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heygerald · 4 months

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Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 3

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic asshole. After their moment at the wrap party, Tom shows up at Parker's bookstore. How is it possible someone can be such an asshole when asking for a favor?

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Two weeks later finds the weather outside shifting with the first hint of autumn; cooler temperatures in the morning greet Parker when she walks to work, and the coffee shop next door has started advertising their new fall drinks of pumpkin spice and cinnamon tea. She's seen her brother every day since the wrap party—partly because he always makes a point of taking some down time after finishing a movie to recover from his stunts, and partly because her and Jody have become fast friends—but she hasn't seen Tom since their moment in the bathroom.

She suspects that's for the best. The internet is flooded with paparazzi photos of him flouncing around town with models every other day, and she's still trying to forget how natural it felt to laugh with him.

But despite her brother's newly open schedule, and Jody's constant pestering to go spend a day at the beach, Parker finds her bookstore just as empty as always.

There are a few stragglers here and there throughout the day. Sometimes she gets lucky when a tour bus stops for gas and snacks, allowing an ensemble of tacky dressed tourists to flood her street for twenty minutes. On unlucky days, Mr. Chamberlain will stop in to peruse her historical section; but he doesn't have any sort of schedule or income, and those visits consist entirely of him describing last night's CSI episode to Parker before trying to set her up with his grandson. Once he bought a book from her dollar bin. He attempted to return it three days later.

On days like today, Parker is visited by a sixteen-year-old named Melissa who hangs out every so often while her mom attends overpriced Pilates in the studio down the block.

"...and then Peter was all 'no, sorry Mandy, I'm not interested". Like, hello! My name is Melissa and we've lived in the same neighborhood since we were four," said teenager was droning on from her spot atop the upcycled reading chair in the corner. She never failed to impress Parker with how much she could talk—the stories quite literally never stopped coming—while at the same time she managed to read about four books a week. Parker suspected that Melissa's brain represented something like the Rainbow Road in Mario Kart, when the music got a little too fast and the turns were a little too hard to keep up with. "Now, I have no idea what I'm going to do. There's no one else for me to ask since it's three weeks away."

Parker, only half-listening to the story, hummed from her spot two rows back. She had won several boxes of books at a local auction about a month ago and had done a pretty good job at pretending they didn't exist.

Ignoring the problem only lasted so long, however, and this morning she had ended up spilling coffee all over herself when her sneaker caught the edge of the box. Pride—and knees—damaged, she decided to tackle the issue first thing in the morning.

It was now four in the afternoon, and the books were mocking her.

"Can't you just go alone?" she asked.

"Go alone? Are you crazy! That's, like, really sad, Park," Melissa explained. She couldn't see her, but Parker could feel the judgmental look the teen girl was giving her. "Only losers go alone to dances."

"Baby did it."

"Who?"

"Baby. You know? You don't put Baby in a corner? That one."

A tut. "You should really update your references."

"Jesus. Since when did Dirty Dancing become an outdated reference?" she muttered while inspecting the spine of a mystery novel from the 70s. It had definitely seen better days, and when she shifted it, three pages fell out. Parker tossed it into the TRASH box with a sigh. "Is going to a dance with your friends considered outdated too?"

"That's the same thing as going alone," Melissa groaned.

"How? You're literally not alone."

"Because if I go with my friends, that means that I couldn't get anyone that wasn't a friend to agree to go with me. I don't need the whole school thinking that I'm a total loser."

"I went with my friends and had a blast. And I'm not a loser."

There was no response other than silence, and after a few moments Parker realized that if Melissa had nothing to say about the subject, she likely had nothing nice to say.

She cleared her throat before moving onto the next, and final, box hoping that there would be better books in it. So far, her KEEP pile was looking pathetically small compared to what was about to be binned. With a forced change of conversation, she asked, "hey, you grew up here, right?"

"Sure."

"Did you know the Sawyers?"

"Like, Miss Sawyer? Down on Oakcrest?"

"The fancy old house with the bushes shaped like dogs. I bought a bunch of books at her estate sale, and so far, they all suck. I thought she was supposed to be a big collector or something."

The sound of Melissa humming echoed throughout the empty store, and Parker peeked around the bookshelves to spot the girl lying upside down on the chair; Doc Martens stuck up in the air, long ponytail hanging to the ground as she played on her phone.

Parker rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, totally. But she collected those kid's books. Original copies or whatever. Mom said she paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for some rabbit book."

"...Peter Rabbit?"

"I guess," Melissa shrugged. There was a loud smack of gum popping before her voice rang out, "she did a bunch of donations to local art musuems and galleries and stuff. A phila-something—"

"Philanthropist?"

"—and there was some big deal about her donating everything to some charity. Mom was talking about it. Which, like, good for them or whatever but I don't understand how donating an old book is helping solve world hunger."

Parker let her head drop against the beat-up cardboard box in front of her, something despondent and miserable sitting on her chest at the realization that she had wasted time and money on nothing but crap. "Well, I wish I knew that before I went into a bidding war over this garbage. Are the Hardy Boys still cool or is that dated too?"

A judgmental laugh floated back. "Um, their name is pronounced Hemsworth, Park."

"I meant—" she started, before realizing that this was a battle she was never going to win, and even if she wanted to try the musty smell resonating from these boxes of crap had burned through her daily allowance of braincells. Something Melissa didn't seem to worry about as she puffed from her vape pen. "Forget it."

Not so shockingly, Melissa did not, in fact, forget it. Instead, she spent the next ten minutes describing in scary detail each Hemsworth brother, their looks on a scale of one to ten, their best movies, and why Chris was the dreamiest of them all. His hair and eyes were a big selling point, apparently, and as Parker listened to the teenager drone on, she couldn't help but wonder if Chris Hemsworth used box dye too.

So wrapped up in her own world of book sorting, Parker didn't notice when the front door opened with a tinkle of the bell until the shop went eerily quiet. Melissa, it seemed, had finally found a reason to shut up.

"I never liked Chris all that much," Parker said as she slowly gathered the KEEP bin and hefted it off the floor. Her lower back ached at the strain. Jesus, maybe I am old. Moving towards the front counter, she continued musing, "There's something about him in the first Thor movie, when his eyebrows were all bleached, that kind of turned me off. I think there's a word for that, right? The ew or something...."

She spots Melissa first.

The girl is sitting upright in the chair now, face flushed a deep scarlet red with a book held tightly in her lap as she pretends to read through it. Her phone and vape are nowhere to be seen, and she doesn't so much as glance up when Parker strides by.

"What happened to you?" she asks with an amused quirk of the brow. Melissa doesn't respond, and Parker turns to set the heavy box of books on the front counter when she spots the other person in the room. "Oh, sorry. I was in the back. Can I help—?"

It shouldn't surprise her as much as it does, but Parker blinks to find Tom Ryder standing on the other side of the counter staring at her with raised brows.

Tom fucking Ryder.

He looks better than the last time she ran into him. He has a nice tan going underneath a funky pair of yellow sunglasses that are, in her opinion, too big for his face. They look a little absurd with the whitewashed denim jacket he's wearing, but the yellow matches the bedazzled t-shirt he has on underneath, so she suspects it's some sort of fashion statement. Paired with an expensive pair of well-polished boots, it all looks quite absurd standing in the middle of her dilapidated bookstore.

Even more so when Parker realizes she's wearing nothing but a pair of cheap cargo shorts and an oversized Twilight sweatshirt that was covering the coffee-stained shirt underneath. (Team Jacob, always).

"Tom. Um... are you looking for Colt or something?"

In typical Ryder fashion, he ignores her question entirely to do a slow spin; blue eyes tinted by his glasses trailing over everything in sight. She can feel the judgement from across the counter, and when he finally fixes his sights back on her, his smirk is rage inducing. "This is your store. Seriously?"

Parker promptly plants her hands onto her hips with a scathing glare.

"Ok, what do you want?"

"Jesus, no wonder this place is empty," he drawls, a pointed smile tossed towards Melissa's prone form as he leans an elbow onto the counter. At being noticed, the teenager ducks her head behind the spine of her book as if she had just been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. "Do you talk to all your customers like that?"

"Just the assholes," she retorts. Over Tom's shoulder she catches Melissa's book dropping down two inches, and the girl's face is completely aghast.

What are you doing! she mouths, that's Tom Ryder!

Parker rolls her eyes. As if she didn't know who the blinged-out asshole standing in her store was. Speaking of—he's still standing there smirking at her. "That's you, if I wasn't clear. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Tom snorts. "I think I got that after the fifth time you said it."

"And yet..." she gestures vaguely to him, then to her store.

Because he's never behaved like a normal person, however, Tom doesn't seem to mind the insult or the offhand comment that she didn't want to deal with him. Instead, he smiles while his gaze drifts from judging the bookstore to judging Parker. He gives her a glance over—up, down, lingering on her oversized sweatshirt, before going back up—and finishes with a snort. "If the door hits me, I'm suing for damages, and I doubt you could afford the lawsuit. Let alone a lawyer."

God! What. a. fucking. asshole!

Parker bites back the insult knowing that it won't do any good. They've played this game before, and clearly being called an asshole seemed to have lost some of its bite over the weeks. So instead, she forcefully returns her attention to the cardboard box and slowly starts sorting the books into categories. "Fine. Can you just tell me what you want so I can get back to my life?"

He shifts against the counter and over the mustiness she catches a waft of his cologne when he grabs a book at random from her pile. "Why else do people come to a bookstore? I want a book."

Parker snorts. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Seriously, what do you want?"

There's a moment of silence. She glances up to find him pointedly ignoring her as he flips through the book at random.

"You're... serious?"

He shrugs. "You said you have a bunch of sci-fi books."

"I'm surprised you even remember that given the whole," she sticks a finger into her mouth and mimes throwing up. He doesn't find it funny or cute and responds with a disgusted glare. Parker rolls her eyes with a shake of the head. "It was a—never mind. Why not order off of Amazon? I thought you said you've never even been to a bookstore before?"

This time, it's his turn to roll his eyes. He drops the book with a thwack before turning his attention to the overstuffed bookshelves at her left. At random, he starts ambling towards one. "You should be flattered that I picked your little store to start. Most people would kill to say that you know. Tom Ryder explores rundown bookstore in the shitty side of LA. If you had a picture, the paps would run it in every paper by tomorrow morning," he huffs.

"Yeah, I'll be sure to document this monumental occasion forever," she snarks, but follows after him anyway. His pattern is half-hearted; poking books here and there, glancing for hardly a second, before moving on. "And my store isn't rundown. It just has some... character."

He snorts over his shoulder. "That's what a Mom says when her daughter is ugly."

"Don't you go through PR training or something?" she scoffs as he diverts to a different aisle. "I can't imagine Gail would like to hear that particular opinion if I sold it to TMZ."

"Gail would sue you for everything you own," he laughed while flipping through an old copy of Gone with the Wind. Parker crosses her arms at him with a glare, and in response Tom flashes a too-white smile at her. "She freaked out about the mink rug, by the way. Was screaming and everything. It was hilarious."

Parker's heart stopped in her chest, but when there was no continuation of the joke—haha I can't wait to see you served with papers!—she furrowed her brows at him. "You didn't tell her it was my fault?"

A shrug as he shoved the book against her chest.

She huffed, turning the book over to check for damages, but when he turned his back... well, a part of her did wonder why he would keep that a secret if it was such a big deal. Was it to be nice? Or so he could hold it over her head indefinitely? Then again, if this was his attempt at blackmail, letting it go for two weeks seemed like the wrong way to go about it.

Deciding not to linger on unsolvable riddles, Parker returned the book to the end cap he had found it on and asked, "so, does this mean you've decided to audition for that sci-fi part after all?"

Her question went unanswered as Tom paused in front of the SEX & SEXUALITY section. He pulled a wrinkled copy of Fifty Shades of Grey off the shelf and waggled his brows at her pointedly. "Keeping the good stuff for yourself, huh?"

Parker responded by snagging the book out of his hand and stuffing it back into place. "You break it, you buy it applies here too, Ryder."

"Half this place is broken," he said with a pointed glance at the flickering overhead light. "I still can't believe you own this shithole."

"I happen to love this bookstore—"

"Oh, trust me, I can believe that you would own a bookstore," he said, and while there was nothing insulting about owning a bookstore on its own, the way that Tom spoke made it clear that owning a bookstore was not something he held in high regard. Then again, he spent all his time reading shitty scripts, so what would he know? "I just can't believe that you would own this bookstore. Like, you actually paid money for this place?"

"If you have to know, I used to be friends with the owner, and got a good deal on the property," she started to explain. He raised his brows at her while slowly perusing the RELIGION section, and Parker shook herself. She didn't need to explain anything to him of all people. The reminder helped her find some confidence, and she fluttered her hands at him irritably. "You know what—I don't need to explain myself to you. You've never even been to a bookstore before. What would you know about making sacrifices for something you believed in?"

Tom paused in his search. She saw his jaw clench, and eyes droop towards the creaky wooden floor beneath his shiny boots, and his comment from the other day drifted back to mind.

"You can be a real asshole sometimes, too, he had said.

And while guilt did block her throat up a bit—fucking asshole couldn't even let her defend herself without feeling bad about it—this time he didn't make any such reprimands. Instead, he just shrugged, before diving deeper into the store.

He cleared his throat. "I just expected it be nicer coming from you."

"Does something about me secretly scream rich girl to you?"

Tom harrumphed. "Trust me, no one is mistaking you for rich. Uptight, however..."

"Oh, ha, hilarious, Tom. God! You're such an asshole," she laughed, but it was a mean sound, paired with a mean insult. It failed to have the desired effect, however. In fact, Tom seemed to have shifted from hating the insult to owning it and looked far too amused for her liking. Frustrated, Parker decided the best plan of extermination was a straightforward shot. Through gritted teeth, she asked, "...what kind of sci-fi book do you want?"

The rhinestones on his shoulders sparkled as he shrugged. "I don't know. I need to understand what gets nerds so fucking excited about this shit. Not too nerdy, though. Alright? I'm not trying to be a Trekkie or whatever."

There were so many things wrong with that statement that Parker wasn't sure what to pick first. So, she pinched the bridge of her nose to point out, "I have a feeling the so-called nerds making up your potential fanbase aren't going to appreciate being talked about like that."

"Who's gonna tell them—you?" he asked with a derisive glance over.

It was definitely true what they said about Tom Ryder; his effect on women was instantaneous. Parker just doubted the tabloids were talking about migraines.

"The sci-fi section is on the right," she sighed while pushing past him. It was one of the larger sections she had; it hadn't been a lie to say the books weren't selling all that well despite being her favorite. "What have you read before?"

The blank look he gave her was response enough.

"Ah, right, maybe... Altered Carbon?"

"Isn't that a tv show?"

"Well, yeah, but it was a book first."

He glanced at the book in her hand, but clearly wasn't impressed. Leaning on the shelf, he said, "why the hell would I read that if I could just watch it?"

"Sound logic," she tutted with a narrow eyed look. Parker returned the book with an eyeroll. "Fahrenheit 451?"

"Read it in high school. Not impressed."

She trailed the shelf while muttering, listing books in her head before subconsciously crossing them off the list of something he was likely to read and enjoy. "I guess that means you wouldn't like The Illustrated Man or The Martian Chronicles," she said to herself.

His arm brushed her aside to pluck out a familiar novel. "Nerds love this," he said while already flipping through the pages. She was surprised the size didn't scare him off immediately.

"Nu-uh. No way," she shook her head.

"What?"

"Dune is not a starter book."

He furrowed his brows crossly. "You don't think I'm smart enough to read this shit or something?"

You shouldn't ask questions you don't want the answers to, her mother's voice echoed in the back of her head.

"Reading Dune as your first sci-fi book is like jumping straight into the deep end," she told him in a much more diplomatic approach. "If a sixteen year old wants to start drinking, you don't give him scotch, you give him a fruity cocktail."

Tom huffed; first through his nose and then through his mouth but stuffed the book back onto the shelf anyway. To which Parker then had to put it back on the correct shelf with a huff of her own.

"Don't be a baby and just trust me that Dune isn't a starter book. Okay?"

"Well—what is? You're supposed to be the expert here."

"If you weren't so picky it would be a lot easier..." she deadpanned but returned to her search anyway. Tom didn't seem to like waiting, and scowled at her as she shifted past him. She ignored him as best she could while squatting down to the lower shelves. "Arthur C. Clarke is one of the best sci-fi writers. He established a lot of rules that still exist in writing today. And films."

Parker pulled one of his novels, before moving towards Asimov, and then finally to Sagan. They were all slimmer novels than Dune, but no less complicated.

"Contact is my favorite," she said, shoving the books into Tom's arms. His denim was rough on her hands, and she tried not to think about how feverishly warm his skin had been the last time she had been this close to him. Swallowing, Parker remained on task. "But any of these should be good starter books for you to get into sci-fi with."

He glanced at the choices warily. "My audition is next week."

"Then I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to finish these if you're really serious about wanting to get that role," she chirped.

Together, they wound back towards the front counter. The TRASH boxes sat in the middle of the aisle, and she carefully toed them to the side before trailing past. While she was pretty sure he had been joking about suing her, a workplace hazard was the last thing she needed.

"How do you remember all of this?"

"Where stuff is? I spend almost all of my time arranging books. I'm uptight, remember?"

She felt more than saw his eyeroll. "These books, the authors. You, like, know everything about them."

Parker paused. It definitely wasn't a compliment, but it definitely felt like it could have been. Then again, this was Tom Ryder. When she glanced up from the counter, she found that he already has his nose back in his phone, and the conundrum of compliment versus not was thrown out the window. Parker shot him an unimpressed look to say, "please tell me that you're not on SparkNotes right now."

It was his turn to pause. "I'm just... reading the descriptions."

"Maybe that's why you can't understand why nerds like these books," she argued, hands planted firmly on her hips now. "Why would I go to watch one of your movies if I already looked the plot up on Wikipedia?"

He ignored her point entirely to smirk. "So, you do see my movies?"

"Goodbye, Tom."

"Relax. I'm not going to spoil them, alright? What's the fun in that when I could read them instead, and then leave you a bad review when the books end up being awful?"

"You mean have your assistants leave me a bad review."

He didn't seem impressed at the jab but didn't defend himself either. Most likely because they both knew she was right. Parker shot him a smug smile that he promptly rolled his eyes at. "Hilarious. Just tell me how much the books cost so I can leave before stepping on a rusty nail or something."

"Didn't you see the sign out front? Can't come in without a tetanus shot due to liability reasons."

There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, but when she glanced up at him, Tom was wiping a hand down his face. "How much for the books, smartass?"

Parker was pretty sure she could upsell him. There was no way that he knew those three books, decades old with ripped pages, were only worth fifteen bucks together. And with all the Gucci name brand bullshit that he wore, she was pretty sure she could get away with telling him the price was a hundred dollars and he wouldn't even blink an eye.

But he was also a customer, a somewhat work acquaintance, and someone she really didn't want to hang around any longer than necessary. Not to mention her brother's pseudo boss, and someone that knew she was guilty of wrecking a far more expensive rug than she could ever pay to fix.

"Just consider them a loan," she said before she could second guess herself. When Tom raised his eyebrows so high they disappeared into his hairline, she waved a hand at him while half-heartedly returning to her job of book sorting. "If you're that put-off by it you can always pay me an agent's fee if you get the part."

He stared at her for a long moment, not necessarily computing, definitely hearing static, before Tom spared her an over-the-top eyeroll that surely had to have hurt to perform.

From his pocket he pulled out a couple of crumpled bills and slapped them onto the counter. He didn't even look at how much money it was. Just shook his head at her, glasses bobbing on his nose, before he was on his way out the door.

"Hey! Don't you want your change—?"

The door shut with a ting.

On the counter sat seventy-three dollars. Parker wasn't sure if she should be offended or complimented.

From outside there was the sound of an obnoxiously loud car engine revving, alongside the thrum of music, before it tore off down the street.

"What a fucking asshole," she grumbled with the shake of her head.

But it wasn't exactly an asshole thing to do, when she thought about it. And she would know; every exchange they had since being introduced had Tom acting like an asshole to her.

Or, well, not every exchange. Not when he had been, almost, nice to her at Gail's party, if only for a few moments when no one else was around.

"OH. MY. GOD!" a shrill voice shrieked across the store, bouncing off of bookshelves, as two boots went crashing towards the window. Parker was reminded in no gentle terms that they had not, in fact, been alone when Melissa smudged her face against the glass to peer out onto the street. "Holy shit! That was Tom Ryder! Tom Ryder! Are you kidding me right now? TOM. RYDER."

"Yeah, Jesus, I know who that was," she winced, pinching her ear when she thought the girl's high pitch yelp may have burst an eardrum. There was definitely a ringing as Melissa tromped around.

"You—he—I can't believe after all of this time you never once mentioned that you're friends with Tom freaking Ryder!" she squeaked.

"Well, hang on, we're not—"

"How long have you known him? How do you know him? Do you have his phone number? Ohmygod everyone is going to flip when I tell them that you know him. Tom Ryder!" Melissa shouted, phone already in hand as she started typing. "My friend, my dear friend and favorite bookstore owner, is best friends with Tom Ryder! Did you see his latest movie, Good Cop, Bad Dog? Ugh! He's so hot!"

"We're not friends," she said immediately, not even bothering to dispute the fact that Good Cop, Bad Dog was a puff piece in an attempt to market him for younger fans. "He's actually kind of an asshole."

The teenager shot Parker a scandalized look, mouth popped open into an O as her brows lifted to her hairline. "What? Are you kidding me right now? He just drove all the way out here to ask for your recommendation for a sci-fi book! His house is, like, fifty minutes from here with traffic. Don't call him that when you just became so cool."

Parker frowned. "How do you know where he lives?" she asked, before adding with much more intensity, "hang on a second, am I not cool?"

But Melissa was already moving on, the sound of facetime dialing on her phone as she darted back outside in hopes of catching another glimpse of the celebrity. Parker, in response, caught her head between her hands with a low groan.

And yet, she couldn't help but think about what Melissa said.

Tom Ryder was a total, grade-A asshole... right?

She cast a despondant glance towards the crumpled bills on the counter, then the box of books at her side, before fishing her phone out of her back pocket, and pressing the second number on speed dial.

"Hey," she said, "do you want to get, like, really drunk tonight?"

Colt didn't bother to ask why before he was checking what ingredients he had in his fridge and offering to invite Jody and Dan over for dinner. Sometimes, she really loved her brother.

#plot bunny #the fall guy #tom ryder #tom ryder x ofc #original female character #tom ryder imagine #series?

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thatndginger · 5 months

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Well... it's done! I've finished polishing this little project up, and the last step is to print it off at work after I enjoy my first two-day weekend off in over a month ^.^

The Idiot's Guide to Moressau

In an attempt to stem the flood of idiotic tourists who inevitably get themselves killed, injured, or swindled every year, Portia Beckham has written a short primer for all thinking of visiting Moressau. Her goal is to lay out the most dangerous aspects of the city and what you can do to avoid them. This is not an in-depth guide to the city or any supernaturals by any means.

full transcript under the cut:

CONTENTS

PAGE ONE Sightseeing The truth behind the tourist kitsch - places to avoid at all costs, hidden gems to explore

PAGE FOUR Shapeshifters Debunking stupid werewolf myths, how to pick a shifter from a crowd, how to avoid getting your face ripped off by an angry one

PAGE SIX Vampires How to spot a mosquito, ways to keep your neck safe, popular vampire hunting grounds PAGE EIGHT Witches Best practices for dealing with magic users, apothecaries to stay away from

PAGE NINE Magic and More Magic, and what you should know about it before you visit

SIGHTSEEING IN THE SMUGGLER CITY

The Golden Rule: Use Your Brain It’s hard to resist the allure of magic, I know. But Moressau isn’t the kind of place you want to walk into unprepared. There’s a lot of rot beneath the thin veneer of civility the city’s been splashing around lately. This isn’t meant to be a tourist guide. I’m not going to sit here and pretend that your visit is going to be all sunshine and roses. The sun rarely shines in Moressau, and don’t you know roses have thorns? No. This is a survival guide to help you avoid becoming a statistic.

Avoiding the Tourist Traps I’m going to be honest: ninety percent of the stores in Old Downtown are overpriced and full of cheaply-made tourist trash. ‘But what about Heron’s Compass or The Crooked Spine?’ you may ask. Overpriced. Tourist. Traps. The Crooked Spine touts itself as the oldest bookstore in Moressau, but most of its shelves are filled with the kind of crap tourists spend hundreds of dollars on just to say they bought a piece of Moressau. Most of that crap is made overseas. If you want to hear a sanitized, all-ages-friendly account of witches in Moressau and buy ridiculously named potions that do jack-all, then by all means go to Heron’s Compass. The Maer-Rigan Coven will charge you out the nose, and probably gloat about overcharging you to your face. If that’s the kind of vibe you want, then please stay in Old Downtown and never bother the rest of us.

Shopping That Won’t Bankrupt You If you want to find some shopping that’s reasonably priced and not forced to keep up a bright and happy facade for the city’s ‘image’, then you’re going to want to check out the street markets. All local, usually handmade, and what they lack in visual appeal they more than make up for in atmosphere. The really good ones don’t advertise their existence, you just have to know. Best practice: check the Arts or Lonewood districts on a weekend evening. You’ll find something that makes the entire trip worth it. Guaranteed.

Not in the mood for a stall crawl? There are a ton of unique stores around Moressau worth your time. But like most things, you’ll have to put in a little footwork for them. My personal suggestions are The Salt Well - a secondhand store covering three stories in the Arts - and Thistle & Rue - a local artist co-op that has everything you little heart could desire.

Local Food Worth Your Time Moressau is far from a haute cuisine destination, but since you’re here you’re better off sniffing out some of the local offerings than settling for fast food. Trust me. Check out Jax’s Diner down in the industrial side of town. Open twenty-four-seven and home of the best breakfast plate you’ll ever eat in your life. Or if you want something fishy The Queen’s Catch in the Boardwalk is by far the best place to sample some of the sea’s bounty. Finally, if you’re looking for somewhere with both good booze and good food, you can’t go wrong with Island Goat or the Salt Beard Tavern. Just don’t ask to try the chef’s special at the tavern.

The Historical and Creepy Look. All of Moressau is creepy. At least that’s what I’ve been told. It’s dark and gloomy and you’re just as likely to get mauled by a creep as you are to get scared by a dumpster rat. If you don’t know what you’re doing, stick to the shit all the brochures tout. You’re less likely to die that way. There’s museums and tour guides for all of you nerds, too. That tour of Augustus Laroche’s mansion is actually pretty fun. They have paid actors and everything, but frown on self-guided tours outside of the usual routes. Just FYI.

I’ve heard of some walking tours that have popped up recently that seem safe, if you’re into that kind of thing. Word to the wise, though: avoid anything that mentions the Montrose Syndicate. They aren’t dead, and they don’t like being talked about. Whoever started that tour is going to end up at the bottom of the bay sooner or later.

Seaside Attractions (And Then Some) This is another one the brochures can handle for you. The Boardwalk and lighthouse are safe enough, and there are parts of the preserved old wharf that aren’t too bad either. And yes, they were made with old shipwreck lumber. The founders were thrifty and morbid like that. Stick to the North Docks and Downtown if you want to explore Moressau’s seaside attractions. The Old Docks aren’t the safest place anymore, day or night. If you’re up for a bit of a hike, check out the original lighthouse just north of the city. It was abandoned in favor of the new lighthouse in the early 1900's, but whatever they made it with keeps it standing, even if the rocks around it have eroded away. It’s not as fun since the city took out the bridge connecting the lighthouse to land, but you’re brave (and stupid) you can still make it across the gap. Ask me how I know.

For some modern entertainment - or modern-ish - it’s worth it to check out Saltshock, the amusement park right off the Boardwalk. It’s got some of those old wooden rollercoasters that are actually terrifying. The modern steel coasters have nothing on those rickety old things. The prices aren’t too bad, but definitely don’t bother buying any souvenirs or food there. That’s where they get you.

And since you’ll be in the area, keep an eye on the street art. I know a guy who paints some really cool murals around the Docks and Southside neighborhoods. Some of them disappear pretty quickly, since he never asks permission to decorate someone’s wall. So keep an eye out for anything signed “W S”. And keep an eye out for the rest of our local renegade artists too. You could spend hours searching out all the hidden masterpieces in this city and still miss half of them.

SHAPESHIFTERS

There’s one thing you can count on in the world, and it’s that no one will ever agree on what’s the ‘right’ thing to call a shapeshifter. But to save you some trouble, I’ll tell you the best ones. Only scientists and academics use that stupid ‘metamorph’. Most people settle for ‘were’ or ‘shifter’. If you know what kind of shifter you’re dealing with, calling them a werelion or whatever regional term you know is probably fine. Just don’t call them a beast unless you want them to act like one.

Debunking the ‘Werewolf Myth’ Because ‘shapeshifter’ is such a broad category of supernatural, there are a lot of rumors and hearsay floating around out there. Hollywood certainly doesn’t help. So let’s get some of the worst rumors put to bed once and for all.

First and foremost, weres aren’t controlled by the moon. They won’t uncontrollably transform under a full moon, or grow stronger in moonlight, or whatever else Hollywood has fed you. A transformed shifter isn’t a mindless animal or killing machine. There are some shifters who have trouble controlling their animal sides, but in those cases they’ll act like any other animal. Lassie doesn’t attack everyone in sight, does she? Most shifters are fully in control of their animal sides, and you’ll only have to worry about one attacking you if you’ve pissed them off.

Second, not every bite from a were will kill or turn you. Which is hardly comforting, since you won’t know that until after they’ve bitten you and you’ve spent about half an hour shitting yourself with panic. No one knows how it works, but a were has to want to turn you for the magic to take hold. That said, a big enough shifter doesn’t need to Bite you to kill you. So I’ll tell you again: don’t piss off a shifter.

Spotting a Shifter There’s no one-size-fits-all way to pick out a shifter in a crowd. They look like any other human. Act like any other human. Until you get close enough to notice that they have a cat’s eyes, or pointier-than-normal ears, or freckles that look more like spots. Every shifter has a ‘quirk’ courtesy of their animal form, though it’s not always immediately obvious. I know a werewolf who has fangs in human form, and another who acquired a ‘birthmark’ in the shape of their wolf side’s markings. Each quirk is unique to the shifter in possession of it.

Behavior is another one of those things that’s unique to each were. Some will take on certain behaviors of their animal form while human, while others will only act like an animal when they are an animal. They’re like humans that way. You can’t just shove them all into one box and expect them to act the same.

Finding a Shifter Shapeshifters don’t have a lot of restrictions the way some other supernaturals do. They can go where they please when they please. Except for the fact that most mundanes are still scared of them and prefer shifts stay in specific neighborhoods like Amber Wood and The Point on the north edge of the city. So if you’re trying to find some entertainment on the wilder side, start there.

The hangouts in Amber Wood tend to be the friendliest to non-shifters. Belmont’s Basement is a historic dive that’ll let anyone through the doors as long as they don’t start trouble. Then there’s Ovidia. Be warned, the music and atmosphere are quieter than a usual human club, since Ovidia caters to the sensitive senses of shifters first and foremost.

The Point has been undergoing a bit of a gentrification spell of late. The Montrose Syndicate has been expanding their turf, and with the wolves come the wealthy. Above all, steer clear of Arnaud’s Run. That’s where the top Montrose brass live, and they do not like outsiders. You’re more likely to get your throat torn out than to get a lukewarm welcome in the Run.

But if you want to try your luck, The Hunt on Starfall, or the Silver Bullet lounge are your best bets. Better be on your best behavior, though. Insulting a Montrose soldier is the last thing you’ll ever do.

Were Deterrent? There Deterrent! Silver will mildly irritate a shifter, but it won’t kill them. That whole silver bullet thing works because, it turns out, guns kill things. It doesn’t really matter what the bullet is made out of. Wolfsbane will do the exact same thing to a shifter as it does a human. Don’t you know wolfsbane is incredibly poisonous? Just touching the stuff can kill a mundane, let alone a werewolf. Don’t be the idiot who goes touching deadly flowers because of a myth.

If you want to keep a were from transforming, slapping a collar made of copper and rowan branches will do the trick. It’s how cops ‘subdue’ shifters in Moressau. Why rowan? Who knows. Same reason vampires hate it, probably. It’ll irritate the crap out of a were, like itching powder, but it doesn’t really hurt. Copper disrupts transformation magic, but only when combined with rowan, and only when directly touching a shifter’s skin. That one’s easier to explain. Magic and copper don’t mesh well. Rowan amplifies it against shifters.

VAMPIRES

If your entire reason for coming to Moressau is to meet a vampire then I have two questions for you: What the hell is wrong with you, and why bother coming here at all? Statistically, there is at least one vampire in or near where you live now. Go find them. They’ll probably jump at the chance to drink your blood, if that’s your thing. You don’t need to travel for it. The only reason you should be visiting Moressau when it comes to vampires is their nightlife.

How to Spot a Vampire Let’s get something straight right now. Vampires don’t sparkle. They aren’t incredibly pale. They aren’t indestructible. A freshly-fed vampire isn’t much different from a human, actually. They’re warm to the touch - never hot - and no paler than the average person. The only thing they’re missing is a heartbeat.

That said, there are some tell-tale signs that you’re talking to a vampire. Their fangs don’t do that stupid retraction thing like some movies claim. You’ll see them as soon as a vamp opens their mouth. A vampire’s eyes don’t glow, they aren’t blood red, they’re just eyes. But they’ll shine in the passing light of a car or a camera flash, that’s for sure. Most supernaturals have that little quirk. Lastly, vampires lack both a shadow and a reflection.

A vampire who hasn’t fed in a few days will have a chill to them like any other dead body. But a hungry vampire is faster, stronger, and much easier to piss off. And a really hungry vampire might just turn feral on you. Trust me when I say you never want to meet a feral vampire. They don’t have enough reason left to leave you alive when they’re done.

Where to Find a Vampire Typically, vampires can only come out at night. They tend to burn to a crisp in half an hour if they’re exposed to full sunlight. It’s not a pretty sight. Luckily for the vampires of Moressau, the sun only comes out about 30 days of the year, so they can be out at nearly any time of day.. Most of them keep to the night hours out of habit, being nocturnal creatures. They also tend to hang out in the Midnight Quarter. There are some vampires who’ve lived there since the city was founded, and if you’re looking for night life then the Midnight Quarter is exactly where you want to be. Don’t be surprised by what you might see in a back alley there. The city’s feeding regulations are only really enforced when the police department feels that vampires are getting a little too comfortable. There are ‘authorized’ parlors for safe feeding in multiple parts of the city, but it’s only in the Midnight Quarter that vampires feel safe enough to feed out in the open.

Not all vampire parlors and clubs are dangerous. Just some of them. Club Nomad caters primarily to vampires, but they’ll welcome anyone looking for a night out. The bouncers there are better than most about keeping an eye out for trouble. If you want exclusivity, then L’Sourire en Sang run by the Société de Keres is as old and exclusive as you can get. They’re pretty strict about who they let in - mundane and vampire both - but I’ve heard that almost every human visitor leaves alive. Or occasionally undead.

Last but not least, there’s Cameo. It hasn’t been around very long, but it’s already pissed off all the old and moldy vampires in the city so it has my vote of confidence. I heard it’s run by a new coalition in town called the Strix Assembly, and they’re very concerned about keeping their bloodbags alive and well. Pampered, even. They don’t mind the occasional shifter drifting through, either.

Finding Good Mosquito Repellent Vampires might be some of the deadliest supernaturals out there, but there are some tried and true ways to keep them off your neck.

First, sunlight. We’ve covered this. Keep up.

Second, rowan wood. I don’t know what it is about rowan specifically, but it’ll burn any vampire who touches it. They hate the smell of it too, if you’re in the market for new cologne.

Vampires have an aversion to garlic, but it’s not going to stop a determined one. Pepper spray is useful if you can make a quick getaway. Don’t bother with religious iconography or silver unless you want to be laughed at before you die.

And finally... most vampires are just like everyone else. Common sense and a nice attitude will go a long way. If you wouldn’t go around insulting Joe Schmoe, don’t go around insulting a vampire just because you can, either.

WITCHES

Before you go getting all sad because I’m telling you just how dangerous all the ‘fun‘ parts of Moressau are, just let me finish. Because as scary as shapeshifters and vampires can be, witches are so much worse. You’ll never a know a witch is standing in front of you. Not until you piss them off and they curse you for it. At least a vampire has the courtesy to show their fangs before they fuck you up.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let me debunk some more stereotypes about witches. Some of them wear pointy hats, but so do a lot of mundanes. You can’t judge someone by their aesthetic. Even if it’s a stupid one. If they are actively channeling magic, a witch’s eyes will glow. It’s a soft light, like a glowstick. There’s no specific glow color for ‘evil’ witches, but the color is unique to each individual. A witch also tends to smell like the air before a storm when casting. Petrichor, some call it. That’s the smell of magic in general. Depending on how much magic is used, the smell can linger for a while too. But it’s really weird to go around sniffing people, FYI.

Finding a Good Witch Shop Most witch-run businesses in Moressau prefer to call themselves apothecaries or mysticaries. ‘Magic Shop’ sounds like a place full of gag gifts and card tricks. The good apothecaries are usually run by a single person or small coven. Anything with multiple locations or run by the Maer-Rigan Coven is going to charge you out the nose for something even an infanct could mix up. Maer-Rigan runs Heron’s Compass and Satyr’s Step in the Old Downtown, so steer clear of those. It’s better to avoid Hag’s Eye Apothecary and Honey & Sage while you’re at it, too. They aren’t Maer-Rigan run, but they’re way too pricey and their products are weak.

If you want a really good mysticary shop, check out Whitehart Apothecary near the Old Docks. Their prices are fair, and the witches who run it are a riot. They’ll even check you for errant curses, if you ask nicely. Breaking curses will cost you, though. Some other options are Lazy Gull and Black Fin & Feather, both found near the Boardwalk. Black Fin & Feather is perfect for all you goth-y, creepy folk. And Lazy Gull recently opened a coffee bar, so you can get your enchanted drinks on-the-go. Just make sure to tip well, or they might add something unpleasant in there too.

MAGIC AND MORE

There’s one thing I can say about Moressau that is unequivocally positive: it really is the most magical place in America. And I mean that literally. There may be other places with a longer history of magic use, but Moressau was built and rebuilt with the help of magic, and you can feel it. The city is alive with it. Be good to the city, and the city will be good to you. That’s our motto. That’s why most of us still stick around, even with the constant rain and cold. And the danger. We love this city. And it loves us back.

Now that I‘ve gotten a little sappy, let’s get back to business. Most of the newer parts of the city - really anything less than 50 years old - haven’t had time for the city’s magic to sink in. So if you’re scared of the idea that a city is alive, stick to them. They aren’t really alive yet. The oldest parts like the Boardwalk and Old Downtown are where you can feel the magic heartbeat of Moressau. You’ve got to stand still, and tune out the city noise, and then you can feel it. But since this is Moressau, standing in the middle of a busy public area and spacing out is dangerous, so bring a buddy if you want to try this.

Never, ever go below the city streets. It might sound cool to check out the ‘Buried City’, but the magic down there is different. Older. Woven into the ground by smugglers and people who didn’t want to be found. It doesn’t matter how well you’ve prepared, or how good your sense of direction is. Ten minutes down there and you won’t know up from down. There are people who manage to live down there, but don’t ask me how they do it. You probably don’t want to meet them, either.

If you’re a magic user, make sure you’re prepared for the side effects magic tends to experience here. I’ve been told magic has a stronger will in Moressau and takes more effort to channel. It also tends to take on a mind of its own and react in ways you wouldn’t expect. It’s nothing off-the-walls crazy, but it’s definitely something to keep in mind. Or else your protection spell might become a ‘knock everyone three feet back if they dare touch you’ spell. It’s only funny for the first twenty minutes.

Shapeshifter taglist: @sunset-a-story @touloserlautrec

#wip: shapeshifter #The Idiot's Guide to Moressau #lots of fun little tidbits and easter eggs in here #this was fun

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moltengoldveins · 8 months

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it was raining where I live today. I went out into town and walked and let my hair get wet. The water made the air feel clean, made it easy to breathe, so I was singing as I walked. Old folk songs like Shenandoah, hymns like Come Thou Fount, a few from the Lord of the Rings, anything that came to mind. A woman came up behind me and told me I reminded her of ‘a Mary Poppins movie.’ I kept singing after she was far enough away that it didn’t feel awkward. I sat in a local bookstore and read the Silmarillion until I got bored (it wasn’t my copy. I put it back on the shelf when I was done) and I bought a day-old croissant the size of my face from a bougie bakery for three dollars. There was a piano store down a side road, and I stopped by like I sometimes do to sit and play the grand pianos, the ones that cost 80,000 and sound like the song of some great beast, barrel-chested and wide-throated, vibrating all the little bones in my wrists. There was an Italian woman there with a chihuahua and an attitude, and she was being pushy with the service worker, but she left him alone to sit and listen when I played, and she really did seem to like it. It calmed her dog down, too. I’d like to think I made a bit of an improvement on the whole situation. The worker was fifteen minutes from the end of his shift when I left and was starting to lock up, so I don’t think he had to deal with her much after that anyway. I stopped by my campus after that. I made my favorite tea, I read a book, I made a pair of earrings. I did very few things I needed to, and I did not finish my assignments. The noise of the rain drowned out the anxiety, and I hugged at least five people, all while soaking wet and grinning like a madwoman.

it was a very good day. I highly recommend taking a walk in the rain.

#molten rambles

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harryforvogue · 9 months

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Do you guys have any book fairs in the US?

I live in india and in my city there are 2 book fairs every year and they have so many books literally and they are soo soo cheap as well There are around 40 makeshift bookstore in tents and they have all types of books and in different conditions as well, there are so many second hand books as well as new ones.

To give you an idea of how cheap, there are few stalls which have like piles of books and you can pick any three for just 100 rupees that is just a little more than a dollar. And they are in good shape.

For brand new books they go for aroun 2-3 US dollars that's it. And it's so much fun to just stroll around for hours checking out different stalls like time fliesss there.

i think depending on where you live, there are local used pop up shops for books!

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casspurrjoybell-23 · 6 months

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LOST and FOUND - Chapter 2 - Part 3

*Warning Adult Content*

On Thursday night I was pushing a shopping cart down the cereal aisle at the grocery store and failing at not worrying.

I had to be at work tomorrow morning and I was so nervous to see Jona again.

If he ended up showing up.

Which I was pretty positive he would.

He didn't look like the type to take no for an answer.

I picked up a box of strawberry Pop Tarts and tossed them into the cart.

They were on sale so I threw in a box of blueberry ones too.

I only had forty dollars to spend on groceries so I needed to spend it wisely.

Going to the store was very hard for me.

This particular store wasn't one that Harrison and I had gone to often.

He had insisted on shopping at the local health food store but that was where he had his heart attack and I refused to go there.

I knew if I went there a breakdown was inevitable.

I would be reduced to a sobbing mess on the dirty linoleum.

So that meant I had to go to the bigger chain store, which made me drive right past Harrison's bookstore.

It was a lose/lose situation.

I sighed and went to grab a box of cereal.

I was contemplating the many choices, trying to decide between Frosted Mini Wheats or Coco Puffs, when I heard...

"Beau?"

My brain short circuited as I recognized the voice.

I turned my head to right to see Jona coming down the aisle with a basket in his hand.

"I thought that was you," he said happily as he stopped next to my cart.

I didn't even know this guy existed five days ago and now I'd seen him three days this week.

I said the only thing that came to my mind.

"Are you stalking me?"

A short burst of laughter escaped his lips.

He shook his head.

"No, Beau, I'm not stalking you."

I looked at him and realized that what I'd seen him wearing before must have been his work clothes because now he was wearing a t-shirt that showed off his muscles and loose-fitting jeans.

My mouth watered and I looked away.

I decided to go with Coco Puffs and I tossed the box into my cart.

I really didn't want Jona seeing me right now.

I looked a hot mess.

I was wearing low hanging sweat pants and a shirt that Harrison had bought me at the fair two years ago, it had a fat unicorn puking rainbow glitter on it.

Plus my shoulder length hair was ratty and tangled.

I had put no effort into making myself look nice after I had gone to fix myself a snack and realized I had no food.

I figured it was late enough and there wouldn't be many people at the store, so who cared if I looked like a slob?

I was really regretting my decision now.

I started pushing my cart down the aisle and Jona followed me.

"Why don't you let me take you on a date?" he asked.

"No, thank you," I said, trying to sound polite as you could while turning someone down.

I needed to stay strong on this matter.

I couldn't let myself give in to his desires.

When I glanced back at him... I saw that he was watching my ass as I walked.

I frowned and looked forward again.

Who did he think he was?

Just staring at my ass like that.

I may have been trying to hide how much I liked it by pretending to be offended.

"I'm just going to keep asking until you say yes," he told me as I turned out of the aisle.

"That's harassment," I said.

"I don't think it's harassment, if you want to say yes."

I didn't know what to say to that because I'm pretty sure it would still be harassment if I kept telling him no and he kept pursuing me.

I turned down the aisle with the peanut butter.

"Don't you have better things to do with your time? Shouldn't you be golfing or something?"

"Golfing?" he asked but I could hear the amusement in his voice.

After a moment he said...

"I'm not really into golfing but I play on an adult softball team."

I stooped down to grab the biggest jar of peanut butter on the bottom shelf.

"What do you do for fun, Beau?"

"Nothing really," I said, waddling to the cart with the peanut butter in my hands.

"Holy shit, that's a lot of peanut butter."

His cursing made me smile.

Harrison would have never said something like that.

The two of them were pretty much completely different.

That might have been a good thing.

I thought the only thing they had in common was that they were both the Alpha male type but Jona definitely showed it more outwardly.

"What are you smiling about?" he asked curiously.

"That's the first genuine smile I've ever seen from you."

"Just thinking," I said and began pushing the cart.

He stopped me by grabbing my arm.

I didn't try to get out of his grasp.

"Please go on a date with me, Beau."

I frowned.

"I can't. Please stop asking."

I lightly pulled my arm back but he didn't let go.

"You only want me to stop asking because you know you'll say yes eventually."

I couldn't deny that that was true.

I didn't say anything and just pulled my arm away again, testing him.

He squeezed my bicep and then let me go.

That's when he looked in my cart.

He looked confused.

"Do you have younger siblings, that you are shopping for?"

"No, it's just me."

I started to push the cart but he gripped it and held it in place.

"You can't live off this shit," he said, picking up the box of blueberry Pop Tarts, then dropping them back into the cart.

"You need to take care of yourself."

I lost my voice, thinking that Harrison would have said something really similar.

I looked up at Jona's face, the concern that showed in his expression.

Why did he care?

He didn't even know me.

I lifted my chin.

"Unless you're my boyfriend, you can't tell me what to do."

His nostrils flared at that.

I could see anger in his eyes but also... interest.

He had read into the subtext of my statement.

I liked my boyfriend to take control, to tell me what to do.

And now Jona knew that and he liked it.

I figured he would... I could feel the dominance rolling off him.

"I need milk," I said and started pushing the cart towards the dairy section.

Jona followed me.

I grabbed a gallon of one percent milk and set it in the cart.

Jona opened a nearby door and pulled out two containers of cottage cheese, one he put in his basket and the other he put in my cart.

"I don't want that," I said.

"It's good for you," he stated as if that would change my mind.

"I'm not going to eat it."

"It's good with peaches. You'll like it."

"I don't have any peaches."

He pulled out two peaches from his basket and set them in my cart.

I started breathing heavily.

I couldn't afford to pay for this stuff.

The reason for eating crappy food, other than not knowing how to cook, was that I literally could not afford healthy food.

The world was fucked up and food that was good for you was way more expensive than food that was bad for you.

"No, Jona," I said, still breathing heavily. "I can't... I..."

Holy shit I was panicking.

Right in the middle of the store and right in front of Jona.

"I can't buy this..." I gasped. "I can't afford it."

I was grabbing for the stuff in my cart but Jona grabbed my elbow and pulled me away from it.

"Hey, shh," he said and I took big gulps of air, trying to breath.

"Look at me. Look at me, Beau."

I looked up into his chocolate brown eyes.

He ran his hands up and down my arms and began talking me.

"Just look at me and try to breath, okay? Take slow breaths. Slow. Slower. That's it, good... you don't have to buy those things. I'll buy them, okay? I didn't mean to push you so hard... good breathing. See? I can handle your complicated, can't I?"

A little laughter bubbled up inside me and I let it out.

I started to lean into Jona and he wrapped his arms around me.

My cheek rested against his chest and I breathed in.

He didn't smell like Harrison but he still smelled like a man and I missed that scent.

He smelled so good.

Outdoorsy and musky and mouthwatering.

I let myself relax in his arms for much too long but eventually I pulled away.

"Thanks, Jona. I... I just... thanks."

The way he smiled at me was much sweeter and more subdued than his smile in the past had been.

It made my heart flutter.

I rubbed my eyes.

"What time is it?"

He checked his watch.

"Ten thirty."

I sighed.

"I need to go home. I have work in the morning, I should be sleeping."

He picked the peaches and cottage cheese out of my cart and put them back in his basket.

"Let me help you out."

"No, Jona," I said gently.

"Please, just let me go. Let me do it on my own."

He didn't look happy at this comment.

"I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

That seemed to appease him because he nodded but he didn't smile.

"See you then. Bye."

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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Text

Not Your Charity Case

prompt: Harry is a frat boy - who doesn’t need sympathy from anyone. He makes Y/N feel a sense of home when they’re together. But is Harry just like every stereotypical frat boy?

word count: 6.2k

warnings: minor violence, language, deaf!harry, smutttt

other: when Harry is talking to Y/N or any other characters - it is to be noted that he is signing. When Y/N talks to Harry - she is also always signing

Let me know if you’d want to see anything else from this verse:)

+++

You were rushed - you really shouldn’t stop at the local coffee shop for a sugary, delicious mocha chip frappuccino.

Despite what people say, professors are much more lax and carefree in college.

It was about two weeks into the new semester, - your third here- and the seasons were changing - becoming autumn.

Chilled breezes, falling leaves, and vivid colors of nature made you happy.

When you arrive in line, there are two people ahead of you. A girl currently in front of the cashier and a tall male with a red and black flannel on behind her- typing away on his phone.

When she moves to the left, the broad man steps forward. His snapback facing backwards, brown curls dancing around his neck. You can’t help but notice how tall and lean he is, shoulders broad and straight.

You definitely haven’t seen him before on campus. You’d remember.

From what you can see, he shows the young girl behind the counter the screen of his phone without saying anything at all.

The raven-haired girl’s face pinches in annoyance. “We don’t accept orders like that. You need to tell me what you want.”

You’re a little surprised by both the rude cashier but also the man who doesn’t respond right away.

He attempts to show her his phone again but she shakes her head - annoyed.

You become interested in the situation when I watch him sign, a few gestures before pointing to his ears. In the most obvious form of saying “I can’t hear.”

The clueless girl gives him a blank look, “Listen, there’s a line. I don’t have time for this.”

You hoped you weren’t overstepping your boundaries when you slide up next to him, tapping him on his shoulder to get his attention.

It is a bit startling how gorgeous the boy is. He was tanned with bright green-eyes and a defined jawline that was currently clenched in frustration.

You sign, “What are you trying to order?”

He studies you for a second with hesitance before his long slim fingers begin to move, slowly as if he thinks you may be inexperienced in the form of language.

He replies, “Large coffee with a little cream and two sugars.”

You squeeze in front of him, “It is not only rude but illegal to not serve based on disabilities. Refusing an order from a deaf person isn’t moral or acceptable.”

The girl has enough decency to mumble an apology and turned bright pink, “Sorry, he doesn’t look deaf. “You roll your eyes - how can you tell that someone is deaf based on solely appearance? This girls a fucking idiot, you think.

You repeat his order to her, along with yours - sliding your debit card towards her and give her your name for the order.

The man trails behind you to the small waiting area. “Thank you,” he signs simply. You nod and return the pleasantry. The. hand him his steaming hot coffee.

“Thank you again. I’m going to be late to class, so I have to go,” he tells me, seeming a little out of place signing with a stranger.

“Go ahead, I’ll see you around.” It was the first time in a long time you’ve signed to anyone outside your family.

+++

Sipping your drink as you are only five minutes late and the class hasn’t even started yet. The man you just helped was sat in the back of the classroom, unloading his laptop.

With a little bravery, you wriggle your way through and plop into the wooden chair easily. Letting your backpack fall to the ground. Curly looks over at you with a frown, he signs, “Why are you sitting next to me?”

You blush, “I don’t know? Thought it’d be good to have someone to talk to.”

His hands are tense as he replies, “I’m not a charity case, so you can leave me alone.”

“Never said you were,” you huff when you tell him. Not appreciating how rude he was being. Signing had its own tones and expressions so to speak. For example, when someone is happy their signs and movements are different than when they’re sad or frustrated.

Harry seems to be the latter. You wrestle out your laptop to the PowerPoint that was going to be discussed today in class. You noticed Harry stared very intently at the professor to read his lips and expression.

You was surprised he didn’t have an interpreter with him but you’re sure he got special accommodations elsewhere. Even though that was absolutely none of your business.

His shoulders are tensed and he makes sure your arms don’t brush like you have cooties for the entire two hours. The nameless boy is up and out of his seat as soon as the professor shuts off the projector and turns on the lights - signaling class to be over.

Well fuck him then.

***

You don’t make the mistake to sit next him again. But that doesn’t mean you could ogle his strong muscular back and big hands.

It wasn’t your place to care but you felt twinges in your tummy when you noticed him struggling to keep up with the fast-speed class on certain days.

You were in the large, rustic library that smelled of old books and damp wallpaper. It was dead silent as people furiously studied or worked on papers due.

As you paced the shelves, you could not find the book you needed for your American Literature class. Fuck the Dewey Decimal System.

Part-time uni students probably just stuffed returned books in any open space they saw fit. But you need this book in particular, a discussion board post due by midnight and it was currently eight-thirty. They had ran out of copies at the on-campus bookstore.

After a valiant effort, you trudge up to the checkout counter. A little sign reads, “ring me if no ones here!”

You impatiently ring the silver bell. But no one comes. You give whoever is working a minute or two but nothing. Another ring it is.

Silence. No one. Of fucking course, luck is not on your side tonight.

You dramatically clunk your head onto the high counter top in front of you - groaning at the fact you may fail the assignment.

A tentative pat on your shoulder makes you snap your head up. To see the boy you’ve been constantly avoiding standing behind the checkout desk.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He had a name-tag on - Harry. He honestly looked a bit out of place. Harry appeared to be a frat boy. He was still had a boyish air about him but an intensity that was unmatchable.

He didn’t look like he would work in the library. He looked like...well he looked like he would be a beer pong referee or something.

You couldn’t see below his torso but he had a plain black snapback on and a vintage Elton John concert tee. A cross necklace dangling over the worn shirt.

You smile, embarrassed, but reply, “Just being dramatic. I can’t find a book and I was waiting here.”

There’s mirth in his eyes when he points to the bell,”Did you ring the bell?”

Your brows furrow, “I did.”

“Well I can’t hear it, I’m deaf,” he deadpans with a straight face and a dry sense of humor.

You roll your eyes, laughing nervously, “I didn’t know you were working!”

“What do you need?”

He helps you locate the book in two minutes flat before checking you out and you rushing home to finish the homework.

You felt bad ignoring your little sister’s FaceTime calls but you promised to call her back tomorrow.

***

Though once again, you hadn’t interacted with Harry since last week - you constantly found yourself studying his stoic profile or fast moving fingers.

You would never befriend Harry because you feel bad for him - like he presumed. You enjoyed American Sign Language and it actually made you feel back at home.

You’re little sister was born completely deaf. She was much younger than you - eight years old. Fifteen years apart to be exact. You learned the language along with her and your parents.

When you were at home and your sister was there - you guys tried to only sign so she didn’t feel left out. So Harry felt like home - a little despite his completely off-putting demeanor. It made you a little bit more persistent than with any other frat boy.

***

The bulletin board in your advisor’s office caught your eyes. None of the little tabs ripped off in interest.

‘Student with ASL experience and above a 3.5 GPA needed for tutoring sessions - twice weekly. $16 dollars an hour.’

After your meeting, you tugged the little scrap of paper off and tuck it into your pocket. You couldn’t know for sure if it was Harry but you didn’t know of any other deaf students in the program.

You say ‘fuck it’ and type out an email to the advisor of academic affairs and accommodations to throw your hat in the ring.

***

You don’t hear back for three days - nearly forgetting about it in the mean time. Your eyes scan quickly over the email to grant you the position. They include contact information for no other than Harry Styles.

After psyching yourself out a little and a few paces across your kitchen tiles - you text him.

Hey! I’m your new assigned tutor. Would you like to set up a time and place? As well as what kind of help you’re looking for.

The reply text comes shortly after

Hello, thank you very much. I am just in need of hearing ears. I am deaf and have a hard time keeping up with the my professor. I have begun recording the lectures in hope that you can sign then to me.

Sure thing. That won’t be a problem!

I live in Alpha Sigma on 3rd street. I have my own room. I’d rather not have the tutoring session in public. However, if that makes you uncomfortable - we can figure something out.

You take a minute to debate. You understand why this would be a task too loud for the library and why he’d want privacy. You didn’t feel like I’d be uncomfortable with him.

I saw twice a week so does Tuesday and Thursday at seven work?

Sounds great. Thank you again x

Did he know it was me? Was he expecting it to me?

***

He was definitely not expecting you. You automatically knew that by the way his friendly smile dissipated into a frown when he opened the door for you.

You attempted to look nice today without trying too hard. A loose crop top with the university’s name, a pair of tight black leggings, bulky white socks bunched at your ankles, and white sneakers. Very 80’s.

You try to keep your composure, “Hi Harry, I’m going to be your tutor.”

He slowly nods at you, huffing out a breathe of irritation before inviting you into the frat house.

You’d only been here once or twice for a party so you had no idea what the house actually looked like when there weren’t bodies and booze everywhere.

He’s walking you past a group of boys playing FIFA on the flatscreen in the living room, white claws open everywhere.

“Y/N! Hey babe!” You look over to see Niall - one of your good friends from your part-time job at the bookstore - trotting over to you guys.

The blonde pulls you into an overexcited hug. He reminded you of a cuddly, soft puppy dog most of the time.

“Are you Harry’s little tutor?” Niall coos, leaning over to pinch Harry’s cheek.

Harry- who was observing the conversation, focusing in on our lips, immediately bats his friend away. A small scowl forming on his face.

It automatically turns into a playful brawl where Niall tugs Harry into headlock. But he has no strength on the brunette.

Harry turns out of it quickly and pushes Niall to the ground. He straddles his stomach and begins to jokingly pinch and slap at him.

Niall hisses, “Ouch! You motherfucker! Big oaf!”

Then you don’t know why you find this endearing but Niall signs the word, “uncle” a few times to signal he’s accepted his lost.

The fact that they wrestle so much that Niall learned to sign how to give up made you giggle more than it should.

Harry crawls off of him, running a hand through his messy curls, his face a little flushed.

“I’ll talk to you later!” You tell Niall as your trailing behind Harry up a flight of stairs.

His room is extremely neat. A fluffy navy comfort decorated his bed with a few photos of flowers and nature on his wall. A tidy desk tucked away in the corner that had all of his school work loaded on top of it.

He chooses to sit in his desk chair, motioning for you to perch on his bed. You look at him expectantly when he pulls out the tape recorder and sets it on the surface.

He pulls his laptop into his lap and begins signing, “I need you to transcribe the lecture for me so I can follow it. We can skip through the bits where he is rambling or off topic.”

You nod, letting him know to begin whenever he’s ready. He presses the side button and the recording starts but it super unclear and garbled.

“Did you record this from your seat?” You ask, the professors words nearly inaudible and fuzzy.

“Yes.”

“You need to bring it to the front of the room. Ask Dr. Morrison to lay it on his desk before class. I can’t hear anything but static and mumbles,” You tell him.

He laughs and shakes his head. His movements rough and angry, “Of course its fucked up. I get you as my tutor and then the recorder is shit.”

You glare at him, offended as you haven’t done anything to this boy. “Excuse me? I’ve literally been trying to help since I’ve meet you. What is your fucking issue?”

“I’m not a charity case! I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m not helpless! You’re probably just a silly little girl who took ASL in high school because it was cool and trendy. Go back to focusing on psych.”

“Fuck you, Harry,” Your gestures getting sharper and your face sour, “You know nothing about me so don’t act like you do. I don’t feel bad for you or think that you’re helpless.” You put up a hand and tell him to not talk.

“I was just being nice because I thought you were handsome and at first, seemed friendly. It turns out you’re just like every douchebag frat boy I’ve met. What a disappointment,” You chuckle, swinging your bag on your shoulder and storm out of the room without another look.

***

The cafe was jammed packed - it was Waffle Wednesday. You had said waffles in your tray and were about to plop down on a stool when you hear your name being called.

“C’mere, come sit with us!” He hollers over the commotion of the crowd. Niall.

You’re about to decline when some dude slips behind you and snags the stool. Shit.

A bit unwillingly you slide into the booth next to Niall, cracking open your sparkling water. “Mates, this is Y/N, we work at the store together and she’s Harry’s tutor,” he tells them. “Y/N, this is Liam and Louis.”

“Hello,” you try your best to come off as friendly even though you can feel Harry’s glare on the side of your face. You ended up falling to easy conversation with the boys. Niall has a very limited ASL vocabulary but tries.

The boys are also trying to talk slower and more pronounced so Harry can watch and understand. A couple of times he taps Niall on the wrist to repeat what was going on.

Your phone begins buzzing and you apologize for the interruption. It’s your little sister, Mazie, FaceTiming.

You answer the phone with a frown, signing “Aren’t you suppose to be in school?”

Mazie looks upset, eyes a little watery. She gestures back, “I left early. I’m sick.”

“Are you really sick or where you getting bullied again?” You asks her.

Your sister hesitates before sniffling, “You already know. I hate my school.”

Mazie has had other children bully her for her disability since she started preschool and it as still happening in fourth grade.

“What can I do to help?” You frown, never wanting to see your baby sister cry.

You chat for a few minutes to help her calm down. When the phone call ends, you don’t realize that all the boys were watching you in interest. Harry in particular, keeps his focus on you with a wrinkled forehead.

“My sister’s deaf,” You tell them. The whole time you’ve been sitting with them you’ve been signing and verbally speaking to help everyone be able to be included in the conversation.

“That’s sick!” Louis says, smacking Harry’s arm. “Just like our lad Harry.”

Harry grumbles when Louis shakes him a little. It seems like the boys loved to physically interact with Harry which was endearing.

Harry allows him to for a moment before he flicks his cheek hard and laughs when Louis flinches. The conversation goes back to normal.

***

Harry jogs up to you after your group shares farewells and a few punches. You pointedly ignore him as you trek to the class you two have together so it’s not like he can’t walk this way too.

“Please, wait,” Harry asks. He walks in front of you.

“What do you want?” You huff, keeping my glare firm and directed alley at him.

“I’m sorry. I made the wrong assumption.”

“You made a lot of wrong assumptions. The fact that you think of me so lowly is sad. I’ve been nothing but nice,” You try not to focus on his large palms that curve over the caps of your shoulders.

“I’m not very trusting of people.”

You snort rather unattractively, “No kidding”

“Can we please start over?” He asks, stepping back to give you space. He didn’t realize how close he’d been standing to you until your hair wisps across his nose.

“One more chance, Styles.”

Harry lays a hand on your upper arm and squeeze lightly before signing the simple gesture of ‘thank you.’

***

It turns out Harry is very handsy and physically affectionate. It wasn’t creepy though or something that ever made you feel uncomfortable.

You were still tutoring him but you hung around the frat with Harry nearly everyday. The days you just wanted to lay in bed resulted in a grumpy FaceTime from Harry.

Harry once stated during a tutoring session, “It is easier for me to show how I’m feeling with touch than words. If I ever make you uncomfortable - please tell me and I will stop.”

You smile slyly at his words that sounded more like a question, asking if he can touch you. “I guess I’ll let you feel me up every now in again.”

He giggles and looks down wolfishly - like an entertaining thought is dancing around in his mind.

You tuck your finger under his chin to gaze at you. “In all seriousness, I give you my consent to show your feelings with physical touch. I trust you and know you won’t do anything to make me uncomfortable.”

The curly-haired brunette smiles happily, his hand cupping the side of your neck and brushing over your pulse point.

He hadn’t touched you here before and it seems like it was his first goal to do so once he got permission. You can’t help but take in a deep gasp of air. You prayed he didn’t notice but by the small lift of his lips he did.

The simple touch made a flame of arousal swirl in your lower stomach. You felt like you were about to start sweating.

“Anyways,” You clear your throat and snatch back up the recorder. It now had better quality after Harry listened to you about placement.

***

The frat house was ridiculously full of drunk college students. Everybody on the dance floor was sweaty and sticky with a variety of different substances.

Niall had invited you - so you were searching about for him. Pushing through the crowd and nobody was able to hear you say ‘excuse me.’

You finally found fresh air in the backyard where beer pong and cornhole were set up. Niall was tossing his ball across the table, trying to splash in Liam’s red solo cups.

Harry was sitting on a cushioned patio chair, watching the game commence. Maybe he was a beer pong referee after all.

He looked so fucking good tonight. He had a yellow snapback taming his curls - backwards of course. A black Rage Against the Machine shirt and his signature black skinny jeans. **

You made eye contact and were about to wave when a girl plopped down in the seat across from him.

Awkwardly you turn away, greeting the other boys and taking a seat in a lawn chair to watch them start their third round of the game.

Your eyes keep darting over to Harry who is staring blankly at the girl. She starts stroking his biceps and tracing across the tattoos like they belong to her.

Harry is attempting to let her know he’s not interested. His signs uselessly as she’s staring at his lips and not hands.

You’re moving before you know it, without another thought, you squeeze in between the two - separating them. You dramatically slide into his lap, funnily enough one strong arm wrapping happily around your middle.

The pretty blonde pouts out her lips, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Before you’re able to reply, Harry signs the obvious signal for ‘yes’ to the girl. Then rudely makes the shooing gesture. She’s up with a huff and stomping back towards the house.

Harry turns you sideways on his lap so that you two can see each other’s hands, “You saved me.”

“You’re just such a stud, have to protect you,” You joke - but not really.

He raising his eyebrows and smiles, “You were jealous.” It was a statement not a question.

You blush wildly, avoiding eye contact which you know he hates. He hates anytime you cut off ways of communication.

Harry taps your lips until you look up at him, “it’s really fucking sexy when you are.” A perk of sign language. He could dirty talk just about anywhere and mostly no one would ever know.

His thumb drags on your full bottom lip, signing clumsily with one hand so you had to use context clues to piece it together “Don’t think I forgot when you called me handsome a few months ago.”

“I don’t remember, doesn’t sound like me,” You boldly lie, snickering and nipping at the top of his thumb

His eyes become a shade darker when your teeth meet his skin. He presses his thumb further in until it’s in-between your teeth. The moment is broken when Niall screams, “Styles! You’re up next!”

You and Harry become separated after you spent nearly two hours watching all these drunk boys play beer pong. Harry was ridiculously good at the game and only had to drink two cups from the table.

You had wandered back into the house where the party had died down. There were only a handful of stragglers left but mostly just the fraternity brothers and their close friends.

With a fresh alcoholic seltzer in your hand - you didn’t trust open bottles at parties like this - you gaze at Harry through the back window.

Harry was being jumped by Liam and Niall. He was snarling playfully as Liam toppled them all over into the grass. Niall tries to stand up but Harry’s hand wraps around his ankle and makes him fall right back on his bum with a girlish squeal.

Niall leans over to give Harry a wet-willy but Liam manages to throw a plastic cup directly at Niall’s forehead. Harry and the other boys dissolve in childish giggles. Faces red from laughter and liquor. You feel a smile painted fondly on your lips from watching them.

“Hey, Y/N right?” A voice interrupts from behind.

You spin to face a guy you barely recognize from a previous class you shared. You smile nonetheless, “Hi...”

“Jake, Jake from Social Constructs and Society last semester.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” You smile and allow him to talk your ear off because you struggle to say ‘no.’ He was fine, nothing special, typical business major who thought he was hot shit because his daddy owned a golf course he wanted to take you to.

It was a normal conversation until his voice gets lower as if he’s trying to be more seductive, “Want to head to a room with me?” He nods towards the staircase.

You chuckle in disbelief at his bold and forward question. “No thank you, I’m good.” You really had eyes for one person right now and he was currently cussing out Niall in sign language in the backyard before tackling him once again to the ground.

“C’mon, I can really show you a good time,” He persuades persistently, stepping into your space - causing your nervousness to spike.

“I said - no thank you,”You bite out, starting to feel scared when he blocks your way out of the kitchen and presses himself against you and the counter.

“You’re really something gorgeous, you know?” He asks, ignoring my struggles to get away from him.

“Stop touching me!” You scream, hoping Niall or one of the boys would hear your wail. He puts a hand up to your mouth to muffle you but that only results in you biting him.

“Fucking bitch!” He cries out, pulling his hand back and winding up to either punch or slap you right in the face. You prepare for the impact.

Then in a blink off an eye, it becomes a blur, a muscular figure is crashing into Jake with full force and knocking him straight into the linoleum floor with a loud crash.

It’s Harry. Broad shoulders and thick but lean tattooed biceps. He’s standing over the harasser and drops on top of him. It shouldn’t look as graceful and tactful as it does.

You’d never seen anything like this from Harry before. Once you really got to know him - he was a gentle giant who liked romantic comedies, soft blankets, and vanilla cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.

Harry’s fist is repeatedly connecting with the dark-haired boy’s jaw with full force. The only noise is from Jake as Harry is dead silent but his eyes zeroed in on the target.

When blood begins gushing from the man’s nose - Niall and Liam decide it times to physically pull Harry up. Harry had a slight red mark on his jaw when Jake had managed one punch before being defeated quickly.

Harry signs to Niall, “Tell him.”

Niall places his foot on the dude’s chest to keep him down, “My mate wants to let you know if you touch her again we’re not going to pull him off and he’ll gladly beat you to a fucking pulp.”

Jake groans, clutching his nose to stop the bleeding, “Fuckin’ asshole.”

You were still blown away as you watch Harry’s heaving chest as he glares down at the boy. His fist clenched and knuckle bloody and swollen. Harry’s attention turns towards you. His furious expression melts into worry. You can read his face so clearly. He’s afraid he’s scared you off.

It was hard to believe you had this drop dead gorgeous frat boy defending you past midnight on a Friday night. A boy who didn’t need to hear but just to see you needed help to step in.

All your desires and lusts after the man in front of you burst like a rubber-band and the urge to have him felt uncontrollable. “Take me upstairs,” you demand quickly, arousal creeping up your spine.

He doesn’t understand you’re extremely turned on. Instead he looks like a kicked dog who’s about to get in trouble again.

Nevertheless, he takes your hand and maneuvers out of the kitchen and up the stairs until his bedroom door is closed.

Harry lips are turned down unhappily as he begins, “I’m sorry, love. I...” he pauses a moment before continuing. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

You look him dead in the eye and sign, “Kiss me.”

He blinks slowly at you like he just hallucinate the gestures.

So you repeat your motions, slow and with intent, “Kiss me, touch me, do something.” No more time is wasted as he is stepping in front of you and cupping your face in his hands.

Without any hesitation now, he pressing a bruising kiss to your lips - taking your bottom one between his and sucking.

Your hands are immediately tugging at the hem of his vintage shirt, pulling apart to bring it over his head. Dark ink decorates his torso, for some reason something you weren’t expecting. A butterfly on his abdomen, two fern branches, tattoos on his side.

Harry chuckles, “This is new to me.”

Your eyes go wide and you sign, “You’re a virgin?”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes before telling you, “God no. I mean I’ve never been able to really communicate during sex.”

Then before You can speak, he cuts in a bit frantically, “I’ve always gotten consent - not like that. I mean-“ You cut him off with a kiss - knowing he would never do anything you didn’t want.

You wanted everything from him.

“If you’d believe it, I like a bit of dirty talk when I fuck - but no one understands what I’m saying,” He tries to crack a joke but for some reason seems insecure and nervous.

“Hey,” You take his chin so he shyly meets your eye, “I can’t wait to hear it - you’ve already made me so wet.” His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas.

“You’re such a good girl,” he signs before tugging off your shirt and instantly finding your lips again. His hands are skillful as they unclasp your bra without any struggle and tosses it.

You tugs a bit as his hair to show your enjoyment as his tongue finds your nipple - lapping before taking it between his teeth. As good as it feels, you want him to feel even better.

You push him back until he’s sitting in the edge of the bed, legs spread and hands behind him on either side holding him up. Jaw clenched with arousal and restraint.

He’s pressed against the zipper of his jeans. And all you wanted to do was see him in all of his glory. You’re quick to undo the button and determined to get the finicky zipper down as well.

His fingers come beneath your chin until you’re looking at his sparkling eyes, a look of lust made his lids a little droopier and his mouth slack from heavy-breathing.

“Are you sure you want to? You don’t have to - I want to eat your pussy either way, pet,” He signs, leaning in for a slow, wet kiss.

You sign back with a pout, “Shut the fuck up.” He huffs out a laugh, letting go of your chin and wrapping a hand in your hair to keep it out of your face.

As soon as he’s helping you wriggle his briefs and jeans down his narrow hips, you’re met with the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen.

When you make eye contact with Harry, he raises a eyebrow and grins cockily, “Is it nice enough for your liking, love?”

You nod breathlessly - wasting no more time before ducking down to take him to your mouth, a slight burning in your throat from how big he is.

His hands keep ahold of your hair, thumbs pressed against your temples as you bob down his length with sloppy, warm licks.

Harry’s moaning as you pop off to kiss and suck at the underside of him, hands coming to cup and roll his balls. It is a few moments later when he taps your cheek to get your attention, one hand leaving his hair to sign that he’s close.

Your mouth speeds up, wanting to give him all the pleasure you could. Your hand coming to stroke at what couldn’t fit in your mouth, pumping quickly.

Before you know it, Harry’s rutting his hips upwards and coming with a long, deep moan from the rumbles of his chest. He’s pulling you up into his lap, pressing appreciative kisses to your cheeks and jawline.

Big hands palming at your breasts before slipping down into your leggings, brushing softly over your mound.

You whine and hitch forward to grind against his palm as soon as he cups you. He smiles widely at your desperation, pressing the heel of his palm harder against you to create more pressure.

You were already so wet and turned on that it wasn’t going to take much. The ball of your climax was burning low in your tummy. However, you wanted him to taste you like he said he would.

You sign, “I’m close. Please, I want your mouth on me.”

With that, he’s flipping you until you’re laid out on the bed. His hands tugging off your leggings and underwear with no further ado. “Holy shit,” He gestures, gazing all over your body and not stopping on one spot for too long.

“What?” You ask, fishing for the compliments you know he’s about to shower you in.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” he signs, dimples popping in his cheeks and a curious finger traces your entrance before dipping in.

You lightly kick at his stomach, “Get on me.” He pouts, crooking his finger against your spot before pulling it out. Fucking tease.

Then his face is disappearing between your spread thighs and a strong lick is delivered from your clit all the way down to your bum.

Since he can’t hear you, you grabs handfuls off his hair. Tugging at the roots, scratching your nails into his scalp to let him know how good he is. So fucking good.

When you accidentally buck your hips hard against his mouth, you curse and run a apologetic hand through the locks. He doesn’t look up at you but lift a hand and signs, “Again.”

You absolutely whine, begging to ride him with determination - climax on the brink. He hums causing vibrations on the sensitive nerves. With that, your hips are meeting his tongue and you’re coming. His face dampening with your release - happy as a clam when he pops back up.

You can’t remember the sign for condom, so you sign, “Protection?” Harry understands right away, rustling through the drawer until he finds a stray packets, “It’s been awhile.”

“Same,” You gestures - watching as he slides it down his length and crawls overtop of you. He was pink and swollen - having to be a bit sensitive from just coming a little while ago.

“Ready, love?” He asks, pressing soft kisses to your jawline. You nod, reaching down to guide him in.

And you weren’t lying, it had been a while and he was big. The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, just a lot. But his wet, open-mouth kisses made you stay grounded.

Harry’s moans were absolutely obscene as he slide all the way in before stopping to give you a moment. His arms strong, holding himself over you. The cold metal of his necklaces brushing against your tight nipples.

When you have him the okay, he begin giving you deep, hard strokes on each thrust. His noises so loud they had to be able to hear them downstairs. They were deep and low - rumbling in his chest with pleasure.

Then his hand is coming to your throat. For a wild moment you thought he was going to choke you but instead he rest it lightly, palm flat.

It takes you a moment - then it hits you.

Holy fuck. He is feeling the vibrations of your moans - erupting from your vocal cords. Feeling out the movement from your throat so he can feel how much you’re enjoying it.

You should be embarrassed but you can’t find it in you when you come again right on the spot. His fingertips nudging into the skin to feel the intensity as it wracks through you.

When you’re done riding out your orgasm, he reaches for the headboard behind you with his other hand, gripping it tightly as he begins to pound in with all his strength.

The bedframe is hitting the wall so loud that the whole house must be able to hear it. Hitting with every directed thrust until his mouth is dropping down into a long, timbred moan and he’s coming.

---

Later, when the two are you have settled for the night in the warmth of his bed. Harry seems a little nervous, once again. It takes him a moment to meet your eyes and brushes a strand of hair off your forehead.

“What is it?” You ask, tucked into his side. His body so solid and comforting.

“It’s corny,” Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flash across your face.

“Tell me,” You insist, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his fingertips.

“I feel like you were made for me. Like...we were meant to be together,” Harry signs, hesitant to share his thoughts. But it doesn’t scare you away. You can’t help but agree.

“I think so too,” You reply before pressing another kiss to his puffy pink lips.

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nctsworld · 4 years

Text

pedal to the metal

✩ jaemin x reader | mall au | arcade attendant!jaemin | fluff | 3.3k

SUMMARY ⇾ when the claw machine eats your money, jaemin, the cute arcade attendant, offers to play a game with you in lieu of a refund. little does he expect you to beat him. | based off of @mistymark’s nct mall employees post WARNINGS ⇾ fluff, bit of angst, jaemin is competitive, kissing in the epilogue RATING ⇾ teen+

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t share or repost without credit!

Leaning over the glass counter filled with endless prizes, Jaemin holds out two large plushies, one in each of his hands.

“Pikachu or Spongebob?” He swivels his head to them individually before beaming down at the little girl in front of him.

With the alternating supervision of her parents, she’s been one of the recent regulars at the arcade and finally saved up enough tickets fo a decent prize, deciding to cash them in today. Her face lights up and targets in on one particular plushie, already inching towards it with open hands.

“Pikachu, Pikachu!” she squeals.

The worker’s smile deepens, “Great choice. Couldn’t have picked better myself.”

He laughs airily as she squeezes Pikachu like it’s the last thing she’ll ever love, bouncing up and down with joy. Today, the girl’s mom is with her and she holds her ecstatic daughter close to her leg, rubbing her arm warmly.

“So I guess I’ll see you two next week?” Jaemin asks.

“If she gets over Pikachu as fast as she did with Olaf, then probably yes,” the mom replies with a defeated head shake. “Thanks again, Jaemin. Say bye to the nice boy.”

“Bye, Jaemin!”

The mother and daughter wave good-bye with wide smiles, as did Jaemin. Giving prizes out and seeing the delightful reactions on the recipient’s face was one of the best parts of his job.

Oh, and so was being able to play all the arcade games for free.

For Jaemin, being the arcade attendant at the local mall was a dream come true. He was once in the same place as the little girl—always coming to the same arcade every day after school. Although he loved winning prizes (who doesn’t?), he also prided himself in being the best at every game, knowing all the secrets and strategies like the back of his hand. Dance Dance Revolution, Street Fighter, Beatmania, Time Crisis, Super Bike, Pac-Man… You name it, and Jaemin can wipe the floor with anybody. It’s why none of his friends liked to play the games with him, but they still had fun nonetheless.

“That girl is insane!” Chenle exclaims with a point of his thumb, strolling up to the counter. He’s one of Jaemin’s many friends and an everyday mall-goer. Jisung comes up next to him, also a friend and works at the mall’s McDonald’s. The mall was really a second home to them all.

Jisung bobs his head in disbelief. Then, he turns to face their worker friend.

“You’ve gotta admit she’s really good, right?”

The lanky figure cocks an eyebrow. “What are you guys talking about? I was busy giving out a prize to someone.”

The shortest individual of the three widens his eyes. “There was a girl who was just playing Super Bike. She kept kicking everyone’s ass, even us.”

Jisung nods fervently, “I was telling Chenle that she’s probably as good as you, maybe even better.”

Jaemin scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “No one can beat me at Super Bike, you both know that.”

“You haven’t seen her play, though…” Chenle sighs dreamily, perching his chin into his palms, as he drifts off into space and replays the gameplay in his mind.

“I don’t know, Jaemin,” Jisung shrugs. He absentmindedly fiddles with the bundle of tickets left by the little girl. “It’s about time someone beat you at one of the games.”

Suddenly, Jaemin snatches the tickets from his hands, startling the younger boy. Said younger boy glances up to meet a pair of slitted, burning eyes. In an instant, Jaemin’s eyes melt and a cocky expression flashes by.

“Like I always say, I never lose.”

He begins to count the tickets, but the thought of someone being better than him makes him lose track.

After he finishes counting the tickets, he casually checks-up on the motorcycle racing simulator to see what all the fuss was about. To his disappointment, he is met with a young boy, playing by himself.

Jaemin makes a mental note to keep an eye and ear out for this mystery Super Bike girl.

A few days pass. You’re at the mall by yourself to kill some time and to procrastinate on studying. You spent a while at the bookstore already, so you decide to do something a little more fun.

At the bustling arcade, you’re quickly drawn towards the claw machine with the mountain of plushies. You know the odds of winning are low, but one round couldn’t hurt. Placing your money into the claw machine, you begin to fiddle with the joystick. However, nothing’s moving.

Your face crinkles in confusion, so you add money again, thinking that maybe it was a one-time fluke. Nope, definitely not a fluke because the claw still doesn’t work. You’re now two dollars down and you didn’t even get the chance to play.

Walking around the arcade, you try to find a worker, but to no avail. You stand in front of the glass counter, waiting for an attendant. While waiting, you’re peering at all the variety of prizes to be won and wish you were skilled and patient enough to obtain such things. It’s no wonder why the claw machine drew you in, at least that game filled you with a false sense of a fast and easy win.

After finishing a supervising round in the arcade, Jaemin notices a girl at the front counter. Actually, scratch that, a stunning girl—one that he hasn’t seen in the arcade before. He’d definitely remember you if you had. The ends of his mouth stretch and he strides towards you with a wind of confidence.

“Hi, do you need help with something?”

Jolting slightly, you’re taken aback by both the handsome figure and the question. You saw him earlier at one of the games, but it never crossed your mind that such a young, attractive guy like that would be the resident arcade attendant. You subconsciously do a double take, eyeing him up and down, causing Jaemin’s grin to become more cheeky.

“Hi, yeah,” You point to where you were previously. “I was trying the claw machine and it took my money, but it didn’t let me play any rounds.”

“Oh?” He scrunches his face and heads toward the machine. You follow behind. “We just fixed it a few weeks ago, that’s weird.”

At the claw machine, Jaemin feels around the machine, checking on the knobs and buttons, and even places a coin into it to test out your claim. He tinkers with the joystick, and realizes you’re right; the machine’s only taking money without allowing any plays.

So he kicks it. Hard.

You break out into a chortle. “Does that actually help?”

“Always works like a charm.”

Another kick, and more chortling.

Jaemin shifts his head towards you and places a hand on his chest. His eyes waver, searching around him as if someone would be listening, and lowers his voice in a hush.

“I’m a secret machine whisperer, you gotta trust me,” he says with a small wink, and you trust him by standing back and resuming to observe him with a fluttering heart.

The attendant tries the machine with money once more, but the kicking evidently didn’t help. This only leads Jaemin to increase the intervals of his kicking. Soon, kicking evolves into desperately shaking the contraption.

Bemused and shaking your head, you comment, “I don’t think your whispering is working very well.”

He attempts one last time, but to nobody’s surprise, it fails. He tapes an out of order sign onto the glass. With hands on his hips, he exhales a lengthy sigh.

“Sorry for your lost money. I can give you a refund.”

“Aw, no. It’s okay, it was only a couple of bucks. I was more so looking forward to playing the game, really.”

A lightbulb goes off in Jaemin’s head.

“Did you wanna play a game with me to make up for it instead?”

Although he enunciates the question slowly, cautious of your reply and potential rejection, there’s a contrasting smug expression on his face. Your teeth tug at your bottom lip, about to answer, but then you pout.

“Aren’t you working right now though?”

Jaemin shrugs nonchalantly, “It’s kind of slow at the moment and I can argue that I’m maintaining the game.”

“Like what you were just doing with the claw machine?”

“Exactly.”

Both of you laugh in unison, gazes converging together. If only the strong sparks flying between you two could somehow fix the claw machine... but then again, you would’ve never had a reason to speak to the beautiful boy in the first place.

“Sure, what game did you have in mind?”

Tapping a finger on his chin, Jaemin runs the possibilities in his head. What’s a game that he can easily impress you with his skills, but is also equally fun for you to play?

“Super Bike?” he offers.

You nod with a small smile, “Okay, lead the way.”

Thankfully, as the two of you arrive at the game, no one’s currently playing. You jump onto the left motorcycle, while Jaemin gets onto the right. He enjoys how you cutely sway back and forth, accustoming yourself to the fake motorbike. He gives you a quick breakdown of the controls, and tells you to focus only on the gas and brake since he’ll choose automatic transmission to make things easier for you. You hum with puffed cheeks, ready to play.

Following Jaemin’s choices of the easiest map level and transmission settings, the race immediately starts.

Jaemin can play Super Bike in his sleep, so he starts off the first half of the lap with his eyes on his screen, then for the second half, he looks over at you for a few moments. You’re glued to your screen. The glint in your eyes sparkles with pure amusement and an edge of competitiveness. He breathes in the enticing sight, especially as you bite your lip with heightened focus.

But then, flashes of red flare upon your face. Jaemin’s heart knocks nervously at his chest because the flashes are coming from the sign above your screen with the words ”RACE LEADER”. He’s dragged straight into the match again, not wanting to lose.

“Have you played this before?” he shouts over the background noises and music.

“Only a few times,” you shrug lightly. Your eyebrows raise as Jaemin catches up, trailing almost nose to nose with the end of your motorcycle, yet the finish line is approaching fast. Narrowing your eyes, you accelerate and curve around the last bit of the map without struggle. Before you know it, you reach the finish line right before Jaemin does.

As the first place win radiates from your screen, you pump your arms in the air and remove yourself from the bike.

On the other hand, Jaemin’s gaze is stuck on the screen, jaw hanging. The big two taunts him with every flicker.

“Well, that was fun. Thanks for the game—”

You’re about to ask for his name, but his odd reaction catches you off-guard. You take a step closer to him until someone cries out:

“That’s Super Bike girl!”

Swinging your head towards the origin of the cry, you see a boy jog over with a wave of his index finger. Chenle’s voice breaks the arcade attendant out of his frozen state. Jaemin whips his head towards you, still on the motorbike.

“You’re Super Bike girl?!” he echoes, eyebrows knitted.

“I already have a nickname around here?” you giggle. “I only played this game once a few days ago.”

Chenle asks him, “Did Biker Girl beat you?”

Jaemin avoids the inquiry, darting his eyes and pressing his lips together tightly. The friend passes the question onto you with owl eyes, and you shyly nod.

“Oh, my God, and I missed it?!” He huffs in disappointment, but then recollects himself as he takes a few steps toward you.

“Are you free after seven to come back and play again? Our friends need to witness this. This is history in the making.”

Immediately, Jaemin shoots daggers into Chenle. The daggers definitely have profanities written all over. You catch a glimpse of Jaemin and can practically read every word.

“Uhm,” you lower your voice, despite the fact Jaemin can still hear you. “Your friend looks pretty pissed. I feel kinda bad to just come back to beat him in front of people.”

“Oh, don’t worry about feeling bad,” the attendant’s friend waves his hand carelessly. “He always makes us feel bad when he constantly brags about how he’s the best at every game in here.”

“Is that so?” You glance at the boy on the bike with a new perspective. You could definitely see this guy as cocky, but maybe he’s still sweet underneath the exterior. You also wouldn’t mind seeing him once more before you head home, and now you had a reason.

“Well, count me in. I’ll be back at seven on the dot.”

With a flutter of your fingers, you say your temporary good-byes to the pair of boys and head out of the arcade. Jaemin finally props himself off the motorbike, getting back to work.

Passing by Chenle, he half-jokingly seethes, “I hate you,” into his ear.

Without a care in the world, Chenle frantically messages their group chat to come by the mall later to witness the match of a lifetime.

“Hey, did I miss it?” Mark pants as he puts an arm around Jeno from behind.

“No, you got here right on time. Super Bike girl should be coming any time soon.”

On the backend of the motorbike, Jaemin sits at the edge of it, studying the modest crowd around the racing simulator. Along with Jisung and Chenle, several of Jaemin’s other close friends are here to cheer for his downfall. For those who aren’t there, his friends are equipped with their phones in hand, ready to record the monumental event.

Weaving through the crowd with mumbles of “Excuse me’s,” you reach your destination and appear in front of the arcade worker.

The rising buzz of the crowd fades from your ears and into the background within his presence. You melt at him looking so coolly, bending over the motorbike with folded arms, and give him a warm smile.

“Just because you’ve got a sweet smile, it doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on you.”

You playfully drop your mouth as the people around “Ooooh” in harmony. Your tongue is pressed against your lower teeth as Jaemin spins himself to the front of the bike. You get onto your previous seat from hours ago, grasping onto the fake vehicle as if you owned it.

You watch Jaemin enter the settings in. He’s not underestimating you this time and he executes his promise of not going easy on you—the hardest map and manual transmission are chosen, signaling you to really bring your A-game for this round.

At first, the match is tight. You’re practically side by side on the map, even having the occasional opportunity to push him off track and vice-versa. Changing up techniques, as the second lap rings in, you switch transmission gears and ease on the brake for a brief moment, hugging the curve of the map.

With that move, the red light flashes above him. Jaemin believes, no, he knows he’s going to win. Sweet victory is on the tip of his tongue, he can taste it. Ten seconds are left on the clock, ten seconds left until he beats you and continues to reign king of the game.

But, you suddenly speed past him and the game’s over before he can properly process it.

The screams surrounding you engulf the entirety of the arcade.

Jaemin’s mouth is on the floor as he realizes he lost.

No, his mouth is six feet under because you’re currently entering a nickname into the all-time best rankings. You beat Jaemin’s time on the map, seizing the new first place rank for the game.

Everyone circles you in congratulations, but your eyes are honed in on one individual in the crowd. He hops off the bike, brushes past the crowd, and escapes to the counter, continuing his shift like nothing happened. Hastily, you go after him and find him crouching down behind the glass. He’s unpacking boxes filled with what you assume are prizes.

On your forearms, you lean over the glass counter. “Hey, when does your shift end?”

Your assumption is answered as you see him restock some of the plushies in the transparent container underneath you.

“Why do you want to know? So you can beat me again at another game?” he grumbles, the bitterness blatant in his voice. Nevertheless, you persist.

“‘Cause Super Bike girl wants to get to know the cute Arcade Boy she met today over dinner.”

He pauses and his eyebrows perk up at the words cute and dinner in the same sentence. His ego is still sore, but he’ll bite.

“Is it a date?” he presses further with a disinterested tone, continuing to move the items.

You drag your bottom lip up, drumming your fingers slowly against the glass.

“Only if you want it to be.”

Your words bandage his sore ego quickly, but he wants to bathe in his pity a little while longer. He twists his mouth, fighting against the urge to show you his teeth.

The boy stands up and leans over the counter too. He’s greeted by your strong aura, yet it doesn’t completely reach your eyes; your gaze is soft and gentle. “I get off at nine, so it’s pretty late.”

“That’s okay. I can play games until then—”

You peel yourself off from the glass and properly introduce yourself, holding your hand out. He glances at it for a second, then at your tender look. He gives in and can't help himself from grinning. The arcade attendant reaches for your hand and reciprocates the shake.

“I’m Jaemin.”

That day, Jaemin learned that losing at the arcade games wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

EPILOGUE

Clutching onto Jaemin’s waist underneath his leather jacket with your chin resting on his shoulder, you’re swaying side by side with him on the racing game that brought you two together. It’s his day off today, and both of you thought it’d be cute to spend some time at the arcade before the movie showing later that evening.

“Ease on the gas!” you dictate. He rolls his eyes at your backseat driving.

“No, it’s too early!” he protests and goes against your advice, accelerating further. When that makes him go off-road a bit, you sigh smugly while he groans meekly.

“See, and this is why I’m better at Super Bike than you,” you tease before pecking a kiss on his cheek. Tingles rise to his cheeks.

“Yeah, but I’ve played this game a lot longer than you.” It’s the second lap and he’s inching towards the finish line.

“Yeah, but who holds the record?”

After he speeds through it, the list of the best times roll onto the screen. Your nickname still stands proudly at number one from the day you asked him out on a date.

Jaemin smiles at the not-so far memory. He then twists and extends his neck over his shoulder, sharing a sweet kiss with you. Your grip around his waist tightens, your fingers sinking into his skin. His palm raises and cups your face, deepening the kiss.

Breaking away for a moment, he says, “Yeah, well, I’m the better kisser.”

You sweep your nose against his. “That’s up for debate…”

Your lips meet once more lovingly.

“Can you guys stop making out in the arcade again?” Jisung groans. “Kids are here, you know. Like me.”

Chenle cuts in, “I thought you were glad someone beat Jaemin for once.”

“I mean, yeah, but I didn’t expect the same person to have her tongue constantly down his throat!”

Still lip-locked, Jaemin and you smile into the next kisses from their remarks while Jisung and Chenle run off to play another game, far away from the new couple.

#jaemin #na jaemin #na jaemin x reader #jaemin scenarios #jaemin fluff #jaemin imagines #jaemin fanfic #jaemin x reader #nct #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream fluff #nct dream fanfic #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream #flash tw

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fruitcoops · 4 years

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Your works are amazing!!❤

Can u write something with Coops that describe Remus who went to buy something and saw someone that causes him anxiety and decided to call Sirius?

Something like “Can you please come and get me?”

Bad english, I know, sorry☹❤

Your English is wonderful, anon, and this prompt is really cute! Friendly reminder to support local bookstores, since lots of them have online ordering and you never know what you’re going to find! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove, but Erin is mine :)

Prompt 8: “Let’s take the long way home”

TW for mild homophobic vibes (nothing outright)

Go away, go away, go away, Remus thought fervently as he ducked down another aisle, trying to be as casual as possible as the woman’s eyes followed him. The bookshelves were a welcome haven; they were tall enough to hide him from view and narrow enough to provide a sense of safety. Even the old book smell was soothing.

He glanced around once more before slipping his phone out of his pocket.

Message To: Sirius <3

Can you pick me up a little early? Still at bookstore

There was a brief moment of quiet, though it felt like a millennium. The woman came around the corner and began ‘browsing’—Remus didn’t miss her occasional glares in his direction.

His screen lit up.

Message From: Sirius <3

Sure, when?

Message To: Sirius <3

Whenever you have time

Remus turned back to the shelves and pulled out a cookbook, flipping through the pages to distract himself. If he had his way, Sirius would magically materialize outside and they could finish their errands without the hostile stares from middle-aged homophobes. “Your phone is loud,” the woman sneered when the soft ping went off again. “This is a bookstore, not a dance club.”

Remus offered a strained smile. Please don’t harass me. “Sorry, ma’am.”

Message From: Sirius <3

Are you okay?

Message To: Sirius <3

Just freaked out.

Message From: Sirius <3

Omw

He let out a slow breath and put the cookbook back in its previous place. He felt the woman’s eyes on his back as he walked into the main section of the store with the few books he had found, making a beeline for the register.

“Hey, Remus, how’s your day going?” Erin, the cashier, asked with a smile. Remus relaxed a bit—they were one of his favorite people.

“It’s going pretty well, actually. Sirius and I are just out running errands—” In the cookbook section, someone snorted loudly. “—and I needed some new books for the team vacation coming up.”

“You can only read the same few paperbacks so many times, eh?” they teased. “Did you fix the binding on A Tale of Two Cities yet?”

“Packing tape always works,” he laughed. “Now it’s a little bit waterproof as a bonus.”

The bell above the door jingled as someone walked in; Remus swore Sirius’ shy smile could light up the whole city. “Hey, you ready to go?”

“Yeah, almost done.” Erin helped him pack his books into a bag and typed something into their keyboard.

“Your store credit is down to…25 dollars.”

“Did the other books help at all?”

“Oh, totally! We sold them super quick. Our sci-fi section was getting pretty thin and people have been on the hunt for spaceship fluff after the Aliens reboot. Swing by any time, dude, your overflow of books is always welcome.”

Remus smiled and gave them a fist bump. “Sure thing, it’s always good to see you.”

Sirius groaned when he took the bag off the counter. “Did you get a new rock collection, too?”

“There are three whole books in there and you can bench-press 200 pounds, give me that.” Remus rolled his eyes and hitched the bag over his shoulder as they walked out hand-in-hand.

“What happened?” Sirius asked quietly once the door had closed behind them. The winter air ruffled his hair and he shivered.

“There was a Karen giving me dirty looks and following me through the store. Wasn’t really jonesing to get yelled at in the middle of a bookstore.”

Sirius sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Remus stopped and turned him around, leaning up for a light kiss. “I love you, and if she can’t deal with that it’s her problem. Let’s take the long way home.”

“Sounds good to me. Think you can carry your three boulders the whole way there?”

“Oh my god.”

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bookwyrminspiration · 3 years

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Imagine a kotlc rainbow fairies au. Imagine.

I do not need to imagine, nonsie. I am already there with you. I am 100% invested in this merging of the two worlds. Actually, I was in a bookstore earlier today (yes I went to a bookstore two days in a row shh) and this is the place where they do buy-backs, meaning customers can sell them their books and then the bookstore will offer them used to other people. And I looked at the rainbow fairies shelf and so many of the rainbow magic books were used and being sold and I am 100% certain that several of those were mine. Not all of them, but I am certain multiple were mine. So if anyone wants a rainbow magic book the used ones are 2 dollars at my local bookstore

but!! that is off topic. I'm wondering what exactly a rainbow fairies au would entail. Because in the rainbow magic books we follow Rachel and Kirsty, who are best friends, but if we make the comparison of the two girls discovering/being introduced to a new world and then living sort of half between it, Sophie fits that description best. But! She doesn't have any friends that could fill the other role--Amy might be the closest thing, but she's not someone in the elven world or between it in the way Sophie is, so would we just get rid of the friendship and its only Sophie?

Would each of her friends be one of the seven--given that we're going off of a typical series style here. Okay wait a minute hear me out. We go with the typical style of seven fairies in a group/a series: Fitz, Keefe, Biana, Dex, Marella, Maruca, Wylie. And then Tam and Linh are each special fairies, like the three stories in one kind. Because they aren't part of the group in the same way but are of the same world.

The Neverseen would be the goblins, I'm assuming, as they're the ones actively trying to take over Fairyland or something like that. Does this make Fintan into Jack Frost like we were talking about earlier? The goblins live in the cold, so would we have to alter it to be like a blaing desert with a palace made of sand for the Neverseen, Fintan rocking a beard of fire like Endeavor to match the icicle Beard Jack Frost has.

If we go through with this au we'd essentially be dumbing down the Neverseen a lot, as the goblins are incredibly dumb and that's how they're always defeated. But! They'd be an absolute pain in the ass all of the time.

This au also implies that Sophie would still be living in the human world, her family completely unaware of an unsuspecting that she sneaks away to elf world to fight bad guys and regain magic items. OO! Idea. In this world, there are no abilities in the way kotlc has them, instead that's what their magical objects are!

What would each of them be the fairies of though, that's the real question here..

#not only did I go to the bookstore alone two days in a row #but two days in a row I took a language final. then went to the bookstore. and spent 29 dollars each time #we love consistency #but back to the rainbow fairies #If we give them each something to be the fairy of #then we can assign them magic objects #it has been so long since I read a rainbow magic book but believe you me I have read so many I could probably write my own despite the #years its been #random thing I remembered: I didn't think Rachel and Kirsty's names matched their appearance as a child so I just...swtiched them #I called Kirsty Rachel and Rachel Kirsty #i still do #I think I might've also knowingly misread kirsty and kristy #I was opinionated on it #the vibes were off okay #where was I going with this #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #rainbow magic!kotlc #nonsie #kotlc au

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publiccollectors · 3 years

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From the discussion “Towards A Self Sustaining Publishing Model” hosted by Printed Matter.

Some things I have learned in over 30 years of publishing since my teenage days as a zine maker, administrating my project Public Collectors, and from working in the group Temporary Services and our publishing imprint Half Letter Press.

I have just ten minutes to speak. If only one or two things that I share are useful, that’s plenty! It took me decades to understand some of this stuff.

Use every exhibition invitation with a budget to print something. Use the whole budget to print something. Make something in a large enough print run so that you have something to give away and surplus that you can sell. Your publication can be a folded sheet of paper, a booklet, a newspaper, a poster, a book, or anything in between.

Be able to print at least something at home. Buy a cheap laser printer or inkjet printer, find a used copy machine, buy a RISO or some other duplicator, carve something into a potato or a piece of foam and print it. Being able to do at least some of the printing and production at home—even if it’s on a tiny scale—will compel you to print things that you might have convinced yourself not to send out or bring to a professional printer. Hopefully the ability to print impulsively and compulsively will result in good work. Figure out how to keep making things on every scale. Look for cheap used printing equipment on Craigslist. Team up with friends and buy equipment together that you can share. Start a printing collective in your basement.

Ideally your publication should cost 1/5th or 1/6th of the retail price to make. If you sell a $10.00 publication through a store, you are probably only going to make $6.00 or less after the store takes its cut. So ideally your $10.00 book costs $2.00 or less to make. Don’t aim to just break even. Aim to make a profit so you can keep making more publications and pay for your life. Publishing will probably never be your sole income but don’t lose money on purpose. Make things that are priced fairly and look like they justify what they cost to buy. The fact that you didn’t find a more affordable way to print something is not an excuse to sell something that feels cheap and shitty for a ridiculous sum of money. Good cheap printing is easier to find than ever before. Do your homework.

Figure out the cheapest and least wasteful ways to do everything. Ask other publishers where they get their work printed. Look for local printers so you can avoid shipping fees. Ask local printers if you can pay in cash for a discount. Ask printers if there is a cheaper way to do what you want to do by adjusting the size of your paper or the paper stock or some other small shift in form. If you print things yourself, buy the paper that is on sale. Design a publication around the paper that you found for cheap. Discount warehouses sometimes have good paper. Even dollar stores sometimes have good paper. I’ve even bought paper at flea markets. Costco sells an 800 sheet ream of 24 lb paper for $6.99. I use it all the time. It rules. I also recommend getting your jugs of organic olive oil there, but you can’t print with that.

Free printing is good printing. If you have access to free printing, use it. Free printing is like free food at art openings and conference receptions. It is one of those pleasures in life that never gets old. Come up with an idea that is based around the aesthetics of whatever free printing you have access to and make the publication that way. Eat the cheese and bread. Drink the wine. Make the copies at work.

Buy bulk shipping mailers on eBay. Find bubble wrap and other packing materials in the trash. Look out for neighbors who just bought new furniture—it’s usually wrapped in miles of packing material you can use for shipping books. Boycott terrible right wing fuckers like ULINE. Seriously, they give money to everyone horrible. Trump? Check. Ted Cruz? Check. Scott Walker? Check. ROY FUCKING MOORE? CHECK FUCKING CHECK! Tear up their catalogs and use them as packing material to protect your books. Make publications that have a consistent size so you can purchase cardboard mailers in bulk and get a discount on them. Buy packing tape in bulk. Buy everything in bulk. You can store your extra reams of paper under your bed or on top of your kitchen cabinets if necessary. Be like a wacko survivalist prepper, but for office supplies. Go to estate sales and look for the home office in the house. Buy the dead person’s extra tape and staples and rulers and scissors. I’ve been using some random dead person’s staples for years because I bought their staple hoard. Staples aren’t like meat and milk. They don’t expire.

I’m against competition. Try to avoid competing with other artists for resources. If you don’t truly need the money, don’t ask for it. Artists should have a section on their CV where they list grants they could have easily gotten but didn’t apply for because they are privileged enough that they don’t need the money as much as someone else. I almost never apply for anything but the one thing I do apply for and get every year is a part-time faculty development grant from Columbia College Chicago where I teach. It pays adjuncts up to $2,500 a year to fund their projects and seems to be completely non-competitive. My union negotiated to get us more money. I have used that grant to make over a dozen publications. The value of the publications I make and sell with each grant is about three or four times the value of the grant itself. Some years I make more from the grant than I do from the limited number of classes I teach. But I don’t depend on this grant to be a publisher and I’d still be able to make things without it.

Make things in different price ranges so everyone can afford your work, but also so that you can sustain your practice. Make a publication that costs $2.00, that costs $6.00, that costs $20.00, and make something special for the fancy ass institutional libraries that have a lot of money to spare and can buy something that costs $300.00. Likewise, make things in all different size print runs. Is there something you can print 1,000 of that you can keep selling and giving away for years, to enjoy that quantity discount that comes with offset printing a large number of publications?

Collaborate with people and pay them with publications (if they are cool with that) that they can sell on their own. Sometimes this ends up being better pay and more useful than an honorarium, and it helps justify a larger print run. But see what they need—don’t assume. Barter with other publishers and sell each other’s work and let each other keep the money. This helps with distribution. Sometimes it’s easier to sell their work than it is to sell your own. Help others expand the audience for their publications.

Fund your publishing practice by asking your friends who teach to invite you to talk to their college classes about your work. Use those guest speaker fees to print something. I sometimes tell people on social media: If three or four people will invite me to speak to their class, it could fund the entire next issue of X booklet series that you like so much. This has often worked. Also, sometimes their students end up ordering publications. Sometimes lectures about publications generate more income than the publications themselves.

Have an emailing list and write newsletters to announce new publications. Stay in touch with people who like what you do. Expect to spend a ton of time corresponding with people. Have some cheap things and cool ephemera on hand that you can send people for free when they mail order your publications. Reward people who support you directly with something nice that they didn’t expect. People like handwritten notes. It’s okay if they are very short but sign the packing slip and at least write “Thank you!”

Above all, know that publishing is a life journey and not a get rich quick scheme, or even a make very much money scheme. Enjoy the experience of meeting and working with others, trade your publications with other publishers and build up an amazing library of small press, hard to find artist books. Get vaccinated and travel and sleep on each other’s couches. Be generous with your time, knowledge, resources, and work. Tell Jeff Bezos to fuck off by never selling anything you make through Amazon. Find the bookstores that you love and work with them forever. It’s nicer to have deeper relationships with fewer bookstores than surface level interactions with dozens of shops run by people you don’t know.

Think about your publishing family. Bookstore people are your family. People that organize book fairs and zine fests are your publishing family. Other publishers are your family. People who follow your work for years on end are your family. Printers and binderies are your family. The postal workers that know you by name and that you know by name are your family. The person who doesn’t care if you make the free copies at work is your family. Over thirty years later, I’m still in contact with people I exchanged zines with through the mail when I was a teenager. In some cases I still haven’t met them in person. It’s fine! They are my family. Your students are your family—particularly once they graduate or drop out, as long as they continue making books and zines. Your family is your family, particularly if they value and support your publishing practice. And for this reason, this talk is dedicated to my late father Bruce Fischer, who let me use the company copier and postage meter when I was in high school, and to my mom who sat on the floor with me and helped me hand collate and staple my zines.

That’s what I’ve got for now. Stay in touch and with luck, and enough vaccines and masks and hand sanitizer, maybe I’ll see you at a book fair. – Marc Fischer • Thank you to Be Oakley of GenderFail for the invitation to present, to the other presenters Vivian Sming, Yuri Ogita, and Devin Troy Strother, and to the wonderful people at Printed Matter for hosting this! You should be able to find the video archived on Printed Matter’s YouTube Channel. Presented on April 2, 2021

#Public Collectors #Publishing #Printed Matter #Be Oakley #Sming Sming #Coloured Publishing #GenderFail

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sometimesiwritebadly · 4 years

Text

Swipe Right (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Garcia convinces Spencer to download Tinder.

Warnings: None, i think. Takes place in season 10, mentions Maeve a few times but doesn’t explicitly spoil anything so if you haven’t gotten that far in the series read at your own risk

Notes: wow can y’all imagine if tinder actually worked? yeah me neither, but it’s fun to pretend

Word Count: 1.3k

Masterlist

“You’re telling me you don’t have a single picture of yourself on your phone?” Garcia questioned, snatching Spencer’s phone from his hand and checking herself.

“Garcia, I only use that phone to talk to you guys and my mother. Of course I don’t have any pictures of myself.” Spencer explained. He tried to reach for his phone, but Garcia held it out of reach.

It’s team bonding night, so everyone had gone out to a local pub to have dinner. Rossi and Hotch had called it a night pretty early, so now it was just Spencer, Penelope, Derek, Kate, JJ, and Will, who had gotten a babysitter for Henry. Somehow, they had gotten on the topic of dating apps, and Garcia was determined to get Spencer back into the field.

“Ok everyone, search your photos, send anything with Spencer to me. There has to be a few decent pictures of you, 187, and I will find them for this profile, mark my words.” The rest of the team pulled out their phones, despite Spencer’s immediate complaints, and began looking through their pictures.

“Oh, guys, look at Spence and baby Henry!!” JJ whipped her phone around, showing off the picture of Spencer and his godson.

“I’ve got a picture of Reid that time Rossi and I got him drunk so we had a chance to beat him at poker.” Morgan said, laughing at the picture of Spencer stumbling around Rossi’s place.

“Oh! Spencer and Sergio!” Garcia said a little too loudly, causing other people to turn towards the table. The picture she showed off was Spencer reading a book during a team hangout a few years back at Prentiss’ place. Sergio was happily sitting in Spencer’s lap, as he pet him carefully.

The team found a few more decent pictures, and within 10 minutes, Garcia had downloaded Tinder on Spencer’s phone - “How do you know my password?” “Please, genius, use your big brain.” - and had made him an account using the pictures (minus the drunk one). She filled in his bio with all the best details about Spencer; FBI agent, 3 PHDs, certifiable badass. (Spencer made her delete the last part.) After the account was made, JJ, Will, and Kate all decided to head out as well, considering they all had children at home. That left just Derek and Penelope to help Spencer get the hang of the app.

“Ok pretty boy, it’s simple. Swipe right if you like them, left if you don’t. If they like you too, you can start chatting with them, get to know ‘em a little better before you meet in person.” Morgan demonstrated, swiping right or left on the first few people that popped up on Spencer’s phone.

“Oh! And if you want to know more about them, you click here,” Garcia tapped on the button of the screen, “And you can read their bio, plus look through more pictures!”

“Guys, I don’t know about this. Girls barely talk to me in person, why would it be any different online?” Spencer didn’t say it, but he had another concern as well. After what happened with Maeve, the idea of falling for someone he didn’t know in person gave him a lot of anxiety.

“You’re a cute doctor! Girls should be worried that you won’t like them, not the other way around!” Garcia said, as she began swiping for Spencer.

“Don’t I get any choice-”

“Nope.” Garcia swiped right on someone, and the picture disappeared to reveal the words ‘Match!’ on the screen. “See! You’ve been on the market for all of 15 minutes and girls already want you!”

And so that’s how the trio spent the rest of the evening; Derek and Penelope making decisions on Spencer’s love life, while Spencer tried and failed to have a say in anything. Spencer hadn’t expected much, but by the time they’d left the pub, Spencer had 23 matches - and on the way home, his phone buzzed an additional 7 times, bringing his total to 30. 30 women that wanted to get to know Spencer. That’s more women in one night than Spencer had dated in his entire life. Of course, besides the beginnings of small talk Derek had started on his behalf with a few of them, he didn’t actually have any dates. Derek had said to give it time, not take it too seriously, and at least one of them would be willing to meet him in person. But without the guidance of his friends, Spencer had a harder time building the confidence to actually talk to these women.

In the safety of his apartment, Spencer spent another half hour on the app, swiping left on nearly everyone he came across. Derek and Penelope had warned him to not be picky, but Spencer was a romantic at heart. When he looked at the pictures, he just didn’t feel anything. He wanted his heart to race, his cheeks to heat up - something to indicate a connection. Knowing that he would probably never get that through a screen, he got ready to close the app and head to bed. One last profile caught his attention, though.

Y/N. Her profile picture showed her posing in front of the Capitol building, smiling widely. He clicked on her profile, and scrolled through her other pictures; Y/N posing with a group of friends, Y/N eating frozen yogurt, a candid picture of her looking through a bookstore. Her bio was short: “Hey, I’m Y/N. My friends talked me into this, but I doubt it’ll work. Feel free to prove me wrong.”

His heart wasn’t racing, and his cheeks weren’t warm, but he did have a feeling. Spencer couldn’t put it into words, but he knew there was something about this girl, so he swiped right. Spencer tried not to be too disappointed that he didn’t immediately match with her, but he knew there was a chance she hadn’t seen his profile yet. So, he locked his phone and promptly went to bed.

~~~

The next morning, Spencer had forgotten about the girl until he got a notification on the way to work. The Tinder logo popped up on his screen, followed by the words, “You have a new match!” Spencer quickly unlocked the phone, and surely enough, it was Y/N. Spencer began to type out a message, but couldn’t decide what to say

Hello. (delete)

Hi, How are you? (delete)

Did you know online dating has a success rate of 44%? (delete)

Before Spencer could figure it out, a message from you appeared.

Hey, I’m Y/N.

Do you really have 3 PHDs?

And just like that, the conversation took off. Throughout Spencer’s day at work - luckily, no new case today - You two held a steady conversation. By the time 5 o’clock rolled around and Spencer was ready to head home for the day, he knew your job, your favorite bookstore, and your strong opinions on Doctor Who - Spencer had claimed that the 4th Doctor is the best, and you spend the next half hour trying to convince him that the 10th Doctor is actually the best. The only thing you guys hadn’t talked about was meeting in person; Spencer wanted to see you in person, watch you excitedly talk about things you’re passionate about, hold your hand...he just needed to ask. Surely, if you weren’t interested, you wouldn’t have talked to him all day, right?

Do you think we could get coffee sometime?

He sent it before he could regret it. He watched anxiously as the three dots appeared on his screen, then disappeared. His anxiety skyrocketed, and he nervously began to type out another message.

We can keep talking about your incorrect views on Doctor Who.

After a second, a response popped up.

I think you mean your incorrect views, Spencer.

Does Saturday work for you? 10 am at Duke’s?

Spencer thanked every god he could think of before he sent you his response.

I’ll see you then!

~~~

In Garcia’s batcave, Penelope had hacked Spencer’s Tinder account, and she and Derek watched as Spencer got his first date since Maeve.

“Ha! Told ya Spencer could get a date without your help!” Penelope exclaimed, turning away from the screen to look at Derek. She held out her hand, and Derek reluctantly pulled out his wallet, and placed a ten dollar bill in her hand.

“Yeah, whatever. I’d be more upset, but I’m happy for the kid.”

~~~

tags: @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @la-vie-en-amour1

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #derek morgan #penelope garcia #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fluff

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jaa1682-27 · 4 years

Text

The Incident

(GIF NOT MINE.)

Author’s Note: The title is the working title until I come up with something else. Welcome to my Tumblr and welcome all!!! This is a Frankie Morales x Female Reader fic inspired by one of my favorite movies, While You Were Sleeping. This is my first Reader fic, but if your interested, check out the other fics on my Tumblr!!

Chapter 1-The Accident

“Baby, All I want for Christmas is You…”

Mariah Carey blared from the speakers above. While it was a great song, if you worked in the small, local bookstore/coffee shop as you did, every time you heard this song, you wanted to poke your eyes out and drown your ears in hot coffee as you had heard it for the 5th time that morning.

It was 3 weeks until Christmas, and while everyone was nicer and jollier than usual, you were dreading each day as Christmas got closer. You loved Christmas…until 2 years ago.

xxx

You were celebrating Christmas with your Grandma, your only living relative and the kind, sweet woman who raised you, until she collapsed in the kitchen as she pulled out the Special Holiday Roast that she made. You found out that night that she had stage 4 breast cancer and the cancer had already spread to other parts of her body.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t even afford the chemo and other therapies as you had been laid off from your publishing job when the company went bankrupt and you still had $40,000 worth of student debt to pay off. Luckily, your Grandmother’s longtime friend, Pam Greenburg, owned a local bookstore and had just opened up a coffeeshop inside of the store. You were one of her first hires and she happily gave you as many extra shifts and overtime once the store started doing well.

However, it wasn’t enough. Despite you, Pam, her husband, and even your best friend, Cassie’s efforts to hold fundraisers, bake sales, yard sales, etc., it was just too late and your grandmother was too far gone. Plus, she’d rather use the money to help you financially as well as plan her funeral arrangements.

Then that July of the following year, she passed. Pam and Cassie were with you every step of the way and you were grateful for their friendship. The following Christmas was bittersweet for you. You had your wonderful friends who made sure to get you out of the house so that you wouldn’t be alone, but you felt like an outsider around Pam’s husband, kids, and grandkids as well as Cassie’s boyfriend and her family.

You even attempted hooking up with Cassie’s boyfriend’s cousin, but you quickly realized once he finished and asked you to leave his apartment immediately afterwards that feeling alone was better than feeling used.

Xxx

So, here you were, back again a year later, dreading Christmas to come. You were dreading it even more this year because Cassie was going to Hawaii with her boyfriend’s family and Pam was flying out the day before Christmas Eve to be there for the birth of her youngest son’s firstborn.

So it was just going to be you, your cat, Leroy, a tv dinner, and Netflix. Granted, that was how most of your evenings, days off, and weekends went anyways. You were in a rut but you didn’t know how to get out of it.

None of the publishing jobs you applied to were hiring, and you couldn’t afford to move out of the rental property Pam’s husband leased to you at a heavily discounted rate, not with your paycheck, at least.

Day in, day out, Get up, feed cat, feed self, work, feed self/talk to Cassie on her lunch break, back to work, pick up possible second shift, go home, order takeout/warm up tv dinner/maybe cook something, feed cat, watch Netflix, go to bed.

Rinse and repeat. Your life for the past year and a half.

The only bright spot in your day walked in about three and a half months ago (not that you were counting). He looked about a good decade or more older than you, but you were almost 30 so age wasn’t really a factor.

He had the kindest, warmest brown eyes you had ever seen, sweet, kissable lips, a jawline that set his face just right, a sharp, hook nose that would look horrible on anyone else but only added to his appeal, and a 70’s porn stashe with just the right amount of scruff around his mouth and jaw that gave him a rugged sexiness. Dark, unruly hair constantly stuck out from different angles underneath the green baseball cap he wore as if it was permanently glued to his head, but you smiled on the day you noticed that it seemed to curl a bit at the nape of his neck.

You two had only exchanged pleasantries, but in your mind, you had planned your first date, kiss, sloppily making out with him on your couch after the third date, and eventually your wedding. You didn’t know why; you were just drawn to him.

He also seemed like a kind man as he always held the door for whomever walked through, he would let others skip ahead of him in line, and constantly over tipped you. Realistically, you only knew two things about him-his name was Frankie and he liked his coffee black, with 2 creams and 1 sugar. Still, it didn’t stop you from daydreaming about him during the day and fantasizing about him at night.

Xxx

2 weeks and 4 days until Christmas, everything changed. The day started off routine, you got up, fed the cat, fed yourself, went to work.

Today, though you were here for the early morning shift around 7 AM, and to your surprise, Frankie was here too.

Hmm, that’s odd, he’s never this early, you thought, as he usually made his way in around 9-9:30. You shrugged it off and went about your usual business, taking orders and collecting the money.

Frankie finally came up the counter, slight bags under his eyes as if he has been up all night. You noticed the slight slump in his shoulders and he barely made eye contact with you, keeping his head down.

Very off from his usual, shy but friendly demeanor that he had always had with you. Nonetheless, you took his drink order, and wrote his name on the cup. Except this time you bit your lip as you debated writing your number on his cup.

That would be stupid, he might be married-or have a girlfriend!!! Or a boyfriend…or both!!!

But…you hadn’t seen a ring on his finger, but that didn’t really mean much these days.

“Don’t let the fear of striking out, keep you from playing the game,” your grandmother’s voice whispered in your mind.

And, so, while nervous butterflies floated around in your stomach, you took the leap, and wrote your name and number under his name on the cup before sending it off to the barista.

You turned back to Frankie, who was looking down at his phone with a frown, and told him the total. He nodded and gave you a 50 dollar bill.

When you tried to give him the change, he said quietly, “Keep the change,” before heading over to the pickup line. Immediately afterwards, another girl came to relive you so that you could tend to the dining room.

You decided that today you would try to give him his change back as it was way more than what he usually gave. You quickly realized that he was not in the store a few minutes too late and chased after him, but he was already outside, crossing the clear intersection.

“Hey, wait!” You called out, and then it seemed as if time slowed down and sped up at the same time.

In the middle of the street, Frankie finally turned to you, an annoyed, yet puzzled look on his face, as a delivery truck ran the light, turning on the corner quickly, only to skid on a small slick of ice.

The truck side swiped him, and he fell to the ground, his body and head hitting the street with a loud smack, his coffee cup rolling around as hot coffee spilled around him.

The truck screeched to a stop as you and another bystander ran to Frankie’s aide. The bystander, a tall man in a fresh grey suit, pulled out his phone to call the paramedics as you rolled him over on his side to check him.

You were no nurse or EMT, but you wanted to make sure that he was okay. You gently patted his cheek, but he didn’t stir. You let out a breath of relief as his chest rose and fell.

A short while later, it seemed as if you were now on autopilot, a mere bystander to the next few hours of your life. When the ambulance and police arrived, you answered the questions numbly, they even tried to give you a blanket, but you weren’t the one that had been side-swiped by a truck. Pam gave her statement, and as you watched Frankie be loaded into the ambulance, you couldn’t help but worry about him.

“Maybe you should go with him. Make sure that he’s okay? I’ll cover for you,” Pam told you as she patted your arm gently.

You nodded silently, and the paramedics allowed you to ride in the ambulance with him. However, when you arrived at the hospital, he was whisked away to the emergency room. You tried to join them, but a doctor stopped you and said, “Sorry, but unless you’re family or a legal representative for the patient, you can’t come back here.”

He walked back behind the doors, both of them swinging shut in your face as they whisked Frankie away. You sighed, defeated, and decided to wait in the lobby and try again in a bit. As you walked, head down, your mind replaying the day’s events, you mumbled under your breath, “I was gonna marry that man.”

Little did you know, a nearby nurse with sweet eyes and bright orange hair had overhead you. She sighed in pity and said quietly, “Oh, sweetie.”

#Frankie Morales #frankie morales x reader #Pedro Pascal #triple frontier #frankie catfish morales #while you were sleeping au #frankie morales x female reader

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