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angelfic · 9 months

Note

Hi babes!, I was wondering if I could request a Lorenzo Berkshire fic from the event?, here’s the thingy!, forbidden love + prompt 18!, sorry if this was a little confusing I have never requested something from a event 😭, but please and thank you!!,

- oh and!, if it’s okay could you pick out an emoji for me ?, to be like an emoji anon!!, that’s it!! <333

hi, angel!! thank you sm for the request, not confusing at all, my love! writing this has made me realise there’s a criminally small number of lorenzo fics :( am very happy to oblige haha how’s the 🍓 emoji?

lorenzo berkshire x reader + forbidden romance + “yeah, I love you. so what?”

➺ part of my 2k milestone writing game

You’re struggling with keeping all of your limbs inside the invisibility cloak you borrowed from Harry when Peeves glides into the empty classroom. You freeze in place until he floats his way back out, all the while singing what you’re sure is some kind of stupid limerick.

Okay, so you stole the cloak and it’s after curfew and if Peeves catches you, you’re in a million different kinds of trouble. Nevertheless, you relax slightly when you’re alone again, remaining under the cloak to consult the Marauder’s Map that you also may have taken without express permission. Okay, any permission at all.

Scanning the unfolded piece of parchment, your eyes land on Lorenzo’s name which seems to have stopped in place at… the classroom that you’re in.

You look up to find the classroom still empty, but before you can get up to investigate, a set of arms wraps around you from behind and you gasp, barely able to contain a shriek of fright.

You wriggle out from under the invisibility cloak, turning around on the table you’re perched on to find Lorenzo grinning at you, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“What the fuck, Enzo?!” you whisper-scream, smacking his arm. He merely giggles and brings your legs around on the table so you’re facing him, hands remaining on your thighs. He leans in to press a chaste kiss against your lips and you quickly kiss him back before pulling away to look at him, confused. “How the hell did you see me under the cloak?”

“Your shoe laces were hanging out the bottom, love,” he explains, smirking as he looks down at the untied pair of converse you quickly pulled on when you snuck out of your dorm in pyjamas.

You frown at the offending laces, swinging ur legs back and forth between where Lorenzo stands. “Have to remember that for next time.”

“Why does there have to be a next time?” Lorenzo groans, voicing his frustrations about your very secret relationship yet again. “I don’t want to have to see you in dark classrooms or broom cupboards or anywhere secret. I still don’t understand why we can’t just tell people.”

“You know why, Enzo,” you say gently, tracing circles on the back of his hand with your finger. “My friends would freak out, your friends would freak out…”

“Okay, well, my friends can sod off,” Lorenzo says, matter-of-fact as he holds up two fingers and starts checking them off. “And your friends love me. There we are. Easily solved.”

You can’t help letting out a laugh at that and you drop your head onto Lorenzo’s shoulder to stifle your snorting. “My friends don’t love you, they just hate you the least.”

“What I’m hearing is that they don’t hate me the most,” he murmurs, peppering kisses along your jaw and down to your neck. “I’m taking that as a win.”

“You just don’t give up, do you?” you sigh, shivering from the brushing of his lips against your collarbone. “They’re just- Shit! Peeves!”

You push Lorenzo off you, startling him when you point to the giggling poltergeist who floats above the two of you. Before he can begin shrieking about the two of you and wake up the entire castle, Lorenzo whips out his wand and casts ‘Langlock’, causing whatever Peeves was about to say to turn into choking gurgles.

“You better keep quiet, you meddling little-” Lorenzo cuts himself off when Peeves zooms out of the classroom, clearly having lost interest in the situation at hand since he can’t weigh in on it. “Well, it was a good effort.”

“We had a good run,” you agree, frowning at the wall that Peeves just passed through. “And by tomorrow the entire school is going to know I love a Slytherin boy. Merlin, I’ll be the laughing stock of Gryffindor. Not as bad as the exile sentence into the mountains you’ll be getting though.”

“I can hardly breathe for laughing,” Lorenzo says drily, although his lips turn up into a reluctant smile. “There’ll be no exile, because they’re going to have to deal with it. Yeah, I love you. So what? Like I said, they can sod off.”

Knowing full well that Peeves is going to be making his rounds at every table in the Great Hall during breakfast, you have no doubt Lorenzo will be having to endure a similar conversation to you with his own friends. “I’d love to see you tell them exactly that,” you grin.

“Sit at the Slytherin table with me tomorrow and you will,” Lorenzo says cheekily, shifting you closer by your hips. You loop your arms around his neck and drop a kiss onto the tip of his nose.

“Not even if Godric Gryffindor himself came and kicked me off my table.”

#lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire x you #enzo berkshire #lorenzo x reader #lorenzo berkshire scenarios #lorenzo berkshire imagines #lorenzo berkshire fanfiction #2k writing game #🍓 anon #requests #anon #asks

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harrysfolklore · 2 years

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four angsty scenarios with boyfriend!harry - headcanon

you give him the silent treatment

you and harry have good communication as a couple, always talking about your feelings and the things that bother you, so when he says something that hurt you and you decide to just not talk to him, he feels frustrated.

he absolutely hates when you shut him out, he knows you’re upset at him and wants to make it better, but he can’t if you won’t speak to him

“come on, darling. we always talk about our feelings, tell me what it is that made you upset and i’ll fix it, if there’s something that i need to apologize for i need to know”

his tone is definitely frustrated, even tho he’s getting upset himself, he doesn’t stop using pet names with you

you just keep ignoring him through the day and harry’s frustration grows, to the point where he stops trying to get you to talk to him and the house is just quiet

when it’s time for you both to go to bed he just can’t stand it anymore and he’s determined to get you to talk to him

“come on, love. i’ve been patient with you but you need to tell me what i did wrong so i can fix it. we never go to bed angry, that’s not us”

and you end up talking everything through, he listens to how you feel and you listen to him as well, reminding each other that you’re a team

harry is jealous

you were oblivious to the guy shamelessly flirting with you, thinking he was just a very friendly person who wanted to have a chat

but harry notices his intentions, and he’s absolutely angry, not only because a random guy at a party was flirting with his girlfriend, but also because she doesn’t seem bothered by it and almost even leads him on

he knows you love him, and he never questions your loyalty, he also knows that the man just looks foolish because at the end of the day you’re going home to him, but he’s still angry

“if you’re done flirting with that bloke, i would like to head home, i’ll be waiting in the car” he tells you with a serious tone, not waiting for you to reply and walking out of the club, leaving you frozen at your spot

when you finally reach the car after grabbing your coat, the first thing that leaves your mouth is a “what the fuck was that?”

and he just gives you a cold stare that sends shivers down your spine, and that’s when you knew you fucked up

“the dude was flirting with you all night and you never stopped him, hell you even batted your eyelashes at him, and i was there looking like a complete idiot”

that’s when it hits you, and even tho you felt like you couldn’t apologize enough, you still did it all the way to your shared home, harry only giving you a “i don’t want to talk right now” and going straight to bed

when you got in bed next to him, you apologized again, hugged him from the back and kissed his neck multiple times, he was still upset but he held your hand nevertheless, you knew you would fix this in the morning

harry leaves the house during an argument

it was a very very heated argument, so many hurtful words were said and you've been yelling for hours, something that rarely ever happened between the two of you

harry was beyond frustrated, his hair almost falling out because of the amount of times he ran his hands through it harshly

you, on the other hand, your eyes were red and your chest hurt from all your crying, you hated confrontation and you hated arguing with him

"i'm done with is, if you're not compromised with this relationship as i am, then maybe we should wonder if it's even worth it to be together" and with that, he was out of the house, not even giving you the chance to ask him to stay, and your heart broke in a million pieces

you sat at the bottom of the stairs and sobbed, all kind of scenarios running through your head, but the one that hurt the most was harry leaving you because of stupid commitment issues

an hour later he arrived back to the house, and when he found you in that state, his own heart broke and all he could do was hold you close

"i thought you were leaving me" "it's okay baby, i'm not leaving i just needed to clear my head, we're okay, we're going to talk this through"

harry forgets about your date night

you were eagerly waiting for tonight, you boyfriend finally agreed on going out on a date after so many busy months were you just couldn't fine the time to do it

but as you sat in your kitchen counter, with make up on, hair done and a nice dress, realizing that harry completely forgot you guys were supposed to go out, you felt stupid

you waited for him to arrive home, with a glass of wine in your hand and the coldest look you could put on your face, you wanted him to feel bad that he stood you up

"hey honey, you look gorgeous but what's the occa- shit!" was what left his mouth when he saw you, realizing that he fucked up

he had been so caught up in the studio, too focused on writing down melodies and lyrics that he forgot that he was supposed to take his girlfriend out for dinner, and he felt horrible for that

"look baby, i'm sorry, i lost track of time but i'll make it up for you, i swear" he pleaded "don't. i don't want to hear it now, just take the couch and we can talk in the morning"

and harry almost wanted to cry as he laid on the cold couch, he knew he had a lot of amends to make in the morning

this is my first time writing angst so please give me your feedback !! i hope you like this <3

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harcove · 2 years

Text

(Ear)ring - B.H.

a/n: not a request this time, whew, but I hope everyone likes this all the same! I actually really liked writing this one and do not immediately hate it lmao, this idea just came to me a few nights ago lmao

length: 2.5k

warnings: none? fluff? ig ooc billy but like is it really ooc if this how i write him lmao

pairing: Billy Hargrove x reader

summary: you want something to wear that's billy's, but all of his rings are too big for you, so there's always something else.

If it were anyone else in his room, looking through his things and touching them, Billy might've snapped. He might've been a bit more cagey, paid a bit more attention. But it was you, and as far as he was concerned there wasn't a thing in his room he needed to hide from you. The worst thing you'd find was a stupid magazine, but he already had a porn star poster on his wall. Had since long before the two of you started dating. At this point, it filled empty space on his walls.

Besides, you were part of him at this point. Billy had no qualms with you being in his space, touching his things. You knew what he didn't like you doing and vice versa at this point.

So, while you look through his tapes, he lays on his bed leaning against the backboard, a book opened in one hand while the other rests behind his head. His stereo playing one of the tapes he had made in collaboration with you. The music taste between the two of you had been on two sides of a spectrum but sharing them with one another was the only time Billy enjoyed your music taste. If anyone else tried to make him listen to it, he'd hate it.

When the final song finished, you pulled the tape out and put another one inside, this time the music was definitely a mix he had made only for himself, yet you still smiled while it played.

Seemingly bored of your rummaging through his various tapes of music, you pulled yourself off the floor, making an exaggerated sound like you were an older person getting out of bed. You had a little hop to your step when you stood straight and made a beeline for his dresser, covered in various trinkets.

"The fuck was that?" Billy questions the noise you made, looking away from the book Hard Times and looking to you, "sounded like an old ass man."

You shrug, "just practicing for when I'm an old lady."

"Keep practicing," he rolls his eyes and turns back to his book.

He doesn't see it, but he knows you're sticking your tongue out at him like a child.

On his dresser are a variety of things. A shirt he haphazardly threw on top rather than putting it away or in the laundry bin, a few different hair products that he liked to use, chapstick that you left at his house so if you forgot your other one you could use this one when you were there (he also used it too now), a few tapes he hadn't put away, a random book, and a little dish with different rings inside.

The dish was what beckoned your attention as you began to look through it.

Billy had a lot of rings. All of them were rather thick, made of silver or something else of the same colour. Some had designs on them, but most were rather plain to look at. He didn't wear them all at once, but somedays he'd wear a few on his hands. Sometimes he'd switch one out for another. But the one ring he never took off was one that had belonged to his mother. It was on his hand always.

Plucking a simpler ring from the dish, one that also looked a bit smaller than the others, you put it on your index finger. Too big. You tried your ring finger. Nope, way too big. Your thumb. Still no. It felt weird, definitely not meant for that finger.

Going through a few more, it gave you the same results. Rings too big for your smaller hands; it truly put into perspective just how much bigger Billy was than you in almost every aspect there was. Taller than you, buffer than you, bigger hands, feet.

You sighed dramatically, "you have huge hands you know?"

Billy looks up from his book again, this time looking at you almost as if you'd grown another head. To others, he likely would have come across as annoyed, but you knew how to read his face better than others.

And suddenly it's turning from mild confusion to a smirk on his lips, a glint in his eyes. You'd given him a perfect opening you realize, preparing yourself for whatever his brain had prepared for you.

"There are a lot of things about me that are big sweetheart," he almost purrs when he speaks. He sounds confident, snarky, and amused. If you weren't across the room you'd have playfully hit his shoulder gently.

But as it was, the best you could give him was a pointed look and a few words.

"Sure," you respond with an eye roll, "sometimes you are so..."

You look for a word that expresses itself properly but find yourself coming up empty; Billy however is quick on the draw- he always is.

"Sexy, the best fuck-" He offers words without much thought, only looking into your eyes- blue ones piercing through you as he smirks. He knows what he's doing. He always does.

"Annoying," you quickly cut off his words, huffing as your ears heat up, "I was thinking of the word annoying."

"That's not what you said the other night in your room."

"Oh my God, Billy."

"Yeah, that's more like what you were saying."

This time you don't even bother to offer him a response, too flustered to even try. You know it will be thrown back at you as you inevitably give him more ammunition to tease.

Instead, you puff your cheeks out akin to a child and turn your back to him once more busying yourself with the dish of rings in front of you on the dresser. Picking some of them up and looking at them in your hands but not really noticing them anymore.

Billy watches you fully now, dog-earing the page of his book he's stopped on instead of using a bookmark (he'd lose that shit so fast, and really, this is much faster and easier to do) and throws his book to the side on his bed. Stretching his muscles out a bit, he moves to stand to his full height, putting his arms up to stretch and then letting them fall.

Either you're ignoring him and what he's doing, or you're really enraptured with the rings in the dish. Billy is fairly sure it's the former.

It doesn't stop him from slithering his way up behind you and resting his heavy hands on your waist, digging his fingers into your sides roughly, but not enough to actually hurt you.

It elicits a small noise from your lips, one that emboldens the dirty blonde behind you as he pulls his body fully against your back, capturing you in his firm grasp.

His head dips to rest his chin on your shoulder and so he can peer into your face and gauge your emotions. Get your attention. But you're stubborn, and even though he can physically feel the way your body melts a smidge into his own, enjoying his presence and touch.

Your body always gave you away.

Your eyes stayed trained on the ring in your hand however and Billy watched the way you played with it.

"You want one?" He asks you, waiting. If he could pull you closer into his body he would.

You don't answer, trying your hardest to keep up the act of silence against him for teasing you. You aren't that mad in reality, it's just the principle of the thing you started.

And part of you enjoys the moves he makes to coax you to speak.

"You can take one," he continues, taking the ring out of your hand behind you and taking one of your smaller hands into his, slipping the ring onto one of your fingers where it sits loosely, not fitting whatsoever, "small ass fuckin' hands."

There's something about how he puts the silly little (it is not little and it's probably silver plated or platinum) ring onto your finger that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

It's the imagery of him doing so that makes you feel a spark. Makes you feel something deep in the pit of your stomach, something telling you that one day you hope he does this again, but for a different reason and with a ring that fits.

But that wasn't important right now. You were still young.

"Yeah, like I said... You have big hands," you finally speak, clearing your throat nervously, "It's too bad. Wearing something that's yours would be nice."

"You wear my shit all the time. Isn't that my shirt?"

It was, in fact, his shirt.

"That's not what I mean, I mean something like this. That I don't have to take off... It's like... Having a piece of you with me, all the time. No matter how far we are from one another or whatever happens to either of us, it's like a piece of you is with me always."

It was so cliché. And Billy's continued silence after you spoke only made you cringe at yourself. Albeit the words were true, and you meant them from the bottom of your heart, you also recognized how silly and corny it sounded. Billy wasn't corny, he wasn't mushy and soft like that. He had to be rolling his eyes you just couldn't see.

"Okay, go ahead and laugh."

But rather, Billy was just staring. Not rolling his eyes, making any jokes. You couldn't see this because he was still behind you, your back pressed against his front. But he wasn't preparing himself to laugh or make fun.

If you were anyone else, maybe he would have. If he heard someone else say something like that to someone he would've rolled his eyes and thought it was the corniest shit ever. But this wasn't the case.

It was you. And it made his chest tighten. The implication that one day maybe there was a possibility that life could tear you away from him or vice versa wasn't something that Billy liked to think about or entertain.

As far as he was concerned, nothing could happen. Not if he didn't think about it in the moment.

Pulling himself away from you suddenly, you missed the sudden loss of his warmth and his body against yours, the way his hands molded around your body.

You worried for a moment that you'd said something wrong. But you couldn't get a word in as you watched him move around his room.

Billy was on a mission, he went to a dresser beside his bed and knelt down. Inside the drawer was where he kept the few earrings he had and liked to wear in his single pierced ear.

He didn't like leaving them out in the open. His father used the fact he had his ear pierced against him. Neil would probably throw them out or use them as more ammunition against his son if he saw them sitting out.

Picking out one of the earrings- one that dangled- Billy stood up straight again and made his way back to you.

He took your chin into one of his hands and tilted your head to the side, then tilted it to the other side before settling it back to look directly at him.

"Left or right?"

"What?"

"Left or right, Jesus, which ear do you want this in?"

He dangled the earring in his hand in front of your face, as if it was obvious what he wanted and you were just annoying him.

In reality, he was very much unused to this- this feeling and the actions he was taking.

"Oh, right-" you quickly catch on as your heart swells, taking your small stud silver earring out from your left ear, holding it in your hand, waiting.

Billy's hands are gentle. Actually very gentle in this moment. You know him to be heavy-handed- not on purpose. The way he holds your hand is tighter than other people might, or the way he holds you is tight and you're always pulled against him. In bed, he's leaving his fingers indented on your body. He's never hurt you, but by default, he's rougher than other people.

But right now, as he takes the dangly earring and holds it so close to your ear, he is the most gentle you've ever seen him. He's so carefully placing the earring into the small hole in your earlobe, making sure it's in and not going to come out.

His fingers are warm against your ear and skin, and it feels peaceful. The way his knuckles brush against the side of your face as he puts the earring in. You just want him near you.

Billy's hands pull away once the piece of jewelry is secure, taking your face in his hands again, slightly squeezing your cheeks together as he does so. Seemingly admiring his handiwork and his earring in your ear, his face that he'd been keeping neutral seems to brighten a smidge and you note the upturn at the corner of his mouth.

"Looks good," he says suddenly, turning your face to look into the mirror on his wall.

The earring moves at the movement, dangling and touching the skin below your ear softly and it sort of tickles. But he's right, it does look good. Maybe it's a bit odd in contrast to your other ear, stud alone while the other is more dramatic, but you love it all the same. It's his, it's him, and he's letting you wear it.

"Give me your earring."

His hand is out expectantly, waiting for you to drop the object he's referring to into his open palm. Focused on admiring the earring in your ear and the warm feeling in your stomach, it confuses you for a few seconds as he moves his hand in a motion that repeats his previous words but this time only in his actions.

You place the object into his hand and he's easily moving, removing the small hoop he decided to wear in his ear that day and putting it on the dresser beside the dish of rings as he pulls the back off your simple silver stud.

He slips it into his own piercing hole and closes the back as if it's second nature, not messing up or having trouble finding where the hole is.

It looks so simple for someone like Billy Hargrove. It's a little circle stud, not a hoop or a dangly piece. But it makes your eyes widen and fill with the beginning of tears.

It's the act of him doing this that makes you want to cry. The fact that he didn't just leave it at giving you his earring to wear, but also wearing yours in return. It is so goddamn cheesy, corny, cliché maybe. But your heart doubles in size when you look at him.

"Not as cool as my earring but..." he looks at himself in the mirror, making you turn to look as well, facing a reflection of the two of you with his earring in your ear and one of yours in his, "It's you."

It's you. That's how you feel. It's him. And it will always be him.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove imagine #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #mine #my writing #amy writes #not a request #1k #2k #3k

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pocketgalaxies · 2 years

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jealous imogen: a story in three parts (requested by @starry-river-serval)

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eoieopda · 1 year

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Namjoon + “sibling’s best friend” except the sibling has been rooting for them to get together for years

combined with your other namjoon request 💕🫶🏻

Namjoon + “stuck in an elevator” bc god of destruction or simply bad luck idm either

the one with namjoon and the u-haul

ft. jeon!reader, moving day, a mild age gap, jk being a lil shit as usual, and blondejoon 🥵 (cw: claustrophobia / brief depiction of a would-be anxiety attack)

If you ever managed to get your hands on your brother, you might kill him.

Of course, you’d have to find him first — and if your sixteen unanswered calls were any indication, Jeon Jungkook might’ve left this mortal coil already. Unfortunately for you and the rented U-Haul parked outside your apartment building, you needed that evasive little shit and his inhuman stamina.

More importantly, you’d needed him an hour ago when that rental clock started ticking.

The minutes you’d burned up already — firing text after unacknowledged text at your twin — were ones you’d quite literally pay for later in the form of late fees. Jungkook knew this, knew you, knew that your neurotic, Type-A brain had calculated exactly how much time would be needed for the two of you to orchestrate your cross-town move. Just like he knew you were simultaneously too weak to move these boxes yourself; and too poor to shell out for the full-day rental package or professional movers.

And yet, there he wasn’t.

You’d worn crop circles into the carpet already with your relentless pacing. One more step, and the pedometer built into your Apple Watch might give up altogether, explode into a cloud of sparks around your wrist. Worse, it might send out an emergency alert to the nearest mobile crisis unit and get your ass pink-slipped. Maybe, you think, you should try being still for once in your life.

You hit the brakes so suddenly that the inertia makes you wobble, but you don’t fight it. Instead, you let that anxious momentum drop you unceremoniously onto the nearby sofa.

The one was supposed to be loaded up an hour ago.

Not that you’re counting.

Just as soon as you slump with a huff into the cushions, a rhythmic knock at your door yanks you back to your feet. All you see is red as you stagger over a sea of cardboard boxes, wind your way through garment bags, odds and ends to reach the entrance to your apartment. Your hand snaps like a bear trap around the doorknob when you finally clear the obstacle course; and you nearly rip the door off its hinges when your rage propels it open.

The preparatory breath you’d sucked in — gunpowder in your lungs, ready to pop off at your unbelievably tardy brother — instead leaves you in a startled gasp:

“Oh, God.”

Immediately, your face begins to burn with embarrassment. You don’t know what to do with your hands, either; they’re still balled up into fists and ready to swing. Fuck! Sweaty palms! You wipe them furiously on the back pockets of your denim shorts and try to keep the rest of you from liquifying.

“Actually,” comes a surprisingly soft voice from a body so contrary, “It’s pronounced Namjoon.”

Oh, no, no, no, no.

Not that lopsided, tight-lipped smile.

Anything but that.

You, a fool, blurt out the obvious, “You’re not Jungkook.”

Of course, this offering is worthless. The twerp who entered this world three minutes before you was sixty-three minutes late; and his friend — the one you still can’t believe Jungkook manages to keep — was standing in his place. His older, smarter friend, whose massive hands you picture when you —

Kim Namjoon has a laugh that makes less noise the more he means it. Based on the melodic little hiss that erupts in response to your declaration, he finds your buffoonery hilarious.

You are not long for this world, you fear.

“Got me there,” he concedes. Looking up to find him beaming at you, you’re not surprised that staring at his grin — the one that shows all his teeth and makes his eyes crinkle — feels a lot like staring into the sun.

Don’t you dare faint. You’ve survived three years with that face. You can and will be normal about this.

As if that wasn’t enough, Namjoon has the audacity to lay his palm flush against the door jam above your head and lean down and — shit, his biceps just look like that? All the time?

You’re already a puddle at his feet when Namjoon hums, “Heard you needed an extra set of hands.”

You want to ask if he’s psychic — his hands, in any context, are precisely what you need — but you don’t. You clear your throat and throw on your best approximation of nonchalance. Cross your arms over your chest in a way you hope looks casual, tilt your head to the side.

You raise a single eyebrow before responding, laying it on thick, “So, he lives, huh? Texts you but not his own flesh and blood? Sends his poor hyung as a proxy?”

“I have free will, you know,” Namjoon chides you without any real heat. “And a free afternoon, too.”

He then shrugs his shoulders before pointing over yours. The target he’s acquired sits at the very edge of your peripheral vision, a beast in velvet upholstery. His grin is downright impish when he continues, “Unless your plan is to yeet that couch straight off the balcony, I suspect your options here are limited.”

If you’d been given the opportunity, you’re confident that you may have come up with some witty remark. Instead of ongoing banter, you get a hand on either side of your waist, picking you up and moving your rag doll body out of the doorway. Namjoon smirks as he sets you down, ignores your slacked jaw, and invites himself into your apartment.

On his way to the couch, he spots something that catches his eye. He pauses, bends down towards a laundry basket full of assorted bullshit, and pulls out what can only be described as a cursed object. It’s your most hideous and most beloved possession, having joined you in every major move since you left your parents’ house: a ceramic shelf-sitter in the form of a rooster, the body of which is entirely made of sculpted fruits.

Namjoon is absolutely baffled by it, open mouth forming a circle as he stares down at his discovery. You should be baffled, you think, it’s God’s ugliest creation. Then, as if the force of his quiet blinking was too much for it to handle, the bunch of bananas composing its tail feathers pops off and promptly falls to the ground.

Horrified, he watches in slow motion as it hits the hardwood below with a thump. You watch as his shoulders sag; unable to tell whether the fond little tug in your chest is based on your weird, broken art, or how completely crushed he looks.

“Ah, fuck. I’m sorry!” He gasps, ducking down to grab the runaway appendage. Fuck the bird — it’s him. Then, he mutters directly to the object looking laughably small in his palm, “What’d you do me like that for? Rude as hell.”

Instinctively, you cross to where Namjoon stands in the center of your living room. When you reach him, you feel him brace himself for your reaction; but all you do is bend at the waist, grab a small tube of super glue from that same laundry basket, and hold it up. He glances from your fingers to your face.

“A must-have when you break shit as often as I do,” you chirp. Then, you gesture with your free hand to the basket. His gaze follows and locks onto the small, strawberry knee joint that you’d accidentally severed as you packed. To say that his eyes light up is an understatement.

Namjoon taps at the “made in” sticker on the bottom of the rooster and smirks, “This is what you get for buying American, honestly.”

_____

You didn’t have “spending time with Kim Namjoon” on today’s bingo card, but you’re certainly not complaining.

Lucky for you, he was stronger than your idiot brother and infinitely less frustrating to be around. The pair of you moved around your apartment like you were ballroom dancing; neither of you needing the steps called out to know them. It was easy, it was synchronized, and you didn’t have to beg him to stay on task.

Absolute none of that would be the case if your day had gone as planned.

In thirty minutes’ time, all of your possessions had been loaded into the U-Haul except one: the couch. Due to its bulkiness, you knew it’d be difficult to maneuver despite its relatively light weight.

Namjoon, boasting more brain cells than you by a long-shot, had suggested using the elevator. So long as it was angled properly, he reasoned, the two of you could make it fit without issue. Then, you wouldn’t need to wrangle the first neighbor you came across to help you pivot the blasted thing around every stairwell.

It was a short trip, only four floors, so you’d decided not to explain why you’d taken the stairs for every previous run of boxes.

Maybe you should have, because forty-five minutes have passed since you entered that elevator, and you are swiftly running out of ways to pretend that you’re fine.

From where you sit cross-legged on the elevator floor, you can hardly see Namjoon, who is believed to exist somewhere on the other side of your couch. Every now and then, there’d been a flash of blonde hair next to one of the couch’s arms — proof of life — but he’s more often invisible than not.

You’re okay with that fact, you realize. It means he can’t see the way your anxiety is manifesting only half a meter away from him.

“D’you think this call button even works?” He calls out to you, unknowingly contributing to the cold sweat slicking the small of your back, “I’ve pressed it a hundred times and — as you know — we haven’t been rescued.”

You wonder if you sound as strangled as you feel. Throat tight, you mutter, “Nothing in this building works. ‘S part of why I’m moving.”

Apparently, you do sound as strangled as you feel. You hear shifting in Namjoon’s corner of the elevator, and then you see his face materialize near the bottom of the couch. His eyebrows were initially furrowed, but the concern he carried there migrated. It settles and causes his eyes to widen when they find you.

“You alright?” He asks immediately. Sweetly.

In the grand scheme of things, yes, you would concede that you are — generally — more or less alright. You’ve been in worse places with worse company, and relatively speaking, this isn’t your ultimate nightmare. You’re capable of far greater panic than this.

In this moment, however, in this godforsaken metal box with walls that feel like they’re getting closer by the second, and stale air that gets heavier and heavier when you try to breathe it into your lungs, the walls of which are also getting —

Namjoon answers for you, decidedly but without even a hint of judgement, “You’re not alright.”

There’s more shuffling from the corner. Within a few moments, he manages to wriggle himself into a standing position. With two hands now on the couch’s spine, he glances urgently in your direction. His eyes soften, but you’re distracted by the loose lock of blonde hair that falls over his forehead, over them.

“If I find a way to you, does that make it better or worse?”

Of course, big-brain Kim Namjoon has the sense to ask. Of course, he’s emotionally intelligent enough to realize that joining you in your space could either calm your anxiety, or force it into X-Games mode. Of course, you feel like you’re being hydraulically pressed, so you don’t have the available brain cells to run a proper cost-benefit analysis.

So, you peep, “I — uhh, I don’t know?”

He purses his lips like he’s trying not to smile — because, as you’ve learned, he’s a good fucking person — but you feel a little bit less like you’re actively dying when you watch the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. Taking that gut reaction at face value, you swallow and wordlessly wave him over.

Only one way to find out, you suppose.

The way he grunts softly when he single-handedly pushes the couch further upright would make your whole body clench if it wasn’t already. The same is true of your rapid heart rate and the simmering desire to swoon. Wait — it’s called “fainting” if it’s a medical event, right? Whatever it is, the urge only gets stronger when he slots himself into the tiny bit of space at your side.

“Here — Oh, hang on,” He says, prompting you to look his way.

Your eyes catch him just in time to watch him wipe his hand off on his jeans, then hold it out to you. Without a second thought, you accept it. Squeezing slightly to express your gratitude, you smile and let your joint hands rest against your thigh. Like a shot of clonazepam, he has you calm in an instant.

A few moments of silence pass comfortably. Eventually, when your pulse returns to safety, you tilt your head back against the metal wall behind you and gaze upwards. The ceiling is back where it belongs, no longer inching towards you with the intent to flatten you against the floor. You breathe deeply then sigh out the exhale.

“I’m so glad I’m not trapped in here with Jungkook,” you announce, “If he were here, he’d be jumping up and down to try to get this thing to move, and I’d be nerve-barfing everywhere.”

“Good god,” Namjoon snorts. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye; he’s thoroughly amused, not at all grossed out by the picture you’ve painted. You know I’m right, you think.

It’s not clear if he knows you’re watching when his smile turns shy. He says it quietly, like he’s divulging some heavy secret, “Glad I called him off, then.”

You hum in agreement before those words actually register in your distinctly soup-like brain. When they finally do, you tilt your head to the side and narrow your eyes at him in confusion. For the first time in three years, he gets to hear what it sounds like when you buffer in real time:

“Sorry, you — huh?”

The math isn’t adding up. The science isn’t — doing whatever it is that science does. The words? Well, they’re failing you. You’ve got nothing.

Namjoon’s free hand rubs against the back of his neck. He smiles sheepishly, so damn cutely. For a second, he nibbles on his bottom lip before coming clean, “I may have asked Jungkook if I could sub in today.”

No thoughts, head empty, just wide-eyed blinking. It’s all you’re capable of with your stomach doing backflips the way it is.

“He was — umm — more than happy to switch swifts, you know?”

Of course, he was. Jungkook is a brat.

Namjoon chuckles and it’s then that you realize you’d broadcasted your thoughts out loud. He shakes his head as if you hadn’t just spit objective fact out into the elevator. Your eyebrows furrow as you try to follow the plot.

“For being an older brother, Kook’s a surprisingly good wing-man.”

Your jaw drops. Finger raised, you interject immediately, all piss and vinegar. “Joon, he is three minutes older. Don’t you dare give him credit for that. His ego’s already hit the ceiling, and I am not calling him oppa —”

Namjoon purses his lips again. The corner of his mouth ticks upward again. He’s apparently waiting for a response that you haven’t given him, again. Your sentence dies out before you can punctuate it.

Oh. Did you —?

Eyes as big as the moon, you sputter, “Wing man?”

“There you go, champ,” he laughs, affectionately nudging your shoulder with his. “Is that lag one of those twin things people talk about, or —?”

You land a playful smack on his bicep, but let your hand linger. Not unlike the way he’d done twice before, you pinch your lips together and try not to grin like the fool you are. Taking advantage of your pause, Namjoon reaches across his body with his free arm and peels your palm from his bicep. He keeps on holding it and you only melt a little bit.

It takes effort on your part, but you squirm in your spot until you’re able to face him more fully.

“Namjoon, you have to tell me the truth,” you demand. You squint back at him, narrowed eyes emphasizing the dramatic tone you’ve taken. “Did you or did you not break this elevator on purpose?”

He laughs so hard that it’s silent. His heads ducks down, too, until his forehead rests gently against your shoulder. From there, he sighs, “I did not break this elevator on purpose.”

After a pause, he sits back up, handcuffs his gaze to yours, then grins with all his teeth. “I’d be a fool not to capitalize on the opportunity, though.”

You close the distance and kiss him with all you’ve got, cotton-candy sweet and fresh-linen soft. It’s easy — the way it felt when your busy bodies swirled around your living room, never once stumbling — and you swear you hear bells ringing.

Namjoon pulls away breathless. He begins to ask the question, but the gentle lurch of the elevator answers before he can finish.

#jade’s requests #jade’s drabbles #knj #2k drabblepalooza #re: the one with namjoon and the u-haul #kim namjoon #namjoon #bts #bts drabble #namjoon drabble #bts imagine #namjoon imagine #bts scenarios #namjoon scenarios #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #bts fluff #namjoon fluff

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aanakin · 2 years

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#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmdedit #ofmdgifs #userceecee #userstede #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #stede bonnet #edward teach #blackbeard #requested #mine #2k #3k

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astarionbraiinrot · 16 days

Text

One for the Road

Having acquired himself a brood of many daughters, and with enough years passed since the last was born that he's certain they're done having any more, Astarion is content to be a very happy certified Girl Dad™ to his flock of lovely little feral princesses. Which he's over the moon about, because honestly, what would he even do with a boy? No, he’s quite satisfied with the pack of little gremlins he has, thanks very much, all braids and pink ribbons and lace trim, and he’s not interested in adding to it. He and Tav are living their best No More Babies life. They're consistently sleeping through the night without interruption, they can have a glass (or four) of wine whenever they want, and he can’t remember the last time he’s had to wipe an ass that wasn’t his own. No, their house is FULL and they are DONE. No new Ancunins, shop's closed.

She’s bright red herself, wailing with all the power her little lungs can muster. He still can’t see much of her from where he sits, not with Tav sagged back against him, finally able to rest. The Midwife says something he doesn’t catch as she gently wipes the babe off. He’s too busy whispering to Tav about how well she did to pay much attention to anything else right at this moment, but Tav isn’t, and she starts to giggle, quietly, just this side of audible. Odd, he thinks, but adrenaline’s a hell of a drug, so he doesn’t think about it too hard. His towel-wrapped (and still a little fluid-covered) daughter is gently placed on Tav’s chest as the Midwife busies herself with cutting the umbilical cord and delivering the afterbirth. The baby calms a bit as Tav gently coos to her and strokes her back, her cries tapering off into soft whimpers.

So of course, barely three days after finally clearing out and donating all of their various and sundry baby stuff, Tav informs him that there's going to be a last-minute addition to the family, very soon (school had just started back again, and the girls had spent the entire summer banding together to hide increasingly-inappropriate new "pets" in their rooms no matter how many times they got caught, so he supposes Tav can be forgiven for having mistaken the symptoms of yet another impending-dhampir as typical parenting exhaustion. He certainly had). It's the middle of the night when she tells him, and he spends at least an hour pacing the floor of their bedroom and summoning every scrap of memory from his law school days to argue that she must be mistaken, because their eldest just started COLLEGE and their youngest is TEN and they've already given away the crib and you can't have a baby if you don't have a crib because where would it even sleep? So obviously they can't be having another baby. Checkmate. He rests his case, Your Honor.

When his arguments to the contrary do not, in fact, render the impending child any less impending, and he’s had another hour to stomp around the backyard lecturing himself (quietly, so as not to wake the girls or the neighbors) that this is what happens when you drink two bottles of wine and an entire cow and can’t keep your stupid hands to yourself and convince Tav to throw caution to the wind because “it’ll be fine just this once, what’s the worst that could happen,” you idiot, he comes around to the idea. Because, sure, maybe they're starting all over with the diapers and the teething and the sleepless nights, but their other children are old enough to mostly mind themselves now, and the youngest had started asking for a baby sister as soon as she was old enough to figure out that her parents were where siblings came from.

Plus, if he's honest with himself, he may have - just a very teeny tiny bit - missed the feeling of holding a tiny infant curled up on his chest, burying his nose into their fluffy newborn hair to inhale the scent of their little scalp, listening to those soft snuffly noises they make as they fall asleep, his finger held in a ridiculously tiny hand only just barely big enough to wrap around it. Not enough to have another one on purpose, obviously, but if she's coming along anyway, then he supposes he might as well enjoy it all the same.

So he starts the same preparations for her that he did with all her sisters, sewing tiny frilly things as Tav knits yet another blanket and they bounce potential names off each other. Of course it's a girl, he says, when questioned on his name suggestions. With how many children they already have, there would have been a boy by now if there was going to be one. He scoffs each time Tav jokes over the next few tendays that this one feels different, and they could have a little combo-breaker on the horizon. No, not possible, he assures her, with an unearned confidence that he nonetheless felt was quite deserved. Their Standard Operation Protocol is that, once a baby is on the way, a little girl is born soon after. No deviations, and no reason to expect any now after all this time. Repeated experiments have produced the same result every time. They'll have another member for their infamous flock of Ancunin Daughters before the month is out.

When Tav tells him one evening just before their soon-to-be-second-youngest's bedtime that the little one's announced her debut via a puddle on the kitchen floor, there is no panic, no rush, no mad dash to ready everything. They've been through this far too many times for that. He takes a moment to be grateful that at least this one had waited until the sun was down to kick things off. Most of her sisters had not been nearly so courteous, choosing instead to have their first act be one of defiance against their poor stressed out father by beginning their journey into life in the middle of the day.

He bundles the girls off to the neighbors' house for the night, leaving them with a quick kiss on the head each and a promise that he'll send a Message as soon as their new sister has arrived, before making his way to fetch the Midwife. He vaguely wonders if she's even necessary, considering they have enough offspring that he's got the whole process all but memorized and is fairly certain he and Tav could deliver the child themselves at this point (and had done, once. Baby number five had been VERY eager to make her way into the world, with such a swift entry that she'd nearly been born on the living room floor. He'd had no time to even grab a towel and was forced to catch her with his bare hands. She'd ruined his shirt, and the rug, and nearly scared the unlife out of him on top of it. He'd been very calm throughout the entire event, though, a paragon of unflappable stability, patiently waiting until the babe was born, cleaned, and moved upstairs to the bedroom where she snuggled peacefully in her sleeping mother's arms, before politely stepping out the bedroom door and proceeding to have the quietest panic of his entire existence).

When he arrives back home with the Midwife, he doesn’t bother to direct her to the bedroom. She knows where it is, this isn’t her first rodeo with an Ancunin birth either. Water is boiled, clean towels are at hand, their nice bedding has been replaced with plain serviceable sheets, a layer of newspaper underneath to protect the mattress, a tiny outfit and knitted blanket sit ready nearby. Check, check, check. He completes each step with pure muscle memory and no prompting, all routine, everything exactly as expected.

The next nine hours are spent keeping Tav as comfortable as possible. Rubbing her back, walking circles around the house, stopping at each contraction to gently sway and do the breathing exercises that they'd learned so long ago the first time they did this. Normally, she'd catch what sleep she could in between contractions in these early stages, but this one is determined to allow her mother no rest. He really hopes that's not an indication of what the little one’s sleep schedule will look like once she's here.

They near the end of this whole ordeal with the first light of morning. He's sat behind Tav, holding her up, as she grits her teeth through near back-to-back contractions and shakes with the effort of bringing this last child into the world. She's exhausted, grumpily hissing between pushes that of course his child would be fucking nocturnal and think the asscrack of dawn was a splendid time to be born. He considers reminding her that most of their children had been born during the day, so he really didn’t think the timing of this one could be blamed on him, but any response he might have had is cut off with the next push, when he feels his knuckle bones grind together as she once again resumes her efforts to reduce them to powder. It's probably for the best that he keep that comment to himself right now, anyway, he thinks.

One more big push to get the head out. It's barely visible from his position, head leaning over Tav's shoulder, but he can see that she definitely has the same full head of hair all her sisters did, and maybe his hair color as well, though it's hard to really tell through the blood and fluids plastering it all to her scalp. Could be red for all he knows. He mutters something about not being able to see her hair through the blood, and Tav gives him a sly sideways glance and starts to crack a joke, something about him not having eaten since yesterday, he thinks, before she’s interrupted by a loud, pained, groan and the need to push again.

A few more hard, steady pushes, guided by the Midwife, for the shoulders this time. This is always the hardest part, he remembers, the final hurdle. He whispers gentle encouragement into Tav's ear as, timed with her pushes, the Midwife carefully guides first one shoulder, then the other, out into the world. Poor Tav is bright red from the exertion, covered in sweat and panting. He places a cool hand on her forehead and she leans into his palm as, with a scream and one last push, the babe is finally brought into the world.

Oh.

Able to get a closer look at her now, he can see this one bears more than just a passing resemblance to her father. Frankly, she looks exactly like him, albeit smaller, wrinklier, and with fewer teeth (for now). Pale, even for a newborn, with tiny, finely-pointed ears, and a head of unruly white curls. When she finally opens her eyes, leveling her parents with an annoyed glare that could have come right off his own face (or so he’s been told), he sees his own gaze reflected back at him in pale green, the color they’d learned with the birth of their second daughter that his eyes used to be. He feels a little bad, honestly. Tav did all the hard work, and yet here their daughter is, their last baby, him in miniature. Not bad enough to keep him from preening a bit when he mentions how beautiful she is, though.

Tav is still giggling. Quietly, but noticeably louder now than before his comment.

He raises an eyebrow at her and asks just what is so funny, and her giggling increases to laughter.

You, she says, in between fits of giggles. She asks if he had been paying attention to anything the Midwife had said, and the confused look on his face only serves to make her laugh harder. He waits while she tries to contain herself, releasing a very put upon sigh when, a few minutes later, she’s still laughing at whatever this joke at his expense is.

Finally, she takes a deep breath, holding in her laughter, eyes still sparkling with mirth, and slowly unwraps their daughter. He is, once again, confused, and the baby’s none too happy either, starting to fuss with the sudden loss of warmth. Before he can say anything, Tav shifts and places the now bared and still slightly-slimy infant in his arms, advising him to get acquainted with their newest little one. He wrinkles his nose at the goo rubbing off onto his sleeves, some sarcastic remark ready on his tongue, reaching out with one hand to take the towel from Tav as he looks down to begin settling his daughter, and-

Well.

That explains why Tav was laughing at him, at least.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks that he probably should have caught that a lot sooner. It’s almost embarrassing really, considering his various skillsets, he’s usually pretty good at noticing little details. He doesn’t really have the brainpower to ponder that too long though, because the rest of his mind is still trying to reconcile this shift in information.

The best he’s able to come up with is dazedly asking Tav how that had happened, which just induces her into another fit of tired giggles as she presses a gentle kiss to his lips, and another to the top of their son’s fuzzy head.

He smiles and thinks that the girls will be delighted at this change of protocol.

#astarion x tav #astarion/tav #dadstarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #One for the Road #This is literally my first time ever posting fic pls be gentle lol #and if you see any mistakes no you didn't #this started out as a reply to a request for dadstarion headcanons and now it's over 2k words help #started out with a kiss how did it end up like this etc #Also considered calling it either Going Out of Business or Fire Sale re: the ''shop's closed'' line #2k+

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peachypinkygloss · 9 months

Text

༉‧₊˚✧

⁀➴ event started on 07/24/2023 ... event ended on 08/06/2023

♡・navigation ; masterlist.

♡・announcement post.

🗝 key: f — fluff a — angst s — smut d — dark ꨄ — personal favourites

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤𝐣𝐢𝐧

‧₊˚ kitchen activities. [ f, s ]

You had a long day at work so Seokjin decides to treat you like a princess.

‧₊˚ co-parenting.

You still pretend you hate him, but he knows it's just an act.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢

‧₊˚ heartbeat. [ a, s ]

Marriages are rarely simple. Yours and Yoongi's is no exception.

‧₊˚ there's more to him. [ s ]

Yoongi hates you, but he seems to never get enough of your pussy.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤

‧₊˚ intoxicated. [ s ]

Drugs make everything better. Even sex.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧

‧₊˚ sweaty and steamy. [ f, s ]

Namjoon is very busy with work so you decide to visit him at his studio. You both end up sweaty and steamy.

‧₊˚ petty behaviour. ꨄ

You're being a bit petty with Namjoon since the day he got promoted and not you. Being a bitch has consequences.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧

‧₊˚ midnight sex. [ s ] ꨄ

Your hormones make you extra horny during your pregnancy and Jimin is there to help you.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠

‧₊˚ renard. [ f ]

You find an injured fox near the sheep pen and decide to save him.

‧₊˚ thief of your love. [ a, s ] ꨄ

On the moon or in the middle of the ocean, he'll find you.

‧₊˚ fangirl. [ s ]

Fucking Taehyung after a basketball practice is your favourite activity.

‧₊˚ jazz singer. [ f ]

They don't know him the way you do.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤

‧₊˚ good girl. [ s ]

You're eager to please your boyfriend, but you have to ask politely first.

‧₊˚ crafting new memories / erasing old memories [ s, d ] ꨄ

You're his and nothing else matters.

‧₊˚ big boy.

You finally fall for Jungkook's charms.

‧₊˚ you like that?. [ s ]

You didn't think the nerdy boy in your class was a master at eating pussy.

‧₊˚ apollo. [ f, s ]

You and your boyfriend have fun in the shower.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬

‧₊˚ remember. [ s, d ] ꨄ

When alone in the house, your stepbrothers play with you.

‧₊˚ just having fun. [ s ]

You don't know how you got in this situation, but you won't complain.

#🍑 [drabble game]#🍑 [masterlist]#2k celebration #bts masterlist #requests

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sophiethewitch1 · 3 months

Text

(should probably read this first)

Death!Reader: I am infinite. I am eternal. I am as old as time itself. I care only for my dead, care only that they are protected and peaceful and happy and safe. That’s all that matters.

Jason Todd, who resurrects and spends the next half a decade wandering around like a lost puppy with no knowledge of why he’s so sad: :(

Death!Reader: Oh you motherfucker

#death's embrace part 2 is almost at 2k words #hate stitching different scenes together so much oml #but anyways these guys are funny to me #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #if this keeps going im going to have to make a tag for this dumb au #id also love to see any asks/requests about these two!#pretty please

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ilguna · 1 year

Note

can u do 6, 7, 66 list 2, carl grimes !! i don’t have a specific scenario though 😭 <3

spider web (Carl Grimes)

warnings; swearing, gun mention, arachnophobia.

wc; 3.7k

prompt; 6. "Kiss me and/or shut up." 7. "Where does it hurt?" 66. "Why are you always so dramatic?"

notes; set in a non-specific time after season 5, no major spoilers besides what happens at the prison.

–

The moment you stepped foot inside of Alexandria, you had a feeling that you’d be suffocated and controlled. It was the way that Aaron talked to you, like you were some misfortune teenager that ended up with Rick’s group, instead of deciding to stay. You have no blood-relation to anybody here, apparently that makes you irresponsible.

What really did it was when tried to make you hand over your gun, telling you that you’ll see it again. You’d just have to check it out from Olivia first on your way out of the walls. You couldn’t agree to it.

You’re not entirely sure why Rick and the rest of the group did. It could’ve been the desperation of wanting a safe place to lay their head, and Aaron and a few of the others had done an awful lot of convincing. However, none of you actually knew how safe it would be just yet, and you couldn’t trust them, not after what happened at Terminus.

So, you refused to bend to their rules until you knew that you could trust them. You didn’t care about what Rick or Carol felt, it was up to you. Olivia wasn’t happy about it, she told you that if you didn’t hand over your gun, then you’d be required to leave. Without another word, you’d pulled your bag onto your shoulders, tilting your head in the direction of the gate, asking if they’d escort you.

Aaron had to step in, backtracking. You were temporarily allowed to keep your gun on you until you were interviewed by Deanna. The entire time you sat outside with them on the porch, waiting your turn, was filled with Carl begging you not to do this. He didn’t want you to leave the group over a little disagreement.

They understood why you felt the way you did, but they reasoned that Terminus had left an impression on all of them. It’s exactly the reason why Rick didn’t believe Aaron about Terminus. Yet, here you all are, because they’re telling the truth so far.

“You don’t get it.” You snapped, turning your body away to face the street instead. Carol placed her hand on your shoulder, and you slapped it away. “And I don’t have to justify myself.”

You couldn’t promise anyone then and there that you wouldn’t leave. Not even Carol, who had been the one to save you the year prior from walkers. When you were alone, waiting for your dad to return from his run. One day turned to a week, and you knew he was dead somewhere, there was no point in waiting anymore. You didn’t know where to go. Carol came through the neighborhood an hour later, and she took you back to the prison.

That’s where you stayed, until the place got attacked by the Governor, and you were forced to leave. You were almost alone again, but Rick and Carl found you on the way, obviously in the middle of a fight. You tried to keep out of it. You knew Carl, you weren’t close enough to get into his familial affairs. He wasn’t as talkative back then.

It wasn’t until Michonne showed up, did he begin to talk to you more. You went from friends to best friends in the span of a week.

It’s the reason why he begged you to stay in Alexandria and not leave. You’re safe to him, someone he can trust. He couldn’t afford to lose you over the fact that you couldn’t give up your only source of protection. Especially since your dad gave it to you before he left you there alone with the promise that he’d be back.

You had to explain this to Deanna, the entire time feeling her judgment. How could a teenage girl be so attached to something so dangerous? You knew that she wasn’t fond of the idea, so you tried to reason with her. You told her that you would take all the bullets out of the gun, but you wouldn’t give it to her. She couldn’t make you do that.

All she had to say was that there was a strict no-gun policy inside of the walls of Alexandria unless you were leaving them.

You vividly remember standing up, smiling, and saying: “Well, I guess it’s decided then.”

She was fooled, thinking that you were going to hand it over to her. She held out her palm, waiting for you to pull it out and place it there.

You shook your head, “I’m leaving.”

Deanna let you get all the way to the door, waiting to see if you were bluffing or telling the truth. When you didn’t stop, reaching for the doorknob, she finally asked what your conditions were.

You scoffed, telling her that you wanted to keep the gun on you at all times, bullet included. You didn’t care about her policy, or if she thought that she and these walls could keep you safe. You didn’t believe her. You didn’t believe any of them, because you haven’t experienced Alexandria in the middle of a crisis.

“There’s never been a crisis before.” She told you smoothly.

“An even better reason for why I won’t be staying.”

“You’re a child.”

“No.” You snapped, turning to look at her, “I’m not, and I can perfectly handle myself, so what makes you think that I need you?” Silence followed the statement, while you waited for some half-assed lame excuse to leave her mouth. There was none, “That’s what I thought.”

“You can keep the gun.” She sighed, “But absolutely no bullets, and we’ll be checking your bag. Will you please sit back down?”

“No, I’m done talking to you.”

After that, it was nothing but a hassle to get the bullets to go outside. Deanna must’ve told Olivia not to give them to you, because you’ve had to sneak them out of the gun supply every single time if you needed them.

You could’ve left—you almost did—but Carl convinced you to stay. And to appease the urge to be outside, you’ve resorted to sneaking out, since they won’t let you through the front gate under any circumstances. Unless you’re accompanied by Carol or one of the others to supervise you. If they won’t let you leave safely, then you’ll find a different way out. At least then they would know that you left, instead of finding out that you’re missing several hours later.

The only person that knows you leave the walls anymore is Carl, and that’s because he finds the walls stuffy sometimes too. There’s only so much you can do in Alexandria before you begin to go insane, which is another reason why you were afraid of finding a place like this. You’ll forget that you’re surviving, not just living. What happens when those precious walls fall? You’ll be as useless as half of those Alexandrians.

“What’re you thinking about?” Carl asks, squeezing your hand when he looks over at you.

“Alexandria, unfortunately.” You sigh, “I miss the prison.”

He shrugs, “It was cold there.”

“We had a good community.” You defend.

“And the beds sucked.”

You roll your eyes, “At least there was a lot of work to do. We were never not busy.”

Carl stops walking, forcing you to stop too, “You know, if you want something to do—”

“Shut up.”

He grins, “You could get a job assignment.”

“Shut up.” You repeat, pulling your hand, “Forget I mentioned it.”

You start walking again, Carl follows, “If you’re too embarrassed, I can ask for you.”

“I’m not working for her, ever.”

“You say that now, but eventually you’re going to get bored of being bored. I know you better than that, (Y/n).”

You don’t say anything back, because he’s right. You’re not going to be able to sit around and do nothing. That’s why you wish you could ask to get a running assignment, so you can leave the walls when you want, for however you want. Instead of something stupid like landscape.

Carl knows very well that he’s the only reason why you’re staying. He better be careful when it comes to pushing your buttons.

Carl turns, heading for the nearest house. It's two-story, with a faded green outside and white trim. You follow him up the walkway, watching the street for any walkers that might be lurking nearby. You haven’t seen any the entire way here, not even in the shortcut through the woods. It’s odd seeing the world so bare of the dead.

Carl knocks on the front door a few times to draw attention of any walkers that may or may not be inside. You pull out your knife, the two of you quietly listening for any noises. When no dead show up at the windows, Carl is the first to enter cautiously. You check behind you one more time before stepping inside, shutting the door in case you’ve got trailers.

There’s been a few times where you’ve learned your lesson when it comes to keeping doors open. Carol always says that there’s nothing more dangerous than closed doors and inescapable houses. You disagree. If the door is shut, you know for certain that there’s nothing following you inside, unless it’s alive.

The two of you split to clear the house. You’ve been through this neighborhood plenty of times, and recognize the patterns to the layouts. You just haven’t been to this branch before, you and Carl take it one cul-de-sac at a time.

You creep into the kitchen on the left, eyes searching open places and hiding spots. You knock on the countertop to see if you can draw anything out of the shadows. You swing the pantry door open and jump back, finding it partially empty. There’s plenty to bring back to Alexandria, though.

You click on your flashlight as you get deeper into the house, heading into the laundry room. You check every corner and hiding space, finding nothing but a pile of clothes in the corner. With nothing here, you back out, and head into the main foyer, where Carl’s already waiting for you, sitting on the stair, messing with a tennis ball.

“Clear.” You murmur, “We’ve got a nice pantry to raid.”

“Let’s start with that first.” He says, tossing the ball into the living room.

The two of you dig through the cupboards and pantry, setting them on the counter to see just how much you’ve found. You have a feeling that everyone already knows that you sneak out frequently, really there’s no point in hiding it. You might as well bring back an apology gift, even if you aren’t sorry by any means.

You and Carl split the food into your bags to make it easier to carry. You zip up your bag and swing it onto your back again. Carl returns to the living room to look through the DVD’s. You sit on the arm of the couch, waiting for him patiently. He’s so funny when it comes to trying to find things for Judith to watch or toys to play with.

The house is pretty untouched since the beginning of the apocalypse, judging by the amount of food in the pantry. You get off of the couch, wandering over to the window sill. You have this game where you run your finger over the thick layer of dust. You roll it between your fingers, turning to flick it in Carl’s direction.

He watches it land by his feet, glaring at you, “Let’s go up.”

He goes up the stairs first, as usual. You follow him wordlessly, looking over the picture frames on the walls. A family lived here, parents and two teenagers—a boy and a girl. You brush some of the dust off to see a picture more clearly.

At the top of the stairs, Carl points up, “(Y/n), look.”

You follow his finger, and see that he’s pointing out the attic to you. A smile comes over your face as you hurry up the rest of the steps. It’s your favorite part about exploring houses. What do they have stored in the attic? It’s typically Halloween costumes, Christmas decorations, old stuff that they use once a year, but sometimes there’s good shit.

“Bingo.” You grin.

You follow Carl into the teenage boy’s room. You curiously look at the video game posters on the wall while he opens drawers and sifts through the boys’ belongings. There’s no picture frames in here, nothing to tell his story besides the hallway. Carl pulls out a stack of comic books that he doesn’t own yet, and carefully slides them into his bag.

You watch him walk by a game system four times before he notices it. He’s excited when he sees the video games on the shelf beneath, looking through them one by one. He picks a few that he’s interested in, and then the two of you leave to check out the other rooms.

The parents’ bedroom is uniform and cleanly made, untouched since the day they left. You find a few sweaters in Carol’s size that she might like, folding them over your arm to carry them with you for the time being. Carl tries to find something for his dad, but he’s at a loss. Everything here would be too out of character for him.

The final room belongs to the girl. You open the door this time, going to take a step inside.

The smell of rotting corpses is all too familiar to your nose by now, but the odor inside of the room is foul. You let out a gag, covering your nose while you take several steps back, shaking your head, “I’m not going in there.”

“We’ve seen worse.” Carl peeks.

“I’m sure we have. I’m still not going in there.”

Carl reaches in to grab the doorknob, “Alright, let’s go into the attic, then.”

The two of you work together to get to the string that’s hanging from the ceiling. Carl brings the rolling chair from the boys’ room into the hallway. You step onto the chair, using his shoulder as support while he holds it steady. You pull the door open, and a flurry of dust comes raining down on you.

While you cover your mouth and nose, you realize that there’s no ladder that usually goes with it.

You let out a sigh, “Well, this sucks.”

You reach your hand in the air, trying to see if your fingers even graze the edge of the opening, and they don’t. You can’t even guarantee that a jump would get you up there, either. You hop off the chair, placing your hands on your hips, biting the inside of your cheek.

Suddenly you redirect your attention to Carl with a smile.

He frowns, “What is it?”

“You know, you’re tall.” You flash him a toothy smile, “Let me on your shoulders.”

Carl makes a face, slowly starting to shake his head.

“Don’t say no yet, we haven’t tried it.”

“Babe, this is a great way to get us both killed because we end up falling down the stairs and breaking our necks.” He reasons.

“Just drop me in the other direction.” You wave off his concern, then motion for him to get down.

Carl closes his eyes, but lowers to his knees, “You’re lucky I’m in love with you.”

“I’m lucky you love me.” You agree, carefully placing your thighs on his shoulders, “Up we go!”

Carl takes a deep breath, holding it as he struggles to find a good footing. He uses the wall to help him extend his legs all the way, eventually reaching for the closet doorknob to get him up the rest of the way. You steady on his shoulders, being careful not to make any big movements. He takes it one step at a time to bring you beneath the hole, and then adjusts his stance.

This isn’t the first time he’s done this for you, and if he accidentally drops you, it wouldn’t be the first time you fell down the stairs. That’s why you’re not worried about it. You haven’t died yet, so there is no reason to be careful.

You can grab onto the edges now, and you pull yourself up most of the way. You’re very careful when you use Carl’s shoulders to push up the rest of the way. It’s dark as all hell up here, once your butt is firmly planted, you click on your flashlight, watching the dust dance in front of the newfound light.

There are loads of boxes and containers, all written on to tell you what they hold. You look for a ladder, but don’t seem to find one. It must be in the garage, that’s the only other place where it would make sense. You wiggle onto your stomach, placing the flashlight down while you reach down to grab Carl.

“No ladder?”

“Must be in the garage.” You say.

He steps onto the chair, and then proceeds to jump to take your hand, sending the chair flying across the hall. You let out a light laugh, beginning to pull him up. You hold with both hands for most of the way, but as soon as he can reach, you switch to one hand only. Carl swings himself into the attic, and it takes him five minutes of deep breathing before he decides that he’s ready to help you look through boxes.

Just as you thought, there’s Halloween costumes. Carl pulls out a pirate hat and tosses it to you to wear while he pulls over an eye patch, “Aye aye Captain.” He muses.

You let out a snort.

While he continues to go through the other boxes, looking for any swords, you end up stopping on a bin marked ‘grandma’s stuff’. You pop open the lid, pulling out the covered wedding dress and laying it on the ground. The further you get into the box, the sadder you seem to get.

There’s an old jewelry box, inside lies precious gems and silvers that their grandma must’ve loved at some point. You wind the back of the box, watching the ballerina begin to spin first, then the twinkling song plays slowly. You run your finger over the rings, necklaces and earrings.

There’s a photo album in the box. It’s falling apart at the seams, so you’re extra gentle with it while you look through it. It’s old pictures, all greyed out and almost hard to make out what they’re supposed to be. Family pictures that must be decades old, maybe grandma when she was younger. There’s a polaroid here and there, nothing too amazing. The box stops singing, and you careful put everything back inside of the container.

A tickling sensation touches your shoulder, you try to brush it off, taking it as a piece of dust or something. Except, when it’s sticky, you look over.

A scream leaves your throat as you swat away the spider web, rubbing it on your jeans, while heading for the only escape. Carl watches you in stunned silence, until he realizes what you’re about to do.

“(Y/n)---wait!”

You slip out of the attic, falling several feet until you hit the hardwood floor. First its your feet as you twist your ankle, your knees painfully slamming next, the last being your hands.

“Ouch, fuck!” You shout, face twisting as you immediately move to grab your ankle.

A black speck with several legs reminds you why you had left the attic in the first place. Another scream, much louder and terrified than the last, follows. You brush your skin rapidly, backing away from the area as you desperately try to find the demon somewhere on the floor.

“(Y/n)?” Carl asks, hanging his head out of the attic, the eyepatch slips off his head, and he barely catches it in the air.

“I fucking—” You slam your good foot on the spider, dragging your foot a little to ensure that it’s dead, “I think I twisted my ankle.”

“Why are you always so dramatic?” He sighs, hanging his feet out, and then dropping down.

“I’m not kidding, Carl.” You snap, wincing when you try to roll your ankle to stretch it, “It fucking hurts.”

He’s on the tip of his toes, shirt riding up as he stretches to grab the string to shut the attic. He watches it resume its place, “All over a little spider.”

You slam your good foot into his skin, boot scraping along skin. He lets out a yelp, backing away from you. You shake your head, turning over onto your knees to get up carefully, using the wall as support. It hurts to put any weight on your right ankle, but you have no choice. There’s a long walk back home with a heavy backpack and a wall to scale.

“Let’s just go.” You mumble, limping over to the steps. You’re sure that you’re doing more harm than good by walking on it.

“Hold on.” Carl says, grabbing your arm, “Let me look at it.”

“No.” You snap, he lets you pull away from his grasp.

He doesn’t care, getting onto his knees, hand on the back of your calf to keep you from going anywhere while he unties your shoe. He’s very gentle when it comes to pulling off the boot and peeling back the sock to take a look for himself.

“Where does it hurt?”

“Right on the ankle.” You sigh through your nose, looking away from him.

He ignores the noise, pressing on the skin, watching your face for a reaction. He gets it when he presses a little too hard and you grimace. You jerk forward, placing your hand on his head to steady yourself.

“There.” You motion, “The last spot you touched.”

He helps you stretch it enough to the point where you can stand on it without too much pain, “My poor baby is in so much pain.”

“Kiss me and shut up.” You tell him, he smiles.

#ilguna #carl grimes #carl grimes imagine #carl grimes oneshot #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes fanfic #twd #the walking dead #requested #2k celebration #anon #ask

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chanrizard · 1 year

Text

thunderous look gone but not forgotten

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angelfic · 9 months

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for the writing game: tasm!Peter Parker, fake dating, and "don't you trust me?" :)

thank you for the request, anon! it’s been ages since i wrote for my fave spidey and i’m a sucker for the fake dating trope sooo here u are <3

tasm!peter parker x reader + fake dating + “don’t you trust me?”

➺ part of my 2k milestone writing game

“Peter,” you hiss, tugging on the back of his shirt to grab his attention when he doesn’t hear you over the blaring music coming from the party downstairs. He turns around, wide eyed and slightly dishevelled. You spot a flash of red and blue in his hand as he shoves his mask into the pocket of his jeans and you gasp. “You said no Spider-Man duties tonight!”

“I know, I know!” Peter winces, not bothering to tell you to keep your voice down since the only other people on the top floor are preoccupied, either far away and making out, or locked up in the bedrooms. He knows you’ve been on his ass to relax and enjoy himself, especially after Aunt May found out about his vigilante activities and forced the two of you to go to one of your classmate’s parties. You take May’s orders very seriously. “I’ve only been out twice tonight, but I swear for the rest of the night I’m staying in.”

“Twice already?” You gape at him, shoulders slumping in disappointment since you should have been paying more attention. Your best friend can be slippery when he wants to be though. “Okay, forget it, we can have fun later. I need your help.”

“What is it?” he asks, standing up straighter and already reaching for the mask.

You roll your eyes and bat his hand away from his pocket. “I don’t need Spidey, I need you. Connor Davies from Biology won’t leave me alone.”

Peter relaxes slightly at the much lower-level threat, but frowns when he registers your words. “Tell him you have a boyfriend or something.”

“I tried,” you deadpan, thinking back on his persistence with irritation. “I said I was here with you, thinking that was vague enough, but that he’d get the hint. When that didn’t work, I said we were together and he still didn’t believe me. I lost him now, but–”

“Quick, look at me,” Peter says quietly, one hand going to your waist as the other cups your face. His eyes dart to something behind you before he meets your gaze again, determined. “I don’t quite think he got the hint. He’s coming over.”

“What?” you whisper, a little alarmed at how close you two are all of a sudden. “What are we going to do?”

“Don’t you trust me?” Peter asks, the corners of his mouth tilting up slightly as he raises a brow in questioning. You’re about to bring up the time when he took you for a swing around the city and accidentally let you fall three stories before catching you because a bird flew too close to his face. Then you remember the pressing matter at hand and nod that yes, you do trust Peter. “Good.”

Peter closes the distance and kisses you with a certainty that you’d never expect from him. Your lips move together like you’ve done this a million times before and you hadn’t realised how badly you wanted this until now. You barely register the footsteps going back downstairs when you grip the front of Peter’s flannel to pull him closer and he takes this as a signal to kiss you firmly, his hand gripping your waist a little tighter.

You aren’t sure if you ever plan on pulling away until the door that Peter was previously leaning against swings open, causing him to stumble as a very drunk and very giggly couple comes staggering out. You take a quick step back from Peter to let the couple through, finding it hard to make eye contact with him once they’re gone.

“You, uh, think he got the hint?” you ask, laughing nervously. Peter looks like he’s holding back a grin when he gently takes a hold of your hand to bring you closer again.

“I think he got the hint about 3 minutes ago,” Peter points out, amused. “Biology might be super awkward though.”

“Well, at least I know what to do next time,” you shrug, half of you joking. The other half wants there to be a next time.

Peter gasps in mock-offence. “Wow, is that all I am to you? Not even going to take me out to dinner first?”

“How about an ice cream date?” you ask boldly. You and Peter have gone out on late-night ice cream runs ever since he got his licence, but you’d never stuck the word date on the end.

Peter smiles openly this time, already dragging you towards the stairs and you find yourself mirroring his grin. “Ice cream date it is. You know Aunt May is gonna make you recall the entire night to her later, right?”

“Yeah, well, what’s new?” you snort, well aware of May’s intentions towards the two of you. “You better get the camera out.”

#peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker scenarios #tasm peter x reader #2k writing game #the amazing spiderman x reader #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader #requests #asks #anon

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chvoswxtch · 1 year

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Hi! For my first drink could I order an old fashioned with Frankie when he is jealous pls, idk why but I wanna see him in that situation 😏

hi nonnie!

one old fashioned with a bright green garnish coming right up. 😏

headcannon below the cut

frank castle & jealousy

in my humble opinion, frankie is absolutely the jealous type, but he's very quiet about it

it's not that he doesn't trust you, it's more so his own self-esteem issues and the hyperawareness of the baggage he carries around

frankie thinks you are literally the most beautiful thing to ever be crafted by the universe and he doesn't understand what you see in him or why you find him attractive

and despite how many times you tell him all of the many reasons you have for falling in love with him, and all the ways you show him just how handsome you find him, that green eyed monster still rears its ugly head

like when that coworker of yours that's always hitting on you, that he fucking hates, tells a joke and you laugh at it, frankie wants to know what the fuck is so funny and then he starts questioning if you think he is funny (even though you always laugh at his jokes, and when he says something you find funny that he doesn't really get but fuck it, it made you laugh)

he let you get the next round at the bar one time, but after seeing how the bartender openly flirted with you and the attention you got from the other patrons, frankie insisted on getting every round from then on out

but then he noticed that those assholes would just come up to your table when he got up, and it made his blood boil seeing how close they got to you, even if he could tell by your face that you were telling them you weren't interested

but frankie is quiet about his jealousy. he doesn't make a scene unless absolutely necessary

he doesn't rush up to the table and tell that stupid son of a bitch off, no he calmly walks up and stands behind him, glaring daggers into the back of his head until the idiot notices the look on your face and follows the path of your eyesight and finally notices his presence

he can't deny the smugness he feels seeing how their eyes go wide and watching them back away slowly with their tail tucked between their legs, holding their hands up in surrender, quickly scurrying away with a mumbled "sorry man, didn't know she was with you"

frankie gets lucky in that he doesn't have to say anything, he can just glare

when your goddamn coworker catches his piercing gaze from across the room, he suddenly stops laughing, and puts as much distance between himself and you as possible

when the bartender notices him stalking up behind you, placing his hand possessively on your waist and staring at him with murderous intent, the bartender's smile instantly drops and he's shoving your drinks forward and rushing to the other end of the bar

frankie only gets physical if someone can't take the hint or dares to put their hands on you

but whenever frankie is done scaring off your admirers and turns to look at you, his icy glare instantly melts into pools of shame as you stare back at him with a displeased quirk of your brow and a light smirk on your lips

as soon as he hears that warning tone laced within your sweet rendition of his name, he's quickly looking anywhere but at you like a child acting like they don't know what they're in trouble for

"frank." "what? just standin' here. that a crime?"

he knows you're never really upset with him by the way you giggle and shake your head, hands reaching out to grab him by his arms to pull him in closer towards you

"i don't know what you bother getting so worked up about, big guy. you're the one that gets to take me home."

frankie does know that, but he often wonders if the day would come that you decide you want someone else. someone less complicated that didn't carry the weight of a lifetime of trauma and loss on their shoulders. someone that didn't make a career of violence and bloodshed. someone that didn't come home to you bruised and broken. someone better than him

"i know, sweetheart. don't mean you gotta deal with their shit, though."

"i never have to. you always come to my rescue. my hero."

frankie always melts when you call him that, because he never thinks of himself as a hero, but you say it with such sincerity, it makes him believe it

and when you kiss him like you're the only two people in the room, he forgets what the hell he was jealous about in the first place

#frank castle #frank castle request #frank castle headcanon #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #court's 2k follower celebration #court's 2k friends celebration

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