#just registered a parent wearing a “taking back the rainbow” shirt

[poetrusicperry]

the poets and their first summer jobs

i’ve seen some discourse about how rich all the boys/their families are, and of course there would be like very little reason for them to work, but i couldn’t help wondering who would do what for their first jobs (summer jobs bc they couldn’t work while they’re at school). andddd that led me to writing this lol

neil: so neil would have like absolutely zero time for a job between all his normal coursework/extracurriculars and his summer classes (”you know me, always taking on too much”), but i guarantee you he would still take the time to get a job and have his own money to do with whatever he chose. mr. perry wouldn’t care much because it showed neil “taking initiative” or whatever. neil would likely work at a diner as either a bus boy or a waiter. he’s super personable, so he’d always strike up conversations with people sitting at the counter, and he’d get loads of tips bc he’s cute (: he’d bring his summer school work with him to do during lulls in business, which his boss didn’t mind because it’s neil and everyone knows how responsible he is. the poets would come visit him pretty much every day (to eat, see neil, and escape the heat in the air conditioning), likely taking up a whole booth, and making an absolute mess of the area. charlie would be making spitballs, aiming at cameron and knox every time (earning a “charlie, knock it off, i told you three times already! so mature of you, really.” from cameron) and meeks/pitts would try to see how many straws they could connect to make “ultra straw.” todd would come hang out at the counter when neil was closing, admiring his pretty bf as he worked (’: neil would always make todd a chocolate milkshake with whipped cream and rainbow jimmies on the house, claiming, “we have to empty out the ice cream machine anyway” (but really he’d take the cost out of his paycheck, just wanting to make todd happy). his boss would hire him back every summer, loving how much business neil drove in (even if the poets made a mess every time they hung out and ate) and absolutely adoring how much effort neil put into what anyone else would seemingly call a “meaningless” job.

todd: you can’t tell me that todd wouldn’t look forward to working. especially during the summers, it would get him out of the house and away from his parents judging his every move. being the shy introvert he is, he’d likely do things like mowing lawns or gardening for people around his neighborhood. minimal interactions, but still decent pay (as all the people in his neighborhood were likely super rich and could afford to pay him well). the poets’ parents would hire him, after much convincing from their sons (”todd’s just trying to make some money, dad. please?”) and todd would appreciate this more than they ever knew. he’d become super familiar with flower types and he’d become a lot more nurturing after taking care of plants and grass for multiple summers. he’d keep a little journal or notebook with drawings or sketches of the flowers he’d taken care of, complete with descriptions and magazine/newspaper clippings from his mom’s better homes and garden subscription (a lot of his poetry would become nature-related as well). it would be his late night project, or something he’d do if he couldn't sleep (which was pretty common for todd). he’d call neil on the phone some nights and just gush about all kinds of flowers or tell neil how he accidentally got stung by a bee and cried about it because he knew the bee would die (all the while, neil would be listening so intently, taking note about which flowers were todd’s favorites for future use (’: the calls would have to be pretty planned, bc if neil wasn’t working, he was doing school work, or his parents were keeping an annoyingly close watch on him. but sometimes neil would call him impromptu and that made todd just the happiest little camper ever). todd’s nails would be really short (he’d cut them really often because he doesn’t like the feeling of dirt under his nails), which means he couldn’t bite his nails anymore, causing him to pick up a new anxious habit of biting the inside of his bottom lip ): overall, though, todd would like his job, and even find pleasure in being surrounded by little flowers all day. also if/when neil ever got the chance, he’d absolutely tag along to see his sweaty boyfriend in action (come on, neil would go absolutely nuts for todd in a cutoff shirt, 5″ inseam shorts, and converse mowing a lawn looking all manly and tough). 

charlie: obviously, charlie wouldn’t need to work because of his financial situation, but his mom would 110% make him get a job just so he wouldn’t be around the house causing trouble/bothering his siblings for fun (”i’m hosting a lot of book club meetings for the country club this summer, i can’t have you putting spiders in the ladies’ hats again, charles”). similar to neil, mr. charlie dalton would work his summers at an ice cream/custard stand. he’d have to wear a white, short sleeve button up, a red and white striped apron, and one of those white, rectangular hats (his least favorite part HAHA, stating, “my hair is one of my best features and this just takes it all away. it’s unfair.”). the poets would visit often, both for ice cream, but primarily to give him a hard time about his uniform (”i’ll give you twenty bucks to wear this on our first day of classes” meeks would tease, completely gobsmacked when charlie showed up to their first chemistry class in his uniform, earning lots of demerits, but also twenty dollars). charlie would hate it at first, but obviously he’d adjust, being the extroverted/personable person, not taking himself too seriously and being one of the best ice cream slingers anyone had ever seen. he’d give the cute girls (and boys) extra scoops of ice cream for free, winking as he handed them their orders. like neil’s boss, charlie’s boss was even more thankful for charlie’s presence because they’d likely be raking in at least triple the income they would in a summer without him. he’d become a sundae expert, spending many dead poets meeting making them for his friends while they read poems and stories. that being said, he’d come to hate eating ice cream, publishing an article in welton’s honor demanding that they remove ice cream from their dessert menu (yes, almost exactly like the “girls at welton” prank, but he’d make the call collect this time. mr. nolan would be fed up to the point where he wouldn’t even punish charlie physically, just suspend him from rowing [which charlie wouldn’t mind at all HAHA]).

meeks & pitts: after their hi-fi success and the fact that they are seemingly inseparable, they both sought out jobs at the local radio station where they were hired as interns/assistants, running errands and picking up coffee or lunch for the station. but sometimes, when they worked pretty late, the night shift dj would let them pick the records and show them how everything worked (: after nights like that, meeks and pitts would go to one of their houses and add modifications to their hi-fi radio, staying up all night modifying and researching (by the end of the summer, they had made another hi-fi (portable) and their og hi-fi would have been morphed into a huge nationally reaching radio that they keep in the cave (since it would be disallowed in their room at welton). another job that the two of them would have would be answering calls for the station about song requests. with this knowledge, charlie and the other poets would hang out at someone’s house, calling and requesting the same songs over and over and over again. their biggest task for the summer would be organizing the shelves with all the records into alphabetical order (”duh, we should go by first name, meeks. which other way would it be” pitts would argue, only to find out that after they had spent about three weeks alphabetizing by first name, they were supposed to go by last name. “now who’s the idiot?” meeks would jeer, beginning to pull the records off the shelves). they’d also learn a lot about music from their night shift coworker, which would help in their quest to woo some ladies the following school year.

cameron: cameron liked spending his summers doing research projects for fun and just reading a whole lot, so you can imagine his displeasure at when his parents asked him to get a job (presumably to help with paying for his schooling). while upset about it, he wouldn’t complain, and took it on the chin, understanding the reasoning. he’d apply to a couple places, but ultimately end up as a grocery store cashier/stock boy. much like charlie, he’d have the same kind of uniform, but with a green apron instead. he’d spend most of his shift ringing people up at the register, being friendly and personable (something no one ever really realized about him !!). the poets’ moms would always see him and choose his register on purpose, using it as a chance to catch up or tell him to tell his parents that “the overstreets say hello!” or “mrs. anderson says hi!” pitts, meeks, and charlie would utilize cameron’s position at the supermarket to buy nudie magazines unembarrassed/slightly illegally HAHA (”come on, cameron! it’s not like you won’t be included in seeing them next year, too. we bring them to the meetings, you know that!” charlie would say, leaving cameron at a loss, reluctantly scanning the magazines and bagging them as pitts and meeks sniggered). charlie would wave, blow him a kiss, and wink as they left, “love you, richardddd.” sure enough, the magazines would make an appearance during the following school year and cameron was glad he had decided to let them buy the magazines lol. 

knox: out of all the poets, i feel like our knoxious would be the least inclined to work (yes, even less inclined than charlie). his parents wouldn’t even make him get a job because he simply didn’t need to, but to everyone’s surprise, he would volunteer at the animal shelter. the poets would later find out that it was a great way to meet girls (which is why he did it lmfao so they endlessly goaded him about it). charlie would visit often, and even took a rescue puppy home, much to charlie’s younger sister’s delight. charlie even wanted to start volunteering at the shelter to also meet girls, but he was too busy at the ice cream stand (plus, he had really grown to like it there so he didn’t want to leave). another effect of volunteering made knox super interested in zoology and animals, which brought out a newer, more nurturing/caring side to him, and who knows, maybe he’d go vegetarian somehow. he’d want to pursue a career in animal science or becoming a veterinarian, but mr. overstreet was hellbent on knox taking over the firm, so it seemed like a pipe dream. knox would continue to volunteer at the animal shelter, well into his career as a lawyer, and would even go to veterinary school in his 30s (when he was a nationally famous, established lawyer) to get certification to work with animals in a broader way (: 

hope you guys liked these. it was pretty fun to write, and i'd pay such good money to see neil, charlie, and cameron in their uniforms (and todd, but that’s neither here nor there). happy thursday !! let me know what you guys think of these <3(:

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (1) || atz

The sounds of the waves crashing against shore, the white sea foam like clouds of the sky.

Salt touches your tongue as sea spray catches the light of the sun, casting a beautiful rainbow across your cheeks.

Seagulls circle in the clear blue expanse above, their cries ringing out for miles.

Rain lashes against your arms and droplets clings to your eyelashes. They resemble tears.

Lightning splits the darkness of the clouds and thunder akin to cannon shot rolls overhead, but there is no fear.

You smile wide, eyes closed, but then something in your chest weighs you down.

Suddenly, you’re yanked into the depths, water filling your nose and lungs and all at once, you cannot breathe. The weight in your chest drags you down, down, down, and no matter how hard you flail and thrash about, no matter how desperately you reach for the surface…

There is nothing but darkness.

Drip, drip, drip.

Your eyes flutter open softly, like a new butterfly’s wings. You’re lying on something wet and rough beneath your body, and to your horror, when you instinctively try to rub your eyes, your hands are bound together by a coarse, thick rope.

Right in front of you is a puddle of water and drops of water keeps falling into it, forming tiny ripples. You try to sit up as your eyes instinctively follow its path, up the grime ridden stone walls to the crack in the ceiling were rainwater seeps through. A spider lazily weaves its web in a corner and for a moment, you’re spellbound by it.

Crack!

You flail backwards at the deafening sound of a thunderclap, but your hands are tied together and you’re sent crashing to the ground painfully. Luckily, the ground is wet so the fall isn’t as painful as it could have been, but you still feel a tenderness in your hip where bare skin got dragged across uneven stone. You suck in a breath.

“Come on, it’s not that bad. Sit up again.”

Exhaling carefully, you roll onto your back, ignoring the pain of the small rocks digging into your side, and finally heave yourself up with a haphazard effort of numb limbs. Your bound ankles come into view, along with dirty, calloused bare feet. They’re tied with a thick red cord that there’s no chance you can cut through or untie, and when your mind finally screams at you the obvious, your heart stops.

“You’re in a prison.”

Your head snaps to the right, metal grills lining the tiny window in the room. To your left, the only exit secured with heavy metal bars, kept locked by three iron chains, each with a metal padlock at the end. Whoever locked you up here wanted to make sure you had no chance of escape. Before you can think any further, the sound of chattering and clanking metal wrenches you back to the present.

“-some woman down here.” The sound of heeled boots echoes down a flight of steps. There’s a soft squeak of leather and the man curses. “Damned stairs, what was that bastard Arthur thinking, holding a public execution today? Justice calls, my ass. He probably just wants to get rid some whore that heard his mouth running when he was drunk-”

“Quiet, Mannon!” Another voice, higher and hushed this time. “You never know if someone could overhear you! The governor will have you hanged!”

“Ha!” A derisive snort. To your mounting horror, their footsteps seem to be drawing nearer to your cell. “As if his men are going to lug themselves here to check on a mere prisoner. Lazing about in their offices all day, doing nothing but paperwork, afraid to get their hands dirty- Oh, she’s awake.”

Your face jerks upwards, but seconds later you flinch away from the light of the torch in the men’s hands. Slightly disoriented, you try to regain your bearings. That’s when the shorter and slightly rounded man pulls out a set of key from the pocket of his crimson uniform, moving towards your door. Your hope bubbles in your chest like a warm spring.

You watch, fascinated, as the chains slither away from the bars, landing in heaps on the floor. The man that resembles a bamboo stick draped in an ill fitting uniform steps forward and with a quick swipe of a pocket knife the ropes fall from your ankles. Warm blood rushes to your feet as if it’s the first time and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you.” You say gratefully, but the men simply stare at you, one unsympathetic and stone cold, the other won’t quite meet your eye. The portly one shakes his head, hand reaching down for the cord that binds your hands behind your back and tugs you to your feet carelessly.

“Don’t thank us for dragging you to the gallows, girlie.” The man snaps, unceremoniously shoving you forward. Before you fall, the other man catches you by the shoulders, steadying you. He’s warm.

“Mannon, stop doing this, alright?” His voice echoes somewhere far, far away, as if you’re underwater. You don’t register what he said.

Gallows?

“Yes, gallows, the place where people get hung, idiot.” A voice in your inner subconscious rings out, surprisingly clear even through the white noise that had filled your mind from panic. The insult manages to slap you back to your senses.

“Idiot?” You repeat to yourself under your breath, almost offended as the two guards pull you out of the cell and march you up the stairs with your hands tied behind your back. This laughingly pales in comparison to the actual trouble you are in.

Then it hits you full force.

You are walking to the gallows. Walking to your own death.

There’s a moment of serene peace for a moment, then you’re panicking, trying your best to recall what exactly has led you to this. What had you done to be deserving of the death penalty? You wrack your mind desperately for some some sort of answer, some sort of reason, but nothing comes forth except a blank, white canvas where your memories should be.

Where are your memories?

Fear floods through you like a tidal wave, rising and sweeping throughout every corner in your mind. It’s so real it’s palpable, clawing at your throat and stealing the breath from your lungs. There is nothing in your memories, no smiling parents, no first birthdays, no new pretty dresses, no favourite foods, nothing but white noise and the sound of waves crashing against shore.

How old are you? What did you eat yesterday? Why are you here?

Who are you?

You can’t even begin to fathom the answer to that one question.

“Hey, move it.” The rounder guard behind you shoves the small of your back forward, your bare feet dragging along the cobblestones of the street. The sky is dark and grey, as if weeping for all that you cannot remember and you see the townspeople peering at you and whispering to each other from tiny cracks in the doors and windows, no doubt wondering who it is unlucky enough to suffer the wrath of the official of the town. But there is not an ounce of recognition, only sympathy. Nobody cries for you, nobody tries to stop you as you take one step after another to the gallows. Nobody knows you.

You are alone.

Suddenly everything becomes so real to you. The feeling of cool rainwater as it trickles down your cheeks, the stone against your bare feet. The crisp cold air of a storm. The colour of the rain clouds. In another few minutes, you will be completely devoid of all sensation.

“I refuse.”

Like any thunderclap, the sound is deafening, it makes your eardrums ring and if your hands weren’t tied you’d clap them over your ears. But most thunderclaps don’t split buildings or cause massive screaming and mayhem.

“The official’s building!” The skinnier guard cries out in horror at the sight of the roof on one of the larger buildings on a hill collapse in on itself. There’s another ear splitting boom, and in the next second, your eyes manage to catch a glimpse of a round shape flying through the air before in plunges into the already collapsing building.

“Pirates!” You hear someone scream, his voice cracking with desperation and fright. “Pirates at the harbor-” His voice is abruptly cut off just as the clanging of a bell fills the air.

“Hurry, Philip! We need to get there!” The guard, Mannon, yanks on his partner’s arm and without a second glance back at you, they sprint down an alleyway, pulling sabers from hip sheathes.

You blink.

You’re free, just like that.

Your eyes dart around for something to free your hands with, but there’s nothing and you can hear the sounds of screaming getting ever closer. Townspeople are fleeing into buildings, doors being slammed shut, candles being extinguished, bolts drawn. From where the official’s building, you hear the click of several heeled boots pacing down the street in double time.

Between them and the pirates, you’d pick the pirates.

So with your hands bound behind your back, you dash down the same path your two captors took.

The sound of cannon fire fills your ears and there’s smoke everywhere. Your eyes sting, but you force yourself to keep moving, one foot in front of the other, one step at the time. There’s another earth shaking boom and suddenly the ground next to you explodes. You bite back the scream in your throat and continue running, you can’t afford to fall now. There are people all around you, dressed in the distinctive red coat of the law authorities here or in a motley array of tunics and breaches, both hold weapons, and both are dying.

As you move forward without looking back, there’s the sound of clashing metal, musket fire, screams of the wounded or dying. A man suddenly falls in front of you, blood pooling like a blossoming rose across the white of his undershirt, matching the vibrant red of his uniform. You leap over the corpse and turn back, staring open mouthed at his unclosing eyes, still wide in his shock, the slack muscles in his cheeks and jaw unmoving.

He’s dead.

You look up, almost instinctively. There’s a young man standing there, a long spear in hand. He’s wearing a sandy brown shirt over a white linen tunic and long, white pants that only accentuate his height tucked into knee high leather boots. His eyes, a soft brown beneath matching curls, meet yours for a split second.

Then you run.

You sprint as fast as you possibly can, feet flying over fallen swords and broken planks. You cannot stop. Through the acrid scent of smoke and gunpowder, you can finally smell it.

The sea.

In the harbor three ships are docked. One, with the emblem of a crimson rose embroidered onto its flag, has had its mainsail torn to shreds and the deck peppered with holes. Majority of its crew lie dead or unmoving, and even as you watch one of the last gun crews are blasted into the sea by a round cannonball, which shatters upon impact with the deck to form tiny, flying pieces of shrapnel that take out the gun crew beside it. The other ship, presumably a merchant vessel, is looted bare as its crew watches helplessly. Pirates heave chests of salted fish and silk cloth onto the third vessel.

The third ship is a large, ocean going vessel. Above its three sails on the mainmast flies its flag. A plain black design with the word ATEEZ in bright, bold orange, you immediately know this is the pirates’ ship. The harbor is chaos, clamoring of two sides to get the upper hand, but you can’t stop now. Taking a deep breath, you dash forward.

A blade narrowly misses your neck as you continue running with all your might, sliding under the business end of a swinging club. You barely feel the sting of your skin tearing as a stray musket ball nicks your upper arm, adrenaline pumping through your veins like a drug. You feel something warm and wet soak into the fabric of your sleeve, but like hell you’ll let that stop you now. By sheer dumb luck, you finally reach the gangplank of the pirate ship and dash up it, the wood creaking beneath your feet. They might be bleeding after that mad dash through town, but you’re here.

Now what?

Fighting is still going on all around. Pirates work in small groups to fight off boarding officers as they try to swarm the pirates. You hear a voice shout out “Fire in the hole!” over the din, and the five subsequent explosions send the boat rocking from side to side.

You’re still not safe.

Glancing around desperately, your eyes fall onto a small hatch in the main deck. Dodging the end of an ax on the path of its back swing, you leap for the trapdoor. Thank heavens you’re barefoot, because only with your toes you manage to nudge the bolt open and pull the hatch open. It’s stairs, leading down into the gloom of the storage hold, and from what you can hear, relatively quiet.

You’ll take your chances.

With a painful grunt, you take the stairs two at the time and your legs give out at the last moment. You crash to the floorboards just as the hatch closes over your head, throwing you into darkness except the faint shafts of light coming in from the cracks in the upper deck. Your ankle throbs with pain, but you don’t have time to worry about that. You frantically drag yourself behind a few barrels in the corner, out of sight of anyone coming down the steps and huddle down, praying for the ship to sail as fast as possible.

As if the gods were listening, you hear someone above deck shouting commands. “Weigh the anchor! Unfurl the sails! Wooyoung, fire the retreat flare!”

The voice is deep as the ocean and has an unmistakable air of command. You hear the pirates scrambling to carry out the orders, footsteps thudding across the deck and from the screams and splashes next to you, they are tossing the town officers overboard too. Not a second later another massive boom rocks the ship side to side, you knock your head on the barrels and a bundle of sackcloth falls onto you.

“Oww…” You mutter under your breath feeling something warm trickling down your temple, but then suddenly you hear the same, deep voice issuing commands again.

“Raise the gangplank, make way!”

There’s a sudden jerk of movement as the wind fills the sails. You gasp as you are almost thrown forward, barely regaining your balance at the last moment as the ship begins moving away from the harbor. The furious cries and jeers of the town officers fade away, replaced the sound of the sails beating in the wind and the lapping of waves against the side of the ship.

Home, your mind tells you.

As if all the fight has left you in a single moment, you slump back against the wall, the energy thrumming in your veins evaporating like steam, leaving only a sore ache in your limbs. You should really tend to the cut on your head or find some way to free your hands, but the overwhelming exhaustion crashes over you. The sackcloth is really warm, and you need to be properly rested before you can think of a plan.

“Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a few seconds.” You tell yourself as your eyelids slide shut and your breathing slows. You sink into a deep sleep.

It feels like you’ve barely closed your eyes when a voice shakes you out of your slumber.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

aquarium ii | kth

pairing(s): taehyung x reader; ex-jungkook x reader

summary: Life after Jeon Jungkook was grey. You had to find your own color, grow your own rainbow. But what would surprise you the most is the appearance of white cosmos, seven of them clutched tightly in Kim Taehyung’s hand.

warnings: reader discretion is advised: a (half-hearted) suicide attempt; mentions of cheating in previous relationship; language; heavy angst; fluffiest fluff; non-idol!AU; kind garden-loving landlord!Taehyung x reader; ft. sadboi!Jungkook

–

part i

-

now playing – without me by halsey ft. JUICE WRLD

tell me, how's it feel sittin' up there? feelin’ so high, but too far away to hold me

You couldn’t remember that night very well, because you didn’t come up.

The worst part about being cheated on was not the actual cheating. It was the moment where you thought you had done something wrong, like somehow it was your fault it happened, like if you hadn’t done this or that, maybe things would have been different. Maybe if you hadn’t chosen that night to snoop into Jeon Jungkook’s phone, he would have had second thoughts, deleted it all, and loved you again. Maybe if you were a little kinder, a little more attentive, he wouldn’t have fallen out of love with you. Maybe... Maybe.

Maybe.

You knew that was just your brain trying to rationalize his irrationality. You had done wrong by invading his privacy by acting on sheer gut feeling. And you had run away, without confronting it, without giving him a chance, because you knew, you knew that if you gave him a chance, you would believe all his words, get dragged back into his sea, back into those dangerous waters.

All these thoughts coursed through you as the water closed in.

The milky bathwater was slowly replacing your depleting air, leaking into your lungs and you didn’t fight it, turning the darkness of the underside of your eyelids into light, because deep down you still loved him, no matter how stupid or foolish it was. Your heart still clung to his soft, I’m sorry, and you didn’t want to hear it anymore.

You didn’t want to know what loving Jeon Jungkook was like anymore. It was too painful.

you know i'm the one who put you up there name in the sky, does it ever get lonely?

You gave everything so he could be what he wanted to be, not knowing that you were the one slowly being eroded. No one could tell you. You were the one who had to find the signs. You were the one who found yourself trapped in glass walls, stuck in an aquarium, surrounded on all sides by Jeon Jungkook as he made a mockery of your feelings.

You screamed into the water and no one heard you.

The next memory you had was hazy, barely there.

You felt a tightness in your chest, harsh, solid pressure. A frustrated, agonized voice above you, desperately calling your name in deep baritone, desperately asking you to come back, praying in every language he knew for you to come back, come back, please, please, please.

“Please…”

In the whiteness, you wandered. Were you meant to be here? It was a loose fog. You looked around, seeing traces of memory like torn book pages, slipping through the haze. You reached out to touch them and they disappeared, only mirages.

And then you fell, dragged into dark blue, torn, battered, lungs burning as you struggled to stay afloat, coughing hard, your muscles screaming with asphyxiation, sudden oxygen flooding your brain. You whipped your head to the side, hacking up water, spilling it all over the green tiles of the bathroom floor, head pounding. Thoughts swimming, barely computing the shouting above you.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” one voice growled above your jerking body, so venomous that it made your blood run cold. “You absolute disaster of a man, thinking for one fucking second she would even consider taking you back. Look at her! She’d rather drown herself in my damn bathtub than hold a conversation with you!”

“What the fuck do you know?” The familiar voice, the voice that haunted you in your nightmares, the voice that fed you sweet poison. “She would do anything for me! She worships the fucking ground I walk on!”

You curled up into a ball, head pounding by the sudden explosion of light and sound. There was a towel over you, covering your wet naked body, and yet you shivered. You barely registered Kim Taehyung snarling, rising to his feet.

“You narcissistic bastard,” Taehyung spat out. “Get the fuck out of my house. Get the fuck out and don’t ever come near her again or I’ll break your fucking neck.”

“You can’t do anything to me. You’re a nobody,” Jeon Jungkook taunted. “Unlike you, I actually have money to sue you for assault.”

Apparently, Taehyung did not give a single shit, because he immediately roared and launched himself past you, the brown ball slamming into the black wall. You blinked, trying to register what was happening, but it was too much for you and your brain that was slowly trying to restore function due to lack of oxygen. They tumbled down the stairs and you laid your head against the floor, hearing the grunts and shouting, wondering why Taehyung had come back.

Wondering how he knew.

You closed your eyes.

In your dreams, you saw the soft sunlight glowing against Taehyung’s tan skin as he reached down to retrieve a dark green cucumber to show you. It was a bit wonky and hadn’t grown quite right, but you watched Taehyung tap it and smile to himself.

“Doesn’t matter what it looks like on the outside,” he said cheerfully. “I know it will still taste delicious because I gave it love.”

-

You tried to go back to work, but it was awful.

You loved your work. Perhaps it was boring to others, accounting all day, but it was mundane and peaceful, always knowing what you had to do. You never had to question the numbers. The numbers were what they were and that was that.

But now when you stared out into the grey urban jungle, it pained you.

What once was your safe haven turned into your cage, chaining you to clock in, clock out. You would go home to a motel nearby, crying into unfamiliar, starched sheets, pitying housekeepers preparing your meals, asking you what was wrong and you couldn’t tell them.

Because you didn’t know.

i'm sad inside, but i know it's for the best, right? you had to realize where you drew the line 

You didn’t check his social media. You didn’t check his Twitch, his Instagram, his Twitter. You got a new phone, only giving your new number to your work and your parents. With a start, you realized you hadn’t contacted your old high school friends in years. You had lost them all, committing social suicide for Jeon Jungkook. In fact, you had no social media presence, so there was no need to download those apps.

There was nothing on your old phone that you wanted. It sat in the storage unit, forgotten. You didn’t want to turn on your old phone to see the photos, the lock screen of his arms around you, smile on his face from two years ago.

A smile you didn’t even know was real or fake.

i still hate it when you’re not there

You tried to tell yourself you were fine, because moping over Jeon Jungkook was stupid. But you had invested so much. You had given him everything. It was hard to regrow. You were stuffed in this tiny motel room, staring out to the hazy, polluted city, yellow sunlight fighting to be seen.

You sat by the window, clutching your pink flats, remembering Taehyung’s last words to you before you left.

“I looked up the brand and bought you some new ones,” he had said sheepishly. “I felt bad that they got so ruined, all because I asked you to help me with the garden.” He gave you that big, boxy smile. “Just think of them as a parting gift for being such a great tenant.”

You inhaled a deep breath, placing the pale pink flats next to the exact same style but grass-stained, greyed-out, worn ones. You stared at them both.

And made a choice.

-

“I thought I would never see you again.”

You lifted your head. The scent of flowers, so familiar and comforting, wafted around you, a reassuring embrace. You were wearing a long-sleeved white dress, a brown ribbon around the collar. The pink flats, the ones the owner of the deep baritone voice had gifted you.

That was nearly six months ago now. You had since thrown away the other ones.

Kim Taehyung walked up to you. He was wearing brown overalls and a cream shirt, elbows smeared with dirt. His skin had lightened due to the passing winter, but it was spring now. The flower shop was very busy, but there were other employees, and Taehyung was fixated on you.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Taehyung said quietly, his brown eyes shimmering. “I would have come here a lot more often if I knew.”

You bit you lip and bowed your head politely, smiling at him. Taehyung coughed and rubbed the back of his head, messing up his dark brown hair. It was longer and curlier now, desperately needing a trim.

“I… I came to get carnations. The shop I normally go to ran out.”

You nodded, leading him wordlessly to the red and pink carnations. There was still a good number left, but you had to pick through carefully to find the most beautiful ones for him. He watched you work, chewing on his lip. You held up the large bouquet to him.

“What do you think?” you asked softly.

He smiled at you. “Perfect.” He didn’t ask the price. “Could you make two corsages out of a few of them?”

“Of course. Right this way.”

You brought him to one of the counters, selecting a few blooms to make the corsages. You showed him the available ribbons and he picked a thin, sheer white one. He watched you work, quickly, but delicately, careful not to bruise the petals.

“You became an expert about flowers,” he remarked. “I’m still struggling.”

You smiled. “I’m still learning. It’s very different from what I used to do.” You twisted the ribbon into a perfect bow, using floral wire to secure it.

“You don’t talk to him anymore, do you?”

You shook your head. “Haven’t seen him since that day you threw him down your stairs.”

Taehyung laughed a little too loud, making the patrons stare at him. He coughed nervously, cramming the crumpled brown hat under his arm onto his head. You placed your hand over your lips, trying to hide your chuckle. Your fingertips smelled like phloem sap from the cut stems, sweet and grassy.

Taehyung gazed at you, surrounded by flowers, carnations laid out on the counter.

“Will you… let me take a picture of you?”

You blinked at him, lips parting.

Taehyung reached into his pocket, pulling out an old 35mm film camera. He looked sheepish as he held it up, hesitating.

“Sorry, I just… you look so beautiful, and I don’t want to forget that.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I know it’s a weird habit. But I like to take pictures and I never took one of you.” He looked deep into your eyes.

“I really regret not taking a picture of you.”

Your fingers were still over your mouth. You nodded.

Taehyung held the camera up and snapped a photo.

-

“He waits for you to get off work every day. It’s been a week now.”

The manager was teasing you, nudging your arm as you tugged on your long camel coat. You smiled at her, an old woman with knowing eyes that had seen and enjoyed a lot of life. Taehyung waved across the street as you made eye contact with him.

“There aren’t men like him anymore, you know,” she said gently. “These kinds of things happened in my generation, but now young people send pictures of flowers instead of the real thing.”

When you thanked the manager and walked out to Taehyung, he held out a small bundle of tiny flowers to you. White cosmos. You stopped, surprised. Breathless as you looked up at him. He was illuminated by a streetlight and the dying sun, the golden hour matching his golden skin. Holding out the white cosmos, shivering in the spring breeze.

“They’re not that pretty,” he said guiltily, stepping up to you. “I’ve been trying to grow flowers for months now and these are the only ones that survived, ahahaha…”

He scratched his head, brushing his hair back.

“I always hoped that if I saw you again, I could show you that I was able to finally grow flowers.” Taehyung laughed, shrugging apologetically. “This is all I got.”

You reached out and took the small bundle from him. They were a bit curled and slightly wilted from being carried around but you smiled at them.

“No one has ever grown flowers for me,” you said quietly.

The tiny yellow centers of each flower were surrounded by white. You counted seven. Taehyung had given you seven flowers. Seven flowers he grew on his own, because he wanted to show you. You placed your fingers on your mouth, the scent of the floral shop returning to you with the action. Your chest felt tight and full, a feeling unlike any other.

“I wanted to grow at least eight,” Taehyung lamented. “Because that would be luckier, but…”

You shook your head quickly, looking up at him. Him and his beautiful brown eyes, a small patch of dirt underneath his cheek. He probably didn’t even know it was there.

“No.”

You removed your hand from your lips and smiled at him.

“Seven is perfect.”

You threw your hands around him and hugged him tightly.

-

When Jeon Jungkook saw you again, everything was different.

He was distracting himself from school. University was much harder than he thought, especially since he didn’t attend right after high school to pursue his streaming career.

For a long time, he had someone to take care of him, first his mom and then you. Someone to do everything so he could recklessly chase his dreams. But things were different now. He had to suddenly become an adult. It wasn’t because of you. You hadn’t told anyone what happened.

But everyone knew.

One girl had let it slip, and then another and another, and then screenshots were plastered everywhere, all over the internet for anyone to see, not knowing the context, tossing judgements left and right. His parents found out and then his friends, everyone disappointed in him, not surprised that you vanished without a trace. He had to vanish too, every sponsor cutting ties with him immediately, not asking if it was true or not. It was bad for business to be associated with something like that.

Jungkook really regretted it now, but there was nothing he could do to take it back.

That’s why he was sitting in this tiny, one room apartment, using what was leftover from his streaming money to get a degree, saving every penny to his education. At least he hadn’t been so reckless to overspend. You hadn’t let him, always reminding him to save for his future, using your own income to pay for the necessities.

Even now, you were helping him.

Every once in a while, Jungkook would type variations of your old Instagram username into the search bar, wondering if you had ever set it up again. He had asked you to delete it, since you had been getting constant DMs from guys asking you out, sending you unsolicited dick pics. You had agreed, even through you could have fought him or simply privated it.

You had deleted it, Jungkook knew now, because he asked you and you loved him.

It hurt to know that you loved him so dearly and he was too busy feeding his own ego to see it.

When Jungkook saw you again, you were surrounded by flowers.

Your profile picture was a close up shot of your beautiful face, golden sun against your skin, a white cosmos tucked behind your ear. He knew it was you. He could tell by the shape of your lips, the contours of your eyes, even through your eyes were closed. Wearing a white dress, the ruffles fluttering in the wind.

Jungkook was breathless, seeing you again. He scrolled through your pictures. They were mostly of flowers, with captions of how to grow them. Were you a florist now? Some of them were of you in different dresses, surrounded by blue sky and green summer. The smile on your face was so dazzling that he wondered who gave you that smile.

His heart wrenched uncomfortably in his chest.

Or maybe it wasn’t a someone.

There was a time when that smile was his. There was a time when he could make you smile like that, your lips saying his name breathlessly – “Jungkook, Jungkook, look at this!” – showing him something silly or giving him his favorite banana milk with special edition packaging, saying how cute it was, just like him.

He blinked and a droplet fell onto his phone.

Right on your smiling face, hand holding a large straw hat, your pink dress fluttering in the wind.

Jungkook wiped it away, swiping at his tears with the sleeve of his black sweatshirt, wondering why had he taken that smile for granted, why he had drifted away from the safe coast, why he had thought, even for a second, that the days and nights you spent cleaning after him meant that you were keeping yourself busy and away from him, not seeing it for what it was, not seeing that it was your love for him and his own sloppiness that left him here now, staring at your summer as his summer was torn from him by textbooks and lectures.

He shuddered, still looking at the pictures, not wanting to miss a moment, even if they weren’t his moments anymore.

One of your pictures was a bundle of seven white cosmos, a little wilted and sad-looking.

Jungkook read the caption.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t think you’re beautiful. Because there is someone out there who thinks you are. They use every resource they know to give you love, even if it’s clumsy at first. Even if you don’t think you need it or want it.

The tears were really coming now, streaming down his cheeks as Jungkook asked himself why, why did he give this up?

They celebrate you and your love instead of simply tolerating it.

-

You sat on the edge of the cliff, legs dangling over the side.

Your pink flats were right beside you, and your arms were resting on the wooden fence. The ocean breeze was strong here, salty and cold. But you didn’t feel the cold, because Kim Taehyung had wrapped a thick wool blanket around you two. It was already night, but by the seaside it was still chilly, even in the summer, due to the sea breeze.

He peeled the foil back on a roasted sweet yam, taking off some of the skin so you could bite into it. You tried to take it from him but he shook his head, frowning at you. You laughed and took a bite, scalding your mouth from how hot it was. But it still tasted good.

“I asked my parents if I could have it.”

You looked up at him, trying to blow the steaming air from your mouth in attempt to cool off.

“The cottage?”

Taehyung nodded, taking a bite and wincing. “You’ll never guess what they said.”

You smiled. “What did they say?”

He scowled. “Then pay rent!” He waved a hand to the seaside house behind you two. “They own it! Why do I have to pay rent? I’m their son!”

You giggled, hiding your mouth behind you hand. Taehyung angrily bit into the sweet yam again and choked, forgetting how hot it was. Your giggles turned into full-blown laughter, falling back onto the grass, wool softening your fall. Taehyung narrowed his eyes at you, shaking the yam furiously. The white moonlight glinted off the silver foil. He puffed his cheeks and sighed as your laughter faded out.

You looked up at the stars, realizing how clear the sky was here.

It was nothing like the city.

Even in darkness, the white stars shone against the black, bright and clear. You wouldn’t have seen them if you weren’t here, on your back and looking up at them.

“Anyway, they only said it was a hundred won, so I guess that’s fine,” Taehyung grumbled. “Really made me worried there for a second, sheesh.”

You turned your head to look up at him. “You going to live here?”

Taehyung shook his head.

“No, you are.”

You blinked, taken aback. He rewrapped the yam, determining it was too hot to eat right now. He gazed down at you, smiling a little.

“It’s better than that one room you have in that house. Safer too.”

You chewed on your lip. “But I can’t pay the amount I paid when I rented it…”

Taehyung poked you with the yam. “Weren’t you listening? The rent is a hundred won. No, two hundred for you, since I have to make some profit.”

He laid down next to you, eye to eye now, smile getting bigger.

“Although I hear there’s this annoying gardener that comes around every day caring for the plants.”

You were smiling now too, drawn by his cheeky, boxy grin.

“Really? I think he’s pretty cute. I think that’s how he gets away with it.”

His brown eyes locked with yours.

“Will you let me care for you too?”

The sound of the sea, crashing into the rockface, constructing a new memory for you.

“I know you’ll be much harder than a plant,” Taehyung murmured quietly. “Sorry, that’s a dumb thing to say, I meant–”

You pressed your lips against his, cold air chilling your cheeks, warmth spreading throughout your soul.

When you pulled away, breathless, Taehyung was staring at you, eyes wide. Those three words came to you, words that you thought you were never going to say again, words you had for someone else, but you knew this was the right one, the perfect flower.

The one who struggled to grow seven flowers.

White cosmos.

Just for you.

“I love you, Kim Taehyung.”

-

The next summer.

Seven flowers. White cosmos, bright, glowing, perfectly shaped. Surrounding your left hand. The ring finger held a princess-cut diamond surrounded by six tiny small ones like petals.

The caption.

He grew them perfectly this time.

Jeon Jungkook sighed heavily, placing his phone back in his pocket. The noise around him was loud, clattering and chattering, now a familiar atmosphere. The black bucket hat was low over his eyes, shrouding them. He pulled his face mask higher, hiding his features, not wanting to be recognized. Internet shame was enough; he didn’t need public shame as well. He already had to switch universities because of it.

Jungkook placed his hand back onto the subway rail, shouldering his backpack, staring out the train window at the black tunnel.

--

masterpost

[goldafterglow]

embellished lungs

Summary: Ezra buys a pretty thing for a pretty thing.

Request: hc about what renders Ezra speechless 😶 - @lose-eels (this is not even what you asked for but fuckin here ig im sorry sgkfjdshg)

Pairing: Ezra x reader

Word Count: 2.6k+

Warnings: a big fat drabble?, very really soft, not beta read and tbh barely even normal read i read this maybe twice oops

Author’s Note: i almost put this just like under the ask but I’m not gonna sit here and act like this is a drabble bc i’m a clown. i don’t want to talk about it. and spitting this out bc I was soft for Ezra and @mrpascals made me

Gif Cred: my wife and my baby @pascalplease

masterlist | taglist modifications

He spies it in the open market while he’s stocking up on supplies.

The day is hot, the Sun bearing down on its disciples with a violent red fury, but it’s light is strong, bright. Everything is reflective, hot to the touch from boiling in the heat, and all of the creatures begin to melt together like dyed wax to form one big discernable blob, if you really squint. Ezra’s sweat escapes the barrier of his brows and leaks past his lashes, dragging across his eyes and stinging a little, blurring his vision and dripping onto his arms, but he doesn’t care. He’s far too exhilarated.

The market in itself is absolutely brilliant to him; he’s always been enthralled by this, by people and pretty things, and to be completely surrounded by both felt like something akin to sensory overload. His heart is racing at the sight of people traversing the dirt road, loitering and browsing through produce colored so vibrantly he wonders if the bright red apples and deep indigo berries have been dipped in the tinted glow of fairies that dance in the forest. And he’s utterly taken by the art and trinkets. He’s always had a little soft spot for art - a tender, exposed section of his beating flesh that is so sensitive, so delicate and so easy to provoke. And right now, he seems like he’s subject to a battering ram, pounding against his chest in the best way possible.

His eyes dart around quickly as he tries his best to take everything in. He finds himself cherishing every little interaction, every stranger whose shoulder he is forced to brush in an attempt to make his way through the market, every vendor that begs to him, calls to him to try “just one last berry sir. I’m sure your lover will be delighted by the raspberries from yesterday’s harvest.” He ended up buying a quaint six ounces just so that he could feed them to you. But that would be a treat for later.

And just like that, he is thinking of you. The prettiest, most beautiful thing. A sculpture with imperfections so perfect that he knows it must have taken eons to craft you out of gold and diamonds and the soft fluff of hummingbird feathers and butterfly wings. You are art, a walking, breathing, touchable piece that he gets to admire up close. It’s a privilege, really, to have been gifted with Kevva’s finest handiwork.

As his pupils peruse the stands, admiring his surroundings, they suddenly become frozen in place, permanently stuck on a little trinket that’s caught his attention: a necklace. The gem sitting in the center isn’t aurelac; it’s much more vibrant, much more dramatic and almost rainbow when he looks at it from different angles. The chain isn’t long, and knowing you the gem would fall right between your collarbones. He can already envision you wearing it, like a child flicking watercolors onto the Venus de Milo, but he wants to see his deep green paint draped around your shoulders. The way he sees it when you wear his clothing, when you’re adorned with bruises of his passion like stars adorn the sky, when you wear him. It’s intoxicating, seeing that he’s had any impact on your life and that you parade it around like a trophy. That you think about him without him prompting you to do so - not that he isn’t constantly in your presence. But he wants to buy it just so that he can see you wear it. Perhaps even only wear it.

He’s already thinking about how fucking gorgeous you would look in it. He is thinking about putting it on you, tugging on it ever so lightly in a way that signals to you - that is, rather than exerting any true force on you - that he wants a kiss. Perhaps pulling on it a little harder so that metal bites your skin and you can feel it, feel him digging into the soft flesh of your neck. Now he’s imagined a thousand scenarios in which he can have his way with you just by getting you to wear this piece, and he has to purchase it.

When the vendor finally hands it to him, packaged with care and placed deep into the hollow of a black velvet box, he finds that it barely fits in his pocket. He doesn’t care, though, because it’s too exquisite an accessory to be thrown in with the other supplies and it’s too precious for him to take it out of the box. He’s excited when he comes back to the pod, back home where you are.

Home is you.

He assumes you must’ve heard him come in, the pod door loud and rambunctious as he dumps the bags into the center of the pod space and then crawls in himself - it was hard enough with two arms, nonetheless one. He lets out a sight as if to let the excitement drain out his vessels and into the atmosphere of the cockpit, mingling with the peace and solitude to create a soft buzz that zings through his ears and vibrates his eyes. The exhilaration from being the market was utterly electric, but he is home now. He can crawl into you, let you absorb into him, and he likes how you can make his heart race a million miles and yet also pacify him, a cold compress to his aching soul to help reduce inflammation. He wants to maintain that semblance of the intricate pastel harmony, adorned in lilac and peach hues. So he stands in the middle of the cockpit and closes his eyes, lets himself sway to the rhythm of his lungs for a moment. Just a fraction of solitude, and he doesn’t mind because ever since he met you he has never felt lonely, not even when he’s alone. He always feels you with him.

Once his head has cleared, he palms at his pocket where the little black box still resides, as if to check that he hadn’t dreamt up some fantasy ornament that would look so perfect on you. It’s still there; of course it is, and he feels foolish for thinking that the pretty butterflies would have fluttered it out and flown it away, but sometimes he wonders if the same thing will ever happen to you. If one morning he will wake up and you will have migrated with the birdies, off to seek true warmth because you’re not real, because nothing so good as you could ever be caged by him.

He steps into your shared bedroom and spies you with your back to the entrance. The room is cool, but you’ve elected to wear his shirt, even foregoing pants. His favorite outfit of yours, and he knows you know it. You’re wearing headphones, something he’d picked up for you on your last supply run, and he can tell you’re playing one of those instrumental stations you so adore listening to when you were working. A mutely-colored map is stretched out onto the desk, and he’s not even sure you can focus the music because your mind is moving faster than your poor hand can keep up as you mark up a new dig site. He almost feels bad for interrupting you while you’re in such deep concentration, your forehead smashed into wrinkles without even noticing, but Ezra cannot resist his greed for your attention. Ever so gently, he places his hand on your shoulder from behind so as not to startle you.

You almost immediately register the delicate touch, turning the radio off and pulling your headphones off your ears so you can give this kind artist your undivided attention - Kevva herself knows he's earned it. You turn your head to face him, craning your neck back so you can take his softly smiling depiction like pressing a plush blanket into your face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you coo, letting your pen fall tumultuously from your hand. The sound of it clanging against the table and then rolling around to a stop fills the room, but you can’t hear it; Ezra is talking now.

“Hey, sweet stardust,” he greets back, voice orange and warm like the heat that simmers under the stars during the summer at midnight.

Comfortable.

 “Hey” was never his preferred salutation, and he’d tried to omit it from his vocabulary for so long, but he started to notice that he likes it when you say to him. Like a little pearl of your voice, so sweet like honey with the honeycomb still mixed in, a little grainy and so cheeky.

“Did you get everything we need?” you ask, beginning to stand to that you can press a hand to his chest, grounding him to the pod and to your sanctuary soul. Ezra grins wide, unable to hide his excitement at your words.

“I in fact exceeded our needs, sweet rose bud,” he says with a pride that fills up your chest and makes you want to hold him tight because you love when he gets giddy like this, with the childlike enthusiasm of showing your parents the shitty drawing you made or your ugly macaroni art. Ezra is light, his tone airy. “I happened to spot a gem that reminded me of your vision and I couldn’t resist the urge to get it.”

You brow furrows a little, not out of confusion but out of curiosity. Ezra’s taste has always inspired you, and you knew his never ending quest for art is always in an attempt to find beauty in everything. You don’t even have to look at it to know that it will be stunning because his stamp of “pretty” approval is your gold standard.

He pulls the box out and opens it facing you so that you can get a good look, really admire it, and you are already taken by the shimmering pendant.

“Oh Ezra, it's - it’s utterly magnificent,” you gush, and he can spot that little glimmer in your eyes that you get when you’re looking at something that you’re enamored with; they way you look when you’re gazing at him. You raise your chin to look at him, his cheeks rosy with delight and sweet eyes crinkled at the corners. “Put it on me.”

It’s not so much of a demand as it is a gentle instruction; you know he wants to, know he’s been thinking about it since he bought it, and you want to be open to him. You want to invite him into your heart, inside of the flower garden of your chest, with open arms because he deserves to feel wanted.

You help him pull the chain out of the bottom of the box, keeping one end in your right hand and letting him take the clasp in his left. He wills himself to move slowly, to savor every little stimulation you send through his skin as he steps behind you. His fingers press against your clavicle, tracing along the bone before traveling up over the valley of your shoulder, tips of his hands brushing against your throat. He is feeling you, mapping out your body because he’ll never get to see an angel in his life but he’s certain you must be the spitting image.

You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and intoxicating as a small film of dampness coats your exposed back and neck. Your right hand rests at the nape of your neck, waiting expectantly, but you don’t rush him. He takes his sweet, sugary time, because the surface of your skin feels like he’s running his fingers through a field of silicone needles, firm but harmless as they stimulate a sensation he never knew he could feel before he touched you for the first time. You’re addictive, the best high he’s ever gotten, and he almost lets his hand lose all abandon and travel so carefully down the front of your body, palming your breast along the way and pressing right into your diaphragm before he keeps going down, down, down…

Almost.

But he will save it for a later time, especially since he’d been fantasizing about you wearing the necklace like a carefully chiseled bust is adorned with sashes. So finally, after what feels like hours of roaming and teasing, you feel that calloused, worn sensation of your lover’s fingers seeking solace against yours. You pin your breath to your lungs, not daring to let it go as you wait for the heavy release of his hand indicating that the necklace is secure. But even once you feel it, even as you let your right hand fall down at your side, Ezra does not take his hand off of you. You don’t want him to.

Slowly, so that he never has to cease his touch, you turn to face him. You’re still looking down at the pendant, in awe of how the gem rests so perfectly between your collarbones. You can’t see Ezra’s adoring gaze, his completely awestruck fixation on how ethereal you are to him. Like you’re emitting a golden glow, too hot to touch and yet begging, inviting his fingers to feel and press and hold. 

Celestial.

He feels his emotions expand in his stomach, diaphragm threatening to spasm. His hand trails up to your chin, palming your jaw as he tenderly lifts your line of sight so that he can see your pretty eyes.

“You’re divine,” he mumbles to you, not wanting to disrupt the tight silence, so tense he’s afraid of speaking too loud lest it break and snap against his cheek leaving an angry raised brand.

Overwhelmed with appreciation, you balance your hands on his shoulders and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, letting it linger so you can savor the honeysuckle dew on his skin. “I love it,” you whisper with a grin.

Ezra giggles.

When you pull back to face him proper, his face is utterly red. His smile reaches the lobes of his ears, bashful and boyish like his belly has just been tickled by the sweetest of baby chicks, and he can barely get a word out. He can’t speak. His mind is in overdrive, completely inundated with a blistering adoration for you and your approval because you said you loved it. His gift is not a splash of children’s watercolors; it is a clean swipe of gold running along your jaw, accenting your beauty and emphasizing just how exquisite you are to him.

“Yeah?” he managed, a soft giggle still passing his lips like the first cries of a baby deer, the first flutters of a newly hatched butterfly.

Adorable.

You can’t resist the urge to giggle back, placing a hand at the nape of his neck and pulling him in for a true kiss on his glittery lips. It only lasts seconds, however, because Ezra can’t stop smiling and you can’t stop giggling, so you both settle for the blissful solitude of pressing your foreheads against one another, breathing in each other's air and taking up the same space.

“It’s gorgeous, Ezra. Thank you,” you whisper lightly so that the wisps of air tickle his upper lip, and suddenly he is so inclined as to press his left arm into the small of your back so that you’re so much closer and kiss you the way you deserve; a dynamic series of long, deep, searing kisses that send you to the clouds and drop you into an endless pit of lavish fluff at the same time. You don’t know how he does this, makes you feel like you don’t exist and that there isn’t anything in the world but you and him, and you often wonder if it’s because Ezra is within you, or that your broken parts and his broken parts make some hauntingly majestic sculpture of its own; something better than the fucking Venus de Milo or Athena or Great Sphinx because it should be something so hideous and yet it feels to utterly priceless to you.

It’s precious.

ppl that asked to be tagged: @gustavos @catfishingmorales @keeper0fthestars @1zashreena1 @blancatobarxoxo @honeyedspace @chaotic-noceur @opheliaelysia @adikaofmandalore @din-damn-djarin @mrsparknuts @girlwithanewplan @mrschiltoncat @cryptkeepersoul @buckstaposition @the-feckless-wonder @cocoatales @agentpike @cryptkeepersoul

ppl that did not ask no ma’am no sir: @ergotautology @dindjarindiaries @pascalplease​

again, you can join/leave my taglist here :)

[elliethesuperfruitlover]

Costume Conundrum

A/N: This is going to be a bit of a wild one. I was given a prompt by the lovely @badsext​, and since I’m extra, I’ve decided to extend the prompt into three characters, and three scenarios. Depending on when I get this done, they’ll come out all across October. This is the Klaus x fem! reader one!!

Warnings: people being very cishet, general halloween spookiness

“Klaus, where in the name of God are you taking me?” I ask, as he blindfolded me while walking down the sidewalk. 

“Don’t worry about it, don’t worry. You’re in good hands, I promise!” he says, rubbing your shoulder to reassure you.

“Uh, good hands my ass, you tripped over a rock and almost sliced half your leg open Klaus.” you said, rolling your eyes under the cloth.

“Goodness, it’s like you don’t trust me at all.” he whines, most likely putting a hand to his chest.

“No, that’s not it, you’re just a clumsy klutz sometimes and for a person with a blindfold, I don’t know if I want to trust you right now.” you reply, ending the conversation.

  The two of you continue for a few more minutes, Klaus guiding you as you walk, your hands getting gradually sweaty. His hands drifted just a little bit, resting on the small of your back, and rubbing it tenderly, trying to calm your nerves. He always did that if mischief was going to be involved with any type of activity of his. Just like the time that you and he snuck into a viewing of Avengers:Endgame and yelled out “falsehood” every time someone was lying. Yeah, you two weren’t allowed back in that theater for another year, turns out that some people actually wanted to watch the movie. Oh well.

“Ahh, we’ve arrived my dear.” Klaus says, taking your blindfold off.

You opened your eyes, and as they adjusted to the sun. Upon them finally calming down, you found yourself in front of a Halloween Costume shop. Halloween was approaching quite quickly, and you found yourself wondering what you were going to be. It seems as though Klaus had the same idea. He’d been talking about taking you to a costume shop for eons it seemed, and now he finally got the chance to do it.

“Oh dear, I hope we won’t get banned from this one. You know what happened last time Klaus.” you said, looking at him with a half-stern look on your face.

“Look, it’s not my fault that they don’t have the Sexy Nurse outfit in my size, alright.” Klaus, said, pouting.

  You both entered the shop, and it was close to empty, a few parents and their children picking out cute little outfits, witches, unicorns, even a Disney Princess here and there. Before you two could really get involved with each costume, and the elements around it, a conversation caught your ears from the other aisle.

“Mommy, I want to be a princess this year.”  a little boy, about 6 said to his mother, who looked appalled at his statement. 

“No, little boys can’t be princesses. What about this pirate costume over here, or the Frankenstein one?” she said, trying to drag him away from the frilly dress.

“It’s Frankenstein’s monster, and that story is scary, and it makes me scared.” he said, whining out his response. Tears started to form in his eyes, and Klaus decided to speak up to the mother.

“Hey, you should let him be a princess, or whatever he wants to be. Clothes don’t have a gender, and neither does color, ma’am. Not that big of a deal to let him be a princess if he wants to be. Never hurt to let a child express their feelings.” he said, and upon seeing him, the little boy’s eyes sparked with joy.

  Klaus was wearing one of their more expressive outfits today. They were wearing a strawberry skirt, and a plain white shirt on top of it, and tan sandals, a pair of yours. Their curls were tied up, a couple spilling out from the containment. They were always trying to display themselves as neutral as possible, never really deciding on one thing. You were always proud whenever they went to the store, and came out with frills, or a rainbow striped top. It made you bubble up with joy to see them stand up for him. 

“Well, wouldn’t you know a thing or two about raising kids.” the mother said, crossing her arms at the site of Klaus, not realizing what she was getting herself into. 

“I mean, I had an abusive father, and a robot as a mother, and a chimpanzee as a butler. I’ve traveled through time three times, died twice, and lived to tell the story. Nothing like that’ll stop me from educating people on helping their children realize something.” he replied, crossing their arms as well.

“I’m not taking advice from someone like you, thinking it’s okay to dress like that.” she said, looking Klaus up and down, then looking disapprovingly at you. “Let’s go, Timmy, I’ll get you something from online.”

  The little boy started to cry, and you both urged her not to budge. She was dragging him along by the hand, but she stopped at the front register, as one of her friends was at the front. You knew that she’d be there for at least another hour, giving the two of you to use a collective brain cell to conjure an idea. Meanwhile, you both drifted to the older costumes, looking at the options. Of course, we have the stereotypical couples costumes, hotdogs and buns, power sockets, Adam and Eve, and the oh-so-charming bun and bun maker. Klaus floated over to where you were, in the women’s section, and started cutting the options. 

“Alright, so we have fucked up tinker bell, tigers, lions, and bears oh my, and sexy nurses.” you say, pinching your nose.

“Oh, come on, we’ll make it fun. I’ll try them on with you.” Klaus offers, putting his hand out for you to shake. You agree, grabbing the tightest ones off of the shelf, along with a questionably orange one.

  Klaus heads to the dressing room, and you wait outside, tempted to strip and put on your own costume in the open, since there were only two dressing rooms, one of which had a suspicious stain, the other Klaus occupied.

“Klaus, hurry up, I haven’t got all day.” you say, already sliding on the top and bottoms of your costume, trying to hide yourself.

 They open the curtain, and you gulp at the sight. The sexy nurse costume was of course Klaus’ first choice. It covered barely anything, and you could see his ribs poke out from the cropped shirt.

“Come get your medicine children.” they say, slowly walking towards you, until you both hear a small rip.

Uh oh

“Klaus, what did you rip this time?” you ask, walking towards him in your costume, which he didn’t notice, but you inspected him, and turned him, trying to find where his body ripped the tight costume. 

“I think it ripped in the ass which makes since, my cakes are plentiful.” they said, shrugging.

  They left the costume on, and waited outside while you were getting changed properly, in front of a mirror this time. You put the straps on correctly, and attached the different clips, trying to make sure that everything was in its’ correct place. You opened the door, and revealed yourself to Klaus. Their jaw dropped, and he hovered over you, looking from different angles, concluding that no matter how he looked at you, you looked phenomenal. 

“Am I spooky enough?” you ask, putting your hands on your hips, doing a mini hair flip.

“I’m just pissing my pants thinking about this costume, Jesus Christ.” they say, chuckling. 

  You walk down the same costume aisle, acting like you were on a runway. On the way, you picked up too-big sunglasses and neon pink feather boas, spinning on the way back to him. Klaus picked some up too, and the two of you ran around the store, chasing each other. Different songs came on the intercom, and the two of you danced, but of course, Klaus had to trip over a rack of makeup, and different powders spilled on top of them, causing him to giggle uncontrollably.

“Get up, get up, we’re gonna get in trouble. Come on Klaus, let’s go!” you said, urging him to stand up in his 5 inch platforms from another costume, trying not to laugh.

  The security ended up chasing the two of you out of there, but not before you two could give the little boy what he wanted, a cute little dress, with frills. You two even handed him a canister of glitter, just in case. He smiled, and said goodbye to the two of you, just as the security doubled in size.

“See, I told you it was gonna be fun.” Klaus said, kissing you on the cheek, and hugging you from behind. It was getting nighttime, and you both had a bit to walk. However, you two were dead tired, and you got onto a public transport bus, getting stares from the passengers onboard. You two simply shrugged it off, and fell asleep right as the bus took off, only to get rudely kicked off at your stop. The two of you stumbled into your home, messily unlocking the door, and falling onto the couch immediately, sleeping until noon.

[deathsteel]

30 day fanfic challenge

Prompt #22 - Funeral

TW: canonical child death, not as sad as it seems, Dean is kinda a jerk at first

Okay, maybe it wasn’t classy to crash funerals. But Dean had never claimed to be terribly classy. 

What he did claim to be was a great actor who could make himself cry on demand and the proud owner of one very well fitted suit that was perfect for mourning. 

It started by accident, really. Dean had shown up for the funeral of one of his friend’s grandmother’s cousins intending to comfort the grandmother who’d always loved Dean and never forgotten his birthday, not even once. And he had ended up at an unexpectedly decadent funeral for a 98 year old multi-millionaire that happened to be being thrown the day after. Since he’d missed the funeral he’d intended to attend, Dean figured ‘fuck it’ and proceeded to enjoy the expensive free food and murmured condolences of the deceased’s foxy granddaughters. 

The second time he did it may have been less accidental and Dean cried both for Muriel who had died at the ripe old age of 102 as well as for the organic chemistry test he had just bombed. It was so cathartic that he was hooked, a junky even. 

He stopped going on dates because flirting with the widow or widower and coaxing a smile out of them was so much more appealing than sitting through the awkward get-to-know-you conversation of a first date. The emotional release of crying onto a stranger’s shoulder had nothing on getting blackout drunk and Dean found more and more of his social life being spent in funeral homes and cemeteries than in bars. 

Until he accidentally walked into a funeral without doing his research first. Which, typically he did so much research so that he could pull off pretending to be the second cousin once removed or the mentee that the family never knew their loved one had mentored, but today he’d been busy and distraught over getting a rejection letter to his first choice for his doctoral program so he’d just picked out a funeral from a random obit and darted out the door. 

So he wasn’t expecting...this. A funeral for a kid. 

Dean had never gone to a funeral for a kid, something about the grief of a life snuffed out too soon had seemed too raw for Dean to be able to fake. It had felt much more disrespectful to crash those funerals than the ones for people who had lived a long and full and fascinating life. 

It also seemed pretty evident to everyone else in attendance that Dean was in the wrong place. First, he was waaaay over dressed. Everyone else was wearing colorful clothing ranging from Hawaiian shirts to garish tye-dye and Dean’s black on black ensemble stuck out like a sore thumb. Secondly, Dean appeared to be the only one affecting an air of solemnity. In fact, the entire funeral home had been decked out to resemble a circus complete with juggling clowns and a guy making balloon animals. There was popcorn and a cotton candy machine and even a girl in a Hawaiian shirt carrying around a pair of parrots on her shoulders. 

Dean intended to turn on his heel and march right back out, but it looked like some family member was already making their way towards Dean- a tall woman with short brown hair and a face that looked like it was meant to smile, which it was even if her eyes were not.

“Hello there,” The woman said, reaching out to take Dean’s hand and hold it in both of her own. “Thank you so much for coming, I don’t think we got to meet ever. My husband spent the nights at the hospital, so I don’t recognize all of the nurses. I’m Jody, Owen’s mom, thank you for coming.”

“Um, yea, Dean,” he muttered in reply, giving his real name when he never EVER usually did. But he was so caught off guard he didn’t know what else to do.

“I’m sorry about the change in dress code,” Jody said with a laugh, gesturing to the long rainbow plaid dress she was wearing. “Sean said Owen would’ve liked it. He didn’t like for things to be boring, you know?”

Dean nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat as he mentally planned his escape. He was an asshole and this was it, this was the last time he crashed without doing his research first. 

“Well, anyway,” Jody continued, looking over Dean’s shoulder as another few mourners milled into the room. “Please enjoy yourself and have fun.” 

Dean breathed a sigh of relief as the woman moved away, running a hand through his hair as he looked around the room. He’d hang for ten minutes and then duck out so it wouldn’t look so suspicious. 

“You don’t work for the hospital,” A deep voice announced next to Dean causing him to jump and spin guiltily towards the source. 

He found himself face to face with the guy who had been making balloon animals not even five minutes ago. A distant part registered that the man was attractive, like truly unf, but a more sane part of Dean realized that he was about to have his cover blown by a hot dude wearing rainbow suspenders. 

“Uh, yea I do?” Dean asked, trying to convince even himself. 

“No you don’t,” the man said, narrowing his blue eyes at Dean in suspicion. “Because I work at the hospital and I know everyone who ever set foot into Owen Mill’s room and you do not work at the hospital. 

Fuck. 

Dean weighed his options for a long moment before deciding he was well and truly powned. “Listen, dude. I didn’t realize this was a funeral for a kid okay. I don’t normally do this kind of thing. I’m gonna leave, just don’t make a scene okay?” 

“Right,” the other man said slowly, his eyes and voice conveying how very little he bought Dean’s bullshit. “Take that jacket off and give it here. Make sure your phone and stuff are in your jacket.”

“Uh...excuse me?” Dean asked as he reached for the buttons on his suit jacket, loading his keys, wallet, and phone into the pockets before he handed it over to the other man and allowed himself to be led deeper into the room where the funeral was being held. 

“Our nurse who signed up for the dunk tank is sick,” the balloon guy explained, stopping beside a large dunk tank that was situated on a blue tarp in one corner of the room; he patted the tank meaningfully before turning back towards Dean. “You man the dunk tank and I won’t rat you out.”

“What!?” Dean choked, looking at the slightly murky water and then back down at his fairly expensive suit. 

The other man just raised an eyebrow at Dean and stayed silent, his full lips pursing just slightly to hold back what Dean strongly suspected was a triumphant smirk. 

“Ugh okay,” Dean groaned, throwing up his hands as he made his way towards the dunk tank’s ladder and toed off his shoes. “For the kids.”

“Always for the kids,” the other man agreed, moving to the side of the tank where the bullseye was and taking up his role of barker with what Dean felt like was too much enthusiasm. “Dunk the Dummy! Step right up and Dunk the Chump!”

Quiet a few dunks later, Dean was soaked and shivering and vowing that he would never crash another funeral when the other man came back up to him with an apologetic grin and a towel. 

“Thanks,” Dean muttered sarcastically as he took the towel and wrapped it around himself. 

“Maybe you won’t crash any more funerals,” Balloon guy admonished only slightly apologetically. “Seriously, I clocked you as soon as you walked in. And you’re lucky it was me instead of a pissed off parent.”

“You go to a lot of funerals?” Dean asked as he roughed the towel over his dripping hair. 

“Call it a work related hazard,” the other man replied with a grim smile. “But hey, it gave me a reason to learn balloon art and it makes the kids happy when most of the kids I see don’t have much to be happy about.”

Dean nodded in understanding, figuring he’d shove his whole leg in his mouth since his foot had already seemed to take up permanent residence there. “So uh...how did you know this kid anyway?”

“I was his oncologist,” the other man replied evenly, nodding at Dean’s self-recriminating wince. “So yea, man--”

“Dean,” he offered, cutting across the other man because it felt like he owed it to the doctor by that point. 

“Dean,” the man said, with an incline of his head. “I’m Castiel. Just uh, do me a favor. Stop crashing funerals okay? It's pretty damn disrespectful.”

“Absolutely,” Dean promised, crossing his heart with the tip of his index finger. “I’m a changed man, I promise.”

“Great,” Castiel replied, rolling his eyes indulgently. “Have a good day Dean, thanks for coming.”

Dean nodded, handing the other man back the soggy towel in exchange for his jacket and his shoes that he picked up instead of putting them on over his dripping socks. 

“But hey, Dean,” Castiel called as Dean started away. “If you ever want to take another turn at the dunk tank, you can look me up at St. Mary’s.”

“Right,” Dean said with a nod at the other man, turning to leave again before Castiel could see his blush. 

His funeral crashing days were most definitely over, but maybe his tank dunking days had just begun.

[ificanthaveu]

Agreed || Shawn Mendes

Description: Shawn wanders into your store one day with his daughter, and you help them find the perfect sweater and even teach them a thing or two. 

A/N: single dad!Shawn and sales associate!reader, do you honestly need anything else? Anyway, this is super cute and I love it and it all flowed out of me and could it get a part 2??? it just might

Word Count: 2.6k

Monday nights were never meant to be easy, but this Monday felt that way. It felt a little too easy. Like you were definitely missing something. 

The kid’s store you managed in the mall was particularly quiet tonight. It seemed like every kid and parent must have just not felt like shopping tonight. So, there you stood behind the counter, reading and rereading what you could possibly do to pass the next two hours and thirty-three minutes. 

If you weren’t going to be doing anything, you figured you could try to get ahead with the marketing change that was supposed to be saved until after close. But would anyone really care if you took down the “25% off denim” signs early? And changed them with the advertisement of some girls in school? You really didn’t think it mattered at this point.

You walked towards the back door and propped it open, so you could keep an eye out in the store while looking for the new signs. Since they were window signs, they were much taller than you were. Preferably you’d have someone to help you, but your store was already short-staffed. Adding the fact that it was a Monday, it’d be just you and these signs tonight. 

You struggled to pull out the two large signs. You definitely knocked over a few things, but that was something you’d take care of later. You huffed as you dragged them behind you towards the registers where you could add on the protective edges and the hooks you pulled aside earlier.

Right as you started to slide on one of the protectors, in walked in a tall man with who you assumed was his daughter. She had to be since she was a spitting image of him. She skipped in between displays in her little rainbow rain boots and her pink dress with her dark brown curls bouncing. Her dad simply followed her wherever her heart took her. 

You finished sliding on one of the sides before setting it down to go greet them. 

“Hey, guys, what brings you in today?” You said with a big smile as you came up to them near the middle of the store. The dad smiled at you before looking back towards his daughter.

“This is actually our first time in here,” he said in a soft voice as you nodded your head. The little girl ran back up to you and her dad as she tugged on his sleeve.

“My daddy said he’d let me get something!” She yelled. Her dad pressed a finger to his lips before she muttered, “sorry.”

“Well, what are you looking for? Do you want clothes or jewelry or a stuffed animal?” You asked as you kneeled down to her height. She rocked back and forth on her feet as she thought about your question. 

“I think I want a sweater,” she said very matter-of-factly. 

You nodded your head and stood up to go show them the table of sweaters you had off to the side. It was filled with an array of knits and colors and cuts to please every child. She skipped behind you as her dad followed closely behind. 

“What color do you want?” You asked. She peeked her head over the table, and you watched her eyes scan over everything carefully before pointing at one near the back. 

“The purple one!” She said. 

“And what cut do you think she’s going to prefer?” you asked her dad. He gave you a confused look. 

“Regular?” He said carefully. 

“Well, we have the loser fitting ones like this,” you said as you held one up. “Then we have a tighter, longer fitting one,” you said as you reached over and held up that one. “And then we have one that’s kind of in-between, but cropped a little.”

He looked at each sweater carefully, obviously not clearly understanding what the difference was. His daughter patiently waited next to him. He sighed before he scooped her up, so she could see better. 

“Which one are you thinking, Char?” He asked her. 

“All of them!” She yelled. 

He sighed as he set her down. “Why don’t we try them on?” He asked her. She nodded her head as she tried to reach for the sweaters. Her dad scooped them up for her, and you walked them towards the fitting room to the side. 

The little girl, Charlotte, you assumed, skipped into it, and when her dad tried to follow her in to help her, she held up her hand and slammed the door in his face. He stood back with a look of shock on his face as you let out a laugh. 

“She’s got an attitude. I like her,” you say quietly so just her dad could hear you. 

“Yeah, it’s fun for you when you just have to see her for less than an hour and then she’s out of your hair, I have to live with her,” he said as he rubbed his eyes. 

“At least she’s cute,” you added.

He forced out a laugh, “Yeah, at least she’s cute.”

Charlotte walked out in the first sweater, the loser fitting one. She struck a pose in front of the two of you as you giggled at her. She really was something else. 

“How do you like it?” You asked her. 

“I like it,” she said simply.

“Does it feel ok? Is it itchy?” Her dad chimed in. She thought for a moment before she nodded her head.

“It’s a little itchy,” she said. 

“Do you have those shirts that…um, go underneath?” He asked you. 

“A cami?” 

“Yes, yeah, a cami,” he said as he nodded along. 

You nodded your head before walking towards the other side of the store and grabbing a nude one, a white one and a purple one. 

“Try wearing that underneath the sweater, honey,” you said as you handed her the tank tops. 

She skipped back into the room as you leaned against the wall behind you.

“You’re really good at this,” her dad said.

“Well, it is my job, so I kind of have to be, but thanks anyway,” you said with a smile. 

“I’m Shawn by the way,” he said quickly. “I just felt weird because I know your name because of the name tag, but you didn’t know mine and you’ve been helping so much. I honestly panic any time I have to do any of this,” he rambled on. 

You nodded along to everything he said before he finally stopped talking.

“You good?” You questioned. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he said. 

“No, you’re ok, don’t worry about it,” you said back.

“My sister is usually the one to take her to do the shopping, but Aunt Liyah lives back in Canada, so it’s all on me when we’re back in LA,” he explained. 

Before you could say anything else, Charlotte slammed the door open and exclaimed, “This feels much better!” as she did a spin in front of you. 

“Well, aren’t you the cutest darn thing I have ever seen,” Shawn said as he kneeled down to look at the sweater. He pulled the neck up a little bit and had her lift her hands up to see if it was too short. 

“Send a picture to Auntie!” She exclaimed as she played with the sleeves. Shawn nodded his head before stepping back, taking a picture and sending it off to his sister. 

“Try on the other ones,” he said as he lightly pushed her back into the fitting room. 

“She looks just like you,” you said as she shut the door. 

“How unfortunate,” he said softly.

“That’s a compliment,” you whispered. He rolled his eyes at you before leaning against the wall.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he paused. “She’s got her mom’s eyes though,” he said softly. “Not that it matters,” he said in a less-than-satisfied voice under his breath.  You probably weren’t supposed to hear that. 

“Is it just you and her?” You asked carefully, not wanting to open anything you shouldn’t. 

“Yep, since the day she was born,” he said as he looked over at you. 

“You’re doing a remarkable job,” you said back to him.

“Thanks. My family’s been a big help. My friends also love her to bits, so it’s not all me,” he rationalized.

“Still, raising a little girl on your own isn’t easy. I’ve seen every type of parent come into this store, and I can tell you, honestly, that you’ve got this under control,” you said. “You just gotta trust yourself a little more.”

Charlotte popped out in the next sweater before he could respond. You both looked at her as she struck another pose. 

“I think I like the other one better,” Shawn said. 

“Agreed,” you added. 

She nodded her head as she looked in the mirror. 

“Agreed,” she said before marching back in.

Shawn shook his head and placed it in his hands.

“You just taught her a new phrase. She’s not going to stop saying that for weeks,” he groaned. 

You laughed at him before saying, “I am so sorry. You never say the word ‘agree?’”

“Not like you just said it. Like, yeah, I say I agree with someone, but I don’t really say ‘agreed,’ but now it’s all she’s going to say. I promise you that most of the time it won’t make sense either,” he said as he looked over at you with a “disappointed dad” look. “You owe me one for the weeks of torture my ears are about to endure.”

“I can get you 25% of the sweater, but I’m afraid that’s it,” you paused for a minute. “Oh, and if you ever need a night off from her, I’ll gladly babysit. She’s phenomenal.” 

“I think I’ll pass on the discount, but I might have to hold you to the night of babysitting,” he responded with a smile on his face.

“And, I’m here every Monday night, and it’s usually this dead. So if you ever need help with the shopping thing again, I’m always here to help,” you added. 

“Thank you, it means more than you’ll ever know. I get this is your job, but still, thanks,” he said. 

Charlotte popped out of the dressing room again with the last sweater on. It was cropped so the purple cami was sticking out of the bottom. 

“I still like the first one the best,” Shawn said with a concentrated look on his face. You simply nodded your head in agreement as Charlotte looked in the mirror before turning back to the two of you.

“Agreed,” she said before marching back into the room. Before you could say anything, Shawn looked at you with that same dad look he gave you earlier. He was good at it.

“Sorry,” you whispered. “You’re good at that look. I honestly feel super guilty right now.

“Good, then you’ll learn from your mistakes, and you won’t repeat them,” he said in probably the perfect dad voice.

“Alright, you can stop. That’s terrifying.”

He let out a laugh as he leaned his head against the wall again, briefly glancing down at his phone.

“What time do you close?” He asked, bringing you back into the reality that you were a sales associate helping a customer. 

“9:00,” you said before glancing down at your watch. “You’ve still got like an hour and forty-five minutes, so no rush.”

He nodded his head before he looked behind you at the signs by the register. 

“I really don’t want to keep you from that, though,” he said as he gestured towards the signs. You shrugged your shoulders.

“I wasn’t supposed to do them until after close, anyway. I should probably wait until then because I know they’re going to kick my butt,” you said as you looked back at him. 

“Can I help maybe?” He offered. You sighed and shook your head.

“As much as I would love to say yes, that’s an incredibly huge liability,” you explained as you scrunched up your face and he nodded his head. 

“Yeah, I guess you don’t want me suing your store if I fall,” he said. “I definitely understand that.”

Charlotte came out of the dressing room again with the three sweaters and camis in her hands. 

“Remember which one you want?” Shawn asked her. 

She nodded her head and held out the clothing to him, along with the purple and white camis. You gladly scooped the rest of the sweaters out of her hands and brought them back with you to the register to put away later. 

“Anything else I can help you guys look for today?” You asked them as they walked up to the register. 

Shawn looked down at Charlotte as she let out a yawn and rubbed her eyes. 

“I think we’re good for tonight,” he whispered to you. You began to ring up his few items before placing them in the bag.

“Do you want to sign up for the rewards program?” You asked him as the screen prompted. 

He sighed, “Yeah, I probably should.”

“The pinpad will ask you all the questions,” you said as you tapped your finger on the top of it. Shawn tapped all the necessary buttons and typed in his information. 

You recited all the information back to him for clarification, and he nodded along to everything you said. 

“And receipt with you or in the bag,” you said as you propped the bag up. 

“Just throw it in the bag,” he said as he looked down at Charlotte who was leaning against him and who was also clearly tired. “I guess it’s getting near bedtime,” he said quietly as you handed him the bag. 

“Agreed,” you said at the same volume as he rolled his eyes at you. 

“Yep, I’m sick of you. Time to go,” he said jokingly as he held Charlotte’s hand. 

You walked them out the door before Shawn stopped and turned to you. 

“About that babysitting offer…” he trailed off. 

“Yeah?”

“I guess I’m going to need your number, you know, just in case I need a babysitter,” he said without really looking at you. “Or, also, I mean, if you’d ever want to catch a movie or something. I can find a different babysitter, and we can just do something, but if not, that’s also totally fine,” he rambled on. 

You bit your lip, trying to contain your smile, as you could feel your face burning up. 

“I thought you were sick of me,” you said teasingly. He shook his head before finally looking at you.

“You’re so annoying,” he said through a laugh.

“It’s in my job description,” you retaliated.

“Really? Well, then I’d like to speak to the manager about that.”

“That’s cute. I am the manager.”

Shawn had to give up after that one as he shook his head and glanced down at Charlotte, oblivious to whatever was going on. 

“I would love to go out sometime,” you finally said.

“Maybe I’ve retracted that offer,” he responded. 

“Well, then I’d love to babysit sometime.”

“Well, I am still going to need your number, you know, for babysitting,” he responded as he held out his phone for you.

You quickly typed in your name and number before handing it back to him. 

“See you this weekend maybe?” He said as he began to walk out of the store, still gripping on to Charlotte’s hand with one hand and the bright pink bag with the other. “I’m thinking dinner and a movie,” he said as he backed out. “For you and Charlotte of course.”

“Oh, yeah, sounds perfect. Send me the day and time and I’ll be there, for Charlotte,” you said as you crossed your arms. 

“See you later, [Y/N],” he said before waving and turning around. 

“Are we going to come back?” you heard Charlotte ask her father. 

“Yeah, I think we will,” Shawn replied. 

“Good, I like this store,” she responded before stifling another yawn.

“Agreed.”

Reblog! Comment! Send me an ask! A message! Y’all know I  T H R I V E  off praise and attention, so hit me up with that good shit.

[rebelliouslala]

Breakout

Jungkook x reader slightly rly I didn’t do a good job but I still loved this concept

genre: Wild Wild West, violence, cursing, uhhh lassos, but a nice butterscotch fluff at the end if u wanna take a bite :3

1.1k~ words ain’t my best but it’s honest work

The town buzzed gently, the clink of beer from the bar mixing in with loud, bastardized laughter. Women outside in the early morning, wearing dresses that reveal their cleavage and giggling as they are tickled pink by newcomers and cowboys passing though your town.

Not that you had anything to do with it.

You were too busy brushing the porch of the bank, humming an old song you heard on the radio. The dry wind around your town picks up dust, like a thief's hand, placing it back on the porch once you enter.

“Good mornin’, Y/n!” Your boss smiles at you, nodding and going to his office at the first quarter of the bank, a small room made around it, having his own windows and fan.

“Morning!” you smile and you hum, organizing the files behind the clerk as your coworker turns around, “Did you hear about the sheriff?”

“No, I’ve been working like a dog, picking up your slack, Willie.” You monotonously respond.

“I told you to call me Will!”

“Sure William,” you look up with a small smirk as you organize the final file and sit at your desk, fixing your outfit and your styled hair.

The town stayed still for quite a few hours. People got kicked out and let back in the saloon, widows and their sons went into the general store and out. No one came into the bank, even though there were gunshots every other ten minutes. It’s the sound of life.

It was, unfortunately just you, your boss and annoying William. His saliva all over the papers and the register. He just couldn’t stop blabbering about the new fight in the bar, some new bandits gang, that new roundabout sheriff. Even if there were bars blocking between you and others, William still bothered you with topics you didn’t want to be a part of.

Nor know.

You finally get a customer, one of the women you saw earlier, who smokes a long cigar, and she winks at you, “Thanks babe,” You smile sweetly as she goes back to the bar across the road, and you smack William with your fan. “Will, say one more thing and I might rip that toupee of yours off.” you say, tapping your feet against the wood, looking past the bars of your office and outside.

The woman didn’t go inside the saloon for a minute, she was outside, looking at the distance and smiling softly.

“B—,” William goes past the bars.

You lean forward, growling before you hear a gunshot.

To the door.

You get down, hopping down your desk as you hear cackling and an explosion, dust littering the entire bank.

Shit.

Bandits.

“AIGHT, WHERE’S YER MONEY?!” says a gravelly voice, the ting of metal sound rings across the bars, before you hear a groan from your boss.

“Taehyung get them crybabies, I saw someone over here. I’ll find the rest.” says someone quietly, but you can definitely hear them smirking.

You pant, crouching down into the small space of your desk as William screams, before you can reach out to tell him what to do, you watch a bullet fly past his ear. His eyes roll back, and he falls, passing out from the impact.

You gulp and close your eyes, slowing your breathing. You hear the clinking of their boots on the wooden floor. You open your eyes, grabbing the knife your parents gifted you, and the small pistol your grandmother gave you.

No way are you letting some men get away with ruining the bank.

Especially on a Monday.

“I found the safe!” yells a voice. “Perfect, Hoseok, fuckin’ blow it!”

There’s a boom to the iron door. You get up even as the explosion of the metal and wood settle, throwing the dagger towards the safety combination pad. The man with an orange mask beside it is pinned to the wall by his shirt with near perfect accuracy.

You quickly get out your pistol and turn to the other voice, deep and smooth speaking, but you see a small flash.

You’re suddenly bound, your arms pinned to your sides and you are lifted up. You scream, dropping the pistol and there’s a gunshot from the impact to the ground.

“Damn, JK, you couldn’t have spotted them earlier?”

“I did, but they were too pretty. Besides, the way they was hidin’ was cute~,”

You struggle, twisting and squirming like a snake caught by an eagle.

Wait.

William was talking about new bandits. Seven thieves that branded themselves as the Bulletproof Boys.

This young man had a splotched, grey bandana over his mouth, he takes it off and brings you closer. His bright doe eyes are hooded, his lips in a faux pout as his nose is flared as he takes in fresh air. You widen your eyes, realizing he holds you with one arm as he holds you all the way from the top of the bars he crouched upon. He smirks and coos, “And what might yer name be?”

You try to kick up but he only grips the lasso tighter, laughing at your weak attempt. One of the boys, having a dark green bandana on, throws your forgotten pistol in his hand, he shows it over your face and laughs, “This is a pretty impressive gun, but hon, you can’t defeat us.”

He lets you go, and smirks, “Now, I’ll ask again, kindly.”

“Y/n.” You introduce yourself as you make a roundabout kick, but when he catches your foot you punch the young man in the eye. He lets go in agony and this time you land a successful and hard kick to his stomach.

When he throws the gun, you catch it, panting before there’s a small click.

Well, several clicks.

The colors of the rainbow masks look at you, before the one with red takes his off and smirks, “You’re good. No one can disarm JK like that.”

“A-And?!” You point the gun at him, as he smiles now, kindly, a dimple poking in the side, “Just travel with us, at least the next town, Y/n. we can drop you off there, but if you wanna rob with us, we can always use the hand like yours.”

You look at JK, who’s back up, holding his lasso and his hip pointed to the side, raising an eyebrow, shrugging, “Besides, it’s fun to watch those men fall. Especially the bad ones.” You purse your lips and look up. “To the next town, but leave some money for the townspeople, alright? I live along the way,” you say softly.

The man behind you cracks his lasso in the air, “YeeEEEHAW, LET’S RIDE OUTTA HERE THEN!” The men all laugh and shoot their guns in the air, cheering and chattering as they talk about the robbery as a pride, an art they did.

A few of them drop the bags of cash as you sigh, and follow them outside, your hand around the dagger you still hold.

But; you let it be where it lies. Maybe they weren't stealing something bad, maybe what they were stealing, was a life behind a cell you worked yourself in.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @otpsfloat!

Hello dear @otpsfloat! I really hope you’re going to like this story, and I also hope I didn’t add too much fluff ;)

Summary: Derek is forced to go to a mini gold speed dating, but when he meets Stiles there, he isn’t really sure if he should rather thank his sisters for this amazing idea.

Read on AO3

*****

The Official Beacon Hills Rainbow Mini Golf Date Night.

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Derek Hale hated living with his sisters. He had been sulking for a while, unhappy with college, with life, with everything.

Of course, Laura and Cora, the banes of his very existence - together with their mother Talia, of all people! - had attributed it to him not getting laid enough. (Or, in the case of his parents: of him not having someone to love, to cherish and to bond closely with!)

Thus Laura pulled some strings, added a lot of pressuring, and a near-blackmail in the form of “if you do this, you’re off the hook for an entire year!”, and here he was: At the Official Beacon Hills Rainbow Mini golf Date Night.

He already hated the colourful design of the rooms, the glaringly offensive brightness of everything assaulting his eyes. There were several courses of eighteen holes each, and a group of male and female visitors, all milling about and having a drink.

Derek cringed internally as he headed towards the cash register. He’d looked it up, before; Everyone would take a coloured golf ball out of a huge tub with their eyes closed, and would complete an entire course with whoever had the equivalent of their colour. The only thing they could choose in advance was the gender of their ‘dating partner’.

Derek hadn’t hesitated in signing himself up for men only.

There were a lot of people standing around. Some seemed shy, others were already trying to pair up. There were others, similar to him, who looked like they wanted to be anywhere else but here.

Derek was the last to grab for the ball, and the organisers were already beginning to pair the people up, smiling like this was the best thing of the entire world. And for some it seemingly was, judging from their happy expressions, but for him it was only something he had agreed to to get his family off his back for a year. He really didn’t get their complaints anyway, what was so bad with being single?

Derek toyed with the plastic ball, looking around idly. He wondered about getting a drink to loosen up, but knowing that it wouldn’t work (and assuming that they didn’t have anything stronger for werewolf customers) he decided not to. An attendee headed towards him, and he displayed the abysmal pink ball in his hands. She smiled, leading him on.

And then he saw his partner for the speed dating. He held his own pink ball, wearing a shirt with a cute fox on it, grinning sarcastically, Jeans, pretty worn converse and a checked shirt wrapped around his waist. He had moles everywhere, brown eyes and hair that stood up and didn’t look like it had been combed in a while.

“Great! Now that everyone is paired up, let me explain the rules again! We have three courses here, and you complete one with your current partner. If you want to get to know them better, you can take some extra 15 minutes at the Bar. If you want to continue, you wait here until all are done, and pick another ball. But let’s hope your current partner got the balls to sweep you off your feet, right?”, she announced with a loud laugh.

Derek blinked, slowly, and then made his way over to his partner for the night. He had to admit it - the boy was pretty cute. A somewhat upturned nose, awake, honey-coloured eyes, and a grin that matched the relaxed posture he had. But for some reason he looked awfully familiar to the werewolf - and not quite legal. “Hey,” he said, approaching the young man directly. “How’s it going?”

“Hey!”, he let out in an almost squeak, as his eyes ranked over Derek’s body. He smelled excited, hopeful and somewhat happy. “I am Stiles! You probably remember me from the one running in to you and throwing all his books down the staircase in college!”

Derek’s eyes widened at that. Christ, he remembered. “Damn, that was you,” he blurted out. “You nearly broke my neck. And your own, too, when you almost flung yourself down the stairs to save the books,” he added with a somewhat devious grin. “Out to meet new people?”

“Oh yeah!” He chuckled at that, wiggling his eyebrows. “Kinda. Actually… to be really honest…” he whispered and leaned in. “I lost a bet.”

Derek’s brows shot up. “Be glad you don’t have obnoxious sisters you think you need to get laid,” he replied, voice nothing but a quiet growl in Stiles’ ears. He didn’t miss the shiver that ran through the boy.

“Hah… so we both aren’t here on our own volition?” he asked, tilting his head. “But hey! It’s mini golf! Let’s make the best of it and have the game of our lifes!”

“You’d love mini golf,” Derek replied with a grumble. They both took their (ridiculously small!) clubs, heading to one of the courses. Being intimidating by nature meant people let Derek go first, and he smirked at that, walking past the people with Stiles at his side.

Stiles, who didn’t mind this at all. He smelled so ridiculously happy that it was almost overpowering everything else in the room. “Soooo… what should I call you?“

Oh, right. He’d never introduced himself.

"I’m Derek. Derek Hale,” he added, knowing that most people were at least remotely aware of his… unconventional family at the edge of town. And his werewolf blood, too.

“Derek…” Stiles repeated, almost purring. “Then show me how you treat these balls!”

“Oh, you’re an expert for balls, then?” Derek drawled. He dropped his own ball to the ground, putting it in position with his foot and eyeing the hole. Jesus, he sucked at mini golf. No werewolf senses would fix that. He flicked the golf club, shooting the ball towards its aim.

Stiles let out a laugh. Derek’s ball was way off. “Good shot, Der!” he said, placing his own ball down. He licked his lips, glanced towards the hole, and then hit it.

“Come on,” Derek growled, watching Stiles hit a hole in one. “You’re actually good at mini golf? What kind of nerd are you?”

“Wohooooo!” He let out a cheer and jumped up, grinning at the werewolf. “I am kinda good? Not greatly good, but… yeah! But I promise I didn’t use any magic…” he added as he wiggled his fingers. “And I am a nerd by association! And… yeah. But really, you’re giving up that easily?”

“Oh, I haven’t even started,” Derek said with a low rumble, and his the hole with the next shot as well. He didn’t comment on the magic statement, after all he wasn’t the only supernatural creature here. The one in the corner looked like he could be a Kanima, and he was sure that one of the organisers was a werewolf as well. And magic per se wasn’t that rare, it all depended on what kind of magic… and that was something he could find out later, once he decided that he was interested in getting to know this one further. If he would do it. “Keep going. You start this time, Mister Nerd by association.”

“Uuuuh! Call me Stiles, Sourwolf!” he shot back, a wide grin on his face. He hopped further, placed his ball in front of him again, and this time wiggled with his back. Was he trying to wiggle every single part of his body this evening?

Sourwolf? Derek chuckled against his better judgement, reaching out with the club and patting Stiles’ backside with it. “Wiggling for the audience?”

“Maybe I’m wiggling for you?”, he offered with a wink and then played the ball. But this time it went into the hole, jumped out of it and rolled down. “Maaaan!”

"Not quite as lucky all the time?” Derek whispered into his ear, walking past him. This time he was more effective than Stiles - he just needed two hits, the other three.

“So! As this is a date or something… we should talk, right?” he began, heading to the next area. “Okay. We know our names. Then… what else does one talk about during dates?”

“I’d ask what you’re doing, but I know that already,” Derek said smugly. “College, Criminal Science. Right?”

“Yes. And you?” He looked at him. “I only saw your abs to be honest… oh, and Cora, but she’s rude and kinda scary.”

“She is. Don’t tell her I said that, she’d eat my eyeballs.” He shrugged. “Architecture and art,” Derek said, putting another ball. “One because it was sensible, one because I wanted to.”

“Nice!” He nodded, watching him playing. “And you’re a werewolf. My best friend is one, bitten.”

“And you’re not scared?” This was a surprise; most people were. Derek motioned for him to shoot. “That’s rare.”

“Well… when he tried to kill me, yeah… back then I was. Scared shitless actually…” he murmured, a frown on his face. “…but I did my best. I tried to teach him as much as I could, without an Alpha for him around. He was bitten by a rogue Alpha, which I think… your family took out a bit later, if I remember correctly? You maybe know him? Scott McCall? He works at Deaton’s. He’s also helping me with my magic a bit, not as much as I’d like to, but that’s Deaton…”

“Yeah, actually. Heard his name before. Deaton’s my mother’s Emissary.” Derek said with a nod. “And well, in Scott’s defense, you look like a snack,” he added deadpan.

Stiles looked at him, as if to ask if he was serious, but then his lips spread into a grin. “If I’m a snack, then you’re the full meal.”

“Smooth,” the werewolf said with a quiet laugh. He nodded, motioning for him to go ahead. They kept talking, an easy back and forth between them.

It was really nice and also felt natural. Stiles’ happiness didn’t let up even one second, and he was a good challenge when it came to mini golf. He laughed when they just finished half the course with both of them needing three shots for it. “So, how do you like this date so far?”

“It’s pretty good,” Derek said with a low rumble in his voice. It was true; he enjoyed himself. “Much better than any of the others I went on, for sure…”

“That’s great!” Stiles blurted out, the tips of his ears turning red as he brightly smiled at him. “I am… actually quite excited. I mean… yeah, I just lost a bet, but… you are amazing….”

Amazing? Derek ducked his head a little at the surprising praise, then smiled over at Stiles. “So you don’t mind being set up like this, for once?”

“Wow… your smile is breatha-”, he began, then cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “I totally don’t mind. I didn’t expect much apart from a nice mini gold match, but… I get to know you and that’s wow.”

“Hmm. I agree,” Derek said, pitching the next ball. At this point neither of them was really focused on the game, and Derek felt comfortably… warm. Maybe this was a decent idea. The boy seemed to be fun… and he really didn’t mind hanging out with him.

Stiles walked to the next area, placing the ball down before he stretched and glanced at the werewolf. “So. May I ask why someone like you is single?”

“I’m a horrible people person, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Derek said drily, watching Stiles hit another hole. “Besides, I had some… bad experiences in the past.”

“I think you’re very compatible with me, though!” he shot back with a big grin. “And hey. No time like the present, right?”

Derek was suddenly directly behind Stiles as he got ready to hit his next ball. He whispered. “Hmm. Do you want to say you see us both as highly compatible in a … mating sense?” The werewolf watched with great pleasure as the ball went awry.

He could scent Stiles’ nervousness and at the same time there was something else, making it clear that he liked this very much. “Well… if this big ass werewolf likes a scrawny human…?” he whispered back. Stiles definitely tried to hide how nervous he was, but he couldn’t mask his scent, at least not to Derek’s nose. He picked up all the subtle changes, how he was interested, how much he liked it. But he also realised that he really liked Stiles’ overall scent. It was nice, calming, grounding in a way…

“Oh, I wouldn’t call you scrawny. Maybe wiry. Definitely… flexible,” Derek added with a smirk. Then he stepped away, dropping his own golf ball, and continued playing.

“Oh that’s mean! You totally did this on purpose to be better than I am! Oooooh, you just wait!” He grinned and then put the next ball into the hole in one. “Uuuuh yeah! You just watch me!”

“I am watching,” Derek said - and it was true. He was watching Stiles, and the boy was pretty damn good looking. Which didn’t mean he’d let him win.

“Well, I gotta say, Derek Hale… I am interested in getting to know you more…” he murmured as he waited for the werewolf to play.

“Is that the only thing you’re interested in?” Derek asked, feigning innocence. But he kept playing expertly.

“You? Heck no!” he answered with a chuckle, watching him miss the hole. “I play Lacrosse. I help my Dad with solving crimes. I help Scott with everything werewolf related. I read a lot. I play video games. I also learn how to manipulate mountain ash, and some spells and how to feel the land around you. And… well, I live with my Dad, who’s the Sheriff, to give you some more information about me.”

“Hmm,” Derek said with a nod. That wasn’t what he had wanted to imply, but it was just as well. Information for information. “I’m a werewolf in college. I live with my family and am a beta to my mother’s leadership. I don’t plan on starting my own pack in the next few years. I have obnoxious sisters, I probably read even more than you, I suck at operating a computer. Sometimes I volunteer in the city centre. And I drive a Camaro.”

“A Camaro?” At that Stiles looked up, almost whistling. “Nice one. I got a Jeep and its name is Roscoe. Eh… Scott’s my best friend. Lydia, the woman I had a crush on for a long time is a Banshee and is together with Jackson, a Kanima. I also know Isaac who really wants to be a werewolf. I never had a relationship ever before, never dated…. so… I’m a virgin in every sense!”

“I see,” Derek nodded. “I’m… not. I tried dating women, but truth be told, it sucked. So I ended up here, and met you, and… I don’t think that’s so bad,” he added with a small smirk.

“Oh man, I’m sorry…” he said with a frown as he walked to the next area. “Soooo… do you want to spend a bit more time after this ball kicking?”

“Absolutely,” Derek agreed quietly. He smiled, and Stiles felt his knees wobble a little at that. “Maybe have a drink after I beat you, huh??”

“Beat me?” He laughed as he had a look at the score chard. “Actually, dear Mister Hale… this is the last area and I am in the lead right now.”

“…” Derek looked up. Shit, when had that happened? There was no way he could win. Derek growled, pitching the last ball in. “Alright. Drink on me then, I guess.”

“Yeah!” Stiles thrust up an arm, noted down Derek’s points and then followed him over to where the organisers were waiting. “We hope you had fun? Have you decided?” the woman from before asked with a smile.

“Decided?” Derek said. He found himself reaching out, curling his arm around Stiles shoulders. Drawing him close against his chest. “We’d like that drink now.”

This totally made Stiles blush, but he agreed with a very firm nod. “Very well. Then please proceed and pick a seat. You get 15 more minutes.”

“Thank you,” Derek said, politely, and led Stiles away with him. Only then did he turn his head. “Is this okay?”

“Totally okay!” he answered, chuckling. “I mean I heard werewolves are kinda territorial, but you’re starting it really early.”

“Tell me if it bothers you,” Derek hummed, leading him to a table. Then they sat down together. “Drinks on me, then. In exchange for your number, if you are game…”

“And you are straight forward!” Stiles added with a laugh. But he nodded and showed Derek his number, then saved the other’s number under 'Sourwolf’. “And… don’t worry. I am really honest and will not hold back just to be nice.”

“That’s good,” Derek said, and left it at that. He wanted to say so much more; how he hated it if people lied to him or kept their opinions. But maybe that was too much for a first date, so he remained quiet. They both looked at the menu, and Derek raised a brow. “Those cocktail names are borderline pornographic.”

“Yeah, right?” He chuckled and then lowered the menu. “Come on, we just got 15 minutes. Let’s focus on each other!” he murmured and leaned forward.

“So….. Han Solo or Luke Skywalker?”

“Han Solo. Rebels or Empire?” Derek shot back, leaning back a little. This was promising.

Stiles’ eyes lit up and his mouth fell open. “Oh my god! You are perfect! Star Wars! You watched Star Wars?!”

“Of course I did. But I prefer the old trilogy,” Derek added with a smirk. “Answer my question.”

“Ah, ah yeah! Rebels of course! I mean, they got the X-Wing and they’re fighting for the freedom of the universe!”

“Very good choice,” Derek purred. Yeah, he liked this boy. “Favourite Horror movie?”

“Oh, that’s… difficult…!” He leaned back, and began to nibble on his lower lip. “So… I guess… I haven’t watched a lot of full horror movies. But IT is good… and Freeze.”

“Oh, Freeze. Nice choice. Okay, your turn.” They both ordered a drink, barely paying attention to the waitress.

“Okay… now, let’s be more creative now. Favourite song when you’re angry?”

“How angry are we talking?” Derek replied with a raised brow. “Casual level of 'I hate my sisters’? Probably Destroya, by My Chemical Romance. Really angry? Something like Sentenced, if you ever heard of them.” He shrugged. “Favourite band when you were a kid?”

“Hmmm….” His eyes were on Derek and the smile from his lips never disappeared. “I guess Linkin Park and … Blink 182? Soooo, Der. What’s your guilty pleasure?”

“Chocolate chip cookie dough. No, don’t look at me like that. I love that stuff.” He made a face. “Doesn’t really match my habit of doing a shitload of workouts, though, so it remains a very guilty pleasure.” Derek considered for a moment. Then he leaned forward. “How about… the dirtiest fantasy you had today.”

“To…day?” He huffed, then rubbed his nose carefully. “….well…. actually quite tame. Just about kissing.”

Derek smiled. He didn’t hear a lie, so he nodded gently, motioning for Stiles to go on.

“Honestly! That was all! But now that you mentioned it… what about you and your fantasies?”

“Well, I probably thought about a certain person’s backside when they were bending down to retrieve a golf ball,” Derek said, looking at Stiles pointedly. He saw no reason in lying.

He laughed at that, and then winked at him. “Okay… You can thank your sisters for forcing you to get here! Because I want to meet you again for sure!”

“Oh yeah, I second that notion.” Derek nodded with a smile, and they finished their drinks. The fifteen minutes were almost over already.

“Good. Then we can text and… agree on another time and place for some more Stiles-Derek time? And I meant that in a totally innocent way, like getting to know each other more…”, he asked, standing up with a smile just as the woman approached them.

Derek nodded. They took a step aside, and then, before they parted ways near the door… Derek wrapped him up in a tight, long hug. And damn, did that feel good. His inner wolf was pleased.

“Hey, cuddlewolf…” he smiled and hugged back. “You smell really nice.”

They stood like this for a long moment, and it felt wonderful. Derek rubbed his head at the side of Stiles’ cheek, grumbling softly. Marking him.

And he didn’t mind it at all. “Scott will ask all the questions later, dude.”

“I don’t care,” Derek muttered. They finally let go of one another, and headed for the door. “I’m glad I went here tonight.”

“I’m damn happy I lost this bet!” Stiles let out with a laugh, walking alongside Derek, slowly heading back to the carpark. “I’ll text you once I’m back?”

“Definitely,” Derek said. His voice sounded almost breathy. They got into their respective cars after another brief, but warming embrace. They didn’t kiss; after all it was just a first date. But Derek felt…. good.

+++++

The drive home was uneventful for him. Derek parked the Camaro, took his phone, and then entered the house as silent as possible… knowing full well that his family would be waiting for him inside. They’d never go to sleep without needling him first.

And this time it was even worse. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he spotted Laura’s face, looking at her with expectant eyes. “Sooooooo?”

“God, you don’t even let me get inside?” Derek groaned. He could see Cora perching on a table, grinning widely. “At least get me a drink and say hi,” the werewolf demanded with a playful growl.

“Sure, sure. Get a drink. We’re in the living room. Waiting.” She winked at him and then disappeared into the room next door.

Derek bit back a groan, knowing that they’d all hear it. He padded into the kitchen, got himself a coke, and then strode into the living room, to the waiting faces of his sisters. “It went well,” he finally said, looking at both of them. “I met a nice guy. Got his number. Might see him again. And no, I am not giving you his name.”

“OH my god?! YES?” Laura’s face exploded in a smile and she leaned forward. “Tell us more!”

“There’s…. not much more. He’s nice, so far. Doesn’t mind me being a werewolf. I’ve seen him before.” Derek shrugged. His fingers were toying with his phone. “I like him.”

“You do?” Her smile grew as his mobile vibrated. And indeed it was a message from Stiles, stating 'Hey, Sourwolf. Just wanted to tell you that I reached home safe and sound’

“Tell us about him, come on!”

“Just a moment,” Derek said, sounding - to his own surprise - a little defensive. He typed a quick answer. “Am home too. My sisters are already planning a wedding I guess. Sorry bout that.” Then he turned back to them. “He’s… cute. A little younger than me. Goes to college, too.”

'Haha, I’m not wearing a dress!’ Stiles answered back in record time and with lots of smileys.

Laura’s smile grew even wider. “So… this was a good idea.”

“Better than your other ideas,” Derek replied smugly. Cora chuckled. “So, when are you going to bring him home, huh?”

“Not…. yet. But I guess I wanna see him again.”

“You guess?” Laura leaned back, looking at Cora with a grin. “You exchanged numbers obviously. And you seem to like him.”

“Urgh, fine. I do want to see him again. Preferably soon. And now I am going to bed. Good night you two!” He took the drink and his phone along, ignoring the protests of his sisters and their announcement to call their parents to tell them all about this. Derek headed towards his bedroom, already typing a reply. ‘Might look good on you tho. ;) I got off the hook, going to bed now. And you?’

'I’m already in bed. Going to sleep real soon and dream of how I beat you’ Derek could almost hear Stiles’ voice through the text. It was casual, and actually really easy…

'Aw, relish in your victory, until I get my revenge. How about something more physical? Basketball?’ He took off his shirt, tossing it aside on the bed together with his pants, before climbing inside.

'I told you I’m playing Lacrosse, right?’ Stiles answered with a grinning smiley. 'But we could also try something else. As you seem to like small balls. Pool?’

I probably like your balls, Derek thought idly to himself. He read the message again. 'Sounds good to me. Know a nice place?’

'Hmmm…. not really, but I know friends who do. Or we could go bowling if you like it bigger?’

Bowling? That usually included more people. 'What if I prefer to have you to myself?’ he sent back, reclining on his bed.

'Then I would suggest driving out into the preserve in my Jeep and choose a spot where we can see the city and have a picnic there?’

Now that? That sounded nice. Derek wasn’t really one for big crowds, although he could understand the security of them - especially for humans. 'You don’t think the big bad wolf is going to eat you up?’

'Then I will just have to wear my red hoodie…. ’, Stiles texted back with a wink. 'But hey, if you are okay with Lacrosse - we have a game next week.’

'You playing?’ He hadn’t watched Lacrosse games before, always considered them somewhat boring. But with Stiles playing that could certainly change. “When?’

'Friday evening.’ Stiles then texted the time back.

'I’ll be there. You have some celebration with the team after? Or do you want to grab a drink?’

'That very much depends on if we win. But if we do, I should probably celebrate with them! ’

'Definitely,’ Derek agreed. He got under the covers, realizing how nice it was to lie here and just… text. He’d never done it before, not like this. 'What’s your position?”

'Come and see, curious wolf…’ Stiles texted back. 'But at least I’m a regular now. In High School I was on the bench so often.’

'Alright, alright, enough questions for one night. Looking forward to seeing you play on the field’, Derek wrote. And he meant it. He wanted to see Stiles out there.

'Then come! But first we should have another… date?’

'Absolutely. And I love the idea with the woods. But maybe safe that for a later date where you feel more comfortable being alone with me. Awoo,’ he added, with a winking smiley. 'Back to ball games, I’d say. You and me.’

'Oooooh yeah! Let’s talk more tomorrow, I should really sleep.’

'Me too.’ Derek looked at his phone. No, actually smiled. He felt warm. 'I had a really good day. Sleep well, Stiles.’

‘Nighty Night! This was the best day ever and I’m so looking forward to seeing you again.’

‘Trust me. I for once could kiss my family for this idea.’

‘Better keep your kisses for me, big guy!’

‘Should I kiss you next time we meet?’

‘If you won’t, then I will!’

Derek laughed softly. ‘I will. I will kiss you. I want to kiss you.’

‘Tomorrow? Dinner?’

‘Sounds good.’ In fact, it sounded amazing.

‘I’ll text ya where and when tomorrow! Gotta sleep now, Dad’s complaining! NIGHT!’

‘Good Night, Stiles’

[grandmasterreigen]

For the prompts, how about 72, "You deserve so much better.”? And congrats again on passing the exam!!!

@creativeoutlook​​

THANK YOU SO MUCH GUYS <3 I ended up combining these two prompts because they worked super well together and ended up with a 1.5k monster drabble. I hope you enjoy it!! 

For the dialogue prompts “You deserve so much better” and “I got you a present.” 

--

When Teru wakes up early in the morning on April 13th, the apartment is silent and dark.

Like it always is.

He should be used to it. It shouldn’t bother him anymore. Most days he can pretend it doesn’t, that everything’s fine, that he’s fine, and most days he can even convince himself that it’s true.

But today’s his birthday, and the loneliness of facing another day alone weighs him down into his mattress with leaden limbs and a growing pressure behind his eyelids.

It’s mornings like this that he lets himself dwell, just for a few minutes, on what he used to have. To waking up on his birthday to smiling faces and whispered congratulations, to an extra special breakfast and the promise of yakiniku after school, to a day of happiness instead of isolation.

He almost skips school. He knows no one will even remember it’s his birthday anyway, and why should they? He’s fifteen now, way too old to care so much about something so stupid.  It shouldn’t bother him. He’s Hanazawa Teruki. He’s a straight-A student with awesome fashion sense and enough maturity to hold a part-time job on the side. How many of his peers could claim the same? Almost none of them, that’s who.

He forces himself out of bed and doesn’t bother making breakfast at all. He’ll pick up a sweet bun of some sort at a convenience store instead, maybe a coffee with extra cream. Some cake on the way home. He’d normally make it himself, but, well.

He doesn’t really have the energy to bother today.

 --

 The apartment is as cold and empty as Teru’d left it, and for once he doesn’t care enough to put away his schoolbag. He leaves it on the ground, his uniform in a heap next to it instead of carefully hung in the closet, and sets the slice of cake he’d picked up at a bakery on the table.

He checks his phone for what has to be the hundredth time so far. Nothing. Of course. He shouldn’t feel so hurt by this – what did he expect, really? It’s not like his parents had remembered the year before, either.

Sorry we forgot! Happy belated birthday!

Not even a phone call. Just a six-word text two days late.

Teru almost turns off his phone entirely. He’s just riling himself up with all this pointless anticipation. Instead he compromises, setting it on the table within easy reaching distance while he queues up an old home video on his laptop.

The cake is stunning. White cream with meticulously crafted yellow and pink flowers, perfectly baked and spongy. It tastes like ash.

When his ringtone suddenly breaks the silence, Teru knocks what’s left of the cake to the ground in his haste to grab the phone. He fumbles, almost swipes in the wrong direction and breathlessly says, “Hello?” without even checking the caller ID.

“Oh, hey, Teru! It’s Reigen,” the caller says cheerily, and for the first time in his life Teru can’t stand the sound of his voice. Why him? Why did it have to be him? He knows he’s being unreasonable, unfair. He really looks up to Reigen, and normally getting calls from him is the highlight of his day.

But Reigen’s not the one Teru was hoping would be on the other end of the line.

“…able to help me out with an exorcism job today? Shouldn’t take long, but Mob was busy and couldn’t make it… Hello? Teru? Are you there?”

“I’ll be over in fifteen minutes,” Teru says, and he hangs up before Reigen can respond. It’s a little petty, but whatever. It’s his birthday, he can be petty for once if he wants to be.

 --

 The office is dark when Teru walks up, and he regrets hanging up on Reigen now. He was probably supposed to meet Reigen at another location, and now he’s letting him down. All that pettiness Teru was holding onto washes away with a wave of regret. What if Reigen doesn’t call him again after this because he thinks Teru’s unreliable? Teru was acting like a kid. He’s fifteen, he should be able to control himself better. He’s still reprimanding himself as he tests the office door.

It’s unlocked.

Reigen never leaves the office unlocked when he’s out, but the lights were off. The world narrows down around him, and he pushes open the door, dread and apprehension lodging in his throat as he peers into the office ready to employ defensive measures at any moment –

“Surprise!” an assortment of voices yell, and power is already sparking at Teru’s fingertips by the time what he’s seeing registers.

Shigeo and Ritsu are standing behind Reigen’s desk where they’d been hiding. They’re both smiling with so much enthusiasm, Shigeo’s lack of reservation so refreshing and bright. Shou is lounging on the couch, grinning widely and holding what looks like an explosion of wrapping paper. Tome lets loose a party popper, sending a spray of rainbow confetti.

“Happy birthday!” she yells with a dramatic spin, snapping something off the couch and dumping it onto Teru’s head. He reaches up in a daze, touching the smooth plastic of a party hat.

Reigen and Serizawa are here too. They’re standing off to the side, both smiling at him with matching proud expressions.

“Happy birthday, Teru,” Reigen says. He holds up a box impeccably wrapped in bright paper. “I got you a present.” Teru can see tiny white scuff marks on the paper where the tape had been removed more than once, indicating a less-than-perfect start to the wrapping process. It’s just a little bit wrinkled where the paper has been refolded.

It must have taken ages to get right.

“We all did!” Shou chips in, launching himself over the back of the couch with a much more… creatively wrapped box. Teru just stares dumbly at it until Shou practically forces it into his hands. “Come on, dude, take it. It’s for you. You’d better like it.”

Outwardly, Teru recovers quickly, even as he reels internally. “You guys didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” he says, and he means it. The more he looks around, the more he realizes just how much work went into all of this. The entire office is done up with streamers, a lopsided banner hanging over the window that declares Happy Birthday Teru in painstakingly handwritten letters. There’s a homemade cake on the coffee table, unevenly cut strawberries set in a mostly-circular pattern in the frosting. It’s listing slightly to one side. It looks like the best cake Teru’s ever seen.

This was all for him. They spent all this time for him.

Teru’s phone is a deadweight in his pocket. He’s spent all day with his hand hovering near it, just in case one of his parents actually bothered to call. He’s been waiting for so long for any sign of love from them without anything, not even a text.

He slips a hand into his pocket and holds in the power button to shut it down.

 --

 It’s dark outside by the time everyone goes home. Shigeo and Ritsu are the first to go, followed closely by Shou and Tome when Reigen not-so-subtly reminds her of the curfew her parents set. Serizawa’d left to get a pack of trash bags, Reigen’s meager stock having been almost immediately depleted.  

“Did you have a good time?” Reigen asks as he wipes a glob of frosting off the table. Teru waves a finger and confetti flies up from the ground, spiraling neatly into the trashcan. His spare hand absently fingers the soft material of the bright green sweatshirt Reigen had gotten him. It has a big decal of a dog across the front, and if Teru’s being honest it’s not quite his style.

It’s too warm out to be wearing it, but he doesn’t really care. He doesn’t ever want to take it off.

“Yeah,” Teru says. It’s quiet now that almost everyone’s gone, and he chews the inside of his mouth nervously. “You really didn’t need to do all of this. I didn’t mean to put you all out like this.”

Reigen stares at him, almost incredulously. It melts away almost immediately into one of understanding, and he offers an only partially convincing smile. “You were alone, though, right?”

Teru freezes, and he searches Reigen’s expression for any sign of pity. He can feel the defensiveness already rising up, emotions still raw from the earlier hours of the day. “I’m used to it. It doesn’t bother me,” he says.

Reigen isn’t smiling, but he’s not pitying, either. He reaches over and pulls Teru into a loose hug, giving Teru plenty of time to back away first. Teru doesn’t resist.

“You deserve so much better,” Reigen murmurs into Teru’s hair. He tightens his hold, and after a few seconds Teru reaches up and hugs him back, fingers curling into the fabric of Reigen’s shirt.

Teru knows he’ll never stop wishing it was his parents here with him, telling him that he mattered. But he’s got Reigen, and Shigeo, and all the others, and for now that’s enough.

[artificialqueens]

Free Falling, Chapter 11: Deeper Love (branjie) - writworm42

A/N: Last chapter, Brooke and the others get ready for the fundraiser and smack Gary tf down. This chapter: the fundraiser is finally here!

Title from THAT song from THAT lipsync. Sue me. Thank you holtzmanns for being the best beta and all-around pal a binch could have <3

Also, next chapter will be a smutty epilogue!

The first thing Vanessa noticed when she walked into the venue space on the day of the fundraiser is that the stations had been changed.

“Concessions? Nina, what do you mean, concessions, I was supposed to be on lost child duty.” Vanessa frowned when she looked up at the list and map that Nina had drawn for the day and put up towards the front of the hall they’ve rented out.

But Nina just shrugged. “The volunteers can handle it.” As she said it, Vanessa took a second look at the list, and the sudden switch made perfect sense.

“We already together, Nina, you ain’t need to put me with Brooke for everything.” Vanessa rolled her eyes, but Nina was already walking away towards the next concern, a shit-eating grin on her face.

God, Vanessa loved that sneaky bitch.

She looked up where the concession was set up on the map and headed over. Vanessa was pleased to find that it was towards the middle and side of the room, supplying a fantastic view of the goings-on around the venue. The fundraiser wasn’t opening for another hour, but the room was buzzing with people, volunteers, staff members and the youth advisory council members already setting up equipment, walking through their duties for the day, and completing any other of the millions of small tasks that popped up as opening time ticked closer and closer. The room was bursting with colour, streamers and balloons lighting up every wall and corner until all Vanessa could see was rainbows, bright blues and purples and yellows that eagerly welcomed guests inside. There was a giant stage towards the back of the room set up with raffle prizes and a microphone, and the floor was crawling with game tables and booths, each decorated with big, bright signs clearly indicating what they were offering. More active games like life-sized tic-tac-toe and adaptive bocce took up the centre of the room, and Vanessa was all too excited at the thought of kids gathering there to play and move around.

The most beautiful sight, though, was Brooke in a Charles-Visage Hospital t-shirt scooping popcorn seeds into their rented kettle, a giant popcorn-shaped hat on her head.

“Laugh it up all you want,” Brooke narrowed her eyes as Vanessa practically screamed with laughter, drawing the attention of pretty much everyone in the hall. “Wait until see the hat they’ve left for you.”

In retrospect, having to wear a giant wiener on her head was definitely, objectively worse.

The minutes kept ticking by closer and closer to opening as everyone scrambled to finish their set-ups, fussing over little details and cursing themselves for forgetting big but integral tasks. For the most part, Vanessa managed to tune out the noise, clinging to the rhythm of concession prep to keep herself calm. Brooke, for her part, was cheerful and enthusiastic, chattering about how she used to work at Kernels and how they never used to get to wear gloves when they were working, how her manicure had been saved—Vanessa listened to it all gladly, grateful for the distraction in the form of the woman next to her.

Only Brooke wasn’t trying to be distracting, not really—this was just Brooke when she was happy, and somehow, seeing her girlfriend get so excited only made Vanessa that much more calm, that much more happy herself.

All too soon, the rush died down, and there was silence in the hall, everyone holding their breath as they counted down the two minutes remaining until opening.

“This is amazing, Ness.” Brooke grabbed Vanessa’s hand and squeezed gently. “You’ve done a great job.”

It was only then that Vanessa noticed that she had been shaking.

“I just… I really want this to work, you know?” Vanessa sighed, chewing her lip. Brooke nodded.

“I just don’t think I could handle it if we did all this and still went under. I mean, all these families an’ kids… they got hope, Brooke. We gave it to ‘em. An’ I don’t want that all crushed thanks to a dumb idea you humoured for me.”

“It’s not a dumb idea, and I didn’t humour you–I think it’ll save us.” Brooke’s voice was adamant and matter-of-fact, her eyes serious, but the conviction did nothing to reassure Vanessa, not really.

It didn’t matter if Brooke had faith in her; when it came down to it, whether or not this was enough was still out of their control. And if it wasn’t, what would happen? The unit would get major cuts, if not dissolve completely, and sure, she’d probably land on her feet, but what was the point? There was no laughter in the adult units. No water-toys or impromptu in-session tricycle parades when your clients were thirty and stressed and just looking to get home, not to have the joy of home brought to them and make the best out of a less-than-ideal situation. Even outpatient didn’t have the same vibe; in outpatient, the kids didn’t all know each other and band together, and neither did the staff - you knew who you worked with, and everyone else was peripheral. And if she didn’t get kept by the hospital, what was Vanessa supposed to do then? Move to another hospital, another district, another city? Spend the rest of her career in the community? She cringed just thinking about driving from house, navigating client caps and never seeing another adult unless it was a client or the parent of one.

And what would happen to her and Brooke? Brooke would blame herself, for sure. Say that she underestimated some costs, overestimated returns, whatever kind of business mumbo-jumbo could come to her mind. Heck, knowing Brooke, she’d go as far as to blame the way she scooped out popcorn or some shit, anything she could to explain why they failed, anything she could to take the burden of falling short off the team. And then she’d be gone, whether or not the unit stayed open, because that’s what Brooke did. Blamed herself, told herself she was a burden, and then ran.

Vanessa couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t let that happen. This had to work. It had to.

“Hey,” Brooke broke Vanessa’s daze, cupping her cheek with a soft, gentle hand. “Hey. It’s okay, Ness. It’s okay. We’re gonna do great today. I believe in you. And…” She bit her lip, shifting on her feet. Somewhere in the room, Silky called out a one-minute warning. Brooke wrapped Vanessa into a hug.

“I love you.”

Thirty seconds.

Vanessa couldn’t think any more.

“OPENING TIME!”

Before she could say anything else, the doors open, and a flood of people rushed through.

–

“Can I have everyone’s attention? CAN I HAVE EVERYONE’S ATTENTION PLEASE?” Nina shouted into the mic, raising her voice above the roar of the crowd. The fundraiser was drawing close but the energy of the attendees had barely diminished, kids and adults alike still coming through the doors to ask for whatever last-minute, $15-at-the-door tickets they had left. The concession stand had long been stripped empty, everyone who could eat rushing by to trade loonies for every type of snack they had on offer, and so Brooke and Vanessa had shed their hats and begun to run around to help out at the other booths. Still, they were only just getting to the main event, the grand finale everyone was waiting for.

“Thank you so much for coming out today, everyone.” Nina was practically beaming as the noise died down, all eyes on her. “I just wanted to say that I am truly touched by how many of you came to support the kids at Charles-Visage, and how much all of your generosity and enthusiasm has helped. Thanks to your tickets, raffle ticket, and donation-box offerings, we have raised a whopping $10,000. And that’s before we add everything up from concession!” Nina smiled and waved over at Brooke and Vanessa, who had rushed quickly back to their booth solely for this announcement and their moment of cameo-glory in it.

“I also want to say that we have amassed over one hundred new monthly donors, which is fantastic!” Nina continued, her cheeks going pink with excitement as she did. “And also, I want to thank the members of the media who came out today, getting our message of fun, inclusion, and hope out to folks everywhere! So everyone at home, be sure to check out the hospital’s website and click that donate button!”

It was just then that Vanessa noticed a host of newspeople in the back, journalists with paper pads and cameras around their neck and broadcasters holding mics out to hear all of Nina’s announcement.

Jesus Christ–the PR would be fucking fantastic , and Vanessa hadn’t even known that people would be interested in hearing about them. And she certainly hadn’t called the news outlets.

Brooke grinned at Vanessa, and her surprise turned into outright affection, lunging forward for a hug to thank her girlfriend for the amazing surprise.

“Thanks to everyone’s contributions,” Nina kept going, her voice now shaking with glee, “We not only have raised enough to help out kids with disabilities all over the area make strides towards achieving all their potential, we have also raised enough to welcome even more kids into the Charles-Visage community. That’s right, everyone–thanks to your generosity, our unit will be able to expand!”

The cheers were absolutely deafening, and Vanessa felt like she was absolutely floating on air.

She had done it. They had done it.

They’d won.

Vanessa still wasn’t really sure what happened next. Nina went on to announce the raffle winners, but Vanessa could barely hear her, could barely register anything at all. Everything was joy, excitement, pride, and Brooke. Brooke, extending a hug towards Vanessa and pulling her in for a long, giddy kiss. Brooke, whispering another I’m proud of you as they pulled apart. Brooke, chewing her lip as she bit back what Vanessa could guess was another I love you, something she was afraid that Vanessa didn’t want to hear a second time.

So Vanessa said it first, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I love you too, baby. And I can’t thank you enough.”

[katrinawritesthings]

Jonghyun/Minho; Handsome Minho; PG

Hey whats up its me, and by me its my friend zoe who is posting this for me everyone say hi zoe gymnastics au where its cute and gay and key is there

Someone else very tall, and very buff, and very handsome. Jonghyun almost trips over his own two feet looking at them and then immediately diverts his course to walk himself right over there. Wow. Suddenly he doesn’t know why he was so hesitant to come here.

Jonghyun grimaces, just a little bit, when he follows Kibum into his gymnastics gym. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea when Kibum suggested it and he’s still not sure if he likes it now. He’s used to doing his gymnastics through casual cheerleading; jumps and flips and spins and being able to have fun, to smile and dance and do some improv and not have to take things so seriously. He’s sure that there are plenty of gymnasts out there that go for that style as well, but the ones in here seem to be…not that sort.

They all look like serious competitive types, from the people stretching that greet Kibum as he heads to the lockers to the people practising vaults over to the side and even the small group of kids swinging on the bars in the back. Jonghyun rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably, trying not to draw attention to himself as he walks over to the lockers as well. He just wants to lift some weights, do some flips, maybe have a nice float in the foam pit, and chill. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to do that with all of these focused, intent gymnasts around trying to get actual practise done.

But Kibum brought him here. Kibum listened to him whine about missing cheerleading since he quit his squad years ago and invited him along to get a nostalgia workout in out of the goodness of his heart. Jonghyun can at least try to have some fun for his friend. He leans up on the metal next to Kibum as he fiddles with his lock and lightly kicks his leg to get his attention.

“Thanks for bringing me with you,” he says. Kibum smiles back and tosses his jacket inside.

“No problem,” he signs once his hands are free. “You can just go do whatever,” he adds. He waves a hand blandly over the whole gym. “I’m gonna catch up with my friends first.”

“Oh, yeah, okay,” Jonghyun says, nodding. Nice. He hates being introduced and he loves being able to just go do stuff on his own. He pulls his bag off of his shoulder and stuffs it into Kibum’s locker, then wiggles out of his loose t-shirt so he’s just wearing the black tank top underneath. As he leans closer to Kibum to put that in the locker as well, he also pecks the tiniest, cutiest kiss to his cheek just to make him roll his eyes.

“Later,” he smiles, and jogs out into the gym. He feels like he should just take a walkaround first, just to get to know where everything is so he isn't wandering around like a lost asshole later. He stretches his arms lazily as he circles the gym. Vaults, balance beams, hoops, floor, weights, blah blah blah. He’s glancing over the kids on the bars in the corner to register that in his mind as well when he spots something that makes him forget everything else.

Or, rather, someone else. Someone else very tall, and very buff, and very handsome. Jonghyun almost trips over his own two feet looking at them and then immediately diverts his course to walk himself right over there. Wow. Suddenly he doesn’t know why he was so hesitant to come here.

The closer he gets the more handsome they get; by the time Jonghyun reaches the bars he’s already blushing a little bit and biting a smile and all he’s seen is their side profile. It’s a real nice profile. Their eyes are big enough to write songs about, and their upper lip is a tiny bit bigger than their lower and should be adorable to kiss, and their jawline is sharp and square like it would fit perfectly in Jonghyun’s hands, and--

“Gosh, fu—frick,” Jonghyun whispers, censoring himself around the kids just in time before he puts his face in his hands in an effort to not blush too much before he even says hi. He’s so weak for tall cute babes. He carefully scoots himself around the group of kids sitting and standing around waiting for someone to finish trying a trick and shuffles right up next to the tall handsome babe that he’s already fallen for.

They’re very intent on watching the kid on the bars do a simple set of swings and twists. The other two adults standing around are focused too, one on another kid on another set of bars and the other on talking to the rest of the kids. Jonghyun assumes that that one is the coach and that tall handsome babe is maybe an assistant coach or an invested parent or something. He watches one of the kids do a nicely practised dismount, waits for the babe to praise them and give them a high five, and then scoots a tiny bit closer before the next kid comes up and makes his move.

“Hey,” he says casually, leaning just enough forward to let them see him without having to really turn. He smiles wide and charming when they glance at him with those lovely brown eyes. “I’m Jonghyun,” he says, “I’m kinda new around here. Kibum brought me.” He doesn’t know if this tall babe knows his friend, but from his experience, Kibum knows every babe everywhere and it’s safe to assume.

“Oh, hi,” they reply with a little polite smile of their own. “I’m Minho. Uh—should I know a Kibum?” they ask, and damn, Jonghyun thinks. Bad start. Babe Minho also focuses on a new kid that stands in front of the bars and dusts chalk on their hands instead of him, but Jonghyun really can’t hold that one against them. He ruffles one hand casually through his hair so Minho can see from the corner of their eye.

“Mmm, maybe,” he says. Maybe he’ll get lucky and Minho just doesn’t know Kibum by name. “Rainbow hair, real flirty, Deaf,” he lists, signing “big gay baby” with lazy hands as an extra descriptor just to make himself smile. Minho keeps their eyes focused on the kid swinging to get momentum, but they also gasp softly and nod, pointing knowingly at Jonghyun with one finger.

“Eyebrow scar,” they say, lifting their finger now to tap their own right brow. Jonghyun smiles and nods.

“That’s the one,” he confirms. He’ll have to tell Kibum that his scar is how Minho knows him later. He’s finally gained confidence with it; the news will make him feel fuzzy and warm. “I used to be on a cheerleading squad and I told him I missed doing gymnastics so he brought me here so I can get a workout in,” he says. He tries to say something else, something flirty, but he wasn't prepared to be assailed by a hot babe so suddenly and in front of so many kids and nothing appropriate or witty enough comes to mind, so he just closes his mouth and purses his lips and rocks himself backward and forward on his toes.

“Neat,” babe Minho says absently. Jonghyun scrunches up his face, stomping his foot the tiniest amount he can to not be noticed in his frustration. This is going so bad. He’s never going to smooch babe Minho at this rate. “Is cheerleading really that similar?” Minho asks. 

“Oh!” Jonghyun says loudly. Too loudly, probably, because a couple of the kids glanced over at him, but he doesn't care and just latches on to the fact that Minho is furthering the conversation on their own. “Kind of,” he says. “It's like if you only did floor and there was a lot more teamwork and chanting involved.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Minho says. Their voice is dismissive, but their cute lips hold a smile, so Jonghyun isn't to put off by it. What he is put off by is how extremely dedicated and a focused babe Minho is on the kid going through their routine on the bars. Maybe he should come back later when they're not working and are more open to be flirted with. He rubs his hand over his undercut, stimming awkwardly with the short little hairs for a moment, before he decides to try at least one more time for now.

“So,” he starts. “What is it exactly that you do around—”

He doesn't finish because at that moment, the kid on the bars fumbles and babe Minho rockets forward on to the mat. The kid slips and falls and before they even come within a couple feet of actually hitting the mat, Minho catches them in their arms and scoops them up safely before setting them down gently on their feet. Jonghyun gets a little winded just from how fast all of that was. Oh.

Minho smiles encouragingly at the kid, fixes the collar of their leotard, and says some small words of comfort before ushering them off to talk to their coach. When they straighten up a second later, they turn to Jonghyun with a lazy smile.

“I spot,” they say. Jonghyun nods vaguely. They sure do. Now that it's over and he's had some time to process the little event, Jonghyun finds his brain replaying the exact way Minho’s arm muscles tensed and flexed as they caught that kid. That was. Real nice. Real attractive. He shakes his head quickly to clear it and then lifts one hand up to tap gently, playfully, on his own cheek.

“Do you spot for, like, just these kids,” he asks, “or can I look forward to falling into your arms sometime soon too?” Minho laughs and, for the first time, turns to look at him fully, glancing him up and down. 

“Well,” he says. “Practice ends in half an hour, but if you were still around I might stay late for once.” Jonghyun’s own smile brightens until he knows it's taking up his whole face. Bringing him here was the best idea Kibum has ever had.

[sae-bae-ran]

RFA + saeran who lost mc at an accident/a mistake they can never fix, were depressed about it for years wishing they would rewind time to make it right again. when suddenly they were thrown back in the moment mc is still with them?

Masterlist 📜 || Ko-fi ☕

RFA + Saeran go back in time to save MC from a fatal accident

Warning: mentions of death and blood

Hyun Ryu // Zen

Metal. Fire. The tangy, acidic smell of burning rubber. But above all, blood. Everywhere. He doesn’t know whose it is, but it’s everywhere.

Then he sees you.

Sprawled on the ground, your eyes are wide open, staring into the cloudy sky. Unseeing. One arm is bent at an angle that shouldn’t be possible for a human body part. Your legs are crushed under the weight of a motorcycle, his motorcycle, your breaths - long gone, stolen from you. For good.

Just when he’s about to run to you, he wakes up.

If there’s anything he’d like to wish for upon a dying star, he’d wish for this to have never happened. Plagued with nightmares for years, he finds himself having just this one dream. If only he never asked you to go on a ride around town with him. If only he didn’t down that can of beer right before you agreed. If only he didn’t see this as an opportunity to show off and sweep you off your feet. If only the pain could stop. But it never does, and it never will.

So he goes back to sleep. What else is there to do?

This time, he finds himself in his kitchen. The can of beer is untouched, and so are you - snuggling close to him as you take a bite off his tuna sandwich, your smile as dazzling as it was on that fateful day.

“Zen, honey, “ you squeak, your hand flying to cover your mouth, “why are you crying?”

Surprised, he touches his cheeks. The wetness on them feels so real that without thinking, he brings a finger to his lips and licks it.

Salty.

Undeniably real.

Eyes wide, he looks at you. Before he knows it, his hands are on your cheeks, cupping them, savoring their warmth. He’s not sure if he’s died or given a second chance, but he doesn’t care. Even if this all turns out to be a dream in the end, he will do things right tonight. So he throws the can of beer towards the far end of the kitchen. Startled, you open your mouth to protest, but his lips quickly find yours, preventing you from uttering any noises other than soft moans.

“Let’s spend the night cuddling, babe. What do you say?”

Yoosung

The ground beneath him is cold, but it has nothing on the icy feeling in his chest. His heart has been frozen for years, the frost spreading slowly throughout his body, biting at everything in its way.

He’s grown used to it.

Sometimes he even thinks this has been his fate all along - to lose the ones he’s loved the most. And among them - you.

Sighing, he covers his eyes with the back of his hand. The darkness is quick to consume him, but then again - has it ever not been one with him, he wonders? There was a time when everything had meaning. His education, his future, his dreams. Everything. And then one day - nothing.

He had been drinking the whole night, the police officer said. The driver. The one that took your life. Family problems. He was looking for an escape route, but the only one available crossed your path.

Yoosung clenches his fists. He’s not gonna fight anyone, no. There’s no point to it now. But that’s the only way he can keep himself from crumbling right here, right now as his tears start burning their way down his face.

“Yoosung?” No way. “Yoosung, honey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

No fucking way.

Gentle fingers wipe the wetness off his cheeks. Breath caught in his throat, he’s afraid to move. Afraid this dream will be over too soon. As cruel as it is, he doesn’t mind. As long as he gets to be in your presence for one more minute, he doesn’t mind.

“Honey, please! You’re scaring me!” It all feels so real. So real that he’s tempted to take a look at you, even if that means the mirage goes away.

So he does.

Your face is so close to his that he can feel your warm breath on his skin. Your eyes are glossy and your brows - knitted, a small crease between them. Cute, Yoosung thinks to himself as he smiles. He can no longer feel the cold ground beneath him, in its place the comforting warmth of his bed. You’re wearing your cute yellow shirt that reaches just above your knees. Technically, it’s his, but he’s always preferred to see it on you. The sunshine slides through the white curtains, illuminating a path that ends on the wall right above your head. It’s like you’re wearing a halo. Everything is just the way it was on that fateful morning.

Yoosung doesn’t know what’s going on. All he knows is he doesn’t wanna let you go. Not now, not ever. So he makes a decision. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulls you to his chest, his embrace tight, desperate.

“Let’s stay like this for a while, MC.” He buries his nose in your soft hair, your scent filling his lungs as he takes a deep breath in. “Everything else can wait.”

Jaehee

The cold rain falls on Jaehee’s body, soaking her clothes, as she stands so still one might think she’s made of stone. She’s not, though. But all the gravestones around her are.

Her gaze is fixed on one in particular. Yours. She rarely blinks, her thoughts elsewhere. A part of her mind registers the coldness seeping into her body, and it screams to her to leave, to use an umbrella, to do something, anything. She knows she has to, but she can’t find the will to move.

Many years ago, she found the strength to deal with the death of her parents and move on. They would’ve wanted that. She had to be strong, to survive. It wasn’t easy, but she did it. But then she had to lose you, too.

Closing her eyes, she bows her head. She pinches the bridge of her nose as the memory of that day comes vivid into her mind, bringing a headache along. She wanted to go hiking with you, she really did. So when you agreed, she couldn’t be happier. Few things excited her more than spending a relaxing day with you, breathing the fresh mountain air as you walked hand in hand.

It’s been said that the rainbow comes after the storm. For Jaehee, it happened the other way around. She felt immense happiness, then complete emptiness. She bows her head lower as the image of you on the cliff, that damn cliff, appears in her head, intent on staying for a while. Shaking her head, she tries to will it away. She doesn’t wanna see this again. She doesn’t wanna see the terror in your eyes as the rocks beneath you fall, taking you with them. Not again.

“Jaehee?”

She catches her breath, warmth crawling up her neck in response to your voice.

“Jaehee, darling, why did you stop? Are you feeling okay?”

Jaehee opens her eyes. There you are, standing right in front of her - breathing, a bit worried, and very much alive. She takes a deep breath in, the cool mountain air making her shiver. Hesitantly, she takes a look around. Among pines and oaks, she notices the small cottage you stayed at on your last hike together.

Without thinking, she reaches up to cup your cheek. Whether this is an illusion, or merely a dream, she doesn’t know. What she does know is that she can feel you, your warmth easily seeping through her skin. That’s all she needs.

“I’m not feeling very well, MC.” Jaehee smiles as the lie easily slips through her teeth. “If you don’t mind, let’s stay at the cottage today.”

Jumin

Jumin swirls his wine then quaffs it in one big gulp. Staring at the now empty glass, he grimaces. Tasteless. With a sigh, he runs his fingers through his hair. Where once the soft locks were black, now glimmer gray streaks. His skin is thin, worn, covered with wrinkles, his eyes - empty. He looks up, his reflection in the window glaring back at him.

“When did wine become so tasteless, Mr. Han?” He hisses the last word, his own name, then after a moment of deafening silence, sinks back into his chair.

How many years have passed? The question hangs in the void of his own mind, weightless, meaningless. He’s already got the answer, of course. If there’s anything he would never be able to get rid of, that would be his remarkable memory.

Thirty years.

Not enough, if you ask him. He lets out another long sigh, then refills his glass. As tasteless as every food or drink is, as meaningless as everything seems, at least he’s alive. You’re not.

Back then, he sent the money. They should have returned you unharmed, albeit frightened. They should’ve let you live, the greedy bastards. Apparently, money wasn’t enough. They had to make Jumin suffer. They had to take you away from him. His wealth would’ve allowed him to reach you anywhere. Anywhere but where your soul soars now, free and peaceful.

He downs the glass of wine and his head starts spinning. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he leans back further into the chair, eyes closed. Familiar pain starts clawing at his brain all too soon. The ringing in his ears is too loud, almost unbearable, so he finds himself praying to pass out.

Instead, his world stills.

“Juju, why didn’t you wait for me? Ah, I really wanted to try this wine with you.”

Your voice sounds just the way he remembers it. It’s soft, sweet, and gentle, oh so gentle, even when you’re upset with him.

The moment he opens his eyes, his blurry world becomes clear again. Your gaze is fixed on him, arms crossed in mock anger, a small smile playing at your lips. He recognizes the dress you’re wearing. After all, you wore it just once. It’s the red one he chose for you, tight-fitting, hugging your form in its delicate silky embrace, making you look like a goddess.

It’s the last dress you ever wore.

Jumin smiles as realization dawns on him. He must have died, there’s no other explanation. At least in death, he’ll be able to fix things.

“Come here, love. “ Smirking, he gestures toward his lap, urging you to sit on it. “I changed my mind. I would much rather spend the night here with you.”

707 // Luciel // Saeyoung

Saeyoung’s room is dark and quiet, a perfect reflection of the state his mind is in. His fingers are sticky from the chips he’s been eating and his stomach rumbles as it tries to process the junk food he’s been surviving on for as long as he can remember. That’s what his life turned into after your death - an everyday battle to survive, one he’d rather lose.

He turns to his side and buries his hands under his pillow, its white case stained with spices and oil. His glasses are somewhere under the blanket, but he doesn’t bother looking for them. The only comfort Saeyoung has allowed himself lies in the shapeless outlines of the world around him. It’s better off this way. Blurry. Unreal. If you can’t enjoy the world in all its beauty, then neither can he. 

His eyes well up and his brows draw together when the agonizing memory of your last moments in this world ruptures to the surface of his mind. Until your dying breath, you were smiling. That beautiful, dazzling smile never left your face, even when your body grew stiff in his arms. Even when you realized a bullet pierced through your gut, a bullet meant for Saeyoung, you kept your smile up. Even when he screamed at your lifeless body, screamed for you to come back, you smiled.

A knock on the door reminds Saeyoung to breathe again. It must be Saeran, he thinks to himself, so he just drapes his blanket over his head, all too eager to stay away from the only other person he’s ever loved with his whole heart.

“Saeyoung, honey?”

His eyes snap open.

No. No. No.

“Can I come in?”

No way.

His insides wind into a tight ball as he sits up, his limbs shaking.

A ray of light slides into his room as you open the door and come in. In its narrow path, it illuminates Saeyoung’s clean sheets and hands. Legs unsteady, he stands up and tries to walk up to you, but falls down. A moment later, he feels your comforting warmth on his back, seeping into his body through the many layers of clothing.

“Saeyoung, are you okay? Should I call an ambulance?”

That’s exactly something you would’ve said in such a situation. Lips parted, he looks up, both afraid and excited to see your face. Before he has any time to assess the situation, he’s pulled you into a tight embrace. His nails dig into your skin, desperate to confirm this is, indeed, you.

“I’m okay, honey,” he sighs into your soft hair. “Never felt better.”

Ray // Unknown // Saeran

Saeran stares into the night, watching the snow fall. His room is dark and quiet, the fireplace - unused for years. There was a time when he loved sitting by it, watching the flames dance while you sat snuggled up in his arms. It made him think of home, the one from his dreams - peaceful, safe, and warm.

He bites his lower lip as his eyes well up at the thought of you. His fingers dig into the blanket draped around his small form, straining the thin fabric to the point where it almost tears. Swallowing down a sob, he buries his face between his knees. His hair, now gray and thin, falls down before his eyes in tangled strands that promise to hide his tears from the world.

Saeran had gotten used to the cold. It was in his mother’s glare and the other Believers’ stares. Tainted with some twisted sense of kindness and righteousness, it often gleamed in Rika’s eyes as well. Yeah, he’d gotten used to it, but then you’d come into his world, setting it ablaze.

He shivers at the thought of fire.

If he knew you’d meet your end in flames, he would have stayed in his cold prison, far away from you. Or perhaps, he would’ve stayed with you in the burning house as it crumbled down under its own weight. There’s no point to having a cold home, after all. Home is warmth, and his warmth had disappeared with you.

“Hooo, boy, it sure is cold outside!” A familiar gentle voice sends a chill down Saeran’s spine. “Let’s light a fire in the fireplace! I’m freezing down to my bones.”

His eyes snap open at the sound of your excited, almost childish laughter. Holding his breath, he turns around, his blanket falling to the ground in the process.

There you are, standing right next to the fireplace - smiling, snowflakes still alive in your braided hair. You rub your hands to warm them up, your breath coming out in quick puffs of air. If you’re just a dream, then he’d rather not wake up.

“Saeran, I’ll go get some firewood from the storage, so will you please go to the store? The fridge is basically empty.”

No.

He knows what’s gonna happen if he leaves now. Next time he sees you, he wants you to be alive. Warm. Just like you are right now.

“We have everything we need, love.” He stands up and closes the distance between you, forehead coming to rest on yours. “Let’s make dinner together, okay?”

Jihyun Kim // V

“Mother,” Jihyun whispers, “is she with you?” He flicks the ash from his cigar, then puts it back between his lips. Staring at the ceiling of his atelier, he puffs out a cloud of smoke, then lets out a deep sigh. “Is she alright? Is she happy? Does she hate me?”

The air in the room smells like fresh paint and tobacco. It’s dark and unwelcoming, but it is nothing compared to Jihyun’s paintings. Black and red blend together to form a horrible mess of unsolved problems and bottled-up emotions. There are no other colors. It’s just these two, but they are enough to portray the state of his mind. He’s sad, miserable, in pain, but above all - he’s disappointed and very, very angry. At himself.

If there’s anything Jihyun truly regrets, it is not dealing with Rika’s cult in one swift, organized action. Money had never been an issue. He even had Jumin’s support. What he didn’t have was the resolve to do it. He pitied those people. The same could not be said about some of the Believers, though. The one that drove a knife through your throat, granting you a painful death, apparently didn’t pity you. Not at all.

Jihyun shivers at the memory. His limbs start growing cold. It’s almost like something’s sucking up the blood from them, leaving him paralyzed. His heartbeat picks up and he starts hearing his heart pounding in his ears, all too loud and clear. It gets harder for him to draw breaths. He tries to inhale, but it’s like an invisible hand is clutching at his throat, preventing him from filling his lungs with some much-needed air.

“Oh, wow.” Jihyun registers the voice as familiar. In fact, the sound of it sends a sweet sensation up and down his spine. “Jihyun, darling, it smells awful here! I’m sorry to say this, but it does. Have you been using that awful brand of paint again? What was its name?”

His dark world suddenly becomes too bright as someone, presumably that person, turns the lights on. Vaguely aware that something isn’t right, Jihyun tries to lift his head up, but fails, his whole body now feeling too heavy. Instead, he just scans the room from his place on the floor.

His paintings, they’re different now. There are lots of colors in them, bright and beautiful. Just like her. The moment he thinks of you, he sees your face above his, a hint of worry in your eyes.

“What’s up, honey? Why are you lying on the floor?” You place the back of your hand on his forehead. “Hmmm, I think you’re burning up, “ you hum before your lips replace your hand for a moment too brief. “You probably caught a cold, Jihyun. I’m gonna go out to get you some medicine, okay?”

You try to stand up, but he stops you, his limbs driven by his desperate wish to make you stay. You shouldn’t go out alone tonight. Or tomorrow night. Not until Mint Eye is dealt with for good.

“Please, don’t go anywhere, MC.” His voice is hoarse, but he’s surprised he’s even able to speak. “Stay with me tonight. Please.”

[ariadnelives]

Chapter 3 -- The Fireworks

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3]

“It HURTS.”

“You said you wanted hair like mine, correct?” Fastwing asked politely. “Cornrows can hurt the first few times you get them done.”

“Well,” Taryn said, pouting, “I didn't know that when I asked for them.”

“I said it four times before we started,” Fastwing explained. “If you want, I can stop, but then only three quarters of your head will be braided.”

Taryn pouted harder. “I guess finish.”

“'I guess finish' indeed,” Fastwing replied. “Keep your head still.”

Alicia Baltimore, aka Fastwing, was by a wide margin the oldest person on the ship at more than 30 years old. Due to some unfortunate circumstances involving Ariadne's now-deceased birth parents, a teleporter, and several dozen eggs, she had spent the majority of her adult life in hiding.

Following her life as a fugitive from justice, she found civilian life somewhat hard to adjust to, and after she crossed paths with Ariadne's crew, she realized she didn't have to. She also thought a ship full of teenage outlaws could use at least one grown outlaw on board.

Her skills as an engineer rivaled Ariadne's, and even Pilar had to admit her skills as a pilot might exceed her own, so officially her jobs on the station were “quartermaster of Ariadne's armory” and “stunt pilot who creates a diversion while the real getaway vehicle escapes unnoticed.”

Unofficially, she'd also taken on other roles, such as “guidance counselor” and “hair stylist,” usually at the same time. For whatever reason, people tend to confide in someone they trust to cut their hair, so Alicia was tuned in to most of the crew's gossip.

“Are you going to help Ariadne blow up the freighter?” Taryn asked, trying to take her mind off the pain in her scalp.

“Keep your head still,” Alicia insisted. “She's going to blow up a freighter? What's she mad about this time?”

“She found out about the impostor Ariadne running that cult.” Taryn shrugged.

“Head. Still.” Alicia pressed. “She's probably going to use all my good explosives, too.”

“That’s probably a good thing.” Taryn ignored the instruction to hold her head still. “She was so worked up about the impostor that it barely registered when she found out about Sweettalk and Deathsbane.”

Alicia stopped for a moment. “Wait, how do you know about that? Sasha says I'm the only person they've told.”

“They are… not subtle.”

“Okay, but you're thirteen.” Alicia continued braiding. “And nobody else has mentioned it.”

“I'm also clever.” Taryn shrugged.

“Keep. Your. Head. STILL.” Alicia groaned. “I'm almost done anyway. How'd Spacebreather take it?”

“Ariadne said she wasn't going to say anything.”

“Sasha and Sweettalk have been together almost a year now,” Alicia said, looking off to the side. “I keep telling them, the longer they wait, the worse it'll be when they finally tell.”

Alicia spun Taryn's chair toward the mirror so they could admire her work together.

“I look awesome!” Taryn grinned wide. “Thank you so much!”

“No prob.” Alicia smiled back. “And, uh, keep it under your hat about Deathsbane and Sweettalk, okay?”

“Like I'm going to wear a hat when I look this good!” Taryn was making a variety of different facial expressions in the mirror to test out her new hairstyle.

Alicia chuckled softly. “Just keep it quiet, okay, shrimp?”

“You got it!” Taryn said, rushing out of the armory to show off to her crewmates.

***

Instead of the regular mess hall, the crew ate dinner in the docking bay that night. Many of the crew liked to spend their time in there anyway because it was as close to being outdoors as they could get living on a space station.

The hangar was shaped like a human ribcage. The opening at the bottom allowed ships to enter, whether they were part of Ariadne's shuttle fleet or ships the crew had captured during a raid. A specially calibrated force field allowed solid vehicles to enter, but did not allow the station's atmosphere to escape.

To someone in the docking bay, it would be impossible to tell the difference from looking out into the night sky with no barrier.

A large grill had been set up and Cookie was preparing an almost obscene number of cheeseburgers. Blankets had been laid out so the crew could watch as the remains of a massive freighter were blown to pieces against the black sky.

Of course, everything that could be used, donated, or sold had been stripped away. What they were actually seeing was the empty hull of a large, poorly designed space freighter. It was essentially nothing but a series of cubes linked together with round pipes, covered in signaling dishes, at least some of which had to be for show. It had been hollowed out and, on the inside, explosive charges had been placed every few feet.

One of the few things that had not been removed from the ship was the atmospheric recycling unit. This was partially because it was a cheap model that could not be recalibrated for use with any ship but the one it was attached to, partially because it was a structurally integral part of the hull and its removal would cause explosive decompression, but mostly because it was currently set to filter out all atmospheric gases within the freighter except oxygen.

Since fires don't burn in the vacuum of space and Ariadne was in the mood to see a proper explosion, Alicia had to make sure the ship was as flammable as possible before she hit the detonator.

The assembled crew sat and ate their burgers and made idle chitchat. There were somewhere between 200 and 300 crew members on the station, mostly young girls, although all ages and genders were welcome. Many were orphans, or runaways, or refugees. The one thing they all had in common was that they'd found a new home where previously they had none.

No one sat alone. Most of the blankets had small groups, although a few of the crewmates had paired off. Shipboard relationships were pretty common, as was bound to happen in communities with a dense teenage population, and some of the bolder couples were openly making out.

Ariadne and Pilar sat on a fleecy blue blanket, Ariadne's head in Pilar's lap as Pilar fed her french fries. Sweettalk and Sasha sat on the same blanket, but didn't dare make physical contact while Pilar was nearby. Besides, there would be plenty of time when they met up later in the night.

Just before the explosion, Alicia gave a toast in which she thanked Cookie for the amazing food, Ariadne for the explosive charges she'd built, and the Whiptails for retrieving “the guest of honor” which would be exploding shortly.

The explosion itself was brilliant. The charges had a variety of carefully chosen flammable gases in them, causing brilliant colorful flares to spark through the void as the hull of the freighter blew apart. It only lasted for a few moments, but no one could take their eyes away as the ugly ship became a beautiful rainbow of flames and scrap metal.

There was also an old classical piece containing the sound of cannons blaring over the loudspeaker, compensating for the fact that the explosion was taking place in a vacuum and could not produce any noise, let alone the satisfying bang everybody was hoping for.

The crew would be pleased to find out the explosion had been captured on hologram so they could view it again at their leisure. Once it was over, all the cheering had died down, and the burgers were either finished or wrapped up for later, people slowly found their way to bed. Ariadne and Pilar were among the first to do so, and within an hour everybody had retired to their quarters.

***

“Get out here,” Sweettalk groaned outside Sasha's door about three minutes after the agreed-upon meeting time. “I've been keeping my hands to myself all day, it's exhausting.”

“Will you keep your voice down, Zee?” The door slid open half an inch and Sasha's voice hissed out the crack. “You get in here!”

Sweettalk pressed her face close to the crack in the door and tried to see through. “Can I see you? The thought of you in that thing has been driving me crazy ever since I found it.”

The door slid open more and Sweettalk was yanked into the room by the fabric of her pajama shirt. The door quickly slid shut.

“I don't want the whole ship to see me!” Sasha whispered. She was actually very proud of how she looked in the garment and had been late getting to the door because she had been busy admiring it in the mirror, but she'd rather die before she let anyone but herself and Sweettalk see her wearing it.

The outfit was a floor-length, flowing black robe, so dark that light seemed to sink into it. It was made of a special material that detected the contours of the wearer's body and projected a shimmering image onto the robe's surface. Any observer could see a perfect silhouette of the wearer's body, shining bright and gold on the surface of the robe, with a faint silvery shimmer showing the shape of the wearer's skeleton inside.

Sasha was simply enchanted by the way the fabric changed depending on what angle it was viewed from. She was impressed at how crisp and precise the edges of her silhouette were, and she was brimming with scientific curiosity wondering how such a fabric could be possible, and more importantly, how it could be used.

Sweettalk's interest in the robe was decidedly less scientific, and she immediately demonstrated this by cupping Sasha's face in her hands and giving her a passionate kiss that neither of them released for several seconds.

“Maybe it's better that you weren't on that mission.” Sweettalk chuckled, looking down to admire the robe. “You never would have let me bring that thing home for you.”

“Are you kidding, Zee?” Sasha smiled a little too enthusiastically. “This fabric could be used for medical imaging! If I can just isolate how it works, I could—I could do wonders!”

“Oh my god, you're such a dork.” Sweettalk smiled even wider. “Now kiss me again.”

Sasha obliged, and things went back and forth in this cornball manner for several minutes.

In the year they'd been together, this had become something of a ritual for them. On Ship Trap, the day after a big job was usually reserved for relaxation, so many of the crew wouldn't be getting out of bed until the early afternoon anyhow. Sweettalk and Sasha would take the opportunity to sneak to the other's room at around midnight, spend five or six blissful hours together without worrying about whether or not they'd be seen showing affection, and then sneak back to their own quarters in time to get some sleep without raising any eyebrows.

Many eyebrows were raised anyway. As Taryn had pointed out, they weren't subtle.

It wasn't all about hushed displays of affection, however. They would watch movies, listen to music, tell stories, and generally just enjoy the freedom of being allowed to hold the other's hand.

After a few more playful kisses and several minutes of admiring the mechanics of the robe, the two decided to switch on an old favorite movie they'd both seen a million times before and curl up together on the bed, figuring whether they got distracted from the movie or not, they'd be okay with it.

“What's the name of the guy in this movie?” Sasha asked.

“Which guy?” Sweettalk replied without looking away from the screen, her head resting on Sasha's chest, “the guy with the guns, or his brother with the even bigger guns?”

“The brother.”

“You know, I've seen this movie more times than I can count and I still have no idea which of those guys is which.”

“Do you think we should tell my sister about us?” Sasha asked idly.

Sweettalk sat up quickly and paused the movie.

“What?” Sasha looked confused.

“Something on your mind?”

“It's just…” Sasha hesitated. “Ariadne sort of… found out about us earlier today.”

Sweettalk looked a little worried. “Well, what'd she say?”

“She said she's not going to tell Spacebreather, and that we're entitled to our privacy.”

Sweettalk looked relieved. “What's the problem, then? Why would we tell her?”

“I don't know,” Sasha sighed. “I've just been wondering lately … why have I been keeping it from her, you know? I'm not ashamed of being with the prettiest, funniest girl on the crew—”

“—I'm liking parts of this monologue, go on—”

“—but when I think about Pilar finding out about us, some little alarm goes off in my head, you know?”

“I mean, I think it's pretty obvious why that is.” Sweettalk shrugged, and settled back into her position resting on Sasha. “She's been really strict on you lately. She won't let you go on missions, she won't let you go on shore leave without her, she won't even let you train a medical apprentice. Do you really want to let her in to your love life too?”

“She's not that much of a hardass,” Sasha sighed. “I obviously want a few things in my life that she's not a part of, but I don't see why you have to be one of them. I love her, I love you … I just don't see why the best people in my life should have to be totally separate from one another, you know?”

“You're too kind.” Sweettalk blushed, although her face returned to a neutral expression as she started the movie back up. “You know she hates my guts, though, right?”

“Don't be paranoid.” Sasha smiled, giving her a playful squeeze. “She does not hate you. I know my sister, and I'm sure she likes you as much as I do.”

Sweettalk let out a slight chuckle and gave Sasha a very light kiss on the neck. “I sure hope not.”

[r-u-reddie]

chapter II: tell me about it, stud

read chapter 1!

summary: Eddie Kasprak and Richie despise each other, it’s just too bad that they’re anonymously best pals on tumblr. This is gonna be good…

warnings: mentions of broken arm???

a/n: whooo! finally done with this chapter! follow my amazing beta @losvcr

“I’m begging of you Mike, I need you at work!” Eddie talked into the phone on his couch.

Eddie heard Mike sigh, “Eddie, I’ve been planning this vacation for months. I’m only gonna be gone for four weeks. Besides, it’s not my fault you broke your arm while taking down the fairy lights. By the way, why did you try to take them down? You told me that they were one of the few things that lightened up your day.”

Eddie grimaced as he held onto his broken arm. “Just wanted a change of scenery. Mike, please. If I don’t have you at work, I can’t take care of the plants. I broke my dominant hand and I need to be able to lift the plants, sell them, water them, trim them, and plant new ones all at the same time!”

“I’m so sorry Eddie, but the answer is no. Just ask Richie to help.” The line went dead, and Eddie wanted to throw his phone across the room. He had asked Ben, Eddie’s other co-worker, before Mike, but he was visiting his parents in Maine for two weeks.

That was two weeks without any help and a broken arm.

He knew he had one last option, but that was unthinkable. Unspeakable. Never going to happen, ever. Like, hell no.

——-

“-and I promise that I’ll stop insulting you for a whole month if you can just help me until my coworker gets back from vacation?” Eddie asked, avoiding eye contact with Richie as he stood in front of Richie’s desk.

“Eds, of course I’ll help you! We’ll be the best florist dream team the world has ever seen!” Richie exclaimed, throwing his arm around Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie quickly pushed him off and complained, “I am not a florist!”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, doll.” Richie said smugly. “So, when do I start helping?”

“Tomorrow, and I need you to be there at 7. We’re doing a Halloween sale, and you have to come dressed up.” Eddie said as he looked around the Classic Jazz section.

“Are you serious? I love dressing up! I didn’t know that you did fun stuff in your store!”

“Shut up. I do fun stuff all the time, dickweed.” Eddie insulted, glaring at Richie.

Richie grinned and taunted, “Now you hold on there, mister. You’re not allowed to insult me anymore, remember?”

“Unfortunately.” Eddie replied, grinding his teeth.

“I can sense some tension. Are you tense Eds?” Richie said patronizingly.

“Just peachy.” Eddie remarked. “Just come in costume at seven, is everything clear?”

“Crystal.”

-

‘Oh. My. God.’ Richie thought to himself, looking at Eddie in his costume.

Richie had spent the last night getting Bev to cover for him while he was helping Eddie, and listening to Cage the Elephant while having a slight mental breakdown over finding a last minute costume. He decided to go as a sheet ghost, which Richie thought was pretty hilarious.

When Richie walked into Rainbow Bouquet (which, really Eds? How much gayer could you get?) that morning, he was ready and filled with energy. Then, he saw Eds.

Eddie was talking on the phone with someone named Ben, in an oversized leather jacket, white tee shirt, leather pants, and combat boots. His curls were messy and the jacket was falling off one shoulder. ‘He looks insanely hot.’

Then again, it wasn’t unusual for Richie to fawn over Eddie. Daily. Possibly hourly.

Eddie hung up and spun around on his heel to face Richie. “Seriously, Rich? That’s your costume?”

Richie realized that Eddie couldn’t see his face under the sheet, and said, “Yep! Besides, what are you supposed to be? Faux Leather Man?”

Eddie’s face went red and he hissed, “No! I’m a greaser!”

“You look more like Sandy at the end of Grease.”

“Shut up, asshole. By the way, you can’t wear that costume for work.”

“Why? Need to uphold the fine reputation of Rainbow Bouquet?” Richie mocked.

“No, because the customers need to be able to see your face.” Eddie elaborated. “Come with me, I have some extra costumes in the storage room.”

Richie followed Eddie without question, and Eddie led him to a rack with about six costumes. “Take your pick.”

“Why the hell do you have a costume rack in your storage room?”

Eddie blushed and replied, “It’s fun to dress up in October. You never know when you’ll need a last minute costume. Mike, Ben, and I go to a lot of last minute costume parties and these always come in handy.”

God, his blush is cute.

”Should have guessed.” Richie commented whilst flipping through the costumes. He picked up the one he knew he had to wear.

“This!” Richie exclaimed, holding up the 50s style letterman jacket and jeans. Eddie buried his head in his hands.

“We are not doing matching 50’s costumes!”

Richie grinned with wild eyes and insisted, “Oh, yes we are! It’ll create a theme! You’ll be Sandy and I’ll be Danny at the end of Grease!”

“No way in hell!”

-

Eddie stood defeated at the cash register while Richie was watering plants in his “Danny” costume.

Fuck him.

Eddie got out his laptop, pulled up tumblr, and opened his conversation with trashmouthrt. He began to type out a message.

-

nervous-plants:

i’m working with satan right now.

-

Eddie saw Richie pull his phone out of his pocket and check it. Richie put his phone back and waltzed over to Eddie. Eddie quickly shut his laptop.

“Hey Eddie Bear, can I take my lunch break now?” Richie inquired, jumping up to sit on the counter

Eddie checked his watch. “It’s not even noon yet!” Richie threw his head back in frustration, which gave Eddie an exemplary view of Richie’s adams apple.

“Listen, toots. I’m helping you out with your store, on top of my own shop that I still have to manage. The least you could do is give me an extended lunch break.”

Eddie sighed and crossed his legs. “Fine, but you have to be back at 1:15. Kapeesh?”

Richie winked as he walked out the door. “You got it, babe.”

Eddie scolded himself for blushing at the nickname. ‘What’s up with me today?’ Eddie had always known that Richie was the kind of person that was universally accepted as “attractive”, but for some reason, he was paying close attention to details today. He noticed that Richie would click his tongue to the beat of a song, or bite his lip when he was nervous. It wasn’t unusual for Eddie to notice details about people, it was just unusual that he found those details so… endearing.

Shaking his head, Eddie opened up his laptop once again to find a new message.

-

trashmouthrt:

that sucks for you man. i just started working with this guy, and he’s so damn cute

i finally feel like i have something to look forward to

-

Eddie felt a little sting of jealousy, then realized how stupid he was being.

-

nervous-plants:

are you serious? That’s great dude!

trashmouthrt:

except for the part where he literally curses the ground i walk on

listen… do you want to meet up soon? i understand why you would be worried, but maybe we could meet in a crowded place and you could check with the cafe to keep the police on speed dial in case anything sketchy happened (which it wouldn’t) and i just want to actually talk to you in person

-

Eddie froze. This was a big step. A monumental step. It was a risk, and Eddie just didn’t do risks.

Eddie hesitated and typed out his reply.

-

nervous-plants:

ok. lets meet

you’ve got mail eds! masterpost

tag list!

@eds-trashmouth @rhubarberous

@loverloserclub @oursanniverse @lostboyrichie

@richietoaster @killerxqueer @be-more-chill-duder @drbagels123 @reddiesballoons @eddiekaspbraklives @eds-trashmouth

@colettoamad @the-awkward-lettuce-turtle @mrsroof-dylann9 @bepbeprichie @eddierichietozier @tkayeis @rheatam @stansmansuris @moopai @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @organic-reddie @appleorangestarfruitwatermelon @fandom-crazy-797 @byewill @petebparker @reddieismygazebo @weasleytriplets @em0tionalgh0st @mzcescapie @frncsfields

@richiestozicr @aesthetic-ranja

[lilibug--xx]

We'll Be Alright

here’s a little drabble i dipped into, based on sabrina carpenter’s song, ‘why’.

it just seemed like bughead to me. 

i’m not actually fond of this, because i couldn’t really figure out how i wanted to write this. but i’m sharing it anyway.

here is the link to it on ao3 here

His girl would be beautiful.

He couldn’t help but think about her while waiting, his eyes closing.

He thought about her smile, about all the different ways her lips curved up. Then the way she always pursed her lips, while deciding on her lipstick for the day. Her green eyes shining in the light of the sun, the little wrinkles at the edges from always forgetting her sunglasses. The way her hair got lighter after time in the sun, blonde locks filling in with natural summery highlights.  The way her skin soaked up the sun, turning golden and soft. The way her skin flushed pink when she was embarrassed, angry, or turned on.

He thought about all the reasons they shouldn’t be together, but were.

They lived in New York, Manhattan to be precise. In a shoebox apartment, all one room with their bed up a couple stairs on a sort of loft. It was small, and they felt it. But she wanted to live close to downtown nightlife, to her job at the New York Post, to her favorite Chinese restaurant. She loved being able to sit on the fire escape at night time, watching the people and lights.

He liked the day time, walking through the city amongst the tourists. He always found someone or something new to photograph. He made a living this way, taking pictures. He was a small time artist, but his name was growing. He liked the chaos of Times Square, the Socrates sculpture park, and Brooklyn’s Botanical Gardens. He liked to photograph in alleyways, in fountains, on rooftops, in trees. Odd and weird locations, abstract and different poses. He loved taking pictures of her, too. She was beautiful from every angle, clothed or not, fresh face or made up, smiling or angry.

He loved making her angry. He didn’t really do it on purpose (ok, sometimes he did), but she was just so beautiful when her brow was furrowed and her eyes were dark, dangerous, swirling with unbridled emotion. Eventually they would start laughing, because she couldn’t stay mad at him when he brushed his fingers against her neck, apologized for being an ass. He would tickle her sides and feet until she had tears in her eyes instead.

They slept on a queen sized futon which was hardly big enough for they way they each liked to stretch out. He liked to sleep with the windows open, cool, fresh night air coming in, the street lights bathing them in orange red light. She liked to sleep with the air conditioning on full blast, blankets piled on top of her and her ocean sounds in the background.

She liked to go to bed late and sleep in. Jughead liked to wake up early and drink coffee. He liked his jeans, flannel shirts, and suspenders. She wears pencil skirts and fancy jewelry, curls her hair every day. She’s a vegetarian, and his favorite food is cheeseburgers. He likes to eat junk food and she buys vegan chips that taste like air and dirt but he eats them anyway.

He likes to drink locally brewed beers, supporting the small businesses. She drinks water or Shirley Temples. She has tons of friends, co-workers, family. He has two best friends and a sister, and that was including her. He doesn’t like to socialize, but she loves going to dinner parties and events.

She’s always cold, even with the rainbow of sweaters she has. He’s always slinging his flannel shirt and jackets around her shoulders even when the ground not even cold. She’s addicted to watching the cooking channel, even though she can’t cook for shit, though not for lack of trying. He hates cooking, but they have to eat something after all.

He would never forget the conversation he had with her best friend a year into their relationship.  

“I’m just worried that she’s holding herself back,” the black haired girls words shouldn’t have surprised him. He remembers almost choking on the handful of peanut m&m’s he had just shoved into his mouth.

“No. I think the words your looking for are: You’re not good enough for her. Right?” he remembered being bitter at her for so long, seeing the judgement in her eyes as she looked over his dirty combat boots, worn leather jacket and tattoos.

“I just don’t see what she sees in you.” He snorted at her, grabbing another handful of the candy he was snacking on, blue eyes glaring at the girl across from him.

“I could say the same for you.” He practically sneered.

He didn’t try to hide his feelings from the girl in question when she floated back to the table. She had kissed him on the cheek, fitting herself against his side and tucking her head under his, arms looped around one of his. He leaned back into the seat, staring out the window.

They continued on, the black haired girl pretending she hadn’t just insulted him and he pretending she wasn’t there. His girl could tell their was something going in, but kept the mood light and redirected them both.

He wondered what he did to deserve this girl. What made her stay, what made her love him?

He grew up without a family, only his sister by his side when they moved from foster home to foster home. He came from nothing, built himself up from nothing. But like hell if he wasn’t proud of himself.

She had two parents that gave her the world, a sister she was close with. She had gotten a scholarship to a school her parents could have easily paid for. He was in debt up to his eyeballs.

He wasn’t sure what it was that she saw in him. They liked different things, different people. But they fit so well together despite that. They never asked each other to change. But they adapted and they compromised.

They made each other laugh and smile. They both had issues with anxiety and it was so great when someone just understood without having to explain. They both liked red velvet cake and vanilla milkshakes. They liked movies from the 80’s the best, sci-fi even better.

She loved to take long bubble baths in their tiny little bathroom. He would sit on the floor and keep her company, editing photos and fetching her things she needed to work while she soaked. Then they would lay in bed together, pressed tightly while she plays with his hair, lulling him to sleep. It’s the little things.

He loved her with all he had. She was his world, his everything. He wanted her to always be his girl.

The music started then, and he opened his eyes.

He thought his heart might stop beating at the sight of her. Dress made of delicate lace, swirling and draped around her curves like a glove, the color of buttermilk. The curls in her hair spilling over her bare shoulders, brushing the golden skin, freckles peeking out. Her eyes lined in black, long lashes, pink cheeks, dark red lips. He wanted to memorize every part of her face on his day, especially the smile she was wearing.

Jughead took a breath as her hand slipped into his, their eyes hadn’t strayed from each other since she appeared. He didn’t dare look away and miss a moment of gazing at her beauty. She squeezed his hand gently, quirking her head slightly and he realized he was staring, not speaking, when he really should be. He didn’t realize the time was passing, words were being spoken, and he too had to do his part.

“I, Forsythe Pendleton Jones III, take you Elizabeth Cooper, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”

He swallowed his tongue, mouth dry and hot like the desert. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

He barely heard anything that was happening, could only hear his heart thumping loudly in his chest, pulse pounding in his ears. He registered Archie nudging him in the back and he accepted the ring he was offered, turning back around. He slipped the delicate rose gold band onto her finger, sliding it up to fit against her engagement ring.

Betty did the same for him, fingers cupping his hand, pushing the ring onto his finger. The black metal band gleaming under the twinkling lights. He looked from it back up to her face. She was still smiling at him, but the corners of her eyes were wet, tears starting to leak out the edges. He swallowed thickly, his own eyes starting to burn.

“–ceiving of rings, I pronounce that they are husband and wife, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. You may kiss the bride.”

At that he knew what he was supposed to do next and he was never more grateful.

He surged forward, cupping the sides of her neck in his hands, thumbs grazing her cheeks. He gazed from her eyes to her lips, cherry red and trembling slightly. Looking back up again, she was waiting. He closed the small distance between them, everything else fading to the background. Her left hand came up to gently brush his jaw, fingertips sliding back into his hair. Her other hand was clutching one of his suspender straps, fisting it and his shirt underneath. Their mouths moving together slowly, softly. He flicked his tongue against the seam of her lips, their tongues touching briefly.

Her mouth was warm, sweet against his. Betty was wearing that God damn maple syrup lipstick and he knew his mouth was going to be cherry red at the end of this kiss. Of course, he would let her cover his whole body with it if she wanted to. He felt a flame of heat surge up his spine at the thoughts of getting her to their honeymoon suite later. With that, and the fact that there was an audience, he pulled back from her lips.

Jughead kept himself close, could feel her parted lips still brushing just against his as he leaned back just enough to look into her eyes. Her lashes were fluttering, long, black and gently curled. He could see the tear marks just under her eyes, giving them a smoky vibe rather that the clean cut lines from before. He didn’t dare move, watching with his breath stuck in his throat as her eyes opened, green staring back at him with wide pupils. She was smiling, with her smudged lipstick and watery eyes. She was vision to behold.

My girl.

He couldn’t help but think it, he was selfish. Years of being told he couldn’t ever have happiness like this being trampled and forgotten, her standing on top in her pale pink heels, smiling like this. He could feel how much Betty loved him. He closed his eyes, letting out that breath he had been holding, tight shoulders relaxing. His thumb on the apple of her cheek, brushing against the skin softly, making sure she’s still there while his eyes are closed.

He opened them again, thanking God that this wasn’t just a teasing dream. His blonde haired goddess of a wife is still here in front of him, still pressed to his chest with her heart beating against his and looking at him, loving him with every fiber of her being. Despite the odds thrown against them, they had made it work. Blue and green eyes drowning in each other, but the end was clear to them both, they could see it just fine. They would be alright.