#should I or should I not keep using the exclamation points... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moni-logues · 4 months ago

Note

Hiiiii Moniiiiii!!!! :) How are you?

I say a few request the other day and i would like to ask for one if its ok so may I please request a JiminxReader where they are co-workers, maybe a frienemies to lovers? and could you please highlight the fact reader has a mole somewhere special (shoulder, tigh, upper lip idk) that Jimin takes liking and loves kissing? thank youuuu xx

LOOK AT ME!!!! I'm FILLING A REQUEST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I DID SOME WRITING!!! LOOK, MA, NO HANDS!

Pairing: Jimin x reader (afab)

Genre: co-workers to lovers, slight enemies to friends to lovers

Summary: You were certain, when Jimin started at your company, that you were going to hate him. You had been wrong. Equally sure you were now that you were just friends. Just friends...

Word count: 5.1k

Content: oral (f. receiving), protected sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, one very bad stupid joke because i couldn't not, they're both drunk/sobering up; pretend this is actually set somewhere and that place is probably in the UK (hence Jimin Park not Park Jimin)

This Meeting Should've Been an Email

JP: this meeting should’ve been an email

YN: it should have been an email between the two of them

YN: i don’t even know what we’re doing here

JP: i'm online shopping

YN: 😂

YN: maybe i'll do the same

YN: spend all the money they don’t pay me

JP: atta girl!

You were trying to keep your face neutral, pretending you were listening to the discussion at hand, paying attention so that, if they directed a question to you, you’d be able to answer. Working from home was preferable to working in the office in a thousand different ways, but you did hate sitting on camera in a meeting that didn’t require you. Acting had never been your strong suit. You bit your lip, then rolled both into your mouth to stop yourself smiling.

JP: what do you think of this?

Jimin sent a link to a shirt so expensive, your mouth gaped without permission. Black and sheer, blousy with fewer buttons than sleeves. It was certainly something, but you weren’t sure it qualified as clothing—not for that price.

“Oh, I’ve just seen your face—is there something wrong?” your manager asked and you started.

“No, not at all! Sorry!”

You had no lie or excuse to give, so you hoped he wouldn’t probe. He didn’t.

YN: why would you spend so much money on so little fabric?

JP: it’s fucking beautiful, that’s why

YN: more beautiful than rent?

YN: or food?

JP: yes

You drummed your fingers on the desk, willing yourself to do some work, to at least look like you were doing some work.

You had got into the office early, as you liked to do, so had secured your favoured desk, in the back corner, where you could surf the internet (decidedly not working) as much as you liked without anyone able to see your screen.

You had all the right programs open: databases, emails, teams, spreadsheets, and checklists. You just couldn’t bring yourself to do anything with them.

Jimin had told you, first thing this morning, that he wasn’t going to come in today. You didn’t see the point of being there without him. Who would you go on unnecessary walks with, just to get out of working for ten minutes? Who would convince you that walking the further distance to the good coffee shop was definitely worth it, as were the pastries they sold that the closer one didn’t? Who would distract you for 75% of the day, if not Jimin?

No one.

You told yourself to do one task and then you could have a break. You turned back to your monitors and scanned your to-do list. You needed something quick and easy. Then an email came through from your manager. The subject alone made your stomach drop: Team changes!! The second exclamation mark wasn’t right at all.

“Hi all,

I’ve got some good news and bad news.

Bad news: Jimin is leaving us!

Good news: he’s got a great new position as a manager just down the road!

We’ll have to have some discussions around resourcing in Ops and I’ll of course feed that back to you and we’ll arrange how we’ll cover Jimin’s tasks in the interim. I know he’ll have a lot to train you guys on before his last day, but we’re such a great team, I know we’ll manage! It’ll be a great loss, for sure, and we’ll all be sad to see him go, but I hope you can be happy for him, too.

See you in the meeting at 2.

Hugh”

Anger simmered in your gut before you could be sad. The passive aggression of ‘I know he’ll have a lot to train you guys on’ and the fact that Jimin hadn’t told you. That you knew it would be months before anyone was hired in Jimin’s place and that you would be expected to pick up all the slack, for no credit and no extra pay. That he hadn’t told you.

YN: you’re LEAVING?!?!?!!???!!?!?!?!

JP: yep!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YN: cannot believe you made me find out from HUGH

JP: 😇😇😇

YN: you’re not allowed to leave me here

JP: you should quit too!!!!

You left that one on read and decided to knuckle down to work. You had a lot to do, you decided, and it couldn’t be put off any longer.

You felt weirder than you had expected to. Unsettled for the rest of the day. Not really able to focus, but your mind wasn’t busy—there was nothing in it. You couldn’t fill it with numbers or comms or monitoring. Couldn’t fill it with office gossip (there wasn’t any). You took yourself on a walk, for fresh air, hoping the breeze would blow away the cobwebs, but that didn’t work either.

* * *

“Hi, Jimin!” Chloe called from across the office when Jimin entered, only in his second week of work.

“Hi!” he called back, walking away from your bank of desks and towards the ones at the other end of the room.

You rolled your eyes. Pretty boys were the popular ones. Go figure. You had known he would ingratiate himself with that little group the moment you had met: there was something almost simpering about the way he behaved when introduced around the office. As if it was some sort of one-man parade in which he was the star. Arrogant, you decided. Arrogant with no reason to be.

He had a dance background (even less relevant than your history degree) so it wasn’t as if he had any experience in this field. It was his first office job since graduating; he had graduated at the same time as you and had spent a year working in retail before landing this job. So he didn’t even necessarily have technical or communication skills. He just had a pretty face. And a dancer’s body.

You couldn’t work out how he became everybody’s best friend within five minutes. Even less when you started hearing people calling across the office for him to help with this problem and that.

“Jimin, can you show me how to do a purchase order again?”

“Jimin, what supplier did you use for your banner?”

“Jimin-”

“Jimin!”

You knew you knew just as much as he did, if not more. You’d been here longer. You just weren’t as... all that. Didn’t have the sparkle or the smirk. Fine, you weren’t glamorous but this job wasn’t supposed to be about style. You got the work done and you did it without fanfare because you weren’t desperate for attention and praise.

Unlike some people.

“Guess who got the promotion,” you said on the phone to your best friend.

“Oh my god, is it you?! Did you get it?!?!?!?!!?”

“Nope.”

You ended the word with a hard pop and said no more. Wendy was quiet on the other end for a second.

“You didn’t?”

“Nope.”

“Then who did?”

“I’ll give you one fucking guess.”

“Not Jimin.”

“Of course it was Jimin!”

You had been all but assured the next open spot that came up. It was virtually guaranteed! Until Jimin swanned in and swiped it from within your claws.

“No fucking way.”

“Way.”

You got the promotion after that but it wasn’t a sweet victory. Forever, you would have to live with the fact that Jimin was promoted ahead of you. Even though he had less experience and had worked there less time. Even though all the managers encouraged you to apply. It left a permanently bitter taste in your mouth.

Then they had a shuffle of staff.

And you ended up on a project team with him.

JP: I’ve finished all the documents for this submission; please let me know what you think!

You’d have liked to tell him to go fuck himself. You’d have liked to open those documents and tear them to shreds, cover them in red tracked changes, and make him look like a fucking moron.

But you couldn’t do that because they were good. Perfect, in fact. You wouldn’t have changed a thing.

YN: look good to me.

You always gave him a passive-aggressive full-stop. You couldn’t be out and out rude to him, both because it was unprofessional but also because he didn’t deserve it. He was good at this job, it turned out. Didn’t have a head for data, but didn’t need one because his talents elsewhere were just as valuable.

You had begrudgingly traded some tasks with him when your team was first set-up (you gave him the worst ones, the ones you liked the least because you might have been forced to share but they hadn’t specified what) and you were too proud to admit that he was actually better at them. He had a much better eye for visuals; his external comms samples were always flashier and prettier and neater and more engaging than yours had been.

He had suggested a slightly different tracking method for your monitoring and you had had to pretend to have wifi troubles and leave the meeting to seethe for a minute.

He brought in snacks to the office when you had meetings scheduled and had the gall to remember that you didn’t really like chocolate.

He covered for you when you were ill without complaint and without any mistakes.

He started sitting next to you in the office so that you could talk about the project more easily.

He started sending you gifs and memes.

He started making cute, little jokes over private message when you were in meetings together.

You started, somehow, somewhen, you didn’t know why, growing fond of Jimin Park.

And now look where you were.

You were hurt that he didn’t tell you first. You were surprised. You were more than just work friends now, weren’t you? You had each other’s personal numbers! You spent time together outside of work (sometimes)! Didn’t that deserve a little confidence? He couldn’t have even mentioned that he was looking for work elsewhere?

“I haven’t forgiven you, you know,” you told him as he arrived at the office, taking the desk next to yours as he now always did.

“For what?”

“For leaving! And for not telling me!”

He laughed and, ordinarily, you’d have laughed at yourself along with him, but you didn’t feel like it today. You didn’t want to be laughed at. You wanted him to take your feelings seriously. You wanted him to apologise. You wanted him to not leave.

You spoke about it reasonably often, his leaving, his new job. How excited he was. How nervous. How weird it would be to not see each other every day.

You didn’t speak about how sad you really were that he was going. You didn’t speak about the sting of betrayal you still felt but didn’t want to investigate. You didn’t speak about how his quitting really, truly made you want to quit, too, even though you liked this job, even though you were (had been) happy there.

* * *

It came around all too quickly. Jimin’s last day. The office was packed because everyone wanted to see him off. Of course they did. Everyone loved Jimin.

Including you.

“For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good feeeeelloowwwwwwww! Which nobody can deny!”

No one had expected the unit director to be the life of the party and it was providing an excellent diversion from the sinking pit in your stomach. With every drink, the end drew nearer.

It wasn’t as if you wouldn’t see Jimin ever again, but you wouldn’t see him as often. He would make new work friends. You would be replaced. There felt something so final about it all, this evening stretching as long and taut as you could make it.

So taut it might snap.

You were the last two in the pub. You used to sneak out early together after work drinks; head back to your place or his and eat chips in front of something you both talked over; took yourself to your exclusive club-house for two where you could gossip about the evening and who got too drunk and who was making eyes at whom.

But you didn’t want to leave tonight and Jimin was hosting so he couldn’t leave until the last guest did.

Or until the pub kicked you out after last call.

A bell rang.

“Last call!”

Fuck.

“Think that’s time, baby!” Jimin cried, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “My last day at work is officially over!”

You whined, too drunk to stop yourself. You knew you’d had one too many. Two too many. Perhaps the whole bottle of wine too many. But you had to keep drinking if you were staying at the pub, and you wanted to keep drinking so you’d stop feeling so weird and sad about this. You looked up at Jimin and he smiled back down at you.

God, he was pretty.

“Don’t go,” you said, lips pouting so hard they barely let the words out.

Jimin laughed again.

“Back to my place, then? Your favourite chippy is on the way!”

“Absolutely!”

The relief that washed over you was almost strong enough to knock you over. There was still a little more time.

You squabbled at the chip shop. You could hardly remember why even as you were stepping out of it. It had turned the night just a touch sour. You didn’t want that. But you’d take that over the ending of it.

“What do you want to watch?” Jimin asked as you flopped, heavily onto his sofa, box of chips in hand.

You shrugged.

“Any genre you particularly fancy?”

“I literally don’t care,” you replied sharply.

You felt more than saw the look on Jimin’s face and chose to ignore it. He came to sit next to you on the sofa and you felt a little suffocated. He was too close. You could smell him. His shampoo? His laundry detergent? You’d never quite been able to pin down just exactly what it was that made him smell so nice; the opportunities you’d had to get that close to him just hadn’t been enough.

“Why do you smell so good?” you asked, though it sounded like an accusation.

Jimin laughed.

“I smell like a brewery and fryer oil!”

“No, you don’t! You always smell good!”

You were starting to hear it, how drunk you sounded, which, on the plus side, meant you were just starting to sober up.

“Thank you,” he replied, a little more tight-lipped than he might normally have been.

The conversation, if you could call it that, ended there. You watched the drama he had put on in silence, munching chips, and sipping water, and not talking. You were drunk and tired and had already said too many things you hadn’t meant to. You didn’t know about Jimin.

You watched one episode and then another and then another and just as Jimin’s TV was asking if you were still even there, Jimin turned it off.

“I’m calling it,” he said with a wide yawn. “I’m fucking tired.”

That was your cue to leave. You were also tired. Heavy with alcohol and lack of sleep. Blood viscous like molasses. You didn’t want to go.

“I don’t want to go.”

Jimin blinked. His lips twitched and you knew he was laughing at you. This was not the script the two of you usually followed. Then he shrugged, allowing the smirk to cover his mouth.

“Ok, then, stay.”

“I don’t want you to go. Don’t leave.”

He chuckled.

“Why would I leave? I live here!”

“Work!” you cried, stumbling as you put a tingling, dead foot on the ground, coming to a stand. “Don’t leave work!”

He groaned your name in a way you hadn’t heard before and it made your stomach flop.

“Don’t keep saying that. It’s too late; I’m going!”

“Don’t.”

“You going to miss me that badly?”

You just looked at him. Couldn’t bring yourself to confirm it. Yes. Yes, you were. Yes, you would. Yes, you missed him already. Missed him so much you wanted to pull him closer. Wanted to tangle your fingers in his hair. Wanted to-

Fuck.

You started, taking a small step back.

You wanted him.

To kiss him. To touch him. To see him. To know him. Not to be his work friend. Not to be his friend. To be his. His.

It hit you like a ton of bricks and you didn’t know if you wanted to cry or throw up. Maybe both. You weren’t sure how much of it was down to the alcohol and how much to the emotional slap in the face you’d just given yourself.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” Jimin said, his eyes wide and cute, his smile a little rueful. “So much.”

You felt something. Something charged. The hairs on your neck pricked.

“How much?” you asked, voice escaping you in a whisper.

“So much that it makes me not want to go.”

You felt your eyes drawn to his, had no choice but to look him in his sweet face, his dark, swirling eyes glinting in the low lamplight. You couldn’t tear them away. Couldn’t move. Felt suspended in this second that stretched and stretched and stretched until it couldn’t stretch anymore.

“Ji-”

His name wasn’t out of your mouth before his lips were on it. Soft. Plush. Sweet with wine. His tongue swiped at your lower lip and you were eager to let him in, to taste him, to satisfy the hunger that had reared its ugly head, jaw gaping, teeth dripping, that must have been lying in wait, biding its time, hiding itself even from you.

There was no denying it now.

You didn’t talk as Jimin pulled you closer. Didn’t speak as he pulled your tucked-in T-shirt from the waistband of your jeans to slip his hands underneath. Didn’t make a sound when his fingers deftly picked at the clasp of your bra, instantly springing free, to allow his hands beneath that, too.

Could only just stop yourself moaning when his lips met the sensitive skin on your neck at the same moment as his thumb brushed over your nipple. You couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t make a sound. The silence was so loud and you didn’t want to disturb it, even though what he was doing to you felt so good. Felt so unreal. You didn’t want the noise to puncture it, this bubble, this fantasy, this something that was happening that had been so unexpected even though it, now, felt like it had been a long time coming.

Then Jimin moaned. Removed his lips from your skin and opened his mouth, letting sound spill from it freely, almost wantonly, as he pulled you even closer. Close enough to feel him against you which set your knees trembling.

He looked at you, a little hesitation in his eyes, the hem of your top in his hands. You still couldn’t speak, just nodded, put your hands over his and pulled upwards. Watched in stunned silence when he unbuttoned his own shirt, let it fall to the floor.

It occurred to you then that you had never seen this Jimin before. Not just the kissing and the erection and the arousal pooling in your underwear. You hadn’t even seen him topless. Had never seen the fine trail of hair that dipped beneath his waistband. Had never known he had a tattoo across his ribs.

Never mind.

You’d have scoffed if you’d had half a mind about you. Never mind.

You were minding all this very, very much.

You reached out to touch him, pressing the pads of your fingers to his chest lightly, testing to make sure he was real. He was. Soft and smooth and rippling with goosebumps under your fingers.

“Fuck,” you whispered, finally finding your voice.

“Yes, let’s,” he replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You laughed, then laughed some more, shocked at your own surprise.

Fuck!

Fuck!!

Jimin’s mouth was on yours again, more urgent this time. His hands, too, flying over your body, gripping here, pinching there, slipping inside your jeans, flicking the button open and dragging down the zip. You retaliated, pushing his undone trousers to the floor, pushing your hand into his boxers, encircling his hot, hard cock with your fingers. The wobbly whine that trembled out of him made your core clench.

“Jimin,” you said, breathlessly, calling his attention to your face.

He held your gaze there for a second, a second or two or three—his hand groping at your backside, yours around his shaft—and then you didn’t need to say anymore. He was grabbing at your jeans and your underwear, pushing them down your legs, pushing you onto the sofa, kissing at your face and your jaw and your neck, all the way down, to your breasts to your navel to the crease of your hips and further.

You couldn’t have been silent, even if you’d still wanted to be. The wet muscle of his tongue laved over you, all over you, exploring, familiarising, teasing until you were grabbing at his hair, nails scraping his scalp.

“Jimin!”

You wanted to shout, to demand, but you only gasped, only whined, your breath taken from you as his lips closed around your clit. Still, it seemed he’d got the message.

You writhed beneath him as he sucked, as his fingers slipped easily inside you, curling against you insistently while his tongue flicked over your swollen bud, as his lips sucked, as you bucked and twisted and spasmed beneath him. You could have said it was too much, this was too much, but it was Jimin, and suddenly ‘too much’ seemed impossible. You’d have died under him. You’d have let him go forever. As long as he liked. Though you were twitching and squirming and your legs clamped around his head, he didn’t stop. Didn’t stop until you were screaming from one orgasm to another, gushing over his hand, being lapped up into his mouth. Until you were seeing stars. Until your breath barely came in, went panting out in sharp staccato gasps. Until he pulled back, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, mouth wet and shiny, and sat back on his heels.

“Fuck,” he said and his voice was tight, hoarse, sounded strained.

Strained like his boxers, still covering him if only barely. He palmed at them, eyelids fluttering, head tipping back.

“Fuck,” he said again as he brought his face back down to you, as he scattered kisses across your torso. “I’ve wanted to do that for so fucking long.”

The words didn’t register, didn’t hit, because his lips were still moving against you, his hands brushing up your sides and over your breasts, cupping them up to his mouth so he could lick over your pebbled nipples, suck them into his mouth one at a time. You were dazed.

But not done.

“Jimin, please.”

“Please what?” he returned, teeth grazing lightly over the shell of your ear, breath hot and wet against your shivering skin.

“Please fuck me. Please.”

He grinned, the glitter in his eyes turning wicked.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so fucking long, too.”

He abandoned you, briefly, supine on the sofa, as he at last shucked off his underwear and fumbled in his wallet for the condom that was closest to hand.

He knelt back over you and you felt him at your entrance, one hand holding him there and the other pulling at your thigh, positioning you where he wanted you, how he wanted you.

He could have you however. As long as he had you.

“Ready?” he asked, as if he had to. As if you weren’t already tipping your hips trying to capture him, as if your walls weren’t fluttering already, as if you hadn’t made a great mess of his sofa cushions.

“Yes.”

You groaned in unison as he slowly pushed into you. You hadn’t expected him to feel this big, stretching you as you squeezed him, as he continued to push until he was fully seated, settled inside you, all the way in.

He lowered himself onto his elbows, nudged your nose with his, kissed you. Slow and deep, his body unmoving. You wondered what was stopping him, tilted your hips a little, wrapped your legs around him, clenched tight until he shuddered with a gasped laugh.

“If you don’t want me to come like, immediately, you’re going to have to stop that.”

You laughed back, in disbelief, still not really experiencing this as the Real Deal, still convinced this might be a dream. That Jimin was fucking you—was not fucking you right now because he needed a second to gather himself, a second to keep it together so he could fuck you.

You relaxed yourself as much as you could, stroked his hair, flicked his earlobe with your tongue and bit down lightly on the soft flesh. Let your mouth explore where it could reach.

“Jimin,” you whined, when he still hadn’t moved. “Please.”

He didn’t reply; his face was tucked into your neck and you could feel his heavy breathing there. You were two seconds from begging again when he finally moved. He dragged backwards, slowly, and shot forward, fast and hard. Then he did it again. And again. His hips moved fluidly; his arms caged you in securely; his lips sucked soft against your skin.

He had worried it would be quick, but you were sure time was slowing down. It was stretching itself over this moment so that it lasted forever, so that each time Jimin slammed his hips against yours, it took an age; every kiss lasted an hour; every gasp became a long, drawn-out sigh. This wasn’t quick; it was eternal. It was elemental.

It brought you into your body in a way that made you feel more than human. That made you feel animal. That made you feel pure and unshackled and unburdened. That made you feel free. Free because all you had to pursue was pleasure. All you had to concern yourself with was your body and his and the way they came together. There was no time, no loss, no rush, no ending, nothing to spoil the sanctity of this coupling.

It wasn’t always like this. You’d been around the block enough to know that this could have ended differently. On another night, you might have been lying on someone else’s sofa, waiting for it to end because you were simply bored now, because they had been all talk and no trousers, because they weren’t doing it right and you couldn’t be bothered to correct them.

Jimin didn’t need correcting. He was, as ever, a fucking overachiever. His girth pushed against your g-spot with every thrust and his length made each drag deep and lasting. You wondered if there was anything he couldn’t do.

Then he pushed himself up onto one hand and used his free hand to push low on your abdomen as he continued to piston against you. The gasp it stole from you was choked and you felt your legs twitch, tighten, pull close as the rest of your body collapsed inward, too. He reached his thumb down, pressed it against your clit and let the snap of his hips move you, just slightly, just enough that it was teasing again, that you could feel him in a way that suddenly was not quite enough. Was maddening.

“Jimin,” you keened, sweat dripping down your spine as your back arched from the sofa.

“Say it again.”

“Jimin.”

“Again.”

“Fuck, Jimin.”

He growled, deep in his throat, and your hips jerked as he pressed his thumb harder against you, swirled it in circles, rough and quick until you were coming again, gasping, squirming, clawing at his arms, your back threatening to snap in two. He kept his teeth clenched as he fucked you through it, as he pushed through the tight spasms of your cunt, as he fought to last until the end, until your body flopped, spent and lead-heavy into the cushions.

Only then did he let go, did he give a final few thrusts, did he moan loud and long as he came.

He flopped beside you on the sofa and you lay there, breathing heavily in a silence that felt light. You felt his lips press at your clavicle, his fingers then tracing the same spot. Then his lips again.

“What?” you asked.

“You’ve got a little mole here,” he murmured, still directing most of his attention towards it. “I haven’t noticed before... I like it.”

You hummed, satisfied, heart secretly thrilling. You let him kiss you, back and across the straight line of collar bone, flicking his tongue over your mole. What dedicated attention you hadn’t had for such a long time.

You could feel your eyelids droop, felt as though maybe you should clear some things up before you passed out; you weren’t sure you’d make it that far. Then Jimin spoke, cutting through that drunken, post-coital haze.

“Never shit where you eat.”

“What?”

He looked at you.

“Never shit where you eat. I don’t fuck coworkers.”

Reality came crashing in on you like a tsunami.

You were coworkers. No, you had been coworkers. You weren’t anymore, because Jimin was leaving. Had left. Had worked his last day, celebrated in the pub, and then fucked you into the sofa. Had fucked his former coworker. You.

“So you’re saying, all this time...?”

He shrugged.

“Not necessarily all this time. But yeah... You?”

You shrugged back.

“Literally wasn’t aware of it until tonight. Until you were trying to get me to leave.”

He laughed breathlessly.

“I wasn’t trying to get you to leave. I was trying to get you into bed.”

“Oh.”

A beat.

“Well, you didn’t do a very good job, did you?”

He laughed again, full-throated this time.

“We fucked, didn’t we?”

“On the sofa.”

He swatted your arm playfully.

“Technicality. I still say it counts.”

“That’s the sort of carelessness and lack of attention to detail that’ll get you fired, y’know?”

“Oh, you’re firing me?”

“Perhaps I am.”

“Wow, fired on my first day. My parents will be so disappointed in me.”

“First day?”

You looked up at Jimin, heart racing wildly. None of this had been expected; none of this was sinking in. Did a first day necessarily imply a second? A third? More?

“First of many... If you want.”

You did want. You nodded.

“Great,” he said softly, gently pressing his lips to yours. “We’ll have a meeting in the morning to discuss my probation.”

“A meeting? Nah, this could be an email.”

#jimin x reader #jimin smut #bts smut #bts x reader #jimin fanfic #jimin fic #bts fanfic #bts fic #jimin #park jimin x reader #park jimin #bts

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cal-kestis · 1 year ago

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DOWNLOAD TEMPLATE VIA KO-FI ← This template is completely free to download (just enter $0), but if you feel inclined to tip me, I appreciate you! 💖

BTW this template also includes some of my frequently used icons!

NOTE: If, for some reason, you open the template and see the pop-up shown below, click "NO" — otherwise, the fonts will be all messed up:

And if you see this triangle with an exclamation point by a text layer, don't double-click it — it'll mess up the font as well:

PHASE 2: THE GIFS

I'm just going to briefly go over gif sizes and my recommendations. Also, keep in mind when grabbing your scenes, you'll want all of these gifs to be the same amount of frames.

2.1 – Background Gif: 540 x 540 px. I recommend this size so you have a good amount of visibility for the gif behind the iPhone wallpaper. I also recommend making this black and white (or in my case, black and white with a slight blue tint — idk I just like the way it looks) so the wallpaper coloring can stand out.

2.2 – Wallpaper Gif: 230 (w) x 500 (h) px. Keep in mind the very narrow dimensions of the wallpaper! And also keep in mind that you'll have a bunch of apps and widgets covering the image. I try to use wide shots (or layer my clips into looking like wide shots). Also, keep in mind your color scheme for your set and your character's aesthetic! I tend to focus on one or two colors for the wallpaper.

I usually position the wallpaper to the side with 20px bumpers, so there's lots of space to see the background:

2.3 – Large Photo Widget Gif: 201 (w) x 96 (h) px.

2.4 – Small Photo Widget Gif: 94 x 94 px.

PHASE 3: THE TEMPLATE – "IPHONE" FOLDER

In this section, I'll try to quickly walk you through how to use this template and some bits that may require extra instructions. I'll be going through each folder from top to bottom.

3.1 – Status Bar. Time, Service, and WiFi are pretty self-explanatory. In the Battery folder, you can use the shape tool to adjust the shape layers labeled "Fill (Adjustable Shape!)" to customize the battery level.

3.2 – Message Notification. Again, these are pretty self-explanatory. I've already masked the circle for the contact photo, so you can simply import any photo and use the transform tool to shrink it down. The circle is 24x24 px. If you don't want to use a photo, there's another folder called Default Initials.

If your message text can't fit the text box, the message should end with ellipses which is how iOS caps off long texts.

3.3 – Blurred Banner (IMPORTANT) This folder is easy to miss because there's only one placeholder layer in there. On iPhones, the area behind a banner notification and the dock get blurred (including the wallpaper and any apps).

What to do: Make a duplicate of the apps in Row 1 and/or widgets that intersect the message banner, convert them all into one smart object, apply a Gaussian Blur filter (Radius: 3.0 pixels) on the smart object, and move the smart object into this masked folder!

(There's another masked folder in the Wallpaper folder for the dock which I'll go over in that section.)

3.4 – Apps Turn off the yellow guide if you don't need it to keep things aligned and turn off layers you don't need by clicking the eye icon. Replace the "App" placeholder text with your app name, change the color or gradient of the square to compliment your color scheme, and add your custom app icon overlay!

If you can't find an app icon you need from the ones I provided, flaticon.com is a great resource. Also, if you can only find the filled version of an icon, check out this tutorial for how to make any text or shape into an outline.

Also, each app folder has 4 notification bubble options (1-4 digits). Again, you can toggle these on and off as you need!

3.5 – Big Widgets I like using these when my wallpaper has A LOT of negative space to fill. I included the Photos and Books widgets in my template, but there are lots of widgets available on iPhones. You can check some of the other ones I've done here, or if you have an iPhone, simply try adding some widgets to your phone!

There are also widgets bigger than these, but they would take up half of the phone screen which is why I don't use them for these edits.

3.6 – Small Widgets The only thing I'll say about these — because they're pretty straight forward — is there are a lot more weather themes than I included in my template. Also, if you set your character's phone to evening, the weather widget will show a dark background (sometimes with stars), so keep that in mind.

Speaking of, I've included Light Modes and Dark Modes for, I think, every applicable widget.

3.7 – Page Dots These barely perceptible dots indicate that your character has more pages of apps than shown in your gifset (so if an anon tries to come at you, you can just say "it's on the next page of apps" /j /lh)

3.8 – Dock Again, the dock has notification bubble options and I've included the default app designs, custom filled designs, and custom outlined designs for iMessage, Phone, Email, and Safari (there's also a FaceTime alternative if that's how your character rolls). These are usually the apps people keep in their Dock, but this is fully customizable too. So, if your character is, like, super obsessed with Candy Crush or something and needs it in thumb's reach — you can put it in the dock.

3.9 – Wallpaper This whole folder is masked already to a 230x500 px rounded rectangle.

Inside, you'll find another "Blurred Portion" folder for the area behind the message banner notification and the dock.

What to do: Duplicate your gif layer and place it in this folder, remove any sharpening filters, and apply a Gaussian Blur filter (Radius: 3.0 px). Be sure to add any coloring/adjustment layers ABOVE this folder and your original sharpened gif layer.

PHASE 4: EXPORT

We made it!

I hope this template makes it super easy for you to recreate this layout! If you decide to try it out, feel free to tag me with #usernik.

If you notice anything wonky about the template, kindly let me know so I can fix it! And if you have any questions about how to use this template, please don't hesitate to send me a message! I just ask that you try to be specific in your question so I'm able to answer you the best I can!

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coralinnii · 1 year ago

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❋ If you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice ❋

feat: Floyd

genre: slow burn romance

note: sequel to reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy AU Floyd ver, no pronouns used for reader, 2k word count

Series masterlist

A new normal has unfortunately assimilated into your life since your incident during that fateful ball. You felt your entire being sink into the pit of your stomach as your brother came running to you when he returned from the party, frantically asking why one of the Leech family sons was asking about you.

“You fell on top of him? And then just ran away?!” You were close to strangling your younger brother for his big mouth, especially when your outraged mother just happened to walk in right at the moment, though you were sure the birds resting in your gardens would have heard your brother’s obnoxious exclamations.

“I can’t believe you didn’t even say sorry, just running away and leaving the poor boy” After scolding your ear off, your mother wrote a letter of apology to the Leech household and to your dismay, invited Floyd to your home so you could personally apologize for your rude behavior. “It’s the least we could do,” your mother said.

Soon, an apology dinner led to a quick tour around your father’s training ground, then eventually there wasn’t a day where you didn’t worry that you’ll see a head of ocean teal hair bursting through your doors, naturally making his way into the guest room like it was made for him, though your mother probably did request the servants to keep that room clean everyday for his arrival anyway.

“Fishie, I’m bored~” You were convinced that Floyd was aware of your wariness of him which was why he intentionally spends his time constantly by your side, poking you and demanding you to entertain him anytime he was bored, which was all the time. He complains when you wouldn’t pay attention to him (eventhough he barged into your classes), drags you to spar with him during your father’s knight training sessions (eventhough you weren’t part of your father’s knight squad), and even naps in your bedroom while waiting for you (eventhough there’s a guest room literally just for him!).

Your wariness soon became frustration as you swore that Floyd was doing this just to get a rise out of you, for you to finally snap and give him a reason to squeeze you. You couldn’t figure it out but you’re starting to realize that the tall intruder only seems happy when you’re mentally suffering from his antics.

What’s worse was that your family doesn’t seem to see this as a concern. Your father was pleased to see potential in Floyd as a fighter and your brother became fascinated with the stories of merfolk and trinkets Floyd brings anytime he visits. The worst was your mother who was happy to have the sharp-toothed man visit them so often, calling him a sweet delight in the home.

“Crazy. They’re all crazy!” Your sanity as thin as silk thread and about as high-strung was tested everyday and it was at its breaking point one day when you had to join him for a night in the town, where a small festival was being held.

“Your dear friend was kind enough to invite you… you should go out more…Don’t be such a slugabed…Why can’t I be a slugabed, mom? Nothing wrong with that” lost in your grumbles, Floyd pulled you around the bustling crowds of the market to various food stalls when he felt an inkling of hunger. You supposed you were glad he was in a good mood for now, beats the alternative.

“Hey Fishie, Check this out!” You looked to see your companion with a satisfied grin on his face. “Look at what I got from the kebab stall!”

A satisfied grin plastered on his face, Floyd held out what you assumed was a meat kebab but the sheer length of it caught you off guard. The impulsive eel persuaded the stall owner to combine the sticks together to create a kebab much longer than intended (or recommended). Adorned with alternating grilled meat and vegetables, Floyd’s kebab stick was more of a kebab sword.

“Oh my goodness” you let out a gasp, wide-eyed at oddity before you. “Is that possible…or safe?” Clearly it was possible with the monstrosity clearly in his hands but your concern was more towards if such a food-covered stick was safe to wave around in a crowded area like this, where someone could accidentally get hit by that thing-

Whack “Hey, what’s the big idea?!”

Why couldn’t you be wrong?

As you feared, Floyd's creative street food managed to swing around and smacked an unsuspecting man in the back of his head. He turned, and your instincts immediately warned you that this man was not the forgiving type of fellow. His scowl seemed to target you, possibly because you seemed to be an easier victim to blame.

“What’s the big idea? A couple of prissy nobles walkin’ around thinkin’ they can do whatever they want?” The ruffled man snarled out in a gruff tone, his friends behind him copying his scowls with furrowed eyebrows and visibly clenched fists. “You better walk away if ya know what’s good for yer.”

But Floyd was not the least bit intimidated by the hostile group and started to scowl back, a dangerous look glazing over his mix-matched eyes. Before you could apologize, the tall merman stepped in front of you, towering over the stranger and blocking your figure from sight. Bystanders whispered and gasped as many started to back away from what looked to be an impending fight.

“Haaa? You minnows tryin’ to pick a fight?” Floyd tilted his head to the side glaring down at the other man, a hand squeezing his shoulder as though to limber up his arm. To you, he seemed like the meaner bully than anyone. “Sure, let’s have some fun then.”

“What’s going on over there?!” You heard another voice bellowing from afar and your worries suddenly shot up. Amongst the crowd, you could see a pair of men in armour making their way towards your direction where the commotion was.

“No. No. No. I don’t want to spend my night getting arrested!” Looking back to Floyd, you saw the wildness in his eyes barely being held back, dead set on starting a fight. You knew there wasn’t a chance to talk Floyd down when he gets this riled up so in a panic, you made a risky move.

Quietly crouching down, you scooped a handful of sand and gravel. With all your mustered courage, you side-stepped from behind your tall friend and threw the debris straight into the ruffian’s eyes, momentarily blinding him. The stranger bellowed with pain as he quickly back again in response.

“AARRGGHH, YOU CRAZY B-“ the blinded man couldn’t finish his sentence as you made the final blow by kicking him further backwards, his friends scrambling to catch him as he groaned in his suffering.

Taking the chance, you quickly grabbed Floyd and rushed away from the scene. Your mind ignored voices cursing you as you recklessly weaved through the crowd away from the knights and the ruffians and towards anywhere that had less of a crowd, your hand tightly holding on to the merman who was strangely quiet, stunned by your impulsive actions. But the ruffians were quick to recover as they started catch their bearings and chase after the two of you, rage fuelled in their motivations.

The chase brought you to a pier by the ocean that was as ink black as the night sky. You could still hear their voices coming closer and soon regret and fear flooded your senses.

“What do I do…what do I do?” You mumbled in panic, with tears lining your eyes. You have completely forgotten that Floyd could feel you shake through your hand still interlocked with his.

Your companion watched you quivering like a scared little seal and hearing angry footsteps approaching, when a fun idea crossed his mind.

“Hey Fishie,” his casual voice finally made you remembered his presence. “We gotta hide, right? I know a place~”

“Wha-“ Without a second to let you ask more, Floyd swiftly picked you up from your shoulders to fling you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and in one fluid motion, he threw you right into the waters without remorse.

Splash

In your flabbergasted state from the audacity and the sheer ice cold feeling of the water, your frazzled mind didn’t even register Floyd jumping in soon after you until he wrapped his arms around you, clasping your hand over your mouth to stop you from screaming. Floyd was surprisingly comforting with his hold on you as his long arms kept you afloat above the cold waters as he expertly led your body further from the pier where you could faintly hear shouting from afar.

Eventually, the noises quiet down and all there’s left were the waves of the water splashing against your skin. Unfortunately, the darkened sky allowed no light for your eyes to scan your surroundings. You could barely see Floyd very well despite feeling his body close to yours. “Floyd, can you see the pier?”

“Yea, can’t you?” Floyd asked but you shook your head, your eyes couldn’t adjust to your surroundings with almost no light in sight. “Too dark, huh? Hmmm, close your eyes for a second, will ya? I’m gonna do somethin’”

Though skeptical, you did as he asked. Minutes went by and before the fear that the ocean-haired man might had left you, a luminous glow nearly permeated through your eyelids. You could tell there was bright beacon of light close to you but there strangely wasn’t a sense of heat from the source.

“…Alright, open ‘em”

Floyd watched intently as you opened your eyes and saw something purely inhuman. The once tall man was no longer in his human form but instead his long eel-like body was wrapped around you which glowed a shimmering blue light from his bioluminescence. This was the first time you’ve him in his most natural form.

Floyd waited silently for a reaction from you, an unreadable look in his gold and brown eyes. With his natural glow, nothing was hidden from you. You could see his sharp claws protruding from his large webbed hands, his dotted blue skin coated with slime, and his large monstrous tail in lieu of those human legs he acquired. All land-dwellers do is gawk and shriek at whatever is unnatural to them and he suspected you’d be the same, just like all the boring humans…

“Floyd, you’re beautiful!”

You couldn’t help but marvel at the sight before you. Your old life fantasized and told tales of merpeople but would never come to see such a visionary sight like this. Even after finding yourself in this new world, many mermaids and mermen had to hide themselves from anti-merfolk humans on land so you still haven’t had the chance to meet them in such a natural form…Until now.

“Wow, you’re glowing from your chest to your tail…” your eyes sparkled with child-like wonder as you watched the light from Floyd’s body shimmer in the waters, reminding you almost like the waves of light of an aurora in the sky. Your fingers curiously grazed the surface of Floyd’s tail which felt cool and smooth to the touch, most likely due to the natural secretion of his skin to keep him hydrated. You reached back to his clawed fingers which you swore looked bigger than those of his human form, bigger than yours at least, which made you ponder if merfolks varied in sizes as well. “This feels like a dream”

“…Hehe, how long are you gonna touch me, Fishie~?” Floyd’s little tease snapped you out of your daze as he grinned down at you. His tone sounded accusatory but his sly grin spoke volume of his amusement over your fascination with his body.

Quickly, you let go of his webbed fingers. “I-I’m sorry, Floyd. I was just surprised. I’ve never seen a merman’s body before and-and” you stammered and splashed around but not even the ice cold waters could cool the sensation in your cheeks. You felt the burn of embarrassment just thinking how Floyd was watching you fawn over his body like a reckless pervert.

Distracted by your shame, Floyd took the opportunity to hold you tighter than before, his glowing body coiling around your legs and letting you feel his firm muscles as you felt forced to sit atop of his tail. Gently, the merman cradled your head as he smiled a toothy grin at you, seemingly happier than you’ve seen him all day, though you couldn’t figure out why.

“My Fishie never disappoints~ It’s always so fun when I’m around you, I can’t get enough!” Floyd surprised you by pressing his cheek to yours, nuzzling against your skin as he hummed in a satisfied tone. Seriously, what’s gotten him in such a good mood?

“Wait, don’t think I’d forgive you for throwing me into the water!”

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #floyd leech #floyd x reader #villainess au

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literaryvein-reblogs · 3 months ago

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Writing Dialogue

Dialogue is a spoken exchange between multiple characters in a play, film, TV show, or another type of creative writing.

Writing dialogue reveals character development, speech patterns, and mannerisms, which can also propel the plot forward.

Often, authors employ realistic dialogue that captures how specific people speak.

Sometimes they use direct dialogue (showing what a character wants), and other times they are rich in subtext (illuminating depth beneath the surface of the exchange).

How to Format Dialogue Dialogue formatting can show verbal exchanges between two characters effectively.

Consider these guidelines on how to punctuate dialogue:

Quotation marks. Writers should use double quotation marks to encase a character’s spoken words. Single quotation marks may appear within dialogue when someone is quoting another.

Dialogue tag. Writers typically insert a comma at the end of a sentence as a dialogue tag to denote the speaker (such as: “Let’s eat,” Travis said.). The comma should appear comma before the closing set of quotation marks.

Closing punctuation after quotation marks. An exclamation point or question mark may also appear before the closing quotation marks.

New paragraph. When characters talk back and forth to one another, start a new section each time another character speaks a line of dialogue.

How to Write Dialogue

Consider the following writing tips from Judy Blume on how to craft strong dialogue:

Dialogue breaks up your text. Writers can use dialogue to enliven long blocks of text. “I'll flip through a book, and if it's dense, dense, dense, dense, no paragraphs, no dialogue, I don't want to read it,” Judy says. “But dialogue lightens up your book on the page. You want white space on the page. Dialogue gives you that: playlets, I often put in little playlets in my book; it's like a little play within a scene.”

To write better dialogue, read more of it. Authors write great dialogue by reading great dialogue. “Reading and reading and reading, you will find what's good dialogue, what you think is good dialogue, and what you think is wooden and not very good dialogue,” Judy says. “And you will learn from that just by reading it and reading it and going to the next book and finding it because it's there. It's in every novel. There's dialogue.”

Keep your word choice simple. In a few of her earlier works, Judy did not use the word “said” when writing dialogue. “I decided that I would write this whole novel without ever using he word ‘said,’ that said was such a boring word,” she says. “‘He said.’ ‘She said.’ I had my thesaurus by my side, and my characters did everything but say. My characters exclaimed. They beguiled. And they did everything but say. Throw away your thesaurus when you’re writing.”

Write realistic voices. Developing a character’s voice requires observing real-life exchanges and using smart word choices. “It’s a question of capturing the way people talk when they're talking to each other on the street, you know, in the workplace, wherever,” Judy says. “Your characters should each speak as themselves, meaning they are believable and recognizable.”

Source ⚜ Writing References: Worldbuilding ⚜ Plot ⚜ Character More: Better Dialogue ⚜ Children's Dialogue ⚜ Dialogue Prompts

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the-ellia-west · 8 months ago

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How to make your Readers Feel Emotions for Dummies

(AWWWWW :]]]] Edition)

So... Do you have any cute animals or children in your story?

No?

Then I can't help you go away

Kidding, kidding, you can make AWW moments in your story no matter who or what your characters are.

First

You have to have at least semi-Likable characters (Pets, adorable animals, or children make this wayyyyyy easier)

Likable characters make your readers want the characters to be happy! You can't really get AWWWW moments if you want the characters to suffer

Most AWWW moments come from Shipping or cute baby moments

Second

Decide what Type

whether you want it to be an AWWWW Romance moment, or an AWWWWW Baby moment

There's also #3 I forgot to mention: AWWWWW comfort/sentimental moment

Third

Decide which character the AWWW moment will happen between

Couple, Father/child, mother/child, friends, siblings, doesn't matter - Well... it obviously matters Which AWWW moment you're going for but... yeah

Fourth

What's Gonna happen?

For romance it's usually cute fluff moments - Want examples? Too bad, look it up on Pinterest! No, no, Joking. Here's a list:

Small cheek/hand kisses

A small, 'I love you so much.'

Wearing other's clothes

Forehead touch

Cuddling

Holding BOTH of each other's hands

FACE TOUCHES - Cheek/jawbone is best

Leaning into touch

Careful dancing

For parental figure and Child it's usually a comforting trust moment, a protecting the child moment, or a 'make me proud' moments

I fucking love these and I'm gonna go on a rant Addict, Tired, bitter mentors are so fucking great. There's so much you can do with them Mostly there's 'make me proud moments' The first 'I approve' moment There's 'you've made me proud' moments There's also 'Fine, you're my kid' moments And comforting trust moments hit so much harder when the mentor rarely shows affection.

It's just so... :D

For Friends, You should do with comforting moments, or a 'you don't know how much I care about you moments

Fifth

Soft Phrasing = soft emotions

Use long, calm sentences. No exclamation points or question marks unless it's dialogue. Keep everything smooth and fluid.

Tears are a powerful tool so use them sparingly

Use short words, and use cuter, softer words, metaphors, and adjectives.

Sixth

Have a visible result

Smiles, cute thoughts, cute dialogue, different feelings or actions towards other characters

Stuff like that

AWWWWW moments can be very powerful to characters as they can for real people, they can change so much with little words.

They can be turning points, displays of affection to the audience, turning points of affection, showcases of change, strengthening of relationships, a final goodbye, they can be so much in just so little.

Good Evening and Good Luck with your Writing My loveable Writing friends! you can do this! <3

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tswwwit · 1 month ago

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Cipher's Personal Portable Portal Part 2

Here's the link to the first one! This picks up immediately after.

About five minutes later, with several pages of his notebook filled out and still frantically scribbling, Dipper decides this was a great idea.

Bill’s explanations are startlingly detailed, if delivered with little context and a lot of assumptions of prior knowledge. Like listening to the instructions of a master, skillfully explained at a damning pace that makes keeping up a challenge.

No wonder Bill was able to make the phone if this is the level he’s working at. On the staircase of skill, he’s sitting near the top, waving tauntingly to anyone below him over the railing.

There’s a kind of excitement, too. Not just on Dipper’s part - even Bill, amazingly, seems happy that Dipper’s keeping up, until he’s practically trying to outrun him.

And failing. Bill picked the wrong subject if he wanted to test brains. Dipper’s going to give him a run for his money.

The discussion continues longer than he expected, both lively and rapid. Demonic knowledge never seemed like it would have *that* much kick to it. At some level, Dipper kind of expected it to be primal and instinctual - but instead of delivering magic with brute force, Bill talks in high-level theory. Still practiced with more power than a human could manage. But clever.

He jots down that in his notes before he forgets. The difference between a regular demon and a really dangerous demon likely has less to do with raw power, and more on how they use it. Not so different from people, then.

Dipper pauses as his wrist starts aching from notes. It gives him space to think, and grimace.

Curiosity is great and all. But he has got to be cautious here.

Bad ideas have wrecked older, more talented magicians than him. He knows the lure of knowledge, and how easily he could be suckered into some kind of trap. Demons are simultaneously a great source of creative knowledge - and awful, in terms of tricks.

Learning one spell, though, and one he’s already mastered the normal way, probably isn’t going to hurt. And it has been a while since he’s talked to someone like this.

A person not bored senseless by talking spellcraft. Someone who keeps up with the conversation, fully engaged, without needing a primer. Who doesn’t think that ‘good enough’ is actually good enough, when you could do it better and cooler.

Their entire conversation might be more worrying, actually - if Bill wasn’t kind of a nerd.

Clearly he gets a kick out of teaching, if the enthusiasm and exclamation points are any indication. All his insights are precise and sharp, his concepts clever -

And he doesn’t dismiss Dipper’s weirder ideas. No, he has opinions on them. Loud ones.

Said opinions are also less-than-moral. But it’s weirdly fun to argue the details. Dipper quickly learns that enough nitpicking and ‘bet you can’t’ taunts turn the more explosive concepts into usable ones.

With such a strange conversation partner, it ends up going places he never expected. Teaching merges into tangents, into strange stories from Bill himself, and arguments about magic.

Eventually it leads into stories about Dipper’s own exploits. With more detail than he’d usually go into. The last time he talked work with someone, they left early and unmatched him on the app - but Bill’s clearly interested in magical freelancing. The pull is hard to resist.

So there I am in the pouring rain, covered in god knows what with an angry cannibalistic gryphon tied up in the ditch, when Jacob Jensen steps in front of the whole crowd and thanks his ‘helpful assistant’. For pulling off the plan HE put together.

And it’s not like I could say anything, the silence spell was still up.

HA HA HA HA! Oh man, you’re a walking comedy of errors. How does one human even get into this kinda crap? It’s hilarious!

But seriously, you shoulda cursed the guy. Not the kind of thing you should let your rivals get away with, kid.

Dipper rolls his eyes at the text. Another immoral solution, provided by an immoral being. He’ll ignore it, just like all the others.

Arguably he shouldn’t be talking to a demon about, like, literally *any* of this. Keeping the details of his life close to his chest. But it’s like Bill can do anything about it, either to make it better or worse. He’s a bajillion lightyears and a dimension away.

No, Bill, for like the fifth time, I don’t hex people. Even if they deserve it. Though in hindsight, I should have kept the dispelling spell charged.

Aha! There’s your problem! Not the skills, but speaking up about ‘em! Try some showmanship! Competence isn’t everything. Hell, compared to a great sales pitch, it’s basically nothing.

I guess. My great-uncle’s great at that stuff, but it never really took.

Sounds like you need a hype man! Someone who can get the word out about your talents. A guy who could bolster your rep. Hell, you could be a real star! Everyone could hear about your hero junk, including in their DREAMS. In fact - I might even have a deal, just for you!

Dipper snorts. He saw this coming a mile away. A demon would, of course, try to sucker him into a bad deal. It’s their entire thing.

He doesn’t take it poorly, though, despite the danger. Bill’s own sales pitch is clearly an off the cuff reflex, rather than a real swing at it. Like Stan pitching an ‘extended warranty’ to a customer, even when they’ve already bargained him down on the price of a souvenir.

Uh huh. Let me guess. I sell my soul, then your ad is going to be, like, ‘HEY! Hire this guy or you’ll find snakes in your bed! In your socks! In your wheat and wheat byproducts! Save yourself from snake terror and do it today!’

There’s a suspiciously long pause before the next reply.

Look, it doesn’t have to be snakes. There’s plenty of critters you can stuff into a cereal box.

The telltale tone of a conman who knows his pitch was shit. Dipper smirks.

Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll handle my own advertising. You’ve already taught me a few things about having a massive bloated ego.

Ha ha! You’re sassy company when you get worked up, human, it’s pretty hilarious! Like a hissy kitten or a dragon cub! Including all the sharp bits.

Dipper forces the smile off his face, frowning again. He’s not a kitten, for one. No matter how he sneezes. And two - that was barely a compliment, and only if the receiver is already weird.

Bill might be clever. He has his own strange charisma. Definitely a type of fascinating, intelligent monster - but he’s also evil and a jerk.

Still. He figures he’ll keep talking to the guy. It’s not like there’s too much danger, what with him literally being in another dimension.

Besides, how long has it been since he’s talked to anyone but his great-uncle about magic, in this much detail? Longer than Dipper can remember, that’s for sure. For all that Bill’s a demonic dickwad, anyone who wanted to learn complicated spells would be lucky to talk to him.

A thought strikes.

Dipper looks up from the demon phone. Darting a glance to his notebook, then back at the artifact.

Strange magic. Impossible spells. The scene of the crime, with this object buried under bits of the destruction.

The culprit was there, in the museum. And that fire he uses. It defies most known magic physics, powerful and weird. Not to mention the giant anvil incident, or the animated water tower, and half of the really weird curses, all of them requiring magical knowledge and power -

Where did Dipper’s target learn his special spells?

Thinking carefully about his words, he types out a quick question. Very casual, avoiding details that might lead to suspicion.

Speaking of company. Has anyone else talked to you recently?

Nah, it’s been a few centuries. You humans are usually pretty boring!

Grimacing, Dipper sighs. That’s a bad sign for his theory. He presses further.

So there ISN’T actually a group of people, quote, ‘craving your infinite knowledge’? A bunch of guys you’re feeding secret demon information?

Hey!! Of course I’m in high demand, I’m fantastic. But I’m ALSO not passing my number out to every mortal who wanders by, jackass. I have standards! High ones!

Dipper mulls over that statement. He’s only known Bill for a few hours, but he’s sure that teaching a human how to cause tons of chaos on Earth? Is totally up his alley.

And because he’s known him for hours, he thinks that was actually true.

Changing the topic, or filling the chat with distractions. Anything that would lead Dipper down the merry trail of another topic - all of that would be very demonic, and very suspicious.

Confrontation of a question, and one Dipper didn’t know he was asking, is a different story.

Bill’s not lying, surprisingly enough. He’s annoyed, because Dipper implied he was a… loose woman. Demon. Whatever their equivalent is.

Letting out a disappointed sigh, Dipper runs a hand through his hair.

If he’s the first human to talk to Bill in hundreds of years… Then the target didn’t ever have the phone, much less conveniently drop it at the scene of his crime. He came by his power in some other dishonest, evil way.

Welp. It was worth a shot, even if it was one in the dark. Back to square one, then.

Though what Bill said does bring up another question.

That’s funny. You’ve spent a lot of time talking to me.

Yeah, yeah, I’ll admit it - You’re fun enough! Silence is only golden when I’m in it, and even then it gets boring.

I mighta picked someone less goody-two-shoes personally, but you got brains, kid. That’s rare.

This time, Dipper allows himself to smile. He’s not so paranoid as to turn his nose up at an actual compliment.

Same to you. For a demon, I guess you’re not as awful as I thought you’d be.

Ha ha ha! Oh, cutie - I’m worse! A real bad boy, as you mortals say! Ten bucks says that’s your thing, am I right?

Warmth builds in Dipper’s face. That’s - He shuts his eyes, rubbing them briefly.

Okay. He must be interpreting that wrong. These beings are super weird. And Bill’s a jerk. Besides, he’s probably some… multi-eyed flesh tangle, or giant cockroach. Maybe even an abstract concept.

That was just a condescending comment from a condescending being, devoid of any human meaning. Best not to read too much into it.

For lack of a better response, he texts back, Shut up.

Never! Too bad I gotta run for now, but I know I’ll be hearing from you. You’re a curious guy! Just filled to the brim with it!

And I got plenty of ways to satisfy.

Dipper starts typing a response, but the keyboard's gone. The last bit of Bill’s message slowly fades until the screen goes dark again.

Okay, it’s - whatever. So Dipper didn’t get the last word in. He didn’t need to anyway.

Dropping the demon phone, he pulls the flat hotel pillow over his face. If he doesn’t see the damn texts, maybe they’ll stop lingering in his head.

God, if this is what the slightest bit of attention does to him, he’s really got to download the dating apps again. Or talk to his family more than a phone call once every few days. Talk to real, actual humans.

He’s just been on the road too long, is all. When’s the last time he had a conversation with someone that wasn’t about work? Much less a person who’s kind of. Way more confident than him, and pretty smart, with a weird charm in his tone..

Dipper slaps himself on the forehead, dragging a hand down his face. He makes a ‘blguh’ sound, reminding himself not to get distracted.

That conversation did last a while, though. Night has long since fallen. No major magical mishaps have occurred to drag him out of this shitty bed. The brief respite comes as a profound relief.

Dipper yawns, rolling onto his side.

Weird extradimensional conversation aside, he’s got a big day tomorrow. Doing important stuff. Solving this mystery. Finding the man responsible for all the trouble, and making sure he never manages it again.

If he can manage it. If he can find him in the first place. If he doesn’t get burnt to a crisp in the confrontation, or run out of money on a dead-end endeavor, or look like a total idiot by finding a guy but it turns out to be the wrong one, making him start from scratch.

A thousand possibilities of failure. A billion ways things could go wrong. Dipper shoves his face into the pillow, and tries to quiet his own thoughts.

Eventually, tossing and turning, he manages a restless sleep.

The next day’s surprisingly quiet. No major magical incidents, no screams in the streets. A pretty calm day, all things considered.

As always, Dipper goes through the motions, setting up his ritual circle and sitting in mediation. His senses creep into the thin net of magic, searching for any movement like a spider in a web.

The only way he's found to keep up with the culprit is tracing the energy of his incantations, and following the leylines like they’re a roadmap. They vibrate like a plucked note on a string, right before each incident. Tracking such a vague line is a stretch for most magicians; even Dipper’s gotten turned around once or twice.

Problem is, he has to wait until the culprit’s already cast his magic to be able to follow his trail. By the time he catches up to the jerk’s location, nobody’s been there to pin the blame on. Even the few witnesses he’s spoken to have little to report.

The upside is that said reports are very consistent. The descriptions are of a blonde man, fairly tall. Wearing a too-big smile along with too-formal fashion - and nobody is ever sure how he got in the place or out again.

It adds a few hangups, but the similar description helps Dipper’s theory. It’s the same person, every time. One or two people might agree on a few details out of sheer chance. Nearly two dozen, all with the same image, is proof.

Now if only someone knew where to find the bastard.

There are cases and monsters that are ‘more important’, he guesses. In body count, at least. Single digit deaths - even if they’re weirdly creative ones - doesn’t sound super cool on a ‘monster hunting’ resume, considering what others can, and do, get up to.

That doesn’t mean this criminal isn’t a big deal, though. Somehow, the major magic they're doing has ripple effects. One of their ‘minor’ incidents can stir up enough latent magic in the area to lead to half a dozen smaller events, weeks or months later.

Somehow, this jerk is causing more flat-out chaos than every other monster combined, by a factor of five.

Dipper knows. He’s done the math.

He sits in intent focus for a long time; a half an hour when he checks his watch after. The tracing spell is intact, invisibly waiting for something to stumble over its tripwire.

Nothing has, though. Wherever his target holed up for the night, he hasn’t moved on since.

Maybe the plan is to pull something else in town. Or maybe one of those artifacts he melted exploded right in his face, leaving the jerk recuperating, or even dead. That would serve him right.

Either way, Dipper won’t know until either a body is found, or the guy makes a move. The odds of stumbling across the culprit are pretty low.

Dipper leaves the circle set up, just in case. A couple quick cantrips later, and it’s connected to his watch. If there’s any movement, he’ll know in a heartbeat.

Though if he’s being honest? He hopes there isn’t, at least for a while. Running around in this criminal’s footsteps is a job in and of itself.

God, it’d be nice to have a vacation one day.

Dipper stretches as he steps out into bright sunlight. For the last week he’s been constantly on the move, driving on backwoods roads and through tangled cities and just. Staying up too late. Wondering what the mysterious criminal is up to. One uninterrupted if restless night’s sleep has helped his mood.

When this is over, he’s going to go ahead and take a full week off. Maybe a month. Let himself lounge around in bed without a care, in a place he doesn’t rent out night to night. Long, luxurious showers where he doesn’t have to spring out at the next notification, or figure out how to get where he’s headed next. Something nice and calm and…

Well, not totally free of chaos. Dipper could have taken an office job somewhere, or worked in the government, if that’s what he wanted. But maybe a year or so at less of a breakneck pace. Fewer massively dangerous monsters.

That reminds him. Dipper pauses at the hotel entrance, patting his pockets.

Yep, one regular phone, one demonic. Good thing, too. If anyone else got their hands on that artifact, it could spell total disaster.

He breathes it in slowly, before feeling a pang of hunger that comes with an audible growl. Skipping dinner yesterday, probably not his best choice.

The good news is, in a morning surprisingly full of it, is that there’s a diner in walking distance. It isn’t even expensive.

Dipper holes up in a booth in the corner, relieved at the lack of other customers. More peace, more quiet. The waitress fills his coffee without comment, and the bitter burn of it makes him feel more human after the first two cups.

There’s a quick beep from his phone. He puts down the coffee, reaching for his pocket - then pauses.

It wasn’t his regular notification sound.

It was weird.

Dipper checks over his shoulder, a paranoid instinct. Again it’s quiet, not early enough for the early birds and not late enough for lunch. And hell, even if most of the diner wasn’t empty, it’s not like anyone cares about a person texting. Nobody can tell who or what he’s talking to.

He pulls the artifact out. The scrawl on the screen has their old messages, plus one new one.

Hey! Bored again! Whatcha up to, kid?

Dipper rolls his eyes.

Bill is many things - demon, weird, intelligent, astute. Total jerk. Surely he has better things to do than text the mortal that ended up with his weird-ass artifact. If he knows what phones are, surely he has internet.

Still, he writes back. Maybe more boring stuff will get on Bill's possibly nonexistent nerves.

Pancakes. You?

Booo, that’s lame! I thought your life was more exciting than this! At least say something about crazy syrup flavors, I’m dying here.

Sorry, no dice. Normally my job keeps me pretty busy. but I have a nice, boring day off today. Assuming nothing goes wrong.

Now there’s a topic! We covered the problem-solver bit earlier - but I know you’re not just doing BASIC stuff, because spying on you isn’t working as great as I’d like! What kinda wards you got up? Go into extra detail! It’s totally safe!

Suddenly checking over his shoulder doesn’t feel like enough paranoia. Dipper scoots a little further into the diner booth, hunching over. It’s not every day he remembers to put up those protections. Now he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget again.

Don’t think they’re doing you THAT much good, anyway! I know what city you’re in!

Dipper sits up straighter.

Aha. ‘City’, Bill says. Not ‘neighborhood’ or ‘building’, or even ‘the backmost booth in that crappy diner’. Bill might have the broad strokes of where he’s located, but it’s far less specific than he’s letting on.

Wow. Totally not suspicious, Bill. Definitely letting my guard down now.

Can’t blame a guy for trying!

Entertain me, then. It’s not like you got anything better going on, you said so yourself! Spill the beans, kid! How ‘bout starting with a name?

Giving out his name should be safe-ish. Technically it’s a nickname anyway, so there’s not too much awful stuff Bill could pull.

It’s Dipper.

What, like a hillbilly’s tin cup?

Like the constellation, dumbass.

Ol' Ursa Major, huh? And here I had pegged you for more of a twink than a bear!

How does Bill even know those words? Where would he - actually, Dipper doesn’t want to know. Bill probably ate someone’s brains, or picked it up in some wet dream. Whatever gross method a ‘dream demon’ uses to learn about human life.

I don’t even know how to respond to that, so I won’t.

What about you? What are you up to?

Today, not much! Normally I do whatever’s fun at the time! Making nightmares, eating childhood memories, robbing interdimensional banks, texting cute guys, that sorta thing. A few other extracurriculars when I get the chance.

Dipper blinks a few times. He has to set the phone down, rubbing at his temples.

Why does his imagination have to be overactive at the worst times. He really has to get out more. Better yet, he should put this phone down, pick up the other, and start swiping right on whoever’s nearby.

Before he can even begin to formulate a response, Bill texts again.

Right now, though, I’m waiting out a multiversal cosmos disruption. Kinda like being stuck inside during terrible weather! It’s a real drag staring out the window watching the debris fly by and not even being the one who caused it.

Wow. Rampant destruction! Sounds like a totally ethical hobby.

Ethics, shmethics! What a totally human hangup. Don’t you ever have any fun?

Dipper spends a few seconds thinking how to respond. Of course he has fun, he’s got the most fun-loving sister ever, and he’s…

Okay, maybe the last time he met up with someone for ‘fun’ was Mabel. And technically it’s been almost a year since they’ve been face to face - but he still does stuff on his own! Occasionally.

Other things are more important. He can do ‘fun’ stuff later. Once this particular case is over, he’ll actually have some time for it.

Another beep catches his attention.

The silence speaks VOLUMES. Jeez, is it all work, work, work with you? You didn’t seem like that big a stick in the mud!

I’ve just. Been busy.

Busy NOT HAVING FUN!!!

Yeah, well. Some of us have stuff like ‘bills’, that aren’t you, to pay. And reputations they’re building.

The advertisement deal’s still on offer, btw! Take it up anytime!

No thanks, and a little go fuck yourself.

HA! Gosh, you’re cute. But we were talking about FUN, here! You gotta have some hobbies, right?

Nothing as exciting as ‘rampant chaos’.

C’mon, kid, I’m asking. Indulge me. Movies? Games? Bloody revenge? And as for chaos - don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. I got PLENTY of tricks in that vein and they all RULE. Ever thrown a building on someone who annoyed you?

Dipper thinks back on the trick Bill showed him yesterday. The change and redirection. The power required…

It’s an exaggeration. Has to be. Or more likely, knowing demons, it requires some horrible sacrifice - but Dipper can see how others would find it tempting.

…Okay, I’ll admit it sounds cool if they’re unoccupied, but seriously, I’m gonna pass.

Eh, you’ll change your mind. I’m always gonna be around! You’ll take a deal one day!

Shut up. Anyway, I like puzzles? And spells and magic and stuff. But you already knew that.

And…???

And mystery novels, and action movies, and, uh. Dungeons, dungeons and more dungeons, which yeah, I know, nerdy. Honestly, a lot of nerd stuff.

I bet you’re gonna start typing ‘nerd’ in allcaps then backspace once you read me owning it.

A few seconds after he sends that, the typing dots appear, then disappear. Dipper smirks.

Whatever, NERD. I bet you’ve been ‘too busy’ with your boring ‘job’ to even kill some player characters in a fantasy game! Didja cast your character sheet in a fire and ritually burn your d20 when you gave up ALL joy in life?

….Okay, it’s been a bit, but fuck off.

Also, ‘nerd’. Says the guy who knows what a d20 is.

I know everything, kid! Doesn’t make me a nerd like you!

Says the guy who does advanced magical calculus

Oh, please. Big shot talking here. It comes with the territory!

Dipper sits up straighter. Now that’s a blatant lie. ‘Big shot’ or not, nobody delves that deep in theory unless they’re paid to or they like it.

Dude, I could copy/paste you having OPINIONS about Ergot’s Transition Theorem from YESTERDAY.

Total nerd stuff.

Bill’s furious response comes with a warmth under Dipper’s palms, and a faint blue flame on the screen - though not nearly as hot as yesterday. He snorts, watching the typing dots as they last for over a minute.

They bicker back and forth, quick and easy and - Dipper has to admit it - kind of fun. Bill’s ego is huge and he loves insulting people. Maybe he doesn’t have many people insult him back, because he keeps being surprised when Dipper has a retort.

So far - and it will be so far, by Bill’s own admission - talking to a demon doesn’t seem too dangerous.

Whatever else Bill might want, his main motivation genuinely seems to be entertainment. Nobody texts randomly about technically mundane stuff unless they're bored. Or continues the conversation unless they're enjoying it.

It's clear, under all the bluster and ego, that Bill's truly excited to have a new person to talk to. Someone who shares his interests, who can keep up a conversation, intriguing and combative in equal portions…

Yeah, Dipper sees how that would be enough to keep talking to some random weirdo. Even if it’s not a great idea.

Bill also seems to be angling for something. Dipper can’t tell what it is. It’s just a sense he has, from an odd turn of phrase here and there, a couple indiscernible metaphors.

He’s still frowning at a sentence - it came through in odd symbols instead of English - when the next line comes in.

So I take it you’re NOT dating a whole bunch of cute guys, gals, or other assorted entities, then using their heartbreak to power your motorcycle?

I’m like, 99% sure you can’t actually use heartbreak that way, and I don’t have a motorcycle. Also, no, not seeing anyone.

So if you’re trying to use a boyfriend or whatever to get to me, you’re out of luck.

Ha! Your lack of love life isn’t a problem, sapling! The opposite of one, in fact!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. Every time he thinks he knows what Bill’s up to, he finds another way to be bizarre.

Another statement it’s probably better to ignore. The questions are constant. And he doesn’t have to answer all of them. Honestly, it’s a better idea not to. Demon, after all.

But if Bill’s going to interrogate him, it’s only fair to flip the script.

I think it’s MY turn to ask questions.

Sure, why not? Go for it!

That was easy. Perhaps too easy.

Dipper narrows his eyes, but his mind races with questions. Ones he’s never had the chance to ask, things that couldn’t be found with rumors or books or even deadly personal interactions.

Getting honest answers from an extradimensional being is the type of thing scholars would have fistfights over.

Dipper, though, is handling this super well. He only has to delete a half-dozen sentences before he decides to keep it short.

Tell me about being a demon.

Like, where do you even live? Do you have a house? A den? Do you live in groups, or is this a solitary thing?

Do you guys even HAVE love lives or were you just trying to egg me on about being single.

Pfft, not ALL demons sit around in caves waiting to snag anything nearby. You must be talking about those low-level chumps! I’m way more important!

See, you’re talking to one of the top dogs in the whole biz. An infinite being of pure energy! I got a penthouse at the top level of my own terror pyramid, the realm of the mind under my thumb, a cool group of henchmen - AND I’m single and ready to mingle!

Taking that with a huge dose of salt, Dipper scribbles it down in his notes. At least half of that must be bragging. Major demons don’t just ‘hang out’ with humans, they devour them - but it’s interesting to see how Bill sees himself.

What’s it like over there? Actually, where the hell are you? Hell?

He finally asks! I thought I’d have to bring it up! And no, it’s not hell - it’s WAY weirder than that!

Dipper holds the demon phone a little further away from himself, suddenly wary. Even though he’s only known the guy for like a day, he senses the floodgates opening.

Bill’s going to brag.

I’ve got full reign of the liminal space known as the Nightmare Realm. The whole vast unconscious squished like a ripe eyeball under my thumb, AND it’s a pretty wild place to be! It’d blow your tiny mind if I wasn’t saving that for myself!

Like last week, there was this party, y’see? So I was at the bar, and - And there it is.

Demon information. Right from the source, and best of all: absolutely free from any so-called ‘deals’.

Since Dipper asked indirectly, the facts come in the same manner. Less of a list, more of a longwinded story told from the perspective of someone who always thinks he’s the main character. Dipper has to glean them through Bill’s stories for the details, rather than being instructed. But that, in turn, ensures that they’re actually true.

Well, mostly true. A significant portion of his notes get marked with a new little notation symbol he made up, just for Bill: Probably Exaggerated

Dipper’s hand cramps trying to keep up. Syrup is smudged in his notebook, making the pages stick together. He licks his thumb trying to wipe them off, then just puts tongue to page instead.

Still, it goes on for long enough that the torrent eventually slows. The more minor details repeat; the stories become less ‘what the fuck’ for demon power and culture reasons, and more ‘what the fuck’ for Bill-related ones.

Also, he’s absolutely bragging. To an extent that quickly evolves from ‘annoying’ to ‘obnoxious’, right around into ‘make fun of this guy’.

That part ends up entertaining. Bickering over whether or not Bill is a ‘big shot’, or ‘super cool’. He might portray himself that way, but there’s got to be more to it.

Unfortunately Dipper can’t argue on the cultural level - but he can match Bill’s level of sheer annoyance. People have always said his pedantry is irritating? Fine. Here’s a perfect target.

They go back and forth, over and over again. Dipper pulls as much semantics as possible to undercut his opponent’s ego, poking holes in every definition Bill tries to twist in his favor. Citing examples, where he can, where Bill could be interpreted as the massive freakin’ dork he actually is. And while he’s only about ten percent successful, it still feels like a victory.

After a particularly nice jab, that has Bill sending >>>:( without any additional text, Dipper sits back in the booth with smug satisfaction.

Nearby, the waitress clears her throat, startling him out of his triumph. With a raised eyebrow, she drops the check, giving his empty plate a pointed look.

By now it’s lunch, and his seventh refill of coffee's cold. He didn’t realize how much time had passed.

He hunches over the phone, feeling faintly embarrassed.

Look, I gotta go, but, uh. It’s been nice. Talk to you later.

Aww, what a shame. But hey! When you wanna start a conversation - tap three times on the screen, then whisper my name like you’re telling a dying man you’re the one that poisoned him!

Dipper frowns at the screen, then rolls his eyes. Yeah, that tracks. Contacting a demon would have to be in the weirdest way possible.

He shoves the phone back in his pocket, paying and leaving the diner. He’s well aware that talking to a demon is a terrible idea. That Bill could trick him, somehow, or have a nefarious plan. After only a day, there’s no way to tell what this is building up to.

But until then, Bill is useful. Smart enough resources will come in handy. Dipper will just have to keep an eye out for his real intentions, and not lose track of what he is.

Today , though, he can forget about all the chaos and the chase. Enjoying a quiet, peaceful day under a bright and cheerful sky.

This, like all things, won’t last long.

#writing is hard #Portal AU #Forgive me my love of bickering; there is So Much of it in this goddamn fic #I am at the very very end of writing this finally and it's Stupid Long #As in 40k #But I expect to have the whole thing done this month and in the meantime you get chunks as I edit #I hope you enjoy!!! I know it's very silly #But it seemed like a good premise/excuse to try something longform and also practice things I'm not great at like chatlogs and action scene #Ignore the me from the beginning of this project that thought 'oh yeah just a quick short smut'#That person was a fool and a moron who knew nothing

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igotanidea · 8 months ago

Text

Spoiled: Dick Grayson x reader

Summary: Women's day with Dick.

Warning: a little innuendo at the end, but no worries, minors allowed ;)

***

After knowing each other for a few years they became a couple in June, hence 8th March of a current year was their first International Women’s Day together.

Well- to say the whole truth – it was her first IWD with him, but the point stood.

And Dick Grayson was not known for doing anything half-way when it came to his girlfriend(s).

Since he might have fucked up Valentines’ day (in his defense he wasn’t entirely sure of how she felt about it since there was never even a hint on her part that she wanted to celebrate it and their relationship was still kind of fresh) it was obvious he had to make up for it, by giving her the best 8th March celebration ever.

“Morning sweetheart.”

At this point she should have been used to him visiting her apartment in the most abnormal morning hours, coming back from his Nightwinging-shit. Regardless, being torn from the sleep by his blue and black silhouette and domino mask, sometimes with the widest, charming, boyish grin and some other with blood and injuries all over was something she couldn’t move past.

“mmhmh….” She muttered rolling on her side in the bed to check the hour. 5 am. 5 am at fucking Friday. “are you hurt….?” Poor girl couldn’t even find any strength to bash him.

“no, not exactly—”

“then I’m sure it can wait for two or three hours? Come on, Grayson. I start my shift at 9 today, let me have some more rest….”

“But—” Dick frowned taking off his mask and studying her silhouette curled under the cover, one leg still in the dreamland. Did she really forget what day was it today?

“Mh. Just shut up and come here….” She mumbled again lifting the hem of the blanket, silently inviting him in and it actually did lift his spirits.

As quick as possible he stripped of his suit and slid into the bed next to her, immediately wrapping arms around her waist pulling her close. Unsure whether it was him looking for comfort and assurance he would always have someone to come home to, or rather him giving her love and warmth and safety – a must have for a woman.

“Y/n….” he whispered in her ear, running fingers up and down her back soothingly, creating the atmosphere of intimacy and love.

“The hell you want?” she snuggled closer

“Best wishes…”

“What…?” she raised her head, searching his eyes, all the sleepiness leaving her at once “you sure you’re not injured? Like – your head for example? My b-day are in September, our anniversary is in June, I didn’t win a lottery, there’s no occasion today so what are you talking about?”

“Y/N! baby!” Dick laughed pecking the top of her nose playfully “come on, think for a moment!”

“It’s 5 a.m. are you seriously asking me to freaking think?”

“What kind of special day do we have in March?”

“World Self-harm Awareness Day?”

“What?” he laughed whole-heartedly “that’s really the first thing that came to your pretty little head?”

“Jerk.”

“Come on baby… Flowers, chocolates, fancy dates…”

“Are you trying to remind me you fucked up Valentines’ Day?”

“It was not me! It was Nightwing’s fault.”

“Oh yeah, right. Blame your alter ego and you’re on a highway to split personality. Seriously what-“ she lift herself, a bit annoyed at his games now and her eyes landed on the calendar on the wall, noticing the date marked in a red circle and an exclamation mark. “Oh….”

“You there now?” Dick smirked

“I hate you Grayson-“ she muttered leaning forward to kiss him softly

“Just wait till you see what I planned for the day.”

***

Dick Grayson was not known for doing anything half-assed.

Wait? Did I already say that? Too bad.

Dick Grayson was not known for doing anything half-assed.

Such a shame that the festive day was taking place on Friday, cause otherwise he would lock her inside the apartment keeping her all to himself and spoiling her on the entire day.

But it was obvious from the get go that she was not going to skip a work day and there was no way to stop her (power girl simply liking her work, it was not a crime).

On the bright side – it was the perfect opportunity to extend the celebration on a whole weekend.

Starting from having the perfect evening.

Y/N could only do as little as step inside the apartment, after work, exhausted after all week with her brain becoming a jello, legs giving up, when she was snatched by a pair of strong arms and held close to a broad warm chest. And the contented sigh that escaped her lips was definitely not a sign of complaint.

"Missed you my beautiful woman."

"I can tell." she chuckled in response, glad to be back home to him.

"Now come on, pick up your prettiest dress and we're going out.'

"We're what?" that was unexpected "and what do you mean prettiest dress? I don’t have any dresses-"

"Good thing your boyfriend thought of that too-" Dick grabbed her hand and led her to the bedroom where the most elegant and a bit revealing (but still chic) piece of clothing was spread on the bed.

"Grayson...." no matter how much she tried to deny her own instincts there was no way to stop herself from running fingers over the soft silky fabric and delighting in its sensation on her skin. She could only imagine how it would feel having that masterpiece hugging her body.

"Do you like it?"

"Like it?" she turned to face him, her eyes showing all the adoration of the gift. "But - I can't accept it. I mean - I'm sure it was--"

"Don't you dare saying it."

"But-"

"I bought it for you, you hear me? Because you deserve it, because I love you, because you're my woman and I’m your man." he grabbed her by the waist spinning her around and pulling to him. The fact that he was towering over her, holding her so firmly and giving her that man-like look silenced all her words of opposition. “Accept it, okay? Accept the fact that there’s me in your life now.”

“Right. The great, famous, handsome Dick Grayson the Wayne prodigy”

“Did you say handsome?” he smirked causing her to roll her eyes “seriously Y/N, I’m in your life. To stay. So the sooner you get used to unexpected gifts and surprises and being treated like a woman the better.”

“You still fucked up Valentine’s day.”

“You’ll be reminding me of that till the rest of my life, won’t you?”

“Of course.” She ginned playfully leaning to kiss him “I’m a woman. We collect such thing to use them as a potential argument in a quarrel.” She winked and this time it was him who rolled his eyes at her antics before silencing her with a proper make out session.

***

Clearly the dress was not enough for him.

Clearly taking a private Wayne jet and flying to NY was not enough for him.

He had to make a reservation at the most exquisite restaurant in the country. With the table in the secluded part of the spot, on the balcony with the perfect view on the night skyline, illuminated by the millions of little bright flickering lights.

And despite all that wonders all over them his eyes were focused solely on her.

From the way she looked in that dress (smoking hot, cause he knew what he was choosing after all), through the way her eyes were shining, hair flowing and cheeks flushing all the way to the fact that she finally allowed herself to relax and not overthinking all the stuff about expenses or being demanding.

Dream come true.

Living a fantasy when he grabbed her hand over the table and planted a soft kiss on her knuckles looking deep into her eyes.

Getting lost in their own private paradise when after the dinner they were just standing next to the railing, enjoying the peace and calmness, his arms around her waist, her back to his chest, not caring about problems, stuff to do or other people.

It was not often they could indulge and Dick was not going to miss the opportunity of being free for one night, able to plant little soft kisses on her neck, whispering soft words of love and feeling her body so close to him, while the a sign on the hotel room door clearly announced that guests requested privacy.

The silkiness of the sheets paled in comparison to the softness and delicacy of her skin and lips.

And the silence that was punctuated by her soft sighs and breathy words couldn't have been more perfect.

His woman.

Her man.

World could wait.

After all what could it do in a clash with a blooming love?

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x you #nightwing x you #dick grayson smut #nightwing smut #dick grayson x y/n #nightwing x y/n #dick grayson fluff #nightwing fluff

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wonsunism · 1 year ago

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jealous! jake showing you who you belong to ??

it's not often that you need to spend time in the presence of other guys, however, given that you are a university student, it's not that easy to avoid it. especially when you are required a group project, and you end up being paired with one of the most good looking classmates of yours.

and that definitely did not grow on jake. he was even opposed to it until the last second. he just could not stand seeing you next to another man. and even away from him, where he can't see what's going on and what are you doing? in no possible universe could he agree with that. that being said, he made it clear that if this project has to happen, it will do in the living room of his house.

jealous and possessive, as he is, jake welcomed the new guy into his house, with a fake smile. "enter, please. make yourself at home!" he advised him. the two of you sat on the sofa and opened your laptops, while jake made his way to the kitchen, getting dinner ready for later. obviously, not for the new guy that was sitting, to jake's standards, much closer to you than he should.

you started working on the project regarding the constitution and manners in which the negatives overweigh the benefits. a quite dull subject, as you were not so fascinated about it. but who made you go for a law degree? there was no point in complaining now, rather rush to finish the work.

"is that your boyfriend?" your classmate asked, closing one of the tabs he found to be useless. you nodded while not taking your gaze away from the medium-size screen. "he must be a really jealous person if he made us do our project in here".

you moved your gaze at him "he just loves me a lot and wants me to be safe. what's the best way if not by having him around?" he shrugged his shoulders. he couldn't help but let a little chuckle out "does he love you right in all the ways, though?" initially you were confused by his comment,

but then you realised what he meant by that. and so did jake, who was just entering that room at the moment. "be sure i do" your boyfriend answered promptly, not moving an inch from the opening between the kitchen and living room. your classmate's face expression frozen at the sound of his voice, sighing. jake was quite intimidating.

"rush through that please, i need my girlfriend back" your boyfriend could not stop himself from staring at the one next to you "and move away from her" he added, walking away and leaving the two of you alone again.

you just tried to pretend like nothing happened, and even gave a try reassuring your classmate that everything is fine and there's nothing that he needs to worry about. even though that was not true. you continued your work, he making some jokes here and there to create a more comfortable atmosphere. and you laughed a lot, too much if you were to ask jake.

"i think we are done" you heard from the guy next to you, stretching your back and arms. "that went well, congrats!" you said, and were surprised to receive a hug from him. not aware what you should do in this situation, you hugged him back. after that, he smiled and said goodbye, and without thanking jake for having him, he went out the front door.

it was now jake that walked towards you, standing in front of the sofa. "do you think i did not see that?" he lowered down, bringing your faces closer together, while his right hand travelled to your scalp. "that was kind of bold of him" he grabbed your hair softly "and even bolder of you" he added, pulling your hair harshly. you whined, "i'm sorry, i did not know what to do"

"right" he let go of your hair and pushed you down on the sofa. without too much thinking, jake pulled down your shorts, revealing some pretty, black panties. you were confused by his actions, which led you to keep moving and denying your boyfriend.

"what are you doing" you exclamed, making eye contact with him.

"just reminding you that you are mine"

he got on his knees, pushing your legs apart and pulling you closer to him. he lowered his face down, not breaking the eye contact at all. he stuck out his tongue, going closer to your pussy. "you wonder what this tongue can do? don't you act like you don't know so well. after all, i love you so right"

he pulled your panties to the side, the tip of his tongue shyly touching your clit. you bit your lower lip, watching him between your legs. jake started to move his tongue up and down, in soft and slow motions, teasing you so well. you were so frustrated, you just wanted him all the way in.

"jake.." you started, throwing your head back and closing your eyes.

your boyfriend's motions became much sharper and faster, your clit feeling much too spoilt. you found it really hard not to cross your legs, due to the amount of pleasure he was giving you. his tongue was so skillful, and his hands were so hot and veiny, holding onto your thighs. everythink about him was so sexy. everythink about this moment was so sexy.

he kept playing with your clit, making you visit heaven. there was definitely no other person like your boyfriend. not other person that can eat you out like that. jake started to softly suck on your clit, you letting out a whispered moan. it felt so amazing, you didn't want this moment to ever end.

although, it felt like god listened to your desire and did the exact opposite. jake backed away, which only made you mad. his tongue felt so good, why would he leave?

he sat next to you on the sofa, and required you to sit between his legs, which you did. in a much more comfortable position now, jake got his fingers wet and teased around you pussy, making sure not to touch anything yet. he wanted you to be so desperate for him.

"who do you belong to, baby?" he asked, glueing his lips on your neck, leaving kiss marks everywhere.

you sighed, throwing your head back on his shoulder, and moving your face slowly towards him "you.." you said really quietly. jake fingers came closer to your pussy, playing around your entrance now, just as in getting you ready.

"what did you say, princess? i couldn't hear you properly"

"i said you" on a louder tone.

jake's index and middle fingers invaded your hole in a couple of seconds after that, making you moan his name instantly. his fingers were so long and thick, making them the best type for fingering. he started with precise and slow movements, kissing your cheek.

"good girl"

before you knew, jake's fingers started moving really fast inside your pussy, hitting your walls and not giving you a break from moaning. his breathe on your neck and face was so hot, and his spare hand was used to keep you in place. you were feeling so much pleasure at the moment, you could not picture exactly what was going on.

"jake, that is so fucking good" you barely said

"you should know who owns you, my doll. only i can make you feel like this"

jake's fingers left your pussy, showing you the liquid they were dipped in. "taste how sweet you are, princess" you took his fingers in your mouth, sucking on them, while still trying to cross your legs. even though he left your hole now, he was going so fast and steady that you couldn't stop from trembling.

he was so fucking hot.

#enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen smut #kpop smut #jake smut #jake hard thoughts #jake hard hours #jake enhypen

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writing-until-i-drop · 2 months ago

Text

What's In A Name? Chapter Five

Meg Harding and Kate Carter were inseparable until their friends died five ago, then she ran to New Orleans to save lives as a paramedic. But when Javi calls on his two oldest friends to help him collect data, counting on their matching natural instincts for tornadoes, Meg goes home for the first time in years. That's where she meets Tyler and the rest of the Wranglers, the YouTube storm chasers her dad likes to watch, and finds herself fitting in more with them than with Storm PAR. Meg only plans to stay for the week but will it be easy to leave when the dust settles?

If a certain cowboy has a say in it, nothing about leaving is going to be easy.

A/N: Meg has to make a very interesting phone call...

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

Meg woke up with Tyler curled around her, his heavy arm draped over her waist, a large hand splayed across her stomach, keeping her tight against him. It had been the best night of sleep of her life and she stubbornly gave credit to the softness of Boone’s shirt for it. She carefully slipped out of his hold and down the ladder.

At some point, the Wranglers had driven the camper and the rest of their vehicles to a different motel and they were all gathered up outside, bundled in blankets, sitting around an extinguished fire. Boone was the first to notice her, popping out of his chair to hug her tightly, rocking her back and forth.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Doc, and thank you, thank you, for keeping T safe.” The rest of the Wranglers were quick to join in on the hug, even Ben after she heard the shutter of his camera. Meg almost started crying from the sheer amount of love surrounding her, feeling at home again in Oklahoma for the first time in five years. “You hungry, Doc?”

“Starvin’,” Her stomach growled in agreement.

“I’ll rustle something up,” Boone patted her on the shoulder. “Also, do your parents watch our streams?” She nodded. “They were name-dropping you something fierce in the chat last night, asking for updates if you were okay.” Of course, they had. Meg knew better than to think it was just her dad demanding answers in the chat.

“The whole crew’s probably at my parent’s house debating whether they should drive out here.” She shook her head with a huff of laughter. “Dex, can I borrow your phone? I don’t know what happened to mine.” He obliged and she dialed the house phone, putting it on speaker.

“Harding’s phone,” Rabbit picked up. “Meggy, this you?” Dexter’s mouth fell open, putting all the pieces together faster than the rest.

“Yeah, it’s me. Y��all can stop freaking out, all limbs are accounted for and in working order.”

“Bill, Jo, guys, it’s Meggy!”

“Meggy, honey,’ Preacher’s voice was the next on the line. “You scared us half to death.”

“Margaret Marie Harding,” Her mom shouted into the receiver. “Have you lost your damn mind?” Meg cringed,

“Mama, I’m just following in dad’s footsteps.” There were shouts of “The Extreme” in the background. “Also, y’all might be on speaker with the Tornado Wranglers.”

“Holy shit, Meggy,” That was Beltzer.

“We’re big fans,” And that was Haynes. The Wranglers were watching her with amused and star-struck looks. Ben, thankfully, was the first to recover.

“Your daughter is quite remarkable.”

“And alive,” Boone added, giving Meg a thumbs up that she returned, mouthing good job.

“We’re glad to hear it. Hi, Pumpkin.”

“Hiya, dad. Did you want that mug of yours signed? Pretty sure I can swing it.”

“Dani, get the man a mug!” Dexter pushed a laughing Dani towards the camper where Tyler still slept. The Wranglers and the original team energetically traded exclamations of excitement and amusement that Meg had kept her last name a secret for so long. That was until her mama started shouting again.

“I don’t want you anywhere near a tornado unless you’re harnessed in, do you understand me, young lady?”

“Mama, please, you’re embarrassing me.”

“Let me talk to Dexter,” Jo demanded. “He seems like the only responsible one.” Meg didn’t argue, taking her mom off speaker and handing the phone to Dexter.

“Yes, ma’am?” There was a shout of her name from inside the camper, signaling to everyone that Tyler had woken up to an empty bed. The Wranglers snickered at her, Lily giving her a good-natured shove to the shoulder. “Of course, ma’am. I’ll make sure of it.”

Tyler came stumbling out of the camper, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, a grinning Dani right behind him with a mug and a marker in either hand.

“Where’s Meg?”

“That’s Meg Harding to you, Ty,” Lily teased and Tyler’s eyes went wide. “Yup, your girlfriend’s the daughter of storm-chasing legends.” Meg flushed, hoping her parents hadn’t heard that. Tyler looked at her, dumbstruck.

“Your parents are…”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit,” Tyler ran a hand through his already chaotic hair. “You’re a-,” He pointed at her, “Your parents are-” Meg nodded. “Holy shit.”

“My parents are big fans of your channel, Ty.” She saw the moment Tyler’s brain fully stopped functioning, giggling.

“I need coffee,” Tyler’s shoulders slumped. He sat down in Boone’s abandoned seat beside Meg, grabbing her hand and squeezing it, like he was afraid she’d run off on him. Meg squeezed back. “Who’s he talking to?”

“My family.” Meg could get used to surprising the hell out of Tyler, laughing at the startled look on his face.

“Doc, Rabbit wants to talk to you.” Dexter jogged the phone over. “Can I meet your parents?” He whispered and Meg nodded, rolling her eyes with a smile.

“What’s up?”

“Don’t let your mom fool you, Meggy. She’s giddy as hell you’re chasing again.” Meg knew that in her heart but the reassurance made her smile. “Also, we’re betting on how long it takes you to ride the cowboy. Don’t tell your dad.”

“Rabbit!” Meg shrieked, slapping a hand over her mouth. She glanced over at the sleepy man beside her who didn’t seem to have heard what Rabbit said. Meg was going to turn that man into rabbit stew the next time she saw him.

“Blame Haynes, her idea.”

“Don’t blame me, blame Joey!”

“She knows damn well it wasn’t me, it was definitely Lawrence.” Could they get any more embarrassing? She felt like she was fifteen again, listening to the group place bets on how her first date would go.

“Guuuuyyyyysss. Can you please just put my dad on the phone?” There was a brief shuffle.

“Hey, Pumpkin. What was Rabbit saying?”

“Nothing, just being annoying. She glanced at her blonde cowboy, getting a mischievous idea. “Tyler’s here if you want to talk to him, he’s a fan of yours.” She giggled at the look on his face. “Well, you talk, he’ll hyperventilate.”

“Be nice to that boy,” Her dad scolded playfully. “I’ve got fifty bucks on you marrying him.”

“Oh my God, that’s so much worse!” She wanted to disappear into thin air. Tyler took the outstretched phone.

“This is Tyler Owens, sir.” Tyler sat up straighter in his seat, running a hand through his bed head.

Boone came jogging back to the group, holding a 7/11 bag above his head.

“I got you coffee, a muffin, and a burrito.” Giving Tyler’s hand one last squeeze, Meg went to collect her breakfast, thanking the man with a kiss on the cheek. “Dani said you take lots of cream and sugar.” Meg looked at the woman who shrugged,

��I guessed.”

“You guessed right, Sweet Thing. Thanks again, Boonie Baby,” She gave him another kiss on the cheek before going back to her seat. Meg kept the burrito, passing Tyler the blueberry muffin.

“Yes, sir. No, sir,” Meg couldn’t help but wonder what her dad was asking him, nibbling on the corner of the lukewarm burrito. Bean and cheese, nice. “No, she didn’t tell us her last name.” Tyler chuckled, “Yes, sir. I’m starting to understand that.” He paused, eyes going wide. Meg shifted in her chair, letting her legs fall across Tyler’s lap. He rested a hand on her knee and Meg couldn’t help but think that she could do this every morning, sitting there, admiring Tyler’s stubbled jaw line while the rest of the Wranglers joked around with each other. “I’d be honored but first we’ve got to go find Kate, yes, sir. Sapulpa.” He tapped her knee, “Here, darlin’.” He passed the phone, trading it for her coffee, his nose scrunching up. “I prefer black.”

“Not everything’s about you, Arkansas.” Tyler stuck his tongue out at her. “Hey, dad.”

“You should marry that boy, Meg.” Her eyes cut to Tyler who was eyeing her back with a small smile on his face, making him even cuter than normal.

“We’ll see, dad,” She sighed. “Gotta chase down my other half first. Now go feed the guys, I love you.”

“I love you too, Pumpkin. Come home before you leave.”

“I will, should I bring Kate?”

“And Tyler. Keep an eye on the sky, Pumpkin.” Meg hung up, mumbling through a mouthful of burrito.

“Trouble makin’ busy bodies, the whole group of ‘em.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were Jo and Bill Harding’s daughter,” Her mom would have liked the way he put her name first. “No wonder you’ve got such good instincts.”

“Get ‘em from my daddy.” Dani came over, presenting Tyler with the mug to sign.

“And here I didn’t think you could get any cooler, Meg,” Dani teased. “We gotta keep you around.”

“Here here,” Boone raised his coffee in cheers. “T, buddy, don’t go fucking this up for us.” The Wranglers all added their agreement, making Meg laugh. She swiped the coffee back from Tyler, admonishing him for drinking more than half the cup if he didn’t like it. Then it hit her and she nearly spit out her mouthful of coffee. Lily had called her his girlfriend and neither she nor Tyler had corrected her. What the hell did that mean?

“Stop thinking so hard, darlin’.” Tyler squeezed her knee like he could read her mind. “Just enjoy the morning.” His hand moved up to her thigh as he kicked back in his chair to eat and she rested her hand on top of his, letting her attention fall to Boone and Dani as they teased Dexter for his fangirling. Ben started snapping pictures and Meg didn’t let herself worry about how she looked wearing borrowed clothes, eating a gas station burrito, mud from the night before still on her cheeks, with Tyler’s hand on her thigh.

Unlike when he was chasing, Tyler was an incredibly safe driver on the way to Sapulpa. Meg on the other hand was an incredibly unsafe passenger. She had the passenger seat pushed all the way back, her feet kicked up on the dash, and her boots abandoned on the floorboards.

Lily had lent her a pair of mismatched socks, one was striped and the other was dotted. They were both singing along to the country music blaring on the radio and Meg couldn’t remember a time she felt happier. And she was sad she had to ruin it.

“I should probably tell you what you’re gettin’ into before we get there, Ty.” Tyler turned off the radio, giving her as much attention as he could while driving.

“What, darlin’, you hiding a boyfriend from me in Sapulpa?” Meg snorted, she wished that’s all she had to confess. Instead, she held out her hands in front of her. Her fingertips were all kinked, not quite straight. They were also calloused and scarred, not only from chasing but from her time as a paramedic. Her favorite scar was one on the pad of her thumb, permanently messing up her fingerprints, from when she stuck herself with an EPI pen instead of the patient.

“You ever notice how crooked my fingers are?”

“I was a bull rider, healed breaks are normal to me.” She hummed at his non-answer, answer.

“I met Kate in college and we became close, our friend Addy used to call us two shades of the same color. Always the same but slightly different.” Dandelion and Sunflower, shades of yellow, were her favorite comparison to make. She’d always make a joke about how they were happiest when the sun was hidden behind clouds, so they needed to be surrounded by bright colors. “Mama was her thesis advisor. There were six of us helping her with the research.”

Meg let the tears roll down her cheeks without wiping them away.

“Parveen and Kate spearheaded the actual idea, Javi collected the data with Dorothy, Addy was there to take photos, Jeb,” She chuckled. “Jeb was just in love with Kate, so he’d follow her anywhere, and I was there to make sure no one got hurt. But they did.” She had spent a lot of time on her partner’s couch drinking and thinking about the situation, coming to grips with the fact that her EMT certification couldn’t have saved her friends that day. “Everything was going great and then an EF-5 came out of nowhere.”

Tyler exhaled heavily, reaching out to rub her knee.

“We thought it was going to be an EF-1, maybe 2, so we didn’t have the good sense to be scared until it was too late.”

“I’m sorry, Meg,” Tyler offered in sympathy. Because what the hell else do you say when someone’s telling a story like that?

“Our only hope was an underpass, which tells you how shit outta luck we were. Parveen couldn’t run so fast and was swept up first, then I fell and I dug my fingers into the dirt to hold on.” Her fingers and wrist ached at the memory, “I broke every single one of my fingers and debris shattered my wrist. While I was layin’ there, I heard Addy and Jeb fly away, screaming for their lives.”

“Shit, Meg. That’s horrible,” She hummed in agreement.

“Kate survived of course but she won’t talk about it and Javi was in the follow vehicle. All he could do was watch as the tornado headed our way. To hear him tell it, it was the worst day of his life and it probably was.” The hurtful things Javi said the night before filtered through her mind, making her sick to her stomach. “Police officer found me and Kate stumbling along the highway, trying to get back to Javi, and took us to the hospital.”

Meg took a long, deep breath. If things had gone differently that day, her life would have turned out a lot differently. She never would have moved, none of them would have.

“Kate ran away to New York, Javi joined the military, and I went to New Orleans. I was a wreck on the job but my partner Nick’s always had my back. You’d like him,” Nick was her rock, both on and off the job. “He took me to my first second line after one of our GSW patients, Tayvon, a fifteen-year-old kid, didn’t make it.”

It had been her second week on the job, she had never been on the scene of a drive-by shooting before, there had been so much chaos and blood. They worked on him for a few minutes before they decided it was best to work while driving. Meg had still been an EMT, so Nick worked on Tayvon in the back of the rig while she drove through the busy streets like a bat out of hell. By the time they passed him off to the doctors, things were looking up.

“To see everyone smiling through their tears and celebrating that kid’s life, it healed me more than anything else ever could. Everyone needs a Nick and Kate didn’t have one.”

“I think I want to meet this Nick guy,” Tyler squeezed her knee, “Buy him a beer and thank him for taking care of you.” Meg chuckled, thinking about all of the embarrassing stories Nick would tell him about her.

“He’d buy you a beer, tryin’ to charm you into making me your problem instead of his.”

“Be my problem, baby,” Tyler’s hand moved upwards to squeeze her thigh. Meg laid her hand over his, tears starting up again.

“I’m crying about my dead friends while you drive me to see my traumatized other half. Hate to say it, Sweetie Pie, but I think I’m already your problem.” Laughter filled the truck, first hers and then Tyler’s. “A little late to back out now.”

“I’m not backing out, Meg, just making sure we’re on the same page.”

“Which is?” She feigned ignorance.

“You’re my problem, baby. All mine.” Her dad was going to be over the moon whenever she told him about this conversation. So would Nick.

“Thoughts and prayers, Cowboy. You’re gonna need ‘em.”

Taglist: @theforevermorereject @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @sinners-98-world @nerdgirljen @candlejuice @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @football1921 @katiemcrae @emma8895eb @itsdesiree86

Next Chapter

#twister 1996 #tyler owens #tyler owens x oc #twisters #twisters fanfic #twisters 2024 #kate carter #what's in a name fic

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teecupangel · 11 months ago

Note

Proposal: instead of Desmond sets up a bakery, he sets up a new bar. But specifically manages to pull off such weird drinks from the future that everyone is fully 100% convinced that he’s really a witch.

Baker Desmond AU in Third Crusades Levant, Renaissance Italy and Colonial America

“This is witchcraft! Sorcery! The work of the devil!”

Desmond wondered if he should just book it.

Sure, it had taken time to create this bar. So many long hours finding the cheapest most okay building in a busy street. So many times talking to people to get them to open up to him and finally give his drinks a shot.

Well… more than a shot.

He knew cocktails would prove to be his selling point.

He even made mocktails for those who do not partake but he made sure they were more expensive than the usual because… well… profit.

Could Desmond be doing something else in his new lease of life?

Absolutely.

Was he going to?

No.

This was Altaïr’s territory… sorta.

Desmond had complete faith that Altaïr do as history demanded.

So Desmond could retire.

But, in all honesty…

He wished Altaïr could just assassinate Garnier de Naplouse already so he wouldn’t have to deal with this crap.

He should have just opened his bar away from Levant.

Maybe he should?

“Desmond, if you can just prove to the Grand Master’s representative that you don’t make concoction of the devil-”

The knight was one of his regulars. He was just trying to help (and keep his favorite bar alive).

But Naplouse’s representative.

He could see the greed in the man’s eyes as he continued to hurl garbage at him.

Desmond was pretty sure Naplouse didn’t even order this.

Desmond made sure he was kept busy with not being able to have enough ‘patients’ after all.

(Just because he’s not actively assassinating Altaïr’s targets doesn’t mean he would just a turn a blind eye to the atrocities he knew was happening)

No.

This man wanted to learn his secrets.

He wanted to encroach on Desmond’s hard-earned monopoly.

Desmond’s lips curved into the smile he had perfected after years of having to deal with the lowest trashes as a bartender.

“I understand.”

The greed in that man’s eyes shone brighter.

… as Desmond’s smile grew colder.

“I will pack up and leave then.”

“WHAT?!”

The exclamation of surprise came not only from the man harassing him and the knight who was trying to help him but from the three other guards who were just standing behind them.

An intimidation tactics if Desmond ever saw one.

He was sure they would trash his place if they were ordered to.

Reluctantly, of course.

But trashing one’s place was better than being called insubordinate and punished for it.

If things go to shit, Desmond could just kick all their asses and book it.

Desmond clasped his hands together as he said lightly, “Actually, someone came before and offered me a job in Ḥalab. I refused, of course.”

Which was true.

“But considering how-” Desmond stressed the word, “… unappreciated I am here.”

Desmond continued to smile as he said, “I believe it’s time for me to leave this place. Ḥalab is filled with many merchants with different ingredients I can use for my…”

Desmond glared at the greedy man as he continued to politely smile, “… concoctions.”

“Tha-that’s-” The man spluttered before shouting, “That is an admission of guilt! By not showing how you make them, you are admitting to being a devil worshiper.”

Desmond could see that none of his guards were buying that crap.

But they were powerless as well.

Desmond’s smile fell as he said, “If you’re not going to let me leave in peace, then I’ll just have to take you all down and keep you silent until I have to leave.”

“I promise not to give any of you lasting damage except you…” Desmond stared at the greedy man who flinched, “I’ll hurt you in a way that will make you remember your stupidity every single day.”

Desmond stepped towards him, making the knights take a step towards the man to protect him, the nearest one whispering, “Desmond, wai-”

“I won’t kill you.” Desmond smiled once more, making everybody freeze as a cold shudder went up their spine, “But you will waste the rest of your life wishing I had.”

That afternoon, Desmond the bartender left Acre. When the people checked his bar later that night, they saw men unconscious on the floor with one of Naplouse’s men tied to a chair, conscious but barely coherent.

Carved on his forehead was the words “1 Timothy 6:9”.

Desmond did not, in fact, go to Ḥalab.

But he did start his next bar in one of the cities that is part of the Silk Road.

#ah my bible knowledge once more comes to use #my religion teachers would be so proud /s #no altaïr in this one #i went with third crusades because #well it’s me #and also because renaissance italy would have loved desmond #and i wanted desmond to get annoyed XD #assassin's creed #desmond miles #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed

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fantastic-nonsense · 10 months ago

Note

Wasn’t it Alfred who’d made Damian Robin in Battle for the Cowl? Dick must have agreed after the fact, but Alfred was the one who set it in motion.

Nominally yes, in the sense that Alfred is the person who first put the cape in Damian's hands:

"You can't keep me here." "I'll do no such thing. But understand that you've been injured. Severely so." ......."What the hell are you pulling here, Al?" "It's time to earn your keep. If you're up for it." "So long as I'm not wasting any more time in here, whatever." -Battle for the Cowl #3

However, the reality is "not really." Three things to note about this:

One: no one in the story who actually knows what Damian's gotten up to while Dick was tracking down Tim and fighting Jason actually treats Damian as Robin. For the purposes of the narrative and everyone in it, Tim is still Robin, as Squire points out:

"I'm sure Nightwing could use a hand finding Robin. This way, then." -Battle for the Cowl #3

We don't really see anyone else's reaction to Damian wearing the cape in BftC. Even when Damian saves Tim while wearing the symbol, Tim has no actual reaction besides a single exclamation of Damian's name, and he seems more bewildered that Damian is there at all than he is about Damian wearing the Robin tunic. But the people we do see? Don't treat him as Robin. They treat him as an ally who happens to be wearing the Robin tunic for convenience.

Two: within the bounds of BftC, Damian is explicitly framed as being "Dick's responsibility" with Bruce gone. After Jason shoots Damian, Dick has the same conversation with Alfred that Bruce often did whenever one of his Robins was hurt, framed in a way that made it obvious where things were heading:

"Damian...this child...I could have gotten him killed tonight. I have a responsibility to him now. I let him down, Alfred." "Bruce also said the same of you...and Master Timothy, many times over the years." "And of Jason Todd." "Him as well." -Battle for the Cowl #2

Dick has already implicitly accepted Damian as his Robin at this point. And though Dick and Tim have not explicitly discussed it (as we see via their argument in Red Robin #1), it was also fairly clear that Tim would not be Dick's Robin based on how Dick thought of Tim by that point (as his brother, as his equal, as someone who should not be taking orders from him full-time). Tim had already spent time as the Robin to Dick's Batman back in Prodigal, and both boys had come a long way since then. Once Dick decided to take up the cowl at the end of BftC #2, it was inevitable that Damian would be his Robin rather than Tim (for a whole host of reasons I won't get into here). Alfred just hastened that inevitability.

Three: simply wearing the cape does not make you Robin. You are Robin if and only if two things happen: you have been explicitly accepted by Batman as his partner and Dick Grayson has given his blessing. You are a potential Robin. You are an ally wearing a Robin costume. But you are not Robin until those things happen.

Tim was not Robin in A Lonely Place of Dying even though he stole the costume with Alfred's help to save Bruce and Dick. Tim did not become Robin until after both Bruce and Dick had accepted him as such and he went through a training period (he was known as "Little Bat" until then, btw). The same is true of Damian, who wore the Robin tunic at least three times prior to actually becoming Robin (Bruce briefly took him out while wearing it in Batman and Son and he famously wore it during the events of Resurrection of Ra's al Ghul); he was no more Robin then than he was in BtfC.

The costume isn't what makes you Robin. Batman saying you're Robin and Dick giving the blessing of his parents' legacy to you makes you Robin (which. I will freely admit that's a loaded, complicated topic given the history of how the Robin mantle has been passed down over the years. but it generally holds true). Damian properly becoming Robin after BftC was clearly Dick's choice; Alfred can't "make" anyone Robin if Batman doesn't agree.

The core conceptual problem with Battle for the Cowl (well. there's about 5000 problems with BtfC. but you know what I mean) is that it tries to deal with about fifty different things at once, most of which all ordinarily would have gotten their own dedicated space across multiple books or tie-in comics to deal with. Instead, all of these things are smushed into a single massive threeshot event comic with awful characterization and a near-incomprehensible chain of events. In a perfect world, we would have gotten the same kind of build-up and transition between Tim and Damian that we did in the 90s when Tim became Robin after Jason's death. Unfortunately that's not what we got, so we're left to fill in the gaps ourselves.

But textually, Alfred did not make Damian Robin. Alfred handed an ally to the cause a Robin tunic during a crisis specifically for the purpose of rescuing Robin. After that crisis was over, Batman chose to make that same ally his Robin for reasons entirely unrelated to his wearing the symbol during that specific crisis. Dick chose Damian to be his Robin, and that choice should not be looked over just because removing it conveniently lifts some of the hurt feelings and messiness of that transition off of Dick's shoulders.

Dick handled his own legacy, as he should have. And while he did not handle it with as much communication and grace as he should have or probably would have liked to, it was his mantle and legacy to handle at the end of the day. For once, he had complete agency over choosing a successor to his heroing legacy (and his parents' legacy), not Bruce or Alfred or anyone who self-appointed themselves as a successor, and we should acknowledge and respect that.

He didn't pick Damian because Alfred unilaterally gave him a battlefield promotion; he picked Damian because he thought Tim was grown and independent enough to thrive without taking his orders every day and believed Damian needed his direct oversight and the growth opportunity being Robin would provide more than Tim did. Allow Dick the dignity of his choices instead of acting like he had no input or say in the matter of who his Robin was going to be.

#sidenote for my own peace of mind I just pretend that Dick gave Steph his blessing off-panel #everyone else got his on-panel blessing at some point except her so I just. fill in the gaps for her.#dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #damian wayne #tim drake #dick grayson meta #damian wayne meta #tim drake meta #(sort of)#long post #asks #queue

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turiluvr · 8 months ago

Text

graded invitation

Apparently, for Ratio, grading wasn't limited to papers and reports.

— ratio x gn!reader

Being straightforward can be both a blessing and a curse. While others might appreciate Ratio's tendency to be overly frank without a care about repercussions, there were a lot more who would rather avoid him like the plague in fear of getting minced by his unfiltered words. Although, in this regard, Ratio wasn't clueless; he was well aware of what comes out of his mouth, he wasn't so crass that he'd lose a grip over that.

Ratio merely saw no point in dancing around certain topics. He doesn't see the point in keeping certain matters vague—if there was no reason to keep something a secret, and if the situation demanded it, he'd say it in a heartbeat.

Even though he didn't, a lot of people danced around him. Intentional or not, Ratio wasn't fond of the trouble it brought. He preferred if people speaked frankly, similar to him, or enough so that their words didn't seem like a puzzle that needed deciphering.

"Keep it simple" —is what he usually said. Straight to the point and enough to make people word their intent more efficiently.

Normally, he wouldn't use it in a situation where someone is trying to ask him out but the situation was anything but normal, especially when Veritas was involved. He shook his head and crossed his arms. "Keep it short yet concise, you can make do without all of those unnecessary fillers."

"Huh?" You blinked in surprise. You haven't gotten the chance to say much so far but he was already providing feedback as if you were presenting something. Still, you've gotten quite used to his quirks. "Then, about dinner..."

"No, no." You held your breath when he suddenly grabbed your chin. A little bit firmly, he tilted your head to face him; eye contact impossible to escape at this distance. "If you're going to ask someone to dinner, make eye contact. Zero points."

Maybe it was because he was staring so intently, but it was getting a little hard to breathe under his gaze. The words came out choppy, but it was already difficult seeing as how your chest was about to burst open. You talked a little bit too fast, your voice jumping higher. "A-A-About dinner—!"

"Speak more slowly. I can hardly understand you." He sighed. "Zero points. Again."

You clenched your fist and took a deep breath. It was already weird enough that he was grading this whole thing and even though you were failing, he kept still and waited for you to revise your attempt. It was even weirder that you were playing along—just how ridiculous was this?

"Would you like to have dinner with me tonight!?" The exclamation made his eyes widen ever so slightly before reverting back to normal. A smile graced his features as he slowly let go and backed away, crossing his arms in the process.

"7.5 points. You get minus points for shouting." He sighed. "But I'm sure you can do better next time."

"Next time?"

"Our next date." He let out a huff. "You asked me out tonight, did you not? The next one should be for our next date."

#hsr #honkai star rail #honkai ratio #ratio hsr #hsr ratio #hsr ratio x reader #veritas ratio #veritas ratio x reader #ratio x reader

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defectivevillain · 2 years ago

Text

took an axe and amended things

pairing: kratos x reader

reader’s pronouns: he/him

[reader with they/them pronouns here!]

warnings: canon typical violence, blood and injury

You’re venturing out in the forest when you come across a rather unusual sight: a young boy standing across from several Draugr. You initially think that your eyes are deceiving you. Even so, you move closer and realize that the kid seems to be in trouble. His only weapon is a bow and arrow; unfortunately, there are too many Draugr for the distance weapon to be of much use. You contemplate walking away for a long moment. Ultimately, you decide that you can’t leave him.

You take a deep breath and pull out your sword, lunging at the creatures closest to you. You manage to cut through a few of them. You’re preoccupied for a few moments, which causes you to lose focus and forget the boy. This mistake nearly costs you, as the kid lets out a chilling shriek. You immediately race over to him, shoving him aside. The Draugr that had been descending upon him lets out a strangled noise and plunges a clawed hand into your abdomen before you can react. A sharp burst of pain shoots through you and you quickly finish off the creature, before turning back to look at the boy. He looks mostly fine, save for a few scratches and scrapes. The kid stares at you with wide eyes, looking around for more Draugr before walking up to you.

“Thanks,” the boy says breathlessly, sending you a warm smile. The happiness quickly fades from his face when he sees the wound tearing through your abdomen. You try to muster up a calm expression, but it doesn’t seem to work very well. “Oh no…” The kid grimaces for a moment.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, stumbling forward as you try to take a step. Quick as lightning, the boy is standing at your side and steadying you. You can’t help but lean on him, despite knowing he’s a child who probably won’t be able to withstand your weight. Against all odds, though, the boy seems strong enough to support you. Before you can apologize and try to walk away, he slings your arm around his shoulder. The hand you’re pressing to your abdomen is slowly turning a dark crimson. The boy begins to walk forward and you have no choice but to clumsily follow.

“Our house is around here,” he remarks, leading you onwards. Your vision is blurring by the second, but you can make out a structure that looks like a house in the distance. Unfortunately, that distance seems rather large in your current condition. “Just hold on.”

The walk is long and painful. The cold air makes your chest burn and the wound on your abdomen isn’t getting better. You’re losing strength and gradually becoming dead weight for the kid to support. You idly wonder—through the painful haze you’re stuck in—what he’s doing out here by himself. Then again, he said our house, didn’t he? The boy evidently lives with someone else. Even so, should he have been all alone in the forest in the first place? You don’t think so.

Your thought process surrounding the boy only lasts a few moments, before it takes a backseat to the immense pain ripping through your body. Shadows creep across the corners of your vision. You stop in your tracks, grinding your heels into the snow to stop the boy from leading you onwards. Vertigo is hitting you out of nowhere, to the point where the ground seems to be spinning under your feet. You weakly grasp at the boy’s shoulder, but you can’t keep yourself standing. Before long, you’re crumpling to the ground. The kid lets out an exclamation and the world fades to a dizzying black.

You seem to waver between unconsciousness and wakefulness. There’s a loud thunk that breaks you out of your slumber, but you keep your eyes closed in the hopes that you’ll find rest again. Amidst the darkness, you can catch traces of conversation between the boy from earlier and another person.

“Boy, what did I tell you about strangers?” The voice you hear is deep and timbered; it sends a shiver down your spine.

“I know, Father, but-”

“A childish mistake. The moment you let your guard down to someone, they will swiftly destroy you.”

You eventually abandon the notion of rest and open your eyes to find yourself in a dimly lit room. Wooden beams stretch across the ceiling; the torches hanging from them are the only source of light. For several seconds, you remain still and stare up at the ceiling. Your balance feels lopsided, despite the fact that you’re reclined on the floor. Before you can even begin to push yourself up, there’s a quick glint of metal as an axe presses up against your throat. You look up to find a huge man towering over you. He wears a stiff shoulder guard, leather forearm wraps, and a belt across his waist. His eyes are steely and there’s a malicious aura radiating off of him.

“Get out of my home,” the man orders, pressing the axe further against your neck. You can’t stop the hiss that crawls from your throat when the metal digs into your skin. “Now.” There’s nothing but hatred in the man’s brown eyes. You swallow hard and try to push yourself up to a sitting position, while avoiding the axe at your throat. The slight movement hurts far more than you expect and you let out a strangled breath.

“No!” The boy from earlier exclaims. You glance to your side, only to find him sitting next to you. He places a hand on your shoulder and you realize that his grip is surprisingly strong. Now that the boy is closer, you’re able to see that he has clear blue eyes. He’s even smaller up close. Just how old is this boy? You’re not sure you want to know. “He needs rest.” You raise an eyebrow at the unexpected defense.

The man holding the axe glares at the boy, who stares right back. Admittedly, you’re impressed with the kid’s fearlessness—especially in the face of this brute in front of you, who’s holding a rather dangerous-looking axe. “Atreus.”

“Father, he saved me,” the boy—Atreus—interjects. At this, the man stills. His gaze falls to his son for a fraction of a moment, before he returns to glaring at you menacingly. “I was surrounded.” He continues. Your head is swimming and takes an immense amount of effort to focus on what he’s saying. “I tried to fight, but I was outnumbered… A Draugr got close and was about to strike me. This one was a lot faster than Draugr usually are, and I reacted too late… He pushed me out of the way and took the blow.”

The massive man is still staring at you with a scrutinizing gaze, evidently trying to find the fault in his son’s story. You grimace, half in pain and half in intense discomfort. For a few moments, there is nothing but silence. Then, the axe at your throat falls to the man’s side. You push yourself up to a sitting position and take a deep breath. Unfortunately, the conversation doesn’t seem to be over, as the man’s axe is still in hand.

“Why did you save him?” The axe isn’t pressed up directly against your skin any longer, but it still hovers menacingly above your neck.

“He’s just a boy,” you murmur, struggling to make sense of your thoughts. “I don’t know; I didn’t really have time to think about it. It just… happened.” The man’s eye contact is intense, so much so that you have to avert your gaze after a few seconds. Whatever this man is looking for, he seems to find it in your expression.

“He can stay until he heals,” the man says, hardly sparing you a glance before turning to his son, “You will supervise him.” Atreus nods and immediately turns back to you. His father glares at you one more time, before turning his back and walking to one of the other rooms. You stare after him in disbelief.

“Sorry about Father,” Atreus sighs, drawing your attention back to him. He seems to be making some sort of ointment to apply to your wound. “He doesn’t like people very much.” You shake your head, trying to reassure the boy that it isn’t his fault and that you don’t mind. You are a stranger in their home, after all. “This is going to hurt.” Atreus presses the ointment to your abdomen and you inhale sharply. It burns for a few seconds, before cooling pleasantly.

Feeling a sudden heat, you look up to find Atreus’s father lurking a short distance away. He looms next to a wall, hiding him from his son’s view. The man crosses his arms over his chest and stares at you with a strange expression—which morphs into a murderous look once he realizes that you’re staring back.

“What’s wrong?” The boy asks from his place at your side. He’s looking at you expectantly and you tear your gaze away from his father, who slinks off into another area of the house and out of sight. You bite your lip. Despite Atreus’s curiosity, you can’t bring yourself to betray his father’s actions.

“Nothing.” You say with a shake of your head. Atreus finishes preparing the bandages and begins to wrap them around your abdomen. The boy’s bandaging seems to be a bit clumsy, but you can’t bear to feel anything but grateful for his help—especially when he stood up to his father for you. “Thanks for healing me.” You decide to voice your gratitude.

“It’s my fault you got hurt in the first place.” Atreus murmurs, just quietly enough that it takes you a moment to realize you didn’t imagine the remark. You try to argue, but the boy has finished your bandages and he’s already walking away before you can entirely comprehend the statement. As much as you want to go after him, you’re essentially bound to the floor—your injuries are too grave for you to even try moving.

You fall asleep for a bit, until you’re woken by the eerie feeling of someone watching you. You dazedly blink your eyes open, only to have a mini heart attack when you see Atreus’s father looming over you. Is he here to kill you, now that Atreus isn’t present? You don’t get much time to wonder, before the man is speaking.

“That boy…” You can hardly let out a protest before his father gets down on one knee and tugs at your bandages. You let out a weak protest, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. He instead pulls off the bandages with an almost mechanical precision.

“I don’t even know your name, yet,” you joke weakly, trying to distract yourself from his proximity and the pain flaring up in your abdomen. As expected, the joke doesn’t register with the man. He looks annoyed at the mere suggestion.

“You have no need for it.” You stare at him. Your disbelief and mild irritation must show on your face, because the man looks back down at the bandages and steadily refuses to meet your eyes. For someone so intimidating, this guy seems to be almost… timid. Perhaps he’s just unaccustomed to social interaction. That would make a lot of sense, actually. His house is in the middle of the woods, deep enough that he likely doesn’t encounter many people. “Kratos.”

You raise an eyebrow and tell him your name, although you suspect that he doesn’t care what your name is. Sure enough, the man doesn’t even acknowledge your remark. His rather large hands are fiddling with the roll of bandages, and you’re almost tempted to help him out. You reach out, only for him to meet your eyes once more.

“If it weren’t for the boy…” The man’s eyes darken. He looks down to wrap the bandages around you. He tightens them a bit too fiercely, causing you to suck in a startled breath. Kratos looks up when he’s finished and levels you with a menacing glare. “I’d kill you where you stand.”

You gulp. His hands brush your skin for the briefest of moments, sending a wave of heat down your spine. It’s hard to focus when Kratos is so close to you. Thankfully, once he’s finished with the bandages, he gets to his feet and stares at you.

“For whatever reason, the boy has developed a liking for you,” Kratos states flatly. There’s an unconvinced look on his face, as if he can’t comprehend why his son even mildly tolerates you. You feel a little offended at that—are you really so insufferable to be around? “I expect you out of here the moment you’re fully healed.”

“Alright, thanks,” you answer, having half-expected a remark along those lines. The two of you are then locked in a pseudo-staring contest—as if you’re sizing each other up—for a few seconds before Kratos turns his back and walks away.

As you rest, your conversation with Kratos dominates your thoughts. Unfortunately, you don’t have much else to think about—your healing isn’t going as fast as you’d like. Time seems to drag on, especially when all you do is sleep or eat small meals. You’re amazed you’ve been given any food at all; although, you then realize that Atreus is likely hunting for you.

“I’m not who Father thinks I am,” Atreus remarks one morning, as he’s changing your bandages. He noticed his father’s adjustments and since then, he’s been fairly high strung. You remain silent and let him continue. “I’m strong, I’m smart. I’m capable.”

“You are,” you agree, happy to see the pink flush on the boy’s cheeks at the acknowledgement. Unfortunately, Atreus’s bashfulness doesn’t last long, as his eyebrows furrow and his lips twist into a scowl.

“Then why doesn’t he see that?” Atreus exclaims. You put a finger to your lips to get him to lower his voice, but the boy doesn’t seem to notice the gesture. “I don’t understand! He always leaves, he never talks to me or teaches me. He doesn’t even want me!” The boy’s voice cracks and your heart breaks just a little more.

“Atreus…” You bite your lip, feeling an overwhelming sympathy overtake you. You feel like you’re listening in on something you shouldn’t, despite Atreus’s voluntary disclosure of information. “I don’t know your father, but I know that you’re wrong. He does want you; he loves you.”

“How can you be so sure?” Atreus whispers. He sounds so unsure that you feel your eyes begin to burn. Is his father’s approval really so foreign to him? It doesn’t take you long to choose what to say next.

“Because I’m still here,” you answer. You hadn’t intended to tell Atreus about his father’s threats, but now, you think they’ll serve as evidence to your claims. “He’s keeping me here because you asked him to. If you hadn’t, I’d be dead right now.”

“That’s not true,” Atreus fires back.

“He told me as much,” you admit. Atreus’s lips part and he stares at you in disbelief. You take a moment to collect your thoughts before speaking again. “Anyway. Your father doesn’t seem like the type to use his words, but… his actions couldn’t be more transparent.” Atreus is silent at that. You frown, wishing there were some way to convince him. An idea passes through your mind and you decide to speak your thoughts. “I know I’m not your father, but-” you break off, “I am proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Atreus huffs, his ears turning red. You give in to the urge to ruffle his hair and he scowls dramatically, turning his attention to your bandages. You allow him to escape the conversation and the two of you soon change topics and talk about innocuous things. Eventually, Atreus leaves to hunt and you’re alone again.

You find yourself alone in the house rather frequently. You can’t bring yourself to be irritated with it—after all, you’re pretty much an uninvited house guest. Furthermore, it appears as if your wound is healing rather well… It should take only a few more days of rest before you’re ready to go home. A small part of you wonders if this cabin could be your home, if this father and son could be your family. You quickly disregard the concept.

Somehow, you manage to heal faster than you expect. Within a few days, you’re up and walking again. Almost the moment that you realize you can walk, you head towards the door. Kratos’s threats from earlier are living in your mind. I expect you out of here the moment you’re fully healed. You press your palm flat against the door and push, only for a voice to interrupt your thoughts.

“Where are you going?” You turn around, dread coiling in your chest as you find Kratos standing in the space you had previously occupied. He’s regarding you with wariness and skepticism. You frown at that, unable to dissuade your own confusion.

“Um… home?” If it weren’t for the boy, I’d kill you where you stand. You gulp. You had hoped to avoid an awkward confrontation—or even a fight— by slipping out of the house undetected. That was wishful thinking, apparently. For the next few moments, you’re frozen in the doorway as Kratos stares at you with a scrutinizing gaze. His arms are crossed over his chest and there’s nothing but frustration written in the lines of his tense shoulders.

“The boy likes you,” Kratos eventually says, breaking through the strained silence. Tension settles in the air. You’re admittedly not fully recovered, and your balance is a bit testy. You place a hand on the wall in a casual gesture, pretending that you don’t need the stability. Kratos seems to recognize what you’re doing regardless, as he reaches out. You resist the urge to flinch. His hand rests on your shoulder and there’s a strange look on his face. “Stay.”

You stay—not that your decision has anything to do with the relieved expression on Kratos’s face when you step away from the front door. That doesn’t run through your mind at all. You make your way past Kratos and sit down on the floor once more.

When Atreus returns home that day, he launches himself at you and hugs you before you can object. You smile and wrap your arms around him in return. The boy doesn’t seem keen to let you go any time soon. You look over Atreus’s shoulder, only to accidentally lock eyes with Kratos. His fists are clenched at his sides and he quickly turns away. Your chest burns as you return your attention to Atreus, pretending not to have noticed his father gazing at the boy with a remorseful expression.

When the two of you break apart, Atreus stares at you expectantly. You turn your head to the side in an attempt to avoid his gaze, but the movement draws a pained hiss from your lips. You grimace as pain flares up your back. You don’t think you’re quite subtle enough, because Atreus’s eyebrows furrow.

“Your back hurts,” the boy realizes aloud. Damn it, why is this boy so observant? You bite your lip and remain silent, not wanting to further incriminate yourself. Atreus seems to have his mind made up, however, as he looks at you. “Haven’t you been sleeping on the floor? That’s probably why. You should tell Father.”

“No thanks,” you say with a shake of your head. Your conversations with Kratos are awkward enough on their own. The last thing you want is to bring up your discomfort, especially when he and his son have been so kind as to let you reside here. “Besides, there isn’t another bed for me to sleep in or anything.”

Atreus stares at you with a rather complex gleam in his eyes. His mischievous expression throws you off, and you get the feeling that you should be nervous. “Father likes you, you know,” the boy remarks. You blink once, twice—convinced that you misheard him. Once you process the statement, you look at him in confusion.

“There’s something about you,” Atreus continues, “He doesn’t hate you as much as he hates everyone else.” You want to laugh, but the sentiment seems to strike true—Kratos clearly dislikes people. The portion of Atreus’s statement concerning his lessened hatred for you is definitely untrue, though. Instead of arguing, you keep quiet and let Atreus continue speaking. “Ever since Mother died, he hasn’t been quite the same. But he’s better, now that you’re around.”

“You think so?”

Atreus nods silently. You don’t know what to say; Atreus seems similarly lost for words. “It’s healing nicely,” he says, nodding at your wound. You look down at the warped scar tearing through your skin. That scar is probably going to be permanent, you realize with resignation. Atreus doesn’t elaborate on his previous remark and you spend the rest of the day thinking about it.

The next day, the strange interaction with Atreus falls to the back of your mind, as you begin to busy yourself with attempts at full recovery. You slowly begin to start walking around again, and before long, you’re able to walk around the house with relative ease. One day, you even walk outside to get some fresh air. You don’t realize how much you needed the sunshine, until you feel a smile breaking out on your face. The midmorning rendezvous gives you a bit more energy.

For a few days after your attempt at departure, you don’t see Kratos at all. You almost want to think that he’s avoiding you, but you recognize that notion to be rather self-centered. He’s probably just busy. You decide to remain patient. Your patience does eventually pay off, because Kratos ambles into the room you’re occupying and stops to stand next to you. You send him a small smile, which he doesn’t return. Silence dominates the air for a few more moments, before Kratos speaks.

“The boy says-”

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to call him by his name once in a while,” you interject. Kratos glares at you and you glare right back for a few moments, until you eventually get sick of the charade. The man raises an eyebrow, as if to ask: Are you done? You roll your eyes in response.

“The boy says your back has been hurting.” Kratos finishes, a note of something unreadable in his voice. You don’t dare to analyze the emotion beneath that remark.

“He’s too observant, sometimes,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. You quickly feel the need to defend yourself. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Kratos snaps. He looks askance and it almost feels as if he’s trying to pretend you aren’t in front of him. Despite the rather harsh statement, though, his eyebrows are furrowed and he seems more irritated than usual. “You’ll sleep in my room tonight.” A million thoughts run through your head all at once. What does that statement mean, exactly? Surely, he means you’ll sleep on the floor of his room. Perhaps there’s a plush carpet. Honestly, you’ll take anything over the hardwood flooring of the main cabin area.

“Okay.” You murmur, once you realize that Kratos is waiting for a response. His lips are pulled taut and he stares at you for a moment longer before walking away. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Thankfully, it’s only midmorning. You have the rest of the day to put the thought off.

Unfortunately, the day passes unusually fast. Before long, it’s beginning to get dark. Kratos doesn’t seem to be around, but his words from earlier still echo in your ears. For a moment, you contemplate sleeping on the floor in the main room again. You quickly dismiss the notion when you see Atreus pouting at you. Rolling your eyes, you allow him to tug you by the arm until you’re standing in Kratos’s room.

There’s only one bed. Thankfully, Atreus leaves and doesn’t insist on anything stupid—like sharing the bed with his father. You’re sure that you’d wake up to an axe pointed at your throat, and you’d rather not have a repeat of your first meeting. There is a fluffy carpet in the corner of the room and you shrug, before lowering yourself down to the ground and curling up on your side. It’s far from comfortable, but you’re so tired that you can’t find the energy to care. Before you can muse about your unconventional sleeping arrangements any longer, you’re drifting off into sleep.

Your sleep is rough for a little while. You hear bits and pieces of noise, but you’re never fully torn from slumber. Then, out of nowhere, you’re jostled and you slip into a weird void between slumber and wakefulness. You vaguely register an arm under your knees and another supporting your upper back. Suddenly, there’s plush material beneath you and you can’t stop the miniscule exhale that leaves your lips at the feeling. You swear you hear a huff of amusement, but you’re far too exhausted to ponder it.

You wake hours later feeling remarkably refreshed. It’s the first time since you resided here that you were actually able to rest. You push yourself up slowly, taking a moment to survey your surroundings. It appears that you’re in Kratos’s room. Wait. You’re not on the floor… You’re on his bed. You quickly throw the blanket off of you and try not to panic. He can’t kill you if he doesn’t notice—

“You were on the floor.” Fuck. You look up, only to find Kratos hovering in the doorway. He stares down at you expectantly.

“Well, yeah,” you frown, pushing yourself off the bed to stand across from him. “Where else was I supposed to go?” Kratos has a rather disbelieving expression on his face as he regards you. His lips part and he’s about to say something when there’s a loud rapping sound. The man whips around and stalks out into the main room. You follow at his heels, secretly grateful for the interruption. You weren’t quite looking forward to the awkward conversation surrounding how you ended up sleeping in his bed last night.

“What was that?” Atreus asks, emerging from one of the other rooms. You put a finger over your lips and then turn to Kratos, who is glaring at the front door hard enough to set it aflame with his gaze alone. The three of you are entirely silent as you wait to hear the sound again. About a minute passes and you’re about to relax when there’s another harsh noise; it sounds like someone is knocking on the door. Kratos turns around and stares at you determinedly.

“Watch the boy.” He demands.

“But-” You try to say, beginning to sense what is going on. Evidently, this visitor isn’t coming for a housewarming party. Whoever it is, they must be an enemy—if the vicious expression on Kratos’s face is anything to go by.

“Go.” Kratos snarls. Your heart is racing but you decide to obey him. Atreus seems like he wants to fight, but you place a hand on his shoulder. He sighs and walks a few steps until he’s standing in front of a pile of cushions and blankets. Atreus pushes them to the side, which reveals a sort of trapdoor mechanism. The boy tugs at it before lowering himself down into it. You take one final glance at Kratos, before following Atreus into the makeshift cellar. The moment you’re with Atreus, Kratos closes the trapdoor and Atreus and you are left in pitch-black darkness.

“Will he be okay?” Atreus voices. Within a few seconds of that question, you both hear a rumbling sound and raised voices. You can’t quite see Atreus, but you can hear his leg bouncing restlessly.

“Of course,” you murmur quietly. You’re sure he’ll be fine and you try to bring that conviction into your voice to combat Atreus’s nerves. The boy stares at you for a moment, before practically throwing himself into your arms. You embrace him hesitantly at first. As the two of you continue to wait with bated breath, you bring your hand up to the back of the boy’s head and cradle him close. He’s far too young to be going through all of this, you think to yourself.

You hear a loud crash and hastily put your hands over Atreus’s ears. He whimpers and you close your eyes, trying not to flinch as you hear inexplicable noises from above. A part of you wants to peek out from the trapdoor and see what’s going on, but you promised Kratos that you’d protect Atreus. Knowing that, you hold him close to your chest and try to wait for the end of the crashing noises.

Ironically, after all of that ruckus, there is… nothing. You have no idea how much time passes after those sounds. Your ears are buzzing and you anxiously await any sort of noise. After an immeasurable amount of time, you hear footsteps from above. Atreus clenches your shirt in a tight grip and you pull him closer. The trapdoor creaks open ominously, and you instinctively turn your back to protect Atreus. A few seconds pass, and nothing happens. You warily turn your head, only to find Kratos looming over the trapdoor. You let out a sigh of relief and relax your hold on Atreus, who peeks out from your shoulder and looks up at him.

“Father!” Atreus exclaims, relief evident in his voice. He steps up on the chest nearby and Kratos hoists him up.

“Atreus,” Kratos responds, staring down at his son. The boy launches himself into Kratos’s arms, murmuring things that you pretend not to hear. You smile at the sight, despite feeling a bit out of place; you vaguely feel as if you’re not supposed to be witnessing this rather intimate and private moment. After a few moments, Atreus releases his hold on his father and you accidentally lock eyes with Kratos over the boy’s head. There’s blood splattered all over the man’s face but he appears to be fine. Atreus moves away and Kratos extends his arm to you. You don’t hesitate to take his proffered hand, allowing him to loftily pull you up from the cellar. His grip remains, even as Atreus pulls the cushions and blankets over the cellar. In fact, Kratos’s hand rises from your hand to grasp your forearm.

“You alright?” You ask. Kratos answers with a huff that you’ve grown to associate with amusement. There’s something lingering on his shoulder and you move to brush it off. Kratos stiffens and freezes, a guarded expression rising on his face. Despite his evident wariness, he doesn’t push you away. You brush the debris off his shoulder and quickly explain. “Sorry. You had, um, some dirt.”

“You looked after the boy,” Kratos says, apropos of nothing. You blink at him for a second.

“Of course,” you respond. You glance over at Atreus, who appears to be doing something in one of the other rooms. He’s too far away to hear your conversation, but your voice comes out like a whisper anyway. “I care about him. And… you asked me to.”

There’s a vulnerability in Kratos’s expression—a sentiment you’ve never seen from him. His eyes are wide and shining with emotion. You’re almost convinced that you’re seeing things. Despite the uncharacteristically expressive look on his face, he doesn’t speak for a few minutes. “You were prepared to die for him.” Kratos’s eyes fall to the pile of cushions over the trapdoor, evidently referencing how he found the two of you. You had instinctually shielded Atreus.

“I mean, don’t give me too much credit; it’s what anyone would have done.” You ramble, feeling strangely off-kilter with Kratos standing so close to you. His eyes have yet to leave your face and his gaze demands your attention. You stare at him and he stares at you. Kratos reaches out and cradles your jaw. He swipes at your cheek with his thumb and you freeze in surprise.

“When you were about to leave,” Kratos begins, his hand falling from your face and down to the crook of your neck. His lips part as if to continue speaking, but no words come out.

“You don’t have to explain,” you say, noticing that his shoulders are tight and his posture has recovered some tension. Kratos has an utterly tortured expression on his face and you feel immensely guilty for provoking that feeling in him. “Seriously, it’s fine-” You try to say, only for the words to fall flat on your tongue.

“You knew how to handle the boy,” the man continues. “I was envious at first. I… never had that kind of relationship with my father, and it affected my own relationship with the boy. When you appeared, I thought you would take him from me.” It appears as if speaking so much is actively harming Kratos, as he winces and stiffens with every word. He looks profoundly uncomfortable and determined at the same time. You remain silent, despite the conflicting feelings roaring in your heart.

“You understand the boy, in a way I have never been able to. I couldn’t bear to hate you, not when you gave Atreus his joy back. He hadn’t smiled since his mother died.” That, you hadn’t known. Suddenly, your throat burns as you remember the smiles Atreus has given you. “I have failed Atreus again and again, yet I tried to rob him of the one person that truly understood him… because that person was not me. What kind of father am I, for envying what you have with him?”

“A normal one, I think,” you answer honestly. “Kratos,” you break off, reaching out to him. Kratos grabs your wrist before you can reach him, a resigned expression on his face. He’s beginning to bury his emotions again. The light is slowly draining from his eyes. It feels as if he’s slowly slipping away from you.

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” Kratos says quietly. Your eyes catch on the bloodstains on his face and you begin to realize what he’s alluding to. Everything begins to make an absurd amount of sense: the giant axe, the ease with which he handled the unknown intruder, the entirely unaffected expression on his face as he ordered Atreus and you to hide.

“I don’t,” you acquiesce. Kratos’s hand is still on your wrist, but you manage to move your arm and clasp his forearm in return. “But that doesn’t matter—none of that matters. What matters is that you’re trying.” You take a deep breath. “Atreus needs you… and I do, too.”

Your eyes lock again and you realize that Kratos’s eyes are rather glassy. Is he crying? No, you must be seeing things. There’s an apology on the tip of your tongue but before you can speak, Kratos is tugging you towards him. You go along with the sudden momentum and, in the blink of an eye, he’s kissing you.

The gesture feels far too short, as a voice grounds you back to reality. “Finally.” You freeze and regretfully break away from Kratos, only to find Atreus staring at the two of you from his position in the far doorway. You feel extremely mortified and you try to salvage the situation by removing your hands from Kratos’s shoulders, but you fear it’s already too late.

“Boy…” Kratos trails off, evidently lost for words. Despite the fact that you’ve been found out, the man still hasn’t removed his hands from your waist.

“What?” Atreus asks innocently, a rather mischievous smile on his face. You sigh fondly at him, before beckoning him closer. The boy runs over and throws an arm around you, before doing the same with his father. Kratos looks startled for a moment, before he brings Atreus closer with his free hand. You smile to yourself as you’re surrounded by Kratos and Atreus—your newfound family.

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