#energy into the tip of a pen but instead just letting it bounce off the walls and get lost something like that. rambles. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ptergwen · 3 years

Note

hi I saw your requests were open if there not anymore you can completely ignore this :). but could you do a boyfriend!peter x reader where he loves it when reader gives him those little kisses on his nose and freckles with head scratches please. feel free to change or completely ignore this <3

thousands of tiny stars

pretend i haven’t used this

warnings: a couple suggestive jokes but the rest is just floofy fluff

a/n: i got carried away as per usual and i did end up changing it a tiny bit :/ emphasis on tiny tho lmfhsjfh you’ll see ! either way i hope you enjoy mwah

one thing about peter is that he absolutely can’t sit still under any given circumstances. he’s restless, like a burning ball of energy that’s brightness never dims.

because of this, he tries to and needs to keep himself occupied and be kept occupied every second of every day.

it’s sometimes playing with his fingers or your own, which peter prefers because he gets to hold your hand. other times, it’s tapping his favorite pink glitter pen relentlessly against the kitchen table while he conjures up homework answers.

aunt may isn’t very fond of that one.

this time, it’s constantly shuffling about the couch in the name of finding comfort.

peter starts off with an arm around your shoulders and a content grin on his face. you two agreed on mean girls for the first movie of your marathon, your head resting against peter’s chest as the tv steals your attention.

a few minutes in, peter decides he feels like being held rather than holding you. he sneaks his way down your body, lets himself nudge your thighs to wordlessly communicate what he wants. you of course oblige and switch positions accordingly.

peter lays his head in your lap, taking the opportunity to stare up at you instead of at the screen.

he finds himself shifting around again not too much later. now laying on the couch’s armrest on his side, he kicks his feet into your lap where his head just was.

you’re becoming slightly annoyed with his fidgeting. his explanations of sorry, just trying to get comfortable and innocent smiles are what stop you from complaining.

“that’s strike three, parker,” you joke, eyes leaving the movie to fix on him. peter crosses his arms over his chest. “i dunno what you’re talking about, y/l/n,” he insists. “i haven’t done anything remotely strike-worthy so far this evening.”

flicking his sock clad foot, you mutter your response. “debatable.” peter dismisses you with a huff. “whatever. c’mere… i miss you.” he makes grabby hands for you, like the big baby he is.

it’s quite endearing, though.

“i’m right here, pete,” you laugh out and return your gaze to mean girls. “and yet, you’re so far,” peter counters. “come gimme cuddles.”

you sigh lightheartedly, your ever so clingy boyfriend still reaching out for you. a smirk pulls at your lips.

“well, there’s an offer i can’t refuse.”

peter adjusts so he’s sitting criss cross, bouncing excitedly in his spot. his chocolate brown curls fall in all directions, form being swallowed by an oversized stark industries hoodie that he keeps having to roll up the sleeves of.

he looks so soft and snuggly in anticipation of your cuddle session. you can’t believe you were ever annoyed at him.

slightly annoyed.

he’s so eager that when you scoot the tiniest bit towards him, he literally pulls you into his lap. peter’s arms hug you around your lower back, you laughing quietly as he peppers a trail of kisses from your cheek to the side of your neck.

the movie long forgotten about, you wind your arms around his neck and tilt your chin up.

“pete?” you breathe out. peter pecks your cheek once more, then your other, beaming. “yeah, babe?” he wonders. with a half serious half teasing glare, you wonder, “are you comfy now?”

peter ponders your question, and from the skeptical furrowing of his eyebrows and biting of his lip, you have your answer. he’s about to make you regret asking.

it seems that as soon as you settle, peter gets antsy.

“uh, actually…” he strokes his thumb along the underside of your chin, smiling apologetically. “you mind if we lie down? ‘m kinda tired.” there it is. you roll your eyes. “how could you not be? you’ve been playing musical chairs all night.”

your words earn a chuckle from peter, though they’re at his expense. “this’ll be the last round, promise,” peter swears and seals the deal with a kiss to your chin, which is currently grasped between his fingers.

you know it won’t be. the game goes on forever with peter, unless you end it yourself.

“damn right, bug boy. move another inch after this and you can consider your cuddle privileges revoked,” you grumble, getting off of peter’s lap. he stares at you in pure horror, gasping. “you wouldn’t…” “i would,” you correct him.

not aiming to test that theory, peter quickly fumbles around and lays flat against the cushions. he wills himself to be stiff as a board. you seem satisfied with that, climbing on top of him with your face hovering above his.

peter sets his hands on your hips, grip strong. he closes the space between you both with a short kiss. you reciprocate and deepen it, turning short to long as your parted lips slot with his. his tongue darts out, already skimming over your bottom lip for more access.

you hum into his mouth and allow his tongue to slide in. peter kisses you so tenderly as he rubs circles on your hips, your fingers tangling in his locks simultaneously. you weave them up to his roots, using your nails to gently scratch at his scalp just the way he likes. he breaks the kiss to let out a noise close to a moan.

“that- that… oh, god yeah,” peter praises, his eyes fluttering closed. you’re amused at how easily pleased he is. “don’t cream your pants yet, pete. i’m just getting started,” you purr. peter squeezes your hips in response. “feels better than an orgasm, babe. i’m serious, too,” he murmurs.

you continue your handiwork in his hair and lean in for another kiss. peter merely pecks your lips before jerking away.

“wait, hold that thought,” he exhales a breathy laugh. “i gotta pee.”

he has to be kidding. again with this?

“oh no, you don’t,” you deadpan, pushing against his shoulders to hold him down. “oh yes, i do,” peter retorts. “let me go, y/n/n.”

peter could definitely slither out from underneath you if he truly wanted to. he has super strength, so the might of his teenage girlfriend doesn’t quite compare.

pinning him in place, you straddle his waist. “nope, you’re gonna stay. i’m not giving you a choice in the matter.” peter attempts to pry you off of him, but you won’t budge. “y/n, my bladder is gonna explode-“

he cuts himself off with a giggle when your lips begin to attack him. you kiss down the bridge of his nose lightly, peck each freckle dotting his skin, and the amount of them is infinite. peter’s fit of giggles continues as you smooch that pretty face of his, his cheeks dusted pink and hands coming up to support you by your sides.

he’s always been a little insecure about his freckles. they don’t suit him, there are too many of them, blah blah blah. you obviously couldn’t disagree more. you think they’re sick.

you’d once even told him they look like thousands of tiny stars, and peter does love stars. he also loves the kisses you tend to randomly surprise him with to remind him to appreciate his freckles the same way you do.

“okay, okay! i’ll stay!” peter concedes, you ruffling his hair and pressing a final kiss to the tip of his nose. he grins despite himself, and secretly wishes you wouldn’t stop. “but, if my kidneys fail… it’s on you.”

you pat his chest definitively.

“good thing you’re a fast healer.”

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker smut #peter parker au #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction

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monaisdark · 3 years

Note

AHHHH! I loved your virgin shiggy post, I was wondering if you could make a part two with reader giving shigaraki a tit-fuck in an empty classroom, with degradation kink, and exhibition kink! I'm sorry if this too horny - Anon ♥♥

haha.. im back i guess. Its been a couple weeks but i have some time to start writing again :)) checking my inbox, i did NOT expect this many people wanting a pt2 to my virgin shiggy post. prolly my fault for holding it off for so long :/ so i made it longer than i planned but count this a thanks for 200+ followers!! <3 anyways i really need to catch up on my inbox but expect more from me !!

➨ paring — Virgin! (not anymore) Tomura Shigaraki x Fem! Bully! Reader

➨ warnings — Sub! Shigaraki, Dom! Reader, mommy kink, slight masturbation, humiliation, degradation, begging, exhibition, tit-fucking, hand-job, cum denial

PART 1

Shigaraki messed up. It’s been a week. A week since you cornered him in a room and took his virginity.

He still remembers what you told him when you left— “Take a shower tomorrow. Also wear a different top for god’s sake. If you do... I might let you touch me.”

Shigaraki beat himself over for agreeing to it as soon as he got home. You were his bully. One of the people making his school experience even more unbearable than it already was.

Yet he completely was undone as soon as you placed your hands on him, and you knew it. He just didn’t know what you wanted.

Dick? No, you were pretty and popular— you could probably get some from more desirable guys. To bully him? Sure, you said mean things to him during the encounter but the bullying was always around your friends.

For a whole school week, he stayed home. Making up some bullshit to the school that he had the flu. Frankly, he was scared to go. How was he supposed to face you?

Did you tell anyone? Secretly record it? Was he currently the laughing stock of the entire school for begging to continue to fuck you?

But even away from school, you had an effect on him. He’s still a horny guy. Now, jerking off wasn’t the same anymore, not when he had some taste of pussy thanks to you.

Shigaraki would always end up thinking back to you, even with porn he couldn’t get you out of his head. His hands clamping around his cock weren’t the same as your pussy, same with the bodies of other women.

He found himself indulging into mommy kink porn, something he didn’t really get off from before you. Shigaraki pretend it was you talking to him, bouncing onto his lap and letting him touch you.

But after a bit— Shigaraki found it going no where, they weren’t you.

Cursing, he would always finish early. And not in a good way. In a way where he was left unsatisfied. Putting his painfully hard cock back into his sweats and trying to sleep his horny-ness away.

Shigaraki realized he needed you, you talking to him, you around his cock. Now, he regretted not sticking to his word. But he’ll make it up for you.

You were quite mad. Shigaraki hasn’t been to school since that day. How ungrateful, you literally let him put his dick in you and now he ghosts you in real life.

You fully expected him to be at school the next day with the way he begged you to stay, clean and ready for you. So imagine your annoyance in seeing him not show up for several days.

But today was different, the newly ex-virgin actually showed up. To your surprise, he still did more than you expected him to do despite being a week late.

Shigaraki had changed his hoodie to a whole new one, it looked recently bought. As well as his hair, looking more soft than greasy like it typically was. Though he didn’t style it, it still overhanging on his face.

Still, he definitely looked a lot better, not enough for others to notice but enough for you to smirk at your work.

Both of you didn’t interact with each other besides a few glances until lunch. You guys sat on completely different ends of the cafeteria, him sitting in a small corner table while you sat in a large one.

Shigaraki looked fidgety, meekly looking up every few minutes to watch you interact with your friends. He was waiting for school to end, planning to catch you at the same empty classroom you took his virginity in.

Though you had completely other plans.

“Hey, I’ll be right back.” You got up from your table, grabbing your bag from off the floor. “To?” One of your friends asked, not looking up from their phone.

“Some nerd, he’s gonna do my homework we got last period. Apparently, his parents found out he’s been doing our homework and now he's gotta do them during lunch. Gotta make sure they do it right.” You lied through your teeth, hoping they would just back off.

They didn’t look up, instead pulling their homework worksheet out of their binder with one hand, putting it in yours, “Get him to do mine.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the paper, “Yeah.” You walked away, crumbling the paper to throw it in the trash. You’ll just say you lost it. Not like they’ll do anything about it.

Narrowed eyes landed on Shigaraki, his eyes currently focused on his phone. You strudded your way to him, smirking to yourself.

Shigaraki almost jumped when he felt something brush against his leg. Looking up, he was met with you sitting down next to him.

“Hey.” You said, placing your bag on the table and putting your last period’s homework on the table.

“You’re good at chemistry, right?” You questioned, shifting through your bag for something to write with.

“...Well— I... um...—“ Shigaraki stuttered, unsure of what was currently going on.

“Great.” You pulled the phone out of his clammy hands, replacing it with a pencil. “...What?” He tilted his head, was this a joke? Did you completely forget about a week ago?

“Hm...? Well, get onto it.” You uttered him on, putting your chin in your hands, eyeing him. Reluctantly, he looked back to paper, beginning to work on it.

After around 5 minutes, you brushed against him even more, getting close to his side. “What does that say?” You pushed yourself further into his side, your chest touching his arms.

Shigaraki cursed himself for already becoming red, he pants tightening around his crotch as last week flashed into his head again.

“Um... m-mole is a unit of measur— Hmph!“ He held back a loud whine when your right hand traveled to his crotch.

“What— what are you doing?” He asked under his breath, holding back small whimpers as you palmed him, “Where have you been?” You questioned sternly, upset he kept you waiting.

“I’m sorry... I got sick.” He bluffed, it was too embarrassing to admit he was scared. With how he left you hanging, he expected people to be laughing at him the moment he stepped onto school grounds.

“Sick? A whole week?” You hummed, you could already tell he was lying. Still, you were proud that he even bothered to make it up to you by fixing himself up.

“With your diet of energy drinks and chips, I’m surprised you’re not dead.” You decided to let it go, he was just nervous to show up.

Yet you think he deserves a bit of punishment.

Shigaraki felt heavy as you teased the zipper of his jeans. He immediately tensed, “Wait— now..?” He saw you narrow your eyes, “Something wrong?”

“There’s people here!” He whispered yelled, flinching as he felt you unzip his jeans ever so slowly, trailing your finger along his exposed boxers.

“So? You’re just some loser in the corner, nobody will notice if you aren’t obvious.”

Shigaraki could already feel pre-cum form at his tip, staining his boxers a bit. You giggled a bit, feeling the dampness of his boxers. “Already?” Shigaraki shook his head, “I... I haven’t came since... that day.”

You laughed a bit louder than you expected to, good thing the cafeteria was already loud. “How sweet of you. Couldn’t get it on?”

Shigaraki focused his eyes on your paper, muffled moans caught at the back of his throat as you freed his cock from his boxers.

Now slowly pumping him, Shigaraki dropped the pen of the table. He wanted to do something with his hands, to touch you.

He moved his hand to your thigh, but of course, you didn’t allow him, “You’re too eager. Get back to work.” You ordered. Shigaraki was about to question you but you stopped him with stroking his cock faster.

Both of you continued this way for a bit, him answering questions with his shaky hands while you jerked him off.

Shigaraki could’ve sworn he felt eyes on him a couple of times, yet every time he looked up, nobody was even batting an eye in his direction.

He could feel his cock twitch at the excitement of being caught. How would they explain one of the most popular girls giving an outcast a hand-job under the table?

As he got to the last question— he was already drooling on the paper, mouth clenched shut to avoid moaning and panting to be let out.

You could tell he was about to cum, the writing on the paper progressively getting sloppier as time went on. “M-mommy...” Shigaraki whispered just enough for you to hear, “Hmm, you want to cum?”

He nodded furiously, he was extremely pent up and needed release. And just as he thought, you were the only one who can give it to him.

Shigaraki whimpered when you pulled away, looking up at the clock and collecting your stuff. “Then after school, room 204. Actually listen and show up when I tell you this time.”

You walked away just in time for the bell to go off, signifying that lunch was over. Leaving Shigaraki, once again, a mess.

Here he was again, feeling nostalgic as you walked into the empty classroom. Shigaraki easily grew again while anticipating this, the tent prominent in his jeans.

“Y’know, good job for showering and changing.” You gave him praise, Shigaraki turning red from your words. “This... this means I can touch you, right?”

You nodded, “Yeah. I actually keep promises.” He ignored the jab at him, it didn’t matter how mean you were— he was going to touch you finally.

Shigaraki awkwardly shuffled towards you, raising his hands up to look at you with wide eyes. He slowly paced a hand on your boobs, trying to see if this was just some test and you’ll get mad at him.

When he didn’t get anything back, he immediately started to dough on your clothed breast, cupping them. Then, he moved to unbutton your shirt, already seeing you thought ahead and took off your bra before coming here.

He fully took off your shirt, not wasting time on latching his mouth onto one of your nipples, both hands playing with your breasts. Shigaraki was basically humping your leg, sucking your nipples like a baby.

You giggled a bit, patting his head. He looked up at you with a clouded look, pure joy in his eyes as he finally got to touch you.

Looking back down at him, another idea popped up— you already took his virginity and gave him his first hand-job, whats another one of his firsts? “Shigaraki, do you want to feel really good?” He unlatched from your nipple, “I can be inside you?”

“No.” He frowned a bit, but perked up when you trailed your fingers on his boxers. “What if I put this,” You pointed at your boobs, “In between these?”

Shigaraki was already down, eagerly sitting on a desk while you got on your knees. He freed his cock, putting it in between your slick pushed together breasts, thanks to his sucking earlier.

You wasted no time on stroking it up and down with your breasts. He moaned feeling the softness of the valley between your chest, your breasts around his cock giving him warmth as you stimulated him.

Shigaraki was definitely feeling great, you even let him bend down and grab your breasts to control the speed of the tit-job.

Though, Shigaraki wanted more. You were giving him all these things, a hand-job, a tit-fuck. He’s been inside you once and he didn’t get to do what he wanted in the first place. To cum inside his mommy.

He feels a knot grow in his lower abdomen, but he doesn’t wanna cum yet. Instead, he pulled himself away from you, much to your confusion.

“What? You literally were about to cum and I was gonna let you!” You groaned, getting up as Shigaraki faced you.

“...Mommy, can I fuck you?”

“No, you didn’t come to school for a whole week. If you really wanted to you would have showed up.”

Shigaraki turned red, sputtering as he held onto your arm, “Please! I just want you cum inside you.” He whined, tears pricking at the chance of not getting to have sex with you after all this time.

You looked at him stoned faced as he begged, even falling to his knees dramatically to add to his desperation. “Fucking virgins, man.”

Shigaraki felt himself be pushed down, your skirt and panties on the floor. You straddled onto his length, moans filling the room quickly.

“Yes! Thank you, thank you, mommy!” Shigaraki thrusted his hips into yours, feeling even more over-joyed when he was allowed to touch your chest while you were on top of him this time.

Shigaraki desperately missed this, now he remembers why his hand didn’t compare to your tight pussy after trying to jerk off. He found his own rhythm quickly, muffled ‘mommy’s due to his mouth on your breasts.

“I’m doing this because you cleaned up, if you didn’t I would’ve left you to your own sad-ass devices already.” You lied, honestly, you hated the idea what he possibly was ignoring you by not showing up to school.

Even then, you’ve grown a bit found of him. His body, his expressions, his voice, everything really. It didn’t bother you as much when you saw his still messy hair, you were just glad to see him.

Though, you’d never admit it. Instead, it showed through the way you were tightening around his cock, panting as he moaned into and out your body. Shigaraki very quickly wrapped his arms around you, both of you on the edge.

“Fuck— Shigaraki. Cum, cum for mommy, okay?” You ordered, Shigaraki more than ready to fulfill it.

“Ah, thank you! Thank you, mommy! I’m gonna cum inside you!” Both of you rided out your highs, Shigaraki filling you so much it started to drip outside your full cunt.

He fell on top of you despite you initially being on top, you wanted to scold him but honestly couldn’t bring yourself to right now.

The room quieted down, the only words being exchanged were by Shigaraki softly muttering “Thank you, mommy.” into your neck

#sub shigaraki #tomura shiragaki #dark fic #dom reader #dark #bully reader #fem reader #tw degradation #tw humiliation #tw mommy kink #bnha smut #bnha x reader #x reader #shigaraki x reader #mommy

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kiruuuuu · 3 years

Text

Smoke/Mute in which ten cups of coffee change Mute’s life. (Rating T, slice of life/fluff/budding romance, ~5.8k words) - written for none other than @nutbrain for being a remarkable human being and an even better friend 💖 Please enjoy!

Mark eyes the shopfront before him with suspicion. His safe haven apparently gone, a flashier version has taken its place some time during the semester break, keeping nothing but the location and the proffered goods. Instead of the old-fashioned, thick-cushioned chairs and dim lighting, the new café shines with an open-floor concept, simple wooden furniture and an overall dark look with specks of gold to brighten it up. Leo Coffee, reads the sign next to a golden logo displaying a roaring lion. What big cats have to do with coffee isn’t obvious to Mark, but he overcomes his initial distaste and steps inside nonetheless.

As visible from outside, the place is deserted. The previous coffee shop was frequented by businesspeople and students alike, located halfway between the campus and Mark’s dorm – on rainy days, people often took public transport and bought their coffee elsewhere, but even on those occasions, it’s never been as empty as this.

Not that Mark is complaining. If the coffee is good, he’ll continue frequenting the new shop, and being able to work in peace would be an added bonus. He is quite fond of Julien and Timur, but even so, they’re not the… easiest to live with. To say the least. A quiet place would be very welcome.

He sets his books down on the table furthest away from the counter, slings his bag over the back of a chair and approaches the empty void where an employee should be standing. This is when he notices another curiosity: there’s no menu board. There isn’t even a menu card by the counter or anywhere, really, only a glass case with a handful of baked goods inside, most of which look like a child made them. So far, the only redeeming quality is the delicious dark smell of roasted coffee beans lingering in the air.

After another minute, still nobody has appeared, so Mark checks his phone for reviews. If the place has less than four stars – alright, three, he’s giving them the benefit of the doubt purely because of their convenient location and quietness –, then he’s out of here. He can’t even remember the last time he had to wait this long to -

“Are you going to order or what?”

Nearly dropping his phone in the process, Mark jumps at the sudden gruff voice and looks up to find himself face to face with a grizzled man. The black apron is all that betrays him as an employee as the unimpressed glare and casual attire do nothing in his favour. “Uh”, he replies eloquently and vows that he’ll never set foot in this place again if this is how he’s going to get treated.

The old man’s expression melts into friendliness. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting anyone. Welcome to Café Leo – it’s your first time here, so have a loyalty card, lad.”

Mark accepts the piece of paper without thinking, still thrown off by the bloke’s sudden appearance (how does he move completely silent like that), and at least has the presence of mind to inspect it. Its contents are so absurd that he forgets to ask how the man opposite him knew he hadn’t been to the shop yet. “‘After 10 coffee purchases, you’re eligible for a free wish’”, he mumbles, reading the text printed white on black aloud. “‘This offer is not transferable.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that only you can redeem your reward, not anyone else. Would you like some coffee?”

He blinks at the bearded man, trying to ascertain whether he’s being serious, and is met with an almost bored stare. Weighing his options, the scales are only slightly tipped in favour of staying, but only because he knows Julien has a ‘visitor’ over today and there’s no other place he can study – the library is overrun by frantic procrastinators who left finishing their coursework assigned over the break to the absolute last minute, and Manu is coming back tomorrow. Apart from her and his roommates, there’s no one with whom he’s comfortable enough to invite himself over.

Especially not him. God knows why Mark even considered him for a brief second.

Looks like he’ll have to deal with this awkwardness if he wants to get any work done whatsoever. “Alright then. What do you sell?”

“Coffee”, comes the curt answer.

Mark rubs his eyes in exhaustion. He’s beginning to understand why there’s no other customers here. “Sure. Yes. A coffee, then.”

“That’ll be…” The employee trails off while frowning down at his wristwatch. “…um, about £7.92.”

“For one coffee?”

“It’s free refills, son.”

Oh, so maybe this is an American chain. That would explain quite a bit. Mark considers whether he’s staying long enough to get the most out of his money, but seeing as the bloke doesn’t seem the chattiest type and he’s unlikely to get interrupted, he decides it’s worth it. Still, there’s something he simply can’t let go. “… what do you mean, ‘about’ £7.92?”

“Are you paying cash or card?”

Alright then.

The next ultimatum: if the coffee turns out dogshite, he’s never coming back. He’d rather travel an increased distance to a normal coffee shop than to have to deal with this nonsense. Wordlessly, he sets down a £10 note and scoops the change into his wallet before watching the obviously American guy (and maybe the chain imports all their workers, who knows) pour a cup of the darkest coffee he’s ever seen. He unceremoniously sets it down in front of him and makes no indication of mentioning neither cream nor sugar. He’s lucky Mark prefers his energy supply as-is.

“Ta”, Mark mutters and scurries away, glad to escape that hard stare. To make sure he’s not being scammed, he takes a quick sip of the fragrant liquid and is surprised at how pleasant the taste is. Minimal bitterness, a gentle, almost floral note, and just strong enough to satisfy his craving.

Well, crap.

Looks like he’ll have to come back after all.

~*~

“Did you guys know the old coffee shop closed?”, Mark voices his thoughts into the middle of a medium-sized food war between Manu and Timur involving entirely too many packets of salt.

“The one on campus?”, Manu asks and accidentally elbows Julien in the ribs, causing him to actually look up from his phone for once.

“No, the one halfway to our dorm.”

“I was there last week”, Timur pipes up, making him furrow his brows. A week can’t be enough to refurnish the entire café, let alone switch owners completely. “Is it closed now?”

“There’s a different one instead. It was dead when I went, but the coffee’s good. The bloke serving me was weird.”

“Look at you, stringing multiple sentences together”, Julien chimes in, grinning. “Something novel must’ve happened for you to even bring it up. Was the dude hot?”

“Because that’s the only reason anyone would ever get excited about anything”, says Manu drily. “We can check it out if it’s good, even if the employees suck. Not like we have to socialise with them.”

Mark shrugs and regrets mentioning the café in the first place – it feels somehow personal, whether it’s to do with the odd experience overall or the fact that he ended up staying more than three hours. His productivity was through the roof, the calm atmosphere helped immensely and the thought of his loud friends – as much as he appreciates them – invading his newfound hideout isn’t one he particularly enjoys.

It turned out that the employee wasn’t so bad after all: as soon as Mark considered asking for more coffee, he appeared right by his side and filled his mug again, without bothering him at all. Still, Julien would complain about him and Timur might agree and Manu is likely to judge his impolite manner, and Mark wouldn’t be able to defend him. Even if he doesn’t mind the silent company.

For the moment, he needn’t bother with these thoughts as his friends are wholly occupied with arguing over some internet memes (and Mark remembers vividly how they all had to talk Julien down from nibbling at their laundry detergent pods), so nothing could be further from their minds than sitting down and actually studying for their degrees.

Not that they’re bad students, quite the opposite, they’re just not as… ambitious as Mark. Some have called him obsessed, yes, and he can’t quite refute it, but he prefers to call it ‘determined’. There have been few who are able to keep up with him, which is probably partly the reason why he’s made friends with people from completely different departments. He tends to be a loner in most classes, which suits him just fine.

Well. Most classes.

“I would give my left bollock for you.”

Mark certainly doesn’t appreciate the imagery. He hands over the photocopied sheet to the bloke nearly bouncing in delight before shuffling after his fellow students into the lecture hall. Closely followed, of course. “Make sure to change enough details”, he repeats the reminder, earning a scoff.

“I’ll make it illegible, babe, don’t worry.” James plops down next to him, stretching and taking up too much space. “You’re the only reason I’ll actually get credit for this course.”

Oh, Mark is very aware of this fact. He lets his seat neighbour prattle on as he takes out his materials, lines up his pens, and waits for the lecture to start. If he were pressed to explain how he ended up in this position, with a chatterbox glued to his side too lazy to do any of the coursework, he wouldn’t have a concise answer. Other than his inability to say no.

The problem is that James knows exactly who to befriend. Mark is naturally drawn to the overachievers in each class and carefully selects his group for projects, going by people who do put the time and work in to get a good grade – anything where students are meant to collaborate is 30% actual work and 70% politics. The right people tend to listen to him whenever he knows better, because they’re interested in improving and learning, they tend to go along with his division of tasks, because he distributes them fairly and suited to everyone’s skills, and they tend to work best independently, so they can get it done even without excessive communication.

And James? He follows the same strategy as Mark, except that he’s a leech. He latches onto the teacher’s pets, chooses the easiest tasks, always volunteers for presentations (meaning he’ll just have to regurgitate what his group produced), and bribes his groupmates so they don’t throw him out. Whether it’s snacks or drinks after class, whether it’s attention and compliments, or playing matchmaker: he knows how to make himself useful in all aspects other than his studies.

He’s a clown. He makes everyone laugh and worms his way into their hearts so they would feel bad about calling him out. Not having to do any work is his reward for asking questions everyone’s thinking but doesn’t dare ask for fear of looking stupid in front of the prof.

Obviously, James has latched onto him ever since they crossed paths in chem last semester, and Mark considered dropping the current class when he found out that he was in it as well. Even worse, James began asking him for homework, giving excuses like having had no time, not being able to write it down concisely, and so on – and though Mark initially refused, classmates approached him and gently nudged him towards sharing his results with James. Just to be nice. Just to help him. He’s such a good guy after all.

So Mark’s homework gets copied and passed along. And James’ fondness of him only grows.

During the long, meaningless rant interspersed with an impressive amount of curse words, he perks up at a quiet: “Wait, this one doesn’t make any sense.”

His pride won’t let him ignore it. “Which one?”

James points at one of Mark’s answers, a complicated equation. “Shouldn’t that be on top?”

“The denominator?”

An uncertain glance. He points again. “This.”

“You mean the bottom fraction? That’s the denominator, yes. And it is where it should be.”

James frowns, indubitably not content with the reply but possibly unsure how to voice his dissatisfaction.

“Trust me, it’s correct. Just copy it.”

“But I want to understand it.”

Fat chance. No way did he get any of the previous homework without having engaged with the subject matter at all, so it’s impossible for him to work it out, even if Mark explained it. Which he doesn’t want to. Because he figures it’d be like explaining string theory to a brick wall. He’s saved by the prof’s entry, knowing James at least has the decency to shut up during class, and hopes he can simply slip away afterwards.

It turns out, however, James is fully aware of his biggest weakness. “Do you have a bit of time after? You think you can explain it to me? Please?”

Yikes.

Not only is Mark burning to show him how wrong he is, he’s also entirely unable to refuse a plea for help. And there’s no doubt James knows this. He can’t keep getting away with it, he’s exploiting Mark enough as it is without offering much – if anything – in return, plus it’s obvious the endeavour is futile and doomed from the start. And this is disregarding the possibility of James suggesting more meetings in the future. So, like the reasonable adult he is, Mark replies: “Sure.”

And has never wanted to kick himself more.

If this bloke really is the only employee they have, it’s no wonder the place is dead yet again. They stare at each other, unblinking, and seem equally dismayed about each other’s presence. “Hi”, says Mark after a few seconds of tense silence.

The old man is wearing the same clothes as last time, apron and jeans – even his disinterested expression hasn’t changed. “I’m Sam”, he offers completely out of the blue, surprising Mark with how unexpected the introduction is. “I figured you shouldn’t have to keep calling me ‘this bloke’ in your head.”

“… Mark”, he responds hesitantly.

“Is that a threat?” Sam barks out a brief, mirthless laugh. “I know. You wrote it on your loyalty card.”

He most certainly did not, but only because the card is solid black with white text. “Look, I’m just here to buy coffee.”

“You brought a friend.” Sam indicates James who already sat down by a window and is absorbed in his phone for the time being – and for all his faults, Mark has to admit that at least his (limited) attention is always on the person he’s talking to; he’s never seen his fellow student even checking for messages during a conversation.

“Not really”, he says nonetheless and is reasonably sure they’re out of earshot. “We just have chem together.”

“You have chemistry, hm?”

He wonders if it’s possible to set someone on fire with a hard look alone. “Just sell me the bloody coffee.”

“For the both of you?” Sam turns around and studies the clock on the wall behind him, whispering to himself for a few seconds before announcing: “That’ll be roughly £15.84.”

“Fine.” He holds out a card, scowling when Sam makes no move to take it.

“No complaint?”

“Is it gonna be cheaper if I do? Besides, he’s paying. So I don’t care.”

“Oh. Then it’ll be £22.43.”

“Why is it -” As quickly as his annoyance spikes, it ebbs again. It’s obvious there’s no logic behind all this nonsense, yet he still tries: “If it’s cheaper for me, I’ll pay and get the money back from him.”

“That’s illegal. You’ve already told me he’s paying.”

“I’m not trying to buy liquor, why would it -” Deep breaths. He already told James about how good the coffee is, and if they go anywhere else, someone else might see them. He’s strongly incentivised to stay. “Fine. Here.”

Sam runs the card and, as last time, pours two very unimpressive mugs before, to Mark’s horror, reaching into the display case and pulling out two slices of cakes on their own respective plates. The chocolate one is drooping and threatening to fall over if anyone looked at it wrong, and the sponge cake seems suspiciously wet. There’s no telling how long they’ve been sitting there. “It’s on the house”, Sam says, almost begrudgingly, as if he was the inconvenienced one.

Mark considers asking for forks or napkins but decides that the shorter their interaction, the healthier his sanity. “Ta, mate. Do you need my loyalty card?”

“No need.”

Fair enough, though he’s not sure what the point of it is, then. He carries the coffees and cakes over in two trips and wonders how he’ll get rid of the sickly-looking bakeware without Sam noticing. When James eventually tries his piece and doesn’t keel over immediately though, Mark gives his own a try.

It’s the best chocolate cake he’s ever had. And he’s never been madder in his life.

~*~

At some point, it turns into stubbornness. There’s a few mannerisms, the odd hobby and some of his preferences which started out as either ironic, as guilty pleasures or as things he actively disliked, but the more he engaged, the more he developed the attitude of: you know what? This is mine and I don’t care what anyone says about it.

He’s starting to adopt Leo Coffee. The awkward vibe about it, the indecipherable employee, the delicious food and drinks – it holds its own charm in a way, and he’s stopped wondering about being the only patron. It’s perfect for studying or unwinding, and does wonders for his stressed soul. He’s been returning regularly now, about once a week, and even brought James with him a second time to argue about yet another homework he criticised. The atmosphere renders Mark calmer, more patient, and so he endured the other man’s presence for much longer than he would’ve thought possible. They stayed for almost three hours the first time, even longer the second.

Just to make sure he’s not being a nuisance, he tried to check the coffee shop’s opening hours and wasn’t even sure what he expected to find. They’re listed nowhere, of course, and Sam switched topics the instant he brought it up.

So now the only people he has to drag in here are his friends, who have somehow evaded his efforts so far – but not today. Timur and Julien promised to come even though Manu has to go to some recital or other, meaning she’s excused. For now.

Eyes idly following pedestrians outside, he’s resting his chin in his palm and waiting. Being the only punctual one has always meant boredom, so he’s lucky his mind is imaginative enough to keep him occupied in the meantime. His train of thought meanders through all the topics occupying his brain recently, how the new guy Julien is seeing is basically moving into their apartment, how Timur keeps hanging around the wrong crowd, how unfair it is that Manu aces all her courses with so little effort, how he happened to run into James during his break today and almost suggested spending it together -

His phone buzzes, interrupting his aimless daydreaming and prompting him to check the colourful screen.

I got ambushed, writes Julien and it’s unclear whether he’s being cryptic on purpose. Mark sends a question mark and has to wait a minute or two for the explanation: Sudden date night, looks like Netflix & chill boys ;) sry for ditching you but the shop isn’t gonna go anywhere right?

An eye roll later, Mark responds with a simple TMI.

I don’t think I’ll make it either, adds Timur, a friend wants to yarn bomb the stature by City Hall and they need me as lookout.

This one gets points for creativity at least. He sighs and reassures them with a quick sure, no problem before commending himself for not going home first to drop his bag off. Now he can just study instead. Woohoo.

Another brief vibration, this notification from a completely different group chat, one Mark apparently forgot to leave once the project was done: @Mark: are there carrots in carrot cake?

The number is translated to ‘GirthControl’, so there’s just one person this could be. He stares at his screen. Is that a trick question? Yes, he feels confident enough to affirm to James.

Ah okay. Thanks babe.

This is when it occurs to him: Wait, why did you only ask me?

Silence. Whatever quest James is currently on, it apparently required Mark’s input and Mark’s input only.

He can’t help but laugh at the absurdity and suddenly feels a lot less abandoned. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter whether his friends don’t rank him at the top of their priority list as long as he’s on it somewhere. And knowing that he’s left a lasting impression on James beyond being the lad who supplies him with homework is oddly reassuring.

When he approaches the counter, Sam once again materialising out of nowhere (at least that’s what it feels like – he’s always there when Mark needs him and never at any other time), he’s decided to not get weirded out by anything today. “A coffee”, he orders confidently and inspects the haphazardly thrown together bagels featured prominently in the infamous display case. “And a bagel.” He doesn’t bother specifying, Sam will choose for him anyway.

After peering at the digital alarm clock on the counter, Sam announces the approximate value of the aforementioned items and then squints at him. “Weren’t you going to meet with somebody?”

Mark half-shrugs. “Kinda. They’re busy though.”

“Mind if I join you?” He must notice Mark’s surprise because he adds: “It’s your ninth time here. Would be a shame if we didn’t get to talk before you’ve filled up your loyalty card, don’t you think?”

“Alright”, he agrees and waits until Sam has poured himself a mug as well before they sit down at Mark’s usual table – tucked away in a corner but close enough to the windows to be able to do people-watching if his eyes need a rest from staring at textbooks or screens all day long. It’s the first time he examines the man opposite him more closely: the distinguished features, greying beard, wild mane of hair. He looks too… important to be working in a coffee shop, like he was destined for greatness. Mark can’t picture him angry even if he exudes a bitter, cynical aura which he’s likely to hide behind sarcasm.

“How did you end up here?”, he wants to know, genuinely curious.

“Good question.” Sam takes a few sips of his excellent coffee as he ponders how to reply. “It’s a temporary thing, that’s for sure.” He leaves it at that. “What do you study?”

Mark eyes the disorganised heap of books keeping his bagel company and sighs. “At this point, I don’t even know anymore.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It is”, he emphasises. “I love studying.”

“Where’s the problem then?”

There is none, he wants to say yet his mouth refuses to comply. He stares into the dark liquid, running his thumb over even porcelain and then decides to sod it – he asked, right? And somehow, it’s always easier to unload on a complete stranger. “I feel like it’s all I’m doing.”

“You keep others at a distance on purpose.” He nods, even though it wasn’t a question. “So don’t be surprised if they do the same.”

“I’m not.” The warmth seeps into his palms as he wraps his hands around the mug, providing as much comfort as Sam’s gentle tone. “I just want it to be different.”

“Make an effort. It’s never to late to change. I’m sure your friends will appreciate it. Put some trust in them, they’re your friends for a reason.” He nods again, lost in thought. “Have you figured out what you’re going to wish for next time?”

He scoffs, amused. There isn’t a single thing he can imagine himself wanting from the old man before him, so he’s unlikely to wish for anything at all. “No. Not yet.”

“Well, think about it. I believe in you, son.” With that, Sam downs the last of his own coffee and gets up, ready to walk back behind the counter and only stops when Mark calls his name.

“Is there someone you care about?”

It’s the first time he sees Sam smile. “Yes. There were two, but I lost one – so I keep the other one twice as close without trying to be suffocating. It’s hard. But remember, Mark, it’s never too late to tell the people in your life how you really feel.” And then he’s gone, disappeared into the back, leaving behind a faint nostalgia tinted with hope.

There’s no challenge from which Mark has shied away in his life, and this one isn’t going to be his first.

~*~

The word fuck on his lips, Mark bursts into the café like a panicked chicken. He’s juggling two bags and his phone, his frantic typing only interrupted by the need to breathe now and then, and nearly drops it when he slams his book bag to the ground at the counter. “Sorry, one sec”, he addresses an unimpressed-looking Sam as he dials a number and curses once more when it’s not immediately picked up. “Can I get a coffee to go?”, he asks, out of breath, as the dial tone beeps in his ear.

“I don’t serve people who are on the phone”, Sam replies, as calm as ever.

Mark mentally increases the number of people who’d be dead if his looks could kill by one. “This is the worst thing to ever happen to me”, he says gravely and hangs up after thirty seconds have passed. “I’m gonna fail this class.”

“An event without precedence, I assume?”

“You have no bloody idea. But yes, a coffee please, I need to go back to the library and get an entire semester’s worth of material because I’m too fucking dumb to read a syllabus correctly. This has never happened to me, I have one day to write this assignment and I’m lacking so much -”

“Can you give me the time?”, Sam interrupts him nonchalantly and stares at the screen of Mark’s phone as he holds it up for him to read. “Thanks. Let’s say £2.63.”

“And I can’t study at home because Timur has his friends over, and Manu is in a panic herself, and I know the library is going to be overrun by people who treat the study rooms like their social media accounts by loudly oversharing all the time, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to do this. Maybe I’ll just accept fate and fail. No clue how I’m gonna tell my parents.”

“Your loyalty card.”

Distracted, Mark fishes it out of his wallet and puts it on the counter. “And the other people in chem aren’t answering or are no help at all, I don’t get it, I’ve done group projects with them and still they don’t have the courtesy to help me out in this. It was a genuine mistake, as stupid as it is, and I’m just -”

“You need to write it down.”

He’s briefly interrupted in his rant to frown at the black paper card. “Write what?”

“Your wish.”

“But you won’t be able to read it. I only have black or blue pens.”

“Doesn’t matter. Write it down.”

With an irritated sigh, Mark takes out a pen and thinks for a second, the majority of his attention elsewhere still. Eventually, he scribbles someone who cares, not that it’d be legible in any way, and hands it to Sam. “That’s it? I’m not sure this reward system is going to pay off in the long term, you know.”

Sam holds the card up to the light as if he was inspecting a bank note and nods, apparently satisfied. “You’re all set. Good luck.”

“Ta, I’m gonna need it.” Mark shoves all his belongings in various pockets, hoping he’ll remember where he put them, and grabs the to-go cup. And then, without so much as a goodbye, he storms back out, steeling himself for an all-nighter certain to mess up sleep schedule for days, if not weeks.

He ascribes it to his flustered state that he doesn’t look up as he exits the coffee shop, and promptly runs into someone, collides with what feels like a solid wall. His coffee gets squished and sloshes over, soaking the front of his clothes – fortunately, it’s not hot at all, more like lukewarm which is odd in and of itself. He swears again, yanking his phone out of his pocket before it gets wet also and it’s only due to another hand grabbing the device that it doesn’t plummet to the ground straightaway.

“Oh bollocks, I’m so sorry”, says the wall he ran into which turns out to be none other than James. Of all people. “Are you alright? Is it hot?”

“No, no, I’m fine”, Mark presses through clenched teeth, the stress slowly overwhelming him. “But now I have to go home and change before I can start on this stupid fucking -”

“Babe. Calm down. What’s wrong?”

He takes a deep breath and ignores the quickly cooling wet patches on his clothes for the moment. “I still have to do the report. I didn’t realise we were meant to -”

“Oh, you haven’t done it? At all?”

“No! No, I didn’t, and everyone else is partnered up so I can’t just join someone else, so I’ll have to -”

“I’m not paired up.”

“Sure, once I’m done I’ll put your name on there, whatever, but that doesn’t -”

“Babe. Mark. Listen to me.” James waves in front of his face with a slight grin. “I did it. It’s almost done. I’ll put down that we did it together and you’re good.”

He stares at James, mouth open, for several unflattering seconds. “Wait – you… how?”

“I can show you, but it’s at my place. My roommate is around your height, he can lend you some clothes. Let’s go.”

And yet again, Mark finds himself unable to refuse. He drinks what’s left of his coffee in one go (and it really is tepid, he must’ve gotten really lucky), tosses the cup in the nearest bin and leaves Leo Coffee behind without a single glance back.

James’ flat looks exactly like Mark would’ve imagined it, only louder. Double bass and epic vocals are permeating every room, and all available horizontal surfaces are littered with stuff. The walls are plastered with posters, some funny, some pretty, some morbid, and it reeks of weed.

A small part of Mark feels right at home, oddly enough.

“Turn the fucking music down!”, James yells at the top of his lungs, throwing him an apologetic look, clearly uncomfortable with the state of it all and ignorant as to Mark’s growing amusement.

Somewhere, a door opens and the shrill guitars become clearer. “Whot?”, someone replies just as loudly.

“Exactly!”, is James’ deafening reply, and a few seconds later, the melodies decrease to a reasonable level. Another bloke joins them, tall and well-built with an unkempt beard and a band shirt as well as no socks.

“Who’s that? Is he allowed to be here?”, asks James’ roommate and regards Mark with suspicion.

“That was Sabaton, wasn’t it?”, Mark inquires back. “Primo Victoria?”

The dude’s entire face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, a connoisseur. He can stay, James, I like him already.”

And while the two of them exchange more words, Mark goes exploring. He ends up in what must be James’ room which is covered in paper, be it books or hand-written notes, and most of it seems related to chemistry in some way. Curious, Mark looks around until he finds a spiral-bound notepad titled with the name of the course they’re sharing this semester. Contrary to his expectations, it’s far from empty – not only does it contain copious lecture notes, it also features every assignment they’d been given since the start of the course.

Solved differently from Mark’s own answers.

Confused, he checks more closely and finds a recurring pattern: equations that are struck-through, calculations lacking several steps in between which wouldn’t be accepted by the prof this way, and very little text. It looks like the writings of someone who certainly understands the material but simply has a hard time putting his thoughts in order, putting his ideas into neat writing.

He’s been immersed for several minutes when James finally joins him, and when he does, Mark holds up his notes and greets him with a simple: “What the fuck?”

James doesn’t seem to realise where Mark’s problem lies and shrugs. “Yeah, I’m a hopeless case, I know.”

“No. No, you’re really not. This is – look here, if you just shift this around, you end up with the correct result. You’re like 95% of the way there, you just didn’t finish it.”

“Oh.” James blinks at him. “I guess. It’s kinda like that with the report. I was hoping you could help me write the conclusion, I’ve got the rest, but -”

“Sure. Yes.” Mark’s agreeableness seems to astonish his host. “That’ll take an hour, maybe two. And I won’t have to pull an all-nighter. James, you have no idea how much you saved me.”

And James, bless his soul, is blushing. “Well. No problem. I owe you anyway. Right?” He suddenly remembers he’s holding spare clothing and vaguely gestures in Mark’s direction. “You, uh, you can change in the bathroom. Don’t mind the cat, she just loves staring at naked people. Dom found out the hard way.”

Twenty minutes later, Mark is reading through James’ report with a ball of fur purring on his lap, faint metal playing in the background. There’s a lot of grammar and spelling to be fixed, as well as phrasing, but content-wise, it’s near flawless. He’s smiling to himself, enjoying the way James turns almost bashful whenever he compliments his work, and remembers Sam’s words from the second-to-last time he visited the café: it’s never too late.

He’s definitely treating James to dinner after he’s saved his arse like this.

The next time Mark passes by that familiar spot, the next time Mark develops a craving for caffeine and some peace and quiet, the next time he plans to go to Leo Coffee, all he finds is the same coffee shop which has been here for years already, the afternoon crowd populating the tables and several diligent employees taking care of the customers.

Somehow, Mark isn’t the least bit surprised.

#rainbow six siege #smoke #mute #smoke/mute #zero #fanfic #oneshot #I combined a few things I know you like and hopefully it's the same with the result #I want to remind you that there is no need to retaliate #but also that'd mean I've won this war

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yeocult · 4 years

Text

ATEEZ as students studying

HONGJOONG:

king of self-care! but studies for 15 minutes then take a 2 hour break and calls it self-care (omg he thinks he’s me or smth)

has power naps every single day at least 30 mins because he’s Stressed

always thinking of ways to drop out during the middle of lectures

that one kid that talks to nobody & sits at the back of the class with his hood on to hide his airpods

doesn’t do it anymore bc one time it disconnected and “there’s some whores in this house” blasted out loud & now he’s paranoid

shows up to group studies but lets the group carry him,,, but he puts out One Really good idea to get his name on the paper

only cares about topics he’s interested in, other than that he’s just astral projecting

“yo can you send me your answers so i can compare mine?” but he copies it and says “we got the same answers” (all men do is lie</3)

calculates his marks; “ok so i need at least a 80 on this...oh wait no, a 95...damn okay...”

the type to arrives late with ice coffee

SEONGHWA:

wakes up at 5 am to study instead of staying up

scented candles and lofi music for the ~studying mood~

a linguistic learner

learns best by teaching others so he’ll do group studies often to help other people

teaches people without making them feel dumb

uses grammarly for his emails with 3 paragraphs asking 1 question with a proper greeting and a ‘sincerely, park seonghwa’

professor: ok - sent from iphone

you’ll never see him during exams week, he’s Gone

a loyal user of the outline method

his desk must be cleared at all times! a clean workspace makes it easier to focus

brings extra pencil just in case anyone needs them bc he’s the sweetest person ever (he’s fully aware that he’ll never get them back but it’s okay bc sharing is caring)

does his readings on time (you’ll never catch him slacking)

actually has his shit together for the most part 1/2

YUNHO:

writes “i love you” or “sorry” at the end of his tests (that he bombed)

the type to ask you to print “just one thing real quick” and it’s 15 page and at 2 am

uses emojis like :D & \(^o^)/ when sending emails to his professors

has a bad habit of copying word for word on the slide and he doesn’t actually understand/learn anything

goes to the library bc he thinks that’ll help him be in the ~studying vibe~

it doesn’t. ends up texting or watching youtube gameplay

has never heard of the colour-coding system in his entire life and ends up with a page filled with neon highlight

snacks breaks are the only thing keeping him Normal

leaves himself an encouraging note at the end of the reading page so when he’s finished he feels good !!

friends with all of the professors and uses all office hours

strongest points are his guessing skills in multiple-choice questions (process of elimination ftw!)

he tries his best, doesn’t care about marks that much because he knows it doesn’t determine him (and he’s right!)

YEOSANG:

probably runs a studyblr/gram

has the cutest note ever, his handwriting is so pretty!!

he thinks that buying an ipad pro & apple pencil will make him smarter

likes it bc he can doodle on it then erase them easily :”)

has to wear blue ray glasses because of how he looks at a screen so much

mildliners, muji 0.38 gel pen, 6 ring binder, minimal planner, washi tapes, you name it! he visits muji and daiso every other week

buys wayyy too many planners and notebooks which he never ends up using

only uses pastel mildliners because they’re easy on the eyes. cringes every time he sees yunho’s highlighters v_v

his flaw is that he spends 10 mins writing his header with brush tip pens

mutes the group project gc but gets his part done like the good classmate he is

sweats every time he gets an assignment back, takes a whole ten minute to mentally prepare himself

a visual learner; makes mind maps, flow charts, etc

actually has a working printer that he uses pretty often to prints lessons before class just to be Extra prepare

tells everyone he slept well but his bullet journal habit tracker for sleep says otherwise (plz rest!!)

exclusively uses college ruled paper like the sane person he is

SAN:

uses wide-ruled paper (unfortunately not everyone is perfect</3)

starts off very positive, motivated, and organized

then everything goes downhill by the second week

will definitely set byeol on top of his keyboard, take a picture, and send it to his professor as an ‘excuse’ as why he needs an extension (it works)

can’t sit still for any longer than 30 mins, his legs are always bouncing or fidgeting with pen

flashcard king! spends a lot of time on them but it’s worth it

a utensil chewer (always willing to share his pencil but when ppl saw the bite marks they’re like No Thanks >_>)

can’t study well with groups or himself bc he’ll be distracted,,, so he needs one person that can ground him bc when they’re in the zone, he will too be on his x game mode

sends his assignment at 11:58 pm hoping his professor will take the Hint (plz don’t be afraid to ask for help u_u)

prefers listening to ghibli studio soundtracks but then he either gets emotional or sleepy

sometimes forget to mute his mic and we just hear him groaning in frustration

“haha sorry i just stubbed my toe...”

then mutes his mic and goes back to his mental breakdown

MINGI:

the only person that studies every single day just to get his brain used to the information and running

probably listens to anime op or edm music for that Energy Boost

everyone either hates or love him because...

1. loves him bc he always comes clutched with study guides (and willing to share if he likes you enough)

2. he’s good at everything even if he’s not paying attention/doing it last minute

just naturally good at retaining information and applying them

asks Big Brain question that even the professors are shook

sometimes he gets super into the topic and wants to know Everything

“i’ve never failed an exam in my life” and he’s right! big brain mingi

fetal flaw is that he forgets easily (hence why the last minute) and has to write on his palm as a reminder

clicks his pens All the time so he switched to pens with caps just to keep others from jumping him

takes naps 10 mins before classes

actually has his shit together for the post part 2/2

“if no one got me, i know khan academy and quizlet got me. can i get an amen”

WOOYOUNG:

y’all know that one mf that doesn’t have a pencil?

yea he’s been using the same one someone lend to him before a test and never returned it

it’s been two months and it’s still working well and they’re never going to get it back

a minimalist,,,, but in a bad way</3 bc he carries his stolen pencil and paper that he spilled his energy drink over and that’s about it

just throw loose papers in his bag and forgets about their existence

doesn’t do binders or notebooks, just crumbled up paper

sometimes carries a textbook just to show everyone that he’s got his life together

really noisy for No reason, always wants to know other’s marks

a kinesthetic learner

hides his screen with he gets the kahoot questions wrong (you’ll never catch him slippin)

plays coolmathgames.com during class

doesn’t really know what to study/prioritize so he overwhelms himself with every single topic ever

thinks he’s god by pulling an all-nighter to look at the 60+ slides last minute

Swears he’ll change and do better next semester,,,</3

goes to the cafe, takes pictures of his notes & laptop, post it on his story, then leaves

JONGHO:

thrives off of red bull and ice americanos

gets notes and study guides from his upperclassmen because everyone loves jongho

an audio learner so he’ll probably work out or go on a jog while listening to lessons/audiobook

never pulls all-nighters bc it messes up his sleep schedule and says he’ll do it in the morning but he never does

doesn’t even own a highlighter, he’ll circle or underline stuff with a red or black pen

has never touched a textbook in his life

only the study guides and slides, his textbook is collecting dust rn

his notes are literally Only for him because his handwriting only makes sense to him

has questionable handwriting,,, it’s like decoding

multitasks a lot but it ends up taking a lot longer than he wanted to (bc it’s a myth)

very spontaneous; he’ll grind for 5 hours straight but sometimes he won’t even touch a pencil

works best when he talks about the work in groups and share information with each other, like having a convo about the topic

unmutes his mic Once after the lesson to say “bye”

does his work right after the lessons but then takes a short break & doesn’t even Look back for the rest of the night

a/n: tag yourself ! i’m a bit of hohong (i projected myself on all of them in some way lmaooo)

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

Text

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

You didn’t have any destination in mind, only “away”. Away from the dorms where Willa was sleeping, away from campus where someone else might see you. By your side was your trusted camera. Why you brought it, you weren’t sure. Its not like the two of you were going for a portrait session. You hated those types of shoots anyway. But you felt better with it. The bag was like an anchor, keeping you grounded. If things grew awkward or too silent, you could simply pull out the camera and start shooting. A handy distraction.

For the first few blocks, Minseok walked half a step behind you. Once the campus was merely an outline on the skyline behind, he stopped you with a warm hand on your wrist. It was a gentle tug, nothing forceful or demanding.

“Where are we going?”

You pursed your lips nervously. He hadn’t let go of your wrist and your skin was sparking from the contact. There was an urge to step forward and envelop yourself with him to feel that electricity all over. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, I did. But all we’ve done is walk.”

“Just a little further.”

His jaw twitched with the want to argue, but he dropped your wrist and waved for you to continue. Yes, you were simply putting off the actual talking part. He didn’t need to know that. Or he’d already guessed that and was simply allowing it to happen. You were scared of what might come out of your mouth if your feet stopped. But you couldn’t walk the earth forever. When a line of trees came into view, you sighed silently in your head. There. That would be the place to talk. You beelined for the forest, Minseok hurrying to catch up. You went in just deep enough to be invisible to the city.

“Okay,” you said as you turned around. “Talk.”

Minseok looked taken aback by your sudden attack. “I… um, I just….” He finished off with a sigh that blew up his rounded cheeks. When he didn’t continue, you pulled out your camera and snapped a picture of him. He blinked at the sudden flash. “What was that for?”

You shrugged. “You weren’t doing anything else.”

You continue to take pictures of nothing. It felt wrong to not actually think about what you were capturing, but it was all an act. You needed to be doing something so you didn’t spiral into an interrogation. By it’s own will, your camera turned to Minseok and snapped another candid.

“Are you going to keep doing that?” You could tell he wasn’t used to being the subject of a photo. He’d shoved his hands in his pockets and looked off to side, only giving you profile.

“Yup,” you answered gleefully, snapping another picture. “At least until you tell me what you wanted to talk about.” Now you got a slight smile. He moved back to face you fully and reached out for the camera.

“Come on. That’s not fair.”

You easily evaded him. “No, what’s not fair is showing up randomly at my dorm and saying you need to talk and then not saying anything.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” You took another picture. He pounced again. You dodge again. So, he mixed up his strategy. Instead of going for the camera, he went for your waist. That, you couldn’t dodge and the two of you crashed down on the grass below. The camera flew from your fingers and a horror ran through you at the thought of it being damaged. Being the hero with incredible reflexes, Minseok caught it safely in his palm. The strap swung calmly in the breeze, unaware of what almost was.

“Oh, thank god.” You tried to take back from him, but he held it out of reach. The position the two of you were in gave him the advantage. So close was his face that you could feel his quick, shallow breath against your nose. Everything stopped. No longer could you hear the soft rustling of the leaves or the distance hums of car engines. Only Minseok was in focus as the two of you lied on the forest floor, mere feet from the city but so far away at the same time.

“(y/n), I….” His voice came out scared, unsure. He frowned and looked away like he was chasing after the words he wanted to say. Finally, he caught up with them. “What I wanted to say was... I… like you.”

Your breath halted in your throat. When the tension was unspoken, it was safe. But with his confession you were now forced to examine that fork in the road. It terrified you. Making the wrong decision terrified you. If only you could have avoided it forever. A luxury that never existed. “Minseok, I-”

“I know we haven’t known each other long,” he said, cutting you off. “And I know you have a boyfriend, but I just had to say… something.” It didn’t feel like the end of what he wanted to say, but nothing else came out.

You left his words hang in the tiny space between you and him. I like you, too. That’s what you wanted to say. He’d been brave enough to tell you and yet, you were a coward. In your silence, he lifted his hand and brushed away a blade of grass from your cheek. The electricity that you should have expected still stunned you. How could he transfer so much energy with the slightest of touches? It was only the tips of his fingers, but your whole cheek was aflame.

Minseok’s eyes flickered down to the bottom half of your face, to your lips. He snuck another peek at you as if asking for permission before looking down once again, leaning in closer. And you let him. You let him come closer at a snail’s pace. He was giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t want to. How many times had you accidentally found yourself fantasizing about a moment like this? Far too many. You’d asked yourself if his lips would be soft, if they would be warm and gentle. Now you could find out.

But it was spoiled by circumstances. You couldn’t do this. Not now.

At the last second, you pulled away, standing. “I have to go.”

“(y/n)-”

You grabbed your camera and shoved back into its bag. “Good night, Minseok.”

“At least let me see you back to your dorm. It’s dark out and-”

“I’ll be fine.” You ran out back into the city, back to reality, not giving him the chance further a logical argument. You needed to get away before you turned around and found the answers, right or wrong.

The whole way home you beat yourself. Leaving with him in the first place was wrong. It seemed you were constantly making the wrong decision these days. Back at the dorm, you quietly slipped into your room, careful not to wake Willa. It didn’t work.

“(y/n)?”

“Yeah, its just me,” you whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

“M-kay.” In the dark you could barely make out the lump on her bed flipping over.

As you headed for your own mattress, you stripped off your clothes and blindly felt for the t-shirt you typically slept in. Under the covers, you lied there, staring at the wall. A single tear fell down your cheek. You stopped it in its track. It stayed on the tip of your middle finger as you brought it out in front of you. Great. Now you were crying.

What the hell were you going to do?

Minseok was unable to move. He couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. It had all gone so quick. First he was silent, then he was speaking words and almost kissing you. His confession – if it could be called that – hadn’t done any good. It was stupid to go about it in this manner.

He’d wanted to tell you everything and all he gave you was a small sliver of the truth. The word “like” was an understatement. Mate or not, he was falling in love with you. He was fascinated with the way your mind worked, like an artist’s. It was so different than his more analytical nature. The way you smiled, the way you laughed. To him, those sights and sounds that belonged only to you made him feel like he’d been living in an isolated cave his whole life and was only now coming out to discover the surface.

Grabbing a fist full of grass, Minseok threw the blades into the air in front of him. The anger still didn’t dissipate. He fell back, his head hitting the dirt with a thunk. The pain was easy to ignore. His focus was completely on how stupid he was. How stupid this whole mate situation was. Maybe Jongdae had the right attitude all along.

No. Minseok wasn’t that bitter about life. Maybe he would have been if his parents had dropped him off at a relative’s house with absolutely no explanation of his heritage, but Minseok grew up in a fun, loving home. He was raised to be optimistic.

Sitting up, Minseok sighed. He wondered if he’d messed the whole thing up. For now, he’d give you space. Even though it felt impossible not to follow his instincts. He didn’t want to come across as desperate as he felt. He just hoped that the two of you could come together, before the consequence came to light.

It had been three days and you were still stewing over Minseok’s confession. Your heart went back and forth between being elated and being bogged down with worry and guilt. While Erik sat across from you at the table in the student cafeteria, you clicked through the pictures you’d taken of Minseok that night. A smile subconsciously pulled at the corners of your lips.

“(y/n)?”

Your head snapped up. “Yeah?”

Erik pushed his glasses up his nose. His pen was bouncing off his textbook. Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk. “Are you okay? You seem distracted lately.”

You feigned ignorance. “I’m always distracted.”

“This is different. I feel like you’re so far away lately. Something’s happened in the past few weeks.”

“Nothing’s happened!” Because acting defensive always worked. You slid back the chair, the legs scarping against the tile with a high pictured squeal. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Erik didn’t try to stop you at all. You’d left your things behind so he knew you’d be back. Luck decided to throw you a bone and give you an empty bathroom to sulk in. Letting the water run, you waited until it was freezing before splashing your face. The burst of cold to your skin made you gasp. With a paper towel you dabbed at the water droplets left behind until you felt somewhat dry again. In the movies, a scene like that came with clarity, a decision and an answer sparkling in the mirror as realization hit. No such moment came for you. All you were left with were two wet eyebrows and smeared makeup. Wonderful. Tossing the paper towel into the trash, you left the restroom and headed back to the table.

When you arrived, you couldn’t sit back down.

Erik had your camera. His thumb hit the arrows back and forth. He flipped through the film furiously. It didn’t take a psychic to know which photos he was looking at. “You used to take pictures of me like this.”

“Erik-”

Sighing, he put the camera back down, pushing it gently to your side of the table. “I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised, huh? Freshman relationships don’t usually last as long as ours. It was only a matter of time.”

“No! It’s not like that!”

“If you say it’s not, then I’ll believe you. Everyone’s allowed to have friends. But… you don’t even use the notebook I gave you anyone.”

You flinched back at that comment. “I… lost it. I’m sorry.”

Erik’s reply was a nod. He stood up, gathering his things and putting them into his bag. He started to walk away but paused just as he passed you. “I think we should take a break.”

“A break?”

“For now.”

You collapsed in the chair as soon as he was gone. What a mess you’d made. And you hadn’t even really done anything. Were changing feelings really such a crime? Being here wasn’t giving you any room to think. You needed solitude, space.

The woods.

You were in the car and down the street before you could blink. The road was so familiar by now that you didn’t even remember actually driving. Getting out of the car, you threw your unneeded school supplies in the trunk while keeping some essentials and personals. For good measure, you turned your phone off. You didn’t get great service out here anyway. It was a spin wheel if the call came through or not. So, the trek began.

You pushed your way through the trees in the direction of the clearing. More leaves had fallen since your last visit, leaving a fresh carpet of brown and green for you to walk on. It muffled your steps. The forest sounded quiet today. Hardly any birds chirped and no bunnies came running across your path. The lack of wildlife caused your heart to race. You worried if you’d made a mistake coming here. When the clearing came into view, you stopped.

Near the middle of the field lied the wolf. He was alone. His ears flicked every few seconds or so, possibly picking up on the noises of life around him. But why was he just lying there? It was odd behavior for a wolf. Or, so you figured. Zoology was not your major. Your fingers twitched towards your camera, but you thought better of it. You didn’t know why, but you wanted to simply… watch him. It was calming, being in this wild animal’s presence. He looked so peaceful. You didn’t want to disturb him so you decided to stay on the outskirts.

Ten minutes went by and the wolf decided he was done. He stood up on all four legs and turned to walk in the direction opposite of you.

Follow him.

You blinked. That reaction came from nowhere. Following a wild animal deeper into the woods was something only a crazy person would do.

Apparently, someone needed to put a jacket on you and call you crazy.

You kept your distance, far back enough to not spook him but still be able to keep him in your line of vision. He walked for what felt like miles. You’d never been in this part of the forest before. Which made this even more of a ridiculous adventure. The only consolation prize was the fact that he didn’t zig zag around, so you had a straight shot back to the clearing. You should be able to make your way back to your car from there. Up head, the tree line broke. It gave way to another clearing, but this one was far larger with two buildings sitting near the center. You stayed back, clinging to one of the last trees for cover as you watched the wolf walk towards the front porch. A familiar looking man stepped out and waived to the wolf. Was he their pet?

No.

The answer was a big, glaring No.

The wolf’s shoulders shivered and rolled. His body morphed like clay until he was no longer on four legs. You gasped.

Minseok.

Both men’s eyes snapped in your direction. You made eye contact with them both, then you turned and ran for your life.

You didn’t make it far. Minseok caught up with you easily.

“(y/n), wait!”

“Stay away from me!”

He did exactly the opposite, tackling you from the back. You both rolled in the leaves as you fought him off.

“Let me go! Don’t touch me!” Your last scream was enough to make him step back. You pushed yourself to your knees. Each breath was a huff as you tried to recover from the sprint. You could feel the fear emanated from your eyes.

Minseok held his hands up as if that would be enough to convince you he was harmless. “I can explain.”

“What are you?” you demanded.

“I’m….” He cringed as he sucked back the word you both knew he was going to say. “I’m a… werewolf.”

“Its you, isn’t?” You pushed yourself up onto shaking legs. All the stories you’d read as a child, all the movies you’d consumed, and all the folklore from around the world told you what kind of creatures werewolves were. “You are the one who killed those campers, aren’t you?”

“No! It was another wolf. A rogue!”

You shook your head. “How am I supposed to believe that? You’re not even supposed to exist! Was this all a game? Lure me into a false sense of security before you ripped me apart?”

“No, (y/n), listen to me!” He was in front of you, hands on your shoulders before you could react. “I. Did not. Kill. Them. And I would never hurt you. There’s a rogue omega around here and we haven’t caught him yet. Please, I’m begging you. Come back to the house with me and I will explain everything.”

“Why do we have to go back to the house?”

“So I can put on some clothes.”

You coughed and shifted your eyes high to the sky. “Oh, right.”

Minseok held his hand out for you to take, but you let it hang there in the air as you passed him. You heard him sigh behind you then his footsteps fell into rhythm with yours.

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #minseok x reader #kim minseok #xiumin #exo werewolf au #exo werewolf!au #exo supernatural au #exo series #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #The Untamed Universe #Catching Rain

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illfoandillfie · 4 years

Text

The Come Down

Pairing: 70s!Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Summery: It's hard for Roger to unwind after the excitement of playing a gig. But you have a favourite way to help him.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), but also quite fluffy, rough sex, enough to leave marks but nothing overly kinky, some hair pulling, scratching, shower sex.

Words: 4226

A/N: This started life as a blurb about brushing Roger's hair - a thought I haven't been able to shake for at least a week - but gradually turned into a full on smut fest lmao. I guess Rog just has that effect on me...

Taglist: @laedymoon @dtfrogertaylor @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @supersonicfreddie @taron-egrotten @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies

It’s Pavlovian, the way you react to Roger’s playing. If he wasn’t so charming you’d curse him for it. How all you have to hear is him counting everyone into the first song of the night and already you’re thinking about later, about what happens when you get home. Most weeks are the same though you’d never call it a routine. That sounds too boring, too predictable and Roger is anything but boring and predictable. But there is a pattern forming. And it all starts with that fucking count. The way he twirls his drumstick as he settles himself to play. He’s wired from the beginning, from even before they get on stage. Bouncing on the balls of his feet as they get ready, endlessly joking and playfully teasing. So much so that your side hurts from laughing just a little bit. And that energy, that excitement, only grows as they play. Feeding off the noise of the smoke-filled bar and the way people cheer and his mates playing beside him. You watch him every show, close to the front though a little to the side of the stage. He can’t see you anyway and being out of the main crush of people makes it easier to get to the bar again if you want another drink. Not that you ever do. You’re too entranced by it all. The way the four boys perform, make it look so effortless, though you’ve heard the spats and hours of practice that prove it’s not. The way the crowd follows them and spurs them on. Girls with eyes glued to the fingers roaming over frets and plucking at strings. Voices slurred with alcohol or rough from yelling or husky from smoking, all mixed as they call out names of favourite songs and cheer no matter what gets played next. Your attention wanders back to Roger more than anyone else though. Hands rapidly flying from one drum to another, his whole body caught up in the movement, twirling his sticks between notes because he can and he wants everyone to know it. His head tipped back, flung forward, hair and eyes wild. You don’t quite understand how his hair doesn’t get in his way, doesn’t annoy him with the way it flicks around every time he moves. But it mustn't because he refuses to cut it whenever you make the suggestion.

By the time their set is drawing to a close you’re feeling pretty fired up yourself, high from second hand smoke and the bass drum vibrating through your bones and the way Roger’s glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, his shirt open, the necklace you gave him glinting as it catches what little light there is. The final notes ring out, overwhelmingly loud, and you know that’s your cue. Ducking under arms and squeezing between people as you push back to the bar to order the usual after gig round of drinks. The barman knows you by now, so you don’t have to say anything before he’s pulling out glasses, a mixture of shots and pints and a couple of cocktails thrown in for colour, and by the time the selection is laid out before you the boys have materialised at your side. Roger is quick to wrap his arm around your waist as you all down a few shots and then grab the rest of your drinks and head to a table. The lack of space between you and he doesn’t stop a couple of bold women from approaching, flirting with him as they congratulate the band on another great show. He thanks them, polite but uninterested in whatever they’re trying to offer, and pushes on with you tucked tightly to his side.

For a while you just hang out but Roger’s still completely amped. Half his beer is gone the first time he brings the glass to his lips and he fidgets in his seat, restless energy personified. He’d play a whole second set if he was asked. No one asks. Instead he crosses his legs, un-crosses them, slouches low, sits up, arm on the back of your chair then dropped to grab your hand then rubbing your knee then tapping the top of the table. His laugh is frequently heard cutting through the noisy conversations around you as he leans across the table, sits back, slides lower in the chair and then pops up straighter once more. Never still for long. It’s a relief when Brian suggests packing everything into the van. You help them wind up cords, carry amps out the back door. When everything’s packed away there’s more drinking and joking around. Roger’s hands wander a little further, unashamedly squeezing your arse or sliding up your thigh until you remind him where you are. The room feels ten times warmer than it did before and you wouldn’t have stopped him except your sat across from his best mates and something about the way he’s touching you makes you think he doesn’t have the cognitive awareness to recognise that. He’s just got too much adrenaline, too much energy he doesn’t know what to do with, fogging up his brain. He obviously has ideas though, the same ideas you’ve been trying to ignore since he first sat down at his kit. He leans towards your ear, asks if you’re ready to leave. You nod, say goodnight to the others. Roger tells them to stay out of mischief, voice a little louder than it needs to be. “Look who’s talking,” “They’ll be no mischief on my watch, I’ll look after him.” “Y/N you’re an enabler,” “As long as he’s not getting arrested,” “Oi, fuck off,” “Quick Y/N, get him home before he slags off the wrong person,” There’s laughter and a round of see you laters, a few nicknames the boys wouldn’t want their mothers to hear, before you exit the bar, Roger’s arm around you once more.

His voice is still loud on the drive home and he taps out a beat on the steering wheel, antsy, eager to continue the night unobserved by everyone else. Your ears are still ringing so you can only imagine what’s going on in his head – a play by play of the best parts of the set probably. A song he likes comes on the radio so he turns it up loud, winds his window down, grinning at you, letting the whole neighbourhood hear the whine of the guitars. “We should cover this one,” he half shouts, accelerating a little, the rhythm of his tapping fingers changing to match the music, “Fuck! We should cover it! Bri’d go feral for the chance to play it,” You agree though you aren’t sure he hears you. You’re lucky he hasn’t started air drumming along. It happened once before, his foot suddenly hitting the break as he put it down in time with the song’s beat. You’d only been going slow then so all you’d had to deal with was a honk from the car behind you. Roger apologised, promised to be more careful, and you laughed it off. It’s a bit of a wonder he hasn’t ever repeated the mistake with how into the music he gets, how absentmindedly he drives, especially after a show and a few drinks. Muscle memory and second nature. Maybe he shouldn’t be driving but you live close enough that it doesn’t even cross your mind to call a cab. The song fades out and is replaced by yours. The song that was playing in the second hand store you’d met at. Roger takes his eyes off the road to find yours, smiles, clearly thinking about that day. You’d been trying on a dress you’d found, modelling it for a friend to get her opinion, when Roger had complemented your look, suggested adding a fur coat to it. He offered his own but said he’d need your number so he could get it back. You’d laughed at the line but decided you could afford to reward his boldness and written your number on the back of his hand. The coat had kept you warm for the rest of the day and many since. You’re about to say something about the memory, ask Roger if he really thought the pickup line would work (judging by the look on his face when you’d pulled a pen from your bag and grabbed his hand, he hadn’t) but he’s already singing along, hand squeezing your thigh again as his attention shifts back to the road. He glances at you a few more times, encourages you to sing along by holding his closed fist in front of your face like it’s a microphone. He keeps singing as he pulls up in front of your apartment, turns off the engine, steps out of the car. You meet him at the edge of the driveway where he grabs your hand and twirls you around in a circle, both of you giggling. And then he’s heading inside, up the stairs, pulling you along with him.

Your heart is beating faster now, fully aware of what’s coming, like one of Roger’s drum solos playing out against your chest. Roger doesn’t disappoint. He opens the door with enough force to make it bounce off the wall behind it, helping it shut with a kick from his foot. His hands are well and truly occupied, resuming their path over your body, grabbing and squeezing. There’s a flurry of movement from his hands, like he isn’t sure where to start or rather like he’s eager to start everywhere all at once, before he focuses in on your shirt and getting it off of you. It hits the ground carelessly as you walk backwards, further into the apartment, but Roger’s fingers are already working at the fly of your jeans. He gets the button undone, gets distracted trying to kiss you without overbalancing. His hands slide over your stomach, your sides, down to grab your arse and pull you into him. It’s only then he remembers the zip on your pants and moves one hand back to pull it down. You start removing his clothes but you’re too slow for his liking. He has energy to burn and he wants to burn it right away. No stopping to savour the moment, no slowly working up to the big finale. No, he wants to be in you already. And it’s impossible to pretend you haven’t been thinking about exactly that since right back at the start of the evening. You kick your jeans across the floor as Roger tears his own clothes off. There’s enough time for half a breath before he spins you around to face the wall, pushes your back to make you bend at the waist. He doesn’t bother to remove your underwear at all. Fiddling with the clasp of your bra would be too time consuming and why bother pushing panties down when you can pull them to the side instead. He laughs as he realises just how damp the crotch of your knickers is. “Good. Don’t need to worry about fingers.” You gasp, tense up as he plunges into you. His grip on your hip is tight enough that the tips of his fingers have turned white, keeping you in place as he roughly fucks you. A small scratch appears in the wallpaper as you try to find a sturdy grip. An impossible task. You have to make do as best you can, relying on Roger to hold you in place. “Love how wet you get from watching us play,” “Just you, Rog,” you whimper as he uses you. He laughs, somehow grasps you even tighter, “Good. My needy little groupie.” He nips at your neck and you turn your head, lips opening with a whimper as he pushes himself deeper into your heat. The kiss is messy, teeth colliding as he tries to release all that pent up energy he’s been carrying around since he exited the stage. You don’t cum that first time, you never do. It’s about Roger’s need for release, Roger’s excess energy, not yours. But you don’t mind. He’s gone above and beyond for you plenty of times before and he’ll do the same plenty more to come. The least you can do is be a pliant hole for him to get off in after each gig.

You stay bent over, palms pressed firmly against the wall, as Roger gives a few extra thrusts, prolonging his own pleasure, before he pulls out. You stay there as he leans against you almost hidden by a curtain of his own hair, panting heavily in your ear, until he can find it in him to stand up. You stay there, with his hand on your back to keep you in place until he sees his cum dribble from your cunt. He’s calmed a bit, the bounce in his step a little less pronounced, but he can be worn out further. He needs more, needs to fully come down from the high of playing, if he wants to get a wink of sleep. When you regain your full height and turn to face him, he kisses you. He almost catches you off guard with it, making you pull in a sharp breath as his lips meet yours and he presses you into the wall. You feel completely breathless when he pulls back, dizzy from the taste of him. You both laugh softly as you look at each other, still so close you’re breathing each other’s air. “You’re sweaty,” you say softly, , dragging one palm down his chest, pouting a little. The statement is fact but it’s also code for please keep fucking me. It’s the sexy kind of sweaty. “That’s what happens when you play drums and then come home and fuck a slut,” You try to hide the shiver his tone sends along your spine, how hungry for more one little degrading name can make you. Unsuccessfully judging by the way Roger winks at you. He knows you too well, knows which buttons to push to turn you into the needy slut he so enjoys using and you so enjoy being for him. Not that it takes much to get you there, especially after he’s dropped a quick load in you and left you eager for your own release. If you had the space you’d drop to your knees to clean his cock with your tongue, taste yourself on him. But he’s still got you up against the wall, boxed in by his arms, so instead you bite your lip and give him a look that you hope comes across as either sexy innocence or sultry seductress. He laughs again, leans into your ear, “You need it that bad, love?” You just nod as he catches your earlobe between his teeth and gently tugs. There’s no point pretending otherwise. “You’ve wanted it all night, haven’t you?” He pouts back at you, teasing, mocking you for being so easy, “Let’s give her what she wants then.” He’s hasn’t quite finished speaking when he grabs your hand and pulls you into the kitchen. Sometimes you make it to the bedroom, sometimes you don’t. Tonight there’s no chance, or at least not until you’ve taken him a few times. He clears off the small square table where you eat most of your meals with a sweep of his arm, sheets of uni notes and scrawled ideas for the band fluttering to the floor, beaten there by the loud thump of one of his biology textbooks. The moment the surface is free he’s lifting you onto it, pulling your underpants off as you focus on your bra. When it too has joined the mess on the floor you lie back, arms around Roger’s neck to keep him close, the cold pendant hanging from his necklace making you shiver as it gets caught between you. He kisses you again, bites your lip with a smile and then dips his head towards your chest instead. You twist the ends of his sweat damp hair around your fingers as he enters you again. It’s not quite the same as when he took you against the wall moments before but it’s still rough, fast, hard. The first time he fucked you like that you were surprised such an angelic, pretty, soft boy could be such a devil. Biting you, pulling on your hair, leaving you with marks from how tight he held you. But you left him with marks too, nails digging into his arms and back, tugging on his hair as much as he tugged on yours. He’d just laughed when he saw the scratches in the mirror. Laughed and told you he loved you for the first time. A lot of firsts that day. He says it again now, words gasped between rapid breaths and those little whines he makes. You’d say it back except you’re not sure how to form words anymore, aside from fuck and god and his name if he’s lucky. He doesn’t mind though, he always enjoys making you speechless. You moan as he mouths at your neck, pounding into you like a fucking jackhammer, and he raises his head just enough to gloat. “Feels good doesn’t it love?” You’d call him an arse if he’d just slow down and let you breathe, a cocky bastard, a big-headed prick. You must manage to stutter one of them out because Roger responds. “T-think you mean epic – fucking – shag,” there’s a few panted breaths and then an order to rub your clit and you don’t even consider disobeying, slipping a hand between your bodies to find it. Your so close already, wound up beyond belief, eyes screwed shut and body arching as you moan. It only takes a few more moments for your climax to hit, accompanied by a violent thumping from the other side of the wall that you barely hear and that Roger only laughs at.

When you can open your eyes again they meet Roger’s. He’s still leaning over you, both palms braced against the table top, but he lowers himself a little to kiss you, smiling against your lips. You mewl as he pulls out of you once more but he swallows the sound. Slowly he retreats, pushes his hair back from his face and then takes your hand to help you sit up. He stays standing between your legs, kisses you a few more times as you both relearn how to breathe properly. His nose bumps against your cheek as he finds your lips once more, like a cat displaying affection. It’s a much softer kiss. “How’re you feeling?” “Mmhmm, good,” your voice sounds raspy to you so you swallow as best you can before saying more, “need a shower.” He laughs again, a soft puff of air against your mouth as he rests his forehead against yours, “Always so practical.” “One of us has to be,” “So you keep saying. D’you think you can stand?” “Let’s find out. Get ready to catch me.” Roger helps you down, helps you stand on shaky legs, helps you walk to the bathroom. He insists on helping you into the shower too, saying he feels responsible for your lack of mobility since he’s the one who fucked you so well. You bat his shoulder but let him accompany you into the bathroom and under the steaming water. “Mr Johnson next door hates us by the way,” he said it with a grin, looking very happy with himself, “Think we might have been overheard,” another laugh, his hand sliding from your waist to press against your pussy. You lean against Roger as his fingers rub over you, collecting the evidence of the evening so far, sliding along your slit before pressing into you. “Think we can piss everyone off a little more though, don’t you,” You agree with a soft moan, the sound echoing around the small bathroom as Roger pulls his fingers free, lifts your leg, slides into you once again, pressing you against the cold tiles on the wall. Its much slower that time. Partly because of the location, partly because Roger isn’t as hyped as he was before you got home. He holds you tightly though as you whine into his neck, his fingers on your clit. The noise makes your head spin, the drops of water hitting the floor of the shower, his grunts and encouraging words mixed with your own sighs and moans, all of it bouncing around the room, layered over each other. Your orgasm builds relatively slowly, kept alive by the constant pressure around your clit more than the cock buried in you. And Roger doesn’t chase his release like before, doesn’t thrust into you forcefully. Rather, he just holds you as close as possible, bucking his hips a little but mostly just enjoying the way you clench around him as you get closer to the edge. He swears in response to the way you tighten, warns you he’s close. You reach up and drag your fingers through his hair, press your lips to the base of his throat. He doesn’t hold out much longer, running out of energy to maintain control like that, pressing you firmly against the wall as he fills you again. His fingers fall from your clit as he shudders through his release but it’s only a momentary lapse, the pressure back even as you whine at the loss. You both know you’re close, Roger leaning into your ear to tell you to let go, to cum for him. When it does hit, it’s not an earth-shattering orgasm. You don’t see stars, don’t scream, don’t collapse in an exhausted heap. You let out a soft whine against Roger’s skin as warmth spreads through you, calm and nice. He rubs his hand over your hip until you let go of his hair, let your foot drop back to the floor. The steady stream of water reminds you where you are as Roger kisses the top of your head. He asks how you feel now, stops hovering quite so close when you say you’re fine to stand on your own. But he doesn’t go further than the corner of the shower, watching as you wash your hair and lather yourself in soap, just in case. He gives you a hand out when you’re clean but stays under the shower himself while you get changed and take care of your post-sex routine. When you glance back at him he’s got his eyes closed, head tilted back, relaxing.

You’re sitting in bed, a book open in your lap, though you aren’t really reading it, when you hear the shower close off, the soft pad of wet feet, and Roger appears in the doorway. He digs around in his clothes for a minute, finds some clean underwear and slips them on quietly. He smiles at you, a soft sleepy sort of a smile, as he takes the towel to his head, trying to wring as much water from his hair as possible. When he can’t be bothered with it anymore he lets the towel drop to the floor, a problem for tomorrow much like the rest of the mess you made through the apartment. A trail of lust fuelled destruction you’ll need to pick up and put away. He grabs a hairbrush from the top of the chest of draws and sits beside you, trying to hide a yawn. “Tired?” “No,” Roger lies, settling himself and beginning to work the brush through his locks. “Well I am so if you were planning on starting another round you’ll have to do it on your own,” He shakes his head as he tugs the brush through a particularly knotted section, “I’ll keep – fuck – I’ll keep that in mind. You got any spare socks I can use?” You laugh but Roger winces as the brush gets caught once again. “Jesus, knew I should have used more conditioner,” “You want some help with that?” “Yes please,” You mark your page and place the book to the side before pushing yourself to your knees and shuffling closer to Roger. He turns around so his back is to you, handing the brush over his shoulder. Slowly and carefully you start to untangle the knots his hair has twisted into, pulling the brush through small sections over and over until it runs smooth. “You ever think ab-” “I’m not cutting it Y/N,” “Just a suggestion,” “If I cut it you’d have nothing to hold on to.” “Fair enough,” You keep chatting as you brush Roger’s hair, able to feel him relax against you, the tension leaving his shoulders and neck, able to hear the exhaustion in every word he says. By the time you’re done his eyelids are drooping, every ounce of the overabundance of energy gone. “C’mon babe, time for bed,” you say, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Roger just nods, shuffles around until he can crawl under the covers. You put the hairbrush on your bedside table and join him, laying on your side to face him. He takes one of your hands, lazily tugs it to his lips. “Love you,” “Love you too, Rog,” He lets his eyes close but doesn’t release you. Not until he’s well and truly asleep.

#my fics #my writing #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor smut #roger taylor x reader #look i just love writing boys who are cocky little shits but also very somft

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seokiloquy · 3 years

Text

Bruised Ink - Kageyama Tobio

Soulmate AU: When you write on your skin it appears in the same spot on your soulmates body

Requested (though I changed it a bit to keep it as canon as possible)

Tags/Warnings: GN!Reader, Kageyama being a bit of an airhead, mild swearing

Word Count: 1.7K+

Art club, morning, lunch, and after school. Though admittedly your art club supervisor / English teacher didn’t enjoy seeing an eager face so early in the morning. She, over a matter of days, had gotten used to your silent presence in the corner of the art room as she worked on papers, occasionally asking for your opinion on a topic.

“See you after school!” you called down the hall, before waving to your aforementioned supervisor who was talking to the art teacher in the corner.

You flicked your uniform jacket off, letting it hang off the top of a chair as you ran to your canvas. The clean paint brushes waited patiently next to the progressing piece of art and your pallet rested next to them, mummified and waiting to let it’s paints feel the air again. You delicately picked at the tape wrapped around the pallet, pulling it off to reveal the chemical smell of acrylics.

You gazed at your painting for a moment, admiring the contrasting muted colours that blended nicely into the slowly fading background. Taking a brush, no larger than the width of your pinky, you reached for a vibrant green and royal blue, ready to dollop small portions onto your pallet. You huffed through your nose as a clump of blue stuck to your fingers. With no paper towel in sight, you kept your mouth shut and rubbed the paint against the back of your opposite arm.

“You’re going to stain your skin,” your teacher huffed behind you as she walked to her desk, brushing a free hand through her bob cut. “It looks almost like a bad bruise.”

You sighed, picking up your pallet and brush, gently working the bright teal colour you mixed into the layers of your canvas. “Maybe, but if I’m lucky it’ll be gone before any of the other teachers notice just like every other time.”

She gave you a quirked brow sliding into your spinning chair that was tucked into the corner of the room. She grabbed a pen with one hand and sipped on her coffee mug with the other. “What do you mean by that?”

You laughed. “Every time I doodle, draw, paint, or just anything on my skin whatsoever, it’s gone before I see it again.”

“So your soulmate’s washing it off before class?” she hummed, turning her eyes away from your blocked-out painting and onto the sheets before her.

“I don’t have a tattoo or a red string, so most likely, ya. They probably don’t want to get in trouble. Or maybe they’re in a swim club and don’t even notice it?”

Chuckling she looked up but kept her head down, gifting you the sight of a mischievous look. “Or they could be sweating it all off.”

“How often does a person sweat to get rid of that much ink on a daily basis?”

“There are some dedicated athletes out there.” She shrugged, rubbing the golden tattoo on the back of her hand. “Then again, all soulmate connections are a bit different.

Humming, you turned back to your painting that leaned against the wall. “What are you working on this morning, Ms. Ono?”

Behind you, a page flipped followed by a groan. “First-year English.”

“First-year? I thought you taught second-year English?”

“I did for Sugawara’s class, but I usually teach the first-year.”

You pushed your brush into the canvas a little harder. “Damn, I thought I would get to be in your class.”

“Sorry, kiddo, but you wouldn’t be in my English class anyway. But your Japanese is improving!”

You huffed through your nose. “I’d hope so, the Sugawara’s really aren’t giving me a break.” You studied your canvas and took a step back, looking at how the light bounced off the surface and made the teal look with the less saturated colours.

“Good on them.”

“Don’t encourage it!”

“Kageyama, what happened to your arm?”

The boy’s grown out bowl cut swished as he flipped his arms around turning his head in search before eventually finding the offending colour that had spread into his skin. Twisting his arm, he gave the colour an indecisive look, before poking it his index finger. “Must be a bruise. Probably smacked it when we were setting up the net. Doesn’t hurt though. So hurry up, let’s get started.”

“Why does everyone have to get to school so early,” Sugawara mumbled to himself, pushing the door to the gym open as he ruffled his hair. He spoke louder, “Tanaka, can’t you stop these two?”

“Sorry, dude. But I’m having fun with this. Why are you here so early anyway?”

Sugawara sat down in the doorway, changing his shoes and rolling off his uniform pants to reveal his loose shorts for practice. “(Y/N) has been coming to school early to paint. And my parents said ‘they’ll get lost, you go too’ instead of ‘no, sleep a little longer.’”

Tanaka huffed through his nose, “Has (L/N) been settling in well?”

“Oh ya. Eichi loves the new company. But now I have to keep up with essentially two siblings instead of one and these two idiots.” The silver-haired boy yawned as he gestured at the two first years that yelled at each other while throwing balls into the air.

Tanaka gets out a gruff chuckle before running into the centre of the gym to join the duo with endless energy.

“Gone again,” you mumbled as you slowly packed up the bento box that Koushi’s mom had prepared for you.

Your arm, which had been covered in paint stains and ink marks across the whole colour spectrum, had been wiped clean. No doubt the work of your soulmate and whatever activity they partook in during their free time.

Grumbling, you took out your white ink pen and doodled a subtle frowning face on the inner crease of your wrist.

Ms. Ono rose from her seat, patting away invisible dirt that clung to her dark pencil skirt as the warning bell sounded through the speaker system. “Alright, (L/N). I have a class to teach, out you get.” She shuffled hat stacked papers in her hand, pausing for a moment as a look of realization was thrown onto her face. “Oh and, there won’t be art club this evening, so tell the other members too.”

“What? but that’s the best part of my day!”

“Sorry, (L/N) but I can’t be in here all the time.”

You whined, following the English teacher out of the room. Mr. Sato, the art head, walked into the paint-filled classroom as you left. You both gave him a friendly nod, before continuing with your conversation. “What can I do then? I’m not allowed to go home alone.”

Ms. Ono hummed, “Why don’t you sit in on Sugawara’s volleyball practice, you can use it as a figure study and sketch in your notebook.”

“I guess that’s not a bad idea.”

“Well, there you go. Alright, get, to class or you’ll be late.” She stepped into her sunlit classroom, walking straight for her desk with clicking heels.

You left the entryway of class 1-1’s homeroom and started making your way down the hall to your own room in class 1-4. As you weaved through the crowded hall of first years you kept your head up, looking for the nearest tunnel of space, only to get locked against the wall staring into the eyes of an intense schoolmate you were unaware of.

“Uh sorry,” you mumbled, looking away from his pinched brow and sharp eyes that only held your gaze for a moment.

He raised a brow, looking down the hall behind you to his classroom. Saying nothing, he huffed and schooled his expression. Placing the opposite hand on your shoulder, he spun your body to be behind him, switching locations, and continued down the hall. You watched his flat black hair bounce as he turned into class 1-3’s room.

“Well, isn’t he sweaty,” you mumbled to yourself as you made the last few steps into your classroom.

“Koushi, Koushi, Koushi. Are you sure it’s okay for me to sit in?”

“Just don’t encourage any foolishness and it should be fine. We still have to practice.”

You nodded, following your homestay as he led you to his club’s gym, rambling about his teammates.

“Ah, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi? They’re in my class. I didn’t know they played volleyball.”

“Do you talk to them?”

“No sir, I do not think Tsukishima's intimidating.”

Sugawara led you to the side where their manager stood, speaking with one of the teachers you had seen running around the school, you bowed silently as Sugawara quickly gave an introduction and ran off to change his shoes and clothes.

The group had an easy time ignoring your presence as you sat on the metal bench, flipping coloured pens between your fingers. Rough doodles filled the page as messily scribbled outlines took the form of the players you saw before you. Some were stretched out in the air while others dove to the ground in elegant swoops.

Your pen skidded across the paper.

“Damn,” you muttered, lifting the tip and forcing it into the papers again. Nothing.

Twirling the ink-filled tool between your fingers you shifted the sketchbook off your lap and taking the pen to the surface of your skin.

The ink skidded, leaving uneven marks in an indecipherable pattern along the surface of your skin before running dry. You reached for another pen, only for the result to repeat. You grabbed another, and another. The pattern continued, pushing and pulling, dragging the fine tips as they slowly began to cover the entire surface of the back of your hand in every colour including your white ink, which luckily still worked fine and contrasted brilliantly with the muddied mess on your hand.

You huffed out a quiet cheer of success, finding that a majority of your pens worked fine, and placed the forgotten book back into your lap, coloured pages ready to be drawn over with your trusty series of pens.

“Yo, Kageyama. Is that another bruise?”

God this one is vague as hell but I didn’t have to brainpower to make it any more decipherable.

It was originally requested that the reader be Sugawara’s little sibling but he only canonically has a little brother, not everyone physically looks like Sugawara, and the adoption trope is meh to me. So I went with a foreign exchange student that is being housed by his family. (if you couldn’t tell)

This au, in particular, is very hard because we try to keep our character (being Y/N) physically ambiguous for the purpose of allowing everybody to enjoy reading it. This au very much panders to those with lighter skin, so I apologize if I didn’t make it as open as I could’ve and please let me know if there are ways I can make this sort of au better. I want everyone to enjoy reading them and not feel excluded.

That’s all, and I hope everyone is healthy and safe. - Bacon

Posted: 06/12/2020

#kageyama tobio #kageyama x reader #Haikyuu x reader #Haikyuu #x reader #oneshot #oneshots #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu reader insert #reader insert #aus #haikyuu aus #fluff #haikyu #anime x reader #anime #manga x reader #manga

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zacc-attacc · 3 years

Text

Nature: A Javid Oneshot

A/N: My first ever oneshot on this website! I hope y’all enjoy!

Word Count- 1.2k

Jack loved the open sky. He loved the stars, the sounds of nature, and everything in between. But, more than anything, it calmed him, something that not many things were able to do. As a kid, he had always dreamed of falling asleep under the stars every single night. And when he was bounced around in foster care, the night sky had been the one common variable. Always there, like a blanket. Luckily for Jack, Some of the Newsies had put together a camping trip in the woods near campus. They had tents (from the Dollar Tree, probably), a bunch of marshmallows, some hotdogs, and a whole lot of energy. And Jack? Jack an invite and a limited will to live. At least Davey would be there, which, to be honest, had its ups and downs.

Ups, because Davey was single-handedly the sweetest human alive and a fun dude to hang out with. And downs, because Davey was Mom Friend Supreme™ and also had an annoying tendency to make Jack’s normally stoic heart do a tap dance in his chest. Which really was inconvenient because Jack’s last relationship had ended only four weeks ago. It wasn’t a nasty breakup, he and Katherine were actually still friends, but the boys still expected him to be depressed about it. But Jack didn’t like to linger. He was upset for a few days, but now he was over it. Katherine obviously was as well, since she was seen going on a few coffee dates with some girl.

But tonight, none of that mattered. Tonight, he could be whoever he wanted to be because that’s just how it was with the Newsies.

Tonight, he could eat bargain hot dogs and s’ mores, and avoid the fact that he was hopelessly in love with the only man he couldn’t have; because god forbid David Jacobs dated a mess like him.

Jack knew exactly where he lay in David’s mind. He was a close friend, maybe a sort of Uncle to his future children with his perfect little life with his husband in the suburbs. David liked him well enough, but he would likely never love him. And Jack had tried to accept that, even though, thus far, it had only made it much worse.

“Ay! Jack! You packed?” Crutchie yelled from his lower bunk. Jack was stretched out on the top bunk, staring at a half-finished political cartoon for his class.

“Yeah… What time’d the guys say to be there?” Jack sat up, hitting his head on the low ceiling. He wasn’t even that tall and it managed to injure him on a daily basis.

“...In five minutes.”

“Shit-” Jack muttered, scrambling to jump down the bunk, only succeeding in hitting his head yet again on the ceiling. After hitting the floor in the heap, all Jack could hear was Crutchie’s cackles.

“Just kidding, It’s actually in 20- I just wanted to see your reaction,” Crutchie wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Yeah, real funny, Crutch,” Jack mumbled, rolling his eyes and smiling. As much as he loved his little brother, he, unfortunately, knew exactly how to get Jack riled up quite easily, which normally ended in Jack running into a wall or stabbing himself in the arm with a pen in a panic.

“S’funny to me,” Crutchie choked out, still laughing. Jack pushed himself to his feet, brushing off the assorted chip crumbs that had migrated from the shitty shag carpeting of his dorm onto his shirt.

“I know, I know,” Jack muttered, grabbing Crutchie’s crutch from the wall and handing them to him. Looking at his laughing face, Jack couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“Alright, let’s get a move on… You ready?” Jack shook his head while still grinning, snatching his duffle bag and Crutchie’s backpack from beside the door.

“Ay! I can carry that!" Crutchie protested, making a grab at the bag.

“Wow, brother dearest, won’t even let me carry a bag,” Jack joked, sticking out his tongue and popping into a dead sprint down the hallway.

“NOW THAT’S JUST UNCALLED FOR!” Crutchie yelled from the hallway.

“LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU, STUPID HEAD!” Jack shouted back, slamming open the door for the stairs and sliding onto the railings down the flights. Once he reached the bottom, he pulled out his phone.

“Text RaceyBoi.”

“What would you like to say?” that stupid automated voice asked back, not fully human or robotic.

“‘Can you go walk Crutchie to the campsite? Left him for CPS reasons.’” CPS was not, in fact, Child Protective Services, but instead Crutchie Protection Squad.

Smiling to himself, Jack started walking towards the woods on the outskirts of campus. He thought he saw Kid Blink and Spot at one point, Heely-ing towards the woods. He couldn’t help but wonder how the wheels would hold up amongst all the vegetation, and quietly hoped he wouldn’t have to call an ambulance tonight.

“Hey, Jack!” came a familiar voice from behind him. His heart automatically deciding to kick into overdrive, Jack turned around to see none other than David Jacobs, grinning and clutching a duffle bag.

“Whaddup, Dave,” Jack grinned back, clapping the taller boy on the shoulder. Seriously, who gave him the right to be this tall? He was like a noodle with a head and arms.

“You heading down to the campsite?” Davey asked, falling into step with Jack.

“That’s the plan. Race is taking Crutchie so that idiot won’t try to carry his backpack again.”

“...You realize he can carry it perfectly fine, right?” Davey said, looking slightly confused.

“Yeah, but I just feel like doin’ something nice for him, y’ know?”

“You may be stupid at times, but you are a good brother, Jack Kelly,” Davey chuckled, taking off his hat and flipping it backward.

“Ey, now don’t get to tellin’ the boys that, I have a reputation as a jerk to keep,” Jack couldn’t stop smiling. Why couldn’t he stop smiling? He felt like someone had turned him into the fucking sun from the Teletubbies.

“I don’t think you could pass as a jerk if you tried,” Davey shrugged, looking into Jack’s eyes so he could get the point across. God, his eyes were brown. Beautiful, chocolatey, perfect brown.

“You would be surprised,” Jack said, tearing his eyes away.

Don’t let yourself get attached, dammit.

“Hey,” Davey stopped. Jack stopped too, staring at him. He put his hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Don’t… Don’t talk like that. I know you, Jackie. Okay? And you aren’t an asshole.”

“Jeez, David, only a few minutes into the trip and you’re already on the late-night talks-” Jack turned away, hoping Davey couldn’t see that he was blushing.

“I need to hear you say it, okay?” He turned Jack around, forcing him yet again to look into his eyes.

“Fine. I… I ain’t an asshole. Ya happy?” Jack bit his tongue forcefully. That almost physically pained him to say.

“Yeah. I… I’m sorry Jack,” Davey said. Jack still wasn’t looking at him.

“Don’t apologize for caring, Davey.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

It was late. The shitty fire that had taken them almost a full hour to make was burning low, and Jack had to keep prodding it with a random stick to keep it lit. Most of the boys had already retired to their tents and sleeping bags, and Davey was fast asleep on his chair. Race was the only one still out.

“Do you think we should wake him up?” Race said, tossing the remains of his s’more into the fire.

“What? Oh, nah, I’ll wake him up when I head in. Poor kid, being a pre-med student probably never sleeps,” Jack pointed out.

“How long do you think you’ll be staying out?” Race asked, standing up and stretching.

“‘Till I get tired,” Jack prodded the fire again, before throwing in another stick.

“Then he’ll be out here all night,” Race joked, cracking a smile.

“I’ll wake him up before then. Wouldn’t want him to get hypothermia or some shit.”

“It’s the middle of April, I highly doubt he’ll get hypothermia, Jack.”

“...Did Racetrack Higgins seriously just say an educated statement?”

“Goodnight-” Race turned away suddenly, seeming intent on changing the subject.

“YOU CAN’T CHANGE IT NOW, WE KNOW YOU’RE SMART,” Jack whisper-shouted, not wanting to wake any of the boys up (especially not Davey).

Race replied with his silence.

Sighing, Jack sat back in his chair. Not having any will to sleep, and nothing more to do, he grabbed out his sketchbook. Nature was always good for inspiration.

Well, it could’ve been nature, or it could’ve been Davey. Because, without even realizing it, Jack had started to sketch the sleeping boy’s figure. His right fist was supporting his cheek, his hat was half-tipped onto his face, shading it slightly. His legs were crossed, and his left arm was set on top of them.

Behind him was a backdrop of pine trees, and, even though that wasn’t the actual view, a full moon, and stars. So many stars. All spelling out little words of love in Spanish, Jack’s first language.

Precioso. Bonita. Perfecto.

His hair was mostly tucked under his cap. His eyes were softer when he slept. A ghost of a smile played at his lips.

Increíble.

Perfect.

Just as Jack was signing his name and dating the piece, Davey began to stir.

Quickly shutting the book, Jack simply stared up at the stars he could see despite the light pollution and thick trees.

“Hey, Jack, saw you drawing there,” Davey said, quietly.

“Oh- uh- yeah, just… lookin’ through some old pieces,” Jack stammered.

“Can I see?”

“Uh- no, this isn’t my graded stuff, it’s all just sketches-“

“Y’know, for an art student, you really don’t like showing your art.”

“Uh- Fine.” Jack gave up and strode across the fire to hand him the book. It was mostly drawings of the boys, maybe he wouldn’t look that far.

...Spoiler alert, he looked that far.

“...Is this me? Right back then, when I was sleeping?”

“Uh-“

“You really made me look better than I’ve ever seen myself.”

“Well, that’s how I see you,” Jack said before he could think about his words. Y’know, like a normal person who is trying to hide a massive crush that could end one of his best friendships.

“Th-that’s… how you see me?” Davey was blushing now. Blushing. Not disgusted.

“Uh… yeah. Y’see here, th-the moon behind ya, the way it… it focuses on you.” Jack said, kneeling by his chair and pointing to it.

You are digging your own grave, Jack Kelly.

“Jack, I… that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Davey was still blushing. He turned his face to Jack’s. He was so close…

“Well… I draw what I think, Dave, ‘cause words… they ain’t my strong suit,” Jack chuckled, pulling back. But Davey leaned forward.

“Your drawings don’t need words, Jack. But the artist of them… That is a man that deserves millions of words said about him.”

“D-Davey… Don’t. Please, don’t do this,” Jack shook his head, standing back up.

“Did I make you uncomfortable? I- I’m sorry, I thought that we-“

“No, David. You didn’t. That’s the exact issue! D-d’ya really think I want to end up breaking your heart? We… We can’t do this, ‘cause it’ll end with me hurting you just like I have a million people! And you don’t deserve that fate! You’re too good for me, David,” Jack might’ve been crying. He wasn’t sure. But he sure as hell was ranting.

“Jack-“

“Don’t Jack me, don’t try to act like it could be any different. We know exactly how this is going to end, and I- I can’t stand losing you, Dave.”

There was a moment of silence. It was obvious Davey was picking his next words carefully.

“You won’t.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“You won’t because I won’t let it, Jack Kelly. I won’t let you lose me as a friend, ever. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

“Da-“

In two strides, Davey crossed the circle of chairs and shut Jack up with a kiss, half-crushing him with how tightly he was holding him.

He did this… this thing that made it obvious this wasn’t his first kiss. The way he moved his head up and down just a little bit. The way he seemed all in but ready to pull away if they needed to at any second.

But more than anything, there was a definitive Davey-ness to him that made it all perfect.

So Jack had found one more reason to like nature. It was where he shared his first-ever kiss with his boyfriend, David Jacobs.

#javid #javid fanfiction #jack x davey #jack kelly #newsies #david jacobs #racetrack higgins #newsies the broadway musical #musicals #musical fics #oneshot #dice writes

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border-spam · 4 years

Text

Leech Lord short: Smile

Late COV:

Troy would rather be anywhere than here right now he figured, rolling exhausted eyes as Mouthpiece's crackling drone blanketed the hall of worship.

He could be working. He could be doing something useful like maybe having a wank in his quarters, or playing Truxican Roulette. Blowing his brains out sounded like a treat honestly, anything other than sitting here like a propped up figurehead next to his sister's empty seat, stuffed into this packed banquet hall and surrounded by what he could only politely describe as "rancid assholes".

Bar JK and Eli, of course.

They were the only real reason he was attending honestly, he could have come up with the same kind of excuse Tyreen had and bailed. It was easy enough to bullshit up some "Deity business" and skip one of these mind numbing ceremonies, but this was in honor of the media department's latest branding push success and as much as Troy knew he was anything but what could be considered a good friend... leaving two of his last remaining confidants to face the night alone was too much of a dick move even for him.

He fidgeted against the throne behind him as the speech continued, trying to shift a particularly stubborn underwire from where it poked into the small of his back. It wasn’t fair, Ty should be here too if he had to be, jammed into uncomfortable ceremonial wear just like what he was currently dealing with. As if he wasn’t in a foul enough mood already without needing to puff the feathers that crowned his collar out of the side of his eyes every few minutes, and the accessories? Man.

Her makeup and costume team needed to tone this shit down. He understood their goal was to make the twins “look the part” for these kinds of events, but he was pretty sure at least 2 ropes of gold chain were mashed somewhere under his breastplate already and peeling them out of indents in his clammy skin later was just another little joy to look forward to once this bullshit was over.

Father Troy was fairly certain that wasn’t something actual God’s had to deal with.

He could just about make out Eli's beaming grin through the incense smoke if he squinted across the room, stood proud if slightly crooked next to Mouthpiece with the rest of the broadcast team at the end of the massive banquet table as his Saint praised their excellent performance this quarter. Good. He deserved it. He worked harder than most people Troy had come across in that department and with almost irrepressible drive, despite the limitations of his health. It was something that had twinged in his guts about Eli almost from the day he'd first come face to face with the man penned 50 times throughout Ven's contract, something he understood better than he'd ever feel comfortable enough to really admit. He got it, and that's why he was here right now, even if Eli may not even notice Troy had shown up.

He huffed a sigh, pressing his cheek harder into the cybernetic's palm as he braced it on the edge of the tablet in front of him, slumping forward to take some weight off his twitching back. Jk was unmoving to his left, sitting stoic as always, a gentle reassurance mirrored in their crossed arms and stiff body language that they were hating this about as much as he was - or at least he hoped that's what they were hating. They had been silent since before the ceremony started, taking their seat behind the heavy golden alter table the twin thrones and Saint's decorated chairs surrounded.

Jak-Knife had snapped at him yesterday, again.

It had been his fault, a clumsily growled insult towards the Vanguard that had dripped from his mouth before he'd caught it. That was happening a lot recently, and Troy had noticed even if others might think he was ignorant of the decline. Saying things he didn't mean, feeling the words coat themselves in venom soon as they slipped across his traitorous tongue, hurting people when he didn't want to...

He glanced around the heaving room, braziers filling the stone hall with dancing warm light glinting off the frescos and stained glass. The lower tables were crammed with worshippers and clergy, none of which were listening to the speech that should have ended an hour ago either. Mouthpiece's sermon was nearly entirely drowned out by the chuckles of laughter and animated discussions the gathered masses filled the halls with as they ate. It was almost welcoming, like a real family in its warmth and not the waiting steel trapjaws of the "belonging” the COV promised, but Troy saw the empty spaces.

There were too many empty seats around his throne he'd rather be filled right now.

God.. he was so tired.

Deciding JK did in fact hate him and attempting to prompt a conversation would only make things worse, he reached into his coat pocket with his left hand and slid his E-Dev across his lap, glancing down to check in on updates from the relative privacy of the table edge's shadow.

460 new message since this morning.

Fuck.

Troy screwed his eyes closed and held his breath, wincing subtly at the burn in his chest. He didn't have the energy for this, mental or physical. The ceremony had hours before it ended and Tyreen had promised him she'd handle the backend of the management tasks while he was here. She'd promised when he’d agreed to fill in for her and attend this despite only just being back from the Eridium Tier meet’n’greet on Demophon. She’d begged and pleaded with him, and when he’d accepted reassured over and over that it wouldn’t be an issue, she’d take care of everything and he could zone out till it was over... and he’d believed her. Fucking idiot he thought to himself, exhausted eyes merging the numbers together as he scrolled downwards to the priority tab.

8 messages - All from *Ven*

He sighed out raggedly, feeling JK shift next to him in response. Aware, but polite enough to not draw attention to his discomfort, a subtle gesture of support even if they weren't in the mood to waste words on him.

Flicking his eyes around the hall again and noting no one was paying attention to the quiet King, he swiped his thumb across the notification alert and began to shift through Ven's messages.

He wanted to burst into laughter about half as much as he wanted to sob, and he closed his eyes, slipping the index finger of his prosthetic over the bridge of his nose to press in and pinch. The E-Dev hummed a quick vibration against his lap as it registered the command to delete the messages, and he let out a shaky breath, the pulse of his heartbeat in his ears drowning out the collected chatter of the hall.

He wanted to go home.

He wanted to just.. pick up Eli, toss JK over his shoulder, ping Ven, and drag Tyreen into a pile in Sanctum, then blast off Pandora and go find Seifa. Go back to before all this shit. Go back to not feeling a friend's fury on his left and his sister's empty seat on his right. Go back to Ven's laughter being easy and Eli not looking at him with some mix of pity and fear. Go back to Sei liking him and having a twin who cared if he was alive.

No Gods, no 3 hour long wankpile speech being given by a masked asshole he couldn't stand but had to attend, go home... take them all to Nekrotafeyo and be happy.

Troy jumped out of his reverie at the touch to his leg, snapping sideways to come face to face with Jak-Knife's mask leaning towards him in concern.

He gambled a slight smile in response and felt a wave of relief at their subtle nod, then returned to stare forwards at the plated food cooling in front of him as they did the same, though neither had so much as touched their meals. Everyone else was enjoying the banquet it seemed, bar JK and himself. Them clearly not in the mood to eat, and he not sure his body would stomach it right now. His shoulders drooped as he leaned harder on the table.

At least the slums wouldn't go hungry tonight.

JK turned in his peripheral vision, twisting towards the tinkling sound of a drinks tray being offered by an acolyte, and he watched quietly from the corner of his eye as they reached for a goblet filled with a rich merlot next to a purp-

"Jak-Knife!!"

His voice cracked and they paused, hand on the glass as they turned to meet his eyes with their lenses. He flinched, clearing his throat in an attempt to redeem some of his damaged ego as the woman serving them's eyes lit with stifled mirth.

"The uh.. the purple one. Take that instead. It's better."

JK's hand moved without them looking back, still staring directly at him as their fingers closed around the other drink. They nodded gently to the server as they brought the glass forward and onto the table in front of them, eying it suspiciously.

"What is it...?" they grumbled through the respirator, quiet enough to be just for his ears.

Troy felt his confidence deflate again, slumping down a little in his seat despite still being a head taller than them.

"I don't know. V-Ven said it was good, I think. I can't eat right now b-but Ven said, V-Ven said.."

JK waved him off with a subtle hand movement, lifting their mask to tip the glass between their lips and sipping far more delicately than could be expected from a mouth so rough.

They paused, and for just a second dread spiked into his stomach. A sudden, gut gripping fear that he'd made a horrific mistake and something had just gone terribly wrong, till he noticed the excited bounce of their knees under the edge of the table, and the telltale flexing of their hand that he'd learned over the years meant JK was about to burst.

"Cactusberry!" they hissed, turning rapidly to him and nearly spilling the drink clutched like a treasure to their chest.

"That's cactusberry Troy! Wine? Wine I think?" the crackle of the mask's filter made it sound like they'd hiccuped in excitement mid-word, and he couldn't help the smile that bloomed across his face, all teeth and crookedness.

They moved closer, shoulder pressing against his arm as they gestured for him to lean down and lower his ear closer to their mask.

"Did I ever tell you about the time me an' my friend found a whole patch o' cactusberry in fruit out in the salt flats? With the Skags? And the missing eye??"

Troy shook his head with a husky laugh, eagerly leaning closer as the words they stumbled over in hurried enthusiasm drowned out Mouthpiece's bullshit and the mind-numbingly empty conversations of the heaving masses around them.

He didn't care that their grip on his leg was getting painful, the night was finally looking up.

Ven/Eli belongs to @hieroglyphix and JK belongs to @godkingsanointed . Weird note, I wrote this days before the Krieg DLC, so that whole Skag / Eye story was fuckin weird when I got to it.

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #troy calypso #tyreen calypso #calypso twins #seifa #jak-knife #ven #leech lord #my hcs #my writing #lldrabbles

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mellifluoushood · 4 years

Text

Into The Dark - C.H. AU [Chapter 1]

A/N: Hello and welcome to my first series! This is an alternative universe with Calum Hood as a tattoo artist. Inspired by the thought of Calum with a nose ring, this is what happened. Thank you to @calumscalm @toofadedtofight and @dukehoods for helping me iron this idea out! Moodboard credit to @ammwritings !! Thank you so much!! xx Synopsis: Full-time college student, Seraphina Sallow, works as a receptionist for world-famous tattoo artist, Calum Hood. Their friendship blossomed when she wrote an article about his tattoo parlour, Fallen Angel Tattoos, for a journalism project at school. Since then, she’s been working as a receptionist at his parlour to put herself through school. As college tuition increases and her social security checks get smaller, she’s beginning to struggle to keep up with her payments. And then, a fallen angel shows up in the parlour, offering her the solution to all of her problems. But, at what cost? (TEASER) Genre (this chapter is): angst / fluff / smut / normal Warning: heavy mentions of drug use (smoking weed), strong language, weapons (firearms) Taglist: @calumscalm @gigglyirwin @ammwritings @loveroflrh @dukehoods @toofadedtofight @babylon-corgis

Her giggles bounce off the black walls in the parlour. It doesn’t quite harmonise with the sound of the tattoo gun buzzing along a client’s skin, but it doesn’t sound out of place. At least not to Calum. The laughing and snorts have become a regularity in his shop. It had started as a quiet shop, the only noise coming from a playlist he made weekly and the occasional small talk clients would make with him. But, her laughing bounced through the door one day, alighting the energy of the parlour with something lighter, happier.

Calum remembers the day as if it were yesterday. He had finished a tattoo, sanitising the skin and wrapping it with Saniderm when the silence was broken by the sound of the bell ringing above the door, followed by an eruption of giggles and an, ‘I’m here, I’ll call after I’m done.’. His eyes had rolled as he muttered a ‘finished’ to the customer before standing up and walking to the front desk. There stood a woman, a little younger than him, searching her large tote bag for something.

“Can I help you?” Calum deadpanned, looking at the woman whilst taking money from the customer. He knew he was being rude to both the customer and the woman, but the customer had been asking him questions the entirety of the tattoo and the woman was too cheerful to be in a dark, quiet parlour.

“Oh, yes, I’m here for...” she pulls out a small notebook and a recorder, flipping open the cover and looking at the name, “Calum Hood. I’m Seraphina Sallows, I have an interview with him.”

“That’s me,” Calum raises his eyebrows, a little irritated this reporter hadn’t bothered to look him up, or even know his name when she stepped into the parlour.

“Oh, hello,” she smiles. She extends her hand. Calum doesn’t take it. Instead, he walks from the front desk and to his station. Seraphina purses her lips but follows him. He sits on the tattoo chair, waving her to sit in the spinning chair he usually sat in. She sat quietly, unsure of how to act around him. Her smile tended to put her interviewees at ease, but instead, it seemed to make Calum more jaded, tenser.

When she sat down, he looked at her from head to toe. Besides from her smile and laugh, she didn’t exactly scream ‘bright’. She had dark brown, curly hair with a straightened fringe hanging just over her groomed eyebrows. Her eyes were a dark shade of brown, much like dark chocolate that seemed to sparkle in the fluorescent lighting. Calum thought he saw hints of green around her iris’s perimeter. She had olive skin that was tanned, covered in small handwriting tattoos. A few rings decorated her fingers that gripped a black pen, notebook open in her lap to jot down notes. She wore an oversized shirt that hung over what he presumed were shorts. He could see scattered tattoos along her thighs and calves. The only thing bright about her was her teeth that gleamed whenever she braced her pearly whites. Through the fabric of her shirt, he could see a navel piercing. He noted the nose ring on the right side of her nose. The only thing bright about Seraphina was her name, her smile, her teeth and her voice.

As the interview went on, he had noted her morbid sense of humour and lack of optimism about her future, even though she was in college. Her voice was light, resonating just the right tone in her chest for her 5-foot 2-inch stature. He was intrigued, to say the least. He wondered why she put off such a happy persona when she very clearly was not happy.

Since then, he’s learned that she is happy. She’s happy in her own way. Calum couldn’t describe it to anyone if they ever asked, he had never been the best with his words.

“You done, Miss Slap Happy?” Calum questions, walking in from his station to say goodbye to his client. He barely acknowledges the client once his eyes land on Seraphina.

“Done with what?” She rolls her eyes at him, giving the client a gleaming smile and announcing the total. Along with the tip, Calum had made good money off this customer.

“Done with being annoying,” Calum deadpans as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She rolls her eyes at him once more. It’s all she ever seemed to do around him. Except for smile. She smiled around him a lot.

“You’re one to talk, Mister Grumpy,” Seraphina uses a baby voice at the end. Calum just nods at his client before returning to his station to sanitise it before close. Seraphina follows the customer to the door, thanking him for his business and locking the glass door once he’s left. She can hear the sound of the spray bottle along with the squeaking of the paper towel rubbing along the metal rolling table and leather of the tattoo chair as she approaches his work station.

“Are we still on for drinks?” Calum asks, referring to their Friday night ritual. Drinks at Steve’s before either going home or hopping over to a club for more overpriced drinks. She quickly turns around, trying to conceal the guilt on her face,

“I can’t, I thought I told you last week,” she frowns, her attempt at sounding genuine quite feeble as she turns off the computer. Calum rounds his corner from his station, furrowing his brows.

“No?” His voice has an edge to it. He notices the way she swallows before replying to him,

“I have plans,” she simply states, not willing to share what she was up to. Calum makes a face,

“Care to elaborate?”

“It’s not important,” she shrugs, trying to conceal the lie. Calum picks up on the way that she tried to lighten the tone, but there was something underneath her words that poke at Calum.

“Whatever,” it’s his turn to roll his eyes. She looks down at the desk, biting at her lip when her phone vibrates in her pocket. She quickly fumbles for it, reading the address from a blocked number before shoving it back in her shorts. Calum watches as her facial features fell at the sight of whoever texted her. He could see the way her eyes had begun to develop small drops of something that he didn’t recognise. He had never seen that look in her eyes before.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Seraphina shrugs off Calum’s attitude, a fake smile winding its way up to the corners of her mouth. Calum scoffs before turning on his heel, unlocking the front door and slamming it behind him.

She flinches at the sound of the metal edges hitting the doorframe, her own heart seeming to flinch at Calum’s mood. She pulls out her phone, texting an ‘on my way’ before collecting her bag and leaving the shop, locking the door behind her.

She looks down either side of the sidewalk, turning left and finding her car parked on the side of the road. The old, beat-up Corolla was on its last leg, but she simply didn’t have it in her to buy another car. And neither did her bank account. She unlocked the door, the dark blue showing a few scratches around the handle, looking to her left and right again, before getting in. It’s stuffy and warm, the upholstery absorbing all of the heat from sitting outside all day. She starts the engine, quickly peeling out of the parking spot before heading for the address.

She looks at the abandoned building. Its grey walls are tagged with graffiti, that begin to cover the boarded-up windows. She notices the broken beer bottles in front of the door. She doesn’t see anyone outside. She pulls out her phone before sending Calum a quick, ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t make it tonight.’ He sees her message almost immediately, leaving the words ‘Read 19:57′ under the blue box. She sighs, pulling her hair out its bun and her fingers along her scalp. She looks up again, jumping at the sight of a man appearing at the entrance of the building.

She turns off the engine of her car, stepping out, looking left and right again, before shutting the door and locking it. She walks around the hood, tucking her hands across her chest as she approaches the man in front of the door. She recognises him as the client she had spoken to earlier in the day,

“Roy,” she nods her head at him. He smiles at her,

“Seraphina, I’m glad you could make it.” She stands in front of him, planting herself a few feet away from him, “I didn’t know if you’d take me up on my offer.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs. Her voice is no longer bright and her teeth no longer shine. Roy is smiling as if this is completely normal for him.

“Alright, let’s get started. You’re going to need this,” he reaches underneath his shirt and produces a handgun. It looks heavy as he holds it, “A Glock 19. Best for beginners,” he holds the barrel of the gun, handing her the grip. She doesn’t take it immediately. She simply stares, watching as the black shines under the street light a few feet from where they’re standing. She looks to her left and right again, looking for any sign of a security camera or cars passing by.

“Go on, it isn’t gonna bite,” he jokes. Her brown eyes look back at him and she swallows, hard. Uncrossing her arms, she reaches for the gun, slowly. When she grasps her hand around the grip and looks at Roy for further instruction. He releases the gun and it’s heavier than she anticipates. She catches it before she loses her grasp and it clatters to the ground.

“The safety is right next to the trigger. You take that off when you wanna shoot it, otherwise, it’s best if you keep it on. You cock the gun by moving the slide back. Make sure you have the safety off when you do that so you’re prepared to shoot if you need to,” he points to the spots on the gun. She barely absorbs his words as the heavy piece of metal shines back at her, almost as it’s taunting her.

She swallows again, nodding and looking up at Roy. She shakily checks to see if the safety is on before stuffing it in the band of her shorts. It feels stiff against her bare thigh, the metal a shocking cold. The cold always used to reboot her system when she was in shock. This kind of cold, only made it worse.

“You ready to meet the boss man?” Roy chuckles, leaning against the abandoned building and crossing his arms over his chest. She licks at her lips, using her front teeth to bite down on her lower lip. She shrugs nervously,

“I guess.”

Across town, Calum sits at the bar by himself. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t get his one night off. Saturdays, they opened the shop late, so he could be out till whenever he pleased on Friday nights. He had phoned Michael to join him. He didn’t want to drink alone tonight. When Michael walks through the entryway, he’s surprised that Calum’s alone at the bar. Michael approaches, slapping a hand on his tense shoulder,

“Hey, mate, what’s up?”

“Nothing,” Calum mutters, sipping at his whiskey on the rocks.

“What crawled up your ass?” Michael takes a seat next to his friend, signalling the bartender for a cider.

“Nothing nice, I can tell you that,” Calum tries to joke, but his voice comes out more like a growl.

“Where’s Seraphina?” His friend asks. Calum shoots him a look as if to say ‘don’t bother asking’, but Michael’s nosiness isn’t to be battled.

“I’ll ask again,” Calum turns his attention back to his whiskey, “Where’s Seraphina?”

“I don’t know,” he chuckles dryly, tossing back the glass. He gulps down the brown alcohol, no change in his facial expression, “Said she had ‘plans’.”

“And that was it?” Michael pushes.

“Yeah, Michael, that was it.” Calum snaps, flagging down the bartender for another whiskey. He was just starting to feel fuzzy, his stomach beginning to bubble with warmth, spreading a buzz throughout his blood. Michael sips at the bottle that had been placed in front of him, biting at his inner lip, trying to stop himself from asking more questions. Instead, he pulls out his phone, typing a quick, ‘Where are you?’ to Seraphina.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket as she stands next to Roy. She swallows, ignoring it as the man approaches her. His bald head shines in the dim light of the seemingly abandoned building. There are few lights in the back room, barely illuminating his facial features. The only things she can notice about him is the hollowness of his face and the sharp bones protruding from his cheeks. He has something between a five o’clock shadow and scruff along his jaw and above his upper lip. His green eyes are piercing, taunting as they look her up and down.

“You’re Connor’s ex-girlfriend,” he states with an amused tone. She nods her head.

“Thought you broke up with him to get out of this mess,” he presses.

“Circumstances change,” her voice is quiet. The boss barks out a laugh, turning around to the beaten up table holding bags of lord knows what. She looks at his stained white wife-beater. It’s covered in smears of brown and red.

“Well, I’m glad to have you aboard,” he turns around to look at her, sitting on the edge of the table. His mouth widens into a smile, revealing teeth that hadn’t seen the inside of a dentist office in what looked like decades. She subconsciously runs her tongue along the front of her teeth, “A hot little piece of ass like you will be real’ good for business, real good.” He runs his eyes up and down her legs again. Seraphina swallows once more.

“What were you thinking of starting with? Just some bud, or were you looking to make a bit more?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, I think you should go with more,” he reveals his teeth again in some form of a smile, “With you being in college and all, fending for yourself.” His words send a shiver down her spine. She suddenly feels hyper-aware of the piece that’s sitting on her left hip, the cold seemingly burning an imprint into her skin. The hair on the back of her neck stands up and she can feel the blood rush out of her face.

“O-okay,” she stutters. His smile goes wider,

“Let’s start you with some bud and some blow. Those are our best sellers, and I’m sure a lady like you won’t have a problem selling them.” She nods as he grabs plastic bags of white powder and green nuggets. She had seen this exchange plenty of times from a safe distance of a car parked across the street, the man hiding in the shadows, only hands holding bags visible in street lamps. She would watch as Connor looked left and right before taking the bags and stuffing them into his pockets.

“This bag has three others inside of it; a twenty bag, a fifty bag and an ounce,” he hands her the weed. She takes it slowly, trying to stop the shaking of her hands, “This bag also has three: half a gram, gram and a ball. I’m assuming you know what those go for,” he raises his eyebrows at her. She nods slowly before taking the plastic bag in her free hand.

He turns around and sits at his table again, “Let me just make something clear. If you don’t sell it all, you pay me for it. If you sell it all and aren’t honest with how much you make, you will pay for it. If you take it and keep the money for yourself...” he chuckles. The warning bells in her skull begin to ding at a high rate, “Well, you can fill in the blanks.”

Michael checks his phone for the thirtieth time as it seems like Calum knocks back his fifth glass of whiskey. Calum stopped responding to Michael’s attempts at conversation around glass number three. He’s been sitting in silence, staring at the bar top in front of him, his fingers wrapped tightly around the glass. Michael’s about to open his mouth again when a voice interrupts them,

“Hey, guys,” Seraphina’s voice is breathless when she approaches the bar, smiling at the bartender and ordering her usual. She sits in the open seat to Calum’s right. He lifts his head to look at her for a moment, noticing the small sheen of sweat that had begun to accumulate on her hairline and the redness lingering in the whites of her eyes,

“You’re stoned.” He states, looking back at his whiskey, knocking it back once again. He signals for his sixth.

“No,” she chuckles, “Just warm.”

“Yeah, sure,” Calum scoffs, watching as the bartender switched out the empty glass in front of him for another full one.

“Anyway, how are you, Michael?” Her attention turns to his blonde friend. She directs her voice towards him, but her eyes scan Calum. His black nose ring his still snug against his nostril, his array of roses tattooed on his neck still there, his brown, curly hair resting on top of his head the way it normally does. He’s wearing the same black t-shirt he wore earlier. His eyes are still the same dark brown they’ve always been. She’s checking to see if he’s changed when the reality of the situation is that she has.

Michael’s voice begins to chatter on as Calum’s gaze wanders to Seraphina. Her shoulders are tensed, her posture straighter. And that’s when his eyes spot it. The barrel of a gun outlined in her jean shorts.

#into the dark #isabella writes #5sos #5sos blurb #5sos fic #5sos fluff #5sos imagine #5sos smut #calum hood #calum hood blurb #calum hood fic #calum hood fluff #calum hood imagine #CH

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beelsnack · 4 years

Note

yo like,,, the bro’s with an anxious MC. (it doesn’t have to be like, a panic attack, but like an MC whose always anxious but hides it well except for the occasional leg bounce, nail biting/picking, overall fidgeting. like what would they do to help calm them and point out “you’re doing it again”. would they not like it to the point of being annoyed or would the just be concerned? dhddh sorry)

Y’all ‘bout to find out every one of my nervous tics.

Also, shush, no apologizing, you could literally send me an ask that is entirely keyboard smash and I would still answer it with as much enthusiasm as any other prompt. And my DMs are open if you need to talk about anything, Nonnie.

Lucifer: He had forgotten how difficult speaking during student council meetings could be.

Lucifer himself wasn’t feeling nervous, but watching the way the human twisted the same strand of a hair around their index finger over and over again made his heart clench in sympathy. For all his smiles and warm welcomes, Diavolo was quite an imposing man.

If they were so anxious, they could have simply refused. The prince hadn’t ordered them to give this report, merely suggested it. But, as with everything they did, they dove headfirst into the project. Honestly, if Lucifer hadn’t picked up on their little nervous habit, he wouldn’t have been able to tell they were uncomfortable.

A sense of pride washed over him as he watched the human power through despite their fear and anxiety. Of course his human would be able to overcome this obstacle.

When, after what Lucifer imagined was the longest five minutes of their life, they concluded their report and the Student Council meeting, he met them outside the chamber.

“You did well.” he placed a hand on their shoulder. He could feel the slight tremors wracking their body, but you would never know that from looking at them. They smiled up at him, laughing sheepishly.

“You think so? I was worried I would forget everything with how nervous I was.”

“Hm...” he used his grip on their shoulder to spin them around. The little “oof” noise they made when he embraced them was just too precious. “Next time, just focus on me and pretend there’s no one else in the room.”

“I don’t think that will make me less nervous, but okay.”

Mammon: They really had no reason to worry. Mammon had watched them recite their notes verbatim the night before, they were going to ace this test.

Lucifer’s threats must have gotten to them.They were laser-focused on the test sheet in front of them, scribbling away like a good little student. (Mammon knew he should be focusing on his own work instead of staring at the human, shut up.) To everyone else, they looked perfectly fine. But Mammon knew their tells.

They had this one necklace that they wore all the time. Nothing fancy, just a simple chain with a charm on it. It was long enough that, when they were particularly worked up, they tended to put the charm in their mouth. Honestly, Mammon was surprised the thing didn’t look like a chewed piece of gum with how often they worried at it.

The last time he got busted for talking in class, Lucifer’s punishment had him wishing he could die. So he did the next best thing.

He nudged them under the desk with his knee. The human nearly hit the ceiling, and he felt a little guilty as he slip the scrap of notebook paper over to them.

Relax, you’ve got this. And you’ve got the Great Mammon here if you need me.

The grateful smile they shot him was more precious than any gemstone, and was entirely worth the scolding he got from the teacher for passing notes.

Leviathan: They had been so excited to go to this concert that they had almost forgotten how much they hated crowds.

Almost.

It was an open air venue, so they weren’t too claustrophobic. But they got anxious in crowds of humans, forget about a crowd of demons.

Honestly, they loved Sucre Frenzy, and they wanted to dance and sing along with the rest of the crowd, but they were well aware that if they got separated from Levi, they might as well just serve their soul on a silver platter to the nearest demon.

There were already a few who were eyeing them up, just waiting for them to get jostled away.

“Hey, what’s up?” Levi asked over the roar of the crowd. “This is your favorite song, isn’t it?”

They blinked up at him, subconscious biting at their thumbnail. “It’s just...a bit crowded, you know?” their eyes flicked back to the group of demons that had been inching closer. Levi, surprisingly perceptive, followed their gaze and scowled.

He may have been painfully awkward sometimes, but he was still a ruler of Hell, and when he straightened up from his perpetual slouch and bared his fangs, you could see why.

The other demons slunk off with their tails literally between their legs, and the human breathed out a sigh of relief.

Levi reached out and took their hand, even though they literally were just biting on their nails. “Y-you need to stay close, okay?” it was hard to tell because of the colorful lights flashing from the stage, but they knew Levi well enough to guess that he was probably blushing. “Not like I want to h-h-hold your hand or anything, normie! Lucifer will make me into sushi if something happens to you, is all!”

Satan: Click-click. Click-click. Click-click.

Satan felt his eyebrow twitch as he looked up from his homework. “Is there a particular reason you’re doing that?”

They jumped, looking away from their own homework. “Huh?”

The demon, instead of responding, took his own pen and clicked the top down and up again.

“Oh!” the human grinned sheepishly, a light blush dusting over the tops of their cheeks. “Sorry. Nervous habit.”

“What are you nervous about?” Satan raised an eyebrow. “We’re just sitting here doing homework.”

They sighed. “I’m so worried I’m going to fail! I wasn’t the best student up in the Human Realm, but down here I don’t know jack shit! And I can’t even bullshit my way through it like I did in my literature classes!”

“Hey, easy.” Satan reached across the small library table they had commandeered for themselves and took hold of their hands. “You won’t fail. You’re smart, and you’ve been working hard since you got here. You’ll be fine. Now please, for the love of everything good in the Three Realms, stop clicking that pen.”

Asmo: “Darling, the straw isn’t edible.”

The two of them had been out for the majority of the day. Asmo had insisted that it was impossible for them to survive the Devildom with just their uniform and a few pairs of lounge clothes, so he had whisked them off to Majolish for an impromptu fashion show. Now, as the sky was turning from the lavender color that was the closest it got to “light” to the thick inky color of nighttime, they had made themselves comfortable in an adorable little cafe where all Asmo had to do was wink at the barista and she gave them a discount.

“Ugh, sorry. That’s definitely not my cutest habit.” they sighed. The tip of their straw was littered in teeth marks.

“Something on your mind? You were staring off into the distance.” Asmo leaned forward, cupping his chin in his hand. “Come on, you know you can tell me anything.”

They fought to urge to stick the straw back in their mouth. “Majolish didn’t do anything for my self-image, I guess.”

“Eh? Why not? You looked absolutely stunning in anything you tried on.”

“Not compared to the other people in there.” they muttered.

“Darling, they should be comparing themselves to you. Actually, I think some of them were.” Asmo grinned. “We were definitely the cutest couple in there, for sure. So, no more self doubt, okay? Besides,” Asmo’s voice dropped in pitch. “I can think of something else for you to put in your mouth.”

“Are you telling me that you want me to chew on your dick?”

“You wouldn’t be the first one to use a little teeth, darling.”

Beelzebub: “Why do you have Band-Aids on your fingers?”

It wasn’t the first time Beel had noticed it. Periodically, they would should up with most of their fingers bandaged. They always insisted they were fine, but it becoming a more frequent occurrence.

They had brushed of Lucifer’s concerned, but Beel hoped they had a bit more trust in him. Apparently, he was right.

“It’s a preventative measure.” they sighed. “I always pick at my nails when I’m nervous. Like, to the point where they start bleeding. So, if I keep them bandaged, I can’t pick at them. It’s not like I do it all the time, but I really don’t want my blood being an ingredient.”

“I’ll bet your blood would taste good, though.”

“Not the point, Beel.” they laughed, hip checking him out of the way as they reached for the spice cabinet. “Should I use the yellow spice or the purple?”

“Purple. The yellow one is ground sulfur.”

“See, this is why I keep you around.”

Beel chuckled before a thoughtful look passed over his face. “You said it’s a nervous habit. Are you nervous?”

“Literally all the time.” their tone was light, but Beel heard the soft undertone of exhaustion.

“Why?”

The human shrugged, not turning around to look at him as they stirred the soup. “Every human gets anxious, but some of us are anxious all the time. Like, in a mental health way. I was like this before I got here, it isn’t your fault.”

“Can I help?”

That made the human pause. Finally, they turned around and smiled softly at him. “Trust me, Beel, you already do.”

Belphegor: They were practically vibrating with nervous energy.

The only reason Belphie could tell was because he had made himself comfy on their shoulder while his brother’s tried to decide on what movie to watch.

Well, that, and they were continuously bouncing their leg while rubbing their hand against the material of their jeans.

“Are you always this restless?” he asked, peering up at them through one eye.

“Not usually, no.”

Belphie hummed. “So why are you now, then?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

As their hand made another pass down their leg, Belphie caught it. “If you need something to fidget with, play with my hair.”

“Huh?”

Belphie tugged their hand up to his hair. “Lilith used to do it when she was nervous. It calmed her down for some reason, so you should do it to. Plus, I like having my hair played with.”

They hesitated, and for a moment Belphie worried he might have made a wrong move, but eventually, their hand settled on top of his head. Their fingers idly twisted the strands and scratched lightly at his scalp. Little by little, they settled.

“Thanks Belphie.”

His only response was a yawn, but the human noticed the soft smile on his face.

#shall we date obey me #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 4 years

Text

Goodnight, Aaron (Aaron Hotchner x OC) Chapter 4

Summary: With Hotch’s blessing, Sebastian begins to assimilate into the Hotchner household.

Tagging: @sunlight-moonrise, @clean-bands-dirty-stories, @genevievedarcygranger, and @davidrossi-ismydad

Chapter 3 // Masterlist // AO3 Link // Chapter 5

Dropping Jack off at school proved to be the easiest thing in Sebastian’s day, despite not waking up past ten o’clock for the past few weeks.

Packing his possessions only took two hours in comparison to the literal hellscape that was the cleaning up. His tiny bedsit hid plenty of nooks and crannies that hoarded dust and grime. On his hands and knees, Sebastian scrubbed away with anti-bac spray and wipes in hopes that he would get his deposit back.

He really fucking hated cleaning. It always took him way too long. Probably because he got putting on a video for background noise – it had to be something he found interesting to help pass the time but not so interesting that he would be pulled into watching it. A fine wire to walk and Sebastian had terrible balance to match his attitude. There was also the fact that he would often put off cleaning with the excuse of doing it all in one big go.

Past Sebastian was a bitch and Present Sebastian was suffering because of it

After a quick lunch of his leftovers, he lay back on the floor and dialled for his best friend. She picked up after three rings and he whined loudly to her.

“Bellamy, help me. I’m drowning in used wipes in my shitty shitty bedsit.”

“Hmm, delicious,” and Bellamy hung up.

Sebastian didn’t bother ringing up to see if she’d appear in the room. He decided that he would find out if she was on her way or not in the next hour.

Turns out it only took twenty minutes for Bellamy to push the front door open with the tip of her wedges.

“Why’d you call me to help you clean? Sexist pig,” and she swung her leg over his head.

Sebastian didn’t bother trying to dodge, letting the air shoot past his ear, a few stray hairs fluttering in Bellamy’s wake, “Because Klaus would make more mess, and I love your scintillating company – did you bring anything?”

“I got me coffee and you Haribo’s.”

Just another reminder as to how all that kerfuffle with his work visa was worth it.

He clasped his hands together as if in prayer, “I adore you; I owe you my life.”

With a grin, Bellamy tossed the packet his way, “Give me a cloth and tell me about your new boss then.”

Another thing Bellamy brought was the tunes. She was mumbling lyrics as she scrubbed away at the skirting board, Sebastian harmonising in terrible ways. The tasks didn’t get completed much quicker, but it was much more entertaining for Sebastian. Who knew what Bellamy was up to before this, she didn’t tell him.

Bellamy tossed a bag into the garbage can and peered in despite the smell, “Somehow still better than my flat.”

“When are you moving out by the way?”

“Who knows, maybe I’ll move into your bedsit.”

“Don’t, landlord’s a prick.” And Sebastian looked over his shoulder, a belated measure

“Still better than mine.”

Bellamy stayed right up until all the belongings were crushed into Sebastian’s car and the door was locked by them for the final time. It was a very unemotional time when Sebastian tossed the keys through the letterbox, and they left down the murky stairwell together.

To say Jack enjoyed the sight of all Sebastian’s bags pilled together in the backseats was an understatement. The drive back, he was more elated by the tracks leaking from Sebastian’s stereo. His chatter on the drive back about the games in the playground filled the time, and Sebastian was drawn into the world of spies Jack had created.

The energy dipped when Jack and Sebastian had to carry all of Sebastian’s belongings inside. The lift worked, thank God, but Sebastian was still weighed down with his bags for life. Plus Jack could only carry so much. He was only somewhat eager to drag Sebastian’s wheelie suitcase down the corridors. And even less so was Jack to get on with his homework once the car was clear of baggage.

Sebastian sneaked a sly glance at Hotch’s list of Jack’s preferred snacks before he made up some apple slices with peanut butter. Gotta trick the kids into eating their five-a-day.

Somehow, after that snack break, Jack transformed his mood into “very understanding” about doing his science work - especially for an eleven-year-old. He listened to Sebastian’s reason, one he wished he’d thought about and listened to when he was Jack’s age, was heard.

The Lego break was greatly appreciated too. Especially since it was coupled with the front door opening at quarter to seven to reveal Hotch.

“Hi, Daddy!” Jack trotted over and hugged his middle.

“You’re home early,” Sebastian cheered from the kitchen counter.

“On time for once,” Hotch set his stuff on the side, and his gun into the drawer swiftly after. “Don’t expect it to happen often.” Then, as Jack went back to the dinner table, Hotch knelt down and removed a second gun from an ankle holster. Sebastian didn’t comment. He must have just missed that last time.

“What you doing, buddy?” Hotch joined Jack at the table, subbing in where Sebastian left off. He brought his own pile of paperwork with him. But it stayed in his briefcase.

“Math.”

“Let’s have a look.”

Sebastian’s cooking playlist continued with its lyricless songs. But it was turned it way down and Sebastian felt more self-consciousness about each song still coming up. Towards the final seconds, he would hover over the skip button before deciding that it wouldn’t be so bad if it continued.

One of Sebastian’s favourite songs came on, but he had very little time to enjoy it.

When Jack heard that it was playing, he bounced on his little butt with excitement, “Sebastian wants to get married to this song!”

Looking between Jack and Hotch, who was looking expectantly for an answer with a little grin, Sebastian noticed his jaw was slack and promptly shut it.

“I would like to have my first dance to this song,” He explained, a little slower than Jack who continued:

“We listened to it in the car! But he doesn’t like a bit in the middle so he’s going to change it.”

Sebastian bit his cheek and got back to stirring the cabbage around in the saucepan in a triangle.

“Is this it?” Hotch tapped his pen against the homework, “The part you don’t like?”

“Not yet,” Sebastian replied, “There’s a change from three to four beats per bar in a sec first.”

And, as if he wanted to make things even worse for himself, Sebastian began to wave out the time signature with the fork he’d been using in the saucepan. Hotch and Jack watched the movement the movement change from a triangle to a lightning bolt as the song shifted into its denouement.

“So maybe I’d have to get it edited,” Sebastian finished, his voice fading out the more he spoke.

He didn’t point it out when they reached the moment of upbeat, just before the closing bars that didn’t fit with the traditional wedding idea. Who knows? Maybe he’d be unconventional if he got married, jam out with his significant other on the dance floor.

But he wasn’t about to discuss that with Hotch - or continue it with Jack for that matter. And he didn’t look up from his cooking until it was done and ready to be served.

Hotch ate with them, sat beside Jack while Sebastian was opposite. Jack gave an enthused rehashing of this spy game’s narrative beats. His fork was his baton as he orchestrated a rich tapestry of how he and his friends crept about the playground together. Interjecting appropriately, Hotch offered him tips of the trade, like some hand signals to use while sneaking underneath the windows of the classroom.

“Did you move in alright?” He suddenly addressed Sebastian.

Prayed none of his food was stuck in his teeth, Sebastian replied, “Yeah thanks, I’ll probably be unpacking for some of tomorrow though.”

Jack helped Sebastian load the dishwasher after dinner while Hotch disappeared into his office. It didn’t go unmissed, the way Jack’s behaviour slumped as soon as his father turned to walk away from him.

However, when Hotch reappeared sans suit jacket and tie, Sebastian bit back his laughter. Not because he thought the sight was funny, but he was just so pleased for Jack as the two began setting up a film. It was such a beautiful event to watch unfold from the kitchen table, where Sebastian was flying his Minecraft avatar about the server in search of something to do. He wanted to ring his mum, but by the power of time-zones, he was rendered incapable. So instead he punched a tree until it fell.

“Sebastian! Are you going to watch with us?” Jack said, his neck craning as far as he could go to look at his nanny while he pulled the puppy eyes on him.

“Um,” Sebastian threw a glance at the horrendous clock tower besides Bellamy’s mansion, “I’m gonna work for a bit, sorry Jack.”

The puppy dog eyes grew wider – how that was possible, Sebastian didn’t know – but Jack accepted the answer with relative grace and settled with Hotch on the couch, his legs buried beneath a blanket.

Sebastian decided to start building, something productive. But the further he got into his project, the further he wanted to jump into the ocean because of how ugly everything he made turned out to be. The booming opening titles of a Star Wars film brought him back to the apartment, where Hotch was retrieving something from the fridge, barely giving Sebastian just enough time to switch tabs to his email before he walked behind him.

But then he stopped beside him and spoke under his breath, “You live here too now. You don’t have to worry about bothering us.”

“Ah, I don’t wanna encroach on your time with Jack. And I was just gonna go to the shops. You want owt?” It all came tumbling out of Sebastian’s mouth pretty quick.

“‘Out’?” Hotch repeated.

“Owt, anything, it’s slang for anything.”

“Oh, no thank you. We’re all set,” and he held up the chocolate bar in his hand with a little smile. Sebastian’s stomach tensed but he returned the smile and closed his laptop lid, off to his room to get his rucksack.

Hotch’s arm rested around Jack on the back of sofa. They took turns breaking a square off the chocolate bar, Jack occasionally going for another between

“It makes sense that ‘owt’ is ‘anything’, if ‘nowt’ is ‘nothing’,” Hotch remarked, his head falling back on the couch to look at Sebastian. He shot him back a single finger gun.

“Now you’re getting it.”

“You don’t have to keep your shoes by the door either.”

“Oh, your poor carpets,” Sebastian let out a laugh at his oh-so-very-lame comment, making eye contact with the dress shoes that rested beside Hotch’s feet in pewter grey socks on the floor.

The shop was only a ten-minute walk away and he knew what he wanted. Sebastian still looped around the aisles as if he did not know where his next minute would be spent on this mortal coil. Eventually he settled on a slice of banoffee pie from the bakery. He answered the phone at the till, not so subtly bringing up the subject of their Minecraft time to Bellamy on the other end:

“Have you been on the server yet?”

“No, I’m marking some homework. Why? You wanna hop on tonight?”

“Ah, I’m gonna wait until Jack is off to bed first.”

“I’ll keep you posted on how the little buggers do with their homework.” And there was a clink of a glass in the background, “But I’m telling you, if I read one more ‘Curly’s wife’s nails are red because red means danger’.”

“Make it a drinking game! Don’t, don’t do that.”

Sebastian just missed the rain on his walk back. Thankfully so because his hoodie wouldn’t provide much protection for himself or for his pie. Upon re-entering the apartment, he was greeted by Jack and Jack alone.

“You alright, bud? Where’s ya Dad?”

“He had to get the phone.”

Speak of the devil, Hotch returned to the sitting room with his tie neat in place and suit jacket returned on his back. As he collected his belongings from his safe, he caught sight of Sebastian, “I gotta go to the office, shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”

He kissed the top of Jack’s head and nodded goodbye at Sebastian before leaving. It was then Sebastian saw that the movie was paused and Jack was eating the last square of chocolate.

“Do you want to finish the film, or wait until your dad comes back?”

“Finish it, please,” Jack drooled a little and Sebastian grabbed a tissue to mop it up.

He poked away at the pie before eating it. The pair watched in quietude before Sebastian remembered the last of his snacks at the bottom of his bag.

“You want a Haribo?”

They went through the usual routine: the Millennium Falcon speeding away with the gang barely intact before the credits rolled, teeth brushing, Sebastian reading Where The Wild Things Are until Jack was dozing off and not fighting his nanny easing him lower into his pillows.

The ugly-as-hell clock tower was demolished in favour of making a little paddock for the cows. Bellamy joined the server and insisted on an extension to their little home.

When he realised how dark his room had gotten, Sebastian checked the time.

11:03.

He closed the lid of his laptop. Then he lay down on his bed with his eyes open and listened. Just his breathing and the beating of his heart were heard, slow and steady for Lord knows how long.

Then the front door creaked.

Footsteps padded across the floor, and the hall light snapped on. A shadow beneath the door passed by. He heard Hotch go into Jack’s room. Then the light went out again and a bedroom door closed.

Sebastian turned over and closed his eyes, now that he was ready to sleep.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x oc #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #my writing #wc: 2k+#r: male #series #goodnight aaron

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

Mama Mina

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Denki Kaminari, Mina Ashido

Hey, everyone! Here’s another story for @bnhabookclub‘s weekly SFW prompt, “You can’t ignore me forever!” Enjoy! :)

Denki’s lips were drawn up in a cheerless pout as he lay sideways on his bed, repeatedly bouncing a ball against his opposite wall. With languid, practiced motions that were more muscle memory than actual attentive efforts, he flicked his wrist to lob the ball at the same spot on the wall he had been for the last hour. He watched with dull lidded eyes as the squishy rubber toy sailed across the width of the bedroom, struck the smooth painted surface, dove down at a forty-five-degree angle to bounce once on the polished wooden floor strewn with dirty socks and worn tee-shirts, then returned to his waiting hand. Shwip. Thunk. Thwock. Slap. The sounds echoed, just as depressing and lifeless as the ambiance.

“Stupid,” he muttered aloud as he hurled the ball across the room once more. “Absolutely useless. What’re you even here for, Denki?” The ball slammed into the wall as he subconsciously applied more force to the throw; in turn, its arc changed dramatically and crashed into his face instead of his hand. The ball ricocheted off his nose to collide with his desk lamp, causing it to spin wildly around and knock into the plastic cup holding his writing utensils. He cursed as he rolled onto his back with both his hands tenderly holding his bruised face, trying to ignore the added insult of his pencils and pens sliding over the desk and clattering to the floor. In the background of that and his groans, he could hear the rubber ball bouncing and then rolling over the wood to come to rest somewhere under his bed. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

Denki usually tried to stay positive. He really did. That was his thing, after all, being the plucky optimist. He had drained his supply of sanguinity, however; the cistern was as dry as a desert, not a drop of confidence to be found. How could he be self-assured, after making an absolute fool of himself in the third round of the Sports Festival? It had taken literal seconds for Ibara Shiozaki to obliterate him in their one-on-one battle. Denki had never suffered such a grievous insult in his life. Of course, it wasn’t her fault. It was all his stupid fault.

He pushed the balls of his palms into his eyes, trying to force the tears that were brimming there from leaking out. He failed miserably at that as well. The salty liquid rolled down his flushing cheeks to bead on his chin, then drip down and absorb into the collar of his tee-shirt.

“Ungh… Goddammit,” he sniffed and rolled onto his belly to shove his face into his pillow. In the back of his mind, he thought suffocating himself was preferable to the uncomfortable twisting in his gut and the stinging in his eyes. Unfortunately, the fabric of his pillow was much too breathable. The world is against me. Without removing his face from the cushiony construct, he slipped halfway off the bed to grope blindly around for the rubber ball. Continuously chunking it relieved some of his nervous energy, at least.

He stopped when someone knocked loudly and insistently on his bedroom door.

“Denki!” Mina’s high-pitched voice was still loud even bleeding through the wood. She rattled the doorknob experimentally to find it locked. “Denki, lemme in! Let’s talk.” What the hell is she doing here?! “Me and Eiji and Hanta are all here to hang out. Your mom called us!” Of course she did… he thought sourly. “Hanta’s setting his PlayStation up downstairs! Come on! Let’s go play!”

He removed his face from the plush pillow to shout, “Dun wanna!” He scowled when the pink-skinned girl jiggled the metal knob again, more persistently this time.

“Denki, come on, you’ve been moping in here all day. It doesn’t do any good to sulk like this! Come onnnn! Let’s talk it out!” Denki snorted derisively and threw himself on his side, facing the wall and pouting childishly. If he were in a healthy state of mind, he might appreciate her kind gesture; however, incensed as he was, he could only be petulantly exasperated by her insistence. She continued to bleat invitational prattle before his doorway, and he decided not to waste the energy on responding. If I ignore her, she’ll go away. “Denki. Denki. Denki.” She began relentlessly chanting his name and punctuating each shout with a rattle of the knob. Grumbling unflattering words under his breath, he wrapped the pillow around his ears. The breathable fabric didn’t muffle nearly as much sound as he wished. “Denki. Denki. Denki. Denki. Denki. Denki.” He curled up so that his knees touched his chest.

Go away, he snarled in his mind. I don’t want to talk about how stupid I am. Leave me alone!

“Denki, you can’t ignore me forever! DenkiDenkiDenkiDenkiDenkiDen-”

“Fuck! Okay, I’m coming, just cut it out! Sheesh,” he yelled and threw himself off the bed. Somehow the angry motion was coordinated, and he landed on the flats of his bare feet. His stomps were purposeful and thundering as he stalked open to the door to unlock it and throw it open. “What?” he hissed at the smiling, bubbly girl, chest heaving and cheeks flushed with misdirected self-loathing.

“Denki, are you sad?”

“No! I’m not sad! Now, will you leave me alone?!” he huffed and went to shut the door in her face. In his heart of hearts, he knew that wasn’t right, but Goddammit, the last thing he wanted to do was talk about it. Sometimes a man just needed to brood in peace. Her pink hand flew up to slam against the wood, demonstrating surprising strength as it stopped it in its tracks.

“I think you’re lying.”

“So what if I am?!” Instantaneously, his cheeks flushed a rose color. Dammit, that isn’t what I wanted to say! Her face deadly serious and those black-and-gold eyes boring into the quivering depths of his soul, Mina leaned into the doorway. Denki gulped and subconsciously leaned back in the face of such unwavering resolve.

“I’m coming in,” she asserted simply. Denki deflated with a whine and trudged away from the door to throw himself face-down back on the bed. His groan of acknowledgment was muffled by that annoyingly breathable fabric of his pillow. He heard the soft scrapes of her socks over his floor. They were followed by the gentle click of the door behind her. Denki hugged his pillow as he moped over how rapidly the situation spiraled out of control; it was just par for the course for him, he supposed. Silly, stupid Denki with no spine-

“Denki. You know that none of us think any less of you for what happened at the Sports Festival, right?” He visibly cringed as she heartlessly jabbed at the core of his depression. Snorting, he rolled on his side such that his back was to her. Morosely, he curled his thin body around the pillow.

“Yeah, right. You guys probably thought it was hilarious. She wiped the floor with me.” His bottom lip wobbled pitifully just talking about it. It had been so humiliating. Finally, he thought he had his chance to show that he wasn’t just the dumb guy that fried his brain and mumbled “Yayyyyy,” but he had blown it in the most mortifying way. Kyoka was probably sniggering into her hand while she gossiped about him to Momo-

“Well, Hanta-”

“He was up against Todoroki, and he even got a good shot in,” he countered matter-of-factly. Angrily, he squeezed the plush body of the pillow but had not the raw strength to tear it to little shreds of fabric and cotton like he wanted to. “Stop lyin’ to me. You can say it. I’m useless and stu-”

“You are not stupid!” He jumped violently as her voice cracked like a whip in the relatively quiet bedroom. He yelped like a wounded dog when she wrenched him onto his back by the shoulder. Like it was a shield, he kept the pillow hugged to his body and stared owlishly up at the fuming girl. Her pink lips pressed into a thin line, and her fingers clenched into her hips. “So what if you’re not Bakugo or Todoroki or even Midoriya? You still earned your way into this hero course!” she scolded him. He just vehemently nodded along. Frankly, he was a little terrified she would whap him upside his head if he continued with the self-pity. Her face softened slightly, and she bent over him to ruffle his blonde-and-black hair affectionately. “You have your own merits, and believe it or not, we all know them. You’re loyal and care a lot about your friends.” She smiled brightly down at him as he blushed shyly. “Sure, it didn’t work out this time, but you’ve still got so much time to prove what you’re made of. Stop saying you’re stupid or useless, because you’re not. None of us think that.”

“Really?” he asked her with big, round eyes, and she nodded firmly.

“Pinky-swear!” she grinned and held up her pinky finger emphatically. “Not even Kyoka,” she added with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows, which made him gulp and flush further. Still hugging the pillow but not as tightly, he sat up from the bed and rubbed the back of his neck. He had to admit, even though she had just basically reprimanded him like a stern mother, he felt loads better. He smiled warmly when she grabbed his hand and looped her pinky with his.

“Thanks, Mina.”

“No problem!” He chuckled, and she stepped away when he slung his legs around to hop of the bed. She stood on her tip-toes to muss up his already wild hair again. “Now get yourself dressed and come get some breakfast. Your mom said you haven’t eaten anything.”

“Mina, it’s like… two in the afternoon.”

“Brunch, then! Regardless, food! You need sustenance!” she insisted and jabbed him in his belly with her index fingers a few times. He squirmed at the tickling prods and skittered away from her to his closet.

“Yes, Mom!” he snorted, finally dropping the pillow to begin rifling through the closet for a suitable tee shirt. Mina hummed contentedly and strolled to the door, kicking aside a few of his discarded socks and underwear towards his dirty clothes hamper.

“Yup, that’s me. Mama Mina! If you’re not downstairs in five minutes, I’m coming back up to drag you by the ear,” she warned as she stepped out of the door.

“I’m coming! Promise!” he laughed, and she flashed him a teasing wink before shutting the door behind her. Amused, he stared at the wooden entryway for a few seconds, just smiling admiringly. “Mama Mina,” he huffed under his breath and shook his head before wrenching his shirt off and tossing it across the room into the hamper. The smile never fell from his face the entire time he was getting ready.

It just felt really nice to know he had someone looking after him.

“All right! Time to kick some ass, Denki Kaminari!” he told himself with a devilish smile. He cracked his knuckles and his neck, then did a couple pre-game stretches. He then all but bolted out of his bedroom and down the stairs. His friends greeted him with a chorus of “hello’s.” He snatched up a bag of Doritos from the kitchen counter and vaulted over the back of the couch, snatching up a controller and sticking out his tongue confidently.

“’Sup, guys? Ready to looooose?”

“As if!” Hanta cried and shoved him in the side of the head. “You’re the one who’s going down!”

“How do I play this game, Mina?” Eijirou frowned at the flickering screen.

“Just shoot the zombies, Eiji.”

“Shoot the zombies,” the redhead repeated unsurely under his breath and squinted at the television. Denki shoved a handful of nacho chips in his mouth and rolled onto his belly, legs still slung over the back of the couch, before holding the bag out to Mina. She took it graciously and patted him on the top of his head, making him smile widely.

I have really, really good friends.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork @sadistiks @simplybakugou

#bnhabookclub #weekly prompt event #kaminari denki #denki kaminari #ashido mina #mina ashido #my hero academia #mha #my hero #boku no hero #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction

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wri0thesley · 5 years

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Bruno masturbates in the office thinking about his s/o because they are away for a long while and he’s stressed with work and misses his s/o too much.

nsfw, afab reader, neutral pronouns - 1.5k.

Bruno Buccellati is burnt out.

Oh, everyone is always accusing him of being thus - saying he works too hard, and he needs to take a break, saying that he's going to run himself ragged if he doesn't just let himself slow down and enjoy the world around him. But it's not actually very often that it rings true. Most of the time, Bruno likes working - he finds immersing himself in the paperwork gratifying.

It's been even more gratifying since Passione came under new management, now that he's fixing problems properly instead of merely patching them up. His schooling may have been spotty, and it may take him longer to work through the miscellanea than it would take Fugo or even Abbacchio, but there's a satisfaction to be had in marking the ones he finishes with a cross. A happy little note in his head: fixed.

One more problem down, one more solution found, one less thing he has to weigh on his guilty conscience.

And perhaps . . . perhaps your presence has helped assuage him in times when he might have found himself too swamped in work to do anything else.

Certainly, other members of his team would agree with that assessment. They'd pat you on the back and laugh as you dragged your boyfriend out of his office, insisting you two go for a walk or go for ice cream because it couldn't be good for him to be so cramped up all of the time! You'd poke him in the chest and playfully tell him if he squinted for much longer in the dark of that room, he'd need glasses, and who would take him seriously as a gangster then?

Bruno's not a fool. He has noticed what they have noticed. Since you came into his life, a flurry of smiles and coy looks and fluttering eyelashes, he has not been so hard on himself. His heart has felt lighter. He's been able to let go and relax more often, safe in the knowledge that you're by his side and would be happy to indulge him in letting off steam.

And that's steam in more than one sense of the word.

A ragged breath escapes Bruno's parted lips as he considers all of the various ways that you've discovered help him feel a little more . . . renewed, energy-wise. He swallows, thinking about your hands stroking over his hard chest. Your lips brushing his earlobe. The wet of your kisses along the column of his throat.

His shirt suddenly feels a little too tight, though he knows it's tailored to his body perfectly.

You're away on a mission right now, and you have been for some days. You'd warned him before you'd gone that this might take a while - someone who owed Giorno a lot of money had gone rogue, and Passione weren't sure if he had a stand - but that you'd be back as soon as you can. As you'd said that, you'd given him a teasing smile - and leaned forward, and ghosted your lips across his.

"When I'm back," you'd said, your voice soft enough to have the hairs on the back of Bruno's nck standing up and his mouth going dry, "I'll make sure to make it up to you, Capo."

Oh, no, thinking about that wasn't helping his predicament at all.

He looks back down at the paperwork scattered across his desk. The ephemera of not being able to concentrate - a half-eaten chocolate bar that Narancia had given him for energy, two pens that had already ran out of ink, a few scattered tissues to clear up the mess that another leaking pen had made--

He groans aloud, resting his hands on the arms of his office chair, tipping his head back. He'd do anything to have you with him right now. He knows you'd know how to make this persistent stress simply melt away - that's one of the things that you're best at. Making him feel relaxed. Making his tension drain away.

He wonders, idly, how you'd do it.

He wonders if you'd straddle him, if you'd bite a line of gentle nips down his neck, if your hands would slip under his expensive suit jacket to scratch nails over his sensitive back. He wonders if you'd grind down where you were, if he'd feel your soft warmth pressing insistently against his cock, where it would be standing to attention inside his equally as expensive slacks--

Oh, dear. His fantasy has gotten away from him. There's a stiffness against his zipper that is not merely imaginary.

He bites his lip guiltily. He's in his office, for God's sake! He should be looking at the paperwork! He should be doing his job!

But God, he's been pent up since you left, really. When was the last time he allowed a touch to himself? When was the last time he got off? Maybe his body has gotten used to it, and he won't be able to concentrate again until he does come?

Right now, with the taste of you lingering so close and yet so far away, he does not need any more justification to reach down and unzip his trousers aside from that. His length springs free; hot, hard, ready to be manhandled, even if he'd rather it be your hands doing the handling than his own.

He closes his eyes again as he wraps his fingers around the shaft, his breathing becoming heavier. He sees you in his mind's eye, and as he begins to move his hand, the you that he's constructed begins to move in tandem.

He runs the pads of his fingers over his shaft, imagining they belong to you - he sees in his mind, that shy smile that you always have when you're teasing him. He imagines you biting into your lower lip as he watches you, your face knitted in concentration as to how to make him feel as good as possible.

A little harder. The you that he's imagining gently kneels, head tipping forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock. He thumbs at the slit of his cockhead as he imagines you, his own thumbs not quite as soft or as perfect as the feel of your mouth or your lips or your tongue sliding along, but . . . the thought of you in his mind helps. He's thought about you, too, doing this to him in his office - visiting him to bring him some pastries or some such sweet thought for lunch, and then smiling at him wickedly and enveloping his cock inside the wet heat of your mouth.

He imagines the noises you'd make, mouth stuffed full of him. The way you always moan when you're sucking him off, the way your body gently moves as you press your legs together for the friction, the way your face feels when his fingers cup it and you look up at him through dark-fringed lashes and blown-out eyes like the very picture of seduction--

Maybe, he thinks, as he establishes a rhythm, his hand sliding back and forth and tightening and loosening on his cock, maybe you'd stand up next. Maybe you'd primly shed your clothes, pull down your underwear. Maybe you'd straddle him like he wants you to, and he'd feel your slickness press against his cock, before you slid onto him with practised ease.

A groan escapes Bruno's mouth as he thinks about your hips moving in tandem with his, where he's arching up in the uncomfortable office chair. He recalls the taste of your sweat-slicked skin, the way your body trembles when he kisses that particular spot on your neck, the way you whimper his name when his cock hits every sensitive spot inside your walls. He imagines the way your eyes squeeze shut and the breathy, whispery way you beg out, when he teases you;

"Bruno, capo, please--"

And that pushes him over the edge. His hips falter with the thought of how your walls flutter and squeeze around him, how your breath dies in your throat, the way that he can feel when you come and your slickness soaks his member. As the tightly wound spring inside him snaps and bounces, it's the thought of your face when you come that rests behind his eyelids, sweaty and lovely and sated even as your body milks his cock for all it's worth. Ropes of his own come spatter his suit, and he thinks about cleaning it as if he's somewhere very far away. He'll be the last one out of the building, after all - just like always.

He rests for a moment, chest heaving, the thought of you still very present in his mind. The haze of post-orgasm bliss settles its mantle on his shoulders, as he enjoys the quiet, and the fact that the stress of what he's supposed to be doing seems to have dissipated when the first vision of you entered his mind.

His phone chimes, once, then twice, and like a man in a daze Bruno reaches across his desk to read the text message.

"Be home tonight! Can't wait to make it up to you."

He stares at the text for a few moments, not quite processing, mind still overcast - and then, slowly, a smile rises to his face. His cock stirs, as he taps out a reply.

"Why don't you meet me from the office?"

Oh, he can hardly wait.

#bruno has a normal amount of work but it takes him ages to do it #because he barely went to school #and that's why he seems overworked #bruno buccellati #jjba #not sfw #afab reader #neutral pronouns #getting in my own headcanons of #Anonymous

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writethehousedown · 4 years

Text

The start of all things that are left to do (Jankie) - Mar

A/N: Jackie had been surprised when Janice approached her at the end of their creative writing class, all smiles and boundless energy. Janice was a pretty girl, and Jackie, at twenty-two, had yet to learn how to talk to pretty girls without stumbling over her words.

Jackie was already nervous to begin with, so perhaps arriving thirty-six minutes early and drinking two large cappuccinos before Janice even met her at the café hadn’t been the smartest choice. Now she was nervous, trembling a little, and had thirty six minutes left to think about everything that could go wrong once Janice sat in front of her to work on their project. Jackie could choke on her words the second she saw her, or draw a blank on any story plots and be useless as a partner. Then Janice would think that she was a fraud, and maybe she was a fraud and her parents were right and she should have gone to law school like they wanted, oh God… That was, if Janice even got to the cafe. Maybe she’d decided she didn’t want Jackie as her partner, after all.

Jackie had been surprised when Janice approached her at the end of their creative writing class, all smiles and boundless energy. They hadn’t had a real conversation before that; just some small talk here and there, whenever Jackie felt brave enough to hold eye contact with the girl instead of avoiding all interaction by sitting as far away from her as possible. Janice was a pretty girl, and Jackie, at twenty-two, had yet to learn how to talk to pretty girls without stumbling over her words. And she so wanted to talk to this one. So, when Janice asked her if she wanted to work on the assigned short story together, Jackie forced herself to say yes, to Janice’s obvious delight. And now there she sat, trying to rein in a caffeine rush and starting and scratching out sentence after sentence.

“The air in the windowless room was cold and stale-” No. Pointless.

“A girl walked alone at night-” That’s the name of a movie.

“The rain came down on the-” No, no, no.

Jackie dropped her pen on the table and buried her face in her hands. She looked at the wall clock. Twenty five minutes left. She puffed her cheeks and huffed while looking toward the counter. Screw it, she thought. Might as well make it three coffees.

At four minutes past three p.m., Janice bounced into the café, in lilac dance shorts and a matching sports bra that showed through the open side of her white tank top. She waved at Jackie and went up to the counter. Jackie used that time to clear the table and straighten her clothes and her posture and her thoughts.

Janice came back holding a reusable cup with a straw in one hand and a paper bag of scones in the other. She sat next to Jackie and left the bag open on the table. An offering. Jackie took a scone and smiled at her.

“Thanks, Janice.”

“Oh, please, Janice was my father. I’m Jan.”

Jackie laughed a little at the dumb joke and Jan looked very pleased with that.

“Alright. Jan. What did you get yourself?” asked Jackie, trying to make some conversation before they got to work.

Jan shook her cup a little. “Watermelon frappuccino.”

Jackie’s disgust must have shown on her face, because Jan smiled until her eyes crinkled and said “Don’t judge me, it’s good,” then bit her metal straw.

Jackie’s eyes flickered down to the girl’s mouth, but she blinked and quickly looked up. The mischief in Jan’s face told Jackie she hadn’t been quick enough.

“Do you wanna get started?” asked Jackie, scooting closer to the table and putting her hair up in a bun, just to give her hands something to do.

Jan nodded and rummaged through the backpack she’d left on the floor, taking out a lavender, leather bound journal and a handful of glitter pens tied together with a rubber band. Jackie looked at the colorful stationary and thought it matched the image of Jan that was slowly forming in her mind.

They both opened their journals side by side and dived in.

“So. Do you have a plot in mind?” asked Jan, while she wrote “Short story (w/ Jackie)” in bold letters at the top of the page.

“No, unfortunately,” said Jackie, and quickly added “I’ve been trying, though. I think I’m off my game today, sorry.”

Jan smiled at her and lightly bumped her hand. “Don’t worry, gorg, we’ll figure it out together. We have eight days.”

“No, for sure. I know.” Jan seemed satisfied with her response and turned back to her notes.

Jackie knew she could have left it at that. But the monologue that had been rattling around her head all day wanted to make its way out through her mouth, and before she could stop it, she was dropping all her inner turmoil on a girl that barely knew her name.

“It’s just, in those eight days I have to fit this six thousand word story and two big projects I haven’t even started. Plus I promised I would help my cousins with their college applications because my mother said I’d be neglecting my family if I didn’t. And I need our story to go well because it’s the first project of the year and if our professor doesn’t like me now, he won’t have me as his TA next year and I need some teaching experience just in case playwriting doesn’t pan out and I have to find a new source of income.”

The rant cut there, leaving Jackie out of breath and incredibly embarrassed. She chanced a side look at her partner to gauge her reaction and found the girl frowning, taken aback.

“Jacks…” Jan started, pity evident in her voice.

Oh, here we go. Jackie knew better than to lose her composure in front of girls like this, who never understood. She was always ready to smile and nod at the tips on how to control her anxiety from people who didn’t have a clue. Jan opened her mouth and Jackie braced herself for whatever tired suggestion would come out. Probably yoga, if her outfit was any indication.

“Let’s make a work plan.”

What?

If Jan noticed her shock, she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she barreled through like a woman on a mission, writing everything down as she went.

“Six thousand words in eight days, minus two days for editing and as a buffer, just in case. That’s less than eight hundred words daily. We can’t meet up everyday, but we can work on the same Google doc and try to align our schedules to have virtual meetings. We’ll take the next half hour to sketch out the whole plot and we can discuss character types as we go. What do you think?“ she finished, finally looking up at Jackie.

Jackie stared back, unable to answer.

“Jacks?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, that sounds reasonable. Perfect, really.”

Jan preened under the compliment and added more comments on the margins of her journal.

"You really have it together,” said Jackie, still in a trance.

Jan looked sideways at her, clearly pleased with herself.

“My college grades average out to a nine so far. I don’t plan on changing that. Do you?”

“No, of course not. Let’s start.” Jackie grabbed her own journal and searched the table for the pen she’d been using, coming up empty. She noticed Jan staring at her and turned to face her.

“What?”

Jan smiled a little and leaned in. “You, um…” she trailed off and reached her hand towards Jackie’s face, pushing stray hair away from her cheek as she reached behind her head. Jackie couldn’t move, couldn’t look away from Jan’s eyes. She felt a tug in her hair and Jan pulled her hand back, holding Jackie’s missing pen.

“You were looking for this?” she whispered.

Jackie moved to grab her pen and grazed Jan’s hand in the process.

“Thank you,” she whispered back. It felt important to keep her voice low. “You’re so pretty up close.” Or maybe she should’ve not talked.

Jan’s eyes widened, but her smile didn’t falter. “Am I?”

“And from afar. You’re just pretty.” Jackie straightened up in her chair and shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

Jan sat up and picked up her drink, swirling the straw in the almost empty cup.

“I think you’re gorgeous,” she shot back, glancing sideways at Jackie. “I’ve wanted to talk to you all month, but you always run out of class as soon as it’s over.”

“Oh, that,” said Jackie, chuckling a little. “Yeah, I’m always late to something. And, if I’m being honest, I was avoiding you.”

Jan dropped her smile for the first time that afternoon. Jackie noticed and rushed to correct herself.

“No, not like that! I just get nervous around you and I always say the wrong thing when I’m nervous. Just now is a good example.”

That seemed to appease Jan, but not enough for her to drop the subject. Instead, her eyes showed that same gleam from before, and Jackie realized she wouldn’t leave this conversation unscathed.

“Why do I make you nervous, Jackie?” asked Jan, the image of innocence as she leaned back on her chair and sucked on the straw.

Jackie didn’t buy it for a second.

“You know why, Janice.”

Jan did a happy little wiggle on her seat and left the cup on the table. “I know, I just wanted to hear you say it.” Jackie just laughed. Her nerves had turned into giddiness and it wasn’t just the caffeine anymore. She felt light, she felt brave enough.

“Alright, I’ll say it: I like you. You’re cute and bright and I get stupidly happy when I see you in class.” But Jan knew that already.

“You’re adorable. Maybe once we turn in this story, and you finish your two projects and send your cousins to college, you can sweet talk me some more over dinner.”

“Well, who could say no to that?”

They both stared at each other, beaming, until Jan turned to the table with purpose and asked: “So, story now?”

“Story now.”

#rpdr fanfiction #jankie #jan sport #jackie cox #the start of all things that are left to do #mar #lesbian au #concrit welcome #back to school 2020 #day 3: pens #submission

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