#and you come across a gigantic fucking bear
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You know, despite Goldie and her bear fam in the Puss in Boots universe saying they're a crime family, I feel that they'd also frequently help out the little guy. Purely because Mama bear wants to
Like, they steal from a rich noble and are swimming in money, but they also come across some people who need money for food or rent and despite Goldie wanting to ignore it and go home, Mama bear gives her the look and Goldie just grumbles as they give away their winnings for the 10th time that day. But all of them still feel accomplished and satisfied
They call themselves a crime family and say they horde all their riches, but in reality they're just giving money to people who need it and also making them a bowl of soup
#puss in boots#puss in boots the last wish#the last wish#pib#piblw#pibtlw#goldie and the three bears#puss in boots goldilocks#puss in boots bears#mama bear#papa bear#baby bear#((imagine you're walking through the woods at night#nobody around and your phone dead#and you come across a gigantic fucking bear#and as you stay still to not agitate it#they suddenly go "dear goodness I can hear your stomach grumbling dear! Here#take a thousand dollars#and in the bg you hear a girl yell “MAMAAA!! STOP GIVING AWAY ALL OUR LOOT!!!!”#and she yells back “BUT THIS ONE IS HUNGRY!!!!!!”#legends#i love them))
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mirrors | oikawa tooru
tw: body insecurities, self-hate, and suggestive themes
“I look terrible, Tooru.”
“Oh, do you, now? You say that, literally right after I shower you with all my affections just two minutes ago?” Oikawa struts into the bathroom, in all his naked glory.
He knows. That’s for sure. He knows you are talking about something else.
The issue isn’t the abundance of marks littered across your chest, your flushed face, or the scratch marks he accidentally left on your arm after holding you far too hard in ecstasy.
In retrospect, you realize being adventurous enough to fuck each other senselessly in your apartment bathroom was a bad idea. He has somewhat of a vain streak but is not narcissistic. Regardless, he now has a huge mirror right above your shared sink counter.
There’s always been something about yourself that irks you. Right in the mirror, naked from top to bottom, you can see it more clearly.
Your arms feel like it’s robbing the mirror of space. Your stomach looks like it’s bearing a six-month-old belly, when in fact you haven’t eaten much since lunch... only opting for a small smoothie to keep your hunger at bay until dinner.
Your eyes rest on your face, a year ago you still had a prominent jaw. But now all you could see was roundness. It wasn’t a surprise when your friend told you that you look like a plate when you saw each other over a video call.
There isn’t much to talk about, not when you step on top of the scale and find you’ve grown quite a few pounds in the last two weeks.
You see the setter stand behind you, and you meet his gaze through the mirror’s reflection.
“What part of this…” he places a light hand right above your stomach. “… is ugly?”
It’s an eyesore, you think. “It’s too big.”
“I think it’s fluffy.” He gives it a small, barely noticeable, teasing pinch. “It makes you look soft, not gigantic.”
“I look too round.” You weakly gestured to your face. “I look stupid. Your fans say so.”
Oikawa wordlessly leaves you in front of the mirror, and after a few seconds, he comes back wearing his boxer briefs. His hand holds one of his large sweaters.
“I think you look beautiful.” He makes you face him, away from the mirror, away from the horror. And he begins to place the sweater on your body. “And those people don’t matter.”
“But they do…” You feel your tears welling behind your eyes. So you cover them with your hands, even using the sleeves to wipe off the salty tears on your face. “They told me we don’t look good together, and that I bring you down.”
“Hey, look at me.” He pries your hands away from your face, but don’t stare at him. You simply look down to your toes and let the waters fall.
It breaks his heart to see you like this. Right from the get-go of your relationship, you told him you have problems within yourself. And that you didn’t want him dragged in with whatever inner turmoil you had in your mind.
But here you are, right beside him. Despite all odds and insecurities, you endured years of hate, just so you have the chance to stick by his side. Just so you have the chance to be with him.
He takes your cheeks in his hands and raises your head to face him.
The setter keeps his gaze stern but concerned all the same. “If those people matter, then why am I spending every hour of my time with you and not with them? Do you ever wonder why I decided to marry you? Why did I decide to find ways to make us work and to make your job work while we’re here in Argentina?”
You only shake your head, and you feel his thumbs wipe the tears off of your cheeks.
“I love you, and you love me. That’s what matters. I don’t want our simple life to be stepped on by people who don’t know you; people who only know me as an athlete and not as a common person like anybody else.”
At this point, you have your head tucked under the crook of his neck. The feeling of safety, home, and comfort overwhelms your senses as you wrap your arms around each other. Silently thanking whatever deity for the greatest blessing you ever had... him.
“I know you see yourself differently as I do. I know my words can only give you a small reassurance. But, look, I know you hate the gym or any physical activity. I can help you research a safe diet.”
Oikawa feels your lips softly touch his neck, the same spot where you left a purple mark on him just ten minutes ago, and he can feel you nod in his embrace. “Okay.”
His hand draws circles on your the small of your back, while the other holds your nape to keep you in place. “If you lose motivation, I’ll diet with you. Heck, if you’d tell me you need to do intermittent fasting if that means you’d do it for yourself and no one else, then I’d make sure I have all the right alarms on my phone. I’ll cook your meals for you!”
You laugh, and your breath sends shivers down Oikawa’s spine, relieved to know that your crying has stopped. Relieved to know that things will be alright. You will be alright.
"You can't, Tooru," you sniffle. "You're a volleyball player. I'll be skinned alive if the public thinks I don't feed you."
He chuckles at that, and Oikawa's thumb keeps a grounding caress on the back of your neck. "I'd be with you regardless."
You both stand in the middle of the bathroom just like that, wrapped in a warm embrace. In his warm embrace. Soft sniffles can be heard in the small room, but there are no more tears, you think. At least not in this love.
Your husband places a long kiss on your cheek and turns your head to get a good look at you.
You dislike his stupid eyes. There's something within them that makes you feel whole whenever you catch his gaze.
As you both stare at each other in the silent whir of the bathroom's exhaust fan, Oikawa Tooru stares at you with something much greater than love itself.
You'd be crying again, for sure. There's a sharp tug behind your eyes that signals another wave of tears, but you assume that this water is something akin to boundless gratitude.
Before you could even speak, he pulls you a little closer and swallow whatever you wanted to say.
His kiss is more than warmth, more than comfort, and so much more than your pain. As both your lips move in the kindest, softest beckon your body has ever tasted.
The salt of your tears between your lips didn't matter, not when both his hands moved to hold your cheeks in place... to ground your soul right where it is in front of him.
It's a mystery to know how long you both stood in the room of white tiles, lips and bodies locked in a bubble of nothing but overflowing love. So you give the smallest whine you could, just to let your husband know your lungs are screaming.
Oikawa Tooru annoyingly gives your bottom lip a teasing bite, then he pulls away to break the silence.
“You could be the chubbiest squirrel in the forest, and I’d still love you either way.”
Huffing, quite breathless and frustrated he'd say something to pop the tension, you scrunch your nose in feigned disgust. “You’d marry a squirrel?”
The setter gives you a grin that could only remind you of how his face looks when he gives perfect tosses to his spikers. “If that squirrel is you, then absolutely.”
TSOKOMARI © 2023. do not plagiarize, translate or repost. all works are my own. reblogs are appreciated!
#oikawa tooru#oikawa tooru x reader#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu headcanons#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! x reader#oikawa x reader#hq scenarios#hq imagines#hq drabbles#haikyuu drabbles#hq headcanons#aoba johsai#seijoh#a repost from ao3#this is also a rewritten piece!#tsoko.mani
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Immortal Beloved - Chapter Four.
Oh, look at that. It's surprise update time! I have noticed a few new readers making their way through the previous chapters, a warm welcome to you all :) Thank you to my regulars for your reads, reblogs lovely reviews, you make my heart happy <3 It would make me endlessly happy if I could hear back from a few of you who've remained silent so far, too. Remember, it takes less time to leave a comment and hit reblog than it does to actually read the chapter you just enjoyed :)
Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three
Tag list - In the comments
Words - 3,704
Warnings - 18+ only. Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!
Deluge. Downpour. White blankets swathed the surroundings in every single direction as John carefully negotiated his Austin Twenty over the rapidly freezing roads, shuddering as he did. The temperature had dropped to a bitter minus five, but he wasn’t about to let a little thing like sub-zero temperatures and weather that bordered upon a blizzard stop him from reaching Little Aston. Besides, it had only taken such a severe turn once he was over halfway there.
At seeing the stone wall bearing the engraving ‘Georgian House’, he sighed with relief. Turning in, he was about to jump out and open up the gate when he saw a figure come trudging down the drive, a well-dressed man opening the high, iron structure and waving him through.
“Carry on straight up, Mr Shelby. Ma’am is awaiting you.”
“Bloody hell,” John muttered with a smirk as he continued up the drive, “her butler looks older than she is.” The drive was not long at all, John pulling the car alongside a beautiful, black Rolls Royce outside of what looked to be an old coach house, picking up the bottle of whiskey he’d brought with him. Tommy had advised him there, telling him it wasn’t polite to turn up to the home of a woman who appeared to be in such high standing empty handed.
“Allow me, sir.”
Pushing a hand past where he reached to rap the large, brass knocker upon the door, the butler let them into the house, pausing upon the other side of the heavy door. “May I take your coat and cap, sir?”
“Ta. Oh, mind ya fingers on the peak.”
The butler looked between the young man and the razorblade adorned cap a little distastefully, raising an eyebrow. “Sir.”
He aimed for non-judgmental, but it didn’t land at all, John’s smirk widening as he turned at the sound of a door creaking open, the only person within the walls of Georgian House whose opinion he gave a damn about walking towards him.
Taking her in, he gulped, seeing how incredibly beautiful she looked. Her hair tumbled in a cascade of curls, her peacock printed silk robe flowing with all the elegance she carried herself with. It was belted low, low enough to reveal that she wore no brassiere beneath. His heartbeat amped a few notches.
“I almost ventured out to see if you had become stuck along the way!” Reaching for him, she pressed a kiss to his lips, humming happily.
“Er, yeah. Sorry an’ all for being late. Fucking coming down in buckets out there, it is.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it truly is no bother. I anticipated as much. Oh, and you brought whiskey, how splendid. Now, cook has prepared dinner for us, but it shall keep. Let’s head to the sitting room and warm you up. You are colder than I am!”
He let her take his hand, John’s eyes everywhere as they walked to the right across the checkerboard tiled welcome hall of the homestead. Fine art hung upon the baroque embossed, black wallpaper, the ceilings white, a gigantic chandelier twinkling above them. He shuddered to think how many zeros its price carried.
The sitting room was equally as opulent, the hardwood beneath his boots almost black in colour, rich tones of claret and burgundy decorating the space, pops of brightness offered by the cream settee, mounted in gilt framework. He almost didn’t dare sit down, save making the place look somehow untidy. There was even a polar bear rug upon the floor, complete with head.
He nodded in the direction of the skinned beast, its teeth bared. “Imagine having to take that down when it was alive. Blimey.”
“There’s no imagining,” Bryn spoke, taking the whiskey from him and moving to the small bar area, pouring out two measures into cut crystal glasses. “I did take it down. Perhaps one of my finest hunting trophies. I feel there is a sense of pride to hunt for your own furnishings.”
Moving to sit beside him, she proffered the glass forth, resting her hand to his thigh. The feel of him beside her, his scent, oh. She had missed him. “I must add, though, it was not a merciless slaughter. The beast was stalking some human friends of mine who live on the northern island of Svalbard in Norway. I waited until nightfall for doing a little stalking of my own once it had returned to their cabin, intent on feeding upon them. We vampires are very proficient with the removal of predators who make a pest of themselves.”
He looked impressed, but his following question had nothing to do with the method to which Bryn had procured herself such a rug. “Was them people doing for you what Alfie’s men do when you’re in London, or like how you want us to do for you here? I’ve got news about that, by the way.”
“Not exactly,” she began, leaning back against the comfortable assortment of cushions padding out the settee. “My friends in Norway offer a different type of exchange, blood for protection. I do not feed upon Alfie’s men. The Jews consider this an unholy alliance, so my relationship with them is merely that of daylight protection for monetary recompense. Since vampires have existed, there have been families of humans to know about us, secret keepers as they are known.
“We feed upon them for the exchange of protection. Gypsies commonly do this, of course your blood being so very beautiful in palette to us. You know of that already, though. Your family were not the only ones to give us up to the Rasmussen’s, though. This is another reason why we are becoming so few in number these days. Because out of feeding preference, many of us aligned ourselves to gypsies, since their betrayal of our kind our food source has become scarce.”
“And that’s affected you too, right?” he asked, Bryn shaking her head.
“Not for me personally, no. The people who work on my staff are from a long line of secret keepers whom I aligned myself with centuries ago. My butler, Albert is the grandfather of the family, my cook, Bettie is his wife, and my housekeeper, Elsie is one of their granddaughters.
“Their grandson, Luke, he also works for me, but on the side of my business. He just telephoned to say he has taken lodgings at a hotel within the city centre as the roads are becoming perilous. He is currently assisting me in helping curate a number of new exhibitions at Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery. This is the reason why I came to Birmingham in the first place.” Sipping her whiskey, it then dawned on her. “Gods above, here I am, prattling away! You said you had news?”
He shrugged lightly. “No bother. I like hearing all about your life. So, I told our Tommy and me aunt Pol, tried to with Arthur an’ all but he buggered off and wouldn't listen. Tommy says he wants to meet you, I suppose to get an opinion on you before he decides either way. Is that alright?”
“Absolutely, we shall head back there tomorrow evening, if you intend on spending the night?” Oh, he intended on it, and his face showed it. That cheeky grin. “The smile is telling me yes very clearly.”
He leaned in close, kissing her cheek. “As it should. Besides, I doubt I’d be able to get the car out again unless that snow stops.” They kissed one another with longing, John resting a hand to her leg, running it up her thigh slowly. No stockings. A little higher as she virtually purred against his tongue, his fingers reaching her hip. No knickers.
And she wasn’t slapping his cheek and accusing him of being a letch. Or telling him he had to wait.
Before he could find himself too lost within the hazy mist of eroticism, a small noise of someone clearing their throat sounded over the noises of their kissing. “Ma’am, do forgive me for interrupting you and your gentleman friend, but the dinner shall not keep much longer, lest the lamb chops dry up.”
While Bryn thanked Bettie and stood up, all John could do was sit there lost in a daze of his own arousal. No brassiere, no stockings, no knickers.
Did they have to eat dinner?
Upon taking the first mouthful of the succulent lamb, though, cooked with tomatoes and mint, paired with baby potatoes and green beans, he very much wanted to fill his stomach. “Blimey, this is fancy.” Nodding to her meagre portion, he raised an eyebrow. “Not much of an appetite?”
“I only eat for the pleasure of the flavours, remember.” Of course. He immediately felt like a clod for forgetting that. A short silence, followed, John wrestling with the correct way to ask her the question he had wondered over.
“Right, so if you’re dead, then how do ya digest the food?”
She laughed softly through her nose, reaching for her wine. John Shelby; he just had to know how everything worked. “Truth is, I have absolutely no idea. Something about the magic of what I am, I suppose. My body just absorbs it somehow, like it does with the blood, for I haven’t had the need to use a lavatory since I was human.”
“Well, that’s good I suppose. You’d hate the one at our house,” he began, shovelling a potato into his mouth. “Outside loo, bloody froze me balls off going for a shit this morning.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he winced. It perhaps was not the politest of dinner conversation. When Bryn virtually barked out a laugh, he relaxed, though.
“Oh, John. You know nothing of taking a shit in the cold! Wait until you’ve hovered your bare bottom over a latrine in minus twenty, as I had to in winters as a human.”
“Minus twenty?” he exclaimed, Bryn widening her eyes.
“Yes, it is bitter in Norway.”
“Tell me more about it,” he asked, spearing a piece of tomato with his fork. “I bet it was so different to anything I know, when you lived as a human.”
As he enjoyed every mouthful of his food, a very generously infused fruit and rum cake to follow, John learned all about the Viking age from Bryn’s perspective. Her life had been a hard toil, farming the land and raiding in the summer months with Bjorn, her then-husband, the man she had loved and sadly lost to battle.
“Losing him was terrible, but our son, Sigurd, he thrived. He travelled far and wide to trade, made me so very proud as a mother, even though I could only ever watch him live as an adult from the shadows. He was fifteen when I was made vampire, with a wife of his own and a child on the way. It saddens me that I was not able to truly be there to witness it.”
“Why not?” he asked, thanking her when she topped up his wine. He wasn’t a wine drinker at all, but the red she decanted from the crystal bottle was very palatable, he had to admit.
Lacing her fingers together, she leaned forward a fraction, a sad sigh falling from her pretty, pink lips. “Baby vampires must go with their creator, they are much too volatile in nature to remain with their human family, mores the pity. It is for their safety, and so we may learn how to be what we are, also. My creator was a vampire named Olaf, an ancient being I had the pleasure of being raised by. He was wonderful, but alas is no longer with us.”
“Wasn’t the fucking Rasmussen’s, was it?”
“No,” she said, reaching for her wine. “The decision was his. He was old and tired, nearly two thousand, nine hundred when he decided to kiss his vampire children goodbye and meet the dawn sun. We of course felt sadness, but it was his choice and we respected it.”
“And your siblings?”
“Two remain out of fifteen. There is my brother, Siddiq, who I cannot bear. He resides in a small village not far from his birthplace of Morocco, settling there about two hundred years ago after much travelling around and inflicting himself upon others with his narrow-minded views and oafish behaviour. Then there is my sister, Annabelle, and I love her dearly. She resides in New Zealand, where she and her husband run a nightclub in Christchurch, the perfect venture for a couple of vampires. We write one another often. The other ten met their final death through conflict, and the other three chose to meet the sun also.”
“Have you got any offspring?”
“Two,” she confirmed, smiling a little sadly as she thought of her children. “Alexander and Joy. I do not allow them to reside within England. Too dangerous, it is, for them to place themselves close to me, especially considering it is Rasmussen turf. I have flitted around from place to place for a long time, in order to remain a step ahead of them. My children do the same. The only thing that brings me here right now is my work.”
John listened intently but found himself stuck upon one detail. It was greatly surprising to him, how these creatures were blessed with a life eternal, yet chose willingly to leave it behind. He then supposed that living lifetimes longer than anybody should, some would likely tire of it, having to say goodbye to humans they’d become close with, over and over again as the decades and eventually centuries passed them by.
“You are wondering if I have ever considered such a decision,” she stated, John’s eyebrows rising a fraction. He doubted he’d get used to that, the way she could seemingly read exactly what was on his mind purely by facial expressions alone.
“It crossed my mind,” he confessed, pulling a cigar from his pocket, raising his eyebrows questioningly. She vanished, returning after a second with an ashtray she placed before him. Lighting up, the intoxicating scent of tobacco filled the air, John continuing, “I can’t even imagine it, being on this earth for so fucking long. How’d you do it, live so many lives and never get tired of it all?”
“I sometimes wonder at my tenacity, but you must understand that being vampire made me a very different creature for a long, long time. Once we are made what we are, our humanity is mostly gone. We are no longer human. We are predators, shadow walkers, as your kin called us, bound to the darkness we must forever live within.
“When our bodies die, so do our human values and morals. It takes many hundreds or years to gain a little of it back. As I am now, I am much more human in nature than I was at two, three, four hundred years old. Older vampires, while we possess a power that is virtually limitless, are much gentler than our younger counterparts.
“This is how we cope with living these many lives you mention. Our driving force much different to that of a human. Feed, fuck, survive, repeat. Then, you see, there is the certainty over all you shall bear witness to, everything you shall see in your extended time.”
Taking a pull on the cigar in his hand, he leaned forward in his seat. “Tell me, about the things you’ve seen.”
Oh, where to begin? Bryn’s mind truly was like an encyclopaedia, so many lives, so many sights emblazoned vividly upon a memory that would never forget even the scantest detail of the life and death she had lived. “Oh, gods above, John. I barely know where to begin. I have watched empires rise and fall, been at the side of kings as they have conquered, watched regimes topple and oppressors burn.” His curiosity did not diminish. “You wish for specifics, if I am correct?”
“You are,” he confirmed, watching as she emptied the contents of the wine decanter into their glasses.
Clutching her glass, she stood from the table. “Then let us retire to the sitting room, and I shall tell you some of my more memorable stories.” They left the room, crossing the hallway, Bryn pushing the heavy door open and sweeping her hand, all of the candles within the opulent space lighting, the fire suddenly springing into life. “More of my vampiric magic. I seem to harness fire and energy, hence why my predatory energy made all of the streetlights upon Watery Lane shatter when I was hunting your adversaries.”
He had wondered.
Sitting with her, he felt as if he needed to shake himself into reality. This woman, this earth bound, but magically created, femme fatale creature of the night was testing the very realms of his imagination, of what he considered reality. How was this happening to him? How was John Shelby from Small Heath sitting on a settee next to a vampire, a woman of boundless life and power, about to tell him of the sights she had seen in her thousand plus years?
How?
“As his lover, I sat upon the council of Mehmed the Conqueror during his second reign of the Ottoman empire, advising his proposed attack upon Constantinople. I revealed to you my status as shieldmaiden, but what I did not tell you was that before my turning vampire, I was considered by the standards at the time as a warlord. I led an army of Vikings to conquer upon many a raid after Bjorn’s passing, taking on the position of a Jarl. Mehmed trusted my intuition and experience, as well as my ruthless nature as a four-hundred-year-old vampire.”
His eyes bulged. He hadn’t heard of the man she referred to, most of her explanation being lost upon him, but it sounded very important. “So, you vampires do reveal yourselves to humans, then? I mean, situations like the one between you and me, the secret keepers and gypsies aside?”
“If an alliance proves beneficial to us, then yes, we do.” Reaching for his cigar, she took a little puff upon it, savouring the rich flavour of the smoke before placing it in the ashtray, moving herself to sit astride him. “I think I tire of talking for now.”
Her mouth met his in a slow tease, tongue rolling against his as her hands braced to his chest. He kissed her back with slow heat, fingertips teasing the edge of her robe. “I’m glad you do, cos’ I’ve been wondering how many more tattoos I get to find on this beautiful body.”
Her lips curled into a wide grin of pleasure. “Allow me to reveal myself, so you may count them.” Sliding from his lap onto her feet, she hooked her fingers beneath the clasp belting the flowing silk around her form, unclipping it and letting the robe fall to the floor. Her nakedness was even more exquisite than he could have ever imagined, those tattoos decorating beneath her breasts, across her hips, the designs snaking over the sides of her thighs.
“One,” he spoke, placing a kiss to her sternum. “Two.” Another kiss pressed upon the opposing side of her body, his arms encircling her waist, hands stroking the small of her back. “Three.” His lips met her hip, tongue tracing along the long ago etched black lines, those kisses scattering over from one side of her body to the other. “Four.” The aroused scent drifting from her womanhood evoked a crush of teeth upon the soft skin covering her hip, Bryn letting her head tip back as she grasped his shoulders, purring with delight.
Bracketing her hips, he turned her around, his pupils inking to see the rounded swell of her bum right before him, each orb also decorated with the swirls of two ancient, Nordic dragon tails that ended there, beginning up at her shoulders. Pressing his tongue to the groove of her lower back, he ran a long, slow lick up her spine, his hand sweeping away the curtain of dark curls as he rose to his feet slowly, mouth pressing to her neck while his hands kneaded her breasts, his want spiralling beyond any means of control.
She let herself get lost in him, leaning against his chest as her hand reached back, nails trailing over the shortly shaven hair at the back of his head, her insides beginning to glimmer. “Take me to bed. Now.”
While Bryn might have been the one of illimitable strength, she allowed herself to be lifted, John picking her up and carrying her from the room, up the grand staircase, and following her instruction, into her bedroom. There, she found herself thrown onto her bed, a flick of her hand illuminating all the candles as well as the fireplace within the room, set upon thereafter by a man who did nothing to hide his carnal hunger for her.
Pushing him back to his feet, she had to stop herself from shredding his finely tailored suit with her nails in haste to reveal his nakedness, stripping him of his clothes in a flurry of action, her pupils dilating as she took in the pale splendour of his body.
He was divinity in human form. Flawless skin only marked by the speckling of freckles, lithe muscles, and, well…
“Gods above, I think this is the most perfect cock I’ve seen in centuries,” she purred, her hand curling to grasp it, that and the lick she placed upon the crease of his hip evoking a shudder to run right through him.
“Yeah,” he breathed, lifting her chin, his thumb stroking the bow of her lip. “Just you wait until it’s inside ya.”
The feel of his warmth against her as she pulled him down between her legs sent a thrill of anticipation through her, fingers coming through his hair as their tongues entwined. Their hands pawed one another, all that pent up sexual longing amping, bliss charging over neurones as they indulged in the delight of one another.
It was only the very beginning of a night where fever and passions would soar beyond comprehension.
#john shelby fanfiction#peaky blinders fanfiction#john shelby smut#peaky blinders smut#john shelby x ofc#john shelby fanfic#john shelby fic#peaky blinders fanfic#peaky blinders fic#peaky fucking blinders#immortal beloved#john and bryn
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Please tell me about your extensive knowledge of german folklore, Forest Guy
Yipeeeeee :))))
Das Bahkauv
Objectively a funny little guy. This Cow/Mermaid/Bear/whatever hybrid lives in the Kanalisation under the city of Aachen. According to legends it has glowing eyes, a giant tail covered in scales and chains around his neck and legs, that rattled whenever it moved.
You could hear the sound of the rattling chains coming from fountains during the day, but it would only ever climb out of the sewers at night, looking for people who wander the streets in the middle of the night, usually drunks who just came out of the pub. If it spotted them, it jumped on top of their backs or on their shoes and let them carry it to their homes, it was impossible to get it off once it was on you. Because the Bahkauv was a creature from the devil, it got heavier when you prayed, but lighter if you cursed. (In case you ever happen to come across it, that’s probably good to know)
However, it never killed anyone! Once it’s prey arrived home, it would just jump off and look for the next person to latch onto. Also, it never bothered women or children. In conclusion: the Bahkauv did nothing wrong and was actually helping when you think about it. I rest my case your honor.
(Here’s a statue of it on top of a fountain)
Das Klageweib
After that delightfully silly little guy, let’s move on to a staple of German folklore: creepy woman that pull people to their doom!
The Klageweib is Said to be a gigantic woman with a pale face, black eye sockets and a fluttering white dress. On especially stormy nights she can be seen wandering through fields by moonshine. If she raises her arms over a house, one of it’s inhabitants is destined to die within a month.
But don’t worry! Like the Bahkauv, she also has a neat little trick: if you bury a dead dog within the walls of your house, she will stay away from it. Neat. I can’t defend her In front of a court though, even though being a prophet of doom is very #girlboss of her, forcing me to kill a dog is not.
No picture for this one, sorry.
Hans Jagenteufel
„It is commonly believed that if any person is guilty of a crime for which he deserves to lose his head, he will, if he escape punishment during his lifetime, be condemned after his death to wander about with his head under his arm.“
My boy Jagenteufel is like. The first example (and probably origin) of the „headless rider“ figure that’s been adapted Time and Time again. And honestly? He seems pretty chill. He rides around as a ghost without a head on his shoulders and will just leave you alone. He’s gonna warn you to not do the same mistakes he did though, but tbh he’s just looking out for you not to end up like him. He doesn't really need a life hack to keep him away, just... don't be a dick I guess. Jury of the court, he has done nothing wrong! … in… in the afterlife I mean. He did fuck up spectacularly when he was alive.
Btw, it is never said what exactly he did to deserve his execution, but if I remember it right it had something to do with him disrespecting poor people. Kind of a dick move, but he changed.
#you get these three for now :)#because these are the ones i mentioned in the tags#if i wanted to i could probably get into how the klageweib has similarities with a banshee#or how the bahkauv was maybe made up by women who were sick of their husbands spending the whole night drinking in a bar#instead of being home#but if i get into THAT i will be here till tomorrow morning#anyways hey i could make a banger bahkauv design#did you guess who my favorite one is yet?
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Do you also kinda feel fives talk with viktor should’ve been with Allison instead? Since everything five was saying could’ve been better applied to her?
Not really, no. Although I would have loved to see him try to give that speech to Allison, I feel like she would have called out the gigantic lack of self-awareness in it pretty quickly. But the reason I don't think the conversation should have happened with Allison instead is that I don't think that everything Five said applied better to Allison - I think it applies equally to Allison like it also equally applies to Five too. All three of them tread the line between hero and villain in a way that Diego, Klaus, Ben and even Luther don't really do, at least not to that extent. Is there a tinge of dramatic irony that Five gave this speech to Viktor and not to Allison, who would go on to go behind the family's back? Yeah, I guess so. Is Five massively underestimating how much Allison is currently hurting and spiralling? Yes, absolutely. Is this show notoriously underutilising interesting conversations between Five and Allison, even where they would make sense and be interesting to explore? Boy, are they ever. But that's not the purpose of the speech in the show here. If it was given to Allison, it would be a warning, some kind of foreshadowing of what's about to come, but that's not what it is when given to Viktor.
What Five does when he talks to Viktor here is take Allison's side. He agrees with her that Viktor lying to them about something this important was out of line, and that Viktor's actions have consequences that go beyond him, and that he should consider that more thoroughly. (Sidenote: There is an entire different discussion to be had about how this show treated Harlan, its only autistic character, as a plot point for the better part of two seasons and then unceremoniously killed him off the second he was done contributing to the plot. It is beyond the scope of what I am discussing here, but I just wanted it to be noted that the way he was written is genuinely one of the worst things about this season, and that is saying something.) Why Five siding with Allison here is important is that up to this point, the narrative has done its utter most to make sure Viktor faces as few consequences as possible for anything bad he did (which also is a whole other meta post in itself and honestly one of the weaker writing decisions across seasons, in my opinion). So the fact that Five goes out of his way to empathise with both Allison and Viktor in the situation but also makes it unmistakably clear to Viktor that he fucked up and that he has to bear the consequences for it is really important, I think. I think the writing of this scene has its issues, but I like the overall intent of what this scene is meant to do.
I hope this was kind of understandable, it feels all over the place because I have a lot, a lot, A LOT of thoughts about how the show frames Allison, Viktor and Five in comparison to one another and how this scene plays into that.
#Replies#Anonymous#tua s3 spoilers#my meta#idk idk idk this scene is so weird in my mind#i get what it is going for and the beginning is very good#but also five says things where i'm just like. you guys forgot how you wrote this guy for two seasons again didn't you.
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Hey, can you write Indra + size kink + cockworship + nasty cum stuff ?? Sorry, i'm hungry for that man
Sorry this took me SO FUCKING LONG omfg
No need to be sorry, I’m as hungry as you. I haven’t written smut in a while, so bear with me, I’m getting back at it:,(
Tw: Indra knows nothing about communication
When Indra enters the house, the sun has already set. He looks drained, tired. It’s been days since he started wearing his hair loose, devoid of his usual ponytail, and it only helps to make him look more massive than he is.
His steps are heavy as he heads to the bedroom, and when he looks at you with those expressionless serious eyes, you know he won’t be eating dinner today either. That’s okay, you’re not used to spending time together as a normal couple anyway, and you know you’d feel weird if he actually sat down with you and joined you for a meal.
His form disappears down the corridor and you know he has found the way to bed, seeking comfort from the adversities of the day. His shadow is dragged across the walls by the candlelight, and for a moment, it looks like the demon everyone says he is.
But of course, you know better than to believe those ridiculous tales.
It’s been months since this man appeared in your village, a place led by a poor wretch who was trying his best to get his people ahead. Only a few enjoyed good fortune, privilege, and wealth, and you were not one of them. Life before Indra, here, was based on working hard for pennies, finding food wherever possible, wearing the same clothes repeatedly for lack of more garments. Poverty was rampant among almost the entire village population, and despite the leader’s best efforts, nothing seemed to work for the betterment of the situation.
But a mysterious man with long hair and thick shoulders, tattooed eyes, impressive physique compared to the famine-stricken people... left everyone captivated. With just a couple of suggestions and commands, things turned around, and the outlook brightened for everybody. This mysterious man quickly rose in the hierarchical power of the village, and the current leader ended up giving up his place.
Indra became their ruler overnight, and hopes for the future of the town seemed to grow stronger and stronger again.
Town expansion was inevitable, welcoming visitors and travelers intrigued by the legends of this man who brought fortune to a doomed place. Enemies were also unavoidable. The Otsutsuki defended and used all his power to prevent the destruction of the foundations he had built with so much effort, leaving everyone terrified in his steps.
His red eyes became stories used by mothers to frighten disobedient children, his violet beast traveled on the tongues of all the merchants and their incessant rumors.
Respect mingled with fear, yet Indra never wavered.
He looked imposing as he walked the streets of the town, staring at nothing in particular, an expression forged by iron and ice. His towering figure seemed to cast a gigantic shadow over every other man nearby, and all the women were dying to take the vacant place at his side.
Everyone thought as he became leader he would choose one of the few wealthy ladies of the village as his wife, but he did not.
It was months after his ascension to power before he communicated with a woman. And that turned out to be you.
Although the village prospered and grew bigger every day, your life remained the same, complicated. Money was scarce as well as food, and working hard every morning was necessary if you wanted to get a crumb of bread.
You tended the garden of a prosperous family, kneeling in the morning dew, your clothes covered in dirt from the work you had started just a few minutes ago.
Footsteps in front of you broke your concentration, and when you looked up, a tall figure was staring down at you. A flowing robe floated in the wind, and that frown was visible even from the floor. Indra was intimidating without uttering a word.
“You look thoroughly filthy.” He had said. “I’m sorry, my lord.” You had replied, bowing your head in respect.
You did not finish that day’s work, for offering you a wide hand, Indra Otsutsuki himself lifted you from the dirt and escorted you to get a fresh change of clothes. Not one of the worn-out ones you used to wear, but an expensive one, of excellent quality, full of exquisite details. A garment of high society, one of the kind he himself usually wore.
From that moment on, he did not leave your side. It was only a matter of time before you moved into his residence, an immense house in the middle of town. You became the envy of all women, no one being able to understand how their leader could choose a servant girl as his partner.
And despite the fear you felt towards him at first, although his haughty looks seemed to be empty initially, you eventually grew to understand him. Dread turned into respect, affection, love.
After all, he saved you from that life of misery to give you one of luxury and privilege, asking for nothing in return. Even though you slept in the same bed every night, he never touched a single hair on your head, never came near you, never took the initiative you feared he may take.
“Why me?” you asked once, the blush on your face shielded by nighttime darkness inside the room. A large space lay between you both on the bed, and Indra, while you couldn’t see him, probably had his back to you. “You are the prettiest.” He replied simply, and you caught a note of amusement in his voice.
During the day it was rare for you to see him, but at sunset, you would both be in the bedroom. No lustful touches in the middle were necessary to make the night complete, for the silences which at first were awkward eventually were filled with chatter.
That intimidating look, that wide-backed warrior with blood-colored eyes, became a companion, a pleasant person to spend time with. Never smiled, never laughed, but you know he is calm, that he enjoys the moment as much as you do. You’ve seen him interact with other people, how his muscles tense when someone is way too close for his comfort, how his brow furrows when anyone speaks to him. You know you’re the only person he tolerates, appreciates, and loves around him.
That’s why seeing him arrive like this is something uncomfortable in your chest. Slowly following in his footsteps, you find his clothes lost all the way back to the room. You pick up garment by garment, and there is a certain satisfaction as you smell his clothes and feel his perfume. As you reach the doorway, he is already tucked into bed, buried under sheets. One of his arms supports his head and acts as a pillow while his other hand scratches his chest, which is slightly uncovered. One of his legs is bent, and covers slip off his skin, revealing a thigh and worked muscles. His eyes are closed, but he knows you are there.
Leaving his clothing on a chair, you approach him and sit on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in your lap. Rarely have you seen this scene, where he relaxes with all his rights in his own bed. Sex has never been addressed between the two of you, and it’s something you’re grateful for. Rumors travel faster than the wind, and many a woman has walked around claiming to have spent time in the bed of the mighty Indra. Whether that’s true, you don’t know, and you’ve never asked either.
If true, your experience is undoubtedly unparalleled.
Still, seeing him like this, becoming one with the bed and stretching out, getting a taste of his toned chest and his thick thigh... Curiosity suddenly demands more.
“You’re staring.” His eyes are still closed, but to be put on display is still just as humiliating. “I’m sorry...” You’re not sure if get up and leave at that moment, but it’s his voice that clears the uncertainty. “Why? I’m your partner, naturally.”
It feels like confirmation of your actions, and you become brave all at once.
“Can I help you... To feel better?....” Your voice is full of hesitation, yet one end of his lips lifts, revealing a wickedly tinged smirk.
“Be my guest.”
Climbing on top of him, your hands tremble with anxiety and anticipation. His eyes flutter open and he watches you intently, analyzing where your actions lead. The man really is huge, and being partially on top of him, the size difference is even greater. Indra seems to rejoice in your stupor, picking up on your intentions and stirring the sheets covering him as you settle between his legs.
Whatever nervousness you felt about what was to come only grows worse at the sight of his size, as even half-hard, his cock’s intimidatingly enormous length.
“Already frightened?” The teasing tone sliding across his tongue fills you with new determination, and with both hands, you hold his shaft. One at the base and one at the head. Your tongue timidly explores that unfamiliar surface, feeling in your grip how hardness invades his dick second after second.
Your lips wrap carefully around it, and pushing gently, inch by inch, his length finds its way into the pleasantly warm depths of your mouth. One of your hands slowly slides down, dragging skin in its wake.
Fixing your eyes on Indra while trying to deal with the raw, inexperienced situation and size, you notice impatience and need, lust swimming in red eyes dominates his expression.
From an instant to the next, your shoulders are enveloped by two gigantic hands, and position is turned around, a vast body hovering over you and trapping you underneath it.
“You teasing little fucker...”
Being handled like that awakens something on the inside that you rarely felt before, some sort of tingling urgently needing to be soothed. A broad palm grasps your chin, which moves your face in the direction Indra desires as he suddenly engulfed your lips.
You have never kissed this man before, and to be making out with him for the first time in these circumstances should feel wrong... but it only builds up more sensations in your lower belly, a treacherous emptiness, and an almost unfamiliar fire.
Your hands awkwardly find his back, and the need to press him against your face, to demand more, to extract more from those luscious lips is interesting. There is no more distance to close between the two of you, but you want to crush yourself against his labored chest until becoming one.
The moment ends quickly as you gasp for air, and trying to recover, a sultry Indra, who grins viciously seductive overpowers your gaze.
“I’ll introduce you to a thing or two...”
Before you comprehend what his words mean, the position changes again, and his two knees are one on either side of your head. He looks even more terrifying from this angle than in everyday life, and you don’t venture to peek at his dick. Two of his fingers slide across your lower lip, caressing your cheek, and suddenly squeeze your face harshly. Your mouth is forced open, but when his cock slides over your tongue and you understand the functionality of the pose, you ease back.
Your lack of experience was driving him crazy, and rather than loosening him up, you were upsetting him further. Managing the matter with his own hands, or rather with his own hips, Indra finds peace again.
Rising to height, one of his palms cradles your face, while the other supports himself against the wall. You try to find stability by holding onto his thighs, and as he buries himself lower in your mouth, sensations in your body become almost unbearable, coupled with his movements.
Indra is kind at first, gradually pushing into your inexperienced cavity slowly, closing his eyes tightly and fighting the urge to destroy your mouth.
Yet when your jaw relaxes completely, grasping the rhythm and feel of the situation, he lets go. The beast is finally released, and the Otsutsuki fucks your lips with abandon, hitting the end of your throat with each thrust. His hips move with agility, and imagining him between your legs with the same surrender and strength makes you hold on.
Tears decorate your cheeks and eyelashes, blending with the saliva dripping from your mouth every time that cock lunges at your face. Indra becomes completely abstracted, tilting his head back as deep growls rise from deep within his chest.
When air is inevitably needed and you can no longer avoid gagging, you repeatedly slap his thighs, drawing his attention. He leans his forehead against the wall and holds your face with both hands, withdrawing his dick from your throat and catching his breath with difficulty. His gaze is fixed on you, and although you could probably look better, you feel really appreciated under those red eyes.
The fluids from your mouth completely soaked your chest and cheeks, your clothes are soaked, and at the sight, the Otsutsuki slides his fingers across your wet skin, then strokes his shaft twice.
When you catch your breath, you place a kiss on the head which has been hitting the back of your throat for minutes, showing he may continue.
Without a second thought, he burrows deeply into your mouth, reaching a depth he hadn’t hit before. The grunt he exhales makes your skin crawl, and you really want to see him enjoy you like this for the rest of your life.
He gives you time to breathe again, and his thrusts become more shallow, seeking more contact with the softness of your tongue and the warmth of your cheeks. It isn’t long before his length is completely out of your cavity and he works it rapidly, seeking the longed-for finish. You’re not sure what you should do, so you simply watch him, amazed at the size of his hands.
After a few seconds, several white shots paint your face, staining your hair and chest, leaving practically nowhere without even a drop. It’s unexpected, but satisfying.
#naruto shippuden#otsutsuki indra#indra otsutsuki#otsutsuki indra x reader#indra x reader#indra otsutsuki x reader#indra#otsutsuki clan#naruto
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cacoethes
part two: bring your sweet loving
rating: E (18+ ONLY) || pairing: ezra x f!reader || word count: 10.5k
chapter summary: as the night winds down and tensions simmer, we learn more about you, pieces of your past, and your relationship with ezra.
warnings: ezra’s gigantic mouth that won’t shut up (suggestive language) and two criminals not knowing how to act; caretaking, i guess? reader cleans ezra but it’s nothing erotic; SMUT; handjob and graphic depictions of a glorious dick; dirty talk; dubcon maybe bc painkillers but he’s enthusiastic abt it; praise kink; switches having a great time; ezra’s subby in this but i promise he’s a dom too just not tonight; mentions of death, killing, tattoos, scars; mention of past drug use, bad coping mechanisms; mm i hc that ezra is a tiny tattoo guy so there’s that; fluff bc im sweet; author is a southern peach, forgive her if it gets a little slow and twangy up in here
a/n: un-beta’d bc mistakes are sexy. i’ll go back later and fix whatever i find but for now. enjoy. i’m literally just making shit up about this universe as we go but it’s working out for the best so bear with me. lmk if u want me to add u to be tagged here. tagging: @pedros-mustache @jk7789
crossposted to ao3 :) || playlist || one || two || three
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“Here, Cee,” you said, adjusting the threadbare blanket over your cot and splaying a hand over it while she eyed you from across the tent, still standing amongst the carnage of a violent field surgery, “I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”
The poor girl was scared. Well—not scared, not anymore.
Vengeful, for certain, though it seemed to dwindle with every minute she watched you interact.
Definitely wary of the two of you.
Which was appropriate, given that Ezra had killed her father and left her alone on an uninhabitable moon, only to be scooped up by his partner and deceived into thinking she was safe, and then forced to perform impromptu surgery to hack off an arm. But she appeared more wary to accept help from you than wary of you.
And honestly, if Ezra hadn’t just lost a limb and you didn’t want to hover beside him after not seeing him for a month to make sure he didn’t slip the veil in his sleep or disappear beneath your fingertips—and if you weren’t trying to earn her trust, you’d have made her take the floor.
But things were different now, they might always be. She had saved his life. You owed her your cot to sleep on.
“Wait,” Ezra said, swallowing thickly as he blinked, seeming to just process the words you had spoken, “You think so little of me that I’d let you sleep on the dirt after the day you’ve had? Now, I agree that our guest should find comfort in a cot of her own, but I will not deny you the simple respite of sleep. That would prove me an unworthy companion.”
“Ezra,” you said, giving him a look of incredulity that seeped into your tone, “You can’t be serious.”
He eyed you and clenched his jaw, still stomaching the fact that he had one less limb to worry about, and a bunch more problems to deal with. It was a look that told you he was not arguing with you, you were going to sleep on the cot. He would not be coddled like a child just because he lost an arm.
Which was, in itself, ridiculous. You didn’t plan to coddle him—you weren’t the type, not really. But. He’d lost a fucking arm. But he was also still delirious from the anesthetic, so that didn’t help his desire to prove something to the universe.
“You’re taking the cot, I’m not having this conversation,” you said, wiping his sweaty brow with your sleeve, “Tap into the ruthless outlaw inside of you and take it without regret. You know I hardly sleep anyways, I’ll live without a bed for the night.”
“Then I must insist you share it with me, precious angel,” he sighed, and you could almost see the cogs in his head turning as his distant gaze darkened into something hungry, “I’ve longed to feel your body pressed against mine since I left with Number Two. The divinity of your skin.” He hummed, eyes fluttering shut, “More…more precious than the ore we risk our lives for. Sweeter than fruit. Fresher than a rainstorm.”
“Ez,” you warned, snapping a glare at him.
“Your body…so tender, warm,” he continued, entranced in his own fantasy, not even hearing you when you warned him yet again, “All soft and pliant beneath my touch. It has been far too long since we partook in a pleasure as indulgent as one another—before our partnership with Two, if I can recall. Grant me heaven tonight. I deserve the satisfaction of watching you drip honey for me—”
“Hey! None of that,” you snapped, cocking an eyebrow—and fighting the flutter in your chest and the heat tingling down your core, “There are young ears present, Shakespeare Erotica. Not to mention young eyes.”
You would do no such thing with him as long as this teenager remained in close quarters and under your care. He turned to look at Cee, as if he’d forgotten all about her for a moment. Or maybe it was that he didn’t care. Bastard.
“I’m okay as long as you guys don’t fuck in front of me,” Cee sighed, resigned to have dealt with too much in her past to be worried about flirting—no, verbal-fucking.
“We won’t be doing any of that,” you assured her, giving Ezra another pointed look before slinging his arm around your shoulders and helping him to the cot. He grumbled incoherently, moaning and groaning the few steps it took to ease him down into the squeaky frame.
When you finally got him down—forced him to lay down—he let out another soft whimper of pain, followed by your name. “Don’t go.”
Brushing the hair off his sweaty forehead, you bent down to press a kiss there, “M’right here, Ez. Rest. I’m gonna clean you up, okay?”
It was the least you could do—and that way you could take inventory of every inch of him to ensure he didn’t have any other wounds hiding and festering and threatening his life. Just as this wouldn’t be your first time tending to him while he laid incapacitated, he’d done the same for you plenty of times. There was very little, if anything at all, the two of you hadn’t seen of each other. Vulnerability had another name here: normalcy.
“After—” he rasped up at you, coughing and then righting himself, “After we find our way off this Kevva-damned moon—which we will—I understand if you no longer deem me…worthy of your affections. It’s the only explanation I can find for your denial of my offer to dote on you. I only pray you make good on your long-standing promise to drop me where I stand should I ever disappoint you, dear heart of mine.”
Okay, you didn’t know where all the insecurity and sentiment was coming from, especially hearing it from the mouth of your dear old confident mean-streak Ezra, but he couldn’t possibly be serious. It made you ache to think that he didn’t trust you to stay with him, that he viewed himself as lesser because he lost his arm. Well, he was lesser, but only by mass.
Also, really? The only explanation he could find for you not wanting to sleep with him was that you hated him and didn’t want him because of his injury? He couldn’t think of any more glaringly obvious reasons, those of which had just been pointed out to him?
With a sigh, you brushed your thumb across the silvery scar on his cheek, “Rest now, chatterbox. I’ll be here when you wake up—and every morning after, for as long as I can. Only death could pry you from me, and me from you. You’ve got me, forever….I still see you as you are—a hundred percent you, a hundred percent mine.”
The words felt foreign on your lips, but he was bound to forget them the moment he fell asleep, so you didn’t feel as weird waxing poetic right back at him. The man had rubbed off on you in more ways than one. You normally didn’t speak to one another so frankly—at least, you didn’t, given the nature of what it meant to care out here and how you’d already unofficially established that you two were something more—but tonight you couldn’t fucking help it.
Ezra leaned into your touch, pawing at it with his hand, grabbing onto your fingers and kissing into your palm. A dull smile poked at his mouth and he let it engulf him. “Quite the charmer you are, siren.”
You didn’t respond, only half-smiled and wriggled—reluctantly—from his grasp to grab a few clean cloths and fill a bucket with water. After squirting the sanitizing solution in the water, you simmered the lights down to the lowest setting, to where your eyes had to adjust for a moment before you could make your way across the tent. His gaze bore into you—no, both Ezra and Cee watched every move you made; one in lazy admiration and the other in curiosity.
“Do you need me to put a drape over the post? I’m strippin’ him,” you asked Cee as you slung Ezra’s clean shirt from off the drying line onto your shoulder—you smiled at the floor, thanking yourself from hours ago for deciding not to burn it. You grabbed the bucket and tottered over to him, nodding at him to scoot. He obliged, giving you room to sit by his hip so you could ease his clothes off.
Cee shook her head when you looked to her for a response, opting to sit on your cot facing away from you with her nose in her book, so you shrugged and tugged the fabric off of Ezra in slow, deliberate motions, wincing every time he grunted.
As you took the time to clean off the grime and dirt and sweat of the Green, he told you about running into Cee and her father Damon; how he tried to take his entire harvest from the few cycles he’d spent with Two; about Two’s untimely, irrational outburst that cost them their life. About the Queen’s Lair and the mercs, and the plan to ravage and plunder and take it all for themselves. You thought the Queen’s Lair was a rumor. Not even a rumor—a myth, a legend, something fabricated by desperate fools with hazy minds of dust and their eyes set on fortune. But Ezra told you he’d seen part of it marked on Cee’s map, that her father was contracted to help extract the deposit. Cee even pulled her map out to point to the marked areas, albeit with clinical movements and short words.
So you made a plan to head out at first light, with the trip taking most of the daylight, and they’d be cutting it close but there was no way you’d let Ezra hike so many klicks in his state—not without a few hours’ rest first.
After you’d managed to clean his legs, his hips, his feet and get him into something more comfortable than compression pants, you moved to his torso and traced over each scar marring his skin, each jagged edge where something hadn’t healed right or wasn’t stitched properly. He’d lost some weight under the harsh conditions of the Green—you both had. But he still held onto muscle from the toil that came with survival on such harsh terrain; and he was naturally broad, he always would be, which made him sturdy.
Your fingers ghosted over a few microtattoos he’d gotten; one beneath his ribcage, one on his hipbone, and the one you’d given him yourself on his lower sternum. That one, as you brushed over it with a wet cloth, never failed to make you smile. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.
A tiny, unfilled heart, a mere outline, barely a centimeter in size. It was messy, simple, done in minutes. But it meant something, meant exactly what you’d never quite been able to voice.
My heart is yours. Take it.
You’d done it one night when the two of you had gone on a two spin bender, which happened more towards the end of your glory days, when the drugs came easy and heavy and the illusion of time slipped by like sand on the wind.
Any time someone hired your services as cleaners, it took a toll. They didn’t do it often because of that, but the payout was worth the work. No matter how many times you swore you would never do it again, you went back. Because it was hard to ignore the way it felt to flood a deserving someone’s mouth with the taste of their own blood, or to slip a knife in between their ribs and let it slide like butter and watch the light die. It was hard to ignore that you liked it, especially when it was so violent—one of the worst sins to commit, and you enjoyed it.
The act of killing had become cathartic for you. It made you feel more alive, reminded you that you had a beating, bloody heart, and a brain, and veins that pumped blood, and muscles that tore apart and rebuilt themselves stronger. Killing came easy when you didn’t know the target. It felt like a game.
Ezra didn’t enjoy it as much as you did—not to say he didn’t enjoy it at all, for he most certainly did. But he didn’t process it the same way you did. He saw killing as a means to survive and a means to get where he needed to go. He enjoyed turning it into a game, making fun out of whatever circumstance presented itself.
But that one—the last one—it had gone wrong. Messy, slow, noisy, choppy. There was only supposed to be one person in the house: typical target, a man who owed the wrong people a whole lot of money and refused to pay up.
One man.
One man was all you’d expected.
One man was all you’d been instructed would be in the condo.
He went down easy enough, quiet enough—Ezra snuffed him and stuffed him and you’d made to transfer his points into the right pockets.
And that was that.
They had tossed the bodybag over the high-rise balcony and into the pits of the bottomless highway next to the building, with a blinker-bomb inside just in case.
That was that.
Except it wasn’t, it was so fucking far from it.
Ezra, being himself, had wanted so bad to sneak in a quickie before heading back—an unholy, immoral ritual you two had initiated, to fuck where you killed—and who were you to protest? Who were you to say no to pretty words and soft eyes glittering with an untamed wild? To say no to the hands that already ripped at gear and pushed beneath underwear just to get a taste—you couldn’t, it was impossible.
Fresh off a high of adrenaline, pulsing with nervous energy—he was always so good, he always got you right where you needed and then that much further.
And Ezra—being himself—could not keep his fucking mouth shut. The stereotype about men holding in their moans, about them never whimpering or whining or groaning or grunting—yeah, that was a load of Bearkie-shit.
Maybe it held true for some men, but.
Not your Ezra. Not even a little bit.
He talked like heaven’s mouthpiece—or maybe the devil, given all the sinful things he’d whisper to you in the crux of any given night. He let loose whatever noise he deemed necessary to make.
They’d only just made it to the dried, bloody stain on the carpet (a bed on which to copulate), knocking over a floating hilolamp and pulling a chuckle from your paramour, when a shout rang through the apartment and shattered your moment into a thousand pieces.
It was only supposed to be one. One man.
Instead, you were met with another man who you’d later learn to be his brother, the target’s mother, and his pregnant wife.
The man held onto some type of curved sports bat, keeping it up threateningly as if warning you of something imposing. Ezra didn’t hesitate to shoot him in the head, not even bothering to get up from where he’d pressed his hips between your legs. But then you’d had to go and check the other rooms, effectively killing any mood the two of you had shared.
Because fuck, where the men had no fight in them, the women wouldn’t go down without a struggle. Or maybe it was that you pitied them, and it distracted you. They’d already peeked their heads out from behind the door of the master bedroom, worried and doe-eyed and determined.
Maybe if they hadn’t seen your faces—if they’d still been asleep while you swept for warm bodies after the first assailant—maybe they’d have gotten out with their lives. But who were you kidding? You killed without thought. You’d likely have put a pillow over their heads before aiming your thrower and firing twice for good measure, had you been sharp and not distracted by a tongue in your mouth.
Instead, Ezra had the audacity to try to bargain with them. Something about having a soft spot for mothers—his own having been a beacon in his life until she left him orphaned as a young boy. He made it a point not to kill women and children. It was one thing in which he remained unwavering. (He’d kill a grown woman if she gave him reason to, like he had on Exon-5, but that was another story for another time, and a different circumstance which called for such measures, namely that of protecting you.) But he should have known better, he should have known not to try something like that. He should’ve known that he’d have to let go of the final shred of morality he held onto.
So Ezra took down the old woman in a way you still have yet to ask about and don’t care to know; and you’d ended with the pregnant woman choking on her own blood when you twisted your knife into the dip of her throat—and you felt awful about it after watching her crumble beneath you, but she’d hit you upside the head with a thick textbook of outdated skimmer-craft modules and it made you see red among pinpricks of stars.
And that night, after all was said and done they’d spent a fortune on getting high—just to forget, just to be okay.
That night they’d locked themselves in a self-imposed prison of satin sheets and destructive tendencies. Two days buzzing with no food, little water, just him and you and needles and spoons and eyedroppers and blades and pills. Like you couldn’t breathe if he didn’t fill you with all of him, you wouldn’t be able to stand upright if he took his hands off you and stopped letting you flood your veins with a chemical glow. Heavy eyelids, messy sex, raw arms and red eyes.
It felt fucking awful, coping that way, but it felt too fucking good and it made you forget about the lives you’d taken in (somewhat) cold blood.
So after sprawling beside him on the gigantic plush bed with his hand ghosting over your spine, you’d found a part of yourself snagged at the corner of this wild-eyed man’s tar-black soul, and you had thought about what could have happened in an alternate universe.
A moment when he was the target, you were (somehow) the pregnant wife, and you watched him die before succumbing to the dark of your own soul escaping you. And it made you desperate to cling to him as he was in the moment, desperate to know that he was yours and you were his. It was then that you’d asked him if you could mark him. Claim him, to know that he wouldn’t leave you like that, and if he did, he’d have a piece of you everywhere. He’d go down with a piece of you.
Ezra had been delighted, of course, as he was always one for symbolism and deeper meaning even if he didn’t quite understand the rhetoric. And it wasn’t the first time you’d marked each other, just a different time with a different meaning. So he let you dip a sterile needle in ink and plunge it into the tender skin of his chest.
You had one too, a heart on your sternum. Nestled between your breasts, just close enough to your heart to feel like it mattered, like it meant that he felt the same. But you didn’t even let yourself go that far—you two were doped up and delirious and he enjoyed marking you in any way he could, so an opportunity to stick and poke his way further into your skin than he already had was an opportunity he could not pass up. At least, that was how you saw it. Nevertheless, it made you happy to see it there on his chest, and to have one that matched.
Ezra’s soft voice snapped you from the memory.
“What’s crossed your mind to make you so delicate in your touch, so solemn in your stare?”
You realized you had stopped your ministrations and had planted your palm on his chest, staring just over his shoulder and onto the canvas beside him. With a careful hand, you resumed gentle motion over his pecs, up his clavicle, his throat.
“Thinking about Beta-Mobilia,” you whispered, unable to meet his eye, “And after.”
“Mm,” he grunted in recognition, the vibration tickling your fingertips, “Regrettable night. Unavoidable, necessary. But I dwell in shame identical to yours.”
“I don’t deserve to be here after that. I didn’t deserve to live after the Exons, The Grime. Why am I still alive?”
“We’ve discussed this in great length by now, siren. Don’t doubt your existence. It’s beyond sense, beyond comprehension.”
You nodded, still unable to look at him. But then he latched onto your wrist, brushing his calloused thumb over the delicate skin there, and this time you couldn’t keep your gaze away from the soft smile that begged to form on his lips.
“And I appreciate your tender care, wildfire,” he hummed, eyes glittering up at you like two dark pools of amber, “Where would I be without it? Mmm…mhm. Dead, likely. Or bitter. Wicked with taciturn rage. No meaning could come from that.”
“You, bitter and unspeaking? Unthinkable, I’d sooner pronounce you dead,” you drawled, thankful for his kindness to grant distraction, and he granted you an eye-roll. But his expression softened when you sat him upright and maneuvered behind him, wiping down his back in gentle strokes. You folded the cloth over once the side turned brown with grime, and moved up to his neck, scrubbing over his shoulders and giving short strokes down his nape and behind his ears.
“So you planned to go ravage the Queen without me, huh?” you asked quietly, irked that he hadn’t even come to find you before setting out on that venture, “Planned to leave me to rot on the Green, take the money for yourself and steal away with the girl.”
Ezra sighed, and you could see from behind his shoulder how he worked his jaw, formulating what to say.
“Understand that I do nothing without you willingly. Birdie over there’s about as fleeting as a real one. But trust that I planned to come get you—I’d never leave you stranded. I just couldn’t introduce another person into the threadbare alliance I had forged until the time was right.”
“She likes me,” you countered, smiling over at Cee, who now laid with her back facing you as her ribs contracted with the first breaths of sleep. A sign of trust. You didn’t know when exactly you’d earned it, but you’d accept it nonetheless. She had also taken both of your throwers (something you protested and Ezra waved off), so maybe that helped.
“No doubt—there’s plenty to like about you.”
Ever the flatterer, even when delirious with pain.
With a coy smile, you scrubbed over his head and then his face, careful to avoid his snapping mouth that reached out ever so often to nip at your hand—there was that playfulness, the natural effervescence of his presence. When you decided your work was done, you eased him back down on the cot and he allowed it with no protest.
You fluffed his pillow and moved the book you’d stashed beside it. He turned his head and pressed his nose to the pillow, grunting in mild appreciation.
“Smells like you down here,” he remarked with a half-smile, eyes drooping, “You sleep on my cot while I was away?”
“I missed you,” you whispered, nodding, just now aware of how much his presence affected you. To think that you had resolved to try to move on without him—it seemed ridiculous now.
“I missed you,” he returned, “You haven’t the slightest idea how much I wanted you beside me. Number Two was a fond ally but not a companion. Nothing like the banter we exchange, nor the secrets we share.”
“They never talked. I imagine your time away was just as lonely as mine.”
“Absolutely. I regret agreeing to leave with Two. But you know we couldn’t have trusted them to stay at camp while we went off—not absolutely. Not when they’d never spoken a word,” he chuckled and then coughed, a quiet rumble you felt against your leg as it zigzagged through his chest.
Thank Kevva you had a plan to leave now. The spent filter had taken a toll on Ezra—and it wasn’t even his to begin with. He insisted on giving you his when the one your new suit came with was almost completely used up.
Fuck the man for caring about you; he’d gone soft during your time on the Green, and you hated how much you loved it. Hated it because he needed to focus on himself, needed to stop putting you before him. Hated it because every day it made you feel like somehow, he loved you back. That somehow, he thought of you as more than just a constant in his life, more than a body to fuck and a brain to pick.
You’d grown used to each other. But his unpredictability oozed into every aspect of himself, every nook and cranny of his life, and you were too worried about fucking up a good thing over a simple conversation. All it took was one sensitive topic breached and you’d surely find yourself shit out of luck. He was all you had left of the scraps of a fucked up life. Without him, you’d make do but not without a struggle and not without reluctance. Some part of you knew he’d be the same even if he initiated a split.
The thought had you hurrying to tug his shirt on before gathering the cloths and scurrying to place the bucket near the front of the tent.
And you shouldn’t have been so scared to be honest with him—the two of you rarely kept things to yourselves. But to love someone so fully within your heart, to never want to be away from them, to never grow tired of their presence no matter how tedious they may be or frustrating they could get, it scared you.
“A kiss for the wounded?” Ezra asked, brown eyes wide and mouth pouty enough to break you from your racing mind. You softened then, padding back over to him on tiptoe and settling back at his side for a brief moment.
With a gentle smile, you leaned down to grant him a kiss to his lips—the first one you’d shared with him in fuck knows how long. Too long, that was for sure, because when your lips notched with his chapped ones you melted, every worry and every qualm simply washed away in a swirl of pink pleasure.
You couldn’t help yourself—an indulgent, quiet moan pooled in your chest and slipped from your throat before you could stop it, and he hummed right back when his tongue pushed between your lips and you let him devour you. Always the ravager, ever a greedy bastard when it came to his pleasure, he licked up into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours. It took very little for you to melt right into his chest, pressing your own against him and whimpering when he sneaked his hand up the hem of your shirt to rub circles over the skin of your back. You remained sloppy and almost lazy but intentional as you held either side of his nape and toyed with the strands of his still-damp hair, pouring yourself into this kiss like you’d never kiss him again.
Fuck. Fuck, you wanted him so bad. You missed this man with every vibrating inch of you. You missed his body, you missed his voice calling to you from the very depths of himself, you missed everything about him, and you needed him as close as possible. Closer than close, you needed him.
But fuck. You couldn’t. When you pulled back for air, it didn’t surprise you when he pressed his palm flat on your back to keep you from moving too far.
“Mm, baby—you’re divine. I ache for you,” he all but whimpered into your mouth, breath brutally hot and heavy as he fed you his soul, “Come sit down on me—come take what’s yours. I want to feel you strangle me, show me just how much you—”
“No, Ez,” you cut him off in a biting whisper, lips kiss-swollen, hating how, if there had been literally any other person in the tent beside you, you might’ve taken him up on the offer, “I want to, I promise you that. But she’s a kid and I have limits—one of those limits is fucking in the same room as one.” You glared at him with half a heart, then leaned down to run the tip of your nose along the curve of his ear, smiling when he shivered, “I swear, once we get out of here I’ll make it up to you so many times you’ll forget your own name. You get first choice—however you want me, I’m yours to take.”
“Fuck—alright, I apologize for my eagerness,” he smiled, tilting his head to kiss your forehead.
“But,” you whispered, your heart racing as you glanced over to be sure Cee had fallen asleep before inching up to look back into his eyes. Fuck it, he deserved it. “If you stay quiet, I’ll take care of you right now.”
His eyebrows raised in deft interest at your offer.
“Will you let me take care of you, Sailor?”
Ezra would never admit it, and you’d never tease him about it because it made you feel some kind of way—but he fucking adored when you used his callsign. You were his siren, after all. Only made sense for him to draw to you like a dying man at sea when you called for him. You used it rarely aside from in the field, opting for your preferred chatterbox—because he was more that than anything else—so it came as a treat when you decided to pull it from your bag of tricks.
“I can hardly refuse such a tempting offer.”
“Quiet, though,” you reminded him, tiptoeing your fingers across his chest and tugging the waistband of his pants and his underwear down. Just enough to spring his cock free, which was already hard and leaking for you.
Fuck, he was such a gorgeous sight, and you couldn’t help the urge to cup his balls and nudge them free too, to admire every glorious inch of him.
Spreading your fingers out over his groin through the coarse curls gone wild with mistreatment, you paid extra attention to the white patch of hair ghosting over the base of his cock and spreading out near his abdomen before stopping abruptly on the left and diverging back down into dark brown. You remember when you’d first noticed it and had all but squealed in delight.
Every bit of him was a pleasant surprise, just as you’d found yourself more than eager to let him ruin you for anybody else with the sheer size of him.
Nobody fucked you like they were dying and you were salvation; nobody but him. And shit, did he tear you open. As if he’d carved a space inside of you just for him, each time he’d leave you with a hollow ache that only he could sate.
“Baby,” you purred in a whisper, kissing his hipbone and then leaning up to wrap your hand around the girth of him, rubbing your thumb over the weeping red of the head, “You’re so pretty for me like this.”
Forever a glutton for compliments, he whimpered his soft appreciation and you hushed him accordingly. He was so thick, so big that you struggled to touch the tip of your middle finger to your thumb, so long that if you had planned to swallow him down tonight, you would’ve been needing your hand to help. But tonight you could not risk the absolutely filthy noise of you gagging on him; he’d likely cum faster and in less time to worry about waking up a certain tentmate, but you wanted to watch every muscle in his face twitch, wanted to see him take his pleasure unobstructed by your tears. This way was quieter.
So with that thought in mind, you shifted to straddle one of his thighs so you could watch him without tiring your hand in an awkward position. Then you let a string of spit drool down and over him and you gave him a twist and then more, sharp and sudden and fast in your movements as opposed to the slow, appreciative way you’d unsheathed him.
Ezra hissed out a curse, bucking up into your hand, “Shit, darlin’—“
Arching an eyebrow, you halted your work on him immediately. His pulse beat through the throbbing vein jutting out
“What did I tell you?” you snapped. With your free hand you reached up and wrapped your fingers around his neck, feeling the column of his throat contracting as he swallowed. Wide brown eyes looked up at you, a tinge of amusement in their stare.
“Are you gonna be good for me?” you asked in a low rasp, tightening your grip on his neck and giving him a little shake before going slack again, “I don’t wanna hear a single word come outta that pretty-boy mouth. If I do, I’m blue-balling you. Fair?”
Ezra nodded, his gorgeous fat mouth blessedly shut for once.
“Good boy,” you cooed, kissing him before forcing his jaw open and spitting in his mouth. It would’ve been cruel but you meant it so affectionately, and his gentle moan told you he was more than willing to accept it.
You felt his cock twitch beneath your fingers and you simpered, giving a little shimmy of your shoulders in appreciation.
Controlling this stubborn man, resorting him to silence made you feel powerful. It made you feel respected, worshipped; if the man who never shut up and always called the shots would gladly take the backseat and grant you the power to take charge, that meant more than you could wish for.
So you resumed pumping his cock, working him with both hands and then switching to hold onto his throat again before going back to two hands. The act still made quite some noise—filthy and wet and sloppy—but at this point you were less concerned about it than you had been prior. When you decided, despite his tip dripping precum, to spit down onto him again for the fun of it and twist him with a gentle tug, he couldn’t stop the whine that left him even with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It had you darting to clamp over his mouth, shooting daggers down at him as he stared up with a silent apology in his eyes, one you might have taken as genuine if not for the way the brown of his irises had disappeared into black, blown out with lust and glassy with pleasure.
“If you’re gonna cum, let me know so you can do it in my mouth. I just cleaned you up and I’m not doing it again.”
The last bit came out harsher than you meant but he took it all the same, biting back a grunt in the form of a sharp exhale as he twitched violently in your hand. Yeah, he didn’t really need to let you know when he was about to blow; you knew him too well. At that, you took it upon yourself to remove your hand from his mouth in favor of scooting to lean down and put your mouth over his angry, swollen tip, flinching at the way the frame creaked but ignoring it and opting to swirl your tongue over him instead.
“There it is,” you whispered with an arguably evil smile—quickly, before pulling him back into the heat of your mouth, resuming your work and grunting when he bucked up into your mouth, chasing the high you were drawing out of him.
Ezra came with a muffled, broken sob, his face buried in his arm as he bit down on his bicep, flexing and squeezing his fingers. A thick stream of his cum hit the roof of your mouth and you indulged him, taking him in further so you could swallow everything he gave you. Ropes and ropes and ropes of cum, like he hadn’t let himself get off in so long, like he’d been saving all of it for you. The thought made you whine around him, and you pulled off when he finished, flashing him your dripping tongue with his spend still on it and drawing it back in before any of it could spill.
“Holy fuck, baby,” he sighed, letting out a quiet, breathy laugh as he tugged on the front of your shirt to kiss you, tasting himself on your tongue.
This time when you pulled back and smiled, you granted him a toothy grin, goofy and knowing. It took you a minute not to giggle like a little kid as you carded your fingers through his hair. He grinned right back, still catching his breath. To you, he was gorgeous, inside and out, flaws and all. You wanted to fuck him right then. You wanted to make love to him, to let him fill you entirely and to sob into his mouth, showing him everything you couldn’t tell him.
“Get some sleep,” you settled on instead, slipping off the cot with little grace after replacing the waistband of his pants, “We head out early tomorrow.”
“Hey now, what about you?” Ezra asked, brows drawn together in concern that you wouldn’t find the same enjoyment he did.
“You’ll just owe me.” You winked then, and gave him one last kiss, which he hummed into with a great appreciative rumble.
Then you pressed your forehead into his, “Mine—you’re mine. Never leave me again or I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself. You’re everything.”
Because he was.
“Nothing without you.”
That was his response, always always always. To hear it again pricked tears in your eyes, so much so you squeezed them shut.
And once again, you caught yourself wanting to say it. This time it had ghosted in your throat, almost making it into the curve of your mouth for you to hold its shape and give voice to a thought. But you stopped it before it could get far. Those three words, the same ones that now haunted you since you’d decided to indulge in every reminiscence involving them. Somehow he had come back to you, a feat which could not be commended enough, but now you ached for him—yearned for him even stronger than if he had well and truly died.
As you settled down onto the floor beside him, those three torturous words surfaced into a memory. The one that, among other fears, made you ever so hesitant to admit just how much you loved him.
————————————
“—In that vein, I don’t find myself in particular need of a great, star-shattering love story. If love is all-encompassing, I can do without the obstacle. Romanticizing my life and its quarrels is satisfaction enough.”
You didn’t know why you were still listening. You just knew that if Ezra kept it up, you’d find a way out of this cell just to break into his and strangle him. Anything to get him to shut the hell up. Banging your head methodically against the wall that separated the two of you, you didn’t even try to hold back your groan of displeasure as he rambled on.
“Now, don’t doubt my skill in worship. I have plenty of practice in the art of copulation”—you could hear the shit-eating grin on his face—“To say I haven’t affixed my interests on one soul or another at some point in time would ordain me a liar. I simply prefer to remain lovers in action…and not in name nor feeling. Companionship…yes, it’s something we all yearn for. It can’t be helped. A warm body, a brain to pick. All wonderful facets to enjoy for the sake of one’s own baser desiderata. But—“
“Shut up,” you bit out through gritted teeth, tugging at the roots of your hair when he kept going and you had to repeat yourself, “Shut up, you goddamned chatterbox. I don’t give a fuck about your love life. Why are you even talking about this?”
A brief silence occupied the space, as if he was thoroughly perplexed by your outburst. Then he let out a huffed laugh, amused.
“You inquired about the specifics of my occupation, little thorn.”
Every time he used that nickname for you—the thorn in my side—it made you bristle. Especially when he used it almost affectionately, soothingly, full of calm and charm that had you balling your fists and pricking the skin of your palms with your fingernails. You despised him, and he treated your existence as a joke, or as a little pet he would grab from its cage and admire before tossing it back and neglecting it until he deemed its presence acceptable again. Everything was funny. Everything could be laughed at. Sometimes you didn’t mind when the guards came to beat him bloody; it made him shut up, whether from pain or because he had passed out.
“Prospecting has nothing to do with love,” you snapped, shoulders tense despite the ache in your body. If these fuckers holding you captive didn’t kill you, the stress of surviving next to this fucker surely would.
“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed, suddenly serious, “Love for others, at least. Love for the dig, love for the hunt and the adventure—that’s a different narrative altogether. Which is why I deemed it appropriate to explain such measures. The lifestyle I settled for is no small undertaking. It comes with sacrifice.”
His condescension was unintentional but still stabbed and poked at you like keepers at a circus.
————————————
It comes with sacrifice. That it did.
That long-ago night haunted you to this day.
But Ezra had his mind focused on softer dreams as he broke you from your self-destruction once more.
“Nights like these make me keen to hear you sing for me again,” he lilted out through the dark, a reminiscent simper pulling at his mouth and crinkling his eyes as he shifted to look down at you, “The melody of your voice haunts the halls of my midnight reveries. But it is such a sweet possession—as though I willed a ghost to enchant me with her gift. A siren indeed. Lure me into the sea of your deception, try to pull me under like the rest of them. But not me. No…not me—I float like driftwood in the breeze…follow the tides of your affection. Somehow I remain unscathed, and you lap at me in gentle waves.”
“Such powerful words from a man who should be asleep,” you chuckled quietly, pressing your lips to the back of his hand where you held onto it now, fingers laced.
“I am but a vendor of poetry. And you, a weaver of melody. Sing for me, siren,” he murmured, his voice thick with the drowsy pull of lassitude. He hadn’t asked that of you in so long you had almost forgotten what it felt like to hear it. Almost. And you would have agreed to it, but—
“No, the girl, she—“
“I don’t mind,” Cee interrupted, quiet and soft. It surprised you; you thought she had fallen asleep—you didn’t want to wake her with your singing. And then you were—
Shit. You sincerely hoped she had just woken up due to Ezra’s long-winded soliloquy about your singing, and hadn’t heard anything else beyond that. Mm, no. You think she would’ve said something about how fucking gross it was. Or pulled a thrower on you.
“As well you shouldn’t,” Ezra chuckled, turning his head to grin at the girl where she had turned to face him on the opposite cot, “She sings like Kevva strung her throat with gold. Or the very strings of a harp.”
You blushed and ducked your head into your shoulder, embarrassed by his flattery. Looked to him and found his honey-dark eyes drinking you in from above, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he flattened his palm over your chest and rubbed it affectionately.
“What would you like to hear?” you asked, running a hand over your hair and shifting on the floor to calm your nerves.
It was just Ez.
…and a girl who harbored a teen angst bigger than ten moons; fuck if you wanted her to judge you.
“Whatever tickles your fancy,” he replied, his grin wider now that you’d agreed, “You know I’m not particular to any one hymn—I find myself enraptured by it all.”
“Okay.” You pondered for a moment before settling on one of your favorites.
Then you sang.
Quietly, nervously at first in an unpracticed rasp, then growing more steady and mellow and soft.
Some swirling folk melody from your childhood in your native tongue, one you’d never forget even if someday you lost your memory. A lullaby for village children; a lilting work song for the women to hum when laundering clothes at the stream, soothing the babies strapped to their backs or their chests or both.
It told the story of a curious young girl who loved the stillness of the ocean, found peace in its silky depths. She liked the silence so much that she would spend hours beneath the water, training to hold her breath and exploring the creatures of the reef and listening to the wavering silence.
Until one humming summer night she swam so deep the water turned black. She was scared she wouldn’t be able find her way back home but she reveled in the quiet—the quiet that not even the nighttime forest could provide, nor the village when the hunters and scavengers left for work. It was then that she saw a light shining from the deep, and decided to chase it.
Down, down, down.
And down. Until the light became so bright it surrounded her, seeped into her until she did not know where she began and it ended. No pain, no fear surrounded her. Just a sense of calm, and peace.
And she became the moon, the biggest one in the sky. The silence up there was incomparable.
The song was meant as a warning to the village children not to wander too far from the town and somehow find themselves in the cove breaching the outer mountain range. A warning to stay away, else you’d become one of the many moons in the sky, never to return to your family and the life you loved.
But you’d always found it more compelling than that, more meaningful, because the story originated from a similar legend of the moon goddess your village worshipped, the deity of the biggest satellite in your skies. The minor difference came in the detail that she chose to become the Great Moon after divine conversation instead of chasing a light down into the deep on a whim. And there was a ceremony held to initiate her transition into a celestial body.
When you’d wrapped up the lullaby you found yourself more at peace than you’d felt in a long time. You didn’t like to think about your planet, nor your village, nor the tragedies that occurred there. But this memory was a happy one, filled with sleepy eyes and chubby fingers grabbing onto mothers’ cloaks, and getting tucked into warm soft blankets by a fireplace.
“Sweet siren,” Ezra whispered in a drowsy slur, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as he turned to rest on his back, “Never fail to soothe me even when ’m in utmost anguish.”
And with that, he left you in silence, and you knew he wasn’t far from sleep.
By the time his breath evened out, you felt your eyes drooping.
Fuck, you were exhausted.
This spin had been arguably more eventful than any you’d had in a long while, and it didn’t occur to you that you could be tired when you’d hardly done much until the action rolled in.
The floor was actually not half bad, given that you laid on the tarp that absorbed heat but quickly cooled when you moved. The nights here got cold, surprisingly. But Ezra’s hand hanging down and resting across your chest felt so good. The weight of him, the heat of him, it grounded you. You circled patterns into his upturned palm until you became too sleepy for that, settling on threading your fingers with his and feeling his pulse beneath your fingertips.
How dare he think you’d care for him less with only one arm? If anything, it showed his perseverance, his will to move forward and make hard decisions. Only something a man with determination could do.
He felt so warm and sure—steady. He was safe now that he had come back. You felt the inky black of sleep begin to wash over you as organized thought became jumbled feeling.
You didn’t have to worry anymore, not about his whereabouts. Everything was alright. It was as good as it had been in quite a while.
Everything would be alright, you could just…
Just…
“I wish my parents had loved each other like that,” Cee murmured in the quiet dark of the tent, rendering you wide awake with a jolt, as if someone had plunged a shot of adrenaline into your chest.
“They separate?” you managed, knowing it came out strange but not wanting to confirm or deny anything about you and Ezra. The silence that greeted you implied that she had had no intention of you hearing it. But she spoke regardless.
“No,” she scoffed, then went quiet for a moment, “My mom died when I was little. And I can’t remember what they were like together. We were always working so there wasn’t a lot of time for love between them.”
Oh. An orphan. It softened you a little more for her, made you more sympathetic to the fact that Ezra had killed her last living parent. You were an orphan too. So was he.
“We’re all missing parts of our family in some way or another. People with worldly attachments don’t usually sign up for this level of intensity. Not the strays, anyhow.”
“But you have each other,” she insisted.
“By chance alone. We didn’t start off liking each other. And we’re not…married, or anything.”
The last bit came out strangled—you’d never…said something like that aloud.
You and Ezra, married? It was odd, to say the least. You never thought of yourself as one to desire marriage in any respect—ceremonial, legal, the like. It just didn’t sit well with you. Too many complications, a lot of governing body involvement that you didn’t care for.
And Ezra…he wasn’t too fond of it either. But not because he didn’t want it, that much he’d admitted to you one night after admitting the complications of his feelings on his love life, ones that somewhat contradicted the first time he told you about it all; he couldn’t have it, he’d never let himself believe even a fraction of him deserved it. The life of a floater—and sure, just as Cee’s parents had prospected and been married (you assumed) and had a kid, many others did the same. But then you supposed it ended with kids like Cee, and she was lucky to not lay dead next to her idiot father, or trapped and sold as a body in the Dark-Spawn Trades. Lucky Ezra wasn’t filthy and depraved, lucky you were once young and scared like her and so took it upon yourself to keep her in your sights for now.
“How’d you meet?”
A chuckle bubbled out of you as you sat up and ran your fingers through Ezra’s hair, watching his chest rise and fall in even strokes, thinking back on that night so long ago.
“Stealing supplies from the same drop company. Two feral dogs fighting over who deserved it more. We bickered and threatened so much we lost track of time and made a mess and a ruckus and got caught.” A smile threatened to break your features and you let it, for just a moment. It faded as you recalled your awful encounter, “Captured, tortured for information because they thought we worked for a rival mining company. They wanted the locations of dig-sites we didn’t have, mining techniques we didn’t know. When he brought up the Wastes earlier…that’s what he meant. Surprised we didn’t die, but they really thought we were valuable or something.”
You gave yourself a minute before continuing. In a panic, you rubbed circles over the tattoo on the web of Ezra’s hand between his thumb and forefinger, trying to ground yourself as wicked, blood-specked memories flooded your head.
Deep breath. You’re safe, he’s here. This will be good to get off your chest. You’ve never spelled it out to anyone before. Nobody’s ever asked. Maybe this girl is a gift from the universe, maybe she was sent here to give you space to heal. Deep breath. You’re safe. He’s here.
You eventually pressed the back of his limp hand to your cheek, and found your voice once more. You didn’t need to worry about waking him; once he conked out into REM sleep it took a freight train to wake him up. At least, when he was with you he always slept deeper. He’d told you one night; how it helped to have you there, like you dragged all the bad memories and nightmares away, pulling them so far out of reach he only found thoughtless, worry-free sleep.
“Hearing someone’s screams from the other side of a cell wall makes you more susceptible to care about them. A bonding experience, so to speak. He’d talk to me for hours on the nights they made us sit and anticipate another session. Recited poetry, recalled stories from his time as a prospector as an escape from our reality. I would sing for him, when we knew the guards had left. It was how we got to know each other. It’s—that’s why he calls me his siren. The reason I call him a chatterbox, among other obvious explanation.”
“How’d you get out?” Cee asked, resting her cheek on her hands as she laid on her side, watching you with keen interest.
“Killed them,” you rasped, not wanting to go into the gory details, “Every single one.”
For nights you had laid awake, haunted by memories of blood staining your only pair of clothes, blood splattering into your mouth, chunks of brain matter on Ezra’s gloves as he dragged you through a maze of tents and established buildings, viscera on your recovered suit, the way you’d had to swallow bile back down your esophagus at the sight of all the lives you’d taken. But you had to do it; it’s what you told yourself when the images would replay every time you closed your eyes.
Vengeance, necessity, paired with Ezra’s seemingly insatiable bloodlust—and your own. Your own shameful desire to incite violence, one you bred in the early years of your youth and had stuffed away until needed.
But you hadn’t been able to deny that, when Ezra shot a man who’d pinned you to the ground and then finished him off with a knife spurting blood out his neck, it stirred your blood something wild. Hearing him panting through the transmitter, grunts and curses as he tore through humans and humanoids and alien creatures alike right beside you. Hearing him call out targets, watching your six, taking single-word direction from you when you did the same.
They worked like a well-oiled machine, like you two had never not known the other. And he was sloppy in his technique, grounded more in brute force than strategy—but you made up for that in quick, evasive maneuvers and stealth. Both of you had near-perfect aim and could work around the clunky gear of your suits.
Messy—pools of blood, the sickening crunch of bone and cartilage crushed beneath your hands and your feet and your knife and whatever other weapon you scavenged along the way.
It felt like a ritual. A baptism of carnage that ensured neither one of you could live without the other.
So of course, when it all was over and the last vertebra snapped—
—there had been filthy, unhinged, surely unsanitary, bio-hazardous fucking in a tent surrounded by carnage.
Fucking in way you could only describe as feral.
Unrestrained.
Hot, Kevva’s saints was it brutally hot and so needy—but also so, so tender.
Full of soft emotion. Unspoken, even for Ezra’s standards. Almost loving.
Your aching bodies, exhausted and weak and battered, dragged lazily against one another once both of you had ceased the initial writhing pace of passion and the adrenaline ebbed. It tasted tinny like blood and musky like spit and salty with sweat and tears, and if nothing more, it was real. Whispering about how fuck, they’d made it and god, they were on the same level, we made it, baby—can’t live without you, I need you I need you I need you—
That day was quite possibly your favorite memory as well as one of your darkest. The day that you knew, in the charred, most twisted part of you, that you’d follow this man to the ends of every planet, to the far reaches of the universe—and he’d very well do the same.
Of course, you shared none of that with Cee.
“We took down the main base of the entire company. They were small but well-endowed. Got to transfer points into our accounts and sort through the mining equipment and the food,” you offered instead after a long bout of silence, “And the spoils of their labor. We were rich, could have retired early.”
“Why didn’t you?”
You debated whether to lie or tell her the truth, deciding on the latter. This girl wasn’t a threat, she genuinely wanted to know. “Ezra and I have—had a certain…interest in finding thrill wherever we can.”
Cee quirked an eyebrow, and you elaborated, “It’s not something to romanticize, we certainly weren’t smart about our spending. Gambling, drugs, slingshot scooter racing, smuggled creature ring-fights. The risk makes winning worth it. It was addicting. We earned a lot. Uncountable amounts of money. But we spent it all and then spent more. Pulled stunts that not even the most daring would try. Heists, intel-theft for enemies of certain people. We got caught up in it. Eventually drowned in a swamp of debt and unrequited favors. Got put on watchlists by the head crime syndicate and peace officers alike in the Core Worlds because we got cocky. Sloppy. So many people want our heads on a stake that we’d be better off dying out here. It’d be ironic, given the executions we deserve.”
You shuddered at the thought of Karolclan and their unusual procedures for punishment. They wanted you the most—you owed them the most. Them and Omni-Five. But Karolclan was decidedly worse.
“Why are you still mining? Wouldn’t it be easier to hide somewhere less dangerous?”
“We have debts to pay, bird,” you sighed, fond of the nickname Ezra gave her as it fit her well, “It’s the only honest work we can get without a biotracker recognizing our scans or someone realizing that the burner names and scouting codes we give them are bullshit. We work alone—no drop company, no mining corps. Until we can get our names cleared and our bio-scans off the watchlist, we can’t do shit else.”
If nothing more, Karolclan did allow debt payoff. But only if you could evade their capture, and only if you had the means to satisfy compounded interest. They were brutal, ruthless.
“He said you had a crew…and a ship…before you ended up stranded.”
“We did. A group of people like us. But you can imagine that a group of outlaws don’t always see eye to eye—buncha hotheaded criminals. Fought over aurelac, argued over fair shares, resources, everything.”
That wasn’t the whole story.
It started as a dispute over aurelac, but had quickly turned into a spat against Ezra, why he had so many successful harvests and surely he was stealing or cheating, how it wasn’t fair that you two were attached at the hip and didn’t section off when you split into groups to cover more land. In the heat of argument and the desperation of man, that had morphed into threats against you—Why don’t you fucking share her, Ezra? We all have needs and she’s barely good at the dig-sites. Put her to use somewhere else or we’ll find a use for her, and that devolved into Might take her right from under you if you don’t watch yourself, don’t be surprised if you hear her struggle tonight.
You had gotten used to the crude commentary, the snickers and wolf-whistles when you bent over, and if they had tried to somehow steal you away in the night, they’d have been reminded that you slept fully armed and showed no mercy to anyone who touched you unless they knew just where to start—and only one person did.
But that…that had not gone over well with him. It ended before you even knew what he did, and pretty soon you had a dead crewmate spilling blood over your boots while the familiar sound of throwers charging up rang in your ears, all of them pointed at the man panting beside you. The only one from the group to live and remain on the Green had been Two, and honestly you were never fond of them but weren’t surprised when they helped you and Ezra take the heat off your backs—they always teamed up with you two and they were good at what they did. It was a shame they were gone—despite their silence and threatening demeanor and sometimes uncalculated moves in a plan, they never made a move to harm either of you; they just wanted to harvest and get out like you did. Better them than Ezra, though. You’d have genuinely lost your mind if they had shown up in his stead.
“Did you kill the crew too?”
“Only a few,” you said honestly, “The others left us stranded when they realized we’d kill them next. Number Two was our only ally. Now they’re dead.”
You laid back down and put Ezra’s hand across your chest again, “Get some rest now. We’ve got a long day ahead of us. And if you choose to kill him while we sleep—kill both of us.”
You didn’t know why you’d felt compelled to say that, but revealing such a dark part of yourself to her convinced you that she’d plant a bolt in you or Ezra’s head and run. Ezra was the more likely target, given his history with the girl. It was irrational, for the most part; if she truly wanted him dead she would have let his wound kill him. Or she would have shot him sooner. But you couldn’t be too sure.
And you’d sooner die than wake up to him cold next to you.
#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader#ezra x f!reader#ezra (prospect) x reader#anya writes#ohhhh boy! a second installment#pedrostories#ezra smut#cacoethes
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Hero
CHAPTER SIX: STARSTRUCK (PART A)
↳ Pairing: Kang Taehyun x Reader
↳ word count: 1.7k words
↳ rating: G
↳ genre: beomgyu and y/n are the cutest besties, taehyun hits someone with a door, y/n gets a possible concussion but nothing too big lmao, txt is stressedt
Y/N rolled her eyes as the car rolled into the cafe parking. Youra’s squeals punctured her eardrums as she moved to change to steeper heels. The younger can only shake her head as she tugged on her jacket and pulled the car door open.
“I’ll be here waiting for my friend,” Y/N explained, pointing towards the cafe. “I’ll just hang here until you finish. Please don’t be embarrassing.”
“If anything, you’re the embarrassing one for being in the vicinity of legends but not knowing who they are.” Youra explained. “Who is it you’re going to meet again?”
“Gyuu.”
“I don’t know him.”
“He was over almost everyday.” Y/N raised her eyebrow.
“Oh, your little boyfriend?” Youra asked, retouching her lipstick. “I thought his name way Beoji.”
“What?” Y/N scrunched her eyebrows, tilting her head as Youra strutted away from her and towards the club. “Who the hell is Beoji?”
Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes once more as she entered the cafe. She took a seat at the farthest corner of the cafe, pulling up her phone at the resounding ding that came from it. She smiled at the text sent to her by her oldest, bestest friend.
Kkyu 🤠: Y/Nieeeee i’m almost there ❤️ 10 minutes tops
On the other side of the street, right behind the massive building housing what would be the biggest party of the month, was a bright red sports car rolling to a stop. A head of fluffy brown hair jumped out of the driver’s seat.
“Clear.” His deep voice called, pulling out his phone and checking the time. “You can come out now, and can we hurry. Y/N’s waiting for me.”
“Just a bit more, hyung.” Taehyun whined. “In and out.”
“What’s the plan again?” Beomgyu asked, pocketing his phone and switching jackets with the younger boy.
“You meet your friend, I go in. Soobin-hyung and Yeonjun-hyung are inside to help me backstage and get in and out, Kai will distract the paps while I move in and out. It’s flawless.” Taehyun explained as he pulled up the grey hood over his head.
“I don’t know, Tae.” Beomgyu sighed, pulling out his phone once more and quirking his lips at the message. “She’s waiting for me, and they’re waiting for you. Entrance is over there, are you sure this will work?”
“I’m positive, hyung.” Taehyun grinned as he pulled the backstage door open. “Good luck on your date!”
Beomgyu grinned as he fired up the ignition of the car once more, grinning up at Taehyun with a roll of the eyes.
“She’s my best friend!”
Y/N widened her eyes as Beomgyu entered the cafe, ruffling his fluffy brown hair. The boy’s figure was almost swallowed by an expensive black leather jacket, his brown eyes gazing around as he fidgeted with the newest model of a popular luxury-brand phone in his hands.
“Gyuu?”
The boy’s eyes snapped away from the menu as soon as he heard that familiar voice he’d recognize anywhere. A bright smile popped up in his face as he bounded over, giggling as Y/N stood up from her chair—opening her arms. Beomgyu laughed, engulfing her in a bear-hug in return.
“Oh my fucking god, I missed you!” Beomgyu exclaimed as he squeezed her tighter.
“Dude, you’re telling me—you were like my only friend!” Y/N laughed, pulling away and squishing his cheeks between her hands. “Look at you—you look so good!”
“Y/N, I’ve always looked good.”
“Still the narcissist.” Y/N snorted as Beomgyu pecked her cheek like he always used to do before plopping down on the chair across from her. “You got me coffee?”
“Yeah, it’s the one you used to always order. Did I get it wrong?”
“It’s perfect. Thanks, babe.” Beomgyu laughed, ruffling her hair. “How’ve you been?”
“Exhausted, really.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “I told Youra I was going to meet you today and she said your name was Beoji.”
Beomgyu chuckled in amusement as the girl’s eyes flew towards the giant LED screen propped up outside the club—projecting Taehyun’s performance out to the public. At the sight of this, Beomgyu winced. So much for hiding.
“Kang Taehyun, huh?” Y/N wondered out loud. “I wonder how he is in real life?”
Beomgyu’s lips quirked as he took a sip from his drink.
“I wouldn’t know.” Beomgyu shrugged. “You really don’t like him, huh?”
“It’s not that I don’t, it’s just I don’t know him enough to like or dislike him.” Y/N shrugged. “I mean his songs are good, and he is easy on the eyes—I just don’t get people worship his entire existence—or TXT, for that matter.”
“Yeah, yeah. I get that.” Beomgyu smiled in relief.
“It’s just if I form opinions on a person, I want that opinion to be based on facts—the actual facts, not the facts I see on TV.” Y/N shrugged. “Truth matters. The objective truth.”
“That’s my Y/N.” Beomgyu laughed, ruffling her hair once more—making the girl giggle.
Just like old times.
Unfortunately, the old times were him and her hanging out in different restaurants around their small town—unnoticed by many. This time, unbeknownst to Y/N, her best friend was a world-famous Youtube Star, part of the local industry’s flower boys. People were bound to notice them now—and they were.
This was why Beomgyu stood up and pulled her over.
“We should take a walk. Cafe’s getting kind of stuffy.” Beomgyu suggested, making the girl grin. “I also have a few friends around here, let me introduce you guys.”
“I’d love to meet your friends!” Y/N nodded excitedly, picking up her bag and locking arms with the boy.
Beomgyu pulled her outside and led her towards his car, making the girl’s jaw drop. At first, she wasn’t really believing—not until the boy fished for a set of keys in his pocket and opened the car doors himself, gently leading her in.
“This is your car?”
“Yeah!” Beomgyu laughed. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”
“How—I—“
“Y/N, there’s something you should know about me.” Beomgyu admitted, smiling shyly at the girl as he pulled out of the parking lot and moved back to the club. “I’m kind of famous? I go on Youtube a lot, sing sometimes—weird videos and all that.”
The girl’s jaw dropped, blinking over at him.
“We’re here, come on.” Beomgyu laughed as he parked again, having covered the short distance between the cafe and the club. “Let me show you my friends.”
“Wait—so, you’re friends with TXT?”
“Kind of,” Beomgyu laughed. “I am TXT.”
Y/N gasped, eyes wide as she opened her mouth to respond. Before she could, the door swung open—hitting her square at the back of her head. Beomgyu panicked, dropping down on his knees to assist the girl.
“Tae, what the hell!” Beomgyu hissed as Taehyun’s eyes frantically shifted around.
“Hyung, the paps found me!”
“No shit,” Y/N groaned on the floor. “You were literally on the gigantic LED screen outside a few minutes ago.”
Taehyun’s frantic eyes fell onto the girl on the floor, who was groaning as she massaged the back of her head.
“You okay?”
“It just hurtsa little, but I’m fine, Gyuu.”
Three more tall boys file out of the backstage door. The tallest one with black hair tilted his head at the scene.
“Who’s this, Gy—“
“Hyung, who the hell is this?!” Taehyun exclaimed, voice panicked.
Beomgyu looked up at Taehyun, eyes equally panicked as the other blonde boy whose name she didn’t know looked distressed. The pink-haired and black-haired boy only shared an exasperated look.
“Why did you hit her with a door?!” Beomgyu exclaimed.
“I didn’t mean to!” Taehyun exclaimed back before turning to Y/N with a frantic expression. “Ma’am, I’ll give you backstage passes to my next concert if you don’t scream! I’m just a normal person, please!”
Y/N sighed, glaring up at the boy as Beomgyu helped her up.
“You okay, Y/N-ie?”
“I’m fine, Gyuu.” Y/N shot the boy a quick grin before rolling her eyes at the frantic pop star. “And no thank you, Mr. Superstar. I’m not interested in your backstage passes. Thank you very much.”
Beomgyu turned back to Taehyun with accusatory eyes.
“You murdered my best friend!”
“I’m still alive.” Y/N mumbled back as she shook her head, freezing as a nauseating feeling came to her. “Gyuu?”
“Yeah, babe?”
She then turned and puked on the floor, making Beomgyu spiral into another fit of panic as she held her hair back.
“Oh my god, you killed her!” Beomgyu screamed at Taehyun.
“She’s fine!”
“No, she’s dying!” The tall, blonde boy by the door whispered in horror, shaking Taehyun’s arm.
“I’m okay.” Y/N mumbled, swaying in her spot as Beomgyu stabilized her.
It was at this moment that the two other boys sighed exchanging another look before the pink-haired one approached Beomgyu and the girl, helping her up. The black-haired boy crossed his arms.
“The puking might mean concussion.” The boy said. “You two, Tae, Gyu—Take her to the hospital.”
“But, Soobin-hyung!” Taehyun complained, eyes pleading. “I have to go home—the party for my movie deal that my parents threw—the directors—“
“Tae, you hit Beomgyu’s childhood best friend with a heavy metal door and now she’s puking and can’t stand properly.” The pink haired boy replied, pulling open Beomgyu’s car door. “Take her to the hospital now.”
“Beomgyu, my head hurts.” Y/N whimpered, making Beomgyu panic again.
“My best friend is dying in my hands!”
“Yeah, Beomgyu’s being dramatic and can’t drive.” the pink-haired boy mumbled, rolling his eyes. “Go.”
“We’ll take it from here.” They reassured, grinning at Taehyun before turning. “We’ll see you at your parents’ party!”
The other boys left, leaving a groaning Y/N, a frantic Beomgyu and a stressed-out Taehyun alone. Taehyun sighed, groaning in stress as he entered the car once more, eyeing the girl and started the engine.
“Don’t puke in the car.” He sighed, turning on the navigator. “Siri, where’s the nearest hospital?”
#txtarcadianet#txt#txt au#txt x reader#txt imagines#txt fic#txt fanfic#txt scenario#txt social media#txt social media au#txt social media imagine#txt fake text#txt fake text au#txt fake text imagine#txt idol au#txt taehyun#taehyun#taehyun au#taehyun imagine#taehyun fic#taehyun fanfic#taehyun scenario#taehyun social media#taehyun social media au#taehyun social media imagine#taehyun fake text#taehyun fake text au#taehyun fake text imagine#taehyun idol au#taehyun txt
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Wreck My Daydream
Part Two
Sebastian Stan x Fanfiction
18+
Tagged🎄
@wayward-mikaelson
Cataglottism
(n.) kissing with tongue
I’m already wet and Sebastian barely even touched me.
I hardly gave myself a moment to be ashamed or even stir in the crass words I was using even if I had only thought them. Like a diary I suppose there was no need to lie to myself considering it was one hundred percent true. I, Nellie Lennox, was unabashedly met with unending desires that washed away my trepidations that led up to this moment.
In its place I felt this newfound sense of possibilities that I wasn’t actually making an ass out of myself with my sudden confession of feelings for Sebastian. In my defense I didn’t just wake up one morning after having some epiphany as to why I wanted to be with him. The thought of us together made itself at home in the back of my mind.
Almost like a what if. . .
However, I couldn’t help but be terrified of all the ways it could go wrong. What if I had made things weird between us forcing us apart? Life would be a bitter existence if Sebastian wasn’t around in some capacity. For the longest time I tried to find him in different relationships. It is a messed up philosophy, but it almost worked. Whenever things would get too serious it nearly terrified me. I was their someday and they were my maybe. I owed this last relationship that is still so freshly cut more than that.
I owed myself that.
On the unique and rare chance I somehow got lost in a very realistic maladaptive daydream, I’m pretty certain Sebastian wants this too. Just thinking about what he had told me seconds ago made my heartbeat drum to a dizzy rhythm. Imagining myself getting fucked to the beat of it was a completely different type of sensation.
Retraining my focus on the now I could see it in Sebastian’s face all the wheels going around in his head. Confusion? Uncertainty? Regret?
“You don’t get to do that.” I tell him. I felt like I was going to climb out of my own skin if he left me suspended in the silence for a second longer. Sebastian tipped his face closer to mine, our lips gingerly brushing against each other. Perhaps he was feeling ambivalent in regards of his feelings for me? After all this was sprung on him in the middle of the night.
Sebastian shook his head as if he was at war with himself. “I want to.” His voice was strained and dangerously low, like something was causing him utter misery being this close, yet not knowing exactly when to pull away.
“Then why don’t you.” I dared him.
I was growing impatient with this slow burn we had somehow started. I wanted to play with this fire. If I got burned in the end by his touch then so be it. At least I would forever be marked with a reminder of knowing that I at least went after something I wanted with no apology. I wanted to see how far he was willingly to go.
Sebastian removed his hand from the security of being wrapped around me. I feigned a disappointed sigh at the lack of contact. My entire body must have been on autopilot , because I didn’t recognize the position I was in. I practically sat in his lap with one leg wrapped around him and the other one mindlessly dangling over the bed. Of course the mind reader that Sebastian was naturally grabbed ahold of the side of my thigh and wrapped it around his back.
It wasn’t like I was naive to sex or never had my fair share of romantic conquest. Regardless of my experiences I still felt like a gigantic ball of nerves. The way he stared down at me with a heated look in his eyes as if he wanted to posses every inch of me. Hell, I felt like I could come undone from that alone.
The hand that was planted on my back slowly drifted downward trailing the curve of my backside gripping my ass through my thinly silk hunter green shorts that matched the top. Earlier I had berated myself for wearing scantly clad pajamas to bed. Now I am thanking my lucky stars I opted out of the option of wearing a red Christmas onesie that had polar bears wearing scarfs around their necks. They were ones my mother insisted the whole family wear.
If I had I probably would not have been able to feel his erection that was restrained in his sweatpants. Trying to situate myself closer I rocked into him slightly, massaging myself on him. My ears didn’t miss the subtle groan Sebastian let out from the feel of my weight pressing further into him.
His silence wasn’t lost on me and he still hadn’t answered my question so I did it again. I wanted him to say something. My nervousness abated at this point. I twined my arms around his neck, grinding myself against him again and again. All the while Sebastian watched my every movement with a hint of a star struck look in his eyes. The feeling was certainly mutual I was even shocking myself at my behavior.
“Nellie,” Sebastian finally says, voice husky. He usually only ever calls me by my nickname so I was more than sure that he was not fully himself.
“I’m a big girl Sebastian I can handle whatever you need to say.” I tell him, holding in my breath.
“Alright,” he said with uncertainty. “You and me, this, it’s not a good idea.” His tone was barely audible and even more so he sounded hurt. Everything in me froze.
“And why is that?” I asked him more confused than ever. Suddenly feeling absolutely self conscious as I over analyzed every intimate word I just shared with him. I was even more horrified by the fact that I was dry humping my best friend.
He let out a darkly laugh. “It’s pretty damn obvious Nells.” Sebastian says rather ominously.
“...It’s not actually.” For someone that wants nothing out of this, Sebastian was holding on to me like an anchor and I on the other hand just wanted to get away and sink.
Admittedly, I was losing this game of tug a war. There was only so much I was willing to endure even I had my limits. “You’re giving me whiplash Sebastian .” I tell him honestly, “ I’m not like those other girls you go for that are satisfied with you just dangling yourself in front of them like a piece of cake that I can’t have. I meant what I said when I told you I didn’t say it just to hear you say the same.” My voice could only rise so high in pitch.
I definitely didn’t want to wake up the upstairs guest that would love nothing more than to recap this conversation over breakfast. Then like an unexpected bolt of lighting startling you from a distance, Sebastian kissed me.
Sebastian
I am a selfish bastard.
My mind fell quiet when I looked at her. I wanted to swim in the serenity and peacefulness that was this smart, vibrant, sexy, and uniqueness this woman possessed. I only wondered even in the darkness could Nellie see my eyes as plainly as I can see hers. If so could she see the shame reflecting in them? I could feel the nagging weight of my conscience siting on both of my shoulders, arguing back and forth over what I should and shouldn’t do. It was kind of ironic that the devil in my ear insisted that I give in to the angel in my lap.
God knows I waited for her and that I would keep waiting if I had to in this lifetime or the next. It was always going to be Nellie for me. I wanted to tell her all of this, but the longer I held on to this slice of heaven I was given during this random hour. I also knew that this moment was fleeting. I basked in the way she looked at me, the way she held on to me like I was an object of virtue. I also got a sample of what it would be like to lose her the second she began to slip away on her own accord. So, I did what any poor fool would do in my position. I kissed her.
It wasn’t exactly suave or how I imagined it would go. My mouth sort of crushed against her unmoving lips in a rushed and unskilled manner. Frankly, I wasn’t sure what I was doing, I certainly could do a hell of a lot better than this. An yet, it was still like I predicted it would be, filled with pure unadulterated pleasure. Nellie’s lips were sweet and warm, exactly how I imagined forbidden fruit to taste like.
A perfect mixture of firm and softness that drove me wild. She flattened her hands on my bare chest as if to brace herself. Nellie pushed herself away, but her face was still so close to me. She didn’t speak and neither could I. I forced myself to look up at her and hoped that she could see I would do everything in my power to earn her forgiveness. That it was a mistake I will make right somehow.
“Nell,” I let out an exasperated breath. “ I have a need for you that goes deeper than just lust and I know that it will never truly be sated. The killer thing is I’m already at risk of losing you before I even had you.”
Nellie stared hazily up at me.“You already have me.” She whispered, our lips still grazing. Those four simple words set off a firework in me. This time when I kissed her our mouths came together like we needed to feed off of each other’s oxygen in order to survive. I’d suffer if I didn’t have it.
My mouth was greedy for hers, and I could imagine she felt the same. The moment I felt her lips slightly part open to let me in, less than a second our tongues slid together in a torrid and sensually slow pace. We kissed like a couple of eager teenagers. My heart threatened to leap from my chest when the tip of Nell’s tongue moved across my bottom lip. She tastes like gingerbread , mixed with some other divine flavor that I can only assume is Nellie. She arched herself closer into my chest and I could feel the points of her hardened nipples through her top. I seized the opportunity to press her body close because I needed more.
I wanted to feel the heat of her soft skin on mine. She returned her arms back around my neck tightly holding me in place as she angled her head kissing me back with the same ferocity. Deeply, and oh so thoroughly by the way she sucked on my tongue. I had a rough grip on her ass keeping Nellie steady as she straddled me. I was so damn hard for her. If my dick could get even harder it was bound to. Nellie did that thing again where she grinds down on my erection and I cursed at myself to not combust. I grabbed ahold of her hips guiding her to move faster, harder.
I kept telling myself to savor her, fucking take my time with this moment. I couldn’t just rip those tiny little shorts off and sink myself into her over and over until we’ve both had enough. But even then I would always need more of her. I wasn't a sentimental man, with Nellie I at least wanted to try. I wanted my first night with Nell to be a little less spontaneous than this. It wasn’t like I came prepared for festivities filled with endless fucks. Plus the added fact I couldn’t let things get too carried away especially since she still didn’t know what I have done.
Yeah, I am a very selfish bastard.
I didn’t want this to end. I wanted my mouth to explore every single part of Nellie. I wanted the taste of her to live on my tongue. I wanted to go as far as she and my consciousness would allow me.
“I need to touch you.” I panted, between every nip and kiss I left on the delicate area of skin under her jaw.
“You’re already touching me.” She says with a soft laugh, which was a melody to my ears. I was but at the same time I wasn’t. I needed to rid Nellie of any barrier that prevented me from branding her skin with my touch.
“This…off.” I tug gently on the bottom of her tank top before returning my hands to rest on her thighs, caressing them as I sucked on her neck for dear life. Going back and forth between grazing her neck with my teeth then licking over the area to soothe any imprint I’ve left.
Nellie crisscrossed her arms reaching for the hem of her top gracefully pulling it over her head. She purposely fell backwards onto the mattress aiming her shirt at my face. For as long as I’ve known Nell she was never one to be shy in her own skin.
“Imagine how unsexy that would have been if I hit my head on the headboard.”
“As long as you didn’t hurt yourself I would have just pretended that I didn’t see a thing.” I teased.
“Ah, to think they wonder where all of the good men have gone.” Nell scrunched up her nose pretending to be lost in critical thought.
I cock my head to the side. “Mm-hmm. Are you mocking me?”
“What if I am?”Her plump wet lips spread into a smile.
It was miracle I caught a word of what she said to me. I swallowed a groan as my eyes drift over the area of her body that was naked from the waist up. Nellie was clearly a stolen painting from the Louvre that I had no intention of returning. All I could do was stare.
With her legs still draped around me, my hands slide up the curve of her torso passing her ribs. I sensed that she was watching me, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off of her just yet. The pads of my fingers traced over to her breast and my mouth practically watered at the sight of them. She was ethereal.
“Don’t suddenly go mute on me Sebastian.” She let out a shaky breath.
I’ve heard her say my name a thousand times. Hearing her say it in this state created a feeling of warmth that filled my chest. I could only begin to imagine the different ways I wanted to hear her call out my name. My gift, my best friend, my Nellie. Those last words had a sting to them even as I thought them. Deep down I knew that was never going to be true.
I eased all the way down my tongue traveling around the dip of her navel. Creating a path up the center of her abdomen. I knew that Nell was extremely ticklish. The slightest form of contact would automatically turn her into a ninja. From the way she was pressing herself back into the mattress I knew she was trying her hardest not to flee. Of course I found it rather enticing so I made sure to spend extra time over the areas of her exposed skin I knew to be the most sensitive. Brushing the tip of my nose between her breast my mouth finally latched on to what I’ve been waiting for.
“So fucking beautiful.” I say as I graze my mouth over the stiff peak of her nipple. I was in awe over the ability that they simultaneously could feel hard yet felt extremely soft. I dragged the tip of my tongue around the bud of it in a languid movement before sucking it in deep. I loved listening to the sounds she made while I sucked and devoured as much as I could fit into my mouth. I wanted to hear a symphony of the noises that escaped from Nellie.
Going for one after the other not wanting to miss out on either. Nellie kept a limp hand pressed into my hair keeping me close as if I dared to stop.
Writhing underneath me Nellie gasped,“Touch me.”
Now she understood what I meant. My own body felt betrayed by my decision. I literally ached from pain and pleasure. Truthfully I wouldn’t opt for a better scenario than this. I would be more than gratified with giving Nellie an orgasm or two.
Still leaving featherlight kisses across her chest. With one hand I reach down and brushed along the dip of Nellie’s hip, then began to tug away at her shorts. To my surprise she was bare underneath. This was a new and uncharted territory we were crossing.
Tell me to stop, say that this is just the wrong time, tell me we would never work. Those words never escaped me, the sound of the goddamn doorbell intervened for her. My movements hesitated then shortly I picked up on inaudible chattering out in the hall. Nellie turned her head in the direction towards the door which I hoped like hell was locked. “Maybe we should go see what’s going on.” Her eyes widened.
“Or we could stay here and not shame the fact that I was two seconds away from wrapping your legs around my face while I tasted the slickness between your thighs. ” Nellie released a ragged breath and I meant every word.
To my dissatisfaction we were composed in under three minutes. I felt a strange sense of comfort and pride seeing that ever so often I’d catch Nellie looking in my direction smiling like she had some big secret she was bursting to tell. Which only made me feel like an even bigger asshole. The walk downstairs was surprisingly noisy. Someone had plugged the Christmas tree back up and there was a chilly wind breaking in as the front door came to an immediate shut.
Nellie’s parents were both moving around in a fast pace trying to find new spots to put a couple of suitcases. I had to swallow down a chuckle at the sight of their bold choice of pajamas. Nellie had already beaten me to the bottom of the staircase just as I rounded the corner of the spiral stairs.
“Cousin!” Vanessa squealed rushing over towards Nellie, who excitedly embraced her the same. They exchanged a few excitable words to each other that I tuned out. I was busy focusing on the six foot son of a bitch with a puppy dog expression on his face standing awkwardly behind them.
“Now you know Nells Bells you can’t have Christmas without good ole St. Nicholas can you?” She winked at a stone faced Nellie who just looked straight ahead at her ex boyfriend Nick. “I hope it’s okay I brought him over with me. I saw him at the airport dozed off in a chair.” Vanessa whispered as she leaned into Nell, like she just earned a gold star. Soon as Vanessa’s wild dark brown eyes caught ahold me I knew my bubble was about to pop.
“Something told me I was off the naughty list this year.” Vanessa bit at her glossed up lips and made a beeline towards me, wrapping her arms around my waist. She smelled like an overtly sweet perfume that tortured my sinuses. “Did you forget how to work a phone or what? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days. I miss you.” She cooed.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Nellie watching the two of us. This was my punishment.
#sebastian stan#sebastian stan imagine#bucky barnes imagine#sebastian stan fanfiction#sebastian x reader#marvel imagine#sebbytrash#sebby stan#bucky fandom#marvel smut#mcu smut#bucky barnes smut#sebastian stan smut#sebastian smut#mcu fanfiction#fanfic#sebastian stan fic#sebbybarnes#sebastian fluff#sebastian stan fandom#bucky fic#fic#sebastian stan story#sebastian stan one shot#Sebastian Stan fluff#sebastian oneshot
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Maybe illumi scanrio witu his breeding kink ? Thank you and have a nice day 💙
thank you for the request! i wrote this out as more of a headcanon/loose bullet point format, i hope that's okay 💕
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-fem reader -not sfw -minors dni please
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Illumi sees you as his, as belonging to him, and his breeding kink is a natural extension of that ownership. Once he’s got you trapped in his castle of a house, a ring around your finger and a needle in your head, the natural next step is to get you pregnant - after all, you’re part of his family now, and he’s so eager to continue the Zoldyck bloodline.
At first, he probably views the sex as a means to an end. I hc that Illumi is a virgin, and that he was probably raised with a very narrow view of sex: its primary purpose is to create children, although it does also serve to strengthen the bond between a married couple (Kikyo and Silva do genuinely love one another, so I don’t think the views of love and marriage they’ve passed down to their children are completely cold and devoid of feeling…) In any case, Illumi holds the view that just as assassins don’t need friends, they don’t need extraneous sexual relationships that would serve to distract and get in the way of their duty, so he’s never done anything sexual with anyone up until you.
In the beginning, this means discomfort on your end. Your first night together, he removes your clothes deliberately, efficiently, all the while staring at you with those huge unblinking eyes. You shiver as his cool hands ghost over your body - his skin is always cold to the touch, and laying on the gigantic four-poster bed you share in your dark bedroom, you feel unbelievably exposed. Illumi never takes his eyes off of your face as he pushes your knees up to your chest and leans over you.
In his preparation for the night, he was considerate enough to have the butlers get him lube, so it isn’t outright painful when he pushes inside you. You still wince at the stretch as he slowly guides his entire length into you, pushing in until his pelvis is flush with yours and you’re squirming with how uncomfortably full you feel, the tip of his cock pressing against your cervix. He stays there for a long moment, breathing steady, watching your face.
When he pulls almost all of the way out, then slides in again, he doesn’t go as deep, and as he begins to set a rhythm you force your clenched muscles to relax; after a while, you even start to enjoy it.
Illumi isn’t surprised at how nice you feel, your warmth clenching around him as he fucks you slowly - he knew that sex was supposed to feel good. What does surprise him is how fascinated he is by you, by the tiny sounds you’re making as he buries himself in you over and over again, picking up the pace slightly just to see the face you make.
His mind wanders to thoughts of you in the future, how he’ll fuck you over and over until you get pregnant, your belly slowly swelling until you’ll need help with everything, relying on him and his butlers to fetch you things, help you walk, ease the aches and pains of your growing stomach; your entire body growing, changing, all because of him, evidence of his presence there every time he looks at you, every time anyone looks at you, making it so obvious that you’re his, that you belong to him and only him.
He’s fucking you faster now, his slightly deepened breath the only indication that he’s feeling anything. You make a small sound of pleasure, arching your back a little, and the thought that this feels as good to you as it does to him delights him. He’s enamored with you, his wife, his wife - you look so beautiful laid out underneath him, face flushed, panting softly, hands clutched tight in the bedsheets, and he can’t wait to stuff you full of his cum, have you bear his children, weave you so tightly into his life and family that no one, especially not you, will ever forget who you belong to.
His orgasm comes on hard, and this time he is surprised at how good it feels, how right as he pushes in as deep as he can, cock twitching against your walls as his cum fills you to the brim.
He tips his head forward, eyes falling shut as he leans his forehead against yours. Illumi whispers your name, and when you whisper his name back, a tiny smile flits across his lips.
Don’t expect to be allowed to move, though. He has you stay in that position, holding your legs to your chest so every drop of his cum stays inside you, for at least fifteen minutes. You didn’t come this time, but Illumi is already thinking of what he’s going to do tomorrow to make sure that changes. You can expect this to be a nightly occurrence until you’re knocked up.
As you lay side-by-side in the dark, he murmurs softly how well you did and what an excellent mother you’re going to make. His voice is as flat and emotionless as always, and you won’t be able to tell, but Illumi can’t remember a time where he was ever as happy as he is now, with you.
#illumi zoldyck#illumi#hxh#hunter x hunter#illumi headcanons#not sfw#hxh headcanons#this is the first request i've ever gotten and it's been sitting in my inbox for SIX MONTHS#i am so sorry#school killed my motivation to write and i've been so inactive#ty for your patience
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Funnel Cakes, Ferris Wheels, And Some Feelings
anon: A fluffy best friends to lovers concept with MGK where he and the reader spend the day at the carnival and end up admitting their feelings for each other on the Ferris wheel👉🏼🥺👈🏼
wc: 2.3k
tw: bad driving, food, a tik tok song if u squint.
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“Colson, please.” You whined, dragging out the ‘please’.
“I already said no.” He spoke monotonously without looking up from his phone. You pouted and gave him your best puppy eyes. “Stop with that shit you do with your eyes. It’s cute, but it’s not cute enough.”
“Then what is cute enough?” You threw your head back to add to the dramatics. “I really wanna go, but a carnival is no fun alone. I mean, I’m guessing.”
“You’re guessing?” Colson raised his eyebrows at you and only slightly lowered his phone. “If you’ve never been to a carnival alone, now’s a great time.”
“No,” you laughed and shoved his shoulder, “I’ve never been to a carnival period.”
“You’ve never been to a carnival?!” Colson asked a little too loudly in disbelief. “How have you never been to a carnival?”
You shrugged and made that hum people do when they have no clue. “I figured since this one’s in town, we could go together.” You let out a long heavy sigh and flopped onto Colson, pulling out an ‘oomph’ from the blonde haired giraffe boy. “But if you really don’t wanna go…”
“Alright, get up.” The words were short and clipped, and Colson only pulled out this tone when he was serious.
“What? Are we going?” Sitting up a little too fast, you looked at Colson with eyes that were incredibly hopeful.
“Yes, we’re going. Go put on your shoes.” He nodded and pointed to your shoes by the door.
“Aaah!” You squealed obnoxiously loud and smiled when you saw Colson wince. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Colson pushed you farther away from him with a gentle kick of his legs against yours and closer to the door. “Go! Before I change my damn mind!”
“You’re no fun.” You pouted, dropping to the floor to put on your shoes.
“I’m taking you, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” You rolled your eyes but a soft smile slowly spread across your face. You jumped up and looped your arm through Colson’s when you were done, hugging his arm close to your chest. “Thank you.”
Colson noted the genuine sincerity in your voice and his demeanor softened as he led you out of the front door. You and him were always bickering, but everyone, including the two of you, knew that it was only playing around. “You know I was gonna take you as soon as you mentioned it, right?”
“I know. I’m just- yeah, I’m just thankful. For you.” You chuckled and shook your head, stopping in front of the car. “Fuck. That was really sappy, huh?”
“Oh yeah, way too fucking sappy.” Colson nodded, a teasing smirk on his face. He opened the passenger door for you and held out his hand to help you in. When you put your hand in his, he grasped it and pulled you closer. You let out a sigh as he pulled you into a hug, your arms around his waist and one of his was around your shoulders while the other cradled your head. He placed a chaste kiss to your forehead and smiled. “But sappy isn’t always bad.”
The car ride to the carnival was about as hectic as any car ride with Colson. A few red lights ignored here, a few fire hydrants almost crashed into there, and a long hearty giggle fest at the tree Colson almost burned down not that long ago. You arrived faster than the google maps approximation of an hour, L.A. traffic surprisingly not that bad. Still very very bad. But less so than usual.
“Alright!” Colson slapped his hand on the roof of the car as soon as you were parked and out of your seats. “Rule number one of carnivals: Funnel Cakes!”
He pointed towards a stall right past the ticket vendor, and he was clearly right as people flooded from the ticket vendor right up to the food truck.
“I think we need to get tickets first.” You chuckled, rounding the length of the car and reaching Colson. You grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the ticket vendor.
“I know that.” Colson rolled his eyes. “Aside from the obvious, there’s rules to going to a carnival.”
“Oh, is there?” You asked, humoring him.
“Definitely.” Colson nodded as seriously as he could. “You have to eat funnel cake, you have to go on the carousel, you have to win a huge ass teddy bear, and you have to end the night on the ferris wheel.”
“In that order?” You asked once you had secured your place in line at the ticket vendor.
“And no other order.”
“Does the bear go on the ferris wheel or does it wait on the ground?” You asked, always the logical one. “It could fit on the ferris wheel, right? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’d steal a huge ass teddy bear left unattended. Can’t blame someone else if they felt those same urges towards our future abandoned huge ass teddy bear.”
“You make some great points.” Colson nodded, moving forward in line. Now only three other couples stood ahead of you.
You mentally scolded yourself for the use of the word ‘other’. You were not a couple. Colson is your best friend. Nothing else. You weren’t even sure if he considered you his closest friend. He had so many, it was hard not to compare yourself to them. All the clips online, the videos he posts late at night, the stories he’s told you of wild nights out. You felt like you could never compare.
Colson was always so calm with you. Made you wonder, did he slow down his usual escapades for you? Were you holding him back?
“-if not, we’ll put it in the car.”
“Huh?” You furrowed your eyebrows as you shook yourself out of your thoughts.
“We can put the bear in the car if there’s no space on the ferris wheel.” Colson repeated himself, eyebrows furrowing like yours. “Where’d you go there?”
“Hmm? Oh, nowhere. Yeah, bear in the car if need be.” You looked ahead in the line and saw that there were now two couples in front of you. “You know, if you really don’t like carnivals, we can head back. We haven’t bought any tickets or anything-”
“Hey, woah, what?” Colson interrupted you. “No, you can’t do that to me! Now I’m excited to win you a huge ass teddy bear! We’re not going anywhere.”
“Alright alright, I was just making sure!” You defended yourself. You felt the blood rush to your ears at Colson’s words. He was gonna win you the teddy bear. Like a sappy movie. Yeah this was definitely not helping your feelings.
Tickets were bought soon after, and true to his word, Colson’s first order of business was buying each of you a funnel cake.
“With this, there’s something you gotta keep in mind.” You nodded for him to continue. “You do not think of how ginormous it is. You just eat that shit. Every last bite. You gotta finish it, even if it’s too much.”
“I don’t think I can eat the whole thing, it’s huge!” You held the extremely large deep fried web of cake up to show him how truly gigantic the serving was.
Colson opened his mouth to tell you ‘yes, you still have to finish it. no exceptions.’ But then he saw your face. Fuck. He really couldn’t say no to you, could he? “Fine, you can give the rest to me. But only ‘cause it’s your first time!” When you smiled and nodded, Colson felt a wave of joy course through him. And after that a shock wave of fear.
This was not the time nor the place for his romantic feelings for you to come up. He really thought that he had successfully shoved those feelings deep into the recesses of his mind, but alas their heads keep rearing back into the forefront of his brain. He felt wrong about the feelings he had for you. Almost like he was taking advantage of you. He felt like you would regret all the time you spent together if you found out that during every movie night, every late night grocery run, and every early morning drive, Colson had a raging boner of the heart for you. He chuckled because he knew that his phrasing would bring you to a giggling heap on the ground.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothin’.” He smiled to himself and looked down at his funnel cake.
“No, now you gotta tell me.” You smiled, glad to see that your best friend didn’t seem to hate being here. “Spill, hot stuff.”
Colson flushed at the nickname and cleared his throat. “Just thinking about how Case would have loved this place.”
“Yeah, I bet she would.” You mused as you looked around at all the kids running around. “You should bring her the next time she comes down here. If it’s still around, I’m not su-”
“We should.” Colson corrected you, stopping you mid sentence.
“Hm?”
“We should take her. Yeah, she’ll like it if I brought her to one of these.” He shrugged. “But she’d go crazy if you came too. She’s obsessed with you, you know?”
“I can’t blame her, I’m amazing.” You shrugged with a smirk.
“Ha ha ha.” Colson dusted off his hands and reached over to pop the last piece of your funnel cake into his mouth. “Get your ass up, it’s carousel time mother fucker!”
Carnival activities took more time than you thought. The games took time because of the long lines at every stall, and the rides took time because the operator couldn’t start them until most of the seats were filled. In conclusion, when Colson said that you were to end the night with the ferris wheel, you really didn’t think it would be dark out by the time you were lugging the huge ass teddy bear towards the colorful manifestation of the fear of heights.
Thankfully the ferris wheel had four seater booths, so the teddy bear you affectionately named Wild Boy got to ride with you. You sat him on the bench opposite you and Colson and fastened his seat belt just to be safe. Once you were settled and the ride started moving, you let out a content sigh.
“That was so much fun.”
“Yeah?” Colson asked, placing his arm around your shoulders. You nodded and pulled yourself closer into his side. “What was your favorite part?”
“Definitely when you wasted six tickets to get Mr. Boy over here.” You giggled.
“Hey!” Colson raised his hand a little. “How dare you say that was a waste. It was an honor using up six of our precious tickets. I don’t think you get it, y/n. I had to get you this big ass teddy bear.”
“You had to?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yup.” He popped the p and nodded, looking straight ahead and trying his hardest to keep a neutral facial expression. “Them’s the rules.”
Your face broke out into a tightlipped smile as your giggled escaped as puffs of air through your nose. “Where is this rulebook of carnival trips?”
“Up here, baby.” Colson grinned, tapping his temple. “I haven’t gotten it published yet, but I don’t know if I will.”
“Mmm.” You hummed and nodded. “The information is too sacred for the public.”
There was a lull in the conversation, leaving you to review the last few spoken words between the two of you. You sat up a little straighter and furrowed your brows once you recalled Colson’s previous words.
“What?”
“Oh my god, did you,” you paused and turned to look at Colson, “did you call me baby?”
Colson had never called you that. Come to think of it, Colson has never called you anything but your name. Not that you were complaining, but the deviation certainly stood out to you. You couldn’t blame him really, you had to stop yourself from calling him something similar all day. Today’s activities felt almost too much like a date. But you thought you only felt like that because you had feelings for him.
Colson looked straight ahead and furrowed his brows in thought before he slowly turned to you. “Maybe.”
“Uh.” You felt a small smile sneak itself on your face.
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah, it’s cool. I like that.” You tried to respond nonchalantly, mentally face-palming yourself over the words you chose.
“Cool.” Colson smiled and relaxed, leaning back again.
You both stayed silent for a few moments, simply processing. Then you quickly snapped back to face Colson only to see that he had done the same thing.
“Wait, does that mean-”
“Fuck man, it better.”
Your eyes grew wide when you actually realized what just happened. You reached out and pulled Colson towards you so quickly that the ferris wheel booth you were sitting in shook. You looped your arms around his neck and quickly placed your lips on his. Before you could question whether or not he wanted this too, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer to him, deepening the kiss.
When you pulled away, you saw that you were halfway through your trip on the ferris wheel, leaving you and Colson at the very top. “Holy shit, I’d like to quote Mod and say ‘movie.’”
Colson couldn’t help but agree. It was the most cinematic moment of the day.
“So you’re telling me, this whole fucking time-” Colson couldn’t help but chuckle. “I thought you liked Baze!”
“Baze?!” You gasped. “No! It’s been you, it’s been you for a long time.”
“Good, ‘cause it’s been you for a long time for me too.” Colson grinned. “Does that mean I can kiss you all the time now?”
“You never even have to ask.”
#machine gun kelly#colson baker#machine gun kelly fanfiction#machine gun kelly x reader#colson baker x reader#machine gun kelly oneshot#machine gun kelly fanfic#machine gun kelly fluff#mgk#mgk fanfiction#mgk fanfic#mgk x reader#richard colson baker#colson baker fluff#colson baker fanfic#colson baker imagine#gender neutral reader#request
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Wallflower AU (aka highschool au made w/ @bellfort3)
V i b e s
- hanging on the roof; walking across train tracks; skipping school; Lakes, yes, something with lakes; something with different types of sodas.
- My angsty teens are gonna have painted nails
- Tommy bleaches his hair; Wilbur dyes his hair black - dramatic fuck.
- Wilbur in eyeliner plz
- Wilbur wears doc martens; black, yellow, maroon, silver shiny
- Tommy's worn the same exact jean jacket for the past 5 years; it's 2 sizes bigger than he is; but he wears it every single day; it has fur on the inside; and its light washed with tears; the tears didn’t come like it; he's just ripped it over the years
- He doesn't wash it very often, but he's glued patches on it, and Wilbur's drawn on it in sharpie. He just layers hoodies or flannels under it when it’s cold, but still wears it when it's hot
- Tommy's also worn the same shoes for YEARS, they’re duct taped together at this point, they're white converse, they're not white anymore, and he's bleach-washed them SO many times that they permanently smell like chemicals.
- The laces are frayed, so bad that he doesn’t even wear the laces most days.
- Tommy doesn't shy from going in mud or water though, he'll wear the shoes to their fullest and then some.
- I think you can tell by now, that Tommy just doesn’t come from a lot of money.
- They live in a kind of run down town, very poor, old, smallish.
- Wilbur is middle class, which is very well off in the area he lives in.
- Wilbur gives off family disappointment vibes. Where he has to sneak out at night, Tommy can leave through his front door.
- Wilbur calls Tommy “sunshine”, but very sarcastically since Tommy is a dick :)
- Tommy has one of Wilbur's old beanies; it's black and monster branded, the monster logo is green
- Wilbur gave it to Tommy 3 years ago, and Tommy never gave it back
- btw Tommy's 17 and Wilbur's 19: Tommy's a junior and Wilbur's a senior
- Wilbur only drinks Green Apple Monster
- Tommy drinks sugar free redbull, but mostly only when Wilbur buys it for him, because Tommy usually doesn't have pocket change
- Wilbur and Tommy bring speakers to the train tracks and dance and by that, its them jumping around and occasionally pushing someone over
- Tommy uses his allowance to buy cigarettes; Wilbur vapes - both mentally ill
- Wilbur is essentially the modern emo. He has this one yellow and black flannel that's oversized, and he wears it multiple times a week - it’s a problem.
- Dream, Wilbur, Karl, Tommy, Big Q, SapNap, Punz, and Tubbo
- That’s the group.
- I have just been talking about Tommy and Wilbur but they are the main characters so you can suck it.
- A scene with Dream, Wilbur, Karl, Tommy, Big Q, SapNap, Punz, and Tubbo, at a lake, throwing each other in, and Tommy gets his shoes soaked, but he saves his jacket from the fall. Water gun fights, and they drink energy drinks and eat chips. they lay in the grass and contemplate life, Talk abt life yes. Abt existence. Abt how shit it is. Half of them have to wake up early and sneak home, the other half get to stay as long as they like.
- Tommy tucks his t-shirts into his pants, which are always very baggy black jeans with just gigantic holes.
- Tommy and Dream both have ADHD, however, Tommy's meds are purely from welfare, he cannot afford to give any out. Dream however? From an upper-middleclass family. Basically millionaires in this town. He can afford to lose some of his meds.
- He yells in the clearing "COME GET YOUR DRUGS CHILDREN"
- Besides, I've learned that there are like so many different ADHD meds, and maybe Tommy is just on something a lot stronger than adderall. He can't partake in the pill popping, but he doesn't mind. He does it every morning.
- They don't do it often, maybe once a month, depends on how big Dream's prescription is - not that he regularly takes them like a good boy should
- And I won't ever write this, but Gogy hangs out with them every so often, in which Gogy and Wilbur have an on and off again hooking up type relationship
- whenever they hang out, Gogy like sits and Wilbur's lap and shit - Tommy and Punz GAG
- "EW the fuck - get your hands off eachother. ITS GROSS - NO PDA IN MY BACKYARD"
- They hang out in an abandoned Building. But they don't try to fix it up. They're not fucking VSCO girls. They just want somewhere to hang out
- If anything they make it worse - they fucking trash the place
- It’s not intentional though - It’s like they can have fun without worrying abt the mess
- just, sometimes they spill hawiian punch mixed with vodka everywhere
- THEY GHOST HUNT AND OUIJA BOARD AND SHIT
- They hang out in cemeteries too. they play manhunt in a cemetery, but like the regular version- like just hide and go seek in the dark.
- they've done seances even though almost all of them are atheists
- anyways the point of the fact is, is that half of them (excluding the minors you know) I'm looking at you Karl and Q - somethings going on between you two have made out with guys, and I'm not gonna sugar coat it, most modern like takes on religion do not take kindly to that
- they go to prom
- and Dream somehow ends up with a ton of weed, because he had just turned old enough, and had the money
- and they get fucking high OUT of their minds, like they're never doing it again
- like, George and Wilbur definitely hooked up at Wilbur's house, which they aren't supposed to do - because Wilbur's parents will fucking flip that Wilbur is sleeping with a random person. No one is quite sure where SapNap ended up, and Tommy lost one of his shoes. In a panic, they spent the next 3 hours looking for it to find it at the lake by the school - Tommy fucking cradles it to his chest.
- (are wilburs parents homophobic?) (yes maybe a little side of homophobia) (Is wilbur bisexual or gay?) (he is ‘whoever the fuck looks bangable’) (fair enough) (he is ‘gogy my king’) (TRUUUE)
- the bleachers - they hang out under the bleachers
- Gogy = Stylish stoner
- very popular, but never not high
- Karl is like the goody two-shoes of the group, doesn't skip class, and is on the principals list, however, he will NEVER back down from space brownies - its his weakness
- Tubbo has a subway pass, and they do that thing where Tubbo swipes it and everyone fucking bolts into the subway, and they take all the trains at like 4am and just hang from the bars and shit
- Wilbur still dresses relatively like, nicely and scholarly, which puts everyone off. He wears very loose sweaters with button-ups underneath. with khakis or black jeans and his docs
- where his best friend, our Tommy, wears borderline yellow converse, and one bleached two-sizes-too-large jean jacket, and some second-hand-store hoodies, that are always a bit too worn in, but so, incredibly Tommy
- Tommy who legit hasn't brushed his hair in years, not with a brush anyways - too frantic to brush his teeth most mornings. but always chewing gum; Tommy's always everywhere at once
- ADHD meds only half-working on him, they couldn't afford the good shit
- He'll never quite understand Dream handing out his adderall for free, Tommy would kill for the hard shit, but hey, he's never gonna stop his friends from having a good time
- Let's talk about Karl Jacobs
- good ole' goody two shoes Jacobs
- all of his teachers are constantly trying to get him to stop hanging out with Tommy and gang
- every parent teacher conference is "we love your boy, but we are concerned about his friends"
- Teachers have meetings with him, about how the people you surround yourself with can change your future
- Karl's like, from the good side of town, plays first in the drumline, plays violin on the side, straight a's, clean-white-air-force-ones type of guy. Name brand clothes. Combed hair
- Packed lunch every day from his mom; gets dropped off by his mom, kisses her goodbye; Mom is like very involved in school too - PTA parent
- it's fucking good kid Jacobs
- and he's sneaking off with fucking potheads to go to college parties and abandoned buildings
- Does he do drugs? Well, he’s a big fan of treats if you know what I mean :wink wink:
- ….you ever see Ted's video about a 500mg edible …. yeah.
- big fan of gummy bears and brownies
- Karl shows up to Parties and there are shouts of "Fuckin' goody-two-shoes Jacobs is HERE"
- a lot of people make fun of him and think they can push him around - He seems like a softie; welcome mat type beat
- but fucking watch this man chug 5 cups of whatever you give him, and then still win beer pong - Like his best friend is fucking quackity, he can do the hard shit
- its very much a his parents have no clue who he actually is type beat
- Look, his parents have no clue where he is ever
- And if they even know he’s out, they don’t know where or with who
- If his mom is at all involved in the school, she'll hear about Quackity, basically a drug dealer with how much hash weed he hands out on a daily basis.
- Tommy has to be contained in order for the school to run smoothly, and Wilbur is a dramatic fuck that sleeps through most of his classes
- Tommy has to take frequent breaks
- They make him spend 3rd period in the principles office
- Like he obviously needs help but he can’t afford it at all. Even the school can’t do anything for him bc he can’t get anything official for himself - like he can't even try to concentrate
- He gave up so quickly in high school, bc they don’t have enough time or staff to help him
- he tried in middle school - but man, did he give up in highschool
- Yeah. He knows it is hopeless. Can't even afford college anyway. he'll just do whatever Wilbur does
- here's an idea: Fucking Karl Jacobs showing up to school one morning just absolutely hammered out of his mind
- Karl just showing up to first period AP Physics, and he's barely awake, honestly smells so much like weed and booze, and if he breathed anywhere near you, you could just feel the alcohol radiating from his breath
- He's extra bubbly, laughs at everything - takes out his notebook to take some sort of notes, and just fucking giggles at the shapes and equations. He is very spacy, he clearly stayed up all night doing something very illegal; he gets up and jumps around. 2nd period band? oh boy
- He gets sick at lunch bet
- Like everyone got Drunk but Karl got FUCKED up
- It was his birthday, bet
- He took like 17 shots over the course of like 8 - 12ish hours, and I looked it up, despite karl being super scrawny and probably like 140 - 150ish pounds - which isn't a lot for being 5'11 - will not kill him
- BECAUSE, you guessed it, he turned 17
- He didn't sleep, he was awake taking shots and just fucking who knows what until 6am when they stumbled to school
- at lunch, 11:30 in the morning
- he's head down on the table, miserable
- he doesn't have a hangover yet, because it's only been a few hours, but man, is he nauseous - just the smell of food makes his stomach churn
- and the thing about fucking Jacobs showing up drunk as hell - is that at least one of his teachers has called his mom about it
- SHES PRESIDENT OF THE PTA FOR FUCKS SAKE, ONE OF THEM KNOWS HER
- And the teachers aren't stupid, Karl is so obviously drunk
- generally Karl is pretty quiet in class; but now he has no distinction between hanging with hs friends and being in class - he's shouting and cracking jokes and is very tempted to kick his chair over
- Anyways, Karl fucks himself over, end of story
- ONTO PUNZ’S RELGIEOUS TRAUMA WOOOOOOOOOOOO
- It's Punz
- fuckin' golden boy Punz; he plays football; and goes to church; and calls his mother "momma"; wears a nice church outfit; and is polite to the bible study mothers that come over on tuesday nights and gets them drinks
- just a fuckin' golden boy
- A religious family. Go to church every Sunday. Sunday school. Holidays. But. The kid just realizes that they don’t believe in god. Them telling the group like they’re high and he’s like “you know? Some of the shit that’s happened to us proves to me that god rlly isn’t real.”
- and Punz like prays every day for Tommy's dad to get his job back; or for Gogy to get better parents; or for Karl to live the life he wants; and NOTHING EVER WORKS. THEY'RE ALL STILL FUCKED.
- by the way we will get the the Tommy's dad losing his job later
- But Punz's life is controlled by something he doesn't even believe in anymore
- because he's still going to the like church breakfasts, and christmas service, and every sunday morning, and helping his mom's ladies bible study, and his parents are talking about sending him to a youth bible camp -
- and he doesn't even think he believes in god anymore.
- Punz kind of took out his own personal, religious, and family struggles out the way most teenage boys do. Drinking, and lots of sex.
- SO I just imagined this like, really dramatic moment, where its the morning after Punz had a one night stand at some sort of party down the street, and he's long past saving his virginity for his wife, but he's buying her the morning after pill, which his church is just so against, and he has like the moment of, "if you do this, you're done." and he does it
- he's had a couple of those moments, like, when he first had sex, and when he first smoked weed, or popped a pill, or snuck out at night, or skipped church - but that was the moment of "there is no going back"
- like any type of drug or procedure that aborts an embryo, or that blocks fertilization thats already in process in like: the biggest no no in his church community
- so once he stepped out of that drug store, he kind of took a breath, and just came to terms with it
- "I'm an atheist."
- Punz is the pastors son.
- he's like, pre-commited to a catholic college - he’s in deep.
- so when he first announces it to his friends, one really late night, "I think god might not be my thing."
- they just start whistling and say "FINALLY, THE PASTORS SON HAS TURNED AROUND."
- Dream just like turns over to him "how many chicks did you fuck to make you realize that?"
- Tommy just slings his arm over Punz, "I'm glad you've quit the Jesus shit, Punz. Your better than it."
- There’s gotta be this girl ok. He rlly rlly wants to have sex with her but he always backs out. The thing that breaks him. Is that he gets drunk and loses his virginity to someone who is not that girl
- like, he likes this girl, and has a good connection with her, and she likes him, and he knows that its gonna be comepletly consentual, and she's like fucking beautiful right? - and she's the one he wants to loose it to
and he's a stupid fucking idiot and loses it to some fucking random ass chick that doesn't even go to their school
- This triggers a spiral. After that? He slowly starts giving less of a fuck abt everything. He fucked up the one thing you can’t do over and god he’s so painfully aware of it and so painfully aware that he didn’t even fuck up right.
- You’re supposed to wait till marriage. Nope. You’re supposed to do it with someone you love and trust. Double nope. He. Fucked. Up.
- its just like he wanted to do something bad. he wanted to fuck something up. he was questioning his faith, his like, great and sturdy and always-there faith for the first time, and what better way to test faith than to do something shitty and see what comes of it. and so he was planning and planning and planning how he was gonna do this terrible thing - which is such a good kid thing to do, to put so much thought into your own rebellion - but he wanted this to go perfectly.
- Little Pastors Son, Punz, wasn't gonna wait till marriage.
- He was gonna have sex with the girl of his dreams before they were even dating - but man did he like her. Did he want her.
- And then he fucked some random girl when he was black out drunk. He's fucked everything up - he can't wash this away with confession - he's tainted. He's dirty.
- He looks in the mirror and doesn't recognize the heathen staring back.
- He hates who he's become.
- But he never goes back - he can't. He's dirty. He's wrong.
- but the more he goes down the spiral - the more he realizes that one mistake shouldn't have made him feel like that
- that if god was real, which he honestly wasn't sure in that department, he wouldn't want Punz to feel like the scum of the earth for doing something wrong. especially when he felt so bad after he did it. This system was fucked. He didn't want to be apart of another cycle
- and he's just lying to himself every time he goes to church, and reads a cerse for his mom, and meets with younger kids at the church, and plays flag football with fucking church virgins who are good catholics and follow all their mommas orders
- And every night when he says grace he means it less and less. he always does it when his momma asks, but boy does the lords word mean shit to him anymore
From Ethan:
- A turning point to the others in Punz's breakaway from Catholicism is like
- He prays before he eats, usually. Sometimes they wait for him to finish his prayer before eating themselves, just out of politeness. He's a friend, he gets that shred of etiquette
- And then one day he just doesn't. They got some fast food for a whole group dinner out at their hangout spot (a warehouse, did you say??) Tommy is staring at it intently but he waits for Punz to pray. Tubbo's already started eating but the rest wait
- And Punz just starts eating
- Dream nudges him, "No prayer, Pastor's boy?"
- "No prayer," Punz mumbles into his food. "I'm trying something new."
SO, TOMMYS DAD LOSING HIS JOB ARC W000000000
- it starts with Tommy showing up in a different jacket one day
- like you have to understand, he's worn this jean jacket every single day for as long as WIlbur has known him, which is like 6 years
- Like Tommy shows up in this giant, khaki work-jacket and it's his dads...
- HIS DAD DIDNT DIE
- his dad lost his job, which is essentially death to a family who already couldn't sustain themselves
- and Tommy shows up to school, face pale and cheeks sunk in and there are visible bags under his eyes
- and Wilbur just rushes over immediately and hugs him so tight to his chest
- and Tommy just sobs, "pops lost his job -" gasp "I can't - we can't pay the bills this month. everything - its all falling apart Will."
- "Hey - hey. Stop. It's gonna be fine. You're gonna be okay. You always are dude."
- Tommy does have to get a job
- and he probably does drop out of school unofficially, like he just stops going.
- he sleeps during the morning classes, and heads into work at 10am
- he's a carpenters assistant. it pays well as they need young, able men. but most of the younger citizens in the town go to school
- he has to take the day shift because the day shift pays better
- he doesn't mind it, he doesn't - it gives him the opportunity to get all of his energy out; but he misses going to school. as much as he hated it, he misses his friends.
- and lets be honest, its hard as fuck for his dad to find a new job, he doesn't have a great resume - he didn't graduate from highschool. and he isn;t in top health condition, he definitely doesn't have health insurance
- so Tommys stuck with this job for a long time
- his dad uses his last paycheck to buy Tommy workboots so tommy feels in debt to him
- He’ll get his GED eventually.
- I think
- The like religious status of the rest of the group brought to you by me
- Everyone who I don’t mention is just a hard atheist
- Karl and Wilbur are catholic, but to a lesser extent, Wilbur doesn't really go through with lent, and Karl only sometimes does. They go to a different church and go pretty much on holidays only, a sunday a month maybe.
- SapNap goes to Punz's church, they've been friends for years.
- He goes to sunday school but misses a lot of sermons because of his siblings sports games.
- He is involved, but not to the way Punz is - SapNap's mother is in fact in Punz's moms bible group
- Punz sometimes doesnt attend the bible group and Sap's mother is all "now you tell that pastor's boy to actually attend next time, got it?" and Sapnap dies a little on the inside
- And George is an orthodox christian, but he's pretty much quit due to the blatant homophobia he's seen at his church.
AND NOW ON WILBUR SOOT AND KARL JACOBS AND BARKING
- Wilbur has siblings, fun fact
- that we will never talk about or address
- but definitely nothing like Wilbur, more the Karl Jacobs type
- Wilbur is the oldest. he's always lectured about being 'a good influence on your brother and sister.'
- They’re big sports kids. Softball and Basketball (tall genes). Straight Bs; Bed by 10pm; Have never missed school
- Parents pride and joy :)
- Just good suburban kids, Have friends next door, help the neighbors, attend the cul-de-sac barbecues.
- Basically who Wilbur used to be up until highschool (until Wilbur met weed and a good group of stoners)
- Sure he was a disappointment and he had no clue what to do with his life - But he was happier
- Never really liked being the goody- two-shoes boy next door, he doesn't know how karl does it “Playing good boy like a dog”
- Also he used dog terms around Karl
- Because he’s “Playing good boy like a dog”
- He’ll throw Karl a beer and smile “go fetch”
- He laughs so hard when he sees Karl be good in a class or play it up for his parents; Because Wilbur’s so past trying
- Wilbur will walk by and just bark at karl. Bet. Just Growls lowly; Walks in a circle; Anything to make Karl’s parents (or Wilbur’s own) stare at him and scurry away
- Karl’s parents push Karl forward and like hold their younger kids close to their chest, whispering “keep close, don’t look at him”
- They tell Karl to stay away from kids like him.
- And boy do Wilbur’s pa#rents hate it, They push him along and whisper yell at him As he throws his head back and cackles
- I mean imagine, like a stereotypical middle class suburban family: House wife, blue collared father, Two kids; in sports jerseys, Girl in braids, boy in khakis
- And then there’s Wilbur: Doc Martins, black jeans, collar and sweater, beanie. Definitely high on something
- Chains LOTS OF CHAINS
- And he's Barking. Fucking Barking At the nice family down the street
- And then he takes out his vape right in front of his parents and silently offers Karl a hit with a smirk
- Cause Karl’s too busy playing good boy
- And as Karl’s family looks back, as Wilbur is corralled by his mom
- He flips them off with the biggest smirk uou will ever see
- Wilbur's kind of an ass
- And Karl really wants a hit of that vape.
#wallflower au#wilbursoot#tommyinnit#karl jacobs#quackity#sapnap#and Big Q#georgenotfound#gogy#punz#dream#dreamwastaken#tubbo#long post
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Nerves (Request)
This was my first request, and it was fun to write! Anon wanted a reader around Sam’s age whose nerves Dean mistakes for fear until he confronts her about them. Thanks for reading, and of course I would love any advice or critiques!! If you have a request, drop it in my inbox and I’ll definitely write it if I feel like I can do it justice. Just a little bit of weekend fluff.
Title: Nerves
Pairing: Dean X Reader
Word Count: 2715
Summary: When helping Sam’s college friend, the reader, Dean can’t figure out why she’s so scared of him.
gif from forgetthisbull
“Dude, Dean, I’m serious. Don’t be a fucking creep to her,” Sam said, shutting the door to the Impala and following his brother into a greasy spoon called Little Bavaria with white scalloped curtains.
“Dude, Dean, I’m serious,” Dean mimicked in a nasal sing-song. “And when am I ever a creep?”
Sam glared at Dean in exasperation. “Please? Just please? Can I have one friend you don’t hit on?”
“Fine! Drop it!” Dean snapped, yanking open the door and pulling his face immediately into a saccharine smile for the rosy-cheeked grandma-type standing behind a cash register that could not have been made after 1983.
“Thank you,” Sam said, obviously relieved. He scanned the room before seeing her sitting in a back booth.
You waved excitedly to Sam as he walked toward you, looking like a sun-kissed and confident man rather than the floppy haired boy you remembered.
As the brothers made their way over to you, a waitress dropped off plasticized menus and glasses of water. Sam waited for you to stand up before wrapping you in a bear hug. He smelled clean and familiar in a way that made you feel slightly lighter immediately.
“I like the new hair, it looks good on you,” he said, charming as ever.
You reflexively touched your head. “Oh! Right, I forgot that was after college. You look great!”
Sam’s smile was easy and wide as he turned to Dean. “This is my brother Dean.”
Dean raised a few fingers in a weak wave, decidedly not giving you anything Sam could construe as bedroom eyes or a flirtatious smirk. “Nice to meet you. Sorry it isn’t under better circumstances.”
“Yeah, well,” you trailed off.
“Should we sit?” Sam asked, graciously offering you an out.
After the requisite coffees and Dutch babies were ordered, Sam looked across the table angelically. “I’m really sorry this is happening,” he said, his voice smooth and soothing. It was all Dean could do not to roll his eyes, one arm slung across the booth behind Sam as he slouched back. He tried for the appearance of nonplussed neutrality. “If it’s okay with you, I think you should stick around us until we figure this out. I don’t want to leave you alone in that house,” Sam urged.
You kept the relief off your face better than you’d expected you would. You were trying to play it cool in front of Sam and his hopelessly cute older brother, but you were scared enough of going back your new house that you just repeated what they ordered, unable to focus even on the menu. As you had been doing for the last day and a half since you called, you thanked God for the small instinct to call Sam. Sam, who you hadn’t seen in a few years but was the least judgmental person you’d known in school. Somehow you knew even if he thought you were crazy he would come anyway. Now he was here, bigger and looser than you’d remembered, not making fun of or pitying the girl who thought her house was haunted, and you felt like you could take a deep breath for the first time in weeks. In a weaker moment you might’ve cried, and for that reason it was better that Sam had brought his brother. It might not have been so embarrassing to break down with an old friend, but you couldn’t ugly-cry in front of the Rebel Without A Cause at the table, all pillowy lips and long eyelashes. Distractedly you tried to remember if Dean looked this good in the two or three pictures Sam had scotch-taped to his dorm wall but couldn’t call them up. You channeled all the chill-girl energy you could muster and shrugged. “If you think that’s better, I can.”
“I do, yeah. It’s just that we don’t know what’s going on yet,” Sam offered. “If you need to get some stuff from your place, we can come with you. Right, Dean?”
“Sure,” Dean said, his tone clipped and his lips pressed tight. “Whatever Sammy wants.”
You heard a thump under the table and Dean smiled slightly more reassuringly.
Over breakfast Sam had about a hundred questions about everything you’d been up to lately. He seemed genuinely interested as you told him about the new job you’d moved here for, wanting to know more about the goofy drama between your coworkers and odd clients as though it was fascinating. You’d forgotten how much you desperately missed him until you saw the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and heard his laugh twinkle out over the coffee steam and powdered sugar. All the while, Dean seemed to be boring into you with those green eyes, sometimes adding a meaningless trite comment or chuckle but not genuinely engaging. You tried only partly successfully to ignore him, focusing on Sam and your food and how nice it was to feel safe.
3 cups of weak coffee after you’d finished eating, knowing you’d be jittery but not caring from the giddiness of the reunion, Dean took out his wallet and threw about double what you’d guessed the tab might be down in cash. “Should we go get your stuff?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” you answered, taking one last sip before getting up from the table. A look you couldn’t decipher passed between Sam and Dean so quickly that you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been staring right at them. You followed the boys out of the restaurant, feeling a very odd and fleeting moment of jealousy when Dean thanked and winked at the older woman behind the cash register, giving her a slow languid smile like warm honey. He was so pretty. As quickly as the thought had come over you, it was replaced with disgust at yourself. At a time like this, when your whole world was in chaos, you were worried about some hot guy—who clearly wasn’t into you from the way he was acting—instead of your own safety. You were still cursing yourself mentally when you slid into the back of the gigantic black car they’d arrived in.
Sam’s friend was cute. Like, really cute. Beautiful, even, and Dean was beyond annoyed that this was the one time he promised Sam he wouldn’t hit on one of his friends. Not that it seemed to matter, because she only had eyes for Sam. It was like she melted when she saw him, staring only straight at his kid brother all through the time they stayed at the breakfast spot. If Dean was being honest with himself, he was more than a little hurt, not used to being looked at with anything less than adoration by the women he wanted. What added even more salt to the wound than the way she seemed so infatuated with Sam was the way that she looked when she saw Dean. Dean peddled in monsters and the looks of attractive women, and he knew fear when he saw it. He’d spent the rest of breakfast with Sam’s comment about him being a creep running through his mind on a loop, careful not to lean too close into her or say anything less than strictly G-rated. Unfortunately, that limited him more severely than he realized it would.
When she got into the back of the Impala, she sat straight up like she was in a cotillion class, not comfortable enough even to sit normally in his car. Was Sam right? Was he a creep? Dean suddenly felt weird and predatory, like maybe the blood and guts of hunting was changing him in some irreparable way that people could sense. He tried to smile agreeably the way Sam did up at her in the rearview mirror and saw a shark reflected back at him. Looking quickly away, Dean put both hands on the wheel the way he thought someone non-threatening would.
It didn’t help that Sam thought something was off, which meant Dean wasn’t pulling off his act and maybe couldn’t even pretend like he wasn’t the kind of person who makes a beautiful girl’s eyes go wide in fear. Each time Sam had side-eyed or kicked him under the table, the point was re-emphasized. Dean was desperate to relax but worried he’d freak this poor girl out somehow, so he kept himself tightly wound as he took directions to her house.
By the time they’d finally figured out the problem—not, as you thought, that your house was haunted but that a coworker was in fact a witch trying to torment you—the three of you had gotten into a semi-comfortable rhythm. You were crashing on the couch in their motel room, carrying your toiletries into and out of the bathroom every morning like you were at sleepaway camp and trying to keep your clothes as wrinkle-free as possible while living out of a suitcase. Some parts of it were so nice; you were still just as grateful for the protection you felt as you had been in that café, and you had forgotten how comforting it was just to know there was someone else around. Other parts, however, were not. You hadn’t slept on a couch, let alone a scratchy-creaky motel one, for so many days since college, and you were remembering why. On top of that, Dean was so compelling that it felt like you expended half of your energy each day just trying to keep yourself from staring at him.
And naturally, the more you got to know him the harder it got. He was not only the pretty boy that was obvious from the first time you met, but also so kind and respectful, seeming to be very aware of the potential discomfort of immediately sleeping in the same room as a strange man and giving you a wide berth for as much privacy as possible. He even picked up coffee in the mornings before you and Sam got up, that first day getting a black coffee, a nonfat latte, and ‘whatever the coffee guy said was most popular’ because he didn’t know what you’d like. If anything, it felt almost as though he was being a bit too gentle, and you wondered if Sam had told Dean you were some kind of fragile and delicate bird that startled easily. When you’d asked Sam about it after a couple days, he just shrugged and said he hadn’t really told Dean much other than some stories from college. You decided to drop it. Maybe Dean was just like this, which made it all the harder not to develop the kind of crippling, blushing, oh-my-god-is-he-going-to-sit-next-to-me crush you hadn’t felt since middle school.
When the coworker had been ‘taken care of’—a careful answer from Dean that you chose not to pursue—you were left feeling unmoored. It wasn’t like you could go back to the now-destroyed house, or even imagine how you’d explain away the chaos of the last couple weeks to the few people you knew here. Sam seemed to pick up on it intuitively, and offered for you to come along with him and his brother until you figured out what you were going to do next. Like it had when he had driven across the country and tossed you the last life raft over the formica table at Little Bavaria, it felt like Sam was saving you. He seemed excited when you said you would, and was out grabbing sandwiches for the road while you and Dean packed up the motel room when Dean asked if he could borrow you for a minute.
You were so embarrassed at the small, cartoonish voice that agreed, sitting on the side of the bed while Dean draped himself effortlessly—God, how could he look so cool even just sitting down—over the arm of the sofa.
“I, uh, if you’re going to come on the road with us I think we should talk,” he started. Your pulse started thumping in your chest and you hoped you weren’t blushing as you raised your eyebrows, signaling for him to continue. Dean cleared his throat and fiddled with his ring before continuing. “Listen, I don’t know how much Sam told you before we met, or whatever, but I swear I’m really not that bad.”
You’d been focusing so hard on not looking desperately infatuated that you weren’t able to keep the surprise off your face. “Bad? Of course not, you’ve been amazing. You and Sam saved my life. I’m so grateful,” you sputtered.
“Right,” Dean said, looking slightly confused. “Then I’m sorry if I did something maybe, because I don’t want you to think I’m some, like, animal—”
You cut him off. “Dean, you’ve been unbelievably sweet, way above and beyond what you needed to do. I’ve felt so safe the entire time I’ve been with you guys, and now you’re letting me stay with you for even longer; I don’t know how I can repay you, seriously.”
Dean looked up at you, his confusion tinged around the edges of his eyes with something wounded. “Then why are you so scared of me? You jump whenever I come in the room, you only look at Sam, you don’t even slouch when I’m around. I know I can’t do Sam’s puppy dog eyes act, but come on, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. You act like you’re waiting for me to sock you.”
You opened your mouth and closed it again, realizing you didn’t know what to say. It was hard enough to think with Dean’s eyelashes sweeping over his cheekbones like the most delicious metronome you’d ever seen, let alone process what he was saying. “I—Dean, I’m not scared of you,” you finally squeaked. His face didn’t change with the spark of recognition that would’ve allowed you to stop there with a soggy handful of dignity left, and you took a deep breath to steel yourself to continue. “God, this is so embarrassing,” you murmured under your breath. “Okay,” you started, hoping your voice sounded resolute and firm. “I mean, it’s just that you’re so cute, and cool, and self-assured, and I was worried I was going to do something weird or whatever, and now I guess I have anyway. I’m truly sorry if I made you uncomfortable, or especially feel like I wasn’t anything other than thankful for you and everything you’ve done. I’ll try to act like less of a total freak, I promise.”
You winced, waiting for the inevitable pity from this gorgeous man who must hear these proclamations from every woman he meets. Instead, Dean chuckled, which was maybe even worse. Pity you were ready for, could swallow and heal your ego from in private, but open ridicule was too much.
“Okay, well, that was fun. Sorry,” you said, smacking the tops of your legs and getting up from the bed. Dean grabbed one of your wrists as he pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his eyes.
“No, wait, sit down,” he said, smiling.
You obeyed, feeling a little lump of embarrassed tears forming in your throat but not seeing a way to extricate yourself from the room gracefully. Dean’s callused thumb swiped affectionately across the back of your hand.
“That is way better than what I thought,” he insisted. “Sam made a big deal about how I shouldn’t act like a creep to you, and it got in my head. I thought I was coming off as a total perv or something.”
His eyes locked you in like quicksand before you could answer, not pitying or withering at all as you’d thought, just soft and tender and the impossible green of a perfect matcha. “No, I’m the perv here,” you offered, attempting to make light of your shyness.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweetheart,” Dean purred. Heat swelled up into your cheeks, and Dean brought your hand to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to the back of your hand as he gazed up at you.
As you were desperately scrolling through the Rolodex in your mind for something witty to say, Sam opened the door to the motel room. You were equally and fiercely relieved and stymied as his hulking frame filled the doorway, grabbing the duffel he’d left on the tile. “You guys ready?” he asked, his smile bright and carefree.
Dean dropped your wrist and winked at you as he got up from the couch unhurriedly. “More than ready, Sammy. Let’s hit the road.”
-
Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!
Tags: @sams-sass, @akshi8278, @dream-believe-and-love
#dean x reader#dean winchester x reader#dean fanfiction#dean winchester#dean one shot#spn fic#spn oneshot#spn fanfiction#dean fluff#supernatural fluff#supernatural fanfiction#reader insert#dean x you#dean winchester x you#request#dean winchester oneshot#dean oneshot#supernatural
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Your Weeping(Your Need For His Touch)
Summary: When things go south on a mission, you have to confront more than just the sketchy town, cartoon villains, and one-bed hotel room you’re forced to share with Loki. You have to come to terms with not only the consequences of being captured, but also the God of Mischief’s feelings for you - Because for all that he might be an asshole, sometimes, he really does have a heart. Written for the Picture Is Worth A 1,000 Words 6k Follower Writing Challenge by @startrekkingaroundasgard
Pairing: Loki/(Female)Reader
Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and medical treatment, as well as discussions of the inevitable mindset around sacrificing oneself for the mission that I feel like being part of the Avengers would entail. Also swearing, because at its core, this story started out as a bit of a crack! fic.
Word Count: 7.8k.
A/N: So apparently when I have mental breakdowns they result in me writing crack-fic that takes a 180 veer into angst and fluff for absolutely no reason. For the sake of the crack-fic, in this timeline Loki was forced to help the Avengers take down bad guys directly after the end of the first Avengers movie, so… Is that a confusing plot hole I didn’t know how to account for except by making this AU? Maybe. Did I do it anyway?…. Yeah. This really was meant to be a crack-fic about Loki and the reader confessing their feelings set in the bizarre world of meme culture, I didn’t realize there were going to be feels in it until it was three in the morning and all of a sudden this happened. That being said, your girl went there, so enjoy!
“Oh, shit,” You say, as you take in the grimy hotel room. The walls all smeared in what looks like dried blood, the putrid smell of rotten eggs, a crack-screened television with a fine dusting of some suspiciously white powder. And, of course, “There’s one bed.”
“Hmm?” Asks Loki, turning towards you, briefly, from unpacking. He had dumped his suitcase(Magically plucked out of a chaotic liminal space) unceremoniously on the bed’s scratching, pilling coverlet without so much as a second glance at the rest of the room. And why do you need a suitcase, anyways?? You wonder. It isn’t like we’re planning to be here that long. In fact, you hoped with every fiber of your being that you’d be here for as little time as possible, because this town might actually be the sketchiest place you’ve ever seen in your life; no small feat, for a bona-fide member of S.H.I.E.L.D.
You’ve kicked alien ass on a mutated purple Mongolian death-worm three thousand feet over New York City. You’ve run reconnaissance to rescue debatably-magical items sequestered away in an ancient cave labyrinth plastered in paintings and untranslatable runes, gunfire and what could only be described as the baying of hellhounds in the near distance. You’ve fist-fought a gigantic hive-mind robot in a field of artificially sentient feral steel suits - You’ve even survived Tony’s parties.
Yet none of those scenarios hold a candle to this fucking town.
And Loki, the asshat, seems utterly, competently - no, maniacally - unfazed.
“There’s one bed,” You repeat, into the air.
“Ah,” Says Loki, straightening.
“You don’t see that problem with that?!”
“Should I?” He asks you, walking across the room in long, graceful strides to stand in front of you. He wears the same expression he always wears, amused and indifferent, but this time with the addition of a single, elegantly-arched eyebrow. You drop your head, refusing to meet his somewhat-curious gaze. It physically hurts, how attractive Loki is. Not for the first time, you curse whatever god decided that you and him would once again be mission partners - in this case, you belatedly realize, and choke back a thick laugh, said god is, unsurprisingly, Thor.
If you survive this, you make a note to beat his head in with Mjolnir. As it is, you are here in this room with Loki, with perhaps twenty IPP agents and a reckless poisoner dogging your every move, and there’s a high chance that you won’t live long enough to navigate whatever the hell sleeping with your crush-who-has-murdered-men. Ok, so ‘murdered men’ isn’t entirely accurate. More like ‘caused the murder of men inadvertently through his schemes’. It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, right now.
And what about Loki? He is still staring you down, like you’re some wind up toy moments away from going off. Funny, that, you think. If ever there were a time to not have a mental breakdown, it would be here, with him. You’ve crossed a lot of moral lines in your life, but you will be damned if you let Loki Laufeysson see you cry. Loki is graceful. Composed. Sarcastic. Lithe. Rolls his eyes at almost every statement that comes out of somebody’s mouth. But he is, also, beautiful. Shockingly comforting, in his own nihilistic way. You don’t know what it says about you that you find comfort in statements like, Try not to die, you know that I hate funerals. Part of you - most of you - doesn’t want to. But it gives you strength, somehow, to shrug off the day and ground your flailing mind in evading Loki’s calculated manipulation. I won’t show you my weakness, you think to yourself. It’s not enough, but it’s a start.
“No,” You tell him - too quickly, he’ll pick up on that - “You’re right, you shouldn’t. It’s fine. We have - a lot to deal with, is all.”
Loki nods, seemingly accepting your answer, but his eyes are still narrowed, watching you like he’s calling your bluff. You talk right past that look - have to, to keep yourself sane, to not think about the one bed that looms large over this entire conversation. It doesn’t even look like a comfortable bed.
“We have two days,” You say, to stop yourself thinking of it. And, also, to talk your way through your disarmingly disjointed thoughts. Loki nods. It would really help if you said something, you think. Swallow the thought, hot and thick, down your throat. What’s the point of a mission partner if you can’t even soundboard off them? “The Pink Cobra could strike anyone, anytime. The IPP is planning something in New York - “
“Isn’t everyone, these days, planning something in New York?”
He sounds regretful, and for half a second you want to offer him the reassurance that his very presence offers you. But you are sure he doesn’t know what he does to you - with his words, with the sidelong glances that you’ve felt linger on your form far too long in the heat of a fight. If you didn’t know any better, you would say Loki worries about you.
“We have to shut him down,” You say. Focus on the Pink Cobra, because honestly, that’s easier. “Find out where he manufactures. Not get poisoned,” You add, at the end.
“Yes,” Loki says, tone dripping with sarcasm, “We should certainly try not to get ourselves killed. Failing that, I suppose, we can at least request that no one in H.Y.D.R.A gets autopsy access.”
“Loki?” You ask. Rhetorically. “You’re not helping.”
He smirks at you, then. He knows.
“What do you propose that we do then?” He asks, taking a step towards you, getting so close that you can feel his hot breath. “About the Pink Cobra?”
“Find him.” You say, fumbling, blush rising high on your cheeks.
Tonight?
One bed?
You are screwed.
***
When you were a kid - think really little, Capri Sun pouches and still believing that true love wasn’t complicated - your father told you that every story needed a good supervillain. You aren’t sure if the Pink Cobra counts as a good supervillain, but he’s the least confusing one that you have to deal with - and, as far as villains go, a fine enough challenge to face. He’s like a madman out of some high fantasy novel, with dark eyes and a sable-sewn cloak and a penchant for poisoning. He is adept in all the arts of the woman’s murder; he has a keen grasp on the side-effects of arsenic and camphor and tansy and cyanide and strychnine. He’s been found to have dropped crystal phials filled with belladonna and ricin while fleeing a scene. If all else fails, he’s more than practiced with daggers.
In other words, he’s the kind of villain that none of you, with your flying suits and telekinesis and super-strength, are anywhere near prepared to waylay.
The plan, as far as team Avengers is concerned, is easy:
You and Loki. This town, where the webs of his manufacturing production and the few glimpses of information that Thor has totally legally excavated out of his captured minions has led to. Two days until some undefined grand attack bears down on the city you live in. Two days to find the Pink Cobra and kill him. The more time passes with no headway, the more you think that this is an impossible task, but you know what Tony would say. We have our best minds on it.
The thing is, you aren’t sure that that’s true. The minds that have been set to this task are you and the God of Lies. It’s hardly the best they could have come up with, considering your track records. Actually, you take that back - Loki was a good choice for this mission, because, not three hours after arriving in this hellhole of a city, he seems to have somehow developed the ability to read minds. More specifically, yours. And that could prove stunningly useful.
The scene, as it stands: Loki, sprawled across the lumpy bed, three pairs of crisp white shirts, a plaid scarf, and a full set of Asgardian battle armor neatly hung in the mothball-infested closet, flicking through channels on the grain, cracked television with an apathetic expression and one arm thrown haphazardly over bent leg. Propped up in such a way that he could jump or spin or parry at a moment’s notice, yet perfectly, devastatingly languid, leafing through Nick Fury’s dossier on the Pink Cobra. He looks at you like a god, you think, and then remember. He is one.
You, on the floor, because on top of all the other things this hotel doesn’t have, like two beds, there isn’t anything even resembling a desk, shifting through a glowing, holographed file archive from headquarters that barely runs on your severely outdated laptop. It’s a point of pride to you, keeping the laptop - not because it’s good, but because it’s survived five years of being an Avenger, which is something not even all the Avengers can claim to have done. You’re also fairly certain that Tony’s attempts to update the firmware had infested it with some sort of renegade virus. Elevated above your screen, the files are split into two groups, the sum total of everything that you know about both of the groups that are avidly trying to kill you.
There’s the wealth of information containing the Pink Cobra’s poisoning sprees, but those aren’t the files that interest you, and you know that Loki’s not much interested in them either. That honor falls to the fanatics at the IPP, the Imminently Predictable Psyops organization, which you know even less about than you do about the Pink Cobra, chief among which the fact that they need a new name. Imminently Predictable Psyops?, Tony had said, when you’d finally apprehended one of their proxies. What do they think this is? Some type of ARG?
What you’ve gleaned, from months worth of studying the network, is that they operate as a sort of cringe-oriented death cult intent on ‘reshaping the universe through meme agents’. They’d been on S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar for a long time - upwards of a year - before anyone at team base learned they existed - which, you can almost hear Loki saying, was a failure in the extreme. Currently, it was your job to obsessively worry over whether they were going to send ‘meme agents’ to bust through the door of your seedy hotel room and off you both. You hated - truly loathed - how casually Loki was taking it all.
He’s acting like nothing was wrong with this situation, when, in fact, you’re ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that this night will end up with one or both of you dead. It is, to say the least, disconcerting.
Kill switch, the holograph files read. Cross-referential Neil Cicierega acoustic weaponry. Your mind sees the words, but doesn’t comprehend them, and you run a hand up to rub at your bleary eyes with annoyance. You risk a glance upwards; on the bed, Loki scans page after page after page with disinterested nonchalance, punctuating the flipping over of each document with a noncommittal hum; as if to say, I understand you. As it to say, This could be worse. You try to slip into that mindset. Certainly, things could be worse.
Actually, though? Not really.
Because, for all the world, the holo-file in front of you just said ‘Pepe The Frog Chaos Banking Laser Initiative’.
“What the fuck does that even mean?!”
“Sorry?”
You whip your head around. Loki, raising an eyebrow. Damn that - perfect - eyebrow.
“Sorry,” You echo back at him, rubbing your eyes again, perversely glad for the break, even if it is this awkward. “I … said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“Marginally,” He tells you. “Yes.”
“Sorry,” You - well, it’s not a whine, not exactly. You’re tired, and there’s no way you’re going to sleep tonight, so you feel like your tone’s justified. “I didn’t mean to do that. I think I’m just - this is. Completely nonsensical.”
“Show me?” He asks, and you snort. He could totally just look up, but -
“Do you have a P.h.d in memes?” You ask him, and, before he can answer, “Because unless you have a P.h.d in memes, I don’t think you’ll be able to help.”
“You’d be surprised,” Loki says. Vaults over the bed with the speed and grace of a panther, filling the air with a cringing wheeze as the rusty springs bend underneath him, and landing in front of the holo-file, pushing you aside slightly to get a better view. When his fingers brush against your side, cool and firm, you flinch.
“Tired,” You offer, when he shoots you a momentarily concerned look. “Just. Need to sleep, later, I think.”
But Loki is already scanning the file, and when he looks up, not five seconds later, you want to hit somebody. Preferably, you think, him.
“I would assume,” Loki says, “That they’re using time travel in order to obtain and store monetary value by way of a Pepe-the-frog inspired laser array.”
“Oh,” You say. You blink once. Blink twice. Still have no idea what that means. “Right.”
“Do you not know your memes, love?” He asks you, smirking. And oh, if you don’t feel things.
“I don’t go on the internet, much,” You tell him. “Too busy, you know, trying not to get killed.”
Loki shrugs. Sidles away from the file. The groan and squeak of those springs tells you he’s back on the bed, giving you some well-needed space, but you can’t bring yourself to look.
“You can sleep,” He says, “If you want.”
“Ha!” You yelp/choke/embarrassingly bleat out into the room’s stale silence. Underneath the rotten eggs, you catch a whiff of bong-water. “No.”
“There’s a bed,” Loki says, cocking his head pointedly and patting the lumpy covers.
“Yeah, that’s - kind of the problem.”
“Why?” He asks you.
“You - really?”
“I was only asking,” Says Loki, re-focusing his attention on whichever Pink Cobra document’s next in the folder. “If you aren’t comfortable telling me - I merely thought, seeing as you were tired, you might take this opportunity to rest.”
“Yeah,” You tell him, “Of course, that’s - nice of you.”
It comes out stilted. Patently off. If he notices, he doesn’t say.
“Are you going to - um. Do you need help, with the rest? The ones I have seem kind of hopeless. I mean,” You say, when he doesn’t look up, “I don’t think that we have to worry about getting demolished by trans-dimensional Agarthian wormholes.”
“Of course not,”” Loki says, scoffing and incredulous, gaze, you are sure, on his page. “If they wanted to kill us, they’d send someone with a gun.”
In reality, it’s several someones.
***
“You jinxed it,” Is the first thing you tell him, when the men leave you. They’ve thrown you into a one-room warehouse, rickety shelves stacked with cartoonish tubs of green goop and mildewing boxes filled with grenades and machine guns and what appears, at second-glance, to be twelve-fingered latex gloves. You’re tied wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and your throat feels uncharacteristically parched. Fear, you tell yourself. Apprehension. “Can’t you just - use your seidr to magic us out of this?”
If you could see him - which you can’t, because you’ve been tied back to back - you’d swear that Loki was glaring.
“Do you - do you have a plan?” You ask, after a moment.
“I’m working on it,” He says.
“That’s all?” You say. “We were dragged out of our drug-dealer’s hotel room by a bunch of robed men with guns and the only thing you have to say is ‘I’m working on it?’”
“I’d get it done faster,” Says Loki, “If you wouldn’t interrupt me.”
“Ok,” You tell him, “No interrupting you. Got it. That’s - Alright.”
Unfortunately, not interrupting him is easier said than done, because without the sound of your voice, you are left to your thoughts.
The men had broken in nearly immediately after Loki’s glib, sardonic retort to your worries, shooting the glass out of the room’s already half-smashed-in window and kicking the door in simultaneously. A bit much, isn’t it?, Loki’d asked, and you had wanted to smack yourself on the forehead. Really not the time, you had hissed, but Loki hadn’t seemed to hear you. Do you do this with everyone they send you to assassinate?, he had asked, instead. The men had been dressed in long, billowing cloaks of bright red, embroidered with orange snakes framing a picture of Beaker from the muppets with early 2000’s emo hair. Chaotic meme agents, you had thought to yourself. So that’s what they’re supposed to look like.
You hadn’t picked up, until now, on the snakes.
“They’re working together,” You say, when you can’t stand the playback of Loki being disarmed after spinning and tossing his silver daggers at the men, of the men kneeing him in the balls and twisting your arms behind your back, holding a gun to your head to stop you from trying to fight. Waking up in the back of a van that smelled like microwaved fish. Being tossed like garbage onto the floor of the warehouse, painted in bruises and cuts from the small pieces of glass that had dug their way into your skin. “The IPP and the Pink Cobra.”
“Obviously,” Loki says. Sharply.
“Did Tony not -“
“Stark,” Loki practically growls, and, ok, you’re not losing it but that did make you jump in your skin, “Is an idiot. He wouldn’t know how to connect the dots if they were presented to him in a Buzzfeed Unsolved episode.”
“That’s - You had that on Asgard?” You ask him, momentarily distracted. You wish that you could see Loki’s face, and are very glad that you can’t.
“That isn’t the point,” Loki says.
“I know,” You tell him. You’re scared that your voice is trembling. Scared that he can tell, even though he’s not facing you, how badly your fingers are shaking. Scared that he knows your worst, biggest secret -
That, despite being an Avenger, you are anxious. That, despite him being Loki, despite him being here, and wonderfully, infuriatingly himself, he cannot help you, this time.
You are going to die, covered in cuts and abrasions, on the floor of a meme network’s headquarters, at three a.m in the morning. They are going to come in with umbrellas that shoot poison darts or the ex-presidents Point Break masks and mow you down, and Loki has no fucking plan. You feel the ropes tighten where they’re knotted, itchy and fierce, and you have to fight to keep yourself from whining in terror and nerves. Whining isn’t what Loki needs right now. Whining’s not going to save you.
What is going to save you, you try and remind yourself, is Loki. If you can shut up. If you can let him decipher what needs to be done. If he can figure out some way to do it before the blowtorch-wielding robed vigilantes or some disincarnate meme god comes back and draws their electronically-sharpened fingernails across your throat hard enough to split skin and sinew, send waves of blood down the front of your shirt like a river of sweet, thick red honey and toss your corpse in a ditch by a highway and -
“Y/N?” It is foggy, barely-heard. Posh. “Y/N!” Louder, this time. There are fingers on your wrist, bent backwards to grip you. Squeezing, insistent and there. “Breathe.”
Fuck, you think. You’d started to hyperventilate. To shake, with a full-body tremor that forecasts a great, unstoppable wave of sobbing panic. And Loki had noticed. “I need you to trust me,” He says. “Trust me to get us out of this. Can you do that for me, darling?”
He has never called you darling before, but God how you’ve wanted him to. You feel like you’re being stabbed in the heart - because there is no way he means it, no way that this is anything other than a desperate and cruel attempt to get you to calm down. Something that belies how obvious you are. How needy you are. How pathetic. And yet -
And yet, he doesn’t say it meanly. He speaks like he cares about you, and in the face of your impending death, you want to think Loki cares. You’d let him say anything, do anything to you, right now. More than that, though, more than any of that - as you think back to meeting him, to your blossoming late-night friendship and twitchy banter and the quiet moments you’ve shared with him in-between battles -
“I trust you, Loki,” You tell him, and feel your breath quiet in you. Feel yourself growing still and calm with the certainty that Loki will do as he’s said.
That you will survive this.
That -
“Good,” Loki says. Not relieved, but determined. Leaving you no room to argue.
“So what do we do?” You ask him.
“Nothing,” Says Loki, and you can hear his wide grin.
“Nothing?” You ask him, gawking.
“Nothing,” Says Loki. He gives your hand a tight squeeze.
And then the Pink Cobra walks in.
***
This will end badly, you think. It’s about the only thing that you can think, preoccupied as you are with -
It might be easier not to -
Fuck.
The thing is - and you really do try not to move, not to groan, not to scream - the thing is, you thought that when Loki said he had a plan, that said plan wouldn’t involve you being collateral damage for a LARP-er who’d most likely broken out of an asylum. I wish that we could be back in that shitty one-bed hotel room, you think to yourself, and - alright, not the best timing, but it rips a laugh out of you, spiraling and unhinged, before you feel the Pink Cobra, resplendent in coral cloak and villainous swagger, slug you one in the jaw. It hurts worse than you’d thought it would - you’ve never really gotten injured on missions, you’re usually good at talking yourself out of things, which is why the Avengers keep you around. You can speak any language, as long as you’ve heard it once, and your customary daily awkwardness can shift into persuasion like flicking a light-switch on.
Usually, though, you had an opportunity to speak, and weren’t rendered speechless by -
Loki, if you’re being honest. How much you want to kiss him. How much of an asshole he is. Trust me, he’d asked you. Can you do that for me? The Pink Cobra’s grip is sharp and bruising on your side; he’s slipped his fingers up your shirt and is pressing the point on your side that threatens to make your knees buckle, making bile rise up in your throat, driving you wild with the aching need to flee. He has one hand clasped over your mouth, now that you’ve quieted, and you can feel something - pain, and a pill - pressed snugly into his palm. He will force it down you, you know, if Loki so much as sighs wrong.
You’ll never trust him again.
You wish that you knew what the time was. If you end up dying at 4:20, you’re going to throw fists with somebody in hell.
You wish, also, for aspirin. Avengers training has left you woefully unprepared for the reality of getting punched in the face. You can already feel your jaw starting to swell, taste an egregious amount of blood. You’re pretty sure that the force of the blow knocked a tooth out.
What strikes fear into you, though - a fear somehow deeper than the absolutely bone-chilling, blood-curdling knowledge of what the Pink Cobra might do to you - is the look you’d seen on Loki’s face in the seconds after he’d grabbed you, before it fell into practiced, amused apathy. He’d gone white, and his eyes had blown wide. His fingers had spasmed with anger.
He’d looked as scared as you feel.
And you have no idea why.
It isn’t like you’re anyone special. Not any more than the rest of the team. Less so than most of them. You aren’t a god, like Loki and Thor are. You don’t have stealth-assassin training, like Bucky, or super-strength like Steve. You can’t seamlessly pilot mechanical suits over the New York skyline like Tony, or use a crossbow like Clint, or beat thirty people in single-hand combat like Nat, or change into a nitro-fueled rage machine like Bruce.
You can’t do anything, much.
Except, apparently, die.
You squeeze your eyes shut, not letting yourself look at him. You won’t let Loki’s disinterested face be the last thing that you see. It makes the Pink Cobra’s words all the worse, when he speaks. His voice is dark and sick and timbered, and you feel maggots crawling over your skin as he slots you closer to his body, tightening his already painful grip on you so that you can’t move even an inch away from his tensed, coiled muscles.
“So,” He says, “You are superheroes? How long did it take me, to apprehend you? Ah - three and a half hours? Tell your boss-man, do better next time.”
“I’ll pass it along,” Loki says. His voice sounds different. You can’t place why. Still won’t look.
“You won’t,” The Pink Cobra says. You can feel his shoulders rise, then fall. Feel him smirk. You love Loki’s smirk - secretly delight in drawing it from him, sometimes - but the Pink Cobra’s only fills you with yet more terror. You’ve pursed your lips tightly shut against the intrusion of his hand, but when Loki speaks he forces your bruised, bleeding jaw open and shoves the pill into your mouth. The pain of your injury tears through you like white lightning and you thrash, trying to escape. A keening sound claws its way out of you, fevered and anguished, and you feel your hands, still bound up in ropes, trying in vain to push off and away. The man behind you sighs, and then aims a swift kick at the back of your knees, which sends you down before you can so much as yelp. Your knees hit the floor, and he’s holding you by your hair now, twisting it so hard that you’re almost sure he’ll scalp you. He’s pulled something - too big to be be a knife, some kind of shortsword?! - Out from beneath his cloak, and is pressing it up against the column of your throat. You feel the weight of the capsule between your teeth heavily now, and realize what it means in the split-second before the Pink Cobra bends and whispers, Your choice; stale and rancid into the shell of your ear.
Next, he addresses Loki.
“You’ll be wanting to know what our plan is,” He says. Our, you think. We were right. “Hmm? I know how you people are. Always wanting to know. Tell me this, Mischief Man. What will I get, if I tell you? What price are you willing to pay?”
You know what this is. You know it like the ache in your heart when Loki brushes you off. Like the safety you feel in his arms. You open your eyes. Take in Loki’s face - he’s trying to hide, but you know, you know how he feels. You know what he’s going to choose.
And you know that you can’t let him choose it.
“You’ll let her go,” Loki asks, “If we let you leave here?”
“The thing could be managed.”
No, you think. No, Loki, don’t! Whatever the Pink Cobra’s going to do, whatever the IPP’s planning, knowing’s worth more than your life.
“One thing I want to know,” Loki says. He’s twirling a knife of his own, a slim silver number he keeps on him at all times, and you feel the blade on your own throat start to dig in - not enough to draw blood, but enough for you to feel it. The threat of it. The promise of it, and the coldness of the gleaming metal. “You and the IPP? How does it fit?”
“You want information from me?” The Pink Cobra asks. Lets his blade bite you, just barely, and the strength it takes for you not to scream is more strength then you’d known you possess.
“Yes,” Says Loki. “It’s not like I’m asking for much.”
He meets your gaze. You meet his. You hope that he cannot read it. His eyes are so worried, so desperate, you nearly break down.
“I suppose,” The Pink Cobra says, “That you’ve earned it. Getting here - getting this far - it must have been no easy task. Fine. There is no Imminently Predictable Psyops organization. They were a - what do you call it? Red herring? A scent of blood for the shark.”
“You fabricated them,” Loki says. “Why would you fabricate them?”
He is losing his composure, you can tell. You will never be ready for this. He will never be ready for this. You hope that he will forgive you, and you know that he never will, and you swallow the pill in your mouth.
“Because it was fun,” The Pink Cobra says.
And then your body knows pain.
***
“He didn’t think I would do it,” You say. Your mouth feels thick, clotted with blood and shock, and your body is one raw, gaping wound, but the giddy feeling of victory has begun to course through your veins. Pure, unfiltered adrenaline. You had waited for the moment of death to come, and it hadn’t. The pill is fake, your mind had screamed. But there’d been one thing left, that might work. You had breathed as slowly as you possibly could, forced every muscle of your scared, writhing body into single-minded limpness, rolled your eyes backwards into your head, drew one last breath in, and fallen. Twitched, for a few seconds, like a rag-doll. Then made yourself still.
Loki had slit the Pink Cobra ear to ear, beaten him within an inch of his life as he bled out, screaming like a man deranged. He’d left him a wet, bloody mess on the floor, and the blood had run down the not-quite-steady plane of it, pooling around you and mixing with the blood from your jaw, from the evening’s earlier glass cuts, from the deep, burning stab wound the Cobra had got on your arm.
You breathe, and your body knows pain.
You look at Loki, and your body knows pain.
He is shaking. Visibly shaking. His hands are clenched into fists at his side, and he looks as pale as bleached bones. His eyes are shot red - he had sobbed, when you fell, and a howl had torn through his body. You don’t know what to do, what it means, what the hell even to say to him. His cheeks are tear-stained, his breaths ragged.
You blink, and your body feels pain.
“We won,” You croak out. “Loki, we won.” It hurts worse than anything you’ve ever felt in your life. “I think he broke one of my ribs.”
You don’t mean to say that last part, but you do, and you are the one crying now, because it feels like he probably has, and you can barely even stay awake through this pain. It feels like the Hulk is pulling you limb from limb. Like all of those nightmares you’ve had where Loki decided to leave you - to go back to Asgard, and never speak to you again.
Stupid, you think. He won’t, again. Not after this.
Loki still hasn’t spoken. He’s looking at you, and his eyes are wild. Desperately, jaggedly roaming your body. His fists twitch with every new part of your body they land on.
“That bad, huh - Oh, fuck.”
And just like that, the tension leaves Loki’s body. The dam that had held him firmly in place is broken, and he’s running towards you with none of his usual grace. Dropping down by your side. He hoists you, and you hiss, and the tears won’t stop coming, so you bury your face in his shirt, nose pressed at the crisply ironed collar. Don’t care that it’s bleeding, because Loki’s here now. Holding you. Keeping you real. He’s got one hand stroking your hair and his touch feels right, nothing like the Pink Cobra’s, and he’s whispering: You brave, precious, idiot, how dare you, how dare you throw your life away like that?!
“It worked,” You exhale - it’s the most you can manage. You would laugh, if it wouldn’t shred you to pieces. Loki cradles you fiercely, hands grasping at the sweat-and-blood soaked fabric of your shirt, running over you as if he doesn’t believe you’re alive. “It - hurts,” You get out. Barely. “Loki, it - I can’t -“
“Don’t,” He tells you. His voice has gone brittle, choked with thorns. “Don’t talk. Don’t - Don’t ever do that again. Do you hear me? You will never do that again.”
If I need to, I will, you think. And you wonder if that’s why you’re here. Wonder if that’s why you’re strong. You wonder, and hurt, and believe. Feel the strength of him, clutching you like you’re the only thing in the world, taking in greedy lungfuls of your weeping, your need for his touch.
You can’t talk, anymore. It hurts too badly. But you surge, upwards, up into where he’s holding the back of your head, pressing your forehead into the dark, warm space under his jaw that smells like smoke and peppermint. Loki is taller than you are - you fit right into the curve of his neck, and his long curls curtain you in a bubble of warmth and content.
“Promise,” You say, but it comes out unintelligible, and Loki’s hands are running, so gently, over your skin.
“What was your plan?” You ask him, forcing it out of your body.
“Hush,” Loki says, “Later.”
There might not be any later, you think. Not like this.
***
In the hotel room, an ocean of scattered pages and ceiling mold and blessed privacy, you balance, cross-legged, on the bed. The wind blows wet and cold from an earlier rain through the busted out window. You have managed this out of sheer stubborn-ness, because it is the most that Loki allowed you to do. You’d passed out, twice, on the journey back - he had magicked you there, though it had taken a considerable amount of effort that you weren’t sure you really deserved - and had immediately propped you up on the pillows and stooped to ruffle through his suitcase, emerging not long after with binding tape, cat-gut thread, and a needle so sharp you could feel it slicing your flesh. You had opened your mouth to protest, but Loki had silenced you with a glare that could fell Director Fury. So you had gone quiet, and caved, letting him kneel over you on the distinctly lumpy mattress and begin inspecting your wounds. It had taken a few tries and a Please to convince him to let you sit on your own, and it hurt much more than the manner in which he’d arranged you. You were starting to, slightly, regret it.
“You don’t have to do this,” You say, pulling it from bleeding lips. He shushes you with a harsh, stern tut. “You’re not my mother,” You tell him.
“You could have died,” Loki says. There’s a snarling undercurrent to it that you can’t even start dissecting. “What were you thinking?” He asks. It is easier, though still painful, for you to answer him - he had used nearly half of his Thor-limited magic reserve to perform a basic stasis spell on your injuries, but the spell wouldn’t last forever. You’ll need stitches, he’d said, choking it out like he was the hurt one when he’d seen the number the Cobra’s blade had done to your arm.
“I’ve had worse,” You say, grinning weakly.
“Are you lying to me?” He asks you, with the tone of someone who’s distinctly not in the mood for joking.
“I thought,” You say. Steel yourself. “I thought you weren’t going to do what needed to be done. So I - Did it myself.”
“What needed to be done.” Loki says, enunciating every word.
“We couldn’t let him walk away,” You say, meeting his eyes. Emerald, clouded with fury. You don’t let yourself flinch from that anger. You don’t let yourself run from your choice. “You know what he would have done.”
“I don’t,” Loki says. “I know nothing. I know - I know that you think that your life means so little I wouldn’t care if you were gone. That I could - Live, without you.”
That’s… different.
“And I know,” Loki continues, “That I told you to trust me, and I meant it.”
“I do,” You say. There is no hesitation. “I trust you - Loki. Of course I trust you. It’s not - it wasn’t -“
“Stop talking,” He snaps. Gentles, when you jerk your head away, blink back a fresh wave of tears. “You need rest,” He says. “And - This is. This is going to hurt.”
You nod.
“Best get it over with, then.”
“You should keep your eyes closed,” He says.
“No! I want - I need to look.” You bring your eyes up to your arm, which he’s settled onto bed’s chewed, scratchy quilt without you realizing, but Loki tilts your head up with a barely-there graze of his fingers, achingly gentle to avoid aggravating your swollen jaw. He holds your gaze for a long time. Doesn’t look mad, anymore.
“Are you sure?” He asks you. Like all of this could be over with, if you wanted.
“How bad it could it be?” You ask back.
The injury is horrendous. You’d thought - honest-to-God, you’d thought the pain was terrible, but you weren’t ready for what your arm has become. The line of the wound runs in a craggy jigsaw from just under your shoulder to the tip of your elbow. Small wonder you can’t move it, can barely think through it at all.
“Y/N?” Loki asks, “Are you -“
“Fine,” You say. Blink, and your body knows pain. Try not to let how scared you are show, when you look back up at Loki. The Pink Cobra’s dead. You shouldn’t be scared, anymore. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?”
Loki sighs. Long and low and sad.
“Will I have to - “
“Bite,” Loki says, and shoves something - the sleeve of his shirt, crusted in blood which you realize, sickeningly, is yours - into your mouth. “It’ll help.”
It doesn’t, but he holds your hand through it, hushing you through the pain with furrowed eyebrows, thread and needle flying deftly through skin, air, skin again. His fingers move precisely, deliberate, quick, and when, on one stitch, you audibly whimper, he pauses to lean down and press a soft, utterly unexpected kiss to your hairline. You are unable to fully express how much it means to you, so you do the next best thing and kiss him yourself, pressing him back once he’s finished the last of his stitches and breathing all the the words you can’t say into him. You press every fear and gratitude and lingering nerve into the warmth of his lips, wending your fingers through his dark hair despite the pangs of agony still thrumming through every inch of your body. Your face hurts, but the kiss is all you’ve ever needed and more, and Loki is so, so gentle with you, pulling away with creased eyebrows and a look of genuine concern.
“I wanted to,” You tell him, mustering all of your strength. “It didn’t hurt.”
“Stop,” He tells you, voice cracking, “Stop lying.”
“I’m not,” You say. “I wanted to, Loki, I did.”
“And you wanted to -“
“No.” You are vehement about it, for a broken-ribbed, broken-jawed, freshly-stitched person coming off the high of his teeth and his tongue. “Not that, I swear, never that.”
“Why did you do it, then?” Loki asks. He has steepled his fingers under his chin, and his narrowed eyes pierce through you to the soul. You couldn’t lie to this man, you think, if your life depended on it.
You know that you have to tell him, this time. Really tell him. You don’t.
“”Why didn’t you use your magic?”
“You know why,” He says, and you do. You’d remembered it as the white pill turned to white powder in your gums, as the Pink Cobra’s knife had carved its way into your flesh. Thor had put a set limit on it, as condition of Loki’s release - Proof, he had said, We can trust you. Loki had thought to save it for later, that you wouldn’t need him right then. He had thought you’d talk them out, to safety.
You’d failed him.
“You didn’t,” He tells you, voice raw. He goes to grip your chin, to force you to listen to him, but with a glance and ill-concealed wince at your purpled jaw he thinks better of it. “You think that you failed me? You let yourself be - be beaten and stabbed - just so people you’ve never met in your life wouldn’t die, and you call that a failure?” He runs a hand through his hair. Bites back a snarl. Drops your arm. “I need you to listen to me,” Loki says, “Very, very carefully. You’re going to tell me why now, love. And then we’re going to fix it.”
You raise an eyebrow. Worse than he does, you’re aware.
“Sleep,” He amends, with a pointed look at the bed underneath you, “And then we’re going to fix it.”
“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, “And I feel like I just got run over by a truck.”
Loki huffs, a puff of warm air that you feel, from how close he still is. A grin twitches at the edge of his lips. It sets off sparks inside you.
“I thought -“ You say. Shake your head, and restart. “You would have let the Pink Cobra attack. You would have let him just walk away, and I couldn’t just - let that happen.”
“Enlightening.”
“No,” You tell him, “I mean it. I couldn’t - I’m not - I’m not worth more than anyone else. We’re the Avengers. It’s our job to save people, Loki.”
He’s regarding you carefully, eyes still narrowed, all vestiges of softness gone from his face. When he opens his mouth, it’s to close it. Form thoughts. Discard them. Exhale.
“My mother once told me,” He finally says, “That I would never know what it meant to be human until I found the person who made me want to bleed the world dry. Take all of its’ suffering, all of its’ cruelty, and leech it out of the very fabric of time, just to keep that person from anguish, from harm.”
“I don’t -“
He holds a hand up. You still.
“She never said they would infuriate me,” Loki says. “She never said they would make me laugh, or smile, or question my sanity on a regular basis. She never said that they’d try and get themselves killed, and that I’d have to watch, and that I would feel like my heart was being ripped from my body and torn to a bloody pulp; that I would make the sky rain blood and fire at the sight of it alone. But she was right about one thing - Many things, but also this. She told me that it wouldn’t matter. That I would - love you - anyway.”
“You don’t,” You say, not daring to hope. It’s an automatic retort.
“Foolish girl,” Loki chides, and you blink back fresh, stinging tears. How long have you wanted to hear Loki say that to you? How many sneaky looks have you stolen in the heat of your missions, just to see his smart mind and tricky magic at work? How many nights have you sat up together, sequestered from your insomnia in a bubble of hard-earned banter and peppermint tea, fighting the tight, coiling urge to push aside your steaming mugs and pull him into your needing?
He could not - he can’t - feel the same.
“Loki,” You say, stumbling over the words, “You can’t - This is - This is me we’re talking about.”
“Is there anyone else here,” Loki asks you, “That I could be talking about?” He seems nonchalant, now, as if this - this cruel fucking joke, when you already feel you’re on fire - is merely a fact of his life. “We’re going to leave this excuse of a town, and get you - proper care. Fix it. Because I will not, on my honor, watch you suffer in pain. But first, you’re going to sleep.”
“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, and feel your resolve as it shatters. You cling to the statement like it’s the last remnant of the girl you were and the woman that you’ll never be, “And the shower doesn’t work. And I’m covered in blood.”
But when you look at Loki, his eyes twinkle, mischievous.
“Will you stay with me?,” You ask him, biting your lip.
“You astound me,” He tells you, and rolls his eyes, and it feels - it feels normal. Good. A tender heat unfurls in your heart like orchid petals in the sun, numbing the persistent ache in your ribcage. “To even think that I would do anything else.”
Later, you will ask him why. Why do you love me?, you will ask, and Loki will hum, low in his throat, curled around you just like this first night; your back pressed into his chest, your legs tangled up hopelessly, his fingers tracing nonsense patterns onto your spine in the dawn-light’s syrupy gold. Because, he will tell you, trailing a line of soft kisses up the scar on your arm - an ugly thing, but it functions, mostly, and only ever seems to hurt on the days when he isn’t there - I was given no choice.
But if you’d had one?”, You will ask, and spin around, propping yourself on your elbow.
You tempt me, He’ll tell you, baring his sharp teeth. Shouldn’t you know better than that?
You will lie there, next to each other, not needing a single word. Because you will know. Because he will have told you, a thousand times, a thousand ways, exactly how he feels about you.
Tonight, though, isn’t that night. It takes a moment to get settled in his hold, and the rain spits and drums against what glass remains in your window, slicking the carpet with dark, greasy splotches. It figures, you think, that even the rain in this city has the smell and the texture of oil. You feel like a bag of bones, stretched too thin. But safe, in his arms, in a way that you’ve never felt, before now. Loki is with you, you realize. Wrapped around you like a traveler’s cloak, the comforting weight of a slim, balanced blade at your side in a fight. He is cool, around your afraid. Warm, where his clever fingers whine and needle their way through your skin to your heart.
“I hate you,” You tell him, “You know that?”
Loki laughs, a deep, rumbling purr.
“Go to sleep.”
#picture1000wordswc#pic 4#loki/reader#female reader#crack#so much crack#just a lot of references to bad memes and cringe movies that turns into all the angst#because for some reason i’m like this#guess which character from another popular franchise i based my crack villain off#soundtrack to this was 800 percent mouth moods#in all seriousness though huge congrats to @startrekkingaroundasgard#you deserve all the love#unfortunately i showed my love by writing insane crack fic but HEY#loki is in it so hopefully that makes up for the c r i n g e
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Wipeout
Day 23, Post #1 by @adenei
Title: Wipeout
Author: adenei
Pairing: Dean & Seamus BrOTP
Prompt: Brother from another Mother
Rating: T
TW: implied injuries from silly game show stunts, language
************
“You sure about this, mate?” Seamus is looking at the gigantic, slick obstacle course laid out in front of them.
Cushy gears are spinning every which way in the distance, while platforms are sprayed with foam and soap, as if the challenge of getting to the other side isn’t already made harder by the random blocks that push out when you least expect it. There’s no way they will ever make it across without falling into the water… or is that the secret point to the competition?
Seamus thinks about how he can finagle getting through the course by using discrete traces of magic, but he knows it’s implausible without carrying his wand in his hand.
Dean laughs, and Seamus can’t tell if there’s a nervous tint in it or not. “Yeah, mate. It can’t be that bad, right?”
Just as he says it, though, their attention is pulled back to the course, where a competitor takes a leap to the next platform, and only half her body makes it. Her head hits the platform as her torso crashes into the side, and the embedded springs send her body flying backwards as she tumbles to the water like a lifeless puppet.
“Bloody buggering hell, is she even alive?” Seamus mutters to Dean with wide eyes.
“Yeah, I reckon she’s fine. People wouldn’t sign up for this if they were risking death. The prize isn’t that significant. Plus, it makes for a good laugh on the telly.”
“Excuse me, we just need you to sign these waivers before you take your turn on the course,” an attendant approaches them with a clipboard and pen. He points to the ‘x’ where they need to sign as Seamus glares at him, becoming more and more skeptical about the course they are about to encounter.
“Waivers?”
“Just protocol,” Dean scribbles his name and holds out the pen for Seamus. “It’s not like anyone’s actually died from this.”
It’s not that Seamus is cautious when it comes to dangerous activities. Hell, he has a knack for pyrotechnics and blowing things up. But he was drunk when Dean suggested they apply for the popular game show. He’s pretty sure they only got the call because they’d filled out the applications in their drunken state, which probably made them better candidates for TV personalities.
Seamus repeats the mantra of ‘you only live once’ as he grabs the pen from Dean and signs under his name.
Let’s do this.
The pair pay close attention as other teams work their way through the first course. No one has made it to the end without falling in the water at least once, and as he’s hyping himself up, Seamus is confident he can do this without getting wet.
“Okay, we’ve got this. I think it’s best if we just keep moving, that way, those stupid pieces can’t get us since it looks like there’s no rhyme or reason to when they punch out.”
“Those giant balls are going to be the toughest, I think,” Dean observes as Seamus sniggers.
“Finnigan and Thomas, you’re up!” a man holding up a megaphone calls.
They’ve already given their interviews, so now it’s time to ascend to the top of the platform, where Dean will go first and Seamus will follow.
“Remember, we just have to make the top twelve to move on,” Dean reminds him.
“Easier than a niffler stealing gold.”
Dean takes the starting platform first, as Seamus waits on the step for further direction. When the horn sounds, Dean disappears from sight as he slides down the human pinball course. Seamus watches on the big screen that’s filming Dean’s run, and it looks smooth until his friend’s side bashes into one of the poles. He recovers quickly and finishes his descent, scrambling to his feet to run up to the knockout platform.
A wall of red boxing gloves punch out at random times, and Dean starts out strong, dodging the gloves as if he were dodging bludgers during a quidditch match. One catches his foot as he leaps for the platform, and Seamus sucks in a sharp inhale, thinking Dean’s about to fall into the water. Dean manages to grasp onto the platform, saving himself from an imminent fall and consequential deduction.
Next up are the big red bouncy balls, and Seamus bites his knuckles in anticipation. If either of them is going to fuck up, it’s right here. Dean wastes no time getting a running start before he takes a gigantic leap. His right foot hits the center of the first ball, and he springs off it to the second. The run is flawless as his left foot vaults him off the second, but when his right foot lands on the third ball, he’s off-center, causing his balance to shift, and he slips.
Seamus grinds his teeth as he watches Dean’s body hit the ball and propels forward. Somehow, Dean manages to land on the fourth ball, and he’s grasping at the smooth surface.
“Use your feet, use your feet!” Seamus shouts to anyone who’s listening.
If Dean had only kicked his legs back, he could have caught himself and saved the run, but instead, his body bounces off the fourth ball, and Seamus watches as he tumbles to the water, causing a giant splash as he lands in starfish formation on his back.
That’s gonna hurt tomorrow.
They take the one-minute deduction that’s applied to any competitor who falls in the water, and Seamus gets ready for his run. As soon as the horn sounds, he’s unaware of what’s happening. One second he’s standing, and the next, he’s luging down a slick mat, giant red pillars blocking his path no matter how he twists his body. His only thought is to keep his legs together, so he doesn’t get nutted by any of the obstacles. He has no sense of time as he scrambles to his feet and ascends to the punching platform, tearing across the thin beam as fast as his feet will let him.
Three-quarters of the way through, he manages to pump the brakes before a high glove takes out his head, but that doesn’t stop another from hitting him square in the chest with two steps to the platform. With adrenaline pumping through his veins, Seamus does the only thing he can think of, his flailing arms reach out and somehow grab onto another protruding glove as the force of his body swings around. His feet hit the platform, and he lets go, collapsing onto the mat.
Cheers are coming from the stands at his miraculous save, which spur him on. Even though he feels like he’s been run over by the Hogwarts Express, he stands and shakes his arms out, staring down the red balls that took Dean out minutes ago. He follows in his best friend’s footsteps, getting a running start. The obstacle is completed in a flash; the only thing Seamus remembers is the feeling of flying without a broom and hitting the massive balls less than a second apart. He can’t believe he made it!
Now, it’s just the rope swing. Seamus is sure he can hear Dean screaming his head off as he grabs the rope and gains momentum with another running start. His hands slide down and burn from the rope as he’s flying in the air, but Seamus holds on for dear life, only letting go once both feet have touched down. He slams his hand down on the red buzzer before throwing his arms up, whooping in victory.
Seamus bends over, hands on his knees as he catches his breath before he’s ushered down the steps and onto the lawn where a correspondent is waiting. He barely makes it off the stairs when Dean barrels into him, tackling him to the ground in a bear hug.
“Wow, what a bromance we have here, folks!” Seamus can hear the correspondent say to the crowd, which cheers again.
The excitement is short-lived, though, because less than an hour later, they find themselves having to choose who will play on the Sweeper Crusher.
“You crushed the first round. You should do it,” Dean insists.
“No, mate, I think it should be you. Your balance is better than mine. Plus, you're way better at spotting things out of the corner of your eye.”
“But—”
“You made the team in sixth year, not me. It’s gotta be you, mate.”
It’s true. Seamus knows his balance is shit, and Dean poses the better shot of the two, and ultimately he agrees. Before he ascends the platform, they hug, and Seamus pats him on the back.
“You’ve got this mate, go kick some arse!”
As Dean takes his position on the small circular platform, Seamus watches the event unfurl. Dean is methodical in his wait to jump onto the rotating beam, and he has to be because his position just so happens to be where the bars overlap with the beam, making it ten times as hard to be successful. Annoyance bubbles up in Seamus at the unfairness of his partner’s position, but there’s nothing they can do.
In the end, Dean takes a leap, but it’s not enough to save him as the crusher bar sweeps him right off the beam and into the water. Seamus is upset, of course, but they drunkenly signed up for the game show for fun, and deep down, he never expected to win. He wouldn’t switch the experience for anything else in the world and would absolutely do it again if given the chance.
Dean climbs out of the water, head hanging low as he approaches.
“I’m sorry, mate.”
“Don’t be! If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t even be here! And it was bloody brilliant!” Dean grins as Seamus holds out his hand. They clap hands and pull the other in for a bro hug and pat on the back.
As they are ushered toward the competitor’s tent, Seamus asks the all-important question. “I could get used to being on the muggle telly. So, what game show should we sign up for next?”
#chudleycanonficfest2021#HP fest#hp canon pairings#canon fest platonic#submission#dean & seamus#deamus brotp#tw: minor injuries#tw: bad language
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to my youth ⤖ lee felix
❖ genre : summer au; high school au; fluff
❖ word count : 11,6k.
❖ warning : explicit language, slow burn
❖ summary : it is official that life hates you because not only was your first few days of summer ruined by a stupid field trip, but things also got somewhat freaky… whatever kind of ‘freaky’ you’re thinking about.
❖ note : i know i said i’m ‘experimenting’ with new stuff but guess who’s back with another mediocre, not-that-well-written mess of a domestic au; please (kindly) yell at me to dabble into a new genre after bearing through this fic- happy reading!
one.
The echoes of your summer days remain as flowers immune to the winter chill, they say.
You’re not entirely sure who even fathomed their time and effort to come up with that statement but from your point of view, those flowers would most likely have either died out from the summer heat or withered horrendously because of the arbitrary showers of rain. Or you’re the only one who doesn’t have the luxury to see life through a rose-colored lens.
Because the first thing that comes to mind for you is the bucket of ice-cream and a YouTube OG that you’ve ceased to finish since finals started two weeks ago. The bell rings, pens down, everyone pours out of the classroom after handing in their exam papers. No one really bothers to check up on each other’s answers anymore; the last subject for today was AP Psych and you don’t know about them but you honestly can’t care any less thereafter cramming the entirety of five chapters.
Sprinting down the staircase, you easily spot Felix amongst the midst of drowsy high school students for the bright color of his hair. He truly believes that if he slaps enough hair essence and coconut oil on his head four times a week, his hair won’t feel like straws when he changes it every other three weeks. But it’s only a matter of time before balding catches up to him, he’ll learn eventually.
“Please don’t tell me that you left your keys in class,” you sigh upon the sight of him fumbling with his folders and textbooks while trying to open his locker in vain. Just thinking about walking all the way back to the third floor makes you want to use your backpack as a pillow and take a nice nap in the middle of the hallway.
“Gee, Y/N,” Felix makes a face to not show the sense of relief washing over him when he locks eyes with you. “Who do you take me as? A clumsy person?”
“No, just a dumbass.” You coldly snatch a slipping book from his arms before turning to twist the disc in the combination of your birthday until the lock clicks, shaking the shackle off to swing his locker open. It’s a silent tradition that you both set each other’s birthday as your locker’s combination since elementary school; it started out as a stupid joke at first but neither of you really bothered to change it.
“Why the hell would you put your keys in the locker?” you widen your eyes in disbelief as he grabs the bright yellow Spongebob plushie to collect his keys with a shit-eating grin
“My alarm didn’t go off today, so I was running a little late,” he defends himself while dumping everything out of his backpack, hugging an empty water bottle to his side.
You throw a wave at a very tired Hyunjin walking side by side with Seungmin on his right and Jisung skipping happily towards your direction. Seungmin looks exceptionally moody today, you pray he didn’t mess up an easy question to take it out on all of you later in the car. “Bet you were staying up late to play Overwatch with Chan.”
Felix manages to grin stiffly at your comment, turning on his heels and trudges onto the school’s parking lot. “Fine, walk home.”
“Hey, you forgot to lock this!” you pull his steps into a halt by making a grab for his hand, utterly oblivious at how his cheeks flare up with a bright shade of red at your touch. Or out of embarrassment. Whatever, same thing.
Felix might be a better driver than you, but he’d be fired ten seconds into the job of a babysitter.
With that being said, when Jeongin decides it’s a good idea to cheer a passive-aggressive, post-exams Seungmin up with a carton of strawberry milk and then proceeds to get lost in his own school, the very same school he’s been attending for who knows how long, you’re the one who manually pulls his ass back into Mrs. Lee’s Jeep within ten minutes.
And Seungmin has already fallen asleep by the time Jeongin’s back, so now he’s the passive-aggressive one while sipping on the milk bitterly. Either way, this is why you headcount although there are only six of you after Changbin starts getting busy with his college applications.
“What took you so long?” Jisung looks up from his phone the moment you climb into the passenger’s seat, clicking in your seatbelt (drive safe, kids).
You immediately feel the need to snap a photo of Jeongin accidentally breaking the cafeteria’s door with the staff running towards him in a panic. They’re more scared for his life than the door itself and that’s… sweet to say the least but with the way that the embarrassed boy is glaring at you through the rear-view mirror, you decide to keep your lips sealed.
“It’s getting dark so all hallways start to look the same, you genius.”
Jisung momentarily sticks his tongue out at you. “God, you’re so rude to me. You’d never talk to Felix like that.”
“Because,” you drawl. “Lix is a pure-hearted angel descended from the realms of Heaven. Whereas, even Lucifer would see you as an eyesore in hell.”
“See! You’re doing it again!” Jisung points a finger at you in accusation, jumping up and down in his seat but no one really cares. It’s not like you’re speaking any false facts. “Stop bullying me!”
Seungmin shifts his body a little, nose scrunched up at the noises that wake him right up. “Jisung,” he warns his friend without opening his eyes. “Sit the fuck down, you have five seconds.”
Felix smirks when Jisung immediately cowers, slumping and leaning himself against Hyunjin in utter defeat. He learned not to mess with Seungmin after throwing a wallet at him on impulse. “Jealous much, Han?”
“Nah, she’s all yours bro,” Jisung waves it off tiredly; bickering and making fun of Felix’s gigantic crush on you is too much for his brain to process today. He can really use a long, solid twelve-hour summer hibernation after getting home.
The statement prompts Felix to look over at you when there’s a red light—the same exact moment as you stop staring at the bakery from across the road to lock eyes with him. There’s a little spark igniting at the pit of his stomach, stirring up butterflies inside his rib cage. But he snaps out of it after seeing you raise a brow at him, implying a silent ‘what?’ before turning away again. Felix has always been the type to stare so you don’t bother to think about it too much.
The problem is: he only stares at you that way.
A shade of coral creeps its way up to his cheeks, his gaze averting back on the roads when the light turns green. As Felix tries to calm the erratic tempo of his heartbeat, he also thinks about how much time he’d have left to confess before high school is over and everyone takes their own different paths. Then again, the future is far too blurry for him to make out anything and the thought of changes petrifies him a bit too much.
Felix wishes to hold your hand until the very end but he’s a little scared...because what if you never wanted to be with him in the first place?
two.
Your brother has one talent, and that’s his ability to irritate the living daylight out of you even when he’s practically on the other side of the planet.
Minho (un)fortunately finished his finals with flying colors, and inevitably, you’re the first victim to receive a series of texts that consisted of nothing but self-indulgent, excessive bragging. Basically, he’s allowed to do whatever slash go wherever for a good three weeks before his summer internship begins, dragging his dumb ass back to hell—where he rightfully belongs.
He’s probably chomping on a terribly unhealthy amount of pizza, pretzels, and any type of New York street food that you can name from the top of your head. It’s not like he’s paying for them anyway since Chan doesn’t allow people to touch their wallets if they happen to eat out with him.
Your phone vibrates obnoxiously on your desk, the judder slightly muffled because it’s lying on top of your wide-open psych textbook. You haven’t bothered with cleaning up yet; finals only ended yesterday and you decide that you won’t touch anything until the disarray starts to scrape against your nerves.
Side note: you’ve specifically told everyone not to call you three consecutive days after finals because yes, you’re that much of a loner, and yes, your stamina level for tolerating human interaction is awfully low.
Second side note: no one ever listens.
“Good morning, this is Lee Minho’s personal bullshit pail,” you mumble after your thumb swipes against the screen to pick up, your limbs curled up on the floor. “How can I possibly help you today?” Your morning voice isn’t necessarily threatening but rather scary; according to what Minho claimed, it sounds identical to that creepy girl from The Grudge so he groans aloud, his voice suddenly going out of focus on the other line from pulling his phone away.
“Jesus Christ are you still in your hermit phase after finals?” he questions callously, sounding not at all pleased with the way you greeted him. “Where’s mom and dad? Usually, they would have slammed your ass by now for staying inside like a vampire.”
“Don’t be insufferable, it’s only like…” you trail off while bending forward to take a good look at the little Sumiko Gurashi alarm on your bookshelf that Felix gave you during middle school. “Nine thirty-something and they’re at the park to exercise, duh- why do you care?”
Your brother almost sings on the phone, “Because you’re my little baby sister-” And this prompts you to pull the device away for the sake of your poor ear. It doesn’t help when you’re already surrounded by a group full of obnoxiously loud individuals on a daily basis. Not trying to call anyone out but Han Jisung is at the top of the list, his name in bold, capital letters being circled and underlined multiple times with a red marker.
“Who do I gotta kill to sleep in on a dreadful Sunday morning as any normal, cranky, antisocial high school student would?” you deadpan and rub the bridge of your nose dreadfully.
“I don’t know, go murder Jisung or something.” Honestly, that’s tempting… but no.
You can physically see the smug smile on his face right now, simpering in delight at your imminent misery. He knows goddamn well about your relationship with sleeping schedules and that’s the perfect excuse for him to ruin those little specks of time when your brain cells are getting an actual break.
These are also the times when you wish phones don’t fucking exist.
“By the way, are you gonna go on the field trip tomorrow?”
This question wakes you up almost completely because your eyes are now wide as a fish’s out of water, your hand automatically putting him on speaker before digging through the folders inside your backpack. What field trip? No one said anything about a field trip. And who thought it’s a good idea to force some worn-out, post-exams, sleep-deprived students into a field trip right after finals?
Minho hums coyly when the only response he’s getting is the rustling sound from your backpack, “Hmm, see what I meant there, little sis? Oh, the downside of living under a rock at its finest.” He doesn’t have to be here for you to fully picture the way that his lips curl up, dark brows wiggling whenever he’s right about something. Your brother wins most of the time against other people but overtaking you is an entirely different story.
“Oh screw off and go buy yourself a sense of humor.”
“Don’t be so mopey, isn’t Felix gonna be there?”
“What does Felix have to do with this?” you grit after managing to pull out a piece of paper from the very back, buried under countless of your essays. And it reads ‘field trip’ in caps at the top with tomorrow’s date right beneath. The trip lasts for three days, you’re going camping with the grizzly bears for three days—a total nightmare, basically.
“Pfft, you’re actually dense for someone with a sparkly report card,” he sneers. “That kid has been crushing on you since elementary school. Are the signals that fucked up?”
“You mean when I accidentally spilled orange juice over his head? Sure, bet that’s why he’s so head over heels for me,” you snicker, unfazed by these kinds of statements. Minho only knows Felix because he was the president of your school's dance club and you fully believe that your brother is simply trying to mess with your malfunctioning, cranky mindset.
“I fucking beg to differ, he always stares at you like you’re the love of his life, even when you stupidly poked yourself with a needle,” Minho announces as if he’s a love expert, tsk, amateur. “He might just confess during the trip, who knows? Campfire flickering. Sharing the same s’mores. Surrounded by nature. That sounds romantically ideal to me for a confession.”
He’s visioning everything like a terrible cliché film where two high schoolers stubbornly deny their feelings for each other until they start noticing how cute the other person is while magically being forced to be alone together. The worst kind of high school movie—which is also almost every high school movie. And you best believe that you’d a hundred percent kick your brother’s ass off that director’s chair because people live and breathe for this kind of overused entertainment. Tragic.
“Alright, fuck this, I’m out-“
“Wait!” Minho exclaims out of nowhere, almost blowing up your eardrums. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
You swear you’re rolling your eyes so hard, they’re about to fall out of their respective sockets. “Well, obviously,” you put the piece of paper down with a sigh, contemplating ways to minimize the amount of socializing in the upcoming three days. “Haven’t you bothered me enough? No?”
“You can’t leave me like this,” he whines in an annoyingly high-pitched voice that sends chills down your spine.
“You need me, we’re connected.”
He sounds like a whack version of Minnie Mouse for a second there, the kind of plushie that looks cute but with disturbingly creepy voice audio; no parents would let their children go near that aisle.
You yawn as if there’s no tomorrow, stretching your limbs tiredly. “What I need is for you to shut the fuck up and leave me alone so I can go on my merry way to pick up snacks for this stupid field trip,” you utter lifelessly.
“You hurt my feelings,” Minho pretends to clutch onto his chest and lets out a dramatic gasp, his voice doused in pure sarcasm. “What a heartbreaker, Y/N.” Said the one who always keeps his apathetic front up like a fortress’ wall and tosses every single love letter on Valentine’s Day into the recycling bin, handing the chocolate out to his classmates like he’s giving leftover vegetables to his least favorite relatives.
“Oh, I can tell,” you reply with fake enthusiasm and mock empathy. “You know how I can tell?”
“Do not finish th-”
“Cause we’re connected.” With that you hang up, slamming your phone harshly onto the surface of your textbook.
three.
You might love your room a little too much, it’s getting somewhat unhealthy.
It was furnished with a rather meager budget after your family moved out of your hometown when you stepped into elementary school. Things stay the same, well, most of it as time passes by you unknowingly. Your sad bookcase used to exist for one sole purpose—carrying countless books and plushies has now been upgraded with too many polaroids of your dumb group of friends, a neatly framed photo of Class of 2020 and two trophies that don’t even belong to you since Minho ran out of space as he kept participating in random dance competitions.
The morning beams find their way through your white curtains and stain your walls with patches of yellow, eventually bugging your vision until you successfully convince yourself to either 1) wake up and get ready for school or 2) lazily stride across your room to shut the blinds completely so you can head back to bed. It’s summer… so option one is temporarily non-existent for a solid three months.
Hey, you’re just simply making up for those all-nighters with a new cup of coffee every two hours.
Speaking of your bed, it’s soft but takes up so much space to the point that Hyunjin keeps complaining about not having enough room for his legs when he’s sprawled across the floor with Jisung, vigorously focusing on a presentation’s outline. Seungmin calls you lame for not throwing away your childhood plushies and letting them hog at least one-third of your bed, but Felix doesn’t mind since he always needs something to hug. All the more reasons why you can only trust Felix.
You might miss having those idiots being loud and invading your personal space...maybe.
Your phone rings for the second time that morning when you’re walking downstairs, shoving your keys into your pocket and grabbing a protein bar on the counter. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit right now, Minho,” you bark into the device, chewing on your breakfast aggressively, not bothering to look at the caller’s ID.
The closest convenience store is only twenty minutes away from your house but there’s a sticky note on the fridge from your mom, reminding you that she needs eggs to bake cupcakes for her company’s twentieth anniversary while your dad is running low on his Red Bulls. Basically, you’re in distress. It’s not like your dad should be inhaling those sugary drinks on a daily basis and your mom can just buy premade goods from the bakery. But there are more options for snacks at the supermarket…
“Y/N, the fuck?” The response of a voice as deep as the Pacific ocean almost makes you choke on air. “Did I wake you up or something?” Felix sounds flabbergasted on the other line, slightly taken aback. You almost feel bad because he’s the only sweetheart in your chaotic squad (besides Chan, obvi) except when he stays up late gaming with Hyunjin, pleading for your notes the next morning with puppy eyes.
“No, Minho did,” you grumble before tossing the wrapping into a bin.
“You don’t say,” Felix replies flatly, but his voice soon grows merry again after pushing the topic of your brother aside. “Oh, and I’m coming over to return your earphones, wanna grab breakfast?”
He practically lives ten minutes away from you, sees you almost every day even if it’s the weekend since he can’t stay in the same house with his sisters for too long and puts you on FaceTime every night to prevent himself from slacking off on assignments. The only time he didn’t get to see you for a week straight was when he visited Australia and accidentally dropped his phone into the ocean. It was a rough week without you nagging him for doing something stupid. Fundamentally, he’s merely making up more excuses to spend time with you after finals.
Chuckling, “Only if you’re treating me, I’m about to go broke from buying snacks for our field trip tomorrow.” you say breezily.
And you’re only telling him that because he might just pay for your snacks as well since Felix Lee eats freshly grilled steak and mashed potato for breakfast. Baffling, absolutely. Plus, he works at a boba shop every summer either way and he would never hesitate to spend the entirety of his paycheck on any of his close friends. Irrelevant but the point is: you kinda don’t wanna go out alone today.
Or you’re just in the mood to go with Felix. That’s a useless statement since you both see each other at least ten out of twenty-four hours per day.
“By the way, you know what I just realized?” Felix smacks his palm on his forehead. “This is our last field trip, like ever.”
Walking over to the rack of shoes down the hallway, you let out a large exhale. “That’s unfortunate on your behalf. I, on the other hand, don’t have a problem with that,” you tell him with zero consideration, your brain cells too busy picking out a pair of shoes to process the five basic steps to empathize with another human being.
“No,” he emphasizes helplessly. “I meant, it’s like our last high school field trip. We’re graduating next year, no time to sleep with the grizzly bears again.”
You can only manage to utter, “Oh.” Shit, college is right around the corners.
“Jesus fucking Christ what the hell am I supposed to do after high school? Stay here? Go abroad? Wait, aren’t applications for going abroad supposed to be turned in a year beforehand? Why are you only telling me this now!?”
Felix laughs wholeheartedly through the phone, amused at your sudden outburst. “Y/N, calm down. You’re going to college, not prison,” he brushes it off casually but in a way, college is technically prison. Slaving over a degree while working part-time jobs, chasing time relentlessly like you’re driving in the middle of a foggy night with one headlight out. And you’re forced to open up with more strangers. It’s terrifying, actually terrifying. And you’re not the type to be easily terrified.
Now come to think about it, you don’t get why you were so pressed about it five seconds ago. It’s a good opportunity not to leech off your parents as much, like dabbling, taking one baby step at a time into adulthood. After that, you’ll graduate again, probably settle somewhere with an adequate job and find someone, starting to think about having ki-
Hold up, you’re going too far. You’re barely a senior.
“I guess we’ll just have to make the most out of this summer,” Felix’s voice snaps you back to the surface of Earth faster than a tick of a clock. “We’re outside, by the way. Open up.”
That fast? Furrowing your brows, you hang up to slip into a pair of sneakers before sprinting to the front door. Wait, your hand freezes as it grazes the doorknob. We?
Not again.
“Why the fuck..” you cracks a lifelessly crooked smile after pushing the door wide open. “..are you here?” It’s only ten in the morning, and you don’t think you should be screaming at the top of your lungs to be jumped on by the whole neighborhood.
Felix takes a step back, a little scared for his life. “Uhh, to return your earphones?”
“No, no,” you run a hand through your hair tiredly. Just when you thought this day was gonna be peaceful. “I’m not talking about you, I’m talking about them. Since when was this an agreement? How dare-“
“Why yes, I missed you too!” Jisung exclaims like the little shit he is, throwing an arm over your neck to ruffle your hair. No one ruffles your hair without getting their ass slammed- except for Minho. “Why the long face? Let me guess, until this exact second, you thought there’s a fucking squirrel, a lama, a dog, and a kitten standing at your front porch? No, it’s us, your Forever BFFs.” He’s one of the reasons why you refuse to understand the humans’ language sometimes.
With a harsh shove from you, Jisung staggers backward only for Hyunjin to prevent him from rolling like a ball in the middle of your neighborhood. “One more word and I’m telling the whole class who your crush is,” you threaten, earning an involuntary snort from Seungmin.
“I hate to admit this, but she might actually say yes if he makes the first move.”
Hyunjin supplies unconstructively, “That’s why he didn’t ask.”
“You know what, Hwang,” Felix says with a smirk tugging at his lips, bumping his fist against Hyunjin’s without turning his head.
“Oh screw all of you.” Jisung’s getting all the attention he wanted this early in the morning yet he still feels like a loser. Perhaps he should try shutting up once in a while.
four.
“Thanks for giving me a ride, uncle, you really didn’t have to,” Felix says generously from your dad’s back seats, scratching the nape of his neck as though this is the first time he’s ever shared a ride with you.
He’s too humble sometimes you just want to smack him across the face with a pillow to stop being so formal with your dad. Heck, Felix downright called him ‘dad’ by accident once during a Christmas dinner back in middle school and your dad even encouraged him to keep addressing him like that.
Not to mention, Felix is chomping on a turkey sandwich that your mom made this morning specifically for him after finding out that his parents are currently out of town and there's nothing but ramen in the cabinet. God forbids her to starve the same kid who helped your dad fix his bumper. So really, he should be expecting these things by now.
“Oh it’s not a big deal, you’re too nice,” your dad laughs as he pulls over to your school’s front gate, careful not to run into that one really tall, ugly tree. You’re lowkey paranoid that people might die if it collapses during a storm or something. “Perhaps you can return the favor by getting a drink with me sometimes.”
Felix blinks numerous times, slightly gobsmacked. “...but I’m not old enough to drink yet.”
“Correct answer.” And you snicker when your dad turns around to toss a wink at your friend’s direction. “Doesn’t mean that I’m forbidding you kids have fun,” he clarifies upon the baffled expression on Felix’s face. “But not too much fun, got it?”
“Okay, okay dad, I’ll see you in three days,” you shake your head before climbing out of the car. “Don’t starve the cats while I’m gone. Oh! And Soonie still needs his lactobacillus-“
Your dad brushes it off with a sheepish smile, “I’ll leave it to your mom, muffin, I can’t even remember which dry food is for which cat. I also don’t think they’ll be starving anytime soon, those little demons are getting quite fat actually since your brother spoils them all the time.” You can only give him a mere eye-roll because as much as he claims to hate having pets, there have been countless times when you caught your dad red-handed trying to tuck the cats into bed in the middle of the night.
Felix soon catches up with your steps after bidding him farewell, crumpling the sandwich wrapper in his palm. “Wait up, muffin,” he says breathlessly with a few skips, starting to think about not skipping dance practice again this summer before his body gets out of shape.
“Shut up,” you grumble, followed by a harsh elbow jabbed into his side. Felix grunts in pain, slowing down a little but still tries to walk side by side with you nonetheless. “You don’t deserve that complimentary breakfast, I’m telling mom to cut your portion off next time.”
“Ah! Come on, muffin! You’re being mean.”
Your biggest fear has inevitably come true—after all those years of erratic mood swings and other weird things puberty puts you through, Felix still makes fun of you for the nickname that your parents came up with on your first day of school. It doesn’t help with the fact that he meets them quite often too. Like four out of seven days a week since your parents love coming over to each other’s house for dinner.
“Flip that scowl upside down now, will you?” Felix cups your cheeks and squishes them together, attempting to make your smile by tugging at the corners of your lips. “Aren’t you excited about the trip?”
You scoff at him, “Are you even hearing yourself? My entire existence reeks off ‘excitement’ 24/7.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“I’m not responsible for whatever happens next to your face.”
But when you reach up to peel his hands away, you’re bound to make a grave mistake by looking straight into his eyes. The morning light hits his face at the right angle and it makes him look like a puppy—which you wouldn't mind starting at all day. Although it’s not like you haven’t got a good look at him before, something’s different today. From the way his irises twinkle gently like thousands of celestial bodies to how his freckles scattered across his cheekbones like the remaining bits from a supernova, his full lips with a prominent Cupid’s bow and his cute crooked teeth.
You know all of these things; perhaps you’ve never put too much thought into them before. Not when you’re constantly facepalming at him for doing stupid TikTok dances and trying to eat a banana with its peel on. But now when you actually acknowledge them, your heart momentarily skips a beat. Or two.
Doesn’t matter, you hate this feeling either way.
“Get a room, this is disgusting to watch.”
Seungmin steps in between you two with his backpack slung over his shoulders, hands resting on his hip like he’s babysitting you and your biological parents don’t pay him enough for this tedious job. But Felix is too busy making sure that his eyes aren’t malfunctioning when he sees a pink tint on your cheeks to focus on whatever nonsense Seungmin is spewing at him.
“Get on the bus, losers! Y’all are embarrassing me!” Hyunjin yells as he plants a foot onto the bus, trying his best not to be subtle about the fact that all of your classmates have already been seated.
You can practically see Jisung making weird faces from the window and next to him is a very cranky-looking Jeongin with his earbuds plugged in, deciding not to tolerate any chit-chatting this morning. It’s a shame how the school’s always on a low budget when it comes to transportation; consequently, some random freshmen got squeezed in with your class.
So you elect to ignore your friend’s questionable behaviors (sometimes you wonder what he’s on to be this zealous at six in the morning) and grabs Felix's hand to climb onto the vehicle before coach Kim kicks your ass for slowing the schedule down.
As you shuffle down the narrow aisle, you quickly realize there are only two seats left at the very back—basically, you feel a little guilty for not getting a good spot for Felix but he doesn’t seem to mind because he taps you on the shoulder lightly, signaling for you to move.
“Ugh, I wanna go home,” you sigh, slumping into your seat after tucking your backpack neatly on the small compartment above.
“You’re boring,” Felix comments flatly but he’s partially glad that he got to sit with you instead of some blabberer. “Need this?” Fishing his earphones out of his backpack, he wiggles the banana milk case in front of your face.
You only nod lazily at the offer, causing him to huff in disbelief before slipping in a side of his AirPods into your ear. You both have pretty similar taste in music so you don’t mind when he puts one of his playlists on random and Fly Me to the Moon bleeds into your eardrums. The soft melody makes you yawn a little, eyelids getting droopy.
“Tired.” Is the only warning Felix gets before you decide to drop your head onto his shoulders, slipping your arm around his torso comfortably like it’s a pillow. You personally don’t do cuddles but since he’s into those things and smells nice—very fruity, somewhat musky too, you might as well take advantage of that with the hope of sleeping throughout the entire ride.
“What is wrong with you today?” he asks with glowing cheeks.
“Shh shh, I’m recharging my battery.”
Felix is a little flustered, to say the least. But instead of complaining about your sudden clinginess, he rests his head on top of yours like second nature, allowing his childhood song to drown out some of the background chatters.
You should really be clingy more often… though he’s not gonna risk his pearly white teeth by telling you that.
five.
Your school actually knows how to manage money in a smart way. Shocker, you know.
You are thrown off upon hearing that no one needs to worry about the grizzly bears, or wolves (hey, one can never be too careful) because everyone gets to share a log cabin with a maximum of three other people.
In fact, the camp counselors have confirmed that even though they’re throwing a bunch of inexperienced, dumb high schoolers smacked in the middle of the wilderness, there’s really nothing to do other than boring team-building exercises...and fishing. In other words, the only creature that can somewhat do harm to you is mosquitoes.
It’s been pouring nonstop when your classmates tried to set up the campfire with coach Kim screaming into their eardrums last night, no wonder those little shit are thriving to make your life more miserable—they’re in their element, reproducing at a terrifying pace.
“Jesus Christ, Y/N!”
Hyunjin clutches a hand to his chest in both relief and terror after realizing the curled up figure sitting by the window is just you. He steps inside the cabin completely and flings his wet bangs away from his face, shoving the umbrella in his hand into a stand by the shoe rack. “You look like shit, are you okay?” he furrows his brows, slightly concerned about your eyebags and the way your lips crack from dehydration.
A soulless smile finds its way to your face. “I’m pretty sure ‘shit’ and ‘okay’ aren’t supposed to be in the same sentence but thank you for asking, I appreciate it.”
Here’s another downside to being a homebody: you can’t fucking sleep on any other beds that aren’t yours. And surprisingly that two-hour nap on the bus wasn’t enough to fuel you for the rest of the trip. But lucky you, it’s most likely going to keep raining cats and dogs and trash pandas for the rest of the day. Outdoor activities are no longer mandatory and you can almost hear your non-existent muscles crying in sheer joy.
“Drink,” Hyunjin sighs at your pathetic state and decides to toss a water bottle in your direction.
However, all you do is retrieve your limbs deeper into Felix’s fluffy blanket since he refused to use the grey one that’s draped over every bed beforehand. You’re far beyond grateful for that because those fading, questionable-looking stains just scare the crap out of you. And also because the fluffy blanket smells like him; you rest your case.
“You were knocked out for the entire bus ride, so why the hell can’t you fall asleep on a decent bed?” Shaking his head, Hyunjin plops himself onto Jisung’s bed like a potato, accidentally knocking over the neatly folded pile of clothes. He really doesn’t give two flying fucks about the fact that his friend spent an excessive ten minutes to organize his stuff so coach Kim won’t be barging into their cabin with a megaphone at five in the morning again.
“She can only fall asleep on Felix, that’s why.” You roll your eyes in the bitchiest way possible, not bothering to chuck the abandoned water bottle at the unwanted guest of this terrific conversation.
Hyunjin almost lets out a shriek when Seungmin jolts up from his bed, hair messy, a leg sticking out from his comforter. “You know, until this exact moment, I thought that you were dead or something.”
“What I’m trying to say is,” Seungmin elaborates as he bends over to reach for his glasses with squinted eyes. “There’s a 99,9% that Felix will make the first move but at the same time, it doesn’t mean the other 0,01% won’t happen so you,” he jabs his index finger towards you. “Better be doing something other than walking around camp like a zombie.”
Hyunjin tilts his head in confusion. “Since when was this even a thing?” You’re this close to have a permanent hand imprint on your forehead for facepalming every two seconds with your idiotic friends around.
“Uhh, since forever?” Seungmin feels the need to voice out. “Listen, since the day Y/N spilled orange juice on Felix’s favorite shirt, the amount of times they’re forced to be together has risen tremendously. And when their parents found out their families live like ten minutes away from each other, they practically see each other every single day. Even outside of school. They tolerate each other, meaning the dynamic is long-lasting. Their bonding encouraged friendship.”
“But we’re her friends too?”
A deep breath. “No, their friendship was incited to grow into something bigger, more profound because Felix has a special ‘click’ with Y/N that he doesn’t with us. God, Hyunjin, it’s been what, almost a decade! How could you not see it?” Seungmin says with expressive hands, almost yanking every strand of hair off of his head. It’s too early for this, his brain is about to implode. Hwang Hyunjin being dense just feels like a metaphoric chokehold to him.
“Y/N,” Hyunjin simply ignores his frustrated friend to look over at you slipping into your sneakers. “You’re being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal.”
“That’s because she’s about to either shut the door in my face then find Felix or kick my ass and then find Felix,” Seungmin informs with a yawn, and this prompts you to muster a fake smile.
Oh, I’m fucking livid.
“You know me too well.”
He questions with heavy irony, “I’m sorry did you just agree with me?”
“Oh no, no, I take that back,” you brush him off. “Is Felix still outside fishing?”
“I think so?” Hyunjin replies while running a hand through his hair in mere distress; Felix’s competitiveness goes a little mayhem sometimes when it comes to Jisung being better than him at something since they’re so close. That’s one of the sole reasons why Felix always manages to maintain his flying GPA because Han Jisung procrastinates like no other but still tops his class every single semester.
“I didn’t find him at the lake, though, wonder where he went.”
You widen your eyes, somewhat alarmed since it’s almost lunchtime, and Felix Lee never, and you mean never, ever let himself skip a meal. He always gets a nice nap after stuffing his face with enough good food too, so that’s a bonus. But that’s not the point, the point is: you’re starting to get a little worried because he’s been fishing all morning, wandering alone in the wilderness without a camp counselor.
You’d better not find him sleeping with the fishes.
six.
Maybe you were right, maybe Felix is a dumbass.
Because listening to his ego and coming back to the lake after breakfast was a horrendous idea.
It’s such a pity how those weird-looking vehicles have stopped driving around camp the moment it started pouring outside. Heck, he didn’t even bring an umbrella after asking the coach to check today's forecast.
So tragically, he’s now stuck underneath the canopy of a cafe ensuing coursing his way through the water blizzard and seeking refuge but can’t walk back to his cabin where his cabin-mates are probably having the time of their life drinking hot chocolate and nibbling on hand-picked fruits.
Felix exhales in torment while gazing outside, everything’s completely white-out thanks to droplets of raining streaking the horizon. Perhaps dashing back might be his one solitary option, but shivers soon run up his spine again, reminding him that he’s probably looking like a wet rat—his black Converse sodden, water seeping through the thin fabric of his uniform, numbing his skin.
Ruffling his wet fringe, Felix’s hand fishes inside his pocket to look for his phone only to realize that it’s not there. “Shit...great..just great, today is my lucky day.” Even if the camp counselors didn’t confiscate all the electronic devices, there wouldn’t be any service in the middle of the woods either. Splendid.
“Ugh, Y/N,” he groans under his breath. “Why did you let me do this?”
“Shit.”
“AHH!”
Felix shrieks upon the tiny voice squeaking out from behind him. And he sighs in pure relief to see a little girl standing mere inches away, looking no more than a seven-year-old dressed in a yellow raincoat. “Hey kid,” he chuckles and crouches down to her eye level. “Where are your parents? You’re not supposed to be out here alone when it’s pouring like crazy.”
And to his dismay, “Shit,” the little girl giggles, finding a new profound interest in the curse word that he accidentally spewed out seconds ago.
“Shh shh,” Felix frantically places an index finger on his lips while darting his eyes around in terror—he might be sued if her parents found out how their daughter picked up a bad word from some random high schooler. Suddenly he feels bad for his future kids. “No, no, we can’t say that. It’s forbidden. What’s your name?”
“Mina,” she answers cutely and fiddles with the ends of her braids. “Who’s Y/N? Is she your girlfriend?”
Felix chokes on his own saliva. “...no, why would you say that?”
“I don’t know, my dad always calls my mom’s name when he messes things up.”
“What does that have to do with- oh, shit,” he facepalms himself. This kid is going to give him a cardiac arrest any second now. “It doesn’t matter if she’s my girlfriend or not, what matters is I need to get you back to your parents. Do you know where they are right now?”
Mina simply shakes her head with a pout. “Okay, let’s go find them then,” he can’t help but cracks a smile, ruffling her hair endearingly. Most kids would be bawling their eyes out by now knowing that they’ve strayed from their parents; she’s a tough one.
Felix gently grabs Mina’s hand, biting down on his lower lip as he prays that a cold doesn’t catch up to him tomorrow and ready to dash out of the canopy that’s been keeping him dry for the last hour or two. But then a figure comes into view from afar, holding an umbrella while squinting their eyes through the thick streaks of rain.
“Y/N..?” he mutters to himself in disbelief when you quickly skip underneath the canopy, collapsing the red umbrella in your hands. Felix recognizes that umbrella anywhere—isn’t that Hyunjin’s? Have you been looking for him? And for how long too?
“Didn’t even think about bringing an umbrella, smartass,” you say with a raised eyebrow. “Oh dear, who do we have here?” Before Felix can defend himself in vain with lame excuses, you’ve already taken your attention off him to stare at the unfamiliar presence. Your intense gaze scares Mina a little, causing the little girl to squeeze Felix’s hand, hiding behind his leg.
Your friend laughs, patting her little head in reassurance. “Mina, this is Y/N, my classmate. Don’t let her intimidate you.”
“Are you really going to bother with this little one?” you scrunch your nose a bit. “We’re having pork rib soup, by the way, better hurry if you don’t want Han to hog your portion all to himself.”
Felix rolls his eyes at how utterly apathetic you are towards children. If you can get a perfect A in calc then why is it so hard to simply comprehend that every twelve-year-old needs to be returned to their hypothetical parents safely? “What part of ‘a common sense of morality’ can’t you understand?”
“I don’t want to, actually, sounds like a lot of work,” you hum sarcastically.
“Your girlfriend is scary,” Mina ensconces herself further behind your friend, officially detecting you as a threat rather than someone who will potentially bring her back to the cabin where her parents are probably flipping the whole place upside down in a panic—which is exactly what you’re planning to do.
In your defense, you don’t detest kids in general. Only the bratty ones. And Mina is borderline bratty.
“You know, I can spare her some time, Lost and Found is like..ten minutes away from here.”
“Y/N-” Felix wants to scream at you, rubbing the side of his temple in distress. Imagining you babysitting your neighbor’s newborn last summer with nine bucks per hour, ten hours per day, and five out of seven days per week is one of the few things that constantly keeps him from having a good night's sleep. It baffles him how you haven’t accidentally drowned the infant while giving her a bath.
Mina gives the side of his jeans a tug, round eyes staring up at him expectantly. “Or we can get juice pops!” she exclaims happily and looks over to you, mustering her best puppy eyes. “Please? I don’t want to be alone..”
“Twenty seconds ago, you called me scary and now you’re guilt-tripping me?” you crouch down to get a good look at the kid. Bright, innocent brown eyes, cute button nose, and a chipped front tooth—perhaps she’s a little too cute to not get her juice pops.
Then, “And juice pops too? You evil mad mind genius,” you say after standing up to unfold Hyunjin’s umbrella, swinging it over the top of your head. “That’s extortion, kid, you’re too young for that.”
Felix breaks into a fit of giggles upon seeing you failing at trying to keep a straight face and steps in beside you under the umbrella. His next problem just pops up right then and there—Mina can’t squeeze in considering the umbrella that Hyunjin gave you is solely used for one person.
“Mina, hop on here,” he decides to get on his knees, permitting the little girl to clumsily climb on his back and eventually plopping herself onto his shoulders.
“Oh, oh, oh, can you two hold hands?” Mina suggests with a shit-eating grin on her face. This causes Felix’s cheeks to burn with a bright shade of red while you’re too busy throwing daggers at her with your eyes to notice. “My family does this all the time, my dad would carry me on his shoulders and my mom would hold his hand as we walk home after going to the park.”
You and Felix yell simultaneously, “We’re not your parents!!” But that doesn’t seem to scare the little girl. You’re both just encouraging her.
“Yip yip, horsey, don’t be disobedient now,” she giggles to herself and pulls at a solid patch of Felix’s hair, making you cringe because his hair and scalp have already had enough from his questionable obsession with bright hair colors.
“Ow! Mina! Stop it! Ow!”
“Okay quit torturing my friend,” you tell her and decide to slip your hand in with Felix’s, intertwining your fingers to secure the grip before showing it to Mina so that she’ll stop before any blood is drawn. “There, we’re holding hands just like your mommy and daddy, you happy?”
Felix doesn’t say anything even when Mina nods happily, releasing her monstrous grip off his poor scalp. He only lets you tug him away from the canopy of the cafe as he gazes downward, eyes glued to how your hand fits into his perfectly. The sound of rain tapping against the umbrella suddenly bugs him, suffocating him in a way. In other words, it’s really unnatural to think this way about his best friend but he doesn't want you to let go at all.
Everything seems to move faster when you’re holding onto his hand so certainly. Felix thinks you’re fully aware but try to fight off the voices that are taunting you to just drop it. And truth is, you can care less because your head is now far too fuzzy to focus on anything but the road ahead.
You pray he doesn’t feel the pounding rhythm from your veins. If your red ears haven’t given it away already.
seven.
Jisung has weird friends, that’s a fact. And no, you’re not talking about the gang that saved his ass every time he got into trouble aka you plus JeongMinLixJin. You’re talking about those kids from Class 2C that are mutual friends with Changbin.
Because the moment Jisung barges into the cabin and starts babbling nonsense that you can’t comprehend (not that you can comprehend any of his shit on the daily), you know that he just came back from a get together with those sketchy dudes who managed to sneak some booze inside a shampoo bottle.
“Uhm okay, who gave Felix alcohol?” he squints his eyes hard.
You are more than aware that Jisung is mildly smashed by the way that his cheeks are tinted with a light shade of coral, hiccupping every ten seconds and slightly more clumsy with his feet. He almost tripped over the rug at the front door if it weren’t for Hyunjin who caught him in time so that he wouldn’t break one of his precious teeth. Those painful years of constantly slurping on watery porridge after every dentist appointment to tighten his braces shouldn’t be going down the drain.
Speaking of bland rice water, that’s all Felix has been fed with after returning to camp because he has no choice. The sickness finally caught up to him as a result of staying outside for too long while still dressed in his rain-soaked uniform. Even under the cotton comforter, he’s radiating heat on the outside but stoically shivering on the inside, his energy level is as diminished as his appetite.
The nurse said there’s really nothing that can be done but give him some pills and let him ride it out so now Felix’s all curled up in a corner of his bed, cheeks burning flush of fever, coughing and sneezing occasionally. He refuses to be moved to a completely separate cabin because sleeping alone in a confined place knowing that the grizzly bears might be roaming outside your door is quite frightening for a junior in high school.
“God, what makes you think I’m the batshit drunk one here?” Felix croaks, his voice more hoarse and gruff than usual because every word pains him, his vocal cords pulse in agony at each syllable. And that sentence was probably the longest thing you’ve heard from him since dinner.
Jisung lets Hyunjin toss him onto his bed, face down, and props himself up on his forearms. “Uhh, have you checked yourself the mirror?” he hiccups, words a bit slurred, palms outstretched in a grabby motion. “Seungmin, water- ow! What the fuck was that!?”
He rubs the side of his head while babbling incoherently like a fucking five-year-old because Seungmin decided to chuck a water bottle at him. Those years of playing baseball during retreats indeed paid off.
“I went for the head,” Seungmin looks up from his book calmly, acting innocent.
Jisung whines and turns to his side, watching as the water bottle rolls back towards him after coming in contact with the wall. “God, I miss Minho. You guys suck,” he takes it before sitting right up but flops himself back down when a pang of pain claws at his temple. Who even allowed him to drink?
“Didn’t he make your high school experience miserable?” Hyunjin laughs, sitting down on the corner of his bed, legs curled into his chest.
“Hello? That was me,” Seungmin clarifies, he sounds a little offended. “He called me a nerd for studying late at the library for our finals! Our fucking finals! Do you know how insecure my freshman self was? I was so hurt!”
You cross your arms and mumble, “He’s the same guy who treated you ice-cream after finding out you got a B in physics.”
Hyunjin hums, butting into the topic, “And he made me do fifty push-ups because I unintentionally skipped a day at practice. Our Dance Club really didn’t need a president who effortlessly snatches the Asshole of the Year Award like he’s stealing candies from a kid.”
“Please, you’re practically buddies now,” you scoff. “You always play Mario Kart and rewatch the Avatar series with him, even during midterms!”
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Jisung suddenly gets on his feet, jumping up and down like a maniac. You’re highly concerned for the bed by the creaking sound that it’s making—sounds just like something straight out of a horror film. “He almost threw a knife at me!”
You’re running out of excuses to defend your stupid brother at this rate. What’s the point in trying anyway? “Han, it was a plastic knife, chill.”
Jisung crawls off his bed to approach you, pinching his thumb and index finger together before shoving them to your face. “I was this close to dying! You try having someone threaten to throw a knife at you during lunch break,” he complains like it’s the end of the world. Truth is, you’ve seen (and experienced) worse things.
“Minho’s still my brother.”
Staring at you, Jisung looks unimpressed. “He wanted to kill me because I commented on his puffy cheeks that day.”
“He’s adopted.”
The conversation is pulled to a halt right there when Felix does a full-body groan, his head spinning and sweats starting to collect at his hairline. With his mind buzzed like he’s floating, the bickering only adds to the pressure that’s squeezing each of his functioning brain cells. In other words, it feels as though Han Jisung is a fucking hamster going on a marathon across his body, nibbling on his limbs and ears as he’s going through a hangover, his immune system going on a rampage.
Felix doesn’t even drink.
“That’s my call for a bedtime story.” You glare at Jisung when he clears his throat while you’re attempting to tuck Felix into bed, pressing your palm against his forehead to check his temperature. It’s not climbing anymore, he should be okay after sweating everything out.
Hyunjin pulls his friend back onto his bed, locking his limbs in tight before he waddles around and potentially breaks one of those decorative pieces on the bookshelf. “Not to burst your ego, but I don’t think you’re sober enough to give us a good story,” he says unapologetically.
“Puh-lease,” Jisung lets out the weirdest chuckle at that, wagging his forearm like those Japanese ceramic cat figures that are supposed to bring people good fortune; and Han Jisung is notorious for bringing people anything but good fortune. “They didn’t even have vodka, only Strongbow. That shit is too weak for me.”
You snort involuntarily, “Actually, I think you meant you’re too weak for those bottles of cider.”
“Wow, Y/N, what a snake.”
eight.
The bonfire crackles, flaring up to life when coach Kim tosses a lit matchstick into the pyramid pile of branches and woods. The flame projects long shadows of the trees all round along, swirling and curling in obscure shapes with the high schoolers that each hugs their own cup of hot cocoa, chomping on their marshmallows of choice.
Glowing embers beneath are colored by the inferno that seems to be moving with the rhythm and melody of the song that they’re all singing along, drumming their feet and bobbing their heads simultaneously.
“Are you guys sure you don’t want to join them?” Felix says apologetically after sneezing into a piece of tissue, his nose all red and swollen. “I can just… I don’t know, read a book or something.”
When he refers to those oddly colorful and rather bulky-looking books on the shelves, Seungmin immediately stops putting a cookie inside his mouth midway. “Those are called ‘aesthetically useless interior decoration’, Lix. Good luck trying to open those plastic blocks,” he expresses with his hands after stuffing the cookie into his mouth, chewing rather aggressively.
Felix feels quite bad because, for all he knows, Hyunjin and Seungmin have been planning on going kayaking today and trying out volleyball tomorrow. You’re all going home in two days yet they’ve done nothing but pigging out in pure distress. “Still, it’s a summer camp, you all should be out there having fun, not stuck inside to look after me while tolerating...that,” he quietly looks over at Jisung who just exited the bathroom after splashing his face with some water.
At least he doesn’t look crazy and homeless now.
“How are they doing that again?” you join Hyunjin as he rests his head lazily on his forearms, staring outside from the cabin’s window like Rapunzel in an alternative universe where Flynn Rider managed to escape the tower with the crown, leaving her behind longing for civil human interactions in vain.
“They sing..” he drawls. “And turn their heads to look at each other in the eye.”
You wave it off absentmindedly, falling on your back so now your head is hung upside down from the bed, your arms dangling midair. “Well, that sounds exhausting,” you mumble, ignoring the way that Seungmin is internally judging you.
Hyunjin sighs, “Never one for sentiment, are you?”
“Easier to let it burn,” you answer flatly, sitting upright when blood starts rushing to your head.
“Don’t feel bad,” Seungmin immediately forces a smile at Felix. “We’re not really into sitting with a bunch of idiots just to enjoy a mildly decent hot cocoa either way.”
Suddenly the lights go out, and Felix immediately curls himself further into the blanket, a little thrown off. Jisung’s face comes into view out of nowhere when he makes a grab for the oil lamp that no one seems to take notice of, lighting it up with a single match. “C’mon, kids, no bonfire is complete without a good ghost story,” he crosses his legs on the floor happily, still somewhat tipsy so his body is bouncing in excitement with occasional hiccups.
Hyunjin and Seungmin exchange questionable looks before scrambling to the floor, settling themselves a few solid inches in front of the oil lamp with a sigh while you only shrug at Felix, propping your head onto your hands. Laziness is starting to hold you hostage on Hyunjin’s bed at this rate.
Seungmin spares Jisung a slight glare, “Better not bullshit us with the same one that you heard at school-”
“No,” Jisung’s lips morph into something similar to a smirk, he looks concerningly confident for someone who’s utterly terrified after watching IT. And now he’s attempting to give his bros who are equally jumpy about everything and anything, you’re excited to see how this goes. “I heard this one from a camp counselor, true story.” You definitely don’t like the sound of that.
At first, the ghost was no more than a chill in the air, a shimmer of mist to the common eyes. Through the heavy rain and fog that seeps through people’s skin, chilling the core of their bones, it slowly came into focus. It wasn’t until the camper found refuge under a canopy of an abandoned café that it congealed into a form—a small child with brilliant round eyes, dressed in white clothing.
For a moment, all was silent and still. It was as though the camper got hypnotized, feet planted to the ground. Then, he could hear a small lullaby in a cheerful voice.
“Oranges and Lemons say the bells of St.Clements…” They know how that one ended.
Suddenly someone blows out the candle, but Jisung’s voice still rings in your eardrums. “When the camper took a step back, the ghost spoke again, this time with the voice almost of a smoker and grin…” You can feel Hyunjin hop back to bed with you in a tick of a clock, holding onto you for dear life with the infrequent whimpers of fear.
Jisung proceeds to continue, “The grin soon became a snarl, baring teeth like a wolf when it finished the lullaby…”
A muffled silence descends. And, “Have you come to play…?”
“AHHH!!” Felix lets out a petrified shriek, but what confuses you is the sound of Jisung grunting rather in pain. Seungmin sighs in disapproval, flickering the lights on while leaning back against the wall.
And now before your eyes is a slightly traumatized, feverish Felix with clattering teeth, quivering inside his blanket. Whereas, Jisung is sprawled across the floor, hugging his poor stomach, hacking up lungs. Deserve.
“This is why you don’t give people who can high-kick jump scares, dumbass,” Seungmin comments and crouches down in front of Jisung like his knight in shiny armors, letting a bottle of ointment dangle between his fingers. “Put this on, bet it’s already bruising.”
Hyunjin releases his arms around you and walks towards the freckled boy who looks like he’s about to slip into a coma. “Lix, are you okay?” he knits his brows together, starting to feel somewhat concerned.
Felix only waves it off with a raspy laugh, standing on wobbly legs with his blanket still wrapped around his figure. “I’m fine, I’ll just go wash my face.” Truth is, he’s anything but fine. And it doesn’t help when he accidentally has a glance of his own reflection in the body-length mirror from across the cabin—his hair is sticking to his forehead, his face is slightly more puffy than usual, and his eyebags look like he hasn’t slept in decades—he looks worse than a trash can, basically.
“Hyunjin,” you raise a brow at your friend’s current state.
“What?”
“Catch him.”
“Huh-” Hyunjin snaps his head back when a loud thud is heard, eyes growing twice as big in sheer panic upon the sight of Felix laying on his stomach, mere inches away from his feet. “Felix!!” Your friends rush to his side while you’re too busy checking the thermometer by his nightstand. The temperature doesn’t seem to be too alarming, he should be fine after sleeping and sweating it out. But really, Felix looks more like he’s having the nap of a lifetime rather than passing out from the worst fever of the century. That doesn’t stop everyone from freaking out, unfortunately.
Also, everyone can agree that this is the first and last storytime to ever happen.
nine.
Felix sits on the beach, eyes moving from sand to stone, from rock pools to breaking waves. He lets out a sigh, an exhale of relief when a breeze passes by him, tousling his hair as he buries his feet deeper into the primrose-colored grains. The briny aroma that exists in every fiber of air makes him feel at ease, as though unknotting all his angsty-teenager worries with grace. He feels a bit better, partially because his fever has already gone down when he shook you out of your half-asleep state at four in the morning.
“Why?” you ask without turning your head after sensing his tense posture.
Felix looks confused, a little startled when you break the silence. “Why what?”
“Why the long face?” you unknowingly exhale too, stubbornly gazing forward. “Thinking about something?” For some reason, you’re too...scared to even spare him a small glance. This isn’t you, did his fever rub off on you or something?
To your dismay, his sudden inquiry catches you off guard. “High school is going to be over in a year, have you thought about what to do?”
You open your mouth to protest with something along the line of he’s overthinking again and there’s still an entire year ahead to make new memories but when you’re about to utter the first word, your mouth automatically snaps itself close. It’s like you have an entire masterpiece planned out in your mind but when someone tosses you a blank canvas, you’re standing there in defeat like the biggest idiot. Felix is serious this time, you know it’s not because he’s lightheaded after riding out the fever.
“Honestly?” you breathe out. “No, I haven’t. God, I don’t even want to think about it, the future scares me a little.”
Upon the mossed rock and vibrant horizon, comes the sun rays that are promised by the starlit sky. It makes you both a little breathless, not exchanging a single word nor moving a muscle for a while.
Until, “Fine, it scares me a whole lot,” you confess, gaze cast downward as you hug your legs closer to your chest. “It sucks because everyone seems to have their lives together, Jisung is finally taking his interest in music seriously, Hyunjin is planning on being an actual theater kid, and Seungmin is...I don’t know, but he’s definitely onto something. Point is, everyone is already one too many steps ahead of me, I’m just..here, stuck. And I don’t feel like I have-”
“A lot of time left.” Felix finishes your sentence, prompting you to look at him this time. His delicate features shine under the cracking lights of dawn, starry eyes twinkling and lips outstretched into the smile that you absolutely adore. He has such a contagious type of smile that it makes you feel a little less dead inside whenever you see it. But your heartbeat also grows a little more ecstatic.
A hearty chuckle. “You’re not alone, you know,” he says while not breaking away from the eye contact, this makes your throat grow dry. “I still have so much to do, so much to...say yet too little time. So yeah, don’t think about it too much, I’m never gonna leave you behind no matter what.”
You have to hold back a playful scoff at that; and to think he was the one who brought up this sappy topic. “If anything, you’re the overthinker in this relationship,” you tell him with a nudge on his rib. “But if you’ve already had my back, then you should know that I’ll always have yours too.”
Because what would you do without an overthinker like Felix? Drowning your sorrow by stress-eating in the middle of the night? Bottoming out on questionable drinks to end up like Han Jisung? Winging every single important choice that can potentially flip your life upside down in either a good or bad way? Not in a million years. He knows that you need him as much as he needs you, harsh truth but you still hate it either way.
You both don’t look forward to the future, like at all.
You’re too apathetic and overall just a big ‘meh’ about it. You’re the type of person that goes with the flow, letting life toss you around like a ragdoll until you finally snap at some point to fight back because you know where the line between giving up and knowing that you’ve had enough is. Meanwhile, Felix is rather anxious about things. If a piece of paper with a pencil can draw out the map of his entire destiny ahead then he’ll have it finished in one night. But he’s grown out of his middle school self to know that things don’t always go as planned.
Guess if things turn out to be shit, you’ll still have him.
“Does that mean if we’re still single in our thirties, you’ll marry me like how our parents always joke about?” Felix cracks a shit-eating grin this time, one that makes your heart swell but for the most part, you wanna whack him unconscious with a pillow.
You sneer in return, “Sure, but you’ll have to fall for me first.”
There’s a pang in Felix’s chest, it’s so loud and evident that he’s afraid you might hear it. You really didn’t have to slap him in the face with that seemingly harmless statement. “Hmm, who would even fall for a stubborn hermit crab like you?” he jokes to hide the nervousness that’s crawling upon his spine. His ears are probably bright red right now. “Although...that wouldn’t be a problem with me.” Because he’s already fallen for you, a little too hard actually.
“What does that even mean?” you only hum after questioning his statement, nothing makes sense right now since you’re getting a little sleepy because a certain someone wanted to watch the sunrise which simply lasted for about two minutes after two(ish) hours of waiting.
“I don’t know,” Felix laughs before standing up, dusting the sand off of his jeans. “You go figure it out, smartass.” With that, he runs off with his Converses dangling between his fingers, leaving you dumbfounded in the middle of the beach like a total dimwit. Slowly, within those five seconds of making eye contact with your best friend again, his words zero in on you like a wakeup call.
Urgently grabbing your sneakers, you chase after him. “Hey- wait! GET BACK HERE!” By looks of it, you’ve probably figured it out now. It’s not like he’s trying to be subtle either.
Felix feels like he just gained strength from spewing out that indirect confession, and it gives him a tiny ray of hope that he still has his entire youth before his eyes to tell you how he really feels. Or his whole life if you don’t start resenting him for crossing the line that no one dares talk about when they have a thing for their best friend.
Either way, as long as Felix sees your presence side by side with him at every ups and downs, he’s home.
#skzwritersclub#inkidz#stayshub#stray kids scenarios#stray kids imagines#stray kids fluff#lee felix#lee felix scenarios#lee felix imagines#lee felix fluff#felix scenarios#felix imagines#bang chan fanfic#lee minho imagines#seo changbin#hwang hyunjin#han jisung fluff#kim Seungmin#yang jeongin#felix x reader#felix x you#skz high school au
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