#in his oversized big leather jacket that will never quite fit him

[waldrea-art]

Dean - Trapped - Two of Swords (reversed)

Sam - Fallen - Queen of Cups (reversed) Cas - Lost - The Star (reversed)

Team Free Will | Supernatural

more spn fanart more tarot art

#okay FINAL final versions done #Team Free Will in dragon age tarot card style \o/ #because why not combine hyperfixations huh #also make it Sad :") #look at my babygirl being trapped in the narrative </3 #in his oversized big leather jacket that will never quite fit him #supernatural #spn #spn fanart #supernatural fanart #tarot art #Dean Winchester #cw blood #cw injury #cw guns #my art #artists on tumblr

[astroboots]

Something Old, Something Borrowed

Summary: You wear Frankie’s clothes a lot and Santiago has feelings about that.

A/N: This was going to be a desperate sexy oneshot and then I wrote it and decided, it doesn't need the sex (I DO NOT EVEN KNOW WHO I AM ANYMORE). Fluff, aaaaaall fluff.

Pairing: Santiago x female reader (you) x (hints of Frankie)

Wordcount: 4.1k words

Homecoming Universe | Astroboot’s Masterlist

You wear Frankie’s clothing a lot around the house. It’s not a complaint. It’s a very good look on you, Santiago thinks. 

Softworn flannel shirts in chequered patterns of loud screechy red, or blue and yellows that Santiago cannot resist making fun of Frankie for wearing. You’ll sit on the couch, wearing one with a book in your lap and a warm cup of chocolate. On you those ugly fashion crimes look soft and inviting like you were wrapped in one big comfort blanket. 

There are also old knitted sweaters that you wear whenever you do house chores. They’re washed out and threading at the seams. Oversized enough to be little bit too big on Frankie, never mind on you, but he still loves them on you. 

Frankie’s old corduroy jacket that smells of worn leather and wood chips, that he wraps around your shoulders when you’re out and the Florida climate gets a bit too chilly in the evening. 

Santiago has a special kind of fondness for all of them. His favorite though? It’s the old military sweatshirt, a standardized edition they were issued with back in basics when they first joined. It’s a drab old thing. Grey cotton, loose-fitting without any shape or form. 

Santiago has the same one. He hates it. It’s scratchy and uncomfortable, the material is not even 100% cotton, some weird cheap polyester and wool blend that left him with red bumps every time he used to wear it. It’s why he had left it with his mom in the early days, stuffed in one of the mountain-pile of boxes packed away in his mom’s old attic along with all his other worldly possessions that he couldn’t carry on his back as he found himself increasingly on foot, never stationary long enough in one place to call it a home.

It’s a horrible sweatshirt. But it’s your favorite and in some odd way, that makes it his favorite too. 

You wear it all the time. 

On chilly mornings, when you’ve made up your mind to stay inside the house to take care of chores and lazily lounge on the sofa watching some new Netflix show. Whenever you’re down with a cold or a flu, sucking on lemon drops and nursing hot tea. 

Back when he was still on missions, taking on long strings of soul-crushing assignments, finding himself in an endless series of forgettable motels and safeholds in one nameless place after another that all congealed into an abstract concept of not home, he’d start feeling homesick. Not for Florida, not for a place, just… maybe, you, and maybe Frankie. Your voices, and your face. There would be a handful of occasions when he finally gave into temptation and just called you (too chicken shit to call Frankie in case he’d still be mad at Santiago for leaving in the first place). 

On those occasions, when the dial tone clicked and you finally answered his video call, more often than not the battered old grey sweatshirt would fill his phone screen. 

It’s why, when Santiago thinks of that sweatshirt, he thinks of home. 

“Shit,” you exclaim.  

You’re holding up Frankie’s grey army sweatshirt, inspecting it in your hands, as your face scrunches up tight with a frown. 

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s a hole in the sweatshirt. Gonna have to ask Molly to help me mend it again. I swear lately everytime I fix up one hole on this thing, two more appears.” 

Santiago leans down, grabbing the old garment from you. He runs the fabric between his fingers as he inspects it. Close up like this, he really takes a new appreciation for how old and worn this thing has become. There are soy sauce stains that haven’t quite come off during the wash. Fraying threads, the shoulder’s stretched and drooping. There’s clear evidence of your previous attempts to hold this tattered old thing together, patches of threadwork that are starting to wear in the seams along the arm. 

It makes him sad to look at it. Even sadder to see you tending to the garment like it’s a wounded bleeding creature. Favorite or not, it’s a lost cause. It needs to go. 

“You should throw the old thing out,” Santiago says. “Pretty sure you can just order something similar online.” 

You take the sweatshirt back from him, hugging it close to your chest with an indignant huff and puff of your chest. “Yeah, thanks, no. I like this one.”

“Fine, I can ask one of my buddies still in the army to get you the same one.” 

“It won’t be the same one, there is just the one,” you mutter as you cling onto the old rag. 

Stubborn. 

“It’s just a sweatshirt Boa, not even a very good one. I’m pretty sure with the money and effort you’ve wasted patching this old thing up you can get ten of these”.

Santiago looks at you, your fingers brushing against the grey material that’s grown lint all over and the same pang of sadness, of watching you hold onto something old and broken and past its usage hits him all over again. He doesn’t want to look at it. 

It’s more than he can bear as he plasters on a grin, to make a joke and make it all go away. 

“Stop holding onto old trash, or you’ll become a hoarder like your mom.” 

Fuck. 

That was definitely the wrong thing to say. 

You walk out the room without so much as another word to him. All he gets is a scathing glare that’s cold enough to hit below the freezing point for water, and that’s how Santiago knows he’s in the dog house. 

On contemplation, it was a shitty thing to say. He always forgets that you and him, for all your similarities are also very different. Santiago doesn’t hold onto sentimental belongings, the army ironed that out of him before he reached 18. People don’t get to keep personal belongings there period. Any sentimentality and individuality is scrubbed right out of you after basics, they make sure of that. 

You, on the other hand, wrap yourself in nostalgia and memorabilia. Trinkets or any old and quirky knick-knacks that make you happy. Anyone who stepped into your home would barely make it three steps before they learned that about you. There are photos of your closest friends hung all over the hallway walls, bookshelves crammed full of photo albums, books, and souvenirs and novelty coffee mugs you’ve picked up from antique markets and gas stations from your road trips with Frankie. You hoard them like little treasures. 

So telling you to throw away your husband’s sweatshirt that you practically wear every day, that you’ve had with you through thick and thin through the last ten years, and jokingly calling it trash was… probably not Santiago’s best moment. 

It’s how he ends up doing the unthinkable. 

Calling his sister. 

It shouldn't be as scary as it is. Something as simple as asking his oldest sister if she had held onto his things after selling their mom’s house. It should in theory lead to a simple yes or no answer. It’s not exactly a loaded question. 

Except it absolutely fucking is.

And this is Santiago’s second, not brightest moment of the day. 

“I’ve always known you’re an idiot, but everytime I talk to you, I’m surprised by just how much of an idiot you can be.”

It’s just the kind of thing you want to hear from your family. 

Santiago closes his eyes, teeth clamping down on the tip of his tongue for calm. This is how every conversation between the two of them goes. It's the curse of being the youngest and only son in a family of three sisters. Every question is treated like an accusation. Every sentence of his, a crime. 

Santiago is pretty sure he can ask about something as harmless as the weather and still earn himself an earful from his sister, about how the weather has treated her more kindly than Santiago. 

Calm, he needs to stay calm. 

“Look, Martina, can we just– I was just asking a question. Do you have my boxes or not? There is no need for you to get on my ass like this. I’m only asking because when we sold mom’s house, you took most of the things–”

“I’m sorry, are you accusing me of stealing mom’s things?”

For a millisecond, Santiago's sure his heart stops beating. Blood in his veins freezing cold. Fuck him.

“No, no! That’s not what I was saying at all– I was just asking if you–” 

There’s yelling. So much yelling through the earpiece of his phone. His only choice is to put down the receiver against the kitchen counter and wait it out unless he wants to get permanent tinnitus. Hunching across the kitchen counter, he rests his face against the palm of his hand, trying to rub out the tension that’s built between his temples. Getting out of bed today, might have been a mistake for Santiago cause it's proving to be a disaster from start to finish.

The kitchen porch door slides open letting in a draft that draws Santiago’s eyes up far enough to see Frankie enter the house. 

The man takes one look at Santiago’s miserably hunched up form then eyes the screaming phone and shoots him a quizzing look. 

“Martina,” Santiago offers. It’s the only word of explanation he gives Frankie, but it doesn’t seem like Frankie needs anything else to know what’s going on. 

He simply nods, with a sympathetic expression. “She called just to yell at you?”

Santiago eyes the phone where it’s at the counter, it shouldn’t be picking up his and Frankie’s conversation, face down as it is, but he’s not taking risks. He flips the phone face up and mutes it, before continuing. 

“No, I called her. Wanted to ask her if she still had my old stuff from mom’s attic.”

In the background Santiago can still hear his sister’s voice shouting and screaming even from a distance. There’s a creative stream of expletives blended seamlessly in English and Spanish until it’s baked into one well-cooked, fuck-you-Santiago-sandwich. 

“Pope”, Frankie calls out, pulling Santiago’s attention back to him. “Your boxes are upstairs.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Boa took the boxes when your sisters sold the house.”

“She did? Why?”

Frankie hums, one hand sliding over to his forehead to pull off his cap as he cocks his head to look at Santiago like he’s an idiot, before shaking his head at him.  

Geez, everyone has it out for him today it seems. 

“Your sister was threatening to take them out into her backyard and use them as kindle for a bonfire party. So Boa had me drive over. Thought we should hold onto it because you might still want your stuff someday. Guess she was right.”  

Santiago ignores the stab of guilt in his chest, doesn't want to look at it right now. Instead, he picks his phone back up, unmuting it with a quick, “Martina I have to go,” as he presses the end button not a second too soon. 

The attic is musty and hot, the smell of sawdust and plain dust hanging in the air. There’s a few humane mouse traps strategically placed in all corners of the space. Not that it seems to be doing any good (the humane ones rarely are, but neither you or Frankie would ever consider changing them for the other option). There’s mouse droppings scattered here and there. 

Frankie walks ahead to the middle of the room, pulling a large moth-eaten sheet that reveals a mountain of boxes, with your handwriting scribbled on top marked with his name and descriptors like ‘clothes’, ‘LPs’, ‘school memories’, ‘books’ and finally ‘army stuff.’

There's a strange feeling brewing in his chest that he can't quite define at seeing all his old belongings stored up in yours and Frankie (and now, his) home. Boxes upon boxes, piled up together, the way they used to be in his mom's old place.

A quiet little voice in him that tells him, guess this is home now, and is completely at peace with it-- and Santiago is willfully ignoring the agitation in him at just how at ease he is with it, as he walks towards the boxes.

“This the one?,” Frankie asks as he taps the side of the one box marked 'army stuff', and as he does, a shimmer of dust rises and swirls in the air, leaving his hand coated in a sheen of white-grey soot. 

At Santiago’s nod, Frankie drags the box out from the cluster and places it on the middle of the floor. “You wanna do this here or take it downstairs?”

It is one of the smaller boxes, barely spanning the breadth of Frankie's chest. For as much time as the army has been a domineering presence in his life, Santiago always imagined that the physical space it would leave behind would be much bigger than this small box. Even more surprised by how few things eleven years left behind. 

“Here is fine.” 

Frankie cuts the old tape open with a boxcutter knife, and unfolds the flap, as they both peek into it. There’s an old tin box. Medals that are kept in pristine condition in a glass case. His old service uniform, and other trinkets rattling around in the old cardbox. What is not here, however, is his old army sweatshirt.  

“So is what you're looking for in here?” Frankie asks, as he picks up the small tin box and gently shakes it to his ear. Even without opening it Santiago can recognize the sound of the metal chain of his dog tag jingling inside. 

"Nothing special," Santiago says, evading the question because he doesn't want to explain how he managed to upset you with his careless comments. Instead, he takes the box from Frankie and opens it.  

There’s an old polaroid photo in the metal tin. It’s a bit weathered around the corners, the colors so faded that the blue skies and yellow sand have blended into a muted sepia glaze. 

It's a photo of them at the beach, Frankie sitting in the sand, wearing only swim trunks and sunglasses, squinting like the sun is plaguing his eyes, and a grin spreads wide on Santiago's face.

"Holy crap."

From behind him, Frankie leans over, resting his jaw on Santiago's shoulder so he can take a peek at the photo too. "That's a blast from the past. How long ago was that now?"

"Summer before Redfly retired, so that must've been what? seven, eight years ago?" Santiago muses, still smiling at the photo as the memory of the warm heat of the Tunisian sun was blistering at his back, the relieving breeze from the ocean against his forehead like he's being transported right back into the moment and place.

“Remember when Benny nearly broke his leg jumping off the rocks to dive in and Will had to come get him.”

Frankie laughs, "thought Redfly was going to kill them both."

“I can’t even remember holding onto this one," Santiago says, as his fingers rub at the corner of the faded photo, unable to tamper down the smile tugging at his lips as he thinks of the memories. "We should frame this one and put it up with the other polaroids downstairs."

Frankie looks at him, still smiling, but there's a shift in his eyes into something warm and almost glowing. 

“It was a good day,” Frankie says, looking down at the photo with a smile on his face that makes Santiago's veins buzz pleasantly.

"Can’t believe you and Boa didn’t just throw all this junk away," Santiago says, more to himself than even Frankie.

Frankie merely shrugs, as his hand reaches over and dips into the box, holding up Santiago's old dog tag and inspects it. “She's a sentimental person. She likes to hold onto things that reminds her of the people she cares about. Makes them feel like they're here even when they're not, she says."

It's a fraction of a millisecond. So brief, Santiago can't even make out fully what the flash of an image he's seeing is. A blurry form trying to rise up to the surface, that he pushes down. Brown eyes, a sharp nose, the same thick hair Santiago's supposedly inherited.

Santiago snaps the tin box in his hand shut. “Whether you hold onto things or not, they're still gone,” Santiago says. 

Frankie looks away from the dog tag, eyes scrutinizing Santiago's face with something akin to concern, before he shakes his head and lets out a small chuckle. It's the quiet little laugh he has for Santiago, when Frankie sees something going on in him that Santiago can't himself. The one that tells Santiago, he needs a little bit more time to catch up before he sees it. It used to upset him, a strike to his stubborn pride. Nowadays, he's just made peace with the fact that this is a feeling he's going to constantly encounter when he is living with two people who know him better than he knows himself.  

Frankie hums, taking the box from Santiago and carefully folding Santiago's dog tags back into the tin box.

Santiago looks around himself, eyeing the boxes. "My junk must take up what? At least one third of this space. Wouldn't have blamed her if she had just let Martina torch it up."

"I don’t know. I think part of her kept onto it hoping this day would come. You living here, with us.”  He gets to his feet, observing the attic and casts one last look into the open box.  “What are you looking for anyway?”

“Nothing important. Just uhm–" Santiago hesitates again. He doesn't know why he's being so coy about this, so he fesses up. "My old army sweatshirt. It’s stupid. We had a–" Santiago stops himself, it's not a fight, a tiff at best. But he feels silly as a grown man to call it that. He shakes his head.

"I said something stupid to her this morning, and I wanted to make it up to her. Thought I was going to dig up my old sweatshirt as a peace offering.” 

Frankie's eyes squint, head cocking to the side as he regards Santiago with a puzzled look on his face. “Well Boa’s already wearing it isn’t she?”

For a moment, Santiago must've heard him wrong. When would you have had time to get up in the attic, unbox his things, grab his sweatshirt, put it on, and for Frankie to have seen you wear it?

“What do you mean?”

From across, Frankie's folding his arm, back leaning against one of the beams that go from floor to ceiling in the attic. He's giving Santiago that look. The one that tells Santiago that at this moment Frankie wonders if he really used to work in intelligence.

“She’s always wearing it. It's her favorite. Think I saw her with it this morning in the kitchen trying to patch up the latest hole.” 

"It's your sweatshirt, Frankie."

"No, I threw mine out after the first year. The material is itchy as hell, gave me rashes all over... Everything okay, Santiago?"

You're standing by the washing machine, putting in another load of laundry, wearing his (not Frankie's) grey army sweatshirt. A warm surge rises in his chest, it spreads along his arms and legs until his fingers go numb with it.

He gets it now. Why he couldn't stand to look at the sweatshirt then. Why it bothered him so much. The way you looked at it, with the same expression in your eyes that you had every time you saw him off at the airport.

Idiot, he's a fucking idiot.

He strides over the length of the floor separating you. You turn when he's not even halfway there yet, his hands already outstretched, reaching for you. One hand cupping the back of your neck, pulling you close to him, the rest of the way, his other settling on the dip of your hip as he drags you closer still.

There's a hitch of a breath. A surprised and muffled attempt at saying his name that gets cut off. His head tilts down, claiming your lips with his, pouring everything he has to say, with a grace that his words can never achieve.

I love you, it says as he slips his tongue into your parted mouth and licks into you.

I'm here now, he promises, thumb caressing the dimple of your cheek.

You're everything to me.

The tension in your shoulder thaws, the rigidness in your back softens until you're humming on his tongue. You melt for him.

You part, and Santiago rests his forehead on yours as he lets you catch your breath, taking a moment to remember, etching the image of your half-lidded eyes and a blissed-out smile into his memory. No photograph or memorabilia could ever do this justice. Not when he gets to have the real thing every day.

"You don't need the sweatshirt," he says.

The warm shade in your eyes cools, specks of annoyance bleeding into them.

"Santiago" His name is a low simmering growl in your throat. The start of a warning that you do not want to have this discussion--and if Santiago keeps pushing it could very well escalate into an argument.

"You don't need it," he continues, eyes fixed on yours, hand gripping just the tiniest bit harder around you, "because I'm not going anywhere anymore."

You freeze on the spot. Eyes blinking, and Santiago can see how you've stopped breathing entirely.

"Santiago," you start, and he pauses, giving you the time for once to find what it is you want to say. But your mouth press close again, a slight trembling of your lower lip, then you look down at your feet without another word.

His heart breaks for you. You're always so put together that sometimes he forgets. You need assurances too.

He's never said anything.

Never made promises.

It's been a year and a half since he stayed, a part of him just assumed (the way he always does) that it'd be clear by now. That you, who know him better than anyone, would know that he's here to stay now.

It's unfair to you that he just assumes.

His hand comes to your chin, tilting you up to his eyes. "You don't need that sweatshirt to remind you of me," Santiago says.

You nod. But he can see it, the way the glossiness of your eyes shimmers in the light from the wet sheen there. Tears threatening to spill, and the same sadness he felt this morning, creeps up at him, clawing at his chest.

"I'm here. I'm not going away again. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before."

A sole tear escapes down your cheek, leaving a wet trail behind and his thumb comes up to brush it away. He's expecting the all familiar self-loathing at making you cry to settle in his spine, but it never comes, never has the chance to, because you choke back a smile, sweet and relieved. The back of your hand wipes away the rest of your tears, the grey matted sleeve, scratching against your soft skin.

He swears to God, if that thing makes you break out in hives. 

Dipping down again, he presses his lips to your forehead.

"It's a shitty sweatshirt Boa, it's going to give you rashes, and I'm pretty sure it has asbestos in the threads," he jokes.

This time, instead of storming away, a peal of quiet laughter escapes your lips, and that makes him smile even wider. "But if you still want to hang onto it, next time it goes to pieces, I'll mend it for you. I'll fix it. Everytime it breaks okay?"

You nod against his head, and he just holds you, arms wrapped around you tight like a cocoon, unwilling to let this moment slip away.

"I have other sweatshirts too, you know," he murmurs into your hairline. "Better ones. Sweaters too. Better than Frankie's ugly grandma sweaters ones anyhow."

You laugh again, and a rush of happiness bubbles up his spine as he hears the small contented sigh on your lips that makes him know things are going to be okay before the word leaves your mouth.

"Okay," you murmur. "You fix the sweatshirt and I’ll wear some of your other stuff"

“Deal.” 

Dedication and Credits:

@frannyzooey who has been so encouraging and opened a whole new world to me when she decided to harass me with her asks and it's led me to have so much fun with opening up my inbox to requests and prompts for the first time in my life and it's made writing so freeing. I love you and adore you! You are everything. I'm so sorry I butchered your beautiful ask about finding an old smexy photo of Frankie amongst Santiago's army stuff into this abomination. THERE IS NOT EVEN ANY SEX IN HERE.

@thirstworldproblemss the other person that had me going ohfuckingyes I can't wait for her to read this! She is the fuel to my motor, the electricity to my batteries. She is everything you could ever ask for in a friend and so much more.

#santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier #homecoming #cici writes #oscar isaac #pedro pascal

[forever-rogue]

His + Hers

Summary | You didn’t want a bodyguard and certainly didn’t need one. Bucky didn’t want the job. But as soon as the two of you meet, all bets are off.

Pairing | Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 4.2k

Warnings | language (including light degradation, possessive!Bucky, smut (oral - f receiving, piv) - minors dni or you will be blocked

Masterlists | Bucky, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I don’t need anyone to watch over me,” rolled eyes and loudly snapped gum. Crossed legs and an anxiously jiggling foot. The aging clock ticked loudly as your gaze burned into the giant dual monitors that shielded the man on the other side. He had just oh so casually dropped some horrible news to you. 

What was his name? Jeff? Jeffrey? Jefferson? It didn’t matter. Funny. For a man that you’d seen more often than your father in recent years, you’d think you might have remembered his name. Despite all that you still hadn’t seen him more than four, save five, times.

“Those are your father’s wishes.”

“Then why isn’t he here telling me this?”

“He’s a very busy man.”

“A man too busy to see own daughter, his own child, always work, work, working,” you spat, “what he could be doing that’s so important that he couldn’t even spare me fifteen minutes of his time?”

“He’s-”

“It was a rhetorical question,” you stood up and grabbed your bag, “sometimes it still shocks me that a man that claims he loves me so much he barely speaks to me, sees me. I don’t want this bodyguard - if you send them to me I will simply send them away. Don’t waste my time or theirs.”

“Your father is going to send someone regardless of your wishes, you must know this by now.”

“Tell him if he’s so insistent upon me being chaperoned like a puppy that he can come and talk to me himself,” you threw your shoulders back as you tried to chase away emotions or feelings. This was not the time or place for them, “see you in another six months for so.”

“Miss -”

You slammed the door shut before he could say anything else. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“This is fuckin’ ridiculous,” Bucky’s groan was heavy - irritated - as he trudged up the stairs to the ninth freaking floor. Of course you couldn’t live somewhere near the bottom. Of course the elevator was broken, “I’m gonna murder you, Wilson.”

Inhaling and exhaling slowly, he calmed himself with every single step. Left foot, right foot, and repeat. Before he knew it, he arrived on your floor, less angry but still annoyed. 

Bucky looked around for your apartment number, finding it quickly but wishing he hadn't. It was supposed to be a simple job - hang around you for a little while until things calmed down around your father. There was never any huge threat to you, but you were to be kept safe anyway. Typical rich people, he practically rolled his eyes. Complete idiot, he sighed at himself. He could have walked away from the gig easily, but things had been quiet after everything in New York and he needed something fresh. Naturally he’d say yes to this when Sam mentioned the job to him. 

Once he found your apartment he slowly trudged through the hall, his mind all but made up about you already. You were going to be nothing more than a spoiled little brat. He looked at the golden number above your door and sighed heavily before knocking loudly. 

For a few moments, nothing but silence met his ears before he finally heard what he was sure was annoyed grumbling inside accompanied by soft footsteps. The door was whipped open and Bucky came face to face with you. 

Your brows knitted together as you studied him before crossing your arms over your chest, “can I help you?”

“James Barnes,” his name practically came out as a sigh. You raised your eyebrows at him but remained silent.

“And?” you asked as you moved to close the door, “I’m in the middle of my fifth zoom meeting of the day and annoyed and hungry. Thanks for wasting my time. Have a fantastic day.”

Before you could slam the door in his face, Bucky stuck his foot in the doorway and prevented you from closing it. A huff escaped your lips as you glared at him through the crack, “your father sent me. I’m supposed to look after you.”

“Ahh yes,” you rolled your eyes and frowned, “the baby-sitter my father hired. I told him and his assistant that I don’t want - or need - anything to watch me. I’m fine. So if you don’t mind you can leave. I’m busy and don’t have time to deal with you.”

“You don’t pay me sweetheart,” he scoffed lightly as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. You wanted a challenge? He’d give you one, “and as long as that’s the case, I stay.”

“I’ll double whatever he paid you.”

“Oh honey, I doubt you could ever afford that.”

“What can I do to get you to leave?”

“Nothing.”

“It really doesn’t seem like you want to be here either so why don’t we both do ourselves a favor and cut the shit?”

“Not until your father tells me it’s okay to leave,” he smirked, “I don’t take orders from little girls, sweetheart. Nor do you pay my bills.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re a bitch,” your mouth opened into a little pout as you attempted to shut the door on his foot, “you can shut the door, it won’t hurt me. I’ll just tear it down if I have to.”

“Are you serious?!”

“Want to find out?” he asked as you threw your head back and sighed at the ceiling. Yes and no. You wanted to push his buttons and see how far you could press. But you also didn’t have the energy to deal with it. Instead you slowly, ever so reluctantly opened the door, refusing to move but motioning for him to come in. He practically sauntered in with a victorious little smirk on his lips, “good girl.”

You were to let him have it when he turned around to face you and finally got the chance to study him. And your jaw almost hit the floor. Fuck. 

He was handsome - dark hair and the bluest eyes you’d ever seen with a five o’clock shadow. He was dressed in very well fitting jeans, along with a henley and leather jacket. So casual but he managed to make it look so good. For a moment you thought he looked familiar but you couldn’t quite place. Maybe you’d seen him around somewhere. 

Well, this presented a whole new predicament. This would have been so much easier if he hadn’t been one of the most gorgeous men you’d laid eyes on.

“Like what you see?” 

“I’m not into old men,” you cocked your head to the side and watched him with a smirk. Bucky almost tripped up and let an emotion slip but instead he remained pointedly neutral as he looked you up and down. 

It would have been easier to dislike and hate you entirely if you weren’t so damn cute. You were dressed in a comfy, oversized sweater and joggers and big fuzzy socks - casual and cute but effortlessly so. It was a challenge not to stare. 

“Whatever you say,” he held up his hands in mock defeat as you became momentarily placated, “what’s the plan for today?”

“I have a job and things to do,” you huffed as you pushed past him, “so just do something or whatever and stay out of my way. If you insist on being here.”

“I do.”

“This is going to be fucking hell, isn’t it?”

“It can be whatever you want, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart!”

“Sure thing, doll.”

"I hate you already.”

“The feelings’ mutual, honey.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hating Bucky was a full time job. Bucky having to chaperone you through all of your shenanigans was a full time job. Both of you were incredibly stubborn and damn near made the job impossible. 

You'd be lying if it said he wasn't attractive and that you hadn't thought about him. Especially late at night. Alone in bed. But you'd rather die than admit that to him. 

Bucky had a feeling he'd break you down eventually; not that he expected anything to come of it. He enjoyed flirting with you and watching you get frazzled and nervous. But you weren't his type. Nuh uh - Bucky Barnes wasn't into pretty little spoiled brats. Even if they weren't attractive and smart and genuinely kind underneath it all. 

That wasn't part of the job. Which was why he never let it go past anything that could be deemed as flirtatious.

Just as he vowed to break you down and just admit you liked him, you might have had a little goal of your own…

"Come on," Bucky sighed as he paced around your living room, waiting for you to come out of the bedroom so you could pizza and watch movies. It had become somewhat of a Friday night tradition, reluctantly so. It was hard to get out and have a lot of fun when you had a silent, intimidating brooding man following you around, "how long does it take to change?"

"Shut up," you rolled your eyes as you opened your bedroom door and stepped out, slipping on your heels, "I'm ready."

Bucky's eyes widened as he looked you over. You were wearing a little black dress and fuck me heels along with ruby red lips and a full face of makeup. He fought back a little growl as you smirked at him, "what the fuck are you wearing?"

"Its called a dress, genius."

"To get pizza so we can come back and watch movies?"

"That's not the plan," you straightened up and walked past him, grabbing your purse and jacket.

"You said-"

"I lied," you stated the obvious, "I'm going out to finally have some fun. Without you."

"I'm coming with you," he crossed his arms over his broad chest as you tried not to stare, "that's the job, sweetheart."

"And I'd like to actually have fun and get laid," you threw your hands up, "its hard to do that with you breathing down my neck constantly! If you insist, can you at least like stay ten feet away. Give me a fucking break."

His breath had hitched in his throat as soon as he heard the words get laid and he worked to keep it together. He sighed as he forced himself not to imagine you underneath, naked and begging for more. 

"Fine," he agreed reluctantly, "ten feet only."

"Thank fuck."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

One drink had turned into two which easily turned into three and after that you’d both lost count. Bucky had been sitting at the bar, a singular, but arbitrary drink in his hand as he watched you get progressively looser as the evening wore on. His steely gaze almost never left yours as he watched you chat up people around you. You were naturally extroverted, and definitely a flirt - but then again maybe that was the alcohol - and it wore Bucky out trying to keep an eye on you. He wasn’t terribly concerned about what was going on, but still, he was a man that took his job seriously.

It wasn’t until he decided that it was fine to let you out of his sight for a few moments only to turn back and found you missing. A growl bubbled up in his throat as he scanned the tightly packed pace and found you in the middle of the dance floor. You were pressed against a man that had been eyeing you up since you’d gotten there, mouths smashed together as you kissed him like your life depended on it. Your arms were wrapped around his neck and his hands were on your ass the entire time.  

As soon as you ground up against him, something in Bucky snapped. He threw back the rest of his drink and quickly made his way over to you. The people in his path parted like the seas when they noticed the predatory expression in his eyes. Before you could even realize what had happened, you felt a hand tightly squeeze your shoulder. A gasp left your lips as Bucky pulled you away from your newfound friend.

“What the fuck!” you glared at him as the man that just had his hands all over you grew visibly nervous. Bucky grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close, “Bucky!”

“Keep your filthy fuckin’ hands off of her, you understand?” he growled at the man as he just nodded, “I ever see you near her again and you’re dead. You leave my girl alone.”

Bucky shoved him away and the man practically skittered across the bar and out the door without so much as a single glance back. Breathing angrily, he turned around to find you staring at him in awe, arms over your chest. You were suddenly incredibly sober, “what the hell was that? I’m not your fucking girl, Bucky.”

“We’re going home. Now,” he reached for your hand and held your wrist in a tight grip as he dragged you without another word. You wanted to argue with him and fight back, but there was something about his possessive nature that had sent a shiver down your spine and a rush of warmth to your core as you let him pull you along like a ragdoll. 

Maybe your dangerous little plan was finally going to turn into reality.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Are you going to finally tell me what’s going on?” you asked as you walked back into your apartment, trailing after Bucky and slamming the door shut, “you chased off my only chance of-”

Before you could say anything else, Bucky’s hands found your waist and he crashed his lips onto yours in a bruising tangle of tongue and teeth. You responded with a surprised moan as he backed you up against the wall, making sure you didn’t hit your head. 

“He’s a fuckin’ boy,” he insisted as he lightly gripped your throat, causing you to part your lips as you fought back a moan, “he wouldn’t have made you cum. Probably doesn’t even know where your pretty little clit is.”

“And you would?” you challenged, already knowing exactly where this was leading. Something in your mind told you that this was wrong and you should have stopped it, but the larger part of you really just wanted him. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it for weeks and weeks now, touching yourself late at night to the thought of him. Bucky smiled at you - a dangerous, toothy, wicked thing causing you to swallow thickly, “I don’t think you could. You’re all talk, Bucky. Probably haven’t even been laid since the 40s.”

“Don’t act like you don’t want this too, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear before trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin, making it a point to mark you up. That way everyone would know you were his. He rutted his lips lightly against yours, and you could already feel how hard he was, “I see the way you look at me - I know you’ve thought about me. Probably touched that pretty pussy of yours and wished it was my cock, huh little girl?”

“Bucky,” his name was nothing more than a whimper of your lips as you tried to reach down and touch yourself. He was quick to grab your hand and pull it away. You whimpered as he just chuckled darkly. Oh, how easily he could break you down with just a few words, “please. Need you.”

“I’ll give you what you need,” he swore as he watched you with hungry eyes. He shimmied up your dress and moved to touch you. His smirk only grew when he noticed you’d forgone panties, “look at you, such a little slut. You didn’t even put on panties? You really wanted this, didn’t you? Were you just hoping I’d touch you? I bet you had this whole thing planned out - just wanted me to fuck you, didn’t you?”

You looked at him with wide doe eyes but remained silent as you tried to play coy. But he was having none of it, and grabbing your jaw, “answer me.”

“Mhmm..,just want you,” you admitted as he slowly let go before grabbing both of your wrists in his vibranium hand and pinning them above your head, “just touch me.”

And he did - slowly, he dragged his fingers through your folds, smirking at how wet you already were, “oh honey, you’re practically dripping. So wet already, and I’ve barely even touched you. Such a good little slut.”

Your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of him circling your clit slowly before feeling your soaked folds and sliding a thick finger inside. A small sound of surprise reached his ears as you almost rutted into his hand and he easily slid another finger in. The stretch from his fingers was enough to spark the warmth in your belly as you bit your lip to keep from whining. 

“Look at you, such a needy little thing,” you could hear the smirk in his voice as he fucked with his fingers, “but you’re not going to cum on my fingers. I’m going to see if you taste as sweet as you look. Gonna make ruin that pussy for anyone else. You’re mine - you understand?”

“‘m yours,” you whimpered as he let go of your hands and slowly sank to his knees in front of you. His large hands, a contrast of warm and cool, splayed on your thighs before slowly traveling up to your hips and grabbing them in a bruising grasp. This man was really working to make sure he would remain all over you. He pressed a few kisses to your thighs before stopping at your mound, and you could feel his warm breath fanning across on your pussy, “please.”

“That’s right, you can be a good girl,” he didn’t even hesitate for a moment before diving in and licking a stripe up your folds, causing sparks to shoot throughout your spine. You could feel him smirking against you at the immediate effect he had as he ate you out like a man starving. 

Bucky Barnes was not a shy man when it came to eating pussy. He licked and suckled on your clit as he let two of his cool vibranium fingers slide into your pussy. He crooked them just right, effortlessly finding your g-spot as your knees threatened to buckle. No one man had ever made you feel this good before, nor so easily. 

“F-fuck,” you hissed as he pulled back and look at the blissed out expression on your face, “more please.”

“Look at you pretty little thing,” he grinned as he pressed a few wet, sloppy kisses to your mound. He pulled his fingers from you before reaching up and practically ripping your dress off. If you’d hadn’t been so close to cumming, you would have yelled at him, but in the moment you didn’t care. Especially not as his hands found your breasts and massaged them before he played with your pert nipples, causing you to arch into his touch, “not wearing a bra either. You are bad.”

“‘m so close,” you whined as he just smirked at you. Before you could say anything else he slapped your pussy, causing you to jump slightly before you keened into his touch, silently asking for more. 

“You like that, honey?” he teased as you nodded with closed eyes, your mouth forming a small o. He repeated the motion before he grabbed your ass and buried his face back into your pussy. You moaned into his touch, bucking your hips against his mouth as he made all the most sinful noises as he ate you out like his life depended it on. He worked pure magic with only his tongue and he soon had you seeing stars as your legs started to shake around him. He anchored you to him and kept you from falling down as he brought on your orgasm, “that’s it honey. You’re going to cum all over my face, going to taste all that pretty pussy has to offer.” 

“F-f-fuck,” you reached down and carded a hand through his dark hair as you held him against you, “jesus.”

“Cum for me,” he commanded and you did just as you were told, crying out his name like a prayer as you felt your release wash over you. Bucky stayed between your legs as you came all over him, cleaning up every little bit you had, not stopping until you were begging him to stop from the over stimulation, “tastes like fuckin’ candy. Best pussy I ever tasted.” 

“Jesus,” your chest was heaving as he kissed his way up your body. He stopped at your lips and offered you a victorious little smirk, “you’re an asshole but at least you know how to eat pussy.”

He grabbed your chin in his hand and forced you to look at him, “you’re mine - this pussy is mine and no one else’s, you understand, little brat?”

“Ruin me then,” you raised your eyebrows before you kissed him again, trying to beat him at his own little game. But it was no use - he was easily more dominant and held control over you, “make me yours.”

“Turn around,” he growled as he flipped you in his arms and pressed you against the wall. You moaned as his hands mapped out every curve of your body before you felt the sharp sting of his hand on your ass. Just to spur him on a little more, you bounced your ass and he slapped you a few more times before massaging your skin to soothe the pain, “you like it when it hurts. God, you’re perfect. My little slut.”

“Please fuck me. Need you so bad,” you practically whined but quickly grinned when you heard him undo his belt and pants before he pulled his cock out.  He groaned in your ear as you heard him stroke himself a few times.

“‘m so fucking hard, baby,” he ran the tip of his cock through your folds and you could already feel how big he was, “got me leakin’ already. Thought about you and that smart little mouth so many times. Always cum so hard when I think about you. Can’t wait to see how good this pussy feels squeezing my cock. You’re going to take all of me, little thing.”

He coated his length with your arousal - you were already so wet again - before slapping his cock against your ass. You tried to reach around so you could touch him but he slapped your hand out of the way. 

“Put your cock in me,” you practically begged and before you could say anything else, he plunged into you, causing you to practically scream in surprise. He didn’t stop until he was fully sheathed inside of you, feeling like he was practically splitting you apart. The burn quickly faded away as you moaned and clenched your walls around him, “fuck, you’re so big.”

“Did you expect anything else, pretty baby?” he whispered in your ear before grabbing your hips again. He slowly pulled out almost all the way before thrusting back into you with no warning. You clawed at the wall as he set a brutal pace, slamming his hips into yours over and over again, letting you have almost no room to breath. The only sounds that left your lips were small whimpers and mewls he fucked you to an inch of your life. 

You felt the coolness of the vibranium snake around your body before he found your clit. You let him press you against the wall as he pounded into you, and you quickly left your second orgasm start to bubble up in your tummy. 

“Taking my cock so well,” he praised as he slowly played with your clit. He was not shy about being loud and moaning, all while murmuring filthy praise into your ear, “so tight - so perfect. This pussy was made for me.”

“More,” you begged in between breaths, “harder, please.”

“You want it harder, pretty baby? You’re not gonna be walkin’ after this,” he smirked before he picked the pace and fucked you even harder than before, which you hadn’t even thought possible, “good girl. Good fuckin’ girl. Gonna cum all over my cock?”

“Mhmm,” you agreed with a wistful smile, a fucked out expression on your face as you felt his cock twitch inside of you as your walls started to clench around him, “please, please, please.”

“Gonna fill you up,” he said through gritted teeth as he slowed his thrusts, making them slower and deeper than before, “gonna make sure you know who you belong to.”

It was a few more thrusts before you came again, crying out as the pleasure rippled through your body. Bucky came quickly after, grunting as he came inside of you, filling you up with hot ropes of his cum. He fucked you through it all, not stopping until you were feeling boneless and he had filled you with every last drop. 

He easily caught you just as you were about to collapse in his arms and pulled you against his chest as he pressed a few kisses to your shoulder. You reached behind you and carded a hand through his arm, scratched at his scalp as he continued to kiss your neck and shoulder.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you said as you tried to catch your breath, “that was incredible.”

“I told you I’d ruin every other man for you,” he slowly pulled out and turned you around so you were facing him. You put a hand under your chin and turned your face up to his, “you’re mine.”

“I’m your girl,” it was like music to his ears as you reached between your thighs and swiped his cum mixed with your arousal up and sucked it clean off your finger, “my pussy is yours and your cock is mine.”

“Good girl, “ he praised with a wicked smile, “now get on your knees and put that pretty mouth to use.”

“Yes sir.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you

[marvelingstardust]

Stolen Jacket - Peter Maximoff (Wandavision) x reader

Request - Hi!! I reallyyy love your writing, you write Peter so well!!!💕 I was just wondering if I could request something where reader steals Peter's leather jacket and then he teases reader about it and gets them flustered😏 please and thank you, babe💕

A/N - ahhhh 🥺💞 thank you so much! I really loved this request so so so much!! I hope you enjoy the fic!

TW: one swear word 🌝

————————————

Picking up the third bag of gummy worms you had found on the floor, you sighed as you threw it into the big garbage bag that already almost filled to the brim with junk wrappers and pizza boxes that had been tossed around the room.

How much food could we had possibly gone through last night?

You had currently been cleaning up Peter’s room for him, as the night before he had invited you over to binge watch some movies together and the both of you created quite a mess.

The stomping from upstairs that shook the ceiling made you chuckled, knowing Peter upstairs with the twins, probably planning some sort of scheme with them.

Closing up the garbage bag and putting it to the side, you picked up the last blanket from the floor, surprised to find what was underneath it.

Peter’s leather jacket.

A light blush spread across your face as you pictured him in it, looking handsome as always, with his hair just the right amount of messy. God, you were so in love with that man.

You bent down and picked up the jacket, pulling it toward your face, taking in his scent. Just the smell of him made you feel safe and calm, like everything was going to be okay.

I’m sure he wouldn’t notice if I borrowed it for a day or two...

Quickly, you took the jacket and placed it into your bag and zipped it up. Then, folded the last blanket and placed it on his bed, then proceeded to take your bag and head upstairs to see what the three boys had been up to all this time.

When you reached the top of the stairs, you saw Peter zipping around chasing the twins as they laughed, running away from him. The scene brought a smile to your face, making your heart flutter seeing how good he was with the twins. Maybe one day in the future he would be doing the same but it would be your kids...

Shaking the thought out of your head, you yelled out to him, “Pete! I’m heading back to my house now!” Hoping to gain his attention.

In a flash he was standing directly in front of you, a small pout on his face.

“Awww but babe, can’t you stay just a while longeeer”

You shook your head, softly giggling at how cute he looked.

“Noooooo because I have work to get doneeee” You said mocking his whiny tone and placed a quick kiss on his nose.

Peter sighed and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Can I atleast come over to see you tonight?” He asked as he placed a few soft kisses along your neck.

“Well I would never deny having your lovely presence in my home.” You said teasingly and he chuckled.

————————————

Once you made it back to your house, you went straight into your living room and unzipped the bag that contained Peter’s jacket. You put the jacket on, it having the most perfect oversized fit, with the smell of him filling the air around you.

Walking over towards the couch, you grabbed your laptop and sat down comfortably. You opened up the laptop, and started working on the paper that your job needed you to finish. You were halfway through getting the paper done, when your eyelids started to become heavy, and you subconsciously snuggled yourself closer into Peter’s jacket. Eventually sleep overcame you, the warmth of the jacket keeping you nice and toasty.

——————————————

Peter arrived on your doorstep at about 7 pm, filled with excitement to see you again. Even though he had only seen you just hours earlier, he could never get enough of you, wanting to be by your side every minute he got the chance to. He rang the door bell, waiting for you to swing the door open and greet him like you always would, but after a minute of waiting, he was still facing a closed door.

He rang the doorbell for a second time, becoming more impatient as the seconds ticked by. Had you forgotten about him? No, that didn’t seem like something you would do. Maybe the doorbell was broken? How do doorbells even brake? He shook his head and sighed, thinking of what to do next.

In seconds, he ran back to Wanda’s house and into his room, grabbing a spare key to your house that he had snatched from you when you hadn’t been looking a while back. He ran back to your doorstep, and opened the door with the stolen key, and let himself inside.

“Ahem Miss L/N~” He called out in a sing-songy voice. “Have you gone deaf or do you need-“ He stopped his sentence when he reached the living room where he found you curled up in his leather jacket, sleeping peacefully.

His heart fluttered, his face warming at the sight before him. It was a wonderful feeling, seeing that you needed him just as much as he needed you. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, wondering how he had become so lucky to have you in his life. He started to doubt that he would ever be good enough for you...you were smart, beautiful, caring-

His thoughts came to a hault when you slowly had started to stirred awake, letting out a small yawn, before glancing across the room to see Peter standing there. You let out a yelp, as he scared the shit out of you.

“Wha- When did you get here? How did you even get in?” Your groaned out tiredly. You were so caught up in trying to figure out what was going on that you had completely forgotten that you were currently wearing his jacket you taken from him.

“I took a spare key I found lying around your house. You know, you should really keep better track of your stuff.” Peter said raising his pointer finger, the spare key dangling around it.

“Mph, Peter you can’t just take peoples things without asking.” You said getting up as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, your brain slowly starting to register what was going on.

“Uh, I don’t think you should be the one talking” Peter snickered, and you furrowed your brow, confused by what he meant. Finally, you came to the realization that you had been wearing his jacket. Your eyes widened as you looked up at him, already knowing that he would never let you live this down.

“Peter I can explain-“

“So you just can’t get enough of me huh?”

“Well I was gonna bring it back eventually-“

“Tsk tsk, Y/N you shouldn’t take things without asking, I’m so disappointed in you” He said teasingly, waving his finger in a disapproving manner. You rolled your eyes and huffed, your face reddening from all the teasing.

He smiled, thinking you looked adorable in such a flustered state. He moved towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“I will admit if I knew you would look so exquisite in my jacket I would have let you steal it a looooong time ago.” Peter muttered to you, looking into your eyes lovingly. He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, and you smiled.

“I love you Peter.”

Peter’s eyes lit up with delight at the sentence, his grin widening. All his worries and doubts disappeared, and his heart filled with joy.

“I love you too sweetheart.”

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #wandavision fan fic #marvel #marvel fan fic #pietro x reader #Peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x y/n #Pietro x you #Pietro x Y/N

[minghaocouture]

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x Gender Neutral Reader Genre: Fake Dating AU, Fluff, the tiniest of angst Warning: N/A WC: 3k+

A/N @babiemingoo​ THIS IS FOR YOU SWEETIE! MERRY CHRISTMAS AND I WUB UUUUUU! <33333 I hope this is okay lol. I have NEVER written a fake dating au before so it might be trash T^T but i hope you like it anyway!

Weddings, most everyone loves them. They’re a time of love and happiness. So when your brother called to tell you that he was finally getting married to his high school sweetheart, you were overjoyed!

“So do I need to mark down a plus one for you? Or are you still single?” You knew in your heart that he was just being an older brother and teasing you, but that didn’t mean it stung any less. So before you could stop yourself you lied.

“Hey, don’t jump to conclusions. I’ve got a...boyfriend.”

“You hesitated. I honestly don’t believe it.” He retorted, chuckling a bit.

“Dude, I said I have a boyfriend so you better put down that I have a plus one.” You ordered, crossing your free arm over your chest as you continued to hold your phone with the opposite one.

That conversation was a week ago, and you had yet to find anyone willing to pretend to be your boyfriend. You’d even asked your lab partner Chan! The boy looked so apologetic when you asked, telling you that his girlfriend would have his head if she found out. 

Now here you were, standing outside of your roommate’s door. Hand hesitantly lifted in preparation to knock on the hard word, but you were unable to follow through with the action. You had avoided asking your roommate, Wonwoo, to be your date. After all, it might be awkward and make him uncomfortable and then you might have to find another roommate. You honestly didn’t want that, but at this point he was your only hope. 

So swallowing your fear and what little pride you had left, you quickly knocked on his door. It was silent for a moment before you heard his deep voice calling out, giving you permission to enter. 

Pushing open the door you leaned against the door frame, eyes glancing over the relatively clean room until they landed on the brunette as he sat at his computer desk. Dressed in a simple pair of sweatpants and a tank top that hung loose on his rather slender frame, his thick brown hair was pushed up out of his face and it definitely looked like he hadn’t brushed it today, while his thick rimmed glasses sat snugly on his nose.

“What’s up?” He questioned, eyeing you in confusion. Usually you did your best to not bother him when he’s in his room, knowing that he was usually either studying or gaming in some form and that if you needed him you should just message him unless it’s an emergency. You weren’t sure if it counted as an emergency but it sure felt like it.

“Hey sorry, but I have a huge favor to ask.”

“No.” The words left his lips before you could even utter your request. Without any care he turned his chair back around to face the computer in front of him, leaving you to stare open mouthed and wide eyed at the black leather of his computer chair. 

“I didn’t even get to ask yet!” You exclaimed, taking a few steps into the room and ending up right behind his chair. “You at least have to hear me out!” 

“I mean I don’t.” his deep voice muttered as his fingers clacked away on the keyboard, showing that he was fully intent on ignoring you. 

“Nunu please! I’ll pay for your half of groceries of a month!”

The clacking stopped and slowly he turned in his chair to fix his gaze upon you. 

“Make it two month and I’ll hear you out.”

Two months of groceries just for him to listen to the request, that didn’t even mean he would go through with it. You felt your bank account weep as you let out a deep sigh.

“Fine, two months. So will you listen to me?” His gaze didn’t leave you as he nodded, urging you to continue. “Okay so you know my brother right? Mingyu? Well...he’s getting married in like a week or so and he wants me to go and I-”

“If i have to be your fake boyfriend you better be prepared to do my house chores for at least a month, on top of the groceries.” You knew this wouldn’t be easy but at this point you were desperate. 

“Fine! Two months of groceries, a month of your chores. Just please please be my fake boyfriend for my brother’s wedding!”

***

“If we’re late it’s going to be your fault!” You heard Wonwoo call from your shared living room. You were putting the finishing touches on your outfit for the wedding, having gotten out the best outfit for the event. You wanted to make sure you looked fantastic for this. You were also admittedly a bit anxious that either you or Wonwoo would slip up. 

Sure you guys had gone through your ‘love story’, about how the two of you moved in together when your mutual friend Seungcheol had suggested it, since he knew you both needed roommates, and how the two of you ended up slowly falling in love over the course of the year. It was basically a fool proof story, basically. 

“If you take any longer I’ll just go on my own and enjoy the free food.” 

With a groan you made your final adjustments to your attire before rushing out of the room. You weren’t sure that Wonwoo would actually leave you but you weren’t going to take the chance that he would. 

Though the sight that met you in the living room was not one you had expected. 

Normally when you thought of Wonwoo, you imagined your frumy roommate probably in some kind of oversized sweater, his hair a bit messy and his glasses firmly on display. He wasn’t ugly or anything, but you had never been put into a situation where his attractiveness was fully on display.

Today though, his hair was actually brushed and styled to where the dark brown locks covered just a bit of his forehead. His suit jacket and matching trousers were a rich brown that reminded you of the color of dark chocolate, just a few shades darker than his hair. His pure white shirt was buttoned all the way to his neck and a cross-over tie fit perfectly the finish off his outfit. To your surprised, his glasses were nowhere to be seen and you were fairly sure that this was the first time you had ever seen him with contacts in. Needless to say, you were a bit stunned. This also gave Wonwoo a bit of time to examine you.

“You clean up nice.” He muttered turning away from you so that he could grab your keys out of the bowl next to the door where they were kept. Turning back to you, he tossed them and by some miracle you did in fact catch them. 

“Uh...yeah, you do too.” You said, finally catching yourself starting. Quickly you tried to stop the rapid throbbing of your heart but it definitely didn’t want to listen to you. Probably the nerves. “I’m surprised you actually brushed your hair.”

Your words brought a deep chuckle from the man as he followed you out the door, making sure to lock it behind him. 

“Well, I’m meeting my significant other’s family for the first time. Gotta make a good impression.” 

His words caused a series of butterflies to erupt into your stomach. This was going to be a long day.

***

The ceremony went about as good as expected, your mother basically sobbing out of happiness during the entire ceremony. To keep up appearances, Wonwoo kept your hand laced with his own and to your surprise that was all you could think about. His skin on yours, it was ridiculous how fixated you seemed to be on it.

As the reception began and your brother and his new wife started making the rounds, receiving congratulations and large hugs. As he saw your table, he made a beeline straight for you, pulling you into a tight hug and lifting your feet off of the ground in the process. Either you were hearing things or that for some reason caused Wonwoo to laugh ever so slightly.

“Okay okay you got your hug Gyu, put me down.” Your elder brother cackled before planting your feet firmly back onto the floor. As soon as he let go, his eyes were on your ‘boyfriend’. He gave Wonwoo a good once over, obviously sizing him up. 

“You know, when they told me they had a boyfriend I thought they had made you up.” He declared with a hearty laugh before extending his hand and introducing himself. “I’m Mingyu, it’s nice to meet you. Wish that one had mentioned you sooner.” 

Wonwoo took his hand and firmly shook it, a soft smile on his face. 

“Well, they told me all about you. I’m Wonwoo, by the way.” This part was surprisingly truthful. You had given him a run down of your family so that he wouldn’t be caught off guard by anyone coming up to meet him. It was better than letting him go in blind. 

“Well, you better take care of them or I’ll be on your ass. I’m the only one that gets to mess with my sibling? Got that?” 

“Mingyu, are you seriously giving him the shovel talk...at your own wedding?”

Mingyu looked over at you, almost appalled that you would think any less of him.

“Of course! I’m still your big brother, I’m not on vacation just because I’m at my wedding. Besides, my darling will understand.” The mention of his beloved wife seemed to change his whole demeanor. You of course knew his wife, they had been dating for quite a few years and she had been to so many family gatherings it was almost like they had been married before this.

With a laugh, you gave him a quick shove. 

“Well you better hurry back, or she’ll get bored without you.” Rushing him away was mostly so that he would lay off his whole big brother routine. Glancing over at Wonwoo though, he didn’t seem to mind. In fact you could almost describe the smile on his face as a fond one. It was...nice.

As your brother left, you caught Wonwoo’s gaze flickering towards the dance floor. He didn’t say anything though and a silence fell over the two of you. It was strange, back at home you never had any problems talking to him. Yet here it seemed like your throat had completely closed up, no words able to leave it. 

“He seemed nice.”

“Oh, Mingyu? He’s an ass, but he’s honestly the best brother I could ask for. Honestly, you two would probably get along pretty well.” You explained, thinking about how their personalities would probably compliment each other pretty well. This led to...other thoughts, thoughts of Wonwoo coming to family gatherings as if he were actually  your boyfriend. It wasn’t a bad thought in the slightest, but...it was a thought you were hoping to avoid. 

He hummed softly in agreement, his eyes once again gazing back over at the dance floor. This time, swallowing your anxiety and uncertainty you spoke up again.

“Did you...want to dance?” Instantly his eyes were on you and you quickly covered for yourself, voice quieting down to a whisper so that the only one who would hear you would be him. “I mean...it would probably be good at making this more believable. I also think I see my mom coming over.” You muttered. Meeting your mother wouldn’t be a bad thing, but it was definitely something you wanted to put off. 

Not answering your invitation, Wonwoo stood and extended his hand out to you. His dark brown eyes bore into yours. Glancing over at your advancing mother, you quickly took his hand and he led you out onto the dance floor. The slow melody playing through the speakers surprisingly had your heart racing, or was that caused by the hand that now gently gripped your waist? For your sanity and the sake of your home situation, you decided to say it was the music. 

The music seemed to flow through the two of you as your bodies slowly grew closer and closer until you were chest to chest. It felt like time had all but stopped around the two of you, all you could see was Jeon Wonwoo, your nerdy roommate and the man who was somehow sweeping you off your feet (metaphorically, of course). It was right there, in his arms, that you realized what a bad idea this was. Yet that realization didn’t stop you from resting your head against Wonwoo’s shoulder, eyes drifting closed as the two of you swayed to the melody.

“Can I kiss you?”

All at once things seemed to snap back into place as you heard his voice. It was a simple question, but it still had your heart racing. You lifted your head so that you were able to stare into his eyes, questioning his intentions. 

“Your mom has been staring at us, I think she’s expecting it.” He muttered, his voice low so that you were the only one who could hear him. It was for the lie...he didn’t actually want to kiss you, you were foolish for getting your hope up. You couldn’t find you voice to respond so you simply nodded your head. 

Taking this affirmation, he removed one of his hands from your waist and hesitantly cupped your cheek. You felt heat rush to your face as he inched forwards, almost as if someone had put him into slow motion. Then all at once his slightly chapped lips were on yours and it felt like your heart had stopped. For a second you even forgot to kiss back, but it only lasted a moment. Your arms wrapping tighter around his neck to pull him a bit closer, deepening the kiss. 

Then all too quickly, he pulled back and you didn’t stop him. After all, this was just for show it wasn’t like he was kissing you because he wanted to. The thought caused your heart to clench inside your chest.

“I’ll be right back.” Without giving him a chance to respond, you slipped from his arms and power walked out of the reception hall to the bathroom. Maybe there you could get a clear head and remember your place.

You weren’t sure how long you were in the bathroom, but by the time you returned to the reception hall Wonwoo had returned to your previous seats. This time though, he was accompanied by your mother, and they seemed to be laughing and having a chat. As you approached you heard your mother speaking.

“Now Wonwoo dear, I’m surprised that my child hasn’t mentioned you before! The two of you seem so in love that I’m just shocked!” She exclaimed, obviously amping the drama. She was your mother after all. Wonwoo let out a small chuckle, his deep voice filling your ears despite it being soft. 

“I asked them not to. I wasn’t sure that you would approve of me, so we decided to take things slowly. I realize that’s probably a pretty crappy excuse but, I really love them. So I just wanted to make sure I did things right.” 

That...was not the reasoning you guys had decided upon. He was supposed to say that you were nervous or something like that, put the blame on you. You felt conflicted hearing his answer, but you weren’t really given time to think about it when your mother noticed you closing in.

“Oh darling! I’m so glad you decided to bring Wonwoo tonight. He is such a doll, and you better be bringing him to our family Christmas!” She declared, standing to pull you into a tight hug before turning her attention back to Wonwoo. “And you don’t have to worry about missing out with your family. We celebrate on the 24th so people can visit other families on Christmas day.” 

“I’ll be sure to be there ma’am.”

“Well I’ll leave you two love birds alone. No helicopter moming for me tonight.” With a quick kiss on your cheek and a small “love you” your mother was gone. 

Taking a seat back down at your table, you stared at the decor. A small candle inside of a little glass orb with a circular opening on the top. The way the light flickered kept your mind focused. 

“How much did you hear?” He questioned, you couldn’t bring yourself to look over at him, your heart was pounding far too quickly and you were almost certain he could hear it.

“Uhh, the whole part where you ‘wanted to do things right’.” 

You heard a small sigh escaping from him and your eyes left the candle, watching as he ran a hand through his hair before looking back over at you.

“I guess this is a pretty lousy way to tell you that I do actually have feelings for you. Isn’t it?”

“I mean, kind of? But it’s cool, I did a pretty bad job of expressing my feelings too.” with a small laugh, you reached over and took his hand and laced his fingers with yours. Your eyes met and you saw the sweetest smile erupt onto his face.

“Can I kiss you again?” His words came out soft, barely audible over the music in the room.

“Only if I get to call you my boyfriend for real.”

“I think I can make that deal.”

#caratwritersclub #kdiarynet #kdiner #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #svt x reader #svt imagine #svt scenario #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo imagine #wonwoo scenario

[izzielizzie]

Now I’ve Seen You I’ve Seen It All Chapter One

okay so this ask inspired me so am i writing a ten chapter nateywn parent trap au? yes. Is the first chapter under the cut? also yes 

“Okay honey,” Bronwyn Rojas says as she puts her hands on her daughter Ellen’s shoulders. “You’ve got everything you need right?”

Ellen nods.

“Toothbrush?”

Ellen nods again.

“All your clothes? Shampoo? Hair brush? Retainers?” 

Ellen nods again, four times, and wiggles a little in her mother’s grip. Twelve year old Ellen Rojas has never spent more than a week out of her mother’s sights, and this two month camp is testing both of them.

Bronwyn looks like she’s about to cry. “Are you sure you don’t want me to look over your things one more time?”

Ellen sighs and considers the best way to tell her mother it is time for her to leave. Thankfully she doesn’t have to. A slender woman with dark hair and expressive amber eyes practically materializes in front of Ellen and Bronwyn. Maeve Santos.

Maeve, with her messy bun, face full of freckles, tattered Hodges Camp t-shirt, and denim shorts, looks absolutely nothing like her older sister Bronwyn. Until further examination. They carry themselves the same way, like they belong anywhere they happen to be, and their smiles are the same. It’s hard to tell since Bronwyn’s face is all lines and hardness, and Maeve’s is soft and open. But the smiles, well, they’re identical.

“Hey Bron,” Maeve says. She pulls her sister into a hug, taking care not to wrinkle Bronwyn’s suit. Bronwyn pats her sister’s back, her way of saying “okay enough hugging”. Maeve pulls away with a grin, and swings Ellen up into her arms. Maeve - and her husband Luis - don’t have any kids, so all their attention is directed to Ellen and their nephews on Luis’s side. But mostly Ellen. Ellen hugs her back with all her might.

“Hi Aunt Maeve,” Ellen says.

“Hey Ellen, ready for some fun!”

Ellen giggles and looks around the camp over her aunt’s shoulder. It’s a large camp, with seven cabins for campers: three for girls on one side of the path and three for boys on the other. The seventh can be seen peeking over the trees where the forest meets the large lake (Lake Hodges, where Aunt Maeve got the name for the camp). There’s a large center cabin, fittingly named the Big Cabin meals are served, the counselors congregate during off times, and one room is used as a games room, where Ellen knows air hockey tables and pool tables and foosball tables have been set up. Farther along the path is the arts and crafts cabin, then the nurse’s cabin. The grand finale before the dock and boat house is a large amphitheatre, where plays and concerts are held. 

Ellen’s never really seen the camp, not really, but she’s heard enough about it from her Aunt Maeve - the founder/head - to feel as if she’s greeting an old friend, the musky smells and bird chirps as familiar to Ellen as the brick buildings and sound of honking cars in New Haven is.

“More than ready,” Ellen assures her aunt. Maeve grins at her. 

“That’s my girl - whoa be careful!”

The last warning isn’t for Ellen, but for the person who swings Ellen high up into the air out of her aunt’s arms. She doesn’t even have to look to know it’s Uncle Luis. Ellen turns the moment she’s on solid ground to give her uncle a hug. Bronwyn often compares Luis to a puppy: energetic, over joyous, and incredibly good at snuggling. She’s not wrong.

“Hey Bronwyn,” Luis says, hugging his sister in law. He doesn’t mind her suit. Bronwyn hugs him back for a moment before readjusting her jacket and looking around helplessly. 

“Are we sure this is a good idea? Maybe Ellen’s too young.”

“Mom, you said I could come when I turned twelve,” Ellen protests, trying very hard not to stomp her foot. It wouldn’t be proving her point.

“I know but-” Bronwyn waves her arms around. 

“We’re here, don't forget,” Maeve says.

“No offence Maeve but you left Ellen in a parking lot.” 

Maeve’s smile becomes a little strained. “That was ten years ago.”

“Still!”

Maeve sighs. “Cooper and Kris are here. Who’s more responsible than Cooper and Kris?”

This seems to calm Ellen’s mom. “Okay, okay, you’re right. That’s true. Alright then, Ellen darling, I think it’s time for me to go.”

If Maeve is hurt that Bronwyn trusts Cooper and Kris Becker-Clay more than her own sister, she doesn’t show it. She looks over Bronwyn’s shoulder as if looking for something. “Okay Bron you’ve got a plane to catch right?”

“Right, right okay.” Bronwyn reaches forward and pulls Ellen out of Luis’s arms, squeezing her tight. “Be good okay, sweetheart?”

“Okay. I will.” Ellen hugs her mother back until Maeve gently disentangles them. With a last kiss on Maeve’s cheek and on Ellen’s forehead, Bronwyn heads back over to her car, pulling away with a wave for the family she knows is watching. 

“Well Ellen darling, excited for camp?” Maeve asks as she takes Ellen’s hand, picking up her oversized duffle with the other hand, which she expertly tosses to her husband. He catches it. Ellen loves watching her aunt and uncle work together, since it’s always been her and her mother. Ellen’s never seen two adults who just fit. 

The trio don’t get far before a motorcycle comes roaring up the drive. They all turn to see what’s happening as a girl expertly jumps off the back of the motorcycle. She’s wearing white shorts and a black leather motorcycle jacket that matches the jacket of the man on the motorcycle. The girl pulls off her helmet to reveal long black hair. 

Maeve grins. “You two stay here, I’ll be right back.” Maeve scurries away to the biker before Luis and Ellen can follow. 

“What’s happening Uncle Luis?” Ellen asks, sliding her hand into her uncle’s hand. 

“No clue kiddo,” Luis answers, but based on the look on his face, he does indeed know. 

They watch as Maeve talks to the man on the motorcycle. Ellen’s too far away to see who he is, and before she can get a closer look he’s waving at the girl and backing down the path to the main road. Maeve and the girl are standing together. They watch the motorcycle until it’s out of sight. Maeve takes the girl’s hand, and the way she’s looking at her sends a flash of white hot jealousy through Ellen. That’s the way Maeve looks at her.

Maeve smiles when they approach Luis and Ellen. “Ali, this is my husband Luis.”

“Hey Ali,” Luis says.

“And this is my niece Ellen Rojas. Ellen, this is Ali Macauley.” 

What a stupid name Ellen almost says. Instead she just grunts. She’s not quite sure why, but she doesn’t like this girl in her Guinness band t-shirt and tattered shorts and red flip flops that - ugh - look a lot like Ellen’s. Ali’s glaring right back at Ellen. Clearly, she doesn’t like her either. 

“Wow, you guys look nearly identical,” Luis says as he looks between his niece and the newcomer with her oversized backpack.

“No we don’t,” Ali says dryly.

“Oh I agree,” Ellen says. “I would never wear a shirt advertising that tacky band.”

“Ellen,” Maeve says in her warning voice.

“At least I don’t dress like the next queen of England.”

Ellen huffs and looks down at her pressed skirt and matching jacket. Her mother picked it for her.

“Oh you wish you were the queen of En-”

“Okay how about cabin assignments!” Maeve says brightly. Ali looks up at Maeve like she’s the queen, and Ellen’s ready to sock her in the nose. 

Maeve looks down at her clipboard as if she can sense Ellen’s thoughts. “You’re both in cabin one. Fun!”

“No it’s not,” Ali mumbles. 

Maeve ignores her and takes her hand instead. “Okay, let’s get you to your cabin.” Maeve takes Ellen’s hand after tucking her clipboard under her arm, and kisses her husband’s cheek before setting off, chatting about the camp as she goes. 

“You’ve met Luis of course, he’s a chef in New York and he’s in charge of cooking and also outdoor activities like hikes and stuff like that. And our head of arts and crafts is Addy Prentiss, she’s a teacher and she and her wife Keely live in London, where Keely is a fashion designer or something like that I never understand. Cooper Becker-Clay - you probably know him from the Padres - he’s in charge of sports. His husband Kris is our onsite medic.” Maeve pauses to push open the cabin door. “And Knox Myers does all the theatre and music stuff - he’s a Broadway director. Phoebe Myers, his wife, is our counselor. Need anything, go to her.”

Ellen knows all of this, since the people Aunt Maeve is talking about have been in Ellen’s life since she was a baby, so this is clearly for Ali. This annoys Ellen more, since she wanted to tell Aunt Maeve about the boy she thought she was in love with who turned out to not be in love with her. Aunt Maeve is the kind of aunt who understands about confusing things like the heart. 

“Okay girls. Looks like you’re the first in here. Pick a bunk.”

“Top,” Ali says right as Ellen says the same thing. Both girls look at each other in surprise and scramble for the ladder. 

“Whoa, whoa, girls slow down!” Maeve calls as both girls try to climb up the ladder at the same time. Ali beats Ellen, who’s slowed by the skirt. Ali’s long hair gets in her way, so Ellen uses that chance to climb up the side of the ladder like she does on the fire escape of her building. She’s nearly at the top when she feels hands clamp around her waist and pull her off. 

“Aunt Maeve!” Ellen protests as she’s placed on solid ground. She watches as Maeve pulls Ali off the ladder too. 

“Don’t ‘Aunt Maeve’ me. Honestly what’s gotten into you two?”

“It’s her fault,” Ali says stubbornly, pointing at Ellen. 

“She’s the one who cheated!”

“How did I cheat Ellen?”

“You’re not wearing a skirt.”

Ali scoffs. 

“Both of you two stop it right now. Ali, you take that bunk -”

“Hey!” Ellen protests as Ali does a little happy hop.

“And Ellen, you take the one on the other wall.”

Ellen is in shock. Aunt Maeve has never ever chosen someone over her. Not even the time her cousin Matias wanted the last ice cream at his own birthday party and Maeve talked circles around him until he was so confused he forgot about the dessert. 

“Fine,” Ellen sighs as she crosses the wooden cabin to the bunk identical to the one Ali is triumphantly perched on.

“Good. Now let’s hope you two get along better in the morning.”

Unfortunately, that does not happen. 

The next morning, Ellen enters the Big Cabin with Aunt Maeve and Uncle Luis’s latest foster child, named Nick. Ellen and Nick get along fabulously, something that pleases her aunt and uncle to no end. Ali stalks in after her. Ellen noticed last night that Ali prefers to be alone. She refused to join in on the game of go fish their cabin mates were playing, and she ignored all talk about the cute boys at the camp and past crushes.

“I’m telling you Nick, she’s so stuck up. Like she’s too good for us or something,” Ellen says, continuing her conversation even though Ali is right behind her. 

“Maybe she’s just shy,” Nick says. Even though he has no blood relation to any of Ellen’s family members he still looks vaguely like Luis with his good looks and deep brown eyes.

Ellen scoffs. “She wasn’t shy when she stole my aunt.”

“Maeve isn’t stolen.”

“Right,” Ellen says skeptically as she hands Nick a tray. They’re entering the food line, and she graciously lets Nick before her. She ends up next to Ali, who’s glaring at Ellen. “Good morning sunshine,'' Ellen says pleasantly.

Ali glares harder as she takes a tray from the pile.

“Not a morning person huh?” Ellen asks.

“Say another word and I’ll knock your teeth out,” Ali threatens.

“Scary,” Ellen says dryly as they head down the line. She hesitates in front of the last pancake, weighing the pros and cons of grabbing it when Ali speaks up.

“Are you gonna stand there or are you gonna grab that?” She’s already reaching for the pancake in question.

“I was going to grab it,” Ellen lies, stabbing it with a fork as Ali does the same thing. They engage in a sort of food based tug-of-war. “Let go!”

“You let go!”

“I saw it first!”

“You were just mouth breathing on it!”

They both tug hard, and the pancakes crumble into two pieces. The momentum sends them flying. Ali crashes to the floor and Ellen stumbles back into Nick, who steadies her. 

“What kind of loser can’t keep their balance?” Ellen asks.

“Ellen, stop,” Luis says emerging from the kitchen. He’s looking half amused and half annoyed. “Ali, you okay?”

“Fine,” Ali snaps. “But your niece is annoying.”

Luis ignores her, and Nick gently tugs Ellen away.

Ellen sulks all the way to the crafts barn, where Addy Prentiss in all her pink haired glory is perched on a table in a pair of faded denim overalls. She hops off the table when the group arrives. 

“Alright guys, I thought we could start with bracelets today,” Addy says with her slight British accent, winking at Ellen, who glows. “So, find a table y’all, and let’s see what bracelets you come up with!”

Addy circles the room, and Ellen chooses a table with Cosette Myers, Nick, and - ugh - Ali. Ali pointedly ignores her, and Ellen choses to do the same, chatting with Cosette about the last musical her father Knox took her to. Ellen reaches for a bead at the same time as Ali, and their hands collide.

“Can you move?” Ali asks.

“You move!” Ellen protests.

“I just want a bead.”

“Then wait.”

“Why don’t you wait, princess?”

“Because I was first.”

Both girls glare at each other for a moment before reaching for the beads again, knocking into the container and sending the beads flying over the table and floor. Cosette and Nick jump back. Addy choses this moment to approach this table.

“Are you two kidding me?” she asks, irritated.

“It's Ellen's fault!”

“It was not Aunt Addy, it was Ali!”

Addy looks between the identical looking girls and huffs. “Pick them up.”

“What?” Ellen asks.

“El, you heard me.”

Ellen glares halfheartedly at Ali as she sinks to the floor to pick up the scattered pea sized beads.

Cosette and Nick slide to the floor to help as Ali starts on her side of the table.

“She’s a monster,” Ellen hisses. Cosette and Nick exchange glances.

Twenty minutes later, the girls find themselves near the lake, lined up next to Cooper Becker-Clay, who’s teaching the finer details of the ever important sport of wiffle ball. 

“Okay guys,” he says, pulling off his baseball hat and running his hand through his sandy hair. “I need some volunteers please.” His blue eyes roves the crowd of excitable preteens and lands on Ellen and Ali, who are both glaring at each other while pretending the other person doesn’t exist.

“Ellen. Ali. What about you two?”

Ellen shrugs, and Ali scoffs. “You’re choosing the person who wears skirts?”

“But she’s… not wearing a skirt,” Cooper says, looking a little confused. It’s true, Ellen is wearing a camp shirt tucked into a pair of shorts. 

“Ignore her, she’s being weird,” Ellen says, stepping forward. Ali glares. Cooper shakes his head as if straightening out his thoughts.

“Okay. Ali, take the bat and stand on the base. Just like that, yeah. And Ellen, come here. Okay guys pay attention. Ellen’s going to put her left foot forward since that’s her non-dominant side, and she’ll pull her right arm back and yeah - no Ellen wait!”

Ellen, after being raised with both Uncle Luis and Uncle Cooper, knows exactly how to aim a perfect fastball. And, being her mother’s daughter, she’s able to figure out how to compensate for the lighter ball - flicking her wrist just so - until her pitch is perfectly aimed straight for Ali’s nose. Ali, who isn’t expecting this, doesn’t swing and instead stands still as the ball comes flying towards her nose with a sickening crack. 

And, being Addy’s goddaughter, Ellen knows how to act too. “Oh my gosh Ali I’m so sorry,” she cries, sounding incredibly believable as she sprints after Cooper towards Ali, who’s got her hand pressed against her nose. “Uncle Cooper, really, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to.”

Cooper looks between Ali, Ellen, and the other campers who look gleeful - they were expecting to make friendship bracelets and sing weird songs at camp, not see the greatest feud of their adolescent lives. 

“It’s fine El. Take Ali to Uncle Kris okay?”

“Okay, oh my gosh I feel so bad.”

Cooper, of course, being both not an idiot and the father of triplet girls, knows Ellen isn’t sorry in the slightest, but he lets her lead Ali to Kris’s med cabin. 

Once at the cabin, Ellen considers leaving Ali when Kris calls her in. 

“Hey Uncle Kris,” Ellen says as Kris lifts Ali onto a bed in the cabin lined with beds. Kris raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, his green eyes roving over Ellen’s face.

“Hello Ellen. How are we today, girls?”

Kris takes one look between the girl he’s known since she was born and the identical looking girl on the bed and knows exactly what happened.

“Fine,” Ellen says.

Ali mumbles something, and Kris pulls her hand from her nose. He touches it gently. 

“Well Miss Macauley, it’s not broken, just sore.” Kris looks over Ali’s face and notices a small cut, which he instantly starts cleaning.

“You know one of the wonderful things about camp is the ability to make new friends, right girls?” Kris asks, looking pointedly at Ellen.

“Yes sir,” Ellen says. Ali mumbles again.

“You know some friendships last a lifetime.”

“Yes sir.”

“It’s important to be open to new friendships too.”

“Yes sir.”

Kris laughs as he lifts Ali off the bed, her cut freshly bandaged and a wax wrapped caramel slipped into her hand. “Yes sir, yes sir. You’re not listening to a word I’m saying are you?”

“Yes sir,” Ellen repeats with a grin. Kris grins right back and hands her a caramel too.

“Okay, be good you two.”

“Yes sir!” Ali calls as she skips out of the cab. Kris shakes his head as he watches the girls go. He knows that’s not going to happen.

And it doesn’t. Their next class is theatre with Knox, where they’re putting on a production of the Wizard of Oz. 

“Alright guys, I have the cast list for you.” Knox rattles off names and assignments: Cosette is the Wicked Witch of the East, and Nick is the Cowardly Lion. “Ellen Rojas and Ali Macauley, you guys are Munchkins.”

“How come I’m a Munchkin when I’m taller than Ellen?” Ali asks, her voice a little warped because of her swollen nose.

“Am not!” Ellen protests.

“Are too!”

Cosette and Nick roll their eyes at each other and Knox sighs.

“Girls, girls, you two are identical if you haven’t realized.”

Both girls stop their squabbling to stare at Knox. They look at each other, studying one another.

“No way,” Ali says. 

“Agreed,” Ellen says.

“I’m way better looking than Ellen.”

“Excuse you! You look like you’re gonna sell drugs on the street in high school.”

Ali opens her mouth in shock as Knox startles and begins to reprimand Ellen. “Ellen Maeve Rojas you can not say things like tha-”

“TAKE THAT BACK!” Ali interrupts with a shout, lunging at Ellen. Ellen maintains her ground, and pushes back, aiming a punch at Ali’s already injured nose. Ali, being an inch taller in her Docs, gains the upper hand as she rolls on top of Ellen and is about to punch her nose when another person arrives in the amphitheater.

“Hey Knox I’ve got that box of props you wanted and Ali what in the world are you doing?”

Everyone turns to Maeve Santos carrying an old cardboard box under one arm. She’s in mom jeans and a Bayview High t-shirt today, a bandana covering her hair, and right now, she’s fuming. 

“She called me a future drug dealer!” Ali points at Ellen. “I was defending myself!”

“She started it!” Ellen protests, pushing Ali off her and sitting up. 

“No I didn’t, you started it!”

Maeve watches with pursed lips. Knox, having known Maeve for years, steps back. He knows an angry Maeve when he sees one.

“Both of you, come one, you’re moving to cabin seven.”

“Cabin seven?” Ellen repeats incredulously. “There are spiders and bugs and pests and stuff there!”

“And? You’re being a pest. Both of you. I’m disappointed in you. So you’re living together until you learn to get along.”

Her voice is calm, conversational almost, but her amber eyes are flashing dangerously. This is a Maeve you don’t cross. 

Sadly, Ellen doesn’t always have common sense.

“My mom won’t like that,” she says.

“Your mother is a…” Maeve stops, taking a deep breath to compose herself, and for a moment, both Ellen and Ali are actually scared. Ellen’s heard about the Aunt Maeve of yesteryears, the one who pushed people away and lashed out when hurting or scared because she never knew how to accept love. Bronwyn says Maeve used to be different, and Ellen can see what she meant. 

Ali and Ellen glance at each other, and they come to an understanding: they don’t need to talk to one another, or even acknowledge each other’s presence in Cabin Seven. But Maeve Santos should not be angered. 

“We’ll get our stuff,” Ali mumbles for the both of them.

“Good,” Maeve says.

“Off to the isolation cabin?” Knox teases. Maeve turns her glare to him, and he steps back.

“Forget I said anything.”

#bronwyn rojas #nate macauley #maeve rojas #luis santos #cooper clay #kris (oou) #addy prentiss #keely (oou) #phoebe lawton #knox myers #oc kids #izzielizzie's fics

[xpeachesncream]

off the grid | two

summary: it was as simple as swapping places with a stranger from across the world to get away from everything back home. that is - until you meet Jimin. things become more complicated as he unfolds a new chapter in your life that you were initially trying to avoid.

pairing: reader x pjm

genre: post-college au, christmas/holiday au | angst, fluff, smut (to come)

words: 3191

chapter warnings: cussing / mature language, definitely inaccurate depiction of transportation, events and whereabouts in South Korea since i only did my research thru the internet, jimin is cute as fuck for being such an angel

> series masterlist <

You tried sleeping in after Namjoon and Yoongi's call, but you couldn't fall back asleep no matter how exhausted your body still felt. Instead, you sat up in bed, scrolling through the pictures you took from your stroll in the nearby streets yesterday. You didn't get too far, yet you came back with so many small goodies already. You kept stopping by every shop on the street, and you ate such delicious food that you were contemplating on getting more today. But, you were also determined to travel a little bit further and start some real adventures for yourself.

You got yourself washed up and ready for the day. You did your usual of prepping a very light breakfast for yourself, just to give you enough fuel to kick off the morning. While doing so, surprisingly unsurprised, you were certain you heard Jimin's voice in the hallway. You stared at the door as you stood and ate some cereal on the kitchen island, waiting for his knock to come.

"Knock, knock." He says, following with two soft knocks. You walked over, bowl in hand, as you opened the door to see Jimin standing there with a huge smile on his face and another tupperware in hand. "I come bearing gifts?" He steps in as you shut the door behind him.

"Aw, thanks! More food?"

"Yup."

"Assuming your parents still don't know Yana isn't here?" You chuckled.

"Not at all." He scratched the back of his neck and laughed nervously. "But I'll deal with it later."

"Mm, you should probably deal with it before Christmas rolls around, sir."

"Yesma'am." He salutes you playfully. "Did you eat the stuff that I brought yesterday?"

"Sure did, for a night time snack." He chuckled as he placed the new tupperware in the fridge.

"Body still adjusting?"

"Pretty much." You say as you begin to wash your bowl.

"What's your plan today, Miss Y/N?" You softly chuckle as you wipe your hands down.

"Just roam around."

"Let me know if you need anything, or if you need anyone to show you around." He held out his hand, signaling for your phone so he can put his number in.

"I may just take you up on that offer."

"Good." He smiled. "Well, I'll catch you later? I'll leave you to your peace." You nod as you follow him to the door.

"Thanks again for the food."

"No problem. Eat up." He taps the door frame before shutting the door close. You look down at your phone and see Jimin's contact info still on the screen. Or should we say, "PRINCE CHARMING 🥵😍" since that's what he decided to name himself?? Let's not forget to peep the little tidbit he put in the notes: "My name is Jimin but you can call me tonight ;)" Who even uses the 'Notes' section under the contact's info?

His use of emojis and cheesy lines made you laugh to yourself, but you left it anyways. You were highly thinking about taking up his offer on having someone show you around, but you kept reminding yourself that the whole reason you came here was to do this solo. But, god, there's only so many things you can achieve as a solo newbie in a place like South Korea. Would it truly hurt to get some help or advice from someone?

On your way to the train station, you came across a lively farmer's market. The cold was biting at every inch of your body no matter how bundled you were, cheeks rosy and glowing. Being that the farmer's market was booming at this time, you figured checking out the station map could wait. Long aisles of stands with colorful fresh fruit and vegetables had you stopping almost every second to try samples. Fruit and veggies certainly tasted fresh, and it was a nice feeling on your tongue. None of that pesticide, wax-covered bullshit back home. There was music playing in the background, one being a street artist playing his violin in this cold. You threw some change into his case and continued down the aisle, where more vendors were selling their own art and home-made goods.

You spent quite some time here, as it seemed like the booths would never end. It eventually did, and it brought you right to the train station that would bring you to Myeongdong. Luckily, it was a simple, straightforward trip and you'd be on your way to more exploring. You planned to get some lunch first though because you can most definitely hear the street food calling your name.

As you continued down the street with your food in hand, you heard someone call you by name from behind.

"Y/N?" You turned your attention towards the street behind you to find Jimin pushing his way through the crowd with a huge smile on his face.

"Are you following me, Park Jimin?" You chuckled. He was wearing the same outfit you saw him in this morning, which was a thick sweater and leather jacket, dark grey jeans and boots. He had a hat on and some oversized glasses, which you thought fit his frame perfectly well.

"Definitely. Just had to make sure you knew what you were doing out here." He laughed. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah, it's great. Do you come here often?"

"To be honest, not really. But the guys and I had nothing else to do today, plus-"He holds up a bag. "Ma put in a request for some stuff she was looking for since I was going to be here."

"That's sweet of you." You smiled toothlessly, watching as he beamed from ear to ear. Definitely a mama's boy, and a handsome one at that.

"Yeah, I do what I can." He shoved the bag down back to his side and tugged on his own shoulder bag. "Where are you headed after this?"

"Honestly? Wherever the wind brings me." You shrugged.

"You should tag along with me and my friends. We're uh, not doing anything fancy besides going to the comic cafe." He snorted nervously, hoping you wouldn't be one to label him as a dweeb this early on. "It's near the Dongdaemun Night Market. I think you'll enjoy grabbing some dinner there."

"Yeah, I'll come with. That sounds fun." You began to walk alongside of him as he walked back towards the opposite end of the street.

"Sorry, were you done looking here? I could accompany you while you keep looking." He paused to look down at you.

"No." You instantly shook your head. "Uh, I think I'm all good." You took one last look behind you, a little unsure since there was a store you still wanted to check out before leaving. You didn't wanna burden Jimin and his friends though, this wasn't their plan.

"You sure?" He smirked.

"Maybe not?"

"Let's go, I can tell you still wanna look around."

"Jimin, I can go alone-"

"It's not an issue, Y/N. Besides, Jungkook and Taehyung are still wandering around." He nodded towards the one shop you were eyeing. "Come on." You smiled toothlessly and followed him into the store.

"By the way, nice contact name." You showed him his contact info on your phone, making him laugh.

"Yeah, it's gold isn't it? Trying to stand out. I'm surprised you kept it."

"Your work of art. I don't meddle."

"Ah, touché. I like a girl who can appreciate good art." He winked, causing your cheeks to heat up as you blushed and looked down at the ground below you. He stepped into the clothing store and slowed his pace to let you lead the way. The one thing you were eyeing were the puffy jackets and coats because who can have too many outerwear? Jimin bit onto his bottom lip as he watched your eyes light up at the coats in front of you, touching everything you came across.

"These are so cute. I want it all." Jimin chuckled.

"Looks like you'll be needing another luggage to go home with you." You hung onto a beige colored puffy jacket, then reached out for a plaid coat.

"There's so many colors, I can't decide." He pointed to the plaid coat next to the one you had reached out for.

"That color would look nice on you." You smiled at him and nodded.

"Thanks. That makes it easier."

"You do have enough warm jackets for your stay right? There's a possibility it'll snow soon."

"Yeah, I think I'll be alright?" He nodded.

"I don't know Y/N, that doesn't sound convincing." He did a quick head tilt. "Make sure you get something warm then, please. The cold bites down here. I wouldn't want you to be miserable for the rest of your stay." He leaned against the rack. "Like that." He pointed at a thick parka. "Might be good to have that in your stack."

"Ou." Your mouth formed an 'o' shape as you grabbed the olive parka and swung it over your arm.

"Well, that was easy." He laughed.

"I trust your word." You began to quickly scan the rest of the floor, making sure you wouldn't miss anything. But also, you didn't wanna take too much time off of Jimin's hands.

"Ayo!" You hear someone call from behind you. You continue to walk the floor, hearing Jimin's laugh from behind, followed by a couple of unfamiliar voices. "Stop being a creep."

"I'm not being a creep, you idiot." Jimin laughed and shrugged off his friend. "I'm helping Y/N out."

"She's here?" You turn to look at the three boys standing behind you.

"Y/N, this is Jungkook and Taehyung." You smiled softly and shook their hands. "I really apologize about them in advance."

"Hey, nice to finally meet you!" Jungkook smiled as he pushed Jimin aside. He was also very attractive, standing just an eensy weensy bit taller than Jimin. He had tattoos on his hand and his wavy, black hair was parted, falling down on either sides of his face and right at the eyes. He had big, doe eyes and a good build. Even though he was wearing baggy layers, you could tell his ass lived at the gym with the way his shoulders were built and how his collarbone was sharply poking out from his shirt.

"Sounds like you've heard of me." You chuckled.

"Jimin won't stop bringing up your name."

"Don't listen to him. He's making that up." Jimin's cheeks turned slightly rosy.

"That's not nice to lie, Jimin-ssi." Jungkook pinched his side, making him laugh and playfully hit him back. You scrunched your nose at how cute the interaction was, not feeling out of place at all between the two.

"Hey Y/N, Taehyung." Taehyung shows off a boxy smile as he gently shakes your hand. He looked like an artist, pulling a Jack from Titanic who was ready to draw one of his french girls kind of vibe - clad in brown pants, a black turtleneck, a long coat and low cut sneakers.

"She's gonna come along with us."

"Cool! Preparing yourself for the weather?" Jungkook asked as he quickly checked out the men's shirts across from you, while Jimin and Taehyung continued to talk and laugh on the side.

"I was warned by Jimin." You chuckled.

"He's right, it can be freezing here. Do you need any help carrying your stuff?"

"I'm good! Thanks. I think I'm about done anyways." Your mouth curved into a small smile before you walked off to the registers, grabbing a scarf on the way over just because. You definitely did not anticipate to spend like this already, but hey, self-care am I right?

"Let me hold that for you." Jimin takes the paper bag from you.

"You don't-"

"Is it like this in California or something?" He laughed.

"What?"

"Feeling shy when someone offers to hold your bags?"

"It's just not a consistent thing, I guess? At least not that I've experienced much. It could be different for others." You spare him the details. Now that you think of it, Romeo has never offered to carry your bags like that. Ever. He obviously lacked a lot of common courtesy.

"Interesting." Is all he says as he shrugs and continues on. You clutched onto your bag strap as you followed the three, suddenly questioning how you got from going around solo to now tagging along with your home swapee's brother and his friends. Jimin slightly slowed his pace to catch up to you, pulling you out of your thoughts when he shared a small laugh. "You okay? Suddenly having regrets?"

"No, I'm good." You chuckled as you tugged into the strap harder.

"Do you ready any comics?"

"I used to when I was younger. Now I just don't have time to even find a good read."

"That busy, huh?"

"I guess so. Or I guess, sorry, I just don't find the time so it's partially my fault."

"No need to apologize. You should make more time for yourself though."

"Yeah, I know." You looked up at him and smiled toothlessly. He returns the favor before opening the back passenger car door for you, allowing you to situate yourself first. As you fasten your seatbelt, Jungkook adjusts his rearview mirror before starting the car and switching its gears.

"So, what's California like?" Taehyung asked as he whipped his head around from the passenger's seat.

"You never said exactly where you were from." Jimin chimed in as he cocks his head to the side to look at you.

"Los Angeles." The boys collectived oo'd and aw'd together.

"I've been there before!" Jungkook rose one hand off of the wheel. "I did a summer dance camp there and spent time with my family going around. Like Universal Studios, that was fun." He excitedly bounced in the driver's seat.

"Did you like it?" He nodded happily.

"Very much so. I'd love to go back. You should take me with you when you go back." Jimin threw a piece of crumpled paper at the back of his head.

"I'll keep that in mind." You laughed.

"The views are amazing and-" Jungkook continued to reminisce on his memories, but was abruptly cut off by Taehyung.

"I wanna hear what it's like from Y/N, not you." Jungkook popped Taehyung on the side of neck.

"It's busy." You chuckled. "It's busy and usually always hot. Lots of people, lots of cars, lots of things to do. People are always on the move."

"Does it feel any different being here?"

"Yeah, it does. I can't really explain it." Although Seoul was just as lively and the hustle and bustle was apparent, Los Angeles just felt like.. life was moving way too fast. Like no one really had time to appreciate life as much as they do here. There's always things that need to get done, and you're more worried about other people than yourself. No one took the time to just slow down.

"I imagine so. I've seen a lot of things about LA. Lots of Hollywood stars and famous people." Taehyung continued to look at you, resting his head against the head rest.

"Yeah, that's definitely the it thing there."

"Maybe we can all go back with Y/N."

"I don't have a big place but I'm sure we can make it work." The rest of the ride included the boys loudly singing along to the songs that came up. If you weren't mistaken, you could have sworn you heard Jimin's angelic singing voice pop out every now and then. He tried to keep it lowkey. Keyword: tried.

At the comic cafe, Taehyung and Jungkook went their separate ways to find what they were looking for while you stayed near the entrance, looking at the cute stationary items. Jimin had left you to browse but came back to your side as soon as he found what he needed, worried you'd feel lost and out of place. You reassured him and told him he didn't need to rush, but as you were picking up quite quickly, it was just in Jimin's nature to be that caring.

Time had gone by so fast, you didn't even realize how hungry you were. Dongdaemun Night Market was crowded as hell; so crowded that you had to try your best to squeeze through without being rude.

"Y/N, hold onto me." Jimin looked back, holding out his arm for you to hook onto. Jungkook led the way, with Taehyung holding onto his shoulders as they navigated through the crowd. Jungkook looked back at you both, pointing towards one of the food vendors. "Are you okay with eating some tonkatsu?"

"I'm down for whatever." You said, feeling a little flustered from the crowd. Jimin signaled a thumbs up to Jungkook before turning towards the seating area. He was able to snag a table so that you both could sit and wait, instead of being in the crowd.

"Sorry, I forgot to mention that it gets really busy here."

"It's alright, thanks for guiding me through the crowd."

"You feeling tired or anything?"

"A bit." You yawned into your elbow.

"We'll get you home after so you can rest up." Sooner or later, Jungkook and Taehyung come back with two trays, both loaded with tonkatsu rice bowls and sauce.

"Here you go." Jungkook smiled as he placed your bowl down in front of you.

"Oh, thank you! How much do I owe you?"

"Don't sweat it. My treat." He shook his head.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, Y/N. Please eat." He chuckled. The rest of dinner was pretty quiet, as everyone was hungrier than expected. They would break the silence every now and then, talking about the rest of their friends and what they had been up to.

"What are your friends like, Y/N?"

"Well, to be honest, I don't have too many." You chuckled. "Not many I can actually call friends, at least."

"That's valid. That's like us, too." Jungkook responded.

"I met both of my bestfriends in high school. I'd meet people through them, but that's about it. They're really cool though, I think you all would get along with them quite well."

"What are their names?"

"Yoongi and Namjoon. They're all I really know. We've done almost everything together and we've always stuck by each other. They've always had my back and protected me."

"That's good. It's nice to have people like that in your life." Jimin says.

"What about you guys?" Taehyung adjusts the heat in the car before whipping his head around to face you.

"You should hang out with us more so you can meet Hoseok and Seokjin-hyung." Taehyung smiled. "They're super social and they always have good energy. They're fun to be around."

"Sure." You chuckled. By the time you were getting really comfortable with the warmth in the car, you had arrived back home. Jungkook and Taehyung greeted you goodnight before Jimin had shut the door and walked you upstairs.

"I know we didn't do much, but I still hope you enjoyed yourself."

"I did, thank you. Seriously."

"Did you wanna, maybe, hang out again?" He shyly asked as he scratched the nape of his neck. He was cute nervous, and there was no way you could say no to him. Besides, you were sure Jimin could help you explore more. "I just have to help my mom and dad out at their cafe tomorrow morning, but I should be good by lunch time."

"Yeah, I'd love to."

"I promise I won't disappoint." He laughed. "Goodnight, Y/N. See you tomorrow?" You nodded as you walked in. He gave off one last big smile before descending down the steps.

And you weren't gonna lie to yourself. He was so damn attractive. Everything about him so far was just different. You couldn't help but feel a little bit excited to hang out and spend more time with him.

#bts #bts fanfiction #jimin fanfiction #jimin #park jimin #pjm series #pjm x reader #off the grid #otg #writing #jimin x reader

[lukatova-mami]

remus lupin fancanons i live by

he is really good at playing sad piano pieces and makes sirius cry every time he plays them because he puts so many emotions in it (but he will never admit hes good at it)

he has a mug collection (preferably mugs everybody else finds ugly but nobody dares to take touch them)

he likes funky socks (just imagine his daily outfit: a moony sweater, loose fit jeans, funny socks and low doc martens)

he puts on a little bit of eyebrow pencil as eyeliner almost every morning

every time he is happy, he dances his little happy dance (with a lot of dad moves)

he loves to wake up very early when its still dark outside to go on a walk and on his way back he brings sirius who just wakes up when he comes back coffee from their favourite coffeeshop

he loves to steal sirius' leather jackets and wear it overneath his sweater

he owns quite a few oversized denim jackets

he has reading glasses but he doesnt use them too often because he thinks he looks weird in them (but sirius loves them on him)

he got a necklace that has been in the family for generations from his dad and he wears it every day underneath his sweater (and hes gonna pass it on to his kids one day)

he has a big nose that he hates but sirius absolutely adores (dont ask why its his vibes)

hes that friend that is good at everything he tries to do

he loves baking and cooking and he always experiments (sirius is his judge eater)

its a really popular fancanon but he is very good at knitting and he knits pullovers for his friends

#remus lupin #marauders #wolfstar #fuck jk rowling

[starfirette]

Chapter Three: Attack On Trost

grand masterlist | previous chapter | more levi | join the taglist: inbox

You reminisce your old passions and dreams when you meet an old friend–but the peace quickly ends.

tags: @kuxredere | @luvelyxp | @fan-g0rl | @levisbrat25 | @a-dream-is-reality 

a/n: Levi makes his grand arrival soon! Thanks to those who commented, liked, and reblogged the last chapters, as well as the Armin x Mother! Reader fic. Yall are so sweet! 

Connie Springer’s entire family is quite alive. 

You learned this unexpectedly when you were working on your assigned duties of the day. Every new graduate was taken to Trost to ‘celebrate’ their new found ‘freedom.’ The new cadets were to do the dirty work for the next three days while assignments were being made. 

In Trost, assigned with five others you didn’t even know the names of, you were on the ground transporting wagons of dry solider feed and blades to the supply center, or, for Garrison soldiers, headquarters. 

You wouldn’t have had any qualms with this job. It was nice to be outside among actual people, breathing fresh air. Trost is a little bubble village along the southern mouth of Wall Sina. Since the breach five years ago, Wall Sina served as the only defense against the titan beyond. Everything beyond it, including your old home, would now be ridden with them. 

You’d half hoped you’d be assigned to the suppliers along the top of wall. Not because you wanted to see Titans, but because you would have wanted to look out to the vast fields that you had once lived amongst. But Shingashina wouldn’t be at all visible to your naked eye, not even from the highest point of the world. The idea that you’d never again see Shingashina did hurt your heart more than you cared to admit. 

But that pain was naught compared to that which you felt when you watched Connie Springer, a younger boy apart of your corps, become embraced by a group of people you could only presume to be his family. A woman had him wrapped in a motherly embrace. 

He looked entirely surprised, and while he acted embarrassed, you could see in his body language that he was over the moon with joy. Who wouldn’t be? 

After over a year of spending time sharing showers in the community sauna with the other cadets that regularly kicked your ass, being with your family is much like being in Heaven. 

Your stomach ached as you turned back to your duties. You lifted bags of wheat and grain to the carts that would soon be taking off for HQ. You realized through the blurred vision of tears and sunshine that you were trembling all the way down to your knees. 

Now more than ever, you wish desperately for Annacka. Even just a letter from her in her swirly script would be enough. You half hope that she’s lingering somewhere, trying to catch a glimpse of you so she could make her grand, surprise visit. Maybe at any moment little Freda would attach herself to your legs, crying your name with that angelic lilt the way she used to.

You wiped your eyes quickly with the back of your jacket sleeve. The scratchy material was clearly made to protect a body, and not to soothe one’s skin.

You and the rest of your squad seemed to notice the surplus of family members gathering about the village center. It is the village center, but you can’t help yourself from getting annoyed. How could they just stand around and watch you all work? They were mostly in the way.

With some annoyance gathering as a scoff in your throat, you hoisted a large sack of dry feed over your shoulder. As you walked to the transport wagon about a yard away, you were suddenly stopped by a person.

You tried to keep yourself from expressing your discomfort as you averted your eyes. You walked around her, but she stepped in front of you again.

You couldn’t avoid her any longer, so you dropped the dry feed from your shoulder into your arms, holding it like an oversized baby.

“You’re Y/n L/n!” The young woman gasped. Her eyes were wide as plates, and they stared at you with such confidence and familiarity that you were a little bit frightened.

“I don’t know you,” you tell her cautiously.

Her ginger lashes fluttered like butterflies as her bow of a mouth shaped into a thin smile. “My name is Fable Rippley. We grew up at the orphan house together.”

The dry feed slipped out of your arms, falling by your feet with a thump.

“My god,” you say. “You’re so tall now!”

Fable Rippley held her freckle arms open for a hug.

Though you recognized her, and were of course happy to see her, you hesitated to accept her hug.

As her arms wrapped around you, you felt how bony and thin she was. You lightly touched her back with your hand, using the bare minimum of a hug to get by.

“I had no idea you—!” She exclaimed, but she quickly pressed her lips flat. “The other girls never responded to my letters. Eventually they were being returned, so...”

"So you figured that I had died,” you assumed for her. 

Her thin mouth smashed into a pale line. “I did,” she admitted, the words sounding as though they were being ground from her throat. “I always felt as though it should have been me rather than the others,” Fable continued on a trail of thought. 

“That’s not your fault,” you note to the tall girl. “It’s a blessing that you were adopted when you were. How old were you then?” 

“I was ten,” she said with a faint lilt of happiness as she recalled the simpler times. “I’m sixteen, now. My birthday’s just passed.” 

“Happy birthday,” you tell her with a half of a smile. “What brings you to Trost?” 

“I am only visiting. My parents have relatives who’ve just had a child. The little boy survived, and so we are all shopping the market to celebrate.” 

“Oh,” you said. You didn’t know how you were supposed to respond to such a  broad statement. ‘Glad the kiddo didn’t die,’ you could say, but she might not appreciate such humor. 

“I’m so, so happy to see you,” Fable suddenly burst out. “I never thought that I could see anyone from my past ever again. And to see you, now, to see that you’ve gotten so much older...it makes me so painfully happy that you could carry on the legacies of our sisters.” 

Fable’s sudden outpour of emotion struck you like a bolt of lightning. 

The blood rushed to your face as you looked up at the taller girl with a feeling of queasy-ness crossed with embarrassment. “I suppose so?” you worded very carefully. 

Fable just chuckled-a light little noise like that of a pixie. 

“We all loved you so much. That’s what I mean. The other little girls bickered for your attention, and somehow, you managed to spend quality time with all of them. All of us. Do you remember the shoe shine box? Oh, it was that special box with the expensive balms to treat leather. And one Yule, every girl got her own pair of real leather Mary-Janes. There was only one shoe shining box to go around. You found a way to split the balms amongst all thirty girls and even yourself! You were a sister to us. Even a mother to the littler girl, what was her name...Freda? Yes, yes, Freda. Oh that child clung to you or to Annacka, and she wouldn’t accept anyone else. Don’t you remember the time when-”

Fable’s voice had risen to a giggle, but she cut herself off shortly when she took a stern frown to her mouth and examined your face. 

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. 

Tears poured down your face like damn waterfalls, and you couldn’t get it to stop. You did remember the shoe shin box. You remembered trying to use it so sparingly between all the children. You remembered panicking when the balm ran out and scrounging together all of your spare change to buy more. 

You even remembered having none left over for yourself. 

And you did remember little Freda. Her shoes were purchased many sizes to big so that she could grow into them. She sat on your lap at the tender age of three, swinging her legs as she didn’t pay attention to your lecture on how to care for leather. 

She wanted to wear them as soon as you were done, and vehemently insisted the shoes would fit miraculously when you informed her they wouldn’t. She had to take such careful little steps around the place so she wouldn’t trip or fall. 

“I shouldn’t have mentioned her at all,” Fable murmured. “Or any of them.”

You wiped your eyes with the mounts of Venus, shaking your head negatively. “Freda didn’t die that day,” you said, your voice sounding dreadfully thick with sorrow. “Freda is very much alive. She lives with Annacka now. Annacka, Freda, and I, we were the only survivors from the orphanage. And also you. Annacka is her mother. I doubt Freda remembers me at all.” 

“How couldn’t she?” Fable asked. “You were such an important part of the house to all of us girls. It’s strange...strange to think that you were only fifteen, then. You gave up your childhood to help raise children. And now you’re a solider!” 

You stifled an informal chuckle. “That’s one way to look at it,” you agreed. 

“You know,” Fable said with a eye crinkling grin, “I remember how badly you wanted to be a doctor.” 

The words made your heart flutter. “You do?” 

“How couldn’t I?” Fable laughed. “You were always talking about the hospital in Calaneth. You wanted to go so badly to be a nurse. Somehow, being a solider suits you more...”

Fable drew you in close for another tight hug. Her boney arms were strong, and her finger tips may have even bruised your back, but her embrace was the most comforting. 

“I should find my family now,” Fable said with a shy gleam in her eyes. “I live in Fairkelt. It’s a little village near Stohess. I’d like to write to you.” 

“Then I will write to you,” you assured her. 

“Amazing! I live in Fairkelt,” she repeated. “But I guess you could just mail the letters to Stohess. The disctrict’s messenger can bring the letters out to our farm. But, you could just label it to Fairkelt if you’d like that more. I really don’t mind. But what do you think would work better? Maybe a letter to Stohess, marked with a note to deliver to Fable Rippley, would be more clear and concise. It couldn’t get lost that way.” 

She titrated on with her childish charm and rant. 

“I’ll write two,” you amused yourself. “Both letters couldn’t get lost, could they?” 

Fable went red in the face as she laughed. “I’m sorry for ranting on. You have duties to attend. I’m so happy we’ve bumped into one another. I’ll look out for your letter.” 

As Fable skipped away, further into the marketplace of Trost, you looked after her, her red hair swinging back and forth like a lick of fire in the air. She was white as a ghost. She must never get any sun, you think as you bend down to retrieve the dry feed you’d dropped earlier. 

Fairkelt, just off of Stohess. The mental image of the map in mind led you to pinpoint Fairkelt somewhere along the forest. Perhaps she lived in a secluded little cottage under the shaded canopy of trees. 

You carried the feed to the heavy carts mounted to four large horses. 

The Garrison solider that supervised your squad chastised you as you set the sack down. “I ought to write you up for idle chatter while on duty.” 

You tucked your chin downward. “Apologies, sir,” you echoed the template you’d been so dutifully taught by Sadies. 

He seemed to considered saying something else; another set of lecturing words, perhaps, but he didn’t. He waved you to continue. 

You and your squad continued the painful march back and forth, over the same dirt and stones of the two 1/2 yards. 

“Why can’t the damn wagons be closer together?” a girl of your squad grumbled. 

“Maybe cos thee Garrison don’t wan’ no pussies in thur ranks,” someone retorted. 

The girl mocked his words in the same thick accent he spoke with. “Wut makes yu think the Garrison gun wan a dumbo like yu?” she fired back, her hands on her hips. 

Well maybe Fable just doesn’t get outside much, you were thinking again of her wispy white skin, as if she were a ghost. 

You’d read a wonderful story, though long ago, about a ghost coming to warn the village of a coming attack. The attack came every century on the same night, and only one boy in the whole village believed the ghost.

Wouldn’t that be exciting? 

To know a ghost? To be that bridge of life for them? 

Oh, but how painful it must be for ghosts, for they can watch forever what they can never have. 

You hoisted another sack of dry feed over your shoulder. Turning on the balls of your feet, you looked at the full wagon that would be making it’s way to the Garrison’s supply center. Your final bag would be it. 

The sun blazed down across you, the heat beating past the thick material of your uniformed jacket. 

You tossed the final sack of dry meal onto the wagon, and your squad cheered at the sight of their chore being completed. 

“So we get to see the center now, right?” one of the girls from your squad politely asked the supervisor. He gave her a stern look over his thin glasses. 

“Yes,” he said, finally. 

You collapsed against the side of the cart as your squad cheered. You could feel the sweat that saturated you underneath your clothes and uniform. 

The leather straps and belts seemed to slide around easier than they had this morning, which made you feel better. The harness usually made you feel bloated. But with all the sweat, you were like butter on a hot griddle. 

You looked down at your own knees. Sweat stains formed at the joints of your white pants. 

You began to shrug out of your jacket when, all too suddenly, a group of cats ran past you. 

It was a strange sight, to be sure, for these cats did not only run-they sprinted. They went bolting as if they were hiding for their lives. You looked after them, counting them each in your head. 

One...two...three...f-

The CRACK of the thunder quaked through the earth you stood upon, jolting even the wagon. There had been a brief, brief flash of light, one that you doubted you’d even seen. 

The entire village came to a standstill. People muttered, asked questions, looked about for signs of storms. But you just looked after that group of alleycats whose tails were upright and haunches were breaking past their fur. 

The sweat dribbled down your neck as you spun around to look up in the air, which itself had a fresh smell of smoke. The sort of smoke that was layered with hot, raw meat. The scent made your eyes water. You looked to the sky. It’s emptiness filled your stomach with violent anxiety and just when you’d began to comprehend what was happening, the screaming started. 

#starfirette writes #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman fanfic #levi x reader #levi imagine #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #anime #anime x reader #anime imagine #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #shingeki no kyoujin imagine #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin #levi #levi ackerman smut #rivaille ackerman x reader #rivaille ackerman imagine #levi rivaille x reader #levi rivaille imagine

[seattlesea]

Lorien Legacies Characters + Styles of Dress

One- Surfer + Cute She always dresses like she’s about to go to the beach. She wears a lot of tank tops, shorts, sandals, flip-flops, wedges, Vans, ripped jeans, tie-dye t-shirts, flannel shirts, bikini tops, and cute tops and always accessories with sunglasses and a small crossbody bag. She also likes wearing silver jewelry and sun hats or baseball caps. Her outfits are always on-point and super cute. Her main colors are blue and white with tan and light orange accents. She also loves shorts with beach-type prints like waves and palm trees, thin jackets, and high-waisted shorts, and when it’s cold out she wears a jumper or knit sweater with a natural tone, and she’ll wear a button-up jean shirt from time-to-time. Her style is really laid-back and looks super nice even when she doesn’t really try as she doesn’t care too much about fashion but likes the style. Her favorite article of clothing is a white and blue gradient tank top she ‘borrowed’ from a store while with Wade. 

Maggie-  Autumn + Academia Her style is really cute and warm, she looks like the human personification of autumn. She likes wearing scarves, cardigans, knit sweaters, stockings, skinny jeans, parkas, short and ankle boots, and flannel, long-sleeved, and button-up shirts. She usually looks like she’s about to walk into a coffee shop to read. She always carries a brown bag to carry all her books and accessories with plain gold jewelry- especially rings and earrings- usually has some sort of overcoat on, likes wearing layers, and her outfits are always precise and perfect. She accessories perfectly and her main colors are brown, black, and maroon with dark orange and crimson accents. Sometimes she’ll wear an overall dress and floral patterns so long as it has that fall-color palette, and she’ll wear the autumn style no matter the season. She’ll wear the perfect fall outfit in the dead of July without hesitation. She also likes wearing hair accessories like hairclips, headbands, bandanas, hats (especially fedoras, she’s one of the few people who can actually look decent in them), bows, and clips and she usually styles her hair really nicely when she doesn’t just put it down. She also steals clothes from all of the guys- mostly Adam, John, and Nine- like she did with Conrad cause they’re so big and comfy, especially on her. Her favorite article of clothing is an oversized maroon sweater Conrad knit for her. 

Hannu- Trendy + Comfy He likes the classic, comfortable clothes most teenage boys wear. He wears a lot of sweatshirts and hoodies, brand-name shoes like Nikes and Adidas, sweats, jeans (most of which cuffed), zip-up sweaters, knee-shorts, khakis, and plain tees with the occasional turtleneck. Most- if not all- of his clothes are big and comfy and others love stealing them from him cause because of it. His main colors are brown and gray with black and white accents, and he owns most clothes everyone else own. He likes to keep it simple and straightforward and doesn’t care too much for fashion, but will experiment from time-to-time. He’ll occasionally wear a basic accessory like a woven bracelet, wristwatch, or chain necklace and a bolder color like yellow or blue every now and then but other than that he avoids anything too flashy or eye-catching. He also likes clothes fitting for long runs and playing basketball like tank tops, athletic shorts, and track pants. His favorite article of clothing is a black tank top with the Kenya flag on it he got while at the village. 

John- Prep + Plain He kind of dresses like a white suburban dad (and Nine loves making fun of him for it). He likes button-up, striped, and polo shirts, khakis, plain tees, zip-up sweaters, jeans, knee-shorts, sneakers, sandals, and the occasional sweatshirt or hoodie. He owns a million different belts and sometimes wears a watch but doesn’t really like to accessorize. The number one thing the others hate about his style is his tendency to wear socks with slip-ons (it’s an Ohio thing), and he does it just to piss them off. Overall, he has a very simple and plain style. He doesn’t care too much about fashion but does like looking presentable, so he and his clothes usually look pretty neat and clean but most of the time there’s that one thing that tips his outfit off like a color that doesn’t match with the rest or an accessory worn with the wrong outfit, but no one bothers to point it out cause they all know John will just shrug it off anyways. His main colors are white and blue with brown, orange, and dark blue accents. His favorite article of clothing is a pair of lightly ripped jeans that used to belong to Henri. 

Five- Emo + Grunge He’s the middle line between emo and grunge, really. He mostly wears skinny and/or ripped jeans, classic-rock band tees, Vans, Converse, leather or denim jackets, combat boots, faded clothes, parkas, distressed jeans, oversized shirts, black sneakers, and acid-washed jeans. He doesn’t really like accessories except a few pins and wristbands here and there, and when his hair has grown out too long and he doesn’t feel like combing it (which is most times) he wears a beanie to cover it. Overall he doesn’t really care about fashion (or his appearance at all) so he just throws on whatever he sees first and it may look bizarre at first but he somehow makes it work, even though he doesn’t really try. He also- to the others’ surprise- really likes floral-print, so he’ll be seen wearing a black and white floral-print t-shirt every now and then. His main colors are black and white with silver, dark gray, and dark green accents. His favorite article of clothing is a parka he got the first time he went to a non-tropical place during his run from the Mogs. 

Six- Androgynous/Tomboy + Punk She acts like a butch and dresses like one, too. She usually wears army-print jackets, ripped jeans, sweatshirts and hoodies, button-up shirts, jeans, sneakers, trucker hats, leather jackets, baggy tees, flannel shirts, combat boots, and denim or leather vests. She rarely accessories but the few times she does, she goes all out with studs, chains, wristbands, pins, fingerless leather gloves, black accessories, and studded belts, and sometimes she’ll wear eyeliner (with enough begging from Ella), and other times she’ll wear suspenders, women’s suits, or polo shirts. Her right ear is covered in piercings and she has a diamond nose stud on the left, and it may not seem like it, but she actually doesn’t care about style. She just throws on whatever she thinks will look somewhat decent and leave, but it usually looks really good, though sometimes she messes a few things up like mismatching the colors. When she’s feeling nostalgic or she misses Katarina more than usual, she’ll wear a bow in her hair like she used to, and her main colors are black and blue with white and brown accents. Her overall style is down-to-earth, simple, and tomboyish with some punk-rock highlights here and there, or she’ll go full punk and it looks pretty good on her. Her favorite article of clothing is a black leather jacket, which was the first thing she got after she escaped from the West Virginia Base.

Marina- Hipster + Simple Her style is simple, but pretty cute. Out of all the Garde besides Ella, she probably cares the most about fashion and often wears fedoras, flannel shirts, jean shorts, stockings, beanies, combat or ankle boots, denim jackets, baggy sweaters, graphic tees, and cardigans with the occasional leather jacket (usually one of Six’s). She loves tying flannel shirts around her waist or throwing it into any of her outfits, even if it doesn’t match. She usually accessories with a bunch of stacked rings, silver necklaces, and sometime a bracelet, mostly beaded ones, but rarely wears earrings. She also loves layering, it’s almost impossible for her to go out- even in the summer- without wearing something over her clothes. She likes looking nice so has a very neat and cute style but doesn’t go overboard. When it’s cold out, she’ll throw on a cute knit sweater or nice-fitting long-sleeved shirt and also likes wearing beanies (a lot). Her main colors are brown and cream with black and tawny accents and while she does care quite a bit about fashion and presentability, she’ll always choose comfort over fashion. If she had to choose between a cute cardigan that itched and a plain and baggy but comfy tee, she’ll choose the latter in a heartbeat, but she’ll choose flannel over everything, it’s basically her trademark style and she owns like a million flannel shirts in a hundred different colors. Her favorite article of clothing is a dark orange and black flannel shirt. 

Eight- Cozy + Eccentric His style will change every other day. One day he’ll be wearing basic, everyday clothes like hoodies, sweatshirts, jeans, sweats, baseball caps, sweaters, tank tops, baggy tees, and sneakers- the comfiest clothes almost everyone has just lying in their closet- and the next he’ll be wearing the weirdest array of bright, flashy colors and prints. He loves floral and animal-print shirts, silly graphic tees, skinny jeans, and bizarre accessories like fringe necklaces, friendship bracelets, woven bracelets and necklaces, and Silly Bandz (which are his trademark article of clothing). His right cartilage is pierced and he always has a small silver helix earring on, and he’ll wear the most offbeat and surreal colors together like a bright orange t-shirt with lime green skinny jeans and dark blue boots. They literally never look good but he doesn’t care (nor does he mind the staring from strangers) as he doesn’t care about fashion and just wears whatever he’s comfortable with, which just so happens to be the brightest, flashiest clothing and colors in existence. His main colors are basically every one with gold and silver accents. His favorite article of clothing is a bright yellow ‘Shut up, Karen’ t-shirt, a gift from Nine.

Nine- Athletic + Casual His style isn’t too bad when he actually wears clothes. He wears the basic workout clothes like track pants, zip-up sweaters, comfy t-shirts, workout shorts, athletic tops, gym shoes, and athletic tank tops that usually have a Chicago team logo on them (mostly the Bulls), but besides that he wears basic, everyday clothes as if he’s taking a quick trip to the grocery store like sweatshirts, large hoodies, plain tees, (ripped) jeans, sneakers, and knee shorts. Despite having the most money of all the Garde and living in a penthouse in Downtown Chicago, Nine doesn’t like flashy or expensive clothes and goes with the casual, daily clothes he’s seen the majority of people wear since he’s learned to adapt to and act like others around him while on the run from the Mogs. He also hates formal clothes like tuxedos cause they’re uncomfortable for him and he would never let Sandor make him wear one. His main colors are gray and blue with dark red and black accents and besides a basic watch and chain necklace here and there, he never accessories and usually throws on the first thing he sees when he wakes up. The others always steal his shirts and hoodies cause they’re so big, warm, and comfy. His favorite article of clothing is a gray sleeveless hoodie he had since he moved to Chicago. 

Ella- Retro + Feminine Her style is easily one of the cutest out of all of them. She loves feminine, retro, old-fashioned clothes like striped shirts, cute dresses, flowy skirts, 90s band tees, overalls, button-up shirts, suspenders, sweaters, cute tops, shorts, and colorful sweaters. She usually accessories with sunglasses, bows, scarves, belts, bandanas, earrings, and small rings and always looks like she came out of a 90s romance film. She cares the most about her clothes and fashion so usually looks the best-dressed out of all the Garde with an exception for her lazy days where she usually just throws on a sweater and leggings. Sometimes she’s the epitome of the ‘Soft Girl’ aesthetic- baggy sweaters, denim skirts, scrunchies, white shoes, and cute t-shirts. Her main colors are pink, pastel purple, and vivid red with jean blue and soft orange accents and her style really reflects on her young and bright personality. Her favorite article of clothing is a red, orange, yellow, and blue-striped t-shirt she got while out with Marina.

Sam- Nerdy + Vintage For someone who doesn’t really care about his looks, Sam’s outfits are pretty damn nice. He mixes ‘nerdy’ and ‘vintage’ styles so he usually wears button-up shirts, suspenders, collared shirts, flannel shirts, plain jeans, zip-up sweaters, striped shirts, sweaters, and sometimes a denim jacket. He basically looks like Peter Parker if he was from the 90s. His style pretty much reflects his personality- nerdy, cute, sophisticated, and smart- and he rarely accessories besides watches and friendship bracelets he made for him and John. He won’t be caught dead without a zip-up sweater on, too. He’s obsessed with the things and refuses to leave the house without one, and he occasionally wears ripped or cuffed jeans. Mostly he likes wearing a collared long-sleeved shirt under a sweater and also likes funny shirts with cheesy jokes and puns on them. He doesn’t really care too much about his appearance or fashion, but enough to make sure his outfit isn’t absolutely hideous before he goes out. He usually goes for the comfier clothes and will often steal John, Nine, and Hannu’s clothes. His main colors are light blue, gray, and brown with cream and dark orange accents. His favorite article of clothing is a slightly baggy, dark blue zip-up sweater that was Malcolm’s. 

Sarah- Fashionable + Girly She has the most feminine style, and it suits her well. She usually wears  dresses, skirts, halter tops, tank tops, high heels, sandals, silk jackets, ripped jeans, jean shorts, tube tops, denim jackets, and cute tops. She always accessories and does so perfectly with earrings, affirmation necklaces, bangle or charm bracelets, and plain rings, and every outfit is always on-point and perfect as she’s one of the only ones who actually cares about fashion, cares the most about her appearance, and always wants to look nice and presentable. She’ll occasionally wear comfier but still cute clothes like beanies or knit sweaters and always has a bag or purse with her to carry all her regular ‘human’ items, including her camera. She also usually wears light makeup like mascara, lip gloss, and a bit of blush and either has her hair down or nicely styled if she has the time. Her main colors are pink and white with light blue and gold accents and her overall style is very neat, cute, and feminine and shows what type of person she is. Her favorite article of clothing is a white off-shoulder top she likes to wear with a silk pink circle skirt when she’s feeling extra pretty.

Adam- Alternative + Dark He has that ‘dark but not emo’ style, on the border of e-boy. He typically wears black aviator, leather, or bomber jackets, long-sleeved shirts, band tees, ripped jeans, striped shirts, denim jackets, baggy tees, Vans, collared shirts, and dress pants. He likes wearing leather belts with chains but other than that usually skips accessorising besides the occasional earrings as he has quite a lot of ear piercings (and either a nose ring, snakebites, or eyebrow piercing). Sometimes he’ll even dress like a skater boy- Thrasher and/or baggy shirts, distressed jeans, checkered Vans, studded belts, flannel shirts, light studs, beanies, long socks, and graphic tees, and he loves black and white flannel shirts and pocket-grid pants and jackets. His main colors are black and white with dark blue and gray accents, and he adores pins. He owns about a million different vests and jackets (most of which leather or denim and either black or dark blue) and he loves decorating them with pins, stitches, and even safety pins on the sleeves of his vests. He has too many pins to count like the stereotypical alien head, a UFO, a pride flag, rock band logos, a skull, a smiley face, and other random things he sticks onto himself every morning. His style is overall a little messy but pretty nice as he doesn’t care that much about his appearance but likes the style. His favorite article of clothing is a black denim vest with a hundred pins and stiches on it Malcolm bought for him. 

#lorien legacies #lorics #garde #mogadorians #headcanons #styles #outfits #styles of dress #i am number four #one #two #maggie hoyle #three #hannu #john smith #four #five #cody #six #maren elizabeth #seven #marina #eight #naveen #nine #stanley worthington #ten #ella #sam goode #sarah hart

[thecassadilla]

A Scarf to Keep Him Warm

Pairing: New Dream/Rapunzel x Eugene

Word Count: 1,754/AO3

Summary: Rapunzel decides to take matters into her own hands when she notices that Eugene doesn’t have any wintertime accessories.

Author’s Note: Hi again! I still hate fall, but I wrote another New Dream fic so yay! I was able to write about a skill that Rapunzel and I both share in this one - knitting! Although this is a modern!AU, Rapunzel is a skilled knitter just like she is in the movie. Writing this fic made me want to knit something even though I’ve devoted all of my time to writing these days lol. Anyway, enjoy!!!

In the years since she’d met him, Rapunzel learned a lot about the man known as Eugene Fitzherbert. From his meticulous hair styling and grooming routine, to the way he took his coffee, and everything in-between.

But the one thing that she couldn’t quite understand was his lack of preparedness for the colder seasons. A chill formed in the air, and while Rapunzel had added a hat, gloves, and a scarf to her outdoor ensemble, Eugene hadn’t added anything. He simply wore a black leather jacket, his hands buried deep in the pockets when they were outside for a prolonged period of time. 

The first winter they spent together, Rapunzel kept making the foolish assumption that he’d eventually add those missing pieces to his wardrobe. But soon, the air grew warm, and there was no longer a need for such accessories, and the assumption changed. Her new assumption was that he had a high tolerance for cold weather. Nonetheless, their pea coats and leather jackets were traded in for shorts and tank tops. 

But the seasons are cyclical, and autumn eventually returned. On one particularly brisk October morning, Rapunzel and Eugene sat at his kitchen table, discussing the rapid change of weather.

“Just yesterday it was sixty-five degrees!” he griped, setting two steaming mugs of coffee onto the table. “Today? It’s forty degrees! Should I break out the shovel just in case there’s an unexpected blizzard tomorrow?”

“Stranger things have happened,” Rapunzel shrugged, cradling the mug between her hands and relishing in its warmth.

“I’m getting really tired of the seasons,” he moaned. “I want to move somewhere where the seasons never change. Somewhere tropical and sunny. I hate cold weather.”

“I see,” she remarked, furrowing her eyebrows together and placing her mug back on the table. She leaned back in her chair, pondering what he had just said, before proceeding with her query. “How come you never wear anything that keeps you warm?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t exactly wear clothing that keeps you warm during winter,” she explained. “I feel like if you wore a scarf or gloves, then the cold would be more tolerable.”

He sat still for a moment before answering, his face softening. “I never really had those things when I was growing up. So I guess I never really thought about buying them as an adult?”

“Eugene,” she cooed, reaching out and taking his hands in her own. “That’s awful. No wonder why you can’t stand the changing seasons - you suffer every time you go outside because you’re cold.”

“It’s really not a big deal, Sunshine,” he promised, averting his eyes. He was trying to downplay the situation. “I’m used to it. I’ll survive this winter, just like I survived the past twenty-three winters: with a bit of complaining, and my trusty old leather jacket.”

Rapunzel was not satisfied with his response. Why would he want to continue to suffer when the solution was so simple? So, she decided it was time to take matters into her own hands. If he didn’t want to buy a scarf, she would make him one. It would be more expensive and labor-intensive than simply buying him a scarf, but it would be worth it.

Knitting was one of the many talents that she acquired, but never put to use. It wasn’t a particularly difficult hobby, and she was grateful that she’d finally be able to put her skills to work. The following day, she spent hours on the Internet, researching patterns and types of yarn before taking a trip to the craft store. She wandered for what felt like hours, picking up the supplies that she knew she needed - particularly, size eleven needles - and the supplies that she wanted. After consulting with the sales associate, and taking trips to a few other craft stores, she finally found the yarn she was looking for; skeins of dark grey cashmere. It would match his leather jacket, and it would be softer against his skin than wool. Finally satisfied, she returned home to her apartment and set off to work.

The pattern she chose was fairly simple, and nothing to fuss about; a simple two-by-two rib stitch pattern. She followed the pattern closely, casting on thirty-nine immaculate loops. Knit two, purl two, repeat. Row after row, she sat for hours under the soft glow of the floor lamp in her tiny, cozy living room. It was easy to keep going; her hands growing accustomed to the back and forth motion of the needles, and the constant pulling of the yarn. When she finally put the needles down and glanced at her cell phone, she realized exactly how much time had passed. Fifteen text messages from Eugene that had gone ignored. Instead of answering them she decided it would be easier to call him. He answered after a few rings.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he crooned, his voice low and gravelly.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“It’s alright,” he insisted, and he suddenly sounded much more awake than he did the minute before. “I dozed off on the couch. I’m glad you called, we didn’t get to talk much today.”

“Sorry about that,” she grimaced. “I was a little preoccupied.”

“No need to be sorry. You were busy.”

“I still should’ve checked in.”

“I’m just happy to hear your voice.” She could practically hear him smiling through the phone and she found herself blushing. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“No,” she sighed, glancing down at the project in her lap. “I have plans after work. Tuesday for sure, though.”

“Okay,” he said, softly. “I think I’m gonna head off to bed now.”

“Same here. My eyes are starting to burn.”

“Goodnight, Sunshine. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she smiled. “Sleep well, Eugene.”

Though, instead of making it to her bedroom, she settled back into the chair and slept there, too tired to move.

When she got back from work the next day, she settled into the same routine. Knitting and purling under the glow of her lamp until she finally felt satisfied with the length of the scarf. She began to bind off, making sure that the edges were even and perfect. When she finished the very last stitch, she rolled her shoulders back, releasing the tension that had built up while she was working on her project. She stood up, dropped the needles onto the chair and brought the scarf over to the mirror. She draped it over her own shoulders and around her neck, trying to picture what it would look like on Eugene.

She eventually took it off, and gently folded it so it would easily fit into her oversized purse, as the best way to catch him off guard was to not put his gift in a gift bag. And for the rest of the evening, she twiddled her thumbs and hoped that the clock would move faster so she could finally give the scarf to him. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rapunzel was buzzing with excitement by the time she finally made it to Eugene’s apartment, and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to hide the scarf from him for long once she actually saw him. She knocked a few times before he answered.

He was already smiling when he opened the door. “Hey, Rapunzel.”

“Hi,” she said, walking into the tiny hallway. They shared a quick, but sweet ‘hello’ kiss before she shimmied out of her jacket and hung it on the coat rack. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

They had barely made it any further into his apartment before she nearly exploded with eagerness. “So, I have something for you,” she said, rocking back on her heels and clutching her purse in her hands. “Something I made.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded. “You have to close your eyes, though.”

“Okay,” he agreed, squeezing them shut.

“No peeking,” she warned.

He shook his head. “No peeking.”

Content with his promise, she reached into the bag and unraveled the scarf. Taking it in her hands, she dropped the purse on his coffee table and stepped closer to Eugene, balancing on her toes before loosely draping it around his neck. Her cold fingers gently brushed across his cheek as she created a single loop, adjusting it so each end of the scarf was even and flat against his chest. Smiling, she took a step back, satisfied with her work.

“Okay, you can open your eyes.”

He did as he was told, and his eyes immediately darted down to the unfamiliar object that had been placed around his neck. A small smile appeared on his face and he gingerly took one end of the scarf in his hands, admiring the soft texture and the perfect stitches.

“You made this? For me?” he asked, almost in disbelief.

She nodded, her own lips creeping upwards. “That’s why I couldn’t see you yesterday. I wanted to finish it.”

“I don’t know what to say, Rapunzel,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He couldn’t seem to peel his eyes away from her craftsmanship. “This is the most generous gift anyone has ever given me. Thank you.”

Before she could respond, he was pulling her into a hug, squeezing her as tightly as he could, and burying his face into her neck. “I didn’t want you to be cold this winter,” she explained.  

“I didn’t even know that you knew how to knit,” he remarked, his voice muffled.

“I never mentioned it. It’s been a long time since I knit anything.”

He finally pulled away enough to look at her face. “I still don’t know what to say. I’m in shock.”

“I’m just glad that you like it.”

“How could I not like it? It’s so beautiful and thoughtful.”

“I could make you gloves, too. And a hat, if you want. The only thing that I can’t make you is a sweater because of the sweater curse.”

He looked puzzled. “The sweater curse?”

“It’s an old superstition. If you knit your significant other a sweater before you’re married, then the relationship will end.”

“Don’t do that,” he laughed, waving his hands. “No curses here, please.”

“No curses,” she promised.

“Thank you again, Rapunzel. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“You shouldn’t have to suffer through the cold weather, and I wanted to make sure that you wouldn’t,” she smiled. “I’m just happy that you’re happy.”

Without any hesitation, he took her back in his arms, both of them as safe and warm as could be.

#new dream #rapunzel x eugene #rapunzel #eugene fitzherbert #tangled #rapunzel's tangled adventure #tangled the series #tangled fanfiction #tangled fic #my writing

[cakesunflower]

Fall From Grace [C.H. AU] Part 2

A/N: here’s part 2 of Fall From Grace! there will be one more part after this!! happy reading hehe

p.s.: since i’m gonna be at work when this is posted, i don’t know if tumblr would have fucked up the format and have a bunch of this story missing like it does on desktop. that being said, to avoid potentially missing sections of this part, pls READ ON MOBILE!!!!

thank you.

Previous Part: Part 1

Part 2

“TO OLIVIA—NO one is more deserving of this promotion than you, sweetheart.”

Cheeks warming at Dan’s words, Olivia smiled as everyone else sounded their cheerful agreements before clinking their glasses together and sipping them. Truthfully, she thought they were making ac far greater deal out of this than necessary—they being Alana, Daniel, Claudia, and Calum. Olivia sat with the four of them at one of the nicer Italian restaurants Bridgelake had to offer right by the beach, dressed up and drinking wine, all because she was now the assistant manager of the store.

The insecure part of her, because that always existed, kept reminding her mockingly that it wasn’t a big achievement. That she still was a retail worker in a boutique—though the nicest one in their town—at a random place in North Carolina. Nothing extraordinary. But those she cared about thought differently; they saw it as something to be celebrated. Which, okay, maybe it was. Addy had taken her out for drinks the night before, and now Olivia was having dinner with Alana, Calum, and his grandparents, and she smiled happily. Retail or not, she was proud of herself for getting that promotion—especially since it meant a higher pay.

So Olivia told that self-deprecating part of herself to shut up, and enjoyed dinner with her family to celebrate her.

It wasn’t hard to do so, she realized, as she drank her wine and ate her pasta and looked around the table. Everyone was all smiles—smiles for her—and it warmed Olivia more than the wine she was drinking. Moments like these were what reminded her that maybe not the entire world was against her, even if it felt that way most times. This promotion was an example of that, and while it didn’t feel quite as big of an accomplishment as Alana and the Hoods were making it seem to be, part of Olivia knew it was a step in the right direction. Maybe a small step, but a step nonetheless.

The smile on her face was genuine, feeling so lucky to be around these people as they enjoyed their dinner. She reminded herself that, despite what many people thought, there were still people who loved and cared for her. It was difficult to remember that at times in the damn near hateful little town of Bridgelake, but with her fourteen year old sister looking at her with admiring eyes, Claudia and Daniel being so vocal about how proud they were, and Calum embracing her in warm hugs she never wanted to end, Olivia found it relatively easy to get lost in the joy of this celebratory dinner.

                                                    ✩✩✩✩✩

“Did you enjoy dinner?” Calum inquired, voice a lulled murmur over the sound of waves crashing on the shore. The damp sand was cold and unsoftened under his bare feet, and occasionally the ocean water would rush around his feet and send shivers up and down his spine. It was just the two of the now; Calum wasn’t entirely sure how he’d manage to talk Olivia in joining him to the beach after dinner. His grandparents took Alana home, so it was just him and Olivia walking along the shore with their shoes in her car parked on the sidewalk. The night was quiet, just the sounds of their voices and the water crashing on the shore, and Calum reveled in it.

“I did,” Olivia hummed thoughtfully, fingers fiddling with the skirt of her dress, spaghetti strapped and floral in a pretty turquoise color. Her head bowed so her gaze could drop to her white painted toes, a typical nail color for the summer on her part, and Olivia let out a breath through her nose as her lips puckered. She hated the way the sour thoughts slipped back into her head once the dinner was over, hated even more that she voiced them as she said, “Such a fuss over something so little.”

Calum’s eyebrows drew together into a frown as he looked at her while they continued walking, the downturn and dismayed tone of her muttering voice not going ignored. His lips parted slightly as he took her in, her own twisted to the side and shoulders slumped. He didn’t like it—he didn’t like Olivia diminishing the worth of her accomplishment. She was being awarded for being a hard worker, for her devotion to the boutique, and she should embrace it proudly because it was something to celebrate. In the past month and half Calum had been living in Bridgelake, he got to see just how much Olivia worked, providing for herself and Alana, and while sometimes Calum found himself worrying that Olivia worked herself too hard, though his admiration of her never wavered.

From that to how much she took care of Alana, to how she held her head high around the judgemental eyes prickling at her skin even though he could see the hint of sadness in her eyes he wished he could take away—there was nothing to not like about Olivia. And the more time he spent with her, got to know her more and more. . . God, Calum couldn’t even pinpoint where he started developing feelings for her. They just came naturally, slowly building up where it was almost unnoticeable at first. Now, every time he looked at Olivia, Calum could feel his heart jump into his throat and stomach lurch giddily.  

Seeing anything but her beautiful smile didn’t settle well with him.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Calum found himself saying, the disappoint clear in his tone as he came to a stop. Olivia looked at him, realizing he had stopped when she was a step or two ahead before turning to face him. Calum shook his head, eyebrows still drawn together. “Don’t try to brush off something you worked hard for. We’re all proud of you, Liv. It’s worth celebrating.”

Olivia gave a shake of her head, licking her lips as she looked off to her right towards the vast ocean. The moon reflected off the dark water, the beach deserted for the most part given the nighttime, and Calum couldn’t stop himself from memorizing the soft shadows of the moonlight dancing off her features. She was glowing, with her dark hair dancing gently in the ocean breeze. “I just wanna skip this part, you know?” Olivia spoke, sounding almost defeated. “Wanna get to the point in my life where Alana’s in college and I somehow managed to run my own little store. I want to—I wanna skip all of this because right now it feels like my life is stuck at a standstill and it’s just—I’m not going anywhere.”

She was struggling to articulate her thoughts, her emotions running rampant and trying to grasp onto words that fit her musings best, letting out a frustrated breath by the end of it. But Calum understood what she was saying; maybe he couldn’t relate to her situation, but he could empathize. In a way, he knew what it was like to want to just skip to the end; he’d felt that way when he first arrived to Bridgelake, and he often felt that way every time there was a new rumor about him developing back home. One to end for another to start, and he hated going through the endless cycles of questions and demands for answers. Calum hated having to submit to others, to being unable to live his life without offering an explanation and maybe. . . Maybe Olivia was sick of the same. Maybe he could relate, just on different scales.

Calum let out a slow breath, lips quirking up in an empathetic smile as his hands remained in the pockets of his leather jacket. With a slow shake of his head, he softly responded, “Don’t think that’s how it works, babe.”

Her cheeks flushed at the small term of endearment, one that had been slipping past his lips more and more often as of late, Olivia couldn’t help but recall. It made the butterflies in her stomach come alive each time and tickle her wonderfully, warming her face and yearning to hear it again in the sound of his deep rasp.

Olivia’s shoulders dropped as she looked at him, wondering if the chill that ran down her spine was from the cool breeze or the way his dark eyes seemed to be locked onto her blue, watching her closely. God, he always stared at her as if he was taking in every detail she had to offer. No one ever looked at her the way Calum did, as if he was truly taking in her presence because he wanted to. Like he was memorizing her in his mind. She wrapped her arms around herself, hands rubbing at the skin of her upper arms to warm herself up absently as she responded in a mumbled, “I’m sick of life kicking me in the ass.”

Calum’s eyebrows drew together gently at her words, understanding flushing through him because while he may not know her exact feelings and experiences, he could only imagine the pain that she’s endured, and it sat heavily on his heart. His gaze dropped to the skin of her arms, bare thanks to her dress, noticing through the shadows that goosebumps had raised. Without a thought, Calum shrugged off his leather jacket and Olivia watched, blinking in too late of a realization as he took a step towards her and draped the jacket over her shoulders, leaving him in just a half sleeved black button down.

She was suddenly enveloped in the smell of Calum, a scent that tickled her nose wonderfully as the jacket provided instant warmth. Olivia could feel her heart drumming within her chest, hearing it louder than the water crashing around their feet as her dark hair remained tucked in under the collar of the oversized jacket, arms still hugging herself as she looked up at Calum. His fingers, with a few rings glinting against the moonlight above, held onto the lapels of the jacket, keeping it tight around her frame as his eyes never left hers, and Olivia’s throat dried at their proximity.

All she could focus on was him in that moment, not on the disheartened weight pressing down on her body or the cold water around her feet; just Calum and his jacket keeping her so pleasantly warm and his dark curls brushing across his forehead since he was forced to duck his head a bit to maintain eye contact with her.

“I wish there was somethin’ I could say to make you feel better.” His voice was quiet, the familiar deep rasp soothing her as she heard it. Once again, the way Calum was gazing at her rendered Olivia breathless; every time he did, she felt a bit of herself just. . . Come alive. He looked at her like she was truly seeing her, like she was someone worth being acknowledged, someone who was worth giving his attention to. It made breathing that much more difficult; except that instead of feeling suffocated by unwanted attention, Olivia felt dizzy with the desire for more.

Calum’s dark eyes remained on her blue ones, and she barely noticed the small smile that twitched at the corner of his lips, too entranced by his brown eyes, as he added, “You’re deserving of every ounce of happiness that comes your way, Olivia. Fuck what anyone else thinks.”

On God, Olivia was sure he was trying to send her heart into overdrive. The fluttering in her chest only grew more intense, a sweet warmth spreading across her cheeks at the utter sincerity dancing in his dark eyes under the moonlight. So badly did she want to close the distance between them. Instead, Olivia softly responded, “I hope you live by that, too.”

His eyebrows drew together, letting out a breathless scoff as he asked, “What do you mean?”

A tender, knowing smile tugged at Olivia’s lips as she said in an airy tone, “Let’s just say I’m better at hiding my feelings when it comes to what others are saying about me.” She let out a quiet laugh as Calum’s frown deepened, head tilting to the side ever so slightly in adorable confusion, hands still holding the front of the jacket closed. Olivia gazed up at him, raising her eyebrows. “What, you don’t think I’ve noticed your off mood over the past few days? Why do you keep reading those dumb articles if they only end up upsetting you?”

Over the past week or so, back in California, what Olivia could only describe as trashy tabloids had published articles concerning Calum’s whereabouts, despite his parents already giving a vague and simple statement of him visiting family—which was true. But of course, the media liked to put a spin on things, putting out stories of how Calum’s wild lifestyle finally got the better of him, and there were some insensitive and inconsiderate words thrown together like him admitting himself to rehab for a supposed drinking problem, or how he was in hiding because of some scandalized situation or another. Every article flocked in on him, tearing him apart and saying it was only a matter of time that someone who lived the way he did finally had a breakdown or something. It disgusted Olivia, hated that she was even reading the words on the screen being written about someone she had come to care for, and it wrenched her heart to know Calum was reading them, too.

But as they tried to pick him apart back in California, Olivia had noted the way Calum had adjusted to his life here in Bridgelake. His anger and aggravation towards his parents for sending him here was gone, and while it took him a moment to get used to not having an endless amount of money to throw around—not that he had much to throw it on over here—Calum eventually adjusted to keeping his credit card in his wallet. Olivia would even go as far as to say he was enjoying himself in her small North Carolina town, and it was because of Calum finally relaxing and letting himself breathe that allowed them to grow so close. That, and because she never derailed from her promise of showing him the beauty of Bridgelake.

She removed her left hand where it was gripping her right arm, pulling it out from the bottom of the jacket to reach up and grab one of Calum’s hand still gripping the jacket. His skin was warm under hers, his chunky rings only slightly cold. The touch, though she was the one to initiate it, had Olivia’s heart jumping, though she tried to focus on her words. “No point in being a masochist, Cal. Why do you care what people say about you?” She squeezed his hand, her earnest tone accompanying the considerate look in her near translucent eyes. “How can you tell me to stop caring about what my world says about me when you haven’t done the same yet?”

A slow breath escaped Calum’s nose at Olivia’s words, lips pressing together as he kept his eyes on hers. She had a point, he knew, with her question that wasn’t unkind or accusatory, just curious and tender. Like she was prodding him into following his own advice because she knew he needed to hear it for himself, too, knew just how hard it was to do exactly what he was saying. They could put on a brave face all they wanted, but sometimes it just hurt to know what others thought of you, and it was easier said than done to just not care.

He chuckled shortly, gaze dropping to his hands holding the jacket, to Olivia’s hand covering his, and Calum’s throat worked as he muttered his admittance of, “Guess I’m still learnin’.”

Olivia’s teeth worried her lower lip, feeling his grip tighten and wanting nothing more than for him to pull her into him, to be even more engulfed in Calum and his scent than she already was. Her hand remained on his as she smiled, breathless with a racing heart, feel drowned in cold water as she whispered, unable to find her voice, “You and me both.”

She could feel her breath catch in her throat as she spoke, caused by the sight of his brown eyes gazing intently into her blue, and once again Olivia forgot what it was like to be able to breathe. They stood close together, their proximity at a stand still, both unsure if the other wanted them to move in, to do the one thing they craved because they weren’t entirely positive if the other wanted the same thing. Calum’s eyes were on Olivia’s lips, and her own gaze didn’t venture higher than his own mouth, too lost in how soft his lips looked and feeling her head muddle with similar thoughts of wondering if they felt just how they looked, wondering with her toes digging into the sand what he tasted like.

The waves kept crashing around them on the shore, sending shivers up their spines each time, and Olivia surprised both of them by murmuring, “Calum?”

His lips twitched at the way his name fell past her mouth, his eyes still on her lips as he watched it curl out of her. He couldn’t bring himself to look away, voice quiet as if not to disturb the silence existing only between them as he responded, “Yeah, sweetheart?”

The term of endearment only served to excite Olivia more, heart hammering and blood rushing in her ears as she tried to calm herself down. Her mouth suddenly felt dry as she vaguely realized what she was about to do, too lost in her growing desire to truly think it through, too enamored by the man in front of her to actually consider anything else as she requested, almost begged, with her eyes still on his lips, “Please kiss me.”

Those three words had the air instantly rushing out of Calum’s lungs, a moment of frozen disbelief washing over him as he wondered if he’d heard her right. His gaze flickered up ever so slightly, going from her lips to her eyes, only to see her stare fixated on his own mouth. He noted the way her breathing was slightly shallowed, the anticipation quickening her breath the same way it was causing his heart to race wildly. The words she’d spoken rang clearly in his head, but actually being able to see just how much she wanted him to do as she said had his stomach churning excitedly.

So Calum finally gave into what they both so desperately wanted, one hand letting go of the jacket, whereas the other was still covered by Olivia’s, and cupped her cheek to tilt her head up enough so he could duck his and press his lips to hers in a soft, slow kiss. Calum felt Olivia instantly lean into him, her free hand fisting the front of his button down as his hand remained on her soft cheek, fingers gently tangling in the strands of her dark hair as he reveled in the plush skin of her lips.

It was a tender kiss, a question he was silently asking despite heeding her request. Calum pulled away, her thundering in his chest and blood heating in his veins, forehead pressed against Olivia’s and nose brushing against hers. It had ended too soon, much too quick for either of their liking as Olivia’s eyes fluttered open, letting out a slow breath so her blue eyes could meet Calum’s brown. The warmth she felt from being under his stare, from feeling his skin against hers, was so much stronger than the chill of the water around her feet, yet the shuddering breath still escaped her as she let her gaze drop to his mouth once more, lips parted yet no words seem to escape.

Though, she didn’t need to say much. Her eyes were convincing enough in that moment, and Calum was leaning his mouth towards Olivia’s once more to capture her lips in another kiss, sucking her lower lip into his mouth. This was one more sure, getting the answer Calum wanted, as he pushed her lips apart with his to slide his tongue against hers to deepen the kiss. A quiet whimper hummed through Olivia as her hand that had been holding his settled in his curls at the back of his head, allowing him to move his arm around her waist to keep her close. They tasted the wine they drank over dinner, sweet on their tongues, their senses being taken over by the other.

Electricity shot through Calum’s veins as he kissed her, moving his lips with hers earnestly because, God, he’d wanted to do this for so long. From the moment he’d gotten his head out of his ass and realized just how gorgeous Olivia’s smile was, how there was a reason why his grandparents adored her so much and he’d been able to see it so quickly, Calum had wanted this. All he could think of was her; the softness of her lips and the taste of her tongue, how the smell of her flowery perfume and fruity shampoo overpowered that of the salty ocean, and how she spread such a warmth through his body that he forgot all about the cold water occasionally pooling around his feet.

It was only him and Olivia that existed in this moment, and it was a moment Calum yearned to stretch out for as long as he could.

                                                     ✩✩✩✩✩

When Calum entered Moonflower, his eyes scanned the boutique before almost instantly landing on Olivia. She was towards the back where the registers were, holding a small box to her hip as she pulled out packs of pretty phone cases out and hung them on the rack they were displayed on. The store was fairly busy, being the middle of the day on a Tuesday, and Calum offered a small greeting smile to the employee folding shirts over to the right as she welcomed him to the store. His eyes, though, went back to Olivia as if she was a magnet drawing him in, and he rubbed his hands together as he made his way through the store to reach her.

Calum was only vaguely aware of feeling a couple of eyes on him, his presence in Bridgelake still one of the main talks of the town, much to his disappointment. Though, it wasn’t something he wasn’t used to; while in California everyone talked about him online and through tabloid articles, here it was just much more intimate in the small town setting where everyone was on top of each other. There were aspects of Bridgelake Calum had grown used to, even liked, but this wasn’t one of them.

When he reached Olivia, who was still putting up phone cases, Calum stepped up behind her with his hands clasped behind him as he leaned down slightly, murmuring quietly by her ear, “’M here to steal you away.”

He heard the gentle gasp Olivia inhaled at the sound of his voice over the music playing through the boutique as well as David Bowie playing through the single earbud Calum had in, turning around so her surprised blue eyes could meet his brown ones. Calum smiled at her, at the way her long lashes framed her eyes and her lips were pink and glossed and begging to be kissed, feeling his heart jump when she returned the grin. She really did have a hold on him, and Calum had no idea how it got so powerful. He also didn’t mind it. “Hey,” Olivia greeted, adorably breathless. “What’re you doing here?”

“’S almost your lunch break, isn’t it?” Olivia nodded, still holding onto the box. “Well, I picked up some food from the diner and thought we could, like, eat together? At the park? If you wanted to.”

His last few words rushed out nervously, a feeling he only experienced around Olivia, as he worried that he may have overstepped. Sure, in the past month and a half he’d been in Bridgelake, Calum joined Olivia during her lunch break, but those times were always planned by her. She’d ask if he wanted to join her and his answer would always be yes. This time, though, he’d shown up and surprised her without her knowledge, and Calum didn’t want to seem overbearing.

Just because they kissed two nights ago, didn’t mean he could suddenly just pop in whenever. Even though, technically, both of them had been doing a lot of that once their friendship was established.

Except now it was just. . . More.

“That sounds so much better than the frozen meal I’ve got in the fridge,” Olivia told him, letting out a giggle as the relieved grin spread on Calum’s face. “My break’s in five minutes. I’ll meet you at the park?”

He smiled, biting down on his bottom lip as he did so, hands shoved in the deep pockets of his somewhat baggy pants as he began walking backwards. “See you in a bit,” Calum responded smoothly and, God, his cheeks began hurting from how hard he was smiling because of her.

The next few minutes were spent with Calum taking the bags of food out of the car, still warm since they were freshly made and the diner wasn’t too far, before he made his way to the park that was by the strip of stores Moonflower was located on. Now John Mayer was playing through his earbud as he settled on a picnic table on the edge of the park, his eyes taking in the kids running around in the distant playground as well as a few people jogging along the path. The sun occasionally made itself known as it appeared from behind the occasional clouds that drifted by, while cars drove past on the street over.

Once he put his takeout box in front of him and Olivia’s across from him, Calum tapped his fingers on the wooden table, unable to keep his foot from bouncing under. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was nervous or impatient for Olivia to show up—the probable answer being a combination of both. What she made him feel—Calum never knew anything like it. And it would be frightening, how quick of an effect Olivia had on him, had it not been for how completely taken he was with her. How it felt so real and natural and right.

Calum looked up from his phone when someone settled across from him, grin appearing as Olivia put her bag down on the table and opened the takeout box to reveal her favorite diner meal of a grilled chicken sandwich with French fries. He also smiled at her store tag that she wore proudly, her name with the words Asst. Manager written underneath. “A man after my own heart,” she declared with a grin, picking up a fry. Olivia’s smile turned softer as Calum opened his own box, adding, “This was really sweet of you, Cal.”

Her blue eyes glimmered under the afternoon sun, and Calum felt his throat work as he gave a single shake of his head. “’S nothin’,” he returned, picking up his panini.

Olivia chuckled at his modesty after swallowing a bite of her sandwich, nodding at him as she asked, “What’re you listening to?”

Calum pulled out his headphones from his phone, allowing the sound of Post Malone’s voice drift between them as they continued with their lunch. Their conversations flowed smoothly, as they always did, as Calum enjoyed Olivia’s company as they sat in the park. This particular bench had become their spot whenever Calum would join her for lunch during her break, always hearing the distant laughter of kids on the playground and hum of cars driving by, none of it ever distracting his focus from Olivia.

Over the past month, spending time with her had become a near daily activity. Calum would busy himself if Olivia was at work, but otherwise, they spent almost every day together; they’d talk about whatever came to mind, including Calum’s life back home, conversations about any and every topic, and sometimes Olivia would talk about her mother, too. She stayed away from the subject of her father, which Calum respected and understood, and he admired the way her eyes shone with nostalgia as she talked about her mother. And it made his heart hurt, knowing that she lost such an important person in her life, and the first time they talked about her, Calum had called his own mother after just to hear her voice.

The two of them talked as they ate, but neither brought up what had happened the other night—neither even acknowledged that they had kissed. But it was there, hanging between them, and it had changed something. Calum felt at ease around Olivia before, but after getting a taste and feel of her lips, he felt as though there wasn’t anything stopping them from trying to take what they did and evolve it. Truthfully, Calum didn’t even find it necessary to talk about it; he knew what he felt for Olivia, could see that she felt the same every time her eyes met his and her lips quirked into that sweet smile that rendered him breathless.

And when his hand slipped into hers after they’d finished eating, waiting to cross the street, and he felt Olivia squeeze his hand in content, Calum knew: there really was nothing to discuss. Their feelings were clear enough.

“Thanks for lunch,” Olivia smiled at him as they reached the front of the boutique, hearing the music playing inside flow through the doors that remained open during business hours, weather permitting. Olivia stood in front of him, his hand still holding hers, as her blue eyes met his brown with her heart beating excitedly all at the same time. “The company wasn’t half bad, either.”

Calum let out a raspy laugh, head bowing as he did so, causing his gaze to briefly linger on their joined hands. His thumb rubbed the back of her hand before he lifted his head and smirked at the pretty girl in front of him. “That’s good to know,” he responded easily, lifting his chin with a quirk of an eyebrow. “Glad to know you’re not sick of me yet.”

Olivia blew a gentle raspberry before shaking her head with a giggle. She took a step closer to him, surprising Calum as she got on her toes with her free hand on his chest, assuring with a quiet, “Never,” before pressing her lips to his.

His eyes fell shut at the pressure of her lips against his, the kiss completely welcome and a pleasant surprise as Calum felt a warmth shoot through him. Olivia didn’t deepen the kiss, just a brief touch of lips, an action that was completely impulsive yet had felt so natural to do as she pulled away reluctantly. Her eyes fluttered open, hand still against Calum’s chest as she rolled her smiling lips into her mouth as her gaze met Calum’s. He looked at her as though he couldn’t look away, the intensity of his familiar stare stirring something in the pit of Olivia’s stomach as she settled on her feet once more.

It may have been a spontaneous decision on her part to kiss Calum, but Olivia had been craving to do so since they’d kissed on the beach, yearning to feel his lips on hers once more. And while this one had been chaste, it still ignited the familiar fire in her veins, caused her to hear her heart thundering in her ears, especially when she noted the way Calum was looking at her, curls brushing across his forehead.

But their little bubble, their little moment of serenity and adoration, was quickly burst when a few women walked out of the store and, as they went past them, Olivia could clearly hear one of them click her tongue to the others, “He’s Claudia and Dan’s grandson—of course he’s found himself attached to her. The Moore girls are their charity case, afterall.”

While Olivia felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach at those words, not entirely unfamiliar with being known as a charity case, she felt her throat dry at the sight of Calum when her gaze happened to flicker back to his face. He wore a thunderous expression, one she’d never seen on him before, with dark eyes narrowed under scowling eyebrows, full lips pressed together to accentuate the tightened jaw he was sporting. Olivia felt her heart jump into her throat—she’d never seen him look so angry. And it was all directed to the women making their way down the street, and absently Olivia wondered how they couldn’t feel the way his gaze was burning holes in their back.

A sharp breath escaped Calum’s nose as he began taking a step towards them, his demeanor nothing but threatening and only being emphasized by the deep growl he spoke in, “Are they fucki—”

Olivia instantly tightened her hold on his hand, forcing him in place as she begged, “Calum, don’t.”

His gaze snapped to her and she would’ve shrunk under the fire in his eyes if she didn’t know that none of it was directed towards her. Calum just looked at Olivia in exasperated shock, nothing else. “Olivia, you’re gonna just let them say that bullshit ’bout you?”

Her throat worked, her other hand going to hold the one of Calum’s that she was already holding. Their words hurt, like always, but Olivia. . . She was better than that. Better than them. She knew to keep her head high even when she was being kicked down. “I’m not gonna let what they say get to me, okay?” she told him, her voice tender as always as her blue eyes remained on his brown. “I’m not gonna let something someone else said make me feel any less happy than I am right now. I—I don’t care what they say.”

Calum gaped at her, eyes flickering to where the women went, jaw tightening and nose scrunching for a split second in annoyance when he realized they were gone before looking back at Olivia. “But—”

“Weren’t you the one telling me not to care what others think of me?” Olivia cut in with a prodding smile, raising her eyebrows as she used his own words against him. Yeah, he’d said that to her, but fuck it if it didn’t piss Calum the fuck off that these people were saying shit about her. Right to her face, no less, uncaring if she heard. It was pathetic and pitiful, especially when these were grown women saying bullshit about someone much younger than them. What the fuck did they get out of it? “That’s what I’m gonna try to do.”

The fire was still bubbling in Calum’s veins, fury boiling his blood at those women. And almost everyone else in this town. But when he looked at Olivia, with bright blue eyes and a sweet smile and an even kinder heart, Calum felt a bit of the tension in his shoulders easing. Still, he squeezed her hand and said, “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t stand up for yourself, doll. Don’t be afraid of putting those fuckers in their place.”

Olivia’s gentle smile twitched ever so slightly at his words. She knew he was right, knew there wasn’t anything really stopping her from sticking up for herself, but she just. . . Let it be. “There’s no point in fueling the fire, Cal. It’s not going to change anyone’s mind or opinion. The best thing I can do is just ignore them and show that I don’t care.”

Isn’t that what she’s been doing, though? Ignoring them in hopes of it going away? Calum wanted to tell her that her plan didn’t entirely seem to be working, but the words died on his tongue when he saw the desperation swirling in her blue eyes. He could pick up on the way she was begging for him to let it go. Like she knew that her so-called plan wasn’t as ingenious as she declared, but still she didn’t want to truly do anything else. Calum hoped, with his heart twisting in his chest, that Olivia wasn’t giving up to endure this kind of bullshit treatment forever. God, she didn’t deserve any of it.

He let out a breath, yet it did nothing to relieve any of the remaining tension straining his muscles. It hurt, knowing that she was hurting even though she was trying to put on a brave face. She endured so much for no fucking reason and Calum hated it. He found himself muttering, “The least you could do is let me make them fucking cry.”

His words, though they carried more seriousness than humor, prompted Olivia to let out an airy laugh. “The fact that you haven’t done that for the time you’ve been here is impressive on its own,” she mused, giving his hands a squeeze. “Thanks for lunch, Cal. I’ll see you later, hm?”

Calum huffed, not for the first time feeling his stomach twist at Olivia’s ability to disregard what’s being said about her. He kind of felt like a hypocrite, since he had told her to stop caring about what others thought of her. But actually hearing the shit they said about Olivia had Calum forgetting all about his advice, instead making him want to curl his fingers into fists and put these people in their place. God, Calum thought he hated knowing the shit people said about him online—that feeling was intensified tenfold, completely overwhelming and making him feel like he was burning from the inside out, when it came to Olivia. He’d take all the heat in the world if it meant getting all of it off Olivia.

Who the fuck were they to diminish the bright light of her blue eyes?

Calming himself down, Calum returned Olivia’s words with a smile, bringing the hand she was holding up to his face so he could press a kiss to the back of Olivia’s hand. His eyes never left hers as an uncharacteristically soft tone took over his voice, saying the few words he hoped would come true, “Have a good day, sweetheart.”

                                               ✩✩✩✩✩

When Calum pulled his grandfather’s truck into the driveway after visiting Grams at the pet shelter, right next to an unfamiliar Range Rover, Calum’s eyebrows furrowed together as he stepped out of the truck, eyes taking in the vehicle. He hadn’t really seen any Range Rovers around Bridgelake in the past month and a half—then again, Calum really didn’t care for the residents’ choice of vehicles.

Using his keys, Calum opened the door and entered the house, his greeting of, “Gramps, I’m home,” being drowned out by racacious laughter that had Calum freezing in the entryway. Laughter he was all too familiar with. For a moment, Calum wondered if he was imagining the sounds of his three best friends’ laughter, but as he entered the living room, he realized with a disbelieving grin spreading on his lips that reality was far kinder.

“Oh, shit,” Calum found himself laughing, making his presence known as Gramps looked at him from where he sat on his recliner, while the three other gazes belonging to Ashton, Luke, and Michael landed on him as well. “No fuckin’ way.”

“There he is!” Ashton exclaimed happily, slapping his thighs as he got up from the couch, bright red hair one of the first things Calum noticed as Ashton walked around the couch with open arms before he enveloped Calum in them. The brunette returned the hug, taking a breath at the presence of his best friends as he grinned at Luke and Michael over Ashton’s shoulder, who were making their way over as well. “Missed you, man.”

Calum laughed, pulling away from him as Michael stepped towards him. “I missed you guys, too,” he returned honestly, clapping Michael’s back before Luke walked over for his own hug. He looked between the three of them, eyebrows raised and brown eyes glinting happily, barely aware of Gramps watching with a smile of his own as he said, “What’re you guys doing here? How are you here?”

“A thing called a plane,” Luke responded with a grin, prompting Calum to roll his eyes with a scoff. “Like Ash said, we missed you, so we got your grandparents’ address from your dad and rented a car from the airport.”

Calum raised his eyebrows, Luke’s words surprising him. His father knew? “Dad never told me anything.”

Michael chuckled, shrugging as he lifted the black cap off his head, his initials on the side of it, as he fixed his blonde hair before settling the hat back on. “Surprise.”

The laugh that escaped Calum resonated in his chest, still in a state of disbelief at the sight of his friends standing in his grandparents’ living room with him in the middle of North Carolina. Sure, he’d talked to the three of them almost every day for the past month and a half, but them actually being here was completely different. And Calum found himself being unable to stop smiling; his three best friends surprising him was one of the nicest things they’d ever done for him.

“How long are you here for?” Calum questioned as they settled back on the couch after he rubbed at Bruno’s head, who was settled by Gramps’ feet.

“Two weeks,” Ashton responded, leaning back with his leg crossed over his left knee.

Gramps raised an eyebrow as he asked, “You boys have a place to stay?”

Luke nodded. “We checked into a motel when we got into town.” Calum held back a scoff at that. Silently, he wondered if his friends would be able to actually stay in a small town motel. Their lifestyle back home was the same as Calum’s, all from the same social groups as Calum’s family, and he remembered how it had taken him a while to adjust to living in his grandparents’ home. The thought of these guys living in a motel was almost amusing. “But we’re really ever gonna be there to sleep. Plan on driving this one crazy with our company,” Luke added, grinning with his signature dimples appearing as he clapped Calum’s shoulder, who this time let the snort escape.

Gramps laughed, satisfied with Luke’s answer. “Sounds like a plan. You arrived just in time for the fair.” His gaze then met Calum’s as he raised an eyebrow. “I’m assuming you’re going to introduce them to Olivia?”

Before Calum could get a word in, Michael sat up. “Oh, he definitely is,” he answered, grinning widely as he shot Calum a brief knowing look. “He talks about her all the time—we’re excited to meet her.”

Calum shook his head in mild amusement, smiling lips pressing together as he felt the familiar warmth spread on his cheeks at the mention of Olivia. He had no qualms in introducing her to his three best friends—especially since she had quite quickly become so close to him. It was almost funny, how Calum let her in so quickly upon his arrival to Bridgelake, given that it took him a while to ever truly be himself around new people. Though, Calum knew with Olivia, it was partly because his grandparents always talked about how she was such a good person, and partly because Calum had seen it for himself. He was lucky to have her in his life.

“We also brought you something,” Ashton said, standing up from the couch and walking towards the kitchen. Calum watched, eyebrows furrowed, before realization dawned and a grin spread on his face at the sight of his guitar case that Ashton brought in. “Figured you were missing this baby.”

Calum grinned, opening the case and catching sight of one of his Gibson acoustics nestled in there. He’d been annoyed that he’d forgotten to bring any one of his guitars with him when he arrived to North Carolina, had told himself he’d get his parents to send one of them over but the thought kept slipping his mind the more he got involved with spending time with Olivia. Lots of going out to eat, going to the movies, taking Bruno out on walks, and just spending time at her place left Calum forgetting about his guitar.

“Thanks,” Calum breathed, running his fingers over the sleek instrument before smiling at his friend. His gaze, then, flickered to Ashton’s hair and Calum’s grin widened. “The red’s a good look on you.”

Ashton chuckled, running his fingers through the red strands. “Think of makin’ a change?”

Calum rolled his lower lip into his mouth, considering Ashton’s words. His life had dealt with a lot of changes in the past month or so. . . What was another?

                                                       ✩✩✩✩✩

Yeah, still at grams’ booth.

Pocketing her phone, Olivia looked over at Moonflower’s manager, Val, and asked her, “Do you need me to do anything before I go?”

Straightening out the jewelry display on the table, Val placed her hands on her hips before looking at Olivia and shooting her a smile. “No, we’ve got it covered. Go, enjoy the fair—you’ve been here since set up.”

Olivia returned the smile, nodding before bidding goodbye to her and the two other girls that were working the booth before she walked around it and began walking down the street where she’d seen Claudia Hood’s animal shelter booth. All of Bridgelake seemed to have made it out, just like every year, and Olivia could smell the delicious food all the restaurants had set up in their booths and could hear the laughter and squeals of children enjoying themselves in the park on the other side of the row of booths to her right.

Music was playing through speakers planted some place or another as Olivia made her way down, mindful of the few eyes she felt lingering on her, as always. It kind of made her nervous, truthfully, being in the middle of a town event where everyone was present; she felt as though she was a target, having to brace herself against someone’s glare or words. Nothing she wasn’t used to, of course, but around so many people. . . It wasn’t the easiest thing to be amidst.

But what she had said to Calum the other day. . . Olivia was adamant on sticking to it. She wasn’t going to let anyone get to her. It was time she learned how to live unapologetically, no matter how hard it may seem. Baby steps. She could do it though, she knew; for herself and for Alana.

“Finally—there you are.”

Calum’s familiar voice pulled Olivia out of her thoughts, looking to where he’d sounded from, only to stop in her tracks when her eyes landed on him. Olivia’s jaw dropped with a startled laugh, eyes widening and eyebrows shooting up as she took in the lack of dark curls, which were replaced by a blonder, buzzed haircut. She could feel the world moving around her, but Olivia was frozen in place at the sight of Calum; he still looked good, fuck of course he did, but the new style was completely unexpected and it easily stirred something in the pit of her stomach as she took in the grin on his face that pushed his cheeks up and showed off the crinkles by his eyes.

She knew he was taking in her reaction, brown eyes intently focused on her, and Olivia found her feet moving towards him until his familiarly pleasant scent of vanilla and his favorite cologne overpowered that of the food around them. Her hand reached up, lips still parted as her fingers ran along the smooth buzz of his hair. “Oh, my God,” she laughed in incredulity, looking up at him in wonder. His hair felt starkly different than it had when there were actual strands to tangle her fingers in, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. Different but. . . Something she didn’t mind getting used to. Her blue eyes met his, wide and surprised as she asked, “What did you do?”

He raised his eyebrows, his smile faltering ever so slightly, nearly unnoticeable—except Olivia had picked up on it as he spoke, trying to keep his tone light, “What, you don’t like it?”

“No, no,” she was quick to reassure, tone holding nothing but honestly. He could’ve dyed his hair neon green and Olivia would still feel her heart skip ten beats for him. A new hairstyle wasn’t going to just make Olivia’s feelings for Calum go away—not when they were so strong. Her hand slid from his hair to his cheek, unable to stop herself from rubbing her thumb across his cheekbone before her hand gripped the front of his Taste Testers shirt. “It looks. . .” she trailed off, eyes once again taking the short blonde, almost silvery, hair before her eyes met his expectant brown ones, and Olivia’s smile widened. “I love it.”

She saw the relief that melted into his eyes, and Olivia’s heart did a leap at the knowledge of her opinion meaning so much to him. When the smile on his face returned more sincerely, Olivia let out an airy laugh and smoothed the front of his shirt before Calum’s arm easily draped over her shoulders before turning her towards his grandmother’s booth where Olivia saw three other men gathered. “Wanna introduce you to my best mates,” he told her just as the three guys looked at her, all grinning and all very tall as Olivia sent a quick wave to Claudia and Alana, who was helping at the booth. “Guys, this is Olivia. And this is Luke, Ashton, and Michael.”

They were friendly in their greetings, giving Olivia hugs she hadn’t expected but gladly returned. The group of them stepped aside as a few people stepped up to the booth to see the puppies and kittens that were running around in little play pens, waiting to be adopted, and Ashton grinned down at her. “It’s so great to finally meet you—Cal doesn’t stop talking about you.”  

Olivia raised her eyebrows at that, glancing at Calum to her right only to see him shrugging unapologetically, because he really did spam his group chat with the boys about her, and it only served to heat up Olivia’s cheeks as she smiled at the three guys. Ignoring the drumming rhythm of her heart wasn’t easy, especially with Calum’s fingers innocently trailing short lines up and down on the bare skin of her upper arm. “He talks about you guys all the time, too,” Olivia responded truthfully, smiling.

Calum had told her all about his three best friends, how the men standing in front of her were the only ones he truly considered his friends back home because everyone else around him were always after something. As unfortunate as that was, Olivia wasn’t surprised that Los Angeles was full of those trying to use others for their own benefit, but after getting to know Calum for the person he was, Olivia was glad he had some people in his life that were friends with him for him—just like she liked him for him. Even if she hated the fact that he was surrounded by those who’d rather use him for his status and money than actually get to know him. He was someone worth knowing.

“Why don’t you two take your friends to the park?” Claudia spoke up, nodding to the location on the other side with a grin. “Have fun on those slides.”

Calum let out a short chuckle, raising his eyebrows at his grandmother. “Those are for kids, Grams.”

Olivia shot him an unimpressed raise of her eyebrow. “You’re not a kid? You dragged me to watch the new Toy Story movie last week.”

That prompted everyone to chuckle, but Calum merely jutted his lip out and bumped his hip to Olivia’s—or, well, her waist thanks to their height difference. “You wanted to watch it just as badly.”

Still, after their banter, Olivia and the four boys made their way down the street and towards the park, where all of the big inflatable bounce houses, slides, and obstacle course were for people to enjoy. Contrary to Calum’s previous statement, people of all ages were taking advantage of them, and the five of them were quick to make their way towards the large slides.

For the first time in years, Olivia didn’t find herself worrying about being among so many of Bridgelake’s residents—many of whom turned away at the sight of her. Right now, she was truly enjoying herself in Calum and his friends’ company, laughing as she heard them cheer boyishly and loudly every time they rushed down the slide, only to run around to go back up again. At one point, she and Luke got on a slide next to each other, racing down as he claimed victory and Olivia pouted sorely and complained that his extra long legs gave him an advantage, to which Luke put an arm around her and took her back up for another go. She lost that one too.

Eventually Addy found them, and after being introduced to the boys—and gushing in Olivia’s ear how pretty they all were—she too joined in on their fun. The smile never vanished from Olivia’s face—it was the most fun she’d had in years.

“Come on,” Calum spoke, hand finding hers and ring clad fingers interlocking with hers. Olivia looked up at him, at the boyish smile on his face that melted her heart, as he nodded towards the slides. “One last go before we get something to eat.”

She couldn’t really say no to him, smiling as they went around the giant slide and climbed to the top. As Olivia settled down on top of the slide, she felt Calum sit down behind her rather than the slide next to her, his arms wrapping around her waist and chest pressing into her back. His scent enveloped her, her gaze dropping to the tattoos decorating his brown skin, biting her lower lip as her smile returned when she felt his lips brush her ear.

“Ready?” he questioned, giving her a squeeze as her hands settled on his wrist, feeling the cool metal of his chain bracelet under her left hand.

Olivia leaned back into him, the warmth spreading through her familiar and welcome, as she hummed an affirmative. Calum scooted them forward then until they were rushing down the slide, a childish and thrilled squeal escaping Olivia as the wind of their speed cooled her skin. She could feel Calum’s chest rumbling with the laughter that escaped him, keeping his hold on her as they went all the way down, stumbling onto their feet with his arms still around her and giggles falling past Olivia.

Calum moved them so they weren’t standing directly in front of the slides, not wanting to get accidentally hit by someone coming down, moving before turning Olivia in his arms she was facing him. The grin was still on her face, cheeks flushed with a giddy joy that twisted Calum’s chest happily. Her bright blue eyes glimmered under the sunlight, the few near invisible freckles on the bridge of her nose in full view as Calum looked down at her. He kept his arms around her, taking her in; she was so beautiful and so happy.

He ducked his head, his own grin gentle as he bumped his nose with hers and murmured lowly, only for her to hear, “You’ve got such a pretty smile.”

Complimenting women wasn’t a foreign concept to Calum—of course he’d said and meant them before. But with Olivia—he almost felt shy, as if admitting to a schoolboy crush, but he couldn’t bring it in himself to care. He’d given up, a while ago, trying to understand just how much of an effect Olivia had on him. Calum just knew she had a tight hold on him, on his heart, in a startlingly short period of time, but he also knew he was perfectly fine with that. She was better than most people he knew, she was good and warm, unadulteratedly so, and it just drew him to her like a magnet. She was a woman deserving of more than what she had, and Calum just. . . Never wanted her to feel like she lacked anything. How was it okay for someone who put so much kindness into the world didn’t receive some of it back?

He felt Olivia’s right arm hook around his neck, keeping him close as that smile he was so damn enamored with never faltered. She stood on her toes, giving herself more height as she hummed, “So do you,” before closing the gap between them and pressing her lips to his.

Calum couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he returned the kiss, hugging Olivia to him as his scruff tickled her skin and the giggles still fell from her mouth to his. He felt her left hand cup his cheek as she kissed him, and Calum could swear he’d never felt so content before. Truthfully, he wasn’t much for displaying so much affection in public, but Olivia was excellent at ridding him of any trivialities such as that. Showing how much he liked her in public wasn’t something he was opposed to, the tattooed blonde realized.

“Cal, Olivia!” Luke’s laughing voice broke through their private bubble, prompting the two to pull away to see the boys and Addy watching them just a few feet away with amused smirks on their faces. It only prompted Olivia’s face to heat up. Raising his eyebrows, dimpled grin still on his face, Luke asked, “Can we get food now?”

The two parted, though Calum’s arm still remained around Olivia’s waist as he responded, “Yeah, let’s—”

“You! They still fucking allow you to run around here?”

The angered, hostile voice instantly wiped the smile off of Olivia’s face, blue eyes meeting a fiery pair of green ones as Eddie Pearlman stalked towards her in strong strides, clenched fists, and a scowl on his face vicious enough to have Olivia stumbling a step back. She noted the way Calum looked at her, concern and furrowing his brows as he looked between her and the pissed off thirty-something year old making his way over. But she felt frozen in place under Eddie’s glare, a look she’d seen a number of times over the past four years, as he neared them.

“You think you can still walk around this town after what your drunk of a dad did to us?”

His words were coated with a thick anger that locked Olivia’s throat, stepping away as she felt Calum’s arm drop from around her waist yet his hand caught hers to keep her in place. Her heart found a new home in her stomach, stirring uneasily as she noticed Addy take a few steps towards them from her peripheral, her narrowed eyes on the aggressive man in front of Olivia.

“E-Eddie—”

The older man sneered, the hostility twisting his expression to the point of silencing Olivia before she could even hope to say anything. “Who do you think you are, walking around the fair where families come to enjoy themselves? After your father took away mine?”

Olivia instantly squeezed Calum’s hand, feeling the familiar burn in her nose and eyes that was always followed by tears pooling in them. She was well aware of the gazes that were settling on them, anyone around them stopping what they were doing to watch the berating exchange, and Olivia’s body flushed with a terrified, guilty heat that had her gaze dropping to the ground, blinking to keep back the tears threatening to spill.

She couldn’t think of what to say, of what to do; Eddie Pearlman’s anger was justified. His father had been a victim of the accident hers had caused, and neither Eddie nor his family had forgiven Olivia’s for what had happened—much like the rest of the town. Aggressive confrontations such as this were rare, with most of the townsfolk keeping to whispering behind her back her to her face, but they had happened before. Twice, including one the first one with Eddie just months after the accident, and both times settled heavily on Olivia’s heart. Both times had the guilt of an accident that wasn’t even her fault eating her alive.

Thank God Alana wasn’t here.

“’Ey, man, take a step back and relax, alright?” Calum spoke up, his voice eerily calm as he moved to take a step in front of Olivia, effectively blocking her from Eddie’s view. As much as Calum’s tall, broad frame eased Olivia, her heart was still drumming erratically in her chest, panicked over the unexpected confrontation that was drawing so much unwanted attention to her. God, she could feel Calum’s friends looking at her and she wondered what they were thinking. Did they know? Had Calum told them? She doubted it but, fuck, this surely wasn’t a good impression.

Eddie’s burning gaze flickered to Calum, none of the aggression slipping from his face as he snapped, “Who the hell are you to ask me that?”

Olivia, with her body feeling like it was on fire and head still bowed under all of this attention, allowed her eyes to lift up to catch the way Calum’s muscles tensed, despite the gentle grip he still had on her hand. She couldn’t see his face and looked over to where Addy was, catching the way her best friend was glaring at Eddie but looked away long enough to send her a reassuring smile. Olivia didn’t bring herself to look at the three confused, alarmed men standing with her.

She heard the edge in Calum’s raspy voice as he returned coldly, “I wasn’t asking.” His tone had Olivia’s throat working; she’s heard him sound indifferent and bored and happy and gentle, but she’d never heard the sharpness in his voice like in this moment. Like he was controlling himself from doing something stupid. His hand shifted, moving his fingers to lock with hers behind his back as he kept his dark, narrowed eyes on Eddie. “Like you said—there are families around. So I think your time would be better spent not being an asshole to an innocent girl.”

Olivia took a breath, though it still scratched at her throat, as she looked up at Calum with her lips rolling into her mouth. Him defending her. . . It lifted her heart from where it had sank, blinking back the hot tears that had gathered. It wasn’t like no one had stood up for her before—Addy, Claudia, Dan and the very few others who didn’t hold her father’s actions against her had been there for her. But with Calum, even though she was just as grateful, it felt different. She wondered if his dark tone matched the look on his face—the one that had Eddie leaning back a bit.

Still, the scowl remained, lips curling as he pointed an accusatory finger towards her. “You’re not from here, kid. That girl is not inno—”

Calum let go of her hand and Olivia blinked as her lips parted in mild alarm when he took a step towards Eddie. They’d drawn a bit of a crowd—no one was actually gathering around them as if they were watching a high school fight go on, but Olivia could feel their eyes on them. Could feel it in the way her skin was still warm and heart was drumming in her ears.

“She wasn’t the one driving,” Calum cut Eddie off, gruff and hard and undeterred. “And you’re not the only one who faced a loss that day, yeah? I’m sorry for what happened, mate, I am, but don’t fucking take it out on my girl.”

Olivia’s breath hitched in her throat at his words, Calum’s defense of her and the last two words he’d uttered making her stomach flutter despite the circumstances. It may be the wrong time to analyze what he’d said but the two of them hadn’t really discussed what they were and for him to effortlessly give them some kind of label. . . It was hard to bite back the smile threatening to grow in the face of confrontation. Leave it to Calum to have her feeling like she was cared for even when someone was screaming in her face.

Eddie’s jaw tightened, glare once again directed at Calum as he gave him a once over, nothing but disdain and contempt in his eyes as he scoffed. “’Course you’d be defending her. Wouldn’t expect anything else from Claudia and Dan’s grandson.”

His words were all to similar to what the women outside of the boutique had said the other day, pushing Calum into curling his fingers into fists, nails digging into his palms. His teeth ached from how hard he was clenching his jaw, heated gaze and towering figure intimidating enough to make many people watching on look away. His blood was boiling, hating that people thought him defending Olivia, or wanting to be with her, was something to be ashamed of. He fucking hated that she was a pariah in her town. He wished he could just. . . Take her away.

Calum lifted his chin, dark eyes still narrowed as he snapped sharply, “Would you expect their grandson to break your fucking nose? ’Cause I damn well will if you don’t walk away now.”

Her eyes widened, blinking in surprise at the threat that effortlessly fell past Calum’s lips, gaze drifting towards where her friends stood. For the first time Olivia looked at the three boys, all of whom wore frowns on their faces as they looked at Eddie, unfazed by  the threat, and then she looked at Addy, who stood with her arms crossed and an impressed look across her face at Calum’s words. She’d seen his temper be triggered before, just the other day, but she didn’t realize just how far he’d go for her.

Calum’s defense of Olivia was different—no one ever threatened to hit someone for her before. And as alarming as it was. . . Was it strange to say Olivia felt the fluttering in her chest only intensify? Gratitude overwhelmed her as she took a shaky breath, lips pressed together in a small smile as she gazed up at Calum’s back. He stood so tall and strong and sturdy in front of her, unafraid of coming to her defense, finally being able to do so after many of her attempts of telling him to just let it go.

Much to her surprise, Olivia watched as Eddie leaned away after hearing Calum’s promising threat, one she believed he had every intention of fulfilling if Eddie didn’t back away. And then, with one last glare feebly thrown in her direction, mostly blocked by Calum’s frame, the man stalked away, muscles still tense with aggression he hadn’t really gotten the chance to let out. Not that Olivia minded.

She noted the way Calum looked around, could tell with the way his head moved, and she figured that fearsome glare was still on his face with how those that had been looking on quickly averted their gazes, not wanting to be the next one Calum threatened. Olivia only found herself truly relaxing now that she could feel everyone’s stares off her being, the weight of it being lifted and finally allowing her to breathe easily, releasing a trembling sigh now that the ordeal was over. She still felt rattled, truthfully, but with Calum in front of her. . . She also felt safe.

He suddenly turned around to face her, and instead of seeing the tight, angered glare he’d been showing everyone else, all Olivia was gifted with seeing was the worry dancing in his brown eyes and eyebrows drawn together in concern, hands coming to rub at her upper arms as he quietly asked, “You alright, love?” Her lips parted at the way he was looking at her, Calum’s only focus her and how she was feeling, unable to really find the words to express herself. He quickly carried on, a nervous tint taking over his tone, “I know you’ve told me to just keep my mouth shut but I couldn’t just let that guy talk to you like that. You don��t deserve to be treated like that and I’m not sorry for defending you but I am sorry for, like, not listening to you. If that makes sense.”

He sounded uncharacteristically anxious by the time he finished speaking, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, though Olivia understood why. She was well aware of her constantly telling Calum to just ignore the people who talked shit about her, hell she’d done it just the other day, but God did it feel good to hear someone, hear him, be so unafraid to defend her. Granted, Olivia had a feeling there was so much more Calum had wanted to say to Eddie, to everyone else, but he kept it relatively calm—threat of bodily harm aside. Hearing him stand up for her had Olivia forgetting all about her reasons not to provoke those who turned their noses up at the sight of her. Sure, she was learning to not care, but she also needed to learn to let others come to her defense. Maybe then she’d be able to defend herself. Maybe she’d truly realize she was worth defending.

“I’m not mad, Calum, I’m. . .” Olivia shook her head, smiling up at him prettily, forgetting those around her as she gripped Calum’s left wrist, tattooed arm dropping so she could hold onto his hand then. “Lucky. I’m lucky to have you.”

Calum blinked at her words, shoulders relaxing as he looked down at her with eyebrows knitting together gently. “You are?”

“Yes,” Olivia responded, giving no room for explanation with the confidence in which she spoke that single word in, her grin widening, which only served to cause Calum to let out a breathless laugh through his gorgeous smile. “I am,” she whispered through a smile before getting on her toes and pressing her lips to his in a kiss that she hoped would convey just how thankful and lucky she felt.

Calum returned her kiss just as earnestly, full lips pushing into hers as his arm wound around her neck to keep her close. He enjoyed kissing her, loved kissing her. God, there was nothing else he wanted to do.

Until Luke spoke up once more. “Hate to interrupt—but I still want food.”

--

tags: @irwinkitten @glitterprincelu @sweetcherrymike @meetashthere @valentinelrh @astroashtonio @hereforlukescruff @calsangel @novacanecalum @captain-what-is-going-on @txcobell @angelbbycal @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @calntynes @calumsmermaid @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @spideyseavey @imfuckin10plybud @pastelpapermoons @malumharmonies @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @metangi @neigcthood @ohhmuke @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist @vxlentinecal @pettybassists @vaporshawn @lu-my-golden-boi @heartbreak-5sos @visualm3nte @isabella-mae13 @dontjinx-it @lifeakaharry @neonweeknds @antisocialbandmate @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave @calpalbby @grreatgooglymoogly @cocktail-calum @miahelizaaabeth @madelynerin @dramallamawithsparkles @hzi0 @aulxna @theagenderwhocriedwolf @kaytiebug14 @hoodskillerqueen @bitchinbabylon @empathycth @xhaileyreneex @inlovehoodx @calistheloml @aestheticrelated @bloodlinecal @sublimehood @madbomb @raabiac @britnicole1 @5sosses @cthoodsthetic

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[memesiders]

Part 5

Death x OC Office AU

I hit send and sighed, leaning back in my seat. Three cancelations, two rescheduled meetings, and a bunch of chain letter spam all before one. Not to mention the hour I spent on the phone trying to get a definitive time for one of the rescheduled appointments.

“It gets easier,” Nora reminded me for the fourth time today. There were dark circles under her eyes and she seemed less cheerful than she had earlier.

“Will it? Cause right now, all I want to do is reach through the phone and choke out the next person who won’t give me an answer,” I replied, rubbing my temples.

“It will, trust me. Just give it a year or two.” I snorted at her comment and she smiled, patting my back. “Seriously, it’ll get easier. You have to really practice patience.” I cursed under my breath and she laughed, picking up another call as the phone rang. I turned in my chair, moving from side to side.

My eyes landed on the elevator that Death and his brothers had gone in earlier. None of them had come down since then. What were they talking about, I wondered? Were they fighting? Discussing vacation plans? I chuckled quietly as the image of Death in a large sunhat, a Hawaiian shirt, and khakis popped into my head. I’d pay to see that. Though I’d bet money that Death never took any time away from work; he didn’t seem the type.

Maybe if his siblings dragged him out, even if only for a night on the town? Did he ever go bar hopping or clubbing? I could see him sitting at a bar in low lighting, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He’d be wearing a leather jacket and nice fitting jeans with some boots, and all the women would be afraid to make the first move, but some confident lady would chat him up and all the other girls would be seething with jealousy, wondering if she was the one he was going to take home tonight.

When had I started fantasizing about my boss and his life?

“Az,” Nora said, pinching me. I winced and swirled back to her, scowling. She pointed towards the doors and I looked over, sitting up straight as Neema walked in. Her short pecan curls stuck out from under her beanie, her oversized band shirt hanging off of one shoulder. She had on a pair of ratty old boots that Safiya had given her years ago and her pants had paint smudges all over them. She smiled brightly at me, waving wildly. I waved back, smiling myself, and stood as she ran over, throwing herself into my arms.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, hugging her tightly.

“I was bored so I thought I’d drop by and see your new job,” she answered, clinging to me tightly. I frowned slightly. Something was wrong, I could tell, but I wasn’t going to push the subject here. I kissed the top of her head and pulled back, gesturing to Nora.

“This is Nora.” The two waved at each other. My phone rang and I held up a finger, picking it up. “Hello, thank you for calling the CC Corporation, how may I help you?”

“Nora?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

“This is not her, I’m sorry. My name is Aziza; do you need to speak to Nora?”

“No, my apologies. I didn’t know there was someone new. Please, forgive me.”

“It’s quite alright. May I ask why you’re calling?”

“Ah, yes, I need to speak with Death, please.”

“And who is this?”

“Azrael.” I put my hand over the voice box and looked at Nora.

“An Azrael is calling,” I said, lowering my voice.

“Put him through to whoever he wants,” she immediately replied. I nodded and uncovered the speaker, replying.

“Alright, I’ll patch you through.”

“Thank you very much,” Azrael said.

“No problem!” I hit the forward call button and hung up, turning back to Neema. She was smiling proudly at me. I returned it.

“My big sister is growing up so fast,” she said, faking a sniffle. I rolled my eyes playfully and checked the time. It was time for my break.

“You wanna go for a walk? I have a half hour to burn,” I suggested. She nodded and I let Nora know I’d be back before leaving the building. We started walking, no destination in mind. I glanced over as we wandered, noticing a frown curving her lips. Whatever was wrong was really bothering her. I wanted to ask but I was unsure of how to approach the subject. Was she upset with me? No, she wouldn’t have come if she was mad at me. Was it Safiya? Had something happened at home?

“Why are you staring at me?” I jumped as she looked at me, brow arched curiously.

“Sorry…” I scratched the back of my neck, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “I just… You seem upset, but I don’t want to push anything.” Neema gave me a small smile and wrapped her arms around one of mine, resting her head against my shoulder. It suddenly felt like she was a small child again, afraid to leave my side whenever we ventured out.

“There is something wrong,” she said, voice small. “It’s stupid.”

“Hey, nothing is stupid,” I said, kissing the top of her head. “If it’s bothering you then it’s definitely not stupid.” She giggled a little and then sighed.

“It’s Lyriel…”

“Ahh…”

“She’s going on a date… I was gonna tell her how I felt about her, but before I could she told me one of our classmates asked her out. She said yes…” I frowned and slipped my arm out of hers, wrapping it around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze.

“You should still tell her.”

“How can I? She’s going on a date!”

“Doesn’t mean it’s going to be a good date.” She looked up at me with glassy eyes and I felt my heart tighten; she was more smitten than I realized. “Look, you’re going to have many crushes and many loves of your life. You shouldn’t let the unknown hold you back. Lyriel is never going to know how you feel until you tell her, and you’re never gonna know how she feels either. What if she’s thinking about you right now? What if she likes you too but is also afraid to say anything?”

She looked away from me, letting my words sink in. Damn, you should charge people for this advice. I held back a laugh at my own thoughts and stopped walking, turning her to me. “You only live once.” She barked out a laugh, wiping at her teary eyes.

“Did you really just say that? God, you’re cringey,” she sniffled. I smiled.

“Yes, yes I did,” I replied. “But it’s true and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah…” She hugged me tightly and I wrapped my arms around her, hugging back just as tightly. My smile grew. I wiped the tears from her eyes when we pulled apart and we headed back to the office, Neema now bouncing around happily. “So, Safiya told me about what your boss did for you.” I groaned, rolling my eyes. Great, now it’s her turn to try and lecture me.

“He only did it so I didn’t miss work.”

“Sure he did…” I glared at her playfully and she laughed, nudging me with her elbow. “I think perhaps your boss-”

“Don’t! I already heard it from Saf, I don’t need to hear it from you. There’s no way, no possibility that my boss wants to sleep with me!” A few older women walking by gave us a weird look and I blushed, ignoring them.

“He bought you a whole ass meal, ZiZi!”

“He was just being nice!” She rolled her eyes at me.

“He’s also taking you to a party.”

“Only because I want to pay him back.”

“He couldn’t have asked you to work overtime? Maybe take away one of your weekends?” I felt my face grow red and I rubbed my temples. God, this would never end, would it? “Look, all I’m saying is, I think there’s something more there than you think.”

“We barely know each other, Neem. I only ever interact with him when he’s coming or going. I don’t think I’m even his type.”

She rolled her eyes again. Her eyes must’ve been tired from all that rolling. “What do you think his type is, exactly?” I thought about it for a moment.

“Smart,” I started. “Confident, elegant, probably likes fitness and reading.”

“You like reading!”

“I haven’t picked up a book in a month.”

“You’re smart!”

“I almost failed math, Neem.”

“Would you stop putting yourself down?” It was her turn to stop me. She placed her hands on her hips and looked at me sternly. “You are a smart, confident, sassy beautiful woman. You light up any room you’re in and any guy would be lucky to have you on his arm!” I smiled a little. “You are more beautiful than any angel or supermodel.”

“I think that’s taking it a little too far, Neem.” She waved away my comment.

“You’re more amazing than you give yourself credit for.” I pulled her into a tight hug and she yelped. “Ugh, let me go!”

“Never,” I laughed. She sighed and hugged me back.

We got back to the office a few minutes later. Nora was coming back from her lunch break as well when we walked in. Neema had given me the small confidence boost I needed to make it through the rest of my shift and I couldn’t thank her enough for it. I still didn’t think Death was attracted to me, but it felt nice to hear such nice things from my little sister. We were just saying our goodbyes when Death and his brothers walked out of the elevator. Strife looked happy while Death and War wore looked tired and glad to be done with whatever had gone on up there. Death noticed me and broke away from the others, walking over.

“Miss Banks,” he said, reaching us. “Who is this?” He looked at my sister, who was now staring at him wide eyed, her jaw nearly hitting the floor. Her head was craned back as far as she could bend it.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “This is your boss? You weren’t lying when you said he was smokin’ hot.” I slapped my hand over my face, warmth radiating from my neck to my ears. Death chuckled quietly and I peeked through my fingers, noticing an amused glint in his eye.

“I take it this is the same one who placed that photograph in your resume file?”

“Guilty! Hi, I’m Neema, Azi’s little sister. We sort of met at the apartment.” She extended her hand for a handshake and he stared at it for a moment, brow arched and head tilted slightly. His eyes flicked back to hers and, hesitantly, he took her hand.

“I don’t remember, sorry. That day was quite busy for me.” She shrugged off his reply and nodded her head towards me.

“So, I hear you’re taking my sister on a date, huh?”

“What, why didn’t I hear about this,” Strife asked, appearing next to Death. The older brother rolled his eyes.

“It’s not a date. I’m bringing her to the party tonight. Fury wanted me to bring someone.”

“Since when have you cared about what our sister wants?” War asked, joining the others. Death ran a hand over his face, and I could’ve sworn I saw his cheeks turn a light shade of pink for a moment.

“I’ve decided to placate her for one evening,” Death grumbled. “Besides, Miss Banks offered.” That wasn’t exactly true, but I wasn’t going to deny it. He looked like he needed all the help he could get to get out of the predicament he was in. War grunted, seeming satisfied with his answer. Strife, however, was not.

“Why didn’t you bring Amber? Or some other employee? Hell, even Nora could’ve come!”

“I have a baby, you know,” she cut in quickly before answering the phone.

“Still, you’re bringing the newbie?” Strife wiggled his brows in a suggestive manner and it looked like Death was hanging onto his sanity by a thread. “Why big brother, how uncharacteristic of you.”

“Shut up.” Death narrowed his eyes at his brother, his fists clenched. I stepped forward and grabbed the sleeve of his suit, tugging lightly. He looked at me, confused, and I smiled.

“Probably not a good idea to beat your brother up in the lobby,” I said quietly. His eyes lowered to where my hand was on his sleeve and I quickly removed it, apologizing.

“Thank you,” he said. “You’re quite right.” Strife made kissing noises and this time it was Death’s turn to hold me back from clocking his brother. “It was nice to meet you, Neema.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” she giggled, enjoying the show playing out in front of her. “When you take ZiZi out, make sure to bring her home by one, alright?” I smacked her shoulder and she laughed.

“You should head home,” I said firmly, giving her a warning look. She laughed and hugged me tightly.

“Love you too, sis; don’t forget to bring us back some snacks, I have a feeling dinner’s gonna be Top Ramen again!” She said goodbyes to the others before she left. I was a little sad to see her leave, but I did have a job to do. Death held up a file I hadn’t noticed he was holding and handed it to me.

“Amber picked out a selection of dresses for this evening,” he explained, ignoring the teasing that Strife had started up. “Go through and pick what you’d like, then email her your choice. There’s also a selection of shoes and jewelry. Hair and makeup will be here as soon as your shift ends.” My brows lifted and I looked at the folder, noticing how thick it was.

“Do I really need to do all of this? Can’t you just pick something out?” I asked, already feeling stressed.

“I don’t want you to be dressed in something you’re not comfortable in. It’s better you decide.” I nodded. It was nice of him to let me pick what I wanted to wear; though I almost preferred him picking for me.

“Oh, well, thank you. I’ll look through immediately.” He nodded and left with his brothers, Strife still teasing him about bringing me as his date. I shook my head, smiling, and sat back down.

“I didn’t know the boss was taking you out,” Nora said playfully. I groaned.

“Don’t you start too.”

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #death #death x oc #office au #war #strife

[antipthy-blog]

❝               i     want     to     be     good          ,          life’s     just     not     letting     me          !               ❞

one.          ⤻          statistics.

full  name:  jess  alex  mariano.

nicknames,  aliases:  no  notable  ones.  can’t  get  much  out  of  jess.

age:  twenty - one.

date  of  birth:  february  seveth.

place  of  birth:  new  york  city,  new  york.

current  place  of  residence:  truman  island.

occupation:  writer,  vagabond,  pain  in  the  ass.

nationality:  american.

sexual  &  romantic  identity:  pansexual,  panromantic.

gender  identity:  cis  male,  he/him.

hogwarts  house:  slytherin.

source  material:  gilmore  girls.

two.          ⤻          biography.

jess  wasn’t  always  a  problem  child,  wasn’t  always  a  holden  caulfield  rip - off  in  torn  denim  and  worn  leather.  jaded  gaze  hasn’t  always  thinly  veiled  hurt  and  anger   --- -   no,  it  used  to  be  a  sunny  sparkle  that  lingered  in  warm  brown,  buoyant  smile  instead  of  soured  smirk.  funny,  he  thinks,  doesn’t  seem  real.

jess  alex  mariano  is  born  to  liz  danes  and,  at  the  time,  an  unnamed  father.  liz’s  boyfriends  don’t  tend  to  stick  round  long,  and  his  father  is  a  prime  example   --- -   ditched  the  minute  the  stick  turned  pink.  when  jess,  only  an  infant,  points  at  the  bearded  layabout  liz  has  picked  up  this  time  and  utters  a  babbled  ‘dada !’,  the  current  boyfriend  flees  too.  it’s  about  this  time  that  liz  decides  to  separate  her  motherhood  from  her  romantic  life,  stops  letting  anyone  get  too  close.  she  tries,  and  for  a  few  years,  it’s  good.  until  jess  is  about  eight,  it’s  him  and  his  mom,  and  everything  feels  right.  she  helps  him  with  homework  at  the  dinner  table,  cooks  his  favourite  meals,  presses  a  kiss  to  his  forehead  before  he  goes  to  sleep  at  night.  he’s  a  well - adjusted  kid  in  those  years,  polite  and  kind  and  dedicated  to  the  ever - growing  stack  of  books  that  keep  his  bedside  company  but  life  continually  fails  to  be  kind,  and  he’s  barely  past  his  ninth  birthday  when  fate  cracks  its  whip  again.

liz  brings  around  a  new  guy,  one  that  sneers  at  jess  but  sucks  up  to  liz  and  strokes  her  ego  and  really,  it’s  all  he  needed  to  do.  years  and  years’  of  work  unravel  right  at  her  fingertips  and  suddenly  she’s  leaving  a  nine - year - old  to  cook  himself  dinner,  clean  their  little  brooklyn  apartment,  get  himself  up  and  off  to  school.  the  first  stamp  of  hurt  digs  into  those  bright  eyes,  and  it  only  deepens  as  time  barrels  on.  it’s  like  she  forgets  that  she  has  another  life  to  take  care  of.  she  leaves  rent  money  and  grocery  money  every  week,  but  he  stops  seeing  her  when  he  drags  himself  home  from  school.

fourteen,  and  virulence  is  not  so  much  a  new  behaviour  but  one  that  has  developed,  metastasized  over  the  past  few  years.  he’s  fourteen  when  he  first  drinks  an  entire  bottle  of  wine  liz  has  left  in  the  cupboard  (  finds  out  real  fast  that  red  wine  tastes  like  shit  ),  followed  by  swigs  and  swigs  of  cheap  vodka  that  leave  his  head  buzzing  and  his  eyes  burning  with  tears  that  he  blinks  furiously  back  because  she’s  left  him,  she’s  chosen  a  piece  of  ass  over  her  own  flesh  and  blood  and  that  shit  stings.  it  doesn’t  take  him  much  to  get  drunk  that  first  night,  and  he  wakes  up  with  cheeks  still  tacky  with  tears  and  a  pounding  headache.  liz  doesn’t  care,  though.  liz  isn’t  here.

he  raises  himself  in  these  years,  rents  movies  and  spends  most  nights  curled  under  a  heap  of  blankets,  hand  perpetually  stuck  in  over - buttered  popcorn.  he  makes  his  way  through  all  the  works  of  his  favourite  directors,  branches  out  into  different  genres  that  he  didn’t  think  he’d  like,  racks  up  an  impressive  catalogue.  it’s  the  same  with  books   --- -   he  reads  voraciously,  a  frequent  at  the  local  library.  he’s  never  missed  a  due  date,  always  gets  his  books  and  movies  back  on  time  so  he  can  pick  up  more,  delve  into  worlds  simultaneously  better  and  worse  than  his  own.  in  the  absence  of  someone  showing  him  how  to  do  it,  he  takes  the  cultural  zeitgesit  by  the  horns  and  makes  it  his  own,  like  everything  else  in  his  life.

it’s  saturday  when  it  happens.  he’s  sixteen,  absolutely  shitfaced  off  a  cheap  bottle  of  scotch  liz’s  latest  boyfriend  has  slipped  him  as  some  kind  of  fucked  up  means  to  keep  him  complacent  and  nonplussed  about  how  infrequently  his  mother  visits.  said  mother  returns  in  the  middle  of  a  rewatch  of  the  lost  boys,  sobbing  about  how  she’s  been  broken  up  with  and  how  broken  her  heart  is  and  something  snaps  like  nothing  else.  only  five  foot  nine  at  the  time,  he  grows  into  a  seven  foot  monster  when  his  volume  picks  up,  voice  trembling  and  catching  as  he  unleashes  years’  worth  of  neglect,  swallowed  hurt  and  acridity  at  liz,  who  only  watches  with  wide  eyes  and  pursed  lips.  he  yells,  he  shakes,  he  asks  the  fuck  did  you  think  you  were  doing  coming  back  here   ?   the  fuck  did  you  think  i  was  gonna  do,  extend  another  olive  branch,  let  you  cry  on  me  so  i  can  pick  up  the  pieces  like  nothing  ever  fucking  happened   ?   fuck  you  liz,  fuck  you.  you  don’t  deserve  my  sympathy,  y’know  that   ?   y’don’t  deserve  jack  shit  of  my  time,   seein’  as  i  was  never  good  enough  for  yours.

liz  packs  him  up  to  stars  hollow  after  that,  a  bundle  of  bad  attitude  and  metallica  shirts  and  careworn  copy  of  beat  poetry  tucked  into  the  oversized  pocket  of  a  jacket.  he  alternates  between  glaring  out  the  window  and  flicking  through  on  the  road,  but  ends  up  asleep,  head  lolled  back  and  throat  exposed   ---   vulnerable,  like  he’s  never  been  before  but  will  continue  to  be  long  after  stars  hollow  leaves  its  imprint  on  him.  he  arrives  with  a  scowl  and  a  flourish,  and  luke  greets  him  with  a  sigh  and  a  heavy,  too - warm  hand  on  the  shoulder.  tells  him  about  the  place  on  the  two - minute  walk  back  to  the  diner,  and  that’s  all  it  takes  for  jess  to  realise  that  he’s  in  hell.  in  his  first  few  days,  he  makes  no  attempt  to  become  acquainted  in  any  way  with  the  place,  and  then  luke’s  whisking  him  off  to  a  friend’s  and  he  meets  her  and  his  entire  life  is  thrown,  because  she’s  the  most  angelic  creature  he’s  ever  met  and  he’s  going  to  die  if  he  doesn’t  get  to  hear  that  silvery  voice  every  day for  the  rest  of  his  life.  he  steals  her  copy  of  howl,  writes  borderline  love  notes  in  the  margins  and  hopes  she  doesn’t  read  too  much  into  them.

he  is  gone  before  he’s  even  really  there.  chases  her,  breaks  her  arm,  leaves  her,  dates  her,  ruins  her.  he  doesn’t  graduate.  he  loves  luke  but  he  can’t  stomach  the  disappointment  that  burns  in  the  back  of  those  deep  eyes,  so  he  slips  out  as  quietly  as  he  came.  he  leaves  stars  hollow  in  his  wake,  nothing  more  than  the  faintest  remainder  of  a  chalk  outline  outside  of  doose’s  to  even  murmur  that  he  was  there  in  the  first  place.  he  thinks  about  going  back  for  the  first  few  weeks,  but  once  he’s  settled,  he  doesn’t  think  back  on  it.  

jess’  memories  of  his  real  life  are  fuzzy.  his  memories  come  in  fits  and  starts   ---   he  wakes  up  one  night  with  the  searing  memory  of  a  wedding,  a  kiss,  a  name,  and  forgets  it  the  minute  he  closes  his  eyes.  he  remembers  luke,  of  course   --- -   doesn’t  think  the  old  man  would  let  him  live  it  down  if  he  did.  he  clings  to  whatever  memories  he  can  recover  like  they’re  a  cliff’s  edge  and  he’s  got  sweaty  palms  and  the  water  beneath  is  crocodile - infested   ;   sometimes  he  writes  them  down,  even  if  they’re  nothing  but  a  name  or  a  word.  he’s  got  a  journal  dedicated  just  to  that,  to  trying  to  decode  the  words  and  pictures  that  come  to  him  in  dreams  like  he’s  some  kind  of  prophet.  he  keeps  it  with  him  at  all  times.

as  far  as  his  false  memories  go,  he’s  been  living  in  truman  since  he  was  thirteen,  sent  to  live  with  an  uncle  of  unclear  description  who’s  going  to  ‘straighten  him  out’.  he  knows  it’s  luke,  but  whether  luke  knows  it’s  luke  is  an  entirely  different  story.  

i’ve  already  rambled  too  aggressively  for  one  morning  so  yea  jess  is  a  sad  little  mess  n  it’s  canon  that  he  still  is    !!!!!!

three.          ⤻          wanted     connections.

a  group  of  writer  pals   /   oh,  you’re  my  best  friends.  he’s  developed  quite  the  little  group  of  friends  in  truman,  other  writers  and  creatives  who  get  him  and  get  what  he’s  trying  to  do  with  his  own  writing.  it’s  not  entirely  dissimilar  to  canon  truncheon,  if  you  get  me   ?????  anyway  please  give  him  friends

all  i  can  say  is  big  yikes   /   i  laugh  like  me  again,  she  laughs  like  you.  it’s  canon  that  jess  is  always  going  to  be  in  love  with  rory,  idc  what  anyone  says.  anyways,  he  tries  to  date  someone  else  and  he  ends  up  dating  a  carbon  copy  of  her.  and  it’s  fine,  it’s  all  good,  nothing’s  wrong  until  he  accidentally  calls  her  rory  and  then,  y’know.  shitteth  hitteth  the  faneth.

#━━ ˊ * ╰ 𝑟𝑒: 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗺 . ╱ ooc . #truman:intro #2/3.......... can u say killing it

[aintnouseofpretending]

Uncool. University AU, Queen fan fiction. (John Deacon x Tomboy!Reader)

For now, it can be read as a one-shot—as it was originally intended. If someone is interested in this to continue, please let me know! 😊😊

Warning: Cursing, fluff, a bit slow burn?

+ ———— - ———— + ———— - ———— + ———— - ———— + ———— -

It's a fantastic drowse in the afternoon Sunday. Nothing beats hanging out with your friends, smoking, eating pizzas, and tuning to some heavy metal and rocks on the college parking lot; especially, after your midterm exam. It’s not much of being glad the torturing is over, more of you know you nail the exam after studying hard, like the usual. Feels awesome still. But just hanging out isn’t the reason you all here. There’ll be more headbanging later tonight, one of the local metal band is coming to shake the building; whilst waiting, you and your gang are enjoying the quality and fun times together.

“Yo, y/n!”

One of your male classmates came, bringing more foods and forcing three people you don’t know to carry it when both his hands are free.

“How’s it, Dave?” You return the greetings with a handshake and hug. “Care to introduce your new mates?”

Dave points at a girl with long brown hair and purple streaks. She wears black leather spiked jacket atop of her purple tank, complementing her style with tight leather pants and black ankle boots. She also wears thick makeup that makes her face says "fuck you" to anyone it greets. You like her already.

“Jess Gun, call her G. Music student. Jess, this is y/n, our top dog. Mech like most of us.”

“Take a piss, Dave.” But you still take the compliment as you give G a warm handshake.

“How’s it, y/n.”

Then Dave points at a tall and large man. The man proudly showed off his brand new tan, covered in tonnes of tattoos by wearing only thin black sleeveless graphic metal band tee. The common theme of the night; leather pants and black ankle boots. But he’s much more complete with spiked armbands, bracelet, and chain necklace.

“This is Charles C. C stands for Colossal.”

Not surprising that C carried the most out of their raids, so you stopped him when he tries to pass it somewhere or to someone just so he can give you a handshake. Dave tap C’s shoulder, told him to move, uncovering the next new dog for the pack. Someone you didn’t quite expect to look for tonight’s occasion.

“This is John Deacon, Mr D. Ace of the electrics.”

“Just call me, John.” Say the man calmly with a much softer voice. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too…” You return, quite astounded by his symmetrical, handsome, princely features.

For some passerby, it might look like Dave bullies John and force him to carry around his things. And that might be correct, John stands out the most in your group; with his plaid brown shirt, light blue jeans, and a black tight vest. His kind, friendly downturned eyes don’t help either. Feels like looking down at a small puppy as a big black alpha. But lo and behold, he’s also into some deafening and blaring as his past time. Wait, is he?

“Big fan of the Devil’s Fork?” You ask him a bit later after the foods he’s carrying was savaged by your friends.

“Haven’t heard them yet, so I’m not sure. What do you think?”

What begins as your attempt to unfold a bit of mystery surrounding him and following your weird instinct to protect the poor puppy; ends with you blabbering about your obsession over the band—their unique harmonies, intense riffs, and sick styles. You even just noticed that despite his looks that perfectly fit how Dave describes him, he joins you as you power through your Marlboro, leaving nothing for the night. And that was your last pack too.

“Mind continuing whilst we walk to store?” You ask him as you check for your funds. Enough for another pack.

“Okay.”

Nope. The band black van that's showing off their logo on the sides—a small gremlin-like devil holding an oversized red flamming fork in exaggerated art style,—just parked right next to your pick-up truck.

“Well, that’s unlucky.”

“I will run and buy a pack before the gig starts if you’d like.” He says, somehow a bit guilty.

“Nah, mate, I will collect these peasants’ tax. Getting us more of a selection till morning.”

“It's okay. I’m good for today.” He smiles.

From behind him, Dave slaps his shoulder and practically shake the man; he yelped in a very high pitch voice, almost make you burst out laughing. You didn't blame him when he hit Dave's shoulder in return.

“D warmed up to ya’ quick, y/n. As expected.” Dave let out a hearty laugh. “Not many can do that to him. Or maybe that’s because you two are our top rank dweller? Can finally speak in your higher-intelligent language?”

You jokingly kick Dave away and he joins, pretending to be running away from his life, as John—and some that overhear Dave’s remark—laugh at your shenanigan. You hope John didn’t notice you staring at him; amidst the chaos that is Dave munching some arse-whooping from you. You savoured his shockingly cute laugh and face. No. You wish it was forever, so you can admire him to your heart content…

Well, crap.

You just met and you’re crushing hard on him already?

Wouldn't be the first time.

It won’t last long like the others. You assure yourself, tangling your arm on his shoulder as if you’re his old friend. Understanding boundaries and someone else personal space were not one of your strong suits; you get in a whole lot of problems that turn things awkward, but you’ll exploit that fact to get even closer to John.

“But, Dave’s right. You’re gonna have fun with us. And with me, mate.” You say, confidently.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

When you think it’s not possible for a man to be any more charming and stunning, he proved you wrong by just smiling a bit wider.

“I will personally guarantee it.”

***

“Fuck my life.” You sighed after Deacy left your home. You practically let your body fall on the couch as you put your palm on your chest. “What the fuck is going on with me…”

It has been several months since you have attended the best college gig. The same day Dave introduces you to John. You did promise to give John a good time—and it’s a hell of a good time for you and your friends as well. Even John tell you to call him Deacy—or Deaky? He never wrote it down,—the privilege that was only given to you. That might also the reason why your crush now develops into actual feelings.

“Absolutely. Not because he comes here almost every day. All studying together, rocking to music, the fact he makes cool riffs, shred his guitar, and even taught me how to play them…”

You talked to yourself in an attempt to calm down. It works. Partially. You scratch your head furiously and rolled about. Angry that you knew you catch the feelings, but mind goes on thinking it was not a big deal, that it’ll soon be gone. Only when you fall down the couch face first, your decision was made; you will be upfront about it, you will show him your interest. Then, when he returns them warmly, you will do a sneak attack, and ask him to be your boyfriend! Perfect! Maybe then you’ll figure out your feelings more?

“Fuck the tradition.” You exclaimed as you get up. “Says who I can’t woo and pamper my man?”

And so you did. At first, it was very subtle; longer physical contact, purposeful stare, spending more time with him, wearing things he likes, giving him gifts that he likes, listening to even the most curious of his nonsense when he’s drunk. Then it escalates slowly but surely, you have constructed a plan to ask him out to places he likes; arcades, music shop, buy him movies ticket, buy him tickets to concerts. You never fail the dates. And of course, you’re getting even bolder to the point that hugs that used to make your body numb, head empty, heart pounding, feels much too normal now. Occasional holding hands after college or hanging out. Cuddling when watching movies at your house, in front of your friends, even.

But what about him? How does he react? Is it warm enough yet for you to ask him out? You can’t tell. There might be a slight change, but you really can’t see it. It’s always you that initiate physical contacts, even for just a hug. He asks you out to hang, but never to his house, or even special places; just for shopping, to cafes, arcades, library, something very casual. Almost every dates now you try to kiss him, and every time too, somehow, he deflected it as if you purposely closing your eyes and get your face close to him with your award-winning kissy face was just an accident.

“That happens by the end of every date!” You mutter to yourself, burying your face in your palms. “What the hell did I do wrong? Don’t make it clear enough? What do you think, G?”

G stares at you whilst chewing on her gum and smoke at the same time. Now it’s almost on every date too that you drag G and told her your tales of woe. Although you’re paying for her foods, you can clearly see that it doesn’t matter anymore. She’s fed up and well-fed—apparently, she gained a lot of weight because of you.

“Fucking tell him you love him.” Her words came out like venom. “Ask him to be your boyfriend. Stop being a fucking pussy about it. Don’t come to me again if you didn’t do what I said when he’s dating someone else.”

She’s right, you think. Either Deacy is extremely stupid—unlikely for an honour student that beats the crap out of you score wise, or you were never one of the options he wants and simply think your shameless boldness was because you are in fact have zero sense of personal space, and getting used to it fast. Or maybe you're the one that's a wee bit dumber than you thought about not being able to read the atmosphere well most of the times? No other choice but to find out which answer it is.

You’re trying hard to gather your courage, but now you’re still stuck, trying to solve other mysteries instead. As he stares at you, sitting on the other side of the table, eating a giant pile of expensive ice cream quite seriously. Waiting.

You asked him out to an ice cream cafe a week after your date with G, and G said when someone is happy, they tend to give more positive feedbacks, reactions, whatever; because you use that trick and charm her to fatten herself up. It most likely works on him too. Of course, it will be like normal hangout after class, you never miss a day when taking him to places, even if they might be just a small store. It’ll be a hundred per cent chance that he thought today will be normal like thousandth days before. The surprise factor might contribute.

Excellent.

But you’re running out of time; Deacy is powering through the ice cream like it was nothing. If you keep on failing, he might end up like G. Not that it'll affect your feelings towards him.

You took a deep breath.

“Deacy.”

“Yes?”

And there it goes all the courage you have collected for the past ten minutes. Shattered completely as he stopped the scooping mid-way to his mouth.

“See. That’s what happens when you let cats get into your mind. When your guard is lowered, thinking they’re just small creatures that can do you no harm; they took the chance and get your tongue.” He says, then continues eating.

“I am sorry, good sir. But I am willingly and consciously serve my tongue for their enjoyment. Speaks nothing but praise. And they’re very pleased, so they return it.”

He gave out a very monotone gasp.

“They’ve got my best friend under their control. I must go on a journey to find the materials so I can create the machine to reverse the effect of their alien-like ability.”

“She’s your best friend? How sweet, oh, puny mortal. But there’ll be a legion of our army that’ll stop you. By the time your machine is done, she’ll forever be gone. Nothing and no one can save her.”

"A hero will never give up. With the power of friendship, love, and bravery, I will not let anything stops me."

Usually, the odd banter lasts longer and gets weirder by the minutes, to the point that both of you forgot of what you two are previously doing or talking. But this time it doesn't work. What you expected was that you'll just magically drop the L-bomb in between the exchange. Instead, that thought makes you aware of the possibility and suddenly words were lost.

"Y/n? You okay?"

"Yeah. Things get progressively harder to overcome."

"Our made up stories, exam, or something else?"

"Something else."

"What is it?"

You're extremely frustrated by how easy it is to continue talking when it’s just jokes or normal trivial conversations. But when it comes to serious business, you suddenly have no power to speak...

Then you get an idea.

"I got a joke. Knock knock."

"Okay? Who's there?"

"Will you."

"Will you who?"

"Will you be my boyf—."

"There you are! Always leaving us with the dust! Not this time, mate!"

After the initial shock that quite visibly makes you—and Deacy—jumped, you immediately throw your spoons at Dave and his friends that suddenly came. Pouting and fidgeting in your seat in silent anger as they approach you.

“How’s it, mate?”

“Shove those spoons right up your arse!”

It makes you even angrier that no one seems to care about why you’re very angry being disturbed. Not even Deacy himself, as he joins the others and laughs at you and Dave’s yet another antic when you keep hitting him as he tries to sit next to you. You ended up sitting next to Deacy after kicking the other boys that previously sat there.

“That’s his fucking food. I paid it specifically only for him. Shoo!” You yell again at some of the boys that try to put their spoon in Deacy’s ice cream. Slapping them like flies. “The waitress is coming back, buy your own!”

“It’s okay. Do you want some too, y/n? You did pay for it.”

It’s pretty clear that Dave can’t stop staring at the both of you when Deacy keeps on feeding you ice cream before you can even say yes or no. There’s something in the metalhead's eyes that makes you feel a bit uncomfortable. Though you did feel a little bad, he’s used to be the one that receives your attention the most, now you can’t even remember the last time both of you hang in a college gig.

“How long have you two been dating?” Dave asked, almost makes you jump in a surprise.

Deacy answered in lightning. “No no no. We’re not dating. I’m not sure we fit each other. I think I only pair with shy girls...”

There’s a sharp pain in your chest when you hear that. You stare at Deacy that’s not even giving you a side-glance after hearing such question. Does he even think about your relationship at all? It’s not even one year, wouldn’t that makes him question why you seem to not only clingy and protective of him, but also very forward? Or does he thinks that’s just how you really are?

“Not the first time you’re rejected like that huh.” Dave jokes.

“Go fuck yourself, David.”

You try your best to repress people’s laugh when they still think this is just the usual friend-insulting-friend jeer. But when you didn't join, the sounds quickly dies down, replaced with conversation and the sound of clanking. You want to change seat so bad; being too close with Deacy right now is very uncomfortable, after he straight up rejecting—well, softly saying he’s not into you. Eventually, you let the pang of pain in your heart submerged by the busy sounds of people talking, spoons clinking, and bustling streets as you play with your freshly ordered strawberry cheesecake. Never really a fan of sweet stuff, you think.

But I need it. Hell of a rejection.

One spoonful almost makes you cringe, but you chew them anyway, enjoying the sweetness in the now duller ambience. Has it always been this orange-ish brown in this cafe? Huh, this is the first time you noticed how warm this place feels. Maybe that’s why both you and Deacy always the frequent here. Whenever you are here with him, it’s always fun. Would it stay the same once your feeling is gone?

This one will go away too. Not the first time.

You hope it’ll be fast this time. Just another heartbreak. Not a big deal. You’ll move on, and Deacy will be like Dave, one of the lads that reject you from being a tad too tomboyish for their taste. You wonder will the next love ended up the same? You hope not.

***

“You look like shit.”

“No shit, mate.”

The gal just cut her hair short and now fully coloured it purple, as per your suggestion, and she looks great. C also think so and accepted G’s confession. You’re happy for them. Very happy. And wish that it’s just happy, and not incredibly envious feelings about her moving on fast from being rejected by Dave. Because of your misery from last rejection, that’s far before G is forcing you to start hooking her up with Dave. And right now G is about to celebrate her four months relationship with C.

That’s also why you are here. To cover G’s shift in the electronic shop G hook you in. As thanks for helping you get a job when you quit the car repair shop right after you see John flirts with one of the regular customer’s daughter. Cute girl, a wee bit younger, long blonde hair and blue eyes, always wear a bright coloured dress. Well, you have to admit, she’s very gorgeous. And one more thing; she does look like a perfect fit for Deacy. But that’s not what makes you immediately call the manager and formed your magnificent bullshit reason to quit. It was when she calls him Deacy.

“Hello?” G snapped her fingers again in front of you.

“What?”

“I’m going? But now I’m not sure that I should, with you like that taking care of the shop. You’re already on your second warning, y/n. Are you really okay if I leave?”

“Go on ahead, mate. C’s waiting.” You push her out the door. “I will be fine, it was just a couple hours. Worse case I will be zapped dead repairing Mrs Carla’s TV. Have fun!”

You purposely laugh out loud to make sure she buys your bullshit and didn’t stop until she’s out of the shop’s front. You slumped down a chair near the cashier and starts flipping the magazine you just bought; hopefully, it can kill the bore and the sadness. Alas, you bought a guitar magazine, and all you can think is now John. He invades your mind like he owns the place, jumped on the couch and start ordering you to listen on how important he is to your heart and soul. How you’re a queen that sits on a throne of liar for denying the truth that you missed him so much. This is the first time this happens. It was never like this, even with Dave—and you meet the dude almost everyday afterwards,—you moved on from him quick as lightning. But why? Why with Deacy—John?

What the fuck is going on with me?

It’s the same question you asked when you first realised how deep you have fallen for him. And then he rejected you softly, you try to drift a bit apart from him so you can move on and swoon on someone else. A cooler dude, perhaps, that’s just as cute, and as awesome as John when he shreds his guitar. But that never happened. You keep on staring at John and only John. His laugh always makes your heart warmer. A simple gesture like when he asks you out and helps you carry your project to the cafe. It’s not only the good, but the bad part also happens; you’re now very much aware when John uses his softer tone whilst talking to another girl, or how kind he is with them. He might just be friends with them, but it pains you so much to see it. Then you start making more distance, hanging more with your old pack. But then the arsehole Dave says that he saw John hang with this one particularly pretty redhead from another college.

“She’s all shy and cute. They look like a real couple, you know. But when you and D’s hang, you look like you’re bullying him.”

“Piss off, Dave.”

And that might be true. You always force yourself on him. Drags him places. What if all this time he’s saying yes not because he likes spending time with you? That he just doesn’t want to hurt you if he says no? You did say you are bad at reading people and knowing what the hell is going on sometimes. It is almost a year you slowly stopped hanging with John, and not once did John approach you, nor did many—which is a lot—of your mutuals mention John’s looking for you. Even worse, the one time they mention John, it’ll always be about him having a new girl holding hands with him. Maybe all this time you are just delusional?

Even so, you have tried your darndest to forget about him since his rejection. You tell your friends about your sadness—G, mostly, poor her—it doesn’t work. You try to pour it in form of letters and later burn them. As the fire is ablaze, so is your love towards him, so that also doesn’t work. C suggest you to make it into a poem, he said it helps him, he even sang them in gigs and people loves it. And you do it—not the sing in front of people part, just the poem. It’s still a fruitless effort. And your score took the brunt of it. You have been nothing but stressed, even more so knowing the final exam is near. You haven’t been studying.

“Good work today.” Say your coworker. “You know, if you’re sick, you should just tell Gun you can’t cover her shift.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been on autopilot.” Yet another bullshit excuse. “Exam, you know. But I will manage. Thanks for worrying about me.”

“I don’t. But getting you fired when we have many stuff still needs fixing is like shooting oneself in the foot.”

“Aw, geez, May, I’m fine! Don’t kill yourself worried like that!” You slap the lanky man’s shoulder. Damn, he’s tall. “If you keep it up like that, I might fall for you, and that might be a problem.”

“How so?” He challenges.

“One man making me miserable is enough. I can’t have you rejecting me as well. This lady only has one heart after all.”

He fell silent. Whoops, your jokes might go too far, or he simply couldn’t care less. But as you grab your jacket and get ready to be sorrowful again on your way home, May joins you.

“Going to the store?” He asks awkwardly. “You know, all that smokes will kill you someday.”

“It can’t come any sooner.” You joke again as you puff one. “I mean, sure, if you meant by the store is my house as well, you’re very much welcome, mate. Need some witness for my pity party.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, y/l/n. Don’t just give up on love just because of several guys happens to see less agressi—more composed girls.”

“Hah. At least you admit they're not up for the adventure. You’re right, they’re missing out big time; when I am committed to someone, I will love them with the entirety of it. But well, maybe that’s why I’m so bloody depressed right now.”

He looked at you softly. His hands are twitching, but then he put it in his pockets.

“You’ll find there are many men in your life that’s close to you, and the right one for you might just be around the corner.”

“He can’t come any sooner.”

The walk is a bit uneventful from that onwards, just a bit of conversation. You thought he was just bitter and hates fun—the way G describes him, but he’s cool. He knows a couple of good rock and metal bands, attended some, in fact, which makes you a bit curious whether you have met him before or not. Although you thank Brian May for making you forget about John even just for a bit by promising to buy him tea one day and in the end he tells you good luck on your exam. And, hmm, he's a bit cute? And you particularly like his kinky hair.

But as you arrive home, in an instant, your head and heart instantly switches back on thinking and feeling your love for John. The room is cold and empty. How you wish, somehow, John was here, waiting for you as he makes you both teas. Last year, today will be a horror movie night. You’ll play the guitar together, or some scribble, or heck, you’re close with final exam, both of you would most likely studying right now. You will bring home cheesecake from keeping him waiting.

And I did.

It is just a an empty wish for him will be here as impossible it is. But you still bought home two cheesecakes when you can’t even finish one. It was one of his favourite food. It’s too sweet for you, but you will gladly eat one with him. Now what should you do with two cheesecake? Call Dave to come? He used to be in John’s place after all, but it was a very long time ago. May? Even for someone as shamelessly bold as you, you know that’s a bad idea. Or maybe not?

But why? Why can’t I just be alone?

Because you know why, yet you dare not admit how much you miss John. How much you love him. Tears start welling up on your eyes. You know why you can’t forget about him; all the smallest hints that reminded you of him is everywhere. Cheesecakes, cafes, electronics, your house, horror movies, studying... And the acoustic guitar that you bought specifically so he can teach you how to play it, the more excuse for you to invite him to your house. Without you even realised, you grab the guitar and you sit on the terrace. Then you sing. Sing to your heart content. You don’t care how ear wrenching it is to listen to your own voice that breaks everywhere, and not to mention false. But you keep on singing and strumming the guitar with the only notes you’ve learnt. You wish to scream to your heart content.

I have suffered, but the love stays. If I can’t forget, then please, please, allow me to cherish my dreams. For without it I might die. For without it, for without him; I have no more reason to live.

“Please... I still love him... I missed him... I—.”

You are wide-eyed when you see a dark figure standing on the street, facing you. Maybe it’s just someone a bit disturbed and/or petrified by your awful symphony. But, no. It has to be him. Just as wide-eyed as you. Perhaps he has been that way? Or maybe you both spooked each other? Has he been there the whole time? Watching your dramatic blue moment; the snots and tears, voice cracks, and shit guitar skill?

Fantastic. He’s head over heels from the sight.

You wiped your tears with your t-shirt as you put down the guitar. The man is still there, and so you approach him, pretended nothing happened. You always know how to deflect with jokes, so you’re confident.

“O-oh, hi, John. What you got there?”

Not so confident... As you get closer, you can see his appearance clearer; even more handsome than the one in your mind. He wears that particular worn out button up shirt that you bought him as his birthday present long ago, the same dark blue jeans he wore the night you two met, and his school bag. But what caused you to ask is the same carton bag you get when you bought the two cheesecakes just now.

“How’s it?” You ask again, find it a bit rude not asking it after a long time no see. But you say it as you reach the carton bag. He pulled it away slightly from your hand.

“I’m... Good. How are you? Are you alright?”

“Where have you been, D? Don’t get a final exam in your college? Lucky.”

“Ah, every engineering students’ wet dream.” He joins. “It wouldn’t be counted as lucky. My college is on the planet Mercury.”

“Shame. I could not wish more than for your college to give you lots of exams once you get back. But, surely you have seen me. Undoubtedly, a human like me can’t resist the fiery passion, just like everyone else, when it comes to the final exam.”

“I don’t think it’ll be much of a blazing flame for the two of us.” He says as he hides the carton bag behind his back, forcing you to face him.

“Oh, absolutely not! Who ugly cries and screamed like a dying cat that actually is fine from the inside? They do. But certainly not me, excuse me for doing it ironically. How about you, fine sir?” You raised your hands in frustration and also to add to your dramatic statement, at the same time, distancing yourself away from him. Your heart is pounding like mad being that close.

“What happened, y/n? Are you really okay? I haven’t seen you for so long, it’s very worrying.”

“Oh, it’s a perfectly adequate! I have a crush on you, it turned serious. Ask you out, invade your personal space. Turns out I’m not your type. You know, blah blah blah, the common gossip. Now, what you got there? Cake? If it’s not for someone else, might I have it? To be honest, I am very hungry.”

There’s a small victory noise you make when you catch the bag and stole it from him. But as you check what’s inside, you take a peek at him only to find him covering his mouth with his hand; his face is bright red, eyes smiling, and eyebrows sky-high on his forehead. You feel as if your entire being is a firework, blasting through the air and exploding in bright colours when you realise why he’s like that.

“E-exam fried your brain, mate. Your sarcasm detector is rusty.” You say, try not to be too happy; you might be wrong.

“Most definitely. And I will just let you insult your way out of your own fake confession, you know, like a cunt that I am. To keep deflecting your obvious and incredible attempt at seducing a man. Thinking I was too uncool to be your boyfriend. You’re right, just another common fucking gossip.”

Now, you’re actually blasting off. You jumped in surprise when he yells that. He never yelled at you; hell, you never hear him raise his voice, even though he curses a lot too sometimes. But this time he full-blown raise his voice to almost the screaming level, especially when the colour of his face could match a ripe tomato, showing a very visible sign that he’s angry you still can joke about it. About your feelings.

But no words were uttered after that; you’re a silent statue, cheeks red, eyes wide, mouth’s open. Whilst he twiddles about, walking, trying to find something as he covers his mouth still, calming himself down. Hoping there’s a shovel he could use to dig himself a grave. Both of your heart is about to detonate, but you’re used to it at this point.

“Mate, if you’re not serious, know there’ll be consequences. And you wouldn’t like it.” You say with gritted teeth; from holding back your almost spilt feelings of joy.

He takes a quick step towards you, it’s also very clear he’s holding back his smile. He retorts out of habit; “what sort of punishment awaits me if I’m guilty your honour?”

In an instant, you grab his hips and get you body practically touches his; feeling his chest raise and fall, and his heart that’s beating also has hard as yours. You screamed in your mind for not thinking, and now you feel like passing out from the blood that’s rushing to your head.

“I will crush you and kill you with my love, and hugs, and kisses, and cuddles—everything. Don’t make me buy us engagement rings. So, until you plead guilty; that you are absolutely serious.”

John can no longer hold his smile. His eyes’ basically twinkling stars. Cheeks pinkier than the electronic store’s neon sign.

“Then I plead guilty.”

He cupped your cheeks and pushes his lips on yours. You closed your eyes, savouring the sweet taste of his mouth—it taste like cheesecake! He ate one before you that bastard! You punishes him by not letting him let go to breath. After couple more seconds that you wish were forever, you finally part lips.

“You are a demon!” He exclaimed, voice breaking as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. But he’s smiling wide.

“Oh you have no idea, and in fact, I could show you more if you’d like?” You say cheekily as you encircle him like a hungry shark.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“I will personally guarantee it.”

And you both smiled as your hand's links.

End (?).

+ ———— - ———— + ———— - ———— + ———— - ———— + ———— -

Omfg, it’s been long time since I write a reader-insert fan fiction, so writing this kinda makes me blush, especially at the end 😳😳😳😵😵

I really hope you enjoy it! There’s a big potential for this particular Tomboy!Reader’s story to be broadened into a serial, although I’m not sure if I can do it now since I have to study for final exam. But if anyone want to know about it, please let me know! 😉

One more thing! Feel free to request imagines or one-shots! :D

#Queen Fan Fiction #Queen Band Fan Fiction #John Deacon x Reader #Deacy x Reader #Deaky x Reader #John Deacon #john richard deacon #Queen #Queen Band #Bohemian Rhapsody #Bohemian Rhapsody Movie #Borhap #Bohrhap #Brian May #Brian Harold May #Joe Mazzello #Gwilym Lee #Deaky #Deacy #John Deacon x Tomboy!Reader #Tomboy!Reader

[stusbunker]

Known: And the Ass’s Jaw

A Supernatural Dark Fan-fiction

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Demon!Reader, x Female Vessel OC, Sam, Crowley and some other demon minions

Summary: CC can’t come to the phone right now... Crowley gets our reader out in the open. Dean acquires the First Blade. This turns into an episode rewrite, I hope you enjoy how our reader fits into canon! xoxo Stu

Warnings: Self harm, mental health, possession, blood, “drug” use, violence, murder, sexual harassment, body disposal and a gentle reminder that our reader is a demon.

Series Masterlist

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February 25, 2014

Green Valley, Arizona

Chloe sat in the bed of her truck, knife held firmly in her hand as she let it hover over her thigh. Her cut off shorts accenting the opportunity as a constant taunt. There, beneath six inches of magically strengthened iron, was her answer. She just needed to slide the edge of the blade over her skin, if she was possessed, she would injure or jolt the demon from her body. If she wasn’t, all she would do is leave a simple cut behind. If her hand would just move closer to piercing her flesh, this could all be over.

With a simple flip of her wrist you began. The soft silver edge split her thigh open like a burst seam. The blood blossoming up and out in a swell of heat and a dull sting, she watched you, paralyzed as another gash opened from her cherished blade. You smirked as the letters merged into the simple word, the surrounding skin reddening with each fresh stroke. The mesmerizing power of inflicting damage inside out causing your eyes to blacken, your mouth pulled into a snarl as you jammed the tip of the knife straight on and into the meat, ending the statement. The mixing of metals at the tip was a punch to the gut, the iron carving away at the latches of your control; you slipped back satisfied but laughing at yourself.

Her consciousness rushed forward to feel each throb of her pulse as she read your message.

HI.

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March 5, 2014

Another Penthouse Suite

 Crowley didn’t even feel the needle as it left his arm, the rush of human emotions quelled the lust for pain and morphed his perspective. He really didn’t want to break up Dean’s little tryst, it would be so much more satisfying to out the bitch to his face. But these were desperate times and he needed a few more ringers on his side. If he could just figure out what department she had escaped from, perhaps he could exploit her talents as well. If she had any, with demons the odds were less than a crap shoot.

He was going to track her down once he found the First Blade, which he would do after this high ran off. Can’t be doing business with the stink of humanity coursing through your veins. He was a professional, after all. No, he closed his eyes and drifted away in a day dream of smug zingers and disarticulated Abaddon.

March 18, 2014

The Bunker

Blade Runners (s9,e16)

 “What do you know about the Men of Letters Massacre of 1958?” Sam stared back at Crowley, who was chained, once again in their dungeon.

“We know Abaddon missed our grandfather and Larry Ganem, was there anybody else?” Dean continued.

“Let me get this straight,” Crowley balked. “You keep me locked up in this closet, ignore my suffering, and then come barging in here and demand my help?”

“More or less, yeah,” Dean agreed.

Crowley looked at Dean and then gaped at Moose. “Did I or did I not keep up my end of the bargain the other night? Quite brilliantly, I might add. We ARE partners and you OWE me!”

After little concession on either part, the brothers caved to the dramatic demon.

“What do you want?” Dean decided it was easier to play along than to argue with Crowley any longer.

Crowley paused a tick, “I wouldn’t turn down more comfortable seating arrangements, a few nips of Scotch, and—” His eyes glinted as he drew out his final request. Dean and Sam raised their eyebrows, fueling his theatrics. “This is paramount. I want Dean’s, how should I put it? Lady friend? To accompany us.”

“Not happening,” Dean interjected flatly.

“Wait, Dean, CC would be there as backup. If Abaddon’s closing in, we could use all the help we could get, especially from someone we can depend on,” Sam grimaced at Crowley’s smug face, he felt dirty agreeing with the crumbling King of Hell.

“Moose is making sense, Dean,” Crowley purred. “Come now, let me meet your pet.”

“No!” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, “Look, she booked it last time she knew you were here. She was working with Kevin and the moment you started your belly-aching she was out the door. No, Cease doesn’t deal with this level of crap. Not like us.”

“Shame, really,” Crowley leaned his head back and nestled into the creaky old chair. “I’d thought we had a lot in common, both always getting screwed by the mistakes that are the Winchesters and all.”

Dean stomped forward, just to have Sam pull him back from punching Crowley. When they were out of what they estimated to be earshot, Sam continued, “Look, man, I don’t like it either, but CC’s tough. Just call her, she can always say no.”

Dean returned ten minutes later with a calculated glint in his eye, Sam hadn’t moved from his perch outside of the Devil’s Trap.

“So?”

“She’s about four hours out,” Dean gave Crowley a cold curl of his lip. “If you so as much as look at her wrong, I’m going to let her take it out of your hide herself, you hear me?”

“You give all your mates the possessive alpha male monologue or do I threaten your manhood, Squirrel?” Crowley tutted. “Honestly! I think you underestimate just how charming I can be.”

Sam pursed his lips and spun on his heel while Dean sauntered forward. “Now what was that you were saying about seating arrangements?”

Crowley swallowed at the menace in Dean’s voice, careful to keep his thoughts to himself as the boys set up a suitable Queen Anne’s Wing-back for him in the Library, among the other amenities. After an hour of digging through records, they managed to get real intel out of Crowley. Dean naively hoped that their progress would keep CC out of the hunt for the First Blade, but a demon never forgets.

“Call your little huntress, tell her to meet us there,” Crowley’s dark eyes mocked Dean as he watched Dean as he shoved Crowley’s head into the backseat of the Impala.

*^*

Chloe walked in a hazy forest, the underbrush crunching beneath her boots. She didn’t know if she was tracking or hiding, she just knew she had to keep moving. The sky above was a muted gray with streaks of purple, twilight was approaching, and she needed to find cover. Slowly she realized she had lost her lead with the snapping of twigs somewhere behind her. The farther she journeyed, the more certain she knew what was chasing her and the panic grew. She could keep running, she could stop and fight or she could go quietly. Just when she had made her choice the woods parted before her, revealing her grandfather’s cabin and her old bike topped with a shiny new helmet waiting for her. It didn’t matter, the thing that was chasing her didn’t need transportation, but the sight of home had made her pause long enough to end the game once and for all.

*^*

You flew down the highway with the windows open, letting the winter air bite against your bare arms. Chloe was gone, hiding in some memory and you had been buzzing on the power of absolute control. The phone hummed from underneath her leather jacket beside you and you slid the call open before turning down the radio.

There was no way out of this invitation. In fact, it may have been easier to avoid a summoning spell than Dean telling you that Crowley wanted to meet CC. The King, however incapacitated, requested your presence. It was a death sentence, really, either now or later. The loyalty to the throne may not have been your motivation, but its illusion may be your salvation. That with Dean and Sam on your side, gave you enough confidence to answer it readily. Or maybe you were still a masochist this side of the Pit. Go big or go home. You gathered what little belongings you had back at your motel and climbed back into the truck. You hadn’t quite been able to keep Lebanon far enough away.

*^*

“Well, well, well,” Crowley stood alone beside the Impala. “Didn’t think you’d show.”

You remained in the driver’s seat and peered from the window. “Sir,” you nodded, looking around for either Winchester.

“Your boy toy and his oversized sidekick are fine, Y/N. They’re just chasing down an acquisition for me, sporting lads that they are” Crowley oversold. “Come now, let me look at you, Love.”

You hadn’t heard your name in what seemed like forever, an Earth year at least, it was jarring to be addressed by someone so important so intimately. Your overconfidence in your safety was shaken by the sudden solitude. The glint of spelled handcuffs at his wrists gave the final push which brought you out to stand in a seemingly vacant field, two feet from the King of Hell.

“So, Y/N, Darling, what are you doing topside and riding a hunter of all things?” Crowley tutted, thinking your vessel below demon-kind, sending your defenses back up. You looked down at CC’s legs and arms, flexing the muscles beneath her gentle curves before meeting his eye again.

“It was convenient and proved knowledgeable in the long run,” you shrugged, a thousand words passing between your eyes and Crowley’s.

“What of the state of things these days, hmmm? Abaddon and her scare tactics, a demon really needs to keep their friends close,” Crowley was getting to his point.

You knew there were darker reasons Crowley had coaxed you off the road, but there was no good response to a turf battle you had been avoiding. His dark eyes watched knowingly as you tried to conceal your uneasiness. But before you could satisfactorily reply, Sam stumbled out of the nearby trees.

“Magnus has Dean,” he bellowed before realizing you were there. “CC, hi, uh, Magnus is a collector, I think he wants Dean for his zoo.”

“Well, there are worse mugs to put on display,” Crowley muttered as Sam replied in an exasperated face. Sam stormed over to the trunk of the Impala and began digging while Crowley began working him over. You hadn’t spent much time alone with Sam since the whole Angel fiasco, but you knew when he was annoyed. Crowley was playing dumb, yet was still able to hit all his buttons, it was hard not to laugh at them both.

“You’re gonna need another set of hands when you get in there, unless you think Dean’s gonna want little miss priss over here breaking a nail.”

“Thanks, pass,” Sam snapped.

“Hey, at least he knows where I stand,” you interrupted, the low blow stomping out your amusement in less than two breaths.

“Does he?” Crowley grinned over the trunk lid at you.

“Yeah, I do,” Sam countered. “But he’s got a point. Dean wouldn’t want me dragging you into this, CC, this guy has got a spell for everything.”

“He’s human, right?”

“I think so, a witch-like un-aging human, but yeah I guess,” Sam continued rifling through his files.

“Well, if he’s human, he can die,” you surmised. What you didn’t say was that you wanted to be the one to do it, after snatching Dean for his own sick entertainment.

“I’ll remind you, both, that I am the one who flushed the lout Gadreel out of Sam’s noggin. So! Lately, Big Boy, I’ve seen more playing time than you.”

“Crowley, will you please, shut, the hell, up?”

Crowley shoved his tongue in his cheek and sauntered over to your side of the Impala, he nodded to the woods. You didn’t want to do this, not here or now, especially since you knew it would do little to help Dean. But you followed the King about thirty paces until Sam was out of earshot.

“You care about him, is that it?”

You didn’t respond, crossing your arms over your chest, listening in mild annoyance.

“Fine, be stubborn, but you’re still just a bottom dwelling demon in a mediocre meat suit. I have the juice to stop the sorcerer, now, are you going to help me convince the not-so-Jolly Green over there or are you going to stomp your feet and prove yourself a petulant human?”

You didn’t have to convince Sam in the end. Necessity was the mother of invention and the need of the hour was ingredients.

“I did good, eh, Moose?” Crowley pandered once Sam had prepared the spell, “everything on the list. You’re welcome.”

“Remember, stay close, do what I say, and shut the hell up.”

“I’m growing on you, aren’t I?” Crowley stood between you and Sam as Sam started the chant. Crowley’s voice was pathetic and needy. You knew he was off his game, but the fishing for approval was almost painful to watch, and especially suspicious. As the entryway blazed to life before you, Crowley turned and waved, blasting you backwards ten yards.

“Be a dear and wait in the car?” His voice taunted as they disappeared in the night.

*^*

Dean knew he needed to hold out for Sammy and CC to come through with the prison break. Crowley, well, Crowley was a long shot, but he could be tapped if Sam got desperate. What had they gotten into with this guy, the Men of Letters really gave this nutjob too much knowledge for their own good, didn’t they?

Dishonored and forgotten wasn’t enough of a punishment for Cuthbert “Magnus” Sinclair. This guy needed to be put down, once and for all. So, Dean played along, giving him the illusion of control until Dean had his back up squad on the board.

*^*

You could smell them before you heard them, demons. You spun CC’s knife in your hand and sunk into the cover of some nearby bushes. If you smelled them in a pack, one or more of them would be able to sniff out you and Crowley before long. You circled the invisible fortress, spreading your trail and gaining eyes on them. Over a five-minute wait, three stooges barged into the clearing, glaring at the abandoned vehicles.

“Look-e here, the Douche-chester mobile,” a lanky one drawled.

“Christ, she has us tailing after those two for this blade?”

“We woulda been here first, if you hadn’ta stopped to beat them cops, Morris,” the lanky one was apparently in charge.

They continued on, arguing and muttering about their boss, but they never said her name. It wasn’t like they were being cautious to mask their identities. They must have truly feared her if they didn’t utter her name aloud. Once they started in on the Impala, your eyes blazed black, the rage simmering like water beneath the lid of your skin. Eventually they spread out. Which sped up the chances of them finding and following your trail. Slowly you climbed into a low tree, letting their stomping feet cover the sounds of your efforts.

“So, what’s Crowley doin’ wit the Winchesters?”

“Do I look like his secretary, man, I don’t know. But it can’t be good. They are always getting into Hell’s business. You’d think if they wanted the job Sam would have demon-ed up and not put Lucifer back in the Cage.”

“Righteous little Ken Dolls would be real nice to play with though,” a voice like cracked ice spoke for the first time. The third demon was female, and she was much more torture-oriented than the mission required.

“Tommy, there aint no way of gettin’ in ta this vault,” Morris was now ten feet from the trunk of your tree, all any of them had to do was turn and look up and you were screwed.

Fighting against the compulsive breathing of your vessel, you waited. You slid to the farthest weight-bearing spot of the branch, aiming to get within dropping distance. With a calculated toss, you lobbed your knife holster towards the cars, the sound forced the three demon’s heads to snap to attention. In an instant they took off allowing you to leap from your perch and crash onto Tommy, the leader and the last of the pack. With your knife handle firmly in your mouth, you worked to cover his mouth.

The iron and silver blade sunk into his vessel with a satisfying slice, he spasmed against your hold. Once you knew he was weak enough, you removed your hand, letting him smoke out from the decimated corpse. The woman’s and Morris’s voices called back, both confused and cowardly. You wiped the dead man’s blood on the thigh of your jeans and stalked back to the entrance of Magnus’s hiding place.

Amazingly, your gun was still tight against the small of your back, but its weight left little comfort when you were dealing with your own kind. You threw your voice channeling Tommy’s voice, taunting them as you crouched beside your truck, “Morris, get your ass over here and help me already.”

“What’s he want now,” the tall man muttered, stomping back to where you’d left the body.

“Don’t know, don’t care, but you have fun with that,” she snipped, walking backwards with a mocking wave. Once she was alone in the clearing you made your move.

“Hey,” you greeted her, pulling her away from her mutilation of the Impala’s paint job.

“Who the hell are you?!”

“No one of consequence,” you sighed, whipping your knife into her chest, it was two inches up and to the left from where you hoped, but it still froze her in place before her face was forced into a mask of rage.

“Fucking bitch!” She screamed, cutting your window of opportunity down. You charged her, the vessel was tiny compared to CC, your arms and legs reaching her before she could swing back. You threw her to the ground, her boot catching your stomach as she tried to will you off of her. Then you smiled down and twisted the knife, dragging the iron face across her chest in blistering strokes. The skin split bloodless, falling open like a burst bag of flour, the body that housed her was long dead. Muscles, fat and ribs exposed and ragged as she finally escaped through the yellowing lips.

Morris’s strong hands found you before you could enjoy your handy work, one clamped fiercely on your neck while the other hoisted you up by your thigh. Your knife fell from your hand as he had pinned your arm at an awful angle by way of the throat-crushing.

“One of Crowley’s bitches, eh?” He inhaled the scent of your hair. “Didn’t know the ol’ dog liked the chubby’uns. Can’t blame him, really.”

His hand roamed lower and you pushed back against him, trying to wrestle free. “Yeah, that’s it, Baby. Let me feel that fat ass.” You wanted to vomit, but the fingers bruising your throat would have stopped you, if you got that far. You started to panic, it was the middle of the night and you were completely alone; Chloe wasn’t even helping fight this sick fuck off of her. “Could do wit out that pistol ‘tween us though.”

“Why?” You struggled to speak, “my gun make you, insec-c-c—c.” He tightened his hold, crushing Chloe’s windpipe. As his spindly fingers started to undo your pants, you bent forward, lifting his feet out from behind him and slammed his face against the truck’s side view mirror, breaking his grasp of your throat. You coughed and drew sweet air back into her lungs, she was going to be banged up and your antics weren’t exactly helping that fact. You stomped on his foot and shoved him back against the truck, breaking his last hold on you. You stumbled forward, snatching the knife and quickly spinning to face him. His stance was wide, hoping from foot to foot as you inched closer, he grinned suddenly, the barrel of CC’s gun pointed square at your chest.

“Nice vessel you’ve got, sister, be a shame to muddy it up,” Morris taunted. You didn’t know how it came to mind, but suddenly you smoked out of Chloe’s mouth and straight down his shocked jaw. You hadn’t had a different vessel in months and never an already possessed one. But you found him quickly, blanketing his senses and twisting his essence into thin useless strands, like putty. When you felt him trying to leave you shoved him further back, bringing him inside the dead brain of his vessel and wallowing in the emptiness. Just when you thought he was too tired to keep fighting, you raised his hand and put a bullet in his temple.

“So much for this vessel,” you taunted before leaving him in the un-camouflageable husk.

Sure, he could have tried the same thing with CC, but you had scared him shitless. He shot off after his useless friends, like dogs with their tales between their legs. Unfortunately, those bitches would undoubtedly head home to Abaddon, with your treachery bursting from their lips. There was no hiding from Hell after this.

Once you were back inside Chloe, having righted her weapons and fixed her pants, you started hauling bodies. It was dawn before you had them all salted and stacked on a pyre two hundred yards north from the trail to the old Man of Letter’s safe house. The smell of burning flesh coated your nose and sunk into your clothes. It reminded you of home, a wistful smile came to your lips as you watched the bodies with a filling satisfaction.

*^*

Dean was doing his best to ignore Crowley’s verbal masturbation as they stomped out of the woods from Magnus’s place. He was terrified of the power the First Blade put in his hand and absolutely impressed with the taste the murder left in his veins. There was no high like it and so he tried to bury it. When they reached the clearing in which he had parked Baby, the sight was enough of a distraction as his stomach dropped.

“No, no. Come on!” Dean strode forward. “What the hell?!”

“That’s sulfur, demons,” Sam hurried to the other side of the car, checking their cargo.

“Uh, Abaddons’,” Dean groaned. “Well, she’s just one jump behind us. Guess she couldn’t find Magnus’s joint either. What about the trunk?”

“Safe,” Sam sighed in satisfaction. “The warding kept them out.”

Crowley finally reached the distraught hunters, confusion or concern heavy on his face.

“Demon mitts all over my Baby,” Dean stewed. “Oh, come on! What, now, they’re keying cars?!”

“Gents?” Crowley broke Sam’s focus, but Dean was too far gone, desperately trying to right the wrongs done to the beloved Impala. “Notice anyone missing?”

“Chloe,” Sam’s face fell to the empty spot of the missing truck.

“CC was here?”

“Yeah, Dean, you were inside overnight.”

“Wait, what?! It was like an hour, hour and a half tops,” Dean groaned.

“Must have been a temporal pocket, like Hell, only opposite,” Sam explained, scanning the horizon. He froze when he saw the pillar of gray smoke, “that’s not a good sign.”

“Maybe your bird cleaned up the mess,” Crowley mused.

“God, I hope so,” Dean clenched his eyes shut against the deep gashes in the car doors and slid inside. Whispering to the car the entire way over to the pyre. He parked beside CC’s battered pick up and he crawled out of the driver’s seat. Only to be knocked back against the steel frame as CC ran into his chest, breath ragged, and face covered in tears.

“Dean, thank fuck,” she croaked as he pulled her close. “I don’t know what happened, suddenly I was lighting a pyre with three strangers on it. I, I thought I was dreaming.”

Dean stared over her head to Sam and Crowley, concern of varying degrees on both of their faces. Dean kicked himself for leaving her alone, she reeked of sulfur, gasoline and burning flesh. He held her at arm’s length and examined every inch of exposed skin, they really worked her over, fucking bastards.

“D’you have anything to do with this,” Dean looked Crowley square in the eye.

“I might have left her behind, for her own protection,” Crowley raised his hands in surrender. “I had no idea Abaddon’s goons were right behind us.”

“Who are you?” CC asked.

“Name’s Crowley, Y/N was it?” The Englishman leaned forward with a doughy palm.

“Shut up, Crowley. You know this is Chloe, Chloe Collins. You met her yesterday,” Sam eyed the demon contemptuously.

“Right, Ms. Collins, pleasure,” Crowley smiled smugly.

“He’s sort of the King of Hell,” Dean whispered as she unwrapped herself from his arms to take the demon’s handshake.

“I remember, Kevin told me all about you,” you returned his menacing stare as Crowley broke the handshake.

*^*

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Next Chapter: Case of the Weak Part A

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