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f4iryfever · 2 months

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CHOI YEONJUN X READER

Soaked

❛ cause baby you

get me so, so soaked ❜

warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), degradation, kinda humiliation, perv!yeonjun, reader has breasts and a vagina, choking, scratching, i think that’s all if i missed some please let me know!!

SMUT UNDER THE CUT, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU!!!

You don’t know how you found yourself in this position but you did, ass up and face down in the pillows of a cheap scruffy motel as a handsome stranger who’s name you found out was Choi Yeonjun pounded into you mercilessly.

Flashes of the night appear in your mind as moans and groans escaped from the man above, your knuckles turning white from holding tightly onto the messy sheets beneath you. “Such a little slut, riling me up back there,” He grunted out, thrusting deeper into you.

You let out a sinful moan as you remembered how your fingers ran down his biceps, your body pressed against his chest as he watched you dance from his high view. His eyes following the way your plush breasts would bounce up each time you hopped from step to step, the way your hips swayed to the music.

The way your hips drooped just to the bottom of his thighs at the beginning of his knees as you dragged your ass up to his crotch teasingly, knowing that he could feel your clothed wet cunt press against the tip of his cock.

Yeonjun’s jaw clenched from the memory, feeling your warm core clench around him as soft moans erupted from the wrecked girl under him, watching the way your essence was running down the back of your thighs. “Baby you’re still so soaked,” he leaned down to whisper in your ear, his teeth gliding against your earlobe ever so slightly.

You shivered at the feeling, your core clenching tightly against his cock causing him to hiss; “Baby if you keep doing that, I might just cum.” You wanted him to cum, you needed him to cum inside of you, to feel his liquid spray everywhere in your walls, for him to milk you dry until you had no more coming out. You wanted that all.

And it seemed like Yeonjun also caught onto what you were doing because just as you were about to squeeze him again, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head up, colliding your back to his chest. “I fucking dare you to do that again and you ain’t cumming tonight, you understand me?” He growled in your ear, the threat going straight down to your core as a string of moans escaped your lips.

He chuckled darkly at your noises, “You like that, don’t you, you fucking slut?” The pleasure was too much that you couldn’t even hear what you said yet you still madly nodded your head. His large veiny hand that was holding your hip slithered its way up to your neck, choking you with just enough pressure to make you go dizzy. His other hand moving down to your core as two of calloused fingers began toying with your clit.

“F-fuckkk,” You moaned out, your mind going foggy from the pleasure, your head falling back to rest on Yeonjun’s shoulder as his grip around your neck tightened. “Feel’s sooo good jjunnieeee,” The position that he had you in gave him straight access to your g-spot which he was hitting deliciously with every thrust.

“Mmm does my little slut like being used as a fucktoy?” He asked whilst sucking hardly on your jaw, making sure the dark crimson mark was visible before he continued doing the same to other areas of your skin that he could find. “O-only your fucktoy,” You mewled out, screeching when he pinched your clit.

“That’s right baby, you’re only my fucktoy to use,” Yeonjun could tell you were close, the way you were blabbering and clenching down on him tightly like a viper, all he needed was for you to beg him for your release before he could give it to you which is exactly what you’re going to do.

You felt the knot in your lower stomach begin to untie as electricity bolts shot through your veins in a way that had your toes curling, “P-please,”

Yeonjun smirked turning his head to the side with fake sympathy, “Please what baby? You gotta tell me what you want,”

“P-please let me c-cum,” You stammered out, hearing a hiss coming from the man behind you as your core clenched around his cock. “Hmm? I couldn’t hear you,” The bastard was enjoying torturing you and the sick thing was that it made you wet.

You scratched red marks on his hand that was chocking you as fresh hot tears streamed down your face, “P-please let me cum!” You choked out feeling your orgasm just around the corner.

“Go on baby, make a mess on my cock,” The black haired man whispered sinfully in your ear and with that you came, your body falling forwards onto the mattress, limp from the unbearable pleasure. Soon after you, Yeonjun also came but still had his girth inside of you whilst he rested on your back. Both were sweaty and breathless when coming down from your high.

You definitely were going to rile him up more.

A/N: hehe i hope you all liked thisss, sorry for the wait I’m just so busy with school and stuff but I’ll be on half term next week so I’ll def be posting more!!

tags: @boba-beom @tyunzonlystar

#tomorrow x together #txt post #txt x reader #txt smut #choi yeonjun #yeonjun smut #yeonjun #i need him so bad #txt yeonjun

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coffinlid · 4 months

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If y’all wanna hear some shit read below the cut. It’s a lot. Sorry 🩷

OK SO! Yesterday I go into work at 4 and one of my coworkers immediately tells me that the restaurant is closed Saturday. I was like oh ok…. Why? Like shut down for the day or…. And he said no like the business is shutting down forever. He kinda jumped the gun bc soon after the director of operations (Pete) gathers all of the evening crew around and lets us know the situation.

(I’m gonna try to explain some context without being confusing. The company I work for owns 3 restaurants. The restaurant I work at is technically not owned by them, but they manage it for the original owner/landlord. The landlord (who fucked off to the Dominican Republic because he’s in trouble with the law) saw our finances for the first time in like a year and decided to just shut it all down. He has no restaurant experience and doesn’t understand the concept of slow season in the food world. Yes, business has been slow since November. However, we are ALWAYS popping off spring-fall. Business BOOMS. Well. Landlord guy gave our company an ultimatum.)

Pete explains that himself, the CEO, and I guess some of the other corporate people tried reasoning with landlord and even just begged to let the restaurant stay open until spring when business picks up. Landlord said they could do 3 things:

1. Buy the restaurant from him for an astronomical amount

2. Continue to run the restaurant but with absolutely no financial support from him from now on (which we were already kind of doing for a year…)

3. Shut down the whole bitch

Our company can’t afford to keep the restaurant with no support so they had to concede to landlord and just shut the whole thing down. And it had to be on Saturday. There was no reasoning with him. This took absolutely EVERYBODY by surprise. EVERYBODY, including corporate and head management of the restaurant, got a total of 2! DAYS! of notice.

I could tell when I walked into work yesterday that Pete and my two managers had been crying a lot. I know the GM is gonna float between the other restaurants as a training coordinator, but I have no clue what’s gonna happen to the assistant manager bc there are no other management positions available in the company. She’s pretty much just been hung out to dry. With 2 days notice.

My front of house and back of house coworkers were all discussing where we’re gonna go from here and what the fuck we do now. 2 days to find a new job. Everybody was scrambling to get each other’s socials so we can all keep in touch. This fucking sucks dude. I loved coming into work just for my coworkers, not even the work itself. I know it’s a cliche that companies call themselves a “family” but honestly truly we really were a little family.

Pete wants us all to stay within the company if we can, and I know at least 3 of us are going to transfer to one of the other restaurants. It’s technically not the end of the world, at least for servers. But I have no clue if the other restaurants have any space for back of house employees. I know I’m never gonna see some of these people ever again.

And we have a whole ass brewery in the back. And we JUST CHANGED THE MENU AND INVESTED IN ALL THIS OTHER SHIT JUST LAST FRIDAY!!!! We had 1 week with the new menu and that’s it. Everything is completely stocked. There are so many fixtures and plants and technology, so much new merch that we just bought.

Somehow a mass text went out to all the other stores and restaurants on our street that we were shutting down and we had so many people walking in to share their condolences. But this text went out before most of the restaurant even knew about it. So when they came in some of us were like uh… what are you talking about…. How the fuck did that happen???? No one knows who sent the text.

On the bright side, I got a SHIT TON of sympathy tips last night and made almost $200.

It was going to be my last night since I wasn’t scheduled for the next 2 days but thankfully my manager added me to the roster for Saturday night. So I will be there for the end of it all 🥲

#long post #I hope the cut actually works on mobile #so yeah I’m technically out of a job in 2 days #but I just got an offer letter for the funeral home so it’s not like I’m scrambling #THIS SHIT SUUUCCCCCKKKKSSSSSS #tt #I’m gonna miss my people so bad I think I might cry on Saturday

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capriciouswriter207 · 2 years

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So guess who came up with another what if except it’s so random and I have no idea where it came from or literally anything about it

What if Fwhip was a vampire?

Unless you have ideas don’t worry about trying to write anything lol I’m mostly sharing it because I have no fucking clue where or why it entered my brain lmao

-Copper

That one seriously came out of left field.

Look, I haven't got major ideas, but I do want to write down the first couple of things that popped into my mind when I read that question, and maybe it'll become longer. I have time to spare today, storm Eunice decided to be a bitch.

So, what if fWhip was a vampire?

I imagine Exor taking a liking to him, much like he would if Gem had antlers. He's special, so he had to be made in his image, kinda. Now he's the representative, the one who can't slip up or make mistakes, and does kinda revel in being different and special.

In this imagining, let's say baby vampires just grow up like humans do until they reach a certain age, at which point they stop aging. That's the easiest solution for this problem.

Since he's tasted human blood, that's all he wants. People in the Overworld randomly and regularly go missing, to the point that it becomes noticeable. Nobldy can find where they disappear to, though, and fWhip has his meal. He drinks from them until they're completely dry and dead.

He's drank from Gem and Sausage before, once. He wanted to know what they tasted like and they wanted to know what it felt like to be drank from. After that one time, they were satisfied (though fWhip needs to control himself around them when he's hungry)

As a resultt, he has little sympathy for anyone that isn't Gem, Sausage, Exor or Xornoth. Everyone else is a potential meal and that does greatly dehumanize the enemy.

He can't turn into a bat. However, he does have a pair of leathery wings and that is cool.

He doesn't know how to create vampires. Maybe he'll figure it out by accident, but Exor never told him and never even called him a "vampire", to keep him in line and make him believe he's special. When he does figure it out, he'll probably look into creating a small army to serve them.

The sun burns him. That sucks. They primarily attack at night and rest up during the day.

I could try to go on, but that's where the inspiration runs dry, so I'm gonna stop it here. It was a weird what if-scenario, but definitely a fun one to think about.

#fWhip #thanks for that question!#i hadn't expected it #but it was fun to explore anyway #i didn't have the opportunity to peruse the vampire wikipedia page before writing this #Eunice is making life difficult today #wither au #empires smp #i might have written more if i had that opportunity

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

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Love Brings Patience.

A/N: Just an angsty "3am thoughts and listening to hozier while doing" it blurb. Enjoy!! ♡♡

It thunders outside loudly, but she didn’t flinch. The mass of blues and viridescent ivory painting the sky -- a call for rain, as when there’s blessed pour of shower after every winter sick – but it’s monsoon —- there’s none of the sympathy that these boofy clouds could slip into Y/N's pocket as she lays on her bed watching through the glass roof of the home ... they built together.

With so much, love, trust, faith and passion for eachother that anything in the world was unable to come between them – until it did.

Pinning against them and keeping them apart.

Everything will be okay, in the end. It’s not okay. It’s not the end.

It’s just beginning. Beginning to suffer alone and without him, his emotional and physical support, his cheery smile that’d race her heartbeat like chariots of Hades and his gentle need to saturate the distances between them wherever they’re, his loving gleamy eyes never skimming past her and he'd dot soft grateful kisses to her raspberry cheeks and kiss her temple as if she’s the goddess that resides in his home and it’d be a sin not to cherish her.

He loves too much. He did. He does. He loved her beyond everything that it killed him, he was sobbing that night – drenching the lilac carpeted floor with the water droplets dripping down and Y/N wasn’t sure if it was the roar of lightening against the creaky windows of their home or the feebleness of his voice that sobered her into dust.

“Been hurtin' ye'fo’ years .. by being away from you fo' months and coming back to just give y'memories and hopes for me early arrival —-.. what .. -- what kinda lover does that?” He hiccupped. His wet fringes didn’t let Y/N fetch him and dip her hand in his soul to touch it and tell him where he belongs, he always belonged to her – and your path is always destined to ones, who you belong to.

“-- ... makes ye' -m..m—makes you wait and takes the test of yer patience, like you’re not human –...” But, this isn’t what love brings? Wait and patience and sacrifice —- the yearn to have the love of your life in your embrace while you pace through the alleyway of airports.

Love brings patience.

“... darlin’ ye' deserve the same warmth of a body, same attention and love that everyone out there’s getting ..” His sniffles sharp and breathless as he pointed out the window to indicate the world and she doesn’t know how in just one night he became so silly, because her world is him — only him.

Her whisper came out broken, “And what about you?” Her caring question for him made him push the heels of his palms to his sockets and rub the stubborn fat tears away.

“It’s hurtin’ me to. Makes me not breath at nights, stayin' away from you -- ‘m never focusin’ –- ‘s just you, Always you in the pocket of me heart – the back of my mind —-- can’t escape it. My stupid stupid heart tries to see you in strangers faces ‘n —--... my arms pulls at cold sheets to get to your warmth but it never comes, whatever I do.” His chest tightened and it’s repeating the same shortness of breaths he used to get while crying to himself in those hotel rooms, the puffy lips gasping for oxygen and Y/N' was rushing towards him grabbing his jaw to inspect him but he’s slip shutting his eyes and gesturing her he’s okay.

Murmured sadly, “And lovie’ it hurts.” So, loving her hurts him? What kind of love is that? A piece of failure when it should be what they tell in fairy tales.

She failed him.

She was shuddering letting his hand slip from her sweaty palms when he stood up with a worn out sad face, head hung down with the burden of guilt and selfishness.

“I don’t wanna hurt you anymore.” She was on her knees. Lips wobbled glum. She tugged on the bottom of his trousers crying dolefully without any word.

“Not wanting to hurt me by hurtin’ me more?” She cried hugging his leg and not letting it go.

His bestowed assertion made her shudder as he stepped away and to side, “I don’t w'na hurt us anymore.” His heart cracked and promised to him that it'll never heal up how much he'd beg later.

He was crying into his wrist leaving their apartment. Closing his ears with his palms to shut down the loud reckless sobs that echoed till hallway.

That cruel summer night still haunts her every moment and it’s been two weeks, and she wishes that he'll come running towards where she’s shrinking into the bed and jump over her as he used to —-- covering the little distance from the kitchen towards the bed and always made them bounce with the glee of his soft giggles.

How merciless could he be?

Leaving her alone in their home, where every piece of furniture holds his memory; the pink vinyl that’d play their favourite French songs, the squared tiles of their kitchen walls that he wrote different recipes over, the glassed roof through which they'd moon gaze snuggled into eachother and he'd be more happy to stroke her skin and love on the softness of it rather than the twinkle of stars – because he does it when he misses her, not when she’s right in his arms kissing his cheeks to happy affection, his cat who’s homesick because her momma is there or not – it’s not a much difference.

Everything is just ghosts of his memories making the edges of her heart bleed and cracking them dry.

She misses him. She misses him terribly and no day goes by without his thought swimming and tickling her mind.

Telephone rings. It keeps on ringing and she ignores it closing her eyes and tries to surrender herself to darkness of sleep, but then it kept on cutting through the tranquillity of their home and she’s plucking the yellow receiver and speaking something – embarrassed when her voice doesn’t even reach herself.

There’s loud annoyed groaning, vigorous disturbance and a high pitched squeaks before Mitch's monotone voice startles Y/N, “Can you please take him home? He's proper waffled .. broke his —-.. Harry! Can you sit down? Christ. Look you’re looking like a clown in front of all these nurses —-- Y/N?” He sighs and Y/N turns the curly wire around her finger out of anxiousness.

Fidgety on the tips of her toes.

“Where are you? Nurses? Broke? Is Harry okay? Tell me Mitch what’s happening!!?” She’s yelling into the receiver snatching the notepad when Mitch mutters grumpily, “Harry’s in hospital.”

Her heart drops to floor at that and she stares at her feet letting it sink before blinking the tears away and asking him for locations.

The time she reaches it starts raining and she covers herself with the cardigan she sneaked from his wardrobe to feel his presence, his scent and his brush of touch to her skin.

When she’s stumbling inside the rushy lobby filled with people waiting for their turn and her blurry gaze moves in every direction to find Harry sitting on the steel benches, wearing loose tailored curdory trousers and a baby blue sweater she knitted him as a gift for his birthday.

His apple-ish cheeks rosy and his button of nose scrunching up as he sits clumsily on the bench, poking Mitch's bum every other second to laugh at some kid who has his hand struck in a pot.

His own wrist bandaged up and around his neck, his pupils glassy foam and his condition dishevelled and ruffled up. It tears her up and she breathes in a sniffle – wiping her nose and padding towards him.

When his eyes rakes up a huge dimply smile is adorning his weary features and he’s waving her with limpy fingers shyly.

He’s drunk, drunk.

He pouts cherry-ly. Brows flinching together and he position himself straighter with Mitch's help when he takes in the dampness of her cheeks, “Why’re y'cryin' lovie’?” Darn that pet name. He slurs and his words mumbish.

“You’re hurt...” She points at his wrist. He looks down as it isn’t obvious and Mitch rolls his eyes, “Not hurt.” He shakes his head and when looks back up he’s grinning.

“Was just takin' hugeee steps downstairs -- ye'know me clumsiness and it’s kinda Mitchy's fault too ... told him to grab me tightly —-... ‘cos ‘m sensitive lil petal —--...” Y/N's biting down a snort at his squeaky high pitched voice and Mitch’s cutting him with thin smile.

“Been biting my ears off about you. How was I supposed to keep my balance when he clings to me so hard as if I’m summat his lover....” Y/N's eyes widen when Mitch grabs Harry from armpits and slinks his one arm around Y/N's shoulder as if Harry’s some parcel and he didn’t like it.

“Take him, home.” He mumbles and she stutters, “Wait ... hey! How? Mitch come back you mummy head.” She calls for him but he just walks away and Y/N’s left with no option but to take Harry with her.

“Be careful.” She whispers walking down the slope at exit of hospital with Harry clinged to her, “You came here on car?” She nudges his cheek with her shoulder but he just snuggles his face into the nook of her jaw.

“Mitch took it?” She groans. Swiping the rain droplets away from her forehead and steps behind under the shelter, “No ... it’s parked right here.” He mumbles against her sweet spot making her shiver and she makes them do a lil jog to the car and Harry’s giggling squeaking nonsense in her ear.

“Harry if y’refuse to leave me .....” She warns him trying to squirm out of his embrace as he sits in the passenger seat holding her so she sighs and tries to stick to more gentle coaxing way.

Shaky fingers gliding up his cheek to cup it and stroke the blue bags under his eyes, screaming that he having restless night for week now, “Petal if you don’t leave me how ‘m supposed to drive?” He gazes her peculiarly –- caressing her knuckles, stares his own motion and gives her the most puppy eyes that melts her on the spot, “Then hold me hand?” Now, could she say no to him? Never. She hates herself for it.

“’kay you could hold my –-- lemme —--... just --.. good boy.” She takes her hand out of his grip and pats his thigh before rushing to driver’s side.

She knows that how much he needs reassurances when he’s drunk and how much his love language of touching her peaks to sky.

She fulfils her promise and let him hold her hand, enjoying the little happiness because she knows it’s temporary and in the morning she'd be met by empty bed and hollow arms.

“I missed home.” He smiles wetly. Eyes closed as he stays on hugging her walking inside and whines when she squats down to untie his laces.

When she make him sit on the sofa and tries to leave for the kitchen, he’s lurching forward to grab her wrist and plead into her arm with moisture in his eyes, “No.No.No lovie' don’t go. Don’t go, pleaseeeee.......” She pets his sweaty curls kissing his forehead and murmurs against his hair while he loops his elbows lazily around her waist.

“Not going anywhere bub. Bringing you water.”

“No water. Just you. I missed you. Missed you so much. Missed you too much.” He’s rambling knuckling at his eyes and her belly fills with butterflies that flap till her heart and makes her feel woozy.

Though, she overcomes the bitter sweet feeling and brings him water how much he whined.

He has his hand planted softly at her thigh and gasps loudly and dramatically finishing the last droplet, and puckers his lips making funny noises against the rim of glass and she takes it away from him giggling, “’kay it's enough.”

He shuts his eyes for a moment and when opens them back it’s sea of pinks and the tears are shining at his waterline and he croaks out hoarsely, “Y/N ....?” Sobered up. He's feeling awful and in constant need to take her in his arms.

“Hmm?” She hums giving him a nervous smile and he straightens up taking both of her hands in his's, “I don’t want to be away from you anymore, darlin'. It’s worse than being temporarily away from ye'. Terrible. Terrible. I feel sick all the time as if there’s a dagger twisting into my heart ‘cos I know ‘m never fallin' in love with anyone except you ... but I don’t think you deserve me —.. I -- I —... I just think you —--- it’s killing me baby. Take me back please, baby take me back." He sniffs the tears and she’s crying with him; calling out his name and when he doesn’t listen she’s cradling his face delicately in her palms and making him look at her.

“Harry, my sweetheart. I love you. Isn’t that enough to assure you that I deserve you and only you – no one else.” He's blinking furiously and she bobs her head not flickering her loving gaze away from him.

“I love you too, will you take me back now? After what I did?” His insecurity and doubts about himself floating back.

“You left for best. Realised that we couldn’t live without eachother, didn’t you?” She pecks the corner of his lips and he leans in for a chaste kiss, their teeth clanking from smiling wide and happy and he giggles when she pushes herself off from him.

They crawl to their bed together and she flumps on his chest and he moans squeakily, “Ow.”

“Oh my, Har ....” She gasps. Shakes her head and flicks him on forehead when he grins bashfully.

“G'na take care of me?” His chin doubles over adorably as he tries to see her and brush her hair away.

“Gonna take care of you, petal” She patches a soft kiss to his chest and erupts into loud giggles when he teases her nonchalantly, “G'na help me wipe my arse.”

“Harry! Your other hand’s perfectly capable of wiping yourself clean!” He brings her closer with his uninjured hand and kisses her tenderly -- to show her all the love they missed on these few weeks.

“I love being home.” He murmurs into the kiss. Playing with her tresses round his nimble and traces kisses all over her face.

“Promise me you’re never doing silly again.” She pouts and he plucks at it – smooching a kiss to it later.

“Promise.” He tries to hook his bandaged pinky to her's and she laughs into his neck – shakes her head and kisses his cheek hugging him tightly.

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wizkiddx · 3 years

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was thinking for toms most recent ig story it sounds like hes working out early everyday, what if u did a blurb where the reader does it with his and its like best friend --> something else ? sounded like a you type of story, id love if you gave it a go ❤️💕

oohkay so sorry this lit just came through this evening and I suddenly got v stupidly into it (if u put in a req before that I promise I am working on it I just got way to invested cos this is stupidly cute) xxxx

summary: what starts off as tom taking you under his wing and some sunrise workouts together might just develop into something more

“It shouldn’t be legal…. to be doing anything… this fucking early!” Spoken, well yelled, in between the fake strokes of the exercise bike and your pants. All you got in response was the two men laughing at you, no sign of sympathy at all, as your gritted your teeth - fighting against every body instinct to stop the movements. Your heart was pumping like the clappers; breathing shallow and rushed and your arms… your arms felt like they were about to fall off. Combine that with the lack of sleep from waking up before the sun did at 5 am - meant you felt like your were in literal hell.

Why ever you’d agreed to do these workouts with Tom and Duffy escaped you. Being the new and rising actress, with a new supporting role in the next Spiderman, meant you’d spent a lot of time with Tom over the past few weeks. Not to inflate his ego either, but Tom had been a real life hero to you. See, you were the complete opposite of his experienced and seasoned professionalism - this was your first acting gig. And what a gig it was, the second biggest part in a Marvel movie. You never really believed you’d get the part and even when you did, were pretty sure it was some elaborate joke, where Ant and Dec were going to jump out from some corner and go ‘ha its a prank!’ or something.

Yet somehow it was all still happening, you had been flown halfway across the world to spend three months alone on a film set. Well obviously not alone, but you knew no one - you were a complete outsider. That, really, was the reason you’d agreed to do these sessions with Tom. He’d offered half heartedly while between takes as you were moaning about how out of breath you got in that scene. At that point, you’d only known each other for a matter of weeks, he really hadn’t expected you to commit to 5 am each and every morning. What he wasn’t aware of though, was how ocmplerly stranded and lonely you felt here, hence why you jumped at his offer.

And yes you loved to moan and complain when you were there, however you were also so incredibly thankful he ever offered. Duffy, Tom’s PT, was a right laugh too and he took great joy in torturing you - and was also entertained by the new and inventive ways you’d insult him after he ordered you about.

“Come on Y/n, 200m more and then we are done, even your little arms can survive that.”

“Really … not the encouragement… I was looking for.” Still panting, face bright red and blotchy as you pressed your legs straight again.

“Tom? You wanna help Y/n out?”

“Nah you know… kind of enjoying seeing her in pain.” The British voice laughed from somewhere behind you, making you roll your eyes.

“Why the hell… are you not… torturing him?” He sounded way to comfortable and relaxed to be working hard.

“He’s got a stunt heavy day today so wanted to go easy this morning.”

Now that was a bloody joke. You were BOTH filming the SAME scene today, doing the SAME stunts.

“Did I forget to mention Y/n is on set too?” The joy in Tom’s voice made you want to do horrible things to him. Even though you felt like you wanted to collapse on the floor, you’d happily do a set or two on a punch bag right now - if that punch bag was Tom’s face.

Before you could hurl some fresh abuse at your costar, Duffy called time on the rowing machine, turning the display off and passing your water bottle over as you slouched on the slidey seat.

“Done good Y/n/n, I am actually super impressed with your progress” The stocky man patted you on the back genuinely, bringing a bit of smile to your otherwise grimacing face. He went over the chat to Tom about some boy shit that you couldn’t care less about, allowing you a couple minutes to get your breath back. As soon as you did and tried to dismount the machine of death, your ruined legs seemed to have other plans, shakily buckling so you ended up starfished on the floor, groaning at the dull ache that came with the sudden movement.

And what show of concern did Duffy show you? A belly laugh that echoed round Toms indoor gym making you groan again, throwing your forearm over your eyes. It was in fact the curly haired brunette, who came and knelt by your side, wordlessly balling up the towel and placing it under your head as you shot your eyes open in shock.

“You okay? Sorry… I might’ve taken our friendly competition a bit too far.”

“I just… just might have to gain the power of flight this afternoon cos my legs aren’t gonna bloody work.” Tom chuckled and shook his head at your dry humour.

“Oh I’m sure we can talk to Jon and get that arranged… not like Marvel don’t spend years crafting the script and storyline for a newbie actor to change it all.”

“Might I remind you… they wouldn’t have to if your weren’t such a dickhead!” You exclaimed, sitting up and staring at him with an exasperated look than only made him burst out laughing again.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry… I just cant take you seriously when you look like such a tomato!” His voice went an octave higher as he laughed at himself, the situation getting even worse for you when you heard Duffy join in too.

The boy was bloody lucky you couldn’t lift your arms right now, otherwise they’s almost certainly be attempting to ruin his pretty boy face.

/////////////////////////////

After a long day of shooting you and Tom were in one of the set buggies, being taken back to your trailers to change for the evening. There was a peaceful silence until Tom ruined it yet again.

“ Got any fancy plans for this evening then?”

“Well you know me, back to my lonely little old place and frozen pizza - so living the movie star life.”

“It’s a Friday! You not going out with your team or anything?” He sounded so bemused at your quiet plans, and mention of a ‘team’ had you cocking your head to the side.

“‘My team?’ Tom until I get my movie star pay check I can barely afford my pizzas, never mind a whole persons wage.” You were still only three weeks into filming and although you spent an hour every other morning sweating your ass off with Tom - apart from that you’d tried not to impose yourself on him too much. You didnt want to look clingy and naturally Tom always had a mountain of people vying for his attention - you would go to the back of a long line. So honestly, you were still a bit of a mystery to him, right now you’d both only scratched the surface on each other.

“Really? I know this is your first big job but I thought you’d have someone here?”

“Nah… I mean I’ve kinda clung to the Marty on the camera crew but he’s going to see family tonight sooo.”

“Come back to mine. I’ve swapped Harry for his twin Sam, which is a bit of an upgrade cos Sam’s a chef. He just arrived last night. I bet he can one up any pizza you were planning on.”

“Honestly I don’t want to impose, sorry I didnt mean for this to be a pity party or-“ The buggy slowed to a stop and Tom instantly vaulted out of it, standing right infront of you and blocking you exist off the back sofa. Both of you were still in costume, Tom in latex and you in your corset-esque two piece, but then both wrapped in matching long line black jackets supplied by set.

“No come on I’m serious… Sam’s dying to meet you and it’d be good to spend more time together. You know, cos of chemistry and all.” The last bit was a switch from his cool and smooth, normally easy going tone - into something a bit more… anxious? Just like that, before your brain even knew what it was doing, you agreed, smiling broadly and nodding.

So barely an hour later, you were knocking on the doors to Tom’s mansion-ish rented Atlanta home which was much much more grand than what the studio had arranged for you. Even though you were here most mornings, this time it felt different. Yeh it was stupid, but you can’t help the way you feel and you were stressed. For no real reason… just, just because.

Thankfully, it wasn’t awkward at all and you especially instantly hit it off with his younger brother Sam. Everything just felt easy and simple which meant so much more considering you’d felt so isolated an alone halfway across the world for your home comforts. Being British too, simply chatting to the two young men about your hometown and growing up was just so familiar, it really helped you feel less homesick. Naturally too, you’d fallen into a casual and friendly ribbing of Tom with Sam, making the three of you spend to majority of the evening cracking up (or in Tom’s case pouting at the abuse). It was a nice change from the two on one attack you got from Tom and Duffy that morning. You’d all cooked dinner together… well no, you and Tom had stood idly watching Sam cook an amazing chicken curry dish - which he promised to give you the recipe too. Honestly Sam felt like your long lost best friend, especially when it came to your shared ability to berate Tom for anything and everything.

About an hour ago Tom had stuck on the film, effectively shutting up you and Sam - thankfully for him since Sam was just about to get to some rather embarrassing stories of Tom as a kid. You and Tom were on the longer grey sofa; with Sam sat the other side of the coffee table in an impressively soft armchair - looking as though it was swallowing the lanky boy. The calm, the silence and the comfort was only going to go one way for you though. After your workout this morning, plus all the running and jumping during the shoot, after what had already been a pretty intense week, it was hardly surprising that you didn’t even notice yourself drifting off the sleep.

Who did notice though? Perhaps your brown haired costar who’d been stealing glances across to you ever since the movie had been put on? Because as much as he hated to admit it to himself, this didnt seem to be panning out as a normal job. A normal job is something you put your all into, for a couple weeks, and then leave with good memories and a good pay check. Yes, he had only known your for a matter of weeks or so but it already seemed to be unfathomable to cut ties with you. How would he go without your kind mannered abuse everyday? You were just refreshing, new and mysterious. And Tom was more than intrigued, his interest was peaked.

And it was stupid to feel like that…. Of course it was. You can’t fancy a colleague because things get complicated and awkward. Tom knew that.

Then why was he now delicately draping a blanket over your frame and smiling smally when you hummed in your sleep, in what seemed to be a show of appreciation for the layer of warmth?

Because you were his excited puppy of a costar who is giving everything she has for the job? Because he is worried and wants to look after you? Because he cares?

No matter why, in that moment you were contented and as was Tom. Oh and Sam?

Sam saw the tell tale signs in his brother. He saw the way Tom had been touching your arm or the small of your back just a little more than what would be considered normal while he’d been cooking. He’d seen the way Tom had been laughing purely because you had. His eldest brother never did anything rash, it was always a painfully slow process for everyone involved. But Sam thought this just might be the start of something. The start of a slow burn.

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tomholland #Tom Holland angst #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland x you #sam holland

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the-darklings · 3 years

Text

—𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞;

⤫ pairing: johnny silverhand x corp!v(ermillion)

⤫ summary: Usually, they’re a calamity together—destructive and volatile as each other. But right now, just for a second, there is only music and them.

⤫ word count: 2.3k+

⤫ warnings: spoilers for act i & side mission the ballad of buck ravers, third person but can be read as RI ig, swearing, written in one sitting so who knows what the final result is - certainly not me.

⤫ notes: let me leave my clown shoes outside.

It starts out the way it always does.

One ring leads to another and she suddenly finds herself running or driving around the Night City with little to no rest, pulling one job after another. The more jobs she closes the more she seems to be in demand.

Good for business. Good for making a name for herself, too, but not so good on her overall being.

She’s been running. Like a fucking coward. Filing her days with meaningless shit while trying desperately not to think about her ticking clock. About Jackie.

Guilt gnaws on her bones daily. She should have done more, been better, more careful. Jackie never should have died. It was stupid and blind ambition that drove them both to try and pull this near impossible heist in the first place. Her own reckless drive has blinded her, and now the person closest to her in this fucking city is nothing more than a cold corpse.

Fuck.

She should have sent him to his family instead. She only wanted to spare them from the grief of having to see Jackie in the state he was in but now Araska has his body and god knows what those assholes might be doing with it.

And now…

Well she has nothing to lose, does she? She’s already dying, already hunted, her only close friend is dead. She promised to make him proud. Make it to the big leagues or make a league all on her own if that’s what it takes. Bleed this city dry if that’s the price to pay for what she wants.

Back when she worked for Arasaka she wanted knowledge which led to power. Then she wanted guns and money and a roof over her head.

Now she wants something more. After coming face to face with her own fragile morality, she has begun to realise how meaningless things like money and power are. Now she wants to surpass that. To become something immortal—something that will outlive her body. Maybe even outlive this city.

Jackie should have been one of such people.

“You look like you’re about to shit yourself,” a voice drawls from beside her, a crackle filling the air as a too familiar silhouette of a man appears in her sight. “Or cry.”

“Fuck off.”

V turns away from one Johnny Silverhand because it’s hard to look at him and not be reminded of the fact that she’s slowly dying and the construct only she can see and hear is the one doing the deed.

“This self-pitying bullshit needs to stop,” he says, ignoring her vicious words. “We share a brain, remember? I feel what you feel. It’s downright depressing in your head right now.”

Her jaw clicks at the reminder. Everyday she wakes up and feels like they’re linked by a bridge—he stands on one side, and she on another. When they come closer, she can feel it—feel him. The overlap is near dizzying, overwhelming, even a little addictive. But it’s always followed by agony because she fights back, tries to shove him away. If not, he will consume her, but she will get him out of her head before that ever happens.

You share a brain now, Vik had told her only days prior, his eyebrows knitted tight and—albeit subdued—but clear worry in his low voice, senses and memories, even perception. Eventually it will become impossible to tell whose who anymore.

The worst thing is the fact that he’s right.

She can feel Silverhand rooted inside her; a constant, a presence that is persistent to a point she knows she’s not alone even if she wishes to be.

An echo of a being deep inside her.

“Then get the hell out,” she bites back, fighting to keep her temper leashed so she doesn’t burst out at him like she did at the diner. She can still remember the wary stares she received from the diners when she started shouting verbally at a figment only she could perceive in the first place. “I didn’t ask for a parasite to make himself home in my brain.”

Johnny scoffs under his breath, raising a cigarette to his mouth, and she’s nearly overcome with need to remind him that he’s fucking dead, and can’t smoke. That, and the fact that she would prefer him to leave her the fuck alone.

“You did the job, didn’t ya? You sure you didn’t have this comin’?”

Flipping him off, she storms past him, her jaw clenched to appoint it aches and eyes narrowed. Just her luck not only to get stuck with a human tumour but for the said tumour to be a bastard to boot.

So much for being buddies.

Sun has set over Westbrook hours ago yet Chinatown is as busting with life as always. Overflowing with conversations all spoken in different languages, smells, distant gunshots, and people from all walks of life just trying to survive. Even during her years with the Arasaka, she never quite got used to the vastness of the Night City—not even when she was sure she was at the top. The way this city seems to breathe and fester day in and out; a living beast full of dangers and potential is unique.

Lost in the crowd, it’s almost easy to forget who she is aside from another face in the said crowd. She’s not a merc, not an ex-corp working counterintelligence—she’s not anything.

Her optics catch sight of several Tiger Claws lingering around the market, and she makes sure to give them a wide berth, especially when she notes the impressive list of their stats. She’s not stupid enough to attack outright when they outclass her—for now—and there are several of them around. With the market this busy the only outcome to that fight would be a bloodbath with police on her ass when that’s the last thing she needs right now.

Despite that logical part inside her steering her well clear of the gang members the need to blow off some steam bubbles under her skin. An ache starts to form against her temple soon after, making her focus blur around the edges as she wanders from vendor to vendor aimlessly.

“Hey, V,” a rumble of a voice cuts through her thoughts—and she hates how she can’t quite ignore his voice unlike everyone else—and turns her head in the direction of the call. She had foolishly assumed he was going to give her some peace of mind for tonight at least. “Check this guy out.”

Walking up a dimly lit staircase, she had barely noticed a man sitting on a rickety chair and playing a guitar. Much like her, others walk right past him, ignoring the man altogether.

Johnny glimmers into sight, squatting in place and oddly intent on observing the old man while he plays.

She entertains the idea of walking away simply to piss him off. If something is of interest to him, then she wants to ignore it so hard it gets under his nonexistent skin. Petty, perhaps, but ever so satisfying.

Hearing no reply or receiving much reaction at all, Johnny slants his head her way, nodding once towards the man, “What do you think?”

Squinting, she drags her gaze towards the guitarist, crossing her arms over her chest while she listens. She’s not even sure why she’s bothering but…

The melody is slow, near drowned out by the bustling sounds of the nearby market and chatter of people walking past.

“He’s...fine?” she offers lamely. “I mean he’s pretty good.”

A slight smirk crosses over Johnny’s mouth—gone in a blink but the focus he places on the man who seems to be unaware of her or the silent second spectator surprises her.

“Loses tempo more than he keeps it,” he comments, almost absently, and she feels her eyebrows arch in another show of bewilderment. A quiet spells falls over their little nook, and Johnny listens more, thoughts rolling inside his head if his body language is any sign. “Sloppy on the technique but he has feeling in the way he plays. Can’t teach that.”

“If only you didn’t die,” she sighs softly, closing her eyes in mock sympathy. “This could have been you.”

He surprises her again by laughing at that. It’s a deep rumble of a sound, and she can almost feel it echo between them and their mental bridge. “You’re kinda of a bitch. Has anyone told you that before?”

Her teeth flash in the dim orange glow of the neon lights. “And you’re sort of a dick. Anyone tell you that before?” she wonders with a charming, practiced smile.

He flickers out of sight and she’s about to call it a mental victory but a tickle of electricity kisses across the bare curve of her shoulder and neck, and she shivers when he appears beside her. His arms are crossed as well, and he glances her way briefly.

“Seems to me like we’re two peas in a fuckin’ pot, then,” he points out easily, and shakes his head, seemingly amused by his own words. “I might have tried to kill you a few weeks ago but look at us being chummy, Ver.”

Her throat closes up at that, expression tightening. He notices of course. Or maybe it’s the unease that slices through her mind at the casual way he uses her nickname.

“What? Am I not allowed to call you that or somethin’?” he wonders curiously, seemingly entertained by her reaction. Asshole.

“Only my friends call me Ver.”

Jackie was the first.

That thought makes her swallow painfully, a dull ache clawing against her heart. One would think that years being a corpo would have wiped whatever humanity still lived in her but Jackie’s death had been a stark reminder that she couldn’t be further from the truth if she tried.

“Why?”

She gives him a flat look. “Because my full name is Vermillion, but people tend to find it a mouthful so…”

“Vermillion,” he repeats, his intonation dry, and she shoots him a quick glare, daring him to make an issue of it. Naturally, his next words don’t surprise her, “That’s a stupid fuckin’ name.”

“Oh, because Johnny Silverhand is so much better.”

She expects him to say something snarky in return, argue maybe, but he only snorts. His metal hand lifts, pushing his aviators down slightly as he glances at her over them.

“You got me there.”

Usually, they’re a calamity together—destructive and volatile as each other. But right now, just for a second, there is only music and them. Shadows and life of the Night City holding them both suspended in this moment. No arguments or biting comments. No guilt, either.

A slight smile tugs across her mouth as she continues listening to the man play his downbeat little tune. Her shoulders loosen, drooping slightly and she lets herself breathe for a moment. Just the one.

“Used to be just like him,” Johnny speaks up suddenly, his voice more subdued, lower, and taps his fingers against the cigarette he’s holding. “But better. Used to play everywhere we could. Garages, bars. Anywhere that would have us, and we always had an audience.”

She hums, offering him a brief glance. “You mean you were actually good?”

She can’t see his eyes in the darkness of the street or through his tinted shades. But despite that, she can still feel his glare and the mental bite of chagrin/irritation/why is she so annoying? and deeper than that a spark of amusement/little shit thinks she’s funny.

“What’s this?” he muses, his words sarcastic. “A corpo rat that actually has a sense of humour? Colour me surprised.”

“No can do,” she shoots back promptly, fighting back a wider grin. “You’re too dead for that.”

He tsks, throwing his cigarette to the ground and she almost rolls her eyes. “Can’t wait to be out of your damn head, princess.”

“Can’t wait to be rid of you, either, so the feeling is mutual.”

Their words might be stringent but she can almost taste the faint amusement trickling between them and under that bridge that connects them.

“There might still be some bootlegs of those old days,” he muses thoughtfully. “People used to record everything back in my day.”

She drags her gaze his way, lips thinning into a firm line, “I’m not becoming a fan, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

“Afraid you’ll hear real music and won’t be able to go back to this modern garbage I hear everywhere?”

There is challenge in his words and she bristles. Maybe this is what she needs. She may not be able to put holes in some Tiger Claws with her sniper rifle but she sure as hell can go on a scavenger hunt and see what she finds.

Besides, it might help her to understand the man nested inside her mind a little better.

So when an hour later the old, wrinkly vendor asks her why he should give her his oldest, most precious Samurai vinyl, she tells him the truth.

A twisted truth.

But truth all the same.

“He’s with me every step I take, every move I make,” she confesses softly, something deep down breathing awake at that admittance. “Johnny’s like my conscience. My eternal, infernal moral compass.”

She doesn’t miss how the man in question doesn’t appear, doesn’t say anything even after hearing that. She would have figured he would be the first in line to offer her some mocking, snarky comment but there is only silence.

In fact, she can barely feel him at all. The tether between them is still and quiet.

And his silence says a lot more than he probably realises.

an: hello. guess whose not dead and kinda back to writing. dunno how much of cp77 you should expect because coa is still my priority but maybe occasional fic for these dumbos is on the cards. oh, and takemura because cdpr are cowards for not giving us that enemies to friends/partners to lovers romance. also I know this isn’t strictly RI and I honestly considered writing it as such but saw...no point? since the premise still would have been the same, so something a little different today ig.

#cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand #johnny silverhand x v #johnny silverhand x female v #keanu reeves #johnny silverhand imagine #johnny silverhand fic #cyberpunk 2077 imagine #cyberpunk 2077 fic #c: vermillion #s: get out of my head

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sibsteria · 3 years

Text

who do you think you are? [spn cast]

prompts: none

summary: breaking down on stage at an SNS during karaoke

characters: the spn cast

warnings: angst, fluff, no offense to Gen because I literally adore her <3

[beginning to think I like cheating!angst]

''Welcoming Y/n L/n to the stage!'' I heard Rich's voice filled with a humorous tone, it still feels weird to use L/n instead of Padalecki. He's the one that ended it, not me, I just received the divorce papers. Hearing the gasps of some of the non-obsessive fans hearing my last name nearly tore me apart, what would they be thinking right now?

''I don't think she needs an introduction, what you thinking, Y/n?'' He continued, wrapping an arm around me as I strolled on stage.

I whispered in his ear before talking to the audience, ''I think you all know this one.'' Despite the laugh in my sentence, it wasn't a funny time in my life right now. He gave me a questioning look as if to say 'are you sure?', I nodded, a crooked smile shooting his way as to try and disguise my dead eyes.

''I would just like to say, I will be reversing the pronouns used.'' I physically shook my nerves away before starting.

'Yeah, you sure broke my heart last week-'

The audience wailed.

'When you said you had slept with her-'

Nothing against Gen- actually, yes, she knew he was married. The audience seemed to understand my point, whipping out their phones in fan fashion. God, this was definitely going to be all over Jared's twitter later.

'I know you called, I got them all-''

I put on a fake grin as I continued.

'La da da da da da-'

When everyone in the cast had found out, they were seething, he was supposed to be the one to love me.

'Boy you better love what you got, before you go and give it away-'

I moved from the single spot I had glued myself to, putting a small skip in my step.

'But don't say that I don't know you-'

I gave a small head whip, trying to engage the audience.

'Cause- oh, I know all about your type-'

I grit my teeth at the word 'type'.

'You're the kinda boy that texts all day and talks all night-'

I use mocking hands to emphasise my attitude.

'And oh- I know, that you-'

I looked towards the side of the stage where Jared was watching, oh shit, he wasn't supposed to be here.

'Are feeling sad- don't feel bad-'

I scoff at him, turning towards the crowd again.

'Cause even after three text messages, four missed calls you still-'

I slammed my foot against the ground, anger took over before the anguish.

'Slept with my best friend-'

I sung shakily and it all became too much, seeing his face again after so long, singing this song.

'Yeah, you-' sure got a lot of nerve

My breath caught in my throat and I stopped singing for a moment, missing a couple lines as I sniffed.

'-to say that this was all my fault-'

I broke down. In the middle of karaoke. In front of an amazing amount of fans. Fuck me.

The sobs came out, racking my chest, Matt was the first one to reach me before I collapsed into despair on the dirty floor. I gave my microphone to Sebastian as Matt whispered to me.

''Come on, it's okay, let's get you out of here.'' He ushered me off stage so quickly, the lights blurred.

I heard the speakers from backstage as I tried to bee-line for the green room.

''Uh- so- I'm just going to go sort this out. This is so unprofessional for me- I apologise but this is important.'' Rich blurts out before leaving the stage, passing his mic and mine to a techie.

The cool air from the green room soothed my burning face as I continued to bang out cry after cry. Matt pulled me in, hugging me as tight as he could.

''Hey- is she-'' Speight stopped as soon as his eyes settled on me falling apart in Matt Cohen's arms.

''Oh no, come here.'' Matt knew that he could handle this better so he handed me over to Richard.

''Go entertain, I have this covered.'' Matt nodded at him before leaving to return to the stage.

We just sat there for a while, on the carpeted floor, whilst I cried.

''Wanna tell me why you chose that song?'' His voice was comforting and light, he tried to cheer me up with his addictive personality.

''I don't know. So much was going through my head and- this is too much to deal with. I saw him and I just-'' I let out a giant exhale, giving up on trying to speak.

''Divorce is messy. You had to go through it alone, in your house, no one to help you. If I could've been there, I would have, oh my god I would've.'' He had such sincere sympathy in his voice and his eyes, I couldn't be this pathetic in front of him.

''No one could have known they would arrive, I knew it was coming, knew what he felt for her. I just thought he would do it in person at least, not like a pussy, god he's such a quivering pussy.'' I growl, standing up to grab a complimentary bottle of water from the set up table.

''Everyone agrees with you. Work is going to be difficult now but- at least you weren't his love interest.'' He giggles, I try to keep a straight face but give in to him, smiling proudly.

''No, I'm yours, I cannot wait to flex on that bitch that I don't care about him anymore.'' I run over and jump onto the awful yellow couch, lying down.

''Well you sure showed it out there.'' He shoved my legs off the coach and sat down, but before I could protest, he picked them up and lay them over his.

''Hey- too soon.'' I pointed a warning finger at him before both of us erupted with laughter. ''That was so embarrassing, I'm never coming again, I will just bar crawl all day.'' I groaned, stretching out my arms.

''Do you miss him?'' This silenced the room, I though of an answer.

''I don't know, I miss the perks of being married. Over the years we grew apart, we loved each other, yeah but-'' He finished it off for me.

''But you weren't in love with each other?'' He looked over at me, placing his hand on top of mine, his sad eyes said it all.

''Yeah.'' I stared into nothing, this is the start of a lonely road ahead.

''It doesn't have to be lonely.'' Guess I said that out loud.

''Yeah, Rich, it does-''

''No, it doesn't. You have me, Rob, Mark and many othe-''

''It's not the same! I can't hold onto to any of you at night and hug away my tears, I can't share kisses and longing looks at-''

''What if it can be? The same?'' I shot my gaze to him, feeling my heart scream inside my chest.

''W-What do you mean?'' I swallow, realising my throat is dry and feels like sandpaper, I try not to cough.

''Mark told me- about that night in Vegas? You two were the only ones left at the bar, scotch-drunk to holy hell. You told him how you felt about me, and how you told Jared. And how he had told you about Genevieve.'' His voice was quiet and unsure, unsure of what I would say and how I would react.

''Damn it, Pellegrino.'' I looked down to the floor towards Hell, before looking at Rich.

''I know it's too soon for you to even have an opinion on this-'' He starts.

''You're right. It is too soon, too soon for me to date anyone for now. How about, we hang out with each other tomorrow. We'll have a movie night.'' I emphasise my words and he get's the gist. It had been four months, it was perfectly okay to say yes to him, so I did it indirectly.

''That sounds perfect. My hotel room, should I invite the vodka or will you?'' I smile at him, shaking my head.

''I think I might skip on inviting Dr. Smirnoff just yet, two's a company.'' I study his eyes, the golden flecks swimming affectionately within the ochre shade.

''Great idea, meet me straight after tomorrow's con, it's the only time we will have for a while,'' I grab his hand which still rested on mine.

''Sick.'' Why did I have to be like this in serious situations?

''Really?'' His judging yet teasing tone played into my ears.

''Really.''

#supernatural imagine #supernatural #supernatural cast #supernatural cast imagine #jared padalecki #jared padalecki imagine #richard speight jr #richard speight jr imagine #richard speight jr x reader #richard speight jr imagines #matt cohen #sns #rob benedict #sebastian roche

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weaver-z · 4 years

Text

Birthmark

A short horror story by B.E.

The women in my family have port-wine birthmarks, but none ever had any as strange as mine.

Not even my mother, who had one that stretched across her forehead like a bloodshot eye, the pale sclera-white of her skin visible under the glaze of reddish violet. She told me, when I was very young, that my grandmother had one, too, along the back of her head--she, unlike us, had been lucky enough to have one that could be hidden under a bonnet, though her blonde hair still revealed it in the summertime.

“Can I see the ones on the legs?” Thomas asks, chewing the inside of his cheek like a cow chewing its cud. I allow it, even though I am a girl, because Thomas and I are friends, alone in the center of a field of tall summer alfalfa. I can feel his eyes boring into the marks on me in fascination, as he moves around me to see my arms, at the marks on those.

“I like the winter best,” I say, pulling my skirt up. “Pa hates it. But I like it, because I can cover all of ‘em up with my clothes, even the ones on my arms.”

“They’re not so bad,” he says. “They’re not on your face, at least.

“Guess so.”

He sits in front of me in the clear space between the eden-green strands of the grass, looking down at the marks on my legs. They are strange, wobbling lines, not blotches or patches--the lowest two are at my knees, lines that wrap around the joint like the borders of a county.

There are two more on my upper thighs, though I don’t show Thomas those--he’s still a boy, and even though he looks at my markings with nothing but fascination, I still feel a little kernel of shame rubbing at the walls of my chest. The arms are easier to show to him--there are only two marks, just too low to be covered by my short sleeves, broad and awkward unevenly-stamped lines.

“So you’ve got more? On your back?” Thomas asks, sitting on his haunches, looking at me with intent, dust-brown eyes too large for his face.

“Yes. Almost like a corset,” I say, “like a nice corset, the kind rich ladies wear with their jewels. One on my waist, like a belt. One below my shoulders. Oh, and a line down my back, a kinda wobbly one.”

“Like the laced-up part of the corset,” he says, and I nod, happy that he understands. Most boys who live in these parts wouldn’t. He moves around me, and I sit straight, lifting my long frigid-blonde braid so that he can see the very top of the line that travels down my spine, the source of the splotchy red-and-purple river.

“You ever wish that you could have them wiped off?” He asks. “I heard that God sometimes grants big miracles if you pray for ‘em enough.”

“Maybe,” I say, doubtful. “I’ve tried it. Pa makes me pray each night, but nothing seems to work.”

“Shame about that. Real shame. Maybe God’s busy with somethin’ else--” he says, and suddenly a gunshot rings out in the distance.

He freezes, pupils dilating like a rabbit that hears a hawk, and I scramble for my boots, forcing them on over the crumbles of mud on my feet. We can both hear Pa, coming through the brush, forcing his way through it with snaps and tears and nearly inarticulate grumbling. Thomas is off like a shot, running almost on all fours as he crouches, and by the time my father reaches me, panting and huddled in the grass, my friend is nothing but a mole-trail disturbing distant strands.

Pa is a tall man--though I inherited his height, I’m only 13, and he towers over me, so broad and heavy that I am thin as grass and summer wind below him. I stand, looking up at him with a look that must look shameful, and he lowers the rifle to point at the earth, face still and steely with malice.

“I told you I didn’t want no boys ‘round,” he says, voice thick, like smoke from a bonfire. “Told you I didn’t want you foolin’ round like a little whore.”

“He didn’t do nothin’,” I say, arms wrapped around my chest. “Honest.”

“Who was it, then? And why didn’t he come see me, an’ ask if he could talk to you?” He takes my arm--not tightly, but with such strength that I couldn’t run if I tried.

“He and I met while I was out with the chickens. He was on the road going up to town.”

“Sure he was.” Pa shoves my arm away and laughs, the sound like metal clattering to a dirt floor. “Sure, the devil ‘e was. I heard him talkin’ bout your legs, girl. Didn’t hear much, but I heard that. You think you’re the pick of the meat at the market, don’t you?”

“Pa--”

“Don’t talk, pretty girl. Don’t talk, and don’t you ever try and do this again. You’re gonna pray as long as you can tonight. I want your damn tongue to fall out before you stop praying,” and he begins to move, and now the pain comes as I stumble half-backward with him, held in a vise by my arm.

“Pa, I’m sorry--”

“You ain’t sorry yet, Lu,” he says. He looks back at me, from under the shadow cast beneath his brows by the white sun overhead. “You ain’t sorry, yet.”

---

He makes me pray, that night, for hours and hours, for forgiveness, for something I never did. But the praying he makes me do that night is only meager practice for the praying I do during the winter.

Our chickens die when a coyote pack rolls through in the late days of fall, snarling and barking with a sound like mocking laughter. We salvage what corpses we can, and for a while, we eat well, but not well, because while we dine on fresh meat, the knowledge that something terrible to come hangs over us like the fog of their blood. The cattle start to go soon after, the first to a weak cover over a well (it falls in, it screams for hours), the second to a river, the third to disease, the rest tumbling like the articles like a rotting shelf soon after them.

When winter comes, we have little, so little, and my father tears into his meager dollars to buy us what we can. I am grateful to him, even as the food dries up, even as he becomes silent, frighteningly silent, staring at me above the candle that lights our dinner-table with a face like a haunting.

I am not allowed to leave the house anymore.

I only cook--clean--mend--read the scraps of old newspaper used to patch the walls of the house as best I can. I make what food he finds for dinner, if he finds any, and I give more to his portion, and he says almost nothing to me except to remind me to stay in the home, to keep house and to keep out of the snowstorms and the paths of wild things. He fixes the roof and sharpens the knives--those are the only tasks he does around the house, besides force me onto my knees beside him to beg God for something for our stomachs.

And it is in cleaning that I find the box.

It is a small box, barely as long as my forearm and as shallow as the length of my hand, and it is under his bed, dislodged from a long stay deep in the shadows beneath his cot by a storm that shook the house.

I pull it slowly from beneath--it is unpainted, made of thin wood that leaves little splinters in the flesh of my thumb-joint. I remove its lid and look inside.

My mother is there, first, as I remember her--thin, short, with a look in her eyes like the hollow of a tree, unexplainably empty. The mark is clearly visible in the photograph, as she stands next to my father, mottled and dim. Neither of them are smiling. They are younger in this photograph--it is blurry, hard to make out.

Beneath that is a scrap of newspaper that I have a hard time understanding for a moment.

Mrs. Mary J. Letts, 68; Wife and Mother

We regret to announce the death of Mrs. Letts, wife of Mr. Roger Letts and mother to Mabelle Letts, which took place last Thursday due to a tragic accident involving an injury sustained to her head while riding. She is survived by her husband and daughter.

The paper cuts off there. I don’t recognize the name of Letts, and the paper is old; I continue reading as I find another scrap.

Mrs. Mabelle Dawson, 36; Wife and Mother

We regret to announce the death of Mrs. Dawson, who is survived by her husband, Mr. Arnold Dawson, and her young daughter, Lucy Dawson. Their family has our greatest sympathies. She was killed accidentally as she was cleaning a weapon owned by Mr. Arnold Dawson, who claims deepest regret that

I feel my mouth run dry and my pulse hammer against my skin like stone against a drum. That is my mother’s name--that is my name, too, faint against the paper. I don’t understand why these things are in the box, among other pictures and portraits of my mother, and, unmistakably, my mother’s mother, whose mark is just visible in one small portrait of her, clearly done by an amateur hand. I can imagine how it stretched across the back of her head, branching along her skull--I can see my own mother’s mark, clearly, in the center of her forehead.

I feel cold as the wooden floor under my feet as my eyes trace the border of the mark on her forehead for the first time.

“Lu?” my father calls, from downstairs. “Lucy? Lu-cy?”

The starburst on her forehead is strangely jagged. Unsteady. The shape that a bullet hole would make, if someone were shot close in the head. An accident while cleaning a gun. A trauma to the back of the skull. I hear a footstep on the stairs, almost hesitant, its weight barely masked by the slowness with which my father places it down.

“Lucy?” he says. “I prayed to God for a miracle, and he told me what we ought to do. I need to see you, now.”

I can’t breathe. My throat is choked by a snare as I throw myself back, scrambling across the floor and away from the box. My skirt flies up--my legs are exposed, the lines on them obvious in their purpose.

Summers ago, I went to the village with Pa, and we went to a stall hung with pig carcasses. There, there was a picture of a sow, her legs and sides and ribs marked with uneven lines where the different cuts of meat came from. Here was the thigh--here was the shank--here was the cut you made along the spine and the stomach.

I hear a slow, low rumble of creaking wood as he stops outside the door.

“Lucy?” he says, his voice more paternal than I have ever heard it, and I begin to cry--begin to pray to anything, anyone that will listen, pray that something else kills me before he enters, and nothing does.

And the door opens--slowly, too slowly, as though I’ve had a nightmare and he’s coming to check on me like a good father should--and he sees me with the box, with the tears flowing down my face, with my chest heaving in great stops and starts.

He takes a step forward. In his hands, he holds a sharpened butcher’s knife.

#horror #short story #writing #creepy #abuse tw #FEEL FREE TO REBLOG

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allsassnoclass · 3 years

Note

If your still taking a hundred ways to say I love you prompts, I’d love to see “I brought you an umbrella” (96?) with muke 💚🥰 i love your writing!!

aw, thank you!!! i'm always taking prompts, especially for you dear anon

muke: "I brought you an umbrella"

Luke is having a very shitty day.

There isn't any other way to describe it. He slept through his alarm and had to rush to work without breakfast, without coffee, without a proper shower, and without so much as a word to Michael. Because he didn't get a proper shower, his hair looks like shit. He didn't have time to tie his shoes and almost brained himself in the lobby of his apartment. He was still a few minutes late to work, and his boss was in a shitty mood himself, so he got chewed out in front of the entire department. Calum called in sick today so he couldn't commiserate with him or try to get sympathy. From there, he's been piled with report after report to sift through, there's a headache forming at his temples, and his headphones broke so he can't even listen to music.

To top it all off, it started raining shortly after he got to work and has been downpouring ever since. Luke didn't check the weather this morning and therefore is wildly underprepared to face the elements.

He didn't pack a lunch, but he doesn't want to try to run to the sandwich shop at the corner. He'll be drenched in under two seconds, and with his luck today he'll catch pneumonia and die.

He wants to put his head down on his desk and maybe cry, but he's humiliated himself in front of his coworkers enough for one day. He'll have to forsake lunch and hope that dinner tonight is ready early.

It's Michael's turn to plan dinner, and he's off today, so maybe if Luke texts he'll start preparing it a little early. He's probably cooking, and that might be nice. Luke likes when Michael cooks more than when they order take-out, even if it means that Luke has to do the dishes. Luke's pretty useless in the kitchen, so it's nice having someone in the apartment who isn't.

It's nice having Michael in the apartment for a lot of reasons. Michael helps with chores and has a nice movie collection and generally ensures that Luke is a lot less lonely than he used to be. Michael is hilarious and less grumpy than Luke in the mornings and he's cute, more so than any human has the right to be.

Luke is a little in love with him.

Dwelling on how wonderful Michael is isn't going to make his food situation any better, nor make the sky stop raining. Luke gets out his phone and wonders if it's pathetic to ask his roommate what the meal schedule is going to be like tonight because he overslept and screwed himself over.

Michael has already seen him at his worst. If that didn't completely turn him away from Luke as a romantic prospect, this probably won't.

He's saved from having to make a decision about how to phrase his message by his office phone ringing. It doesn't do that often, but he's quick to pick up.

"Hello, Hemmings speaking."

"Hello, Mr. Hemmings. There's someone in the lobby to see you," the receptionist says. Her voice sounds different over the phone than when he greets her in real life every morning.

"Really?" he asks before he can stop himself.

"Yep," she says. "He says his name is Michael."

"Oh," Luke says, unsure what to do with this information. "I'll be right down."

He takes the entire elevator ride down to wonder why the fuck Michael came all the way across the city to where Luke works. Maybe their apartment burned down. Maybe he's moving out effective immediately and wanted to tell Luke to his face instead of leaving a note. Maybe it's some other disastrous thing that Luke isn't creative enough for.

He's so absorbed in his thoughts that he almost runs into the reception desk. Michael's voice cuts through his stupor just in time, calling his name.

He's wearing a black rain jacket shiny with water, blonde hair sticking up with static from his hood, amused smile on his face.

"Doing okay there?" he asks. Luke feels his cheeks heat up.

"Fine. What's up?"

Michael shrugs.

"Things sounded a little chaotic in the apartment this morning, and I know you're never prepared, so I brought you an umbrella. Picked up lunch from that noodle place you like along the way, too."

"Oh," Luke says. Michael holds up the umbrella and takeout container and Luke embarrassingly tears up, right there in the lobby of his place of work, in front of the guy he's a little in love with.

"What's wrong?" Michael asks, taking a step forward. "Hey, it's okay. Did you want something else? I can take this home and get you a different lunch."

Luke shakes his head.

"You're the best roommate ever," he says, swiping at his eyes. "Thanks."

"Oh," Michael says. He ducks his head, like that would stop Luke from seeing the way his cheeks turn pink. Luke wants to kiss him. A lot. "It's nothing. Definitely nothing to cry over."

"Shut up," Luke says. "I've had a shitty day."

"And now you have noodles!" Michael says, holding up the container again and waving it under Luke's nose. "Noodles make everything better."

"Yeah," he says, finally taking the food. It looks like Michael even got his order right, which almost sets Luke off again.

"Hey," Michael says, a little quieter. "Anything else I can do? Don't tell me if you're going to cry, though. All my tissues got soaked in the rain."

Luke laughs wetly.

"No, you're good. Thank you, seriously. You didn't have to come all the way over here just because I'm a disaster."

Michael shrugs.

"I had nothing better to do. Besides, it's kinda fun visiting you at work. I want to see how many visits it takes for the receptionist to hate me."

Luke's heart flutters a little at the idea of more visits. He's not sure what he'll do if Michael shows up on a day when he's feeling a little less shitty and a little more bold.

"Well!" Michael says, nearly smacking Luke with the umbrella in an attempt to give it to him. "I know your lunch break isn't that long, so I'll get out of your hair now. Stay dry out there."

"Thanks, Mike. You too."

Michael starts whistling "It's Raining Men" as he leaves. Luke watches him flip his hood back up and brace himself, then step out into the downpour.

The noodles taste good, but not as good as the promise of whatever Michael whips up for dinner. When it comes time to leave, Luke takes the umbrella and smiles as he enters the rain.

#my writing #muke #chugging along trying to write things trying to make progress #i'll be honest idk how i feel about this one but i can't put my finger on why #i think. maybe it feels short. but there is just not that much for muke to say to each other in this particular situation #also anon the green heart is very unique i feel like not a lot of people use it so shout out for being a trailblazer

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willadisastercry · 3 years

Text

The part where they try not to freak out: ‘When the Dust Clears’ pt. 2

tw: minor mentions on gore. this is very tame and not graphic at all, mostly just Lance hurt/comfort and Pidge being a smart ass.

The onset of another quake spurs the three trapped paladins into action. Well...? Really only Pidge. But without much from the barren ruins to go off of, she’s finding it difficult to macgyver her way out of this one. The water level is rising and the longer Lance goes without medical care, the more anxious Shiro is getting. Everyone’s resolves are dwindling with the threat of another quake that can occur at any moment hanging over their heads. How the hell are they going to get out of this alive? Good question.

This update was kinda short but stay tuned for the wrap up of this fic. It gets very harrowing and I’m not nearly done hurting Lance ;)))

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Shiro took his arm off Lance once the only thing still shaking was him.

The quake came on so fast that there wasn’t time to do much in the way of preparation, not that there was much to do anyway. But Lance was the only one missing a helmet so Shiro settled for gruffly pulling his injured teammate down next to him, shoving his head in the crook of his arm, and covering the top of it with his very human hand in an effort to protect him from any falling debris.

But the rumbling stopped before it moved anything significant. And when he finally shifted to inspect the damage, the pebble sized bits that he’d saved them from fell off easily.

Lance let out a few timid coughs against the dust that was stirred up, not having the energy to roll onto his back and shield his nose from the irritating particulates with how horribly his head was hurting. But the act of coughing and what it angered hurt his scrambled brain worse than the actual head injury.

“I don’t know if that’s the last of it, but I think it’s dying down now,” Pidge noted as she began pulling herself up from where she’d scrambled for cover.

“How do we know if that’s the last of the big quakes and these are just aftershocks?” Shiro asked, his face pinched with worry he wasn’t even bothering to hid anymore.

“We don’t. But I think we have bigger issues for the time being....” her gaze was glued on the bit of water dribbling from underneath a stone in front of her.

“Mmmmh—ugh,” Lance groaned. Words were hard to summon. His mouth was so dry he thought he might asphyxiate on his own ragged breathing if he didn’t clear his throat several times before trying again.

“D’it stop for you guys?” he inquired sluggishly, his voice hoarse and trembling.

“Yes...” Shiro noted slowly, his mind working over too many things at once to compute what that statement might have meant for a moment.

“Did it not for you?”

“Nope,” Lance strained through a shudder, his body shaking like he was cold despite the regulation of his paladin armor. His heavily battered paladin armor.

“Everything’s spinning now actually... the tilt-a-whirl kind...”

Lance’s eyes hadn’t stayed open long even after the dust had cleared. His hands weren’t working right to brush the gunk out and he’d be dizzy either way so he didn’t fuss about it.

“Do you want to try sitting up, maybe that’ll help?”

But they had gotten so heavy. And now that Shiro was looking at him he noticed he could hardly even blink without effort.

“Nah, s’okay... gonna sleep for a bit—“

A rough hand on his shoulder had Lance jerking abruptly, fear twisting his stomach in knots similar to the one throbbing on the side of his head at the thought that another quake had started before Shiro cut through his panic with a serious ‘hey’.

His leader voice was back.

“I was phrasing it as a question out of sympathy. You’re still not allowed to sleep and it’s not a choice, it’s an order.”

“Such a... buzz kill sometimes... know that, right?”

“Yep, wouldn’t have it any other way if it meant you actually listen to me when I give suggestions.”

“This is not... a suggestion... s’bullying...”

“Come on,” Shiro huffed in exasperation as he worked his arm out from under Lance who grumbled at the loss when that meant his aching head was now completely horizontal.

He wasn’t even sure he was still on solid ground with how aggressively dizzy he became after that, the rock floor beneath him shifting like it was melting and he was falling. Except he was well aware that he wasn’t.

“Up you go... thanks Pidge.”

The vertigo only worsened when a strong hand was pushing at his back while another tinier one tugged at his limp arm, their combined effort guiding his pliant body into a sitting position.

“I can handle Lance while you survey the area for anything that might be useful, the water’s rising fast so we don’t have a lot of time.”

Shiro’s hand remained firm on his shoulder when it was apparent he still didn’t have the ability to keep himself even semi upright without assistance.

“Useful how?”

“I don’t know, maybe something that you can shove under the rock to prop it up and use as a lever... something strong...”

There’s a groan of rubble crashing in the distance, displaced from the pressure of the tons of water pouring on top of it.

“Why don’t you get going, yeah?”

Shiro suggested when he saw how Pidge blanched and Lance winced at the sound, the minute vibrations that reached them jarring his brain once more.

“We’ll be right here when you get back,” he reminded with a tight smile.

“You’re seriously not nearly as hilarious as you perceive yourself to be.”

“I know.”

The landscape wasn’t littered with much in the way of useful materials. Mostly giant slabs of uneven stone from the pavilion that made traversing the debris field really annoying with only one hand for balance, especially when additionally trudging through rising water that made everything slippery.

“This is pointless,” she grumbled.

There was nothing useful. Aside from bits of rock that she could maybe jam on either side of Shiro’s arm to alleviate enough pressure for him to slide out once the water rose enough, but there wasn’t any point in lugging those back with her when there was plenty where the boys were.

A particularly slick stone had her heart rate elevating when she narrowly avoided taking a header. It only served to enervate her further.

“Pointless and treacherous...”

But as Pidge made her way closer towards the ruins from the building that got swallowed down with them, the crushed squabble of rubble started to pique her interest. There were actual items squished under large swathes of sediment instead of just more sediment.

The blue light of her suit glinted off of any bits of metal she passed by, though for a while it was mostly rebarb rods and plumbing pipes sticking up between rocks. But the more she spotted the more they got Pidge’s mind working.

It would need to be something smaller. Something that was already bent and not sharp. Something she could free with a few tugs.

She scanned the rubble with a renewed passion once she knew what she was looking for, the water lapping against her ankles as she made her way around the destroyed landscape an unpleasant reminder of what was at stake if she didn’t hurry.

The same couldn’t be said for Shiro and Lance who were sitting on a ticking time bomb. Well? More like in.

“Hey Sh’ro...” Lance whispered, his voice timid.

The wait for Pidge grew bleaker as the time droned on. Not that Lance could even really gauge how much had passed or focus on their impending deaths for long. The several inches of water beneath them was a good marker though.

“Yeah, bud? What’s up?”

They hadn’t done much talking. Lance had made it clear that even Shiro’s hushed voice made his head spin and so he only spoke when checking in every now and then.

“I didn’t...”

He watched carefully as Lance looked down at the water in his lap and shuddered. His breath catches in his throat before he can get his question out and Shiro’s blood goes cold despite the temperature regulators in his suit being in perfect order.

“What’s that?”

He takes as deep a breath as he can manage and averts his gaze.

“Know m’out of it... but I didn’t, right?”

Shiro begins to run through every field medicine fact he knows regarding brain injuries before he follows Lance’s eyes back down to the water lapping against his crossed legs and the several splinters in the lower half of his armor.

He stowed that away for later. That the dents ripped into Lance’s suit meant it was comprised. It meant that so was Pidge’s and so was his and their helmets wouldn’t do them any good because water was bound to get in anyway.

Just like water was getting into Lance’s now...

“Oh, shit you mean—no Lance, no you didn’t. That wasn’t you, it’s just some water from the pipes that broke.”

The sigh he let’s out is a jagged one but he seems to visibly relax at the confirmation.

“Kay... s’good. Was worried for a sec...”

Shiro has to close his eyes and breathe deeply for a second to keep from laughing. Or crying. He’s not sure which but either one would have been hysterical and he was certain that he didn’t want to indulge in that.

The literal only thing he could do was keep Lance calm and he was not about to comprise it by losing his.

Lance hums idly and it eases Shiro’s frayed nerves. He has to be righted briefly when he relaxes his arms and it sends him lurching to the side, but once he remembers himself and locks his elbows again Shiro offers him a terse smile of encouragement.

“Don’t have’t do that, y’know...” Lance grumbles in response.

“Do what? Keep you awake or keep you from splitting your chin open? Because you already know what my answer to both of those questions will be.”

Lance steels himself to turn his head and face Shiro. His eyes are bleary and unfocused when he does. It takes an extra minute for him to process what he’d just heard and another to put together his response.

Shiro’s frown somehow deepens at the realization that he’s getting worse and wonders if he’s already forgotten what they were talking about, maybe even the question he wanted to ask.

“I’m happy to remind you though,” Shiro decides on following up with, his tone gentle as he forces his wrinkled forehead to soften.

Lance hums again but this time it’s contemplative and his brows knit together in concentration.

“Pretend you’re not scared,” he drawls slowly, taking his time enunciating each word but still sounding slightly drunk anyway.

Shiro catches himself before he smiles, before he lies to Lance again.

Lance who is concussed and losing blood from several gashes on his face and head that are more likely to scar to longer he goes without a pod, but coherent enough to know that Shiro is bullshitting him and subtlety tell him to screw off.

“Alright,” he says instead. And this time Shiro allows himself to laugh.

The half of Lance’s face covered in cuts is undoubtedly numb and swelling from the bruises sure to be forming beneath all the blood, but he tries to smile anyway.

Shiro mucks his hair with a light hand far away from any patches of red and they fall into a comfortable silence as they listen for Pidge. It’s what feels like a mini eternity and another three inches closer to drowning before they finally hear her approaching.

“Pigeooooon,” Lance calls out.

“Present,” she mumbles exasperatedly.

Her hair is matted to her forehead with sweat and there’s a skinny pipe tucked under her trembling arm. Shiro would’ve told her to rest for a minute if she wasn’t already clutching a jut of upturned stone for dear life.

“What is that for? You’d need something a bit wider for a wedge...”

“Maybe I wasn’t shooting for a wedge.”

“Pidge this is serious.”

“I’m well aware, you don’t have to remind me—he’s going down.”

“Shit Lance,” Shiro gruffs as he yanks him up from where he was seconds away from falling face first into water.

“Sorry. M’awake.”

“Sure you are,” Pidge agrees sardonically as she kneels beside him and grabs his chin to look him over. His pupils are still dilated and his wounds are still dribbling spurts of bright red but the flow isn’t as heavy as before. At least blood loss won’t get him first.

“Hey, Pidge...”

“Hi, lover boy.”

The nickname elicits what can only be guessed was a sorry attempt at an eye roll but he gets distracted in demonstrating his contempt by what Pidge is presenting Shiro with.

“Mmh was’the tube for?”

“Ever seen the wonky mask that scuba divers use? Well, Shiro’s going to take an unprecedented dive today and this is the best substitute I could find.”

“Hold up—“

“Nope, you don’t get a say, I nearly busted my ass pulling this lose. Tube goes in your mouth. Pinch your nose so you don’t accidentally waterlog your lungs. And pray that the others find us before you have to do any of that.”

Shiro is silent for a long moment but Pidge doesn’t care. She’s too busy catching her breath and willing the fire in her arm to ease to give her stubborn superior any room for protest.

“I should’ve sent Lance.”

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lloydskywalkers · 4 years

Note

Hey, I sent this ask once already but I don't think it went through??? (If it did I apologize for bugging you!) I read this fic you wrote a while ago about Lloyd and Ronin talking during season 5 after that part where Morro sends that fake message, and I'd like to read it again but I can't find it? Could you link it please? Sorry again for bothering you.

Hey no don’t worry about it, I’m glad you asked!! One, because I’m almost positive Tumblr ate your other ask; and two, because I am a hundred percent positive Tumblr also ate that particular fic :’) I was going to just repurpose it for a later season 5 fic, but I’ll go ahead and post it below the cut in case you’d like to read it a whole lot sooner XD

If Lloyd was any less exhausted right now, he’d have some choice words for Morro about shoving him in a cage, of all things.

Because really, of all things, a cage? Again? Morro’s so proud of himself and his precious plan, he could at least get creative while he’s at it. Spice Lloyd’s life up a little every once in a while, instead of sticking with the same stupid routine every other person who’s ever gone after his powers has.

But unfortunately, Lloyd is so bone-tired right now he doesn’t even know if he could manage a glare hot enough for Morro, and if he’s going to pick a fight with him, he’d like to be able to finish it without passing out from sheer exhaustion in the middle. He’s been humiliated enough, and he’s clinging to the meager shreds of his pride he has left with a stubbornness.

A stubbornness that’s fading faster than he’d like, so when it takes Ronin three tries before Lloyd realizes he’s saying something to him, it feels a bit like rubbing salt in a wound.

“Huh?” he manages, scrubbing at his eye and wincing as the bruise behind it throbs. His vision clears a bit, at least, enough to where Ronin stops looking as much like a brown blob on the floor and more like…well, Ronin, tied up on the floor.

Right, he remembers, with a sinking pit of ice in his stomach. They’d used Ronin to send a message to the others. The thought of his team heading into a trap makes his stomach writhe into painful knots, and he struggles to sit up, as much as he can in the cramped cage.

“I asked if you were alive up there,” Ronin’s saying. He still looks pale and shaken from when Morro possessed him earlier, but his voice sounds firmer than it did, less like the trembling rasp he’d tried to curse Morro out with before he’d left them both alone.

Save your strength. I’ll be needing it.

Morro’s words float through Lloyd’s head like particularly unwelcome knives, and he shoves the thought of what’s coming away.

“I’m—” his attempt at a reply cuts off in harsh coughing, his throat dry and scratchy from hosting Morro’s voice as much as he has. And probably from the lack of hydration. That might have something to do with it. “Yeah, m’alive,” he finally manages, his voice thin.

“Figured that, with all the racket up there,” Ronin says, but there’s a note of relief in his voice.

Lloyd doesn’t know what to say back to that, so he shuts his mouth, staring hazily at the bars of the cage as they blur and swim in his vision. Ronin doesn’t say anything either, save for an occasional huff as he twists his arms in his bonds, rubbing his hands together as if to quell the small tremors that still run through them. Lloyd studies him closer, how unnaturally grey his color still is, and his stomach twists again. He knows too well how that feels.

Maybe he should have picked that fight.

Lloyd bites his lip, slumping back against the cage bars. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and he hates how young he sounds.

Ronin tilts his head up at him, the corners of his eyes creasing. “What are you sorry for?” he says. “You’ve got it a lot worse than me, kid.”

“Well— maybe, but—” Lloyd stutters. “It’s my…if I hadn’t…I should’ve fought back. When he possessed you, and…everything else.”

“In your shape?” Ronin eyes him, and Lloyd shrinks under his scrutiny. “You look like death warmed over. In a busted microwave. Nice sentiment, kid, but there’s no sense in gettin’ yourself trashed for me.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten trashed,” Lloyd mutters, crossing his arms tighter around himself.

“Yeah, you would’ve, already have,” Ronin scoffs. “You’re just like the rest of ‘em, suicidal hero kids, all of you.”

“I’m the Green Ninja,” Lloyd snaps, hoping desperately that Ronin doesn’t catch the waver in his voice. “I’m not — I should be able to take him. I shouldn’t be here, I should—“

“Please,” Ronin cuts over him, sounding tired. “You’re what, ten?”

Lloyd blinks rapidly, before scowling. “I’m fourteen.”

“—fourteen, FSM help me.” Ronin runs a hand over his forehead, trailing it down to pinch the bridge of his nose. He shakes his head, going silent for a beat.

“Fourteen,” he repeats, voice quieter. “FSM.”

Lloyd doesn’t know what to say back to that, either. He feels very small and a bit stupid, which is kind of how he’s been feeling all the time lately, and he’s not a fan.

“Still should’ve stopped him,” he finally mumbles, wrapping his arms around his legs so he can rest his chin on his knees.

“You couldn’t’ve stopped him,” Ronin says, bluntly. “Morro’s crazy, kid. He’s hellbent on that Green Ninja thing, and he’s the kinda hellbent that gets people killed.”

Lloyd frowns. “It’s my title. It’s my job, I want to be able to keep it—“

“Could you kill someone for it?”

Lloyd flinches back, eyes going wide. “Wha— no! No, I couldn’t — wouldn’t, I’m not — I don’t—“

“There you go, kid,” Ronin sighs, cutting over Lloyd’s floundering. “Morro doesn’t care how many people he has to get rid of, so long as he gets that gi. He’s always gonna have that upper hand on you. Different playing fields.”

Lloyd stares at him, taken aback. He’s never thought about it like that before, and he doesn’t think he’d like to. Just because Morro’s more — more bloodthirsty, or whatever, doesn’t mean he’s stronger. It doesn’t mean Lloyd won’t fight for the green gi.

Lloyd presses his lips together. “That doesn’t mean — I’d still fight for it. I-I’d die for it, if I had to.”

“I bet you would,” Ronin snorts, without humor. “But you won’t kill anyone else. Death is only on the board if it’s yours. You’re the worst kind of selfless type, I’ve seen it before.”

Lloyd chews on his lip, at a loss. Talking with Ronin is confusing, he decides, too confusing for the headache that’s building behind his eyes, at least. He keeps ending up lost for words, and he doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like feeling wrong-footed, though that’s definitely nothing new—

“You shouldn’t,” Ronin suddenly says.

“Huh?”

“Die for it,” he continues, sounding insistent now. “You shouldn’t. Don’t. Your life’s worth a lot more than some scrap of green, kid.”

Lloyd tilts his head, momentarily thrown by the direction the conversation’s turned. “I…I don’t want to,” he admits, weakly. “I just—“

“Then don’t,” Ronin interrupts, bluntly. “Stay alive. Fight dirty if you have to, you’re Garmadon’s kid. Don’t let your family’s never-ending fling with destiny take you down with ‘em.”

“That’s not — I’m not trying to die,” Lloyd insists, irritated now.

“And you got people waiting for you,” Ronin continues, ignoring him. “Your team, y’know, they’re real anxious to get you back.” A flicker of emotion crosses his face, almost like regret. “They’re uh. Puttin’ up a real fight for ya, kid.”

Lloyd squeezes his eyes shut tightly, fighting back the sudden burn. “I know they are.”

“Good thing, then. So just, uh. Don’t give up on ‘em, okay? Be a real shame if they gave me this much trouble for nothing.”

Yeah, I’ll bet they gave you trouble, Lloyd thinks, his throat tightening. He shakes his head, blinking back the burn in his eyes. Enough. His family’s out there, fighting for him, and that’s enough for him.

“I’m not gonna die,” he says fiercely, dragging the fire that’s left in him from the smoldering embers in his chest. “I’m gonna beat him. And then I’m going to end the Cursed Realm, before it ever gets here. And I am not. Going to die.”

Ronin’s eyes flash with an emotion Lloyd can’t name, but he nods, seemingly satisfied. He turns away, the scars on his cheek standing out as he stares through the clouded window.

“You know what’s in the Cursed Realm, right, kid?”

Ronin’s voice is gravely, rough in ways that makes Lloyd think of the hardened kind of people he’d run into on the streets occasionally. People who were used to life going the worst way possible, and were ready for it. He used to want to be one of those people. Now he thinks he might be scared he’s going to get his wish.

But there’s an undercurrent of what could be sympathy in Ronin’s voice, if Lloyd looks for it. He swallows.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Yeah, I know.”

“You good with ending that, too?”

Lloyd swallows again, and this time it gets stuck in his throat.

“I have to be, I guess,” he whispers.

Ronin closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the wooden wall, and Lloyd feels kind of like he used to when he’d turn a test in at Darkley’s, and had no idea whether he’d passed or failed. “S’what I thought.”

Lloyd turns his head away, biting his lip hard enough to taste metal.

He doesn’t know what to say to that, either, so he doesn’t say anything more.

He’s supposed to be saving his strength, after all.

#answered #my fic #technically #i think this is one of three ill-fated fics tumblr decided to eat #not a fan of the lloyd angst i guess #Anonymous

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redhoodssweetheart · 4 years

Text

Amor Gignit Amorem

Genre: Fluff

Relationship: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral!Reader

Requested: Yes (REQUESTS ARE CLOSED)

Word Count: 3.3K

Warnings: Some swearing, mention of a gunshot wound (nothing graphic)

Description: You and Jason meet at a local bookshop and your relationship slowly grows into love as the two of you grow closer together.

A/N: The title is Latin for Love Begets Love. I wanted something in another language and Latin holds a dear place in my heart so it was an easy pick.

The bookshop wasn’t crowded on this particular afternoon when Jason stepped inside. He hadn’t even known this shop was here, and wouldn’t have discovered it if it hadn’t been raining so hard outside. Maybe it was Fate’s way of telling him that he needed to be in this bookshop at this particular point in time. Because today was the day he met you for the very first time. As he wandered through the stacks of used books he paused when his eyes landed on you.

You had been wandering around for the better part of thirty minutes at this point. It hadn’t been raining when you had come into the shop. You weren’t looking for a specific book, you were just curious to see what they had in stock. When it started to rain you had decided to wait it out here.

This particular bookshop was your refuge from the long days of dealing with Gotham and your job. There was always something new to be discovered and you had grown friendly with the people that worked here. So much so that they called you by name when you entered the shop.

Jason came to a stop beside you and gazed at the shelf, reading over the titles of the books, but not daring to glance at you. You on the other hand had taken notice of the man beside you. You glanced up and saw his black hair with a shock of white in the front. An interesting styling choice, but it suited him.

“Are you looking for something specific?” He finally asked after a few moments of silence.

You looked at him again and found that he had blue eyes. He was handsome, and for a moment you zoned out and completely forgot that he had asked you a question. When reality came crashing back down around you, you cleared your throat and looked away in embarrassment. “I just came in here to browse, I’m a regular. When it started raining I just decided to wait it out.” You looked back at him to see that he was still watching you, “What about you…?” You went to say his name and realized he hadn’t given you one.

“Jason Todd,” he supplied.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you told him.

“Well I can’t say I came in here with the intent of perusing the bookshelves, in fact I had no idea this place even existed,” he confessed to you. “I came in escaping the rain.”

You hummed and moved a little ways down the stacks, “Since you’re here would you like some recommendations?” You wanted to keep talking to him, but weren’t sure how to keep the conversation flowing.

He agreed and you led him around the store showing him books which he held onto. You were surprised to see him holding onto them all, but you didn’t say anything. When the rain slowed to a drizzle the two of you made your way to the counter to pay for the books. Jeanie was behind the counter on this particular day and greeted you warmly. She eyed Jason who was standing a little bit behind you.

You paid and stepped out of the way to let Jason approach the counter. Waiting patiently he and Jeanie made small talk, you sometimes interjecting when she said something that included you. Once she was done ringing him up the two of you exited the shop together. “So how do I get in contact with you to discuss the books once I’m done?” He asked as the two of you waited on the corner for a taxi to come by.

Pulling out a piece of paper you scribbled your number down and handed it over just as he hailed a cab for you. “Have fun with those,” you said as you went to get in the cab.

A few days after meeting Jason you received a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: I just finished three out of the eight books that I bought, and I’m halfway through the second.

Unknown: This is Jason btw

You smiled and bit your lip as you contemplated what to say in response.

Y/N: How are you reading that fast?! It’s been three days!

Jason: I can’t put them down! I think you got me addicted to them

Y/N: Well I’m happy to be of service introducing you to new books like this. I have more recommendations if you want them.

Jason: Can I call?

You hesitated, but told him it was okay. A moment later your phone buzzed revealing Jason’s name. “Hello?”

“Hey, so I gotta know what happens to this assassin person. I mean this is only the first out of what? Seven books long? I only bought the first one in the series, but I am seriously considering going out and getting the rest of them tonight.”

You glanced at the clock on your bedside table and laughed, “Jason, it’s nearly midnight, I think it's going to be hard to find a book store open this late. You can always go out tomorrow and get the rest of them.”

He made a sound of despair, “I know I’m going to finish this book tonight and all I want to do is pick up the next one.” You had been exactly where Jason was before. Sometimes you bought the other books because you had a gut feeling that you were going to enjoy the series that much. “At least tell me this gets a happy ending.”

“My lips are sealed,” you told him. “I’m not going to spoil the book for you, sorry.” He growled and that made you laugh harder, “You’ll be fine, Jason. It’s only a few hours, if you can’t wait that long then you my friend have a problem.”

“It’s your fault,” he said in a sulky tone.

“My fault!” You cried out. “How is this my fault?”

“I bought the book because you recommended it and now I’m addicted!”

“Hey, I didn’t force you to buy it,” you were grinning widely at this, it was kind of fun seeing someone else in the same predicament that you found yourself in often. At least this series was released in full, you were curious to see how he would be if he had to wait an entire year for another book to be released.

“I’m glad that you’re finding my pain amusing,” you could hear a page flip and then it slapped shut. “I won’t have any sympathy for you when you find a series and call me because you can’t finish it since you don’t have the other books.”

That made you snort, “I am a seasoned reader, I can handle anything at this point.”

“Oh? Are you lying to me? Because I’m pretty sure that even the most seasoned readers still have to deal with this crushing blow when all you have is one book to read and you have to wait to get the others.”

“All right, you win,” you confessed. “I still have to deal with the pain of not being able to pick the next book up in a series.”

The two of you continued to chat for a couple more hours. Jason was constantly trying to get you to tell him spoilers, but you wouldn’t budge. You told him that he should just wait and read the book to know what happened. Around two in the morning is when you started to yawn and conversation slowed down. You didn’t want to hang up, but you knew you needed your sleep and so did Jason.

Before he hung up he asked if you wanted to meet him for coffee the following afternoon and you agreed.

From that moment on you and Jason started to form a relationship with one another, starting as friends and developing into something more. It wasn’t a shock to anyone that knew the two of you, both of you were practically attached at the hip at this point. He was either at your apartment or you were at his until you moved full time into his home.

You got to meet his family, you hadn’t realized when you met that Jason was the adoptive son of Bruce Wayne. When it did hit, you were thrown through a loop for a moment. “Wait, hold on, back up. You’re Bruce Wayne’s son?!”

Jason rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and gave a shy smile, “Well I mean, I kinda thought you knew. I don’t exactly hide it since I’m almost always in the papers whenever there’s an event going on.”

Alfred, Bruce’s butler and grandfather-like figure to Jason and his brothers, called you one afternoon to invite you to dinner. He said and you could quote this, “Master Jason will never get around to it. He’s stubborn and if I don’t do this now Master Dick will show up at your apartment unannounced.”

Jason was not happy that Alfred and the others had gone behind his back like that, but you managed to calm him down. “I’m glad he called, I want to meet your family. And maybe once I meet them, they’ll leave you alone about seeing me.”

He scoffed, “It’ll only get worse.” He leaned his forehead against yours, “Promise me you won’t go running for the hills when you meet them.”

You laughed and ruffled his hair, “I would never leave you, Jay.” You kissed his cheek and went to get ready for dinner.

That night was interesting. Bruce was much like you expected, quiet, reserved, and very observant. Dick was happy and excitable, but there was a pain in his eyes that you sometimes saw in Jason’s. Tim was a trip, he was smart and had a dry sense of humor that made you laugh. Damian appeared to be a little asshole. You had heard stories of the blood son of Bruce Wayne, but you saw through the act to the person underneath the indifference.

After dinner and thousands of questions about how you met and what Jason was like when he wasn’t grouchy, your boyfriend stole you away and showed you his childhood bedroom. “It looks like you,” you said as you moved over to a bookshelf that housed a bunch of classics on it.

Jason wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “So do you want to run screaming for the hills yet?”

You shook your head vehemently, “Nope. You’re stuck with me, Todd.”

“Good,” he whispered against your head as he continued to let you inspect his room.

Six months into the relationship is when you found out that Jason was Red Hood and the rest of his family was fondly known around Gotham as the “BatFam”. You had received a call from Dick telling you that you needed to get to the manor, that something had happened to Jason. Your heart had sank and you quickly gathered some things that you or Jason would need and headed there.

Never in your wildest dreams did you think that Jason was Red Hood. You knew he worked late hours some nights, but you had always assumed he was just dedicated to his job like Bruce was. When you had gotten to the manor Alfred had led you to the study, you begged Alfred to take you to Jason figuring he would be in his old bedroom.

Instead, Alfred led you below the mansion into the Batcave. You felt like you weren’t breathing and that time had stopped altogether as you took it in. “This way,” Alfred quietly prompted you.

“I told you I’m fine!” Hearing Jason’s voice broke whatever spell the Batcave had you under and your eyes flew to his figure laying on what appeared to be a hospital bed. “I’ve been shot before.”

“Jason Peter Todd!” You shouted, making his eyes go wide and snap over to you. “You were shot?!”

Dick cleared his throat and backed away giving you space to approach Jason. “Y/N, it’s not as bad as it looks, I promise.”

“Not as bad as it looks?!” You were sure you looked hysterical. “First I get a call late at night telling me that you’ve been hurt, then I come to the freaking Batcave, and now you’ve been shot?!” You pinched the bridge of your nose, “When were you planning on telling me this?”

“That I’d been shot or that I was Red Hood?”

“Either one,” you ground out.

“I’ll give you all some privacy,” Bruce said before turning and ushering the others out, there were some complaints, but they were quieted down with a single look from Bruce and Alfred both. The other men knew that you and Jason needed some private time together.

Jason took your hands in his and squeezed them, “I was planning on telling you soon, and I’m not just saying that to placate you. We’ve been together for six months now and I love you. I want you to be in my life for a long time to come. I was hoping to tell you under better circumstances than this, something less scary and stressful for you, but sometimes things work out differently than you plan them.”

You sniffled, not realizing that you were crying some, “I love you too. I was so scared that something had happened, that you were dying.”

“Yeah I already did that and I don’t plan on doing it again any time soon,” he said and then cringed when he saw the look on your face. “That’s harder to explain, can it wait for another time?” You nodded your head, you figured that would be a touchy subject for him to broach and would respect his wishes.

“Will you be all right then? I mean, getting shot isn’t fun but nothing major went wrong right?” You saw the bandage on his left shoulder, and saw a dime sized red spot in the center. He must have been in some pain.

He kissed the back of your hand, “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

You pulled a chair over to the bed and listened to him talk about how Bruce had adopted him and how he had become the next Robin after Dick had given it up. He talked briefly about how he died saying that it had been his end as Robin before coming back as Red Hood. As he talked Bruce watched the two of them sitting there, lost in his own thoughts about his son. He watched you cling to Jason and how at ease Jason was in your presence.

“It’s not nice to spy, Master Bruce,” Alfred whispered as he stepped up next to the boy he had raised.

Bruce glanced at Alfred, “I just wanted to make sure they were both all right. I know that this can’t be easy for Y/N, and Jason must be stressed. I just needed to be here in case they needed something.”

Alfred smiled and patted Bruce on the shoulder before turning and going back to the three men waiting in the study to see what was happening between you and Jason.

A year and a half had passed since you had met Jason at the bookshop and you couldn’t have been happier. Sure you and Jason had issues like any other couple, but you could honestly say that you loved him just as much as you did earlier on in your relationship. You even grew closer to his family and would sometimes come over and sit with Damian or Tim when the others were out patrolling.

It worried you when Jason came home bruised and bloodied, but he would kiss you and promise that it was nothing serious. You trusted Jason and you loved that he was out there protecting innocent people.

Tonight was a gala event for Wayne Enterprises. They were raising money for hospitals and various charities. You had been to several of these before and this one was no different. You talked with other big wigs that worked with Bruce while Jason made small talk with big donors. Damian tended to stick by you when Jason was pulled away for business related matters. You didn’t mind the parties, but they did get tedious after a while.

“I think I’m going to go to the kitchen for a reprieve,” you told Damian. “Wanna come with me?”

He shrugged and the two of you made your way to the kitchen together. The caterers greeted you with friendly smiles and a few hellos. You felt more at ease back here where it wasn’t expected of you to actually make small talk with anyone. Damian seemed to relax a little as well.

Not ten minutes after the two of you had snuck away Jason found you and loosened his tie, “Damian, Bruce is looking for you. There are some people that want to meet you.”

Damian rolled his eyes and reluctantly left the safety of the kitchen. “He seems thrilled,” you said as you watched the youngest Wayne leave.

“Eh, he’ll live,” Jason took your hand and tugged you from the kitchen. He led you out into the gardens where there were lights set up but no one around to enjoy them. “I thought you might want some fresh air,” he pulled you in his arms and the two of you swayed to the music drifting out through the open windows of the room where the party was going on.

“To be honest I hate coming to these things,” you admitted. “They were fun at first, but now the conversations are just the same thing over and over again.”

Jason spun you around and then carefully pulled you back into his arms, “Welcome to the life of one of the Wayne kids. I think Tim and Dick are really the only ones that tolerate them. Tim because he was born into this lifestyle and Dick because he’s just good with people.”

“And why do you hate them? You seem to navigate them very well,” you looked at him with a smirk on your face.

He narrowed his eyes at you and gently pinched your side, “I hate the small talk. I learned how to fake it for Bruce’s sake.” The song changed and Jason pulled you over to a stone bench for a little break and to give you some time off your feet. “Y/N, there’s something I want to ask you.” You looked over at Jason expectantly, he was fidgeting nervously, “I was thinking about us and how far we’ve come since we met in that bookshop on that rainy day. I’m glad I met you, I’m glad it was raining cats and dogs because it led me to you.”

You smiled and kissed his cheek, “I’m glad it was raining that day too because I got the pleasure of seeing you whine about a book you were reading.”

“Hardy har-har,” he said. “But in all seriousness, I love you, Y/N. I didn’t ever really think I would have this, or get a chance to have this when I died and even when I came back. I like who I am with you and I never want to go a day without seeing your beautiful face.” He slipped on the stone bench onto one knee and your breath caught in your throat. “So Y/N Y/L/N, will you do me the honors of marrying me?”

Tears filled your eyes and you nodded your head, “Yes, yes I’ll marry you!”

Jason picked you up and spun you around. There was cheering behind you as the boys rushed out and joined in on the hug. Bruce and the others following suit and congratulating the two of you on your engagement.

News spread quickly that you and Jason were now engaged. It was all anyone in Gotham could talk about for a while. When you and Jason did get married it was a small service filled with friends and family.

Jason slowly stopped going out on patrols as much because he wanted to be with you more and the two of you even opened up your own little bookstore like the one where you had met. Life with Jason was like a dream and you woke up each day glad that you had met him and got to spend the rest of your life with him.

#Jason Todd x Reader #Jason Todd x Reader fluff #Jason Todd #Jason Todd fanfic #Jason Todd fanfiction #Jason Todd Fluff #DC Comics #DC Comics fluff #DC Comics fanfic #DC Comics fanfiction #Requested

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thompsborn · 4 years

Note

fic where harley is a doctor that works w helen cho that sees peter often because of how much he gets hurt from being spider-man? and they fall in love bc they r already smitten for each other bc why wouldn't they be

i didn’t know how much i needed an au like this until you sent it omg

[read on ao3]

—

He’s in the middle of taking a sip of coffee when the alarm goes off.

“Mister Keener,” Friday says, as he’s cursing over the hot coffee that’s soaking into the front of his shirt. Thankfully, it’s not hot enough to actually burn him, but that doesn’t make it any less unpleasant. “Your assistance is needed in the Medical Wing.”

Harley frowns. “What time is it?”

“Four fifty eight in the morning, Mister Keener.”

“Jesus, really?” Harley sets his mug down and turns his arm over to look at his watch. His brows shoot up towards his hairline, surprised. “Wow. Okay. Didn’t realize it was... Jesus. Alright.”

Friday sounds almost amused when she tells him, “Doctor Cho is insisting you hurry.”

Harley sighs. “Yeah, okay. On my way.”

At this time of the night, the only medical staff on hand are the ones who live close by—like Helen, who has an apartment less than a two minute walk away—and those who live on site, like Harley, who’s had his own floor in the tower since he was fifteen and told Tony over a phone call that he was thinking about coming to New York once he was done with high school. Because of this, Harley isn’t all that surprised to find that it’s only him and Helen that show up in the MedBay—if anything, it’s what he expected.

And he should have expected who, exactly, they’re treating in the middle of the night, but he still finds himself mildly surprised when he comes face to face with Peter’s sheepish grin.

“Of course it’s you,” Harley says, standing at the foot of the hospital bed with his arms crossed over his chest. “Who else would be waking me up like this?”

“Don’t lie to me,” Peter says, sheepish grin turning a bit snarky. “You weren’t asleep.”

Harley purses his lips. “I could’ve been.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but doesn’t get the chance to respond before Helen is hovering by his side, snapping her gloves into place and instructing, “Friday, give me the run down.“

“Mister Parker has several second degree burns along his left leg and left arm,” Friday responds. “His right wrist is broken, and there appears to be a laceration along his abdomen.”

Harley winces in sympathy. “Rough night?”

Peter tries to shrug, but the movement makes his features twist up in a flash of pain. His voice comes out a bit strained when he says, “You could say that. There was—house fire. Not fun.”

“Get everyone out?” Harley asks, if only to provide a slight distraction as Helen assesses the broken wrist, likely checking to see if it needs to be reset or if it’ll be able to heal properly as it is. Peter tries for a grin.

“All of ‘em. Even the kids pet turtle.”

Harley pats Peter’s right knee, careful to remember that it’s his left leg with the burns. “Job well done, Spider-Man.”

“Harley,” Helen says, grabbing his attention. She’s apparently deemed Peter’s wrist not a main concern and is already peeling Peter’s suit off of him. Harley snaps into focus instantly, listening intently as Helen tells him, “I need you to take care of the laceration while I get started on the burns. When that’s done, we need to get that wrist in a cast until it heals.”

Peter pouts. “A cast? Really?”

Helen looks at him sharply. “Last time we didn’t put you in a cast, you managed to re-break your arm before it could heal. Twice.”

Peter’s pout vanishes with a meek chuckle. “It was an accident?” he offers.

“You, Peter Parker,” Helen says, averting her attention back to his burns as she speaks, “are somehow my best and my worst patient of all time. And I’m Tony Stark’s doctor, too, so that says a whole lot about you.”

“Hey—” Peter cuts off with a hiss as Harley starts to disinfect the large cut on his side. Harley offers an apologetic half smile that Peter waves away with another wince and a wobbly sort of grin. “I’m not worse than Mr. Stark.”

Helen hums, high pitched and teasing.

“I’m not,” Peter insists. “I’m not!”

“Believe what you want,” Helen tells him.

Peter huffs. “Why are you being mean to me? Aren’t doctors supposed to be nice to their patients? Isn’t that, like, a thing?”

Harley snorts when Helen says, “Next time, don’t wake me up at four in the morning with second degree burns and a broken wrist, and maybe then I’ll be nicer to you, hm?”

—

The thing is, Harley didn’t plan on this.

As in, growing up, he was sure that what he wanted was to be a mechanic. He loved to build, take apart, recreate, understand. It’s all he ever did. Hell, when Tony Frickin’ Stark broke into his garage, the guy ended up making Harley his own mechanic heaven to say thanks for helping him out.

And Harley still loves all of that, to be fair��he spends a lot of his free time tinkering in Tony’s lab now, helping him out with whatever the man’s working on and often working on his own fun little projects on the side—but it’s not his main drive. It’s not the center of his world.

He thinks it started when he saved Tony.

In a way, anyway—he had only been twelve at the time, and it’s not like twelve year olds are exactly apt on having life changing realizations that change the course of their future. Still, he was a twelve year old that saved Tony Stark’s life, and there was some kind of thrill, almost. It was hard to explain then, and Harley isn’t sure if he could put it into words now, but the feeling had made his fingers feel all tingly and his heart thud heavily in his chest. It was similar to when he built his first successful bot and it came whirring to life, only the feeling was intensified.

He felt like he was doing what he was supposed to be doing. He knew he wanted to save lives.

“You’re getting better,” Helen tells him, after Harley’s helped the medical team with bandaging up the members of the Avengers that just returned from a mission. None of the wounds had been major, mostly just scrapes and bruises, but it’s the most amount of people Harley has helped treat at once, which is a big step.

Harley shrugs, drying off his hands, having just finished washing them. “You’re a good teacher.”

Helen chuckles at that. “How are your classes?”

“Good,” Harley answers, nodding his head. “Kinda boring. I know most of it already, thanks to all the training you’ve given me, but that‘s not really new. I knew everything they taught me in high school, too.”

“You sound like Peter when you say that,” Helen muses, an amused quirk to her brow.

Harley rolls his eyes. “Y’know, people keep saying that, but I only see him when he’s bleeding out and that doesn’t make it feel like we’re all that similar.”

“Oh, you’re similar, alright,” Helen says, laughing a bit. “You’re both genius kids who bust your asses off to save people’s lives.”

Wrinkling his nose, Harley says, “But I don’t do it in spandex. Key difference there, doc.”

Helen holds her hands up in some kind of surrender. “Just saying, you two are alike.”

“I’ll make sure to tell him you said that next time he breaks his leg,” Harley quips.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Friday interjects, “but Spider-Man is reportedly injured and heading to the tower now. ETA of six and a half minutes.”

Harley rolls his eyes up to the ceiling with an exasperated sigh. Helen can only laugh.

—

“Ow. Ow, ow—oh, Jesus, that’s—ow—!”

“Sorry,” Harley says, only averting his eyes for a second to flash Peter an apologetic look before focusing back on the stitches he’s giving him.

Peter curses, slamming his left fist into his own thigh as Harley pushes the needle through. “This sucks,” he complains, clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth. “This is—why is this worse than getting stabbed? Why do I prefer getting stabbed over this? This blows.”

“You need to stop moving,” Harley tells him.

Making an indignant sort of noise, Peter asks, “How the hell am I—I can’t stop moving! This hurts, man, like—like, really fuckin’ hurts!”

“Moving makes it worse, dipshit,” Harley retorts, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“You know what else makes it worse?” Peter glares at the wall. “Not having pain killers.”

Harley does roll his eyes now. “Not my job. I just give you the drugs, I don’t make them.”

“I know, but Mr. Stark isn’t here for me to bitch at, so I’m complaining to you about it instead.”

Harley can’t help the way that he snorts at that, finishing off the last of the stitches as he does so. “I usually don’t like to listen to someone complain while I’m working.”

“Sucks to suck,” Peter replies. “Are you done?”

“Yep.” Harley leans back, taking off his gloves and tossing them into the trash. “Any other injuries? Stab wounds? Broken bones?”

Peter hums, tilting his head from side to side. “I don’t think so. Friday?”

“All clear, Mr. Parker.”

Harley frowns. “The fact that you had to ask worries me.”

Peter shrugs. “I get hurt a lot. Kinda used to it.”

“Still,” Harley says. “That’s concerning. Like, you still feel pain, right? You would know if you were hurt somewhere else, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, trust me, I feel pain,” Peter snorts. “But some things just... don’t matter? Like... I dunno, but if it’s not serious, it’s like my brain filters it out on it’s own to focus on other things. Which, probably, y’know, not good, but, like, oh well.”

“Definitely not good,” Harley murmurs, frowning to himself as he squints around the room for a moment. “Well, if you have nothing else, then you’re good to go. And, honestly, thank god that’s all you have, ‘cause this is the first time I’ve done anything without Helen around and anything more than stitches would’ve had me flipping shit and fucking it all up.”

Peter lets out a light laugh, pulling his shirt down, over the gash that Harley just finished stitching. “You wouldn’t fuck it up,” he says, sounding light and humorous yet entirely serious, too. “You’re, like, really good at your job, Harley.”

Harley scrunches his nose up on his face. “Ew. Don’t be nice to me. It’s gross.”

Peter laughs again, a little bit louder, though the way it makes his stomach jump has him wincing when it pulls at his stitches. “I’m serious!” he insists. “Like, I know you’re still a med student and stuff, but Helen is probably the best person to be training you, so you’re, like, more qualified than most normal doctors. You have the experience that most people still in med school don’t have. I mean, you patch up the freakin’ Avengers, Harley! You gotta be good at this to do that!”

“I help patch up the Avengers,” Harley corrects. “The only person I’ve ever fixed up by myself is you, thanks to your insane ability to always get hurt.”

“It’s a talent,” Peter shrugs. “And hey, I bet it keeps you entertained.”

Harley snorts. “Entertained is not the right word for it, Spidey. Impressed, maybe, by just how much trouble you’re capable of getting yourself into.”

Peter grins. “Gotta impress people somehow, right?”

—

Harley wouldn’t call it bonding.

Because it’s not. It’s not bonding. It’s small talk, and pleasant conversations, while Harley sets a broken bone or treats another burn. It’s filling the silence because, apparently, Helen trusts Harley to handle Peter on his own, unless it’s a major injury that requires more than one person on hand, and Harley isn’t sure why he’s being trusted with this, but he’s pretty intent on not fucking it up.

But it isn’t bonding. They’re just... acquaintances. Who talk. Like, a lot, because Peter comes in at least four times a week needing treatment for something, and that gives them a lot of time to talk. Maybe Harley learns a lot about Peter during this time, like his favorite song, and what his comfort hoodie is, and why he became Spider-Man in the first place. Maybe Peter learns where Harley is from, how he met Tony, and what made him decide to be a doctor over a mechanic.

Maybe, after a few weeks, they start having inside jokes, built not only from the time they spend alone together, but also from the months upon months that Harley was helping Helen treat Peter, too. Sometimes, Peter snorts so hard that he reopens his stitches and Harley has to fix it. Sometimes, Harley can’t stop laughing when he needs to have steady hands and he ends up hunching over on himself and wheezing because of whatever it is that Peter said. One day, Peter comes in when he isn’t injured, dressed in casual clothes with a few textbooks from his ESU courses in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. “I’m headed up to see Mr. Stark,” he tells Harley, “but I thought I’d give you this,” and he holds out the cup of coffee with a big, cheesy sort of grin.

“Why?” Harley asks, though he accepts the cup gratefully.

Peter shrugs. “I’d probably have bled out ten times over if it weren’t for you, and you looked, like, really tired yesterday, so I thought you might need it.”

He is tired—exhausted, really, because his classes may not be hard but there are some big tests coming up that he needs to study for and it’s hard to find the time to study in between training with Helen and doing all the millions of other assignments that are being tossed his way. He takes a sip of the coffee, hums in satisfaction at the way it warms him up, and says, “Thanks.”

“Least I could do,” Peter tells him.

So, maybe they’re friends. Maybe—maybe—Harley is starting to look forward to seeing him and keeps trying to think of a casual way to offer they hang out sometime, outside of the med bay. Maybe Peter starts bringing Harley a cup of coffee every time he goes to visit Tony, and maybe Harley starts to feel a little thrill whenever he hands the coffee over and their fingers briefly brush.

Maybe it is bonding, but it’s not a crush. It’s not.

(”You’re adorable when you’re in denial,” Helen tells him.

Harley sinks in his seat and tries to disappear. “Shut up.”)

—

The letters of his textbook are blurring in front of his eyes when the alarm rings.

He jumps at the sound, looks up at the ceiling with slightly squinted eyes and furrowed brows, expecting Friday to calmly inform him that his assistance is needed in the med bay, like usual. Instead of that, though, the alarm continues to blare, and all Friday says is, “Urgent. Urgent. Urgent.”

Which is code for: someone’s about to die if he doesn’t hurry.

Instantly, he jumps to his feet, feeling wide awake despite being on the brink of dozing off just a few short moments ago. “Okay,” he tells himself, rushing out of his room and sprinting towards the elevator, which is already open and waiting for him. He only just barely thinks to swipe his tablet along the way, clutches it in his hands while he says, “Okay, okay, okay—who, uh—Friday? Who is it?”

“Iron Man and Spider-Man are both heavily injured and require immediate assistance,” Friday informs him gravely. “Doctor Cho is already treating Mr.Stark and has told me to inform you that you will be in charge of Mr. Parker.”

“Oh, god,” Harley breathes, pinching the bridge of his nose and giving himself a second to take a deep breath while the elevator takes him down to the proper floor. “Jesus. Okay. I need, uh—give me a list of Peter’s injuries, Fri.”

“Of course, Mr. Keener.”

The list is sent to his tablet immediately, and it’s—extensive. Third degree burns and multiple shattered ribs and various bullet wounds, only some of which are clean through, meaning that there’s various bullets that they need to remove before Peter starts to heal around them. The more he reads, the faster his heart thunders in his chest while his mind automatically sorts through it to think of what needs to be prioritized, what to treat first, and how to keep Peter alive.

By the time he reaches Peter’s room, he has a game plan figured out, and he only falters for a short moment when he sees Peter on the hospital bed, writhing around and sobbing in pain. The rest of the medical staff in the room freeze, likely already aware that Helen put him in charge, and wait with bated breath.

“Alright,” Harley says, mostly to himself. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

—

Maybe it is a crush.

Harley is finding it hard to deny it now, as he sits beside Peter’s hospital bed, his hands feeling a little bit shaky where they’re clasped together and hanging between his knees. They had to undergo emergency surgery, and Peter’s heart had stopped four times throughout the procedure. Bringing him back had been the most panic inducing thing Harley has ever experienced in his life, and he couldn’t even show it because he was the one that was put in charge.

But they did, all four times —they got his heart going again and they got out all the bullets and treated all the burns and did everything they could to stabilized the broken bones. They gave him multiple IV’s, all of which he’s still attached to, and he hasn’t woken up since he passed out from the pain shortly after Harley’s arrival—and he passed out looking at Harley, too, with wide, pleading eyes that seemed to be begging for mercy, filled with agony and despair.

Harley would do anything to never have to see that look again.

“How’s he doing?” Helen asks, stepping into the room. She looks tired, undoubtedly exhausted from doing whatever she could to stabilize Tony just a few rooms down. Harley feels that exhaustion in his very bones.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Harley tells her. “Lost him a few times, though.”

Helen hums sympathetically. “But you got him back.”

Harley hesitates, then nods. “Yeah, we did.”

“Good,” Helen says, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You did good.” She stays like that for a moment, doesn’t move, and Harley appreciates the gesture but kind of wants to be alone. Maybe she senses that, because a moment later, she’s pulling her hand back and asking, “Are you staying here?”

“‘Til he wakes up,” Harley tells her.

Helen smiles at him warmly. “Make sure you get some rest, too, okay?”

Harley doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep until he sees Peter awake and talking again, but he still nods at her and says, “Yeah, alright.”

After Helen leaves the room, after it’s just Harley and Peter again, he finds himself reaching forward and taking Peter’s hand in his, and, other than the innocent brush of fingers when passing a coffee cup, this is the first time they’ve touched outside of Harley treating Peter’s wounds. It’s a bit of a startling realization, but Harley finds comfort in the contact, listens to the steady beeping of the heart monitor and starts to relax with the reassurance that he really did good, that Peter is going to be okay and Harley is the one that saved him.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but with that relief flooding his veins and Peter’s hand in his, he finds himself dozing off and doesn’t bother forcing himself awake.

—

At first, he doesn’t realize he’s waking up, his senses still muddled with sleep. It feels almost as if he’s floating in unconsciousness, warm and comfortable and—

“Harley?”

And he wakes with a jolt, eyes snapping open and instantly searching, only coming to a stop when they land on wide brown eyes looking right back at him. “Oh,” he breathes, blinking once and sitting up straight despite the way it makes his back complain. “Oh, my god. You’re awake.”

Peter tilts his head, just a little bit, and looks down at their intertwined fingers.

“Right. That.” Harley clears his throat and scrubs his free hand over his features, trying to wake himself up with a sheepish little smile. “It’s, um—not important, actually. How do you feel? Any pain, discomfort, anything like that?”

For a moment, Peter doesn’t respond, just keeps looking at their hands before rasping out a hoarse little, “’m kinda—kinda thirsty. M’throat hurts.”

Instantly, Harley gets to his feet and pulls open the mini fridge in the room to grab a bottle of water. He takes it back to Peter, hands it over, and feels somewhere stuck between doctor mode and something else, the worry and the uncertainty and the fear from hearing the flat line all mixing together until he feels nauseous with it. Peter accepts the water bottle gratefully, takes tentative sips from it and only winces slightly when he swallows it. “Better?” Harley asks.

Peter smiles, a bit small and tired, but just as genuine as always. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Harley murmurs, hovering by the chair he had been sitting in before. “Is there anything else? Just, like—anything at all? How do you feel?”

“Tired,” Peter tells him. “Like, um... groggy, y’know? And... out of it.”

Harley nods, a bit relieved that the dose of pain killers he chose was the right amount. “That’s to be expected. You were really roughed up, Pete.”

Peter frowns down at his water, brows knitting together. “What happened?”

“There was an ambush,” Harley tells him. “I guess Doc Ock was out and about, so you went to confront him and he got enough hits in to alert Tony, so he went to help you out, but Ock apparently teamed up with Rhino and they were able to catch you guys off guard and get the upper hand. Rhodey and a few others went to help out, but they didn’t get there in time to stop you guys from nearly getting killed, so, when you came in, it was... not pretty. But, you’re both gonna be fine.”

He wants to say that it’s not a crush. It can’t be a crush, isn’t supposed to be one, even if seeing the way Peter lets out a puff of air and relaxes back into his pillows is kind of a... not so bad sight. He looks tired and a bit beat up and a little too pale, but he’s good. He’s alive. Being alive looks good on him.

Maybe, Harley admits. Maybe it is a crush.

“Thank you,” Peter murmurs, head lulling back into the pillows. He holds out a hand and Harley isn’t sure what the action is for, but he doesn’t think before reaching forward and tangling their fingers together.

Harley clears his throat. “What for?”

“Not letting me die,” Peter says.

The mere idea of letting Peter die makes Harley’s heart stutter in his chest. “Of course,” he mumbles, a bit stricken. “I’ll always save you. It’s my job.”

Peter squeezes Harley’s hand, falls asleep with a sigh and a smile on his face.

Harley still doesn’t leave.

(It’s definitely, one hundred percent, a huge, gigantic crush, and maybe... maybe he’s okay with that. Maybe liking Peter Parker isn’t all that bad.)

#parkner #my writing #mild descriptions of injuries #non graphic near death experience

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chillpills320 · 4 years

Text

Hard || Corbyn Besson

Summary : kinda based on wdw’s hard (if you haven’t heard the song yet it’s basically Corbyn likes his best friend, but she’s oblivious and is in a relationship, and one day her boyfriend hurts her so she goes to Corbyn for comfort)

Warnings : slight hint of sexual abuse, but other than that it’s just some Corbyn fluff

Word Count : 1.9k

A/n : Yeah so I really like their song hard, I think it’s nice to have someone who got your back, and gives you a shoulder to cry on, plus I’m a new limelight, so I’m like writing this and waiting for their comeback,,,,

Also this kinda involves their cover of Adele’s make you feel my love, because I went to heaven after I heard their cover, and you should really hear it if you haven’t

~~~

November 25th (as you all know) is Corbyn’s birthday.

He was your best friend, and of course you wanted to be the first ever person to wish him happy birthday, so you called him at 11:57pm the night before even though you were dead tired.

“Heyyy Corbone,” you said to the phone when he picked up at the third ring.

“What’s up y/n? Wait.. Aren’t you supposed to be in bed now?” Corbyn asked, he knew that you take part-time jobs at a nearby cafe after school to support your college fees and he knew how exhausted you probably were.

“Whatttt, and miss being the first person to wish you a happy birthday? No thanks,” You teased.

“Really? Aww,” the boy answered, a bit flustered. You could literally hear his smile over the phone.

You chuckled, and you talk about the most random of things until the clock ticked 12:00.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!” You practically screamed to the phone. “You’re 20 now, you dork. Go get a girl or something, don‘t wait till you’re too old for crushes,” you egged him on.

You’ve known Corbyn for your whole life, but have never seen him date any girl. You were the one close friend of him who is a girl, and you were honestly worried about his sexuality as he has not shown any interest to any other girls OR guys, which u concluded after (half) stalking him on the campus, wondering if he was gay, which is honestly super fine if he was, but yeah.

“You say that every yearrr,” Corbyn complained.

“Wait I still haven’t got your birthday present because I don’t know what you want, so just tell me if there’s anything on you wishlist?” you asked.

“Oh, sure thanks,” the blonde boy replied.

“Wait, um do you want to hang out tomorrow?” He continued, crossing his fingers wishing that you’d say yes.

You, on the other hand, oblivious to Corbyn’s wish, rejected politely because you promised that you would spend more time with your boyfriend.

“Sorry Corbs,” you shrugged into the phone. “Right, gotta sleep. See you tomorrow, birthday boy,” you said and hung up.

Corbyn’s heart panged with bitter sweetness. He was touched that you called him to be the first person to wish him a happy birthday, but he also knows that that would probably be the last time he will see you on his birthday, since you two don’t exactly have the same friend group.

You used to hang around with Corbyn a lot, just the two of you, but soon your boyfriend appeared and you had to spend time with your boyfriend too. Plus, college caught up and you were both too busy to spend time with each other.

It wasn’t that Corbyn’s not interested in girls, it’s just that he has fallen for his best friend, who was oblivious to his feelings AND not available. All Corbyn’s ever wanted for his birthday present is you, but who could get him that present?

~~~

The next day, Corbyn hung out with Jonah and Jack. He wasn’t exactly popular in school, unlike the social butterfly you were, making friends here and there.

Right now you were seated at the middle of the cafeteria with a table of friends, your boyfriend’s arm wrapped around your figure. A friend of yours shared something and made you laugh.

“Hey, have you told her yet?” Jonah asked, snapping Corbyn out of his trance.

“W-What?” Corbyn asked.

Jack sighed. “Of course it’s a solid no, or else why wouldn’t y/n be sitting here with him.”

Corbyn blushed at the mention of your name.

“Ugh, I’m just sick of Corbyn always staring at y/n while she doesn’t even notice,” Jonah groaned. “She’s your best friend. How could she be so oblivious?”

“I mean... she has a boyfriend,” Corbyn said, defending you, though his heart sinked a little at the mention of the champion who won your heart.

Jack shook his head in sympathy.

“Hey cheer up, it’s your birthday afterall,” Jonah said, lightening up the mood. “You wanna go to the arcade after school?”

At the mention of Corbyn’s favorite place on Earth, his eyes lit up.

“Sure!” Corbyn replied enthusiastically.

~~~

After spending the whole day at the arcade, Corbyn went back home.

He scrolled his Instragm feed and smiled when he saw that Jack posted a ridiculous picture of Corbyn as his birthday post. He was typing a comment when he heard a knock at his door.

Few people knew his address and it was quite late at night, so he was a bit confused, but opened the door anyway to reveal you. You, with messy hair, and disheveled clothes that seemed to be put on in a haste.

“Y/n? What are you-“ Corbyn started with wide eyes but was cut off by you breaking down. Corbyn’s eyes softened as his heart swelled at your crying figure.

He immediately pulled you inside and into his warm embrace where your sobs shook his frame. You fell to a million pieces but his hands came up and ran along your back to soothe you while whispering that it’s okay.

When your sobs subsided, he led you to the couch while he went to the kitchen to brew some hot tea.

He came back with two steaming mugs and gave one to you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, then took a sip of the tea.

He nodded and wrapped his arms around you.

“Better?”

You nodded meekly, tired from all the crying.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked softly.

You opened your mouth, but all that came out was a sob.

Corbyn pulled you in closer. “It’s okay, you can tell me when you’re ready,” he whispered, never prodding you on if you’re uncomfortable.

You sighed into his hoodie. Your tears dampening the fabric yet Corbyn doesn’t seem to mind.

“My boyfriend,” you finally said, avoiding Corbyn’s gaze. “H-He tried to sexually abuse... me.”

Corbyn’s blood ran ice cold. How could anyone hurt such a sweet soul like you? He didn’t understand why anyone would want to make you cry so hard.

Now Corbyn’s blood boiled and his fist tightened. “I’m gonna make that bastard pay,” he said through gritted teeth, and tried to get up from the couch but you stopped him.

“It’s not.. worth the trouble,” you mumbled. “I-I mean I escaped before he began to get into it, but I was just,” you frantically explained. “I was just sc-scared when he pinned me down, he was so strong, and I couldn’t move.. and- and-“

“And it’s not the first time he’s tried that...” you whispered, broken.

Corbyn’s heart teared apart just as he teared up at your vulnerability.

“I-I’m sorry, you don’t deserve this,” Corbyn whispered as tears began to run down your face again.

He wiped your tears away with the back of his thumb. He was angry at your boyfriend for doing such a thing to you, but he also blamed himself for not seeing it in your boyfriend. All he’s ever wanted to do was to protect you, but he failed even at that.

He also blamed himself that if, he wasn’t such a coward, and had actually confessed his feelings for you, then you might have accepted him and avoided dating your current boyfriend.

“Hey,” you said softly, snapping Corbyn out of his thoughts. “Why do you look even more troubled than me?” you teased a little.

“I just... I wish I could’ve prevented it,” Corbyn mumbled. “I hate seeing you cry,” he added softly.

“Oh Corbs, you being here for me is enough,” you sniffed. “God, you don’t even know how much better you made me.”

Corbyn ran his hand down your silky hair.

“I thought... I thought you had a lot of friends to be here for you,” Corbyn admitted.

You sighed sadly. “Well.. yes, but they’re just a facade. No one but you can truly give me comfort,” you said softly. “And frankly I’d rather be with you.”

Corbyn’s heart fluttered at your words as both of you sat in the comfortable silence.

“Corbyn?” you mumbled. “Can you sing me a song?”

Corbyn smiled and started to sing with his honey sweet voice,

When the rain is blowing in your face

And the whole world is on your case

I could offer you a warm embrace

To make you feel my love

When the evening shadows and the stars appear

And there is no one there to dry your tears

Oh, I hold you for a million years

To make you feel my love

He looked over at his shoulder and saw you sleeping peacefully. He thought you looked perfect, even with messy hair and smudged makeup.

He gently carried you to his bedroom and placed you on the bed, tucking you in. He also used the makeup wipes you left over before to clean your face.

Corbyn sighed as he watched your sleeping figure.

“You know, if i hadn’t been such a coward, maybe you wouldn’t have ended up with him,” he speaked softly to himself.

“Do you know? You look so beautiful when you’re asleep, and I wish I could be the one to tell you that every day, every morning. I wish that I could tell you I get lost in your eyes everytime I look at you, and your laugh is my favourite sound in the world. My heart skips a beat everytime I look at you, but I know that you’re occupied.”

“I never showed any interest in anyone, because you were already in my mind for the longest time.”

“I wish I could be the one to protect you, to love you, to live with you... I wish that I could call you mine, or call you my baby, because that’s- that’s who you are in my mind,” Corbyn confessed, knowing that you wouldn’t hear him.

“Corbyn,” you suddenly spoke up, your eyes fluttering open, for you have been awake for some time now, and heard Corbyn’s confession. “Do you really mean that?” A smile on your face while Corbyn jumped at your voice, cheeks flushing ridiculously red.

“I-I, yeah.. I t-thought you were asleep,” Corbyn stammered, looking anywhere but your eyes.

“You know what, Corbs, I like you too. A lot,” you confessed, cheeks turning pink as well.

“I-I’ve liked you for a long time, but I thought you didn’t show interest in anybody, so I just try to date other people to get you off my mind, but-“ you rambled, but got cut off when Corbyn placed his lips on yours.

Fireworks erupted as both your hearts swelled at the sweetness of the kiss. His lips were softer than you imagined, and his taste- God, you could taste him forever. He pulled away and hid in the crook of your neck, flushed.

You suddenly giggled at a thought.

Corbyn rose up from his position and looked at you with questioning eyes.

“Oh Corbyn, I just realized that the person I’ve spent my whole life looking for, has actually been here beside me this whole time,” you said.

Corbyn smiled as well and kissed you again, this time more passionate than the last.

“I promise to protect you better than all your boyfriends, baby,” Corbyn said, breathless after the kiss.

You smiled so hard at your new pet name.

“Can you say it again?” you requested.

“Baby,” Corbyn replied, smiling at how much happiness he can give you by saying a word.

“Baby, baby, baby, my babygirl...” he continued, kissing your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, all over your face, making you laugh at the love he gives you.

Then Corbyn laughed with you, and thought, best. birthday. ever.

~~~

So hope you guys like this post, and I take requests! So send in some requests if you want to :))

#wdw #why dont we #jack avery #zach herron #daniel seavey #corbyn besson #jonah marais #why dont we imagine #imagines #jack avery imagine #zach herron imagine #daniel seavey imagine #corbyn besson imagine #jonah marais imagine

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renjunsmom · 4 years

Text

What is love? | l. jeno

Ghost! Jeno x Human! reader

a/n: im back!! well i dont know if i’ll continue writing on this blog but this has been sitting in my drafts for forever so i figured i would just finish it and post it. i’ll be writing on my new hq writing sideblog @happytsukki !! hope you enjoy, its kinda messy oops.

some say “new year, new me” but unfortunately for you it also meant a new house

moving was just as bad as you think

the trouble of unpacking and packing,,,,the worst part was having to adjust to the entirely new environment

so it was pretty lonely

well, until you met the ghost that lived in your new house

i know what you’re thinking

it was horrifying at first

one day you were simply trying to put away extra plates on the top shelf in the kitchen

feeling accomplished you began unpacking something else

you placed the heavy box onto the counter not even realizing you shook the stack of plates directly above you

a plate was imminently gonna fall on you

luckily for you the boy living in your house caught it as it grazed your hair

looking up you see the plate and turn to your savior

SCREAAAAAAAAMMMMMM

you didn’t know if you were most shocked about how attractive the guy’s face was or the fact that this was a stanger in your home

you quickly grabbed the nearest thing to protect you

a spatula

“back off, or i-i’m gonna flip your ass outta here” you threatened

instead of retreating back in fear the odd boy began laughing

he held his stomach as tears began falling from his eyes

“you’re threatening me with a, a spatula???”

you gave him a death stare

“okay okay fine. i’m lee jeno, your roommate i guess you could say.”

hOL UP

“roommate?? who is you???”

jeno put out his hand and gave you a bright smile

“my bad, let me be more specific: i’m a ghost and i can’t leave this house”

this sounded like a load of bs to you,,,so you pushed his hand out of the way and examined him

“a ghost?”

his skin did seem to be unusually fair and under his cute eyes were so heavy bags

“believe it or not, i, lee jeno am a ghost but don’t worry. i know how to pass on peacefully, but i’ll need your help.”

the next few months made you feel like sherlock holmes

you agreed to help jeno pass on by helping him find out what happened to his parents

living in the same house with him was extremely difficult

he was always popping up in random places, giving you the biggest jumpscares

when your parents came home from long business trips it wasn’t easy hiding him

but jeno became your best friend and gave some damn good love advice

you had a crush on na jaemin, the boy next door

he was basically perfect package 📦

sadly you could never muster up the courage to converse with him

but jeno insisted

first he threw a rock from your window to his

then he left your window open which seemed like an open invitation to talk

next thing you knew you were laughing and talking with THE na jaemin

it was a dream come true

for you

while the stars in your eyes shined brighter and your smile grew bigger everyday

jeno stood at the side admiring how beautiful you were

how he wished that he met you in his lifetime

he wondered if ghosts could have feelings, if they even had hearts

because if he did, his beat uncontrollably for you

“what is love?”

he asked you out of the blue one night

you thought long and hard:

“well love comes in many different forms, but love is caring for someone unconditionally sometimes without reason. its their image constantly creeping into your brain and just the sound of their voice giving you heart palpitations. most of all its the ability to accept their flaws and imperfections.”

jeno was mesmerized by your words

but the thought saddened him

“i wish i fell in love before i, you know, died” he confessed

you looked into his sullen eyes, feeling the deep pain he suffered from

oh how you wished you knew what to tell him. what are you supposed to tell a ghost? you wished you could tell him that he would eventually find someone, someone who could give him the world, like he deserved. but fate proved to be cruel and deep down you knew the circumstances were different.

you wrapped your arms around him in a hug, giving off the warmth and love he’d been longing for

“but i happened to fall in love in my afterlife” he whispered

you didn’t hear, already drawing back from the warm embrace by that time.

exhaustion fell over your body and you let out a yawn. “i’m sleepy now jeno. goodnight and sweet dreams.”

He nodded and walked towards the door but before leaving he looked at you, laying there so peacefully. how your mouth hung slightly ajar and the way you snored ever so lightly caused his lips to curl up.

“goodnight, my love.”

the next morning you quickly grabbed breakfast and darted for the door. last week you promised jeno you would look into his death more.

but something stopped you. at your doorstep stood a couple in their late 40s. their faces soaked with tears and eyes swollen red. in the man’s hand was a picture frame.

“oh, i’m sorry, we didn’t realize someone was home right now. we’ll leave immediately.” he spoke between his sobs.

the woman next to him wailed, clutching her heart and holding a baseball. “w-we happened to pass by and we just wanted to reminisce by our old home. you see, our son died a year ago from a hit and run; he loved this home more than anything, except maybe baseball.” she managed to stifle out a dry laugh at the last part.

but your world stopped. suddenly you felt the presence of jeno by your side. his mouth hung agape and his eyes widened at the sight of the couple. “mom? dad?” he managed to whisper amidst his shock.

tears spilled down his eyes, but unlike his parents, his voice had no despair or pain. he simply laughed, “thank you. thank you for visiting me today.” He took a step forward and tried to wrap his arms around his parents, but they immediately fell through and dissipated.

While the scene unraveled you could do nothing but stare at jeno and his parents. you wanted to yell: He’s right here in front of you! He didn’t go anywhere!

but you knew that only you could see him and instead you flung your arms around the strangers. sobbing along with them. “i’m sorry for you loss. I’m sure he was a great person.”

they felt so moved by your sudden sympathy and asked you if they could leave his picture here. you happily accepted, knowing that his spirit would soon be able to pass.

when they left you looked over at jeno, his eyes already boring into you with a grin planted on his face.

“hey, don’t look at me like that, i’m a mess” you whined, covering your face from his view.

“y/n. thank you.” was all he said. he inched forward and engulfed you in a hug, tighter than the other ones since he knew this would be his last.

“you’re so dramatic jeno.” you said into his shoulder. “i didn’t even do anything. i’m a pretty useless detective because they basically just came to me.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and gently took your fingertips into his, “that may be so, but because of you i got to feel what love was. i thought i would leave this world without ever feeling my heart race or finding someone’s hands fit perfectly into mine.”

“i love you y/n. and though we didn’t meet in this life, i hope we can meet in the next one. i’m depending on it.” he declared, wiping away the single tear that fell from the corner of your eye. He leaned forward, holding his forehead to yours and and took in all the emotions.

He kissed the tip of your nose and you couldn’t help but giggle, “I should be thanking you jeno. you taught me love, and i wish i saw it earlier. you are love. now, you better not break your promise, we have to meet in the next life.”

He pulled back and smiled in endearment, “of course y/n. but don’t be a lonely cat lady, okay? be with jaemin, i can tell he’s a good guy and i want the best for you. goodbye my love.”

Then he disappeared without a trace. the only remembrance you had of him was the picture his parents gave you. written on the back was a surprise little note that read I’ll marry you in the next life, i promise. love, lee jeno.

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