#i need to interact with people more. i have a bad habit of just lurking without interacting and idk where that stemmed from | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gothbitez · 1 year

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well, two can play that game ; ellie williams

pairing: college!ellie willams x afab!reader

chapter: one-shot (4.6k words)

warnings: 18+ content, minors do not interact!! dom!ellie x femme!reader, poc friendly, sexual content, angst, past relationship, jealousy, abby x reader (briefly for plot tension), reader and ellie are toxic petty, semi-public sex, hatesex if u squint but they love each other so idk angry sex is more accurate.

summary: you and ellie hadn't spoken since you broke up a few months ago and suddenly she shows up to this party with another girl on her arm.

inspired by heartbeat by childish gambino

author's note: soo linger got so much more love than I expected I love u guys wish I could respond to comments or follow y'all back but this isn't my main acc rip, just know that I'm lurking and appreciate all the reblogs and love <3

:::

Disclaimer: I do not support the genocide of the indigenous Palestinian people, and neither should you, please don’t buy the new Remastered or continue giving any more money to Druckmann. Educate yourself, learn the history, it is vital. From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free 🇵🇸

The music was booming, noise reverberated through the walls of the home belonging to whichever current popular kid was hosting this weeks Friday party.

You had been in a bit of a rut recently, not really taking time out of your schedule to have fun and live like you should be living, Dina was aware of that. So today, she had forced convinced you to come to some sports-heads party.

"Come on, get dressed" She had said, with a smug smile as you lifted yourself off the bed and into your bathroom to get ready. You had worn a silky, long black skirt. It reached the ends of your shins with a long slit that exposed your leg all the way up to your thigh. On top, you wore a simple tee, with a long strip of thick eyeliner along your skin.

And here you were. Sighing to yourself as you watched the typical acts of debauchery unfold amongst your peers. A bottle of alcohol was soon in your line of sight, Dina holding it up to you after just having taken a swig herself. "Here, looks like you need it."

You grabbed the clear bottle and drank, grimacing at the harsh taste that was developing in your mouth. You, Dina and Jesse had settled on sitting in-front of the couch on the floor, you tended to be a floor sitter; being crosslegged was quite comfortable.

In that moment, the front door of the owner's house swung open, and you felt your heart drop. In walks Ellie Williams, your ex-girlfriend, with another girl clutching on to her arm. You watched as the duo did their rounds, greeting the people they knew and joking briefly. Ellie looked around the living room, looking for a place to base, her green eyes landed on where you, Dina and Jesse were sat before making her way over, causing you to sigh.

That was possibly the last thing you had wanted, to be in an environment with your ex and her new conquest. You and Ellie had broken up a few months ago, not through lack of love, and definitely not due to bad sex. Quite the opposite. Ellie had a habit of self-sabotage, you'd get close to her and then one day she'd freeze and want to cut off all connection. She was a ghost, you knew this. That's why you broke up in the first place. It had been a painful wound which had still not healed over.

Technically, you had no say. There was nothing you could say about her sitting with you guys, Dina was Ellie's friend as much as she was yours, and despite the painful breakup, you wouldn't force her to pick sides. It would've been nice to know in advance that Ellie was going to come, though. At least then you could've prepared for the pang in your chest as the girl interlocked her fingers onto Ellie's as they sat. Dina threw you a sympathetic look, as if to say, 'I didn't know she was gonna be here..'

You took another swig of the alcohol as conversations between Ellie and the group started, knowing you couldn't avoid her any longer. You hadn't spoken to each other since she left, there were so many things left unsaid. Focusing on the music, you nodded your head along to the beat of the song that was playing over the speakers, your eyes glancing at the crowd dancing in the middle of the living room, observing.

You suddenly got the sense that you were being watched, your eyes flickered away from the crowd and into the green eyes that were staring you down from across the group. Ellie looked at you with no expression, her hand resting on the unknown girl's thigh. She caught your eyes look down towards her hand and glanced back up to you. What was she trying to achieve here? Make you feel worse?

You broke the eye contact, preferring to get up off the floor and making your way into the kitchen to head out into the host's backyard. You heard Dina ask where you were going but you hadn't registered her voice in time to reply.

Your body was met with cold temperatures as soon as you passed through the backdoor, you mentally groaned as your jacket was not warm enough to keep you warm. Glancing around, you took note of where groups of people were sat talking to each other, you just needed a moment to yourself. You gravitated towards the quietest spot in the backyard, liking how there wasn't much activity and sat yourself down, perched with your chest resting on your legs.

Grabbing a pack of cigarettes from your jacket pocket, you singled one out from the deck and brought it up your lips. With the cigarette secure against your lips, you reached down, searching for a lighter, your head facing the floor, before you heard the familiar flick of flint come from above you.

Looking up, you were met with the last person you had wanted to see in your time out. "How long are you going to pretend I don't exist?" she spoke, the first thing either of you had said to each other in months. Her arm was still holding the lit lighter, looking at you, waiting for you to light the cigarette.

Knowing how stubborn she is, you knew you had no choice but to bring your face closer to the lighter, meeting the flame and sparking the tobacco. "You're definitely not the one who should be asking that question." You muttered, inhaling the smoke.

"Look, what do you want me to say?" Ellie sighed, placing herself next to you before lighting her own cigarette. She was wearing her favourite grey hoodie, it was so worn you could see small tears in the sleeves. "Honestly, nothing right now, why don't you go back to the girl you brought with you? I'm sure she's missing your presence."

"She doesn't smoke, and I wanted one." "Well, you didn't have to sit here," you knew you were being harsh, but what else were you meant to do with the built-up hurt? If you took away the anger, what would you have left? Ellie sighed beside you, "We haven't spoken in months.." "And whose fault is that, Ellie?" You were looking at her now, eyes boring into hers.

"I know I shouldn't have left," she took a drag, exhaling as she spoke, "I wa-," Cutting her off, you spoke. "You were what? You didn't just leave, Ellie, you completely blindsided me. You think something's going well with someone and then they disappear. No explanation, no message, nothing!"

Hearing your words, her heart fell. She knew she had hurt you that day, but she felt scared. You were right, something was going well, so well that Ellie was scared she'd get hurt first. So she decided to end it before giving you the chance. "I didn't mean to hurt you," "Yeah? Too bad," you scoffed, "Cos you did." Finishing your cigarette, you stumped it out on the floor, forcing yourself up to your feet to go back to the living room. A hand stopped you, wrapping itself around your forearm preventing you from walking further. With a sigh, you turned to face her.

"You don't have to run away from me," Ellie said, voice low. Shivers travelled down your spine, as her eyes glanced to your lips, "I'm not contagious." "I don't want anything to do with you." You whispered, fighting every urge you had to just kiss her and make up. If you stayed here a minute longer, you knew you would cave to her. Despite how badly she had hurt you, you couldn't forget the way she made you feel. Knowing you still loved her, still felt the burning desire to kiss her.

Your thoughts focused on to the girl that had come with her tonight, your brows furrowed as anger washed over you. Ripping your arm out from her grip, you turned away and walked back inside to the party.

—

A week had passed, you were making your way to Dina's kitchen as you helped her set up the decorations, food and drink ready for her birthday party.

You had gotten completely dolled up, at least to your standards, wearing a band tee underneath a long, dark satin dress with your signature eyeliner. After all, it was Dina's birthday, you had to look nice. Besides, you were in hopes of getting some action tonight, knowing Dina had invited some girls from her class and you hadn't had any action since Ellie. It had been a... long time.

Ellie was helping at Dina's, too. Since your last conversation, things hadn't gotten better. Your hurt had somehow, shifted into snark, bickering with Ellie anytime you'd be in the same vicinity, which happened often.

Snark, petty comments and arguing. That's all Dina had heard between you and Ellie, at one point she thought you were about to kill each other. Dina had asked you about some guy that had approached you earlier on in the day. He had walked up to you with the utmost confidence that his flirting would be successful. You almost felt bad for him, the way his smile dropped when you told him you were a lesbian. Dina thought the story was hilarious and had asked you about it, upon hearing this, against her better judgement Ellie had made a comment about it which resulted in a heated argument between the two of you and Dina suddenly regretting her decision to bring it up. It had gotten so riled up that when Ellie stormed out of the room, she slammed the door so hard that it left visible cracks on the wall and the plant pot on the window beside it smashed into pieces.

"Okay, so... the bottles can go on this table and the food goes to that one with the bowls." Dina instructed, motioning you to put down the items you were carrying. Ellie had stayed in the living room moving the furniture around the room so that people could have more space to move, so Dina took her chance to talk to you.

"So, um.. you and Ellie haven't been doing so hot," she spoke, looking at you with a worried expression. "Well observed, Dina." "Hey, don't take your frustrations out on me, I'm an innocent bystander watching as world war three breaks out." She joked, lightly. "Sorry, it's just, I don't know what's changed but every time I look at her I just get so angry."

"I didn't say it wasn't justified, just worried about you guys, I'm friends with both of you and it's not nice seeing you two like this," Dina's hand went to rest on her hip as she spoke, emphasised her point, she sighed before continuing, "At least try and get laid tonight, fresh blood might make you less angry." She joked.

"Dina!" You groaned, before turning away from her and returning to the living room where people were beginning to show up.

A few hours go by and the party is in full swing, it wasn't crowded like last week's but more of a gathering, which you could handle. You had a few drinks, were nowhere near as drunk as some people, but you were at a nice level. You had spent an amount of the night away from your friends, after being introduced by Dina to this girl, Abby, one of the gays Dina had invited in hopes she could wingman you a date.

It was nice. Abby was incredibly attractive, she had long blonde hair and her arms were unlike anyone you had ever met. So muscular and big, you had a thing for slightly more masculine women, that's what got you in this mess with Ellie in the first place. Though, Abby and Ellie were complete opposites and if memory served correctly, you were pretty sure you remembered Ellie saying there was a girl in her class that she hated of the same name. Said girl had been involved in an altercation with Ellie, you honestly didn't remember why. You wondered if they were the same person.

Abby had completely distracted you from your worries with Ellie, revelling in the straight-forward way she would flirt with you and touch your thigh. It was nice to feel wanted.

Someone wasn't impressed, though. Ellie had been a sour mood all day because Cat had refused to come to the party with her, claiming that Ellie still had feelings for you and that's why she always cared enough to pick fights with you. Ellie denied this causing Cat to immediately break up with her on the spot. You had been on her mind today more than she cared to admit, and seeing you flirt with someone she absolutely despised, watching as Abby placed her hand on your exposed thigh, simply put, it pissed her off.

Dina watched Ellie carefully, not uttering a word when she saw her rolling her eyes at you both. "Can you believe that shit?" Ellie said, pointing at you from across the room. "Of all people, why is she entertaining that asshole?" "Ellie-," Dina was interrupted, "Laughing like her jokes are funny, she's the most boring person I've ever met," "Do-," "Who does she think she is?" "Ellie!" Dina shouted, "If you're that bothered, stop staring."

"I'm not staring.. they're just fucking gross." Ellie sighed, taking a swig of her beer. "You're staring. Go take a walk or something," Groaning, Ellie got up deciding to to the bathroom. Not that she needed it, she just couldn't bear the sight of you two any longer.

She stepped her way up the stairs, music and alcohol causing her to suddenly realise she was a bit more waved than she originally thought, either that or she got up too fast.

Stepping into the bathroom, she rested her hands on either side of the sink, looking at herself in the mirror. She could still feel the anger burn through her chest, igniting further as she remembered the ease with which Abby placed her hands on your thighs and the way you allowed it. Deep down she knew she had no right to be jealous, it was her fault after all. Yet, she cursed to herself as she thought back to the past weeks.

Cat had been right, of course. Ellie was in no way over her feelings for you, they never even left. She was just scared and jumped ship, and now this arguing and pettiness had only been an excuse so that you could have a way of talking to each other. Ellie's thought process was interrupted by someone knocking on the door and she knew her little breather was over and she'd have to face the world again.

Sighing, Ellie lifted herself off the sink and opened the bathroom door, not expecting you to have been the person who was knocking. "Oh, sorry I didn't know you were in there," you stated, your long eyeliner standing out in the dim light of corridor. Ellie had always loved when you wore that.

"It's alright, actually, I kinda wanted to talk to you," You quirked an eyebrow up at Ellie's words, "What did you wanna talk about?" "You should stay away from her, Abby, I mean. She's not a good person," Ellie quipped, the alcohol making her lips a lot looser than they would be if she was stone sober.

"Oh?" your features turned sour, "And who are you to tell me to stay away from her?" "I just wanted to let you know, no need to be a dick about it." "What makes you think I care about your opinions on my love life? You have no right." You were stepping up closer to her, frustration all over your features. "I heard you and Dina talking earlier, if you're gonna sleep with someone out of desperation at least pick someone better." Ellie squinted, her anger levels quickly rising as your voice raised, that seemed to piss you off even more. How dare she?

"If I want to fuck Abby, I will," you paused, noticing the way Ellie's chest was quickly rising as she took deep breaths, "It's none of your business." You voice lowered, Ellie's top lip sneering as she listened to you continue.

"She's nice, she's hot and have you seen her arms? I'm gonna sleep with her and there's nothing you can do to stop that." You whispered, knowing you were playing with fire but you couldn't stop yourself. Were you doing it on purpose? You weren't sure. You saw something in Ellie's eyes snap as soon as the words left your lips.

Within moments, your arm had been grabbed and you were being pulled into the bathroom. Ellie slammed the bathroom door shut and pushed you against it, the back of your head hitting the wood. "You sure about that?" Ellie muttered, she was seething, "I can think of many things I can do to stop that from happening." There was a snarl in her voice, a gruff raspiness that spurred you on.

"What was it specifically that pissed you off?" You teased, "The fact that it was her or the fact that it wasn't you?"

Ellie's hands trailed down to the back of your thighs, the only barrier being your long dress, with a firm grip she squeezed, causing a sigh to escape your lips. Truthfully, your comment about Abby's arms had touched a nerve, and Ellie found herself wanting to prove that she was just as strong as that meathead that was flirting with you. "Brave words for someone who threw a hissy fit the other day because she saw me with Cat."

You brought your hands from your sides to the back of Ellie's neck, silently wrapping your arm around her shoulders, Ellie's grip still tight on your thighs. Her face nearing your neck, "It's funny," Ellie whispered, before placing kisses on the space behind your ear, "You talk all this game about letting her fuck you, but darling, I'm the best that you've had, face it."

Her hands travelled up your legs, before landing at the curve of your behind, you swallowed a gasp, feeling her tease you through your dress, not wanting her to know the power she had over you in this moment. You were embarrassed at your own silence, not knowing how to reply to her words.

"Abby could do a better job," As soon as you said it, you regretted it. Ellie was certainly not impressed, hands clutching at your dress as she slowly lifted up the fabric, exposing your legs to her. "Oh yeah?" her gaze flickered down to your lips, "You want me to call her up here and show her how much you can't stand me?"

You stayed silent, her words spurring you on more that you expected, "Cos I can do that."

The distance between your lips had closed, Ellie pressing softly against yours as the music thumped in the background. Her hand travelled up from your thighs, caressing your sides as she reached the back of your head. You couldn't hold yourself back any longer, deciding to press into the kiss and wrap your arms around Ellie's neck. You could feel her smirking into the kiss as her fingers tightened around your hair, evoking a sigh out from your lips.

"You always did like when I did that," Ellie basked in the memories of your past relations, something she regretted losing. You two just always seemed to understand each other at that level, your bodies working together, she knew exactly what you liked and you knew exactly what she liked. It just worked.

It was no different this time around, just with a little added bitterness. All the tension from the arguing, the snide remarks and jealousy over the past few months seemed to have been leading to this exact moment. A cathartic release of pressure that had been building up.

"Shut up, Williams."

She chuckled as her lips went down your neck, kissing down to your collarbone as she sucked, intentionally leaving a lovely purple symbol marked on your skin. A symbol that you were hers, and she was going to let everyone else see it. Let Abby try and flirt with you now. Your chest heaved up and down, anticipating the gentle touch of her hand lifting your skirt, exposing your legs more than they already were. You felt a tightness at your core, even amidst your anger towards her, you still reacted in this way.

"You're so soft, for a girl so frigid." she muttered into your neck, kneading the skin of your thighs, her hand was so close to where you wanted her. "You're an asshole," You breathed out, back arching into the door, pressing you closer into it as Ellie moved her body closer to yours. "Oh yeah?" she paused, "Is that why you're letting me touch you like this?" Her hand trailed closer to your centre, fingers skimming over your underwear, her raspy voice sending shivers down your spine.

"Because I'm such an asshole?" Her words dripped like honey, and suddenly you were melting. "Fuck," you sighed, your head falling down to her shoulders for support, suddenly feeling out of breath as her fingers teased around your most sensitive spot. "What was that, pretty girl?" her finger clutched on to the cotton fabric and slid underneath it, sliding the cloth to the side as she teased her finger through your dampened folds.

"Fuck, Ellie.." you gasped, your hips jutting towards her hand, a futile attempt to relieve some of the tension between your legs as Ellie retracted her finger from you. "No, no, pretty girl, that isn't how this works," You groaned, hearing distant chatter in the corridor outside of the bathroom as you were suddenly reminded of the outside world. "Ellie, please," you whispered, conscious that you would be heard by the partygoers. "Please, what?" She hummed, enjoying dragging this out, it was all a power play to her. You knew that, but you thrived off it just as much as Ellie did.

"Please," you rocked your hips into her hand again, "Need you to fuck me, Els." Upon hearing you, she restarted her movements, skimming your folds with her fingers once again, your mouth was agape, letting out tiny whimpers at the feeling of her fingers against your clit. "That's a good girl," she smirked as she watched you, her scarred eyebrow flicking upwards, her eyes full of mirth. Your hand reached towards the back of her head, grabbing on to the elastic that held her bun in place as you pulled, tugging her head backwards slightly as some strands of her auburn hair fell out of place, looking almost as disheveled as you felt.

Spurred on by your actions, Ellie had decided to insert two of her fingers into you, emitting a wanton gasp to fall from your open lips. You clenched around the intrusion, feeling as her fingers sloppily dipped in and out of your soaked core, filthy sounds bouncing around the room. You bit back moans as Ellie buried her slender fingers deep into your folds, groaning at the indecent sounds of your slick against her digits.

"Fuck," you accidentally moaned, and a lot louder than either of you had expected, causing Ellie to let go of her grip of her fingers on the back of your head and into your open mouth. Taking the hint, you sucked on her fingers, drool slipping out from between your lips as she fucked your mouth. Suppressing your moans, your eyes rolled shut as Ellie slid another finger into your centre, relishing at the sight of you. Fingers stuffed in your mouth with one hand, fingers glistening with your slick as she rocked in and out of you with the other. Your flawless eyeliner now smudged and smeared all over your eyes, with a single stream cleared from a tear that had fallen from your eyes at the pleasure you were feeling. You were a sight she wanted to keep in her memory for the rest of her life.

"You're so fucking hot, babygirl, but you gotta stay quiet for me," The pads of her fingers met with the walls of your core, hitting you at a deeper angle than before. How the fuck were you meant to stay quiet like this? Was she doing this on purpose?

"Unless you want everyone here to know how good I'm fucking you," Her words were inching you closer, when you suddenly felt her fingers retract from your mouth and her body dipping down, kneeling in front of you. Her antsy hands fumbled over the fabric that was still tight against your hips, ripping them down so she could have complete access to you.

"You look so good when you're being fucked, pretty girl." You felt her head reach closer towards your centre, you breathed in a sigh as her hand grabbed hold of your leg and placed it over her shoulder. Her tongue licked gentle stripes up your folds, as she continued her movements with her hands, fucking into you as she licked your cunt like she was starved.

"You taste so good, baby," she breathed out, "Ellie- fuck.." you moaned, not trusting yourself to keep quiet as you covered your face and mouth with your arms. Ellie looked up at you, watching your face contort with the pleasure she was giving you, holding your arms against your face to keep yourself quiet. You felt the knot in your stomach tighten, Ellie seemingly knowing exactly what to say to bring you closer and closer.

"Wanna tell me again how you're going to go fuck Abby?" she paused, fingers still in a consistent, deep motion inside you, "Because it seems like you've changed your mind, angel." You were never going to go and actually fuck this girl, you had just said that to rile her up, Ellie knew this, yet she couldn't hold her tongue from saying these things to you.

"Ellie, shit," you gasped, "I don't want anyone else," Your hand moved down to her disheveled hair, forcing her head closer to you as you rocked your hips into her face, pure desperation. "I'm the only one who can make you feel like this, don't forget that," And she was right. Within seconds of her reconnecting her tongue to your centre, fingers still pushing into you, you felt all control of your body leave you. Shaking and writhing on her face as she brought you closer to your peak, your juices sliding down Ellie's chin.

Moaning and gasping, you dragged her face up to yours, capturing her lips in an ardent kiss as you could taste yourself on her lips. You felt her fingers slowly slide out you and let out a final moan. Your hands started to trail down Ellie's sides, grasping at her clothes in an attempt to take them off her.

"No, no, baby. None of that, I'm going to leave you right here," she chuckled, feeling your desperation, "You know where I'll be, when you're tired of flirting with strangers, give me a call."

And she left you, in your fucked out haze, all delirious and dazed, in the bathroom of Dina's party.

——

#i wrote this whilst i was high so if there's any mistakes I apologise #tiny lil nugget for u guys i had to get it out of my system #i need her so bad (she's not real)#college ellie just does something to me #shes so gf #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader smut #tlou smut #the last of us smut

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sungbeam · 1 year

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I reblogged your post abt that ask a bit ago… and I do have something to ask

Like… I love gushing in asks abt fics bc it feels like a comfortable way for me to express my feelings on certain fics, and while I don’t reblog (lurking habits die hard unfortunately still) I always try to send something so at the very least you know I read it… and idk it feels more personal like as if I just bumped into you on the way to class and I needed to excitedly gush abt something that gave me joy? Idk how to start making reblogs a habit and I never learned how to stop liking posts and reblogging them cause when I write tags I can’t type fast (plus I like sorting my posts under diff tags but making those every time takes a while) with my typing style and I just find it faster to send an ask instead…

- 🃏

hey 🃏 nonie!! okay i totally get where ur coming from, and ig it's just really preference btwn typing out thoughts in rbs vs asks. i don't mind either really? i appreciate seeing ur asks so much, and a lot of times, i don't mind if it's either or yk, just so long as i don't feel like im screaming to the void 😅 and for sure, i agree that asks feel more personally engaging :]

hmmm i think what helped me get into the habit of reblogging is just reminding myself how much *i* like seeing other people's reblogs. i actually type pretty fast on my phone 😭😭 so yelling in rbs and tags isn't too bad, but if it's a little harder for u, u could probably either just reblog in gen, OR as @/seungcheollies-cake does, save the reblog to drafts to come back to later! im a person where if it's in drafts, i might not come back to it, so i just get my thoughts out in the moment, but maybe u can try the drafts idea ?

(but again, i don't mind people sending asks abt my work instead,, so don't stress too much!! im not sure how other writers feel on this subject, but what i reblogged this morning was my frustration just from readers lack of interaction in general :'))

#sungbeam strikes again #🃏 anon #i do appreciate u sending ur thoughts and thanks so much for asking abt this as well :')#thank u for caring 💖💖

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notnctu · 3 years

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push & pull | kim doyoung

❀ slytherin!doyoung x hufflepuff!femreader ❀ genre - SLOW BURN, smut, fluff, a bit of humor (idk not rlly) ❀ details - hogwarts!au, fwb to lovers?, y/n is a player lol, jealous doyoung, mutual pining, doyoung is a lil mean ❀ word count - 9.7k ❀ warnings - explicit language, possessiveness (a concept of marking), dom!doyoung, angry sex?, slight dirty talk, penetration, fingering, praise kink ❀ synopsis - in which a prideful slytherin and an oblivious hufflepuff play a clueless emotion game of tug of war.

❝I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?❞

❝People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you pursue me?❞ ❀ a/n - i changed the plot a little bit as i was writing lol but hopefully it still fits everything! i said this in the teaser, but i want to preface and say that the magic/marking is not canon to harry potter, and that the only thing im using are the sectional houses/subjects. besides that, everything is made up LMAO also pls b lenient with me, i read hogwarts!au but writing it is very out of my comfort zone and am very bad at creating anything magical

READ NEXT PART

Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, mindlessly and imperfectly steals glances your way across the dining tables and under several hundred floating lit candles. He sits huddled with his few posh friends that wear the same green and silver tie situated so tightly underneath their necks. And you, just looking as dazzling as ever, with your yellow and black tie hanging loose and a few buttons undone from your dress shirt.

He hates how easily you catch his attention and his ability to spot your figure in a dense crowd. You barely even look his way in public now, often distracted by a broad Gryffindor that tries to make flirtatious advantages at you. And when he thinks it can’t get any worse, it does… as you’re flashing your bright beautiful smile back at him and the shift in your body language.

“You’re staring again.” Yuta flickers between his friend and the subject of his focus.

Doyoung clears his throat, smooths his tie and physically turns his body away from the horrendous scene. “It’s very hard not to stare when she’s flirting with other men in front of me.”

“Does she do it on purpose?” The silver haired boy raises a questionable eyebrow and Doyoung reacts before he can speak.

He perks up and narrows his eyes at Yuta. “Purpose? Like to make me jealous?” Doyoung scoffs, laughs almost at the ridiculous thought. “The answer is no. We’re not exclusive, we’re nothing.”

“If you two are nothing, then why are you acting like you two are something? Get a grip, it’s practically sickening watching you fume over a ditzy Hufflepuff.” As Yuta prepares to bite into his delicious soft bread roll, it flies out of his grip, down the long table and onto another person’s plate.

Both boys are quick to stand to their feet and face each other chest to chest. Neither one of them is intimidated by the other, but their other friends around them are rather shocked by the sudden discrepancy.

Doyoung forcibly brushes off an imaginary dust off his good friend’s shoulders and draws a perfectly strained fake smile, knowing that others may be watching and he is a Prefect after all. But most importantly, you could be watching. “Call her that again, and your dinner won’t be the only thing that’s thrown across the table.” His threat is loud enough solely for Yuta to hear.

Yuta, with glaring eyes, picks up his dinner tray and walks off with his chin held high and a brisk in his stride. Doyoung clears his throat in the midst of the brief silence and out of habit, fixes his tie back in place. He takes a seat back down and the chatter at the table resumes, but he’s beyond embarrassed and disappointed at his loss of temper that everything drowns out.

Almost everything. He feels a light tap on his shoulder and out of annoyance, he spins around hastily and sharply snarls, “what?” But his eyes land on your fearful wide eyes and the slight cower in your stance, knowing that you caught onto his bad mood. And he’s half in disbelief that you’re approaching him right in the center of the Great Hall, that you’re standing so beautiful a foot away from him.

Instant regret and guilt fills his chest, his sharp eyes soften at your pout and the concerned furrow in between your brows. Nonetheless, he doesn’t have any words to say… he can’t get himself to apologize for his behavior.

“Do you want to walk to Herbology with me?” The quiver in your voice made you seem so small, so desperate for him, that he can hear the reactions of his friends. They’re laughing, at him, at you, at the whole scene that’s unfolding. He feels mocked, being a laughing stock isn’t something he’s very fond of.

His lips form a tight line, and in a snarky tone, “you don’t know your own way, Puff? Mind you ask your own Prefect to guide you.” Fuck. He tried to find the nicest way possible to brush you off, but his friends laugh a bit louder and intensely. And you didn’t like that one bit.

Your lips part slightly in a frown, an eyebrow raised and a hand on your hip. You look as if you’re ready to attack him, to jinx him, to probably pinch at his skin. But he knows you, and you’d do none of the above. Instead, you say the one threat that causes his heart to sink into the pit of his stomach, “don’t talk to me in class.” You’re slipping away from him as you pick up your pace, exiting all the commotion in the Great Hall.

He tries to hide the disappointment that stems from his chest, and his heart beats with an inexplicable dull pain. All he can think about is the twist of your expression and he’s gathering his things rather quickly to follow after you, without even a bid goodbye to his clique.

Without any knowledge of what you two do behind closed doors and the complex history that you two share, one may view your relationship as practically nonexistent; you two are strangers, barely passing acquaintances.

Doyoung does not approach you in the halls, in anywhere that necessarily has many witnesses. You smile at him, maybe even a wave depending on your mood, but no one questions it … as you wave at almost everyone who passes by you.

Classmates might see interaction during the one class you two share, if they pay attention close enough. However, you and Doyoung are much more to each other than passing acquaintances. Although he’s starting to see himself as another name on your list of individuals you sleep with, you are much more to him than you could ever know.

He’ll never forget the first time you two met. He was patrolling the halls for anyone lurking past curfew with his nose dug deep in his heavy book on magical creatures, when you walked right into him and caused the both of you to fall to the granite.

He was beyond ready to dock off points for whoever the rule breaker may be, but you took his breath away when you hovered above him and clasped your palm over his mouth before he can scold anyone. You looked a bit frazzled as your hair was all over the place and he noticed your minimal amount of clothing in the middle of a cold winter night.

He saw the signature Hufflepuff badge on your thin sweater and the sound of your voice completely threw him off his tracks.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper at the stunned Prefect underneath you, whose body feels warm against your own. But your eyes remain frantically on the lookout for anyone else passing, despite the lack of light in the cobblestone hallway. You most definitely do not belong in this wing of the castle and knocking down a Prefect caused more of a problem in your escape route.

Quickly standing up, you lend your hand out for him to take. His long fingers accept your hold as he pulls himself up and dusts the dirt off his robe. His green emblem glows in the dim light and you’re internally screaming at the mess you just made for yourself. But you recognize his features: the sharpness in his eyes, the small curves of the corners of his lips, his neatly parted black hair.

“You’re in some deep---”

“---Kim Doyoung.” The boy freezes at the sound of his name and he blinks at you, curious as to where you know of him. Being a Prefect has its small perks of popularity, but he didn’t expect for it to go this far. “Y/N, we had brooms together.”

As he repeats your name and examines your pretty features, a light bulb goes off in his head. “The clumsy Hufflepuff that fell off her broom in the highest altitude?”

“If that’s how you remember me by.” You smile proudly, and he scoffs at how someone could possibly hold pride in something so silly. “It’s nice to see you around, you’re a Prefect! Wow! That’s incredible.”

“And you’re still as clumsy as you were a year ago. Falling all over the place.”

“Unfortunately, some things don’t change! But you certainly have.” Doyoung looks at you with hooded eyes and a cautious gaze, but you’re so outlandishly bold despite swaying with your hands behind your back. “Please, don’t take that the wrong way. I meant it as a compliment! I used to have a tiny crush on you, baseless, but you helped me catch my broomstick and I’ll never be able to forget that.”

Doyoung, unknowingly, lights up at your shameless confession and takes another good look at you. You're much more mature now, and if he stared into your alluring gaze any longer, he’d be completely mesmerized without the need of a love potion. “So you liked me over a meaningless chivalrous act?”

“I liked you because you were charming and yes, perhaps I am someone who finds attractiveness in men who are chivalrous. There’s nothing wrong with that.” You bat your sweet eyelashes at him so endearingly, and he’s a blushing mess all over the place.

Doyoung has had anonymous love letters passed on from his friends, but they were all Slytherins who yearned greedily to be associated with his status. So knowing that a Hufflepuff, with an innocent youthful approach to love, festered some form of infatuation with him does flatter him quite well. “I’ll let you go.”

You’re about to exhale an exasperated sigh of relief until Doyoung continues, “under one condition.”

“Okay, I’ll do anything.” Your gleaming eyes sparkle like stars paired with the night sky.

He rolls his eyes at you, “don’t be so quick to jump at conditions without hearing them first.” Doyoung groans and you passively brush off his comment.

“If it’s harmless, I’ll do it.”

And in the dead of the night, where only you two stand in the middle of an empty cobblestone hallway, Doyoung requests, “I want to see you again.”

Although that night marked the beginning of your friendship, public interactions were still scarce and this was mainly on the fault of Doyoung. The times you met were late nights past curfew where he was stationed at and he grew to enjoy your wondrous personality. This boy grew up in a Slytherin bubble his whole life, no one outside of his house ever dared approached him … at least, not with the warmest smile as yours.

You were everything he was not, but he liked it so much. You were a half that completed his whole, and there were growing pains he couldn’t confide in anyone else. Surprisingly, you knew his imperfections more than he did himself and yet, you still wanted to be around him to encourage him. Not to mention, you had a sudden growth in other parts of your body and formed into your features very beautifully.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed, as there were more male counterparts who smiled at you, talked about you, fawned over you. And he felt something heighten inside of him along with his existing romantic feelings, and that he began seeing you in a new light.

With you experiencing new things, like hand holding and being showered by love letters on Valentine’s Day, it was wrong of him to fester such envy over the ones who publicly adorned you. He was so blinded by his hot headed rage that he completely missed the fact that you never accepted anyone who confessed, maybe the hand holding, but everyone else was a complete rejection.

All this time, you had been waiting for him and when you two shared your first kiss together, you had an assumption that Doyoung was going to finally confess that he felt the same way. But he never did. You two did, however, further your relationship into something more intimate and taking each other’s virginities opened a whole pathway of possibilities --- none being one where you two end up officially together.

He was the first to sleep with someone else, that was his first of many mistakes that he was going to make in his relationship with you. It also became the drop of the needle for you to start seeing other people as well, to explore what Doyoung couldn’t offer, to rid yourself of the feelings you had for a boy that didn’t seem like he wanted anything more.

Chivalry was dead and Doyoung believed that the innocent youthful Hufflepuff love had disappeared from within you.

As his present day runs after you, you’re abruptly stopped by a Ravenclaw for a small chat. Damn you Hufflepuffs for being friendly and social. So, he rushes past the two of you and into the classroom to await for your arrival. The quick shade of green flashes by your side and you’re fuming incredibly at how Doyoung continues to play you like a harp.

When you slide into your assigned seat next to him, he goes off like a canon. Doyoung starts spewing backhanded excuses and endless shameless rambles about his behavior. “I told you. Don’t talk to me during class or I will jinx you. Won’t be able to talk with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.”

“You’re not going to jinx me.” With a subtle flick of his wrist, your chair is pulled closer to his. “And if you were to do so, you wouldn’t do something so cynical.” Yelping at the abrupt usage of his magic, you’re irritably pressing your ink into your journal with a newfound annoyance.

“You’re right. I’d turn you into a duck, so at least, you’re still cute to look at.” The mindless scribbles on the paper make no sense in your head, as you’re primarily zoned in on the disrupted energy you have about your Slytherin companion. These ill feelings make you almost sick, wanting to shut out any bad replay of the moments before and forgetting about the attention you seek so much from Doyoung.

“For you to successfully cast a jinx on me, you must make eye contact first.” His finger lifts your chin and you’re eye to eye with his lustful dark stare. Doyoung licks his lips, a shine shimmers from his saliva, and he’s tempted to bring you into his chambers for an intimacy he’s been craving. “My, oh my. You’re looking very charmed today.” A grin curves up and taunts you, and you’re blinking away down at the table.

“Doyoung, we’re in class. Please, focus.” Your desperate whisper turns into a whine once his cold hand slyly smooths over your bare knee.

“Are you free later tonight?” Doyoung peers over at your side profile and your skin feels soft at his fingertips. He’s imagining your intoxicating scent mixing with his sheets, your light playful kisses along his neck, and gripping onto every naked part of you. For a whole minute, he’s forgotten that he’s in class with other no name individuals and a boring professor. He has tunnel vision whenever he’s with you.

“I have an arrangement.” The grip on your knee tightens at your quiet answer. An arrangement.

“The Gryffindor who had leafy greens in between his teeth?” Doyoung treads lightly, because you’re both well aware he’s made harsher insults than that. He retrieves his hand and picks up his pen as if he’s never touched you.

He sees your head shake out of the corner of his eye, you’re rolling your lips together sheepishly. There’s something odd about your stance and he’s growing a bit more curious…. A bit more spiteful at how closed off you are being. There’s something you’re hiding from him. “Then, who?”

“Is there something you’d like to discuss with the class, Mr. Kim? If not, I’d like for everyone to head over to the greenhouse.” As the class slightly snickers and the classroom empties, you and Doyoung are stopped by your professor.

Professor Sprout, wearing her worn out Dragon hide gloves and a thin lined smile, shoves a potted plant into Doyoung’s hands, “behave, you two. Your conversations are never very secret when spoken aloud.” She gives both of you a warning before proceeding out along with the rest of the class.

Doyoung scoffs at the absurd encounter and rolls his eyes. “Ah, you’re getting me in trouble with you now.”

“I’m sorry, Doyoung. It’s better that you don’t know.” You say this every time, when will you realize that keeping your hookups a secret only causes him more agony? He catches your wrist as you both exit the corridors, he barely ever has you alone now. And to say the least, he fucking misses you.

“Spare me some of your time after class.” He’s disgusted by himself, knowing that his eyes are begging for you to say yes. Him, a highly admired Slytherin, has settled for scraps and if anyone knew, they’d never let him live.

Your hand gently clasps over his and when you look up with your starry eyes, something inside him feels at peace. “Did you miss me?” He gulps at your question and blinks at you like a deer in headlights. If said by anyone else, he would not hesitate to snap his fingers into a malicious spell. But you ask the million dollar question so sweetly, there’s no taunt… there’s no mockery in your tone. It’s full of genuine curiosity.

So, he answers you with part of his heart that you know too well. “Unfortunately.” His body falls slightly in defeat, and suddenly the potted plant is alive in his hands. It’s wailing a dangerous and annoying loud cry, completely ruining the moment.

Doyoung quizzically ponders the monstrous green plant and its magical capabilities puzzle him, possibly reminding him to pay more attention to the actual curriculum than on your unbuttoned shirt.

Moreover, your giggle surprisingly calms him in this stressful situation and you lightly pat his hand that’s still gripping your wrist. “I’m all yours after class.”

Taking the wretched plant, you hurry off toward the greenhouse to find someone to diffuse the crying creature. Doyoung laughs in disbelief at your comical animated figure running around with a pot over your head and shouting for any student to help you. So you’re not paying attention in class either?

Doyoung takes you to your favorite place, despite the rule that you’re not allowed access to it. The Prefect Bathroom remains spotlessly clean and fresh paired with an immediate scent of rosewater and wild honeysuckle. The white polished marble gleams prettily under the twinkling diamond chandeliers and you’re twirling enthusiastically in the center of the large undressing area.

He observes and smiles widely to himself at the sight of your happiness and cute giggles. It’s always a risk to have you use their bathroom, but he is always abusing his privilege to seek your enjoyment that he truly doesn’t care about anything else. Your morality has beaten him enough and he’s heard plenty about his wrongdoings, yet here you are… sweetly dancing in the one place that’s absolutely wrong. Perhaps, you two have rubbed off a little too much on one another.

“I can never get sick of this place.�� As you plead to Doyoung to cast a bubble bath, you’re already stripping out of your skirt. He shields his eyes to give you some privacy and recites the charm to run hot dazzling water in the ginormous pool. A nice soothing bath is exactly what you two need after a stressful day playing in the dirt.

“This is your favorite place.” says Doyoung with a matter of fact edge to this tone.

“It’s my favorite place because I only get to come here with you.” You jump on his back and he hoists you up by your thighs. His heart skips a happy tune. “I refuse for you to tell me the password, even if you do wish for me to enjoy the simple pleasures of a bubble bath.”

“You and your right and wrongs.” With eager hands, you’re loosening his tie from around his neck. “You stripped so fast that you’re going to get a cold.”

“It’s going to get steamy really soon. Plus, I know you like me best without any clothes on.” Your hot breath tickles the shell of his ear and a blush scatters across Doyoung’s cheek. Button after button, his open shirt exposes his toned build. He sets you on the edge of the elevated step before the bath.

Doyoung smirks at your nakedness and your hot lustful expression. Leaning in until he’s practically breathing against your lips, he stares straight into your eyes. “My Puff knows me best.” And dives into you with all his soul. Fruitful drags of his lips along yours, his long tongue enters your mouth. His large hand carefully caresses your cheek to pull you further into the kiss, noses pressing into skin and with a desire to never part.

His heart swells lovingly, kissing you feels like the best thing in the world. There are no tricks, no spells, no recited charms, but you are more than magical. The same surge of energy runs through his veins, but unlike his impressive ability as a notable wizard, he can’t control it. You make him lose control. As meticulous and cautious as he is, you’re the first thing he doesn’t think through.

Your needy hands push off his dress shirt and he hurriedly unbuckles his belt. When you break the kiss, he automatically pouts and pulls you back in for one more lingering peck. “Are you going to scrub my back for me?” You smile, dragging him closer to the overflowing bathtub.

Large puffs of white bubbles spill from the rims and disappear with your every step. It reminds you of sea foam that washes upon the shore, with a floral fragrant that fills your lungs. “That’s quite an intimate gesture, but yes.”

After removing all his garments, he joins you in the large pool of glossy bubbles and the clouds of steam that rises from the water suffocates him warmly. He sits with his back against the wall and eyes unwavering on your alluring expression.

The bubbles do a great job at covering your breasts, but his sneaky hands snake under the water to grip them. Doyoung grabs a full tit and thumbs over your erect nipple, all while he holds the most sensual gaze with you. Slowly, you naturally end up in his hold and your wet back relaxes against his chest.

The beating of his heart is too loud and surely, you can feel the way it jumps out of his chest. Doyoung attaches his lips on your skin and as you’re melting at his harsh suckling. However, you perk up and snap out of your dazed arousal at the realization of his purposeful licks. “You’re trying to mark me?”

His hand continues to rub and twist your aching nipples. The sensation stimulating the growth of pleasure to sprout below and your mind to wander.

“Possibly.”

A lovers’ mark is the ultimate testament of mutual love. Engraving the skin with your beloved’s Patronus, wherever the giver chooses to mark. Love emblems are meant to be something sacred to the couple, a way to make someone completely untouchable to everyone else. Not only does the symbol glow with an iridescent shine whenever love is felt, it also numbs any romantic feelings for all others besides the partner.

Besides the use of possessiveness, it’s a beautiful way to discover one true love since the engraving of their Patronus shows up on the skin under the conditions that both individuals must be madly in love with one another. And if it doesn’t end up forming, the receiver is left with a bright, sparkling star hue in its place before fading away completely. If it does appear, it fades when both fall out of love.

“Doyoung--” His name falls from your lips as a moan and he’s running down to explore the beauty between your legs. “--can’t do that unless you actually want to commit to me.”

“I am committed to you.” The more your neck cranes off to the side and exposed to him, the more he wishes to etch the symbol of his love for everyone to see. A hand is hooked under your thigh to keep your legs spread open and you’re gasping at the slight pressure from the water.

“Romantically committed to me.” You remind him, but your train of thought is cut fairly short as Doyoung begins rubbing circles on your needy clit.

“You’re afraid of it showing up?” He’s lathering your breasts with bubbles and dragging his long finger along your slit. His greediness overtakes him and with wandering hands, he’s gripping every part of you that they can reach. Doyoung’s guilty pleasure is always going to any form of physical affection from you specifically. When he finally gets ahold of you, it’s hard for him to let go.

Your warm skin is delicate and smooth beneath the very tips of his fingers and every exploration of your terrain makes him feel inexplicable explosions of fondness. Perhaps, you’ve captivated him and although he believed it would take something as extreme as the Amortentia to have him falling for someone, you did it as easily as being yourself. His better half.

So, he’s impressed by your genuineness and how he’s willing to give up parts of his reputation to unapologetically be himself around you. No one else matters, nothing else matters, but why must it be so difficult to tell you that?

“I’m afraid of it not showing up.” You’re more than convinced that Doyoung has confused his strong sense of lust with love and there would be no possible way his Patronus would appear. It’s better to save the embarrassment for the both of you.

Spinning in his arms, the water twirls to the curves of your body and he’s admiring parts that expose above the surface. He’s matched with your beauty before him, resemblance to the stained glass window that situates above the large bathroom.

However, the doubt in your statement finally reaches his ears and he’s grabbing your ass as you settle over his thighs again. His furrowed eyebrows bring together a rather upset expression --- lip pout and all.

“Why wouldn’t it show up?” Doyoung puzzles, bringing your arms to wrap around his neck. Leaning into him, your pruney fingers trace his smooth chin and he notices your quick flicker between his eyes and his lips.

While your gentle kiss reassures him of your subtle endearment, your next words do the opposite. “You tell me.” All you do is push him away with your vague doubtfulness, like you’re constantly testing him and using his poor guessing skills to your own advantage. He can pull you close after any altercation he wants, but you push him away in any emotionally romantic sense.

“You’re rather mischievous and mysterious today,” Doyoung squeezes your ass and smacks it lightly, causing ripples in the water. “I liked it better when you told me everything you felt.”

Suddenly, his fingers poke at your entrance and his other hand drops in between your legs again. Your mouth opens in shock when his long fingers enter slowly and he enjoys the pleasurable contour of your reactions. “Like this, for example.” The pad of his fingers working rapid flicks against your sensitive bud. “How does this feel?” His whisper dances across your shoulder, landing a kiss at the end of his question.

Your moans echo in the lavish bathroom, bouncing off the marble walls and encouraging Doyoung to keep a steady pace. There’s no worry about how loud you may be, Doyoung charms every room before every lustful encounter. This allows you to let go, let free, let him know how he makes you feel.

He curves his fingers into you, pumping and dragging into your tightness until you’re practically screaming. He only has one thought, as his eyes trail down your intoxicated needy figure, how beautiful you are as a moaning mess under his control. Your head is thrown back, eyes are squeezed shut and opening them to see nothing but tiny yellow starlight.

Dainty kisses line your exposed neck line and his ego swells with so much pride. Doyoung has mastered every flick of his wrist to have you under his trance, spewing nonsensical words and forgetting anyone else that exists. He gives your erect nipples harsh licks and with a faint drag of teeth, the sensation pushes you to your end.

Sporadic pleasurable convulsions cause your legs to close around Doyoung’s hands, but the strength of his knee keeps them apart. “Doyoung… I’m going to free fall.”

Leave it up to you to beautifully announce your climax. He snickers, applying more pressure on your clit and a rubbing motion against your walls. “I’ll catch you.”

Moon crescents embed into his skin as you’re holding onto him with your whole life. As your scream hits every octave, the massive collection of bubbles that cover the surface of the bath fly and splatter every corner of the pristine room.

White and wet bubbles drip down from the walls, falling from the diamond chandeliers, and coating every steamy mirror. Doyoung’s eyes light up from the chaos, making sure you’re riding out your high for as long as he can provide.

Your body trembles with euphoria, falling forward into Doyoung’s chest and squeezing around his lazily pumping fingers. For a brief second, your mind is wiped and nothing in the world feels better than being in this perfect moment with the one person who’s Patronus you hoped would etch your skin.

If one possesses feelings that are practically unbearable to contain, one should confess… right? For all your life, you’ve lived by this statement. Friends do not hear the end of it and most surely, one should follow their own advice… right?

So why do you yearn for Doyoung in your gaze as he stands across the Great Hall as if he doesn’t know of your existence? As if he wasn’t kissing you in the Prefect bathroom a few days prior?

It’s not an understatement to say that you catch the attention of almost every person in the room, but the one head that refuses to turn your way… the one who’s looks you wish to steal… is the one person who looks right through you.

Feelings have become a nuisance ever since the first time you confessed to him and it was worse than landing on cobblestone after falling off your broom. The reason why you’ve buried them deeper than any chamber is that you’re positive that the prized Slytherin would rather be with another, preferably one from his own house.

While you try to remain optimistic and playful for the time being, you’re simply replaceable to him. He can barely care to acknowledge you in public when Gryffindors boast about you in their arms like winning a trophy. You’ve kept good relations with every Ravenclaw you’ve slept with. You’ve kindly rejected every romantic gesture another Hufflepuff has offered.

But if there is one thing you’ve learned about him is that he’s lived in his Slytherin circle for as long as he lives. And it will stay that way. You’re his sweet Hufflepuff that he’ll push away at no cost, then pull you back in secrecy.

Now if one feels as if they’re wasting their time, one should leave… right? Wrong. Kim Doyoung has skewed with your morality… and your feelings remain loyal to him since the day he confessed to see you again.

“Lemon-drop, I’ve been looking all over for you.” An arm slings around your shoulders and the notable red and gold tie is the first thing you see. Jung Jaehyun, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, flashes his deep dimples at you. “Walk with me.”

He extends his palm out for you to take and your friends painfully elbow your sides to wake you from your hesitation. Taking his hand, you get up from the dining table and follow him out the Great Hall.

Doyoung sees the scene unfold before him and rolls his eyes at how Jaehyun’s dimples are all it takes to have you wandering off with him. Despite every wicked intent to follow you two, he heads out in the direction of the dormitories to fume in his room.

“It’s such a nice and sunny day today.” Jaehyun runs a hand through his luscious brown locks. You both exit into the front courtyard as other students are scattered on the lawns mingling with one another. When you peer up at the sky, the sun is barely seen past the layers of clouds.

“Jaehyun, is there something you needed to speak with me about?” His laughter roars, full of hefty song and amusement.

“Listen, lemon-drop. I like you and I have a feeling you feel the same way. I want to mark you if you’d let me.” Jaehyun smirks and just as he brings your hand up for a kiss, you gently let go. “Am I coming off too strong? We don’t have to do it today, I just wanted to see if it would show.”

“Jaehyun, you’re going to find an extravagant person one day. A person who is going to know all your favorite castle balconies to swing from and how you like to be kissed on the nose.” His ears grow a bright red and for once, his gaze drops to the ground. “I am, unfortunately, not that person for you so I must kindly reject your confession.”

As you turn on your toes, Jaehyun lightly holds your wrist to stop you. “But, you know all those things about me. Is there anything I can do to prove that we belong together?”

“I know them because I care enough to remember things you tell me, not because I loved you enough to observe these things about you. I give you my word that there is nothing you can do to prove me otherwise.” The corners of his lips dip downward and you’re running to the one person that will erase this sad rejection from your memory.

When you’re scanning the Great Hall for any sign of him, he’s not there and it leads you to his only hiding place. Doyoung loves to shut himself out from the rest of the school whenever he gets the chance. However, a lost Hufflepuff wandering outside the entrance of the Slytherin dormitories is rather an odd sight to see and you haven’t had the chance to form many connections from this house.

The sparse amount of Slytherins you know aren’t going to be passing by, unless with some stroke of luck, someone will be kind enough to open the door for you. Every person passes by you with questionable stares until a silver haired boy blinks at you with wide eyes.

“Who is it that you’re trying to see?” He asks abrasively, but softens his tone when he realizes that you mean no harm.

You bid him a small grin, “your Prefect.”

“And what for?”

“There is an urgent matter that involves him and he’s practically unreachable when he’s hiding away in his private room.” The boy narrows his eyes at you, but beckons you to follow him down to the Slytherin dungeon.

Excitedly, you hurry behind him and whisper over his shoulder, “what’s your name?”

“Nakamoto Yuta. No need to tell me yours, I’ll doubt he’d want me to know.” He spits and then, mutters the enchanted password to reveal the large green common room. “Come this way.” He leads up the boys’ dorms and walks briskly. Although you never mentioned a name, Yuta seems to already know who you’re here to see and it makes you wonder how he must know.

“Open up.” Yuta stops and knocks at the wooden door, Kim Doyoung written in a fancy penmanship on the center. “You have a guest.” He looks your way before rolling his eyes at Doyoung’s irritated tone through the other side.

“Tell them to leave.”

“He wants you to leave.” Yuta repeats, mostly to satisfy Doyoung’s nag.

“That’s fine. Thank you for bring---” The door swings open abruptly and Yuta almost loses his balance. Doyoung frantically turns his head side to side to comprehend what he is seeing. His ears felt deceived, hearing your voice through the door, he had to make sure it wasn’t you.

But you stand before him and Yuta. Here you are approaching him whenever he least expects it. “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to see you. I’ve been here plenty of times.”

“What are you doing bringing her in?” scolds Doyoung and the other boy shrugs carelessly.

“What was I supposed to do? Let her bat puppy eyes at several other Slytherins and have her telling everyone who passes her that she came here to see our Prefect? It was also getting cold out.” Yuta mumbles, but finds great entertainment at seeing how frazzled Doyoung has gotten by your presence.

“It was a bit chilly.” You admit and Doyoung groans, pulling you into his room and shutting the door on Yuta. “Thank you, Yuta.” You whisper through the crack between the door frame.

“It’s too risky for you to be searching for me around other Slytherins.” Doyoung paces the room and you notice his tie is loose and shirt is unbuttoned around his neck. “Why are you here?”

“A Gryffindor blew me off. I thought I’d come and see you with all the free time I can get.” Taking a seat at the end of his neatly made bed, your legs swing adorably and Doyoung almost doesn’t hear you.

“Jaehyun? Does he think he’s too good for you or something? That cocky dimple Gryffindor, with the draw of my wand---” Doyoung whips out his intricately customized Dragon Heartstring, and you’re on your feet to calm his temper down.

“Will you put that thing away? I’m here for you.” Your giggle warms his tight chest and puts out the fueling flame for anyone who dares to hurt you in any way. “It’s not a big deal and it’s not the first time it has happened.”

Doyoung uncomfortably clears his throat and withdraws his wand. Buttoning up his shirt, he fixes his tie back in place. To say the least, your words erupted his festering jealousy and this may have been a small tipping point.

Before you had entered, he was so frustrated with himself and you. You can just walk away with another man without a second thought, in front of him too. He remembered the soft feeling of your body and how he’s not the only one who’s needy hands ran their course over you. That may be the one pain he can never get rid of.

“I never understood why you give other men the time of your day when they just brush you off undeservingly.” He stings and you’re slightly surprised at his sudden attack. When you respond in silence, he continues.“I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?”

Crossing your arms, your weight is barred on your left leg and there is a shift in your overall mood. With an eyebrow raised, you sass him back, “People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you chase after me?”

Doyoung swallows hard and blinks at you speechless. A clammy hand runs through his black strands as he tries to find any possible explanation without confessing his feelings. If he had a plan to confess, it would never be in the middle of an inquisition with you.

“I guess you didn’t think before acting on your desires.” And how he hated how correct that statement is. He doesn’t ever think whenever he’s around you. All his actions are conducted with his emotions and the feelings that overtake him.

Doyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes at your rash comment. “Aren’t you supposed to have the strongest morality among all the houses?”

“Sleeping with multiple men isn’t morally wrong. There’s nothing wrong with it…” The slight hurt from his question is difficult to ignore, but you must remember one thing if you want to protect your heart on your sleeve. This is nothing serious to be bickering over. You two aren’t anything serious, so why feel the need to squabble over nonsense? “... it would only be wrong if someone liked me and wished to commit to me.”

Your eyes meet and Doyoung blinks at you with wide eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he gulps again, completely whiplashed at how the conversation has turned. “And if that’s the case and you like me, would that make you jealous, Doyoung? That’s why you’re trying to poorly attack my character?” He’s never heard such a strong taunt in your tone and he’s baffled by it, slightly aroused, but shocked.

“I don’t like you.” His voice is small and he pouts his lips at you. Doyoung crosses his arms and perhaps, his sad expression reveals a little more than it should have. Your heart softens at his ridiculously cute response, had you expected something much more angry and vindictive.

“Then this conversation is over, right? I’ll be on my way now. I have herbology.”

“We have the same class.” He grumbles, grabbing his robe from his desk chair.

You open the door to make your exit, “but since you don’t want to be seen with a Hufflepuff, I’ll go ahead first.” When you stumble out into the hallway, a recognizable face brightens at your appearance.

“Haechan! Hello, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You’re cheering and Doyoung chews the inside of his cheek. His pride is left at the door and along with all the things that hold him back from you, he doesn’t want to push you away anymore.

“My favorite Hufflepuff, are you just leaving?” Haechan walks up to open his arms, wishing to embrace you in the longest hug. However, Doyoung quickly takes you by your hand and rushes past him.

“She came to walk with me to class. Bye Haechan.” And Haechan is left standing in the middle of the hallway, confused and watching your backs as you’re both briskly walking out the common room.

Doyoung looks back at you, “you think I’m going to let you walk out of my room and have another Slytherin walk you to class? Don’t be so foolish.”

But you are foolish. Your heart beats foolishly and loudly for Kim Doyoung. And may you be foolish enough to wonder if his heart does the same for you.

And it does. Foolishly. Loudly. Lovingly.

You both wonder if this vicious cycle will ever meet its end. Doyoung pushes you away by ignoring your existing relationship, but pulls you back into his embrace as if it never happened. You push him away by running off with other men, but come back to him as if he’s the one person you’re loyal to.

But on this particular night, after mass circulation of rumors reaches the ears of the lovesick Slytherin, Doyoung is pulling you away from your huddled group of friends in the middle of the long corridor hallways. Without any greeting, any spoken words, he’s dragging you to his room right in front of everyone to see. His hand around yours like it was two days prior, but with an expression so grave on his sullen face.

The silence between you two brings no comfort, but you don’t dare say the first words. Doyoung, finally, approached you first in public and it is possibly for a greater reason. Perhaps you’ve done something horribly wrong, and the moment you two step into his room that you’ll hear a mouthful.

However when he closes the door to his room, your hand immediately drops from his embrace and he turns to face you. There is a darkness in his eyes, one that light cannot touch, and his lips are tight in a line.

There is an eerie silence that fills the dark room and the murky windows paint the area an ominous green. Doyoung focuses on your confused, yet adorable expression. “Why did you lie to me?”

The door catches your slight stumble and you’re blinking cluelessly at him. “About what?”

“Jaehyun.” He breathes the name in spite and aggressively loosens his tie. “He didn’t blow you off. You rejected him and he’s telling everyone it's because you’re in love with someone else.”

You scorn at such a ridiculous rumor and for the fact that it’s even made its way around to Doyoung. Another realization hits you. All it took for him to approach you in public is a meaningless rumor.

So in response, you laugh and it mocks him further. “This is not a laughing matter, y/n.”

“I’m sorry, but why are you so upset at that? Fine. I did lie to you, but I never told Jaehyun I was in love with anyone else.”

“Are you in love with someone else?” Doyoung says with balled fists at his side. There is a mixture of anger and sadness running through his veins and he’s so sick of feeling this way.

Your hesitation speaks for you, “It’s better that you don’t know.”

“You say this every time and it does nothing to ease my conscience.” Doyoung throws his hands in the air and stares at you with sharp eyes. “Is that why you were afraid that my emblem wouldn’t show up? Because your heart belongs to another. Yeah, I heard Jaehyun wanted to mark you too.”

Men and their constant want to prove something to themselves with their marks. Everyone has a twisted reality of markings now. There have been many others who have tried to mark you, feeling as if lust would be enough to suffice its appearance. As one's Patronus is special to their own protection, a beloved’s Patronus mark holds the same value.

You’re quite at a loss for words, “I was afraid that it wouldn’t show up, not because of myself, but because of you.”

Doyoung points at himself in disbelief. Him? He loves you more than anyone he’s ever encountered, even if you didn’t know it. “I wouldn’t have almost tried it if I wasn’t sure of myself.”

“You don’t love me, Doyoung. I don’t even know if I can even say you romantically like me.” Those words hurt the both of you and it lingers in the room for longer than you’d like.

“Do you think I fuck you meaninglessly like all those other losers you sleep with?” Doyoung steps forward, pulling you into his chest and admiring everything he’s fallen in love with. A pain spreads across his heart as he thinks of you with another person, of someone else kissing you, of someone else making you happy.

“You really don’t feel it in the way I kiss you?” He asks once more and your own stare drops to his shoulder, a bit ashamed to maintain eye contact with such pained eyes.

“And if I did? How would you explain that? That you are actually in love with me?” Your questions pelt him like rocks. As he pushes you on his bed, you pull him down with his tie.

Doyoung drinks you up like fresh water, a crisp and refreshing love that encourages him to reach heights. His hand cups your face and his feather touches reminds you of his gentleness. Your lips taste like sweet honey, dripping and coating him with a sticky sugar.

He’s happier with you and he’s the happiest kissing you. Perhaps, it’s hard for him to express with words, but he’d always hope his actions speak louder. So, his lips press against yours with a whirl of passion and every good feeling that grows in his chest.

The collar of his shirt is wrinkled in your fist and you’re holding him as if you’re afraid of him letting go. Doyoung runs a hand down your torso and lifts the end of your skirt up. A warm hand pushes your legs apart and a finger presses your clit through your cotton panties.

Your mouth opens into a moan and he takes this opportunity to shove his long tongue inside, lapping with your own. As a wet spot forms on your panties, he pulls them to the side and gathers the slick to gently rub your erect clit. His name is lost and muffled in the kiss, but you tap at his chest.

When he breaks away and halts all movement, he looks down over you with a fire burning in his dark orbs. And a confession falls from his swollen lips, “may I mark you?”

“And if it doesn’t show up?” Though, you’re wishing to the most powerful wizards that it does or else your heart would shatter into a million pieces beyond repair.

He bites his lip and every possible outcome scatters his thoughts. It’s too hard to concentrate, so he doesn’t at all. He focuses on your pretty lips and the way you look at him like he’s the only person that matters. “Then, we’ll deal with the consequences later.”

With your quick nod, Doyoung attaches his lips to your neck and harshly sucks at your skin. For the most part, it’s a pleasurable feeling and sends a shiver down your spine. So, he licks and nibbles until he can barely breathe. Your faint scent of patchouli and ginger intoxicates him, wraps him up in a fuzzy coziness that is unmatched.

Your hands unbutton his shirt and a final gentle bite seals his mark. If the love is reciprocated, the emblem would take a moment to form. Doyoung is rather hopeful and excited, as he’s never seen his Patronus before. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look dazed as if someone charmed you.” You giggle and kiss his red lips.

“You’re quite the powerful one, my Puff.” He smiles against your jaw before proceeding to your mess down below. He gives your aching clit a few licks, which cause your body to twist and turn at the sensitive sensation.

“Please, I haven’t felt you in so long.” Whining and tugging at his hair, Doyoung leaves a lasting kiss and gets up to remove his pants.

“Did you miss me?” Doyoung raises a suggestive eyebrow and cocks his head to the side in mockery, a smirk growing on his face.

You reply with a silly response that only he knows and causes him to chuckle, “unfortunately.” And he’s finding every way not to confess his endearments for you.

His dick stands tall and proud against his abdomen, giving it a few jerks as he watches you strip out of your own clothes. You turn around and sit on your knees, with a slight tilt forward and the arch in your back to accentuate your ass.

Doyoung rolls on the protection as quickly as he can. His hands lightly smack your cheeks and slowly enters your dripping hole. His hands grip your hips as he slides deeper into you, both being moaning messes at the delicious feeling.

“Have you always been this big?” You look back at him and to which he devilishly smiles at you.

“You know just the way to fuel my ego,” when his length is fully buried inside of your tight walls, he wraps an arm around your waist and a hand on your tit. “After all the times you’ve been fucked, your pussy is still as tight as ever.”

Doyoung slams hard into you, showing no mercy and causing you to jolt up. He takes every frustration, every feeling of anger, every ounce of jealousy into his thrusts. “But you take me so well, darling. I’ve never seen someone as pretty as you.”

His compliments cause your heart to soar, despite the soreness you’re beginning to feel in your pussy. He’s relentless, bottoming out until his tip is practically in your guts. “Just like that, baby. You’re the only one who fucks me this good.”

He blushes under the low light and leans forward to kiss the top of your head. “My Puff, you’re so sweet to me.” The loud squelch of your tight pussy gripping his dick fills the hot room, “and so wet.”

You’re shamelessly dripping on his green velvet blanket and Doyoung picks up his speed. Your knees give out as you fall face forward into the mattress, hands in fists from the incredible pleasure of every hit. Your ass now in his full view and every tingle of magic lights up in his veins.

Your throat is raw from screaming and moaning, Doyoung holds your hips steady to thrust into a new angle. Automatically, your body twitches as his tip hits your special spot and he’s well aware that you’re close to releasing.

And with his fast thrusts, he asks you an intimate question that is fueled by envy and rage. “If I fuck you the best, then why do you sleep with other men?”

There are no thoughts in your mind to even give him a white lie, to mask the truth of your actions. He’s fucking you into an oblivion that it’s hard to even focus on anything besides pleasure. The books on his shelf begin to tremble as you’re crying out, “I- I don’t know! Fuck, please… ! I’m tipping over.”

“Answer the question or I will stop.” He’s absolutely cynical and you have every reason to believe his threat. Doyoung lifts your limp body upright, against his torso and an arm secured around your middle as before. His hand snakes to your clit, rubbing feathering circles over the neglected bud.

Nonetheless, his single action paired with his tip grazing harshly against the particular spot causes your legs to tremble. “Do you want me to stop?” His threat rings in your ears when you still left him without an answer.

You’re so close, you’re starting to see white. So, you say what your heart tells you and the truth falls from your lips in a loud confession. “Because I wanted you to love me instead! I fucked them to forget about my love for you… fuck, I’m--”

“I’ve got you. Let go of yourself, baby.” Doyoung slows his hips when your walls squeeze around him sporadically. Every book flies out and hits the opposite wall, clattering the floor with heavy academia. However, he repeats your proclamation endlessly in his mind and his heart surges with the most intense romantic desires.

“I do love you, y/n.” He whispers, cumming into his rubber and simply holding you tightly. He lets go of every prideful arrogance in his body, tossing the lame reputation he always tried to hold onto. He didn’t need that if it meant losing you. Doyoung chuckles to himself for being an obvious cliché, announcing one’s love in the midst of a lustful act. He pulls out and gently tucks you into the covers.

Breathless, you’re finally realizing his confession. “You do? Are you sure?” Any subtle movements has your aching lower half in pain, so you settle with resting on his plush pillows and await for him to join you in bed.

All this time, from beginning to now, you’ve been oblivious to his yearning looks across the Great Hall. The intensity of his kisses had been lost upon you completely as you had convinced yourself that he was incompatibly of loving you back. Even now, as you lay in slight doubt, you’re wondering how you managed to have everything fly over your head.

When he discards his used protection and with a quick flick of his wrist, every book finds its original place on the shelf again, he enters the warm covers. Your arms wrap around his neck and you’re admiring each other’s expressions in the low light. He spots the notable twinkle in your eyes and his thumb lightly rubs your cheek.

“If the symbol of my Patronus doesn’t show, I promise to love you harder until it does.” Doyoung leaves the softest, most loving kiss on your lips. He’s more than thankful for the lack of light as he’s bashfully red all over his cheeks.

“Usually, people just give up.” Your voice is harsh, possibly from the deafening screaming of pleasure prior.

Doyoung shakes his head. He’s made too many mistakes in this relationship with you. Sleeping with another. Ignoring your existence. Being too prideful to be seen with another house. All these incidents have made him feel nothing but ugliness and distraught, and pushed you away further than how much he is able to pull you back.

He loves you. He’s in love with you. He’s fallen for you recklessly as you did off your broom the first encounter. You’re everything he’s never been and never will be, yet you don’t care. You’re by his side, despite his spitefulness and you never miss a beat. That innocent youth approach to love, oh how he wishes it never faded, and though he thought it did, it didn’t. You remain true to your character when he fights with himself internally.

“That would be a mistake and I can’t afford to keep making them.” A glossy sheen over Doyoung’s regretful eyes, but you pull him closer and you refuse to let his eyes wander.

A tired harmless sigh escapes your lips and a dreamy haze overcomes you. Besides the reminder of needing to use the bathroom flashing in your mind, there is nothing else you want to dissect. Feelings are too complex to discuss at the moment and the resolve has already passed.

Regardless of the marks appearing, you’re content with the night and for the rest of your days. Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, loves you back and the power of that alone beats any spell in those dusty old textbooks.

“Why can’t we lay here forever?” Your heavy eyelids fall slowly and your voice grows small.

Doyoung kisses your shoulder, then your neck. “That’s impossible. I can’t give you forever.” He mumbles against your skin, sending vibrations across your throat.

“You are my forever.” Doyoung halts and is left speechless as a white glowing entity catches his eye. And the absolute perfect outline of his Patronus sits underneath your jaw, brightly shining with iridescent brilliance --- he makes out the outline: a White Swan, representing his love for you. Doyoung smiles to himself and hopes for it to never fade. Perhaps, he can give you forever.

some fun critical questions to think about hehe -

why do you think y/n lied to doyoung about jaehyun confessing? why do you think yuta helped y/n enter the Slytherin dormitories? what is the meaning behind the White Swan Patronus? Why do you think y/n continued to like doyoung after all this time?

there are no right or wrong answers, just something fun to have you thinking a little more about the fic haha if you want, you can send me an ask about it :) but overall, no pressure and thank you for reading! please leave me some feedback if you can! happy new year!

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 3 years

Text

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 4:

You’re paranoid.

Terribly, terribly paranoid, and even if you’re aware of it, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Nothing you can do to quell the anxiety that wells up every time another person enters your space. Every time their skin nearly brushes yours, even accidentally, just for a split second.

It’s maddening. Nearly debilitating the way you’re flinching away from people. You can see your co-workers notice too, fellow nurses suddenly giving you odd looks every time you reject a high five. Even when you’re wearing your gloves. It’s just a panic reaction at this point- a fixation on trying to keep your quirk as least exhaustive an experience as it can be.

On one hand, you still really dislike Bakugou- nearly hate him for bringing it up to you- but, on the other hand, he did manage to figure it out. He somehow managed to figure out what you never could, and all in a matter of minutes from your relatively short interactions. It made you think that maybe he could be really smart- if he didn’t spend so much time killing his own brain-cells with every juvenile insult he spewed at you.

You wondered if that was just him, or he really did hate you that much. Surely he couldn’t be that much of a monster to other people, right? Right?

Wrong.

You remember Kirishima, how he apologized for Bakugou nearly the second he walked through the door. It hits you then that you’re definitely not the first person he’d seemed to mercilessly terrorize- you’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse.

Actually, on second thought, maybe it makes you feel worse. No, it definitely makes you feel worse. So much worse, in fact, that just the sight of his face nearly sends you into an irrational rage. Even now, weeks after the last time he’d personally ruined your day, you were still mad. Still angry. Still cursing every time you saw those red eyes on every billboard, newspaper, and billboard in town.

Well, lucky for you, you didn’t have to look at those printed eyes anymore. Not when the real ones were right in front of you- scaring you shitless as you leave the hospital.

You had left the hospital from the back exit, tired and crabby from your late shift, grumbling as you stepped out into the alleyway. You’d hardly seen him, just the slightest glimpse of movement behind the tall dumpsters, before he’s practically in your face.

“Jesus!” You gasp, curling your arms around your stomach. Your legs feel like jelly. “Don’t do that! Scared me half to death!”

“Oh, chill the hell out, ya fuckin’ baby. You’re fine.” Bakugou rolls his eyes, falling into step next to you.

He looks worse for the wear, just like every other time you’ve seen him, exhaustion coloring his complexion something sickly. There’s an angry purple bruise covering his cheek, a few cuts, and even more bruising dotting his scarred knuckles. A tiny, vindictive part of you thinks it serves him right, but you keep it to yourself. You’re better than that.

You want to be nice to him, truly you do, but he’s made it pretty hard. Concerning you, Bakugou’s pretty much dug his grave at this point, and he only makes it worse with his next works.

“You need to do something for me.” He orders suddenly. “Now.”

“A-are you asking me? For help? Is that what this is?”

“What? No- obviously fucking not.” He sneers, nostrils flaring. “Why the hell would I go and do something like that. That’s stupid. Weak.”

“Oh. Okay. So then two seconds ago, when you were telling me that I ‘need’ to do something for you, what was that?” You squint your eyes at him, eyebrow twitching with annoyance. “That wasn’t you asking for help?”

“No. ‘s an order.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay- an order. Because you’re totally in a position to make those.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.” You spin on your heels, nearly crashing into his chest since he followed so closely behind you. Still, you figure the promixity is all the better for gesturing, so you don’t miss a beat, waving your hands emphatically. “My shift just ended, alright? That means I’m not on the clock, and you’re not a patient. I don’t have to suck it up and help you unless I want to. Understand?”

Bakugou seems to bristle at your tone, eyes narrowing as his lip curls. You just try to shrug it off. If he wants to be mad in the middle of the alley, fine- but you’ve had a long day and you’re going home. You spin around again, walking briskly into the street, and it takes him a few moments to catch up.

“I told you, Bakugou, I’m not helping you just because you tried to order me to.”

“I know.”

“Then what’re you doing?”

“Walking.”

It’s his tone; that same needling, challenging edge to it that has your blood boiling. If anyone else said that, you’d probably believe it. But he’s not just walking and Bakugou’s smirk makes that very clear.

“No. You’re following me.”

“Same fuckin’ direction. Sue me, leech.”

The street lamps cast spots that yellow out his already pale skin, and the longer you walk the more withered he looks. Bakugou seems utterly burnt out, and when you look really close, all his features are slumped. It’s a stark contrast to Dynamite’s turbo-charged public persona, and it makes you wonder why he’d even let you see him like this at all. You figure whatever it is must be making him pretty desperate.

Suddenly that same, sinking, sympathetic feeling has you letting up a bit. You slow your pace, catching his gaze as you internally curse your own soft heart.

“Okay. Fine. What’s up. What can I help you with?”

Bakugou squints his eyes, almost like he doesn’t believe you. You think that’s a little fair- most times, even you can hardly believe all that you’re capable of forgiving.

“Sleep.” He finally says, bitten out tightly under his breath.

“You want me to help you sleep?”

“Yes. Obviously.”

“Not obvious.”

“Would be if you weren’t such a shitty nurse.”

“If that’s supposed to be a dig- save it.” You roll your eyes, trying to tamper down the irritation. “I did notice. That you look tired. Just didn’t mention it out of kindness, so don’t think you can start bringing my skills into question.”

You turn down another side street, and Bakugou follows. There’s less light so you miss the way his eyes scan the lurking shadows; intense and immediate, like a habit he can’t help himself from indulging in.

“You really live around here?” He suddenly asks, voice low and gruff.

“Yep. In the apartment complexes just up there.” You point off into the distance. “Why-”

“And your shift always end this late?”

“Yes?”

“God,” He laughs something disbelieving under his breath, rolling his eyes at you. “I was fuckin’ right. You really are the stupidest goddamn person walking the planet.”

“That’s- Do you ever think about your words? Seriously!” You huff, curling your fists. You hope it’ll quell your sudden urge to hit him. “Just because you think it, doesn’t mean you should say it! And who the hell are you to judge anyway-”

“You’re fuckin’ asking to be attacked. That’s stupid. ”

“By who?”

“Weirdos, idiot.”

“You’re the weirdo! You’re the one following me home right now!”

“I’m not following you-”

“Really? You’re not? Because right now, the way you’re walking? Maybe all of two steps behind me? On a dark street? At night? Sort of seems like creepy following is exactly what you’re doing!”

“I told you, you need to do something for me. Not leaving till you do.” He grumbles, digging a bruised knuckle into his temples. “And keep it the fuck down. Your screaming sounds like a dying animal.”

“My-” You seethe for a moment, hardly able to stand his attitude. Then you take a breath because you prided yourself on being a kind person, and kind people do not kill national heroes- even when they’re being asses. “You know, it is almost unbelievable how bad you are at asking for help.”

“Told ya, already. ‘m not fuckin’ asking for help.”

“Then why are you even here bothering me? Go bother someone else!”

“If fuckin’ anyone else could do anythin’, believe me, I’d go to them instead.”

“God, do you even understand how rude that is?” You ask him incredulously, hand grasping at the door to your apartment building. “No, seriously, are you even aware of what you sound like to other people?”

“Not my fuckin’ problem that other people are sensitive.”

Your eyes bulge at that, mouth nearly dropping in disbelief. You couldn’t believe him. You just couldn’t believe that a single person could possibly go through life with that callous of a mentality. It was insanity. Pure insanity.

“So, leech, you gonna put me to fuckin’ sleep or not?”

Just kidding- that was insanity. That sentence alone was proof of just how ridiculous your life had gotten since he’d crash landed into it.

Bakugou seems to realize his words simultaneously, his cheeks flushing red under the outdoor lights. You almost laugh, but then he’s glaring, eyes sternly set and murderous. For a moment, you really believe he was gonna blow you up right where you were standing.

“Say a goddamn word. Do it. I fuckin’ dare you. Leech.” He sneers. “Try me.”

“At this hour? No, uh, no thanks.”

Bakugou does seem to relax at your joke, albeit begrudgingly. He drops his shoulders, rolling his eyes, and clears his throat. “Now, seriously, you gonna fuckin’ do it or not?”

A part of you wants to say no- to hold your gift over his head, to lord it just out of reach until he figures out how to not insult you with every breath. Then you think of your job, of all the civilians who come in swearing up and down that Dynamite was a hero. And you believe them, truly, but you think that Bakugou has a long way to go. An especially long way.

But, even so, your fingers are itching again in your gloves. There’s that urge coursing through your veins, your thoughts a constant loop of heal, help, save and so it’s decided. Quickly. Almost like it was never even a question in the first place- and, knowing yourself, you suppose it never really was.

“Fine. I will. On one condition.”

“Condition? When the fuck did I say it was a negotiation. It’s not.”

“It is and I’ll tell you why.” You spin to face him completely, jumping back when you find him much closer than expected. Your retreat till your back hits the door, but you feel no less cramped than before. “You need me. You do. Don’t bother denying it because you wouldn’t be here otherwise. And the funny thing is, I would’ve done it! Would’ve done it entirely free of charge if you just asked nicely, and-”

“Will you get to the fuckin’ point already?”

“See! That! That’s why there’s a condition! Because you’re needlessly rude! All the time from what I’ve seen. And that’s got to change. Especially if you’re gonna ask for my help more than just this one time.”

“God- how many fuckin’ times do I need to make this clear to you? Hah?” Bakugou growls, leaning in even more. You can see it in his wild eyes- he’s trying to scare you, crowding you against the door. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you- You don’t make the fuckin’ rules here.”

“In this I do.” You swallow nervously, trying not to let your intimidation show. “So you’re gonna listen. My condition is this- if you want me to help you, then you have to learn to play nice. That means no names, no insults, no threats, no complaints, and no attitude. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

Bakugou swears under his breath, eyes blazing as he holds his stare. Truthfully, it makes you nervous, but you’re not one to back down. At least, not when there’s no threat of job loss involved. So you just squint back at him, jutting your jaw out in defiance. There’s a tense few seconds of silence, his eyes searching, but then he backs off. Nostrils flaring like a bull, Bakugou relents.

“Fuckin’ fine. Whatever. Jesus.” He swears, hand curling into a fist at his side. “If you’re gonna be such a bitc-”

“I said, no names, Bakugou.”

He just rolls his eyes, face so very pinched, and you briefly wonder if he’s going to explode. There’s anger as he suddenly shoves you away from the door, yanking it open and letting himself into the building. Then he’s stomping through the lobby, and you’re hardly able to catch up by the time Bakugou stops in front of the elevator.

“What fuckin’ floor, leech?”

“Once again, I said no names. None. Especially not that one.” You tell him sternly, trying to keep your voice down. “And you didn’t agree. You’re not following me and I’m not helping you unless you agree.”

If possible, you think Bakugou’s expression grows even more irritated, his eyes widening as he sets his jaw. Another few seconds pass, and when he sees you won’t relent, Bakugou nods. It’s tight and strained, stunted like the acquiescence physically pains him.

“God, you’re lucky I’m nice.” You tell him, nearly stabbing the elevator button as you press it. “Really lucky.”

“And you’re lucky I don’t have enough energy to beat the shit out of you right now.”

“No threats, Bakugou. You agreed.” You say easily, stepping into the elevator as it opens.

“Had to. Because your fuckin’ terms are bullshit.”

“Hey, no complaints. You agreed to that too.”

You think you hear something strangled leave his mouth, but it’s swallowed up by the sound of the elevator ascending.

Now that you’re standing in better lighting, you can see Bakugou’s face clearly. He looked bad before, but he looks worse now. There wasn’t just one bruise on his face, there was multiple- his jaw colored burgundy and his nose and lip split open. There was no blood, but there wasn’t a lot of scabbing either. It was new. These injuries were new.

You think back to that first visit- when he told you he never really got hurt. You wonder what’s been going so wrong for him lately. It seemed like all he’d done since you’d met him was get hurt.

“Stop fuckin’ staring.”

“I-I’m not. Not like that.” You say. “I’m assessing. You’re gonna need a butterfly bandage, on your nose- skin moves too much. And a cold compress for your jaw. Maybe some disinfectant on your lip. Probably should get your knuckles wrapped too and-”

“Jesus, I fuckin’ get it.”

You roll your eyes, ready to retort, but then the elevator dings. You walk out into the hallway, Bakugou trailing behind you like a shadow. It’s not until you’re at your door, twisting your key into the lock, that you pause.

You’re about to enter your apartment, with Bakugou of all people. A guy you’re not even sure can tolerate you. And yet you’re doing it- because he needs help. Because he looks like walking death and you’ve got a first aid kit under your bathroom sink. Because he’s pretty much proved himself to be an irredeemable asshole, but yet you still can’t bring yourself to leave him out in the cold.

Because you’re an empath, and that, by default, makes you an idiot.

You turn the key. Bakugou, to his credit, looks a little uneasy, but then you’re waving him through the door, and pushing it shut behind him.

“So, you wait here.” You gesture towards your couch, moving aside a few pillows to make him room to sit. “I’m gonna go get all that stuff I talked about.”

“So, what, you’re just like playing fuckin’ nice nurse again, now?”

“Bakugou. No attitude please- I am nice, okay? All the time. Or, at least when others are nice to me.” You say, levelling him with an unimpressed look. “And even if they’re not, I still don’t like seeing them hurt. Not if I can do something about it.”

“I don’t want your fuckin’ help.”

“No, but you need it. And since you’re too stubborn to ask for it, I’m just gonna have to force it on you.”

“Do you even fuckin’ hear yourself?” Bakugou prickles, voice rising. “Acting like a goddamn savior. Like you’re so fuckin’ good and holy. It’s bullshit.”

“It’s not.” You say flatly. Then you’re pivoting on your heels, leaving him behind and you grab the first aid kit. You open the bathroom door, calling over your shoulder. “And if you have such a problem with it, then leave. Nobody is keeping you here.”

You hear Bakugou swear again, so angry and seething that you almost believe he’ll take you up on your offer; but then you hear footsteps across the floor, the creaking of your couch.

You reach under your sink, pulling out the kit and a few extra rags for a compress. When you look in the mirror there’s exhaustion lacing your features, your eyes worn and dark with bags. The sight makes a part of you want to forget it all- makes you want to surrender to the ache in your bones and tell him to leave; but that’s just a small part. The larger part is telling you that you’re not spent until you’re unconscious, and that right now, Bakugou looks a whole lot worse than you feel. It’s telling you to hurry up and help him and you agree.

When you walk back out, supplies in hand, Bakugou’s slumped on your couch. He’s got his head tilted over the back, one hand resting on his stomach and the other thrown over his eyes. He shifts at the sound of your approach, dropping his hand and as blinks blearily. You think his eyes look a little duller than before- less like raging wildfire and more like smothered embers. If you didn’t know any better it would look like begruding acceptance- but this was Bakugou, and you knew better.

“So,” You start, setting all of your things down on the couch next to him. “You wanna go to sleep now? Or wait until after I fix up pretty much the entirety of your face?”

He looks at you unsurely, eyebrows creasing.

“Wait, actually- how are you planning to get home?” You continue, hands on your hips. “Where do you even live? Around here? Close? Because you were out in like, 10 minutes, maybe, the last time I touched you, so it’s gotta be close. You live close right? Because-”

“God, cool it with the fuckin’ word vomit. Shit’s annoying. Shut up.” He grumbles. “I’m sleeping here.”

“Who decided? You?”

“Yeah. Obviously.”

“Bakugou.” You balk, striding closer to the back of your couch. You lean over him, forcing him meet your eyes. “This is what I’m talking about! With the learning to play nice thing! I would’ve let you stay here, I would’ve, had you asked. You can’t just bulldoze your way into my house and refuse to leave!”

“Yeah? ‘n just what the fuck are you gonna do about it if I do?” He scoffs, curling his lip as he snarls. “Nothing. Because you’re so fuckin’ nice, right?”

“Don’t say it like that. It’s not a bad trait and I won’t have you insulting it. I’m not embarrassed of who I am.” You try to work through your frustration, centering yourself with a deep breath. “Look, bottom line is, ask next time. Or I’m not helping you until you do.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

You try to shrug off his petulant response, taking another calming breath as you shuck off your gloves. You replace them with latex ones from the kit, pulling the material over your fingers as you grab the antiseptic wipes. You decide to start around the cut on his nose. It’s the largest and widest, spanning over the entirety of his bridge and into his right cheek. It’s a nasty thing, deep and red, all exposed nerves beneath a thin scab and you can tell it hurts him. Bakugou fights to keep from wincing, eyes scrunching slightly as you wipe the remnants of dirt and oil from his skin.

“This from another villan?” You ask calmly, finding an easy peace in performing familiar tasks. “One today?”

“Cuts are from today. Bruises were yesterday.”

Blinking down at him, you’re a little surprised by how easy his answer was. You expected him to fight, to be difficult just because he could, but Bakugou wasn’t doing that. He was lying relatively and still and sated under your fingertips, the only sign of any tension are his minutely pinched eyebrows. Briefly, you check your gloves- for a moment there you were sure you’d accidentally touched him.

“Oh. Okay.” You reply, taking a small butterfly bandage from your kit. You press it over the cut with gentle pressure. “How’s the other guy look?”

“Fuckin’ terrible. Beat ‘em to hell.”

“I’m sure you did.” You snort, moving on to clean the cut on his lip. “Hey, you wanna know something?”

Bakugou peeks a red eye open, studying your face above him. He nods.

“I actually end up treating a lot of your victims, you know.”

“Criminals. Not victims.”

“Mhm. Sure. Well, either way, they’re always covered in burns. Mostly minor, but sometimes pretty nasty ones.” You try to keep your voice light, even and steady as you dab at his lip. “Honestly, at this point, I’m pretty sure you’re entirely responsible for the hospital’s chronic burn-cream shortage.”

Bakugou does seem to smile at that, exhaling through his nose as his eyes flutter briefly. “Wouldn’t be fuckin’ short if people just stopped tryin’ to pull stupid shit all the time. ‘s not my fault they’re so fuckin’ bad at running away.”

“Bakugou.” You balk, unable to keep the laugh from bubbling out your lips. “You can’t say that!’

“Why the fuck not? Hah? It’s true.”

“Because! You’re supposed to be playing nice, remember?”

“Yeah. To you.” He mumbles, voice rough and raspy. “Because you fuckin’ schemed your way into forcing me. They didn’t.”

“Okay- First, I’m like, pretty sure schemed and forced are the same thing, so we definitely don’t need to say them both. It’s just overkill. Second, that’s a borderline insult, so I’m gonna need you to watch your mouth. And third,” You cradle his jaw in your fingers, turning it to the side. “How the hell did you manage to get a bruise behind your ear?”

“I don’t know- probably the same way you somehow managed to become a nurse; even with such shitty fuckin’ bedside manner. You suck, leech.”

Your jaw drops.

“Bakugou!”

He cracks his eyes open, something small and pleased settling at the corner of his mouth. There’s almost as much venom in his voice as before but his eyes are softer now. They’re kinder, crinkling just slightly at the edges.

He’s joking. You realize. He doesn’t actually mean it. Not this time.

“You dick.” You reprimand, flicking his hairline lightly. “You absolute dick.”

His eyes just seem to grow a little brighter at that, just for a second, and then he’s shutting them again. There’s still a smirk on his face though- one you’d swear you’d slap off if he wasn’t actually being somewhat pleasant right now. For once in his life, it seemed.

“Alright,” You announce, rounding the couch quickly. “Your knuckles look just as bad so give ‘em.”

“No thanks.”

“It wasn’t really a suggestion.”

“I don’t need anymore of your pity help, leech.”

“It’s not pity. Not even a little bit.” You sigh. “Look, I know you’re not gonna understand this, but I seriously cannot chill the hell out without at least trying to take care of people. My quirk makes my fingers literally itch when I see injuries. They itch and they don’t stop itching until I do something about it. Helping people, healing people, is hard-wired into me- it’s as much something I do for me as it is something I do for others.”

Bakugou’s eyes widen at that. He sits a little straighter, fists clenching as he presses them into the cushions. A few beats pass and then he’s grumbling, throwing himself back as he thrusts both of his injured knuckles forward.

“God, you’re so fucking irritating.” He gripes. “If you’re gonna be such a weirdo about it, then get the hell to it already.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead kneeling next to your coffee table and settling on the ground. You take his hands in yours, bending all his fingers to make sure nothing is broken. When nothing is, you look up at Bakugou, planning to tell him the good news, but he’s already looking at you. Your eyes meet, and he blinks, once, twice, before averting his eyes quickly. You think that maybe he blushes too, but he turns his head so sharply you’re almost convinced you imagined it.

You just try to shrug it off, focusing your attention back on his hands. You notice how warm they are again, nearly feverish and strangely unblemished. When you start rubbing bruise cream over knuckles, kneading the joints between your fingers, Bakugou sighs slumps back into the couch. He closes his eyes once more.

“Are you falling asleep?”

“No. Can’t. Fuckin’ told ya already.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me why.” You set his hands back on the couch, moving instead to unravel a bandage. “Not that I won’t help you, but have you tried any other remedies? Melatonin? Or lavender? Maybe chamomile? Any of those?”

“Mhm. Falling asleep isn’t the problem.”

“Then what is?”

He opens his eyes, squinting at you from above. “None of your fuckin’ business.”

“Bakugou, I’m trying to help here.”

“I don’t want-”

“Yeah. I know. You don’t want it. Or you don’t want to rely on it. I get it. But you wouldn’t have even came here if you didn’t absolutely need it, right?” You insist, grabbing his hands into yours again. “God, you know, I’ve had toddlers who were more cooperative than you. Why’re you so difficult?”

“I’m not fuckin’ difficult.”

“No. You’re difficult. Very difficult.”

“And you’re fuckin’ annoying. Do me a favor and go back to being nice.”

“Nope. Sorry. Pretty sure you didn’t like me then either.” You start wrapping the bandage around his knuckles, taking extra care to apply the right pressure. “And I was only nice to you because I was working, you know. I’m only actually nice to the people who deserve it.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes at that.

You finish wrapping the bandage, securing it into place with a bit of medical adhesive. All things considered, Bakugou looks better than before. Or at least, better than the death incarnate he’d been portraying himself as.

“All done.” You smile, turning away to start packing up your supplies.

“Finally. Took ya fuckin’ long enough.”

“God, you are literally devoid of manners, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. ‘s part of not bein’ an absolute bitch.”

You gawk, spinning around to face him. Bakugou’s relaxed into your couch, arms laid across the back leisurely as he smiles. There’s that same softness to his eyes from before, the crinkling just at the edges.

“Wow.” You scoff, smiling sarcastically. “You really think you’re so funny don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Yeah. Because you’re fuckin’ brainless.”

“Brainless? Me? Swear to god, you only know, like, three words and all of them are probably swears!”

Bakugou just shrugs, looking abnormally pleased. Content even. You figure that’s probably right for someone like him- only happy when everyone around him is devolving into chaos.

“Actually, you know what, I think I’m done yelling for the night.” You say, shucking your gloves off. You wiggle your fingers at him, a smirk plastered across your face. “I think it’s time you’re euthanized, don’t you?”

Bakugou just blinks, minutely shrinking away from you.

“Because you said you wanted me to put you to sleep, right? To put you down. Like a dog.” You continue, nearing him, coming close even as his lip curls up. Bakugou is glaring fully now, fists clenched, and you stop just a few inches out of his reach. “Or, you know, in ruder terms- not a dog, but a bitch.”

Bakugou snarls, lunging at you as you duck away. He’s fast but you’re faster, vaulting behind your couch to create some distance. There’s fire in his eyes, blazing and hot in his irises, but it isn’t scary. If you look close enough, you’re almost sure it’s just warmth. That same rare amusement from earlier.

“You leech. Swear to fuck I’ll make you regret that. Say your goddamn prayers!”

“Touch me and you’ll fall asleep!” You tease. “Or I’ll use my quirk and see into your brain. So I guess it’s more of a ‘pick your poison’ for you, really.”

“It’ll be the same for you.” Bakugou growls, hands grasping the back of the couch as he leans in towards you. “Open casket or closed, it’s still gonna be your fuckin’ funeral.”

“Really?”

“Really. Leech.”

“No thanks.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘no thanks’,” Bakugou mimics your voice, his features twisting. “I’m killing you. You’re dead. You don’t get a choice.”

“No, I really think I do.”

“And just what the fuck makes you so goddamn confident?”

“This. You not attacking me.” You smile easily, voice daring as you stare right back at him. “If you really wanted me dead, I’d be dead. Isn’t that right, Dynamite?”

The name sends Bakugou recoiling, shrinking backwards and scoffing in outright shock. You watch him stumble, legs hitting your coffee table and nearly causing him to fold. He recovers quickly though, albeit with his cheeks flushing wildly.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Nah. Thanks for the offer though.” You smile brightly, before throwing your arms above your head and yawning widely. “As fun as that was, I’m pretty tired. You ready to fall asleep, yet?”

“Jesus fuck, yes. That’s the entire goddamn reason I’m even here. Idiot.”

“No name calling. You agreed.”

“I didn’t agree to shit.”

“You did.” You affirm. “Now, c’mon, like last time, hold your hand out.”

With surprisingly little dramatics or resistance, Bakugou listens. He thrusts one of his bandaged hands forward as he sits on the couch again. When you touch his fingers, you feel that faint warmth again. Like fire and embers coursing through your bloodstream. It’s uncomfortable, a relentless sensation that has you cringing. You briefly wonder what it would be like to always live with it. Like Bakugou seems to.

His eyes flutter shut just like last time, and you can see the way he staggers. It’s like the fight leaves him entirely, and then he’s falling boneless into the couch. You can hardly place a pillow onto the cushions before he’s driving his head into it.

“Jesus,” You mutter in disbelief. “How long has it been since you slept? You look dead.”

“Weeks.” Bakugou mumbles.

“Since the last time?”

“Mhm.”

If his words alone didn’t confirm the severity of his sleeplessness for you, his response time did. Bakugou answered quickly, without fight, like he’d been wanting to spill for the entire night. And, you suppose, maybe he did; or was trying to. In hindsight, you begin to realize a lot of his screaming could just as easily have read as cries for help- not that you’d ever tell him that. You’d probably have to prepare a will if you ever tried telling him that.

“You want a blanket?” You ask a little unsurely, not exactly confident in your approach to this entirely different Bakugou. “All you’re getting is the couch, but I could probably scrounge up a few blankets.”

Bakugou doesn’t respond. All you hear in response are tiny little snores and slow breathing.

You find it reminds you of the last time- the way you’re reaching into a cupboard and grabbing out a blanket for him. Except this time, it’s a little bit different. Somehow you’re settling the blanket over him with a little bit of genuine kindness instead of begrudging sympathy.

After all, you can’t help but feel a little bit of pity- no one would ever fall asleep that fast unless they really needed it. Especially not in a stranger’s house.

--/--

enjoy my lovelies :))

taglist: @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness @waffleareniceandfluffy @monempathieetmoi @koiwoshinai

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #bakugo #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou fic #bakugou series #bnha fic #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #mha fic #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x y/n

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drgrlfriend · 2 years

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#3 and #13 for the writer ask game!

3. What’s a fic idea that you have but haven’t written yet?

I have a few Winterhawk ideas that have been percolating. One is a fic heavily inspired by the song "Creep." It's Bucky back at the Tower in the immediate post-CA:TWS period, just kind of lurking around and watching all the Avengers. He sees Clint as this amazing, beautiful, strong, warm-hearted person and he's just dazzled by him. And then he comes to know the flawed Clint Barton dumpster fire we all know and love and idealized worship turns into actual love.

13. Have you ever received hate on a fic? Oh, for sure. I've gotten better about ignoring it, but I remember long ago I got in an epic flame war in my comments with someone. I can't even remember which fic or what their issue was, the only thing I remember is when I said, "You really need to be more polite in interacting with people" they said, "I'm in customer service and I've never gotten any complaints about my interactions!" and I laughed and laughed. Now at least when I get a rude comment I have people (cough, cough, *you*, cough, cough) to whom I can bitch on Discord and they sympathize and it's all better almost immediately. :-) I also have the bad habit of lurking in the bookmarks for my fic, and proving that old saying of, "You never hear anything good about yourself by eavesdropping." That said, my all time favorite bookmark is one that just said, "Long as fuck, but well-written." I'll take it.

#random #fanfiction #ask meme #author meme

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hyper-cryptic · 3 years

Note

Nick and Hancock headcanons?

YES...YEEEEES. I am so eager to talk about these two! Especially Nick since I have been talking all day about Hancock, not that I mind of course. 😳

Starting with Nick!

He really likes animals. I have no actual explanation for this, he just looks like the guy that would take in a lot of cats and then have his house infested by stray cats. Ellie loves the cats, but they GOT TO GO.

He literally forgets he has his hat on sometimes.

I feel like he would like going on strolls around DC, for no reason, just to stretch the legs or to take a smoke. It’s calming for him to go around, seeing the city working and people interact with each other. He prefers going out at night, he likes the lights. :)!

He is actually very disorganized with stuff, forgets where he leaves his files, puts files in the wrong places, sometimes doesn't even file a report...I mean, look at his agency, it's a disaster and I adore it. If it wasn't for Ellie, who at least tries to organize when Nick is out, or busy, he would be so lost.

Okay but, he likes rain right? Imagine him just going out to his roof when it's raining and just be there. Maybe he likes it because of how it feels, the bits of pressure on his skin as the raindrops fall, and maybe the calming sound.

He totally meets up with Hancock every once in a while. Just to catch up with stuff. How is the town going? How are the cases going? Mostly casual things.

He is absolutely terrified of Piper, but in the best way. He admires her determination and how brave she is, but god, he wished she slowed down sometimes.

He likes coffee a little bit too much...Tastes good!

I honestly wonder how his vision is. A part of me wants it to be something similar to the V.A.T.S or even the power armor screen, has little colors and a lot of analysis shit. Or normal, full color vision with the analysis shit on, so he can be happier. :)

He really sweet food. He doesn’t eat much, but he likes to get some treats once in a while.

He likes children. This doesn’t mean he would like to be a father though, he thinks he wouldn’t be able to give the kid the attention he needs, and bla bla, you know him. But he sure enjoys spending time with Shaun and chatting with him, or just doing whatever activity. He is just interested in the dumb things the children do, thinks it’s funny. Imagine the feeling you have when you see a cat playing with whatever? Yeah, same feeling.

Likes to play chess...and he is real good at it. Thinks it’s a really fun pastime and enjoys watching your face as he totally beats your ass at chess, that is if you're bad at it. If not, he enjoys a challenge...if you win he’d be really impressed and give you praise, if you lose he keeps his smug face and suggests to try again if you want to.

Continuing that, he is really competitive. He's good sportsmanship, don’t get me wrong but he likes to be able to keep his ego as high as he can.

Would totally accompany Daisy to the library now that is safer, they both have a love for books. He is totally into dumb, noir novellas...You literally can’t tell me I’m wrong.

Now for my self-indulgent part of the headcanons...He has ADD! Yeah, if little habits like smoking would pass down to Nick, why not this? After all, it was a brain scan, it is totally neurological and ADD being a neurological disorder, it would make sense that it passes down to him! This would also explain how unorganized he is, and I got to say it is very interesting how a synth, a literal bot made for work has traits like “forgetting his appointments very often”, plus his impulsivity and fixation with Eddie. Besides, it makes me happy that I can find a character to relate to at that level.

He really enjoys the Silver Shroud plays. Not a super fan, but definitely enjoys the show! It’s something he would be into. (I actually don’t know if this is canon I’ve never heard him say anything about Silver Shroud, but he has some voice lines about it, PLEASE TELL ME, I WANT TO HEAR ‘EM SO BADLY.) Plus, Kent refers to him as “Synth shaped Silver Shroud”, he takes the compliment!

He is a good hugger. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. He might be a good hugger, but he isn’t too sure about them anymore ‘cuz of how his body is built.

His synthetic skin is actually quite soft! Not really soft, but more than expected.

How to break him: literally place your hand on his cheek plus some eye contact and watch him melt onto it. He is pretty much touch starved at this point so any touch will make his heart skip a beat, but do that and he will be at your mercy.

He sends letters to DiMA (obviously once he meets him, accepts him as a brother and isn’t killed) every once in a while to catch up with him! Chase is the messenger. :)!

I just realized that I’ve written lots about Nick already, so! Now Hancock. :D

If he isn’t doing drugs, he’s chewing gum, well...not at that rate, but when he can get his hands on some gum he’ll have some! He really likes it! Mint is his faV. as a funny extra, he didn’t know that swallowing it is...bad, until Sosu or Nick tells him, LMAO.

He would have a pet snake if he could have one. Like really imagine it, he would love reptiles, and know all kinds of stuff about them. He probably really likes Deathclaws.

He knows how to play the guitar. No, I do not have an explanation for this, no I do not accept no for an answer.

He likes very sour or citrus foods, his taste buds are a bit fucked up thanks to radiation, so he likes the fact that the sour taste can make his buds go off the rails. And that’s why he could eat a lemon with a straight face and even enjoy it.

He also really likes coffee, not as much as Valentine but he really likes the strong taste of it! He would drink black coffee and nothing else.

Okay, okay! Last one about food! He is a texture over taste kind of guy, that’s a big reason why he doesn’t like Mirelurk, it’s slimy and weird, no matter how cooked or uncooked it is, he absolutely hates ‘lurk meat. His only exception is boba, he loves boba.

He probably goes around the house only in boxers...because. Doesn’t he give the vibes? Like he would be either shirtless or without pants on relax days or in the mornings.

Autumn is his favorite season. He just likes the orange view of it all, even tho there isn’t much of a change, he does like the chilly breezes that are very common around this season, not cold enough to be annoying but enough to be enjoyable!

He is probably warmer than a normal human because of radiation, so his hands and overall body are warm all the time! (another reason why he likes autumn and cold weather). But yeah! Cuddling and stuff like that are so much more enjoyable with him. :)

His favorite flower might be the carrot flowers there’s around in the ‘whealth. They remind him of the sun *looks at Sole*.

And! That’s all I have for now!! :D

#fallout 4 #fallout companions #nick valentine #john hancock #hyper drabbles #i love writting these they make me so happy hehehehehhee

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jeontaeil-archived · 2 years

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charlie :( this is my first time sending you an ask because i typically just lurk (i know this is terrible tumblr etiquette since authors need interactions but fkdjfkdj i'm trying to get over being shy) but i wanted to tell you that your feelings are completely valid. i've been noticing a severe lack of interactions lately, even among large blogs that you would think would get lots of interactions. it's very disheartening to see even as a reader because i know how hard writers work to put out great content. there's nothing wrong with wanting validation for your works and you deserve validation for them. writing is no easy feat and writers deserve to know that what they've written is good OR to know what they can do to improve.

and with a blog as big as yours, there's nothing wrong with sharing your feelings here. your followers deserve to know what's going on in your life and in your head and they should know if something is bothering you. i'm sorry that some people can be so nasty. it's not right. i hope you know that there are people who care about you <3 and i'll try to be better at interacting with your works <3

oh don't worry about that 🤗 sorry that this has to be the reason for our first interact 😅 wish it could have been on a happier note.

i think, one of the biggest reasons why i didn't understand what was going on, and felt like everything was so "unfair" was specifically because i was still steadily gaining followers. ig, in my head at least, more followers = frequent interactions (at least) but that wasn't happening so a part of me wondered if i should even be happy about having so many people following me 🤷‍♀️

everything you're saying about feedback on fics is 100% correct, however i'm satisfied with the feedback i've been receiving on my works. in my case that's not where the problem lies.

i do have a bad habit of bottling up my feelings and i've fucked myself over many times before because of it, but ig what i was most conscious about was the fact that i've been doing nothing but nonstop complaining and i was afraid of how people would perceive that. i thought people might think i'm fishing for sympathy or something, or as yesterday's anon assumed, have the mindset that i believe the tumblr community revolves around me.

but i'm glad that i could effectively convey my thoughts because it really did make me feel better. and i'm grateful that every single one of you were so accepting of them.

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dothwrites · 4 years

Text

part vi of mafia!au

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v

COMPLETE

---

Recovery is slow and excruciating.

Castiel’s body has never rebelled against him to this extent. His muscles refuse to do their damn jobs and function. He’s relegated to his bed for days on end, while being forced to endure Sam Winchester’s lurking and Gabriel’s overly effusive attempts to cheer him.

All of those would be fine, except that he hasn’t seen the house’s other occupant, Dean Winchester, except in short glimpses, as though Dean is the rarest of all animals, only seen from a distance.

Which is fucking bullshit, because he can hear Dean’s voice, echoing through the tiny confines of the house, after Dean thinks he’s asleep. Clearly, it’s not the concept of social interaction which Dean finds daunting, but rather, the concept of social interaction with him.

It’s infuriating.

It wouldn’t be as bad if he thought Dean’s avoidance was due to hatred or indifference. But even though he’d been fairly hazy that first morning, he’d seen how Dean’s whole face brightened, he’d felt the hard clutch of Dean’s fingers in his. The look on Dean’s face...Castiel doesn’t want to put a name to it, doesn’t dare try to define it, but he knows for sure that it wasn’t hatred or apathy.

Which means Dean is staying away from him for some other reason and that...

That’s bullshit.

So Castiel does what he’s been doing his entire life and pushes everything aside in favor of a single minded pursuit. This time, he pours all of himself into the mission to get his fucking body to do what it’s supposed to do. He starts with minuscule goals, such as getting out of bed and pacing around his room, but it’s still too much for some.

“Are you sure you should be doing that?” Gabriel asks, a little sourly, as he stands in the doorway of Castiel’s bedroom.

“Are you sure you should be poking your nose into my business?” Castiel asks back. For all that Gabriel is the elder sibling, they’ve never been under any delusions as to who was actually suited for this business. Gabriel is too flighty, too interested in frivolous pursuits and the mundane workings of everyday life. It was always Castiel who could sink his teeth into a problem, who could take it apart, hold the bloody pieces in his hands, and see how they could be sewn back together into a new animal.

“Whatever,” Gabriel concedes, putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “On your own head be it.”

Castiel sneers after Gabriel as he turns to leave. He’s just in time for Dean to poke his head out of his room. It would be comical, if it weren’t so infuriating, to see how quickly Dean’s eyes bulge and his face reddens. Castiel is afforded one swift glimpse before Dean retreats into the safety of his room, slamming the door closed behind him.

Castiel rolls his eyes and starts another circuit around the room.

---

His body might be stubborn but Castiel continues on his conquest of it. Soon, he’s walking laps around the house, followed by short jogs around the property. The safehouse is far enough in the country that, as long as he’s careful, he can exercise outside without garnering too much attention.

The Winchesters and Gabriel watch him with varying degrees of concern.

“I already told you, I’m fine,” Castiel grunts, massaging at his sore calves after a midnight run. “Besides, we can’t afford to stay here forever.”

Judging from the shifty look on Gabriel’s face, this is not the first time someone has mentioned this fact. He also notes that his brother proposes no solution, which means that no one has either managed or bothered to come up with one. Typical.

Castiel’s impatience and ire increases when he considers the reason they haven’t yet moved on. They’re waiting for him to recover, which is an unconscionable burden on his mind. Every minute they spend in this house, waiting for him to get his shit together, is another minute he’s putting them all in danger.

Gabriel lingers in the doorway, saying nothing, yet watching Castiel with an intensity usually only reserved for cupcakes and candy. After a few moments it starts to grate on Castiel’s nerves, yet he waits until he’s fully done with his post-run routine to speak. “Something else you needed?”

“When are you going to talk about it?” Gabriel asks, much too kindly for Castiel’s liking.

“Talk about what? What do to next? I’d love to do that, if it were possible to get you, Sam, and Dean in the same room for longer than five minutes.”

“When are you going to talk about Naomi?”

Castiel’s blood freezes.

“I might be an idiot, but I know enough. I know who Dad’s attack dogs are, and I know how they work.” Gabriel swallows, unwontedly serious. “I saw the marks, Cassie.”

Castiel’s hand makes an aborted jerk to the crook of his elbow where the scars are still livid against his skin. He catches the movement before it has a chance to amount to anything and forces his hand back down to his side. He can still feel the phantom ache of needles pushing into his skin, still remember how it felt when the road forked and reality went one way while his brain went another.

He hasn’t told anyone, but sometimes, he’ll catch movement out of the corner of his eye, turn, and find nothing there. He tries to tell himself that this happens to everyone, that he’s fine, that he’s normal, but there’s always the insidious creeping fear down his spine--What if he’s losing it? What if Naomi fucked him up permanently?

What if he’s never the same?

If he doesn’t have his mind, if he doesn’t have his body, then he’s useless. He can’t protect anyone. He has nothing to offer.

“I’m fine,” Castiel croaks, once he realizes Gabriel is still waiting for an answer.

One eyebrow ticks upwards. “Yeah, once more until I actually believe you.”

“I already said that I’m fine. I don’t know what else you want.”

Gabriel throws his arm wide. “For you to stop trying to run yourself into the ground? For you to stay in a room longer than ten minutes? For you to acknowledge that you maybe have an actual problem?”

Castiel sniffs, retreating into haughtiness to hide his hurt and anxiety. “Well, I’m sorry if I choose to concentrate on more important things, like trying to get well enough to protect us all.”

Gabriel gapes at him. “To protect...” He looks over his shoulder, like he expects to find the Winchesters supporting him. Upon finding no one there, he turns back to Castiel. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Dean and I are fairly good at what we do. Even the stringbean can hit the broad side of a barn. We’re fine.”

The deliberate inflection of his voice suggests that Castiel is somehow not lumped into the general category of ‘fine’.

“Fuck off,” Castiel growls, as a more appropriate comeback fails to materialize. He storms past his brother, hitting him in the shoulder as he makes his way to the bathroom. Gabriel doesn’t try to stop him, but Castiel knows he’s still watching.

Some of his righteous rage is lost when he looks down the length of the hallway and finds Dean standing at the opposite end. He spares a single, startled look at Castiel before he scampers back towards the living room. Castiel’s temper worsens at the sight of Dean’s retreating back.

Dean is a confirmed killer, a man who’s known the feel of a gun in his hand since he could walk. He’s seen Dean in action and admired his skills and ruthlessness. Now he’s watching the same man running scared. Castiel can’t think of anything more pathetic or more frustrating.

Now in a profoundly foul mood, Castiel slams the bathroom door shut. The sound echoes through the house. He twists the knob of the creaky shower, turning the heat all the way up so that steam billows throughout the room. He steps underneath the spray, ignoring the tendrils of pain licking across his body, his tender, scarred skin protesting the rough treatment.

He pushes away the ever present nip of worry (what if Gabriel’s right, what if he’s weak, what if he’s broken beyond repair) and scrubs at his skin until tiny pinpricks of blood well up, and then he scrubs some more.

---

Matters come to a head a few days later.

No longer content with pushing his body through runs, Castiel’s taken to shadow boxing in the house’s basement. He dances around the dank, mildewy space in his bare feet, tossing punches and kicks at imaginary enemies. His muscles scream at the exercise and threaten to collapse and tear, but he pushes on anyway.

His thoughts are spiraling ever downward, dovetailing with his exhaustion. Castiel’s so lost within their grip that the opening of the basement door escapes his attention. Even the weary creak of the step doesn’t catch his attention. He’s formed bad habits in his convalescence. In his world, such laziness gets people killed.

When he catches sight of Dean standing at the foot of the stairs, he jumps in surprise. Embarrassment flushes his cheeks red, and he hides his shame with snippiness. “Did you need something?”

Castiel paces around the basement, grabbing a bottle of water, just to give his hands something to do. He tries to unscrew the top but gives up after two tries. He doesn’t want Dean to see how badly his hands are trembling.

“You know that we’ve got your back, right?” Dean finally says. Castiel stops pacing. He wasn’t expecting that.

Despite his surprise, he recovers quickly. “Coming from a Winchester, that isn’t exactly inspiring,” he sneers.

Dean doesn’t try to hide his flinch. Castiel feels an irrational stab of guilt at that. “I just thought you should hear it from someone who wasn’t your brother,” he says, already turning to go back up the stairs. “But you have all three of us. Him, Sam.” Dean pauses for a second. “Me.” He continues on quickly, like he wants Castiel to forget about the slight emphasis he put on himself. “Anyway, you don’t have to do this every day. Take a day off before you kill yourself.”

Castiel’s upper lip lifts reflexively. So, Dean’s joined forces with Gabriel. Next, he supposes Sam Winchester will find him and urge him to talk about it, you’ll feel better if you get it all out in the open.

“Stay,” he says, brain running ahead of his common sense. Dean pauses, his foot already on the step. “It’s no good shadow boxing. I need a partner.”

Dean wants to argue. Castiel can tell by his hesitation, the twitch of his fingers, the way he closes his mouth on whatever he was going to say. Castiel waits, head cocked to the side. He doesn’t quite smile in victory when Dean makes his decision, but he must give off the impression of it, as Dean’s expression darkens.

“You know this isn’t doing you any good,” Dean says, as he sheds his flannel overshirt. The fabric has barely hit the floor before Castiel is on him, swinging at his head in a wild, haymaker punch. Dean blocks him easily, but the suddenness of the attack surprises him, as he lurches backward.

“What the hell?” he spits, a mixture of fury and worry spread across his face.

Castiel dances back, shifting his weight between the balls of his feet. His fists are held up close to his jaw, elbows tucked in close to his sides to protect his ribs. Within seconds, Dean copies his movements, but with slight differences. Castiel keeps himself contained, taut, muscles coiled in a defensive posture. Dean is looser, his left hand lazily extended, though Castiel doesn’t fall for the trap. That left hand can just as easily block blows as it can land a stinging jab.

When it comes to Dean Winchester, there are dozens of traps, and Castiel seems to have fallen into all of them.

They spend several long minutes circling each other, exchanging tentative jabs in a dance of blocks and dodges. They learn what blows the other considers threatening and what the other will shake off.

Castiel changes the tempo when he aims a low kick at Dean’s hip. Dean twists out of the way, but when he turns back to Castiel, something in his face has changed. His eyes have hardened, his fingers curled purposefully into his palm. Castiel understands. Dean was just passing the time earlier, indulging his whimsy. For whatever reason, now he’s made up his mind to act.

“You need to take it easy,” Dean tells him. He moves easily into Castiel’s space, each motion screaming aggression. He bats away Castiel’s jab; Castiel blocks Dean’s punch. They fall apart, sharp eyes raking over the other in a search for weaknesses.

“You need to mind your own business,” Castiel replies. He has to concentrate on speaking; already he’s a little short of breath, though he’d rather chew off his own fingernails rather than admit that to Dean. “What I do is none of your concern.”

Dean falters at that. His defenses lower, which allows Castiel to dart in, landing several snap punches to Dean’s ribs before Dean regains himself and forces him back. Something dangerous flashes in the depths of Dean’s eyes, and a vicious satisfaction rises in Castiel’s chest. This is what he wanted, this is the Dean Winchester that he--

The thought hits him, unbidden and unwelcome, and Castiel freezes. His inattention gives Dean the opening he needs. Where Castiel fights with precision and accuracy, Dean favors overwhelming force. It’s a strategy which works well for him and he uses it to devastating effect, foregoing fancy footwork and devious punches for a simple, unavoidable attack. Dean puts his head down and charges, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist in an attempt to throw him to the ground.

It’s a perfect storm: His muscles, still not where they were before, falter. His balance, another casualty of Naomi’s untender mercies, isn’t enough to save him from catching his heel against an irregularity on the cheap mat he’s laid out. Dean is a hurricane, a typhoon, and underneath his onslaught, Castiel tumbles backward.

Castiel’s back hits the ground, hard enough to knock the breath out of him. His head slams into the ground, and his vision spins for several, vital seconds. By the time he regains his equilibrium, Dean is already atop him, knees clamping in hard against his ribs. One of Dean’s hands wraps around his throat, fingers flexing in warning.

“Enough,” Dean says tightly. “Whatever you’re trying to prove, enough. We get it, all right? You’re a big badass who doesn’t need anyone. We get it.”

If he weren’t staring so closely at Dean’s face, then Castiel would miss his quick flash of emotion. As it is, it’s there and gone before he has a chance to really examine it, but for the moment, it’s enough to know that it exists.

Castiel slumps back onto the floor, allowing his exhausted muscles a moment’s respite. Dean, ever cautious, doesn’t relent. Smart man. Ruthless. Focused. He’s a killer, Dean Winchester, and whatever is broken in Castiel’s brain is drawn to that part of him, just as much as it’s drawn to the well-hidden, softer aspects of him, like his obvious affection for his brother and his insistence on protecting civilians.

But for all of his admirable qualities, Dean Winchester is still just a man. Castiel tips his head back, baring the vulnerable stretch of his throat to Dean’s gaze. It’s a deliberately submissive gesture, one designed to draw the eyes. He feels the exact moment Dean loosens his grip, distracted, and it’s that moment that Castiel acts.

He bucks his hips up in a single, sharp motion, while striking out at Dean’s elbow. With his support gone, Dean buckles. While there are countless activities which Castiel could imagine partaking in with Dean slumped overtop him, he’s not interested in any of them. Instead, he uses Dean’s momentum against him, rolling them until their positions are neatly reversed.

Dean snarls and curses, but Castiel has him pinned, much more securely than Dean did him. His knees presses down on Dean’s right wrist, immobilizing his strongest arm. Castiel leans forward. With his superior position, he doesn’t need to hold back his panting, doesn’t need to feel ashamed for the several beads of sweat which slip down from his forehead to the tip of his nose, to fall upon Dean’s throat.

“I don’t need your permission to do anything,” Castiel says, once he thinks he can speak without wheezing through a sentence. “I’m not weak, I’m not broken, I’m not whatever else you three think I am. I’m fine.” Before he can stop himself, the words come tumbling out, the ones which he’d meant to keep close to his chest. “So you can stop running from me, or whatever it is that you’ve been doing. I’m fine.”

Emotion twists across Dean’s face again, and this time, Castiel is in a position to examine it. Surprisingly, when he’s forced to put a name to it, the definition he comes up with is guilt. He tilts his head to the side in confusion, only realizing after he sits back on Dean’s stomach that he’s left himself vulnerable to an attack.

Dean doesn’t take the opening. He lays passively underneath Castiel and doesn’t try to squirm away, doesn’t push him away, doesn’t do anything. If Castiel had to guess, then he would say that Dean enjoys being there. Or at least, he would if he could get that awful, hangdog look off his face.

“What is it?” he asks. There’s something there, writhing underneath the surface of Dean’s expression, something that probably shouldn’t see the surface but it has to.

Dean turns his head away. It’s a childish move, one that irritates Castiel, as it’s an extension of what Dean’s been doing for days. He’s avoiding Castiel, running from him, which is infuriating. Dean Winchester is many things, but a coward, he is not.

“Answer me.” He takes Dean’s jaw in his hand and forces Dean to meet his eyes. He stares at Dean, the same stare guaranteed to make hardened criminals think twice and civilians piss their pants.

It makes Dean blink, but it’s enough. That blink starts an avalanche, and eventually, Dean’s whole face crumples. He blinks, hard and fast, green flickering in and out of existence.

“It was my fault.” Dean’s voice comes out as a tortured whisper. Castiel holds Dean’s jaw prisoner between his fingers, now allowing Dean to turn away. At first, Dean jerks against the restricting hold, but once the first wall crumbles, all the rest fall quickly, and Dean stares him down.

“What was your fault?” Castiel asks, when no more information is forthcoming.

For a moment, he thinks Dean will pull away, but Dean surprises him. It’s obvious that he’s struggling with his admission, but it comes. Haltingly, in little fits, but it comes.

“If it hadn’t been for me...Fuck, Cas, are you going to make me say it? If it weren’t for me, then you would be fine. You’d be with your family, head of the family, and you’d be...” Dean forces a swallow. His eyes perform a swift sweep of Castiel’s figure, down to his chest, where the scars still linger.

“It fucking killed me to see you like that.” Dean’s hand rises and Castiel doesn’t move to stop him, not even when Dean’s fingers sneak underneath the hem of his shirt to stroke against his skin. His breath catches as Dean’s calloused fingertips catch against the scabbed edges of his wounds. Every instinct screams for him to move, to run, to flee, but he forces his muscles to inaction and allows Dean to explore him through touch. “God, Cas...You were...”

Dean looks up at him. His expression is naked and raw. Castiel feels exposed just witnessing it. “You’re a fucking force of nature,” Dean whispers, pressing his palm flat against the quivering skin of his belly. “You’re a goddamn hurricane, and...”

When he stares at Dean, Castiel sees an unfathomable, looming wave rising in his eyes, the same wave which he feels swelling in his own chest. He leans forward, and Dean’s hand slides from his stomach to his back. The skin there is marred as well, and he gasps softly as Dean’s thumb strokes over a particularly deep wound.

“It was my choice,” Castiel whispers. He’s hovering low over Dean, their chests almost brushing. He’s close enough that if he wanted, he could count the freckles dotted across the bridge of Dean’s nose. Dean blinks. From his vantage point, Castiel can appreciate the thick curtain of golden lashes fanning across his cheek.

“I made the call, not you. I knew what had to be done, and I did it. You think I could have been happy there, knowing you were dead? That I’d had a chance to stop it and did nothing? Every second was worth it because that was another second you were safe. I made the choice, and I’d make it again, in a heartbeat. Don’t take that from me.”

“Goddammit, Cas,” Dean breathes. His hand is heavy against Castiel’s spine, but for once, Castiel doesn’t bristle at the restraint. “I’m not worth that.”

Castiel’s mouth is not made for smiling. In fact, sometimes he thinks he’s forgotten the knack of it. But around Dean, his face moves easier. An actual smile, not the sarcastic, threatening expression he usually plasters on his face when he feels like intimidating someone, tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Lucky for both of us, you don’t get to make the decisions,” Castiel whispers.

He’s not sure which of them moves first. Either way, the end result is the same. His lips crash into Dean’s and Dean receives him with a low moan of delight, his mouth opening automatically. Castiel cards his fingers through Dean’s short hair, tugging at the strands as he maps out the interior of Dean’s mouth.

The first time he kissed Dean, he’d been selfish. He’d been standing on the edge of his darkest moment, and he’d wanted something golden to take with him, something to hold through the horror. The second time he kissed Dean, he’d been half out of his mind, clinging to the barest hint of reality. He hadn’t even realized Dean was kissing him until it was over.

This time...

The third time he kisses Dean, Castiel takes his time.

---

The atmosphere in the house relaxes.

Castiel stops pushing himself quite so much, and his muscles, glad for the reprieve, begin working as they should. Day by day, his strength increases, and Castiel takes full advantage of this.

Dean enjoys being pinned and Castiel aims to please.

The four of them hold contests--who is the quickest draw, who’s the best shot, who has the best accuracy with knives. Sam Winchester, it turns out, is a damn good shot, especially when Castiel considers his youth.

The four of them work well together. Their personalities clash, sometimes terribly, but they also complement each other, pragmatism warring with emotion, brawn matching brains. Castiel laughs as he looks around the room, realizing that, for possibly the first time in his life, he’s comfortable. Amazing, that he can relax in a room with two Winchesters, but there it is. He trusts Sam and Dean, more than any member of his family, to watch his back.

(No doubt Dean would throw in an off-color comment about being all too happy to watch Castiel’s back, but he chooses to ignore Dean’s rather childish sense of humor.)

The question naturally arises, as to their next move.

“The smartest thing to do would be to split up.” It’s Castiel who says it, because it’s always Castiel who retreats to the fortress of cold logic. Three pairs of betrayed eyes stare him down. Castiel returns the stare. “It makes the most sense. There’s four of us; if we all split up, we’d stand a better chance of escaping. We could start over. Be whoever we wanted to be.”

(Gabriel’s been fighting against the Novak name since he was old enough to know there was something to fight against. Sam Winchester has never wanted the mantle of the Winchester family; he’s dreamed of something else, something altruistic, far away from the dark cloud of John Winchester. Dean...All Dean knows is duty to his father, but Castiel already knows that he’d follow Sam wherever he went. And Castiel...well...He can always try to take back the Novak family. No doubt he’ll fail, but he’s a weapon, a hammer. He doesn’t know how to be anything else.)

“Fuck that,” Dean says, crude and succinct as always. “Your splitting up plan, not your be whoever we want to be plan.”

Dean leans forward. His eyes lock onto Castiel’s. It’s as though they’re the only two people in the room. “Look at us. We wouldn’t have gotten you out if we hadn’t worked together. You wouldn’t have been able to get me out if we hadn’t worked together. You, me, Gabriel, Sam...we’re just better together.”

Dean’s words touch something vulnerable in his chest, something Castiel has never bothered to acknowledge. What else was there for him, other than a life of violence? There was no room in the Novak family for love, no room for freedom.

Dean makes him dream it’s possible.

“They’ll look for us,” Castiel says, in a last ditch attempt at realism. “Not only the Novaks. The Winchesters too. They won’t like the idea that people are capable of defying them.”

“So let them come.” It’s Sam’s voice, ringing clear from the table. He might have come to this house as a child, but he’s matured in the time since he’s been here. Castiel trusts him just as much as anyone else sitting at the table. “Dean’s right. If there’s four of us, then we stand a better shot. We’ll watch each other’s back.”

“Careful there, Samsquatch,” Gabriel hums, his eyes dancing over the rim of his glass. “Your back is a little big to watch.”

Sam shoots Gabriel a disparaging look and Castiel has to struggle to bite back his laugh. How could he dream of giving this up? These people are his friends, his...

His family.

“So we go. We’ll go somewhere new, make our own destinies. Team Free Will.” Dean takes a drink from his glass.

“Nifty title, but I think you’re leaving a few steps out,” Gabriel says. “I’m all in favor of Team Free Will, but exactly how are we going to make our way in the world?”

Gabriel’s eyes cut to Castiel. It’s Castiel who always has the answer, Castiel whose brutal logic always comes rushing forth at times like these.

And this is the time for logic. Both the Novaks and the Winchesters have considerable financial resources, and they’ll stop at nothing to regain their lost sense of pride. If they’re found, then the best they can hope for is a quick death. Castiel might have tucked the majority of his finances away, but his funds won’t stretch nearly as far or as long as he’ll need them to. They’ll have to get jobs. Or else...

Maybe they could move to a different city and start their own family. Maybe, one day, they could come back here and take back what’s rightfully theirs.

Castiel glances over at Dean. They could run this town. They could have it all.

“I don’t know,” Castiel finally answers, ostensibly answering Gabriel, but never looking away from Dean.

“I guess we’ll make it up as we go.”

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #deancas #deancas fic #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #gabriel #mafia!au #part vi of vi #finally done #complete #dothwrites

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turtletimewriting · 3 years

Text

The First Steps Into the Adventure (Patton partners with Janus)

Summary: well it would be no good telling you what happened!

Note: AAH! Okay, I can’t really believe how many people interacted with this! Thanks! Right, so this is still basic introduction stuff, I’ll admit. This is a bit clunky but I want to give as many chances for this to be interactive as possible.

The decision will be presented at the end!

Once again, this is inspired by fluffomatic’s tickle forest idea!

Previous Part!

_._._

Patton screwed his face up in concentration, carefully evaluating them, before he lit up and pointed at Janus, “You’re on my team, JanJan!”

“Well good luck on your journey, lover boy,” Janus taunted with a smirk as he walked to stand beside his team leader, Virgil quickly punched his hat down over his eyes as he scampered off as well. He was violently blushing as he approached Logan and he managed to give a friendly smile.

“Great! Now just two more things to do!” Roman announced with an elaborate flourish.

“How much more to this is there!” Janus frowned to which Patton tweaked his side as a warning.

“Well if you wish to adventure blindly without your map and a hint, then that’s up to you!” Remus cackled as he chucked paper at them violently.

Logan frowned at their map, beyond it’s very apparent unprofessionalism, it seemed fairly straight forward. It was simply one long winding path to a large childishly scribbled ‘X’. He expected something a bit more detailed from a joint creativity project but maybe that was yet to be seen. “Is my map the same as Patton’s?”

“Yeah, if it’s like a race thing then I’m out,” Virgil snarked.

“Nah, see your map goes down this left road and Patton’s goes to the right,” Remus answered.

“Ah I get it. Left brain goes left and right brain goes ri...” Logan mumbled off as both creativities looked at him blankly. He may as well be speaking Spanish... well if Roman didn’t speak Spanish. Maybe they weren’t quite on his level of genius.

“Anyway!” Roman called out and magicked two sealed envelopes, “Now it wouldn’t be fair to just send you into this world without any warning. So we randomly selected two of our fantastical beasts... or one of our plants to inform you of.”

Logan perked up at that- maybe the detail would be in the inhabitants of this adventure rather than the adventure itself. Patton handed the envelope to Janus as he had a very bad habit of sucking badly at opening envelopes. Janus wordlessly and without even looking, hooked his finger under the flap and opened it in one swipe.

“What is it!” Patton squealed.

“Give me a second,” Janus answered with a glare at Logan’s team. He hooked his arm over Patton to turn them so there was no way that Logan’s team could cheat and look at their sheet, “Also be quieter. I don’t know about you but I truly don’t care about winning this.”

It was a very short page from what looked like an encyclopaedia but the information was very limited and basic. Not that they would be complaining.

A picture showed a huge ‘Little Shop of Horrors’-esque plant monster. Remus’ influence was pretty easy to see. Janus doubted Roman would ever want to create something like that, but he did smile as he recognised that Remus would never have the monster be this pretty looking. Clearly they were much better working as a team. The plant had gorgeous pristine white petals framing a pastel pink ‘face’. The page was titled ‘Motherbloom’.

“A large flower that’s queen of the tickle forest. She pins down her target and lifts their shirt to deliver a long raspberry on the tummy. She also uses her vines to tickle at other areas. The leafy sacs around the base of the flower holds air she uses for raspberries. The white flowers on the bush carry an intense pollen. Scientists discovered that if this pollen is transferred to other plants, the plants offspring will become tickle plants.”

Patton released a squeal that only dogs could hear. “Patton!” Janus hissed as he tried to wrangle his team leader under control.

“Ah! Aren’t you super tickly to raspberries JanJan?” Patton launched into a hug and quickly pressed a small raspberry to his neck; which totally didn’t send Janus squealing himself.

“Aw man, you guys got the motherbloom! May come in handy that,” Roman peered over their shoulders.

“I thought you decided which ones we got?” Patton asked.

“No, it truly was random. We put everything we created into a list and used a number generator to chose which one everyone learned about.”

“Wow, that is... very thorough of you both,” Janus complimented. Roman blushed violently at the very small compliment and awkwardly shrugged it off.

Logan opened the envelope with a summoned letter opener and quickly withdrew the page. He frowned as he realised this was probably ripped directly from some book. Virgil leaned on to his shoulder casually to peer at the page; therefore making his brain shortcircuit. How dare his boyfriend be so casually cute and affectionate. How was he supposed to work in these conditions. Virgil already looked quite beautiful on this day. Despite how rushed he was to get ready for what Roman and Remus planned, his makeup exaggerated his slightly sleepy eyes and of course his bright almost neon green and purple eyes looked as striking as ever. He was all bundled into his jumper just in case their adventure got too cold and he was mindlessly nuzzling into the front. He was... “Well this isn’t a whole lot to go off on?”

“Wha...” Logan perked up again and stared at the page. It was titled Tickler Jelly.

“These jellies are attracted to pool toys and swim up to them. If a person is easily targetable, they will latch on and begin tickling the target with its four large feathers.”

It showed some very typical jelly fish with obvious feathery fluttering stingers near the centre with normal, presumably, non-stinging stingers that are used to latch on to the victims. It was pink and undeniably adorable so Logan concluded this was probably a Roman creation. But then again, jellyfish were quite intimidating animals so maybe Remus suggested the concept itself.

Remus had walked over to them with a shrug, “Would you’ve rather we didn’t give you any information to go on?”

“Well no but we may not even go into water so really this isn’t any good!” Virgil frowned.

“And now you know what could be lurking in the water! I’d stop whining if I was you! This was totally random, I don’t control what you lot found out.”

“Right! Teams!” Roman teleported back on to the platform and stood on his throne, “I wish you the best of luck in your adventures. Your journeys will be long and treacherous. But you must keep in mind that your treasures are waiting for you. If you keep a sharp eye out, you may even find hints along the way to help unlock your treasure. May the best team get to the treasure quickest. Good luck teams!”

Roman and Remus clapped dramatically and the whole stage puffed into a wave of technicoloured smoke.

The same stage that everyone was standing on.

They all fell to the floor with grumbled swears. Both teams awkwardly stared at the other before Janus leapt to his feet and dragged Patton down the path. Logan, seeing this, immediately pulled Virgil into his arms and sprinted down the dusty path ahead of them. The game was on.

Patton and Janus raced ahead until they lost sight of the other team and settled quickly into a walk. “Right, so what do we need to do?” Janus asked, he figured he better play the game properly and actually pretend that Patton made a good team leader.

“Just follow this path. By the looks of it we have to follow this path which takes us into a wooded bit then across a river before getting to the treasure. Simple!” Patton chirped as he charged on ahead.

The world was just as beautiful as any other the creativities had created before. Despite it being the evening, it was still a warm day with a gorgeous clear blue sky. There were a few streaks of bright white clouds and there was only enough wind to prettily rustle the leaves of the trees. It was beautiful. The path was taking them past a bit of a thicker grassy bit. Trees dotted along their path with thick bushes of ferns and dry yellow grass that stretched up to their waists.

Janus frowned as he saw the path was still tilting around a section of trees. “Can I look at the map?”

“Sure.” Patton handed it over without any fuss.

“Yeah, wait!” Janus pulled them to a stop and pointed to the path they were following on the map. The map clearly showed that the path they were following was awkwardly circling around the wooded bit. It would probably take double the amount of time to follow the path or just cut through the wooded bit. “We should just cut through this wooded bit. We’ll end up back on the path and probably cut off a good ten minutes.”

“Oh yeah!” Patton stared at the map before flicking up to look at the path, “but we have no idea what could be lurking in the forest ready to tickle tickle tickle us!” He was wiggling his fingers and curling up to Janus. To which he totally didn’t blush. Of course he got partnered up with the literal tickle monster.

“Yes but then again we have no idea what could be on the path. We seen some butterflies flying around, any one of them could be planning an... attack on us. I don’t think we’ll be in any more danger if we cut through. Plus, don’t you think it would be in Remus’ nature to punish us for following the boring predictable option?”

“Well, we should figure this out soon. The more time we stand here arguing, the more time we are wasting...”

Meanwhile... with Logan’s team!

“Right. Now the most logical decision would be to analyse the map and decide which is the optimal route to travel. Knowing Patton, he will be following the map blindly,” Logan pulled Virgil to a stop and summoned a compass so to actually use the map effectively.

“Yeah but he also has Janus with him. We have no idea what they could be doing,” Virgil awkwardly tried to conceal just how hard he was panting from the short run. Logan ignored him by examining the map and looking up for any identifying features.

“Okay so by the looks of it, we can follow the path through the plain fields ahead of us. Or we can quickly jog over that hill and there will be a public garden.”

“Why would we go through a garden?” Virgil frowned and yoinked the map away from him.

“Well right now we are at the mercy of whatever the twins have organised,” Logan stated.

“Yeah you don’t need to remind me. Us even standing still right now could be the opportunity this weird world is looking for. We could be standing in the middle of an ant hill for all we know!” Virgil whined but Logan pressed him into his side with a gentle smile.

“All good points. I’m just saying the field could contain anything for all we know while a flower garden would only contain flowers. Therefore we know to avoid loitering and interacting with the flowers and it could be a straightforward path forward. They both lead to the same place,” Logan reasoned as he guided them slowly forward.

“Do you want to go through the garden?”

“I think it’s worth considering. However, I could never outshine you in thoroughly considering our options. I’ll leave the decision up to-”

“Too much pressure!” Virgil laughed and burrowed into his chest.

“Okay then,” Logan murmured, “we could continue through the field and face whatever they have planned. Or we go through a flower garden and know we have to face tic... plants. Hmm...”

And so the adventure has fully began!!

Should Patton and Janus:

A) Follow the path.

B) Cut through the wooded bit.

Should Logan and Virgil:

1) Go through the field.

2) Go through the flower garden.

#turtle writing #ts virgil #ts logan #ts roman #ts patton #ts deceit #ts janus #Tickling #TicklyAdventure #fluff

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arcadianstuff · 4 years

Text

“Your cat wears glasses ?”

After a long shift in the local diner you come across a young man and cat. There’s more to both tbanappears the eye but the same could also be said about you.

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“Another day, another night where I finish half an hour later than I should. Damn it.”

Alone in the now closed diner, you grumbled away to yourself cleaning up the various messes from spilled coffee to napkins on the floor.

It had been a long day, for some reason the diner was super busy today and after waitressing for ten hours, putting up with rude customers and Jerry the grumpy chef you just wanted to snuggle up in bed.

“That’s it. All done.”

Triumphantly you wiped the back of your hand along your forehead, sweating slightly from the hard work. Finally, you were done and now you could hang up your apron grab your coat and brave the dark cold night.

Unlike many of the residents in Arcadia, you knew what really lurked in the darkness, around corners and within the shadows. The giant ancient trolls, pesky goblins, changelings, it sounded like something out of The Hobbit or Harry Potter.

A cool breeze sent shivers up your spine as you hastily made your way across the silent sleeping town of Arcadia causing you to tug your jacket closer.

Streetlights and Neón signs from stores provided the only light in the area and sadly blocked out the full view of the stars.

One sign caught your attention, the bright glow of the violet neon lights drew you in for some reason. A certain energy cold be felt resonating from the store, a quiet hum of power that startled you.

You’d lived here for three years now and not once had you felt the presence of another like you. But now this pulse of magic was unmistakable, it made the tips of your fingers tingle with power.

Taking hesitant steps towards the store you pressed your hands up against the glass trying to glimpse in. At an hour like this the store was obviously closed but one light at the back remained on and you could make out a few objects, mainly books, a few little trinkets. Had you never noticed this bookstore before ? Clearly not.

“Meow.”

The unexpected sound sent you docketing in the air, leg flying in a kick as you let out a fearful shriek

“Holy fudgeknuckles !”

The next thing you knew a small black cat stood in front of you, clearly the cause of the noise. One of his paws was raised as if to wave and say hello.

But there was something weird about the cat. Something really weird.... it was wearing a large goofy pair of owl like spectacles.

“Why the hell are you wearing glasses ?”

Slowly, you made your way towards the cat who sat on his behind legs and locked eyes with you.

“Well I can’t see without them so.”

In a rather snooty voice for a cat, he spoke and made a point of adjusting the glasses on his tiny pink nose.

“Of course. Of course that’s why you’re wearing them. Short sighted cat needs glasses yep seems legit....”

Giggling nervously you felt your mind spin as you stared at the strange creature before you who was clearly no ordinary cat.

“Well I should be going now. Douxie will be looking for me.”

The name struck a cord within you. Douxie...where has you heard that before. Just as you’re mind was starting to spin like a teacup ride at the fair you heard a grumpy... British ? Voice sounding from down the street.

“Archie, come on man I want to go home I’m exhausted after cleaning up all day. I swear why won’t Merlín give me more tasks than just sweeping. After a Millenium of doing it in starting to get rightly pissed off........you’re not my familiar....”

A boy stood in front of you, no older than you rocking a very punk look: dark hair with blue tips, skull T-shirt, skull necklace and skull belt... dude was definitely going with a theme.

“Uh yeah I’m definitely not your familiar...”

Finally, it clicked in your head what was going on. The talking glass wearing snooty cat was a familiar, a wizards assist or “associate”... Meaning the boy in front of you must be a wizard. You wondered why it had taken you so longer to figure it out. Probably just because you’d never enter an actual wizard before.

“So.....this is awkward.”

Scratching his head nervously, the guy looked at you, takin in you slightly tired and dishevelled appearance. But when he focused on you a little bit harder he could sense something strange....and very powerful resonating within you. It startled him. On the outside you seemed harmless, cute, but harmless. Yet he could feel this tsunami of power within you.

“So I guess you’re a wizard ?”

Your out of the blue question took Douxie right by surprise his eyes widneining and sweat starting to drip down his back under his hoodie as he gulped.

“Ummmmmm no ? I mean no ! I’m just a college guy working three part time jobs cause nobody tips we’ll in this town.”

When he got nervous and felt like he was trapped Douxie sometimes rambled, a bad habit of his that he’d had even when he lived in Camelot.

“No offence dude but I’ve already met your talking cat who also wears glasses because that’s a thing. “

‘Crap’ Douxie thought, he could use magic on her to make her forget or freeze time or just do anything to get him out of this mess. But then again Merlín always said that magic isn’t a permissible shortcut to hard work....

You watched slightly amused at the state the boy was clearly in, he was attempting to remain cool but the twitching of his eyebrows and paling colour of his skin said otherwise.

“Look your secret is safe with me. You’re not the only one around here with....special gifts should we say.”

A mischievous glint sparkles in your eyes as you opened your palms revealing two glowing orbs of golden light that grew from your very fingertips.

The snooty cat, who you gathered was named Archie, let out a yelp of surprise and moved towards his wizard. Said wizard stood there gaping slightly, he’d known there was something special about you.

He also noticed the way the golden orbs casted a faint glow across your face, making you look ethereal.

In a flash the golden light dispelled from your palms robbing you of the glow and light it provided. You looked up slightly worried about the reaction you were going to get as you hadn’t shown anybody your powers in centuries.

Surprisingly, though the boy appeared to be flustered, a small blush spread on his cheeks and mouth agape in surprise. It was almost cute in a way.

Noticing your staring and equally pink cheeks, Douxie quickly shut his mouth and squared up, trying to hide his previous fluster. A serious look spread across his face and his eyes hardened.

“What are you ?”

The answer was....well you didn’t know what you were. You’d wondered the earth for three hundred years having one day woken up with no previous memories of how you’d ended up in what was medieval England. As time went on you’d realised there was something wrong with you. Firstly, you never ages. Somehow you always stayed eighteen years old. And secondly, you had a strange ability to control energy around you.

So yeah totally normal teenage stuff.

“How about we try, who are you ?”

In retaliation you questioned the boy, smirking slightly as he looked a little more agitated.

“I’m Douxie, and yes...I am a wizard. This is Archie my familiar. Now who are you ?”

From beside him Archie walked up to you. Yes walked. As in on his hind legs like a bi-pedal animal. And shook your hand.

“Pleased to meet you sorceress.”

It took you a back to have a cat shake your hand but you smiled awkwardly and went along with it. Looking up at Douxie you tried to gauge whether or not he was trustworthy.

He looked serious now, dark eyes like obsidian, hard and cold, but you noticed the way he let Archie sit on his shoulder, stroking him and the motion of his lips as he smiled at his familiar.

There was kindness in him.

“I’m (y/n). And I’m no sorceress....I don’t really no what I am.”

That took Douxie aback. If you weren’t a sorceress then what are you ?

“Well that’s a beautiful name (y/n). Suits you.”

Feeling more comfortable now that he could tell you weren’t a threat and he knew a little bit more about you, Douxie became a bit more like his flirty self. Still awkward but flirty.

You rolled your eyes at his flirting but your cheeks reddened, betraying your true feelings.

“So if you aren’t a sorceress then what are you (y/n) ?”

Both Archie and Douxie looked at you curiously, watching your face fall as you looked down at your shoes, eyes full of melancholy.

“I...I don’t know what I am, I just no I have this gift a-an-and I can’t age !”

Voice quaking by the end you spat out the last of your sentence a little too loudly, but it freaked you out to tell another person this. These were things you’d worked really hard to keep secret. Moving town and country every few years so people wouldn’t figure it out, changing you identity and name and appearance.

This should’ve shocked Douxie but didn’t really surprise him, it was strange you didn’t age but then again neither did he.

A comforting smile graces his lips as he approached you closer. You looked so sad your big (e/c) eyes sorrowful as you recalled your tale of woe. He wanted to show you that he’s been through the same thing and that you weren’t alone in this.

“I’m like you (y/n), well in a way. I’m a wizard and believe it or not lovely I’m 919 years old.”

Your mouth fell open at that. This boy looked barely over nineteen yet here he was claiming to be 919. Even you weren’t that old. 318 and counting actually.

Douxie smirked at your baffled expression.

“I know love, I barely look a day pass 900.”

He winked at the end of his sentence, and combined with the nickname he was using it was enough to set your cheeks aflame.

“Give or take a few.”

Archie chimed in from atop of Douxie’s shoulder before licking a paw. He appeared bored but Archie couldn’t help but notice the way his wizard companion and you were interacting with each other. Being as smart as he was he could tell that something would develop between you two.

A small smile made its way onto your lips as you looked at the grinning cat who was chuckling a little as his wizard gave him a look.

“Wow...so you’re like me ? I mean in a sense I guess...”

The realisation of what was transpiring had finally hit you. Here you were in the middle of the street on a Tuesday night in your waitress outfit with a wizard, a hot wizard, and his familiar, a cat who wore glasses.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Faltering in your step slightly you felt your legs shake, suddenly uneasy as everything started becoming too much.

“Woah woah careful love.”

Douxie moved to your side quickly, Archie hopping down from his shoulder and circling you as you began to shake.

“I’m fine, it’s okay just well it’s a lot. It’s so late and I’ve just worked a back to back shift and I’m exhausted and this is all so much. I want to sleep....”

A loud yawn followed your sentence as you stumbled a little, feeling a little light headed as your exhaustion settled in.

A small chuckle escaped Douxie’s lips at the funny expression on your sleep face. For somebody he’d only known an hour or so he felt oddly close to you. Like there was this pull to you, as if he’d met you before.

“Trust me I get how tiring working back to back shifts is. In this town you need like three part time jobs to make ends meat.”

Douxie hesitated for a moment before wrapping an arm under your shoulder to help hold you up as you became dizzy and stumbled more.

You gave him a grateful smile although you were sort of freaking out that this cute strange wizard guy was holding you.

“Umm I live nearby, past Arcadia Oaks High, you wouldn’t mind just helping me there please ? I swear this is so weird I’m really tired for some reason...”

Another yawn left your mouth as your wiped at your dropping eyes. Sure you had good reason to be tired, 12 hours of work using your peers briefly and meeting a wizard and his familiar took its tool. But it felt like something was pulling you into sleep, urging you to close your eyes and enter slumber.

Douxie being the kind hearted guy that he was of course said yes. You were interesting, a magic user like himself just a little different. And he could sense there was more that you were keeping to yourself. Besides from that he also felt this pull to you, a connection. Yeah you were also cute...really cute.

“Come on love let’s get you home then. Archie mate lets help her back.”

Now in dragon form Archie flew alongside Douxie and you, hovering nearby in case many of the evils that lurked in the shadows decided to strike.

“Thanks Douxie, that’s a cute name by the way.”

A small smile rugged at your lips as you thanked him, not completely in your right mind as under normal circumstance you’d never flirt with a stranger. Let alone a stranger who’s a magical user.

Unbeknownst to the pair of you at the time, a much more magical ancient entity was at work. Fate itself appeared to be drawing you two together and form this one meeting had decided your paths should intertwine.

—————————

Will be posting more parts to this

and a few side fics exploring the readers life within Arcadia !!!

#hisirdoux casperan #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie #douxie x reader #tales of arcadia #wizards #troll hunters #toa douxie #toa wizards #toa

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zeoia · 3 years

Text

I am a warm and loving person. I always have been and always will be.

Growing up, I had to be responsible very early on. I had no choice but to be mature for my age. After all, my mother wasn't there, and we needed a mom. My father was clueless, emotionally detached as an alpha male type. Currently he's not as bad as he used to be, as he finally acknowledges that when I cry, it's not to make him angry. I am crying because I am hurting. And when I am hurting I need comfort.

It used to be about his comfort. He hated seeing the tears. He'd tell us don't you dare start crying. I bottled up emotions. I withheld feelings at home. But they kept coming out during school. I'd isolate myself to cry.

One time I had an extreme outburst to the point of getting violent. I felt unheard. I'd been unheard for so long. People weren't understanding.

I had to separate from my biological mom as a child because she was incapable of taking care of us. This created a sense of longing. There was a hole in my heart and I kept wanting to fill it up somehow.

My father remarried when I was going to middle school. I told him I was fine with it. But honestly I didn't know any better. I was nine, going on ten. How was I supposed to know that I was just saying okay because that's just what I felt dad wanted to hear.

The marriage lasted throughout middle school and fell apart during high school. My stepmom was a scary person. Especially with her son around. She became very controlling. We weren't allowed in her chairs. Not allowed to watch her television. Weren't allowed to eat her foods. She made a mental note of the amount she had left. And anytime something went wrong, despite her son being the one who had always been the one to get into trouble, somehow, my brother and I were shouldering the blame for stuff we didn't do.

We were far from perfect little babies, but the worst we did was stay up past bedtime playing video games. He was a habitual liar. A thief. He was frequently breaking into houses, including our own. The first time I remember interacting with police was because of him. He broke into a girl's house. I was so nervous and I felt small. Because I was. I was so very small.

The divorce process was messy. She wanted to take our house away. Our home. The place that my brother was building bonds in. He frequently went outside spending time with neighbors. Unlike her son, we were still kids. By this time he was approaching adulthood. We couldn't be subjected to that.

We did manage to keep the house somehow. But... Maybe it would have been better to have lost it. To have moved downtown. So my father would stop acting like it was our fault that we stayed out here.

You see, my father has this habit of saying how he wanted to move downtown, closer to where everything is, but would tell us that "you guys wanted to stay here with your friends" in a mocking way. As if a teenager and a preteen know any better. Of course we wouldn't know of what opportunities existed for us downtown. We didn't live our lives in the future. We lived our lives in the moment. Looking at the future just wasn't a thing.

And the only future I COULD think of was the inevitable end. The inescapable fate that every living being shares. Because I wanted it. I wanted it to hurry up and take me so I could stop feeling sadness. the shameful feelings that would make other people uncomfortable.

I had been tired of moving. Tired of leaving people. My childhood involved way more goodbyes than I could deal with. And I continued to be desperate to fill that hole my mother left.

In this home, we finally had a permanent place. Some sort of stability. I didn't want to let go of anything. I couldn't let go of anything. After all, every time my mother visited us, I kept having to let go. I had to let go of the person who was willing to let me cry. I had to let go of the person who frequently told me I love you. this isn't to say that my father was unloving. I still remember every day when we still lived in the apartments, my brother and I would be home alone and we'd hear the door unlocking. And we'd make a mad dash to the door to jump into his arms to be hugged by him.

But this came to an end eventually. Growing up was awkward, and it made me withdraw more. My father expected me to be more ladylike. Despite telling me stuff like "do your best" I often felt like I was failing, even if I wasn't actually failing. Things were hard for me in school. On top of the stress of the divorce, my grades were getting worse. The transition from middle school to high school was uncomfortable. I told myself I was done with goodbyes, so why did I have to say goodbye to my best friends again?

I still remember people I considered my best friends, all the way from third grade. Donna. Jessica. Tina. Martha. Karen. Rae. Megan.

Graduating high school I didn't want to let go. I was tired of letting go. Despite my frequently feeling slightly out of place, I clung to Rae and Megan. We worked the same jobs for years. And then when Rae left for college, it was just me and Megan. Two weird kids with little ability to actually make new friends.

Megan and I did everything together. I went to her house frequently. We even went to the same community college. But as an adult things were getting different. She was very interested in dating, and I was getting more into self discovery. Online, I was making friends with people who liked the things I liked. I got involved with fandoms. She was too, actually.

But our interests didn't always overlap. But in my desperation to keep doing things with my only real life friend, I forced myself to enjoy the things she did. I didn't care for super heroes. Didn't care for being a "Potthead" as they called themselves. I don't know if that's still the term. She liked a lot of things that were very white, euro-centric. I liked things that were. Well they felt different. I liked webcomics and other things I found online, rather than mainstream media. Sometimes I tried to convince her to do something that I liked to do, but she wasn't really having it. If anything she just had a preference for insulting it and making me feel bad for liking things that really weren't her taste.

Honestly I don't remember what started the build up of animosity. I remember that I lost my grandmother on my dad's side and I felt terrible because I never got to really know her. My depression was absolutely awful then and I couldn't bring myself to go to work often. I remember one day when we were looking at our paychecks and she gave me this condescending "well maybe if you didn't call out so much." And I told her "hey how would you feel if your grandfather died? What would you have done huh?" And she got mad at me for making her even think about it. Me, actively in mourning about the death of a loved one, and she's the one mad because I dared to ask her to put herself in my shoes.

The rift was growing so much bigger. But we both still wanted to hold on because we both had nobody. I... Honestly couldn't tell you what it was that was the final nail in the coffin. Maybe it was all the guilt tripping she did. She told me that she was tired of having to go everywhere with me and that it cost money to drive me from place to place, ignoring the fact that I was always going the same place with her. Work. School. We planned it out so it was convenient. And I often bought things for her. I paid for food, gave her gas money, and I even sometimes would splurge on something she had her eye on. Like. A figure or a toy. She had bills and I didn't, so I had the spending money for it. Because I had to make sure that I wasn't going to say goodbye again.

But we did. It was messy. She called me a petty bitch. I don't even remember everything. I just know that I was alone again. Secluded. Isolated. I had nobody. Nine years of friendship and the void was bigger now.

I was desperate to keep finding people. I kept surrounding myself with groups. Getting deeply involved in fandoms in an attempt to connect with people. I leaned heavily on people emotionally, especially if they got closer to me and interacted with me more. People who did anything for me, I would cling to immediately. I wanted to do everything with people who spent time with me. I became addicted to attention.

And that addiction is why I'm in this mess today. It's true that I have managed to surround myself with genuine people who love me, but sometimes something bad lurks about. Especially in a place full of mentally ill people.

#long post #inside my head #about me #life story #this is a heavily abrisged version #i didnt go into detail about my dad not being able to let me do my own shit #how i tried to branch out and make more friends during my college time #i had anime nights with the sometimes and i would get so into it that i would lose track of time #this made him very angry one time #i hadnt checked in with him every hour and it made him worry #and because of not calling him he called me and told me to come home #keep in mind i am a full grown adult #but somehow I had it in my mind that i had no choice but to be obedient #ive never been in a particularly healthy environment #honestly the only reason i feel less controlled now is because he has himself an obedient wife #but even now he still tries to sway me away from being true to myself #and tries to make me into his version of myself

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kenzieam · 3 years

Text

Touch

Rating: M

Warnings: Major Angst, heartache, some language

Word Count: 3595

Tags: @jewels2876 @moonbeambucky @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @iammarylastar @captstefanbrandt @badassbaker @pinknerdpanda @oliviastan17 @mizzzpink

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As time runs out, Lev remembers her first encounters with Bucky, and how the touch-starved, damaged man became just as important to her as she is to him.

***************************************************************

HEADS UP..... MAJOR ANGST AHEAD, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. i DON’T EVEN KNOW WHY I WRITE THIS SHIT, IT JUST MAKES ME CRY.

**************************************************************

Shit, I’m cold.

But at least it doesn’t hurt anymore.

I don’t know how long I’ve been trapped down here; things have gotten hazy.

It’s been a while though; I can’t hear half as many people screaming for help as before.

I’ve had time to figure out what happened at least, with nothing else to do but lay here, slowly suffocating.

My day, I think it’s fair to say, has gone spectacularly to shit.

I think it was an explosion that made the building collapse, but things were happening so goddamn fast I can’t say for sure.

Either way, I’m here, trapped, and I’m pretty sure I’m dying.

Figures, Bucky didn’t want me to go to this convention. If I live through this, I’ll never hear the end of it; Bucky hates being apart from me, because I’m not enhanced like he is, he thinks I’m fragile.

And to be honest, I’m feeling pretty goddamn fragile right now.

My back is arched, bowed backwards to where I could almost grab my ass with the arm that’s twisted back behind my head; my fingers are in the perfect place to scratch any itch I might have between my shoulder blades, but an itch is the least of my problems right now.

I can’t feel my legs.

I don’t know if it’s the fact that a large section of concrete wall is pinning me from the hips down, or if its something more sinister and permanent, a broken back perhaps. Either way, I can’t see my legs or feel them. Maybe they’re not even there anymore.

Would Bucky still love me if I were broken? No longer whole?

I think he would, he knows what it’s like to be incomplete. So many times, after we’ve made love, he’ll hold me and tell me how much he loves me, how I complete him, make him feel whole for the first time in nearly a century.

It’s a heady sensation, to know someone as powerful and legendary as James Barnes loves you.

I never expected to find someone like him, to feel the things he makes me feel.

It breaks my heart that it’s probably all going to end today, with me trapped, alone, in my proverbial coffin.

Was it only three and a half years ago I heard Tony Stark was hiring and me, fresh out of school with the ink on my doctorate of Physical Therapy not yet dry, decided on a whim to apply?

I never expected a call from the man himself, never expected to be given such a huge opportunity so early in my burgeoning career.

But Tony had a plan. People get hurt all the time, secretaries with carpel tunnel, agents with bruises and bumps, Avengers with broken bones earned on their newest mission, it only made sense to bring in a full time PT to the medical labs in the Avengers Complex, and Tony wanted someone fresh and new, someone without any bad habits to break as he put it, which is ironic when you consider all the bad habits Stark himself has.

I’m still working on refining his damn posture in front of the computer, but I think it’s a losing battle.

My job was soon revealed, to help after Bruce and Helen had worked their magic, regain range of motion, stretch and massage damaged muscles, ensure the team ran at their peak.

While my job originally was supposed to include the entire Complex, it soon became obvious that all my attention would need to be devoted to the team of superheroes themselves and, after a few months of commuting to and from my small studio in the city, I gave into Stark’s less than subtle hints and moved directly into the Complex myself, becoming a round-the-clock, on-call-all-the-time member of the team.

My first interactions with Bucky were minimal, a shadow lurking behind the much more gregarious Captain America himself. I didn’t take it personally because, from what I could see and had heard, the former assassin stayed as far away from everyone that he possibly could.

But he ended up being half dragged to me by Steve himself a few months into my job, due to a lingering pain in the juncture of his shoulder from a recent injury; or more accurately, from a recent injury on the training mats that merely brought back the pain Bucky had apparently been struggling with off and on ever since HYDRA attached his first bionic arm.

The big man didn’t want to be there, I could tell and only his loyalty and commitment to his oldest friend kept his ass on the table as I examined the puffy, angry red scar tissue, his body rigid beneath my exploratory touch.

I knew enough of his past to realize that Bucky’s aversion to me was part of, if not wholly, due to the rough and cruel way HYDRA had treated him, when every contact meant hurt and degradation, but it still affected me. What had he lived through that had taught him that even simple touch meant pain? And how, with the very nature of my work involving discomfort, did I help him?

“Can you rotate your arm?” I ask quietly. When he hesitates, I continue. “I need to feel the joint when you move it.”

He nods silently, accepting the fact that my hands need to stay on him, press in lightly while he rotates his shoulder and, most likely, increase the pain he already feels.

I fall silent, close me eyes to help concentrate as he complies. “Again, please.”

I finger a particular point, deep in the joint and Bucky flinches, swallowing a low groan. I instantly feel horrible, for surely, to make Bucky react at all the pain I just caused must have been extraordinary, but it gives me something to focus on.

I pull away, trying to ignore the way his skin makes my fingers tingle; must be related to his serum-enhancement, my mind studiously ignoring the fact that touching Steve doesn’t illicit the same sensation and offer him a smile.

“I think a lot of that discomfort can be managed with massage, relaxing and sorting out the muscles involved. I’d prefer to try that, rather than jumping into more invasive therapies right away.”

I wait for his response, glancing at Steve when it appears for a beat that Bucky hasn’t even heard me but then it hits me.

Massage.

Continuous touch, continuous pain while he will be forced to lay immobile, tolerating it soundlessly.

Pretty much Bucky’s worst nightmare.

Shit.

Steve shifts his weight, clears his throat. He’s obviously torn between answering for his friend and letting Bucky decide, although it’s clear he expects Barnes to reject the proposal, to push on grimly through the ache and potentially damage his body more.

“Okay.” His voice is so low I almost don’t hear him.

“I’m sorry?” I lean closer, frowning with concentration. Fuck, for so huge and imposing a man, the guy can make himself practically invisible, even right beside you.

“Okay,” he repeats, barely raising his voice. “We’ll try.”

“I’ll do my best,” I feel compelled to reassure him, barely stopping myself from resting my hand on his shoulder, pulling back at the last second when I remember that that would probably be the last thing to calm the man. “To make it as tolerable, as pain-free as possible.”

Bucky nods but doesn’t answer.

“Want to start now?” Steve asks carefully, glancing between me and Bucky. I don’t know what Bucky will say, but I’ve probably filled his quota of contact today.

A silent head shake, his lank brown hair swinging, a quick but interesting glance up at my face. Is he concerned about my reaction?

“Tomorrow?” I ask gently. At his nod I continue, running through my schedule in my head and I know these two usually go running in the morning, hitting the gym after and then grabbing something to eat. “How about after lunch?”

“Okay.” Christ, the man’s voice is so quiet and soft, it doesn’t fit with his appearance. He looks like a beast, huge and muscular, danger radiating out of every pore. Its so much easier to visualize him as the cruel assassin The Winter Soldier than as a traumatized prisoner of war. That is, until you look in his eyes; then the muscles, the bulk and silent intimidating air all fall apart.

The concrete around me creaks, the rubble threatening to shift, and I hold my breath. It’s getting harder to breathe but I don’t know if that’s because of the way my torso is twisted, or just a general lack of fresh oxygen. I can’t see any daylight anywhere, of feel any type of air movement, but I also can’t move any part of myself around to look. For all I know, there could be a way out of this mess directly behind me, but I’m pinned.

How long has it been? I think I greyed out for a minute there, remembering one of my first meaningful encounters with Bucky, the first time he answered me, agreed to try massage therapy for his shoulder. The trust he showed wasn’t lost on me.

The building groans, as if its in pain too and I fight a rising panic. The voices I could hear around me have gotten less and less, the faint screams for help devolving into wordless, animal cries of agony before cutting off altogether and I wonder if anyone is even still alive. Is there any type of rescue effort yet? Has there been some kind of terrorist act that’s holding up my salvation?

Have they told Bucky?

The convention was a couple of thousand miles away from the Compound, even with the quinjet Bucky and I were hours apart.

Is he out there right now? Digging for me?

My mind wanders again as a fresh stab of agony shoot through my torso, ending curiously at my hips.

I look up at the soft knock at my office door and smile.

“Hello, James.”

His eyes meet mine, just for the barest heartbeat before dropping. “Bucky,” he murmurs.

“Bucky.” I agree, my smile widening at his soft, endearing air. I want to just gather him up and give him a hug, show him that there is love and gentleness in the world and he deserves it too; although, to be honest, I’d just look like a koala hanging off him, God, he’s beefy.

He follows me soundlessly through the Physio department, to the room I’ve set up strictly for massage therapy. I put myself through school moonlighting as a masseuse, and that was one of Tony’s first requests, that I set up shop again. It seems some days that half of my job is just massage, but I’m not complaining; I enjoyed it in school and it’s just as amiable now.

I gesture to the table, draped with clean sheets. “I’m just going to work on your back and shoulders, so you just need to take your shirt off, if you want to remove your pants too, that’s fine. Lay face down and there’s a sheet to put over yourself when you’re ready. I’ll be right back.”

He nods again but there’s a tension in his body now. Is it because he’s going to be showing his arm, the angry scars that surround it? I’ve seen it before, but it seems to be an enduring shame with him, and I make a note not to draw attention to it.

“Are you ready?” I knock softly and ask through the door, hear his quiet confirmation. I turn the lights lower as I enter, explaining as I do. “I’m just turning the lights down a bit.” I busy myself at the small table covered in different types of massage oil. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t relax under full lighting.” He mumbles some sort of agreement, head lowered into the u-shaped cushion. He’s laying face down, like I requested, but he’s anything but relaxed. Fists clenched tight, breathing quickly, he’s not letting go, not yet. “I can play some music if you want?”

“Okay.”

I pause, then speak. “Bucky? We can hold off; you seem a little tense-”

“No.” He lifts his head to look at me. “I’ll lay still, I promise. Just go ahead…. I won’t react, I can take it.”

I shake my head, that’s not the point. “No, Bucky. That’s not how it works here.”

He lifts his head again after dropping it during his statement about laying still, frowning thoughtfully, if a little suspiciously.

“You don’t have to just lay here and ‘take it’. This is for you, if you get uncomfortable, if you want me to stop, you say so and we’ll take a break. I don’t want you to just lay here and endure the pain. If it hurts, tell me; if you start to get overwhelmed, tell me. The last thing I want is to make this another bad experience for you.”

He pauses then, forehead furrowing slightly. From what I’ve gathered regarding his past, free choice wasn’t something ever offered to him, HYDRA would just order him to lay stay and endure whatever torture or torment they were performing.

That shit doesn’t fly here.

“You are in charge.” I squat at the head of the table to meet his eyes, wanting him to really hear me. “I will not do anything to you that you don’t consent to. I can’t guarantee it won’t hurt, but I will only do want you allow me to, okay?”

Something flickers through his eyes, something soft and vulnerable and I get the feeling that he will lay here for me through the worst pain, if only because I gave him the control to, something he’s never been given before.

“Okay,” he replies quietly.

“I’m not going to lie, the harder I work, the more it hurts initially, the quicker the pain will be over.”

He nods and I think he’s relieved that someone is taking the time and consideration to include him in what’s going to be done to his own body.

“But we go at your speed, okay?”

“Okay.”

I stand again, reach over and turn on my playlist, a compilation of soft, bluesy swamp rock and acoustic melodies and begin.

I’m getting tired.

Is it dark outside too?

Will I ever see the sky again?

I can’t think that way, I can’t give up. Not on myself, not on Bucky.

He will come for me; I just have to hold on until then.

My mind continues to wander, trying to distract itself from the growing lassitude in my body. The weariness, the lethargy scares me, I wish I could still feel the pain, at least I’d know I’m still here, existing, even with the agony.

I remember the way our relationship progressed, slow and cautious, tentative.

Slowly his body would turn from iron to relaxed muscles beneath my touch, slowly there would be anticipation, maybe even eagerness in his eyes when he’d walk into the department, rather than grim resignation.

Once he fell asleep on me, facedown on the massage table and I let him nap, leaving the music and lights low, the door cracked, waiting for him to wake as I went about with other duties, finally seeing him emerge looked a little shamefaced, smiling tentatively in apology as I worked with Sam on a range of motion exercise for his recently injured knee.

That seemed to be the final barrier.

After that, I was one of the few people Bucky actually chose to seek out, a rare and exclusive club.

It was easy to love him.

For even as I seemed to be a source of comfort and contentment for him, he too was my bastion of strength, my rock.

If he could wake up each morning and push on, then anything I encountered in life was conquerable too.

“Baby.” He groans, lips brushing my ear.

His powerful body moves above me, inside me, bringing me to heights of pleasure I’ve never felt before.

It’s our first-time making love together, and in some ways, it’s like its truly the first time for both of us.

He’s so gentle and tender, careful with how he handles me, like I’m precious glass in his large, powerful hands.

He cradles me as he thrusts, holding me close to him, whimpers faintly and its that sound of pure vulnerable surrender that pushes me over the edge. He follows, groaning my name into my hair as his body shudders. I feel him pulse inside me, the most peaceful feeling of rightness suffusing my limbs.

Right here.

This is where I’m meant to be.

This is the point my entire life has been leading to.

He collapses beside me, breathing heavily and I roll to the side, resting my arm across his heaving chest. The faint flinch he always had, that he still has with most other people, is gone. He trusts me completely and it’s a gift I will never waste.

His eyes lock with mine, searching, somehow dark with desire and light with joy at the same time. His body is ready again, hard and straining, serum-enhanced and close to insatiable.

I roll to straddle him, his eyes following me. His hands reach up and I clasp them, twine our fingers together, press against them as I sink down onto his cock, watch his eyes roll back in his head with ecstasy. I roll my hips, encouraged by the sounds my movements draw from him, the low groans and grunts, moans and hums of pleasure.

“Fuck-” he curses and my heart dances.

My body is hungry, wanting more, and I increase my pace, chasing another release.

His eyes open, lock on mine once again and we stay connected like that, both in gaze and in body. I watch the emotions shine there, in his supernaturally blue depths, see the vulnerability there, something akin to awe, as if he has trouble believing he’d ever be this way again, open and honest and bare with someone else, trusting them in so many ways.

“Bucky-” my voice drops into a whine as my peak hits, my eyes closing.

“No.” He orders and my eyes snap open. “Let me see you, baby. Let me watch you.”

Our eyes lock again as I give in and then he’s coming too, thrusting up into me one last time, eyes burning into mine, the expression in them driving me into another, simultaneous orgasm, which infinity loops back into Bucky, his body shuddering as my walls milk him, drawing his seed hungrily, and I realize that there’s few things I’d rather be in this world right now, than joined so viscerally with him like this.

The only thing that would make this better would be if his seed takes root inside me and I’m able to give him a child, a second chance, an opportunity for unconditional love.

I cough, wince at the pain that flares in my chest, taste copper in my mouth.

It won’t be long now, I feel the truth in my bones and, while it breaks my heart, I still fight it.

I need to see Bucky, even if its for the last time.

I’ll miss our life together, the way he always sought me out, wherever I was.

Touch-starved as he was, for nearly a century, once Bucky learned he could trust me, began to touch me whenever he could.

An arm around me from behind, lips on my neck. Tight hugs for no reason, seeming to recharge at our connection. Waking tangled up with the huge cuddle-bug, barely knowing where I ended, and he began.

And the way he’d cling to me on the couch, even if others were there too, uncaring about what they thought. Curled against me like a child, head buried in my neck, almost purring under my touch as I ran my hands along his back and shoulders, like stroking and taming a large beast, soaking in the touch-love like parched earth and water.

After almost a century of starving, he was hungry for connection now, for my touch.

I hate that I’ll be taking that from him.

Slight sounds I’ve been hearing sporadically for a while now but not really able to make out become faint rustles nearby, a muffled call.

The rubble creaks, threatens to shift and, after a fraught pause, the rustling continues.

“Lev?!” I hear someone call, faint and blurry, but the way the word cuts tells me they’re screaming.

I try to answer but can only croak.

The weight on my body is almost too much now, the exhaustion pulling me further and further down. My belly feels heavy and a faint part of me muses that I’m probably bleeding internally, probably have been since I came to in this horrible, choking blackness.

Would Bucky still love me if I were broken? No longer whole?

I know the answer.

Yes.

I loved Bucky before he was whole, when he was broken.

A giant rat is nearby, scratching, then the cutting scream again, closer and cracking with strain. I recognize it finally, Bucky’s voice, breaking with anxiety, snapping under the stress. His throat will be sore for days.

I imagine him tunneling through the rubble by hand, shaking off other’s hands that try to stop him, tell him it’s too late and there’s no way I can still be alive.

But I know he won’t stop, not until he can touch me again.

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes drama #bucky and lev #bucky and levi

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dangerouscommiesubversive · 4 years

Note

E with Kaito, Zack and Peco? If you’re alright with that

E is for equal and I am more than all right with that, this is a good ship.

Being slightly in love with Kumon Kaito isn’t an entrance requirement for Team Baron as much as it’s an inevitability, as much standard-issue as their red-and-black jackets and gray waistcoats. Some of it’s probably purely physical--he’s handsome enough, he’s got poise and grace, there’s a sort of giddy rush that comes with the matter-of-fact movement of his hands on your arm or leg as he corrects a move or gets you back on time. But just as much of it is the sense of certainty, the clear knowledge that he knows what’s going on even if you don’t. It’s intoxicating.

He knows it happens, too, knows that everyone on the team is nursing at least half a crush. Peko’s actually gotten the impression that he’d rather they didn’t. He’s not exactly someone who welcomes affection. He barely even likes most of them.

Except Zack. He definitely likes Zack. Well, everyone likes Zack. That’s not even a team thing, that’s just a general fact of life, if you’ve met Zack there’s at least a seventy-five percent chance that you like Zack. Still, sometimes when Kaito’s talking to Zack he almost smiles, which is a big deal.

So.

Kaito likes Zack, in his particular impenetrable Kaito way which could be friendly and could be something more. Zack has a very natural and obvious crush on Kaito.

And Peko, proud owner of both the best slingshot aim and the worst luck in Zawame, is desperately in love with both of them, and has been considering eating his nicest hat for several days now in the hopes of making it stop.

At least he can talk to Zack, who nearly chokes on his smoothie when Peko says, as innocently as possible, “So what were you and Kaito talking about the other day? You were busy for a while.”

Zack coughs, swallows the rest of his mouthful of banana-and-mango smoothie, and says, “Oh, you know. Team stuff.”

At first Zack kind of hated Kaito. Who did he think he was, barging in and taking over Azami’s team like he had any right to it? Zack had briefly considered leaving for another team, but then again, that would have meant leaving Peko behind, and that was entirely unacceptable. So he’d stayed. And by the time he’d realized that he was having feelings about Peko that Azami would probably kill him for, he’d come around on Kaito, too.

Or, more accurately, he’d fallen slightly in love with Kaito, because Kaito just has that effect on people. Which seems to be more of an irritation to him than anything; it’s not as if he likes most people.

Except Peko. He definitely likes Peko. Granted, you’d be an idiot to not like Peko, everyone does. Peko is inherently likeable. He’s cheerful and good-natured. Zack’s considered petitioning the city to make it illegal for him to wear hats that make his hair flop in his eyes.

What had he been thinking about?

Right. Kaito, inasmuch as he has friendly feelings towards anyone, likes Peko. Peko has a radiantly obvious crush on Kaito, slightly more so than most of the other members of Team Baron.

Zack is left trying to figure out when the hell he fell in love with the two most wildly different people he interacts with on a daily basis and how he can make it stop. Having a crush on Peko is bad enough when he has dinner with the guy and his sister every couple of weeks and thus has to weather Azami’s knowing looks; being simultaneously continuously distracted by the set of his team leader’s mouth is just. Obnoxious.

And then, of course, everything gets very confusing, so when Peko asks him a perfectly reasonable question he nearly chokes on his smoothie in an effort to stop himself from saying, Well, Kaito and I were talking out some new choreography and then I think he nearly kissed me. "Oh, you know," he manages after a moment. "Team stuff. New moves, new music."

Peko nods enthusiastically. Why does he have to be so cute? "That's pretty exciting! I mean, not that I don't like our current choreography, but it'd be good to change things up a little, right? To keep people's interest?"

"Yeah, definitely, I--" --can't stop thinking about Kaito except when I'm thinking about you. "I think it's going to be good. Here, I’ve got samples of some of the potential new music on my phone.”

Kaito doesn't like people. They are, for the most part, useless, obnoxious, and weak. Zack, however, is neither weak, nor useless, and his obnoxiousness is variable and mainly connected to how good he looks on any particular day.

Peko's weakness is arguable, but he's...

Kaito doesn't generally like to think of anything or anyone as "cute," and is trying not to make a habit of it.

In any case, Zack and Peko are transparently interested in each other, and perhaps if they start dating then Peko will be on time to practice more often. Kaito has decided that he's not going to examine the odd feeling he gets when he thinks of them together. He's certainly not going to let himself have any more lapses in self-control like the other day's. He's sure that Zack would have allowed the kiss, but he's not interested in being simply tolerated.

Peko is most likely better for Zack, anyway, and Zack is definitely better for Peko. Thus, Kaito resolves firmly not to pursue his own absurd infatuations any further.

After barely two days, though, he finds his resolve being thoroughly tested when Zack manages to corner him after practice and open the conversation with, "Hey, look, Kaito, about the other day."

Kaito looks up at him, quietly resentful of the fact that looking up is even necessary, and says, "Were you interested in revisiting the new musical choices?"

Zack's eyes narrow. "You know that's not what I'm talking about."

"I don't see any need to discuss the other aspects of our conversation."

“Not even the--look, you know.” Zack gestures incoherently, looking frustrated and slightly embarrassed. A momentary glance around to make sure that none of the other members of the team are lurking nearby before, “Did you actually want to kiss me or am I imagining things?”

Kaito glares at him. “Whether or not I did is immaterial, you’re interested in Peko.”

A suspended pause. “I’m--I mean, I am, yeah, but he’s got the worst crush on you, so it’s not like that’d go anywhere. Besides, his sister would kill me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Zack, Azami thinks you’re--repeat that first part.”

“...did you not notice that Peko’s got it bad for you?”

“For how long, exactly?”

At which point, of course, Peko rounds the corner already saying, “Hey, we were looking for you guys, did you want to go to Drup--” and stops dead when they turn simultaneously to stare at him, and Kaito briefly considers leaving dance completely and going into something which causes less emotional turmoil. Politics, perhaps.

Peko is blushing. Zack is also blushing. Kaito feels somewhat warm, which means he’s likely blushing himself, which is not to be borne, so he cuts directly to the point. “Peko, I need you to settle a question.”

A slow nod. “O...k?”

“Zack is under the impression that you’re...interested in me.”

Peko jumps. His hat nearly falls off. “I mean. Uh. Yeah. But you’re sort of obviously into Zack, and he’s definitely into you, sorry, Zack, apparently we’re just talking about this now? So it’s not like I was going to bring it up or anything.”

“I had gotten the distinct idea that you and Zack were--I’m sorry, Zack is what?”

Zack stares fixedly into space for a long moment, long enough that Peko begins to look visibly worried and Kaito allows himself the beginnings of concern. When he finally speaks, it’s very quietly. “So if I’ve got this straight, I’ve been twisting myself in knots for a while now because I was interested in both of you and thought you were more into each other, and you’ve both been doing the same thing.”

Kaito scowls. “That seems to be the case, yes. I don’t believe I signed up to be the protagonist in some sort of romance comic.”

“Oh, no, if this was a romance comic one of you probably would have slapped the wall already.” Both Kaito and Zack turn to look at Peko, who grins awkwardly and scratches the back of his head. “I’m just saying. All I know is it wouldn’t be me, it’s always the tall guy and I’m kind of the opposite of that.” He adjusts his hat, avoiding both of their gazes. “So did you want to come to Drupers?”

Intensely irritated in a way that he can’t quite pinpoint, and which is only made more confusing by the overlaid sense of relief, Kaito says, “Yes,” and grabs Zack’s hand, ignoring the startled noise the gesture produces. He grabs Peko’s hand as well in passing, and Peko lets out a squawk that’s offensively charming and stumbles along after him. “I’m going to get the largest parfait Bandou will make me, and we’re going to discuss this later.”

Peko has to quicken his pace to keep up with Kaito’s quick steps, while Zack shortens his stride a bit in order to stay with them and says, “And you’re not concerned about people staring at us walking down the street holding hands like this?”

“They can stare if they want to.” Kaito is feeling distractingly pleased, and it’s taking more effort than he cares to consider to keep a smile off his face. “It’s not any of their business.”

#kumon kaito #gaim zack #gaim peko #fanfiction #anonamouse

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banashee · 4 years

Link

Part 3/7

"What do you mean, you LOST Steve?!"

“In my defense, he’s tiny!”

“ So are you!”

Tony puffs up his chest like a peacock, trying to make himself look bigger than the scrawny 12-year old that he currently is. Besides, that answer is kinda hypocritical, given that Clint himself is only 1 and a half inches taller than Tony is at the moment - or any given moment, actually. Even when Clint isn’t currently a teenager, that half-inch in particular seems to be important to him.

Tony is about to spit out a rebuttal for that comment about being tiny, but the older boy looks at him in utter confusion and disbelief, quiver dangling from his arm while he gestures through the air. Clint has no idea what’s going on.

All he knows is that he went shooting arrows and when he arrived upstairs, everything is in utter chaos and he’s being dragged through the hallway by Tony who keeps yelling that Steve is lost and they need to find him. And now they’re here, somewhere in the tower and not any smarter than before.

With a sigh, Phil interrupts their bickering. Just like Clint, he doesn’t know what is even happening. But since he is one of the designated parent-adults, it’s on him to figure this out. One would think that he’s gotten used to this in the last few weeks. After all, most of the team is living their lives as kids for the better part of a month now, but with these humans around him, Phil knows, things are never quiet for long, no matter their age.

He has the remarkable ability to stay calm in pretty much any situation. He’s got this.

“Boys, please. I’ve been gone for like 30 minutes, can anyone explain to me what happened here while I was gone?” While he finishes the sentence, Phil bats off the slowly extending arm of a plant that’s trying to eat his sleeve. The thing has taken over most of the floors occupied by the Avengers, spreading out at an alarming speed. Who knew that venus fly traps could be this… Invasive?

Clint shrugs helplessly. As confused as he is, he is worried about Steve. Because Tony is right, Steve is tiny , but it doesn’t stop him from seeking out all sorts of trouble. The main issue is probably that Steve manages to look completely innocent and adorable, even when he is about to set fire to something just to see what happens. It’s an issue.

“I don’t know, I’ve been shooting arrows downstairs. Then Tony came running and yelling about Steve being lost and I don’t know what’s happening. Tony?”

The younger boy looks uncomfortable, chewing on his lower lip and eyes flickering back and forth.

“Okay, so I know this sounds bad…” Hesitating for a moment, he looks up at Phil. The plant is sneaking up at them again, and Phil shoves it off - he would very much like to know how this much chaos ensured in such a short timespan, but then again, he’s learned lately that the kiddie-versions of the Avengers are, naturally, even more of a human tornado than usual.

Phil can also tell that Tony seems to feel guilty about something - he, as well as everyone else, has opened up a bit by now, but the trust issues are still very much present. Right now, he avoids looking him in the eyes.

“Please tell me what happened. No one is mad, we just need to know what is going on so we can help. And find Steve. How did he get lost?.”

Tony sighs, then he starts talking to the slowly extending venus fly trap next to Phil’s head, keeping his eyes focused on the plant while he explains as quickly as possible what happened.

“Okay, so I was in the lab with Bruce…”

*+~

Normally, the labs would have been off-limits for kids of their age. But then again, it would be more than a little far-fetched to call any of the Avengers “normal”, no matter how old they are. As it is, both Tony and Bruce are both highly intelligent and easily bored, although Bruce isn’t really one to voice that latter part out loud. He simply tries to find any kind of occupation that he can, which usually ends up being whatever book he can get his hands on.

Being quiet and invisible is what he does best. Knowing his file and the environment he grew up in, it doesn’t exactly surprise anyone, but they do worry about him.

Right now though, he seems to be happy enough.

Science is fascinating, and getting to share the excitement and learning new things with an older friend like Tony, is… Amazing.

As soon as the fear and weariness from the beginning of their age regression has worn off a bit, the two of them are oftentimes attached to the hip.

Tony himself had never really had friends before, especially friends he could share his excitement with. School is school, but his classmates are quite a few years older than him and don’t really care about hanging out with a 12-year old.

Meeting Bruce is like meeting a younger, much more quiet version of himself, and that is both fascinating and wonderful. The two of them get along beautifully.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take long for them to get permission to use the science labs in the tower, although there are some general ground rules set and Phil and Thor quickly remove anything that might be too dangerous for the children to be around.

It works out, until this one day, when they come across a hidden drawer full of glass bottles.

To be fair, no one, besides probably the adult-versions of Tony and Bruce knew about that one, and the kids don’t really mean anything by opening it - Tony bumps into the side of the table with his knee on accident, and suddenly the drawer opens up.

“Ow! Oh hey, look at this!”

“What is it?” Bruce looks up from his experiment when he hears a bump and the older boy say “ow!” but then he sees what Tony is pointing at.

“Oh!” He climbs off of the chair - jumping really since his feet dangle in the air when he’s sitting on it. As soon as Bruce hits the floor, only a bit of hair is visible over the edge of the table.

“What’s in there? Are we even supposed to use this?”

“It doesn’t say… Hold on.”

Tony is curious, pulling out a few of the bottles to investigate their contents from the outside. Bruce on the other hand is getting nervous, uncertainty strong.

“We, uh, I think we should put this back. If it was hidden…” he trails off, chewing on his lower lip and shuffling his feet.

For a moment, Tony looks like he wants to argue with that, but then thinks better of it. Bruce is probably right. He is aware that being allowed in here without supervision is a privilege and he doesn’t want to jeopardize it, even though his curiosity is nagging at the back of his brain.

“Yeah, okay, you’re right.” He is about to just pack everything back where it was, but then it happens.

Tony knocks over one of the vials on the table by accident and jumps to catch it in time before it rolls off of the edge and hits the ground. Naturally, while doing so, he knocks over the remaining two and in a series of unfortunate events, glass breaks, and strange liquids mix up. Rushing to clean it all up, a few drops of the concoction drip into a nearby flower pot, and then everything happens way too fast. In a matter of minutes, the venus fly trap has grown unnatural amounts, and then two boys scramble to get out of the room.

~+*

“...So, an unknown substance got into a houseplant down there, it kind of mutated, spread out, infected other plants on the way. And now we can’t find Steve anywhere in this jungle?”

Phil sums it all up, admittedly assuming that last part, but it’s not far-fetched at all.

He is quickly walking alongside the two boys as they try to make their way through the mess.

“Uhm - yeah, pretty much.” Tony admits sheepishly, looking guilty as he pushes his way past another snapping head of venus fly trap. “We didn’t know where he was before, and now we can’t find him anywhere.” He looks guilty and miserable.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I promise.” he adds, careful not to sound too defensive, but not very successful.

“It’s okay, Tony, I believe you.” the boy in question doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he nods nonetheless. It doesn’t escape Phil’s attention that Tony takes all of the blame to himself, leaving Bruce completely out of it. But he is nowhere to be seen, so he needs to ask,

“Do you know where Bruce is right now? I’d rather keep everyone close together at the moment.”

“He went to tell Thor when we realized we couldn’t find Steve. I think they’re already looking for him, together with Nat, so I ran to get Clint…”

“You did the right thing. Now let’s go find the others.”

The three of them make a run for it, and finally, when they round a corner, there is Thor with Bruce, Nat and Lucky in tow.

“Any success?” Phil asks, worried, but glad that at least the rest of the family is together.

“Not yet, but we’re onto something. This way!” Thor adds, pointing in the direction where Lucky is shuffling with his nose on the floor.

“Wait, you’re letting Lucky search for him? That’s genius!” Clint pipes up, and it’s the first thing he’s said in a while. But his love and adoration for this dog has been clear from the second he’d set eyes on him.

“It was Nat’s idea!” Bruce offers proudly, while Thor is holding up one of his sweaters that was clearly the source of scent for the dog. Nat is beaming next to them.

The little girl had shaken her head no everytime someone would call her “Natasha”, always correcting that it was “Natalia”. The nickname didn’t take long at all to establish itself, and she seems to be more and more comfortable here every single day.

From the start, she’d spent most of her time either lurking in doorways or behind a corner, just watching everyone else around her, unsure how to interact or ask for anything. As young as she is, distrust and uncertainty of the people around her are a long standing habit already and it’s heartbreaking to think about.

The language barrier isn’t nearly as much of a problem as they’d thought - clearly, the Red Room starts teaching the girls other languages early on, making it easier to blend in. Now, spending so much time in America, Nat picks up more and more of the language every day, soaking up knowledge like a sponge.

But then again, she is also slowly warming up to them - the first person she latched onto had been Clint - if this has anything to do with subconsciousness or simply the fact that on the day they got turned into kids, he was busy throwing sharp and heavy objects on any adult trying to grab them, they’re not quite sure.

Unsurprising to anyone who knows the two as adults, they are a package deal, no matter the circumstances.

Clint himself, being the oldest of the kids, is both paranoid and protective - it has taken him by far the longest to warm up to any adult, even Phil and Thor. He’s okay with being around them, and even talking a bit lately because they’ve made it clear that they won’t force him or any of the other kids to do anything, and won’t come close unless given explicit permission. It works out better than expected, although it is still very much a work in progress.

None of this will stop him from putting himself in between the younger kids and anything that might possibly be a threat.

Right now, all of them have one collective concern though: find Steve.

As sweet and polite as he is, that boy is trouble. He’s curious, in general but especially here in this entirely new and exciting time for him.

To be fair, Avengers Tower is an adventure for everyone who comes here for the first time. For a 10 year old boy coming straight from 1928 it must be like living in a science fiction novel.

Regardless: this is the very same boy who thinks it is a good idea to climb out of windows and explore the outside of the tower, only to be picked up by a very confused and concerned Spider-Man, putting him back inside and shouting down a hallway,

“Hey Folks, I picked up a very small and very brave boy from your rooftop! Does he belong to anyone? hellooohoo?!”

So, yeah. This is indeed a very concerning situation, especially with a mutated giant plant in the house that takes over everything it can reach.

Only a few minutes later, their search for Steve ends with Thor wrestling aside a particularly nasty piece of plant, Lucky barking excitedly and making a run to lick all over Steve’s face, who indeed, sits on the ground, unharmed and completely unconcerned. His notepad and a few colored pencils are scattered around him, the green on the paper indicating that he might have tried to draw the venus fly trap that’s currently resting one head on his shoulder.

A shout of relief runs through the entire group, and Phil can only barely restrain himself from tackling the goddamn plant and pry it off of Steve. Whenever this whole age regression thing ends, Phil is pretty damn certain he’ll have lost whatever is left of his hair from stress at that point.

“Hi!” The bright smile on the little boy’s face when he greets the others is like the sun coming up. Steve carefully strokes the venus fly trap head on his shoulder, then reaches to the side and pulls away with a fork full of what looks like meatballs. Everyone else just stares for a moment, because what?

“Steve!”

“Steve! Oh my god!”

“Thank the allfather, you’re okay!”

“Uh. Are you okay?”

“What the fuck.”

“Language!”

“Are you… Feeding this thing??”

The questions come out in a messy jumble at the same time and Steve beams up at them.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine! This is Cleopatra, by the way. I figured, a plant this alive should have a name, right?”

“...You… Named and feed this thing. OK, cool. What the hell is going on?”

Phil blinks a few times, collecting himself. Everyone seems to be at a loss for words, but at least, all kids are safe and alive, and honestly, that’s probably all they can ask for at the moment. He’ll be bald by the end of the month, Phil is sure of it.

“So… What are we going to do about this?” someone asks, and the room is in silence for a minute or two.

Lucky is on his back, letting Steve rub his belly. Then, a leaf is slowly creeping up at him and the dog jumps, growling and putting himself in between the plant and the boy.

This is probably their cue to do something.

Together, all of them walk towards the end of the hallway. They’re not that far from their general living area, but there is a bit of space left, several doors leading to different rooms.

“You. Stop eating my jacket.” Phil scolds the plant and pulls it away from his sleeve. At this point, it’s useless to do so since there are more fabric scraps than actual sleeves hanging off of his shoulder at this point. Still, it’s a matter of principle.

The plant didn’t grow eyes, but Phil swears, if it did, it would have glared at him. Weirder things have happened here.

“I think we should somehow contain this beast, lest it’ll take over everything” Thor points out, carefully picking up a potted cactus from the windowsill, but too late - it snarls at him and he holds it away from himself as it makes its way towards his beard. He smiles at the thing, slightly shaking his head.

As much as he likes the chaos that comes with his teammates turned into kids, this is getting out of control.

“Agreed. We just need to find a room…” Phil trains off, looking down the hallway and weighting out their options.

“We never use the room in the back.” Steve points out, holding out the last meatball on a fork for Cleopatra to eat. She inhales the offering in record speed and then burps loudly.

“I’m still not sure if this” Clint gestures with his elbow towards the empty plate, since he’s otherwise occupied with wrestling one of the larger plant parts together with Lucky, who is biting at it to keep it away from the kids, “is a good idea or another problem.”

“Definitely not a good idea. But I honestly don’t care as long as it keeps this thing happy long enough for us to store it somewhere.” Phil grabs a handful of another plant, the mutated Monstera in his way and makes his way to the end of the hallway.

“Her name is Cleopatra!”

“Alright, as long as Cleopatra is happy for long enough to put her in a contained room, I’ll be happy.”

Phil will probably have to pay for this in the near future - but for now, he really doesn’t give a fuck. All that matters to him is that the kids are all safe and everyone is back together.

The seven of them spend a significant amount of their afternoon stuffing plants into the office, and when they close the door again, pushing in the leaves and extending heads of Cleopatra the Venus Fly Trap in an attempt to stop them from leaving the room, they simultaneously let out a big sigh of relief.

A few days later, the kids are busy kneading cookie dough in the kitchen, with Thor by their side and Phil working on his laptop in a corner, listening with one ear and smiling every now and then. It’s been a fairly uneventful day so far, which for them, is always a good thing.

They laugh, bicker and argue just like any big family would, teasing one another, stealing bits of chocolate and dough from the next person and generally having a blast.

It’s a good day, and they hope that they’ll get more of those in the foreseeable future, until there is a cure for the spell that will turn everyone back into an adult.

More or less secretly, both Thor and Phil want to make sure that their friends get to collect some nice childhood memories. Neither of those children has had an easy upbringing they know, and even though they are unsure if it’ll even work, it doesn’t stop them from trying. They love these people and they love spending time with them, one way or another.

“You dropped something!” Steve laughs, accompanied by the sound of Lucky shooting up from his blanket and in between their feet to catch the bit of dough. Thankfully, there is no chocolate in it, because no one can move fast enough to stop the dog from inhaling it.

“Too late. Oh well.” Clint bends down to Lucky, and is greeted with doggy breath and what Lucky considers a proper greeting - slobbering all over his face.

“This is not good for you, boy. I love you still.” he tells the dog, and holds his hands out of reach before Lucky decides it would be a good idea to lick them, too. They’re still covered in baking ingredients, after all.

Suddenly, the elevator makes it’s usual ‘pling’ sound, indicating that someone arrived just now. Just a moment later, a surprised yelp sounds from somewhere in the hallway, followed by

“What the hell?!” in Pepper’s voice, and then, much, much louder:

“PHIL!”

The man in question looks up from his laptop, blinking. Slowly, very slowly he gets up from his seat.

“Poop with knives.”

The kids turn around with regretful expressions and a silent “Oh shit” mirroring each other in their faces - it looks about right. Even Thor looks like that, although he pats Phil on the shoulder apologetically, leaving behind a large handprint with flour on his sweater.

“Ah, the wrath of Lady Pepper. Farewell, dear friend.”

Phil sighs on his way out.

“You got this, Phil! Sorry!” one of the kids calls after him, and it actually makes him huff a laugh.

“I’m really feeling the love there, guys. See you, later.”

The smile that Pepper greets him with is sugary sweet and murderous. One of her sleeves looks like it’s been gnawed on by a vicious venus fly trap…

“Pepper, hi. I’m terribly sorry about this, but I’m sure we can find a solution…”

*+~

23 - Hiding

#banashee writes #marvel fanfiction #65 Random Prompts #Of chosen families and utter chaos #kid fic #age regression

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is0gild · 4 years

Text

Ice Cream and Fire Oven Pizza - Chapter 3

Pairing: Elsa x Lea/Axel || Side Pairing: Riku x OC

Summary: Modern AU. She's an introvert ball of nerves who works at Ice Palace, a mall food court ice cream shop. He's the outgoing, sassy goofball who works at the Pizza Planet across the way. Hilarity, snark, and fluffy romcom hijinks ensue.

Word Count: 5,841

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

Credit for super friggin’ cute and super friggin’ amazing cover art goes to the super friggin’ talented ky-jane here on tumblr!

I’d done it.

I’d gotten a job.

My very first job.

And I was already regretting it big time.

But really, could you blame me? I’d had to interact with three, count them, three people so far. Would the torture never end? No, because it had only just begun! And those were just my boss and coworkers, I hadn’t even gotten to a customer yet. I was dreading that inevitable moment as it drew ever nearer with each passing second.

Oh, and did I mention the uniform? Because, dear lord, if I’d known this is what I’d be signing up for, I probably never would have applied in the first place. For starters, I had to wear a light blue fitted, long sleeved, off shoulder blouse which, granted, wasn’t that bad. But that was only the tip of the iceberg. It was paired with a black mini skirt that stopped a couple inches short of the knees. Can you believe it? A mini skirt. I didn’t see any of my male coworkers sporting booty shorts, no, they got to be fully covered up in white button ups, blue vests, and black slacks. Talk about sexist!

But a job was a job, and I had to start somewhere.

And that somewhere just so happened to be the Ice Palace - a small ice cream shop located in the food court of a local mall known as Dusk Town Center. The walls of the little parlor were decorated in a jagged, cerulean, semi-transparent plastic, simulating the whole frozen castle vibe. The mascot was Sven the Reindeer, which was actually sort of weird to me. I mean, I get it, reindeers are up where it’s cold and snowy all the time, but weren’t they really more of a Santa thing? I just couldn’t really picture them chilling in a frosty throne room, you know what I mean? But hey, I guess it just gave the marketing team an excuse to sell cute caribou plushies, which were everywhere - dangling from the ceiling, sitting atop the cash registers, filling boxes upon boxes in the back… basically anywhere there wasn’t ice cream, there was a stuffed, huggable, googly eyed little deer.

All in all, not exactly a dream job, but pickers can’t be choosers. Especially when the picker, aka me, had flunked out of twenty-some-odd interviews before finally landing this one. Don’t get me wrong, Rayne and Riku had been great teachers. The problem had been with the pupil. No matter how hard they tried to iron out all my nervous habits and anxiety-induced rambling, a few quirks had still managed to slip through. This had led to no small number of awkward moments and don’t-call-us-we’ll-call-yous. But at last I’d managed to keep it together long enough in one interview to trick someone into hiring the trainwreck that was me.

Just my luck it had to be the frigging food court ice cream place with the stupidly short skirts.

It was my first day on the job. The guy who was training me had left me alone after setting me up with a handful of orientation videos to watch and telling me to come get him when I was done. I was seated in one dark corner of this small room that was part storage space, part break area. Before me was a tiny TV atop a VCR that could only be from the Stone Age. Seriously, I didn’t even know such relics were still in circulation anymore. The videos were just about as dated and mind-numbing as you’d expect. They included one such gem as, now that I was a valued employee of Ice Palace, I wasn’t just a part of team but a family. It also felt the need to cover the obvious, things like don’t be rude, don’t handle the product without washing your hands first, don’t kiss, grope, or otherwise manhandle coworkers or customers, don’t go getting yourself locked in a freezer… you know, things I would never, ever do in the first place, not in a million years.

Suffice it to say, I was bored out of my skull.

That said, this was way better than having to talk to an actual human being. So it probably wasn’t hard to imagine my disappointment when the credits at last rolled on the final tape. Sighing, I rose from my chair and clicked off the ancient television set before turning to face the door across the room. My fellow employee that I needed to check in with now was somewhere on the other side of it.

Where the customers were.

Waiting.

Lurking.

I shuddered.

I then took the opportunity to fidget with my skirt, tugging at the hem a bit.

Note to self: use first paycheck to invest in some tights. This whole bare legs thing just was not working for me.

Ugh, why a mini skirt of all things?! I mean, come on, it was the Ice Palace, shouldn’t we be dressing more the part? I’m thinking Inuit attire, I’m talking fur-lined boots and layers upon layers of thick, fuzzy coats covering me from head to toe. But a skirt? It just wasn’t realistic! If I were in a real castle made entirely of frost, I’d be freezing my rear off right about now!

I then adjusted the black cap with a blue bill atop my head that sported our cursive logo, complete with a teeny doodle of a palace, before tightening my ponytail that stuck out the hole in the back. I’d opted for that over my usual braid. Figured it would make it harder for me to fiddle with my hair when I got anxious.

Unfortunately, I had now run out of trivial (but one hundred percent necessary) ways to procrastinate. Guess there was no putting it off any longer. I slowly approached the door, watching it grow more ominous with every step that brought me closer to it. Halting in front of it, I reached for the knob. But then I stopped, hesitating before retracting my hand and looking back over my shoulder towards a second door on the opposite wall, a green Exit sign glowing over it.

The door to freedom.

Perhaps it wasn’t too late for me to follow my dreams and become a hermit. I could always buy a fake beard. No one would ever know the difference.

My eyes darted back and forth between the two doors, my breath becoming shallow and my heartrate quickening. Then, biting down on my lower lip, I took a step towards that Exit sign and-

“There you are!”

I froze with a wince before turning my back on that tantalizing exit, instead facing my coworker who was now leaning in through the other door. He was tall with brown eyes and his head shaved bald beneath his own cap. A thin, black goatee wrapped around the friendly grin he was shooting my way as he now fully stepped into the room to join me, looking quite dapper in his vest and neatly ironed pants.

I chuckled nervously, clasping my hands behind my back. “Er, yeah… here I am.”

Drat. So close!

“Was wondering if you’d gotten lost, figuring as how you should’ve been long done with those videos by now.”

“Nope, was just… on my way, Lucius.”

“Ah ah!” he chided, waggling a finger in my face before gesturing to his work attire. “When I’m in the uniform, it’s Frozone.”

I blinked. “...Fro...zone?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yup. Because when I’m on the clock, I’m in the zone.” That last word was emphasized with a wide sweep of his outstretched hand before he tacked on dramatically, “The Frozen Zone.”

“...I see.”

He seemed to take great pride in his work.

I wondered if I would ever be that dedicated.

...or if I ever even really wanted to be that dedicated.

“So, um… Mr Frozone… what’s next?”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder back towards the door he’d come in through. “Figured we could get you up front now, start familiarizing you with the space and equipment.”

“R-really? So soon?” My fingers twitched, reaching for my braid before remembering it wasn’t there. Instead I settled for crossing my arms. “You think I’m ready for that?”

Answer: A big fat no.

“Well, let’s see here.” He started ticking off fingers, “You’ve watched the videos, you’ve had the grand tour, you’ve-”

“No I haven’t!” I said quickly, shaking my head. “Had the grand tour, that is.”

“No? Well alright then.” He stepped past me and further into the room, then stopped and pivoted around to face me, spreading his arms out to either side of him. “Here it is, in all its glory. Just breathe in that majesty.”

This cramped break-slash-storage room was it, apparently. Besides the TV and VCR in one corner, most of it was filled with giant, industrial-grade fridges for housing all the ice cream. Plus a couple of large metal sinks, plus the aforementioned boxes upon boxes of reindeer plushies. Squeezed into one corner was a humble couch that’d seen better days, along with a small table with a couple rickety-looking chairs. A giant bulletin board hanging from one wall completed the look, covered in workplace guidelines, announcements, and different colored flyers.

“Oh.” I pursed my lips to one side. “Very, ah… very majestic.”

“Isn’t it just?” he nodded, hands on his hips as he smiled broadly. “Welp, that’s that. Now let’s get you up to the registers to continue your training.”

I hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe I should watch the videos one more time. Just to make sure, that… uh...”

Reason… reason… dear god, please, come up with a reason, any reason!

“...that I... didn’t... miss anything?”

He laughed. “You’re thorough and detail oriented. I like that.” He planted his hands on my shoulders and steered me towards the door of doom. “Feel free to rewatch those tapes on your own time, but for now, let’s move on.”

“But-”

He gave me a gentle but firm push and I stumbled through the door and straight into my own personal hell.

Alright, fine, maybe I was being a bit over dramatic. There weren’t even any customers in line at the moment. Seemed like it was just after the lunch rush and most of the people had already eaten and cleared out. There were just a couple families left dotting the tables out there in the otherwise empty food court beyond our countertop.

Swallowing my nerves and inhaling deeply to calm myself, I glanced around my more immediate area. I was a bit curious after all, seeing as how this was my first real time on this side of the cash register. But really? There wasn’t much to it. There was a giant frozen display proudly presenting a rainbow of different flavored ice cream. Beneath it behind the counter were some small metal doors that seemed to be some more refrigerated storage space. In one corner was this fancy looking ice cream machine, with stacks on stacks of empty cups and cones beside it. There were some large menus overhead on the back wall and beneath them, a snowman crudely painted onto the door that I had just been so unceremoniously shoved through. Then of course, those plastic “ice” walls and reindeer dolls overflowing from every crook and cranny that they could conceivably be crammed into.

That about summed it up. That, plus the burly blonde guy manning one of the registers that would be my second coworker.

He turned his head, giving me a look that admittedly wasn’t quite a scowl, but wasn’t exactly warm and inviting either.

I gulped and unconsciously took a step back, immediately bumping into something. Looking over my shoulder, that something turned out to be a someone: Lu… erm, I mean, Frozone.

Hand on my shoulder once more, he guided me forward and I took a few reluctant steps closer to the other man. “Elsa, you remember Kristoff from earlier, right?”

I gave a weak nod and raised my hand in a tiny wave. “H-hi again.”

He only continued to fix me with a dull stare.

“Oh yeah, you two are going to be fast friends, I can already tell,” Frozone beamed. “Now Kristoff here is going to be taking over your training and showing you the ropes up here. There’s a new shipment in back that I should get to sorting out, but just give a holler if you need me.”

“Wait!” I snatched at his sleeve as he turned to leave through the back door. My eyes darted from him to Kristoff and back before I whispered, “Do you really have to go?”

I had actually been growing comfortable around him. He seemed nice.

This Kristoff guy on the other hand seemed, erm… how should I put this… shall we say, grumpy?

Frozone chuckled, tugging himself free of my grasp and patting me on the head. “I’m flattered, girl, but I’m a taken man. Honey is the light of my life and trust me, you do not want to get on that woman’s bad side.”

“Wha-?” I blinked a couple times. “No, that’s not what I-”

Annnnnnd there he went, calling a cheerful, “Have fun, you two!” over his shoulder as he disappeared into the back.

Sighing, I turned to face Kristoff and was greeted once more by that same deadpan expression.

Oh yeah. So much fun.

Taking a cautious step towards him, I cleared my throat and rubbed my left elbow. “So… that Frozone… really seems to take his job seriously, huh?”

“...don’t even get me started,” he said flatly.

So he speaks.

Barely.

I tried again. “What do I call you? Kristoff okay? Or just Kris? ...Kristo?” I was met with total silence. “...Oh, maybe that’s already short for something, like… Kristopher? Kristofel? Kris...toforos?” Mayday! Mayday! I was beginning to enter nervous babbling territory. Send help. “Or perhaps, oh! Do we all get theme names? Like Frozone? What would yours be? Are you the, uh… hmm, the, um… the Iceman?”

Face unchanged and dead serious, he said at last, “Oh yeah. That’s me. The Iceman. I love ice. Ice is my life. I eat, drink, and breathe nothing but ice. At night, I go to my ice house, eat my ice dinner, tuck myself into my ice bed, and cuddle with a bag of ice like it’s a teddy bear.”

“...really?”

If possible, his eyelids drooped even further. “No.”

“Oh.”

I knew that.

He heaved a soft, grumbling huff. “Kristoff is fine. Let’s go, new girl.”

He left his station behind the cash register to walk over to the display housing the frozen tubs, slapping a hand down on top of the chilly glass. “Ice cream,” he explained dryly. He then bent down to open one of the metal doors below, pulling out what appeared to be a plastic wrapped, solid bar of sugary sweetness on a stick. “More ice cream.” He tossed it back in with the rest just like it, kicking the door shut. He then picked up a rounded, steel utensil. “Ice cream scoop. You know how to use one, right?”

“Ah,” I brightened. “Yes, of course!”

“Congratz, you’re at least as competent as a four-year-old.”

Hey now, rude.

Returning the scoop to where he’d found it, Kristoff then walked over to the giant machine in the corner. As I approached it as well, I began to appreciate just how much of a monster this thing truly was with all its buttons, switches, levers, and tubes on it. It was actually kind of intimidating. What on earth could they all even possibly do?

“Combo soft serve/milkshake machine,” Kristoff continued on in his bored monotone as he planted an elbow atop the thing, leaning against it. He pointed at a big lever on the left over one tube. “Ice cream.” Next at another big lever, this one on the right over a second tube with some sort of gizmo sticking out of it. “Milkshakes.” His index finger shifted down to three large buttons running down the bottom right corner in front, first indicating the top one. “Turns it on and off.” Then the bottom button. “Flavor swapper.”

“And this one?” My fingers drifted towards the middle button.

“No touchy,” he lightly swatted my hand away. “That one makes it angry. And trust me, you won’t like it when it’s angry.”

I tipped my head to one side. “...why would there even be a button like that?”

He shrugged, intoning airily, “No one knows.”

I quirked an eyebrow at him, then shook my head, my gaze returning to that monstrosity of a machine. “What about all those other levers and switches on the side?”

“Woah, slow down, newbie. You gotta learn to crawl before you can walk. For now, just stick to the basics. Ice cream. Shakes. Off and on. Flavor,” he pointed to each one in turn again as he listed them off before giving me yet another dull look. “Am I going too fast for you? Maybe you should be writing this down.”

It was my turn for some eyelid droopage. “I think I got it.”

“Good. You’re ready for your first customer then. And as luck would have it,” he pointed past me, “here he comes.”

“What?!” I spun around on my heel. Some guy had just entered the food court on the opposite end from the Ice Palace, but was making a beeline straight for us.

Panic mode initiated. Hands? Clammy. Face? Blanched. Heart? Pounding. All systems a go.

“Relax, new girl.” Kristoff slapped me on the back, forcing a tiny oof out of me. “I know this dude, we all do around this place. He and his girlfriend are mallrats that’ll spend hours here, visiting all the stores and making friends with everyone. You should have no problem. Total training wheels.”

His words did nothing to ease my growing nerves and I must have been doing a terrible job of hiding it because he snorted, “You’ll be fine. Just step up to the register.” He waved a hand towards it.

I swallowed hard, then numbly walked over to it.

“Smile,” he pointed to his own grin that he now had plastered on for show, looking remarkably strange on a man I had seen zero emotion from all day. I forced my own smile and he flinched. “Ehh, maybe not so much.” I toned it down a bit. “Better. Now just say, ‘Welcome to Ice Palace, how may I take your order?’ and the rest should be a no brainer.”

Easy for you to say, buddy.

Taking a small shaky breath, I looked away from him and towards the customer once more just as he closed in on the counter. He had bright blue eyes, brown spiky hair, and a huge grin that just about literally split his face in two.

Okay, Elsa, you can do this.

“Welcome to Ice Palace, how…”

Oh fudge, I’d already forgotten the line! My mind was drawing a complete blank. The blankest of blanks.

“...uh…”

Panic, panic, panic!

“...how… you… order?”

Hi, yes, one stammering idiot at your service.

I heard the smack of Kristoff’s facepalm before he whispered under his breath, “Eh, close enough.”

Seemingly unfazed by my mental malfunction, the guy just continued to flash those pearly whites. “Hey there, could I get two bars of the Paopu Paradise ice cream please?”

“Ah… y-yes, right away!” I darted over to the frozen display case, picking up one of the scoops and reaching for the sliding glass door in back. However, I froze when I heard a throat clearing and turned to see Kristoff jerking a thumb towards the freezer space below.

...oh right, bars. He’d said he’d wanted bars of ice cream. Fumbling to put the scoop back, I bent down to open the cold door, located the stack labeled “Paopu Paradise” and snatched two off the top before straightening back up and thrusting them proudly over the counter into the customer’s face.

Another throat clear.

I glanced at Kristoff again, who mouthed the word ‘munny’ at me.

...minor detail.

“Er, yes… that’ll be, uh…” I stared down at one of the plastic-sheathed ice creams, spinning it around by the stick, as if looking for the price tag.

Kristoff groaned before tiredly commanding, “Cash register.” I hastily moved to stand in front of it once more. He pointed to one of the keys. “Push that one.” Done. “Now that one and that one.” Done and done. A munny total appeared on the register’s little black screen and he gestured for me to go on. I read off the amount and the customer, still sunny faced as ever, handed me the munny. To my credit, I only flinched slightly when the cash drawer noisily popped open, allowing the munny to be deposited.

After slamming it back shut, I looked to Kristoff again, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth. “Now?”

He closed his eyes and gave me a solemn nod.

Feeling my muscles relax slightly, I turned back to the customer, offering him his two ice creams once again.

“Thanks!” he chirped, taking them both in one hand and ripping the plastic off one before immediately chomping down hard into the frozen treat, making me wince.

Jeez, this guy must have had the teeth of a viking!

After swallowing the bite, he licked his lips and eyed me curiously. “You’re new, right?”

“Gee, how did you ever guess?” Kristoff deadpanned. I merely turned my head to narrow my eyes up at him.

Ignoring the comment from the peanut gallery, the guy offered his free hand to me. “You’ll probably be seeing me around a lot, so figure I should introduce myself. I’m Sora! Nice to meetcha!”

I hesitated before taking his hand gingerly and shaking it. “...Elsa. A pleasure.”

He froze mid-lick of his ice cream bar, blinking at me. “Elsa?” Lowering his snack a little now, he cocked his head. “Hey, you just moved in with Riku and Ray, didn’t you?”

My head rocked back at that. “How did you-?”

“Stalker,” Kristoff stretched the word out in a low singsong.

Sora’s eyes widened. “Wha? No, no, I know Riku! He’s my cousin and my best bud! He’d mentioned renting out their spare room to an old gal pal of Ray’s and that you were going through a bit of a rough patch, that’s all!” That blinding grin was slowly returning. “Hey, if there’s any way I can help out too, just let me know!”

“Oh.” My brow furrowed. “Uh… thanks…”

...you complete and total stranger.

“Don’t mention it! We’re friends now!”

Ah. My mistake. We were friends.

Apparently.

“Anyway, gotta run,” he waggled the second unopened bar slightly, “Kairi’s waiting for me and she’ll murder me if I let this melt! See ya around!” He waved good-bye to us over his shoulder as he walked off, happily slurping away at his own ice cream. I found myself absently returning the wave, one corner of my lips twitching up.

That guy? Bit of an oddball. But he seemed sweet.

“Not bad, newbie,” I heard Kristoff say as he poked the bill of my Ice Palace cap down, making it cover my eyes.

“Really?” I asked, righting my hat and looking up at him. Surprise of surprises, he was actually smiling.

...okay, it wasn’t so much a smile as it was a faint tightening of the mouth. But hey, I’ll take it.

“Not great, either,” he shrugged. “Not even remotely. But it’s a start. You’ll get better at it as you go. Now let’s cover-”

“Yo, Kristoff!”

Recognizing Frozone’s voice, we turned to see him poking a head out the door to the back. “Could you give me a quick hand with moving a particularly heavy box?”

“Sure thing, be there in just a sec,” Kristoff called. Frozone (gah, it will never not be weird calling him that) nodded before disappearing once more.

My insides shriveled somewhat. “You’re leaving me by myself up here?”

He gave my arm a light, reassuring pat. “I’ll be real quick, promise. It’s dead right now, so you probably won’t even have to deal with a single customer before I get back. If you do, don’t worry, you’re a natural. Just take their order, easy-peasy. And if you need help, tell the customer to wait a moment and come get me.”

I once again was reaching for my braid. It once again was not there. “What if they don’t want to wait a moment?”

“Just tell ‘em we’re out of whatever flavor they want and say ‘Let me see if we have any more in the back.’ Got it?”

“I guess so…”

“Good! Be back before you know it.” He jogged off and out the door, but a second later, he was leaning back through it again. “Remember, you say…” he twirled a finger sideways, prompting me.

“...let me see if we have any more in the back?” I ventured in a tiny voice.

He gave me a thumbs up. “Perfect.” Then he was gone again.

I moved to stand at the counter once more, inhaling and exhaling slowly. “Let me see if we have any more in the back,” I repeated, muttering it softly to myself as I eyed the food court warily.

He was right though, it was basically a ghost town out there. Everyone had already eaten for lunch and had all probably packed themselves back into the various stores by now. Plus it was a weekday. Thank goodness my first day hadn’t been on the weekend, I most certainly was not ready for the stampede of shoppers that would have come with that! As it was right now, there were only a few folks out there milling around for an afternoon snack and luckily none of them seemed to be craving ice cream. So I could maybe relax… at least for the moment.

Today… actually wasn’t going too bad so far. The job itself didn’t seem all that terrible. I was getting along with my coworkers, even that Kristoff fellow. He’d acted all tough at first, but seemed actually somewhat friendly underneath that cool exterior. I’d even helped my first customer! And with minimal mistakes, no less!

Maybe… maybe I could actually do this!

Okay sure, was I still a bit of a tangled ball of anxiety inside? Yes. Would I continue to be with each new customer? Oh, without a doubt. But with time, maybe, hopefully, it would lessen? At least somewhat?

A girl could dream anyway.

Regardless, I was doing it. The whole independence thing. Taking control of my life. I still had a long way to go, but this little ice cream job was the first small step. If I could do this, then maybe, just maybe there wasn’t much I couldn’t do. It wouldn’t be easy, and there was still a lot more for me to figure out. Like, a lot more. But I could and would. I just needed to believe in myself.

Feeling just a bit more on the chipper side now - an emotion that I hadn’t truly felt in a long time - I glanced around the food court again, really taking it all in this time, especially the other brightly colored restaurants that formed our neighbors.

There was The Big Olive, which served greek food. Currently a woman with heavy lavender eyeshadow and thick brown hair tied back into a long ponytail with curly fringe stood behind the register, idly flipping through a magazine. Then there was a chinese place called Mushu’s Kingdom with a cute little red dragon at the tail end of the logo. Next, there was Beast Burgers. I’d thought Kristoff cranky, but the big, hairy guy working there at the moment made Kristoff look like a cuddly puppy. Right beside that was a Cajun/Creole-style restaurant called Frog Legs, followed by a place called Sugar Rush, which looked like it served mostly pastries and any other sweet that wasn’t ice cream. Judging by the several large signs they had up, they seemed particularly proud of their cinnamon buns, which looked to be more frosting than bread.

Then there was a Lucky Cat Café, which was basically a coffee empire that had a shop located practically on every last street corner in the universe. I recalled that’s where Riku had purchased my mocha from the day I had officially moved in with Rayne and him. He’d probably bought it from this exact one that I was looking at right now. The mall was only a couple short blocks away from our apartment after all, which made it extra convenient that I’d managed to get the job here.

At that moment, I could see a woman with shoulder-length blue hair working the register while her coworker, a younger guy with short, messy blonde hair, blended a frothy drink nearby. They both were wearing green visors with felt feline ears sticking out the top. The blonde gave the grey cat with stripes perched atop their muffin display counter a quick pat on the head as he passed it by to reach the awaiting customer. It was only when I saw the creature’s tail twitch that I realized that was an actual living, breathing cat. Huh. A pet? Kept in the food court? How odd. It must have been very well trained. Probably just napped in that single spot all day, every day.

Last but not least, directly across the way from the Ice Palace was a Pizza Planet, its green logo sporting a giant, round pizza pie with a Saturn-like ring wrapped around it. It tied neck-and-neck with our ice cream parlour for most over the top decorations. The interior was designed to look like the inside of a UFO and was littered with toy rocket ships and little green alien squeeze-dolls everywhere. Stationed at the cash register was a girl with short raven hair, clapping and cheering her coworker on.

Said coworker was a tall, lanky guy who, like his fellow employee, was decked out in a dark grey polo with red trimmed sleeves and collar, accompanied by a pair of black fingerless gloves and khakis underneath his black, snuggly-tied full-body apron. His long, wild crimson hair trailed down past the nape of his neck and spilled out in spikes over his open-topped red visor. He was grinning cockily as he spun not one, but two massive discs of pizza dough, one on each index finger.

He tossed one up high into the air before catching it and starting it spinning on his fingertip again. Then he was using some sort of wizardry to send the dough half rolling, half flying across his shoulders as he swapped the other disc to his left hand, freeing up his right to catch the first saucer of dough just in time and keep it whirling, much to his coworker’s delight.

It was as he was giving one of the circular slabs of dough another toss up that he seemed to realize he’d gained a second audience member. His eyes shifted to meet mine and then widened as his whole body locked up. The disc still balanced on his finger spun off and toppled to the ground.

As for its airborne twin?

Splat!

Right on top of his head, covering his whole face.

A very unladylike snort escaped me, followed by a burst of long and uncontrollable laughter that I tried to smother behind my fingers. I was still laughing when he lifted the dough enough to peek one eye at me, expression unreadable as he slowly raised his other hand in a small twitch of a wave.

My giggling, along with my heart, abruptly stopped as I gasped, paled, squeaked and ducked down behind the counter.

...I’d laughed at him.

Oh my god, I can’t believe I’d laughed at him!

Heart thudding in my ears now, I stayed in a low crouch in my hiding spot, trembling hands gripping the edge of the countertop above me as my tongue dried to literal sandpaper.

Had he heard me laughing? Had he seen me laughing? What am I saying, of course he saw! That’s why he’d waved!

Oh dear lord, what did the wave mean? Was it an angry wave? An ‘I see you laughing at me, jerkface’ wave? A ‘How dare you mock me thusly’ wave? A ‘You have besmirched my honor, villain, now we must duel to the death’ wave? No, no, no, I didn’t know how to duel! What kind of duel would it even be? Pistols at dawn? I knew nothing about using a frigging pistol! Or any gun for that matter! I was dead! I was toast! I was-

Wait! No! Stop! Get a hold of yourself, woman! Gah, calm down and stop letting your imagination run wild with completely ridiculous notions!

I screwed my eyes shut, breathing in deep through my nose and holding it as I counted to ten before releasing.

It had probably just been a normal wave. A ‘Hello there, yes, I’m a dork who drops pizza dough on my head’ wave. He probably wasn’t mad, nor did he want to seek vengeance in blood. He was probably now just standing there, confused by the crazy weirdo who’d dived for cover behind her counter like she was in a war zone under enemy fire.

Alright. Time to pull myself back up. This was salvageable. Just stand and… I don’t know… wave back? Yeah, that sounded like a plan. Okay, you got this.

My legs tensed as I prepared to stand once more. In three… two…

What’d I’d failed to consider, as I’d be learning in two frightfully short seconds, was that there was another possibility. Another string of events that could have and, in fact, were set in motion the moment I’d dropped into hiding. That instead of just staying behind his own counter, the redhead had gotten curious about my odd reaction and had decided to take it upon himself to investigate. Therefore, he’d announced to his coworker that he was taking his ten, allowing him to leave his little pizzeria and cross the food court on a course heading straight for the ice cream shop directly across the way.

I have to wonder… and I mean really, really wonder… what were the odds?

The odds that he’d stop in front of the counter right across from where I was concealed.

The odds that he’d be leaning over it to look down at me exactly as I was springing back up to stand.

The odds that his lips were positioned just perfectly for my own to come crashing into his as I looked up.

That’s right.

I’d frigging kissed him.

...Hey, universe? It’s me, Elsa. If you’re listening, now would be a really great time for me to spontaneously develop the ability to rewind time by, say, I don’t know… thirty seconds so I can make completely different life choices.

...No? Not happening?

Well fudge.

Author's note: BEHOLD! There, at long last, having traded his spinning chakrams in for spinning pizzas, is our favorite Fire Boy! Or rather… there his lips are anyway… hehehe… xD Trust me, the fun is only beginning, you're in for one rollercoaster of a ride with this story!

So here we finally get the main setting for a majority of this story - what is basically the universe of KH transformed into a mall xP So many stupid little references will abound in the chapters to come, I'm sure you'll get sick of it! And I know Frozone/Incredibles isn't in KH, but that is a travesty which I had to correct by including him in this fic! I mean, c'mon, he's perfect for working at an ice cream shop alongside Elsa! As for Kristoff, I know he's normally a big ol' softie, but don't forget he had his whole tough guy routine when he first met Anna at the beginning of the movie! And as you can see, he's already starting to warm up to Elsa. And all the food court restaurants and faces (yes, even the cat) this chapter were KH/Disney references, some might be more obvious than others tho… but if any were too vague, Elsa will get to meet a lot of them in the chapters ahead so that should clear 'em all up! Oh, and ice cream flavor names! I'm not gonna miss an opportunity to steal all those ice creams from BBS, but come on, this was Sora, so OF COURSE I had to make up something that was Paopu flavored for him! I imagine the description of the Paopu Paradise flavor on the menu is something like: "Made with real Paopu fruit straight from Destiny Islands with little star sprinkles swirled in! Legend has it if two people share this ice cream, their destinies become intertwined."

In any case, on to the more pressing question… how will our lil ball of nerves Ice Queen handle this mortifying "greeting" with her new redheaded friend that she has yet to even learn the name of? Hope you stay tuned to find out in the next chapter! Thank you so much for reading!

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