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vanillasakura · 3 years

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RDRSW21 Day 2- Epilogue

Title: I Learned it All By Heart

Words: 2098

Pairing: Abigail/Sadie

Warnings/Notes: NSFW

(Title from comme tu dis by Pomme)

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I'll try to believe in myself. Like you say that you believe in me

“He almost loo.. Loo-kehd? No, that’s not a word.”

“You sure you don’t need any help, Ma?” Jack asked, looking at Abigail from across the kitchen table.

“I’ve got this, thanks though. I know this one, I know I do, it just always trips me up.”

“I can just read it to you, if you want. Or if you’d prefer that I wait until Miss Gaskill is able to come over, I don’t mind at all.”

“Jack, I wanna read what you wrote. I know I can’t offer as good advice as Mary-Beth, if I can even offer any at all, I just need to work on my readin’, or I’ll never get it at all.”

“That is true.” Jack clicked his tongue. “Do you want me to give you a hint?”

Abigail sighed. “Sure, that might help.”

“Two os next to each other don’t always make an ooo sound. Sometimes, like in the word ‘good’, they make-”

“Looked! ” Abigail exclaimed triumphantly, grabbing the pencil she kept next to her and writing down the word, its pronunciation, and Jack’s hint in her journal. She knew the alphabet by now (largely thanks to a mix of help from Jack, Charles, John, and, whenever she could make the trip west, Mary-Beth), but still struggled with bigger, more complicated words. Still, Jack told her she was doing great, and she supposed that was true, given that she could read through most of his old penny-novels now.

“Anyways, where was I.. ‘He almost looked like someone you would expect to find in a bib… bib-li-cal story, but this was not the bib … oh, bible, this was real life. This was a real man, and one who had lived... through his fair share of hardships, if the scars and the lines that marred his face were anything to go by.’ Jack,” Abigail put the paper down for a moment, looking her son in the eye, “this is amazing so far. I could never formulate words the way that you do.”

“Thanks Ma, I appreciate it.” Jack smiled, and Abigail did too. She was blessed that, despite all of the hardships he had gone through, Jack was still a happy and polite kid. He still loved reading more than anything (she doubted that would ever change, but why should it, when it provided him a way to pass his time and gave him a way to be happy?) and had been working on writing since he was eight or nine. Ever since John had run into Mary-Beth about six months ago, however, she had been coming out to Beecher’s Hope every few months, not only helping around the farm, but also doing her best to work with Abigail on her reading and giving Jack pointers on his writing. Honestly, as long as Jack was happy, Abigail was content. She wasn’t alone anymore, like she had been for so long, she had a wonderful lover, a husband who cared for her even if the romance had faded away, and said husband’s lover to lighten up her life in ways she had never dreamed possible for someone like her.

“You two been okay while I was gone?” The door swung open, and Abigail turned around to see Sadie walking in, a pleasant smile on her face.

“Sadie!” Abigail cried, getting up from her place at the table and running over to the other woman, practically throwing herself into her arms and kissing her cheek gently.

Sadie chuckled, smoothing her hands over Abigail’s hair. “Oh come on, Abi, I didn’t leave you alone for that long, only eight hours or so.”

“Still, I missed you.” Abigail insisted, pulling back a bit to give Sadie some space. “D’you need anything? I bet you’re exhausted.”

“I’m alright, just need to rest a bit is all.” Sadie walked over to the table, peaking at the paper in front of Jack. “You still working on your story?”

“Yep. It’s coming along pretty well, too. Miss Gaskill said she should be able to make it over in two weeks or so, so I’m trying to get three more chapters written before then.”

“Ooh, Mary-Beth’s on her way? That’s great news! I hope John and Charles will be back from… wherever the hell they are before then so we can have a real party.”

“I’m hopeful they’ll be back too. It’s always great when everybody’s here.” Jack smiled.

“That it is.” Sadie agreed, moving to sit down in the empty chair to Jack’s left.

“Oh, I figure we should tell you; Ma’s been getting a lot better on her reading!”

“Hm, is that so?” Sadie glanced in Abigail’s direction, a small smile forming on her face as their eyes met.

“I mean, I suppose.” Abigail blushed, embarrassed by the attention. “

“Suppose? Ma, you got through three pages of my work in about fifteen minutes, and that’s including the time you took to write down the hard words and your notes and such. You’re doing amazingly well! Just wait until Mr. Jones and Pa and Miss Gaskill all find out, they’re gonna be blown away!”

“I’m pretty blown away too.” Sadie said, her eyes still locked onto Abigail’s. “You should be proud of yourself. Readin’ ain’t easy.”

Abigail somehow felt herself turning redder, and spun on her heel to go and work on sewing. She heard Sadie laugh behind her, the sound ringing out like brazen bells.

Abigail watched as Sadie changed into her nightdress, entranced. She was gorgeous, her sun-kissed figure nearly glowing in the low light. Something about the way that she went about unbuckling and unbuttoning every piece of clothing was enough to put Abigail in a spell. She still didn’t know how she had gotten so lucky so as to be with a woman so wonderful as her.

“I meant it when I said I missed you, y’know.” Abigail said.

Sadie turned around pulling her nightdress over her head. “And I meant it when I said I was proud of you.”

The comment had Abigail blushing again, biting her lip as she tried to avert her gaze from Sadie’s piercing eyes.

“I’m serious, Abi.” She walked over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge next to her. “Let me compliment you, please.”

“It ain’t anythin’ that really warrants a compliment. It’s pretty straightforward, I just need to get around to doin’ it more often.” Abigail laughed. “If I had started a bit earlier, I would probably be literate by now. And if I had more time I could dedicate to it, I’d be a hell of a lot closer.”

“I’d already say you’re pretty damn near literate now.” Sadie pressed a kiss to Abigail’s temple. “You can read Jack’s old books without a problem, and with someone’s help, you can read bigger works, like his work in progress.”

“I appreciate it Sadie, I really do, I just don’t know if it’s somethin’ that really warrants this much.”

“Well I sure as hell do.” Sadie reached her hand out, rubbing it softly in circles on Abigail’s thigh. “If anything, I think this kind of progress deserves a reward, don’t you?”

Abigail made a happy noise, resting her head on Sadie’s shoulder. “Not sure I’d say that much, but I’m the last person to be complaining.”

“Good.” Sadie reached her free hand out, turning so she faced Abigail and letting it rest on her cheek. “Because I’m gonna force you to be proud of yourself.”

Abigail wasn’t sure just who leaned in first, all she knew was that their lips eventually met and they were kissing, slow and warm and relaxing. Sadie slid the hand on Abigail’s cheek back, letting it tangle in her hair as she undid her braid. All the while, the hand on Abigail’s thigh kept stroking.

They broke apart momentarily, Abigail lifting her night dress up and over her head, casting it somewhere off the side of the bed. Sadie’s face lit up, and she eased Abigail down onto the mattress gently, kissing her once more, catching her bottom lip and nibbling gently.

“‘M gonna make you feel so good, Abi.” Sadie drew her hands up and along Abigail’s breasts, smiling at the breath that caught in her throat as she did so. “Just like you deserve.”

“Mm, why don’t you show me then, instead of tellin’ me?” she teased, unable to help herself. “Don’t you think that would be better?”

“Hm, maybe you’re right…” Sadie traced the outline of Abigail’s left nipple, smirking at the shaky gasp she let out. “Need to get you nice and wet for me first, though.”

“Then touch me where I need it.” Abigail sighed again as Sadie kept teasing her nipples, spreading her legs in an attempt to entice her lover. “Sadie…”

“Fine, you do deserve it after working so hard today.” Sadie let one of her hands dip down between Abigail’s legs, finding her clit and massaging in slow, steady circles. “This feel good?”

“Yes.” Abigail breathed out, arching her back into Sadie’s touch. “Don’t stop, please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Sadie eased herself down, using her left elbow to support herself as she leaned over Abigail and whispered in her ear. “You’re so smart, d’you know that? You pick up on things so quickly, you always take the time to teach yourself about things, you think things through logically…” Sadie trailed off, scraping her teeth along the side of Abigail’s neck. “It’s attractive. It’s so attractive, Abigail. You’re so attractive.”

“Were you thinkin’ that earlier?” she asked, smiling as pleasure fizzed through her. “You sure were lookin’ at me like somethin’-- fuck, Sadie -- somethin’ was on your mind.”

“I sure was. Damn near wanted to kick Jack outta the house and take you right there on the table. But that’s not all. You wanna know what else I was thinkin’ about?” Sadie’s breath fanned down Abigail’s neck.

“What?”

Sadie pulled back a bit so she could get a better look at Abigail, smiling down at her as though she were the only thing in the world.

“I was thinkin’ about how lovely you are. How cute you are when you blush, how perfect you always are… you’re so attractive, Abi. You always have been.”

Sadie’s words drew a moan out of Abigail, who began to grind against her fingers. “Sadie, my love…”

“Shh, I gotcha. I’ve always gotcha.” Sadie moved her finger down Abigail’s slit, circling her entrance once, twice. “I think you’re wet enough now, my darling.”

Abigail had to bite down on her lip to try and keep herself at least somewhat quiet as Sadie slid into her, stroking at that soft spot. “Sadie, goodness…”

“I know, that feels really good.” Sadie added a second finger, leaning in and capturing Abigail’s lips with her own once more, this kiss more heated than any previous one.

Abigail felt her legs begin to shake as she neared her peak. She pushed Sadie off of her lightly to try and warn her, but Sadie was already a step ahead, moving her mouth down to Abigail’s neck and sucking gently on a spot her collar would cover.

When Sadie’s thumb pressed into her clit, both of her fingers crooking just right, that was all, the coil in Abigail’s stomach coming undone as Sadie covered her mouth with hers, lips and tongues crashing together as Abigail rode out her high. She couldn’t remember the last time she had come this hard for seemingly no reason, but she wasn’t about to complain, not when everything felt this good.

Sadie pulled back as Abigail began to calm down, her breath hot and heavy on Sadie’s forehead as Abigail pulled her flush against her chest.

“That good, Abi?” Sadie asked, kissing the top of a breast lightly.

“Stop sellin’ yourself short.” Abigail panted, running a hand through Sadie’s undone hair. “That was amazin’ and you know it.”

“You really did deserve it, Abi. I’m so proud of you.” Sadie kissed Abigail’s breast again, wrapping an arm around her. Abigail hummed.

“I’ll take your word for it, then. If every time I do well on somethin, this is the reward I’ll get, I’m gonna be readin’ until I pass out from exhaustion.” she laughed.

“Just keep it at, Abi. I know you’ve got this, and you’re only gonna get better. You’ll be literate one day, and that day just keeps on gettin’ closer with every bit of progress you make.”

Abigail sighed happily. “Let’s both look forward to it, then.”

#rdrsapphicweek2021 #sadigail #sadie adler #abigail roberts #abigail roberts marston #abigail marston #jack marston #my writing #fanfic #rdr2 #rdr2 community #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 fanfic #red dead fandom #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #wlw

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padsnprongs · 3 years

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this is for @anythingforour_moony’s writing competition!!

Prompt: “Who ate my pudding??”

If there was one thing that Remus Lupin loved more than life itself, it was chocolate. Chocolate bars, chocolate cake, chocolate pudding, you name it, he would eat it practically inhale it. Not only would he gulp down anything with the slightest trace of chocolate, he would hoard it. He had secret stashes hidden all over the school. Throughout his five and a half years at Hogwarts, his stashes had remained undiscovered.

Or so he thought.

Without his knowledge, one silver-eyed, mischievous Sirius Black had discovered his little secret months ago. Actually, if he was being honest, he found it rather endearing. The image of one Remus Lupin, engulfed in that adorable green sweater of his, tawny curls falling onto his face, amber eyes gleaming with that enchanting golden tint that Sirius often found himself mesmerised in, happened to be the main source of Sirius’ serotonin regardless, but adding that to the image of Remus Lupin, curled up with some chocolate from his secret little stash, perfectly content, was even more adorable, if that was at all possible.

Yeah… Sirius would really have to do something about this crush of his.

And so, Sirius hatched a crafty scheme: he would steal Remus’ chocolate from his stash. Not to eat! Oh lord, no. Maybe just to hide for an hour or two? At least until Remus noticed it was gone, which surely wouldn’t take long; the guy was obsessed. Once Remus had figured out that Sirius had stolen his chocolate, he would probably be rightfully mad. And then he would hopefully start spewing something about morals and boundaries or something. And maybe that, in turn, would help Sirius see that maybe being with Remus wasn’t all he’d thought it up to be, and maybe this silly little crush of his, could finally come to an end. Sirius’ main aim was just to find a way to make Remus mad, and stealing his chocolate was apparently the best way to go about that.

The plan may have been long-winded and, frankly, ridiculous, but Sirius was desperate. He couldn’t go on like this – just being in the same room as Remus was enough to give him the complexion of a tomato, and surely someone would notice that soon? It was too risky; no one could ever know.

Little did Sirius know just how hard he had fallen.

That was how Sirius found himself sitting in the common room, absent-mindedly watching Peter try desperately to Vanish a table, and James hurriedly scribbling a Potions essay. However, the only thing he could concentrate on was the fact that Remus had just disappeared into the dormitory and was bound to discover what he had done any second now.

Not long after, his suspicions were confirmed. He heard the dormitory door slam, the sound echoing through the tower, followed by the sound of footsteps crashing down the stairs. Remus skidded to a halt at the bottom of the staircase. Sirius’ mouth was dry with anticipation; he could feel his heart about to burst through his ribs. He had no idea what Remus’ reaction would be, but he was notorious for being incredibly overprotective of his chocolate.

Sirius did not fancy his chances.

Remus was annoyed, to say the least. He had had a particularly good day, so imagine his disappointment and frustration when he hurried towards his trunk, only to find that the chocolate pudding he’d been eagerly looking forward to all day, had disappeared. And Remus knew he hadn’t misplaced, or already eaten, the pudding. There was only one possible explanation. One of those three idiots had eaten it. He wasn’t as angry as he could have been, mostly because he genuinely had had a great day, but he was irritated, nonetheless.

That was how Remus found himself storming down to the common room, ready to have a serious conversation with his friends about respecting boundaries. However, not everything goes to plan. When Remus reached the bottom of the staircase, his gaze landed on one Sirius Black. Remus, as so often happens, was mesmerised by the grin which seemed to light up any room, the eyes which seemed to be swirling in the ocean depths, and the hair which seemed to catch the sunlight, shimmering with the slightest movement. Sirius’ charm was infuriatingly distracting, and Remus couldn’t help but to lose himself in those breathtakingly bright eyes, which were gleaming like the moon.

Come on, Remus, snap out of it. Feeling his face start to heat up, Remus took a deep breath. There was a more important matter at hand.

“Alright, which one of you was it?”

“What’s up, moony?” James replied without looking up.

“Who ate my pudding??” Remus narrowed his eyes at the three boys and seemed to notice Sirius’ eyes widening. As he watched, Sirius ducked his head behind those glistening curls of his, refusing to meet Remus’ gaze. This was unusual only in that the other two boys had looked up at the mention of Remus’ chocolate. It was the reaction of a guilty person. Remus knew it, Sirius knew it, and he was pretty sure James and Pete had also figured it out.

‘Sirius?’

‘Hmm?’

Sirius still refused to meet his eyes, which only made it all the more obvious that he was guilty.

Remus waited expectantly, hoping that Sirius would say something; this was awkward enough as it was. Finally, Sirius glanced up.

‘Erm… I’m just gonna go take a quick shower… yeah, I haven’t had one since quidditch practice…’ Sirius stood up hastily, but found his way blocked.

‘Sirius Orion Black. If you have done what I think you have done,’ he warned under his breath, enunciating every syllable to ensure the message was crystal clear, ‘I will send you straight to Filch’s office myself, and tell him what really happened in the girls’ toilets yesterday. You can’t fool me.’

Sirius gulped. Although he was aware that he was currently in deep, deep shit, a part of him desperately wanted to make a ‘straight’ joke in reply to Remus’ threat. However, Sirius felt that may not bode well with the fuming werewolf, who was currently glaring into his soul. So, instead, he did the only reasonable thing he could think of; he ran. Scanning for all possible exits and realising the portrait hole was blocked by a giggling group of girls, he sprinted straight for the stairwell. Taking the steps three at a time, his heart pounded nervously as he heard Remus in close pursuit. He slammed open the dormitory door with enough force to make it rattle in its hinges and dived for his bed. Rolling across the bed, Sirius fell through the drawn curtain on the other side and landed on his feet. Although he personally felt that this was a move worthy of James Bond himself, there was no time to dwell, because he had probably pissed Remus off even more, if that was possible.

Speaking of Remus, Sirius had no idea where he’d gone. He could swear his pursuer had been mere footsteps behind him moments ago. Narrowing his eyebrows, he approached the dormitory door cautiously, when, out of nowhere, Remus barrelled around the corner, straight into him, and rugby tackled him to the ground. Winded from pure shock, Sirius could do nothing but flail desperately as Remus wrestled him onto his back and pinned his wrists above his head.

Suddenly, all the anger and all the panic evaporated. Their faces were mere inches from each other, and Sirius could hardly breathe. Remus was staring into his eyes, and Sirius noticed how the amber seemed to darken and his pupils seemed to expand.

But he had no time to think, because he could feel his heart pounding faster and faster, even though he had stopped running. He would have guessed that it was because of the pure intensity that comes with someone laying on top of you, pinning you to the ground, and staring deep into your soul, seemingly getting lost in your eyes, but his brain could barely comprehend what was happening.

Wait. No. That pounding he had felt? That wasn’t his heart. That was Remus’ heart. What? Why would Remus’ heart be beating faster? Shut up. Suddenly, Sirius became hyper-aware of Remus leaning closer to him.

‘Erm…’ he managed to mumble, now oddly self-conscious of how his breath smelt.

‘Tell me to stop.’ Remus whispered, so softly that Sirius could barely hear. Tell me to stop what?? What does that even mean?? What is he doing??

Remus was now so close that their breaths were mingling, and if Sirius moved slightly, he could probably have brushed their noses. Why the hell would I move slightly?? Are you crazy?? Let’s just see what he does.

And Sirius barely had time to process what happened next, because Remus’ lips curved into a soft smirk, no I am not watching his lips thank you very muc- HOLY SHIT, and then they crashed against his.

Remus’ lips. Crashed against Sirius’ lips.

Sirius’ nervous system was going berserk, his brain was short circuiting, and all he could think about was every point where Remus was touching him.

Time seemed to slow down; everything else faded away until it was just him and Remus.

Remus’ mind had a similar reaction. He swore he could see fireworks behind his eyelids and, despite his nervousness at initiating the kiss, what if I misinterpreted it?? I’ll literally ruin our whole friendship!! Ah you know what, fuck it, he ate my pudding, we don’t have a friendship anymore, those few moments were possibly the best of his life. But then, if it was possible, those moments grew even better; gradually, as they both got over their initial shock (and, let’s be real, a little bit of *gay panic*), they relaxed into the kiss. It turned away from passionate and hungry, and more towards comforting and slow.

Sirius’ intestines seemed to be fizzing and twisting, his fingers tangling themselves in those golden curls that he was so incredibly crazy about.

Well, he thought, that’s my plan gone to shit.

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livesincerely · 3 years

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Keepsakes from Jack’s POV? (That fic broke my heart and fixed it all at once. Absolutely beautiful!!)

trinkets

Also on Ao3. Davey’s pov here.

00000

Even after all the trouble he went to getting the address, Jack almost decides not to go. Les’ text message stares up at him accusingly when he double checks his phone, Davey’s new apartment number listed with the blunt instruction, ‘Don’t fuck this up.’

Easy for him to say. Jack’s still not sure how things fell apart in the first place.

He rings the doorbell, his stomach rolling with nerves, and for one terrible second he thinks that maybe no one’s home, or even worse, that maybe that Davey just won’t answer for him.

But the door creaks open.

“Jack,” Davey says, more of a statement than a question, his eyes wide with shock.

Jack’s heart swirls and swoops in his chest at the sight of him. Davey looks just the same as he did when they last saw each other, just the way he always looks in Jack’s dreams and his nightmares—long and lean, with big blue eyes made even brighter by the lush lashes that frame them.

“Hi, Davey,” Jack says, shoving his hands into his pockets so he doesn’t drag Davey into a desperate embrace.

“You...” Davey pauses, visibly uncertain, his fingers clenched in a death grip around his doorframe. “What are you doing here?”

“I got the address from Les,” Jack explains, and it sounds like such a flimsy excuse now that he’s saying it aloud. “I’m in town for the week visiting Ma and Charlie, thought I could swing by and see you for a sec.”

“Oh,” Davey says.

“So, uh, can I come in?” Jack asks, nervous.

“Oh, right,” Davey mutters, holding the door open wider and beckoning him forward. “Yeah, sure. Please, come in.”

It’s a nice apartment. Jack recognizes a lot of the furniture in the entryway and living room from when they were living together, and he spies a few picture frames hanging in the hallway that he’s pretty sure he picked out himself—the scattered reminders help something settle in his chest even as something else fizzes and buzzes behind his eyes.

“You moved out of the old place,” Jack can’t help but point out as he takes it all in; he’s been wondering about the change ever since he found out Davey moved.

“It was a bit too much for just one person,” Davey says quietly. “A smaller apartment is easier to keep up with.”

There’s a brief pause where that statement hangs in the air between them, heavy and awkward. Jack feels like an absolute heel—of course Davey wouldn’t be able to make rent on their old place by himself, and it’s not like there’d been space for a housemate. Of course he’d had to move.

Davey continues, “Can I get you anything? Soda or coffee or...?”

“Coffee would be great, actually,” Jack says, not really all that interested in a drink, but happy for an excuse to linger for a while. “But, uh, only if it won’t put ya out.”

“It’s no trouble,” Davey says, and Jack can’t tell if he’s being honest or just being polite. “Here, go ahead and sit down and I’ll fix you a cup.”

Jack settles down onto one of the stools at the island while Davey putters around the kitchen, taking a moment while Davey’s back is turned to just look at him.

He needs a haircut, Jack thinks, noting the way Davey’s fringe falls into his eyes as he fiddles with the coffee maker—just long enough now that it’s starting to curl up at the ends, making him look even softer then he usually does—then sort of hating that he’s noticed.

He shouldn’t care. He knows he shouldn’t.

But he does.

“So, how have you been?” Davey asks, head ducked down to watch the coffee brew. “How’s Santa Fe been treating you?”

“‘S good,” Jack says, talking out his ass, too focused on the motion of Davey’s fingers as he drums them against the countertops, on the delicate line of his wrists peeking out from under his shirt sleeves, to pay attention to what he’s saying. “It’s great, it’s got everything: clear skies, gorgeous sunsets. If you go out to the desert at the right time of day the views are unreal. So, uh, life’s pretty good.”

Davey still doesn’t turn toward him, still won’t lift his head. It’s making something go uncomfortably tight in Jack’s chest, his pulse beating a few ticks faster in his ears.

“And work’s going well?”

“Real well,” Jack tells the back of Davey’s head, and as he watches, Davey’s shoulders stiffen. “Now that I’ve been there a while they’re startin’ to give me my own projects to work on, which is great. Nerve racking, and I’m constantly terrified that I’m gonna fuck it all up, but great. Honestly, the studio space and the stipend I get for supplies on its own is pretty incredible, let alone all the experience and connections I’m getting too. So, yeah, things are goin’ well.”

“That’s great, Jack,” Davey says, and he actually sounds like he means it, but he still won’t meet Jack’s eyes. It’s kinda starting to piss him off. “I’m glad things are working out for you.”

“Couldn’t ask for much more,” Jack says, but he’s not quite able to mask the hint of bitterness that creeps into his tone—the one thing he’d ask for is standing right in front of him, but he might as well be on Mars for how vast the distance between them feels.

It’s just Jack’s luck that this is the moment when Davey finally, finally looks at him. It’s only a brief glance in his direction before his gaze falls away again, but even just that almost feels like too much: those eyes are as gorgeous as ever, and vividly, brilliantly blue.

Jack’s breath hitches in his throat—if he wasn’t still hopelessly, haplessly in love with Davey, he’s pretty sure that would’ve caused him to fall all over again. But he isn’t so distracted that he doesn’t notice the wealth of emotion swirling in that gaze: something vulnerable and pained tucked beneath Davey’s calm facade.

“How’re you doin’, Davey?” he asks carefully.

“Good,” Davey says to the coffee maker. “I’ve been good.”

“Yeah?” Jack presses, watching him closely. “Anythin’ interestin’ goin’ on?”

“Just the same old, same old,” Davey says, which doesn’t sound like a lie, but isn’t really an answer. “Nothing new to tell, honestly.”

“Nothing at all?” Jack says, relieved and annoyed all at once at this response, but trying to sound like he doesn’t care as much as he does. This is the best answer he could’ve hoped for, probably—he’s honestly not sure what he would’ve done if Davey started talking about how wonderful his life has been without Jack in it. He tries, “Did you ever end up gettin’ that transfer you wanted?”

Davey crosses his arms across his chest. “I, uh, rescinded the request after you— after everything,” he explains softly. “There wasn’t really a need, and it was easier to just stay at my old branch.”

“Oh,” Jack says.

The silence is punctuated by the drip drip drip of the coffee finishing up. Davey pulls a couple of mugs out of one of the cabinets and fixes them both a cup.

“Here you go,” Davey says, passing him a mug.

Jack goes to take a sip, the freezes midway through the motion, heart seizing in his chest as he realizes what he’s holding.

The pottery place had been his attempt at a unique, memorable first date, figuring that he might as well weigh the dice in his favor by going with something artsy. He’d been so fucking nervous the entire week leading up to it, had wanted so badly to impress the beautiful, brilliant boy that had just transferred in, because he’s been in love with Davey almost since the moment they met and it’s not looking like that’s gonna stop any time soon.

So the fact that Davey’s throwing that back in his face, taunting him with the reminder of how something so wonderful has since shattered to pieces... Jack’s whole body tenses up, fury sparking hot in his stomach.

“What the fuck, Davey?” he spits out. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Davey has the fucking gall to look startled, maybe even a little hurt.

“Why do you still have this?” Jack demands, slamming the mug down so hard that some of the contents spill out, coffee pooling on the counter. “Why would you keep—?”

“Why wouldn’t I keep it?” Davey asks, like he honestly doesn’t see what the big deal is. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”

And that is just... Jack almost wants to laugh, except he thinks he’s never heard anything less funny in his life.

“Oh, so that’s where you draw the line, huh?” Jack says, voice tight with anger. “That’s how it is? Knick knacks, keepsakes, sure, those you’ll keep around, but the stuff that’s actually worth having? That’s actually worth fighting for? You can just let all that go without ever sayin’ a fuckin’ word otherwise because who gives a shit—”

Davey’s expression twists.

“Right, because you were so fucking eager to stay?” he asks with a derisive scoff. “Give me a break, Jack, you couldn’t wait to leave. Just fucked off to the other side of the country and left me here to pick up the pieces—”

“You were all but pushing me out the fucking door!” Jack accuses, throwing his hands up. “‘It’s a wonderful opportunity, Jackie,’ ‘You’d be an idiot not to take it, Jackie,’ ‘It’s what you’ve always dreamed of, Jackie!’ What a load of horseshit—”

“Oh, so it’s my fault for being supportive?’ Davey asks, incredulous—as if Jack’s the one that’s in the wrong here. “Are you serious?”

“I’m just sayin’, you weren’t exactly bent outta shape at the thought of me leavin’,” Jack says, frigid, because if he lets himself think about it too much, if he lets himself remember the gaping hole that had formed in his chest when he’d realized that loves Davey more than Davey loved him, he thinks he might shatter completely. “Didn’t seem to bother you one fuckin’ bit. Probably relieved to finally have an excuse to get rid of me—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Davey hisses, and he strides forward until they’re standing nearly chest to chest—the closest they’ve been in almost a year. “I’ve missed you like you wouldn’t believe, missed you every single goddamn second of the last eight months, don’t think for a moment that I didn’t, you fucking asshole.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack bites out, not believing this for a second. “If you missed me so fucking much, then why’d we break up?”

“Because you were moving to Santa Fe!” Davey yells back. “You were leaving, Jackie! What else was I supposed to do, except let you go and try my best to be happy for you?”

Jackie. It sounds different coming out of Davey’s mouth. Something prickles at Jack’s eyes, and the threat of tears almost makes him angrier.

“If you really wanted me to be happy,” Jack growls, “you would’ve come with me.”

“You didn’t ask me to come with you!” Davey shouts.

“And you didn’t ask me to stay!”

“Ask you to stay? Ask you to stay?” Davey says, and his eyes are wild, burning and blazing as he stares Jack down. “Of course I didn’t fucking ask you to stay, I was never going to ask you to stay! It was Santa Fe, it was all you ever fucking talked about, it was your dream, Jack! It was everything that you wanted! I would never even suggest that you give that up, God, what kind of shit-ass person do you think I am, that you thought I would ever, ever try to stand between you and Santa Fe when I know how important it is to you—?”

“I’m not fucking hearing this,” Jack says, shaking his head, because he isn’t. He can’t be. Because it sounds like Davey is saying... Like he’s telling him that... “I am not fucking hearing this. I— You—“

Jack turns on his heel and storms out of Davey’s apartment, slamming the door behind him as he goes. He only gets a few steps down the hallway before his knees give out from underneath him, leaving him staggering into the nearest wall, his breaths coming in ragged pants.

Davey.

It’s like it’s seared into the space behind his eyes, woven right between his heartstrings—the look on Davey’s face, the sound of Davey’s voice, the shape and color of Davey’s eyes.

Davey. Always, always Davey

Jack loves him. It’s not like it’s a surprise, but then, Jack’s always known that.

Maybe Davey hadn’t known. Maybe Davey hadn’t known that there’s nothing on this earth that Jack loves more than him, maybe he hadn’t realized how utterly, impossibly, eternally in love with him Jack is.

Maybe Jack needs to tell him.

When he enters the apartment again he finds Davey right where he left him, and Jack can’t help but be reminded of the last time they parted, when Jack left for Santa Fe all those months ago. But this is the part he hadn’t seen back then, the part that Davey had hidden from him: he’d never been privy to the way Davey’s whole body can wilt in on itself when he’s heartbroken, had never witnessed the way Davey’s usually steady hands tremble when he’s holding back a sob.

Davey’s head jerks up as Jack steps back inside and his lips quiver when he shuts the door behind him.

His eyes are wet.

Jack steps forward, bunches his hands in the fabric of Davey shirt, and pulls him into a desperate, scorching kiss.

“I love you,” Jack says fiercely. “I love you. I loved you before I got the job offer, I loved you while I was searching for apartments and planning the move, I loved you every time I talked up Santa Fe to you, tryin’ to convince you to come with me any way I could think of. I loved you when we broke up, I loved you when I left, I loved you when I landed, and it’s been eight fucking months and I’m still so fucking in love with you—”

Davey kisses him this time, and the press of his mouth against his own, the tangle of his fingers in Jack’s hair as he tugs him closer, the taste and heat and feel of him—it’s like coming home.

“I love you too, Jackie,” Davey promises, and hearing the words finally soothes something deep down in Jack’s very being. He hadn’t thought he’d ever hear them again. “I love you and I’ve missed you so much—”

“I missed you,” Jack says, punctuating the declaration with another kiss. “You’re it for me Davey. There’s just you. And I… I can’t give this up again. Santa Fe ain’t worth nothin’ if you’re not there with me.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Davey murmurs, holding him tight. “I thought I had to let you go.”

Jack shakes his head.

“I wanted you to keep me,” he confesses—he’s never been brave enough to say it aloud before. “And I wanted to keep you too.”

“Then keep me,” Davey says, and it rings like a promise. “Keep me.”

00000

Tags! @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @corbinthecowboy @stroopwafeldetective @lyydiiaak

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #*editor's note #*the writing desk #*final cut #*ask #*ask game #different perspectives #this ended up being very long #and I stayed up wayyyy to long finishing it #but I’m really happy with it #😊

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zeninw · 3 years

Text

drabble abt working w jean as a lifeguard bc i'm one and i feel super socially awkward with my staff sometimes.

cw: sfw, not proofread, mentions of social anxiety, friends to lovers kinda, cliches, a hint of suggestiveness

wc: 1.7k

The wings you had ordered were no where near as good as you hoped they would be— and neither was the night out.

You wanted to have fun with your coworkers, even though most of the time you preferred to be along, but the night had dragged out far beyond your means.

The bar had gotten too loud, and your social battery had died an hour ago. You checked out from the group, pretending to be absorbed in your phone at the end of the table.

You couldn't leave, you had gotten a ride from a freind here, but all you wanted was to go home. The check was taking forever, people were screaming at some soccer game on the TV overhead, or in some conversation that didn't include you.

You felt so out of place, a feeling you dreaded and generally tried to avoid. Years of trying to make yourself more palatable to others, anxious about going out in social settings aside from your few best friends.

Out of excuses as to why you were 'so quiet' you ducked out to the bathroom, locking the door behind you and sitting on the counter.

It was a good half hour of you scrolling through instagram or whatever you could do to distract yourself before someone knocked on the door.

You sighed, realizing someone would have to use the bathroom eventually.

"One second," you called, hopping up and tucking your phone in your pocket.

You opened your door to find one of your male coworkers, and had to remind yourself that the singular bathroom was co-ed.

"Hey," Jean said, looking down at you. You expected him to step back so you could leave and he could enter, but he stayed stagnant, standing in your way. "You've been gone for a while, eat some bad food or something?" he asked.

You shook your head no. "I'm just tired. Waiting for my ride to be ready."

"I'm about to head out, if you wanna ride with me," he suggested, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.

"Oh, I don't want you to have to go out of your way..." you trailed off, not wanting to be a hassle.

"It's no problem, really. I'm pretty sure we both live in Ocean Pines," he said, referring to your apartment complex.

"Okay," you agreed. "Thank you."

"No problem," he nodded, then turned on his heels. "I'm gonna tell Sash we're leaving, i'll meet you by the door."

You nodded, following him out of the narrow hallway that lead to the bathroom back out into the crowded resteraunt.

He nodded at you after talking to Sasha, then you followed him out. The air was a little cool, wet with humidity and a few clouds rolling in as you stepped outside.

He made you feel comfortable on the ride home, and waving goodbye as he took the elevator up one floor above yours.

He became someone you found it easy to gravitate towards, and calmed some of your nerves whenever you went out.

Jean was a gentle giant, and despite his size, he was never intimidating or overwhelming.

He sat with you the next friday night, like he had for the last three, at the bar. You tugged on the strap of your tank top, it was a summer job you were working together, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

"Are you old enough to be drinking that?" you said, referring to the alcohol in his hand.

"Nope, but when you're pretty and hang out with the managers, you don't get carded." You rolled your eyes. He wasn't wrong, but still. "I heard you had a save today," Jean said, taking a sip of his drink. The beer made his breath smell bready, leaving a bit of fizz on the top of his lip.

"Yeah," you said, reaching a hand out to his face. You wiped the residue off his cupid's bow with your thumb before leaning back. "A kid came off the slide and didn't really know how to swim."

"Your first one?" Jean asked.

"No, third," you answered, stealing a few fries from his basket. "One spinal from someone who decided to go off headfirst, one in the wave pool," you explained.

"You're lacking," Jean shook his head.

"Yeah, well, you've been working at the park a year longer than I have," you answered, taking more. He slid the basket over to you, leaning on the bar.

"Have you ever gone after hours?"

"Like... night swimming?"

"Yeah. I have a key, if you wanna go."

"Are you auditing me or something?"

"No— I'm serious. We won't get in any trouble." You looked around. "Look," he said, placing his hand on your shoulder. "All the other managers are here, drunk off their ass, and there are no cameras at the park."

You looked over to them, they were all sitting around a table red-faced and laughing, even levi and miche.

"Okay," you shrugged. "Why not."

The drive was about 5 minutes, and it was odd seeing the empty water park. No lights, no people, and Jean had to step into the office to turn all the slides on.

He climbed into the stand as you eased into the water, jumping off of it and in. He ran his hand through his hair as he came up, watching you tiptoe through the water.

"You're not gonna go under?" Jean asked, wading in the deep end of the pool.

"It's cold!" you yelled across the water, ducking under a rope barrier.

The two of you met in the middle where he could stand and you couldn't. You held onto his shoulders to keep yourself afloat, and it put you two closer than you would've expected.

His hands wrapped around your waist, and before you could protest, he dunked you underwater, getting your head wet.

"There," he said, picking you back up. You laughed, hitting him on the shoulder.

"Fuck you," you smiled.

"Wouldn't you like that," he teased, making you hit him again. The two of you stayed there for a moment, holding each other, before you pulled away.

"Let's ride something," you suggested. "Malibu pipeline is a two seater."

Jean agreed, following you to the stairs. The park was pretty big, and the black slide was nearly on the other side.

"This is why I hate working here sometimes," Jean sighed.

"What, the walking?"

"The stairs, specifically," he said, jogging up the wooden ones with you.

"I think it's worth it," you shrugged. "I've seen kids ride this over and over and they never seem to get tired from the climb."

"When I was twelve, maybe I could've," he said, reaching the top of the platform. The water was already running, and you put the tube down, sitting in the front. Jean got in behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist. "Ready?"

"Yep," you responded, and he pushed the two of you down.

It was a shorter ride than you remembered as a kid. "That was kinda underwhelming," you frowned, hopping out of the tube. "Also this swimsuit is so uncomfortable. I wish they would invest in better uniforms."

"Take it up with Erwin," Jean said, making his way to the stairs with you. "But I think it looks great on you."

"Thank you," you replied. "You too."

There was a comfortable silence between the two of you as you walked to the lazy river, grabbing a few tubes and getting in.

"This is nice," you sighed, leaning back as the water carried the two of you around. "It's quiet," you said, holding onto Jeans tube so the two of you could float together.

"It's my favorite place to come after close," he sighed. "Silence, besides the sound of the water," he nodded. You closed your eyes, listening to it.

You had no idea how many laps you had taken around by the time you opened your eyes, but it was at least 3.

"Are you—" you looked over to see that Jean wasn't there. "Jean?" you called looking around. You sat up on the tube from your laying position, looking around. "Jean?" you called again.

It was silent for a few moments, before he jumped in the water, splashing you. It knocked you off your tube, and you could hear him laughing before you even came up from the water.

"Jesus, you scared me," you said, kicking him under the water. He just kept laughing and you swung at him, hitting his chest. "Ow," you said, shaking your hand out. Jean caught your wrist as you retracted it, pulling you closer to him.

"That hurt?" he smiled, tilting his head to the side.

"No," you lied, trying to pull your arm away from him, but he only tugged you closer. You tried with your left, but he caught that one too, holding both of your wrists in one hand.

"Aw, that's cute." You were at a loss for words, lips parting but nothing coming out.

"Is it?" you managed.

"Yeah," Jean said, using his other hand to pick you up by the back of your thighs.

You let him wrap your legs around his waist, exhaling as he did it. He leaned down towards you, eyes searching your face. He kissed you, just for a second, before pulling away.

“Jean—“

"Sorry," he said, pulling back but not letting go of you.

"Don't be," you said, resting your hands on his shoulders.

"I should be," he said. "Liking your coworker is— never a good idea."

"And you know this how"

"I don't know," he sighed, looking away from you. There was a crack of thunder. "Uh, we should get out," he said, putting you down on your feet.

"Yeah," you agreed, pushing yourself up on the wall.

There was silence on your walk back to the front of the park and Jeans car, and by the time you had pulled all your clothes back on, it had started to rain heavily.

"Jean," you said as you got in the car, escaping the rain."

"Yeah?" he responded.

"For the record, I think it's worth it," you said, eyes flitting over his face before you pulled his to yours. Your lips met gently, and you could feel him smile against you as you pulled away.

"Me too."

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invisibleicewands · 3 years

Text

His beard bloomed and his hair sprang forth, like a riot of corkscrews, during lockdown. Now Michael Sheen sweeps on to the National Theatre’s Olivier stage in the manner of an Old Testament prophet descending from Mount Snowdon – or must we call it Yr Wyddfa?

Sheen is best known as a great mimic who played Chris Tarrant in last year’s TV series about the Who Wants To Be A Millionaire coughing scandal, Quiz, and Tony Blair in the 2006 film The Queen opposite Helen Mirren – plus David Frost in Peter Morgan’s play and film Frost/Nixon and Brian Clough in the The Damned United movie.

Here though he takes on the role of the narrator in Lyndsey Turner’s bittersweet revival of Dylan Thomas’s verse drama written for radio in 1954 – re-imagined here in a care home. [...]

Looking pallid and paunchy in his creased shirt and saggy trousers, Sheen takes the role of the story’s narrator, made famous by Richard Burton. Only here, Sheen relates the tale not to the audience but to his father, whose memories have been robbed by Alzheimer’s.Inebriated by the whisky he keeps hidden in his jacket, Sheen stumbles eagerly through the verse as if making it up as he goes along – painting pictures of people (and their dreams) in the Carmarthenshire port that lies ‘fast, and slow, asleep’. [...] The care home setting does feel cheerless at first, but it’s a clever way of focusing the rambling yarn. And furniture on casters – including a shop counter, steaming stove and kitchen table, set with multiple cloths to denote different homes – add a sense of magic and playfulness.Nor could you wish for a more loquacious, richer narrator than hirsute, woody-voiced Sheen, who looks like he’s been training outside an off-licence. I just wish it had been bookended with silence rather than someone else’s words. DailyMail

[...] On the circular stage of the reconfigured, socially distanced Olivier auditorium, Brown’s character patiently sets about starting up the day’s routine with the residents drifting in to sit and talk and stare into space. But the temperature climbs with the unexpected arrival of Mr. Jenkins’ son Owain (Michael Sheen), whose short-fuse exasperation turns swiftly to anger when his father cannot or will not communicate with him. Calmed by the staff, he and his father begin looking at an old family photograph album and Thomas’s original text takes over, now presented as a portrait of the village of Mr. Jenkins’ not-quite-forgotten past. [...] Whenever it is staged — it was last seen at the National 25 years ago — the chief problem is the lack of momentum. Characters’ (in)actions lack consequences, which makes it hard to engage with them except on a momentary basis. Owen and Turner’s new frame seeks to address that directly by making Sheen’s character not an inert, impartial observer but a man desperate to tell the story to and with his father in order to connect, to awaken his father’s distracted mind. Previously neutral descriptions are thus charged up, which intermittently animates proceedings. [...] The ultimate moment of connection between father and son is affecting but the production’s dangerous proximity to unearned sentimentality is also visible. And in the foregoing hour and three-quarter running time (with no interval), the sustained inertia grows wearing. There’s welcome tenderness aplenty but, when it comes to storytelling, there’s too much telling and, alas, too little story. Variety

Michael Sheen is terrific in Dylan Thomas’s linguistic tour de force, which remains undimmed by the years [...] The whole home thing is a nice enough idea that ambles on agreeably… but it’s a thrill when the play proper starts: it feels like the air suddenly fizzes and crackles when Sheen’s narrator introduces us to Llareggub on one ‘starless and Bible-black’ night. Ultimately, the care home business feels minor and diversionary, a framework to (kind of) explain why the poem is being performed. But it doesn’t really have a payoff or purpose beyond the performance of the poem itself. I'm not sure anyone really needs my opinion on I ‘Under Milk Wood’ as Thomas wrote it. But for what it’s worth I think it’s brilliant – time hasn’t dimmed it, his language remains bracingly wild, elemental and weird. And this is a very good, detailed performance of it – Sheen is impassioned and urgent, like he’s electrified by the surging flanguage; the cast of mostly older actors tend to get more playful roles, and seem to be having terrific fun. [...] You bought your tickets to see Michael Sheen doing ‘Under Milk Wood’ and you’ve got Michael Sheen doing ‘Under Milk Wood’ – nobody’s going to feel disappointed. Time Out

[...] Sheen – shaggy, bearded and full of humanity – leads as the narrator but this is really an ensemble show, animated with amusing turns by Siân Phillips, Cleo Sylvestre and Ifan Huw Dafydd among others. It comes with an inventive framing device (additional material is written by Siân Owen) in which Sheen plays the son of Richard Jenkins (Karl Johnson), who is losing his bearings when he is visited by Jenkins Junior in his nursing home. [...] While this is a charming production that bewitches, it begs the question of why a drama that is so consciously retreating into the past is revived now, and how it speaks to our pandemic landscape. Thomas draws a picture of a place steeped in stasis and saturated in nostalgia. Time has stood still here, as Thomas makes clear in the symbolism of the village clock’s frozen hands, and it arguably represents his yearning for a bygone world after the second world war. This production seems entirely conscious of its retreat into the past and it resembles a lost world that is both comforting and jarring after the horrors of the pandemic. The Guardian

To hear Michael Sheen deliver Under Milk Wood feels akin to witnessing Gielgud's Hamlet or Rylance's Rooster Byron. It is nothing short of theatrically seminal.As hoped, the poetry is magnificent. He orchestrates Dylan Thomas's posthumously performed masterpiece as a maestro conductor, all waving hands and syncopated rhythm. There are times when his words seem to literally hang in the air, leaving the socially distanced Olivier audience hypnotised. I could listen to him say "Now behind the eyes and secrets of the dreamers in the streets rocked to sleep by the sea…" on loop forever. [...] The concept doesn't always feel completely cohesive - it seems strange that everyone so willingly joins the performance when Sheen's character is so cold and skittish with them initially - but Lyndsey Turner's beautifully choreographed in-the-round production is convincing enough to override such niggles.The metanarrative also has the noticeable effect of causing Sheen to speak as if he is conjuring Dylan's words on the spot. This lends both an immediacy to the language and also a purpose to its rich imagery - after all, here is a man desperately trying to paint pictures in his father's addled imagination. Under Milk Wood is in some sense a victim of its own familiarity, and Turner's staging lends a much-needed freshness over reverence. [...] Whatsonstage

A charismatic Michael Sheen is part showman, part shaman in this staging of Dylan Thomas’s 1954 radio play, conjuring a Welsh town into lyrical, beguiling life with mostly older actors on a bare stage. Lyndsey Turner’s production marks a triumphant reopening for the National’s Olivier Theatre, where the audience now sits on all sides, a configuration that lends itself to simple production values and a deeper communion between actors and onlookers.It begins oddly, though, in the middle-distant past with Sheen as an angry, wild-bearded writer visiting his demented father (Karl Johnson, heartbreaking) in a care home. Thomas’s poetry is the only way to reach the old man, and his fellow residents are duly summoned to incarnate the townsfolk of the author’s fictional Llareggub (“bugger all” backwards). It’s an awkward framing device with a serious point: to stress the importance of community and memory, and salute the talents and rich lives of elder generations. But what a lovely, bittersweet spell this show casts. Sheen, like Richard Burton and Anthony Hopkins, grew up in Port Talbot, an hour from Laugharne where Thomas lived and partially wrote the play. He has the contours of the language and the landscape in his head, and an orator’s relish for Thomas’s evocative phrasing. We first see Llareggub asleep, “starless and bible black” and meet its inhabitants in their dreams. [...] Eveningstandard

#Michael Sheen #Under Milk Wood #Theatre #National Theatre #Reviews

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hueningshaped · 3 years

Text

☆ crown | xu minghao and jeon wonwoo

▰ genre: college au! / NO READER INSERT = ORIGINAL CHARACTER / drama, coming of age, romantic, angst ... so original characters and seventeen *gasp* you guessed it �� a svt fanfic

▰ word count: about 2.7k

▰ a/n: interest check of a full fledged story i’ve planned but am refraining to put effort in due to possible, complete lack of reads or audience (nobody’s fault but mine). i’d love to hear your feedback! this is chapter one; please let me know if i should continue or just leave it at this LOL

▰ synopsis: jo woolim can’t juggle to save her life, and yet she is somehow managing to stay with her boyfriend: jeon wonwoo, who is possibly cheating on her (again), her strained friendships, fitting into her new school, estranged family, learning to wholly love and forgive herself - in a time unprecedented and searching for the boy of her dreams, xu minghao, the prodigal foreign exchange student. she’s looking for real love, where it’s lacking, where it’s needed, and where it’s always been. by the way, it is not easy!

▰ additional: i listened to epilogue by justin hurtwitz as well as mia and sebastian’s theme (which is somewhat a reprise of it despite it being previous to epilogue, of course) as i wrote it so here u go!

Jo Woolim's feet hurt for multiple reasons, but getting stood up, time and time again, to now, at the age of twenty three is the main contribution to the pain.

The stairs are a pretty humiliating choice of seating, especially to conduct her double digit calls to the person who stood her up, which is her harmless best friend, Sookyung. So, no hard feelings, right? (Right?)

She shouldn't even be that embarrassed because it's not Wonwoo — the Jeon Wonwoo, her very own boyfriend — that stood her up, but she supposes she can be since he'd refused to go and even teased her about wanting to go.

The staircase is fine marble, allowing each footstep to click and clack with each heel that ascends because the party's just beginning. With this venue mimicking a palace, Woolim feels way out of place. Some girls have poofy dresses and others possess thinner material, accentuating the hills of each girl's curves and edges walking in. The boys are all the same, offering the bare minimum. Why does everyone get to be beautiful except her?

Shaking the last thought off, Woolim exerts so much effort to make it look like being alone and ugly doesn't bother her. But, she has to bite the bullet and make a move.

So, her legs spring up, taking her up to the rest of the party. She ignores the heat accumulating from the small of her back to just about every part of her body as she walks in, trying to take everything in and not look like such a loser. Jesus, is everyone looking at her? Are they talking about her?

There were definitely perks to this new university and one of them is the commencement of her class, which arrives in the form of a ceremony with a festivity that follows immediately after. Of course, as a transfer, she gets the initiation that throws a theme, so she has to wear the clown paint and clothes that they inform you to wear to match.

All she is missing is a crown and she's a royal fool.

The Masquerade Ball, as the provost and student affairs staff, had been rumored since before she'd even transferred to the school, which added up to just two months ago. Three months before, she had received that acceptance letter.

She should've known.

Woolim stifles a cough, hoping that the callousing - painful callousing - in her soles due to her starchy dress shoes would be able to mask the humiliation that was beginning to sting behind her eyes.

Of course, she had no identity, but everyone still looks over at her in pity.

The room offered dim lighting, romantic hues of pinks, and citrusy chardonnay beading the adjacent walls. Woolim thirsts for an exit.

The song changes to something unattainable audibly but she must not even be able to hear herself, and before she knows, someone to the side of Woolim bumps into her, back slamming against her body and into the wall.

A frantic, male voice follows, yelping out apologies, as he reaches down to pull her up.

"Jesus, I'm so sorry. Told him to not try and shake what his mama gave him and here we are, here you are, we're both so sorry..." Woolim's vision focuses as she returns to eye level and manages a minor grin at the boy as much of his appearance stands out wonderfully.

With heavily dyed platinum hair, a turquoise suit with rhinestones in various floral designs across the front and wrists, tiger eyes, and led lights curling around the outline of his mask, this boy looked like a lot of fun. A head of chestnut locks remain bowed by his shoulder.

The blond grabs her palm desperately, and he's making wailing sounds.

"I apologize for not only Seokmin but for his upbringing. May Satan guide him in return." He prayed aloud, apology too comical to be real but nonetheless real.

Woolim finally speaks up when the music quiets down just a touch and she doesn't have to stammer to be heard.

"No, you're fine! I can't really see with this mask." She reveals, voice too out there for its own good, but at this, the boy's eyes expand in shock and the bowed head lifts up with intrigue.

"Are you sure? It was pretty rude of us, wasn't it, Seokmin?" He nudges his friend, who's dressed in a simpler, humbler suit, who nods sullenly.

"I'm really, really embarrassed... besides, I think she gets it, Soonyoung."

"Whatever, Oprah singer."

"It's opera!"

The air around them hardens as they begin to bicker. Seokmin places his hands on his hips to deliver his rebuttals but the last thing that Woolim wants is to make two friends fight, let alone cause trouble while she has no date.

"I really am alright! No harm done. I'm just...a little relieved actually that someone's speaking to me," she admits wincingly. There's no need to be as honest as possible, but that doesn't stop her from adding, "I didn't come to the ball with anyone."

The two boys frown and coo, letting out maple syrupy aw's, surprisingly sympathizing with her.

"If it makes you feel any better, our dates were too busy to come, so he and I came together. We also do have another buddy with us, officially making it a threesome!" Soonyoung chats loudly and Seokmin elbows him in the chest at the last comment.

"That's not what a threesome is, Soon."

"Whatever," he waves his hand dismissively. Woolim notices that despite the gravity between the two friends, they remain focused on her. It feels nice. "We did lose him a little while ago though. Maybe he's around here somewhere."

Woolim then levels with them to form a line so she could follow their eye as they peer around the venue, which seems futile since their view is obscured by the angle, decorations, and crowds. The opaque curtains of the many entrances within the main venue gave the illusion that this place was endless. It feels like a trance that went on forever. Reality washes over Woolim and she can feel the weight of being the person one meets and should leave.

"Uh...I'm sorry for getting in your guys' way initially," she announces with a tone that makes her seem unsure of the words on her tongue. Seokmin rolls his head over at her, eyebrows drawing inwardly and puppy dog eyes. She's about to coolly and casually make her leave to no longer bother the boys, but Soonyoung has a different idea.

"Nonsense! It was our fault to begin with, and to repay your gracious hand," Soonyoung then motions to Woolim's bare hand as the other apparels one silky dress glove. "We're trying to at least become an even foursome with you and our friend! God knows where the hell the great Minghao is though!"

"Right behind you." A chilling, oolonged voice speaks up suddenly and startled enough, Woolim's disposition remains unaffected despite her heart catching up to leap in her chest with her delayed reaction.

"Minghao, you wanted to give me a heart attack, didn't you?" Seokmin sighs dramatically, voice hitching to imitate crying. Upon hearing the rich laugh, Woolim tips her head slowly and changes her footing to turn round.

The supposed Minghao peers down at Woolim, unreadable expression through the simple glow of his ivory mask. His raven black hair, lengthy and healthy, adorns his crown like he deserves a throne to come with the apparel.

"We found a person and we found you!" Soonyoung hesitantly wraps his hand around Woolim's wrist, loosely keeping his fingers around to lift and wave.

Minghao snickers delicately.

"I found you actually," he corrects, eyeing his friends, even meeting Woolim's to speak. "And I'm sure you didn't meet because of an accident, right?"

"That was on my part," Woolim speaks up but bites on her bottom lip once his piercing gaze trains upon her. "Sorry..."

"You’ve done no wrong, though?" Minghao's lips stretches into a wonderful smile.

" — yeah, it was Seokmin." Soonyoung mutters, earning himself a tiny shove.

"Minghao, you didn't come here with anyone for a date, right?" Seokmin poses. Woolim notices from his accent that Korean is not his first language but has such a grip with his words, it almost passes one's mind initially.

"Not this time," he answers nebulously. Woolim has to hold back a scowl. "If you’d like, I would love to have you... er, and what's your name?"

She can feel Soonyoung's and Seokmin's excited watch upon her but since this is the first night that she's seen boys be so decent, she figures she might, as well, make their night. They certainly have made hers, after all, excluding this Minghao at the moment.

"I'm Woolim. W-Woolim," she says twice, one too many. Minghao's expression loosens with pleasant awe.

"No surname?" He quizzes, voice too serious for it to be a joke. Woolim feels absolutely no urge to joke around, anxiety fizzing in the very marrow of her bones, so she just shakes her head and hopes he wouldn't see her cocked eyebrow.

"Well," he clears his throat. "I'm Xu Minghao. Seo Myungho. I've got 4 names."

"I've got three," Soonyoung pipes up and everyone groans.

"Soonyoung, don't say it in front of her. That's so gross." Seokmin leans over to shake his head but eye Woolim, in the way that friends who’ve known each other for a long time do. It's a nice feeling.

The music changes, taking a turn from some pop electronica to some heavy pulse from a contemporary rhythm and blues type, and the bass rocks hard enough to shake her ribs.

Minghao locks eyes with her and beams charmingly. He even takes her surprise further by reaching a hand out, fingers long and elegant.

"Would you care to dance with me? Or do you want to take this chance to leave like you were looking for earlier?"

Woolim feels like she merely imagined him asking the last question, which leads her to consider bolting for the doors last minute. Surely, Wonwoo would be home and maybe tonight, he'd be in the mood to love her and like her.

Oh, what she'd do to be loved and liked at the same time.

"Do what you would like," his tone lightens into something sweeter like rosehip. "I don't think you should put your lovely ensemble to waste."

Woolim swallows hard at that and just when she is about to acknowledge the two excited chitters from the other two boys, Minghao takes her hand into his. A cool grip overtakes a clammy warmth. Wordlessly, they somehow sail across the linoleum floor.

All the half hidden faces that had been judging her now evaporate with the blue and green lighting, hues and keys ascending into reds and minors.

Minghao is the type to maintain eye contact and Woolim hates it.

In the back of her mind, bits and pieces of her mind offer memories of what she could see of herself in the reflections. Since Sookyung shared the same favorite color that she did, Woolim went with another: sleet blue. Thin straps hang off her thick shoulders that had a loose, lace cover across her biceps and chest. The hems are riddled with sparkles and flowers. The rest of the silk sticks to each and every edge of her body before drifting off past her chronically swollen ankles with the extra layers adding volume. Her skin appears mottled but overall amber. Her mask is ridden in silvery lace and false white gems and roses. Woolim never knew she could look lovely.

"Do you mind if I hold you close?" He leads, raising their joined hands to sway.

Woolim opens her mouth only to nod. Despite the darkness of the brown and the dim lighting, she sees that his eyes are dotted with flames of the bits of lighting around the venue. The night of his pupils burn right through her and yet she only feels sparks from him, especially once his other hand comes to gently graze her waist.

"Are you okay with this?" He sways them a little more to the right with each movement. Woolim doesn't fancy being this quiet and immobile so she moves his hand into her. His hold is gentle and electrifying as if eternities have passed since she's last been embraced as sweetly as this.

"How long have you gone to this school?" Minghao leans in to better emphasize his question.

"I just transferred, actually," she says as casually as possible since the strokes they make when they sway are becoming too grand for her to catch up.

He's incredibly quick on his feet, so much so that her eyes must drop to follow their direction. Many bodies and pairs round about the two, but they all blend in with the backdrop of the room.

"Follow my counts. One, two, three ─" He drifts into quadrants, slow enough for her to catch up but she continues to knock into his chest. "─ and four. Let's go again. You're alright, I promise. Seokmin used to firmly believe his body was not built at all for anything besides existing."

Woolim glances to the side to see Seokmin rocking his hips next to Soonyoung side to side within frequent increments. They also somehow manage to can-can despite the slow synth and phrases of the song.

"Are you always this quiet?" Minghao breathes and this question catches her off guard. Perhaps taking her breath away had been his intention and he uses this to intertwine their fingers like they're meant to be.

"I’d tell you a lie but since you don't know me, I'm going to tell you the truth; I think I like having you try and get me to talk." Woolim purses her lips tightly as soon as she finds herself smirking.

Minghao steps back, which she nearly leaps to follow, but with the gentlest pivot of his wrist, Woolim twirls like one of the toys she'd wanted all her childhood. Her chest rides past the clouds and her heart pursues, shuttling upwards.

"My goodness, you're a natural!" He comments when he swings her to one side and right back into his embrace. She's smiling.

The song is still playing, and if at all possible, it's hanging above her head precariously and it's just the two of them on the planet.

"Are you sure you don't want me to know you?" He asks once more, and this time, she sheds a few feathers of her insecurities.

The song is still as powerful enough to beat as her heart.

"You ask a lot of questions, Minghao." She manages to grin and their steps narrow to continue to tread the same space.

He peers down at her and the flames are still lit.

"I can't help it. Honestly, honestly. I want to know you truly, honestly."

His loving smile buckles under the bite into his lip. She must be lying when she sees his eyes drop to her mouth. This must be a dream.

"I'm-I'm an open book," she murmurs, captivated by his own lips, and gasps quietly when the hand on her waist is suddenly cupping her jaw. No, she is not, the more authoritative Woolim reprimands silently. But it matters not - she's not loud either.

The song is still playing. It could play for eternities.

He rubs her cheek so tenderly and it has her eyes all a twinkle without realizing.

Wonwoo is no longer a thought. Sookyung no longer crosses her mind.

It only takes a few more countless seconds of wordless confirmation before Minghao dives in to take her lips with his and something behind her rib cage blossoms. He speaks against her mouth, but she doesn't care. She doesn't care.

He continues devouring her lips for the taking and she's left speechless, breaths searching for something to hold onto in between their own mouths.

The daily lows of her life are a fleeting death as she now soars high in a fairy tale-like limelight that only pertains to the two of them. All she's missing is a crown.

Where is her crown? Her mind's whispers fade with every proceeding second. And for once, Woolim feels so good that nothing matters.

#so should i keep going....? *head in hands*#seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen hoshi #seventeen dk #seventeen the8 #seventeen angst #seventeen college au

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apples-r-rubbish · 4 years

Text

Institute (13th Doctor x reader) Part 8 (FINAL)

Summary: Gallifrey. The end. Word count: 2.5k AN: Final part, thank so much for all the love and support on everything. I never expected this or anything remotely close to this. Thank you! feel free to stick around to see what I have coming next- got a few 11 things planned. Hope you enjoy -Leo x Warnings: Violence, death Tags: @penguinwithitsarseonfire @startrekkingaroundasgard

(PART 1) (PART 2) (PART 3) (PART 4) (PART 5) (PART 6) (PART 7) MASTERLIST

Gallifrey was warm. The air hung around you, hot and heavy. Everything was burning.

“You’re late,” The master growled “I looked into it you should’ve been here 3 hours ago,”

“The last time I checked I was still alive, nice try,” You smirked. He handcuffed you.

“Just so you don’t get any ideas, and because you dropped yourself off here, we’ve got a long walk. I can’t believe you screwed up your own execution” He pulled the vortex manipulator off your wrist and proceeded to stomp on it, severing your final lifeline. He grabbed you by the face, his rough fingers digging into your skin “I can’t wait to watch her face, as the light leaves your eyes,” He mumbled, dropping his hand suddenly, before yanking your arm, guiding you forward. The panic had then hit you. You were going to die and the Doctor was going to watch, you tried to pull against him, tried to run. Cursing and screaming. The Master’s grip only got tighter, you were crying in pain, trying desperately to pull away. Nothing was working.

“Look, you can make this easier for you, or harder,” He said, pulling out the Tissue Compression device. So you walked. It could have been hours or moments, time seemed to bend around you. There was a weird glowing patch ahead of you, “We’re going through there when we see her. I need to prove to her I’m serious and that you’re bait,”

“Why did you destroy it?” You asked, monotone, you were not allowing him to win.

“Nothing to with you, humans, want to stick their noses into everyone’s business,”

“I’m about to die, it’s not like I have anyone to tell,” You argued

“Do you expect sympathy? None of them were shown any, and they actually belonged here. More than you can say considering you’re a walking corpse,” He hissed “and shut up will you.”

Something moved behind the portal, and speaking could faintly be heard. Without warning you were pulled to your feet, and pushed into it. The ground on the other side of the portal was rock and you discovered that, by falling nearly face first into it. The Master followed behind you closely, pulling you back up aggressively by the shoulder.

“Now that was a good entrance, right? Right?” He nudged you as he spoke, trying desperately to gain a reaction from you“You should be afraid, everything is about to change,” He growled “Take my hand,”

“Never, give me back (Y/N),” She hissed

“Not happening. I could just kill her on the spot and drag you through the boundary kicking and screaming after killing all your other little humans too. She’s going to die anyway, why can’t it be here?” He threatened, his tone of voice surprisingly calm

“Ok, fine, I’ll come with you but you hurt anyone of them and I won’t hesitate. I’ll be back soon, don’t worry,”

“She won’t. Good luck, c’mon (Y/N),” He yanked your arm forward as the three of you crossed the boundary “Look upon my work Doctor, and despair,”

“Why did you do this? Why are you dragging (Y/N) into this? She doesn’t deserve it,” The Doctor questioned

“Not telling you,” He laughed “Well, I’ll tell you a little. Her death is a fixed point, and you’ve kept putting it off. I want to further the plans so to speak, keep everything ticking over. Also because I want to watch you suffer, for everything you’ve ever done,”

“If you so much as hurt her I’ll-”

The master cut her off “You’ll what? Kill me? Please. You couldn’t even hurt me when I tried to kill you on that plane. I’m your worst friend, your best enemy, she’s a human. She’ll die anyway.”

You just watched as they argued, you couldn’t run because you’d die faster, he’d just kill you from behind, you couldn’t stay because the master would kill you eventually so you just froze.You dared not cut into the conversation,you felt like child watching two adults fight and you were powerless to stop it. You went dizzy, the weight of the situation heavy again, The doctor went to steady you, “No! You’re not going anywhere near her. Citadel. now,”

The room was large, with various platforms around the room, You were dragged onto a smaller one, and the Doctor stepped onto a larger one, light beams curving around her. She hissed in pain, you went to run to her, you shin was met with a weighty kick. You fell to the ground, huffing.

“Aw, what a sweet moment that would have been. But I think it’s time we begin now,” He growled, you grabbed your neck aggressively pulling you to your feet “any final words?”

“I forgive you, you will blame yourself for this but I forgive you. Always and completely. I was bound to get caught up in this, the institute was never safe. I love you, don’t let this break you.” You spoke, directed all towards the Doctor.

“I do hate to break up a couple, but I have plans I’m afraid,” The Master smirked. You blinked. Reality slowed. There was pain. A sharp pain. An involuntary gasp. Pain. And so much blood. Pain. You fell to your knees first, then backwards. Pain. You couldn’t hear the screams of the Doctor or the laughs of the Master, only the fading heartbeat in your chest and shallow breaths.You could vaguely see her crying. Your vision blurred as you mumbled one final silent wish to the universe, ‘Keep her safe’.

You were gone. Another death on that distant planet.

Grey enveloped the Doctor. Ruth appeared in front of her.

“Oh great more traps and tricks. The matrix is deciding to mess with me again?” She huffed.

“You summoned me here, this isn’t the matrix,” Ruth replied “I understand it as much as you do.” Her voice was clear and not unkind when she spoke. “Where do you fit into this? Who are you? Are you my past? Or are you my future?”

“I don’t have the answers. Would it help you if I did? That doesn’t change who we are,” Ruth responded

“I mean yes it would-” She blinked. You now stood in front of her replacing Ruth,

“When have you ever been limited by who you were? When have you ever let it stop you?” She looked as if she’d been slapped, she simply wanted to memorise every detail of your face, before it faded and she had to come to terms with everything.

“I can’t talk. I'm tired. I want to sleep, the field is taking the energy out of me,” She said drifting slightly.

“Now’s not the time to be tired, old man. You know that. People have died, the city is burning, and you’ve left your friends,”

“I don’t know how to stop him,” She began, she wanted to walk towards you but she couldn’t the field holding her in place, “I've already lost you, who cares about the city? Who cares about anything else?”

“You can and will. Be who you always are, old man. Blow their minds. Be the Doctor,” You whispered “Think of me, from time to time though.” She remembered everything, meeting you, the institute, the cybermen, the trips to far flung planets, your smile, your friendships, your kindness. You.

“I love you, old man,” You pressed a final gentle kiss to her forehead. The field broke sending light everywhere.

The Doctor was awoken to her friends standing over her and asking if she was alright.

“Where is she? Where’s (Y/N)?” She asked her throat sore

“Doc, there’s no one else here? We figured the Master had taken her with him, if he hadn’t you know-” Graham responded panic creeping into his voice. She pulled herself to her feet quickly, the world merging into a mess of shapes. Your body had vanished. Time for a plan.

“Live great lives,” The Doctor said as she backed out of the TARDIS and ran down a corridor. There the master stood cyber timelords circled around him. “I definitely said no plus ones. Where is she?”

“What do you mean? I left her to rot. I thought it would nice to have a new world start with the blood of a human. A species you're so fond of, especially that one,” The master laughed “The cyberium lives in me now. I’ve won, broken you down”

“You think you've broken me? You'll have to try harder than that. You've given me a gift. Of myself. You think that could destroy me? You think that makes me lesser? It makes me more.” She hissed pulling out the detonator “I contain multitudes more than I ever thought or knew. You want me to be scared of it because you're scared of everything. But I am so much more than you. You took her from me and that’s where you’re wrong, I have nothing left to lose!” As she shouted, the master kneeled, pressing his head against the detonator “Do it, I want the universe to suffer because of you.”

The older man burst through the door, rambling about how he needed to do it and how she needed to go. She tried to argue and failed. The Doctor ran, stole a tardis and made it to safety. As she always did.

It had been a handful of years since your death. The doctor had dipped in and out of time stream, taking you on dates to relive your time together. She dared to not visit Ryan, Yaz and Graham, they’d ask and she wouldn’t have answers. She sat in the cold tardis, fiddling with the controls as she tended to do now. No one to ramble to other than her ship. Electricity fizzed once again in the air, you materialised near the entrance of the ship. The TARDIS seemed colder than usual, emptier.

“What? Are you doing here?” She asked clearly shocked to see you

“It dropped me off here- wait, damn, the ring,” You tapped the co-ordinates back into the vortex manipulator before disappearing and reappearing again in front of her.

“So I’m being haunted now, I just dropped you off home after Cinter - purple planet sky, massive moon,” She explained

“I knew that was the wrong order,” You laughed “Not haunted. Hasn’t happened yet, for me, still on my deathbed, running late, I think, the coordinates keep switching,”

“You’ll be fine. I’d prefer it if you were late, or even better, didn’t show up to it,”

“Where do I end up and who does it?”

“It’s on Gallifrey, I presume you can figure the coordinates out. I tried to stop him, I tried,”

“Shhh it’s ok” You held her in your arms pressing a kiss to her forehead, tears welling in both of your eyes

“I saw bits of it twice,” She explained, she was crying now, at the long past memories for her.

“You know it’s a fixed point, I don’t know why you had to go to it twice, that’s weird even for you,” You laughed trying to calm her down

“The TARDIS dropped me off there. Not my idea of fun. Fixed point your death, and she’s drawn to it for some reason, maybe to keep me out of trouble,”

“She was always fond of me, even then,” You laughed, fingers spread on the console, “you know what they say about grief, you need to see things from a different perspective,”

“What do you mean?”

“I think I’ve worked it out- A message from her. This is why she prefers me,” You took her hand “My death is a fixed point, see it from a new perspective,”

She froze, as you tapped at the time travel device “I love you, old man, and I’m sorry.” You whispered, unable to speak in a volume higher than that, you finally let go of her hand.

“I love you-” She began. She didn’t finish the sentence before you had vanished from in front of her. The Doctor considered your words for a moment. For the first time in a long time she smiled. “So a new perspective, death, she just has to die,” She swung around to the otherside of the TARDIS pressing more buttons and flicking switches.

Her tardis was in the citadel, one of the rooms that had been abandoned by the master, stuck in the state of murder. The Doctor’s breath caught in her throat; she did not want to be here. It came flooding back to her amongst the maze of corridors the unknowing the gut feeling of unknowing. She was running up the stairs, running to you. The only certainty left. Rounding the corner she saw you; what was left of you. She saw herself, her face distorting in pain within the truth field, unaware of the events outside it. As gently as she could, she picked up your body, she heard footsteps, the fam. She left the room as quickly as she could.

The TARDIS welcomed her, encouraging noises coming from the console. She set off before anything else, she couldn’t have the risk of the others seeing her. You lay on the floor, pale, lips parted. If she didn’t know better she would have assumed you were sleeping. A glowing light slipped from her fingers, she gently placed her hand against your cheek, one final loving gesture, “I can’t lose you again. Come back to me, I love you,” She mumbled. There was a second. It felt like a thousand years. The Doctor held her breath the whole time, unable to move, solely focussing on you. Your chest rose slightly. You were breathing

You were kept in the medical bay and you finally woke up after three painfully long days. You wandered into the TARDIS console room, encouraging bleeps and bloops coming from her.

“What happened? Did we damage the timeline?” Was all you managed to get out before you were tackled to the floor by a strong overwhelming hug.

“You’re ok, you’re safe, I think I fixed it, you’re ok,” She mumbled into you

“Did I?” You asked the situation blurry

“Yes. I brought you back, I just need to know you’re ok,”

“I’m fine, not a scratch on me, feeling the best I have felt in a while actually,” You were laughing now unable to contain the happiness you felt when you saw her. You stayed like that for a while, lying on the TARDIS floor a mixture of laughing and crying.

“Travel with me, please,” She asked, her hand in your hair she asked, still lying next you.

“Of course I will. I’ll quit at the institute. I think it’s about time I took a step back. No more institute, time I lived a life rather than reading one.” You were pulled to your feet, and guided to the console by her, your ringless hand held within hers. She typed in coordinates, and pressed a few buttons “So, you can do the honours,” The Doctor pointed you towards the main switch. You grabbed her hand and placed it onto the switch with yours pulling it down, “We’re doing this. First stop - victorian England. Finally synced Together.”

#13th doctor x reader #13th doctor #thirteen #thirteenth doctor x reader #13th doctor/you #thirteenth doctor/reader #doctor who self insert #doctor who x reader #institute fic #thank you for reading <3

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musekicker · 3 years

Text

Run away Blitz au nightmare drabble part 2.

Once again, warning for implication of abuse mentioned in this drabble.

Blitz pulled away from Stolas's embrace, nearly tripping over his own feet as he did.

Turning to look, he saw Stolas looked the same as ever. His expression even seemed familiar to Blitz. That calm look paired with the expression that told Blitz that he found most of what Blitz had to say amusing. A look Blitz had come to hate.

For a long moment Blitz said nothing, thoughts screeching to a halt at the sight of Stolas. Then, a thought occurred to him.

"Oh, I get what this is. More anxiety nightmare bullshit." Blitz said.

"Is that what I am?" Stolas asked.

"Yeah." Blitz said, feeling a little lighter from relief. "Yeah that's all you are. "And since you're not really Stolas, I'm going to say all the shit I want to say to that asshole that I never got to say."

Stolas smirked a little. Still looking like he was amused when Blitz was being serious, even in his nightmares. Of course.

"Your little happy family act is such a fucking joke. You and Stella are always yelling and fighting. And your poor daughter hates you too. I mean, who wouldn't? You're so fucking self absorbed that I'm surprised that you knew I was gone." Blitz snapped.

Blitz started to pace as he continued his rant.

"I'm done indulging your whims, and I'm done letting you treat me like I can't be or do anything then be a toy for you!"

Blitz stopped, turning to face Stolas head on.

"You can just go and rot!" Blitz yelled.

Blitz stopped, panting for breath after all that. Stolas calmly spoke up.

"Is that all of it?" Stolas asked.

"Yeah, that's all of it. You can just disappear now." Blitz said.

Stolas did not disappear. He was still there, as solid looking as ever.

"Now that you're done with your little rant, I have things to say." Stolas said.

"What? You should be gone now. This is how this works right? I stand up to my fears and poof you're gone." Blitz said.

"And what makes you think I'm just a part of your nightmare?" Stolas asked.

Only now did Blitz realize the truth. His eyes went wide and he pointed at Stolas.

"You're not here. You can't be! This isn't a power of yours!" Blitz cried.

Stolas smiled ever so calmly and as if there was no problem. Like he was suppose to be there.

"You are right. I do not have that power. But I do know those who do have that power. And they were only too happy to help me get into your dreams and be able to speak to you this way." Stolas said.

"Shit, shit, get out of my head!" Blitz cried.

"Not until I find out where you are so I can bring you home." Stolas said.

Blitz snarled, backing away from Stolas.

"No, no way. I'm not ever going back." Blitz said.

Stolas stayed where he was standing, tilting his head ever so slightly.

"But why?" Stolas asked.

Blitz continued to snarl, tail swishing with his anger.

"I already told you! I will not be your toy ever again!" Blitz snapped.

"But you were so very good at it." Stolas said. "I dare say it was your best and only real skill."

"Shows what you fucking know." Blitz said. "I've been doing great without you! And Striker is-"

Stolas's eyes seemed to glow a little more at the name. Blitz realized his mistake before he could go further.

"Fuck." Blitz said.

"Striker hmm? Now I have a name. A tiny bit of progress." Stolas said. "And a example of how much of a hazard you are to this Striker friend of yours. I've only been here ten minutes and I have a name. Who knows what I'll get the more we talk."

"I won't say anything more until I wake up." Blitz said.

Stolas smiled.

"Oh Blitzy, you're not going to wake up until I let you wake up. " Stolas said.

Something about the way Stolas said that convinced Blitz that what Stolas was saying was the truth.

"Then I'll-" Blitz said.

"You'll WHAT, Blitzy?" Stolas said, all four eyes glowing just a bit. "Fight me? You don't know how to do that. You're not made for it."

"You don't know shit about me!" Blitz yelled.

Blitz started to storm over to Stolas, fully intent on punching him. Even if this was just in a dream it would feel great to do so over and over again. Then he found his feet could not move.

"What-"

"Not even strong enough to fight me in your own dream. So helpless." Stolas said.

Stolas walked over to Blitz, who was pulling at a leg with both arm, as if that would get it to move. There was no moving his legs, and soon Stolas was behind Blitz again, arms wrapped around him once more.

"Not that I mind how helpless you are." Stolas said.

"I'm not.. i'm not-" Blitz said.

Carefully nuzzling the side of Blitz's face, Stolas continued to talk.

"There is no shame in admitting that you aren't made for the world outside the palace. No shame in going back." Stolas said. "And I promise if you come back, I won't hurt this Striker for their part in this."

Fear was starting to cloud Blitz's judgment just a bit. Enough that he was considering the idea for a split second.

It was tempting to give in to this deal that would protect his new friends.

Tempting to give in to the familiar touch from Stolas that he was use to. What was the harm of-

No.. no!

What was he thinking?

Blitz wasn't sure if it had been all him or some sort of magic going on. Whatever it was, he had broken free from it's influence.

"No! I'm not going back!" Blitz snapped, trying to pull away. "I don't want to come back!"

Now Stolas frowned and grabbed a hold of Blitz's arm before he could pull away completely.

"You don't have a choice." Stolas snarled, turning Blitz around and taking in Blitz's terrified expression.

Stolas's grip on his arms got tight. Painfully so. Blitz yelped.

"You belong to me. And you will-"

A sudden banging noise echoed throughout the dream scape, and just like that Blitz was awake.

At first Blitz was looking around so frantically he didn't quite take in his surroundings. Once he calmed down just a bit, that helped by no signs of Stolas, he saw that he was still on the couch in the apartment. Striker was not far away from the couch, facing away from Blitz with his gun in his hand.

Robo Fizz was nearby as well, something in his mouth that he was shaking like a dog with a toy.

"What the fuck is going on?" Blitz asked.

Striker looked back, relief on his face as he saw Blitz sit up.

"Thank fuck you're awake!" Striker said.

"Yeah.. yeah, thank fuck. Stolas he... he was talking to me in my dream. He said he trapped me in there and was trying to-"

Blitz stopped, seeing blood on his arm. Right around one of the areas Stolas had been holding him.

"Why am I bleeding?" Blitz asked, trying not to sound hysterical.

Robo Fizz dropped the thing he had been shaking to answer Blitz.

"I bit you." Robo Fizz said.

"You bit me?" Blitz said, feeling relief but also confusion.

"It was the first thing I thought of doing when I was trying to wake you up." Robo Fizz said.

As much as Blitz was worried about what kind of diseases he could catch from being bitten by a mouthful of metal teeth that very much were not kept clean there was the more pressing issue of the thing Robo Fizz had dropped to the floor.

Blitz got up from the couch to join Striker and Robo Fizz with looking at what Robo Fizz had been shaking.

A closer look revealed it was a animal of some sort animal. The creature resembled a bat in body shape. The eyes however gave it away as something more. They were like mirrors. Looking down at it the trio could see their reflections in those eyes.

Striker poked at the dead creature again with the barrel of his gun. It did not stir, truly dead.

"What is this thing suppose to be anyways?" Blitz asked.

"Probably some magic bullshit. I was trying to wake you up, and when I did I saw it flapping around and well.. when it died you woke up so I assume it was connected to that." Striker said.

Blitz backed away from the dead creature a bit, a little more wary of it.

"We should burn it." Robo Fizz said.

Striker nodded.

"A good suggestion." Striker said.

"I'll get some matches." Robo Fizz said.

Robo Fizz cart wheeled his way out of the room to go the the kitchen.

"I don't think we should let him do the honors of burning this thing. I feel like Fizz and matches is a bad idea." Striker said.

"Uh huh.." Blitz said.

He still was trying to recover from what had happened. The fact that Stolas had gone this far to try and find him was a frightening thing. Blitz couldn't help but feel his stomach squirm from the thought of how if he had been kept in that nightmare too long, that Stolas for sure would had gotten the information he wanted.

"You okay?" Striker asked.

"Been better." Blitz grumbled. "Only had a encounter with the guy who treated me like a toy and wants to bring me back into that life. He got your name by the way. I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"It's fine." Striker said, shrugging. "He's got my name, big fucking deal. I'm not scared."

"I think you should be." Blitz said, in a moment of allowing himself to be vulnerable.

Striker looked to Blitz, before putting a hand on Blitz's shoulder.

"He's not going to get you. I won't let that happen." Striker said.

Blitz managed a weak smile at that.

"Hey!" Robo Fizz said, coming back from the kitchen. "I couldn't find matches. So I got the flame thrower!"

"We have a flame thrower?" Blitz asked.

"...we have a flame thrower apparently." Striker said. "That I need to take away from Fizz before he set fire to the place."

#helluva boss

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joy1579 · 4 years

Text

Mc spoils the RFA + saeran with their perfect bath

guys i love baths. bath bombs, I got a job at bath and body works because i love their products and lush doesn't have a store near me. baths are beautiful wonderful indulgent moments of relaxation and should be treated as sacred and holy times. so here we have MC giving the RFA their perfect bath.

also my master list grows with every new post so be sure to keep an eye on it.

Jumin

- He has been so stressed its affecting his sleep

- So tonight your bound and determined to get him to relax

- He doesn’t usually take baths he’s a shower guy

- His bathtub is HUGE though (mostly because he knows you love baths)

- The water is so hot his skin is a little red but not so hot that hit hurts

- Hot water helps relax the muscles you point out

- you use a bath bomb that colors the water a deep purple with eco safe silver glitter

- it’s scented with cedar wood and lavender oil

- you even dimmed the lights and played cello music to create the optimal relaxation

- he starts soaking as you pour both of you some wine

- he asks you to join him saying that it would be “terribly boring” without you

- you chuckle and slip in with him leaning against his chest

- he tells you about a new cat business

- you tell him about teaching Elizabeth the 3rd to do the obstacle course you and he set up

- you mention that the water looks like the starry night sky and move to kiss him

- he smiles and catches your chin in his hand to deepen the kiss

- he thinks he will indulge in baths more often if you will be joining him like this

Yoosung

- he knows that girls like baths but he’s never really enjoyed them

- he gets antsy if he sits still too long and shows just seem easier

- so you decide to show him the light

- the bathtub at his place isn’t big but you can manage since there isn’t an easy solution

- the water is another problem it doesn’t get hot enough to be relaxing and certainly not hot enough to stay relaxing through the duration of the soak

- so you fill up what you can from the tap and add boiling water to bring the overall temp up

- you have to be really carful to not get it too hot

- you use a light blue bath bomb with gold glitter its shaped like a shooting start and has a tiny toy inside

- you do not tell him about the toy the toy is yours

- its smells like freesia and honey, fresh and lightly sweet

- you play the LOLOL equivalent of the LOZ great fairy fountain music

- he grabs your hand as you go to give him privacy and won’t meet your eyes when he asks you to join him

- you share a bottle of cold cherry flavored sparkling water

- he tells you about the upcoming LOLOL event and you laugh at his animated hand guesturse splashing around

- you give him a bubble beard and when you kiss him you pull away with half the bubbles on your own face

- as great as the bath itself was his favorite part is towel drying your hair because of how messy and super fluffy soft it becomes

Saeyoung

- broski neglects himself when work gets bad

- he can get nasty

- you draw him a bath with the hottest water possible

- you use a bright red bath bomb with black and gold glitter

- it smells exactly like fruit loops

- you also add several rubber duckies (one looks like him and one looks like you)

- you were not planning to join him really

- but he splashes you and I mean you where wet already so when in roam

- you too may or may not play act with the rubber ducky versions of you

- you pour Dr. pepper into those plastic fake champagne flutes and toast to honey buddah chips

- you have to ban honey buddah chips from the bath

- you share memes on each other’s phones

- and play soft 8-bit music as background noise

- you wash his hair and hum a lullaby

- he tries not to get sentimental about a childhood he never had

- but you can tell he’s getting a bit sad so you squish his face and say “my name is Saeyoung and I deserve love” you have him repeat after you while his face is squished until his laughing again

- you wrap his hair in a towel hat then laugh when he forgets and his hair dries all crazy

- bath time becomes a really happy routine for you too

Zen

- he is familiar with baths they are good for your skin every once in a while

- he’s read all about the benefits, the pros and cons, what to add what to steer clear of

- he insists warm not hot water “zen hot water feels the best” “it can irritate our skin jagi!”

- you concede because he’s basically a human furnace anyway

- you choose a dye and glitter free bath bomb

- but it does have seaweed extract, coconut oil, and Epsom salt

- it smells like rose, lemongrass, and mahogany

- he puts his hair in a bun to wash separately (what’s good for skin isn’t always good for hair)

- you both do face masks during the soak and there’s something you really enjoy about seeing him in a face mask

- it’s one of the few times he looks genuinely silly

- you talk about the new part he just got and he admits he’s nervous

- “it’s a romance Jagi what if I can’t act it properly because I’m too busy thinking about you?”

- he either drinks bear or lemon cucumber water depending on if he has an audition tomorrow

- if he drinks beer he shares the can with you since he’s trying to cut back for you

- if it’s the lemon cucumber water absolutely runs the bottom of the ice cold glass against your neck to see you shiver and shudder

- but then you wiggle against him and he’s starting to have a hard time controlling the beast

Jaehee

- this girl needs a tropical vacation bad

- but since you don’t have the money or time you decide a staycation will do

- bath water is hot enough to steam but you give it time to cool a bit before she gets in

- you use and orange, yellow bath bomb with gold glitter that looks like the sunrise

- it smells like guava and mandarin to give it a tropical feel

- you play ocean sounds and quiet ukulele music

- you make chamomile and lemongrass ice tea sweetened with honey

- she chats idly about all the benefits of such a drink and debates whether to add it to the café menu or not

- you can’t help but chuckle at her workaholic nature as you turn to kiss the tip of her nose

- you even move a laptop with its webcam covered because everything with the RFA hacker has made y’all hyper aware of the vulnerability of technology

- to the bathroom counter so you can watch Zen DVD’s while you relax

- afterwards you paint her nails and discuss new cakes for the café

- she’ll admit it’s no trip to Hawaii but it was very relaxing

Saeran

- boy refuses to admit he needs some serious TLC

- but you coax him in if you say you want to share a bath with him

- you bring fresh flowers into the bathroom and make sure everything is perfect

- you use a deep red bath bomb with black glitter

- its shaped like a skull and he enjoys watching it fizz and bubble before you two get in

- it smells like a bouquet of gardenias, roses, and lilies

- you play nature sounds with gentle harp music

- you make sweet hibiscus tea to share with him

- he tells you about his latest therapy appointment and you ask him idle questions

- “did you end up planting all the tulips?”

- “maybe we should build a bird house! Or install a flower box on the window sill!”

- “are you gonna dye your hair again? Or let it grow naturally?”

- A lot of your conversations used to be one sided since he was so unused to make his own decisions

- So conversations where you gently guide him to find his own ideas are helpful

- Especially in safe and relaxing environment like this.

- “I think I’d like to keep it bleached until it grows out” he says cautiously

- “I think when it grows out on its own it’ll feel like the last of mint eye being washed away, and I hope I’ll be better by then. I hope you’ll stay with me until then.”

- “always and forever” you assure him kissing his cheek and giggling at his light blush

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dangerouscommiesubversive · 3 years

Note

*hiding behind a wall to see if commie accepts* Tsukasa (ot4) and Sougo(ot..4?), Z (found family)?

Z is for family

Junichiro laughs awkwardly. “I’m so sorry, Mr--Yuusuke, it feels like whenever you come here you end up repairing something.”

Yuusuke shrugs, grins. “I like having things to do with my hands, and there’s no sense in making you waste money on a plumber for something this simple to fix. And I’m going to teach Geiz how to do it too, so if it comes up again and you can’t get in touch with me he can take care of it.”

Blinking in surprise, Junichiro looks past Yuusuke’s shoulder to Geiz, who shrugs. “Woz hates being dirty and Sougo...uh...I kinda don’t think we should encourage Sougo to take apart stuff in the house. Um, no offense.”

“None taken, Geiz, I’ve known him longer than you have and I don’t know that I’d trust him to fix the toilet either, he’s, ah...”

“A little absent-minded?” is Yuusuke’s cheerfully diplomatic suggestion.

“Yes, exactly.”

A frustrated noise floats in from the dining room, and Geiz glances over nervously towards the doorway. “Maybe we should get started on that before Daiki actually manages to lose his temper.”

“I don’t think he’d really lose his temper over something like this.” Yuusuke also glances toward the dining room and frowns. “But then again, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him lose at chess this many times in a row.”

There’s a notable silence, and then the sound of Tsukuyomi saying, quietly, “Checkmate,” followed by Daiki’s aggrieved, “Where did you learn to play chess like that?”

“Yeah, let’s head upstairs, either he’s going to actually get upset or he and Tsukuyomi are about to have some kind of serious conversation and he’d be embarrassed if we overheard him, he hates getting serious in public.”

In the dining room, Tsukuyomi frowns at her queen and says, “I...I don’t actually know. I know how to play chess, but I don’t remembering...learning how to play chess. Or who taught me.”

Daiki's resetting the chessboard, so he doesn't look up at her, but he does say, "You know, sometimes I envy Tsukasa for having been allowed to forget things." Before Tsukuyomi can reply, though, "But then he'll go saying something like you just said and I remember how lucky I have it."

Tsukuyomi's frown gets a little deeper, but now she looks more confused than frustrated. "What do you mean?"

"Has he ever mentioned that he can't remember his parents' faces? Or their names?"

"He...no, he hasn't."

"Being able to forget is a blessing, but only if it's something you can allow yourself to do. Having it happen to you is a different thing entirely." He finishes setting up the pieces. "Sorry, I'm being gloomy, it happens sometimes."

Tsukuyomi peers at him for a moment before responding. “That’s why you started showing up to talk to Geiz, wasn’t it. Because of something you wish you could forget.”

Daiki still doesn’t look up at her. Now that the board’s reset he’s started fidgeting with the pieces again, picking up both kings and queens and rolling them in his hands. “You’re too sharp for your own good, you know that?” He puts the kings and queens down again in a little square in the center of the board. “I had a younger brother once. I failed him pretty badly.”

“I mean, apparently I had an older brother once, and he tried to kill me.” Tsukuyomi taps the white queen on the top of its little crown. “That’s also why you keep bringing me Watches.”

“Got it in one. You deserve a better brother. I think you four remind us all of ourselves.” Daiki looks down thoughtfully at the little square of pieces. “Hey, look, by the way, it’s you.” He taps the white queen just as Tsukuyomi did. “So I guess that’d make this one Sougo--” the black king, “and this one Geiz,” the white king.

She giggles. “And Woz is the black queen?”

“Well, it’s not a perfect one-to-one. I guess I could go with the black bishop, but guys who go by Bishop tend to be pretty ominous characters and he's not nearly as worrying as he used to be.”

“So if we’re like you guys, then which one of these are you?”

“Oh, we’re not chess pieces, we’re cards.” Rustling, and a Tarot deck emerges from one of the interior pockets of Daiki’s jacket. He slides it lovingly out of the box and flips through the deck, drawing four cards and laying them down on the table next to the chessboard--the King of Wands, the Queen of Coins, and the Knight of Swords, and the Page of Cups. “See? There’s Tsukasa, that’s Natsumi, obviously this one is Yuusuke, and that’s me.”

“You just...had that in your pocket? And...Cups is the one that turned into Hearts, right? You’re the Page of Hearts?”

They’re interrupted by a startled noise from the kitchen, Woz saying, “How did you get that--” as Tsukasa, at the same time, says, “Princess, we don’t play with kitchen knives, give me that.”

“Ooh, sounds like things are getting exciting in there.” Daiki’s face lights up with a genuine grin. “Anyway, you have no idea how much stuff I’ve got in my pockets, that’s right, and of course I am. The Knave of Hearts, he stole some tarts. Speaking of which...” The Tarot deck goes away, and is replaced by on the table by a deck of regular playing cards. “Why don’t we switch games? You know how to play poker?”

Tsukasa carefully takes the paring knife from Yuzuki and puts it back on the counter, farther back from the edge than it was before. “I’m pretty sure you grew, I don’t think you could have reached up there last week.”

She grins up at him. “Tall!”

“Yeah, that’s right, you’re very tall.”

Woz shifts nervously as she returns to the kitchen chair she’s been occupying and clambers up onto the seat. Once she’s occupied with her stacking cups again and in no apparent danger of getting her hands on another knife, he visibly relaxes. He picks a piece of dumpling filling from the mixing bowl with his chopsticks, deposits it in the wrapper in his hand, and passes the whole thing to Tsukasa. “I appreciate your assistance with this.”

Tsukasa shrugs and starts to crimp the dumpling shut. “I figure you’re probably not usually cooking for ten people.” Closed, the dumpling goes onto a sheet pan, where there are already at least fifty completed but uncooked pieces laid out.

“You might be surprised. Sougo and Geiz both eat a great deal.”

“And you don’t?” Tsukasa accepts another filled wrapper and looks Woz up and down. “I’ve seen you eat, it’s kind of amazing that you’re so skinny.”

“That’s...not unfair.”

They make dumplings in silence, Woz filling and Tsukasa crimping as the sheet pan becomes fuller and fuller. Eventually they have to get a second pan, and when they’ve got ten dumplings down on that, Yuzuki slides down from her chair with a thump and tugs on the hem of Woz’s shirt. “Woz. Woz. Woz.”

Woz looks down at her in alarm. “Yes?”

She points imperiously to the counter. “Book.”

“Ah...yes? That’s my book.”

A firm nod. “Woz, book.”

“She wants you to read to her.” Tsukasa puts aside another completed dumpling. “Right, princess?”

Yuzuki nods again. “Ok! Read book!”

Woz only looks more alarmed. “Why me?”

“Well, she knows it’s your book.”

“Yes, but my book is...” Woz glances to the side. “My book is not suitable for children.”

Tsukasa’s eyebrows go up. “Isn’t it? If the stories in there aren’t suitable for children then I don’t know what is.” He pauses. “I mean, maybe don’t read to her about the Amazon kids, the Greek ones, but otherwise. I can keep making dumplings by myself, I’ll be fine.”

Uncertain, Woz nods, puts aside the cooking chopsticks, and washes his hands before taking his book down from its spot on the counter. Yuzuki claps delightedly as he sits down in the kitchen chair and climbs up onto his lap with only minimal wincing on his part. “Woz, book! Thank you.”

His mouth twitches slightly, as if he’s trying not to smile, and Tsukasa winks at him. Then, carefully, he opens up the book and turns to a spot about sixteen pages in. “Long, long ago, there was a man who knew how to do one thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine things--”

“Big number.”

“Yes, very big. There was a man who knew how to do one thousand nine hundred and ninety nine things, and his name was Godai Yusuke.”

“Like Daddy! Yusuke!”

“Just like your father, yes. And he loved nothing more than the blue sky and to travel and have adventures...”

“Hm. A little to the left, please.”

Sougo blinks. “Which one?”

“The Ride Booker. Your big watch is so chunky that it’s actually managed to make the Booker look small, which is pretty impressive.” Natsumi frowns, peering at the screen on her camera, and then shifts slightly as Sougo adjusts the placement of the Ride Booker. “Yeah, there we go, that looks nice.”

She takes several pictures. They’re working outside in the sun, so she doesn’t use the flash, and after ten or so shots she nods in satisfaction and Sougo says, “Do you want me to rearrange them?”

“No, that’s fine, I’ve got what I wanted. Here, toss me the Booker, you can take your watch now.“

“Ok, here. Why did you want a picture of the Grand Zi-O watch?”

She shrugs. “I don’t get to do a lot of still photography, most of the studio’s business is portraits. I thought it’d be a nice change.” The Ride Booker goes into her bag, her camera goes back into its case, and she sits down on the bench they were using as a platform for the set-up. “Besides, the weather’s good today, it’s a nice excuse to get outside and get some fresh air.”

The Grand Zi-O watch fizzes away, presumably back to the bedside table in Sougo’s room, and he sits down next to Natsumi. “It is nice out today, yeah. But I mean, like. Why Rider stuff? Why not, I don’t know, nature photography?”

“Because I don’t get out in nature as much as I’d like, but Rider stuff’s been a lot of my life. Tsukasa takes all kinds of photos of Rider stuff, of course, and they’re kinda great for what they are, but they’re not really practical records. The story of the whole thing matters, and it’s easier if you’ve got clear pictures.”

“The story? What story?”

“Whatever story’s being told. That’s what photography’s for, to tell stories about our lives. You know, like, here’s when Ritsuko got married, and this is when Miki and his sister graduated high school, and here’s when we saved the world the first time and Tsukasa got turned into a giant belt for ten minutes.” She glances over at him and grins. “Anyway, I wanted to get a picture of his transformation whatsit with yours because it’s kind of funny to see him pick up a junior, I think it makes him feel better about himself knowing that he’s not the only one doing what he does.”

Sougo nods, frowning slightly. “Tsukuyomi said you’re a Rider too, but I’ve never seen you carrying anything that looks like Rider stuff, what do you use?”

“Oh, god, she’s around here somewhere.”

“...she?”

“Hey! Kiva-la! I know you’re here!”

And a little purple-and-white bat flits into view and says, “Obviously I’m here, what do you want?”

“Sougo wanted to know what I transform with. See,” to Sougo, “Tsukasa and Daiki just get cards, Yuusuke’s got his stone, but if I need to do hero stuff I have to deal with her.”

Sougo stares at Kiva-la wide-eyed for a moment before saying, “It’s, uh, nice to meet you? Ma’am?”

Kiva-la turns a loop-de-loop in the air. “I like him! No one’s ever polite to me! Anyway,” with a pout in her tiny voice, “Tsukasa said to tell you it’s time for dinner.”

The whole building smells like frying dumplings and cooking soup and good food in general, and Yuusuke and Geiz straighten up and put the lid back onto the back of the toilet moments before Woz says, in his most carrying, I-Am-Making-An-Announcement voice, “It is time for dinner,” echoed by Yuzuki’s enthusiastic shout of, “Dinner!”

Yuusuke’s face lights up. “Oh, perfect timing. Here, wash your hands, I’ll wash mine, and we can both head down.”

“Sounds good.” Geiz turns on the water and starts scrubbing his hands vigorously. “Thanks for showing me that, by the way, everyone else here is useless at repairs.”

“I mean, I don’t know that I’d put it that way...”

“No, seriously, I live with Sougo, he’s a space case. And Woz is...he’s Woz. He’s great, but he’s also Woz.” Geiz backs away from the sink and grabs a towel to dry his hands as Yuusuke starts to wash his. “Why’d you want to, though? Like I appreciate it, but what made you want to teach me something like this?”

“I like fixing things, and you seem like someone who needs to find more ways to relax.” Yuusuke accepts another hand towel. “Rider stuff is exhausting, it’s nice knowing how to do normal things too. Wow that all smells good, I’m so excited to eat a meal that I didn’t have to cook any of myself.”

As they head for the stairs, Geiz says, “No offense, but you seem...different, somehow, from Tsukasa and Daiki and Natsumi.”

“That’s because they’re huge drama queens.” Yuusuke grins at him. “I love them so much, you have no idea, but if we were all like that then nothing would ever get done around the house.”

Geiz stifles laughter.

Yuusuke’s grin just gets wider. “See, I knew you’d get it.”

#tokiwa sougo #myoukouin geiz #tsukuyomi #woz #kadoya tsukasa #kaitou daiki #hikari natsumi #onodera yuusuke #fanfiction #anonamouse

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ariparri · 4 years

Text

Flowers

Pairing: Diego x Veruca (With a hint of Tulip x Carson)

Written by cursedautumn on Instagram

A/N: This was written from a story for art type of trade we made on IG. English isn’t cursedautumn's first language, so she apologizes if there are any mistakes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day 1

It was the fall of 1988. This fall, in contrast to several previous ones, was full of sweet aroma of rotting leaves and the hot honey sun covering playgrounds, classrooms, and the forest near Hogwarts; fresh gold autumn leaf carpet lay on the stone slabs of the courtyard and soft field grass; saturated with moisture, the trees are seriously bent and the crystal was glittering with rain drops, remaining after another warm rain. The sky was clear and blue, with a milky foam of clouds, and it was tempting to run out of the heavy walls of the castle and lie under it, roll on the grass, feel the sweet water drops on your tongue, and run to the lake, which shone like pure crystal, and a couple of students even swam there once — although they had to report to Professor McGonagall and serve detention for quite a long time afterwards.

Veruca McQuaid went into the courtyard and sat by the fountain, near the place where everyone usually play Gobstones. After sitting in the semi-darkness of the Slytherin common room for almost twenty-four hours, she just needed a little bit of fresh air. She had expected to skip lunch and spend the rest of the day here alone with her homework and a bottle of cold pumpkin fizz, but her plans for privacy were not going to come true, because ten minutes after Veruca settled down next to the fountain, a voice came from above her head, "Hello, Veruca."

"Oh, Merlin!" thought Veruca with exasperation, and looking up, she recognized the intruder as Diego Caplan, a fellow Hufflepuff, a well-known ladies' man and a very good duelist. He always had a contented swarthy face, a strange yellow scarf, and beautiful dark eyes. He was holding a small bouquet of red roses and smiling. "Caplan? Veruca asked indifferently. "Well, hello."

"I hope I'm not interrupting you," Diego said with a charming smile. Veruca was tempted to say that he was interrupting, but she just smiled tightly and shook her head. To be honest, she was never hypocritical and enjoyed interacting with people, but right now Caplan chose a very inappropriate moment to talk to her... or whatever he wanted to do. "Did you want something?"

"Yes." Diego peremptorily handed her the aforementioned bouquet of roses and flashed his snow-white teeth. His smile was attractive and confident. "This is for you. I thought that such a beauty just needs a bouquet of flowers."

Veruca accepted the bouquet, but she wasn't sure why Diego had done it in the first place. She had never been insecure, but didn't consider herself strikingly beautiful either: a pretty face framed by dark hair, light green eyes, neat pink lips, and a well-formed figure - that's all, so Diego probably didn't want to grab her attention because of her incredible beauty, even though he said so.

She was also Coby McQuaid's sister, and a lot of guys shunned her just because they were afraid that the "crazy brother" would appear out of nowhere and wring their necks for his little sister. In general, she sceptically smiled at the bouquet, and said:

"Thank you. Now leave me alone, please, I'm a little busy."

Diego left after blowing her a final kiss, and Veruca gave the bouquet to Penny the same day — she simply couldn't believe that Caplan could really be interested in her. Most likely, he wanted new sensations, that's all. But if he thinks he's found a goal for one day, he's very, very wrong, Veruca thought with a grin as she watched Penny lovingly arrange a bouquet of roses in front of the statue of the headless knight.

Day 2

It rained that day, and the flying lesson with madam Hooch was canceled. Veruca, who had not slept well last night, was not too upset: she had no desire to cut through the thick, glass-like walls of rain on a broomstick. She spent the entire first half of the day running between classes, listening to Snape's unflattering comments about her personality, her brother, and so on, sitting in madam Rakepick's perfume-and-wood-scented classroom, and spending time with Penny and Chiara. Penny once said, "By the way, you shouldn't have refused the roses, they were so beautiful!"

"Yeah," Veruca grinned and looked at the Ravenclaw girls as they passed. One of them, a girl with dark eyes and fluffy brown hair, mentioned Diego Caplan in the conversation, and several of her friends immediately began to whisper and giggle with curiosity. It seemed that only Veruca disliked him, for even Merula spoke quite favorably of him, and if Merula approved of a person, then it was a waste of time — everyone adored him without exception, and there was nothing to be done about it.

On this day, Veruca couldn't shake the eerie yet strangely pleasant feeling that someone was watching her. Someone's already familiar dark eyes, clear and sly. It seemed to her that someone was staring at her back in class, studying her face at lunch, spying on her during recess... This, however, did not inspire her with any fear, firstly, because Veruca had managed to get used to being watched during her five years at Hogwarts, and secondly, it was a kind of harmless surveillance - as if she was an interesting performance, and she was being watched by a curious spectator. And for some reason, it never occurred to her that it might be HIM...

"Ahem-ahem."

Veruca shivered and looked up from her potions homework. In the faint greenish light of the Slytherin drawing room Merula Snyde's pale face looked like a cloud of smoky mist with two purple lightning-like eyes. She was holding a small bouquet of purple orchids wrapped in shimmering translucent pale yellow paper.

It exuded a sweet fragrance that overlaid the smell of underground dampness and pine needles (there were scented candles in the living room), and it looked lovely. A cream-colored paper was perched between the purple blossoms.

"What is it?" Veruca was taken aback. She had seen a lot in her life, but... for Merula to give her flowers?.. However, fortunately, the rival muttered, "Somebody asked me to give this to you," she plopped the bouquet on the table, the soles of her gaudy leather boots clattering indignantly, then went into their shared bedroom and slammed the door.

Veruca had no idea, freaked out if a classmate saw because it was torn away from the important contemplation of their own greatness or because Merula handed the bouquet to her and no one thought to do that; but understand she did not and pulled out a fragrant bouquet of cream paper box, which was briefly written:

"It is not good to give the gifts away, Veruca. But I'll try again, since you didn't take me seriously. -D.C.".

It wasn't hard to guess that D.C. was Diego Caplan. Well, then, he really wanted to get her attention for a while. At first Veruca felt flattered by the attention, then offended, because she didn't like intrusive people, and then she just decided to let the boy indulge. After all, she couldn't possibly forbid Diego from sending her flowers, so Veruca just got up, went to the trash can, and threw the unfortunate bouquet in there. The sweet scent gave her a headache. Let Caplan send her his stupid flowers as much as he wants. Let him... It's just a little cruel joke, isn't it?

Day 3

Sunflowers. Bright yellow, like Hufflepuff robes, as if woven from sunlight, they caught Veruca's eye as soon as she opened them. At first she didn't understand why the dark green Slytherin dorm room seemed to have a window that let in a flood of thick sun, but then she looked up and saw the pretty heads of flowers perched on her nightstand. The sunflowers didn't fit in with the luxurious and dark atmosphere of the room, and as she passed by, Ismelda grumbled that she should have gotten them, and immediately would throw them away.

Veruca, oddly enough, felt more alive and somehow light when she saw these flowers. They were so simple, of the usual yellow color, not scarlet roses or purple orchids, but she liked them very much, until she found it in the pile of golden flowers the same small creamy square, on which was written the same handwriting as yesterday:

"Attempt number three. I hope you like it and don't throw them away or give them to someone else. -D. C.".

Veruca furiously crumpled the paper and threw it away. Caplan could be as nice and generous as he liked, but his impudence and desire to use her for his own incomprehensible purposes irritated her terribly, so she hastily changed her clothes and washed up, took the sunflowers and went straight out of the living room with them, catching the surprised and mocking looks of her classmates and others. 'I'll kill you, Caplan,' Veruca thought as she left the common room.

To be honest, she liked the flowers very much, but Diego Caplan was known as a fan of ending relationships as quickly as starting them, and she wanted something more serious than being the one-night stand of a cheeky Hufflepuff.

She found Diego right after breakfast, playing Gobstones with some other Hufflepuff whose name Veruca didn't know and didn't want to know. When Caplan saw her, he broke into a satisfied smile, as if not noticing the girl's grim expression, "Sorry, Reg, there's a lady here who wants to talk to me."

"Hmmm," Reg muttered, absorbed in the game. He glanced at Veruca, who was holding a golden bouquet of sunflowers, and continued to hunch over the game. Diego got to his feet, very pleased, and sauntered over to Veruca. For some reason, she was uncomfortable with the way his gaze slid over the top button of her shirt, and she muttered, "I see you're not going to leave me alone." Diego flashed his white teeth. "Actually, it's unpleasant when your gifts are thrown away or misused."

"You'll get over it," Veruca said. Anger mixed with guilt (?!), and she just watched Diego's dark hair flutter in the light autumn wind. He was beautiful. Very handsome, no matter what... "Caplan, I'm not interested in a one-night stand. And I'm not one of those people who will throw themselves at you. So keep your flowers and give them to someone else."

"Should I keep them or give them to you?" Diego grinned. Veruca gave an exasperated sigh. "Calm down, baby. Maybe I just want to go out with you. And spend more than just one night."

Veruca gasped with indignation. Who does he think he is? "First of all," she hissed, " I'm not a baby, I'm a McQuaid, or at least just Veruca. And secondly, you want to spend not only one night, but also one day? No, thanks. I'd rather be alone than lie under someone else and then get muddied, okay?"

Diego smiled. In a strange, affectionate way, there was something mysterious and hungry in his dark brown eyes, as if she was a piece of candy that he couldn't wait to unwrap.

"I see," he said softly. "See you later, Veruca."

In the evening, after she slapped Caplan, left him and complained about him to Chiara, before going to bed, Veruca remembered that she had never returned the sunflowers, and they were shining in the dark Slytherin bedroom. Well, that's fine. They are beautiful...

Day 4

On this day, the sky suddenly frowned, clouded with a silver haze; a cold wind blew, carrying with it a pile of dead leaves, no longer burning with gold. A bloodless pallor settled over Hogwarts like a semi-transparent mist, as if someone invisible had suddenly drained the last of autumn's juices and warmth, and Veruca, wrapped in her robes, came to Herbology class. Professor Sprout, warm and plump, was as friendly as ever and talked about how to turn the most common weeds into the most common tulips, Tulip immediately noticed that she liked it, and frowned at Carson — they had a fight a couple of days ago. Rowan walked calmly past Ben, who she'd almost gotten into a fight with the day before, and Veruca noted grimly that she wasn't the only one with boy problems.

"So, get ready!" professor Sprout clapped her hands. "Today's spell does not apply to magic plants, but it helps a lot if you want to give your friend or partner a bouquet of beautiful tulips!"

"Carson only needs one beautiful Tulip," Rowan said, and she and Veruca giggled. Tulip pursed her lips grimly, "Well, yes. That's why he said yesterday that he was sick of my eternal thirst for adventure." Veruca knew perfectly well that this was said in a much milder form than the one Tulip had given her, but it was useless to argue: Carson and Tulip will make up tomorrow or the day after, which means it doesn't make sense to take their conflict seriously.

So she decided to take up the lesson and diligently wrote down everything that Professor Sprout said, and by the end of the lesson she had mastered the spell perfectly. As they were about to leave, a familiar voice called out to Veruca. A voice that stretches like hot chocolate. For some reason, she was a little pleased to hear him, although at one time she was irritated.

"How are you?" Diego sauntered over to her and touched his hand to his silky dark hair. "Did you learn your lesson with the-tulip weeds?" Veruca smiled dryly, ignoring the surprised looks from Penny and Rowan. All they probably wanted to do was tell everyone about their little affair with Diego. "And you?"

"I'm glad you asked," Caplan smiled charmingly (if Veruca had been any other student, she would have been nothing but a pink puddle) and, waving his wand as if he was going to show everyone his beautiful hands with flexible fingers, pointed to the weeds — and the unsightly, flabby plants instantly transformed into a wonderful bouquet of yellow and pink tulips with elastic buds and a pleasant aroma. Fortunately, no one was paying attention to them except Rowan and Penny, who were standing behind her, but that was enough: Veruca could feel their eyes boring into her back. Diego took the tulips and handed them to her. "Here. A bunch of tulips will add to your dark dungeons, won't they?"

She stood looking at him for a few seconds, wanting to laugh. How stupid, persistent, and sweet he is, this Diego Caplan! What a fool! Is she supposed to be flattered by such intrusive attention? Veruca didn't like it when someone invaded her personal space, and when she looked into Diego's dark chocolate eyes, she smiled, took the bouquet and said sweetly, "Thank you." She turned and shouted: "Hey, Tulip!"

"What are you doing?" Diego's smile faded instantly. Tulip watched Carson leave, then slowly walked over to Veruca and asked sadly, "What is it?"

"It's from Carson," Veruca said, and passed the flowers to Tulip. She was stunned, looking at the fresh bouquet as if it were the eighth wonder of the world, and so was Diego, and Veruca, smiling triumphantly, took her bag and left the greenhouse, feeling that she had put Diego Caplan in his place. But for some reason, the sweet feeling of victory was mixed with something bitter, like... regret?

Day 5

Veruca didn't know what was happening to her. Honestly, she just didn't understand. Diego Caplan had stopped annoying her. When she woke up in the morning, she felt a gnawing sense of guilt for giving his flowers to Tulip, for ignoring his attentions so actively, which were actually not so bad — it was better than if he was spreading his hands or making obscene compliments.

Diego was cute. He gave her flowers. And she just took it and, without even trying to be polite, rejected it. So Veruca thought the next day as she tossed and turned in the pearly gray, rattling light of morning; the bedroom was dark and quiet, except for Liz, who was snoring peacefully in her bed; Veruca suffered from the urge to go and apologize to Diego. Sunflowers added the melancholy, spreading a bunch of pure gold to the gloom of the Slytherin bedroom — Caplan's gift. Diego Caplan.

So in the morning, slipping out of the soft embrace of the bed, Veruca dressed quickly and went to breakfast before anyone else, hoping to see Diego on the threshold of the Great hall and apologize. Yes, her pride will howl...

Fortunately, Diego showed up at his table, and as soon as he finished and went to the door, Veruca left the half-eaten sausages and ran after him. Diego walked with his usual slightly swaying gait, so unhurried and confident that Veruca began to feel less confident, but she ran up and touched him on the shoulder. He turned around. He looked perfectly normal, not at all sad, and Veruca wondered if Diego wasn't upset at all. It's kind of a shame. "Veruca McQuaid," he smiled a little. "Hello."

"Hi," she stammered. Diego chuckled. "Look, I want to apologize for giving your flowers to Tulip yesterday." she found herself painfully short of words. "But Carson and Tulip made up."

Diego laughed. He had a beautiful laugh, low and clear. "How kind you are," he said. "Well, I will forgive you on one condition: you'll accept the next bouquet of flowers from me."

Veruca looked at him blankly. Does he have metal nerves or what? "Um," she said. "If you accept, I'll forgive you," Diego said, running a hand through his silky chocolate hair. Veruca noticed that they were beautifully, cleanly shining. "Do you agree?"

Veruca sighed. It's not so bad to get flowers. But she was supposed to be apologizing to him, making up for her "sins" in some way, not getting a gift, right? But Diego seemed serious, and she decided that if this was a way to let him know that she, Veruca McQuaid, was apologizing to him, let it be so: awkward, but not humiliating. It would have been far worse if he had asked her to leave him alone, or simply ignored her...

"All right," she said. "Okay, I agree." she looked into Diego's dark, shiny, soft eyes, framed by black lashes. And, for some reason, her heart fluttered with joy.

That evening, a first-year student wearing large round glasses approached Veruca. The girl was sitting on the couch reading a book when a first-year, Elora Dunn, came up to her and told her that she had received a gift. The gift was a bouquet of Calla lilies — white and pale pink, neat, velvety and delicate to the touch. Veruca took the bouquet from Elora and just stared at it for a few seconds, not noticing that the first-year had gone to her dorm and it didn't really matter.

The bouquet of Calla lilies had a delicate and soft aroma, like some ice cream. Veruca lifted the bouquet to her face, and the fragile petals brushed her cheeks. I guess sometimes you need to be able to apologize. The thought made her smile, and when she went to bed, Veruca felt extremely happy, as if a star had been lit somewhere inside her that would never go out...

Day 6

Veruca expected this farce of flowers to end after she accepted a bouquet of Calla lilies from Diego. Now, perhaps, he is tired, and he will no longer approach her with another bouquet of flowers, beautiful, bright, sweet-smelling... It would seem that Veruca should have been relieved — at last he was behind, she should be happy!

But when Diego didn't speak to her the next day, didn't even look back or come up with a bunch of flowers, she felt abandoned and sad, even though, of course, Diego didn't owe her anything. After a few days of pampering, that's enough. But why did Veruca feel that she really wanted to talk to Diego, to hear his voice again, to look into his dark, hot chocolate eyes again...

"Stop it!"

Veruca snapped, brushing her hair in front of the mirror this morning. Today, she had let her thick brown hair down, and it fell in a dark wave over her shoulders and framed her pale pink face beautifully. A bouquet of calla lilies, delicate and pleasing to the eye, stood on her bedside table and gave off a delicate fragrance.

Merula, passing by, grumbled that "McQuaid has already got everyone going mad with her flowers," but Veruca ignored this, preoccupied with her own thoughts, and put an emerald pendant around her neck to set off her eyes. Perhaps Diego might have been interested in her because of her looks, even though she hoped he liked her for more than just her pretty face...

"Stop it now. It's probably over. He's tired of you, and you're tired of him. And it is over."

But now she didn't want it to end so much. It was Saturday, and Veruca had decided to stop by the Hospital wing to help madam Pomfrey — sometimes on weekends she tended to patients and helped the elderly matron with some medical matters. Madam Pomfrey was not in the wing today, so Veruca began sorting through the used bottles of medicinal potions, selecting those that needed to be washed and those that needed to be treated first with a special antiseptic — the potions in them had to be poured into an exceptionally clean container.

Working here was very boring and time-consuming, but Veruca felt that sorting out bottles, bandaging wounds, and so on would help her miraculously put her confused thoughts in order. There was something right and clear about it. Suddenly the doors opened and Veruca turned to greet madam Pomfrey, but when she saw who it was, she froze, startled.

Diego Caplan stood in the doorway of the Hospital wing with a bouquet of pink flowers with crimson cores and yellow petals — Alstroemeria. He was smiling, and it seemed to warm Veruca. She just stared at Diego for a few seconds, unable to say anything, and he stepped up to her, "I didn't specify how many bouquets you should accept in order for me to forgive you."

Veruca opened her mouth awkwardly, "Oh... I... thank you," was all she said. Diego gave her a deep, mesmerizing smile.She picked up the flowers and then felt her nose itch and sneezed. "Bless you."

"Thank you... ah!" Veruca sneezed again. Her nose itched, her throat seemed to narrow slightly, and it was harder to breathe. Diego looked at her blankly. Veruca wiped her nose and looked at Alstroemeria. Then she slapped her forehead and started laughing.

"What is it?" Diego looked startled. "Hey, Veruca? What happened?" he took her by the shoulder. Veruca sneezed again, already trying to hide her slight pleasance at the touch of someone else's warm fingers, and said, "I'm allergic to these flowers..."

Diego looked so dumbfounded that she was sneezing and laughing for a long time, and then stopped sneezing and continued to laugh until dinner. But there were still tulips and sunflowers in her room, and the alstroemeria had to be given to Chiara, who was happy to put them in her dorm, so there were enough flowers for everyone, there was no doubt about that...

Day 7

Veruca slept well that night. She dreamed of Diego, smiling, wearing a light gray frock coat and holding a bouquet of roses. They seemed to be dancing under a vast starry sky, and from somewhere an unfamiliar melody was flowing, light and pleasant; it ran like a stream between stones, harmonious, subtle; then Diego suddenly literally disappeared, the melody stopped, everything was plunged into darkness for a few seconds, and Veruca woke up.

There was a strange, happy peace in her soul, and at the same time an anticipation of something very, very good; outside the window, the morning haze turned the ground and horizon ruby and tangerine, and the dim bedroom was bathed in warm light. Her roommates were snoring peacefully in their beds, behind the drawn curtains, and Veruca was left to her own thoughts and beautiful dream...

Everything went fine in the morning: the weather was fine again, and Veruca liked her own reflection in the mirror very much today — her hair were shining, her eyes were shining, her face was fresh and rested; it was a warm Sunday outside the window, and she wasn't even annoyed by the ever-dissatisfied Merula and the untidy Ismelda. Veruca cleaned her room peacefully, had a breakfast of scrambled eggs, played a game of gobstones with Tulip and Carson, who made up and looked at each other with loving eyes again, and passed her Charms homework.

But the best part, what she had been subconsciously waiting for all this time, happened after lunch. She and Diego ran into each other near the forest. It was empty: the students were gathered closer to the castle. The first thing Veruca saw was a familiar blue denim jacket, and then a bunch of blood — red carnations and familiar soft dark brown eyes. At first, she couldn't believe her eyes: another bouquet?

Diego stopped when he saw her. Grinned. "This is the last one," he said, turning over a bunch of carnations wrapped in milky white shimmering paper. "I hope you're not allergic to carnations."

"No," Veruca said, and then automatically repeated to herself, "the last one." Just a few days ago, she wanted it so much, and now...

"Along with this bouquet," Diego announced softly, smiling, "I want to ask you out, Veruca McQuaid. What do you say?"

Veruca froze. Ask her out? On a date? Diego Caplan? Her?

"I will understand if you refuse," Diego was calm. "But accept the bouquet. This is the last one."

And he handed her the flowers. Veruca picked up the delicate scarlet flowers wrapped in paper and stared at them for a few seconds. They were so beautiful. Fragrant. And from him...

The sun shone even brighter. The foliage is flushed with pure gold. Hogwarts castle suddenly became not clumsy and heavy, but majestic and beautiful. Veruca looked at Diego, feeling her heart flutter sweetly, happily, and sing, and Diego seemed to her the most beautiful young man on earth, and a bouquet of carnations was the most beautiful gift, the most elegant and appropriate...

"Well, so what?" Diego held out his hand. "How about a walk in the woods, an evening at Hogsmeade, Madame Puddifoot's cafe, and the company of a handsome man like me, hmm?"

Veruca couldn't help but laugh. "I agree, handsome man," she said softly, and put her hand in his. They walked towards the forest, through the golden trees, looking at each other and assessing each other anew...

And that was just the beginning of their story.

And the reason for everything...

Were flowers.

#ariparri #Veruca McQuaid #Diego Caplan #DieRuca #Diego x Mc #hogwarts mystery #hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #fanart #hphm mc #hogwarts mystery mc #hphm fanart #hphm fic #hphm fanfiction #hogwarts mystery fanfic #HPHM Diego

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psychewithwings · 4 years

Note

I AM SAITAMA TRAIN THINGY ANON AND I JUST FOUND THE POST TY I LOVED IT— you write him so well i loved it sm sm sm. you up for more saitama sometime? :0 i forgot if you’re taking actual requests i’m gonna go check that

THEY ARE OPEN YES

consider: reader gets hurt fighting a villain (or smth) and saitama brings them back to his apartment. but!! he only has one bed >:)!! so they get the bed and he sleeps on the floor lmao. just sorta fluff :D? fluff for saitama? maybe they confess in the morning?? :D??? or just fluff headcanons (i didn’t wanna just ask for fluff headcanons because that’s pretty vague and shit :’D) whatever you’re up for!! ty for being a sick ass writer

Oh my honey bunny!!!! You are so very sweet AH! This legit made my dayyyy!

Im in love with these Saitama requests bc I’m in love with him, he does not get enough credit omggggg. (Also I’m so sorry this took me a hot sec to write, this request just deserved so much care because it was so genuinely sweet, I hope you like baby xxxx)

You were badly beaten up, bruised, and just all around embarrassed. You’d fought so hard, struggling to keep the toothy sewer monster away from the surrounding houses. The icy rain was coming down hard, making it difficult to see. It had flung you down on the ground, taking all the air from your body. Then Saitama knocks it down with a single punch... Yeah, you felt great. You were staring at him now, half with gratitude and half with the realization that you weren’t as strong as you thought you were. He smiled at you, when you blacked out.

You woke up, in an unfamiliar space. Your head was throbbing intensely. You tried to sit up and you groaned and clutched the side of your head, feeling how matted your hair was. “Here,” you watched through half lidded eyes as Saitama rose and grabbed you a glass of water. He dropped a tablet into it and you watched it fizz, the bubbles scattering around the water. He sat next to you, and even though your hand was on the glass, he didn’t let go of it. You took two long drinks, then handed the glass back to him. “You know, if you weren’t a hero who just saved my life, that would look pretty bad,” you said gesturing to the fizzing tablet. Saitama’s eyes got wide, “oh no, it’s- it’s just- dammit! It’s just something for head aches...” he said finally. You chuckled softly, you’d never seen him so flustered before.

Saitama was sitting on the floor watching tv. It was driving you crazy, he’d left without a single scratch and you’d passed out. Having to be saved infuriated you, but you didn’t want to be ungrateful to all his help. “My headache is feeling better, thanks.” Saitama smiled at you from his spot on the floor. He turned on the television and scanned the news. There was something happening a few cities over, it seemed pretty big and no heroes were there to help. Saitama rose, “I’ll be right back,” he mumbled as he left the room.

You couldn’t be mad at him for leaving you. It wasn’t his job to take care of you... The front door opened and shut and your heart sunk a bit. Was Saitama your friend? Sort of? He never spoke to you very much and his few word responses made it difficult to continue a conversation. But he had always given you a soft smile. It was so confusing.

The front door opened again and Saitama returned with a plastic bag, written on the side was THANK YOU with a smiley face. “Soup?” he offered. You laughed, scrunching your brow... this man was hard to read for being one so straight forward. “I figured you left to go fight whatever that was in City X... not bring me soup.” He sat and began to take the containers from the bag. “Oh, I did,” that’s Saitama for you I guess, “but then I saw the delivery guy at the door and figured I shouldn’t let you eat alone, so I let someone else to take care of it.” He handed you a container of soup and a plastic spoon. Saitama flipped the television back on, “let’s see how they're doing huh?”

“BREAKING NEWS, IT’S HEADED FOR THE POWER LINES IN CITY-” That was when all the lights went out. You could here him sigh in the darkness. “You don’t have a flashlight do you?” he asked. You softly replied, “no.” He said nothing but you heard him get up off the floor and stumble somewhere, there was rustling, then clinking, then a click, then a soft light. It was one of those home made, wine bottle oil lamps. He placed the light in the middle of the floor. It was only at that moment you realized you must be in Saitama’s bed. It was simply a mattress on the floor. It was however incredibly comfortable. The comforter was soft and crinkly. He only had one pillow but it was fluffy. “Do you want to play cards?” he offered, presenting a fresh deck. You nodded and he began to deal. He had beaten you at Go Fish 3 times before you suggested another game. Slap Jack was probably the wrong choice considering there was now a hole in his floor, but you’d both gotten a good laugh out of it and simply allowed the mattress to rest above the hole. The laughter from the Slap Jack event sparked the first real conversation you two had ever had. You found out that Saitama was funnier than you thought. The laughter evolved into more meaningful discussions about childhood and lost loves, and finally evolved into nothing at all, like what animals must think when humans change their clothes all the time... With all the talking you were starting to feel worse, weaker, which you resented. You pushed through, because more than anything, you were enjoying talking to him, getting to know who he really was other than this super powerful hero.

It was getting late and you went from feeling bad to feeling like death. However, you wouldn’t be telling Saitama that. Rest, that’s all you needed, yes. “You take the bed, I’ll sleep here,” he whispered. “What? No, I should go home, it’s fine.” He gave you a serious and semi annoyed expression, “do you think you could get yourself home?” Even though the tablet had eased the pain, it didn’t stop the chills, or the joint aches, or the room from spinning. “No...” you admitted reluctantly. “That’s what I thought.” He retrieved a towel and his red cape and made them into a pillow and a blanket. You’d both been laying in silence when you started to feel like you were freezing. You were underneath all the blankets, shivering. “Y/n?” he asked to your covered shape, “are you okay?” You shifted, which sent chills through your body. You heard him move towards you and he placed his hand on your forehead. “You’re sick, fever probably,” he moved and he placed the towel and his cape over you. He moved back towards the floor but you weakly caught his hand. “Do-do you think you could lay with me?” You rolled to look at him and his eyes were big, soft, watching you carefully, with concern. He climbed onto the small mattress beside you and gently laid his arm over your waist, pulling you into him. The warmth from his body, radiating through your back, and the light rise and fall of his breath lured you to sleep.

You awoke with the sun pouring through Saitama’s blinds. You were all sweaty, your fever must have broke in the night but Saitama was still holding onto you. You stirred, trying to give him space but he pulled you closer, “are you feeling any better?” he asked. “Yes, much,” you turned now to face him, “thank you.” Then he did something completely unexpected, he pressed his lips to your forehead then ran his hand down your cheek, “of course.” As soon as he did it, his eyes became wide, “I-I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-” You took his hand and kissed each of his fingers. There wasn’t anything to say. Some things were best left unspoken. He simply closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to yours.

#saitama #one punch man #fluff #fluffy #marshmallow fluff

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medveciahellfireclub · 4 years

Text

Grimnir x Djeeta (Reader-Insert Friendly.) (NSFW.)

Grimnir wasn’t fully aware of Belial’s history with the Singularity or her crew, so when the primarch dropped by one day to visit, he thought he would introduce himself. He was pretty much the only one that deemed to, besides the Captain herself, and he felt his cheeks flush with warmth as he watched them exchange... well, pretty intimate embraces, by his regard.

Not wanting to disturb them, he began to slip away, easily muffling the sounds of his footsteps with his power. Even so, his presence didn’t entirely escape the other primal’s notice, red eyes trailing after Grimnir curiously as he held the Singularity in his arms. Old Raphy’s student? Well, this could be fun...

(( Size kink. Praise kink. Aphrodisiacs.))

“Belial? What’s up?”

He glances down into her smiling face, all the times he’s made her expression into a much more explicit one by stuffing her full of his cock flashing through his mind.

Belial smiles, too.

“Nothing at all, Singularity.”

========

It wasn’t until after dinner that Grimnir got his chance to meet Belial, or rather the Primarch bumped into him in the hallway, causing him to drop his book.

“Oh, sorry about that,” Belial murmurs, scooping the book back up and offering it to the other primal with an easy grin. “You’re Grimnir, right? Raphy’s disciple? How’s he doing these days?”

Grimnir blinks, taking the book, then smiles. “Master Raphael is doing fine. I guess you know him?”

“Oh yeah, we’re old friends...” The grin on his face widens a fraction, turning sharper.

Grimnir blinks again at the look on his face, then clears his throat, trying to be polite. Not all primals were... well-adjusted. “Ah, well... I guess you know the Singularity, too. We usually read together after dinner, so I was just on my way...”

“Right... don’t let me keep you,” The primarch murmurs, grin widening even further. Grimnir narrows his eyes and starts to say something, but the words die in his throat as Belial’s gaze pins him on the spot, crimson eyes smoldering. The Wind God shudders as he feels something slither through his mind, making him feel too warm, but such thoughts soon become too hazy to focus on.

“Tell her I said hello,” Belial purrs, sauntering down the hall, chuckling to himself. Virgins were always so fun...

Flushing at the mere thought of the Singularity, let alone saying anything to her, Grimnir heads down the hall to her room. Maybe if they got bored of reading they could... do something else.

==========

The closer the Singularity got to him, the warmer Grimnir seemed to feel. Feelings he didn’t entirely understand until recently began to crowd up his mind, making it hard to concentrate on what he was reading. That had never happened before.

Was he getting sick? No, that was impossible... and even if he was, he knew that she would take care of him.

The Singularity really was the best! She was so nice, and a good fighter! And pretty...

Mismatched eyes drifted over the human’s form as she read, taking in details he didn’t really notice before. She was strong, but definitely a girl! He could tell, because... because...

Trembling with nervous energy, he let his fingers brush her cheek, and flushed even more as she looked up at him, seeming startled by the touch. “Grimnir? Are you okay?”

Was her face getting red, too? He liked that.

He wanted to see that color all over.

“S-Singularity, I...um...”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you some water,” She murmurs, getting to her feet and heading into the small connected bathroom. Finding her own water glass, she rinses it out thoroughly before letting it fill from the cold tap, brow knit in confusion. She hoped something wasn’t wrong with Grimnir, but as far as she knew, primals couldn’t get ill. Heading back out with the glass, she gasped and nearly dropped it as she collided with something solid.

Immediately wrapping an arm around her waist, Grimnir held her against him, the metal of his gauntlet slightly digging into her back. “S-Singularity... I thought you’d left,” He murmurs, gazing down at her. The look in his eyes wasn’t exactly predatory, but it was still intense, and definitely enough to make her nervous.

“N-no, I...got you some water,” She replies, eyeing him warily, even as he gently plucks the glass from her hand. He downs it and sighs contentedly, setting the glass aside. As he’s distracted, the skyfarer tries to gently pull away from him, then utters a soft yelp as he gently but insistently pins her against the wall.

“Grimnir...? Um...” She squeaks, face flushing. While she’d noticed the Wind God had become increasingly attached to her lately, she didn’t think his feelings were anything like... this.

“I’m sorry... I can’t... I feel weird...” He mumbles, mismatched eyes a bit glassy. “Being close to you makes me feel better... but also worse.”

“W-well, why don’t we get you in bed, and then...” Her words trail off as his hand slips up under her chin, bringing her lips to his. She stiffens for a moment, then shivers and melts into the gentle kiss, pressing a hand to his chest. She could feel the core that served as his heart pulsing, and while the Mad Cyclone was always full of energy, this felt even stronger than usual.

Her lips on his felt better than... well, anything he’d felt before. Emboldened by her acceptance, he slips his tongue into her mouth, the pleasure of the new sensation fizzing through his body like tiny bubbles as the primal deepens the kiss.

Something in the back of his mind was quietly urging him for more, a new sort of instinct driving him to keep going. Everything he did with her felt so right and so good... and she seemed to like it too, so why should he stop?

As she murmurs his name he feels his stomach flip. If this was good... what would be better? Maybe if there was more of him?

The girl opens her eyes with a start as she feels his tongue suddenly filling her mouth, only to see the primal growing larger. Squished even closer up against his chest, she squirms a bit, causing him to open his eyes too. He smiles at her, but the expression still has some kind of edge to it, and she distantly wonders if this is somehow Belial’s fault.

“This feels good, right, Singularity? I figured it would feel even better if I was bigger, so... so I could touch you more. And you could feel me more, and...” He trails off, shivering, and tries to press even closer against her. She feels what is surely his cock throb against her through his pants, and can only hope he won’t get too excited.

“I need you, Singularity...”

She swallows thickly, feeling her chest tighten at the deeper, more confident tone of his voice. His dramatic monologues were silly, but whenever he spoke that way, it always... made her feel weird, too.

“G-Grimnir, I don’t think... um...”

Face flushed, the Wind God ever-so-gently runs his fingers through her hair, struggling to keep himself composed. He would never hurt her on purpose, but there was something still clawing at his brain...

“Please, Singularity? I really... I really need it...” He whispers, voice cracking around the edges.

The thought of sweet, silly Grimnir begging for sex was something she would have never conceived of. Belial had to definitely be involved, somehow.

But what was his angle? Just another game? Well, if he wanted to play...

“Okay, Grimnir...um...we just have to be careful...!”

Her words trail off into a soft yelp as metal fingers tear through her clothes like paper, over eager. Flushing to the tips of his ears in embarrassment, then at the sight of her naked, the primal grins sheepishly.

“S-sorry, Singularity! I guess I should take these off...” He stammers, hands still shaking even as he removes the gauntlets, setting them aside. The sight of her tiny, very naked body makes him bite back a moan and he finally frees his painfully hard erection, distantly wondering how it’s all going to fit inside of her. But it has to, right?

If more of him is better, this should feel amazing.

The skyfarer has only a moment to wonder what he’s thinking before Grimnir is relentlessly grinding his cock up between her legs, the sudden sensation making her cry out in both surprise and pleasure. Pleased with her reaction, the primal reaches down to play with her breasts as well, delighted with their squishy softness.

“S-Singularity...I told you, this was a great idea! You feel good too, right?” He chirps, the pure innocent excitement on his face at odds with how he abuses her clit so well, the sheer size of him making it impossible for her not to feel it. And he wasn’t even inside of her yet...

“G-Grimnir...” She murmurs, lamely, utterly caught off guard. She runs her hands over his body, admiring the lean muscle, finding this new side of him...well. Extremely hot. She should feel guilty, but if he was having a good time...

“Hehe... you don’t have to tell me, it’s okay. I can feel how wet you are. I know that’s good,” He murmurs, in a more serious tone, and she looks back up at him, startled. He grinds up against her particularity hard and she moans, shamelessly, burying her face against his chest. The reaction only emboldens him, so he keeps doing it, watching her in utter fascination.

“G-Grimnir... where did you... learn this? Gods...”

His chest swells with pride at her praise, driving him to keep going until she climaxes, the sensation of her soaking him making his cock throb again. Shuddering, he nuzzles against her the best he can, letting her recover.

“It’s going to feel even better... w-when you’re ready...” He murmurs, feeling his face go red all over again as he imagines what they’re about to do.

Feeling his cock twitch beneath her, the skyfarer bites her lip, almost holding her breath as she begins to sink down onto his length. Grimnir digs his fingers into the floorboards, cracking the wood, and the sight of it gets her even wetter. Working her hips, she hisses softly as she tries to adjust to his size, the sensation sending a dull burn through her belly. Even with how wet she was, he was just... big.

“S-Singularity... you feel so good...” He murmurs, leaning down to shower her tiny body in even tinier kisses, trying to distract her from the discomfort. As she giggles, he grins brightly, moving his lips to her breasts. Her giggles soon turn into soft moans as he kisses them, brushing the tip of his tongue over her nipples.

Feeling the ache of the stretch start to ease, she begins to work her hips with renewed vigor, taking him deeper each time. It didn’t take long before she could start to truly appreciate his size, the throbbing girth inside of her able to effortlessly hit all of her sweetest spots.

The primal digs his fingers into the floor again, chest heaving, the sight of the Singularity trying to take his cock so eagerly leaving him almost breathless. She was so tight and wet and warm… he couldn’t stand it.

Feeling that familiar coil in her gut starting to wind tight, she shudders and moans, focus narrowing to her impending climax. She didn’t have time to react as she suddenly found herself pinned between his overly warm body and the wall again, making her see stars as Grimnir stuffs her full of his cock with each thrust, fucking her as hard as he can manage without actually hurting her.

Hearing him distantly stammering apologies, she digs her fingers into his back, clinging to the primal for dear life as her climax courses through her hard enough to make her ears ring. The feeling of her tight cunt trying desperately to spasm around his dick sends the Wind God over the edge with her, and he utters a moan of his own as he pumps her full of his seed, the excess dripping from her thighs and belly.

By the time she comes to, Grimnir is back to his normal size, holding her in his arms and already dozing off. She blinks a few times, then chuckles quietly, gently ruffling his hair. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too embarrassed when he woke up.

#granblue fantasy #granblue fanfiction #gbf grimnir #gbf belial #gbf djeeta

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