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nishisun · 3 years

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best part ☁️/ 002. first breakfast together

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Kuroo places his phone on the side next to him and stretches his arms a bit, noticing that your head is placed softly in his chest. She’d kill me if she woke up like this right now.

He can’t help but stare at your sleeping figure, admiring the way you’re sleeping so peacefully. His arms are placed awkwardly by his sides on the bed, scared that you may wake up if he places any arms around you. He doesn’t want this moment to end.

He knows he’s the reason why you two aren’t together and yes, he does regret it. He regrets it so much. He’s never one to do something so impulsive but with the way things ended for the both of you, he’s just grateful you’re even talking to him again. Lord knows he wouldn’t be as kind as you have been with him.

He wants this moment to last forever.

But, the truth hurts, and so does reality because when he feels you shift, his heart nearly stops.

Not only do you shift, you’re awake now, barely awake until you look around and realize you were sleeping on Kuroo. You look up at him and he already knows he’s a dead man.

You’re glaring at him now, he’s trying to muster up the courage to even explain himself because your death stare has that much of an effect.

“You pervert!” you nearly screech.

“I woke up and this is how you were! I didn’t want to bother you. I know you had a long day yesterday!” Kuroo raises both of his hands up in defensive, and you roll your eyes at him before rolling to the side of the bed so you were finally off of him and laying down facing his opposite direction.

“Okay.”

“Okay? You’re not mad..?”

“What time is it?”you ask, still facing the opposite direction. He glances at you before reaching for his phone to check the time.

“It’s 7:04”

“Perfect. I need to make Takeru breakfast before he wakes up.”

“Why does he eat so early?”

“Kuroo, what does that even mean?”

“Smells good in here,” Kuroo walks in the kitchen, a towel draped on his shoulders with slightly damp hair caused from sweat. He walks over and hugs you behind the waist, it would’ve been a romantic gesture if you were actually together, but you’re not, and you nearly screech at him.

“My God, go take a bath.” you mutter, he doesn’t ignore the way your cheeks are turning into a bright shade of pink. “Where’d you go anyway?”

“I see you’re still acting cold towards me.” You glare at him, and he raises his hands up before laughing. “I’m kidding, I went for a run.” He shrugs, grabbing a piece a banana. “You live in a pretty nice neighborhood, so that’s good for the kid.”

“What do you even know about kids?” you scoff.

“To be honest, absolutely nothing. I know they need food and shelter. And clothing too, I guess.” he looks over at you and notices you’re scrambling eggs and he admires how you look so concentrated even when doing the simplest task. “But I wanna learn more about kids, more about Takeru. He seems like a nice kid.”

“Oh, he is. I raised him right.”

“I mean, of course. It is you we’re talking about.” He agrees, he doesn’t even know how much of an effect that had on you. “While I was running this one lady stopped me and asked for a photo so she could send it to her son.”

“I always forget you’re famous.” you huff a laugh as you continue to fry the eggs.

“Well, not famous, just rich.” you roll your eyes, “To others, I’m a young and successful CEO, but to you and friends and family, I’m just regular Tetsuro.” He takes a bite into his banana. “Remember that one time in college, when we planned on majoring in the same subject just so we could have the same job?” You immediately chuckle, remembering the event.

“We were so naive.” It’s Kuroo’s turn to chuckle, he looks over to you and grins when he sees you smiling to yourself. It’s the first time in a while he’s seen you even let out a laugh in front of him. You usually keep to yourself. “Things were different, back then.”

“They were,” He crosses his arms with the banana still in his hand. “Hey, what do you do now, by the way?”

“Well, I’m a finance manager for a museum. I just file reports and long-term financial goals and other stuff.”

“Holy shit, that’s amazing, Y/N! Heard they pay really well.” He sounds so genuine, you can’t even look him in the eye.

“Yeah, it’s nothing really.” You shrug off, but you can’t help the way your heart swells. He’s always been so supportive.

“Are you kidding me? That’s literally like boss girl shit. You’re literally bad ass.” You laugh at the nickname and he joins in with you. You look up at him and smile again, about to thank him until you hear a small pair of footsteps walking down the halls.

It was Takeru, he was rubbing both of his eyes while walking, which was blocking his vision, He’s just about to run into a box, thankfully Kuroo swiftly picks him up and places him in his feeding chair.

“Woah there, bud! You gotta be more careful, okay?” The boy nods shyly, still very unfamiliar with Kuroo. Kuroo grins at the toddler brightly and Takeru smiles back and you could’ve sworn right then and there your heart melted. You turn your head quickly, acting as if you didn’t just witness the scene that has just made you soft.

This man is going to be the death of you. It’s been less than a day and you’re already softening to him.

“Good morning, baby. How was your night?” You coo, walking towards your son with his plate of scrambled eggs and toast with sliced apples on the side. You had cut up the bread into small pieces and didn’t put any spread on it because Takeru is a picky eater.

“Good!” He nods aggressively, rubbing his hands together in excitement. “Thanks for the food, mama!”

“You’re welcome, honey.” you give him a quick peck on the cheek. You turn to Kuroo, who’s gives you a smile and you smile back. “I made pancakes and kept them in the oven so they’d be warm.”

“Why oven?” he laughs and you playfully hit him on his chest.

“Because, Kuroo. I read it somewhere. And,” you open the oven lifting the pan from the oven to reveal the pancakes, which were still steaming hot. “It obviously worked.”

“I’m impressed, you used to suck at cooking.”

Now all settled at the dining table, it’s quiet, Takeru speaks up every now and then to ask you a question to which you reply to and it’s as if he’s completely ignoring Kuroo’s presence. Kuroo has already texted you, asking why Takeru wasn’t asking Kuroo any questions and you simply explained that he’ll come around since he’s a shy kid.

“You should come stay at my place. The both of you.” He says suddenly, you nearly choke on your food, shaking your head in disapproval before Kuroo interrupts you. “Wait, let me explain.”

“I’m listening.”

“I feel like it would be more convenient, you know? You have to drive an hour to your job, which is literally like a 10 minute drive from mine, I’m literally always home, so I could watch Takeru, so it would be son and father bond—“

You cut him off with a loud cough, and motion your head towards Takeru, who cocks his head to the side and Kuroo silently apologizes.

“I need to be there when you’re with him.” you state, taking a bite of your eggs.

“Why?”

“Do you trust yourself with kids?”

He opens he mouth to say something, but then closes it.

“Exactly.”

“So.. You’re gonna move in?”

“Can you not word it like that.. and no, That’s too fast. Not to mention, it’s weird. I work at home aswell, Kuroo. I only go for meetings once or twice a week, so it just doesn’t make sense.”

“Okay,” He swallows the food in his mouth “Who babysits Takeru?

“Kenma, when he can. It’s either that or I hire a babysitter.”

“A babysitter? You don’t have like.. one who’s long-term?”

You glance at Takeru for a brief second and then sigh “No, there’s not many of those types of babysitters near us.” you mutter.

“Perfect! See? Another reason why you should just move in. It’s nothing more than two parents co-parenting.”

“Kuroo, I understand your intentions, but it’s just not going to work.. I can’t.” you sigh once again and Takeru looks up at you with concern and you smile reassuringly at him. “That’s too much..”

“Well, I don’t see what the problem is here.”

“This,” You motioned your hands between you and Kuroo “This is the problem. I’ve been taking care of Takeru by myself, and I’m not saying I don’t want you guys to have a bond, but it’s not a smart idea for me and Takeru to practically move in with you. I honestly don’t feel comfortable doing that. Besides, I love it here. I worked hard for this house.”

“Right, I’m sorry.” Kuroo looks at you in awe before giving you a small nod.

“It’s fine, I know you just want to get closer with him, but it’s gonna take time. We can’t rush things. So let’s take things slow between the two of you, okay?”

“Okay.”

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heavensturtle · 3 years

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Day 7: Free Day

A short fic for Day 7 of Xie Lian’s Birthday Week!

- - -

Note: So, I realize I’m posting this on day 9, I could just not keep a schedule this week.

Also, if you know me at all you know I need rules, free days are not good for me. So, my self-imposed prompt for today is writing about Xie Lian’s fears in a modern AU.

Also, this is again unedited. Good luck!

Spoiler alert: This is an AU, so technically no spoilers today!

- - -

It begins, as it always does, with the sound of rain on the roof.

Xie Lian rises from the futon where he’s been napping and races to the front closet to pull out the buckets he keeps expressly for this purpose. His hands are already shaking.

“Should have…” he scolds himself, should have fixed this weeks ago.

The small, dilapidated house on the edge of town was barely habitable when Xie Lian moved in a few months ago, but even so, it had been a vast improvement over where he’d been before.

Xie Lian hadn’t exactly minded sleeping in cars or in doorways or on the couches of friends who weren’t his friends any more. He hadn’t exactly minded the looks or the way people would turn and walk the other way when they saw him taking a rest from collecting bottles for the recycling center.

He hadn’t exactly minded, but he hadn’t exactly not minded, either.

Xie Lian runs to the guest bedroom, which is currently furnished with a bed, a nightstand, and a slowly growing wet spot on the wooden floor. Xie Lian places a cracked bucket underneath the drip.

For a long time the bed had just been a mattress placed directly on the floor, until one day Hua Cheng had turned up with a hammer and nails and proceeded to turn some scrap wood Xie Lian had been collecting for unspecified projects into a bedframe that looked like it belonged in a catalog. He’d built the nightstand almost as an aside. And suddenly, the room was transformed from poor to tastefully spare.

Xie Lian has more drips to catch, so he rushes to the hallway to place his second bucket, and as he does so he catches sight of the painting Hua Cheng gifted him (Hua Cheng claims to have found it at a thrift store, but the signature in the corner, when Xie Lian had removed it from its frame one day, looked suspiciously like Hua Cheng’s name). He rushes to his bedroom to catch another drip, then to the kitchen, where the table Hua Cheng built out of more scraps fills the empty space by the oven, making the room feel cozy.

He’s just placing the last bucket under the drip by the back door when he hears the sound of the front door unlocking.

“Gege, are you home?” Hua Cheng calls. Hua Cheng has a key to the house; Xie Lian had insisted on giving him the spare when Hua Cheng had installed the lock only days after meeting Xie Lian. Hua Cheng had refused for several more days, saying Xie Lian should give it to someone he trusted, not seeming to realize that that person was him.

Hua Cheng should just let himself in, but instead he waits by the open door. Once, Xie Lian had pretended not to be home, just to see what would happen. Hua Cheng had closed the door, locked it again, and left, and Xie Lian had been left with an odd sense of bereavement.

“San Lang!” he calls, emerging from the little room by the back door to greet Hua Cheng. He runs across the main room and skids to a stop in his stockinged feet just in front of Hua Cheng, unable to contain his smile. Hua Cheng smiles back and holds up his hand as though to steady Xie Lian. When he sees Xie Lian isn’t going to fall over, he drops it. Xie Lian feels a little bereft.

Then he remembers the leaks.

“Ah, San Lang, maybe you could come back tomorrow? Now’s not a good time…” but he has nowhere to be, and can think of no reason why Hua Cheng shouldn’t also be here.

“Ah, but gege, I found something I wanted to try to cook with you?” Hua Cheng holds out a bag of groceries, and Xie Lian’s throat tightens.

Xie Lian spent years eating food picked out, or thrown out, by others, but when Hua Cheng brings him food it’s a categorically different experience. Hua Cheng asks him what he likes and dislikes, and doesn’t seem at all impatient when Xie Lian doesn’t know how to chop onions or peel a tomato or any of the rest of it. He simply puts his hands over Xie Lian’s and shows him.

“Oh! Uh-” Xie Lian stops talking, because a new drip has just begun, right over his head. A drop hits his forehead and rolls down to the tip of his nose.

“San Lang…” he feels his face grow hot. This is too much, Hua Cheng is going to see the buckets and realize just how poor of a caretaker Xie Lian is. With anyone else, Xie Lian wouldn’t spare it a thought. But Hua Cheng isn’t anyone else.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng chuckles, reaching out and wiping the drop from Xie Lian’s nose. For a terrible second Xie Lian thinks he’s about to lick it from his finger, but then Hua Cheng wipes it on his shirt and Xie Lian lets out a sigh.

“San Lang, this is just-”

“Your roof giving you trouble?” Hua Cheng finishes.

Xie Lian hangs his head. He really can’t look at Hua Cheng.

“I’m sorry, my house isn’t really suitable for company right now,” he admits.

Hua Cheng makes a small noise, and Xie Lian looks up. Hua Cheng is giving him an inscrutable look.

“Gege. If you want me to leave I will, but if this is about your roof, it’s really no problem at all, we can just fix it tomorrow.”

Xie Lian shifts uncomfortably, but it’s still raining hard, and he’s sure that Hua Cheng is getting cold in the doorway. Xie Lian is.

He moves to the side. “San Lang, please come inside.”

Hua Cheng beams, steps inside, and opens his arms. His coat is open and Xie Lian slips his arms inside when he goes to hug Hua Cheng, avoiding the wet exterior of his red peacoat.

Hua Cheng makes a soft choking noise.

“San L-” Xie Lian starts to pull back, but then Hua Cheng is pulling the edges of his coat around Xie Lian and Xie Lian’s house isn’t that cold but being cocooned inside Hua Cheng’s coat feels better. He lets out another sigh.

“It’s warm in here,” he mutters, and Hua Cheng wraps his arms around him.

“Gege, what’s this about?” Hua Cheng asks.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” he says.

Hua Cheng tightens his hold.

“Oh! San Lang! Your dinner,” Xie Lian extracts himself from Hua Cheng. Then he picks up the bag of groceries that’s been discarded by Hua Cheng’s feet and takes it to the kitchen. Hua Cheng comes in a bit later, coatless, as Xie Lian is unloading everything onto the kitchen table. Xie Lian notices that Hua Cheng is wearing a black shirt that looks very good on him.

Hua Cheng has brought ingredients for at least three different meals, but tonight he wants to make the Korean version some sort of chicken dish. As they’re about to start putting things into the frying pan, another drip starts, just above the stove. The raindrop sizzles on the hot pan.

“Oh no,” Xie Lian buries his face in his hands. This really is too embarrassing.

Hua Cheng, who is standing next to Xie Lian ready to pass over ingredients, laughs delightedly.

“Gege, it seems we need another bucket to protect the food.”

“San Lang, please,” Xie Lian begs, the sound muffled.

“It’s fine, we can use a lid, and after tomorrow you won’t have to worry about it.” Hua Cheng pulls out a lid that’s much too large. “A little rain-hat,” he explains, holding it above the pan. He’s smiling at Xie Lian like he’s immensely pleased with himself.

Xie Lian stares at that smile for a long, quiet moment. Then: “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Hua Cheng sets the lid on the pan. A drop hits it and rolls off the side.

Xie Lian watches the drips landing on the lid, avoiding Hua Cheng’s face.

“San Lang, you’ve been so kind, but I can’t let you keep helping me.”

“Why not?” Hua Cheng’s voice sounds tinny, but maybe that’s just from the blood pounding behind Xie Lian’s ears.

“Because I don’t live here,” he admits, letting out a shaky breath.

Hua Cheng puts a hand on Xie Lian’s wrist, and Xie Lian turns to meet his eyes.

Hua Cheng is staring at him intently, focused. He can see Hua Cheng’s throat bob as he swallows.

“Gege, you do live here,” he says, “This is your home.”

Xie Lian shakes his head. He’s trembling now, and he knows Hua Cheng feels it because Hua Cheng takes hold of his hand and holds it, tightly.

“Actually, I’m homeless.”

Xie Lian doesn’t remember ever feeling afraid before, but in this moment, with Hua Cheng holding his hand and the frying pan gently smoking on the stove, he’s terrified.

He has something to lose, now.

“It’s not my house,” he goes on, “I found it. I, well, I moved in shortly before I met you. And I’ve just been waiting this whole time for someone to come take it away.”

He braces for the moment when Hua Cheng lets go of his hand. For when he asks what, exactly, Xie Lian was doing before he broke into someone’s house. For when he gets up and walks away.

None of that happens. Instead, Hua Cheng starts rubbing Xie Lian’s palm with his thumb. “They won’t take it away,” he says quietly.

The warmth radiating from Hua Cheng’s hand competes with the cold gripping Xie Lian’s heart. “How do you know?” he asks.

“I checked.”

“You- what?” Xie Lian’s mind is tripping over itself, trying to understand.

“I knew you were squatting when I met you, gege. You didn’t even have a lock on your door. So I checked the laws. You have squatter’s rights. You can stay in this house as long as you want to. You just have to take care of it, and after five years it’s yours if you want it.”

“You knew?” Xie Lian feels limp, all the nervous energy drained out of him.

Hua Cheng smiles brightly and tugs on Xie Lian’s hand until Xie Lian moves closer. Then he wraps his arms around Xie Lian, holding him close. Xie Lian presses himself against Hua Cheng, feeling Hua Cheng’s heart beating rapidly like it’s his own.

“Of course I knew. So I installed a lock. And helped you level the floors. And tomorrow we’ll fix the roof, and then we can start building your garden beds. And then, we can start filling this house with whatever you love most.”

Xie Lian swallows hard. The words slip out before he can stop them:

“With you, then?”

Hua Cheng laughs, a deep rumble that Xie Lian wants to never stop.

“This is your home, gege. But I’d be honored to be a part of it.”

Xie Lian smiles, hiding his face in Hua Cheng’s shirt.

“You already are.”

#hualian #modern au #hua cheng #xie lian #tgcf fanfic #tgcf au #heaven official's blessing #XieLianWeek2021 #Day 7

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sabraeal · 3 years

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And Spring Became the Summer

[Read on AO3]

The very last of my follower fics for the 700 Followers gifts! This one was the bonus for making it to 750 before December, and I’m so glad I’ve FINALLY gotten this done...so I can do it all over again this year 🤣

The last term paper Mitsuhide writes for his undergraduate career he slips into a glossy plastic portfolio-- double-spaced and double-sided, graphs printed in full color-- and turns in personally.

It’s a wide-eyed TA that takes it, seated behind a desk that’s far too big for her. Or well, she’s not wide-eyed at first; instead she’s bent over her work, only glancing up absently to make sure she has it in hand. But a second one turns absence to alarm, eyes fixing to where he grips the plastic, and suddenly he’s all-too aware how easily how just one of his hands could swallow both of hers.

So is she; her eyes pulse wide, and then she’s tracing the line of his arm up and up doggedly, like as long as she just keeps going, she might hit the end of him. When she finally does, he offers her a sheepish smile, shoulders hunched lessen the blow.

She shrinks back, a mousey brown head peeking above an oversized university sweatshirt. So much for that.

“You could have emailed this,” she squeaks, plucking the plastic sleeve from his grip. “I mean, not that you can’t hand it in. It’s just, er...”

“No one does,” another adds, rolling across the floor with a level of curiosity that he’s pretty sure an in-person paper doesn’t warrant. When she measures him with her gaze, she enjoys every inch. “Pretty old fashioned, if you ask me.”

He recognizes both of them; their names had been on the syllabus at the beginning of the semester. He’d found them both on the department website, Amanda wearing the same Clarines sweatshirt she had on today, and Holly’s clearly from some beach vacation, cropped from the shoulders up.

(“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a stalker,” Obi says, hanging upside down from the armchair.

“I’m-- I’m not!” Mitsuhide sputters, heat creeping up his neck. One day, Obi would slip up and say these things in front of someone who mattered, someone with a much more rigid sense of humor than Professor Gazelt, or didn’t know to take every word of his with an ocean of salt like Dean Haruka, and then it would be him that got seated in front of a disciplinary committee. The last thing he needed to do before even finishing law school applications was explain his brother’s poor taste in jokes on the record. “It’s just...”

“That you’re compelled to look at cute girls on the university website?” he offers, so casual. “I could think of hotter majors, if you wanted. Psych seems like it’s the sort of place real tens might hand out, right? Maybe, uh, Education? Kindergarten teachers always are cute--”

“It’s polite,” Mitsuhide grits out, shoulders hunched up by his ears. “You should know everyone on staff in your department, just the way you should know everyone you work with. It’s the proper way to network.”

Obi watches him with wide eyes, like he’s some kind of zoo animal or-- or one of those really bad cooks on TV, the kind who tries to pan fry a chicken whole. “God, you don’t actually do that, do you?”

“It’s the secret to good business.” At least, that’s what his parents always told him.

“You must be...” Obi savors the moment, looking positively euphoric as he says, “Really fucking creepy at the department Christmas party.”)

“No one did,” says the first-- Amanda, graduate summa cum laude from Columbia-- tone aimed to shush. “I’m, uh, happy to take that, though.”

He gives her his most gracious smile. “Thank you.”

“No,” Holly-- Penn State, no honors-- mutters, casting him a speculative glance from the corner of her eyes. Hers go up and up too, but seem to come to a much more amicable conclusion. “Thank you.”

“Stop.” Amanda’s hands flex on the thin plastic; she has soft hands, a callus only on the knuckle of her middle finger, where a pen might rest. Like Shirayuki, only without the thousand nicks and cuts that dot her fingers, battle wounds from wrangling recalcitrant plants.

Her chin pulls up, set in a determined line as she says, “Congratulations on graduating.”

“Ah...” It’s a kind thought, and meant well, but knowing he’s about to spend the next three years earning the degree that counts softens the blow. “Thank you. I hope you have a nice, um, summer?”

“Definitely will be nicer not to grade papers,” Holly offers, immune to Amanda’s shushing. “Do you have pl--?”

“We should get back to grading,” Amanda says, just to the left of too loud. “Have a nice summer.”

Never repeat yourself, Mama always told him, it weakens your position.

You can never be too polite. That’s what Papa would say, when he thanked the cashier for a third time.

Mitsuhide winces; he’s always hated this, being stuck between his parents. It’s clearly time to leave. “Right. Bon été, Amanda.”

“Was that French,” he hears hissed the moment he’s stepped out the door; the same moment another voice says, “Did I tell him my name?”

He should have just emailed it. Mitsuhide can make any number of excuses about the joys of collating and color printing, about face-time and networking, but at the end of the day, he has to call a spade a spade: this has all been an excuse. A thin one too, to keep him out of the house. To put off what he knows need doing.

Mitsuhide steps into the cool air of the foyer, shivering as it catches the sweat that beaded at his hairline on the walk. His courage peaks as he stands there, right next to the shoe mat, grand stair stretching up before him, still in his oxfords--

And immediately effervesces when he catches sight of smooth, bare legs on the coffee table, fuzzy slippers worth more than his phone perched up on the mahogany. This is it, the moment of truth, fight or flight, and he-- he doesn’t know which way to run.

So he doesn’t. He’s drawn there with inexorable motion, a magnet to a lodestone, the hard soles of his shoes clacking against the wood the only thing keeping him grounded. It takes only a few steps before long, tanned legs lead up to sleep shorts; not the clingy kind that curve and cup, but the ones that hang like boxers around the tops of her thighs, rucking up as she moves. After that it’s a hoodie, worn loose and baggy, like it’s supposed to fit someone twice her size, its hood drawn tight against her face. Nothing...sexy, not the way Obi might say, with far too much eyebrows involved. But still, his mouth runs dry, tongue heavy behind his teeth.

How on earth is he going to do this?

“Kiki.” He speaks before he thinks, sinking down on the table. It creaks beneath him, ominous. “I owe you a date.”

“Oh shit.” Obi flops over on the recliner, wide gold eyes peeking over the arm. “Check out the balls on this kid.”

This is a terrible idea. He should have known not to do this in a-- a common room, one where other brothers might be hiding.

“Sorry,” he creaks, levering himself up. “I didn’t realize-- you’re clearly busy--”

“No.” Kiki’s lays her feet right on his thighs, pushing him down with a thump. “You were saying something important.”

He darts a glance to the shadow squirming obnoxiously on soft leather. “But Obi--”

“Obi,” she informs him, as imperious as any C-suite member, “can leave.”

Obi doesn’t so much bark out a laugh as honks it. “Not unless I got time to make popcorn.”

Her head doesn’t move an inch from where she’s got it, chin tilted up to meet his own gaze. Her eyes though, those slide pointedly away, fixed at their corners, radiating malice. Kiki is slow to speak, deliberate when she does, but her eyes-- well, there’s a wealth of words in every look, and right now they’re reading Obi the riot act.

It would have worked better if Obi wasn’t already so used hearing it.

“Ignore him,” Kiki decides, attention snapping back to him. “He’s furniture.”

“Oh, Ms Kiki,” Obi drawls, barreling towards a mistake, “you could sit on me any--”

“You were saying?” she says, every word iron. Obi takes the hint, for once.

“I, uh...well, you paid for a date,” Mitsuhide manages lamely, darting a worried look to where Obi lounges on the chair. “I mean, you paid a lot for a date. And I understand that you may have just wanted to donate to the frat, but if you wanted to--”

“I told you,” Kiki says, dry, toes flexing firmly on his knee. “I expect you to make it worth my while.”

“Ah, y-yeah.” Her saying that while looking at him like she did-- well, his brain had that queued up every time he blinks his eyes. Sometimes it changed venues, and there were some, uh, costume changes at times, but if he shut his eyes right now it’d spool up with perfect fidelity. “I thought it might, um, d-distract you if we tried before finals, but since you’ve finished-- we’ve finished--”

“As of twenty minutes ago,” Obi adds, so helpful.

“--I thought it might be a fun way to relax.” He’s honestly never felt less relaxed in his life just sitting here, contemplating it. Half of it he can chalk up to Obi, curled over the recliner like a gremlin, waiting to wreak his version of chaos the second he can weasel his fingers in, but the other--

Well, it’s hard to ask someone on a date when you know they’ve already got someone in mind for the position. Even if it’s just-- this. As friends.

His heart’s in his throat. At least, that’s what he thinks until Kiki’s mouth curves; then he knows it’s never been in his possession at all, but always utterly hers. “Sounds like fun.”

Tension rushes out of him on a sigh. “Ah, great. I though we might, er, go to Boston? You know,” he hurries to spit out, before any words can fall from her parted lips, “since there’s not much out here we haven’t seen.”

She hesitates. Of course she does. Boston’s practically her hometown, and he’s sitting here, thinking it’ll impress her. Like she hasn’t seen everything that’s worth seeing there twice over and in private. That she hasn’t just told him no outright is a testament to how well Mr Seiran’s raise her, and--

“Let’s make a day of it.”

Mitsuhide startles, nearly tipping off the table’s edge before he glances up, right into her row of perfectly straight teeth. Her mom’s smile, she always told him, but he’s only ever seen it on her. “I-- yes. That’s..good.”

Her lips curl, hiding her teeth. “Let me handle the accommodations.”

“Ah, no.” His head sweeps through big, nervous back-and-forths. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to--”

“You’re not,” Kiki informs him. “I’m telling you. I’ll handle accommodations. You’re seeing to the rest of the weekend, correct?”

“Y-yes.” He tries to fold his arms across his lap, but with her feet right on his thighs, it ends up with his hands covering her ankles. He expects her to move them, but instead her legs still, tendons relaxing under his palms. “That’s the plan, but, really--”

“It’s the least I can do.” She shifts her macbook off the couch’s arm, fingers already flying across the keyboard. “One night?”

“I...” He should decline. He should tell her that if she can drop a whole K on a date with him, he can shell out for one night at a hotel with a higher rating than a Holiday Inn.

But this is Kiki Seiran, heir to Seiran International. She’s not just used to five stars but the penthouse suite. He could book four star cheap on Hotwire, but imagining her in one of those suites, the sheets starched and thread count insufficient--

“Yeah,” he grunts, “one night’s fine.”

“Perfect.” Her teeth snap around the word. “Leave it to me.”

“So,” Obi starts before Mitsuhide’s even hit the last step. “We have a bet going on.”

He grimaces, shifting the duffel over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

‘Pretty sure’ turns to ‘certain’ once he catches Obi’s grin. “It’s about whether you’ll get your dick wet.”

“Sorry, not interested.” He heaves the bag beside the front door, brushing off his shorts. “Isn’t it too early for you to be up? I thought you didn’t know about the hours before ten.”

“I had motivation,” Obi assures him, slinking up beside him with a grin a mile wide. “You know, Shiira says that you won’t on the grounds that you’re a gentleman.”

More like the lady isn’t interested. “I already said I wasn’t--”

“Kai says you will,” he continues blithely, “and you’ll come back on time. Shuuka agrees, except that he thinks you’ll miss check out with all the boning down and won’t make it back until evening.”

“Isn’t this breaking the bylaws?” Mitsuhide grunts, slipping on his sneakers. “Don’t we have something about betting...?”

“For money,” Obi agrees. “Zen still wouldn’t put a bet down though.”

That’s assuring at least. “Of course n--”

“Shiira already took his.” Obi shakes his head. “And we wouldn’t allow him to say the same thing except that he thinks it’s because you’re and idiot.”

Well, that’s a little rich, coming from Zen. Mitsuhide was loath to remind anyone that besides Obi, he is the most experienced, but-- some people should be taking that into account. Even if nothing is going to happen.

“Don’t worry, Big Guy.” Obi claps him on the shoulder, smile somehow drifting towards kindly. “I gave you until Monday.”

“Obi--”

“And Kiki will walk in with a limp.”

“Obi, you know that’s not...” His breath hisses between his teeth. “That’s not what me and Kiki are like.”

“You keep thinking that, Big Guy, but--” he leans in, cupping a hand around his mouth-- “my original bet was gonna be Tuesday. Too bad Kiki had already taken it.”

Mitsuhide stares at him, slack-jawed. “W-what did you just--?”

“I should have known, you’re already here.”

His head jerks up, right to the top of the grand stair, the beginning of a quick glance-- but it’s no use. There’s no possible way he could make his eyes focus anywhere but on Kiki, not when she’s wearing-- when she’s--

“Ooh.” Obi’s mouth curls, matching Kiki’s knowing smirk. “Is that a skirt?”

It is. And not-- not her field hockey kit, mid-thigh with shorts beneath, but and actual skirt, one that floats just above her knees, gauzy and floral. A single flash of leg tells him there’s nothing else beneath. Ah, well, besides the obvious. Mitsuhide swallows hard, mouth dry.

She raises a brow, hand trailing sinuously down the banister beside her. “It is a date, isn’t it?”

Her heels clack when she takes the last step into the foyer, clack because it’s the cork of her wedges that hits the floor first, because-- nom de Dieu-- she’s wearing shoes that tilt her a few inches close to him. Close enough that he could just bend at the neck and--

“Ah,” he coughs, fingers clenching in his shirt. “You might be a little overdressed. At least for this first part.”

Both her brows raise now. “Am I?”

“God,” Obi mutters at his shoulder, head buried in his hands. “You could at least say she looks nice.”

Well, when he’s right, he’s right.

“You look, ah, great though,” Mitsuhide hurries to add. “Beautiful.”

Kiki, to his surprise, beams. “Well, I brought a few outfits. I’ll change at the hotel.”

“Ah, sure.” He scoops up his duffel, holding out a hand for her bag as she passes. “You’re ready to go?”

Her mouth quirks at a corner. “As I’ll ever be.”

He hums, uncertain, suddenly left-footed with her so close. They should leave, but that involves a number a movements he’s suddenly stymied by.

Thankfully, Obi opens the door, practically shoving him onto the porch. “All right kids, be safe now.”

“Obi...”

“Don’t worry,” Kiki drawls, sashaying over the threshold. “I packed plenty of condoms.”

The door cuts off Obi’s laugh, but Mitsuhide can’t escape the pounding of his heart.

“You know,” he sighs, trailing after her, “you’re only encouraging him when you say things like that.”

“Oh that’s too bad,” she hums, floating past. “I was trying to encourage you.”

#mitsukiki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #The Wide Florida Bay #my fic #ans #THESE ARE FINALLY FINISHED #and this little side jaunt is barely started 🤣#i wanted to do the whole date...then convinced myself half...#and now i just have the lead up #but lbr #it's better this way #since we get more chaos agent Obi #which only makes Obi's sensitive feelings about his OWN date funnier #buddy you bought and paid for the shit you're getting #and NOW you don't want it? no wonder Kiki gives you crap

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spencerreidsbookbag · 4 years

Text

Somebody I used to know - S.R

Now and then I think of when we were together

“Hey Spencer, how’s Y/N?” Derek asked, taking a seat on his desk chair.

“Wouldn’t know, we separated a few weeks ago,” I answered, gauging his response.

His eyebrow raised, and he looked up from the files he was skimming over. “You didn’t mention anything kid,”

“There wasn’t anything to mention,” I answered, turning to face Penelope.

She placed a coffee down in front of Derek, and smiled at me before turning to go back to her bat-cave. I excused myself and stepped into the bathrooms, splashing the cold water on my face. As I studied my reflection my mind started running, going over all the moments I had with Y/N in perfect detail.

Y/N ran in front of me her hair waving behind her while she laughed.

“Catch me if you can Spencer,” She yelled, turning her head slightly.

I laughed loudly and ran the tiniest bit faster, slowly catching up towards Y/N. She let out a loud squeal as I wrapped my arms around her midsection and held her tightly.

“Caught you,” I whispered into her ear.

Like when you said you felt so happy you could die

I couldn’t find Y/N anywhere, and the rain outside was getting heavier. I kept calling out her name, and looking in illogical places like under the couch and behind curtains. I stopped my movements, and ran my fingers through my hair.

“Spencer,” Y/N called out, and I followed her voice.

She was laying outside in summer clothes that were drenched from the rain. An umbrella stopped the rain from hitting her face, and sunglasses were perched on the bridge of her nose. I ran to where she was, and pulled her into me.

“Did you know that Hawaii is the state with the most rainfall per year,” Y/N whispered, shivering slightly.

I chuckled, and took my jumper off to drape around her shoulders. “Did you know cold temperatures weaken the immune system,” I quipped.

Y/N chuckled, and moved to rest her head on my shoulder. We sat together until we were both shivering, and practically on top of each other to preserve warmth.

“Spencer, right now I’m so happy, I wouldn’t mind dying. I’m happy with where I’ve gotten with you, and all the time I’ve spent with you,” Y/n whispered, handing me the umbrella.

I took it from her hands and looked up at her as she spun around in the rain with her arms outstretched and mouth wide open.

Told myself that you were right for me

But felt so lonely in your company

Y/N slept on the recliner across from me, Emily sat next to her and looked at me curiously. I continued staring at Y/N and rose to my feet, asking Emily to switch seats with me. As I sat down on the plane seat, I wrapped an arm around Y/N and pulled her into my chest.

Emily chuckled, and pulled her headphones on shutting her eyes. I looked down at Y/N, and pulled a strand of hair that was stuck to her cheek. I ran my fingers through her hair and smoothed it down occasionally. My eyes were trained on her and focused on all of her features.

Her eyelashes framed her face and her mouth was in a pout. My mind wandered as I studied her face. What makes a ‘spark’ that draws you to another person? What defines attraction? Is what I feel now a representation of love?

I don’t reciprocate what Y/N felt, or understand why she feels the way she does. I know I have her there physically, and but sometimes I feel like she isn’t there at all.

But that was love and it’s an ache I still remember

I could smell pancakes, and fresh honey. I rubbed the sleep away from my eyes and pulled myself out of the blankets I was wrapped in and walked towards the kitchen. Y/N stood there in front of the frying pan, bobbing her head and humming.

There was a large patterned beanie on her head, the large pom pom on the top wiggling along with her head movements. A large brown sweater covered her shoulders, and if it was the one I thought it was it went all the way down and covered her knees too.

As if she could hear my thoughts, she turned around with a plate in her hand and slid it in my direction. There were three large pancakes covered and honey and diced strawberries. A fork appeared next to my hand, and I looked up to Y/N. She was grinning and turned back to the frying pan and continued humming.

“I can hear the cogs in your brain turning Spencer. It’s breakfast, the most important meal of the day but you don’t need me to tell you that,” She said, peeking over her shoulder briefly.

I nodded and picked the fork up, and dug it into the pancake. A moan left my throat as it hit my taste buds and exploded in mouthwatering flavors. Y/N chuckled at the sound, and began to sway. This was something I could get used to, and something I would move mountains for.

The bathroom door flew open and my eyes flew up to meet Derek’s in the mirror. He had his go-bag in hand, and paper files in the other. I nodded and turned to grab them, and stepped around Derek as I reached under my desk for the go-bag that was always packed and ready to go.

“Just so you know, Y/N’s involved in this case Spencer, so you’ll need to put whatever feelings you have for each other good or bad aside,” Derek said as we entered the elevator.

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness

Like resignation to the end, always the end

Breaking up with Spencer was hard. A relationship that felt like forever, with feelings that weren’t reciprocated was straining. Spencer tried his best to return the love I gave, but he didn’t have it in his heart. I respected how he felt, and brought up separation for the benefit of us both.

After the transfer was approved from Strauss, in hand with pleading and a promise to approve of her replacement regardless of their past with the BAU team, I left. I didn’t take my belongings from Spencer’s house, and I knew they were still packed up in the spare room.

They weren’t of any concern currently, the only thing that mattered was healing (though that wasn’t going very well) and helping solve the case of the murders popping up all over town. The hollow feeling I felt didn’t go away and was addicting at his point. Two months on from Spencer and I had attached myself to the last feeling he had given me.

So when we found out we could not make sense

Well, you said that we still would be friends

But I’ll admit that I was glad that it was over

The plane was silent, and I was standing in the small kitchenette fixing myself a coffee. My thoughts wandered back to when Y/N and I separated.

“Spencer,” Y/N whispered, peeking over the top of the blanket.

I looked over to her, and smiled sadly. Her face was flushed and beads of sweat formed on her forehead. I stepped over to the bed, and sat down brushing the hair away from around her eyes.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I’m so so sorry. I will always be here for you as a friend,” I whispered.

She rolled away from me and pulled the blanket over her head. My hand came up to instinctively rub her back and Y/N’s shot out from the blanket telling me not to move.

“I understand you’re trying to comfort me Spencer, but there is no point. You’ve come when I was down and asked for your help, only to tell me that you’re sorry and that you don’t want to be in a relationship with me anymore. Please leave Spencer,” She rasped, her hand moving back down underneath the blanket.

“I really am sorry Y/N, I hope you get better soon,” I whispered, patting the side of the bed where I sat.

I slowly stood and turned away from Y/N. I took in the surroundings of her room; the small pile of books that I had recommended perched on the rocking chair Y/N had been gifted by her grandfather, the knitted blanket Y/N had made was in a ball on the floor, tissues were scattered around a small paper bin and Y/N was curled under her fluffy blanket on her bed her hair peaking out from underneath the blanket.

“Y/N, next time as friends,” I said, opening her bedroom door.

“Yeah, as friends,” Y/N croaked, pulling the blanket around her further.

I somewhat felt free, a pressure lifting off my chest but at the same time a sense of guilt flushed over me.

“What’re you doing Spencer, I’ve been calling your name for ages,” Morgan said, snapping me out of my reverie.

“Thinking,” I quipped, stepping around him to go back and take my seat.

But you didn’t have to cut me off

Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing

“Aaron, Derek, Jennifer, Dave and Spencer. Welcome, thank you for coming to help it’s greatly appreciated even though it doesn’t seem like it,” I said, shaking everyone’s hands.

I hesitated when it came to Spencer, and drew my hand back knowing he was about to spout some statistic about the transfer of germs when shaking hands. It seemed like everyone waited for for him to speak, the typical statistic about how kissing is safer never leaving his lips.

“Right just this way, I’ll introduce you to everyone else,” I stated, turning on my heel.

After I made the formal introductions, I excused myself going to the staff kitchen’s to collect myself.

“Was I really nothing to you Y/N?” I heard Spencer whisper, feeling his presence behind me.

“I should be the one asking you that question, excuse me I need to read over my files. I don’t have a memory like yours,” I answered, rubbing my face.

I turned to face Spencer and my eyes met his. His face was scrunched up in the expression he holds when he isn’t able to properly interpret the social situation pasted on his face.

“We can speak once we solve this case,”

TAGLIST:

@criesinreid @slutforthegubes @watermelonstyl @cheyxminds @goldnratio @pinkdiamond1016

#spencer reid drabble #spencer reid story #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid prompt #spencer reid angst #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid fic

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nightswithkookmin · 3 years

Note

With the grammy bomb im more than certain that there is a strain between jikook. They do interact but in a way that is so aloof. Their habitual gravitating towards one another doesnt happen anymore. And im talking about all the recent stuff from october onwards. Jk purposefully rear towards other members and i find jimin to be only open towards namjoon. All of his other interactions on cam are to make sure that everything is fine between him and others. And jk purposefully ignores or avoids jimin and doesnt have that unrestrainable affection towards him anymore. I say all this as a longtime jikook supporter. Honestly even if they had their 'fighting' periods i have never seen jk this dismissive. At least jimin isnt as affected as before. I dont understand how no supporter is admitting the obvious distance of jk.

Why are you being mean to me though😭

Please read my blogs. I think I have talked about this topic several times now.

May be I spoke 'too soon' before the loud moments that make these things obvious to most but still, I've addressed it nonetheless.

I feel if I respond to this, I'd just be repeating myself over and over at this point and frankly it gets boring for the people that read me- I think. Lol. I mean, once I start I never shut up. Lmho. So sorry in advance.

I agree with everything you've said, as well as all the observations you've made. I'm with you on it. Except, you made no definitive conclusions I could agree on, rebut, or share an opinion on. There is a strain on their relationship..... therefore? Lol.

I don't mean this in a rude way. I just don't think it's enough to point that out without drawing conclusions- unless you are simply taking notes of those moments? Or are you concluding that the strain is a sign Jikook are fighting, having problems or that they have broken up?

Not every tension between Jikook is a bad thing if you ask me or even as a result of them having issues in their relationship. This is something I keep regurgitating in my blogs. Not to say they don't have issues, they do. Hell, I get dragged by my roots on these streets for saying they fight, or even break up sometimes like any real couple would. They are real and they have real couple's problems sometimes too like any regular joe.

I'm glad you pointed out though, that Jimin doesn't seem as affected by JK's 'dismissive' attitude as before. Shouldn't that tell you that is a sign there is nothing wrong with their relationship this time around? Jikook is not one sided. JK isn't the only party to their relationship, neither is Jimin. They have an equal and sometimes opposite reaction to each other. One person's attitude or change in attitude tends to produce a ripple effect on the other. In my opinion.

If JK were to be 'dismissive' at all, it would emotionally and physically impact Jimin and he would have a reaction to it like he did in run 106. Compared to this, he didn't seem at all affected by JK's 'attitude' just as you've pointed out.

As I said a while ago, I honestly don't think or believe they are fighting or that they are broken up either- not to me anyway. Lol. I mean you could still pretty much see the intimacy between them in that footage. Jikook don't need to engage in skinship or overt and loud interactions to show they are intimate. And most times their overt and loud skinship and interactions are devoid of intimacy. That's the thing about intimacy, you can't fake it or hide it.

Jimin turning towards JK in his fit of excitement is a sign of intimacy between them regardless of whether he actually hugged JK or not. Then later on the couch, you could see him yearning for JK.

There were three people in that room- may be more if you count staff and yet JK was the only one Jimin seemed to want an answer from.

He was the one Jimin was emotionally inclined towards. The one who's comfort and affection he sought after- bless his heart, he hit his head on some solid rock knees and everything trying to pursue his need for physical closeness and affection from JK. If they were broken up or fighting, he wouldn't go to JK for his emotional needs.

He could try and 'interact' with JK, do the fanservice bit with him but he wouldn't go to him with his emotional needs- that would be inappropriate and unfair to JK. Jimin is an emotionally intelligent guy and he has a lot of thoughts and consideration for people's feelings and he is well aware of his limits and just how much he can push or get away with.

And I cite his Log with JK, where he announced he had started developing feelings for JK and then turned to JK to ask if he was ok with him saying that much on camera.

Thus, if he is emotionally 'gravitating' towards JK then it's indication there is a level of intimacy and a mutual understanding between them that JK fulfills an emotional need and ought to fulfill that emotional need for him.

And yes, I agree. Him hesitating when he wanted to hug JK is a sign there is something stressing their dynamics which is something I pointed out when that Grammy reaction video first came out. I knew something was stressing their dynamic but I couldn't figure out what because it was a very short video with not much going on in there.

The behind the scenes however, chilee. Lol.

I mean if you consider the fact JK went from moving a distance to console Jimin when he was crying on stage during the October ON:E concert, and you look at all the moments we've had from their overt flirting in 2021 season's greetings, the sexual innuendos in the BE behind scenes video, JK sniffing Jimin's hair in the Be unboxing video to that moment on the couch when Jimin hit his head on JK's knees- that shit look like it hurt. Damn. JK what is your knees made of! Lmho.

I am uncomfortable discussing a Jikook era or phase when it's on going on. I like to simply take note of certain moments and discuss them in post by reconstructing the timeline to place content in its rightful timeframe.

I can only share with you my working theory on such moments and for the most part, like I said previously I feel Jikook- especially JK is having issues with the company. Perhaps because the company stumbled on something they weren't supposed to see.

As for Jikook's personal development, I think we all saw this development coming, didn't we? After JM's birthday fiasco? I think I hypothesized at the time that whoever was in the 'wrong' in that situation would come swinging hard on their Jikook agenda in the aftermath. And with that whole GCF Tokyo reference, signing his name to JK's name at the pop up, the stealing looks at JK during interviews, checking him out left right left, trying to make Jk 'jealous' with RM at the Be press con red carpet, it's not hard to figure out who did what in that birthday situation.

I plan on writing a blog on this very topic, because I've received quite a few Asks about my thoughts on JK outing Jimin, military service and others that I find intriguing and want to discuss but I also want to discuss Vminkook dynamics, Jikook boundaries and I don't know which one to get into first. When I'm torn between options I end up not making a choice at all. Lol.

All I can say in regards to Jikook and their on going 'situation' is that- I love it. Lol. I love their dynamics, I love where they are at in their love journey, I love where they are heading. Jikook is just beautiful in every sense of the word.

I love what JK is doing. I love where he has gotten my bias to- which is confronting himself and figuring out what he wants from their relationship. Because, honestly you can't have your cake and eat it. It just doesn't work that way.

What you are seeing is just JK asserting himself against Jimin I'm afraid. It's the push and pull thingy all over again.

I keep talking about 'the boy in love with Jungkook' being a facade and persona Jimin hides behind to love JK and most people don't understand.

JK's persona is not the boy in love with Jimin. It's the boy cold and shy who rejects Jimin- well at least that was the persona he had in their early dynamics around debut.

He has since shed that persona and the bold, fearless, assertive JK we see on the screens is him choosing to unapologetically express his love and feelings for Jimin. And jimin enjoys that.

But you take a look at Jimin, and you don't see that drastic change in his persona or the way he expresses himself with JK- I mean let's call a spade a spade.

Do I think Jimin loves JK? Absolutely. Do I think he is being authentic in the way that he expresses those feelings to JK on camera? Only to an extent.

It's obvious who Jimin is to JK or even the way he expresses himself and his love for JK is slightly different off camera than the persona we see on our screens. For one, clearly JK is not used to seeing Jimin prioritize others over him or be overly affectionate with others besides him. I mean it's been seven years. Ten, if you count the periods before. You'd think JK would get used to JM doing skinship with others or showing affection for the others especially since they've lived together over half of the time and yet here we are, frying pans away from the apocalypse whenever any member breaths near Jimin. Damn JK. Lmho.

Do I think his persona is slightly exaggerated? Yes. But I also think JM downplays his love for Jk with his 'Mr I'm available' personality, his Kumbaya attitude, and his I'm just a nice guy on the block character, which often leads to people questioning whether or not he treats JK different from the group. Don't get me wrong JK does this too.

Jimin loves JK. But at this point the question is is he expressing that love in the way that meets JK's emotional needs? Is he allowing JK to love him and express the love he feels for him in the way that makes him happy?

I think that's what the birthday fiasco is all about.

If you don't want JK openly showing and expressing his love for you in a way that he wants to and in a way that holds meaning to him and makes him feel fulfilled as well in the relationship then what is the point of him holding on to the glass closet?

Two can play that game. Lol.

It's JK's needs above the groups and I feel he is putting it right up there next to JM's needs because they are both valid.

You should have seen JK's face when Jimin decided tell the truth about his location on September 1st in that BB press interview.

I remember pointing out that when JM started that narration with the first person pronoun he was going for a well curated narrative perhaps one the group had agreed on prior to avoid confirming his location on the JK's birthday like they had tried to do during the VLive but dropped that and went with the honest truth the moment he started talking about being with Jk and using 'we' instead of 'I' in his speech.

I'm glad the interviewer from his Weverse magazine interview confirmed and pointed out this tell or habit of Jimin when he speaks,

"When he’s talking, Jimin often starts his sentence with phrases like, “I just,” “it just,” “they just …” But then he immediately goes on to open up about his feelings, always providing a sincere response."

At least now we know for sure he wasn't lying about his location- for all those who called him a liar.

Anywho, my point is it makes JK happy when Jimin expresses his love and feelings for him. But it also makes him happy when he is able to show the world just how much JM means to him.

He didn't get those tattoos for nothing. He didn't do the GCFs for nothing. He didn't nibble on his ear in front of thousands of people for nothing- had he posted for Jimin on his birthday, given how he hadn't done that for anyone in a year, it wouldn't have been for nothing either. In my opinion.

When I tell y'all Jimin is gonna wake up one day with JK's ring on his finger and he wouldn't know what hit him. Chilee. Lmho.

Listen, JK is in love LOVE with Jimin. It's my opinion and I'm gonna treat it as fact because I believe it- if you disagree keep it to yourself. I don't wanna hear it. Lol.

That boy is in love with my bias. Ain't nobody gonna tell me nothing. Lol.

Seriously though, JK loves Jimin and he loves expressing those feelings for him. He goes overboard sometimes with it to the point it's borderline outing but we don't talk about that. Lol.

He's progressed through out the years from hiding his feelings for Jimin, whispering I love you's to JM when he thinks JM is alseep, slipping matching plasters onto his finger, all the way to Rosebowl.

If you ask me, he wants to be Jimin's equal in every sense of the word and as much as he loves to be at the recieving end of JM's affections, he enjoys being at the giving end.

And if JM has the cover of 'the boy in love with the Maknae' and it works perfectly for him not just as a persona but the perfect excuse for loving Jk then you gotta wonder what cover JK equally has for loving JM the way that he does. He has none. His every move is questioned by members, by staff, by fans- why do you film Jimin so much, why not put Tae in there for clicks, why are you constantly with Jimin and other invasive questions like that.

Jimin gets away with a lot of things than JK because of his personality and his persona. People would question the things JK does most of the time while dismissing the things Jimin does as either fanservice or as flowing from his personality. Whereas JK cannot get away with those same things.

We paint JK as Jeonlous and possessive but we forget most times he acts that way so Jimin doesn't have to. Jimin has said he doesn't share his friends and yet somehow we think he is ok with sharing his boyfriend with 5 other members or those 5 members with his boyfriend- this is code, let it sink in.

There is a lot of boundaries he instills there and it's equally an expression of possessiveness. Yet it's so subtle you might not even notice.

Jk makes Jimin look cool. He takes the fall so Jimin doesn't have to. When JK takes a step back that's when you see how whipped JM is- the neediness, the clinginess- PJMs give me a break. *rolling my eyes. It needs to be said. I love Jimin too but shit, it is what is. Lol.

I think it's gonna take a while for Jk to open back up to Jimin, to get in the space where he feels safe expressing himself with Jimin the way that he was doing before Jimin's birthday.

It doesn't mean he hates Jimin or doesn't love him or doesn't want him or doesn't care. But I think Jimin needs to step up to show he is on the same page as JK because JK is all about reciprocity. He ain't about to do the one sided unrequited nonsense. Lol.

Honestly all this is part of Jikook's dynamics. This not the first time Jk's closed himself off. The last time he did it was because they had gone through a nasty breakup- I said what I said. In my opinion nonetheless. Lol.

In the aftermath of it, he was expressing similar behavior. In Suga's Birthday Vlive this year for example, when Jimin was clinging to him and had his hands on his leg he didn't take the bait either- man was it frustrating to watch. Lol. But you could see JM wanted that physical connection with him. Did you see his smug face when Jimin was all over him?

I think he is just going through a phase where he needs reassurance of Jimin's love. Jimin is a big guy and he knows his man best and I think he knows exactly what he needs to do to get him to come around. Lol.

I mean he flew all the way from Paris to see him on his birthday didn't he?

I think we have to leave them to it. Just observe them. I hate commenting on a phase like this especially when it's on going. I'd rather talk about it after it's ended and a new phase has begun for them.

Part of supporting Jikook is knowing when to give them privacy and room to just unfold their story and be human. They are a living breathing love story after all.

Jk isn't being distant. He is just not interacting with JM the way we are used to seeing him do. But I feel that's part Bighit asking them to cool off and part him just wanting reassurance from Jimin.

At this point, I want to ask why you want people to acknowledge JK is closed off? To what end? I don't think anyone is denying that they are going through this phase- well the Kumbaya tradshippers are but why do you want me to acknowledge this fact? I already pointed out that there is something stressfing their dynamics.

They have their own personal stuff going on but I don't think it's much of an issue and at the same time they seem to be having issues with their company- You have to take all of that into consideration to see how that affects their dynamics as well.

You have to be aware of the timeline too. Because content is not released in chronological order, it may seem like a rollercoaster ride when in actual sense all of this may have happened with a specific time frame.

When it comes to Jikook always assume they are much closer than you think. Jikook is fine, I believe. Just take mental notes of these things for posterity. I wouldn't be worried about them.

As usual, this has been my opinion. Don't take it too seriously. Keep supporting Jikook. Jikook is real.

Signed,

GOLDY

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ruzek-halstead · 3 years

Note

Hey Marcia 💛 Neighbour AU with an awful first meeting for Juke? (More awkward than angsty? 😂)

oooh, this one got me thinking. but there’s always been a prompt i’ve wanted to write about but just never did, but this is kind of the perfect scenario for it. so, this started going a certain direction, and just be warned, luke’s ‘dumbass’ moment is actually my dumbass moment bc i didn’t realize, so whatever, i just added it all, oops. it’s been a long day. also, if i had more time, i would totally extend this and fix the dialogue at the end but OH WELL, IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY

julie was a relatively light sleeper. ever since she started university, late nights had become the norm, and along with that, the ability to sleep soundlessly through the night disappeared.

so when she heard some strange noises coming from the living room, her senses were immediately on alert and she couldn’t continue sleeping even if she wanted to. they sounded like rustling noises, something she could probably dismiss, but then there was an obvious loud bang and julie flinched out of bed. did she want to be the stupid girl in horror movies who checked out the loud noise and them BAM, murdered?

yes. yes, she did.

she grabbed the closest thing she could to use as a weapon. it ended up being a hairdryer and she almost laughed at how horror-movie-esque this all seemed, but she heard a loud grunt and laughing was no longer on her mind. it could be argued that from this moment on, julie blacked out and adrenaline caused her body to move and attack the complete stranger on the floor of her living room.

she nailed him a few times with the hairdryer, only ceasing when he cried out in pain and held his arms up to shield his face.

“what the fuck?”

julie stopped for a moment, absolutely floored that whoever decided to break into her apartment, had the audacity to ask her that question.

“what do you mean what the fuck?” julie shouted back at him, holding the dryer protectively in front of her. the entire situation truly reminded her of rapunzel and her trusty frying pan. “what the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

he was breathing hard, leaning up against the couch as he cradled his arm in pain. he was young, shaggy brown hair lined with sweat and green eyes that pierced through her, even with the darkness. he didn’t look like your typical burglar, dressed in simple black jeans (with a chain???) and a sleeveless tank top.

“so, this might not have been my smartest idea.”

julie let out a deep breath; her murder radar went down significantly. “you think? what the hell, dude? i thought you were going to kill me.”

he eyed her dryer. “with that hairdryer? no chance.”

at his obvious staring, julie was suddenly aware of her nearly indecent sleep shorts and oversized t-shirt. “the fact that i have to ask you again, why the hell you are in my apartment is alarming.”

“right, sorry,” he shook his head. “so, i just moved in next door. uh, nice to meet you.”

julie merely blinked. “you’re my new neighbour?”

“yeah,” he had the decency to look sheepish. “we only have one key right now, need to go make more copies, and my moron roommates didn’t leave me the key because they thought i’d lose it.”

julie listened quietly.

“but they’re clearly just as dumb as i am because they just hopped on a flight back home and took the key with them, and of course i didn’t even fucking notice.” he seemed annoyed, and julie found it absolutely hilarious he still hadn’t connected the dots.

so, she laughed. it unnerved him.

“they took your only key?” she asked through a mouthful of laughter.

he nodded his head apprehensively, narrowing his eyes slightly. “yeah, i just said that.”

“can i just ask how you thought breaking into my apartment would help you?”

he furrowed his brows together, as if it was obvious. “well, now that i’m in, i can just go next door and get into my apartment.”

“yeah?” julie teased. “with what key?”

suddenly, it all hit him at once and he had never blushed so hard in his life.

“oh my god,” he muttered in mortification. “i’m such a dumbass.”

“i don’t know you well enough to agree, but i feel like this entire experience is enough that i can’t disagree.”

all he could do was laugh, and silently think about where the hell he was going to sleep tonight. but julie took pity on him (plus, they were going to be neighbours, so she may as well start getting friendly now).

“i’ll tell you what,” she started, capturing his attention. “you can sleep on my couch until you talk to the landlord tomorrow.”

he blinked, scrambling to his feet. he towered over julie, but he had never looked more approachable. “wait, really? even though i just committed a felony?”

“i’m trusting like that,” julie threw him a wink. she walked over to her linen closet to grab some blankets. “what’s your name, by the way? i’m julie.”

when she turned back to hand him the blankets, he looked more awkward than ever. “i’m luke. sorry, i’m just feeling like a total idiot right now.”

“it’s okay,” julie shrugged. she pushed the blankets into his hands and headed back to her bedroom. “it’ll be a good story to tell, that’s for sure. goodnight, luke.”

luke was left standing there, in his new neighbours living room. if it was any other situation, he would have busted out his charming smile and flirted the hell out of julie because she was so gorgeous, but instead, he just acted like his usual dumbass self and broke into her apartment.

at least she knew what she was getting into from the beginning, and somehow, she still wanted him around.

lmao, i can’t believe i didn’t realize luke losing his key and breaking into julie’s apartment does not MAKE ANY RELEVANT SENSE. but hey, what a meet cute.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #jatp fanworks appreciation week #thirsty thursday #juke #juke au

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whereflowersbloom · 4 years

Text

Trial Boyfriend.

“You could be frank and simply turn Conner down.” is what Damian mutters, trying to keep his tone neutral, when she asked for his advice. “There’s no need to boost his quite insufferable ego.” Damian was starting to regret not grabbing some painkillers before leaving his dorm room, his head was pounding and making it hard for him to think straight. He meant every word though.

He’s blunt, as per usual. Always straight to the point. “Thanks, Damian. I wonder why I didn’t think of that.” Raven replies as she rolls her eyesore him, making sure her tone is dripping with sarcasm, then takes a sip of her chamomile tea. “I thought you’d be more creative after your track record of turning down girls, but apparently not.” She inquired curiously, and by creative she hoped he knew she was referring to his near flawless technique of avoiding any girl with interest that he didn't reciprocate, which had been quite a few in the long time she'd known him. A part of her had always wondered why he rejected them all.

“Well, why don’t you just do it, then?” The words slip out of Damian’s mouth, evidently disregarding her last comment. She snorted when she realizes he’s going to ignore her other statement, referring to his dating life. She could understand his aversion to personal questions, but keeping secrets wasn’t their thing. She sighed, a pluck of disappointment tugging at her chest.

“Did you forget we have our winter getaway in a week?” She asked him suddenly, glancing up at him sharply, she can tell by his expression that he definitely had, even if it were for a moment. That’s unlike him. “I’d rather not force everyone to have to deal with a sulking Conner if I tell him I don’t reciprocate his feelings.” She paused to consider the alternative for a minute, and gives a rapid shake of her head at that scenario. She didn’t want to hurt Conner or ruin the trip for everyone else. It’d be a disaster. “I definitely don’t want to keep his hopes up and deal with awkwardness for an entire week.” She allowed her head drop into her hands, letting out a muffled groan of frustration. “I’m not sure what to do. He doesn’t really like me, he believes he does.”

“So, we need to come up with a better plan.” Damian breathed after several minutes after analyzing her words. She nodded into her hands and looks up to see him rubbing his chin in thought, before his piercing green eyes fell on her, his brows furrowed a questioning look crossed his face. “How can you be certain he doesn’t?”

“What I mean is that he’s latching on to me because I was the first girl he socialized with? “ She hesitated before speaking, finally explains as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world because, as far as she’s concerned, based on Conner’s behavior and the emotions she perceived through her powers. It is the most obvious thing in the world. She was the first person to offer a friendly hand to him, when he was technically a child, at least emotionally speaking. “It’s easier for him to misinterpret romantic feelings for someone, when you have no experience.”

“You sound like an expert. I’ve never seen you on a date with anyone.” Damian raised his right eyebrow in doubt. He knew Raven could sense those kind of feelings, but anyone with eyes could notice Conner had a huge and hopeless crush on their teammate. However in all those years they’d been friends Raven didn’t show romantic interest in anyone.

“I’m an empath, Damian. I perceive and know things.” She explains, frowning at his statement, turning her head away from him momentarily. “Besides, I chose not to date for now.” She was too nervous to look at him. She folded her arms around her middle, she had a tickling feeling in her stomach. What right did damian have to ask her when he was evading her questions all the time. Why did it bother her anyway.

Damian opened his mouth to argue but a sharp look from Raven shut him up.

And it’s like Conner somehow used his superhearing to overhear the conversation or sensed they were talking about him, her phone vibrating against the cafeteria’s table with incoming messages. Raven picks it up wearing a distressed expression, when it becomes clear that she’s not bothering to check who it is. She already knows. Conner Kent. Again. Damian seemed to be growing increasingly irritated. He started counting to ten. He wanted nothing but smash the damn phone against a wall.

“You know who it was. He’s been bombarding me with texts for almost a month. ‘Hey Rae, wanna go see a movie?’, ‘Raven, wanna go get some tea and donuts?’, lastly. ‘Raeeeee, I can’t wait for our trip!’” She remembered how close she’d been to chuck her phone out the window during finals week, but instead had chosen the least dramatic and most rational path and simply turned it off to stop the incessant flow of messages. She had to admit Conner was sweet and charming but she did not feel the same way. She’d mixed feelings for someone else...

“I bet those messages contain more emoticons than actual words, huh?” He smirked at her disapproving glare, but then his features gradually shift to a more solemn expression, that made him look older than he actually was. “You could pretend to be in a relationship.” He suggested suddenly, striving to sound disinterested, hopefully she’d take the hint, his emerald eyes uncharacteristically downcast and avoiding her violet ones. “There’s a 90% chance he’d would leave it alone pretty quickly if he knew you were dating someone.” Damian considered dozens of other options, hundreds of scenarios where things worked out in his favor or against his favor, depending on how he played his cards.

“I’m not making a guy up. No way he’d find out eventually and I hate lies.” She replied promptly. She knew Conner enough to anticipate his actions. He would never stop hounding her for details and demanding to meet her ‘boyfriend’. Claiming he’s the only one worthy to be her partner.

Damian paused, looking for the right word. He cleared his throat. “What I actually meant is pretend to date someone who literary exists and is available.” His alert and compelling eyes met hers again, but he still seemed guarded for some reason, and being unable to read him makes her feel uneasy. Frustrated. She regretted teaching him how to build walls against her powers, remain neutral. Ugh.

She squinted at him suspiciously. “That’s an extremely specific solution…” Was he suggesting? Realization hit like a frying pan to the head. She decided to go along with it. She considered his words seriously. “I admit, it might work...Are you volunteering?” She ventured timidly, anxious to hear his answer.

Sneak peek of AU oneshot I’m writing damirae 🙈🙈🙈💜💜❤️❤️

What do you think?

#damirae #demon birds #damian x raven #damian wayne #raven roth #jon kent #conner kent #donna troy #jaime reyes #garfiend logan #teen titans #fake dating #college au #dc universe #dc fandom #robrae #writing #sneak peek

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goofylittlebear · 4 years

Text

Not Meant To Be Temporay

Chapter Two: Another Day Of Unsuccessful Flirting

Summary: Remus never though he would be swooning over a man that he only only spent a few hours with, but he knew he needed to get back to that tattoo shop.

Warnings: Teen!Patton, Mentions of/implied Homophobic parents but it’s very lowkey,

_____________

Roman sat on the couch, scrolling through Instagram when his brother came flopping down right next to him.

“Well hello there.” Roman rolled his eyes and Remus only sighed, loudly and continuously until Roman put his phone down. “What? What do you need?”

“I’m thinking about that guy from the tattoo shop.” He groaned.

“Okay. So?”

“I wanna go back.”

“You can’t just go back.”

“Says who?”

“Me. Your truck is getting fixed. How are you supposed to get there?” Roman crossed his arms.

“Well I was thinking that you-“

“No.” He rolled his eyes

“Please?” Remus’ eyes were pleading and his voice was sincere. Roman could only remain resolute for so long.

“Get in the car.” He sighed.

“Yes!”

He ran up to hug Roman, who was disgusted at the reaction.

“Get off! Get off! You’re a literal rat, stop it! Stop! It!”

Remus finally desisted and ran to the car.

Roman put his shoes on and begrudgingly drove Remus back to the tattoo shop.

“I’m not going inside with you.” Roman said with his face hiding against the steering wheel.

“Fine by me!” Remus told him and ran inside, right in front the exact man he wanted to see.

“Yeah but he was kind of c-“ Virgil turned and saw Remus, “Oh no.”

“Glad to see you too, Twink-182.”

Logan sighed and went into the back room as the conversation began to unfold.

“So, how’s your tattoo been?”

“I think it’s been alright... maybe you wanna check it out.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“Either way,” Remus moved in closer, “I know what I wanted to check out.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and began working on paperwork, “The exit?”

“Ugh. You’re not being fun! Can we please just have a dandy ol’ conversation?”

“Start one. I doubt I’ll enjoy it.” He sneered.

“So uh... you come here often?”

“I work here, dumbass.”

“Okay, fine. Hypothetically if I were to ask you if you were single, what would your answer be?”

“Why would it matter to you?”

Remus held his hand to his chest in offense, “Well if you must know, then I’m just curious.”

“Bullshit.”

“But like... are you?”

“What do you think?” He rolled his eyes.

“All I know is that you’re hotter than a frying pan, my good pal.” Remus said and leaned on the counter. He continued to try to banter with Virgil, and every attempt was shot down with some snarky remark. The only conversation that could be held was a conversation on spiders and other venomous animals. ”So if you’re single then... do you want to go on a date?”

“No way.”

“Why not?”

“Why the hell would I want to go on a date with somebody who makes an entire room uncomfortable?”

“Hey! I don’t try.”

“I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”

“Listen, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I don’t know why I did because I think I’m being relatively normal.”

Then the shop door opened.

“I’m so sorry,” Roman sighed as he walked in and stood next to Remus.

“It’s not your fault.” Virgil shook his head and placed his pen down.

“Well, he made me drive him.” Roman admitted.

“Nobody’s perfect.” Virgil shrugged and began stacking up his paperwork. “And Remus,”

“Yeah?”

“Your brother is cuter than you.” Virgil teased.

As he walked away he could hear the complaints of Remus accompanied by Roman’s laughter.

“Stop laughing!” Remus complained, “Wait! Virgil, Can I have your number?”

“I’m sorry did you say something? I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of your ego being shattered.” Virgil said without turning around. Roman could on my respond with more laughter.

“Ugh! Roman, you’re dumb!”

“Oh I like that guy. He’s fun.” Roman said, being shoved away from a very offended brother of his.

Virgil shut the door behind him and let out an exhausted laugh. Though he felt almost endeared that Remus actually called him by his real name rather than a dumb nickname.

“This is bullshit.” He complained to Logan, who couldn’t care less.

“No. This is your life now, bitchass.” Logan shrugged and walked away.

“Now hey, that’s being a little bit rude don’t you think?”

“Absolutely. That’s why I said it.” Logan walked back into the lobby quick enough to see Roman and Remus leaving.

Remus was pouting at Roman during the whole drive home. How could Virgil be so uninterested in him? He was a pretty unique guy if he said so himself. And he was as respectful as he could be without actually using self control, in the sense that he didn’t suggest anything entirely disgusting, just hinted at it with strange comments.

“He was just doing that to mess with me.” Remus realized out loud. How dare he? And after that charming conversation about bugs. Is nothing attractive to this man?

“Well it worked. And as a bonus, I feel great about myself now.”

“But what about me? You saw how hot he was!” Remus shouted, “You better not flirt with him.”

“You’re already after him, I’m not gonna do anything.”

“Really?”

“No. I don’t care. Sure he’s cute or whatever but it’s not like I really care. I don’t even know him.”

“Sometimes you don’t suck ass, Roman.”

“I can’t say the same about you.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet of you, Roman!” Remus said.

“I can’t wait until your truck is fixed.” Roman sighed as they continued to drive home.

Virgil was staring out the store and nearly didn’t notice asking when he was going to leave. His shift is over, after all.

“My brother is supposed to be staying over at my apartment. I told him I’d meet him here.”

“Then can you close the shop when he gets here?” Logan asked, “And tell him I said hi.”

“Sure thing.” Logan tossed him the keys before leaving and he waited for his brother.

He was listening to music as he waited, and was very concerned by the amount of songs he was able to get through without his brother showing up.

Deciding that calling him was the next best option, he was relieved when he picked up. And even more relieved when he was right outside the door.

“Patton, what took you so long?” Virgil asked as Patton crushed him in a hug. If they could see each other more often they would.

“It’s hard to walk in the cold.” He pulled his jacket tighter around himself.

“You should’ve called me. I could’ve picked you up.”

“But mom and dad said that-“

“I know,” Virgil was well aware that his parents said they never wanted to see him again, “But I wouldn’t be at their house, would I?”

“I guess not.”

“Come on, let’s get in the car,” Virgil said, “it’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”

“Yeah.” He agreed, waiting to find something to say before it hit him, “My birthday is next month!”

“You’re turning twenty five, right?”

“You know I’m not!” Patton complained, yet he was excited to see his brother joking around with him, “I’m turning thirteen.”

“Oh. My next guess was forty three.” Virgil sighed, acting defeat.

“You’re being mean.” Patton sighed, but Virgil’s smile- no matter how minuscule made him happy “Do you think mom and dad will let you come to my party?”

“Do you want the honest answer or the optimistic one?” Virgil asked with no real answer given to him.

“Do you think they’d even consider it?” Patton asked as the car came to a stop and his feet hit the ground outside of Virgil’s apartment.

“Maybe if you ask really nicely and hype me up. Maybe tell them I have a girlfriend.” Virgil joked.

“Why?”

“Bud, there’s a reason I don’t go over there anymore.”

“Oh... right. Sorry.” Sometimes it’s hard to pull Patton into the reality that not everyone is accepting of others, especially people like him and his brother.

“Nah. It’s good to be away from bad situations.” Virgil said, knowing the extents of his parent’s bullshit, “And if you ever need to get away from a situation- any at all, give me a call, please?”

“Okay.” Patton said, as his expression returned to being serious, “Do you think I’ll have to come out?”

“If you’re lucky then no... but they might find out.” Virgil said honestly as they walked into his house.

“Do you think it’s okay to know that I like boys when I’m a kid?”

“I think it’s fine. I’m glad that you’ve accepted yourself.” Virgil paused, “Speaking of which... do you like anybody?” He watched Patton’s face get redder after he changed the topic. He couldn’t understand how Patton could be we blatantly attracted to somebody but he would never admit it.

“Stop teasing me!” Patton looked down and found a seat on Virgil’s couch. Virgil knew that he very much did.

“Okay, okay.” He told him and prompted him to start his homework by handing him a pencil. “You know, I found a cute guy at work.”

Patton gasped, “Are you gonna date him?”

“I don’t know about that. He’s kind of an ass.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s cute. I’ve only seen him twice but he keeps flirting with me? Or so I think he is. He might be messing with me, honestly.”

“What did he say?”

“Things I don’t want to repeat.” Virgil sighed, “He’s a bit of a weirdo. And he’s really gross but I guess he has good intentions.”

“Would you want to date him?” Patton asked, a bit less enthusiastically.

Virgil didn’t hesitate to respond, “I don’t know. He makes me a bit uncomfortable sometimes. But if I could work past that with him then maybe I’d give him a chance.”

“What does he look like?”

“Well, he’s tall, he has dark hair- he dyed part of it, and he has a weird moustache... his eyes are brown... I don’t know. That’s him I guess.”

“Is he fun?”

Virgil ran his hands through his hair and sighed, “You could describe him like that. How about your mystery guy? Is he fun?”

“Hush. This guy sounds cool.” He said as he avoided answering the question.

#teen!patton #kid!patton #homophobia mention #homophobic parents #sanders sides #remus sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #dukexiety #not meant to be temporary #nmtbt #dukexiety fic

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440mxs-wife · 4 years

Text

Baking Day

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

You rolled over and looked at your alarm clock to see that it was 7:47 am. You had a lot to do that day, and you wanted to get an early start. First order of business was a shower, then fix breakfast for you and the boys. After that, it was time to start baking treats to stock up in the freezer for winter.

Once you'd had your shower, you started your preparations for breakfast. You pulled out the skillet for frying bacon, then cracked some eggs into a bowl and whisked them together. You chopped some onions and diced some ham to add to the eggs. As the bacon started to turn crispy, you bustled about the kitchen making coffee and setting up the toaster.

Sam wandered into the kitchen and flipped the bacon over in the pan. "Oh, thank you, Sam. I was just coming back to do that," you mentioned.

"No problem, I've got it. You're up awfully early this morning," Sam remarked with a sidelong glance.

"Have a lot to do today. It's time to get started on the winter baking to stock up the freezer," you explained.

"Ooh, really? What are you making?" he asked with great interest.

"Some cookies, breads and of course, pie," you replied.

"Did someone say 'pie'?" asked Dean, who walked in more alert than usual.

You chuckled as you removed the last of the bacon from the pan and started cooking the eggs with the ham and onions in it. "Yes, Dean, there will be pie," you confirmed. "Some for the freezer, but I'll keep one out fresh just for you," you teased, tweaking his nose.

"Aw, you're too good to me sweetheart," he remarked.

"Hope you remember that the next time I ask to borrow the Impala," you replied with a grin over your shoulder. Then you returned your attention to finishing the eggs. You reached into the fridge for the cheese and mixed some in. Once it had melted, you transferred the eggs to a serving bowl and placed it on the table.

By this time, Jack had joined Sam and Dean at the table. "Wow, this looks great!" Jack exclaimed. "I was just going to have cereal, but this looks much better!" he gushed.

"Thank you, Jack. Eat up boys, but please don't take too long. I have a lot of baking to do today," you mentioned.

Jack turned to you after filling his plate with eggs, bacon and toast. "Can we help?" he asked enthusiastically.

You preferred to have the kitchen to yourself on a day like this, but you didn't have the heart to say no to Jack. "O-okay, does anyone else want to help?"

"I would, but Dean and I have a hunt to prepare for. It looks like a pretty simple salt-and-burn, but I still need to research," Sam explained.

"Well, Cas isn't here at the moment, so looks like it's just you and me today, Jack," you said brightly. "We'll clean up from breakfast, then get started, okay?" you asked.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jack's blue eyes lit up with excitement at the chance to help you. While the boys are out hunting, you saw it as your job to take care of everyone in the bunker, especially him. You make sure the boys all have clean clothes, that injuries are patched up and you certainly keep them all well-fed. Almost like their mother, you thought with a smile. You get after Dean when he drinks more beer than water. You nudge Sam to go off to bed when he falls asleep researching in the library late at night. You're always available for Cas whenever he has questions about human customs or pop culture references.

And you've always been there for Jack whenever he has a nightmare, which you noticed has been happening a lot lately. He usually doesn't realize you're there, though, until you bring him out of it. You place a cold washcloth on his forehead and take his hand gently in yours as he slowly but surely wakes up.

As soon as Jack opens his eyes, he sort of collapses into your arms, burying his head in your shoulder. You rock him back and forth, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words in his ear. Once he calms down again, you gently lay him on his bed. His eyes usually close again as soon as his head hits the pillow. You brush the hair from his forehead, kiss his temple and slip out the door back to your room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

With Jack's assistance, you cleaned up the dishes from breakfast. Next, you pulled your mixing bowls out of the cupboards. "Okay, Jack, let's get started! First, we'll make the pumpkin and banana breads. Which one would you like to make?" you asked.

He thought for a minute, and decided he would make the banana bread. You gave him a mixing bowl and one of the box mixes. He followed you step by step, adding the eggs and other ingredients. Together, you poured the batter into the respective loaf pans, slid them into the oven and set the timer.

You smiled at Jack, who beamed at you in return. He was happy to be included in something he considered to be so important, and to be spending time with you. "Next item on the list, oatmeal chocolate chip cookies!" you declared. You took out your largest mixing bowl and added the butter, sugar and other ingredients. As you called them out, Jack made it his mission to find each ingredient in the cupboard or the fridge and bring it to you.

When it came time to add the chocolate chips, you told Jack to hold out his hands. You opened the bag, then poured some in his hands. You poured some into your hand and just before popping them in your mouth, you winked and grinned at Jack. He followed your example and groaned in appreciation as the chocolate melted in his mouth.

By the time you had finished making the cookie batter, the pumpkin and banana breads were finished baking. You turned to pull them out of the oven, but Jack already had one of the loaf pans in his bare hands. "Oh my goodness, Jack! Put that down on the counter right now, you'll burn your fingers!" He did as he was told and you frantically grabbed his hands to check for injuries. You didn't care if the rest of the bread loaves burned. You were more concerned with seeing if Jack was hurt.

You pulled him over to the sink and started a stream of cold water. You held his hands under the cold water, hoping blisters wouldn't form on his fingers. After a few minutes, you pulled his hands out from under the water to inspect them. You were relieved to see that there were no blisters from what would normally have been a second or third degree burn. You turned off the faucet and leaned back against the sink, trying to collect your thoughts.

Jack nudged your arm then laid a hand on your shoulder. "A-Are you all right?" he asked.

"I should be asking you that, Jack. I am so sorry, I should've told you about using the oven mitts to take things out of the oven," you explained. You walked over to where the mitts were hanging on the wall and pulled them on. You removed the remaining loaves of bread, set them on the counter and closed the oven.

"Jack, I apologize. You really could have gotten hurt, even though I know you can heal your own injuries. A mom is supposed to give you proper instructions on what do when the oven timer goes off," you muttered. "I-I mean, a mom-type person," you quickly corrected.

"But I am not injured. I was able to heal myself, so everything's okay," he said as he showed me both hands.

"Yes, I know, Jack, but you can't always count on that. From now on, let's be careful, okay? Please?" you implored.

He thought for a few seconds, then smiled at you. "Okay, I promise," he grinned and gave you a hug.

"All righty, Jack. Let's get back to work. Carefully, though," you cautioned as you returned his embrace.

The rest of the baking was completed without further injury to either you or Jack. True to your word, you left one apple pie out on the counter for Dean to sample when he and Sam got back. The freezer was now stocked with pumpkin and banana breads, as well as apple, cherry and peach pies. There were also dozens of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies to have with hot cocoa on cold winter nights.

You had just closed the freezer with all of the newly-baked goodies when you heard a whoosh of wings, signaling the arrival of Castiel. "Good evening, Cas," you said with a weary smile. Just his mere presence made your heart happy. You hoped that it wasn't too obvious that you had a crush on your angel friend. You were pretty sure that Sam and Dean didn't know, otherwise, you'd never hear the end of it. That, and you doubted that Cas felt for you anything remotely like you felt for him.

When you first met Castiel, you were mesmerized by the intensity of his ocean-blue eyes. They seemed to peer straight into your soul, as if trying to see all of your secrets. You admired how he would always strive to do what was right, even when it was difficult. He was kind, loyal and his innocence regarding certain topics was endearing to you. You loved the sound of his voice, deep and gravelly, which made his thoughts on any subject something worth listening to.

"Good evening to you. I see you have been busy today, judging by all of the dirty dishes in the sink and the well-stocked freezer," he remarked.

"Well, Jack and I were pretty busy today, making breads, pies and cookies. It was nice to have his help in the kitchen," you answered. "I had hoped that maybe you could have joined us. Oh, but I'm sure you were busy with other, more important matters," you added hastily.

Sensing your mood, Cas asked, "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, I guess," you started as your gaze dropped to the floor. "Well....I thought that Jack got hurt earlier by taking a something out of the oven with his bare hands. He didn't know about using oven mitts, and I forgot to tell him. He's fine and everything, no injuries, but....if he was a full human....Cas, he would really have been hurt, and it would've been my fault," you finished quietly.

As you walked towards Jack's bedroom, Cas was close behind you, talking about how he spent his day. Sam and Dean had already left their dirty clothes in the laundry room for you, but you didn't yet have any of Jack's clothes. You knocked on Jack's door and asked for his dirty laundry, which you then took to be washed.

While you sorted the clothes, you were humming a song that was your mom's favorite. "Can I help you with anything?" Cas asked. "It's getting late, and you look like you need some rest," he pointed out.

You laid a hand on his trench-coated arm and smiled. "Oh, I'm fine, Cas. After I start this laundry, I'll tidy up in the library on my way to the kitchen. Then I can tackle those dishes Jack and I used. Once I get all of that done, only then will I feel like I can relax. Is there something I can get for you? Glass of water, cup of tea, beer, anything?" you asked.

Cas put one hand on your shoulder and one on your cheek as he peered into your hazel eyes. "Take a deep breath. Don't worry about me, if I need something, I know where to find it," he said as he winked at you.

You chuckled as you started the laundry, then as planned, you moved on to tidy up the library, humming to yourself. Jack opened his door to find Castiel staring after you, shaking his head and grinning at seeing your sudden burst of energy. "Castiel! When did you get here?" Jack asked.

Cas explained that he had just arrived, and that the two of you had a nice conversation. "How was your day, Jack?" he asked.

"It was great, I got to help in the kitchen today! We made pumpkin and banana breads, cookies, even pie," Jack beamed with pride.

"That's what I heard. I'm glad you had a good time. You have a wonderful teacher, by the way. She comes from a long line of expert bakers," Cas remarked.

"I know, she was very patient with me. Only, I scared her when I took stuff out of the oven," he dropped his gaze. "She thought I got hurt, and got upset. She blamed herself for not telling me about using the oven mitts," he said quietly. "But I tried to tell her that it wasn't her fault, and I didn't get hurt," he quickly added.

"You must remember to be careful, Jack. You may not always be able to heal yourself, you know," Cas remarked. "She is very fond of you, Jack, and considers you as part of her family. She doesn't want to see anyone get hurt, especially those she loves," he explains.

"She's so wonderful, Cas. She takes such good care of everything and everyone in this bunker--Sam, Dean, me and even you sometimes. She's sweet and kind, and....sometimes I forget that she's not my mother. I-I know I never met my mother in person, but I saw the video she left me," Jack explained. "Do you think she and my mother would have been friends?" he asked.

"Your mother was an extraordinary woman. She was courageous and nothing was more important to her than you and your happiness," Cas replied. "I'm certain they would have been friends. And I'm sure that your mother would be happy to know that you are so well-protected and loved here," he smiled.

"I think so too," Jack remarked. Then he asked Cas where you were, because he wanted to tell you how much fun he had today.

"I believe she said that she was going to tidy things up in the library, then head to the kitchen to take care of the dishes," Cas frowned. "However, I wish she would just relax instead of trying to do everything by herself," he grumbled.

Jack and Cas walked towards the kitchen, where the lights were off. Jack turned them on and saw that all of the dishes had been washed and were set out to dry overnight. "Where is she?" he wondered.

They retraced their steps from the kitchen. Then Castiel noticed you curled up in a corner of the couch, fast asleep. Both of them smiled at your sleeping form, because you still had a dish-drying towel slung over your shoulder. Cas told Jack he would watch over you while you slept, so Jack went off to bed. Before he did, though, he leaned over and kissed your forehead. Jack then smiled at Castiel, then returned to his room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Castiel removed his trench coat and suit jacket and reached for your favorite blanket. He draped it around you, then sat next to you on the couch. He tenderly brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, and took a moment to study you as you slept. He noticed the light dusting of freckles across your button-like nose, and a faint blush colored your cheeks.

He remembered the first time he met you, after a particularly nasty vampire hunt. Blood spatters were everywhere, on your clothes, in your hair, and on your body. Sam was the least injured of the group, so you sent him to the showers first. Then you turned your attention to Dean, and stitched up his wounds. Dean tried to take care of you before him, because your wounds looked worse. He knew you'd been bitten, so you had likely lost more blood, but you firmly insisted that Dean was healed first.

Once you finished first aid on Dean, you started to feel a bit lightheaded from the blood loss. You lost consciousness and passed out on the motel bed. That was when they called Cas in to help heal you. When Cas first saw you, he thought you were the most dazzling woman he'd ever seen. But, beyond your outward appearance, he also saw how pure and beautiful your soul was. He liked what he saw, and decided that he wanted to know more.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Cas slid his arm around your shoulders and gently pulled you closer to his left side. You shifted closer, resting your head on his upper body and your hand on his chest. Cas leaned over to rest his head to yours and detected the scent of strawberries from your shampoo. He closed his eyes and curled his fingers around your hand on his chest. When he brushed his lips to the back of your wrist, he could smell the vanilla from your body wash on your skin. For a moment, Cas wondered if your perfect pink lips were as soft and sweet as they appeared to be.

Some time later, Cas felt you stir a little as he held you. First, he heard you mumble in your sleep, mostly about someone being hurt. "Jack!" you murmured. Your head moved back and forth, and Cas could feel your body trembling in fear. "No, leave him alone! Sam, Dean, help me! Cas, please get Jack out of here," you begged, as sobs wracked your body.

Castiel brought his other arm around to cradle you, drawing you closer. "Shh, shh, everything's all right, Honeybee," he soothed. "You're safe now, I promise," he whispered. At that moment, all he could think of was how much he wanted to keep hold of you and protect you from every evil in the world.

A few minutes later, your body stopped shaking. When you opened your honey-and-green colored eyes, you saw Cas looking down at you, his blue eyes filled with concern.

"Cas? Is everything all right?" you asked sleepily.

"I should ask you the same question. It seems you fell asleep here on the couch, and had a nightmare. Would you like to talk about it?" Cas asked.

You thought for a minute, trying to remember what happened in your nightmare. "Someone was hurting my family. This time, it was Jack who had been captured, and someone was hurting him. I was restrained somehow, and pleaded with you, Sam and Dean to help Jack, to rescue him and take him away. Only it seemed like none of you could hear me, so they kept on hurting Jack," you replied. You broke down into tears again, which caused Cas to take you back into his arms.

Suddenly, you bolted down the hall to Jack's room, with Cas right behind you. You carefully opened Jack's bedroom door, relieved to see him sound asleep in his bed. You quietly closed the door, leaned against the wall just outside his room and breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, you returned to the living room area and sat on the edge of the couch. Cas took your hands in his and resumed his earlier seat on the couch next to you.

"I'm sorry, Cas. For some reason, I had to see Jack with my own eyes. I had to make sure he was okay, after that nightmare I had," you explained.

"I understand. You were very upset from your nightmare, Honeybee. It's only natural that you would want visual confirmation that all was well," Cas replied. While he held your hand, he traced small circles on the back with his thumb.

Your ears perked up at the new nickname Cas gave you. "Cas, did you just call me 'Honeybee'?" you asked tentatively.

He tilted his head to one side as he thought for a moment before answering. "Well, yes, because you're sweet like honey, and you're hard-working like the bees," he responded simply. He continued to hold your hand, then asked, "Why? Do you not like it?"

Cas' gentle strokes on the back of your hand were making it difficult for you to concentrate. "Um, no Cas, I like it. It's fine. It's just that nicknames like that are usually reserved for when two people are more than friends," you replied, as your gaze dropped to the floor.

"About that....I've been having these....feelings where you're concerned. I feel warm just from being around you, and there's a fluttering in my stomach. My heart seems to beat faster whenever I just think of you. I took some time to study you as you slept, and noticed some wondrous things. For example, I noticed that you have freckles on your nose, and I love the smell of your shampoo. It's like strawberries," he added with a grin, which you couldn't help but return.

"I'll remember to get some more, then," you replied. "Wh-what else di-did you notice?" you stammered.

Cas reached up to cradle your face between his hands. "I remember thinking how smart and funny you are. I see that very often, you put the well-being of others before yourself. You take such good care of everyone and everything around you. But, I believe that you deserve to have someone to ensure that you are taken care of as well. Perhaps someone who thinks of you as more than his friend," Cas added softly as he stroked your cheek with his thumb.

"Did you have someone in mind? Or do you know of someone who already thinks of me that way?" you asked. You were staring so intently at Cas' blue eyes that you didn't notice he was slowly closing the gap between you. By the time you realized it, his lips were on yours in a gentle but tentative kiss, almost as if he were testing the waters.

Cas pulled back a little to break the kiss and touched his forehead to yours. Your right hand reached up to cup his cheek, and your left hand curled around the back of his neck. You traced his strong jawline with your index finger. Before Cas could completely break away, though, you tugged on his neck to bring him back. You meshed your lips with his, the kiss a little deeper and more insistent this time.

"Oh, Cas," you whispered. "I've imagined this moment thousands of times. I didn't say anything before because I didn't want to lose our friendship if your feelings weren't the same. I'm glad to have someone in my life who cares for me as much as I care for him. I love you, Castiel," you remarked.

"And I love you, Honeybee. You know, Jack told me he had a great day today, being able to help you. I could tell he appreciated how patient you were with teaching him. He said that you remind him of his mother, Kelly Kline. I think that he has been missing her a lot lately, which could explain why his nightmares have been so frequent. I also think that having you around makes him miss her less. I am glad for that," Cas finished.

"What a wonderful thing for him and for you to say," you replied softly as you felt your cheeks grow warm. "I wish I could have met her. I can't ever take her place and wouldn't want to try. But if Jack needs someone 'mom-like' to talk to, I will definitely be there for him. Just as I will always be there for you," you promised.

"I will always be there for you as well, my Honeybee," Cas replied. You leaned towards each other until your lips met in a fiery, passion-filled kiss. You slid your hand up from Cas' cheek and started running your fingers through his raven-black hair. You massaged the top of his head with your fingertips, drawing a soft growl of pleasure from your angel. "Sweetheart, I believe it is best if we continue this activity elsewhere," he said huskily.

You nodded your agreement and rose up from the couch, holding out your hand. Castiel took it in his own and interlaced his fingers with yours as the two of you walked to your bedroom. Once inside, you made sure to lock your door to prevent any interruptions.

#castiel #castiel x reader #spn imagines #spn fluff

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pixiegrl · 4 years

Note

“pipe the fuck down, asshole.” for muke, if you feel like writing more from the tangled au I think this would really fit them,,,,,,

Maggie! I love Tangled AU! I hope you like this, it’s technically part 1 since it’s before the lantern scene. (shout out to @pushkinalexander for reading this over)

And I cross-posted it on ao3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/25866775)

“Michael,” Luke says, tugging on Michael’s sleeve again. “What’s that?”

Michael steadfastly ignores Luke. Even since they left the tower, Luke’s been tugging on Michael’s sleeve with question after question about everything they’ve seen. Michael has looped from finding it cute and endearing to annoying. Luke can’t possibly be dumb enough to not what most things are. He had books in his tower, he could read, and he had a window. Michael has seen the drawings and paintings Luke made. He has to know what most things are.

“Michael,” Luke whines, tugging harder. Michael stares straight ahead, pretending he can’t hear Luke. He’s not letting Luke win this one.

A wet tongue licks his cheek. Michael shrieks and jumps, trying to shove Petunia off of his shoulder. She misses his hand, jumping neatly onto Luke’s shoulder again as he giggles. How can a lizard look so smug? Michael glares at Petunia. She burrows back into Luke’s hair.

“Michael, what are those?” Luke points at some flowers by a nearby river. Michael breathes heavily out of his nose. Michael doesn’t know every single flower there is and he’s not sure why Luke keeps asking him as though he does.

“I don’t know. Pink ones?”

Luke darts over to them, leaning down to get close to them.

“Hang on, you don’t know if they’re safe or not!”

Luke rolls his eyes. Michael can’t believe the amount of attitude Luke has for someone who’s lived in a tower their whole life with only a lizard to keep him company. If it wasn’t for the crown that he knows Luke has, Michael would have left Luke by now and let him walk himself and his long hair to the lanterns. As it is, Michael has almost tripped over Luke’s hair enough times now that he’s getting sick of it. Maybe if Luke goes to sleep tonight he can just cut it off and be done with it.

Luke has already snapped a few of the flowers off their stems, humming lightly as he tries to weave the flowers together into something like a crown. He continues to hum as he leans over and drops the crown onto Michael’s head. Michael frowns, moving to bat the flowers away. He’s got a mysterious rugged persona to maintain and that does not include the flowers Luke is determined to stick in his hair.

Luke shrieks loudly, jumping onto Michael’s back. Michael grunts under the motion, sagging a little under Luke’s weight. For such a delicate looking guy, he’s heavy when he wants to be.

“Michael it’s going to hurt us!”

“What? What is going to hurt us?”

“That!” Luke yells, pointing at something on the ground with the frying pan he’s been using as a weapon. Michael looks down. A small brown rabbit is sitting up on its hind legs, sniffing at the air. Michael thinks he feels his eye twitch.

“Luke, it’s a rabbit. It’s not going to hurt us.”

“But what if it has razor sharp teeth? What if it’s looking for a meal?”

“Princess, it’s a rabbit. They eat grass and other shit. Look how little it is! It couldn’t even bite your ankles if it wanted to. It’s harmless.”

Luke peaks around Michael’s shoulder. The rabbit twitches its nose at them. Luke makes a tiny squeak sound, lowering the pan.

“Do you think it’ll let me touch it?”

“You just said it might have razor sharp teeth and now you want to pet it?”

“It’s cute! Besides, you said it was little.”

Michael huffs. “Well then be careful, it probably smells fear,” Michael rolls his eyes, making to drop Luke to the ground.

Luke approaches the rabbit cautiously, sticking his hand out in front of him. The rabbit sniffs him and leans his head forward, allowing Luke to pet it. Luke giggles. Michael finds it very cute and then promptly decides that he will not find it cute. Luke is annoying and whiny and it doesn’t matter that he’s glowing in this light, smiling widely as he pets the rabbit, dimple in his cheek. Just because Luke is cute and Michael has thought about kissing him doesn’t make him any less of a pain in Michael’s ass.

“Michael, look,” Luke giggles. He’s holding the rabbit now, cuddling it to his cheek. The rabbit doesn’t seem to mind being cuddled either, sniffing at Luke’s cheek. Petunia is looking at it disdainfully, as if it’s going to take her place as Luke’s favorite creature. It’s painfully cute and it makes Michael’s heart ache thinking about how this is the first time Luke has ever left his tower (prison) and that this is the first time he’s actually experienced the world. He looks happy and content, cooing at the rabbit and petting its head.

“Luke, we can’t keep him.”

Luke pouts, “Why not?”

“It’s a wild creature. You can’t keep a wild creature locked up if it doesn’t want to be. He’ll be happier roaming free.”

Luke frowns, looking down at the rabbit sadly. His glow seems to dim slightly. Michael realizes what he’s just said. It’s a little too painfully close to Luke’s situation to feel right mentioning out loud.

“Hey, it’ll be fine. He’s probably got a whole rabbit family to get back to and rabbit adventures to go on. Besides, we already have an animal mascot and your hair to deal with, we don’t need another bother,” Michael says, patting Luke awkwardly on the shoulder. Luke looks up at Michael, blues eyes wide and head cocked to the side. Luke’s doing that thing where it’s like he’s staring into Michael’s soul and Michael does not like that.

“Come on, we gotta go. We still have to find somewhere to eat or stay or whatever before it gets dark. Can’t leave you at the mercy of wild animals out here, Princess.”

Luke lets the rabbit go, after giving it one last pet on the head. It hops off into the bushes and Luke watches it go a little sadly before turning to Michael, nose scrunched up.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Call me Princess.”

“It’s a nickname. People use them as terms of endearment, or something like that,” Michael says. He’s never had anyone to call a nickname before, but he’s seen people use them all the time. Especially at the orphanage, where it seemed like everyone else was friends with each other except for him.

“I don’t like it.”

“What, having a nickname?”

“No. Princess. When you say it it sounds mean. I don’t like it when you sound mean.”

Michael rolls his eyes. God, Luke may be pretty but he’s really annoying when he wants to be. Michael knows it’s because Luke hasn’t had any human contact outside of his mother, but still. He’s picky as fuck and very opinionated about things. Since they started, Luke’s made it known that he doesn’t like shoes and refuses to wear them because he likes the feeling of the grass on his bare feet. He hasn’t stopped smiling at everything they’ve encountered, even when it’s something as silly as a “neat looking rock.” He hasn’t been deterred by Michael’s mood at all. It shouldn’t be so endearing.

Michael glances at Luke. He’s focused on the ground, worrying his lip between his teeth like he’s nervous about something. Oh. He’s worried that Micheal is upset at him because he said something about the nickname. Which makes sense from what little he knows about his mother.

“I mean, I don’t have to call you a nickname if you don’t want me to. I can just call you Luke. It is your name and I can respect that.”

“I don’t mind the nickname, but I don’t like that one,” Luke says slowly, as if he’s thinking about how to phrase it. He scrunches his nose up, glancing at Michael.

Michael tries to give him a reassuring smile. “Well, I’ll have to think of something else, won’t I Lu.”

Luke beams. He links arms with Michael, tugging him along slightly. He starts babbling about everything that he wants to do once they get to the lanterns and town. The sunlight streaming through the trees hits Luke, lighting him up and making him glow. He looks happy and content, Petunia peeking out from his hair, the only burst of contrasting color against the purple of his shirt. It’s the first time Michael has seen him at peace since they left the tower. Michael knows Luke means to go back to his tower after all of this is over, but it doesn’t sit right with him to send him back after showing him the world down here. Everything about the way Luke holds himself, from the constant need to touch Michael and the constant stream of conversation, makes him wonder if Luke is worried this will all stop existing if he slows down for a moment.

Maybe he can give Luke something to remember this by. Something solid and tangible to remind him that this is real, that everything they’re doing is his gift to Luke. He spots a little clump of purple flowers off the side of the trail and he stops abruptly, pulling Luke to a stop with him. Luke cocks his head to the side as Michael pulls away, bending down to tug a few of the flowers free from the ground. He knows he can’t make a crown like Luke did earlier, but he can at least give these to him.

He tries not to look Luke in the eyes as he tucks a few of the flowers behind his ears. The purple stands out brightly against the blonde of his hair. Up close, Luke’s eyes are a bright, clear blue and full of wonder and excitement.

“There you go. A little color to brighten you up, Sunshine,” Michael says, face going warm and pink as soon as he realizes what he’s said. The nickname had slipped out, unplanned for. It fits Luke though, as he beams wildly at Michael, sunny and bright. Michael has to glance away, embarrassed slightly.

“Sunshine? Oh, that’s adorable, I love it so much. This is the best birthday present ever, even better than the time Mother gave me a guitar and that lesson book. And you gave me flowers? I’ve never had anyone give me flowers before unless you count the one time Petunia snuck out of the tower and brought me a few that we saw growing but those weren’t as colorful as these. Does this mean we’re friends now? Friends give each other gifts right? Here, I want to give you this!” Luke babbles excitedly, pulling off the sunburst ring he’s wearing, the only piece of jewelry he has, and grabbing Michael’s hand, pushing the ring onto his middle finger. Michael feels his face heat up even more. Luke’s glances up at Michael, grinning.

“I’ve never had friends before. Unless you count Petunia, but a lizard can’t talk to you when you have a question about what color to use in your painting. And Mother doesn’t count because I hardly see her and she’s my mother. But I’m glad you’re my friend, Michael. You’re a great friend taking me to see the lanterns and doing all this,” Luke glances at Michael, frowning slightly, “Michael, are you okay? Your face is really red, do you need to sit down?”

“Oh, pipe the fuck down, asshole,” Michael mumbles, batting Luke’s hands away as he starts to touch his face. Luke looks somewhere between scandalized and amused at Michael. Michael gives him a small smile to let him know he’s joking. Luke beams widely, pulling one of the flowers behind his ear and sticking it into Michael’s hair. He grabs his hand and interlocks their fingers as they continue on their walk. It’s nice, Michael decides. Getting to have a friend like Luke.

#asks #5 seconds of summer #michael clifford #luke hemmings #muke #5sos #maggie i hope you like this #it's more tangled au folks and it's just as sappy #my writing #calumsclifford

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excuseme-youpretty · 4 years

Text

Royalty

Pairing: Kim Namjoon / Reader

Side Pairings: None

Rating: Teen

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1981

Notes: This is only my second BTS piece, so please be kind! I wrote this for my sister’s birthday so I apologize if it feels a little too person-specific. I’m always eager to up my BTS writing practice so if you have any small drabble requests my ask box is always open!

Namjoon's lips have always been inexplicably soft. A natural balm, smooth as silk and as sweet as syrup. They pave a pathway across the valley of your throat with a sense of contemplative urgency, parted ever so slightly, just wet enough to leave glistening halos on your flesh which are swiftly tantalized by the texture of his warm breath.

He runs the tip of his nose underneath your jawline, a slow back-and-forth momentum which pulls you further and further from your cotton candy dreams and into an even sweeter reality. Your lashes flutter against your cheekbones like butterfly wings, dancing to the beat of Namjoon's even exhales, before they finally will themselves to part.

The first thing you notice once your slumber has adequately dissolved is Namjoon's beautiful dimples, thumbed like sequins into his cheeks, and his soft endorphin-rich smile. His eyes crease into pretty little crescents and he beams down at you as though you were composed of solid gold.

"Good morning, my Queen. Did you sleep well?"

You turn your body that bit closer toward him, his hand unfurling to rest against your pelvis. He drags his thumb in a semi-circle against your hip bone and nestles you closer.

"Mm, I did. But I'm even happier having you to wake up to."

Namjoon physically illuminates underneath your compliments. He tilts in toward you, pressing his mouth against your own for a lingering kiss that leaves you utterly breathless and tingling from head to toe.

When you both part he nuzzles his nose against your own, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His own lilac locks have been left in a state of complete disarray, loosely ruffled around his neck and pulled in all sorts of directions by the gravity of your shared pillows, and his eyes have been kissed by the crystalline influence of morning.

He looks breathtaking.

"Happy Birthday, baby." He sighs, pressing another heated kiss to your mouth before pulling himself away from your much-desired influence. "I've already got your first gift ready and waiting."

He springs to his feet with more care and balance than you thought him capable of possessing, a vision in his pinstripe Koya pajamas, and makes a beeline toward the door.

You watch him as he shuffles out into your hallway with a puzzled expression on your face but enough excitement in your stomach to create an eruption of confetti. You shuffle until your spine rests against your headboard and drum restlessly on your bare thighs.

Out in the hallway you can hear Namjoon shuffling around, followed by a brief clatter of something hitting the floor and Namjoon's tell-tale sigh of exasperation. You giggle affectionately to yourself. That's your Joon at his finest, living up to his reputation for destruction.

He reemerges no less than a minute later, fumbling with the handle to your bedroom door before he proudly presents a heaped tray decorated with a steel cloche and a vibrant crimson rose poised proudly within a fluted vase. He emits a noise akin to fanfare, the sound so small and devastatingly sweet that Hoseok himself would find the impromptu melody endearing.

"Oh, Namjoon! You didn't have to do all this!" You exclaim, your arms already outstretched to receive the weighted tray.

You perch it upon your lap, using your parted thighs to keep it perfectly balanced as Namjoon once again slots in place beside you. He presses a soft kiss against your cheek and watches as you wriggle your fingertips mere centimeters above the cloche.

You lift the lid slowly and are instantly inundated by a verifiable buffet of tantalizing sights and smells. Namjoon has prepared two plates for your consumption; one, a trio of small but fluffy pancakes adorned with ripe strawberries and rivulates of rich sticky syrup, and another loaded up with jeweled eggs, buttered toast, and three strands of crispy bacon.

Your stomach emits a loud rumble of hunger and you eagerly lift your cutlery with the intent of satiating your rapidly building appetite. Yet, you give a temporary pause, arching your eyebrow in thought.

"Um…. You didn't cook this yourself, did you Joon?" You question, envisioning a kitchen full of charred frying pans and fractured glass.

Namjoon laughs breezily, however, pressing his smile in against your thundering pulsepoint.

"Not this time. Jin-hyung prepared it for me. He dropped it off about ten minutes ago."

Your chest ignites with pockets of warmth at the notion of a slack-jawed and sleepy-eyed Seokjin making the small venture to your shared apartment armed with nothing but an oversized sweatshirt and an insulated bag full of perfectly prepared morsels ready for the taking.

All in the name of your birthday.

“Remind me to thank him later.” You muse, digging your fork through a disc of fluffy buttermilk pancakes and moaning as soon as the batter dissolves on your tongue.

Namjoon hums quietly to himself, pleased by your delighted reaction. He presses another swift kiss against your temple and reaches an arm across your body, making sure to graze his elbow across your chest in the process. He quickly grabs your television remote and fumbles around with the few buttons until a picturesque - and wholly familiar - scene flashes across the screen poised in the corner of your room; a prominent jewel-toned castle, lavender constellations, and a Disney logo so illustrative and magical that your toes curl inward against your comforter as you watch it wind across the screen.

You hear the initial sting of Arabian Nights, a wisp of lavender flame curling upward from the bottom of the screen, and you all but shriek in delight as you tuck yourself that bit closer to your lover’s comfortable embrace.

Aladdin plays comfortably in the background whilst you engorge yourself on your breakfast, your teeth clicking against the prongs of your fork from how heartily your lips echo every word spoken on screen.

Namjoon observes you with a magnified fascination. His thumb swipes against your upturned lips to clean away a small droplet of misplaced syrup from the crease of your mouth. You coo merrily in response, pressing a kiss to the pad of his thumb and nuzzle the inside of his wrist.

“I love you.” He sighs, reaching down to tangle his fingers intimately inside your own.

The motion has his wedding band clinking prettily against your own, a pleasant thrill which seems to resonate comfortably up his vena amoris and straight to a rapidly inclining heartbeat.

One glance at your beautiful face, your eyes creased from starstruck bewilderment as animated characters toe across indigo sands, and your plush lips polishing off every crumb that Seokjin had skillfully prepared for you, is enough to make Namjoon dizzy.

He is completely, and utterly, captivated by you.

"Oh my god." You gasp as soon as you have finished your meal, your head tipping back to rest against your headboard and your hands pushing away your empty plates.

Namjoon is there in an instant, gathering your tray before you can protest. He shuffles across the carpet and places the much-lighter tray on your dressing table, humming happily as he does so.

"So, I know we all agreed to give you our gifts over dinner tonight," He begins, bending at the waist to retrieve something from the lowermost drawer of your vanity. "But I couldn't resist getting you a little something to tide you over until then."

You watch as your husband rises to his feet once again, dawn spilling forth from aerated curtains to pool like honey inside of Namjoon's dimpled cheeks. He holds two packages in his hands, each bound in a shiny silver paper and adorned by neat hand-curled ribbons which drape like streamers across his knuckles.

You can't help but to bop with poorly maintained excitement.

"Joon, come on. You didn't have to get me anything. You already do so much for me."

"I know. But I don't do nearly as much as you deserve."

Namjoon joins you on the bed once more, placing both presents in your lap, and sealing his sentiment with a gentle cherry-blossom kiss against your temple.

You run your thumbs across the smallest gift first, tearing the paper in clean and even strips to reveal a small aquamarine box hidden underneath. It's a little heavy despite its small stature. And when you pry the lid open you are not surprised to find gleaming jewellery poised prettily on cushioned velvet.

It is a strikingly similar pair of silver bracelets, one broader - longer - than the other. They have each been engraved by a unique script and three-dimensional charm; a perfectly pronounced moniker of King and Queen.

Your heart feels full.

"Oh, Namjoon! They're beautiful!"

You extend your wrist toward him without hesitation, turning your hand over so that your husband can fasten your bracelet in place after an extended minute of uncoordinated fumbling.

The silver feels cool against your pulsepoint. Thrilling. Like a permanent salve which keeps your heart undulating inside your chest.

You manage to secure his own bracelet with a lot less effort, watching as the fragile chain settles comfortably around his piqued bone.

"I love you." You sigh happily, pressing the tip of your finger against your lower lip.

Namjoon catches on quick, swiftly closes the space between your mouths and kisses you with sincerity and mirth. His thumb paints a neat line underneath your jawline, keeping you flush against him so that he can taste the way your lips twitch into a feverish grin.

"Mm, I love you too." Namjoon sighs as soon as your lips part. "Now come on, I want to see your reaction to your other gift."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and bring your second gift close to your chest. This package is larger, more malleable, and as you tear through another wall of paper your fingertips brush against an intricate expansion of lace.

You smirk to yourself, pointer fingers hooking underneath a delicate pair of straps to lift the beautiful lingerie into view. It's an exquisite shade of amethyst, the airbrushed silk soft against your fingertips.

Beside you, Namjoon squirms.

His eyebrow elevates on his forehead when you turn to look his way. His lips twitch around a velveteen smirk, as rich and smooth as melted chocolate dripping into your soul, and he spreads an open palm over your pelvis to tilt you closer.

"You wanna try it on for me, birthday girl?" He whispers, his voice dropping several octaves.

You feel as though you're positively drowning in him; in everything he has to offer.

You hop from your bed with a practiced sense of vigor, clutching your lingerie close to your chest. As you walk around the bed with the intent of disappearing into your bathroom, Namjoon swiftly catches your ass with the heat of his palm.

The sound ricochets throughout the room, bouncing across all four walls and settling comfortably within the depths of your stomach amidst a colony of pretty little butterflies. You giggle, flashing your husband a small but endearing smile.

As soon as your bathroom door closes, Namjoon settles comfortably against your headboard and sighs to himself. Content.

He glances down at the intricately looped silver decorating his wrist, at the matching platinum band encasing his ring finger, and feels a tingling sensation prickle at the base of his spine.

He brings his wedding ring to his lips and kisses it sweetly, tuning in to the percussive melody of his elevated heartbeat.

In the back of his mind, Namjoon considers formulating a new beat from his own infatuation. He pictures a string of guitars, Yoongi's dexterous fingertips prancing across ivory keys with precision, and a tempo which eagerly demonstrates how deeply he adores you.

But at the front of his mind, he is consumed by one thought alone.

He's so incredibly, deeply, painfully in love with you. His Queen.

#bts #bangtan boys #bangtan sonyeondan #bts ff #ff #kim namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #bts fiction #bts scenario #bts reaction #bts prompts #bts drabble #kim namjoon drabble #husband kim namjoon #rm #rap monster #bts imagine #peanootzramano #writing

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yallreddieforthis · 5 years

Text

Impossible Things

Fandom: It Chapter Two, It (2017)

Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

Rating: Explicit (in later chapters)

Words: 1.9k

Also on AO3

“What the fuck,” he mutters, trying his key one more time. His therapist always says he’s too quick to jump right to the doom and gloom. Maybe he didn’t get evicted all of a sudden. Maybe he just put the key in upside down or… Nope. His key straight up does not work.

And then suddenly the door swings open and Richie whacks him in the shoulder with a frying pan.

August 7, 2013 was the worst day of Eddie Kaspbrak’s life. He got dumped on a breakfast date by this guy he was kind of very into at the time, he totaled his brand-new Dodge Dart...by hitting a cop car, spilling iced coffee all over himself in the process. And that was just before work.

When he got to work, he was informed by fucking Claudia of all people that his favorite patient who was supposed to make a full fucking recovery had died during the overnight shift. He spent the rest of the day completing paperwork for his now-deceased buddy over in 44G, and playing a super fun game ferreting information back and forth between one of the endocrinologists--who was on a cruise with almost no reception--and her crazy bitch of a patient who insisted that Dr. Google told her she could cure her diabetes with a combination of like six essential oils and lemon juice. And also fighting over the phone with Marcus from Geico. Fuck Marcus from Geico and his manager Suzanne.

Anyway, yeah, that day was fucking nothing compared to this Saturday, when he went back to his shitty ass hometown, watched the first guy he ever loved die in his arms and then wiggled out the back door of a collapsing house containing all his childhood friends.

He’s pretty sure he hasn’t completely processed the awfulness of the whole thing yet. He’s done a decent amount of crying, but like… God, where to even begin? There’s literally no one alive who he can talk to about what he went through. The idea of keeping all this shit to himself for the rest of his life makes him want to consider pulling a Stan. Not that he ever would, actually. Because he’s a stubborn bitch, and when life tells him to go fuck himself, he usually just yells it right back.

Also he got stabbed in the fucking face by Henry Goddamn Bowers. And like, Ben did a decent job patching it up with gauze and superglue, but Eddie hauled ass to Urgent Care and got some actual stitches once he realized there was nothing else he could do at Neibolt. He’d been a fucking mess...like, crying and shit, but even in that state he could tell that the standard of care at Derry Clinic was subpar at best and he kept having to correct the NP who was sewing him up until she finally snapped and asked if he’d rather just do it himself. Actually, he normally would have preferred to, but his hands had been shaking too badly. He definitely plans to have it looked at by Dr. Lim, who will for sure know the best way to keep scarring to a minimum, as soon as he’s back at work.

Also, he was hoping that all the weird shit that had been going down with Pennywise and stuff would have fucking stopped after they killed It, but when he got back to the Derry Townhouse and went to get his shit from his room, there were three goddamn suitcases in there and he couldn’t figure out why. The first one had enough crap in it for like a three week trip, although the clothes weren’t all his. Also, the second one was filled with a bunch of pill bottles with his name on them for prescriptions Eddie has never needed, and his actual medication, amitriptyline, was not among them. But to be totally honest, by that point, he was so fucking tired and upset that he just kind of went fuck it and hauled everything into the back of a cab and got the fuck out of there.

And now he’s standing on the curb at LAX waiting for an Uber to take him back to his apartment in West Hollywood, where he can cry in private and maybe eat a pint of frozen yogurt from Whole Foods. Greek yogurt, of course, for the probiotics.

The first thing that strikes him as amiss back in LA is when he gets up to his apartment and there is a mat that says WELCOME TO THE SHITSHOW on it that he definitely did not buy in front of his apartment and his list of instructions for delivery men has been taken off his door.

Then he tries to open the door and his key doesn’t fit, which makes no fucking sense at all, unless Ms. Slavkin changed the locks while he was gone, which would be super illegal and also mean. Like, they’re on good terms, he thinks, especially since she barely speaks English and he knows exactly no Russian. They’ve never had a problem, though. His rent is always paid up on time. She brought him vatrushka two weeks ago and he referred her grandson for a volunteer position at Cedars Sinai over the summer. They’re good.

And then suddenly the door swings open and Richie whacks him in the shoulder with a frying pan.

“Ow! What the hell?”

Literally everything about what just happened is impossible though, because Richie is:

Dead. He died in Eddie’s arms under the Neibolt house less than 48 hours ago after telling him he fucked his mom one last time for good measure. Like...even while he was bleeding out he couldn’t… God. Anyway…

A resident of Illinois, last time Eddie checked. He even said some shit the other day about security at O'Hare. That’s… that’s the one in Chicago, right? It’s not LAX, Eddie knows that for sure.

Richie looks about as dumbfounded as Eddie feels. He does not apologize for hitting Eddie with a frying pan, although it’s not exactly cast iron. At best, it’s aluminum.

Which is another weird thing. Eddie uses exclusively cast iron or enamel cookware in his apartment because he’s not some kind of idiot sauteing his veggies in perfluorinated chemicals. The frying pan Richie is holding right now is undoubtedly riddled with BPA that would seep into his food and cause thyroid problems.

And honestly the only reason he’s probably getting hung up on that is that he expects Richie to disappear as soon as he blinks, because what the fuck would he actually be doing here. It’s going to hurt a lot more than that frying pan did when he evaporates, and Eddie’s going to feel like he lost him a second time.

Any second now.

Nothing else happens though, except that Richie manages to squeak out, “Eddie?”

And it’s corny to think, but it’s his voice that leaves no doubt in Eddie’s mind that it’s really him. Because Richie Tozier can sound like almost anybody in the world, but there’s no one that can sound like Richie. Even Pennywise never tried to imitate him. Because no one can. That, Eddie is sure of.

Dead is… Eddie is a nurse, and he’s no stranger to death. Richie was dead. No one could survive that kind of blood loss. But that also doesn’t change the fact that Richie is standing in front of him, in his apartment somehow, alive and breathing and miraculously free of giant holes in his chest. Also, this past weekend has had Eddie really rethinking his personal beliefs on what is and isn’t possible.

“Oh god, Richie—” Eddie reaches out and places a hand on Richie’s chest. Richie doesn’t stop him, but he also doesn’t react other than staring at Eddie’s hand, like he’s still unconvinced that Eddie is really Eddie.

Also he’s apparently speechless for the first time in his life.

“What the fuck,” he breathes out. His heartbeat is pounding beneath Eddie’s fingers. “I… we had to leave you. God, I tried to—”

“What?” Eddie interrupts him. “You died. Right in my arms, like, right in front of my fucking face and then you all got sucked into that pit and I—”

“What? No. Wh--wait. Wait wait wait. How did you find my apartment?” Richie demands.

“Uh, excuse me, this is my—”

But Eddie doesn’t finish that sentence because at that moment he looks past Richie into the living room and his point dies on the tip of his tongue. This is not his apartment. The doormat wasn’t lying. This is some kind of bachelor pad nightmare. One sofa, no art on the walls, a TV that’s too big for the room. Eddie glances up at the number on the door. Seven. It’s the right number, the outside of the place looks right…

“What did you do to my house?!” Eddie cries, because of course he’s happy Richie is alive—too happy to even process it properly—but he’s not going to pretend he won’t be pissed if Richie donated all of his good Pottery Barn furniture.

“Your— I live here, dipshit,” says Richie, apparently kind of snapping out of it. “I’ve lived here for like ten years.”

“You told me you lived in Chicago and—”

“Yeah,” says Richie. “Well, like kind of. I have an apartment there, usually sublet it. Didn’t think I needed to get into my whole real estate history, cause it’s not like we had bigger things to worry about.”

“Just—”

“You know what?” says Richie. “Just fucking come in. Let’s...can you call Mike?”

“Mike isn’t dead either?!” Eddie cries. What--How--

“Of course not,” says Richie. “I mean he better not be, I’ve been texting him all day.”

Eddie takes his phone out of his pocket and goes to his recent call history. He taps on the Derry number that called him the other day, back in another fucking lifetime, while rolling his suitcase into this like sham of an apartment that apparently Richie lives in.

We’re sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed…

“You try Mike,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “My phone says his number is disconnected.”

Richie is texting furiously. He sinks down into the couch.

“Does that thing have like bed bugs?” Eddie asks, because the couch looks kind of suspect if he’s being honest. Like the kind of thing Richie might have dragged in off the sidewalk.

Richie makes a face. “No, what the fuck, of course not.”

Eddie sits down next to him on the edge of his seat, still not entirely convinced about the bed bug situation.

“I’m gonna FaceTime Mike, cause…” Richie shakes his head. “Fuck, I don’t know. Mike’s the crazy bitch with all the answers, right?”

Richie then does something kind of un-Richie-ish. He turns to the side and drops his head on Eddie’s shoulder, inhaling shakily and deeply. It’s then that Eddie notices his coffee table is littered with tissues.

“What?” Eddie asks him. He gets the distinct impression that Richie is about to cry, maybe, which is terrifying. And that’s stupid because Eddie works in a goddamn hospital. He deals with crying people every day. But there’s something about being around Richie that just… He feels like they’ve fallen back into the dynamic they had when they were kids. And teenage Eddie wouldn’t have known how to deal with Richie crying and so adult Eddie is kind of panicking over the thought of trying to figure that shit out on the fly.

If Richie starts crying, Eddie probably will too. This situation is… Honestly, it’s super overwhelming. He doesn’t feel equipped to deal with this fuckery.

Just then though, Mike picks up. Like a flash, Richie lifts his head up off Eddie’s shoulder and shoots Mike a shit-eating grin.

“Explain this shit, Mikey,” he says, and turns the screen to face Eddie.

Mike immediately drops his phone.

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it chapter two #my fics #impossible things fic #fanfic #losers club #it chapter two spoilers

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waiting4inspiration · 5 years

Text

Just Another Stripper I : Something More?

Summary: You’re a stripper at Ivar’s club and he insisted on giving you a lift, only taking you to his place instead of yours. Thinking that this is that start of something deeper, you stay the morning and make breakfast after staying the night. But it turns out you were wrong.

Warnings: modern!ivar, stripper!reader, strong language, implied smut

Pairings: modern!ivar x reader

Vikings Masterlist

When you’re asked as a kid what you wanted to be when you grow, you would say something like a doctor or a teacher. You had no idea that you would actually end up here, dancing on a stage with thin pieces of clothing only covering the bare essentials and men watching you with dark eyes.

Despite what people say about strippers, they don’t think that they’re some kind of respect that goes with the title. Especially at this club that you work at. The Black Raven. There’s a rule that every customer has to obey if they don’t want to be thrown out of the club. The rule that no stripper is to be touched is carried out very strictly in the club which you’re thankful for.

The owner of the club, Ivar Lothbrok, watches over the club with an eagle eye to make sure the rule is enforced. Only because if his girls are respected then so is he. His entire image relies on them and if give his club a bad name then they tarnish his reputation. And he won’t stand for that.

Finishing your set, the lights of the club dim allowing to walk off the stage as the men wolf-whistle and beg for more. Nodding at the stripper that now takes your place when you pass her, you run a hand through your hair as you make your way to the dressing rooms.

As you walk, you fish out the notes stuffed in your bar and pantie line, counting the tips as you take a seat in front of your mirror. It has been a good night so far. The crowd is lively and happy which means that you have made enough money in tips to have food on your tables for a month, if not longer. And you’re only halfway through your shift.

Smiling to yourself, you place your tips in a safe place before making your way to the bar to get a drink. Your last set had taken a lot out of you and you just needed to wet your mouth and have something to get you going against for the rest of the night.

Majority of the guys have their eyes on the girls dancing in front of them, making it so much easier for you to walk past them without any complications. Placing your order with the bartender, you rest against the counter with your elbows on the surface and your hands folded together.

Out the corner of your eyes, you see a figure not watching the dancer in front of him but rather staring at you. Slowly turning your head to the dark figure, you notice that it’s Ivar staring at you. A gasp catches in your throat at the sight of his dark eyes.

You remember those eyes very well. It was the same look he gave you after saving you from a man who got handsy with you one night. The same dark, lustful look that makes heat spread across your body.

Though you’ve only had brief encounters with him, you know that there are feelings building up inside of you. Feelings for him and it makes you feel like a schoolgirl with a major crush on someone. And that night that he saved you from the handsy customer it only made you fall deeper into that crush.

For the rest of the night, Ivar keeps his eyes on you. You pretend to not notice, but you can’t help but feel a sense of pride and happiness that he’s watching you and not any other dancer in the club.

When your shift is over and the club closes, you pack up your things and sigh in relief to have more clothing on your body. Wiping off the heavy makeup of your face and brushing out your hair, you sling your bag over your shoulder and make your way through the now empty club.

“I thought you were never going to come out,” Ivar’s voice echos through the barren club, your head bouncing around to try and find him.

He sits by the dark bar, his back leaning against the counter and his arms folded over his chest and his body turned to the backstage door. “I wasn’t aware that you were waiting for me,” you state, adjusting the bag on your shoulder to a more comfortable position. “But, now that you’re here I should probably thank you for intervening with that handsy guy the other day,” you add, rubbing your hand on the material of your pants as you smile at him.

Shrugging his shoulders, he stands to his feet, gripping the crutch in his hand as he slowly makes his way towards you. “It’s a rule. And I’m going to make sure that my rules are obeyed,” he says, his voice low as he stands in front of you, staring down into your eyes intensely. “You walk home, am I right?” he asks, your head nodding right as his words end.

“Only until I get my car back from repair...”

“You’re not walking today,” he interrupts you, turning around and making his way to the door. “I’m giving you a lift,” he mutters, glancing over his shoulder to you as he nods for you to follow.

Who are you to turn down the offer of a lift? You hate walking home because of the looks you get. It’s the reason you take off your makeup before leaving so that you don’t look like a prostitute. But that didn’t stop some creepy guys from staring.

Ivar’s car is way nice than yours. Probably one you could never afford even if you work every single shift for the rest of your life. Best to just take it in now to get you fantasy if being in a nice car over with.

When he ends up driving past you apartment block, you point it out to him and turn your head towards him. “I didn’t say I’d give you a lift home,” he simply says, looking over at you with a smile on his face.

The smile is enough to make your thighs clench together. Has he finally taken notice of you and wants to get to know you better? Does he want to know you more than just a stripper in his club? Oh Gods, that would be a dream come true.

He lives in a penthouse. That shouldn’t actually shock you, but it did. Everything is so neat and expensive. Again, nothing like what you have. The huge windows that overlook the city makes you drop your bag to the ground and slowly walk over to the view while Ivar sorts through his mail.

After a moment of standing by yourself, you see Ivar walk up behind you in the reflection of the window. His open hand lands on your hip as he leans down to place his lips on your shoulder blade. “You were amazing tonight,” he mutters, his breath against your skin making a shiver run over your body. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

As he kisses up your neck, you tilt your head to the side allowing him more access. Sighing in pleasure, your eyes flutter shut as he wraps his arm around your waist to slide his hand under your shirt. He presses his body against yours as his hand grazes over your stomach, bringing the shirt up exposing your skin as he cups a breast in his hand, his teeth biting into your earlobe.

Ivar’s eyes flutter open as he shifts under the sheets, his head turning to the side to see if you’re still there. He sighs in relief when his eyes meet the empty, disheveled side. Disheveled from rolling around last night while his lips explored every inch of your skin and your nails dug into his back. He took in every single moment, memorizing every sound you made, ever moan and every gasp so that he could lock it away because he knew that when the morning came, you wouldn’t be there anymore.

But the sounds and smells of cooking filtering into the room makes his body perk up. Quiet muttering leads him to believe that you had decided to stay. Confused, because no one ever stays, he leans over the edge of the bed to grab the pants discarded the previous night and slips them over his legs.

Not caring about his leg-braces or his crutch, he lowers himself to the ground and crawls his way out the room, follows the sounds coming from the kitchen. Your back is facing him and you have earphones in your ears, masking the sounds of him dragging his body across the floor. From the familiar sway in your hips, he can tell that you might be going through a dance in your mind.

But the thing that attracts his attention the most is that you’re his shirt. Pulling himself up into a seat, he rests his arms on the counter, waiting for you to turn around, his eyes glaring into the back of your head in hopes that you’d get the feeling of someone watching.

You do get that feeling. Slowly turning your head around, your eyes meet Ivar who stares intently at you. Pulling the earphones out, you smile at him and turn your body to face him. “What are you doing?” he questions, his voice very serious as if this is an interrogation.

The smile drops off your face as you frown up at him. “Making breakfast,” you state, glancing over your shoulder at the bacon frying in a pan before glancing back to him.

He leans over his arms, the look in his eyes cold and dark. But it’s not the same kind of dark they were last night. This looks makes you believe the stories that people have said about him killing someone. “I mean, what are you still doing here?” he growls, narrowing his eyes at you.

The look makes you drop your head to stare at the counter and take in a deep breath as the realization hits you. “I wasn’t aware that I had to leave the moment you were done fucking me,” you lightly sneer, raising your head to return the cold glare.

Ivar chuckles at you before shaking his head to himself. “You think that this would turn into something more? That I wanted something else from you?” he sarcastically asks, your heart starting to tear as you swallow a nervous gulp. “You’re just another stripper that I’ve fucked,” he hisses, venom dripping off his tongue, making that tear in your heart rip through your entire body. “Now, get the fuck out.”

Your jaw clenches tightly as you push yourself off the counter and quickly make your way around the counter to gather up your discarded clothes laying on the floor. “You know, I can’t believe how stupid I was...” you start, picking up your jeans and slipping your legs through the holes. “...to think that you maybe wanted to get to know me better,” you hiss, Ivar turning around on his seat to look at you. “To think that you saw me as something more than just a stripper,” you laugh, pulling Ivar’s shirt off you body to quickly replace it with your own, Ivar catching a quick sight of the lace bra you must have put back on when you woke up.

“I don’t need to listen to your sob-story,” he sighs, rolling his eyes at you as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Just get out,” he orders, nodding to the door and making your glare turn ice cold.

Stomping over to the door, you throw the shirt into his face as you pass him. “What that fuck was that?” he shouts, throwing the shirt away from his face as he scowls at you as you reach for the doorknob.

“Take it as a resignation letter,” you shout back, pulling the door open as stares hard at you - as if to warn you to be careful of your next words. “I quit. So, you’ll have to find another stripper that will keep your cock warm,” you sneer, stepping past the door and slamming it behind you.

Tags: @tephi101 @rororo06 @flokidottir-imagines-br @mad4oak @nerdypisces160 @xinyourdreamsx @vikingaestheticsblog @xenavistania @medievalfangirl @simam12 @walkxthexmoon @youbloodymadgenius @chipster-21 @poisonous00 @mblaqgi @lol-haha-joke @inforapound @beacosta27 @sallylebecks

#ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless imagines #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar imagine #ivar imagines #ivar the boneless #ivar #ivar ragnarsson #vikings ivar #ivar lothbrok #modern ivar #vikings #history vikings #vikings imagine #vikings imagines #requests

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robinskey · 5 years

Text

Coworkers (pt 3) (Steve Harrington x Reader)

Part One//Part Two

A/N: Thank you guys for being so patient while waiting for this update! I’ve really enjoyed this series and all the positive feedback I’ve received from it. Thanks to the anon who sent in the original request. Keep sending them in, guys-the more detailed, the better, but all requests are welcome! :)

Warnings: Language, alcohol mention/hangover

The next morning, Steve woke up with an aching neck and a pulsing headache. He squinted in the bright light filtering in through the windows. (Even though you’d tried to pull the blinds shut as tightly as possible, you still hadn’t managed to submerge the room into complete darkness. And in Steve’s condition, even a single ray of sun burned his irises like the heat from a thousand fires.)

Steve cupped one hand over his brow as a makeshift visor. Narrowing his eyes slightly, Steve managed to make out his surroundings. A crate-sized television with bunny-ear antennae sat on the stand across from the slightly-beat-up couch on which he was laying. A fluffy pillow-no, a fluffy dog-was curled up on a tattered armchair to his left. On the coffee table in front of him, a half-full glass of clear liquid stood next to two small blue pills and a sticky note with the words “Steve-take these” hastily scribbled on it. Steve made a promise to himself never to do this again before popping the mysterious pills in his mouth. He washed them down with a sip of water. That sip quickly devolved into gulping down the entire glass. Suddenly parched, Steve grabbed the empty cup and took off in search of a faucet.

As he wandered toward the kitchen, a sweet aroma drifted up to his nostrils. Clad in plaid pajama pants and a college sweatshirt, you stood at the stove. You were humming a faint, vaguely recognizable melody as you flipped a sizzling pancake over in the frying pan. Once it turned golden brown, you added it to the already-towering stack on the counter. After dividing the stack equally between two plates, you grabbed one, along with a bottle of maple syrup from the cabinet. Then, you spun on your heel, and your eyes fell upon the disheveled boy lurking in the doorway.

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself,” you said with an almost-inauthentically-cheerful tone. “You hungry?”

“I-uh-sure,” Steve stammered.

You gestured towards at the kitchen island, and Steve hopped up onto the barstool. He caught the plate, fork, and maple syrup bottle you slid across the counter, then watched you walk over to the fridge. You shuffled around objects on the shelves as Steve racked his brain for a conversation starter-or, at the very least, any recollection of what had happened last night. The last thing he could remember was one of his idiotic former classmates daring him to challenge his old “keg king” record and him being idiotic enough to try.

“Robin called,” you said, plopping a carton of orange juice on the counter. You poured two glasses and handed one to Steve. He greedily gulped it down. “She thought you might have wandered over here after the party. I asked her how you knew where I lived-if you’d been stalking me or something.”

Steve nearly spit out his drink. Fortunately, you didn’t notice; you were rifling in the fridge again. By the time you turned around, cradling a container of butter, he’d managed to get his panic under control. He gulped down the lump in his throat.

“What did Robin say?”

“Nothing. She just laughed.” Having grabbed your plate, you settled into the seat next to Steve. Between bites of fluffy pancake, you asked, “So, Harrington, is it true? Are you stalking me?”

Steve’s eyes widened to the size of the frying pan. Fortunately, though, Steve had been too flustered to try to eat or drink, so he didn’t choke this time. Instead, he offered a coy smile that he hoped would come off as kind rather than creepy.

“Nothing like that,” he said. “I was talking to Brenda Hapsburg, and she mentioned that your house was just a couple blocks away.”

“And you just decided to…what? Drunkenly stumble through my neighbors’ yards in the middle of the night just to pay me a visit?”

“I guess.” Steve shrugged. He sawed at his stack of pancakes with a butter knife, more to avoid your hawk-like stare than anything else. “I don’t even remember leaving the party last night, but I’m here, so I guess I did.”

“So you don’t remember anything you said, either?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow quizzically.

“No.” He glanced over at you out of the corner of his eye. “Should I?”

“Um-no. Of course not.”

You grabbed your plate off the counter and slid into the spot next to Steve at the counter. Your house guest watched as you stabbed your fork into the pancake. You twisted it around absentmindedly as you spoke, carving out a hole in the center.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway, because you were drunk and stupid and had no idea what you were saying.” You raised your head, a tight smile plastered across your lips. “Never mind. It’s nothing. Hand me the maple syrup, will you?”

Your fingers grazed Steve’s as he passed the bottle, and the electricity from the ever-so-brief contact sparked his suspicions back to life like Frankenstein's monster.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.” Steve laid his fork down on his plate and turned towards you. His chocolate eyes glimmered with guilt. “Look, I’m sorry about last night-whatever I did. Whenever I’m drunk, I’m usually pretty-”

“-flirty?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Well, I was going to say ‘pretty much an asshole,’ but…” Realization settled over Steve’s features, contorting them into a look of concern. “Wait, flirty? Did I hit on you last night or something?”

“Yeah, you did, actually. Several times,” you said, then ticked off the instances in which this had rung true on your fingers. “You called me cute, asked if I was your girlfriend-and at one point, I’m pretty sure you were trying to kiss me.”

Steve’s face didn’t just fall; it collapsed. His features contorted into a deep frown. “Shit. God, that’s embarrassing. I didn’t mean to make things awkward-”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted, forcing yet another fake grin. “I know you're not actually interested in me, Harrington.”

He probably should have just left it at that. However, Steve being Steve, he had to press the matter. Besides, Steve couldn’t think of anything else to say, and he didn’t think he could survive another stint of awkward silence, so he wondered aloud, “And why wouldn’t I be interested in you?”

“Well,” you huffed, leaning your head on one of your hands, “for one thing, I’m pretty damn sure I’m not exactly your type.”

“Not my...type?” Steve’s eyebrows knitted together on his forehead like a dark caterpillar. “What, you think I’m not looking for someone smart, beautiful, funny? Someone who puts up with my drunk bullshit, lets me crash on their couch, makes me a bomb-ass hangover breakfast? Why the hell wouldn’t I be interested in someone like that?”

Color rose to Steve’s cheeks as he recognized the implication of his last sentence. He ran a hand through his wild hair in an attempt at self-soothing. While the throbbing in his head had subsided, a furious pounding in his chest had replaced it. Steve was almost certain you could hear his heart beating against his sternum; after all, your voice was barely audible to him over the thudding soundtrack of his internal organs. Luckily, Steve could read your lips-the part of the face to which he’d turned his full attention, anyway.

“What are you trying to tell me, Steve?” Your unblinking eyes flicked over his features in a search for clues to uncover the mystery that was Steve Harrington. He leaned in ever-so-slightly, tilting his head toward yours.

“Everything I said last night,” he started, “I meant. I’ve liked you for a really long time, Y/N. I just haven’t had the courage to tell you. But apparently, Drunk Steve did.”

You chuckled softly. Steve’s attention, which had momentarily flicked up to meet your gaze, returned to your mouth. You mimicked him. His lips looked smooth and shiny and plump, perfectly irresistible.

And then, suddenly, you were leaning forward, supporting yourself with a hand on this thigh. One of his hands gravitated toward your waist, tickling your side slightly as his fingers gently dug into your skin. Steve’s face was so close that you could count the faint freckles on his cheeks.

And yet, somehow, he managed to get even closer. You couldn’t see anything at all, because your eyelids had fluttered shut, but your other senses kicked into hyperdrive. His lips felt like velvet against yours, even softer than you could have imagined. He tasted even sweeter than the syrup left behind on his lips.

At least, that last part was true momentarily, before a putrid aftertaste assaulted your tastebuds. You instinctively jerked away, your face scrunched up into a disgusted expression. Steve gazed at you with his lost puppy-dog eyes that could shatter an ice-cold heart into a million pieces. He pursed his lips.

“Look, Y/N, I know I haven’t had much practice lately, but I didn’t know I was that bad of a kisser.”

“No, it’s not that, Steve. It’s your breath. Surprisingly, morning breath does not mix well with a night of alcohol consumption,” you laughed. Steve tried to maintain his pout, but he couldn’t help cracking a smile. You slid your hand off his leg to reach for his palm. “Come on, dork. I think there’s a spare toothbrush in my bathroom somewhere.”

You intertwined your dainty digits with his larger-than-life fingers and tugged him along. He grinned dopily as he followed after you. His stupid smirk only widened when you promised, after taking care of that terrible breath, more kissing practice was the next thing on the agenda. ;)

Taglists:

General: @novaddictx @anabundanceoffandoms @rexorangecouny @morganvanilla@anolddayslover

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Coworkers: @l0ve-0f-my-life @nicole13letson @smileygoluckey

If you want to be added to the tag list for a specific character/my writing in general, leave a reply or send me a message! Thanks again for reading. <3

If you want to check out more of my writing, here’s my masterlist. :)

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #tw: alcohol #tw: alchohol mention #parker-potter writes

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violetsmoak · 4 years

Text

Pieces of April [18/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099044/chapters/50202530

Summary: On the anniversary of his death, Jason’s second life takes an abrupt new turn and he’s faced with a challenge that neither Batman nor the All-Caste prepared him for.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Author’s Note: Sorry for the wait on the latest chapter, I spent the weekend plotting some original work and it sort of took over my brain for a while. Also, this chapter has been fighting me. Mostly because I’ve been working on the big Batfam discovery moment and I can’t wait to get there, and having to slow down and write everything in between is soooooo frustrating! But hopefully we’ll get there soon lol. In the meantime, enjoy!

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

The next morning finds Jason once again in Tim’s kitchen, this time doing a fry-up of bacon and eggs. He’d been surprised to find either of those things in Tim’s fridge, having appeared as if by magic.

(Jason suspects Tim gets his groceries delivered instead of shopping like a normal person; he’s not going to complain, though, since food is food.)

From her carrier’s usual perch on the kitchen island, Luisa is frowning at him—or at least frowning at his general direction—in disapproval like a miniature, squishy Winston Churchill.

“What?” he asks her, feeling oddly judged. “You don’t like my fryin' technique?” She sticks her tongue out, and yawns, easing back in her carrier. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He’d probably shit his pants if she actually spoke back, but he’s seen stranger things in his life.

Suddenly, there’s a sharp, explosive bang from outside as a car backfires, and Luisa jolts, eyes going wide in shock before she starts shrieking.

“Crap,” Jason grunts, dropping the spatula and hurrying over to pick up the startled baby. Lifting her up, he starts rocking her back and forth, trying to shush her and wincing as the crying just gets louder.

How does such a little thing make such a big noise?

Still trying to calm her, he goes to pick the spatula up off the floor to toss in the sink and glances around for another. Luisa keeps crying, little fists beating ineffectually at him, and no matter what position he holds her in she refuses to let up.

“I know you’ve never heard something that loud before, but don’t you think this is an overreaction?” he mutters, glancing desperately around for the cape Tim was using as a carrier the other day. It’s nowhere within range, and so he turns off the stove and shoves aside the pan to ensure the bacon doesn’t burn while he deals with the baby complication.

As he searches, rocking and shushing Luisa as he goes, he’s getting generally more frustrated at not being able to get her to stop wailing. He’s on the verge of giving up and going to wake Tim—which is embarrassing on so many levels—when he remembers what the kid told him yesterday about heartbeat and skin-to-skin contact.

Making a quick decision, he places the squalling infant on the couch for an instant while he shrugs out of his shirt. Then, ignoring the sense of awkwardness he picks her up to hold against his bare chest, cradling her head in support as he continues to rock subtly, bouncing somewhat on the balls of his feet.

Luisa’s still wailing, mushing her face into his chest almost in protest, and his ears are beginning to ring. But slowly, as the minutes creep by, the sound morphs into weak fussing. Her little ear settles against a spot near his breastbone, right over his heart, and that sound wanes as well.

There’s a sniffle, a wet almost-hiccup in her breathing, and then she goes silent and calm again.

Hey, look at that.

Jason actually managed to calm her down himself, instead of calling for help or putting her down to yell until she tired herself out. He’s not sure why he feels a stab of pride in that, but he decides it doesn’t matter in the face of the now silent baby.

He keeps hold of her until her breathing evens out and she passes out and then returns to the kitchen and the carrier.

Once she’s settled again, he notices that he’s being watched, and glances up to see Tim, ruffled and still blinking sleep out of his eyes even as he studies the scene in front of him.

Eyes raking up Jason’s form, he opens his mouth to say something, frowns to himself and shakes his head.

“I need coffee,” he mumbles at last and slouches into the kitchen to turn on the Keurig. While waiting for it to brew, he turns back to Jason, leaning against the counter and tilts his head to one side. “I didn’t know you had tattoos.”

Jason looks down his front at the All-Caste markings no longer hidden by the baby’s form.

They’re not tattoos. At least, not exactly.

But the real story’s too complicated and not something he wants to get back to the Bats, so he just shrugs and says, “I don’t exactly put out announcements in the Family newsletter.”

Tim nods, ceding the point.

“So, what do they mean?” he asks as his coffee finishes brewing.

“None of your damn business. Don’t you have work?”

The younger man raises an eyebrow. “It’s Saturday?”

Right. Weekends are a thing.

“I do have some online classes to log on for later, though,” Tim goes on. “But I don’t really have to dress up in a suit for that.” He smirks. “I’m not Damian.”

“I dunno—you’re both pint-sized pains in my ass,” Jason retorts, trying to hide his surprise that Tim is still in school. He thought he’d dropped out when Bruce went missing in the timestream; he didn’t realize the guy was still doing that.

God, he’s doing school on top of everything else? How is this kid still alive?

“I’m still taller than he is,” Tim hedges, with a trace of sulk in his voice.

Heh. Think we’ve hit a sore point there.

But he chooses not to pursue it; better for him if Tim’s in a good mood.

“I’m goin' out again today,” he informs him, trying not to grit his teeth at the effort it takes not to make it sound like a question. He doesn’t need permission, damn it! “Have a little conversation with Isabel’s ex, for all the good it’ll do.”

“I figured as much,” Tim replies, unbothered. He sips at his coffee. “Isa and I will be fine. Besides, when I’m done my classwork, I’ve got a lead I want to pursue. I might have tracked down some of Isabel’s blood relatives.”

Jason pauses, ears perking up. “Seriously?”

“I think so. Try not to get your hopes up, though.” He frowns then, tilting his head to one side. “You might want to do something about that before you go meeting with anyone.”

He makes a circular motion around his own forehead.

Nonplussed, Jason wanders toward the mantlepiece and the mirror above it, making a noise of understanding when he realizes what Tim was pointing out.

“Noted,” he agrees, flicking at his hair.

The problem with dying his hair black is the need to touch it up every six weeks; the roots of his natural red coloring start to peek through around then, along with the thick white streak that sprouts from just above the scar in his hairline. The latter doesn’t hold the color for very long, fading to a washed-out gray-white within a few washes.

The upkeep is a pain in the ass, but black hair is a lot less memorable in his line of work, a lesson he learned quickly as both Robin and during his League training.

Once Tim’s settled into his temporary workstation at the kitchen table, with Luisa snoozing within easy reach, Jason takes off.

Like the day before, he commandeers one of Tim’s bikes and heads out to pharmacy near one of his safehouses in Midtown. He figures it’s best to keep any kind of chemical smell far away from the baby, and besides he kind of wants to avoid Tim walking in on the dyeing process. He needs to do his eyebrows, and if the younger man were to make a comment, Jason would have to punch him—which seems a poor reward for someone helping him out right now.

Once he’s applied the dye and is waiting for it to set, he uses the laptop in his bolt hole to remotely access the Cave systems again and brings up the phone records between Isabel and her group of friends, including Jonathan Sutter.

It feels morbid and invasive, but he needs a better sense of who these people are and how to approach them. The texts between her and her friends are the usual thing you’d expect from a group of twenty-somethings making plans or bitching about work. As for the exchanges between her and Sutter, there aren’t that many; it seems their relationship was mostly in person or by phone.

Jason’s relieved about that because he’s not sure he could stomach reading his dead ex-girlfriend’s sexting her boyfriend.

Because I don’t feel creepy enough about this as it is…

He finds reference to a few events they attended together—restaurant dinner, a trip to the opera, a Broadway play—

“Wow, this guy was predictable,” Jason mutters to himself before he finds something interesting.

Sutter’s accounting firm did work on a huge contract with WE the year before, resulting in invitations to one of their charity events. Sutter evidently invited Isabel to go with him, which could provide a good backstory for Jason.

He’s been to those things before, both under protest and undercover, and they all go down the same way. It’s an easy cover for what he needs.

Closing the laptop, he goes to wash the last of the dye off and then showers for good measure. He actually takes more than ten minutes for once, since he’s alone and doesn’t need to keep his ear out for a crying baby. Even when he knows Tim is watching her, he can’t help waiting for something bad to happen.

It’s a bit irritating, actually; he inherited all the worries a new parent might feel about screwing up their kid, and yet none of the connection. It’s not just because he’s holding himself back from it either; he wonders if he had known about the baby—if he and Isabel had been involved during her pregnancy—if he would feel more of a bond to Luisa.

“No point wonderin',” he mutters to himself as he gets out of the shower and towels off. He learned a long time ago that speculating over the ‘what-if’s’ of the past would just lead him down a dark pit of self-pity.

On a whim, he grabs the make-up and prosthetic’s kit from beneath the sink and sets about making himself a disguise. He doesn’t usually bother with disguises anymore—those undercover gigs with Bruce seem far too long ago—but since he’s just testing the waters, he doesn’t want to be too recognizable.

The end result is a passable imitation of the infamous Matches Malone look Bruce cultivated, though Jason makes an effort to look a lot more kempt, before setting out once more.

The cameras he left watching Sutter’s place, as well as the tracker on his car, put him at a strip-mall not far from his home. Upon investigation, Jason finds himself standing in front of a high-priced vegan grocery.

“Seriously?” Jason mutters to himself, wrinkling his nose in disgust. The store isn’t even one of the legit wholesale places filled with locally sourced products, but one of the trendy boutiques, stocked with items that are three times more expensive just to cover the import costs and the brand name.

He loiters around the shelves, pretending to be examining the dozens of different types of Norwegian water while keeping an eye out for his target.

Sutter appears at the head of the aisle moments later, pushing a cart and followed by a young brunette. Younger than him, at least; Sutter’s about thirty, which puts the woman he’s with at about ten years younger.

She says something to him, clearly cheerful and excited, and Sutter replies in kind, accepting whatever package she puts in the cart. She leans up to peck him on the cheek, and then practically bounces away. The minute she’s gone, Sutter’s expression becomes long-suffering. He checks his phone with an air of impatience.

So he’s not actually into his stuff, but faking it for her.

It’s possible that’s just him attempting to be a supportive boyfriend, Jason supposes. But it also suggests the decision-maker in the relationship is the girlfriend, which could be a problem.

Only one way to find out.

He makes a production of turning just as Sutter passes him, and then affects a double-take at seeing him for the first time.

“Hey, I know you!” he declares, earning a look of surprise, followed by the guy looking around with a ‘who me?’ kind of expression. Jason pretends not to see it. “Johnny—John? Sutter, right?”

The man stares at him, apprehensive. “Yes? Do I know you?”

“You don’t remember?” Jason says, affecting an amused chuckle. “Heh. Guess you wouldn’t, I look a lot spiffier in a tux.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t—"

“Peter Malone, Locke Insurance? We met at the WE charity ball last March.” Sutter continues to look wary. “You were there with that knockout—whatshername…Izzy? Annabelle?”

“Isabel?” Sutter supplies, expression slowly morphing from wary to uncomfortable. The expression of someone worried he’s about to be caught out for not remembering a name.

“Right! Yes, her—damn, she was a looker.”

“Yeah…sorry, but I don’t really remember you,” Sutter says, expression clearing, and adopting an apologetic grimace. “But there were a lot of hands to shake that night, so...”

“Don’t I know it,” Jason agrees. “I left with about six new clients that night. Pretty good for a charity event, eh?” He doesn’t give Sutter a chance to reply. “So, you still with her?”

“What?”

“Isabel—hot blond? Legs up to here?”

Sutter’s tone becomes clipped again. “No.”

Jason gives an exaggerated whistle. “Damn shame…damn shame. You two looked like you were having fun.”

“Yeah, well…” Sutter gives a tight smile, eyes flicking away like he’s looking for an exit. “Things don’t always work out.”

“You know if she’s still single now?” Jason prompts, laying on the smarm. “Think you could set us up?”

“I think you’re the last person she wants anything to do with right now,” Sutter replies coolly. “Now, if you excuse me—”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Don’t think she’d be into me? Everyone wants a piece of this.”

“Hope you like kids then,” the man mutters as he edges away.

Jason affects a wide-eyed gaze. “She’s got kids? Damn, she doesn’t look the type.”

He makes it sound like some kind of disease, earning a snort of agreement from Sutter, who says, “I thought so too.”

There’s a trace of bitterness there, one Jason recognizes intimately. He had foster parents that looked and sounded the same. Still, he presses on, pretending to be clueless at the cues the other man is trying to give him to end the conversation.

“Not a fan of the rugrats?”

“Not especially,” Sutter replies tightly. “And raising someone else’s kid? When you work the hours I do? I’ve got a career, my company’s got me flying from the East Coast to the West Coast every couple of weeks, my family’s already complicated—it’d be hard enough raising my own kid, let alone someone else’s.” He looks up as the blond from earlier appears, with some overpriced wafer crackers. “Anyway, nice catching up with you. See you around, I guess.”

He practically takes off at a run.

“Yeah, take it easy,” Jason replies dully. In three sentences, he’s learned everything he needed to know about the guy’s fitness as a parent.

This guy’s a hard ‘no’ then.

Jason leaves the store, mood dark. He takes a few hours to wander around Crime Alley and soak up the comings and goings without anyone recognizing him, before turning to Tim’s apartment via the underground entrance.

“Looks like it didn’t go too well,” Tim says when he sees him. He’s in the process of changing Luisa, who is making noises of disapproval. She doesn’t like to be wet, but she also doesn’t like being cold, so getting changed appears to be her least favorite part of the day.

“He doesn’t want to be involved,” Jason says, not wanting to go into detail. “Which is what we figured would be the case.”

“Well, now you know for sure.”

“All I’m sure about is people suck.”

“So what’s the next step?”

“I’ve got a list of Isabel’s friends to contact. If they seem legit, I’ll see about figurin' out if they want to step up in honor of Isabel’s memory.”

He makes a face at that, knowing how it sounds, but being unable to think up any other alternative.

“I could come along,” Tim offers.

“No,” Jason says immediately. “People see you and they see dollar signs. Either for sellin' the story to the press or pretendin' their decent because they’ll think the kid means you bankrollin' them for the next eighteen years.”

“Point,” Tim says, and there’s a clench of his jaw that makes Jason think that scenario resonated with him personally for some reason. “I still don’t think you should go alone. You need someone along to soften your image, so you don’t come off as a creep.”

“I can be soft if I want to be,” Jason protests, offended.

“I have…no idea how to respond to that that won’t sound like Dick,” Tim tells him. “So I won’t.”

“Magnanimous of you."

“Here’s an idea—call Safiya. Ask if she’ll come with. She might even have met some of these people before.”

“Good point.” Jason makes a mental note to call her later, and wanders into the kitchen.

Noticing that other than the various plastic bottles and hastily closed formula containers there's no sign of plates or take-out, Jason determines Tim probably hasn’t made anything for dinner or even just for himself.

Assuming he even knows how to cook.

He opens the door to the fridge, and just stands there for a long moment, before shaking his head and closing it again when nothing immediately appeals to him.

Jason’s not entirely sure what he wants right now, his stomach growling in complaint for food having to compete with a pervading nausea at the idea of a heavy meal. He ends up cutting up a plate of fruit to tide him over until he can make a decision and wanders over to the space in the living room where Tim is working. Safiya is now nowhere in sight, but the baby monitor is on, the green lights lighting up and fading in tandem with distant sound of breathing.

“She actually let me put her down,” Tim explains when he notices where Jason’s looking.

“You’re the favorite,” Jason retorts, not sure why the idea doesn’t sit well with him. He supposes it’s left over from years of seeing Tim as the replacement everyone preferred to him. Rather than get trapped in that dark line of thinking, he offers the younger man his plate. “Any luck tracking down Luisa’s family?”

Tim absently accepts a few wedges of apple. “Yes and no.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Jason asks, throwing himself onto the couch. There’s a groan under his weight, which earns a pissy look from Tim, but the latter doesn’t address it.

“Isabel never told you much about her extended family, right?”

“Beyond the fact that they exist somewhere, not really. We didn’t really talk families, for obvious reasons.”

“Right.”

“She said she and her parents left Bogota before she was two, and if she met anyone before then she can’t remember.”

“Well, it turns out there’s a reason for that,” Tim says and slides his tablet over to Jason. When he picks it up, it takes a minute for his eyes to register the information Tim’s hunted up. “Her parents were fleeing Columbia to get away from them. It seems the Ardila family is in deep with the Medellin cartel there.”

“No shit,” Jason says, eyes wide.

This may actually explain Isabel’s lack of panicking in the face of aliens and mobsters…

“Isabel’s parents sought asylum in the US and eventually qualified for citizenship.”

“How’d they manage that if they were from a crime family?”

“My guess? Being good at bending the truth and having excellent forged documents.”

“Either way, that’s another option off the table,” Jason sighs, letting his head fall back on the couch in exasperation.

Tim hums in agreement and for a few moments, they simply sit in silence against the sense of defeat.

It’s not until the baby monitor suddenly gives a sudden series of noise—bursts of what at first sounds like static, but they then realize are tiny sneezes—that either of them moves again.

“I should check her,” Tim says, but Jason holds up a hand to stop him.

They listen a few moments longer, hear a bit of grumbling across the monitor, and then there’s only the sound of breathing.

“If you’re going to go running every time she sneezes or coughs, you’re going to give her a complex,” Jason informs him.

Tim raises an eyebrow. “Says the guy who was worried she had yellow fever.”

“I wasn’t worried, I was…concerned.”

“Now you sound like Bruce.”

“Take that back, Replacement.”

They glare at each other, but there’s little heat in it. At last, Tim rolls his eyes and looks away.

“On a somewhat related note—” Tim reaches for a file folder and takes out a piece of paper with a table on it, which Jason immediately recognizes as a schedule. Various duties have been written into the cells—feeding, changing, future bath times.

“You actually made one,” Jason says, somewhat disbelieving.

“Of course I made one. This last week, we’ve just been reacting to everything. We can’t keep going like that, and I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired of the petty arguments about who does what.”

“Petty,” Jason repeats tonelessly.

“Petty,” Tim agrees. “As you can see here, these are the times when we might consider calling for outside help. I checked with Safiya about what days she’s conditionally available, and even Tam—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—Tam agreed?”

“Well, she agreed for emergencies,” Tim allows. “Like, if it’s raining Joker toxin from the sky kind of emergencies.”

Jason scowls. “Don’t tempt fate with that shit.”

“You know what I mean. If there’s something big going on, she said she’ll cover for us. Since it’s all temporary, and all.”

“Right…” Jason agrees faintly, staring at the blinking lights of the baby monitor. “Temporary…”

The rest of what Tim's saying fades to background noise, as his thoughts are overwhelmed with a sudden worry:

What if we don't find anyone worth taking her?

⁂⁂⁂

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