” 

Jake perks up, rushing past Amy out of the room. His eyes widen as he sees you linger by his desk, nervously glancing around the room. He nods as a thank you to Amy before making his way over to you, and he greets, “Hey, y/n, thanks for coming in. How have you been doing?”

You meet Jake’s gaze, and you can’t help but soften at his tone. He seems to genuinely care, and you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. Nodding, you reassure him, “I’m okay. I’m… I’m glad you reached out, actually. There are some things that I need to tell you about. Can we go for a walk?” 

Jake hesitates. He knows that he should probably bring you to the interrogation room instead, but he finds himself nodding. He grabs his leather jacket hanging on the back of his chair, and he nods towards the elevator as he remarks, “Sure. Let’s go.”

—

You and Jake make your way through the streets of Brooklyn, finding yourself at a nearby local park. You can’t help but smile at the sight of children running around, squealing at one another as they chase each other in some sort of game, but you can’t ignore the pit in your stomach, the gnawing guilt that has plagued you ever since your first interaction with Jake.

You finally happen upon an empty bench in a quiet corner of the park and you silently take a seat. Jake sits beside you, and your breath begins to tremble. Jake patiently waits for you, eyes wide with concern as he finds himself shifting closer to you, subconsciously wanting to comfort you despite not knowing what’s to come. 

“I… I haven’t told you everything that I know about the bodega.” you finally confess, and Jake takes in a deep breath. He nods slowly, silently urging you to continue, and you look up to meet his gaze as you continue, “I know who did it. And the other robberies, too.”

Jake stares at you, and you can tell it’s clearly a lot of information to take in. He presses his lips together, trying to process all this, before he quietly asks, “You’re trying to protect someone, aren’t you?” 

Your expression crumples, and your shoulders slump as you bury your face in your hands. You swore to yourself you wouldn’t cry, but as the overwhelming reality of the situation begins to sink in, you’re suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Jake’s expression falls, and despite knowing that the two of you are practically strangers, he wraps an arm around you, gently rubbing his hand up and down your arm as he tries to soothe you. 

“It feels like I’ve been trying to protect him all my life, but I- I feel like I can’t, anymore.” you manage to say through sobs, and Jake frowns, eyebrows furrowing in concern. Gulping, you finally reveal, “My brother.”

Jake sucks in a sharp breath. He’s all too familiar himself with broken homes, with strained familial relationships. You’re almost afraid to look at him, but Jake’s expression is one of understanding, of sympathy. He gently reassures you, “Take all the time you need, alright?” 

You nod, trying to compose yourself the best you can. You fold your hands into your lap, perhaps a poor attempt at stopping them from shaking, and you manage to hold your tears back long enough for you to begin explaining, “It was always just me and my brother, you know? My single mom had to raise us, but we barely saw her because she was always working. But my brother and I always had each other’s backs, and I thought it would be that way forever.”

You’re distracted as a pair of kids dart past you, and Jake notices the bittersweet smile that appears on your face as you watch them. Quietly, he prompts, “When did you feel like things started to go wrong?” 

“I mean, my brother was always a rowdy kid, always getting into trouble, but it just kept getting worse and worse. I’d try to bail him out, but there was only so much I could do.” you continue. “As we got older, I started seeing him less and less. He’d show up whenever he needed help, but that was it. Until he showed up the night before the bodega robbery.”

“He came to see you?” Jake’s eyes widen in alarm, and you nod. You can feel a pit forming in the bottom of your stomach as you think back to that night, and you uneasily run your hands through your hair. 

“I didn’t know he had robbed those other bodegas. But he came around asking for me to let him and his friend in, basically. Asked me for the key. I told him no, that I could just lend him money, and he… he got angry.” your voice shakes slightly as you stare off at some point in the distance. “We’ve had our fights, obviously, but this was different. I was almost scared of him.”

You screw your eyes shut as you remember seeing the smashed in front door, the fear swallowing you whole as you worried what might happen next. Jake doesn’t try to prompt you further, knowing how difficult this must be for you, and he lets out a soft sigh as he wishes that you didn’t have to go through such a thing.

“I don’t want him to go to jail. I just want him to be okay.” you can feel your words getting caught in your throat as you struggle to continue speaking. “But he doesn’t even feel like my brother anymore. That night was just… I- I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“What about the cameras?” Jake quietly asks.

“That was me.” you sigh, nervously wringing your hands together. “I couldn’t sleep that night, so eventually, I… I just got up and went to see if he had really done it. Part of me still had hope that maybe he didn’t. When I saw the door broken in it just… crushed me. I almost feel like he did it on purpose, to scare me. But I still wanted to protect him, so I… I went in to delete the security footage, and rushed out before anyone could see me.”

Jake leans back onto the bench. This is it, he realises. With your revelations, it seems as though the case is solved. But seeing the heartbreak on your face doesn’t make the solved case as satisfying as it usually is.

“I just feel like I’ve failed him.” your shoulders slump, your voice barely audible. “He’s my family I have, and I just… I just wish it didn’t have to be like this.” 

“Hey, you didn’t fail him, y/n,” Jake gently insists, and to your surprise, he reaches out to take your hand, giving it a squeeze. “You’ve been an awesome sibling, better than he deserves, really. But he chose to do this, and that’s not on you.” 

You nod, trying your best to believe him, and from the earnest expression on Jake’s face, you feel like you could. You manage to muster up a smile, and Jake smiles back at you. Nodding back in the direction of the precinct, Jake tells you, “I do need you to need you to come back to the precinct to make a statement. But you’ve really helped us, y/n, and you did the right thing.” 

A part of you has doubts, but you try your best to take comfort in Jake’s words. Jake gets to his feet, and you stand up with him, and Jake offers you a small smile that reassures you that everything will be okay. 

—

You bump the cash machine closed with your elbow as you count out some change. Sliding it over to the customer alongside their bag of snacks, you politely smile at them before they step aside to leave. You wave the next customer in line forward, only to realise it’s Jake standing before you, and your eyes widen as he offers you a sheepish grin. He steps up to the counter, placing down a bag of chips and a bottle of orange soda, and you exchange a knowing smile as you lean forward, “Hey, Jake. Did… did everything go alright?”

“We got him and his buddy.” Jake confirms, and you let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. “They tried to give us the slip, but I chased after them.”

You narrow your eyes slightly, and Jake quickly corrects himself, “Okay, Rosa chased after them, but that doesn’t matter.”  

You laugh, and Jake snorts with you before continuing, “There’ll be a trial, obviously. I’ll give you more updates when I hear them.”

You nod, before sliding Jake’s stuff back to him. You don’t even bother ringing his purchase up as you tell him, “It’s on the house.” 

“What? No.” Jake hurriedly searches through his pockets for some change. “You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s the least I can do.” you insist. Jake offers you some cash, but you shake your head. “Seriously, Jake, thank you, for everything.” 

You reach out, closing Jake’s hand, and your gaze lingers on one another as your hand remains on his. He smiles, and Jake feels like his heart might beat out of his chest as you smile back at him. Before he can stop himself, he blurts, “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime?”

You blink at him in surprise, and Jake winces as he worries he might’ve blown it. Stammering, he continues, “It’s, uh, my way of saying thank you. For helping us solve the case. And for the snacks.” 

Jake watches as a smile spreads across your face, and you chew on your lip as if trying to contain your happiness. “Is this a date?”

Jake grins at you. “It can be.” 

“Just tell me when and where.” you nod excitedly, and Jake beams at you. “I’d love to go out with you, Jake.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jake claps his hands together. He scoops up his snacks, backing away as he continues, “Hey, I’ve got to run back to the precinct, but I’ll text you, okay?”

“Got it.” you nod, grinning from ear to ear. You can’t help but chuckle as you watch Jake clumsily try to open the door, but he stops himself. 

“Oh! By the way,” Jake spins around on his heel. “Do you guys sell batteries?” 

“Um,” you glance over your shoulder at the inventory behind you. “We’ve got some. What kind do you need?”

“It’s for a clock.” Jake sighs, and you raise an eyebrow at his reaction. “It’s… a long story.”

tag list: @myfriendmagislit / @thedamagedcne / @real-fbi / @writinqss / @thisismysecrethappyplace / @natalia-helena-alianova-romanov / @dontjudgemepeepswrites / @hauntedpocdreamer / @locke-writes / @lgbtonystarks / @fangirlsarah16 / @kittensanddarkclouds / @randomfandomimagine / @ofthedewthesunlight / @bravelittlesunflower / @gothicwidowsworld​ / @halfofwhatisayismeaningless / @amirahiddleston / @interwebseriesfan24​

[the-witty-pen-name]

Deadbeat Pt. 8

Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

18+ ONLY

Warnings: age gap (reader is 21), fluff, angst, cursing, abandonment, toxic parent, violence, toxic siblings, infatuation, cheating/divorce, insecurity, mild housewife kink, mentions of prostitution, mentions of alcohol, corrupt official, fake relationship, jealousy, jail

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: You work at the bar at the edge of town, the Sheriff is going through a divorce and needs to rent a room.

A/N:

IMPORTANT UPDATE

I made a Google form to be added to my taglists, so if you want to be added, the link is in my bio. I’ll only be adding people to the list if they requested to be added by filling out the form! This way all of the requests are just in one place so I don’t miss requests! Thank you!!!

Also, if you are liking this series, consider checking out my new Lee Bodecker series, The Nanny. Part One

Thank you all so much for reading and sharing my work. Everyone whose reached out and told me how much they love the story really makes my day, oh my gosh!! I love you all so much, I’m so thankful.

This is unedited, and I missed anything I should include as a warning let me know! I hope you all enjoy!

Also, even when this fic is over (it’s not yet don’t worry!), I want to continue writing for Lee and this reader, so send me ideas of what you would want to see! Smut, fluff, I just wanna hear ideas you think would match this story! Like moments of them living together, dreams, or even ideas for one shots of Arvin x Reader when they were dating if you want more from that aspect of the story... anything else you want to see with this story that will be like one shots that are part of this same universe. 

Tags and Requests are OPEN

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six // Part Seven

That’s the funny thing about time. More often than not it’s the one to dictate you and not the other way around. Rationalizations regarding time hardly ever work out in your favor.

Oh, I just need more time for this, and then everything will work out.

Just need to make it through this week and then next week will be better.

If I had had more time, I could’ve gotten everything done.

How often did those actually ever work out? Time, especially in this town, was never an ally. It worked against you, spreading and infecting as fast as a forest fire. Time let rumors spread and time allows for circumstances beyond your control to unfold. It’s the catalyst that expertly pulls people apart and sometimes if you’re lucky, back together.

Perhaps, two years ago, you would have thought you would have been one of the lucky ones. One of the select few that time actually heals, but you had since given up on that notion. Lee was gone, ripped from you as quickly as he had swooped in. Your job was ripped from you as well, leaving you incapable of supporting yourself. And now you had Tommy back as well you needed to worry about. That was the one positive in the whole mess Lee left you to clean up alone.

The events like a domino effect just tore things done one by one. Now the room is cleaned out and his things are tucked away in boxes in your garage just like his car. It was the only physical evidence that had proved it all had actually been real.

You didn’t even want to try to visit him at first. You were hurt, and felt used. He had kept so much from you, especially your job. His lies had been so effortless. It bothered you immensely. He let you believe you had been able to land it by yourself. Maybe you could have. But now you’ll never know. What employer is going to hire you now?

Tommy got a job fairly quickly and you found a job outside of town, away from the people who knew your name or Lee’s. The article published that revealed Lee had gotten you the job was evidence enough for the town that all the rumors and gossip that they spread with no forethought were actually true. You had slept with him for the job, of course. Some people pinned the blame on him and some on you.

It took you six months of him being gone before you would even go in his room. Anything of yours that had secured a permanent spot there you just went without. But you needed the money, and Tommy had the good idea to get another tenant. He helped you box everything up and move it all down to the corner of the garage, making it all out of sight out of mind.

You had managed to sneak several of his shirts into the bottom drawer of your dresser. You were impressed with how much of a front of indifference you were able to put up. You had made it like an assembly line, and you ignored the tug at your heart at how it reminded you of when he first moved in. Keeping busy kept your thoughts at bay. However, nothing prepared you to what you found in the drawer of his nightstand.

You had just wanted to get the work done fast, removing the whole drawer and dumped the contents into a cardboard box. It was mostly junk, but then a black velvety box had caught your eye. It stood out from everything else. You hadn’t been nosy, and up until this point, you hadn’t given much thought to any of the items you had been packing away. It was a necessity to keep you sane.  But like Pandora’s box, you really just couldn’t control the urge to open it. You reasoned it was probably cufflinks or something for special occasions he just never wore. But the temptation was just too much and you sat down on the floor and fished it out of the half-filled box. You opened it and you immediately burst into tears. Not once had you cried since he had been gone. You hadn’t given yourself the opportunity to, not when there were so many things that needed to be done.

It looked brand new, a gold band with a perfectly round diamond sat perched in the box that he had hidden away in the junk drawer he assumed you’d never have a reason to go through. You distinctly remember Janie’s ring had been white gold, and you remember Lee had told you she kept her ring. He said he didn’t want it back anyways; he had said over coffee one morning. Nope, this was yours and the receipt you found in the cardboard box confirmed it when you saw the date printed on the top. He had gotten it a month before your whole world went to shit.

For the next two weeks, you had kept it stashed away, hidden under the t-shirts you selfishly kept out as well. The weeks really started to blend together, just going through the motions and not really feeling like you were living. You were on autopilot. And before you had realized it, it was coming up on a year. Time had moved somehow simultaneously slow that year and also fast enough for you to lose track. You hadn’t moved on. You were just ignoring it, not wanting to acknowledge the hurt that was still behind your eyes, still as apparent since the day he was carted away.

One night, you don’t know what switch in your mind flipped, but you started crying in the shower and then couldn’t stop until you had cried yourself to sleep. You had just exhausted yourself and the cycle continued night after night as soon as you stepped in the door after work. You were lying on your bed, still in your clothes that you had worn to work even though it was way past midnight. You turned your head and just stared at the bottom drawer of the dresser, your eyes straining from the tears and also from the darkness. Maybe, just maybe, it would make you feel better. You got up, walked over to the dresser and sat crisscross in front of it. It was probably the first conscience decision you had made in weeks. Somehow it made you feel more alive.

Stripping down to just your underwear, and leaving the work clothes haphazardly in piles on the floor, you grabbed one of the t-shirts and pulled it over your head. Just the smell of him cleared your head. The way it was able to just aid your headache was almost instantaneous. It smelled like him. It grounded you, and had the opposite effect you thought it would have. You skeptically believed you were torturing yourself, and grabbing one of his shirts would make you feel worse. For the first time in a while, you felt comforted and finding a candy wrapper in the front pocket just made you smile.

You then pulled out the ring and looked at it, taking it out of the box for the first time. You slipped it onto your left ring finger. It was a little loose, but Lee didn’t do awful guessing your ring size. You didn’t care, you thought it fit perfectly. It was understated and stunning and you had never seen a nicer ring. It was simple, very unlike what your relationship had been. Actually, that wasn’t true, you realized. It was very easy falling in love with Lee, and when it was the two of you, it was perfect. It was the world and circumstances outside of your control that made it complicated. You also realize you had forgiven a while ago, but you had been too stubborn to admit it.

Fuck it. Fuck everything that you let overpower you for so long. What? The old ladies at Church call you a slut? Let them. The amount of weight that words hold over everyone here is so toxic. No one in this town was a saint. The whole town is held hostage by their own twisted dark secrets and the way people get by is just exposing the secrets of others. No one was moral. You hadn’t done anything wrong. What was your crime? You did nothing. Lee was as guilty as sin, but what made them better? What gives anyone the right to decide for themselves his motives, and ignore the good in him to villainize him?

It was early Saturday morning. Getting up from your spot, somehow feeling lighter on your feet, you see its after two in the morning. You settle back into your bed, and the revelation allows you to have the most restful sleep you can ever remember having. You woke up feeling refreshed, and feeling alive. Your head was clear. You still didn’t look good. Your undereye bags were dark and heavy. It would take more than a few hours of uninterrupted sleep to remedy those. The pain behind your eyes was still there, but the motive had changed. It was a longing, and a missing of him that weighed heavy on your head.

You wake up shortly after seven and your body doesn’t allow you to sleep in despite your attempts. You get ready for the day, changing into a pair of your fitted jeans that were cuffed, a pair of your Keds and one of your white t-shirts. You grabbed your purse, and made your way downstairs. Tommy had already left for work early and he doesn’t like to wake you. It was probably better, because had he been there, he would probably talk you out of what you were going to do.

The bus was pretty crowded, always was on Saturday morning. You hadn’t realized how close he was to you this whole time until you realized you had been on the bus for less than twenty minutes. This whole time, he had felt so far away, almost like he was erased, even though he was just in the next town. You arrived just as visiting hours had begun. You weren’t even sure you’d be allowed to see him, or if he’d want to see you. You hadn’t come before, and you wouldn’t blame him if he refused to see you. Hell, you didn’t even know what you’d say. You didn’t think about it once. You just wanted to see him.

The guard at the front desk took all your information and got you situated and then you just had to wait. It was probably less than fifteen minutes you had to sit there but it felt like forever. It was that familiar feeling of time messing with you again. Finally, the same guard returned and led you down a really bleak hallway, until you reached a room with a long table, with seats and dividers, and phone receivers. The seats situated across from each other separated by think glass. You gulped, you’d only ever seen rooms like this in the movies, and you shuddered facing where Lee had been stuck for so long. You weren’t the only one there, and other prisoners in beige scrubs were seated behind the glass talking over the receivers with their loved ones.

You took the seat the guard motioned to, and you thanked him. You were trying your best to not shake or show how nervous you were to see him again. You were scared he would hate you for not coming sooner, or he’d say he didn’t want to see you again. You couldn’t blame him. It has been a year. Yet, your heart leaps and betrays you when he walks in and any brave front you had is gone. He looks more tired than you, and his hair is slightly shorter than when you last saw him. But overall, it’s still Lee and goddamn, what you wouldn’t give to break the glass. The silence is deafening when he doesn’t even look up at you when he grabs the receiver. Does he not even want to look at you? He sat down without even looking up from his feet. He looks so defeated.

“Lee?” you ask softly into the receiver; you aren’t even sure if it picked up the sound. Apparently, it had because his eyes shot up at the sound of your voice. His eyes were wide and looked vulnerable as he scanned your face, like he was trying to keep from blinking.

“Oh sweetheart,” he gasps, “I’m so sorry. Everything- all of it. It was all my fault.” He also looks close to tears.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” you say, unable to pull your eyes from his.

“I didn’t expect you to even want to see me, darling,” he admits.

“You left an awful mess I had to clean up first,” you joke, making him chuckle halfheartedly.

“You deserve so much better,” he said sadly, “Settle down with someone your age, with a nice job or something- get out away from this place.”

“Christ, Lee, if I wanted that do you think I’d be here?” you joke. He smiles.

Four months ago, Arvin offered to drive you home from Church. Even with your brother being back, you still ended up going by yourself most Sundays. You weren’t even sure why you still showed up. It was an hour of being stuck in a room with a ton of people where you didn’t even have one ally. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. You had Lenora, who’s sympathetic smiles from across the aisle let you know her silent solidarity, and you had Arvin, who wasn’t one to care what others thought much anyways.

Leaving Church now since the news was finally printed, no one tried to talk to you afterwards except for Arvin and his family. His grandmother was still as sweet as always, but you could see how much she pitied you. Arvin was always friendly still, and he had been so helpful with everything.

“I don’t even care if it was true you know,” he said suddenly, pulling your attention from the open window on the passenger side.

“If what was true?” you ask looking back to him.

“You know, how everyone is talking,” he says in a hushed tone, not wanting to actually say it.

“That I slept with the Sheriff to get the job?” You finish his sentence for him.

“Yeah, I- It doesn’t change anything,” he says, “You’re still you and I don’t care. We’re all human.”

“It’s not true,” you confirm, crossing your arms, and then looking back out at the passing landscape.

“Look (Y/N),” Arvin continued, “I’m sorry about what happened. I feel awful. I want to do anything I can to help you.”

“You’re always such a good friend to me,” you smile, “You shouldn’t be putting yourself out too much for my sake.”

“I want to,” he insists with a smile, “We got a history, you and me.”

“Yeah,” you say with a content sigh.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately,” he admits nervously. He pulls in front of your house, and as usual he runs over quickly to get the door for you. “And just that we aren’t kids anymore,” he continues, and you nod. You dig for your keys as he talks.

“I got a job, pays pretty good,” he continues on, “You got a good job, and this old house. I know you better than anyone. I know it isn’t that romantic, but I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I’d love to marry you, if you’d have me.”

“A-Arvin, are you serious?” you ask, your heading whipping up at the sudden proposal you hadn’t anticipated.

“Tell me it wouldn’t make sense,” he laughs softly with a shrug, pushing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Arvin, I don’t want to just marry someone for the practicality of it,” you sigh.

“It’s you and me,” he continues, holding your shoulders gently and his eyes are latched onto yours. “I know I made a horrible mistake, but I have been trying so hard to make it up to you. You’re the only girl I ever loved- I never stopped. I loved you when we were eighteen, I love you know that we’re twenty-two and I swear if you let me, I can love you for the rest of my life.”

“Arvin…”

“It’s always been us, hasn’t it?” he asks rhetorically, “There’s never been anyone else…”

“I’m in love with Lee,” you say hurriedly, cutting him off before he continued.

“You what?”

“I’m in love with Lee,” you say again, slower and much more purposeful. You watch his whole expression fall, and it breaks your heart to hurt him.

“You’re in love with Sheriff Bodecker?” He asks, “That fucking deadbeat?”

“He’s not,” you insist, “You don’t know him…”

“You don’t either, (Y/N),” he cuts you off. “He’s no good and crooked. He manipulated you, took advantage…”

“No, he didn’t,” you affirm.

“(Y/N), he’s a liar, and he’s good at it,” he continues, “You don’t think he just up and told you anything he thought you’d want to hear to just get what he wanted…”

“You’re wrong!”

“He’s an alcoholic, no good drunk who took advantage of you with your mama gone…”

“Shut up!”

“He was using you!”

“You’re wrong, Arvin! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Okay, fine,” he sighs, “Let’s say you’re right. So, you’re gonna wait for him? Wait out the five years until you’re twenty-six? And then after you wait for him to get out, how do you know he wants you? Then what are you going to do? I know right now you hate me, but God, (Y/N), I’m a good guy who only wants to put your happiness first… I’ve always put you first. I love you and I’m not going to make you play a ton of games or keep things a secret. I’ll run around this whole town right now screaming how much I love you at the top of my lungs so the whole town knows.”

“I don’t love you.”

Lee still can’t believe you’re finally here in front of him. He thought about this moment for so long. He had even tried to prepare himself to brace the possibility that you might never want anything to do with him ever again. His dreams would plague him with thoughts of you. Sometimes they were happy, and he’d be woken up with the horrible realization that they hadn’t been true, and others were worse. He’d dream about getting out, and seeing you with someone else. Married, and happy, and he wasn’t the one you settled down with. Sometimes, he wouldn’t actually see you with someone else, it was always just implied, or he’d see you with Arvin.

Most nights he’d jolt awake and be covered in sweat, and he would still be cursed by the images that flashed before him in his dreams. He just thinks about all the things he wished he could change and how much he’s hurt you. He just thinks about all the things he would say if he ever got to see you, or what he would do to try to win you back. Then, other nights, he’d be much more self-deprecating and he’d internally fight with himself about how you don’t want him anymore, and you’d realize he was never what you wanted.

Now, he can’t believe you’re here across the glass. He could see the pain and exhaustion behind your eyes and he hates that he is the cause of it. He can’t stop looking at you, and part of him thinks he’s actually back in his room, having another dream about you that he will wake up from and find himself alone again. His eyes scan your face and just wants to take in every part of you, it had been so long. Then his eyes land on a shimmer of something on your hand and he might just die in his seat.

“You found it?” he whispers, looking at the ring on your finger. You look puzzled and then you follow his gaze down to your hand. You had forgotten you hadn’t taken it off.

“Um, yeah,” you admit shyly, looking down at it, “I assumed it was mine.”

“It is,” he smiles, pressing his fingertips gently to the glass briefly. “If you really want it.”

“It’d be a shame for it to just sit in the box,” you shrug. Neither one of you say anything for a moment, neither one of you not knowing what to say to fill the silence.

“I’m going to wait for you,” you declare, aimlessly playing with the ring on your finger.

“Are you sure?” he asks. He can’t let himself get too hopeful. Not yet.

“I’ve never been surer of anything, Lee,” you affirm.

“I will make it up to you.”

“Yes, you will,” you joke, making him laugh.

“I love you,” he sighs relieved, like the weight of everything that has held him down this past year just vanished. You wanted him, and he wouldn’t lose you.

“I love you too.”

PART NINE

Taglist:

@scar-is-bi @jiminlife2k18 @asylummaniac01 @rosalynshields @charmed-asylum @jamesbuchananbuckybarnes1917 @alexandrathegreat3 @hersilencedscreams @malar-region @purplerain85 @vesper852 @smilewolfdolan @softshell-taco @champagnebucky @lilacmeadows @mollygetssherlockcoffee @bluebouquetcupcake29 @stucky-my-ship @moonliightbabes @sassy-kassaay @lharrietg @bbmommy0902​ @hoe-for-sebstan 

[kusagrasskusa]

Michael Myers X Short! Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

I wrote this story on Wattpad (@Red_scarfed_person) and decided to post it here lol. If you saw this on Wattpad and don't believe me, you can go to my page on Wattpad and see that in my Messages, I talk about having a Tumblr account and left my Tumblr username there :)

And rereading my old story scared me. If you're here expecting a violent, fearful story, please don't read this. This is full of the sarcasm someone who lacks sleep can muster.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ah yes. Y/N's favorite part of the day. Trying to cook. Was that sarcasm? Partially.

Y/N loved cooking; it was so satisfying to see people enjoy her food. But the part she hated was trying to reach the goDDAMN bowls and ingredients from the cabinets. Why did the construction workers have to put them 17 light years high?

Of course, it wasn't the construction workers' fault. It's just that Y/N is the size of a fifth grader. 4'6" tall. What makes it harder to live being so short? Living with someone who's 6'7."

You see, a while ago, there was a certain incident...

A tall male in a white mask and blue jumpsuit, brown hair and blue eyes, found himself in the home of another. He silently panted in his mask, in pain even if he wouldn't show it. Rolling up his sleeves and pulling up the bottom of his shirt, Michael started checking for severe wounds.

"Damn, you're hot..." Some short woman mumbled, turning on the kitchen light. Michael perked up, pulling his shirt back down and reaching for his knife.

"Oh, damn, wrong time to speak up? Sorry," Y/N said, not even knowing if she was being sarcastic in that sentence or not. Mainly since author-san doesn't know if their being sarcastic or not. Anyway--

Michael started walking towards her with the knife, not running since we all know that Michael can walk and still win Olympic runs. Y/N just grabbed a candy bar in her cabinet, opening it and taking a bit.

Michael was confused as hell. As a result, he stopped walking and lowered the knife. "So, you're not gonna kill me? That sucks since my dept is unbelievably high." Michael blinked quickly in confusion, thinking, then it might not be too high with short you are.

Y/N sighed, then gasped. "Oh wait! You're that boogeyman guy who everyone is scared of!" Y/N said with a small smile. She wasn't sadistic or anything, but she was sorta excited to see him.

Michael just stood there, not even knowing how to react for the first time in his life. Y/N then sighed again, throwing away the wrapper to the candy bar and shrugging. "If you decide to kill me later, stab my neck. It's very sensitive. Oh and my room is down the hall, to the left. And my couch is comfortable if you wanna sleep there."

And with those last words, Y/N walked to her room, closing the door behind her and getting it bed. Leaving a confused serial killer.

The next morning, Y/N yawned as she walked out of her bedroom and to the kitchen. Her kitchen and living room was one large room, the kitchen set to the right near the front door, and the living room on the other side of the room.

Between them is a hallway that leads to a bedroom and bathroom. It was a two story house. The top two floors had an office room, another bathroom, and a storage room.

Anyway, Y/N rubbed sleep from her eyes as she walked over to the stove and grabbing a pan. She also pulled out milk, pepper, salt and eggs and set them ok the counter. But now she needed a bowl to even put those in.

Michael heard noise from the kitchen which resulted in him waking up. He slowly sat up on the couch, turning to face Y/N. He got up and walked towards her.

"Why is this so high up," Y/N mumbled to herself as she tried to reach a bowl from a cabinet. She couldn't even reach the handle on the cabinet. Growling in frustration, Y/N gave into defeat.

But then comes Michael opening the cabinet for her, making her help and turn around. "W-Who the hell are you!" Y/N shrieked, blushing a bit. I mean, here she is, a tiny gal blocked in the corner of the kitchen by a tall, mascular guy.

Memories came flooding back and Y/N remembered who he was. "Ooooh, so you're that boogeyman guy? I remember now...wait... I let a damn serial killer into my house!?" Y/N shrieked again as Michael set down the bowl, turning on the stove.

As Y/N went through her epiphany, Michael actually started to cook. It wasn't until he was done did Y/N snap out of it. He set out two plates and cups, putting the scrambled eggs on them and filling the cups with F/D.

"W-Wait...so you aren't going to kill me? You're really gonna..." Y/N mumbled as Michael grabbed a nearby receipt and pen. He wrote down something, making Y/N shush and lean over at what he's writing.

"My name is Michael. I'm not planning on hurting you anytime soon. What is your name?" it read. Y/N was confused as hell now. Why would he spare her? What is so special about her? I should just be grateful, Y/N thought.

"I'm Y/N, Y/N L/N..." Y/N said, looking up at Michael. She blushed a bit, making eye contact. Michael grabbed a plate and cup and handed it to her, then grabbed his own and sat down at the small diner table. Well, way to go from one thing to another, Y/N thought as she sat down next to him.

As much as it confused her, Y/N still wasn't sure how she was still alive. But she was grateful she was, anyway. She always the tall male attractive, but never had feelings for him until recently.

Even if he'd refuse to get things for her that were high up, give her looks that just screamed out about her being short, and wrote down short on sticky notes and put them everywhere, she fell for him. What a lovely crush.

"Why the hell are the damn cabinets 17 light years high," Y/N growled as she climbed on the counter. Just as she was about to grab a bowl, she yelped when large arms wrapped around her an pulled her down carefully.

"Michael! Hey, let go!" Y/N yelled, trying to be serious despite how much she wanted to smile and laugh. Michael shook his head, hugging her tighter.

Despite how badly be wanted to tease her about her height, he kept quiet of course. He didn't just want a hug, either, he wanted to pull her down so she'd have to struggle to get back on the counter again. As said before, what a lovely crush.

Michael eventually pulled away, taking a couple steps back. Y/N looked over at him with a sour-sweet look, blushing a bit. She crossed her arms, "so, was that all you wanted?" Yeah, is that all you wanted, baka? ≧n≦

Michael shook his head, pointing to the bathroom. Y/N raised a brow. "What?" She asked, thinking for a moment. "You need a towel or something?" Michael then nodded.

Y/N smiled a bit, nodding. She walked to her room, Michael following until they reached the door. Grabbing a towel, Y/N walked back over to him and handed it. "It might be a bit small for a giant such as yourself, but here."

Michael nodded, then walked towards the bathroom and went inside. Y/N smiled a bit, thinking to herself about what he'd look like once he got out. It made her cheeks heat up and her heart beat a bit faster.

And about 15 minutes later, Y/N was back in the living room, watching TV. "C'mon, Saitama, beat the hell outta them..." Y/N mumbled under her breath, watching an intense fighting scene.

Y/N perked when she heard the bathroom door open and looked over. Long story short about that was happening in her mind: bad idea.

"MMMM-" Y/N screamed muffledly, having covered her mouth with a pillow that moment. Her face was red, blushing hard from the sight. The towel covered just enough on Michael to where nothing was shown, but he was h o t. Even the scars on him weren't seen as disturbing or anything.

Michael cocked his head, holding his clothes in his hands. He ignored Y/N's reaction to seeing him, since he only cared about his jumpsuit being cleaned. Of course he would act like that--

Y/N, already knowing what Michael wanted, slowly stood up and walked over. She was figitting, clearly still flustered as she grabbed his clothes. "I-I'll just, uh, go wash these..." She mumbled as she walked passed him quickly, to the washing machine and dryer.

Michael blinked a couple times, thinking about the hell he's supposed to where for the time being. Just the towel?

About five minutes passed, Michael was still waiting next to the bathroom for Y/N to come back. He just wanted something to c h a n g e i n t o.

Alas, the moment finally came. Y/N walked back out after almost crying to herself in the laundry room. Typing this out now made me realize I'm making it sound like Y/N was-- well, if you know, you know. But no, that wasn't happening. Our child, Y/N, was just flustered, ok? Yes, our child. I care about you so much reader and I love your OC even though idfk what they look like. They're a beautiful specimen. :):):):):):) Anyway, back to the story.

"H-Hey," Y/N stuttered as she walked out, waving as Michael. Michael, who kept his mask on by the way, just rolled his eyes from inside the mask, handing her a piece of paper. It said that he needed a change of clothes, to which Y/N just chuckled about. "I-I mean...Do you reallllyyy? Can't you just stick with that? You don't look too bad in it, heh heh."

Michael have her a dull look from under his mask, making Y/N sigh. "Fine, whatever. But let's be honest, I'm not gonna have anything that fits you. You should just stick with that," she said, shrugging and pretending to calm about seeing him like that. She was clearly in a flirty mood, which she sometimes gets like when she wants to annoy Michael.

He likes to out sticky notes everywhere with the word short on it, pull her off counters so she has a harder time getting stuff from cabinets, and put his hand above her head as if he was saying, "You're not tall enough to do ____." So it's only normal she would flirt to get him back. But mayyybe acting like that isn't a good decision on her part.

Michael sighed silently, grabbing Y/N"s wrist softly. "Wha--" Y/N cut herself off when Michael pulled her close, leaning down to get his face close to her's. Then, for the very first time in years, Michael spoke.

"Whatever makes you happier~" Michael whispered in her ear; his voice was low and husky. Y/N turned red immediately, incapable of even coming up with a response. Hold on- a tall, mysterious guy with a good figure pulled me close and now can speak, in a hot goddamn voice at that, Y/N thought.

Michael caressed her cheek, pulling away. Y/N had her mouth slightly parted, her eyes widened. "Yo...You can..." Y/N stuttered, not even able to come up with a sentence. So instead, she just nodded slowly, slowly walking into her room and gesturing for him to follow. Michael smiled proudly under his mask, following her.

Yes, what he did was small but Y/N was the kind of person to be a bit extra about these things. Of course it affected her. Anyway, about five minutes later, Y/N couldn't find anything for him to wear other than a large hoodie and very oversized sweatpants she got from a Plot Convenience Sale, which was kinda tight for him. But at least she had a use for the sweatpants, since that was kinda just in her closet.

Y/N took a deep breath once Michael was done changing, coming out of her room. Of course, she left the room when he got changed so don't think dirty, precious readers. Y/N looked over, smiling a bit with heated cheeks at Michael. The small moment from earlier was still bothering her.

"Does it fit?" she asked, raising a brow. Michael nodded, putting his hands in the hoodie pockets. "That's good," Y/N mumbled, staring at the ground awkwardly. A couple moments of silence later, Michael smiled from under his mask, taking it off while Y/N was too busy being lost in a daydream to notice.

"Thank you," Michael whispered as her kissed her forehead, making Y/N flinch. Because Michael appears to be as fast as light, he was already putting his mask on by the time Y/N looked up. Her face was red again, but even worse than before.

"M-Michael, did you just--" Michael was already walking away, brushing her off. "Hey, listen to me!" Y/N yelled as she caught up to him. Like hell that was going to be a one time thing, Y/N thought. I'm going to see his face eventually, she promised herself.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Honeysuckle

hi i have no self control and really really really love tattoo artist!jaskier so here we are again. this is a prequel to the nipple piercings fic wherein geralt is absolutely smitten from day one. not the same vibe but im telling myself thats to be expected bc these take place like five years apart lol

Warnings: tattoos. if they make you squeamish this is not your fic, swearing, mild anxiety, not much else

___________________

Geralt’s palms were sweating when he walked into the little tattoo shop above his favorite deli. The artist he booked was nice enough in the email, and the front desk gal was sweet on the phone, but he’d never gotten a tattoo before and his anxiety was telling him to run home and bury himself under all the blankets he owned. 

A familiar voice greeted him when he came through the door, “Hey! Sweet, you’re early! Jask is just setting up the chair!” 

The coily brown haired receptionist gestured to a black leather couch across the room and Geralt just barely caught a glimpse of tattooed vines from under her hoodie sleeve. He nodded and smiled, taking a seat and trying not to look so stiff. The receptionist called another artist over and Geralt was surprised when the taller, purple eyed woman wrapped her arms around her shoulders and placed a kiss on her cheek as they looked at the monitor. It was the good kind of surprise, Geralt decided, the kind that sets you at ease when you were gearing up for a fight. The receptionist caught his unintentional smile and winked at him before he suddenly found his nail beds fascinating.

“You Geralt?”

His eyes scanned over the man asking from bottom to top and nearly lost his ability to speak, “Hm? Thats me.”

He looked like he came straight form the Seattle grunge scene in the 90’s, but showered and with beautiful floral blackout sleeves up to the wrists on each arm. It seemed the only color over his whole body was the few yellow buttercups scattered through the pattern, ending in a bouquet of all sorts of plants and flowers and herbs at his collar bones, only slightly covered by his Heathers on Broadway tank. 

He flicked his wispy brown hair out of his unreasonably pretty blue eyes and smiled so brilliantly Geralt had to remember to breathe, “I’m Jaskier. Come on back!”

Geralt gave him a curt nod and stood to follow. 

“I hope you brought shorts, it might be a bitch to walk home in that.” Jaskier said, leading him into one of the rooms down a long hallway.

Geralt was suddenly regretting listening to Lambert. He wanted to melt into the floor when he realized he would have to say this to the beautiful tattoo artist’s face, “They uh… they zip away…”

“Oh my god.” Jaskier breathed, finally looking at Geralt’s knees, “I didn’t even know they made those anymore.”

“I swear to god, my brother wears them for work and told me to-”

Jaskier waved his hand, clearly holding back a smile, “No worries, Ron Stoppable.”

Geralt rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep from smiling, “Do you make a habit of making fun of your clients?”

“Only when I’m sure they can handle it,” he teased, “Now off with the hideous zipper pants, I gotta shave your thigh before I start the drawing.”

Once Geralt was shaved and positioned every which way on the table/chair contraption, he finally got to see the rough sketch. The marker felt cool and tickled the back of his knee, but surprisingly to him, he kept up a relaxed conversation, almost flirting before he thought better of it. 

“Do you like where everything is? Want any more grass? Or flowers? Now’s the time for changes, don’t be shy.” 

Geralt turned his leg this way and that, looking at the little blue and purple marks in a band just above his knee in the mirror, “You’re the professional, what do you think?”

Jaskier took a step back and reached for a roll of paper towels and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, “You said this was your first tattoo right?”

Geralt nodded.

“Okay, one less flower on the back then.”

“Why?”

“It’s one of the most painful places to get tattooed.”

“Keep it. I like it.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, “Alright, Hot Shot. Face down, we’ll start there first.”

Holy fuck Jaskier was right. Geralt had a high pain tolerance, but this was a whole different kind of pain. He had his arms crossed under his forehead and was doing his best to take deep, even breaths but Jesus Christ, that little chuckle-fuck just kept going over what felt like the same spot. But hell would freeze over before Geralt tapped out, so he forced his breath out and kept going.

“Why honeysuckle?” Jaskier asked as he sat back to dip the machine in more ink.

Geralt took the opportunity to shift a bit and breathe easy before he lied, “Just picked it.”

Jaskier’s hands were back on his thigh, “You don’t have to tell me, it’s just not something I’m asked to do very often. Never for a first tattoo.”

Geralt’s smile turned into a grimace as the needles were back at his skin. Whether it was his sincerity, pretty eyes, or Geralt’s desperate need for a distraction, he bucked up and answered his question, “My- ah, someone told me to find a reminder of things I loved. My horse eats nothing but honeysuckle whenever we go on the trails.”

"That's so fucking cute," Jaskier sighed, still attacking the back of Geralt's leg, "Wouldn't have pegged you for a horse guy. What's their name?" 

The pain was easier to ignore when Geralt was rambling about Roach. Jaskier kept the conversation flowing, maybe indulging Geralt’s ramblings a little too much, but by the time he flipped Geralt over to do the inside of his knee they were joking and swapping disastrous college stories like old friends. They took a snack break where the purple eyed woman, Yennefer he'd learned, made fun of his zip shorts and Triss scolded her. It was nice, he felt oddly at home here with these people he’d just met. 

The front half of the tattoo was nothing compared to the back and Geralt was able to breathe and just chat. He did his best to convince himself that the feeling in his chest wasn’t disappointment when Jaskier finally finished and wrapped his leg in saniderm. 

Jaskier leaned on the front desk while they waited for Geralt’s card to run, "What are you doing after this?" 

Geralt's stomach turned with nervous excitement and he truly didn't know how he got his words to come out so casual, "Was just gonna get some ramen and watch reruns, why?" 

Jaskier worried at his bottom lip as he stapled the receipt to some paperwork, "There's a great ramen place around the corner and I don't have another appointment tonight…" 

Geralt positively beamed, "If you can stand to be seen with someone wearing zipper shorts in public, I'd love to."

[stillebesat]

Christmas Eve (5/5)

Sanders Sides: Janus, Patton, Roman, Virgil Pairings: Past Roceit (was toxic), Familial Moceit (Dad Janus, Son Patton) Blurb: Of all the barriers that Janus expected to have to overcome in order to get his son a pet for Christmas, encountering his Ex, Roman, working in the pet store had never once crossed his mind. Fic Type: Christmas!Eve Fic, Past Lovers to Enemies to ??? trope, Dad!Janus, Kid!Patton, Frogmin!Virgil, MythicalMin!AU, Frogmin!AU Overall Fic Warnings: Past Toxic Relationship Talk, Manipulation/Lying Talk, Human-ish Creatures kept as Pets Taglist in Reblog

To Catch Up: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 

I’m sorry. 

Janus hadn’t missed how Roman had reacted to the words. How he’d tried to brush them off like it was nothing.

It wasn’t nothing.

It had taken him a long time, with the encouragement of his therapist and Patton’s unwavering love, to grow comfortable admitting when he was at fault. To apologize. To say those two little words and actually mean them without trying to use them for his own gain. 

He hadn’t even realized he’d even said ‘I’m sorry’ until he saw his Ex jolt like he’d just gotten electrocuted. 

I’m sorry. 

Two little words.

Two little words that he’d never said to Roman while they were together, but had made him, his Prince, say constantly back for every little slight or wrong doing Janus had accused him of. 

Two little words.

Two little words that he needed to say sooner rather than later to his Ex in a far more meaningful way.

I’m sorry.  

The phrase whirled in his head relentlessly as he half listened to Roman’s spiel about the store’s guarantees and return policies for their Min while also listening to Pattey’s excited chattering to the little Frogmin nearby as the two new friends looked through the shelves of Min clothing for a ‘gift outfit’ for Virgil to wear home. 

Apparently it was part of their Christmas package this year for their Mythical Mins...and quite considerate of Roman to bring up as Janus hadn’t realized, even with all his research, that the Mins would need clothing. That they would want to wear anything. 

He would have to keep that in mind. That Virgil should be treated less like a frog and more like a person. And people liked clothes. 

“What about this one!?” Pattey asked, pulling out something that was bright blue, though at Virgil’s hiss, quickly put it back. “But blue is so pretty, Vee!” 

“No.” 

“A little blue?”  “NO.” 

Their chatter in the background was comforting, and yes, semi distracting, but with his and Roman’s heads nearly touching as his Ex pointed to various key lines on the multiple forms he had him filling out, it helped to keep him grounded enough from his own thoughts to nod and hum at the proper moments as Roman spoke and not look like a completely besotted idiot.

Janus couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at his lips though as he tapped his pen on the counter, watching his Ex from the corner of his eye. It almost felt like old times. Back when they’d be up until four in the morning, a single desk lamp illuminated between them as the two of them desperately tried to hammer out the final details in their latest project. Roman even emphasized the important points the same way. Triple circling the return policy with a black marker as Janus dutifully initialed and signed where his Ex indicated. 

That didn’t mean he didn’t notice when Roman skipped over the line stating that he could call the store anytime if he had any concerns about the Frogmin. It was a slight enough omission, done so smoothly by his Ex, that If he hadn’t been reading along to keep himself semi-focused on what was being said, Janus would never have known.

He bit back a sigh, ignoring the ache in his chest as he signed his name to the bottom of the page. If they’d actually been back in college, he wouldn’t have hesitated to point out that Roman had skipped a line. Teased him about being careless with binding documents and surely he didn’t mean to imply that Janus couldn’t call. 

But he’d grown enough to recognize that this was a sign that Janus shouldn’t call. Not that he couldn’t. Roman was discretely setting a boundary for him not to cross and he...well he would recognize and respect it. 

“Is that all?” He asked, placing the pen on the counter. 

Roman’s eyes flickered as he straightened. “Well...you still need to pay.” He said turning for the register to ring up the Frogmin. “But yes that’s all the forms to say that Virgil is yours now.” He gestured to the pinpad before grabbing the papers flipping through the pages to separate out the copies that the store needed to keep.

“YAY!” Patton cradled Virgil, now wearing a black and purple hoodie, close to his cheek, beaming up at Roman. “Vee can come home and eat all the Spiders!!” 

“Maybe not all of them tonight, Pattey.” Janus said, giving his son a wink as he tried to push away his own gloomy thoughts and the pressure he could feel building in his chest. 

Stupid conscience.

He recognized he needed to apologize. To try and make amends for those two turbulent years he’d put Roman through. But it hardly felt like the right moment. It was Christmas Eve for crying out loud! How much more cliche could he get?

“We wouldn’t want Virgil to get a stomach ache and be sick on Christmas now would we?” He remarked, pulling out his credit card.

When would he ever have another moment though to tell his Ex he was sorry? He lived far enough away that a casual visit was out of the question and more than likely not wanted. Not unless something happened with Virgil...and even then...it would suck to have to face Roman again under well less than ideal circumstances.

Tonight was hardly ideal. 

But their conversation had gone civilly enough that maybe...maybe this was the best moment. 

The only moment.

It was two little words.

He could say them.

He just needed to prove to Roman that he actually meant them. 

Patton paused, frowning as he turned his head to Virgil before his eyes lit up again. “One spider as a treat.” He whispered. “Then you can help me put out the cookies and milk for Santa!” 

Virgil frowned, pulling his hoodie over his head. “Santa?” He asked at the same time Roman spoke up.

“What kind of cookies are you putting out for the big guy? Sugar? Snickerdoodle?” He asked, scooting the paperwork over for Janus to take.  

“CHOCOLATE CHIP!” Patton placed Virgil on his shoulder before spreading his arms out wide. “Daddy made thiiiisss many! That way Santa has lots and I can have lots too!” 

“Oh?” Roman raised an eyebrow to Janus. You bake? He mouthed.

Janus rolled his eyes, folding up the forms and placing them in an inside pocket. “Surprise. I finally figured out how to work an oven.” 

“Without starting the dishwasher on fire?”

Janus flushed, fumbling to put his card back into his wallet as the machine beeped at him. “Yes.” 

Crofters, why did his Ex have to remember that particular incident. It had hardly been his...proudest moment. Definitely one where he should have apologized, but instead had managed to convince the landlord that faulty wiring was the cause and he and Roman wouldn’t need to pay damages. 

Virgil snickered as Pattey looked between the two of them. “But Daddy...dishwashers only use water. There’s no fire there!”

Roman smirked, handing him the receipt. “Exactly.” 

Patton turned to him, tugging on his pants. “Daddy? Dishwasher’s aren’t for food. Don’t cook in them!” 

He reached down ruffling his son’s hair. “I know, Pattey. I only did it once. Don’t plan to do it again.”  

“Good! Because soggy cookies are not yummy. Not at all--oh! Mr. Prince Roman!” Pattey whirled to Roman. “Can Virgil eat cookies?” 

Roman flashed him a smile, eyes alive with laughter that made Janus’s heart skip a beat. “Yes, though not your usual cookies. Virgil needs a higher protein diet with less sugar than you do.” He grabbed a package hanging from a peg nearby, holding it out for Pattey to see. “These are Cricket Crumbles. Kinda like your no-bake cookies, but made from crickets instead.”

Patton lit up as he spun back to his dad, eliciting a squeaky hiss from Virgil as the poor Min clung to his jacket as Pattey grabbed onto Janus’s sleeve tugging it. “Daaaaddd?” 

Yah….He had seen that coming a mile away. “Mmm?”

“CanwegethecrumblesforVirgilsohecanhavecookieswithustoowhenwegethome? Plleeeeaassseeeeee?”

Janus raised an eyebrow to his Ex. “Is it too late---”

Beep. 

“Oops.” Roman said, not at all sounding apologetic as he pulled his hand away from the bag he’d just scanned. “That will be $7.89” 

 “Right.” He pulled out his credit card again, chuckling at Patton’s excited squeal as Roman handed the bag over to him. 

“YAY! Look Vee! Cookieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

“...I see that.” The Frogmin said in his low tone, tilting his head at the bag, his nostrils flaring.  

His Ex laughed, moving from behind the register, gesturing them to the door. “You always bend that easily to your kid?”

Yes. Janus shrugged, ignoring how his heart had leaped at hearing Roman’s booming laugh. “It’s Christmas.” 

Roman raised an eyebrow, amber eyes bright and sparkling and just perfect as he pulled open the door. “Mmhmmm. You spoil him rotten don’t you?” He said, lowering his voice as Patton and Vee darted past them into the night. 

“Look, look Vee! See that’s our car over there, and ooo look! All the stars are out!” Pattey cried pointing upwards, thankfully stopping on the curb without Janus having to remind him not to run out into the parking lot--a shockingly empty parking lot considering how busy it had been just twenty minutes earlier.  

“Not as much as you’d think.” He wanted Pattey to be better than him. To grow up realizing he couldn’t get everything he wanted with a well placed pout or scream. 

Speaking of being better.

Stomach twisting in knots, Janus placed his hand on the door before Roman could shut it and physically and figuratively lock him out. “Roman…” He drew in a steading breath, mentally crossing his fingers that Patton wouldn’t interrupt the moment as he looked him straight in the eyes. “I know it’s not the best timing.” Horrible timing. Who apologizes on Christmas Eve except the protagonists in a stupid holiday Romance Movie? “But I don’t know if I’ll see--I’m--I just want--It’s not worth much all things considered but I--well--” He’d probably never get another opportunity to do this.

Roman’s eyes flashed as he raised an eyebrow, his fingers going white as they gripped the door.

“I’m sorry.” Janus said, forcing himself to maintain eye contact as he spoke. “I don’t expect you to accept it.” He really wanted him to though. “But...I am sorry. Truly sorry. For how I treated you, our relationship. I--I was in the wrong and I shouldn’t have--”

Roman raised his hand, a single finger pressing against his lips, shutting up Janus entirely, breath catching in his throat.  “You’re right.” He said softly, eyes glittering in the faint lights from the parking lot. “It’s rather cliche timing.” He dropped his hand, taking a step back. “And...I don’t…” He exhaled, turning his head away to look back inside the store. “I’m not sure I want to hear it just yet, Dae.”

Janus flushed, feeling his cheeks heat up despite the rest of him feeling like he’d just got dunked in freezing water. “Because it sounds fake right?” He always sucked at apologizing when it actually counted. It never sounded real to him either. 

Roman huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, you actually sounded genuine. But Dae--” He shook his head. “You put me through a lot. A lot. In college and I--I’m--I can see things are...different. I’m just...not ready yet. To accept your apology. I’d like to think I would at some point. But right now? Here?” He made eye contact once more, amber eyes surprisingly still glowing with warm. “I can’t. It’s hard enough to believe that you’ve actually changed despite what I’ve seen tonight.”

I only ever knew Liar Dae.

Right. Janus slumped, chest aching as he nodded. “I understand.” He’d known a fifteen minute conversation and an apology couldn’t erase those two years of toxic manipulation that easily. But he’d---he’d hoped--

“Good.” Roman searched his eyes before visibly relaxing. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this...but have a Merry Christmas, alright?” 

It wasn’t the ending he wanted. But all things considered. It was a good enough note for their unexpected meeting to end on. Janus nodded. “Merry Christmas.” He said softly, watching as his Ex locked the doors and disappeared deeper inside without a looking back.  

“Daddy?” 

Janus jumped, tearing his eyes from the door as his son grabbed his hand. “Mmm?” 

His little LilyPatton squeezed it tightly, looking up at him. “You should get two cookies tonight.”   

Janus chuckled, squeezing his hand back. “You think so?” He asked, glancing back to the doors one last time.

“Yes!” Pattey tugged at his arm, pulling him towards the car as Virgil crouched on his shoulder, head swiveling between the store and the car. “Dragon Witches always get cookies after working with the Prince! It’s the rules!”

“Oh? Well then, I can’t argue with that.” Janus pulled out the car keys, jangling them as he offered his son a small smile. “What do you think? Should we let Virgil drive us home to get those cookies?”

“DRIVE?!” Screeched the Min, mismatched eyes growing so wide they seemed to take up his entire face as he tried to bury himself in Pattey’s jacket. “ME?!” 

Janus laughed, purposely putting any further thoughts of Roman on the back burner until after his son and new friend went to bed. 

No use wishing for what could have been when he had his family right here in front of him. 

“No, I’ll drive.” He said unlocking the door, helping Pattey hop inside, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead before buckling in his son. “Lessons will have to wait until you’re older, Virgil.” 

Or until tomorrow morning when Patton unwrapped the remote control car Santa would be bringing him.  

End. 

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby.

Day 10: Shop Till You Drop

Warnings: Bad Language words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  Instalment 10 of mine, @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ and @jennmurawski13​ ‘s telling of Ransom’s quest to become a normal human being. This time Ransom takes on a Supermarket…

Series Masterlist. 

“Will you stop!” You sighed, exasperatedly.

“Stop what?” Ransom frowned, tossing another box of Pop Tarts into the trolley he was pushing round the Supermarket

“Loading the trolley full of crap!”

“Why?”

“Because we don’t need it.”

“So?” he shrugged “I want it.”

You let out another groan “That’s all it ever boils down to with you isn’t it?”

“What the fuck is eating you today?” he snarked back, folding his arms across his chest. “Or is it more a case of nothing has eaten you, if you get my drift?”

“God you’re a fucking…” you growled and shook your head, “frankly the thought of you going near me at the moment makes me wanna puke. I’m tired. I have back ache and my legs are sore. We came in with a list and it should have taken us twenty minutes tops but oh no, you just keep stopping for a load of shit we don’t need and it's taking us twice as long and I just want to go home!”

The last word broke as you began to sob, the damned hormones flooding your system and Ransom’s eyes flew open in panic. He was used to your little outbursts thanks to his spawn growing inside of you, but this was the first time you’d had one in public.

“Y/N, stop.” He urged you, moving round the trolley towards you. He hesitated, before he opened his arms, clearly not sure if you were going to slap him or not but you didn’t have the energy. Instead you let him pull you to him, pressing your face into his sweater, breathing in his heady scent. His hands gently ran up your back as you fought for control, eventually pulling away as you looked up at him. His large hands cupped your face gently and he pressed his lips to yours, smirking a little “And you say I’m a brat?”

“Fuck off, Ransom.” You pulled away.

“Okay, okay!” he chuckled. “Look, why don’t you-“ he fished into his jeans pocket and handed you the keys to the Merc “-go wait in the car? I’ll finish up.”

“You’re going to finish getting the groceries?”

“Yeah.”

You blinked, before you shrugged “Fine, but don’t forget anything on that list or I swear to God you’ll be couched for a week.”

“Jesus, Y/N.” He plucked the list out of your hand, rolling his eyes “Just go for fucks sake.”

You glared at him once more before you turned on your heel and left him in the middle of the aisle, without so much as a look back. As you left through the exit, you took a deep breath, instantly feeling calmer and you felt a little guilty at your outburst as he hadn’t actually been doing much wrong. He had always been a pain in the ass when it came to shopping and you’d tried so hard to get him to stay at home, but he was insistent that he came to help. You should be grateful really, you knew that, he was only trying to ensure you didn’t do too much but all it resulted in was him getting on your last nerve and an emotional outburst like the one you’d just had.

True to form he’d been a complete fucking tool from the moment you set foot in the shop. Completely ignoring you and piling anything and everything he liked the look of into the trolley, even if you knew half of it would go to waste. But that was him and his damned family all over. More money than fucking sense.

Fuck it, he could deal with it. You were going to take a nap in the comfy passenger seat whilst he finished. And woe betide him try anything when you got home later on that evening, if he so much as made a single amorous advance towards you that night you’d rip his cock off.

****

Ransom watched Y/N stalk off away from him an exhaled, loudly, whilst also giving himself a mental pat on the back for being smart enough to tell her to go and wait in the car. Allowing her to rest whilst he complete the shopping was most certainly going to put him in her good books. And, if he played his cards right and even unloaded the groceries at the other end, he’d most certainly get a bit of bedroom fun later on.

Yup, Ransom Drysdale was a clever bastard.

That said, he did feel a tad guilty. He knew she’d been struggling the last few days with her back and seeing her burst into tears in the middle of Whole Foods had made him realise just how much energy she was using growing their baby. Maybe he had been a bit of a pain in the ass, but he hadn’t meant to be. He just liked what he liked and seeing as money wasn’t an issue why shouldn’t he get it?

He glanced down at the list, there wasn’t that much left on it. So he hastily made his way around the store allowing himself only one little detour for an unlisted item- some Lavender and Camomile bath salts for Y/N which he intended to use later when he drew her a bath to help her relax- and then made his way to the check outs.

This was the bit he hated, with a passion. Unloading and then waging a war with the damned items at the other end whilst he tried to bag them as quickly as the checkout ninja scanned them and slid them down to him. However, as luck would have it, today’s ‘ninja’ was more of a ‘nan-ja’, and to his relief the coffin-dodger took her time, having to bend so close to the screen to see the items her nose might as well have been touching it. This allowed him enough time to bag everything as Y/N did- raw meats separate, then chilled, frozen, fresh and tinned. He paused, as the final bag containing the 3 bottles of his preferred wine and a 4 pack of beer felt a little strained and he pondered double bagging. But decided against it. It was only going in the back of the car from the trolley, he’d just make sure to support it underneath.

Eventually the woman, who now he studied her must have been the same age as his fucking Great-Nana Wanetta, scanned the last item which was a bar of Y/N’s favourite chocolate he’d picked up from the stand at the end of the checkout, and turned to him smiling. She read out the total and he passed his card over, looking around as she scanned it and pressed a few buttons. Finally, the ordeal was over and he took his card and receipt before making his way back outside.

Job well done, even if he did say so himself.

He pushed the trolley over the car park, stopping only to hurl abuse at some absolute moron in a Toyota who nearly took him out when he skidded round the corner, and opened the trunk to the car. He loaded the bags, took the trolley back (well, he pushed it to the spare space besides the car because fuck walking over to the Trolley Park, that’s what they paid the simpleton in the hat and hi-viz to do) and made his way to the driver’s door. He dropped in besides his girl and she turned to face him, a smile spreading across her face as he handed her the Hershey’s.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Its ok baby.” He smiled at her as she leaned over to give him a soft kiss “Cooking my boy is zapping it outta you huh?”

“Just a tad.” She shrugged “But I shouldn’t have snapped. Thank you for finishing up.”

Ransom shrugged “No big deal.” he gave her another quick kiss before he put the car in reverse and drove towards the parking lot exit, a soft smirk playing on his handsome face

Yup, he was off Santa’s Naughty List for sure.

*****

“Go and put your feet up, I got this.” Ransom assured you as you made your way to the trunk to help unload the shopping.

"You sure?"

“Positive.” He nodded, his arms wrapping around you from behind, large hands sweeping over the front of your jacket, softly caressing your bump. “It won’t take me long to unload and put it all away. Then we can curl up and I’ll order us that pizza you’ve been talking about all day.”

“Extra olives?”

“Whatever you want.” He pressed a kiss to your neck and you bit your lip. You had to admit, that did sound like a damned fine idea. And, to be honest, he was pretty good at unpacking groceries, that was one area he was actually trained in after years of you whipping him into shape.

“Okay.” You tilted your head round to look at him, giving him a quick kiss “Can you keep the mincemeat out for tomorrow’s dinner and the rest of the meat-“

“Can go in the freezer, yeah, I know.” He stepped back, reaching for a bag “I’m not a complete moron.”

“Debatable.” You muttered, ignoring the eye-roll that came your way as you stepped away from him. You headed to the front door, your pace slow as your baby was doing what felt like the tango in your belly. He seemed to be doing that a lot recently, especially when Ransom had touched your bump and spoken to you, almost like he was reacting directly to his Daddy. When you’d told Ransom so the previous night, he’d positively beamed at you with pure unadulterated love on his features, something which you were sure no one but you ever saw. You rubbed your belly, a soft smile on your face, telling your unborn son to quieten down a little, and you’d just unlocked the door when you heard a loud yell, followed by the smashing of glass and a string of expletives from your husband.

“Mother fucking, asshole, bastard crap bag!”

You spun round to see Ransom stood with a carrier bag in his hand, the bottom flapping as it had completely given way. Green and brown glass littered your drive way as a pool of red-wine and beer swam around his expensive chukkas. He screwed the bag up, tossing it into the trunk as he ran a hand through his hair, growling in annoyance.

“How much did you just drop all over the drive way?” you asked and he peeked up at you and grimaced.

“Eighty bucks worth. That was some quality merlot.”

“Well, maybe next time you’ll remember to double bag.” You shook your head, before you nodded to it “Make sure you clean that up. I’d hate to reverse over it and get another flat. Woe betide we have a performance like last time.”

“Oh, I dunno.” He quipped, a smirk spreading across his face “I happen to think the performance last time was pretty good. You certainly didn’t have any complaints once I got you back inside and sat on my face.”

You blinked, before you scoffed and shook your head “Do you know where the brush and dustpan is or should I draw you a map?”

“Fuck you.” He shot back, his eyes narrowed in a glare and you grinned, shrugging.

“Maybe later.” and with that you headed inside leaving him to grieve for his precious alcohol, which had been taken from him far too soon…

[yespolkadotkitty]

PLEASE pluck Ricky from obscurity like you did Zach!!!

Right so you are all fairly keen on this guy because I also got these:

Pick You Up

Ricky Hauk x reader

Word count: 1700 ~ Warnings: None really. Light angst. Kissing.

Lovely gif by @ithinkwehitametaphor

i

You’ve not lived in this town long. The first time you use the gas station, the tall, skinny guy behind the counter glances at you from under his ball cap, the red brim only serving to bring out the slices of amber in his soulful brown eyes. There’s a crease in his cupid’s bow, the thumb print of a God proud of his work. He rings up your service, gives you a collection time.

When you park up back at home, you see it. A note under your unused windscreen wiper.

Autumn in her eyes

Her hair ropes of burnished gold,

Kissed by corners of the

Falling leaves. Will seasons pass

Before I look upon her

Once more?

ii 

The poem was from him. You know it. You know it because the next time you bring your car back, when winter’s starting to bite chunks out of the temperature, you see him write something on your receipt in the same loopy scrawl. He sees you looking. Ricky is embroidered on his navy blue overalls. A flush creeps up his cheeks, and you wonder how old he is. Twenty? You could cry over his perfect cheekbones. 

“It should be more than that?” you ask when he rings you up.

The corner of his mouth curves up. “Returning customer discount. No one will miss a few quarts of gas.”

There’s a worn, tattered book propping up a wonky corner of the cash register. A Poem for Every Day of the Year.

And when you arrive home, there’s another scrap of paper under your windscreen wiper.

Winter’s grasp is far-reaching

Fingers dug in tight

But footprints thaw frozen ground,

A smile melts frostbite

Inch by Inch

You fold the paper carefully, tuck it under a magnet on your fridge, next to the one you already have. Wonder what it means. If he writes poetry for all his customers.

iii 

Before Winter ends, your exhaust pipe crashes off the end of your car and you narrowly miss swerving off the road in shock at the huge bang it makes. You drive right to the service station, and like a dream, there he is, the huge roller door of the workshop open, and he’s bent over another car, his ball cap on backwards, overalls half-unzipped. Heat is pumping out of the workshop interior and you park your car. As you shut the door, Ricky looks up, and his face goes slack for a second, before he plasters a polite query on the handsome canvas. “Uh, hey. Can I help you?”

“Exhaust pipe fell off on the highway,” you sigh. “I know she’s a hunk of junk, but I just can’t afford to replace her, not yet.”

“I’ll give it my best shot.” Ricky holds out his hand for the keys, a smear of grease on his thumb, and you stare at his palm for a moment, wondering what his hands would feel like on your skin. If he’d leave a fingerprint of grease behind.

You wouldn’t mind much, if he did.

iv

You have to leave the car overnight, eventually. Ricky comes into the tiny office with the noisy watercooler and tiny wall-mounted TV that only shows one God-awful news channel. His hands are shoved into his overall pockets and there’s a streak of engine grease on his cheek.

“Uh, I’m sorry, but she’s gonna have to stay in until tomorrow. My boss has gotta check the weld, and he’s stuck in the snowstorm one state over.”

“Okay.” You’re not cross with him. What would be the point?

Ricky looks from the clock to you. He probably has a hot date you’re keeping him from, you think with a little sadness. “Um, I’ve gotta lock up now. I can drive you home. If you want.” He jerks his thumb at the window to his right. A beaten up red truck sits outside.

“Thank you. That’d be great.”

The snow has started to fall in earnest. Ricky locks up the gas station and pockets the keys as the shutter finally closes up tight. He opens the passenger door for you, waits until you’re safely strapped in before he gets in on his side and starts the engine. “You’ll have to direct me.” He tugs off the ball cap and stuffs it in the glove box.

“Wait,” you say, as his hand hovers over the stick.

He glances at you with an eyebrow raised, that poet’s mouth set solemnly, his tiger iron eyes so large in his face, larger somehow with his thick hair sticking up at all angles, and he looks so young but like he has an old soul. Like he’s seen so much; too much, and he is so tired.

“Why did you write me those poems?”

Ricky looks away, chewing his bottom lip.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“So what?” he throws back, still not looking at you. “I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you wanna hear?”

Your heart cracks down the middle. “No, it isn’t. They were beautiful. I kept them.”

His gaze shoots to yours. “You are beautiful,” he says, very soberly. 

And you lift your hand to his cheek and then he’s kissing you, earnestly, his lips soft and sweet and unpracticed. Not that you’re experienced, but you estimate yourself as perhaps half a decade older than him. He groans into your mouth and desire skitters through you. You part your lips for him and he finally touches you, just a hand on your thigh, his palm warm through your worn, old jeans.

The drive to your house is full of thick, syrupy tension. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the way Ricky subtly adjusts himself during the ten minute trip.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to help him out with that.

He parks outside your building, and you kiss him again before you leave, nipping at his tempting lower lip, making him curse, low and sweet in that sinful, husky voice, still a little thready with youth.

“I’ll work on your car first thing tomorrow?” he half asks, half informs you, as you open the passenger door. The cold wind arcs in, biting at your skin. “I could pick you up. Early. If you want.”

You nod. “Okay. Thanks.”

Ricky catches your hand, tangles your fingers. “Guys like me write poetry about girls like you because it’s the only way we’ll be with you,” he mutters, and there’s something so sad and resigned in the depths of his butterscotch gaze.

You don’t know what to say, and if you kiss him again you run the serious risk of being arrested for indecent behaviour in his truck.

v

He’s early the next morning. You’re not ready. 

“Come up,” you say through the buzzer, and in a matter of moments you’re opening your apartment door to him. He holds the service station ball cap in his hands, wringing it nervously, and his overalls are half-unzipped to reveal a plain white t-shirt. He smells of cheap cologne and minty toothpaste, and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Want a coffee?” you ask. “I’ll be five minutes.”

“No, thanks. Uh, I’m fine.” He stands by the door, like he needs permission to sit down. 

You rush around, calling your boss to remind him about your car situation. He’s stuck at home anyway due to a snowdrift, so he doesn’t chew you out.

Pulling on your winter boots - hopefully they’ll see you through to March - you step out of the bedroom. Ricky’s leaning over your kitchen counter, scrawling something on a post-it note. He jerks up, guilt sketched on his angular face.

“Sorry.”

“Not at all.”

He folds the paper over. “Don’t read it.. Til later.”

He turns to face you, hesitates, wariness and want and need laid bare in those gorgeous hazelnut eyes.

“Could I… kiss you? Maybe?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, and Ricky cups your face in his broad, callused hands, and lowers his mouth to yours, and the kiss starts soft and sweet, explorative, and then you slide your hands up his shoulders and tangle your fingers in his thick, tattered-silk hair, and he backs you into the wall, his lips urgent on yours, licking into your mouth, and you drink him in like you’re starved for the taste of him. He groans against your lips, one hand slipping down your back to palm your ass, and-

And your phone rings shrilly from your bag. Your work mobile.

You and Ricky spring apart. 

“I’d better get that.”

It turns out to be a shitty sales call, but the moment’s been broken. You mostly manage to ignore the distended shape of Ricky’s jeans, but his face is red the whole drive to the garage.

When you arrive, a man who you guess to be Ricky’s boss is already there, opening the shutter. Ricky turns to you, his hand hesitant on your thigh. “Maybe…. Maybe you’d wanna see me again? 

You cover his hand with yours, link your fingers. “I’d love to see you again, Ricky.”

His smile lights up the dreary winter day.

*****

Special thanks to @dornish-queen without whose watchlist, this fic would never have happened.

Tagging the Pedro pals! @gamingaquarius @a-seeker-of-imagination @songsformonkeys @alldatalost @dornish-queen @lackofhonor @alienprincesspoop @beccaplaying @cryptkeepersoul @keeper0fthestars @winters-buck @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @jaime1110 @nelba @heatherbel @thewayofthemandalorian @agirllovespasta @seawhisperer @holographic-carmen @mrschiltoncat @mourningbirds1 @emmy-dandiliom918 @trippedmetaldetector @starlight-starwrites @oloreaa @thegreenkid @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @buckstaposition @pedropascallion @pajamasecrets @knittingqueen13 @skdubbs @opheliaelysia

[jjmaybanksbaby]

Where It Leads (Rafe Cameron)

Summer III

Part 05: With Some Other Girl

series masterlist | previous part

summary: Rafe’s actions surprised you when there’s no awkwardness lingering from last summer.

a/n: New summer new drama!! We're more than halfway through this series and I might post the final two parts within a week so be on the lookout! That's all! Enjoy part five xx

word count: 2.2k words

Nowhere on the East or West coast did seafood quite like The Wreck. During your summers in the Outer Banks, you made sure that practically every other meal consisted of their to-die-for shrimp or amazing crab. For your birthday, back in October, your mom had even looked into getting food from The Wreck shipped to you before realizing that might have been a stretch.

You waited at the bar for the girl with the curly golden brown hair, and especially kind eyes, to return from the kitchen with your order. The smells of the food cooking made your mouth water.

A boy, who looked about your younger brother's age slide onto the bar stool next to you. His dirty blond hair fell into his eyes, clearly in need of a good haircut.

"Leave the customers alone, JJ." The girl set a paper bag with your food down in front of you, grease staining the bottom.

"I wasn't even doing anything, Kie," JJ protested.

"You're total's $40.53. Do you need a receipt?" She asked, taking your mom's card from your outstretched hand.

"I'm JJ, by the way." He held out his hand for you to shake but the girl - Kie, was it? - smacked it away.

"She's way out of your league, idiot. Sorry about him," she said turning to you.

You smiled at the both of them, their playfulness reminding you of your own friends from back home. "Nice to meet you, JJ." You picked up your bag of food, turning to leave.

"She was so into me." You heard JJ whisper to Kie as you walked to the front door.

"No way, is that y/n?" You froze, a few steps away from the exit, knowing exactly who that voice belonged to. "Hey," Rafe called again. "Get over here."

You'd been back in the Outer Banks a total of three days. You definitely hadn't been planning on seeing Rafe Cameron so soon. Well, after how last summer had ended, you hadn't really been counting on seeing him at all.

You spun on your heel, plastering on your best fake smile, and headed in the direction of Rafe's voice.

It's okay. Act casual. He's just an old friend. There doesn’t have to be any weirdness. You said to yourself, trying to calm your nerves.

Rafe was seated in a corner booth at the back of the restaurant, his arm slung over Phoebe’s shoulder who, herself, was sitting practically in his lap. Her expression looked especially irate at the fact that you were interrupting their - what was going on exactly? A date?

"Uh, hey guys," you said, approaching their table.

"Y/n!" Rafe repeated. "You're back for the summer?"

"Yeah, we got in a few days ago.”

"How are you? How's the boyfriend?"

Why the fuck was Rafe asking about Evan? You wondered, your eyes narrowing trying to gather some explanation from Rafe's face.

"We actually broke up. Last September. He hasn't been my boyfriend for a while." Correction, you'd gone back to Oregon and hadn't stopped thinking about Rafe, for the second year in a row. It didn't seem fair to Evan so you’d tried to let him down gently, the week before auditions for the fall musical no less. It became pretty clear how torn up about it he was when he started crying during the monologue portion of his audition and the tears weren't the kind you forced out solely for a performance.

"How sad," Phoebe said, turning her lip down in a fake pout making it clear she couldn't care less.

You just smiled back at her, not wanting to give any kind of validation. You could feel Rafe eyes on you.

"Okay, well, I guess I'll see you around." You turned to leave. Your mom was waiting outside in the car, probably wondering what was taking so long.

"I hope so," Rafe replied.

☼☼☼

You blinked your eyes open, adjusting to the bright sunlight filling the room. You rubbed the sleep from them, yawning.

Holy shit. This was definitely not your bedroom; this was Rafe's room. The events of last night came rushing back, the morning bless falling away.

You'd run into Cleo at the grocery store after your mom had sent you to get an onion she needed for dinner. Cleo had been buying chasers for Sawyer's my-parents-aren't home-and-they-left-the-liquor-cabinet-unlocked party and invited you. And you went. Which was probably the first mistake of the night.

Rafe had greeted you at the door with the kind of smile that screamed "I don't even remember our fight last summer." You'd opted to ignore the white powder under his nose, likely the reason for his bloodshot eyes.

The party had run dry after a few hours so Rafe offered to grab some more from his house since his whole family was in the Bahamas house for the weekend. You’d went with him because what the hell. The night hadn’t even been the least bit awkward. Mistake number two.

You sat on the Cameron's island counter as Rafe riffled through the cabinet, trying to decide which bottle Ward was least likely to notice was missing.

"Do you trust me?" He’d asked.

That was a loaded question but you’d nodded your head yes. He'd pushed your knees apart, stepping in between your legs like that's where he belonged.

"Tilt your head back," he'd instructed and you had.

Rafe uncapped the bottle of Malibu, pouring it straight into your mouth. He’d hummed with satisfaction as you swallowed the liquid. Your eyes locked as he ran a thumb up your neck and over your chin, whipping away the bit that had spilled before he brought your lips to meet his. It was by far the hottest thing anyone had ever done.

The kiss had tasted salty and coconutty, like the drink he had just poured into your mouth. He moved his other hand to your hip, pulling you in closer.

You'd only broken apart to fumble your way upstairs and into his room, shedding your clothing on the way, your lips finding each other's again and again, kissing like there was some ticking clock counting down the seconds.

You remembered the way Rafe's name had tumbled off your lips with his hand between your thighs. How his blue eyes held yours as he pushed into you. The sweet praises that he whispered into your ears as the both of you came underdone together. The way it all felt so fucking right, like the universe apologizing for the last two summers.

You hadn't meant to fall asleep, to spend the night in Rafe Cameron's bed but he'd wrapped his arm around you and your head fell to rest on his chest and sleep just came.

You kept your movements slow afraid of creaky floorboard as you slipped out of his bed. Sneaking out without Rafe waking up was sure to be the path of less resistance. Hadn't last night been a drunken mistake?

Your shorts had landed next to the bed and your bra was hanging from the door handle, the irony of that wasn't lost on you.

Rafe cleared his throat. "Good morning," he said. Oh, shit. So he was awake.

"I was just looking for my shirt," you replied.

The Cameron's front door opened with a bang. Cole and Milo's voices filled the house seconds later.

"Dude," Cole hollered. "Who'd you fuck last night? Some chick's panties are on your staircase."

Rafe's eyes meet yours and he leaped out of his bed. "Linen closet," he hissed, pulling open the door of the hallway closet and pushing you inside. "Stay here."

His footsteps echoed as he rushed down the stairs, stopping at the bottom to pick up your underwear and shove them in his back pocket.

"I need a fucking boat day," Rafe said to the boys. "I'm hungover as fuck. Can you go see if the Yeti coolers' in the garage? I think Ward brought it up from the boat last time."

"Uhh, yeah, sure," Milo answered. "C'mon Cole."

The sounds of their chatter disappeared and Rafe ran back up the stairs, pulling open the closet. "Okay, the coast is clear."

"Rafe, should we...uh...you know...talk about it?"

"What's there to talk about?" He asked back.

"Right," you answered unsure if you really believed that casual sex with Rafe Cameron was a possibility. "Can I have my underwear back?"

He shrugged, a smirk growing on his lips. "Nah, I think I'm gonna hold onto them. For safekeeping." What kind of bullshit patriarchal move was that? He looked over his shoulder to the lower level. "Milo and Cole will be back any second, you should probably go."

☼☼☼

You silently thanked your yesterday-self for having left your window unlocked just in case. You closed it quietly behind you and dove into your bed. The door to your bedroom swung open seconds later.

"Why are you still in bed y/n? I told you yesterday that we were going dress shopping for Midsummers today at noon. It’s less than a week away. Get up, please," your mom said.

"Sorry, mom. I'll meet you downstairs in ten."

"Hurry up." She pulled the door closed behind her as she left your room.

You breathed a sigh of relief, throwing off the covers you had hicked up to your neck to hide last night's outfit. Shit, had you really slept with Rafe Cameron? And then he brushed it off like it wasn't going to change things? As if whatever was going between the two of you couldn't get more complicated.

☼☼☼

The light bounced off the three-way mirror you were standing in front of, making the bedding on the dress sparkle.

"Turn around," your mother instructed. Apparently, this year's Midsummers’ theme was Hollywood Glamour like it was the fucking Met Gala or something so she'd been forcing you and in out of red dresses for the past hour and a half. "I really like this one y/n. The bow is so cute."

You resisted rolling your eyes. The bow was hideous, plus the high-low skirt screamed middle school dance. The bedding was itchy and you’d hardly had the dress on for five minutes.

The front door chimed announcing a new customer and Phoebe's figure appeared in the reflection of the mirror.

"I'm gonna go try on a different one, mom," you said, trying to duck into the changing room before Phoebe had the chance to see you.

"Wait, wait wait." Your mom grabbed your hips pulling you back in front of the mirror. "I just think this looks perfect on you, sweetie. Look," she stepped behind you, using one hand to twist your hair up into a makeshift updo. "you can wear your hair pinned up like this and we can get you a sparkly headband. It'll be gorgeous.”

You definitely weren't wearing any kind of a headband based on the fact that you weren't twelve anymore but, more important, you needed to get out of Phoebe’s line of sight like now. "Yeah, okay, mom. That sounds fine. We can get it then."

"Aw, honey. Do you not like it?" She asked, cocking her head to the side. "Cause we can try a different score. Even though this is the only dress store for thirty miles," she mumbled under her breath.

Phoebe glanced over from the front counter, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror. Your mother's voice became muffled as panic rose in your chest. You hadn't even thought about it last night but now all you could remember was Phoebe with Rafe's arm wrapped around her at The Wreck.

Phoebe abandoned her position at the front of the store, walking over to you.

"Hi y/n!" She started, her voicer reaching an octave that screamed fake niceties. "You must be y/n's mom. You two couldn't look anything more alike." That was a lie. You and your mom couldn't look more different. It was your older sister who was practically your mother’s clone.

God, what game was Phoebe playing?

"Oh my gosh.” She took half a step closer forcing you to notice the couple inches she had on you. "Is this your dress for Midsummers? It's so cute," she said, somehow managing to pronounce cute with two syllables.

Another lie. The dress was terrible.

"I'm just picking up my dress too. Custom-made." Phoebe flashed a smile to your mom. "I'm trying to talk Rafe into getting a matching bow-tie but he refuses. Boys," she giggled.

Shhe must have registered the look of surprise on your face. "Oh, did he not tell you we were going together? I wouldn't take it personally. We've been going together since freshman year. It's tradition at this point."

The saleswoman returned from the back of the store, a garment bag in her hand. "Well, I've gotta run. See you around!" She pranced off, her vanilla perfume lingering in the air.

"She seems nice. I'm so glad you're making friends here, honey.”

"Oh, yeah. She’s the best." If your mom heard the sarcasm in your voice, she chose to ignore it. "I'm going to try on the black one," you huffed, heading back into the changing room.

It wasn't like going with Rafe to Midsummers was in the realm of possibilities anyway, so why was it bothering you so much that he was taking Phoebe? Either way, there was nothing stopping you from making Rafe wish it was you on his arm instead. Petty wasn’t usually your style but something about the memory of Rafe’s lip on your neck being fresh in your mind made all rational thoughts go out the window. Game on Phoebe.

taglist! @oreoenthusiast13 [drop a ☀️ in my inbox or messages if you want to be added]

[evanthenerd83]

“Holly And The Demon Visit The Mall”

1

“Do you feel me,” asked Holly.

The demon nodded, then looked away sheepishly. “I… I guess.”

She smiled. Teeth nearly blinded It. Nearly, because the demon was used to far too much light.

Hell had several suns.

It was always summer, too.

Holly jumped off the hood of the cop car. “Good.”

She still wore her school uniform. The skirt danced about, revealing pale legs and torn stockings.

And thighs. Just the bottoms. But just the bottoms were enough.

A sudden chill sent the demon glancing every which way—at a discarded soda can, a stained napkin, a used condom. It knew that Its cheeks were blue.

Thankfully, Holly didn’t seem to notice. She never noticed.

She skipped around the cop car. Towards the back. Her hand tapped, tapped, tapped on the trunk.

She had nimble fingers. Small hands and nimble fingers.

Fingers that traced the handprint, which was beginning to dry. It was no longer bright red. It looked more brown, brownish black.

The demon felt like gagging.

“You’re… you’re—“

“Absolutely adorable?”

Holly opened the trunk. Her face disappeared.

The demon nearly gagged.

“No. Yes. Kind of?”

A sharp giggle, girly, cut through the night. It was sweet. It was also poisonous.

The demon felt needle-hairs rising to attention. It wrapped Its arms around Itself, and one of Its horns shrunk. The other wobbled a bit.

“Aw, thank you.”

The demon watched the trunk.

It could hear her rummaging around, shoving things. The cop car started to bounce.

The demon held Its breath.

It glanced at the mall.

Lights were still on inside. The parking lot was just barely empty. A few cars sat in sporadic spots.

People were still there.

People.

Men. Women. Children.

An image flashed through the demon’s mind, vivid and sensory. An image so horrible— and so horribly detailed—that it gagged.

It stumbled.

It leaned against the cop car with one clawed hand.

The night spun.

At that moment, Holly slammed the trunk. The sound carried. Nobody seemed to notice.

She was carrying something. The demon could tell. It was obvious from how she was walking. She was also grunting.

The demon screwed Its eyes shut.

‘Please be a hammer. Please be a hammer. Please be a hammer.’

It wasn’t exactly praying. Not entirely.

If a demon prayed, it only prayed to one being. And that being definitely wasn’t a God.

Not an all-loving God, anyway.

Not even a God.

It was a being that barely answered its worshippers’ prayers.

And if it did, it did so with ulterior motives. It only wanted to entertain itself.

The demon was mostly begging. It was begging to the other being, the one opposite—an all-loving God.

Its sworn enemy.

Holly came around the side of the cop car. Her footsteps echoed, a tap-dance routine. They abruptly stopped.

The demon saw her black shoes in the corner of Its eyes.

They shined.

“Whatcha doing?”

‘PleasebeahammerPleasebeahammerPleasebeahammerPleasebea— Oh. Crap.’

The demon gasped. It had glanced up at Holly, slowly, hesitantly. It had just seen what she was carrying.

The thing she had resting against her shoulder.

“No.”

Holly blew a bubble.

Her gum popped.

She resumed chewing it.

“Yes.”

Holly spun around, then started walking towards the mall.

The hammer was big, very big. Practically a sledgehammer. It bounced with each step.

It must have weighed a ton. A hundred tons. Holly didn’t seem to notice, however. She moved just as fast as ever.

The demon stumbled to Its hooves.

It chased after her, tail swinging, striking the pavement. A fear pounded its way through Its chest.

“No. No. No. You can’t.”

It caught up with the girl.

Holly ignored It.

She kept chewing her bubblegum. She had her free hand stuffed inside a pocket, and one of her shoes was untied.

The laces flipped and flopped.

The demon growled, then jumped in front of her. It spread out Its arms. It also shook Its head.

Holly froze.

“No. No, Holly. Not again.”

Holly just stared at It. Her green eyes gleamed. They glimmered like diamonds.

The demon wasn’t sure if this was from the moonlight, the lights in the mall, or something different altogether. Maybe a little bit of both.

Maybe it was her soul again.

Her damned soul.

Holly tilted her head. A curl of blond hair came loose, falling over her left shoulder. It looked cute.

She looked cute.

Wait. What?

The demon blushed again. It looked away from her.

“Why not? We had fun last time, right?”

The demon felt tears forming. They burned.

But It took a deep breath, and It shook Its head again.

“No. You had fun. I was—“

“Hiding in the shadows. And pools of blood. Like a little bitch.”

The demon gaped.

Before everything, all of this mess, Holly had never sworn. Ever.

In the sixteen years of her life, It had never caught her swearing. Not even when her little brother accidentally killed—well, semi-accidentally killed—her pet goldfish.

Or when her crush had stood her up at the Valentine’s Day dance. Nor when she had found him behind the cafeteria, sticking a finger up Jenny Mackindale.

Or when her parents had sent her to the shrink.

Or—

The demon grabbed both of her shoulders. It looked deeply into her eyes.

“Why?! Why are you doing this, Holly?! Huh?!”

Holly just blinked.

She chewed her gum.

“You never spoke like this before… be-before…”

Holly blew another bubble. Like before, it burst.

“Before you showed up?”

The demon blinked a few times.

Yes.

Yes, she was right.

Before It had shown up, appeared in the middle of her dorm, Holly had been a simple girl. A good girl.

Not necessarily a good student. But nobody really was a good student if they went to a catholic school.

The demon knew.

Everyone sinned.

The young. The old. The middle-aged.

Even newborn babies sinned. It was only natural. Humanity was a terrible species, violent and horny and very, very, very selfish, and it was normal for them to seek their own satisfaction.

But Holly…

… Holly was different.

She hadn’t sinned. Ever.

Like her mouth, she had been pure. Unpolluted. She was actually a good person; helpful, forgiving, considerate, respectful.

But now.

Now.

Holly pushed It, passing by. The demon rocked on Its heels for a second. It managed to stabilize Itself.

But by then, it was already too late.

Holly was already entering the mall.

2

“I don’t understand why—“

“You don’t understand anything.”

They were power walking, side by side.

The demon swiped a claw across Its forehead. Pain rose up Its arm. Sweat peppered Its rippled, scaly skin.

Everything that came out of the demon—be it tears or sweat or pee—was acidic beyond all measure.

It had ruined way too many toilets.

No wonder they’d been jumping from motel to motel.

“Hold on,” Holly plucked out her gum. She pinched a pink blob between her fingers.

The demon froze. “What?”

Holly peered back.

She winked.

She swung by a trash can. Said trash can had been positioned behind a rather imposing pillar. Said pillar, gray and very, very close to falling apart, was standing in the middle of the lobby.

The lobby. That wasn’t the right word… was it?

The demon didn’t really know all that much about the living world. It knew enough to get by. How else could It have survived this long?

It had a vague understanding of malls. These large, maze-like complexes bristled with self-indulgence and self-flagellation. Not to mention… capitalism.

So much capitalism.

It knew that humans, driven by their need for material objects, went from shop to shop, wallets filled with money. They bought things. The mere variety of things sent a numbing shock through the demon’s mind.

Books.

Clothes (especially those with more than one fabric).

Jewelry.

Shoes.

Blow-up dolls.

Dildos.

Cold suddenly flooded Its cheeks, and the demon covered Its face with both hands.

It took deep breaths.

“Hey. You okay?”

Her voice made It jump.

The demon also yelped. A hand was suddenly slapped over Its mouth, and Holly glared at It.

She lifted a single finger to her lips.

The demon went quiet. It might not have known much about humanity, but It did understand the gesture.

Be quiet.

Holly pulled It behind the pillar.

She backed up, pressing her back into the pillar. She had It cradled. She was hugging It.

“Hope you weren’t too loud,” Holly peered.

The demon went rigid.

It could taste metal. No, not metal.

‘Blood,’ It realized. “I’m tasting the blood on her hands. Oh, Christ, oh lord, oh my Go—‘

Holly breathed a sigh of relief. Something soft and plump, but not too plump, touched the demon’s spine.

No. Not just something. Some things.

Things that, from Its calculations, were situated on her chest…

‘Tits.’

She let go, and the demon fell to Its knees.

The floor was colder than her hands. Discarded receipts fluttered by. A broken watch gleamed, and It impulsively glanced up.

Holly grabbed her sledgehammer. She’d laid it down while throwing her gum away.

She spun around. For Its credit, the demon tried to avoid the whiteness—flesh, fabric, didn’t really matter—that suddenly flashed across Its field of vision. It did try.

A glare pinned It down. A frown as well.

“H-Holly—“

That gesture again.

Holly tilted her head. She indicated the side of the pillar.

The demon shuffled on Its hands and knees, peering around. It felt like a soldier crawling through a trench.

Was there a sniper waiting for It?

If It exposed Itself, would a bullet go flying? Or would someone scream, causing others to scream?

Scream and scram?

The demon would have giggled.

It exposed a single eye, iris deep crimson.

It saw what she’d been checking out.

The food court, across the lobby, was closed. Many of the restaurants had their lights off. Sandwich Queen. McRonald’s. Burrito-ville.

Only a few still ran. A Lamby’s was being tended to, the cashier Holly’s age. The cook kept looking back at her.

But that wasn’t all.

Because It then saw… them.

Them.

“Do you see?”

The demon didn’t respond.

It shook Its head, slowly at first. It quickened. An icy dread flooded Its empty lungs.

Holly gripped the sledgehammer tighter. Her knuckles turned white.

It knew that she was licking her lips. It could feel the bloodlust wafting off of her, thick and musky.

And what Holly was feeling was bloodlust. Blood. Lust. The demon heard her breathing heavily.

“Do… Do you see?”

The demon gulped.

It could see. It could see plenty.

They were just sitting there, all of them at one table. One—a girl—was busy with her cellular device. Another—a boy—had his arms draped around the girl’s shoulder.

Yet another tipped his chair backwards. A different girl sat in his lap, face twisted in mock horror.

She was giggling.

A third boy stared at a third girl. A goth girl, the demon realized.

A goth girl with her hand underneath their table, shoved down his pants—

“Holly.”

Holly was silent now.

It scooted back, then stood up. It put both claws on her shoulders. It stared deep into her eyes, searching for something, anything, a shred of the girl she had been.

All It found was excitement.

“Holly,” It whimpered. “Holly, no.”

Holly was no longer listening, though.

She was now tossing her sledgehammer—such a big sledgehammer, where’d she even find it—from hand to hand. She muttered to herself.

“No. Not like this.”

Left hand.

“No. Not that either.”

Right hand.

The demon shook her. It was sweating acid-bullets now.

“Holly? H-Holly, please don’t. Just leave them alone.”

Above.

“Maybe it should be higher? No. Not that high.”

Below.

“At my midsection?”

The demon gripped her shoulders tighter, and It felt Its nails digging into the flesh. It loosened Its grip.

“Holly. Holly, let’s just… let’s just go back to the motel. We can… we can order room service… or something.”

It was desperate now.

It was close to tears now.

But Holly didn’t notice. She had finally found a position that she liked. The sledgehammer was tilted, horizontal, and her left hand gripped the handle, the knuckles turning blue.

“Hey! Re-remember that s-story I refused to t-t-te-tell? About those b-b-b-bl-blo-blood or-or-orgies? I… I’ll tell them now. I’ll tell you everything. Just please, just please, don’t go hurting those nice peo—“

Holly ducked out of Its grip.

She then began to run.

…

The teenagers didn’t know what hit them.

Well, that wasn’t true. They saw her running towards their table. How could they have not?

She was wearing a school girl’s uniform. A light brown vest over a white button-down shirt, her collar undone. Her skirt revealed legs that wouldn’t have quit.

And they didn’t quit. They carried her all the way to their table.

Marcy saw the school emblem—a cross.

She was sitting in the right position. She looked up from her phone just long enough to see it.

And to catch the blunt side of the sledgehammer.

Tony managed to stand up and clench his fists. The words were at the tip of his tongue; those three, simple, universal words.

What. The. #$@&.

But before he could open his mouth, the girl swung her sledgehammer.

Everything cut to black.

Samantha instinctively clenched her own fist, and Marcus suddenly reached the finish line. He screamed her name. It sounded like a goat baying.

Something warm filled her hand.

Something else that was warm soon filled his pants.

She tried to pull out. She tried. But before she could, a shoe hit her chest, and Samantha fell backwards.

Marcus went with her. He had a funny look.

That funny look disappeared underneath the sledgehammer.

Samantha opened her mouth to scream.

Something filled her mouth. Another shoe. It was shoved hard, and pressure started to build. A cracking sound from somewhere inside her own head. The pressure gave way to brief, potent pain.

One last, loud crack.

Her lower jaw came loose. It practically dangled, swinging from side to side.

The sledgehammer then found her.

Silence. Dark.

And the warmth coating her hand faded away.

The girl stood over her, chest heaving, cheeks flustered. A strand of blonde hair was plastered to her forehead.

Her eyes gleamed. But they didn’t gleam like emerald diamonds. They gleamed like glass.

She heard their chairs scraping the floor.

She spun around.

The empty chair kept on spinning.

…

[wiypt-writes]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby.

Day 10: Shop Till You Drop

Warnings: Bad Language words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  Instalment 10 of mine, @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ and @ohthankevans13​ telling of Ransom’s quest to become a normal human being. This time Ransom takes on a Super Market…

Series Masterlist

“Will you stop!” You sighed, exasperatedly.

“Stop what?” Ransom frowned, tossing another box of Pop Tarts into the trolley he was pushing round the Supermarket

“Loading the trolley full of crap!”

“Why?”

“Because we don’t need it.”

“So?” he shrugged “I want it.”

You let out another groan “That’s all it ever boils down to with you isn’t it?”

“What the fuck is eating you today?” he snarked back, folding his arms across his chest. “Or is more a case of nothing has eaten you, if you get my drift?”

“God you’re a fucking…” you growled and shook your head, “frankly the thought of you going near me at the moment makes me wanna puke. I’m tired. I have back ache and my legs are sore. We came in with a list and it should have taken us twenty minutes tops but oh no, you just keep stopping for a load of shit we don’t need and its taking us twice as long and I just want to go home!”

The last word broke as you began to sob, the damned hormones flooding your system and Ransom’s eyes flew open in panic. He was used to your little outbursts thanks to his spawn growing inside of you, but this was the first time you’d had one in public.

“Y/N, stop.” He urged you, moving round the trolley towards you. He hesitated, before he opened his arms, clearly not sure if you were going to slap him or not but you didn’t have the energy. Instead you let him pull you to him, pressing your face into his sweater, breathing in his heady scent. His hands gently ran up your back as you fought for control, eventually pulling away as you looked up at him. His large hands cupped your face gently and he pressed his lips to yours, smirking a little “And you say I’m a brat?”

“Fuck off, Ransom.” You pulled away.

“Okay, okay!” he chuckled. “Look, why don’t you-“ he fished into his jeans pocket and handed you the keys to the Merc “-go wait in the car? I’ll finish up.”

“You’re going to finish getting the groceries?”

“Yeah.”

You blinked, before you shrugged “Fine, but don’t forget anything on that list or I swear to God you’ll be couched for a week.”

“Jesus, Y/N.” He plucked the list out of your hand, rolling his eyes “Just go for fucks sake.”

You glared at him once more before you turned on your heel and left him in the middle of the aisle, without so much as a look back. As you left through the exit, you took a deep breath, instantly feeling calmer and you felt a little guilty at your outburst as he hadn’t actually been doing much wrong. He had always been a pain in the ass when it came to shopping and you’d tried so hard to get him to stay at home, but he was insistent that he came to help. You should be grateful really, you knew that, he was only trying to ensure you didn’t do too much but all it resulted in was him getting on your last nerve and an emotional outburst like the one you’d just had.

True to form he’d been a complete fucking tool from the moment you set foot in the shop. Completely ignoring you and piling anything and everything he liked the look of into the trolley, even if you knew half of it would go to waste. But that was him and his damned family all over. More money than fucking sense.

Fuck it, he could deal with it. You were going to take a nap in the comfy passenger seat whilst he finished. And woe betide him try anything when you got home later on that evening, if he so much as made a single amorous advance towards you that night you’d rip his cock off.

**** Ransom watched Y/N stalk off away from him an exhaled, loudly, whilst also giving himself a mental pat on the back for being smart enough to tell her to go and wait in the car. Allowing her to rest whilst he complete the shopping was most certainly going to put him in her good books. And, if he played his cards right and even unloaded the groceries at the other end, he’d most certainly get a bit of bedroom fun later on.

Yup, Ransom Drysdale was a clever bastard.

That said, he did feel a tad guilty. He knew she’d been struggling the last few days with her back and seeing her burst into tears in the middle of Whole Foods had made him realise just how much energy she was using growing their baby. Maybe he had been a bit of a pain in the ass, but he hadn’t meant to be. He just liked what he liked and seeing as money wasn’t an issue why shouldn’t he get it?

He glanced down at the list, there wasn’t that much left on it. So, he hastily made his way around the store allowing himself only one little detour for an unlisted item- some Lavender and Camomile bath salts for Y/N which he intended to use later when he drew her a bath to help her relax- and then made his way to the check outs.

This was the bit he hated, with a passion. Unloading and then waging a war with the damned items at the other end whilst he tried to bag them as quickly as the checkout ninja scanned them and slid them down to him. However, as luck would have it, today’s ‘ninja’ was more of a ‘nan-ja’, and to his relief the coffin-dodger took her time, having to bend so close to the screen to see the items her nose might as well have been touching it. This allowed him enough time to bag everything as Y/N did- raw meats separate, then chilled, frozen, fresh and tinned. He paused, as the final bag containing the 3 bottles of his preferred wine and a 4 pack of beer felt a little strained and he pondered double bagging. But decided against it. It was only going in the back of the car from the trolley, he’d just make sure to support it underneath.

Eventually the woman, who now he studied her must have been the same age as his fucking Great-Nana Wanetta, scanned the last item which was a bar of Y/N’s favourite chocolate he’d picked up from the stand at the end of the checkout, and turned to him smiling. She read out the total and he passed his card over, looking around as she scanned it and pressed a few buttons. Finally, the ordeal was over and he took his card and receipt before making his way back outside.

Job well done, even if he did say so himself.

He pushed the trolley over the car park, stopping only to hurl abuse at some absolute moron in a Toyota who nearly took him out when he skidded round the corner, and opened the trunk to the car. He loaded the bags, took the trolley back (well, he pushed it to the spare space besides he car because fuck walking over to the Trolley Park, that’s what they paid the simpleton in the hat and hi-viz to do) and made his way to the driver’s door. He dropped in besides his girl and she turned to face him, a smile spreading across her face as he handed her the Hershey’s.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Its ok baby.” He smiled at her as she leaned over to give him a soft kiss “Cooking my boy is zapping it outta you huh?”

“Just a tad.” She shrugged “But I shouldn’t have snapped. Thank you for finishing up.”

Ransom shrugged “No big deal.” he gave he another quick kiss before he put the car in reverse and drove towards the parking lot exit, a soft smirk playing on his handsome face

Yup, he was off Santa’s Naughty List for sure.

***** “Go and put your feet up, I got this.” Ransom assured you as you made your way to the trunk to help unload the shopping.

“Sure?”

“Positive.” He nodded, his arms wrapping around you from behind, large hands sweeping over the front of your jacket, softly caressing your bump. “It won’t take me long to unload and put it all away. Then we can curl up and I’ll order us that pizza you’ve been talking about all day.”

He pressed a kiss to your neck and you bit your lip. You had to admit, that did sound like a damned fine idea. And, to be honest, he was pretty good at unpacking groceries, that was one area he was actually trained in after years of you whipping him into shape.

“Okay.” You tilted your head round to look at him, giving him a quick kiss “Can you keep the mincemeat out for tomorrow’s dinner and the rest of the meat-“

“Can go in the freezer, yeah, I know.” He stepped back, reaching for a bag “I’m not a complete moron.”

“Debatable.” You muttered, ignoring the eye-roll that came your way as you turned around. You headed to the front door, your pace slow as your baby was doing what felt like the tango in your belly. He seemed to be doing that a lot recently, and you were convinced he was reacting to Ransom’s voice, something which you’d told him the previous night making him positively beam at you with pure unadulterated love on his features, something which you were sure no one but you saw. You rubbed your belly, a soft smile on your face, telling your unborn son to quieten down a little, and you’d just unlocked the door when you heard a loud yell, followed by the smashing of glass and a string of expletives from your husband.

“Mother fucking, asshole, bastard crap bag!”

You spun round to see Ransom stood with a carrier bag in his hand, the bottom flapping as it had completely given way. Green and brown glass littered your drive way as a pool of red-wine and beer swam around his expensive chukkas. He screwed the bag up, tossing it into the trunk as he ran a hand through his hair, growling in annoyance.

“How much did you just drop all over the drive way?” you asked and he peeked up at you and grimaced.

“Eighty bucks worth. That was some quality merlot.”

“Well, maybe next time you’ll remember to double bag.” You shook your head, before you nodded to it “Make sure you clean that up. I’d hate to reverse over it and get another flat. Woe betide we have a performance like last time.”

“Oh, I dunno.” He quipped, a smirk spreading across his face “I happen to think the performance last time was pretty good. You certainly didn’t have any complaints once I got you back inside and sat on my face.”

You blinked, before you scoffed and shook your head “Do you know where the brush and dustpan is or should I draw you a map?”

“Fuck you.” He shot back, his eyes narrowed in a glare and you grinned, shrugging.

“Maybe later.” and with that you headed inside leaving him to grieve for his precious alcohol, which had been taken from him far too soon…

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Tteokkboki

A/n: This goes from super fluffy and cute to REAL smutty halfway through, but this is a little commission for @sweetwritertanya​ because she’s an angel.

Summary: Jungkook falls for a waitress at a tteokkboki restaurant, and she isn’t sure if they’re just friends or not.

Warnings: fluff and just a whole lotta smut, chubby!reader, virgin!Jungkook, girl on top, vaginal fingering, some mention of male masturbation, Jungkook just really wants to love reader and all her curves, protected sex

Word Count: 3413

Namjoon mentions it first, how Jungkook is suddenly all focus, quiet all the time, holing up in his room. 

"What's going on with you?" He asks, after the third time in a row Jungkook barely picks at his food.

Jungkook shrugs. “Nothing.”

He keeps saying nothing even when Namjoon asks again because he isn't quite sure how to say he thinks he might be lovesick and he barely knows your name.

You work at a tteokbokki restaurant near his gym, and the first time he saw you he almost choked to death.

It was so simple, just the curve of your upper arm in his peripheral vision. Your skin looked so soft and it drew his eyes up to your face before he even knew it.

You smiled almost immediately and he feels his cheeks burn as he tries not to choke on his water.

Hoseok orders as if nothing's amiss, and then gives Jungkook a curious look when he clears his throat and mumbles an order.

"You okay, Kook?"

Jungkook can only nod fervently, keeping his eyes trained on the table and drawing in a sharp breath when your hand brushes his when you take the menus.

That'd been it, he'd barely spoken to you, going to eat tteokbokki so often he was sick of it. He learned your name from the receipts he got, traced his fingers over it, practicing the syllables out loud as if he'd ever get the courage to introduce himself.

Jungkook can't rightly say he'd developed a type, after all it isn't as if he has a whole wealth of experience to choose from, just a couple stolen kisses in high school at the lockers.

But now?

He seeks out pictures of girls with your body type, can't ever find anyone with exactly your curves, how soft your skin looks, the thickness of your thighs in slacks.

He can't help himself from looking up nudes, scrolling down to obscure her face, his skin hot, hand scrabbling at his fly as he sits at his laptop.

He'd be ashamed if he didn't daydream just as often of just your hand in his, fingers curling into his palm, your easy smile, head tilted up, how he'd kiss the tip of your chin, the corner of your mouth.

Jungkook asks the hostess politely if he can sit in your section, every time, and every time he has grand plans to tell you his name, maybe even be so bold as to write his number under the big tip he always leaves on the credit card receipt.

All he ever manages is a mumbled order, drumming his fingers on the table and shredding the paper of his straw. 

It's you who speaks first, as he's signing the receipt and gnawing on his bottom lip, wondering if he should at least draw a smiley face, and he startles so much his pen jerks onto the table, leaving a stray mark.

"You don't have to leave so much!" You protest.

"I-I...I really like...the service here," he sputters, and your bright smile doesn't much help the flush of his cheeks.

"Jungkook, right?"

He just started at you for a long moment with surely an idiotic, dreamy expression on his face, unable to fight his smile.

"It's on your receipts. You're my only regular customer," you say quickly, and scrunch your nose in a way that is so cute his chest aches. "I don't think I'm very good at this."

"No," Jungkook breathes, unable to stand the slight frown on your face. "You're so good. The best, actually. The best waitress ever."

You giggle, a sound that makes him wonder if he's dreaming, and glance around to see the restaurant is almost empty before you sit down across from him.

Jungkook swallows hard, palms on the table because he doesn't know what to do with his hands.

"You're sweet," you say, smiling a little, looking away as if you're the one who's shy, and he can't bear it, can't stop himself from reaching out to touch your hand hesitantly.

"I mean it," he insists. 

You give him a smile that makes his heart nearly stop, but then the bell over the door rings and you're up and heading to busy yourself before he can say another word.

Jungkook feels emboldened by the conversation, scribbles something on the receipt before he can change his mind and bolts, leaving the restaurant before you come back over. 

He's halfway home before he realizes he's left his coat on the back of his chair, it takes that long before he feels the cold.

Jungkook goes to his room and rolls around on the bed, imagines you scoffing at his message, a scrawled "I think you're beautiful" with a stupid badly drawn heart and his phone number.

He throws his phone on the floor and buries his face in his pillow, certain you'd be absolutely disgusted, after all it was your job to be nice to him and surely guys hit on you all the time and what had he been thinking?

It's an hour later when his phone chimes and he falls off the bed with a thud to get to it.

😳 Thank you. Where should we meet up? You left your coat.

Jungkook whoops so loudly that Taehyung opens the door, peeks his head in to raise a thick brow at Jungkook lying on the floor and grinning at his phone.

Jungkook throws a pillow at him and Taehyung laughs and leaves him be.

It takes a full half hour before he can text you back, typing text after text before deleting them and settling on: The park near the restaurant? When is your shift over?

When you text back: Now, all the breath leaves his lungs in a rush.

He scrambles up, goes to the mirror and runs his hands through his hair, looks down at his wrinkled t-shirt and sweats and groans.

It would look too desperate and eager to change his clothes, wouldn't it?

When he picks up his phone he accidentally calls you and he wants to die when you pick up on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Oh, fuck," he mumbles, and brings the phone to his ear.

"Jungkook?"

"Fuck, I'm sorry, I shouldn't curse I...um...can you meet me at the park entrance in half an hour?"

"Sure thing." He hears the smile in your voice and it calms the hammering of his heartbeat.

"Um, okay. Thank you."

He hangs up. Thank you? What the fuck was that? How was he supposed to meet up with you outside of work when he can barely make words on a phone call?

Flustered, he all but runs out of the house despite Namjoon's protests that he needs a coat and he's freezing by the time he reaches the park.

He's fifteen minutes early and he sees you right away, sitting on a bench with your palms on the thick thighs he's been dreaming about, wearing a beanie and a scarf, cheeks rosy from the cold when you look up at him.

"H-hello." He manages, and you make a distressed sound in the back of your throat, bounding up and putting on his coat like he's a child.

You're rubbing your hands up and down his arms, so close he could lean down and kiss the top of your head and suddenly he isn't cold anymore.

You tsk. "Your teeth are chattering! Did you walk here?"

"I'm sorry," he says dumbly, struck by how near you are, how he's been daydreaming of this moment for weeks.

"Let's get coffee. Warm you up, yeah?"

You loop your arm through his and his head feels light when you tug him across the street to a nearby cafe.

Jungkook manages to fumble out his wallet when you order for yourself and him, paying despite your protests.

He's been hoping for this for so long but now that you're sitting next to him on the couch at the back of the cafe, your knee touching his, he can't think.

"Are you warmer now?" You ask, watching him sip his coffee, and he nods.

It's another moment before you speak again and your words make him take a bigger gulp than he'd intended, burning the roof of his mouth.

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?"

He nods again, more fiercely, but the way you're not looking at him directly, just from the corner of your eye makes him realize he needs words.

"I think you're so beautiful," he blurts earnestly, and you still don't look at him but the corner of your mouth turns up just a bit.

"You're my only regular. I figured maybe you just were so shy you didn't want to deal with a new server every time. Guys that look like you do don't...they don't like girls like me. Not like that, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Jungkook sits his coffee down on the table, pivots toward you, ignoring the thrill up his spine when his thigh touches yours.

"You obviously work out. I don't, much." 

You seem to curl in on yourself, making yourself smaller, and he frowns.

"So? I'm sure we have lots of other stuff in common…"

You look up at him and blink at him, and then laugh a little at his confused expression. 

"You're really not poking fun at me?"

"Wh-what? No! Never. I'm not... I don't really go on dates or talk to girls... women…"

He trails off miserably when you smile wider, face on fire, but you take his hand in yours, curling your fingers into his palm just like he'd imagined, and he loses his breath.

It's a few weeks before he gets to show you just how beautiful you are to him, and he can barely believe it's happening.

You're in his room, lying on your stomach on his bed and he's sitting on the floor, rifling through the vinyl albums he collected to show you when you say something that makes his hands still.

"Are we just friends?"

Jungkook hums nervously in the back of his throat but he can't find his voice, something tightening his chest.

"Kook?" You call when he doesn't answer, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment.

"Do...do you want to be just friends?" He asks, softly, and when you don't answer right away he turns and you're sitting up on the bed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"I asked you," you insist, your mouth set in a hard line.

Jungkook swallows, opens his mouth, closes it again.

"We've been...hanging out now for what? A month?"

"Six weeks," he blurts, and flushes a bit.

You huff out a breath. "Six weeks. You never let me pay for dinner and you let me hold your hand...but you...you haven't kissed me and I just need to know if we're just friends or…" 

Jungkook's heart is thudding against his breastplate and he gets up on his knees in front of you.

"I don't...I don't want to be your friend."

Your expression doesn't change, but something flashes in your eyes. "No?"

Jungkook shakes his head. "I want to be more than friends," he confesses. "I want to…" He takes a deep breath, gingerly places his hands on your thighs, inwardly groans at how badly he wants to squeeze.

"You want to kiss me?" You ask softly, and put a hand in his hair, leaning forward just a bit, and Jungkook can't help the moan that comes from his throat.

His head is spinning like he'd been drinking wine all night even though he hadn't had a drop and when you lean in he surges up, nose bumping against yours a bit before he finds your mouth, and he doesn't bother with chaste, slips his tongue into your mouth hungrily and his right hand squeezes the soft flesh of your thigh almost involuntarily.

You make a low noise into his mouth and before he knows what he's doing he's climbing onto the bed, encouraged by your fingers gripped tight in his hair.

You're so soft, everywhere, all these curves instead of hard lines and he wants his hands all over you but he can't stop squeezing your inner thigh and when your legs part and you arch up off the bed a bit, he feels like all the blood leaves his head and he breaks from your mouth, panting just a bit.

"Y/n, I-I-" he stutters, but then you palm the front of his jeans and he forgets what he was going to say entirely.

"You want me, yeah?"

He looks down at your face, almost in wonder at your flushed cheeks, your glassy eyes, and nods, groaning and bucking against your hand.

"Want you so bad," he breathes, and you lean up to kiss him again and he can't think anymore, just following the ache in his belly and his cock.

Jungkook kisses your neck, right at your pulse, soft at first and then when you gasp, harder, sticking out his tongue to taste your skin.

"Do you have...do you have protection?" You ask in a husky voice and Jungkook thanks God for Jung Hoseok forcing a handful of condoms on to him, Taehyung and Jimin every break despite Jungkook's flushed cheeks and protests.

He leans up, almost mourning having to take his hands off you, and rummages around in his nightstand and finding a few to throw on the bed.

Jungkook wonders if he should tell you that he's never gotten past second base but you're shimmying out of your jeans and God, there's so much skin he wants to touch and kiss. As soon as you shuck them off his mouth attaches to the skin of your inner thigh and he sucks hard until you cry out and when he lifts his head the red mark he's left there makes him dizzy.

You're wearing these pale blue panties and they're almost transparent. He can't take his eyes off the crotch of them and when you tilt your hips up he moans against your thigh, places his palm against your sex and he can feel such heat against his palm that he chokes out your name.

You lean up, sliding your hand between your bodies to grab his cock through his jeans and fuck, he can't think when you do that, feels like if you rubbed even a bit he'd cum in his pants like a teenager so he takes your hand, pins your wrists above your head with one hand so that he can keep touching you with the other.

He slides his hand down the waistband of your panties and you're so slick, bucking against his fingers and moaning his name and he has no idea how he will last if he gets his cock inside you.

You make a sound almost like a whimper and his eyes dart to your face. You've got your eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted, and when your tongue darts out to wet your lips he wonders briefly what you'd look like with those lips wrapped around his cock.

"Kookie, please, I'm gonna-"

He watches your face, knows he's dragging his thumb along your clit by the way you cry out, and curious, he slips a finger inside you and you instantly clench around it.

"F-fuck. Fuck, Y/n, I want…"

Your eyes pop open and you lick your lips again, arching your back and he sees your nipples hard and straining against your shirt and he groans. Just when he thinks it's too much, just when he thinks there can't be more of you that's so sexy he can barely contain himself, he notices something else.

"Tell me what you want," you say in that husky tone and his face is burning but so what, so was the rest of him.

"Want you to ride my cock," he blurts, hoping that if you controlled the speed and depth he'd last longer, keep from embarrassing himself.

"Yes," you breathe, but when he releases your wrists and tugs off his shirt to lie down, you hesitate after slipping out of your panties, tugging your shirt down, sitting up on your knees.

"Are you okay? We can stop, I-"

You shake your head, eyes trailing over him. "I'm just... I'm nervous. You're in such good shape and I'm-'

Jungkook sits up, cups your face in his hands.

"You're beautiful," he insists. "You're so sexy, Y/n, I've been trying not to cum in my jeans for half an hour."

He would normally be mortified but your smile makes up for all of it and you kiss him hungry and sloppy and he doesn't protest when you keep on your shirt but he wants to see your tits so badly.

"W-wait," he stutters when you unbutton his fly, his head feels fuzzy and he wants this to last. He pulls you into his lap, tries to ignore how hot your core is even through his jeans.

He kisses along the neckline of your top before lifting his head, meeting your eyes before he touches your breasts.

You smile and nod and he clumsily tugs your breasts out of the top of your shirt and bra, leaning down to kiss the peaks of each of your nipples gently.

"There," he says softly, and lies back on the bed, adjusting his hips under you and holding his breath when you unbutton his jeans, deftly tug his cock out and he's embarrassed by how much precum spurts from his tip, coating your fingertips.

But then you bring your fingers to your mouth, suck them gently and he groans and tries not to buck beneath you.

"You're trying to kill me," he gasps, and your laugh makes him feel almost drunk.

You look around for the condoms and he fumbles with one, gets it open and fights the urge to fist his leaking cock when he slides it on.

Jungkook is nervous when you straddle his thighs but you don't tease, just guide his cock inside you and he can't stop the hoarse moan that rips from his throat.

"Oh God, oh fuck, Y/n, you're perfect, so fucking perfect," he babbles, and you rock forward, brace your hands on the headboard.

You're so tight around him, pulsing and so wet he can't stop himself from grabbing onto your hips and jerking up beneath you.

You cry out his name and do this smooth roll of your hips that makes him bite down hard on his lip and throw his head back.

You move your hands to his chest, panting a little, your eyes concerned.

"Am I...am I doing okay?"

Jungkook barks out a choked laugh.

"Okay? You're so fucking hot, Y/n, I can barely look at you."

You take his chin in your hand and his eyes open. You keep rolling your hips and he can barely breathe, watching your tits bounce and he moves his hands there, loves the way your nipples drag against his palms.

You let out a long whining moan and start to almost bounce on his cock and he feels his balls tighten.

"Y/n," he warns, but you've got your head thrown back now, moving as if you're on a mission. 

"Jungkook, I'm… I'm cumming," you moan low in your throat and he can feel it, fuck, he can feel you pulse around him and he thinks his heart might vault out of his chest.

"Oh God, oh God, Y/n!" He nearly shouts, spurting into the condom, hips bucking uncontrollably. His orgasm seems to last forever and he moans your name over and over, drags your head down to kiss you until black spots slide across his vision.

He gasps in air when you break apart but he whines when you slide off him and you giggle a little and the way your ass jiggles when you head to the bathroom is such a gift.

He's thrown the condom away and tugged the covers up when you return and he makes grabby hands at you, sleepy.

You slide in beside him and he puts a hand on your ass and wonder of wonders if he's half hard again in moments.

But you tuck your face into his neck, plant a chaste kiss there and he rubs your back instead, loving your breath on his throat.

"Are we more than friends now?" He mumbles, and your low laugh puts him to sleep with a smile on his face.

[imagineitup]

𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩 (𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭) : 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵: chaotic, clumsy slytherin muggle, meets scorpius, who helps them? i think it'd be so cute ☺️☺️ hope you are well!

𝘢/𝘯: ok hear me out … scorpius coffee shop au 

𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵: when you spill the coffee order all over the attractive customer, you expect him to scream at you.  what you’re not expecting is for him to profusely apologize.  he even asks if you’re alright.  um, what?

- - 

“Double-shot espresso,” you call, raising an eyebrow at the name written on the receipt, “for Scorpius?”

It’s a strange name, that’s for sure.  You’ve seen your share of strange names, even though you go through the entire ordeal of trying to repress the last five years of your life.  You shake your head, trying to clear things out of your mind.  It’s near closing hours, and there’s only a few more minutes until you’ll get to leave.  Yet to your dismay, there are still people inside the coffee shop: students loitering around the dim lamplight and listening to music through tangled headphones, couples quietly holding their lover’s hand, little kids opening and closing the door to hear the whoosh of wind and soft bell clink. 

You let your eyes roam around the coffee shop, trying to guess who this ever elusive Scorpius is.  Maybe it's the older man leaning on his cane, doing his best to regard the different porcelain mugs despite failing eyesight.  It would make sense, considering this Scorpius hasn’t come to get his coffee yet.  Or maybe, even, the little kid yawning and tugging at his mom’s sleeve.  Little kids get all sorts of strange names these days, because apparently the more unique the better. 

“Scorpius?”  

But before you can contemplate any longer, there’s a screech of metal to your right, and you watch in amusement as an older boy your age comes running up to the counter, hopping on one foot in an attempt to regain the balance lost from his rush.  There’s another loud clatter as his chair leg regains its balance against the floor.  “Here, here, hi Scorpius --” he frowns, out of breath.  “Wait … you’re not … I’m Scorpius.”  His cheeks flood pink, and he runs a hand through his disheveled hair.  His eyes sheepishly meet yours.  “Sorry, I promise I haven’t done that in years.  Today’s just been a mess.”

Well.  You never thought this Scorpius would be cute.

But you end up laughing softly at him, shaking your head in amusement.  “I gathered.  You’re drinking a double-shot espresso at closing hours, and I think it’s safe to say I’m just a little concerned.”

“Pssh,” Scorpius says, shrugging bashfully.  “I just needed a jump after the apparating.  I’m exhausted.” 

You let out a screech.  Is he insane?  Your hands drop forward, and you watch in horror as the recycled paper cup you’re holding teeters forward and sloshes all over Scorpius and his nice coat.  The cup rolls against the floor, and you freeze, terrified.  Shit.

“Oh my god.  Oh my god I--”

“Agh,” Scorpius yelps, stepping backward to mournfully look at the coffee staining his wool sweater.  Then he bites back a hiss as he wrings out his hand, his bottom lip clenched in-between his teeth.  “Ouch.”

You’re suddenly all too aware of the other customers watching you with blank, unimpressed stares, some even going to the extent of ignoring you completely due to second-hand embarrassment.  The little kid with his mom finally manages to convince her to walk out the door, and the little bells jangle twice as they exit. 

You turn your attention back to Scorpius.  “I’m so, so sorry --”

Scorpius’s eyes quickly dart back to yours, and you wince, expecting him to yell.  Or at least hit you with a disgusted gaze and demand a refund.  But instead, he panics?  He steps forward again, clearly forgetting about the mess on the floor and the coffee sloshing against his shoes, and he reaches a tentative hand out toward you.  “Are you alright?  I’m so sorry!  I didn’t mean to make a mess, can I, can I help?  Fix it, I mean.”

What?

You’re speechless, all your words disappearing.  All you can do is stare in stupored awe, wide-eyed and speechless at the boy who stands across from you.  Here he is, this strange, strange boy, who talks about apparating out loud and apologizes to you for something that was entirely your own fault. 

“What?” Is all you can manage.  “Wh--”

“Are you okay?” Scorpius repeats, gently and clearly concerned.  “It was hot.  I, erm, really hope you didn’t burn yourself.”

“But I spilled it on you?” 

Scorpius shrugs.  “Well, must’ve been a reason, no?” He laughs bemusedly, shrugging good-naturedly.  “And besides, it’ll dry out in seconds.  It’s no big deal.” 

“But your sweater …” 

“I’ll just magic it out.”  

Your mouth drops open.  He didn’t seriously just say that, did he?

Scorpius stuffs his hand over his mouth, and then stammers, “I mean, the washing machine will do wonders.  Like magic.”  He turns, grabbing a handful of napkins from the counter and immediately starts dropping them to the floor, using his foot to seep up the coffee. 

You watch him with wide eyes.  “I’ll do it, you just sit --”

“No, it’s the least I can do --”

“Oh my god, I’ll get a mop.”

You run into the back room, the double doors swinging behind you as you let your face fall into your hands.  After taking in a few breaths, you let your eyes scan around the cabinets and extra bags of coffee grounds, and you shakily reach for the mop in the corner, nearly knocking over a box of glass supplies. 

When you re-emerge from the back room, you watch with bewilderment as Scorpius reaches for something in his jacket pocket, freezing when he sees you.  “Oh, perfect!” 

He cheerfully takes the mop from you, all too eager to help clean up. 

“Hey, wait a minute.  You want anything to eat?” 

Scorpius’ eyes widen, and he sneaks a look at the pastry shelf.  “No, I … I shouldn’t.  Albus didn’t give me that much muggle money,” he sneaks a look at the coins held in his hand, “he only gave me these.  Said it was enough for the espresso?”

Albus?  This Scorpius really ain’t sly. 

But you nod, busying yourself with fixing him another espresso, this time making sure to create it as perfectly as you can and to fill it to the brim.  As soon as you slip the lid atop the cup, you wander over to the patisserie display, reaching for the metal tongs to sneak in two iced gingerbread men and a loaf of banana bread.

“Scorpius?” 

He perks up, leaning against the mop and then stumbling, flushing a bright red.  He quickly places the mop against the side of the wall, and then turns to you as he sees the drink in your hands, pleased.  “Is that my espresso?”

You nod, handing him the cup (carefully this time), and then the parcel of baked goods.  “Here.  It’s the least I can do.  It’s on the house.” 

Scorpius blinks.  He tilts his head slightly to the side, his eyes filling with awe.  “Wow,” he whispers, his lips parting.  Then he gingerly reaches out to take the parcel, his face lighting up as he looks inside.  “You gave me three?”

You smile sheepishly.  “Yeah.” 

Scorpius attempts to slide over the coins he has, but you stop him, placing your hand over his and pushing the coins back to him.  “It’s on the house.”

“On the house?” 

“Free.”

Scorpius’s mouth drops open.  “But --”

“But what?”

“But I can’t accept this.”

“Well, you’re going to.”  You laugh, shrugging.  “Tell Albus Potter to teach you more about muggle etiquette.”

Scorpius grins.  And then he frowns, eyebrows scrunching up.  “Wait, what? Muggle?  What’s that?  I mean, what?  Erm, how do you know that?” 

You laugh, lips twisting up into an easy smirk.  “I’m a Hogwarts drop-out.  Magic wasn’t really my thing, so I decided to come back.  Finish up school and work here on the side.”

“But how’d you know --”

You hold up a finger, “you mentioned apparating,” you hold up another finger, “literally said ‘muggle money’,” and then a third finger, “and then you said Albus.  The Potter’s are practically famous, you know.”

Scorpius flushes pink. 

“And the phrase, ‘on the house’.”

Scorpius looks at his shoes, obviously flustered.  “Oh, I, uh --”

“It’s cute, though.  You should come back, one day.  I’d give you my number, but I don’t think you have a phone.”

Scorpius frowns, then smiles shyly.  “Do you have an owl?” 

You quickly write your address down on a napkin.  “Here.  Owl me one day.”

Scorpius’s fingers fumble as he reaches for it, and the smile that spreads across his face lights up the room.  “Okay.  I’ll come back.  And I’ll write you.  Every day!”

You laugh.  “I’m counting on it.”