#never stop the hustle for worms

[mch3ll3]

Good morning birds

[deadpanwalking]

sorry for your loss, quing

The Last Jew in Vinnitsa died in his bed after a brief illness, precisely eighty three years after the one in the picture—4,500 miles away from his ghetto, surrounded by children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. One of these days, he will die for the very last time, and I will be there to say my final Mourner's Kaddish, and my last remaining connection to Judaism will pass with him.

[dulltoned]

Branch knew that his brothers would have to leave. He'd be stupid to think that they could stay forever. They had their own lives to live and homes that they made for themselves, they couldn't just leave that behind and Branch didn't want them to. That didn't mean he wanted them to leave. He knows that they never had any plans to stick around, they'd made that clear to him, but he wasn't ready to say goodbye.

It's worse when it looks like they plan to try to be a family together. Without him.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Branch tried. He tried really hard to keep his brothers at arm's length while they were trying to figure out how to stay in each other's lives but, no matter what he did, they still managed to worm their way past his defenses. He really liked having them around. It was still awkward and sometimes they got on his nerves but when Clay caught up with him on his morning patrols, or he woke up to find Bruce had made breakfast, he felt a soft happiness bloom in his chest that he was quickly growing addicted to. It was unfamiliar in the best way and he'd tried so hard to keep these attachments from growing because he knew that they couldn't last. Good things come to an end, and Branch had spent too long waiting for the worst just to stop now. He knew that this little bubble would pop and he wanted to keep his heart sheltered from the inevitable disappointment.

It's already been a week since they'd brought Floyd back to Pop Village and Branch knew this couldn't last much longer. They all had lives to live and goals to accomplish. He doesn’t know why they were fooling themselves into thinking their family could just knit itself back together. They'd already made it painfully clear to him that being a family again had never been their end goal anyway. That's what he gets for letting himself hope. He should have known better but Poppy's endless optimism seemed to be rubbing off on him. Hell, Bruce has an entire other family to get back to! There's no way that he had room in his life for a grumpy little brother. Halfway through the week, they stopped trying to include him in their conversations planning the future anyway and that had been the first sign. At least the first sign that couldn't be explained away by his overthinking.

"Hey," Branch glances up from his place nestled against the trunk of a tree to see Poppy's pretty face. "What's on your mind?" She asks, expression open and soft with a concerned little furrow between her brows. She lowers herself quietly down beside him and cuddles herself immediately against his side with a content sigh.

Branch chuckles and lets his head fall gently on top of hers. He already feels a bit lighter with her here and the worry feels just a bit farther away. "Just thinking," He lets his gaze wander out into the village in front of them, watching the daily hustle and bustle of the merry trolls fill the streets with a life that he used to resent. He remembers when he used to despise how bright and joyful Pop Village is, and even though it was barely a few years ago now it felt like a lifetime. His life has changed so much since he'd ventured to Bergen Town with Poppy that first time but some things have stayed the same. He's still a lot duller than the other trolls, and he doesn't think he'll ever be without the paranoia that lingers just beneath his skin, but he's happy in a way that he hasn't been since he was just a kid.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Poppy presses after a few beats of silence. He thinks that she's soaking in the sights of the village too, basking in the joy of her people. She's done an amazing job as Queen and he's sure she'll only continue to shape the future of all trollkind with her compassion.

Branch sighs, sagging further into her, "No." He doesn't. He isn't even sure where he'd start and he doesn't want to know what Poppy would say. This past week he's felt like he's gotten closer to his brothers than he ever has before while simultaneously being an outsider looking in. It's like he has a front-row seat to what his family could be and the closer he gets to the inevitable end the more it tears him apart. He'd forgotten how much he wanted this until he was waiting for it to be taken away from him again.

"Okay," Poppy agrees with no small amount of hesitation. Branch is glad that she isn't going to pry right now but he's smart enough to know that it won't last. Poppy isn't good at staying away from things she thinks she can fix. It's why she stuck with him for so long. He was grateful for it then but it only amplifies his dread now. It's strange how many things can be a double-edged sword. "Do you want to spend the rest of the day people-watching?" It's an offer to sit with him for as long as he needs. He smiles even though she can't see it.

"No," He carefully detaches himself from her and stands with a big stretch. He's been curled up against this tree for a few hours now he thinks. It's about time he gets up and faces the music. He turns back to Poppy and offers her a paw up, pulling her to her feet with ease when her hand slips confidently into his. "Maybe we could get lunch?" He suggests instead.

"I'd love that," An adoring smile spreads across Poppy's face and Branch's heart melts at the sight. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to her looking at him like that but he doesn't mind the way it makes his heart race and his cheeks warm. She pulls him along by their hands still clasped together and he follows after her without hesitation. He's learned time and time again that he'd follow her anywhere.

It's still strange to filter easily into the busy pathways. No one sends him weird looks or whispers conspiratorially behind his back. He just slots as easily into place as Poppy does, just another troll in Pop Village with somewhere to be. Poppy clearly has a place in mind so he doesn't mind letting her lead the way, watching the scenery change from the dense collection of pods to the stalls and storefronts of the marketplace. Poppy makes a beeline for a cute little stall off to the side. It has an off-white awning decorated with pink hearts and yellow stars and Branch can immediately understand why his girlfriend is drawn to it. It has a few round tables for outside seating with closed parasols matching the stall secured to each one. It's adorable. Poppy immediately bounces up to the stall and drags Branch along with her. He sends her an amused glance, "You come here often?" he teases fondly.

"Of course!" Poppy beams back at him, eyes shining. She gestures to the stall with her free hand, "I mean look at this place, it's so cute. And they have the best little sponge cakes, like, ever." She points to the small chalkboard menu propped up beside the stall and Branch skims it over. It's mostly overly sweet pastries and cakes but Branch sees a few muffins that sound pretty good near the bottom.

He shrugs as the stall worker greets them. They're a lilac glitter troll with periwinkle hair and a white apron that reads Honey's in swirling gold script across the chest. "Sounds good to me," he agrees easily, watching with a soft smile as Poppy squeals. The glitter troll doesn't react much beyond a happy smile of their own but Branch supposes that most Pop Trolls are probably used to Poppy's antics, and if she frequents this place they must hear this all the time.

"Okay, okay," Poppy reads over the menu in a millisecond before looking up to address the worker with a bright wave, "Hi Lavender. Could I get two of the mini jam sponge cakes and a pink lemonade please?" She orders kindly, watching as Lavender jots down the order before they both turn to Branch expectantly.

Branch glances over the menu one last time to make sure nothing else catches his eye before ordering. "I'll take the sour cherry muffin and an iced chai if you can." Lavender writes down his order with a swift assurance that it'd be no problem at all before turning around to start fixing up their drinks. Branch can see why Poppy likes this place so much. It's cozy and easy but filled with an obvious love and care that would draw her in immediately. It makes him like it that much more.

Poppy swings their hands between them in wide arcs while they wait. Branch sends her an annoyed scowl but she just grins back and keeps swinging. She knows that if he was really bothered he'd just pull away and she takes full advantage of that. He rolls his eyes but doesn't try to stop her. He'd never try to stop her, not when her excitement was this innocent and this pure. She's happy and it warms his heart and fills his stomach with butterflies and it's nice. He can allow them both something nice.

It's only a few minutes before Lavender is pushing their drinks across the stall counter and just a few more seconds before they're placing little plates with their food next to the cups. Branch finally pulls his hand back to trade a few bags of tea for the goods while Poppy grabs their drinks with a cheery thank you. Lavender thanks him greatly for the new blend to try, even raising the cloth bag to their nose to sniff the loose leaves, and he offers them a soft nod in kind while he gathers up the plates. It's such an easy interaction but Branch can get thrown off by the unending kindness sometimes.

"Where do you wanna sit?" Poppy asks, still bouncing on the balls of her feet as her excitement grows. He loves how her energy seeps out. Poppy is constantly moving. Always rocking back on her heels or bouncing in place or dancing through town with a hum caught on her breath. She's so bright. She's always managed to light up Branch's dull life and ever since she became a real part of it he's only gotten brighter with each day that passes.

Branch glances at the three empty tables before looking back at Poppy, unimpressed, "They're all the exact same." He monotones. While he adores her he can admit that sometimes she can still be too much for him. They're very different trolls but something about them just works. He's amazed that they can slot so nicely together but he wouldn't trade what he has with her for anything. She's always believed in him in a way that no one else has and he couldn't imagine what he'd do without her.

Poppy pouts, "Branch," She whines, gesturing to the empty tables with their drinks. "You have to pick. If you don't pick we're sitting on the ground." There's a sparkle in her eye that tells Branch she's just pushing his buttons but that doesn't mean she's not serious. She may be a pest but he knows well that she takes that role to heart.

Branch groans and moves towards the closest table before she can spot the smile trying to take over his face. He sets their plates down carefully, settling the two sponge cakes in front of one seat while placing the muffin in front of the other. Poppy easily plops their respective drinks down and dramatically pulls out Branch's chair before he can do it himself. He raises an eyebrow, "Really?"

"Yep!" Poppy chirps, wiggling the chair at him expectantly. With another dramatic roll of his eyes he sits down and chuckles warmly when she briefly struggles to push the chair back in. "I got it, don't laugh." She huffs but she does scoot the chair in with a little extra force.

"I would never," Branch promises. He's lying out his teeth and they both know it but Poppy doesn't acknowledge it outside of a quick glare she shoots his way. He waits for her to get comfortable and pick up a fork before he even looks down at his own snack. The muffin is a nice brown with little dots of dark red scattered throughout the bread, the top glistening slightly with what Branch could only assume was a light glaze. It looks good enough so he delicately peels off a piece of the top and pops it into his mouth.

Oh, wow. It's actually really good. The glaze isn't too sweet and it balances out the tartness of the cherries really well. The bread itself is moist and dense. He feels a little bad for being so surprised. Poppy smirks at him from across the table, "I know, right?" She nods, already halfway through the first cake. It's a round little thing layered delicately with cake, jam, and what looks like a cream of some sort. There are even a few fresh berries nestled on the top. "Honey's is really good. Most trolls walk right by it but I love it here." Branch can understand why as he picks off another bite of his muffin and savors the flavor. When he takes a sip of the chai to wash it down he's equally impressed, a soft hum of satisfaction slipping out before he could even think about it. Poppy's eyes widen at the clear praise and she reaches out with both hands, "Oo, I haven't had their chai yet, lemme try." She makes a little grabby motion with her paws and Branch can't help but comply. Her face absolutely lights up when she takes a sip and his heart melts.

"Oh, hey," A voice cuts through the moment and Branch looks over to see his brothers a few yards away. Anxiety claws its way to the front of his mind at the sight of all of them together and he hates that his own insecurities are ruining such a sweet atmosphere. Suddenly the muffin doesn't taste quite so sweet. Floyd offers a soft wave when his brothers get a little closer and Branch returns it on autopilot. "Are we interrupting a date? We can come back later." Bruce looks between Branch and Poppy sympathetically. If anyone understood the importance of an uninterrupted date it was Bruce if his stories about his children were anything to go by.

"No, no, of course not! We're just getting lunch." Poppy assures before Branch can come up with some plausible excuse. He's glad to share a few more moments with them before they all leave but there's a pit suddenly growing in his stomach that easily overshadows that.

"Oo, what'd you get?" John Dory leans in, quickly invading Branch's space and nearly knocking him over in an unnecessary rush to get a closer look at his plate. John laughs at Branch's disgruntled complaints and leans back, ruffling Branch's hair in the same motion. Branch growls and pushes his brother away with a sharp glare but John Dory only smiles back and raises his hands in mock surrender. John seemed to get great pleasure in mapping out Branch's boundaries through trial and error but when Branch tells him to quit it the eldest insists that it's an older brother thing.

Poppy sends Branch a quick glance to gauge where he's at before looking back at his brothers with a welcoming smile, "What brings you guys out here?" She asks, munching curiously on the remnants of her first cake while she looks between each brother with searching eyes. Her curiosity was a thing to be reckoned with.

"Well," Clay starts, straightening up and looking proud, "We think we've finally gotten everything all figured out. When it comes to sticking around, ya know?" He explains with a satisfied grin. The details had been Clay's favorite part from the bits and pieces that Branch caught around the bunker. He tried not to mind that his brothers only talked about how they'd keep in touch when he wasn't around but, even if it wasn't something he was a part of, he would have been more than happy to help them figure everything out.

"Oh, that's great!" Poppy throws her hands up, her smile becoming impossibly brighter when faced with the success of the people she cares for. She didn't know his brothers well but Poppy assured Branch that the people who were important to him would always be important to her too. That meant the full nine yards when it came to the Queen of Pop. She's even squeezed in one-on-one time with each of his brothers during the measly week they've been in Pop Village.

"Yeah, it took some time but I think we've managed to work it out," Floyd nods, clearly pleased but also fondly exasperated by his brothers' antics. He looks over at Branch's drink curiously and sends Branch a curious look in silent question. Branch shrugs and picks up the cup, holding it out to Floyd. "We still want to have plenty of time to live our lives but after everything," Floyd pauses, managing to look both sheepish and haunted. He takes the cup with a small smile, "Well, after everything it'd be nice to see each other a little more. So every couple of months we figured we could meet up for a while." Floyd takes a small sip of the chai and his eyes widen in silent surprise. He takes one more drink before passing it back to Branch with a soft thank you.

"Yeah, we've got a whole rotation figured out. Vacay Island is plenty big enough to house everyone and then I can introduce you all to the kids." Bruce looked so impossibly happy at the idea and Branch couldn't help but share the sentiment. He was overjoyed for his brother when he first heard that he had a family of his own, all undercurrents of bitterness chased away by just how content Bruce seemed to be. He thinks, maybe, he might want to get to know his niece and nephews at some point if he'd be allowed.

"And the Putt Putt Trolls have more than enough extra space in the Course, we could take in a few more trolls any time." Clay crosses his arms, nodding once, somehow managing to look even more accomplished. It wasn't as enticing as Vacay Island but it would be nice to know more about how Clay has been living these past many years. Branch takes a slow drink of his tea and glances between his brothers curiously. He figured they'd been talking about their plans after Pop Village without him but he hadn't expected so much planning to go into how they would spend time together. Without him.

John Dory adjusts his jacket, puffing up the collar with his usual smug aura, "We can even spend a few nights in good ol' Rhonda here and there. Make a camping trip out of it." Poppy might as well have literal stars in her eyes with how she's beaming at his brothers. She's not even the biggest fan of camping but she is a huge fan of campfires and s'mores. Not to mention the fact that Poppy had grown fond of Rhonda on their latest adventure.

Branch is too busy focusing on how no one brought up Pop Village to be excited for them. "That's great," He smiles, trying his best to make it look genuine despite how his stomach was twisting into knots and his eyes were starting to burn. Of course they'd visit each other. Floyd would probably move in with the Putt Putt Trolls or bunk with John Dory and then they'd all get together every few months to catch up. He doesn't know why he's surprised, he figured he would have to say his goodbyes, but somehow it still hurts.

He'd really hoped that maybe after everything they changed their minds. That maybe they could try to give this family thing a shot again, even if it would be hard and complicated work. At the end of the day it looked like they were ready to spend time with each other but not with him. It's been a week of walking into a room only for it to suddenly go quiet and he thinks that maybe in the end it hadn't been his paranoia that made him think they were leaving him out.

"It's not perfect but we can make it work." Floyd's smile is too soft and too kind and it makes the pit in Branch's stomach claw it's way up his sternum. His fingers were starting to become cold and clumsy as his dread grew and his heart thumped a pathetically fast rhythm against his ribs. He had tried so hard not to get attached again but now all he could think about was the impending goodbye he wasn't ready to give. He wanted more time.

Poppy's looking at him now and he can see her smile starting to drop as she realizes that something's wrong. The excitement is visibly bleeding out of her and a calculating expression is swiftly taking its place. It's only there for a brief few moments before she turns a polite smile back to his brothers, "I can't believe I forgot, there's something I'd like to show Branch if you guys wouldn't mind?" She sounds so genuinely apologetic Branch would be more surprised if he wasn't so focused on how tight his chest was getting. He knows this feeling, he's well accustomed to the first signs of a panic attack, but no matter how familiar it's never any less terrifying.

"Oh, no, of course not!" Bruce assures quickly with a wave of his hand. "We can talk more later, obviously. You guys go have fun."

Poppy doesn't even wait for the merry agreement from the others before she's out of her seat. She grabs a few of the available to-go bags from the market stall and easily sweeps the remaining food into them with one quick motion. She practically pulls Branch out of his chair. "Can you grab the drinks, sweetie?" Oh, she's worried. She only ever calls him sweetie when she's worried.

"Yeah, of course," He agrees numbly before grabbing their cups from the table with shaking paws. It's not too noticeable he doesn't think. Maybe he can only tell because he can't help but stare at how the cups tremble almost imperceptibly in his grip.

"It was nice seeing you guys!" Poppy waves happily at his brothers before ushering him away. It takes him a few seconds to realize she's pointing him in the direction of her pod but when he does something small relaxes beneath his ribs. He'll be okay there. He tries not to listen to the cheerful goodbyes of his brothers behind him, cringing away from their farewells like the words themselves could cause physical harm. Poppy ducks in close and tries to meet his eyes with a pinched expression. She doesn't ask if he's okay, she already knows the answer.

[futurebird]

It's spring time in New York City!

It's spring time in New York City! Yesterday it felt as if the whole city had come alive. Tulips and daffodils bloom, the moss on the old stone wall caught droplets of morning due. On my way to the bus stop in the South Bronx I encountered a DeKay's brown snake on the sidewalk near the park, the cute little snake was sunning itself after a long winter underground.

Gently, I picked her up (I had a look at the tail and I think it is a female) and moved her to a nice warm rock away from foot traffic. This is the first snake I've ever seen in NYC and it's my favorite species!

I’ve wanted to have a Dekay’s brown snake a a pet forever— I think a terrarium with Storeria dekayi and carpenter ants would be amazing— but if she now lives in the park I can go see her there.  Even better. She eat snails, slugs and worms and lord knows we have those over by that wall. I suspect there is one of NYC’s many secret buried streams and brooks under the wall in the park. It’s so moist all of the time.   Some of the local teens on their way to school and stopped to admire the snake. They were a little scared at first "oh no she's got a snake!" but I was able to tell them a little about the snake and how they are harmless and a sign that our little local park is doing well ecologically. 

Later this same day I was walking down Park Ave. down on the upper east when out of the corner of my eye I spied an ant queen. I can always tell ant queens by the way they walk... or rather waddle. Looks like Prenolepis imparis, or the American winter ant. She was hustling along the side walk as if on her way to the Chanel store. Now she’s in one of my luxury ant condos— (but don’t tell her I’ve moved her out to the Bronx.)     

I fed her a drop of sugar water which she accepted, now she is in my ant drawer snug in her test tube. I will post updates about this queen, and if she makes it. Over on Mastodon I asked for help naming her and we decided to call her "Ethel." I've never kept this species before, so I'm reading about their needs.

Ethel is cute & round, settling in to her "Luxery ant condo" (It's a test tube.) She enjoyed a little sugar water, now she's in the darkness of the ant drawer. She looks very well-fed, so I think there is a good chance she will lay lots of eggs.

In four or five days I'll check on her again. Sometimes new queens just die. So, many don't like to name a queen until she has her first workers. But I'm cheering for this little urban ant.

[minihotdog]

Good ol' fishing boy

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x gn!Reader

a/n: idk. Simon is a big ol softie in this one

Summary: Simon learns how to fish

c/w: fake worm, maybe a swearword

Word Count: 1k

***

The weekend had finally come around. The usual hustle and bustle of the compound died down as everyone ran off to enjoy the little free time they’d been given. 

“Hey, Lt!” You beam at the sight of your superior. “Whatcha got planned for today?” You stood with your fishing rods tucked under your arm and a backpack stuffed to its brim.

“Nothin’.” He sat at the table with his morning tea. He always had such a cold look, with or without his mask, but you were determined to try and break down at least one of his walls. You’d been working for the task force for about three months now, and he was the only one who you still didn’t know a thing about.

  “You ‘otta come fishing with me. It’d be a good time, I promise.” You raise your eyebrows at him, waiting for his response.

“Not up my alley.” He swiftly declines, leaving you taken aback. 

In all my years, I’ve never heard a military man say no to fishing.

“Wha’d’ya gonna do? Sit here all day?” You say in disbelief.

“Yes.”

“Oh c’mon, Lt.! What if I fall in the water and I can’t get out and I’m all by myself!” You clasp your hands in front of you as if you were about to get on your knees and beg. He sighs at what he referred to as your ‘American dramatics’. 

“Fine, but keep the talking to a minimum.”

“Yaay!” You celebrate, causing the stern Brit to groan in annoyance.

***

The air nipped at your nose as you and Simon sat on the bank of the river. The mountains off in the distance were topped off with fresh snow. The warm sunlight would occasionally peak out from behind the grey clouds. 

“Here ya go,” You hand him a rod and open your tackle box between the two of you. You start tying your hook to the line and reaching into the box to pull out a long black fake worm. You look over to Simon, motioning to the worm, “See this little guy? Bass love this shit.” He snorts lightly but you notice him go still when he looks at the contents of the box.

“So what do I do?” He asks, a little embarrassed. Most boys learned how to fish with their dads, unfortunately, his dad had been set on being a nightmare rather than an angler. You stop dead in your tracks, eyeing the man.

“You ever been fishing before?”

“No.”

You almost drop your worm, 

“What?! Really?!”

He shoots you a look that says, ‘Cool it or else’.

“Your dad never took you when you were a kid?” You probe.

“We weren’t very close.” His eyes avoid yours and look out at the bend of the river. Simon wasn’t one to feel embarrassed about his upbringing, he saw it as something that made him the man he was today. It motivated him to be better than what he witnessed and to maybe even eliminate the horrors that many were forced to live with. But it came with a cost and that cost was the simple things other people had gotten to experience that he didn’t.

“I wasn’t close with mine either,” You sigh, hoping that you hadn’t brought up painful memories. His eyes were back on you at the revelation.

“I actually learned how to fish from the locals when I was stationed in Turkey.” You smile, recounting the memories from your time overseas. “I rented a pole out and asked a taxi driver to take me to a fishing store. The taxi driver could barely speak English but it was clear as day that he loved fishing. We talked the whole way to the store and he even went inside with me.” You chuckle, “I’d run into a group of ‘Turkish Uncles’ out fishing and they’d try to show me their tricks.”

You place your rod down on the rocky ground and motion for him to give you his. “I’ll show you,” Your words come out softly. “This part is easy.” You place the rod between your knees and grab a hook out of the box to show him. 

“Now, there are all sorts of knots you can do but I use the Y/L/N special.” You put the line through the hole at the top of the hook and wrap the loose end a couple of times around the line coming directly from the rod.

 “So you wrap it however many times, then you put it through the loop at the bottom. Pull it and then tie a knot.” He nods at you showing he understands, and his eyes examine the funny-looking knot. 

“One time I went fishing with a friend of mine. He was the Bill Dance of trout.” You pause briefly to explain, “Bill Dance is an old man in the States that strikes fear in the hearts of Bass everywhere.” Simon laughs softly at your dramatics. “But, he took one look at my knot and I thought I was gonna die from embarrassment. He was too nice to tell me it looked awful, but it works just like any other.”

You gently clap your hands together, “Moving on, you know what these are?” You point to the contents inside your tackle box. Simon shakes his head, a smirk still playing on his lips. He almost felt like a young boy again, recanting the stories he’d heard in school of the other boys going out on the lake with their dads. Here he finally was.

“These are lures, a.k.a. Fake bait. They come in all shapes: Frogs, worms, little fish. Depending on the fish, some work better than others. Bass like the worm. Snakeheads, those angry demon fish, like the frogs.” You trail off stating the different lures for different fish as you grab a black worm out of the box. 

“You can hook however you want, but I think this is what separates boys from men.” Simon’s little smirk grows briefly. He found the way you explained things to him to be endearing.

You grab the hook in one hand and hold the fake worm in the other. “You could do this,” You put the hook through the side of the worm and let it dangle. 

“But you’d probably lose your lure on the weeds or from a strong bite.” You pull the worm off. “This is what I do because I’m a big fishing man,” You joke. Simon silently laughs again. He’d hear you constantly calling yourself jacked and joking that you were as big as him. Here you sat, looking about as big as the worm in comparison to him.

You put the hook through the top of the worm’s head, coming through the side. Your now cold fingers slide the worm to the top of the hook and poke through the middle of the squishy lure with the pointy tip nudging back into it. “This way, your hook stays weedless.” You hand him his rod before hooking your lure.

“Now we can rip some lips.” You laugh at your own joke as you stand and walk closer to the water. You point to the button your thumb rests on, looking back at him. “Hold that down when you cast.” You turn back to the water and give your rod a swift jerk. Your hook goes flying out to the middle of the river. Simon follows and casts his line out, the hook barely lands two feet away. He tuts quietly.

“Here,” You place your rod down and come up behind him. You place one hand on his left shoulder and the other over his hand on the base of the rod. “Keep your body facing the water, and swat it like this.” You run through the motion twice before backing away to watch him. This time he casts without a hitch. “Right on.” You smile at him and for the first time, he smiles back.

The two of you sit back down on the log. “Give it a couple of little tugs every once in a while and reel it in little by little. Or how the Turks taught me: Reel, reel, reel, action, action, action.”

“Reel, reel, reel, action, action, action.” He talks himself through the motions. 

“Just like that. Now we wait.”

Moments pass of silence. You couldn’t complain, the view was beautiful.

“Is it true that fish can hear you?” Simon asks you, a bit of humor in his voice.

“No, I think that’s something dads made up so their kids would be quiet.” The two of you laugh. You liked this version of Simon. Relaxed, still quiet and reserved, but he wasn’t the same cold person you met as Ghost.

“Thank you… For teaching me.” He said suddenly.

“No problem, I could use a fishing partner.” You nudge him with your elbow. “Just don’t catch more fish than me or we’ll have a problem.”

[n0tamused]

On my knees for some Geshu Lin content. Specifically some general relationship hcs.

You're a life savior ma'am ✨️

A/n: I got you nonnie 😙 First time writing for Geshu so I hope it's all good. Lemme know what you think

Contents: gn reader, tones of angst, some fluff, nothing much else, pretty much just some regular hcs

-Generally speaking, Geshu Lin would be tough to get to with all the hustle and bustle of his work duty, he's practically always throwing himself at the front lines as he wishes to materialize his goal into reality

-And although he may strike someone like the type to truly be neglectful of all things emotional besides the pure passion and anger to achieve the aforementioned goal, he still submits to human desires

-He rarely takes off time off work, and if he does take days off, when the front lines are secure from TDs, he spends his days working in some other ways.

-The home is in need of firewood? Geshu Lin is already in the woods getting the best tree down and chopping it up. Need food? If possible he'd go hunting himself, but he often just goes to browse the nearby market for the freshest option. Need help with furniture and rearranging? No problem

-He doesn't talk too much, as he's often exhausted and simply lacks in conversation that aren't founded by goals for war. And although that may make him seem one sided, he's much more complex than that

-There’s a weird comfort in his silence, and reassurance in the most human way he clumsily grasps the needle between his fingers to stitch up a hole in his shirt, telling you that you don't have to do it for him - he's got it.

-There’s something so innocently sad in the way he sits at the front porch and stares off at the setting sun, and should you find yourself next to him, he'd be placing his scarred and calloused hand over yours, sometimes thumbing at your warm skin absentmindedly

-He’s been a child, and in the times where everything is so slow and peaceful he finds himself yearning for easier times like that. When he didn't know much about the world and when his parents took care of his worries and he went to sleep with bruised knees and his pillow in his embrace. It's for a reason told that ignorance is bliss.

-Geshu Lin would do his best to be more soft and tender with you, and although it proves difficult for him he doesn't stop trying. Sometimes it's not in the same capacity as the days before, or as straightforward as the other times, but he never truly stops trying to match your needs

-In the end, you became someone really treasured to him. In his words - you wormed your way into his heart and refuse to leave

-His love is rough around the edges too, like a tall sharp fence around a piece of land, but the garden he's trying to build for you is like no other. Tell him of the flowers you'd like there, the trees and the insects and animals, and he'll bring them to you. The fence will expand, you're not trapped, but you're safe.

-Geshu Lin prefers to show his love like that, through acts and gifts and any other physical show of his love, affectionate words are not his strong suit

-In the night he'd cling to you, stuck to your back like glue as he breathes in the smell of your hair after your bath, his arms wrapped around you

-He is not too much of a morning person unless there's a duty to do. So on days off it's a 50/50 whether he wakes up early or not. A lot of times he'd wake up early but decide to stay in bed for another hour or so, for you, and to make up for all lost sleep

-In the mornings where you wake up next to him, with him still dozing off, he'd be the most vulnerable and tender. Smiling softly at you as you move back strands of his messy hair that fell over his face. His half lidded eyes would drink in your appearance that looks nothing short of ethereal and peaceful, feeding his weary heart

-Geshu Lin can't help but draw you closer to his chest, kissing the top of your head and telling you to stay still for a few more minutes.

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[imperias]

Magic Alone

Chaos, Kevin thought, then about three seconds later he changed his views on his family to crazy. He could here everyone rushing about for their trip to France and why because it was full of love. He sighed and pulled the pillow over his head to drown out the noise coming from down stairs. When that didn't work he got up out of bed and found his uncle Frank sorting through some old junk the spare in the room.

"Uncle Frank im bored, can i watch Predator?" Kevin asked him, he slowly turned around, in his weird way he did " Kevin, your suppose to be packing and No its R18. Now go, i need to find my crystal spoons" he snapped and turned back to whatever he was doing.

"Oh man, this family sucks' Kevin grumbled, then he stomped off to find his mom.

"Mom, Uncle Frank won't let me watch a movie, but the big kids can. Why can't I?"

"Kevin, I'm on the phone". She said rolling her eyes at him" When do you come back? Not 'til then?"

"It's not even rated R. He's just being a jerk."

"Kevin, if Uncle Frank says no, then it must be really bad. No, we put the dog in the kennel for the- Hey hey hey, get off! Kevin, out of the room." she said trying to shoo him off the bed.

"Hang up the phone and make me, why don't ya?" he said without thinking and his mom stopped in her tracks and eyed him hesitantly..

His father then entered the room "Kate, did you pick up those..Gah what's that blasted muggle contraption called again?"

"Peter!" his mom shouted at his father and Kevin looked at up at his parents weird behaviour and then shook his head. Parents were so weird it wasn't funny, Kevin thought looking back down at his magazine.

"I mean did you pick up a voltage adaptor thing?"

"No, I didn't have time to do that.

"Then how do I shave in France?"

"Grow a goatee or.."

"Dad " Kevin interrupted "nobody will let me do anything."

"You don't have anything to do? I have something for you to do. You can pick up those Micro Machines that are all over in there" his father said pointing out of the room to the toys sitting next to the stairs " Aunt Leslie stepped on one of them and almost broke her neck"

"Really!? i wish i was there to see that" Kevin said smirking and rubbing his hands together.

"He was in the garage again playing with the glue gun." his mother had said, looking all weird like while his father looked at him with horror.

"Didn't we talk about that? "

"Did I burn down the joint? I don't think so. I was making ornaments out of fish hooks."

"My new fish hooks?

"I can't make them out of old ones, with dry worm guts stuck on them.

"Peter...?

"Come on, Kevin. Out." his father said then picked him up while aunt Leslie entered the room.

"Peter, Kate, do you guys have one of those voltage adaptors?"

"Here! Here's a voltage adapter! " His father said, handing him over to his aunt.

"Oh God, you're getting heavy!" she said dropping him to ground "Go pack your suitcase." she hustled him out the door and closed it behind him.

Weird he thought, then hushed voices and flickering lights came from his parents room. Adults are so weird. He shook his head "Pack my suitcase?" he grumbled then headed back to his room.

"I don't know how to pack a suitcase. I've never done this once in my whole life." he mumbled.

"Tough." His brother Jeff said grabbing his own suitcase.

"That's what Megan said"

"What did I say?" his sister Megan said appearing next to Jeff.

"You told Kevin "Tough."

"The dope was whining about a suitcase. What was I supposed to say? "Congratulations, you're an idiot"?

"I'm not an idiot!"

"Oh, really? You're completely helpless! Everyone has to do everything for you.

"She's right, Kev."

"Excuse me, puke-breath. I'm a lot smaller than you. I don't know how to pack a suitcase."

"I hope you didn't just pack crap, Jeff." his younger sister Linnie said

"Shut up, Linnie."

"Do you know what I should pack?"

"Buzz told you, cheek-face. Toilet paper and water. " Jeff said pushing Linnie out of the way with his suitcase in his other hand.

"Listen, Kevin, what are you so worried about? You know Mom's gonna pack your stuff, anyway. You're what the French call "les incompetents".

"What?"

"Bombs away! His brother said throwing his bag down the stairs.

"P.S.: You have to sleep on the hide-a-bed with Fuller. If he has something to drink, he's going to wet the bed. " she said with a evil grin, flicking her hair and walking out with Megan by her side.

"This house is so full of people. It makes me sick! When I grow up and get married, I'm living alone!

"Did you hear me?"

"I'm living alone! I'm living alone! I'm living alone" the whole house started to shake and no one knew better than the guy standing at the doorway..

Kevin stopped his triade and entered Buzz's room.

"Who's gonna feed your spider while we're gone and where did you get it again its massive?" Rodd asked Buzz.

"Oh, He just ate a load of mice guts, He should be good for a couple of weeks. My dad found him on one of his business trips, I swear he just keeps on growing and growing. Is it true French babes don't shave their pits?"

"Some don't."

"But they got nude beaches?."

"Not in the winter."

"Buzz?" Kevin asked standing beside him and Rodd.

"Don't you know how to knock, phlegm-wad?"

"Can I sleep in your room? I don't want to sleep in the hide-a-bed with Fuller. If he has something to drink, he'll wet the bed."

"I wouldn't let you sleep in my room if you were growing on my ass." Buzz looked out the window. "Check it out. Old man Marley". Rod, Kevin, and Buzz went over to the window and watched the Old Man outside..

"Who's he?" Rodd asked taking a gulp.

"You ever heard of the South Bend Stick Slayer?"

"No."

"That's him. Back in '58, he murdered his whole family and half the people on his block... with a broken stick he snapped from a tree. Been hiding out in this neighborhood ever since."

"If he's the Stick slayer, how come the cops don't arrest him?" Rodd asked pushing his glasses back on his face. Kevin watched his deer caught in the headlight look and suppressed a laugh. He was such a wimp he thought.

"Not enough evidence to convict. They never found the bodies. But everyone around here knows he did it. It'll just be a matter of time, before he does it again."

"What's he doing now?"

"He walks up and down the street every night, salting the sidewalks."

"Maybe he's just trying to be nice."

"No way. You see that garbage can full of salt? That's where he keeps his victims. The salt turns the bodies into muggles."

"Wow."

"Muggles, that's what dad said" Kevin said frowning, then the Old Man looked up them.

"Look out!" Buzz said quickly, shutting the curtain blinds.

Unbeknownst to them the old man shook his head and mumbled "damn squibs" before pulling out his wand and clearing the snow away from the driveway.

[moonbeamwritings]

leone abbacchio + boy falling in love before girl

Leone Abbacchio didn’t believe love was in the cards for him. Sure, he had once imagined settling down in the countryside away from the hustle and bustle of Naples with the person of his dreams, but, as his youth faded and the rose-colored glasses came tumbling off, he decided that that was all it would ever be — a dream.

When you first joined the team, a fresh face added to an already chaotic line-up of mafioso, Abbacchio paid you no mind. He spoke to you when he had to, sat beside you at lunch or in the car, and not much more. However, as you slowly wormed your way into his mind, into his heart, he was helpless to stop it.

The two of you started talking about music and your taste in wine, your weekend plans, and your life stories. Abbacchio committed it all to memory, and now, every time he passed the corner store near his apartment, he kept an eye out for your favorite wine. When he turned the radio on in the car, he set it to the station you insisted on playing for him when you ran errands together.

Abbacchio often found his gaze tracing the delicate lines of your face, admiring the curve of your nose and the slope of your cheekbones. He watched your lips move and eyes sparkle as you spoke or laughed. It seemed he would never get tired of your beauty.

Loving you was as easy as breathing, and one day, as your hand fell over his, affection twinkling in your eyes as they met his own, Abbacchio hoped that perhaps dreams could become a reality, after all.

[khloros]

Okay anyways: I just think that, with the influence of social media, guilt about needing to change the world for the better, hustle culture, and the emphasis on standing out in order to “make your mark” and have worth… maybe it’s better to be boring. Stop doing things to please all of that bullshit, start doing things for yourself.

Everyone wants instant gratification, wants art/food/videos/the destination without the journey. But it’s healthier and more satisfactory to take it slow. Bake cookies from scratch with a friend, watch the sunrise, sit on the porch for an couple hours enjoying tea, dig in the garden looking for worms.

You might end up looking less sparkly and interesting to outsiders, but who cares about them? You don’t even know them. You’re happy! Never bored, always able to find peace and joy within yourself rather than searching desperately for outside sources. Waiting for the raspberries to ripen.

Listen. I swear by this. Be boring, and you’ll never be bored

[say-al0e]

All That Matters

Rating: PG-13 (For language)

Summary: (Friends to lovers; Christmas fic!) It was obvious to everyone just how much you loved Frankie but the last thing you wanted to do was come on too strong and ruin one of the best friendships you’d ever had. So, you were content to keep him as a friend rather than risk losing him forever. Frankie takes it upon himself to make the first move.

Pairing: Frankie x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Word Count: 6.7k (...whoops)

Santiago Garcia’s house, situated at the corner of two residential streets but closer to the city than any of the rest of your friends, had become the unofficial headquarters for all of your group activities. Movie nights, sporting event watch parties, weekend bonfires, holiday parties, birthdays, drinking in his backyard just because; the occasion really didn’t matter. It all saw you - along with the four men you now considered to be some of your closest friends and some odd combination of additional guests - scattered around the Garcia residence.

You liked to believe that it was because Santi was the unofficial social chair of your friend group. He often took it upon himself to plan get-togethers that dragged you all away from the hustle and bustle of your daily lives in order to spend a few moments together to unwind. Whatever the reason, you couldn’t say that you minded. The more often he hosted at his place, the less often you wound up at the same shitty dive bar or, worse, hosting at your own place.

Most weekends saw you at Santi’s, listening to to the guys recount the events of their weeks or reminisce about the past with a beer in hand and a smile on your lips. It was always nice, an easy way for you to unwind after a hectic week of work and responsibility, and the promise of those easy Saturday nights was often what got you through an especially tough work week.

The promise of getting to spend your nights curled up on the swing in Santiago’s backyard next to a certain pilot didn’t really hurt any, either.

Every weekend that you spent with the guys, with your favorite pilot, made you want to thank Benny for being the most annoyingly loyal, persistent person you’d ever met. Without him, you never would’ve met the group that you could no longer imagine your life without.

When you first met Benny, you hadn’t really imagined he’d be in your life that long. He wasn’t supposed to stay. He was a friend’s fling, a Tinder hookup in a long list of casual boyfriends that she had on rotation - something that he actually enjoyed; he wasn’t really looking for commitment, either. But Benny found a way to worm himself into people’s hearts. You, and your friends, liked him more than any of her other partners. He was sweet, meant well, and was honest to a fault. He was earnest, a little mischievous, and sometimes annoying, but his heart was always in the right place and none of you ever minded when he joined you for a night out or crashed a night in.

He made an impact and you knew that you’d miss him whenever they stopped seeing each other.

You went two weeks without seeing Benny after he and your friend stopped seeing each other. A twist of fate saw you both at the gym at the same time and you learned that he missed your friendship just as much as you missed his. You challenged each other and had fun teasing each other so, with your friend’s blessing, you exchanged numbers and kept hanging out. It was through Benny that you met the others - he invited you to a night of pub trivia because they all wanted to win, just this once - and you never looked back.

It was that night, a night in which you managed to help them win a night of free drinks, that solidified your place in the group as more than just Benny’s friend. They realized that you weren’t a fling - that neither you nor Benny saw each other in that light at all - and that you weren’t going to disappear. And they welcomed you with open arms.

That was also the night you met Frankie for the first time.

Francisco Morales - Catfish, or Fish, to the boys but always Frankie to you - was quiet upon meeting you. He was polite, occasionally jumping into whatever conversation you were having with Santi or Will, and answered the questions that you posed him. However, he wasn’t quite as eager to get acquainted with you as Santi was or as teasingly critical of your judgement in befriending Benny as Will was. He was guarded, reluctant to let his walls down, but you figured that was just the way he was.

You hadn’t learned that much about him on your night out and made the mistake of asking Benny about him when you met for breakfast not long after. The sheer delight on his face, the teasing grin he wore as he attempted to steal a piece of your croissant, made you want to retract your question or get up and leave but you did neither. Instead, you swatted his hand and gave him a pointed look as he teased you for your interest in Frankie.

He spent a solid five minutes teasing you, joking that he should’ve known you’d go for Frankie, before finally relenting when you threatened to leave and never speak to him again. He told you that Frankie had been through a rough patch as of late that included ending a long term relationship - though you didn’t find out until later that the rough patch involved getting suspended from flying and a brief stint in rehab. He was still hurting, cautious now and wary of opening up too quickly, and you understood. 

You were interested in Frankie - you thought he was attractive upon first glance and found yourself clinging onto any words he shared - but you also saw the friendship he’d built with three very different men and decided that he’d be a nice person to know in whatever way he was willing to know you. After your conversation with Benny, you gave Frankie more time and space than you did Santi or Will but still worked on building a friendship with him however he would let you.

It took a year of knowing the guys before Frankie really warmed up to you and another few months of tentative friendship to get to the place you settled but, after Frankie decided you were there to stay, the pair of you were as thick as thieves. Things never moved beyond friendship - there wasn’t really any kind of indication from Frankie that he felt more for you than platonic love - and though you always wished for more, you never pushed. Frankie was someone you treasured, someone who made your life better just by being in it, and you didn’t want to sacrifice that in case he didn’t feel the same way.

Though you resigned yourself to being Frankie’s friend, nothing more, you never really tried to hide your affection for him. It wasn’t a secret how you felt. Benny was always first to tease you, loudly asking when you and Frankie were going to get it over with and just fuck already, but Santi and Will were never far behind. Santi always flirted with you, even though you had long decided friendship was all that was in the cards for you both, and ramped it up any time Frankie was near in hopes of making him jealous. Will, a man of action, nudged you into seats beside Frankie at Benny’s fights or at the bar.

You weren’t sure if it was funny or annoying but, regardless, Frankie seemed oblivious to it all and as long as it stayed that way, you didn’t really mind.

You didn’t know if Frankie was truly oblivious - after his relationship ended, he lost quite a bit of confidence in himself as a romantic partner and didn’t seem to believe any of you when you pointed out someone eyeing him in a bar or when you complimented his looks - or if he knew and just wanted to spare you the embarrassment of rejection. You believed both, depending on the day and the way you felt, but always hoped for the former. Either way, you accepted him never knowing how you felt as fact and decided to leave it all be.

You’d long stopped fearing that one of the guys would make a joke that revealed your true feelings to Frankie and, instead, focused on enjoying yourself more than on hiding your affection. You openly complimented him, letting him know that you thought his haircut looked nice or that his voice was soothing, and grinned when he blushed or waved a hand to dismiss your compliment. You openly looked for Frankie whenever you arrived at gatherings and, if you happened to arrive before him, had a beer in hand for him when you heard his truck pull into the driveway.

Tonight, as you gathered to celebrate the holidays with too much food and a screening of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation - the group’s agreed upon holiday favorite -, you were happy to see that Frankie had arrived before you. His truck was parked in Santi’s driveway, right in the same spot he always claimed, and you grinned when you pulled in behind him. You hadn’t seen him in almost two weeks - you’d spent the last week away for a work conference and he’d been working overtime as people began booking flights as holiday gifts - and you were elated at the thought of getting a hug from him.

You were ready for the teasing from the guys, the playful whining from Benny as you bypassed him to head straight to Frankie, and you hurriedly turned off the car and gathered the bag full of gifts for the guys - and Will’s fiancé - as well as the bag filled with tins full of homemade cookies.

You took the front steps two at a time and didn’t bother knocking when you reached the front door. You were well beyond courtesy, Santi’s home was a second home to you all, and let yourself in. You could hear cheesy holiday music the moment you stepped inside but that was as far as the holiday cheer went.

You knew that the guys had all spent many holidays away from home, away from family, and that decorating wasn’t exactly high on their list of priorities. Benny had asked for your help in putting up a small Christmas tree in his apartment right after Thanksgiving, one that he only got because he wanted to score a few points with anyone he happened to bring home, and Will had been tasked with stringing up lights and placing light-up candy canes in his front yard by his fiancé but without anyone to impress, Santi hadn’t gone all out.

The only holiday decoration around his home was a sad string of silver garland and white lights running the length of the staircase banister and a Charlie Brown Christmas tree in the corner beside the television. You were mildly surprised, given his penchant for going all out no matter the occasion, and made a note to question him as you stepped further into the house.

Benny was the first to spot you. He was leaning against the island in the kitchen, beer in one hand and a candy cane that he’d sharpened to an almost dangerous point in the other. He looked to be threatening will, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he brandished the makeshift red and white weapon, but quickly abandoned his quest as he dropped both items onto the island and rushed over to you.

He glanced between your hands, a bright grin on his lips as he took in the sight of cookie tins and neatly wrapped gifts, and you rolled your eyes at the childlike glee he exuded as he ultimately settled on taking the bag full of cookies. He hugged it to his chest and turned on his heel to take them into the kitchen.

“Benjamin Miller, so help me, if you touch a single cookie, I will give your gift to Will,” you threatened as you watched him reach a hand into the bag in search of a snack.

His head shot up and he turned to look at you, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. He met your gaze, willing to call your bluff, but when you refused to back down, he scowled and placed the bag onto the counter before he picked up his beer and his candy cane. “It’s probably another hat, anyway,” he mumbled into his beer. He shot you a dirty look as you grinned, triumphant in your win, before he asked, “Where’s your Christmas spirit, you Grinch?”

You rolled your eyes as he pointed his candy cane weapon at you. “Buried with my early twenties under the burden of capitalism.”

“Absolutely hilarious,” Benny retorted, “dunno what we’d do without your wit and cheerful presence. Have fun, probably, but who’s to say?”

You held up your middle finger, offering him a sneer when he grinned at you, before Will crossed the room and captured your attention.  “Thank you, Will,” you cheered as he grabbed the bag of gifts from your hand and carried it across the room to the tree. “Constantly proving why you’re the better Miller brother, huh?” You shot Benny a pointed look, narrowing your eyes at him, before you offered Will a genuine grin.

Benny scowled at you and held up his middle finger in your direction. “Oh, get fucked. I’m clearly the better Miller,” he retorted, waving a hand down the length of his body. “I mean, just look at me.” He wagged his eyebrows before he offered you a wink and cracked a grin at the exaggerated look of disgust that crossed your face.

“I try very hard not to.” You pointedly looked away from him, turning your attention to Will’s fiancé instead, and sighed dramatically as you leaned against the doorframe. “You know, I have no clue how I’ve been friends with him this long. I’m beginning to think Will was right to question my judgement.”

“You’re just using me to get to Fish.”

When you shot him a look, one that was both scathing and clearly displayed your lack of amusement at that line of thinking, Benny raised his hands in surrender. He knew that was a sore spot for you, something you genuinely feared, and backed down as quickly as he raised the point. You’d confided in him before, as you sought to assure him that even though the pair of you bickered like siblings you loved him and genuinely valued his friendship, that you worried he felt left out or like you were using him to get to Frankie. He’d assured you that he knew it wasn’t the case, that he loved you, too, and wanted you to be happy - even if that was with Frankie.

Benny took a sip of his beer before he corrected himself. “I know that’s not why. You’re sticking around for my movie star good looks and my winning personality.”

“He’s so humble. It’s a wonder he’s painfully single.” Will’s fiancé giggled at your comment, the pair of you sharing a smile as Will shook his head, and Benny shot you a scathing look of his own.

“Hey, for your information, I’m choosing to be single. Why settle for the wrong person just so I’m not alone?”

You blinked at him, surprised by the insight. “Huh. You know, if I didn’t actually know you, I might actually believe that.”

“At least I’m not pining over someone and spending years too afraid to admit my feelings.”

Benny grinned at you, happy to have won the round, while Will and his fiancé pointedly turned their gazes to their drinks in an effort to avoid being dragged into one of you and Benny’s playful arguments that sometimes hit a little too close to home and ended with one - or both - of you guiltily consoling the other.

“Speaking of Frankie,” you huffed, crossing your arms and turning your attention to Will, “where is he? I saw his truck in the driveway. And where’s Santi?”

“How kind of you, tacking my name onto the end like you’re actually concerned with my whereabouts.” You turned toward the door that opened onto the patio at the sound of Santiago’s voice and grinned at him as he crossed the kitchen to get to the refrigerator. “Your man’s in the backyard. We’re setting up the projector for the movie.”

“Last I checked, he was googling what to do because you threw away the directions,” Benny corrected. Santiago swatted at his head, knocking Benny’s cap onto the floor, before he pulled three beers from the fridge and offered you one.

You ignored Santiago calling Frankie your man, as you always did, and took the beer he offered you with a nod of appreciation. “We’re watching it outside? Won’t your neighbors be annoyed with the noise again? And what’s with the sad bachelor decor, Santi? I figured you’d go all out for the holidays.”

“He’s a lazy asshole who doesn’t want to deal with cleaning it all up when he gets back from fucking around in the Bahamas.” Frankie entered the kitchen and stepped around Will and his fiancé, pointedly ignoring the beer in Santiago’s outstretched hand to wrap you in a hug. You grinned at the gesture, eagerly wrapping your arms around his waist and letting him pull you even closer, and breathed a sigh of contentment when you felt the rumble in his chest as he greeted you with a quiet, “Missed you, cariño.”

“And I hate my neighbors,” Santiago answered with a shrug as he placed the beer on the counter, though the answer fell on uncaring ears as you focused entirely on the feeling of Frankie surrounding you.

You dismissed the prolonged embrace as you both being unused to spending so much time apart - this was the first time you’d gone longer than a week without seeing one another since truly becoming friends - and figured Frankie was just making up for lost time. He was, once he got comfortable, a fan of physical touch. Benny liked to joke that you were both touch starved, eager for physical comfort, and you hated to admit it but he was right. Any chance you got to touch Frankie, you took it.

More often than not, Frankie had an arm around your shoulders or your waist. He held your hand in crowds - to make sure you weren’t swept away, he’d once explained with bright red cheeks and an inability to look you in the eye for days after - and fell asleep on your shoulder during movie nights. But nothing at all compared to hugging him.

Hugging Frankie was always comfortable, a feeling akin to returning home, and this time was no different. You felt the weariness of your travels and the stress that had been threatening to drown you melt away as he kept you pressed to his chest. Your body no longer felt heavy and, though it was cool outside, Frankie still radiated a pleasant heat that you gladly soaked up. There was a lingering warmth wherever his body touched yours and you never wanted the feeling to end as you held onto him. One hand lingered near the back of your neck, his fingers brushing the exposed skin there, as the other rubbed your back. It was an embrace that you reveled in, one that you wished would never end, and you didn’t care about the four sets of eyes on the pair of you as you soaked it in.

You resisted the urge to bury your nose in Frankie’s jacket and inhale deeply but his scent enveloped you just the same. It was clean, a fragrance that you recognized as the cologne you bought him for Christmas the year prior, and something that was utterly Frankie. You would’ve been content to stay there, to forget the movie and the rest of your plans, but the others would hear of no such thing.

“Okay, am I the only one feeling a bit left out here? I didn’t get a greeting like that, from either of you. I barely got an acknowledgement.” Santiago’s voice pulled you and Frankie apart, reminding you both that you weren’t alone, and you offered him a half-hearted glare as you watched Frankie grab his beer from the counter and take a large gulp.

“Yeah,” Benny agreed, his lips curving into a mischievous grin as he waved his candy cane at the pair of you. “Frankie gets a hug like you haven’t seen him in a decade and I get told I can’t have cookies. You could at least pretend like you cared about the rest of us.” He paused, his grin widening into something that you could only describe as shit eating, before he added, “I was your friend first, if you happen to recall.”

“You know that I hate you, right?” Frankie laughed quietly, a sound that you were certain no one else could hear, and hid his grin behind his beer as you opened your arms for Benny. “Fine, you big baby, if it’ll stop your whining, I’ll give you a hug.”

Benny stubbornly shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the island. “Nope. I don’t want your pity hug. I shouldn’t have to ask. Fish didn’t have to ask!”

“To be fair, Fish initiated the hug. Completely ignored the rest of us and went right in. We see how little we matter to you both.” Santiago and Benny shared conspiratorial grins, each barely holding back their laughter as they watched Frankie flush and your roll your eyes.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” you huffed as you placed your beer on the counter and moved to wrap your arms around Benny’s waist. “Both of you.” When he wrapped his own arms around you in return, you offered him a genuine, “I did actually miss you, you dickhead.”

“Yeah, yeah. I missed you, too. No need to get sappy.” Benny yelped when you pinched his side and swiped your beer from the counter before you could pick it back up. He held it over your head for a moment, the entire kitchen erupting into laughter as you slapped at his chest in an effort to grab it, before he chugged the bottle and handed it back to you with a grin.

“This is why your ass didn’t get a hug,” you grumbled as you tossed the bottle into the recycling bin.

As Benny laughed, clearly proud of himself, Santiago took it upon himself to wrap you in an embrace of his own. Like Frankie, he lingered just a moment too long - though you knew he was only doing it to prove to you that Frankie was just as into you as you were into him - before he released you and nudged you back into position beside Frankie.

Frankie handed you a beer without a word, only nodding his acknowledgment with a small smile when you thanked him, before he wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

Santiago glanced around the room, wagging his eyebrows at you and Frankie, before he clapped his hands and asked, “Okay, gifts before or after the movie?” When Benny looked at him, eyebrows raised and lips parted in mild offense, Santiago rolled his eyes and gestured for everyone to head into the living room. “Why do I even ask? Of course the children can’t wait to open gifts.”

“Just because I appreciate a good gift, that does not make me a child.” Benny stuck his tongue out at Santiago, deliberately countering his message with a childish gesture, as Will shoved him into the living room.

Santiago pointedly ignored Benny’s rebuttal, offering him a snort of disbelief instead of a real answer as he ventured over to the tree to begin sorting gifts. Benny huffed as he took his seat on the sofa, flopping down and shifting impatiently in his seat as he waited for the gifts, and Will shook his head in disappointment as he joined his brother on the couch.

Frankie guided you to the loveseat and moved his arm from your shoulders just long enough for you both to settle into the cushions. When you were safely in place, Frankie returned his arm and began absentmindedly drawing patters against your sweater as you both watched Santiago settle into his role as Santa.

Frankie wore a soft smile as he watched Benny and Will bicker, the latter insisting that Benny not drink too much as he had an early morning training session, before his gaze shifted to Santiago who was not so subtly attempting to guess what was in each box. He looked to be content, happy with the moment, and you felt warmth blossom in your chest at the thought.

One of your favorite things about Frankie was the love he held for his friends. He was loyal, almost to a fault, and willing to do anything for the people that he loved. He loved fiercely, often in his own way, and took great joy in the smallest things. He was happy with this, with a night of movies and cookies and quality time, and you were glad.

If anyone deserved to be happy, it was Frankie.

Frankie watched for another moment before he turned his attention to you. When he found you already looking at him, he pulled a face and asked, “Is there something on my face?”

When you laughed, he grinned and pulled you in closer to his side. “No,” you assured him, your voice quiet though you knew no one was paying either of you any attention. “Just glad to see you again.”

He squeezed your shoulder, expressing words he still couldn’t quite breathe aloud, before he asked, “How was your trip?” When you pulled a face of your own, he breathed a quiet laugh. “That bad?”

“No, it was okay.” You shrugged as you glanced at the bottle in your hands and picked at the label, searching for the words to explain what had been so bad about the trip. It was fine - as fine as a work trip could be - and a few years ago, you would’ve enjoyed it immensely. You loved to travel and found great joy in exploring even the dullest of cities.

This time, however, you found yourself missing a certain scruffy pilot.

Every time you ventured out of your hotel to explore the city, you found yourself noticing things that you’d love to show Frankie. You found yourself searching for little things that you knew he’d like and taking photos to show him when you returned home. You found yourself lying awake in your hotel bed, wishing you were lying with him instead of lying alone, and felt a bitter sadness that you desperately tried to drown with too much work and fewer phone calls home.

“The work was boring and the people were nowhere near as entertaining as you guys,” you finally settled on telling him, offering a small grin at the acknowledgment that you really had missed all of them. “I did get to see snow, though, which was fun. Felt like something out of a holiday movie.”

You turned your attention to Santiago as you watched him shake the gift you’d gotten for Benny - who had, indeed, guessed its contents correctly -  and missed the soft smile that Frankie wore when he thought about the selfies you’d taken in the snow and sent him. His favorite, the one that he treasured the most, was the video you’d sent just after waking up. He could see your reflection in the large glass window, soft and sleepy and wrapped in one of his hoodies that you’d stolen from him, as you cooed happily about the snow blanketing the city.

Everyone knew just how much you loved snow, even if you’d spent your entire life living in a place that had never seen real snow, and Frankie was glad that you’d gotten at least a taste of winter weather. He tapped your shoulder, his fingers moving in a rhythm that you couldn’t place, as he hummed, “A white Christmas would be nice, huh?”

“Mm. It’s cheesy,” you began, your voice quiet so as to avoid anyone overhearing, “but I’ve always dreamed of a Christmas like that. A secluded cabin in the woods, somewhere in the mountains with tons of snow and a fire to keep warm. No crazy family parties or work, just a few days of watching movies, wrapped up in fluffy blankets and drinking hot chocolate. A perfect little getaway.”

You wanted to add a caveat, that it’d only be perfect if he was the one you were curled up with, sharing kisses that tasted like marshmallows and hot chocolate and mint, but you didn’t. You kept that desire to yourself because even though your friends knew how much you liked Frankie, you weren’t sure any of them realized just how in love with him you were.

Before Frankie could comment, an M&M flew across the room and hit you square in the forehead. It bounced off your skin and clattered to the floor. When you looked up, a brief feeling of bewilderment washing over you, it only took a moment to see Benny grin as he popped another M&M into his mouth.

“You know, you totally don’t have to spar with Will. I’d be happy to fight you,” you huffed, pouting at him as you rubbed at your forehead to make sure there was no residual candy on your skin.

“Name the time and place, babe. I’d love to kick your ass.” Benny shot you a wink as Will shook his head and reached out to take the candy from his younger brother. As the others were distracted, Frankie reaching out to grab a handful of candy from Will, Benny mouthed, ‘You okay?’

As much shit as you gave him, you were truly grateful for him. He made sure no one else saw the question and when you nodded, he returned the gesture himself before giving you a look that told you he wouldn’t make a scene but he would want answers later. You were grateful for that, happy that he knew when to leave things be, and almost regretted getting him yet another hat as Santiago clapped his hands.

“Okay, gifts are sorted. I truly believe my gifts are going to be the best of the bunch but I guess we’ll see. Have at it.”

You rolled your eyes at Santiago’s words but said nothing as you reached for the smallest of your gifts. It was a small box, wrapped in beautiful green paper, but before you could open it, Frankie reached out and grabbed your wrist. “Would you mind waiting to open that one?”

You knew then, without even looking at the tag, that it was from and nodded. You wanted to ask why, to question the blush on his cheeks and the way his hand shook slightly, but you didn’t. Instead, you placed that one to the side and reached for the worst wrapped gift in the bunch that you knew was from Benny.

When all of the gifts were opened and wrapping paper littered the floor of Santiago’s living room, you were delighted at the thoughtfulness of your friends. You had two new candles, a set of Star Wars cookie cutters, a coffee table book, and an unopened box that Frankie still hadn’t given you the okay to open. Benny was pleased with his new hat, even if he teased you for buying him the same gift three years in a row, as was everyone else.

It was nice, watching everyone joke that you all knew each other too well at this point, and heartfelt utterances of gratitude and love lingered in the air as you all began cleaning up the wrapping paper. Santiago took the paper from you after he noticed the unopened box by your side and the way that Frankie stared intently at the box in his lap. He ushered everyone into the kitchen and toward the back door, deciding that you and Frankie needed a moment alone, before he called, “Movie starts in ten!”

Just as he’d asked you to wait, you had also asked Frankie to open your gift to him last. He was the person you’d spent the most time shopping for and, even though you spent the least amount of money on his gift, you knew that it was easily the most valuable one you’d purchased. Inside the box was a journal, something that he’d taken up in therapy, and the first few pages were filled with little notes from you, Will, Benny, and Santiago.

There were words of encouragement, little snippets detailing how much Frankie meant to you all, and you hoped that it made him happy. You knew that he kept things like birthday cards and stupid little notes that you drew for him on bar napkins during trivia nights. You’d seen the little box on his dresser that held his favorite memories, his reasons to keep going, and you hoped that it would be a comfort to him on the rough nights that he tried so hard not to let any of you see.

“I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a gift this thoughtful.” His words were quiet, spoken through barely parted lips as he searched for words to express his gratitude. “This is… I don’t know what to say other than thank you.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just hope you know how much I, uh, we love you. You’re a good guy, Frankie. You deserve the world.”

Frankie stared at you, his eyes full of an unreadable emotion, before he blinked and cleared his throat. “You can open yours now, if you want.”

You gave him a soft smile, hopeful that it conveyed just how much you loved him without actually having to utter the words aloud, before you pulled the box to your lap and unwrapped it. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, you knew that Frankie wasn’t the gift card person, but it certainly wasn’t a slip of paper. You glanced at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but Frankie just nodded for you to continue on. You unfolded it and read over it, your eyes widening and your lips parting in surprise.

When you glanced at him again, Frankie offered you a smile of his own. 

“I know that it’s not exactly a white Christmas,” he began, his words quiet and soft, “but I was thinking a quiet New Year’s weekend, off in a cabin by ourselves in the mountains, might be nice. We can still watch movies and curl up by the fire and there will still be snow.”

When you stared at him, unable to speak, Frankie shifted a little closer. He reached out for you, his hands warm as he cupped your cheek, and hesitated for a moment before he began speaking. “You’ve been so patient with me,” he sighed, his eyes meeting yours and burning into you as he captured your gaze. “I know how you feel and I know that it couldn’t have been easy, waiting for me for so long.”

He paused, searching your eyes for a moment, before he continued. When we met, I was so jealous of Benny.” When you furrowed your brows, Frankie laughed sheepishly. “You know how Benny is. He doesn’t label relationships so when he told us you were a friend, we didn’t exactly believe him. And then you showed up and you were gorgeous and smart and funny. You were everything I’d ever wanted but I thought you were with Benny. I was jealous that he found you first but then I found out you really were just a friend and I almost wished you were actually dating him. It would’ve been easier, to think that I couldn’t be with you because you were with him and not because I didn’t deserve you.”

When you opened your mouth to protest, to tell him that he did deserve you - that he deserved better than you, even -, Frankie shook his head.

“You’ve done so much for me over the past few years,” Frankie confessed, his smile returning as he thought of all the time you spent showing him just how much you thought of him. “And I don’t think you’ve realized just how important you are to me. Three years ago, I never would’ve believed that you could love me. Three years ago, I wouldn’t have even dreamed that you’d let me into your life. But you do, and you did. I was waiting for the right time, for the perfect moment to tell you that I love you, too, but every time I worked up the courage, something would happen.”

You thought back to the nights that Frankie seemed most jittery, to the moments where he held your hand a little tighter or his touch lingered a little longer, and you saw them all in a new light as he listed the incidents that occurred that kept him from confessing his love.

“Benny drunkenly tossing you into a pool, Will’s dog jumping in your lap and capturing your attention, Pope fucking flirting with you like an asshole; it was always something. It got me thinking that maybe we weren’t meant to be, that there was something keeping us apart, but that something was fear and I realized there’s nothing for us to be afraid of. You love me. I love you. That’s the only thing that matters.”

This was the most you’d ever heard Frankie speak at once, the longest he’d gone without being interrupted by one of the guys or cutting himself off, and you hated to do it but you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning in and pressing your lips to his. You swallowed whatever words were left on his tongue and poured every ounce of love and longing you felt for him into the kiss. You tangled your fingers into the hair at the base of his neck as your free hand gripped his shoulder and Frankie sighed into the kiss as he shifted even closer to you.

The reality of kissing Frankie was even better than even your wildest dreams. The feeling of his lips against yours, his scruff brushing your cheeks and his fingers brushing your skin, was maddening in the best possible way. It was bliss, a moment of pure heaven, and you cursed the need to breathe that drew you apart.

You sat there, both breathing heavily but grinning brightly, and stared at one another. He looked happy, lighter than air, and you decided that this was how you liked him best; with flushed cheeks and kiss swollen lips. “I love you,” he confessed, the words leaving his lips in a whisper.

“I love you, too, Frankie.”

It felt good, freeing, to finally whisper the words you’d carried around for three years like a lead weight nestled deep in your heart. He beamed at your confirmation, thrilled to hear you return his confession, and asked, “Say it again?”

“I love you, Francisco Morales.”

The words had barely left your lips when he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your mouth, before he pressed his forehead to yours. You sat, just looking at one another, for what felt like an eternity. Just as you had with your earlier hug, you would’ve been content to stay there for the remainder of the night had one of your friends not interrupted you.

“Oh, fuck yeah! Pope, you owe me a hundred bucks! Pay up, asshole.” Benny, grinning widely and wearing the hat you’d gotten him, handed both you and Frankie a beer. “Thank you both for making me a hundred bucks richer and you’re welcome for introducing you. I expect to be part of the wedding.”

You stared after him, watching as he grabbed one of the tins of cookies and a beer for himself on his way back outside, before Santiago’s voice cut through the night and you heard him yell, “Don’t fuck on my couch!” 

You and Frankie stared at one another, both exasperated with your friends, before you collapsed into a fit of laughter. There was never going to be a perfect moment, not with your friends around, but Frankie was right. He loved you and you loved him. In the end, that was all that really mattered.

________________________________________________

Author’s Note: I just really love Frankie, okay. Lowkey worried this might be ooc but we literally got, like, half a character in this movie so.... Anyway. Thanks for the love on my Poe fic. :) Lowkey tempted to write the cabin part as a sort of standalone second part. :)

[seancekitsch]

Out of the Rain: a Marko x Reader fic

Warnings: bloodplay goes without saying bc vamp, rough sex, dirty talk, semi public sex, telepathy?? me projecting my music taste on this fic again. drug use, fast and loose use of vampire lore bc when i write i am god and u cannot stop me. also can u tell i have like…. v clear descriptions of the setting like i used to work at the place im describing but its not in california

No one had come in for hours. What's the point of staying open? You dim some of the lights in the store, which is one of three head shops in Santa Carla, but the only one open late. You're not really sure why this is the only store that stays open, why everyone else if worried about the three am walk back to their car on a weekend night. You've never seen anything of suspicion, just sometimes that biker gang watches people shuffle out. That was almost comforting, though. People didn't like those guys, so no one would make you use your switchblade if they were around.

The bright while fluorescent lights of your typical daytime ambiance faded away, and now green light bathes you in the “mood” lighting your boss thought was a good idea. The green lighting reflects off of the glass counters, shining it back at the ceiling and making everything that much more green. It fits, you think with the overall vibe of the store. The stale scent of weed, gently and miserably covered up by some nag champa incense, always burning in at least four different spots within the store. You'd long since gotten used to the smoke in your eyes. The music does everything to add to the ambiance. You always have full control of the music in the shop, usually because no one else is willing to take the night shift in Santa Carla. In fact, most of the boardwalk shops had a revolving door of night shift workers. You never got why, something clearly spooks them that does not spook you. Whether that makes you brave or stupid, you dont know. Jefferson Airplane’s Surrealistic Pillow pumps through the speakers in the store. But I suppose no one knows, you're my plastic fantastic lover.

The rain batters the boardwalk outside, a roar much different than the typical hustle and bustle of drunk teens, of the cliques and crews that come in and out; the few that sit and snicker in the doorway, never entering. Some too afraid to be associated with the implication of being spotted in the shop. We sell jewelry and vinyl too, you always say, when they balk at the idea of being in the same room as a bong or incense.

But then there's the other group that stands and idles in the threshold, also not entering. It's that biker gang. Four guys, a girl, a kid. Maybe he’s the brat of the girl and the one who takes himself too seriously, but maybe not. She looks too young for that. They'd been hovering around quite a bit lately, always after dark. You’d spoken to them, at least the ones that are talkative. The hair metal wannabe and the cute short one. Paul and Marko. You knew the dark haired one was Dwayne, but all he ever offered you was a curt nod and a tight lipped smile, respectful but indifferent. They're nice, not worth the spooky reputation they have. Any time it's not just you at the shop, your boss tries to spook them away. Good thing your boss isn't here tonight, because one of them is prowling around the storefront in the rain. That is, if it's not your spliff induced haze playing tricks on you.

No, one of them is out there. Without his little pack. The cute one. Marko.

You walk over to the door, which you haven't had propped open since the rain trickled in as a drizzle at the beginning of your shift. At least he had enough sense to be huddling under the awning. Fuck, he’s handsome even when he looks like a drowned rat.

“What are you doing out here?” You scrunch up your nose as you ask.

“Y’know, waiting for you to show up.” Wanted a look at that cute ass.

You blink at him. Did he really just say that?

“Okay… well, you know it's raining out there, right?”

“I might,” he offers noncommittally, eyeing the spliff still in the hand that's not holding the door. If it were anyone but him, you'd probably get fired for it.

Why is he just hanging around out here? That's hella weird. His curls are getting matted to his forehead, slick with rain, his jacket starting to look a little sad.

“C’mon in, Marko. It’s too wet out here. You’ll fuck up your jacket.” You nod towards the interior of the shop holding the door open as he passes you.

Wrong move, sweet cheeks.

“What did you say?” What did he mean, wrong move?

“I didn't say anything,” he offers nonchalantly as he thumbs at one of the tapestries on the wall. A garish mess that’s supposed to be the worm from Alice in Wonderland, but it’s distorted by a botched tie dye job of dark muddy colors. Every time you look at it, you assume one of the day workers did it.

“No, you said something.”

“Do you want me to say something?” there's both a threat and an innuendo in his tone. Maybe you do, but you just laugh, a sharp exhale through your nose, and bring the spliff to your lips again as he follows you deeper into the store.

You jump up onto the counter next to the ash tray, easy reach for each time you need to ash.

“So why are you really here?” your eyes narrow at him, kicking your sandal off on the floor where it lands a few inches from his boots. He looks uneasy in the space, like for all the wild shit you assume he’s into, he might not actually belong in it. He sways a little to the music, perfectly in tune with the rhythm. You sway along too, and suddenly he fills the space like he belongs. He just needed someone along for the ride with him.

“Do you ever come around during the day, or just at night because I’m so fun?” You’re teasing him, but it’s a nice easy feeling between you.

“Not really a sun guy,” bullshit, he would look beautiful with a tan, “but I do drag everyone here just to see you.”

“Awww, all for me? Do you have a crush, Marko?”

It’s more than that. You hear the words clearly, but his smile doesn’t move. You kick the other sandal off.

“I can hear you, I don’t know how, but I can. I bet you can hear me too.”

I can. You’re wrong about the tan thing.

You straighten up, mind clearing as you blurt out your next question. Something absolutely stupid.

“So what are you, a vampire or something?” he laughs at you, but his big toothy smile doesn't reach his eyes. No, there's something predatory, extremely dark in his eyes. Otherworldly.

How could you guess?  

“Well, that for one big fucking clue.” You ash the spliff for the final time, leaving the roach in the tray. You would think you’d be more surprised, more upset that you just found out vampires were real, and that you were in the same room as one. You have to say, weirder things are probably afoot in Santa Carla. Murder capital of the world can’t all be from some rowdy teens and a ten year old.

“You do those surf nazis?” is all that leaves your mouth. You kind of hope it was. They were the fucking worst. Racist, misogynistic, destructive. You’d had to threaten them a few times to leave your store on your shift.

“The—? Oh! Surf nazis. Yeah that was us. Ate a few of them.”

“Good for you. I mean— murder. bad. But they were nazis, and now they’re dead. so…” you trail off. Not really sure what to say next, but then you keep going. Remember everything you know about Marko.

“No, no I mean, it makes sense. Right? You and the guys only hang around at night. Aren’t vampires solitary hunters though? I don’t remember Dracula being in a frat.”

“They’re my pack. We take care of each other.” He says it with such fondness and devotion.

You feel a pang of jealousy run through you. You work alone for the most part, live alone, you’ve got friends but they’re all over the place. He belongs to something.

“And you're down with this?” he’s legitimately asking. You nod. You don't really have a choice, you're down or you get eaten, but like genuinely you are down with it. If he was going to eat you, he probably would have by now. There's probably a reason they've been hanging around the store, and in your sightline while you close up. You're putting things together.

“Like really?”

“Well, you haven't made me a kebab yet.”

He shrugs, frowns.

“Could still skewer you on something.”

Laughter erupts from your lips while you roll your eyes, music to Marko’s ears. This is why he took a shine to you, it's easy to get along with you, and you're not one of his brothers.

Something heavy falls in the room, and it's not the haze of the incense. He steps towards you, big blue eyes raking over your body, but always coming back to meet your gaze. He closes the space between you, easily fitting between your thighs; the rough patches of his jacket brushing against your bare skin where your shorts ride up. He leans in, like he's about to kiss you, and against all better judgement, you're going to let him.

You're going to let him.

The record skips. He holds out his hand, more like a gentleman than a biker gang killer, and helps you off the counter.

“Hold on, let me pick out a new record,” you turn without waiting for his confirmation, not at all surprised when Marko follows hot on your heels to the back room. Your boss’ office, the record room. Whatever you wanted to call it. His hands ghost over your arms as you push past the wooden bead curtain to enter the room. You can feel his presence close enough to touch. That's it, right where I want you. There’s his voice again.

He lets you actually pick out a new record. You slide it out of the sleeve and walk it over to the player. The static buzzes and pops as the needle finds the groove.

“Ocean Rain, you heard it?” No. He shakes his head, and you can feel it as he leans into your back.

“Echo and the Bunnymen. They've got a new album coming out this year.”

You turn to face him and his fingerless leather glove clad hands cover your cheeks.

He kisses you gently, tenderly. Not at all the way you’d expect. He’s eager, kissing like there’s something to prove. He licks his way into your mouth, tongue pushing your lips apart and you let him. His arms tighten around you as you kiss, tongues now greeting each other playfully. Your tongue explores his mouth, running along each and every tooth in his mouth. Huh, no fangs, you realize, and maybe he isn't actually a vampire. As if he reads your mind (maybe he does), he pulls away.

“They're, uh, hiding,’ he nods, almost to himself more than you. You nod as well, slow and uneasy, not quite believing him, but he pulls you back into a harsh kiss, more of what you expected. His hands roam your body as yours bury themselves in his curls. Still damp, but long and beautiful just as well. He shrugs the jacket off his shoulders, and his hands only briefly leave you to throw it and his gloves somewhere else, leaving him just in a thin white tank top. His mouth leaves yours to trail lower, kissing your neck. Your pulse point. Fucking irresistable. No, that's definitely his voice. Is this the end? Could be.

“I can smell you, hot stuff,” he moans into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You find yourself gripping onto his shoulders a little tighter, but he lets you sink. He guides you, again more gently than you thought he would; bare knees brushing the threadbare carpet floor before you plant yourself. You look up at him through your lashes and he all but bites back a groan.

“You gonna join me down here?” You lick your lips, waiting for something.

“Nah, I’m gonna let you have a head start,” there's a joke in his tone. You're learning that’s normal for him. He’s silent, or playing jester. It’ll be interesting when you let him fuck you. Shit, did he hear that?

“Quit thinkin’ so loud!” he runs an affectionate hand through your hair. “But yes, I heard you. Glad you're as eager as I am.”

That's encouraging. You take your time undoing his belt, connected to faded and soft leather chaps, not bothering to push them down his thighs before you move to the top of his jeans, teasing your fingers at the skin just above the waistline. He shudders under your touch, extremely reactive. Does he get touched like this often? Or is it just quick fucks? You don't want to think about who else he might be doing this with, focusing again on his body, and all of the offending clothing covering it. You unbutton them slowly, teasing. For a member of the undead, he seems to be out of breath under your movements. The zipper is pulled down just as slowly. You run your palms flat along the bottom of his stomach, to his hips before pushing his jeans down to around his ankles, hooking his boxers on your finger along with them. He’s beautiful, and you can help but stare. Hard, eager, and thick, greeting you with a small trimmed patch of golden blonde curls. You wrap your hand around the base.

You never expected a vampire to whimper, but that's exactly what happens when your tongue darts out of your mouth to lick the head of his cock. Quick, tentative little lick, testing the waters. Your tongue swipes across the slit at the tip of his thick member and his hands animate like you flipped a switch, rising up, going to your hair, rising up again, slamming down against the desk. Your boss’ desk. You lick a long stripe to the underside of his cock, paying close attention to the prominent vein there.

“So good, so good, oh you feel so-” he pants out, hands white knuckling the edge of the desk. Heat pools in your core, loving that he’s so vocal. Fuck, if he could just keep speaking. Your other hand moves to your shorts, sloppily and hastily undoing them and wiggling them down to your knees. You wrap your lips around the head of his cock and sink down on it, taking him as far as you can, until you couch when he hits the back of your throat.

“You look fucking beautiful like that. Please move, Please move, you’re so fucking good at this.”

You do, starting to bob your head up and down on the length of him, hollowing out your cheeks and flattening your tongue against him, cupping and massaging his balls in your hand. Your free finds itself between your legs, rubbing gently at your clit, stirred and encouraged by his praise.

“Does sucking me off get you hot and bothered?” Yesitdoes.

You keep bobbing your head, rubbing your clit, eyes trained on his until his eyes squeeze shut. His cock twitches in your mouth.

“Don't wanna- don't wanna finish in your mouth,” he’s urgent, grabbing you by the chin and pulling your mouth off of his cock. He pushes you back by your shoulders, letting you guide yourself back to lay on the rug. He pulls your loose shorts easily off your legs and settles himself between your legs, too eager to bother with removing his boots and everything.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long. Do you know how bad I wanted this?”

“Fuck me, Marko, dont say it. Just do it,” youre breathless under him, wanting nothing more than for him to be fucking you. He pauses.

“I dunno…” his thumb swipes up along your clit, drawing a whine from your throat, “For some reason I think you like it when I say things.”

You nod, knowing words will fail you. And he gives you what you want, lining himself up and sinking into you, groaning as he buries his head into the crook of your neck.

“Oh I knew your pussy would feel like fucking heaven,” he pants against your neck, pressing a harsh kiss to the underside of your jaw. He sets the pace quickly, unmerciful and fast, fucking hard and deep into you. His hands push up your thin tee shirt, and you can feel his sigh of relief when he gets a handful of bare breast. He doesn't have to deal with a bra tonight. You hike your knees up, opening yourself as much as you can to him, wanting him to fill you to the brim. He looks into your eyes while he fucks you, which comes as a surprise to you. Maybe it shouldn't. You wonder what it would be like to be a victim of his. Does he treat them well? Have fun with them like this? Or is he vicious? You don't know if you could picture him like that… vamped out.

“What does it feel like?”

“What?” he thrusts sharply, snapping his hips into you, making you yelp.

“To be fed on, but not to die.”

Are you serious? You hear him in your head.

YesIam. He thrusts like that again, earning an identical yelp, now coupled with your thighs squeezing him around the middle. You're close already, and he can tell.

He nods, a question; You nod, confirmation.

He pulls at the neckline of your shirt, already scooping so it doesn’t ruin, and exposes your shoulder. Somewhere non lethal. His other hand comes up to grip your jaw, covering your neck but being careful not to squeeze it. You hope he bruises your jaw, you realize. A physical way to feel him when dawn comes. He slows his pace to a rocking, grinding into you, staying deep.

Then he bites. Stars erupt behind your eyes, and it feels like your blood has turned to seltzer. Every nerve in your body is in overdrive as you moan and shake and come undone around his cock. You're the kind of girl that comes from the bite of a vampire, apparently. He doesn’t let up. You can faintly hear him moaning against the open wound in your shoulder, and you hope you taste good to him. He licks the wound a few times more, softly, carefully, like he’s trying to soothe you when he finally lets you come down from your high.

When he pulls back to let you see him, his features are gruesome, full vampire with sharp brows and cheekbones, pointed nose even that much more so almost birdlike. Fangs and bottom half of his face covered in blood.Your blood.  He’s panting like an animal after the kill. But he doesn't scare you. Maybe he should, but he doesn't.  It's just Marko, no matter what, and if he wanted to eat you he would have. Several times now. His hand finally releases your jaw, to wipe the blood from his face. He wipes his hand then on your face, covering you in your own blood, hot on his fingers and palm.

“Fuckin sexy,” he pants, voice deeper and distorted. His thrusts speed up, trying to find his own release as your nails dig into his back, maybe making him bleed as well. You feel the rug burn forming on your back, you feel tears in your eyes. It's never felt this good with other guys.

When he comes, he comes with a howl, buried deep inside you as he shouts and shivers then stills above you. Your chest is heaving, trying to regain yourself as his face slowly fades to normal, and he slumps down on top of you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, near the wound he tore open, now no longer bleeding. He mouths at any bare skin he can find, lazy half kisses as he spreads more mess and blood on you. Your fingers find his curls again, winding them around your digits as you stare up at the sickly green mood lighting bathing the walls of the room.

An hour later, Marko is helping you lock up early.

He makes sure to dump out all of the ashes from spliffs and incense, makes sure the vinyl is all in its right place while you make sure the register and inventory is all in its rightful place and order.

“You’re dangerous, you know.”

“Me?” you scoff, “That rich, coming from you.”

I’d do a lot of things I’m not supposed to for you. You kinda don't want to ask him what he means by that. For some reason that feels like a conversation you shouldn't have tonight. 

He leaves the store before you, holding the door open for you and letting you lock the doors. He slings an easy arm over your shoulder, not bothering to shield either of you from the rain as he steers you towards your car. You can feel the rain cleaning your face, the blood flowing away and saving you the shower you were going to take before collapsing into bed tonight.

“Where’s your bike?”

“I flew here,” he says with that devilish smile, and you're really not sure if he's joking or not. Your arm sneaks its way into his jacket and wraps around his waist, holding him close as he makes sure you get home same. Marko makes you feel calm, in a way you didn't feel before you moved to Santa Carla. How long had he been waiting to make his move? And does this mean he and his brothers would be coming around more often? Maybe being more friendly towards you. Each step towards your car feels heavy; You don't want to go home alone without him, but somehow you know he won't come with you. 

“Will I see you again?”

He grabs your car keys from your hand, and sticks them in the door handle. Of course you will.

Right. You just have to be near the beach at night. You know, where you work.

He kisses you full on the mouth, holding you close and tight, like you could slip away at any second. When he finally lets you go you pull away to be met with his face, full on grinning, his eyes still closed from the kiss. He doesn't look like a killer.

Marko watches you as you pull open the door to your car and more or less throw your ass into the seat.  He holds the door as he gives you one last smile, and says:

“You know, you should never invite a vampire into your life. Renders you powerless.”

And he winks. 

[btsficsforthehumble]

adj.: 1. Modern, unfamiliar, or different

2. Not based on or conforming to what is generally done or believed

pairing: reader x ot7

genre: college au; angst, fluff, smut, poly, ot7

Summary: You begin your first year at a prestigious university, set out on achieving your academic goals when a series of men step into your life that change the way you view the definition of love.

Part Six

Warnings: none

Word count: 2.3k

The next day, you purposely run a little later than you normally would. You don’t know if you could endure another session of Taehyung being an actual menace at 9 o’clock in the morning. So, you take extra time to add some light makeup and pick out a pink checkered dress with a cream cardigan, and step out feeling cute, caffeinated, thanks to your morning coffee, and ready to tackle Calculus.

As you walk into the mostly full classroom, you naturally head to the spot you’ve stayed the last couple classes. This time however, you keep an eye out for Seokjin. Spotting him on the far side of the room, you send him a quick smile. Once he sees, he’s quick to send you one back with a nod.

He seems like a bit of a loner, you notice, with all of the other students engaged in hushed conversations around him, but with him seemingly content to lean on his head on his hand and stare off until class starts. He is strikingly handsome in a classical way that’s impossible to deny, which you suppose is intimidating. Coupled with him also being an older student in the class, it seems he creates a bubble around him that he himself is oblivious to.

You make eye contact with Hoseok as you head to your seat, to which he gives you a large toothy smile and a cute wave. You couldn’t hold the smile off of your own face if you tried, so you gave him a beaming grin with your own wave to accompany it.

Two seats behind Hoseok was the before-mentioned menace. His smile towards you was significantly less innocent. He was leaning back in his chair, legs stretched out far enough to be underneath your own seat, with his arms crossed. He seemed to be saying, “I’m too cool to be here.” After doing a judgmental scan of his posture, you raise an eyebrow and take your seat, and set your back firmly to him in hopes he’d get the message you didn’t want to be messed with today.

By some stroke of luck, your professor walks in almost immediately after your butt hits the seat. Pulling out your notebook, you steel yourself for the next hour of lecture in which you were refusing to let yourself get distracted. Even if Hoseok offered to study with you, you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of him by being clueless and then being a complete dead weight.

----

After another grueling class, you have to admit your fears about being dead weight feel closer to reality than what you’d want. In hindsight, you were really glad you took Hoseok’s offer to study. Well, if you were being honest with yourself, there was no way you’d turn that down even if you were a complete master at calculus. Hoseok is so bright and charming, and you feel drawn to him in the way flowers face the sun. He had such a happy and kind energy, that you have no doubt makes people from all walks of life love him.

Regardless of the boy’s personality, you are thankful for the fact that you had someone willing to help you with your least favorite subject. You need it.

You stand, and Hoseok soon follows. He turns to both you and Taehyung, “Are you both still good to study tonight? I know I need a review!” He lets out a laugh.

Taehyung answers before you get the chance. “Yeah, me too. Cafe Persona, right?”

You were a little surprised at his serious attitude. You hadn’t seen him act like he cared about anything, including his calculus grade, in the short time you’ve known him.

“Yep! Does that work? Y/n, are you still free tonight?” Hoseok answers, now looking at you expectantly.

“Oh! Uh, yeah, that works!”

“Great! Does seven sound okay?” Hoseok looks between you and Taehyung, causing you to glance at the other boy too. Taehyung was leaning with his hip to the edge of the chair, and ankles crossed with a straight look on his face. He balances relaxed and focused, and you can’t help but be intrigued by his attitude shift. He almost seemed like a different person from yesterday.

“Yep!”

“That works.”

You and Taehyung answer at the same time, causing Hoseok to grin at both of you. “Great! See you guys then!” Hoseok waves at you both before making his way out of the classroom, leaving you and Taehyung alone.

You give him an apprehensive look, waiting for him to say something flirty. Seeing the look, he gives you an understanding smile, seemingly not in the mood to mess with you. Slightly relieved, but honestly a little worried for him, you grab your back and go to leave. You pause, and look over your shoulder.

“Hey, are you okay?” You surprise yourself as you speak. He has managed to worm himself into your heart at least slightly, it appears.

He looks up from his bent over position and gives you a small look of surprise, apparently just as bewildered by your words as you. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well after working on a project last night,” he explains.

You tilt your head to the side, now curious. You’ve never really thought about his life --- his major, year, anything. “What is the project for?” you ask.

“A sculpture class. It fulfills a requirement for art history majors.”

You aren’t going to lie, him being artistic and into history made you more attracted to him. That major fit him well, from what you have seen. He dresses in baggy clothes, usually in neutral palettes, and instead of him looking messy, he makes everything he wears look sophisticated in a way that not many people are able to do.

You say with complete honesty, “That’s actually really cool. It makes sense for you.”

Now standing, he gives you a genuine smile. “Thanks, I really enjoy it. What about you, then?”

You divert your eyes, not wanting to admit you hadn’t chosen yet. “I actually am undecided…” you admit.

“Ah, well, life is long. You’ll figure it out. You’re smart.” His eyes hold yours as you speak, shining with sincerity.

You couldn’t help the blood rushing to your cheeks. You could tell that he really meant what he had said, not just saying it to be polite.

“Thank you, Taehyung… I hope you're right.” You glance down to your phone, breaking eye contact. It was a bit too intense for you. When you saw the time, you nearly jumped. You were close to being late for your next class.

“I’m running late, I’ll see you later!” you call over your shoulder, already hustling to leave the room. You hear him call out a bye as you leave, and feel his eyes following you until you get out of sight. He definitely left you with more complicated feelings towards him than what you had anticipated. But, that’s to think about another time --- you need to haul ass to get to Intro to Comp.

You make your way across campus surprisingly fast, dodging dozens of students who seemed to be less rushed than you. Nearly winded, you arrive just as the clock reaches the hour and the professor seems ready to begin. Embarrassed at the eyes on you as you walk in, you make your way to Jimin who you see sitting near the back as fast as you can without looking strange. You knew your face was red from the exertion and the embarrassment.

He laughed at your predicament as soon as you got close, and cleared the stuff of the seat he was saving for you.

“Shut up!” you whisper yell at him, but a smile breaks out on your face at his wide smile that showcased a just slightly crooked tooth. His eyes disappeared into crescent shapes at the force of his full cheeks lifting.

Once he calms down, and the lecture begins in relative peace, he leans over to you to speak without being overheard. “The LA was staring at you when you walked in, you know? His eyes never left you until you sat down.” He gives a conspiratorial grin.

“What? No way.” You give him an incredulous look. The LA seemed broadly disinterested --- disinterested in the class, disinterested in people, disinterested in you.

“I only noticed because I was watching him before you walked in,” Jimin admits with a giggle.

“He probably was just looking at me since I came in late, that’s all,” you justified.

Jimin raises a brow at you. “I guess we’ll see then, won’t we.” His eyes travel down the length of your torso and back up again, before giving you a smirk.

“Oh God. Whatever you are thinking, please don’t,” you whine.

He just widens his grin in response. Between Taehyung and Jimin, you felt that you’ve reached your mischief quota for the year already. You let your eyes slide shut and groan quietly.

----

“Come on y/n, don’t worry. I just have to ask him a question!” Jimin giggles, failing to hide his evil intentions. He wants to drag you up to have a quick chat with your broody LA, currently standing idle at the front of the room, watching the students filter out of the lecture hall.

“Sunbae if you do something embarrassing you owe me a drink,” you groan out. “Please, please be normal.”

“Don’t worry,” he draws out with a smile. A villainous smile, may you add. And with that, he drags you down the rows of chairs to the front of the room, stopping just short of Yoongi.

You hover slightly behind Jimin’s shoulder, wanting to leave but not wanting to abandon your friend. Yoongi looks back and forth between you and Jimin, and settles back on you, making you bristle slightly. It didn’t help that he had a delicate frown marring his features.

Jimin’s cheery voice quickly penetrates the awkward silence. “Hi, Yoongi right? My name’s Jimin! I was wondering if for the first project, we had to have a bridge structure? Or if we could use a double chorus maybe? Doctor Choi didn’t specify in class today.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes at Jimin. “For the first project, use the traditional structure. Choi will grade you harsher if he thinks you’re a try-hard,” he gruffly answers.

“Hm, I see. I can be a bit overzealous at times, when I’m interested in something,” Jimin replies, this time in a much lower pitch. You watch his eyes roam Yoongi’s figure as he speaks, not bothering to disguise his interest.

“Can’t we all.” Yoongi’s voice is somehow even gruffer than before. And this time, he is staring straight at you as he replies.

Jimin notices, and gives a knowing smirk your direction. “Thanks Yoongi, see you next class!” Jimin sing-songs with a smile. He grabs your wrist, leading you out of the auditorium.

It’s a good thing he does, because your brain was short-circuiting after that interaction. You feel like a deer in the headlights, and nearly stumble as you try to keep pace with Jimin.

As soon as you walk out of the building, Jimin lets out a cackle, bending over from it’s force. “I told you! He definitely thinks you're hot, I mean, did you see the way he was looking at you? He looked like he wanted to eat you right there and then!” He lets out another loud laugh at his words.

You could feel your cheeks flaming. “Ugh, what the hell was that! Why’d you even say that to him! YOU were the one trying to eat HIM!” you yell slightly, waving your arms like a crazy person.

His laughter only gets louder at your response. “I wanted to test a theory! While I wish I was wrong and he wanted a piece of me, he only had eyes for you, darling.” His laughter died down slightly. “You look really pretty today, I don’t blame him,” he adds. His gaze turns slightly wistful, but it only lasts a second before he skips over to you and links your arms.

“That’s no reason to do all of that! You’re so embarrassing, sunbae!” You look up at him, giving him your best pout.

He pulls you closer, forcing your face to rest against his shoulder slightly. “Ah, the hot LA thinks you're cute! This is a win, my dear.” He gives a smirk down at you.

“I don’t know if that’s it. He seems kind of mean… maybe he’s just socially awkward or something,” you guess.

Jimin tilts his head, and says, “Maybe. Either way I know I had fun, your blush is too cute.” He gives you another mischievous grin.

You roll your eyes, and reach in your bag to check your phone. You needed to get some work done before your meeting with Hoseok and Taehyung.

Seeing the time, you quickly unlink your arms from Jimin’s and go to say goodbye. You want to have enough time to run though some practice problems before you go later, and you knew it was going to take you a while. It seems the time was causing you to have to cut all your conversations short today, unfortunately.

“Bye sunbae, I have to go. Oh, and you owe me a drink!” you declare.

He gives you a pout of his own at your leaving, but is quick to transform into a wide grin at your reminder.

“This weekend!” he calls as you start backing up. You roll your eyes in response, and turn around to walk in the direction of your apartment. It was time to grind out some work, and not think of the weird interactions with boys that had happened today.

[softcallofdutyimagines]

More Then a Woman | Frank Woods x Fem!Reader | Chapter 3

Summary:

Woods is out for his usual, morning run. Everything is fine... you know, except that it goes just about as bad as it usually has been lately. With results even less stellar then usual and a weight of worry unlike anything he's felt as of yet on top of it, could a chance meeting with you be enough to turn things as bleak as this around?

Tags: Slow burn, fluff

Chpt 1 | Chpt 2 | Chpt 4 | Warnings: None except language

No music, no people, and just the barest rays of sunlight.

It’s just after seven am, and Frank is out for his morning run.

Every morning starts off like this, just him and the road, while he organizes his thoughts for the day. Most days he plans out all the shit he has to do and measuring out his time into neat compartments, but lately…

He can’t get his mind off of you.

A single sound byte of you calling him complete with varying, imagined inflections from that one day with Mason, plays over and over again.

Sargent! Sargent Woods! Woods! Woods!

Woods…

A small, secretive part of him wishes he could hear you call him Frank. Just once.

Or... no.

No, he doesn’t.

This is crazy. Even if he ignores the fact that he’s met you a grand total of twice in his entire life… He doesn’t have time for a, a girlfriend. Besides, you’re young and pretty… two things of which he is not. How does he know you don’t have someone already? And, for argument’s sake, let’s say you didn’t. Why the fuck would you want him?

Such is the state of the ongoing debate in his mind.

Woods shakes his head, breathing hard and attempting to refocus on the road before him. He checks his watch and picks up the pace. He’s behind again.

In fact, it’s been far too long since he’s reached a new best, no matter how hard he pushes. He runs and he runs until his lungs burn like a knife in his chest and an eerie darkness creeps into the edges of his vision. At last, he can’t go on any further, and slows to a walk. Gasping for air and dripping sweat, he trudges up to the lamp post he’s been using as a finish line and gives it a tap.

With a great heave of breath, he checks his watch a final time. Off from his best by nearly a whole minute this morning.

He runs a hand through his soaked hair, every inch of his face down to the very air he breathes conveys his dismay and suddenly he feels far too aware of his own body. The fine lines and creases slowly drawing in around his eyes and forehead. The chilly kiss of wind as it blows over patches of his scalp that he swears it didn’t use to. The clicking and dull, constant ache in his back and joints.

And suddenly the dreaded phrase, “getting too old” worms into his mind.

The street light shuts off, pulling him out of the thought induced stasis. He wipes his forehead and takes a look around. Not a soul in sight. Normally he’d find such conditions ideal, but suddenly, he feels very... alone.

All this life lived so far, and what does he have to show for it?

A case of medals, a shitload of exclusive skills and tactics, and… and…?

An empty, hollow house to bar out the rest of the world? A cold bed for two, one side always perfectly made and never disturbed? A fridge of beer and a cable tv, always set to the same, droning channel, to give the illusion of company as he drinks alone on Friday nights?

What happens when he retires and the fighting is done?

These... things. These meaningless, empty things, will be all he has left.

For all the gruff exterior. All the ‘fuck you’ and ‘watch this’ attitude. All the pomp, and arrogance, and pride, and passion, and creativity, and humor, and zeal for life and living… Is it too much to wish that, maybe, he had someone to share it all with?

Fuck.

Lost in his thoughts once more, his breath hitches as his shoe kicks a familiar glass door. He looks up and reads the sign. It’s the same coffee shop he stops at every morning after a good, hard run well done.

Frank looks down and gives his ever so slight, and yet slowly ever developing, gut a pat. Ugh, he winces. He remembers a time when he was still able to say ‘his abs.’

For a moment, he considers skipping this time, but… fuck it.

He orders his usual and a plain bagel for breakfast as he goes to find a seat. As of now, he has the whole place to himself, but before he can go back to reflecting on his own loneliness again, the door chimes and a lone figure power walks in. Frank nearly spits out his bagel in an effort not to choke as he watches you hustle up to the register in a sharp, white pantsuit.

You look… like… an angel. Draped in white and floating across the floor in the loose, but flattering fabric. It’s then that he catches that same fluttering feeling in his chest, just as he did when you were calling for him last time. He doesn’t even realize he’s staring until you turn around and catch his gaze.

“Oh, hey!”, you smile and wave politely, even bothering to make your way over while you wait on your order.

Woods snaps to attention, ripped out of his daydream at the sound of your voice. He takes in a sharp breath as he sits up a little straighter, hoping against hope that he looks more impressive then he’s been feeling thus far.

“Good morning Sargent, wh-”

“Frank”, he grunts, realizing a bit too late that he sounds far too harsh. “Uh, please. You know, I’m off duty and all...”, he trails off, taking a convenient sip of coffee to mask the awkwardness.

You make an ‘ah’ shape with your mouth and give a nod. “Frank”, you give the name a test and, as far as he can tell, decide that you like it. With a smile, you ask if you can join him at the table and introduce yourself by name in the process.

And in that moment, he commits it to memory where, from then on, it will stay safely locked away, exactly as you said it, til the day he dies.

“So, what are you doing out so early?”, you laugh.

He quickly explains he’s been out for a run, hoping that you won’t press for details. Luckily, you do not, and he takes the opportunity to ask you the same question. Likewise, you quickly explain that you’re headed to work and running a bit behind.

After that, it feels like you’re out of conversation material, and a thick silence settles between you. But, before things get too awkward, Frank decides to pick up the conversation, “So, uh… I’ve been meaning to uh, apologize…”

You cock your head in confused interest, but say nothing.

“You know, when we first met and all… I um, I’m sorry I said that stupid shit before I left like that. I don’t want you to think I’m… you know, crazy or something, heh”, he laughs humorlessly, and looks away, itching at the back of his neck nervously.

“Hm? Oh, it’s no trouble, I honestly forgot about it for a moment there”, you laugh, and it’s the nicest sound he’s ever heard. Like a fresh breeze in summer, carrying with it the smell of clean linens on the line and warm grass….

Your eyes smile deeply into his as he holds your gaze. For the briefest of moments, he feels connected to and understood by another human being like he never has before.

He takes a breath and it's as though he can feel the very scene he described. Gone is the smell of stale coffee beans and dried sweat. No more pain in his lungs or cramps in his legs. No more worrying about all the years and age slowly building onto him. No more haunting fear of loneliness.

Just the sensation of you.

Without his perception, his rough, callused hand slides in stuttering increments closer and closer still in the direction of yours. And just like that, the trance is broken as the barista calls your name. You jerk your head around to look, and the broken eye contact brings Woods screeching back into reality. He blinks and refamiliarizes himself with his surroundings.

Everything looks… dull in comparison to the vivid daydream held in your eyes.

You look back towards him, wearing that same smile, “Well it’s been nice catching up, but I have to go…”, you reach out and give his hand a friendly squeeze, “Take care now!”

The Sargent tries to return the sentiment, but all he can manage is a winded sounding grunt. He never knew someone’s skin could feel so soft. And warm.

Even after you’ve left for the door, his entire arm is still buzzing with electricity as every nerve from the tips of his fingers to the length of his spinal column light up with an excitement that he couldn’t put to words in a thousand years.

He brings up that same hand to where he can see it, turning it over slowly and flexing his fingers experimentally, as though noticing the extremity for the first time. It feels… new, after coming in contact with your disarming touch, and suddenly he doesn’t feel so aged and wizened as he was just minutes ago.

And when he’s good and through with his coffee and bagel, he makes up his mind to achieve something he hasn’t in a long time… With a few hops to limber up and a deep breath for luck, he manages a run all the way back home.

[inkribbon796]

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

Summary: Roman and Remus have always fought, always. But this time they’re teaming up for something they both agree on. Getting their mentors together.

A/N: for @aimasup and @pixeldragon45 I might have taken some liberties with the story but I hope you guys like it. I wrote this after seeing this amazing post by aimasup.

Two brothers, royal born but divided in every single way. The elder twin strove for honor and chivalry, raised in the royal court around the other knights and the tales of rulers and knights from the kingdom’s history in ages past. Some stories were true, others had been exaggerated more than a bit. 

The younger twin had been mostly shoved into his elder brother’s shadow — a brother who was older by little less than an hour — and quickly began to act out as a result.

They quickly began to be divided on the battlefield. The younger prince had been kidnapped one day by a powerful shape changing mage when he was sixteen and just decided not to go back and the royal knights found him playing old maid with her in the tower, and he threw them out the door with a note for his parents and brother.

He had declared himself “the monsters’ problem now” and was not coming back.

It was Prince of Sanders Roman’s sword and “good” magic, versus Duke of the Dark Wood Remus’s pranks and illusions.

But that is not today’s story. The fight between good and evil is for another day.

On the edge of the city, bordering the untamable Dark Woods where monsters called home, there was a tavern. It was on a trade road that went around the woods and towards the neighboring kingdom. The tavern was a way stop before reaching the capital city of Roman’s kingdom.

It was absolutely pouring down rain when a cloaked young man ran into the tavern. He pulled down his hood after looking around the tavern. Prince Roman had come to this tavern frequently, it was considered neutral ground because the caravans that came through, the residents of the Dark Woods traded between each other and the merchants protected their clients.

Against a wall, Roman spotted his brother sitting at a table, a plate of food and three empty mugs of ale next to him.

Roman walked over and naturally turned up his nose at the magic keeping Remus from getting too tipsy. “You couldn’t wait until I got in could you?”

“Ahh, brother,” Remus smiled. “I got hungry, I got bored. There’s a very cute bartender over there.”

Remus blew a kiss and waggled his fingers at the young man in question.

“Focus,” Roman hissed at him.

Remus smiled, “So I take it you received my letter?”

“You contemptuous oaf,” Roman sneered at Remus. Roman was pulling out of his cloak a dirt speckled note that had a stick figure drawing of Roman’s fairy godmother and Remus’s mentor, the dragon witch, on it holding hands. The words: canon ship xoxoxoxo maybe?!?! Meet me at the Salty Unicorn at 10pm if you agree plz thx; were written, half scrunched into the left corner of the paper as if the second half was an unplanned addition. On the front it was addressed to: my horridly good brother, Roman; from: your bestest coolest brother, Remus.

Roman shook the note violently. “Did you write this in mud? Mother would have you raked over hot coal for a note this foul!”

Remus clapped in excitement, “So you’ll help me?”

“What type of cad do you take me for?” Roman scoffed, throwing the note down onto the table. “Of course I will.”

Shaking his hands, Remus just about squealed in delight, his smile widening. “The journey will be perilous, brother.”

“Oh please, it will be easy,” Roman scoffed. “It’s true love, and they are already smitten. Half of our job is done for us.”

It was, in fact, not easy. It was easy for the two princes to get back to their homes. But when they met back up at the border of the Dark Woods a couple weeks later, Roman challenged Remus to come out and fight him. The royal prince had to fight several goblins before Remus showed up, mace in hand and swinging it around wildly like a maniac. He managed to hit three goblins, who didn’t scramble away fast enough, in the face before he made contact with Roman’s shield.

Buzzing around Roman was a bright blue hummingbird, a little puffball of feathers and magic. She was fluttering around the royal prince, magic coming off her wings like glitter.

During the twin’s duel for honor and a bit of fun, a flash of shadow flew across as a large bat flew towards him and hit the hummingbird out of the air.

“You fiend!” Roman spat as the hummingbird seemed to glow and in an explosion of feathers a woman appeared in a billowing blue and white dress, the little jewel beads of the dress glittering and sparkling in the light. For a second or two she looked like she was covered in soft down before having more human light tan skin.

“That was a cheap shot,” Althea the fairy godmother reminded tersely as the Dragon Witch turned from a bat to a bony witch in a very dark red dress, her skin an ivory ash color.

“Please it’s almost like you wanted to get hit,” the Dragon Witch reminded. “Besides you two were gaining up on my sweet Remus.”

Althea swept her hair back, which frustrated the Dragon Witch because even in a fight it always looked flowing and fluffy.

“Give up,” the Dragon Witch smiled. “These woods are ours.”

“Never!” Althea shouted. “Your reign of terror is over.”

Lights and magic flew across the battlefield. In the end Remus and Roman had tied again as the Dragon Witch was thrown back by a gust of wind.

“Meddling child,” the Dragon Witch spat.

“Surly, caustic witch,” Althea snapped back. “Be gone and go back to your unhallowed woods. We are victorious.”

“I clearly won,” the Dragon Witch smiled smugly.

Althea made a little angry pout, crossing her arms in a huff, “You’ve done no such thing. Even if you two did win, it would only be because you both cheated.”

The Dragon Witch had some big gloating tirade of sarcastic insults, but seeing her little pout where she puffed out her cheeks a bit and looked like she was sticking her tongue to the inside of her cheek and . . . she . . . what was she going to say again? Something about her cute face? No, Althea would just make fun of her for that.

“Yeah? Well you . . .” The Dragon Witch tried not to look absolutely flustered. “. . . you’re just a poor sport.”

Althea looked angrier while the Dragon Witch was just internally screaming. Poor sport? Who says that? What are you five? Did you just get kicked out of the academy?

Remus was standing behind them, a huge toothy grin on his face that made the Dragon Witch want to have his face dragged in the mud or put worms in his stew.

Glancing at her student again she saw that both he and Roman had stopped fighting and the two of them were just watching the two mages arguing. The whole thing smacked of a trick of some kind and right now the Dragon Witch couldn’t figure out what type of trap that meant.

So she appreciated whatever the hustle was, even though she doubted that Remus had turned on her. He would be up front about it, and predictably violent.

He was a good kid so . . .

She looked over at Roman who seemed to be just as excited as Remus was, except he was staring at Althea . . .

“Wait a second,” the Dragon Witch realized.

“I will not be waiting any seconds,” Althea refused, not understanding.

The Dark Woods mage immediately remembered that the good witch had been talking to her and she had been ignoring her. But one look at her face reminded the witch why she had a crush in the first place.

“Yes or no?” Althea ordered, pointing at her?

“Uh,” the Dragon Witch stalled, staring at her, “no?”

Althea’s face got a bit fuzzy with her anger, the feathers around her face was almost a pinking color.

She looks so adora— no, don’t she’ll just turn you down.

“I can’t believe this, you’re so frustrating,” Althea huffed out. She stomped her feet a bit and grabbed Roman, “We’re leaving.”

“But you didn’t . . .  I mean, justice,” Roman sputtered as he was dragged towards a carriage that had been hiding up the road to stay out of the fight.

“Don’t say a word,” the Dragon Witch ordered Remus as they watched them walk away.

“Why Maggie?” Remus smiled, setting his hands and chin on the hilt of his mace.

“If you don’t, I’ll use your tongue for a gibberish concoction,” she threatened.

“Awwww,” Remus’s grin was particularly sharkish. “Someone’s just being a poor sport.”

The Dragon Witch whipped her staff around and lightly cuffed him on the back of the head.

Inside Roman’s carriage, the royal prince was just listening to his fairy godmother rant at him.

Althea was sitting with her face buried in her hands, her face red as a tomato. “That woman is so infuriating! Ugh, what kind of game is she playing?”

“Who knows with them?” Roman shrugged.

“Maybe if she wasn’t so cute, I’d know what to say,” Althea accidentally said out loud.

She blushed even harder with embarrassment and looked up at Roman. “Uh, I mean—”

Roman stared at her for a second before pulling apart the divider behind them and turning to yell, “Cam! Turn this cart around, we got a date to catch!”

“Roman!” Althea yelled, her face getting even redder. “She’s the queen of the Dark Woods!”

“And the Dark Woods is about to get themselves another fabulous queen,” Roman proclaimed.

The cart had stopped, the driver turned around in his seat to verify, “Are you sure you want to go back to the Dark Woods, Sir?”

“Oh yeah,” Roman smiled. “I know we’re only three minutes out. We could walk there. Oh, and you and Quil are about to cough up five pounds a piece.”

“Roman!” Althea shrieked as the carriage began to move back towards the haunted woods.

“It’s true love, my darlingest mentor,” Roman insisted, “and I have it on good authority that she thinks you’re good looking.”

Althea got even redder, “Who told you that?”

“Well Remus was cruder but I understood the intent,” Roman answered.

“He could be lying,” Althea accused.

“Please, my brother is the worst liar in all the kingdoms,” Roman defended, almost offended for the brother he fought on a regular basis’s honor. “He’s crude, rude, and violent, but he is no liar.”

“She really likes me?” Althea asked.

“How could she not?” Roman demanded. “Now, we have true love to prepare for my dear.”

“Let’s just start at a first date, Roman,” Althea insisted. “It’s a little soon for anything like that.”

“You’ll see,” Roman smiled, looking out the window. “She’s over the moon for you.”

Eventually the carriage stopped because Remus was standing in the middle of the road with the Dragon Witch next to him.

Roman opened a top hatch in the carriage, “Ahh, good, we were just about to go and find you two again.”

“I’d like your men to stop accosting my woods,” the Dragon Witch spat.

“When you get your marauding bandits to stop attacking my people,” Roman bargained.

“How about when you pay my woods back for generations of war crimes?” The Dragon Witch’s eyebrow shot up.

“We shouldn’t have to defend ourselves from being set on fire,” Roman reminded. “I’d be happy to start calling off the war if we could trust you won’t pick up arms against us the moment we have our backs turned.”

“Ugh!” Remus complained. “We’re not here to talk about politics! We’re here to talk about two lovely ladies getting freaky!”

“Ah, thank you Remus,” Roman clapped his hands, smiling. “Thank you, for once, for getting us back on topic.”

Roman waved his hands and when his hand came back up Althea in her hummingbird form was perched on two of his fingers. The royal prince exited the carriage with her, clearing her throat. “Queen Dragon Witch of the Dark Woods, I present to you the Good Witch of the Sanders Kingdom. She is as intelligent as she is brave and you shall be permitted to court her on the grounds that you vow to honor and cherish her, to treat her as the lady she is.”

“That’s it?” The Dragon Witch asked, clearly braced for more.

“Yeah, she has to vow the same,” Remus cut in.

“Naturally, my mentor is no brute,” Roman agreed.

“No I meant is he going to demand anything else of me,” the Dragon Witch told Remus.

Roman briefly ran over his speech in his head and ducked back in to grab the paper he had rehearsed with, reading back over it, “honor and cherish . . . no I got everything.”

“No land, no unfavorable terms?” The Dragon Witch seemed surprised and astonished.

The royal prince made an offended gasp, “My great-great grandfather’s petty squabbles have no bearing when love is on the table. Naturally if any deals for land and power are to be carried out, our courts should both be here for that.”

The Dragon Witch just stared at Roman for a bit before smiling, “You know, you’re a spoiled rich human brat, but I think you’ll actually make a good king one day.”

“Thanks?” Roman wasn’t sure if he’d been insulted or not. “I think?”

The Dragon Witch held out her hand and Althea transformed back, looking a little bit nervous. “You really are the most beautiful fairy in the lands,” the Dragon Witch told her.

Althea was just staring at her, “You are too.”

The twin brothers were standing close to the carriage and Roman’s driver, the three of them just watching the two of them talking.

“Janny owes me big for this,” Remus was almost cackling.

“Are you making deals with that snake?” Roman critiqued.

“How about you get off my ass and let me live my life?” Remus glared at him. “Besides his mother is happy, what could be better than that?”

“You do have to admit,” Cam said to Roman from his seat above them, “they do look happy.”

“Yeah,” Roman sighed, acquiescing on that front.

The two witches talked for a bit before they inevitably had to part ways. They would meet again on the battlefield, but next time it would be a not-so-quiet show of magic, designed to impress rather than harm.

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Feels More Like a Memory

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Ric gulps down the rest of the beer and gestures to the bartender for another. Then he holds out his hand. “I’m Ric, by the way. With a C.”

“Wally. With a W.”

“That’s a tragedy.”

“And Ric isn’t?”

It’s not easy being a ghost. Ric isn’t dead. He has flesh, breath, motion, all signs of life. But Him? The person he apparently used to be but who might as well be a stranger told in someone else’s story? That person is dead, and Ric can’t help but feel like a murderer for pushing him out. He isn’t Dick Grayson. Not anymore. Ric slides into a bar stool, flagging down the bartender. “I’ll have a beer.” This place isn’t his favorite haunt in Blüdhaven, but they do serve good brews despite the lack of customers and general grossness. And, frankly, he’s not in the mood for company tonight. He’s been fielding calls all day from those people, the ones who knew him Before. The ones who foolishly call every few days as if expecting the ghost to answer in Ric’s place. Bruce. Barbara. Damian. Even some names that Ric doesn’t recognize but couldn’t care less about if he did. A Donna Troy. Jason Todd, even though Dick saw in some old files that he’s supposed to be long dead. Some kid named Tim. Ric doesn’t even pick up anymore when the calls come. It’s too exhausting playing defense, trying to remind these poor idiots that the Dick they knew is dead. Ric can’t keep pretending to have any part of himself that cares about these strangers, that keeps him straddling the line between past and future, or it will tear him in half. He’s had enough of the visits from “old friends” and family members he wouldn’t recognize from a Christmas card.

It’s a weeknight, so the bar is empty but for a few alcoholics and some guys playing pool in the back. Ric might even join them later, hustle a few rounds. The door to the bar opens, a dulled bell sounding to announce the newcomer. Ric doesn’t bother looking up. It’s not like he’ll recognize the new face—or any face, for that matter. The bartender brings over his beer. Ric thanks her and takes a sip. The stool next to him creaks. “I’ll have a Coke with three maraschino cherries, please. Thanks.” It’s a deep voice with a bit of a midwestern twang. From Missouri, maybe? The “please” is a clear indicator that he’s not from around here, nor does he go to bars a lot. Not this kind, anyway. Ric has tried and failed to turn that part off, the part that picks apart every detail in the world into quantifiable data. His memories may be gone, but whatever that crazy bat guy trained into him has stayed in his head as muscle memory. Ric couldn’t escape it if he tried. He drinks his beer, side-eyeing the guy. “Never met anyone who goes to a bar for a soda.” The guy doesn’t...he doesn’t flinch, exactly. But there’s the slightest of shivers that runs through his frame as if hearing Ric’s voice does something to him, even though he’s the one who sat next to Ric in the first place despite the plenty of empty stools around them. Maybe he’s lonely. Maybe he’s just a weirdo. Whatever this guy is, he recovers quickly. “You can’t exactly get a Coke with three cherries from your neighborhood grocer.” “You can if you make it at home.” The guy’s mouth quirks. “Then I’m here for the wonderful atmosphere.” Now that Dick is facing him, he can see that the guy has bright red hair that curls in front of his forehead, wind-blown like he spends his life riding on top of a bullet train. His eyes are green and practically every inch of visible skin is sprinkled with freckles. “If you’re looking for atmosphere, you’re sure as hell not going to find it here,” Ric says. “This place is the pits.” “Then how come you’re here?” Ric shrugs. “For the moldy buffalo wings and terrible service, of course.” The guy laughs and, for whatever reason, Ric gets the impression that it’s the first real laugh he’s had in a long time. The bartender serves up his soda, cherries and all. “I’ve got to be honest, Blüdhaven is even worse than I remember it. Ever since that bat guy disappeared, it’s like all I hear about Blüd now is how much the crime has escalated.” “Nightwing,” Ric corrects before he can stop himself. “His name was Nightwing.” “Right, Nightwing. What do you think happened to him?” He got shot in the head. Not that Ric can tell that to a complete stranger. Then again, he’s been meeting far too many “complete strangers” lately who turn out to be anything but. They try to worm their way into Ric’s life as if they know him, as if they have some kind of a claim on him. “Have we met before?” he asks. He tries to do it casually to cushion the blow of completely changing the subject, but it’s hard to remember what casual even is anymore. “You seem...familiar.” The guy plasters on a smile. “Just have one of those faces, I guess.” “Says every person who’s ever pretended not to know someone.” That gets another laugh. Maybe he’s just a happy guy? Definitely not from around here, then. “I’m from Central City, actually. Just here for the weekend. I was trying to track down an old friend.” “And did you find him?” The guy’s eyes dim, but he keeps up some of the smile, like he’s mourning a memory. “Nope. He skipped town pretty recently and has been missing since.” “Sorry to hear that.” The guy drinks his soda. “How about you? What keeps you in a place like Blüdhaven?” “Believe it or not, this is the only place I’ve been in so far that’s felt like home.” He’s already buzzing from the beer combined with the whiskey this morning and the vape he bummed off a couple guys earlier. Might as well go all in. “I got shot in the head a while ago and since then, I’ve been a clean slate.” He points to the scar on his scalp, but he doesn’t have to. A goddamn aircraft could see that thing from orbit. “It’s hard to figure out ‘home’ again when every place you go is filled with too many people who know and care about you, you know?” “You and I have very different definitions of ‘home’ then. The way I see it, home is wherever the people who love you are.” “You’d be surprised. It’s more like leeches, really. Or a landlord begging for rent even after you’ve moved out. It’s fucking exhausting.” He gulps down the rest of the beer and gestures to the bartender for another. Then he holds out his hand. “I’m Ric, by the way. With a C.” “Wally. With a W.” “That’s a tragedy.” “And Ric isn’t?” That makes Ric laugh. The weird part is that, at the heart of whatever this is, there’s something natural about laughing with this random person. Wally. It feels familiar, like this is someone important, as insane as that sounds. He blames it on the alcohol, but he could almost convince himself that this Wally guy is something vital he’s been missing. But Ric has seen the files Batman showed him while he was futilely trying to jog Ric’s memory. There was nothing about anyone named Wally in there, so he’s in the clear. “So,” Wally says, “amnesia, huh? And I thought I had problems.” “You have no idea. Weirdly enough, the amnesia part isn’t even the worst of it. I can deal with having no memories. The real problem is everyone else’s memories trying to force their way into mine. Everybody remembers me as somebody else, but they can’t understand that the man they knew is long gone. It’s pathetic.” “Can you blame them? If someone I loved forgot who he was, I’d want to bring him back too.” “Then you’ve never had to deal with lost memories before. Everyone talks about how amnesia can be a blessing in disguise, giving you a reset on life. But it’s more like being dropped in the middle of a sports game where you don’t know the rules or who your teammates are, and everyone’s waiting for you to just get with the program and kick the ball somewhere.” Wally bites a cherry off its stem. “What I wouldn’t give for that.” At Ric’s questioning look, he says, “I have two kids. Twins, Jai and Irey. They’re...they were incredible. They were the lights of my life. Then there was...something happened. I lost them both, and now all I have left of them are memories. But I swear to god, sometimes it feels like having the memories hurts a million times worse than losing them in the first place.” Well, shit. By the looks of him, Wally can’t be more than twenty-four, twenty-six years old. Losing two kids so young must be hell on earth. That Damian kid said stuff about how Dick was like a second father figure to him and how when Damian was dead, the greatest relief after coming back was that Dick wouldn’t have to mourn him anymore. But Ric doesn’t remember any of that. If he ever did lose Damian like he said, it means nothing to Ric now. Dick may have lost a child, but Ric didn’t. Wally swallows thickly, drinks his soda until his throat clears. “So trust me, I get wanting to forget. But if you want my advice, I say hold on to your family for as long as you can, even if you don’t want to. You never know how much time you’ll have with them.” Ric honestly doesn’t know what to say to that. “I’m...I’m sorry, man.” Wally clears his throat, forces a smile, but each one is dimmer than the last. “It’s fine. But you see why I don’t drink.” He doesn’t elaborate, but Ric gets the message: Because if I did start drinking, I would never stop. “I can’t even imagine losing someone like that,” Ric says, sipping his fresh glass of beer. “I know my parents are dead, but my memories are so messed up that I don’t remember much of it. And even though I can’t remember anything after that day, it still feels like it happened twenty years ago. I’ve never had to grieve anyone but myself.” “It helps to have people around you, for one thing. That friend I mentioned, the one who skipped town? We used to have a system that whenever one of us was having a bad day, we’d go down to that gay bar a few blocks from here and stay there until we forgot what we were upset about.” After a second, he asks, “You ever been there?” Ric resists the urge to grimace. “I’m straight, actually. That kind of stuff...it’s not really my thing.” Wally blinks at him. “You’re kidding.” “Excuse me?” “Nothing. That’s just...surprising.” “Okay?” This wouldn’t be the first time someone’s accused Ric of being queer. Just because he likes mesh shirts and the occasional crop top doesn’t mean he’s gay, okay? He’s as straight as an arrow. “No, that’s not—I mean...I don’t know what I mean.” Wally shakes his head. “It’s easy to forget that not everyone lives the same life you do, I guess.” Ric clinks his glass with Wally’s. “Cheers to that.” Ric can’t explain what about this conversation makes him feel more comfortable than he has in weeks. Maybe it’s the beer. Maybe it’s the human interaction with someone who isn’t another bar-hopping asshole or part of his old “family” trying to bring him back to a home that isn’t his. Ric has spent so long driving strangers to their destinations in his taxi, sleeping under a new roof every night, gambling his money away and drinking himself into oblivion as long as he can afford it. But here, with Wally, he feels settled. His head clears, and it’s such a foreign sensation that he stops for a moment just to let himself soak in it. “How long are you staying in Blüd, Walls?” He doesn’t mean to say the nickname, it just slips out of him like a bar of soap between slick hands. Wally doesn’t seem to mind. He even smiles, and Ric can’t help but wonder if the friend he was talking about used to call him that. “This is my last night, actually. I’m going to this mental health facility in Nebraska for a while to recharge. I just wanted to see my friend one last time before I left.” “I’m sorry you couldn’t find him.” “Yeah. Me too.” Wally downs the rest of his drink and stands, tossing a few bills on the counter. “I should probably head out. It was nice talking to you, Ric.” Ric shakes his hand again. “You too. Track me down if you ever find yourself in Blüd again. It’ll be nice seeing a familiar face for once.” “You got it.” Wally turns to go but stops at the door, one hand mid-twist on the knob. He looks back at Ric. “Don’t forget me again, okay?” He’s gone before Ric can answer, the door closing behind him. Ric was lying before, when he talked about the worst part of being an amnesiac. The worst part isn’t the missing twenty years, or the annoying family members, or the fact that he can name all fifty states but can’t remember whether he likes mustard or not. It isn’t any of those things. The worst part is knowing about the past that waits for him to sink back into it even though he can’t, no matter how hard he tries. It’s struggling with the fact that he has a whole family he doesn’t recognize but who loves him more than he’s ever seen a person be loved before. It’s seeing that love, witnessing the lengths they go to just to have their Dick back, but not being able to feel any of it because that isn’t his life. It’s not Ric’s love to have, and it never will be. Dick Grayson may be dead, but the love he earned is eternal. And that, right there? That’s what hurts the most.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Daredevil in Disguise | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary:  You see the live feed of Tom in that infernal Daredevil costume. And man does it your engines revving. You insist that Tom bring the costume home for so you can appreciate him in all his glory.

Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Sex, Costumes, Costume Kink,Teasing

-

You scrolled your phone for about the twentieth time in the last two minutes. Tom told you to watch at the Betrayal Instagram after the show. Tom spoke of a special Halloween surprise tonight but nothing more. And the teaser posted online gave no insights.

“Come on!” you growled at the phone in your hand. As if on cure, a live feed popped up. “It’s about time.” You flopped onto the bed, phone in hand.  Eddie exited first, wearing a skintight Captain America costume. You giggled at how he held the shield in front of him, covering his crotch. Zawe came out next, looking stunning in her blonde wig and Captain Marvel get up. You waited with bated breath for Tom to exit. The crowds cheered as the stage door opened and Tom and Charlie emerged dressed as Daredevil and Loki.

“Oh, my fucking GOD!” you yelled out loud into the apartment. Tom looked like sin in his Daredevil costume. As he stood there, you realized the costume left little to the imagination, causing yours to run wild.

Your arousal grew as Tom walked around signing playbills. You saw one particular part of his anatomy accentuated. “Someone has been doing his squats.” you muttered as your hand traced the inside of your thigh.

You watched with continued growing lust until the stream ended. You opened your message app and shot off a quick message.

That costume is too tight. You can see everything.

You smiled as you waited for Tom’s reply.

I don’t know what you mean, darling. My costume fit just fine. :winking emoji:

Just how many fans fainting out there with you parading around like an exhibitionist?

There is only one fan I care about. How did you like the show?

Bring the suit home and I will show you.

Tom sent a smiling emoji, and you tossed the phone onto the bed, all sorts of naughty ideas of what you would do once Tom arrived home danced through your head. As you realized it would take ages for Tom to finish packing up and make the car trip from the theater to home,  you moaned in frustration. You edged yourself by sliding your hand to draw languid circles across your clit. Not enough to orgasm but perfect at making you lust for the touch of Tom’s skillful fingers.

Before too long, the front door slammed shut.

“Thomas!” you called out.

“Don’t come out, darling. I will be in a moment.”

You settled back down onto the bed. Tom entered a few minutes later, resplendent in his Daredevil outfit. You stood from the bed.

“How do I look?” Tom held his arms out. Even decked out as the Devil from Hell’s Kitchen, he couldn’t hide his Loki. You smiled as you circled Tom, surveying the view.

“Someone has been working out.” you commented as you run a nail along one of Tom’s biceps. His breath hitched, and you knew Tom was yours for the taking.

“One should always keep in shape.” he retorted, his eyes following you narrowed and suspicious.

“Speaking of shape, your ass…” you punctuated your words with a smack to Tom’s right ass cheek. “… is a peach.” Tom jumped at the unexpected impact. The cracking sound reverberating against the walls of the apartment.

You grinned as you snaked your arms around his waist to cup his hardening cock through the thin fabric. “And this…” you palmed him as his head fell back with a groan. “… is mine.”

Tom whipped around and pulled you into a crushing kiss. His tongue tasted of espresso and chocolate. He pressed his hips against yours as he walked the two of you back. Your shoulders hit the wall hard but you don’t stop. You reached your arms up around Tom’s neck to pull him deeper. Tom hitched your knee up and stepped between your legs.

You bucked your hips into him, needy for friction and release. Tom rutted against you too. You slid your hands down to grip his ass, pulling him into you.

“Oh god!” you moaned as you felt your release growing. Tom grunted against you before pulling away.

“The costume is rented, darling. You will make me lose my deposit.” Tom said breathless with a devious grin.

You chuckled at the word “deposit”. “Then by all means, allow me to rid you of this…” you slid your hand up to grasp the zipper, pulling it down slow. “… encumbrance.”

Tom lifted the Daredevil mask and placed on the nearby table. “Borrowed from Charlie.”

“Remind me to thank him later.” you muttered as you tugged the face cowl off of Tom’s face as Tom pulled at the arms. The upper half of the costume fell around Tom’s waist as you pulled the two of you onto the bed.

“Darling. I never knew you were into costumes.” Tom groaned as he pulled at your shorts and panties, discarding them somewhere in the dark. “Otherwise, I would have brought Loki home ages ago.“ he licked his lips before pushing your legs apart.

You gasped as Tom’s teeth nipped at your inner thigh while his arm snaked up to your hips, holding you steady. “Please.” you pleaded as Tom moved his lips at a languid pace, denying your pleasure.

“Ah, not until I say so.” Tom growled into you, pushing you into the mattress to assert his dominance.

“Just fuck me already!” you yelled in frustration. You needed him, his cock like you needed oxygen. The long nights of performance took its toll on your sex life for both of you.  You were in no mood for teasing tonight. You sat up and pulled your tank over your head, revealing no bra.

Tom popped off the bed and pulled at the waist of the costume. You tilted your head to gaze as the flimsy fabric slipped from his hips to expose his bare ass. Your fingers found your clit. Tom allowed the red and black fabric to pool at his ankles, pulling it off entirely with his feet.

“Naughty girl. Starting without me.” He placed himself again between your legs, pushing your hand out of the way.

He captured your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking hard. The flame of arousal ran through your body, settling deep into your core. Tom gave his cock a few pumps with his hand before teasing your slit with the tip. He plunged into you at a slow pace, eliciting a deep guttural groan as he filled you.

“Fuck…!” you left out as your head fell back.

“God, I have missed this!” Tom panted as he thrusted slow but urgent. You bucked your hips to match his rhythm, his pubic bone grazing across your nerves.

You reached to grab Tom’s ass, digging in your nails and pulling him deeper. Your orgasm teetering on the edge.

“So close.”

“Cum for me.” Tom urged as he thrusted with vigor. You wormed a hand between the two of you to reach your clit.

You rubbed as Tom continued to chase his own release inside you. Within a few moments, you groaned as your sight went white. Your pussy clenched around Tom and his mouth fell agape.

“Fuck, darling!” A few thrusts later, Tom collapsed as he cums, spilling inside you.

Before long, the only sound in the apartment is the deep and even breaths of both Tom and you.

-

The next morning, you wake to find Tom’s side of the bed empty and cold. He heard clanging in the other room. You located your shorts and top from the night before and pull them on as the aroma of coffee and bacon filled the air.

“I would have expected you would sleep in. After all that exertion and heavy breathing last night.”

Tom laughed. “You know it takes more than one round to wear me out.”

You smiled as you snuck a piece of bacon off the plate. Tom slapped your hand with the spatula but he was too late.

“You snooze you lose.” you popped the piece into your mouth with a smug smile. Tom leaned over to give a quick peck to your lips.

“You taste delicious.” Tom cooed as he sampled the grease of the bacon from your lips.  You reciprocated the kiss, pulling him deeper.

“You taste of coffee.” you retorted as you pulled away.  Tom smiled as he returned to the stove. You run your hands down from his shoulders before cupping his ass. Tom swatted at you again with the spatula, missing again. You spied the discarded Daredevil suit crumpled at the foot of the bed.

“When do you have to return the suit?”

“Not until Friday. Why?” Tom’s brow furrowed as he caught a glint in your eye.

You give his ass a hard smack; the sound cracking through the air. Tom glanced over his shoulder as he sees you sauntered back. You slide off your shorts as you reached the bedroom, tossing them on the floor. “I thought you might be up for round two.”

Tom flicked the oven off before following you into the bedroom.  He tugged at his underwear as he hustled behind you.  The bacon burned in the pan but more pressing matter needed tending to by Tom.