#the way the booth was set up I was kind of hiding behind my prints
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Didn't get to go see your table at vanpride bc the lineups to get in to the booths areas were too long and I got overheated :( next year I'm gonna plan ahead better.
(I hope you had fun! I really love your bowuigi art ❤️)
Hiii! It's all good! It was very hot out and the amount of people out was craaaazy! I hope youre doing better now though! ;o;)/ I had a lot of fun and was kept very busy for those 8 hours of work hahah! We were very fortunate in meeting kind folks interested in our stuff! I'll take this time to also thank everyone who did stop by! It was so fun meeting you!!
#ask the pig#readwritebeawesome#the way the booth was set up I was kind of hiding behind my prints#so i jumped out when i heard bowuigi or submas mentioned lol#hope i didnt scare anyone hn vbhnj
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Coco stood on the outskirts of the music festival, surrounded by the deafening sounds of live music and partying college kids. The crowd was rowdy, and the atmosphere chaotic. Despite his stoic demeanor, Coco felt a wave of anxiety wash over him as the noise triggered his PTSD from his time in the Marines. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, but to no avail.
He spotted a nearby vending booth and quickly made his way towards it, seeking refuge from the commotion.
Coco stepped inside the small booth, and the noise from the festival instantly reduced to a dull hum. The space was cramped, but it was a small oasis of solitude. He leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths and trying to regain his composure.
As he stood there, a woman came into the booth. She was shorter than him, with a bohemian flair in her attire and hair.
Sara smiled wide and friendly when she saw Coco, though something about the way he held himself had her just a little bit cautious.
"Hey is there anything I can do to help you?" She immediately returned to her spot behind the table laid out with different handmade bracelets and earrings. It was the last day of the festival and she was trying to get rid of as much merch as she could, but that motivation was also severely dampened by her social battery being on near empty.
Coco looked up, his expression still tense. "Nah, I'm good," he said gruffly. He glanced over at the bracelets and earrings she had laid out on the table, his gaze lingering on the intricate designs. Despite his rough exterior, there was something about the craftsmanship of the jewelry that caught his eye.
He looked at her then, his initial wariness slowly fading. "You make all this yourself?”
"Most of it. Some of the stones I buy cuz I can't exactly make those." She explained. The entire booth was an eclectic combination of wearable crafts and paintings and prints. Most of them, had some kind of overlaying Mesoamerican theme- specifically mayan. There were trippy watercolor paintings of glyphs and obsidian arrowhead jewelry.
"Well, I was just about to pop in the back for a smoke break. You're welcome to hang out in here as long as you want- I don't really give a shit. But, " her large brown eyes looked over him for a moment taking in the 10th set of his job the way that his posture was still a little bit guarded.
" You're also welcome to join me if you want."
Coco considered for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I could use a smoke," he said, his voice gruff but softer than before. He pushed himself off the wall, his movements still a bit tense, and followed her to the back of the booth.
As they settled into a secluded spot, Coco pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, passing the pack to Sara. "So, you a student or something?" he asked, studying her with his sharp, observant eyes.
She smiled but raised her hand at the offered cigarette, "Thanks I appreciate that-- I only smoke green though." She reached into her pocket to pull out a joint from her tiny stash box.
"Student? I look that young?" Her dark eyebrows went up with surprise. "Nah, I dropped out of high school, only did a couple semesters of art school with a GED. I mostly just travel from gig to gig selling art. You?"
Coco let out a low whistle, a hint of respect in his voice. "High school dropout running her own gig, selling art? I gotta respect the hustle," he said, leaning against the wall as he smoked his cigarette.
"Me? I was in the Marines until recently. Got out a few months ago," he said with a shrug, his eyes flickering away for a moment.
"Damn," She muttered, taking a hit from the joint and then offering it to him. Then she continued her thought around a large exhale of smoke pointed towards the sky.
"Marines. What was that like? Rough?" She'd never even considered going the army route so she couldn't hide the obvious curiosity at his experience. "My parents were too hippie to let me even think about joining the military."
Coco took the joint from her and took a hit, letting out a plume of smoke. "Rough," he agreed, his expression clouding over for a moment as he remembered his time in the service. "But I made it through," he added, his voice quiet but with an edge of pride.
He handed the joint back to her and chuckled. "Hippie parents, huh? No wonder you dropped out of school. I bet that went over well.”
She let out a laugh, "Believe it or not they still weren't thrilled."
After she took the joint back and took another drag she sat up a little straighter and offered her hand. "I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Sara."
Coco took her hand and shook it, his grip firm but not overly so. "Name's Coco," he replied, his eyes taking in the sight of her bohemian attire and carefree demeanor. "What's with all the Mayan-inspired stuff?" he asked, gesturing to the merchandise in the booth.
She could feel the callouses on his warm palm and it sent a small pleasant shiver down her spine. When he brought up her art she couldn't help but blush, her gaze dropping down to her open tied sandals. "It's a special interest, I guess. My dad's side are Salvadoraño so it comes from an interest in the heritage there...Kinda weird, I know."
Coco noticed the way she blushed and her eyes dropped to her feet, and he felt a small pang of... something, sympathy maybe? "Nah, not weird," he said, his voice low and reassuring. "I get it. Everybody’s got their own thing they’re into."
He raised an eyebrow. "Salvadoran, huh? That explains the dark eyes and hair. You speak Spanish?”
"My other side is Ashkenazi so I think the dark features were in my cards regardless." Though that had her regarding him in turn. He was obviously also latino, but she wasn't arrogant enough to guess where his genes were from on a map. Her posture relaxed a little but she continued to look sheepish.
"Eh, un penquito para-- I'm really bad at it. I can read it OK though."
Coco chuckled, the corners of his lips curling into a small smile. "Well, at least you tried. That's more than most people can say."
He took another drag from the joint. "You're full of surprises, aren't you? A hippie drop-out artist with a thing for Mayan culture *and* you're Jewish." He shook his head, clearly amused.
"Yeah, but everyone has their own thing. What's your deal?" She looked up at the canvas tarp above them and admired the way the smoke danced in the light.
"You've said you're a vet, what do you do now?" She finished the joint and tossed the roach off into the grass before stomping it out with her foot.
Coco watched her stomp out the roach, his gaze lingering on her small frame for a moment. He was trying to understand her, the way she seemed to exude a kind of lightness that he wasn't used to seeing.
He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, his expression turning serious. "I'm part of the Mayans MC. We're a motorcycle club, based in Santo Padre," he said, his voice almost defiant, like he was expecting her to judge him.
"That explains the cool leather vest." Again, something else she knew very little about. But it definitely sounded interesting. She lived most of the year in an RV, the thought of traveling down the road so exposed send a shiver of fear and excitement down her spine.
"I've never ridden one, too afraid I'd mess up. But they look hella cool."
Coco chuckled at her response, the hint of a smirk on his lips. "You're afraid you'd mess up? On a motorcycle?"
He pushed himself away from the wall and stepped closer to her, his eyes roaming over her small frame again, sizing her up. "You're light, you'd be easy to balance. Maybe I'll take you for a ride sometime.”
Her cheeks went hot as she felt his gaze run over her. Sara did her best not shift or look too self conscious, faking confidence as much as she was able to. She didn't consider herself to be very good with people, and even this small opportunity to socialize was a rare occurrence. Generally, Sara kept to herself so tonight was another anomaly.
"Sure. That could be fun." She found herself agreeing, despite her better judgement.
Coco's smirk widened at her agreement. He could tell that she was trying to maintain her cool, but he could see the slightest hint of nervousness in her eyes.
"It will be fun. Probably the most fun a hippie like you has ever had," he teased, his voice low and almost playful. "But maybe you're too scared.”
Something in the challenge of his voice made her stand up a little bit straighter a fire igniting in her eyes. She raised an eyebrow at him until to her head, "Scared? Why should I be scared? You'd protect me, right?"
Her tone dipped into something playful, and energy that she wasn't used to experimenting with. But something about the way that his eyes cracked over her body had her curious about what kind of reactions she could draw from him. She took a step closer, nearly closing the space between them. "Besides, I don't scare easy.”
Coco's smirk turned into an actual grin as Sara countered his challenge with a playfulness of her own. Her step closer, closing the distance between them, sent an unexpected jolt through his veins.
"You don't scare easy, huh?" he mused, his voice a low rumble. He took a step closer, bringing them almost chest to chest. His eyes roamed over her face, taking in the slight flush of her cheeks and the fire in her eyes. "Prove it.”
What the hell was she doing? This wasn't like her. She was a loner. She was careful. She didn't just invite strange men into the back of her vending booth and then.. but there is also something that felt kind of right about what was happening in the moment and she wasn't ready to put a stop to it just yet.
She raised a hand and placed it on his chest, between them. Both to feel the heat of him under her palm and also in case she needed to suddenly push him away. Then, her eyes never leaving his- she leaned up to press curious and slightly tentative kiss to his lips.
"Like that?”
Coco's eyes widened momentarily in surprise as Sara's small, tentative hand touched his chest and her lips met his. But the surprise was quickly replaced by an unexpected and undeniable flash of desire.
He was used to strong, feisty biker chicks, women who could hold their own against his rough edges, not artsy hippie girls who sold jewelry and made him feel things he didn't expect.
He brought his hands up to cup her face, his calloused fingers caressing her skin, and kissed her back, this time with a smoldering intensity.
She was surprised by the intimacy of it. Sara melted into the kiss and wrapped her arms around Coco's waist to draw him closer. Something about his energy just felt nice. The little worrying voice that should have been telling her to run away was suspiciously quiet in the back of her mind. Instead there was only a low pleasant hum of growing desire. She continued to kiss him and took a step back so that she was pressed against the canvas wall of her vending booth.
"Wait, wait -" she broke the kiss with a reluctant gasp. Her dark eyes looked up into Coco's with intensity. "You don't have a girlfriend or anything right? Not like some wife or something?”
Coco's body was on fire, his mind consumed by the unexpected sweetness of her kiss and the feel of her small frame pressed against him. But when she broke the kiss and asked the question, it felt like a bucket of cold water.
He gritted his teeth, the intensity in his eyes flaring for a moment before softening. "No, no wife, no girlfriend," he said gruffly. "Why? Do you have a boyfriend?”
She smiled again and relaxed against him, no longer worried that her impulsive actions might turn her into some kind of homewrecker. She brought a hand up to cut the side of his face and ran her thumb over the sparse dark hair along the edge of his jaw.
"No, I don't have a boyfriend, or a girlfriend-- no one. "
Coco's expression softened under her touch, the tension in his body slowly fading. He turned his head into her hand, the rasp of his stubble against her skin sending a thrill through his body.
He leaned into her, his body pressing against hers, trapping her between the wall and his hard frame. He ran his hands down her sides, stopping to grip her hips with a possessive touch. "Good," he said, his voice a low growl. "I don't share.”
Her admission that she was single sent a flash of possessive satisfaction through his veins. Mine. He pressed her against the wall, their bodies flush against each other, his hands on her hips, holding her in place.
He leaned down, his breath hot against the skin of her neck, and nipped at her ear lobe. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, you know that?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble.
Sara's breath hitched as Coco's hands slid down to her hips, his possessive touch making her squirm a little in his grasp. She felt small against his big, hard frame, but she wasn't afraid, not now.
She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of desire and curiosity. "Is this just for tonight?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Because I think I can handle that."
Coco's eyes darkened at her question, his grip on her hips tightening ever so slightly. He'd been with plenty of girls who had come and gone, but something about Sara made him feel like he didn't want this to be a one-time thing.
He lowered his head, his lips brushing against her neck, just below her ear. "No," he breathed against her skin, the word almost a growl. "Not just tonight.”
He pulled away just far enough to look down at her, his gaze intense. "But you should know, if we do this, you're mine," he told her, his voice firm and absolute. "I don't share. And I don't do anything halfway. You'll be under my protection, under my care."
He leaned in again, his lips hovering just above hers. "But trust me, baby, it'll be worth it.”
She blanked up at him as his words sink in. This felt a lot like going from zero to 100 very, very quickly. But when she tried to read his expression, she couldn't see a hint of a lie there. She couldn't understand why it would take only one conversation with her for him to make this kind of claim but the fierceness of it sent a shiver down her spine. She also wasn't sure why exactly she would need his protection but him promising it to her made a funny little flutter in her stomach nonetheless.
"All right. That's good, because I don't do anything halfway either.”
Coco's eyes flared at her response, a primal satisfaction coursing through his body at her words. She might be a hippie drop-out with a penchant for tarot cards, but she had a fire in her that he found undeniably attractive.
Without warning, he dipped his head and captured her lips in a fierce, possessive kiss. His tongue flicked out, seeking entry, demanding and dominant.
She met his kiss with equal intensity, arching her body against him and tangling her fingers in his hair to try and bring him closer. They continued like that for a few moments, the heat between them reaching a fever pitch until a soft vibration started from his chest that got her attention.
Sara paused, and pulled away as she realized that his phone was going off in the pocket of his kutte. It took everything in her or not to continue peppering kisses down his chest and take a calming deep breath before asking, " Do you need to get that?"
She didn't know that he'd been in the middle of a job for the club, or that he still needed to do the pickup before the night was over.
Coco grunted in frustration as the phone vibrations broke the intensity of their kiss. He'd almost forgotten about the job he was supposed to be doing right now. But with the phone going off, there was no way he was going to ignore it.
He reached into his kutte pocket and pulled out his phone, his gaze never leaving Sara's flushed face. He checked the caller ID and his frown deepened. "It's Bishop," he said gruffly. "President of the club.”
He held his phone in one hand, his thumb hovering over the answer button. He knew he should answer, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was to end this moment with Sara.
His eyes met hers, a silent question in them. "I need to take this," he said, his voice hoarse with frustration. "But I don't want to.”
Coco watched as Sara pulled away, a pang of disappointment in his chest. He wanted to ignore the call and keep her pressed against him, but he knew he couldn't.
With a gruff sigh, he hit the answer button and held the phone up to his ear. "Yeah, Bishop, what's up?" he grumbled into the phone.
On the other end of the line, Bishop's voice crackled through the speaker. "Coco, where are you, brother? We need you for a pickup right now.”
Coco glanced up at Sara, the conflicted emotions showing on his face. "I'm at the festival," he said, still looking at her. "Can it wait?"
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and he could practically feel Bishop's irritation through the phone. "No, it can't wait," Bishop finally grumbled. "We need you now. We're behind schedule and you were supposed to be here already.”
Coco exhaled a frustrated breath. He'd been enjoying the festival, enjoying *her,* and now he had to cut it short. "All right, I'll be there," he said with annoyance, disconnecting the call.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked at Sara, an apologetic expression on his face. "I've gotta go," he said gruffly. "Club business.”
She tried not to eavesdrop too much on his conversation but still picked up a few of the words exchanged. She may have been objectively more innocent than him but she recognized the term pick up and tried not to let her curiosity show on her face. Instead, she just nodded and understanding and offered Coco her phone, the home screen already unlocked and the contacts app opened.
"I understand. I have to get stuff put away to actually." Now that the flames of desire had cooled a little bit, she was starting to think clearly. Her attraction and interest in Coco hadn't faded in the slightest, but she did realize that it would be smarter to at least get to know him a bit more before taking things further.
"I'm going to be in town for the rest of the month, if you want to get together and hang out or ... take me for that ride? I totally be down.”
Coco's heart gave a little flutter at her words, his eyes raking over her face. She was a breath of fresh air, a contrast to the tough, rough world he was used to. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this drawn to someone.
He took her phone from her and added his number to her contacts, his fingers lingering on the screen for a moment longer than necessary. "I'll call you," he said, his voice gruff and filled with a promise.
And with that, he leaned down and gave her one last, searing kiss, before reluctantly pulling away.
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☆ genre: fluff
☆ pairing: kim seungmin x reader
☆ summary: an anonymous person is writing poetry and you are determined to get to the bottom of it
☆ word count: 3.2k
You honestly hadn’t even noticed at first. You weren’t really into the school paper, so you didn’t read it very often unless Felix decided there was something interesting you just had to know. Which is exactly how you found out about your secret admirer posting about you in the paper.
“Y/N, you have to see this!” Felix’s voice rang out as he slid into the seat next to you. You looked up, less than thrilled to be interrupted in the middle of trying to study for your Greek Classics test tomorrow, but you couldn’t stop yourself from setting your pencil down at Felix’s excited expression.
“Yes, Felix?” You asked, trying to hide the exasperation in your voice. If Felix noticed, he didn’t let him affect his excitement as he pulled the school paper out from under his arm, unrolled it and smacked it down on the table in front of you.
Your eyes scanned the front page, trying to figure out what Felix was so eager to show you, but nothing stood out. There was an article about the softball team, an article about an upcoming concert by 3racha, and a column that was talking about new things to do on campus. Nothing particularly interesting, and also nothing that you hadn’t seen before in the paper.
“So I was looking at the paper, and something caught my eyes. Come on, you have to read it,” Felix urged, his eyes sparkling as his freckles crinkled beside his eyes. You rested your forearms on the table, signalling to him that you were listening. Felix began to flip through the pages, before he landed on one of the latter ones.
His finger pointed out a small section of writing in the upper right hand corner. You squinted slightly, bringing the paper closer so you could look at the words. From what you could tell it, was a small three line poem that anyone would overlook if you weren’t paying attention. Lucky enough for you, Lee Felix always paid attention to the paper.
she sits so sweetly
sweater too big on her back
perfect to me
Eyes wondering over the black lettering, you felt your eyebrows furrow. There was no signature and not even a hint of who the poem might be addressed to. It seemed so out of place, yet your curiosity was growing every second.
“Does anyone know who wrote it?” You asked, turning to Felix. The blonde shook his head, pouting slightly.
“I asked Seungmin, but he said that they had just found it on one of the desks in an envelope with a note asking them to publish it,” Felix explained. You sighed, before sliding the paper away from you in favor of getting back to your studying.
“Well, keep me updated. Maybe next time we’ll know who this mysterious poet is, or maybe who he’s writing to.” Felix nodded eagerly, before pulling the paper back towards him and opening it up to read while you continued to study.
Of course, the poem wasn’t dropped there as Felix brought it up to your friends again that night as you hung out in Chan and Changbin’s apartment.
“It’s romantic, for sure. But I feel like it would be even more romantic if the person who it was for actually KNEW it was for them, ya know?” Jisung said as he threw a cheeto in the air and tried to catch it in his mouth. You stifled a giggle behind your hand as the cheeto flew back down and hit him in the face, causing him to pout.
“Maybe they wanted to test the waters? See if the person responded well before they actually did anything that might give them away?” Jeongin suggested, before stuffing some M&Ms into his mouth. Seungmin shrugged as he leaned back into his chair.
“I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see if we get any more envelopes.” You sighed, smiling slightly as you leaned back into the couch you were sitting on.
“How nice it must be to have someone write poetry about you. I don’t think anyone would ever do that for me,” you exclaimed dramatically, throwing a hand onto your forehead for effect. Minho snorted as he threw a piece of candy at you, causing you to shriek slightly.
“Maybe, if you weren’t such a dramatic bitch, people would actually fall for you.” You stuck your tongue out at the older male, crossing your arms with a pout on your face. He was probably right, but there was no need for him to be rude about it.
The next time the mystery poet wrote in the paper, you found out about it way too late at night. Your phone began to buzz incessently as you tried to focus on your paper, to no avail. Finally you gave in and picked up the phone.
“What?”
“Y/N, where are you right now?” Felix’s voice was rushed and enthusastic, and it took all your strength not to groan. How could he be so energetic this late at night, when all you wanted to be doing was sleeping instead of studying for you stupid exam. Seungmin, who had been joining you in your study nights the past few days, looked up with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m at the library with Seungmin. Why?” You replied, rolling your eyes to Seungmin who just snickered. He knew from personal experience that the only person who would give you this reaction so late at night was Felix.
“There was another poem posted in the newspaper! I was gonna tell you earlier but I couldn’t get a hold of you. Stay where you are, I’m on my way.” Felix rushed, before hanging up. You took the phone away from your ear, before looking to Seungmin with an accusing glare.
“There was another poem and you didn’t think to tell me?” You exclaimed, cringing as the librarian shushed you.
“I didn’t think you cared that much. Besides, why would I take away Felix’s gossip? What kind of friend would I be if I did that?” Seungmin chuckled at the pointed glare you sent his way, before you turned back to your paper to try and do some work before Felix got there.
You managed only another 2 paragraphs before Felix came bustling through the doors, trying to be as quiet and fast as possible. He finally crashed into the chair beside you, spreading the paper out before you. You shut your laptop as your eyes scanned the page, trying to find any sight of the poem.
“It’s a good one this time. You’ll have to see it,” Felix said, his grin more of a smirk as he flipped to the next page and pointed his finger at the lines of text that had been imprinted on the page. Your eyes immediately trained on it, scanning over the words in every line like a woman who’s seeing for the first time.
The girl in room 204
with the world on her shoulder
but a smile on her face.
I wish I could be your Atlas
and hold the sky up long enough
for you to take a breath and relax.
But despite the circumstances,
despite her exhaustion from
sleepless nights in the library,
her eyes glow as she talks
even if it is about the most mundane things.
I can’t help but stare and smile,
wondering if she will ever notice
that she means everything to me
and that I would gladly be condemned
to a lifetime of suffering if it meant
taking your pain for just a little while.
Your eyes widened as you looked at the poem, before you noticed the small print that was sitting underneath the beautiful lines.
-to the girl in room 204 of Levantar Hall
Your heart began to pound and you could practically feel the blood rushing to your face as you reread the tiny tag, the realization only setting in after the 5th time looking it over.
“Holy shit! Felix, these poems are addressed to me!” You exclaimed, turning to look at the bright smile of your best friend. He nodded eagerly as you turned back to the poem, rereading it with this newfound knowledge.
“And you said no one would ever write poetry for you,” Felix teased. You hit him lightly, before taking the paper and shoving it into your bag. You grabbed your laptop, slung your bag over your shoulder, before looking at the boys you were sitting with.
“Sorry gentleman, I have some sleuthing to do,” you said, before rushing out of the library, completely ignorant of the adoration in Seungmin’s eyes as he watched you go.
You spent the next few days waking up extra early and camping out outside of the newspaper office to try and catch the mystery person in action of dropping off their envelope, but you were always met with disappointment as Seungmin came in every morning with no sign of the admirer.
You were a bit bummed about it until you decided to read this week's newspaper and came upon a startling revelation.
Another poem.
so close yet so far
she would never know my love
it’s not my nature
You immediately called Felix, who agreed to meet up with you at the nearest cafe to discuss the poem. It wasn’t until you were sitting at a booth, coffees sitting in front of you that a revelation decided to hit you.
“Felix! I’m an idiot!”
“I mean, I know. But how so this time?” Felix said, causing you to throw a playful glare his way. You looked at the poem, before pointing at the poem in the paper and reading the words aloud.
“Okay?” Felix questioned, an eyebrow raised. You rolled your eyes at the thought of having to explain it all to Felix.
“I know whoever this is, Felix! The words insinuate it’s someone that I know, and someone who is not very affectionate with me!” You said proudly, happy that you had managed to narrow the list down. Felix nodded in understanding.
“So, that leaves only a few people, right? Cause all of your friends are pretty affectionate, outside of Minho and Seungmin, right?” Felix said, and you nodded, before freezing. Minho…. or Seungmin. You didn’t want to immediately jump to any conclusions, but you hadn’t seen anyone outside of the newspaper room outside of Seungmin and, being honest, you kind of wanted it to be him. You had had a crush on Kim Seungmin since freshman year of college and it would be like something out of a novel if it turned out to be him.
“Earth to Y/N! What’s the plan now?” Felix brought you from your daydream as you took a sip of the coffee in front of you. You furrowed your brows in thoughts, before her eyes lit up.
“I know! Felix, I just need to mention something incredibly specific to each of them! Any good writer would take advantage of the creative inspiration and incorporate it into their poem!” you announced, quite proud of yourself for coming up with the idea. Felix thought for a moment before he nodded.
“That’s so stupid, it might just work.” You pouted at his comment, before immediately looking at your phone, seeing the time, and stumbling to get up and rush out.
“I completely forgot I need to meet up with Minho for our project! Phase 1 starts right now!” You rushed out of the coffee shop, Felix laughing behind you as you nearly ran into the door due to your excitement.
True to your plan, while with Minho you brought up the extremely intricate topic of Andromeda and Perseus, a tale which you had learned about a month ago in your Greek Mythology class. You loved the story and thought it was incredibly interesting and a great muse if Minho turned out to be the secret admirer in the paper.
You didn’t see Seungmin for a few days, but that gave you time to think of the perfect topic to bring up to him. You wanted him to be your secret poet so badly and you wanted to make sure you gave him something that would definitely end up inspiring the next poem. It finally hit you as you sat with Seungmin and Jeongin in one of your University’s common areas.
“We learned about the story of Icarus in my Greek class the other day,” you started, making sure to look at Seungmin and see if he was listening to you. Sure enough he perked up, looking up to show you that he was taking in the words that were coming from your lips.
“Essentially, Icarus was the son of this great inventor, Daedalus, and they were both imprisoned in a tower. Daedalus made them 2 sets of wings to escape the tower, but they were made out of feathers and wax. When they were flying to escape, Icarus decided to not heed his fathers words and flew too close to the sun. The wax in his wings melted and he drowned. It’s a sad story, but it tells a tale of curiosity and how being too curious can lead to your downfall,” you explained, noticing how Seungmin had stopped writing as you told your story. Jeongin stared at you with a questioning glance.
“Why would Icarus fly so high if he knew he would die?”
“Well, I guess that depends on how you look at it. Some say he was just foolish and brash, but I personally like to think Icarus knew what would happen to him, but decided that the ability to be free and live in the excitement for even a moment was worth the consequences he knew would befall him.” Jeongin nodded, obviously thinking about the story. Satisfied with your work, you looked back down at your work, not noticing how Seungmin had flipped to a blank page in his notebook and was jotting down what seemed to be lines of poetry.
It was a few more weeks until another poem was posted, and you were starting to be concerned that the admirer had given up and decided to stop. That was until Felix, as expected, rushed into your dorm one day, completely scaring you out of your concentrated state.
“The poem was posted! And you’ll never believe it, but your plan actually worked!” Your stomach flip flopped as you realized that the moment of truth was about to be upon you. The minute you read the poem that laid in the ink of the school newspaper, you would know who was your secret admirer. Felix handed it to you and as your eyes went to the words, you silently prayed that it was the man you so desperately wanted it to be.
I am Icarus,
and she is the sun.
I don’t dare get to close,
even if her gleam,
bright against my rickety feathers,
warms me from the inside out.
I can never tell her how I feel,
I can never say a word,
but if I could I’d tell her she is golden to me.
That she is the heavens,
and I am just a mortal man
begging for her to let me in,
begging for her to let me love her,
begging for her to let me praise her,
because God knows that if I could
I would never stop spilling words of devotion to her.
I am Icarus,
and she is the sun.
My faux wings melt like candle wax
as I force myself closer to her,
because I’d rather fall out of her atmosphere,
then never experience her at all.
Your mouth dropped open as you finished reading the carefully crafted poem, your cheeks heating up and your mind running a mile a minute. It was Seungmin. Your secret admirer was Seungmin.
You rushed out of your dorm, the paper abandoned on your bed as Felix called after you, but you didn’t have any time to stop and explain. You glanced at your phone, realizing that if you made haste, you could catch Seungmin alone in the newsroom before he left for the day. You weaved through the halls of the journalism building, the only thing on your mind getting to the boy who had written some of the most beautiful words about you.
Seungmin was standing outside of the door, locking up the room for the day, when you barrelled down the hallways and basically tackled him into a hug. He grunted as your arms wrapped around him and he stood there for a moment, completely unsure of what to do in this situation. You didn’t give him any time to react though, pulling back and staring at him with a smile rivalling the sun.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” Seungmin asked, genuinely confused. He had a long day and you weren’t making any sense right now. You rolled your eyes playfully, before looking at him with a smirk.
“That you were Icarus and I was the sun.” Seungmin’s mouth dropped open as you repeated the words he had written back to you. His usually sharp mind was completely blank as he tried to figure out what to say in response to you, but once again you didn’t give him time to think as you pulled him in for another hug.
This time, Seungmin allowed himself to wrap his arms around you in return and give you a squeeze. Months of pining after you and he was finally doing what he had fantasized about so many times. You nuzzled yourself into his neck, giggling as he let out a soft gasp, completely unused to the physical affection you were showing him.
“So, does this mean the poems worked?” Seungmin joked, his cheeks red as you pulled back again. You let out a laugh, nodding happily as you kept your arms slung around his neck.
“Of course! To be honest, I’ve had a crush on you for a while now. I was really glad when I found out it was you,” you said, staring at him sheepishly. He smiled softly at you, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“What gave it away though?” He asked. You raised an eyebrow at him.
“You really think I just threw all that philosophical stuff about Icarus out there for nothing? I was hoping you’d pick up the clue and use it for some creative inspiration,” you said. Seungmin nodded, feigning a look of impressiveness.
“That’s pretty smart for you.” You punched him lightly in the arm, eliciting a chuckle from the boy as he grabbed your hand and interlocked your fingers together, leading you down the hallway.
“So, does this mean your poems are going to stop?” you asked, unable to hide the pout in your voice. Seungmin smiled a little bit, giddy that you liked his poems so much.
“I mean, at least the public poems. But I’ll write you all the poems you want in private. But they will be for your eyes only. Can’t let anyone know that I went soft for you,” he said jokingly. You let out a laugh, squeezing his hand as he laughed along with you.
Honestly, you didn’t mind if the poems were public or private. It was more than enough for you that Seungmin was holding your hand right now, speaking words of love that held more meaning than any poem about Icarus ever could.
#stray kids#stray kids fanfic#stray kids scenarios#stray kids imagines#stray kids fluff#kim Seungmin#kim seungmin x reader#kim seungmin imagines#kim seungmin fluff#seungmin#seungmin x reader#seungmin imagines#seungmin fluff#stray kids x reader
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Stomach Bug Ch4
Afternoon Date
It has been a minute, hasn’t it? Sorry for making you guys wait for the next chapter I hope you like this one too. Love the support and the kind comments.
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Marinette and Damian were lucky when it came to their schedules as their classes ended roughly around the same time; making it easier for them to plan their dates during the week so they could get as much time together as possible. The following days after the announcement at Wayne manor the teens spent as much time around each other as they could. Though they did have to sneak around the family for privacy and keep a low profile to not raise any suspicion from the media.
The perks of having a well-known designer as your significant other made it incredibly easy for them to be able to hide in plain sight. Only proven by the fact both were sitting in a small coffee shop enjoying some pastries and hot chocolate as everyone around them was none the wiser of just who was in their presence.
“I’ll never understand how you do it.” Damian chuckled softly as he sipped on his drink looking around the coffee shop as Marinette just giggled.
“You have a very specific style. It's how people pick you out, change the style and they’ll be none the wiser.” she smiled before leaning in to whisper, “average people aren’t that perceptive that’s how heroes like Superman and the Green Arrow can blend in so easily outside of the costume. They don’t see faces, they see the clothing or anything ‘off’ about them.”
“Makes sense,” he nodded relaxing back in the booth wrapping an arm around her shoulders as she settled in sipping on her hot chocolate, “Is that how you figured me out so quickly? You looked at the face, not the clothes?” he hummed rubbing her arm.
“Actually for the first three months all I did was look at the clothes because they are an affront to fashion.” she giggled, “I get that its tradition but did it have to be so garish? Did you have to use the brightest colors for the darkest and gothic city in America? It’s like you want to get shot,” she said rolling her eyes.
“I think it had more to do with Batman wanting to keep track of a small child in dark alleyways, bright colors stand out more.” Damian chuckled.
Marinette hummed seeming to accept that answer as she finished her pastry and hot chocolate. They fell into a comfortable silence just enjoying each other’s company cuddling together. “It’s getting close to the holidays. Is there anything you or your family want?” she asked.
Damian thought about it for a moment trying to think of anything his family mentioned wanting in the past few weeks. “Hmm, I remember Todd saying something about his leather jacket getting too worn, I think Drake could use a new sweater too. It's looking a bit threadbare. Grayson hasn’t complained about anything specific and since he doesn’t live in the Manor I can’t exactly look through all his clothes. Father and Pennyworth I’m not too sure on.” he said after a long stretch of silence.
“What about you? Anything special you want?” she smiled looking up at him.
“I’ll be happy with whatever it is you choose to give me.” he smiled leaning down to kiss her gently on the forehead, “You’re already giving me the best present,” he added, placing a gentle hand over her belly.
Marinette giggled a soft blush settling across her cheeks; “I would have never pegged you as a sappy dad.” she smiled holding his hand over her belly, “It’s so unlike you.”
He shrugged a soft pink dusting his face, “I’m just excited.” he mumbled.
She smiled softly leaning up to kiss his cheek, “I know you are, how about we head out and can go window shopping at a few stores to get an idea of what all we’ll need.”
“That sounds like a great idea.” he nodded, getting out of the booth taking her hand to help her stand. Once she was on her feet he wrapped an arm loosely around her waist and guided her out of the shop and onto the busy street. They steered clear of any overpopulated areas not wanting to risk anyone recognizing Damian, as well as any alleyways not wanting to mugged or jumped.
They took their time making their way to the shopping district talking quietly to each other about their plans for the following weeks. Marinette was slowly losing her mind with her commissions that seemed to get more and more complicated with less and less time between each to finish. Damian was adamant to claim his brothers were driving him up the wall now that they knew about Marinette making his desire to stab them all that stronger. Though he’d never admit he liked that his family welcomed Marinette so readily.
“What are you hoping for?” Marinette asked as they looked in the shop window at some baby clothes. There were an array of items from over the top frilly dresses full of ruffles and lace to make it obvious to anyone that the child wearing it was meant to be a little princess. While on the other side were little onesies with cheesy sayings and cute art printed on them causing the people passing by to coo and laugh at the phrases pointing them out to their friends and partners.
“A healthy child,” Damian said, hugging her gently to his side, “I don’t care about the gender so long as they are healthy and I have you by my side,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her gently on her cheek.
Marinette blushed though and was smiling brightly as she buried her face into his chest breathing deeply as she soaked up all the warmth and love he was showering her in. “I feel the same,” she mumbled before pulling him away from the clothing store to head into a shop to look at other supplies and furniture they’d need.
They lost hours in the department store as they looked over different strollers, beds, changing tables, anything and everything marketed for a baby. They took their time looking it over and comparing the items until they had a solid idea of just what it was they needed. “I want everything to be neutral in color,” she mumbled as they were looking at some toys.
“Hm?” Damian asked, holding up a green rabbit plush testing how soft it was.
“I don’t want anything too gender-specific you know I don’t want everything pink, as much as I love the color or blue. I think it should be a neutral color or a variety of colors so we’re not forcing our kid in just one color.” She said picking up some blankets gently running her fingers over the soft fleece.
“We could always get everything in robin colors.” Damian joked.
“I will divorce you.” Marinette deadpanned looking up at him.
“Ouch okay no robin colors.” he chuckled, setting the toy rabbit down and hugged her, “we have plenty of time to decide on the colors, but I do agree we won’t use pink or blue it’s been overdone quite a bit.” he nodded.
She nodded as they left the baby aisle and started to head towards the front. Once they were back out on the street the sky was beginning to darken quite a bit. “It’s getting late. I should head home and pack, Mum said she’d bring me by the manor after dinner.”
“I’ll walk you home and make sure the room Pennyworth set up is suitable for you.” he nodded guiding her down the street. “Will you be bringing any of your projects along?” he asked as he helped her cross the street.
“I’ll probably bring the quilt I’m working on and the jacket Uncle Jagged commissioned.” she hummed as they made their way towards her apartment. “I’m almost done with the jacket and I want to get a few more squares done on the quilt before Monday,” she added.
He nodded as they fell into a comfortable silence and continued to walk, keeping close to each other so as not to get separated in the crowds. Once they reached Marinette’s apartment building she pulled away and smiled up at Damian, “I’ll see you after dinner have a safe trip home.” she said getting up on her tippy toes to kiss him.
“You have a nice dinner and pack some warm pajamas. The manor can get a bit drafty at night,” he warned, kissing her back. He smiled and waited until she was inside the building and in the elevator to take her to her floor before he turned on his heels and began to head home.
He was only able to pass a few blocks before ducking into an alleyway and crossed his arms waiting as someone landed behind him. “Really? You tailed us the whole time we were out?” he deadpanned turning to face Nightwing.
Nightwing just crossed his arms looking away with a slight pout, “I just wanted to make sure she was okay.” he said, “you were walking around in broad daylight anyone could have seen you two.”
“You’re lucky she didn’t notice you, how would I have explained why a vigilante was following us? When the sun is up leave us alone if she’s out after dark feel free to tail her if she’s not with me.” he said glaring at him, “She doesn’t need the added stress and doesn’t need to be looking over her shoulder every few blocks because she saw someone following her.”
Nightwing sighed rolling his head, “Fine I won’t but I can’t say anything for the others.” he said before sending up a grapple and whisking himself away.
Damian sighed, rubbing his temples, “They’re going to scare her off I just know it.” he muttered heading out of the alleyway and continued his trek home.
~.~.~.~
“Marigold are you ready?” Ivy asked after cleaning up the kitchen from their dinner. She knocked on the door before opening it slowly as she peered in to see Marinette attempting to shove her sewing machine into her bag. “Marigold I think the sewing machine can stay here.” she chuckled walking in grabbing the machine from her hands and set it back on the table.
“I have projects I need to finish though.” Marinette groaned looking at the fabric squares for the quilt and jacket she had packed in another bag.
“You and I both know all that’s left for the jacket is minor touch-ups. You can hand sew it and you’d been hand sewing that quilt all week so you don’t need the machine.” Ivy said leaning on the desk, “Besides you’re going to be with the Wayne’s for the weekend instead of working on your projects why don’t you take a break and get to know them?”
“I just want to finish Uncle Jagged’s jacket. I already closed down the site and won’t be reopening it until new years. I’ll take a break when all my projects are done and have been shipped out.” she said trying to get around Ivy to get the sewing machine.
“Marigold I said no sewing machine.” Ivy said blocking her, “you shouldn’t be carrying it back and forth anyways. I’m sure you just mentioned in passing you needed a sewing machine while in that manor you’ll have one before the end of the day.”
“Mum! That would be manipulative!” Marinette gasped appalled at her mother’s suggestion.
Ivy sighed, gently taking hold of Marinette’s face and leaned down to be eye level with her, “it’s not manipulative. You could just ask Bruce or Damian if they had one if not and you don’t want to use their money then convince Damian to join you to buy yourself a sewing machine that can stay at the manor.” She said gently, kissing her forehead.
Marinette pouted, bowing her head, “so no sewing machine?” she said eyeing the trusty machine she brought from Paris when she moved.
“‘Fraid, not kiddo now finish packing up Harls will be back from walking Bud and Lou any moment then we’re heading over to the manor to drop you off.” Ivy chuckled patting her back as she left the room to let Marinette finish packing for the weekend.
~.~.~.~
The Wayne Manor was in a state of chaos as the occupants prepared for the arrival of their weekend guest. Bruce watched on with a type of exhausted fondness that only a single parent possesses as they watch their children make complete fools of themselves. Beside him was Tim his second youngest who was nursing yet another large mug of coffee the bags under his eyes deeper and darker than the waters of the Mariana Trench. “At least they’re excited?” Bruce muttered watching on as Jason and Dick continued to argue about what they’d learned about Marinette in the last week through means of tailing her and digging up her past.
“They’re going to scare her off.” Damian deadpanned standing beside Bruce on the other side of him watching the two eldest argue looking as if they were going to physically fight.
“No offense but if she didn’t run for the hills after meeting you I think she’ll be able to handle them.” Tim yawned as he took a long drink from his coffee as there was a soft knocking at the door.
Alfred easily walked past the fighting siblings and went right for the front door opening it to reveal the Isley-Quinzels, “Pleasure to see you again Miss. Marinette.” Alfred nodded stepping aside to allow her to enter carrying with her two large bags.
“Sorry to intrude,” Marinette said as Damian rushed overtaking one of her bags off her arm.
“Nonsense you’re always welcome here.” Alfred smiled and looked at the two women, “would you like to come in?”
“Nah we got plans we’ll be back Sunday to pick you up, Marigold.” Harley smiled hugging Marinette, giving her a big kiss on her cheek as Ivy stepped in to give her a kiss and hug goodbye.
“Try to relax this weekend,” Ivy said patting her back, “You lot treat her well or I’ll make you into fertilizer.”
“She’s in good hands Ivy you two have a nice weekend,” Bruce said, nodding his head to the women. Harley and Ivy nodded and blew Marinette a few more kisses before they made their leave after Alfred closed the door.
“I’ll show you to your room Habibti,” Damian said, taking her bags and making a point to ignore his family watching him as he guided Marinette away and up the stairs to the room Alfred prepared for her.
Once they were out of earshot of the rest of the family Marinette looked up at Damian with a raised eyebrow, “You’re not putting me in the room Alfred prepared are you?” she asked following him.
“No, you’ll be in my room so I can keep an eye on you.” He said leaning down to kiss her as he pushed open his bedroom door and carried her bags in. “You need to sleep a reasonable amount and I know you sleep better when you’re warm and this way I can make sure you’re warm.”
“Just say you want to cuddle.” Marinette giggled sitting on his bed as he went about putting her clothes away and setting her sewing projects on his desk. She smiled watching him move with such familiarity as if this was a daily occurrence for them. As she relaxed on the bed a comforting weight settled across her lap. Looking down she saw a tuxedo cat lounging across her legs purring loudly and quite content.
Marinette smiled reaching down and gently started to run her fingers through the fur, “You must be Alfred.” She smiled gently scratching behind the cat's ears. She was so occupied with petting the cat on her lap she barely noticed the weight of another animal climbing onto the bed and curled up behind her. She turned and looked smiling at the large Great Dane she leaned back resting her head on the dog’s side reaching up and started petting him with her free hand, “You must be Titus.” She giggled as Alfred the Cat crawled up to rest on her chest.
Marinette was content to relax on the bed cuddling with the animals when she felt another weight settle on her lap and looked down to see a turkey perched on her legs watching her. “Hello, Jerry.” She giggled, stopping her petting of the cat and dog to reach down and begin gently stroking the turkey’s feathers. She alternated between the three animals trying not to make any feel left out as she pet them soon dozing off from all the warmth and comfort the animals provided.
Damian found her passed out on his bed, one hand resting on Jerry’s back and the other reaching back to scratch Titus’ ears. He huffed out a soft laugh looking over the scene before pulling his phone out quickly taking a picture before shooing Jerry and Alfred off her so he could get her in bed and into a more comfortable position. “Good job everyone,” he whispered to his pets as he took her boots off and gently took her hair out of her pigtails before tucking her into bed.
Once she was comfortably curled up under the blankets he pulled back and laid out some pajamas on the nightstand closest to Marinette in case she woke up long enough to change and set about getting into his pajamas and turned off all the lights before climbing into bed and pulled her to his chest relaxing back. “Good night habibti.” He mumbled, kissing her forehead.
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@myazael @beautiful-disasters-sunshine @moonlightstar64 @moonlitceleste @stainedglassm @casual-darkness @mochegato @ultimatetornshipper @heemsanddamemes @nathleigh @qualitypeacepainter @raven-frost-21 @maskedpainter @demonicbusiness @dood-space @trippingovermyfeet @emimar7 @indecisive-mess-named-me @changelinggarden @zerotosiki @alysrose-starchild @s-and-n @wolf2118 @athena452 @jjmjjktth
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Summery: Tom is part of the Firm, a fearless London gang. You are at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Word count: 1,7k
Themes: Mob!Tom, Peaky Blinders inspired, period piece – this is set in 1961, London.
Warnings: This story will contain themes such as kidnapping, murders, violence and smut. Also a lot of swearing. Also mentions of injuries. Also alcohol, smoking and mentions of drugs. this is a +18 story
A/N: This is a relationship that I wouldn't recommend in real life. Also, the Firm was the name of the Kray twins gang. I was just too lazy to come up with a name of my own.
THIS IS PART I
1961 – London
Tom curses the cold weather as he pulls his coat tighter around him with numb fingers. He curses the chilly London night and the long walk from Charing Cross station too. And, while he’s at it, he curses his split lip and broken rib as well. Fuck it, he curses the entire world and everybody in it tonight.
He especially curses fucking Harrison.
Harrison who didn’t show up for duty tonight - in failing to do so not only risking the wrath of their leader, a certain Mr. Fabien Towner, but also risking putting Tom in danger by forcing him to handle the situation all on his own. Fucking dick. Tom guesses his old friend had gotten caught up with whichever girl had taken his fancy for the day; forgetting all he should know of duty, and forcing Tom to single handedly go in to collect from the mug who owed the Firm ten grand.
It had not gone down easily, and Tom had taken his fair share of hits to the head. He now had a swollen cheek, a split lip, a broken rib and a big envelope of cash safely hidden underneath his coat.
He inhales the icy cold air and upon exhaling he watches as it rises to the sky like thick pearly smoke.
Little snowflakes start to slowly drift down from the sky, lighting up the dark night; painting the pavement white.
Further up the road he sees two young women stepping out of a building. They’re giggling, clearly intoxicated, and clutching on to one another for support, making their way down the stairs and into the waiting cab. He sees them both clearly in the light from the street’s only functioning lamp; as they’re standing just under it. The girl nearest to him is wearing fine silk and furs in powdery pink and white, her hair done up professionally and roughed cheeks and painted lips. Even from this distance he recognises her.
It’s you.
Even through the dark, snowy London night he sees it clear as day. Even though he hasn’t seen you since you were both teenagers; when he abruptly had to leave school, he recognises you immediately, and suddenly he feels like he is a sixteen-year-old child again; wishing for a miracle, as if he’s stretching out his hand beyond its reach. Sure, your face and hair is all made up and you’re no longer wearing a school uniform. But it’s you alright. There’s still a sweetness about you, in your silk and your fur and with your sugar-pink lips. You still feel impossibly out of reach. A thin layer of snow covers the cobbled street, like powdered sugar, and you’re leaving a trace of foot prints in it.
A vision strikes him, of his hand, slowly pulling the pink slip of a dress up your thigh as you clutch onto his shoulders. He wants to find out what’s softer to his touch; the silk or your skin. He watches as you and your friend make it into the cab, and then he watches as it drives off into the night.
And he remembers.
Remember how at fifteen, just days before he first met Fabien; in a time before he knew anything about how to fight with his fists or fire a gun or about the Firm.
He’d been chased by his school yard tormentor, Jamie Easom, and his fellow bullies. Trying to get away and to safety he had rushed into the girls’ bathroom without second thought. You had stood there, in front of the mirror; fixing your hair (and maybe it’s reconstruction after the fact, but he swears you wore a halo of light upon your head). He had stared at you with big eyes, like a deer in headlines, looking at the girl he’d been mesmerized with for years. You’d immediately caught on and in a gentle voice told him to hide in one of the bathroom stalls. Then you had walked out of the bathroom. Through the door he’d heard you speaking to Jamie. Heard Jamie asking if you’d seen him and heard your lie as you told the meanest kid in school no, he’s not here. Then he’d heard Jamie asking you out for the millionth time and, to his satisfaction, he heard you turning him down - yet again.
A few days after that Tom had met Fabien for the first time, a chance meeting that could have ended very differently. Luckily, the leader of London's most notorious gang had been impressed with him, and well, that was the beginning of the end of his school days. Fabian had given him a very different kind of education. He had trained him in an underground gym with a boxer, who taught Tom all he there was to know about fighting back.
Fabien himself had taken Tom to the Hungry Lion, the home of the Firm, and taught Tom how to drink Irish whiskey without wincing as it burned down his throat and how to smoke cigarettes, deep drags, without coughing; how to dress like a man. And most importantly, he taught Tom how to negotiate, how to think five steps ahead of everybody else.
Fabien had sat him down and taught him not only the rules of chess, but how to win every game. No matter the opponent.
Not long after he had joined the Firm a particularly gruesome fight in the school yard between himself and Jamie had taken place. Jamie had ended up in the hospital and Tom, well, he had been thrown out of school.
Since that day he was a full-time employee in the Firm.
He’d met Haz in an underground boxing ring. He’d been one hell of an opponent in a dirty fight that ended in victory for Tom, (though Haz always claims that the victory had more to do with the fact that Tom had made him burst out in laughter at one point and then, when Haz was off guard, tackled him to the ground). Fabien had been impressed with the blonde. Now Tom and Harrison were as good as brothers.
Eventually Tom’s actual brothers had joined them as well and they were now what Fabian referred to as “the younger generation” of the Firm.
As chance would have it just two years after Tom had been kicked out of school a certain Jamie Easom had joined the Firm as well. Cocky and arrogant as ever he’d been recruited by Fabien’s right hand, Eoghan Shelley, who’d seen Jamie in a pub brawl and been impressed by the young man’s knack for senseless violence.
As Fabien had told Tom in confidence during one whiskey fueled meeting; Jamie was someone who you hired to fight, but whom you didn’t trust to think. Jamie was part of the muscle of the machine; not the brain behind it.
Jamie knew the instructions – harm, threaten, kill.
He never knew the reasons behind them - (money, pride, knowledge).
Jamie never stopped to question motive. He got an order and he followed it through. He didn’t question why Fabien would want a business to, quite literally, burn down to the ground, or why a man needed to be taken out. He never questioned, either out loud or to himself, why Fabien would want that. Nor did he consider the victims point of view; their motives or reasons.
He got an order and he followed it through. He was a dog on a tight leash. So, the instructions were clear and simply. (bark, attack, kill).
Tom, on the other hand Fabien trusted to think on his own. Trusted that Tom had the brain to know what was necessary to do in any given situation. He also knew that Tom had the guts to carry it out, no matter the instruction.
There were those, certain malicious tongues, speaking in hushed voices behind closed doors; who thought that old Fabien Towner put too much trust in the youngster. Had gone a bit soft on him. That there were those, older and more experienced, that deserved Fabien’s trust.
The fact was that Tom wore the word protégée like second skin. It clung to him like a varsity jacket does to a young star scorer. Like it belonged to him, as if he was born for it.
The new hope.
And the fact was that Fabien cast a mighty big shadow and no one, especially not those with wagging tongues, dared stepping out of it. For Fabien kept all his little soldiers in check and that very much included the new hope.
Finally he arrives at his destination and he steps into the Hungry Lion. Inside the pub it’s warm and loud, barking laughter coming from the men drinking pints big as their heads, and singing can be heard coming from a group of people huddled up in the corner booth. The scent of smoke and beer fills the air. It’s warm and dirty and home. It makes a sharp contrast to the chilly, quiet London night outside.
He walks over to his regular booth, orders Sam to get him a whiskey and sits down opposite of Harry. Sam hurries off to the bar and Harry takes one long look at Tom’s wounded face.
“Getting slow in your old age, huh?”
“Fuck off” is all Tom can be bothered to answer, too exhausted and done with this day. “’s Fabien here yet?”
Harry shakes his head and looks away from his brother's bruised face. “Not yet” he says in the end and puts out his cigarette. Then, “where’s Hazza?”
Tom sighs and fishes up his own package of Lucky Strike cigarettes. Placing one between his lips he lights up and inhales deeply. Leaning back in his seat he exhales in a sigh before responding. “Fuck who knows” he says, just as Sam comes back with his drink. He hands it to Tom, who greedily takes a sip of the amber liquid before sitting down next beside his twin.
“What you mean?” Harry questions, brows furrowed. “Wasn’t he with you collecting?”
“Nope” Tom answers, trying to keep his anger under wraps. “Didn’t show up. Reckon he’s cock deep in some bird some-“ but before he can finish Haz stumbles into the pub. His left white sleeve is sticky wet with blood and he’s clutching onto his shoulder. His face is pale and sweaty, and he looks around the room, clearly searching for someone; but before he can find the right man he stumbles and falls to the ground; where he stays. Passed out.
For a few devastatingly long moments silence fills the old pub as they all look at Harrison’s left shoulder.
It has a bullet wound.
***
Taglist: @londonmademedoit @isthataladybag @ceexreverse @daygiowvibe @averyfosterthoughts @applenter @viwihere @youcompletemess
#tom holland x reader#tom holland#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland headcanon#tom holland imagine#tom holland x oc#tom holland x y/n#tom holland x you#tom holland x fem#mob!tom#mob!tom holland
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May 15th
AHAHA I FINISHED IT AND I LIKE IT
Soft content for Eli’s birthday, featuring some baby Eli content as well
CW: fluff. Eli cries a bit. It’s actually quite happy
***
He kicked his legs excitedly as he sat there in the booth, his brand new shark stuffie clutched tightly in his arms. He was so small, it was quite big compared to him, but that just made it all the better in his opinion. He was only just now turning six years old, but he was certain this was the best birthday, and the best gift he’d gotten in his whole little life.
Everett had kept him home from school that day, he was already excited to brag to anyone who would listen tomorrow about how cool his brother was for doing so. He had made him breakfast, pancakes with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles, and after that he’d let him choose his own clothes for the day, instead of the strict and stuffy outfits their mother preferred he wore. He didn’t even fight him on his hair, simply tied it back in two ponytails for him instead of fighting with a brush while he cried. To him, it was already a great day just from the morning.
After that, he’d taken him out for the day. He’d repeatedly asked him where they were going but Everett simply assured him it was a surprise, only serving to make him more excited. He hadn’t been able to guess where Everett was taking him, but when he saw it was the aquarium, he had accidentally squealed from how excited he was, happily flapping his hands until Everett picked him up and had him sit on his shoulders so he wouldn’t run off in his excitement, as he was known to do.
He was completely in awe of the exhibits they passed through. They spent nearly thirty minutes in front of the tank of moon jellies because he just couldn’t stop staring at them. He thought that was the best, at least, he did until they entered one room where they could actually touch things. Everett was hesitant to do so but he set him down in front of the low tank, and he had absolutely no issue with sticking his hand into the water, gasping when his fingers brushed over the back of a small passing stingray.
“E-Ev- Ev! It’s a, it’s like a, like a pancake!” He giggled excitedly. He snatched his hand out of the water, spreading his hands out as he said, “It’s uh, it’s uh, it’s smooth and flat, it’s like a- like a pancake!” He said, waving his hands excitedly.
“A pancake? Really?” Everett laughed, and he nodded, happy to stick his hands back into the water, a look of absolute glee on his face.
They spent a long time at the aquarium, simply because he felt the need to look at everything for a prolonged period of time. Everett didn’t seem to mind though, he let him take his time and on their way out they stopped in the gift shop. He wasn’t the kind of kid to ask for anything, he knew the answer was likely to be no, but he couldn’t stop staring at the shark plushies, and after a while of him looking between them and his brother, Everett said he’d buy it for him, since it was his birthday after all.
He took him out for lunch once they finally left, and then to a park so he could run around, holding onto his shark while he did so so it wouldn’t get dirty. And now, as the day was ending, he brought him to a small ice cream shop, an especially rare treat for him. He’d gone to get their ice cream, leaving him there alone but still in his line of sight. He perked up when he saw him coming back, he had a cup with large scoops of mint chocolate chip ice cream for him and one with strawberry ice cream for himself.
“Here you go, kid.” Everett said, setting it down in front of him as he took a seat across from him.
“Th-tha-thank you!” He said, grabbing the spoon and excitedly shoving a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.
“Have you had a good day?” He asked him, taking a bite of his own ice cream while he happily nodded.
“Mmhm! I-I- I had- had fun!” He giggled softly. “I like- I liked the- the- the fish! And- and my shark! I love my- my- my shark!”
“Are you gonna name it?” He asked, and he looked to the shark, making a face as he thought it over.
“Mmmm… Ev.”
“Yeah?”
“N-No- no his name- his name is Ev.” He said, looking up at him. “Since Ev got him- got- got him for me, his name- his name is Ev.” He said, and Everett smiled at him.
“You’re a sweet kid, you know that?” He said, and he giggled, happily shoving more ice cream into his mouth.
By the time they finished he was bouncing in his seat, even more hyper from the sugar. Everett cleaned up after them, getting up and leaving the table for a moment. He watched his brother, on his way back he stopped somebody, asking them to take a quick picture of them together and explaining it was his birthday. When they agreed, he sat down next to him, pulling him into a hug, both of them flashing big grins as the stranger took a picture, commenting on how cute the pair of siblings were as they handed the phone back to Everett.
“Can I- can I- can I see?” He asked, getting up on his knees, and Everett showed him the phone, the photo of them together, he had a big grin on his face, one of his front teeth missing and his shark still in the background. “Oooohhh! I- I love- I love it!” He giggled, and Ev smiled, pulling him into a tight hug.
“Happy birthday, kid.” He told him, and he clung to him tightly, a big smile spread across his face.
After they left, Everett carried him home, having to carry his shark in one arm so he wouldn’t drop it. It was quite late in the day, and after spending so much time out and being so active, he was quickly growing sleepy, struggling to keep his eyes open as they got closer to his apartment. Once there Everett carried him back to their shared room, laying him down and handing him his shark, taking a moment to pull his shoes off for him.
“I’m glad you had fun.” Everett said, brushing wispy strands of brown hair back from his face.
“I- I- I had…” He paused to yawn, finishing with, “I had lots- lots of fun…” He murmured, curling up and cuddling his new shark close. He was asleep in only minutes, a content smile still on his face. Everett smiled as he looked down at him, so happy and so relieved he’d been able to do this for him.
***
“Can I open my eyes yet?”
“Not just yet, we’re almost there.” Zander told him, steering him by the shoulders. “And no peeking.” He told him, Eli snapping his good eye shut when he said it. They’d spent the day out together, Zander had taken him to the aquarium and listened to all his talking and rambling, and now they were finally returning to his apartment, but Zander was insistent that he kept his eyes shut. He heard him unlock the door and push it opened, tugging him inside by his wrist and only stopped in what Eli assumed was the dining room just off his living room.
“Alright- you can open your eyes now.” Zander told him, and he didn’t have to be told twice.
“Surprise!”
He nearly jumped back, startled but a grin quickly spread across his face at what he saw. Cara, Lila, Alec, even Alondra were there, crowded around his dining room table. They’d hung a happy birthday banner on the wall behind them, and gotten blue and white balloons for him, tying them to the chairs. They’d hung pale blue streamers from the ceiling, and on the table was takeout food from his favorite restaurant, and a cake with blue icing and number candles for “25”, and the words “Happy Birthday Elias”.
“Eli- shit, kid are you okay?” Zander asked, sounding worried as he brought his hands up to cover his mouth, blinking back tears.
“I’m- I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m sorry, I love it!” He laughed.
“Aww, Elias you can’t cry on your birthday!” Cara said, coming around the table and pulling him into a hug.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, no I’m so happy! This is perfect, I love you guys!” He said, reaching up and wiping at his eyes. Cara pulled away so they could all take a seat at the table, Alec using a lighter to light the candles, the small group singing happy birthday for him while he tried to keep from crying again.
“Make a wish!” They told him and he blew out the candles, smiling as Zander ruffled his hair.
“What did you wish for?” He asked him, and Eli laughed.
“I’m not telling, I want it to come true.” He said. He gladly accepted a slice of cake when Alondra passed him a plate, looking excited.
“I hope you like it, they said this was your favorite.” She said, and he grinned when he saw the inside was layered vanilla cake, one layer white and one colored blue.
“You made this?” He asked, and she nodded as he took a bite, only for his eyes to widen. “Oh shit- this is amazing!” He covered his mouth to hide the grin on his face, looking up at her. “I love it! Thank you so much!” He said, and she grinned at him.
“I’m so glad!” She looked both happy and relieved at the same time, as though she’d really feared he wouldn’t.
It was easily one of the best nights he’d had in a while, surrounded by his friends as they ate and talked and laughed. Once they had all had their fill of food, they brought Eli into the living room, having him sit down on the couch in front of the coffee table, a few gifts placed in front of him that they insisted he opened.
Cara and Lila had gotten him matching pink and green squid shaped pillows, and Alec had gotten him a set of books he’d been collecting. Alondra had given him a homemade apron, made from jellyfish printed fabric and a set of blue baking spatulas with white polka dots, measurement conversions printed on the back, and Zander had gotten him an adorable cat shaped lamp, which would fade through different colors when it was one. He was so excited over each and every one of them, to the point of frantically flapping his hands as he thanked them, looking overjoyed.
“Oh, there’s one more thing.” Zander told him, going across the room to get something from the closet.
“We all picked this one out for you.” Cara told him, and Eli grinned as Zander brought back a rather large gift bag, filled with blue tissue paper. He had to pull quite a bit of it out to get to it, but his face lit up as he saw the item inside.
“Oh my god! I love it!” He cried, pulling out the large dolphin stuffed animal. It was absolutely adorable, he instantly hugged it close to his chest, already in love with how soft it was.
“We’re glad you like it.” Zander said, ruffling his hair. “Happy birthday, kid.” He said, sitting down and pulling him into a hug, only for the others to join in as best they could. It took all his self control to not burst into tears again, overwhelmed with happiness and love for his friends.
***
That night he laid in bed, Zander next to him as he had stayed the night. Zander had passed out after a few too many drinks but he was still awake, laying there and watching the pale light from his new little lamp change. He smiled, turning onto his side and cuddling both his shark and his new dolphin close to his chest, thinking over that year’s birthday wish.
I wish to be this happy all the time.
#not whump#fluff#my writing#my oc’s#Wren#Zander#Everett#Cara#Lila#Alec#Alondra#happy birthday eli#he’s baby#just baby
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skirt chasers
jjk x (f) reader
summary “Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn’t know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls.” tags f2l, triple texting king kook, ncampus crush kook who is also the weird gamer boy, the skirt aspect is forgotten towards the end tbh, dumbassery is a disease and we are all affected by it, confessions SO CORNY it could be a 2005 teen romcom warnings smut in the form of: unprotected sex, use of mirrors, mostly heavy petting as foreplay I’m sorry, mentions of Jk’s furry ways as a gag kinda, like an unnecessary amount of swearing wc 7.8k
to make a long story short, i saw this nsfw gif and wrote this entire fic between 2 am and 6 am anyway i actually really like how this turned out!! lmk when u think
Part of the ideology behind the pleated skirt was in hopes that buying a new wardrobe would somehow help you rebrand your image around campus. Truthfully, it was kinda too late for that now; you’d been here going on three years, your friends and anyone with eyes could see that the style of clothing you leaned towards favored comfort over fashion. However, someone—it might’ve been Taehyung—had gone on a drunken spiel the other night concerning the importance of presenting oneself via fashion. It wasn’t aimed at you, but it certainly left you wondering.
Which is how you find yourself shivering to the bone now, lingering around the west quad as you wait for Jungkook to come out of an anatomy lab. He’s at that point in the semester where grades mean nothing and everything to him at the same time, so Namjoon’s commissioned you and your other pals to take turns babysitting him once a week to make sure he gets at least some assignments done.
You don’t know where any of you would be without Kim Namjoon.
Anyway, your legs are fucking cold and if this is what it takes to be known as the fashionably cute girl around campus, you’d rather choke. The imaginary sound of your bones rattling is cut off when Jungkook throws the door nearest you open, his big dopey smile engulfing his face the moment he sees you. He barely acknowledges the gaggle of students that follow after him, all calling out a chorus of goodbyes to him, because unlike you Jungkook was the cute, campus boy crush with his suave looks and comfortable fashion. God, if only you could pull off sweats and mustard-stained Venom shirts like him.
“Lets go,” you yawn, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of your long cardigan. Jungkook jogs over, slinging an arm around your shoulders and nearly knocking you into the emergency telephone you’d been brooding by. “You smell sterile again.”Jungkook grins.
“That’s because I was touching dead people again,” he informs you, too giddy for someone who’d probably fingered the fuck out of a gallbladder twenty minutes ago.
“Ew,” you whine, the sudden urge to shove Jungkook and his dead people germs away from you. He cackles in your face, and you wonder again how he single handedly enthralls half the campus population with a laugh like a seagull.
You’ve barely moved ten feet when Jungkook finally notices your vibrating body, and it’s only because you’re nearly convulsing with shivers at this point. “Woah, what are those,” he exclaims, eyes pointedly eyeing your legs.
You know your bare legs are a rare sight when Jungkook has to resolve to overused memes to refer to them.
“They’re my legs, and they’re fucking freezing,” you calmly reply.
Jungkook seems shocked for only a moment longer, and you almost think he’s gotten over it when he suddenly snorts and scares the shit out of you in the middle of the crosswalk. “Why the fuck are you wearing a skirt in this weather, you dinglehead?”
You shove him, and he stumbles over the curb, but you get the feeling he’d do that without you pushing him. Jungkook was clumsier than Namjoon on his bad days. “I’m trying to be fashionable, you hater,” you huff, not even bothering to say thank you when he pulls open the coffee shop door for you. “I shouldn’t have to explain myself to someone who doesn’t even wear the right size shirt.”
Like always, he’s one step ahead of you and hands the cashier his card before you can even reach for your wallet. Next time. “Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn’t know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls.”
“For your information I bought this from H&M,” you retort, though you can’t hide the flush that warms your cheeks at his comment. “Also, what's the point of working out your hotbod if you’re just gonna hide it under shirts long enough to be a mini-dress, huh? Riddle me that, Jeon.”
You flinch when your bare thigh touches the cold seat of the booth, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Your skirt is mad short,” he points out, and you kick his shins.
You’ve already got a Google Doc open on your laptop from last night when you and Jimin had been going ham on a psych essay, but you also have a Fashion Nova cart on another window that’s just begging for you to check out.
“Short skirts are just a concept made by men with lingering eyes to demean and belittle women who don’t submit to their every want and need.”
“Oh my god,” he groans, and you watch him muffle a laugh into his palm as he gets his own work out. “Do you think I’m gonna pull the meninist card out on you and call you a slut or something?”
You fake gasp, eyes wide and shocked as you give him your best disappointed face. “Jeon, how could you? I expected better from you.”
This time he does laugh, a dorky sound unlike his witch cackle from earlier, and you finally let a smile slip. Jungkook was funny, too sweet and kind hearted for his own good. A little dumb, but most cute guys were. He’s one of those guys who thinks girls are nice to him out of their own free will, and not because they’re trying to bag the campus hottie.
“Seriously,” he says once he’s pulled his fat anatomical reference book out, stuffed to the brim with worn scientific essays he’d printed out, and pictures he’d taken at every single one of his visits to the cadaver lab. His voice is earnest and genuine when he speaks again. “You can wear whatever you want, I was just curious about the skirt ‘cause you normally wear things past the knee and elbow.”
When he puts it like that you kinda sound surprisingly conservative.
You shrug, tapping away at your computer as if the sight of you in anything other than what he said isn’t really weird. “Just thought I’d try something new. Why, does it look too weird?” Your voice suddenly feels meek, and you’re not sure if your cheeks are warm from the chill outside or from something else.
Jungkook shakes his head, coconut hair bouncing from side to side. “Nah, you look cute,” he says, and then, as if an afterthought, adds, “weirdly sexy, too. Like you belong in a Brazzers video?”
“What the fuck, Jungkook,” you groan, sinking your head into your palms.
“What! You asked for my opinion and I gave you it,” he defends, too casual for someone spewing their unwarranted porn knowledge at you. You urge him to do his homework, drink his coffee, anything besides embarrass you further.
He does, but you don’t miss the goofy way he glances under the table one more time.
The pleated skirt makes it’s return three weeks later, this time accompanied by her best friend, the sheer pantyhose.
“Oh, who’s this sexy schoolgirl?” Taehyung exclaims the moment you step into the diner. Your cheeks flush red when the family beside you send you and your friends a disapproving look.
“That’s what I said!” Jungkook says as he gets up to let you slide into the booth. He has this incessant need to be sitting at the end of the booth just in case nature calls in the middle of dinner and he can’t usher the rest of you out fast enough.
(It almost happened once, and the sight of Jungkook shoving Hoseok flat on his ass had been too funny to forget.)
“Wait a minute, is that why you stopped using EOS and started using the Dove shaving cream?” Chaeyoung interrogates from across you. “So you could show off your sexy model legs?”
“No, Dove is just cheaper,” you reply, trying to sound as aloof as possible but if anyone at this table knew you like the back of their hand, it was definitely Chaeyoung. “Why can’t you guys let me live my best life?”
Taehyung scoffs. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Who the fuck are you?” You snap back, but your level of sass can never seem to match his.
“We all know your ‘best life’ would be spent in those fuzzy Cookie Monster pajama pants and one of Kook’s big ass shirts,” he points out, and you hide behind your menu much to everyone’s amusement.
You whine, “why can’t you all just be supportive besties and tell me I look cute?”
“You look gorgeous, babe,” Chaeyoung assures you, gesturing for you to pass her the sugar for her coffee. “It’s just weird seeing your legs out. Almost weirder than if you randomly pulled your tits out right now.”
Behind her, you can see the same mom from the family glaring at you guys. You lower your head in shame.
“For the record, I’m team skirt, but I wouldn’t be opposed to the other,” Jungkook adds after being silent for so long. Taehyung fist bumps him as you slap your hand over your eyes. At this rate you’d rather just put a paper bag over your head.
“We’re sitting on the same side of the table, so you’re supposed to be on my side!” You groan, and Jungkook shrugs mid-milkshake sip.
“I am!” He splutters once he’s gulped down the thick substance. “I just said I was team skirt, did I not?” His scandalized pout twists into the same sneaky little smile he has whenever Taehyung has convinced him and Jimin to do something stupid. “But I’m also a man, and therefore, a skirt chaser,” he winks.
From the other side of the table Taehyung’s eyes twinkle. “Bro, your mind,” he says in awe. He reaches over to shake Jungkook’s hand as if he’s just presented the table with some riveting discovery in the medical field, and the fucker has the nerve to look smug about it too.
“You guys are so stupid,” Chaeyoung whispers right before the server sets her pancakes down.
“Hey, have you seen Joon’s book? He said he might’ve left it—oh, Jesus, fuck sorry,” Jungkook says before whirling around to face the wall.
You turn from your bent over position by your bed where you’d been rummaging around for a book you coulda sworn you stuffed there last week. Jungkook’s blazing cheeks don’t register with you until you realize your favorite skirt is draping over your rear, giving him a clear view of your dorky star-printed panties.
“Kook,” you stammer, quickly jumping to your feet and brushing your hands over your skirt. “H-How’d you get in?” You ask for lack of greeting.
“Um, uh,” Jungkook stutters, eyes laser focused on some point on your wall. “Chaeyoung let me in.”
“Oh,” you say, and then silence falls over the two of you.
Holy shit this was awkward.
Despite being friends for going on three years, you don’t ever remember there being any stale moments between you and Jungkook. You were the type of friends that just clicked, never having gone through that awkward phase before. But you’d also never seen each other in any state less than presentable. (Being drunk at parties did NOT count, and even then, you’ve always been pretty collected.)
To know that he’s seen your ass, covered or not, tilted your Golden Friendship with Jungkook scale extremely off center. Your fingers twiddle at your sides, not really sure if you should mention what just happened or… what?
He coughs, and you snap back to reality. “Um,” he drawls, still not looking at you but at the socks you’d thrown off the second you got home. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes, voice soft and earnest in that Jungkook™ way that made all the girls swoon. “I should’ve knocked before coming in all rude.” He finally gathers the balls to look you in the eye, and the dude looks like a kicked puppy.
“No,” you wave him off, hands fluttering in front of you because standing like some Macy’s holiday mannequin certainly isn’t making this situation any easier. “It’s okay, the skirt—y��know this wouldn’t happen if I just wore pants,” you say, tacking on a self-deprecating laugh. It’s your turn to look away in shame.
Jungkook jumps at your words. “The skirt’s cute!” He basically shouts and you flinch at the sudden increase in his tone. Then you’re both left looking at each other wide-eyed again as he scrambles to assure you it isn’t your fault. “I like it, and it makes your legs look really nice, so don’t-“ he stutters, as if realizing the meaning in his words, “don’t stop wearing it...” he trails off, cheeks rosy. Your mind goes blank.
“R-Really?” You stutter, surprised at his compliment. It’s not like Jungkook never complimented you—dude couldn’t go fifteen minutes without telling his friends how much he loved them—but for some reason it feels different now.
“Yeah,” he assures you. “Makes you look nice, and um. Pretty.”
“Jeon Jungkook telling me I look pretty? Someone call TigerBeat magazine,” you joke, trying to ease the tension somehow. Your chuckle sounds awfully robotic to your ears, but it makes Jungkook crack a smile and that’s all that matters.
“Shut up. You know I’m not friends with ugly people.”
“Wooow,” you laugh, real this time. “How noble of you,” you retort, and he gives you his best snobby expression possible.
“Ya, you’re welcome,” he teases, and then suddenly remembers what he came for in the first place. “Give me Joon’s planner, I know you’re holding it hostage.”
You roll your eyes, and point over to the notebook on your desk that’s absolutely overflowing with sticky notes and bookmarks. “As if I’d want his nerd diary ruining the good vibes in here.”
“These good vibes smell a lot like Bath and Body Works perfumes, you cheapskate,” Jungkook says as he snatches the book off the surface. He’s at the door again, narrowing you with another faux uppity look when he adds, “this is a Victoria’s Secret Bombshell household.”
“Bombshe—you don’t even live here!” You huff in laughter, ushering him down the hall to the front door. He’s half a foot out the door when he suddenly whirls around, making you take a step back in surprise.
“The stars are cute, but I prefer hearts.”
He slams the door shut behind him so fast, that you almost don’t catch the smirk tacked on at the end.
You were many things, but a liar was not one of them. You couldn’t lie to your parents when you were younger and wanted to sneak out, to your teacher when she asked where your homework was, or to your friends when they asked you who you liked. You couldn’t even lie to yourself.
You’ll admit it, there was a time your eyes had lingered a little longer on Jungkook. When you would spend moments tracing the slope of his jawline, and memorizing the twinkle in his eyes. He was devastatingly handsome, and you would be blind not to see it.
But that was before you became close friends—before game nights at Hoseok’s became a regular staple in your schedule, before your little makeshift picnics in the quad, before you all became Park Jimin’s dedicated fan club (it’s a rotating unit consisting of whoever’s able to go to Jimin’s showcases).
Those fantasies of kissing Jungkook and going on dates were stuffed to the back as you became pals. As you’ve mentioned a million times now, Jungkook was the campus dream boy. He was hardly the skirt chaser he made himself out to be, too sweet and romantic for his own good. Besides, there was no need to be when the skirts flocked to him.
He’d had flings, and even girlfriends, in the time you’ve known him, but he rarely mentioned them to his friends. And even though you pushed that teensy crush aside, you still wondered how Jungkook acted with girls he was interested in, if it was the same he treated you and Chaeyoung, or special on an intimate level a platonic friendship could never be.
It’s the middle of the night when you first get a glimpse.
[1:21 am] jk wyd
[1:21 am] you sleeping , u?
[1:22 am] jk same anyway I finally beat world 8 in super Mario bros
[1:25 am] you omg the 1 w dry bowser?? [1:26 am] you wait u said u wouldn’t play w/o me :/
[1:27 am] jk u suck at Luigi and u know it
[1:30 am] you fuck u [1:31 am] you ok but seriously what do u want I have a test tmrw morning and am pretending to be asleep
[1:32 am] jk damn ok can’t I just talk to my friend about my successes [1:33 am] jk but if u must know
[1:33 am] you I must
There’s a lull in messages for a while, and you decide you should finally actually go to sleep, dabbing some spot ointment onto your skin before hopping in bed. You turned off the overhead light long ago, so the only light illuminating you now is the lamp by your bedside. You tap your phone once again right as Jungkook sends another message.
[1:40 am] jk you looked really pretty today
Oh. Your entire body pauses for a moment to process the sudden message, cheeks slowly heating up. You roll your lips in to stop the squeal that threatens to rip itself out of your throat, scrambling for something to type. But it’s the first time he’s randomly thrown something like this on you, and your brain feels like that episode of Spongebob when everything’s on fire.
Before you can send the jumbled letters you’d convinced yourself was acceptable, your phone vibrates with another alert.
[1:42 am] jk I know its weird to say that but I gotta make sure someone told u at least once today
Your heart flutters at the explanation, and you have to slap a hand over your face to get rid of the goody smile that overtakes your features. This time, you’re a little less thrown off and quickly tap out a reply before he can say anything else.
[13:43 am] you thanks kook :) was it the red skirt lol
You’d been experimenting with different skirts lately, quickly growing bored of the black pleated skirt you’d originally worn. Your latest trip to the mall had you coming home with a variety of colors and styles, like the dark red denim one you’d worn today.
[1:45 am] jk no!!!! [1:45 am] jk maybe… [1:46 am] jk ok yes you looked gorgeous
The tiny letters blink back at you, and you set your phone down for a second to smile stupidly at your dark ceiling. You only let yourself wildly kick your legs around for five seconds because Chaeyoung was asleep next door.
[1:47 am] you haha well I’ll make sure to wear it again for u :)
It’s only after you’ve sent the message that the last two words have you stuffing your face into your pillow to hide your embarrassment. Girl, what the fuck!!!
Oh my god, he could’ve just been friendly and polite this whole time. Jimin had said the skirt looked cute on you as well, and you hadn’t responded like this. All it took was a few compliments from Jungkook to have you dopily acting like a clown for his affections.
Before you can scold yourself anymore, your phone vibrates and you have to sit up to retrieve it from where you’d tossed it across the bed.
[1:50 am] jk for me? I’m honored :) [1:51 am] jk anyway get some rest before ur exam!!! [1:51 am] jk night cutie
You squeal, and Chaeyoung kicks your shared wall.
You liked to clown Seokjin for being the president of his fraternity. He was already a stereotypical frat boy, so it wasn’t that hard anyway; he came from money, was ridiculously gorgeous, and played on your school’s soccer team. However, behind that facade he liked to put up, he, too, was infected by the dumbass disease.
“Wait, are those your legs?” He says the moment you step into his frat party. Normally, he wasn’t prone to the same stupid questions that regularly plagued Taehyung and Jungkook (sometimes Namjoon, but everyone had their weak moments), so you deduce that he probably had some alcohol in his system to openly be asking you such a question.
“Yes, now give me whatever’s in that cup,” you brush off, not bothering to stick around to watch him not-so-subtly grope Chaeyoung as she enters behind you. You trust him enough to hand you a drink that hasn’t been roofied, but you’re also aware that Jin drinks like he’s trying to die three times over. One sip has your face scrunching up at the sour bitterness of it all.
There’s a loud cackle of a laugh that you’d recognize anywhere, and you turn to find Jungkook leaning against the staircase banister looking like a wet dream. “Someone lost on their way to Weenie Hut Jr?” he sneers, cheeks a nice rosy color. You flick his forehead.
You don’t bother gracing him with a reply, instead shuffling over so you’re stood side by side observing the party before you. Yoongi’s here, which is an even weirder sight than your legs being out, so you wonder why no one is talking about that. But then you see the way he’s trailing after Seokjin’s cat, Jalapeño, and realize he’s only here to make sure no one hurts her (she’s more important than anyone else here). You honor his service with another sip of Jin’s whatever the fuck mix.
“Wow, getting braver every day, huh?” Jungkook teases after giving you a very intense once over. He’s referring to the skirt you’re wearing, a little black circle skirt that flows around you like the first one you’d worn a couple months ago. Call it a tribute to the one that started it all. You’ve definitely experimented with lengths a little more, the one you’re wearing now brushing just barely below your ass. Appropriate for the frat party, but definitely not for your theology elective.
You hum, stepping aside as a couple makes their way up the stairs. You’re tempted to go tattle on them to Seokjin, but decide against it when you feel Jungkook’s fingers brush against your thigh.
He grins at the surprised little gasp you let out. “Pretty,” he chuckles, deep and seductive in a way you’ve never seen before. You were used to giggly Jungkook, and Jungkook who laughs like the stepmom from Cinderella, but you’d never seen this one before, the Jungkook who looked and laughed like he was straight out of a Calvin Klein campaign.
You giggle like a teenager at his compliment, unsure of what else to do so you settle on chugging Jin’s death drink. You only get a good three gulps in before Jungkook’s tugging the plastic cup away from you and setting it down on the nearest flat surface. “Don’t get all drunk on me now,” he jokes, eyes the teensiest bit glassy. He doesn’t look drunk, and he’s certainly not acting drunk. He might be a little tipsy, you think, because a completely sober Jungkook would never have the balls to tug you closer by the waist like this one does.
Your hands fall flat on his chest, warm beneath the material of his shirt. Not one of his super baggy ones today, but still a bit loose where it could hug his build. “What happened to the little red one? You said you’d wear it for me…” he questions, lips playfully pushing out into a pout.
You struggle to meet his gaze, focusing on the mole beneath his lip instead. “I, um, haven’t got around to washing it,” you stutter, absentmindedly shifting your weight from side to side.
“Really?” Jungkook presses, sounding like he doesn’t believe you at all. After a moment in which he ducks down to catch your gaze, he seems to accept. “That’s fine. This one’s cuter anyway.”
His words are emphasized by his fingers, tracing along the edge of your skirt while purposefully making sure to graze your skin. You shiver, unconsciously arching your chest into him. It’s only afterwards that you realize when Jungkook smirks in triumph. “Easy access too,” he murmurs, and your heart leaps in your chest.
“Jeon,” you whisper, hyper aware of all the people in this house right now. You’re standing at a point where everyone walks by, and the idea of Jungkook groping you in front of these people, some of which are friends, seems horrifying. “People can see.”
Jungkook’s Cheshire smile grows even wider, and you muffle a yelp when his hand slips beneath your skirt to grope your ass. “Since when were you shy?” He says, voice soft and lilting over the hum of whatever music is playing now. “Weren’t shy when you had your ass in the air that one day in your room.”
Your cheeks burn at the memory, but your core surges with a newfound heat at his wandering hands and teasing words. “Remember?”
You nod, tucking your head against his neck in a last ditch effort to hide your embarrassment. From here, your senses are bombarded with Jungkook and only Jungkook.
You feel him let out a long sigh. “Been thinking about you since,” he admits. “Nah, even before that. When you wore my shirt that one day after our balloon fight in the west quad.”
Your heart thunders at his sudden confession. The balloon fight in question had been a little over a year ago, a rallying effort from your friend group to cheer Taehyung up after an exam. After soaking each other to the bone with water guns and balloons, Jungkook had let you wear one of his stupidly big shirts home. So you’d ditched your usual jeans and shirt, wearing his shirt like a dress all the way home.
The fact Jungkook’s been thinking about you since then makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter.
“Every time you wear these little skirts, I think of that day. You, in my clothes, looking so soft and warm. Fuck, baby, you don’t know what you do to me.”
You glance around, and your soul almost leaves your body when you make direct eye contact with Yoongi holding Jalapeño across the room. He gives you that Yoongi look, the whatever you’re doing is weird but I won’t say anything because I don’t care look, and that’s your signal to stumble your way upstairs before Seokjin can see you two and scold you.
You’re not sure who’s room you end up, just that it has one and a half bunk beds in it, so you don’t hesitate to push Jungkook down onto the half. He plops down like a little cherub, all sweet smiles until you see the way his pants strain at the crotch. Of fuck, this is happening, you think as you climb onto his lap.
His lips envelope yours the second you’re in his arms. You’re not usually one to give into those John Green cliches, but everything about being in Jungkook’s embrace feels so right. Like you belong there, or whatever.
He’s a good ass kisser, but you shouldn’t be surprised. Jungkook was good at everything he did—such was a known fact. But he still kisses you like he’s trying to prove something, like he wants you to melt into him, and he succeeds. His mouth moves against yours, tongue sneaking it’s way past your lips until it’s inside yours, and you’re swapping spit. His breath hot, but you imagine yours is as well because just making out with Jungkook has your body temperature hotter than the inside of a sauna.
“Jungkook,” you groan when he pulls away, desperate to feel his mouth on yours again. He smiles, lips slick and cherried as he drops his hands to your waist.
“‘M right here,” he assures you, pressing a few pecks to your mouth before trailing his lips down your neck, deliciously licking and kissing every inch. You let out a choked moan, and you can feel his smile press against your skin. “Cute,” he croons.
“More,” you beg, fingers curling themselves into his hair. It’s gonna way longer these last few months, the front pieces almost brushing the tip of his nose. He looks sexy as fuck.
“At least let me stretch you out first,” he teases, face too cute for someone about to fuck your brains out. You huff in annoyance, snatching his hand away from its path to your panties.
“No,” you whine, and then shuffle forward to grind your center onto him. Jungkook groans, jaw tight as he watches you. “Just fuck me, Jungkook.”
His eyes roll back at a particular roll of your hips. “I-It’ll hurt, though,” he tries to reason, but his hands are already hiking up the back of your skirt.
“Make it hurt,” you mumble, so caught up in the moment that your eyes bulge out when he suddenly lifts you to your feet. “What’s wrong?” You huff in dismay, lower lip trembling at the thought of him changing his mind. He lets out an airy chuckle.
“Turn around for me, doll,” he softly demands, and not a single inch of you feels the need to go against him.
You’re met with the sight of your own expression, staring back at you from the closet’s mirrored sliding doors. It’s a little dark in the room, most of the light coming from a desk lamp on the other side of the room that had been on when you first broke in with Jungkook.
“So pretty,” Jungkook praises from behind you, and you watch in the glass as two firm hands snake around your waist, slowly easing you back into his lap. In the seconds you were distracted by yourself, he’d unbuckled the front of his jeans, the cotton fabric of his boxers brushing against your ass. “Gonna fuck yourself on my cock, baby?”
You nod, unsure of what to do with your hands. You needn’t worry any longer, your body naturally guiding you through the motions, until one hand grabs his thigh and the other grapples for the bedside drawer next to you. His fingers trace around your waist, hiking your skirt up to—only to reveal a pair of white undies with red hearts. Jungkook’s chuckle against your ear makes you clench your legs together. “Fuck, it’s like you knew this would happen,” he murmurs, and you can’t take your eyes off the mirror as you watch his fingers trace over your covered mound. “Did you?” He asks, breath fanning over your ear.
“N-no,” you gasp, hips jumping when he presses a lone finger to where your clit would be had your girly panties not obstructed the way. You’re embarrassingly wet just from kissing Jungkook, and his playful fingers only worsen your state. “Please hurry, Kook,” you plead, grinding back against his engorged cock.
“You sure?” He checks, and your bobble head nods have him muffling more laughter into your shoulder. “If you say so, baby.”
He lifts you up just the slightest bit to tug his cock out of its confines, and this is the only instance where you wish you weren’t looking at the mirror. His fingers dance along your skin again, tugging your panties to the side.
Screw it, just do it, you say to yourself before sinking down on his cock in one go. “Oh fuck,” you cry, head lolling back to rest against his shoulder at the sudden intrusion.
“Holy shit,” he sighs into your hair, one hand circling to the front of your waist, while the other creeps upwards to rub at where he knows your nipple is. If he were to pull your shirt and bra away, he’d see how rock hard your nipples were right now. “Relax for me, doll, I promise it’ll feel better if you relax.”
You nod, eyes squeezed shut as your body slowly assimilated to the feeling of being stuffed full. God, he felt good inside you. Fit every crevice of you pussy like he was made for you. “Jungkook,” you moan, and he hums in response. “You feel so f-fuckin good,” you babble, swiveling your hips much to both your pleasures. “Can feel you everywhere.”
He presses a kiss to your scalp. “Can you move for me, baby?” He questions, dropping his hands to your waist before slowly pushing you up so you’re not flopped against him like a rag doll. “Wanna see you bounce on my cock. You can do that for me, can’t you?”
You nod eagerly, desperate to show Jungkook how good you ride dick. You muster up the strength to sit up, one hand right around his thigh again, but this time the other one clamps down over his hand on your waist. “Good girl,” Jungkook praises, giving your hips a tight squeeze.
It’s like you thrive off Jungkook’s compliments, because soon enough you’re riding him like your life depends on it.
It’s a rhythm of pushing yourself over and over, thighs tense from the effort it takes to pull yourself away from his cock until only his tip breaches you, before dropping back down. You can’t entirely take the credit, because Jungkook’s arms are there, lifting you up before pushing you back down. Truthfully, he’s probably still doing most of the work in fucking you with the way you see his arms flexing in the mirror.
“Lemme hear you, doll,” Jungkook huffs, and you don’t hesitate to moan for him. It feels overwhelmingly good, his hands tight on your waist as they move you up and down, the material of your skirt bunched up between his fingers. What you’d give to feel them inside you some day, a day in which you’re not dying to feel his cock inside of you. “That’s it,” he grunts, and doesn’t even complain when your legs begin slowing down.
He picks up the slack for you, thrusting his hips up into you like you’re just some toy for him to use and discard. But the soft praises slipping past his lips assure you you are anything but. “F-fuck,” you whine, forcing yourself above and beyond as you begin to feel that familiar coil of heat grow tighter in your abdomen. “Your cock’s s-so f-fucking big!” You cry, and one look at the mirror let’s you know you look as stupid and fucked-out as you sound.
“Really?” Jungkook smirks, drilling into you like his life depends on it. There’s an embarrassingly growing stain on the front of your panties that you catch sight of in the mirror, and part of you wants to clench your legs shut so he doesn’t see. But it seems to do it for Jungkook, and he starts rambling about that next. “Look at you. Fuck. You’re ruining your cute little panties. Absolutely fucking soaking them with hot wet you are. I get you that wet, doll?”
You squeal at a particular thrust of his hips, feeling his cock so deep in you that your eyes momentarily go cross eyed. “Yes, yes!” You agree, bouncing yourself with a renewed vigor.
The answers please Jungkook, and he rolls forward until he’s pressing his tip faintly against your cervix, and your body damn near leaves your soul. “O-oh fuck!” You scream, body turning into jelly as your orgasm has you spurting hot cum into your panties and over his cock.
“Pretty even when you come,” Jungkook huffs, hips rocking up into yours for a few more minutes until he eventually comes when you roll your hips backwards. “Holy fucking shit,” he moans, finally releasing your skirt from the death grip he had on it.
You watch it flutter back into place around you, and you almost look like two platonic friends sitting together, but then Jungkook shifts inside you and your body convulses from the oversensitivity.
“Wait, you and Jeon finally fucked?!” Chaeyoung exclaims halfway through breakfast, which she had so lovingly prepared at three in the afternoon. “When? Is that why you made us get waxed last week?”
“No!” You flush, shoving another forkful of burnt scrambled eggs into your mouth. “We waxed our coochies before that, but I didn’t know we were gonna fuck.”
Chaeyoung blinks. She’s stupid pretty even with avacado spread on her cheek. “So do you have like a seventh sense on when to get your kitty trimmed?”
“What? No,” You scoff. “Seventh? What’s my sixth?”
“Knowing the exact moment Taehyung’s gonna throw up at a party.”
You accept. “Anyway, we just… I don’t know. It was at Seokjin’s third birthday bash last weekend.” She nods like she remembers anything besides sucking face with him all night. “We were talking and then suddenly we were upstairs and...” you trail off, glancing at your fake collection of succulents lining the kitchen window.
“Was he good?” She interrogates.
You flop back onto your chair dramatically. “Chae. He was so good,” you whine, and she slaps your arm in enthusiasm. “He made me ride him facing a mirror,” you spill.
Chaeyoung squeals. “Bitch!! Here I was thinking Jeon Jungkook was the poster boy of vanilla sex,” she pauses. “I mean, still pretty vanilla compared to the time Seokjin stuck it in my—“
You gag and she rolls her eyes. “Have you been talking since?”
This is the part where things get awkward, and Chaeyoung immediately senses as much. “Oh, honey,” she frowns, eyes furrowed in worry.
“He walked me home,” you mumble, toying with the tablecloth ends. “Kissed me on the doorstep and all, but besides a few texts, I haven’t seen him around,” you lamely finish. It’s been a week.
“Ugh, men are trash,” she spits, turning in her seat to play with your hair. “I swear if I see him on campus I’ll rock his shit. My older brother used to practice WWE moves on me, I could easily smash him through a table.”
“WWE wrestling is staged, Chae,” you point out. Chaeyoung was about ten thousand times more experienced when it came to men and their behaviors. She’s been played but also has played, so her reaction to you telling her about Jungkook is all you need to hear.
In all the scenarios you’ve ever had about Jungkook, him randomly ghosting you had never even been a possibility. The Jungkook from your imaginary universes either just dumped you, or awkwardly friendzoned you. But completely disappearing on you? Now that was some John Greene shit.
You’ve gone long periods of time without seeing him, like your freshman year you saw him one time in March. But even then he’d made sure to keep in contact with you, randomly blowing up your phone with Cup Pong and 8Ball requests.
He sent you two texts this whole week, and both of them had been to cancel your homework sessions.
You almost couldn’t believe you were living this life. The men are trash, love isn’t real, heartbreak can possibly cause death life. Forget John Green, your life had taken an unexpected Shakespearean turn.
“Oh,” you say the moment you step into Taehyung and Jungkook’s apartment, surprised at the fact Jungkook is there despite the fact he, y’know, lives there. In retrospect, you should have seen this coming when Tae had asked you over to help him decorate a poster for Jin’s next game. He’s never been to a single soccer match in his life. “Is Tae here?” You ask, looking every part the stupid bitch.
Jungkook’s cheeks had flushed the moment he opened the door. “No…” he answers, glances at the shoe rack behind the door as if to make sure. “Were you supposed to meet him?” Well no shit.
“Uhh, yeah,” you say, and it’s even more awkward than the time he saw your star undies. Granted, now he’s become very familiar with your underwear and what’s hidden beneath it. You would think such an encounter would bring you two closer. “I’ll just come back another time.”
“Do you wanna come in?” He blurts out before you can even turn away. You flinch at the sudden intensity of his voice, and then both of you are left staring at each other like cringey high schoolers. “I cut some cucumber slices with lime and that one spice you like.”
“Taíjn?” You confirm, and he nods. “I mean...sure, if it’s not a bother.”
Usually when you and Jungkook hung out at his place, you’d throw your bag across the room and flop onto the ugly armchair the moment you stepped in. Now, you’re awkwardly hovering by the armrest of the sofa, like this is your first time here.
Jungkook disappears into the kitchen to, you assume, get the cucumber slices. He comes back empty handed, and with a heavy heart. “I lied. There’s no Tajín,” he confesses, and you rush to tell him it’s okay but he beats you to it. “There’s no cucumber slices either. I just needed to get you inside to talk to you.”
“You act like I needed to be lured in, Jungkook,” you say, forcing a tight smile on your face. Jungkook visibly deflates at your tone.
“No, this isn’t right,” he huffs, dramatically throwing himself onto the couch. You jump at the loud groan he releases from his position, which is face stuffed into the cushion.
“You...okay?” You tentatively ask, clutching your bag even closer to your side. Jungkook shakes his head no against the couch. “Should I call Namjoon over?”
He sits up so fast you worry he’ll get whiplash. “I have a confession to make,” he informs you, doe eyes wide and serious.
Your brain processes for a minute before slowly responding. “Okay…”
At your response he jumps to his feet. “This may come as a shock, but I’m not a womanizer.”
You blink.
“When have you ever been a womanizer, Jeon?!” You nearly exclaim when you mull over his absurd proclamation. “Are there people who actually think that?”
“I think that people think that,” he stresses to you, running a hand through his hair. “Look. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m really nice and cool, and sometimes people think that means I’m flirting with them.” Valid point. “But I’m not, because frankly I’m terrible at shooting my shot.”
The fact he’s actually admitted it out loud leaves him devastated, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Finally, something Jeon Jungkook isn’t good at.
“What lead you to that conclusion?” You carefully press on.
“Because,” he sighs, dropping back down onto the couch, except this time he’s sitting like a normal person. You sit beside him, close enough to the edge that you can just spring yourself out the door if need be.
“There’s this girl I like,” your heart pangs, even though the logical side of you can more or less guess where this is going. You’re stupid, but not that stupid. “She’s amazing, like everything about her makes me like her. God, she’s so cool, like everyone wants to be her friend, even though she sucks at Super Smash Bros., and burns her ear on a straightener at least once a month. But she’s funny and sweet, and makes me wanna join a clown troupe just to hear her laugh. And she looks gorgeous in skirts, and the way she rides dic—“
“Alright, that’s enough of that,” you interrupt, glancing at the coffee table decorated with Jungkook’s anatomy books, because you don’t want to look at the big dopey grin on his face as he talks about you and your dick riding abilities.
Jungkook grins, this much you can tell from your peripheral, before it drops into a frown. “Whole point is, she’s cool as fuck. And I… I think I might love her,” he admits, and you whip around to face him. His cheeks are as red as Taehyung’s current hair dye, which is to say they’re as red as a fire truck. You get th feeling you're mirroring his expression.
The silence following his confession seems to drag on an eternity, but truthfully, you and Jungkook both have the patience of a soccer mom of three, so he jumps to fill the spaces between you. “And like, I just wanna kiss her and hold her and watch her eat and cuddle her to sleep and hold her hand and buy her gifts, and I think I would die for her?—”
“Okay chill, Romeo,” you scramble to cut off that train of thought. Jungkook’s looking at you like you were the creative director behind Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker and the trailer released two minutes ago. It’s a weird reference but coming from Jungkook, it means a lot.
You don’t know what to say, but Jungkook beats you to it anyway. “There’s this girl I like,” he repeats, and your heart does nearly implode on itself when he reaches over to clutch your hand in his. Your hands are sweaty and fidgety from his confession, but so are Jungkook’s. “How do I tell her I like her?”
You gulp, before reaching over to smack at his bicep much to both your surprise. “Jeon Jungkook! How’re you gonna give me the best fucking of my life and then ghost me for a week, because you’re too much of a pussy to tell me you like me!” You almost want to cry, and you almost do when he wraps you in his arms with a delighted, warm laugh rumbling through his whole body. “You suck,” you huff, and sniffle once, and only once.
“Thank fuck,” he sighs in relief. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you friendzoned me.”
“The friendzone—“
“—is a made up concept created by men who feel like they’re entitled to women and their feelings, I know,” he huffs and you laugh. You push yourself away from his chest to meet his gaze, stretching up to capture his lips in a sweet kiss that quickly turns naughty when you feel the flex of muscles beneath your hands.
“Ugh, you beefcake.”
“I wish,” he snorts, tugging you back into his chest as he flops down onto the couch. You snuggle into him, the position all too comfortable in your skirt. The only reason you’re reminded of it is because Jungkook traces his fingers along the edge of the material. “You asked me why I workout out but hide in big clothes, and the truth is its so I can beat up any meninist douchebag that tries to slander my girl in her thot skirts.”
You sputter. “My thot skirts—you asshole! All my skirts are of appropriate length,” you defend, pinching his side and winning a giggle for your efforts. “That doesn’t even explain the baggy clothes part either.”
“Shh, your thot skirt is tempting me.”
“He made you dress up as a what now?!” Chaeyoung exclaims, fork clattering loudly against her plate as everyone in the diner turns to look at you two. You try desperately to quiet her, but the damage is done and even the server whose long since become familiar with your antics looks disgusted.
“Oh my god,” Chaeyoung sighs, her concern on everything but this public humiliation. “I knew it. I told you he got along too well with Jalapeño, remember?”
[ NOW WITH A DRABBLE WOW!!! ]
#kpopwonderlandtag#thekpopnetwork#jjk♡#jungkook smut#jjk smut#jeongguk smut#bts smut#jeon jeongguk#mine
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Hot Wings and Hot Guys
Stiles works at a femboy Hooters. Officer Derek Hale just wants lunch.
For @loveyprophet
[AO3]
“Remind me again, why do I do this?” Stiles asked, leaning on the varnished wood counter of the bar.
“Because you needed a job,” Lydia said, drying a glass and setting it aside behind the bar. “And because you have a body that rakes in the tips. Seriously, why did you hide all of that—” She gestured at Stiles’ body. “—under layers of baggy clothing for all of high school?”
“Because I was socially awkward and had no self esteem,” Stiles answered honestly.
“Well, take it from me, you had nothing to be shy about then and you sure as hell don’t have anything to be shy about now,” Lydia said, offering Stiles a sweet smile.
Stiles smiled back.
He had to admit, she was right. He had grown a lot, no longer the awkward lanky kid he used to be. He was still lean but his biceps were curved by muscles and his abs were left exposed by the crop top he wore with ‘HOOTERS’ printed across the chest in bold orange letters. His firm thighs were accentuated by the short orange shorts that hugged the curves of his butt.
What’s more, he wasn’t the clumsy, flailing, nervous mess he used to be. He still had a few accidents or bumped in to things, but he never would have thought he’d be able to balance plates and drinks on a tray the way he does now.
He turned and looked around the bar. The walls were covered in wooden panelling that matched the bar that ran along one of the walls. Behind the bar was a wall of glass bottles with colourful labels. There were a few booths in the other side of the room and tables scattered across the open floor.
The bar was pretty quiet during lunch hours and Lydia would let Stiles sneak his textbooks into work so that he could study while it was quiet.
The bell above the door chimed, drawing Stiles back to reality.
He turned to see a young man standing by the doorway.
His raven black hair was cut short and slightly tousled and his strong jaw line was shadowed by a beard. His pale aventurine eyes were shadowed by dark circles, slightly unfocused as he stepped into the bar. He was dressed in the familiar beige uniform of the Beacon Hills Police Department, with a nameplate that read HALE, but the usual brown windcheater had been substituted for a worn black leather jacket.
Stiles stepped back from the bar and made his way over to the man, flashing a friendly smile as he greeted him. He showed him to a booth in the corner of the bar and offered him a menu.
“Thanks,” Officer Hale said quietly, glancing down at the menu for a few seconds. “Can I get a serve of original style chicken wings, a serve of smoky chicken wings and some curly fries?”
“Sure,” Stiles said, writing down the man’s order. “Would you like anything else?”
He shook his head and passed the menu back to Stiles. “That’s all, thanks.”
“No worries,” Stiles said cheerfully. “Coming right up.”
“Thank you.”
Stiles made his way back over to the bar, passing on the order. He picked up a bottle of water and a glass, balancing them onto of a tray as he carried it back to the table. He set the glass down and filled it before leaving the bottle on the table.
“Thank you,” Officer Hale said quietly, his voice drained and lethargic.
Stiles’ brow furrowed slightly in confusion as he turned away from the table and walked back to the bar. He set his tray down on the counter and turned back to look at the man.
He hadn’t so much as looked up since he walked through the door.
Stiles watched him for a moment before turning back to the bar.
One of the cooks called him over, setting the plates of food down on one of the black serving trays.
“Thanks,” Stiles said, lifting the tray and balancing it.
He carried the meal over to the booth where Officer Hale sat.
“Here you are. One serve of original chicken wings, one serve of smoky chicken wings and a late of curly fries,” Stiles said cheerfully, setting the plates down on the table.
The man straightened at the sight of the plates in front of him, like a predator spotting their prey.
“Thank you,” he said quickly, reaching for the first plate.
It looked delicious. The plate of original recipe chicken wings were fired to a golden brown, the fried breadcrumb batter crunching as he bit into it.
The curly fries were crispy and the smell of the freshly fried chips flooded the man’s senses.
The smoky chicken wings were glazed in a deep brown sauce, dripping from the wings and trickling down his fingers as he picked them up. The sauce dripped down his chin, coating his beard as he ate.
He didn’t care how uncivilised he looked; he was starving.
Slowly, the fog of hunger and fatigue began to clear from his mind.
He lifted another smoky barbecue chicken wing to his lips, biting into it as he sat back in his seat and looked around.
His eyes fell upon the waiter who stood a few meters away from him, choking on his chicken.
The young man was bent over the edge of a table as he wiped it down, his short orange shorts tightening around the curves of his firm ass.
Derek couldn’t help it; his eyes trailed down the rest of his body: his firm thighs, the curves of his legs, the moles that charted constellations across his skin like stars in the sky, the dip of his lower back.
Derek coughed as he tried to clear his throat.
The waiter seemed to notice, setting down the cloth as he turned and walked back over to Derek’s table.
“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, his dark brown eyes full of worry as he looked at the man.
Derek froze, looking up at the young man like a deer caught in the headlights. He felt his face burn bright red as he stared up at the waiter.
His dark hair was slightly tousled, his chocolate brown eyes sparkling like pools of gold as they caught the light. His skin was as pale as moonlight and a few moles were scattered across his face. He was dressed in a white crop top that stopped just before his abs and a pair of short orange shorts that accentuated his hips, thighs and butt.
He was absolutely stunning.
A moment later, he realised what he probably looked like—sauce dripping down his face, rude and uncivilised—and a feeling of dread settling in his chest.
Stiles let out a quiet chuckle, reaching for one of the napkins on the table and gently wiping away some of the sauce that dripped down Derek’s face.
“Uh, thank you,” Derek said, shaking himself out of his stupor. He cleared his throat slightly. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe how rude I’ve been.”
“Not at all,” Stiles reassured him, offering him a kind smile.
“I just got off a twelve hour shift and I didn’t get a break, so I haven’t had anything to eat since before my shift,” Derek tried to explain. “And I’m so incredibly sorry for how rude I’ve been to you.”
“To me?” Stiles repeated back, slightly confused.
“I didn’t mean to ignore you or brush you off, and I’m sorry if I came off as rude or abrasive,” Derek explained.
“No apology needed.”
Derek bowed his head, feeling ashamed of himself.
Stiles shook it and passed Derek the napkin.
Derek cleaned himself up, wiping down his face and his sticky fingers.
“I’m Stiles,” the young man introduced himself, his face lighting up with a sweet smile.
“I’m Derek,” he replied, holding out his hand.
Stiles shook Derek’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Derek.”
Derek returned the smile.
“If you’re still hungry, Lydia makes the best caramel fudge cheesecake,” Stiles offered. “On the house.”
“That sounds delicious,” Derek said.
“I’ll bring it right over,” Stiles said, clearing away the empty plates that sat in front of Derek.
He carried them back to the kitchen, setting them down as Lydia plated up a slice of caramel fudge cheesecake.
“So…” Lydia prompted as she finished plating up the cheesecake and set it down on the black serving tray.
“So, what?” Stiles asked.
“Oh, come on, Stiles. He’s cute and he’s clearly into you.”
Stiles scoffed, screwing up his face in disbelief.
Lydia raised her hands in a mock surrender, letting the argument fall away.
Stiles picked up the serving tray and carried it out to the table. He set the cake down in front of Derek, who thanked him quietly. He returned the serving tray to the bar and continued to clean down the tables, ready for the rush of patrons that would come in a few hours.
When Derek had finished, Stiles gave him the bill.
“This may sound odd, but can we start again?”
“Why?” Stiles asked.
“Because I’d like to make a better first impression,” Derek admitted.
“Alright,” Stiles agreed.
“How does dinner sound?” Derek suggested. “Saturday?”
“I’ll have to see what I’m working.”
“You can have the day off!” Lydia shouted from the kitchen.
Stiles felt his cheeks warm with a blush. He smiled, trying to hide his embarrassment and hold back a laugh as he said, “Saturday it is.”
Derek paid his bill, leaving a very generous tip before heading towards the door.
“Derek,” Stiles called after him.
Derek stopped, turning back to Stiles.
Stiles pulled out his notepad, quickly writing something down before tearing out the page and folding it over.
“You forgot this,” Stiles said, walking over to Derek’s side and holding out the folded piece of paper.
Derek’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion as he took the piece of paper. He unfolded it, looking down at the scrawl of chicken-scratch handwriting that read Stiles, and below it was a phone number.
A soft rosy pink blush coloured Derek’s cheeks as he folded the note over again. He smiled bashfully at Stiles. “Thank you.”
Stiles smiled in return. “See you Saturday.”
Derek’s smile softened as he repeated it back, “See you Saturday.”
#sterek#sterek au#sterek fanfiction#sterek fanfic#sterek fic#sterek one shot#sterek short one shot#sterek femboy hooters au#waiter stiles#waiter!stiles#officer derek#police office derek#officer!derek#police officer!derek#deputy derek#deputy!derek#sterek first meeting au#food#food mention#for loveyprophet
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Lifeguard Off Duty: Epilogue
Bradley washed his hands in the bathroom and examined his imposing frame. There was no denying it: he had gone soft from working an office job. And not just a little soft, almost 200 pounds of fat soft. Looking at himself in the mirror, he could barely remember the ultra fit lifeguard who started at city hall all those years ago.
As he absorbed the image before him, he appreciated how the fabric of his tucked in plaid button up was completely filled with his rounded out belly, but not so tight that the buttons strained. It had taken him a few months of squeezing into outgrown clothes, seams tearing, and holes forming in the crotch of his pants before he finally learned how to dress for his size. Now, he felt confidence in the way his suspenders framed his shapely and prominent gut. His size was not something to hide, but to wear with pride. He avoided the oversized and misshapen clothes that so many larger men wore, preferring pants that hugged his rounded ass cheeks and wide thighs and shirts that cupped his distended belly.
With shoulders back and hips forward to accommodate his girth, Bradley swaggered out of the bathroom and towards the cafeteria with all the confidence in the world. After four years climbing the ladder at city hall and one long election cycle, Bradley was now the Mayor of Adipol. He grabbed a cinnamon roll, the kind Peter used to sell to him, and poured a cup of coffee while reciting his speech in his head. Later that afternoon he was to cut the ribbon at the unveiling of a new beach in town.
Abundance Beach had been overrun with trash and pollutants for decades, but after a year of intensive clean up and restoration under Bradley’s leadership it was now sparkling clean. The cleanup was a boon for real estate around the beach and a small commercial sector was beginning to spring forth nearby, including a third location for Muffin Tops.
Bradley gobbled up his cinnamon roll and ordered a foot long sub sandwich, bread bowl of chili, and potato chips that he brought back to his office. He needed to fuel up before waddling out to the beach front. Tucked behind his desk in his reinforced office chair, Bradley unfolded a napkin and tucked it into the collar of his shirt. These days, this was the only way for him to pig out in public without getting his shirt covered in food stains. He also cracked a beer he kept in the mini fridge of his office. A little alcohol always helped loosen him up before public speaking engagements.
Eventually the food was gone and his tank was so full that it felt noticeably heavier resting in his lap. Leaning back, he took a photo of his bloated belly on his laptop and sent it to Peter who encouraged him to drink one more beer to top it off. Bradley chuckled when he saw the message, chugged an IPA, stood up, and waddled to his car.
He arrived at the beach early but even still a crowd had formed before the ribbon. As mayor, he was dressed professionally in long sleeves and pants despite the fact it was the dead of summer. As a result he began to sweat almost immediately upon leaving his air conditioned car. Standing before the ribbon he looked into the faces of the eager children and young parents before him. Behind him stood Peter, a variety of local business owners, and staff from city hall.
Bradley delivered his short speech and was presented with a pair of giant scissors by his treasurer. Dramatically he snipped the red ribbon and everyone cheered before heading down to the water. Back in the parking lot, drinks were served at a makeshift bar and several shop owners had set up booths peddling their wares and foods. Avoiding the sand and discovering that Peter had disappeared, Bradley headed towards the bar.
“Bradley Parker! I am just so proud whenever I see your face!” Wanda exclaimed and rushed over to wrap her arms around Bradley in a big bear hug.
Bradley chuckled, “Always a pleasure to see you Wanda.”
“It has been so great to watch your growth all these years. From a mere coordinator to Mayor in record time! I can still remember your first day. You were a nervous little waif trying so hard to do your best. And now look: large and in charge! My god I’d never guess that you were such a big eater when you started. And I see that that cushy mayor’s office has been treating you particularly well,” Wanda winked and pinched Bradley’s overhang.
“You know me too well, Wanda. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m gonna grab a beer and make the rounds.”
“Oh of course, Mr. Mayor. Sorry to take your time. It was great seeing you.”
At the bar Bradley ran into Eric and his boyfriend who were wearing nothing but their swimsuits. Bradley couldn’t tell if the two men had indeed grown fatter since he last saw them, or if he never realized they were this fat until he saw them shirtless. Eric held a tall blended cocktail that matched the color of the bright red stretch marks on his lower belly. Meanwhile, his boyfriend leaned the upper half of his belly and moobs against the bar while ordering. From behind, he was just a series of rolls squeezed into swim trunks.
“Look at you at you Mayor Bradley! Large and in charge as always I see,” Eric chimed.
“Eric! So nice to see you,” Bradley said while motioning to the bartender that he’d like a beer. “How has it been back at the office? I miss you guys.”
“Same ‘ol same ‘ol, you know how it is. Nothing too exciting. I will say we’ve made use of your bill expanding funding. We’ve been doing team outings once a quarter and have Muffin Tops catered every Monday morning.”
“That sounds fantastic! You’re making me jealous I’m not there anymore.”
“It’s been nice! Although I think the bakery has been taking a toll on the old waistline,” Eric slapped his overhang. “I’ve put on about thirty pounds this year alone.”
“Tell me about it. Once I started at city hall this thing hasn’t stopped growing. I’m leaning into it, though, and I’ll tell you what Eric- it looks good on you!” Bradley slapped Eric’s belly in the same spot, leaving a momentary handprint.
Eric blushed and replied, “Mr. Mayor,” coquettishly.
“Say, where’s Malcolm?” Bradley mentioned.
“Well, speaking of packing it on!” Eric began. “Malcolm just fucking ballooned, like I mean huge, like massive. We had to order him a specialty office chair that was wide set and could support up to 600 pounds because he broke the other one. You’d think that would be a wake up call but that did not slow him down. He’s currently at a six month fat camp up north. He had to have been like, I don’t know, pushing 500 pounds when he left. Like, unrecognizable. Real wake up call for the rest of us fatties... not that I’ve lost any weight recently.”
“Wow, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that, but I am. Glad he’s doing what’s best for him,” Bradley responded as Eric’s boyfriend joined with his fruity cocktail. “Well I’ll let you boys hit the beach while I search for Peter. He should be hiding somewhere. He doesn’t enjoy the spotlight.”
“Well it was great seeing you Bradley. You’re a great leader,” Eric said and wobbled towards the beach.
With his beer in hand, Bradley wandered through the crowd looking for Peter. The dark asphalt coupled with the increasingly dense crowd was creating a heat bubble around the parking lot that had Bradley sweating bullets. He was sure that the T-shirt underneath his button up was completely soaked with sweat and feared it would begin soaking through his outer layer. He could even feel beads of sweat drip from his fat pad, around his junk, and down his leg.
“Mayor Parker!” exclaimed a gushing female voice vaguely recognizable to Bradley.
He turned around to see Diane, the new hire who hit on him constantly before he ran for Mayor. She stood with her arm linked to a man that was nearly, but not quite, as fat as Bradley. Without invitation Diane wrapped her free arm around Bradley’s back in a hug, giving his love handle a sneaky squeeze, and causing his lower back sweat to finally pervade his button up.
“Diane, how nice to see you,” Bradley responded flatly while awkwardly sustaining her unwanted advances.
“And this is Christian,” Diane said, “you remember him? He was your replacement, also a former lifeguard.”
Bradley stared at the hulking man before him. The Christian who was his replacement was lean and muscular. It didn’t seem possible that someone almost as big as Bradley himself could have gained all that weight in such a short amount of time. Bradley shook Christian’s hand and made small talk with the couple, all the while contemplating what a massive eater Christian must be to have ballooned like that. Then it hit him: Diane was clearly a feeder and Christian’s gains were no accident.
Eventually, Bradley excused himself and tried to squeeze away through the crowded parking lot. Finally, he laid eyes on Peter who was drinking a beer in the corner by himself. The couple embraced and held a long kiss. As they stepped away Bradley heard someone say his name from behind.
“Mayor Bradley Parker! Large and in charge I see!”
Bradley turned around and accidentally smashed his belly into Diego’s own rotund gut.
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Bradley said.
“Well look at you!” Diego replied. “Your belly just knocked mine. I mean sheesh, look at this thing- you’re starting to make me look petite!”
Diego and Hayden each wore shorts and a loosely draped Hawaiian print button up that subtly rested on their curves. Diego’s was unbuttoned half way down revealing his massive hairy pecs, and tucked in to display the fullness of his girth. Hayden on the other hand left his untucked, occasionally flashing a glimpse of belly.
The two couples had become somewhat close in recent months, as Diego was routinely at city hall as he expanded Muffin Tops into a chain and began filing the paperwork to start franchising. In the last few years their original location expanded to serve bread and savory pastries, Diego bought out Thick Treats and converted it into a Muffin Tops, and everything was now in place to open their third location at Abundance Beach in just a few days.
In the midst of conversation, Diego invited Bradley and Peter to the new bakery nearby. The walk there was not far, but pushed Bradley over the edge. By the time they arrived his clothes were drenched in sweat and he was wiping his brow dry.
“Why don’t you take those stuffy clothes off?” Diego suggested. “We’re all friends here, no need to be overly professional Mr. Mayor.”
Bradley removed his outer layer so he was only wearing a white tee that was now see through from the sweat and rode up to just below his belly button. He sat on a nearby table while Diego expressed surprise that Bradley was now definitely the biggest man in the room. From a distance, the sound of squeaky wheels turning approached. Bradley looked over to see Jeremy emerging from the kitchen pushing a three tiered cake.
“We wanted to congratulate you on the new beach!” Hayden exclaimed. “You’ve been so great to all of us and this town so we made your favorite chocolate cake.”
The room clapped and Jeremy began to cut the cake. Bradley had to do a double take upon seeing Jeremy close up. Not only was he much tanner, but Bradley’s former gym bud now had a serious gut hanging off of him. Bradley knew that he’d moved in with Diego and Hayden but he could of sworn he saw Jeremy in the gym looking fit as ever a few months ago. Flabbergasted, Peter broke the silence on the subject.
“Jeremy, you look different…” Peter said suggestively.
“Are you talking about this thing?” Jeremy pushed his hips forward and grabbed his belly with both hands, giving it a proud shake. “I took a two month vacation of unbridled hedonism in the Italian countryside.”
“Did wonders, I’d say!” grinned Diego.
Jeremy served each of the men massive hunks of cakes and simply placed the entirety of the top tier on Bradley’s plate. Before digging in, they popped a bottle of champagne and cheersed.
“To Bradley, our dear friend, Mayor, and loyal customer of Muffin Tops,” Diego said.
“And to you guys,” Bradley responded, “My dear friends, my lovely encouraging partner, and… to Jeremy’s new pot belly!”
The five men stepped closer to clink glasses, causing their bellies to softly squish into one another.
This is a co-authored story by gainerstories and gainingfiction.
This chapter is written by gainerstories.
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The Dragon Egg (Parts 19-25)
Another set of chapters for @secrettunnelatla’s event.
Chapter 19 Leather For Sequin
She should be eating better, should be better hydrated, should bathe more, should exercise more, should be sleeping better. She finds it harder to do these things at all, much less to an optimal degree. Sleeping is especially hard, having favored doing so on her belly. It helps little that the baby seems to be particularly active when she is trying to sleep with its kicks and squirms. She still can’t get used to it, she doesn’t think she will. It leaves her feel queasier than the morning sickness ever had.
Even if she were as physically comfortable as possible she doesn’t think she’d sleep. Her mind is stuck on Seicho and on all of the articles she has scrolled through during the past few days. Articles that drag her name through the mud and articles that praise Blue Talon for things she should be credited for. She lies awake, staring at the ceiling, hands clasped over her belly. She finds the baby’s foot--or maybe it is a hand--and rubs over the spot, a fruitless attempt to get her to settle down. All the while her mind runs in circles over the headline, ‘Fire’s Reign’s Fire Lord Ozai Denounces Pregnant Daughter’. She didn’t think that he would so publicly condemn her. She should have; he does, afterall, have an image to protect. As if he hasn’t already tarnished it with his binge drinking. She imagines that Zuko is probably getting a good kick out of it. She brings her rubbing to a stop and closes her eyes.
She gets little sleep, but enough of it that she has to be woken by Zhao. She doesn’t know why he bothers, it isn’t as though she will make use of the day. But the man is annoyingly persistent, refusing to leave the living room until she declares that she has to get dressed.
She slips into one of Koemi’s dresses. Eventually she is going to have to pester Zhao to help her buy at least one outfit that suits her aesthetic more, his wife’s attire is absolutely gaudy. Today’s disaster is orange with a sunflower print, which might not have been so horrible if the sunflowers weren’t purple and pink in color. She feels more ridiculous than usual when she emerges into the kitchen.
“I have some good news for you.” Zhao smiles.
“You’re going to take me back to that volcano you hated so much and pitch me into it.” She mumbles.
The man looks horror-stricken. If she weren’t so low she certainly would have laughed.
“I managed to get you a record deal under a new label.”
“Please tell me that it isn’t Uncle Iroh’s sketchy basement recording studio.”
“It isn’t. It is another label that I work for.”
“And which one is that?”
“WSLSE.”
Apparently her reaction isn’t satisfactory.
“Wan Shi Tong’s Library Of Sound Entertainment.” He clarifies. “You left a good impression on the man. Raava has also been speaking fondly of you.” He slaps a print out onto the table and pushes it to her. “You have been visiting the wrong websites.”
Her brows crinkle. “You have no right to…”
“Monitor my children’s browsing activity?” He asks. “My children still listen to Happy Hei Bai and my wife doesn’t follow music news. That leaves one person who would search up Blue Talon over and over again.”
She folds her arms. “What of it?”
“You’re making yourself miserable.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “All of this talent is just...confined to a couch.” He pauses. “Which is why I took it upon myself to get you signed to a new label…”
“With what band, Zhao!”
“You’re a soloist now.”
“A soloist?” She sputters.
“You don’t exactly mesh well with people.”
No doubt he had overheard her screeching at Seicho. “And yet, I can’t seem to do without them.”
He chuckles. “That’s where we disagree. You have a divine voice, to have it buried under wailing guitars and pounding drums is a shame. The idea I pitched is to have you go acapella and truly showcase your voice for everything that it is.”
Azula’s face pales. “In other words, there’s no room for error. Mistakes are easily detectable.”
“You aren’t one for mistakes and error.”
She frowns rather deeply and gestures to her bump. Ever the gentleman Zhao tiptoes his way back a statement or two. “You won’t be alone, you’ll have a team of fantastic producers and a very talented manager.”
Azula inhales through her nose.
“I dropped Blue Talent to focus on this new project…”
“Me.” Somehow she manages to frown more deeply still. “You dropped a band with a perfectly flawless trajectory for me. Since when do you take risks?”
“Since I found someone worth placing a bet on.”
“That’s what I am to you, a bet. A product.”
“A child.” Zhao cuts in. “I’ve known you since you were as young as my own little ones.”
She massages the bridge of her nose. “Zhao, Audio of Agni is a battle of the bands.”
His smile falters. “I am working on that.”
“Spirits, Zhao! What’s the point of putting me back in the studio if--”
“You don’t need Audio of Agni to make it big.” He mutters. “I don’t know what it is with you youths and hinging your entire careers on it. We didn’t have battle of the bands when I got into this industry. The Tui La’s didn’t part-take until the fourth event.”
“Zhao…”
He cuts her off once more, the audacity of the man. “We’re going to make a name for you regardless of Audio of Agni. And we’ll do it on raw talent alone.”
“Acapella artists never do well.”
“Acapella artists seldom do well. Most of them are generic. Their voices don’t stand out without instruments.”
“I’m known for metal music…”
“And you’re capable of ballads and operatics. With this project we’re going to put emphasis on your clean vocals. Once that takes off, we can take more risks--you can try doing acapella with those screaming vocals…”
This time she cuts him off. “What about piercings and tattoos says, ‘acapella and opera artist’?”
“Your vocals don’t have to match your looks. But if you must have it that way, we can swap out some of your piercings for less...bold ones. We can cover the tattoo. Your pregnancy might help with this new image.”
She cringes though she isn’t entirely opposed to a more elegant style of dress; she enjoys the glitz and glimmer every now and again. But, Agni, she can’t pull it off not when she has let herself go like this.
“Your first session will be tomorrow, I’ll send my wife shopping with you, you could use a wardrobe for photoshoots and what not.”
She only agrees so that she won’t have to beg the man to buy her better clothes.
Chapter 20 Dragon Tongue
It is daunting to see one of her monikers in the headlines again. To see it there in a more neutral, speculative light. ‘Blue Talon Vocalist Flies Again as Dragon Tongue’. She wishes that she could feel something other than dread, a growing sense that she is only building up momentum for a mightier, more embarrassing fall than her first one.
The announcement of her new single is daunting. And attempting to record a whole new extended play before Audio of Agni and the birth of her baby is twice that. Hama is adamant that she should be taking it much easier, especially since finding out that her baby might be born with an unusually low weight.
She thinks that she should be taking it slower. And yet she can’t afford anymore slacking. She has already wasted so much time sulking and moping and making a deeper mess of herself.
And so she is in the recording booth again and with new material. Material and lyrics that are so much rawer. So much more painful to sing through. They are confessions of shame and inadequacy. Laments of betrayal. And ballads of loneliness. And she can’t hide any of the pain behind indistinguishable growls or loud guitar shreds. It is all crisp and vivid. Open. Naked. She isn’t sure that she wants to do this anymore. Not when every session brings her closer to tears. Closer to a total meltdown.
Every session reminds her of what she lost. Every session reminds her that what she is doing now is nothing compared to what she could have been doing. Every session reminds her of Mai and TyLee and of Seicho.
And when her mind isn’t ailing, her body is aching. Aching in ways that she hadn’t anticipated. Her feet hurt so bad, they hurt when she is sitting down. Her ankles are swollen--Hama assures her that this is normal. As normal as the persistent ache in her back and the odd nose bleeds and congestion that she gets every now and then. On those congested days, she can’t even work.
On other days she finds herself short of breath. Her growing baby is pushing against her lungs. On those days her voice is so weak and breathy. She records regardless. Perhaps she would have allowed herself a break if Zhao weren’t so adamant that the breathy quality gives her a one of a kind sound. An ethereal sound.
She is inclined to disagree. She just sounds weak and weird. She pushes through, she always pushes through.
She promises herself that, whatever she does, she will not read the critiques of her new work. Her self-esteem is already in tatters. They talk more about her pregnancy and what it is doing to her body than they do her work. In that regard she almost hopes that Dragon Tongue is such a flop that it will eclipse that sort of talk.
It is well into the evening. The studio gets so much quieter in the evening. And in the silence her loneliness is emphasized. She remembers late nights of purposely poor vocals and drinking. Of idle chatter between songs. She remembers the crashing of a drumsets when Chan forgets to watch where he steps. She remembers stupid cover songs when they had time to kill. She remembers laughing. She remembers happiness. She remembers friendship.
Chapter 21 A Phoenix In The Winter
His world is in a perpetual winter. A little is no longer enough. He no longer needs food or love or inspiration. He no longer needs a band. He only needs a white winter and his presents come in pouches and needles.
He is losing his senses; of time, of himself, of everything really. One day is the same as the next and none of them bring him any closer to true stardom. His bursts of artificial energy only result in disjointed lyrics and half-assed ideas.
There is no organization and no real attempt to turn them into full songs. He has missed shows to the point of his tour being cancelled. It is so much money down the drain that even Iroh has turned his head. And when the word ‘rehab’ falls from his lips, Zuko runs. Perhaps not literally, but he hasn’t spoken to his uncle since, snubbing all attempts at conversation.
He is perpetually twitchy and agitated and Iroh makes a mistake. He enters the room, guns blazing, “Zuko, get in the car.” It is firm but not firm enough for him to put the needle down. The man sighs, “alright, nephew…”
The minute his hands take him by the shoulders, he is on the ground and Zuko is standing over him seething. “Don’t tell me what to do! What are you, anyways!? A fat, lazy, washed up rockstar! I don’t need advice from you!” But he does, he needs it more than ever. He yanks Iroh up and drags him to the door. He knows that uncle is holding back. He would be flat on his own ass if he wasn’t.
“Zuko, don’t do this. Let me help you get off of this path.” He hears as the door slams.
He is already too far down this path. His only option is to keep on walking. Walking down his cracked and lonely, frigid path. It is desolate now that drumsets, guitars, and microphones no longer clutter the street. He doesn’t pass many people. It is just he and the snow and it is falling thicker than ever.
Iroh hasn’t dropped him from the label yet, but he isn’t making anything of it and so it comes as no surprise to him when TyLee informs him that she would like to try her hand at the school’s gymnastics squad. He lets her go because she can have something. She can make something of herself.
He is less surprised when Mai declares that she is going to write a few poems or, “maybe just focus on school.”
It is fine with him, he doesn’t want to drag them under with him. And so he sits alone in the dark, huddled in a corner rocking back and forth, enveloped in a drug induced anxiety. A state of panic and paranoia that he can’t seem to stave off.
He is deep into it when his phone rings. “We need to talk.” Says the voice on the other end.
“Not right now, Mai. I can’t talk right now, Mai.”
She exhales long and audibly. “Yeah, that’s just it, Zuko. You never want to talk. You never want to do anything…” she backtracks some. “You only want to do one thing. You’re high right now aren’t you?”
“Yes...no?” He doesn’t remember. He isn’t sure if he is coming down or in the middle of a bad trip. “Mai? Mai, are you there.”
“I was there, Zuko. But I’m not now. Not anymore. I can’t be.” The line goes dead.
Phoenixes aren’t meant for snow. It is no wonder he is dying.
.oOo.
The school has been closed for hours now. The windows are as dark as he feels within. He scales his way up the roof. Up to the place where his hopes were born and discussed. He can practically taste the cigarette smoke, the anticipation, the energy that came with a dream in the making.
In its wake is a stale taste, he will drown it with another. He pops the cap off of his beer and gives it a good chug, music blasts loudly and aggressively through his headphones. He drapes them around his neck so that he may hear the cars below and the wind around him. It rustles his flannel shirt.
It’s a nice night, clear and warm. Spangled by a vast array of stars that he can’t seem to reach no matter how high he climbs, no matter how far he reaches. He lays back, he wishes he could relax but he doesn’t have enough coke in his system for it. He sits up for another good drink and then another until he feels a buzz. He doesn’t have enough bottles to take him any further. He supposes he doesn’t really need the help, he has his own woes and hopelessness to propel him the rest of the way.
He stands up and makes his way to the very edge of the roof. He swings his arms back and forth in preparation. He takes a deep breath, the song drones on. He takes another breath. Swings his arms. He’ll finish the song and that’s it. Then he’ll take flight.
He inhales deeply as the song fades out. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He takes it out, inclined to throw it as hard as he can; at this point, Mai can go fuck herself. But it isn’t Mai’s name that decorates the screen. It isn’t TyLee’s. It isn’t even Iroh’s.
He doesn’t know why, but he picks up the phone. For a moment he only hears breathing, breathing and perhaps sniffling. It takes him a moment to realize what he is hearing, but before he can make anything of it, she speaks, “Zuzu?”
He doesn’t reply.
“Zuzu, I really need someone. I need you.”
Chapter 22 The Dragon & The Phoenix
His chest constricts and he grits his teeth. “I need someone too.” He turns off his music and kicks the empty bottles, they shatter upon the pavement below. “Where are you?” The line goes dead and a text comes through.
By all means, he shouldn’t be driving, but he climbs behind the wheel of Iroh’s car. Spirits, he hopes that he doesn't wreck it. Iroh is already furious.
Truth be told he hadn't known what to expect. Throughout the drive images flashed through his mind, each of them involving a drunkenly enraged Ozai and Azula huddled in the corner. When he reaches the studio he does fine her in the corner. But she is alone.
Alone and very heavily pregnant. He thinks that he remembers reading about that somewhere but, like many other things, it had slipped his mind. For a moment he thinks that he got the wrong address, he doesn’t recognize her with her belly so big and her expression so tired and defeated.
Even if he did have the wrong address, he wouldn’t have left. He couldn’t have. He can’t remember the last time he had sobered up so abruptly. With fumbling fingers he ties his headphones tightly around her arm just above her wrist.
Her other hand comes to squeeze his own wrist. “You don’t have to, it’s not that deep.” She mumbles softly.
“Not that deep!?”
She doesn’t meet his eyes. “I changed my mind. It’s...it’s really not that deep, I just need a bandage.” She gestures vaguely towards the door. “There’s a first aid kit in the lobby.”
He gets up to leave and hesitates, casting a look back at her.
“Go on, Zuzu. I’m not going to do anything else. I...I don’t want to die.”
He wishes that he could say the same. He comes back with the first aid kit and begins bandaging her wrist only to have her slap his hand away with a curt, “I can do it myself.”
He scoffs, “then what the fuck am I here for?”
She flinches. “Nothing, never mind. You can go.”
He rubs his hands over his face. He hasn’t spoken to her in so long, he’d forgotten how she can be. Even when she’s asking for help she can’t swallow her pride. Even when she’s asking for help she’s intolerable. He almost does leave but he thinks that if he does she might just change her mind a second time. He sighs, “why did you ask me to come here if you don’t want my help?”
She holds her silence until he is on the very edge of frustration. “I want you, Zuzu. I don’t have anyone to talk to.”
“So I’m your last resort?”
She nods. At least he can commend her for her honesty.
“I think that I need to talk to you specifically.”
His brows furrow, “why do you think that?”
“Because you would understand.”
He tilts his head.
“What failure is like.” She elaborates.
He feels as though he has been punched in the gut. “Seriously, you called me here to insult me? I don’t need this shit right now, okay!”
She shakes her head vigorously. “I--no, that’s not what I meant.” She rubs her hands over her face. He cringes at the smear of blood she leaves behind. He doesn’t think that she has noticed. If she has, she doesn’t bother to wipe it away.
“What else can you mean?”
She thinks for a moment, “Empathy. I’m empathizing?”
He has to laugh. He face falls. It is his turn to clarify, “we’re a pathetic duo, aren’t we?”
She nods, “very.” She wipes the remaining tears from her eyes. “I suppose that it’s the rockstar lifestyle. The parts they don’t talk about…”
“Or it’s the father that raised us.” He grumbles. For once she doesn’t protest this. He wonders just what the man did to her. “What happened? You were doing so good.”
“So were you.” And with a shake of her head she adds, “no I wasn’t.”
“Neither was I…” He trails off.
“What happened…” she repeats the question back to him and then she rubs her good hand over her baby bump.
“Right. Yeah. That’ll do it.” He frowns. “Chan’s?”
“How’d you know?”
“He’s a total tool.” Zuko shrugs.
She laughs, a very quiet and sad sort of chuckle but a laugh no less. “What about you, Zuzu. I haven’t heard a thing about From Ashes To Phoenix since…”
“Since I went berserk and got arrested at my own concert? Yeah. Because there hasn’t been a thing to talk about since.”
“Not even one new song?”
“There’s no time for songs when you’re...when you’re…”
“On drugs?” She finishes. “Zuko, what happened to us? How did this happen?”
“It just did, I guess.” He frowns. It is much more complex than that. “Are you still with father, I’m sure that Iroh wouldn’t mind letting you stay with us. He probably needs a break from me.”
“I’m staying with Zhao. He got me a new record deal and…”
And Zuko is once again furious. Even when she’s falling, she’s still on her way up. She still has something going for her. She’s probably still getting good publicity. Hell, even bad publicity can take her far. It’s all about the spotlight and she decided to open her wrists. And with a baby in her belly. Perhaps that is why she changed her mind so quickly. Perhaps it is why she had made her initial decision. The anger passes as quickly as it had come over him. “I’m angry all the time.” He doesn’t mean to cut her off, it just falls from his lips. He hasn’t really gotten a chance to get it out.
“I can tell.” She replies. “It’s in your eyes.” She seems to hum to herself. “But you have Mai,TyLee, and Iroh, right?”
He shakes his head. “They’re all disappointed, mad, both?”
“Everyone, except Zhao--I guess--is angry with me.”
“For being pregnant?”
“For being...unbearable. You don’t even want to be here, Zuzu. I can tell.” “I don’t want to be anywhere, actually. It has nothing to do with you. Really, it doesn’t.” He pauses. “I was about to jump.”
“Why did you change your mind?”
“I was interrupted.”
She nods and then her eyes widen, only briefly, with understanding. “Why didn’t you call me?”
He almost tells her that it is because she is her. Instead he responds, “I didn’t think about it, I guess. Drugs do that.”
She nods again. And then her eyes light up. “You can record things with me! I won’t be alone anymore and you’ll be able to get back on track!”
“I can’t focus on music right now.”
And her face falls again.
“But you can still talk to me. I can go with you to appointments.” He offers.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Can I come with you to rehab?”
He rubs his hands over his face. “I guess. If Uncle is still willing to take me there.”
“He’s uncle. Of course he’ll still take you.”
Chapter 23 Life In The Embers
She feels both better and worse all at once. In a sense it had been liberating to let her emotions flood over, to get them out, to let herself reach the very bottom. There is a sense of calm that follows in its wake. A sense of calm that has compelled her to call Seicho and ask her if she could meet her in the recording studio. Only after the girl had said that she would think about it did Azula send her, her schedule for that week.
At the very least, she can talk to Zuko now. Even if much of their conversation has been getting him through the first stages of withdrawal. Truthfully it was nothing like she had expected.There was no shaking, no vomiting nor sweating. If she didn’t know him she would say that he wasn’t going through withdrawals at all. But she does know him well enough to know that he isn’t himself.
It has been six days since he’d found her with her bleeding wrists and five days since she’d accompanied him to his first rehab visit. Five days since Iroh, for the first time, looked at her with care and trust. Five days since she realized that she might not be left on her own with this baby. Five days and she is due to check in on Zuzu, if only to intimidate him into keeping on track.
She removes her studio headphones, hangs them up on their designated rack, and exits the recording booth.
“Done for the day?” Zhao asks.
Azula nods, “I promised Zuzu that I would meet him at The Serpant’s Pass Cafe. I’m ahead of schedule anyhow.”
“Very ahead. You’re only a song away from a full setlist.” Zhao agrees. “How about you take the day off. If you’re up for it, I can try to get in touch with a director and we can discuss a music video. It doesn’t have to be fancy…”
“I think that simplicity will work well for this new sound.” Azula agrees. “We’ll talk, Zhao.”
For the first time in a while, she leaves the recording studio with a smile. A smile and a sense that things will come together as they used to. She slips her sunglasses over her eyes and makes her way across the street as hastily and discreetly a possible. People are paying her attention again and it comes in the form of photo op and autograph requests and an occasional paparazzi intrusion. For now she evades their lurking.
She finds Zuko sitting at the corner most table of the cafe’s patio, already well into an appetizer. She slips into her chair only to find that it is not an appetizer at all, but spicy wings. “You started eating without me?”
He shrugs, “want one?”
She shakes her head.
“But you love spicy food.”
“The baby doesn’t.” She frowns.
“Well I already ordered the rest of our food.” He gestures to the waiter heading for their table with a rather absurd amount of platters. Between her pregnancy and his withdrawal cravings, she and him are a horrid duo in this regard. She thinks to question it only until Zuko begins tearing into his meal.
She rolls her eyes, “don’t be sloppy.” At least she can handle her liberal appetite with poise and grace.
“Don’tell me whadda do.” He grumbles through a mouthful.
She cringes. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
He repeats himself. When he finally swallows the rest of his food he asks, “how have you been holding up.”
Azula sighs deeply, “I can’t breathe properly and I’ve had this annoying itch.”
“An itch.”
“On my belly.”
“Is that...normal?”
“Hama, my physician, says that it is. Something about skin expanding and dryness.” Nevermind the technicalities, the results are very mildly agitating. “And you, Zuzu?”
He frowns, “it’s hard Azula. You can’t even imagine.”
“You look better.”
“But I feel...restless and anxious. And depressed--I’m not sure if this is the drugs though.” He pauses. “I’m tired all the time and the nightmares don’t help.”
“What sort of nightmares?”
“They’re intense. Everyone is reminding me that I’m not going to amount to anything. Dad is always there. He...does things to me in these dreams. Worse than the real stuff.”
Azula nods.
“And Mai is there. So is TyLee, but she’s...weird. She contorts in ways that are crazy even for TyLee. I also had a dream that Aang, you remember him, right?”
“The neighbor kid with the big dog who liked to eat glue? I remember him, yeah. Why?”
“In one of my dreams he had these wild powers and there was this comet and Aang had to stop our father from using it to set the whole world on fire.”
Azula blinks, “Zuzu, there are corners of your mind that disturb me.”
He laughs. Admittedly it is nice to hear him laugh and nicer still to know that she has helped him laugh--a far cry from the distress she used to cause him.
“I suppose that I wouldn’t sleep easily either if I was dreaming about the glue kid getting superpowers.”
He laughs again. “Thanks for coming here, Azula. It’s nice to have someone to keep me company while I go through this.”
“Don’t get sappy on me, Zuzu.” She roll her eyes. She knows that if he does and starts hitting the right cords that she’ll probably start weeping, a humiliating mess of chaotic hormones. “I suppose that I share the sentiment.” She taps her fingers nails against the tabletop, they have grown increasingly long as of late. “You should try to get in good graces with Mai and TyLee again.”
“So should you?” He quirks a brow.
“They’re your bandmates and you still have a chance if you get it together. You already have enough material for Audio of Agni, you just need some publicity. Good publicity.” She pauses. “Of course, you’ll need a band first.”
“Azula, I’m still going through withdrawals.”
“All the more reason to do it. You could use a distraction.”
“You’re a distraction.”
“A bigger distraction. I can’t be here all the time, I have doctor appointments and a career to keep on top of. I’ve only just started getting back on front pages…” for good reasons, she nearly adds, “I need to keep my momentum.”
“So you’re choosing your career over me.”
“I’m choosing my well-being, my baby’s well-being. I don’t really have many other options, a successful solo project is my best chance to provide for this baby.”
“Have you considered adoption?”
It comes like a slap to the face, though she doesn’t think that he means it as such. She bites back her initial scathing retort. “I’m not going through all of this discomfort, disowning, and humiliation just to give the baby away. It’s mine. I want her.”
Zuko lifts his hands, “alright, sorry.” He puts them back down. “I was just really hoping that you’d be here more. I know, I’m surprised too; you’re insensitive and kind of the worst.”
“You’re a funny man, Zuko.” She responds dryly. “I’m not going to abandon you, not when you’re this pathetic. I just think that you should have more support than just me.”
“Do you have any other support?”
“Seicho, hopefully.” She pauses and pushes her final plate aside. “I’d also like to speak with Mai and TyLee again.” She stands up and pushes her chair in.
“I’ll try to talk to them.”
“Make sure to mention that you’re in rehab and that you know you’re an asshole. The asshole bit is especially necessary with Mai.”
“I’ll call you and let you know how it goes?”
“It better go well.” She wishes herself the same luck.
.oOo.
Azula looks much better now, happier, healthier, stronger. There is a radiance about her, something subtle but still present. And it is no wonder; she is back in the press again and much of the headlines predict a groundbreaking and unexpected comeback. The boast of a fallen vocalist whose flame is rising again despite it all. Seicho wonders if the girl is even aware.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Seicho, it is nice to see you again.”
Seicho nods. “Sure, Azula.”
Her gait is rather awkward as she walks alongside her. It prompts Seicho to inquire, “are things going well with the baby?”
“Mostly, yes. Hama has a few concerns.”
“You look a lot better.” Seicho remarks.
“Ugg, if only I felt that way.”
It comes to Seicho then, that the girl is breathing quite heavily, “do you need me to slow down.”
Azula nods, “a little bit yes.”
Seicho chuckles and slings her arm over Azula’s shoulders. She wishes that the girl weren’t so endearing, maybe then she could have drawn her resentment out longer. As things are, Azula is quite precious with her semi-clumsy gait and that genteler twinkle in her eyes. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I would like you to consider not being angry with me anymore.”
Seicho bursts out laughing. “Azula, that is the worst peacemaking opener I have ever heard.”
“How am I supposed to do it?”
“‘I’m sorry that I went off on you for no reason’, would be a good way.”
Azula’s cheeks flush. Seicho thinks that hers might be growing pink as well. She’s adorable, unquestionably so. “I...don’t usually...apologize to people.”
“I can tell.”
Her entire face is red now.
“You’re doing pretty alright.
“Does that mean you are considering my proposal? To not be mad at me?”
Seicho rolls her eyes. “Yes, that’s what it means.” That hopeful little smile seals the deal. “You wanna tell me about your new song ideas? This new concept is...different.”
“Do you like it?”
“I think that it suits you well.” Seicho replies. “You have a pretty voice. I didn’t realize that you had that kind of range. The breathing techniques are really bizarre but they sound neat.”
“Oh, those aren’t techniques. That is me suffering while I try to sing with this baby crushing my lungs.” Her eyes go wide for a flicker. “You’ve been listening to my new music?”
“N-no, well, it’s been on the radio so I couldn’t avoid it!”
She shakes her head, “you listened enough to be able to give me a review.”
“Fine, I’ve been listening to your new material. But I was still mad the whole time, okay? I was listening with resentment.”
Chapter 24
With a new digital album release and a highly anticipated music video in the works, Azula is growing confident again though Audio Of Agni still seems to be far out of her reach. If she makes the right moves and if her pregnancy doesn’t spring up any surprises, she might just be able to make it without the competition. It isn’t ideal and it is terribly frustrating, but at least she doesn’t feel so helpless anymore.
Mostly she feels drained and achy. Her sides stitch from time to time and her entire lower body is growing sore from carrying so much extra weight around. She exhales, she isn’t sure how much more of this she can take. Hama had warned her about the small contractions but they still take her by surprise every time.
They happen now, and when she could really use a break from them. She is just thankful that she is through with recording. From the looks of it, she will have to find a way to shoot the music video mostly sitting or laying. She has passed several ideas onto Zhao, her favorite being a trip to the local theater where she can perch herself on a stool and sing to an empty venue. They can make use of dramatic lighting and add glitter or glow effects electronically. It is simple and will rely on old time Noh theater aesthetics and a stunning costume. She anticipates that the mask will be the most expensive piece. The simpler, one location video will leave plenty of room in the budget for that.
She casts a look at the door. “They’ll be here soon.” Seicho assures her.
“But what if they decide not to come? Mai, TyLee, and I haven’t parted on good terms.” She rubs her hand over her belly.
“You’ve been helping Zuko out so much, you practically saved their band, how mad can they be?”
She isn’t sure that she wants to find out. Not that she has the chance to retract her invitation she hears a knock and climbs to her feet. Her bump lightly knocks against the table as she does so and she curses to herself. “I can get it, you know?”
Azula waves her hand dismissively. “I’m pregnant, not useless.”
.oOo.
Zuko hadn’t realized just how much a few weeks could change a person. Her cheeks are rosier and the bump is bigger still. In spite of it all, her look of prowess and determination has returned. She wears her pride as though it had never slipped from her grasp at all. Frankly, he hadn’t realized that it was truly missing until having seen it returned.
“Oh wow, you’re so big!” TyLee comments,clasps her hands, and holds them to her lips.
Azula’s face, already flushed lightly, grows redder still.
“How far along are you?” TyLee asks.
“Month six.” Azula huffs as she gestures them inside.
“Congratulations?” Mai quirks a brow.
She clears her throat, “thank you.”
He watches her make her way to her seat. She backtracks to fetch her water bottle and semi-clumsily saunters her way back to her seat.
“Still adjusting?” Mai asks.
“Constantly adjusting.” Azula grumbles before taking a drink. She rests her free hand on the bump. “You’re mostly done going through withdrawals, yes, Zuzu?”
He nods. “Sometimes I still really want to use again. Badly. It’s unbearable...it would be if I didn’t…”
“Take my advise and get back into the music industry? Yes, I am aware. You are welcome.” He has to laugh at her audacity, at least these days it is somewhat endearing. “You look a lot better Zuzu. Your eyes don’t have bags that reach to the floor anymore.”
“I don’t know if you’re trying to compliment me or insult me.”
“It’s a compliment, I’m saying that you don’t look like a walking corpse anymore.”
Somehow, he does feel a sense of pride in that. It is progress. Progress that he has made. Progress that he is still making. And she isn’t the only one who has noted these changes. Azula has certainly changed radically in the past few weeks, but he can’t deny that the changes in him have been just as dramatic even if they are less outwardly perceived. He does feel better about himself; he feels more inspired than ever, more creative and, for a change, it isn’t synthetic. It is all him, his mind, his...brilliance. He thinks that he can consider himself smart, at the very least he can consider himself not dumb.
She pulls out a pen and a sheet of paper. “So let’s start talking about music. I read over some of your new lyrics, they are rather solid they can just use some fine tuning and better penmanship, I don’t know what this is supposed to say.” She gestures to the worst of his chicken scratch.
He finds himself beaming regardless. She had given him a real compliment. He has written something worth singing. He could cry...
“Azula, can we just...be friends again first?” TyLee asks.
Her brows furrow, “you want to be friends again.”
TyLee smiles and nods. “To be honest, I don’t really even remember why we were fighting.”
“Because she kept picking on my boyfriend and working us to exhaustion.” Mai shrugs.
Azula’s expression darkens again.
“To be fair, she’s been working herself to exhaustion.” Zuko steps in.
She shrugs again, “I suppose that I don’t know many other people who work this hard six months in.”
“I have a lot that needs to be accomplished.”
“And you only have until battle of the bands to do it?”
“Solo artists can’t join.” She frowns, only to perk up again when adding, “but I’ve already written a setlist and a few ideas just in case.”
Zuko laughs, “of course you did.”
“Who is this?” TyLee points to Seicho.
She looks up from her phone, “I’m Azula’s girlfriend.”
“You are?” TyLee and Azula ask at once.
Seicho looks at Azula, “I thought that you knew that.”
“Azula is clueless.” Mai rolls her eyes. “You can take her on as many dates as you’d like, you can kiss her several times--”
“I have! Mostly in the recording booth between songs.” She declares.
“--And she still won’t put two and two together until you tell her that you’re dating.”
Seicho drapes her arm over Azula’s shoulder and pulls her closer. Her other hand reaches for Azula’s. “I go with her to her appointments too. I figured that she can pretend like I’m the baby’s father since Chan is an ass.”
“It’s Chan’s?” TyLee gasps. “He said that--”
“He lied. It is easier to make me out to be...dangerously promiscuous.”
“Oh Azula, I’m sorry.”
Azula offers only a dismissive wave. “Enough baby and drama talk. We need to start discussing music before the studio closes for the night. They lock up on Mondays for cleaning.”
.oOo.
All in all the night has been a success on a musical level and on a social level. The departure of Mai and TyLee is such a stark contrast to their last one. They part with an offer to team up with and do vocals for From Ashes To Phoenix should they make it to Audio Of Agni as well as an offer to invite her to game night at Iroh’s.
“I don’t know, card games, potato chips, and a super campy horror movie sound great!” Seicho declares. “Do you think that they’ll be down for basement tattoos?”
“Probably.” Azula answers nonchalantly. “Exactly how do you plan to get this past your parents? The last time I checked, they said that they didn’t want you hanging around some tramp.”
“They’re never home.” She shrugs. “And when they are, they don’t really pay much attention to me. They didn’t even know that I was a tattoo artist until I came home with a sleeve.”
“I see.” She replies. “Am I dropping you off at home or are you coming with me to Zhao’s place?”
“Zhao’s place! He makes a bitchin’ yakitori!”
Chapter 25 A Phone Call
If Iroh has an issue with the blearing music, he keeps it to himself. Azula reaches for another chip. “Hmmm...truth or dare, Azula?” She puts down the chip.
“Dare.”
“You’ve been picking dare all night!” She frowns, putting her hands on her hips.
“What can I say, I’m a daring person.”
“You just don’t want to tell the truth.” Seicho nudges her.
“I dare you to pick truth next time someone asks you to.”
“That’s cheating.”
“Mm mm, it’s not.” TyLee shakes her head, “we didn’t establish that rule when we were establishing the other rules.
“Truth or dare, Mai?”
“Dare.”
TyLee puffs out her cheeks. “You guys never pick truth!”
“I dare you to be the first one to get a tattoo tonight.”
“I’ll get one right now.” Mai shrugs. “I’ve had one on my mind for a while now.”
“Kickass! What can I get for you?” Seicho asks. “You can sketch it out while I get set up.” She leans in to kiss Azula on the forehead before getting up.
“Truth or dare, Zuko?”
He glances at TyLee before choosing dare.
“I dare you to…”
Azula leans over and whispers in her ear.
“I dare you to prank call Zhao.”
He punches Zhao’s number into the landline pinpad. “Hello, is this Zhao?”
Azula, Mai, and TyLee lean over his shoulder.
“Yes, this is Sokka. I am interested in getting a record deal.” He clears his throat. “Sorry, I’m nervous, I’ve never asked for a record deal before. But I have this great concept its...uh…” He looks at Azula. “It’s uh...okay, picture this, seven minutes of dog barks with occasional bursts of that noise you hear when you’ve lost TV signal.” He listens. “No, no! This is a totally serious pitch! I’ve even named the track it’s called, ‘Bark At The Static’ and I think that I’d be great touring with that guy who dresses up as a cabbage and Yodels.”
TyLee snickers.
The line goes dead and Azula sits down to finally have her chip. She dips it into the salsa.
“Okay, truth or truth, Azula?”
She rolls her eyes. “Truth number two.”
“Hmmm, do you miss being in Blue Talon.”
“A little, I suppose. I don’t think that I’d like to go back to them though. They lack integrity.” She scoffs. “They’re using my story to sell the band.”
“Your story?” Mai asks.
“I wrote about father before I was kicked out of the band.”
“I write about him too.”
“Yes, Zuzu, I’ve been helping you write those songs.”
“Right.”
“Everything’s all set up. You didn’t sketch, did you?”
Mai fishes through her bag, “I did a while ago.” Azula looks it over. It’s a darkly alluring sketch of a hand holding a punctured heart, weeping roses and thorns. “I want it on my left shoulder blade and a simple throwing star on the right one.”
While Mai gets herself comfortable in Seicho’s makeshift chair, Azula reclains and reads through the newsfeed. Blue Talon is still soaring high as ever, but From Ashes To Phoenix is already garnering heavy attention with their new single announcement. The whole thing was rather sappy story about Zuko’s recent rehab struggles and an apology for acting out on stage. And for herself, Dragon Tongue is finally being praised for her stunning vocals and her soft, divine sound.
Azula is still rather conflicted about how quickly they were to turn from accusing her of pregnancy being obscene and raunchy to them gushing about how a baby on the way is the finishing touch on her new, soothing sound. She supposes that she should be thankful that they are speaking well of her again, regardless of hypocrisy. She wonders if her father is reading these headlines; wonders if her is proud or if he is seething--fuming because she is still rising despite his efforts to snuff her flame.
“What sort of tattoos were the rest of you thinking of getting?”
“I just want a cute little cherry blossom on my pinky!” TyLee answers.
“A broken chain.” Zuko replies. “On my bicep.”
Azula thinks for a moment. “I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out. I have to wait until after the baby is born.”
“Oh, right!” Seicho replies. “Maybe I can help you design one.”
Her phone vibrates in her hand, the number on the screen is unfamiliar. “Hello?”
“Azula?”
“Yes.”
“This is Raava.”
“Raava!?”
She hears the tattoo gun flick off and four heads turn in her direction.
“You have a gift and it will be heard at Audio Of Agni. I’d like to talk with you about a loophole that I found.”
“What sort of loophole?”
“You have done work with From Ashes To Phoenix, yes?”
“I will be recording with them soon.”
“I am going to extend a formal invitation to From Ashes To Phoenix. Given their cooperation, you will perform two of three songs with them and one solo.”
She hadn’t expected to cry that night, but she does. She feels like a fool crying in front of all of them, but she is so relieved. Relieved and hopeful. She hasn’t lost her dream.
It will be an absolute treat to see the shock and horror radiate off of Blue Talon when she makes her appearance. And a larger treat to show her father that her worth is beyond what he can give her.
#Avatar The Last Airbender#Azula#Azula/Cupholder girl#Zuko#Mai#Maiko#TyLee#Fanfiction#Very Long Text
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Phic Phight phic phor @phantomroyalty. I'm experimenting with a slightly different Clockwork. Sort of inspired by those prompts I did late last month.
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Once, there were half-ghosts.
Danny knew this, now, drumming his fingers on the hard plastic surface of the binder he'd borrowed from Sam. Written on one cover in purple sharpie was the title 'Voynich Manuscript.' It was, according to Sam, an untranslated 15th century work that had baffled cryptologists and linguists for years and years.
Danny could read it. It had been written by a half-ghost.
At least, that was the claim, and, considering that Danny could read this language he'd never learned, Danny was inclined to agree. He opened the binder again, running his fingers down the printed pictures of the pages. He'd been doing that off and on throughout the evening, ever since Sam had showed it to him, instead of doing his homework.
It was comforting. Strange, but comforting, to know that Vlad had not been the first half-ghost. To know that there were other paths to his future than 'bitter old man,' even if the other visible path was 'weird botanist.' To know that Vlad's issues really were Vlad's issues, and not half-ghost issues.
The book was about ghost plants, what they did, what they were good for, how to find them, and when to harvest them, complete with maps, time tables, and recipes. It was a sort of almanac, almost. A very out of date, almanac, true, and Danny was pretty sure those islands weren't arranged like that, at least not any more, but still...
And it had been written by a half ghost. That, more than anything else, was what kept drawing Danny to the pages. The author had barely mentioned their identity, skimming over their origins in the first couple of pages, but every plant had notes regarding how it affected half-ghosts in particular, every recipe was tuned for the half-ghost anatomy, with side effects listed for humans and ghosts as an afterthought.
Danny slowly leafed through the pages, occasionally pausing when sentences jumped out at him.
This book had been written by a half-ghost. It had been written for half-ghosts.
Once, there had been half-ghosts. Many of them.
What had happened?
There were a limited number of people he could ask. He threw the book into his backpack, shouldered it, turned himself invisible and dropped through the floor. He fell through the kitchen and into the lab, whereupon he slowed his fall to a gradual drift and set himself down lightly on the floor.
His parents were, of course, working in the lab, but they didn't notice Danny. He padded by them, silent, and snagged the remote for the portal doors from the table. After taking a moment to make sure they didn't notice the sudden disappearance of the remote from the table, Danny pressed the button and darted through the still-opening doors.
Safely in the Ghost Zone, Danny released his invisibility, which he still found tiring to use for long periods of time, and went ghost. Ghostly tail streaming behind him, Danny flew to the lair of the only ghost he could be sure had all the answers.
.
The clock tower certainly lived up to the 'tower' part of its name, looming tall above Danny as he approached the front doors. Not that it didn't live up to the 'clock' part. It did. And the surrounding zone kept up the theme with all the gears floating around. It all added to the sense of foreboding about the place.
But what really pulled it off was the faint, persistent ringing sound that hung just on the edge of Danny's hearing, like that of a large bell that had been rung just a moment ago, its sound perpetually fading into imperceptibility but never quite getting there.
The doors opened as Danny raised his hand to knock on them. Danny always at least tried to knock on the doors, because the time he hadn't, he had walked right into them. Clockwork had a weird sense of humor.
"Clockwork?" called Danny, floating into the large main hall and searching the corners.
"Yes, Daniel?" said Clockwork, once again managing to wind up right behind Danny despite Danny's best efforts.
As always, Danny tried to hide how startled he was by turning and smoothing down his ruffled hair.
"Hi," said Danny. Clockwork smiled. "So, uh, I'm guessing you know why I'm here?"
"Yes," drawled Clockwork, circling Danny once, then floating away.
Danny flew after him. "I'm just, well, you understand why I'm curious, right?" asked Danny as they flew into a narrow hallway lined with time mirrors. Each one held an image of a different time, a different age. All the mirrors on the left were of the Ghost Zone, and all the mirrors on the right were of Earth.
"I do."
"So, you know what happened to them, right? All the halfas?"
"Of course," said Clockwork, stopping to face an image of a city that might have been London.
Danny drifted to peer over his shoulder. "Will you tell me? At least, what they were like?" he asked, hopefully.
His blood when cold(er) when Clockwork shifted to look at him. The expression on Clockwork's face was pure trickster mentor.
"Oh, Daniel. You know I like you to find answers like that on your own time."
"Yeah, um, I'll just-"
Clockwork pushed him. Danny tumbled back, farther than the hallway should have allowed. Heck, heck, heck.
He righted himself, hands going to his chest. They seized on something small and round. When had Clockwork managed to slip a time medallion onto him?
After a beat he processed his question and snorted at himself. Clockwork could have put the medallion on him at any time. That was kind of Clockwork's whole thing.
Danny looked around himself. He was still in the Ghost Zone (unless, of course, the Earth's sky had turned green for some reason), but the land beneath him spread out in all directions. There was even a slightly curved horizon.
Directly beneath him was a city. The streets were all covered over with blue cloth awnings, and the buildings sparkled like crystal.
Alright. So, Danny had a couple of choices. One, he could take the medallion off right now, go home, and have to learn whatever lesson Clockwork was trying to teach him the hard(er?) way. Two, he could stick around and (possibly) get the answer to one or more of his questions. Probably a lot of trauma, too, considering he'd asked about why the other half-ghosts were all gone, but he could take the medallion off whenever, provided that no one decided to phase it into his chest.
Were there half-ghosts in the city beneath him?
He wanted, needed to know.
Letting go of the medallion, he flew down diagonally, reaching ground level a good distance outside the city. He didn't know what the etiquette was for entering this city, but starting off at the gates was probably a good idea.
When he reached them, skimming along the purple earth, the gates were wide and open, the tunnel they formed in the wall carved with abstract swirls. There were no guards that Danny could see, and no one was going in or out through the gates, but Danny still proceeded cautiously. Beyond the gates he could hear the noise and bustle of a crowd, and, sure enough, as soon as he got past the first building he found himself in a marketplace.
This was not the first marketplace he'd seen in the Ghost Zone, and it had many familiar features. Unidentifiable glowing plants, glowing potion jars, glowing clothing, glowing powders, things with too many legs being sold as food, a lot of glowing in general, poison-bright colors on otherwise mundane merchandise, things that floated, rugs with kaleidoscoping patterns, etcetera.
The difference was that so many of the shoppers and merchants were human.
No, he corrected himself as he caught one of them changing forms with a pair of bright blue rings, they were halfas.
.
Danny stayed in the market place and listened.
He listened to gossip and haggling and children playing with each other and begging for their parents to buy them this or that. He listened to merchants advertising their wares. He listened to a young man not much older than himself complaining about new powers. No one pointed Danny out as unusual, even when he switched forms a few times.
It was amazing, just seeing half-ghosts live like this. He wished he could talk to them, but although he could understand what they were saying, he had no confidence in his ability to pronounce the words.
It was just so peaceful.
A shape fell through the blue awnings stretched above the marketplace, tearing them and pulling down some of the poles and booths they were attached to. People screeched and shouted. Merchandise escaped. From the epicenter of the wreckage, a man stood, eyes flickering between sea green and toxic glowing orange.
"Lord Dimidius!" shouted one woman. "What has happened?"
The man's face was twisted in pain and fury. "Pariah Dark has declared war on us."
A hush fell over the market. Except for the chickens. Chickens feared neither man, ghost, or god.
"Why? My lord?" asked one of the men, floating forward.
"The Observants," Dimidius said, spitting, "gave him a prophecy that one of us will someday end his rule."
"Then let's make it true!"
"Time out," said Clockwork, putting a hand on Danny's shoulder. The scene froze, chickens and all.
Danny had been right about the trauma.
"Was this," said Danny, "about me fighting him? Did all these people die because I fought him, and the Observants saw that?"
"No," said Clockwork. "Ultimately, Pariah was looking for an excuse. The Observants wanted to give him one. The prophecy, as far as they knew, wasn't true. They made it up. Besides, Pariah doesn't succeed in taking this city for another hundred years, and most of the younger residents were able to flee to the human world."
Danny exhaled. "Really?"
"Would I lie to you?"
"Yeah. Yeah, you would."
Clockwork laughed. "Let's get you home." He opened a portal. "Other than the revelation at the end, did you have a good time?"
"Yeah," said Danny. "I did."
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Photo Booth Surprise
A/N: My hands are so sore today. Been working on replacing our kitchen sink and I have cuts from that on my left hand while I have a bad scratch from my cat on my right hand. The gif above was made by me! Anyways, I really hope you like it anon! :D Thanks for requesting a ramking fic!!! <3
Summary: When King asks Ram to go with him to the mall to buy something he’s been meaning to get, King has a special experience when Ram spots a photo booth and drags him into it for photos.
Word Count: 1502
“Cool boy! Hurry up, would you? I want to get the plant before they sell out! You know how popular lucky bamboo is, right?!” Rolling his eyes as he was once again, urged to walk faster by King, who was just a bit away from him. When he had agreed, more like tricked, to go to the mall with the older male, Ram didn’t think that King would have this much energy over a plant. He knew that he was addicted to plants, but all this fuss for a lucky bamboo plant? Increasing his pace slightly when he noticed how King got farther away from him, Ram tried to keep to his side as they finally made it to the store King had mentioned earlier. Leaning against the window of the store, Ram arched his brow when he noticed that King was waiting for him. Shooting him a look, Ram made it clear that he wasn’t going in. “Cool boy...please come in with me. I want your help picking one out! Please, pretty please?”
“...” Letting out a sigh, Ram pushed himself off the window and begrudgingly stepped to King’s side, quickly letting his eyes look away when King gave him a bright smile that Ram was sure was brighter than the sun currently shining through the see through ceiling of the mall. Following King into the store, Ram circled his gaze around, taking in all the gardening decorations and some of the wind chimes that were gently swaying whenever someone walked past them, the melody of the chimes making Ram relax slightly. Noticing this, King let his beaming smile shrink into something more fond before they finally made it towards the back where there were plants on display. Almost running into King since he was distracted, Ram stopped himself just in time and looked over the leftover bamboo. “...that’s it?”
Hearing Ram ask him this, King grinned at him and nodded, kneeling down so that he could examine all of them. Watching King for a moment, Ram bit back a sigh and knelt down beside him, looking over the bamboo with his senior. None of them catching his eye, however, Ram went to give up until his eyes caught one that was in the far back. There were two stalks and one of them was swirling around the first stalk that was standing up straight. Reaching out, Ram carefully pushed the other bamboos around while King observed him, about to ask what he was doing until he stopped when Ram pulled out the bamboo that caught his attention. Letting out a small gasp when he looked it over, King gently reached out and traced his finger over the bright green leaves that were on both stalks. Watching King do this for a minute, Ram handed him the plant and felt something in his chest flutter when King smiled at him, their eyes lingering on each other until King was the first one to look away, obviously feeling shy.
“This one is perfect, thank you Cool Boy. Now come on, let’s buy this and then find some food, I’m getting hungry,” King exclaimed, moving to stand up while Ram did the same. Making their way up to the front of the store again, Ram glanced over the wind chimes and paused when he noticed there was one that was shaped like a dog and had hanging paw print shaped chimes. Pausing as he noticed that he wasn’t being followed, King turned around and blinked when he noticed his junior standing by the wind chimes, staring at one that was shaped like a dog. Letting out a soft sigh, King chuckled before he stepped towards Ram and looked at the price tag of the chime. It wasn’t that expensive, in fact it was lower in price than what King had expected. “You want it? Let me buy it for you as a thanks for coming with me.”
Turning to stare at King, Ram swallowed the lump in his throat and glanced back down at the floor, trying to hide the smile that was threatening to quirk his lips up a little. Reaching out, King gently took the chime off the rack and walked towards the cashier again, Ram hot on his heels. Paying for the items, King put the chimes safely in another bag before he handed it to Ram. Taking his plant, King thanked the cashier and nodded for Ram to follow him, both of them leaving the store side by side. Keeping up his chattering as they walked towards the food court, King didn’t mind the silence on Ram’s side until his arm was suddenly grabbed and he was forced to stop walking. He swore that Ram sometimes didn’t know his own strength when it came to yanking him around. Giving him his attention, King watched as Ram stared at something for a moment before their gazes met and he was dragged towards what looked like a photo booth. Arching a brow, King glanced over towards Ram, who was looking at him silently.
“You want to try out the photo booth?” King asked, cocking his head to the side when Ram nodded and pushed the black curtain back, pulling King in with him until they were in the cramped booth. Shutting the curtain behind them, King set their things down on the floor and watched as Ram pulled out a few bucks and fed it to the machine. Sitting back, Ram looked over all the frames and special effects the booth offered before he looked at Ram, obviously waiting for King to help choose what kind of added things they wanted to their roll of photos. Getting the stare he was receiving, King helped Ram choose a frame and some special effects before they were both ready. Leaning into King slightly, Ram stared at the camera while King did the same, smiling softly. “Cool boy, you need to smile with me! Come on, smile!”
“....” Once the flash for the first picture went off, Ram turned his face towards King and shot him a deadpan look, which made King snort and cackle just as another photo was taken. Having only three photos left to take, Ram glanced at the camera again and let a small smile rise on his face. Feeling his eyes widen, King stared at Ram as another flash went off, marking their third photo. Noticing King staring at him, Ram met his gaze and the two stared at each other as the fourth picture was taken. Shaking out of the staring contest they were in, King held up his hands in a peace sign for the last picture while Ram continued to stare at him. Noticing the count down, Ram waited for the last second before he leaned over and pressed a kiss to King’s cheek. Hearing the click from the camera, Ram quickly pulled away and exited the booth as King sat there, a flush beginning to fill his cheeks as he realized what just happened. “The photos are ready.”
Hearing Ram’s voice, King let out a heavy breath before he pushed the curtain back, wincing lightly when the sunlight broke through the darkness his eyes had adjusted to. Stepping out of the booth, King grabbed their things and observed his junior as Ram grabbed the two sets of photos and looked them over. Leaning towards him, King looked at the photos and couldn’t help but smile at how silly they looked with the filters they had added to them. Handing off one of the rolls to King, Ram placed his copy gently into his bag, knowing it would be safe there. Doing the same with his, King made sure that the bamboo wouldn’t crinkle the picture before he felt his stomach growl, momentarily forgetting about their venture for food since Ram spotted the photo booth. Biting back a snicker when he heard Ram’s stomach growl too, King knocked their shoulders together and began his walk towards the food court.
“Come on, Cool boy! The food won’t come to us itself,” King joked, looking over his shoulder as he shot Ram another beaming grin. Letting out a sigh, Ram nodded and trailed after King, quickening his pace so they could be closer together than they currently were. Swinging his bag slightly as he walked, King thought back to the kiss Ram had pressed on his cheek and if he looked at his junior, he would’ve seen the soft smile Ram was sending his way as he too thought about what he did in the booth. Hearing the roar of people getting closer, Ram let the smile slip off his face and chose to keep his eyes ahead, side stepping a bit closer to King as the crowds of people caught his attention. Not noticing this, King continued to walk, oblivious to Ram’s actions as he pointed out the free table made for two. “There’s a table! Come on! Let’s sit down and pick a place to eat at!”
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#1 Podcast
Wayward Guide for the Untrained Eye 30 Day Prompt
Day #1 “Podcast”:
(I do not own any other characters or place names outside of Shelby St. Ranger, this is just for fun)
There’s a driveway about one mile long that cuts into a foothill that surrounds Connor Creek. At the end of the driveway, is a small cabin with a garden that is as simple and as boring as a garden can be.
When I, Shelby St. Ranger, moved there it had been an overgrown mess of something that had once been someones complex and colorful paradise. I’d left it for a little while, but eventually it depressed me to walk by the dead plants so I bought some gloves and gardening tools and tore everything up. It took up a weekend, which was good, since there wasn’t a lot to do in Connor Creek. This in itself was supposed to be a good thing, so I could work on my novel. Although my characters would often be battling each other and drinking mead in great viking halls, my own life was simple and plodded along. I’d moved from the city once I could afford to, and it was fairly cheap to live in Connor Creek so it actually had been a smart choice in many ways. But I hadn’t expected to be so deeply, deeply bored. I’d discovered the walk to town was pleasant, as not many cars went on the main road, and it helped when I hit writing blocks or just pure FOMO (fear of missing out) that was unfounded as the town inched along as much as I did. This was especially needed at night.
The only place open after 5pm was the Dead Canary. Despite my boredom, I’ve always been an introvert, so I kept to myself. Unfortunately, everyone already knew who I was before I had even moved in. It only took two visits before the bartender would greet me with my usual order and give me a quick “How’s it goin’ Shelby?” It became a habit for me to sit in the least visible place in the corner of a booth and write down little ideas that would pop into my head.
One night, a man with the energy of a rabbit came in and spotted me. “You’re the new one in town, Shelby right?”
“Yes?” I had pushed my notebook aside, a very detailed doodle of a hexagon that had eyeballs betraying the fact that I couldn’t think of anything to write at the time.
“My name is Ryan Reynolds. I’m running for town council, I was wondering if you’d heard about the race?”
I nodded. “I’ve seen the posters.”
“Good. Can I count on your vote?”
“I’ll have to do research first, I can’t just vote for you because you introduced yourself to me.”
His eyebrows almost hit his hairline. “Fair. Fair, very fair. Just do your research...how do you plan to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Your research.”
“I imagine on the internet?”
“It’s so spotty. And believe me, if you google my name, it can be very confusing.”
“Right.”
“So you’re better off asking me questions directly.”
“Can I do it some other time? I’m working.” I sipped on my beer.
“Of course! Anytime. You know, there’s people coming to record a podcast about what’s going on here at Connor Creek.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you all about it, tomorrow night?”
“Sure.” He went back to the bar and his voice became white noise as I started back to my notebook and slowly the characters in my head came back to me and I wrote a few paragraphs.
Unfortunately, I never had that second talk with Ryan Reynolds.
I had struggled back and forth with myself if I should go into town that next night. I didn’t usually go two days in a row, but I’d already written 20 pages that day and felt like a drink was well deserved. However, the idea of talking about local town politics did not appeal to me. I thought if I went early, I’d probably miss him. Which was true, but not for the reasons I thought.
I was almost done with my beer, and had taken to drawing those S things I’d mastered in elementary school when I heard the door and the voice of Sheriff Madison. I peeked around the corner and saw two people with their backs to me. I didn’t recognize them, and realized I was acting like a nosey local, so I went back to my doodles.
That was when I heard they were working on a podcast. Intrigued, I jotted down their names and the company they worked for. I’d have to wait until I was back home to try to connect to the internet to look them up. It would probably be a frustrating endeavor, but my interest was piqued for the first time outside my novel in the months I’d lived in Connor Creek. Why would anyone from the city cover the election in such a small town? There had to be more going on. Or maybe I was just creating something to get excited about. I sighed and tore the page, crumpled it up, and put it in my pocket. It was an old habit to put trash in my pocket, from years of don’t litter training pounded in my head.
I tried to sneak out, but as soon as I got through the door, I heard someone scream. I didn’t meet with Ryan again, because he was dead outside. I saw the podcast people come out and I watched as the town started to spill out around the scene. I walked home, feeling a bit numb. I had been avoiding him, and now he was dead. I don’t know why I felt guilty, but I did.
On my way home, there was a crumpled paper white against the grass, dimly lit by the moon. Above the paper was a bush of white roses that made the paper stand out even more. I picked it up out of habit, but before I stuck it in my pocket I noticed print on it and opened it up. Ryan Reynolds’ face stared up at me from his campaign poster. I folded it and put it in my pocket.
I logged online and started looking up information about the election, but as Ryan had suggested, it was impossible to find anything about him. And the town was hardly on the net. I’d have to go to the library, I decided, like it was the 90s again. I sighed and slumped back in my chair. Something in my pocket poked me and I took out the crumped piece of paper that said “Artemis and Paul” and “APN”. I typed the names into the search engine and drummed my thumbs as the search went through. It took a while to load them, but I started to listen to Artemis and Paul’s old podcasts, and found four hours had passed. I learned they were twins, and that Artemis was always digging into even the smallest stories for some meat, while Paul seemed happy with making puns and observations that always gave the stories a lively feel I enjoyed.
Finally turning it off, I saw how late it was and almost got up from the computer when I thought more about Ryan Reynolds. I didn’t know much about the town and had become expert at avoiding hearing gossip, which was also easy as they were still weary of me - except for the Miner Mole owner Titus Makin. He’d been very welcoming, but he kind of reminded me of a snake. He mostly wanted to talk about city life since he knew that’s where I was from, but was very disappointed that I didn’t share his views that the town needed to grow more. I’d been at the bar (a mistake I stopped making soon after and started hiding in the shadows of the booths) when Titus had sat next to me and waxed on about progress. I said I moved to Connor Creek for a reason, and that reason was peace, quiet, and trees. That’s all I had wanted. Now that I thought about it, that was the night Desmond, the bartender, started to treat me like a regular. That suggested something that started to put other pieces into place. I looked up Miner Mole, and found some talk online about them changing the face of Connor Creek through the silver mines. The idea of the town changing rapidly didn’t appeal to me, as I’d left all of the behind for a reason, and I found a new appreciation for boredom at the worry that I would soon find myself in a bustling budding city. But what did this have to do with Ryan Reynolds' death? And why was there investigative podcasters here before he was even dead?
I set my alarm for a trip to the library the next day, and found some sleep deep in my bed covers.
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Orphan - 12
Starring: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader, and MCU characters! Contents: Spoilers for Endgame!! The usual. A/N: As always but still sincerely: previous chapters can be found on the Masterlist. Thanks for likes and reblogs and comments <3 Got one more chapter lined up, but that’s it, folks.
12. Where we will be
… Clint …
His moniker isn’t just a random coincidence, oh no. Clint sees it all, clear as day even if he wishes he hadn’t, including the self-satisfied smile on his friend’s lips as the car is vacated. Ugh. Deaf and blind, anyone would be able to sense the oozing stench of charged air between Stark’s oldest daughter and the Captain.
“What,” the father of several children sputters, “d’you think y’all are doin’?”
The girl wisely stays quiet, moving to the booth of the car to get some things as the actual culprit holds up his hands disarmingly. “Barton –“
“Don’t Barton me, Cap.”
Tension still crackles in the wintry chill but this time it’s a very different kind between two men who are testing new roles and rules. Same players dumped into a different game none of them have prepared for. Nat would know what to say. It leaves a bitter taste to admit yet again how much of the whole has gone with the redhead. Not now. Steeling his jaw, Clint straightens up (without really reaching the other man’s height) in an unconscious effort to assert himself, gain the upper hand in this discussion.
“I…I get it,” Steve surprisingly admits, shoulders slumping a bit, “I didn’t plan for this, man.”
A smaller figure sidles up to them. Backpack slung over a shoulder, boot toes digging shyly into the snow, [Y/N] looks partially like a kid not too different from Clint’s own but he can’t ignore the bits which other people might see clearer. Detaching himself from the idea of the former homeless girl under his protection, he focuses instead on the aspects he knows Natasha would point out as belonging to an adult. The confident set of the jaw, obviously a body that – Gah! No, not even gonna think that, c’mON, Steve!
“She’s Tony’s kid, Steve!”
“I’m an adult, thank you.”
“He’s…what? Almost 100 years older?”
“Low shot. You’ve been awake for more years than him!”
“Hey!” Clint bristles at the accusation even if he can’t truly object to it. “Get inside, young lady.”
Of course she makes a show of lingering as she says goodbye to Steve. It’s almost sweet, the way the super soldier melts under her gaze and smiles like a goddamn fool. In fact…when does he ever smile like that? Around Bucky? Almost, but not quite.
…
Laura’s cross with him, just like Lila is and even the boys! And [Y/N]? She’s probably pissed off more than (almost) Clint self and has practically done what he would have told her to if he had had the chance to. Hrmph. The door had slammed so hard that Nathaniel dropped his cookies.
“Am I the only sane person ‘ere?” The kids have trudged off to their rooms, leaving just Laura behind as a silent audience to the rambling. “It’s…I mean…she’s an adult bu-but she’s Tony’s kid, damnit! What if Wanda started dating Cooper?”
The lips of the ever-patient wife twitches in amusement though no words are uttered. Carrots, bread, chicken, and more is added to Nathaniel’s little pink lunchbox with the precision only years can give. Calm hands. Perfect. Looking at his own hands, Clint can barely recognize one scar from the other even if he can remember most of the missions and “adventures” behind them.
“So…I should just let ‘em…date?”
“Yes.”
The lid is placed on the box and secured with two sharp clicks.
Wait what? “But they were making out! In the car!”
“Yes.”
“Y’don’t wanna say something else than that?” Clint can see Laura’s shoulders shake from the laughter she’s holding in. “Never mind.”
… Reader …
You’ve been holding your breath and walking on eggshells around Clint for days just waiting for the other shoe to drop. But nothing happens. Well, that is to say: nothing happens on that front.
What has been happening includes interesting talks with Dr. Banner and a guy named Scott Lang who happens to know a bit about electrical engineering. Together, the three of you are fine-tuning the Quantum Tunnel. You’d love to actually be with them at the lab, but it seems like it’s tempting the devil to ask for a ride in the direction of Steve.
Steve.
His name floats through your brain like a sweet summer breeze drifting on the music from your headphones. All the music you listen to at the moment are ballads and declarations of feelings by your favourite, classic rock bands and lovey-dovey indie which Lila has been quick to update you on.
Steve.
If only you could get accepted at your first priority which happens to be in New York, then you could be closer to him. Have time to figure things out. Shape your own life without turning the back to what your heart seems to be longing for.
Steve.
He calls every day at least once. Sometimes you can hear Bucky or their friend Sam in the background teasing him and yelling things for you that are supposed to embarrass your…my what? There’s a whole truckload of chemistry going on and barely a moment goes by where your mind doesn’t slip to how it could be if you were with Steve, but still you do not dare to call him your boyfriend. More than friends, sure. And Steve is not really hiding the romantic intentions. Easy to say, harder to do.
A hand silently reaches over and picks the pencil out of yours, startling you for a second until you recognize it. Steve! The cord from the headphones tangle around your wrist as you yank them off and turn to face him.
The lips find yours as effortlessly this time too, molding and moving to a melody just for two that sends ripples of heat through your body until fingers clench to draw him impossibly closer. It’s impossible to tire of it. Steve has a way of sweeping the tongue tip along the seem of your lips to gain entrance, drinking in the silenced moan. But this time he pulls away. No-o!
“No rush, doll,” he smiles and lifts you easily into his arms where you wrap your legs around him, “I’m hoping I’ll get to kiss y’even more before the night’s over.”
Tilting you head, you are left with no clues. “Oh yeah? Sounds like you got plans?”
“Yeah, we’re celebrating.”
Maybe it’s his title that has made Steve think he can get away with all sorts of things, at least he drops you unceremoniously on the bed only to laugh at it as he pulls something out of a pocket. White and flat with harsh printed letters and a large seal on it that announces exactly where it’s from.
“Here, genius,” he proffers the envelope from Uni towards you, “I’m sure it’s good news.”
#Orphan#mcu Fanfiction#Orphan MCU fanfic series#steve rogers x you#Steve Rogers x reader#captain america#Captain America x reader#Captain America x you#Barton family#Clint Barton#Hawkeye#Laura Barton#Lila Barton#Cooper Barton#Nathaniel Barton#Tony Stark#Iron Man#natasha romanoff#Natalia Romanova#Black Widow#Bucky Barnes#Winter Soldier#Sam Wilson#Falcon#Bruce Banner#Hulk#Scott Lang#Ant-Man#Avengers#Revengers
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Strange Luck (1/1)
Summary: The problem with living in the city is that sometimes it makes getting your hands on rare ingredients for spells a goddamned ordeal.
Notes: This wasn't supposed to be a Thing, but I kept thinking about this post and it happened anyway. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
(Read on AO3)
The problem with living in the city is that sometimes it makes getting your hands on rare ingredients for spells a goddamned ordeal.
Always some vital component to it that no one’s seen or even heard of for at least a generation or two, or it’s so rare it’s only known to grown in a certain climate in certain conditions.
Half the time there’s a complicated riddle or bit of prose Michael has to untangle to even figure out what those conditions are.
Pretentious as fuck about it too like, “blooming under the light of the second full moon of the month as it fights against its celestial confines in a bid to join with the Earth, shining red as blood” or some bullshit like that he has to explain to someone to see if they have it in stock.
If he’s lucky one of his contacts for that kind of thing will know a place that might carry said ingredient or know how to get it for him.
Take this little shop hidden away between a used bookstore and a trendy hipster coffee shop in what used to be a bustling strip mall. Renovated after who knows many years and shuttered businesses thanks to a changing city and economic ups and downs. The whole thing’s been turned into one of those outside malls and that’s bouncing back.
Michael goes past it almost every on his way for one job or another. He’s sure it wasn’t here a yesterday afternoon taking up space in what used to be an ice cream place, but shops like this tend to have what he needs.
There’s a bell over the door that rings when he walks in, something off about them that has him glancing upwards -
“Oh, a customer, how lovely!” someone says, pulling Michael’s attention from the bell towards the guy behind the counter.
Tall, broad-shouldered and against what Michael's used to seeing in shops like these he’s wearing a graphic print t-shirt and a hoodie. What looks like a pair of jeans and while Michael can’t see his shoes from here, he’s betting on sneakers or something similar. (Maybe.)
The counter he’s standing behind is the same one Michael remembers when he used to stop by when it was still an ice cream shop. Refrigerated glass cases and everything else, which.
It gives him pause for a moment, wondering if he stepped into the coffee shop instead, but there’s no smell of coffee or a single hipster to be found. No poor beleaguered college student bemoaning their life choices in the middle of exams or soccer mom on her phone chattering to her friend about the latest neighborhood scandal.
There is, however, a cat.
An orange tabby curled up in a cat bed at the end of the counter watching Michael curiously, little purple collar with a bell around its neck.
Something just slightly off about it in the same way the bells over the door that tells Michael he is in the right place after all.
The shelves along the walls where the booths and tables used to be are full of little glass bottles and vials filled with dried plants and flowers and things Michael tries not to think to hard about sometimes.
A skull or two that seem to be decoration and not for sale. An actual skeleton in a corner that is for sale, and the shop itself smells like Geoff’s workshop.
Candle wax and incense. The lingering scent of the potions he and Jack brew to sell. Flowers and herbs and other things hanging up to dry.
When Michael looks back at the guy behind the counter he’s smiling at Michael in this deeply unsettling manner, which is another sign he’s in the right place.
All I’ve seen things your puny mortal mind cannot hope to comprehend and foolish mortal, dealing in things you don’t yet understand, with a side of step into my parlor which is on the rarer end of the spectrum and something he only sees in the creepier shopkeepers.
So.
It’s going to be one of those days.
“Hey, uh,” Michael says, fumbling for the piece of paper with the list of ingredients and other things he needs as he walks over to the counter.
Some of them are for Gavin, the lazy bastard, and Geoff asked him to pick up some stuff to restock his stores if he got the chance. He promised to pick up a new mortar and pestle for Jack to replace the one Gavin broke last week too.
It might be smarter to go to one of his regular shops for the rest of the things he needs, but he has a busy schedule filled with clients and other errands as it is. Doesn’t feel like driving to the other end of the city on top of everything else.
“I have a few things to get, and one of them is hard to find. I saw your shop and thought maybe you could help?”
He hands the guy the paper, watches him read it and sees the slight frown as he hits the part where Michael had to stop and do some research to figure out what the hell the spell was asking him to get.
In hindsight, he should have written his shopping list on a seperate piece of paper, but he was too fucking irritated at the time to bother. (Took him a goddamned week buried in Geoff and Jack’s extensive library of spellbooks and other bullshit before he found his answer.
“Oh, wow,” the guy says, looking up at him. “That’s an incredibly rare ingredient.”
Yeah, Michael kind of figured, what with the very specific circumstances it needs to grow.
“It’s for a spell,” Michael says, decides it’s really none of the guy’s business what the spell is for, because hey.
Not to be rude?
But yeah, none of his business.
The guy hums, giving Michael this look Michael's also familiar with in places like this.
The last time situations were right for that ingredient to grow was about a year ago, and the time before that was over a hundred and fifty years. The chances of finding someone who has it or knows where Michael could find someone who does are – no pun intended – astronomical.
If this guy doesn’t have it and Michael can’t find it anywhere else, he’d have to wait at least that long before it grows again, maybe longer. (At which point Michael will be super dead and it won’t matter, so there’s that.)
“Yes, I will warn you...every item comes with a price,” he says, like all the other assholes before him Michael’s run into in shops like this.
Michael stares at him.
“...Yes,” he mimics, because he’s not in the mood for this bullshit. “I know how shops work.”
He’s not in the mood for this bullshit, but he’s also not an idiot. Knows better than to piss someone like him off, make an enemy of him or whatever. (Well, for the most part.)
The guy blinks at him like he’s not sure what’s going on, or just thinks Michael's an idiot.
He rallies quickly though, clearing his throat and looking around like there’s anyone else in the shop watching them. (Besides the cat, that is.)
“No,” he says, putting more emphasis into his words. “The price may be more than you expect to pay.”
He gives Michael this look, raised eyebrows and please tell me you’re not that dense and dear God, please don’t be that dense and a little why are you doing this to me?
Michael doesn’t know why he does it, he really doesn’t.
Maybe it’s the fact the guy seems relatively normal for someone running a shop like this. Maybe it’s the fact he’s already getting riled up and Michael hasn’t done anything yet. Maybe it’s the fact that Michael’s that much of an asshole, who can say.
“Yes,” he says. “I know how US taxes work too.”
There’s a tiny sneeze, this little jingling chime that has Michael looking over at the tabby just in time to see it hide a smirk as it gives itself a little shake.
From the corner of his eye Michael catches the shopkeeper shooting it a scowl, but when he turns back to him the guy has a polite smile on his face.
Too polite, like he’s not thinking up curses and hexes to place on Michael and everyone he holds dear or whatever else creepy bastards like him do for fun.
Michael should be worried. Shouldn’t be fucking with him at all, but he just. Can’t not, for whatever reason. Is, in fact, enjoying himself watching the poor guy try to keep his cool while his stupid cat laughs at him.
The guy laughs, and it’s. It’s a nice sound. Weird, too, kind of croaky in a way?
But just.
Nice?
Like his voice, and those eyes of his, and okay, look.
Michael’s getting sidetracked, but it’s been a long week and bound to be a long day and he’s just.
Yeah.
The guy makes this noise in the back of his throat, and plants his hands on the counter in front of him, strained smile on his face.
“I’m trying to tell you that I’m evil and offering these wares with no regard for the harm they will do!” he says, voice cracking on the end because apparently he’s never had to deal with something as exasperating as Michael's proving to be.
Probably used to people showing him the proper reverence and whatever the hell after his first warning. Rethinking their decision to set foot in a magically (literally) appearing shop with a creepy shopkeeper and a cat that is definitely not a normal cat and all that. Making the right choice (or not) when it came to their reason for walking in when they should have known better and just. All that.
Instead, he got Michael and his low tolerance for bullshit of any kind, but especially the shopkeeper’s after the week he’s had.
Michael crosses his arms and scowls at the shopkeeper.
Normally at this point he’d be sharing the guy’s exasperation, but he’s having too much fun fucking with him.
“I know what capitalism is too, goddammit,” he says. “Now do you have the stuff I need or not?”
The guy stares at him, quietly seething and for a moment Michael sees something moving around in the back of his eyes – dark, sinister – before it gives the fuck up and rolls over. Shoulders slumping as he lowers his head to stare at the faux granite counter with its scuffs and scratches, little nicks.
Mutters something that sounds less like a dread curse or something along those lines and more like for fuck’s sake.
Michael glances over at a light chiming noise to see the tabby walking over to the shopkeeper, trilling softly as it bumps its head against his face, makes these little noises that definitely isn’t laughter.
Really.
The shopkeeper leans into it at first, and then sputters as the tabby continues walking arching its back to shove its fur into his face before hopping down and wandering off.
“Thank you,” the guy says, wiping fur out of his mouth as he scowls at the cat. “Really, no. Thank you ever so much for that.”
The cat shakes itself again, and meows in smug satisfaction.
The guys sighs, and looks up at Michael.
Seems wary, almost.
“As a matter of fact, I do happen to have the things on your list. If you don’t mind waiting, I can get them out of the back.”
He looks like he’s expecting Michael to give him more grief about things, which is both hilarious and kind of sad.
“Sounds great!” Michael says with a smile, all nice and friendly and perfect customer who would never dream of being difficult.
The guy eyes him, like he thinks it’s a trap of some kind. But when Michael just stands there smiling at him and waiting patiently, he shakes his head and heads off to the back storeroom muttering to himself.
Michael waits until he’s out of sight before he laughs, tries to hide it because the tabby’s watching him, but come the fuck on.
He doesn’t know how long it will take the guy to gather all the supplies on Michael's list, so he explores the shop. Looks into the glass cases around the counter to see they’ve been altered. No tubs of ice cream now, just neatly labeled bin full of spell and potion ingredients.
One of the cases is humming quietly, stocked with ingredients that require refrigeration to keep them fresh, which goes a long way to explain why the guy decided to put his shop here instead of the other empty stores around it.
Michael goes over to the bookshelves, and almost trips over the cat who lets out a sad little noise that has Michael staring down at it.
Looks like a normal cat in all the right ways, but the way its been acting is a dead giveaway it’s most likely the shopkeeper’s familiar or assistant. Too much of an asshole to be anything else, given it’s allowed to roam the shop freely.
Another sad cry and Michael rolls his eyes as he crouches to give it pets and scritches. God knows Gavin and Lindsay would find out somehow if he didn’t, give him shit about a cruel and heartless monster.
There’s a little pet tag on its collar, and curious, Michael catches it in his fingers to see what it says. The tabby flicks its ears but allows it, and Michael frowns at the name engraved on the pet tag.
“The fuck kind of name is ‘Rimmy Tim’?” he asks, because fucking really.
The cat gives him this look, ears swiveling back as it steps out of his reach with this little sniff, tag slipping through Michael's fingers.
Walks away in clear dismissal and jumps back up on the counter to curl up in its bed and turning its back to Michael as it does.
Michael sighs, because the cat has to be the shopkeepers familiar with that kind of attitude.
He goes back to exploring the store, making a mental note to ask the others if they need some of the things he sees being sold here when he gets home. (Assuming he can find the shop again after this, that is.)
There’s a wide array of rare and hard to find ingredients and other components here. A shelf of books he knows for sure Geoff and Jack would give a lot to add to their own collection. Other bits and bobs, as Gavin would put it, any of them would give a lot to have.
It’s that thought that finally has the reality of the situation sink in for Michael, odd shopkeeper out of the picture where the atmosphere of the shop sets in.
Little tug at the core him drawing him towards a small table in a corner, gem stones and crystals and other things laid out.
A cool whisper in the back of his mind pulling his attention towards one of the skulls on the shelves by the windows.
A raven from the look of it.
Creeping unease from the corner where the skeleton stands on display, runes carved into its bones and a wreath of dried flowers resting on top of its skull.
A dozen other little things calling for his attention, quiet whispers and murmuring that builds, and builds, and builds -
“I think I have everything here,” the guy says, voice startlingly loud in the cloying silence of the shop. “Do you - “
Michael looks over at him, heart beating double-time in his chest. Feels a little wild-eyed and expects to see a smug look on the guy’s face, or cool satisfaction at the way his shop and its wares have affected Michael, but.
He seems...confused at first, and then concerned.
Sweeps a look around the shop and the chaos in Michael's mind quiets, retreats like morning fog when the sun appears to chase it away.
Michael sways towards him without conscious thought, crosses the few feet to stand across from him to escape the faint chill that set in without his realization.
“You know better,” the guy says, and for a moment Michael thinks he’s scolding him, but then he realizes the shopkeeper’s frowning at the tabby.
In response the tabby curls up tighter in its bed, ears flat against its skull and lets out a pathetic mew in apology or explanation, Michael can’t understand it. Just knows whatever it is has the guy letting out a heavy sigh.
“Yes, well,” he says, setting a box down on the counter. “What do you expect when you insist on using that ridiculous name?”
The tabby makes an annoyed noise, but it gets out of its bed and comes to the edge of the counter where Michael’s standing and looks up at him.
Guilty, remorseful, tail flicking as it meows at him in apology.
Michael stares down at it.
He could, maybe should, be annoyed at it for that slip.
There’s an understanding, when customers enter a shop like this things like that aren’t allowed to happen.
A gesture of trust, or something close enough to it for certain transactions to take place. For those who are inexperienced enough, unwary, to enter and leave without trouble. (In good faith.)
But.
Michael insulted it, and things like that allows things like it an amount of leeway. (Loopholes.)
And to be fair, nothing permanent, damaging, took place while the guy was out of the room.
Just...a reminder.
One that Michael clearly needed because he let his guard down in here. Got so caught up in things that he forgot the danger to places like this, or made the mistake of underestimating it because the guy seemed so normal.
Human.
Dramatic, maybe, but not like the usual sort Michael’s met in shops like this.
Michael looks at the guy, surprised that he seems to be on Michael’s side in this after all the shit he gave him earlier. The guy tips his head to the side, eyebrow raised and leaving things in Michael’s hands.
Which.
“It’s fine,” Michael says, because things could have gone worse.
He’s seen it before, less scrupulous shopkeepers than this one and his familiar and their deals with the unwise. Has had to clean up the mess afterward and inform the unfortunate victim’s family and friends who hired him to find out what happened to their loved one.
Michael should be the one who knew better in this case.
“Just a miscommunication.”
The guy hums, something thoughtful to it as he reaches out to the tabby and gives it a scritch under its chin. It leans in to his touch in relief, eyes closing briefly before it decides its had enough and hops off the counter to disappear into the storeroom.
Michael snorts, eyeing the box the guy brought out with him.
“Oh,” the guy says, almost sounding sheepish, “sorry about that.”
He holds Michael's list in one hand as he goes over the contents of the box.
Glass bottles with the ingredients Gavin and Geoff wanted and little paper parcels for the rest. The replacement mortar and pestle Jack wanted, and most importantly the stupidly rare ingredient he needs for his spell.
When he’s done he hands Michael his list and smiles at him.
A normal smile.
No creepy shopkeeper with his mysterious shop and even more mysterious wares. Cat familiar and all kinds of secrets waiting to be discovered, for a price.
“Were you looking for anything else today?”
He’s still smiling.
None of his dramatics or theatrics, just a guy in a t-shirt with the NASA logo behind the counter of his little shop and it’s.
It’s certainly something.
“Uh,” Michael says, clearing his throat and giving himself a mental shake to let everything settle back into place. “No. No, that should do it.”
The guy shrugs and starts ringing him up using the cash register, pauses before he hits the total and smiles again, this crooked little thing.
“We don’t take checks,” he says.
There’s.
He’s the one laughing at Michael now, gleam in his eye and very, very much an asshole.
Michael snorts as he pulls his wallet out.
“Credit card alright?” he asks.
The shops he regularly go to have started to accept them, though most still prefer cash Older ones will trade in favors, little ones that don’t cost much.
Places like this, though?
Hit or miss.
The guy laughs, and points at a sticker on the side the register with logos for the major credit card companies, so that’s one question answered.
Michael hands over his card and the guy finishes ringing him up, wishes him a nice day as he hands him back his card and a receipt and Michael picks up the box, ant turns to leave.
Gets a few feet away before he stops. Thinks about things in the kind of way where he really, really doesn't, and turns back to see the guy watching him with that crooked little smile on his face.
“Are,” Michael starts, not sure how to do this because wow, no. “Uh. Are you going to be here later?”
He glances around the shop and back to the guy, because it’s a valid question with places like this.
People like him.
They come and go and most times you never see them again. For the best, considering what they are, but sometimes...
The guy gives him an odd look, which is fair.
He probably doesn’t get questions like that all that often, and Michael doesn’t even know his name.
Has been referring to him as the guy and the shopkeeper in his head this whole time. (Maybe that asshole a time or two, he wouldn’t put it past himself.)
Michael watches as the guy – Jesus, there he goes again – takes in his shop before looking back at Michael.
“It’s possible,” he says slowly. “The location seems pleasant enough.”
Not a no, or even some frustratingly vague and cryptic answer about fleeting permanence or what the fuck ever Michael was expecting.
“Okay,” Michael says. “Great. Thank you.”
Jesus, he’s an idiot.
The guy must think so too, with the smile on his face, but thankfully he says nothing as Michael gets the hell out of there before he says or does anything else stupid.
Doesn’t risk glancing back to make sure the shop is still there once he’s outside, but he catches sight of the coffee shop sign next door to as he heads to his car.
Michael’s never been to it before, no time or reason to in between everything else going on in his life.
But…there’s this half-formed thought in the back of his mind maybe the guy wouldn’t be horrifically opposed to checking it out with him sometime if he and his shop do stick around a little longer.
...Or something, fuck if Michael knows.
Michael slams the trunk of his car harder than he means to, and stares at it for a long moment trying to untangle his thoughts.
Ridiculous, is what they are.
Stupid as hell.
Dangerous, too, considering what the guy is. (Might be? Michael doesn’t have a goddamned clue other than the usual.)
But.
He hadn’t reacted badly when Michael gave him shit, and.
He’s unfairly attractive. Has a nice smile, and an amazing voice and why not, really?
Can’t hurt to ask, right?
Later.
Michael sighs, laughing at himself as he goes around to the driver side of the car.
No need to get ahead himself right now anyway.
If the shop’s still here after he’s done with work, he can figure things out then.
Start by getting the guy’s name so he can stop calling him that in his head, and see where things go from there.
#myan#ragehappy#urban fantasy au#vagrant fic#i guess this is a little late for halloween huh#¯\_(ツ)_/¯
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No More Secrets
This fic was a request for the July prompts created by @kinda-iconic for @choicesjulychallenge It was requested by my good friend @riseandshinelittleblossom for an Adrian and Oliva pairing. This is a new pairing for me, I began writing them for the Choices Crossover project. This story does not take place in that AU, although there may be some similarities between the two. I am posting this a day late, this was actually a request for yesterday’s prompt, which was Secrets. Sorry for the delay, but I’ve been super busy this week. Hope you all enjoy!
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry. I am simply borrowing them.
Word Count: 2723
Warning: this fic contains erotica. Please do not read if you are under the age of 18.
You can find more content for this pairing on my masterlist.
Adrian groaned and winced as he heard Olivia pull the cord to open the curtains, allowing rays from the early morning sun to filter into the room. ��Rise and shine, sleepy head! We have a very busy day planned.” Adrian pulled the comforter up over his head, shielding himself from the sun’s burning rays. Olivia spun around and stood at the foot of the bed, her hands poised on her hips. Her lips curled up into a slight smirk as she grasped the bottom corners of the comforter, snatched it off the bed and tossed it aside. Adrian yelped as he hopped out of bed, the sun searing into his naked skin. He dashed into the bathroom and closed and locked the door behind him. His breath came in short pants as he glanced down at the red sores on his arms and chest. Thankfully, they were already beginning to heal and disappear. There was a soft knock at the door.
“Adrian? Are you ok? What’s wrong?” The concern was evident in Olivia’s voice on the other side of the door. Adrian took a deep breath as he struggled to slow his racing heart and keep his voice even. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry I just really had to pee. I’m going to shower and get dressed then I’ll be downstairs. Will you please make some coffee?” He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the door gently. After a pause she answered. “Of course. But hurry up! I want to get all my shopping done before lunch.” He listened as he heard her move to the door and leave the room. He groaned as he slipped his robe on over his still red skin and slipped back into the bedroom. He quickly closed the curtains, then made his way to the closet.
He walked over to a portrait hanging in the dressing area and felt underneath the bottom of the frame until he found a small button. With a click the portrait swung away from the wall, revealing a wall safe. He entered the combination on the keypad and opened the safe to reveal a briefcase. He opened the case to reveal an insert with holes for 20 vials. They were all empty but one. Adrian took a deep, ragged breath as he removed the last vial and held it between his forefinger and thumb. This was it. The last vial. When he decided to invite Olivia to accompany him to New York while he settled his affairs, he had no idea it would take this long. When he decided to relocate his lab to the remote mountains of Lythikos he had begun the process of putting people in place to run his New York operations. But he had miscalculated the amount of time it would take to actually put these plans into action.
He didn’t bring enough serum. And of course Olivia wanted to spend her days shopping and exploring New York City with her dashing billionaire boyfriend on her arm. This was the last day. He would have to do something. He sighed deeply as he drew back the plunger on the syringe, watching as the last of the serum was sucked into the tube. He injected it into his veins, closing his eyes as he felt it begin to spread throughout his body. He felt his blood warming in his veins and sucked in a deep breath. He closed the briefcase and shut the safe, then went to draw back the curtains in the bedroom.
Adrian stood in the morning sunshine, basking in the warmth of the sun’s rays. This was it. The last day he could walk in the sunshine freely.
*******************************
Adrian paced back and forth in front of his desk. Olivia was relaxing before dinner while his stomach was tied up in knots. He didn’t notice the first knock on the door. The second was much louder and more persistent. He opened the door to see Kamilah standing there. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you for coming. I just don’t know what to do.” Kamilah nodded silently as she stepped into the office and closed and locked the door. She took one look at Adrian’s face and could tell he was stressed. “What is it? Why are you so upset?” He walked over to the window and watched the last rays of the sun disappearing as it set. His face was sad and his voice soft as he slowly turned to face his friend. “I took the last vial of serum this morning. I-I don’t know what I’m going to do.” His voice cracked and he turned to hide a tear that rolled down his cheek. “There’s really nothing I can do,” he mumbled, more to himself than to Kamilah.
Kamilah watched her friend for a moment, her heart breaking for him. She knew how hard it was to keep this secret. And yet, as hard as it was to keep, it was even harder to tell. She took a few steps forward and placed her hand on Adrian’s shoulder. “You have to tell her, Adrian. It’s time. She needs to know. You know you can’t hide this from her forever.” He nodded slowly. “Yes, I know. I’m just so scared that she’ll be angry at me for not telling her sooner. Maybe she’ll leave. Maybe she’ll never speak to me again.” Kamilah shrugged. “Or maybe she’ll just love you for who and what you are. Olivia Nevrakis can be stubborn as hell, but she has also proved to be loyal to the people she cares about.” Adrian nodded slowly in agreement, then turned to face his friend. His eyes were filled with worry as he looked at her. “But how do I tell her? I can’t just blurt out that I’m a vampire.”
Kamilah smirked and shook her head. “No, you can’t. That would be a disaster.” She hesitated as she pondered a moment. Then her face broke into a bright smile. “Adrian, don’t tell her your a vampire. Take her out to dinner. Dance with her. Buy her flowers. Then take her home and show her who you truly are.” Adrian’s face lit up. “Do you really think that will work?” Kamilah nodded. “Of course. Just don’t get carried away. You must maintain complete control. You can not feed on her without her permission.” Adrian shook his head. “No, I know that. Of course not.” He walked around to sit down behind his desk. He picked up the phone and called to make reservations as Kamilah let herself out the door.
*********************************************
Olivia’s eyes widened as Adrian pulled up in front of Per Se, Manhattan’s most exclusive French restaurant. “This is where we’re having dinner?” She squealed with delight. “The tasting menus here are world-renowned.” She smiled slyly as she glanced at Adrian out of the corner of her eye. “Is this some kind of special occasion?” He smirked and leaned over to kiss her softly, an eyebrow raised. “You could say that, I guess.” He flashed her another smile as he opened his door and came around to open the door for her. He held her hand as she stepped out of the vehicle and Adrian tossed the keys to the valet. They walked into the restaurant hand-in-hand as the hostess smiled and greeted them. “Good evening Mr. Raines. I have your table ready.”
They sat in a private booth near the window with a view of the city below them. Olivia smiled from ear to ear. “Adrian this is amazing!” She looked out the window as their server approached with a bottle of champagne. He popped the cork and filled two flutes, then put the rest of the bottle on ice. Adrian looked at Olivia and smiled. “Would you like to hear their menu? They don’t have a printed one because it changes everyday.” Olivia shook her head. “I am perfectly happy with the tasting menu.” Adrian nodded and turned to the waiter. “We’ll take the tasting menu, for two.” The waiter bowed as he nodded and left them alone. Olivia beamed with happiness as Adrian tried to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He raised his glass of champagne and clinked it gently with her’s. “To us,” he said with confidence he did not feel. Olivia smiled as she repeated the toast and they both drank.
After the tasting menu had been served, a live band began to play a waltz and the dance floor started to fill up. Adrian stood and extended his hand to Olivia. “Will you dance with me?” Olivia smiled as she took his hand. “Of course.” He led her to the dance floor where he wrapped her closely in his arms and they swayed slowly to the music. Something happened to the two of them when they danced together. Maybe it was because of how they met, or maybe it was how their bodies came together as one. They were lost in each other, the rest of the world faded away around them. Olivia gazed into his eyes, entranced by the circle of red around his iris as he held her close. He felt his desire for her building inside him as he locked his lips on hers. He moaned softly into the kiss as he broke it, his lips moved across her cheek to her ear. “I love you, Olivia.” He brushed her earlobe with his lips and ran his tongue along the side of her neck to her collarbone. He ached to taste her to have her blood on his lips. He lightly grazed his fangs along her neck as she trembled and moaned softly into his neck. “Let’s get out of here.” Adrian snapped his head up and closed his eyes as he struggled to maintain his composure. He released Olivia and went back to their table. This was going to be difficult. He paid the check then they headed outside to get the car.
She was all over him as he drove like a bat out of hell. He gasped as she slid her hand between his legs and groped him through his slacks. By the time they got home he was barely able to keep it together. His eyes shone bright red. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t hold back. They barely made it through the door as they tore each other’s clothes off and Adrian pinned Olivia against the wall just inside the front door. He kissed her neck fervently, careful not to use his fangs. She panted and moaned and trembled in his arms. He picked her up and impaled her on his hard member as she leaned back against the wall for leverage. He thrusted wildly as she moaned his name, her head thrown back in abandon. “Olivia, please—there’s something I must—oh god!” Olivia opened her eyes wide and locked on Adrian’s eyes as they glowed bright red. He opened his mouth as a primal roar escaped his throat and she saw his fangs. He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He kissed her passionately and switched up his pace, thrusting slowly in and out of her. He tried desperately to reel in his desire to taste her. He buried his face in her neck as he drowned in her scent and his need for her.
Suddenly he felt her mouth hot at his ear, her voice was deep and breathy. “Let go, Adrian. It’s ok. I’m yours. I love you. Take me. All of me.” He snapped his head up to meet her eyes, his cheeks wet from tears of restraint. His voice came out in a gravelly whisper as he began to thrust wildly once more. “I-I love you so much.” Just as the tension snapped in Olivia’s belly, he sunk his fangs deep into the side of her neck, the taste of her sending him over the edge as he drank her deeply. Olivia cried out, her body quivering from the exquisite mixture of pleasure and pain. Adrian withdrew from the bite, running his tongue along each puncture wound to stop the bleeding. They both stood in silence, their foreheads touching, as they panted. Adrian broke the silence first. “Are you all right my love?” He ran his tongue along his teeth, savoring the taste of her blood that still lingered on the tip of his fangs.
“I think so,” she said as she unwrapped her legs from around his waist. She felt just a bit woozy as she placed her feet on the ground. Adrian steadied her as she swayed. “I’m so sorry, I took too much blood. Let me carry you to bed.” He swept her up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He laid her gingerly on the bed and propped up her head with pillows. Olivia’s eyes fluttered as she fought to stay awake. “I think I’ll be ok,” she murmured softly. “I just need some rest.” Adrian nodded as he laid next to her and pulled her into his arms. She nuzzled into the crook of his arm and it wasn’t long before her breathing steadied. She was asleep. He breathed a deep sigh of relief as he kissed the top of her head. She was still here. He had shown her all his secrets, and she was still here.
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Adrian awoke to darkness and an odd feeling in the air. He reached out for Olivia but discovered she wasn’t there. He snapped up quickly as he reached to turn on the light on the nightstand. She wasn’t in the room with him. He began to panic as he jumped out of bed, disoriented. Where was his phone? Shit! What time was it. He rushed over to the window and pulled back the curtains just enough to see that the sun was beginning to set. Where was she? Did she leave him after all? She must’ve decided it was all too much. He sighed deeply as he sunk into a chair at the foot of the bed. He sunk his head into his hands and didn’t bother fighting back the tears that stung his eyes. Soon he was sobbing, not caring about the noises he made or how he looked. He was so consumed with sadness he didn’t notice the door open and shut. He barely noticed the curtains being pulled open abruptly. It wasn’t until he felt her arms around his neck from behind and heard her whisper softly in his ear that he began to take notice.
“Relax, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Adrian snapped his head up and locked his gaze on those emerald pools that held his heart. He bolted up and walked around the chair to wrap Olivia in his arms tightly. “I was so scared. I thought I’d lost you. You were gone. Why? Where did you go?” Olivia smiled up at him. “Hey, vampires sleep during the day, right? Well it will take me awhile to adjust to that schedule. I didn’t want to disturb you so I went into the other room. I wasn’t real sure what time to wake you.” She blushed as she looked up at him. “I’m sorry I’ve been dragging you out of bed so early. You should’ve told me.” Adrian shook his head. “How could I? Just blurt it out in conversation? So much was at stake. I was so scared of losing you. I couldn’t risk it.” Olivia pulled away and looked at him sternly. “You could never lose me, Adrian. I’m committed now. You have nothing to worry about. But will you promise me something?” Adrian nodded. “No more secrets, ok?” He smiled and headed for the bathroom. “Deal.” He paused at the doorway and turned to face her once more. “Are you sure you’re ok with all this? I know it’s a lot to handle.” Olivia smirked and put her hands on her hips.
“I’m fine. It’s not so much to handle. Besides,” she raised an eyebrow at him, “You’re a vampire, I’m a Nevrakis. I’d say that’s a pretty even match.” Adrian chuckled as he shook his head. “An even match indeed.” He blew her a kiss and headed into the bathroom.
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