#before the internet makes me wither the fuck away

[pendragonsclotpole]

I need to preface this post with the fact that I’ve been aware of Supernatural for as long as I’ve known what the terms fanfiction and fandom mean. It’s one of those pop culture moments that’s existed on the periphery of my mind as something really beloved and bemoaned about by people on the internet, but it’s never been something I really cared about outside of some iconic memes.

For the past four days, I’ve been watching Supernatural non-stop in my free time. I think I sat through eight episodes straight on one of those days, and I just have to say, the show is phenomenal.

I don’t know where to start, I could make a dozen of these posts about various points throughout the first two seasons and it still wouldn’t be enough. I’ve now taken a break at episode one of season three, because now that it’s a weekday I have work and can’t dedicate the time I could on the weekend.

First, Jared Padalecki’s acting is so beautiful and poignant and emotional. He really makes Sam Winchester into the bleeding heart of the whole show, and the entire time he’s on screen I worry about Sam. His portrayal of Sam’s heartbreak and desperation at Dean’s impending death after the car crash, as well as Sam’s horror at the reveal of what John told Dean before dying held a tragic desperation and denial that really embodied what the character represented in the first two seasons. Even as a hunter and with his special abilities, Sam felt like a quasi self-insert for the audience. I don’t mean that in a bad or overly tropey way, but in the way that he felt robbed of a proper childhood in favor of his father’s crusade. Sam is the angry, indignant younger sibling who never bore the brunt of responsibility like the older sibling did and it shows. In some ways, it makes him more entitled—I don’t mean that Sam does not have the right to be angry with John Winchester. He does. Fuck John Winchester. I mean entitled in the unintentional, coincidental way that your little brother or sister always demands the things you never had or rebels against the authority of the parent without ever dealing with the consequences you did as the older sibling. It reveals the veneer of freedom he had and the protection he received by virtue of his place in the Winchester Family. For me, it made him unbearably real, and this feeling of realness was made worse by the genuine naivety and innocence he keeps even as he continually gets screwed over by the demons. There’s a steadfast belief in the goodness of others within Sam that often conflicts with the sense of goodness he believes he lacks.

Sam trusts so easily, but he understands people in ways that should be antithetical to his upbringing. It took me forever to reconcile why he seemed so familiar, until I realized that Sam Winchester, for all that he was one of John Winchester’s son, had received the unconditional love of an older sibling for his entire childhood.

I don’t mean the perfect, kind, healthy love that often exists between fictional siblings. Too often I’ve watched media that makes me wonder how siblings like that even exist, or conversely, made me glad my siblings weren’t so fucked up.

I mean the kind of platonic love that exists between siblings living in the liminal space of love and hate thanks to the single fucked up connection that draws them back together continuously out of some sense of duty or commiseration or the need to be understood.

I mean the kind of love between siblings that would wither away when in a perfect world that does not stake their survival on their codependence of each other, but that in an imperfect and real world is equated to familiarity. Sam and Dean against the world—against John Winchester.

Out of all of the episodes I’ve watched in the last day and a half, perhaps the one that struck me most was episode 20, Season 2. What is and What Should Never Be. Not only was the title a bit of emotional whiplash—the juxtaposition of Should and Never lending a finality or a sense of wrongness that can’t be replicated by the words “Could Never—but we see Dean and Sam in a world where their one connection, hunting, has completely vanished and at a high cost to all the people they’ve saved, but mostly to Sam and Dean themselves. They’re connection as ride or die brothers is gone, replaced by an ostensibly better, healthier, more normal future liberated from the expectations of the rest of the world.

Without the death of Mary Winchester, Dean and Sam are no longer Dean and Sam. They’re just two people, connected by the two people that raised them, and likely to drift apart after that connection dies—frayed ends of a tapestry pulling apart and unraveling. Dean gains a mom and a normal life, but metaphorically loses a brother and a sense of purpose. Who is Dean Winchester if he’s not a hunter and Sam’s brother? And the sad thing is, neither of these are traits Dean ever chose. They are conditions foisted upon him, perhaps not intentionally, such as in the case of Sam, but ultimately placed on his soul until they tethered themselves to the very core of what being Dean Winchester is supposed to mean. The end of the episode, and Dean’s choice to return to the real world, regardless of Sam waking him up, is Dean fully giving up his dream in order to save Sam and be a hunter. The fallacy of the episode is in the choice Dean makes, which the more I think about it, feels less like a choice and more of an inevitability but one compounded by Dean’s readiness and willingness to go with it.

This is where I get to the crux of my surprise with these first early seasons of Supernatural: Dean Motherfucking Winchester.

I don’t know what I was expecting from early seasons of Supernatural, especially with the context of the later seasons. Maybe an overly cheesy, early 2000s ode to roadtrip Americana with a self-reverential take on the classic gun slinging frontiersman of the Wild West and bad supernatural CGI. Not to say it isn’t that (shout out to Sam’s comment on Dean’s particular brand of butch), but what surprised me was how real the connection between the characters was manifested on screen and how much good will the show built up in the audience. There came a point where I sided with Dean so much in the events of the show that I felt like I was riding shotgun in the impala. I saw it with every compliant “yes, sir” he gave to John, with every teasing comment he threw at Sam, and with every act of selflessness he exhibited by protecting other people. This isn’t to say that Dean is perfect. Sometimes he doesn’t take things seriously enough, or he’s willing to sacrifice people for some misguided greater good, or he’s obsessed with saving Sam even when he wouldn’t be if it were anyone else, but Dean has a conviction so many people lack. He has the capacity to love at a great cost to himself, either because he believes himself unworthy of being loved or because he’s not used to anything else.

Jensen Ackles does such a good job at this portrayal and with such a different technique than Jared Padalecki. Ackles embodies the desperate need for self-assuredness that Dean breathes, as well as the genuine fear he has of being seen. I love laughing with Dean as much as I love screaming at him for how stupid he’s being. If Sam is the self-insert, then Dean is the tragic hero, although that comparison feels like a poor facsimile for what Dean Winchester truly is because I don’t particularly feel an overwhelming sense of pity at his state or at his hinted downfall with that demon deal. If anything, I feel a sense of indignation mixed with understanding and frustration that Dean can’t catch a break but at the end of it all, is just how he prefers it.

It shouldn’t be a shock to admit that even without knowing what happens from seasons 3 to 15, I know how Supernatural ends. Just thinking about the ending makes me wonder if I should even continue it past season 5, but that’s a decision for another time.

For now, there’s something unbearably tragic in seeing Dean Winchester so close to a chance of a normal life and apple pie happiness (something he really seems to desire no matter how much he denies it) and then having to give it up, not just because it’s not real, but because he believes it should never be real.

Dean Winchester deserves better.

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural season 1 #supernatural season 2 #supernatural season 3 #dean winchester deserved better #dean winchester deserves better #sam and dean #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #character study

[astorytotellyourfriends]

twenty questions for fanfic writers

i was going through my likes and realized @deliriumsdelight7 tagged me over a month ago MY BAD SORRY LOVE U

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

255 😅

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

3,267,300 😅😅

3. What fandoms do you write for?

currently only for stranger things, but in the past i've written for julie and the phantoms, 1d, shadowhunters, young royals, and 911.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

can't help falling in love with you

keep me up all night

tell me how to feel about you now

if we don't leave this town (we might never make it out)

underneath (some calm exterior)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i do! i like doing it :)

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

ohhh that's definitely always have & always will. a close second is the new one before i bury you lol

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

literally any of my other fics hahahaha i love a happy ending!!!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not so much on the fic itself but hate as part of larger fandom issues bc people are mean to total strangers on the internet for no fuckin reason

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

all the kinds, probably. i'm sure there's a few kinks i haven't and will never write but i'm open to most things. (and hilariously in connection to the previous question, my writing smut is one of the reasons i got hate in my last fandom)

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

i mean, not really unless you count AUs as being crossovers lol. i once had an idea for a teen wolf/1d crossover but it never got off the ground.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

yes and it SUCKED. fuck that douchebag and fuck wattpad.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

i've had a couple people ask over the years but i've said no 😅 idk what it is but i just feel weird about it

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes! once with @cunnninghams and i've got a few in the works with @cyraclove 🥰

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

ughhhhhh don't do this to me i can't answer!

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

lol unfortunately i think i roll til i change my luck might wither away into nothingness before i ever finish it

16. What are your writing strengths?

i like to think that i'm good at writing realistic dialogue and maybe describing scenes like they're in a movie bc that's how i see everything i write in my head.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

brevity.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

the few times i've done it i've gone to someone who's fluent to double-check my dialogue bc i don't wanna be That Person

19. First fandom you wrote for?

lololololol simple plan back in the days of bandom and no u cannot find that fic anywhere thank u

20. Favorite fic you've written?

oof another tough question, but off the top of my head i'd say the hellcheer mechanic au. lots of good memories writing that one 💛

tagging @magicalrocketships, @dearmrsawyer, @alexenglish, @cyraclove, @medusasfinalgirl, @hangon-silvergirl, @a-strange-inkling, and anybody else who hasn't been tagged already and wants to do it!

#about my fic

[rogue-of-light]

doom bc this dude is doomed to slowly wither away and die (j)

but 👀 -KPA

SEE I WAS THINKING DOOM TOO BUT LIKE- DOOM IS ALL ABOUT RULES AND REGULATIONS AND LIKE. LOOKS OVER AT TUMBLR BEFORE YOU AGAIN. TUMBLR ISN'T KNOW FOR THAT /vol /j

but!!! under the cut is the analysis

Starting off with Tiktok we have Bard of Void. See, I chose this because Void is all about obscurity, secrets and infinite possibilities (along with some other things but for tiktok these three are the most important.)

Bards ghost the opposite of their aspect and their goal is to not be controlled by it. They also have a cowardly avoidant personality!

So, I chose Bard of Void for Tiktok because we've established Tiktok has a fear of irrelevency and are sort of uncomfortable being ignored. Thus, they try and be the center of attention and have a strong desire for attention- a desire to be in the Light. They make it very obvious if they want to talk about this 'toooootalllly secret thing they can't talk about...' but since you asked they'll happily tell you about it. Not to mention, Tiktok tries really hard to be noticed by those they admire.

When a Bard of Voids crisis occurs, they like- HEAVILY lean into the Void. They just give up and go "fuck it, everything is meaningless anyways

Bards have an avoidant and cowardly personality which results in them ghosting the opposite of their aspect. So a Bard of Void would ghost Light! Bards of Void are uncomfortable being ignored and constantly try to make themselves the center of attention or to pop into the spotlight (sound familiar?). They have a desire to be recognized, especially by those they idolize or admire. They also have a tendency to be the type to go "I really can't talk about this... it's suuuuch a big secret... Well if you're going to force me I guesss I can talk about it" because they Really wanna talk about it!

As we've talked about, Tiktok has an issue with not wanting to be 'irrelevant' or 'forgotten' thus they try and make themself as special and unique as possible. They admire Tumblr and Twittr to a degree, which is why they try and get their attention so much and force their way into a quadrant with the two of them- not to mention how it would boost their popularity and time in the spotlight. Tiktok also fits with the infinite possibilities aspect of Void as well! Given, you know, Tiktoks content!

Plus, with all the drama around the fact they may or may not have killed Viinee? The ambiguity just screams Void Player.

Next up is Twittr being a Heir of Rage. Rage is about hate, defiance, criticism, doubt, and negativity!

Heirs have a natural ability to gravitate to their aspect or unconsciously seek it out, their challenge being pretty much to just take a moment and let go of their anger- to not get stuck on it.

So, with this, a Heir of Rage is someone who's naturally skeptical and critical of anything and everything. They have no issues in saying no and can be VERY stubborn. They have the ability to pick and tear apart anything they don't like or consider to be untrue/a lie. They gravitate towards things that are untrue- not because they believe them, but because they want to tear them down.

Or they're the ones setting things up to manipulate others with fear and anger! They themselves are prone to be manipulated by their aspect, either with short tempers or paranoia.

We haven't spoken a lot about Twittrs lore, but based on the site- Heir of Rage fits perfectly. Heirs of Rage are described to be great internet trolls (Which, also fits Reddit). Just try and debate a Heir of Rage by disagreeing with them every step of the way, quickest way to make them lose their mind.

Finally, we have Tumblr! The one I'm least confident on. I chose a Rogue of Heart for Tumblr due to what the Heart aspect means; Impulses, Emotions, Passionate, Showing off. Again, not sold on rogue of heart tumblr but right now it's what I've got.

Rogues have trouble coping with their aspect, believing they don't have it or have what it takes to have it. Rogues of Heart may have trouble coping with their feelings and passions, which results in them keeping it more hidden. They might be embarrassed by their quirks or interests, choosing to keep it right there until one day they will die. They have trouble talking about it with others, doing the classic "Haha no it's stupid never mind" move. They may act like themselves alone but try and fit in when in public.

I think this fits Tumblr in the sense of "It's only cringe when I do it" which is a mindset a lot of people had/have. Especially in the early days, saying you had a tumblr was a death sentence so even if you were really into it, you just shut up about it because you wanted to be 'normal.' I feel like a Rogue of Heart's challenge is one that works for Tumblr, to learn that it's okay to be weird! You have your own interests and likes and that's okay!! It doesn't make you a freak! Embrace the werid!

#[ kankri playlist anon ] #appstuck #appstuck: notes app #had to rewrite this like three times bc it kept deleting LMAO

[widows-writings]

You wanna know the shittiest thing of working a night job where you do everything? You're not paid enough, you aren't treated well, and then you go home and you don't even get to see and hang out with the people you love because they have to go to work, so you're up, all alone, nobody to talk to during the day because your friends or at work. If you even have friends. And then you sleep and wake up just before you're supposed to go to work and maybe you get to see your partner for an hour before going to work. So instead you sacrifice more sleep so you can spend more time with them, they sacrifice sleep so they can spend time with you. You have to shop online to get the things you want, your life has been reduced to maybe talking to people on the internet, but mostly you just feel alone.

But when you start looking for another job, there just aren't the same perks. You have a lot more work to do, you have to interact with people, you have to be standing for longer than your body allows, and yet again, you're tired, but this time, you're too tired to hang out with your friends, go out into public. You're too tired to work on the things that you love. Whereas the night job gives you the chance to work on something you love and work towards making it a reality.

Working a job, it feels like I'm sacrificing my entire adult life, where I should be hanging out with friends and going on trips and going to concerts just so I can fucking afford to live. This isn't fair to me, this isn't fair to the people that are also going through this. I didn't deserve to have my life flipped upside down because people wanted to be assholes about COVID because they wanted to be assholes about paying people a living wage or anything like that. I didn't deserve it. Nobody fucking deserved it.

But every time I talk about my problems, I talk about how much I'm struggling, how much I'm hurting, people assume that the help that they got when they were my age is going to help me now. They say, it'll be okay, just go to college and you'll be happy. When I can't even afford to go to college in general because of how much debt it could put me in. I have to have a strict budget plane because if one dollar is misused or spent, I can't afford food or electricity.

I can't do this anymore, I can't be strong anymore. I don't want to be. I'm fading away at fucking 20 years old. I've never been on a road trip with friends, I've never been to a comic-con, I haven't done the things that a fucking 20 year old is supposed to do, instead I'm withering away due to anxiety. I can't do this. I don't want to have to try anymore.

[ao719]

Full Disclosure: The Beginning

Full Disclosure: The Beginning (Part 12)

Characters belong to Pixelberry

Summary: A look back at Charlotte during the social season and engagement tour.

A/N: I don’t feel great about this chapter, twice having almost scrapped it entirely. There was just a lot to pack in from Paris and it’s a lot of dialogue (I apologize in advance). I switched up canon a bit as well because there were some things I wanted to happen that kind of made the tea party and opera scenes pretty irrelevant here, so I didn’t write those in and I’m not sure how that worked out. Please excuse any grammatical errors.

A/N 2: 🍋

Catch Up Here

Tags: @leelee10898​ @hopefulmoonobject​ @zaffrenotes​ @cocomaxley​ @gardeningourmet​ @blackcoffee85​ @gibbles82​ @annekebbphotography​ @sweetest-marbear​ @indiacater​ @liamxs-world​ @classylady1234​ @texaskitten30​ @thequeenofcronuts​ @custaroonie​ @moneyfordiamonds​ @the-soot-sprite​ @ladyangel70​ @kate-mckenzie​ @emichelle​ @dcbbw​ @burnsoslow​ @bbrandy2002​ @sirbeepsalot​ @choiceslife​ @debramcg1106​ @gnatbrain​ @ofpixelsandscribbles​ @caroldxnvxrs​ @openheart12​ @rigatonireid​ @callmeellabella​ @superharriet​ @seriouslybadchoices​ @aestheticartsx​ @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @kingliam2019​ @indiana-jr​ @bascmve01​ @rainbowsinthestorm​ @badchoicesposts​ @darley1101​ @blackcatkita​ @charlotteg234​ @alyssalauren​ @txemrn​ @neotericthemis​ @queenrileyrose​ @emkay512​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​

Charlotte sat at a table in the dining car of the train, eating breakfast with Bertrand, Maxwell, Olivia, and Drake. She was also nursing her shoulder, bruised from her run-in with the wall earlier that morning as she sipped her coffee and listened to Bertrand explain what he had been able to find out about the bank transaction.

“So, you only have the card number, but not who it belongs to?” Drake asked.

“Correct.”

“How the hell do we find out whose card it is?”

“Well, we know that it was one of the ladies -- whichever one paid the maid off in Applewood. We need to check their cards somehow.”

“But how do we check them? We can’t just walk up to them and ask to see their credit cards,” Charlotte scoffed.

“Madeleine’s bachelorette party is tonight, so it gives us a more than a perfect opportunity.” Bertrand glanced at Charlotte. “You can see if you can get a look at the cards then.”

“Wait … what?” Charlotte choked on her coffee as she looked at Bertrand. “You’re not seriously expecting me to go out and celebrate with them …”

“Lady Charlotte-” Bertrand stopped when Charlotte shook her head and looked away from him for a moment. He shared a glance with Maxwell, silently asking for help.

Maxwell reached over and covered Charlotte’s hand with his. “You won’t be there alone, Little Blossom. Olivia is going …”

“Excuse me.”

Charlotte stood from her seat and headed towards the exit, walking past Liam, who was getting ready to leave the train with Madeleine for a day full of press interviews and meetings. His eyes followed her with a look of concern before Madeleine yanked his arm. Liam glanced worriedly at the table, watching the others get up to follow her.

“Lady Charlotte,” Bertrand called after her.

When she didn’t stop, Drake side-stepped Bertrand and caught up to Charlotte. “Brooks …”

Charlotte turned and looked at the four of them again. “Look … between the scandal and being on this tour, and having to watch Liam parade around with Madeleine on a daily basis, I have a sliver of dignity left at this moment. I’d like to keep it.” Charlotte’s voice slightly cracked at her last words. “Please don’t ask me to go out with them tonight and try to put on this happy face, especially when we know that one of them was involved …”

Bertrand stared at Charlotte, feeling a wave of guilt hit him. “I can do it,” Olivia chimed in. She locked eyes with Charlotte for a moment. “I’ll try and get a look at the card numbers. There’s no need to send her out just for that. Just tell me what I’m looking for.” Charlotte subtly nodded her head in a silent thank you.

****

That evening, after dealing with the press and foreign dignitaries all day, Liam entered the train alone; Madeleine was already out with the other ladies for her bachelorette party. On his way back to his cabin, he saw Maxwell, who was headed out to meet Drake and Olivia.

“Hey, Li,” he smiled.

“Lord Beaumont.” Liam glanced around before looking back at Maxwell. “Was Charlotte ok this morning?”

“Bertrand brought up the bachelorette party and how we could use it as an opportunity to check the cards against the one used in the transaction. She got upset about having to go.” Liam’s expression fell; he didn’t blame her for not wanting to go. “But Olivia offered to do it. She and Drake left not too long ago. I’m on my way to meet them now. Charlotte’s in her cabin.”

“She stayed?” Maxwell nodded with a smile before he clapped Liam’s shoulder and walked away.

****

Charlotte sat on her bed in her cabin on the train, reading a book; it was a much better way to spend her evening than being out celebrating and having Madeleine shove the engagement down her throat even more than she already had. She heard a soft knock on her door, and stood from her bed. She opened it to see Liam on the other side. “Hi,” she smiled.

“Hey!” Charlotte turned and made her way back to the bed as Liam stepped inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. He watched Charlotte climb back onto her bed and lean back against the headboard; she wore sweatpants and a cropped T-shirt; her hair was piled into a messy bun on top of her head. “Maxwell said you didn’t want to go out with the others tonight …”

“Maxwell was correct.” Charlotte glanced up and let out a breath. “I’m sorry, Liam … I know I should have gone. I just-”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Charlotte, nor do you owe me an explanation.” He slipped off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. “I understand why you didn’t want to go … and I don’t blame you.”

“You’re not upset?”

Liam smiled and shook his head. “Not at all. A bit relieved, actually.” Charlotte gave him a questioning look as he walked towards the bed; he leaned over, pressing his palms against the mattress. “Now I get to spend the evening with you.” Charlotte smiled and grabbed his tie, curling it around her hand before pulling him down and meeting his lips with hers.

****

Charlotte had spent the last thirty minutes teasing Liam unmercifully. She was now straddling him topless while his shirt lay open; her hands were pressed against his bare chest. Liam’s hand was tangled in her hair, and his other gripped her hip tightly, anchoring her to him as their tongues curled together.

They abruptly parted when they heard a soft knock on Charlotte’s door. “Don’t … do not answer it. They’ll go away,” Liam whispered before drawing her swollen and tingly lips back to his; she rocked her hips against him, eliciting a soft moan from him as he pulled her hips tighter against him. A moment later, another knock came; Charlotte felt Liam’s body tense beneath her in frustration as she stifled a laugh against his lips.

“Brooks!” They heard Drake’s voice on the other side.

“Shouldn’t he be off on a Tinder date or something?” Liam whispered harshly, causing Charlotte to snort loudly.

“I hear you in there, Brooks! Open up! It’s important.”

Charlotte gave Liam an apologetic smile before leaning down and kissing him once more; she slid off his lap and picked up her discarded shirt from the floor. “You better fix that,” she chuckled, motioning her head towards his arousal before pulling her shirt on.

Liam gave her a withering glance in return as he sat on the edge of the bed, quickly buttoning his shirt. “You need to finish what you started,” he retorted.

“Brooks!”

“I’m coming! And not the way I wanted to be!” Liam let out a laugh behind her as she walked to the door.

Drake stared at her when it opened. “I really didn’t need to know that.”

Drake stepped inside, Maxwell and Olivia following behind him. “Hi, guys,” Liam smiled sheepishly.

Charlotte shut the door and turned to face them. “Were you able to find anything?”

“Uh … yeah,” Drake sighed, running his hand through his hair.

“I managed to check Madeleine’s card first when she … accidentally dumped her purse all over the floor … I was certain it was her, or at least I had hoped,” Olivia explained. “But it wasn’t a match.”

“I checked Kiara’s when I asked her to get shots,” Maxwell said. “Not her either.”

“I had to help Penelope order a car to get Madeleine’s drunk ass home because she didn’t know how … she had two different cards. The first one didn’t match, so I lied and told her they declined the card. She gave me the second one and … it was a match …”

“Penelope?” Liam asked incredulously. Drake, Maxwell, and Olivia all nodded.

Charlotte stared at Drake in stunned silence. Penelope. Poodle loving, dopey Penelope. Is Drake sure? Did he check the numbers right? Then she heard Drake say that he was absolutely certain when Liam asked if he was sure. This is unbelievable. Charlotte couldn’t believe the wool that Penelope had pulled over her eyes. She wondered if the way Penelope carried herself was all an act, an elaborate ruse to throw people off and make them think she was utterly helpless and completely invaluable when really she was some kind of secret goddamn genius. Fucking Penelope. Her brain was having a hard time computing it all.

“Charlotte?” Liam spoke her name when he saw her shocked expression as she stood frozen in place.

“Brooks, are you ok?” Drake asked.

“No, I AM NOT ok!” she shrieked. “My brain is like an internet browser right now! I have like 19 tabs open, six of them are glitching, and I can’t figure out where the fuck the music is coming from!” She pressed her palms to her temples and began to pace the floor. “Fucking Penelope? Are you kidding me? This is …” Charlotte trailed off as she let out a breath. “That little-”

“Charlotte, try and calm down,” Liam said as he took a step toward her.

“You know what? For Halloween this year, I’m dressing up as my life in this very moment because it’s a goddamn fucking nightmare. Or better yet, April Fool’s, because this is a fucking JOKE!” She faced all of them and threw her hands into the air. “PENELOPE? Penelope is the one who … I cannot believe this shit!”

“Char, calm down. We’ll have a chance to talk to her tomorrow at the fashion show.”

Suddenly, Charlotte walked to her cabin door and opened it. “Everybody out.”

“Charlotte-”

“I just want to be alone. Please.” She looked down at her feet as everyone shared concerned looks before slowly filing out of the room.

Liam, the last one in the line, stopped in front of her. He didn’t want to leave her alone, but he knew better than to push her right now. “I’m sorry, love,” he whispered. He leaned down and kissed her cheek, letting his lips linger there for a moment. “I love you.”

Without looking at him, Charlotte whispered, “I love you too.”

*******

The following morning Charlotte found herself in the boutique car of the train with Bertrand. She had taken the night to calm herself down, but she was still seething. She was having trouble comprehending how Penelope, of all people, was the one who had helped set her up in Applewood. She acted so nice and innocent to Charlotte’s face, and not once during this Engagement Tour did she even mention knowing anything about the scandal.

“I managed to get this dress from the designer of today’s charity fashion show.” Bertrand unzipped the black garment bag revealing the gown inside.

“It’s beautiful,” Charlotte smiled. She took the bag and stepped inside a dressing room. She came back out a few moments later, smoothing down the front of the dress. “Well?”

“Fits like a glove,” Bertrand nodded approvingly. Charlotte eyed the designer gown with a grin in the mirror as she did a half-spin. “Just remember to fawn over it when the press asks who you’re wearing. The designer will appreciate it.”

Just then, the boutique door flung open, and Maxwell stepped inside; Charlotte’s gaze immediately landed on the little ball of fluff he was carrying in his arms, and her eyes went wide. “PUPPY!” she squealed loudly.

“Isn’t he the cutest!” Maxwell grinned. “I found him on the street. I couldn’t just leave him out there.”

“Absolutely not, Maxwell!” Bertrand barked.

“But-”

“No! We cannot have a dog with us on the tour!”

“But look at his wittle face,” Charlotte crooned as she reached out to pet the Corgi. “Hi, little guy,” she smiled. The dog’s tongue lolled out of the side of its mouth as he panted happily while looking at her. Charlotte scratched his head just behind his ear, and he leaned into her touch. “Oh my god, I love him!”

“Do not even think about picking him up while you’re wearing that dress! Everyone will ask what perfume you’re wearing, and you'll have to respond, ‘it’s called wet dog.’” Bertrand threw his arms up in frustration when Charlotte took the dog from Maxwell despite his warning.

“He is precious! Aren’t you? Yes, you are!” She leaned down to kiss the top of his head but drew back. “But you need a bath. You stink.”

“Perfect!” Bertrand scoffed. “Maxwell, do whatever you need to do with this mutt. Charlotte needs to prepare for the fashion show.”

“Yes, good idea, Bertrand,” Charlotte agreed. “Maxwell, can you take him to a groomer?”

“That is not what I meant, Lady Charlotte!”

“Well, I’m not putting this poor little guy back out on the street, Bertrand! I’m keeping him. And you can’t tell me no because number one, I can do what I want, and number two, you owe me.”

Bertrand’s expression fell. He couldn’t deny that he did owe Charlotte for everything she had been through, mainly on his behalf. “Be that as it may, having a dog on tour is preposterous!”

“No, it’s not! Think of the attention it’ll bring. ‘Lady Charlotte of House Beaumont saves orphan dog from streets,’” Maxwell smiled as he imagined the headline. “People will love it!”

Bertrand pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maxwell, I entertained the peafowl. Asking me to keep a dog after you brought Carl home is not a good idea!”

“Carl and the dog will be best friends! Carl needs a friend!”

Charlotte set the dog on the ground and crouched down next to him while Bertrand and Maxwell continued to go back and forth. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I won’t let that asshole peacock anywhere near you.”

“But look at him!” Maxwell flung his arm out.

Bertrand glanced down to see both the dog and Charlotte staring up at him with puppy dog eyes. “Well, can you do tricks?” he asked the dog. “Roll over.” At the command, the dog flopped on its side and rolled over before standing back on its stubby legs, panting up at Bertrand as his fluffy butt shook back and forth. “Goddammit!”

At that moment, Drake entered the boutique. When he noticed the dog, he smiled. “Hey there, little sausage looking buddy.” The dog walked up to Drake and sniffed his leg; he raised his own leg and pissed all over Drake’s pants. “What the hell?” Drake jumped back. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Charlotte laughed, and Drake shot her a look.

Bertrand couldn’t hold back his snort. “Very well, you may keep him.”

Charlotte squealed and high fived Maxwell. Bertrand’s expression grew serious. “But one wrong move -- a chewed shoe, a random pooping incident -- and he is gone!”

“He just pissed on my leg!” Drake hollered.

“You should probably go change. I mean, unless dog pee is your kind of thing,” Charlotte giggled. Drake turned and stalked out of the boutique.

“We have to name him,” Maxwell smiled.

“How about Chance? Like … what are the chances he would piss on Drake’s leg?” Charlotte laughed. The dog turned and barked, wagging his fluffy butt. “Chance it is. You can come to the fashion show with me today, little guy!”

“I’ll give him a bath while you finish getting ready. Come on, Chance,” Maxwell scooped him into his arms. “We’re going to make you fresh and fly for your public debut.”

****

An hour later, Charlotte and Bertrand met Maxwell outside the train; Maxwell was with a freshly groomed Chance. Charlotte decided she would test how good Chance was for her image, choosing to walk with him on the step-and-repeat outside the fashion show. The press snapped photographs, smiling at her new friend as she posed with him. Donnie Brine, the reporter from the CBC, asked Charlotte all about the dog, and she sold the story of Maxwell rescuing him and her choosing to keep him. She then fawned over her gown, just like Bertrand told her when asked who she was wearing before finally stepping inside the building.

Charlotte held Chance’s leash as she, Drake, and Maxwell weaved their way through the crowd. She told herself she would steer clear of Penelope at the fashion show, not wanting to cause a scene, knowing she wouldn’t have very nice things to say to her. She planned to confront her afterward.

“Oh, puppy!” Charlotte heard the familiar voice and turned to see Penelope just as she crouched down.

Before she could pet Chance, Charlotte scooped him into her arms. “Do not touch my dog,” she spat. Penelope’s eyes widened as Charlotte turned and walked away.

“Way to be subtle, Brooks,” Drake snorted.

“She doesn’t get to touch my dog. And I know how much she likes dogs, so I know that broke her soul just a little bit.”

Drake spotted something up ahead and stopped Charlotte from walking any further. “Hey, there might be something or rather someone you’ll want to see in that little room over there.” Drake tilted his head towards a room off to the side. Charlotte nodded in understanding before making her way over.

Charlotte led Chance inside what appeared to be a private office; Liam was standing behind the door, smiling at her when their eyes met. He shut the door and immediately leaned down, pressing his lips to hers. “Hi,” he smiled.

“Hey, you.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. I’m sorry about last night … I just needed to clear my head.”

“It’s fine. I understand.” Liam glanced down, just noticing the dog sitting quietly at Charlotte’s feet and his lips curved into a large grin. “And who is this?”

“This is Chance. Maxwell found him all alone on the street, and I’m keeping him. He’s the most adorable ball of fluff!”

Liam crouched down, and Chance immediately moved to him, jumping up to lick his face. Charlotte couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Liam’s laugh. “Well, hello to you too, Chance.” He scratched behind his ears before Chance flopped on the ground for a belly rub. “Who’s a good boy? Yes, you are,” Liam chuckled as he rubbed his belly. He smiled at Charlotte as he stood back up. “I wanted to ask if you’d like to meet me later tonight.”

“Oh?”

“I may have a trip to the top of the Eiffel Tower planned.”

Charlotte’s mouth fell open. “The top?”

Liam nodded with a grin before leaning down to kiss her once more. “I’ll have a car waiting for you at 10 o’clock.”

****

After the fashion show, the ladies of court answered a few questions from the press, talking about their donations to the charity. It was the first time Charlotte had been in close proximity to Madeleine since Italy when she had bailed on attending her bachelorette party.

As they finished with the press, Madeleine approached Charlotte. “I missed you last night at my bachelorette party.”

Charlotte gave her a look, arching her brow. “Really?”

“No. But I do find it extremely rude that you chose not to attend.”

“I was sick.”

“You seemed fine all day.”

“Yes, then I thought of having to celebrate your bullshit of an engagement, and it nauseated me. So I stayed behind. I heard it was pretty lame anyway.” Drake and Maxwell both laughed behind her, and Madeleine rolled her eyes as she turned, walking away. Charlotte then spotted Penelope heading into the back room behind the stage. “Can you guys take Chance back to the train? I have someone I need to speak with.” Charlotte extended her hand, trying to give Drake the leash.

“No way! He pissed on my leg!”

“He was just marking you as his,” she snorted. “It means he likes you!” Drake huffed and took the leash. “Thank you. Just take him to my room. I won’t be long.” Drake and Maxwell left with Chance as Charlotte weaved her way through the crowd towards the back room. She stepped inside, finding Penelope rifling through her purse, mumbling under heat breath about where her checkbook was.

Penelope turned at the sound of the door latching shut. “Charlotte,” she said when her eyes fell on her. “Come to tell me I can’t touch your dog again?”

“No, but I’m not sorry about it. Dogs are loyal, Penelope. My sweet boy was not about to be exposed to a corrupt traitor!”

Penelope furrowed her brows. “Corrupt traitor? What are you talking about?”

Charlotte pointed her finger and jabbed it into Penelope's shoulder. “You know exactly what I’m talking about … TRAITOR!”

“I really don’t, Charlotte.”

“Penelope, I know that you helped set me up in Applewood. I know. And you owe me some goddamn answers.”

Penelope’s eyes widened. “I …” She abruptly closed her mouth as she stared at Charlotte. She glanced down, wringing her hands together. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I didn’t want to hurt you, I promise.”

“I was wrong about you, Penelope. I thought you were a good person. Not like the other cut-throat bitches at court. I wanted to be your friend. I thought that you were sweet and kind. But I should have known that you were just like the others and would drive that knife in my back the minute you had an opportunity. So I just have one question: why?”

“It was the only way for me to remain at court. I knew Liam wasn’t going to choose me, and I don’t like being here, but my parents thought I was doing so well making friends and spending time with eligible noblemen. I couldn’t bear to face them as a failure. But I’m not like Madeleine. I’m not skilled to maneuver myself into a favorable position … at least not alone. I was offered a chance to remain at court as a lady-in-waiting regardless of who Liam chose … as long as I helped in the scheme against you …”

“‘Offered’? So someone told you to set me up?”

“Of course! I would never have thought of such an awful thing on my own.”

“You claim it’s awful, yet you still went along with it!”

“I’m sorry, Charlotte. I really am.”

“After everything I’ve been through because of something you chose to take part in, your apology doesn’t mean shit to me, Penelope, and I don’t accept it. And all of this time, you didn’t come forward, knowing that everything they have been saying about me is a lie!” Charlotte could see the remorse on Penelope’s face, but truthfully, she didn’t care. “Who was it, the person who gave you this offer? You at least owe me that much.”

“It …” Penelope let out a breath as she met Charlotte’s gaze again. “It was Bastien.”

****

Charlotte walked back to the train, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that Bastien -- Liam’s head guard, someone he was supposed to trust -- played a part in the scandal against her. The more she found out about who was involved, the more shocked she became. First the maid, then Penelope, then Bastien. She wondered why. What did Bastien gain from helping to scheme against her? And she wondered what Liam was going to think when he found out.

Charlotte entered the train and walked to her room; when she stepped inside, Maxwell and Drake rose from the floor where they played with Chance. “How’d it go?” Maxwell asked. Charlotte just shook her head as she stared off. “What did she say?”

“She admitted to it. She said … that she was offered a chance to remain at court as a lady-in-waiting … only if she helped in the scheme against me …”

“Who the fuck would offer her that?” Drake asked. Charlotte looked up, meeting Drake’s gaze. She knew how close he was to Bastien, the older man had practically helped raise Drake after his dad died. “Brooks … who was it?”

“Bastien …”

“What?” Drake asked incredulously. “No. No way. He wouldn’t do that, Brooks. There has to be some kind of mistake.”

“Drake … she and Bastien met face-to-face more than once. He gave her explicit instructions to hire the photographer and to arrange for Tariq to be in my room that night …” Charlotte watched the disbelief fill Drake’s expression as he ran his hands through his hair and laced them behind his head. After a few moments of watching him silently struggle to comprehend that it was Bastien, Charlotte took a step forward. “I … Drake, I’m sorry …”

Drake shook his head as he looked at her. “Don’t you dare apologize to me. He chose to do this. That’s on him.”

“I need to tell Liam. I’m supposed to meet up with him in a little bit.”

“Don’t tell him, not yet,” Drake shook his head, and Charlotte gave him a look. “Let me talk to Bastien first to try and get an explanation before we say anything to Liam. His bachelor party is tomorrow … I can talk to Bas then.”

“I’m going with you,” Charlotte stated matter of factly.

“You can’t,” Maxwell said. “It’s at a gentlemen’s only speakeasy.”

Charlotte arched her brow. “Really? A gentlemen’s club?”

“I promise, it’s not that kind of club, Brooks. And I think Bastien will be more inclined to talk if you’re not there. If you come, he’s just going to ask you to leave because it’s against protocol,” he added. “I’ll talk to him, I promise. And then I’ll tell Liam myself. Bas … he’s been in Liam’s life just as long as he’s been in mine. It’s not something that’s going to be easy for him to hear.”

****

That night, Charlotte took the car Liam had waiting for her to the Eiffel Tower. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her if she spoke to Penelope because she didn’t want to lie to him, knowing Drake wanted her to wait before telling him what their conversion revealed. When the car pulled up alongside the massive monument, Charlotte looked up at it through the window in awe. She thanked the driver before exiting the vehicle; she spotted Liam standing at the base of the tower and made her way towards him.

“Hi,” she smiled as she approached him.

Liam grinned and extended his hand to her. “Hello, love.” Behind him, Charlotte spotted a man standing near the elevator; she glanced back at Liam with a look of concern. “No need to worry. Come on,” he smiled, leading her to the elevator car.

They rode up to the top of the tower and stepped out onto the terrace deck; the man disappeared as he took the elevator back down to the ground. Liam led Charlotte to the railing, and she gasped at the view of the city below. “Liam! This is incredible!”

“I thought you’d enjoy it,” he smiled.

Not having seen her since early that afternoon, Liam stepped behind her, caging her between his arms as he leaned against the railing. “I missed you today,” he whispered as his lips graded the shell of her ear.

“I missed you too.” Charlotte thought for sure he would ask her about Penelope then, but instead, he wrapped his arms around her and casually told her about his day before he began pointing out different sights below them. She leaned back against Liam’s chest and sighed in content when his strong arms tightened their hold around her waist. She stared down at the twinkling lights of Paris below them and smiled. “I feel like I’m standing on top of the world.”

Liam dipped his head, dragging his lips across the silky skin of her neck. “I can’t wait until I can show you the world. As my wife.”

“You’re not doing a bad job so far. Maybe I’ll stay the secret girlfriend,” Charlotte teased. It was her way of trying to ignore the immediate “what if” that popped into her mind at his words.

Liam’s fingers dropped down the front of her, his fingers fiddling with the skirt of her dress. “I don’t want you to be a secret,” he said as he lifted the fabric enough to slip his hands beneath it so he could massage her thighs.

Charlotte relaxed beneath his touch and tilted her head upwards to see the star-filled sky. “Liam! Look!”

“It’s beautiful,” Liam agreed as his hands slid a bit higher. But he was staring at Charlotte, not the sky. “Paris is below us, the heavens above us. And I have paradise in my arms.”

Charlotte giggled and turned her head, ready to make a teasing joke about his adorably cheesy comment, but she smiled instead at the dreamy expression he was wearing. And then she let out a soft breath when she felt his fingers brush against her lace-covered center. “Liam,” she whispered as her eyes fluttered shut.

Liam smirked when she rested her foot on the balustrade to give him better access. He watched her bite her lip through a smile when his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her underwear. He leaned forward and captured her lips in his while his fingers began to move against her in tantalizing circles, and his tongue curled with hers at the same pace.

When he drew back from the kiss, he moved his lips to her ear. “We’re way up here, all alone,” he whispered. “Let me hear you, love.” As he spoke the last word, Liam pushed a finger inside her, drawing an instant moan from her. “That’s my girl.”

Liam’s finger slid in and out a few times before he added a second, crooking them to hit that spot as his thumb circled her clit and her moans grew louder. Charlotte slid her hand over his and arched into his palm as his lips trailed along her neck. “Liam, don’t stop,” she mewled as her hips bucked against his hand. Liam pumped his fingers, doubling his efforts, and before long, he felt her begin to flutter around him just before she tipped over the edge. She gripped his arm, and he continued to stroke her as she rode out her release.

Liam slowed his fingers and pulled them out of her while she caught her breath; she opened her eyes to meet his gaze just as he slipped his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean before kissing her again. Charlotte placed her foot back on the ground and, without breaking the kiss, turned in his arms. Her hand palmed his hard cock through the fabric of his pants before her fingers began to fumble with his belt, then the button, and zipper. She pushed down his pants and boxer-briefs and wrapped her fingers around his cock; he moaned and pushed himself further into her hand as she stroked him before she dropped to her knees.

“Charlotte, you don’t have-” Liam’s words rolled into a moan when she wrapped her lips around the head of cock and swirled her tongue. He closed his eyes, cursing under his breath as her tongue slid along the underside of his shaft when she took him fully into her mouth. “God, your mouth feels so good.” Liam wrapped his hand around her hair and bucked his hips as she bobbed her head. He glanced down, watching himself fuck her mouth while her hand stroked him simultaneously, bringing him closer and closer to the edge. Liam dropped his head back with a deep groan when she hallowed her cheeks, and he felt himself hit the back of her throat. “Fuck, Charlotte,” he hissed in pleasure. He didn’t want her to stop, but he needed her to. With a growl, Liam looked down and gently tugged her hair, forcing her off of him. He pulled her up to her feet and kissed her deeply, backing her against the railing as his hands quickly pulled up the skirt of her dress. “I need to be inside you, love.”

Liam reached down and hooked his arm under her knee, hoisting her leg up to his waist as his other hand slid her underwear to the side. He kissed her again, feeling the head of his cock slide through her wetness and press against her entrance before he pushed himself to the hilt inside her. Charlotte drew back from the kiss to suck in a breath at the way he filled her. “You feel so good,” she whimpered, feeling him swell even more inside her. She grabbed the railing behind her with one hand, looping her other arm around his neck.

Liam reached out with the arm hooked under her leg and grabbed hold of the railing behind her for leverage before he pulled out and plunged back into her with a groan. He thrust into her in deep, purposeful strokes as she rolled her hips to match his rhythm. “Yes, just like that, love,” he groaned.

Charlotte’s head dropped back, and Liam leaned forward, brushing his lips against the tender curve of her neck before his teeth began nipping her skin; his tongue followed each bite, soothing the sting, neither one caring at that moment if he left any marks. His brow beaded with sweat as his thrusts came harder and faster, chasing his release while Charlotte crested on her second. “Liam, I-” Charlotte’s words were replaced with a loud moan as he angled his hips just right, hitting that perfect spot deep inside with a powerful thrust. “Fuck, Liam!”

Liam could tell she was close by the way her body began to tense and tremble; he captured her lips in one more deep kiss before drawing back and uttering his command. “Come for me, love.” A cry of pleasure ripped from her throat as she came undone, gripping the hair at the base of his neck while he continued driving into her. Liam could feel her tighten around his cock, following her with his own shuddering release a moment later as he let out a deep groan and pulled her hips flush against his.

Charlotte’s forehead rested against Liam’s chest as they caught their breath. She tilted her head to meet his lips, kissing him slow and deep as he still pulsated inside her. He slowly pulled himself out, smiling into the kiss at the whimper that the loss of him drew from Charlotte. He slowly rested her leg back down, sliding his hand higher up her thigh as he went until it settled on her backside. “Your ass is freezing,” he spoke through a chuckle as they parted.

“I don’t feel cold. Not at all,” she sighed. He smiled, sliding his finger beneath her chin and brushing his thumb across her lips before kissing her again.

Liam and Charlotte collected themselves and fixed their clothing back into place; he slipped off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders before pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her. Charlotte nuzzled against his chest, relishing in his warmth as they stood on the top of the tower for a few more peaceful moments before they had to step back into reality.

Charlotte felt him kiss the top of her head as his hand rubbed her back, and she smiled. “I love you,” he whispered against her hair.

“I love you too.”

*******

The following evening, while Charlotte stayed back on the train, Maxwell and Drake headed to the speakeasy for Liam’s bachelor party. Drake was feeling uneasy about going. Not only did he have to be around the pompous assholes of court, but he also had to talk to Bastien. He was still having a difficult time coming to terms with the fact that he had helped set Charlotte up and trying to figure out exactly how he was going to tell Liam.

The limousine pulled up along the sidewalk, and Maxwell glanced at Drake. “Ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be …”

When Maxwell and Drake entered the private room where the party was being held, they immediately spotted Liam on the other side; a look of relief flashed across Liam’s expression upon seeing them, thankfully tearing himself away from a conversation with Neville. He greeted Drake and Maxwell and waved a staff member down to get them drinks.

The three of them sat in a quiet corner of the room with their whiskey and steaks, talking for a while before Drake finally forced himself to scan the room for Bastien. He spotted him on the other side speaking with Rashad, and his jaw ticked as he narrowed his eyes. He tossed back the rest of his whiskey and set his glass down before excusing himself.

“Hey, Drake,” Bastien smiled as he approached him.

“Hey. Can I talk to you?” Drake asked.

Bastien nodded, and Rashad stepped away, leaving the two of them alone. “Enjoying the party? Whiskey and steaks sound like your kind of scene,” he chuckled.

“Bas …” Drake stared at him, and Bastien furrowed his brows in question at the look on his face. “I need to talk to you about Charlotte.”

“What about her?” Bastien asked, raising his glass to his lips.

“We know it was you … who helped set her up …” Bastien paused, staring at Drake over the rim of his glass. “There’s no use in denying it. She was told everything yesterday about how you paid Penelope to sabotage her. But I keep asking myself why? Why would you do that to her? To Liam? It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Drake …” Bastien trailed off and glanced around the room before meeting his gaze again and shaking his head. “I can’t talk about this.”

“Bas, I know you’re a good guy, but what you did, what you helped Tariq almost do to Brooks that night, is fucked up, and you know it! And I know you had to be working for someone. I know you wouldn’t do-”

“Dammit, Drake! I said can’t talk about this!” Bastien’s voice came out louder than he expected, pulling a few other’s attention, including Liam’s.

“You’re unbelievable! You stand there and preach loyalty and then turn around and do what did to not only Brooks, who was innocent in all of this, but to Liam!” Drake hissed. “You’re not the man I thought you were. At all.”

“Drake, it wasn’t personal … I swear.”

“What wasn’t personal?” Liam’s voice came behind them, and both Bastien and Drake stiffened as they stared at one another.

“Nothing, Your Majesty. I apologize for the commotion. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go do a quick perimeter check.”

Bastien stepped away, and Liam turned to Drake. “Are you ok? What the hell was that about?”

Drake let out a breath and looked over at his friend as Maxwell joined them. It was clear Bastien had no intention of coming clean to Liam, leaving Drake no other choice. “Li …” Drake ran his fingers through his hair before telling Liam what Penelope had told Charlotte the day before. As Liam listened, he could feel the anger rising inside him, learning that his head guard was involved in the scandal against Charlotte. “I tried to get some answers from him before telling you, but … he just kept saying he couldn’t talk to me.”

“I can’t believe this …” Liam shook his head in disbelief as he rubbed his hand over his mouth.

“He had to be working for someone else because he has nothing to gain from it himself,” Drake added.

Liam’s jaw tensed. “Can you head back to the train and give Charlotte a message for me?” Drake nodded, and Liam leaned over, dropping his voice as he explained what he wanted them to tell her; Drake and Maxwell both nodded. “I won’t be far behind you.”

When Drake and Maxwell left, Liam’s eyes scanned the crowd of men, narrowing when they landed on Bastien as he came back inside from his security check. He stalked towards him and roughly grabbed hold of his arm, yanking him out of the room through the private back entrance of the speakeasy.

“Your Majesty!” Bastien’s voice slightly shook.

The door shut, and Liam glowered at him. “It was you!”

Bastien opened his mouth to speak but let out a breath instead. He didn’t think Drake would say anything, but it was clear Liam knew the truth. “Sir … if I can just explain-”

Bastien was knocked backward to the ground when Liam’s fist came across his jaw. “Explain? There is nothing to explain!” Liam bellowed, his voice echoing through the dark alley they were standing in. “You helped set her up!” Bastien rubbed his jaw but stayed on the ground, knowing better than to try and get to his feet. “You took fucking part in what happened to her!” Liam grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him up. “Who were you working for?”

“Sir-”

“Who were you working for?” Liam growled.

Bastien hesitated for another moment before answering. “Your father, sir …”

Liam let out a sharp breath as his eyes widened; he let go of Bastien’s shirt and took a step back, staring at him. “My … my father?”

“I paid Lady Penelope in exchange for hiring the photographer who took the pictures of Lady Charlotte and Tariq that night … all under orders from your father.” He could see the shock and betrayal written across Liam’s expression as he tried processing what he was just told.

Suddenly, Liam remembered something. “That night … when you came to get me for the last-minute meeting with him …” Liam shook his head in disbelief. “He knew I was supposed to meet her, didn’t he?”

Bastien nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“And you came and got me knowing what was going to take place that night!” Liam ran his trembling hand through his hair as he tried wrapping his mind around the revelation.

“I was only following the orders of my King, sir.”

“You could have come forward two months ago, but you chose to stay silent! The minute that signet ring was given to me, I became your King! All of this could have been avoided! The entire Coronation Ball scene! Her being dragged out! All of it!”

“Sir, I will help you in any-”

“I don’t want your fucking help!” Liam shouted. He turned and began walking out of the alley; he could hear Bastien’s footsteps following behind him, and he whirled around. “Do not fucking follow me! I’ll get another guard to accompany me for the remainder of the tour because I surely can’t trust you!”

****

Liam walked on the sidewalk illuminated by the lampposts alongside the concrete balustrade that overlooked the Seine River. His hands were stuffed in his pocket as he struggled to process that his father was the one behind Charlotte’s scandal. He pulled his hand from his pocket, clearing his throat and rubbing his forefinger and thumb against his eyes as he wiped away the tears that had begun to leak. His own father had stood in the way of the one thing that he knew made Liam happy … and he couldn’t understand why. And now he had to tell Charlotte, and he was unsure how she would take the news that the former King had conspired against her.

Hearing his name, Liam glanced up and spotted Charlotte near the bridge; he composed himself before quickening his pace, not wanting to give way that he had been upset. Drake didn’t tell Charlotte what happened at the speakeasy, only that he didn’t get any answers from Bastien. He thought Liam should be the one to talk to her, unsure of what took place after he left. He only relayed Liam’s message he gave him to meet near the bridge.

Despite everything going on, Liam couldn’t stop the smile when he looked at her. “Hi,” he whispered as he made it up to her, cupping her face and leaning down, pressing his lips to hers in a lingering kiss. “Thank you for meeting me.”

“Why did you want to meet here?” she smiled.

Liam chose to wait to tell her about his father, not wanting to ruin this moment he had planned before learning the truth himself. “I had an idea earlier …” He stepped back and pulled out a small lock that he had purchased that morning, wanting to take Charlotte to the famous Love Lock Bridge. Charlotte grinned when she saw the brass lock in his hand, knowing what he had in mind. “Do me the honor?” he smiled.

“Yes! I’ve heard stories about these!” Charlotte became giddy with excitement as he led to the bridge. They stepped onto it, looking at all the locks put there over the years, scanning for a spot to place their own.

Liam crouched down when he eyed an opening for the lock. “Ok … what should we write on it?”

“Do our initials,” Charlotte smiled as she kneeled next to him.

“Like people carve on trees?” he chuckled, pulling the key from his other pocket.

“Yeah! Have you never done that?”

“No. I never had anyone I wanted to do it with,” he smiled. Using the tip of the key, Liam carved an ‘L’ and a ‘C’ into the brass. He took her hand when he finished, and together they placed the lock on the bridge, clicking it shut. He stared at it for a moment, thinking of everything they had been through already in their short time together. “Thank you for doing this with me.”

Charlotte sensed something off in his tone, and when she looked at him, she could see it in his expression. “Liam … what’s wrong?”

Liam glanced at her and let out a breath as he helped her to stand. He leaned against the railing and looked down at their intertwined hands. “Drake told me about Bastien …”

“Liam, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Drake said he wanted to talk to Bastien first and then tell you himself.”

“I understand. I just … I talked to Bastien after Drake left. It didn’t go very well …”

“What happened?”

Liam glanced up and met her gaze. “I yelled … and punched him.” Charlotte’s eyes widened at his words. “Then I asked him who he was working for … and he told me. I know who was behind the scandal, Charlotte. I know who set you up.”

Charlotte’s heart began to race. “Who was it?”

A look of guilt and remorse filled Liam’s expression. “It was my father …”

#trr #choices trr #the royal romance #choices the royal romance #trr liam #trr mc #trr liam x mc #choices liam x mc #king liam #king liam x mc #trr king liam x mc #choices king liam x mc #ns*w #lemons #trr fanfic #trr fan fic #trr fanfiction #choices fan fiction #choices fanfic

[glassartpeasants]

Tease

Shigaraki x Reader

Warnings: Virgin Shigaraki, teasing, hickeys, spanking, basically reader screwing with Shigaraki who i guarantee never had the sex talk.

A/N: I’m just gonna say that this is where Shigaraki has no clue what to do during sex so he’s just this pent up ball of clueless sexual frustration.

~~~

Oh how you loved to tease your boss. 

It was no surprise to you when Shigaraki told you he was a virgin when he was drunk. Thankfully you were the only one who heard it. But he sealed his fate forever after that.

Once he got sober he marched straight to your room and was going to threatened to kill you if you told anybody. But you heard him coming towards your room so what’s better then a virgin shigaraki? Teasing a virgin shigaraki.

Once you heard him by your door you proceeded to take off your shirt, your chest facing the door. 

He slammed open the door to yell at you when he was met with the sight of your shirt over your head and a pair of tits for his eyes to feast on.

“Take a picture it’l last longer.” You say in a seductive tone causing him to yelp and shut the door quickly.

That was the first incident..

~~~

The second incident was when you were in the hallways. It was just you and shigaraki and you were going separate directions. You looked him in the eyes before he looked down and muttered a quiet,

“Sorry i waked in on you..”

“It’s fine it was an accident.” He nodded before passing by you,

“But this wasn’t,” you giggle as you pinched his butt with him letting out a squeak. You snickered as you walked away not noticing the Shigaraki staring at you with a crimson blush on his face.

~~~

Third incident was when you guys were all sitting on the couch watching a movie. Twice and Toga made sure everyone was there no exceptions, which lead to you being cramped on the couch with the arm of the couch on your left and shigaraki on your right.

You could tell he was trying his hardest not to look at you. Even though you did have a blanket over your lap your tank top was showing a lot of cleavage that was too much for him to handle.

You snicker before snaking your hand down on to Shigaraki’s thigh and fave it a squeeze. You looked at him and you where meet with dangerous red ones. Which got wider when they felt a hand grabbing his dick.

You gently rubbed on the hardening member underneath you. But as time went by you slowly went more rougher and faster. Looking at Shigaraki who is just a red tomato by this point, shaking as he bit his lips.

Once you knew that Shigaraki was fully erect, and that it could be seen through his pants you announced that you were tired and going to bed.

Toga tried to convince you to watch the rest of it but you denied. Soon everyone went back to watch the movie you looked at Shigaraki who looked at you like if he stared hard enough at you, you would wither away.

~~~ 

The fourth incident was the same night. It was when everyone was asleep. Except shigaraki which could be silently gaming.

You grabbed your phone and put on your most sexy lingerie and went to Shigaraki’s contact. You took a picture of your breasts and sent it too him. But also making sure he could see the lingerie.

About 5 minutes later you hear a loud but not too loud knocking at your door. Still in your lingerie you open the door to see a beet red Shigaraki holding up his phone with a pissed off look.

The expression didn’t last long after you pulled him into your room before slamming him in the door only to smash your lips into his.

He let out a surprised yelp before you moved your hands to make shigaraki’s hands hold on to your waist. Your hands were to occupied that moment, one was in his hair tugging it, while the other was harshly rubbing on his cock.

During this entire encounter shigaraki was a panting mess, face red and messily kissing you ass well.

You grin evilly before shoving your hand down his pants.

“N-no! You can’t d-do t-that!” His voice cracked while he was trying to sound dominant.

“Why not?” You say innocently.

“Because people dont do that!”

“Really now?”

“Yes!”

“Well from what i recall, i remember that what im doing to you right now is called a handjob.”

“W-whats a handjob?” Now it was your turn to look at him wide eyed. You abruptly stop which caused him to whimper at the lost of undeniable pleasure.

“Your kidding right?”

“...”

“What have you never had the sex talk?!”

“...”

“Well then let me show you one thing that gives people pleasure.” You grin smugly as you continue your attack under his pants. Causing him to gasp at the sudden stimulation.

You rubbed him quickly while you bit his neck. Grabbing bits of skin and taking it in between your teeth. One of your fingers brushed the head of his dick causing him to let out a rather loud moan. His seed coating his pants but you didn’t stop which lead to him falling to the ground.

“Wow did you just cum in your pants? How embarrassing!” You laughed as you degraded him. You knew you were playing a dangerous game but knowing your leader was a little bitch for your sexual attention, was worth it.

You dug your hand out of his pants showing him all the sum that coated you hand. He looked at the hand then you. Wondering what you were going to do.

He slowly started shaking when he saw you bring your hand to your mouth to lick it all off. You slowly stood up looking down at shigaraki, face flushed and looking completely blissed out. 

You open your door causing him to fall back into the hallway. He looked at you again before you shut the door in his face. 

Leaving his pants zipper wide open for all to see.

~~~

Okay that was it. After that last incident Shigaraki had made up his mind. He needed to ignore your childish antics.

But it felt amazing, your soft hands-. No Shigaraki wasn’t going to think about that. HE had a mission and he wasn’t going to let you distract him.

The why couldn’t he stop the wet dreams?

Every night since then, his dreams would be full of things that made his heart go wild and dick standing up.

The thought of you licking his hardening member had him creaming his pants. 

HE even went as far as to search up the ‘sex talk’. And boy was he suprised.

He looked at everything the internet had to offer about sex. It was all good until he found out about kinks.

He looked at said website, and was completely in shock at some of these things. 

But what really got him going was the thought of you crying. Crying out to him as he fucked you. Not to mention the thought of him being in control was such a turn on that he couldn’t handle it anymore. He quickly sat up from his chair turning off the computer already full of new knowledge before stomping straight to your room.

When he opened the door you were there on your phone. You looked up at him with a sly grin.

“Need something boos?” Oh he needed something alright. He slammed the door behind him locking it before jumping on the bed and pinning you to it.

“Well didn’t thin-” You were interrupted when you felt your shirt and pants get disintegrated before getting flipped onto your tummy with your ass in the air.

“Shigaraki the h-HELL!” You yell out the last part after Shigaraki plunged into you without warning or prep. Before you could say anything you felt a sharp smack on your ass. Then another, then another.

THe red marks on your ass where enough to tell you who was in charge now. Shigaraki held your waist with eight fingers and humping you like a dog. 

You could hear his moaning in panting after every thrust. About like a minute in you felt his cock twitch inside you, thankfully over that time your wetness was a makeshift lube.

“Shigaraki d-dont your d-dare come i-inside!” You panted out, even it was his first time but you couldn’t stop the moans from flowing. His thrust weren’t in rhythm but the fact that he jack hammered into you with speed is what made you a moaning mess.

“Shut the fuck up, i-it’s my turn to b-be dominant now!” His arms snaked around your waist pulling you closer to him. His mouth was next to your neck as you could feel his hot breath.

Before you know it you feel shigaraki still inside you as he bit onto your skin harshly, the feeling of his seed pouring into you is something you would never forget.

“Asshole! I could get pregnant!” You yelled out to him but it fell on deaf ears as he continued his pace again, not giving you any type of warning.

The tip of his cock hitting your cervix over and over again made your legs shake as his grip on your waist tightened. He peppered your neck in kisses and bites, leaving nowhere untouched.

Of course it wasn’t long until you were pushed over the edge. The orgasm was so strong that your body felt like jello afterwards.

But did that stop Tomura? Nope we all know once this rat boy gets a taste of pussy you aint never gonna walk again.  Enjoy the rest of your life being Tomura’s personal fuck toy.

#sorry not sorry #mha tomura #tomura shiragaki #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki smut #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #mha #bnha smut #mha smut #bnha

[bluegarners]

“Damian takes a pic with a mall santa, chaos ensues”~ anon

For 12 Days of Batfam prompts

“I do not see why traveling here was necessary.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Dami! We’re going gift shopping!”

“Clearly. However, actually going to this cesspool of idiots is ridiculous. The internet exists for a reason, Richard. It is about time you learned how to use it.”

“That takes all the fun out of it though,” Dick pouts, landing a hand in Damian’s perfectly combed hair. “It’s practically like a tradition at this point. Besides, it’s a lot more fun to actually look at what you’re buying and not just try and guess what it’s like through a screen. What if it wasn’t like you wanted? What then?”

“Returns exist as well,” Damian grumbles, swatting at the hand still latched firmly to his scalp. “If the purchase is void, then a simple return is all that is necessary to begin again.”

“For once,” Tim sighs, cringing a bit at the obnoxious mall-music and over enthusiastic sales people trying to approach him, “I agree with the brat. This is uncomfortable and just… over the top. I know what I’m looking for, and reviews on products help determine if the thing is actually good. There isn’t any reason to be here, Dick.”

“On the contrary, my beloved brothers,” Dick grins, mouth stretching impossibly wide as his eyes land on something in the distance, “There is actually a fantastic reason for us to be here.”

As if deciding on something, Dick nods to himself before quickly turning around and clapping his hands together. “Okay, here’s the plan. We’re already here and it would be a waste to drive back after it took us an hour to get here, so we are staying.”

Cue the simultaneous groans.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Dick reprimands. “Let me finish. You guys can do anything you want. It’s the freakin mall, so it’s got other stuff than just stores. I don’t care what you do, as long as it’s legal. You could even just hang out in the food court, as long as you’re doing something. I need to do a couple things, but I will call you when I’m done and we’ll rendezvous somewhere.”

“You are leaving me here?” Damian asks, surprised. “With Drake of all people?”

Dick leans down to ruffle his hair again, but Damian moves away, a dark scowl edging its way onto his brow. “No, I refuse to be left alone with this imbecile.”

“As if I’d want to babysit you in the first place,” Tim mutters, glaring at the youngest.

Dick smiles pleasantly, a contrast to the way he squeezes both of their shoulders tightly, pulling them closer to him. 

“We’re not going to have any problems, right boys?” he asks sweetly, eyes crinkling. “Because it would be a shame if I had to make use of that lovely return policy on all the gifts I had planned this year.”

“Do you take me for a child-”

“Seeing as this is the last week I have left in Gotham, it would be quite the disappointment if I didn’t get to train surf with either of you before I leave again too.”

Damian shuts his mouth quickly, the idea of banning dual patrol before the eldest’s departure more threatening than lost gifts. 

“I don’t like train surfing,” Tim says smugly, crossing his arms in victory, “and I don’t like playing babysitter.”

Dick slowly tilts his head towards him, and the strain in his smile is enough to make Tim wither a bit. 

“All I’m asking for is maybe an hour of alone time while I get some stuff done. You don’t have to do anything together, you don’t have to go shopping if you’re so adamant on doing it online, and you don’t have to eat. Just please stick together. That’s all. Please, Tim.”

His resolve lasts all of four seconds before it crumples, and Tim looks to the side as he groans out a forlorn, “Fine.”

“Great!” Dick exclaims, an easy smile blooming back onto his face. “I’ll see you guys in an hour.”

And just like that, Dick disappears into the crowd, leaving behind two very disgruntled boys in his steed.

They stand there, refusing to acknowledge one another’s presence, before Tim sighs again and thinks, Well, might as well be a big brother. Holiday spirit and all that jazz.

“Okay,” he starts, half-way turning to face the youngest again, “Is there anything you want to do?”

Damian doesn’t say a word.

“Any stores?”

Silence.

“They, uh, have a movie theater in here. Any movies?”

Damian still refuses to open his mouth.

Well, fuck me, I guess, Tim bemoans, having the inability to think of anything worse to do than spend his Saturday afternoon looking after the gremlin in his charge.

Suddenly, Damian turns on his heel and begins walking away. Tim frowns, chancing a quick glance behind him to see if Dick was secretly watching them and if he could make a break for it, but decides against it at the last second. A happy Dick Grayson was infinitely easier to deal with rather than a disappointed one.

Everyone knew disappointment was worse than anger. 

He follows Damian quietly, keeping his distance and sidestepping the insane amount of people and sellers, all looking to get something. Tim doesn’t hate people, per-say. He finds them fascinating at times, but when he’s not looking to be fascinated, he just finds them uncomfortable to be around. Noisy, touchy, and all around obnoxious. There were precious few people Tim could say he liked to be around, and these strangers in the enormous mall were not them.

Damian walked with purpose, easily evading others and taking turns as if he knew where he was going. Perhaps he did, but Tim can’t recall a time where any of them actually frequented the mall often enough to know where things were. At least without looking at a map or asking an employee.

A minute later and Damian vanishes from sight. In a blink, he’s gone from the endless swirl of people and Tim panics slightly. How does someone lose a child so quickly? How is that possible? He was literally right in front of him, Tim had his gaze locked on the green hoodie, but it’s as if the brat was made of air. Poof, gone.

He pauses, turning this way and that in search of the elusive Wayne. It was unfortunate that the brat was shorter than the average 13 year old, if only by half an inch, but now was not the time to goad over heights. Tim is tempted to just text Dick and say he lost Damian, but hearing that in his head, after literally five minutes of being alone, does not sound like a fantastic idea. He can practically predict the lecture that would follow, words of, “Come on, I know you guys don’t get along super well, but he’s your brother,” and “I was gone for all of two seconds- how did he escape so easily?”

Tim groans, a common thing he’s been doing ever since they stepped into the epitome of capitalism, and resigns himself to continuing the search. Oh, he was so going to beat the brat during their next spar. This entire thing was not worth the discounts.

.

.

.

Damian smirks as he watches Drake fiddle around like a fool, searching blindly for him. If Drake had actually been paying attention, he would have seen Damian step into the small candle store to the right, hiding behind an outrageous depiction of Saint Nick practically shoving some holiday scent down his throat. 

As it were, though, Drake was a twit with half the brains of a goldfish, and Damian feels a sense of satisfaction wash over him as the older teen walks away in the opposite direction. 

He was free and alone. Perfect.

Well, not really.

Damian had agreed to go to the mall in the first place on the condition that it would just be he and Richard. It had sounded somewhat enjoyable, Richard hinting at some sort of surprise, but he was greatly displeased at the sight of another figure waiting for them in the car. Of all the people in the world to choose from. Of all the available and useless ignoramuses out there, Richard just had to ask Drake to come along.

Of course, he immediately protested because he had been promised that it would just be the two of them, but Richard insisted and used that horribly childish face with wide eyes and saddened sulk and giving in, at that point, was the only wise decision Damian could make from then on. In no way did he plan on spending this hour with Drake, awkwardly attempting conversation and suggestions that sounded boring enough to sleep to.

So, his plan of action was simple and executed flawlessly. All he had to do for the next 50 minutes was stay out of sight of both Drake and Richard, and the rest of that time was his to do with as he pleased.

He had already chosen gifts to present later on in the week, there was no need to do extra shopping, so all there really was to do was explore. 

Which is exactly what he did for the next forty minutes before he felt his phone begin to vibrate in his back pocket. He pulls it out, squinting at the caller ID of Grayson.

He lets it ring for a few seconds, some part of him thinking the wait as some sort of pay-back for betraying his promise, and answers on the last ring.

“Damian?” Richard says, urgency coloring his voice.

Instantly, Damian is paying more attention. “Yes? What is it?”

“I need you to meet me at the center, it’s important.”

“The center?” Damian mutters, scanning the crowded walkways for a map. “Why? What is happening?”

“I’ll fill you in when you get here, okay? Just get here as fast as possible.”

“Affirmative.”

Richard hangs up first and Damian begins searching for the nearest wall-map. He finds one and tsks when he sees he’s in the far west region of the mall, the center, if he walked like a normal person, taking upwards of about five minutes to reach.

He’d been given no details, nothing except the urgent lilt in Richard’s voice, a dead give away to how nervous he was. Nervous about what though? What could possibly make Nightwing frantic in an area like this? It must be something mildly bad, or at least dangerous for civilians, for Richard to call him. Crowd control possibly.

He hadn’t heard anything other than the usual noise of the populace, so Damian rules out a fire or some maniac shooting. There doesn’t seem to be an urgency in the way the crowd shifts, no clear tell for panic. 

His phone vibrates again and Damian immediately answers.

“Where are you?” Richard asks, that same nervousness pitching his voice.

“I am near a clothing store: Urban Outfitters,” he responds, picking up his pace slightly.

“Hurry,” Richard pleads. “You need to be here in two minutes or less or else I might- just hurry, please. When you reach the center, there will be a large Christmas tree off to the right. I’m over there. Find me when you get here.”

“Wait, Richard-” but Damian can’t get anything else in before the older man hangs up again.

The vagueness of the situation begins to worry Damian as well, doing as asked and trying his best to weave in between people and their annoying need to create a stiff, horizontal line wherever they walked. He curses when a little girl holding an absurdly shaped stuffed animal darts out in front of him, oblivious to the obstruction she’s caused.

She trips and falls, slapping into the smooth tile. Damian is tempted to walk around her, unmoved by her pitiable cries for her clumsiness, but when he glances back and sees no one else, no parent or sibling or literally any other bystander willing to help her, he rolls his eyes and turns back around. He holds out a hand and pulls the little girl to her feet, her tears silenced by the strange act of kindness.

“Where are your parents?” he asks gruffly, anxious as the precious seconds tick by.

“Uhhhh….I don’t know.”

I should’ve kept walking, Damian thinks to himself.

.

.

.

Tim is practically giddy with excitement. Dick stands behind him, arms crossed and peering over the heads of countless other parents and children, in search of Damian.

After having wandered around in a vain search for the brat, Tim had finally given in and texted Dick, apology in tow, when Dick had told him to meet him in the center of the mall. There, Tim had spotted the eldest standing in a long line filled with kids no older than eight and tired parents, disheveled and attempting to keep their children’s hair neat.

As soon as he’d tapped on his shoulder, Dick had reared around, the biggest shit-eating grin on his face as he said, “It’s tradition to get a picture with Santa.”

Tim less than fondly recalls his own picture with the infamous mall Santa, the old man smelling of cigarettes and too spicy cologne to mask it. All the bat-kids had taken a photo with the cheap Santa at some point or the other, Tim having been the oldest to do so at fifteen. Dick had taken his when he was ten, and Jason at eleven. 

However, once he registers the actual words that had come out of Dick’s mouth, Tim feels something close to euphoria rise in his chest as he now understands it was the brat’s turn to sit on off-brand Santa’s lap and have his picture taken. Oh, would that be a sight to behold. Chaos to be sure. Most likely some screaming as well. A lot of protest and cursing. Maybe even some tears.

A sight to behold.

“I knew you guys wouldn’t stick together,” Dick explains, “So I figured I’d call you over here earlier. Then, I’ll call Damian once we’re close to the front and act like it’s an emergency so he’ll have no choice but to come quickly.”

Tim was impressed. “You know,” he says, eyeing Dick, “You’re a lot more evil than everyone thinks.”

“The term you’re looking for is evil mastermind, Timmy.”

“Uh huh,” Tim jokes, excitement building in his bones as he notices they’re only two spots away from what is destined to be the greatest moment of his life. 

“Look! I see him!” Dick exclaims, pointing in the far distance.

Indeed, there was Damian in his green hoodie, half-jogging, half-walking as he headed towards the Christmas tree Dick had directed him to.

“We’re next,” Tim says anxiously, glancing at the teenager dressed as an elf, who was probably wondering why the two of them were standing in a line meant for children.

“It’s fine,” Dick reassures, his own thrill building. “He’ll be here.”

And, as if one cue, because malls are where miracles happen, Damian calls out, “Richard!”

Dick waves him over, compulsion in every movement of his arm. “Hurry, Dami!”

The teenager elf is now guiding them into the “Miracle Circle” and Dick yanks at the sleeve of Damian’s hoodie before he can even register what’s happening. Tim has to keep a hand over his mouth in order to stop himself from snickering at the bewildered look on the youngest’s face, eyes blown wide as he takes in the bright lights and tinsel.

“Richard,” he growl-whispers, “What is this?”

“Tradition,” Dick answers, tugging him closer to the overweight man sitting on the massive throne. “And it’s time you partake in it. I let you get away from it last year because I lost track of time, but not this year. This year, Dami, is where you finally experience,” he leans in closer, nearly whispering, “the joys of a mall Santa.”

“No,” Damian says, aghast as Dick pulls him closer and closer to the center. “No, I refuse. Unhand me this instant.”

He is powerless though against Dick’s firm grasp and excellent navigation skills. Everyone is watching. Everyone is staring.

“Hello there, little one,” mall Santa booms, arms out stretching as he reaches for Damian. “Come sit on Santa’s lap and tell me what you’d like for Christmas.”

“Richard,” Damian pleads, struggling as he eyes the suspicious fake beard, “If you do this, I will never forgive you.”

“I’m sorry, Dami,” Dick amends solemnly, a lie written all over his face. “I have to. It’s tradition.”

Faster than even Damian can react, Dick is sweeping him off his feet and plopping him onto the lap of a complete stranger.

“What’s your name?” mall Santa asks, Damian recoiling at the rank breath.

“Let me go,” he demands.

“Oh ho ho,” mall Santa chuckles, stomach jostling like a gross bowl of jelly. “We haven’t taken our picture yet!”

Mall Santa points a little off to the right, and it is with horror does Damian spot not only Richard, but Drake, Father, and Pennyworth aiming cameras at him.

Drake waves at him, shit-eating grin plastered shamelessly on his face. Richard is cooing through his phone, oo-ing and awe-ing at the scene. Father looks at least a little bit sympathetic, pity spelled out over his face as he watches his youngest son try to free himself from the mall Santa’s surprisingly strong grip. Pennyworth takes one picture, quickly putting away his phone. 

Damian is sure that the one picture is enough to spell doom for the rest of his life.

“You know,” mall Santa whispers, nearly suffocating Damian in the vice-like hug he’s trapped in, “Most kids smile when they take pictures with Santa.”

“I am not inclined to smile for a pedophile,” Damian snarls back.

“Well,” mall Santa sighs, voice suddenly less cheery, “I guess that means you’re on the naughty list then, you little shit.”

Damian stills in his struggle, eyes widening as he turns to meet the green eyes of the man who holds him.

“Todd?” he hisses, humiliation rising as the man just chuckles, winking.

“Happy holidays, little boy,” Jason cheers, playing up the act. “If you’re good, Santa might-”

The next morning, the top headline from the Gotham Gazette reads, 

Christmas Chaos: Youngest Wayne Punches Santa!

The article gets framed above the tree in their living room, and Damian waits for the day to exact his revenge. Soon. Soon.

#dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #dick grayson & damian wayne #dick grayson & tim drake #chaos #fluff #santa #fanfiction #prompt #writing #anon #12 Batfam prompts #batfam #my fic

[jaysworlds]

T4TMA Day Three - AU

Gerry has a lot of tattoos, he knows that. He gets looks from old women on the tube if he’s wearing short sleeves and looks from children in the street, and he’s running out of empty space on his torso, but he likes tattoos. Every time he spends a little more of his late mother’s money on a new design it feels like a fuck you to her, and he revels in it.

(So, he may have one or two issues still to work out. He’s fine!)

Unfortunately his last artist (a rather difficult old woman named Gertrude, who gave the impression of someone who would crochet doilies, not give tattoos) just moved to the states, and now he has to find a new one, and he doesn’t like change. Or people.

It’s proving kind of difficult. Most of the artists just aren’t what he’s looking for, and maybe he’s picky but they will be sticking needles in his body, so he feels like he’s allowed.

A couple of months after his artist moved he walks past a new tattoo shop on his commute home from work. He knows it’s new, because he’s been to pretty much every shop in London by now and he’s never even heard of this one.

It’s called The Archive, and he doesn’t have time to stop by now, but when he gets home he pulls it up on the internet.

The website looks like a myspace page from 2002, but the examples look pretty good, and it’s close enough that he might as well check it out.

The site doesn’t say whether you have to make an appointment or not, and it’s new enough that Gerry guesses probably not.

He has time at the weekend, so he makes a note to drop in and then pushes it to the back of his mind and gets on with his life.

He’s forgotten about it until his phone dings with the reminder and he realises that he might as well go now. If it doesn’t work out it’s just another thing to cross off the list.

The shop doesn’t look like much from the outside, but there are some designs stuck up in the windows that weren’t there before, and the sign says open, so he pushes the door open and goes inside.

The person behind the counter is hot. Like off the wall hot. Button up shirt rolled up to the elbows and hair that somehow manages to look soft hot, and Gerry nearly turns around and walks right back out, because he’s definitely going to make a fool of himself if he stays, but the person has already noticed him.

“Hello,” they say, standing up a little straighter. They’ve got vines twisting up their forearms. “What can I do for you?”

“Hey,” Gerry says, and takes a few cautious steps further into the shop. “This is a new place, right?”

“Yes,” the person says. “We’ve, uh, just opened. Already had a few complaints from nearby old women.”

Gerry huffs a laugh. “I’m not surprised.”

The person nods. “Yes, it’s … it’s fine. Sasha usually deals with it; she’s very good at speaking to old ladies.”

“Sasha?” The name is familiar, and Gerry wonders vaguely if it’s the same Sasha who used to work for Gertrude. He kind of hopes so, because it would be nice to have a familiar face around. They hadn’t exactly been friends, and he hadn’t yet figured out where she’d gone when the old shop had closed down.

“Yes,” the person says. “She’s … one of the other employees. I’m Jon, by the way. My pronouns are he and they, and if you have a problem with that this isn’t the place for you.”

It sounds almost rehearsed, like he’s anticipating people who do have a problem, and Gerry kind of gets it.

“Great,” he says, perhaps a little too eagerly. He hasn’t met a trans artist before, but he has met several who have been weird about his top surgery scars, and honestly it’s a relief to know this place is trans-friendly. “I mean … that’s nice. To know. I…” He is making a real hash of this. It’s Jon’s fault for being so goddamn hot. “I’m trans too,” he manages, running a hand through his hair.

“Ah,” Jon says, and they’re smiling a little. “In that case, what can I do for you?”

Gerry shrugs. “Are you free now?”

Jon nods. “Yes. As long as what you’re hoping for won’t take longer than a few hours.”

“I don’t really have anything in mind,” Gerry admits. “Maybe you could come up with something for me?”

“Alright,” Jon says. “You can come into the back with me. I’ll get one of the others to watch the desk.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Tim!” Jon calls, and a moment later a tall man in a frankly hideous shirt pokes his head out of the door behind the counter.

“Yes, boss?”

“Could you watch the desk for me.”

“Sure thing. Who’s this?”

“A customer,” Jon says, giving Tim a withering look.

“I’m Gerry,” Gerry says, walking over to the door Jon is beckoning him towards.

“Right,” Tim says, waggling his eyebrows. “Enjoy yourselves.”

Jon glares at him again and ushers Gerry through the door.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, sighing deeply. “Tim can be … a bit much sometimes.”

“He seems great,” Gerry says, smiling a little. “Horrible sense of fashion, though.”

“I’ll tell him you said that,” Jon says, lips twitching upwards. “He won’t believe any of us.”

“You do that,” Gerry says.

Jon nods quickly. “Anyway. Do you want to sit down?”

“I can do,” he says, wandering over to sit on the bed. “You wanna see the stuff I’ve got already?”

“That would probably be best,” Jon says, stepping a little closer.

Gerry shrugs his jacket off and pulls his shirt over his head, showing off the patterns over his chest and arms.

“Wow,” Jon says, and he sounds honestly impressed. “I hate to think how much all that cost you.”

Gerry laughs, leaning back on the bed. “A lot,” he says carelessly. “My mother’s money, though. I imagine she’s rolling in her grave.”

“Ah,” Jon says. “My condolences, I suppose, though you don’t sound as though you miss her.”

“I don’t. I was thinking here, for the tattoo?”

Jon wisely doesn’t ask any further questions about his mother, just comes over to see the patch of skin he’s referring to, over his left ribs. They ghost their fingers very gently over his skin, and he can’t help but shiver a little.

“Alright,” they say, finally. “That seems reasonable. I doubt I need to warn you that it will hurt?”

“Nope,” Gerry says. “I don’t think I’m capable of feeling pain anymore.”

Jon laughs quickly. “Great,” he says. “I’m sure I can come up with something for you.”

He moves away from Gerry (to his disappointment, though he’d never admit it) and over to a desk, getting a pencil and a sheet of paper and scribbling away for a while.

Gerry is content to sit quietly and look around the room. It’s almost empty, just some basic equipment and one or two designs. He supposes that the shop hasn’t been open long enough to collect stuff.

“How many customers have you had?” he asks, after a while, and Jon looks up.

“Two, including you.”

“Huh,” Gerry says thoughtfully. “How long have you been open?”

“Two weeks.”

“Not bad.”

Jon smiles. “No, it’s not. Would you like to see what I’m working on?”

“Alright,” Gerry says, and gets up, walking over to Jon’s desk.

“Here,” they say, offering him the paper they’ve been working on. “I thought it went well with your whole … aesthetic.”

Gerry takes it to look over, and they’re right, it does fit his aesthetic. A book, flames curling over the pages. His mother, with her immaculate libraries, would hate it.

“It’s perfect,” he says, and Jon smiles.

“Thank you.”

“You can do it now?”

Jon nods, waving him back towards the bed. “Yes.”

“Awesome,” Gerry says, and goes to sit down, pleased with himself. This was definitely worth it, and he thinks he’s going to be coming back.

Jon takes a moment to pull gloves on and gather up his equipment. He’s humming to himself, Gerry thinks, and it’s … kind of adorable. Not that he would actually say that; Jon strikes him as the kind of person who might take it as an insult, and that’s the last thing he wants.

“Alright,” Jon says, finally, and comes back over. “Could you lie down for me?”

Gerry complies, biting back the joke that immediately springs to his lips. He doesn’t know anything about them, really, and he doesn’t want to get kicked out for making an off-colour joke.

He’s more than used to getting tattoos by now, and honestly it’s pretty relaxing. Especially since Jon’s hands are stroking gently across his ribs, and every time he hisses involuntarily they say shh, shh, and he really likes that.

It takes just over an hour and half for the tattoo to be finished, and it’s rather sensitive by the end, but Gerry expected that. He has tattoos on all his joints, and those hurt way worse than down his ribs.

“Right,” Jon says, finally. “I’m finished.”

Gerry opens one eye and looks up at him, pulling his gloves off. “Great.”

“You were very good to work on.”

Gerry raises an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment?”

“Yes,” Jon says, their cheeks going a little red. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Gerry says, sitting up and waving a hand. “It was nice to have you working on me.”

“Will you be coming back?”

Gerry grins. “You want to see me again?”

The colour in Jon’s cheeks gets a little darker. “I … well … I suppose so, yes.”

“You could have just asked me out.”

Jon exhales, a little shakily, and Gerry prays he hasn’t misstepped. It will really suck if he scares him away by being too forward.

“I…” Jon stutters, seemingly trying to compose themself. “I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“You can assume if you want,” Gerry says, smiling a little. “So, are you going to ask me out?”

“If … you would like that. Then yes.”

“I would like that,” Gerry says. “Do you want my number?”

Jon nods quickly, pulling his phone out of his pocket and offering it to Gerry. Gerry types saves himself as cute goth <3 and hands it back. If Jon wants to change it they can, and he thinks it’s funny.

“Right,” Jon says, and he’s smiling as he puts his phone away again. “Thank you. I … will message you.”

“Cheers,” Gerry says. “I look forward to it.”

He gets up and stretches, wincing as it pulls on his sensitive skin.

“Hold on,” Jon says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Let me cover that for you.”

“Alright,” Gerry says, pleased, and stays still as they care for the very fresh tattoo with careful hands. He’s definitely not going to complain.

“Right,” they say, once they’re finished. “That’s all, then. I’ll message you.”

“Thank you,” Gerry says, leaning in to kiss them on the cheek, almost without thinking about it. He pulls away very quickly, realising he hadn’t exactly asked if he’s allowed to do that. “Shit, I’m sorry. Is that okay?”

“It’s okay,” Jon says, looking almost as though he’s trying to hide behind the waves of his hair. “I don’t … it’s okay. Thank you.”

Gerry smiles, relieved, and does it again. “Alright. Good.”

He really does have to leave now, but he really doesn’t mind. Got a new tattoo, and gave the very cute artist his number.

Not bad going. Maybe he’ll even forgive Gertrude for moving away.

#t4tma #jongerry #jon sims #gerry keay #tma #its under a cut because it accidentally got long #whoops #tattoo artist!jon #he/they jon #as per usual for me #no fears au #i like this one a lot actually

[thatkindofwoman]

I’m sweating more than I have in years. It could be the heat. Or the state of these “united” states. It could be my refusal to air condition my apartment. Selfish for that thick air dissipating before a storm comes rolling in. It could be the deep introspection isolation takes, or self education, or the fights I refuse to step back from. 

I remember having friends I no longer have. 

The light of the hardware store sign across the street just flickered out. Maybe a timer...

I find peace in meditating before bed these days. In personal pleasures. Cold brewed tea. A garden filled with the rewards of my singular labor. Dunking my body into the water trough I asked my mom for, now nestled in my backyard, once used for the since passed horses from the farm. 

Remembering. I remember when I did labor for others. So soft, treading carefully to provide for others, then roughly, forgetful, unsure. Those rewards not nearly as sweet. I’ll tell you that. 

I do miss the easy physical nature with friends now gone. God damn, what I wouldn’t give for soft affection, or even a crushing hug. I miss slightly sloppy kisses on my cheek, or even a rough harsh SMACK on the ass, and arms thrown around my shoulders. Flipping off a close friend with a grin on my face even seems nostalgic these days. Mirrored in my 20s, now seeking depth and sincerity while being devilish in my 30s.  

Intimacy seems to be around the corner on a never ending road. Just ahead. Maybe. Sickly sweet humidity makes me think of the wrestling of making out, roaming hands, exalted breaths from smiling mouths, words off the tongue between me and those caught in my web, me in theirs. Soaking wet, nude dancing in the rain, sharing kisses with a beautiful woman. Drenched after a skinny dipping session filled with me throwing back my head and living as a muse of affection and attraction from the callused hands of men who I’ll never speak to again. My bare shoulders pressed against a building as mouths spoke a wordless language. 

What will intimacy look like on the other side of this. Not a question, as you can see by my punctuation. 

I see wooing, yes, even in my impatience. And that I am. Impatient. I type that with a sly smile on my face. Oh, how to freely touch someone, reverence and slight belonging. Some of you lucky assholes don’t revel in the intimacy of free and safe touch these days, and I’m here to glare at you with my words. Complain not to me, fuckers. 

 I am a greedy mother fucker when it comes to the intimacies given to me, allowed to me, gained by me. I am a greedy mother fucker when it comes to the truth syrup of moments made safe. Safe. A laughable word in this current world. 

This lack of safety, and lack of physical affections makes me daydream of violence. A double edged sword I will not be shamed of. Accept me, my love, for exactly as I am. I live on the edge of fantasies of breaking bones, and sharp edges. 

Take my sweaty, conniving, tempted, argumentative, socially starved ass for what she is. Magnificent, learning, trying, the patron saint of failing. I will kiss your brow, and run my fingers through your hair, only to be pulled away wishing you the best as I’ll never see you again, or maybe just because sleep pulls me from you. 

I am finding with myself, moments given and taken away. I am my own keeper these last few years, a pandemic placing even more “responsibility” on my lap, distracted by my own care, I tend to move from here to there with the best of intention. We’ll see how long I can keep keeping. I have faith, but proof comes in reality I made a way too sour bunch of overnight pickles, and mouth puckered I refuse to give up on them. A talent or a torture? Who’s to decide. 

I lick my fingers after eating medium rare steak, I slice a lemon in half dunk it in sugar, and suck the sweet and bitter nature of it, no mercy, not even for myself. I pluck sun ripe tomatoes from the vines I planted and pop them in my mouth, braless, short shorts in my garden, dreaming of 15 acres and no visible neighbors. 

I dance through this apartment, not another soul stepping foot in residence in 133 days, I watch my 13 year old cat wither away daily, and my 2 year old cat chatter with birds on the other side of the screen window. I weep for the woman my grandmother was when I was 17, and I never knew. I weep for my mother as she gave me every good trait I posses, at the expense of her own path. 

I won’t lie to you. I learned how. I promise, I can lie prettier than most. My bottom lip going soft and shoulders dipping just how you’d like. Reading what you most like to hear. But it means nothing anymore, not my lies. They used to comfort. Not anymore. There’s nothing my half-heartedness will give to you that you couldn’t find on some corner of the internet. I won’t even lie to myself anymore, because she really doesn’t need that. 

I soak my hands in rain water, I leave those begging too much of a me, they’ll never see beyond their needs. 

I look in mirrors and love myself with words, and dance moves. I am training right this very moment for everyday for the rest of my life. 

I love myself with my mess, and my talents. The other side of this will surely not distract me from the true lessons learned this time around. 

I won’t be small, I won’t be quiet. I won’t be what someone demands of me, what someone desires of me because god fuck, damn, how fucking terrible to be a projection of someone else’s half-formed opinions, or their understanding. 

I will be the dark and terrifying thunderstorm rolling in, I am the break in humidity. I am the sweat rolling down your chest. I am the tickled of your hair on your neck. I am the way your ass shakes on a jump and skip. I am the flooded lawn, I am the wasp that sneaks into your open window. I am the corner taken a tad too fast on the backroads. I am the crunch of a garden cucumber in your mouth. I am olive oil, fattening you up, I am the perfect piece of ice on your tongue. I am the slippery grilled corn on the cob you’re delighted to eat. I am the flash floods that you watch cautiously on the road. I am the movie you devour to fill your soul when it feels empty. I am the sunset after a fucked day. I am foremost these things to myself, and I’d like to maybe someday be those things for you. Or maybe just one or two. 

#writing #mine #personal #thatkindofwoman #spilled ink #love #summer

[narrators-journal]

The most dangerous game

I know I’ve been hella dead, but I return with my usual! Stano smut! I dunno why I adore writing these two so much, but I guess I’m attached, so yeah. Ya’ll get content.

CW: Predator/prey vibes, Xeno gets chased but there’s no real big acknowledgement of it.

It was likely because Xeno had developed a persistently wonky sleep schedule that he got so many night time jobs. That, he supposed, was why he was once again out at night hunting another Vampire, despite having told his boss of his run-in with a particularly pretty vampire. However, at the moment, Xeno somewhat wished he was dealing with Stan instead. At least with him he could rely on his need to flirt and toy with him to give him away. But no, the scientist wasn't hunting Stanley, but instead a completely different vampire who was proving his dislike for hunting the blood sucking monsters. Taking advantage of how dark the night was, the human's weaker vision, and whatever ninja techniques he had learned from the internet, the young vampire had hidden annoyingly well in the thick blanket of shadows and clutter on the streets. So, the white-haired college graduate was poking around at every rock and thicket of grass or bushes along the sidewalk before the boiling irritation in his veins got to be too much and he let out a mix of a groan and a scream like a tea pot. Stomping over to one of the few flickering street lights on the road, the hunter stood in the light and dug out his knife, then used it to slash at his stomach to fill the air with the alluring scent of fresh blood. With a pained hiss and the new wet feeling of blood dripping sluggishly down his pale skin, the trap was set, and all the hunter had to do was wait for the shallow cut to work its magic. Which, didn't take long. All Xeno had time to do was get one of his metal stakes from his pocket and extend it, then he was set upon by the vampiric ninja-wannabe. However, despite his skill at stealth, the vampire was young in both a human and vampire sense. Freshly turned at a young age, he'd become a problem because he had yet to grow out of his pubescent hormones quite yet, and giving him a predatory draw and increased strength had only encouraged him to turn hard into the bad boy persona. Sadly, being a new vampire wasn't all improvements. It also meant an increased hunger and little control of your newfound strength. Which is what had led the young man to be targetted by the monster hunter association, and swiftly wiped out by a stake through the throat via Xeno Wingfield. With a grunt, the monster hunter threw the freshly dead young man to the sidewalk, wincing at the burning and itching sting bending down to yank the stake from his throat brought to his stomach. For a moment or so, he felt bad for the creature. He'd been young, and he'd let his newfound powers obviously go to his head after a lifetime diet of anime and movies, the silver haired hunter could understand his over excitement, but he also had little to no patience for dumbasses who couldn't register that they weren't in Naruto. So, his sympathy was brief, and he was soon just dragging the young creature's corpse into some bushes and calling the cleaning crew to come collect him. Then. He spoke.           "God damn, Doll. You're quite attractive when you're being lethal." Stan hummed, hopping down from his hiding spot in a nearby tree and giving the hunter a charming smile that he refused to admit brought a little heat to his face.         "Oh, so you're just gonna become a full blown stalker now? Did you follow me from my house, or was this another 'coincidental' run-in." Xeno's words dripped with sarcasm and venom, but the vampire simply rolled his glacial blue eyes,          "Actually, I'm here because I smelled fresh blood," At the mention of fresh blood, the scientist glanced down at his work shirt, spotting the tiny stain of blood his cut had left,          "Oh." He inwardly winced at how disappointed he sounded, but tried to recover with a sniff, "I had trouble luring the bastard out. It was quite the shock for me to find out that not every vampire would want to chase me down and prowl around my house for the entire fucking night." Stan simply snorted, fishing out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one before he spoke again,          "Nah, that's just my thing, doll,"         "Quit calling me doll! You have my name now, fucking quit." The vampire put his hands up in mock surrender, though his smirk didn't falter under the scientist's withering glare. For a moment, they simply stood in the cool night's darkness, the hunter with his arms crossed and dark eyes narrowed, and the vampire returning his malicious look with his own nonchalant, half-lidded one while he breathed whispy smoke from his dark mouth. Both men seemed to dare the other to say something or do anything, each looking for an excuse to make some sort of contact until the smaller male spoke again,           "Are you expecting me to run away? Because I told you the first time we met, I'm not likely to do that," He huffed, but Stan simply shrugged,           "I'm just messing with ya, doesn't matter to me if you run or not." He grinned more at the lightning fast moment of irritation on Xeno's face, but the hunter schooled his facial features back into their usual disdain-filled glare, only broiling with frustration on the inside. He hated this man's relaxed demeanor. He was a monster hunter, the tall, hypnotically pretty predator should be avoiding him at all costs. Yet here he was, needling at him as if he couldn't end him just as quickly as he had the younger blood sucker. Okay, well, not as quickly. Stanley had a good four inches on the monster hunter at least, and had a body that had been frozen at the prime of his life, toned and pruned like an artfully shaped shrub through the years into a gorgeous, powerful example of why humans were the apex predators of the world. Or, well, they were, but with his change into the more monstrous his status as the perfect predator had only increased. Stan was perfectly built to hunt humans. Not only did he have a supernatural magnetic beauty to him, but he'd been human, so he knew how humans behave first hand. He was a nightmarish wet dream. Xeno gave his head a good shake to banish those thoughts from his mind when he realized he was looking the vampire over with the hunger of a sugar baby sizing up their next piggy bank.           "Hey, Xeno," Stan hummed, but the hunter refused to look back at the man, which he simply took as a greenlight to continue, "you wanna play our little game tonight?" The hunter snorted in response, staring off into the darkness while his cheeks cooled,           "I thought you were only here to bother me, not play a game of fucked up tag," He said calmly, only looked back at the man when he heard him walking closer, only stopping when he was about two feet away, maybe within reach, a grin on his pretty face,           "Well, I thought it'd be a bit more polite to offer that rather than just asking if I could drink your blood outright." he reasoned, amused at the edge of poutiness that he seemed to sniff out through the veil of aloof indifference the hunter spoke with.            "No thanks to either offer, I don't want to be chased tonight." Xeno sniffed in response, simply adding a thicker layer of ill temper to cover how excited he was at the thought of being pursued a second time. The first time had, admittedly, given him a thrill, but he wasn't ready to voice such to the annoying vampire in front of him. However, Stan seemed to have picked up on his kryptonite from that first round,              "But aren't you curious to see what happens when you add the scent of blood to the mix?" The purr in the man's voice annoyed Xeno immensely, but the thought of maybe learning just how sensitive vampire instincts were, and how quickly one would succumb to them. Obviously young vampires are more prone to being controlled by their need to feed, but Stanley isn't a new vampire, that curious voice mused, already setting Xeno on a very likely stupid and dangerous path, It'd be immensely helpful to know just how easy it is to bring out those base urges in him. If he's going to follow you around it's best to know what to avoid so he doesn't go feral. It further encouraged, stoking the flames of the scientist's natural curiosity until he hummed,              "I suppose it would be useful for the association to know exactly what triggers a vampire to go into a frenzy of some sort. Fine." The vampire grinned at that,             "You do know that I can't promise my feeding instinct is the only one that'll come to the surface," he pointed out, making Xeno blink and raise an eyebrow at him,             "What? Why would any other instinct come into play?" turning red as Stan laughed,               "Well, in simple terms, I find you too attractive to promise that when I catch you I'd only want to drink your blood~" Xeno's face warmed up more at that, getting huffy and tripping over his words in his rush to snap at him.               "You can have a five minute head start, just like last time," he simply assured, "Just need a bit of blood, because your original scratch has closed," He laughed more when Xeno pulled up his shirt to see that his shallow cut from earlier had in fact begun to heal, no longer bleeding and instead beginning to scab over. The hunter only responded with a glare at that point as he plucked his knife from the sidewalk where he'd dropped it and wiped it off before leaving another cut along his stomach, this one a bit deeper than the first, but not enough to linger for more than a day or two. With that, Stan gave him a charming smile that showed his extending fangs, his blue eyes already getting a hungry gleam to them. So, without further conversation, Xeno took off down the street. The cuts on his stomach stung and itched more from his running, but he pressed on. His main concern was regulating his breathing and energy so that he could get as far away from the vampire as he could in his small window of time. Naturally, his plan wasn't to just run in a straight line and wait to be caught, not only would that likely be dangerous, as a vampire in a feeding frenzy was much more violent, but was less likely to fulfill the goal of bringing those deadly instincts to the surface at all. So, instead, he sought out other people, a crowded area, maybe a shop, that way it wasn't as easy for the predator to catch up to him. This is insanely stupid, that voice of reason finally spoke up, not only am I playing with fire by instigating an instinctual reaction, but I am woefully under prepared to run from Stan. He realized, filling his veins with icy terror when the weight of his situation fully sunk in, The first time we did this I barely survive on pure panic and him toying with me. If he really loses his shit and goes into a frenzy, I can't outrun him. The reality of the thought hurt, but it was sorely true. Despite all of his training as a monster hunter, Xeno had never been one for good cardio, namely in the stamina category. He relied on his wits and pure speed, not his ability to maintain those speedy response times or pace for long periods. but it's too late now, he reminded himself, thinking back to the way the vampire's fangs had extended so soon after he'd given him a fresh source of scent. Nope, he couldn't chicken out now. He had no choice but to stick to his plan and push the panic and fear aside. Instead, he simply focused on the route ahead of him and locked onto the light of a store further down the street, which he headed for instantly. The bright, artificial light blinded the pale scientist for a moment when he stumbled into the store, but he was swift to regain his barrings and dash down the aisles and through the crowds of night owls and whatnot that were still up at this hour. He knew that his five minutes had ended a minute or so before. Meaning he didn't have long before the vampire would be on his ass. So, thinking quickly, he swiped his hand over his wounds, then smeared the blood on his palm onto the tile flooring in an aisle. Once he had that down, Xeno ran off deeper into the store. He had very few places to hide. The bathroom was basically a dead end with no windows and only one door, he couldn't climb up the shelves or to the rafters in a timely manner, so he forwent that plan. Instead, he did the next best thing. leaving as distracting a trail as possible before bolting out one of the fire exits.            "Shit," he wheezed when the fire exit triggered a screaming alarm through out the store. If Stan was in there, he'd definitely know he got out now, but that only meant the scientist had less time to think of such things. He had to focus on running. So, Xeno ignored the way his legs throbbed, and his lungs ached from gulping down the cold night air. He focused entirely on getting home, or at least to a more residential area. He could feel his limbs getting heavier, threatening more and more to give out with each step, but his grit his teeth and bared it until the threat became reality and the asphalt bit into his skin. And there he laid for a few seconds, gasping for air and scraping up as much energy as he could to push himself to his feet. As he did, he glanced back down the street, and sure enough. Stanley was coming out of the alley Xeno'd run out of, his glowing blue eyes locking onto the scientist in an instant. With another curse spat out through gritted teeth, Xeno took off again. His legs still screamed from exhaustion, and now his hands stung viciously from the fall, but he kept going. He could hear Stan closing in on him, which gave him a final burst of frantic energy that carried him to at least the park near his home before the vampire finally tackled him to the grass. The scientist could only wheeze in response, letting the vampire crush against him and push his face into his pale neck with a growl. That seemed to snap him out of the exhaustion cloud, and in an instant, Xeno was squirming and forcing himself up once again. The only way he managed it was because the vampire was taken by surprise, so he was able to slip from his grasp and scramble up, but he only got a few more steps before he had to lean against a tree for support so that his legs didn't crumble a third time. Then, just as quickly as he'd gotten away, Xeno was back in Stan's luke-warm arms, trapped against his needlessly heaving chest with his fangs hovering over his jugular once more. However, he didn't bite down. To the contrary, the feral vampire seemed to hesitate for a moment, seemingly weighing his options of what to do with the hunter before settling on a choice and swiftly switching to almost slamming him against the nearest tree.           "S-Stanley!" The hunter wheezed, more surprised then anything, pushing back so that his face at least wasn't forced into the course bark and he could look back to try and see the blonde behind him. Said blonde was keeping him in place with a hand on one of his shoulders, looking Xeno in the eye and almost relishing the dawning realization that painted his pale cheeks before he used his free hand to hook into his pants and tug them down pretty roughly. Then, he was back at the man's neck, but this time he bit with his blunter teeth, sucking at the skin until Xeno's mewls and hums were pulled out and he was satisfied with the hickey he'd left. The scientist, meanwhile was a bit ashamed of how quickly he accepted the turn of events. He tried to save some face by muffling the noises bubbling in his throat, but Stan's mouth at his neck, paired with the way he ground his groin into his now-bear rear drug a few noises out. Though, it also bat back the fog of hormones and lust long enough for the hunter to realize that he was very likely to get hurt if he didn't intervene. So, he whined and reached up to tangle his fingers in Stan's messy hair, tugging at it until he finally relinquished his throat from the second hickey he was dedicated on leaving. Carefully, Xeno turned himself around with what little room he was permitted between the vampire's muscular chest and the much-less-forgiving tree. Once they were face to face though, the college graduate's brain no longer seemed to work, so, the two simply stood there, panting a bit from the chase, before he finally gave up on using words and instead simply sunk down to his knees. Keeping his eyes glued to the glowing blue pair above him as he went. Luckily enough for him, his actions at least intrigued the vampire, because he was allowed to tug his bottoms down just enough for his member to spring free, which earned him a noise somewhere between a growl and a hum. With Stan's pants down and his member now standing erect in front of him, Xeno hesitated. Should it matter if I'm any good at this sort of shit? I just need some sort of lubrication, and he shouldn't really care about anything beyond...mating, so surely he won't give a shit, right? He asked himself, puzzling over the predicament before Stan reached down to grab onto his shirt, reminding the scientist of his lack of patience. So, Xeno threw his insecurities to the wind and grabbed onto the base of the shaft so he could slip Stan's impatient member into his mouth. The vampire moaned in response, and Xeno took that as a sign that he'd bought a bit more time for himself. So, he slowed down, bobbing his head at a medium sort of pace to work himself up to taking as much of the length as he could, which, thankfully for him, was almost all of it thanks to years of speed-drinking coffee and energy drinks and eating at record speeds in college. He also found that once he actually got to moving, the embarrassment of his lack of skills faded away, and part of him simply enjoyed the groans he got out of Stan while he moved his lips up and down him at a steady pace. He simply continued to work him as much as he could until the vampire let out a little hiss and gripped onto the scientist's shirt until he pulled away and let his throbbing member go with a coy 'pop'. Suddenly, Xeno was yanked back to his feet and whirled around again to be slammed back into the tree. His pants were tugged down once more and his feet were kicked apart in rapid succession so the monster hunter only got a moment's break before Stan pushed into him. And while it hurt still, the white-haired man found that he didn't mind as much. As the vampire began thrusting into him, one hand clawing into his hip, the other on his shoulder, Xeno moaned out curses and did his best to grab onto the tree or Stan's neck to keep steady under the merciless thrusts of the blonde. It was shameful how hot his body got, but with how Stan was hitting that sweetspot within Xeno, his face back to being buried in his neck for more marks, Xeno couldn't care less.        "Mmmm, fuck! ah, r-right there, please!" he plead, tangling his fingers back into Stan's hair as he moaned, giving another lewd noise when his pursuer did as he asked, swiftly learning that doing so got more needy noises from the hormone-addled hunter. With that, Xeno lost all coherency as euphoria further fogged his mind, and soon brought him to his peak with a whine of the vampire's name. Though, Stan didn't stop when Xeno came, he just kept thrusting into him, still flooding his pale body with more and more pleasure while his hot puffs of breath tickled his hickey-littered neck. The continued rough treatment was beginning to sting, but the edge of pain only seemed to bolster Xeno's pleasure back to its peak, pushing a second orgasm from him before Stan finally grew sloppy with his thrusts and soon gave one final movement before emptying himself into the hunter. After that, the monster hunter let himself melt against the tree, relying on Stanley to hold him up because he was on the verge of passing out after that night's activities. The last thing Xeno remembered was giving a thumbs up to what he assumed was the question 'are you okay'. Then, he let his exhaustion take him into dreamland.

#dr stone #drst #stanXeno #Stan x Xeno #monster au #scenario #vampire!Stan #Monster hunter!Xeno #not sfw

[wandas-sunshine]

Maybe

Summary: Bucky didn't deserve you, he was sure of that. But you loved him with everything you had, and maybe there were a few times that convinced him that he could make you happy.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1057

A/N: thanks so much to everyone who has stuck around during my (unexpected and unintentional) hiatus. And thanks to my best friend in the world @dragonofthenorth0726 for making sure this was post-ready while I'm without internet. Hope you guys enjoy!

Bucky wasn't ungrateful, not in the least. He knew that without you, he would have withered away to the shell of the man he was when he was with you. But it confused him. Where he was sharp edges and dark, broken thoughts, you were soft touches and warm, steady calm. You were the sun breaking through his storm. You took every rough moment in stride, you fought off everything the world dared to throw his way.

If there was one thing Bucky would never understand, it was the fact that you loved him. It was entirely unbelievable to him that you could love him so unconditionally. He knew in his heart that he didn't deserve it, that gentle and unwavering adoration that you had for him.

You knew about the terrible things he'd done, about the blood on his hands, but it made no difference to you. You still held them tight, still let them explore the expanse of your body, or card through your hair. You never flinched away from the cool metal of his prosthetic. No, you admired it, and treated it just the same as the flesh of his other arm. You'd trace his scars late at night and mumble against his skin about how thankful you were he'd made it out alive, that he'd ended up in your arms right where he belonged.

His favorite days were the ones when you managed to make him forget just how terrible things could be. Days like the ones when he'd catch you dancing in the kitchen to whatever song you'd decided to blast through your headphones. And maybe you weren't the best dancer, and maybe your macaroni and cheese was scorching on the stove, but your smile was brighter than the sun, and so fucking intoxicating. Nothing else could possibly matter, he thought. Not as long as you kept smiling like that. If he could make you do that then maybe, just maybe, things wouldn't be so bad after all.

It was days like the ones when awful missions gave way to finding you bundled up in a blanket watching whatever show you'd been binging while he was away, an array of snacks around you. And the best part was always the way your eyes lit up when he came in, the way you automatically reached out for him to join. And he always did, how could he not when you looked at him with those wide, hopeful eyes and that little pout? Maybe it was the way you melted against him like there was nowhere you'd rather be, or the little contented sigh you let out every time, but in those moments, Bucky thought that maybe, just maybe, he could be truly happy again.

But his favorite day, the best of them all, was the day you'd asked him to come over. You had begged him over the phone to help you with your spur of the moment apartment redecoration. He nudged the door open and found one of the most endearing sights he'd ever had the privilege of seeing. You were sat on the floor, entirely focused on turning your bookshelves a gaudy teal. There was paint smeared across your forehead from where you'd intended to wipe away sweat, and your nose was scrunched up in that adorable way you did when you were trying to focus. Classic rock played from your phone and you hummed along.

And maybe his mind wandered. Maybe he imagined decorating a shared bedroom with you, or watching you painting your baby's crib whatever bright color you'd decided on, your nose all scrunched up. He brushed his hair behind his ear as you looked up. A sunshiney smile lit up your face.

"Hey, you! Whatcha think?" You stood up and wiped your hands on your paint stained overalls. You looked at him like you had never been more proud, and he felt that familiar calm wash over him.

"It's very you." He answered. You smiled and tucked yourself into his side. His arm wrapped around you and tugged you closer.

"I hoped you'd like it." Your lips pressed an entirely innocent kiss to his jaw. "But just wait till you see how I ruined the bedroom. You've gotta help me fix it."

He'd took a long moment to look at you, to admire you. You were simply breathtaking. You were every little thing he needed, everything he wanted and more. He swore that he'd keep you for as long as you'd have him right then and there.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You asked after a long moment had passed. Bucky blinked as if he hadn't even realized he'd been staring.

"I'm in love with you." He answered. It wasn't the first time he'd said it, but something about the intensity behind the words made your stomach flutter. "I'm in love with you and I want to spend every moment of the rest of my life by your side if you'll let me."

Your hand lifted to cover your mouth and muffle the soft gasp that left your lips. He had an entirely serious look on his face as his eyes scanned yours.

"James Barnes, are you proposing to me?" You were breathless, just standing and looking at him in disbelief. His eyes went wide.

"No! Well, not that I don't want to marry you - God, do I wanna be your husband - but it wasn't supposed to go like this." He dragged a hand through his hair.

"Yes."

"I don't have a ring, and I was gonna do something big and romantic. You like that stuff. It was supposed to -" You cut off his ramblings and took both of his hands in yours.

"Stop, stop thinking. I don't need a ring or some grand gesture to know I love you, or that I want to marry you." You promised him. That stunning smile returned to your face, and his heart skipped a beat. "Just...ask the question."

"(Y/N), will you marry me?" There was hardly a millisecond before your lips were on his in a sweet, slow kiss.

"I want nothing more."

And in that moment, as Bucky held you and thought about being able to do just that forever, he decided that maybe everything would turn out better than he'd ever imagined.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #reader insert #x reader #fluff #marvel #marvel imagine #mcu #mcu imagine #avengers #avengers imagine #marvel cinematic universe #fanfic #imagine #james buchanan barnes

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

bangs pots and pans together loudly FIC UPDATE COME GET YALL SOME JUICE

Apparently the vital, missing component to enjoying school was having a friend there. Go figure.

He and Kevin only have that first period class together, but they make the most of it, passing notes back and forth between the two of them, the teacher too tired that early in the morning to notice, or care. Lunch isn’t depressing anymore. They sit together under the shade tree, and Kevin does seem to also appreciate the view. “Can you even imagine working up a sweat, on purpose?” Betelgeuse pats his gut. “You know I can’t.”

“I can’t believe how little the track shorts are. That’s obscene. You think I’d look good in them?” “You join track and I’ll come to every meet, an’ it won’t be for th’ love of th’ sport.” He doesn’t think normal friends talk to each other like this, but he doesn’t actually know. Does everyone flirt with their friends? Are friends just cool people you wanna fuck but haven’t yet? Is it demon hormone bullshit, making him read into everything? Unclear.

It’s all going so good, until it isn’t, suddenly.

One lunch, two months into being there, Kevin pulls a huge and impressive old book from his backpack. “Look what I goooot,” he sing songs, waving it in Betelgeuse’s face, and he sneezes in response. “Smells old.” Emily and Lydia would love it. “It is. It’s very old,” Kevin confirms, and he moves so he’s sitting next to Betelgeuse, shoulder to shoulder, both their backs to the shade tree. “It’s about demons.”

Betelgeuse loses interest immediately, and focuses on not going pink at their shoulders touching, instead. “Z’at so?” he grunts. Kevin doesn’t seem to pick up on his moodiness, though. “It talks about all these ancient beings,” he explains, flipping pages. “Their summoning circles, their aspects,” he gives Betelgeuse a nudge at that, “all the things they can do for you, and the boons they grant.” He feels uncomfortable. “What’s with this? You obsessed with me, or somethin’?” He tries to play it as a joke, but that glint in Kevin’s eyes is back, and he doesn’t like it. “Of course, who wouldn’t be obsessed if they learned all this shit is actually true? It’s like there’s a whole secret world behind a locked door, and I’ve got the key.” Kevin looks back up at him.

He gets the feeling he’s the key. It’s not a good feeling.

“Where’d you even get this fuckin’ thing?” he lifts a finger, and the book slams closed in Kevin’s lap. His friend huffs. “Internet, of course.” “No, I mean… why were you lookin’ for somethin’ like this?” “I want to learn more. Don’t you?” Kev presses, and reopens the book. “I mean, what if there’s something amazing you can do, and you just don’t know, cause you’re not bothering to try?”

“So I’ll never know, so what?” Betelgeuse feels like this is a losing argument, but he tries anyways. “What’s so great about bein’ weird? You’re lucky you’re human.” “Dude, don’t even start with that. You can fly.” “So can humans,” he points out. “Wh- A plane and fucking levitating for fun are not the same, and you know it, BeetleJerk.” Kevin honestly can’t understand why he’s not excited over this. “I just mean… I’d rather be human, than this.” He blinks at his own words, because he’s never expressed that out loud before, ever. But it doesn’t feel untrue. “You’re out of your mind, more so than usual. Every human alive wants to feel special, and do the stuff you can do. Why are you acting like it’s so miserable all of a sudden? You use your powers all the time, I’ve seen you literally teleport five feet because you’re too lazy to walk.”

“You don’t get it.” He’s feeling sullen now, and he wiggles a little away from Kevin, and crosses his arms. “BJ, come on-” Betelgeuse teleports away to under the bleachers, and he eats his lunch there, until the bell rings.

He’s waiting for Emily after school, not feeling particularly friendly, when Kevin approaches. They stand there awkwardly. It feels tense, and weird, and he waits to see what the breather does. “Don’t be mad,” Kevin says, finally. “M’not mad.” “You sound mad.” “You know what mad on me looks like,” he finally turns to look at his friend, amber eyes burning with irritation. “First hand.”

Kevin looks down, and kicks at a rock that might not actually be there. “I thought you’d be excited. BJ, come on, I don’t wanna.. Not be friends over this.”

Betelgeuse signs, and scratches at the scruff on his chin. “It’s not like that,” he relents after a moment. “I just, I don’t care about that stuff. An’ I don’t wanna sit around, focusin’ on it. I don’t exactly like feelin’ different. Yeah, I do tricks an’ use my magic an’ stuff, but it’s hard to control. I lose my temper once an’ I could seriously destroy somethin’, or hurt my family. It doesn’t exactly feel good, knowin’ that. No one else my age can stand me, cause they can tell I’m weird. Before you, it was fuckin’ lonely, Kev.”

He feels a familiar pressure, because Kevin has taken his hand, and the human gives it a squeeze. He accepts it, melting a little against the other boy. “Still friends?” Kevin asks, and Betelgeuse purrs in response, resting his head on Kevin’s shoulder.

It’s not till later, at home, that he realizes Kevin never actually apologized.

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It’s like that, for a while. He knows Kevin still has the book. He knows he’s reading it, and sometimes Kevin will bring up demon stuff, but Betelgeuse has almost exactly a minute and a half of patience for answering questions or hearing about it. Still, Kev doesn’t stop. He might feel angrier if the breather wasn’t so god damn cute.

The air is starting to go cold, and leaves are beginning to fall. October is settling in, getting comfortable, and mom’s starting to break out the Halloween décor. It’s the middle of a kind of gloomy, Autumn day, when things get weird.

Kevin has the book open, much to Betelgeuse’s annoyance, and he’s blabbing away about a demon that supposedly grants wealth- “Do you think you could do that?” -when Betelgeuse looks down at the book, and sees Juno looking back at him. It’s not really her, it’s an illustration, but he’d recognize the bitch anywhere. She’s ink, glaring up from the page, those same age lines etched into her face, confirming his private theory that she’d been an old hag even when she was young. The slit neck is prominent, and as he stares, he sees smoke billow out of it. Oh, fuck no.

He grabs the book and slams it shut, startling Kevin, and then he teleports it directly under them, a mile down in the rock of the earth. Kev blinks for a moment, confused, before looking at his friend. “Wh.. Dude, WHAT?”

“Possessed book,” he croaks out, feeling tense, because he can smell cigarette smoke. “And you’re afraid of it? Why? You are also a literal fucking demon!” “That’s why I’m not messin’ with it!” Betelgeuse stands up, uneasy. The ground around the tree feels weird, now. He doesn’t like it here anymore. “Cause I actually understand why it’s a bad fuckin’ idea! God, you should have instincts that tell you not to mess with this stuff! You’re deficient, Kev, seriously.”

“Me deficient? Seriously?” Kev snaps, which hurts in a new, unexpected way. “Whatever, asshole. Give me my book back.” Kevin stands up, too, but he’s not uneasy, he’s angry.

“It’s better off where it is.”

“Which is where?”

Betelgeuse glances down. The grass around the tree is starting to wither. Kevin follows his gaze, but doesn’t seem to notice the dying vegetation. “You buried it? Come on!”

“Leave it, Kev.”

“This isn’t just your cool secret, anymore, it’s mine too!” Kevin glares at him. “You can’t keep me out of it, BJ. That’s not fair. God, at this point, I know more than you! You should be listening to me!”

He feels his volatile temper flare.

“Ex-fuckin’-scuze me?”

He waits for Kevin to take it back. Instead, his friend doubles down. “Demons have to listen to humans,” Kevin crosses his arms. “If they’re summoned. It’s in the book.” “Nobody summoned me,” Betelgeuse snarls, letting his real snake eyes show, an intimidation tactic that works for about half a second. Kevin’s too used to him, at this point. “I’m up here on a deal.” “Bet I could do it. I bet I could summon you. Then you’d have to listen to me.” “Yeah? Well, good luck without your stupid book!” He storms off, leaving Kevin standing there.

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The rest of the day sucks. He’s moody all day, annoyed in the car, grumpy in his room. He cranks metal and wishes he’d learned to play a guitar instead of his rinky, happy sounding ukulele. The instrument isn’t going to produce the noise he wants to express himself, right now. He throws it across the room, into a wall, where it smashes, and reforms a minute later, because… it’s still his favorite, after all. Even if it’s no good for expressing his teenage angst.

He can hear shuffling, and talking, outside his room, though he can’t make out what’s being said over the music. After a moment, though, there’s a knock at his door. “Hey, Bug?” Emily calls. “Can you come give me a hand with something?” He wants to tell her to piss off, go away, to leave him the hell alone, but.. It’s Emily. The CD player lets out a strangled choke and suddenly stops, and the door swings open, all without him moving from his flopped position on the bed. “Sup, ma?” he grunts. Emily peaks her head into the room, and smiles when she sees him, the expression radiating warmth and adoration and.. Oh, God/Satan, bless his sunbeam of a mother. “Just wondering if you’re free to do a little decorating?” She reaches behind her and grabs a fake severed bloody limb from the box he assumes she’s dragged into the hallway from the attic. “Don’t you worry it takes away from the “wow factor” to do Halloween twice a year?” He asks, standing and stretching, before apparating in the hallway behind her, and giving the decor box a nudge with his boot. “What? No way, there’s never enough Halloween!” Emily grins. “Get that, please.” The box floats along behind him as they head downstairs. They pause in the entryway, as Emily thinks out loud. “So, maybe the kitchen should be-” “Functional as a kitchen, please,” Charles calls from the living room. Emily rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine! Spoilsport! We’ll focus on the entryway for now,” she decides. “You wanna put up cobwebs in the rafters?” She gets on tiptoes to reach into the floating box, and he lowers it a bit for her, as she grabs the fake webbing. “I could just instantly decorate the whole room,” He takes to floating next to the box. “Could make sure it’s all normal human stuff, too,” He adds, before she can respond. “I know you can… But I like decorating,” Emily says brightly. “It’s not about getting it done quickly. It’s about, you know, doing it together.” “So why are dad and Lydia slacking?” Her smile doesn’t falter, but becomes softer. “It kinda felt like you needed some mom time, today,” She says simply. God, she can read him easier than Kev can read his stupid book. “We got in a fight,” he admits. She hums at that, because he only has one friend. It’s not hard to guess who he could possibly mean. “I’m sorry, Bug. What over?” He hesitates. So far he’s not let any of his family in on this book business. He’s been sort of hoping it could just go away on it’s own, and not be a thing. Kevin’s made it into a thing, though, and not telling even his mom feels… bad.

“He’s really into demons. Like, really, really into em,” He rasps, floating up and beginning to put up the spiderwebs, as his mother takes down the usual, sort of spooky wall hangings and trades them for her very intentionally spooky Halloween ones. “He’s got this book, an’ it’s all about demons an’ like, how to summon them, an’ their powers, an’ stuff… Sometimes th’ way he talks, it’s like.. Are we friends cause we’re friends, or friends cause you think I’m gonna be... useful?”

Maybe that doesn't make any sense, but that’s how it’s been feeling, like there’s an invisible shoe hanging midair, and it’s about to drop. His mother waits until he’s finished before looking up at him. “And you fought over that?” She prods. “Not exactly.” How the fuck can she even tell that, though? Damn her mom powers. He really, really didn’t want to talk about this, not to her, but… “I saw Juno. In th’ book,'' He lowers back down to the floor, and digs through the box, pulling out fake body parts. Back up he goes, to stick these in the fake webbing. “It was just a drawing of her, but it started like.. Billowing smoke-”

“From the neck,” His mother remembers, suppressing a shudder.

“Yeah. I could smell the smoke. So I got rid of the book, buried it in th’ school yard, but Kev got all pissy about it. He thinks he’s an expert on this shit, an’ he’s gonna mess with somethin’ big if he keeps this up.” “I’m sure you’ve told him that.” “He doesn’t listen. He gets this look in his eye, like it’s a game, or like… I dunno. Feels sometimes like he thinks he’s…” He searches for the words. “Like he thinks he oughta be the boss a’me, or somethin’.”

He rubs absentmindedly at the moss on his nose. It clings, stubborn as ever, same with the patches by his hairline, and he’s found it’s easier to just add another little layer to his glamour than try to do anything about it.

Maybe that’s indicative of a bigger problem. It’s easier to do a bit of magic and make everything look better than to actually fix the underlying problem. Ugh, introspection, how absolutely miserable. He wants to keep thoughts like that locked away tight, but they have a habit of slipping past his mental defenses and making him feel worse. Absolutely no one can make him feel shittier than he himself can. He sinks to the ground, going purple, and he’s instantly wrapped in his mother’s arms. “It’s okay, Beetlejuice,” Emily has both her hands on the back of his head, and he pushes his face into the crook of her neck. “I just.. I’ve only got the one friend,” he groans. “I don’t wanna stop bein’ his friend, but.. Fuck, ma.”

“I know.” Her voice is a soothing balm. She works her hands through the mess of purple hair at the back of his head. “I know, sweetheart. I know it’s lonely at school, but school isn’t forever,” she tries to assure him. “If your friend is treating you this way, well.. He’s not a very good friend. Do you want to be around someone who makes you feel this bad? Does it feel worth it, to you?”

He knows the correct answer is, “No,” but he’s not sure if his self esteem is high enough for that.

“I like him a lot,” He grumbles, and she hums again. “He’s handsome,” She says, and then pulls back far enough to pinch his nose. “But not as handsome as my son, of course,” and it’s silly enough to help knock away his mood, so that’s something, at least. “What should I do?” He doesn’t pull away from her, just soaks up the mom energy for as long as he can. “I think you need to have a talk,” Emily tells him. “Lay out how you’re feeling. Try to get his side of things, and make sure he hears your side, too. Then, at least you both tried, you know?”

It’s such a mom type answer. He groans again.

“I was worried you’d say some shit like that.” She fuzzes his hair, and he feels the tingle in his scalp that means it’s changed colors. Back to green, he assumes. “You know your moss changes color along with your hair? And your creepo-stache?” “Leave the stache alone, it’s tryin’ it’s best,” He pretends to be defensive.

“It makes you look like the founder of a forum for people who marry their cars,” Lydia offers, from the bottom step of the staircase, where she has apparently been just chilling and listening.

“Wh-! Mom, it’s not that bad, right?” Emily tilts her head to the side and gives what can only be described as a condescending smile. “Oh, you’re both in for it now.” He brings the various decor items to life to terrorize them, and then Charles joins his side, sympathizing with his son vis-à-vis bad teenage facial hair, and by the time the whole squabble is over, hardly any decorating has gotten done… But he does feel better. His family’s good like that.

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Monday rolls around, same as it always does, but there’s a weird feeling in the air. Halloween is a week away, barely missing getting a weekend date, but there’s some big Halloween bash the school is apparently throwing. There’s fliers for it everywhere, plastered all over lockers and bulletin boards. He’s not much of a participator, though, and his reaction to his locker being plastered over with invites to a party he doesn't care about is to snap his fingers. All the fliers on all the lockers up and down the hall, all instantly fall loose at once, littering the floor. A few students jump back, but no one looks his way, because why would they?

He’s grabbing his history textbook when he feels a tap on the shoulder, and when he turns, it’s a girl he recognizes, but her name is absolutely lost on him.

“You’re BJ, right?” Miffy askes, and he nods. “Yeah, s’right,” and Margo seems to wince at how gruff his voice is, before continuing. “Um, you and that guy Kevin, you’re like…” Milicent trails off, waiting for him to finish her thought, but sorry, baby, he can barely finish his own. “Like…?” He says, with his gravel voice copying her tone and inflection, and she huffs. “Together?” Marge asks, “Like, all of the time?”

He cocks his head, and squints at her, hands t-rexing at his sides, as Lydia likes to say.\

“Usually,” He concedes, and he gets the feeling he’s dragging this out much, much more than Mango clearly wants, because he spies a group of girls a little ways off, waiting for her. One of them is staring intently, more focused on him, but he pushes that thought aside.

“Look, okay, he’s gonna be out for a few days, and I’m just trying to see if you can take him his homework,” McGrubber has grown tired of having to stand here, talking to the chubby goth loser, apparently. “I’m a student aid in the office and they’re trying to make me do it, but I have track practice!” Thaaaat’s where he knows her from. She looks different, not bouncing and sweating and also not half a football field away. “Sure, fine, I’ll make sure Kev gets his work. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on running in a fuckin’ circle, Maria.” Her face sours. “It’s Blair.” So close. “Who fuckin’ cares,” He replies, and turns back to his locker. He can hear her rejoin her friend group, all of them fawning over her harrowing experience of having to speak to him in public. The last thing he hears from Blair is, “He’s just so goddamn weird,” and then the group rounds the corner.

He closes his locker harder than he maybe needs to.

Kevin isn’t in class that day, or the next, or even the one after. The shade tree has withered and died completely, it’s color sapped and gone, and even walking near it makes him feel uneasy. His new lonely lunch spot is under the bleachers, which feels even more voyeuristic of a spot to watch the track team, but even that activity feels tainted, somehow. He’s back to being lonely.

He can’t stand being lonely.

It gets so bad he contemplates sitting, wait for it, on the bleachers, and maybe even trying to strike up a conversation, but he’s too chicken shit. He’s been going to school with these kids for the past three years, and no one’s wanted to talk to him or chat with him in all that time. He can’t imagine that’s about to change.

Still, on Thursday, miserable and lonely, he gives it a try.

Sitting up here sucks. It’s just a hard metal seat on a gloomy day, and when he’d ventured up and sat down, other people had slowly moved away from him, until he was sitting by himself, all the breathers huddled in a different area, away from him. He'd tried talking, but hardly had a "Hey, how ya doin'?" grated out before the migration began.

Figures.

He finishes eating and lies on his back, resting his hands on his chest, eyes closed, and after a while he feels someone standing over him, and something laid over his hands. He opens his eyes. There’s the most beautiful girl staring down at him. She’s got long, bleach blonde hair, darker at the roots, which is hanging down in a halo around her face, and the biggest, clearest blue eyes he’s ever seen. He glances down, to see she’s placed a daisy over his hand. He looks back up at her, amber eyes questioning.

“You looked so still,” She smiles. Her voice is like music. He thinks he can hear harps. “With your hands folded like that. Kind of like an open casket.” He’d been forgetting to breathe, apparently, which happens sometimes. She thought he looked like a corpse, and she placed a flower over him.

“Sorry, if that’s weird. You’re.. BJ?” She asks, and he picks up the daisy, sits up, and nods. “Yeah, you’re…” “Barbara,” she fills him in. “You’re not so good with names.” “Mmm. Buffy tell you that?” He recognizes her now, from that group of girls. Barbara sits next to him, which makes zero sense. “It’s Blair,” she corrects him gently, but not without a giggle in her voice. “Oh, right.” Her name could be fuckin’ Moonpie and it’d make the same amount of difference to him, but he’d agree with anything Barbara said, if it meant she kept sitting there, talking to him. “Are you going to the Halloween party?” She asks. “Supposed to be pretty killer. It kind of seems like your scene.” “I’m not exactly a social butterfly,” which is the understatement of the god damn century, honestly, but she laughs and nudges her shoulder with his. “Well, I think you should come. I bet you’d have the coolest costume. Maybe think about it?”

“I guess, maybe..” He says lamely, because his brain is short circuiting from that small touch.

“Barb, come on!” someone calls to her from a ways away, on the track. Lunch is nearly over. She stands, and smooths down the long skirt she’s wearing, which is modest but flattering. “Later, BJ,” she smiles, and just like that, she’s gone, like an angel going back up to heaven in a beam of light, off to rejoin her friends. He can hear what she says to them, though. “You guys are mean, he’s not so bad. Just shy.”

He keeps the daisy in a little glass of water on his dresser, and strums love songs on his ukulele.

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Thinking about Barbara and her smile and the way she nudged him is a fun distraction, at least for a little while, but when it’s Saturday, and he still hasn’t heard from Kevin, he decides it’s time to demon up and see what the fuck is happening with him. He’s been just teleporting Kev’s homework inside his room, and he’s sure it’s falling into a pile on the floor each time and startling him, but no one ever said how he had to deliver it. Today though, emboldened by the pretty girl on the bleachers, he appears at Kevin’s front door instead, holding Friday’s work, and he knocks. It takes a moment, but Mr. Loh answers.

Betelgeuse hasn’t had much chance to interact with Kev’s dad. He looks like a normal, tired dad, wholly unimpressive, and kinda short. Chuck could wrestle this guy to the mat, no problem.

“Oh, BJ,” Mr. Loh says, and then glances at what’s in his hands. “Kevin’s homework? Thank you. He’s holed up in his room… won’t come out.. Maybe,” and he suddenly looks hopeful. “You two are friends. Maybe you can try talking to him?”

Well, that’s what he was there to do anyways, so sure. “I gotcha, Mr. L,” he nods, stepping inside, and heading up the stairs and down the hall to Kevin’s room. The closer he gets to the door, though, the weirder he feels. Something stinks, figuratively and literally. It smells like… It smells like the waiting room. It’s that same, veil is thin type air that he can smell on Halloween night, but how the fuck is he smelling it here? He bangs on Kevin’s door. “Hey, Kev, it’s the B-Man,” he calls, trying to keep his tone playful, but he feels like he’s doing a poor job. What the hell is going on? “Come on, man, open up!” He tries again, when he receives no response. He thinks he can hear a shuffle behind the door. “Dude, I will bust this fuckin’ door down,” He growls, all the play gone from his tone. “You know I will. Better yet-”

He appears inside the bedroom, just in time for Kevin to slam shut the closet door. Kevin turns to look at him, back pressed to the wood. There’s a beat, both teens staring at each other, wide eyed, Betelgeuse in that weird way he does, and Kevin looking frazzled. “What,” the demon grates out, “the fuck, are you getting up to in here? It smells like the netherworld, Kev.” Unfortunately, that makes Kevin’s face light up. “It does? Oh my god, that’s perfect! It must be starting to work!” He crosses the bedroom, going to his desk, where an old book is sitting open. It’s not the same one he took from his friend, it can’t be, that book is still a mile down in presumably solid rock. “Another musty ass tome, great,” he growls, but Kevin ignores him, flipping through the book.

He hates feeling ignored.

A black and white striped arm sprouts from Kevin’s desk, and slams the book shut, which makes the breather turn and glare at him. “Get out of my room, BJ,” is all Kevin says, and Betelgeuse ignores that, instead crossing the floor to get a look at that book. “Where th’ hell do you keep finding these fuckin’ things?”

“This one I bought from a one armed man living out of a 1973 Oldsmobile Delta 88 Royale,” Kevin recites. Betelgeuse squints at him, top teeth over bottom lip. “You’re too gay to know what that means,” he says, plainly, and Kevin shrugs. “He wouldn’t stop talking about his stupid car. I now know more about that antique than I know about geography.” It feels fun, for a second, like this drama isn’t happening, and they’re just having a conversation. It doesn’t last, though. He can’t let Kev off the hook.

“So you bought a second cursed book, this time from some amputee homeless guy, and you’re just, doing the rituals inside of it? And this seems like a super good idea to you?”

“I’m practicing,” Kevin replies.

“So what’s in the closet, Kevin?”

“Get out of my room, Betelgeuse.”

The way Kevin says his name is weird. It doesn’t feel like how it normally feels when a breather says the full thing. He shakes it off, and gives his friend a defiant look, before waving a hand and throwing open the closet door. There’s a cleared spot, in the middle of the closet floor, and a fucking summoning circle in what smells like, “Pig’s blood? Couldn’t get human?” He turns to look at Kevin, who is glaring at him intently. He matches the look.

“Betelgeuse Shoggoth, get out of my room.”

That gets his attention. It feels like an invisible hand is pushing him, and he stumbles back out of the room, confused. “W-what?” Kevin is just standing there, staring at him, and Betelgeuse stares back, eyes wild. “You motherfucker,” he hisses, eyes in snake slits, teeth sharp, claws extended. “You wanna do that “real name” bullshit with me? That the choice you’re makin’ here, Kev?”

Kevin doesn’t even look phased. “I’m working on gaining a bit more control, but looks like that works, for now.”

“You’re cracked!” Betelgeuse growls, absolutely furious. “You’re really tryin’ to summon me? Are you out of your head!?”

“You’re wasting your powers,” Kevin storms forward. “You’re a supernatural being, and you go to school and play your stupid ukulele, and don’t even try to do anything bigger. You could be stepping on everyone under you,” his former friend is going red in the face. “You could be leading, you could be ruling, but you just jerk off in your room and play pretend at being human. But someone might as well profit, here. Why not me?”

“I thought.. I thought we were friends,” is all the demon can say, lamely, and Kevin’s smile is the meanest thing he’s ever seen on a breather. “Once you’re fully listening to me, we can be friends again. Betelgeuse Shoggoth, get out of my house.”

He feels that same invisible pull, and he thinks maybe if he was stronger he could resist it, but a demon’s true name is like a lead on a dog, meant to control them, and unfortunately, Kevin has a tight hand on his leash. He makes it to the front door, and stumbles out, covering his face until he can calm himself enough to reapply his glamour.

Shit, he thinks, straightening up, and staring up at Kevin’s bedroom window. He is so fucked. ``````````````````````````````````````````````` Posted this chapter and another over at Ao3. You can read it right here

#beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice broadway #lydia deetz #emily deetz #beetlejuice fic #beetlejuice the musical

[beastsars]

praeceptum | louis (beastars) x carnivore!reader

continuous sucker for louis and his carnivore lover. amen. pure mature content again because fuck it guys. just fuck it. amen again.

you’d warned him. specifically sent him a very detailed text about your approved absence for health reasons. and louis had heeded to your explanation. truly. 

except your period of self-care, to put it lightly, was supposed to last three days. and now it was the evening of the fifth. 

to be truthful, his concern had spiked during the fourth day, but he had the patience to wait out an additional twenty-four hours. you likely needed some time to come down from your highs and recover from nature's temporary control over your emotions and instincts. nothing ever went according to plan after all.

but now his worried apprehension was threatening to edge hysteria if he didn’t hear from you soon. 

what if you’d hurt yours? maybe the unbridled passion had become too much for you to handle. 

or worse- what if an alpha had passed by your scent and taken advantage in your vulnerability?

each thought darkened with possibility as louis sped walked down the hallway of the upscale apartment complex. it was his own hideaway in the city that the two of you often frequented during the weekend to escape prying eyes. he felt that it was a fitting honeypot for you to nest in. a comforting place surrounded with nothing but his warmth and scent and the memories the two of you had ingrained in the walls. 

as he neared the door, the deer made a quick account of its integrity, noting the absence of scratches or signs of forced entry. it both settled and nagged him, as it was possible for you to have been lured out. yet as he scented the stale air, he came to terms with the fact that you were also truant without a trail of your departure. 

“this is all just a misunderstanding, louis. she’s probably just too worn out and resting,” he tried to reassure himself to avoid looking like a fool as the lock clicked signaling his entry. 

upon entering the flat, he took note of the glowing emitter still humming softly on the small entry table to the left. he’d purchased it with faith on the internet and it seemed to be doing its job. its primary function was a suppressors, releasing contrasting scents to defer any unwanted guests. louis had preemptively chosen a chamomile scent in hopes of enticing you to sleep through your episode than suffer. 

“sweetheart? it’s me, just coming to check on you.”

as he traveled further into the abode, he came to the starking conclusion that all his distress was for naught. the moment he stepped outside of the emitters area of control, it was like stepping into a thick cloud of smog. except instead of heavy smoke, it was just a vicious blanket of you. 

your scent still heavily dosed in fertile hormones and the influence of your heat. 

hesitating with his next step forward, louis nearly choked at the tangible taste of your fragrance, spicy like cinnamon with a hint of nutmeg. hesitantly, he called out your name again but didn’t receive a response. not a cheerful cry or a growl of warning. if not for your aroma, he wouldn’t have even suspected you were here. 

determined to see through his intent, the deer marched forward with tense trepidation as he neared the bedroom. as not to startle whatever state you were in, he cautiously clicked opened the door, mouth ready to address whatever he saw but stopped short at the sight before him.

the room was in shambles. dressers knocked to the floor, some unable to flee without suffering the brutal strength of your claws. your claws that also seemed to lay claim on the sheets and pillows, strips of linen and faux feathers littering the floor. and then there was you.

gaze starved with lust darted toward the doorway where louis’s tall figure stood. inherently. you’d picked up on the intruder with your daze, but the familiarity had settled the rage before you could act on it. it hadn’t taken long for the concern to vanish, thoughts slathered under the thickness of your slick as your fingers worked furiously at your wet passage. you’d long given up on rearranging your nest to avoid the wet spots, just adding more to the mess under you as you withered in your own release. 

you had one ear keen to the approaching steps, distantly aware of the voice calling to you. but the distraction of fucking yourself on your own digits won the larger part of your mind as a frustrated groan hissed behind your clenched teeth. it was never enough, over a hundred hours of it never being enough. 

not deep enough, not fast enough. not thick enough. 

without proper satisfaction, your heat refused to ebb away, drawing it out like a sick game at your expense. 

and in your final hour, it seemed as though your prayers had been answered. the divine showing you mercy in the form of a bewildered herbivore. 

it calmed a sliver of your consciousness to finally have a fresh taste of his scent. you’d long overpowered it after the first day. and you’d been too weak to travel past the bed room to find other sources of the earthy musk. 

louis, the poor soul, hadn’t moved from his spot. still overwhelmed by the picture you must make. did deers even go into heat? fuck, the answer hardly mattered now. you were the one suffering and you desperately needed him to do something about it. 

you eyes captured his, pleading with a sharp whimper for him to act on this unbearable pain. the creature before you likely would inseminate you properly as nature requested, but it was male with a sizable cock. wet pulses of slick soiled the fingers inside you just at the thought of the power thrusts taking you from behind. 

“lou, please. please please please.”

please fuck me. please mark me. please claim me. 

any and all of the above would do as long as he finally acted instead of just staring. prepared to take point, you crawled, hobbled on your knees, movements jerky with the intrusion of your hand still between your legs. 

ultimately, you removed the soaked appendage, absolutely dripping with your ichor as you reached out to the male. “help me.”

your final plea must have appealed to some baser than his cognition as the deer finally approached the bed, nose flared wide. incompatible or not, the obvious scent of a desirable female before him was enough to dilate his pupils and shoot blood towards his lower half. 

the back of his hand carefully edged the side of your face as if testing. unsure of how to pass it, you settled for nuzzling the first touch that had not been your own in days. your wantonness submerged with a surge as you slithered your tongue along his digits and brought them into your hot aperture. you hoped you looked like every bit of the slut you felt like. 

and by the sudden gesture of his opposite hand connecting with your neck and shoving your face first onto the bed, you assumed you hit the mark. he didn’t kiss you as he lowered his head, too mindful of your feral state and instead licked a wet stripe against the fur of your nape. the way you suckled gently at his fingers, mindful of your teeth, spoke more about your mindset but he wasn’t willing to push it further than that. 

“i’ll take care of you, don't you worry. you should have called me earlier,” he chided.

you tried to apologize, over the weight of his fingers in your mouth and the ones now absent from your neck as they slid up your slick near your cunt and down to the knuckle. this was what you needed. fingers angled just right to reach depths denied to you for days.

mouth still perched at your neck, louis whispered hot words of reassurance as he grinds against his pumping fingers. uncaring of the speech, but very cognitive of the breach, you roll your hips eagerly into the undulation. it did wonders to your libedo to feel the swollen member in his pants, greedily wanting him to give up this futile attempt to prepare you. you’d been ready for his cock for hours and would not be made to wait any longer. 

blindly you reached back, hands dragging trails of your slick against the fabric as you desperately tried to grasp at the labels. hissing at your attempts, louis unceremoniously snatched his hand from your mouth and tackled the fastening with an equally fervent but with more coordination.

his hand parted your folds sloppy to coat his hands before slicking up his cock. acutely aware of your body submissively laid out in presentation, louis wanted to ingrain this memory in his head. that he, a herbivore, would bring you pleasure in such an exposed moment. 

grasping at the met of your backside, he guided his cockhead toward you entrance, sharing your pleased groan as he pushed in. what he was feeling now was nothing like previous bouts of passion he’d shared with you. each one was as adventurous and ambitious as the last. 

but this. this was pure rawness. He had barely bottomed out and your eyes were already rolling back in pleasure, salvia leaking from your open mouth with nothing there to stimulate it. idly, he returned his fingers there, gasping in surprise when your lips immediately sealed around them. 

whether or not his body was truly affected by your spike in arousal, the placebo effect of seeing his lover so kindled drove him to adopt a vigorous tempo. your body trembled under the onslaught, easily overwhelmed from the lack of a proper fucking that you needed it the most. it feed deliciously into his ego as he utterly dominated you with every smack of his hips against the curve of yours.

god, you were wailing. cries so sweet with desperation that it nearly swelled his heart to impact. he’d been waiting for your hands to make their descent on his antlers. the typical slow teasing and glide of your fingers before grasping, traded for a rough capture as he anchored yourself.

a past state of him would have cooed and showed more attentiveness, but the present version knew what you needed and increased the tempo. your brain was completely fogged over with pleasure, unconscious to anything and everything but the cock pistoning inside of you. 

he wondered if you even knew who was giving you this greatest pleasure. the thought of being replaced, even in your mind, surged him to speak. 

“filthy carnivore cockslut- excuse me, herbivore slut,” he barked harshly against her ear, body bowed to follow the curve of your back. his hand dug into the flesh of your buttock, squeezing and kneading .

“your own kind just couldn’t do it for you, so you decided to cross over and play a dangerous game. now look at you, practically hanging off my cock like a lifeline.” blood drummed forcefully through his veins and his muscled clenched through the efforts but his desire to conquer overruled all else. 

his fingers curled into the fur between your ears, tugging none too gently to bring your head up. “tell me. tell them all who’s cock you prefer?”

a high pitched whine preceded your answer but what he wanted eventually left your tongue. 

“fuuuck- you lou. always you. i need you cock. it's everything i want.”

your body bobbled uncontrolled against his mounted thrust as he released your head to hold your hips steady with both hands. he could feel the seeded swelling at the base of his cock and he needed you to break before he did. so he takes you harder, harder than he’s ever did before. promising aches that will linger on your body for days to come. 

it all came together beautifully the moment your orgasm broke up. he watched enthralled as your body seized unlike anything he witnessed before as your cunt fluttered around your release. not far behind, luis transitions to shallower drives as he grinds into your core, sneaking in a sloppy few more thrust before losing himself in his release. 

the walls of your cunt continued to clenched around him as in expectation for something additional he couldn't provide. hazily, he tried to place the absent mechanism but the sight of your relaxed body won over as he pulled out and collapsed on the bed next to you. 

a soft pained whimper escaped you, high and keen enough for him to weakly scramble for the source. but you seemed to delegate your own solution, body squirming backwards into his chest, hand gasping at his cock from between your legs to nestle it back home within your cunt. with a final reassuring squeeze around him, you slipped into a hazy sleep, body overcome with exhaustion. 

chuckling tiredly, louis tried not to disrupt the first bout of rest you probably had in days as he tried to use his foot to drag his pants into reach. when they were close enough, he fished out his phone from one of his pockets.

it was hardly dinner time. still a fresh start to the weekend. 

perphas he would call in an impromptu break for the drama club. something told him you would be keeping him occupied for the foreseeable future. 

#beastars #beastars x reader #louis beastars x reader #louis beastars #beastars headcanon #beastars imagines

[baby-grayson]

Kind Stranger| GBD

Word Count: 2.8k (teeny tiny) Trigger Warning: quarantine talk A/N: This is my first fic post ever! Please let me know what you think about this little teaser. Please please give me feedback about if I should keep going or if I can improve at all!!

The saltwater hit his tongue sharply. His body fell alongside his board in the water. While his feet met the ground again, he quickly scooped up the wayward board before it floated too far away. Arriving back on the shore, he dug the bottom of the board into the heavy, wet sand. He sat next to it, the tide kissing his feet and bare legs as it danced along the shore. He took a deep breath. He was at peace.

Grayson Dolan didn’t feel peace often: at least, not lately. The past two years had been one chaotic haze after another. Moving into a house in LA. Being on Fear Factor. Having his first stalker. Being there to watch his father pass. Starting a fragrance company. Erupting into a workaholic pattern of self-destruction to avoid dealing with the emotions of his father’s death. Announcing to his over 10million fans that he and Ethan had reached their last emotional string and needed to pursue a life that was happiest for them, including projects that pushed them as creators.

The creative projects were as scary and dizzying as they were exciting. He and Ethan traveled across the country in a custom van. They explored the Australian wilderness. They started a podcast with their friend, Ryan, to introduce the real, mature versions of themselves to the internet. Grayson had a small black notebook in his bottom left desk drawer with project ideas and timelines for the year.

But that notebook became pointless when the pandemic hit. He and Ethan were in the process of finding a new house after an incident with an unhealthily obsessed fan when the shelter in place orders hit. The first month was unstable; no one should have to move to a new house in the middle of a pandemic. But the craziness subsided eventually, Grayson and Ethan found a home to call their own for the first time in their lives. After living in close quarters during construction left them at each other’s throats, they found a rental in Malibu to live out the rest of their quarantine days. Periodically, the visited their mother in New Jersey.

Visiting New Jersey did not exactly follow the CDC guidelines. Grayson quelled the risk in his heart with the importance of his mother. If she wasn’t working and he and Ethan only ever saw each other, how dangerous could it really be? Besides, his mother needed him. After the death of his father, his mother was left alone in their house in rural New Jersey. She had nothing but the memories of buying the home, bringing home two twin baby boys, teaching her daughter how to ride a bike, and having tough conversations about her sons’ dreams… Yeah, she needed him. Grayson decided. Grayson still held guilt from not spending enough time with his mother after his father passed. He loved her more than anything, and in a deep place, a place so deep that he didn’t dare think on often, he would never forgive himself for not being there for her in the weeks following his father’s passing.

He thought of her often: like on this beach in Malibu. He thought of how she’d love to pull up a beach chair and enjoy a Mojito while soaking up the sun. The image almost made him chuckle. For a short second, he pictured Ethan and Cameron there with her. Cameron would pull up a beach chair next to their mother, blasting her latest musical obsession from a stereo. Ethan would try to surf, but eventually his more whimsical tendencies would give out and he’d try building the biggest sandcastle a 20-year-old man child could muster.

Grayson chuckled to himself, he buried his hands in the sand at his sides. He played with it in his palms, feeling the fine granules pass over his coarse skin. A thousand little diamonds slowly withering away at a firm and precise exterior. He was also reminded of his mother constantly telling him to exfoliate his callouses from building.

This was Grayson mid-pandemic. The mess of finding a house passed. The initial marvel of staying busy inside the house passed. Hell, even the wonder of cutting his home-grown mullet had passed. Now, he and Ethan traded turns being the more bored twin. Ethan had re-watched Stranger Things about 10 times by now. Grayson spent his days working out, following his regimented daily routine to soon reach a Planche Hold. Occasionally, one of them would reach a deeper state of boredom and go to bother the other twin. They would go to bed and rehearse the routine again the next day.

Unfortunately for Grayson, Ethan slept like the dead. His twin brother usually slept until 11:00 AM; the pandemic had pushed that to a firm 1:00PM. His brother’s sleeping beauty impression left Grayson with nearly half a day to himself. Grayson made a ritual out of going surfing. The beach was secluded enough to not require the precautionary thinking of masks and hygiene in a pandemic. It was just Grayson, his board, and the ocean. He spent his alone time thinking of the important people in his life. In some ways, this pandemic was almost a good thing for him. He spent last year moving too fast among emotions he was too immature to process on his own. This year the world forced him to move too slow in an attempt to let his mind and heart catch up to the rest of his life. His introspective moments on the sand and sea were his own to experience and process alone. Except today.

She looked down at him and smiled, “Good Morning”

His lips turned up softly, “Morning”

He watched as she walked away: a long, dark ponytail fluttering in the wind over a flowy, white sundress sundress with a small, leather purse hanging at her hip. Grayson leaned back on his palms when he noticed something. Her footprints weren’t even. In the sand, one foot was about two inches deeper than the other. He furrowed his brow, pondering it for a second before shaking his head. He dipped his hands in the water and wet his newly cropped haircut. He was seeing things, probably swallowing too much salt. He grabbed his board and headed up shore to his van.

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He wouldn’t have recognized her without the hair. The next day, he was paddling back to shore on his board when she walked by. He could make out her long, dark hair against the pale, sandy background. He squinted: not being able to tell if she was looking back at him. He smiled brightly and outwardly, just in case she could see him. His smile faded in a few seconds. what am I doing? He thought before padding back to shore to make his usually introspective campsite.

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The third day, he was firmly in deep thought about his next tattoo when she walked by. They made eye contact as they flashed each other warm, but polite, smiles. “Good Morning” “Good Morning”.

This secluded little beach not his own anymore. He shared it with a kind stranger. She was a silent reminder that the world continued to turn outside of his fast-paced, modern, social media based lifestyle. Okay he thought maybe I’m being a bit deep …but it’s nice to have someone else around I guess.  

Their routine played for two weeks. She would walk by Grayson, either as he was coming to land again or paddling his way back to shore. They exchanged greetings and smiles as they passed. By the time she turned around and walked back to her car again, Grayson was gone.  Sometimes she saw the imprint of him in the sand when he was gone and thought about him when he wasn’t there. For a few minutes, she would muse to herself about his name. Sterling? No too Disney. Lance? No too King Arthur. William? No too Royal Family.

Occasionally, Grayson would think back to her outside of his beach visits. Maybe he passed a girl with long, dark hair in the grocery store, or maybe he saw someone about her size on the other side of a parking lot, he would catch his breath quickly before realizing it wasn’t her. What would I even say? Are we friends? She probably doesn’t remember what I look like. Why do I care? That last one got him.

Why did he care? Sure, he thought, she was pretty. She seemed nice, well okay her Good Mornings sound nice…nicest he’d heard in a while considering the only other person who wished him a good morning was Ethan. Maybe that was just it, he was spending too much time by himself or with Ethan. Ethan and Grayson had been quarantined together for almost four months now. The only other people he had seen was his mother, sister, and friend Ryan. When you only speak to 4 other people face to face for four months, the girl on the beach was a contender for one of his closest friends. The thought settled well in his brain, rationalizing his anxieties about seeing her in public.

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About two weeks later, on a Tuesday morning, the sky was grey as the sun hid behind the clouds; the ocean water was unusually murky with dense foam. Grayson’s head must have been in the grey clouds because his usual surfing excursion left him tumbling around in the water more than usual. He started back for the shore earlier than usual, sensing that today was simply not his day. When the water reached his chest, Grayson started to walk upright in the water while dragging his board behind him. Not a few seconds later, he felt a sharp pain stab the outer edge of his left foot. “FUCK”, he swore out loud and gasped. The saltwater heightened the pain as he continued to trudge through the water.

He arrived on shore and noticed a jagged, long cut along the side of his right foot. The saltwater washed away the blood seeping through the wound: all that was left was a deep, slender slice taken out of the side of his foot. He tossed his board down, not bothering to dig it into the sand. He sat on the waters edge, trying to wash the sand out of the wound but wincing when the salt returned with its pointed sting. He groaned softly to himself.

I can’t walk back to the car like this, he thought to himself.

He threw his head back, frustrated with the situation. Frustrated with how he might have scratched his board on a rock from tossing it down. Frustrated from the deep wound spewing blood from his foot. Frustrated with his loneliness. Frustrated with the pandemic. Frustrated with his career. It all lead him here: sitting on a beach, more than half naked, with a bloody foot and a bruised ego. He sighed out loud and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Are you okay?”

Grayson nearly jumped, not because she was mean or aggressive but because he was having his internal meltdown under the impression that he was alone. He forgot about his little beach friend. Her brow furrowed softly, oh shit I should say something. 

“Yeah, I uhh I just got cut up is all” Grayson waived his injured foot softly from where it lay.

She hesitated for a second, neither of them was wearing a mask. Surely Dr. Fauci would approve of her helping a lone stranger who was in pain. She ignored the premonition, figuring that she wouldn’t be seeing anyone else soon anyway but remembering to put a mask in her purse for any future first aid incidents.

“Do you need a hand?” Her eyes were kind and caring, a deep brown that looked nearly gold in the grey light of that Tuesday morning. Grayson found himself looking at her, really looking at her for the first time since they started sharing the beach. She did not notice Grayson’s awkward gawk getting the best of him. She bent her head down, her eyes leaving Grayson’s gaze to search her purse for something. Grayson realized how small she was, probably only 5 feet tall and slender framed underneath her T-shirt and shorts. She unearthed a small, white package from within her purse. “Bandaid?” she offered, holding it out to him.

“Yeah that’d be great,” Grayson nodded softly and took the package from her. He looked from the white box to his cut and his muscles tensed up, unsure of where to start. He looked up at her, his brown eyes wide with uncertainty. She smiled softly at him, reassuring that frustrated place in his heart slightly. “Want some help?”, she was already kneeling down before he could start nodding.

Grayson slipped the white bandage box into her small palm as she started wiping away the larger pieces of sand around the cut. “You think it could get infected?” he asked, “By something in the water?”

She laid a piece of gauze over his cut as she shook her head. “No, the salt in the water would act as an electrolyte to dehydrate the phospholipid bilayer of any aquatic bacteria before it even got in.” He felt his eyebrows raise. She wrapped his foot in a larger bandage before adding, “uh I mean… it’s salt water, so you’ll be fine…..how did you do this anyway?”

“I must’ve stepped on a rock coming out of the water,” Grayson coolly forgot to mention his earlier debacle of looking like a Saint Bernard on a surfboard.

“If a big guy like you can get taken down by a rock, I have no chance in this world,” she remarked while standing up and putting the box back in her purse.  Grayson laughed out loud with a wide smile. Her joke wasn’t even that funny, but it had been so long since he heard someone make a joke besides Ethan.

She smiled down at him, “I like the band” she gestured toward the solid black tattoo on his right ankle. “I think I would go with an anklet though,” she added with a soft confidence.”

Grayson tried to stand on the freshly bandage foot, “True but this way I’ll never lose it in the ocean.”

It was her turn to laugh, she flashed a bright smile at him and let out a happy sound. Her laugh died down as Grayson stood up tall: a tanned, muscular Adonis standing before her. “Well um..I’m glad to see you’re doing okay,” she started to step away from him, “See you later.” She smiled before turning away.

“See you later,” Grayson waved goodbye as she turned her back and continued her walk. He stopped himself, why was a grown man waving goodbye in public like a kindergartener at school? He let his hand fall to his side before picking up his board and walking back to his van. He looked down at his foot, I guess Ethan is taking out the trash tonight..and making me dinner. 

On the other side of the beach, she drew in a breath and cursed to herself, shit..I didn’t get his name..

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Grayson returned to the beach the next morning without his board. He decided that getting his bandaged (freshly done and kissed with love by Ethan) foot was too much of a risk. Also, he feared cutting up his good foot with a matching gash. He couldn’t depend on pretty girls with nice eyes to always be there with bandaids.  Instead, he sat down on the sand, letting the water run over his right foot and leg. He held his injured leg in his bicep, folding his knee up to meet his chest. With his free arm, he tried to skip stones in the water from his position on the ground.

He tried his best to enjoy his introspective morning with the ocean, even though he wasn’t in the water.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without your board” she looked down at him from under the visor of a black baseball hat.

He chucked, “Boards don’t pair well with bandaged feet.” He smiled up at her, “Thank you, by the way, for yesterday. I really appreciate it… You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem….just being a kind stranger,” outwardly, she smiled gently but inwardly she cringed at the awkwardness of her own words. Grayson smiled gently back at her, she can’t have been too awkward if he’s still looking at her right?

“My names Kate”

“I’m Grayson”   A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! This is the first thing I am ever posting and would really appreciate any feedback you have about whether or not I should keep going. <3 

#imnervous #PLEASETELLMEWHATYOUTHINK #isitcheesy #dolan twins #grayson dolan #fanfic #dolantwins #graysondolan #ethandolan #ethan dolan #youtuber #oc #graysonxoc #grayson #graysonbailey #ethan #ethangrant #howdidido #imshaking #teaser #graysonfic

[bystreetlight]

What can I say. It was a year.

1. What did you do in 2021 that you hadn’t done before? Started learning Spanish, bought a house at auction, touched a dinosaur skeleton, had laser hair removal. 2. Did anyone close to you give birth? Not this year. 3. Did anyone close to you die? My grandmother died in September, and because of the general ‘everything is fucked-ness’ at the time, I couldn’t go to NSW for her funeral. It was the second year in a row this happened after my grandfather died last year, and I’m not really sure I’ve processed any of the emotions properly yet. 4. Did you travel? Where did you go? Best holiday memory? Had a staycation in Melbourne CBD in April – does that count? Hahahahahah. Every other travel plan we had this year got cancelled because of lockdowns. It’s fine. Totally fine. 5. Best thing you bought? Our new house!! 🏡 And a new TV, which meant that the old TV became the bedroom TV which has been LIFE CHANGING. 6. Where did most of your money go? I feel like our Australia Post delivery man was at our house twice a week all year long and yet I can hardly remember anything I bought this year. Anyway, most of my money went to the bank for our house deposit 😭 7. What do you wish you had done more of? Listening to music. My last.fm/Spotify stats were very sad this year. 8. What do you wish you had done less of? Idk, watching the news? I always felt better when I disengaged from the daily terror updates. 9. What kept you sane? Constantly having a TV project on the go to fill in the endless hours stuck at home. 10. What drove you mad? All the usual suspects – anti-vaxxers, anti-lockdown protestors, fuckwits on the internet… 11. What made you celebrate? Getting vaccinated! Melbourne and Penrith winning the AFL and NRL premierships was pretty exciting as well. 12. What made you sad? Another year of cancelled/postponed events and all the associated joy they bring…not being able to see Hamilton in Sydney, not being able to go on our consolation high country weekend, all the festivals - RISING, the Writer’s Fest, Open House Melbourne…and when I had to find a new hairdresser after my hairdresser of almost 20 years revealed himself to be a giant anti-vaxxer baby and refused to reopen his salon because he didn’t want to comply with the vax mandate. 13. How was your birthday this year and how old did you turn? It was on a Monday and we were out of lockdown at that point (lol) so I went to work in the office, where we had cake and a few people took me out for lunch. Celebrated over the weekend by going to see Lano & Woodley on the Friday night, and had a delicious meal at Tonda Italian on Saturday night. I turned 37. 14. What political issue stirred you the most this year? Every single political issue this year just made me want to run away into the hills and never come back. 15. Were you in love in 2021? Always!! 🥰 16. What would you like to have in 2022 that you didn’t have this year? A normal year? Where you can make plans? And think about the future? And not wither away in your home? 17. What date(s) from 2021 will be etched in your memory and why? 6th of August, when we were meant to go away on a long weekend and instead went into lockdown for 11 weeks. 18. What song will remind you of 2021? That fucken Elton John/Dua Lipa song that I cannot escape. And Take My Breath by The Weeknd. 19. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I still haven’t made a will 🙈 It’s still on the to-do list though. I also want to read all the books I’ve bought before I buy any new ones 😂 20. Did you suffer illness or injury? I completely fucked my back in August, to the point where I couldn’t move without extreme agony. Had to go to the physiotherapist approximately 400 times to sort it out. I guess this is middle age. 21. Compared to this time last year, are you: i. happier or sadder? Happier! Because I never have to deal with real estate property managers again, or go to another open house or auction unless it’s for fun or to gawk. ii. thinner or fatter? About the same I think. iii. richer or poorer? Poorer because I now have two mortgages hahah. Being a property mogul is an expensive business 😂 22. How will you be spending Christmas? Going down to Portarlington tomorrow for 2 weeks, so Christmas Day will be spent at the holiday house eating too much food. The rest of the time will be taken up with swimming, watching TV, playing board games and generally trying to relax/switch off from this shitshow of a year haha. 24. What was your favourite TV program? Call My Agent!, The Newsreader, Hacks, this season of GBBO, Succession, Only Murders in the Building, Line of Duty. Also rewatched A LOT of shows, including the Americans, which was even more devastating the third time around. 25. What was the best book you read? I adored All Our Shimmering Skies by Trent Dalton, as well as The Weekend by Charlotte Wood. 26. What was your greatest musical discovery? I honestly can’t think of any this year. 27. What did you want and get? Those gold Gucci shoes I wanted last year hahah. 28. What did you want and not get? To go on a plane somewhere 😢 29. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2021? I don’t even know if I could call what I wore “fashion” this year. It was basically the same three pairs of tracksuit pants in rotation with a variety of jumpers. 30. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? Chigs from Bake Off, Assaad Bouab and Camille Cottin, the Hot Umpire. 31. Biggest achievement this year? Growing a strawberry on our strawberry plant at home 🍓 32. Biggest disappointment this year? When Dale and Tim didn’t end up together on The Newsreader. 33. What is the one thing that would have made you more satisfied? If Dale and Tim had got together on The Newsreader. 34. Best new person you met this year? I got some good new work colleagues this year but they don’t really count. 35. A valuable life lesson you learnt this year? DIY mouse traps are a waste of time when you have a mouse at home, so just pay some guys to come and plug all the gaps in the house and fill it with poison 🤷🏼‍♀️

#year in review #survey thingo

[almostkoo]

Destiny | Park Jimin

pairings: park jimin x oc

summary: having a green thumb is a blessing that you didn’t seem to have, the working theory was that plants hated you and tending to your aunts garden seemed to prove that but maybe the handsome young man that keeps finding his way into your aunts garden can help you whip it back into shape

word count: 2.9k

warnings: unedited, language (of course )

author’s notes: it’s another portion of my spooktober story collection, i was kinda of excited to write this one but still and yet very nervous as always i hope you all enjoy it :)

You trudged on your worn out boots ,letting out a sigh you ran back your plan you set up for your day. Weeding out the garden, checking on the hydrangeas, and planting the tomatoes. You thought back those three things over and over again. Feeling like you were forgetting something. 

Over the few weeks you had been watching over the garden, your aunt's garden to be exact it seemed like everything managed to go straight to shit. Your aunt had fallen sick and with you two being each other’s only remaining family you went back to her house to watch over her until she got better and watching over her meant her house also… and the garden. It just seemed as though the soil underneath you hated you. Trying everything you could find on the internet, talking and singing to the plants, using special growing techniques and tools that promised growth, but nothing happened. When your aunt finally gets better and sees that her beloved garden had just about washed down the drain you didn’t know how she was gonna react.

You had to figure out something and figure it out fast.

Resting back on your knees you wiped away at the sweat above your brow. Something was wrong with the hydrangeas, something new that you couldn’t exactly place what it was. Or even where to begin attempting to figure out the problem at hand. Letting out a breath in frustration you chucked the small gardening shovel out of your hands. 

“Fuck!” you shouted, shaking your head. You dropped your head, when you heard a small “ow”. You looked up and you were faced with one of the most beautiful men you had laid eyes on. You jumped up to your feet quickly, you realized the man that seemed to have a glow around him (most likely from the sun) was a few inches taller than you, soft brown eyes met your own and a cute button nose and plush full lips curved around his smile. He was a slender young man dressed in all white, the dirt from the shovel you threw caused a small brown scuff mark to appear on the toe of his fresh white shoes.

“I am so sorry I didn’t mean to hit you at all. I didn’t even know you were standing there.” you quickly apologized. The man threw his hands up, causing you to pause your rambling. 

“It’s okay.” his voice came out smooth and deep. “It’s nothing that can’t wash away with a little bit of soap and water.”

“I just..I didn’t see you there. I’m getting so frustrated with these flowers and this garden I just don’t know what to do.” you rambled, dropping your hands down to your sides. The man took a step closer to you, tilting his head to the side examining the purple hydrangeas that seemed to wither further the way you stared at them. 

“I’m sorry how rude of me I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m Jimin, I live next door. I’ve never seen you around here before.” he stated. 

“Oh I’m just here watching over my aunt while she’s on bedrest. I have to take care of the house” you threw your hands up gesturing to the various plants that surrounded you two. “and subsequently the garden too. I’m convinced the flowers saw me coming and just decided to die on the spot just to do something different besides growing nice and pretty for my aunt.” Jimin let out a cute laugh, eyes crinkling up into crescents.

“You seem very frustrated as if the shovel against my foot wasn’t enough indicator.” Jimin said.

“I just” you sighed. “I have no clue what I’m doing and my aunt loves this garden so much that I just don't want to let  it fall apart in her absence but I’ve tried everything to get this garden together.” Venting your frustrations to this stranger, Jimin came easy and made you feel better in the process. But still and yet the garden itself was a hot mess. You loved a challenge but hated feeling incompetent. Tending to the garden made you feel dumb as a rock. As if the garden was trying to communicate to you but you both were speaking two completely different languages.

“Well I have a garden of my own that I tend to and I think it’s coming along pretty well. I usually come over and sit with your aunt while she works around here. We have many of the same plants too. I can help you if you want.”Jimin offered, smiling again. You thought about it briefly. Your aunt hadn’t mentioned Jimin to you before and she normally told you all of her daily happenings and people she ran into. But Jimin seemed to have an air of comfort around him, maybe he knew what he was talking about.

“Sure, but my phone is in my pocket so no funny business or I’ll call the cops.” you stated sternly pointing a finger in Jimin’s direction.  He smiled, kneeling down in the dirt in front of the hydrangea. He didn’t seem to care about his white slacks getting dirty. You watched as he examined the tools and Miracle Gro you had sitting out and then the flower. He held one of the flowers from the bush in his hands, softly rubbing his thumbs over the petals. Jimin seemed to be talking to himself as he looked the flowers over. He picked up a handful of soil, leaning in and spreading it around the bottom of the bush. Then reaching for the watering can, sprinkled water over the top. Then back to the soil at the bottom and patting it down, he sang as quietly as he seemed he could. He stood up dusting his hands clean of the soil.

“All done!” he exclaimed. You made a face of disbelief at him. 

“That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna do? Really?” you put your hands on your hips.

“Didn’t you just see all that? The hydrangea is gonna prosper and grow now.” Jimin pouted.

“You didn’t do anything more than I did!” you shouted.

“Well you just wait. Give it a few hours and when you come out here in the morning, you’re gonna see all of what I did. I just have a certain touch and a language that speaks to the plants.” Jimin said.

“Jimin, I’m not gonna lie to you this seems like a crock of bullshit in all honesty.” Jimin’s lips parted.

“Alright, I see. I’ll be back in the morning. If nothing happens then nothing happens. But if my methods worked. I want a glass of iced tea.” he stated.

“A glass of iced tea?” you asked, cocking up an eyebrow. Jimin made a face as if he was thinking

“You know what?” he snapped his fingers. You waved your hand signaling for him to continue. “I want it sweetened. Extra sweet, with sugar cubes on the side. Maybe a lemon if I’m feeling a little zesty.” he said, turning to walk away. 

“I mean it,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” You looked down at the hydrangea that remained in the same screwed up condition you found it in this morning. The nerve of that guy. Never trust a stranger, you thought to yourself, returning to examine the floral bush in front of you.

The next morning when you woke up, repeating the same routine you had been settled in for the past few weeks. You trudged out to the garden again completely ready to accept defeat against the flowers and various vegetables in the garden. Morning sun beaming down at you, forcing you to pull your floppy hat down further. Walking up to the hydrangea bush your lips parted in shock. The bush that was there yesterday, browning and withering instead, was lively, the purples and whites bright. You knelt down on hands and knees staring at the bush as if you were attempting to find a hidden camera of some sorts. 

“What the fuck?” you mumbled under your breath.

“Well I see it worked.” immediately recognizing the voice from behind you belonging to Jimin. You hopped up, dusting off your overalls. Jimin stood cocking his head to the side with a slight smile on his face. The outfit he wore was different than yesterday, all blue instead of all white he wore a soft baby blue, his brown hair framing his face perfectly, parted down the middle. 

“I.. I don’t know how you did it, this is crazy. What’s your secret?” you asked. Jimin threw his head back, shoulders shaking from his laughter. 

“I can’t do that. There’s no way to.” Jimin smiled. You felt your brows furrow in. A look of confusion was probably making itself home on your features at this point. 

“What do you mean? You literally didn’t do anything I didn’t do.”  you sighed. 

“That’s what it seemed like?” Jimin feigned like he was thinking. You shoved him playfully. 

“I guess I owe you some iced tea.”

“With the sugar cubes on the side please.”

You and Jimin returned to your aunts back porch looking over the garden placed in the far left corner of her vast backyard. He sipped on his iced tea that turned into sweet tea after he dumped half the container of sugar cubes in it. Taking his first sip inside at the kitchen counter, relaxing into a closed eyed smile. While your face turned up in disgust at the sight. 

“So what are you?” you questioned, breaking the silence. Jimin choked on his sweet tea, spluttering and ending with a cough. 

“What are you talking about?” Jimin squeaked. 

“You must be a botanist or something. Right?” you asked, confused about Jimin’s reaction. He hesitated before answering, as if the cogs were turning in his head he snapped his fingers.

“Right! Sorry about that, the tea went down the wrong pipe. I own a flower shop with my best friend. I just love plants so much. They’re so easy to maintain and care for. It’s so easy to pour love into them and reap the benefits of it. It’s the best way to physically see love you know?” Jimin smiled yet again. His smile was pretty, it seemed to make him glow, you almost felt like you were being spoiled by getting to see him smile so much. 

“I get it. Plants seem to hate me, but I remember once when I was a child my aunt took me to these botanical gardens and the flowers were just so beautiful. I wish I had a green thumb like she did. I feel like it would better my appreciation for them.”

Jimin scoffed, placing his glass down on the bannister. “The plants don't hate you. Look I know this may sound crazy but plants sometimes can be selective to who they bloom for. You have to be able to understand them and them understand you. It’s a hard language to speak, but everyone has to learn it. You have to have a certain touch” he reached out gently grabbing your hand that was resting at your side. “You have to have the correct amount of gentleness and a subtle warmth to your hands. It’s having a good balance of peace and harmony. They have to feel that.” You looked down at your intertwined hands, a slow heat creeping up on you as you looked up catching Jimin’s glance. Your phone started ringing loudly from your pocket. Jimin broke his hand away from yours first as you stammered trying to reach for your phone. Your aunt was calling you, asking you if you could bring her a snack. 

“I’m sorry” you apologized to Jimin. “I have to go real quick, my aunt wants me to get her something. I’ll be right back if you can wait.” Jimin threw his hands up, waving them. 

“That’s alright. I have something I want to give to you. I’ll be back this evening with it.”

“Is it a diamond?” you joked. Jimin looked at you confused. “It must be a big diamond.”

“I can assure you it’s not a diamond. But something worth that if not more.” he grinned. 

“Well now I don’t know what to expect but it must be something grand. My hopes are up now, Jimin. Just so you know.”

Instead of it being later that day Jimin ended up returning a week later, with you seeing him but without him returning with whatever it was he wanted to give. With a wheelbarrow in tow hauling a small tree in the soil. You stopped the rocking chair you sat in, jumping up out of it you ran over to Jimin, who had pulled the wheelbarrow into the right corner of the backyard. 

“What is that?” you asked, walking around the wheelbarrow. 

“A cherry blossom tree. I just loved them so much, I had to give you one from my shop.” he stated. 

“Jimin a cherry blossom tree can’t grow here. You have to do so much work before planting them. I thought you would’ve known that. It’s gonna die.” you said with a frown.

“It’s not. I promise it won’t. Don’t worry you’ll see.” he smiled. You glanced at Jimin feeling worried. The garden had seemed to start coming back to life with Jimin’s help but the tree? Far away from the soil of the garden had you feeling anxious. You didn’t want your aunt to see the tree failing either.

“Cherry blossoms take forever to grow.” you pouted. Jimin walked over to you wrapping himself around you from behind, rocking back and forth.

“Y/n” he said in a sing-songy voice. “I said don’t worry.” You could hear the smile in his voice, it felt contagious you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

“What are you gonna do? Work some more of your Jimin magic?”

“Something like that.”

You sat back and watched Jimin plant the tree. Moving slowly with patience. Every so often he would hum a tune or sing a little bit as he worked until he was finished.

“So that’s it?” you asked as Jimin stepped back to look at the small two foot tree in the ground.

“That’s it!” he clapped. You looked at the tree sideways, then up at Jimin who had his arms outwards pointing at the tree, the glow that settled around him seemed a little brighter than the last time you saw him.

“I-“ you hesitated. “you’re very odd. You come around here with your crispy clean monochromatic outfits and glowing skin and gardening secrets. I don’t get you and I don’t think I will.” you sighed. Jimin looked at you searching your face for any trace of emotion. Then you broke out in a big smile that he returned.

“Actually I have a confession to make.” Jimin admitted with a drop of his shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” you perked up, sitting up straight.

“I’m gonna be going back.. into the city permanently. This might be the last time I see you. That’s why I wanted to gift you the cherry blossom tree.”

Your lips parted into a “o” shape. “You’re leaving?”

“Business is booming and Taehyung can’t handle it all alone.” Jimin spoke as if his words were rehearsed, coming off a little flat. “the tree will always give you something to remember me by.”

“Jimin” you scoffed. “if you’re just going to the city this shouldn’t be goodbye. We can visit one another and you can give me more introspective gardening tips.” Jimin shook his head.

“It’s much deeper than that. It’s far too much to explain. I’m sorry.” he said. You looked into his eyes and they seemed glassy almost as if he was gonna cry. You didn’t understand why Jimin didn’t want to visit you anymore. The city was only a 45 min drive away. It didn’t have to be permanent.

“I- Well- Maybe-“ you stammered. “I guess, Jimin. If you say so. Never say never our paths can intertwine again.” you smiled. Jimin gave you a solemn smile, before looking back to the tree.

The next morning after Jimin’s departure you woke early that morning, like there was something tugging you out of your deep sleep. You groggily headed down to the kitchen preparing your coffee. You glanced out the window briefly, something huge and pink doing a double take you looked harder out the window squinting at the sight of the cherry blossom tree Jimin planted the evening before. It now stood tall and huge, blossoms covering every branch as if it had been there for years. You ran outside to the tree, running your hands along the bark as you walked all around it. It just didn’t make any sense. It was actually quite impossible that the tree grew that rapid overnight. You were shocked, no proper thoughts coming to mind to wrap your mind around the tree. How was you gonna explain this to your aunt? You stood back from the tree before noticing a folded sheet of paper at the base. Bending over you picked it up unfolding it.

“Hopefully destiny will cross our paths again

-Jimin”

#park jimin #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfics #bts imagines #jimin #jimin x reader #bangtan x reader #jimin smut #fic:destiny #writer:almostkoo #spooktober 2020