#slowly realizing that i dont sketch down ideas | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wickedpact · 3 years

Note

Idea for a JoexNicky fic!! (anon here)- piggybacking off the other anon's nicky's mom idea, what if for an anniversary present, Joe sketches a portrait of Nicky's mother? (obviously she'd look like a beautiful warm goddess of kindness) Like maybe he has a dream of one of Nicky's most vivid memories ;-; I would literally die

so uh. this bloomed wildly out of my control

this ficlet is 5k words long so dont open that read more unless youre willing to commit to it

warnings: brief discussions of violence, extremely brief mention of sex, me not knowing how the FUCK one becomes a priest in Ye Olde 1000′s, and probably a criminal lack of historical accuracy as well as a criminal lack of the accented o in ‘nicolo’

yeehaw.

It starts with one of Andromache’s sparring sessions, and of course by ‘sparring’ session Nicolo means a session in which Andromache was in a piss poor mood for no obvious reason, and decided to take it out on the rest of them.

These sessions tend to start with Andromache coming hurtling into their camp with a dark expression on her face, and end with Yusuf and Nicolo sprawled on the ground, bruised and exhausted, while Andromache and Quynh beat the ever-loving hell out of each other nearby. (Yusuf has been convinced for a long time that it's some sort of mating ritual; Nicolo... doubts it.)

This time around, they are at some point after Nicolo has given up, and some point before Yusuf has joined him; Nicolo lies on the sand, starfished, while Quynh and Yusuf attempt to tag team Andromache with an abundance of vigor and middling results. Nicolo cranes his neck to watch the spectacle, catching a glimpse of Andromache flipping Quynh straight over her shoulder before twisting around and kicking Yusuf dangerously close to the groin. Yusuf stumbles, and Andromache grabs him by the shoulder, shoving his considerable weight off of his feet and towards Nicolo’s resting spot.

Yusuf, stumbling, manages to not trip over Nicolo by inches, and falls face-first onto the ground beside him with a groan. Meanwhile, Quynh has recovered and charges at Andy again, beginning their age-old dance yet again.

Yusuf grumbles at Nicolo’s side and peels himself off the ground, leveraging onto a knee. Nicolo drops his head back down to look at him, smiling when he swipes a hand across his beard to dislodge the sand accumulating there. Having been roasting under the midday sun and the excursion of the fight for hours now, Yusuf is layered in sweat and breathing heavily but evenly, chest and shoulders heaving slowly with each breath. Nicolo’s mouth goes crooked watching him.

“She doesn’t attack still targets,” he advises, amused, lying still atop the sand.

“Like a lioness!” Yusuf agrees with a zest Nicolo lost about thirteen minutes ago. He pulls himself onto both knees and balances on them, wavering in a way that makes Nicolo want to give him a steadying hand. “Hm.” Yusuf braces a hand on his thigh, face scrunching up in consideration. “No. I don’t think so.”

And then he plops, face first, back to the sand. Nicolo gives him an encouraging pat on the back with his knuckles.

“Are you two giving up?” Andromache calls over. Nicolo cranes his head up again to see that Quynh is on the ground yet again, slowly stumbling to her feet, and Andromache stands with her back to her, facing them. Her hands are on her hips.

“Yes. Thank you for checking in!” Nicolo confirms, lifting a hand to give her a thumbs up. Andromache responds to the sass with a raised eyebrow before whirling around and punching Quynh in the stomach before the younger immortal could sneak up on her.

Quynh goes down for the-- who knows how many times now, and Nicolo drops his head. He squints up at the wavering blue lines of the sky until Andromache’s white robes cross his vision, casting a shadow over his and Yusuf’s resting forms.

“Get up,” Andromache insists, nudging Nicolo with her boot. “I’m not done with you two yet.”

“You can’t make us,” Yusuf grumbles into the sand.

“You bet I can’t?” Andromache threatens, more a tease than a promise. When neither of them reply, she rolls her eyes and says, with a less than gentle kick to Yusuf’s side, “You babies are so soft.”

Yusuf hisses, rolling away from Andromache’s boot, into Nicolo’s side. “Son of a whore, Andromache, knock it off,” he grouches, dropping his shoulder atop Nicolo’s. Nicolo grunts with the weight of it. “Or daughter of a whore, that is,” he corrects himself, then adds thoughtfully, “No offense to your mother, if she were a woman of the night. What did your mother do, Andromache?”

Andromache laughs at Yusuf’s meandering insult-- a posturing bluster of a laugh that makes Nicolo blink, wondering if Yusuf’s actually offended her somehow. If so this would be the first time; Nicolo has always known Andromache to be thicker skinned than a mule.

But then she says, “I don’t remember my mother. Who knows,” and turns and heads back over to Quynh, who’s only just recovered from before. They resume sparring, Nicolo watching them with mild confusion.

Nicolo turns to look at Yusuf, wondering if he’d caught onto Andromache’s discomfort, but when Nicolo catches his eye, he just shrugs his shoulder against the sand and says, “Well, that’s a line that’ll end an argument every time, eh?”

Later on, Nicolo is still considering it, sprawled in front of the fire --that Quynh had constructed a couple hours prior-- with Yusuf, Nicolo slouched against his chest and bracketed by his bent knees. Andromache and Quynh are arguing over the linen tent a little ways off, and Nicolo watches Andromache carefully, the lines on her face and the muscles in her arms, the working parts of her that have existed on this earth for thousands of years. The things her hands have done; the things her eyes have seen.

The things her heart has forgotten.

“You are thinking very loudly over there,” Yusuf says from somewhere over Nicolo’s head. Nicolo shifts his eyes from Andromache and Qyunh, to the fire, to his and Yusuf’s legs stretched out before it. He tilts his head back, the top of his head against Yusuf’s sternum, but all he can see from that angle is Yusuf’s beard, so he drops his head back down with a little amused huff.

“Andromache is very old,” Nicolo says slowly.

“Ah, yes,” Yusuf agrees, amiable. “Also: water is very wet, and the desert is very hot.”

“S’cold at night,” Nicolo grumbles, just to be contrary, and is rewarded by Yusuf slipping his arms under Nicolo’s, bundling him closer to his chest and notching his chin over his head.

“What’s wrong, Nico?”

Nicolo requires no further prompting, not from Yusuf at least. The words come tumbling out of his mouth, one at a time. “She doesn’t remember her mother.”

There’s little more that needs to be said there. The immortal life is one that comes with many downsides, and the nature of it is that sometimes one discovers these downsides centuries later than expected. This isn’t the first time an unexpected side-effect of their unending lives has been thrust upon him and Yusuf, and likely won’t be the last.

Nicolo had never really thought he might one day forget his mother.

Yusuf hums thoughtfully in response, a non-answer that does little to soothe Nicolo. “That she doesn’t,” he adds after a moment. “What was your mother like?”

“I don’t--” Nicolo starts, and then, with an odd curiosity, realizes he’s having difficulty continuing. “I... didn’t know her very long. I was given to the church… very young. I don’t remember much of what she was like, other than that she was my mother.”

“Do you remember what she looked like?”

“Well…”

Nicolo remembers little of his life before the clergy. Two brothers. A sister. His father’s stern brow, and the calluses on his mother’s hand as she took his little fingers in hers, leading him down the dirt paths back in Genova. Her smile, silhouetted by the heady red glow of the afternoon sun.

“Brown hair,” Nicolo eventually answers. “Dark eyebrows. High cheekbones, too, and… and kind eyes.”

“What I’m hearing is you took after her very strongly.”

Nicolo smiles. “I do remember being told something of the sort before.”

“Her eyes?” Joe rests one of his palms flat against Nicolo’s stomach.

“Green, I’m pretty sure.”

“So you took after her very strongly, then,” Joe concludes.

Nicolo looks down, fiddling with the fingers of Joe’s free hand. “She used to take me to the shore. We’d gather seashells together.”

That he remembers well, plucking seashells and bits of coral out from dried seafoam after the tide had gone out near the end of the day, one arm bundling conch and clam shells against his chest, the other prying washed-up shells from the still wet sand. The sun would be low, but not low enough that they would feel the need to rush, and it would cast their shadows in long, blue lines across the beach. Time was an endless thing there, where the sun glowed red and bright, and there was always another conch shell wedged in the damp earth to dig up.

“She sounds lovely,” Yusuf hums. Nicolo pauses, tracing Yusuf’s index finger with his own. Yusuf almost never talks about his family. They have known each other for nearly three hundred years now, and yet Nicolo could store all the things he knows of Yusuf's family in a basket. Over the years he’s been able to piece together that both of Yusuf’s parents were dead before the Crusades began. And that they both died when Yusuf was fairly young. Beyond that… he knows little.

“Yusuf…” Nicolo starts, uncertain and fidgeting. “What about your mother?”

“My mother?” Yusuf repeats, as if Nicolo has somehow strung together two incomprehensible words.

“Yes.” When a pause stretches between them, Nicolo sighs and laces his fingers between Yusuf’s. “You don’t need to tell me.”

“No, no,” Yusuf insists before Nicolo can change the topic. He returns Nicolo’s grip on his hands, smoothing his thumb over the knuckle of Nicolo’s pointer finger. “I want to. My mother…” He sighs. “She was very anxious. Always fretting. She was a weaver; she liked making rugs.”

Yusuf’s thumb stills over Nicolo’s knuckle. Nicolo tilts his head. “Your prayer mat. Did she--?

“Yeah, she made it.” Yusuf pauses again. “Weaving calmed her down when she was nervous. My father and I, we would travel often-- business, you know. Trade deals and things. Mother always worried when we were gone.”

They both pause when Quynh yells something particularly loud at Andromache, breaking the moment for a split second. Andromache hollers something back, and the two women break out into abrupt laughter.

“Are you worried you’ll forget her?” Nicolo asks when they've settled again. “Your mother?”

“No,” Yusuf replies, though he trails off halfway through the word. “In part, I suppose… but there are many things I’d like to forget, I think.”

Nicolo peels himself out of Yusuf’s arms in response to that, twisting around to look at his companion. Yusuf’s brows are pressed together, the tilt of his mouth sad. Nicolo places a hand to his chest, fingers against Yusuf’s collar. “Yusuf?”

Yusuf sucks the inside of his cheek, looking far away before directing a sad smile at Nicolo. “She came with us, once. On a trip. Of course the one time Father allowed her to come was the time that it went wrong.” At Nicolo’s questioning look, Yusuf elaborates, “Bandits.”

“Yusuf...”

“I hadn’t really known how to fight, then, so it didn’t… really matter, either way-- but I got knocked out in the fight, and by the time I woke up again, it was all over.” With a slow breath, Yusuf looks down at their interwoven fingers. “I would like to forget some things. Not her, but…”

It takes Yusuf a long moment to continue. He looks up, towards the stars, lips pursed with thought, before eventually ducking his head again. Nicolo waits quietly.

“It is hard to remember them,” Yusuf says eventually, to their hands, “without remembering them in death. I had to bury them both.”

With a soft noise, Nicolo reaches forward and pulls Yusuf into a hug, arms wrapping about his shoulders; Yusuf responds in chorus and reaches for Nicolo back, his embrace tight enough to grind bone.

Nicolo rubs a hand up and down Yusuf’s back, his face tucked into Nicolo’s shoulder. Perturbed, Nicolo can’t imagine it- the comforting memory of his own mother, crossed and tainted by violence so cruelly. To lose her was enough. To lose the comfort of remembering her as well would be harrowing.

Yusuf pulls away first after some time, eyes red but dry, mouth turned down. Nicolo reaches up and thumbs at the crease between his brows, which quirks Yusuf’s lips ever so slightly.

“How old were you?” Nicolo asks.

Yusuf reaches up and takes Nicolo’s hand from his face, wrapping his fingers around his. “Twenty one.”

“A child.”

“Hardly, Nico,” Yusuf snorts softly. Nicolo disagrees, but he’s not going to start an argument over it. Not now.

With a sigh, Yusuf leans back against the rock formation behind them, wrapping an arm around Nicolo and tugging him sideways against his chest. Nicolo rests his head against Yusuf's shoulder.

“It’s not that I wish to forget her. Or my father. But I… would rather fondly remember the idea of them, the fragments, then remember them perfectly in death. That might make me selfish.”

“It does not,” Nicolo replies sternly. “It makes perfect sense to feel that way, Yusuf.” And then, “I’m sorry.” Yusuf only hums in response. It is, admittedly, a frail sentiment, so Nicolo adds, “I love you. In case you’ve forgotten.”

This earns him a huff against the top of his head. “I love you too,” Yusuf responds, and they fall into an easy silence.

After a few minutes, and with a great sigh, Yusuf tilts his head so that his cheek presses against Nicolo’s hair. “Nicolo…” he mumbles, hesitant, “I don’t mean to ruin the moment, but... I think we’re sleeping under the stars tonight.”

Nicolo lifts his head and twists around to find the half-assembled and frankly pathetic looking tent swaying off in the distance alone, with both Andromache and Quynh nowhere in sight.

“The consolidated wisdom of millenia,” Nicolo grumbles, dropping his head back against Yusuf. “And they still can’t assemble a tent.”

Yusuf laughs; Nicolo is by far more warmed by that than any comfort the damned tent could have offered.

Quynh has the little joke of hers whenever they go drinking. She’ll tell Yusuf, giggling into her tankard, “I miss when you didn’t drink!”

This is a joke because Yusuf gave up his abstinence of alcohol only a few months after he and Nicolo had met Quynh and Andromache, nearly two hundred years ago now, and when he’d announced his decision to do so to the two warrior women, they’d both admitted they didn’t even realize that he didn’t drink in the first place.

Nearly two hundred years later, Quynh continues to make this joke. Nicolo has yet to find it funny, but Yusuf laughs every time.

“It’s our anniversary, Quynh, you must be nice to us!” Yusuf insists in response to said joke. He is, as Andromache might say, drunk off his ass, swaying happily in his seat at the musty bar they’ve settled in for the night to celebrate. Despite how loudly he’s speaking, Nicolo can barely hear him over the clatter and bustle and chatter of the other, varyingly drunk, patrons at the bar.

“Three hundred years is nothing, Yusuf. You’re still babies,” Andromache replies, equally smashed yet bearing it more stoically, pitched against Quynh’s shoulder. One of her hands is still curled loosely around her tankard, unwilling to give it up just yet, probably.

Nicolo leans back against his rickety chair. “Do you two remember when you only knew each other for three hundred years?”

In response to this, Andromache pulls back from Quynh’s shoulder, propping herself up on the edge of a table with her free hand. She tilts her head, staring silently at Quynh with a quirked mouth, and Quynh stares back, eyebrows raised high. Nicolo’s gaze flicks between the two warrior women, eyeing them both, studying the emotion in their eyes and their mouths and their brows.

For nearly an entire minute they say nothing. They have no need to. The charged gaze between them could write entire epics; legions of words pass between them and neither woman even opens her mouth.

Nicolo finds himself slightly jealous. He wonders if he and Yusuf will ever hit a point such as this, where they could communicate without words, know each other so well that even a twitch of the brow or a press of lips could mean so much-- that words become irrelevant. Become small and useless compared to the years of their bond.

“It was a time,” Quynh answers at last, smiling a far away smile.

“That’s different,” Yusuf interrupts, slurring slightly and grinning widely. “because, this isn’t about how long you two have known each other, but how long I’ve known Nicolo,” here, he gestures broadly at Nicolo, sitting at his side, “and when you two will have known Nicolo for three hundred years, and-- and want to celebrate, I will not laugh at your paltry few years spent with him, in comparison to my many centuries! And you may-- may thank me for my generosity and kindness-- then.”

Quynh snorts. “That was very poetic of you, Yusuf.”

“Thank you.” Yusuf places a calloused hand atop Nicolo’s head. “I love him very much,” he states, very sincerely, if a little slurred.

Andromache, as always, seems to feel a compulsion to try and ruin the moment. Their Andromache, old and wise as she is, is a great many things: an elegant warrior, a stern protector, and a graceful leader-- however, a kind drunk she is not. “You know, you’ll get tired of each other eventually,” she points out, gesturing between the two of them. Yusuf rolls his eyes, his hand slipping from Nicolo’s head. “Quynh and I usually separate every couple hundred years for a time. It’s normal.”

“Bah,” Yusuf grumbles. “Andromache, you do not have a romantic bone in your body.”

“I do!” Andromache insists. Quynh sends her a sharp look that she doesn’t see because she’s too busy waving her hand widely. “I have been with, and wooed, and have been wooed by-- by more men and women than you’ve ever even set eyes on.”

Yusuf copies Andromache’s grand gesture, cheery and mocking. “That, what you’ve just described, is the opposite of romance, boss.”

“Whatever,” Andromache concedes with middling grace. “I’m happy for you two, either way.”

“Thank you,” Nicolo says, so that Yusuf won't say anything else. “Another round?”

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Yusuf says to Nicolo an hour or so later, as Nicolo is trying to haul the damned drunk up the stairs without sending them both sprawling down to their temporary deaths.

Funnily enough, around the time Yusuf began drinking, Nicolo stopped-- not out of any particular thoughts on alcohol itself, but because someone had to remain sober in order to drag Yusuf’s drunken ass back to their room at the end of the night, and the responsibility fell to Nicolo for all of the obvious reasons, and also because he was happy to do it.

“Who?” Nicolo asks, steadying a hand on Yusuf’s shoulder when he sways at the top dangerously.

“Andromache,” Yusuf replies. Nicolo’s not sure what exactly Yusuf thinks she was wrong about-- they’d discussed many topics at the bar downstairs-- but he might succeed in having this conversation more so if Andromache and Quynh weren’t standing no less than five feet away, hovering just inside their room’s open door down the hall, stripping down to their tunics and trousers.

Probably standing by in case Nicolo and Yusuf took an unfortunate tumble down the stairs. Nicolo is warmed by their concern, but Yusuf is too busy being drunkenly confused by Andromache’s presence after she calls over an “about what?” to think of such things.

“Where did you come from?” Yusuf asks Andromache, only going half willingly when Nicolo rolls his eyes and drags him down the hall.

“Thank you, good night,” Nicolo tells the two women as they pass their door and head down the hall to theirs, floorboards creaking under their boots.

“Have a nice anniversary, infants!” Andromach calls after they manage to stumble to their door, sticking her head out of theirs.

Nicolo fiddles with the key the barkeep gave him, trying desperately to ignore Yusuf when he yells back, “Us infants will try not to fuck so loud you can hear it all the way down there!” probably scarring some of the tenants.

“I bet you can’t!” Andromache responds, gleeful, and ducks back inside to slam the door shut.

“Is that a fucking challenge?” Yusuf asks the empty hallway, going easily when Nicolo drags him inside.

It’s a humble room, but the presence of four walls and a floor makes it good enough for Nicolo, and the bed is only an added bonus. He leaves Yusuf to his own devices as he lights the lantern set in the corner, double checking that their bags --that they’d tossed in the room earlier-- haven’t been stolen. He nudges the bags with a toe as he unlatches his longsword from his belt, propping the sheath up carefully by the little table with the lantern.

Yusuf is being oddly quiet; Nicolo turns to find the love of his life lying starfished on the little bed, peering up at the wood ceiling as if the secrets of the universe are engraved on it.

“I am so tired, Nicolo,” Yusuf mumbles, mournful. “Why did you make me go up all those stairs?”

“I am infamously known to be cruel and unfair,” Nicolo replies dryly, crossing over and sitting next to Yusuf. He unbuckles the straps around Yusuf’s shoulders that keep his scimitar attached to his back while Yusuf lies still. When the task is done, he looks up to find Yusuf staring at him, brows drawn together. “Lean up,” Nicolo orders softly, and Yusuf complies without complaint, shifting his shoulders off the bed just enough that Nicolo can pull his sheath off.

He stands to go retrieve his own sword, so that both can be placed at their bedside, within reach, shucking off his boots as he goes.

“Can you grab my bag for me?” Yusuf asks from the bed while Nicolo is doing so, so Nicolo does, balancing the two sheathed swords under one arm and holding Yusuf’s rucksack in the other.

He drops the bag at Yusuf's side and sits beside it, setting both swords at his feet, on the left side of the bed. Usually Yusuf’s scimitar goes on the other side, but Nicolo does not trust him with access to a sharp object in this state.

Yusuf sits up to shuffle through his bag. “I got you something,” he tells Nicolo when he straightens. Nicolo frowns at him.

“You got me something?” he repeats.

“Yeah.” Yusuf pulls out his sketchbook, though he doesn't grab his bag of charcoals.

But I didn’t get you anything, is something Nicolo almost wants to say, but honestly, three hundred years into a relationship, you stop keeping track of how many gifts have been exchanged and when. Especially when their finances are so intertwined. Nicolo and Yusuf simply buy each other things whenever the urge arises, and they’re both such men that these gifts are usually just practical items: new boots, a thicker cloak, and so on.

But now Yusuf passes Nicolo his sketchbook, turning back to the bag to buckle it closed again.

“A sketchbook,” Nicolo muses with a smile, rubbing a thumb over the bound leather cover. “You shouldn't have.”

“Oh, stop,” Yusuf grumbles, snatching the book back once his bag is closed. He shoves it off the bed with a mildly worrying clank and sits in its vacated spot, next to Nicolo. “Your jokes will make you look a fool when you are crying tears of gratitude on me.”

Nicolo smiles. Yusuf’s thigh, pressed against Nicolo’s, is warm, and his shoulder knocks against Nicolo’s with such familiarity Nicolo wonders if he could identify Yusuf from that alone; without sight, without hearing. He thinks he could, given the opportunity.

Yusuf flips through his sketchbook quickly, scanning past images of landscapes and crowded marketplaces and Nicolo’s own smiling face until he stops at a certain page, angling the book away so that Nicolo cannot see. He peers sideways at him, suspicious or maybe anticipatory.

“Do you expect me to start the tears of gratitude now, or…?” Nicolo asks, grinning at Yusuf’s unamused stare before Yusuf shoves the book into Nicolo’s open hands.

Nicolo doesn’t understand what he’s looking at, at first. Not that he doesn’t recognize the image; he does, he just doesn’t... understand.

“How…?” Nicolo asks, trailing off in wonder. He lifts a hand to touch the image, then snatches his hand away, afraid he’ll smear it.

It’s his mother.

He doesn’t understand how Yusuf could do this; drawing his mother is one thing, but the accuracy of the drawing to Nicolo’s memory is astounding. The line of her cheekbones and the crinkles of her crows feet, the shape of her eyes set by happiness. The drift of hair over her shoulder is a little longer than his mother had it, and a little straighter, but other than that it is an almost perfect recreation. Down to the curl of her mouth, the small flash of teeth. Nicolo can practically hear her in the image, her eyebrows raised and surprised joy flashing in her eyes, as she says, “That’s a big one, Nicolo, good job!”

“How did you do this?” Nicolo asks, voice small.

“Do you remember when you told me what she looked like?” Yusuf asks. “When we were talking about Andromache’s mother?”

“Yes, I remember,” Nicolo replies, frustrated. “I told you she had brown hair and green eyes. Yusuf, how did you--” He peels his eyes off of the drawing that sends him straight to his childhood. “You even got her smile right.”

Yusuf presses his lips together in a fond little smirk. “I will tell you, but you must agree not to share my secret.”

“Yusuf.”

Yusuf scoots that much closer, tucking a hand under Nicolo’s jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheek. “I know how she smiles because I know how you smile. Because she’s your mother. And she lives in you, even if she’s been dead three hundred years. Even if you forget her to some small degree, she will stay with you. Here--” Yusuf touches the corner of Nicolo’s mouth. “And here--” His pointer swipes over Nicolo’s cheekbone. “And here.” He presses a thumb under Nicolo’s eye, and it comes away wet. He makes a small noise. “I was kidding about the tears of gratitude, Nico.”

The sketchbook almost falls off of Nicolo’s thighs in his urgency to pull Yusuf into a hug.

Yusuf returns the embrace with a huffing little laugh, arms wrapping around Nicolo’s waist and hauling him in close, the sketchbook folding closed between the press of their bodies, the beat of their hearts against each other.

“Thank you, Yusuf,” Nicolo murmurs into the crook of Yusuf’s neck, endlessly sincere. His fingers hook into Yusuf’s tunic, over his back, already pulled tight by the muscles there.

“Happy anniversary,” Yusuf responds cheerily. “To three hundred years, eh?”

“And three hundred more,” Nicolo reminds him.

“Fuck, Nicolo.” Yusuf leans back, hands lingering at his waist. He catches Nicolo’s eyes, his brows pulled together. “To three thousand more; Andromache doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Nicolo frowns, recalling Yusuf saying something of the sort in the hall. “What did she say?”

“What did she say?” Yusuf repeats thoughtfully. “I don’t remember-- some nonsense about us getting tired of each other.”

“Oh.” Nicolo does remember that. “I don’t think she meant it like that, Yusuf. And after all, she is rather the authority on how the relationships of immortals work.”

“The authority!” Yusuf repeats, mocking. “When Andromache kills a man with her bare hands and comes out the other side of the experience loving him, I will give her credence to the idea that she’s an authority over our relationship.”

“I didn’t say she was an authority over us. Just that she may understand better.”

“What, do you think she’s right?” Yusuf’s brow furrows, voice lowering. “That we shall grow tired of each other?”

“No,” Nicolo immediately insists, his desire to assure Yusuf strong and instinctual. He lets his hand slide to his shoulder, gripping there. “At least,” he admits on second thought, “I’ve never once felt anything to give me the impression that I will. But it may happen, Yusuf.”

To be completely honest, Nicolo can’t imagine such a thing. He’s woken up every morning for the past three hundred years of his life at Yusuf’s side, and he can’t even begin to understand what kind of drastic shift in his heart would inspire him to grow tired or restless of doing so. Of Yusuf’s hands, of his voice, of his glittering eyes and his loud, joyful laugh-- and the way he furrows his brow when he’s thoughtful, like he’s doing at Nicolo right now.

“Because Andromache says so? I think not,” Yusuf argues. “Andromache is wise, but she’s known us barely more than a hundred years. Her experience does not allow her to see to your heart, or to mine. I will love you forever, Nicolo.”

“Forever is a long time, Yusuf,” Nicolo responds, smiling.

“Well, I will,” Yusuf insists. “When we are twice as old as Andromache is today, and the memories of our childhoods, and our warring, and even our three hundred year anniversary will be nothing but dust, I will remember loving you with certainty-- and that will be because I’ll have done it every day of my life.”

Yusuf shrugs and presses closer, bowing his forehead to Nicolo’s. “And if we forget every bad time and every good time with it,” he murmurs, looking down, “I will not care; it will all wash away in the sands of time eventually, but I have no intent to be separated from you. I won't let memory or time or violence take you from me. I don’t care what Andromache says. The only thing that will end us is your word, Nicolo.”

Amused, Nicolo lets out a throaty little huh. “You will be waiting a long time for that, Yusuf. Maybe even forever.”

Yusuf grins at that, eyes flicking up, and Nicolo has that split second thought he always has --you’re hiding dimples under all that beard-- before Yusuf tilts his head up and kisses him, leaning forward with all the drunken weight of his body.

Nicolo catches Yusuf’s jaw in his hand, shoulders bunching up as he shifts so that Yusuf doesn't topple them both; tilts his head and grips Yusuf’s shoulder and kisses him back.

It is not, admittedly, their best kiss. But Nicolo’s found over the years that a kiss with Yusuf is a kiss with Yusuf, which is to say no matter how much their teeth clack or their mouths miss their mark, it is still Yusuf, so none of them are actually bad.

And Nicolo is distracted. Yusuf is one to spew pretty words whenever the mood takes him, but his aptitude for the spoken word even in the worst --or most drunken-- of times always catches Nicolo off guard; even three hundred years into their relationship.

Every day of my life, Yusuf had said, and Nicolo finds himself giddy and weightless at the idea. Every day of our lives, Nicolo thinks to himself, unable to fight off a smile as Yusuf pulls him in closer, a hand at his neck. Every day.

It is a fair while later --after Nicolo has pried Yusuf’s boots off, after the lantern light was blown out, and after they are both under the admittedly threadbare blanket-- that Nicolo lies propped up on his elbows on his side of the bed, admiring the drawing of his mother by moonlight. Yusuf lies on his back beside Nicolo, either asleep or drifting, arm thrown over his eyes and mouth pulled into a frown.

“Are you going to sleep tonight?” Yusuf asks groggily after some time, revealing himself to be awake. “Or must I compete with my own drawing for your attention?”

“You made a mistake giving me this,” Nicolo replies, closing the sketchbook and leaning over to set it carefully on the floor. “I will do nothing but admire it for eternity.”

With a huff, he settles under the blanket, facing Yusuf, crossing his arms to his chest. Yusuf responds with only a smile, and after the silence stretches for a moment, Nicolo adds, “I wish I could give you such peace in regards to your own mother.”

Yusuf drops the arm from his face, squinting sideways at Nicolo. “Pfft. You have already brought me more peace than any other living being on this earth. Give making me the happiest man alive a rest for a few minutes, Nicolo; you’ll give yourself a complex.” He rolls onto his side. “But also roll over. What are you doing lying all the way over there, anyways?”

“Giving myself a complex, apparently,” Nicolo grumbles, doing as he’s told and shuffling onto his side. Yusuf throws an arm over him from behind, snuggling forward and pulling Nicolo back in unison until they are pressed against each other, shoulders to thighs.

“I am being truthful,” Yusuf murmurs after a moment, low and intimate and close, tired words slurring into each other. He yawns before butting his forehead gently against the back of Nicolo’s neck. “My mother-- I have many good memories of her, and some bad. I would like to forget some and cherish others, but in the end I will likely lose all or most of ‘em, as Andromache has. That’s just the truth of it all.” He yawns again, shifting his grip on Nicolo. “I could draw her if I wish, but I don’t know if even a thousand drawings will ease her memory. And losing memories is a simple trade-off of the life we live, even if we didn’t choose it. I may not keep my memories, but as long as I can keep you, I am at peace with it all.”

Nicolo considers that, tucking his own hands into his sides. As much as their immortality was not a choice-- it was nothing either Nicolo or Yusuf asked for or even really wanted, three hundred years ago, but it was gifted to them anyway. They didn’t ask for each other either, and yet Yusuf was given to Nicolo and vice versa in the same breath that their immortality was thrust upon them.

But of course, unlike the immortality, and unlike all the other positives and negative consequences that came with it, they did choose each other. They chose to put down their weapons. They chose to stay at each other’s side. They’ve chosen that every single day of the last three hundred years. Hopefully they will do so for the next three hundred -- thousand-- years.

He will lose his memories eventually, one day, one way or another. It is like Yusuf said: it is a simple trade-off of the life they live.

But if it had been a choice-- well. Even the innocent comfort of his mother’s memory, of those late afternoons picking seashells-- those memories are not nothing to him, but if it ever came between keeping them and keeping Yusuf… the choice is obvious.

But there is no choice. The memories will fade one day whether he wants them to or not, whether Yusuf draws a thousand portraits of his mother or not.

Yusuf will not fade. Yusuf will be here. Yusuf has been here, for three hundred years.

Every day of our lives, Nicolo thinks, and smiles.

“You know,” he says quietly into the dark room. “You are a very wise man, Yusuf.”

“Don’t tell Quynh and Andromache,” Yusuf mumbles into Nicolo’s nape. “It will ruin my image.”

Nicolo snorts, smiles, and, eventually, falls asleep in Yusuf’s arms.

#Anonymous #joe x nicky

120 notes · View notes

itachi-uchiha-deserved-better · 3 years

Text

Apperently my brain is in a ShiIta mood today. I've got an idea for a vampire Au stuck in my head where the clan head family of the Uchiha are vampires that are served by the mortal branch families (in a way more similar to the Hyuga.)

Since Shisui has no living family, when he comes of age he is offered by the branch families as a gift to Vampire Lord Fugaku's heir Itachi.

Shisui is nervous. He's heard plenty of stories about Lord Fugaku's cruelty. While Itachi is more reclusive, he has no reason to believe that the younger vampire or his fledgling brother are any different that Fugaku himself.

As he enters Itachi's chamber for the first time, his hands curl into fists and he has to fight to stop himself from shaking.

He waits.

After an hour, he finds himself calming down. Anger at his predicament replaces fear. Another hour passes and his anger fades and curiosity starts to take his place. He starts to observe the chamber around him, eyeing the book shelf taking up an entire wall, an ornate bed that has never been slept in, an ornate sword hung on the wall above a small desk that is neatly organized with several locked drawers. The longer he waits, the more Shisui's curiosity overcomes his better judgement and he finds himself rifling through Itachi's belongings.

The books he finds cover all topics. Many are history books, but there are books on math, physics, poetry, mythology and all of them are well cared for. Shisui occasionally finds books with pages that have been marked and he spends more time with those books, trying to learn anything he can about the man he has been given to.

He pulls the sword down from the wall, expecting the blade to be dull and brittle, nothing more than a decoration and he is surprised to find the blade is excellently balanced, sharp, a beautiful and deadly weapon.

There is nothing on the desk for Shisui to find, but he uses a hairpin he spots by the dresser to jimmy open the lock on the drawer and finds a leather bound book which is filled with beautiful sketches, mostly of landscapes, some pages filled with tiny, neat handwriting in a language Shisui doesnt know.

That's when he feels the presence behind him. He never heard the door open, no footsteps, but he turns and finds the pale figure, with the appearance of a youth no more than 20 with long, raven black hair. Watching him with piercing red eyes. He drops the book and scrambles back, waiting for some kind of retaliation for his snooping.

Itachi just sighs, moves to pick up the book and places it back in the desk drawer.

"I'd have unlocked it for you if you asked."

Shisui just stares. The young vampire has this stunning tragic beauty about him. But as Shisui calms down from the shock of Itachi's sudden appearance he also notes that there is something....almost sickly looking to him. He looks too thin to the point where Shisui would call him fragile. His skin, pale as snow, has none of the luster he is used to seeing in Lord Fugaku and Lady Mikoto. His eyes, while unsettling, dont have any shine to them.

"If your worried about me harming you, I can assure you that I have no intention of feeding on you. My father insisted I accept your presence here, so you will be my guest. Nothing more. Anything you desire, I will provide for you. But I swear, I will never feed on you."

And with that, Itachi vanishes. He leaves instructions for the servants to make Shisui comfortable in his chambers, to give him anything he asks for.

At first Shisui is relieved. His fears of of a slow, painful death have been abated. Night comes and Itachi does not return and Shisui eventually settles into the unused bed and sleeps. In the morning, he wakes up to find Itachi at the desk, reading. Shisui watches him for a while.

"You're probably hungry." Itachi rings a bell to summon a servant to bring Shisui breakfast and Shisui takes the moment to peer over Itachi's shoulder to see a sketch of himself from the night before, fear in his eyes.

They settle into a sort of routine. Itachi is at his desk when Shisui wakes up. Itachi escorts Shisui around the manor and makes sure Shisui is happy and comfortable. They talk. Itachi asks lots of questions about how Shisui grew up, about his home, about his family, his friends. He looks sad when Shisui tells him he had no one. He asks about the things Shisui enjoys. Asks what kind of books he likes and then presents Shisui with a brown paper wrapped bundle of books Shisui mentioned and a few new books Itachi thought he might like. Then, as evening comes, Itachi would escort Shisui back to his chambers and disappear.

As time goes on, Shisui feels more and more certain that something is wrong with Itachi. The sickly look to him gets worse and worse. Itachi starts to seem weak. He has to sit down frequently as they walk.

It takes a while for Shisui to realize the answer. That Itachi hasnt been feeding at all, that he is slowly starving to death because he refuses to feed on Shisui. And to Shisui's surprise, he finds himself incredibly upset at the idea. He tries to ask Itachi why he wont feed and for the first time, he sees Itachi get upset. Itachi harshly rebukes Shisui, telling him not to ever ask about that again. Itachi has a servant take Shisui back to his room and he doesnt show up the next morning. Or the morning after that. For a week, Shisui is left alone. When Itachi finally reappears, he appears to have deteriorated significantly.

That's when Shisui makes his decision. That night He asks the servants for a silk robe, for some nice soaps and to prepare a bath. He spends a few hours getting ready and then waits.

He is still awake when Itachi comes in the middle of the night. Hes dressed in the silk robe, loosely tied so that the skin of his shoulders is exposed.

"Itachi, you have been nothing but kind to me. You're suffering and it hurts to watch. To see you like this. I want you to feed on me."

Itachi's face twists into a pained expression. Shisui watches as his eyes drift to Shisui's exposed skin. Before Itachi can flee, Shisui closes the distance between them.

"I swore that I wouldnt." Itachi chokes out. Shisui wraps an arm around Itachi's waist.

"You promised I would have anything that I desire. This is my choice. My desire. Please, Itachi."

There is a moment of silence and then Itachi leans in. He kisses Shisui's shoulder and before he pierces the skin he whispers, "as you wish."

Shisui expects it to hurt. He winces as he feels Itachi's fangs sink into him but quickly the pain is replaced with pleasure.

When they're finished, Shisui aches, but in an incredibly satisfying way. Itachi is holding him nuzzling against him and he looks over and he is awestruck at the transformation. Itachi looks vibrant, almost like he's glowing.

In that moment, Shisui risks asking Itachi again why he wouldn't feed before. Itachi goes silent for a long time and Shisui starts to worry he's upset Itachi again until in a quiet voice Itachi answers him.

"I didnt ask to be what I am, to be turned into a monster. But just because I am like this, does not mean I need to be like /him/." Shisui can hear the venom in his voice as he refers to his creator, Lord Fugaku.

"When I came to my senses after being created, when I saw the bloodbath that had fed me I hated myself. Hated what I was. The sight of all that blood was revolting. Knowing that I had...." itachi trails off a moment.

"I swore after that I would never feed on another living creature. But I also never expected you. For you to offer yourself to me freely." Itachi kisses the place where his bite mark was on the curve of Shisui's neck, sending a shiver of pleasure through Shisui.

"I will never take from you, Shisui. But your wish is my command."

8 notes · View notes

thebluenebula · 3 years

Text

Getting Ready for the Gala

Ashleigh AU Fic Masterlist

Ashleigh didn't like the thought of Galas. Big social events with lots of people she didn't know, and didn't want to, but all it takes is a simple question from Cassie to change Ash's mind on going.

First Xmas Gala

. . . . .

Babs, and Dick had to pick up there outfits for the Gala today, so Bruce, Kate, and I tagged along. After they got that sorted, we hung around the mall for a few hours before heading home. By time we got back, it was already past six.

Alfred was waiting to greet us. "Welcome back. Miss Sandsmark came by, she was asking for you, Miss Ashleigh."

"Did she say what she wanted?"

"No, but I did allow her to wait in your room. Unless she left unbeknownst to me, she should still be there."

I turned to the others. "I'm going to go see what's up."

"Come down in a couple minutes, we'll have some ice cream." Bruce shouted after me as I ran up the stairs.

I got to my room, and Cassie was sitting on the bed, looking through one of my sketch book. "Hey."

She looked up. "Hey. Alfred said I could wait up here. Hope that's okay?"

"Yeah, absolutely."

She set down the sketch pad as she got up. "They're good. You should try posting them online, or something."

"I have a Pixtagram for that."

"You do? You never mentioned it."

"Never came up."

She looked at the two bags I was holding. "Whatcha got?"

"Stuffs. I was shopping."

"Anything nice?"

"Plenty. Bab's, and Dick had to go pick up their clothes for the Gala. You should see them. They're beautiful."

"I bet. Speaking of the Gala, I was wondering if you were planning to go?"

"No, I'm not."

"Would you consider it?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to come as my date?"

"Like a date, date?"

She gave me a confused look. "Yes?"

"Like a, I like you and want to go on a romantic date with you, date?"

She grabbed my shoulder, and shook me. "Yes, for the love of god, Ash."

"I just want to be sure."

"And now that you are?"

So many thoughts raced through my head in that moment. "I'd love to."

She awkwardly rubbed her neck. "I was kind of expecting you to be here earlier, so we could've talked more about this, but I've got to run right now, I have a thing with Donna."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"My bad, I should have called before I came over, but maybe we can talk later, over call?"

"Yeah, absolutely."

Cassie rushed out of the room. "Thank you. Talk to you later."

I took a moment to get my thoughts together, before heading down to the kitchen. I hadn't planned to go to the Gala, but I guess now I had to.

Bruce, Kate, Dick, and Babs sat at the table eating ice cream. Bruce looked up from his treat. "Does Cassie not want any?"

"No, she left. Had something with Donna."

"Oh, what'd she come around for?"

Kate smacked the back of his head. "Stop being nosey."

"Ow!"

Bruce went to smack Kate, but she grabbed his hand. "Dont even fucking think about it."

I smiled at the two. Sometimes it was hard to believe they weren't siblings.

"Do not make me come in there!" Alfred shouted from the adjacent room.

Their hands quickly shot to their sides. Dick handed me a bowl of ice cream. "If you wait any longer, you'll need a straw."

"Thanks." I leaned against the counter. My mind was racing. I'd never been on a date. I definitely could use some advice, but who to ask? Dicks got the most experience, Babs has common sense, Kate is easy to talk to, and Bruce, well I don't think he's been on a proper date with anyone that's not a villian in quite a while, but it'd be nice to ask him.

"Ashleigh? Ashleigh!"

Something bounced off my forehead, snapping me back to reality. "Huh?"

Kate was staring at me. "You alright?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Cause I had to bounce a napkin off your head to get your attention."

I looked at the crumpled up napkin on the floor. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

When in doubt, pick every option. "Cassie just asked me on a date, to the Gala."

Dick jumped up excitedly. "Really?"

Babs grabbed his hand. "Calm down, Romeo."

Bruce got up, and leaned against the counter beside me. "What did you say?"

"Oh, I said yes."

He lay a hand on my shoulder. "I guess you're going to the Gala after all."

"Guess so."

"You okay?"

"I've never actually been on a date."

"Don't worry, between everyone in this house, we have plenty of experience."

Cassie and I talked later that day, as we said we would. We confirmed our plans for the Gala, then we talked about feelings. More her then me. I'd never really talked feelings to Cassie much. I never felt the need to.

She told me how she'd thought I was cute the first day we met, how over the next six months she'd formed a crush on me. With some encouragement from Donna, and Artemis, she decided to ask me to the Gala.

Of course I thought she was cute as well, and sure, I'd thought about asking her out, but I never intended to act on those thoughts. I figured a couple of weeks, and they'd pass, but she asked me, and I said yes.

The next week was full of preparing. Babs had agreed to show me how to dance, and Dick wanted to help me with an outfit.

So the next day, I found myself standing in the middle of the ballroom. It was still crazy to me, to be living in a house with it's own ball room.

Babs entered, followed by Cass, Steph, and Dick. "So you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Cass will be your dance partner."

"Why Cass?" Not that I had a problem with Cass, but I had expected one of the others.

"Because no matter how badly you mess up, you won't knock her off her feet."

"This is why your the smart one."

Steph scoffed. "Tim's the smart one."

"But Bab's has brains, and common sense."

"Yeah, that's fair."

I gestured to Steph, and Dick. "And why they here?"

"They wanted to watch, plus they're want to sort out your outfit after we're done."

"Alright."

"Okay. Cass will lead first. Just do as she does."

Cass took my left hand and draped it over her shoulder, then placed her right hand on my side. She took my free hand in hers. "Ready?"

"Don't blame me if I trip over your feet."

"Scuff my shoes, and you will live in constant fear of my vengeance."

I nervously giggled. "That's a joke, right?"

She smirked, and took a step to the left and I followed. Then another. "Now right." Two steps to the right.

We repeated these steps over, and over again. I watched our feet as we moved from left to right. It was simple, but I did have a serious case of two left feet.

Babs coughed. "Eyes up, Ash."

I quickly looked over to her. "I was watching our feet, I swear."

"I know that, your hand would already be broken if you hadn't been, but keep eye contact. Focus on her."

I nodded, and looked to Cass. "How am I doing?'

She had a reassuring smile on my face. "Great."

We kept at it for a while, slowly adding more, and more on. After a while, Babs decided we were finished for the day.

Dick, and Steph quickly took this opportunity to drag me away to my room to sort out an outfit. Dick, and Steph sat down on the bed. The two already had their outfits sorted, so they insisted on helping me.

Dick clapped. "Let's get started. If we want something made in time for the Gala you're gonna have to decide on it soon. So whatcha thinking?"

"Made? Can't I just buy something?"

"You could, but getting one made just adds a bit more you to it."

"But thats so ex-"

"Don't say it."

"That's so impractical."

Steph smiled. "Practicals boring anyway."

Dick nodded in agreement. "So come on Ash, if you could have any dress in the world made for you, what would it look like."

I thought for a moment. "It'd be blue, maybe."

Steph leaned forward. "Is that it? You don't have anything... more specific in mind."

"Well I have loads of ideas, but most them don't really work together."

"Just start shooting 'em out."

"Hold on." I opened a folder on my phone, and handed it to Dick. It was full of my ideas for outfits. It had pictures of dresses, and sketches I'd done. "These are some of the ideas I've had."

Dick quickly scrolled through the pictures before handing it to Steph. "Ash, how long have you been thinking about getting a dress?"

"A while."

"I can tell."

Steph set down the phone. "Lots of potential candidates here, but you'll have to pick a favourite."

I sat beside her. "So what do I choose?"

"That's your decision."

"Steph, you know I hate functioning as an independent human."

"If I'm making all the decisions, I'm the one going on the date."

"I can't tell if you're serious or not."

Her eyes narrowed. "Try me."

Dick grabbed her shoulder. "You agreed you weren't going to steal anyone elses date."

"Wait!" I was flabbergasted. "You actually stole someone's date?"

"They said I was bluffing."

"Who?"

"Harper."

"She must have been so pissed."

"I think she was actually more impressed then pissed. You should ask her to tell you about it sometime."

"Yeah, I will."

We began weeding through the ideas. A little while later, and we were left with three outfits.

I looked at the remaining ideas. "My brain can't decide between them."

Dick stood. "Well you don't necessarily need to pick right now. Sit on it overnight, and we can talk about it in the morning, but for now, we've got to get supper."

We got supper, and headed to bed. I didn't sleep, instead I spent hours reading articles about first dates, advice, things to avoid, etc. Morning came before sleep, so I got up. Alfred was the only one in the kitchen. I skipped the breakfast, just got a cup of coffee, and sat down.

Alfred came over. "Are you alright, Miss Ashleigh?"

I looked up from my phone. "Yeah, why do you ask?"

"Because if you tighten your grip on that mug anymore it may shatter."

I hadn't even realized how tight I was gripping it. "Sorry."

"Don't worry, it certainly wouldn't have been a first." He sat down beside me. "Now, do you wish to tell me what is bothering you?"

I set my phone down. "Well I was reading online about flowers for my date with Cassie, and I don't know, a lot of these articles say they're out dated."

"Believe it or not Miss Ashleigh, but its had been quite a while since I've been on a first date, but in my experience you can't go wrong with flowers."

"They're just really cliche, I don't want her to think I put no effort into this."

"Miss Sandsmark has been coming around this house for years now, and I know for certain, that no matter what you do, she'll know you put your heart, and soul into whatever you choose."

"Thank you, Alfred. Since you're clearly a Silver Fox, any advice on flowers?"

"As a matter of fact, I've been growing these rather delightful flowers in the garden that I feel Miss Sandsmark would love."

"I can't just take them Alfred, you work so hard on that garden."

He stood up. "Nonsense, it's only a few, plus it will be nice to see them serve a purpose."

I followed Alfred out into the garden. The flowers he showed me were perfect. The colours popped, and they looked amazing.

The rest of the week came, and went in what felt like an instant. I sorted out the dress with Dick, and Steph the next morning. It arrived later in the week, looking exactly like something out of my dreams. I tried it on, and it fit perfectly. It wasn't until I stepped out to show it to Dick, and Steph that I realized the problem. I was terrified. Terrified of the thought of being in public with this, of Cassie seeing me in this, but it was too late to back out now.

Every evening was spent with Babs, and Cass practicing dancing. By the end of it, I was actually okay, and, more importantly, I was enjoying it.

The night before the Gala, Carrie had insisted on stealing a handful of us away to see her new dress. Duke, Harper, and I sat on her bed facing the wall.

"Alright, turn around."

We all turned back to Carrie. She stood in front of us in a green sun dress. The colour perfectly matched the lenses of her glasses.

Duke smiled. "It's beautiful Carrie."

Harper stared at her for a moment. Tilting her head from one side to another. "It's lovely Carrie."

"But?"

Harper looked at her curiously. "But?"

"You usually have some kind of smart ass comment."

"Carrie, for once can't I just appreciate how amazing you look in a dress without making a smart comment?"

"You can't think of anything, can you?"

Harper sighed. "I've got nothing."

Carrie turned to me. "What about you, Ash, nothing to say?"

"You look gorgeous, Carrie."

"Thank you."

Duke looked over to me. "So, Ash, when are we seeing your dress?"

"When I wear it tommorow."

Harper bumped me. "Come on, Ash. Give us a sneak peek."

"You'll see it, when I wear it."

We giggled, and chatted for hours before I headed back to my room. I sat on my bed. I was knackered, but I didn't feel like sleeping. I was too... excited, or maybe it was the nerves.

A knock at the door drew my attention. Jay walked in holding a garment bag. "Hey."

I looked at her curiously. "Hi. What's that?"

He lay the bag down on the bed. "It's one of Harper's old suit. It should fit you."

"Thanks, but why?"

"You don't exactly seem... comfortable in the dress, I figured, if you need it, this can be an alternative."

"Thanks, Jay."

"Just remeber, Ash, we'll be there tomorrow. If someone so much as looks at you wrong, just tell me."

I looked at him curiously. "What would you do?"

He smile, and cracked his knuckles. "I'd make sure they'd never do it again."

I giggled. I'm sure that was just a joke, right? "Thank you, Jay."

He got up, and ruffled my hair. "Enjoy tommorow, kid."

He left me alone. I lay down, and let my thoughts run away.

. . . . .

So writing took like forever, but it was really fun, and is kinda important for some of my future ideas so I hope you enoyed.

7 notes · View notes

quackmyback · 4 years

Text

Heads or Tails : chapter one

Will Byers x Fem!OC

Hi friends, I don't think anyone actually read chapter zero, besides myself ofc, so I decided to post Chapter One today like I said I would :)

MADMAX AND THAT ASS

Mason pulled herself from a restless sleep, blinking away the gunk layered across her pupils and trying to swat away the sun streaming through the window. Slowly, she sat up and messed with the knots in her hair and she watched Max peacefully snore with her blanket half on her and half on the floor.

"Max," Mason called to her sister in hopes of waking her from her dreams. "Max. Dude!" Mason threw a stuffed animal -- a small, kind of deflated elephant her dad had got her years ago -- and nailed Max right in the nose.

"What the hell, Mase?"

"Get up, we have a one-way ticket to hell in about fifteen minutes." Mason threw her blankets off her legs and headed over to her and Max's shared wardrobe -- picking out a simple outfit that she hoped wouldnt get her taunted on her first day at school.

The twins juxtaposed each other: while Max wore her hair down, Mason tied it up with braids and and excessive use of hair clips, while Max liked baggy jeans and larger hoodies -- Mason preferred oddly patterned skirts with white shirts and denim jackets. Both girls only owned one pair of shoes: Max's were a red pair of converse they had found super cheap at a thrift store while Mason's were a weird off brand of keds that were fully white.

Mason walked out of the room, back to the bathroom, and shouted back to her sister, "and you better hurry your ass up, because I am not biking to school!"

"Whatever, dork!" Max slammed the door to their shared bedroom.

• ○ •

hen Billy parked the car, Max and Mason exited. Mason gazed around to see everyone staring at her new step-brothers ass and, while delighted it wasn't at her, her lip curled in disgust. She sped walked to catch up to her sister, who was slowly skating towards the Middle School across the parking lot.

"This is gonna be a total nightmare," Max scoffed glaring at everyone around them who dared to take a glance towards the Mayfield twins.

"Maybe" -- Mason shrugged -- "maybe not."

The girls continued their slow, torturous walk to school -- stopping at the front desk so that Mason could ask for their schedules. Assuming that their classes would be the same, Mason felt misery when she realized she would have to part from Max for art.

Max sighed, "Well, at least you dont have Drama with Mrs. Cockwit."

The girls looked at each other before their faces broke into smiles, Mason examined their schedules side by side once again. "Science," she said. "We should probably hurry and go find-"

"-That wont be a problem, Miss Mayfield." The twins turned suddenly to find a burly man behind them, the principal they assumed. Now, they're own personal tour guide. "I will be leading you to your first class, please the bell will ring shortly, so follow me."

They did, reluctantly, follow him to a wooden door where they could faintly hear the teacher teaching his wisdom to a class full of kid more likely than not to drop out of three years. They walked in, quickly as to avoid as much attention as possible. Though when Mason had looked up when passing the teachers desk, she realized that wasn't going to be easy.

"Ah, these must be our new students!" Mason's attention snapped to the teacher, she had realized on her schedule his name was Mr.Clarke.

"Indeed it is," the principal who had herded the two into the classroom confirmed,"All yours."

Mason rushed to follow Max to the back, yet they were stopped about as fast as Max could rolled her eyes.

"All right, hold up." Mr. Clark held put his hand to stop the two and smiled. "You dont get away that easy."

Mason barely muttered under her breath, not even enough for it to really reach her own ears. "One could hope."

Mr. Clark continued his introduction, as if the two girls weren't capable of saying their own names. Mason was more than capable of having a panic attack discretely, surely she could say her name to a classroom full of people. Wait a minute.

"Come on up, dont be shy. Dustin, drum roll." A kid in the front, who wore a hat and a dinosaur hoodie, closed his notebook and drummed his fingers against it. "Class," Mr. Clark began," please welcome, all the way from sunny California, the latest passengers to join us on our curiosity voyage, Mason and Maxine."

Mason swallowed and shuffled awkwardly, "Uh, I'm actually Mason and that's-"

"Max. Not Maxine," Max interrupted her sister, eager to sit down and hide away from the vulturous stares of the class.

"Oh, well, I'm sorry. Um, all aboard, Max and Mason."

The twins hurried past him, finding empty seats in the near back of the class -- Mason scoring one near the window. She pulled her notebook from her backpack and pulled one of her many colorful pens from the side pockets -- the only happiness she ever was given was from those pens.

She sat there for a moment, staring at the blank page in front of her and barely hearing Mr. Clarke lecturing the class. Not surprisingly, she also barely notices Max's elbow slowly shoving Mason's notebook off the desk.

"Dude" -- Mason barely caught the book before it fell and furrowed her brows -- "what the hell?" She dropped her voice to a whisper in Hope's of not getting in trouble on her first day at school for Max's mischief.

"Those guys upfront keep staring at us," Max whispered through her hair. Mason's eyes flickered up and, lo and behold, the four boys were, indeed, staring at them. Well...

"They arent staring at us," Mason corrected, "they're staring at you. "

"Why?"

"How the hell should I know?" Max turned to face forward, playing with her hands after her sister said that. Mason sighed," Don't worry, I have an idea."

Max nodded, trusting her sister,"Okay."

With that, Mason grabbed the top of her blue pen with her teeth and popped it off. She wrote the first thing that came to mind in big letters.

• ○ •

Mason walked into the art room, it was lined with floor to ceiling windows and every wall was a different color. The room was fairly empty, Mason assumed it was because art was pushed onto students as much as sports or academics.

She sighed and took a seat by the window. Some one pulled the stool beside her out and sat down. Mason looked over to find one of the boys who were staring at her sister. He smiled, a small smile that didn't really reach his eyes. He looked like he had a lot on his mind, way too much to deal with for a small boy his age.

"Hi, uh, I'm Will."

Mason returned his smile, her hands were shaking; she buried them in the pockets of her jacket.

"I don't think I need to introduce myself." Mason looked down at the table, he had his sketchbook out and she didn't -- she anxious that she was supposed to already have it out. Did anyone else have it out? Her eyes danced around the room, avoiding Will's beautiful brown ones the whole time.

He noticed her behaviour, and it barely seemed unusual until he realized her leg was bouncing quickly and her bottom lip was pulled tight between her teeth. When she released it from its death grip, he could see the scabs forming across the sensitive skin.

"You'd be right," he laughed, hoping to calm her down,"Mason, yeah? That's a pretty cool name."

"It's a boy's name." Mason ducked down below the table to retrieve her sketchbook from her back pack.

"It can't be a boy's name." Mason looked at him for the first time since he sat down next to her. He smiled goofily, she saw that it reached his eyes this time. Her heart leaped. "How can it be a boy's name if it's your name?"

Mason's lips parted and her leg stopped bouncing for a second, but her hands had exited her pockets and were bending the bottom corner of her sketchbook. "Well, I think my parents wanted a boy."

"Well, I think my mom wanted a dog." He spun a lock of his hair around his finger, "She got the shedding and, I offered to play fetch with her, but she thought that was weird."

Will felt pride swell in his chest, a smile broke out across his face after a sweet snippet of laughter fell from her lips.

Mason let her laughter die into a small smile and she glanced at him, "Hey, I'll, uh, I'll show you mine if you show me yours?"

Will glanced down at his sketch book anxiously, "O-Okay."

They grinned, exchanging books and looking through the other's masterpieces. Each other, carefully calculating their looks at each other to see the other's reaction towards their pride and joy.

• ○ •

"He seemed nice," Mason defended her new friend, despite Max's efforts to deter her away from him.

"No way, he's one of the creeps who stared at us." Max slammed her hand down onto the button and violently yanked the joystick.

"They were staring at you, and maybe they arent creeps maybe they just are curious about the new kids and are too scared to approach."

Max quickly diverted her attention from Dig Dug to Mason and back to Dig Dug before she died. "If that were true, they would've been looking at you too." Mason sighed loudly, laying her head against the side of the machine. "Now, dude, you're really killing my Dig Dug vibe."

"Whatever," Mason shover herself off the machine and turned to her sister, "I'm gonna get a soda, you want anything?"

"Grape and a snickers."

"Got it."

Mason walked away, her hands in her pockets jingling she change, she rubbed her fingers over the rough circles repeatedly to assure herself she had enough to pay for everything.

"What can I get for you," The guy behind the register asked. Mason's eyes dashed across the menu even though she already knew what she wanted.

"Uh, yeah, can I get a strawberry and a grapefruit fanta plus two snickers." She looked down at her pocket to pull out the change. "Oh, uh, please.m," Mason quickly added.

"No problem."

While she waited, Mason leaned against the counter and faced towards where Max was standing at the Dig Dug machine working her magic. Then, her eyes fell on the two boys from their science class."

"Oh, you've got to be shitting me."

As if they sensed her looking at them, the glanced behind them and their eyes widened -- busted.

"Position has been comprised! Fall out!" The curly haired boy shouted, Mason watched as they ran out the door. She sighed, shaking her head and turned towards the counter where the guy had set down her order.

"Thank you." She handed him the money and retreated back to Max. She sighed as she handed max her snickers and held onto the soda for when she finished the game she was playing.

"What's got your panties in a knot?" Max barely glanced at her, taking a giant bite of her snickers.

"Fuckin' creeps." Mason cracked the top of her strawberry soda and took a gulp.

#will byers x reader #will byers #stranger things #stranger things 3 #stranger things 2 #chapter one #will byers x oc #fanfiction #writing #mike wheeler #billy hargrove #eleven #madmax #max mayfield #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #steve harrington #I love Mason #st2

20 notes · View notes

little-bit-of-cinnamon · 4 years

Text

Brave Enough (to Break Your Own Heart) - Chapter 2

Jack reaches out to Davey a few days after the party

Masterpost

Jack returned from his art history class with a headache like he’d never had before. He wasn’t hungover, he hadn’t been drinking since Saturday at the party. The party where he met David. David, who he hasn’t stopped thinking about but also hasn’t texted.

He was probably just stressed. He would tell himself he was stressed about school, about the essay he had to write by Friday and by the sketches he needed to finish, but he knew deep down that wasn’t the case.

He was stressed about himself, his life. His identity.

He wasn’t straight and it was terrifying.

And constantly thinking about a guy he hooked up with isn’t helping his fear, his worries.

But ignoring it wouldn’t help either. Quickly, before he could stop himself, he opened his texts to David.

Jack: are you doing anything right now?

David: Not until my class at 2:00? What’s up?

Jack didn’t know the answer to that seemingly simple question. He wanted to see David, obviously, but he didn’t want his friends to know who he was with and therefore why they were together. He didn’t want to go out somewhere because it would be a date and that definitely wasn’t what he was looking for.

Jack: oh god i dont even know im sorry. im just stressed and i wanna figure shit out but idk how

David: Can I help with anything?

Jack: i wanted to see you i guess

David: Okay, do you still want to?

The fact that David was being so understanding wasn’t helping Jack’s guilt. His guilt that he wanted to see David but not be seen with David. Jack: yeah.

David: And I’m free so what’s the problem?

David: Are you afraid of your friends knowing and asking questions?

Jack: it sounds bad

David: Nobody’s blaming you.

David: I’m in a single, do you want to come over?

Jack: yes please

Jack didn’t feel good about wanting to hide but he would feel even worse about seeing his friends while he was with David and having to either tell them or get caught in a lie if he chose to hide the truth.

David sent his room number and Jack didn’t hesitate in leaving his room to go to David’s, thankful that Crutchie was still in class and therefore unable to ask where he was going. The walk was short, leaving Jack without enough time to overthink his actions, thank God. He knew that he would find far too many flaws in his situation if he took the time to mull it over.

He did, however, pause outside David’s door for a while before he could bring himself to knock. He just stood there, staring at the fall-themed name card on his door, no doubt put there by his RA.

Maybe he should just go, he thought. David was out and secure in his identity, he shouldn’t be burdened by Jack’s identity or lack thereof.

But, still, David was the one who invited Jack over, the one who asks questions and supports Jack.

He knocked.

David opened the door with a smile kind enough to knock any hesitant thoughts from Jack’s head. “Hey, Jack.” David stepped aside, allowing Jack to enter before shutting the door behind him.

Jack wasn’t expecting to make it this far and he didn’t know how to proceed. He lingered in the center of David’s tiny dorm room, just standing there. He didn’t know where to sit, what to say. It wasn’t often that Jack was left with no words on his tongue.

It seems like David realized Jack’s hesitation because he guided Jack by the shoulder as he walked to his bed. They sat against the wall, treating the bed like a couch, as you must in a dorm with minimal furniture. Their shoulders were touching but Jack wanted more contact, he just didn’t know what was allowed.

He realized he still hadn’t spoken.

“Hey.” It came out quieter than he was expecting.

“What are you thinking?” David asked.

Jack knocked his head back against the wall, exasperated. He wanted to say he didn’t know again, it felt like the most convenient answer.

“Too much,” he answered.

David didn’t respond, instead opting to take Jack’s hand in support and hopes he’ll continue, elaborate.

“I’m frustrated,” Jack continued.

“About what?”

“That I have to deal with this bullshit. Not you, obviously. You aren’t bullshit. But like, two weeks ago I wouldn’t have even thought about not being straight. But now, now I have to like figure myself out and I got all this emotion and whatever and I can't just get rid of it.” Jack moved his other hand to their joined hands, fidgeting with David’s fingers as he spoke.

“What happened two weeks ago?” asked David, tone steady. Jack was almost annoyed by how collected he was while he himself could barely string a sentence together.

“I kissed some guy at a party. That’s the stupid shit I do when I get drunk that I was talking about.”

“So you mean to tell me that I’m not your big sexual awakening? What a scam.” David joked, knocking their shoulders together playfully.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Trust me I was a lot less drunk with you and I did a whole lot more with you. You can take credit for the crisis.”

“Good, something for me to be proud of.” David paused for a few beats before he continued speaking. “What do you need now?”

Jack knew he should say something along the lines of “talking it out” or “dealing with his emotions” or whatever, but that wouldn’t be the truth.

“I could go for a distraction.”

“I can help with that.”

Jack turned his head toward David to kiss him, hesitantly at first, this being the first time he’s kissed a guy with no alcohol in his system. It didn’t take long for him to warm up to the idea, though, and soon he was turned so he was sitting on his knees in order to face David completely. David’s hand moved to Jack’s hair and Jack would do anything to not have to admit how much he liked it. His mouth dropped open as David gave a slight tug. He opened his eyes to look at David and he had no right looking that sexy, smirking knowingly with his fingers still clutching Jack’s hair.

“Yeah, a distraction was definitely the right move,” Jack said through a smile.

David put a hand on Jack’s shoulder and pressed him down, onto the mattress.

Things moved much slower this time. The added conversation and the vastly different environment striped them of the fast paced urgency from the party. Once Jack was flat on the bed David opted to lie next to him rather than on top of him, leaving the heat to build slowly, rising with their heartbeats.

Jack couldn’t tell you how long they stayed like that; lying on David’s bed, making out and constantly pulling each other closer until they needed to break away to breathe. Could be minutes, could be hours, it made no difference to him.

At some point Jack ended up flat against the mattress, not turned to face David, and David was hovering over him. He wasn’t quite on top of him, his shoulders turned to Jack while his legs stayed by his side. It was at this point where things started to escalate, but also this point where David pushed Jack back slightly, Jack attempted to chase David’s lips back up, not wanting to break the kiss but he was unable to. David’s hand on Jack’s chest kept him in his place.

He wasn’t actually holding him back but Jack got the hint. He let his head fall back against the pillow and he pressed his eyes shut.

“You really like stoppin’ us, huh Davey?” Jack tried to not sound too frustrated.

“Again, it’s not that I want to stop but we have to. I told you I have class at 2:00.”

“Skip it.”

David laughed but Jack wasn’t joking.

Jack pulled David back to him with an arm around his shoulders and David gave in for a little while. Jack tried to pick up where they left off, sitting up a little from the bed in order to get even closer to David and catching his bottom lip in a quick teasing bite. The sound David made suggested that he would rather stay with Jack than go to class but he broke the kiss once again, anyway.

“I really have to go.” David stood up and adjusted his clothes, his shirt was askew from Jack tugging at it and his pants were uncomfortable for an entirely different reason.

“Come on, Davey.” Jack was lying back and propping himself up on his elbows. David glanced back at Jack but quickly turned away again, moving toward his wardrobe to get a jacket.

“No, you have to stop sounding so desperate and looking so hot because then I’d actually stay.”

“Well good, that’s what I’m aiming for.” Jack countered.

“I’m gonna be late.” David walked to his door but turned back to Jack. “You can go or you can stay, it’s up to you. Class ends at 3:30.”

And then he was gone, leaving Jack alone and wanting on his bed. Jack wanted to stay, to be there when David got back, but he couldn’t. It was too intimate.

He checked his texts and refreshed Instagram, killing time while he gained some composure. Eventually, he stood and gathered his things and left David’s room. He sent David a text as a formality but it felt like it was too much. Too much like they were together instead of hooking up. He put his phone on silent and began the walk back to his own room.

#twist writes #be(tbyoh)#Javid #modern javid #Newsies #newsies fanfiction #Jack Kelly #davey jacobs #javid fic

4 notes · View notes

voidselfshipp · 4 years

Text

🌻Sunflower Au🌻

Summary: daemon falls in love with a woman, but he doesnt know how to flirt with her, shenanigans ensue.

《...》

John enters the facility, students come and go,coming in all shapes and sizes, his mother enlisted Him into this artschool, he thought that it would take more time off of him to do graffiti, but then he saw her.

She was with him in character design class,Brown hair, shaved back, green eyes with bags under them,and this big green sweater, and her name was jerico.

He couldnt Keep his eyes off of her, and that costed him the first few clases of the semester.

He needed to wow her,but how?.

Also, needed to add, that not only John was an artist but a vigilante too, pver the course of the years he took various martial arts and programming classes and courses, naming himself "Daemon"

So his brilliant brain came up with this idea.

Wow. Her. With. Your. Alter. Ego.

Altough, his relationshipp with her was going well,they worked togheter a couple of times, went to her place to work on the assigments of their shared class, and they had a pretty good friendship.

-You have a really iconic style john- jerico says as she replaces the water on the glass she used to clean her brushes- I cant quite place it,but there is something that when i see it I go" wow, thats John's work"-

She sits on the table and starts to colour another character.

-Well, yours is really iconic too-John leans back on his chair,finishing one of his sketches- they way you do the face , and the way you aply colors are kind of your trademark-

The woman blushes and shakes her head.

-Quite the Charmer, arent you-both share a chuckle and Keep working.

Hours go by and the sun sets, the moon appears on the horizon, and the stars slowly show themselves on the dark blue Sky.

-Im leaving, its late and my roomate is going to freak out- jeri says, tugging the sleeve of her green sweater.

-You sure?, this place can get dangerous at night, dont you want to stay?-john Asks leaning on the doorframe with on of his forearms, hanging over jerico.

-Please I dont want to bother, ill text you when I get home,okay?-

-You better do so, If not I wont be able to sleep tonight-

-Oh shut up- jeri playfully and softly punches him on his arm and says goodbye.

'I gotta make sure she gets there safe' John thinks , as he grabs his Gear, putting on his Oni mask.

His feet are silent as he runs on the rooftops, with his gaze on jerico, who non-chalantly walks back to her apartment ten blocks away from his.

Suddenly his eyes catch a glimpse of two men following her, he hums and observes,they dont seem dangerous,until one of them tries to steal jerico's backpack, she fights and squirms but the guy seemed to be winning the fight,until he lands on the ground and a set of shurikens pin both of the men to the nearest wall.

Then the grabs the woman and jumps, both run trough the roofs as he grabs her hand.

When the shady men finally stops pursuing them they sit, regaining their breath.

-Thanks for saving me and my bag there- she says, with a kind smile as she scoots closer.

-Uh, youre welcome, im, im--

-Oh I know! You've been in everyones mouth since you stopped those criminals some weeks ago!im so starstruck! I got saved by Daemon, THE daemon-

His cheeks heat up, If she only knew...

Or does she?.....

They sit there and chat a little bit,then daemon feels his body shiver, jerico seems to notice it as she takes off her sweater and hangs It around his back.

-You can give it to me later, ill be good to go, I have a spare one on my backpack,my apartment is just a block away-

-And how do you know I wont steal it?-both stand up.

-Because, you saved me-

They chuckle and say goodbye.

Jerico gets down the small building they were sitting on and walks, thinking of what happened.

When she gets home she finds her roomate sleeping on the couch,covering them jeri goes to her room and falls on her bed, quickly grabbing her cellphone and texting John with "you wont Belive what happened"

He sees the message pop up, as he sits on the windowsill of his house's attic window, were his room was, messaging back with" what happened?".

They Keep talking for hours until they both feel tired.

Tomorrow is saturday luckily, so they wont hate themselves in the morning.

[...]

Sunrays filter trough the blinds, daemon groans , covering his face with his hand as his half naked form walks downstairs , he hears two voices talking, but he is too sleepy to recognize them.

-John, put some clothes on, Jerico is here-his mother says

He suddenly jumps and with half-asleep , face looks at the woman, she is blushing as she contains her laughter.

Daemon bolts to his room, picking up an sleeveless shirt and throwing it on , then going on downstairs.

-its so early- he groans.

-Early?- his mother says-its twelve pm dear, its lunchtime, I invited jerico over, now sit, your friend has already set the table-

He awkwardly sits Next to jeri,muttering a hello.

-You looked cute- the woman besides him whispers- half asleep, messy,I dont get seeing you like that too often-

-Like what?-daemon asks.

-Vulnerable- she says- John, If you are trying to flirt with me,Like you've been trying these past month, Just be straightforward,no messing around-

The Mans face heat up,looking away as his mother serves the food.

-Was I that obvious?-He asks.

-Well child-his mother says- youre not EXACTLY that subtle-

-But its cute,trying to be so smooth, its nice-

They start to eat, and after it, jerico hangs out with John a bit, talking, playing some games, until its afternoon and jeri has to leave to help her roomate with some stuff.

{...}

A soft knock is heard on jerico's Window, she looks over to see her saviour from last night, daemon.

-c'mon, let me take you to a date-he says.

-Im sorry- the woman said looking at him-my heart is after my best friend, I really cant -

-Even if the person asking it is your own best friend?- John says taking off his mask- hurry up!,come on!-

Jeri chuckles and grabs her coat, opening her Window and slipping trough it, walking down the emergency stairs with her friend.

They laugh and jump trough the city and houses,running on the rooftops and climbing them until they arrive to the tallest building around,an abandoned three flored house,on its rooftop its a blanket and some candles.

-Its so corny,I know- daemon says holding jericos hand-you said to be Straight-forward so here I am-

-John I--

-Jerico, since I saw you, something is there, bugging me,pulling me to you like a magnet,I cant help it, eveytime youre near me, I have this urge to hug you, and be close to you, you are my best Friend, and I, I love you, so much...I want to be your boyfriend,but the desicion is yours to make-

-Yes,just yes, shut the fuck up and kiss me, now-

-Like , l like now, right now , now-

-Jo, did I stutter?-

Daemon pulls her on a kiss, walking backwards to the blanket and laying down on it

-took you long enough-jerico said.

-Oh shut up, If you knew that I was daemon,you would already be at my feet-

-Oh but I knew, the design?the voice?they made me realize from the moment I saw you, not even the voice disruptor on your mask can disguise your speech patterns-

-So wait,thats why you lend me your sweater?-

-Uh duh, of course,youre the only one who has my permission to touch it, even go near it-

Johns face burns red as he hides it behind his hands, Rolling on his side-

-Im such a dumbass-

-my dumbass-jeri says, hugging him from behind.

They stay in silence for a bit.

-Youre a sunflower- John mutters with his eyes half lidded.

-I think your love would be too much-

-Oh you'll be left in the dust-

-unless I stuck by ya'-

Youre a sunflower

John chuckles and kisses Jerico's forehead as they sleeply sing to eachother.

Youre a sunflower

~●~

#f/o #f/o tag #f/o community #f/o x s/i #be daemon #selfship

5 notes · View notes

bloody-delicious · 5 years

Note

Hey I loved your fic with Buhguul and a stressed reader. Can I please ask for the same but instead it would be with how Patrick Bateman or Harry Warden would care for a reader?

thank you! 💕

(also im sorry these took so long-im afraid their quality doesnt make up for it lol, i hope these are okay)

patrick bateman x stressed s/o

you had been sitting there for what felt like, and, in all probability, most likely was, hours. patrick’s usual spotless living room was now in disarray, folders and papers with scribbled unintelligible shorthand and crude sketches littered everywhere, with you, a picture of haggard exhaustion, eyes drooped with dark circles and painted with red lines that displayed your dilapidated state of being for all to see, positioned in the center of the chaos. body slouched over the heap of work before you, the crinkle of papers was the only sound audible in the empty space, besides that of the gentle hum of the new york city’s night life beginning to emerge from the shadows for a period of lawless play, sin hidden from the eyes of the exposing rays of daylight as the sun dipped below the crimson skyline.

you knew that you would eventually have to surrender to your aching body and clean up the mess you had made, as patrick would be home soon, and you knew that the sight of his apartment in such disorder would not spur a pleasant reaction. not wishing to flirt with such a dangerous notion, you decided that you should return the space to its original immaculate state sooner rather than later. with a heavy sigh, you picked yourself up from the floor, bones cracking and muscles stretching with a stab of pain, resisting the sudden movement. one by one, the work is picked up from the floor with aching hands, stuffed into their according folders, and though the incessant work disappears from sight, it lingers in your head like a throbbing tumor, keeping you from enjoying any moment of real peace. the folders are placed lazily on the coffee table, and you slump to your previous position on the floor, eyes glazed and staring at the now organized stack of unfinished papers.

even when the shuffling outside the door becomes audible and the sound of keys fitting into the lock reaches your ears, the door opening and the sound of tom ford oxford loafers stepping into the apartment pierces your silence, you remain in your trance, all of your senses numbed by your prostrated condition. heels clicked sharply on the floor, patrick walking further into the room, his sense of authority almost materializing as a tangible presence, his cold and almost foreboding demeanor suffocating the air. your partner was a powerful man, and though you were well aware of the threat he posed at all times, you had grown used to his degenerated mien, and became accustomed to his constant attitude of superiority, the perverted manner with which he held himself.

“what are you doing, y/n?”

patricks voice sounded peculiar, more peculiar than his normal tone. the facade of the typical upper class businessman had not yet faded away, his voice still carrying the faux sincerity that every yuppie in the entire state spoke with.

“work,” you mumbled, rubbing your inflamed eyes with weary hands.

“what did you say? i cant hear you when you mumble.”

his voice developed a more sinister undertone, a threatening connotation that you knew was not to be provoked further.

“work,” you repeated, this time fully articulating yourself. you didnt look over at him, head still resting in your palms.

your heard the heels begin to click across the floor again, increasing in sound as the man made his way over to you. you felt him sit on the couch behind you, body stiff, tense, like a predator ready to claim its prey. he was always like this. you had no idea how he maintained such a defensive state around the clock, how his mind could handles such endless rigidity. after a bit of an awkward silence, patricks hand finds its way to your hair, smoothing stray strands and feeling them on his skin. he continues to play with your locks, starting to almost pull on them, though it isnt to the point of pain. you sigh and try to relax your body, leaning back into his strong hands. his begins to pull harder on your hair, occasionally wrapping fistfuls in his palms, and small twinges of pain begin to take root in your scalp.

you say his name in an attempt to signal to him that hes hurting you, but he doesnt seem to hear, or he just doesnt listen. his hand wraps around your soft hair, suddenly gripping it and tugging on it with force. you let out a surprised cry and instinctively jump away, your hand going up to touch your head.

“patrick!” you scold, looking back at him. you can barely muster the energy to reprimand your lover, and youre sure that your words are not very intimidating, with obvious exhaustion laced in your voice and written on your face. patrick sits with his elbows resting on his knees, observing you with no expression. it appears that both of you are lost in your own little worlds.

“that hurt,” you say, hoping to reach him this time. nothing. he watches you still with emotionless eyes. the two of you sit in silence before he suddenly speaks.

“do you want to go out to dinner? wherever you want.”

his lips twist into a smile, but you do not reciprocate it.

“if you want to,” you sigh, knowing that trying to bring up the previous topic is useless. “im feeling really tired today. work is getting to me.”

there is another period of silence, and you see patricks face begin to change. it almost becomes darker, menacing.

“we could…do something else,” patrick suggests, his words practically dripping with a malicious nuance, immediately alerting you as to what he has in mind.

“no, patrick. you might like butchering people, but i dont. thats youre thing, not mine.”

patricks grin only grows wider at your words.

“whats the name of your boss again? i cant seem to remember.”

“no.”

“you said work was stressing you out, didnt you?”

“yes-“

“so let off a little steam, y/n, it’ll be a blast,” he interrupts, a wild look beginning to form in his eyes, excitement growing in his voice.

you let out a groan and turn away from him, putting your aching head back in your hands.

“im gonna call it a night, patrick.”

you gather yourself from the floor and attempt to leave the room, but a wrist grabs your hand with a tight grip, stopping you from going any further. you turn you gaze to patrick, who suddenly stands, bringing himself closer to you, his breath hot on your neck.

“dont you want to let off some steam, y/n?” his smile is wolfish and predatory, eyes locked in on his prey held firmly in his grasp. his free hand grazes the skin of your shoulder, his deviant intentions clear even through something as innocent as a slight touch. “you know i can make you feel better.”

his advances are appealing, but any activity with patrick is rather risky, and youd rather not wake up with the task of covering hickey after countless hickey, wrapping bite after bite, cleaning scratch after scratch. still, he is right in one aspect: you really do need to release some of the tension inside. his smooth, strong hand reaches your throat, gently caressing the skin before abruptly tightening his grasp, essentially choking you. you let out a startled gasp, and patrick only presses a rough kiss to your lips to silence you, teeth biting your lower lip. you begin to melt into his touch, knowing that youll be tired in the morning, knowing that it will be a rough night, knowing that god, you really do need this right now.

——————————

when you woke, it was still dark, your room illuminated only by the glow of the city outside the window. the sheets were tangled around your bare body, and, when you attempted to move, you felt the pangs of pain from the wounds given to you by patrick. eyes still heavy with sleep, you looked to your side to see him, still submerged in the bliss of sleep. when you looked closer, however, you noticed something odd covering his body. upon further inspection, you saw that your lover was painted with splatters of blood. panic rushing through your veins, you were about to wake him when you spotted something in your peripheral vision. laying before your bed was a body, surrounded by a pool of blood. slowly crawling over the bed to get a better view, you realized that the body was that of your boss. stab wounds littered his body, his striped suit tainted with a deep red pigment, eyes closed and blood trickling down his lips, his face pale as the moon in the midnight sky. you looked back to patrick, lying so peacefully in bed, covered in the blood of your (now former) boss. the man you had come to recognize as your partner seemed to have displayed the body before you as a gift, a sign of love, perhaps. his rather gruesome way of showing his devotion. you extended your hand to him, stroking his dark hair. you would deal with the consequences in the morning. the light would make everything clearer.

harry warden x stressed s/o

it was cold in valentine bluffs. winter was beginning to settle into the small town, extending its icy fingers through every corner and into every home. snow had begun to fall and formed a thin sheet over every surface, carrying with it a bitter wind that left most of the people within the town closing their doors and favoring a warm day inside, with heat flooding from their furnaces and hearty food cooking on the stove. you were among those who sheltered themselves from the cold weather, though your home was less comforting as opposed to the latter population. you sat at your desk, filling out paperwork that was meaningless to you, wishing for nothing more than to be done with such a tedious task. while you had accomplished quite a bit, there was still so much more to be done. a stack of papers as thick as a textbook sat adjacent to you, a constant reminder of how you would most likely be seated there for the rest of the day. not to mention the fact that you still had to fix that creaky hinge on the door that had been pestering you all week, along with the knowledge that tomorrow was monday, which meant that you would have to face the frigid outdoors to reach your workplace. a large sigh escaped your fatigued body, and you slumped down onto your desk, resting your head on the hard wood. it was hard to say how long you had been lying there before you heard the floor creak behind you. you raised your head lazily, turning around in your chair to see a man clad in a dark miner’s outfit and mask observing you from the doorway. you huffed with amusement, a small smile forming on your lips.

“harry, i dont think you need to wear that suit in here.”

still, he stood, his only movement the rise and fall of his shoulders with each heavy breath. since you two had begun your rather…odd relationship, and harry had moved in with you, he rarely took his uniform off, though you were sure it was quite uncomfortable. you knew that the man you loved was very troubled, and would need time to heal his wounds, you wished that he could at least feel comfortable in your own home someday. you rose from your chair and walked over to him, stopping right before your face was inches from his. the man never moved, or even flinched, simply stared down at you, his powerful form towering over yours. you raised your hands to cup his mask, and his hands instinctively grabbed yours, ready to push them away.

“wait,” you relented, keeping your grasp on the dark fabric. “what if i give you something in return?” harry didnt give in, and pried your hands off of him.

“okay,” you said softly in response to his movements. “i have to finish up some work, we can do whatever you want when im done, yeah?” you smiled at his expressionless mask, turning to return to that awful desk, that endless pile of paperwork. suddenly, a gloved hand seized your wrist, and you looked behind you to see harry, who had moved forward and grabbed you to stop you from leaving.

“come on, harry, i have to do this,” you told the masked man, a yawn nearly interrupting your speech. still, harry didnt move at your request, still keeping his grip on your arm tight.

you raised an eyebrow at him, turning around to make it easier to face him.

“itll only take a little while,” you lied. harry tugged on your arm this time, pulling you back towards him.

“harry-“

he shook his head, gazing down at your tired eyes. your hand in his, harry led you away from your desk, away from the incomplete stack of work that nagged at the back of your mind. harry brought you to the living room, simply bringing you to the couch in front of the radiating fireplace. you sat down next to him, the warmth from the hearth soothing your aching muscles. harry settled beside you, his eyes transfixed on the flames that blazed before the two of you. the image of the fire reflected in the eyes of his mask, and you stared, watching them flicker. harry turned his head as he felt your eyes on him, and a moment passed before harry took your hand again. this time, he brought it to his mask, and you suddenly realized that he was giving you permission to remove it. with anxious hands, you pulled off the mask, revealing harrys face, the fire giving his skin a warm red tint. you smiled at the image of your lover, and held his face in your hands, pressing a kiss to his lips. you thought you had felt the hint of a smile form on his lips. pulling away, you rested your head on the mans shoulder, the heat from the fireplace, the sound of harrys steady breaths, the warmth of the entire setting providing a calming lullaby that relieved all of the growing stress in your body and mind, until nothing remained but pure, simple peace.

#slasher x reader #harry warden #patrick bateman #i literally hate how these turned out im sorry anon #i didnt do these guys justice

132 notes · View notes

buginabog · 5 years

Text

Masterpieces

Summary: A drawing roman is...mesmerizing, to say the very least, and so is drawing him.

Pairing: logince, background moxiety

Roman sketched out another line, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth slightly, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Logan was lost in gazing the artistic side, his book laying forgotten in his lap. After a while Roman sat back, a triumphant smile on his face, and a gleam of pride in his eye.

"Finally, I finished my masterpiece!"

Logan quickly wiped the smile from his face, "wonderful, can I see it?"

Roman scowled at him, "so you can critique every little flaw?"

Logan rolled his eyes, "of course not you buffoon, I only wanted to out of curiosity."

"Well I'd rather you not look anyway. Its..." Roman cut his eyes to the side sheepishly, "personal."

"That's completely understandable Roman, I'll cease bothering you about it now."

Roman looked, disappointed? But Logan simply took his book and went to his room. There he placed the book to the side and sat at his desk. The other sides thought he did work there, sorting out Thomas's memories and known facts, but that was only paperwork he kept on his desk to hide his...sketches. He pushed the memories and facts aside to reveal the pictures of Roman that laid under them. He pulled out a fresh sheet, sharpened a pencil, and started sketching.

He got lost in the swooping movements of the pencil, the quiet sketching of a certain sides furrowed brow, and the slightly sticking out tongue, the overall concentrated look that mesmerized Logan so much.

A knocking at the door pulled Logan out of his thoughts, he quickly shoved the papers atop the sketches. He jumped and opened the door to see Virgil there.

"Hey L, I was just wondering, do you have any memories of Thomas listening to P!ATD?"

"Yes, there should be some on my desk."

Logan didnt realize his mistake until he heard papers shuffling.

"Wait, DONT-"

"L, what are these?"

"...do that" Logan sighed, "they're small sketches of roman."

"Why just roman?" Virgil smirked slyly.

Logan coughed into his fist, "well, roman I find to be quite...aesthetically pleasing, therefore he seemed the most likely candidate to practice drawing." He frowned at the sketches, "however, theres a certain element I find... my drawings to be lacking in, something, I cant place my finger on it."

Virgil rolled his eyes, "he looks good to me. He would only look wrong to someone who's been, I dunno, staring at him lovestruck for literal hours at a time."

Logan sputtered, "I am not THAT obvious! Am I?"

Virgil nodded, smirking, "but maybe, just maybe, he's just as obvious about you."

Logan watched the anxious sides retreating back as he blushed.

Roman pinned yet another picture of his crush on the wall, and stood back to admire it. The Logan in the drawing had the end of a pen in his mouth, as he read in his murder mystery. Roman remembered that once the murderer was revealed Logan had jumped out of his seat and yelled, "I KNEW it!" triumphantly. That was the moment Roman fell in love.

"Hey kiddo!" Patton paused and looked at the 'Logan wall' as Roman called it, Patton smiled slightly. "Those are great kiddo! Much better than I could have done!"

Roman blushed, "thank you Patton, I worked very hard on them."

"Welcome Kiddo! Also, its dinner time so..."

"I'll be right down"

"Virgil?" Logan walked into Virgils room, nervously adjusting his glasses, "I have a problem."

Virgil looked up from his phone. "Yeah L, what?"

Logan coughed, "I believe I have a....crush."

Virgil stared at him for a minute before bursting into laughter, "no shit sherlock!"

Logan blushed, "what do you mean?"

Virgil rolled his eyes and laid down on his bed, "I mean that all your oblivious pining wasn't exactly low-key idiot."

Logan groaned and sat on Virgils bed, "I'm hopeless Virgil. I'm completely gone for him! Its illogical...and his stupid smile and his stupid laugh and-and...and it makes me short circuit and...I'm a mess for this stupid CRUSH!"

Virgil rubbed his back sympathetically, "me too buddy."

Logan looked at him, "Patton?"

"Yeeeeep."

"But...you're so...."

"Yeeeeeep."

"We're screwed aren't we?"

"Yeeeeep."

"UUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH" Roman flung himself face down on Pattons bed.

"Logan again?" Patton asked.

"I mean, how DARE he?" Roman sat up, "how dare he be so adorable!" He flopped down again, resting an arm over his face, "he was reading a book and eating crofters, and some got on his chin," he sat up and faced Patton, "and THEN, THEN he..."

"What'd he do?"

"He LICKED it off Patton, it was..." he fell, again, dramatically, "ADORABLE!"

Patton giggled, "aw, kiddo."

Roman groaned, "he's just so CUTE"

Patton sighed, "you think YOU have a problem? Try having a crush on someone who sees you as their father figure."

"Oh yeah, how's that going by the way?"

Virgil walked to Pattons room. "PATTON"

Patton jumped, "yeah kiddo?"

Virgil internally cringed at the nickname, proof that Patton would never see him as more than a son, but he pushed that aside, "I dont know how much longer I can take Logan yelling at me about roman."

Patton sighed, "and I cant take more of Roman screaming about how cute Logan is."

Virgil smiled, "see, but I have an idea to make sure they figure out they have crushes on each other!"

Patton sat up straight, uh, sorry, gay, his eyes shining, "how?"

Virgil started whispering.

Logan walked to Roman's room. His Rubik's cube was missing and neither Patton nor Virgil had even seen it.

He pushed open the door, "Roman, do you have any knowledge of the whereabouts of my-" he broke off as he saw the wall that was covered with pictures of HIM.

"Ah, specs, hell-oh shit." Roman snapped his fingers and the wall turned around, "well, you weren't supposed to see that."

"Roman, why, what, what is, why, me? What?" Logan stuttered uncontrollably.

Roman blushed deeply, "so, I've been drawing you for a... well a while would be an understatement..."

"But WHY?" Logan didnt dare hope it was possibly for the same reason he'd been drawing Roman.

"What?" Roman looked at him, shocked.

"Did I say that out loud?"

Roman shook his head, "no, the, uh, Imagination can project your thoughts, I just saw a, uh, well, several, sketches of me."

Logan blushed, "dear god let me die."

"Well, this is a good time as any that..." roman broke off, "I, uh," he looked off to the side, "I, uh, I'm, um..."

Logan growled, "for fucks sake Roman, just tell me what you want to before I get to high on false hope!"

"I LIKE YOU YOU IDIOT"

Logan stepped back, shocked, "I, uh..."

Roman slouched, "get out."

"Roman please,"

"GET THE FUCK OUT LOGAN!" Roman shrunk in on himself, "I dont need your pity."

Logan stepped towards him, "I dont have any pity for you," he walked closer, and grabbed his chin, tilting Roman's head up, "I have something else."

Lips met lips and Logan smiled into the kiss.

Roman couldn't believe what was happening, Logan was KISSING him, it was...beyond the living embodiment of dreams wildest dreams.

Logan pulled away slowly, his eyes sparkling, "me as well, mon cheriè."

Roman smiled as he grasped Logans hand, "then shall we go to dinner mi amor?"

Logan smiled, "of course"

The smiling pair walked down the stairs, hand in hand.

They walked into the dining room where Virgil and Patton were quietly talking, but the conversation grew silent when the two walked into the dining room smiling.

"Did you two..?"

Logan smiled and raised their, still clasped, hands.

Patton smiled, "oh I'm so happy for you tw-"

"FUCKING FINALLY!" Virgil stood up, his arms raised above his head.

"Language dear" Patton chuckled, before going silent and stark white.

Virgil paled and sat down, "what did, what did you just call me?

Logan laughed as he walked into the living room with Roman, "Now it's you twos turn.:"

22 notes · View notes

turtle-steverogers · 6 years

Text

Departed Chap 7 Pt 1

Ships: Slow burn Sprace

Warnings: None in this part

Spot took a container of leftover spaghetti bolognese out of the fridge and transferred a portion to a bowl to heat up. Race was currently at the dance studio with Romeo and Albert, so Spot had a few hours of solitude to relax without having to worry about anyone else. He took the now warm bowl of pasta out of the microwave and began to cut the spaghetti into smaller strands.

“What the hell are you doin’ to my pasta?” Race’s horrified voice sounded from the entrance to the kitchen.

“What are you doin’ back?” Spot asked, stirring his spaghetti.

“Albert got a migraine so we decided to call it a day- no, don’t change the subject, you bitch,” Race said, jabbing a finger at Spot, “You cut your fuckin’ spaghetti?”

Spot shrugged and took a bite, “Always have. Guess I never thought twice about it, it’s jus’ how I eat pasta.”

Race narrowed his eyes, “You sicken me.”

“Okay, buddy, calm down,” Spot smirked, “How was dance?”

“It was good,” Race said, pulling a bowl out of one of the cabinets and warming up some bolognese for himself, “Romeo taught Al and I some choreo for ‘Jackie and Wilson’ that he and Specs had come up with.”

“Y’all are really on that Hozier grind, ain’t ya?”

“What? He’s got good bops!” Race said, a defensive tone leaking into his words.

“Don’t say bops,” Spot said, “Like, ever again.”

“Hozier’s bops give me life!” Race exclaimed, a shit eating grin spreading across his face.

“Shut the fuck up,” Spot deadpanned, “You’re so cringey.”

“Yeah, but ya love me,” Race said, mouth full of spaghetti.

Spot’s stomach did a flip and he blushed, turning away to put his dishes in the dishwasher, “Yeah, yeah don’t push it.”

“Hey, so I was thinkin’-“

“That’s never good,” Spot cut Race off, earning a glare from the latter, “M’sorry, continue.”

“As I was sayin’, I was thinkin’ we could go into the city a ‘lil later today. The Met’s got that Tintoretto exhibit I been wantin’ ta go to.”

“The what exhibit?”

“Tintoretto. He’s my favorite Italian artist. Does portraits and shit.”

“Oh, cool. Yeah, I’m down,” Spot agreed.

Race’s eyes lit up and he grinned, “Hell yeah! I been achin’ ta see it for ages, but Melissa never agreed ta go.”

“Well, I’m agreein’. Get showered, we’ll go in like an hour ish?”

“Okay, wanna see if Jack and Kath wanna come, too? I know Jack has like an art analysis assignment for some art class or somethin’.”

“Sure, yeah. Go ahead and ask ‘em, I gotta take the trash down.”

Race pulled out his phone and picked up his dance bag to deposit into Spot’s room. Spot took a yard bag and began dropping all the smaller trash bags into it. Race walked past him into the bathroom, carrying a change of clothes.

“Wait,” He called, “Pass me the trash bag in there!”

The door to the bathroom reopened and Race held out the trash bag.

Spot took it, “Thanks.” He heard the shower turn on as he left the apartment.

XXX

Spot parked his car down the street from the Met and he and Race made the ten minute walk through the bitter cold to the front entrance. Jack and Katherine were already waiting inside by a heater.

“Hey, guys,” Katherine greeted, walking over to meet them, “We already paid our admission.”

“Aight,” Spot pulled out his wallet, “I’ll go pay our’s real fast.” He wove through the mob of people in front of the admissions desk, leaving Race with Jack and Katherine.

“What do you hafta do for your art project thing?” Race asked Jack, shrugging his winter jacket off and stuffing it into his bag.

“I gotta pick a piece of artwork and analyze the artist’s technique in like a paper, then I gotta recreate my own piece based offa those techniques,” Jack answered, then held up his sketchbook, “M’prolly gonna like sketch ideas as we go.”

“Cool, cool, yeah Tintoretto does like bold portraits. He was supposedly pretty innovative for his time,” Race said, as Spot walked back over to their little group.

“Why d’you know about this guy, again?” Spot asked, taking Race’s bag from him and putting his own jacket inside.

“My mom and grandma liked him and brought me to his exhibit last time they had him in here. So, I dunno, good memories attached to him?” Race shrugged.

“That’s fair,” Katherine said, reaching down and interlacing her fingers with Jack’s, “Shall we head in?”

The four of them walked towards the exhibit on the other side of the museum and entered the sectioned off area. They were immediately met with a dim hallway. The walls were lined with portraits and dark depictions of various religious events.

“Dude, your mom brought you to one of his exhibits when you were a kid?” Jack whispered, “his works are depressing as hell.”

Race’s eyes skimmed from painting to painting, drinking in the details, “Art is art, man,” he murmured.

“That you are right about,” Jack said, taking his hand out of Katherine’s and reaching into his back pocket to pull out a sketching pencil, “And I’ll be damned if this man didn’t know his shit when it came to brush technique- I mean just look at those bold strokes.” His eyes glinted and he stuck his tongue out as he started to draw in his sketchpad, capturing, in essence, Tintoretto’s style.

Katherine laughs fondly and rubs his arm, “You’re such a dork, sweetie.”

Jack squawked indignantly, “Okay, you are not one to talk, miss technical designer.”

Katherine considered for a moment before leaning into Jack’s side and kissing his neck, “Can’t argue with that.”

Jack kissed her head, then turned his focus back to his sketchbook.

Spot watched them with an un-amused expression, “Gross.”

“Awe, let ‘em be gross, Spottie,” Race said, grabbing Spot’s elbow and pulling him further into the exhibit. They strolled past the paintings slowly, Race commenting every so often about one of the portraits. At one point, Race’s hand had found Spot’s, but neither of them mentioned it. The end of the exhibit came suddenly and they were spilled into the adjoined gift shop.

“We lost Jack and Kath,” Spot stated, glancing around them.

“They’ll find their way sooner or later,” Race said, “C’mon, let’s go look at the Egyptian art.”

“Are you sure we should separate ourselves further from-“

“They’ll find us,” Race pulled out his phone,”I’ll let ‘em know where we went.”

Race led them across the museum to the Egyptian room. As they passed various sarcophagi, Spot clenched his jaw, unease flaring in his gut.

“You alright?” Race asked, squeezing his hand to get his attention.

“Yeah,” Spot said, absently, “S’just ever since I saw that one young Sherlock Holmes movie- ya know the one where they’d mummify people and burn ‘em alive- sarcophoguses, sarcophagi? Whatever the plural is, they freak me out.”

Race threw his head back in laughter, “Ah, m’sorry, dude. We can leave if ya want?”

Spot shook his head, “Nah, I know how much ya like ancient Egyptian stuff.”

“Okay, fair, but we can get outta this room at least,” They entered the main room and Race immediately rushed to enter the Temple of Dendur.

“Spottie, look at the hieroglyphics,” Race said, impulsively reaching out the hand not holding Spot’s to touch them.

Spot gently pulled his hand back, “Don’t touch it, Racer. Ever sit through one of Jack’s ‘don’t touch the art’ lectures?”

Race hummed in annoyance and reached into his bag to pull out his fidget cube.

Spot chuckled, “Ya really are a child.”

“Shut up,” Race said with no real malice behind his words. They continued on through the temple in silence, save for the clicking of Race’s fidget cube. Spot watched Race drink in the details of the ruin, eyes glinting with curiosity and wonder. The longer Spot looked at Race, the more he noticed. Like the way his nose would scrunch up periodically-a tic no doubt- or the way he’d squint his eyes ever so slightly when observing one of the symbols in higher depth. The freckles that usually blended into his complexion were more visible in the bright lighting of the room and his eyes shone brightly behind his glasses. His blonde curls were getting longer, but were carefully mussed to create a careless, yet put together look. He was beautiful, and Spot realized in that moment that he was screwed. He was absolutely screwed.

TAG LIST: @bencookisagod @we-dont-sell-papes @suddenly-im-respecsable @aw-jus-let-em-spook @well-the-kids-do-too @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @thatpoorguysheadisspinning @newsies-of-nyc @andthewoildwillknow

#spot conlon #racetrack higgins #sprace #newsies #newsies fic #departed

7 notes · View notes

waterstar2016 · 6 years

Note

I dont know if I can ask for more than one but I wont ask anything beyond 2, With Mikey- He went to visit his baby girl at her apartment and seen a room he never seen before. A studio looking room with canvases, art supplies, computer with tablet monitor. And sees his girl sitting in her chair sketching and discovers that she draws comics and characters which she tries to hide but was caught in the act. She is very shy and lack confidence in her work but loves it anyways. Catches her off guard

Thank you for this request. I hope you like it! I have the other one you sent me in reserve.

This is SFW and very fluffy…

It was late. The sun had set hours ago. Her only companions were her art and her music. Multitudes of canvasses rested upon one wall, layers of colour waiting to be finished and others with their bright white surface eager for the first stroke of a brush. Palettes, paint, pencils, charcoal, masking fluid, kneadable erasers and markers rested in drawers, stood in old cans, or were strewn on the corner of an art table in organized chaos.

On the wall adjacent to the door was a tablet monitored computer. USB sticks and printed pages full of ideas rested on the space beside it. Some would never see another’s eyes, others would be sold to eager recipients, and there were those meant for her own personal amusement. To many the room looked cluttered, but to her it was perfect. This space was her sanctuary, and her escape from the hustle and bustle of the city.

The only window was a large skylight above her. It gave her a unobstructed view of the sky. She couldn’t see the stars, but she knew they were there. Once a month she had the pleasure watching the moon walk across the glass. This was her space.

She knew he was on patrol and she had hours of uninterrupted drawing time ahead of her. It’s not that she didn’t want to see him, she loved her orange clad terrapin with all of her heart. This was just a side of herself that she had hid from him. Choosing to work in the hours that there would be no chance that he would discover her secret. Mikey never asked what was behind the locked door in her apartment, it never even occurred to him to broach the subject.

There was no real reason why she hadn’t told him. Sighing to herself she knew there was. She was shy and afraid. She was an anonymous artist, her worked signed with a hastily scrawled signature, indiscernible even when examined up close. Her e-mail where she wrote her correspondence was under an alias. She liked her anonymity.

Shaking her head she sat down at her computer and started working on her next piece. It was for a comic company she had started working for (again anonymously), and her work for them was rapidly gaining the strip popularity. Despite that acknowledgment from society that her work was indeed in demand, she still saw many so many flaws and was too afraid to go public. Putting on her headphones the world around her slowly disappeared.

“Alright Mikey, you can go.” Leo stood looking at his youngest brother shaking his head. He was trying to look disapproving but couldn’t help the small smile that graced his face. Mikey bounded off with a hastily yelled “Thanks bro!”. Raph looked over at him. “Ya caved.” Leo rolled his eyes. “The night’s quiet Raph. Besides we have Casey as an extra tonight.” Casey came over at the sound of his name. “Hey Raph, wasn’t it last week that Leo let you go early to see that brunette you’ve been hanging out with lately?” Raph growled. “I’m not seeing….never mind, it’s none of your business Friday the 13th!” He growled and walked away. Leo and Casey laughed.

After weeks of pleading with Leo and reminding him that “Raph got to leave patrol early last week”…he was finally given permission to go. Mikey moved swiftly, bounding from building to building with his destination clear in his mind. He couldn’t wait to see her. She was his Angel Cakes. They hadn’t been seeing each other for very long and he was going to take this opportunity to surprise her.

Hopping over an old water tower he could finally see her apartment building in the distance. The white brick of the building stood out against its darker neighbours. Landing on the roof he started heading towards the fire escape. He tip toed around the various skylights, grateful for the cover of night. One had a light on. His mind quickly realized it was hers.

No, he wouldn’t look. It was her private space and he did not want to break her trust. He was so mesmerized by the light that he wasn’t watching where he was going and he tripped over a raised air conditioning unit. Windmilling his arms he tried to alter the trajectory of his fall, but it was too late. He landed right on top of the window and watched in horror as a few small rocks from the roof spilled in through the gap. Then he saw the art. He couldn’t believe that this is what she had been secreting away, his baby was even more awesome then he thought!

A loud noise pierced through her head phones and she jumped. She felt something fall on her head and her eyes widened when she realized that it was gravel. Where in the hell did that come from? She looked up and gasped. There, with his face squished against the skylight was Mikey. She heard a muffled “Hey Baby Cakes.” Despite the nervousness she was feeling a smile and a giggle escaped her lips. “Come on down, Mikey, I’ll open the balcony door for you.”

She dragged her feet as she headed to open the sliding door. The gig was up. Mikey now knew her secret…what would he say? Opening the door Mikey practically jumped into the room. Seeing her he gave her a wink “Sup pretty girl, your triple threat is here.” Mikey opened his arms and she went to him. She rested her head against his plastron. “You’re, um, here early.” Mikey took his finger and slid it under her chin. Tilting it up she met his baby blues. “Yeah, Sweet Cheeks! I got Leo to let me go early…I just couldn’t wait to see you.”

He bent towards her and kissed her gently. She relaxed into the kiss, momentarily forgetting her nerves over him seeing her studio. Mikey pulled away from her grinning. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me about your art? From what I saw you got some serious skills! I’m sorry for how I ended up seeing it, but I’m not sorry that I did! She turned her head away from him slightly and Mikey could feel the slight trembling of her body. “O, it’s O.K, I just, well…” She stopped, her tongue frozen.

Mikey pulled her into him tightly and ran his fingers up and down her back whispering sweet nothings in her ear. “Sweet Cheeks? You gonna be alright?” Mentally shaking herself she nodded. “Yeah, you just surprised me. That’s all.” Taking a deep breath she grabbed his hand. “Here, I’ll show you what I’ve been working on.”

Leading him to the room she slowly opened the door. Bracing herself, she waited for Mikey’s reaction. She laughed when she heard “Woah…..Duuuuude”. Mikey eagerly walked around the room, his eyes alight with glee. “You did all this?! This is awesome!” He made his way over to her computer and with his face fixated on the screen almost missed the chair when he went to sit on it.

His arm snaked out grabbing at the air for her and managed to snag onto her sweater. He pulled her to him. Grasping her around her waist he settled her onto his lap. “You draw this comic! I’m like one of your biggest fans! Raph gets mad at me when I steal this page out of the paper. He’s gonna be stoked when he finds out it’s you! Would you sign something for him? Please?”

Her heart filled with joy at Mikey’s reaction to her secret, and she found herself wondering why she had hid this from him for so long. “Sure, Mikey, I can do that.” Mikey gave her a loud kiss on her cheek. “Thanks, Babe!” Looking to the skylight she sighed and Mikey immediately whispered “What’s wrong?” Shaking her head she gave him a reassuring smile “I’m just sorry for hiding this from you.” Mikey wrapped his arms around her. “Aw, it’s okay Angel Cakes.”

She rested her head against his and sighed happily. Mikey suddenly jumped up and spun her around. Laughing she hung on. “Mikey! What are you doing?” He stopped spinning and set her down on the floor. “Babe! I just realized that there so many blank walls in the lair that you can help me tag!” He gripped her shoulders. “How does that sound? It would be the best date!” Her eyes looked up into his and she grinned from ear to ear.

“That sounds like a fantastic idea Mikey.” She had always wanted to try spray paint. Making a decision she turned and tapped the print icon on the monitor. The page she had been working on slid out of the printer. Grabbing a orange pen she clearly signed her name on the bottom right corner.

“I will sign another copy for Raph, but I want you to have the first one.” Mikey beamed and kissed her once more.

End.

#reader request #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt mikey #tmnt fan fic #soft #tmnt fluff

75 notes · View notes

backseatofimpala-blog · 6 years

Text

I'll be there for you

No warnings. SamxJess pairing, i do not own the charachters or the episode this is copied after (season 1, home) Over the next several months of traveling with Jess and his brother, Sam noticed how different Dean was, mostly how Dean seamed to shy away from women desperate for a quick lay, instead of seducing them. Dean stuck more to hustling pool and winning poker.

"Are you gay now?" Sam asked his brother after the case of the hookman, and he didn't even flirt with the collage girls. Dean gaped at his little brother.

"...the hell..." Dean mused slowly.

"Do you have a girl friend?" Sam probed on. Dean bitch faced his brother and heades for the bathroom door.

"Ok we're done talking... Jess control your man." Dean remarked.

"Give me a pair of hand cuffs and i will." Jess smirked. Dean smirked at his brother, giving him a hidden thumbs up and left the room.

"Be done by the time I get out this time." Dean smirked, and Sam scowled as Dean shutthe door. "Dont for get to suit up first, Sammy." Dean called through the door turning the shower on.

"I'm sorry, Jess." Sam groaned.

"Why is Dean so closed off." Jess asked.

"Life of a hunter, babe." Sam explained simply. Jess frowned.

"You aren't like that." She proclaimed.

"I was... two years ago, when we first met." Sam answered.

"Dean isnt nearly as stubborn as you, he'll be an easy nut to crack." Jess pulled Sam on to the bed and straddled his lap. Sam stares up at her his hazle eyes going soft.

"I dont know what I'd do with out you." Sam whispered to her. She smiled sand held his face tenderly in her hands.

"Mmmm, crash and burn." She replied over his. Sam held her close and kissed her letting her know just where he wanted this to go.

"Easy there, Sam." Jess smiled pulling away, Sam groaned loudly, "You need to sleep before I pull out the handcuffs."

"What makes you think after all this time I'll be the one in cuffs?" Sam smirked.

"Maybe living a hunters life has brought out the beast in me." She giggled stripping to her underwear and diving under the covers.

"Damn woman you cant keep teasing me like this." Sam chuckled hugging her closely.

"Go to sleep Sam, you get a good night's sleep and we'll dicuss the cuffing arrangements." Jess sighed getting comfortable in Sam's arms.

Jess awoke in ths middle of the night to Sam having a nightmare. She sat up and saw Dean watching, worry etched into his forehead.

"Should i wake him?" Jess whispered. Dean shrugged helplessly.

"Shhh, its ok Sam." Jess soothed a hand down Sam's arm, the young man calmed slightly and fell back in to a restful sleep. Jess looked up at Dean and shrugged with worry.

"He's a tough kid." Dean nodded settling back down into his bed.

The next morning Sam sat quietly on his and Jess's bed sketching something, while Dean rattled off cases they could work.

"Sacramento man shoots himself in the head three times..." Dean said enthusiastically, only to have Sam remain silent, "any of these things blowing up your skirt pal?"

"Maybe we should take a break for awhile.

"Wait I've seen this." Sam mutteres bolting out of bed and rummaged around for thier dads journal.

"Seen what?" Dean questioned. "What are you doing?"

"Dean, I know where we have to go next." Sam answered.

"Where?"

"Back home... back to Kansas." Sam explained. Dean glanced to Jess awkwardly.

"Ok random... where did that come?" Dean muttered.

"Ok this photo was take in front of the old house, the house mom died in?" Sam asked.

"Yeah..." Dean answered tightly.

"It didnt burn down right? I mean not completely? They rebuilt it, right."

"Yeah i guess so. Why? What the ya talkin bout?" Dean answered getting really lost.

Ok tjis is gonna sound crazy, but i think the people who live in our old house... i think they might be in danger." Sam stated.

"What makes you think that, babe?" Jess questioned.

"Uhh... i just... uhh... look just trust me on this ok."

"Ok... woah woah... trust you?" Dean questioned following Sam as he started packing.

"Yeah."

"Come on man thats weak. You gotta give me more than that." Deans voice raised slightly, getting frustrated with his brother.

"I can't really explain..." Sam mumbled.

"Well tough!" Dean proclaimed. Jess scowled at the older Winchester.

"Watch it Dean." She snapped. Dean glanced at her but ultimately ignored her.

"We arent going any where until you have a better explination than 'trust me." Dean stated firmly. Sam sighed and looked to Jess who still was glaring at Dean.

"I have these nightmares..." Sam started.

"We've noticed..." Dean crossed his arms nodding to Jess.

"...And sometimes... not always... they come true." Sam explained, pocketing his hands, head and shoulders slumping.

"Come again?" Dean almost laughed.

"I believe him." Jess cut in, "we should go to Kansas." She stated.

"Come on, people have wierd ass dreams all thw time. I have a friend who dreamed she worked at KFC with Todd the wraith from Stargate Atlantis." Dean exclaimed.

"Five months ago i didn't believe in monsters. But since you interupte our lives I've questioned everything ive ever believed in! We were attacked by a windingo, ghost water child, plane demons, thee bloody mary, a shapeshifter, and a swarm of fucking nasty killer bugs!" Jess ranted, "dont you think its probable that maybe Sam could be having dream visions." Jess snapped.

"Sam i can't go backthere

"We are going to check on this family in Kansas, Dean." Jess stated firmly. Dean swallowed hard and nodded.

"Ok, I'll go get the car ready." Dean nodded walking out.

"Thank you, Jess." Sam sighes. She smiled and kissed his cheek.

"Tell me about what happened to your mom as we get ready to go. "

Dean leaned heavily on the impala, trying to catch his breath. He pulled out his phone. He psusef over dads name in his contacts then scrold back up to the C's. He dialed the number and waited.

"Ello beastie!" The chippet voice brought a smile to Dean's worried face.

"Hey Cali. It's always good to hear from ya." Dean smiled.

"You sound a bit worried... what's up." She questioned.

"Sam wants to go home..."

"To Stanford? I dont think that's such a good idea. Everyone there thinks they died when the house burnt down." Cali explained urgently.

"No... not stanford... home... Kansas... where mom..."

"Oh...." she interuptsd with comprehension. "I thought you swore you were never going back there."

"I did, but Sam had a nightmere someone dies in the house... so he and Jess out voted me... son of a bitch, i feel like a third wheel with these two..."

"I know what you mean... anyway back to Kansas, huh? When are you guys leaving..."

"As soon as they pack up..." Dean answered, sighing heavily.

"Ok Dean take a deep breath and relax. Everything is gonna be ok." She assured. Dean took a deep breath and nodded.

"Ok, i gotta go." Dean hung up as Sam and Jess walked out of the room.

When they got to Lawrence they found Missouri. Before they knocked the door opened.

"Don't just stand there gaping get on in here." Missouri ordered turning away from them. "close the door Dean, and quit your cussin'." Missouri ordered.

"I didn't say anything." Dean argued, following Missouri into the living room.

"Missouri is a very inept type of psychic from Africa."

"Cali?" Dean questioned. "Wh... what are you doing here? in Kansas?" He asked.

"You called... and you sounded really upset. So I'm here." Jess cooed loudly earning a glare from both Dean and Cali. "...and made apple pie." Cali finished with a smile setting a plate of the warm food in frontof him. Dean eagerly took a bite groaned in apprciation.

"Ok let's talk about the case." Cali smiled. "I'll keep it distracted while you four get the purification bags in the walls..."

"How are you going to keep it distracted." Jess asked.

"Well I..." Cali started glancing at Dean who was sti stuffing his face.

"Leave that part of the plan up to ms. Cali." Missouri stated. "Now when it realizes whats going on things will get ugly."

Cali fought the seemingly invisible foe easily. She shook her head following its movement's.

"I can see you stupid." She smirked.

"What are you." It hissed.

"Im the nightmere to nightmares like you." She replied.

"Your eyes are black as a demons." It hissed circling her.

"A, they arent actually demons per se... and B, I'm WAY worse for you than a demon." She smiled. It remained silent a long moment.

"GRIMM!" It snarled.

"Bingo bitch!" She laughed then grunted as it used its telekinesis to push her back. "Are you guys done yet!" Cali bellowed.

"Just finished." Dean reported.

"It didn't work."Cali grunted.

"It had to of worked!" Missouri proclaimed.

"NO!" Cali exclaimed as Sam and Dean slamed up to the wall. "Leave them alone!" She shouted pushing against the poltrigists telekinesis. Next thing Dean knew thw force on his chest was gone ad Cali chopped the things head off with a long silver triangular shaped blade. She huffed and looked at her companions.

"Damn!" The brothers said at the same time.

"Fat lotta good you twits did." She snorted.

"That it? Its over?" Jess panted. @strangeangel99 @clockworkmorningglory

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #fanfic #fanfiction #samxjess pairing #grimm

4 notes · View notes

katymacsupernatural · 6 years

Text

Hotel California Chapter 14: Miraculous

Dean Winchester x Reader

1550 Words

Story Summary: After an unfortunate incident at work, you take a couple of days for yourself, planning on staying at the nice restaurant at the edge of town. There you meet a handsome green eyed man who comes to your rescue when you’re visited by a ghost.

Catch Up Here: Masterpost

As you passed in and out of consciousness, you heard Dean as he stumbled towards you, falling down on his knees beside your body that wouldn't follow any of your orders. "Y/N." You heard him yell out, but you were so tired, still in so much pain that you couldn't answer, couldn't even move your little finger to let him know that you were there with him.

You felt his callused hands running along your body, looking for wounds, anything that would show where you were hurting. But it was useless, your pain was on the inside, where Andrew had had his hand wrapped tightly around your heart.

"Y/N, sweetheart, if you can hear me, please open your eyes." He pleaded, his fingers stopping as they reached your flushed cheeks. Straining to open them, you grew frustrated when they stayed close, as if someone had used super glue on your lashes. It was then you felt a drop on your forehead, then another, before your shoulders were gently lifted and you were wrapped in a warm pair of flannel covered arms.

Your body was rocked, back and forth, as Dean rested his head on top of yours. His hand moved move from your cheek, gently pressing against your neck, looking for a sign that you were still on Earth with him. You heard him muttering against your hair as he continued to slightly rock you in his arms. "Come on Y/N, fight. Please. There it is!" He said, his voice growing louder, and he must have found your pulse that was still sluggishly beating.

"Thank god." He exclaimed, leaning his head back down against yours, his arm wrapped tightly around you. Even though you were caught in the middle between consciousness and the unknown, you still reveled in the fact that you were being held in his arms.

You felt yourself growing a little weaker, a little more tired with each passing moment, and you wished you had enough energy to reach up, to slide your hand against his stubbled cheek, to give him one last smile to let him know how much he already meant to you. Instead you lay there, your body at odds with your mind.

"Dean!" You thought you heard Sam yell, and then you wondered if you were starting to imagine things. Sam was supposed to be in the library still.

"In here Sammy! Hurry!" Dean yelled, and if you hadn't been so weak you would have winced at the yell being so close to your ears.

You blacked out for a moment, losing your fight against consciousness. But when you suddenly came to, you felt yourself swinging, but held tightly against something warm and solid. It took you a moment, but then you realized you were being carried by someone. Once the familiar scent wafted your way, you knew it was Dean, with his uniqueness of gunpowder, motor oil, and musk.

You felt yourself gently being lowered, before you felt something soft and giving on your back. It was a bed. You weren't sure if it was in your room, or Dean's but you missed the warmth and the comfort that Dean's arms had provided.

The bed dipped, then you felt a wet washcloth being gently run over your face. "Sam, why won't she wake up? I didn't see any injuries." You heard Dean say from your left.

"I have no idea. But Dean, ghosts can do major injury on the inside. Things that don't show up on the outside. She could be internally bleeding and we would have no idea yet."

"So we just wait?" Dean asked, his voice showing his frustration.

"I'm sorry." You heard Sam sigh. "But Dean, we need to get you fixed up. You're still bleeding from multiple cuts."

"Not until she wakes up." Dean argued, and if you could get control of your muscles you would slap him. You didn't want him to bleed to death because of you.

You heard another sigh, and you figured it came from Sam again. "How about I get the supplies, work on you out here? That way you can keep an eye on her."

You weren't sure what happened next, but Dean shifted in the bed, and you could hear him hissing under his breath. "Damn it Dean, hold still." You heard Sam curse, and you knew he must be stitching Dean's cuts up. You tried hard, struggling against the darkness that held you immobile, wanting to see how badly Dean was hurt. You wanted to be the one tending to his wounds.

You fought so hard, you felt your eyelids flutter open, and you could just make out the back of Dean's blue and red flannel shirt as he struggled to remove it from his shoulders. He turned so he wouldn't hit you as one strong arm was revealed. Upon turning, he glanced down at you, a worried look on his turning into a jubilant one as he noticed your eyes were open.

"Y/N!" He exclaimed, his own cuts and bruises forgotten as he turned his attention completely on you.

You wanted to do more, to reach out and touch him, to speak and tell him that you were glad he was okay. But all you could do was a small smile, the effort of that costing you.

"Y/N, I'm so glad you're okay." He said, reaching out to touch your hand, but before he could, you felt your entire body stiffen up. The slight movement of your smile was too much for your battered heart, and you could feel it seize up. Your entire body stiffened, and you felt tears gather in your eyes at the pain.

Dean must have noticed, because his smile fell away, and he came closer to you, his face inches from yours. "Y/N, what is it? What's wrong? Damn it Sammy, help me!" He said, as you took in a painful breath, before the pain was too much and you faded away, back into the frustrating blackness that wouldn't release it's hold on you.

_____________________________________________

You weren't sure how much time had passed, but you felt yourself slowly waking up once again. This time was much different than last time. There was no longer that excruciating pain that had wrapped itself around your heart. Your body no longer felt as if it was wrapped in cement. You felt perfectly fine, in fact even better than before you had come to the motel.

You were able to take deep, wonderfully deep breaths, each one free and easy. Your head didn't pound, and you reveled in the fact for a moment. But then you noticed, that while your body was no longer held immobile from pain, it was still difficult to move. You felt something heavy and warm wrapped tightly around your middle, spreading up and down your back. It was your own personal heating pad, and while it felt amazing, you really needed to get up and use the bathroom.

Opening your eyes, you slowly twisted to your side, careful not to upset the arms that were currently wrapped tight around you. It seemed like ages, but finally, you came face to face with a sleeping Dean. He was pressed tight up against you, one arm acting as your pillow while the other had snuck under your shirt, and you shivered at the touch of skin on skin.

You took the time to study a sleeping Dean. His eyelashes were longer than you had thought, with his eyes closed they brushed the top of his cheeks, a dark fluttering fullness of eyelashes. He lips were plump and even pinker than you remembered, slightly parted as he breathed deeply. You knew you could get lost trying to count all the freckles that were spattered across his nose and cheeks. He was a gorgeous man, but that was just the tip of the man. Once you looked past the nice physique, the tempting bow legs, and the handsome face, you came to a kind hearted man. One who would do anything for those he loved, and even those he hadn't met yet.

Shaking yourself from your sickeningly sweet thoughts, you scooted back, trying to move out of his grasp. It was tougher than you imagined, and as soon as you gained an inch, he would grumble in his sleep, and move in closer.

What seemed like hours later, you were finally free of his grasp, and you were standing at the side of the bed. You weren't sure what type of medicine they had given you, but it had done it's job. You felt amazing, as if the run in with the ghost had never happened. Thinking on it, you glanced back at Dean, wondering how all of his cuts had been miraculously healed.

Shaking your head, more than a little confused, you didn't pay any attention to where you were going. As you made your way to the bathroom, you ran into a hard chest. "Sorry Sam." You mumbled, not even looking up.

"It's alright. But I am not Sam." A deep, kind of hoarse voice said, and you looked up, into a pair of intense blue eyes. "Hello Y/N."

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acreativelydifferentlove @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @anokhi07 @aubreystilinski @bebravekeeponfighting @colette2537 @crusadedean @deanwinchesters-impala67 @haelyn @ikeneasul11 @its-not-a-tulpa @just-another-winchester @msimpala67 @lenaabs @love-charmer-sketch @ruprecht0420 @shadowhunter7 @sizzlingbearpolice @sleep-silent-angel @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @thesaneone

Hotel California Tags: @abbessolute @brentismeiamhe @catchingshadows-blog @classy-sassyandsmartassy @deansgirl215 @dramaqueenrolf @earthtokace @feelmyroarrrr @georgialouisea @helpmeyouassbutt @iamabeautifulperson18 @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @kbl1313 @lessons-of-red @mina22 @musicistobeheard-blog @myloveforyouxx @nevaeh-potter15 @obsessivecompulsivespn @peaceloveancolor @pilaxia @rhapsody-in-flannel @sizzlingbearpolice @spnfangirl1965 @sunskittlex @superwholock1983 @tmccarney @tjwinchester @walkerbex98 @wolfmoon8269 @yes-this-is-doggo

Forever Tags: @16wiishes @4401lnc @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove @angelsandwinchesters @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @bohowitch @brooke-supernatural16 @brunettechick @captainradicalpassion @chelsea072498 @clairese1980 @captainemwinchester @createdbybadappreciation @darthdeziewok @destiels-new-girl @donnaintx @dont-you-dare-say-misha @dslocum89 @duckieburns @docharleythegeekqueen @dontslurp @emmazach @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @essie1876 @generalgoldfishldrm @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @imboredsueme @ithinkimadorable-67 @iwriteaboutdean @jayankles @jensen-gal @just-another-busy-fangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @keelzy2 @li-ssu @littleblue5mcdork @lowlyapprentice @mellowlandrunaway @mogaruke @my-squirrel-and-moose @nanie5 @oneshoeshort @percussiongirl2017 @pilaxia @pizzarollpatrol @plaid-lover-bay25 @rosegoldquintis @roxyspearing @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @spnbaby-67 @sunskittlex @superbadassnatural @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @thebikiniinspector @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @tmccarney @totallovelesson @tunadean @vvinch3st3r @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen

#hotel california #dean winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural reader insert #katy writes #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester fanfic

89 notes · View notes

akaiitokoibito · 6 years

Note

Hello! Id like a, Ouran and Mystic Messenger Matchup,please. Im a 5'10 virgo,hufflepuff,with short brown curly hair and blue eyes, i enjoy writing and drawing i have a love for aquatic animals, and the ocean and cats, im a very timid and nervous person wjen you first meet me but after a while i can get noisey, i dont quite like noisey people but i can warm up to them pretty fast.

Hello hello! Mod Camellia, here~ After careful consideration, we’ve pinned your soulmates to be Hitachiin Kaoru from OHSHC and Zen from Mysme!

“I can’t believe you actually accepted…”

You didn’t particularly like Kaoru at first; in fact, you sort of found him and his brother slightly annoying for constantly interrupting class with their jokes.

But, with the eye of an artist, you began observing them a little closer. You couldn’t help but notice the bittersweet smiles that one twin would wear as his brother teased Fujioka Haruhi.

Eventually, you agreed to your friends’ insistent pleas and finally came to the Host Club. You claimed it was to gain inspiration for drawing: pretty boys did tend to make great models, after all.

Kaoru didn’t really notice you until one day, when he had lingered a bit behind Hikaru (wondering how much longer their pumpkin carriage would last), you approached him and asked if he was alright.

He could tell by the way that you stared at his feet that you were probably nervous, so he didn’t try the usual “flirty host” approach and shot you a smile. “Don’t worry about me.”

To his surprise, you frowned. “Why shouldn’t I?”

He paused, then gave you a half-smile. “Thanks for your concern. I’ll…I will be alright.”

Ever since then, he couldn’t help but notice you sketching during class (he resisted the urge to call you out on it: the teacher still hadn’t caught on to the fact that you doodled over your notes and he didn’t want to bring unnecessary attention to you).

The professor, an unknowing catalyst to your relationship, paired you two together for an assignment. Well, technically he paired you and Hikaru, but Kaoru had generously agreed to switch with his twin so that Hikaru would spend time with Haruhi. (”Don’t tell anyone, though,” Kaoru whispered to you, grinning sheepishly. “I promise I’ll do my best for the project. It’ll probably be better than what Hikaru can do, anyways.” You couldn’t help but laugh, but acquiesced.)

Thanks to the project, you two grew closer and you began opening up to him.

You two started talking to each other more, sharing interests. During club hours, you’d always be watching him; whenever there was a special event, you’d make sure that Kaoru would never be alone. (He appreciated your company a lot, even though he never could vocalize his gratitude. His more genuine smiles said everything, though.)

Your first date was to the aquarium. Sort of. In actuality, the Host Club had dragged their customers to another outing and you decided to accompany Kaoru to see the dolphins. He was supposed to go around helping the other customers, but it wasn’t his fault that you smiled so cutely while pressed against the glass in an attempt to get a closer look. He bought you a stuffed dolphin. The clerk mistook you two as a couple and dang, you didn’t realize that you were head-over-heels for Kaoru until after the man pointed out how sweet he was to you.

Kaoru realized, the next day, that his heart didn’t hurt as much whenever his unknowingly enamored brother went off with Haruhi; it was because of your constant company.

So, to the surprise of everyone, he asked you out at the end of the day after club activities. (Ouran fangirls, being chill for the most part, squealed and took pictures. Hikaru later accosted them so they’d send him the pictures for blackmail.) It was really cheesy, too. (You later learn that Kaoru is a highkey romantic.) His entire monologue about how kind, sweet, and genuinely amazing you are was lost amidst the loud thumping of your heart.

Hikaru wholeheartedly approves of your relationship. Eventually. He didn’t really notice how close you two were before Kaoru asked you out, but he can tell you make his brother happy and that’s enough for him.

The rest of the Host Club, after Kaoru’s confession, accept you as part of the family and basically treat you two as if you’ve married already.

Your first official date is to a fancy restaurant. It’s usually not your style, but Kaoru had been planning the date for ages and you’d do anything to make him happy. He had everything planned down to the last detail, but the plan went down the drain once a waiter spilled a drink on you.

You two exited the restaurant. It was raining. Kaoru was highkey freaking out about all of the unlucky things that occurred, so he called Hikaru. Unusually enough, his twin had pretty good advice: “just yolo, bro, she’ll like anything as long as she does it with you.”

Kaoru turned to you, asked if you just wanted to ditch the plan completely, and grinned as you kicked your heels off and grabbed your much more comfortable shoes out of your purse. (They were killing you. Also, with them, you were three inches taller than Kaoru and he had been trying to figure out a way to kiss you without seeming awkward.)

You two rain through the rain (in retrospect, probably not the best idea: you got sick, but Kaoru dropped by with a large basket of items ranging from high-class cuisine soup to fancy thermometers gathered by himself and the Host Club so that was a plus) and stumbled upon a small pet shop.

Your smile while adoring the kittens seemed to light up the room, in Kaoru’s eyes.

“Your drawings are beautiful, you know that?”

You two met at one of the RFA’s parties. You had been talking with Jumin about cats, exuding their many virtues, when the CEO needed to take a call.

You happened to spot Zen standing to the side of the ballroom, a small smile on his face as he watched all the guests interact with one another. One of your friends was a huge fan of him, which is why you approached him to ask for his autograph.

He couldn’t understand your request at first, since you were sort of nervous and blurted it out too quickly. He noticed you were feeling nervous, though, and smiled at you (making you more nervous, in all honesty: talking to gorgeous models isn’t really something you do everyday). “Say, you were talking with that Jumin Han, right? Are you his business associate?”

“Ah, no,” you refuted, ducking under your bangs. “I just found out he likes cats like I do. That’s all.”

You noted that Zen twitched and his smile seemed a bit more strained. “Ah, cool. So, an autograph for your friend, you said? How generous~ here, I’ll even throw in one of my selfies.”

“Uh, you don’t have to–”

“I insist!”

You left the party thinking that your friend’s adored idol was…weird, but an alright person. Just out of curiosity, you checked his social media account (was it his? or a bot?) and couldn’t help but note that he wasn’t just a pretty face…but a hard worker, if the pile of scripts strewn across the floor in the background of some of his pictures was any indication. When you gave your friend his autograph, she squealed and immediately deigned herself the duty of introducing you to Zen’s many wonders.

You actually liked his acting a lot: you could tell he put a lot of effort into creating his role. When you were invited to the party again, you couldn’t help but look for him.

“I really liked your role in that one film!” you blurt out as soon as you see him. This makes Zen pause: he’s met a lot of fangirls at RFA parties, to be honest, but it’s rare to meet somebody who appreciates his acting…especially for such an obscure film like that. “How much time did you put into it?”

Zen laughs, rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “Three hours a day, to be honest. I’m not a great actor yet, so I need to work harder.”

You leave the party thinking: yeah, he’s definitely not just a pretty face.

Each party afterwards, you two begin talking more and more. At first, it was just about his roles, but then he started asking about you. Once he found out about your passion for writing, he couldn’t help but ask to see some of your work.

You were nervous as you handed him a script you wrote just the other day with his acting in mind. Somewhere down the line, you grew to value his opinion a lot. Finally, he looked up, his gaze piercing as he said slowly, “Darling, I’d love it if I could act out one of your scripts someday.”

That’s the needle that breaks the camel’s back. You muster enough courage to ask for his number, and you two exchange contact information. He sends you selfies everyday, with just the little things. (”Working hard for that play!” “Thanks for cheering me up, last night.”) You send him little doodles back, which is how he finds out about your passion for drawing. (He loves your drawings, and won’t hesitate to compliment them. “Babe, they’re amazing.”)

One day, you receive a drunk call from him. “[Y/N], I can’t do this anymore,” he complains, the usage of your name shocking you. “I like talking to you too much.”

“I…like talking with you, too, Zen. Is there a problem?”

“I wanna talk to you everyday.”

“We do talk to you everyday.”

“Every. Day,” Zen insists. There’s some unintelligible murmuring, then one of the RFA members come on the phone.

“Uh, is this [Y/N]? Hi, I’m Yoosung…uh, sorry about that…usually I’m the one drunk calling people ahaha, but I guess he’s a bit off today. Listen…I don’t want to sound presumptuous or rude…but…Zen really likes you, you know.” (In fact, you don’t know. But regardless, your heart beats faster.) “I just don’t want to see him being led on…”

“I’m not,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. There’s silence on the other line, then Yoosung snickers and thanks you.

Zen calls you the next day, completely mortified. He apologizes, and you…well, you suddenly lose all of your social grace and composure. “Do you like me?”

There’s silence on the other side of the line, then Zen lets out the cutest laugh you’ve ever heard. “Heh, was I that obvious?” His voice is strangled.

“Sort of,” you laughed.

“Then…do you like me?” There’s hope lining his voice.

“Did you think I didn’t?” you ask, because you know that you’ve been pretty obvious.

You two get together after that.

Although he called you plenty of pet-names before, mostly as a joke (”babe” and “darling” being two of them), Zen’s actually somewhat shy to call you such now, which is cute.

Zen wants to take you to the aquarium for your first date, but you learn of his love for the stars and instead insist on going to the planetarium. It’s an enjoyable night, nonetheless; Zen says a cheesy pick-up line that makes you laugh (he immediately flushes in mortification, but you just lean in closer to him and tell him he’s cute).

The RFA, after lengthy background checks to make sure you weren’t trying to con Zen (Yoosung was your staunch defender; after that one phonecall, he could tell that you both were enamored with each other and made one another happy), invited you to their chat.

Although Zen doesn’t like cats, he puts up with the pictures you and Jumin exchange for you. (You’re considerate enough not to beg for a pet cat when you move in with him, though, and instead you two raise a blue Paradise Beta you name “Crystal” -- Zen insisted on the name because he said the fish’s color reminded him of your crystal-blue eyes.)

Hope you enjoyed it, @matchups-and-stuff!

~ Mod Camellia

#ohshc #ouran #ouran matchup #ohshc matchup #mysme #mysme matchup #matchup #anime matchup #akaiitokoibito

1 note · View note

aestas-wishes · 7 years

Text

Prince!Wonwoo

this boy

so cool, like in the calm and serene way

it could be the hottest part of a desert but just being around him makes you feel cooled off

but like that’s only on the outside

his inner self is a super goofball

not on seungcheol’s level, but he’s up there

for example, he’ll be on his way for a meeting with some great important person. and he’ll just be mindlessly doodling or looking out the window

and when he looks out the window his driver sometimes thinks that he’s thinking about the future or some deep stuff

nope

he thinking about how good it would be to have some fried chicken right about now

because let’s be honest, we all need a constant supply of fried chicken

anyway, he’s a goofball, but only when he’s comfortable around people

otherwise he’ll just be silent and cool, reading his books and stuff

secretly thinking about chicken

okay, moving on from chicken

one day, wonwoo’s parents decide that it’s a good idea to paint a portrait of the crown prince, like all other crown princes before him

sooooooo they hire the best artist they could find in their kingdom

enter you, dear reader, best artist in the kingdom

you normally stay in your apartment on the outskirts of a nearby city, painting to your heart’s content.

when you get the message that you will be painting the crown prince, your heart skips many beat

you’re extremely happy, do not get me wrong, like for the first ten minutes you’re bouncing around and screaming like a madwoman

but then the anxiety sets in

like holy crap you’re painting the prince

what if you mess it up

what if you accidentally make his nose too big?

what IFFFFF

you spend the next five hours worrying about how much you might fail

then you realize that it’s pretty pointless to worry.

you still do anyway.

but you go to the palace anyway

because you can’t deny the prince or his family

you stumble in with your paints and palette and brushes

you brush a stray lock of hair out of your face

apologize for making them wait even though you’re perfectly on time

you take a look at the prince

wonwoo looks at you

and he just smiles

and you immediately feel a little calmer than you once did

he’s just sitting there on a stool waiting for you

“sit down, please, and set everything up,” he says as he stands up

you nod nervously and smile

you get everything set up and wonwoo walks over to your station, just watching everything being set up by your graceful and precise hands

his father told him just to wait to be painted, but he can’t help himself

he looks at all the different brushes

“whats all this?” he asks, honestly curious

you look up at him, surprised

he takes half a step back and smiles

“sorry, i’ve never seen tools like this before,” he says with a grin

you chuckle in surprise

“what? not even a paintbrush?” you ask

he laughs and you feel butterflies breackdancing minghaoing in your stomach

“no i’ve seen paintbrushes, just not this many different kinds,” he admitted, picking up a fan brush and stroking the bristles

you take the brush back and start mega info dumping about the brushes and different paints you brought with you

he just listens and kinda gently messes around with the mustache

“It looks like mustache,” he murmured, grinning

you roll your eyes,

when you’re finished, you look at Wonwoo

“so what are you going to do to paint me?” he asks gently

you take a look at the portraits of Wonwoo’s predecessors, all perfect oils and look refined and regal

you slowly wince, because you don’t think you can see Wonwoo as this way all the time

“i don’t know, maybe i’ll just paint you like your father was painted,” you sighed, and Wonwoo looked at his fathers painting as well

“paint me how you think i should be,” he said steadfastly, turning to smile at you

you feel your cheeks get warm but you nod, getting everything set up

for the next couple weeks you come in and paint Wonwoo while talking to him, making jokes and general smiling at each other

it’s all amazing

you take breaks and then wonwoo brings you to see his garden

and he’s just a goofy bean

and you can’t help but chuckle and do quick sketches of him

you find out more about each other, and about how clumsy both of you can be

but it all goes to heck one day

you’re in the middle of painting him when his father

the KING

comes in to see what you’re doing today

he sees so many colors and his son smiling in the painting

he just stops for a moment

the room is dead silent

you just stare in horror as disgust burns in his eyes at the painting

wonwoo is the first to speak

“father-”

“don’t try,” the king sneers, turning to wonwoo

fear is plastered on wonwoo’s face

“you’re my only heir, wonwoo. you carry our legacy.” he starts to speak, slowly and coldly

his voice is a frozen wasteland

“I expect you to act as such,” he continues, lecturing wonwoo

he turns to you

“please redo the painting in a more dignified manner.” he tells you before leaving

both you and wonwoo release a slow breath you didn’t realize you were holding

you looked at wonwoo

he looks at you

you can’t bear to hold his gaze

“i think i should go home for today,” you murmur

wonwoo opens his mouth to stop you but you’re already starting to pack up and leave

he does nothing to stop you

you leave the castle grounds and head back to your home

you fall on you bed and just stare at your wall for a very long time before you realize you were crying

you wipe your tears and stare at the portrait that the king hated so much

all you could see was the prince smiling at you, like he had just finished laughing at one of your jokes

it was almost taunting you

it confounded you

it really made you kinda PISSED

how could something this beautiful make the king so angry

needless to say you did not return to the castle for a very long time

weeks passed

wonwoo missed you more and more with each day

it was driving him crazy how much he missed you

even some minister’s mustache reminded him of you

the king noticed wonwoo growing more and more grumpy

he had sent letters to you, and wonwoo did too

but they all ended up on your desk, for you were too busy

busy fixing the painting, so that it was good for the king

it was he who was paying you after all, not the prince

you were barely sleeping or eating

you devoted all your time to that painting

which might i say is unhealthy!

quite! qUITE uNhEaLtHY!!!!

anyway

your hair is in your face

you’re sweating because you are so stressed, and you feel like this painting is worse than ever

you glance over to your desk

you pick up a letter, wiping your forehead

so, so, so tired

you read something about offering more money, triple what you were going to be offered in the first place

your head really hurts

pounding, throbbing, drums

wonwoo decides enough is enough

you pick up another letter

vision blurring

“please come up”

“i loved the painting”

“i loved having you around”

“i love you”

you hear a knock on the door, and you feel yourself hit the floor

then darkness

you wake up in your bed, and with a monster headache

the headache to end all headaches

your eyesight focuses and above you you see wonwoo, making sure your forehead is cool and you’re comfortable

“if i’m dreaming, dont wake me up,” you mumble, giving a breath of relief

you hear a soft chuckle in return

“i’m afraid that you are no longer dreaming” wonwoo smiles at you

finally you’re aware enough to know what is going on and you start pushing his hand away

“oh wonwoo, get out of here! i have to get back to work, your painting,” you started to protest and sit up

but wonwoo gently but FIRMLY pushed you back into bed

“no you’re obviously ill, even a prince like me can see that,” he responded, getting some food out of a basket he brought

“uuUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHH”

“what?” wonwoo asks, looking at you concerned

“i just need to work on your painting!” you shout

“your stupid painting that I can’t ever get right and its horrible horrible HORRIBLE,” you start weeping

wonwoo just quietly holds your hand while you shake and weep

you calm down eventually after minutes of crying

“y/n, i know you’re porbably stressed-”

“prOBABLY?!?!?!?!!!!!” you screech

wonwoo blinked and shook his head

“you are VEry stressed, and i’m sorry about that. but please hear me when I say i love the painting you did, the first one”

“oh shut it.” you cover your hand

“no, listen, it was magnificent. almost as magnificent as you,” he murmured softly, stroking your hand.

you go still

“what was that?” you whispered

wonwoo took in a slow breath. he forgot that he had said that

it kinda fell out. whoops

but there was no going back

“y/n, please don’t think this forward of me, but i think i am… well… terribly in love with you,” he said quietly

silence fell on you both

“wonwoo,” you spoke

“don’t say anything, you’re sick, you silly,” he said quickly, going back to taking care of you

everytime you treid to speak, he shot you down

eventually he left

you got better

you began work on your painting once more

and a month later you sent a letter to the king telling him that you were coming back with a finished painting

he told wonwoo and he was ecstatic

the day finally came around when you arrived with a covered painting

the king gathered an audience for the great reveal

you went in front of them with the painting

you took a breath

wonwoo met your eyes and smiled

“this picture is the mage of the prince that will one day be our king. i hope you all like it.” you announced before taking the cloth off the painting

it was the original painting, finished proper

the king was flabergasted, but wonwoo couldn’t help but grining

“i love it!” wonwoo shouted, running to pick you up on his arms

he hugs you and sweetly kisses you on the lips

you are shocked but kiss him back

when you pull away you are smiling

“i think i love you too, your highness,” you grin

wonwoo chuckles and just kisses you

and its SOOOOOO CUUUUUUTE LET THE PRINCE HAVE HIS TRUE LOVE

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagine #seventeen imagines #wonwoo imagine #wonwoo scenario #seventeen scenario #prince!au #prince!wonwoo #btsastroand17wishes #member: wonwoo #wonwoo scenarios

212 notes · View notes