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maxwell-grant · 3 years ago

Note

Cass wouldn’t even begrudingly tolerate [the Black Bat], because she’s even less lenient than Bruce on killing and far more willing to throw down.' - THANK YOU for remembering that.

Cass is my favorite Batfam member, the only one really that I have an active interest in reading about. I'd be incredibly ignorant to not bring bring up such a crucial aspect of her characterization. And even if I didn't personally care for her, well, last thing I'd want is to be another source of frustration for Cass fans. Lord knows there's enough of those to go around.

mousebrass also asked: On that note, how do you imagine a meeting between Cass and the Shadow going?

Fair warning: This one took me 6 hours to write, and it became a hell of a lot longer than I imagined. I liked Cass a lot, but I never quite realized I had this many feelings regarding her until I was tasked with writing this, and a lot of things clicked for me regarding my plans for The Shadow thanks to this ask. @mousebrass, thank you. I mean it. I think I may have found something here I've spent years looking for. Hope you enjoy the post.

I'm thankful that this scenario is only really taking place in a hypothetical fanon where both characters can get a fair shot, because I wouldn't trust DC with this premise. I don't trust DC with either of them as is.

There's a lot of ways that this crossover could go on about taking place naturally, initially because Cass is already connected to some of Batman's pulpier elements, due to her connections to Lady Shiva and the League of Assassins, and one could connect Cass to Myra Reldon (who really should just be race swapped if ever brought back so she can stand out as the cool character she is, without the yellowface gimmick holding her back). There's two things I think are crucial to making the most of this idea, and the first of which has to do with the subject of killing. I usually don't like to come up with hypothetical team-ups for The Shadow that focus too much on the fact that he kills, because it's far from the most significant aspect of his character to focus on, much of it is written from a wrong understanding of the character, and it never amounts to anything other than perfunctory. But here, not only is it completely unavoidable to discuss, here there is actually a very, very substantial grounding as to why this has to be such a big part of the story.

The first and foremost thing that's gotta be established to everyone reading that doesn't know already is this: Cassandra Cain, more so than Batman, more so than any other DCU hero, has a tolerance towards murder lower than zero, and this is completely non-negotiable. She will throw herself on the path of an assault rifle to stop men trying to kill her from accidentally killing each other. The defining moment of her incredibly grim backstory is that she was trained from birth to be the world's greatest murderer, and her first kill traumatized her so badly that she has pivoted as far away from that as possible. I stress a lot that the Shadow should not be written as the trigger-happy maniac comics made him into and that the pulp version killed mostly to defend himself and others, generally left criminals to the police if possible, offered plenty of second-chances, had stories dedicated to the rehabilitation of criminals and so on, but none of this would matter to Cass.

Cass has literally chosen suicide over the prospect of living with murder on her hands time and time again, and The Shadow kills. When he kills, he does so without remorse, with unshakeable certainty. He hates death, he doesn't want lives to be at risk in the first place. But people will die if he doesn't do anything, and what he can do, what he exists to do, is turn the tools of evil against evil, and murder is the oldest tool of evil there is. He doesn't kill because a war scarred him, he doesn't kill because he's got a demon in his soul, he doesn't kill because he's mentally off balance, he doesn't kill because he's evil or sadistic or arrogant or anything of the sort. He kills because the men he fights chose death when they sought to harm innocents and fire guns at him. He kills because he is Death itself.

Regardless of how compassionate he is or can be, regardless of the fact that he's motivated by a desire to protect people, regardless of how justified he is, he is still dropping corpses and laughing maniacally doing so. Cass's real arch-enemy isn't Shiva or David Cain, it's Death, it's the thing that she's fundamentally most opposed to. And guess what The Shadow gets compared to often enough? Literally the very first line of the very first book where we get to see him, this is how we are introduced to him:

So the premise here is that we are taking a character who is defined by her fundamental opposition to death with every fiber of her being, who understands death on a level no other human being does, who is traumatized and hard-wired to detest death at all costs and to choose suicide over it, and asking her to team up with The Grim Reaper.

Even if he received the most abject lesson conceivable on the sheer wrongness of murder, even if he does put down the guns around Cass out of respect for her, he cannot protect his agents and others if he cannot shoot or kill those who try to harm them, and the protection of the agents is absolutely non-negotiable and not at all something he's willing to fuck around with by trying out gadget kung fu superhero alternatives. The Shadow has chosen to throw his life away for their sake time and time again, and no matter how appaling or disgusting Cass finds his deeds, even if he concedes that she's right and should be right on all accounts and that he is fundamentally a monster who has no right to judge others, he would not concede on his mission and he would make it very clear she would have to put him down violently to stop him from protecting others this way, and death has not stopped him before.

And to be upfront in case there's anyone who doubts it, Cass would kick The Shadow's ass, if they had to fight. She is the strongest fighter in the DCU, she lives and breathes fighting and combat in a way no one else does. And The Shadow's not one of those characters who is supposed to be invincible and the best at everything all the time always, he can and does lose fights and scrapes to people far less adept at it than Cass. He's a great fighter, obviously, he hauls bigger men than him through doors and was disabling people with Vulcan neck pinches decades before Spock, and he would definitely have an edge in other areas, but he's out of his league here. Frankly, I don't see The Shadow raising a finger against Cass unless she's been brainwashed into killing people by bad writing. Not because she's a woman, that doesn't really stop him from dealing with evil. But because, for one, she's practically a child compared to him age-wise. Two, he'd obviously know beforehand of her capabilities and how futile it would be to fight or even provoke her. And three, the Shadow's whole thing is knowing. The Shadow Knows and all that. Knowing comes with understanding.

He'd understand very quickly that there is no way someone this young could grow so quickly into the world's greatest fighter without horrific treatment that no one should ever be subjected to. He'd see the movements too practiced and quick, the self-control, the strength and speed far beyond even the trained warriors he's seen, the places where she's been scarred and is good at covering it up. Assuming he doesn't already know about her life story, any meeting between the two would lead to him very quickly figuring out that there's something much deeper about her opposition to killing than just moral reservations, something deeper than Bruce's own gun trauma.

Denny O'Neil's 2nd Batman and Shadow story was about The Shadow secretly helping Bruce overcome gun trauma, and Bruce rejecting The Shadow's intentions to hand him a gun. And to make it clear, people tend to assume that The Shadow only helps people for utilitarian reasons, which is not true as I've tried to demonstrate many times now. I don't want to convey that he would want to help Cass overcome her trauma just so she could be more efficient or something, absolutely no, he'd help her because he helps people in any way he can. I think a story with The Shadow and Cass might involve a similar premise, The Shadow understanding that she has been traumatized very deeply by death and refuses to accept it on any terms, trying to help her overcome it, only to learn that she does not want to "learn" anything she doesn't already know, that she has weaponized her trauma into a source of strength, and wishes nothing more than to help others with it.

And here's where we get to the part that allows the two to be on less antagonistic terms, because one thing that also very strongly defines Cass, at least the Cass I like reading most, is her stubborn, almost desperate need to believe in the best of people, that people can and will change for the better. Like The Shadow, her strength too is knowing, it's perception, the things that she knows about people that words cannot convey. Just as there are many things The Shadow would grow to understand about her that others would not, there would be many things that The Shadow would not be able to conceal from her. Things that no one but her would figure out. Things that, despite her age and lack of experience compared to him, he would have to defer to her knowledge on, which reverses the usual dynamic The Shadow has with people. And perhaps one aspect of that reversal, it's that maybe it's she who winds up secretly manipulating The Shadow into overcoming a deeper issue.

Cass's perspective on killing is shaped not just through trauma, but from a painfully intimate understanding of not just what happens to someone at the time of death, but the cost of murder upon the human soul, the ways it warps people into things they never should have been. Killing is a deeply, deeply serious matter, much more so than fiction seems ever willing to go into. Of course we suspend disbelief for fiction, there's nothing wrong with that, but if a story starts asking questions, starts poking holes into fantasies, they should not be disregarded.

And so it begs a question: How has it affected The Shadow? Is he really as remorseless as he appears to be? Is the fact that he's only killing evil people really of that much use? What's the cost of living as someone who has to know so much about so much evil in so many hearts? Knowledge never comes without price, and knowing evil is his tagline. When he enlists Harry Vincent, he makes it very clear that he has lost lives as he has saved them. From when is that regret coming from? What lives did he lose then? Is he saving people by damning his soul or merely prolonging the inevitable by piling corpses on another end of the scale?

If there's a character that could meaningfully start bringing these questions forth, who could ever truly get The Shadow to stop and reveal things to the audience he never would otherwise, maybe Cass could be that character. A girl who was raised to be a monster, who is treated as a monster and an aberration in-universe (and even outside of it), and turned that into a strength she uses to help others, who cares about everyone and refuses to let others be dehumanized as she was. Who better to know what lurks in the Shadow's heart?

Sometimes when I get an ask, I bullshit my way through infodump walls of text until I can structure it into something vaguely resembling a point. And sometimes, and I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes I get a very, very clear word on my mind related to it before I start writing, that almost seems to be a beacon pointing where I need to get to, and I work my way into getting there. Once you sent me an ask about crossing over The Shadow with Cassandra Cain, the word that came to mind the very second was Language.

It's an interesting relation the two have with language. Language is of course a very substantial part of Cass's character, who does not process language and linguistic development the way most people do, and instead reads body language to the point of superpower. Many stories revolve around Cass's relation to the concept of language, the help she may require from others in getting around things beyond her upbringing, and ways in which she has mastered beyond anyone's scope. Though she is mute, language is her power, what makes her what she is, and she is someone that Batman freely admits could kick his ass if she ever felt like it.

For The Shadow, language is also his power. He speaks all languages and connects allies all over the world, he is an expert ventriloquist, he is able to project his voice beyond what's physically possible, he can imitate voices perfectly to the point of being able to conduct group conversations single-handedly well enough to fool even the people whose voices he's imitating, much of his presence and terror and manipulation are done through his voice, arguably the very reason he exists in the first place is entirely because a radio actor's voice performance was so good and captivating that it tricked people into thinking the character was a real star and not just a glorified narrator. The man you cannot see, but only hear, the perfect hero for radio. And then of course the laugh, which I have a whole separate post on and which, in many ways, acts as a substitute for language in the novels. He uses the laugh so often as a substitute for statements or words, even to himself, that it's pretty much his own personal language. And language is at the core of how he deals with people, as he knows the right language to use to manipulate and move and help them. He knows what to promise, what to reveal, what to omit. He knows what to say, how to say it, when to say it. Language is the strings by which he puppeteers the world around him (and he can talk to animals, at least of one kind).

The Shadow and Cassandra Cain have mastered two different types of Language as throughly as anyone can possibly master them. The Shadow can talk a group of hardened criminals into killing themselves, Cassandra can punch a heart into stopping without killing it. The Shadow echoes his voice "through everywhere and nowhere at once" to whip crowds of thugs into frenzies, Cassandra outraces missiles and was tanking bullets as a child. The Shadow can lie and usurp lives so masterfully to fool even the families of those he's passing off as, Cassandra is a living lie detector who gleams inner conversations from miniscule reactions. The Shadow can speak every language known, Cassandra is the greatest master of the world's most universal language other than music. The two are supposedly human, but every now and then, something comes along to call that into question because of the things they can achieve. They cannot hide secrets from each other the way they do to everyone else. They are driven by a deep desire to help others, to make something out of the circumstances of their lives. To weaponize that which dictates they should be evil and monstrous into a relentless force of good.

Language is the root of understanding. And if nothing else, as impossible as a conciliation of their approaches to crimefighting may be, I think there could be an unique understanding between the two. Perhaps, and this is a bit crazier a concept but one that seems to be where I might have been heading towards all along, even Cassandra Cain finding a calling away from the frayed dynamics of the Batfamily, away from the Bat's looming presence, to become The Shadow's successor, swearing to uphold a mission of justice through non-lethal tactics while he stays on the backseat guiding her. If The Shadow could trust the safety of his agents and the protection of the innocent at the hands of someone as capable and selfless and good-natured as Cassandra, I think he'd be all too happy to be able to trust someone in such a manner, to no longer be the Master of Darkness, but instead to serve the next generation that's weaponized darkness without submerging in it. To achieve, and perhaps return, to his strongest, highest self: A disembodied voice heard, but not seen. Once again the narrator, not the star.

It's a concept I've thought about very extensively for the years I've been a Shadow fan, but now it occurs to me that, if I had to appoint a successor of The Shadow, someone who could take up the mission but shine on their own right, even improve it with the right guidance and circumstances, it would be Cassandra Cain. The Orphan, The Shadow of the Batgirl. Daughter of the greatest assassins, meant to be the world's most lethal murderer, instead pivoted to being one of it's greatest heroes, but never allowed to shine as she should. But in the darker, less restrictive and wilder world of pulp heroes, in The Shadow's world, a beacon would shine all the harder. Perfect strengths attached to perfect opposites, joined together for a greater good, unstoppable after together having weaponized that which most take for granted: the power of language to move worlds.

#replies tag #pulp heroes #comic books #the shadow #cassandra cain #batgirl #i always had a feeling that a successor to the shadow should not be modeled on batman but someone within that range #i never quite found a character i would be happy with taking that role or a similar role #aw shit i just talked myself into a new favorite character #that just so happens to be another character brimming with potential that's denied them by corporate overlords #who could have seen that coming

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hattiepins · 4 years ago

Text

Expectations

Zeke Yeager/Reader 18+ Chapter 1/??? Warnings: Alcohol mentions, explicit content a/n: I haven’t posted fic to tumblr in literal years so here’s me christening my new AOT blog with some Zekefucking. This fic will eventually have an actual plot, and I have it mapped out, but for now it’s just smut so have fun with it. I’m also on ao3 w the same @ if you prefer that layout better.

Zeke Yeager was an incredibly imposing man. The warriors were an intimidating group to anyone who had heard of them, but there was something special about him.

You had “met” several years ago, at work cleaning the imposing Marleyan government building that served as the warrior headquarters in Liberio. Most of the year it was filled with children hopeful that if they worked hard enough, dedicated their hearts firmly enough, and bought into the belief that they too could bring honor to their homeland, they could be worthy of inheriting a titan.

You liked children, and though it hurt to see them pushed into the grim roles they took up at the compound, you would occasionally share excited chats with them in the halls, rooms, or courtyards of the massive complex. You’d scrub the floors of the messes left behind by their muddy boots, or the walls of the grime that accumulated every week, and the candidates, being the chatty little kids that they were, would update you on their days. Who beat who in what race, how fast so and so could disassemble then reassemble a rifle. On a good day of work you were given a run down of everything.

On special days, though, the Marleyan warriors themselves would show up. A woman with unruly dark hair, a tall and disheveled scruffy man, and a blonde with a slicked back undercut all would often pass you by.

But Zeke Yeager? He always stood out to you the most. Anyone who could spare enough pocket change for a paper would know of the great feats of the beast titan and the man who held it. There had never been quite anything like him before in history, and his accomplishments on the warfront were praised as the ace up Marley’s sleeve in many battles.

In reality though, Zeke bore no resemblance to his titan, with there being no visual similarity between the terrifying monster printed on the front page of every news story and the warrior who controlled it.

He was tall, with a laid back posture that stood in stark contrast to his own mythic status. A legend among Eldians, and a fearsome specimen among all men, with his steely grey eyes and furrowed brow. He always looked as if he had something weighing on his mind whenever you spotted him, be it alone, or with his comrades.

You would absentmindedly toy with the hem at the edge of your own grey armband every time your eyes glanced over their red ones, not envying their lives as warriors but wondering what it must be like, being honorary Marleyans.

None of them ever noticed your presence, and why should they? You were the cleaning girl, a part of the scenery.

So then it comes as quite the shock when, tonight, as you head to the pub around the corner from the compound, Zeke Yeager recognizes you.

The place isn’t anything fancy, but it’s halfway between work and the run-down tenement you can afford to rent on a maid’s salary. You go here on your days off, when you want more than anything to just relax, have a drink, and listen to the gramophone at the bar play music that you’d never get to hear otherwise. It’s a surprise enough to even see Zeke here, but the way he reacts to seeing you has your heart seize up a bit in your chest.

He waves you over with his hand clutching his drink, calling your name with a voice just loud enough to be heard over the scratchy, poorly recorded music of the wax cylinder recording, his face plastered with a smug expression.

You blink slowly, as if closing your eyes will somehow remove him from the table in front of you and confirm that just a few sips of your drink have led to full on hallucinations. But you do not move.

Catching onto your nervousness, Zeke raises the glass of warm swill this poorly stocked Eldian pub calls drinks, swirling the liquid inside as he motions towards your general direction.

“Come on now, that’s your first drink of the night in your hands. I know you aren’t far gone enough to not recognize the sound of your own name.”

The volume of his voice is louder than you would like. A necessity, you know, for him to be heard over the sound of the gramophone, but still embarrassing.

You gesture stupidly at yourself with your pointer finger, and he nods, brows raised and mouth smiling with pursed lips as if he’s trying to stifle a laugh at your blatant confusion.

He, in turn, gestures for you to take a seat next to him at the small booth he holds for himself in the corner.

“You’re the cleaning girl, right?” He says.

And for as awkward as that introduction is, it doesn’t stop you from joining him.

“How did you know- where did you learn my name?” You drum your fingers against the base of your drink, still slightly nervous.

“I’m observant.” He takes a sip of his own drink.

“That, and you’re more well known than you’d think. The Grice boys talk about you sometimes. The younger one, Falco, is pretty damn fond of you, actually. Says you’re a good listener. Likes talking to you. His brother’s the one set to inherit my titan.”

You stare at him, a little shocked to hear that the candidates even remember you beyond simple hallway chatter, let alone that a warrior has actually taken note of your reputation with the children.

“Falco’s a good kid. Colt too.” Your lips quirk up into a small smile, thinking about the two blond boys, always polite and courteous. They even bothered to get to know you by name, and always seem to ask about your day before telling you about their own.

“You’re quite the conversationalist for someone who the government pays to mop floors and dust shelves all day.”

You tense up, and suddenly, for a moment, a sense of sudden clarity and fear grips you. Is this an interrogation? Does Zeke Yeager think you’re a spy because you’re too chatty with the candidates? You knew this felt off, there’s no way that he’d invite you here just to ta-

“If I’m honest, I noticed you first because I was shocked that a pretty face like yours would be working scrubbing dirt. Didn’t put a name to said face until Colt started bringing you up almost just as often as his little brother. But I’m a good listener.”

He smiles, repeating your name with a soft smile as if testing out the sound of it.

“It’s a pretty name. Suits you. I try and keep things professional at the compound. Lots of eyes and ears. Granted there’s definitely a few in this place right now, but we don’t have to worry about them.”

You lift your head with a start, eyes scanning the bar, all a sea of patrons with worn clothes and grey armbands. None of them stand out as being particularly unique. None accept the man with the red around his arm seated across from you. He sticks out like a vibrant wine stain against white cotton, and though the patrons know better than to stare, you catch them sneaking “coincidental” glances his way.

Their eyes rest on him, then flicker away to observe the much less interesting rest of the bar as if it’s merely chance that they managed to get caught looking.

You let your gaze wander over all the faces in the crowd, trying to see who he might be referring to. To see who could be watching.

“Shit, could you be a little less obvious, sweetheart?”

The sudden affectionate name has your heart flutter in your chest in a way you absolutely were not expecting, and as you turn your gaze back to him, an embarrassed flush creeping its way across your cheeks, you see his smirk grow. He’s smug, but you suppose he has all the reason in the world to be, with all his accomplishments.

Zeke, you thankfully come to realize as your conversation progresses, is not here to report you to the higher ups for something or another, nor does it seem that anyone in the bar is particularly interested in your chatter.

You do, however, find that Zeke Yeager is not only a very powerful presence, but that he’s very handsome. It was something you didn’t particularly notice at the compound, mostly because you tried to avoid being in the way of your superiors in the warrior unit, but also because the stories you’d heard of the beast titan’s strength painted the man as a brute.

Instead, you find yourself enthralled by him. He has beautiful hair, and his beard is kept very nicely trimmed. The way his grey eyes light up when he learns you two share a similar taste in novels has your breath catching in your throat.

You list off your recent reads, only to find that he’s also read most everything on the list. He says he’s an avid reader, especially when they ship him out. It helps him keep his mind off of the fighting to think of smaller problems than wars.

“I couldn’t put it down.”

You find yourself raving about your latest literary obsession.

“The way the whole town just watched her descent into madness was so painful to read, but I wanted to know why they hated her in the first place so badly.”

You have long since finished your drink, but the conversation with Zeke ensures that you absolutely do not want any more. The last thing you want to do is slur your speech in a conversation about your shared interests, and especially not when those interests are shared by a very handsome man.

“The reveal of how her daughter was framed had me glued to every word. And the ending!” He leans back in his seat, like he’s processing it all over again just speaking about it.

“Lighting the whole town on fire… they say revenge is a dish best served cold, but reading about her walking through the burning streets…”

“Brilliant.”

His smile is captivating.

You remind yourself that this man is an honorary Marleyan, and you are just a regular Eldian who is lucky enough to have enough pocket change at the end of the month to even buy those novels.

But for as much as Zeke insists that you are well known at the compound for being a great conversationalist, you find that the same compliments the Grice boys have paid to you apply tenfold to him. You don’t want to stop talking.

When the bar closes, you don’t say your goodbyes and head home. Instead, you find yourself continuing your conversation in the streets of Liberio, walking the cobblestone roads at what must be at least two in the morning. Your conversation never has a single slow moment.

You don’t think the slightly intimidated feeling you get while next to him will ever fully subside. He is, after all, much larger than you, and you feel dwarfed by him as you walk side by side, looking up at his handsome face. You’ve switched conversation topics through nearly a dozen different novels now, and your ideas bounce off one another perfectly.

He mutters how your theory about a plot twist and it’s possible connection to the yet unreleased next book in the series might be one of the best ideas he’s heard, and his little smile while he does so is captivating.

“You’d serve better as a critic than a cleaner, you know.” He says with a laugh.

And you smile, because for a moment, by Zeke’s side, you almost forget it’s Liberio’s streets that you’re walking, and that you can’t hope to aim too high. All that exists for now is the two of you, and the words you share.

As you walk under the lamplight through deserted streets, you take notice of the way he scratches his ear when he’s thinking, but more specifically your eyes fixate on his hands themselves. They’re big, and you purse your lips imagining how little your hands would be in his. He admittedly dresses like an old man, and while his wardrobe is nothing fancy, it doesn’t hide his impressive stature.

His broad shoulders and military status imply an impressive body under the loose fitting coat he wears, and you feel like a repressed schoolgirl just looking at the exposed skin of his neck and how the muscles there tense when you bring up some narrative choice or another that you both didn’t enjoy. Your cheeks flush as you watch him take a drag of his cigarette, holding it between two thick fingers.

He seems to take notice of your stares, but says nothing to discourage you. In return, you catch him eyeing you a few times too, but unlike you, he doesn’t get flustered when you notice him clearly staring.

It’s still fairly chilly out, and your warm coat doesn’t do your body any favors, but that doesn’t stop his glances.

When the two of you cross a bridge, you find yourself staring up at the moon and how it’s surface reflects on the wide river below. Zeke leans over the rail, taking yet another drag of his cigarette, and you cautiously reach out a hand to his. He makes no move to shift away from you as you lock your arm in his.

You continue your walk like that, the feeling of closeness making you far more flustered than you should be. It’s only proper for a man to escort a lady by the hand when it’s so late. But you’re no lady, you’re a maid. And Zeke’s glances are growing far from proper, even as the topic remains firmly on literature.

When he invites you up to his apartment to see his books, you both know you won’t be doing any actual reading. But you let him lead you through the streets and up countless flights of stairs regardless.

He turns the key in the lock, and you enter, following his lead in kicking off your boots and hanging up your coat by a hook on the wall. You barely have time to take in how nicely furnished the home of an honorary Marleyan is before he has you pressed against the door, closing it shut with the weight of both of your bodies against it.

You gasp at the impact, and run your fingers through his soft blond locks as he presses his lips to yours in an open mouthed and greedy kiss. His lips are soft, and his breath is hot against you as he pulls away.

“Do you want to-?”

“Yes. God, yes.” You pull at his coat, hoping he’ll get the message, and he does.

He shrugs it off, and then his lips are against yours again. Your touch traces down along his back, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt until it comes untucked from his pants and you can slide your hands underneath it, feeling the warmth of his skin.

He fumbles with the buttons of your own blouse, before tearing it off of your shoulders as he unfastens the last one, and you can hear his breath catch in his throat as his hands move to touch you.

His mouth parts from yours to get an eyeful of your body, his fingers trace the edge of your bra, watching how your chest heaves against the constraints of the lacey garment with every breath. He groans, the sound guttural in his throat, and fuck, you need him. He brings his lips to your neck, kissing and biting his way down to your collarbone.

“Can we please get this thing off?” His thumbs hook at the straps of your bra.

“Marley’s greatest warrior can’t figure out how to unhook a bra?” You smile as you reach for the clasps.

“Bigger things on the mind right now, sweetheart.” His tongue runs against a spot at the base of your neck that his teeth just bit at, soothing the skin.

“Oh?” You drop your bra to the ground, and he is quick to grab a handful of your breasts, teasing lightly over your nipples. You moan as he slides his hands down your torso, stopping as he gets a handful of your ass, kneading at it with a grin.

“You enjoying yourself there?”

He hums as he presses you further against him and lifts. You let out a startled whimper, your legs wrapping around his hips and hiking up your long skirt in the process. He lifts his head from your neck and looks down at you, hunger in his grey eyes.

“Trying to figure out if I can even get you to the bedroom, or if I’m gonna have to fuck you right here against the wall.”

Zeke grinds his hips against yours, and through your soaked panties you can feel him strain against his trousers. He’s so horny it hurts, and he hisses at the little bit of contact, bucking against you.

“Fuck, baby, need you to decide.”

“B-bed.” You wrap your arms tighter around him and wiggle your hips just enough to get more of that delicious friction. Zeke doesn’t have to be told twice as he carries you to his bedroom and practically throws you into his mattress. It’s soft as a cloud, and you feel yourself sink into it, pulling your skirt from your hips, letting it fall in a pool at the edge of the bed.

Still situated at the side of Zeke’s massive king size bed, you spread your legs, your stockings and your panties all that’s left on you. You circle your clit through the fabric, and watch as his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, his eyes fixed on your clothed pussy like a hungry animal. He makes quick work of his own clothes, undoing the buttons of his shirt and stepping out of his trousers, stripping to his boxers.

Your cheeks flush as you take in the sight of his bare chest. He’s toned in the way only a warrior could be, and there’s a small dusting of blonde hair that trails from his bellybutton to somewhere below his waistband. He towers over you, imposing and arousing at the same time. He looks like a marble statue, beautiful and powerful and perfect. You can see the outline of his bulge against the grey fabric of his underclothes, and he palms himself lazily, his eyes clouded with lust behind his glasses.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

You scoff. “Could say the same thing to you.”

He smirks, and you want nothing more than to kiss him. For a moment it looks like he’s about to do just that. Instead, he sinks to his knees between your legs.

“What are you-?”

“Gotta get you ready for me first, babygirl.” He says, hooking his fingers under your panties and pulling them down, letting you kick them off your legs.

“Are you joking? I’m already soaking, you don’t-“

You’re cut off by the feeling of his hot breath against you.

He runs his fingers against your folds, and you bite your lip before he shoves two thick fingers inside. The noises you make as he hooks them inside you have him painfully hard and straining against his boxers, but he knows what he wants. He pulls his fingers from you, earning him a whimper.

“Fine. I can be transparent here.” He groans as he kisses at your inner thigh. “Just wanna bury my face in your cunt, nothing else to it.”

You whimper as his lips circle your clit, the burn of his beard between your thighs coupled with the feeling of his hot breath against you has him having to hold your hips in place to keep your squirming down.

“Z-Zeke, I-”

“Hm?” He releases your clit from his lips but licks slow stripes up between your folds now.

“Too much.”

He teases the tip of his tongue against your hole, his moans the only response. You feel his grip on your hips tighten as he pushes it inside of you. His mouth works against you, making you grind against his face.

“Fuck, baby, you taste so good…”

He’s a madman as he devours your cunt, and you have full confidence that Zeke could make you cum with just his tongue. Instead, he opts to do otherwise, spurred on by the delicious sounds you’re making. You cry out as he circles his lips back around your clit and plunges two thick fingers inside of you.

You can barely think as he curls them into you, fucking his fingers into your weeping cunt while his tongue laps at your clit.

“I’m- I can’t-”

“You can.” He adds a third finger, and the stretch is so food, so filling, as he watches you fall apart. “Good girl, my pretty little slut, come on.”

His tongue never ceases for long, even as he speaks. “Come for me.”

You’re falling apart under his touch, cries and moans spilling out of your mouth as you cum into his. You clamp your thighs down around his head as he keeps fucking his fingers into you, running his tongue desperately against your little bud as you writhe beneath him, only stopping when he feels he’s had his fill of your taste.

He lifts himself up and pushes you further into the bed, letting your head rest on the pillows as he leans on his side next to you.

“You’re a quiet little thing whenever I pass you in the compound. Never knew you could be that loud.”

You’re panting, still coming down from your orgasm.

“Never been fucked in the compound.”

“We can change that.”

Your pussy clenches around nothing and you whine. “Can we start with here first?”

His beard is wet with your slick as he grips your jaw and pulls you in for a kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and you moan as you tug at the waistband of his boxers.

You remove your lips from his to look down at the shape of him, still straining against the fabric.

“Zeke, please…”

He sits up on his knees at the end of the bed, hovering over you, thumbs toying at the elastic.

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you?”

Your little nod is all he needs, pulling his boxers off. You watch as his hard cock springs free of confinement and slaps itself against his stomach. It’s big, and you’re practically drooling at the sight. He crawls over you, lining himself up with your hole, rubbing the tip over your clit. He smirks, watching how you whine and writhe at his teasing.

“You have to beg for it, sweetheart. Let me know how much you want it.”

He fists his cock, leaking precum all over your slit as he drags the head up and down your folds.

“Fuck, Zeke, please fuck me. Need you so bad, just please...”

He grips your hips hard, lines himself up with your hole, and bottoms out in one quick thrust.

You moan and he curses under his breath. It’s so much, all at once. The stretch is much more than his fingers prepared you for, and it’s overwhelming, even with how wet you are. It’s a little painful, but it hurts so good.

“F-fuck, move, fuck me, please. Please, please, please, please.”

He pants into your shoulder as he follows your request. Zeke grabs both of your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head, kissing and sucking at your neck, leaving little purple marks.

“So pretty like this, letting me fill you up so good. Gonna leave my mark everywhere I can on you. You gonna come to work with your neck all marked up from me? Huh?”

You pant and grind your hips against his as he pistons in and out of you. “Y-yes.”

“Gonna advertise to every soldier there that you’re mine? My little whore? You like being fucked like this?” He pulls back out all the way, only to thrust back in at just the right angle that has you seeing stars.

“Yes!”

“You know how long I’ve thought about this? Wanted to just p-pull you into a supply closet and fuck you til you forgot your own name, ‘cuz hell, I didn’t even know it back then, but now…”

He traces his hand down to your clit, and starts to rub circles against it.

“You’re perfect, you know that? F-Fuck... Perfect for me. Fit me so good, god, you’re so tight.”

“Zeke, s’too good, I’m gonna-”

“I know, baby, I know. Me too. Come for me, it’s ok.”

He captures your lips in a hungry kiss, and the closeness is not enough and too much all at once. You can’t tell where he begins and you end and suddenly your orgasm is washing over you in waves as you scream his name. Your arms struggle against his grip and he relents as you cream around his cock. You grab at his back, nails sinking hard into the skin, and you swear he’s letting off steam as your fingers scratch down his back in ecstasy.

Zeke fucks you through it, thumb still playing with your clit as he hammers into you, hips snapping against yours at a rhythm much less even than before.

“Beautiful. So fucking beautiful with my name on your lips and my cock in your cunt.”

You whine, still barely coherent and too fuckdrunk to think as he pounds you hard enough to make the bedframe creak and the headboard slam against the wall.

“G-good girl, you like being a good little-fuck- good little cocksleeve for me?”

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck.”

You’re so overstimulated it hurts. He keeps hitting just the right spot, and while he’s still toying with your sensitive nub, you can tell he can barely hold his focus. He removes his fingers from you and buries his head in your shoulder. His beard is rough against your skin as he lets out a few last thrusts into your cunt, his grip on your hips enough to bruise.

Zeke pulls out and fists himself a few more times, panting before he empties his load on top of you, white ropes of cum shooting out of him as he finishes onto your stomach. Zeke collapses, panting, by your side. He pulls you against him and kisses the top of your head.

You practically purr at the affectionate gesture, and lean into his touch.

He sighs, removes his glasses, and carefully places them on the bedside table, relaxing into the comfort of the bed.

His eyes are closed, and as you snuggle closer to him, you can feel his heartbeat slowly start to return to normal along with your own.

“I think now’s the time I should ask where your bathroom is so I can clean off?” You breathe out, tracing figure eights lazily against the muscles of his chest.

He lets out a tired laugh. “You’re not at work. No cleaning right now. You can afford to be a little messy for a while.”

You hum, unwilling to admit you’re fine either way. You guiltily realize you enjoy the feeling of his cum on your skin, and, instead of admitting that embarrassing thought, you kiss him again.

You whisper against his jaw. “I should go home soon, just-”

He claims your lips in his again to shut you up. “Stay.”

You lay by his side on the same pillow, faces inches from eachother.

That night, you stay. You fall asleep in his arms, and everything somehow feels right. He feels right.

You hate going home to your shitty apartment after that. And Zeke hates seeing you go.

Every week you repeat it all like routine.

Zeke is always there at the pub. You always end up in an endless conversation before following him home, and leaving the next morning to prepare for your afternoon shift.

It only takes one month of this torture for him to ask you to move in.

“Would make it easier. Better than me pretending it’s a coincidence I’m there almost every time you have a day off.” He mutters into your shoulder, as he holds you close.

It’s the easiest decision you’ve ever made.

You laugh at how his beard tickles your skin, pressing yourself further into him, to which he responds by wrapping an arm around you tighter and smiling that smug grin against your skin as you card your fingers through his blond locks and whisper “I figured it wasn’t a coincidence by the third time it happened.”

He kisses you, and cradles your cheek in the palm of his hand. For what feels like the hundredth and the first time, you drift off to sleep in his arms.

You never return to your old apartment, even to grab your things. Zeke has the same books as you, and his bed always was nicer. He buys you much better clothes to make up for what little loss of wardrobe you went through.

You can’t aim too high in Liberio. But with him, you feel like you’ve started over on a clean slate.

And for a time, though you never put a name on it, Zeke Yeager is yours.

#zeke x reader #zeke yeager x reader #me strolling into aot reader fic tumblr like hello I am new in town #I wrote this in an insomniac daze #aot x reader #snk x reader #this will have a plot later but for now I am just sitting here hoping it's both comprehensible and people will like it

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years ago

Text

A Small Price to Pay

doing this thing | day 1 - makeshift gag

"I cannot and will not." Jaskier puts his foot down - literally and metaphorically - and crosses his arms in Geralt's direction. Geralt just rolls his eyes and sighs at him.

"Then how do you propose we get past half the Nilfgaardian army?"

He's being ridiculous, of course; a few dozen men hardly constitute half their army, but he does have a point - Jaskier is disappointingly low on ideas. But the idea of being bound and gagged is just... well, it's not detestable but he'd prefer it under very, very different circumstances.

"We'll just go back. Or wait for them to move on." Geralt glances over to where three men are setting up a tent and quirks an eyebrow at Jaskier. "Oh, I don't know! There has to be something else we can do? Surely we can go around, through-"

"We've been delayed enough already. If we don't make it to Vengerberg in the next three days Yen and Ciri will leave without us."

Jaskier frowns. He does so enjoy travelling with Ciri, but the entire trip to Kaer Morhen without Yen sounds like a dream come true if he's honest. He wants to say as much, but he suspects it won't be taken well. Instead, he just continues to frown at the grass beneath his feet.

Truthfully, Geralt has a very good reason for not wanting to upset Yen - or to confront the army, to be fair - but has failed to take into account that Jaskier also has a very good reason for not wanting to be tied up. Nor does he seem to care as he rifles through his pack and produces a length of rope short enough to bind Jaskier's hands behind his back.

"But why does it have to be me? They're looking for you! I could just say I'm bringing you to them!" He takes a step back as Geralt moves into his space and the look he gets is incredulous.

"And risk both of us getting killed because I can't use my swords? I don't think so." Geralt reaches out to him and Jaskier takes another step back, promptly hitting the trunk of a badly placed tree.

Realizing he's trapped and Geralt is smiling about it, Jaskier sighs and relents. He turns around reluctantly and Geralt takes his hands, placing one wrist over the other. Under other circumstances, he would revel in this much contact, but right now he just feels defeated and apprehensive.

It takes all his concentration not to think while Geralt binds his hands. It's bad enough that Geralt is practically holding his hand, rough, calloused fingers curled around his own to steady him, but the rope. He doesn't know where it came from, but it's surprisingly smooth against his skin without even the reliably scratchy bits to distract him from the feeling of, well, being entirely at Geralt's mercy. And that- that is something he really can't focus on right now.

"Is it too tight?" Geralt asks and Jaskier doesn't trust himself to speak so he just shakes his head. "Your heart is beating too quickly, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he mutters, staring too hard at his boots. "Nervous," he adds as an afterthought; Geralt won't shut up about it until he gets an answer that satisfies him and sometimes it's better just to lie.

"Do you trust me?"

Fuck, what kind of question is that? Trust is not at all the problem here. "Of course," Jaskier whispers and his voice comes out light and wispy, not at all what he was hoping for. But Geralt seems unfazed.

He finishes his task and returns to their packs. When he returns, he's got a scrap of fabric in his hand and if Jaskier's heart was beating quickly before, it's outright pounding now. Because Jaskier would recognize that fabric anywhere. He's the one who washes and mends their clothes and that right there is a piece of Geralt's unsalvagable shirt and it's not going anywhere near his face - not in a million years.

He opens his mouth to tell Geralt as much, but he just splutters indignantly as Geralt slips the material between his lips. With his hands bound behind him, Jaskier is helpless to resist.

"Surely, you've had worse," Geralt mutters and Jaskier doesn't know if he's referring to traumatizing experiences, embarrassment, or bondage but the answer is no almost straight across the board.

Because this smells like Geralt. And Jaskier doesn't know what he tastes like, but this is probably as close as he'll get, tasting the soap he uses to wash it and something he can't place but feels remarkably like Geralt. A sharp stab of want breaks through his composure and for a horrifying moment, Jaskier wishes the gag was covered in dirt or blood or monster innards.

"Ready?" Geralt asks and Jaskier just groans. He most certainly is not ready and if he thought pushing down his arousal was hard with his hands bound, it's ten times worse with Geralt's scent flooding his senses.

Geralt steps away to collect Roach and Jaskier takes a moment to try to breathe and compose. It works for the briefest of moments before Geralt appears out of nowhere, wrapping a firm hand around his bicep and hauling him forward. Heat spreads through Jaskier's entire body and he stumbles to catch up.

Either he's going to blow it for them because the guard will take one look at him and realize he is in no way a prisoner against his will, or they'll make it through and he'll be horrifically embarrassed for the rest of his life. It's not that he's ashamed of his sexual preferences, he'd just rather not share them quite so blatantly with Geralt.

As expected, a soldier stops them just as soon as they step out of the trees. Geralt's hand tightens a little around his arm and Jaskier tries to keep as close as he can to him without seeming suspicious. Geralt speaks before the Nilfgaardian even has a chance.

"I need to speak to your commander," he growls, low and commanding, "this man claims to have knowledge of princess Cirilla's whereabouts."

He isn't even questioned, the guard just mutters something and Geralt grunts a response and hauls Jaskier forward a little more roughly than necessary. Jaskier's cock twitches and he pretends not to notice as Geralt makes a self-satisfied noise at him. So he was right then. There'll be no living with him after this.

They make it to the opposite side of the Nilfgaardian camp, a safe distance away and Geralt finally released him, but it's too late for that now. Jaskier's cock has taken a distinct interest, what with the growling and manhandling and bondage that fucking smells like Geralt and is now pressed firmly against the front of his trousers, unmistakable in his current position.

Jaskier angles himself away from Geralt, and Geralt naturally reads him wrong and slips up behind him to untie the gag. Which is little relief at this point and then, as Geralt presses up against his back, actually so much worse than just keeping it on. Because Jaskier can feel the heat radiating off his body, can imagine what it would feel like if Geralt just took one more step forward and slotted their bodies together. Jaskier bites back a moan, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think of anything else, but then Geralt's hands are on him.

And who touches someone this much just to untie a gag? Someone who seeks Jaskier's imminent death via spontaneous combustion - or, apparently, Geralt. His fingers slip up the back of his neck, press lightly against his head. And if it's not bad enough that he spends an eternity untying the damn thing, he pushes his fingers through Jaskier's hair after before finally stepping away.

Which, Jaskier quickly discovers, is only because they've been followed. He drops to his knees to further hide his... situation and peers over his shoulder as Geralt strides toward the soldier, apparently unconcerned.

"What are you doing here?" the Nilfgaardian asks. Geralt cocks his head to one side.

"Nothing. And you're going to go back to your camp and forget you ever saw us here. In fact, you're going to tell your commanding officer the surrounding area is clear, no reason to send out scouts."

Jaskier just sits and gawks, horrified and betrayed, as the man nods and echoes Geralt's words back to him before turning away.

"Are you-" he splutters when the soldier is a safe distance away, "are you telling me you could have just done that the whole time!?" The faintest smile tugs at the corner of Geralt's lips and Jaskier could kill him. Might, even, if he wasn't still bound.

Geralt casts a final look to make sure the soldier is gone and crosses over to him. Jaskier shifts, but his mobility is limited without his arms to balance and Geralt crouches down in front of him, clearly pleased with himself.

"Maybe," he shrugs, reaching up to tip Jaskier's chin up. Jaskier's heart is in his throat and he can't fucking believe this is happening to him. Either Geralt has some very surprising feelings about humiliation or he's a grade-A dick. "But then I wouldn't get to see you like this." His voice goes very soft at the end and Jaskier shuts his eyes, biting down on a groan.

Either Geralt is a very cruel man or somewhere along the way Jaskier passed out from the lack of blood to his brain and he's dreaming. But Geralt's fingers feel solid and real where they slide against his jaw and he's close enough now that Jaskier can feel his breath on his face and oh-

Geralt's hand settles on his thigh and Jakier's eyes flash open, searching Geralt's for any sign of hesitation but there's nothing. If he doesn't do something soon, Jaskier's going to do something incredibly stupid that he'll probably regret. He sits back on his heels, pulling out of Geralt's touch and looks up at him.

"You knew?" he asks.

"No. I was joking when I said I could tie you up and take you through the camp, but the way you reacted-" he hums and Jaskier's resistance fails him.

Geralt shifts toward him, dropping to one knee as he reaches out, running his fingers down Jaskier's chest. And Jaskier is weak to resist him. He presses up into the touch, only barely conscious of how needy he must look and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I wanted to see how far you'd let me go," he breathes, "I didn't think you'd actually let me do it."

"You're an arse," Jaskier huffs and Geralt grins at him.

Jaskier doesn't know what he's supposed to do here. This is a side of Geralt he's never seen before and he's not sure how far he'd actually take it. Geralt moves closer, kneeling between Jaskier's thighs and it's all Jaskier can do not to lose control right there. Geralt's breath dusts over his jaw and Jaskier lets a soft moan slip out as he shuts his eyes.

"You didn't think I'd just leave you like this, did you?"

Everything in Jaskier's head comes to a screeching halt and before he can even consider whether or not that means what it sounds like it means, Geralt's hands are on his trousers, working them open and slipping inside. Steady fingers curl slowly around him and Jaskier loses control of his body in an instant. A sharp whine slips, unbidden, from his throat and his hips snap forward against Geralt's hand.

Fuck, he doesn't even remember the last time he was this turned on.

"What was it," Geralt asks, sliding his hand maddeningly slowly against Jaskier's cock, "that got you so worked up - the rope or the gag?"

"Both," he whimpers, "and the uh- manhandling."

"Hmm. I was just trying to make it seem realistic."

"Mission- ah!accomplished."

Geralt shifts to sit on the grass and with one quick motion gets both arms around Jaskier's waist and tugs him into his lap. Jaskier shuffles forward, encouraged by the way Geralt's hands slip to his ass, squeezing almost playfully. Jaskier tips his head up and Geralt catches his mouth in a rough kiss, nearly dislodging him in his enthusiasm.

Jaskier's head swims. He's never known Geralt to be so forward with anyone, much less with him, and the thought of it makes him impossibly harder. He aches for Geralt's touch again, rolls his hips forward encouragingly but Geralt's hands remain firmly in place, pulling him in closer. Here, Jaskier is pressed right against him, can feel the firm lines of his chest and the surprising press of Geralt's cock, thick and hard where it fits up against his own.

"And what about you?" Jaskier tries, feeling much more suave than he sounds, "what's got you so hot and bothered."

One of Geralt's hands slips up his back, right up his neck and into his hair, pulling his face right up against his own. Their noses bump together and Jaskier can feel Geralt's breath against hi, and then they're falling, dropping back into the grass beneath them.

"Just you," he breathes and Jaskier feels like he could combust. Geralt keeps a hand on him, rocking up against him and gods, he feels incredible. Geralt mumbles something against his lips that Jaskier doesn't quite catch and then Geralt is reaching between them, tugging his trousers open and pushing them down.

Jaskier rises up as his cock slips free and he finds himself staring, unable to look away. His lip is trapped between his teeth and Geralt reaches up, gently freeing it and running his thumb along the sensitive flesh. Geralt tugs him forward, grinding up against him and Jaskier drops his head against his shoulder, hips shifting quickly.

"Should I untie you?" Geralt breathes and Jaskier nods enthusiastically, pressing his forehead into Geralt's skin.

"Please," he groans, "I want to touch you."

Geralt doesn't move, but reaches around, fumbling with the rope as Jaskier kisses him again. As soon as he's free, he gets one hand on Geralt's face, sliding the other up through his hair, groaning as Geralt rolls him onto his back.

He should probably be more concerned about the Nilfgaardian camp only a few hundred meters away, but all he can think about is Geralt's cock against his own, his hands, his mouth.

Jaskier comes with his legs wrapped around Geralt's hips, completely entangled and the sky darkens above them. He doesn't move for a long time afterward and Geralt kisses his neck, slides a hand up under his shirt to brush his fingers over Jaskier's skin.

When he finally settles, he rolls onto his back, tugging Jaskier up against his side.

"Yen's gonna be pissed," he mumbles, tipping his head to press a kiss to Jaskier's temple.

"A small price to pay."

#geraskier #october prompts 2k20 #rex writes #the witcher

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namariea · 4 years ago

Text

Devil’s Advocate | I

“So for argument’s sake... let’s just say Do Kyungsoo really is the boring square you say he is..”

“Don’t you want to find out what makes him tick?”

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader

Words: 4.4k

Genre: Romance, Slowburn, Smut

It started with a knock on your door.

“Jongin is coming over tonight, that cool?”

Looking up from your laptop screen, you stared at your roommate who was leaning against your doorway. Blinking slowly, you processed her words.

“Jongin is coming over.”

“Yes, that’s what I just said.”

“And will Mr. Kim be staying over?”

“That would be a correct assumption, yes.”

“Sleeping in your room.”

“Why, did you want him to sleep here with you? Not what I was expecting, but I’m all down for polygamy.”

With a sigh, you saved the document you were working on and began to close your laptop. Collecting the various papers and books scattered around you, you began to tuck them away neatly into your backpack. Sliding off of the bed, you walked the length of the room and began to rifle through your drawers, pulling out some clothes.

Frowning, Jennie walked over to you and looked over your shoulder as you began refolding them and putting them in a gym bag.

“What are you doing?”

“I have a paper I need to finish proofing for tomorrow and I highly doubt I will get any work done with the two of you going at it like animals.”

Jennie didn’t even look fazed at the comment, shrugging non committedly while throwing some pajama shorts your way. Rolling your eyes you passed through the joined bathroom and threw in your toiletries. As you were zipping up your bag a knock came at the door causing you to pause.

Well, that was fast.

Turning around, you looked at the brunette behind you with raised eyebrows, and only then she had the decency to look the slightest bit sheepish.

“Have I told you how much I love you today?”

With your roommate trailing at your heels blabbering about how you are the greatest roommate ever and how she owes you a life debt, you opened the front door and were greeted with Jongin holding what appeared to be a party sized bucket of KFC. Before he could open his mouth you stuck out your hand, waiting.

Blinking down at your outstretched palm, he gave you a confused look.

“Keys. Since you are kicking me out of my bed I’m taking yours”

Jennie snorted behind you as Jongin’s face split into a wide grin.

“You know, I always knew you were a great person.” fishing out his keys from his pocket he handed them to you.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you gave the couple a wave of your hand and began to make your way down the hall. You were halfway to the elevators when Jongin's loud voice stopped you.

“Oh by the way, Kyungsoo isn’t around tonight, so feel free to raid the fridge before he gets back.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jongin’s presence at your apartment wasn’t a new occurrence.

In the beginning, it was just him coming over during the day to help Jennie with her design assignments. Which was ok, amazing actually, since it helped her out a lot and saved you dealing with her stress meltdowns.

Then it progressed to Jongin appearing at your dinner table every Friday to partake in Chinese takeout nights. Which was fine, again, since he picked it up on his way over and pitched in. He also somehow was able to sweet talk the old woman who owned the store and managed to get extra egg rolls. Can’t go wrong with that.

It wasn’t until Jennie gave you the look while the older boy excused himself to use the bathroom after one said dinner that you took the hint.

Now, Jongin occasionally stays over during the weekends, where you would find him in the living room at ungodly hours watching the Pirates of the Carribean all the while eating a family sized package of oreo’s. Which was mildly perturbing on two counts. First, was the fact that this was probably the 5th time you’ve seen him watch that movie, and second, those were your oreos.

The final straw was not until the weekend that just past where you were woken up a loud banging. It was not until you were halfway to Jennie’s door in a frantic scramble that your sleep deprived brain caught up with you and realized it was very much not a violent murder taking place in the room over.

Animals.

It was then you all agreed to establish some sort of door-sock system.

Which in essence was - if Jongin was coming over, it was probably best to just find somewhere else to crash.

You didn’t actually mind leaving as much as you thought you would. Jennie was one of your closests friends and it was clear as day that Jongin made her happy. You didn’t even mind hanging out with the guy, he was fun and always brought snacks in return for practically living at your place. Even if his tastes in movies were highly questionable.

It was just sometimes - like right now where you had a Business Ethics paper due at 7AM - where you needed all the quiet you could get.

Reaching the apartment, you slotted the key into the lock, you pushed open the door to Jongin and Kyungsoo’s apartment. Stepping through the threshold you were greeted by darkness.

Flicking on the lights you took in the apartment. You had been in the apartment a handful of times when Chanyeol threw parties, but this was the first time you had been there on your own, literally.

From the neatly organized coffee table to the dust-less surfaces as far as the eye can see, the state of the apartment very much reflected that of the other owner - there was no way anyone would believe the human tornado that was Kim Jongin lived here otherwise.

Speaking of the other owner -

“Kyungsoo?”

Thank goodness for small mercies.

Do Kyungsoo, best friend of Jongin and probably the biggest enigma you've ever met. Not only was he more reserved and mild tempered in comparison to his flatmate, but he was the only one in your mutual friend group that you couldn’t bring yourself to get close to.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying, mind you. And to Kyungsoo’s credit he has never been rude to you, though you wouldn’t necessarily call it friendly either. Cordial at best...maybe. His deposition towards you, and apparently anyone who didn’t know him before the year 2015 was polite but distant. He was so different from the rest of his friends that one day Jennie had asked Jongin how he and Kyungsoo even lived together.

“We met freshman year-” Jongin said while spooning a mountain of orange chicken onto his plate.

“We were paired up as roommates and we just clicked - Kyungsoo is a great guy, he’s actually pretty hilarious”

“Really?” Jennie leaned in, abandoning her lo mein to gape at the man next to her.

“Its true!” Jongin said defensively at her expression, “how do I explain it-"

"You kind of have to approach him first, and then see how he responds. He just needs time to warm up to you, you'll see."

Now, you weren’t sure if Kyungsoo had ‘warmed up to you’ yet, but you definitely saw the man’s look of disgust as he caught you making kraft dinner in the microwave that one time during finals last semester.

Hot tip - never make microwave kraft dinner in front of a Culinary Arts major.

Checking your watch and noting it was half past ten, you settled down cross-legged at the coffee table in the living room. Pulling out your laptop and notes, you organized it all in front of you before rolling your neck and flexing your fingers.

“Now, where was I-”

After what seems like the hundredth time going over the same words over and over again, desperately making sure you didn’t have any spelling mistakes and that your citations were all correct, you finally hit save for the last time. Tapping the screen of your phone you brought it up to your face as you leant back against the couch, squinting as the time appeared.

2:35 AM

Stretching, you lifted yourself from your sitting position and began packing your laptop and papers away.

Exhausted, you crawled your way up onto the couch, pulled the Captain America themed throw blanket over your tired body, and closed your eyes, waiting for sleep to take you.

Which should have been an easy task.

Except Jongin apparently decided to buy the cheapest couch in Ikea.

No wonder the man lived on your sofa, he has never known true comfort.

Huffing, you sat up begrudgingly, groaning as your body objected to the movement. You glanced down the darkened hallway and pursed your lips.

Taking your bags you began shuffling down the hallway and stopped in front of one of the doors that was ajar. Slowly pushing it open you hesitantly stuck your head in. The sight of the various Mangas scattered on the floor confirmed that you had found the right bedroom.

I mean, there are worse places to sleep.

Making your way further into the room, you kicked the door closed as you made quick work of stripping out of your clothes and changing into your pajamas. You all but dove into the bed, not caring that it was unmade or that you probably should have changed the sheets. A content sigh escaped you as you sank into the mattress, sleep taking over.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Waking with a start, you were momentarily disoriented as you took in your surroundings. Blinking blearily around, it took a few seconds to remember where you were and why your bed smelled like Old Spice.

Ah, right.

Groaning, you glanced at the window and took in the darkness still.

You tried to close your eyes in hopes that you would be able to catch a few more minutes of sleep. However, instead of slipping into blissful sleep you found yourself tossing and turning, body restless in any position you put it in.

Pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes you lay there for a few moments. Blindly reaching towards the side table you fumbled with your phone, squinting as the screen illuminated your vision.

5:50 am

There is no God.

Finally accepting that you were not going to get any more sleep, you begrudgingly slid out of bed. Stretching, you began to make your way to the door, stifling a yawn as you opened it.

And immediately screamed.

“WHAT THE F- Kyungsoo?”

Standing in front of you was a hooded figure, looking just as startled as you were. Hand grasping the handle leading to the room directly across the hall, Kyungsoo had turned at the sound of Jongin’s door opening and his eyes widened almost comically at your presence.

As the fuzziness of sleep was lifted you realized that it must have been the sound Kyungsoo entering the apartment that woke you up. And judging from the incredulous look he was giving you, Jongin must not have told him you were there. Taking in his baseball cap and casual attire, you felt your eyebrows furrow.

Did he just get back?

You watched as his eyes slid down and you were suddenly very much aware of the lopsided bun that had come half undone in your sleep and the thin material of your pajamas. His eyes then darted from your own to the bedroom and back, eyebrows furrowing.

Your eyes widened at the silent question glinting in those dark eyes. Your hands immediately flew up as you began sputtering.

“It's not what it looks like!“ you began frantically and he only lifted a dark brow higher in a silent bid for you to continue. “Jongin was staying over at our place last night and I came here to give them privacy, you know how they are, it’s like National Geographic except nobody asked for it”

He shot you a bemused look.

You felt yourself flush and looked at the space of the wall next to his head “And well, I didn't get kicked out of my own bed to sleep on a couch… So I slept... in here" gesturing to the bedroom behind you awkwardly.

There was another beat of silence.

Great. Fantastic. Realll smooth. It seemed that without fail, every time you are in the immediate presence of the man across from you, you feel yourself suddenly tense up. Which is stupid, considering the fact that you are friends (distant acquaintances), and have been around each other for months now and got along great (cordial at best), surely by now you can have a normal conversation at the very least.

Speaking of conversation, you also become hyperaware of the fact that the other person in the hallway has yet to say a single word to you. Palms beginning to sweat, you began to scramble to think of something - anything - to cut the silence. As if your insane ramblings weren’t bad enough. He probably thinks you’re even more of a raging lunatic, compounded with what happened last semester. Why, why, of all things why did you have to crave Kraft Dinner for fucks sake-

“I see.”

Your inner monologue was cut short by a low reply. it seemed Kyungsoo deemed your answer acceptable, nodding slowly to himself.

You almost felt your body sag in relief, shifting your weight on the balls of your feet.

As another beat of silence passed, you fidgeted again as you were regarded by the dark haired man. Kyungsoo had yet to make any move towards his own room and you suddenly didn’t know what to do with your hands.

Someone kill me.

You cleared your throat, “Umm...so now that that's cleared up… I’m just going to... go over...there” gesturing to the bathroom. You didn’t even wait for him to answer you as you powered your way past him and slipped into the bathroom, pressing your back against the door as it closed behind you.

You waited with baited breath as you heard silence from the hallway. Eventually after what felt like an eternity, there was a shuffling of feet, and the clicking of a door closing from down the hall.

Silently making the motion of bashing your head against the door, you let out a deep breath. Shaking your head you flicked on the light and picked up Jongin’s papaya face wash.

I mean, that could have been worse.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Making your way across campus, you faltered slightly as a yawn made its way through you. After submitting your paper to your professor's dropbox you had spent the day catching up on the never ending tasks you had on your to-do list. You had holed yourself up at the campus library and it wasn’t until your stomach decided to do its best impression of a Harley Davidson that you decided it was probably best to call it a day.

Pulling out your phone you pulled out a delivery app and started browsing the menu for the greek place a block down from your apartment. Flicking through the menu, you contemplated between the Pork Souvlaki or the Chicken gyro...maybe Jennie would be willing to go half and ha-.

You halted on the sidewalk.

Right.

Jennie.

Jennie who is currently still at your apartment.

With Jongin.

Well, shit.

Switching to your messages you sent a text to Jennie.

You: All clear?

You watched with bated breath as the three dots appeared at the bottom.

A sock emoji.

Lovely.

Sitting down at a nearby bench, you began sending out a barrage of texts.

After about 20 minutes of asking around you found out that Jisoo was out of town seeing her parents, Rose’s apartment building was apparently being fumigated for the second time this month and Seulgi was having Irene and Wendy over and you didn’t think you wanted to be part of whatever freaky party those three were going to have.

With every text that came in you felt yourself slowly deflate more and more. Placing your hand in your jacket, you grasped the keys that were in your pocket. They felt heavier than they should be.

There was one other option.

Grimacing, you flushed as you remembered the painfully awkward conversation you exchanged with a particular dark haired man this morning. There was no doubt in your mind that he would be home if you went over now, and you didn’t even want to begin imagining how this interaction will go.

You bit down on your bottom lip in worry as you brain tried playing out the various scenarios in your head. All in all, Kyungsoo didn’t seem to care all that much this morning, but then again when have you ever seen Kyungsoo care about anything.

Come on, think. Well, what do we know...

He is a mutual friend (questionable), for starters. If you both are able to get along with the dumperfire that is your friend group you have to have something in common.. Right?

You stopped fiddling with the keys in your pocket as the realization hit you.

Pulling up your contacts you scanned down the list before pressing ‘call’.

“Oi, Jongin. Does Kyungsoo like Greek?”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Turns out no, Kyungsoo does not, in fact, like Greek.

According to Jongin, Kyungsoo is obsessed with this weird hole-in-the-wall Italian place that had handmade pasta. What was supposed to be a 10 minute walk ended up taking 45 minutes as you got lost 3 times, and once you finally found the store the doors were locked. What restaurant shuts down from 3 to 5 on a Friday?

Hipster pasta makers, apparently.

It was lost to you what the appeal was, but if there was anything that you learned in the years as a young adult living on their own, it was that there were two sure-fire ways to bond with someone:

Get drunk

Eat good food while drunk

The latter was not necessarily limited to ‘good’ food - after a few shots to you a McNugget is like a Michelen meal. However you had a gut feeling that Kyungsoo wouldn’t be too welcoming if you showed up with tacos and tequila.

So did you wait around for an hour and a half just to order something you could have bought as Lean Cuisine?

You bet your ass you did.

Because nothing says I’m sorry I know we barely know each other but our friends are banging so were kind of stuck together quite like overpriced spaghetti and meatballs.

Adjusting the paper bag in your arms you walked up to the familiar door. Fumbling with the key you finally managed to wedge it open and stepped through the threshold.

Unlike the last time you entered the apartment, this time you weren’t met with silence. The lights were already on and the sound of the TV filtered throughout the apartment. Toeing off your shoes and arranging them neatly next to the pair by the door.

Arms full of take out you were all of a sudden nervous to turn the corner.

You are once again reminded of the fact that you are very much not close with this man and this will probably be the first time you ever said more than 4 sentences to him in one sitting. And now you are about to have dinner together, alone.

"You kind of have to approach him first, and then see how he responds. He just needs time to warm up to you, you'll see"

Kim Jongin don’t you fail me now.

Kyungsoo was sitting on the couch looking at his phone when you entered the living room. He immediately looked up and you watched his eyes widen marginally at your presence, clearly not expecting you back.

“I…” The mini speech you had been preparing during the 12 minute walk to the apartment died in your throat as you made eye contact with the dark haired man in front of you. The look he gave you left you momentarily thrown, it was a look that instantly made you think that he was annoyed with you with the way his eyebrows were drawn and the slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It wasn’t until you saw Kyungsoo’s eyes slide to the bag in your arms briefly, and the slightest flicker of curiosity gave you the courage to push on.

“Jongin is still my place,” you offered, and watched as his eyes flit back to meet your own.

“So,” you continued, shifting the bag in your arms, “I brought some dinner, as a peace offering of sorts, I guess. I hope you’re hungry, because they gave us enough garlic bread to feed a small Italian village.” you let out an awkward laugh.

Kyungsoo looked at you as if you had grown a second head. You didn’t blame him, but you were too far gone to back down now, even if the man was giving you a shoulder so cold it could freeze Sahara.

Making your way into the kitchen you placed the bag on the counter and began taking plates out of the cabinets, trying to keep your trembling hands busy.

Stupid, stupid, this whole idea was stupid.

As you were transferring the food from the containers you heard a slight rustling behind you.

You almost turned around when you didn’t hear anything else, but then a deep voice spoke up, albeit hesitantly.

“Is that from Giulietta’s?”

Stiffening a smile you did not respond to the man immediately when he materialized at your side.

Humming in affirmation you handed him his plate, which he took slowly, eyeing the food suspiciously.

I swear, this guy.

It wasn’t until you had dished out your own plate that you turned to him finally and gave him what you hoped was a friendly smile.

“So, have you watched the new season of Great British Bakeoff?”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Have a nice weekend? Actually don’t answer that, I really don’t want to know.” You didn’t even look up from your laptop as Jennie slid into the seat next to you at your morning lecture.

“Jongin has been doing ballet for years, I swear I never knew a body could bend like-”

“Ew. Gross Jennie, it’s 9AM”

“I have no concept of time anymore, the man wouldn’t let me sleep-”

“Jennifer, please, this is a sacred place.”

“This is Introduction to Environmental Science, most of the people here are too worried about cleaning baby ducks with Dawn soap than to eavesdrop”

Groaning you buried your head in your hands and took a deep breath. You really should have stopped by the Cafe next door and got some coffee, you aren’t nearly coherent enough to deal with this.

“Hey,” Jennie started, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Thanks again for stepping out and giving us the apartment for the weekend, I really appreciate it”

“You’re lucky I like you.

“Oh please-”

“-I barely got out of there alive.”

“Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

It wasn’t, actually.

Last night you and Kyungoo had sat in their living room and watched the Great British Bakeoff while you ate your dinner. You thanked whatever higher power there was that Kyungsoo was not a stickler for eating at the dinner table. Or maybe he was, but also thought this situation was incredibly awkward and also wanted some sort of distraction to avoid having to make small talk.

It wasn’t wholly unpleasant, you actually found yourself mildly enjoying yourself. He was a man of a few words but every now and again he would sprinkle in some choice commentary here and there, making noncommittal noises when a contestant added a new ingredient.

Odd fellow, this one.

He was polite enough to stick around for a couple of episodes before standing and offering to take your plate.

“Would you like something else? Jongin keeps ice cream sandwiches in the fridge”

“Oh...no, I’m ok thanks”

You were absolutely going to have one later.

Giving a curt nod, he walked back to the kitchen to wash the dishes. After a few minutes he returned to the living room, shifting uneasily on his feet. He had this thoughtful, intense expression, almost searching. For what, you had no idea but it made you fidget nonetheless, breaking eye contact and pick at imaginary lint on your sweater.

You were about to make some excuse about needing to go back to the library - because you sure as hell weren’t going to stick around here - when he mumbled something about having papers to grade before disappearing down the hall to his room without another word.

A few more moments passed before you let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Well, that’s that I guess.

“It went fine. He was...nice”

“Nice.”

“As nice as you can be with a stranger invading your space unnanounced.”

“So dramatic, it’s not like you two are strangers.”

“I don’t even think he knows my name.”

“We have all hung out loads of times before-”

“I have spoken to him more in the last 12 hours than I have in the last 12 months”

“And who’s fault is that? If anything, that's progress, you should be thanking me. Kyungsoo’s a hoot”

You leveled her with a look.

“...have I told you how much I love you today?”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A/N: Had this in my drafts for over 2 years. Hoping by posting I’ll be motivated to actually finish it~

#muse: kyungsoo #genre: romance #genre: smut #do kyungsoo #kyungsoo fanfic #kyungsoo imagine #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo #kyungsoo #length: chaptered

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15-dogs · 4 years ago

Text

chapter 2 - burning pile

pairing: fred weasley x reader

series masterlist

summary: your son asks you a tough question about his father, causing you to reflect on the exact moment you decided what you were going to tell him

warnings: children, the war, mentions of death, getting disowned, description of broken limbs, very light swearing, pregnancy mention

guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/L/N) = your last name

word count: 2.4K

a/n: if your url is crossed out that means i couldn’t tag you! if you want to be added to my taglist for this, either comment or send an ask :) hope you like it!!

●chapter 2●

“Everyone at school has one,” your son stated, “how come I don’t have a dad?”

You clenched your eyes shut. You knew this was coming at some point, but 8 years old seemed far too soon. You smiled softly at your son, Daniel, as you patted your lap. He clambered onto you and you ran your hand through his fiery red hair, wondering how you could explain something so broken to someone so young.

●●●

You ran into the war alone. You were part of no affiliation, no friends by your side, you only knew who you were fighting for.

Your son, nearly 2 years old at the time, was at your muggle neighbor’s flat. You couldn’t bring him to your muggle parents, not when they disowned you for finding out about your accidental pregnancy.

That’s why you were fighting. For him. For Danny. He needed to grow up in a world where blood status didn’t matter, where he didn’t need to be concerned about having a future or not. For Danny. You had to repeat it to yourself over and over again. For Danny. For Danny.

The war, like wars often were, was ugly. Rubble coating the grounds and bodies peeking out from under it. Being at such a broken place that was once filled with hope and joy was like seeing a photo go black and white.

You did your best to assist where you could, seeing people you went to school with falling lifeless onto the ground. They had families, they had parents that loved them. That was somebody’s child who was chasing death, and you were not about to let them get caught. You would jump in just in time to save them, feeling that was your best bet at contributing to the cause.

So you wandered the halls of the castle, seeking trouble. But, as it always does, trouble seems to find you. A Death Eater appeared from behind one of the many staircases, firing a spell at you. You barely dodged it, slipping behind a pillar, your heart pounding in your ears. You imagined what it would be like to have someone beside you but you couldn’t dwell, you were facing life and death.

You readied your wand before popping out from your hiding spot, firing a stunning spell at the man. He blocked it, but it sent him skyrocketing backwards into another hallway.

You had just found your target, there was no way you’d let him escape. You charged after where you had left him, only to find him missing. Your eyes locked onto a trail of blood that dotted from where you stood to a hallway, which just so happened to have sparks flying from it.

You rounded the corner to see two redheads battling two Death Eaters, your feet bolting to the ground.

It was Fred.

He was laughing at something Percy had said as they battled the men. He looked so...grown up. It had only been 2 years since you last saw him, but he looked different. He seemed genuinely happy.

But it wasn’t the time to focus on such trivial things, not when the Death Eater you were battling was sneaking up on Fred. Both men were unaware of the cloaked person sneaking up on them, so you decided you needed to take action.

Fred was Molly’s son. If she lost him, she’d be devastated, broken beyond repair. You knew what it was like to have a child, and if you lost him, you didn’t know what you’d do. Danny was all you had and Merlin forbid anyone were to take him away from you.

As those thoughts coursed through your mind, adrenaline coursed through your veins. You watched as the Death Eater you were tracking snuck up on Fred and Percy, your wand readied as you waited with bated breath for the two to move out of the way. However, as the man approached, the brothers didn’t move. Your whole body was itching with anxieties, your eyes flickering towards the shadows. But as the man raised his wand, you couldn’t wait any longer; there were human lives at stake, one of which just happened to be your ex boyfriend.

“Fred, Percy! Get down!” you shouted as you revealed yourself from your hiding space.

The Death Eater was distracted by your declaration, pausing in his mission to cast the spell. Fred, too, was distracted by your presence, leading to Percy dragging him onto the ground alongside himself. As soon as they were clear, you shot a spell at a pillar beside the man, the cracked tiles crashing down on his legs, trapping him underneath. He let out a shrill cry of pain, his face contorting into something awful that made you almost sorry for him. However, you didn’t want to take the risk that he was the devil in disguise, putting on an act just to garner sympathy from you.

“Stupefy!” you cried, freezing the man in his place.

As soon as the area was clear, you pocketed your wand and ran to the Weasley brothers. You slid onto the ground beside Percy, helping him up.

“Lovely to see you again, (Y/N),” he commented.

You cringed but put on your best smile. “Been a long time, Percy.”

You recalled the last time you’d seen the stern boy, the one time that Fred took you home for the holidays. His family had welcomed you in open arms and made you quite jealous; your family wasn’t so affectionate.

When you got kicked out of your own house at 18, you weren’t really shocked. Your mother had never truly approved of you and Fred so she had been expecting something of that “sinful nature” for years now.

When she had kicked you out, you couldn’t even gather most of your things as you found her burning them in the backyard in an old fire pit. You were only slightly shocked that time. Your mother had a saying: put all your troubles on a burning pile because when it’s all lit up, you’ll start to smile. That saying, of course, wasn’t true, nor did you think she took the meaning literally. When you walked outside to speak with her one last time— a regretful decision, you knew— her tears were illuminated on her cheeks from the flames that kissed her.

“You look good, seeing as how you helped Fred and I narrowly escape death, so thanks again for that.” Percy glanced down at Fred, kicking him with his foot. “Suppose you want to hear it from him, too.”

You half expected Fred to say something smart or, at the very least, notice that it was you who saved his life but he didn’t say anything. Come to think of it, he didn’t even move.

Your heart stopped beating in your chest. You fell to your knees, hovering over Fred’s lifeless body. No, no! You were supposed to be saving him! What did you do?

“Oh, Merlin,” whispered Percy, his pale skin turning even paler. He, too, sank to his knees, shaking Fred’s body. “Oh, shit. Fred! This isn’t funny! Wake up, please!”

As a parent, you had to be aware of your surroundings at all times. Danny was rarely out of your sight, and if he ever got hurt you knew the play by play of what happened. That little skill came in great use as you stared at Fred’s body in the patch of rubble.

“He wasn’t hit,” you assured Percy, “this is shock.” You held your middle and pointer fingers close together, pressing them under his jaw in search of his pulse. As soon as you felt the soft beating against the pads of your fingers, you let out a happy gasp.

“What is it? What are you doing?” Percy scrambled to replicate your actions, pushing your hand aside and replacing it with his.

“That’s his heartbeat. It’s faint but it’s there. We need to take him to the Great Hall so he can get patched up.”

Percy let out a relieved sigh, tears falling down his cheeks carelessly. With the sparks that were being shot from outside the castle, it illuminated his face just right so that it reminded you of your mother. In his hands was Fred— your problem— and the glaring reality became apparent that you desperately wanted to run away from it.

With the wards down at Hogwarts, you could apparate inside the castle. Unable to pick Fred up, you and Percy pushed him up against a wall, his head drooping onto his chest and back slouched.

“I’ll meet you in the Great Hall, if that’s okay?” Percy asked. You frowned. “I want to check on George, he’s been missing for a bit.”

“Yeah, go check on your brother, I can take care of Fred.” The words left a sour taste in your mouth but you couldn’t help but feel a familiar sense of warmth blossom in your chest as his name rolled off your tongue.

You reluctantly slid up next to him and slung his arm around your shoulder before apparating away. When you arrived in the Great Hall, nobody even realized you were there. You let Fred rest against a wall while you tracked down Pomfrey, who was hurriedly mixing some salve together, an unpleasant earthy aroma drifting your way.

“Madam Pomfrey, Madam Pomfrey!” You waved your hand wildly in the air, the color draining from her face at the sight of Fred behind you.

“Oh, Godric.” The words escaped her lips like a dying man’s last breath as she ran up to you two.

You took her wrist and ducked to meet her eyes, shaking your head. “He’s not dead, he’s just unconscious.”

Pomfrey gripped at her apron as she let out a shaky sigh. She lifted her head up to the sky, hoping that Merlin himself would dry her eyes. Once she had regained composure, she chuckled slightly at the insanity of the situation.

“Unconscious,” she repeated, pointing at you, “that’s something I can fix. Help me get him to that cot right there, dear.”

You nodded and helped Pomfrey drag him to the sheet on the ground right beside you. She rifled through her apron, the many pockets holding vials of wonders.

“I haven’t seen you in quite some time, Miss (Y/L/N),” Pomfrey noted. She paused, her eyes flickering up at you for just a moment. “Or is it missus, now?”

You flexed your hand in silent rage— you hated those questions. “No, I’m not married, but I appreciate your concern.”

Pomfrey frowned slightly, her eyes moving down towards your stomach before drifting back towards her pockets. She whispered a quiet “aha!” and pulled a long tube full of amber liquid out, uncorking and pouring it into Fred’s limp mouth.

You sank onto the floor beside Fred, resting your back against the wall. Pomfrey looked at you like a mother staring at a lost child. You finally met her gaze, brows knit together.

“How’s your kid?” she asked.

Your eyes flitted to Fred; he was still asleep. “He’s good. He’s safe. Staying with a muggle neighbor at her flat for the time being.”

“He?”

“Yeah, Daniel— Danny. He hates when I call him Daniel.”

A reluctant grin tugged at the corners of your lips. You reached into your pocket, pulling out a wallet-sized, moving photo of you and your son. He was a small boy with fiery ginger hair and loads of freckles covering his face. You spun him around before shrugging him onto your back, him hiding his laughter into your hair.

Pomfrey snorted. She glanced between the photo in her delicate hands, the sleeping boy beside you, and your sunken eyes. “He takes after his father.”

You pocketed the photo, scoffing. “He doesn’t need to know that.”

“Mr. Weasley or Danny?”

“Both.”

Pomfrey shook her head but not truly disapproving of you. You avoided her stare and your eyes happened to get caught on a person waving, causing Pomfrey to turn around as well. She nodded, understanding that they were beckoning her. “Would you stay here with him? I need to care for some others.”

“Won’t be a problem.”

She nodded a quick thanks before scurrying off to the other side of the Great Hall.

And then you were alone with Fred.

Your eyes roved over his body, mentally taking pictures of how he changed. No matter how hard you tried, the images of Fred the night before he left were seared in your mind. He looked different, like he’d seen things he never intended to. His eyes had a slight depth to them and his skin coarse with dirt.

You didn’t really mean to, but your heart has a funny way of dictating things. You reached your hand out, linking your pinky with his. As soon as you touched, you felt a spark in your chest. No sooner did you touch him than you jumped away.

Your mother might have been right. Problems need to be thrown away because there was no other way that you’d escape them. You needed not to feel such a thing— you were supposed to hate Fred— but a simple touch disproved that.

You spotted every member of the Weasley family at the other end of the hall, their eyes scanning the room for Fred. You looked down at your ex, a sense of sympathy tugging at your heart as you slipped out of the Great Hall unnoticed, leaving Fred to be in the care of people who actually loved him, or at least could admit it.

You needed to burn every memory, every thought, every feeling that was Fred Weasley. Because if you didn’t burn them, he’d be the death of you.

●●●

“It’s rare, Danny,” you began, dotting every freckle that lined his arms, “but some people just don’t have dads. They weren’t born with them.”

“But Ethan has a dad and he also only lives with his mum!”

He yanked his arm away from you, an oncoming tantrum arriving. You sighed, tugging him closer to you and brushing his unruly hair with your fingers.

“But we’re special,” you whispered, “some people don’t have dads because they don’t need them.”

His displaced anger mellowed, his wide, amber eyes staring up at you, full of hope. “So we don’t need a dad?”

“No, we don’t need a dad, so we don’t have one.”

You never thought that you could do it, but you had; you had erased Fred Weasley from your life. It was then you knew that your mother was right: seeing everything you had with him burn into ashes really did make you smile.

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

taglist: @whiz-bangs78 @the-romanian-is-bae @witch-and-a-half @pineapplesandpinas @bellaiscool @gsvshsjsbs

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aceofspadegrass · 4 years ago

Text

Blueberry Pancakes Taste Great

Characters: Tatta Koudai, Niragi Suguru, Chishiya Shuntaro.

Genre: Fluff. Tatta is making pancakes. And eats them. :D

1.5k words

Tatta is allowed to vibe. He deserves it.

It was a normal day, people going around and doing whatever they pleased within the Beach, drinking and partying away their woes and stress. This even included Tatta, who was wandering around looking for something to do. Of course, he could have always tried to go find Arisu, or perhaps hang out with some of the people he befriended there at the Beach, but Arisu was busy doing something and he didn’t feel like finding anyone else at the moment.

He passes by the kitchen, and he glances at the door, his tummy lightly grumbling. It couldn’t hurt to make himself something to eat, could it?

Tatta smiles to himself, and he heads inside, quickly going to the pantries and fridge to see what they had. It was decently stocked, but of course it had to be, people needed to eat, and nothing gets people more than starvation. He pulls out a bottle of instant pancake mix, the kind that only needed water to activate and a good shake. “ Yeah, this should work.” Tatta says to himself, and he goes to grab a bottle of water. Opening the pancake bottle, he pours in the needed amount of water, then snaps the pancake bottle shut. He makes sure the bottle was completely sealed to avoid making a huge mess, and with a satisfied hum, he starts shaking it like he was trying to get the last few spurts of ketchup out of the bottle.

It takes him a few minutes, but finally Tatta fed satisfied that it was shaken up enough, setting it down as he glances to the stove. Which he quickly realized that he hadn’t even touched yet. “ Oh- I forgot to turn it on- And grab a pan!” He chuckles to himself for this minor mistake, and goes to grab a decent and clean pan, setting it over the stove. He switches it on, the stove clicking and then bursting to life, and Tatta waits patiently until the pan was heated up enough.

In the meantime, he putters around the kitchen in search of any toppings. He finds a carton of blueberries that looked okay, and he beams widely, setting them down next to the pancake bottle. “ Blueberry pancakes it is!” He chirps, and he goes back to looking around for other things.

In the end, he finds some honey, which was a treat in of itself, Tatta setting the bear shaped container down on the countertop. He goes back to the pan and hovers his hand over the metal. It radiated heat, and Tatta turns down the heat a little so he wouldn’t accidentally burn his pancake mix. He quickly grabs a plate for easier transfer, and with the pancake bottle in one hand and a spatula in the other, he was ready for pancake making.

The process itself was easy: Tip the nozzle over the pan and squeeze a pancake amount of pancake, quickly drop a few blueberries in before it cooks too long, then flip. Repetitive and easy to follow, and a little fun as well. Tatta was absolutely vibing to himself making several pancakes, and even switched it up with a few plain ones. They were still beautiful as the ones with the blue decor.

Finally, the bottle ran dry, and Tatta had a rather decent size of pancakes cheerfully settled on the plate, Tatta shutting off the oven and smiling to himself, his tummy grumbling in anticipation.

He leaves the pan on the stove, but does dump the spatula into the sink to clean up later. As much as he wanted to clean it *now*, he figured it’d be easier to clean up after he finished his pancakes. Maybe someone else may come and eventually clean it, which was equally as okay, although Tatta felt a little bad having a mess for someone else to take care of.

But right now, he was ready for some pancakes. He grabs the bottle of honey and pops open the cap, tilting it over the pancakes. The honey was slow, almost tantalizing and teasing as it fell from the head of the bear, until finally it hit the pancakes, Tatta swaying the bottle back and forth to get a nice and succulent drizzle. It took multiple swipes and Tatta getting a little distracted by how good it looked before he was satisfied and put away the honey bottle, picking up his masterpiece of pancakes with honey drizzle.

Tatta grabs a fork and ends leaves the kitchen, deciding to stroll a little while he ate. It wasn’t bad, the pancakes cooked perfectly and tasting absolutely delicious for some instant mix. The blueberries gave the right pop of extra flavour, and the sweetness of the honey made Tatta smile happily as he wandered through the Beach with his pancakes.

Suprisingly, not a lot of people were inside the building, the majority likely outside or at the more ‘fun’ areas, so Tatta got to have a peaceful stroll through the Beach. Somehow, he ends up near the upper levels, where he could see the lobby below, but he continues to consume his pancakes.

Now, as he did, he spots a familiar dark shirt coming from the other end of the hall, and he makes sure to not attract the attention of the other man, but unfortunately for him, he was spotted, and suddenly a hand was on his shoulder, Tatta looking up to Niragi smirking at him.

“ Now what the hell are you doing, eh?” Niragi asks, Tatta smiling and slightly lifting the plate of pancakes as if to show the other man. “ Eating pancakes. They’re actually pretty good!” Tatta tells him with a smile, hoping that he wouldn’t get on Niragi’s nerve enough for him to use that rifle the other always carried.

Niragi looks down at the plate, and scoffs, glancing up at Tatta again. “ Oh yeah? And wandering around so aimlessly? Weirdo.” Tatta just continues to smile at Niragi, and cuts a little of the pancake, taking a bite. Niragi just continues to stare, then scoffs again, backing up and looking at the shorter male. “ And is it good?” Tatta nods, and takes another bite, chewing casually. It was very much good. Niragi looks down at the pancakes again, and raises an eyebrow.

“ Why the fuck are you eating it like that.” “ Eating it like what?” Niragi points to the pancake. “ You’re cutting from the top layer to the bottom and leaving the lower sections whole. What the fuck kind of person eats pancakes like that?” Tatta looks down at the pancakes, then shrugs. “ I mean, they’re pancakes, and some of them are blueberry, see? So I’m not really missing a lot if I eat them however I want. The top has honey, but some are on the side so I can always mop those up-“ A hand pushes against his shoulder, and Tatta stumbles back, Niragi sneering at him.

“ Shut up, you’re making me bored just listening to you. Anyways, give me one.” Tatta blinks. What did he say? Give him a pancake? Niragi just stares expectantly, and Tatta unfreezes, nodding. “ Uh, yeah, I guess I can go mane some more-“ Niragi scowls, and takes a step closer, Tatta instinctively taking a step back. “ Do you have cotton in your ears, hat boy? I said give me a pancake.” “ H-huh? Like….. from the plate?” Niragi nods slowly as if Tatta was dumb, staring directly at him. Tatta couldn’t help but be a little curious though, asking why. That earns him an eye roll from Niragi. “ Just hand one over before I get pissed off.” Niragi orders, and Tatta quickly nods, not wanting to get hurt because of some pancakes. So he ends up handing the entire plate over, and Niragi takes Tatta’s fork and flips off the layer Tatta was eating off of, and quite literally peels off the next layer, smirking to himself like something was funny. To Tatta’s surprise, Niragi actually put the other half-eaten layer back on to the stack, and even if the honey kind of got even more on the plate, it was still pretty fine, Niragi handing the plate and fork back to Tatta. He starts to walk away with the sole pancake in his hand, Tatta watching him leave.*

“ Uh, what are you….” Tatta didn’t get to finish as Niragi looks over the edge, smiling down at something.

“ Hey! Wet boiled egg bitch, up here!” Niragi shouts with a hint of laughter in his voice. Tatta takes a bite of pancake, but he leans over out of a simple curiosity. Below them was that Chishiya guy, Tatta recognizing him from the tag game he played once.

He couldn’t hear anything, but Chishiya did look up, and Niragi throws the pancake, which lands directly on Chishiya’s face, who stands there practically frozen as Niragi runs away laughing manically and saying something about how stupid he looked. Tatta blinks in mild confusion and just quietly eats another pierce of pancake goodness as Chishiya slowly removes the pancake from his face, taking a bite and walking away. Tatta wasn’t exactly sure, but for some reason he felt a little unnerved watching the white hoodied man walk away. Just a tad. So he eats another pancake in an attempt to push down the feeling.

Why does he feel like Chishiya was going to get revenge on Niragi all of the sudden?

#aib #alice in borderland #aib fanfic #alice in borderland fanfic #tatta kodai #niragi suguru #chishiya shuntaro #tatta deserves the world #just a man making some blueberry pancakes #tatta deserves more recognition and this is the only way he's getting it #again we're pretending they have access to fresh fruits and stuff #it could've been a tatta only fic #but the idea of niragi slapping a pancake on chishiya's face was too good to pass up #it had to have made a pretty decent slapping noise #chishiya is gonna murder niragi now #tatta just wants his pancakes in peace #ignore the fact i randomly got really descriptive of honey pouring

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years ago

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Day 4: Anxceit

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 4: There is a trail of color only you can see that marks out where your soulmate has been.

Content warning: parental death from heart attack (none of the sides), homophobia, religious themes regarding said homophobia, concert, minor sensory overload (Virgil is technically autistic but it’s not explicit).

Word count: 3.3k

The last thing Janus Natter had ever wanted to do was return to his hometown.

It only held bad memories that stemmed from living in a small town, of homophobia and school bullies and dirty looks from neighbours. Granted, he’d never actually been kicked out of his home after coming out, but word spread like a wildfire and the people in his neighborhood weren’t the most open minded. His mom didn’t talk to him; she blamed herself, and there were all too many nights he walked past her room and heard her praying and crying for the repentance of her baby boy.

So the moment he turned eighteen, he was out of there. Waved goodbye to the woman who stiffened every time he tried to hug her and moved halfway across the country, starting a new life for himself in a rundown apartment and a minimum wage intern job and not regretting it for a second. Everything seemed better for a while. A promotion followed a couple years after, and his apartment was upgraded to one that actually had a separate kitchen and dining room so he wasn’t eating on the counter anymore. Until he got a call from one of his aunts at three am, four days after Christmas.

Obviously, he cried when his mom died. He broke down as soon as he hung up the phone, sitting on the edge of his bed and letting the news slowly integrate into his system. Sure, they hadn’t had the best relationship, but she’d been a great mom up until he admitted the truth that drove a wedge between them. And he’d never really blamed her, knowing his own internal homophobia would only be heightened in her. But it still hurt that she hadn’t reached out whatsoever when she was put into the hospital after the first heart attack. Maybe he would have been there when the second one hit and been able to save her. Or at least say goodbye.

The funeral was rough. None of his family bothered to talk to him, and the one little cousin that ran up to give him a hug was swiftly pulled away. Not like he was expecting much else, but c’mon. It’s not infectious. At least no one commented on him crying again.

He was on the first flight back out, and after a couple days off work to recenter himself, things seemed to back to normal. It wasn’t as if any part of his daily routine was disturbed. He wasn’t missing any motherly catch up calls, no little packages, no life advice, that he’d never gotten before, so it was almost easy to pretend that nothing had changed. Until he got another call.

This time it was his uncle, calling in the middle of his work day, to tell him that he needed to come back home and clear out his mom’s house. He was reluctant at first. Why couldn’t someone else do it? What was so important that he had to do it? But the family seemed determined to distance themselves from the house as much as possible, and when his uncle insisted that “we’re all still in mourning, Janus,” as if to imply he wasn’t upset at the death of his own mother, he hung up the phone with a curt agreement to come back as soon as possible. He later got a text that stated the house was going to be put on the market in the coming week, so he needed to get there soon.

That’s what led to him exiting a cab three days later in front of his childhood home, suitcase in hand, with a disgruntled expression. The house was much less threatening than it had always seemed when he lived there, unassuming and indistinguishable from the other houses on the block, but the memories of lonely nights of crying himself to sleep and craving a hug from his mother were at the forefront of his mind. You’re never going to get another hug from her. He quickly snapped out of it before the tears could rise, thanking the cab driver and walking up to the front door.

His mother had taken his key when he left, claiming it was to give to a neighbour to water her flowers when she went on a cruise or something equally far fetched, but Janus figured she just wouldn’t want to be surprised by him visiting. This was, afterall, the first time she’d been free from his disappointing presence in years. Luckily, they’d always kept a spare under the plant by the door, now wilted and crusty and dropping leaves when he leaned it over, hand slapping the concrete underneath.

Nothing.

He picked it up off the ground entirely, sweeping the ground directly under it and then scanning the surrounding area with growing irritation. Had someone taken it after the funeral? How the hell did they expect him to get into the house? Oh yeah, come clean the house but we’re gonna take the key! Fuckers.

A loud crash from behind the door startled him enough to drop the plant, the ceramic pot smashing on the stairs. Whoops. Another sound from inside, something that sounded like a chair scraping on the tiled kitchen floor, and Janus realized with mounting horror that the front door was open a crack. His family had all claimed to not be able to even come near the place, so… Fantastic. Someone had broken into a death house and he was going to have to deal with it.

The wise choice would have been to call the police.

So Janus pushed the door open and walked in, ignoring the sudden flurry of memories in favor of following the source of the noise.

“Hello?” Yeah, smart, Janus, that always works in the horror movies!

Another scrape in the steadily approaching kitchen, accompanied by muffled swearing. As an almost last thought, Janus picked up the first small object he could feel on the entry table, acknowledging its heft and hoping it would be a suitable weapon without taking his eyes from the hall. Here goes nothing.

Then, in a move to top all stupidity, he turned into the room in a whirl, hoisting the weapon above his head, ready to beat down on whoever was rifling through his dead mother’s drawers. Only to freeze.

“Remus?”

“Janus, what the fuck!” The statement was said with a surprising amount of glee. Remus was the only person he knew who could turn swears into something joyful.

Janus turned his gaze to the floor and the chair Remus was standing on, surrounded by a pile of glass shards. It looked to be the remnants of the entire glass collection, if the amount was anything to go by. Remus gave another shuffle of his chair, the loud shriek sounding again, as he tried to scooch closer without stepping on the shards in his bare feet.

“Why are you holding a banana?”

It took him a solid second to process Remus’ question before he looked down at his own hand, his fingers curled around the metal banana from the decorative fruit bowl in the entry.

“No reason. Why are you in my house, destroying my dinnerware?”

“Help me not step in glass and I’ll tell you.”

Finding a broom was easy; it was still in the same place it always had been before he left. Cleaning the glass took longer, what with Remus’ flurry of questions and Janus’ focus between answering him, sweeping, and not whacking Remus on the head with the broom handle. Apparently it didn’t take long for him to become annoying again.

Still, the grinning man had been the one and only reason he’d had trouble saying goodbye to the town, the only person who still gladly befriended him after coming out. He hated to admit how much he’d missed him.

When the floor was clear, Remus hesitantly stepped down off the chair, wiggling his toes on the ground.

“Why did you take your shoes off when you came in? It’s not like anyone’s gonna be pissed if you track mud in anymore.”

“I didn’t wear any.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

Remus shared a softer look with him, the manic smile drooping, “Hey, I’m sorry about your mom. That’s rough.”

“Yeah,” Was Janus’ incredibly eloquent response. He shook his head, and Remus accepted the subject change with no questions, “So why are you here?”

“Well, I heard you were coming to clear the place out eventually, so I thought I’d get here early and start. Help you out.”

“And…”

“... And snoop around a little bit.”

“There it is.”

“Not like, bad stuff! Just… I don’t know. Deep, dark, family secrets.”

Janus sighed, taking in the kitchen for the first time since entering. “The biggest secret this family tries to hide is me.”

“Dark.”

“Mmhm.” He gasped as two arms suddenly wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into the most physical contact he’d had in… years.

“Welcome back, Natter.”

“Yeah, well,” He cleared his throat of voice cracks before continuing, “I only got two days off work. So I’m not staying long. I somehow need to completely clear this place out in 48 hours,” He ran a hand down his face, pulling away from the hug reluctantly, “You wouldn’t actually be interested in helping, would you?”

It was more of a statement than a question, but Remus ignored it completely. “You’re only here two days? Inconceivable!”

“You’ve been watching Princess Bride again.”

“We gotta hang out!” The pleading expression on Remus’ face was almost enough to sell him on the idea.

“Weren’t you listening? I literally don’t have the time.”

“I’m going to a concert tonight in Brookton. Come with me!” Remus continued as if he hadn’t spoken, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Just one night, Jan. Pleeeease? I’ll even come here and help you the rest of the time.”

With an affectionate snort, he shook his head, “As fun as that sounds, I’m broke.”

“I can get you in.”

“You’re not paying for me.”

“Who said anything about paying?”

Janus raised an eyebrow, though it was more like how a parent would scold a child than surprise. They’d always gotten into trouble together as kids, and this was just… a level up, in a way. Not that he condoned it.

“I know one of the security guards. He’s one of my hookups, and he happens to owe me a favor or two.”

Wait. “You’re gay?”

“Shit, I didn’t tell you?!” Remus shrieked, grabbing Janus’ hand and dragging him to the front door, key waving in his face, “I’ll tell you all about it on the way. C’mon, it’s an hour drive.”

Well, looks like he didn’t have a say in it. And he’d be lying if he claimed he hadn’t missed hanging out with his old best friend… or just a friend at all, really.

“Fine, but you’re stopping by your place to grab shoes!”

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

It wasn’t a small venue by any means. It wasn’t Beyonce big, but enough to know that if he lost track of Remus, he’d be fucked. In his rush out the door so soon after a morning of traveling, he’d forgotten his charger and his phone was conveniently dead. Janus kept a careful eye on Remus, following the bob of his neon green and black jacket through the crowd and only distantly wondering what band they were actually about to see. The gremlin kept pushing through, ignoring the annoyed shouts of people he shoved, leaving Janus to hastily apologize each time as he followed in his wake.

When Remus slowed just for a moment, stretching on his tiptoes to find a good spot over the sea of heads, Janus lunged forward and grabbed his sleeve. The taller man raised an eyebrow.

“As fun as it would be to get lost, I’m not in the mood.”

“Ah,” Remus’ eyes settled on a spot near the stage, one that Janus couldn’t see being a head shorter than him, “Good timing. Hang on tight.”

And hang on he did, because Remus fully embodied the physicality of a snow plow and plunged back into the crowd with new ferocity. Janus just closed his eyes and blindly let himself be led, letting the bubbling breathiness of a laugh escape his mouth. It had been too long since he’d just been able to have fun like this, without the threat of work and bills in his peripheral. The chatter was deafening in the best way possible, drowning out his worried thoughts, and the flashing lights that were still visible through his closed eyelids was invigorating. The promise for more elated him.

When Remus finally stopped, Janus didn’t get the memo on time and ran into his back full force. He grunted and opened his eyes, focused on his throbbing nose, before realizing how close to the stage they really were. The taller man was staring down at him, grinning maniacally, seemingly impressed with their placement as well.

Then a flash to the side caught his attention, and his throat went dry.

“Remus, look me in the eye and tell me you see that.”

His eyebrows scrunched in confusion before he followed Janus’ line of sight, seeing nothing but the dense crowd. “See what?”

“The light, the light trail…” Janus inhaled sharply through his nose, grip on the other’s sleeve tightening, “It’s my soulmate. He’s here somewhere.”

“Your soulmate? Seriously?”

“Yeah, I…”

“Well, fuck! You’re welcome, eh, Natter? I told you you should have come!” He gave Janus’ arm a light punch, smile widening. “Go find him!”

Janus seemed hesitant, eyes flickering between Remus and the deep purple light trail, weaving between the people and heading towards the back of the venue. “How will I find you again after?”

“That’s a problem for future you. Go, you idiot!”

“Okay, okay! I’m going! Just don’t leave without me!”

He was off before he could hear Remus’ answer, ducking under raised arms and trying his hardest to follow the quickly dissolving trail. Now that he had his eye on it, it had decided that it was time to disappear, and he was quickly losing sight of it.

No, scratch that, it was definitely getting brighter now. And more concrete around the edges, instead of fading out. Was he close? He weaved past another small group of people, eyes following the purple line until-

There.

Holy shit.

He was stunning, that was the first thing Janus noticed. The purple trail stopped at him, covering him with a faint lilac aura before fading completely, content with it’s work. At first he thought the slight tint to the other’s hair was left over from the soulmark, before the lights switched and he realized, no, his hair was dyed purple. The most eye catching thing, though, besides his makeup, was the bulky pair of… were those headphones on his ears? At a concert? Granted, it hadn’t started yet, but still.

Apparently he was standing in one place for too long amongst the constantly moving hoard of people, and his stillness got the attention of the boy in front of him. He gasped sharply when they made eye contact, shocked from what Janus assumed to be the soulmark that probably surrounded him. And then he started hyperventilating. Bad.

“Shit! Okay, hey, calm down, okay? It’s fine-”

He was cut off by a loud riff of an electric guitar, almost immediately drowned out by the screaming fans that surged forward like a tidal wave. The boy in front of him curled in on himself, hands pressing into the headphones around his ears in an attempt to drown out the noise. Despite his more cautionary side, Janus reached forward and took his arm, guiding him gently towards the door.

“Let’s go outside and talk, alright?”

Maybe following a stranger outside alone wasn’t the smartest idea but… Virgil had seen the soul mark, a gentle yellow glow around this man that quickly dissipated, leaving behind a man sharing an equally shocked look on his face. So that had to mean he wasn’t totally bad, right? Either he was his soulmate or some kind of guardian angel, and neither of those were necessarily bad options.

As soon as they stepped outside the main arena, it was as if the tight band around Virgil’s chest loosened. Not gone completely, but enough that he could catch his breath. He reached up and pulled his ear defenders off his head, relieved that the quiet was enough that he didn’t need them anymore. They were definitely a life saver, but sometimes the way they muffled noise was indescribably uncomfortable as well.

The man noticed his immediate relief, letting go of his guiding arm and slowing his pace so Virgil could walk beside him.

“I’m Janus.”

“Virgil.”

In a blur, they ended up outside the venue, sitting on the curb directly outside the main doors. Virgil was fiddling with his ear muffs, eyes trained on the inky darkness surrounding them. Besides the dull resounding of the bass echoing from inside and steady stream of traffic just out of their view, it was reasonably quiet.

“So, you live in Brookton?” Janus finally broke the comfortable silence, leaning back on his hands.

“Yeah. Not for long, though.”

“Oh?”

“Planning to get out soon. Don’t know where, don’t know how. But I’m not much of a ‘small town’ guy.”

“Brookton counts as a small town?”

Virgil hummed, finally placing the head gear down beside him and closing his eyes, breathing in the smell of fast food from the variety of food trucks around the area. It was a strange cacophony of oil and salt, oddly enticing even if just the scent was enough for his skin to break out.

“What about you? From around here?”

“Sort of?” He explained his story in as few words as possible, flying over his mom’s general unacceptance and her death, and the fact that he had to clean out her house in two days. “Less than that now, I guess. One and a half. It’s gonna be hell.” His head fell into his hands, fingers rubbing at the temples as if to soothe the headache he was expecting.

Virgil was a good listener, nodding along to the right parts and avoiding those stupid sympathetic looks he was so tired of. It was a nice relief to actually feel listened to, not pitied.

“My parents are kind of similar. It doesn’t feel like I have much to complain about, though, because… I mean, they didn’t kick me out. Don’t openly hate on me. But it still sucks. They don’t even acknowledge me half the time.”

“Exactly! And then you see people who have it worse, and it makes you feel like a piece of shit for feeling upset!”

“Good match, universe.” Virgil flopped onto his back, purple hair splayed out on the concrete. “It’s the subtle homophobia for me.”

“Ah, you’re a ‘meme person’.”

“Sucks for you, you’re stuck with me now.”

“I’ll manage,” Janus joined him on the ground, suddenly disgusted that he was still in the same outfit that he’d flown in today. He hated the smell of plane, and he must reek of it. But Virgil didn’t seem to mind his general disheveled appearance as he made an abstract comment about the moon being full today, and how that generally meant bad things. Janus made the mistake of asking him what he meant, which turned into a full blown lecture on mythology and cryptids, one that Virgil didn’t have the capability to control. It made him smile though, seeing the emo so utterly delighted to explain it, and he realized with a start that he was going to get to enjoy this man for the rest of his life. Two people who could talk, matched with a person who loved to listen equally as much. Virgil had been right. Good match, universe.

#virgil definitely comes over and helps him clean the house the next day #but i wanted to leave it here #lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #soulmate september #soulmateseptember #ts soulmate au #janus sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #anxceit #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction

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yoon-bug · 5 years ago

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The IKEA Test (M) | KSJ

pairing: seokjin x reader

genre: established relationship au || smut, fluff

word count: 9.1k

summary: One review on IKEA’s website called the BRIMNES bed frame the leading cause of divorce due to its difficult assembly. You and Seokjin had laughed when you read it. Now, you weren’t so sure.

warnings: dom!seokjin, sub!reader, sir kink, use of slut/whore, dirty talk, spanking, but spanking with a belt 😳, impact play, oral (f receiving), orgasm control, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, fingering, unprotected sex, hair pulling, IKEA-induced frustration, non-sexual talk of pegs and holes, seokjin ultimately being Best Boyfriend Material™

notes: inspired by how I’ve never felt more grateful to be single than when I had to assemble some IKEA furniture. I promise I’m not getting commission from IKEA for product placement.

When you had told Hoseok that you wouldn’t be able to hang out this weekend because you and Seokjin had plans to assemble your new bed frame, he had laughed at you and said that it was nice to have known the pair of you as a couple.

You had taken his joke in stride and laughed with him, knowing that for any couple to truly go the distance, they would need to pass the IKEA test: make it through an IKEA store and assemble an IKEA product without breaking up.

You and Seokjin had passed the first part of the IKEA test with flying colors. You both had easily agreed to purchase the BRIMNES storage bed, liking how the drawers underneath the bed would help you maximize the space in your bedroom. Although, your easy decision might have more to do with the fact that you had simply ordered your bed frame online rather than spending a whole afternoon in IKEA.

All that was left was for you to actually assemble the bed frame. Surely the two of you could do that.

Or so you had thought.

But now, you were only moments away from ripping up the all but useless instructions to shreds before doing the same to your boyfriend.

“Why are you working on the drawers?” you asked through clenched teeth, the instruction booklet crinkling in your hands as your grip on it grew even tighter. “That’s the literal last step!”

“I think the last step is to break this bed in properly,” Seokjin teased.

“There’s not going to be a bed to break in if we don’t follow the instructions,” you snapped, your frustration growing when he only shrugged. “We’re supposed to start with the bed rails.”

He nodded his head in that wishy-washy way that drove you crazy, the way that said you might be right but that ultimately it didn’t matter.

“We’re gonna have to put the drawers together eventually. Might as well just do it now. And it’s so much easier than dealing with all of this.” He gestured to the stacks of wood laid on the floor around your bedroom.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. You then forced yourself to loosen your grip on the instructions.

Earlier, the two of you had just barely managed to avoid an argument when you had insisted on counting and sorting all of the screws, bolts, and pegs before starting to actually assemble anything over Seokjin’s objections that you could just do so as you went. Disagreeing with him about the drawers would only heighten tensions even further.

It was just a bed frame. No need to start a fight over a bed frame.

“Fine,” you agreed stiffly and as much as it pained you, you flipped to the last pages of the instruction booklet.

But as you started to read through the instructions for the drawers — or rather look at the pictures of instructions since there were no words — Seokjin continued to move ahead and try to assemble them without waiting for you to finish doing so.

“Can you just wait until I finish reading the instructions?” you asked, but your tone had it coming out as a demand rather than a question. Hearing how it sounded, you tacked on a quick, “Please.”

He looked up at you with a raised eyebrow at how forced your “please” was and you gave him a tight smile in return.

“Why don’t you read the instructions and then tell me what to do,” he suggested. “I know how much you love to do that.”

His own eyes widened at the passive-aggressive remark that had slipped out and he paused his attempt to shove a wooden peg into one of the holes to look at you nervously. It seemed both of you realized that you were coming close to failing the IKEA test and you hadn’t even started to assemble the bulk of the bed frame.

Trying to push through the awkward tension, you cleared your throat and set down the instructions in front of you. You then reached for a drawer front and its corresponding bolts that needed to be inserted into the holes on the back. Following your lead, he returned to his own drawer.

“Why did we have to get such a difficult bed anyway? There are so many pieces,” he whined.

“Well, it’s too late to do anything about it now,” you sighed, internally agreeing with him. If you had known it would be so complicated, you might have just settled for a regular bed frame and put plastic storage bins underneath it.

As you stuck the final bolt into the back of the drawer face, you let yourself revel in the accomplishment you felt from completing such a small task. With so much still left ahead of you, every win mattered.

You glanced over at Seokjin as you leaned forward to grab the drawer’s side panel from the pile in front of you and froze when you saw him trying to shove a peg into the hole where the bolt belonged.

“Stop. You’re putting a peg into a screw hole,” you told him, reaching out to correct him only for him to move the drawer face away from your grasp.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he grinned, but otherwise ignored you as he continued to try and push the small wooden piece into the wrong hole.

“I’m serious. You’re gonna break something,” you said, but it only seemed to urge him on.

“What am I gonna break? The hole?” he scoffed and you grabbed the instructions to show him the diagram, pointing to where the drawing clearly showed a bolt was supposed to go into the hole where he was currently trying to shove the peg.

“Just look!”

With a roll of his eyes so exaggerated that you were surprised they didn’t fall out of his head, he finally looked at the page in front of him, continuing to mindlessly try and insert the peg into the hole as he did so. His brow furrowed as he looked over the diagram and you could see the realization dawn on him that you were right.

“Oh.”

Unfortunately, just as he saw that he was doing it incorrectly, the peg finally slipped into the hole.

“Shit,” he muttered. He quickly tried to remove it, only to find that it was stuck.

“Seokjin!” you cried and it took every ounce of self-control to keep yourself from wadding up the instructions and throwing them (along with the drawer face in front of you) at his head.

“It’s fine. It’s fine,” he assured you, his voice tense as he continued to unsuccessfully pull on the peg. Clearly, things were not fine.

“It’s not fine! We can’t just buy a replacement part if you break the drawer!” you snapped. He grumbled something under his breath and you decided it was easier to ignore it altogether. You stood up and walked over to the toolbox that was sitting on your dresser, rifling through it until you found the pliers you were looking for.

“Here,” you said, your tone icy as you thrust them out for him to take. “Use these.”

“I don’t need pliers,” he waved you off and your grip on them grew tighter. He stubbornly continued to tug on the peg, now trying to twist it and hope it would loosen. “Don’t worry. You know that I’m an expert at pulling out.”

His playful words were undercut by both the frustration on his face and the way he let go of the peg to run an aggravated hand through his shaggy hair.

“Can’t you ever take anything seriously?” you asked, your voice rising in volume and your patience on the verge of snapping.

“Can’t you stop taking everything seriously?” he bit back, his own patience seeming to run almost as thin. “It’s just a fucking bed frame.”

“Exactly. It’s just a bed frame and I can’t even trust you to do that.” You crossed your arms over your chest in displeasure. “I didn’t sign up to be your nanny.”

“Are you sure about that? Because you seem to really get off on being so controlling.” Your jaw dropped at the insult. “I mean, can you stop being so uptight for five minutes or will you collapse the moment you pull that stick out of your ass?”

Your grip on the pliers still in your hand was now so tight that your fingers were starting to hurt.

“Oh, I’m sorry—” you began with narrowed eyes, only to be cut off when he gave a dramatic gasp.

“You know how to say sorry?!”

“—I’m sorry that I’m too busy being the only adult in the relationship to have any sort of fun,” you continued, raising your voice to be heard over him. “If it wasn’t for that stick up my ass, then there would be no one to make sure that our rent wasn’t late or that our bills were getting paid or that we weren’t investing our money in some multi-level marketing scheme!”

“Hey! How was I supposed to know that Complete Citchen Classics wasn’t a legitimate company?” he asked, acting like you had taken a low blow.

You tossed your hands up in exasperation.

“Fucking Google! That’s how you were supposed to know. Or maybe it’s that they spelled ‘kitchen’ with a ‘c’!”

Pride seemingly wounded from being reminded of how easily he had almost been conned, he went back to forcefully trying to pull out the peg with a scowl.

“Will you just use the pliers?!” you shouted, shaking them furiously in your hand.

“I don’t need — Oh. Oops.”

His eyes moved back and forth from the broken wooden piece in his fingers to the hole where the other half of the broken piece was still stuck — only now there was no longer anything sticking out for you to get a grip on to remove the piece.

It was strange. It was like all of your emotions and frustrations had melted away into pure white. You had never felt this sense of calm before. But as you watched him try to use his nails to pull what was left of the wooden piece from the hole, you realized that it wasn’t calmness.

It was anger so intense that it eclipsed even your own ability to comprehend it.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!" you yelled.

He at least had the decency to look embarrassed, but it did little to soothe your temper. In fact, you felt like if you were in the same room as him any longer then you might have an aneurysm.

“For fuck’s sake, I should have just assembled it myself!” you snapped as you stormed out of the bedroom, throwing the pliers back in the toolbox as you passed it.

The empty IKEA boxes in the living room only stoked your furor the second you caught sight of them. You hurried out of the apartment, grabbing your purse and keys as you went before slamming the door behind you as loudly as you could.

You ended up at your neighborhood movie theatre, mindlessly scrolling through the automated kiosk in front of you to find the movie with the longest running time. You sighed in relief when you saw that there was one that was almost three hours long. From the picture of the movie poster on the screen, it seemed to be some sort of action epic.

Perfect. Maybe watching a bunch of cars and planes exploding for the next three hours would be the perfect outlet for your anger. Satisfied with your decision, you bought a ticket for the showing that was about to start.

You paused as you began to put away your credit card. After a moment, you bought a second ticket for the next showing as well. Six hours of some dumb action movie should be enough to get Seokjin’s idiocy off your mind.

That and the largest tub of popcorn they sold at the concessions stand. You frowned at the long line, knowing you would miss the beginning of the movie, before realizing that you would just catch it during the second showing.

When you finally did quietly slip into the theatre and your seat, you almost immediately found yourself grateful for the mindlessness of the plot. It fully satisfied your need for something that didn’t require you to think any deeper than wondering how the nameless hero would escape capture yet again.

And when the film ended and the next showing began, the thin plot allowed you the opportunity to reflect back on your argument with Seokjin with a cooler head.

It was rare for the two of you to fight, although that was more due to his easygoing nature rather than how harmonious you were as a couple.

You knew you were difficult to be in a relationship with. You were as strong-willed and assertive in your personal life as you were in your professional life. And while your ambitious nature and need for perfection had led to you graduating law school at the top of your class and now one of the leading junior associates at your law firm, it hadn’t been great for your past relationships.

Your exes tended to share the same reasons for why they were breaking up with you: you were too high-strung, you didn’t know how to let loose, you obsessed over every little thing.

Which was why when Seokjin came along, you were surprised by just how well the two of you seemed to fit. He was your exact opposite, but that was what seemed to work.

He was almost never bothered by all the things about you that had driven away other men. When you were too serious, he would crack a cheesy joke. When you needed something to be done a certain way, he let you do it. When you grew frustrated, he was there to calm you.

As you continued down this train of thought, you could feel guilt to bubble up in the pit of your stomach. For all of the times that he had accommodated your demands, could you say the same about yourself? How often were you the one willing to compromise?

Would it really have killed you to just have been more patient with Seokjin, to have tried to explain things more calmly? You ignored the petty voice in the back of your head screaming “yes”. While you still thought that you were right about how to assemble the bed, there had been no need to lose your temper. He was right; it was just a bed frame.

Your thoughts turned to what he could have done once you stormed out. Was he pissed at you? Was he going to try and put the bed together on his own to spite you? Was he happy you were gone? Was he finally starting to rethink whether he could handle spending the rest of his life with someone so controlling?

Your sense of guilt only grew when you came to the conclusion that none of those hypotheticals were probably true. He was probably waiting patiently at home for you and would reassure you that things were fine the moment you stepped through the door. The thought made your heart ache. You didn’t deserve him.

But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try and hang onto him.

By the time the end credits began to roll, you decided that you were ready to return home with your tail tucked beneath your legs. And if you decided to stop on the way home and pick up dinner from Seokjin’s favorite restaurant to help sweeten your apology then who could blame you.

As you inserted your keys into the lock of the front door, you couldn’t help but think that even the sound of the lock turning was remorseful to your ears. Your guilty conscience was really eating away at you. But as you opened the door and entered the apartment, you froze in shock.

The living room that had been filled with IKEA boxes when you left was now surprisingly empty. It was as spotless as it had been before the bed frame from hell had arrived. It was amazing what just that alone did for easing your anxiety about your fight with Seokjin.

Shaking away your awe, you entered the apartment and softly shut the door behind you. You were slipping off your shoes and hanging up your purse when you noticed something else that was missing — your boyfriend. You set the bag of takeaway on the kitchen counter and that’s when you heard the faint sound of him humming coming from further into the apartment.

Slowly, you made your way towards the bedroom and once you were standing in the open doorway, you gasped in surprise at the sight before you.

Where you had left stacks of wooden furniture pieces and piles of screws and bolts around the room, there was now a fully-assembled bed frame, complete with the mattress placed on top and an almost perfectly made bed as Seokjin placed the final remaining pillow at the head of it.

He looked over his shoulder at the sound of your gasp and gave you an unbothered smile.

“Hey, you’re back,” he greeted as he gave the duvet one last tug to straighten it before standing fully and placing his hands on his waist, looking at the sight of the fully-assembled bed frame and perfectly made bed with pride.

“The bed…” you trailed off, walking towards him to stand at his side.

“Yeah! It looks great, doesn’t it?”

You could only nod dumbly, your mouth still hanging open slightly in disbelief.

“But…the drawer front? The broken peg?”

He turned to you with a mischievous grin before reaching out to grab onto your hips and tug you close. Your hands instinctively came up to rest on his biceps as you continued to stare in wonder at the bed.

“Well, you see, I happen to have this really, really smart girlfriend and she suggested a pair of pliers. It took some digging, but I was able to pull out the peg.” You turned your head away from the bed to look up at him with an amused smile. “In fact, she’s so smart she made us count out all the pieces beforehand so that we knew there were a couple of extra pegs.”

You giggled softly.

“Wow, she sounds like a real catch,” you teased in return and his grin grew wider.

“Oh, you can’t even imagine.”

You shook your head in disbelief before smiling back at him, your affection for him written clearly across your features.

“I can’t believe you put this whole thing together by yourself,” you said and he threw his head back with a characteristically loud laugh.

“Oh, I didn’t,” he finally replied, the humor still present in his voice, and your brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Huh?”

“I just hired someone from TaskRabbit to do it for us. We should have just done that from the beginning,” he told you and this time it was your turn to laugh.

You were sure there were stars in your eyes as you looked up at him, there always were when he managed to take you by surprise. You brought your hand up to fondly brush his hair from his forehead.

“Who knew my boyfriend was so smart?” you grinned and he laughed in return.

“Shh. Don’t tell anyone. It’s our secret,” he whispered.

He then leaned forward to give you a gentle kiss and you smiled against his lips. But when he pulled back, your small smile turned slightly sad as you thought back on the things you had said to him in the heat of the moment and how, even despite your argument, Seokjin had welcomed you back home with open arms and his usual smile.

“I’m sorry for getting so mad,” you said. “You were right. It was just a bed frame. There was no need to lose my temper.”

“I’m sorry, too. I should have listened to you.”

You gave him a small shake of your head, wordlessly assuring him that it was fine.

“I need to stop obsessing over every little thing,” you sighed. “I need to let things go.”

But then he reminded you all over again why you loved him when he just shrugged with a good-natured smile.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. You can obsess over the little things. That’s who you are.”

“But you—”

“And I’ll get over it because that’s who I am,” he interrupted and you felt your heart bursting with love for him at his words. His expression then turned slightly more serious, wanting you to know he was sincere in what he said next.

“What you think of as ‘obsessing over the little things,’ I just see as part of how driven you are. I love that you don’t settle for taking shortcuts and or letting things that are done half-assed slide,” he explained. “I love it because I’m the opposite. I love that being around you means that I can be who I am because you’re always there to make sure that we do better when we’re together.”

His words meant so much to you that you could feel the way your eyes were prickling with the threat of tears. Always observant, he gave you a sweet kiss before any tears could fully form. When he pulled away, the smile you loved so much was on his lips.

“If all of that means we have a fight when we’re doing what must literally be the most frustrating task on the planet, then I think it’s worth it.”

You raked your fingers through his hair lovingly. You really had found not just the perfect man, but the perfect man for you.

“I love you,” you said and he smiled at you.

“I love you, too,” he replied before bringing his plush lips down to meet yours. He then tugged you even closer as you buried your hands deeply into his soft hair. The kiss grew more heated as he parted your lips with his tongue to slide against yours, causing you to moan softly into his mouth.

You were so lost in his soft lips that you almost missed the way his hand was snaking up your body to gently but firmly wrap his fingers around your throat — almost. He broke the kiss and his hold on you kept you from instinctively trying to close the gap.

When your eyelids fluttered open, you couldn’t help but rub your legs together at the look on his face. Gone was your playful and always understanding boyfriend. In his place was a man who expected absolute submission and had zero patience for any form of disobedience.

“I know you’re sorry,” he started, his voice low and you were sure that your pupils must have been blown wide with how turned on you already were. “But you know that I can’t let you get away with talking to me like that in here, baby girl.”

“Yes, sir,” you breathed out. When he gave your throat a slow squeeze, you let out a small whimper.

“What’s your safeword, baby?” he asked and the question alone had you ready to cream your underwear. If you didn’t know where this night was going before, you sure did now.

“Strawberry,” you whispered and he gave you an approving smile.

“Good girl,” he said and just that simple praise over something so small was enough to have your chest swelling with pride. But any remaining trace of gentleness on his features quickly disappeared along with his next words. “Strip.”

He stepped back from you to watch and you made quick work of pulling off your shirt, your bra not far behind. Your jeans and underwear joined the small pile of clothing off to the side so that you were standing completely bare in front of him. You clasped your hands behind your back and dropped your chin to your chest, your stance radiating the submission that Seokjin expected in the bedroom.

You could feel his eyes raking over your nude figure and you quickly snuffed out the urge to lift your gaze to meet his. Doing so would break one of his rules and when it came to the bedroom, you followed his every order — without question.

The silence between you stretched on as he continued to look at you without making a move. Every second that passed had the wetness between your legs growing to the point that you were sure your inner thighs would be shining when you finally parted them. Your nipples had hardened from a combination of the room’s cool temperature and the way Seokjin was staring at you.

Fuck. You were so turned on and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

“Turn around,” he ordered. “Hands on the bed.”

You immediately did as you were told. You turned your back to him and leaned forward to place your hands on the mattress. Even through the haze of your arousal, you couldn’t help but note how good the new bed frame looked. You would have to make sure to tell Seokjin.

Of course, now was not the time to do so. You were brought fully back to the moment when you heard him slowly approaching you. You were sure you made quite the sight for him with the way your back arched, presenting your ass to him perfectly.

His footsteps came to a stop right behind you. Your fingers gripped onto the duvet tightly in anticipation of his next move. After what felt like an eternity, but couldn’t have been longer than a minute, you heard him shifting. It took every ounce of your self-control to keep from glancing over your shoulder to see what he was doing. You couldn’t help but slightly jump when you felt him finally drag a fingertip down the back of your thigh and you realized that he had knelt down behind you. He let out a dark chuckle at your reaction.

“Open.”

You followed his one-word command and widened your stance, exposing your pussy to him fully. From the sudden chill on your inner thighs, you knew that your earlier assumption about how wet you were was correct. And it was something that Seokjin easily caught now that he was eye-level with your most intimate parts.

“Damn, you’re dripping already,” he remarked and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “I’ve barely even laid a finger on you and you’re already this wet.”

Suddenly, his thumbs were on either side of your folds and spreading them apart to give him an even better view of your wetness straight from the source.

“I wonder what they would say,” he mused, his tone so casual that it was like you were having a discussion over Sunday brunch and he wasn’t only a foot away from having his face buried in your pussy.

“All those men who get so scared of you in the courtroom, all those men at your law firm, all those men who were too insecure to be in a relationship with you. What would they say if they could see you like this — bent over and begging to take your punishment?”

Your breathing sped up and your walls fluttered around nothing at his words and from his chuckle, neither escaped him. The small puff of air he let out hit your slick folds and you bit back a gasp.

“They all think of you as this strong-headed woman who always needs to be in control. They don’t know that all it takes is a firm hand to turn you into such a needy slut.” As if to emphasize his point, he shifted one of his thumbs to brush lightly against your clit and you couldn’t hold back your soft whimper at the sensation.

But just that barely perceptible noise was enough to break one of his rules — remain silent unless spoken to. Your punishment came swiftly when his light touch on your clit was replaced by his fingers roughly pinching it. You gripped tightly onto the duvet and bit down on your lip to keep from letting out another sound.

After a few moments, he pinched your clit even harder, testing your obedience. Seemingly satisfied when you remained quiet, he let go. You exhaled with relief as you felt the blood rushing back to the small bundle of nerves, along with another sharp wave of arousal.

“See? A firm hand.”

Nothing escaped Seokjin’s eye.

Both of his hands fell away from your folds and you heard him stand up, followed by the telltale sound of his belt buckle as he undid it. The fwip-fwip of his belt sliding through the belt loops of his jeans had your breathing speeding up.

You knew what was coming.

Once it was free, you could hear the way the leather stretched as he toyed with it, folding it over in his hands. And then he brought the strip of leather right up to the globes of your ass and just held it there.

“How many do you think you deserve, baby girl?” he finally asked, but it was very clearly a question that he already had the answer to.

“However many you think I’ve earned, sir,” you replied, your voice rough with both disuse and desire.

He rewarded your answer by trailing the belt down your ass to brush over the sodden folds of your cunt and your eyes fluttered shut at the stimulation. You wanted so badly to join him in rubbing against the belt but stayed motionless. After giving you just the barest taste of pleasure, he dragged the belt back up to your ass and you felt your face heat at the slick trail of your arousal left in its wake.

“I think twenty should do the trick,” he said and your eyes widened. While twenty wasn’t an unheard-of number when it came to his punishments, it was certainly more than you were expecting. You wondered if his pride was still wounded from you having brought up the pyramid scheme. “Do you think you can take it like a good little slut?”

“Yes, sir,” you murmured breathlessly. He began to gently but firmly swat the belt against your ass, preparing your skin for the punishment that was imminent.

“Get on the bed. Hands and knees.”

You released your death grip on the duvet to do as he ordered and you gave your hands a quick shake as you climbed onto the bed to help encourage the circulation back into your fingers before you bent back over onto your hands. Once you were in position, he gave your ass another few slightly harder smacks.

“I’ll even count them for you,” he offered, like he was doing you a favor when in actuality, you knew that he was the one truly enjoyed being able to count each and every strike.

“Thank you, sir.”

The belt paused its swatting and fell away from your skin, the wordless signal that he was about to begin.

And then the room was filled with a loud crack! as he brought the belt back down on your left asscheek. You sharply inhaled and squeezed your eyes shut at the pain, but refrained from letting out any further noise that would have invited Seokjin’s ire.

“One,” he counted as he ran the palm of his free hand against the smarting skin to soothe it and you took a deep breath.

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?” Your voice was clear, making sure he heard every word.

Your other cheek was next and you bit down hard on your lip when the smack came.

“Two.”

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?”

When the third crack! came, you couldn’t help but jerk your hips away.

“Three.”

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?”

The smacks continued and with each one, your reactions grew less controlled as you warred between pain, arousal, the instinct to avoid the cause of the pain, the hunger for the pleasure that followed the pain, and the burning desire to be good for Seokjin. After each and every one, he would rub the reddening skin to prepare you for the next.

“Ten.”

By this point, his free hand was holding onto your waist to keep you from writhing away from the belt. Every hit hurt so good and your head was spinning from the white-hot arousal that had been clouding your mind from the first smack.

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?” you asked through clenched teeth as tears began to blur your vision.

The next one was particularly harsh and you were unable to hold back a whimper. As soon as it left you, you wanted to kick yourself for breaking his rule so easily. You were better than that. You were better for him than that.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to add another one for that,” he sighed, the disappointment clear in his tone and dropped your head as you felt a tear escape the corner of your eye. You wanted to be good for him. “Good little sluts take their punishment quietly. Disobedient whores don’t. Which one are you going to be, baby girl?”

“I’ll be a good little slut, sir,” you quickly answered, sniffling softly with shame. “I’m sorry, sir. M-may I please have another?”

Unable to see him, you missed his satisfied grin at your eager submission. You could be as strong-willed as you wanted in your relationship and he would always go along with it because he knew that in the bedroom, he had your total and complete submission.

Crack!

“Twelve.”

The tears continued to fall and your pussy continued to drip.

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?”

When you reached sixteen, your hands gave out beneath you and you fell to your elbows. You were panting heavily and sweat was beading your temples. It looked like you had just finished running a marathon.

Crack!

“Seventeen.”

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?” you asked through your tears. Only four more. You could handle four more. Your ass felt like it was on fire. You could only imagine how red it had turned and you wondered if any marks would be left behind. God, you hoped so.

Crack!

It took everything in you to hold in your scream as the belt landed on the as of yet untouched backs of your upper thighs.

“Eighteen.”

“T-thank you, sir. Please may I have another?” you whimpered.

The next two came in quick succession, one on each cheek, rushing you onto the last smack before you could register the pain between nineteen and twenty. And when the final crack! came, it was the most brutal one yet.

“Your last one, baby girl,” he told you before bringing the belt down and you could hear how slightly winded he sounded. It seemed he was more affected than he would have you believe.

Crack!

You couldn’t hold back a cry as the leather came down with a hard smack where your ass met your upper thighs, and consequently, right across your soaked folds.

“Twenty-one,” you heard through the pain and even as distracted as you were by your painfully stinging skin, your response was automatic.

“T-thank you, sir. P-please m-may I have another?” you sobbed, burying your tear-stained face in the duvet.

“Shhh, baby girl,” he said, his voice fractionally softer as he rubbed your lower back. “You took your punishment so well.”

“B-but I was bad. I broke the rule,” you sniffled through your tears, remembering the way you had cried out at the last hit. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He looked down at your prostrated form and grinned at how well-behaved you were for him. He had been planning to be merciful and let that last one slide.

“Are you asking for another one, baby girl?”

You eagerly nodded your head against the mattress.

“G-good little sluts take their punishment quietly. I’ll be good for you, sir. I p-promise,” you pleaded and he felt like the luckiest man on earth to have you on your knees and begging him to be spanked.

Crack!

The hit left you breathless and you were thankful because in doing so, it also left you silent.

“Twenty-two.”

You heard him drop the belt to the floor, signaling that your punishment was truly over.

“Th-thank you, sir,” you whimpered.

“You’re such a good little slut,” he told you as he soothed the tender and heated skin of your ass with both of his hands. “Always such a good girl for me.”

You preened beneath him at the praise.

“Do you know what good little sluts get?” he asked and hope flared in your chest. One of his hands slowly began to trail down your asscheek, his thumb rubbing soft circles against your skin as he did so. “They get rewarded.”

He emphasized his words by swiping his thumb in one long stroke from your clit to your entrance and you gasped as you clutched the duvet between your fingers. After being so on edge during your punishment, that one drop of pleasure had the walls of your pussy clenching tightly around nothing.

“Well, baby girl?” he asked and you could feel his breath right against your soaked folds. “Are you ready for your reward?”

He moved his hands to the backs of your thighs and pushed them further apart, granting him better access to your cunt.

“Yes, sir,” you answered, and then suddenly his pillowy lips were wrapped around your clit, giving the swollen bundle of nerves a harsh suck that had you seeing stars. Your resulting moan complied with Seokjin’s second rule — silence unless spoken to during your punishments and anything but silence during your rewards.

His tongue flicked against your clit before he gave your folds a long lick from top to bottom, dipping inside your entrance as he went. And then his lips were back on your clit, the obscene sucking sound filling your bedroom and turning you on further.

You began to instinctively rock your hips back and forth to meet his heavenly tongue but were held in place by the tight grip he had on your thighs. As usual, you were at the mercy of his generosity.

But from the way he alternated perfectly between harsh sucks and light flicks, he seemed to be in a very generous mood and it wasn’t long before you were on the verge of your climax.

“P-please sir, can I come?” you asked breathlessly and you hoped that tonight his generosity extended to your orgasms. It would be far from the first time that he had brought you right to the edge only to leave you hanging.

He hummed around your clit, pleased that you remembered to ask — although really, how could you ever forget? The first and only time that you had come without his permission, he had forced out so many orgasms from you that you were afraid your clit was going to go numb forever from the excruciating pleasure. You had been sure to never let it happen again.

“Come, baby girl,” he said and the words were like music to your ears.

The knot that had slowly been tightening since before the first hit of his belt to your ass rapidly untwisted and overwhelming pleasure coursed through your body. Your toes curled into the soles of your feet and your eyes screwed tightly shut as you moaned loudly. The empty walls of your cunt spasmed and Seokjin had a front-row seat to the sight. He continued to flick your clit with his tongue, milking your orgasm for all it was worth.

Finally, when the pleasure began to recede and the ability to speak came back to you, you remembered your manners.

“Th-thank you, sir,” you panted.

But he ignored you and went right back to sucking your clit, somehow managing to do so even harsher than before. The oversensitivity was immediate and you tried to pull your hips away from his lips with a cry, but the moment he felt you trying to wiggle away, his hold on your thighs grew tighter and you were sure his fingers would leave bruises.

“Please, sir,” you cried, burying your face back into the duvet.

Your plea fell on deaf ears because he continued to torment your clit with his sinful lips and tongue. Soon, the oversensitivity began to be eclipsed by a bubbling sense of pleasure in the pit of your stomach. Behind your eyelids, your eyes rolled backward. Seokjin’s grip on you was no longer to keep you from pulling away, but was now to keep you from grinding back onto his face.

He released one of your thighs and dragged his fingertips upwards until they were at the top of your left asscheek. He then scratched his blunt fingernails down your reddened and tender skin. You screamed and the pleasure was so intense and immediate It was like he had physically dragged you right to the precipe of your next orgasm.

“P-please let me come, sir,” you begged, your voice nothing but a high-pitched whine. “Pl-please, sir. Please!”

“Come.”

The tension in your body snapped and you moaned loudly at the intense pleasure that was now blinding your vision. You could feel the way your walls were fluttering helplessly as you came. Seokjin’s hold on your thighs was the only thing keeping you from collapsing onto your stomach. He continued to lick at your clit, but he was doing so much gentler than earlier. These were licks intended to help you through your orgasm rather than prepare you for your next one.

As you eventually came down from your high, his tongue against your pussy slowed until it stopped altogether. He then placed a kiss to the cheek of your ass, relishing your sharp inhale of pain at the sensation.

You opened your mouth to thank him, but found that the words wouldn’t leave you until you cleared your throat.

“Thank you, sir,” you whispered, turning your head to the side to rest your cheek and temple on the mattress as your breathing slowly began to return to something resembling normal.

“You’re welcome, baby girl,” he said. Your eyelids fluttered open and from the corner of your eye, you could see him standing up behind you.

You flinched away from him when you felt him trace a finger over your swollen clit and through your slick folds. He gave you a gentle but firm swat to one of your asscheeks in response to your movement. You sharply inhaled, but otherwise stayed perfectly still and silent.

“You have no idea how good you look like this, with your ass red and your cum dripping down your thighs,” he mused. “And you’re all mine.”

Suddenly and without warning, he sank two fingers deep into your pussy and you cried out loudly at the intrusion. You turned your head back to bury your face into the mattress as your fingernails scratched uselessly at the duvet. He then began to lazily pump his fingers in and out of you and your arousal began to build all over again.

It was only encouraged along when he curled his fingers expertly to rub right against the spot along your walls that he was intimately familiar with. Before the pleasure could grow too much, he slid his fingers out of you fully and you mewled pathetically at the loss.

But your disappointment was shortlived because only a few moments later, you felt both of his hands grab tightly onto your hips and yank your lower-half backward to meet his crotch. You tried to jerk away from him with a pained gasp when the aching skin of your ass rubbed against the rough fabric of his jeans.

He was quick to shush you gently and slowly pulled your hips back into him, taking his time to ease you into the sensation. After letting you settle into the stinging pain, he ground his crotch against your ass and even through the sharp hiss you let out, you were still able to recognize the feeling of his hard cock through the denim.

“You feel that, baby girl?” he asked, his voice sounding slightly tense as he continued to grind against you and you whimpered in response. “Feel how hard I am for you?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathed and he shifted his hold on you so that he was now rubbing his cock right up against your once-again aching cunt, making you moan softly.

“Do you think you’ve earned my cock yet?” Another thrust of his hips and another moan from your lips.

“Yes, sir. Please, sir,” you moaned.

“I think so, too. You’ve been a good girl for me,” he agreed and your heart soared at his words. He let go of your hips and then you heard the sound of his zipper. After a few more moments, one hand was back on your hip, holding you still as he used the other to guide the fat head of his cock to your cunt. “You took your punishment well and you made sure to ask for permission before coming. You’re always such a good little slut.”

He slid his cock along your drenched folds, leisurely circling the head around your clit and you gave another loud moan into the mattress before he dragged it back to your entrance. Very slowly, he inserted the bulbous tip of his cock until it was just barely inside of your warm and silky walls.

He gave you just a moment to grow accustomed to the stretch before he buried his thick cock fully into your depths with one smooth thrust that speared apart your walls and had you wailing beneath him. He groaned behind you and his grip tightened on your hips. With his thighs pressed right against your ass, you could still feel the rough fabric of his jeans and it only heightened your pleasure to know that he was still fully dressed while you were a naked mess before him.

“Th-thank you, sir,” you gasped, tears forming again in the corner of your eyes at the stretch and he chuckled.

“Such a good little slut,” he groaned, unable to completely hide how affected he was by the way your cunt was clenching around him. He then withdrew his length until only the head of his cock was left inside of you before entering you with another hard thrust that had you sliding an inch or two forward on the bed.

He easily tugged you back into him. He then released one of your hips and buried his free hand in your hair, wrapping his fist around your strands and yanking them so that you were forced back onto your hands, your head pulled back until the base your skull was pressed between your shoulders.

Now that you were in his desired position, he began a punishing rhythm. His cock pounded into you with each thrust and you keened loudly every time his cock split you apart. He was burying himself so deeply that you could practically feel him in the back of your throat. You were tempted to drop your head forward, only for him to sharply tug your hair to keep you from doing so every time you tried.

The bedroom was filled with the wet sounds of his fat cock sliding in and out your dripping pussy, the slapping of skin against skin, and your loud and high-pitched moans as he managed to hit every single spot inside your cunt perfectly.

“Just remember, baby girl,” he warned, his pace not faltering once as he spoke. “You might be the boss outside of the bedroom, but who do you answer to in here?”

“Y-you, sir,” you answered without hesitation through your pleasure. With every thrust, his hips slammed into your tender ass and the stinging pain it caused helped push you closer and closer toward your third orgasm of the night.

“Who owns this pussy?” he asked.

“You do, sir,” you whimpered, the possessive question causing your cunt to clench hard around him.

“Louder,” he hissed, giving your hair another harsh yank and a particularly brutal thrust.

“You! My pussy is yours!” you screamed and he suddenly let go of your hair to bring the palm of his hand down hard against your ass. But you knew that this spank wasn’t to punish you — it was to satisfy him.

With nothing left to keep you up, you collapsed forward once again, your fingers clutching desperately onto the duvet as your nipples rubbed back and forth against the fabric as he continued to pound into you.

“That’s right,” he groaned. “Your pussy is mine. You’re my little slut. You’re only good for me, aren’t you?”

“O-only you,” you gasped and your answer was enough to earn you your next reward because his fingers were suddenly on your clit. It was so sudden and combined so perfectly with the sensation of his cock dragging along your walls, that you found your orgasm almost thrust upon you.

The only thing keeping you from tumbling right over the edge and headfirst into pure white-hot pleasure were Seokjin’s rules that were ingrained into you.

“C-coming! P-please, sir!” you screamed.

“Come,” he grunted and you wailed.

Ecstacy rushed through your body and your vision turned white beath your tightly-shut eyelids. Your pussy began to spasm hard around his cock as his pace never faltered. Your earlier orgasms were nowhere near as strong as this one — they never were when you weren’t coming around him.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he groaned, but even his words were only an afterthought on the edge of your consciousness as your body jerked wildly beneath him and he removed his fingers from your clit to wrap both hands around your hips so that he could continue to pound into you uninterrupted.

His thrusts were beginning to turn wild, the rhythm growing rushed, a sign that he was close.

“Fuck, your pussy’s perfect, baby girl,” he panted as you continued to clench around him, your orgasm still coursing through your body. “You’re so good for me. Only good for me. Love it when you come. Fucking perfect.”

His mouth was running, his tight control slipping just slightly as his own orgasm was in sight. After another few rough thrusts later, the aftershocks of your climax still had your walls spasming around him torturously for each one, he slid out of you. No longer supporting your hips, your lower body collapsed as well, your stomach falling to rest on your thighs. The wet sound of his own hand pumping his cock filled the room and it was soon followed by a loud groan and you felt him coming across the heated skin of your ass and lower back in spurts.

You heard him panting heavily and it matched your own breathing, which you were still struggling to regulate as your orgasm subsided. You slowly opened your eyes as the world righted itself and your racing heart finally began to slow down so that it no longer felt like it was about to jump out of your chest.

If you had had the energy, you would have jumped when you felt Seokjin’s finger trailing through the streaks of his cum across your skin. He let out a low whistle as he did so.

“Damn, you look good like this,” he hummed. You turned your head to the side to rest your cheek on the mattress and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him pulling his shirt over his head before you felt him using it to gently and carefully wipe away his cum. “I told you I was an expert at pulling out.”

His call back to his dumb joke from your earlier fight made you smile and you couldn’t hold in an exhausted giggle. Once your skin was fully cleaned, he dropped his shirt to the floor to join the other articles of discarded clothing before leaning down and pressing two soft kisses to your ass — one on each cheek.

You smiled at the gesture before he climbed onto the bed and dropped onto his back, his knees hanging off the side of the bed and his feet planted on the floor. He then tightly pulled you into his side, his arm slung securely across your shoulders. You buried your face in the side of his neck, the sweaty strands of his growing hair brushing against your nose and you happily sighed as you deeply breathed in his scent.

“I fucking love you,” he said, releasing his own sigh of contentment as his fingers traced imaginary patterns on your upper arm. “You’re a queen among women.”

You laughed at the compliment that was characteristically Seokjin.

“I love you, too,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his neck as you curled up tighter into his side. Your thumb rubbed slow circles on his skin where your hand rested on his firm chest.

A peaceful silence settled over the two of you as you enjoyed the shared intimacy between you. But as your thoughts began to wander, a frown formed on your lips.

“We didn’t pass the IKEA test,” you pouted, breaking the stillness of the moment.

“What are you talking about?” he asked through a yawn. “The bed’s assembled and we’re still together. We passed.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t assemble it,” you insisted and he blew a raspberry in response.

“That’s a technicality.”

“But—”

“Just go with it,” he said, cutting you off before you could continue to argue and you closed your mouth.

“Ok. We passed the test,” you conceded with a smile and he gave your shoulders an affectionate squeeze.

As you nuzzled your face into his neck, your nose twitched at the way his lengthy strands ticked your face.

“Your hair’s getting long,” you mused and he sighed at the observation.

“I know. I need to cut it,” he said and your reply was immediate, the demand clear in your tone.

“Don’t you dare touch it,” you told him and he let out an amused huff.

“Yes, boss.”

#seokjin smut #seokjin fluff #seokjin fanfic #seokjin x reader #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfic #mine #the ikea test

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marjansmarwani · 4 years ago

Note

Oooh could you do #48 for Tarlos? I can definitely see that happening in the show.

You’re absolutely right Anon, I can too! I don’t think it’ll happen quite like I wrote it, but I hope you enjoy anyways!

It takes two (to make a house a home)

[read on ao3]

Characters: TK Strand, Carlos Reyes

Relationship: TK Strand/Carlos Reyes

Word Count: 1990

48. “I took your hoodie, and you’re not getting it back.” -- TK's hoodie is missing, and Carlos has a question to ask.

-----

It takes two (to make a house a home)

TK swears under his breath as he searches his locker yet again and still can’t find what he is looking for. He could have sworn that it was in here. It definitely hadn’t been in his closet this morning. He picks up his phone and dials without looking - it’s always the same number at the top of his recent calls list. He tucks the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he rifles through the locker one more time - just in case.

When the person on the other end picks up, TK asks his question without introduction: ”Have you seen my yellow hoodie?”

“I took your hoodie, and you’re not getting it back.”

TK pauses in his searching, “Wait, are you for real?”

“Mhm,” Carlos confirms, “I am holding it for ransom.”

TK sits back on the bench in the middle of the rows of lockers and chuckles, “I’m surprised at you Officer, turning to a life of crime?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Carlos agreed gravely, “I’ve hardly seen you at all this week; I am willing to go to extremes. If the hoodie doesn’t work, I am dognapping Buttercup next.”

“There’s no need to get the dog involved. What are your demands?”

“You, here tonight for dinner.”

“I can make that work, I suppose.” To tell the truth, it had been a long shift and he had been planning on getting some takeout before going to bed early, but dinner with Carlos sounded far more appealing, “See you in 20 minutes?”

“Come alone, or the hoodie gets it.”

“Understood. I love you.”

“Love you too. But you’d better hurry - the clock is ticking.”

With that final warning, the line went dead and TK laughed to himself again. He still didn’t know what he had ever done to deserve someone like Carlos, but he would forever be grateful that they had found each other. He’s still shaking his head as he shuts his locker (now thoroughly destroyed from his harried but unnecessary searches) and bids goodbye to the rest of his team. After a quick stop in his dad’s office to let him know not to expect him tonight, he is on his way to Carlos’s.

When he arrives he lets himself in and is about to call out for Carlos when he looks up to find the man in question leaning against the kitchen counter with a sly grin.

“I’m going to need proof of life before this goes any further,” TK declares as he drops his bag next to his shoes and crosses to the kitchen to greet Carlos with a kiss.

When they pull apart, Carlos steps aside to reveal TK’s yellow hoodie folded neatly on the counter. TK raised an eyebrow, “did you really steal it? How did you even manage that without me noticing?”

“I didn’t have to steal it; you left it here.”

“Now that makes more sense.”

“What,” Carlos said, face morphing into an expression of mock offense, “you don’t think I could steal something?”

“Of course you could babe,” TK said smoothly, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek, “I believe in you and support you. Forgetting something here does seem pretty normal for me though. I think more of my clothes are here than my actual home these days.”

Carlos pulls away, expression suddenly shifting, “That’s actually kind of what I wanted to talk to you about tonight, actually.”

TK freezes in the process of picking up his hoodie, “What? Is my stuff here a problem? I’m sorry, I don’t want to be in your way; I’ll get rid of some of it.”

“No TK, that’s not it.”

TK continued speaking, oblivious to Carlos’s objections. “You’re right, it was presumptuous of me to leave so much stuff here. This is your house, I shouldn’t have done that without asking you.”

“TK,” Carlos said more forcefully, finally drawing TK’s attention to him, “that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying, Carlos?” he asked hesitantly.

Carlos sighed, “Can this conversation wait until dinner?” he pleaded.

TK stood up straighter, “If you have something you need to say to my Carlos just say it - I can take it.”

Carlos looked over at the counter, “This isn’t how I wanted to do this,” he said mournfully, “I made lasagna.”

“Whatever you need to say, just say it and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Carlos turned back to face TK sharply, “Wh-what do you mean get out of my hair? I thought we were having dinner?” he said with uncertainty, a frown spreading across his face.

“There’s no need to let me down easy Carlos, I don’t need dinner to soften the blow.”

Carlos was beginning to look genuinely perplexed, “soften what blow?”

“If you’re breaking up with me just say it.”

Carlos stares at him for several long, heart-stopping moments. The quiet stretches through the room and is enough to twist TK’s heart in his chest. He had always known this was all too good to be true, that it was only a matter of time.

“Break up with you?” Carlos eventually splutters, “Why would I break up with you? You are quite literally the best thing that has ever happened to me TK. I would be the worst kind of fool to break up with you. Where is this even coming from? Wait,” he said, his face paling, “do you want to break up?”

“What? No!” TK exclaims, “You just happen to be the best thing that has happened to me, Carlos Reyes. I still have a hard time believing I could ever get this lucky. Why on earth would I break up with you?!”

They stare at each other for a few more seconds before Carlos speaks again.

“So,” he began, “just to clarify, neither one of us wants to break up?”

“Definitely not,” TK responded decisively.

“Okay,” Carlos replies with visible relief, sinking back onto the counter, “that’s good because I really didn’t want to do that.”

TK mirrored him, his body sagging in relief as he leaned against the counter. “That past 30 or so seconds easily ranks in the top 10 worst moments of my life,” he agreed.

Carlos shook his head, “I can’t believe that you thought I wanted to break up with you. Who makes lasagna to dump somebody?”

“I don’t know!” TK exclaimed indignantly, “but you were acting weird, and I panicked! Besides, how am I supposed to know what you consider a good break up food?”

“For the record, lasagna is not a good break up food.”

“Is there a good break up food?”

“Yes,” Carlos said with such certainty that TK cocked an eyebrow. He considered asking, but thought better of it.

“What is all this anyway? Why the scheme?” he asked instead, glancing around at the elegantly set table and incongruous yellow hoodie still resting on the counter.

“I just wanted to ask you to move in,” Carlos said with a shrug. “I had this whole plan - the meal, a speech, it was a whole thing.”

A sharp intake of breath causes Carlos to turn to look at TK. His boyfriend is staring back at him, an unreadable expression on his face. “What did you just say?” he asks in a faint voice.

Carlos frowned at him, “I had a plan?”

“No,” TK shakes his head, “before that. What did you want to ask?”

Carlos stared at him for a fraction of a second before the realization dawns on him. “I am a dumbass,” he declares mournfully.

“No,” TK disagrees, doing his best to suppress a laugh, “You are not. You are a very intelligent and thoughtful person...who got a little flustered.”

“That’s your fault you know. You always have the power to make me flustered, Ty.”

“Don’t change the subject,” TK demanded, but the severity of his tone was lessened by the blush that was beginning to creep across his cheeks, “I believe you still have something to ask me.”

“Did I? I don’t recall that.”

Carlos laughed as TK swatted at him and grinned before turning to face him. TK followed suit, turning his body so he was facing Carlos. He locked eyes with him and resisted the urge to get lost in the depth and warmth of those eyes. He had a question he needed to hear first. “Ask me,” he repeated.

“Tyler Kennedy Strand - would you stop leaving some of your stuff here and just move it all here? I have ample closet space to offer and all I ask in return is that you spend every night with me, and wake up beside me every day.”

TK pretended to consider, “can you clarify ‘ample’?”

Carlos narrowed his eyes at him and TK laughed, before reaching out to pull him in for a kiss. It was deep and lingering, hungry, and familiar. It was like home.

When they pulled apart and TK found his breath, he gave his answer: “I find your terms acceptable, Carlos Reyes. I would very much like to move in with you and wake up beside you every day for as long as we have.”

They shared a smile and Carlos leaned forward to give TK another kiss. This one is shorter, less heated than the first but what it lacks in passion it makes up for in warmth.

This is the kiss he could get used to giving every day, he thinks.

TK tries to deepen the kiss and as much as Carlos wants to give in (his entire body is practically screaming for it), he pulls away.

TK makes a distressed noise and pouts at him. Carlos rolls his eyes fondly, “as much as I love kissing you,” he explained, “I have a feeling that another kiss might lead to rather more and as much as I also love that, I made dinner and it’s getting cold.”

“Fine,” TK huffed, “but only because I love your lasagna.”

They set about preparing for dinner before eventually settling at the table. TK raises an eyebrow at the candle sticks prominently placed in the center of the table, “You really went all out for this, didn’t you?”

Carlos shrugged sheepishly, “There is a possibility I was nervous and overcompensating by overplanning so I didn’t have time to dwell on it.”

“Why were you so nervous?” TK asked with a frown, “Did you really think I was going to say no?”

“No, not exactly. But all the same, we don’t have the best track record with elaborate dinner plans, you may recall.” TK winced, but nodded. Carlos considered for a moment before speaking again, “Why do big plans never work for us?”

TK looked up from his plate in surprise, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, every time I try to make a fancy dinner to make a statement, it doesn’t work out. When you tried to surprise me with a fancy dinner out for our anniversary we both got called back into work because of that accident. We keep trying to do these special things, and they never work. Why?”

The silence stretched again as TK considered. It didn't feel harsh or uncomfortable though - nothing at Carlos’s house ever had. No, not Carlos’s house - his house. Their house. This was his home now and TK was pretty sure he would never get sick of thinking that.

“My dad has always talked about grand gestures,” TK finally said when he managed to pull his thoughts back to the question at hand, “but I don’t think they ever worked much for him. I know they historically haven’t worked well for me, so maybe they’re just not all they’re cracked up to be. Maybe it’s the little moments that matter for us.”

Carlos smiled at him, and reached across the table to grab his hand. “That’s good, because I think we’re on the road to a lot more of those.”

[read on ao3]

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #911 lone star fanfic #tarlos fic #tarlos #my writing #prompt fill #tk strand #carlos reyes #fluffy fluff #to make up for that last one I wrote #a fluff tax if you will

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jaskiers-sweetkiss · 4 years ago

Text

Sunset Swerve - Part 2

Pairing: Luke x OC

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: one character has a panic attack, mentions of death (specifically death of self and death of family members)

A/N: Here’s part two! We’re still in episode 2 but I had some more things I needed to establish about Jordan before we could get to the Bright performance and I’m kinda liking the shorter chapters for this. Let me know what you think and send me an ask if you’d like to be tagged!

Part 1 Masterlist

___

“Why are you in a cemetery?” Alex asked when he finally found Jordan.

The dark-haired girl was sitting on the ground facing away from him with her knees pulled up to her chest.

“I was hoping my grave would absorb me so I wouldn’t have to deal with whatever the hell this is.” She didn’t even turn to acknowledge the boy’s arrival, her eyes still trained on the tombstone in front of her.

“Huh,” Alex said under his breath, lost for words. “I figured you’d, like, go to your parents’ house or something, someplace familiar. We went to the Orpheum our first night.”

“That’s kinda depressing,” Jordan remarked, her tone emotionless as she stared straight ahead.

“Says the girl literally sitting on her grave.”

Jordan cracked a smile at that.

“There’s room for two if you don’t mind getting your pants dirty,” she offered, shifting her bag to the side to make room. “Is that even possible anymore?”

Alex shook his head, taking a seat beside her, arms wrapped around his knees as he mirrored her position. “Reggie sat in the sand at the beach today and didn’t have any issues.”

Jordan sighed, “Well, I guess that’s one pro to being a ghost, no sand where sand shouldn’t be.”

Alex laughed and Jordan turned her head slightly to look at him.

“So they sent you, huh?”

“Nah,” Alex breathed, “I volunteered.”

Jordan cocked her head, looking at him fully now. “Why?”

“I don’t know…. You just seemed overwhelmed and I figured Luke wasn’t gonna help any.”

Jordan nodded, turning back towards her tombstone. It was unnerving to look at, her name carved into the stone even though she was still walking, talking, living. At least that’s what it felt like, but she knew that six feet below her was her body, probably very decomposed by now and oh my god- Jordan started to shake, her thoughts becoming more panicked.

“Woah, hey, Jordan are you okay?” Alex asked, alarmed by the sudden change in her demeanor. Her breaths were becoming shorter and more frequent and she was practically vibrating with the way she was shaking.

She shook her head in response to Alex’s question, unable to tear her eyes away from her name. “I can’t breathe she gasped,” which only caused more panic from her. “Ghosts can’t breathe, why-“ A sob wracked through her, cutting her off.

“We gotta get you out of here,” Alex muttered, wrapping his arms around her and poofing them out.

They landed with a light thud on the floor of the garage and Alex pulled himself away from the now crying girl.

“Okay, Jordan, can you look at me?” Alex asked softly, moving to sit cross-legged in front of her. “Okay, let’s do a breathing square, yeah? Breathe in on the up, breathe out on the down, and hold in between okay?”

He started drawing slow squares in the air with his finger and repeating the instructions as he went. It was a couple of minutes still before the girl’s breaths became somewhat regular.

“Good, okay. Now name five things you can see.”

“Rug, coffee table, piano, you, window.” She answered through shaky breaths.

“Alright now four things you can feel?”

“I can’t feel anything!” She snapped, panic starting to well up again.

“Hey, hey, that’s not true,” Alex soothed, placing his hand in hers. “You can feel me, right?”

Jordan nodded and took another shaky breath before continuing.

“Okay, um, you, the ground, I can feel my shoes? And my bag?” She said unsure.

“Yeah, it doesn’t make much sense but yeah,” Alex affirmed. “Three things you can hear?”

“You, the air conditioning, and myself.” She answered faster and more confidently.

“Two things you can smell.”

“Uh, fret polish and dust.”

“Good. One thing you can taste.”

“I don’t know what the inside of my mouth tastes like right now but I’m glad it’s not poisonous hot dogs.” She answered, letting out a genuine sigh of relief.

Alex smiled.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked after a moment, lightly squeezing the hand that he was still holding.

“Uh, better. Still kinda shaky.” Jordan laughed awkwardly, pulling her hand away to play with the hair ties around her other wrist. “Thank you.”

“It was nothing.” Alex waved it off and Jordan rolled her eyes. “I get it, y’know? I mean, I cried for twenty-five years. That’s one hell of a breakdown.”

Jordan laughed for real at that and Alex joined in, the pair sharing an understanding smile.

“Oh hey, you’re back!” Reggie exclaimed as he poofed back into the garage, “Ooh, are we sitting on the floor?” He gasped excitedly before plopping down next to the pair.

Jordan tilted her head and narrowed her eyes curiously at the boy. The three of them sat in silence for a minute, Jordan and Alex staring at Reggie while the dark-haired boy grinned contently.

“So, why are we sitting on the floor?” Reggie finally asked, breaking the silence and Alex sighed while Jordan barked out a laugh.

“We just felt like it,” she lied and Reggie shrugged, seemingly content with that answer. “Where’s Luke?”

“I dunno,” Reggie shrugged. “He left a little bit after you guys did.”

Jordan nodded and stood up, dusting off her pants before remembering she didn’t have to do that anymore, and headed for the door with Alex following suit.

“Wait, where are you going?” Reggie questioned, not quite catching on as he scrambled to his feet.

“Seriously man?” Alex raised his eyebrows at the other boy.

“Ohhh, to find Luke, right,” Reggie realized and Alex rolled his eyes following Jordan through the garage door.

Jordan turned around as she stepped through the door, thinking decidedly that she’d need to get used to that because it was really weird. In her distraction, she had stopped paying attention to where she was going and ended up walking right into the boy she was looking for.

As she stumbled backward, her hands reached out for something to grab onto, landing on his shoulders while his arm instinctively grabbed her waist, pulling her against his chest. Jordan was certain they’d never been this close to each other before and as she looked up at his face she could see the rings of gold around his pupils, the creases around his eyes and mouth from smiling, the slight dryness of chapped lips. When her gaze returned to his eyes she found them peering into her own and she swallowed roughly at the intensity of his gaze.

After what felt like an eternity but was realistically only a few seconds, Luke cleared his throat, averting his eyes and stepping away from Jordan and she did the same, trying desperately to fight the heat in her cheeks.

“Oh, hey! You found Luke!” Reggie exclaimed as he and Alex stepped out of the garage.

“Uh, yeah! He just got back?” Jordan responded, looking anywhere but at Luke as she stepped further away.

“Yeah, sorry about just disappearing,” Luke apologized. “I just needed some air.”

Reggie nodded, accepting the excuse at face value but Alex looked between the two skeptically, clearly noticing something that Reggie hadn’t.

“I wonder what Ray is up to today?” Reggie thought aloud, his mind clearly having wandered.

“Who’s Ray?” Jordan asked Alex in a whisper, watching as Reggie stared thoughtfully at the home.

“It’s Julie’s dad,” Alex answered and Jordan just looked more confused.

“Okay, who’s Julie?” She asked, brows raised expectantly.

“Oh, right! She’s the girl who brought us back. She can see us,” Alex summarized quickly and Jordan nodded.

“And her family lives here now?” She asked, gathering up the context clues and Alex nodded.

“So when do I get to meet her?”

“Uh, well, she’s at school right now,” Alex explained.

“She’s trying to get back into her music program,” Luke added in, and Jordan jumped slightly, not expecting the boy to interact with her. “That girl is wicked talented.”

The boys began to explain the rest to her as they followed Reggie who had started wandering up to the house.

Somehow they had ended up in Julie’s bedroom, the four ghosts scattered around the immaculately decorated space.

“You understand that this is incredibly invasive, right?” Jordan questioned as she sat in the corner while the guys poked and prodded through Julie’s bedroom.

Jordan hadn’t met the girl yet, but she was pretty sure she wouldn’t want them in her room, especially not trying to rifle through her belongings like Luke was.

“She said we could stay here,” Luke defended, climbing up on a stool to get a closer look at one of Julie’s shelves.

“She said you could be in her bedroom and go through all her stuff?” Jordan asked skeptically, crossing her arms over her chest and raising a brow to express her disbelief.

“Well… We…” Luke fumbled and Jordan rolled her eyes.

“So you have no excuse.”

“What? don’t tell me you’re not curious,”

“Curious? Yes. Rude? No.” Jordan quipped and Luke rolled his eyes.

Fortunately, before the two could get into another fight, the door opened and a girl who couldn’t have been much younger than any of them walked in. Based on the photos placed around the room and the context of their location Jordan assumed it must’ve been Julie.

“What are you guys doing in my room?” She gasped, clearly angry and Jordan smirked at Luke triumphantly.

The guys all started speaking with various “Umm’s” and ‘Uhhh’s” all trying to come up with an excuse before Luke, frozen in place atop the ottoman, said, “We were looking for the kitchen.”

Jordan rolled her eyes at the terrible excuse and Julie did the same.

“This… This can’t happen, it’s creepy,” Julie said, staring pointedly at the boys as she waved her fingers, before adding to Reggie, “Get off my bed please.”

As Reggie scrambled off of the bed Luke turned the attention back to himself as he raised his hand, “Hey Julie, what’s in the box?”

“That’s off-limits.”

“Oh, okay, girl stuff,” Luke replied, smiling as if he understood and Reggie jumped in excitedly,

“Ooh, like butterflies and glitter?”

“Oh c’mon,” Alex groaned.

“You guys are idiots,” Jordan stated at the same time, rolling her eyes.

“Woah! Who said you could invite ghost friends to my house?” The girl exclaimed, apparently just noticing Jordan’s presence.

“Well, we didn’t invite her exactly,” Alex started before Luke took over.

“We kinda summoned her this morning while you were at school.” He lifted his hands as if to say ‘oops?’ “Like how you accidentally summoned us yesterday.”

“You summoned a ghostly stranger to my house?!” Julie exclaimed, becoming gradually more heated.

“Jordan isn’t a stranger!” Reggie piped up, “She died with us!”

“So how come she didn’t come back with you guys?”

“Cause I wasn’t part of Dumb-set Curve,” Jordan answered and Luke glared at her for mocking their band.

“At least we were better than Asshole 81,” He shot back and Alex and Reggie sighed.

“Real clever,” Jordan scoffed, “How long have you been holding onto that one? Twenty-five years?”

“They’ve kinda always had this rivalry,” Alex explained to Julie as Luke and Jordan continued to bicker in the background. “Jordan was the leader of our rival band, Apollo 81.”

Julie sighed, mumbling a sarcastic “Great,” as she watched the two, their faces now inches away from one another as they hurled insults back and forth.

“Hey! I picked something up!” Alex said excitedly, effectively gaining everyone’s attention as he walked towards the bed, picture frame in his hands before his concentration slipped and it fell, landing softly on Julie’s comforter. “I dropped it.”

“Is that your mom?” Luke asked, leaning over Alex to get a look at the photo.

“Yes, and it’s my favorite picture of us so if you break it, I’ll break you.” Julie threatened, snatching the frame up from the bed and placing it on her nightstand.

“Okay, well, sorry cause we’re kinda unbreakable at this point,” Alex pointed out.

“I don’t get it, you guys can mess up my bed, pick up your instruments, but you can’t pick up other stuff?”

“I know, right? It’s hard, but for some reason our instruments are easy.” Luke elaborated and Jordan frowned thoughtfully, all of this new information to her.

“Yeah, super easy! Check out what I learned today!” Reggie said, standing excitedly only to fall back down as his bass appeared on top of him.

“I’m sorry, we can summon our instruments?” Jordan asked incredulously.

The guys all nodded, Reggie explaining that you just had to wish for it. Jordan closed her eyes, concentration on the first instrument of hers she could think of. She gasped at the impact as suddenly she was gripping her electric cello.

“You play the cello?” Julie asked, sounding confused.

“I was classically trained,” Jordan explained, “But when we started Apollo 81 I taught myself electric, amongst other instruments. We were working on incorporating the cello into some of our songs before I, y’know…”

“What other instruments can you play?” Julie asked curiously and Luke groaned.

“Ignore him, he’s just upset because he knows I’m more talented than he is,” Jordan waved the boy off and Luke glared.

“Just because you can play more instruments than me doesn’t make you more talented,” He spoke, “Quantity doesn’t trump quality.”

Jordan just rolled her eyes before turning back to Julie, “I can play just about every string instrument you can name - I grew up taking violin lessons before moving on to cello. I can also play piano and in middle school band I played the saxophone.”

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Julie nodded and Jordan smiled at the praise.

Luke huffed, reclaiming the room’s attention as he stepped back onto the ottoman.

“Julie,” he whined, gesturing to the box.

“Oh my gosh, I thought I told you to leave that alone!” The girl exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest sternly.

“I know, and you should’ve just said nothing cause now I can’t stop thinking about it, so… What’s in the box, Julie?”

“It’s just my dream box, okay!” She gave in. “Whenever I get a thought or something, I write it down and get it out of my mind.”

“Like lyrics?”

“They would be if I still wrote music like I used to with my mom,” Julie sighed, looking down to avoid their eyes. “Now it’s just full of stuff that doesn’t make me sad.”

“But you do play,” Alex said and Julie snapped her head up to stare at him. “We heard you this morning.”

Jordan narrowed her eyes in confusion, having not been “alive” (for lack of a better word) that morning.

“In the garage?!”

Luke jumped down from the ottoman to hit Alex’s shoulder, silently admonishing him for revealing that information.

“You were there?”

The guys once again stumbled for a response, their voice shooting up an octave or two.

“So, where is your kitchen, by the way?” Luke asked, diving onto the bed and staring up at Julie, doing his best to distract her.

“Okay,” she began, leaning down to meet his eye level. “We need to set some boundaries. For starters, stay out of my room!” She said angrily, pointing towards the door and the guys stumbled over each other to leave.

Jordan paused before she walked out, something on her mind as she examined the girl in front of her.

“Can I ask what happened to your mom?” She asked softly, “It’s okay if its too personal-“

“No, it’s fine, the guys already know,” Julie waved her off, sighing sadly, “She passed a year ago.”

Jordan bobbed her head slightly to herself at the answer. “I’m really sorry, it sounds like she meant a lot to you.”

Julie nodded, “She did.”

“I know how hard that can be,” Jordan opened up, “If you ever need someone to talk to I’m here.”

She didn’t stay any longer, not wanting to make things awkward. When she walked through the door she ran straight into Alex who had apparently turned back around. Jordan flushed, eyes widening as she wondered if he had heard any of their conversation but he looked just as surprised to see her still there as she did him. She gave him a tight-lipped smile before poofing back to the garage.

___

Part 3

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #jatp 1x02 #luke jatp #jatp luke #luke patterson #luke x oc #luke patterson x oc #jatp oc #ghost oc #alex mercer #jatp alex #reggie peters #jatp reggie #julie melina #enemies to lovers #jatp fic #luke patterson fic

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 4 years ago

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Meeting and Dating Shavonne Wright

(My crappy gif)(Requested by anonymous/The ask had three separate requests in it so I’ll respond to it later when I’m ready to start writing the others)

- You met Shavonne in school. The two of you had a class at the end of the day together but you didn’t talk to each other until halfway through the year when she saved your ass in the school bathroom.

- It was around fourth period when you just so happened to enter the bathroom after she did. She was leaning against the sink smoking and not paying any attention to you when you made your way into a stall. It was there that you found out that “that time of the month” came early and you were completely unprepared.

- You cursed quietly, panicking while rifling through your bag for a second time. You could hear her let out a short laugh in response to your outburst before she finally spoke.

“You alright in there?” The question was joking more than anything.

- You winced at the idea but swallowed your pride, asking if she had a pad or something that you could use.

“Oh shit, girl. ...Yeah, give me a minute.” She answered quietly. You could hear her heels clicking against the floor as she made her way over to the stall, her hand appearing over the top of the door to hand you one.

- You thanked her and finished up, hoping that she would leave before you got out but you had no such luck. You shyly exited the stall, flashing her a small smile as you went to wash your hands.

- She nodded at you while taking a drag from her cigarette, brushing off your second thank you as you finally left the bathroom. You let out a breath once you got into the hallway, figuring that was that and she’d forget about it by the time your class with her came around.

- So the end of the day came around and you made your way into your final class; study hall though your “teacher” let you do whatever you wanted within reason.

- Shavonne came in a few minutes after you had and, for the first time, seemed to notice that you shared the class together. She hesitated for a moment before making her way over and asking if you were “alright now”, offering you a Midol as she took a seat.

- The two of you talked on and off for the rest of the period; you blamed it more on the fact that she didn’t really have any friends in that class rather than her actual interest in you. But you’d soon be proven wrong.

- She began to sit with you nearly every day after that, your conversations moving past awkward small talk and the length at which you spoke getting longer and longer. Shavonne actually found herself trying to get to that class faster so that she could see you sooner, something she later realized was a bit odd for just two friends, especially when it came to her.

- After about a month of talking, the two of you began to walk out of class together, still making conversation as you made your way through the halls. It was there that she finally asked if you’d like to hang out after school.

- You agreed and soon found yourself sitting on her bedroom floor as she rifled through her records, trying to find a good album to listen to. She asked you what you thought of Don while her back was turned to you and you honestly answered: you didn’t know him very well but he seemed like a jerk, harmless but an ass.

- To your surprise, she agreed and told you that she was planning on breaking things off for good, hesitantly admitting that she liked someone new anyways. You started to prod just a little bit.

“They’re... well you know....” You don’t piece two and two together as she begins to subtly describe you. “Just... cute, you know?”

“I’ve never heard you call anyone cute before.” You chuckled slightly.

“Sexy. Is that better?” She teasingly corrected herself. “But they’re more cute. Like a puppy or cat or something. I don’t know she’s just different.”

Your heart skipped a beat, wondering if you heard her correctly. “She?”

“Huh?” She asked but you knew she was faking it, her voice high and nervous.

“You said ‘she’.” You replied tentatively, unsure of if it was your place to intrude.

“Alright, so it’s a she.” She muttered defensively, knowing she couldn’t play off her fumble.

“Alright.” You said and moved on to another subject of conversation.

- The two of you had your first kiss the same night she confessed that she had feelings for you. She’d dragged you out with her late one night, convincing you to come by admitting that she’d broken up with Don and “just wanted some company”.

- You were sat next to her on a field of grass, swatting mosquitoes from your legs while she smoked when she finally told you that you were the one she’d been talking about. You went silent for a long moment before you told her that you liked her too, letting her lean closer and closer until her lips brushed against yours; testing the waters before she pulled you into a real kiss.

- It’s certainly a new experience but one you wouldn’t trade for the world.

- Lots of pda. She’s a touchy person in general so no one really suspects anything when she’s hanging all over you. She constantly has her arm around your waist/shoulder or her hand in yours.

- Quick, frenzied kisses. She’ll desperately attack your lips for a minute then pull away like nothing happened the next.

- She likes when you lay your head on her lap but; depending on her mood, she’ll either play with your hair or put things in it until you notice. Even though she messes with you, she doesn’t want you to pull away.

- She’s a tease. She doesn’t like serious talk, instead she prefers to gossip and try and get a reaction out of you, usually a nice one.

- Tv dates.

- Slumber parties, you have one; at least, once a week. You usually make whole days out of them, heading over to her house right after school and staying there until late the next morning.

- You know that picture of the two girls where one of them is putting makeup on the other while straddling their waist. That’s the two of you; you can decide who’s who.

- Bathroom smoking breaks. You tend to light her cigarettes for her since she rarely remembers her own.

- She literally has everything else you could need in her bag besides a lighter. Hair ties, tampons/pads, gum, breath mints, chapstick, tissues, pepper spray, spare money, band aids, etc.

- Playing dumb games to pass the time, especially during your free periods.

- She likes to be tall but she really isn’t. She’s constantly wearing heels and gets annoyed when you tease her about her height.

- On the same note~ She’s actually really insecure. She may not act like it on the outside but she’s always secretly trying to do things that make her look more “appealing”, skinnier, prettier, etc.

- You occasionally help her get dressed because she insists on wearing the tightest pants that she can force on and ridiculously hard to clasp necklaces.

- She can usually score some beers for the two of you from unsuspecting guys who think with the head that’s off their shoulders; if you like to drink, that is.

- She likes being helpful, at least when it somewhat benefits her. She’ll come help you with whatever you’re doing as long as it either involves her or you spending more time with her.

- She calls you “girlie”, it’s her version of a pet name, sort of ingenious since she can call you it in public without turning heads.

- Drive through restaurant dates.

- Wandering around and seeing where the night takes the two of you.

- Rollerskating dates.

- Matching nail polish.

- Bumping each other’s hips teasingly.

- Brushing her hair behind her ear for her. There always seems to be an annoying strand in her face.

- She likes to think of herself as being above “kiddie stuff” but she’s a sucker for little childish trinkets and stuffed animals. She’ll tease you for getting her something like a teddy bear but you bet your ass it’ll be sitting on her bed the next time you visit.

- She gets spooked easily and whenever she does, she has a habit of looking to and trying to latch on to you. You’re sort of used as a stress ball and a meat shield at the same time.

- Comforting hugs, she always seems to know when you need one and she’ll take one whenever you want to give her one.

- She turns into a little teddy bear when the two of you get to her house after school. Her shoes come off, she shrinks and then she turns soft. She refuses to be the little spoon, she’ll koala bear your back before she allows you to be the big spoon.

- She’s a clothing stealer; a beautiful, persistent thief that vexes you. Looking for a particular shirt? You’ll find it soon enough... with your girlfriend inside of it.

- Jodi is incredibly and adorably supportive while Kaye is most certainly a borderline lesbian herself. They’re most likely the only ones who know about the two of you.

- Her shoes in one of your hands and her hand in the other. It’s a common thing after a late night of partying since she insists on wearing heels every time she goes out.

- Special handshakes.

- Photobooth pictures. She’s got them pinned on her headboard and hidden in her pillows.

- She likes leading the way when the two of you walk together but always makes sure that you’re close behind, not wanting to leave you somewhere or let you stray too far away.

- Being really comfortable with each other. The two of you can talk about whatever you want without ever having to feel embarrassed.You’re also the only one whose secrets she actually keeps.

- She’s a real one; at least when it comes to you. Pimple on your back? She’s got it. Bled through your pants? She’ll get you another pair. Puking in the bathroom? She’ll hold your hair. It’s girl code baby and she’s mastered it.

- Shavonne’s never been jealous; actually jealous, of anyone, mainly because she’s never been in an extremely serious relationship. But with you? She certainly has a mean streak when it comes to dealing with people she deems as being too close to you.

- It’s a little hard for her to decide when she should and shouldn’t get jealous since she’s sort of new to the whole “being gay” thing. Should she be jealous of guys that flirt with you or only girls who seem to like you more than friends? She isn’t sure.

- She tries her best to deal with her jealousy on her own time and to not let you know about it. She’s sort of embarrassed since she considers herself a pretty sought after girl. She doesn’t think she should ever feel like there’s competition when she’s the one you’re with. But like I said: she’s secretly insecure and that affects how she feels more than she cares to admit.

- She’s very protective of you, insulting whoever is rude to you or tries to make you the butt of a joke. People learn very quickly that being mean/inconsiderate to you gets them on her shit list.

- She always has a comeback no matter the situation. Teasing her? She has one. Fighting with each other? She has one. You’d think she has a book full of them somewhere.

- She never stays mad at you for very long. She likes to think that she can hold a grudge but when it really comes down to it, she tries to smooth things over pretty much as soon as she can.

- She sings “love you~” more than she says it seriously but the feeling and intent is still there. You think it’s cute anyway.

- She doesn’t have anything against her hometown so she wouldn’t mind sticking around for a while. Maybe the two of you can rent/buy a house together; be ambiguously gay roommates that all the old ladies either look at weird or openly admire your “friendship”.

#shavonne wright imagine #shavonne wright headcanons #shavonne wright headcanon #dazed and confused #dazed and confused imagine #dazed and confused x reader #dazed and confused headcanons #dazed and confused headcanon #90s movie imagine #90s movie headcanons #90s movie headcanon

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