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jiminzfilter · 3 years

Text

slow dancing in the night

→ Pairing. Taehyung x reader

→ Genre. established relationship, fluff, slice of life, model!taehyung, model!reader, taehyung missed you a lot, he is starving (his words not mine), gets a bit hot by the last 40 lines, mentions of oral (f) so I guess this counts as mature content, implied smut, making out (kinda), there is a bit of swearing

→ Summary. what could possibly be better than coming home after a long day of work to someone you love and missed a lot ?

→ Word count. 3.2k (!!!)

→ because I wrote this over a year ago when I still didn't know what I was doing with my writing, I had to go through a deep process of editing and re-writing before posting it. This might not be my best work but it's still a fic that I really really like :,)

→ song rec. slow dancing in the dark, Joji// still with you, Jungkook

Fridays have always been exhausting days for both you and your boyfriend, especially on runways weeks. As models, you were put under a lot of pressure.

Pressure to be perfect, to smile but never smile too much, to look good, to not fall on stage.

Falling has to be the most tragic thing that can happen to your carreer as a model, the hungry stares of thousands of photographers and reporters ready to share the latest news to the press.

Yeah, it was exhausting.

This week was no exception... or maybe it was since, this time, you were the only one working until late.

It’s four in the morning and you’re already on your way out - kind of running late, oBviOusLy - quietly wishing your boyfriend a good day.

He is not working today.

That lucky bastard.

He gets to enjoy his free day in bed, lazing around, while you work your ass off all day. He mumbles something that you assume is a sort of goodbye. He is still asleep.

You look at him one last time before leaving the room and smile. He looks so peaceful.

You still remember the day you met, by pure luck even though you both call that fate. That was 5 years ago, when you just debuted your career as a model and were not that comfortable around high heels.

Okay no. Let’s be real.

You hated wearing them because you couldn’t walk in heels higher than 5 cm.

It’s still a wonder how you managed to make it in the first place.

Were you wearing flat shoes for the audition ? Damn you really must’ve done an impression on the judges if they made you pass without the heels try-on.

Your first day at the agency was chaotic to say the least. Your manager made you walk around the building, to visit she said. She made you wear heels. HEELS. That devilish person.

But, thank to that, you got to meet Taehyung. Your eyes landed on him as you were visiting the lounge and couldn’t tear them away from his figure. The poor man had to witness you fall down because you weren’t watching your steps anymore.

I mean.

Who could blame you ??

That was Kim frEaking Taehyung

!!!

He even came to help you get back on your feet and asked if you were alright, kind of amused.

It’s not everyday you see someone falling down in here, let alone a newbie

Let’s be honest, you were so embarrassed.

First day of work and you’re already failing falling.

That night when you came home, you spent the night wearing heels and prayed really hard you’d never have to face him again. After all, the building was big enough and there were enough workers that you could avoid Taehyung easily

If only

The NeXt day, you were told that you had a couple shooting, with none other that Kim Taehyung.

GreaT

He would occasionally tease you about your fall and check on you to see if everything was alright. He watched you carefully as you were walking around with heels.

From up close he looked even more handsome.... :)

After this day, you started talking with Taehyung more and more. He introduced you to everyone around the agency. You met outside of work, got to know each other. You both became regally good friends but there was something lingering in the air, in the way you’d look at each other or stood so close to him after a couple glasses of wine that you could breathe his air.

So what was bound to happen happened and you went from friends a to lovers without really noticing it.

He was still your best friend...somehow

Eventually, you took things to the next level and moved in together... maybe a half and a year ago or so ? You’ve never been happier in your life

And, well, you’d actually be happier if you could spend the day with boyfriend instead of running around trying to find god knows which accessories you need for the rehearsal.

8 in the morning is noT a time to be doing cardio.

Especially while wearing heels

Become a model they said, it’ll be fun they said

“Y/n! Come here please I need you to try on this dress before you go!” Your personal stylist calls “I made sure to fix it yesterday so it’d be a perfect fit for the show”

You stop your tracks and go to her “make this quick i have to go get changed before 9 otherwise I’m screwed. Why did they even decide to do the rehearsals so early today ?” You sigh, frustrated, and put on the dress she’s handing you “thank you”

“Okayyy...it looks great. Gold looks amazing on you.” She smoothes the dress and gives an approving nod, visibly satisfied ; “You’ll look perfect for the Grand Finale. Oh god it’s already 8:30 you better go before Mr.Kim throws a fit because you’re late”

You both giggle ; “thank you for fixing the dress Naeun, see you later today. Well, probably tonight. Byeeee”

The rehearsal seems to never end. You’re squeezed in dozens of different outfits, gorgeous for sure but sO tight. Mr. Kim, the one who organised the runway, is such a perfectionist that you have to re-do some things multiple times before he’s satisfied. One time the lighting isn’t right, the other the models are walking too fast, not on beat and so on.

Everyone hates him for that but he always makes the best shows so you just follow.

After multiple tries, the rehearsal finally comes to an end. It’s already 4PM. You barely get time to breathe and go pee before you’re back into the ‘running-around-to-find-my-dress-and-fix-my-makeup-oh-god-i-gotta-be-on-stage’ crazy mess.

Walking on the runway feels amazing, running backstage is terrible.

It’s so hot and small back there you can hardly move around well.

It takes 2 hours for the whole fashion show to be over, one more for pictures outside the catwalk and chat with reporters. Since you’re kind of a famous model now, you get invited to the afterparty and spend few extra hours interacting with some celebrities that attended the show. Other models were invited and you’re happy to see familiar faces amongst them. Jimin, an old colleague and friend of yours, comes your way and compliments you. You chat with him for a while before deciding you’ve had enough for the day and leave the party. A few more people greet you on your way out.

A taxi takes you back to you company, where you left your stuff in the morning. You spend an extra thirty minutes getting rid of your heavy makeup and striping off that gorgeous but awfully tight golden dress you’ve been wearing ever since the end of the runway.

Now, you can FinaLLy go home. yassssss

It’s almost 12am when you leave the agency and climb into yet another taxi. The ride is quiet, background music playing over the car’s radio, and you take some time to look at what you were gifted for your performance : fancy makeup products, accessories, pieces of clothing-but not those from the runway, you sadly never get to keep those. Being kinda famous has its perks :,)

You then decide it’s time to warn Taehyung you’ll arrive soon and send him a few texts. As if he was waiting for them, he instantly replies saying he’ll be waiting for you and proceeds to spam you with heart emojis. Sometimes, it looks like this man just discovered what emojis were and is trying to use them as much as possible. What a child…

It’s way past midnight when you finally step into your duplex and the first thing you notice is that the place is way too quiet.

Maybe Tae went back to sleep, who knows, it’s super late after all…

You remove shoes and jacket and drop your bags in the entrance before going further and you call out quietly “anyone here? Tae, you sleeping?”

There is a faint glow from the tv on your right but the sound has been muted.

Weird…

“Taehyung ?" You call one last time

Suddenly, two strong arms wrap themselves around your waist and you’re pulled into someone’s chest. You gasp, almost scream, but soften up when you feel the warmth on your back

“Hi baby” a deep voice says in your ear, sending chills down your spine “I missed you”

You turn around and are very pleased to see a handsome face and a warm exposed chest your boyfriend smiling at you.

“Mhm, missed you too” You wrap your arms around him and rest your head against his chest, happy to hear his heartbeat. Taehyung places his head atop of yours and gently strokes your hair. You tighten your grasp around him and hum.

Few seconds later, he lifts your chin up and gently lays a kiss on your lips.

“How are you doing?” He asks, his right hand cupping your cheek. The warmth of it is comforting.

“Exhausted, but you know how it goes” You shrug and he smiles

“Not too tired for dinner ? I could cook something if you want”

“Mhm... let me just go shower and put something else on” You sadly let go of him

“Sure, go ahead” he whispers and you give him a kiss before regretfully tearing yourself away from him.

You walk up the stairs to your bedroom, where you find the bed undone. You smile, Taehyung never really liked making the bed and, very honestly, neither did you. You slump onto the mattress and bury your face into the pillows, inhaling his scent. Lavender. Relaxing. Just like he is.

After a warm shower, you find a t-shirt Taehyung left on a chair in the room and wear it. It’s big enough to reach your thighs and, if you were more energised, you’d probably stay like this. You grab large pants and put them on.

Once again, you smell lavender all around you.

When you’re back in the living area, you see Taehyung busying himself in the kitchen. He hears your steps and his eyes find yours as a smile appears on his face when he notices that you’re wearing his shirt

“My shirt looks better on you than it’d ever do on me” He teases, his gaze longing on your frame.

“maybe I should keep it then” you smile and ask ; ”Do you need any help?”

“no no no no no, you’ve worked enough already. Go and have some rest. I'll call you when everything’s ready okay?”

Too tired to argue on this anyways -and thankful for the given rest-, you go lay down on the couch, your body oriented to let you look at Taehyung.

As he hums and moves to the chill music that was playing in the background, you start to detail his beautiful figure. From the curl of his dark hair (which you knoW are so so soft to the touch) to his beautiful profile and his nose you love so much down to his broad shoulder and then his tanned abs you see from time to time when the opened shirt of his pyjama moves according to his steps.

oH! Let’s not forget his perfect hands gripping at the pan’s handle while he cooks… vegetables? Something like that yeah.

Taehyung is giving his best into what he’s cooking. Vegetables with rice, that’s the only thing he could do quickly.

Quickly as in less than half an hour, unlike his friend Namjoon who’d take this time just to cook the rice.

The music he put earlier is slowly starting to bore him. After washing his hands, he reaches out for his phone and plays a different playlist. It’s one you name yourself when the two of you were still friends (aka not dating yet). “Taetae fm” because you once joked he should have his own broadcasting channel on the radio. He’d always criticise the music playing so why not have his own channel 👀

“You know Y/n, I actually watched the fashion show live this afternoon. I mean, of course you know because I always do that haha. Anyways, you really were the highlight of the runway tonight. And I’m not saying this in a biased point of view. Okay I might be a bit biased as your boyfriend but I swear that it’s true!! You literally shone back there, especially in that gold dress you were wearing and even the audience was impressed by your looks maybe you didn’t see it on stage but some cameras filmed their reactions and everyone was looking at you. Really, you were so gorge-oh” Taehyung looks at you and smile fondly “Of course you’re asleep, baby”

He lets his phone aside and checks the now cooked food before making his way to the couch. There’s a blanket on the sofa, he covers you with it, scared you might get cold. Taehyung put a loose strand of hair behind your ear and places a kiss on your chin.

You slowly open your eyes and find yourself face to face with him. You both smile.

“Hi there beautiful” He whispers

“what time is it? Did I sleep until the morning?” You’re scared of having slept through the entire nap without realising

“almost 1:20am, I just finished cooking. I thought you might be cold so I went to cover you with the blanket. You should go enjoy the food while it’s still hot, imma go to the toilet”

You nod as an answer and watch him leave upstairs. Getting up from the warmth of the couch is the hardest part so you keep the soft blanket draped around your shoulders and walk towards the kitchen. You grab two bowls and two pairs of chopsticks that you place on the counter along with glasses and a bottle of water.

You then go take care of the rice and the vegetables, which you mix in the pan. The song playing changes and your favourite nighttime tune starts.

“I don’t want a friend, I want my life in two” you sing along

“Waiting to get there, waiting for you” Taehyung’s voice startles you as he grabs your wrists and pulls your back close to him. You smile as he makes the both of you dance slowly. You put his arms around you so it’s like he’s hugging you from the back. You swing around for a little while, enjoying the close proximity as you both softly hum the song, making your body vibrate against each other, moving in perfect coordination.

“I love you” he whispers in your ear and then kisses it, sending chills down your spine, before lifting one of your arm up to make you turn so that you’re now facing him “did my baby sleep well?” You nod as you place your arms around his waist, paying attention to go under the shirt so you’re touching as much skin as possible.

Taehyung chuckles before asking you in that same, chill-sending, low deep voice ; “Still hungry? Because I’m starving”

If you didn’t just wake up, you would’ve definitely caught that lust in his eyes and also the fact that this wasn’t as innocent as it seemed.

As an answer, your stomach growls pretty loudly, making Taehyung laugh . “I’ll take that as a yes. Sit down, princess. Let me take care of you”

You do as he says, jumping on a stool, detailing all of his moves. You only realise how hungry you actually were when you start eating. Rice with vegetables has never tastes better. You eat everything in less than 5 minutes when you’d usually take your time to finish your plate.

“Damn, that was a well needed dinner! Thank you Tae” you mess a bit with his soft locks

“Imagine me who was waiting for you all evening!! I was hungry too” He pouts.

“Oh come on, I was working today. Cardio in heels isn’t the best way to wake up, let alone spend the whole day standing in tight clothes. When I think you has a day off… pfff. I saw the bed, I’m sure you stayed there all day, you lazyyyyyyyyy ass.”

He mumbles some gibberish and you giggle, knowing that you're right. He looks away, crossing his arms and obviously sulking. You leave your stool and stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You leave a few kisses on his cheek and neck

“- Don’t be such a babyy. You know I love you.

- You do?

- of course, you dummy” you bop his nose "Sooo, what do we have for desert?

- You. Uh I mean!! Yoghurt, fruits, cakes, fruits…anything” he clears his throat

“Great! What do you prefer?” You open the fridge

“ I’d very happily eat you out honestly but an apple sounds good”

“Oh sur- wait whaT!?” You snap your head to him, eyes wide open

what did he sayyyyyyyy?????

whaT am I even supposed to say noW oh my goddddd

You close the fridge’s door, suddenly not so yogurt-hungry.

There’s a sudden silence between the two of you, only disturbed by the music still playing in the background.

“Mhm? What is it?” He turns around to face you, asking so innocently “did I say something wrong ?”

This man knows what he is doing for sure. Has he ever been that straightforward before ?

Taehyung stands and closes the distance between your bodies, now towering over you.

He lowers himself slightly to speak in your ear “what is it baby? Mhm?” You feel his smile on your cheek when he lays a kiss on it “what happened to my all proud and fierce y/n who was so confident telling me I was being lazy all day, huh? Tell me” He lays another kiss on your temple

OkaY

now he’s being a tease

Great

1 A.M. fluffy and bare chested teaser Taehyung

gReAT

Anyhow, it’s a good turn on.

Really.good.freaking.turn.on

Being tired and turned on was definitely not a good mix for you. You could feel the heat rising in your body and hear your heart pounding in your ears.

“Tae…”

He laughs gently seeing you silently begging for more, brushing your face with his lips, teasing another kiss.

“Tsk tsk, you gotta speak darling, I cannot guess”

You should calm down and go to sleep, it’s 1am and you have work tomorrow you should definitely-

“Fuck-“ You sigh and grab his face, sealing your lips together while closing your eyes.

It doesn’t take long for that kiss to turn into a heated make out session.

You grab and pull some of his dark curls while his hands travels under his your shirt.

You break the kiss just a second to catch your breath.

“Have i ever told you you have the perfect body?” Taehyung asks

“Did I ever tell you how perfect you are??” You reply

He laughs, deep raspy laugh.

You’re too tired for this

And because you’re tired, you’re even more horny :D

Taehyung puts his hands behind your thighs and you jump, locking your legs around his waist, hands still in his hair, lips against his while carries you to the bedroom.

He leaves your lips to travel down your jaw and then collarbone. You throw your head back.

Taehyung gently lays you on the mattress of your king sized bed and makes it his personal mission to pleasure you tonight.

#taehyung fics #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung au #taehyung fluff #bts fanfic #taehyung #taehyung ff #fluff #implied smut #model taehyung #bts fics #taehyung oneshot #taehyung one shots #taehyung one-shots #taehyung smut #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung au #it's 2am what am I doing #slow dancing in the night

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ffamranxii · 3 years

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HAIKYUU!! COUPLES HEADCANONS

DAISUGA

-Daichi goes to the gym to work out. Suga goes to the gym to ogle Daichi

-Suga has a massive sweet tooth

-Daichi cooks, Suga cleans

-Suga is a little shit who is not above seducing Daichi in public. He can say the most lewd things without batting an eye while Daichi blushes furiously

-Daichi and Kuroo once hooked up at training camp. They do not talk about it

-Daichi is good friends with Michimiya and Kiyoko. Suga is closer to Asahi

-Daisuga rarely fight and are often asked for relationship advice. Daichi tries to discourage this because “guys I didn’t realize Yui had a crush on me or that Suga was in love with me for three years.”

-Daichi can’t dance, won’t dance, and refuses to acknowledge the time he got trashed and twerked

-Suga dislikes his given name unless it’s said by Daichi, who is the only person allowed to call him Koushi

-Suga is extremely flexible. Daichi is not.

-Daichi or Suga getting hit on makes Daichi uncomfortable. Getting hit on amuses Suga, and Daichi getting hit on makes him horny

-It took all of high school for Daisuga to get together, because Daichi is oblivious and Suga assumed Daichi wasn’t into him. Daichi’s dumbness and their mutual pining becomes a fond, shared joke several years later

-Daichi has no gag reflex.

-Daisuga have a very fat, very orange cat named Ninja. He’s surprisingly fast and agile despite looking like a furry basketball. (Daichi is a dog person and did not even want Ninja at first. He suspects Kuroo had something to do with this. Suga sometimes playfully gets upset because “Ninja likes you better than me, Dai!”)

-Everyone expects Suga to be the dominant one but Suga is more than willing to be submissive for Daichi and has on several occasions

ASANOYA

-Noya gets up before sunrise to run. Asahi would rather die than leave his bed before 8am

-Noya turns the coffee pot on and cooks breakfast to lure Asahi out of bed

-Noya is surprisingly patient, gentle, quiet, and kind when it comes to Asahi and his insecurities

-Noya is the type to bottle his insecurities and fears until they explode. The only one who can calm him back down is Asahi

-Asahi makes bratty faces when he thinks Noya isn’t looking

-Noya and Tanaka spend a lot of time with Daisuga because of the Daichi&Suga&Asahi&Kiyoko friendship. Asahi and Ennoshita become good friends

-Asahi doesn’t understand the distance between Noya and his sisters because Asahi is very close to his

-It is impossible to embarrass Noya

-Asahi gets a lot of inspiration for his fashion designs from traveling with Noya

-Noya knows how to braid hair and likes to play with Asahi’s

-Asahi enjoys physical affection but dislikes overt PDA. Noya would happily climb Asahi like a tree in public if Asahi would let him

-Only Asahi calls Noya by his given name

-Noya knows he likes Asahi early on but Asahi’s panic (“omg someone LIKES me?? NOYA likes me?? My crush??”) at his confession prevent them getting together until after the Date Tech match (after Asahi rejoins the team).

-Noya is affected by wanderlust and that’s why he travels. Sometimes Asahi joins him. They get married in Canada during one of these trips. (I once read a fantastic asanoya fic where a significant event happened in Canada so Canada is my asanoya place now)

-Noya sends Asahi a postcard from every place he’s ever visited. Sometimes he’ll spend over half an hour trying to find the *best* one, only to buy them all and send them as a sort of big long letter. Asahi saves them all in a photo album that lives on the coffee table. (Some people have a coffee table book, Asahi has a photo album.)

-Noya prefers to top. The one thing he’s really uncomfortable with is being on the bottom (physically laying beneath someone and also sex).

KUROKEN

-Kuroken have a black cat and a calico and enjoy naps on the couch with the kitties. Kuroo has SO MANY pictures in his phone of Kenma curled around the kitties.

-Kuroo: “Love you.” Kenma: “Hate you.”

-Kenma CAN cook, but likes that Kuroo likes taking care of him

-Every game Kuroo has ever owned is multiplayer because he only games with Kenma

-Kenma’s favorite games involve critical thinking and puzzles. Kuroo enjoys watching him play

-Kuroo is an introvert masquerading as an extrovert. Kenma is an introvert. They enjoy quiet nights in.

-Kuroo has anxiety. Kenma always knows when Kuroo is anxious and how to fix it

-People make Kenma anxious. Kuroo makes himself anxious.

-Kenma’s nicknames for Kuroo are Kuro and Koroemon. Kuroo calls Kenma Kyanma and kitten

-Kuroo has been in love with Kenma for as long as he can remember, since they were kids. Kenma knows this, but doesn’t understand he feels the same way until Kuroo goes off to college

-Kuroo is the one who discovered Daichi’s lack of gag reflex. He’s delighted to learn that Kenma lacks one as well

-Kenma moves more slowly than Kuroo. He’s not as comfortable with physical affection and sex as Kuroo is. Their relationship progresses slowly, and Kuroo lets Kenma lead.

-After Kenma’s confession, how he feels about Kuroo is one of the very few things Kuroo does not doubt or make himself anxious over.

-Kuroo can, will, and has go(ne) on and on and ON about Kenma until someone shuts him up. It drives Yaku up the fucking wall in high school.

-Kenma does a retro game stream once or twice a month made up of games he and Kuroo used to play as kids. Kuroo actually games with him on those days and Kenma’s followers are quick to notice and speculate because Kenma has literally never gamed with another person in the same room before. Sometimes Kenma can only post the actual gameplay because Kuroo ruined the footage of them by being excessively sappy. (Kuroo is NOT above flirting and dirty talk to get an edge and Kenma doesn’t really think his fans need to know that.)

-Kuroken do not talk about Kuroo’s mom or sister

-The Kozumes love “Tetsu-chan” and Kuroo’s grandparents adore Kenma. Kuroken get along with each other’s families better than they do their own.

-Kuroo is tactile. He’s that ass-slapping friend. Kenma thinks he’s ridiculous

-Kuroo used to be dislike Hinata, because Kenma and Hinata are extremely good friends and Kuroo was afraid Hinata would take Kenma away from him. Kenma has assured him he doesn’t like Hinata like that but Kuroo doesn’t warm up until Hinata starts dating Kageyama

BOKUAKA

-Akaashi is 100% in charge of the house and the financials and his word is law. Not because he’s an asshole but because Bokuto is whipped

-Akaashi is a screamer. Bokuto has a big dick.

-Bokuto is the calmest between him and his sisters. His sisters have formed an Akaashi fanclub

-Bokuaka kiss a lot during sex

-Bokuto fucking loves owls

-Akaashi used to be embarrassed over being a manga editor but Bokuto thinks it’s the coolest job ever, “even better than mine!” When his authors need references, Akaashi sends them pictures of Bokuto. Bokuto takes this responsibility very seriously

-Bokuaka exclusively refer to each other by first name but Akaashi can’t break the habit of using -san

-Akaashi and Kenma are very good friends. Bokuto thinks they might even be better bros than him and Kuroo. (Kenma is one of the few people Akaashi calls by first name, and one of the only people who calls Akaashi by his.)

-Akaashi overthinks as a result of anxiety, but he doesn’t think he has anxiety. He prefers to call it “seeing the issue from all sides”

-Akaashi and Bokuto do yoga together. Bokuto behaves himself surprisingly well around Akaashi in yoga pants

-Akaashi decided to attend Fukurodani after watching Bokuto play and literally for no other reason

-Bokuaka are the embodiment of love at first sight and their relationship has an unreal, almost storybook quality to it because they are literally perfect for each other. Because of this, Bokuto doesn’t understand why other people struggle so much to start and maintain a relationship, no matter how many times Kuroo tells him “just because your relationship is straight out of a movie doesn’t mean the rest of the world works like that”

-Bokuaka have a koi pond in their backyard and have named all the fish. Bokuto always asks about them when he’s away for games

IWAOI

-Iwaizumi cooks and cleans because he’s always been the one taking care of Oikawa, but he refuses to fold the laundry because “I’m not doing everything for you, you fucking freeloader”

-Iwaizumi cooks healthy “old man food.” Oikawa’s sweet tooth suffers

-Oikawa is that guy who puts more cream and sugar and other additives in his coffee than actual coffee. He’s tried all of Starbucks’ seasonal drinks and never gets the same thing twice

-Iwaoi have very heated arguments about if Godzilla can kick King Kong’s ass or not. Iwaizumi of course sides with Godzilla

-Iwaoi once fought about the original purpose of Stonehenge and now no one can mention England without it coming back up

-Oikawa only became comfortable with his glasses because Iwaizumi likes them

-Iwaoi have been friends since they were in diapers. The whole volleyball team took bets on when they’d announce their relationship

-Both the Oikawas and the Iwaizumis respond when either boy calls for mom or dad. Oikawa calls his sister Nee-chan while Iwaizumi says Oneesan

-Iwaizumi’s favorite of Oikawa’s features is his legs. Oikawa is in love with Iwa’s arms

-Neither of them can remember when they started liking each other or how their relationship started

-Iwaoi are shockingly codependent and do NOT do separation (during university in Argentina/California or for away games) well

-Deep down Oikawa is extremely insecure and worries he isn’t enough - in volleyball, in school, in his family, in his relationship. Iwaizumi always knows when he’s putting on a front and how to cheer him back up

-Iwaizumi is secretly so soft and weak for Oikawa

-After the Olympics Iwaizumi moves to Argentina to be with Oikawa and they get married. They move back to Japan after Oikawa retires from volleyball and after gay marriage becomes legal there

-Oikawa keeps various plants around the house and the patio and is extremely proud of them. He paints all their pots and even names some of them (which Iwaizumi thinks is disgustingly cute). His most prized plant is a lucky bamboo he bought on a whim when iwaoi first moved in together.

-Oikawa can’t deepthroat. It makes him so jealous that Iwaizumi can

-Iwaizumi blushes whenever Oikawa gives him a genuine compliment

-Iwaizumi has a praise kink. Oikawa has a “whatever comes out of Iwa’s mouth” kink

-Iwaizumi has dom tendencies.

#haikyuu #headcanons #daisuga #asanoya #kuroken #bokuaka #iwaoi #updated it #sawamura daichi #sugawara koushi #azumane asahi #nishinoya yuu #kozume kenma #kuroo tetsurou #bokuto koutaru #akaashi keiji #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru

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vashti-lives · 3 years

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I just wanna be a mouse with a sword-- some thoughts on visible mending.

So I’ve seen posts about visible mending floating around a few times and I decided to try it out because aesthetically it really leans into “cartoon mouse in an 80s picture book-core(1)” which I like and also it involves reducing clothing waste which I also like. Plus I have a bunch of clothing I love that I would like to extend the life of but which are not so valuable that if I really fuck it up its actually going to matter.

One of my absolute least favorite things that crafty type influencers do is act as if time and money are not nearly identical resources. A DIY project that doesn’t require a lot of money upfront but is INSANELY time consuming is still an expensive project. Same with skill level and tools. A project that doesn’t need a lot of money and is pretty quick to do but ONLY if you’re already skilled in the craft and already own and have eaten the cost of the tools required to do it is not a cheap project.

Now some of this obviously depends on your audience. If you run a blog or youtube channel that’s pretty narrowly focused and your audience is largely made up experienced crafters and people committed to becoming experienced crafters then “hey if you own a jig saw here’s an easy cool thing you can do with scrap wood” is a cheap project but if you a run a more generalist DIY blog you gotta account for this shit.

Christine McConnell is just the worst about this-- she constantly talks about how you can save money antiquing by buying damaged stuff and fixing it up and then I watch what she means by fixing it up and my head explodes. Its my least favorite thing about her shit. But she’s definitely not alone in this.

Anyway all this to say I saw all these amazing posts about visible mending and it IMMEDIATELY hit my “this is for rich people” senses. Or at minimum people with both some money and time to spare. AKA if you’re already too broke to easily replace your clothes when they wear out this is at best only marginally helpful.

For me, someone already neck deep in fiber crafts, this was in actual money relatively inexpensive. Last summer I bought a long open cashmere sweater vest for about $28 on thredup only to discover the bottom was fucking FULL OF HOLES which... I was not impressed by. BUT I really liked the general garment and I’d already seen the visible mending stuff floating around so I just kept it. I did have to buy an embroidery hoop which was roughly $3 but I already had everything else. To find the thread/yarn I needed I just dug through my stash of sock yarn leftovers and I picked out the leftover merino/cashmere/nylon blend that I used to make my favorite dragon wing shawl.

I had first intended to do swiss darning but quickly came to the conclusion that I value my eyes too much for that shit. So regular darning it was. I will say that my multi colored thread made learning to darn much easier, which is a mark in visible mending’s favor as far as beginner friendly crafts go. I created ten patches which covered all the most egregious holes. This took me roughly six hours. There’s more tiny holes that should be dealt with but I think I’m just going to sew most of them from the back. I might add one or two more darning patches more for aesthetic balance then anything else. So maybe I’ll work on things for another hour. And if we value my time at what minimum wage should be-- $22/hour-- that’s another $154.

So the total I spent on this sweater in both money and time was about $185 which... isn’t bad. This is a high quality sweater, it probably retailed for between $250--300 AND its now a really cool personal art piece that matches my dragon shawl.

(a close up of my crappy work haha. I bet you guys can guess which one of these larger patches came first.)

But like. To be clear. This is not worth doing if you don’t a) like the style and b) like hand work. This is art its not a solution to fast fashion. I don’t even think its a minor solution to fast fashion. Its also not worth doing on clothing that was poor quality to start with. Like, there’s very little point in investing half a day’s work on a shitty shirt you bought from Target four years ago.

I think this is also not terribly accessible if you aren’t already into fiber arts? At least visible mending on wool/cashmere sweaters. I wouldn’t recommend using anything but animal fiber yarn or thread and ideally you want your yarn to match the fiber content of your sweater as much as possible. This means you can’t just go to your typical big box craft store to find yarn/thread. The best you’re going to find there is Patton’s sock yarn which is not soft (in my opinion YMMV) and therefore won’t be good anywhere where the mend is going to touch your skin.

This is also why I’m a little bit *squints* about all the crowing about how anti-consumerist this is since uh, AT MINIMUM one of the main people extolling this is also selling their own very high end yarns and threads to do this mending with. Which is fine! But again, not super accessible from a budget prospective and also you probably will have to buy some semi-expensive specialty items online and have them shipped to your house which is not precisely as anti-consumerist as you might wish. Though if you’re mending jeans or some other cotton based item this is less of an issue to be fair.

Anyway I like visible mending, I have another sweater to do and I’m going to try some other techniques on some of my other clothes, but its just part of a conversation that’s been making me tired lately. Its great to talk about all the downsides to fast fashion but lately some of it has been... questionable. I keep seeing this quote that the average person throws out 80 pounds of clothing per year another quote that the average piece of clothing gets worn 7 times before being thrown away... I? Don’t think either of these things are true?? I’m very confidant that I don’t know a single person who does either of these things. This just. It sounds fake you guys. How are they even getting this data? Sometimes people make shit up or misinterpret data to try and prove an otherwise reasonable point and I think that’s what both these numbers are.

Truthfully fast fashion is not going to be solved until we’ve pretty seriously restructured society because at this point people have neither the time or the money to stop buying fast fashion. There’s just currently way too many barriers to sustainable fashion right now.

BUT if you wanna dress like a mouse in a fantasy land in the hopes that someday a sword might manifest in your hand and lead you towards a quest where you have to fight a weasel this shit is rad.

(1)if you write core after something its a valid aesthetic right? also i know you might be saying “alix that’s just cottagecore” BUT it isn’t entirely the same(2).

(2) OBVIOUSLY there is overlap but as a devoted fan of redwall I assure you cartoon mouse fashion trends are not identical to cottagecore.

#wheee long post #visible mending #i wishing crafting and making stuff weren't so exclusively middle class #like god sewing is expensive if you don't come from a family where everyone sews to begin with #thoughts on crafting #it’s currently the perfect temperature for this vest #and I put so much time in it #so obviously I’ve been wearing it all week

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garrothromeave · 3 years

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let’s talk about minecraft diaries rebirth.

and why it’s literally amazing. (warning: this will contain spoilers. lots of them. also, long post ahead.)

i think a lot of people hate mcdr because they were expecting a remake; but the point of rebirth is for jess to rewrite it. it wasn't supposed to be exactly the same.

honestly i went into mcdr with a closed mind. as an og mcd fan, i thought that this was going to suck ass and that i'd rant about how bad it was to my friends later. but actually watching it, i just... couldn't help but immediately fall in love with it.

ik im probably the only motherfucker that likes mcdr, but honestly how could i not? for one, garroth and zenix actually have personalities at the beginning. AND; the villagers? actually amazing. donna made me smile, visher made me laugh and cry, brendan was just bein as good as ever. like... i even didn't despise emmalyn with every ounce of my soul like i usually do?? the characterizations of them were GOOD, man.

and honestly, aphmau like--the way she spoke, her whole thing. it was reallyyy well done in my opinion. she was oblivious to things, but it wasn't overdone and wasn't done in a way to make her annoying. she's a very appealing character in mcdr, a main protagonist i do not mind following along with. her dynamics to the characters are really cool and all very unique. gonna cut it here so i don’t clog y’all’s feed cuz i got a lot to say :)

the early use of aphmau’s powers was actually pretty cool as well, it also really showed how clueless aphmau really was to everything going on around her. AND UH, THE FACT THAT SHE THOUGHT THAT GARROTH FELT FAMILIAR? GOLDEN. absolutely golden.

AND GENE OH BOY, the early introduction of gene? ik a lot of people are upset about it, but god DAMN i love it so much. his role in the story is very important in original, and i cannot express how much joy this brought me learning that he was actually getting the proper attention for it. and the fact that gene and aphmau were working together?? i mean ik gene was just trying to use her to get back to the "shadow abyss" (pretty pog replacement for the nether, gg) but god DAMN i loved every moment of it. i found their dynamic to be pretty fuckin funny to be honest, would absolutely love to see more of it.

i might be biased considering gene is one of my absolute favorite characters, but i honestly think that introducing gene this early on in the story was a good move. again, he's literally the right-hand man to the shadow lord. it makes you really wonder why he didn't have as much of an important role in season 1 or even 2 of the original mcd plotline. also, we get some of that good-ol-fashioned exposition with seeing early on how vylad and gene interact. vylad’s at a very strange point in the story right now; his motives are unclear, even to the side he’s ‘supposed’ to be taking (aka, a shadow knight.) another early introduction to a character is zane! this, my friends, is good. really good. i’d say that zane is the main antagonist of season 1 in the original series--and he wasn’t even introduced until like, episode 50. it’s not necessarily a bad thing, but him being introduced this early on really gives the audience a better understanding of what threats are out there and what our protagonist will have to encounter in the future. in the original series, there’s not much explanation as to why lords are disappearing/dying left and right--and while yes, that was supposed to be the mystery of it, having some of that early information is a better move in terms of writing.

AND IVAN?? BEING A PART OF THE JURY OF NINE?? I COULD NOT HAVE ASKED FOR ANYTHING MORE LIKE GOD DAMN that was a very pleasant surprise i'll just say that, thank you jess :)

and no i did not loop the 4 minutes of screentime laurance got in that one episode haha who would do that i would never do that anyways

SPEAKING of laurance, im so glad jess actually wrote him in this early :) she totally could have just waited for the first time aphmau visits meteli and meets him there, but no! she put him in an early episode. i dont even care if she did it just to shut up the fans about laurance but man that made me so happy seeing him, even if it was only for a bit.

okay i kinda wanna go over the guards real fast firstly; garroth. ignoring how weird the helmet showing emotions is, i really like how garroth is portrayed. he's under a lot of pressure because the village is putting a lot of the blame on him for malik's death, and he's trying his hardest to keep things running. the fact that garroth utterly refused the to take up the position of lord and even got a little snappy about it was actually really cool to see as well. and while he doesn’t have that same “reserved, quiet, observant” feel as the original mcd version of him had, this version of garroth is absolutely awesome. he’s more direct and blunt, is significantly more sarcastic, and isn’t as stiff or as much as a pushover as he is in the original. he even has a sense of humour. also, no homo, but he’s kinda adorable. plus, the desperation that he goes through during the whole thing is just--it’s really cool to see how hard he’s trying to prove himself and help the village. my rating for mcdr garroth? 9/10. the helmet... the helmet is the main thing throwin me off, i can’t lie. next, zenix. oh BOY do i have a lot to say about this man. first of all, his and garroth’s dynamic is incredible. when i saw how the interacted with each other, my first thought was: father and son. zenix has this immaturity to him that is so fucking fun and interesting to watch, and seeing how garroth scolds him is so fuckin good man. and! seeing how he interacts with the rest of the village... honestly, if jess ever picks this story up again, i would probably cry when zenix (literally) backstabs garroth. HELL, i hope that’s something that still happens, it’d be heartbreaking to witness this character that we’ve come to love hurting his mentor, the man who took him in. he’s just a really good character all in all, and much more appealing than the original mcd zenix. ...except season 3 zenix. no zenix can be better than that one. either way, zenix is amazing written to be the comic relief and he’s just an all-out lovable character in this series. finally, dale and brian. yes i’m going to group them up because there’s not much to say regarding them, but i do want to address them. for starters, we have brian; who’s already 16 when the story starts. good on jess for doing that, because in the original aphmau watched brian be born and age INCREDIBLY quick, haha. THOUGH i do feel like there’s a slight connection lost there--one of the hardest things about brian’s betrayal in the original series in the fact that we watched him grow up in phoenix drop. we were there from the moment he was born, to the second he betrayed phoenix drop. BUT OF COURSE, this version is a lot more realistic, so it’s understandable. i just think that if it’s brian who’ll be betraying phoenix drop again (if it even goes down that same route), it won’t hit as hard unless jess really takes the time to grow the connection between brian and aphmau. as for dale; gotta admit, love it. and like, i think one of the main things about how good of a call it was to make him a drunkard from the beginning is considering how much the village is struggling. the fact that the second-in-command is literally drunk all of the time really conveys the message of, “yeah. this village needs help.” plus, he’s another good comic relief character. i loved seeing molly and dale’s relationship too, it was very funny. PLUS. we were blessed with a well scene, in which aphmau had to help villagers out of the well. i don’t know about you guys, but that was one of my favorite nods to the original series. i cannot thank jess enough for that, there was a smile on my face the entire time. another amazing thing--visher’s character. instead of just being introduced to this quirky lil merchant who only had one or two interactions with aphmau like in the first one, we got to sit there and really get a feel for someone worth remembering and worth mourning over. we had a reason to be sad over his death, it wasn’t just some npc getting blown up suddenly. this was different, and this hurt. one of the major things that i hope is to come out of this is for jess to fix the major mistakes she had when writing the first series. she’d expressed how unhappy she was with some of the decisions she made, and i’m glad that she’s getting that second chance to undo the things she didn’t like. this series also gives her a second chance to really, really dig into characters and their motives. like, gimme laurance backstory in better detail. or like, garroth and zane’s relationship from back when they were kids? or how vylad died and who killed him? etc etc. she’s already done an excellent job so far, and i can’t wait to see where this goes. that is, if she ever continues it. god, i wish there were more episodes so that i could seriously let you guys know how beautiful of a series this is. there’s so much i want to say about rebirth, but i think i’ll stop here. i might say some more shit about it later, but if there’s anything i’d want you to take away from this, it’s: give minecraft diaries rebirth a chance. there’s a lot of potential, and this is a chance for jess to really change things for the better! ... but again, that is if this ever is continued.

#aphmau #minecraft diaries #minecraft diaries rebirth #garroth #laurance #gene #zenix #vylad #rant

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realcube · 3 years

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LEAVING MIDORIYA

part one (nsfw) | part two

tw// mentions of toxic relationships, drinking & mention of a bombing

honestly, if you were given enough time you probably could’ve figured it out on your own — without the assistance of a psychiatrist — but exactly one appointment later, you were left with the disheartening realisation that you weren’t having ‘bad dreams’ and the marks on your body weren’t inflicted by yourself during slumber. eventually, the fact set in that it was your sweet, gentle fiancée who was the cause of all these things.

this whole time, you were under the impression that you were the problem, that there was a malicious part of you that wanted to paint deku out to be some sort of villain; and now you were finally made aware that a villain is exactly what he is.

it was a hard conclusion to come to but the initial wave of relief you felt was enough to make you act on it quickly, as the more you waited around and let the fact sink in, the more you doubted whether or not to take action. but reasoning isn’t what you need right now, you just need to get away from him.

where will you go? you had no idea, but any where away from him is good enough.

midoriya didn’t even get enough time to try fill your head with even more lies. you came marching into the apartment with the intention of ignoring everything he says and simply pack your stuff so you can leave. no matter how much he screamed, begged or yelled, it was like trying to hold a conversation with a brick wall hence he eventually gave in, leaving you to collect your things in peace as there was clearly no way he was going to get through to you.

you left without another word — not even a goodbye — and you were sure to sneak your engagement ring out with you. although it made you sick to look at, realistically you might need the cash since as soon as you stepped outside your shared apartment with your shit in bags, you were officially homeless.

no need to worry though, you had arranged to stay the night at a friend’s house until tomorrow morning, then you could catch the train to your parent’s. from there, you’d stay with them until you manage to find a new apartment within your price range.

one problem; your friend just texted you saying that they have to retract their offer because their landlord doesn’t allow over two people to sleep in the same dorm, and they already have a roommate. very unfortunate but hey, what can you do? plus, they apologised and offered to pay for your hotel but you reassured them that their money wouldn’t be necessary.

now sitting outside your old apartment complex, scrolling through your phone looking for the nearest hotel. since both you and deku were well-paid pro-heroes and bought a penthouse in a rather affluent area, it was no surprise that most of the hotels that were reasonably close were from 4-5 stars.

although a 5-star hotel room for one night really wasn’t necessary, the post-breakup adrenaline was telling you otherwise. it also told you that treating yourself to a shopping spree, getting wine drunk at a bar and then shuffling back to the hotel with mcdonald’s take-out was a great idea!

those emotional discussions you had with complete strangers must’ve really gotten to you because when you opened your front camera to take some pictures, you immediately grimaced at the sight of your mascara staining your cheeks. you were lazing around in the hotel lobby surrounded by name brand gift bags — waiting for your room key — looking like that? how embarrassing.

quickly wiping away your tears, you put on a pair of designer sunglasses you brought earlier to shield your smudged eye-makeup from the world. not that you cared what anyone in this damn lobby thought of you anyway, you were only going to be here for one night, after that you would never see most of these people again. or at least, that is what you thought.

out of the corner of your eye, you saw flashing lights which prompted you to take out your earbuds but once you did, you instantly regretted it as all you heard was screaming and yelling from the entrance. looking up, you noticed an average-looking guy wearing a skull tank top resembling the fashion sense of a middle schooler, being followed by a mob of screaming fans, paparazzi and gossip channel reporters.

“dynamight! thank you for everything!”

“you deserve to be number one!”

“we are here at scene, pro-hero dynamight has just been seen entering what appears to be his five star accommodation, wearing his signature blac--”

the loud noises were suddenly muffled as the doorman shut the entrance behind him, leaving things just as they were, except now there was a muscular blond man encircled by bodyguards staring daggers at you.

in any other situation, you would’ve just tried your best to ignore him but some of that liquid courage was beginning to get to you, so your reaction was to snarl right back at him, yelling across the hall, “take a picture, why don’t ya? it’ll last longer.”

only upon processing your reply did the man finally snap out of his trance and storm up to, being hastily followed by his guards who looked as though they were ready to throw down at any given moment, so of course you cowered back in your seat, apologies waiting on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill until his face was hovering centimetres away from yours.

your throat ran dry at his unexpected action, your eyes scanning over his chiselled features through the tint of your glasses. in a turn of events, you were now the one speechlessly staring at him. then, a deep chuckle erupted from his throat, causing the shock to show on your expression.

“i knew i recognised you! you’re stupid deku’s girlfriend- fiancée or whatever; i saw the invite for your wedding in my mail and i just got a look at your face before i threw it away. small world.” the blond continued to laugh, talking to you as if you were an old friend of his despite the fact you’ve never seen him before in your life, “anyway, you like a hot fuckin’ mess. where’s deku?”

why was he talking to you so casually? and how dare he say that!

“first of all,” you started, peering over your glasses to gaze at his face without the rose tint but to no avail, you still had no idea who this man is. using the soles of your palm, you pushed him away by the shoulders as he was a bit too close for comfort, but that resulted in all his guard looking at you with murderous glints in their eyes. “deku and i broke up--”

“when?” he cut you off

“let me finish.” you glared at him, fixing your sunglasses, “we broke up this morning. secondly, who the fuck are you?”

the man looked like he was ready to burst out laughing once again until he had a visible realisation, “eh, well, we’ve never met before but i’m sure deku has told you about me. if not, you’ve probably seen me in the news; i saved around a thousa--”

“no, i’ve not watched the news for, like, the past six months.” this time, you cut him off with a mischievous smirk which you tried your best to conceal.

“bitch! let me fuckin’ finish!” he barked, then had a sudden change in demeanour as he let out a sigh, momentarily silent as he scanned the surrounding area, “i’m bakugo. kastuki.”

your reply of a blank stare spoke a thousand words.

“y’know, dynamight.”

who?

“the number two hero!”

nothing.

“the one who saved that whole airline from blowing up just a week ago! c’mon, it was all over the fuckin’ news!”

“you look like a hotter version of my old maths teacher. oh, and i’m (y/n) (l/n).” was the only verbal response he was able to get out of you, even after all his explaining.

“why do you i feel like you are sayin’ that just to piss me off?” he muttered to himself through gritted teeth, followed by a sharp inhale which you assumed was an attempt to calm himself down. his carnelian eyes darted around the room, halting once he raised his arm to view his watch. his brows knitted together as he read the time, forming a concentrated look which was short-lived as his face was quick to relax, emphasised by a slight shrug as if to say ‘i’ve got time’, before slumping down on the couch next to you.

“so why did you and shitty deku break up?”

“i may be a bit tipsy but i’m not just gonna tell that sorta stuff to a complete stranger.” each syllable felt like it had to be forced out one at a time, but you’d rather that than slur you speech as bakugo seemed like the type to poke fun at you for it.

“i just wanna know how badly he fucked up this time.” bakugo smirked, propping his elbow up on the back of the couch to turn and look at you, “eh, i don’t think we’ll be strangers for long.”

there was a certain purr in this voice which sent blood rushing to your cheeks as you never expect someone like him to come on so strong. not that you were complaining, i mean, being in his presence during a time like this felt like a gift from god but you weren’t going to let him know that. it’d only add to his already massive ego so you decided to ignore his suggestive behaviour, opting to show disinterest instead, “hm, you think?”

it was almost comical how fast bakugo’s cocky smirk fell into a frown. honestly, he wasn’t used to people that he flirts with rejecting him, considering that he rarely ever makes moves on anyone. so, now what did he do? due to the foreign nature of this situation, bakugo felt as though he was left with no choice but to bargain, since he’s far from a quitter, “oi, what that supposed to mean?”

you shrug.

bakugo clicked his tongue along with a roll of his eyes before he said, “how ‘bout this; i pay for your room tonight and in exchange we can get to know each other tomorrow.”

“i can pay for my own room though.”

bakugo deadpanned, he honestly thought he had won but apparently not. perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to hit on someone who had just gotten out of a relationship but whatever. “you’re impossible.” he spat, getting up from the couch and marching away, presumably to his room.

he tried to brush off the encounter like it never happened, reassuring himself that he didn’t have to think much of it as he could get with anyone else. plus, you’d probably come crawling back to him, begging to fuck once you get over deku anyway.

and he was half right.

eventually, you came to the realisation that both you and bakugo have one thing in common — a hatred for deku. and as it turns out, hatred provides a good groundwork for friendship.

#deku angst #izuku angst #bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x y/n #midoriya angst #👾angst #i'll probably have to make a part 4 for this to make sense

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babydaddyleorio · 3 years

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Leorio, illumi and hisoka headcanons where the reader is a fashion designer who love to draw! Pls and thanks!💫🦋💛~luh

I actually really loved this idea so these headcanons came out way longer than expected. Hope you like them!

Fashion Designer s/o

Leorio

-Leorio doesn’t have one artistic bone in his body so whenever you finally expose your drawings to him, he thinks that you’re crazy talented and way more creative than you let out to be. No matter If it’s a quick sketch or something you’ve spent weeks working on, Leorio is still impressed and thinks it’s nothing short of amazing.

-He ends up being completely intrigued by all the designs you’ve shoved in front of him and adores the fact that you always share your ideas with him. It honestly makes him feel happy to know that he’s a part of this experience as well.

-Whenever you tell him you’re done, he’ll gently grab your notebook from your hands and an immediate smile will break across his face once he sees your designs.

-He’ll ask you tons of questions when his eyes are skimming across the paper such as “What was your inspiration for this?” or “How long did this take you?” His genuine interest in your ideas always makes you feel like your work is appreciated.

-The two of you have joint offices where your small space is filled with your sewing machines, fabrics, and mannequins and Leorio’s is filled with all his essentials for medical school. Leorio will sometimes peek his head in your office whenever you’re too focused to notice him and will take that as an opportunity to admire how dedicated you are. The proud expression he has doesn’t falter when you finally look up and see him standing in your doorway, in fact, he makes sure to tell you how amazing you are.

-He has to always remind you not to overwork yourself and will every now and then pop up and give you snacks and drinks so he knows that you’re doing okay.

-He always makes time to come and see one of your shows and will be sitting happily in the front row looking at the people modeling your work or he’ll clap and cheer loudly if you’re the one strutting down the catwalk.

-Leorio stays encouraging you and will always say “One day, you’re going to be famous.” Of course you’d act very humble and as If that’s never going to happen, but he’ll insist that you’ll make It big because you’re an amazing fashion designer that deserves all the hype in the world.

Illumi

-Illumi isn’t all that Interested in your work, but he definitely still tries his best to be supportive once he sees that this is something you really enjoy doing.

-Will loom over your shoulder as you’re working to see what you’re drawing. You’d have to explain that you had researched upcoming trends, color matching, and deciding what fabrics were better suited for your design when considering your sketch. He’d listen intently, trying to make sense of all the fancy words that were coming out of your mouth and would finally be like “Oh.. that’s interesting.”

-After Illumi told his mother about you being a designer and showing her your past works, Kikyo would immediately put you in charge of making her dresses and gowns. She’d give you a long set of requirements because she really wanted to just test your limits at first, but once you’d prove to her that you were capable of creating beautiful designs, she would ease up on you and commend you on everything else you’d make for her. Illumi is definitely impressed by this and is secretly proud of you.

-Illumi will give you a massive room for your workspace-- maybe even your own boutique If you’re freelance-- that's filled with everything a fashion designer would need.

-He would give you tons of connections to other designers, model agencies, celebrities and any other resources you may need to get your name out there.

-Because Illumi isn’t experienced when It comes to communicating, this is ultimately how he expresses his support towards your work and you appreciate him, even If it is a bit much.

Hisoka

-Hisoka has absolutely no problem modeling your outfits for you. In fact, he basically volunteers himself to do it.

-And for some reason he always manages to pull it off well?

-This man was practically made for the runway and you’ll sometimes use him as one of the models for your show because he never fails to make heads turn in the crowd.

-Hisoka is also very educated when It comes to things like clothes, so he’s well aware of the fashion do’s and don’ts. This means he’s perfect to go to for advice or for giving you ideas for your next design.

-He’s extremely fascinated with your drawings and thinks that you’re a talented artist.

-You will sometimes design Hisoka’s outfits to wear and you especially have to be the one to sew Hisoka’s clothes back together after one of his intense battles with someone.

-Literally he’ll kick the door open with his heels and will walk through the door with barely any clothes left hanging on him and turn to you like “Babe, can you fix this for me?”

-Like sir… there’s nothing left to fix...

-Loves going shopping with you because you both have an amazing sense of fashion. You guys will literally go to different stores together and the both of you will have the exact same reaction when you’re skimming through the clothing rack. Whether the clothes are ugly or cute, you and Hisoka will be quick to point it out to each other.

-He does not like how much you overwork yourself and will express to you that he doesn’t like it. Hisoka is very selfish and If It’s one thing that he craves, It’s attention. So when he sees that you’re spending all your time focusing on drawing, he’ll literally drag you away from your desk and force you to go cuddle with him on your couch.

-You would be squished against his hard chest and his arms would be wrapped tightly around your body. “Hisoka I have to get back to work.” You would groan out loud with a frown, but when you noticed that he was fast asleep and snoring in your ear, you’d roll your eyes and reluctantly snuggle closer to him.

-You’d realize that you’d been completely worn out from all your drawing and designing so you decided that one little break wouldn’t hurt you. Especially since sleeping on your boyfriend’s chest was just too comfortable to pass up.

278 notes · View notes

babyybitchhh · 3 years

Text

Ogun x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 8,375

Warnings: established relationship, cunnilingus, brief mention of breeding/pregnancy implication, piv sex, creampie

A/N: I really did not think I'd finish this and yet, months later, here we are. I said I wanted to do Ogun's hair for him so that is exactly what I did. 😤 A LOT of research went into the first half of this fic, I can't even tell you how many braiding videos I watched or how many haircare blurbs I read through, so if my ignorance shows I really do apologize. I can barely do my own hair let alone someone else's and I put in a lot leg work for about 5 paragraphs of relevant information. lol Best boy deserves it though, so please enjoy!

♥♥♥♥

The quiet drone of the TV against the far wall was the only source of noise in the small apartment and neither of you were paying any attention to it. Hadn’t been for the last few hours, but that was how most wash days went. The background chatter was superfluous at best when you had all of your attention zeroed in on your boyfriend's hair and Ogun was pleasantly dozing at your feet, lost in his own little world of pampered bliss.

It did, however, serve its purpose in helping you better keep track of the time. If left to your own thoughts, you would have all too easily slipped into the same comfortable lull as him and forgotten about everything else you had to do. Like think about food, for example.

Briefly glancing up at the sound of cheesy sitcom music, you mentally check off another half hour. It was starting to get late which meant he’d probably be starving by the time you were done and that wouldn’t exactly come as a surprise given you’d been at this for the better part of the day. All that hard earned muscle mass of his certainly wasn’t going to maintain itself.

And, now that you were thinking about it, you were starting to notice the creeping pang of hunger in the back of your mind, buzzing faintly like an incessant afterthought.

Drawing a breath, you start to ask if he’s in the mood for anything in particular but Ogun manages to beat you to it.

“What should we do for dinner?”

You smile to yourself, fingers deftly moving through his hair with practiced ease -- under, scoop, under, repeat -- while you give that question some thought. Surely there was something you could whip up with what you had on hand in the kitchen. The real question, however, was what.

Doing a quick mental checklist of your cupboards, you rapidly narrow down your options. A fast and easy pasta dish was out of the question without the sauce or any ingredients to make it with. No meat for hamburgers. There was still some salad mix in the fridge but he needed something far more substantial than that. Damn. You should probably go shopping soon.

“Hmm,” Gently tilting Ogun’s head forward, you pick back up on the half finished braid you were working on. He was almost done, with only two rows left to go. The argan oil and shea products you’d put in his hair left your fingertips feeling buttery smooth and soft, their lingering smell as warm as it was soothing. It permeated the air in the living room, enclosing you both in your own little bubble for two and making for an altogether pleasantly relaxing Sunday afternoon.

“Let’s see …” You murmur at length. “I could probably make a stir fry with some vegetables and shrimp. How’s that sound?”

“As much as I love your cooking,” He shifts on the floor and glances over his shoulder, forcing you to pause what your fingers are doing. “I was thinking we could order in tonight. My treat.”

Your smile grows even when you try to ignore the unmistakable flutter in your chest. “Oh? And what’s the occasion?”

“There isn’t one.” His mouth curls up, mirroring yours. “But if you need an excuse, consider it thanks for doing my hair.”

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m not finished yet.” Placing a hand atop his head, you pointedly turn him around straight again and Ogun laughs, very softly, when you release him so you can get back to work.

You enjoyed getting to do this for him and the fact you liked playing with his hair was no secret either. It was wild and thick, very close to being untamable, but it was also incredibly healthy -- something you would have all too happily taken credit for if it hadn’t been in the same enviable condition as when you’d first met him. That he trusted you enough to let you do this was, perhaps, more intimate than anything else you’d ever done together, and with a few more twists you put the finishing touches on the braid.

Letting it hang next to the others, you direct him to lean back so that you can easily reach the front of his hairline again. He acquiesces without a fuss and sinks into the couch, letting the back of his head settle comfortably in your lap. Ogun’s shoulders brush your knees when you hunch closer with a pink rat tail comb in hand and you’re acutely aware of him watching you as you begin sectioning out the next row. You start to smile again, even though you try not to.

“What?”

“I’m still waiting on an answer.”

You shoot him a quick look.

Golden eyes gleam back at you, reflecting endearment and humor alike, and you quickly focus in on his blown out, fluffy hair again before he can successfully distract you. “I don’t know. You pick.”

“Nope.” He hums goodnaturedly. “That’s not how this works. You can’t just push it back on me when I asked you for a reason. Tell me what you want.”

“I really don’t know - hey!” You squawk when he gives the back of your calf a sharp pinch in retaliation for being so uncooperative and you squirm, giggling. “Don’t do that! I’m honestly not sure what I’m in the mood for.”

“Then think about it.”

“I am.” You intone, gently pushing Ogun’s head forward just enough to get at the crown of his head. Relative silence claims the room once more while you consider an almost endless list of potential choices and finish up the second to last braid. Thankfully without any more pinching attacks on his end. He was going to look so nice when you were done.

“What about a pizza?” You suggest at last.

“I’m game.” He murmurs, slouching to the side so he can rest his temple against the plush cushion of your leg. It gives you the perfect angle to attack the final strip from and you get to work weaving coarse strands into his preferred fashion, your fingers moving quickly but efficiently. You’d practiced tirelessly just to ensure he wouldn’t have to go to someone else for this without skimping on the finished product's quality and it certainly showed.

A few moments later, the task is complete.

Grabbing an elastic band, you gather Ogun’s styled hair into a neat little ponytail and tie it off at the back of his head. You finish up by running your fingertips across one shaved side of his scalp, affectionately feeling out the new growth before deciding he can go another week or two until you have to bring out the clippers again.

“Alright. You’re all done.”

Lifting a hand to feel over his hair, he twists around and peers up at you with an expectant grin. “How do I look?”

“Like the most handsome man in the world.”

Ogun positively beams. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Leaning close, you press a brief kiss to his smiling mouth. “What sort of pizza do you --”

He cuts you off when he suddenly pushes up on his knees and catches your lips again.

Your eyes go big when broad hands find the meat of your thighs and gently squeeze them while he kisses you much more impassionedly than you’d kissed him. A sound of surprise rises in the back of your throat but he quickly swallows it, making your heart race.

Heaving a quiet sigh through your nose, you lean into the gesture and meet him halfway, eagerly kissing him back.

Grinning knowingly, Ogun tilts his head and slots his mouth more securely over yours to deepen the exchange. You find yourself slowly melting against him and you bring your hands up to grab onto his shoulders. God, he was unfairly good at this. Not that you were complaining, but a polite segue from one topic to the next would have been appreciated. You’d been thinking about dinner, what sort of toppings you wanted on your pizza, and now you were thinking about …

You groan, very softly, when his palms drag up along your sides, bunching the cotton of your t-shirt in the process. It allows for the briefest skin on skin contact and an eruption of goosebumps spreads across your body, as anticipatory as they were impatient.

Lips parting, you grant him access and Ogun jumps at the chance, eagerly sweeping his tongue into your mouth to lav yours with warm, wet attention. The smooth, flickering strokes he graces your palette with inspires a flood of molten heat in your gut that leaves you wanting more. Always more. It was never enough where he was concerned - and you slide one of your hands higher still to tenderly cradle the curve of his skull.

Much to your whining disappointment, however, he pulls back a moment later to give you some space and you whimper at the loss.

“Ogun …”

“Shh. I’m right here, baby.” He whispers, leaning back in to press a quick peck to your lips before doing the same to the corner of your mouth.

It’s not enough to pacify you though and you loop both arms around his neck, trying to pull him back in again. He obliges with an affectionate nuzzle, pressing close to settle against your lap and pin you to the back of the couch under his sturdy weight.

“What's wrong, sweetheart?”

You pull your mouth in an imploring pout. “I’d like for you to finish what you started.”

He laughs, sweet and boyish as he pulls back to fix you with a big grin. “Oh? And have I ever left you wanting?”

“No, but I’d hate for you to start now.” You sound a little whiny. Needy.

Another quiet laugh and Ogun comes in to kiss you again, much more sedately this time. His soft lips mold seamlessly to yours, working against your mouth at just the right speed, with the right amount of pressure to steal the air from your lungs.

You let loose a soft moan as you arch underneath him and push your chests together, basking in the fleeting contact despite how unsatisfying it is. What you really want is to have his body working over yours without the impediment of bothersome clothes in the way. To feel the chorded steel muscle he’d worked so hard to build flexing and driving into you.

A shudder ripples through you when the thrumming desire that wells inside slithers out from between your legs to ignite the rest of your body in heated flame. An all powerful compulsion which you wouldn’t have fought even if you could.

His mouth still working in tandem with yours, Ogun gives your waist a possessive squeeze and it sends a fresh wave of sharp arousal racing down your spine. You whimper, pushing up into him a little harder, more fervently, as you clutch at his shoulders. The need to have him laid out on top of you has taken over your higher functioning mind, all thoughts of pizza long gone out the window as the velvety push and pull of his mouth draws you further under his spell.

Willingly, you surrender to the exigent summons and curl your legs up around his narrow hips to tug him even closer, urging him into action.

A hot puff of air fans across your face when he abruptly disengages from the kiss, moving to press his lips against the apple of your cheek, your jaw. There’s a noticeable haste in his actions now and you turn your head to give him better access, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat to his seeking mouth.

Ogun wastes no time and immediately swoops in, pecking his way down the column of your neck with an occasional love bite here or there for good measure. Each one seemed to make your toes curl that much tighter to the point where you could hardly stand it anymore.

“You play dirty …” You mumble, lightly running your nails across his nape.

“Mm, how so?” He sounds distracted and preoccupied, too busy mouthing at your pulse to pay it any mind.

“You told me to decide on dinner …” You trail off when he latches onto the juncture of your neck and shoulder, immediately succumbing to the tantalizing suction Ogun applies with his lips. You let out a soft, faltering groan, brows furrowing in pleasure when it makes the simmering heat in your gut double and then triple as teeth sink into delicate skin.

Shuddering, you deliberately wrack your brain in an attempt to finish your train of thought but that proves much more of a struggle than you’d been prepared for.

“But … nngh, but now all I want is you …”

He comes up at your somewhat dreamy admittance, a mischievous look camping out on his face even as big hands push at the hem of your shirt. “Oh yeah? Anything you want in particular, sweetheart?”

Lifting your gaze, you peer up at Ogun from just a scant few inches away. The shallow rise and fall of your chest has no doubt clued him in that he’s got you all worked up now but you aren’t exactly trying to hide it. He already knew just how weak you were for him, knew precisely how well your body always responded to his advances, so there really wasn’t any point in pretending otherwise.

You were powerless against his undeniable charm and he seemed to get just as much enjoyment out of that as you did. And looking at him now you think, not for the first time, that you just might be the luckiest girl in the world.

“Let’s start with that talented mouth.” You murmur, reaching out to take his smooth jaw in hand and pull him, grinning, into another kiss.

Noising quietly against your mouth, he leans further into you until it feels like you’re being pleasantly crushed under the hard, muscular weight of his frame. It only serves to get you even more riled up, now well and truly desperate to feel his bare skin flush against yours as you roll your hips forward and drag your clenching pussy across the front of his pants.

Lips parting on a heady groan, he returns the favor by slowly thrusting his pelvis forward so you can feel the stiff outline of his cock caressing your clothed slit. You keen at the sensation and cant your hips into the pressure, the two of you gradually picking up a steady, unhurried rhythm together that damn near drives you wild.

Hands staying busy while he sedately humps you, Ogun patiently works your shirt up higher and higher until it’s bunched under your armpits. Reaching around for the clasp of your bra, he gives it one good tug and the satiny soft material loosens around your shoulders with a near silent slither. Bringing his hands to the front again, he shoves the cups up out of the way before letting them descend on soft, pliant breasts that seem to fit just right in the curve of his worn palms. Giving them both a gentle squeeze, he kneads your chest until you groan and tip your head back, breaking apart from the kiss in favor of sighing up at the ceiling.

He takes that opportunity to dip his face close and press an open mouthed kiss to the center of your sternum while he carefully squeezes your tits in a pinching grip. It makes you shudder, wishing you could clench your thighs and ease the growing ache there, but that’s impossible when he’s slotted between them like this. You have no choice but to endure the thrumming tension and you squirm underneath him, needily bucking up to meet the next thrust of his hips with a frustrated little groan.

“Ogun,” You gasp, letting your fingers scrabble to grab hold of his black t-shirt and tug on it. “I need you. Now.��

Bringing his head up, Ogun allows himself a moment to drink in the wanton expression on your face while he cups his hands around your breasts almost reverently. “How do you need me, baby?” He mumbles, letting his thumbs brush over your stiff nipples in a feather light caress. “What do you need?”

“Your mouth …” You whine, practically choking on it.

“Where do you need my mouth, huh? Tell me.”

“On my pussy.” It’s more a plea than a statement and you shake for him even as the words leave your mouth.

Ogun shifts against you and bends down, mouth opening wide over the pebbled peak of your breast. You watch on, mesmerized, when the pink of his tongue darts out to lap at the fleshy bud before sealing his lips around it and suckling. Your eyes slip shut as you arch, pushing your chest up to meet him while your fingers cling to the cotton of his shirt. Ogun doesn’t linger long though and he soon comes up off the first with a dull pop before catching your other nipple between his lips.

Briefly worrying it, he slides his hand forward to tweak the spit lathered bud between thumb and forefinger, making you outright seethe. You give up on getting his top off with an impatient little huff and bring your hands down to grasp at his arms instead. The firm, wiry muscle under his skin offers little give no matter how hard you squeeze or dig your nails in, and he remains ever unperturbed, casually sucking the tip of your breast to stiff, throbbing attention.

“Please, Ogun …”

With a faint hum, he comes up off your chest and presses a quick peck to the puckered nipple. “I know, baby. I know.” Moving back to the first nipple, he kisses that one too. “Just be patient, alright? You know you don’t have to beg me to go down on you …”

You groan at the velvety suggestion and tuck your chin down to pin him with an imploring look. Ogun offers you a lopsided grin in return, pinching both your nipples between his fingers and carefully tweaking the sensitive flesh until you outright gasp. You feel like you’re running on autopilot now as you reach up to sandwich his face between your palms and pull him into yet another kiss, lips crashing together with an intensity that makes your pussy flutter.

His mouth parts against yours, opening wide as if to swallow you whole, and all the while he keeps plucking at your tits until they’re aching almost as much as your neglected cunt. You couldn’t take it anymore ...

Tightening your legs around Ogun’s waist, you dig your heels into the small of his back and draw him right up against you so you can feel the hard weight of his cock digging into the spot where you need him most. A frazzled, high strung wail claws its way up the back of your throat as you jut your pelvis up and rub yourself against that thick, pulsing heat in search of some relief but very little is forthcoming like this.

He pulls back at the sudden friction thoufg and issues a faltering groan that seems to echo off the walls for as quiet as it is. “Shit … you really want it that bad, baby?”

“It’s your fault …”

“I know, I know.” Bending close, Ogun presses a hard peck to the center of your chest. “And I’ll take responsibility for that, don’t you worry.”

Lower he trails, slowly kissing his way down your fluttering stomach as his hands come around to unbutton your shorts. The zipper quickly follows suit and then he’s tugging them down your thighs while you eagerly twist to help get you undressed just that much quicker.

Thoughtlessly tossing them aside, Ogun reaches for your panties next but he’s much more subdued in removing these. One torturous fraction at a time, he carefully pries the thin cotton away until they’re low enough to expose your puffy slit to the air. He lets out an appreciative noise of approval when he sees the sticky mess you’ve made along the seam and your heart pounds in your ears as you draw your legs up so he can slip the dainty cotton the rest of the way off.

He discards them somewhere on the floor, probably right alongside your shorts, before palming your bent knees. Gently, Ogun eases them apart so he can peer down at your sticky cunt with an unconcealed expression of hunger.

“Look at you, baby. Just look at this pretty pussy, already so wet for me.”

Smoothing big hands up along your bare thighs, he bends close and presses his mouth to the apex of your mound in a surprisingly chaste but hungry kiss. Digging your fingers into the couch cushions, you enticingly wiggle your hips at him and gold eyes flash at you from between your legs, amusement and something much more dark shining within them.

You feel his lips eagerly curl against you then, and he shuffles closer to the couch so that he’s hunched directly over your prone body. Hooking long fingers under one of your legs, he hauls it up and over his shoulder before repeating the process on the other side. Grabbing big, grasping handfuls of your hips, he uses his hold on you to drag your lower body just to the edge of the seat, making you squeak at suddenly finding yourself completely vulnerable and laid bare. Your pussy clenches tight in anticipation though and you tremble, drawing a steadying breath when he pecks at the soft swell of your inner thigh, warm breath puffing against your skin.

There was no denying that he had you completely at his mercy like this and you would have been lying through your teeth if you said that didn’t excite you.

“Comfortable?”

At your nod, Ogun leans forward just enough to bend your legs towards your chest and fold you against the top of the couch. He settles on his knees and dips his head down, mouth parting so his tongue can take a quick swipe from the bottom of your gushing cunt up to the top. The sight of it has you groaning for him, your vision swimming as you force yourself to keep watching.

That proves exceedingly difficult when he presses in close, making the meat of your pussy lips squish and mold against his face. Slowly kissing at you to work them open with his mouth, he flicks his attention up to regard your face and you practically vibrate on the cushions. Another swipe of his tongue hits its mark, wetly knocking your clit, and you let loose a seething mewl.

“O - ohh! Yeah …”

Ogun’s fingers dig into your twitching hips to keep them spread while he takes his time slowly swirling around that sensitive pleasure button. He starts at a wide breadth and then gradually works his tongue in tighter and tighter circles until he’s finally grinding it into oblivion. The soft, gooey friction of his mouth is enough to have you wheezing in pleasure as sweat beads, unnoticed, along your lower back and you arch, making your tits jiggle with the motion.

“Right there … don’t stop!”

Issuing a low sound of agreement, Ogun opens his jaw wider and drags his tongue straight up through your slick, juicy folds. You can feel every little thing - every nerve ending and every meaty bit of flesh that tries to cling to the textured muscle and your legs jerk at the sensation.

Tossing your head back against the couch, you blindly reach down to grasp his knuckles in a death grip. “Ah, haah … feels good ...”

In lieu of a proper response, he tilts his head and attacks your thrumming clit from a different angle. He’s relentless, mercilessly battering that delicate little pearl back and forth with such fervor that it leaves you quaking under his attention, struggling just to breathe. You’re not sure how much more of this you can stand, the threat of tipping over the edge before you can even fully enjoy it looking like a very real possibility now, but then Ogun seals his mouth around the fleshy nub and sucks.

Hard.

“Oh!” You choke on a haggard, stuttering gasp of pleasure, lurching underneath him.

Confidently humming, he comes up off you with a dull pop and a sticky breath of air. “Looks like you’re already getting close.” Ogun murmurs, sounding really quite smug about that.

Never one to leave you hanging though, he crowds one of his hands between your legs and presses blunt fingers into your slit. Finding your throbbing clit again, Ogun starts to rub it in fast strokes made smooth by the viscous mix of saliva and arousal that absolutely coats your pussy and this time you practically shriek.

“Yes! Yes, I’m getting close! … nngghh … please, please, pleeease! Ogun, please!”

But he refuses to let up on your poor little cunt just yet. “Please what, baby?”

You twist, thighs flexing and going ramrod stiff around his head. Your vision was starting to blur around the edges, reflexive tears pricking at your eyes. It’s hard just to think straight let alone form a semi coherent sentence when he’s relentlessly rubbing your clit with roughly calloused fingertips like that, the friction almost too much to bear and quickly riding the line of overstimulation. You couldn’t handle much more of it.

“Pl - please put your dick in me! Please! I wanna’ come on your cock, Ogun! I’m buh - aaah - ah! - begging!”

A low, rumbling groan rises up in his chest but, still, he doesn’t stop. “I thought you wanted to come on my mouth?”

“I - I changed my mind!”

He grunts, deep and primal in his acknowledgement, and the sound races straight to your throbbing cunt.

You respond with a broken groan, only to nearly come right up off the couch when he withdraws his fingers and replaces them with his mouth. Supple lips part and work you open again so he can worm his tongue into the crease of your body. He delivers a series of taunting flicks to the straining bud hidden within, making you sensitively twitch, before dragging the flat of his tongue across it in broad, sweeping strokes. You could feel yourself tipping ever closer to the edge and, with a wheezing gasp, you reach down with both hands to cradle either side of his head.

You’re not sure if you want to push him away or draw him closer - as if that were even possible at this point.

“Oh - Ogun, wha - wait! Nngh … if you keep going - -“

Smacking his lips, he comes up just enough for you to hear him say “You’ll cum? Good.” Before diving back in.

The way he immediately opens his mouth wide and plunges his tongue into the satiny soft folds and creases of your cunt, teasing at your entrance, has you jolting as if you’ve been electrocuted. Gritting your teeth, you clutch him all the tighter while the building pressure inside you steadily inches towards blissful discomfort. Your heaving body was truly hanging in the balance now, entirely at his mercy (of which there seemed to be none) and your legs uselessly flex in the air when you squeeze them around his head. You could almost taste it in the back of your throat.

“Fuck! Right there …” you whine as you rock your pelvis against his mouth, the motion stiff and halting. “Right there, baby … I’m s - so - ooooh - close!”

Ogun grunts in approval and drags his tongue up to the top of your slit again, burying his face somehow even deeper into the cushiony give of your pussy. He glances at you, very briefly, from under the fall of dark lashes and the heady, masculine glint in those burnt gold irises sends a powerful shudder rippling down your spine. Your mouth drops open as if to scream but nothing comes out. For a worryingly long moment, it feels like you forgot how to breathe.

All you can do is watch on in thrumming suspense when he drops his gaze and gives his head a shake to jostle all the nerve endings in your cunt. The braids you’d worked on all day give a little bounce in their ponytail before settling again, and your eyes start to roll back when he flattens his tongue to your clit so he can grind down on it again. Static shoots through your system as you arch against him, so fitfully your back starts to ache in protest, but it was much too late. Nothing could stop it now, not even if you wanted to.

You suck in a haggard breath and the coil snaps, just like that. With an almost violent jerk, you devolve into a fit of convulsions that has you wailing up at the ceiling in total disregard for the upstairs neighbors. They probably heard you every time you and your boyfriend had sex but it’s not as if you could very well help it. Ogun was a talented individual by nature and that certainly transferred over into bedroom activities too.

Helpless, all you can do is cling to him through the full bodied tremors that shake you straight down to your core while he leisurely laps at your throbbing clit to ease you through it. He always seemed intent on milking your orgasms for all they were worth, and that certainly didn’t help your case with your neighbors either. It always felt like something of an out of body experience when he was the one going down on you and you couldn’t exactly say you disliked him for that.

The exact opposite, actually.

“Oh, god …”

With a stuttering groan, you slowly go limp as you come down from your high one piece of you at a time. It was hard to tell which jagged edges fit where, but you’re still acutely aware of the mess he’s made of your cunt when Ogun finally straightens and you feel a rush of fresh air hit your drenched slit. You shiver at the sensation and crack your eyes open to peer down at him, whimpering.

“You didn’t listen …”

Snorting a quiet laugh, he shifts against you and brings a hand up to swipe the glistening moisture from his mouth. “I only did what you initially asked for, sweetheart. That doesn’t mean I can’t give you the second request, too.”

Your lips curl in a warbling smile at that, and he grins right back.

Letting your head loll against the couch cushions, you contentedly watch as he brings your legs down off his shoulders so he can move to stand. Leaving you spread out and feeling like silly putty, he yanks his shirt over his head with one quick, fluid motion that makes his abdominals tantalizingly ripple before reaching for his pants next. He makes quick work of the button and then the fly, anticipation evident in his body language when he shoves them along with his underwear down to his feet.

Ogun’s thick cock bounces eagerly when he steps out of his discarded clothes, and the sight alone is enough to make your pussy clench tight. You still felt sensitive and over wrought, so fresh off the tail end of your orgasm, but that doesn’t stop you from moaning faintly at the sight of him.

You’d never known a more attractive man in all your life.

“Ogun …” You murmur, eyes slipping shut when your desire flares back at full force dizzyingly fast.

Your eyes immediately pop back open, however, when he slides his arms under your knees and leans forward to brace against the couch, folding you up like a pretzel. Your toes flex as you squirm underneath him, glancing down at your defenless little cunt with an excited squeak. Puffy lips can’t help but spread in this position and you easily catch sight of your swollen clit straining towards him in obvious need, not yet satisfied.

Hovering just a scant breath away, his straining cock - all silky smooth and heavy - twitches in anticipation, eager to sink into you. It doesn’t look like it's going to fit. It never does but, somehow or another, he always manages to squeeze every girthy inch of himself inside you and the thought alone has you throbbing in sharp, sporadic pulses.

It was almost embarrassing how fast you were bouncing back from the first round, but you can’t quite complain when you watch his hanging ballsack sway with the motion of getting himself situated and your pussy responds in kind with an intense pulse. He had the body of a breeder and you were sure he would’ve already had you heavy and round by now if only you weren’t on birth control. Maybe someday, though …

“Ogun …” You were starting to feel well and truly delirious now, and you reach up to dig your nails into his forearms for leverage to ground yourself with.

He doesn’t seem to mind it though, and he merely issues a soft grunt of acknowledgement as he rocks forward a bit to angle your defenseless pussy up at him more. You can feel yourself squeeze down and you groan, dazedly watching your own thighs flex in their bent up position but there was simply no way out of his hold now. The thought alone is enough to have you breathing out a stuttering puff of air, which you promptly choke on when he starts to lower his pelvis towards yours.

“Yes, yes, yes, please give it to me, I need it, I need it, please --”

You’re whining. You realize that on some level, but you’re much too consumed by this desperate hunger to have him rearranging your guts to care about that right now. It wouldn’t take Ogun long at all to have you creaming around him at this rate.

Unperturbed, he casually adjusts his position over top of you before swooping down to catch your babbling mouth in another heated kiss to silence you. The passionate force behind the gesture pushes your head back against the cushions and you relent, groaning into his lips as your hands fly up to offer his sides an encouraging squeeze.

Luxuriating under the strength of his body, you drag your palms up across his chest and higher still to grasp his shoulders. With a weak, halfhearted jut of your pelvis, you make a sad little attempt at angling your hips up enough to feel his leaking cockhead against your sticky cunt but it’s no use. He has you thoroughly pinned and at his mercy like this. His for the taking whenever he saw fit to skewer you on his sizable length and not a moment sooner.

It was too much.

You suddenly break from the kiss in favor of keening in soft desperation. He pulls back, stopping just long enough to regard you with that infuriatingly attractive, heavy lidded look before pointedly glancing between your bodies.

Slowly, you follow his lead only to swallow hard when his thighs flex forward and the underside of his cock skirts along your parted pussy lips. The crude way it bumps against your clit has you jolting at the sensation and clutching him all the more fervently. Your whole body positively shakes as Ogun shuffles his feet a little further apart and tries again, the bulbous glans slipping and sliding through petal soft folds once, twice - until it abruptly finds its mark on the third stroke.

Catching at your entrance, he pauses for a moment and then slowly starts to sink in. Your breath hitches, mouth opening on a silent scream as you watch the ruddy pink head slowly disappear into your body. The stretch is immediately felt, and it’s more than enough to make your greedy pussy flutter around the intrusion even as it gushes more sticky slick to ease the way.

But the more of him that slides into the gummy sleeve of your insides, the less good it does. He’s just too big - wider than he is long, yet still large enough to push your heaving body right to its limits. You hold your breath, head spinning, when he pushes further in and forces your squeezing passage to make room for him. More and more, until he’s about half of the way inside where he finally pauses to let you adjust.

You twitch, weakly writhing like a small animal caught in the merciless maw a steel trap. You were utterly powerless underneath him.

“Oh - Ogun! Fuck … fuck me - dear Sol, please just fuck me!”

He draws a slow, calming breath. “You’re still so tight, baby … I don’t want to hurt you.”

Whimpering, you reach between your legs and wrap trembling fingers around the base of him. Ogun moans after a few awkward pumps of your hand and tilts his face up at the ceiling, basking in the sensation of you jerking him while he’s half wedged inside your body.

It must feel good because it takes him a prolonged moment to get his bearings again and when he does, he carefully eases himself back just enough to give a tiny thrust forward. You can feel the moment he slips in a little deeper than before and you guide him into it, one sedate thrust at a time. When you stroke up, he pulls back and when you stroke down, he pushes into you. It’s a maddeningly cohesive rhythm that has you panting like a bitch in heat long before he finally slides home and you outright choke when the fronts of his thighs settle against the backs of yours a small eternity later.

“Shit,” He hisses, brows knitting as he peers down to admire the sight of his pelvis flush against yours. “That’s a tight fit … how’re you doing, sweetheart? It’s not too much, is it?”

You give your head a numb shake and roll your eyes up at him, teasing your fingertips through the mess of curls at the base of his groin while you do it. Words couldn’t even come close to describing how stuffed full you felt, but you loved it.

“N - no … it’s perfect … feels - ngh - good …”

Smiling, Ogun dips his face close to press his mouth to your forehead in a chastely sweet kiss. He stays like that as he carefully angles back until just the tip remains and then, so slowly you can feel it in your bones, he pushes back in. The drag is exquisite and it feels like you’re practically suffocating on the intense pleasure of every solid inch, each throbbing vein. You could feel it all.

A wordless cry of pleasure bursts out of you when he slides back out and in again at that same staggered pace. He’s so big you can feel the pressure on your cervix and when he wiggles his hips, grinding into you, oh god, it feels like he’s pushing the glans right on that raised ring of puckered flesh. Your mouth drops open but nothing comes out. It was hard just to keep your eyes focused anymore.

Haltingly, he starts up a gradual but steady pace as your body adjusts around the intrusion and makes room for him, your pulpy walls clinging to the length of him on each drawn out stroke. It comes as a great relief, particularly when the building pressure swells into high strung arousal and replaces the initial discomfort of being stretched right to the breaking point.

In a matter of moments, the sticky wet clicking that noises each time your pussy sucks him in deep on the downward thrust comes to dominate the living room. The sound of it only seems highlighted by your sensitive bleating and the husky groans slipping out of him, the drone of the tv so much an afterthought now that you forgot it was even on. Even when he picks up enough speed to drive the fronts of his thighs against your upturned ass, creating a sharp, fleshy slap, it’s nothing compared to the hungry slurping of your cunt.

You probably would’ve been embarrassed by the whole thing if only it didn’t feel like he was spearing you straight down the middle. It made your eyes cross, mouth hanging open in doped out bliss while you cling and clutch at him for dear life. There wasn’t a single inch of you that he didn’t touch like this and it lit up every nerve ending along the way like a goddamn firework.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think he was going to break you in half.

“Such a pretty baby. Look how well you’re taking my cock ....”

You gasp. “Hnng, s’so big …!”

“And you’re taking all of it,” he murmurs, just this side of breathless. “Like a champ. Do you have any idea how good you look right now? Huh?”

You warble out an incomprehensible response, far too overwhelmed and riveted by the way Ogun’s cock glistens obscenely every time it makes another appearance between your thighs. Your fingers dig into his forearms, leaving crescent shaped marks in his skin and try not to scream in ecstasy while he carves out a space within you.

You loved watching him fuck you like this for a multitude of reasons, the most pressing at the moment being that it drove you absolutely wild.

“If you keep squeezing me like that … ngh, I won’t last much longer.” He warns, his tone far too strained to hold even a hint of real reprimand.

“I want it,” you blubber wetly. “I want it, Ogun, please …”

“You want me to cum in you?”

A jerky nod accompanied by a mewling whimper.

He lets out a shaky breath as the speed of his thrusts quicken and you jerk underneath him, bleating like something wounded. The muscles in his arms flex and twitch around you when he smoothly adjusts the positioning of his hands, hunching further over you without so much as missing a beat.

“God, you drive me crazy …”

You’d like to tell him the feeling is mutual but you don’t get the chance. A particularly sharp snap of his hips knocks something loose inside you and you uncontrollably shake, legs kicking up uselessly at the air with a wordless noise of soaring pleasure. Cumming again doesn’t seem like such a far off possibility and a frazzled whine claws at the back of your throat when he presses his sweat slick forehead against yours, prompting you to glance up.

Ogun’s eyes were always beautiful to look at but especially so when you were staring into them from just a hair's breadth away and they were clouded dark with primal need as well something much more weighty.

“Tell me you want it, sweetheart. Tell me.”

“I - ngh - aaaahh, I want your cum, Ogun! I need you to fill me uh - up, please, I want it so baaad!”

A shudder races through him and he groans, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment as if to get his bearings before cracking open again. Keeping his forehead against yours, he tilts his head down to look between the two of you and, once again, you follow suit.

The sinfully rich color of his cock, just a shade or two darker than the rest of him, looks all the more tantalizing coated in your slick. You’ve all but drenched him at this point, the tight curls that frame his length visibly damp and matted together now. You suck in a frazzled breath at the sight, your head spinning alarmingly fast when the building pressure in your gut becomes almost too much to withstand. How was it that one single man could make you feel so primal with need but tenderly cared for at the same time?

“I - -“ You all but choke on it, wheezing at the next stroke. “I’m gonna’ - ahh, cum again … don’t stop!”

“I’m about to cum too, sweetheart.” With a soft groan, he lifts his attention to pin you with a heady look of challenge. “Think we can cum together?”

You frantically nod. “Uh huh!”

The corner of Ogun’s mouth twitches at that, settling into a lazy smirk as he shifts back and slows the motion of his hips. You can’t help groaning in disappointment but you realize what he’s doing quickly enough when he lets up his hold on your legs so he can lower himself down to lay out on top of you. Working his arms under your overheated back, he practically crushes you to the front of him and you bring your own up to wrap them around his neck.

This new position increases the pressure in your guts by a noticeable margin and the air rushes out of you with a stuttering sigh when he crawls up onto the edge of the couch to pin your thighs under his weight. Your legs are just as useless as before, twitching impotently in the air when he eases his hips back as far as he can. He doesn’t make it far, just enough to feel the drag and the subsequent plunge, but it makes you cry out all the same.

Face shoved into your hair, Ogun lets loose a series of heavy grunts when he picks up his earlier pace and the same sticky clicking rises in the air again. It’s much less deafening this time, softer by virtue of his shorter strokes, and you gratefully clutch him against you, glad to hold onto him.

“You feel so good …” he groans, making you shudder at the puff of hot air against your neck.

You can’t quite find your voice though, and you respond with a faltering moan that has him twitching inside you. The thick bands of musculature across his shoulders dance under your fingers each time he moves, emphasizing the raw strength in his lithe body. And yet he was still being careful with you, the plunge of his cock as carefully measured as before so as not to slam against your cervix but still tease it.

It wasn’t even that he was unreasonably large but, rather, he just so happened to fit you like a glove and that was perhaps the most arousing part of all.

“Ogun,” you finally manage to whimper. “Mm’ gonna’ cum …”

“Me too …”

The quietly stricken groan that comes out of him next makes your toes curl. You clench around him in a palpitating flutter, so close to the edge it brought the sting of tears to your eyes. His hips stutter at the squeeze and he trembles against you, struggling to keep up the subdued thrusting he’d settled into.

It quickly proves futile when his body tenses up with a low, faltering moan that rattles so deep you feel it in your cunt. The air catches in your throat and you squeeze him with your arms across his back and your legs around his narrow waist, clutching him to you as he lurches. Blunt fingers dig into your skin and he gives a little jerk, issuing a sucker punched wheeze seconds before you feel the rush of hot seed flooding your cunt.

You tremble wildly, nails clawing into his back when the sensation of Ogun shooting thick ropes against your gummy walls makes your muscles clamp around him hard enough to send you over the edge. Writhing in bliss, you stutter out a groan that he matches with one of his own while the two of you quake through your orgasms as one.

It was transcendental in a way you never would have thought possible.

Dropping his face to the couch cushions when you finally start to grow still underneath him some moments later, he issues a rumbling sound of satisfaction. The ragged quality of your panting quickly rushes in to replace the sticky wet squelching of your cunt, and you go boneless while you try to catch your breath. That was a lot easier said than done though and he, predictably, recovers much quicker than you.

“I’m surprised we really managed to pull that off.” He hums in contentment and turns his face to kiss at your ear, teasingly soft. “That’s a first.”

“And hopefully not the last.” You wheeze, making him chuckle.

“You liked it then, I take it?”

Dislodging your cramping fingers from his back with a certain amount of effort, you bring your hand up to push the hair from your face. “It was amazing … intense. I didn’t think we could do it either.”

Ogun lifts his head to press his mouth to your check, your nose, the spot between your eyes, all with a big smile on his face. “I’m glad we did. I promise I’ll try my best to make it happen again but no promises, okay?”

You can’t quite stop from giggling. “Don’t worry. I have faith in you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Pausing long enough to give your ribs an affectionate pinch, he carefully pushes up from the couch and leans back. His softened cock slips out of you in the process, and you internally wince at the dribble of hot cum that oozes from you without him there to stopper it.

You draw your legs up to keep the mess to a minimum when he stands, gleaming eyes taking in the sight of you curled up on your couch with his semen leaking down the crease of your pussy for a prolonged beat. And then, he grins.

“Wanna’ get cleaned up and I’ll order that pizza?”

“How am I supposed to think about food after all that?” You pout at him.

Sending a sly look down at the spot between your thighs, Ogun starts to turn towards the bathroom. “I’ll get you a rag. I’m sure you’ll realize just how hungry you are once the adrenaline wears off. Besides, you should probably refuel before I try to give you an encore.”

Smiling at that, you appreciatively glance down at his tight ass before he disappears through the doorway. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind he’d be able to pull it off.

#ogun montgomery #ogun x reader #fire force #self insert bullshit #enen no shouboutai #my writing

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awhitehead17 · 3 years

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100 ways to say I love you - TimKon edition:

Number 37: “Can I kiss you?”

Enjoy! :D

From the other side of the room, Kon unabashedly watches Tim as he trains. No matter how many times he sees Tim train he’ll never grow tired of watching it.

Tim moves his body with natural fluency as he transitions from one move into the next. Anyone who watches him for the first time would think Tim is a complete natural, but realistically Kon knows this fluency he has is thanks to years and years of training and perfecting.

As Robin, Tim’s fighting had been incredible, he was strong and certainly had a knack of using his smaller stature to his advantage. Thugs would see a kid in a bright costume and immediately think nothing of him until they were proven wrong seconds later. Tim had always worked extra hard in the physical aspect of this job as it didn’t come naturally to him, it’s something Kon really admires his boyfriend for.

However his fighting as Red Robin is completely off the charts, Tim had become a force to be reckoned with. Of course Kon picked up on the difference as soon as he saw Tim fighting for the first time since coming back to life.

While his fighting style still held that gracefulness as he had as Robin, as Red Robin he was more brutal. There was no holding back any punch, swing or kick Tim delivered. It made him more dangerous, a whole lot stronger too but it didn’t seem right, the style didn’t feel like Tim. At the time Kon obviously had still been learning what changes had happened while he had been gone so it didn’t make much sense, it wasn’t until he properly spoke to Tim and got his story that everything became clear, including why his fighting style had changed.

Today it’s just him and Tim in the Tower and both of them are in the training room. Or more accurately Tim is, Kon is on the side-line simply watching and admiring the view. Tim moves around on the mats, swinging his staff this way and that as he practices different moves, knocking down invisible enemies as he goes.

While Kon is drawn to the movements of his body, he is also drawn to Tim’s body itself. His boyfriend is currently shirtless and was only wearing loose shorts with bandages wrapped around his wrists and ankles. Kon stares as Tim’s abdominal muscles bend and flex with his movements, how his abs get highlighted in certain positions, how his biceps bulge with the bend of his arms, how his calves prominently show when his legs flex. It’s a shame he can’t get a real show of his thigh muscles…

“You might want to shut your mouth before you catch flies Kon.”

Kon blinks and comes back to reality. It takes him a second to realise that Tim has stopped training and is now looking at him with amusement. Realising that his mouth is in fact open Kon shuts it with an audible click and shoots a sheepish smile at his boyfriend, not at all feeling embarrassed.

“Enjoying yourself there Kon?” Tim asks smirking.

Kon shrugs, trying to act nonchalant. “Just admiring the view that’s all. Can’t help if I enjoy a good show either.”

Tim chuckles and gestures at Kon’s lower region. “I didn’t expect you to enjoy it that much.”

Not understanding what he meant right away Kon frowns and looks down at himself. When he catches sight of a slight bulge, Kon finally feels that embarrassment of the situation and his face flushes. He got turned on by Tim training. Was it that easy to get him hot and bothered now? Well, can anyone blame him, have they seen Tim and the way he moves, how flexible his body is and those muscles…

Kon feels heat rising up inside of him as he starts thinking about Tim once again and now he’s recognised that he’s turned on that’s all he can think about. It isn’t until Tim’s laughter sounds out that Kon breaks away from his thoughts.

He snaps his attention to his boyfriend who’s still stood there watching Kon. He’s brightly smiling and is clearly finding Kon’s predicament funny.

Rolling his eyes Kon pushes off the wall and heads towards Tim. There’s certainly a simple solution to this ‘predicament’ and Kon is going to go about and getting it sorted. Or rather get his boyfriend to do something about it, he’s the cause of it after all.

Tim stands there and watches Kon approach, he doesn’t move and is letting him come close, however as soon as Kon is in reaching distance of him Tim’s bo staff is suddenly there in his face stopping him from going any further.

Knowing exactly what’s on his mind Tim smirks evilly. “Ah ah ah. Not so fast. I haven’t finished training yet.”

Kon pouts feeling put out by the action. “This is your fault though. You should be the one to fix it.”

“I haven’t done anything. You’re the one who decided to get all yourself hot and bothered.”

Huffing, Kon mock scowls at Tim, feeling hotter and more bothered by the minute. They stand there with Tim’s staff between them for several beats and when they make eye contact it’s suddenly become a game.

With quick movement Kon grabs the staff and tries to twist it out of Tim’s grasp, but Tim had been expecting it. He follows the movement twisting his body as he goes and kicks his foot out towards Kon, in order to block it Kon’s forced to drop the staff. Their moves transition into good old fashion sparring, they dodge kick and fire shots at one another, each time trying to get the upper hand.

It isn’t long until Tim wipes Kon’s feet out from underneath him and drops him to the ground. Without wasting a second Tim clambers on top of him and pins him to floor. He sits on Kon’s chest using his weight to keep him down, his thighs are spread and hugging his sides while his knees press against his elbows keeping his arms down and Tim leans forward pressing his staff against Kon’s throat.

It goes silent between them and for several beats the only sound was their heavy breathing. Kon stares up at Tim, seeing his skin glisten with sweat and the way his pupils have expanded with excitement and how his chest is moving up and down with his heavy breathing. If Kon weren’t turned on before he certainly is now, especially with Tim’s weight pressing against him.

Kon moans. “Oh my god your hot, can I kiss you?”

Tim snorts and roll his eyes. “Like you even have to ask.”

Freeing his arms from underneath Tim’s thighs Kon reaches up and cups Tim’s head and not too gently pulls Tim’s face down to his and instantly connect their lips together. It’s rough, passionate and everything Kon’s been desiring.

There’s an audible pop when Tim pulls away from him and Kon goes to chase his lips but Tim pushes against his chest keeping him down. “We really shouldn’t do this here.”

“Why not?” Kon whines feeling impatient. “Come on Tim, there’s no one here, we’ll be fine.”

Tim gives him a hard look. “No, but I’ll tell you what…” Tim voice drops as he leans in close, his breath ghosting over Kon’s ear, “first person to my bedroom gets to decide how this is going to go.”

Kon’s brain short circuits at that and by the time he comes back online Tim’s figure is disappearing out of the room. Kon curses and scrambles to his feet before stumbling towards the exit. This certainly wasn’t the outcome he had expected while watching Tim train but he certainly isn’t complaining.

#100 ways to say i love you #timkon #Kon-El #Tim Drake #humour #innuendos #Tim trains #Kon gets all hot and bothered #training #idiots in love #teasing #kisses #fanfiction

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ficforce · 3 years

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Joker/52 Relationship Alphabet

Two types of F!Reader

A- Activity (What is their favourite activity to do with Y/N.) Quiet Reader: Joker used to think it was funny when Y/N asked him to teach her card games, he didn’t know many himself as he liked to play around with the cards rather than use them for games but he knew at least one. She had been a quick learner and had trounced him from the start. Each time they met they would teach the other a new card game and now they played to pass a quiet night. Loud Reader: She was curious about the world and about The Nether. That’s where the Joker had found her - she had been wandering around the abandoned spaces beneath the city. Y/N had kicked him in the balls and hit him with a metal pipe after he had snuck up behind her, she had already been scared and his appearance had sent her into a violent panic. She still liked to explore The Nether, with a pole in her hand, but now he would hold her other hand. B- Beginnings (How do they act in the beginning of a relationship) Quiet Reader: He had been fooling around with the explosive dust Licht had made when he heard a scream come from the building he had been using as a target practice. Joker had found Y/N huddled up in the corner of the wrecked building and had approached her carefully, offering her his hand and trying not to grin too widely at her - he could see she was frightened. From her clothing he could see she was most likely homeless and he felt bad for disturbing her hiding place. She hadn’t trusted him at first and it took some doing for Joker to have her follow him down into The Nether so that he could offer her somewhere to wash and change her clothes. She ran back to the surface as soon as she could but Joker always found her to give her food. Eventually she stopped running away and stayed with him. Loud Reader: After beating him with a metal pole, Y/N had helped him up, not too disturbed by his manic giggles at her over reaction. She didn’t sense any malicious intent from him, he didn’t wear all white and he hadn’t been on fire at the time. Joker knew she was weird from the moment she grinned at him. He liked that she was curious and she had a million questions, she had a million answers for him too - both had been so excited to find someone so similar. They were two sides of the same coin.

C- Communication (Are they good communicators? How do they normally talk about their problems or solve issues)

Quiet Reader: She didn’t speak much to him at first, too nervous and unsure of him at first. Joker had done most of the talking, sometimes it was as simple as telling her what he had done that morning or how he turned his hideout into a functioning home with running water. When she had finally started to trust him Y/N told him anything he wanted to know. Now that they’re a couple she doesn’t hide anything from him, he’s a great listener and although he doesn’t always come up with conventional advice he always makes her feel better. Joker doesn’t like to burden her with his problems so he’s not a great communicator, he worries that if she knows too much then he could put her in danger. Y/N doesn’t probe him but she knows when he’s sitting on a problem. Loud Reader: Y/N tells him everything, even when she literally catches him trying to sneak away to catch a break she follows him. She likes that he will offer to help even when he thinks she’s over reacting. Sometimes he offers murder as a solution and she got really into it. Again, he doesn’t like to share too much for her own safety but she’ll encourage massacres to fix his issues… Joker doesn’t think that’s bad advice. D- Drunk (What are they like when they’re drunk) Quiet Reader: Joker had given her a glass of whisky to warm her up, her health wasn’t good to start with and her third generation ability was so weak she hadn’t been able to retain heat well. He hadn’t thought a double would affect her so much but he was pleasantly surprised. Y/N becomes very affectionate when she’s drunk, she wants to cuddle into Joker and he enjoys it immensely. Loud Reader: He had to persuade her not to fight everyone who looked at her for more than two seconds. Y/N got loud when she was drunk and Joker wondered how she hadn’t died yet. He’s all for fun and mischief but his girlfriend is nuts. E- Emergency (How are they in emergency situations? Y/N gets hurt, they get hurt, someone is dying etc..) Quiet Reader: Y/N is really good in an emergency, she once found Joker badly hurt after getting in a fight and sat him down whilst locating his first aid kit. She bandaged his broken ribs and made sure he rested. People didn’t think of Joker as much more than a misunderstood weirdo, he was a self proclaimed anti-hero but he had plenty of experience with blood and guts, he knew a mentally screwed up person when he saw one. He always knew what to do when Y/N would become anxious or frightened, he sat up with her many times when she was recovering from being left out in the streets for years. Loud Reader: She panics. Y/N is useless in an emergency and has proved it over and over again. Joker couldn’t count the times he had saved her from falling down a tunnel or running straight into danger whilst exploring the dark. Her first instinct was always to swing at the problem rather than think about it. He cut his finger once and she bandaged his entire arm… F- Free Spot (I’ll give you any headcanon I come up with) Quiet Reader: Joker is a pretty good cook, he’s mostly into making pastries and was really happy when Y/N taught him how to make a chocolate twist pastry - she had worked in a bakery before losing her home and ending up on the streets. Loud Reader:

Y/N and Joker like to try on clothes they find in abandoned malls underground, they have mini fashion shows and sometimes they dress up the mannequins for giggles. G- Gifts (What kind of gifts do they give? What kind of gifts do they get?) Quiet Reader: She’s really self conscious about not having any money or even a job, Y/N is always grateful when Joker brings her gifts, he’s a bit of a magpie and brings her pretty, shiny things he finds, but all she can offer him is food… made with ingredients he brings home. Y/N mends his clothing and bakes him treats, she likes to help him brush out his hair too. Joker enjoys the attention. Loud Reader: Joker knows what she likes from her habit of talking and talking. He goes out of his way to get very specific gifts for her, mainly things she mentions more than five times. He loves how excited she gets when he gives her a messily wrapped gift. Y/N buys Joker personalised accessories, pins, cufflinks, cute sweaters and decks of cards that are unusual. H- Hugs (How do they show affection/cuddle) Quiet Reader: It took a long time for her to allow physical comfort, when she finally approached him and timidly wrapped her arms around his waist he felt his heart melt. She likes to be held and if Joker is sat playing with his cards she will cuddle into his sides. Loud Reader: There’s always laughter and play fights between them, Joker is much stronger and Y/N usually gets exhausted trying to win. When she gives up he pulls her into his arms and nuzzles her neck. They’re not shy with each other and she always feels safer with his hand in hers. I- Irritation (What is something that irritates them? How do they show their irritation?) Quiet Reader: She finds entitled people irritating, she hates how they think they can look down on people and sometimes she’ll get angry when she sees them bullying someone. Y/N gets rather tearful when she’s frustrated, then she gets angry with herself for being so weak Loud Reader: She hates repetitive noises, tapping fingers or feet, a song with an annoying beat, the sound of card edges being flipped endlessly. Y/N will usually be verbal about things annoying her and if it’s something she can stop - like snatching the cards out of his damn hands because he knows he’s driving her mad - she will. J- Jackpot (How would they spend their winnings if they won the lottery?) Quiet Reader: She would buy herself a little house and live modestly, she knows how easily money can disappear and how fast the debt collectors come. She would be frightened to spend it on luxuries but Joker would force her to go on at least one selfish trip. He’s not bothered about money, he has all he needs to get by comfortably. Loud Reader: Y/N is going on a spending spree, she’s going to buy more things to explore the dark in and then she’s going to travel across the sea to visit the other countries. When she runs out of money she hopes she’ll be rich in knowledge. Joker is allowed to come but only to carry her bags. K- Kryptonite (What is their ultimate weakness?) Quiet Reader: Y/N is anxious of new people and isn’t any good in a crowd. She’ll help someone in need though, this can leave her open to danger. Loud Reader: She’s petrified of spiders. She’s also weak against being tickled. L- Laughter (What makes them laugh?) Quiet Reader: Joker makes her laugh quite a lot, not when he tries to though, it’s the little things he does. He’s funny by accident. Sometimes it’s something like him mumbling to himself under his breath or making faces when he’s trying to think of a plan. Joker thinks her sarcasm is hilarious when she’s in a bad mood. Loud Reader: She the kind of person who laughs when someone falls down. Y/N laughs at her own jokes and never misses an opportunity for a pun. Joker gets a little scared when he’ll be sat quietly and then he’ll hear her cackling to herself for no reason, she’s giggling so much she can’t even tell him the joke and then she’ll forget. That drives him mad… M- Morning ( How do they wake up in the morning? Are

they a morning person or a morning grouch?) Quiet Reader: Y/N is very good in the mornings, she ready for the day and happy that she gets to make breakfast for herself and for Joker. He likes to sleep in and when he does come to eat he’s dazed and likes to cuddle. She usually wakes up around seven in the morning, it’s hard to tell the time in the Nether but she’s getting used to it. Loud Reader: Ten in the morning is still too early and Y/N rolls out of bed, puts on whatever she finds and heads to the train for work. Her days off are used exploring and hanging out with Joker but when she works she doesn’t expect to see a tall, well dressed man on the train. A coffee and breakfast roll in his hands just for her. It’s not everyday but it makes her mornings worth it when Joker comes to feed her. N- Needy (When do they feel particularly needy? How do they show it?) Quiet Reader: When it’s cold and the rain is so heavy it vibrates through the tunnels of The Nether, Y/N can’t help but need reassurance. If Joker knows the weather will be bad he leaves his coat for her to wear - it offers her a little comfort until he can come back to her. Seeing her so insecure reminds him of his time on the streets and he wants the comfort of another too. Loud Reader: Y/N isn’t good when she’s feeling ill, she behaves as if she only has hours to live and tells Joker how she wants her body disposed of. He tells her he’ll cut her up and put her all over the Empire like a jigsaw. She didn’t think it was funny and would whine until he got her food and agreed to sit with her. O- Oasis (Where is their happy place? Where would they go if they didn’t have anything holding them back?) Quiet Reader: Joker takes her on rooftop dates, the higher the better. It’s far from other people and he knows how much she enjoys the stars, The Nether isn’t a place for her and he likes to take her out of there whenever it’s safe to do so. He’d love to find her a home with a garden and plenty of sun. Maybe if he can shake off his past then he could join her. Loud Reader: Her favourite place is by the sea, she can spend hours looking out at the ocean and imagining what’s on the other side. The Empire says there’s nothing but she also knows the Empire lies. There’s a small area where she can take off her shoes and paddle in the water, it’s cold and the stones beneath are sharp - it’s where she feels her most content. Joker watches her sometimes but never makes his presence known. P- Pain (How do they handle pain? How do they handle when Y/N are in pain?) Quiet Reader: Joker hates when she’s hurting, since the moment he met her she was in pain, he had seen it in her eyes and all he had wanted was to make it stop. She was so stubborn at first, refusing his help and running away. She never tells him when she’s hurting but he knows and he’ll do what he can to help - including sneaking pain meds into her drinks. Loud Reader: Y/N whines about little injuries, she makes a big fuss and demands the man’s attention. Joker snorts at her and rolls his eye. The injuries that cause real pain put her into a kind of shock and she tell herself over and over that it’s okay, that it’ll go away. That’s when he knows it’s serious and he’ll get her whatever help she needs. Q- Quote (What’s a quote that fits them and your relationship) Quiet Reader: Lovers are patient and know that the moon needs time to become full. - Rumi Loud Reader: To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all. - Oscar Wilde

R- Reunion (How do they celebrate seeing Y/N after a long time of being apart) Quiet Reader: Y/N can’t let go of him, she throws herself into his arms and holds him tight like he might vanish if she doesn’t. She didn’t know if he would come back or if he had abandoned her. Joker holds onto her and makes sure she knows he’s with her.

Loud Reader: He likes to hide in her apartment and scare the shit out of her when she comes in - their reunion sometimes involves his bloody nose. Once the initial shock has worn off she’s happy to see him and even happier that he brought wine with him. S- Stress (What stresses them out? How do deal with stress and how do they relieve it?) Quiet Reader: Crowds of people stress her out, she feels very small and hugs the sides of buildings so she doesn’t get pushed around. It she gets too stressed it will escalate into a panic attack and she’ll huddle up out of the way. Joker has always calmed her down since meeting her, before him she would just wait until the crowds were gone and stagger away to hide. Loud Reader: Work stresses her out, she’s stuck in one place for 8 hours a day, being nice to all sorts of terrible people and feeling like she’s trapped. It’s busy where she works and her breaks are never long enough. In bad days she heads to the bar before getting the train home. Before she met Joker she would go home and dread the next day. He reminds her that she needs to make the best of her free time and getting out is better than staying in T- Terror (What are they afraid of?) Quiet Reader: There’s a particular person she’s scared of, she’s never told Joker and can’t even bear to think of that person. Loud Reader: Spiders, not the small ones but the large ones that run too fast and fall off the ceilings of the tunnels she likes to explore. U- Unique (What is a quirk that is unique to them?) Quiet Reader: Y/N can learn things very quickly, especially languages and games Loud Reader: She’s double jointed and oddly flexible. V- Violence (Do they fight a lot? Are they a good fighter? What is their fighting style?) Quiet Reader: Violence frightens her, she would be too petrified to fight back and Joker still doesn’t know what happened in her past to make her feel that way. Loud Reader: She fights a lot, especially after her drink. She’s not very well trained and in a real fight with someone who knew what they were doing - she would be destroyed W- Wow (What does Y/N do that really surprises them? What do they do that Y/N really likes?) Quiet Reader: When Y/N got strong enough to use her ability again, Joker was very excited, he asked her to show him again and again. It’s not a very useful power but he thinks it’s the prettiest ability he’s ever seen Loud Reader: Her ability to get herself in trouble amazes him every time. Also the metal pole she tried to beat him to death with was an interesting conversation piece. X- (Explicit headcanon. For all you degenerates) Quiet Reader: When they first slept together Joker was careful, he was slow and sweet with her. She was nervous of letting him become that close with her and a few times he told her they could stop but she didn’t want to. After the first time she would sometimes climb on top of him and kiss him until he got the hint. Loud Reader: Y/N had never thought she’d be into sex in public. She was very wrong. Joker surprises her at work or when she’s trying on clothes in changing rooms - he’s very good at sneaking into places. Keeping quiet is difficult when he picks her up and fucks her into the nearest wall. Y- Yucky (Is there something that grosses them out so badly that they can’t deal with it?) Quiet Reader: Y/N becomes physically ill when she sees extreme violence. She’s seen people get beat up and horribly injured before and it makes her sick. Joker hopes she never has to see him in action - he’d hate for her to be afraid of him again. Loud Reader: If it’s slimy or smells bad then she doesn’t like it, unfortunately there’s always slime or sludge in the places she explores and Joker isn’t above chasing her around with it. Z- ZZZ’s (What are their sleeping habits? Both with and without Y/N)

Quiet Reader: Joker both hates and adores the way Y/N curls up into a ball in bed, the blankets wrapped around her so tightly it’s hard to get to her. He knows she used to sleep out in the cold and that she was likely frightened, the ball probably felt safe. It looked cute. Joker is tall so he spoons her either from the front or behind, encasing her with his arms and legs so that she feels safe enough to uncurl just a little. Loud Reader: He’s her favourite pillow, she lays across his chest with her fingers wound in his long hair. Y/N doesn’t move much in her sleep but she has the cutest little snore and Joker finds it hilarious - especially when she denies it in the morning… he even recorded her once. She gets mad when he steals all of the covers.

#joker/52 #reader #alphabet #fire force #enen no shouboutai #enn enn no shouboutai #garth ennis

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pricemarshfield · 3 years

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i dig you

A fluffy, angsty Amberprice fic. Chapter 2/2. Read the chapter on AO3 here, or the full fic here.

It's hard to drive with only one hand, especially a truck as big and old and clunky as this one, but Rachel doesn't plan on letting go of Chloe's hand for anything short of divine fucking intervention right now. Right now, Chloe's happy--definitely still drunk, which means definitely still a little volatile, a little quick to anger, but smiling right now, looking out the window like Arcadia Bay's not such a terrible thing to look at, here on the way out.

Out. God, it feels like the whole world's opening up, and that's exciting, that's wonderful, unless Rachel missteps and it'll just expand until they're nothing, just someone on the side of the road.

But that's not important. She's not gonna think like that right now. She can get into a big crazy anxiety freak-out in her own head, later, once Chloe's fallen asleep. For now, she squeezes her hand again. Chloe squeezes back immediately.

The drive to her house takes awhile longer than the drive from Blackwell to Chloe's place. Chloe lives on the--not the bad side of town, because she's through falling for her dad's smug, self-assured way of seeing the world, but definitely the...less wealthy one. It's not something Rachel likes to think about, especially not once Chloe had confessed to giving away a couple hundred they could've used to get out of here so that her mom wouldn't have to pawn her wedding ring, something Rachel had gotten angry about for a minute, something that had led to a full-on screaming fight in the junkyard.

Rachel had basically had to grovel for forgiveness. It's one of the times she's had to that she thinks was actually justified.

You can see the difference between their two parts of town as Rachel drives. She crosses one intersection, and the houses stand taller, colors brighter, more uniform, no chipped paint or cracked windows in sight.

There's also plenty of campaign signs scattered about here, her dad's annoying face peppered everywhere. Chloe must catch Rachel's face, because she leans in conspiratorially, like someone else is here that could hear them, and says, "If I were driving, I'd run it over."

Rachel laughs, startled out of her confusing mood, and says, "Keep an eye out for one that isn't above a curb. I don't think your truck could take it."

"My truck can take anything," Chloe says, then snickers at it. "Take anything, that's what she said."

"You dork," Rachel says. They're getting close to her house, now, and the houses are all second-story, all have wide, pretty lawns with flowers, all have stained-glass windows. She'd used to love those, especially the ones in her house. They're not there anymore. She'd gotten drunk and angry and didn't have Chloe's lighter that time, so she took her anger out by throwing a rock through the glass in the front of the house.

It shattered really, really satisfyingly, but now, when she pulls up, there's just a single pane of glass, tinted so that no one can see through. She'd lied and said she was looking for the spare key and just dropped the rock and it had fallen just in the wrong way, that she wasn't fucking drunk, God, why does James have to be so fucking paranoid?

Neither of them had believed her. Rose pretended to, at least.

Rachel has the art of sneaking into her or Chloe's house down to a science, and Chloe's muscle memory makes up for her being drunk, and they're up the stairs and in Rachel's room without making a creak or anything. She taps her hand against Chloe's in a silent high-five, back to excited. Chloe's all bright eyes and excitement, grabbing a duffel bag that's been underneath Rachel's bed for "when they're ready" for almost a year now and shoving random things in there.

"Chloe, c'mon, I don't need all that crap," Rachel says, kneeling down next to her. "I mean, this is--my Theater 1 textbook, are you trying to tell me something about my acting skills, Price?"

Chloe giggles, a sound she doesn't think she's heard ever, and Rachel can't help but beam at her. This, this is what it should be, this is what she wants! She wants Chloe to keep looking at her like that, happy and ready to take on the world and at Rachel's side forever. "No! You know I think you're--I mean, you're good at acting, you know that."

"I do," Rachel says, and risks a quick kiss to Chloe's cheek, because she can't not kiss her. Chloe actually puts a hand to her face, which is just about the sweetest thing, even if it makes Rachel feel bad about the fact that Chloe's so taken aback by it. "Want to help me pick what clothes to bring?"

Chloe sighs, but she's still smiling. "Sure. But we're not doing full fashion show, I want to be out of here before sun-up."

They have, like, six hours before sunrise, but Rachel doesn't actually want to do a fashion show, either. It's just--something, Chloe picking what she'll wear. Rachel's closet isn't that big, but she's packed so many clothes in there that a few fall over onto the floor when she opens the door. The first shirt she pulls out is Firewalk, which she shoves in the duffel bag right away.

"Aw, sentimental," Chloe teases, poking her cheek. Rachel bats her hand away. The next shirts are all boring, discarded without a conversation. Next is her costume for one of her first plays. It doesn't fit her, and it makes no sense to bring it, but she holds onto it for a long moment anyway, the bright red and completely historically inaccurate dress that she wore the first time she stood in front of a crowd and knew they were all watching her.

"You wanna do cosplay?" Chloe asks, voice gentler than the words would imply, and Rachel puts it firmly in the do not bring pile.

"We'll get it back when we get a place," Rachel says, and Chloe nods. "I'll ask them not to touch any of my stuff."

"That'll just make them think you're coming back," Chloe says, voice dull.

Rachel shrugs. "Not my fault what they assume."

That fixes it; Chloe's back to smiling. She vetoes one shirt, approves most of the rest, and then the bag's half-full and Rachel realizes that she's got so many other things to get through. Her tarot decks take up room, and then her flashlight is huge, but they can carry that one, and Chloe's face goes bright pink when she makes a beeline for it, so.

The bag fills up fast, and Rachel's left thinking...she wants more. They have a whole truck, they can fit a second bag, right? But deciding what to bring: she wants her bullet journal, she wants her pipes, not just the weed left in a little baggie, she wants she wants she wants.

"I know that look on your face," Chloe says, and it comes out bitter and mean, and Rachel's already prepping to defend herself. "You're chickening out?"

"I don't want to leave all this behind," she says, and sounds very young and very stupid.

"It's just--stuff! Who gives a shit!" Chloe says, loud enough that Rachel instinctively shushes her, which just pisses off Chloe more, even though she quiets down. "I knew you'd do this. I can't believe I got my fucking hopes up, you want to leave me, not Arcadia Bay, where are my goddamn keys--"

"Chloe, no," Rachel says, because Chloe is still drunk enough that Rachel can picture her in some fiery wreck of a fucked-up cycle that Rachel would never forgive herself for. "Chloe, come on, we just need to plan more, I still want to leave Arcadia Bay with you--"

"Fucking Bigfootville, I hate this fucking place, and I hate--"

Rachel doesn't want to hear another rant about this place, doesn't want Chloe to be pissed at her, really doesn't want her behind the wheel, and she just wants Chloe to be happy like she was not twenty fucking minutes ago, so she does the only thing she can think of, and kisses her.

Chloe doesn't step back, leans right into it, hungry for the kiss in a way that has Rachel's toes curling, a little. This isn't anything like Frank; it's better and sweeter and feels like something she could do forever. Minutes later, or maybe hours, Rachel eventually pulls back. Chloe's not smiling like she was earlier, but there's a raw hope on her face that's so much better, that hurts so much worse.

"Oh," Chloe says.

"Of course I wanna leave with you," Rachel whispers, right against Chloe's lips, and she shivers. "I just wanna do it right. We need more money, for one."

"Okay," Chloe says with a nod. "I can do that."

When Rachel leaves Arcadia Bay with Chloe, it'll be a victory march, the start of a grand new adventure. But for now, this: Chloe's hand in hers, a bag under the bed with all her favorite things...it's enough.

#amberprice #rachel amber #chloe price #life is strange #my fics #fic: i dig you

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marvelyningreen · 3 years

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Aftershocks - Night 2

Night 1 | Night 2 | Night 3 | (deleted scene)

[Summary: Peter Maximoff is an unflappable sorta guy. He’d never let anything get to him before, and this recent misadventure will be no different. ...Right?

Warnings: mild language, alcohol use, references to injury & false imprisonment, general trauma-related angst

Notes: Peter Maximoff x reader, of the established relationship variety. A ‘what if Fietro really was Peter?’ scenario. Same continuity/reader character from Linger and Late-bloomer. ]

On the second night, Kurt and Jubilee organize a party. It’s sort of a ‘welcome back’ for Peter, and a ‘welcome in general’ for Wanda and the twins.

It’s awfully sweet of them. And you’re impressed that they’ve managed to order in enough food for everyone on such short notice.

Peter had been busy for most of the day. He’d volunteered to help the professor and continue playing tour guide for Wanda and the kids. You’d offered to help, too, but Peter insisted that you should take it easy. He’s probably right, much as you’d hated to admit it. There’s no way you could’ve kept up with him and two energetic kids.

And that’s how you ended up spending the most of the morning in the lab with Hank.

In true Hank fashion, he had tons of questions, and you did your best to answer them. There are still quite a few things you don’t fully understand yourself.

The revelation that other realities exist is wild to begin with. A world where mutants don’t exist but magic does sounds like a work of fiction. And then there’s the fact that Wanda’s from someplace called ‘Sokovia?’ As far as you and Hank could figure, that country has never existed in your world.

Hank’s scientific curiosity was focused on trying to wrap his head around how Wanda’s powers worked, and how they could’ve caused Captain Rambeau to spontaneously develop powers of her own. You weren’t able to be much help there, but once Hank gets himself hypothesizing, he could talk for hours with no input from anyone else.

Eventually, you brought up your concerns about Peter and his odd lapses in memory. Hank’s brows furrowed pensively as he listened.

“Well, I can tell you there’s nothing physically wrong with Peter,” he said. “I could ask him to let me examine him again, but if the issue isn’t a physical one, that might just make things worse. If you’re really worried about him, my advice is to talk to Charles.”

You sighed. “And he’s busy showing Wanda around.”

Which was exactly where Peter would be, so no chance to talk to the professor without him noticing. Hank stood up, patting your shoulder.

“Listen, I know I’m not great company when I’m focused on work,” he said, “But you’re welcome to stay here while you wait.”

“Thanks,” you said. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

You’d actually spent a lot of time down in the lab since your reality warping abilities had fully manifested. Hank was fascinated by getting to witness them in person, and the fact that you’d used them to save his life probably had something to do with it.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching out your injured leg a little. It didn’t take Hank long to get so immersed in his work that he started thinking aloud to himself, trying to work out some complicated chemical reaction.

Your thoughts drifted back to Peter. He’d seemed distracted that morning, almost distant. You tried to think what caused it – if something had happened, or even if there was something you’d said…? But you couldn’t think of anything.

Maybe it’d had something to do with his dream. But no, he said he didn’t remember it. Maybe – and you were grasping at straws by this point – he was embarrassed that you’d seen it? That could be. Peter was a pretty open guy, and you hadn’t thought that machismo was one of his faults, but it’s a possibility.

Oh. Oh, damn it all – you’d done it again. You weren’t sure when your eyes had closed, or when you’d leaned your head back against the chair. Hank was still talking to himself-

Only no, he wasn’t. There was a second voice answering him now. Upon lifting your head, you noticed that Hank’s jacket was folded under it as a makeshift pillow. You blinked in the brightness of the lab, looking around to see where the conversation was coming from.

Hank and the professor broke off as they noticed you stirring. Hank smiled apologetically.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he explained. “You looked so tired. I figured you could use the rest.”

“Apparently I did. Sorry about that,” you said, sitting up straight in the chair again. “What time is it?”

“Just after noon,” said the professor. “We decided to break for lunch, so Peter’s showing them the kitchens. Now, Hank tells me that something’s troubling you.”

“It’s Peter, sir,” you said. You went over everything once more – the diminishing memories of Westview, the nightmare. “Maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing, but… I don’t know. What if something that witch did is still affecting him?”

The professor had listened carefully while you spoke. You thought that he looked a little concerned, but you might’ve imagined it, because when you finished, he smiled.

“Thank you for coming to me with this,” he said, “But I have a feeling you’re not going to like my answer.”

You grimaced. “You’re going to tell me to wait and see, aren’t you.”

You’re well aware that this was the sort of thing the professor said when he was being evasive. He laughed.

“You’re a quick learner,” he said. “I will tell you that I truly believe Peter will be fine. If anything changes or worsens, don’t hesitate to bring it to my attention. But until that time, I’m leaving him in your care. I know I can rely on you.”

You gaze drifted to the floor, and you frowned slightly. Of course the professor could count on you to look after Peter. But how on earth were you supposed to help if you don’t know what’s going on?

If Peter had been physically hurt, that’s something you could fix. You were out of your depth here. Useless. Just like old times.

“None of that, if you please,” said the professor, in response to your thoughts. “Do you think I’d be leaving this in your hands if I didn’t think you were up to the task? Now, I’ve already told Peter that, as of today, he’s taking some mandatory time off, and the same goes for you. No missions for a while. You’re to get some rest and look after yourself. Understood?”

That surprised you. But before you could attempt to get anything more out of the professor, the door opened to admit Peter and the other Maximoffs. Peter’s face brightened as he caught sight of you.

“I figured you’d be down here,” he said. “And I also figured you probably didn’t eat lunch yet. Was I right? Yeah, I thought so. Which is why I brought lunch to you.”

“You know the rules,” Hank interrupted. “No food in the lab, Peter.”

Peter grinned, rolling his eyes, as he helped you to your feet.

“Alright, alright – we’re going,” he said.

Saying that you looked like you could use some daylight, Peter led you out of the lab to find somewhere to eat your lunch. He seemed cheerful and normal enough, and not, y’know, like he was avoiding you or something. You started to wonder if maybe you really were imagining things.

It was easy enough not to bring up the inconclusive conversation you’d had with the professor. The twins were bursting to tell somebody that there was going to be a party, and that it was gonna be their first party ever.

So far, it seems to be going well. The twins are already making friends among the younger students. Wanda still seems a little reserved – understandably – but the professor sticks close to her to make introductions and keep her company.

You’d like a chance to talk to her yourself, but maybe now isn’t the time. A party can be something of an overwhelming environment, especially now that you’ve been informed that you’re actually one of the guests of honor.

You probably should’ve seen this coming. You’re the one who took on a solo rescue mission, after all. Kurt sheepishly admits that they purposefully hadn’t told you that part because they figured you wouldn’t come if you knew. He is correct.

But Peter’s in his element as the life of the party – and he’s tipsy almost instantly. It’s one of the quirks of his mutant metabolism; alcohol hits him fast. Fortunately, drunk Peter is just an amped-up version of his usual cheerful and chaotic personality. You’re not much of a partier, yourself, so you’re content to enjoy his antics from the sidelines.

Which is what you’re doing when Jubilee sidles up to you.

“Okay, you have to tell me everything,” she says. “I mean, getting to go to another reality? What was it like?”

You laugh. “You’ve gotta be the fifth person to ask me that. Peter was there longer than I was.”

“But Peter doesn’t remember any of it,” she says, “And it’d be rude to ask Wanda a bunch of questions when we’ve only just met, so that leaves you. Now, spill.”

You satisfy Jubilee’s curiosity as best you can, but something she said strikes you as strange. Peter doesn’t remember anything about Westview? That doesn’t seem right.

When Captain Rambeau broke that mind control necklace, Peter didn’t seem confused or anything, just… Well, if you had to describe it, you’d say he looked horrified. And after he made sure that you were okay, the first thing he’d said was that the twins might still be in danger and that you all had to help them.

Then again, he’d let Wanda do all the explaining to the professor and Mr. Lehnsherr. And you’d gotten the rundown from that astrophysicist, Dr. Lewis, after she finished grumbling about being the exposition fairy, whatever that meant.

And Peter lives for being the center of attention. Overlooked and underappreciated for much of his life, a party like this is exactly the sort of validation he craves. If there was a chance for him to tell his story to a rapt audience, he’d jump at it.

So… maybe Peter really doesn’t remember anything. Maybe the whole thing is like a dream for him. The further away from it that he gets, the less clear the memory is.

When the party starts to wind down, the same can’t be said for Peter. Just as you’re trying to work out how on earth you’re going to corral him, Logan catches your eye.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get him,” he says.

You grin. “I thought you said that he’s my problem now.”

“He is. But that knee’s not gonna help you carry his ass upstairs.” Logan drains the last of his drink and calls across the room. “Alright, kid! Time to pack it in!”

Peter waves, takes an unsteady step towards you, and manages to run smack into Logan a split second later. Logan shoots you an exasperated look.

“What’d I tell you?” he says.

Logan manages to keep Peter upright as you head upstairs, but keeping him quiet is another thing entirely. Peter spends the entire walk explaining to Logan – in fumbling but earnest detail – all the ways in which you are the most amazing person he has ever met.

When Logan gets a word in edgewise, it’s to inform you that Peter’s been doing this all evening to anybody who would listen, and even to the people who wouldn’t. You’re honestly not sure if you feel more flattered or mortified.

At long last, you reach Peter’s door, and Logan props him up against the doorframe.

“Alright, he’s officially your problem again,” he says. “Goodnight.”

“G’night, old-timer!” Peter calls, waving off your attempts to shush him. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

He opens the door and nearly tumbles back into the room. He catches himself, clearing his throat as he straightens up.

“I meant to do that,” he says.

You shake your head, trying to bit back a grin. Once the door is closed behind you, you steer Peter towards the bed and sit him down. He takes hold of your hands.

“Listen. Listen. I have to tell you something.” He struggles to turn his bleary expression serious. “I love you, so much. You just… I love you, okay?”

Is it wrong that you find this slurred profession of love incredibly heartwarming? You smile at Peter, leaning down to kiss him.

“I know,” you say softly. “I love you, too. But you gotta get some sleep now, okay?”

Peter nods, frowning slightly for some reason.

“I know, I know,” he says.

He flops back onto the bed, mumbling something that might be lyrics to a song. And by the time you get his shoes off, he’s conked out completely.

After setting Peter’s shoes aside, you sit down on the sofa again. You know he’s fine. Sure, he’s drunk, but he’s not that drunk. But what if he needs something? Or what if he has another nightmare?

You know you shouldn’t dwell on everything, but once you start thinking about it, you find you can’t stop. You wonder what it was like for Peter, being dragged from this reality into another, having his personality forcibly rewritten.

If your experience had been unpleasant, how much worse must it have been for him?

The second you’d stepped into Westview, you were nearly overwhelmed. Some unknown power seemed to be forcing a name – not your own – onto you like a shackle around your neck. A thousand memories of a life you hadn’t lived flooded your mind. More alarming still, Peter was present in many of them. You had no idea if what you were seeing was the past, or the future, or something else entirely.

And underneath it all was a crushing, all-encompassing feeling of utter despair. It threatened to swallow you whole, and it seemed pointless to fight it.

And then – a calm, familiar presence in your mind. You remembered turning back, seeing the professor’s face as he watched you enter the portal. Suddenly, the onslaught lifted, and you were simply yourself again.

Also, you’d apparently collapsed at some point, because you were laying on the pavement with a tall blond stranger leaning over you.

He was the only person who seemed at all concerned that you’d just fainted in the middle of the street. He said his name was Vision. You introduced yourself as Ace. It was close enough to your codename that you’d remember it, and the professor had cautioned you against saying too much about where you’d come from.

But Vision seemed to recognize that there was something different about you, that you’d come from outside Westview. He was worried about his children, and his wife, and the rest of the citizens. You explained that you didn’t know what had happened to the town, and that you’d come looking for a missing friend.

You’d just agreed to try to help each other when reality seemed to bend around you, and suddenly you were sitting in a diner finishing a cup of coffee, and Vision was nowhere in sight.

The next time you saw him, the spell was ending, and he disappeared. You wish you could’ve gotten the chance to get to know him better. He seemed like a good man.

You try to put that from your mind. It’s just gonna make you sad again if you think about it for too long.

Instead, you glance over at Peter. He seems to be sleeping soundly, which is good.

But memories of Westview aren’t done with you yet.

You’ve had nightmares before about people you know acting in ways that were frighteningly unlike them. And even knowing it was all just a dream, you always felt a little uneasy the next time you’d see them. It’s the same way you feel watching Peter now.

That’s not fair; you know it isn’t. And maybe out of context, it’d sound strange to get worked up about it. But to have the person you love – the person who loves you – treat you with indifference, and get cruel enjoyment out of your pain?

That’s the stuff of nightmares.

Enough of that. You give your head a shake, like that’ll clear your thoughts somehow. It wasn’t Peter. It was the witch that was controlling him, forcing him to do all those things. You know this. It’s just lucky he hadn’t been forced to really hurt anyone.

It’s over, and Peter doesn’t remember what it was like, and that’s probably for the best.

Still, as you watch him sleep, you find yourself so badly wanting to hold him that it almost makes your chest ache. Peter hasn’t just been distant emotionally since Westview.

Since you’d started dating, Peter was a source of constant casual physical affection. Whenever you were together, he’d always have his arm around you, or be holding your hand, or sit close enough that his leg was pressed against yours. You hadn’t realized how much you’d gotten used to it – grown to expect it, even – until it’s suddenly absent.

Having be so withdrawn from you now, well… It hurts, if you’re being honest, especially since you don’t know why, and you don’t know how to help.

But there’s nothing you can do about it at this moment. And, since Peter doesn’t look to be having any more nightmares, it’s probably time for you to go. You ease yourself onto your feet, just now noticing how stiff your knee has gotten after standing around all evening at the party.

You limp as quietly as you can towards the door – and proceed to trip over Peter’s shoes.

You yelp in pain as your knee twists and you go crashing to the floor. You grit your teeth, trying not to swear.

And suddenly the lights are on in the room, and Peter’s kneeling beside you.

“What happened?” he asks. “Are you okay?”

That’s right. As fast as Peter gets drunk, he sobers up just as quickly. He looks present and alert at the moment, if a little worried.

“I tripped over the damn shoes,” you answer. “I’m fine, I think. I just-”

You break off, wincing, as you try to straighten out your leg. Damn it. Is it possible to double-sprain something? Because that’s what it feels like.

“Hang on,” says Peter. “Let me help.”

He doesn’t take your hands and help you stand up, like you’re expecting. Instead, he loops your arm around his shoulders and scoops you up bridal-style. The fact that he doesn’t use his superspeed almost disorients you more than if he had.

At a normal pace, he walks back and sets you down not on the sofa, but on his bed. He blurs for just a second, but that’s only to stack up his pillows to give you something to lean against.

As you gingerly straighten out your leg, Peter reaches out – to try to help, you suppose – then lets his hands fall in his lap.

“Thanks,” you say.

Peter frowns worriedly. “Can’t you do the…?”

He makes a gesture like he’s laying on hands or something, which confuses you for a second before you catch his meaning.

“Oh, I can’t do the healing stuff on myself,” you say. “Or at least I don’t know how yet. I gotta heal the old-fashioned way.”

You give him a wry smile. It could be worse, after all. You could’ve actually broken something. Peter doesn’t seem very reassured.

“I should get Hank,” he says.

“No, don’t!” you say as quickly as you can. “It’s not that bad. I’ll go to him in the morning, if I need to.”

No sense in dragging the poor man out of bed if it’s not an emergency. Unconvinced, Peter bites his lip.

“If you’re sure,” he says reluctantly, “But… Don’t move, okay? I’m gonna get you some ice.”

He’s gone. And then he’s back, holding a couple icepacks and a towel. You reach down to take the knee-brace off, but Peter swats your hands away. Why on earth-?

“Would you stop that?” he says, perching on the edge of the bed. “I’m trying to nurse you back to health here.”

You laugh in spite of yourself. “Always the romantic.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why you like me.”

He’s not wrong. Peter flashes you a grin, and it’s so cheerful and unguarded and normal that it’s startling. This boy is gonna give you whiplash yet; you’re sure of it.

But then he looks down again to focus on the task at hand. He’s extraordinarily gentle as he undoes the brace and settles the icepacks on and around your knee. You want to turn his face towards you and kiss him, but you don’t. He must have some reason for keeping his distance.

As he’s finishing up, he finally speaks.

“I’m… I’m kinda afraid to ask, honestly, but how did you get hurt? It wasn’t- I mean,” Peter exhales forcefully, and hesitates before asking: “Was it me?”

His big, dark eyes meet yours, and the distress in his face nearly breaks your heart.

“What? No! Of course it wasn’t you,” you say.

Peter seems to relax a little, but still has that troubled look in his eyes. He really doesn’t remember, does he? You did get into a scuffle with him while he was still under mind control, and he had ended up knocking you down, but it hadn’t hurt you any more than tripping on the sidewalk would’ve. Also… this doesn’t seem like the right time to mention that part of the story. You hurry to explain.

“It was that witch – Agnes, or Agatha, or whatever her name is,” you say. “She couldn’t send me back, and she couldn’t get in my head, so she dumped me in the Westview Hospital psych ward.”

Peter’s jaw drops. “She what?”

“I mean, it wasn’t like a horror story hospital or anything,” you clarify. “It was actually a pretty nice place, aside from the fact that they wouldn’t let me leave because they thought I was dissociating and suffering from delusions. Which is exactly what what’s-her-name was counting on.”

Peter nods slowly, evidently more confused and no less concerned. “Okay… that explains where you were, but it doesn’t explain how you got hurt.”

“Oh, right. When I wasn’t able to talk my way out, I had to use my powers to get a window open. Only…” you wince at the memory. “My powers didn’t fully work in Westview, and the window was on the second floor. So when I jumped out of it, gravity did exactly what it’s supposed to do.”

Peter presses a hand to his mouth. Okay, this explanation is clearly making things worse.

“And then – okay, this isn’t funny, but it’s kinda funny. It was suddenly Halloween, so the streets were all covered in people and I had to hide, so I crawled into somebody’s hedges. Problem is, they spotted me and came over to see what was going on. So I told them,” you snort involuntarily just remembering it, “I told them that I was dressed up as a zombie, but it’s okay, I’m hiding in their hedge because I’m a method actor. And somehow, they bought it.”

You end your rambling with an awkward laugh, but it dies almost immediately. The anecdote didn’t mollify Peter even a little bit. Maybe you should’ve mentioned the part where you had to steal clothes off a scarecrow? … No, that probably wouldn’t have helped either.

Brows furrowed, eyes still troubled, he stares down at his hands. “You could’ve gone back. Why didn’t you go back?”

“Peter, I went to Westview to bring you home,” you say. “I wasn’t going to leave you behind.”

Although, now that he mentions it, going back for reinforcements probably would’ve been the smart thing to do. It honestly never occurred to you at the time. You were so focused on rescuing Peter that you couldn’t think of anything else.

For someone who allegedly doesn’t remember anything, Peter looks awfully distressed.

“Peter…?” you say, softly, “Are you alright?”

Before he can answer, you shiver violently, startling yourself as much as Peter, and completely breaking the moment.

“Sorry,” you say. “It’s the icepacks. I should probably get going soon, since I’m already cold.”

Peter blinks, and suddenly the shadow seems to lift from his mood. He’s bright and brisk again, taking the icepacks off of your knee.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “You’re not gonna go limping around in the cold in the middle of the night. You’ll end up getting sick on top of everything. You can stay here. No, don’t get up. I’ll crash on the couch this time.”

He’s really taking this ‘nurse you back to health’ thing seriously, isn’t he? Even if he’s just playing at it, it’s still kinda sweet. You can’t help but smile a little.

“How very Jane Austen of you,” you say.

Peter snorts. “That’s gotta be the nerdiest compliment anyone’s ever given me. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

As he finishes setting aside the icepacks, he turns back to face you.

“Now,” he says, “Is there anything else you need?”

Half-smiling, he looks at you with those big dark eyes, and you can’t help yourself. You lean forward, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a crushing embrace. You know it might make you look clingy, but you don’t care.

You’re fully prepared to pull away just as fast, but Peter’s arms fold around you almost instantly. He nestles his cheek against your head, gently stroking your hair.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”

When you finally do pull back, Peter smiles down at you, tilting his head slightly.

“I’m not going anywhere, alright?” he says. “I promise.”

He kisses your forehead, and helps you arrange the pillows and settle in for the night. After extracting a promise that you’ll wake him up if you need something, he retreats to the couch.

The familiar scent of Peter’s cologne lingers reassuringly on his pillows. He’s not going anywhere, you tell yourself. The person who took him is in no position to cause him any more harm.

So why does it feel like part of him is still gone?

#peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff #peter maximoff fanfiction #x men fanfiction #wandavision fanfic #(I mean... it’s both and neither)#fun fact! i started writing out a whole other flashback sequence #about meeting Monica and helping free Peter #but it went on too dang long so I cut it #maybe I’ll finish it up and post it as a deleted scene

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novelconcepts · 4 years

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fic: learning a lot (about being alive)

So much of the story is the same. Dani. The kids. The lake. So much of the story is exactly the same--only, this time, there is no gardener working at Bly Manor.

The young woman is tired. Exhausted, if she’s truly honest with herself. She feels as though there must be an endpoint to running, a marker down the road that says a person has gone as far as they are able. Rest now, she imagines that marker saying in a cheerily-bold script. Fall down now. Let go.

She isn’t there yet, she’s pretty sure. Not quite. She doesn’t know how much a person can be expected to carry, or for how long, but at least...at least she has a little left in the tank, yet. Enough to get her affairs in order, if nothing else. Enough to try a little longer to find solid ground.

***

It was a matter of escaping home, to start with. A matter of escaping old ghosts and older expectations, and that Dani Clayton found all too quickly how easily ghosts can follow a person across miles and miles of world was...unfortunate. It had been naive, maybe, to think she’d leave Eddie behind with the simple act of crossing an ocean. One of those you never know before you try things.

Try, she did. Succeed, she did not. Not at first.

Still, there were bright spots. Travel hadn’t been a large part of her life back home; Edmund was a homebody, her mother always had opinions to offer when Dani mentioned family trips, and there were the kids at school to consider. Reliability had been her middle name, if not by choice, at least by necessity. She’d been twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven years old, and all she’d seen of the world was small-town Iowa.

And then, unexpectedly: the thread of courage that had pushed her to break things off with Eddie.

And then, even worse: the screech of tires, the scream tearing from her own throat, the awful gurgling sounds Eddie had made as he lay spread-eagled on the blacktop.

And then, the worst thing of all: glasses, gleaming bright with no sign of Eddie’s laughing eyes behind them, flashing at her from every mirrored surface in the room.

It had been too much. Too much for anyone to bear, Dani was sure. Who could blame her, for running away? Who could blame her, for needing a little space?

Her mother, for one. Eddie’s mother, for another. Even so, she had gone. Packed three bags, bought a guidebook to Europe, jumped a plane for the first time in her life. Bravest thing she’d ever done--or stupidest--and it had been a week before she’d stopped waking up trembling with adrenaline.

She had some money--enough to get by on cheap hostels and simple foods--but she’d kept her eyes on the listings in every paper all the same. One in particular seemed to burn a little brighter within the newsprint. A charming manor in the countryside. Two children. Live-in au pair required.

A good, solid job. Money in her pocket, and a path forward through a world that maybe wouldn’t demand Danielle of her any longer. She’d stretched for it, closed her fist tight around the opportunity.

Those kids had been wonderful. Strange, at times, but what children freshly mourning their parents aren’t strange? The other adults at Bly Manor, too, had been charming and kind--Owen, with his bad puns and his delicious dishes, and Hannah, who had taken Dani by the arm with motherly affection almost before Dani had even introduced herself. They were good people. For a few weeks, she’d felt more at home than she had ever been with people who had known her since childhood.

Still, there had been shadows cast over the summer. Miles, aggressive without provocation. Flora, sleepwalking. Owen, unexpectedly losing his mother. Hannah, growing more and more distant.

And, finally, the night everything comes apart. A lake. A spectral form with a too-solid grip around Dani’s throat. A child, screaming in terror. A phrase, falling from her lips before Dani can even process the words.

Dani says them like a spell. Dani says like them a promise. Dani says them, and blinks, and Flora is in her arms, squeezing so tight around her bruised neck, she thinks she might pass out.

She almost tips over in cold, dirty lake water, but someone is splashing toward them. Henry. Henry Wingrave, still dressed for the office, bug-eyed and grasping for his niece with panicky hands. Dani gives her over gladly, feeling as though all the strength has been wrung out of her body.

None of this makes sense. A summer spent at this house, making a warm little hole in the world for her to crawl into, only to culminate in this? In Owen shouting for Hannah, in Miles shaking all over, in Flora weeping and Henry trying to look as though he isn't about to start doing the same?

She can’t handle it. Suddenly can’t stay here. There’s...something happening beneath her skin, something cold and sharp and terribly foreign, and no one is looking at her. No one is seeing the way her hands convulse as she forces them into fists.

She hears herself say, “I have to...have to go...” and knows no one is listening. Owen’s gone, sprinting off toward the chapel. Henry and the kids are a mess of hugging, shaking, crying bodies.

A quick stop in the house, a quick stop upstairs to shuck off sodden sweater and mud-encrusted pants, and then she’s climbing through Henry’s still-open car door. Backing down the endless drive. Leaving the manor and all its eccentric shadows in her wake.

***

Dani Clayton can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t drive, either, not really, but she’s made it this far. A few miles down the road, to a little village where most everyone is likely to already be asleep.

There’s a pub next door to an inn, and she thinks, Nobody will care if I stay the night. Just one night.

She has no idea what comes after. Is sort of afraid to think about it much. Tonight hasn’t made a lot of sense--her brain is still buzzing with it’s you, it’s me, it’s us, with Flora’s screams and her own gargling panic as an impossible hand tightened around her throat--and maybe that’s fine, for now. Maybe one night of not making sense is an acceptable loss. She’ll just walk into this little pub in this little village that doesn’t know her name, and maybe she’ll feel better after a drink. Or two.

Or seven.

She’s not much for hard liquor, and her tolerance ought to be negligible, but there’s just something about this night that has unbound her. Alcohol is doing very little to take the edge off this gut-wrenching feeling that she isn’t...right. Isn’t quite who she was two hours ago. Isn’t...alone.

No, she thinks with firm certainty, no, that’s the crazy talking. The crazy I thought I fixed after Owen’s mother’s funeral, but maybe not, maybe it’s still...

She tips back her glass, polishing off a scotch she’d never have thought to order yesterday. Her face contorts; it hurts to swallow, even without the burn. She should probably give up, probably head next door and book a room to sleep this off.

“All right there?”

Her eyes snap to the owner of the voice, which is both thickly accented and alluringly curious. A woman--small, brown hair mussed, eyes watching Dani like she sort of expects Dani to start trouble right here in the smallest pub in England--is leaning against a neighboring table. Dani lets her empty glass drop with a thud against oak scored with initials and curse words.

“Fine,” she answers shortly. The woman’s brows raise.

“Only,” she says in a voice much more level than Dani’s own, “you don’t look fine. Look a bit like you’ve had the worst night of your life, in fact.”

Why should she care? Dani wonders. She licks her lips. “That,” she says, “would be an understatement.”

She’s too aware that she doesn’t belong in a place like this--smoke hazing the air, men laughing too loudly near the bar--and that a woman like the one watching her through guarded eyes does. Too aware that her pastel sweater and scrunchie probably label her as an outlier even faster than her American accent.

This woman, on the other hand, has the look of someone who spends most nights in pubs like this one. Her face is pretty--very pretty, Dani realizes with the belated interest of one just opening her eyes--but there’s something of a shield around her smile. Her clothes are clean, but not particularly fashion-forward: a pair of jeans, a ratty t-shirt, thin suspenders. She doesn’t look like anyone who has ever wasted a breath on Dani Clayton.

But she’s raising her glass in a small salute. Dani raises her empty one right back, glancing at it with mild distaste.

“Another?” the woman asks, still in that attention-grabbing, almost familiar tone. Dani starts to shake her head--she doesn’t accept drinks from strangers, as a rule, particularly strange women who look at her in ways that make her stomach clench--and changes her mind at the last second. Another. Sure. What harm could it possibly do?

***

Jamie’s back strikes the wall of the women’s bathroom with such force, she almost bites her own lip. Might have done, in fact, if not for the other woman’s lips in the way.

She didn’t get a name, and figures that’s probably for the best. Bad enough she’s going down this road at all on a first glance--Bly isn’t big, and word travels impossibly fast. Jamie’s spent years keeping her head down, avoiding just these such entanglements.

But the woman has incredible eyes--one bright blue, one a shocking brown--and accepted a free drink with the air of one who desperately needs a good time under her belt. When Jamie slid seamlessly from her own table to the stranger’s, the woman only smiled. When Jamie let her hand rest lightly on the pocked wood, fingertips grazing the woman’s wrist, she’d taken her lower lip between even teeth in a manner Jamie will probably think about for the rest of her life.

Bathroom, then. Locked door. Bad choice, but one Jamie’s comfortable enough with so long as this woman is kissing her.

She’s a damn fine kisser, and seems to have no qualms about showing Jamie as much. Her hands are fleeting, desperate, grabbing anywhere she can reach--Jamie’s collar is the current target, gripped so tight, it’s a wonder the thin material doesn’t tear--and she’s kissing Jamie like this is the most natural thing in the world. Like Jamie’s hand sifting through her ponytail, grabbing hold and tugging to urge her closer, is more welcome than that drink had been. Like Jamie, lips parting to accept a seeking tongue, is more welcome than--

Just a girl, Jamie reminds herself. Just a girl without a name, even. American. Probably won’t see her again, so might as well just enjoy what I get now.

And what she’s getting is good, certainly. The woman has pressed a thigh between her legs, is riding against her with a panting ferocity that makes Jamie woozy. Her mouth slides from the woman’s kiss, searching for more skin to taste, her nose bumping against gold hoop earring as she licks a spot just below the woman’s jaw. A soft groan is her reward, and she grins against the woman’s skin, grazing with gentle teeth as she dips lower--

“Jesus,” she breathes, leaning back. Her fingers brush the woman’s neck below the collar of her sweater. “Hey, are you--”

“Fine,” the woman says, dragging Jamie’s bottom lip between her teeth and biting down hard enough for Jamie to hiss.

“These,” she says, pulling slickly away again, “look like bruises--”

The woman is staring at her with a hard expression she can’t quite deconstruct. There’s something feverish about the way she looks at Jamie, something hunted and more than a little disconcerting.

“I’m fine,” she says again, stiffly. “Do you want...?”

She almost sounds nervous, and Jamie realizes the opportunity for a pleasant evening is rapidly diminishing. Push now, push too hard, and this woman is going to turn on her heel and march out of this bathroom. Maybe out of Bly altogether.

“If you do,” she answers, like this is nothing more than two bodies searching for something to hang on to. She leans back in, half-expecting the woman to shrink away, the moment already in its grave. Instead, she finds herself making an incredibly undignified noise as the woman slides her tongue into her mouth and a hand up the front of her shirt in the same motion.

It feels both teenage and foolish, arching into a strange woman’s hand in a pub bathroom. Fascinatingly unwise, letting this woman scramble excited fingers against the seam of her jeans. Truly, just idiotic, sinking to her knees and pulling the woman’s trousers down just enough to seek out hot, wet skin with her tongue.

Any other place, any other time, any other woman, and Jamie would know better.

It’s just once, she reminds herself, groaning as the woman bucks into her mouth, slick and desperate, her hands tangled hard enough in Jamie’s hair to hurt. One stupid night with one stupidly attractive American. Life’s short. It’ll never come up again.

***

Dani is pretty sure her head was removed last night and screwed back on the wrong way.

She wakes in a heap in an unfamiliar bed, still in last night’s clothes. Her hair is a bedraggled mess around her face, her brain slamming itself repeatedly against her skull like a tiny, terribly angry man trapped in a very small room. Her mouth feels like she forgot to close it all night, her lips feel swollen, and her calves feel...weirdly sore. Like she’d spent the night clenching every muscle in her legs. Like she...

Oh, she thinks, quite unable to convince herself to open her eyes. Right. Like she’d spent the evening with a strange woman in a pub bathroom. A strange woman who had...with her mouth...and a wellspring of eager talent...

“Shit,” Dani says in a very small voice.

If she doesn’t open her eyes, she thinks, there can be no proving she made choices last night the old Dani Clayton would never make. No proving how many scotches she’d downed. Certainly no proof of the woman whose thrusting tongue had caused Dani to...

She cracks one eye open, relieved when she finds herself in an empty and incredibly boring room that can only belong to some kind of motel. The inn, she realizes, sitting up with a wince. She’d made it to the inn, with its twin bed and its single lamp and its sad little flower print on the far wall.

By the looks of things, she made it to the inn alone.

That makes it better and worse at the same time, somehow.

She’s far too tired and far too hungover--far too something else, too, something that has not at all diminished with the rising of the sun, and she will not look at it, will not think about it, will not--to care how she looks. Staggering downstairs, hair scraped back from her forehead, clothes rumpled, she gives the innkeeper her best approximation of a smile.

“Excuse me, do you serve--”

“Breakfast next door,” the man says dully, jabbing a pen toward the exit. Dani’s mouth twitches, an old anger pressing itself against her ribs. If there's one thing she can’t tolerate on a hangover and an empty stomach, it’s a man speaking to her like she’s not even there.

Forget it, she thinks with some effort. One perk, she supposes, of having dragged herself in at who-the-hell-knew what hour last night is the lack of packing up to do this morning. No bags. No sign she was ever even up there. She’ll just go next door, get a cup of coffee and maybe a little toast, and...

Ah. I stole Henry’s car last night. She heaves a sigh.

“No breakfast after all?” the man adds as she stands in the doorway, peering out in search of wherever she parked a much-too-expensive vehicle without Henry’s consent. She considers flipping him the bird. Decides no version of Dani Clayton is quite that crass.

Even one who spent last night riding some strange woman’s--

“No,” she says primly. “No, I should be getting back.”

***

Henry, to her extreme relief, has not even noticed her absence. Things have been a bit hectic, she gathers. The children are all right--as all right as they can be, anyway; they’re still in bed when she sneaks into the house--but they’re the only ones. Henry, seated at the kitchen table with a mug of cold tea between his palms, looks bruised around the eyes.

“Long night,” he says, though Dani hasn’t asked. “Are you...?”

“Fine,” she says, as bright and cheerful as she can muster with her skull throbbing. “Where’s Hannah?”

Henry looks at her like she’s just buried a kitchen knife between his ribs. Her mouth goes dry.

Hannah was not, as it turns out, in the chapel last night. Hannah was not anywhere at all. Not the part of her that counts.

“I can’t explain it,” Henry says in a low, urgently exhausted voice. “If I hadn’t...if it had been any other way, I’d have said I hallucinated the whole thing.”

It’s impossible, and yet, Dani can’t discount the story. Something about this house and its grounds, its atmosphere (its lake, she thinks and pinches a torn bit of cuticle to distract from the word), has her believing in things she’d have said were children’s fairytales a year ago. Ghosts aren’t real; anyone with any amount of sanity knows it. And yet...

You. Me. Us. She shudders.

They’d gone out to the old well first thing, Henry tells her. He and Owen, walking in silence, both knowing what they’d find and knowing just as well that it was an unacceptable discovery.

“I offered to go along,” he says hollowly. “When the authorities arrived. He wouldn’t hear it. Must have been an accident, they said, a terrible fall...”

How, Dani wonders, does a woman like Hannah Grose fall into a well?

As if that’s really the question. As if the true question isn't how does a woman like Hannah Gross fall into a well, and just continue about her life for the next few weeks without pause?

Ghosts aren’t real. Can’t be, in a sane reality. And yet, the coroners told Henry there were signs of decomposition going back many days. Hannah, who had been talking and laughing at this table just yesterday night, had been down there alone for so long.

Can’t stay, Dani thinks with sudden venom. Can’t stay here anymore. Isn’t home anymore.

It’s the same thought she had in that little blue house across the pond, staring at things that had been Edmund’s--had been, for better or worse, theirs--and understanding some changes are permanent. Some places, once haunted by certain kinds of grief, cannot remain your own.

As if reading her mind, Henry pushes back from the table. “I’d like very much to thank you for your services this summer, Miss Clayton. I truly don’t know what the children--what any of us--would have done without you.”

She tries to smile. The bones of her face ache. Everything about her is a single rabid pulse of pain, except maybe the smallest corner of her mind, the smallest corner of memory where she is back in a dirty pub bathroom, watching a woman sink to her knees, feeling her eyes roll back as that woman touches--

“It was my pleasure,” she says, and isn’t lying, exactly. She’d do it again, she thinks. All of it. The job. The little family she found so unexpectedly. Rescuing Flora from something she can’t, even now, process. She’d do it all again if asked, and do it exactly the same.

It hurts no less, for that.

***

“You’re sure?” Henry asks yet again. He’s out of the car, holding her bags out, his face that of a worried father. Dani thinks he’ll make a good one to those kids, in his own way. “You could stay a little longer. I’d never ask you to--”

“I know,” she reassures him, slinging the backpack over her shoulder. “But honestly, it’s better this way. The kids don’t need me hanging around, and I...”

Can feel her, she doesn’t say. Can feel her moving around, way down where I can’t even catch a glimpse of how or why. If I stay there, if I let it, that house will call to her like a magnet again. Like gravity.

“It’s time for a new adventure,” she says instead, smiling. He believes this smile, she knows. Anyone would. She’s gotten so good at faking it.

He hugs her once, quickly. It is appropriately awkward, and she even laughs a little. Flora, hanging out of the backseat window almost far enough to fall, looks miserable.

“You’re really leaving?”

“I am.” Bent at the waist, Dani looks the girl in the eye. Flora’s face is uncharacteristically solemn. “But I promise I’ll write. Call, too, if your uncle gives me the number.”

“Where are you going?” Flora presses. Behind her, Miles lays a clumsy hand of reproach on her shoulder. Dani favors him with a small, comprehending smile. Miles has gone through things none of them can fathom, things he may never be able to talk about. She aches for the too-adult cast about his eyes.

“I don’t exactly know yet,” Dani tells them both. “Like I said, it’s an adventure. Might end up anywhere.”

“But happy,” Flora says uncertainly. “Right?”

“I’m sure,” Dani says, dropping a final kiss to the top of her head, “it will be perfectly splendid.”

She keeps the smile on her face as Henry ushers Flora back through the window and into her seatbelt, as they pull away from the curb and down the curve of Bly’s main intersection. When they turn the corner, disappearing from view, she lets the expression drop with a sigh.

A week. A week since the lake, since finding Hannah’s body, since the impossible set up shop in her head. A week of Henry learning to parent in a slapdash rush, of Owen’s face more serious than she’d ever seen it, of yet another funeral. Hannah’s had been a quiet affair, properly spiritual as she’d have liked, and Dani had spent the entire thing trying not to think about the last funeral she’d attended.

And now, a week later, she’s here. Standing in front of Bly’s one and only little pub once more. It’s barely afternoon; she figures this is as good a place as any to sit for a few hours with a beer and her thoughts, until she figures out what comes next.

Nothing comes next, she finds herself thinking. You’re carrying a time bomb. You can’t understand it, can’t get rid of it, and there’s no one left to hold your hand as you wait for it to go off.

Defeatist thinking. Stupid, hopeless, miserable thinking. She’s tired, but she isn’t out of the game just yet.

Make a plan, she tells herself, slipping through the pub’s front entrance and taking a seat at the bar. Get a drink, make a plan. There’s always a next step.

Except, this time, she doesn’t know if she believes it. Not really. Not knowing things she isn’t comfortable knowing. Ghosts exist, and ghosts can hurt--not just your grasp on the world, not just your sanity, but you. They can throttle. They can manipulate. They can steal the life out from under you, if only you invite them in.

Not that she can say any of this aloud, not ever, not to anyone.

Get a drink. Make a plan. Something that doesn’t involve Mom, or Iowa, or Danielle.

She drops the backpack between her knees, slides the other bags under her seat where she can keep an eye on them. She’s sure she looks exhausted in a hooded sweatshirt, a denim jacket, the skin around her eyes nearly purple with sleepless nights. Pub at noon on a Thursday--maybe no one will notice.

Not that there’s anyone she’s trying to impress.

“Just a beer,” she says when a shape appears in her periphery. “Please.”

“Sandwich as well?”

Her head comes up so fast, something in her neck cramps. The bartender, back to her, is filling a tall glass. Cloth over one shoulder. Brown hair a messy tangle of curls.

“It’s--it’s you.”

The woman meets her gaze with a smirk Dani is simply not equipped at noon on a Thursday to cope with.

“Last I checked,” she says calmly, setting the full glass in front of Dani and wiping her hands on the cloth. “Ought to be, too, seeing as how this is my pub.”

***

Oh, this is rich. This is rich, and this is wonderful, and this is fucking bad.

Jamie, who has been watching this woman loiter outside the pub for the better part of ten minutes, has had exactly this long to come to terms with her own misfortune. Ten minutes, to recognize the world is a shallow, cruel prankster. Ten minutes, to recognize this does nothing at all to stop a woman she’s been dreaming of for a week from walking back through her door.

I know what you look like when you come, she thinks with a recklessness she truly thought she’s outgrown. And now I'm meant to serve you ale like we’re complete fuckin’ strangers.

For all her nerves, watching the woman hug an older man, lean into a car to speak to some very small children, Jamie thinks she’s still the better off of their twosome. After all, she gets to decide how she’s going to stand--off the side of the bar, furthest from the door, buying time--and when she’s going to make her entrance. This woman?

Well, judging by her wide Bambi eyes, this woman could have done with a little preparation herself.

“White or rye?” Jamie asks when the woman continues to gape at her. “Or we can get you a fish and chips plate, if it suits you.”

“I don’t understand,” the woman says. Her hand is clenched around her glass like she’s dimly considering tossing it like a grenade and bolting for the door. Jamie hopes she’ll restrain that impulse. Glass would be a bitch to clear up during the impending lunch rush.

“Well,” Jamie says, leaning her elbows against the bar in a show of carelessness. “When you order the fish and chips, see, they come wrapped in a little newsprint. And the grease makes for--”

“I know,” the woman snaps, “what fish and chips are. I just. I...” She lowers her voice, looking around like anyone’s in the mood to eavesdrop. “Do you...remember me?”

For a split second, Jamie is back in the bathroom, biting at soft thighs, loving the way this woman leaves scratches down the back of her neck.

“Yes,” she says placidly. “I remember.”

“Okay,” the woman says, leaning towards her so far, she almost topples off her stool. “Okay, listen, I don’t--I mean--I didn’t--”

“Mean to do it,” Jamie suggests wryly. She’s heard this song more times than she can count. “Tripped and fell onto my lips, did you?”

“No,” the woman hisses. “I just--don’t normally do that.”

“Women,” Jamie says. It’s sort of nice, how empty the place is. Gives her plenty of time to sarcastically shift away from caring about how this woman is gazing at her.

“No--I mean, I haven’t. Before. But I’ve wanted--doesn’t matter.” She’s practically playing jump rope with her own tongue, this poor beautiful woman. Jamie takes pity on her.

“You mean you don’t normally stride into a small-town pub, put away more booze than the meanest local miner, and drag a stranger back to, ah. Improve your evening?”

“Yes.” The woman slumps against the bar, relief shining like starlight in her mismatched eyes. “Yes, exactly.”

“Was an accident, then,” Jamie says with studied calm. The woman shakes her head. Looks like it hurts, frankly, she’s putting so much behind it.

“Not an accident. Just. Was a really strange night.”

And this, Jamie thinks, is a very strange conversation. The most she’s ever talked to a woman after sex, in fact. Stranger still, she feels like it was always going to happen, eventually. Like this woman was always bound to stroll back through her door.

“Well,” she says, giving the bar a decisive rap with her knuckles. “I can be an adult about this, if you can. Agree to behave as though I haven’t, ah--”

The woman raises a single finger in warning, her face flushed. “Don’t.”

Jamie laughs. “Right. Anyway.” She extends a hand, takes the one the woman is jabbing in her direction. “Jamie. Bartender, terminally afflicted by the poor decision to settle in Bly.”

“Dani,” the woman says, squeezing her hand with surprising strength. “Teacher. Au pair. Unemployed.”

“All of the above, or one at a time?” Jamie grins. Dani releases her hand, touches her forehead lightly as if warding off a headache.

“Honestly, I’m not even sure it matters.”

Strange woman, Jamie thinks. “You’re heading out of town, then? Only, I saw your taxi service come and go...”

If she says yes, that’s all this business taken care of before Jamie can bring herself to think on it too hard. It’d be best, she thinks. Best to let this too-beautiful woman swan right back out of her life, let her become little more than a jarringly-electric memory sneaking up on Jamie at odd moments. Jamie’s got a nice little life here in Bly--boring, but simple. She really doesn’t need anything upending that for her.

“I don’t know,” Dani sighs. “I don’t exactly have a job anymore. Or a place to stay.”

“But?” Jamie turns her attention toward cleaning glasses, if only to keep from staring at this woman. She looks like it’s been days since last she slept, but there’s something about her eyes Jamie can’t seem to stop glancing at.

“You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t,” Jamie says. Dani’s mouth twists, a crooked little grin that doesn’t sit quite right on her face.

“Won’t believe me, then.”

Jamie says nothing. Some people don’t take kindly to being told to trust. Some people need more to put their faith behind. She can’t begrudge it of this woman, or anyone.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dani says, pausing to take a hearty sip from her glass. Her neck looks better, Jamie notes--the finger-shaped bruises have faded to near invisibility. Not that she’s thinking about Dani’s neck. Not that she’s remembering the way Dani sighed and clutched at her back as she kissed--

“I just don’t want to go back,” Dani says, oblivious. Jamie nearly fumbles the glass in her hand, sets it carefully down on the rack.

“To your old job?”

“Home.” A surprising amount of venom fits into that single syllable, rolling off of Dani’s tongue. Jamie can certainly understand that.

“So, don’t.” She turns her back, barely able to believe what’s about to come out of her own mouth. It’s foolish. It’s foolish and dumb and silly, and still: “Stay here.”

Dani’s mouth makes a rather funny sound, falling open. Jamie keeps her eyes on the bar mirror, watching surreptitiously for signs of revulsion in the other woman’s face.

“Could use a waitress,” she goes on, as if this is the most normal conversation in the world. “Just for a few weeks, mind. Through the fall, maybe. Boss man’ll be back by then.”

“Boss?” Dani repeats. Jamie flashes her a quick grin over her shoulder.

“I don’t actually own the place. What on earth would I do, ownin’ a goddamned pub in Bly?”

***

She doesn’t mean to say yes. It’s complicated, saying yes to Jamie. Knowing what happened between them, and knowing it happened on a night she can’t explain, is bad enough. Knowing all of that and taking a job working alongside the woman every evening?

It’s a bad idea, and, somehow, that’s the only reason she does it.

She can’t explain it, the recklessness living inside her chest. Doesn’t like the feel of it, curled up against her good sense as though it will, at any moment, open its jaws and consume her best judgement. All she knows is there is something waiting for her to trip up. Something waiting for her to give up. Something that may take her at any time, no matter how she feels about it.

Without something to hang on to--without something to close her fists around, something to focus all of her attention on--she’s going to give in to it. Sooner than she’d like.

She doesn’t want to go.

So, she stays in Bly, of all the places to start an adventure. Small, quiet, boring Bly. With...Jamie.

Not with Jamie, she thinks briskly. Not with Jamie-with Jamie. Just. Alongside Jamie. As a co-worker. A normal, casual, my-tongue-has-not-been-in-her-mouth relationship.

She’s been telling herself this for three days. Three days spent learning the ins and outs of the pub, learning how to navigate the unfriendly, untrusting stares of Bly locals as Jamie hovers just off her periphery. It has been...an experience, to say the least.

“You’re doing great,” Jamie says at the end of the third night. They’ve just ushered the last of the patrons out into the brisk moonlight, and Jamie is in the process of moving chairs on top of each table Dani wipes down. They’re a good team, Dani thinks, a better team than a week of knowing one another has any right to produce.

“I spilled a drink in a man’s lap,” she says, to distract from this not-entirely-unwelcome thought. Jamie leans conspiratorially close, shoulder brushing Dani’s as she drops her voice to a whisper.

“You only spilled it ‘cuz he bumped you trying to get a look at your ass. Served him right, I’d say.”

Heat climbs her neck, taking root in her cheeks. She hadn’t noticed. “Really?”

Jamie shrugs. “Does that to every girl who walks through that door. Not our most pleasant customer, to be sure, but he orders enough to keep our doors open, so...”

She makes conversation so easily, Jamie. Like Dani’s been here for years, bustling awkwardly between close-set tables, making small talk around drink orders. She makes conversation so easily, and Dani finds herself responding in kind. Nights here, at the pub, wearing a black apron and a smile that gets a little less plastic every time Jamie leans close and whispers a barb about some customer or another, leave her feeling the most stable she’s been in days.

“How’re they treating you next door?” Jamie asks, sliding her half of the tips across the bar. Dani pockets the money without really thinking about it.

“Good. It’s quiet. I’m...not used to it, yet.”

She doesn’t say the rest--that she misses those kids, misses the way Owen and Hannah would peck at one another like no one could tell how deep their love ran. That she misses small feet tearing up and down a huge staircase. That she misses having someone who needs her waiting just around the corner.

Can’t say the other part, either. The part where the room is quiet, and the walls seem not to exhale like they did at the manor, and everything is perfectly still...except for the little spot at the back of her head. That spot where she senses something waiting. Something she doesn’t understand, something that is so unbearably silent...and so incredibly furious.

“Hey--Poppins. Still with me?” Jamie’s hand touches hers lightly, a bare flourish of fingertips across her knuckles. Dani jumps.

“Poppins?” she repeats, smiling despite herself. Jamie shrugs.

“Said you were a nanny, didn’t you? For those, ah, rich beasties up the way.”

She had said as much, yes--last night, when Jamie asked what brought her out to England in the first place. “You’re as American as they fucking come,” Jamie had said with a grin that made Dani’s stomach feel like it was falling. “What on earth could have led you to Bly?”

Don’t, a tiny part of her had warned. Don’t tell her. There’s so much story, and so much of it is truly crazy. But Jamie had been leaning her hip against the bar, watching her with gentle interest, and Dani hadn’t been able to resist giving some of that story anyway. The simplest version: had to get away from home, wanted to do good in the world, best skills are with kids. Took the job because it was everything she’d thought she’d needed.

“And?” Jamie pressed gently, when Dani had faltered there. “Was it? Everything you needed?”

You. Me. Us. She’d closed her eyes, felt the world swim around her for one excruciating second. When she’d opened them again, Jamie’s hand was on her elbow, steadying.

“I don’t know,” she says now, as she did then. Jamie’s mouth quirks a little to the side, like she wants to smile solely as a reassurance.

“Long night.”

It was--every night since the lake has been longer than Dani knows what to do with--and she’s not sure she can stand the idea of spending it alone in her room. The inn is warm, well-lit, and makes her feel like a tinderbox seconds from going up. Restless energy, is all--she’d felt it at the manor, too, that pent-up need to leap from her bed and roam the halls each night--but for some reason, it scares her.

Jamie is watching her still, and Dani is struck with the wild notion that she could ask for Jamie’s company. Could ask not to be left alone tonight. Jamie would probably say yes to anything she asks for, and they’d have a good time together. It would be a campfire in the woods, maybe, just a little light to break up the shadows, but it would be better than nothing.

Not fair, she tells herself. Not fair to her. Not with whatever it is I’m carrying now.

“Thank you,” she says aloud, touching Jamie’s hand quickly, her thumb swiping across Jamie’s skin in a manner so brisk, it might as well not have happened at all. “You probably want to get to bed.”

Something she can’t--won’t--look at too closely in Jamie’s eyes. Something that makes her whole body clench with a need she isn’t capable of dealing with just now.

“Yeah,” Jamie says softly. “G’night, Poppins.”

***

Dani is better at this than she thinks, Jamie sees right away. Not just the serving gig, either; doesn’t take a mastermind, to take drink orders and drop off plates of bad chips to drunk townies. She’s good at the real heart of the job, the reason people like the citizens of Bly flock to the village’s one and only pub.

She catches sight of her doing this very thing, probably without even realizing, on a Friday night. The room is packed with bodies, sweaty and laughing and half-gone on half-priced ale, and Jamie’s been looking for her for ten minutes. When she locates her at last, Dani is standing in the very back of the pub, hands on her hips, smiling at the oldest woman in the world.

Jamie moves just near enough to pick up the gist. The woman, a fixture of Bly in her late eighties, still making her weekly venture to the pub, is regaling Dani with what very well might be her life story. And Dani, rather than looking impatient, rather than letting her eyes slide away in search of something else to do, has her head tipped to the side. Her posture is easy, the first time Jamie’s seen it as such, her focus absolute.

Just listening. Just listening to this ancient woman like there’s nothing going on around her.

“That was something,” Jamie says in her ear when Dani finally extricates herself from the one-sided conversation and makes her way back.

“What was?”

Jamie inclines her head toward the old woman. Dani looks embarrassed.

“I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore the other tables, I--”

“Easy,” Jamie says, neatly stepping in the way of Dani’s breakneck sprint toward a panic attack. “You aren't in any trouble, I just can’t recall the last time I saw someone chat her up.”

She watches Dani relax, charmed by the way Dani smiles almost sheepishly.

“She said she’s been here her whole life. Can you imagine that? Staying in one place for almost ninety years?”

“Can’t imagine being anywhere for ninety years,” Jamie says without thinking. Dani’s brows go up, a comedic little arch that pulls at her heart. She hastens to add, “Only mean it’s been...a life. Not always lived with the best of intentions.”

Dani looks interested, and for a terrifying moment, Jamie thinks not only is she going to push, but that Jamie is actually going to tell her. Everything. Home life, foster care, prison term. Everything that stacks up behind her walls to remind her of why she built them in the first place.

But Dani, thank fuck, only says, “We all have our baggage, right?” There’s something sad about the way she says it, the way she smiles with what Jamie is coming to think of as a half-light. There’s something going on behind a smile like that, and Jamie knows it isn’t safe to even wonder. Isn’t simple, to even consider caring.

But you do, something whispers. Don’t you? Even knowing she’ll be gone in a couple of weeks, you do.

“It’s funny,” Jamie says, a quick-change that doesn’t quite cover the heat she feels has cropped up between them. “That she’d come talk your ear off. She’s not much for words most nights. Thought she’d have gotten her fill at old Mrs. Sharma’s funeral last month.”

There goes Dani’s face again, forming that expression of pure surprise. “Wait. She knew Owen’s mother?”

“Who didn’t?” Owen Sharma, Bly’s kindest, least eligible bachelor. If Jamie had a dollar for every beautiful woman who made moon eyes over the man, she’d be up at least the price of a nice meal.

Shame about his mother, really. Margaret had been at least as kind as her son, prone to slipping Jamie a wink and a chuckle while Owen blatantly missed all flirtation sent his way. It had hurt, seeing her grip on her own mind slip away. Had hurt worse, knowing Owen was up at that big old house only because it was the nearest he could get to Margaret’s deterioration.

“Good woman,” Jamie says gruffly. “Kind woman. Hated seeing her go, but if I’m honest, maybe it’s easier on Owen this way.”

“He didn’t seem to think it was easier,” Dani says, but there’s a bit of hesitation in her voice. Like she knows what Jamie was trying to say, and maybe she doesn’t like it, but can’t entirely discount the idea, either.

“Hang on,” Jamie says, jumping back a few steps. “If you know Owen--”

“Worked with him,” Dani agrees. “At the house. He was our cook.”

Of fucking course. How could I have missed this. “If you know Owen,” Jamie repeats, feeling very certain and very warm all of a sudden, “then you were at the funeral, too.”

The funeral. A surprisingly sunny affair, where the weather was concerned, and utterly miserable in every other way. Jamie, in honor of a woman who once made her feel more welcome in this tiny village than just about everyone her own age, had dressed carefully. Her only black dress. A fine jacket. Neat silver earrings. No one to impress but ghosts.

And she’d felt...incomplete, somehow, standing over the grave. Incomplete and terribly small, as Owen tried to make sense of his mother’s death under the cold stares of fifty strangers. This, they seemed to say with their eyes alone, this is the boy who thought he could get out. Thought he could escape. But Bly calls everyone home, in the end, doesn’t it, Owen?

She’d hated seeing him up there, tears leaking down an uncharacteristically solemn face. Hated the way their eyes followed him as he bowed his head over Margaret’s grave. Owen’s a bit of a prat, a little disconnected, totally unaware of the grip he has on the women of Bly, but he deserved so much better than this. So much better than judging eyes and whispers.

But, then, who was Jamie to fight his battles for him? This man who might have been a friend, in another life, who is really little more than an occasional customer. She’d shaken her head, tapping a cigarette out of a crumpled pack, and set off a ways for a break from it all.

And there, behind a tree, had been a woman.

Jamie hadn’t seen her face. Had, in fact, stood intentionally back a few steps to give the woman a spot of privacy, because the sounds she was making did not invite onlookers. She seemed to have her hands over her mouth, dragging in great hitching sobs that made it sound as though all the air had gone out of the world.

“All right?” Jamie had asked. Such a stupid, silly thing to say. But the woman had frozen.

“Yeah.” Voice choked with obvious tears she was just as obviously trying to hide. Jamie had settled the cigarette between her teeth, flicked a lighter, cupped her hands around the infant ember.

“Funerals,” she’d said, a bit stupidly. No idea why, even. No one in Bly needs her to play nice with their panic attacks. “Truly the worst.”

“Yeah,” the woman agreed, breathless. Jamie could just make out a layer of black dress, cut higher and less conservatively than the village prefers for its more somber events. A bit of black dress, a swatch of blonde hair. Not much else.

Not my business to look, she’d thought, taking a long drag. Shifted her weight from one boot to the other. Hesitated.

“S’all right,” she’d said at last. Voice smoke-roughened and more than a little embarrassed by her own forwardness. “I cry three, four times a day, even when there’s no fresh body in the ground.”

“Mmhmm,” the woman replied in a tight voice. Jamie sighed.

“Only, no one would judge. Or,” she added, thinking of those pinched faces following Owen’s every broken step, “no one who hasn’t earned a punch on the nose for the trouble.”

To her surprise, the woman laughed. Not a big laugh. Just a snort, really, swallowed again just as quickly. Jamie, raising the cigarette back to her lips, fought down a grin.

“You owe ‘em nothing,” she’d said, with a finality she didn't quite understand. Then, when the woman didn’t answer, a second time: “You owe ‘em nothing.”

Now, with the world of patron and alcohol abuzz around her, she peers into Dani’s face. “You,” she says quietly. “It was you.”

***

What are the odds? That the woman who had talked her down from a small mental breakdown at the funeral had been Jamie. That the woman who had, in fact, sparked something Dani couldn’t explain even to herself had been Jamie. That the woman who, in saying those four tiny words--you owe ‘em nothing--had lit the match she’d used to burn Eddie’s ghost out of her had been Jamie.

“Look a little pale,” Jamie observes. Her hand is loose around Dani’s upper arm, and Dani realizes she is swaying in place. Her heart is a jackrabbit, her head spinning.

How? How could I not have noticed?

She’d thought Jamie had sounded familiar, hadn’t she? Right at the start, with Jamie raising her glass in a flirtatious little salute. She’d thought that voice rang a bell, and chalked it up to alcohol, to the pounding in her head, to the adrenaline high.

“Have you ever,” she hears herself say dizzily, “met someone and felt right away you should have known them all along?”

It is an insane thing to say. Jamie ought to bolt for the door, words like that. Instead, brow creased with concern, she leads Dani behind the bar and sets her down on a stool.

“Stay here a minute,” she commands. Dani drops her head into her hands.

That night, after the funeral. Hadn’t she been thinking of this woman’s words when she’d taken a bottle of wine and Eddie’s glasses out to the fire? Hadn’t those words been vibrating between her teeth as she’d stared him down, this shadow of the man she’d once loved in all the wrong ways, for the last time?

I owe you nothing anymore, Eddie. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re gone, and I’m sorry I was the--I’m sorry you felt you had to run from the truth. But I can’t live like this. Not anymore.

Drunk words. Sober reality. She’d woken the next morning feeling for the first time in almost a year like each inhalation actually inflated her lungs.

“Here.” Jamie, reappearing like a magic trick at her side with a glass of ice water and a damp rag. “You’re off the rest of the night, Poppins. Can’t have you fainting on me.”

“Don’t want to go,” Dani begins blearily. Jamie presses the glass into her hands.

“Not kicking you out,” she promises. “Just. Stay posted up here a while, yeah? I’ll be back.”

It’s an oath she keeps faithfully for the next several hours, performing a perfect balancing act between serving drinks and checking in with Dani. She ought to be embarrassed, Dani thinks, watching Jamie smile and fill glasses and glance back at her every so often to make sure she’s still where Jamie left her. This ought to be mortifying.

Why isn’t it mortifying?

She watches Jamie, the natural way she glides from joke to joke, order to order, all steady hand and quick smile, and it’s like...like watching a movie you haven’t seen since you were a kid. A movie you used to put on in the background when you were sick, or sad, or lonely. She feels certain that she still knows all the words, the music cues, the parts where she always had to close her eyes against tears she didn’t yet understand.

In a month of truly strange events, a month littered with ghosts and terrible heavy silences, this is the strangest yet. Looking at Jamie just in time to catch a wink that makes her hands slip against the glass. Looking at Jamie and thinking, I owe her nothing--and that’s the way it ought to be.

“Feeling better?” Jamie asks when the doors are locked and there is only wood and glass listening in. Dani nods, clutching the now-empty glass and trying to find an expression for her face that will betray none of what she’s been thinking.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a strange...” She shakes her head. There are words you can only say so many times before they begin to crumble on your tongue. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Seems as though it does,” Jamie says. She hoists herself up onto the bar, legs swinging, looking very young all of a sudden. Dani smiles.

“It’s a long story.”

“Got time,” Jamie replies, and though it’s two in the morning, and Dani’s body is heavy with exhaustion, she can’t help leaning a bit closer. With Jamie seated this way, she’s a little taller than Dani for the first time, her eyes searching Dani’s face for clues as to...what? How she came to Bly, really? How she came to this pub, really?

How she came to carry whatever it is she can feel watching her every move, matching her step for step, really?

“You’ll think...” She swallows hard. Closes her eyes. Waits for Jamie to say I won’t, or try me anyway, or think what? Jamie doesn’t. Jamie remains quiet, and when she chances another glance, the expression on Jamie’s face almost undoes the small amount of calm she’s been collecting over the last few hours. She’s never seen anyone just...look at her like this. Like they really do have all the time in the world.

“You’ll think I’m crazy,” she finishes at last, smiling such a hard smile, it feels as though it might snap right off her face. Jamie leans forward, elbows resting on the knees of her overalls.

“I think you are,” she says, “one of the sanest people ever to walk through this shitty little town.”

And then, without quite knowing why, Dani is talking. About all of it. Dani is spilling things she can’t explain, can’t quantify: about Eddie, about deciding no longer to allow him ownership of her life even in death; about Hannah and the well, the way the woman had been so lovely and so strong and so not there at all, in the end; about the children and their unexpected passengers, about how Rebecca Jessel had tried to the last to rescue Flora from a fate Dani can’t imagine, even now.

And she tells her about the Lady.

She tells her about the specter with its hand like a claw, who had picked her up like a squirming sack of flour and dragged her through that house. About how Flora had saved her life in the way only a child can think to try. About how she’d saved Flora in return, even if she can’t explain it.

Jamie listens. To all of it. Eyes serious, mouth drawn in a gentle frown. She’s nodding, Dani realizes. Nodding, and watching Dani’s eyes the whole time.

“See?” Dani says at last, and realizes she’s crying. The silent tracks of tears are warm on her cheeks, skidding off her chin and into her lap. She’s crying, and she’s breathing through it, and somewhere deep inside, she thinks she hears the crash of waves. “Crazy. Think I’m crazy. Think I’m going--”

Jamie, so gracefully, she almost doesn’t see the change, pushes off the bar and crouches beside the stool. Her hands find Dani’s, a gentle grip that makes the world stop swaying for a moment.

“Think you are,” she says in the most determined voice Dani has ever heard, “surprisingly sane. All things considered. And I want you to know, you don’t have to--”

Dani’s got her by the shoulders. Dani’s dragging her upright, surging right off her seat, pressing her back against the bar. Dani, who understands on a level that is conscious and legitimate and wise that this is her co-worker now, and finds she does not particularly care, kisses her with such desperation, she nearly moans into Jamie’s mouth.

Jamie should push her off. Jamie should be gentle and solid and certain in her dismissal. This is a bad idea. This is a bad--

“I have a flat,” Jamie breathes against her lips. Dani realizes Jamie’s hands are in her hair, Jamie’s mouth is flushed pink, Jamie is looking at her eyes. “I have a flat upstairs.”

***

“I want you to know,” Dani pants against her neck, “I’m not doing this because I’m--”

She hesitates, apparently not quite invested enough in what they’re doing on Jamie’s couch to use the word haunted. Jamie catches one hand, brings it to her lips, kisses each finger slowly. Taking her time, letting her tongue drift from index to middle to ring, watching Dani’s eyelids flicker.

“Want you to know,” Jamie replies, when she feels certain the welling panic in Dani’s eyes has been effectively banished once more, “you don’t have to explain. And you don’t have to do this, either. If you don’t want to.”

Dani, sitting in her lap, shifting her weight so her torso presses against Jamie’s, gives her a truly hilarious look. “Does this feel like I don’t want to?”

Jamie grins. There’s just something about being in this situation that is funnier than she knows what to do with--Dani, having just told her the kind of life story better suited to a horror film, in her flat, on her couch, kissing her neck. It feels like the wrong genre, somehow. Like the wires of the world have been crossed, and Jamie would give anything to leave them this way.

Fact is, she hasn’t liked the way anything feels the way she likes this. Hasn’t liked the presence of anyone in her world--her town, her pub, her home--like she likes Dani.

Known her five minutes, the intelligent, ever-shrinking part of her brain protests, even as she lets Dani coax her head back on the arm of the couch, even as she lets Dani suck gently at the skin just below her ear.

Kinda knew it after one, she thinks, hands flexing on the back of Dani’s sweater.

This isn’t like before, she recognizes. Last time, there was a hunger in Dani bordering on feral, like she was running so hard from something Jamie didn’t even know existed that only Jamie’s body had stopped her running right off the edge. Tonight, Dani looks at her and Jamie is confident--confident in a way she’s never been with anyone in her life--Dani is actually seeing her. Actually choosing her.

“You said,” she hears herself say, even as she’s gripping Dani’s waist. Dani has moved to straddle one thigh now, is rocking slowly back and forth, making soft whimpering noises into every kiss she leaves on Jamie’s skin. “You said there are people you meet...”

Dani groans, and Jamie pulls at her hips faster, harder, liking the way Dani is panting against her shoulder. “You feel you should have known all along,” she finishes, turning her head to kiss Jamie’s lips. “Yeah. Yeah.”

“Me too,” Jamie says, her own body straining to get closer. There are way too many clothes between them, she has decided, but it’s up to Dani to take them further. Up to Dani to decide what she’s okay with. After everything she just told Jamie downstairs, it’s the least Jamie can offer by way of comfort.

When Dani pushes up enough to take Jamie with her, shoving the straps of her overalls down and dragging her t-shirt over her head, she figures she made the right call.

“You too,” Dani says, looking at her--at her; Jamie feels quite certain this is what it feels like to jump and find yourself flying--as though she never again wants to look at anything else. Jamie nods, pressing their foreheads together, trying to catch her breath even as Dani is sliding curious hands down her chest.

“Minute I met you. Minute I saw you. So, who’s crazy now?”

Dani laughs, and it’s the sweetest sound Jamie’s ever heard. This is different, she understands, so different from a quick fuck in a bathroom. This is going somewhere, even if neither of them have a map.

She brings Dani to bed, wanting on some level deeper than decision to do this properly. It feels right, to guide Dani back onto clean sheets and cheap pillows, to help Dani out of her clothes in small, measured movements. It feels, she thinks with the clearest head in the world, like Dani was always supposed to be here. That no matter how the story unfolds, no matter how many roads it takes to get them here, this is the endpoint. Dani, gazing up at her, hair messy, smile angling against Jamie’s mouth. Dani, arching under her hand, saying her name in a sharp, heady way Jamie suddenly can’t do without. Dani, who says she’s crazy, who doesn’t say she’s haunted, clenching tight around Jamie like she was always supposed to be here.

“Please,” Dani sighs, “Jamie.” And Jamie thinks, Whatever it is, yes. Whatever you need, yes.

Five minutes, that nearly-banished whisper repeats.

Knew after one, she thinks again, curling two fingers and watching Dani spiral.

***

Jamie sleeps like she’s never been afraid of anything hiding in the dark. Lips parted, arms tossed without care, she sleeps more deeply than Dani would have guessed. Even when Dani rises, carefully removing the hand she had kept tucked around Jamie’s middle all night, Jamie barely stirs.

I haven’t slept like that in years, Dani thinks with a rush of fondness. C’ept maybe last night.

She wants to blame it on the sex, on Jamie working her over once, twice, three times before she’d even been able to reciprocate. Wants to say only good sex can knock a person out, banish nightmares that have been so present for so long, they’re really more like old friends.

Wasn’t that, though, she thinks, pulling Jamie’s discarded t-shirt on and perching on Jamie’s side of the mattress. Was something else.

There is a catharsis, maybe, in telling your story to someone who is really listening. A release not found anywhere else. She hadn’t meant to tell Jamie everything--had certainly not expected Jamie to, if not understand, accept it without a word of discouragement. If Dani had been listening to that story, with all its hidden bumps and screams, would she have been able to nod and kiss the storyteller without so much as a chuckle?

Maybe it depends on the storyteller. Or maybe it’s just Jamie. Jamie, who has seen her naked in two very different ways, and has yet to flinch from either. Jamie, who even now is sleepily rolling onto her back, groping along the pillow where Dani ought to be.

“Dani?”

Her heart lurches, squeezes, the sound of her name as the first thing out of Jamie’s mouth bringing tears to her eyes.

“Here,” she croaks, and Jamie--eyes still shut against the burgeoning sunlight through thin curtains--stretches until her fingers find Dani’s wrist. Her face relaxes, her smile soft.

“Thought I’d scared you off,” she says, a joke that isn’t a joke at all. Dani bends over her, kissing her cheek. She can still taste Jamie, can still feel the way Jamie gripped the sheets in both hands as she let Dani explore uncharted territory for what had felt like hours.

“Not going anywhere,” she hears herself say, and though the terrible silence in her head seems to tighten, she feels as though it is true, somehow. For how long, she can’t say. But there is a confidence in the sentiment all the same, an assured little edge to it like a promise.

“Good,” Jamie mumbles, curling toward her until her face presses against Dani’s hip. The kiss she leaves is clumsy, but Dani feels the heat of it go straight to her core all the same.

How can I know I want that kiss every day for as long as I’m here? How can I possibly know that?

“You’re worrying,” Jamie says, nuzzling against her skin, eyes still shut. Dani smiles, sifts gentle fingers through tousled curls.

“How can you tell?”

“I am,” Jamie says in a voice like one tumbling back into sleep, “a genius.”

“You are,” Dani laughs, “still asleep.”

“Nope.” To prove her point, Jamie cracks open one eye. “See? Perfectly present, Poppins.”

Dani is, for the first time in a long time, perfectly present herself. It scares her a little--not as much as the beast scares her, not as much as the weight of exhaustion fitting itself around her shoulders and pressing down scares her, but all the same. This is fear, of a kind. And excitement, of another.

And hope, maybe. Just a little scrap of it, lining the bottom.

“I should go,” she says, and Jamie opens the other eye, groaning.

“You should stay,” she suggests, sitting up and pressing close to punctuate the idea. As small as she is in sleep, she feels like she could take up the whole room, now. Dani licks her lips.

“We open--”

“When I unlock that door,” Jamie finishes for her, something sly and delicious about the way she’s looking Dani over. “S’that my shirt?”

Dani shrugs, liking the way Jamie’s eyes make her feel like she needn’t have bothered with covering up at all. Jamie cups her cheek, kisses her with all the slow careful energy of a woman revving up for something glorious that might take all day.

“You’re not...I mean...you remember what I said last night?” Dani doesn’t really want to be saying it, doesn’t really want to drag focus away from the way her entire body goes shock-bright when Jamie’s tongue slips into her mouth. Even as the words are coming out of her, her hands are sliding up Jamie’s body, familiarizing themselves once more with sleep-warm skin.

“The part about feeling crazy?” Jamie breaks just enough to speak, still within kissing distance. Dani steels herself.

“The part where I don’t understand what’s happening to me. But it is happening, Jamie. Whatever it is.”

Jamie, holding the back of her head, peers into her eyes. Dani holds her breath, waiting for the flinch, waiting for Jamie--no longer sex-addled--to find some sign of the beast behind her gaze.

“I only see you,” Jamie says, as if reading her mind. She smiles, almost self-conscious. “I only see you, and I’d...like to keep seeing you. If you’ll stay.”

She should say no. Should say it’s unprofessional at best, utterly unwise on a deeper level at worst. Should say Jamie’s better off without her, everyone’s better off without her, who knows how much time she even has before the thing she’s carrying like a disease comes to call--Jamie, you can’t take this on. It isn’t fair.

Don’t think fairness much comes into it, a voice very like Hannah’s echoes. She squeezes her eyes shut.

“Hey.” Jamie isn’t trying to kiss her now, is holding one hand anchored to her ribs like she believes it’s the only thing keeping Dani from floating away. “Poppins. I’m not asking for your hand in marriage, all right? Just...I like you. Like you quite a lot, as it turns out. I’d like to see where...where this goes.”

She’s waiting, Dani realizes, for Dani to laugh at her. To say absolutely not. To say there is no chance in hell. How many women have said as much to Jamie before? How many women have shot her down for less?

I’d like to find out, she thinks with surprise. I’d like to find out everything about her.

“I can’t make promises,” she says. “I don’t know how much--”

“But you have now,” Jamie says, somehow managing to interrupt without stealing the words from Dani’s mouth. “Yeah? You have right now. In this bed, with me. Wearing my shirt better than I ever have,” she adds, plucking at the hem until Dani can’t fight a smile.

“Yeah, but--”

“So,” Jamie says, shifting gently until Dani is laying beside her, hip sinking into the mattress, eyes barely a breath from Jamie’s. “I promise today. Here. In this bed, with you...probably not wearing my shirt much longer, if I’m honest.”

Dani laughs. She’s moving toward Jamie without meaning to, their legs tangling. Jamie kisses her once, very softly.

“And I promise you this afternoon, if the morning goes all right. And this evening, if you aren’t screaming up the road by then. Tomorrow, we re-evaluate the whole thing. Decide how we feel then.”

Dani is nodding. Can’t seem to stop nodding.

“Each day,” Jamie says, punctuating every word with a long kiss Dani has no desire to see end, “on its own merit, Poppins. One at a time. If they stack up, they stack up.”

Dani, unable to resist, pulls her close. One at a time, she thinks. I can do that.

***

She isn’t there yet, she’s certain. As certain as she gets these days, anyway. She doesn’t know how much a person can be expected to carry, or for how long, but at least there is Jamie. Jamie, who grins at her as they bustle around the pub like clockwork, who takes her to the stockroom under guise of replenishing the peanuts and has her muffling sighs against an open kiss, who looks at the calendar at month’s end and says, “Y’know, Poppins, boss man’ll be back next week. Thinking I could use a break from Bly. What d’you say?”

One day at a time, she thinks, but the idea of a road trip with Jamie is too much, too wonderful, to say no. It’s only an idea until it happens, she reminds herself. Only an idea until they’re in the car, Jamie’s hand covering hers, Jamie pressing down the gas pedal like the whole world is theirs to claim.

She’s tired. Been tired a terribly long time, if she’s honest with herself. And maybe that’s just the way it goes, for anyone, even those too lucky for ghosts. Maybe the trick really is just finding someone to be tired around, someone who is willing to hold your hand, learn your secrets, kiss away your monsters.

She might not be okay forever. Might not even be okay much longer. But Jamie’s making happy murmurs about Vermont and wanting to start a garden, and there’s a light in her eyes that makes Dani feel more alive than she has in months.

A little longer, then. If the days stack up, so be it. It’s enough, just to try a little longer to find solid ground.

#the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #fanfiction #dani x jamie #jamie x dani #I know I said the next one would be sad #but this one wanted to be written immediately so y'all get a brief reprieve by way of AU

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