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raz-writes-the-thing · 7 months

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Five More Minutes (Good Omens Drabble)

Aziraphale x Crowley x GN!Reader / requests are: open and encouraged

Summary: Your partners catch you singing under your breath.

CW: tooth rotting fluff- make your dentist appointments now

Gomens Tag List: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

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It’s a peaceful morning, for once. No impending doom, no threat of Armageddon, no Heaven or Hell bearing down on all sides. Just a lovely, quiet morning. Your partners had left already by the time you had gotten up in the morning, off doing something they shouldn’t, you supposed. Usually, they’d invite you with them, but they must have known you’d needed a sleep-in. In all honesty, you had been getting a little crabby lately.

There was just something different about today. Maybe it was the warm light pouring through the kitchenette window… Fresh sunlight always made you feel fresh and centred. You popped the jug on and moved over to the radio to turn it on. You had discovered some time back that Aziraphale had put a miracle on the old, vintage thing to instantly find a station that was playing one of your favourite artists. When you’d asked him about this, he’d blushed and spluttered out that he didn’t think you’d notice. He loved doing little things like that for you.

Today, the little radio knew exactly what it was doing and flipped to a station playing one of your favourite songs. You grinned, swanning about the kitchenette to make yourself a cup of tea. You were humming and singing along with the song as you went, hips bopping and swaying just slightly to the music. Yeah, today was going to be a good day.

When you’d made your tea and breakfast, you pulled all the items into the back office room of the Bookshop, settling them down and wandering over to the bookcase Crowley had put in for you, saying you should have somewhere for your own books to read. The both of them sometimes left little novellas and things they thought you might like somewhere on the shelf for you to find, too. It was incredibly sweet of them.

It was as you were reaching up for a book just out of your reach on the top shelf that a warm hand pressed into your side and another hand reached for the novel you were going for. You all but shrieked in surprise, and twirled around to see Crowley lounging on your office chair and Aziraphale pressing up against you with a soft smile on his lips. Crowley was giving the two of you an incredibly soft barely imperceptible smile. Not something you necessarily see a whole lot from him.

“Here, my dear, let me get that for you,” the Angel says softly, grabbing the book and passing it to Crowley, who takes it without question or complaint. You give Aziraphale a confused look. You wanted that. “It’s been quite some time since we heard you singing, love.”

Your cheeks flushed the lightest shade of pink. A nervous giggle bubbled out of you.

“Oh, you heard that, did you?”

“Fraid so, Pet,” Crowley said, a little smirk edging its way onto his features. The Demon discarded his sunglasses on the desk. “Better than Mercury, in my opinion.”

You rolled your eyes and looked back at your Angel, who had been surreptitiously placing one hand on your waist and one in your own. With a look towards Crowley, the Demon leaned over to turn the radio up. You grinned, joy radiating off you in waves. Your lovers seemed to bask in its warmth as Aziraphale led you in a dance. He always did love to dance.

When Aziraphale danced with you, it was soft, and usually some kind of dance he’d learned many years ago and seemed all too determined to bring back to the twenty-first century. When Crowley danced with you it was chaotic and without form, the both of you jumping around and doing whatever seemed to fit the song and the moment. You loved them both.

Crowley stood and came to stand behind you. He wrapped his arms around the both of you, and Aizraphale dropped your waist and your hand to do the same, so you were cocooned in love and affection. You sighed in pure relief, leaning into them.

Crowley started to sway to the music. Back and forth, humming softly to the tune. It was one of your favourites, so he’d heard it plenty of times. More than enough to learn the melody and the words.

You basked in their love for a few more minutes before clearing your throat sadly.

“As much as I am loving this, my tea will be going cold.” Yet you made no movements to escape their embrace.

“No, it won’t,” Crowley replied knowingly, resting his chin on the top of your head as you swayed to the beat. Ah, he’d pulled a miracle to keep your tea and breakfast hot. How thoughtful of him.

“Just five more minutes, my dear?” Aziraphale asked softly, sighing with pleasure into your shoulder. How could you say no to that?

“Five more minutes, then,” you agreed.

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dantesunbreaker · 9 months

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Why Do You Lie? Ch. 3/3

Daryl Dixon x Transmasculine Reader

I have this posted on Ao3, but I like having my work cross posted. This has some pretty heavy themes so be warned. I kind of hate this chapter. It was rushed and I wasn't motivated. Some traumatic stuff happened during the writing of it so I went a month without working on it. So apologizes if it doesn't live up to the rest of the story.

Trigger Warnings: Attempted Suicide, Mention of Transphobia, Mentions of Drug Overdose, Self Harm, Mental Illness

Stunned sums up about all that Daryl can feel in the moment as he staggers backwards when you barrel past him into the cell block. Shit. Of all the things, making you cry was the last thing that Daryl wants to be responsible for. Just.. he always struggled with this kind of thing. Relationships. Emotions. Anything of the like was almost like a foreign concept to him, something that would just make his head spin when he tried to wrap his mind around it. Not that he didn’t want those things. He really did. Especially with you. But it is far easier to fall back on old ways than to adapt to change. Kind of like the saying you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Daryl sometimes sure felt like an old dog.

With a heavy sigh, the archer crouches down to examine the bottles spilling out from your discarded messenger bag. Taking the time to actually read the label, Daryl finds himself still at a loss for what it could possibly be. It’s baffling. Merle was notorious for his experimenting with drug use. If you could get high from it, you can bet your ass that Merle had tried it at least once. So why didn’t Daryl recognize this one?

Lifting your bag, Daryl stuffs all the bottles back into your bag and sets his way towards the one person he trusted to know the answers to what it was and why you were after it. Hershel. Probably the only other person at the prison you readily would confide in. With such a calm, gentle soul, the old man could put anyone at ease. Daryl finds him in the infirmary, book in hand as he peacefully reads to pass the time.

“Hey,” Daryl breaks the silence as he steps into the room, setting your bag down on the table but choosing to remain standing opposite Hershel. “Can I ask ya somethin’?”

Giving a content hum, Hershel snaps the book shut and sets it down on the table as he turns to give the archer his undivided attention.

“Certainly. How can I be of service today?”

In one swift motion a single bottle is pulled from your bag and placed onto the table directly in front of Hershel with the label facing him. A word hasn’t even left Daryl’s lips before the older man is plucking the bottle off the table and turning it over in his hands.

“Hopin’ ya might be able to tell me whatever this is used for,” Daryl explains as he shifts anxiously from one foot to the other, a small pit of dread forming in his gut.

“Propranolol. It’s a beta blocker, which means it blocks the effects of epinephrine. Adrenaline. Commonly you will see it used to treat heart conditions or high blood pressure, but in some cases it may also be used in treating the physical effects of anxiety,” the bottle is once more set on the table between them. “Not something on our usual lists of medicines. Who did we pick this up for?”

That small feeling of dread forming in Daryl’s gut is suddenly a dense heavy weight that makes him feel he might drop to the floor. Of course. With all the time spent watching over you or spent with you, he knew you to be a highly anxious individual. The hunter in him often thought of you as a skittish buck, always moments from freezing in the metaphorical headlights or bolting for the trees. Things as simple as a wrong word said in conversation could stall you up, with only Daryl’s hand resting on your shoulder seeming to pull you back to reality. But somehow Daryl never put much thought to your behavior. With the way Daryl felt towards you, it was hard not to think everything about you was normal and perfect.

“Y/N,” Daryl finally manages to get his dry tongue into motion. “Had his whole bag stuffed with ‘em. Froze up and nearly got himself bit doin’ so. I uh... sorta got into it with him about. Twice. ”

“I suppose that’s why the boy seemed so distressed when I saw him run past?” The archer gives a short nod. “Well, you best go find him and not waste anymore time. Y/N is a very troubled young man. I fear that he may do something rash to himself if he hasn't already.”

Fear spikes at Daryl’s heart as he realizes the gravity of the situation. Heart thudding against the cage of his ribs, Daryl bolts towards the only way you could have gone. How could he have been so stupid? Hershel watches as the archer races away before he slowly stands to begin gathering supplies to prep the infirmary. If you were still alive, your best chance for survival was to be able to get the necessary medical help as soon as possible.

Reaching the cell block he had helped clean not too long ago, Daryl throws open the door and takes a cautious step through. Part of him expects, hopes, that you would pop your head out of one of the cells to greet him. But of course that isn’t the case. However, about halfway down the block the archer thinks he can see something scattered across the floor. Impending dread seeps further into his senses as he takes silent steps closer. Tiny blue pills pepper the ground in a sporadic pattern.

No! Rounding the corner into the cell, Daryl feels as if his heart stops dead in his chest at the sight of your crumpled form pressed back against the wall. Crimson pools on the ground just below you while a slow dribble continues from your left wrist. Dropping to his knees without grace, Daryl rips the bandana from his pocket. In most circumstances he would care more about the cleanliness of the scrap of fabric, but in his urgency he doesn’t bother checking. All that matters at the moment is getting something around your wrist to staunch the flow of blood. Tightly, perhaps too tight for your comfort, Daryl binds your injured wrist with his own trembling hands.

“Come on, Y/N,” Daryl’s words come out as a pained growl, fingers traveling up your neck in search of your pulse. A short lived wave of relief crashes over him when he feels the still steady beating of your heart. Having a pulse was good, but it didn’t guarantee that you were out of the woods.

Rough, calloused fingers brushing against your cheeks slowly coaxes you back to the realm of consciousness. Worried crystal blue eyes peer back into your eyes the moment you convince your eyelids to flutter open. Perhaps there is life after death. Why else would the man you’ve been secretly pining over for so long be kneeling in front of you? But then the pain returns and hits you like a sack of bricks. Of course, it would be far too good to be true to think you had made it to heaven. A swift and peaceful death would be too much to ask for.

“Daryl?” Your voice is thick as if from sleep, a dull ache beating at your throat.

“I’m here,” the archer shuffles closer, open palms moving to cup your cheeks as his thumbs stretch to the corners of your eyes as if it somehow would help keep them from closing again. “Stay with me, sunshine.”

There is a soft fluttering in your heart at the gentle tenderness the normally gruff archer seems to display in this moment of darkness. So unlike your previous interactions of the day. A sad smile paints your lips as you feel the need to rest once again pulling at your senses.

“You have such beautiful eyes,” you can’t keep back a half giggle half content sigh. “For what it’s worth... I love you. I care for you... Always have.”

With a trembling hand, you reach up with your blood stained appendage to stroke the archer’s cheek, leaving a trail of scarlet in its wake. For a moment you swear you can see unshed tears welling up behind those crystal blue orbs.

“I. Love. You,” you hope to drive the message home. If anything, Daryl needs to know that he is capable of being loved, that he is worth something.

When your eyes snap closed, the archer lets out an undisguisable sound of protest as he attempts to keep you from slipping away from him. Pulling you to him, Daryl presses you tight into his chest and holds you there for a tense moment. Then you are lifted up and cradled against his chest and supported by his arms. Carrying you back to the infirmary seems to take an eternity, though only because Daryl knows that your life's on the line. Sweat clings to the archer’s skin as he is finally easing your limp frame onto the bed Hershel already has prepared for you. Stricken with shock, the archer can do little more than stand beside the bed with a feeling of numbness as he finally pulls away from you. Only the nudge at his shoulder from Hershel breaks him from his stupor.

“Daryl. Daryl, I need you here with me son,” there is a sense of urgency in the older man’s voice, yet he manages to stay calm and collected. “Tell me how you found him.”

Spying the blood soaked bandana around your wrist, Hershel presses two fingers to your neck in search of your pulse. It is still there beating slow but steady. Now it is the matter of doing what he can to keep it that way.

“In one of the empty cell blocks,” Daryl is quick to answer, watching Hershel’s every move intently. “Bleedin’ from the wrist there,” he points to the fabric Hershel is slowly unwrapping. “Had little blue pills all over the floor around him. Managed to keep him awake for about a minute or two before he was like this.”

A sigh leaves Hershel. “Do you know how many he took?” Daryl responds with a shake of his head. “Let’s hope not enough. We don’t have anything on hand to treat a beta blocker overdose.”

Tense silence washes over the room as the archer begins to anxiously pace back and forth across the concrete floor. He hates this feeling. Like he is powerless, useless to do anything to help you. But he doesn’t know enough about medical shit to be of any help. He would just be in the way. So he just has to place all his trust in that Hershel will do his best for you.

“Y/N is a lucky young man,” Hershel hums as your wound is exposed to the world and wiped clean with a damp towel. “He hit a vein instead of an artery. Bleeds slower.” In fact, part of the wound is already beginning to clot and slow the flow of blood leaking out of you. “Appears he also managed to go without causing any severe nerve or tendon damage. Indeed a lucky man.”

Glancing over Hershel’s shoulder, the archer considers the wound, stunned to only see a wound no longer than an inch and a quarter. How could something so small have the potential to cause such damage? The time it took between Hershel tying off the few stitches and securing a fresh clean bandage around your wrist was miniscule.

“I’ve done what I can,” Hershel begins to clear away the supplies, cleaning up the impromptu workstation. “Physically, he will be alright,” the older man turns to fixate Daryl with a particular look. “Psychologically, he may still need some help. Y/N is going to need you, Daryl.”

Sucking in a much needed breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding, Daryl gives a wordless yes as he fights the feeling of tears wanting to tickle at his eyes. As Hershel leaves the room Daryl continues to pace the floor for a few tense moments before he drops into a chair he pulls up alongside the bed.

It seems like hours that Daryl sits beside your bed, eventually reaching to pull your hand to rest in his lap. Eventually you begin to stir in the bed, making soft groaning noises as your face scrunches up in discomfort. Hopeful, the archer squeezes your hand ever so slightly in hopes to coax you further back to him. Blinking a few times you manage to return to the land of the living. Even the dull lighting of the prison hurts your eyes, but you focus on pushing past it.

“Hey,” is all you hear from your side as you finally take note of a firm hold on your hand.

Forcing your head to turn, you feel a pause in the beating of your heart as you see none other than Daryl gazing back at you with a look of pained fondness. Why was he here? Why was he looking at you that way? What happened? And then it all comes rushing back to you. The pills, the arguments, the blood...and Daryl finding you with tears hiding behind his eyes.

Before you can say anything, Daryl breaks the silence. “I’m sorry,” there is regret dripping from his voice as he stares back at you. “Hershel told me...about what the pills are for. I’m real sorry, I shouldn’t have been so hard on ya without knowin’... And I don’t expect ya to just forgive me. But I didn’t ever want to hurt you like this.”

“I forgive you,” you blurt out without a thought. It was never in question that you would forgive him, people make mistakes all the time without thinking about it. And, you knew that Daryl would truly want to cause anyone pain or distress on purpose. “Just...don’t do it again please?”

He nods simply. For a while, you think that is the end of the conversation. You glance down at the bandages wrapped tight around your wrist and can only assume Hershel took care of you. Despite the circumstances, you are grateful. Some things just happen for a reason. The world must still have some purpose for you.

“Look,” Daryl lets out a sigh after a long moment and turns his gaze to your hand still in his lap. “Ya know I’m not real good with this shit, but I’m tryin’. But...I like bein’ with you, caring for you. I’m a fool for not sayin’ nothin’ sooner.” There is a long pause of silence, you ever so patiently waiting for his next words with bated breath. “But, if you’ll have me...I’d like to be your fool.”

A new pain blooms in your heart, but not in an unwelcome way. Rather, you feel your very being ache in that moment for Daryl. But also for yourself. It is hard to fight against what you know and is your comfort, no matter how much you want what’s waiting just on the other side.

Sensing the archer’s growing unease at your lack of answer you finally part your lips. “I’d love nothing more, Daryl. I’ve sorta been hoping for a long time that you might feel that way,” feeling shy, you try to push away the heat rising up your cheeks.

Silence that is not quite comfortable, but not quite awkward fills the room as both of you look at anything around the room besides each other. It will be a while before there is a sort of comfortable ease in this newly formed relationship. Neither of you really knows how to do this, but you know that it is worth it as you feel Daryl gently squeeze your hand that still rests within his. Pink dusts his cheeks as he continues to look at the wall beside you, but there is an innocent smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

#daryl dixon x ftm reader #daryl dixon x trans reader #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #walking dead fanfiction

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purgemarchlockdown · 4 months

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I should be fixing up my responsibilities but no I'm monster theory posting, specifically about Thesis IV: The Monster Dwells at the Gates of Difference

So in that part of the book (I unfortunately don't have the full copy...sad day for monsterlovers <- me) it discusses about how monsters embody the Other. The reveal that the system we all consider an essential part of reality is actually arbitrary. That it isn't a inherent norm but something that we (society) dictated as the norm. The monster exists outside of that and thus threatens it by revealing the fragility of it.

Now, I put a picture of Muu because, by threatening the seemingly binary ideas of both savior/victim and queen/servant by being able to be both. She threatens the concept that there is something Inherent to people that makes them one or the other. That someone could actually be both or neither or whatever else.

But this applies to basically all the cast as well!

Amane, because I am predictable, threatens a lot of ideas for both savior/victim and also ideas about adults and children. Her main argument in T1 is that she is like an adult in the ways that matter, that her thoughts and feelings and emotions matter in the way an adult's does.

(Apostle And Death)

Amane: I see. Then, are the things that I as a twelve-year-old think irrelevant? Are you going to cast aside the feelings that I know I have in this very moment, purely based on the fact that I have not yet lived for a very long time? Judging these things based on someone’s age will not take you very far. Do I, at age twelve, not have my own will? Does Muu-san, at age 16, have more of a free will than I do? Does Yuno-san, at age 18, have more of a free will? Does Fuuta-san, at age 20, have an entirely free will?

Amane, by saying this, is threatening the very concept that, since she is a child she has no sense of agency or free will. That her feelings do actually matter and are not something that to be discarded because she is too young.

That, in her own words:

T1Q6: What is the difference between an adult and a child? A: There is no borderline there. I think there are grown-up children and childish grown-ups.

That's a threat since Amane's abuse is partially held up by the idea that, since she is a child and misguided and her emotions are less "meaningful" she needs to be properly taught.

If we acknowledge that Amane's emotions have merit then we also have to acknowledge that what they do to her (and we, the Audience did to her in T1) was...to use the lightest word possible, unfair.

Now there's 10 more things I could talk about here in how Amane highlights the difference (or lack of difference) and how that makes her a threat (she actively points out how similar our society and her cult can be one for one) but I Cannot make this all about Amane, so continuing on.

Since Milgram writes these characters like....characters, and thus people, and highlight how similar they are to each other and how they relate to the cast and how We, the Audience aren't that different from them and the people they hurt them either it also presents a threat to the audience's comfort...which brings this back to Amane oh dear-

I'd also bring up Yuno, since Yuno gets angry with us for creating an acceptable version of her that keeps the audience comfortable, and Fuuta also brings up how the Audience isn't all that different from him and Kotoko, but Amane's Situation is my favorite example since we Emulate her abuse. We continue it. There's not much separating us and her mother to her.

It's a threat to the Audience's sense of morals and integrity. That No, there is Nothing actually separating us from being "bad people" or "good people" or "murderers" or whatever other term you want to use. That we are all people, and thus capable of the same Person flaws and mistakes.

That idea is a threat because we have to Assert that NO we wouldn't do something like that because we are good moral people who Wouldn't do Something That Horrible.

Because if there is really No Difference between Us and Them then...what does that mean?

#milgram #amane momose #yeah sure ill maintag this #milgram thoughts

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stormwaterwitch · 2 years

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I dont think i have a future. Seriously. Nor do I think my friends like me much, im too dramatic and loud, too stupid to get things right. I only hurt and confuse people. I need someone.

Hey sugar~

Thanks for reaching out to me ♥

This is just going to be me blathering so take what you want and discard what you don't need/want to do okay?

I remember feeling the exact same way at one point in my life about my old friends group from high school. My best friend and I had a falling out and it turns out none of the people I thought were my friends were my friends and were only friends with me because of her, which really hurt to discover in the back half of my senior year. I had no real group, but I made friends with some of my other classmates and ended up with a few new people who were kind to me. We never ended up becoming super besties like how close the old group and I had been but it was comforting enough to not have to sit through lunch alone that I was content.

I tried being friends with that group again a few years later but I couldn't get how they treated me out of my head and what helped me the most was taking those people out of my life for good. It hurt me to be friends with people who had been so rude and mean to me, even if they 'didn't mean to be'. I'd held on for as long as I had because they had become "familiar" and were "what I knew" and I longed for that same nostalgia. But it never came back and that realization was the hardest part.

If you're close to your friends group maybe you can try bringing up how you're feeling to them and help them be aware that you're in a tender state. Their reactions will tell you all you need to know going forward.

And let's face it: Putting yourself out there to meet new people/make new friends can be scary as fuck. There's the whole re-getting introduced to others, relearning how to not overshare/info dump all at once, as well as building that trust in that friendship. It takes effort. It does. But I know you will find your herd of people who love and enjoy your company for all that you are.

::Content Warning- Suicidal Ideation Mentioned below the cut::

As for no future: I'm going to be completely honest with you: I didn't think I would live past the age of 25. No joke. I had it in my head that I would die at 25, and here I am, six years later at 31 looking back and laughing at the absurdity. Life can be hella daunting, it piles and piles and piles with no end in sight. The constant feeling of drowning among responsibilities for family, life, job, friends: It's a LOT!!!!

If I'd died at 25 I wouldn't have my story that I'm working toward publishing, I wouldn't have gotten married. I wouldn't have my husband or my son.

At 25 I'd had no plans on publishing a book let alone writing it. But I'm still here: and so are you. You're still here. It's okay to not know what you want your future to be like. It's okay to take life one day at a time. Whatever gets you through the day is what gets you through.

Something that I've been doing this last year was a gratitude journal. Just write down one thing every day that you're happy/thankful for. Doesn't have to be anything big, could be that you got to sleep in an extra hour. Just something that at the end of the day you can look back on and say: Yeah, I enjoyed that.

It's hard to see the good through all the bad, so make it a point to look for the good everyday when you can.

If it really feels bad please reach out to your support system and/or consider therapy/journalling to help work through everything.

Some links to help:

I hope this helps.

I'm rooting for you ♥

#Anon #Thanks for sending this in Anon #CW: Suicidal Ideation mention #For those who need it #for those who don't #Also that song is a good song #it's my calming song I listen to when I get overwhelmed with life #The lyrics are also really pretty too #Everything's Alright- Laura Sugihara

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bensolosbluesaber · 3 years

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Returning a Favor (Zemo x Reader fic)

TFATWS Ep. 4 Spoilers!!

Summary: When your old friend, Sam Wilson, needs your help in Riga you drop everything and go. You knew they broke Baron Helmut Zemo out of jail, but you didn't expect to bond with the villain. (AKA: I thought getting hit in the face by the Shield would at least leave a bruise. Here's how that would go down with a fourth person.)

CW: Blood, wounds, some creepy behavior (not from Zemo), a few Y/N inserts

No smut yet, just cute cuddles and taking care of each other. Maybe smut in the future though! Let me know if you want a Part 2 or added to a tag list for potential future fics! I think the reader can be any gender; I tried to write it that way and be inclusive, but please tell me if I messed up!

If you know me in real life, no you don't:) I write most of my fics on @aurora521 and write on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the same name. Please don't come for me about finding Zemo attractive.

Hope you enjoy!

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Returning a Favor

Meet me in Riga. -S

That was the text you received from Sam Wilson, your old military friend, yesterday. And now here you are, outside the Riga airport walking toward Sam in traditional undercover superhero attire- a baseball hat and sunglasses.

“Thanks for coming,” he greeted. “We have a little problem.”

“Is his name Baron Helmut Zemo by chance?” You asked, following him to a jet black sports car.

You were very aware of just what type of trouble Sam was getting himself into since you, a SWORD agent, still had access to all kinds of classified information.

“See for yourself,” Sam muttered, gesturing to the back door of the car and climbing in the driver's seat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and slid into the back. And yes, Zemo was there, lounging back with legs spread. He’s wearing a long coat with fur lining, a deep purple shirt, black pants, and shiny leather shoes. He nods to you and smirks ever so slightly. Bucky Barnes, who you had only heard about but recognized immediately, turns from his spot in the front seat and smiles at you.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N,” he says.

“And I you,” you respond.

Sam pulls out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. The ride is mostly silent, Sam and Bucky bickering occasionally. That made you smile, knowing that as much as Bucky annoyed Sam, this was the type of relationship he craved. Zemo watched you the entire drive, sizing you up.

The home they’re staying at is obviously the Baron's. He’s comfortable there, leaning against the counters, rifling through cabinets, lounging on the couch.

“So what am I doing here?” You finally asked.

The three men interact easily, and either Sam or Bucky is always watching Zemo. There’s no real need for a fourth person to get involved, at least not in your mind.

“Someone needs to babysit the Baron,” Sam explained with an annoyed sigh.

Zemo shrugged with a smirk so innocent it’s sinister. He’s still wearing that ridiculous coat.

“The two Avengers can’t handle him?”

“I believe your friends find it challenging to be around me,” Zemo answered for Sam.

“You shot a man in the head yesterday!” Sam snapped. “You antagonize Bucky at every turn. Forgive us for needing a break from whatever is happening in your fucked up head.”

Zemo tilts his head as if agreeing with everything Sam had just said.

“Anyway,” Bucky interrupted. “We have a lead on Karli. You can sleep off some jet lag while we’re gone, but starting tonight it’s your turn to keep track of him.”

You settled into a small bedroom. The moment your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep. At home it’s nearly ten at night; here it’s midday.

The trio is back all too soon, heralded by a slam of a door, and you force yourself to wake up to adjust to the time change as rapidly and effectively as possible. As you open the door to the living room, Bucky is stalking toward Zemo. He grabs the teacup from Zemo’s hand and hurls it against the wall.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, staring at Zemo with an unnerving glint in his eyes.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him,” Sam jumped up and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

Bucky’s face softened slightly. Zemo stops tilting his head.

“Let me make a call,” Sam says and walks away.

“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offers Bucky with a mocking tone.

“No. You go ahead,” Bucky hissed, and after a moment of staring, he followed Sam out of the room.

You had watched Zemo for that entire exchange, noticed the slightest flinch and hint of fear when Bucky had grabbed that cup. The moment the other two men are gone and Zemo thinks he’s alone, he pours himself another cup. His hand is steady, but he draws a sharp, unsteady breath.

You move out of the room, and Zemo looks up at you from his spot on the couch. Without a word, you walk into the kitchen, taking a roll of paper towels and carefully picking up the shattered glass.

“I can do that,” Zemo says, speaking directly to you for the first time.

His voice is calm, accent thick.

“It’s alright,” you answer, then gasp sharply as a piece slices your pointer finger from tip to palm. “Fuck.”

You set the bloody piece with the pile of glass and hold a paper towel to your hand. You used the other hand to wipe tea off the wall and floor before picking up the glass piled on a paper towel and placing it in the trash, carefully tucked in other garbage.

“Let me.”

Zemo’s voice behind you makes you jump. You eye him for a moment wondering if there is some ulterior motive, some way he could hurt you or hold you hostage. Nothing comes to mind, not with Sam and Bucky so close, so you hold out your bleeding hand. He clicks his tongue at the wound.

When he takes your hand in his, his fingers are soft and warm. He moves your wound under a faucet and lets water run, rinsing the blood down the sink. He squeezes the wound a bit, and you wince as it begins to bleed more.

“We bleed to clean our wounds. It is the body’s way of protecting itself,” he says and presses a towel to your finger as he shuts off the water. “Ironic isn’t it. The very thing meant to protect us from future danger, often kills us first.”

“I’m not here to debate the ethics of superheroes with you.”

“Hold that,” he lets go of your hand and opens another cabinet. “I know how I feel about enhanced humans. There is nothing for me to debate.”

Zemo takes your hand back in his. You watch his face as he works. He uses his mouth to remove the wrapping from a butterfly bandage. The bleeding has slowed, and he uses the bandage to pull your torn skin back together. The cut isn’t terrible, certainly not the worst injury you’ve ever had, but it will scar. He adds two more strips, then places an absorbent pad over it and wraps it all in gauze.

“When we get back, I’ll change that for you.”

“I’ll hope you don’t get killed then,” you offer with a grateful smile.

He doesn’t respond but gestures to you to join on the couch. You do, keeping what you feel is a safe distance between the two of you. Zemo hands you a cup of warm tea, but as you grab it, he doesn’t let go. Your undamaged fingers brush his for a long moment and he chuckles.

“Promise not to take after your friend James? I quite like this tea set.”

Your eyebrows knit together as he smiles at his own joke and finally surrenders the cup to you. That’s the last words you two exchange, and when Bucky and Sam return ready for the next part of the mission, they find the two of you sitting in silence sharing a pot of tea.

___

When the three men returned, Sam and Bucky held an unconscious Zemo between them. You jumped off the couch, the book you had been reading discarded, and let them lay Zemo down.

“What happened?”

“John Walker,” the two men answered in the same disgusted tone.

You leaned over Zemo, finally seeing the blood and bruise on his right temple.

“This one disappeared for a few minutes, shot Karli-”

“Didn’t kill her,” Sam interrupted, sounding relieved.

Much like Sam, you sympathized with Karli’s motives if not her methods. And much like Sam, you were glad she hadn’t died.

“Then Walker knocked him out with the shield,” Bucky finished.

There was no jab at Sam this time for which you were grateful.

“Which is the only useful thing he did,” Sam added. “Zemo destroyed the rest of the serum, so right now he’s above Walker in my book.”

You looked down at Zemo, blood had dripped down his face and neck, though most of it was dried now. His eyelids twitched as he slept.

“Are you two okay?” You asked as you walked toward the bathroom.

“Fine. We ditched Walker, but we’ll need to get out of here as soon as we figure out what to do with Karli,” Sam answered, collapsing on the couch with a heavy sigh.

You dampened a washcloth in the bathroom and on your way back to the living room, grabbed the first aid kit Zemo had used on you earlier.

“What are you doing? He’ll be fine,” Bucky muttered.

He was sitting next to Sam now.

“Returning a favor,” you answered as you knelt at Zemo’s side.

You dabbed at the drying blood with the cloth, wiping it off his cheek, out of his hair. Somehow the coat came out unscathed. Sam and Bucky were talking about something behind you, but you were entirely focused on the unconscious man.

Zemo had a handsome, aristocratic face, and he walked like royalty, like he was untouchable. This was evidence he wasn’t.

You moved to the actual wound next. The cloth was soft, unreasonably so. A large hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing tightly. You inhale sharply and shift your gaze to Zemo’s hand then his eyes. When your eyes met his, he seemed to relax, releasing you and letting his hand fall at his side.

“Apologies,” he grunted, mouth twitching with pain.

“It’s alright,” you answer calmly, very aware that the other men had stopped talking and were fixated on a potential threat. “Turn your head please.”

You put a hand on his cheek and turned him to face you to get a better look at the wound that was still seeping slowly.

“The new Captain America might force me to reconsider my stance on superheroes. I would enjoy seeing Sam and James have a go at him,” Zemo said as you prod the wound.

You wiped the cut with antiseptic, and Zemo hissed a bit at that but said nothing. Then, just like he had done to you, you placed three butterfly bandages on the cut. It wasn’t deep, just long and jagged.

“You’re my new favorite,” he joked with a little grin.

You laughed and walked to the kitchen for some ice. There were no packs, so you grabbed a bag of frozen peas, wrapped them in a towel and set it gently on Zemo’s temple.

“I can’t have you dying when I need this changed tonight,” you said, holding up a finger.

When you turned around, Sam and Bucky had both stretched out on the couch. They both wore annoyed expressions that Zemo got a whole couch and they got one to share. Bucky bumped Sam’s foot with his own, much to your amusement and Sam’s annoyance. He kicked his partner back, and you decided not to interrupt their little couples spat. Instead, you move to sit on the ground.

Zemo grabbed your wrist again, this time gently. He tucked his legs up, folding them into a V, and motioned you to share his couch. And you did, sitting in the same spot you had earlier, this time near his feet still clad in shiny black leather shoes.

“Hey, you two,” Sam called. “What’s this cozy little couch situation going on here?”

“You two could have a cozy little couch situation too if you’d just talk to each other,” Zemo shot back.

He didn’t even look at Sam, just held the frozen vegetables to his face, eyes closed.

“Y/N?” Zemo asked after a moment. “Can you get me an Advil? Or better yet, some sort of alcoholic beverage?”

“I’m not your servant, Zemo,” you sighed but stood and poured him a glass of some expensive alcohol from a bottle with Sokovian writing.

He sipped it, setting it on his chest between sips as he lounged on the couch with you. Bucky was watching you out the corner of his eye, and you were watching Zemo. Every few sips he would grimace, his lips pressing together and chest catching. Then he’d relax, exhale softly and shift the peas back into place. Eventually you picked up your book and began to read again.

Sam left the room to take a phone call a few hours later and came back shaking.

“Karli threatened Sarah, my nephews. I have to meet with her. Alone.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bucky jumped in, already on his feet. “Walker will be there, and you can’t handle the Super Soldiers and Captain Propaganda on your own.”

Zemo was either asleep or doing a good job pretending beside you. The pea bag had been returned to the freezer. He’d discarded his coat and was now wearing only his black pants and a deep purple shirt with shoulder holsters.

“You got him?” Sam pointed to the sleeping man.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you answered, setting the book aside and watching them prepare to leave.

Both men donned their costumes, Sam strapping his wings on, Bucky ripping the sleeve off of yet another jacket so his metal arm could move freely.

“Call me- us if you need backup,” you shouted after them, knowing full well they would do no such thing.

“If we aren’t back in two hours, take his ass back to jail,” Bucky called back.

Baron Zemo woke up the minute the door slammed shut, which made you doubt he’d been sleeping at all.

“And now it is only us,” he said in that thick Sokovian accent. “I will cook us something for dinner.”

He moved into the kitchen, boiling a pot of water while you watched. You perched yourself on the counter near him as he searched through cabinets. When he noticed you, he paused and chuckled before returning to the cooking. You watched in silence, keeping a close eye on him when he picked up a knife and began chopping tomatoes from a can.

He handed you a bowl of thin noodles with a thick red sauce. It smelled delicious.

“A traditional and simple Sokovian dish, a comfort food you might say,” he explained and joined you on the counter. “I made enough for Sam and James. Call me an optimist.”

Zemo didn’t talk much, you realized, as you enjoyed the food in silence. It was delicious, a bit like pasta. Suddenly, the back door clicked open. You glance around nervously, realizing just how wrong this felt.

“They shouldn’t be back yet,” you say quietly. “And they wouldn’t come in the back.”

“My old associates must have found me,” Zemo jumps off the table, and you notice the same nervousness as when Bucky threw the cup. He cannot know about James or Sam.”

You can hear a single person strolling toward the kitchen in heavy boots.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Zemo whispered, and before you could even process the words, he was standing between your legs and pressing his lips to yours.

His movements are slow and careful, trying not to be invasive as he moves his hands to your back, sliding one up to the back of your head. You wrap an arm around his waist and slide the other hand up the front of his purple shirt, splaying your fingers across his chest. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hand keeps you from pulling away, not that you’d want to.

“I heard you were back in Riga,” a new voice chuckled. “I had to see for myself.”

Zemo pulls back, feigning surprise, but kept an arm protectively around you.

“And as you have undoubtedly noticed, I am quite busy,” he replied. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I’d prefer not to discuss our business in front of…”

Zemo nods to you. You were staring at the man who you recognized from work files. He was a former Shield agent. When Shield fell, he used the chaos for his own advantage, working for neither Shield nor Hydra and killing anyone who stood in his way. You suspected, but couldn’t be sure, that some of your best friends had been killed by him. Fortunately, you had enough self-control not to shoot him. His mere presence made you tense and uncomfortable.

“Of course, Baron,” he grinned and look at you in a way that made you shift closer to Zemo. “I’ll see you tomorrow, noon. The usual place.”

He gave the two of you one last look and left with a wink to Zemo. Even when the other man had gone, Zemo’s hands were still holding you against him.

“We will have to be gone before noon tomorrow,” he said looking down at you.

For some reason, you were both still wrapped around each other.

“You know who he is?” Zemo said, a statement masquerading as a question. “I am sorry.”

Your face was only inches from him, and you could smell his cologne. Zemo used the hand on your head to pull you against his shoulder. You set your head there, face turned into his neck, and inhaled deeply. And there he sat and you stood, hugging tightly for no real reason except that no one else was there.

Zemo pressed a soft kiss to your head, and rather than protest you let his lips linger. Finally, his head fell on your shoulder. After a moment, he slid you off the counter, took your hand, and led you back to the couch. Without asking, the two of you settled together on the couch, so close your sides pressed against each other. He pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster, and you froze until he set it down on the table, smirking a little.

“I don’t make a habit of shooting people I’ve just kissed,” he chuckled and raised an arm for you to lean against him.

You raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at the forwardness. You shouldn’t be, after all, he had just kissed you and held you on the counter of his kitchen. Helmut Zemo made no sense to you, but in the end, you curled against him. He shifted to lay on his back, head propped on the pillows he was laying on earlier while you tucked yourself beside him, head on his chest.

Zemo wrapped an arm around you. You put a hand on his chest, fingering the purple shirt. He was warm and soft, and you had to remind yourself that you could not fall asleep while you are supposed to be watching him.

“Why are we doing this?” You whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you?” Zemo turns his head toward you.

“I haven’t had someone to do this with in a long time,” you answer slowly, cautiously, knowing full well this was a man who could turn on you on an instant or hold onto information until the moment it was advantageous to him.

“Neither have I,” He replied. “German prisons don’t allow much physical contact. Besides, I hope that with enough time perhaps I may kiss you again.”

You tilted your head up to see a grin tugging at the side of his lips, lips that had been on yours a few minutes ago.

“Maybe with enough time,” you answer and brush a lose strand of hair out of his eyes, letting your hand trail over the bruise on his face.

He caged your hand in his, bringing your joined hands back to his chest and holding them there. You felt the rise and fall of his breaths and it soothed you. When they grew deep and steady and the tension seemed to fall from his body, you realized he was truly asleep, not faking like earlier. Soon and against your better judgment, you were dozing off in his arms tossing a leg over his so your limbs tangled together.

Your last thought before you fell asleep was how warm and comfortable you felt with Helmut Zemo, and how completely ludicrous such a thought was.

It wasn’t long before the door opening woke you, still secure in Zemo’s arms. You tried to move, sit up so Sam and Bucky wouldn’t see this little arrangement. You failed. Bucky came in first, stopping in his tracks as he saw the scene on the couch.

“What are you doing? Keep walk- what?” Sam ran right into Bucky’s back then froze.

Their eyes were wide as they stared. Zemo shifted awake beneath you, and you could imagine the smirk on his face. Bucky’s metal fist clenched, and Sam, ever the peacemaker grabbed his arm and opted for a more amicable approach.

“One of you better start talking.”

#tfatws spoilers #tfatws #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #zemo fic #zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #spoilers #soft zemo #self insert fic #zemo x you #baron zemo x you #helmut zemo x you #zemo x reader fic #daniel brühl

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yoongiseesawmp3 · 3 years

Text

punch me - jungkook

back again with another self indulgent fic! enjoy

summary: daycare worker jungkook invites you, his favorite coworker, to the lake with his friends. why the lake? he wants you to see his new sleeve and whipping his shirt off in the classroom isn’t quite acceptable. plus he just wants to spend more time with you. there’s no harm in that.

warnings: none i think!

word count: 3.5k

you work at a daycare, which isn’t a bad thing. it’s pretty chill, you like the kids and you can take off work pretty easy because there’s tons of subs. but also, not many people are bringing their kids in lately. so that means you and the other staff have been digging into the snack closet so “they won’t go to waste.”

jungkook was the one who suggested it. well, maybe suggest is the wrong word? he got caught up to his elbows in the bin of sweets, so when he turned to face your boss he immediately went into charming mode so he wouldn’t get in trouble. and once jungkook said it, everyone else thought it was a good idea too. hell, you’ve stopped buying snacks for yourself because you just sneak them from work now. wait. don’t tell anyone that.

anyway, it was a great idea, but that was two weeks ago. now the snack closet is empty and you have a room full of toddlers on the verge of anarchy because of it. because of jungkook.

you just watched him pass by your room, arms laden with cheez-its and rice krispie treats, and you know for a fact he doesn’t have a class today. he’s only here to touch up the mural he’s been asked to paint near the front desk, so all of those snacks must be for him.

you get the teacher from next door to keep an eye on your kiddos so you can sneak to the front and steal a couple bags of cheez-its (the kids don’t need their own bag, they’ll never know). but you get there and find yourself distracted from completing your mission.

jungkook is wearing old sweats, spattered with paint here and there, and he’s stooped over a bucket of water with a paintbrush between his teeth. it’s cute.

“jungkook,” you semi-shout to get his attention. you get a sort of “hmgpfh?” in response, and that’s enough for you. “do you seriously need this many snacks? just for yourself?”

“i’m a growing boy, y/n,” he replies, taking the paintbrush out of his mouth so he can dip it into a paper plate covered in red shades. “you can have one.”

“i need three, actually,” you reply, picking them up as you speak.

“are you a growing boy too?”

“no, i have six little kids with bad attitudes waiting for me in my room so i’ll be taking these off your hands,” you explain, finally turning to look at the work jungkook has put on the wall. “wow.”

“you like it?” jungkook asks, turning to look at you with a smile and a dancing light in his eyes. “is the tree too much?”

“no, oh my god, this is really good, jungkook,” you assure him, tracing your eyes over the wall full of characters and scenery from various children’s books.

“thank you,” he replies. “it’s better than wiping asses all day.”

“watch your mouth.”

“why don’t you watch it for me?” he quips back, peeking up at you with a smirk.

“what does that even mean, jungkook.”

“just thought i’d try to make you blush,” he says with a shrug. “didn’t work this time.”

“i don’t think it works anytime, actually,” you mumble, but he ignores it.

“hey, are you busy this weekend?” he questions, inspecting a bottle of green before squirting some directly on the wall.

“are you sure you know what you’re doing?” you ask with a laugh. you watch him frantically spread the paint around to resemble a bush.

“shut up. are you busy this weekend?” he asks again.

“i don’t think so, why?”

“come to the lake with me,” he says as he stands up to meet your eyes. “one of my friends convinced his uncle to let us borrow his boat. it’ll be fun.”

“do any of you know how to drive a boat?” you ask. “the safety of all this is what would keep me away.”

“i’m sure yoongi hyung will be able to do it,” jungkook says halfheartedly. “but still, the boat could just stay docked. it would be fun either way.”

“when are you going?”

“saturday, so i could come by yours and get you on my way?” he asks with a lot of hope in his voice. you shrug before responding.

“why not? sure.”

so, jungkook texts you late friday that he’ll pick you up at 7am saturday. what the fuck. you wouldn’t have said yes if you knew you had to leave that early, but jungkook explained that he’s the only one the uncle trusts to have the keys, so he has to get there before the world wakes up. but also, has this man met jungkook? jungkook, being trustworthy with small, easy to lose items? please.

nevertheless, you’re up bright and early on saturday with a very large thermos of coffee. jungkook texts you right at 7 that he’s outside, and when you walk out you see him at the back of his car trying to force something into the trunk.

“whatcha doin?” you ask as you approach, noticing his strong legs in his (surprisingly) short swim trunks. you’re now realizing you’ve never seen him in anything other than baggy pants, so his legs are a little...distracting.

“trying to keep the beer bottles from rattling,” he says through clenched teeth.

“and you’re trying to fuse them together with sheer force?”

“no, i’m stuffing a towel in between them in the box but it’s really tight.”

“if hoseok were here he’d make a ‘that’s what she said’ joke,” you jest.

“i thought about it,” jungkook replies. “so i guess that counts?”

as he talks, he rearranges the other things in the trunk so it can close easy, and as he lowers the door he turns to you.

“you look nice,” he says, eyes drifting over you quickly. he notices the coffee cup in your hand and smiles. “any chance that has the sickly sweet creamer in it that i like?”

“how would i know what coffee creamer you like?” you ask, slightly annoyed that he just assumes you pay that much attention to him but also annoyed that you got caught.

“because you like me,” he replies, grabbing the thermos and taking a sip. “oh my god, i love you.”

“you better be talking to the coffee,” you warn him as you grab the coffee back from him.

“i’ll say it to you someday,” he promises, walking around to the passenger side of the car before opening your door. “if you let me.”

“what’s gotten into you lately?” you ask with a smile. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a little crush on jungkook, and recently it’s gotten worse. after you started working together, you noticed how many shared friends you have, so you’ve been hanging out more and more the past few months. jungkook has always been more than nice to you, but these flirty little comments are a welcome change. you hope they keep coming.

“is it cool if we stop at the gas station real quick?” he asks as he gets into the driver’s seat. “it’s an hour drive and i need gas and snacks.”

“fine with me. how about cheez-its and rice krispies?”

“i had my fill of those at work this week, thanks,” jungkook laughs.

at the gas station, you offer to get the snacks while jungkook stays at the pump. you’re looking for your favorite gas station snack, a crappy fruit and cheese danish that you could eat every day. jungkook finds you bent over in the sweets aisle, ass poking out too much for him to pass by and not push your face right into the premade baked goods. he considers it, because funny, but mean. he also considers passing behind you and smacking your ass as he does so you’ll move. tempting, but maybe too far. he opts for just bending down next to you to see what’s so interesting.

“what are we looking for?” he asks, scanning the labels for something to try.

“cherry and cheese,” you tell him, moving a blueberry danish out of the way, hoping to find what you want, but no luck.

“what? that sounds gross,” jungkook replies as he stands. “you like that?”

“it’s one of my favorites,” you tell him as you move into a squat. jungkook slides behind you and looks for his favorite jelly candy as you keep searching. “what’s so gross about it? they go well together.”

“like us.”

“what?”

“huh?” jungkook asks, staring down at you with a glint in his eyes. the glare you give him is definitely ignored as jungkook looks back up and spots something on the top shelf. he grabs it and hands it to you. “this what you want?”

“yeah, it is,” you reply. “thanks. get another one for yourself.”

“why?” he asks, screwing his face up in disgust.

“because i know you’ll want to try some even with the way you’re acting right now, and i don’t like sharing.”

“whatever you say,” he grumbles with a roll of his eyes. “now help me find the sour worms.”

jungkook tried the danish, and he hated it.

have you ever seen a baby eating a lemon? it was like that, except jungkook spat what was in his mouth into his hand and then tossed it out the window of his car as he drove. sure, that whole part was gross, but he looked cute when he didn’t like the danish. who doesn’t love babies making silly faces?

“i can’t believe you like that, but i can’t believe you convinced me to try it,” jungkook complains.

“kook, i think if i told you electrocuting yourself was fun you would try it just because i said i liked it,” you reply. he thinks about it for a moment before nodding, a slight tint gracing his cheeks.

“you’re right, but that’s not gonna make me finish your gross choice of snack.”

“fine, more for me,” you say, grabbing the discarded treat in the cupholder. you take a bite, not really caring that jungkook’s mouth was on it before you.

“omg.”

“did you just say ‘omg’ out loud?”

“yes, why?”

“you’re a loser,” you laugh, taking another bite, causing jungkook to gasp again. “what?”

“it’s like we just kissed,” he replies, almost giggling through his toothy smile.

“what do you even mean by that.”

“we just swapped spit.”

“you’re disgusting. stop talking.”

“hey, you’re the one that wants to kiss me,” jungkook says with a shrug. you want to protest, but you don’t want to convince him that you’re totally against kissing him. you’d actually very much like to plant your lips on his and never let go, but life doesn’t always give you what you want. jungkook notices your silence and smiles. “you’re not denying it.”

“i’m being polite.”

“mmmhmm,” he replies, failing to hide how pleased he is as he pulls into a treacherously sloped driveway. “we’re here.”

it’s turning into a beautiful day. the morning chill is starting to slowly melt away, and you find yourself sweating slightly as you help jungkook move all of the junk from his car. he insisted on doing it himself, but you felt super weird just standing there while he huffed and puffed carrying things back and forth, so you finally jumped in. it’s still just the two of you here, the friend’s uncle had successfully given you both a crash course on how to handle the boat, and you’re confident the two of you can share that info with yoongi when he gets here and hopefully no one will get hurt.

speaking of yoongi, he said he was a few minutes away, and that was more than a few minutes ago. maybe he and hoseok got lost. the final four (as they’ve been calling themselves all morning) will be here later because taehyung didn’t have a swimsuit and they had to make a pit stop at walmart to get him one. you’re familiar with jungkook’s friends, and comfortable with a couple of them, but you don’t know much about taehyung aside from his interest in art and now his view on the boxer vs briefs debate (he was apparently very picky when trying on said swimsuits). but whatever. they’ll get here eventually.

before you know it, you and jungkook have unloaded all of the snacks, alcohol and water accessories from his car, so all that’s left to do is hang out until the boys get here.

“you ready?” jungkook asks, offering you his hand. you give him a questioning look and he motions to the boat. “c’mon, we’re not gonna sit here in the sun while we wait for them. it’s hot as balls.”

“but it’s hot as balls on the boat too,” you counter as you take his outstretched hand and let him pull you behind him on the dock.

“yeah, but at least we’re on a boat.”

he leads you to the edge of the shaky dock and let’s go of your hand momentarily to steady himself as he steps over to the boat. he turns back and offers his hand again, giving yours a squeeze as he guides you over the gap of water. the boat is slippery, so you lose your footing slightly and jungkook reacts quickly by wrapping you in his arms. the boat is bobbing a little too much for your liking, but jungkook is giggling and that distracts you enough from the fact that you could’ve fallen just now.

as you both stand there awkwardly staring at each other, you don’t notice yoongi’s car pulling up to the top of the hill and its two passengers walking out toward the water.

“oooh, what do we have here?” hoseok asks as he sees you holding onto each other for dear life. you separate quickly, making the newcomers laugh.

“don’t stop because we’re here,” yoongi replies.

“yeah, i can hug yoongi if it makes things less awkward for you,” hoseok offers.

“please don’t do that,” yoongi quips back.

“i’ll get you when you least expect it, hyung.”

jungkook, still standing very close to you, clears his throat and waves yoongi over. you scoot around them to help hoseok with the bag of food in his hands.

“are you sure you know how to drive a boat, yoongi?” you ask.

“i’m a fast learner,” he replies.

“that’s not very reassuring.”

“i’ve done it before, y/n,” he laughs. “just not with this kind of motor, but it won’t take long to figure out. everything will be nice and safe, i promise.”

“besides, we have jungkookie here to save you even if hyung throws us overboard,” hoseok jokes.

speaking of jungkook, he’s rustling around the boat, trying to figure out how to put the suncover up. his jacket from this morning has been tossed aside, and he’s in a baggy tank top. you allow yourself a moment to admire the way his muscles ripple as he works when you notice -

“you finished your sleeve?” you ask him. his head snaps up in your direction and he smiles.

“enjoying the show?” he teases.

“answer the question.”

“honestly, i wanted it to be a surprise,” he replies, stretching the arm out and turning it around as best he can.

“so what, you were gonna take your shirt off and punch me and that’s how i was supposed to find out?”

“are you offering?”

“i’m just mad you didn’t take me with you! i was gonna get something this time,” you complain with a slight pout, which jungkook scrunches his nose at. you’re really cute, he thinks to himself.

“my artist called me last minute and said they had an opening, so i went in as soon as i could. i think you were still handling six hungry toddlers,” he explains.

“so is that why you invited me today?” you laugh. “you couldn’t think of a reasonable way to take your shirt off in front of me so i had to come with you to the lake for the big reveal?”

“jungkook, if you say yes, then jin and i are giving you the sex talk. you gotta up your game,” yoongi mumbles.

“no,” jungkook insists, ignoring yoongi. “i invited you today because i think it’ll be fun and i wanted you to be here.”

“and he wanted to see you in a swimsuit,” hoseok adds, pulling some cookies out of the bag of snacks. he offers them to you and you gladly accept. then he turns and pops one into yoongi’s mouth as he yawns, before he tosses one over to jungkook, happily shouting “a cookie for kookie!”

“that’s cute,” you smile, liking the way hoseok babies jungkook. it’s got him flustered, and it’s kind of adorable.

“kook, did you hear that? y/n thinks you’re cute,” hoseok sing-songs.

“i- that’s not...i didn’t say that,” you stumble. “the rhyming was cute. if anything, i called hoseok cute.”

“everyone thinks hobi is cute,” yoongi replies. “but jungkook? eh.”

“eh?!” jungkook shouts. “i’m just eh to you hyung?”

“now you hurt the boy’s feelings,” you tell yoongi, and he shrugs.

“you should’ve just called him cute.”

you look over and notice jungkook is staring at you, an eyebrow quirked in a challenge. hoseok is watching and munching like this is a movie, and yoongi looks between you and the so-called cutie and laughs to himself.

“well?” jungkook asks.

“i mean, yeah, you are cute, sometimes,” you begin. “not when you’re being annoying though.”

“i’m not annoying!”

“yes you are,” hoseok and yoongi agree in unison. jungkook huffs at that and looks back at you.

“now my feelings are hurt again. talk more about me being cute,” he pleads as he finally gives up on the suncover and joins you on the wraparound couch of the boat. he’s looking at you with the absolute worst puppy dog eyes, so you keep going.

“uh, you’re cute with the kids i guess? like when they use you as their personal playground and you’re all giggling. that’s cute,” you offer. “or when the little girls get hurt, they always run to you first and you cheer them up with sweet songs.”

“hmm, family planning perhaps?” you hear hoseok joke with yoongi.

you would go on (or deny how often you’ve thought about jungkook being a dad) but the other car of boys has finally arrived, so the two instigators leave the boat to help them unload. that leaves you next to jungkook, who’s not done talking about the cute stuff.

“i didn’t know you noticed all of that,” jungkook whispers, suddenly sitting very close to you. you try to act like it’s nothing, but he stops you. “ah ah, now it’s my turn.”

“your turn? for what?”

“for talking about how cute you are,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing ever. if he had his way he would be pulling up a whole powerpoint presentation right now, but he has to rely on his words, which is fine. “first of all, you have great style. you’re maybe the only person who can make the daycare uniform look like a capital o outfit everyday you come in. and the way your eyes light up when a kid tells you a story, or shows you something they made? that’s my favorite. wish you would look at me like that someday.”

“you...what?” you almost can’t believe where this conversation has gone, but it’s making your heart beat faster and you’re not ready for it to stop.

“i wish i could make your eyes light up like i’m the only person you can see,” he clarifies, locking eyes with you. he holds your gaze for a moment before his eyes flick down to your lips. you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t so close, but the movement was obvious. jungkook wants to kiss you.

“and what would you do if they did?” you challenge, repeating the same glance from his eyes down to his lips. your gaze lingers a little longer, and when you look back up at jungkook you know what’s coming next. that doesn’t mean it’s not shocking, though.

kissing jungkook is like pulling down a piece of the sun and slamming it into your chest. the warmth that he exudes, and the softness of his lips as they caress yours, it’s perfect. but -

“wait,” jungkook mumbles against your lips. you pull back, worried.

“what?”

“i did that wrong.”

“wha..how? jungkook, i thought that was nice,” you assure him but he shakes his head.

“i did it wrong,” he insists, looking at you and noticing the shine in your eyes that he was hoping for. “can i kiss you again?”

you nod and let out a quiet “yes” before jungkook is cupping your face and connecting your lips again. this one is stronger, more intentional and you’re glad he wanted to try again. not that the first kiss was bad, your mind is still reeling from that first one. but this feels like a kiss full of love. it feels like a kiss from someone that’s been pining for you over bags of cheez-its and funny kid stories, but they didn’t know how to tell you how badly they wanted to do this. jungkook didn’t know how to tell you, but now he doesn’t have to because this kiss tells you everything you need to know.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jeongguk #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook one shot

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americxn · 3 years

Text

Rainy Days with the Evans

❀ fluff/light smut ❀

TATE LANGDON

- Tate would wake you up by climbing on top of you and presenting you with a plate of toast done just the way you liked it and you would smile sleepily, sitting up and pressing a morning kiss to his lips. - You would sit together in bed, talking quietly and feeding each other toast, the sound of the rain pounding against the windows getting louder and louder, making you feel warm and cozy. - Neither you or Tate liked the rain very much (it literally doesn’t make a difference to Tate whether it rained or not as he’s stuck inside anyways) and so it gave you the perfect excuse to do something that you had been wanting to do together for a long time, but you were so caught up in school and work to have gotten the chance: a movie day. - So, after eventually getting out of bed, you would spend the rest of the morning making a blanket fort, lining the inside with pillows, blankets and fairy lights, before the two of you would race downstairs to the kitchen and (forgetting lunch) would spend the next hour baking cookies, a process that ended with the both of you covered in flour. - The rest of the day is spent cuddled together in your fort, munching on your cookies and making your way through a list of classic movies on your laptop, only stopping every hour or so to run down the stairs and make large mugs of hot chocolate before retreating back into the cozy space and resuming your film. - Eventually, you would both fall asleep in your blanket fort, the sound of the rain and whatever film was playing on your laptop lulling you both to sleep, cuddled up together surrounded by cookie crumbs and empty mugs.

KIT WALKER

- You would spend all morning in bed, neither of you wanting to leave the comfort of each others arms before finally crawling out of bed at noon and making lunch. - (You both stay in your pajamas of course, not even bothering to brush your hair) - PAINTING - Neither of you are any good at it but when it rains heavily, Kit would go and rummage through your small attic, crying out triumphantly when he found the old set of paints and brushes the two of you had bought years ago and never used. - After a few hours of trying to paint something of resemblance, you both give up, getting bored. - That is until you decide that he would look cute with paint splattered down his face. - He would gasp as you flicked the red paint covered brush at his cheek and you would giggle, commenting on how adorable he looked with his still sleep-disheveled hair and paint-splattered face. - This would, of course, turn into a paint war, and after half an hour of chasing one another around the kitchen, paint and brushes in hand, trying to cover the other in the most colours, he would grab you and kiss you deeply. - You would run your paint-covered hairs through his hair, leaving colourful streaks as he walked you to the table whilst kissing you deeply and lay you down upon it, declaring that he was to make you “my own personal canvas”. - And that he did, before dragging you to the edge of the table and fucking you into oblivion, leaving the kitchen table smeared with different coloured paints <3. - Round two would then commence in the shower as you washed the colourful paint splatters and handprints off each others bodies, thoroughly enjoying one another from the warmth of the shower whilst the rain falls heavily outside. KYLE SPENCER (post-death)

- You and Kyle love going on walks together, it’s one of your favourite things to do with one another and you try to get outside for at least an hour a day. - It started after Madison and Zoe brought him back to life; Kyle became attached to you instantly and pretty soon you felt the same way about him, a strong urge to protect him and never leave his side having overcome you. - So, when you took it upon yourself to try and reteach Kyle basically everything so that he could function as a part of society, you decided that he would probably benefit from being outside. Watching other people go about their daily lives, learning about nature and all that. He very quickly became obsessed with birds and always asked you to teach him the different kinds, trying to imitate their singing when you heard them outside. - So, upon waking up one morning to torrential downpour, he was quite upset when he tried to drag you from bed, insisting in grunts and broken words that you get dressed for your morning walk, only to have you pull his arm from yours gently and snuggle back under the covers. - “Ky, it’s raining.” You tried to reason with him, sleepily. “Come back to bed and we can go on two walks tomorrow when the weather is nicer.” - He tried to argue with you for several minutes before whining and flopping back down on the bed beside you, sighing angrily but still gathering you up in his arms and allowing you to sleep for another hour, him just listening to the rain pounding of the windows and the sound of your soft breathing. - Later that day, you finally get out of bed, getting dressed and ready, Kyle going through your morning routine with you before heading downstairs to the kitchen to make food for you both. - An hour or so later, as Kyle begins to get more and more agitated from sitting around, you ask him if there is anything he would like to do and, after a few frustrating minutes of Kyle trying to articulate what he wants, he finally runs up to your shared bedroom and returns with a book about birds, placing it in your lap and peering at you expectantly. - You open your arms to him with a smile and you cuddle up together on the couch as you begin to read, playing softly with his hair as he listens intently as you recite the contents of a chapter about nest-making, which Kyle seems very excited by. - When you both get bored of reading, you watch TV for a while until you notice Kyle’s repeated longing glances at the large windows and the heavy rain beyond. - You sigh, catching his attention before you take his hand and lead him upstairs again, dressing him in a thick woolen sweater, hat and scarf before wrapping yourself up warm too. You race down the stairs after Kyle who had caught onto what you planned on doing and was already in the process of pulling on his shoes and a rain coat before you reached him, stopping him as he threw open the front door and making him wait whilst you put on your own shoes and coat. - You spend the next half an hour running about in the rain, splashing in the deep puddles that had formed on the sidewalk and laughing breathlessly with one another, only stopping when you attack your boyfriend with a hug, bringing your wet lips to his. - When you pull away from the kiss, you notice how blue his lips were getting and take this as a sign that you should go back inside and get warm. - The both of you are soaked through and shivering so you go inside, Kyle protesting briefly before giving in and following you, discarding your sodden clothes at the front door and running naked through the house to the bathroom where you draw a bath, Kyle eyeing you hungrily as you lean over the side of the bath to run the water.

JIMMY DARLING - Since everyone else in the show despise the rain as it means that they are stuck in their trailers (caravans? idk what to call them) all day, you and Jimmy love it and the time that it gives the both of you to spend together. - Jimmy is usually quite busy rehearsing and performing and most days you just sort of trail after him for a few hours before retiring to your shared caravan, waiting until you get to watch your lover and all your friends perform in the evening. - On a rainy day, you would wake to the sound of the rain hammering against the outsides of your trailer and would smile, cuddling up to Jimmy and waiting for him to wake up. - When he finally did, he would grin and pull you out of bed, the both of you hurrying to throw on some clothes and eat whatever food you had in the trailer before throwing open your caravan doors and splashing down onto the soaked ground. - You would then chase each other to the nearby lake, already frozen through with the rain but not caring as you jumped onto Jimmy’s back and let him run the rest of the way as you held onto him tightly. - When you reached the lake, you would jump off his back and turn to him, Jimmy taking this opportunity to kiss you deeply, the rain pouring down around you and into the lake, setting the surface to ripple and splash incessantly. - Without hesitation, you would pull on Jimmy’s shirt and he would tug it off, discarding it on the muddy ground which was soon joined by his pants, before ridding you of all your clothes, laughing as you danced around in the rain in nothing but your underwear. - The next hour was spent swimming around in the frigid water, splashing one another and wrestling in the lake before you cling onto him, wrapping yourself around his body neatly and kissing him, pulling on his sodden hair as he kissed you back, slipping his tongue in your mouth and exploring you lazily. - He knew that this drove you insane so when you whined and slipped down his body slightly, rubbing yourself against him, he took no time in moving your underwear to the side and filling you with one deep thrust. - This was why you both loved the rain so much. Because you were usually always surrounded by your friends, eating with them and rehearsing with them and because of the close proximity of your caravans, you even had to be careful to keep noise to a minimum at night. - But here, all sound drowned out immediately by the falling rain and all your friends hidden away inside from the wet and cold, you could make all the noise you wanted. And make noise you did.

JAMES MARCH

- James doesn’t really care for the rain. Because he can’t go outside the hotel grounds anyway, it doesn’t make a difference to him whether it rains or not. But you love the rain, and in the past you would sit at the window in your shared room and sigh as the rain fell beyond the glass as James worked in his office attached to your room. - But, the last time it rained, you decided that you would try to expose the wonders of the rain to James, seeking him out at midday by walking the long corridors and shouting for him until he appeared. - “What is it, dearest?” He would ask somewhat frantically, scanning you for injuries before you walked up to him, letting him tuck you into his arms and saying, “I’m bored. And it’s raining. Are you busy right now?” - “Well, that just won’t do,” he would chuckle in your ear, walking you backwards in an embrace. “I suppose I could take the rest of the day off.” - You would pull away from him, excited, and bring your lips to his briefly before grabbing his hand and pulling him down the hallway, then down another and another until you reached the elevator, which you took to the very top floor of the hotel that was rarely used and was often left vacant. - There was a little set of stairs at the far end of the hallway that led up to the roof of the hotel and this was where you headed now, James becoming increasingly more reluctant. - You took the stairs two at a time, you hand still gripping James’ tightly before reaching the top, throwing open the door and stepping into the rain. James let go of your hand just as you stepped outside and watched with his arms crossed tightly against the cold as you span happily around with your arms in the air. - He would smile tentatively at this, content to watch you laugh to yourself as you played in the rain, your makeup beginning to run and you hair hanging about your face limply. - “Come on.” You would shout to him from the other end of the roof, holding your hands out towards him. And it would take some convincing before James finally stepped out onto the roof, his hair getting drenched within a matter of seconds but he still made his way over to you, taking your hand and spinning you under his arm with a smile. - And so you would dance slowly with one another on top of the hotel roof, James’ gaze never leaving yours, even as you looked around at the rooftops under the grey sky. - Eventually he would break the silence, reaching up a hand to push your hair back off your wet forehead and saying, “I don’t remember the last time I felt the rain. It’s amazing how much you help me to feel again, y/n.” - This would make your heart ache and you would reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, bringing your lips to his. In the freezing cold of the rain, his lips would ignite a burning love within you and you would eventually be laying on top of him on the cold floor of the roof in a shallow puddle, his shirt so wet it was partially see-through. - But of course James would never let you stay on top for long and you would gasp as he flipped you over, the cold concrete biting into your back as his lips trailed down your neck. - It wouldn’t take long before he would be inside you, fucking you roughly even as his gaze was so full of love that just looking at his face made your eyes burn, your back scraping against the rough concrete of the roof, the sounds of your pleasure loud enough to catch the attention of passersby on the streets far below.

RORY MONAHAN

- When it rained, you and Rory would spend the day cuddled together in the warmth of his luxurious LA apartment, lounging in bed until noon before getting ready to do absolutely nothing with your love. - You would make lunch together before settling down to watch Netflix for a few hours before Rory announced that he wanted to go through his script for a new project that he had coming up and you would offer to help him, Rory being very excited by this and running to get his script. - Of course he would make you not only say his costars lines so that he could memorise his parts of dialogue, but also act out what was happening dramatically, meaning that you both spent more time in hysterics at your terrible performance than learning any lines. - Eventually, you got to the part of the script where Rory’s character had an intense love scene with one of his costars and his eyes turned dark as he watched you read the lines that led up to this scene, you stalking to him slowly before chucking the script on the couch and kissing his deeply. - He would huff a laugh against your lips at the overly-seductive manner with which you delivered the lines before melting into the kiss, forgetting about his lines and giving into you. - He would push you back onto the couch, the pages of the script you landed on creasing and tearing as he settled himself between you legs and helped you out of your clothes. - Needless to say, with all the practice you had that evening, Rory would definitely be prepared for his love scene.

KAI ANDERSON

- “Fuck you.” You would grumble as Kai pulled the bed sheets off you, the cold air coaxing goosebumps into formation of your bare arms and legs. - “Just because it’s raining doesn’t mean you get to lounge around all day.” He replied, pausing before continuing: “Come on. I’ll make pancakes.” - Kai was very committed to his routine, claiming that a steady routine is “the quickest way to find success.” And his commitment was usually something that you admired greatly about him, until he started to rope you into it and since you had moved in together, it had been a long time since he had last let you sleep in. - But, pancakes was a good motivator so you rolled out of bed, not even bothering to put on any underwear under the shirt you pulled on before following Kai downstairs and into the large kitchen, a pleasant ache from the night before radiating from between your legs. - You would talk as Kai made the both of you breakfast before getting ready for the day, you standing up onto your tiptoes to press a light kiss to Kai’s cheek whenever you passed him in the bathroom or bedroom. - You both decided that because it was raining, it was a good day to do some of the errands that Kai had been needing to get done and so after you were both ready, you both hopped into Kai’s car and drove around for a few hours, you happy to accompany Kai as he got in and out of the car, posting letters and picking up supplies for upcoming missions. - When you return home you would make and eat lunch together, before members of the cult start arriving. Kai would never cancel or miss a meeting and when it rained, they would be longer than usual as nobody had anything else to do. - You spend that time wandering in and out of the meeting, sometimes joining the group, Kai pulling you onto his lap and playing with your hair as they talked and sometimes retreating to your shared bedroom to curl up on the bed and watch Netflix, Kai only joining you when the others had left and apologising for not spending time with you. - You wouldn’t mind. Kai worshipped the ground you walked on a majority of the time and you spent almost every minute of everyday by his side, so when he crawled onto the bed next to you, you would pull him to you and wrap yourself around him. - Eventually he would untangle yourself from you and you would follow him to the kitchen where he opened a bottle of wine which you both made your way through as he made dinner, Kai vigilantly making sure that your glass was always full. - After you ate, you would clean up before settling yourself at the dining room table with Kai, helping him put together a speech for his next rally. - After an hour, when you noticed Kai’s frustration building when you hadn’t made much progress with the speech he was meant to deliver in three days time, you went to the kitchen and got another bottle of wine and two large glasses. - Soon, the second bottle was empty and it wasn’t long after that that Kai pushed the papers and pens off the table and replaced them with you, the wine having clouded the edges of your consciousness as he peeled away your pants and lowered his head between your spread legs, blowing on you softly before claiming that he “was desperate for dessert” and going down of you, not stopping until you had made a mess on the table and were a shaking, quivering mess before him.

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the-dream-team · 3 years

Text

Chlorine

A fluffy little one-shot for @efkgirldetective's summer of jily week two prompt: swimming with friends // Today we're younger than we're ever gonna be <3

“What in Merlin’s name is that smell?” gagged Sirius, bringing his towel up to cover his nose.

Mary swotted him with a bright green foam noodle. “That’s just the chlorine, you knob. It’s a chemical Muggles use to keep the water clean.”

“The water’s not clean?” squeaked Peter, his beady eyes widening.

“Take a look around Pettigrew,” laughed Mary, gesturing wildly. “There are about a trillion little kids running around with saggy trunks and juice-stained mouths, it’s not exactly the Prefect’s bathroom here.”

The group of teenagers took a moment to survey their surroundings. Sirius was right, the thick summer air reeked of chlorine wafting from unnaturally electric blue swimming pools, packed with screaming children, brightly colored floaties, and haggard parents. Behind the main pool, reaching up to the sky, stood two impressive slides, winding and bending in every direction before opening up into a smaller basin. Once every minute, the slide discarded a new, squealing child into the water with an eruptive splash.

Lily eyed the Muggle kids with some trepidation. “Are we too old to be here?” she asked, eyes shifting as she clutched her copy of Herbology for Potioneers a little closer to her chest. “It feels like everyone else is about a decade younger than us.”

“Don’t worry too much about that, Evans,” said James, a bright smile aimed in her direction. “Today we’re younger than we’re ever going to be, anyway!” He nudged her affectionately, resulting in a rosy hue that spread across her cheeks as their bare shoulders made contact.

“Alright,” announced Remus after barely dodging a rogue beach ball, “let’s find a place to put our towels before these buggers realize we’re easy targets.”

They managed to snag a row of plastic lounge chairs beside the wave pool to dump their belongings on before Sirius set his sights on the towering waterslides across the park.

“You said these slides were crazy fast, right MacDonald?” Sirius asked, a dangerous gleam in his eye.

“They’re the fastest in Britain,” grinned Mary, tossing her sunnies aside. “And you get some serious air on your way out, it’s the closest thing Muggles have to flying, I’d argue.”

Lily tensed and quickly diverted her attention to her book, though her eyes remained still as she stared at the pages. Almost no one noticed her sudden discomfort.

“That’s bloody brilliant,” grinned Sirius. “Last one to the top has to buy us a round of those mushie drinks.”

“They’re called slushies, Padfoot.”

“Call them whatever you want, Moony, but I want a blue one.” Sirius discarded his t-shirt onto a chair and kicked off his sandals in preperation. “Prongs, do you think we could convince the lifeguards to let us go down the slides together?”

But James wasn’t paying attention to Sirius. “Nah, go ahead without me,” he said, eyes trained on Lily as she continued intently staring at her book. “I think I’m gonna start out a little slower with the lazy river. Evans, care to keep me company?”

Lily’s eyes snapped up to see Sirius’ dropped jaw, Mary’s raised eyebrows, and James’ steady smile.

“Oh,” she said, her voice finding a higher octave than usual, “sure, I could join you.”

“Fine,” grumbled Sirius, pulling the others along with him, “but I’m coming to find you at that dopey river after our first round on the slides. I won’t let you be boring all day, Prongs.”

James shrugged, barely paying the others any mind as he extended a hand to Lily. She watched their friends saunter off before accepting his help to stand up.

“Hold on there, Evans,” said James, plucking her book from her hands and tossing it back onto their pile of towels, “I can’t have you doing homework; today is all about having fun!”

“Then why aren’t you going with the others to the slides?”

He paused, considering her question with a smile. “Because you’re way more fun than a couple of waterslides.”

Before she had a chance to respond, James pulled her away from the chairs and towards the center of the park, their bare feet slapping against sizzling cement as they navigated around young children and indifferent lifeguards.

The lazy river lived directly across from the concession stand, perfectly situated for parents who wanted to keep an eye on their floating kids while they enjoyed a cool beer and a basket of hot chips. The river wound itself around an impressive structure resembling a fairytale castle, complete with canons that sprayed water onto passerbys and waterfalls that poured over plastered mountainsides and into its surrounding moat.

At the water’s edge sat a pile of tubes, growing hot under the unrelenting midday sun. James released Lily’s hand to secure them two floats, missing her subtle disappointed huff at the loss of his grip when he turned his back on her. But by the time he handed over her tube, she’d managed to rearrange her face into a neutral smile.

“After you, Evans,” he said with a little bow, extending an arm towards the gently rolling river.

She rolled her eyes at the exaggerated chivalry, but stepped forward nonetheless, carefully placing her tube in the water and lowering herself into the center. The water, cool and refreshing, lapped against her backside and kissed her heels as she hung her legs over the tempered rubber.

James took a different approach, choosing to throw his own tube unceremoniously into the water before giving himself a running start to cannonball onto it. Lily screeched as he nearly jumped directly on top of her.

“You prat!” she laughed, splashing water on his face, covering his glasses in little droplets.

“You know you love me,” he teased, a glint in his eye.

The pink glow that spread across her cheeks could have passed as a light sunburn, but the way James’ eyes flashed suggested he’d picked up on the truth. His dimples appeared despite the attempt to keep his grin at bay.

“So, Potter,” she started, choosing to change the subject, “what drew you to the lazy river, other than the obvious similarities you share?”

James drove an imaginary dagger into his chest. “You wound me, Evans! But if you must know, I thought it’d be the perfect place to chat with you.”

If the river’s current hadn’t continued pulling them along, Lily might have thought time had stood still. “To chat?”

“Yeah,” he responded as though it were obvious, “the playground would be too noisy with all the kids running around, it seems like we would’ve spent more time underwater than above it at the wave pool, and the hot tubs are simply not weather appropriate.”

“With me?”

It was finally James’ turn to look surprised. “Of course! I’ve spent my whole summer mucking about with the boys, but I’ve hardly seen you since Peter’s party and I missed talking with you.”

Lily tried passing off her pleased burst of laughter as a scoff. “I always forget how forthright you are.”

“I’m an open book,” he replied, sticking her with a pointed stare she couldn’t see as she averted her own gaze, attempting to hide her growing blush he had already clocked.

“I wish I could be more like that,” she spoke to the distance, to the cloudless expanse of sky, hoping it would relay the message to the boy whose intertube continued bouncing rhythmically against her own as they traveled in endless circles.

“As a kid,” she continued, “I loved playgrounds. Gravity melted away when I sailed off swings and soared through slides, when my magic took over before I even knew what I was. But the uncontrollable flying always scared my parents, so when my family visited parks, I’d be kept on the sidelines, hidden away to avoid causing a scene. I guess I got pretty good at hiding.”

“Do you want help practicing?”

Lily jerked her attention back to James and his easy eyes, his ruffled hair. “What?”

“Do you want help practicing being an open book?” he repeated simply. “I happen to be an expert and I’d be happy to lend my talents.”

His cheeky grin earned him a light splashing and an only-slightly-exasperated huff. “You know what, fine. Teach me your ways, Potter.”

“Alright,” he said, eyes brightening as he adjusted his position on his tube to face her more fully, “we’ll start with easy questions and then get gradually harder from there. The only rule is that you have to answer honestly.”

Lily sunk slightly into the hole of her intertube, but nodded, resting her chin on her folded arms, fingers mindlessly dipping in and out of the passing water below.

“First off, who is your best friend?”

“That’s your easy question?” Lily guffawed.

“What?” asked James, watching her curiously. “I already know the basics. Your favourite colour is forest green, you like chocolate biscuits best, and your sister is a piece of work. Now, who is your best friend?”

“Mary, I guess?” said Lily, brows furrowed slightly. “We immediately clicked since we first met, what with us both being Muggleborn, and after Sev was out of the picture…”

“I’m familiar with this part,” James grimaced, his focus shifting to his fingernails. “So, next question. If you had to be sorted into a different house, which one would you choose?”

“Hufflepuff,” she responded without blinking. “Closest to the kitchens, obviously. Next question.”

“Respectable,” he chuckled. “How about… do you prefer Butterbeer or Firewhiskey?”

She paused, catching his eye for longer than she’d planned. “You probably already know the answer.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards with a jolt of hope. “Butterbeer spiked with Firewhiskey?”

“Butterbeer spiked with Firewhiskey.”

James leaned forward slightly, his arm extending absentmindedly to reach for the cloth handles on Lily’s tube to pull her closer. “Like the ones we made at Peter’s birthday party last month?”

Their hands mingled together in the water between their tubes, pruned fingers brushing against each other as the current pushed them together. “Exactly like the ones from Peter’s birthday.”

He was near enough to count every sunkissed freckle spattered across her nose. She could practically fall into his growing dimples.

“Oi, Prongs!” came the disappointing voice of Sirius Black from the concession stand’s picnic tables. “You can’t hide from us all day, mate!”

“Maybe not,” James called back, a lopsided smirk sliding across his face, “but I can try!”

Before Sirius had a chance to respond, James sunk through the center of his intertube and disappeared under the water’s surface. Lily peered into the river, wondering if he could have possibly brought his Invisibility Cloak with him to the park, but her thoughts were quickly interrupted when a hand grabbed her ankle under the water. It tugged lightly, willing her out of her tube and into the depths of the lazy river.

Once fully submerged in the water, Lily squinted her eyes open to see her new surroundings, blue like the sky with ripples of sunlight refracting through the flowing stream, circular shadows overhead from the tubes they left on the surface, roaming away like drifting clouds searching for different horizons. A hand found her arm and spun her around, bringing her face to face with James, his glasses attempting an escape into the river’s flow, tiny air bubbles escaping through his nose and growing smile.

He pulled her across the width of the river, through a shower of bubbles from the underside of a waterfall, and into still water again before finally leading them both to the surface. They broke back into the world with gasping breaths and laughter, finding themselves in a dark, quiet alcove behind one of the castle’s waterfall features. The lazy river continued on as they stood together in their hidden cave, separated only by a wall of tumbling water. Despite no longer being pulled by the river’s current, the two found themselves drifting closer and closer to one another.

“Do you have any more questions?” asked Lily, her whisper echoing around and joining in with the soft roar of the waterfall.

James tried to control the beating of his heart, which must have been reverberating all around their little retreat based on how loudly he heard it pounding in his ears.

He cleared his throat. “Did you want me to kiss you that night at Peter’s party?”

She inhaled sharply. “Yes. Next question.”

“Do you want me to kiss you now?”

“Yes.”

She barely got the word out before James’ lips found hers, crashing down like a wave against the shore, pulling them into a riptide of racing hearts, fluttering eyelashes, and sighing breaths. They kissed and kissed and kissed until their heads spun, either drunk off the thrill of new beginnings or thoughts of Firewhiskey-spiked Butterbeer. Or possibly it was the intoxicating combination of magic mixed with chlorine.

#summerofjily #jily fic #jily #i wanted to float on a lazy river #so i decided to live vicariously through lily and james #emma these prompts are so good!!#this was super fun #and also the perfect distraction from the excessively depressing remus chapter of tiny photographs #lily evans #james potter #yada yada yada #<3

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pen-observing · 3 years

Text

request: baker mc with barbatos. + how you came to know and bicker with the man that looks like love.

MASTERLIST

People find joy in doing the things that they love and, right now, your joy is waking up earlier to see the sun’s rays against the counter of the bakery. They’re so beautiful to bask in and so rewarding once you remember all that it took just to be able to come into such a place. It takes real work.

However, the sun’s rays on this particular morning touch something else. They shine upon a sleek black envelope that was placed right in the middle of your counter.

How did it get here? You’ve always locked your door out of responsibility. Surely nobody managed to break in or something similar? Everything looks in order and nothing is stolen. With this, there is simply no reason for you not to open the little ‘gift’ that was there. Right?

Being a famous baker meant that sometimes you did receive letters but never in such a manner or such a style. They were usually in pastel envelopes; written by little kids with lots of doodles, sprayed with some overwhelming floral scent. And, they were charming indeed but this was allure inside of mystery.

You sit down at the table close to the window and open the envelope carefully. Sometimes you think that anyone who works in your business and actually manages to succeed has to have some childlike innocence. When kids are the only ones writing you such letters it makes sense.

You lay the delicate piece of paper and start to read.

Allow this letter not to alarm you in the slightest. I have come to notice some others on your counter a few days ago and deemed this to be the best way to approach you with an inquiry. Please, read it completely before you make your final judgement. Do you happen to believe in the afterlife? Do you happen to be religious yourself? Even if the answer to these two questions is a resounding no (which I have no way of knowing, I assure you) - please consider this offer. You have been chosen as someone who can help create a bigger order amongst the three realms. We, my young Master in particular, believes in the power that can bring about a more harmonious coexistence. We have already had humans come to our domain but expansions have started because of that previous success. I hope this manages to assuage your initial feelings and any possible fear you might have. We are demons, I must say. I believe there is no use in lying or manipulating you because we are approaching you with a noble idea and goal that you can help come to fruition. We are inviting humans that are experts in their fields to teach us even more and you have been chosen as one of them. If you hold any interest, please proceed to sign your name at the bottom right of this paper. If, however, you are not interested or are afraid – please place it back inside the envelope and it will automatically become ash. Discard it carefully. I urge you not to get hurt.

Now you wish that this letter was full of doodles with a cupcake in the middle of the sun. Who was pulling such a prank? Was this a lousy attempt of the baker 2 streets down to intimidate you for the upcoming cake contest? You have to give him credit for his imagination at least.

Who does he think he is to challenge you? Did he assume you would be afraid? Perhaps, you always were a bit too spiteful for your own good. And with that spite growing – you signed your name at the bottom right.

No need for fire and ash. No need to be scared of anything that this foolish letter stated. Right?

“I would like to extend my outmost thanks for signing the letter.”

What? What was that voice? Fucking hell, how big is the joke the other baker is playing? You will be sure to leave him a 2 star review because only his cookies were decent but all you can do right now is turn around to the direction of the deep voice.

10 steps behind you, and next to your entrance door, stands a man that reminds you of the moon. He has perfect posture and an overwhelming presence. He holds a hand over his chest and looks at you with eyes that cause reminiscence – you always wanted to get lost in such a magical sea.

He is smiling at you but once he notices the shocked expression, he stops and raises one eyebrow. You’re both quiet. Well, this certainly is not that annoying baker. So, maybe, perhaps, possibly, in some way: the letter was not a joke?

“Please don’t tell me you did the same impulsive thing as the human that is a writer. Did you, by any chance, sign this letter thinking it was a joke?”

Obviously, you fucking did. I mean come on?? Three realms?? Demons?? Who would believe such a thing? Really, your spite got the best of you.

“You are not answering and I suppose that much is an answer in itself. Before you express a desire to cancel it out, I have to let you know; that is a legally binding contract and if you try to break it the punishment will be severe. When I say legally binding, I mean by the laws of hell itself. But, do not be alarmed. Please.”

The personification of the moon asks if sitting at the table would be okay and begins to explain to you all of the things in detail. He does it with clear words and you can’t help but believe that this idea seems promising. And this man, while cold and collected, does not seem like a threat.

Truthfully, you have achieved such a big success already. Baking is art and as an artist it was always the main goal. Learn more. Consider yourself a student as long as you live. Be sure to take any opportunity because it means growth. After all, you’ve gotten this far using those ideals. Wouldn’t it be a shame to throw them away now?

“And rest assured. You will be completely safe in the Devildom. I have been personally tasked with assuring your safety.”

You’ve come to learn that his name was Barbatos – meaning philosopher in some old book you’ve read. It is so odd that someone new seems so dependable. Because of this you ask him the question any sane person would.

“Would you like a cupcake?”

Yes, that indeed is the question any sane person would ask in your field. You already know there is no way to back out of this; not unless you wish to endanger your life. So, why not start an adventure if you already must?

You give Barbatos a cupcake and turn the sign to closed before going back behind the counter. The sign won’t change in the following year until you are free from the damned contract. You get overwhelmed with the realization that the sun’s rays will seep in but have nobody to actually greet once you leave. You realize how much you are going to miss this place. How are you supposed to leave it behind just like that?

You touch your pocket and take out your phone. If you must leave and abandon this, then so be it – but you will have some tangible memories of your dedication. You need to have some tangible memories of this glowing morning.

You start to take photos. Of what? The bowl of small chocolates that people can grab on the way out and bring to others that they love. The door decorated with flowers. The very counter you stand behind and the rays of light that are on it. The seating arrangement, the wall with your achievements, clippings from magazines, newspapers and reviews. Yes, you even take a photo of the child’s drawings with a cupcake inside of the sun. How ridiculous. And, oh, how much you’re going to miss this.

The very last photo you take is of Barbatos. He is sitting at the table, looking outside the window. Maybe you shouldn’t but – he looks like he belongs here for whatever reason. And, deep down, you wish to remember him like this. Inside of a peaceful moment. You press the click and he turns around. He doesn’t say anything – he offers a slight smile. In that moment you freeze and realize that in his peaceful moment the smile reminds you of childlike love.

Perhaps the following year will not be so bad after all.

“They call you the best in all of the three realms?” “Indeed.” “You put lemon-honey- syrup in your baklava. I refuse to believe you deserve it.”

Just because he reminds you of the moon and the deep waters; just because he gives you peace – it does not mean that professionally you will allow yourself to be inferior to him. Finding comfort with slight bickering became your idea of heaven and light in this place of darkness and hell-fire.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #barbatos #om! barbatos #barbatos x reader #barbatos x mc #obey me imagines #obey me fic #obey me barbatos #crack #kinda #fluff #also kinda #obey me headcanons #this started out as headcanons but i turned it into a fic cus #ya its barbatos come on #yall i cant cook or bake like i had no other way for this idea #should i write all my fics without caps letters it looks so pretty i know thats a trend #but like im an english major BIG AND SMALL LETTERS ARE IMPORTANT TO ME

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lexa-lives-in-us · 3 years

Text

Saving Tips for Hard Times

I found this old document where I collected a series of tips to save money. This is all part of my experience of when I was near homeless, and some work depending on where you live, some don’t. Here we go.

BILLS:

1. The optimum temperature for refrigerator operation is 5°C, and -18°C for freezer operation. As a rule of thumb, for each additional degree of refrigeration output about six percent more electricity is used.

2. Unplug your appliances. Lamps, microwave, tv, computers etc. They don't need to be plugged until you use them, and it saves energy to keep them unplugged. Therefore, money.

3. Do homework for phone companies and internet plans. Call them! Often they are toll free and if you mentioned that you were already with them or thinking of going with them and then found out another company had a better deal, they could offer you deals for lower prices. I had to do it all the time for my phone, until they couldn't really offer anything better.

4. BIKE. Invest in a used bike if you can, especially for the warmer months. It offsets the transit costs and better your health.

5. WALK. That's the same as the bike, honestly.

6. Pay your bills on time, you will avoid late fees which can up to HUNDREDS of dollars wasted over the course of a year. If you can, set up automatic payments so you don’t forget.

FRIDGE:

1. Every time the refrigerator door is opened, cold air escapes and warm ambient air enters. To compensate for the temperature increase in its interior, the refrigerator must then use energy to bring the temperature back down. Always avoid opening the door unnecessarily and for too long.

2. When defrosting frozen food place it in the refrigerator. Not only does this ensure that the food is carefully defrosted, its presence cools down the refrigerator interior, reducing the amount of work that the compressor has to do, and therefore lowering energy consumption.

3. Never put warm food in the refrigerator as this will heat up the interior, as well as other stored foods. Hot food should always be allowed to cool to room temperature before placing it in the refrigerator

MONEY:

1. Keep all the containers like glass bottles, juice bottles, jars, cans etc. Look for your Return-It depot and have trips to return them. They give back coins for laundry, small expenses etc

2. Use that junk mail. Go through it, find coupons for food, for essentials like toilet paper or shampoo.

3. CHECK. THAT. DOLLARSTORE. They often have things like pasta, ketchup, toilet paper, batteries etc for literally 1 dollar. Pasta is pasta, toilet paper is toilet paper. Seriously. Don't need to spend 5$ on a shampoo bottle when you can have it for 1/5 of the price.

4. Do homework and check with different banks for which one offers a better plan. Some of them are willing to help out. Sit down with their advisors, find the best solution!

5. Use the envelope system! For example, one envelope with a label “food” the other with “entertainment” the other with “bills”. Then set the right amount of cash for each. That’s what you’re allowed to spend each month. If you realize you need more for food, grab it from the entertainment envelope. Adapt and arrange as needed.

6. If you can, set up an automatic saving (example 50$ every paycheck) for both regular saving AND an emergency fund.

7. Use the 24-Hour Rule. Avoid purchasing expensive or unnecessary items on impulse with a self-imposed 24-hour rule. For any non-essential item, wait 24 hours before purchasing. It’s perfect for online shopping where your items can simply be added to your cart to purchase later.

8. Make a grocery list BEFORE going to the grocery store and STICK to it. You’re going to avoid buying things you don’t really need.

9. DO. NOT. SHOP. WHILE. YOU. ARE. HUNGRY. Or you’ll end up buying food that you actually don’t need just because you feel snacky!

10. Only use ATMs from your bank, or you get charged small fees.

11. Set a “No Spend Day” per week, where you consciously DO NOT spend any money for that day.

12. Ditch the paper: Cutting out paper towels and using cloths and napkins that you can simply wash and reuse is a simple way to save.

13. After you wear clothes, hang them outside your wardrobe, on a door or something. You can air them out a bit, then stick them in the closet without washing. You can basically reuse the same clothes two or three times without having to wash them, sometimes they just need a bit of air and they won’t smell AT ALL.

14. If you don’t own or want to spend money on an iron, hang whatever blouse you need to iron in the bathroom while you shower. The steam will humidify the fabric and straighten it up.

15. Hang stuff to dry. Really don’t need to spend money on the dryer.

16. Sign up to the library. They have so many books and DVDs nowadays. You can also just go, sit at the library and stay warm for a while, so that you don’t have to sit at home and either suffer the cold or use money on your own heat.

17. Budget, budget, budget. Get a lil notebook, write down the monthly expenses, cut what you don’t need. It gets easier with time.

FOOD:

1. Make a meal plan. Write 10-14 days worth of dishes that you can do (lunch, dinner, everything you need). You can then toss them around as you go on with your week, but that way you have a pretty clear idea of what you use and the food you go through for how long. It also reduces the risks of getting take out since you already have plans for what to eat.

2. Cook double! Seriously. Make that dinner and double it up. Leftovers can be frozen or put in the fridge for the day after.

3. Meal prep. Once a week, prep a bunch of different recipes. Let them cool down, stick them in the freezer. At that point you’ll already have all these meals at the ready to just thaw/microwave or oven up.

4. You don’t need pop. You don’t need alcohol. You most likely don’t need milk, but go for it if you wanna. Just remember dairy products go bad WAY more quickly than non dairies, so consider getting food and drinks with no dairy in them. Mainly, though. Water. Just drink water. Lots of it too! Sometimes our brain can’t tell the difference between hunger and thirst. You think you’re snacky? Drink some water instead! It’ll quell your hunger.

5. Freeze fruit! If you think you’re not gonna be able to eat fruit in time, put it in a Tupperware or a ziplock and slap it in the freezer. You’ll be able to then use it for smoothies.

6. Use the Italian saying “Colazione da re, pranzo da nobili, cena da poveri.” Which quite literally means “Breakfast as a king, lunch as a noble, dinner as a poor.” Breakfast should be very filling, carbs, protein, vitamins. It carries you for the whole day. Lunch should be quite filling too! But supper doesn’t really need a lot of it, and if you REALLY have to skip a meal, skip supper. Your body doesn’t need that much sustenance while sleeping.

7. This is for the desperate times but I’ve done it, and I would do it again if I ever had to. Go to markets that have like… Fruits and veggies. Talk to them. Ask them “HEY, can I have the fruit/veggie that you have to throw away?” Ask them if you can have the ugly produce, the one that doesn’t look pretty enough to be put out. Or ask them to have whatever extra they have to dump because is past the expiry date. EXPIRY DATE IS USUALLY MUCH LONGER THAN WHAT THE LABEL SAYS. I wouldn’t risk it with dairy stuff or with things that are VERY expired, but one or two days? Totally fine, I promise. And if you have to? Dumpster Dive. Especially at markets with fruit and veggies that have to be sold on the same day (because it’s not considered “fresh” past that day.) Or behind pizza places like Dominos or Panago or whatever chain. They get pizza orders wrong all the time. Just give a peak behind these buildings and look inside their boxes. You have no idea how many times I found perfectly fine pizzas. For free! IF YOU DUMPSTER DIVE, MAKE SURE YOU HAVE GLOVES, A MASK AND PLASTIC BAGS TO PUT YOUR STUFF IN. ONCE AT HOME, DISCARD GLOVES AND WASH PRODUCE THROUGHLY. Also check tumblr for your divers community, they usually know the best spots.

CLOTHES:

1. Thrift shop! So many GOOD used clothes are out there! Honestly! My whole wardrobe is thrifted and everything looks brand new. It takes a bit of research and maybe that shirt you liked is not in your size, but you can find EVERYTHING, from socks to bras, at a thrift store. Don’t thrift underwear though. You want to go new with those.

2. Invest in some needle and thread, then open youtube. There are SO MANY tutorials that teach you how to mend holes in socks and underwear. And really, no one will really notice if a mend is perfectly done or not. After a week, you’ll forget it too! But that prevents you from throwing away clothes that could just be mended a little.

3. Something doesn’t fit you? Too small, too big? YouTube, homie. They have tutorials on how to fix these kinda things! All you need, again, is needle and thread.

4. Organize clothes swaps with friends and/or neighbors. Everyone brings clothes they don’t need, put them in a pile. Go through the pile and grab whatever there is. There’s no money exchange, one could go home with 1 item and one could go home with 50 items. Who cares? The extra stuff… DONATE IT TO A SHELTER.

Feel free to add more, and stay safe!

#saving #saving tips #saving tip #money management #savings #small savings #homeless #saving account #my tips #signal boost #thrifting #dumpster diving #recycle #creative reuse #reduce reuse recycle #reducereuserecycle

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Pain Is For The Living [Javier Peña x F!Reader] - Chapter 3

Summary: Sex work in the heat of 1980’s Colombia was never going to be a walk in the park. Especially not when you had a crush on your number one client, agent Javier Peña. You’d been warned about him and his reputation, but after one very specific incident that would change your life forever, you find yourself attached to him like never before and you’d do anything to make him yours. Even if it means endangering your own life.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Javier being kind of an asshole, allusions to sex, a ~moment~ in the bathtub, mention of PTSD and trauma, food mention, drink mention, ...feelings?

Word count: 4200

Author’s Note: It’s been so long! I’m sorry. It’s been pretty hectic and I’ve been doing my best to wrap up my other series’ and complete requests. I appreciate you all for sticking around and asking for updates on this chapter. I’ve mentioned it a few times, but PIFTL is very difficult to write. It deals with very sensitive issues and so not only can it be mentally draining to write, it takes a lot of time to research and edit. I won’t give up on this series though. I adore this story and can’t wait to share it all with you.

Pain Is For The Living Masterlist

* Reblogs appreciated and my ko-fi is linked in my bio if you wish to support my writing!

Nina pushed off Javi quicker than a bullet leaving a gun, grabbing a blanket from her bed and wrapping it around her naked body. “What the fuck Javier?” she spat.

Jesus Christ -- Javier had never made that mistake before. Moaning someone else’s name? He was better than that. It took him a moment to just process what happened, Nina’s yelling and accusations only a blur in the background. “Who is she, Javier?” Nina questioned, her tone venomous. That was enough to snap the agent out of his thoughts. Her cold eyes burned like wildfire as she glared at him. “Who. Is. She?”

“Uh…” Javier racked his brains to try and figure out a way he’d be able to save this situation. But the longer he took to answer Nina’s question, the more infuriated she got. “Informant.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie. You’d agreed to help him. But whether or not you’d actually be able to provide Javier with any relevant information was a different ordeal in itself.

“You’re still sleeping with your informants?” Nina gasped a little, clicking her tongue and shaking her head in disappointment. “Why am I not surprised?”

Javier sighed and rolled his eyes, pulling himself off Nina’s bed and grabbing his denim jeans that had been previously discarded on the floor. “C’mon Ni, don’t get jealous now. We haven’t been together for like, a year.” Javier hummed, zipping up his pants. His eyes darted around the room as he tried to locate his shirt. Maybe there was no fixing this. For a split second, he’d forgotten why things had ended with Nina, but now it was becoming clear again. He just had to get outta there. He needed air, and a smoke.

“I let you cum inside of me and you moan out another woman’s name!” Nina exclaimed, shaking her fists in the air. “Javier Peña I fucking hate you!”

Javier offered Nina a small shrug of his shoulders before finding his shirt and buttoning it up. “I’ll see you around Ni.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Called him seventeen times Con, he’s taking the piss.” Steve grimaced, aggressively flicking to the next page of the Bogotá local newspaper.

“Will you just calm down? He’s our friend. We’re doing him a favour. He'll be back soon,” Connie sighed, glancing back over to you, where you had been sleeping on the sofa for the past two and a half hours. “She sleeps better than our Liv,” Connie noted. “Wish we could sleep as well as that.”

Steve hummed in agreement. “I’ll go check on Liv.” He announced at the mention of his daughter. He’d put her down for a nap about an hour ago in Javier’s bedroom.

“No honey, I’ll go. You keep working on your crossword,” Connie giggled before pointing her index finger into one of the blank squares. “Fourteen down: Los huevos revueltos.”

“I would’ve got that,” Steve huffed, scrambling to write the answer down. He definitely would not have. The Spanish puzzle was made for infants and yet he was still struggling.

“Whatever Murph.” Connie rolled her eyes, leaving the table where they were both sitting at.

The second she left the room, you woke up in a cold sweat, feeling dizzy and shaking from a nightmare you didn’t want to remember. Your cheeks were wet, tear stained and goose pimples pricked at your arms. You checked your surroundings in a fluster, not recognising the brown leather couch you were laying on, or the oak wood coffee table in front of you, or even the television pushed against the cream coloured walls. A man with blonde hair and mustache raced over to you, and dropped to his knees, holding you by your shoulders.

“Are you okay?” The man quizzed, his blue eyes searching to meet yours. You were horrified, the feeling of an unfamiliar man grabbing you like this. You screamed in terror, and defensively dug your fingernails into his skin. The man yelped out and stumbled back from you, hitting the coffee table in the process. “Fuck-- shit-- ow--” He gasped. “Connie!” he called. “Connie, she's awake!”

The way he yelled and screamed your name... it was like you were some kind of monster. You hated it.

The sound of footsteps padding into the living room alerted you, and a woman, not much older than you, knelt down in front of you. But unlike the man, she knew well enough to keep her distance. “Hi sweetheart, are you alright? I’m Connie, don’t be afraid. You’re okay.” she assured you, her voice sweet like honey.

“Where am I?” you choked out, tears filling your eyes.

Connie hesitated for a moment. “She doesn’t remember where she is?” Steve asked Connie with concern, scratching the back of his neck as he pulled himself together and shuffled over to you. Taking a note out of Connie’s book, he kept his distance. Connie briefly explained to her husband how your behaviour right now actually made a lot of sense, and how victims of PTSD can often have ‘memory blanks’.

“Darling, I’m Connie Murphy. I’m a nurse. And this is my husband Steve. Steve is DEA. He’s friends with Javier Peña. You know that name, right? Javier Peña.” She repeated his name slow and steady, allowing you to take your time to process the words. Javier Peña. Just like that, a wave of calmness washed over you. His name felt like home. It felt like safety.

“I know Javi.” you whispered in admittance, shuffling around on the sofa. You could feel your lips trembling. It was strange. You were new to Bogotá, and you didn’t really have any friends, other than the late Rosa. And well, Javier too. He was a client, sure, but he was always kind and gentle with you, unlike your other customers. You’d like to think of him as a friend. Right now, he was the only person you had.

“This is Javier’s place. He’s going to watch over you for a little while, okay?” Connie explained. “We are your friends and we’re not going to hurt you. I promise,” the lady soothed. She turned to Steve. “Bring over Olivia.”

“What-- why?” Steve quizzed, his eyebrows furrowing together in bewilderment.

“She needs to know she can trust us. Bring over Olivia,” Begrudgingly following his wife’s instruction, a wary Steve stood up and padded into Javier’s bedroom where Olivia had been left to sleep in a small, transportable crib. He picked up his daughter and carried her into the living room. “This is my daughter Olivia,” Connie told you quietly, smoothing out Olivia’s black hair. “She’s one year old. Would you like to hold her?”

“Connie are you fucking crazy?” Steve snapped.

“I’m a fucking nurse Steve, I know what I’m doing.” Connie hissed back, taking Olivia from her father. She looked back over to you and her deep frown turned into a comforting smile as she slowly handed you the baby. Connie’s hands never left Olivia, and she made an effort to support her head as you cradled the sleeping baby in your arms.

Holding Olivia Murphy gave you a feeling of responsibility. If Steve and Connie were dangerous, they would never have shown you their daughter, let alone allow you to hold her in your arms. You contemplated everything and although it was hard, you decided that you probably could trust them. Still, it raised the question: “Where is Javi?”

Steve shook his head incredulously and stood up, grabbing the phone from one of the side tables and dialling his partner’s number again. You didn’t know what was wrong with the blonde haired agent, but you got the impression that he did not want to be here.

“Steve is going to call him, again. He went to get groceries. I’m sure he won’t be long.” Connie informed softly, and you nodded your head.

“Your baby is adorable,” you announced quietly and Connie smiled, thankful you were beginning to talk a little more. Seemingly, you’d calmed down, which meant Connie’s comforting approach had worked.

“She’s a real gem, isn’t she?”

Javier was just a couple of blocks away when his carphone began to ring. He eyed up the display and read the ‘17 missed calls’, cursing under his breath. He clicked the accept button and continued to drive.

“Javier Peña. You prick.”

“Hi bestie.” Javier grinned, shaking his head at Steve’s introduction. Typical.

“You left us here for three fucking hours with some random girl -- who, by the way, is incredibly unstable, Javier. I don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, but I’m not here for it. Where the fuck have you been? No, forget that. You better be home in the next ten minutes and you better have the ingredients for my fucking paella.” Steve growled before angrily slamming the phone down on the hook.

Javier couldn’t help but chuckle. Steve Murphy was ever the drama queen.

As he drove down the street, he made one final attempt to shrug off what had happened with Nina. Okay, yeah, saying your name was a little uncalled for. But she always got so needy and possessive -- even when she had no reason to be. Nina and Javier weren’t exclusive and hadn’t been for a long time, so, what was her deal?

What was even more concerning to Javi, was the fact he said your name in the first place. Nina looked rather similar to you. Not identical, but from a distance, there was a chance she could’ve been mistaken. Only, when he was pounding into her from behind, he wasn’t at a distance. In fact he couldn’t have been any closer, and yet he still said your name. He was really struggling to justify it.

Sure, he’d been thinking about you when he was inside of her. But was that really so bad? You were clearly on his mind, and Javier just pinned that down to the fact he’d been out all day investigating the crime scene at the brothel. He’d been with you, he’d held you and comforted you. Fuck, even before noon he had been fucking your mouth. It wasn’t exactly unreasonable…

But moaning out your name… shit, could Javier really get past that? Was there any way to justify that -- other than the blatant and glaring honest reason that Javier refused to admit. He wouldn’t even let his mind go there. Whatever, it was fine. He was home now. The end of a long day.

Javier grabbed the groceries from the back of his car and buzzed himself into the DEA apartment block where he and Steve were living. Making his way over to his apartment, he opened the front door and set the brown paper bag of ingredients down on the kitchen counter. When he got home, Connie was just finishing up painting your nails a beautiful sea blue gel colour. She turned around and she looked up at Javier. Your eyes, however, were already fixated on him the second he entered the room.

“Where’s Steve?” Javier asked, diverting his gaze from the two women and continuing to unpack the food.

“He went home. He’s pissed, Javi.” Connie admitted, shaking her head in annoyance and placing the pot of nail polish on the coffee table. She walked into the open space kitchen and nudged the agent.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Javier muttered, stacking the canned goods into a cupboard.

“I’m going home, but don’t think we’ve forgotten about the paella. Steve wants that fucking paella,” Connie chastised. Javier nodded his head but remained silent as he emptied his bag of shopping. “Unbelievable.” Connie scoffed incredulously, and opened the front door before slamming it behind her.

“Thanks Con!” Javier called, but there was no telling if she even heard.

Javier was half way through putting his shopping away when he heard your meek and softly spoken voice call his name in a questioning tone. His dark eyes looked over at you. You were sitting upright on the sofa and his face softened. Stopping what he was doing, he neglected the bag of groceries and padded into the living room to sit down next to you.

“Hi.” Javier murmured, crossing his legs and adjusting the crochet blanket that was covering your lap.

“Hi.” you replied, feeling somewhat shy and slightly nervous, for a reason you couldn’t quite place.

“How are you feeling?” Javier asked, bringing himself to look at you.

“Um,” you fumbled at the blanket and thought for a moment. It was a loaded question. Other than the overwhelming feeling of distress and helplessness, you decided to give the agent a simple answer. “Well rested. A little thirsty.”

Javier nodded. “How would you feel about taking a bath?”

You swallowed back a knot in your throat that you hadn’t even realised was there in the first place. “...Do I smell?” you asked, You stretched out and gave your underarms a sniff, prompting Javier to burst out into laughter. Shit, had you always been that adorable? Your nose scrunched up at the distinct smell of dried up blood on your clothes and your shoulders slumped sadly. Javi, noticing your change in demeanor, gently lifted up the blanket and wrapped it around your body.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he cooed. “Believe me, I get stinky too. It happens. Let me help you take a bath. Come with me.”

Taking his hand, Javier navigated you towards the bathroom. It was a small boxy room with barely any space to move around, and yet, to your surprise, it fit a bathtub. Javier twisted the faucet, and the tap began to run warm water. He picked up a bottle of bubble bath and a tub of salts. “I have a bad back,” Javier told you. “These salts really help me relax. And the bubbles are nice too.”

You nodded with a smile. As he emptied the contents into the tub, you watched the products swirl into a colourful abyss. “It smells like you.” you uttered, without really thinking about the weight of your words. Javier said nothing, and you both sat by the side of the tub in comfortable silence, watching as it filled up. He occasionally dipped his hand in the water, checking the temperature.

“Will you be okay?” Javier asked you, taking out a towel and folding it up on top of the toilet seat.

You weren’t really sure, but you nodded your head anyway. Just as he was about to leave, you spoke up again. “Actually, Javi, could you stay?”

Javier fumbled a little but smiled. “Yeah, of course.”

Javier had seen you naked countless times due to the nature of your job but for some reason, this time, it felt different. He’d never had a woman use his bathtub before, let alone be requested to stay in her presence as she got undressed and stepped inside. You slipped out of your sultry, blood stained dress and let it pool to the floor. Javi’s mouth parted as he took in your naked form under the amber tinted bathroom lights.

You stepped inside the tub and almost slipped over, but Javier, as quick as lightning, grabbed your arm and steadied you. “Sorry,” he muttered, and your hand slid into his. As your fingers interlocked, you felt something. It was like a bolt of electricity, running up your arm, and judging by Javier’s reaction, he could feel it too. “I should’ve warned you. It can be a little slippery.”

You giggled and tried to tear yourself from Javi’s grip, but he didn’t let go of you once. Instead, he helped you sit down comfortably amongst the bubbles and aromatic hot water. You moaned, feeling your body become indulged and your muscles soften. You smiled and laid back, the bubbles fizzing around your neck and chin, and Javier felt his heart swell in his chest as he noticed your lips curl into a smile. It was the smile he would kill to see, and he hadn’t even realised how much he missed it.

“Just relax,” Javier soothed. “I’ll be back faster than you can count to ten.”

Javier ran into the kitchen and took a glass from one of the cupboards before racing back to the bathroom. Kneeling down by the side of the tub, he dipped the glass into the water, filling it up, and gently emptied it down your hair.

“Close your eyes,” he requested, continuing to wet your hair ample enough until it was ready to be shampooed. Taking the bottle of his musky scented shampoo, Javier squirted the thick liquid into your scalp and began to massage it in. You couldn’t believe how gentle he was, and how he was taking his time with you. You’d never in a million years imagine Javier Peña being like this, or acting this intimate, with any woman -- especially not you. To be honest, his own behaviours were even coming to shock Javier. But he just let his instincts take over. He wanted to protect you and make sure you knew just how safe you were. That was the most important thing on his mind.

Once he rinsed your hair, he grabbed some soap and a sponge, handing them to you. “Do you uh-- uh-- do you think you can wash your own body?” He asked, his dark eyebrows knitting together. “If not, that’s okay. I can help. But--”

You smiled and rested a wet hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay Javi. I’ll be fine.” you promised, taking the sponge from him.

“I’m going to find you some clothes to change into.” He told you. “Shout if you need me. I won’t be long.”

And he stuck by his word. Javier raked through his drawers and picked out a pale yellow button down shirt that he hadn’t worn in a few years and a pair of boxer shorts. Padding back into the bathroom, he presented you with them. “It’s not much but it’s all I have,” he told you. “I’m sure Con will take you out shopping at some point. Or we can hop on back to your place tomorrow to grab some of your stuff,” You smiled and stood up, making sure to be careful not to slip this time. Javier held out the towel for you and wrapped you in it. “I’ll leave you to get dried.”

When Javier went back into the kitchen, he figured he should put the rest of the groceries away, only to notice that the once frozen paella ingredients had become defrosted and been rendered completely useless. “Shit.” Javier cursed, pushing them to one side and running a hand through his hair. Looks like after all of this, he couldn’t make paella tonight. He knew he was about to get an earful from Steve at work tomorrow.

“Do you like pizza?” Javier called, rummaging around for a take-out menu and grabbing his phone from the counter.

“I do!” you called back, buttoning up Javier’s shirt and wrapping a towel around your head.

When you padded into the kitchen, dressed in Javi’s clothes, the agent felt his throat dry up. You were a sight to behold. You smelt distinctly like him, but you already looked one thousand times better now that you were clean and comfortable. You felt better, too. It was amazing what a bath could do to you. You shimmied onto one of the bar stools Javier kept by the counter and rest your elbows against the laminate. Javier passed you the menu so you could look over the dishes.

You agreed on a simple chilli pizza, which was one of Javier’s favourites anyway. Javi called the deli and asked for a large, planning on sharing it with you. Remembering that you’d mentioned you were thirsty, he poured you a glass of water and handed it your way.

“Steve is gonna be so mad at me tomorrow,” Javier chuckled, rubbing his temple. You peeked up from the glass that you nursed and looked up at him through your eyelashes. “I promised him paella and I’m not gonna be able to make it tonight. Not only that but he’s gonna ask me where I’ve been. He’ll know I wasn’t out getting groceries for three hours.”

You furrowed your eyebrows together and tilted your head. “Three hours? Where were you?”

Javier paused and absent-mindedly brushed a finger along his mustache. “I bumped into an ex at the store. Went back to her place and-- you know.”

Your eyes fell back into your glass of water. “Oh.”

Javier picked at his short fingernails and another sigh left his lips. “Shit, I just--” he shook his head. “Made a mistake. A very big mistake.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Yeah, that would probably be for the best but how could he even begin to tell you what happened, when you were part of the problem? Javier figured it might even scare you away. “It doesn’t matter… she’s just…” Javier scratched his head. “She’s fine. It’s a ‘me’ problem, I think.”

The doorbell rang and Javier was grateful for the interruption. He paid the pizza delivery guy and sent the stone bake on the table.

“It looks good,” you smiled. “I’ve never had Colombian pizza.”

Javier’s jaw dropped. “You--?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Dulzura, how long have you lived here?”

“A month,” you grinned, with a mouthful of pizza. “Tastes good.”

After you’d finished eating, it had gotten pretty late. You and Javier exchanged small talk, learning little things about each other. You liked it a lot. He had always been an enigma to you, and even though he offered little information, it was still something, and you appreciated that a lot.

“It’s been a difficult day,” Javier noted, folding the pizza box and throwing it away to be recycled. “You should take my bed.”

“No,” you insisted. “I’m fine on the sofa. Honestly.”

Javier sighed. “I’m not going to let you sleep on the sofa any longer. You’ll get back ache.”

“Then I’ll just use your bath salts.” You smirked in retaliation. Javier laughed and you relished the way small crinkles appeared in the corner of his honey coloured eyes.

“Please, take my bed.” Javier said, staring at you pointedly. His eyebrows were raised and his strong arms were crossed over his chest.

You were about to argue further but truthfully, sleeping in a bed tonight sounded like exactly what you needed. You took a few steps closer to Javier, a pool of butterflies swirling in your stomach as you broke any distance between you both. You wanted to kiss his lips so desperately, taste him once again. It was only earlier today you’d had your lips wrapped around his cock, and yet, so much had happened in between then and now. You wondered if Javier was thinking about it too.

“Get some sleep, hermosa.”

Your eyes were completely trained on his soft pink lips. You wanted to kiss-- you just wanted to kiss him. Just one kiss. Just one-- you leaned in and shut your eyes, and neared him, closer and closer... but Javier stepped away.

And you felt your heart shatter in your chest.

“Nothing personal,” he told you. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Nothing personal? How were you meant to accept that? You had literally sucked him off just a few hours ago and now he wouldn’t even grace you with a kiss? Maybe Rosa was right; you shouldn’t form crushes on clients. Especially not Javier Peña. You’d only get hurt. You tugged on the sleeves of his button down shirt and balled your fingers into a fist, trying to ignore the pain in your chest.

Without uttering a word, not even a ‘goodnight’, you sulked away and into his bedroom.

Javier wanted to shout out. He didn’t want you to be mad at him, or even upset. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. It took him all the strength he could muster to deny you of that kiss. Your perfect lips looked so soft and delicate and if Javier could have it his way, he would’ve taken you in that very moment.

But you were more than just a sex worker now. You were a compliance in the hunt to catch Escobar -- and he had to be careful. No matter what, he couldn’t risk losing track of the bigger picture.

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Into The Unknown, Part 4

First

It was late at night and Tim was having problems sleeping.

Marinette wasn’t, clearly. She had pulled on one of his old t-shirts and passed out pretty much the moment she had touched the bed. She was a cuddler when she was asleep, he had found out when she had started wrapping herself around one of his arms. He’d pushed her off, then he’d tried scooting… and then he’d fallen off the bed in an attempt to leave distance between them. The moment he’d hit the floor she’d spread out starfish style and taken up the entire bed.

(He was beginning to regret the fake marriage thing, this was definitely going to become a nightly problem if they didn’t want people questioning their marriage stability.)

He’d finally managed to successfully thwart her attempts by sticking his second pillow between them. She’d been peacefully clinging to it in the hour or so since, dreaming away.

Tim, however, was not so lucky...

It wasn’t for lack of trying, of course. In fact, logic dictated that he should have fallen unconscious a long time ago because he hadn’t managed to get his hands on almost any coffee that day. No, he certainly should have been able to sleep.

The only thing stopping him was Damian.

You see, every time he neared blissful unconsciousness, Damian would make these… sounds. They almost sounded like whimpers. Tim would jolt out of bed to make sure the kid wasn’t choking. He’d looked it up, and Damian shouldn’t choke because there was nothing near him to choke on, but dear god was it hard to believe that when the kid made those little squeaks every time he shifted in bed.

But it was nearing three in the morning, now. And Damian wouldn’t stop. And Tim was so tired.

He sighed and reached into the crib and picked up the baby.

Damian began to cry, angry at being woken up, and Tim hurriedly grabbed the pacifier from the crib in hopes that it would get the kid to shut up.

Don’t wake Marinette up don’t please he doesn’t know if she’s the kind to get angry and OH SHIT.

The bed shifted as Marinette slowly pushed herself up, and she was either squinting at the pair for disrupting her sleep or struggling to open her eyes.

“Que?” She said, not particularly mad but definitely not awake enough yet for that to happen.

“It’s fine, I’ve got it,” he assured her.

“‘Kay,” she said and it took a second for him to fully understand the language switch but, hey, she was sinking back down into the bed so at least that was good.

What wasn’t good was that Damian was still crying.

Tim sighed and shoved the pacifier in his brother’s mouth and refused to let go until Damian had realized that crying was getting them nowhere. “Good baby,” he murmured absently as he bounced the kid in his arms.

Well, if Damian was up he might as well change his diaper now. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to do it again.

He trudged to the bathroom and changed the diaper. It was less daunting now that it wasn’t his first time. Or maybe he was just too tired to care.

Whatever. He quickly washed his hands and then carried the kid to bed.

Marinette had fallen back asleep again, pillow clutched to her chest.

He squinted over. Pillows were bad around babies. (So were blankets, but it was a hot night anyway so the blankets were long since discarded at the end of the bed.) That was what the internet had told him.

Then, an idea came to him. He carefully removed the pillow and set Damian between them.

It took approximately five seconds before Marinette’s face screwed up with annoyance in her sleep and she started reaching around.

Damian made a quiet yelp as he was suddenly pulled to Marinette’s chest and caged in her arms. He gave Tim a betrayed look that was way cuter than it should have been.

Tim could only laugh and take a picture of the two of them.

Then, he settled down in bed.

Damian was still squinting at him, making it hard to sleep.

He reached a hand out and started awkwardly petting the kid’s head. Was it probably bad to pet the kid like a dog? Yes, of course. But it was working so maybe not…?

Damian fell back asleep quickly and Tim stopped his weird petting thing in favor of shifting around until he had managed to find a comfortable spot.

He cast one tired look back at Marinette and Damian. Damian was currently sucking on Marinette’s pinky finger in his sleep and, apparently, she was too out of it to even notice.

Tim smiled a little and let sleep finally take him.

Marinette woke up slightly confused and very warm.

She blinked the sleep from her eyes and then fought the urge to jerk back in bed when she realized that she was hugging a person not her usual giant cat plush and that the weight settled around her was yet another person.

She struggled to make her brain catch up…

Oh. Right. Robin had been turned into a baby and now she was taking care of him with Red Robin for the foreseeable future. They were pretending to be married and part of that was sharing a hotel bed because getting two beds might arouse suspicion.

… none of this explained why she was currently clinging to Damian. Or why Tim had thrown an arm over the two of them while they slept.

She could vaguely remember something happening in the middle of the night. Baby crying. Tim assuring her he had it handled… then what? She didn’t know.

Not enough information.

She decided she didn’t really care. Maybe she’d care more when she woke up more. For now...

She nuzzled her face in Damian’s hair. Still tired. No one else was awake, so --.

Damian started crying.

Marinette groaned a little. Nope. According to the baby it was morning.

She felt the arm Tim had around her pull away as he flipped onto his back. He rubbed his eyes and then looked over at her.

“Your turn,” he mumbled.

“Noooooooo,” she whined even as she released Damian to sit up.

But then Damian crawled over to Tim and threw himself onto his stomach. Tim wheezed as the air was sapped from his lungs.

Marinette hid her amusement behind her hand as best she could, but she couldn’t help but say: “Y’know, I think the kid might just disagree with you on that one.”

He removed one of the hands from his face to flip her off.

She snickered. “Fuck you too. But, really, I’ll do it. Just give me a second to wake up a little.”

He buried his face into one of the pillows and didn’t do anything more so she assumed that was him accepting it.

She gave herself one long sigh before she picked up Damian and started preparing him for the day.

Tim was pretty sure his arms were going to fall off. Why are babies so heavy? They’re so little. Where were they even putting all that weight? That should be illegal.

Well, they were going shopping, at least. They could get a stroller. In fact, if Tim had his way it would be the first thing they would do.

… obviously, he didn’t.

Marinette dragged him to a jewelry store.

He raised his eyebrows as he leaned over the case of rings with her. “You know we aren’t actually getting married, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yep. But I’m pretty sure if I left you alone you’d buy me something from whatever this world’s version of Claire’s is.”

Tim blushed a little. That kind of had been the intention.

She didn’t seem to notice. “Also, if I’m married guys might leave me alone.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“You’d be surprised,” she said. She waved over a clerk and pointed to two simple silver bands. “Just these two, please.”

He waited for the clerk to leave before sending the woman in front of them an odd look.

“I thought you’d go for something more… more,” he said.

She shrugged. “We’re on a budget.”

“Oh.”

Then she flashed a grin and reached out to poke his nose. “But once we get a stable income you’re totally getting me a nicer ring.”

He held his free hand up in mock surrender. “Okay, fine.”

Damian saw the slight freedom as an indication that it was time to pitch himself out of Tim’s arms and Marinette yelped as she reached out to catch the child. Damian whined, which seemed to be the norm for preventing him from dying an early death.

She sighed and set the baby down on his feet with only her hand to keep him upright. “I’m going to let him walk around a little since he seems bored. You pay.”

“I’m paying either way.”

She stuck her tongue out at him before letting the baby lead her in aimless directions as Damian struggled to learn how to properly use his legs.

They had a stroller now. Damian was determinedly refusing to use it. He was hardly even letting them hold him now, throwing a fit whenever they tried to pick him up. Marinette made a mistake by letting him ‘walk’, apparently.

“Don’t know what we expected,” Tim half-joked.

Marinette shrugged helplessly.

Damian walked between the two of them, using their hands as a kind of crutch to keep himself on his feet while he half-walked-half-stumbled around.

When they got to the end of an escalator the both of them lifted Damian so he wouldn’t trip and, apparently, this became the kid’s favorite thing. He yelled ‘again’ in Arabic and the two of them had smiled because it was kind of cute that Damian could find so much joy in something as simple as being carried by the hand for a few seconds.

… it got less cute over time.

Tim let go of the stroller for half a second to pinch the bridge of his nose as they lifted him for what must have been the millionth time that hour.

“Okay. Okay. We can split up. Do you want to do clothes or toys and books?”

“Clothes. I need to get some stuff for myself and, honestly, I don’t trust you to find cute outfits.” She glanced him up and down, fighting the way her lip tried to curl in disgust. Tim must have had someone to dress him back home because there was no way he had managed to get famous dressing like that. “So, I’ll dress myself.”

He frowned. “What’s wrong with how I dress?”

She ignored him in favor of leaning down to speak to Damian. “Do you want to go get clothes?”

“... ma?”

Right. He spoke a different language.

She glanced up at Tim. “While you’re looking at parenting books, grab books on raising bilingual kids.”

“Weren’t you raised in a bilingual household? Why not just use that?” He asked, frowning.

“... just because I’m mixed doesn’t mean I was taught both languages.”

He winced a little and nodded. “Right. Okay. Meet back up here in an hour or so?”

She laughed at him. “Please. I’ll call you when I’m done picking out clothes.”

“... you know I haven’t forgotten that you totally dissed me, right?”

“C’mon, Dami, we gotta go!” She said brightly, picking up the kid despite his protests and speed walking away.

~~~~~

@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx

#into the unknown #maribat #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #red robin #timari #timmari #shutterbug #timinette

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moralesispunk · 3 years

Text

Caramel Lattes

Marcus Moreno x Reader

Summary - You meet a handsome stranger in the nearby cafe and it becomes a weekly date.

This is part 1 of my Marcus fic

Master list / part 2

During the week, coffee equated to a quick cup while frantically getting ready for work. At the weekend, your coffee was a lot calmer. Taking time to enjoy a caramel latte while reading whatever book you were in the middle of. Since moving to the city, you found your new Saturday morning coffee spot.

You had found the cafe you were in today a few weeks ago. It was a perfect slice of heaven being a mix of a cafe and library. At the front, there were small tables and mis-matched chairs and at the back there were rows upon rows of books. As you walked in, shaking your umbrella while it was still out of the door, the smell of warm coffee and old books instantly filled your senses. It was a lot cosier in here than it was in the downpour outside.

You placed your umbrella in the umbrella rack, turning to face the barrister.

“Good morning,” you said as you reached the counter, “can I have a caramel latte please.”

“Extra caramel?”

“Yes, please,” you said, already tasting the sweet coffee in your mouth.

The woman smiled at you, telling you to find a table and that she would bring it over to you. You looked around, all but one of the tables already full. There was one left right in the corner with two empty chairs. As you reached the table, you took your jacket off and placed it over the heater next to you to dry. You sighed of relief bringing your book out of your bag noticing that it was still completely dry despite the thrashing rain outside.

You were so engrossed in the book, only having looked up to say thank you as your coffee was placed down in front of you that you hadn’t noticed the tall handsome man standing in front of your table until he cleared his throat.

“Is this seat taken?” his warm voice asked as his hand gripped at the seat across from you.

It took you a moment to answer, your eyes taking in the man in front of you. His warm brown eyes were looking deeply into yours, a gentle half smile on his face. His hair was the same colour as his eyes, a little darker. It looked like there had been some attempt to tame it this morning but any attempt had been stopped by the rain ready to drop of the curls splayed across his forehead.

“N-No,” you replied, pointing to his chair with a smile.

He smiled wider, thanking you as he sat down. As he took his jacket off to place over the back of his chair and brought his own book out of his bag, he turned to thank the woman placing his own coffee in front of him, showing off the dimple on his cheek and crinkles at the side of the eye. He gave off such a warm energy that the cafe already seemed brighter in the two minutes he had been in.

You looked back down to your book, trying to concentrate on the words in front of you. It was pointless. You read and re-read over the same sentence at least six times when all you wanted to do was take another look up at the handsome man in front of you.

“Is that any good?” the warm voice made you look back up at him again, “the book I mean, I’ve heard it’s meant to be good but it’s not my usual type.”

“I love it. It’s quite sad, not exactly an easy read, but the characters are written so beautifully. This is actually my second time reading it,” you admit.

The man smiled back, big enough to show off his dimple again.

“I guess I’ll have to give it a read, see if it’s as good as you make it out to be.”

“How is yours?” you ask, reading the name that was etched into the side of his book.

“It’s great! It’s about a detective who is investigating a murder in his home town,” he replied, sounding as excited as a young child who was showing off their newest toy.

“So, who does he think did it?” you ask, marking your page in your book before placing the book down.

“He’s not sure yet, but I think it’s his old best friend,” he said, while marking his page and setting his book down as well.

You both spent the rest of the morning talking, ignoring your books that had been discarded on the table. Another coffee each later and you found out that his daughter has moved to a swim team just down the street so this was his new cafe of choice while he waited during her practice. You learned that he was a single-dad, widowed a few years ago and no luck in the dating game he had recently went back to. You told him that you had just moved to the city and found this place when looking for a new Saturday morning coffee spot.

The conversation flowed easily after that, talking about everything from books and music to making up stories of others in the cafe, like the old man in the other corner who had been a spy before he retired or the woman who was a ghostwriter and looking for inspiration.

As you both sat laughing, he looked down at his watch and sighed.

“Missy is going to be out soon, I better head,” he said as he stood to put his now dry jacket on.

“Oh, well it was lovely meeting you-”

“Marcus,” he finished for you with a smile.

“Marcus,” you repeated before telling him your name, letting him repeat it as well.

Marcus stayed standing in front of you for a moment before getting enough courage to ask you.

“Maybe if you’re here next week we can do this again?”

“That sounds wonderful,” you answered.

Marcus smiled and pulled his hood up, ready to face the rain that still hadn’t let up outside. You watched as he walked out the door, his pace picking up as he got outside until he reached the window next to you, stopping slightly to smile and wave before running off down the street.

--------

The next week you get up a little earlier than usual, excited to see Marcus again. You looked out a comfortable but nice outfit, spending a bit more time getting ready, and packed the book you finished during the week to give to Marcus in your bag as well.

When you arrive, Marcus is already sitting at the same table as last week. He looks up as soon as he hears the bell of the door, something he had been doing for the last few customers as well. A wide grin comes to his face when he realises it is you and he stands to pull out a chair for you as you walk over.

“I ordered you a coffee, I hope you don’t mind. Caramel Latte right?” he asks.

“Good memory! Missy get dropped at swimming all good?”

He nods, smiling at the fact you asked about his daughter as well.

“Oh, before I forget!” you say while reaching into your bag, “here is that book I was reading last week for you to try. I finished it the other day. I hope you don’t mind but I scribble some notes down while I read.”

“Wow-I- Thank you,” he said smiling, “I actually brought you the one I had been reading for you to try as well. There are also some notes in mine as well.”

You both sit for a moment, smiling at one another as you swap your books over. You open his book, flipping through the pages and noticing the black pen marks scribbled across some pages. He does the same, finding your handwriting in blue, stopping on a page where he finds a love-heart in the corner.

“What’s this for?” he asks, tracing over it with his finger, “is this your favourite bit?”

“No, its- thats the page I was at when we met last week.”

You look down at the table, shying away from his eyes that are probably on your now and not wanting to see whatever expression was covering his face. When you finally look up you notice the smile that is wider than any you have seen before and that damn dimple. Theres a slight sparkle in his eyes as he goes to talk.

“Well, I see you use blue and I use black. Why don’t we leave each other our own notes?”

“I think that sounds like a great idea.”

The morning goes in quickly again and you spend the hour and a half talking about everything and anything. You finally find out about his job, something you had been wondering all week. Apparently he is not a teacher, which is what you had imagined from his warm and welcoming energy, but the leader of the Heroics. While you had heard about them before, everyone had, you had never really paid much attention to them on the news. He asks about yours, listening and asking questions as you go. He tells you more about Missy and his mum and you tell him about your family who you were missing since you moved.

Before you know it, Marcus has to go get Missy again and you are both walking out the cafe door as he pays for both your drinks despite you protesting say it was your turn after he paid for your drinks last week. You both wait outside the cafe, standing awkwardly across from one another for a moment.

“Missy has a competition next week so I won’t be here but the week after?” he asks, looking down as he puts his hands in his pockets..

“It’s a date,” you nod with a smile.

“It’s a date,” he says as he looks up to smile back.

Marcus waits for a moment before leaning forward, giving you a quick hug and walking in the direction of Missy’s swimming practice. It had only been for a moment but you had been surrounded by his warmth and it was comfortable.

----------

You miss the cafe the next week, too busy reading the book Marcus had swapped with you. You found yourself leaving notes in blue as you went.

No way is it the best friend he is too nice!

I think its the old lady down the street, she seems too nosy

So it was the best friend! You should be a detective :)

About half way through the book there was a page with a note in black that read:

The day I met the most beautiful woman in the world.

You couldn’t stop smiling at the note, reading it over and over again. Tracing over the words with your fingertips.

----------

You found yourself even more excited this Saturday, looking forward to seeing Marcus after a week off. The butterflies in your stomach grew wilder the closer you got to the cafe. As you walked by the window of where you and Marcus had sat at the past two weeks there was no sign of him. You weren’t surprised, you were a bit earlier this week, but as you reached to open the door you heard that familiar voice call your name out.

Marcus was standing leaning against the other side of the cafe, two to-go cups in hand. He looked as handsome as ever, his grey t-shirt showing off his biceps more than you had seen before, his bright smile aimed towards you as he handed you a cup.

“It’s a lovely day today, how about we go for a walk around the park?”

“Sounds perfect and thank you for the coffee but I think it was my turn to pay!” you jokingly scold him.

“Well, you can just get the next one,” he replies with a wink.

You start by talking about the books you swapped. Marcus admits that he did cry a few times and he was wondering what you were putting him through until the end made up for it all. You told him that he should give up his superhero day-job and become a detective, explaining all your guesses of who did it before realising it was the best friend - him finding the old lady down the street guess particularly hilarious.

The conversation moves along to asking about how Missy’s competition went, leaning that she came first and Marcus embarrassed her by cheering louder than any other parent. You find a bench to sit on, enjoying the rest of the coffees as the spring sun warms you both.

“I missed seeing you last week,” you admit, turning to face him.

“I missed seeing you too. Not often I get to spend time with such beautiful company.”

“Hm I think your note said ‘the most beautiful woman in the world’,“ you teased, making him blush.

“I forgot about that when I gave it to you,” he admits shyly.

“Well, I am enjoying getting to spend time with such a handsome man.”

You sit for a minute longer, looking at all the spring flowers blooming around you both.

“Listen, I was wondering if maybe one day you would like to go out for dinner sometime? Let me take you on a proper date?”

You turn to look at the man who had for the most part been confident and sure of himself to find that there was some uncertainty in his eye, like he wasn’t sure you would say yes.

“I would love that, Marcus,” you say, reaching and giving his hand a squeeze.

The walk back to your car is comfortably quiet, every so often your hands brushing against one another and making you both turn to smile. The swimming pool where Missy trains is on the walk back to your car and you stop outside.

“So, I should probably give you my number then?”

“Oh yeah, that would help,” Marcus laughs, “sorry, I’m not great at this whole dating thing...”

“You’re doing pretty good so far,” you smile, putting your number and name in his phone. You watch as he takes it back, adding a blue love heart next to your name before saving it again.

“Dad?” you hear a voice call.

You both turn and see someone you couldn’t mistake for anyone other than Marcus’s daughter. She has the same mischievous smile he gives whenever he is teasing you. Marcus had shown you photos of her before but looking at them both in front of you, she was definitely his mini-me.

“Hi sweetie,” he says before introducing you both.

“Hi, its nice to meet you. Your dad has told me so much.”

“Dad has told me a lot about you too, you’re just as beautiful as he said,” she says looking back to her dad.

“Missy!” Marcus scolds as you both blush.

“Well, I hope the both of you enjoy the rest of your day, I better get going. I’ll talk to you?” you say, looking at Marcus.

“Can I call you later?” he asks.

“Of course.”

You say goodbye to Missy and turn to say goodbye to Marcus. He reaches and grabs your arm gently, placing a soft kiss to your cheek, before you give them both a wave and turn and walk away.

His lips had been so soft on your cheek, his hand gentle on your arm. You waited till you had rounded the corner before you let your hand reach up to touch where his lips had met you.

“She really is beautiful Dad,” Missy says as they watch you walk away.

“Told you,” he smiles down at his daughter, looking forward to getting to talk to you on the phone tonight and finally take you on a date.

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno oneshot #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno fic #marcus moreno headcannon #headcannon #oneshot #fic #marcus moreno fanfic #marcus moreno fanfiction #we can be heroes #pedro pascal

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mianavs · 3 years

Text

Savior Complex

He stripped you of your lifeline but refused to let you perish

Chrollo x f!reader

a/n: some chrollo content for your enjoyment

tw: dubcon, imprisonment

wc: 2.1k

Stealing Hatsu from others was akin to eating for Chrollo Lucilfer. He did it to strengthen his abilities and spared little thought on how it affected his victims. To him, people were equivalent to puppets in that they could be used and discarded without a second thought. The only time he spared a thought for his victims was when their Hatsu disappeared from Bandit’s Secret indicating their demise. Chrollo likened it to mourning his victims despite the depravity behind the sentiment.

You were different, however, in more ways than one.

There was no other way to put it—you were a genius nen user. Without any formal training, you developed your ability to manipulate the minds of others. While other geniuses profited off their Hatsu and used it to rise the ranks of society, you were trapped by yours and used it strictly for survival. Bought by a Mafia boss at a young age, you practiced your ‘gift’ on anyone your master sent.

Everything changed when a new esteemed client of your master’s walked into your workshop. Chrollo’s original target had been your master’s rare treasures but, after hearing about your gift, he altered his plan and included your Hatsu. It was a riskier plan, showing up in person for a session, but to Chrollo your ability was worth it.

The first thing that caught his attention was the cold emptiness of the room. Concrete walls, harsh fluorescent lighting, and the smell of disinfectant and death pervaded the small room. You sat on one of the chairs in the center with two armed men on either side. You were a frail young woman in a dirty white gown and with equally dirty hair that lie atop your head in a tangled mess. You were obviously malnourished judging from your sunken cheeks, bony wrists, and knobby knees. The most damning evidence of your mistreatment, however, had to be the leather shackle around your ankle that was connected to a large chain and attached to the wall.

In spite of your dreadful conditions, you rose from your seat with the grace of a newborn deer and greeted Chrollo with a bright smile that caught him off-guard.

“Welcome Dearest Client and please take a seat.”

Chrollo was convinced your lilting voice could soothe a raging beast as he unconsciously lowered his guard and sat down in front of you. Warmth dripped from your eyes as they traversed Chrollo’s face while yours radiated a child-like innocence as you started to explain the process.

“I will look into your eyes for a minute to search your mind for emotions I can use to create your fantasy. Is that alright, Dear Client?”

“Of course, Miss—I’m sorry but I didn’t catch your name.”

Your eyes widened at the word ‘name’ while the men behind you shifted uncomfortably. “Um…name? I-I don’t know what—”

“What do other’s call you?” Chrollo interrupted.

“Oh! Then I guess I have multiple names. I’m called ‘You’, ‘Witch’, and ‘Woman’ so please pick whatever you prefer.” You stated and Chrollo started to assess your character and the situation you were in.

“I’ll stick with Miss for now,” he declared before initiating Skill Hunter. “Now, can you tell me a little bit about your gift?”

“Of course,” You were completely oblivious to the growing tension that radiated from your guards and started your explanation. “My creations all take place in the client’s mind but I am always present. They are crafted around positive emotions or memories that I find.”

“So these fantasies are all positive?” Chrollo’s voice successfully masked his disappointment.

“Yes,” you replied fondly. “I use my gift to make other’s happy even if it’s only temporary.”

“Oh…and how long do they usually last?”

“At first, I could only last a couple of minutes but after making a vow, I was able to create fantasies that lasted up to three hours.”

“And what vow is that?” Chrollo asked, genuinely curious.

“Loss of my sight if I ever stopped using my gift. My eyes have no purpose if I can’t use them to search people’s minds and create fantasies for them.” Your smile dimmed as you uttered those words while something akin to pity stirred inside Chrollo; however, it wasn’t enough to spare you.

“What a beautiful sentiment,” Chrollo’s honeyed compliment warmed your heart and your smile brightened once more. “Shall we begin?”

Unlike most of client’s you dealt with, Chrollo’s positive memories and emotions revolved around a group of people instead of jewelry, money, fame. Instead of the luxurious mansions, clear skies, and sandy beaches you normally created the setting of Chrollo’s fantasy was a junkyard city.

You distanced yourself from the client as you usually did and watched from afar. Chrollo greeted each and everyone of the group members but tears welled up in his eyes when a large muscular man approached him.

You panicked at the sight of tears until you felt a wave of happiness from Chrollo and your worries faded away. For you, these moments were priceless and made you forget the pain in your stomach or the weariness in your bones. Seeing your clients happy negated any unpleasant emotions you held against your master and gave your life meaning.

Other clients merely forgot about your existence or purposefully ignored you but Chrollo surprised you by seeking you out.

Where are you? I want you to meet my family.

A strange warmth settled in your stomach at Chrollo’s request and you emerged from your hiding spot. You approached him hesitantly until he reached his hand out causing you to freeze in shock.

“Is there something wrong?” Chrollo asked, confusion written all over his face.

“I-I don’t know. Client’s usually don’t want to see me…why do you?”

“I want to share some of my happiness with you. Is that wrong?” Chrollo’s smile dazzled you and before you realized it, hot tears prickled your eyes.

“T-thank you,” you cried. “N-no one has ever done s-something like this f-for me.”

You accepted Chrollo’s hand and interacted with his family as if the fantasy were real. After delving into Chrollo’s mind some more, you learned that the muscular man was actually deceased and focused on perfecting him for your client.

Like always, you wished your fantasies could last forever along with your client’s happiness but it was an impossible desire and your masterpiece started to crumble. The flaming red sky of the junkyard city turned to fuchsia, then pink, until it became a white void. One by one, the group members disappeared as well until Uvogin was the only one left. He bid Chrollo farewell with a toothy grin on his face before he too became one with the white void.

“I see it’s time to return.” Chrollo commented staring into the white void that was once his beloved city.

“Yes, I’m sorry it ended so soon.” You answered, lowering your head.

Suddenly, Chrollo’s hand grabbed your chin and you met his eyes full of emotions that went beyond your comprehension. “No, Miss, it is I who is sorry.”

You wanted to ask what he meant but your fantasy dissipated into nothing and you were kicked out of Chrollo’s mind.

Your eyes fluttered open to blood splattered walls and your hand lying on an old book held by Chrollo. Everything had gone according to plan and the spiders eliminated everyone in the building including your owner. As the Phantom Troupe hauled out the treasures located in the bunker, Chrollo regained consciousness and fulfilled the last condition of Skill Hunter.

“What…happened?” Your eyes widened in horror when they landed on your fallen guards lying in a pool of their own blood. “H-how?!”

Chrollo watched as you whipped your head around for help only to be met with silence. Your seemingly constant smile was long gone replaced with a horror-stricken face Chrollo was used to seeing on his victims—but you were no ordinary victim.

You trembled as you watched the old book in Chrollo’s hands disappear and darted to your feet in an attempt to run away only to collapse on the ground when your chain extended its entire length.

Teary-eyed, you looked up at Chrollo who decided he never wanted to see that terrified expression on your face ever again. He softened his own face as he crouched down next to you and dried your tears with his thumbs. Confusion replaced fear on your weary face and Chrollo sighed in relief knowing it would be easier to dispel confusion as opposed to fear.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this,” Chrollo apologized, before knocking you out in a fraction of a second. “But I’ll take care of you now.”

When you woke up to the black void that was your vision, a broken wail erupted from your chest that alarmed various voices in the room. You flailed your arms in front of you to see if you could at least make out their outline but it was to no avail. With your vision gone, the gravity of your situation pumped adrenaline to your limbs causing you to scramble to your knees and crawl on the bed only to fall out of it and onto the cold floor.

“Hey!”

“Are you okay?”

“Get the boss!”

The shoulder you landed on throbbed painfully but the ringing in your head from listening to disembodied voices you didn’t recognize was worse. Curling up into a ball, you clamped your hands onto your ears to cancel out the harsh noise but it was to no avail. A plethora of negative thoughts filled your mind only to be dispelled by a familiar soothing voice that overpowered all noise.

“Dearest Client?” You uncovered you ears and uncurled your body only to hit your shoulder on the ground once again causing you to hiss in pain. Warm hands gently lifted you up and you jerked from the sudden movement.

“Shhh it’s alright, Miss. My name is Chrollo Lucilfer and I’ll be making you happy from now on.”

“B-but my sight…my gift—” The soft bed surprised you as he sat you down on the edge. “W-what are you—”

His hands cupped both cheeks and turned your head forward. “I’m sorry about your gift but I promise I’ll use it well.”

“W-what…how did…I-I don’t—”

“Stay still for me…please.” You were captivated by the gentle firmness of his voice and did as he asked.

When the meaning behind his words hit, you wondered if your gift would even work in your current state. Before you could voice your doubts, however, the darkness that enveloped you turned lighter and lighter until it was a white void you would recognize anywhere. Splashes of color materialized until they formed your last creation—the junkyard city.

“This…made you happy?”

Seeing Chrollo again made your heart swell and you ran to him wanting nothing more than to see his features up close. You took in his disheveled black hair, pale skin, and pools of grey and teared up from simply being able to see another person once again. Raising your hand, you touched his cheek and gasped from how real it felt being on the receiving end of the fantasy.

“Amazing…I-I can’t bel—”

Chrollo’s hand shot out and pulled you into his chest while his arms wrapped around your frail form possessively. His scent and warmth assaulted your senses making your head spin but Chrollo only tightened his hold pressing against your skin harshly. Overwhelmed by the sensations pulsating through your body, you clung to Chrollo not knowing what else to do.

“You’re mine now,” his voice rumbled against the sensitive skin of your neck. “I’ll be your eyes from now on.”

A chill ran up your spine as Chrollo’s mouth trailed kisses up your neck to your mouth. An uncomfortable knot started to build in your stomach as his tongue probed your mouth and pressed against yours. You gave Chrollo free reign over your body not because you reciprocated his desire but because you didn’t know any better.

Your entire existence revolved around pleasing others, so when your tainted fantasy ends and you return to your dark reality; you learn to accept your new role. Moving forward whenever Chrollo visits your room, you continue to let him do whatever he wants to your body by convincing yourself that it’s his happiness that is most important. So when he leaves you naked and trembling with a dull ache between your legs, your mind does what it has always done best—it makes things up to help you cope with your miserable life.

#chrollo x reader #hxh x reader #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #hxh #chrollo x you #chrollo x y/n #hunter x hunter #hxh fanfic #chrollo fanfic #chrollo scenario #chrollo imagine #hxh imagines #hxh scenarios #yandere chrollo #tw: dubcon #tw: imprisonment #navs.hxh

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ibijau · 3 years

Text

Counterfeit AU pt6 / On AO3

Meng Yao makes himself useful after losing his job, and discovers something unexpected

Names are funny things, Meng Yao thinks as he stares at the sheet of paper in his hand.

Funny things indeed.

After everything that went down in the Hanshi, it's Beastie that saves Meng Yao from himself.

Left to his own devices, he would have either wallowed in misery, or waste time proving to himself that everything that happened wasn't his fault, the way he knows he's done in other lives. But when he comes home after having his past lives thrown into his face and losing a job he loves, Beastie’s mother corners him just as he puts his key into his lock. Her daughter is on school holiday, she explains, and was supposed to be looked after by a friend with children of a similar age. But one of the children came down with something contagious, so the whole plan fell through, and the poor woman now desperately needs help finding someone to look after her daughter.

She’s not asking for Meng Yao to play the babysitter, but he knows so many people, he has so many connections, maybe he could pull a favour somewhere, help her out again.

“I can take care of her for a few days,” Meng Yao offers without thinking. “I’m jobless as of today.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! What happened?”

“My employer died,” Meng Yao replies, which is close enough to the truth. He doesn’t think Nie Huaisang will continue using his Shanzi alias after this, and they’ll never meet again. He might as well be dead. “I don’t plan on looking for a new job right away, so I can babysit for a while, it’s no big deal.”

She tries to insist that he doesn’t need to be doing that, but quickly agrees after some reassurance that Meng Yao doesn’t mind. She looks so relieved she could cry as she says she’ll drop Beastie in the morning. Meng Yao smiles, certain that his mother would be proud of him for doing what’s right.

Having Beastie around is definitely the best choice he could have made. She’s a good kid, but she’s also high energy and needs to be entertained, which means he doesn’t get to think too much about how much he misses Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen.

They watch movies together, as they’ve always done when he picked her up after school. They go for walks to a nearby park, and once to a museum to look at old armours and swords. He buys Beastie a fake sword, though they agree to keep it at his place, since her mother already despairs that she so strongly favours boy’s toys. In fact, Meng Yao ends up just spoiling that little girl, the way he would have loved someone to do for him when he was her age. He even has Nie Huaisang’s console repaired so she can play on it, instead of selling it as he’d intended.

The video games are a big hit with her. She’s particularly in love with the same game Nie Huaisang spent too many hours on, that weird little terraforming thing which Meng Yao can’t see the appeal of. He liked that it made Nie Huaisang happy. He likes that it also makes Beastie happy, and that she’s very careful not to ruin the work previously put into it, focused instead on maintaining it and planting flowers

“It looks like home,” she explains when Meng Yao asks about that, and lifts the console for him to see.

It doesn’t look like a homely place, he thinks, and more like a military fortress right out of a wuxia drama. But Meng Yao doesn’t get to make that remark, because his phone vibrates, demanding his attention. Beastie, sitting crossed legs on some cushion on the floor, goes back to watering virtual flowers, while Meng Yao checks some news from his bank account. A lump sum has been sent to him, a good deal more than his usual salary, coming from an account registered under a name he doesn’t recognise.

It has been a week since he was fired.

Nie Huaisang kept his promise.

It really is over.

Not that Meng Yao really doubted it. Nie Huaisang has many faults but indecision has never been one, though he’s always been good at pretending otherwise. Once his choice is made he toys with expectations but rarely ever changes his mind.

Rarely, of course, isn’t never. Meng Yao, foolishly, hoped to be one of those few exceptions.

Those new zeroes on his bank account feel like a divorce, and he never even got a honeymoon.

That night, Meng Yao allows himself a few hours to wallow in misery, after Beastie went back to her mother. He is only human, and it does feel good to eat take-away in front of a cheesy romance. The film's hero doesn't get the girl, who was dead all along. Meng Yao cries, even though he's seen that movie before.

By morning, he's in control again, and takes Beastie to the park so she can run around in the sun, and scare pigeons with her sword.

Those holidays are all great fun, until Beastie’s mother reminds them that she has homework to do.

Beastie is a clever kid, there’s no doubt about it, but she doesn’t much like doing her homework, least of all when she feels she could be playing. It takes all of Meng Yao’s negotiation skills to get her to even look at her school books, and he almost resorts to bribery to make her pick up a pencil. But she works hard once she starts, and Meng Yao, wanting to encourage her, sits with her at the kitchen table to update his resume. Beastie will go back to class soon, and inactivity just isn’t in his temper.

When Beastie is done with her work, she gets permission to put on whatever movie she likes while Meng Yao checks what she’s done in case it needs correcting.

But when he picks up the sheet of simple maths she’s expected to give her teacher on monday, all Meng Yao sees is her name.

It’s really funny. He knows her name of course, though he hasn’t heard it in a while. Even her mother took up to calling her Beastie after he nicknamed her that. It just fits her so well, that active little girl who prefers trousers over dresses because they're easier to move in and always wants to play at fighting. She’s a real little monster, and Meng Yao loves her like that. She’s just Beastie.

But according to the homework she’s spent the afternoon on, she’s also Nie Mingjue.

It could just be a coincidence. Names are funny like that, they pop up in unexpected places, they get forgotten and reused. Perhaps in another life, Meng Yao would have just dismissed it as a random incident.

In another life, he wouldn’t have been called Meng Yao.

It’s the first time this happens since that first life they all shared. He’s Meng Yao again, Lan Xichen bears his old name too, and now he’s found a Nie Mingjue, hiding right under his nose. A Nie Mingjue who likes fighting, and claims that her toy sword is actually a sabre, and who always insists a lot on things being fair, even when Meng Yao tries to give her the biggest share of a food she likes.

It can’t be a coincidence.

Meng Yao needs to tell someone.

He needs to tell Nie Huaisang.

He tries, of course, and without surprise his former employer’s number has been terminated. He has the same luck trying to send an email. Nie Huaisang might as well never have existed. Meng Yao feels helpless, torn between tears and laughter. After spending centuries looking for his brother, Nie Huaisang just might have lost his chance due to being so damn dramatic. Serves him right, Meng Yao thinks, still bitter about being discarded so easily, and never getting a chance to see if things might work better in this life.

Bitterness doesn’t last. Meng Yao cares about Nie Huaisang, more than he should if he were a little smarter, and he knows how important finding his brother again would be for him. And if Nie Huaisang can’t be directly contacted, there’s always indirect ways.

It’s not that Meng Yao misses Lan Xichen, he tells himself that night, when Beastie is back with his mother and he starts writing a long text message on his phone. Well, it’s not just that, anyway. He does miss Lan Xichen, sweet and funny and so eager when talking about art. But more importantly, Lan Xichen probably has access to Lan Wangji, who clearly must know how to contact Nie Huaisang.

Texting Lan Xichen is a strategic choice.

The way Meng Yao's heart jumps inside his chest when Lan Xichen immediately replies is… it's strategic too. He's just glad that his plan is working.

How have you been? :)

I could have been worse. I've just realised something and I think it concerns you. I've told you about that kid I babysit, haven't I?

Little Beastie? Is she okay? D:

She's Nie Mingjue.

This time, the answer isn't immediate. Meng Yao stares nervously at his phone, wondering if Lan Xichen thinks he's lying, or planning something. Considering their first life, who could blame him?

But after a few minutes, his phone vibrates again.

Sorry, I dropped my phone and couldn't get it back from under the couch. Are you sure?? (⊙ˍ⊙)

It all fits. You could come meet her if you want. But it's him, I'm sure.

Did you tell Nie Huaisang???

I can't contact him. Are you in touch with Lan Wangji? Maybe he can warn him.

I have his number, I just texted him! I'll keep you updated! It's so wonderful if it's da-ge!! Can I really meet him? ╰(*°▽°*)╯

Her*?

I'll send you my address. If you can come tomorrow, she'll be there.

Are you sure? I don't think da-ge would still want me around. (≧﹏ ≦)

Meng Yao gives that question the consideration it deserves. It's not an unfair worry to have, and he'd be wondering the same if he hadn't known Beastie for so long.

I literally killed him, and he killed me. If she had to hate anyone it'd be me, but we get along great. We're no longer the same people we used to be. It's the same for her.

If you're sure, then I'll come! (❁´w`❁)

Meng Yao is very sure indeed.

So Lan Xichen comes.

It's odd to invite someone to his flat. It's a small place, a bit messy, full of trinkets and DVDs that Meng Yao would never admit to owning, not with the image he wants to create. He's always avoided guests. But having Lan Xichen over is as rewarding as it is terrifying. Lan Xichen brought some charming little cakes, as if he's visiting someone important, and he smiles at the sight of a movie poster on the wall, confessing he watched it so often as a teenager that the tape broke one day.

"It's my favourite too!" Beastie exclaims. "Meng-ge has it, you know! Can we watch it now?"

Normally, Meng Yao would point out that it's a little rude to ask that when they have a guest. But he can see that Lan Xichen is nervous and unsure how to act around Nie Mingjue, and maybe a movie will let them all relax.

In the end, they spend a pleasant afternoon, the three of them. Once Lan Xichen stops worrying that the Nie Mingjue of old will appear and shout at him for getting him killed, he starts chatting with Beastie about her favourite movies, what she's learning in school, what she wants to be when she grows up. She's very happy to answer, and very impressed when he explains he's a teacher, even though she's finding it hard to accept that most of his students are fully adult.

And when Beastie is back with her mother, Lan Xichen lingers for a while, tempted by the offer of Meng Yao's favourite takeaway.

“It’s amazing how much like him she is,” Lan Xichen says as they sit on the sofa to wait for the food to arrive. “It’s the first time he reincarnates, you know. At least, Wangji told me they’d never found any trace of him before.”

Guilt shoots through Meng Yao. It’s his fault if Nie Mingjue’s soul was so fractured it took him this long to be reborn. Or at least, it’s the fault of someone he was, once, which is nearly the same, and yet completely different. Meng Yao has learned from living and dying several times, and he’s lucky enough to live in a kinder world than Jin Guangyao did. It helps.

“She’s also different from him, though,” Lan Xichen continues, moving just a little closer, until they’re almost touching.

“We’ll, for starters she’s a kid,” Meng Yao points out, wondering if he should take the other man’s hand. If this had happened before the Hanshi, he would have, but he’s not sure where they stand now.

“It’s not just that. In that first life, I knew da-ge as a child too and he was…” Lan Xichen sighs and makes a vague hand gesture. “He was a lot. Way too serious sometimes. We all were, I suppose, but him most of all. The Nie tended to grow fast, to compensate for dying young. I’m… I’m glad that he gets to properly be a child this time. That she gets to be a child.”

“The world has changed,” Meng Yao says, finding the courage at last to brush his fingers against Lan Xichen’s. “Things aren’t always easy but they’re… easier, I suppose.”

Lan Xichen’s returns that touch, gentle and careful as always. This, too, is easier now than it was back then. It’s not easy, but there’s less pressure to conform, less demands to be good dutiful sons, and just a little more space to be their own people, to make their own choices.

Maybe in their next life they’ll meet again and it’ll be even easier to be like this. But even now, Meng Yao is ready to take the chances that his past self wouldn’t have dared to dream of. He leans toward Lan Xichen, hoping to kiss him, but a knock on the door interrupts them and he jumps to his feet to go get their food. The delivery man looks at him a little funny, but makes no comment. If Meng Yao is half as red as Lan Xichen, he deserves those odd looks.

Nothing happens again that night. The moment has passed, and after eating, Lan Xichen has to go home because he has engagements the day after that he can’t cancel.

It's not a date that night, no more than any of their previous encounters were.

It's not a date then, but next time, when Lan Xichen invites him to a restaurant, Meng Yao is informed in no unclear terms that this is, in fact, a date. They go see a movie after, and Meng Yao gets to kiss one of the two most handsome men in the world.

Life is good.

Life is really good, and yet Meng Yao wants more.

In spite of their efforts, Lan Xichen and him can't get in touch with Nie Huaisang to inform him that his brother has finally reincarnated. Even Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are getting worried. From what they told Lan Xichen they haven't had any contact with him since the day they picked him up at the Hanshi.

"They say he's done that before," Lan Xichen tells him. "They think he'll return in a decade or two, maybe a little longer. Time is hard for immortals, they lose track easily."

That's all very well for them, but Meng Yao doesn't have a few decades to waste, and neither does Nie Mingjue. They're not immortals. One bad illness, a reckless driver, just tripping in the stairs, and it's all over until they reincarnate again, and Meng Yao is done with missed chances.

If he can't directly get in touch with Nie Huaisang, Meng Yao can make a few discreet calls to former buyers, and advise them to get their purchase asserted again, just in case. He makes sure to only contact people who bought legitimate artworks of course. He wants to make a wave, not get in trouble. If Meng Yao knows Nie Huaisang even half as well as he thinks he does, then even in hiding Nie Huaisang will be checking what’s happening in the world of art collectors, and he’ll hear about some of his buyers suddenly becoming fearful of fakes.

It’s a little mean perhaps, when Nie Huaisang is so proud of his counterfeits, but kindness has never been Meng Yao’s greatest quality.

Besides, it works.

One afternoon, when Meng Yao is alone at home, checking a job offer that he’s probably going to reject because he deserves better, there’s a knock on the door. Meng Yao considers ignoring it, but some of his elderly neighbours have been coming to ask for help with their phones or whatever new fancy blender their kids got them to make life easier. Usually, five minutes of easy work means free homemade food for his next meal, which is always a great deal.

When he opens the door, there’s a very old man waiting in the corridor alright, but free food is probably out of the question.

“Well, I’m here,” Nie Huaisang says. “Whatever is going on, it’d better be important.”

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