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us3rnam3-r3dact3d · 7 months ago

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as long as you’re with me (you’ll be just fine)

Chapter 4

Ao3 | 2k words | Angel’s POV

TW: implied violence, blood, intentions of assault and harm

Your apartment was in a shit part of town. You knew this, in fact you knew when you signed on the place. You worked a shit job with shit pay and you had shit credit, so you got a shit apartment in a shit part of town. That was how the cookie crumbled sometimes. You carried pepper spray and took some self defense classes and called your studio with the leaky tap good enough.

When you brought Davey over for the first time, you saw the tension in him as you walked from your assigned parking space to the front door. You saw his lingering eyes on the complex’s security cameras (that you knew didn’t work), on your door’s deadlock that jingled when you clicked it into place.

You knew he worked in security, but you’d never seen him stand like a body guard until you walked him out to his car after a night in. It seemed silly to walk him out. David was a 6 foot something wall of muscle who could absolutely take care of himself. Still, you wanted to see him to the drivers seat of his beaten up truck. Maybe it was the selfish desire to squeeze out every second you could with him. This was still new, and every moment you spent pressed against his side, teasing him, poking his chest and sticking your chin up defiantly, kissing him- oh god, kissing him- was precious.

He stepped out of the lobby, took one look at the man loitering in the parking lot, and bent down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Go back inside.” He said softly. “And use that lock support I got you, okay?”

You did. You hooked the little red device around your door handle and jiggled it just to be sure. You sent David a picture with a thumbs up emoji. He replied with some boring affirmation about how the device was used and, more interestingly, thanked you. You always liked it when Davey got all emotional.

Okay, maybe “Thanks for indulging me.” Wasn’t all that mushy, but for him, that was practically a marriage proposal.

You laughed at the mental image of Davey down on one knee. It felt ridiculous for somebody like David to propose to somebody like you.

A week later, Davey came to pick you up for sushi, and you spotted him for the first time.

Well, that wasn’t true. You’d seen the lean, tired looking night worker who lived across the hall from you almost every day. He came in from his shift just as you were leaving for yours. You never acknowledged him. You never even really saw him, if you were honest with yourself. You saw his crumpled fast food uniform, you saw his scuffed sneakers, the sleep still clouding your vision.

But you’d never really seen him. Not in his totality. Not the look in his eye. As you were shouldering your way out of the lobby door, trying to juggle your phone, keys, and jacket in your hands, you pushed open the door right into the guy who lived across the hall from you, almost dropping everything you barely had a hold of. You sacrificed your keys to save your phone and saw them clatter to the ground next to a pair of dirty no-slips, the kind you wore when you worked at Pizza Hut in high school. The sight of them made your feet ache, so you looked away and into the face of the guy next door.

He looked haggard, but his eyes were alight when they met yours. He was slightly unshaven, but couldn’t seem to grow anything besides a scraggly mustache that mostly made it look like he had some dirt scrubbed on his upper lip. He smelled like fast food, a scent you still couldn’t get out of your work jeans even after being out of the trade for a few years. Frying grease seemed to stick to the soul. He smiled, shifted, and bent to pick up your keys for you. You, very suddenly, didn’t want him to touch anything of yours.

He wasn’t a wholly unattractive person. But something about him made your skin crawl.

“Here-“ he said at the same time you mumbled:

“Sorry-“ and pushed past him, snagging your keys as you went.

David was standing outside of his truck and seemed to have been halfway through heading towards you when you finally made it out of the building.

“Do you know him?” Was the first thing out of his mouth. You turned and the guy was gone.

“No.” You said. “I think- yeah, he’s just the guy from across the hall from me.” David hummed and scrunched his eyebrows up in what you supposed was a pensive look, but just endeared you. You stood on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Come on.” You said. “I want miso soup.”

That night, when the two of you got back to your apartment, David walked you up. He kept his hand hovering just over the small of your back, never touching, just there to steady or steer you as needed. You were giddy on the evening, and giggled as he grumbled something about avocado rolls not being a valid sushi order and ‘next time you have to eat actual raw fish to call it a sushi date.’

You stopped him at the lobby door, a hand on his chest. You stood on your tip-toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Well,” you said, “next time I’ll buy so you don’t have to debase yourself by paying for my not-sushi.”

“Angel,” Davey said, a smile playing on the corner of his lips, “you’re crazy if you think I’m ever going to let you foot the bill.” You laughed, stepping back, pushing him out towards the parking lot.

“One of these days, Shaw!” You called, laughing as you turned.

It wasn’t until you turned the corner into your hallway that you felt your stomach flip. Something- and you didn’t know what- was wrong. You felt a shake in your guts as you came to a halt. You took a deep breath, considered walking back out to the parking lot to see if Davey was still there, and then thought better of it. Instead, you dug out your phone and started to type out a text to him as you walked.

But Davey hated it when you texted him while he was driving. He wouldn’t look until he was parked at his and Asher’s apartment, and he would berate you for distracting him. He had a stick up his ass in general, but that stick got a lot bigger when it came to car safety.

You started deleting your message as you fumbled with your keys, mistakenly slipping the spare key to Davey’s place into the lock before realizing your mistake.

A door opened behind you. You didn’t even get the chance to turn.

He grabbed you from behind. As soon as his arms locked around his waist, you felt so stupid. You had known something was wrong. You knew you were supposed to trust your gut. That’s what your dad told you when you moved to the city.

You remembered a few more things that your dad told you. You remembered that the elbow was the strongest point of the body. You felt lips on your neck as he started walking you back into the open door of his apartment. If you were going to do something, you had to do it now, before he could close and lock his door.

In as smooth of a motion as you could manage, you swung your elbow back and into the creep’s stomach. He cried out and dropped you. As soon as you had your feet under you, you moved, scrambling and stumbling out into the hallway. Before you could get your bearings, you ran face first into a broad, muscular chest. You stumbled back, afraid of another attack. Strong, warm hands wrapped around your shoulders, held you steady as you swung out with a sloppy fist.

“Angel- stop, it’s me- Angel!” Davey caught your punch before it landed, shook you once to get your attention. You felt your heart pounding in your head as he searched your face.

There was a commotion behind you. You wiped your head around to see your neighbor staggering out of his apartment door. He spent one second staring at the two of you before turning around and slamming his door shut.

Davey’s face had gone slack in realization, his hands on you shook, and his breathes came in short, sharp snarls. He moved suddenly, dragging you along with him. He had your door unlocked in the blink of an eye, and deposited you inside.

“Pack a bag.” He instructed through gritted teeth. Your apartment door shut in your face.

You moved numbly about your one room, snagging random pieces of clothes, your toothbrush, your meds. A loud thud and a shout caught your attention for a moment, but it slipped past your sluggish mind in seconds. Before you knew it, your duffel bag was full, you were still gripping a few tee-shirts in your hand, the hangers in your closet empty and disheveled. Something told you you weren’t going to set foot in this apartment again, not if Davey had anything to say about it. Usually, you’d bristle at the idea of him making that sort of decision for you, but you didn’t have any fight left in you to oppose him.

Fleetingly, you wondered if Asher was really as bad of a roommate as Davey made him out to be. He certainly couldn’t have been worse than you.

Your door opened eventually, startling you out of your daze. You didn’t know how long you’d been staring at the ratty hair-dying tee in your hand. Davey stepped in, his knuckles skinned and blood splattered up his front and over his face. You were frozen somewhere between horror and sick desire, staring at the flecks of blood that stained his lips.

“Are you ready?” He asked, clenching his right hand a few times.

“Did you…” you blinked hard, trying to clear your fuzzy mind. “Kill? Him?”

“What?” David snapped, his brow screwing up. “No!” He shouted, throwing a hand wide. You flinched, clutching your shirt close to your chest. David watched you, his outrage leaking out into concern. He closed his eyes, took one calming breath, two.

“I’m sorry.” He said, his voice nearly a whisper. “I’m sorry, Angel. I didn’t kill anybody. I just… beat the shit out of him. He’ll live. Probably.”

You didn’t laugh at his joke, just unwrapped your arms from around yourself.

“Okay.” You nodded, stepping forward to meet him. He placed his hands on your shoulders like he had in the hallway, but almost gentler, like he was scared to grab you too hard. “I’m not worth going to jail for.”

David scoffed audibly. One hand came up to rest on the back of your neck, pulling you close and pressing his forehead to yours.

“You are worth so much more than that.” He said softly, earnestly. The sudden seriousness took your breath away. Your instinct told you to pull away, to deflect with a joke or undercut the sincerity in David’s admission.

But David was there, covered in blood for you, probably in pain for you, whisking you away from your shit apartment in the shit part of town to keep you safe. So instead, you leaned in, let him hold your weight, let him breathe the same air as you, let his heart hammer into your chest.

“Let’s go, Angel,” Davey said eventually, unraveling from you. His arm stayed wrapped around your shoulders to keep you steady. He took your bag, your keys, locked the door behind you. You stared into the kicked-in door of your neighbor’s apartment, saw him laying on the ground, crying and bleeding as he clutched his face. Something about that image cured the foggy-headed numbness in you. Rage bubbled in your gut.

And then Davey’s hand landed on the small of your back, turned you away from the sight of him, turned you instead into the expanse of his chest as you walked. Anger boiled down in you, and all you were left with was the smell of David’s cologne mixed with the tang of blood.

Was this was it felt like to be protected? You could get used to it.

#redacted asmr #my redacted content #redacted asher #redacted david #redacted angel #redacted angst #redacted audio #redacted audio fic #redacted asmr fic

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silentwillowwhisperer · 1 year ago

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Day 23-HAPPY BIRTHDAY KEEF

It’s Keith’s birthday!!! Have the happiest of all happy birthdays my dear sweet traumatized child!

I only have 30 minutes till today is over, yay me!

I have never gone paragliding before, nor do I feel like researching so yeah.

—————————

Paragliding.

When Lance told Keith they would do anything he wanted for his birthday, he had expected something like ‘going to a party’ or ‘going for a hike’ or even just an eye roll.

But no.

Keith wants to jump out of a foreign aircraft on some random (but admittedly very pretty) planet with nothing but a flimsy little piece of fabric stopping him from falling to his death about a gazillion feet below him.

Now, Lance is not about to risk his life like this for no reason.

But Keith has his chin resting on Lance’s knee and is staring up at the blue paladin with wide, content eyes, and Lance cannot possibly say no to his precious bundle of boyfriend.

And that brings us to now, where Lance is fidgeting with the straps on his bulky harness. Their guide is a bulky man, towering at least a foot above them both. He hacks away at purple foliage blocking their way on the winding path that will deliver them to the top of a mountain.

Keith has a stupidly wild grin on his face. His eyes glow like fire and his hair is sticking out in every direction thanks to this planet’s rapidly fluctuating humidity. Lance is sure his own hair can’t be doing much better.

Keith is strangely chatty as he walks. A couple days before this, he had insisted that Lance just ignore his birthday, but it’s obvious that he’s enjoying every second of this. Their hands are clasped together between them both and swing back in forth as they hike. Both of their palms are sweating rivers by now. Lance squeezes tighter with every step.

Keith giggles softly. “You scared, McClain?” He nudges Lance’s shoulder with his own and his face is curved with a teasing smile.

Lance scoffs indignantly and mimes flipping a nonexistent ponytail over his shoulder.

“ I could out-fall you any day, Kogane.”

Keith snickers but gives no response. He goes back to pointing out every new thing they see with quiet joy. Lance can almost the sparkles flowing out of Keith.

He gets so caught up watching his partner that he doesn’t notice they’ve made it to the top till it’s too late.

There’s a blur of buckles and snappy instructions given to them by their guide and now Lance and Keith are strapped into their parachute for two.

Keith sends him a radiant grin. His eyes have fiery challenge swirled in. He drapes his arms over Lance’s shoulders and leans in close. “You ready?” he whispers.

Lance gulps and nods shallowly. He feels a trickle of sweat run down his temple.

“Here we go!”

And now they’re falling. He fails for a moments before throwing his arms around Keith’s back. All he can hear is the wind whipping around them and Keith’s faint jingle-laughs.

He has his eyes squeezed shut tight, but feels dumb after a moment and cracks one open just enough to see in front of him.

Keith is watching him carefully. His lips quiver, Lance can tell the other boy is laughing at him.

By now, the fabric has caught the wind, and they float gracefully through the air. Light shines through their paraglider and creates a splash of vibrant colors across their faces.

Keith throws his head back to cackle again. His hair looks terrible, black locks poking into his eyes and whipping around with the wind. His eyes are shut tight with amusement and Lance has the urge to trace the crinkles around his eyes. His skin is painted over with a mix of red and blue from their paraglider.

He’s a mess.

And he looks absolutely radiant.

If they weren’t already flying through the sky, Lance would say that his heart was carrying his straight up into the cosmos.

They make it back to the ground eventually, and Lance find himself missing the decent. They begin an awkward shuffle to untangle themselves from the mess that is their harnesses and scout out the area.

They’ve landed on a hill overlooking a sprawling market, and dammit if Lance isn’t going shopping, he just went through a life-threatening experience.

Keith is dragged around from stall to stall as Lance gets distracted by anything and everything that catches his eye.

He zones out for a while, occasionally lifting his arms or hair to let Lance try various accessories out on him.

He comes back to reality when Lance pats his head and looks down at his chest.

Dangling there is a red pendant. It’s a uncut stone almost like a ruby, but deeper with layers of pink and orange that remind Keith of a sunset. The best part is, the charm is naturally shaped so that it almost looks like a strawberry.

Lance’s smile overflows with affection. “I found that on some planet a while ago and thought of you. One of these merchants helped me put it on a string and you didn’t even notice because you zoned out so hard. Do you like it?”

There’s no words to describe the buzzing in Keith’s stomach correctly, so he just crashes his body against Lance, and they embrace so close they might’ve melted together.

Later, they’ll go back to the castle and Hunk will present a pretty cake to him. They’ll all have a movie night and a big dinner of almost-pizza (it’s actually soup but alienified to taste like bread, saude, and cheese) and Keith will spend the night pressed up against his boyfriend. Eventually they’ll be forced to go to bed and Keith will lay in Lance’s arms, turning the new necklace back and forth in his fingers endlessly.

And the whole time, a glow too big to possibly fit inside him will rush through his veins as he drowns in a happiness entirely surreal to him.

——————————————-

Yes, yep, it is totally still the 23rd, shush it.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY DARLING BABY BOY! You deserve the moon, the stars, and all the worlds above <3

#vld #voltron legendary defender #voltron #keith kogane #lance mcclain #klance #keith vld #vld keith #lance vld #2023keithtober #happy birthday keith #day 23

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fizzarollitm · 7 months ago

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contd. @rollinpinwheel ; Fizz's no good very bad day @ Loo Loo Land

Days at LooLoo Land where an unfortunate obligation outlined in his contract with Mammon. He smiled in the parade, sang the stupid theme song, and posed with fans before hitching it back to Lust before sundown. All routine and all within the confines of his comfort staying the fuck away from the rickety robot with his face.

There had always been something off about the model. Whenever Fizzarolli had to pose with him there was a tension; his eyes too wide and aware, the smile twisting metal that made his stomach churn. But he was a moneymaker. Made more green entertaining people's kids than the ones you could stick your dick into...which meant he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

It had been an especially rough day of getting groped, pulled, poked, and spat on by fans and their parents. He had seen enough milf tits to last a lifetime and pulled away after the tenth accidental flash for a break in the employee's only area. He had pulled out the pack when something slithered up his leg knocking the air, lighter, and phone out of him. He tasted mud, booze, and something sweet, hands grabbing for anything to ground himself with. He saw a load supporting beam of steel, or something close to steel, for one of the rides and made for it before another arm trapped him in place. His prosthetics whined as they tried their best to follow the electrical pulse in his connector but he had to stop worried he'll blow out the machinery.

They were made for juggling, not this.

And then out of the gloom came the fucker himself. Fizzarolli stopped struggling, too shocked by what he was seeing. The bot laughed at him, jeered at him, using his own fucking voice. The bells on his hat jingled as he went upside down getting a full show to that awful mouth twisting into a grin obviously taking pleasure in this. The way it sneered around rat and at the mention of cage Fizzarolli's lashed out—

" Let me go you fucking asshole. " He glared up [ down ? ] at him, refusing to give it the fear it wanted. " I'll have you decommissioned. You'll be used for spare fucking parts when I'm done with you. " Someone will come. Someone will look for him. Someone will notice he's gone because he is the biggest face in Hell and this was nothing more than an unfortunate copy. No one will miss a xerox—

#[threads] 「showtime!」#[Pinwheel] 「they want to laugh」#rollinpinwheel #violence tw #ask to tag #FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

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sometimesibepondering · 5 months ago

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Found a prompt on Reddit I really like, but for some reason the server crashed and now I can’t post. I didn’t write this shit for nothing. Here it is:

“Run!” Reid shouted as he scrambled to his feet and made his way through the cave as quickly as his short legs would allow.

“Run? RUN?” Quincey yelled as he ran after the other, easily keeping pace with the shorter man. “What do you mean run? I thought you’d just zap it to death with your twinkly little spells magic boy!”

“We are going to die, and you’re still making fun of me?” Reid shouted back. “For the last time, I am an Alchemist, not a wizard! And what about you bell boy? Huh? Weren’t you going to jingle it to death? Tell jokes till it died of laughter?”

“Oh please! Like that thing has a sense of humor!” Quincey rolled his eyes. “I’d have a better chance of getting Princess Amber to wear a dress!”

“As if! She’d rather march herself to the gallows than be forced into a gown!”

“Thank you for punctuating my point magic boy! I swear-“

“Quickly hide here!” Reid finally spotted a crevice in the cave walls just barely large enough to contain them both. He shoved the larger man into the nook first before pressing himself inside as well.

Reid reached his hand into a blue leather pouch hanging on his belt and grabbed a handful of foul smelling powder. Quincey didn’t know what all it was comprised of, but he was nearly certain there were bits of hair and what looked like cats claws poking out of the ashy powder in the alchemist’s hands. Reid spat in his hands then looked up at Quincey.

“Quickly bell boy, there’s not much time left!” Reid urged him.

“What-“

“Spit! Now!” Reid whisper shouted through clenched teeth.

Quincey spit into Reid’s hands then watched as he mixed the ash and spit together before rubbing the spit-paste along the walls of the crevice, then ignited the powder with the flint and steel hanging on his neck. Reid wiped his hands off on his robes and breathed a small sigh of relief. “We’re safe for now, but don’t speak too loudly, it doesn’t block noise.”

“What do you-“ Quincey’s question was cut off by Reid’s hand coming up to block his mouth as the ground shook.

The beast that had been chasing them finally caught up. The creature was lumbering by, pausing occasionally to sniff the air. The realization hit like a brick. It was tracking them by scent. Not sight. Not even sound. They would be found. And soon.

Quincey stared wide-eyed and desperate at Reid who still seemed somewhat calm despite the situation. They were about to be eaten alive by a dragon and the little magic boy was still holding his mouth shut. Honestly this isn’t how he pictured his demise. Quincey figured his death would be at the gallows. He’d have been sentenced to hang after throwing one quip too many at a visiting foreign minister, offending their sensibilities so thoroughly that they declare war against the kingdom. All over a joke.

In his dreams at least that’s how he’d go. He had even fantasized about what one-liner he could toss at the crowd before taking the plunge. He wanted his final words to be his legacy. But now he’d die, gored to death by dragon teeth, and not even get to say anything remotely funny to anyone who’d get it or live to tell the tale considering his current companion, who was likely perishing alongside him, was a stick in the mud who hated any and all things fun.

Resigning himself to his clearly imminent death, Quincey looked out of the crevice at the dragon, mere inches away from them. It sniffed the air. Once. Twice. Three times. It huffed through its nose, the hot air hit his face and his hair curled slightly from the heat.

Then it turned around and left.

Just like that.

Quincey couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He could still feel the ground quake a bit as it lumbered away from their little hideout.

Reid slowly dropped his hand from Quincey’s mouth, allowing the jester to speak once more.

“You’ve got some fancy tricks magic boy. What is in that powder?” Quincey smirked at him.

“Nothing special really.” Reid shrugged. “I’m just glad I brought it along, didn’t think we’d actually need it. But then again I didn’t think we’d run into a dragon either.”

“No kidding. Who’d have thought gathering glowshrooms would turn us into lunch?” Quincey mused.

“Lunch? Did you see the size of that thing? I don’t think we’d even qualify as an afternoon snack.” Reid rolled his eyes.

Quincey chuckled lowly, causing their ribs to press against each other even more. “Maybe you do have a sense of humor magic boy. Albeit only a small one. Now can we get out of this hole? My back is pressing against a rock and I can smell entirely too much of you.”

“About that…” Reid began sheepishly. “Um… no.”

“No? What do you mean no?” Quincey interrogated him quietly.

“Well, ensconce powder has a particular side effect, that I haven’t quite found a way to counter just yet. I’m still researching ways around it, but I’m so,so close to a breakthrough I just know it. I haven’t found it yet though.” Reid rambled a bit before biting his lip in shame. With their proximity, Quincy could not only see his ears brighten with his embarrassment, he could feel the other man’s heart racing in his chest as it pounded against his ribcage. “You see the veil it creates can hide things by blocking four of the five senses, and this veil is hiding the two of us specifically. That’s why I needed your spit. To anything other than the two of us this crevice will look, feel, smell and even taste like just another part of the cave, and after the powder burns up the illusion fades away. But if you or I make a sound too loud, or leave the illusion, the veil will shatter. Like glass. Literally.”

“You mean to say-“

“Yes.”

“So we’re stuck here?”

“Indeed.”

“For how long?”

“Ensconce powder usually only lasts ten minutes or so, but I did use quite a bit more than usual since I needed to hide the both of us, so it could be longer.” Reid mused somewhat sheepishly.

“How much longer exactly?” Quincey furrowed his brows as he looked down at the other man.

“Well there’s no telling really. Could be twenty minutes, could be two hours.” Reid scratched at his nose nervously. “We just have to wait until the powders all burned away.”

“You mean to tell me, I have to be stuck here with you for two hours?”

“POSSIBLY, two hours. It could be less.” Reid pointed out optimistically.

“Or more. This is a nightmare. I suddenly regret ever teasing Sir Lance about his religion. Hell is real.”

“Right… well…” Reid began to fidget with his robes nervously. “What do you suggest we do to pass the time?”

“Pass the time?” Quincey rolled his eyes. “Well there’s not enough room for a game of cards, I can’t reach my flask in this position, and you can’t take a joke to save your life so conversations off the table.”

“I can take a joke.” Reid huffed feeling a bit indignant.

“No, you can’t.” Quincey huffed back.

“Can too!” Reid stood on his tip toes and puffed out his chest a bit, crushing into Quincey even more than before.

“Cannot!” Quincey retorted. “Every time I make a joke around you, you take it too seriously and point out the punchline. Really ruins the delivery.”

“Not everytime!”

“Name one instance.” Quincey challenged.

“I don’t get upset when you call me ‘magic boy’ even though what I do is, strictly speaking, not magic.” Reid poked a sharp finger into the other’s chest.

“You think I’m joking when I call you ‘magic boy’?” Quincey sneered.

“Aren’t you?” Reid furrowed his brows, looking more hurt than Quincey had ever seen him. “I mean I’m only joking when I call you bell boy… I thought it was affec- I mean I thought it was our own friendly banter.” The small man seemed to have deflated.

“Reid, I didn’t mean-“

“No no it’s fine… of course you didn’t mean it like that.” Reid flashed a stiff smile. “I guess I was the only one who thought we were friends. That’s fine. Good to know now, before going and making an even bigger fool of myself. Not that I’m trying to take your job. I couldn’t do what you do, Quincey. People don’t smile and laugh when they see me like they do with you. No one really enjoys spending time with me, except for you. Well I thought you did at least. I guess I was wrong about that though. I suppose this means I should stop going to the performers kitchen for lunch now.” Reid rambled on, words simply spilling out of his mouth without him really knowing what he was saying. Quincey could only watch helplessly as tears trickled down his face, his heart aching with each drop.

“No no no, Reid, no.” Quincey wrapped the smaller man in a hug. “I do enjoy spending time with you. You’re my best friend and I love-“ he stopped himself with a cough, “being with you. You are wonderful, and so fun be around. It amazes me to watch as reality bends to your will and distorts at your fingertips. I call you magic boy because to me what you do is magic. No different than what Selina and Hubert do, just without the wands and chanting is all. Please don’t stop eating lunch with me. If you do, I’ll only have Percival to keep me company, and he’s such a dreadful bore.”

Reid sniffed and wiped his eyes on Quincey’s broad chest as he tried to stop his tears. “Percival’s a lizard though.”

Quincey chuckled. “Yes. Yes he is. Thank you for punctuating my point magic boy.”

#writing prompt #romance #short story #lgbtq #not beta'd #we die like men #I spent almost two hours writing this #just for the server to crash #fuck reddit #i was losing my mind #writing exercise

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 2 years ago

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Mind Mirror (Part 15)

Regina looks rather cozy in her sweater. Emma had bought it for her several days before and she didn’t think that the woman would actually wear it; it is quite hideous, a true contender to be the winner of an ugly Christmas sweater contest. Made to look like collage of Christmas postage stamps, it is full of knitted candy canes and poinsettias and other symbols of the season. Emma’s own sweater is infinitely more hideous and quite literally flashy, adorned with cheap LED lights spun around a gingerbread man. Two more strands of Christmas lights are knitted onto the baggy sleeves. She completes her outfit with mismatching flannel pajama bottoms–not that anything actually goes with the sweater–and a pair of elf socks with jingle bells by the toes. Surprisingly they don’t wake the napping mayor.

Emma isn’t all too surprised to see her bundled up tightly in a blanket, out from which one of her feet pokes. She is wearing the fuzzy socks that Emma bought her. Evidently, she must have fallen asleep; she holds a book in one hand and her reading glasses rest lopsided on her face.

Emma takes the book from her hand, marks the page, and sets it down on the coffee table. She plucks the glasses from her face and sets them aside as well. This is when Regina stirs. She mumbles a sleepy, “Emma?”

“Yup, just me.” She takes a seat on the sofa.

With a few equally sleepy hums, Regina shifts and makes more room.

“You don’t have to move.”

Regina stretches her arms. Voice tightened by the stretch she asks, “where’s Henry.”

“Upstairs playing World of Warcraft. Want me to call him?”

Regina nods. But before she can shout, Emma nudges her. “No screaming across the house m’kay.”

Emma sighs. “Alright, but only because it’s…”

“Something that you know your wife doesn’t like and you would never do something to mildly agitate her?”

“I wouldn’t say never.”

Regina sits up and gives her a playful swat on the arm. “Tell him we’re making the gingerbread house.”

“Sure thing. Can you get the hot chocolate going?”

“Do you want the peppermint flavor or double chocolate?”

“Surprise me.”

“Okay.” She gives her arms one more stretch and her back a stretch before standing up, taking the care to make sure the blanket remains fully wrapped around her.

Emma makes her way up the stairs and knocks on Henry’s door. “Hey kid, we’re gonna build the gingerbread house. You ready?”

“Yeah, just a second. I have to finish fighting the orcs!”

She comes back down to find Regina with a candy cane sticking out of her mouth while she tries to tear open a package of hot chocolate. She hears Emma and looks up. That face, she loves that face. That almost childlike expression, the one she always makes when she knows that she has been caught doing something less than regal.

“Need help over there?”

Regina tosses her the package.

“Why don’t you just use your magic? Or, ya know, scissors?”

“Takes the fun out of it. It wouldn’t be Christmas if I didn’t have a heated fight with the hot chocolate packages.” She stands on her tiptoes and pecks Emma on the forehead. “Just a little something quick before Henry comes down here she ruffles her hair. She flashes Emma one of those smiles. Those mischievous smiles.

She has been doing so well with her session with Archie. She seems so lively and Emma is terrified that tomorrow’s gathering is going to take that away from them. She is lucky that Henry has made it downstairs, she doesn’t have time to dwell on what hasn’t happened yet. Not when Henry asks, “hey can we try making a gingerbread dragon?”

Regina hums and twirls the candy cane between her fingers. “I suppose that with a little bit of magic that will be doable.”

Henry grins, “we’re going to make the best gingerbread dragon in Storybrooke.”

“I don’t think that we’ll have much competition, kid.”

.oOo.

Regina takes a deep breath.

Emma stands behind her, rubbing her hands over her shoulders, massaging gently.

“Are you going to be alright, Regina?”

“I think so, Emma.” But she isn’t exactly certain. She never is, these days. Lately she doesn’t know how she is going to feel until she begins to feel. It has been a kind several days but that doesn’t really mean much at all.

“I’m going to grab a quick shower, okay?”

Regina nods. She has already showered, her hair still drips leaving little pearls of water on her back. She picks out one of her dresses, ordinarily it would be such a brave choice. Ordinarily she would be thrilled to show it off. Things haven’t been all that ordinary lately and she misses the days when she could just dress herself without a second thought.

She promised Emma that she wouldn’t be too hard on herself but Emma can’t hear her thoughts, Emma will never know if she breaks that promise.

She steps into the dress, pulls it up, and zips it. The wine colored velvet feels divine on her skin. It has been such a long while since she has worn something somewhat form-fitting. It is more form-fitting than what she has been wearing lately with a high collar trimmed with black gemstones and lace. The same chantilly lace trims the bottom of the dress which reaches just above her knees. She retreats from the full-length mirror before she can talk herself out of wearing it. Instead she goes to the bathroom mirror and puts her chandelier shaped earrings in, they dangle and the garnets tap against her neck when she tilts her head to look for a hair pin, the one with the black feathers and lace. She picks out some eyeshadow and a lipstick to match the shade of her dress.

When she is finished she supposes that she looks presentable, nice even.

Emma emerges from the shower, a towel wrapped around her head and another around her body. She looks Regina up and down. Regina who leans against the sink counter and grips it tightly. She knows that it is only Emma, that Emma looks at her all the time and yet there is still a part of her that is growing uncomfortable. “I like it a lot.” Emma kisses her on the cheek. She hadn’t expected any other remark.

Regina smooths the dress out, “thank you, I thought that I would give you a little treat.”

Emma grins. “I do love a good view, thanks.”

Her face flushes lightly and she finds herself staring at the ground, giving a slight chuckle.

.oOo.

They all start arriving at noon, the Charmings first as always. “Hi, Regina! Great to see you again.” Mary-Margaret pulls her into one of those hugs that lasts way too long.

It only occurs to her now, just how long it has been since she’d socialized with them. With anyone aside from Archie, Gold, and Belle. “How have you been?”

Regina shrugs. “I suppose that I could be better.” She finds herself shuffling her feet. But she could be much worse. So, so much worse. “I’m doing well enough though. Henry, Emma, and I made a gingerbread dragon.”

“Sounds like something I should slay.” David quirks a brow.

“You can slay it after dinner, like I told Emma.”

“And Henry?” David asks.

“I have been Henry’s mom for over ten years. Henry knows that it’s dinner first and then dessert. No exceptions.”

David pats her back as he passes her by. “There’s a first time for everything.” He tosses a look over his shoulder. “Is she in the kitchen or the living room.”

“She’s finishing setting the table up. Henry is still in his room.”

“I’ll say hi to Emma and tell him to come down.”

She watches him disappear into the kitchen before turning back to Mary and gesturing her to fully enter the foyer. She holds out a few shiny boxes. “You can put those on the piano.”

Mary carelly arranges them there. “You look really pretty today, Regina.”

Regina smiles and tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear. “Thank you, I appreciate that.” More than Mary would know. In a half whisper she adds, “for that, you can steal the first piece of the gingerbread dragon.”

.oOo.

Zelena is late and maybe that was a blessing. Now that the woman is standing in the foyer, Emma wishes that they would have just sent her a Christmas card or something instead of actually inviting her over. Zelena is blunt and tactless and that isn’t what Regina needs right now. Even if she doesn’t mean anything by it.

Things had been going well too. They had been playing Yahtzee and watching Frosty the Snowman. Henry had been telling them about how he had been so anxious about his first round of finals only to find out that they were a breeze to get through. Regina had shared all of the new spells she has been teaching herself. Some of which, Gold seemed to take note of. “Light magic, dearie?”

“I think so, yes.”

“I didn’t realize that you could do light magic.”

“Neither did I.” Regina had confessed. Emma hadn’t realized that she had been working with light magic. And she had been saying that she hasn’t accomplished anything worthwhile.

But now Zelena is here and it is all falling apart. It does so in just three, technically, four words. Three words that don’t actually echo in the foyer, they don’t hang their either. In a literal sense they dissipate as soon as they are spoken. Figuratively, they bring everything to a pause. “Oh, you’ve gained weight!”

Emma groans quite audibly, her head falling back against the sofa. She rubs her hands over her face and gets to her feet. Based upon the way Mary grits her teeth, David bites his lip, and Belle seems to wince she has a feeling that they have a decent understanding of how delicate this situation is. She knows that Gold is aware, he twiddles awkwardly with his cane. She catches a glimpse of Henry’s face as she leaves the room.

“Really, Zelena!?” She throws her hands up. “That’s your greeting? You ran through all of your options; ‘hello’, ‘hi’, ‘merry Christmas’, ‘how have you been’, ‘thanks for hosting Christmas’. And that’s the best you could come up with!?”

She thinks that Regina might have laughed a little. But this time a slight laugh does exactly nothing to alleviate what her eyes betray. The hurt, the distress…

She isn’t crying but the inclination is very much there. Even if she had tried to laugh it off immediately after.

“Sorry, I was just…”

“Just what, you’re lucky that we even invite you to these things. You always show up late and…”

“It’s alright, Emma.” Regina murmurs. “It’s not a big deal. I’m not that fragile. She isn’t wrong either.”

“See, she said it’s alright, nothing to worry about.” Zelena slings her arm over Regina’s shoulder. “Just sibling banter. We give each other shit sometimes. Just give Regina a minute, she’ll find something clever to say back.”

“It’s not alright! That was really rude!”

“You don’t have to raise your voice, Emma.”

It only then occurs to her that she is only embarrassing Regina more. “Sorry.”

“You’re just trying to help, dear.” She replies. “Zelena we were in the middle of Yahtzee but we can start a new game if you’d like.”

“Have you poured the champagne yet?”

“We wouldn’t dare pour the champagne without the family drunk.”

“Ah-ha! There it is! There’s the witty comeback.” She elbows Regina in the ribs. “I’ll meet you in the living room. Maybe by the end of this dinner they’ll rename it the dying room.”

Emma waits for her to disappear around the corner to remark. “It’s like she doesn’t even realize when she takes things too far.” She pauses for a frown. “And this time the first thing out of her mouth was too far.”

“She doesn’t, Emma. I think that she really doesn’t. She never had a filter.”

“And that makes it okay?”

Regina rests her head against the wall.

“I know that she made you feel…”

“Emma, that’s just it, she didn’t make me feel anything. She pointed out something that’s…it’s true. She didn’t say anything else one way or the other.”

She has her doubts about that but she doesn’t push it. “But she shouldn’t have. Pointed it out, I mean. She didn’t need to.”

“Emma, can we please just go back to dinner. Please.” Emma hates this look almost more than the tearful one. This desperately pleading expression.

Emma flinches. She really should have just let it go. She thinks that she has only made things worse and more uncomfortable by keeping this conversation going. She should have let Regina brush it off and vent later if she wanted to. “I just want to make sure you know that, I’m on your side.”

“I don’t need a savior, Emma. I just…I need a wife. I just need regular, not savior, Emma.”

God, that’s all she wants to be, just plain Emma for once. She lets Regina wrap her arms around her and lean into her. Emma holds her for a very long time. “You promise me that you’re okay?”

“I promise.”

She just hopes that Regina will finish her hot chocolate and the Christmas cookies that she had been nibbling on as they played Yahtzee. “Come on, lets get back to the game.” She requests softly. She locks the door and takes Emma’s hand, pulling her back into the living room.

“Don’t worry, we kept your sister well away from the alcohol.” David mentions after a gulp of eggnog.

“Thank God for that.” Gold grumbles. “I’d take three hundred years back in my cell before I take one night of drunk Christmas carols. Your sister’s voice is the real curse.”

“Well just call Urusla because I have a whole booklet full of songs to sing!” Zelena slaps a folder full of sheet music onto the floor. “I’ll start! Are we decking the halls or rockin’ around the Christmas tree.”

“We dashing through the hell no.” Henry grumbles.

“I’ll let that one slide, Henry. But only because it’s essentially what everyone was thinking.” Regina takes a sip of her hot chocolate.

Emma releases a breath, some of her anxiety melts away. But only some. She knows by now that Regina is terribly good at putting on a brave face. She just wonders when this one is going to crumble. She hopes that it won’t. She hopes that, that charming smile will last a long time this time.

At least a few more days.

#Once Upon A Time #Regina Mills #Emma Swan #Swan Queen #Fanfiction

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ptergwen · 4 years ago

Text

jingle your bells

w/c: 1.7k

warnings: mentions of drinking and a suggestive joke

summary: peter gets drunk at tony’s christmas party and confesses a thing or two

a/n: today’s the day yayyy merry christmas guys i hope you’ve gotten and gave some good stuff!! i hope you’re all staying safe too <3 this was requested as a headcanon but i put a twist on it because why not

━━━ ➳❥

your dad loves parties. hosting them, attending them, crashing them. he’s actually known for it.

this year, he’s throwing a little party for christmas. everyone at the compound is coming, but there’s someone you care about more than the rest. peter. he’s one of your favorite people and closest friends.

your crush, too.

these things can be a bit overwhelming, so the two of you always stick together. you’ll sometimes sneak upstairs to your room and binge movies with pajamas and all kinds of junk food. it’s your own party in a way. you two enjoy the time you don’t spend at the real ones more than anything.

thor and bruce are currently doing their own rendition of all i want for christmas. your dad made the mistake of setting up karaoke. you laugh along, natasha dragging them in every way possible. steve snaps to the beat. wanda is covering her face in second hand embarrassment. vision offers tips that he searched every possible database for.

sam and bucky took peter somewhere a while ago. that can never be good. he’ll probably come back covered in whipped cream or something stupid. those two never leave peter alone. it’s kind of sweet when you think about it.

“thank you! thank you very much, children,” thor grins as everyone applauds the performance. bruce takes a bow. “we’ll be here all night.” you shake your head at the two of them. they’re too funny. natasha shares a look with you. “boo, get off the stage!” bucky calls as he enters the room. sam and peter follow behind him.

peter is smiling like an idiot, not that his smile isn’t adorable. it just seems a bit off. you really have to find out what they did to him.

“uh, this is my stage,” thor scoffs and grabs the microphone off the stand. grimacing, bruce puts a hand on his shoulder. “let’s calm down, buddy.” “no, i think we should do another one. santa baby.” he points to natasha. “hit play for us, thanks.” she sighs and puts the song on through the speakers. you can’t win with thor.

you watch sam whisper something to peter, then bucky cackles. tony and pepper make their way in and sit down next to you on the couch.

“what’s going on in here?” pepper asks you, nudging your arm. you’re more concerned with what’s going on with peter. “a sing off. it was karaoke, but bucky riled thor up.” your dad clicks his tongue. “that absolute madman.”

“he’s not the only madman tonight,” your mom comments, widening her eyes at the sight in front of her. you furrow your eyebrows and follow her gaze. your mouth drops open.

peter is dancing around in front of them. he’s trying to hip bump bruce, who keeps inching closer to thor. sam and bucky are doubled over from the other side of the room. they ruined your poor peter.

thor chuckles and pats peter on the back. he happily accepts it very much like a puppy would. he’s wearing a headband with jingle bells on it and there’s a weird stain on his shirt.

“little spider has been drinking,” thor announces, peter’s cheeks glowing red. that makes sense. you immediately glare at sam and bucky. they raise their hands in defense. they’re still on the hook.

“god, i can smell him from here,” natasha agrees and waves her hand in the air. “they‘d be able to smell him from sokovia,” wanda mutters. “parker? are you shit-faced right now?” your dad speaks up, a look between concern and anger on his face. his giggling gives him away.

“it’s christmas. you’re drunk out of your mind on christmas. i can’t have that.” tony points upstairs, signaling for him to go. you’re pretty sure peter didn’t process a word of that. pepper rubs up and down tony’s arm with a frown. “oh, tony. don’t be a grinch.” he sighs and watches peter try to climb into steve’s lap.

“he needs to sleep this off, pep. kid hasn’t had a drop of alcohol before tonight.” it’s true. he’s big on not drinking until he’s old enough. you have to wonder what changed. “i’ll bring him to his room, dad. he shouldn’t go alone,” you offer, already getting to your feet. “thanks, y/n/n. look at you, making good choices.”

you walk up to steve and give him an apologetic smile. relief washes over his face. “he’s all yours,” he laughs out. “all yours,” peter repeats in a giggle. “mhm. let’s go, peter.” you take him by his arm and pull him away from steve.

he’s easy to drag along because of the state he’s in. he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, your arm around his waist.

“you smell so good, y/n. sooo nice,” peter almost sings, sniffing you for good measure. “you don’t,” you deadpan. the two of you pass by sam and bucky on your way out. “you’re actually messed up for this,” you tell them under your breath, bucky gasping. “hey, miss stark. it was his idea!” sam yells out to you. you’re not in the mood to hear it.

peter cuddles into your side while you lead him up the stairs. his breath is hot on you and wreaks of expensive liquor from your dad’s cabinet. you never imagined you’d see him like this.

he’s still clinging onto you, so you open his door by pressing your back to it. “come on, pete. you have to lay down,” you tell him as nicely as you can. he stops walking in the middle of the room. “wait. lemme show you something.” he wiggles his eyebrows and shakes his head around. it makes the jingle bells on his head... jingle.

“did you like it?” peter asks and leans his head down to do it again. stifling a laugh, you grab his shoulders. “yeah, peter. i liked it. you can stop jingling your bells now.” “you should... should jingle my bells,” he slurs, smirking at you. you quickly take your hands off of him. “oh my god, you’re so drunk.”

he’s doing all the things you wish he would when he’s sober.

“are you mad at me?” peter pouts his lip out. “don’t be mad at me, y/n.” you press your own lips together and take a seat on his bed. he plops down next to you, pushing his head against your shoulder. “no, but i am mad at sam and bucky. i can’t believe they’d do this.” his face twists up in confusion. “and on christmas.”

“do what?” he wonders and settles his head on you. “let you drink?” you ask like it should be obvious. it should be. “no, no, no. they were helping me.” peter puffs some air out of his cheeks. that gives him the idea to blow into your ear. you flinch and push at his shoulder.

“peter, they gave you alcohol. it’s clearly not good for you.” “no, y/n.” he closes his eyes and lays his head on your shoulder again. “i got my own. they-“ he’s interrupted by a hiccup. you can’t help but laugh, pulling him closer. “‘scuse me. they helped me with something else.”

drunk peter is kind of cute. super cute, to be real.

“what was it?” you decide to entertain him, figuring he’ll say something ridiculous. “asking you out,” peter answers way too casually. you almost don’t believe him. then again, he’s pretty self aware at the moment. it’s probably because his powers give him a higher tolerance.

peter feels your heart speeding up next to him. he presses his head to it so he can hear. “you- are you serious?” you stammer, willing him to look up at you. “uh huh. i like you a lot.” a lazy smile takes over his face. “a lot a lot.” “peter...” he’s still going.

“i asked them for advice. it sucked. we were in the kitchen and i remembered your dad’s...” he pauses to think of the word. “stash. i thought drinking would make me loose.” he moves his body around for a visual.

you’re still shocked sam and bucky let him go through with it. it does sound like them, though. you’re more shocked peter likes you back and just admitted it.

sober peter would never admit any of that.

“you don’t have to change anything for me, pete. i like you, too.” you grin down at him. peter returns it and puckers his lips at you. “cool. does that mean i can get a kiss?” letting out a breath, you help him sit up again. he whines about it for all of ten seconds before yawning.

this isn’t exactly how you saw this moment going. peter is too shy to ever really initiate anything, and you never knew if he felt the same. you’re always trying to figure out each other’s boundaries. he has to debate with himself about little things like giving you his jacket or facetiming you at night.

he never wants to overstep. you never want to scare him off. having him drunkenly snuggle with you breaks all those boundaries. at least something finally does. the kiss will have to wait until whatever he drank leaves his system, which hopefully won’t be long. his powers are a possibility once again.

“it’s nap time for you,” you tell peter like he’s a kid. he protests like one, too. “but i’m not tired.” “yeah you are. you just yawned.” he opens his mouth to speak. you talk first. “lay down.” he’s caught off guard this time when you push at his chest. it makes him fall back on the pillows.

you giggle and take the jingle bells off his head. they can’t be comfortable. peter makes grabby hands for you. “come lay with me, baby,” he mumbles into the pillow his face is squished in. your heart flutters hearing him call you that. his arms do look inviting. they’re all ready to hold you.

too bad he’s on time out.

“i can’t. i’m supposed to be back downstairs already.” you unenthusiastically get up from the bed. peter groans, rolling onto his side. “i want christmas cuddles.” “you’ll get some after your nap,” you promise and poke his shoulder. “and a kiss.” he closes his eyes the literal second you say that.

you like this boy way too much.

#tom holland #peter parker #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker x stark!reader #tony stark #marvel #spiderman

1K notes · View notes

fruitcoops · 4 years ago

Note

Could we please have a prequel to the praise kink fic? Because i really want to know why were Sirius and Remus not together and what did Remus send him. I really need context

I was hoping somebody would ask for this!! The aforementioned fic is here for any curious souls (18+ please) and SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for spicy texts (not exactly nudes), and smutty feelings with nothing explicit

The bus went over a bump and Sirius winced as his shins knocked against the back of the seat in front of him, connecting with the metal brace inside. “Fuck.”

“You sure you don’t want to switch?” James asked next to him. Sirius glanced down at the veritable wall of gear and empty snack bags between them, then back to James in disbelief. He shrugged, then set his headphones back over his ears. “Worth a shot.”

“Merde,” Sirius hissed as a pothole nearly took off his kneecap. He gritted his teeth and readjusted, drawing his legs closer to his chest. I want to be home, he thought, allowing himself an internal moment to whine.

He checked his phone—not even ten in the morning. It was a Saturday, so Remus would probably just be rolling out of bed, still sleepy and soft with his hair sticking up like a disgruntled cat’s. Sirius sighed heavily and stared out the window at the small town rolling past in the distance; there was little he wouldn’t give to be back with him instead of on the way to a full week of conferences.

“Why did we have to win the Cup?” he grumbled.

James lifted one side of his headphones. “What?”

“Nothing.”

It wasn’t like they had had much time to themselves before that, either—Sirius’ schedule was packed with interviews that felt more like interrogations, and Remus had been running the PT department mostly by himself while Moody took a well-deserved vacation. They were dead on their feet every night, worked to the bone with little energy left to do more than cuddle and fall asleep. Still, Sirius was grateful for every second of it.

He waited ten more minutes before giving in.

New Message To: Re

Bonjour mon loup <3

There was no immediate response, which made sense, though he was a little bit disappointed. Sirius closed his eyes and tried to make himself relax; it would be at least another six hours before they arrived at their destination, and the bad weather gathering overhead didn’t bode well for quick travel.

His phone buzzed gently and he scrambled to answer. Don’t be Reg, don’t be Reg, don’t be Reg—

New Message From: Re

Morning love!

Thanks for the bagels <3

“Fuck yes,” Sirius said under his breath. The bagels had been a last-minute decision as he crept through the house in the early hours of the morning after carefully detaching himself from Remus with a final half-asleep farewell kiss. There was no guarantee he would remember breakfast with everything going on, so Sirius figured it was a safe bet to toast them and leave them on the countertop before heading out.

Message To: Re

Pas de problem

Sleep well?

Message From: Re

Decent

Missed you :(

Sirius rested his temple against the cold window with a soft sound. He hated leaving at different times, but that was just how their life worked at the moment.

Message To: Re

Missed you too <3

Three small dots appeared for a long moment before vanishing without a trace just as his heart rate began picking up. Where’d you go? he almost wondered aloud. Something bumped his arm and James raised a quizzical brow. “Loops,” Sirius said by way of explanation.

“I figured. He okay?”

“I think so? He just…disappeared on me.” Sirius was well-aware of how plaintive he sounded—James’ teasing smile was completely unnecessary.

“Aw, Cap,” he laughed, reaching over to mess with his beanie until Sirius slapped his hand away. “It’s alright, buddy, it’s just a couple days.”

Sirius jammed his hat back on his head and flicked James on the unprotected bit of his ear, making him yelp. “Fuck off, I know you’ll be a mess as soon as Lily FaceTimes with my godson.”

“He has a name, you know.”

“Sorry. You’ll be a mess as soon as she FaceTimes with Pocket Pots, who happens to be my godson.”

James rolled his eyes. “I regret giving you that title.”

“Nah, you don’t.”

As if on cue, his phone lit up again; Sirius ignored James’ snickering as he quickly unlocked it.

New Message From: Re

When will you be at the hotel?

“That’s it?” he muttered.

Message To: Re

That was a lot of typing for one sentence

6-7 hrs, if the weather holds

Why?

Message From: Re

Sorry lmao Reg came in for a bit

Just curious :) Keep me updated?

Message To: Re

Will do <3

Tell Reg he needs to wash his sheets. It’s been over a month.

A small thumbs-up emoji was his only answer, and he tried not to be too bummed. Remus liked having things to do; sitting there and texting Sirius while he slowly got further and further away was probably not his preferred way to spend a morning. With a sigh that was likely a bit too dramatic for the situation he was in, Sirius faced the window once more and buckled in for a long ride.

He chatted off and on with the others when they stopped for lunch, but everyone was exhausted from the combination of a packed week and an early morning. Even Talker stayed fairly quiet, and James kept his headphones on for most of the trip.

Sirius finally succumbed to his tiredness and put some music on, then dozed for an hour or three while they traveled through yet another field. A few halfhearted calls of “cows” made their way around the bus, though nobody seemed particularly enthused about being packed in with double the gear due to a broken storage compartment. Donuts and gas station coffee could only do so much.

“Just crossed the state border,” Arthur called from the front of the bus as Sirius tried to ignore the cramping in his thighs. Three hours. Just three more.

His music was interrupted by a soft jingle alert and he pulled his phone out, hoping against hope that Regulus hadn’t caused a fire anywhere. It was unlikely given the…well, everything about him, but with Sirius’ luck it could happen.

New Message From: Re

How far?

Message To: Re

About 3 hrs. Ran into some detours

Good day?

Remus remained silent on the other end and Sirius frowned. That was rather rude, and highly unusual. Between the two of them, Remus was the one who kept conversations going past the initial question to be answered.

Message From: Re

Attachment: 1 Image

Love you! Call me when you get there : )

Sirius opened the attachment and almost threw his phone in utter shock. Skin. Bare skin everywhere, its smooth edges broken up only by tight black fabric that may as well have been painted onto the curve of Remus’ ass. “Oh my god,” he whimpered, voice barely audible even to his own ears. It had been taken in their bedroom mirror; Remus looked over his shoulder, and Sirius caught the corner of a devious smirk on his lips. “Oh, you fucker.”

Message From: Re

Thoughts? They’re cozy

Message To: Re

Did you miss the part where I said three (3) hours

Message From: Re

Nope

Second one is a guessing game and u get a prize if u get it right : )

The second photograph was more zoomed-in than the first and Sirius wracked his brain, running through his mental catalogue of Remus’ body to figure out the answer. It did absolutely nothing to calm the situation in his pants.

He had no idea what the promised prize was, but anticipation made his hands shake slightly as he carefully scanned the picture. The shadows caught it at an odd angle—it wasn’t the steady slopes of his face or neck, nor was it the strong curve of a shoulder. Not enough freckles, either, he thought.

A lightbulb lit in the back of his mind.

Message To: Re

Right hip

Another thought connected half a second later.

Holy fuck you took them off

Is that my prize?

Re?

Remus Lupin I swear to god

TEXT ME BACK

Message From: Re

Bingo!

Christ you’re impatient, I was gone for like 2 mins

He chanced a look toward Pots, whose head lolled to the side as he snored.

Message To: Re

Hey quick question why are you like this

It’s a good thing Pots is out cold bc this bus is too small to hide anything

Message From: Re

Haha sux to be you

Sirius’ cheeks heated with a whole cocktail of different emotions as he furiously typed a response.

Message To: Re

‘Sux to be you’???

Are you 13 yrs old????

Message From: Re

Do you want your prize or not u horndog

Message To: Re

YOU MADE ME THIS WAY

He took a deep breath through his nose and flexed his fingers.

Yes please

A simple smiley face—Sirius would never see those things the same—popped up, followed by an audio file. He triple-checked that his headphones were plugged in before tapping ‘play’ with an unsteady thumb.

His face went very, very hot before all the blood went straight to his groin and he closed his eyes, covering his mouth with his hand. Breathy sounds came through the heavy earphones, a little more crackly than they would be in-person; he heard Remus’ gasp catch in his throat and crossed his legs as best he could in the too-small seat, torn between thanking and cursing any higher power. He could practically see Remus’ face in his mind’s eye as the noises continued, intermixed with fragments of desperate words.

The file came to an end after what felt like the blink of an eye and a hundred years, and Sirius did not look away from the violently red seat cushion in front of him for a long moment as his brain came back online. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so turned on.

He took a few deep breaths, though it did nothing to erase the poorly-muffled whines that still rang between his ears like church bells. Sirius huffed and turned to grab his waterbottle out of his duffel, only to make direct eye contact with Finn across the aisle.

Sirius froze.

Finn grinned.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he hissed, too low to wake James but just loud enough to carry over the four feet separating them. Finn’s smile widened. “Stop it. Stop it right now.”

“How’s Loops?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“That good, huh?”

“O’Hara, I swear to god—”

“Oh, is Cap spilling secrets?” Kasey asked, poking his head over the back of the seat.

Finn opened his mouth, but the force of Sirius’ glare must have been enough to at least intimidate him a little, because he shook his head. The smug Cheshire grin remained. “Nah, just having a chat about our plans when we get home.”

Kasey groaned. “You’re a lucky man, O’Hara. Both your people get to come with you. Nat sent me a promise, like, twenty minutes ago and I can’t stop thinking about it. I won’t be available tonight from six to eight if anyone was wondering.”

“Did she really?” Finn looked back to Sirius, who bit the inside of his cheek and tried to keep his cool. Two and a half hours, and then he would be safe. Just two and a half more hours.

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nightingaelic · 3 years ago

Note

Companions react to the Courier doing the Infinite Money Glitch in casinos.

I had to look this up, OP, and then I had to conceptualize how this would even work in a storytelling context and write it, anyway I hope you're pleased with yourself because my brain feels like a stack of used sandpaper sheets

The courier had been saving up caps for a while, stashing them in odd places around the Lucky 38. Everywhere you looked there were bottle caps: Dresser drawers in the Presidential Suite, empty ice buckets in the cocktail lounge, in jars on every shelf in the penthouse. Saving up caps for big purchases was pretty common behavior in the Mojave wasteland for anyone, so no one batted an eye when the courier assembled all of the stashes on the carpeted floor of the casino and started counting them out, checking six times before stringing them together in batches of 50 and writing down the final total: 32,768.

No, no one so much as blinked when they lugged all 656 strings of caps out the door of the Lucky 38. No one, that is, except the lucky soul who went with them, saw them exchange all the caps for chips at The Tops Casino, then drop the chips in the back of The Aces theater during Bruce Isaac's set and return to the cashier to collect triple the amount of money they walked in with.

Arcade Gannon: Arcade cringed as the courier struggled to drag the haul of caps out the door of The Tops. The jingle of the cap strings was attracting the attention of just about everyone on the Strip, and someone across the street yelled "High roller!"

"This can't be legal," Arcade said.

"Since when..." the courier huffed and puffed, throwing cap strings over their shoulder carelessly, "... do you give a mole rat's ass about legality?"

"What is this?!?" Arcade hissed incredulously, gesturing to the jingling pile. "Is that cashier paying you off? Are those chips the currency for some wasteland tribe I've never heard of, but somehow have a better exchange rate than the NCR does? Did I just witness a payout for a hit on someone?"

The courier sighed and paused to pat the scientist on the shoulder. "Just don't think about it too hard, okay? Now help me out with this, we're going to Doctor Usanagi's to get me tricked out with as many implants as she has on hand."

Craig Boone: While the courier jingled their way across the Strip asphalt, Boone couldn't help noticing the number of eyes turning their way to stare at the enormous payout they were openly carrying. New Vegas was already a town that kept on trucking if its very creator was killed, that was certain: It wouldn't even pause if its latest mastermind was gunned down over a fortune in steel and aluminum crowns. Boone clutched his rifle close and met as many of the curious and envious stares as he could, his own eyes burning protectively behind his sunglasses.

They managed to get all the way back to the Lucky 38 before the courier stopped and spoke to him. "Nothing? Not even a guess about what this is from?"

Boone shrugged. "None of my business. Just don't carry it all at once again. Ever."

Lily Bowen: "Did you win, dearie?" Lily asked, confused. As far as she had noticed, the courier hadn't approached any of the blackjack tables, roulette wheels or slot machines.

"Yeah, Lily." The courier grinned and started handing her strings of caps to carry. "What do you want to spend your winnings on?"

"My winnings?" Lily shook her head. "Now now, pumpkin. You won fair and square, so you get to choose what you buy."

"My treat," the courier insisted. "Anything at all. We could go to the Gourmand for dinner, we could donate to the Followers in Freeside, we could get singing and dancing lessons from the King... what do you want?"

Lily thought for a moment, wracking her brains. "Brahmin for Jacobstown."

The courier looked at her quizzically. "Brahmin? Not bighorners?"

"Brahmin," Lily confirmed, shouldering the strings upon strings of caps. "Bighorners at Jacobstown will make more bighorners, but they have no brahmin. Brahmin are sweet, easier to handle. But no one will sell brahmin to nightkin."

"Okay." The courier nodded. "Then we have to go to the Gourmand for dinner anyway. I know a guy at the Ultra-Luxe who might help."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: "Dios mío," Raul muttered under his breath. "Who did you kill for the Chairmen? They finally paying you back for getting rid of Benny?"

"Pfft." The courier waved him off, dropping a few strings of caps as they did. "Whoops. Help me out here, and I'll buy you a drink."

"A drink?" Raul laughed. "Not the whole bar? You could probably convince the Garret twins to retire if you gave them half of this haul."

"And why the hell would I want to take over the Atomic Wrangler?" The courier shook their head as they loaded the old ghoul up with caps. "I already have one casino I'm incapable of running. The only customers I get are you and the other Mojave misfits."

Raul grinned. "Hey, you invited us in, amigo. We're just the only ones loco enough to ignore the robots and take you up on it."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Oh, sweet squirrel stew." Cass' eyes were as big as the dinner plates in the casino's restaurant. "That's enough change to buy the Van Graffs out of business. That's enough change to tell Alice McLafferty to stick it where the sun don't shine, then back it up with enough muscle to scare her out of the Mojave."

The courier nodded and started handing her strings of caps. "It is also enough change to start funding her competitors and drive her out of New Vegas."

"Now you're talkin'." Cass smirked and accepted the extra weight. "So who're we gonna back? Far Go? The Water Merchants? Gun Runners?"

"Actually..." the courier smiled. "A little birdie told me that the Mojave Express is looking to expand its horizons. Start offering goods in addition to services. And you know me, I like to root for the home team when I can."

Cass laughed. "Well that's a surprise. You plannin' on playin' courier again? Get yourself shot in the head a second time?"

"Not if I can help it."

Veronica Santangelo: "Uhhhh, Six?" Veronica crossed her arms. "I thought we agreed we weren't going to stir up trouble for a bit after the adventure at the dam. This screams 'trouble' to me."

"Aw, lighten up Veronica." The courier winked at her and handed her a string of caps, like a consolation prize. "We're in a casino. The odds aren't in your favor, but at least you can have fun for a bit."

Veronica turned the offering down. "Math may not have been my strongest subject when I was in school, but I do know that 30,000 minus 30,000 does not equal 90,000, under any normal odds. What are you getting yourself- and more importantly, me- into?"

The courier sighed. "It's nothing. Just a little loophole I discovered when I was poking around after Benny's disappearance. I promise, we're not going to get knifed, unless we get waylaid in the street on the way home because I'm too weighed down to move."

Veronica narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "I don't trust this," she said after a few beats, "But I'm also not keen to see you try to fight off a mugger while buried under all those caps. Give me some of that."

ED-E: The eyebot beeped, confused, when the courier stopped it from picking up the chips again. Its beeps increased in volume and frequency as they loaded the little bot up with caps at the cashier's counter, until it was hanging low in the air and having trouble turning around from the increased weight. The courier patted its metal dome reassuringly and loaded up the rest of the haul on themselves, until each step they took sounded like a cascade of sleigh bells.

"Back to the Lucky 38," the courier said, pointing toward the casino door. "I've got a bet I need to settle with Raul."

Rex: Rex whined as the courier hung strings of caps off his back. He sniffed each new addition but stood tall on his metal legs, taking the extra weight admirably until he was virtually buried by the wasteland currency.

"Can you still walk, boy?" the courier asked, when they had lightened their own load.

Rex barked. Satisfied, the courier led the way to the exit, opening the casino door with a jingle and ignoring the strange looks they were getting. The two waddled their way to the Strip's main gate and down the main street of Freeside until they staggered into the King's School of Impersonation.

The King, who had been lounging inside the stage room, jumped up when he saw the pair. "Well ain't that some money, honey," he said, clearly delighted. "You actually went and did it."

"Yep." The courier dropped some strings of caps on the nearest table and leaned over it to rest. "There it is. Now, where do we get started on fixing up Freeside?"

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alpacaparkaseok · 4 years ago

Text

The Pact - Date #3

Pairing/Genre: OT7 BTS x reader (not poly), idol!BTS, best friend BTS

Word Count: 7.7k

Premise: The truth about the pact the boys have about you has been revealed. What happens when you agree to go on a single date with each of them?

Warnings: none, BUT THE FLUFF IS COMING DOWN FULL FORCE YA’LL

a/n: don’t forget, I taking your guys’ comments/reactions into account for this series, so please let me know what your thoughts are! of course, at the end we’ll really take a deeper look at all of the dates and what stood out the most, but I would love to hear from you about this one!! love you all, enjoy!

Date #3

series masterlist ∆∆∆ join the taglist

The more time has passed, the more you fully come to realize that if you have been that affected by two dates, you are in no way prepared for the five that remain.

Nope. Not one bit.

It was Thursday when Jungkook finally texted to check that you were free around eleven. Your heart leapt, finally. A date that you wouldn’t have to spend all day moping around waiting for.

So obviously, you were ready by 9. You know, just in case.

You’d been instructed to wear casual clothes, something that you rejoiced in. Donning your sweater with the word Harvard in thick blue letters spanning the front and a pair of skinny jeans, you felt right at home.

The boys never missed a chance to tease you about your Harvard sweatshirt, and for some reason they never believed your lie that you actually went there. Of course, that might be due to the fact that they were very much aware of your current schooling situation and it was most definitely not Harvard.

But hey...attending one of the top universities in South Korea wasn’t bad, either.

Currently you were perched on the end of your bed, partly due to the fact that if you went anywhere else you would most certainly just end up staring out the window at every car that passed by. Not wanting to look like a nosy neighbor, you’d confined yourself to your room to wait out the morning.

In the hours that pass, your thoughts are completely occupied by the two boys you shared the last couple of Saturdays with.

It would be a lie to say that you don’t replay the image of Taehyung standing in your doorway every night as you tried to sleep, his hair a fluffy mess and that cable knit sweater proving to be your doom.

Your thoughts were usually interrupted as you took your bracelet off and stared at it, imagining Hobi delicately placing each individual bead it it’s place. It’s when your hand burns with the memory of his gentle kiss on your palm that you finally set the bracelet down and let out a frustrated sigh.

Yeah...Jimin was wrong when he invited you to just think of these as nice, friendly dates.

He probably knew it, too.

“Ok,” you breathe out, closing your eyes and focusing on the rise and fall of your chest. “Just...enjoy it.”

Enjoy it you shall.

That’s the thing that carries you through the waiting, still just breathing in and out and mentally preparing yourself for all that awaits you today.

You get so carried away in your attempts to calm down that the knock on your front door comes before you realize how much time has passed. Taking one more steadying breath, you get up from your bed and amble down the hallway to the door.

Pausing for a moment, you realize that you truly have no idea who might be on the other side of that door. The thought makes you smile. You’ve always loved a good mystery.

Cracking open the door, you can’t help but smile as the figure before you has their back turned to you. At the sound of your quiet giggle, they turn around, eyes a little wide.

A nervous smile in place, Namjoon leans forward ever so slightly. Almost as though he’s being pulled in by your personal gravity. “Morning,” he says almost as an afterthought, his voice low.

“Good morning,” you respond, throwing the door open the rest of the way. “So you’re lucky number three?”

“Well, you know what they say.”

You busy yourself with grabbing your bag and double checking that you have everything. “What do they say?”

Namjoon shrugs, his nervous smile growing until it’s bordering on giddiness. “Third time’s a charm.”

Indeed.

Once you’ve ascertained that you have everything you’ll need (you made sure to replenish your mint stash earlier this week), you’re stepping out into the slightly brisk air and locking the door behind you.

The sound of keys jingling near your ear has you turning to face Namjoon, who wears an oversized, dark plaid shirt that’s open to reveal his black t-shirt beneath it. The picture of casual coolness, paired with his dark wash jeans and sneakers, the look is complete with the way his dimples poke out as he holds up the keys to your eye level.

“Guess who’s driving?” He teases in a sing-song voice, making you laugh as you swipe the keys from him. As the two of you descend the stairs toward the car, you tilt your head to the side.

“How did you get here?” Then, turning to him with wide eyes, “You didn’t drive yourself, right?”

He’s quick to shake his head, pointing out a car that’s turning around at the end of your street and slowly making its way back toward you two. “The guys dropped me off.”

The thought of Namjoon in a car with some of the boys and the rest trailing after them in a separate vehicle is endearing, while also hilarious. “All of them?”

“Yep,” he confirms. “Every last one of them.”

As the car draws nearer, you see the windows roll down and someone with familiar black, fluffy hair sticks their head out. Like a dog pile, another head hovers beside them.

Taehyung and Jimin.

Oh, and there’s Jungkook somehow managing to wiggle in between them.

“We apologize in advance, jagiya,” Jimin croons loudly with a teasing smirk. “At least try to enjoy yourself.”

You snort, clicking the button to unlock the car and laughing even harder when Hobi jumps at the sound of the horn. He sits in the passenger seat beside Jin, who drives. The two merely wave before mumbling something to each other that makes them laugh.

“Where’s Yoongi?” You ask, frowning as you do a head count and not finding him anywhere. In response, a pale hand coming from what must be the very back row of the car worms its way forward to the open window. You swear you can almost hear his disgruntled greeting, but it’s drowned out as Taehyung excitedly speaks up.

“Good luck trying to beat me, hyung,” he teases, shooting Namjoon a sweet smile that’s at odds with his teasing comment.

Namjoon just shrugs, utterly unphased as he follows you around the car and opens the drivers side with smooth precision. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

This encourages a round of ooh-ing that only serves to make you laugh even as you tuck away the momentary competitive side of Namjoon. Calm, calculated, and - if you’re reading that steely look in his eyes correctly - utterly in the zone.

Oh, you’re definitely enjoying this way more than you should.

“Drive safe!” The boys shout out amidst jeering comments directed toward Namjoon and his lack of driving abilities. With a final wave, they’re speeding off down the street. Once they’ve disappeared from sight, you notice the way Namjoon’s shoulders relax. He hurries over to the passenger side, hopping in and buckling up before fiddling with his phone.

“So...where to?” You ask, buckled up and ready to go. You tap the steering wheel excitedly, already feeling hyped up from the short interaction with everyone.

You miss seeing them all together. There’s a reason why you’re friends with the entire group.

“I put the address into the car,” Namjoon explains. “It should give you directions as we go.”

Arching a brow at him, you don’t shift into drive just yet. “So I’m driving us there, but I don’t get to know what the end location is?”

Smiling softly, Namjoon nods. “Exactly. You’re so smart, have I ever told you that?”

Scowling, you press the green button that appears on the screen and a warm female voice instructs you to drive to the stop sign and turn left.

You hum, pondering the slightly sarcastic question. “I’m not sure. But that’s definitely a sign that you should tell me more often.”

“I’ll make note of that.”

With a glance at the screen, you see the estimated driving time. “We’re leaving Seoul?”

From your peripheral, you notice Namjoon’s worried expression. “Is that alright? We can find something to do around here, it’s just-”

“No,” you rush to reassure him. “I was just surprised, that’s all.” It won’t be a particularly long drive, just over an hour, but you certainly weren’t expecting that.

Something tells you that there are plenty more surprises waiting for you today.

It doesn’t take long before the two of you slip into an easy conversation, Namjoon relating his latest experiences in his efforts to add something eye-catching to his studio.

“Like what?” You ask. “I love your studio the way it is.”

Namjoon looks over at you, smiling softly. “Really? I don’t know...I just feel like something’s missing.”

“Well, we’ll keep an eye out for something today,” you promise, relaxing now that you’re on the freeway and in the flow of traffic. “Like, do you want something to hang up? Or something to go on your desk?”

He shrugs, taking a moment to roll his window down and close his eyes as it runs through his hair. “I already have a bunch of stuff on the wall, and if I put anything on my desk-”

“Right, you’ll spill on it.”

“Exactly.” You keep your eyes on the road, entirely missing the fond look he gives you.

“So basically, you don’t need anything.”

He huffs a sigh, rolling the window back up and sinking down into the seat. “No, I do, I just don’t know what.”

“Mmm.”

“Hey,” Namjoon cuts, giving you a dramatic glare. “Don’t mock me.”

Feigning innocence, you peek over at him. “I’m not!”

“Yah, just drive.”

“I am!”

Despite the bickering, you can’t fight the smile edging its way onto your features. A glance over at Namjoon shows that he’s having the same issue, his face turned away from you but failing to hide the silly grin he’s attempting to hide as his fingers curl at his lips. It’s a habit he’s had for as long as you’ve known him, one that often makes its way into many photos.

“Prepare to take exit 14,” the voice instructs, and you make your way over to the far lane, eyeing the looming sign that will announce what exit it’s for. Once the sign comes into view, you give Namjoon a puzzled look.

“We’re going to Anyang?”

It’s not that you have anything against the city, it’s just that...well, what is there in Anyang that isn’t in Seoul?

“See? Super intelligent.” It’s the only response you get from Namjoon, but it has you rolling your eyes in an effort to counter the butterflies that erupt in your stomach at the way he’s looking at you.

In a couple of minutes you’re turning onto a relatively quiet street, only a few random people mulling about, enjoying their weekend. Namjoon points out an entrance to a parking lot that you would have completely missed due to its hidden nature. Once you’re parked and dwarfed between the buildings surrounding the little lot, you jump out of the car and make a show of stretching your legs.

Namjoon mimics you, a loud yet satisfying yawn coming from him. “Hey, are you hungry now or are you good to wait a little while?”

You pause, internally wondering. “I think I’m good for a while.”

“Great.” Rubbing his hands together, he comes to stand beside you. “Let’s go, then.”

You fall into step beside him. “Woah, you still haven’t told me where- oh.”

The two of you have rounded a corner and now stand in front of a nondescript building. Its sage green paint is chipping a bit, giving it a rustic feel that is only accentuated by the gold lettering above the door.

Wanderers & Travelers

However, it’s not the homey feel or the tasteful name that has you stopping in your tracks. It’s what you see inside, through the large windows.

Without a single word, you step forward as though in a daze. The little bell above the door chimes as you walk in, announcing your arrival. And, as though the entire thing couldn’t get better, the scent hits you.

The smell of old and new books, some leather bound and some hard backed, dives into your senses and leaves you whirling.

The walls in here are painted some shade of sky blue, complementing the deep wood shelves. It’s quiet in here, the only sound being that of shuffling feet.

If you blink, you’re afraid it might all vanish.

“Oh! You’re here!”

Turning to your left, you see a woman with flecks of white in her hair, smiling warmly at you and Namjoon. If you’re being completely, honest, you’d nearly forgotten that Namjoon was there.

The woman descends the final few steps of the creaky staircase, keeping a friendly distance as she nods at the two of you. “You were right,” she remarks to Namjoon. Then, to you with a teasing smirk, “You look like you’ve never seen a bookstore before.”

You sputter for the right words. “I- yeah, but this-”

“Is no ordinary bookstore,” Namjoon finishes for you, a hand at your elbow. You can’t help but lean into his touch, momentarily forgetting the rows and rows of shelves just a few steps away as Namjoon involuntarily steps a little closer.

“Ah, right. Well, first thing’s first: I’m Choi Min-jee. And this is my bookstore,” she gestures to the endless rows of bookshelves, and you wonder for a moment how all of these can fit in the building. It looks so much smaller from the outside.

Min-jee motions for you to follow her, and she leads the two of you to the nearest bookshelf. “These books range in languages and age, you never know what you might find. This shop has been in my family for five generations now - we’ve collected our fair share of books and other antique items.” With a little wink, she steps back. “Take your time, and let me know if you have any questions. Oh, and the upstairs is open now.”

Namjoon perks up at this, looking over from where he’d pulled a book off the shelf. “Really? We’ll have to look up there!”

“Please do! I’m off to practice piano.” With that, she whisks away, leaving you to your own devices.

You stare after her in awe, mouth slightly ajar. It makes Namjoon chuckle quietly, he must know the feeling.

“I wanna be her when I grow up,” you whisper, earning a louder chuckle from the man.

“Same.” Namjoon heads deeper into the shelves, and you follow after him. He glances back at you over his shoulder. “This is my favorite place.”

“I take it you’re a regular?” You ask, eyes catching on a bright blue book with frayed binding. Pausing, you ease it from its spot. “Hm… ‘The Cottage by the Sea’.” You run my hand over the shiny inlay, a seashell glinting up at you. “Why do I feel like I just entered the world of ‘Little Women’?”

Namjoon snorts, wandering back over to you and gazing down at the book. He grabs the one that occupied the spot next to it on the shelf, the deep red absorbing in all the surrounding light. “You’re definitely Jo.”

“Really?” You ask, gently flipping through the first few pages and trying to find a publish date. “I always thought that I was more of an Amy.”

Namjoon looks appalled, tearing his eyes away from his book. “What? No. In what world are you Amy?”

“Hey! Don’t act like she’s a bad person,” You whine, bringing the book close to your chest. “She was just...trying to survive.”

Huffing loudly and obnoxiously, Namjoon heads over to the other aisle, peeking at you through the gaps in the shelf. “She got everything she ever wanted, without hardly having to ask for it. Are you telling me that you have everything you ever wanted?”

There’s a skylight above you, allowing the lazy afternoon sun to filter in and play with the lighter tones in Namjoon’s hair. He looks at you with his ferociously focused gaze, something that you had never squirmed under before but now find your cheeks burning as he doesn’t look away.

You sigh contentedly. “More or less. Look at me, I’m surrounded by books.”

Namjoon gets closer to the shelves, leaning down to be eye-level with you through the shelves. “So what’s missing?”

“Hmm?” You hum, getting a little lost as music starts up somewhere. You realize with a start that this must be what Min-jee meant by practicing piano, as the soft sound comes from somewhere hidden.

There’s a little smile on Namjoon’s face, just enough for a dimple to appear. “You said more or less. What are you missing still?”

Edging a little closer and nearly closing your eyes at the smell of leather, you’re tempted to reach through the shelf and poke at the little indent in his cheek. “Just your glasses, I think. I love it when you wear your glasses.”

The statement takes him by surprise, Namjoon’s dragon-like gaze dropping and a flush taking over his features before he steps back. “Hmph.” With that, he continues down the aisle, the red book still in his hands and the blue in yours. “I still think you would be Jo, though.”

“Why?”

The two of you match footsteps, languidly walking along the seemingly endless rows. You catch glimpses of him through the books, a soft dimpled smile on his face as he looks down at his feet. It’s enough to make your coy smile grow, and you clutch the book tighter to your chest.

Finally, Namjoon comes to a stop as another book catches his eye. You take the opportunity to round the corner and enter the aisle he stands in, feet carrying you closer to him. Just as you’re about to reach his side, he speaks.

“Jo is...well, for one, she’s a dreamer. And we both know you’ve got a lot of dreams in that head of yours.” He taps your forehead for emphasis, side-smile growing when you scowl. “But she’s a realistic dreamer. You’ve given up a lot for your dreams, but I believe that you’d leave it all behind if someone you loved was in need of you.”

You blink, unprepared for the genuine compliment.

“And,” Namjoon says breathily, sliding the book back into its place and turning on his heel to walk away. “You two share a tendency to be oblivious to others feelings for you.”

He keeps walking, leaving you to become a sputtering mess before launching yourself after him. “I- we what?!” You all but screech, wincing as you sound twice as loud in the empty shop. “I am not oblivious-”

With a triumphant smirk, Namjoon heads down a little slope that leads toward a sitting area. “Be honest with yourself. You wouldn’t have had any idea about the pact or anything if Jungkook hadn’t spilled it.”

“But that’s not my fault!” You defend, glaring defiantly at his back. “You guys had that under lock and key!”

Diving into another row, Namjoon looks contemplative. “Ok, that may be true. But tell me the truth: did you ever once suspect that...I don’t know, there might be something more going on? Even just once?”

You stand out in the main walkway still, frozen by his question. “Er…” Pausing to think, you squint down at the book still in your hands.

Of course there were moments that had your heart pumping a little faster and a blush rising to your cheeks. Movie nights always meant some form of cuddling, but you quickly just assumed that it was all part of the friendship. Good morning texts that made you sink back into your pillows with a lazy smile, or the little facts that one of the boys would remember about you always made you stop and wonder.

But you never actually entertained the idea. It all seemed too…

“Unrealistic,” you mumble aloud. When Namjoon looks at you quizzically, you walk down a few rows until something catches your eye. You delight in the fact that now he’s following you. “I guess I had little moments where I wondered, but it just seemed like wishful thinking.”

Stopping near the end of the row and looking up at the top shelf, you wiggle on your tip-toes trying to grab a book. Your fingers barely graze the spine of the book before a warm presence overshadows you and Namjoon’s fingers ghost over your own before tugging the brown book from its spot. Still pressed against your back, his light breathing makes the hair on the back of your neck tingle as he lowers the book into your waiting hands.

“Moments like this?” He whispers, hands coming to rest just above your hips.

Suddenly, you recall a moment from months before, when you’d been in a similar situation. The boys had invited you over for some breakfast on one of their rare morning’s off. You’d wanted some cereal, only to find the bowls on the very top shelf. Namjoon had come to your rescue, pulling the exact same move before awkwardly pausing and looking as though he’d wanted to say something. He hadn’t, and instead rushed out of the kitchen before you could even utter a ‘thank you’.

Turning around in his grasp, you can see that he wears a similar expression as before. This time, however, he looks determined to say whatever comes to mind.

With a quiet voice you whisper, “Who in their right mind puts bowls on the top shelf?”

Namjoon’s grip on your hips tightens as he throws his head back and laughs, the kind of laugh that sinks right into your bones. All you can do is watch him, feeling like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him. Perhaps it’s the first time you’ve ever allowed yourself to look freely.

“Ah, so you did notice,” he whispers back. “You acted like nothing happened, so I figured I was in the clear.”

With a roll of your eyes, you’re stepping out of his grasp and taking a look down at the new book in your hand. “With you, Mr. Kim, we’re never in the clear.”

He lets out a low hiss, but lets you walk away. Not like you realize he’s not following you anymore, you’re idly wandering around while thumbing through the mystery novel. It looks like it might be an original copy from one of your favorite authors. One that passed away in the 1950’s, but still stands out among the countless authors that have come after them.

You’ve made it down to the small sitting area, where a large fireplace is crackling.

“Huh,” you smile. As if this place couldn’t get any better. Plopping down on the couch, you let out a sigh at how the cushions sink and welcome you into their warm embrace. Setting the blue book off to the side, you open up the brown one and begin to read.

You’ve nearly completed the first chapter - knees tucked to your chest as you lean against the arm of the couch - when you hear footsteps approaching.

Expecting it to be Namjoon, you glance over your shoulder with a smile. It’s Min-jee, who returns the smile with a knowing look. You listen closely and realize that her piano practice must be over. Classical music plays over the speakers in the shop instead.

“Namjoon’s gone upstairs,” she explains, coming to adjust something in the fireplace. “He said something about finding an item for his studio.”

You close the book softly, stretching before sitting up straight. “What’s upstairs? More books?”

“No, we’ve expanded our antique selection, there’s an assortment of desks and chairs up there, among other things.”

Making an ‘o’ with your mouth, you get up. “This place is amazing, by the way.” You hold up the brown book with an excited expression. “I found this - I think it’s an original! How much is it?”

Min-jee makes her way over to you, smiling softly as she recognizes the book. “You’re a fan of this author too, huh? My grandad used to read these to me back before I had to start running the shop.” She offers you a fond look. “Oh, and Namjoon told me to put whatever you like on his tab. So don’t worry about it. Take the book.”

She must notice your shock, because she places a comforting hand on your shoulder and squeezes it gently. “He also told me that you might be hesitant to get anything because of that. But honestly, get it. And ‘The Cottage by the Sea’. That’s one of my favorites, actually.” Min-jee nods at the blue book with its golden seashell.

“Ah, he knows me too well,” you sigh. “This might be silly to ask, but...do you think it’s alright? You know, to just get them?”

Min-jee, to your eternal gratitude, doesn’t laugh at your question. Instead, she sees right through you, to the worry in your heart. The last thing you want is to take advantage of any of the boys. “It would make him happy,” she responds, watching your reaction carefully. You immediately let out a sigh of relief, nodding and picking up the books.

“Alright,” you concede. “I’ll get them, then.”

“Great! I’ll take them up front and hold them for you, if you’d like.”

“That’s perfect.”

While she whisks away your books, you follow after her until you reach the staircase. She nods encouragingly, and you head up.

Clearing the stairs, it doesn’t take long to locate Namjoon. He’s standing in front of a large wardrobe, inspecting every inch of it. The sight makes you smile, enjoying the way he’s chewing on the inside of the cheek.

“Don’t tell me that’s what you’re getting for the studio,” you drawl, making your way toward him. He looks back at you, a wide smile interrupting his cheek chewing.

“I mean...no, but look at it!” He exclaims. “It’s beautiful, isn't it? Honestly, if I moved some things around, I could probably make it fit.”

You reach the wardrobe, marveling at the expert craftsmanship. “It’s gorgeous. But what would you even put in it? It’s not like you take all of your coats to the studio. And you want your trophies to be visible, don’t you?”

This thing must weigh a ton, the wood is thick and the hinges smooth. “Hmm...no, but I can think of something else I could hide away in here.” The way Namjoon glances over at you with a sly grin makes you stumble back, red rushing to your cheeks as you suddenly become preoccupied with a very old typewriter.

“What would that be?” You venture, running your fingers over the keyboard. You’re waiting for his answer, which you’re sure will be a single word - you. However, just as he’s opening his mouth and looking like he’s garnering the courage to say it, the creaky staircase announces someone’s arrival.

At first you think nothing of it, but Min-jee’s voice is loud. Loud enough that you know she’s trying to be heard.

“I told you, we don’t sell anything BTS related in this store.” She says, and you and Namjoon share a puzzled look.

A couple of voices respond, but one in particular stands out as she raises her voice. “I swear, I saw Kim Namjoon walking around in here just a few minutes ago!”

Their footsteps are growing closer, and you suddenly realize that this is Min-jee’s way of warning you two.

Rushing over to Namjoon’s side, you look around frantically. “Is there another way out?” You whisper. Clearly the staircase is blocked at the moment. When he shakes his head, you’re about ready to suggest causing a distraction but he suddenly gasps.

Quickly and quietly, he’s swinging open the wardrobe and nudging you inside, quickly following. You raise your eyebrows, mouth opening to ask him just how this is going to help anything, but he allows the door to swing shut and presses a hand against your mouth.

Back pressed against the back of the wardrobe and Namjoon looming over you, the two of you hardly dare to breathe as you strain to listen to what’s going on outside.

“I’m pretty sure I would know if he was in my shop,” Min-jee is saying, sounding much closer now. “And right now the upstairs is off-limits, so please-”

“Look, I know I must sound crazy, but I’m absolutely positive that I saw him in here. I was just outside and he went up the stairs! And now you expect me to believe what you’re saying?”

You keep your eyes trained on the thin opening where light is streaming in, trying to see what’s going on. Namjoon, however, shuffles a little closer, hand slipping from your mouth and staring down at you. He braces his hands on either side of your head, needing to bend over a little bit due to the small space.

“For the last time,” Min-jee defends, “the upstairs portion of this shop is closed. As you can tell, nobody is up here besides us. If you wish to continue this conversation, I would simply ask that we do it downstairs.”

You bite your lip, looking up at Namjoon and about to whisper something about how Min-jee deserves a raise. The words die on your tongue, however, when you finally catch sight of him.

Namjoon is slouching a bit, and you realize that his hands are on either side of your head. His hair is slightly mussed, from what you’re unsure. However, that’s not what has your breath catching in your throat.

He’s looking down at you in a way that suddenly makes you aware of just how small the wardrobe is, and has you mentally cursing yourself for coming up here in the first place. Namjoon is looking at you, looking at you in a way that you immediately recognize.

Like it’s the first time he’s allowed himself to.

You watch the way his eyes follow the way your throat constricts as you swallow, the way they trace the slope of your nose and the dip above your lip.

The voices fade away as Namjoon’s fingers feather through your hair, light enough to make your heart melt. He does so slowly, eyes reading your own in order to see if he’s somehow crossed a line that he shouldn’t have.

You, however, are sick of all these dumb lines and boundaries that have been set. Somehow, Namjoon must see that, because he’s opening his mouth and whispering out what he’s been thinking this entire time.

“You,” he mumbles as he watches the strand of hair he tucks behind your ear. Almost as though to verify that this is real, that it’s actually happening. “I’d tuck you away in here, and nobody would find us.”

Breathing has become impossible at this point.

“No prying eyes, no invisible lines to make sure I don’t cross,” he’s tracing the line of your jaw now, and you don’t miss the slight tremor in his hand. “Would you like that as much as I would?”

His eyes land on yours, eyebrows coming together as he awaits your answer. You would smile if you could, but you find that you’ve turned to putty at his touch. Instead, you slowly nod before breathing out, “Yes.”

That’s when you realize that Namjoon is just as tired of rules as you are. Namjoon, the dedicated leader that always makes sure everything is in order. Namjoon, who constantly forgets things like his phone and wallet, but never forgets to say please and thank you.

Namjoon, who leans impossibly closer until you’re closing your eyes for fear of going cross-eyed. His breath fans across your nose, acting as your only warning before his lips find yours.

Light as a feather against your mouth, Namjoon kisses you.

As you sigh against his lips, you suddenly understand why kissing was prohibited. Because right now, all that you can think of - every breath, every heartbeat - it’s all saying the same thing.

Namjoon.

Just as your hands find their way to his chest and bunching up the fabric, he’s jumping back with a gasp and stumbling through the door of the wardrobe. You see his wide eyes, but you’re too busy standing there completely frozen and praying that nobody is up here still.

He looks around frantically, but looks at you with utter horror as the same voice as before pipes up from downstairs.

“See! I’m telling you that someone is up there-”

“Oh! Did you see that? I think I just saw him taking the emergency exit!” Min-jee retorts, and you can picture her frantically pointing out the window in an effort to distract the girls. “Hurry! He looked like he was running!”

The bell above the door chimes, excited voices fading as the group exits the shop. However, their timely exit does little to soothe the raging heartbeat pounding against your ribs.

“I- I’m not supposed to do that,” Namjoon reminds himself aloud. “Please, I’m so sorry-”

“They’re gone!” Min-jee calls out, poking her head up as she ascends the stairs. She spots you still standing in the wardrobe. “Oh, so that’s where you were hiding. Anyway, I’ve locked up the front, so we shouldn’t be having any more trouble with that.”

You can only offer her a weak smile, Namjoon still staring at you with that horrible, guilt-ridden expression, which you’re dying to erase.

“Thank you,” you say when Min-jee begins to notice the odd silence. “We’ll be down in a second, I think.”

Namjoon nods along, finally looking away to check the time. “Actually, we’ve got a reservation,” your stomach flips at the thought of sitting through an entire meal with his guilty apologies, “is there a way we can sneak out of here without being seen?”

Min-jee blinks, looking between the two of you but not saying anything. “Ok...um, yeah. The back alleyway should be clear, it’ll lead to the parking lot.”

Finally stepping out of the wardrobe, you look back at it with a glare.

“So much for Narnia,” you mumble, closing the door.

ˆˆˆˆ

Min-jee quickly places your books in a bag - Namjoon ends up getting the red one as well - and offers it to you with a smile. Automatically you reach out for it, but so does Namjoon. The second your hands meet you can’t help but jump, and the bag falls to the floor.

“Oh no,” you whimper out, feeling sorry for the old books. Before you can lean down to get them, Namjoon’s swooping them up and keeping a firm grip on the bag. He mumbles out a soft, “sorry” before following Min-jee toward the back exit.

The two of you thank her profusely for the day, and you promise that you’ll return soon. There’s no way you can leave a place like that alone for very long. Namjoon smiles for a moment, looking pleased that he picked a good place. However, once he catches your eye, he’s back to chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Slyly sneaking down down the alleyway, it’s quiet between the two of you. No matter how hard you pinch yourself, your thoughts keep zoning in on the way Namjoon’s lips felt on yours...the way he looked at you just before he leaned in...how perfect everything had been until he’d come to his senses-

You’ve made it to the car, and you click the unlock button, jumping back as it honks. Man, you’ve got to get out of your head.

Namjoon hurries to set the bag in the backseat before rushing to the driver’s side, opening the door up for you with significantly less flourish than before.

Knowing Namjoon, it’s eating him up alive. And there’s no way you’re about to let a kiss - something to celebrate, in your opinion - ruin the rest of this date.

Especially when it may very well be the only one you get.

“Namjoon,” you say, walking slowly toward him. His eyes jump up to yours, and you can already see that he’s hard at work trying to pretend like everything is fine.

“We’re going to be about an hour early for our reservation,” Namjoon admits, running a hand through his hair and immediately trying to fix it after. “I’m sorry for rushing you out of there, I wasn’t thinking straight. You can go back in, if you want. I’ll wait out here until you’re ready-”

“Namjoon.” He quits his rambling, red cheeks somehow turning redder as you stop before him. “I wanted you to kiss me.”

At this, he lets the door fall shut. “You...did?”

Wanting nothing more than to dispel the awkward tension, you laugh. “Of course I did! I’d be an idiot if I didn’t! So please...it’s nobody’s fault. So what, you broke a stupid rule-”

“And I’ve hurt the guys in the process of breaking that rule,” Namjoon explains, looking at you with clear, pained eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t me regretting kissing you because- w-well, that’s not the point!” Leaning back against the car, you follow suit just as a large stormcloud blocks out the sun. It’s going to rain soon.

“Namjoon, you’ve all found ways to skirt around the rules in some way,” you confess, remember Hobi’s sweet hand kiss and Taehyung’s forehead kiss. “Sure, you actually broke the rule, but nobody is going to hate you for it. Nobody. Least of all me.”

He leans his head back, closing his eyes as he lets out a long breath. “It’s just, we all agreed to give you enough space to make a clear decision if you felt like you wanted to make one at the end of all this,” he confesses, not seeing the way your eyes widen. Oh. “And I’ve completely screwed that up.”

Sighing, you squint as a fat raindrop lands on your nose. “Well, we’re on a date, aren’t we? People sometimes kiss- I mean, honestly, we could have done a lot worse-” Namjoon chokes on his spit at that. “But if you need something to blame, please don’t blame yourself. Because I love this date, and as far as I can tell, the kiss only made it better.”

He peeks one eye open at you. “Really?”

“Really.” You shrug. “And see? I really am Amy! I always get what I want!” You don’t add the fact that that wasn’t quite true with Hoseok or Taehyung. “If anything, blame the wardrobe. Wardrobes are wacky, anyways.”

Namjoon snorts, rolling his eyes. “Blame the wardrobe? Really?”

“Yeah! Sometimes they transport you to Narnia, sometimes they mess with your common sense,” you give him a pointed look, which he avoids. “So if the boys get all upset about it, just tell them it was the wardrobe. I’ll back you up on it.”

Finally, Namjoon laughs. Like, the annoying little hyena laugh that he hates but you secretly love. And when he looks back down at you and opens up the door, he doesn’t look so upset about it.

“Be honest, would you have rather gone to Narnia or been stuck in there with me?”

You feign annoyance. “Ugh, just get in the car.”

From the way your stomachs were rumbling and the rain was pouring, the two of you decided to bag the reservation. It was for some posh outdoor restaurant in Seoul that Namjoon pretended to be excited about.

Which is exactly how you ended up going through the McDonald’s drive thru and bringing it back to your place.

“Aren’t you on a diet or something?” You ask around your fries, eyes not leaving the television screen. The two of you had decided on Gone With the Wind, completely forgetting just how long it was.

Namjoon makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, taking a swig of his drink. “Yeah, something like that. Today’s my cheat day, though.”

“Aw, you decided to spend your cheat day with me?” You tease. Namjoon rolls his eyes, finally deciding that maybe you really are Amy from Little Women. However, he can’t fight the feeling that he’s the Laurie to your Jo.

Not that he’ll be telling you that anytime soon. He’s certainly done enough today.

“More like our date happened to fall on my cheat day,” he bites back. “And I heard that they have really good cheesecake at that restaurant we bailed on.”

You hesitate before taking another bite of your food. “Should we have gone? They probably would’ve given us our food to go if we didn’t want to sit under the umbrellas. I feel bad, you made reservations and everything.”

Namjoon shrugs. “No, this is way better.” He holds up his McFlurry for emphasis. “They even had the cheesecake McFlurry back in season! Coincidence?”

“I think not!”

You both chuckle before falling back into the companionable silence you’d been in before. Over the course of the drive back to Seoul, you’d taken your time, stopping at a handful of little parks along the way. Namjoon had imitated the ducks before realizing how silly he looked, then hiding behind his hands for a solid five minutes before he could look you in the eyes again. Overall, it had been calm and relaxing.

As you watch Scarlett O’Hara flirting it up with different suitors on the screen, you can’t help but wonder if that’s you.

Sure, Gina told you back at the haunted house to just enjoy it. Chances are it was all just a phase, anyways. There was all of this romantic tension between you and the boys that would naturally fade away as their curiosity diminished after their dates.

At least, that’s what you assumed. However you’re quickly coming to realize that you’re a little out of depth here.

“You alright over there?” Namjoon asks, pulling you from your thoughts. “You have your thinking face on.”

You blink. “I have a thinking face?”

“Of course,” Namjoon replies as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You gonna tell me what’s got you so stressed?”

“No,” you say a little too quickly. “I’m just...thinking about the movie.” Not entirely a lie.

You know he won’t push it if you don’t want to talk about it, but you take a little bit of enjoyment in the way his lip pouts out. “Alright, if you say so.”

Only a few more minutes pass before he speaks up again, sounding a little hesitant. “You know that this is a long movie…”

“Oh, should we end it here?” You ask, a little disappointed because you were just getting to one of your favorite parts. “You don’t need to feel like you have to stay-”

“No, not that. I’m gonna finish the movie. It’s just,” he wipes his fingers off on a spare napkin before scooting a little closer to you. “Long movies call for cuddling, don’t you think?”

You nearly choke on your saliva. “You- you, as in Kim Namjoon, want to cuddle? You’re into cuddling?”

He laughs, tugging on your arm until you give in and collapse against his side. You hope that your content sigh isn’t too noticeable when he drapes an arm around your shoulder. “It just depends sometimes. But yes, I am. At the appropriate times.”

“Ah, and long movies-”

“Are the epitome of the appropriate time,” he explains, lightly pinching your arm when you let out a wry laugh.

“Hey!” You cry out, only to be shushed by him.

“Shhh, I’m trying to watch this.”

You just can’t find it in you to be annoyed.

You’re asleep before the film is over, despite the fact that the sun barely went down. Something about having a full stomach and leaning your head on Namjoon’s shoulder just lulled you right to sleep.

You stir a little when Namjoon fidgets, pulling his phone out to call someone. His voice is deep and quiet, trying not to wake you.

“Hey, can you pick me up now?”

Despite your half-asleep state, you crack a smile. It’s quiet, but you can hear a familiar voice on the other side of the phone.

“Yeah, I’m close to there right now. Be there in a couple minutes. You’re at her apartment, right?”

“Thanks. Yeah, she’s conked out on the couch.”

There’s a laugh ringing through the phone. “Cute. Make sure she rests up, she’ll need it for our date next week.”

Namjoon sighs, not quite annoyed but not exactly pleased, either. “Yah, just hurry over.” He pauses for a moment. “Do you think I should wake her up to say goodbye?”

“Your call. But I mean, it’s not like you’re gonna give her a kiss goodbye. If she’s that tired, I’d just let her sleep.”

Your cheeks involuntarily turn red, and you can only imagine the way Namjoon looks right now. It’s his silence that gives him away.

“Hyung...what-”

“Text me when you get here,” Namjoon says, and suddenly the call ends.

Oh, he’s in for it tonight.

Stretching and trying to look like you totally weren’t just eavesdropping, you crack open your eyes to see Namjoon looking down at you with an amused expression.

“I would tell you that you missed the ending, but something tells me you’ve seen it before,” he drawls.

You chuckle breathily, yawning as you stretch your arms over your head. “Yeah, a couple of times.”

“I’m about to head out,” Namjoon begins, back to chewing on the inside of his cheek. “But thank you for going out with me. I seriously...it was just the best.” He smiles softly, and you wish you could have a picture of it.

Instead, you opt for nuzzling back into his side. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one thanking you? It was great, Namjoon-ah. I’ll have to read that book you got some time.”

He hums, returning the sentiment. “Yeah, we’ll do a book swap.” His phone lights up, but before you can see who it’s from, he’s snatching it up and jumping up from the couch. “They’re here.”

It’s tempting to not resort to begging him to stay a little longer - if only for the sake of his warmth which is quickly fading as he retreats to the door. However, you only pad after him, stopping him before he reaches the door.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his chest. “Tell everyone I say hello.”

“I will.” And with a rush of cool air, he’s out the door.

Gone, leaving you to stare blankly and wonder what just happened today.

And worse yet, what’s yet to come.

main masterlist

again, I’d love to hear from you! ESPECIALLY BECAUSE THINGS ARE ESCALATING!! thoughts, what you liked, what you didn’t, what’s been your fav so far...general screaming, it’s all great. THANK YOU!!!

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bosspigeon · 3 years ago

Text

if you're still bleeding

Pairing: Jax/M!Merc

Words: 2657

Summary: Jax should know better. He should know to mind his own damn business. But, unfortunately, he's well beyond "knowing better" now that he's gone and gotten tangled up with an unhinged mercenary with more knives than sense, and the scars that say the chances of him finding any sense are slim to none.

and if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones.

'cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone.

we're setting fire to our insides for fun.

collecting pictures from a flood that wrecked our home,

it was a flood that wrecked this home.

- "Youth" by Daughter

CW for: implied/referenced sex, sexual humor/innuendos, references to blood, violence, and trauma, and implications of kink

Knox is a man with scars.

Jax has plenty of his own, of course, but Knox has a lot of scars. There's a story to most of them, too, and he's never shy about telling them. Hell, half the time he tells those stories completely unprompted, whether you want him to or not.

There's a scar on his chin from where Royal told him he couldn't knee slide the entire bar. There’s the ugly knot of scar tissue where his left arm used to be, where the port to his prosthetic is grafted on. There's the scar in his stomach from the mook Jax had to help him bury. There's a scar on his lip where he bit himself too hard with his freakishly sharp teeth trying to keep quiet while Jax bent him over the hood of his car outside Saints and Sinners in the wee hours of the morning.

He's particularly happy to blab the story about that one to anyone who'll listen.

But he doesn't talk about the scar across his throat.

As little clothing as he tends to wear on the day to day, ("As little as I can get away with," he says with a sleazy wink) his neck is always covered. High-collared shirts, a jauntily knotted scarf, decorative chokers and heavy leather collars always keep it covered. He'll flash his tits before he'll show his throat—but in all fairness, it's not really all that hard to get him to flash his tits.

Jax didn't even see the scar until the fourth or fifth inadvisable hate fuck, at which point he was beginning to think he didn't hate the merc quite as much as he thought, considering he kept letting the little bastard in when he showed up at the door out of nowhere—and didn't shoot him when he decided to forgo the door entirely and come in through the window. (Jax still can’t be sure how he even got to the window, seeing as Jax lives in an apartment well above ground level, but he figures he’s better off not asking.) He didn’t think to ask about it until he’d actually lost count of how many inadvisable hate-fucks there’d been, and when they’d progressed somehow from inadvisable hate-fucks to still pretty inadvisable but otherwise amicable casual fucks.

Knox was loose and relaxed, quiet in a way Jax didn't even think was possible when they first met. And, to think, all it took was shoving him face down into the pillows and thoroughly wearing him out. Usually, he rolled out of bed as soon as his legs could hold him again, commandeered Jax's shower, and used half a bottle of his expensive conditioner before he disappeared without so much as a thank you. This time, he stayed. He sprawled gracelessly across Jax's sweat-stained silk sheets, arms stretched over his head, eyes half-closed and his ever-smirking mouth curled into something softer... almost sweeter.

Jax doesn't know what possessed him to roll over, to reach out and touch, but he did. He started at the inner thigh, the bruises he'd left with teeth and then fingers, a rumbling of possessive pride stoking the banked coals of satisfaction in his belly. His knuckles skimmed the soft curve of the merc's belly, the angry red scar tissue of that knife wound, then higher still. Inked into his sternum is a coyote skull, surrounded by boldly outlined flowers that curve along the underside of his breasts. Jax was almost surprised by the softness of the design, especially in comparison to the rest of the merc's ink, like the crude stick-and-poke perforated line and little pair of scissors right above his prosthetic, or the dirty pinup of some generic muscled pretty boy on his bicep, or the peach on his inner thigh that bears an artful addition of a T-dick very much similar to Knox’s own.

He wondered vaguely if the flowers meant anything to Knox.

Before he could dwell on the uncomfortably tender direction his thoughts had taken, his fingers travelled upwards, flicking absently at one of the heavy, angular piercing through Knox's nipples. Knox huffed a rough laugh, watching the progress of Jax's hand through eyes narrowed to dozy, yellow slits.

He traced Knox's collarbone, and his body was all but melted into Jax's bed, soft and pliant. Like he belonged there.

And then Jax’s curiosity got the better of him. He saw the scar, a thin line, pale with age, but standing in stark relief against Knox's tanned skin. It sits at a bit of an angle, slicing across the middle of the merc's throat.

The second his fingers made contact, skimming that raised line of flesh, he knew he'd fucked up.

Knox's body went taut for a split second, and that was all the warning Jax got before Knox was twisting his wrist hard enough for the bones to grind together and snarling in his face like a wild animal. If his knives weren't two rooms away in his discarded pile of clothes, Jax knows he would have lost fingers.

For once, Knox didn't say anything. For once, he was dead silent, mouth a grim sneer, eyes flat and hard. He shoved Jax roughly off him and rolled out of bed. He didn't look back once, stalking out of Jax's bedroom naked, every inch of his compactly muscled body vibrating with tension. Jax heard the rustle of clothes, the jingle of buckles and zippers and a half dozen knives, and then the front door slamming shut.

He didn't see Knox again until Orla called them in for another job, and it was as if nothing had happened. He was his usual smug, annoying self, not a single break in his usual facade of irreverent humor and Napoleonic bravado.

And maybe some of Knox's reckless stupidity is rubbing off on him, because Jax can't shake the curiosity that grips him, even now. He shoves it down, naturally, because he doesn't want the batshit merc to get twitchy on him again when he's got enough knives on him at any given time to outfit a military squadron. Hell, for all Jax knows, that's the end of it. He's not going to go crawling back to Knox (even if the sex is really fucking good—it's always the crazy ones, isn’t it?) and he knows Knox won't come to him first.

Except he does, dragging Jax into one of the back rooms after a meeting with Orla, shoving him against the wall, and dropping to his knees. Things go right back to normal after that, or as normal as they ever are with Coyote Fucking Knox. And as normal as they can be once Orla oh-so-sweetly reminds him there are cameras in the back rooms, and if he doesn't want stills of his dick forwarded to the entire Mirage gang, he'll keep his and Knox's exhibitionism where she doesn't have to see it.

So Knox continues to invade Jax's privacy, steal petty shit from his apartment and/or pockets, and loudly demand that Jax fuck him hoarse (-er) if he wants him to shut up.

And he winds up tangled in Jax's sheets again, sprawled out on his belly with one leg tossed over Jax's thigh, his face smashed into a pillow, one smug yellow eye watching Jax try to catch his breath beside him.

He could let it be. It's not like this is anything but a convenience. Some fun between… well, they're definitely not friends. Coworkers, if anything, and even that's pushing it. For a while, Jax considered it a fair trade for dealing with Knox's bullshit constantly. Now, it's becoming a pattern, and when it comes to semi-regular sex with a stab-happy mercenary, patterns can be dangerous.

But he can't kill the curiosity.

He figures his best bet is being blunt. And maybe getting ready to dodge in the very likely event things go south. He doesn't touch this time, at least not where they aren't already, Knox’s knee between his legs, the skin feeling a bit feverish and clammy as the sweat cools. The urge to touch is still there—he left some nice bite marks on Knox's shoulders he'd like to reacquaint himself with—but he ignores it for now. He rolls onto his side, meets that one yellow eye with quiet consideration, and props his head up on his hand.

Knox must read the change in his face, because he goes from cat-got-the-cream contentment to a warily curious tension. Jax just goes right for the throat, so to speak. “Any chance of hearing the story behind that one?” he says, casual as anything, and nods in the vague direction of Knox’s neck.

There’s a growling noise building up behind Knox’s teeth, but he bites it back. He smiles, but it feels feral, like an animal baring its teeth looks like a smile, but it's really a threat. It looks brittle, like it'll shatter if he tightens his jaw any further.

Jax gives in to the urge, reaching out to touch, fingertips skimming down the mercenary's spine. A shiver ripples across the skin. He’s not sure if it’s the right move, but at this point, if you’re going to Hell...

“I don’t know,” Knox says flatly, and Jax is almost shocked he answered at all. There’s no inflection, no mirth. Just that broken-glass smile.

Jax snorts. Knox never fucking shuts up, that much is true, but Jax isn’t stupid. He knows when someone’s talking a lot and saying nothing of importance on purpose, and he also knows when Knox can’t deflect, he lies his ass off like he was born to do it. Even Orla barely knows anything about her least favorite favorite merc or where he came from, though the chances of her caring enough to even try to find out are slim to none. Still, he has no idea what the mercenary even has to gain from lying, especially here. "If you don't want to say anything, just tell me to fuck off."

The knife edge smile stretches wider. Tips closer to the breaking point. "Fuck off," he echoes like a parrot.

Something starts to uncurl in Jax's gut, something burbling and acidic, a nasty niggling feeling he can't quite name. "You're serious," he says, and he doesn't want to believe it, mostly because he can't imagine someone like Knox taking that sort of… personal unknown well. “Nothing?”

The smile cracks, and Knox lifts his head so Jax gets the full effect of it. His eyes are wide, wild, and suddenly that smile is too big for his face. Slowly, he sits up, and there's the scar. Old and faded, but splitting his throat neatly and boldly from east to west. He drags his thumb across it, digs it in hard enough the white scar tissue goes a bit pink. He laughs. He's never had a pleasant laugh, rough and raspy and mean. Somehow, this one is worse. “Not a lick,” he drawls, and the effort it takes him to sound so casual almost makes Jax cringe. “There’s a reason Orla found me in the fuckin’ bargain bin.” He taps his temple, his messily painted nail clicking against the chip in his head.

Jax’s eyes flick down to the scar, frowning deeply. It doesn’t make sense. Knox is deflecting again, he has to be, but there’s something in the way he’s holding himself, the tension radiating from him, the way he slumps against the headboard of Jax’s bed with his knees pulled up, not quite close enough to hug to his chest, but more like he’s thinking about it, resisting the urge to physically hold himself together and risk looking weak.

"I have nightmares, sometimes," he admits, so soft the syllables catch on the rough edges of his ragged voice. "They never make any fucking sense. I'm just… I'm choking. Something’s cutting into my neck, and there’s someone behind me, and I know them, but— But I'm guilty? I don't know for what." He laughs, bitterly brittle. "Could be fucking anything. Got a lot to be guilty for that I can remember, never mind what I can't."

He inhales, and it sounds like it hurts him, like his breath is made of shards of glass. He drags his hand down his face until he can curl his fingers around his throat so the scar doesn't show. "I just know there's this perfume Orla wears that makes me want to climb the fucking walls and I don't know why. I think I know how to play the piano, but I can’t even look at one without wanting to smash it to pieces. Sometimes I hear some… some fucking opera song, or some shit? And I know the words, and I want to sing along, but then my voice just—just cracks, and I feel like… like a broken fucking wind-up toy? It's like my head doesn't remember anything, but the rest of me does and it makes me so fucking angry. What am I missing? Why does it matter?” His voice hitches dangerously, and there’s a stab of panic in Jax’s belly, his hands twitching like they want to—to reach out? “Why can’t it just leave me the fuck alone?"

Knox squeezes his own throat so hard the skin dimples around his fingers and bleeds white where he’s cutting off bloodflow. His shoulders tremble. There's something in the furrow of his brow, the twist of his mouth, that says angry isn't the only thing it makes him, but he either doesn't have the words to say it, or he just won't, not even to himself.

The silence falls again. Jax always thought he preferred silence where Knox was concerned. Turns out he was wrong. This silence is brutal, heavy and choking and just… wrong. When Knox does see fit to break it, it's with a loud exhale that almost makes Jax start.

"Would you look at the time," the merc says loudly, shaking out his bare wrist and looking at it critically. Jax could almost laugh. Knox tosses his legs over the edge of the bed smiling crookedly over his shoulder. "I should really head out, huh? Don't wanna overstay my welcome."

Before he can think, Jax snaps a hand out and catches Knox’s hip, squeezing. Not enough to stop him if he really wants to go, but enough to give him pause. Once again, Jax counts himself lucky they rarely make it to the bedroom before one or both of them are naked, which means all those knives are somewhere by the door, or scattered across his coffee table, or in the leather jacket tossed over the back of his couch. Coyote turns slightly, just enough to eyeball him. Just one yellow eye.

There's a lot Jax could say, a lot he even wants to, but there's something raw in that one yellow eye, something wary and broken that just wants to hide somewhere quiet and lick its wounds. They've been at this for way too fucking long at this point, Jax should know what to do with that, shouldn't he?

Maybe he does.

He snorts. "When the fuck have you ever cared about overstaying your welcome?" He smacks Knox's hip just on the wrong side of gentle, and rolls over. "You're not leaving until you help me change these sheets. Hell, maybe if I'm feeling generous, I'll let you back in bed after we shower."

He pushes up to his feet and stretches out the kinks in his muscles, allowing himself to luxuriate in the pleasant soreness leftover from their romp. Knox is quiet behind him, and he can't really think of when he actually started to trust the crazy bastard enough to turn his back to him.

Knox makes a rough little sound, something not quite a laugh. "Is that an order, Sir?" he asks, low and raspy-sweet.

Jax glances back with a raised eyebrow. "Do I need to make it one?"

#remember you will die #rywd #vapolis #rywd jax #rywd fanfic #rywd merc #pidge writes #oc: coyote knox #idk take the warnings into account for ur own comfort #this is more about the vulnerability and the tenderness between two deeply emotionally stunted idiots #anyway i have been picking at this on my bus rides to/from work for the last week #and performing narrative surgery to fix a screwup (bc i cant read apparently gfhdjg) proved to be a solid warmup #for diving into those comms #so uh #here we go!#enjoy i guess!

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imaginethatneathuh · 4 years ago

Text

The Sun: Mad Sweeney - American Gods

Mad Sweeney x friend!reader, romantic

At a coffee shop, you annoy Sweeney and he snaps so you drag him outside where he confesses.

Part of @dragon430′s Tarot Troop, edited by her as well.

Requested by @dreamers-wonderland - /knee slides in The Sun with Mad Sweeney?????

CW: Mentions of potential violence and you annoying the fuck out of Sweeney.

Word count: 1.1+ K

•

“O, O, O'REILLY’s AUTO PARTS!” You yell at the top of your lungs right into Mad Sweeney’s ear. Personally, you would have preferred to do the Red Robin jingle, but you did that yesterday and needed new material.

Mad Sweeney, more than a little hungover, groaned. “It’s too fucking early, Y/N. Go away, you chaotic fuck.” He tried to snuggle back into the sofa, but you had other plans.

You sucked in your lips, trying not to smile. “OOH EEH OOH AH AH TING TANG WALLA WALLA BING BANG! OOH EEH OOH AH AH TING TANG WALLA WALLA BING BANG! OOH EEH OOH AH AH TING TANG WALLA WALLA BING BANG! OOH EEH OOH AH AH TING TANG WALLA WALLA BING BANG! Dow, dow, dow, dow, dow, dow. OOH EEH OOH AH AH TING TANG WALLA WALLA BING BANG! OOH EEH OOH AH AH TING TANG WALLA WALLA BING BANG! OOH EEH OOH AH AH TING TANG WALLA WALLA BING BANG!”

“ALRIGHT, WILL YA QUIT YER YAPPIN’ ALREADY?” Sweeney shouted, snapping his head to the side, his upper body still resting on the sofa.

You snickered and smiled at him.

“Yer a menace, N/N,” he said. “A right fuckin’ menace.”

“It’s a glorious day, my redheaded friend! We should do something!” You bounced around, pulling at his jacket. “We could go to the park and throw bread at people who try to feed bread to the ducks! Or go for a swim in a public fountain! Or maybe-”

Sweeney cut you off. “It’s too fuckin’ early for this. I need a fuckin’ drink before we do anything at all.”

“It’s also too early in the mornin’ for that,” you said.

Sweeney groaned and face-planted back into the sofa. You, being you, started poking his face.

“Sweeney. Sweeney. Sweeney. Sweeney. Sweeney.” Between every call of his name, you poked him. “Sweeeeeeeneeeeey.”

You didn’t know when this started. When you’d started bothering him at every turn, just, generally, being chaotic and troublesome. But it sure was funny. And if he really hated it, he could just walk away.

Sweeney groaned and turnt his head. “I need fuckin’ coffee before I start dealin’ with ya, ya fuckin’ cunt.”

You grinned and bopped his nose.

•

“OH, she’ll be comin’ ‘round the mountain when she comes! Oh, she’ll be comin’ ‘round the mountain when she comes! She’ll be drivin’ six white horses--”

Sweeney clamped a hand over your mouth.

Wetting your tongue with as much saliva as possible, you start sticking your tongue out into his hand repeatedly, licking it like a cat licks their water bowl.

He pulled his hand away in disgust. It looked like he was getting ready to smack you.

“What the fuck is wrong with ya?” He asked. “Seriously? Why the fuckin’ hell would ya do that? I swear, yer battier than a fuckin’--”

An old lady with white hair muttered something. It was just loud enough for you to listen. “Big man like that. He oughta be ashamed of himself. Yellin’ at someone so sweet and innocent looking. Oh, that poor--”

He had enough of everyone in that moment. “How ‘bout you spend a day in my fuckin’ shoes. Deal with this--” he said, pointing at you. “--Little fucker for a day.”

The old lady glared at him then gestured to you. “They’re just a sweet, innocent little thing. And, you,” she said, pointing at him. “Are a brute.”

“Yeah, I’m sweet and innocent,” you said. The opportunity to fuck with him was right there. Of course, you’d take it.

Your false words fueled Sweeney’s rage. “Ya want a brute, I’ll show ya a brute!” He tried to get at the old lady, lunging forward and all that.

You were barely able to pull him back. “Nope, sorry, Sweeney, not today.” You push him toward the door and look back at the lady. “He’s a mess without his cuppa joe in the mornin’, ya know?”

As you meet Sweeney in the parking lot, you realize he isn’t just his usual angry. The look on his face screamed murder.

“Sweeney, come on, it was just a joke,” you said. “I know I’m not sweet and innocent, and you know I just do things to piss you off.”

“Ya do a lot more than piss me off! Ya make my life a living fuckin’ Hell, actually.” He neared you, a vein popping out of his neck. “I have no fuckin’ clue why da fuck I even hang ‘round you most of the time. Ya drive me fuckin’ mad, Y/N. Mad!” The tall man turnt his back to you and ran his hands through his hair. He seemed to be caught up in his thoughts as he stared into the sky. “It’s those stupid fuckin’ eyes, innit? And that laugh and smile.” He sighed and shook his head. “It’s just every fuckin’ thing about you.”

“What are you talking about, Mad?” You asked.

He looked over his shoulder at you. “You don’t see it, do you?” He asked. “You have no fuckin’ clue.”

“See what?”

“That I love you.”

Your jaw dropped. ‘When did that happen?’ You thought.

Then you thought back to this morning and remembered him staring at you as you rambled about the things you could do together. Then about the night prior and how he had called you on a payphone, asking you to come get him, and how he had fallen into your arms, nuzzling his head into your neck. It was sweet, and you had laughed, finding his action funny. You continued thinking about the past. About how he’d slip his hand into yours when he could. How he’d look at you when he thought you weren’t looking. How he’d call you late at night or just show up at your place whenever. It was so obvious now.

“Oh,” you whispered. “OH!”

Sweeney looked away, ashamed.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner!?” You asked.

He shrugged.

You started moving side to side with a smirk, acting like you were dancing like Rick Astley. “We’re no strangers to looove. You know the rules and so. Do. Iiiii. A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of--” You sang before Sweeney stopped you.

Instead of putting his hand over your mouth again, he pulled you into a kiss, hands gripping your jacket. The force and passion behind it was intoxicating. You kissed back, setting your hands on his sides.

When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours and panted. The connection was nice, calming in a way.

“Y/N, don’t ya fuckin’ start with me,” he whispered.

You laughed. “Well, I’m happy. You?”

Sweeney looked at you, a slight smile on his face and kindness (or was it love? You couldn’t tell) in his eyes. “I’m very fuckin’ happy,” he said. “But will ya please not be so fuckin’ annoyin’?”

“Nope!” You grinned, mischief on your mind.

#american gods #american gods fanfiction #tarot troop #mad sweeney #mad sweeney x reader

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lazyneonrabbitt · 4 years ago

Text

Paintings & Picture frames. [Pt. 3]

Daryl Dixon x Reader [Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7]

Art classes and Diner study sesions

Honestly you were hoping you’d just forget about it all in the morning.

Sadly you didn’t. As soon as your heard the rumbling of his bike getting closer you were reminded of what Tiana had told you.

Trying your hardest to focus on school you walked up to Daryl’s usual parking space and greeting him with another cup of coffee. “Thanks, and hi.”

“You know, if you really like hat coffee so much you should come by the Diner after five, I’ll be working with my boss, so there’s gonna be enough of that to keep you happy for a long time.” You offered him a refill as he had downed he entire cup already. “Maybe we can make a small start on the paper already? It’s usually pretty slow on Wednesdays so I doubt she would mind us doing some schoolwork.” Daryl nodded in agreement and handed you the second empty cup that you put away before walking into the building and started your art classes with Daryl.

Over the course of the day you learned that while Daryl takes the most beautiful pictures, he has no clue how to handle watercolors. Or pencils and markers. Daryl would have happily thrown away everything he made during class, but you convinced him to keep it and document it in the paper to get a higher grade and leave a good first impression with the teachers. He wasn’t happy with his terrible scribble being kept for others to see, or, laugh at according to his thoughts, but the idea of actually getting praise from someone for delivering good work at the start of something any other Dixon would have never managed to accomplish before did make him feel better about things. Maybe sticking around this girl wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Hey,” he carefully poked your shoulder, being mindful of the art supplies in your arms. “That offer from earlier,” He spoke so soft, it was like he was afraid someone would hear him. “I’d like to drop by your work later.” And with that he walked back to where you had left your bag and put his works into your folder without saying anything else.

The last class of today was all theory so you spent most of your tie writing along with the teacher’s notes until she assigned our homework and ended the class. The two of you stayed behind after everyone had left so you could exchange contact info in peace and pick a time for Daryl to meet you at the diner.

Arriving back home you took a quick shower and changed into your work attire before you left for your evening shift again. You came in to a calm diner with only one food order and two takeouts being prepared, the only other customer currently there was a trucker passing through and refilling his large thermos with coffee. After the man was finished and paid for his coffee you asked your boss to brew a fresh pot while you helped her pack the takeout meals and brought the other meal to your hungry customer. Most time after that was spent aimlessly wiping down the counter and waiting for Daryl, which felt like an eternity but was really only an hour after your dinner customer had left.

You were making your round wiping down all the booths when you heard the low rumble of daryl’s bike and you couldn’t hold back the smile that spread on your face. Lucky for you, your boss didn’t see it or she wouldn’t have let it go and you had no idea how Daryl responded to any type of affection, seeing how he didn’t even want to be study partners at first. You watched him park near the entrance, his bike in view no matter what booth you were in. Probably done on purpose to make sure nothing would happen to it while he was inside. You didn’t mind him parking so close, though. You loved that bike, it looked gorgeous and almost wanted to call it an art piece with how it was put together. Maybe you’d get the chance to casually slip a compliment his way and get him to open up about something he loves? That would be a good way to wind down after working.

The door bell jingled as daryl walked through and looked around scoping out the place and spotting you quickly. “Hey, sit down somewhere. I’ll be right with ya!” You called from your booth and followed him with you eyes, watching him sit down at the end of the bar, where it curved into the corner near the jukebox. He had his book bag with him which he placed next to the bar stool after taking out his old ratty looking laptop that was covered in stickers from all kinds of places.

“Hi hon, can I get you something?” She called, coming in through he kitchen doors. Looking up from hi screen to where the voice came from, he realized he voice was talking to him. And had to quickly remember what was asked. “Ah, ehh, just a coffee please.”

By now you had made your way back behind the counter and were putting away your cleaning towel. “Can you pour me one as well, please?” You tried to ask as sweetly as you possibly could, giving her your best puppy dog eyes. She came back with a serving tray holding three cups of coffee, sugar, sweetener and milk. “Enjoy, you’re gonna need some caffeine if you’re gonna be working on that paper of yours.” She smiled sweetly as she grabbed her own coffee and strolled back into the kitchen and clean up the last bits of dinnertime mess.

#the walking dead #twd #twd daryl #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #twd x reader #college au #alternate universe #twd au #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon imagine #twd imagine #sometimes i write

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cdelphiki · 4 years ago

Text

It was dumb.

No. Not dumb.

It was really, really, exceptionally stupid.

Being afraid of a little rain was probably the lamest thing a person could possibly be afraid of.

What was even scary about storms?….. Anymore?

Jason had a house now.

Sure, it wasn’t like, forever or nothing. But it was at least for now. And for now was long enough to protect him from the storm outside.

And yet, here he was. Hiding under his comforter, trying to ignore the cacophony of noises outside.

People who said rain was relaxing were high, Jason was fairly certain. High or really, really crazy. Because the harsh static of the constant downpour only made Jason more anxious. Even the gentle pitter-patter of a drizzle was the prelude to the deafening onslaught of far too much rain for the city’s sewers to handle, and Jason couldn’t handle any of it.

The crash of another bolt of lightning made Jason jump so hard, he nearly tumbled off his bed. His heart was hammering so hard, he was amazing no one could hear it.

But then again, the rain outside was so loud, there was no way anyone could hear anything but it.

And he was immensely grateful Bruce had skipped patrol. Because the last thing he wanted was for Bruce to come ‘check on him.’ Bruce might have thought he was sneaky whenever he poked his head in on Jason at 2 in the morning, but he wasn’t. And now Jason was happy, because the last thing he wanted was for Bruce to find him cowering under his covers, afraid of a storm.

A freaking storm.

It was insanely dumb. Jason knew why storms happened. He understood about cloud formation, positive and negative charges, and all that fun stuff. He’d read all about it in one of his school books.

That didn’t stop his heart from racing or his hands from shaking. And when another bolt of lighting hit, this time probably only 500 yards from the Manor, Jason leapt to his feet.

It was dumb. It was really, really dumb, but he could not be alone anymore.

He couldn’t.

He needed… he didn’t know what he needed. He needed to not be alone.

Before he could think better of it, Jason found himself standing in the hall, looking down at the doors ahead of him. There was Bruce’s room on one side. Door wide open, as he always left them to encourage them to wake him, or something. Jason just found it annoying, because it meant he couldn’t sneak past Bruce at night to go downstairs.

Perhaps that was Bruce’s plan.

On the left was Dick’s door. Shut, as always. And entirely unoccupied. Per the norm. Damian’s was next to it, and just barely cracked, so the dog could come in and out as he pleased.

The dog.

“Ace,” Jason whispered, trying to keep his voice quiet enough so not to wake Bruce.

He couldn’t deal with Bruce right now. He might ask questions.

And Jason did not want to talk about how the storms reminded him of being stuck outside in late fall, unable to find adequate shelter, freezing cold, soaked to the bone, and shivering while the rain kept coming. Didn’t want to think about how it took days to fully dry out after that, nor how the ground was wet for a week.

Or the case of pneumonia he’d developed, that landed him back in foster home for the third time. Stupid clinic being a rat.

Bruce would be super caring and understanding and he’d listen and hug Jason, probably. Then offer to stay up with him and watch movies, or drink hot cocoa. And Jason… kind of wanted that. But he couldn’t handle it. He wanted to cry just thinking about it, and Jason was so over crying. So freaking tired of doing it.

The dog, though. The dog wouldn’t ask him questions. He’d just lay with Jason and be there for him.

Ace was awesome like that.

But when Jason said, “Ace” again, this time a little louder, all he heard was the jingling of Ace’s tags. Deep inside Damian’s room.

From experience, Jason knew Damian was a heavy sleeper. Like, a really heavy sleeper. One time he fell asleep on the couch, and he and Bruce continued talking at a normal level for an hour, and Damian didn’t seem to notice one bit. Bruce was able to carry him up to bed afterward, all without Damian so much as stirring.

It was wild.

Would totally get him killed, one day, but probably okay for him right now. As long as he was safe in the Manor, that was. With the literal Batman watching over him.

Jason was kind of a little jealous of how deeply he could sleep. If only Jason could sleep through even the lightest footsteps passing his room at night.

Or storms.

“Ace,” Jason whispered again, nudging the door open just enough so he could stick his head in. Once his eyes adjusted to the darker room, he had to blink.

Because Ace wasn’t on the ground, where he normally spent the night, ‘guarding’ Damian.

No.

He was up in Damian’s bed, under the covers with him, tucked up against his side.

And Damian was there, wide awake, looking right back at Jason.

“Jason?” he said, far too loudly for Jason’s liking. Considering Bruce’s door was right there. Like, five feet away!

A crack of lightning flashed outside Damian’s window. And even with the half a second warning, Jason couldn’t suppress the flinch at the loud crash that followed. “Sorry,” he said, slipping into Damian’s room and shutting the door more, in hopes that Bruce wouldn’t hear them talking, “I was just… uh.”

The fuck was he doing? He couldn’t tell Damian he was looking for the stupid dog because he was scared, now could he? What would Damian say to that? He’d probably laugh at him.

Or start calling for Bruce to come fix it…

“Checking on Ace?” Damian asked, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Ace, in response, whined at Damian and pressed up against Damian’s side more, “Did you know he’s scared of storms?”

Ace was afraid of storms, too? Why would he be scared of them?

Well, he supposed the noises were very loud and Ace was a dog. Practically a baby. He didn’t understand what caused storms.

“Yeah,” Jason said, standing a little straighter and crossing his arms across his chest, “Yeah, I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

It was perfectly reasonable for Ace to be afraid of them. That was a valid excuse. Poor Ace.

Jason, however. He had no good excuse. It was just rain. And some thunder and lightning.

And trauma, Bruce’s voice whispered in the back of his head.

Stupid fucking Bruce saying stupid fucking things like that to him all the time.

When another crack of thunder made Jason jump and bump up against the door behind him, Damian frowned. “He’s okay as long as he gets to sleep with someone,” Damian said, running a hand through Ace’s fur.

“Oh.”

That made sense. Ace didn’t want to be alone, either. Why would anyone want to be?

Because they weren’t being fucking stupid like Jason, probably.

Jason wasn’t sure what to do now, though. Ace was with Damian and probably wouldn’t follow Jason, even if he asked. Ace was Damian’s dog. Damian was Ace’s favorite person. He wouldn’t want Jason as a substitute.

Maybe Jason could sneak past Bruce’s room real fast and go into one of the interior rooms downstairs. The theater, maybe. It had no windows. If he turned the TV on, he—

“You can join us if you want,” Damian said, eliciting another flinch from Jason.

Stupid fucking storm making him all jumpy.

Good thing Bruce wasn’t there to see, he’d get his dumb little frown on his face, similar to the one Damian wore. But Bruce would ask dumb questions like ‘what do you need to feel safer?’

Stupid fucking Bruce. Who made him like that?

Staying in Damian’s room would be admitting he was scared, and he wasn’t…

…admitting it.

Aloud.

“That’s okay, I’m gonna—“

“It’ll make Ace feel better,” Damian cut in, “he likes it when more of his people are near. Sometimes we go into Dad’s room.”

“Oh.” That actually made sense. Ace was a guard dog. If the storm scared him, he probably liked knowing as many of his people were safe as possible.

Jason still wasn’t convinced he was one of Ace’s people, but Damian kept insisting he was, so maybe…

“Are you sure?” He didn’t exactly want to crowd Damian’s space, either.

“Yeah.” Damian pulled his blanket over, making room on the other side of Ace for Jason to crawl in.

Figaro, Damian’s cat, had been underneath the blanket, too, apparently. Jason hadn’t even noticed her, but she protested loudly when the blanket over her moved. Her collar jingled when she jumped down off the bed and crossed the room.

She brushed past Jason, tail up in the air, just as snooty as always, and paused at the door. When Jason didn’t open it for her instantly, she mewed at him.

Loudly.

It was like she was trying to wake everyone in the house, just like she’d been woken.

Jason opened the door for her and she raced across the hall into Bruce’s room. Based on the startled snort Bruce made, she hopped up on him.

Stupid cat was trying to wake everyone.

“Figaro,” Jason heard Bruce mumble, his bedsprings creaking for a second as he grumbled something else Jason couldn’t quite make out.

Jason held his breath, willing Bruce to not get up and check on everyone. But when the bed settled again, and no footsteps followed, Jason let it out in a quiet sigh.

“Okay,” he whispered, “but I’m gonna get my own blanket. Be right back.”

On tip toes, Jason rushed back to his room and grabbed his comforter. It was huge, so he wrapped himself up in it and let the rest of it drag behind him, like an oversized cape.

Was this what Batman felt like all the time? His cape seemed like it would be heavy, even if it didn’t drag the ground. How did he even run around with it? Jason could barely walk down the hall without tripping all over himself.

The storm outside was already calming down, but Jason knew there were several more cells following the one passing. He’d looked at the radar. The storms weren’t going to stop until well after breakfast.

Ace would definitely need the company all night, Jason was sure.

He was extra careful not to wake Bruce on his way back to Damian’s room and very quick to crawl up into the bed, opposite from Damian.

Jason wasn’t used to sleeping with other people in the same room, much less the same bed, but Damian had crashed in Jason’s room once already. It hadn’t been bad.

Maybe a little nice.

He would have never thought it’d be so easy to fall asleep with someone else in the room.

Even though Damian was a heavy sleeper, there was something relaxing about knowing someone else was there. Someone Jason could trust not to be a jerk to him. Damian was just a little kid. And a pretty nice one, at that.

Staying in Wayne Manor was turning him soft…

“We can watch a movie," Damian mumbled, from where he’d curled up next to Ace again, clearly half asleep already.

“You said you’re not allowed.” The last thing Jason wanted was to get Damian in trouble.

He wasn’t quite sure how Bruce punished Damian, since usually all he did was say something like ‘knock it off’ or raise his eyebrows at Damian, and Damian stopped whatever he was doing. Even though he doubted it’d happen, he’d feel terrible if he got Damian hurt just cause he was too scared to fucking sleep.

“Dad won’t care,” Damian mumbled, “there’s no school tomorrow.”

Jason looked at Damian skeptically. The rule was ‘no tv after bedtime.’ Jason wasn’t sure it mattered what day of the week it was.

Damian was, apparently, confident in his opinion Bruce wouldn’t care, because he sat up and grabbed the remote, then handed it to Jason.

It took Damian telling him twice more that it was ‘really fine, just pick something,’ for Jason to actually power on the projector and flip through the kids movie files.

In the end, he found an old cartoon for them to watch instead of a movie, and snuggled down in his blanket, all cocooned up so only his face was showing.

Predictably, Damian fell asleep within 7 seconds of the first episode playing. But the gentle snores from him, as well as the warm weight of Ace against Jason’s side, did help Jason relax a ton.

The storm kept raging outside. At times, the wind howled against the windows, and the rain fell so hard it sounded like hundreds of people were on the fucking roof, stomping. Not to mention the thunder and lightning, which continued to hit nearby.

Even with all that going on, Jason found himself jumping less and less.

And about four episodes in, he started to doze.

Sleeping while it was raining wasn’t something Jason had done in years.

But that night, he slept right through the rest of the storm. If the thunder kept up, Jason didn’t notice it.

When he was finally roused by Ace, well after breakfast, the sun was peeking through the curtains and birds were chirping outside.

Damian yawned dramatically as he stretched and said, “See. Told you Dad wouldn’t care.”

“Yeah.”

Maybe he wouldn’t care next time there were storms, either.

Because… Jason had to admit. He’d never felt as at peace as he did that morning.

He never wanted that feeling to end.

#jason todd #damian wayne #batman #batfam #batfamily #batbros #robin #baby jay #baby damian #fanfiction #pennyverse #c writes #i TOTALLY forgot I usually cross post my oneshots #LOL #so im reposting this like this and gonna delete the link post #but cross posted to ao3!!!#called 'a burnt child' on there

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heartsywritesthethings · 4 years ago

Text

Tickling! Plus Ultra! 1

“Why do I have to come again? We already sleep in the same damn building, so what’s the point?” Bakugo groaned, pressing his forehead against the doorframe of his dorm. Kirishima smiled at him. He was wearing a plain white shirt and fuzzy red pants with dragons all over it. If Bakugo was being honest, he thought that Kirishima looked very attractive in his pajamas. Not that he would ever say that out loud. Ever.

“Because everyone is already downstairs and ready for the games! We’re just waiting on you.” Kirishima said, tilting his head a little bit. Bakugo huffed and turned away to hide his blush. He shoved his hands in his sweatpants.

“Okay, fine. But don’t expect me to participate in any stupid shit,” Bakugo huffed and began following his friend down to where the others were waiting in the main room. Everyone was now in their pajamas. There had been a bottle laid down, but Iida was lecturing the others about acting immaturely. Mineta was whining about it.

“Kacchan!” Deku exclaimed, waving Bakugo over to where the others were sitting in an oddly shaped circle. Deku, unsurprisingly, was wearing a pair of fuzzy blue pants with Allmight faces all over it along with a shirt with Allmight on it as well. Bakugo didn’t even need to see what kind of slippers he was wearing to know that they were also probably Allmight themed.

“Don’t overthink this, Deku. I’m just here so that Kirishima doesn’t complain to me all night,” Bakugo grumbled as he sat down. Kirishima plopped down next down to him, their legs touching ever so slightly. That worked with Bakugo though. As much as he liked the crazy haired red head, he still needed some time to actually admit it openly. It seemed that Kirishima didn’t really need for him to say it aloud though, which made him feel a little more relaxed.

“How about we play Truth or Dare? That’s fun!” Urarakasuggested once Iida sat back down.

“Truth or dare can be hot.” Mineta said, ogling over Momo as she stretched her arms over her head with a yawn.

“I am going to have to insist that we have some rules regarding this new game!” Iida said, chopping at the air.

“Yeah, I’ll have to agree.” Momo said with a pout, crossing her arms over her chest. She glared daggers over at Mineta who just waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Alright then, we are agreed. First rule, nothing we cannot ask any of our fellow students to admit to anything suggestive or do anything suggestive.” Iida said, pushing his glasses up his face.

“And we probably shouldn’t do any damage to the building or each other,” Ochako said, waving her hand around in general.

“This game isn’t gonna be any fun,” Bakugo huffed and he began to get up. Kirishima caught him by the wrist and pulled him back down. What was the point of this game if he couldn’t make two students fight to the death? It just seemed like they were just going to ask each other about crushes which was beyond boring to him.

“It’ll be fun! I’ll start!” Mina said, jumping up and looking around quizically. “Tsu! You first! Truth or dare?”

Tsuyu straightened up, her tongue sticking out of her mouth. She had been off in her own world, not really paying attention to everyone as they bickered about the games and the rules.

“Uh, truth?” She responded.

“Okay,” Mina began, “Are frogs your favorite animal or is it really something else?”

“Well…” Tsuyu thought for a moment, looking up as she thought over the different animals that she liked. “I would have to say cats. They’re very sweet, though of course frogs are very easy to relate to.”

“Huh. Never pegged you as a cat person.” Mina murmured before sitting back down. She gestured for Tsu to continue. Tsuyu got up and looked around for a moment before pointing at Jiro.

“Truth or dare?” she asked.

“Dare.” Jiro responded confidently, twirling one of her earphone jacks between her fingers.

“I dare you sing a random song in a scottish accent,” Tsu said and sat back down.

“Lame dare.” Bakugo grumbled under his breath. Kirishima elbowed him in the ribs.

Jiro stood up and began singing Jingle Bells in the worst scottish accent any of the 1-A students had ever heard. Soon, just about everyone was laughing. Even Iida was cracking a smile. The only one who didn’t seem impressed was Kacchan Bakugo. He just sat there with an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed over his chest.

“Kirishima, truth or dare?” Jiro said once she had finished.

“Dare,” Kirishima said, leaning forward. He looked a little too excited to embarrass himself in front of his entire class. Bakugo rolled his eyes.

“I dare you to make Bakugo laugh,” Jiro said before sitting down.

“That’s stupid. You can’t rope me into your dumb dares,” Bakugo huffed, shaking his head.

Kirishima turned towards Bakugo with a smile that was not unlike a shark’s. Shitty hair was definitely planning something and Bakugo wasn’t sure if he was going to like it. He leaned back, looking Kirishima up and down and trying to figure out what exactly the plan was.

Then, it clicked.

“Wait–” Bakugo began, putting up both of his hands defensively, but it was already too late. Kirishima pounced on him and began digging his fingers into Bakugo’s sides.

Bakugo went rigid. Of course it tickled, but he wasn’t about to let the whole class know. He was supposed to the the badass, the next number one hero. He couldn’t let the others know his weakness was something this…this childish.

“Aw, what’s wrong King Explosion Murder?” Kirishima asked, that shark like smile still spread across his face. Bakugo glared at him.

“I’m gohonna…” Bakugo began. A giggle had slipped and he clamped his lips shut before anything else could get out. The laughter was beginning to build up in his chest.

“What was that?” Kirishima asked innocently, tilting his head to the side.

“Careful, he sparks when he’s tickled,” Midoriya chimed in, scooching away from where Bakugo’s fists were clenching and unclenching. Bakugo’s head whipped over to turn his glare to Deku.

“What?!” the entire class erupted, and suddenly the eyes of pretty much every single 1-A student was on Kirishima and Bakugo.

“He’s ticklish?” Uraraka asked.

“That’s…kinda cute, man.” Denki said.

“Most people have sensitive nerve endings. It is quite common,” Iida chimed in with a small nod.

“You guys could help you know.” Kirishima said.

“This is supposed to be your dare, but…okay.” Jiro said before moving in next to Bakugo. Her hands joined the fray. Bakugo let out a small noise, trying to push himself away from the two of them.

“Oh, you’re not getting away.” Kirishima said and used a hand to grab his wrists. He held them above Bakugo’s head and then used his harden quirk to keep them up there.

“You are so dead, shitty hair.” Bakugo growled. Kirishima stuck out his tongue.

Jiro began poking and prodding around Bakugo’s stomach and sides. Bakugo squirmed and jolted slightly. It seemed like she was meticulously mapping out which areas got the biggest jump or the most effort to muffle a laugh. Kirishima made a claw with his hand and hovered it over Bakugo’s left underarm. Bakugo was definitely sweating now. He could feel that something bad was about to happen. Like the calm before the storm. The two were just waiting for–

“FUHUHUHUHUCK!” Bakugo laughed when the two of them both descended with their tickling fingers. Jiro had zeroed in on two areas, one just to the left of his navel, and his lower rib on his right side. Kirishima was clawing at his armpit – easily his most ticklish body part.

Sparks began flying from his hands, though they fell harmlessly on Kirishima’s hardened hand.

“GUHUAHAHAHAYS STHAHAHAHAP I’LL KIHIHIHIHILL YOUHOHOHOHO” Bakogu barked in laughter, his feet kicking out as he struggled against the three tickling hands. There was no escape from the tickle torment.

“Wow that is a lot less threatening when he’s laughing,” Deku murmured.

“Aw, his laugh is so cute!” Mina exclaimed.

“I never would have guessed he was so ticklish.” Momo said with a soft smile.

“FUHUHUHUCK YOUHOHO” Bakugo laughed, shaking his head.

“You sure are talkative. Think we can fix that, Jiro? Plus Ultra?” Kirishima said, looking over his shoulder at his tickler partner.

“Plus Ultra.” Jiro responded and now her earphone jacks were tossed into the mix. One began poking around Bakugo’s stomach randomly while the other sent small pulses of vibrations into Bakugo’s navel. Kirishima also began digging his thumb into Bakugo’s underarm.

Bakugo went absolutely ballistic. His head was thrown back and his eyes squeezed shut. He couldn’t get out a coherent sentence as he was just overwhelmed by the otherwhelming feeling of being put through ticklish hell. Sparks began flying more frequently from his hands, sounding like distant fireworks.

It was only when a stray spark hit Kirishima’s now non-hardened hand that the intense tickling stopped. Kirishima flinched and brought back both hands. Once Bakugo’s hands were free, he shoved Jiro away by her shoulders. He curled up in a ball, still giggling.

Neither of the ticklers were harmed. Jiro just sat back on her heels while Kirishima sucked on the part of his hand that still stung.

“Well, guys, I’m sure Kacchan doesn’t want to play anymore after–” Kirishima began. He felt pretty good about the hell he had put Bakugo through, but there was a feeling that maybe Bakugo could have one longer because…he enjoyed it maybe.

“Deku.” Bakugo said, huffing as he attempted to breathe again. “Truth…or…dare?”

Midoriya looked like he was in shock. He had honestly thought that Bakugo would run off to his room after being tickled like that. But, even with that, he wasn’t dumb enough to fall for that.

“Truth!” Deku squeaked out. Bakugo growled softly, feeling as if he was cheated.

“Where is your most ticklish spot, Deku?”

(8/25)

-GA!babe

#25 days of fics #tickle fic #submission #GA!babe #8/25 #Tickling Plus Ultra #ticklish!bakugou #thank you light of my life for this lovely fic #can never go wrong with some class 1A shenanigans #or a lil dash of kiribaku #and we love the bakusquad that’s just a given

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