#this one has been collecting dust in the drafts for god knows how long. the orange was calling out to me this October I guess. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saikokirakira · 2 years

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Just a Ransom Fic for now

[edit 17/09: idiot me forgot to add a plot summary. this is what happens when you thirst too much. 🤡]

summary: After being released from prison, Ransom hides away in a bar at the lesser end of town. He finds you, a pecular little thing, and wonders how much he can screw you over. Literally and figuratively.

or...

Ransom is adult-grounded and decides to cause chaos, starting with you. Luckily, you're down to fuck.

a/n: choosing to post this first because it has been collecting dust since – checks version history – march. might need feedback if the rest of my draft is worth adding parts. this is also the filthiest thing i posted (but not wrote) so far.

also... my personal author's note from february for myself was pretty funny.

[Note: The power went out while I was writing the snu-snu. It was God telling me to go do my bedtime routine, and as punishment, I am gonna have to take a fucking cold shower without the heater.]

word count: 4.9k (60 words away from 5k of pure thirst, good lawd)

warning/tags: MINORS DNI, 18+ only, Ransom 'Sweater Daddy' Drysdale (walking red flag), reader is kinda dumb, p in v sex, no mentions of y/n, dumbification, size difference/size kink, oral (both receiving/giving), mentions of drug use, alcohol, language/cursing, non-canon to the film (Harlan lives), not proofread (i'm literally dozing off while doing final checks), self-indulgent fic

When Ransom first met you, you were almost a breath of fresh air. Given that he was in prison for a couple of months, being in that seedy little bar was literally fresh air to him. He almost thought that your voice was wasted on the piss-drunk people who weren’t even paying attention.

In fact, Ransom was surprised people were even listening when they booed after you mentioned that you were taking a fifteen-minute break after your first set. You seemed to take it as a compliment when you blew a kiss to the person who booed the loudest, which Ransom figured out as a plea for one more song. You hopped off the small platform and skipped over to the bar right beside to the man who couldn’t take his eyes off you.

“Enjoying the show?” you asked, your voice still holding that sweet melodic tone even when you weren’t singing.

Ransom was about to snide at your comment, until he caught himself, realising that you were asking him a genuine question about your performance. “I’ve heard better,” he said nonchalantly.

Like earlier, you didn’t take it to heart. You took the small virgin cocktail you got from the bartender, who gave Ransom a nasty look behind your back. You took a long sip before sucking on the orange wedge. “Sure, you have,” you replied, turning to the bartender and giving him a childish orange wedge smile.

Ransom narrowed his eyes before coming to the conclusion that you speak in the literal sense. Two months in prison, and he was still hyper-aware of the constant snarky and snide conversations from his family. Like he said, breath of fresh air.

“You don’t look like you’re from around these parts,” you noted, making Ransom raise a brow at you. “The clothes, the way you present yourself,” you shrugged. “Also, most of the regulars here know each other.”

“Let’s just say it’s the only bar in town where I won’t run into people who know me,” Ransom said, swallowing what’s left of his drink in one shot.

Especially those fuckers from the country club who bailed on him as soon as those cops arrested him.

You hummed in thought before going back to nursing your own drink. You didn’t look like you cared to know more or even ponder further on the mystery of his identity. Ransom liked that you minded your own business, but maybe too much. Your disinterest might not make you want to end up in his bed at the end of the night.

A man walked up to you and whispered something in your ear. You smiled and nodded before passing back your cocktail glass across the bar. “Thanks for the drink, Mel,” you said. Then you glanced to Ransom. “Back to work. Enjoy the rest of the performance, new guy.” You hopped off your stool and skipped back to the platform.

“Good luck, pal.”

Ransom turned to Mel, the elderly bartender that shot him the dirty look earlier. He immediately got on Ransom’s nerves for not being able to mind his own business and eavesdropping. “Two more beers might improve my chances then,” he ordered with a plastic smile but not an ounce of emotion behind his eyes.

Mel was not discreet in hiding his disgust as he handed Ransom two bottles. “Look, rich guy,” he began, “they’re a good kid. I can serve you all the alcohol you want, but you best find your conquest someplace else.”

This old man is really getting on his nerves. Ransom unconsciously zoned him out as his attention was pulled in by your voice. You were right how most people in the bar knew each other. You were singing a song in a foreign language that had everyone cheering and clapping along. They were entranced by you.

… and so was Ransom.

The rest of your final set went with songs that anyone else can zone out to focus on their drinks or company. At one moment, Ransom’s focus shifted to a leggy brunette that insisted he buy her two drinks. Seems like he had his company for the night sorted out.

Except that she asked too many questions.

Ransom was not unfamiliar with female company that constantly questioned him about his background. Like you said, the way he dressed, the way he presented himself, even the way he talked, displayed how high up he was in social standings. Now, it just was nothing more than an inconvenience.

With Ransom’s face plastered on every celebrity – and often, business news section for his third DUI — was it even his third? Maybe fourth? — Harlan and Linda finally cut him loose for another bad rep he caused on the family business. Well, maybe as loose as they can take without the press making more of an issue out of it. He served his couple of months since none of his shit family would pay his bail, and he didn’t even have enough on his account because Harlan insisted that Ransom pay the fines and his car repairs by himself.

To make things worse, Ransom had to earn his allowance again by working as Harlan’s research assistant for a few months. Like some fucking child. Which meant he has to stay in town and couldn’t go back to Boston.

Now, he was sitting in a seedy bar to avoid people who know him and still expected to hang around his family until his goddamn parole ended. His self-seething boiled an angry burn in the pit of his stomach, so he began ordering in the shots. If he gets another DUI, so be it. By his fifth shot, the brunette was getting upset at the lack of attention that she turned her attention to the gentleman across the bar.

Ransom didn’t care one bit.

“I know I’m no professional, but you don’t need to get wasted after hearing me sing, dude.”

Ransom turned to the source of melodic giggles and saw you back in the stool you occupied an hour ago. Wait. Did she – or they, whatever that old fart said – just call me dude?

“Definitely not interested in me,” Ransom unconsciously muttered to himself out loud before clearing his last shot glass.

“On the contrary, I find you very interesting,” you chimed, nursing another orange-y mocktail. “I don’t get new faces among my audience, and you look like you know how to have a good time.”

Ransom raised his brow, his interest now spiked. Reads people well, but shit at judging character. He took a glance at Mel, who was busy making drinks for a group of people across the bar. Eat shit, Mel. He smirked as he leaned forward to you. “Are you open to all kinds of fun?”

You tilted your head to the side, looking charming as ever. “What kind of fun are we talking about specifically?”

If Ransom wasn’t the asshole he was, he would be scared over how this person managed to be so openly trusting with that innocent aura they carried. It was almost as if they were hiding something. Then again, so was he.

Maybe Ransom wasn’t going to get another DUI after all. All he needed was a “your place or mine” question, and she – they, damn it – offered to drive at their apartment, mentioning that they had somewhere to be in the morning. By the time they got to their place, he was almost surprised at how the building looked.

It wasn’t a place Ransom would choose to live, but it was definitely around the upper middle-class area of the town, which was something that a bar singer could never afford. Definitely hiding something, he mused. At least he wasn’t going to regret not insisting they go to his place.

“Let’s go? Or are you too drunk? I can drive you home and call a cab from there,” you offered, worry flashing in those innocent eyes.

Ransom scoffed. He was never too drunk for sex. He was never too drunk to drive himself home either. To prove his own point, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you in for a searing hot kiss, not caring that the gear lever was probably digging into your abdomen somewhere.

You smiled against Ransom’s lips before pulling away, tasting a mix of alcohol on your lips. You rubbed at your waist, where the lever lodged itself while Ransom took your breath away, and said, “Okay, dude, you proved your point.” After a pause, you snickered, “Well, not really.”

Ransom rolled his eyes. “Jesus, call me Ransom, enough with ‘dude,’” he said, getting off his Beamer.

You did the same and locked the doors before tossing the keys over to Ransom. His inebriated state had him fumbling over them in his fingers but catching them ultimately. You giggled at the sight, which Ransom thought sounded almost like tinkling bells as he followed you up the steps to the building entrance.

Once both of you were shut inside the elevator, Ransom caged you into a corner and bent down to capture your lips. He didn’t acknowledge how tiny you were in stature until now. The top of your head barely reached his shoulder that, after a while, Ransom decided to lift you by the waist and hook your legs around his waist.

Everything your legs felt was pure hard muscle, all concealed by his thick cable-knit sweater. You didn’t even expect how tiny his waist was until he kept your thighs firmly around it. With your thighs secured, Ransom’s hands slithered up your skirt, grabbing a good handful of your ass that had you whimpering against his lips.

You opened your eyes and glanced at the elevator screen. One floor left. You pecked Ransom’s lips one more time before hopping off the open elevator. At the end of the hall, you grabbed your keys from your purse and unlocked your apartment with Ransom following behind you.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Ransom was on you like a starved man. He lifted you on his shoulder, making you screech and giggle uncontrollably, something that only made the heat in Ransom’s belly bubble further. “Bedroom?” he grunted.

“Open door on the left,” you said, your hands sneaking up his thighs. “Wow,” was all you can muster when you stuffed your hands in the back pocket of his pants. Even his ass was pure muscle.

Without any form of gentleness or grace, Ransom dumped you on the bed and began stripping off his clothes, which prompted you to do the same. However, once you got to your stockings, Ransom wagged a finger at you to stop. As you looked at him in question, he finished pulling off his pants, leaving him in his tented boxers.

Clad with only your bra and stockings with your skirt bunched up by your ribcage, you whistled at the sight of Ransom’s sculpted body. “Can I just...?” you trailed off before reaching up to touch his pec, then his broad shoulder before feeling down the very biceps that flexed under his sweater when he manhandled you. “Dude, you’re crazy ripped.”

Ransom flashed you an unamused look from the name before pushing you on your back to the mattress. Your surprised gasp was music to his ears. The second one when he ripped your stockings right at the middle was far sweeter than the first.

“Ransom!” you finally cried out, pouting at your abused clothing.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be crying out my name for better reasons in just a second,” Ransom teased, unhooking your bra with experienced ease before tossing it to the side. He leaned back to admire what he was about to ruin and was pleased to see how you were already so worked up by him simply undressing you.

“I’m mostly crying for my stockings though.”

Ignoring you, Ransom grabbed the thin strip of your thong and dragged it to the side, exposing your slick folds to him. “All this for me? We barely even started yet,” he chuckled, running the pad of his index finger along your slit.

Your hips jumped off the mattress, and you let out a needy moan. Jesus, they should sing those moans at the bar instead, Ransom thought. More...

“Take them off,” you gasped, pulling at the elastic of your stockings. “Ransom, take them off.”

“No.” Ransom slapped your thigh as a warning. “You behave and keep these on. Maybe I’ll reward you if you stay good and keep calling me by my name.”

“Ransom,” you moaned, pushing your hips up as a means to find some sort of friction. “Ransom...”

“So needy, so obedient,” Ransom hummed, finally slipping a finger into your warmth. He appreciated how you eagerly took him in and was ready for more. His biceps were already stinging from your nails digging down as you begged for more.

Yet throughout all that desperation, those eyes looked up at Ransom with the same innocence out on the stage. It filled him with an overwhelming urge to just ruin you but also keep that innocence just for him. Only him.

And he has the entire night taking it all.

Ransom pulled you to the edge of your bed then dangled your legs over his massive shoulders. He heard your breath hitch at the first contact of his lips on the exposed skin of your inner thigh. His amusement extended when you whined out his name again as your hips strained against the firm grip he had on them.

A pinch on your thigh had you yelp when Ransom gave you another warning of behaving. Clenching your toes and fisting your sheets, you relaxed and spread your legs wider, but not before shooting him an impatient glare. That look resulted to a full bite on the opposite thigh, making you cry out.

“Please,” you moaned, panting in anticipation. “I’ve been good so far.” At this stage, you couldn’t even rub your legs together with Ransom settled between them. Your pleasure and relief all relied on him giving you what you needed.

Ransom seemed to take so much pleasure seeing you at his mercy, squirming and crying out for him. He flattened the pad of his tongue and licked a rough trail on your pulsing nub.

“Holy shit,” you hissed, wanting to run your hands all over his hair but chose to dig your nails into the mattress. You didn’t want to seem forward or too personal with the gesture. You were also pretty sure that he took his time styling it. He looks real pretty.

Annoyed that your mind was drifting someplace else, Ransom worked his mouth with an unrelenting pace that had you coming back and moaning without any regard of your neighbours. The walls weren’t paper thin at all, but the volume of the noises Ransom was pulling out of your lips from every suck and lick wasn’t something to underestimate. Heaven forbid you would start screaming by the end of the night, and damn, you were that close when he added his fingers to the mix.

You were quickly losing your breath from the overwhelming pleasure that was running through your veins. Your hyper-fixation on Ransom’s mouth working his magic didn’t even make you notice that your fingers had been pulling at his scalp, just as you wanted earlier. With his own hands busy, you managed to sit up and curl down over his head, scrambling for some sense of control, but Ransom wouldn’t have it.

“Ransom,” you gasped, feeling the coil tighten in your belly.

Ransom pulled his mouth away from your pearl and replaced it with his thumb, wanting to look at your face as you fell apart. Your hair, cropped short, was sticking to all sorts of direction. Seeing your head titled back and eyes squeezed shut, he usually didn’t care, but this time, he wanted to see this girl — fuck, person, whatever — come by his hand.

“No! Why?” you cried out, sitting up and whining as he abruptly stopped altogether. You growled, the adorable sound reminding Ransom of Harlan’s dogs when they were puppies, before they became total nightmares whenever he stopped by. He thought it was cute how you growled and thought you actually had a chance as you struggled by moving your hips with his fingers still inside you.

“That’s right,” Ransom smirked, curling his fingers inside your warmth, causing you to shudder but not enough to come. “Keep your eyes on me, pixie.”

In the midst of your lust-filled haze, you managed to raise a brow at the odd nickname. You heard babe, baby, doll, even the occasional love, but this one... you liked. You allowed it with a bite of your lip as his thumb roughly rubbed at your clit, your eyes fluttering shut again.

“Now, are you gonna be a good g– be good for me?” Ransom caught himself, and he almost hated himself for caring so much about how you identified yourself. I just don’t want to put them out of the mood now that I’m knuckles deep in their pussy, he reasoned with himself.

“Why are you being mean? I’ve been good for you the entire time,” you cried out, falling back on the bed. You could feel your orgasm slipping further and further away, frustration taking its place. You closed your thighs in a desperate attempt to move Ransom’s hand by your control.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Ransom drawled, moving his fingers at an impossibly slow pace from the confined space you created for yourself. “I gave you orders to look at me—”

“I’m looking at you now!”

Ransom glared at you before moving his index finger to pinch at your swollen nub, squeezing a surprised squeal out of you. “Forgetting your manners, pixie,” he spat out.

You opened your mouth, readying for a retort, when the haughty look on Ransom’s face made you rethink on pulling a bratty one on him. With a pout, you spread your legs and sat up, your hands gripping at Ransom’s shoulders. “I need it Ransom, please,” you sweetly begged, your tongue darting out to run against the smirk on his lips.

It must have worked because Ransom lightly pushed you back on the bed and began pumping his fingers at a satisfying pace but still controlled as a warning to keep you aware of him. This time, he also kept his free hand on your knee to keep your legs open. With the pressure building back in your core, you were almost in tears to have Ransom get you there faster. Your head began to turn into mush as you babbled out a mix of his name and pleases.

“Ransom, I’m close,” you panted, your half-lidded eyes struggling to stay open.

Aside from the flush on his neck and chest, Ransom kept his arrogant, self-assured air around him, revelling at the mess that you were right now. “Go on,” he smirked, letting go of your knee to run a trail up your torso. His hand ended up at your neck, and Ransom swore you felt your walls clench on his fingers from the slight pressure on your throat.

Next time, Ransom thought, biting his lips at the thought of an actual next time. When his hand moved down to your breast instead, you almost looked disappointed, but Ransom didn’t let you linger as he curled his fingers just at the right spot, which was all it took for you to fall apart. Ransom leaned over you to catch a perfect view as you cried out through your orgasm, grinding helplessly against his hand.

When your cries died down to tired moans and hums, Ransom slipped his fingers out, causing you to shiver. If you weren’t as flushed and breathless as you were, the embarrassment would definitely show on your face as Ransom held out his hand, wet with your slick and come. Even his signet ring on his pinky now had different kind of shine to it.

“What a mess, Pixie,” Ransom tutted. “You’re too fucked out from just my fingers.” When he began lowering back down your thighs, he hushed your protests, moaning about your sensitivity. “Shh, let me clean you up.”

Ransom managed to drag a smaller yet still thigh-quivering orgasm out of you with his tongue before he finally stripped you off all clothing. He pulled your thighs off his shoulders and climbed back up the bed after a small stop to retrieve a packet from his pants. With a firm grip on your waist, he lifted you onto his lap as he laid back against your headboard, wordlessly telling you what to do.

With your wobbly limbs, you hooked your arms around his neck and captured those soft lips, tasting remnants of yourself on his tongue. Sounds of wet kisses and the crinkling of a foil wrapper filled the room for a good minute before Ransom tapped your bottom as a signal. Reluctantly pulling away from his lips, you raised your hips to position his cockhead at your entrance before slowly sinking down. Despite coming twice, you still felt the burning intrusion of the fat head pushing through.

Ransom took great amusement at the sight of you trying your best to take him in. As small as you were, you managed to take more than half of him before your thighs began shaking. You could definitely take more of him, but damn if he wasn’t starting to feel like coming then and there.

“Tsk, do you need my help? Still?” Ransom asked. “Did you become a useless dumb baby from coming twice?” He tutted as he pulled your face to his, biting at your bottom lip that settled into a pout from his condescending tone.

“Your fi-fingers please,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulder.

Though he would’ve liked to keep you on your toes a little while more, Ransom started to feel the pressure building as well. With a twinge of impatience, which has always been one of his defining qualities, he reached in between you to give you what you needed. Taking him in another inch deep in your tight walls, he finally let out a groan, which turned into a hiss when your walls clenched on him again.

“You like hearing how good you make me feel?” Ransom’s voice was rough and raspy against your ear. “You’re doing so well, Pixie. Just a little bit more.”

You shivered at Ransom’s hot heavy breathing against your ear, combining with the slow circles he was rubbing on your swollen pearl. You did want to take more, but damn, you felt so full that you swore that you can feel every vein lining his dick against your walls. The very thought made you clamp around him again, making you shudder at his breathy moan. You wanted to hear more, just as he pried moan after moan from you earlier.

Now on a mission, you steadied your knees, gripping his broad shoulders for support as you rose up until only the tip of his cock was left inside you. Arrogantly, Ransom remained seated back, both amused and turned on over how committed you were to take all of him in. Not many of his conquests were that bold to take all of him if they didn’t do so in one go. Maybe the truly kinky ones, he mused.

You carefully looked down, and Ransom, definitely knowing what he was doing, pulled his hand away from your clit, to give you an open view of you and him connected. Even though your hole was plugged by Ransom’s cock, it didn’t stop you from leaking down his shaft. You whimpered at the sight, squirming in your place until Ransom grabbed a good handful of your ass, squeezing tight.

“Don’t you dare lose me from that sweet cunt, Pixie. Or else.”

You shuddered at the thought. Would he grab your neck again? Put you over his knee? All terribly bad yet so good ideas, but you focused on the task at hand instead. You hooked your hands around the back of Ransom’s neck, keeping his gaze level to yours. Then… you sank down to his full length.

Holy shitballs. The pleasure that washed over his face and that delicious long groan was enough to make you come. And you did.

“Fuck,” Ransom panted, feeling you pulse around him. He so desperately wanted to follow you over the edge, but this was his first pussy since he got out. He was not ending this night that quickly, not with an unusual find like you. “That’s it,” he grunted, grabbing your hips to pull you underneath him on the mattress. Without giving you a moment to catch your breath, Ransom did not even hesitate to start pounding into your abused hole.

“Wait,” you gasped, feeling the line between pain and pleasure blur. “Ransom, wait!”

Ransom grunted, annoyed but slowed down regardless. “Hurts?”

You shook your head, yet not being able to help your hips jerking up to meet his thrusts. “’m sensitive,” you squeaked.

Ransom let out a noise between a scoff and a chuckle before going back to his unforgiving pace. “You will give me one more,” he declared. “You’ll be good for me, right?”

Not trusting yourself to speak, you nodded frantically.

“What was that? Use your words, Pixie,” Ransom said, his hand reaching down to place a warning thumb on your clit. Still, his pace caused his finger to move and stroke at the bundle of nerves, sending electricity down to your toes.

You cried and tried to pull his hand away. “No more,” you begged. “Can’t. No more.”

He easily moved your hand away and shoved it back to your side. “One more, one more,” Ransom panted, his release quickly approaching. “Fuck, you feel so good.” His rhythm was starting to falter as he chased his peak while you were reduced into a mess of babbles and cries.

“Your pussy is fucking choking me,” Ransom growled. “You’re going to make me come. Yeah? Are you gonna let me come on that pretty mouth of yours?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Ransom!” you babbled almost noncoherently.

“Fuck!” Ransom shouted as you squirted around him, the wetness spraying on his thighs. He quickly pulled out and crawled up to you, ripping off the condom and tossing it to the side. He tapped the head of his cock against your waiting tongue.

Your eyes locked into Ransom’s towering figure as he knelt over the side of your head, roughly stroking himself to finish. Then there it was. The man’s O-face was so deliciously sinful that your core traitorously throbbed just from the sight of it.

Spray after spray of his come filled your mouth. Ransom carefully held the back of your head but not pulling you deep enough to reach the back of your throat, and you knew exactly why. When Ransom started to calm down, you pulled away but not before giving his tip one last suckle to catch the remaining drops.

You leaned up on your elbows, not trusting your legs to sit down. You looked up at Ransom who was staring down at you, panting and eyes dark. You flashed him a close-lipped smile before sticking out your tongue, showing him most of his spend, thick and heavy. You giggled when you swirled your tongue around your lips, dribbling all over your chin.

Ransom’s cock twitched at the sight, making him growl at you in warning. As much as he wanted to keep you up until it was bright outside, he was starting to feel the downside effects of all the alcohol he consumed at the base of his skull. Maybe if he had a bump he could definitely go on, but the drugs he carried that night was confiscated when he got arrested.

Instead, Ransom cupped your jaw, tilting your head higher. His thumb scooped back his come and pushed it back into your mouth. He then pressed his thumb against your lips, keeping them shut. Much to his approval, he saw the slight movement of your throat. Not a quitter, he mused.

“Did I do good?” you looked up at him hopefully.

Ransom smirked. “You were a very good g— you were good, Pixie,” he said, dropping down on the bed beside you to catch his breath.

You giggled. “I don’t know what Mel told you, but you can still call me girl, you know. I don’t mind either way.”

Ransom scoffed, caught red-handed. “I didn’t want to assume.”

“Nice to know you actually care, dude,” you said, finally deciding to sit up. You absolutely needed to go use the bathroom now. Maybe brush your teeth.

Swinging your legs at the edge of the bed to test them, you carefully stood up and made your way into the bathroom, aware of Ransom’s eyes on your backside. Once inside the bathroom, you grabbed your toothbrush, loaded it with toothpaste, then took a seat on the toilet. After relieving yourself, you finished brushing your teeth before going back to your bedroom.

Much to your surprise, Ransom was still on your bed, now passed out. Even though he seemed to be the type to leave right after a hook-up, you figured all that alcohol he had at Mel’s finally caught up to him. You didn’t mind. It wasn’t the first time a one-night stand actually stayed the night on your bed.

Though you may have underestimated his size because your double-sized bed made it seem like a single from all the space he took.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fanfiction #knives out #chris evans fanfiction

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angelsandarsenic · 3 months

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Not about a current story but you should share a draft you like/abandoned story

YAY ok ok!

Remember the necromancy au??? This one

I started writing a whole story for it and was going to be three whole books, centered around Tommy and Phil. (I'll add what I have in my drafts in the reblog of this)

First off, some world building: the supernatural like the undead and necromancers as well as creatures like unicorns, fae, some witchcraft and spells, wards etc., but it's all pretty hidden/rare to come across, and a lot of it depends on how much you believe (not that that stops them from existing). The government has a Supernatural Police Force that enforces supernatural law, but also, specifically hunts down necromancers and anything related to the undead. Highly illegal. Anything in that category--necromancers especially--are considered taboo, subversions of nature and incredibly dangerous. Unfortunately, necromancy is an ability you're born with, it doesn't work well to try and force it. Anyway, the world is about 60/40 split for belief, of course with tons of people on an "unsure" scale in between.

Tommy is in denial.

After the death of his mother, he's just gotten settled in a new town and is simply doing his best as an 18 year old all on his own. A lot of people have a hard time believing that his last name is actually "Innit", not to mention he doesn't have a driver's licence or much work history, but Puffy and Niki make sure he gets a good job in their shop. Unfortunately, he unwittingly closes up one night without the wards in place on the shop and some...visitors get in. It's not his fault, Tommy never learned anything about this supernatural crap, but now Puffy is calling "exterminators" and whispers of ghost sightings and necromancers on the run are going around. Blonde haired, blue eyed necromancers, supposedly from Tommy's home town.

Tommy panics, but in self fulfilling prophecy, he only acts more suspicious and finds himself literally running from the SPF, when he meets Philza and realizes that this is the necromancer they're looking for.

Philza wants absolutely nothing to do with this; the last thing he needs is a kid. Things were going well in this town, he doesn't understand what suddenly went wrong! Now he has to leave again, but whatever, that's routine by now. Thankfully, Tommy seems just as eager to stay away from him as Phil is and he escapes successfully.

...until Tommy somehow ends up backed into a corner with him once again, in the new town, and he can't just leave a kid to fend for himself against the SPF, so they make a temporary truce.

From there it's not hard for Phil to figure out that Tommy is a necromancer, he isn't exactly great at hiding it. Those powers are dangerous left unchecked, so Phil can't just not teach him. It's only until he's good enough to go off on his own, Phil promises himself. Even if Tommy is weirdly endearing, despite getting into trouble and bringing home a random stranger who, thank the gods, doesn't seem phased by death magic. Even if he rather painfully reminds Phil of the kid he left behind all those years ago.

Necromancy adventures ensue; found family with an ancient undead warrior, Some Guy, and a couple ghostly other friends. At last, it all comes to a head when their backstories collide, the long-lost father-son realization it's been skirting around for some time is officially revealed and once again, the SPF are hot on their tails and Phil can't let go this time.

But yeah, that never got very far. I still adore it, I just know I'm never gonna finish it. Thank you so much for asking! I love sharing my drafts and abandoned stories. If you want to hear more, I made the Library of Alexandria (Angel's lost/unfinished works) on Ao3 for everything that I couldn't bear to let collect dust in my drafts ☆

#angel writes #necromancy au #philza #tommyinnit #sleepy bois inc #mcyt #ao3 author #Q and A

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tittyblade · 3 years

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tumblr etiquette 101

a list that is nowhere near exhaustive, from yours truly.

First off, welcome! Whether you’re a twitter veteran looking for anything but whatever twitter is, or a new user just done signing up, glad to see you in our ranks beloveds! Welcome home. Refer to this quick tour to make sure your fandom experience (or tumblr experience in general) is a positive one!

Disclaimer: I know it’s long, but please try to read or skim through til the end if you’re new here! This is by no means meant to be a rule book (for the most part lol), only a guide to help you get settled easier!

1) Your blog

This is where people will see and interact with you, so put some effort into it!

Try to choose a name (url) that’s simple. You can see it as your brand, it’s how people will perceive you and remember you. If you’d like to interact with other users here (and not use the site just for the content) it’s better to have something short and sweet, preferably without spaces. (Of course, these are only suggestions.) Rest assured, you can change it literally any time you want.

Have a theme. Utilize the tool that lets you edit your blog’s color or the font of your bio! You can make it match your profile picture, or your blog if it has a theme of its own. Make it feel homey :]

Fill in your bio. People will be checking out your profile probably more often than you think. Don’t leave it empty! Put in any information you’re comfortable with sharing and isn’t too personal (like your age if you’re a minor, or other TMI that can be found on other people’s carrds). It’s always better to add a name/nickname people can use to refer to you by, but feel free to use your blog description to shitpost still.

You can have an intro post. More often than not, you’ll see a blog have a pinned post, a post permanently appearing at the top of a blog until you pin another post or unpin it. You can make one of those, if you’d like to introduce yourself in more length, link any other socials or a carrd, and show others visiting your blog how you tag things so it’ll be easy for them to navigate. Not an obligation.

Keep your anonymity and your safety. It should go without saying, but there’s no harm in repeating it just in case. Your comfort, privacy and safety has the utmost importance. Don’t share any information you don’t want to. Don’t share your age if you’re a minor, or any other incredibly personal info. I’d encourage you to go by a nickname that’s not your real name, (blog name, your brand, remember?) since there’s safety in anonymity, and that’s lowkey one of the big deals of tumblr, but that’s up to you still.

Choose what you want to be visible. Your liked posts and who you follow are all things you can set to keep to yourself and hide from the publics eye, how handy! You should go through all the setting while you’re at it, set it to your comfort.

Side blogs are a thing. You can have multiple blogs that you can use for different things (see: different fandoms, art blog, etc) to keep them organized or away from your followers. Just remember that the replies and off-anon asks you send will be from your main blog, as well as where you follow other blogs from.

2) Interacting with others

You’ve set up your account, now comes the fun part!

Follow to your heart’s desire. If you care about others seeing who you follow, fear not! In tumblr, usually only two types of blogs keep their following visible to others: newbies, and big blogs using it to point people on other good blogs’ direction. Just turn it off, and go ham following people.

Customize your dashboard. Gonna mention just two things here: this is another reason why it’s really important that you follow blogs without sparing, your dash will collect dust otherwise; and you should turn off “best stuff first” in your dashboard settings, to have a better community here and all.

Follow tags. You can set it in your settings that posts with your followed tags appear on your dashboard.

You can check the og post for edits and context. When you see a reblogged post you don’t understand the context of (or don’t recognize the character in case of fanarts), click on the profile so it will take you to the original post. From there you can check the original poster’s tags to get the context, or see if there have been any edits made to the post, since when you edit a post it doesn’t update any past reblogs.

Send people asks... This is how you make mutuals, people! Do it off-anon if you’d like them to know your blog, or anon if you’d rather not! (You can still end your messages with a signature to show you’re the same person, -[name] is one example.) Send them nice messages, ask their opinion on something, discuss things, or just straight up shitpost lol. Go wild. The sky’s your limit and it’s definitely more than 280 characters.

...and let them ask you! You can set your preference in the settings, do it on desktop tumblr to access more settings tho! What you can customize on mobile is limited (like letting people ask you things anonymously, that’s only on desktop settings). In my personal opinion, it’s always better to tag their username (or a nickname you give them, if they’re a friend) on that post, since you wouldn’t want your interactions with your friends to get buried in your blog forever.

Comment on posts. If you have something to say but don’t want the post to appear on your blog you can add a comment. The owner of the post will get a notif for it, but for anyone else you need to tag them.

For the love of god, reblog. People will only see your liked posts if you have it visible to public and they specifically go on your blog to look at them. You like something? You reblog. It’s already hard for posts to circulate properly, if you don’t reblog them literally no one will see them. If not for anything do it for the artists. Just hold and drag on mobile to fast rb.

3) Your Posts

Finally here! Don’t be a lurker, post and engage!

Make use of “read more”. If your post is long, add it. That’s what you clicked on earlier to expand this post. On desktop leave an empty line and you’ll see three dots appear, and on mobile type :readmore: on that empty line.

Draft a post to come back to it later. Pretty self explanatory.

Queue your post. Whether it’s your own post or you’re reblogging, make use of the queue feature to a) not spam reblog and fill up the dashboard of people following you and b) keep your blog active while you’re gone. Mess around in the settings, it’s fairly easy to set up.

Schedule your post. Same as queueing, the only difference is you get to choose the exact time your post will go up. Handy if you want to schedule a post for certain dates like april fools, or 5 years in the future for some reason.

Format your texts. You can do all kinds of fancy stuff here (that’s a link, try pressing on it). Twitter doesn’t have this, make use of it. Changes depending on whether you’re on mobile or desktop. (Desktop has less features.)

Check your stats. If you’re trying to understand the algorithm better or want to look at some pretty graphs you can get your data on that on desktop tumblr.

@ people in comments. You’ll get all the notifs when people comment on your posts but they won’t see your reply unless you tag them in your message.

4) Tags, and tagging a post

This is where my earlier statement “this isn’t a rule book” stops being applicable. It’s not a war crime to go against these, I won’t come chasing you (don’t take my word for this) but you’ll work up a bad rep. Just saying lol.

Do NOT crosstag posts. It’s really tempting to add unrelated tags to increase your posts’ interaction, I know, but that’s not what tumblr is about. Don’t be a dick and make other communities’ experience worse for them.

Always tag your posts with “crit/critical/discourse/etc” if it calls for it. There’s no exceptions to it. This is the reason you see people migrating to tumblr. Let people enjoy things.

Don’t main tag a critical/negative post. If your crit post is about “Thing”, you add the “Thing critical” tag, but not the “Thing” tag. People block crit tags if they don’t want to see it, don’t shove it in their faces by main tagging it.

If you don’t want to see something, just block it. Another reason why people are able to survive on tumblr. You don’t start discourse, you don’t make call-outs, you block. You can find something for every community you can think of if you go looking for it. The worst of the worst probably won’t ever appear on your dash, but if you’re worried or feel the need for it, you know where the block button is.

Feel free to shitpost or ramble. More often than not you’ll see people rb a post with a comment, and their elaboration will be in the tags. The tags are only visible on your profile and the notifications of the owner of the og blog. Just a thing people do.

Reblog artists’ posts with nice comments in the tags! Commenting on a drawing is usually done through the tags (Not an obligation, again, just a thing people do. Feel free to add your comment on the rb itself if you’d want other people to see it tho!) and leave nice messages for the artists! It’s a win-win for everyone involved.

If you have more than a single follower, always use the common tw warning tags. You don’t need to tw everything, but tw’ing some common things is the bare minimum human decency. Keep it safe for others.

Tag a post “long post” if it’s really long. Pretty self explanatory. Don’t make people scroll through all that please lol.

You can use them to organize your blog. This is more of a pro tip, if you’d like to not miss a post in your blog, cause they will start pilin’ up soon enough.

#Liveblogging is pretty fun. If you’d like to talk to people during streams, don’t forget to add the relevant tags still! Again, you won’t show up on people’s dash otherwise.

Whew! That got out of hand. Hopefully I didn’t bore you too much. Check out blogs like @heritageposts and @hellsite-hall-of-fame to honor our past o7. @mcytblr-hall-of-fame too maybe :eyes:. Anyways, don’t forget the most important rule of them all:

Enjoy your stay! You’re meant to have fun on here while also making friends (if that’s your thing). Just be kind and respectful of others, you’ll get the hang of the rest! <3

#mcyttwt #mcytblr #dream team #dream smp #mcyt #dsmp #tumblr #how to tumblr #gonna tag ppl now so more users will see it lol #dreamwasteken #georgenotfound #karl jacobs #technoblade #sbi #twitter #twitter discourse #sbitwt #sleepytwt #sleepy bois inc #HOLY shit this took so long omg my back literally hurts rn #the fuckin lengths i go to make sure tumblr doesnt get tainted w twt LMAO #anyways if youre seeing this you should follow me look at how sexy i am i spent the last 2+ hours typing this goddamn list out #also: ignore how i literally sound like its 2014 at some parts here lol i tried my best #also ignore how wack the paragraph breaks are tumblrs formatting hates me and its 4 am im too tired for this #third also: some bits here are supposed to be ironic keep that in mind pls #rolan.txt #long post #save #yes im tagging my own post as save what about it

2K notes · View notes

leviiattacks · 3 years

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Hi!! Since it's olympics time, how about something readerXLevi related to that? Maybe he's her coach? Or she his? OR they're both competitors? You're great at coming up with fun, cute and creative scenarios so I'm curious to see what you write😊

author note :: wow been away for a long time just had to get together for school stuff but i had this sitting in my drafts and collecting dust from back when the olympics were going on soooo :-))))

word count :: 4k honestly i do not know

coach levi who can’t stand the food at the olympic village. he gives it one look and grimaces — “where’s the seasoning???”

levi obviously brings his own cutlery because who is he to trust that there aren’t any germs lingering around??

just as you’re about to shove a mouthful of chicken breast into your mouth levi takes a hold of your fork firmly placing it to the side

you hear him audibly scoff, sounding nothing but disgusted.

“god, take these. i brought you cutlery too. what kind or olympian are you? you’re practically asking to get food poisoning?”

he hands you a fork and a knife, you wonder how he even managed to carry those around with him at the airport but you don’t question it – “don’t you get food poisoning if you eat the food??” you comment

levi deadpans “ACTUALLY. a gastroenteritis causing virus could be lurking on silverware and dishes—even if they've been washed”

he doesn’t seem to be in the mood to deal with any arguments you present to him and so with that said you keep shut. your lack of response has him rolling his eyes and eventually glaring at his phone as he scrolls through it

the meal is filled with silence but you appreciate that levi isn’t making small talk. usually he brings up how you have to be better than your competition and you know he’s right. you need to be better but the thought of your opponents always proves to be a point of stress and anxiety

you’d think after all this time you’d be able to stomach your coach’s harsh criticism but it’s slowly become all too much for you to handle. sure, you remember asking him to work you to the bone — after all you wanted to be the very best but this was far too much

“do you know how bad that triple axel looks?”

“it’s like you’re not even trying.”

“you call that a camel spin??”

would it kill him to be nice?

you and levi unlike most coaches and students really aren’t far apart in terms of age, you remember seeing him train for competitions. perhaps it’s why you thought he’d be more understanding about the stressed of figure skating

that’s not to say levi isn’t nice or understanding with you, he’s kind when he wants to be, he allows himself to feel joy when you win but sometimes the idea that he might only value you for your achievements bothers you

if you weren’t good at skating he’d probably leave and as much as you act as if you hate him you really don’t like the idea of levi just one day disappearing from your life

who else would nag you about cleaning your skates? who else would help you patch up your scrapes and bruises?

if he left you don’t really know what you’d do

he’s always been a sort of lighthouse in the dark for you, always had your back, always comforted you when you’ve completely broke under pressure

levi may be mean occasionally but you know it’s him pushing you, he is your coach after all and you did tell him yelling was okay. yelling always worked with you it’s been the only method that’s been successful for a while now

“what you thinking about?” levi asks from across the table, one of his eyebrows is cocked upwards in expectation

“nothing.”

“that means something’s bothering you.” he counters almost immediately

it’s odd just how well he’s able to read you

“no it doesn’t??” you try to pull off your act

you’re unsure if levi buys it, he looks at you for a few seconds but doesn’t poke around any further

it’s been a day since the dinner you shared at the village. mentally you feel you’re better prepared than you were at the last olympics all you need is self control and discipline

that’s why you wake up on your own this morning instead of waiting for levi to shove you awake. it’s sounds ridiculous that he has to do that but you’ve always been a heavy sleeper and he’s never been the patient type

your plan goes according to schedule. you go to sleep early, you wake up on time and as you look down at your sport’s watch, your bpm is currently at a steady seventy five

so why is it that levi’s hand circles around your wrist right before you’re even able to step out onto the ice. it takes you a second to even register his presence.

he yanks you away from the rink without a word.

“what do you think you’re doing?” he asks, you’re honestly lucky that only the two of you are at the rink this early in the morning, having your rivals witness what looks to be a scolding is the last thing you want

“practicing… for the olympics after an injury? i’m up in less than two days?” you state it as if it’s an obvious fact and you even expect levi to nod in agreement but he only kneels down beginning to untie your skates

“i want to skate???” you move to grab at him attempting to put a stop to whatever plan he has but levi only continues

“damn you can’t tie laces for shit can you?” he sounds different today, less disturbed than usual, maybe even a little at ease

you’re confused, lost even. what reason is there for levi to stop you from practicing especially when before this he’s forced you to wake up at the butt crack of dawn to do so????

you compete in three days from now, everyone back home is cheering you on and if you fail you don’t know how you’ll ever be able to face any of the people you love

“levi, i don’t get why you don’t want me to practice on the rink? i need to prep.”

“you’re stressed, stress leads to a higher likelihood of injury. the last thing i want is an injured skater, you’ve only recently recovered.”

“i am not stressed.”

“you are.”

“am not.”

“you never wake up for morning practice unless i drag your ass out of bed myself and you left without taking me with you. you’re stressed whether you want to admit it or not.” levi’s staring up at you and you want to so badly argue and fight your case but you know he’s right

you are stressed, you are worried, yes that’s why you woke up early. your nerves wouldn’t let up

part of you feels surprised that somehow levi’s noticed, through all the harsh words and corrections he makes almost daily he notices when you’re acting out of the ordinary

“today, is a rest day. relax, go outside, eat at a nice restaurant, visit some landmarks.” at this point you’re looking at levi dumbfounded, is this even levi? the last time he forced you on a break from training had been two years back for your birthday

levi turns to you waiting for you to agree but you’re still frozen in place

“is this a trick?” you ask cautiously, that’s got to be it. there’s no other reason for this

levi’s eyes close momentarily, he slowly raises his hand showing you his palm

“i swear on my life this isn’t a joke. have a break, if it pains you that much to not train then you can train when you’re back.”

if he were ridiculing you you’re sure he would have given the act up long ago, it really does look like he’s being genuine

gnawing at your lip you nod, you think for a second what it is you want to do to take your mind off the elephant in the room but your mind remains blank

what did you do the last time you had a break?

sleep for hours on end that was all you could do after that extreme injury

the idea of seeing landmarks sounds nice until you think about how you’ll have to see them alone.

“what you waiting for?” you’re so engrossed in your thoughts you’ve forgot levi’s kneeling in front of you. suddenly looking down at him situated right between your legs makes you flush for an unexplainable reason

you gather yourself making sure your nerves aren’t evident. “i don’t really know what to do on my own.”

the disdain on levi’s face is clear he looks ashamed for a second, clasping his hands together he rests his chin on top of them

“you’re telling me you don’t know how to have fun?” his tone is rocky and irritable

“on my own…” you add

levi huffs and gets up to his feet. one of his gloved hands is stretched out towards you

“i guess i’ll have to join you and get you to loosen up a bit.” he sounds defeated but part of you thinks for a second that he may have sounded relieved?

you can’t really tell now with his back turned towards you

whatever, you’re still rather skeptical that levi even knows what the word fun means let alone how to have it

levi’s idea of fun is so boring you feel like you might drop dead any minute now

you’ve spent the past hour and a half walking around ikea looking at a variety of sofas and oak tables

“see anything you like?” you’re about to respond to levi’s question with “yes! the exit looks great!” but you bite your tongue before the opportunity rises again. you don’t want to annoy him

“not really. i don’t need any furniture.”

“you need a new vase for your living room. remember i broke the last one.”

oh, is that why he’s dragged you here?

winning gold at the world championships was a feat and a half but for levi it seems like it really meant the whole world. he asked as soon as you got home if he could look over the recording with you and for the first time in your life you think you’d seen your coach smile like he never had before

sure, you’d seen him smile before that but those smiles never brought butterflies to your stomach. seeing him eagerly wait for your jumps then proceed to wait some more for the camera to pan over your face, something about it seemed different

perhaps it was because levi always was critical and pessimistic but that moment left you searing with warmth

sadly all good things must come to an end, for you and levi the end came when he’d flung his arm too far and accidentally knocked over one of your glass vases

you remember the look of shock that crossed his eyes but he simply coughed and picked up the pieces to dispose of them

he did say sorry but he never said he’d replace it, it’s not like you cared much for it anyway

nevertheless currently levi’s been staring at one blue vase in particular, you have no other word to describe it apart from retro. his gaze shifts to an ombre ceramic vase, you assume green isn’t his favourite colour by the way he glares at it

“which ones do you like?” levi’s still looking through the rows of vases, from what you’ve observed he’s a fan of blue. the only vases that seem to interest him are that colour

“surprise me coach.” you wander away towards the cash register waiting for levi to follow along

“it’s a vase not a birthday cake.” he mumbles but as you expect he picks out the first blue vase, it curves outwards towards the top

when you try to pay you notice that levi’s beat you to it already

“i should pa–” but he cuts you off with no regard for what you want to say

“i broke it. i pay.”

you guess he’s right, he’s just being logical and you’re being too nice

as you walk down the crowded streets you feel tired of the growing silence, if one of you doesn’t break it the atmosphere may become incredibly awkward

“so, i guess blue’s your favourite colour right?” the question is all you have left in your brain

“no, i like black better.” is his short reply.

“oh, you were really interested with the blue vases. i guess i was wrong.”

a beat of silence skips past, you open your mouth to fill the gap but levi ends up doing so instead

“i picked blue because it reminded me of your outfit at the world championships.”

levi walks off and you’re glad he does, there would have been no way for you to hide your flushed cheeks and awestruck expression

you think you feel your heart stop for a second

levi’s hands are shoved in his pockets, the night air is cold and you’re both huddled in your jackets. yet some how you find yourself feeling warm

“wanna eat out? i don’t think i can stand another day in that unhygienic village. who knows if i’m eating off the same plate as a rival coach.”

his offer sounds tempting, you’d rather not eat off the same plate as the current world number one. what if it curses you with bad luck ??

you and levi go back and forth trying to decide on a place to eat at until you forfeit accepting that pizza is your best bet at getting close to agreement

as you sit across from him you realise this feels distinctly different from the times you ate at the olympic village’s cafeteria or when levi would buy you an egg mcmuffin before morning practice

the hammering of your heart is all you can manage to hear at this point.

this feels like a date. but it isn’t a date. it obviously isn’t. he’s your coach he wouldn’t like you that way, why would he?

you’re still deep in thought thinking of all the possible scenarios until levi kicks you lightly under the table making you jump in surprise

“you like margheritas so i’ll order one for this special occasion. take it as compensation for the vase.”

“but you already bought me a new vase?”

“well i can do this too.”

a giggle is heard from your right, turning your head you see the waitress looking at the both of you in amusement — “you’re a lovely couple.”

“i— we are not a couple. he’s my.” you stop, how can you explain he’s your coach for the olympics? that’s just unbelievable??

“friend.” levi says attempting to save you

the waitress who’s name you’ve now noticed is sasha nods her head but she still seems to be as entertained as before

“well, i’ll get you two friends your meal :-)”

as you wait the both of you discuss your routine, you explain how you’ve perfected every aspect of it and levi smiles slightly.

“i’m happy to hear that. this is a performance after a major injury, if you don’t place for a medal don’t worry.” he pushes the bread sticks that are sat in the middle of the table towards you as he talks

again, this feels different. levi normally tells you to hold yourself together and never slip up. if you don’t get first there’s no point in competing yet here he is trying to say it’s okay to not win a medal

by the end of the meal you and levi are left arguing over who will cover the bill. levi says that being the oldest at the table gives him the responsibility but you tell him you owe him one for all his training and expertise

eventually your waiter walks off deciding to wait until you both call him back

“people like that are so annoying.” he mumbles under his breath. sasha who is now working behind the front desk hears him and unbeknownst to you she subtly points at yours and levi’s table

“that short guy has a fat crush for sure. have you seen the heart eyes. it’s pretty cute if you ask me”

“is this your way of asking me to look at you with heart eyes?”

she stretches her arms over her head and groans “maybeee, or you could butter up the boss and ask him to give us a raise?”

trying on your outfit before performing has always been a routine of yours

you’re sure half of the other skaters do the same but you practically sit in front of your mirror admiring the needle work for hours before practice

maybe it’s something about acknowledging the essence of the costume or the beauty of the art, levi always says the way you explain it is “fake deep” but really you’re just not great at explaining the thrill it gives you

“still staring at yourself?” levi’s leaning against the doorframe, he’s visible from where you’re stood in front of the full length body mirror

“i’m staring at the outfit, not myself.” you correct

levi’s eyes narrow but he doesn’t add anything else on, instead he chooses to stare at you as you admire the lilac and gold ensemble

you turn around to look at him, “levi it’s hard to do this with you staring at me, y’know?”

to your surprise levi rotates immediately almost seeming flustered

“the costume looks really pretty, it suits you. i was waiting for the right time to say it… that’s all.” the confession, if you can even call it that takes your attention away from the floral patterns you’d just been admiring

you hum trying to sound as casual as possible — “well, i’m happy that you think i’ll be the best dressed person tomorrow.”

in no time at all levi is back facing you with his usual expression, eyebrows downturned he points at the sweatpants that hang from his legs

“i think i’ll be best dressed but i’m happy you’re confident.”

“you’re wearing sweats?”

“you’ll be freezing and i’ll be warm think of that.”

“and i’ll still look better than you?”

“weren’t you the one whining about me getting headlines for being this season’s youngest and most attractive coach?”

“i— WHY ARE MY FANS SWOONING OVER YOU??? it’s a VALID concern???”

levi shrugs “we’ve been over this. i’m irresistible.”

“what if i don’t place? what if i fall? what if i make myself look bad? wait, if i fall you look bad too and you can’t look bad because you’re a great coach and i can’t ruin your caree—”

levi places a firm hand over yours, the sensation tingles

“if you don’t place that’s okay. if you fall get back up. you won’t make yourself look bad, the only way to do that would be by not performing at all.”

he is correct but you still struggle to get a hold of your emotions

“and i’ve said this before, if coaching doesn’t work out i could model.”

the last sentence is an attempt at a joke you’re sure of it, although it is true levi could model if he wanted to.

but that’s besides the matter at hand. he’s a sweetheart for trying to lighten up the mood like that especially since he’s never been too fond of your personal sense of humour

yet the panic remains settled in your stomach. you’re up in five minutes and still batting the dampness away from your eyes not willing to risk ruining your makeup

“could you laugh at the joke?” levi’s thumb strokes over your knuckle and you chuckle at the confirmation. so he really did want to make you laugh

“but you’re too short to model?” you jab back

“damn, i didn’t know we were on america’s next top model.”

“is that another joke?” you ask

“yes, was it funny?”

you want to humour him and say it was but the only reason you find your lips quirking upwards is the fact that levi’s sat right next to you failing at all of his attempts

“no, but i like that you’re trying.”

“good. i taught you a valuable lesson.” he let’s go of your hand and points at the rink

“look, if at first you don’t succeed try, try again.”

he’s being cheesy right now and you know he hates being cheesy, he’s probably internally wincing at his own speech

but he’s still saying it for you, he knows it’ll work

and he’s right

you rise out of your seat when your name is called and give levi one last glance

“when i come back you better have a funny joke to tell me, i can’t be the only one to succeed.”

levi smiles — “i’ll try my best if you try your best.”

despite the unfamiliar feeling of skating in front of an audience after so long gliding across the ice has never felt as good as it does right now

it could be the way the crowd cheers after every single landing of yours.

maybe it’s the fact that you can see your own competitors wide mouthed in astonishment

or perhaps it’s the short glimpses you get of levi’s proud face, he’s elated, jumping and clapping for every move you nail

the end draws far quicker than you want it to, by the time you’re rising up and out of your sitting spin all the nerves you’d felt at the start have dissipated

arm raised above your head you pant unable to hold back the smile that spreads across your face

and through the sea of faces you search for levi’s first

it’s apparent that you’re not the only one searching, as soon as you make your exit levi’s engulfed you in a blanket and ruffling your hair

“you did good.” the simple praise is enough for you, levi will go crazy watching back the recording either way

“did you forget you need to make a joke? so we’re even?”

levi rubs at his chin for a moment thinking hard

“forget the joke. can i just tell you i love you?”

“of course you do, you are my coach.” you laugh slinging your arm over his shoulder

“i’m in love with you.” he says it again and you continue to bask in his praise, wow you’ve really got to rewatch your performance for yourself

“i mean it.” he suddenly says rather seriously

“i know you do.” you hum back happily

“i know i told you i’d make a joke after you got off the rink but i’m not joking.”

the situation suddenly turns, is the love levi speaks of something else entirely??

but he can’t, there’s no way he would. you’re messy, you roll your eyes every time he gives you clean cutlery, you have odd habits that he’s never understood and he’s never shown any signs that he likes you like that. at least you don’t think he has

“i wouldn’t decide to not like you because of cutlery usage you know?” it’s as if he’s heard everything you just thought of

oh god.

did you say all that out loud???

by the looks of levi’s amused expression you have

he reaches out for your hand as he’s done repeatedly for the past few days

“you should have known i liked you, i was throwing hints around.” he sincerely says

you reciprocate and wrap your fingers around his. “i’m very doubtful that people like me.”

“well yeah, i do like you.” he replies simply without an ounce of shame

“you think we’ll get a headline story for the obvious pda?” you inquire as you grin from ear to ear burying your face into the crook of his neck

“for sure. coach and figure skater seen flirting? that’ll get them talking.”

and levi was correct

it had everyone talking :-)

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therealvinelle · 3 years

Note

how do u think the cullens would react if the vegetarian lifestyle did turn out to be fatal (and maybe carlisle even dies from it since he's been at it the longest)?

This would depend on how they found out, and if they even made the connection to the animal diet. If Carlisle keeled over one day, the vampire world at large would go “This is sad, but I told him so”.

The Cullens, though, I’m not sure. I think there would be theories upon theories and agonizing, with grief clouding all their minds. Accepting that it was the diet would be the most painful option of all, as it would mean that Carlisle did this to himself, that his death could in this age of blood donors easily have been prevented, that the Cullens now had to choose between dying to honor his memory or spit on it.

Honestly, I think they’d blame the Volturi. Aro collects all sorts of gifts, who’s to say he hasn’t found somebody who can kill vampires at a distance? Edward would accept no other explanation, and he would convince the others.

It could also be Renesmée who goes first. If the vegetarian diet is fatal, that’s bad news for a child who’s growing up drinking the stuff. Hybrids are terrifyingly good at surviving, but no organism can perform at top functionality without proper sustenance. So, god knows what effect the animal diet will have on Renesmée in the long term.

Of course, I doubt the link to the animal diet would be made in this scenario either.

In any scenario, I think the Cullens would go very far to deny that their diet is unsustainable. Without that diet, they’re nothing.

That being said, if it was made irrevocably clear to them, maybe through Alice’s visions, that they would not survive this diet... well, Rosalie is easy. She would continue on as always, because this way her compassionate way of life comes to a natural end. It’d be like dying of old age, in a way, a peaceful death otherwise denied to vampires. She’s not at all suicidal in canon, but this would be more a matter of either accepting death as a part of the life she has chosen for herself, or dropping everything to become the monster she refused to be. So, to her it’d be bittersweet but not too bad all things considered.

Alice would be very practical about it, she’d estimate just how much human blood they needed to make it, and set up a color-coded schedule.

Bella, Emmett, and Esme would be practical too, and follow the schedule.

Jasper would hate this, but he would fall in line. Schedule it is.

Renesmée, I have a half-written meta in my drafts about her and human blood, suffice to say it’d be very weird for her but she, too, would abide. Perhaps supplement with human food for grandfather’s sake.

Carlisle would be crushed. It would be bad enough to see the diet he swore by, his solution to everything in life, turn to dust before him. That alone would be a devastating blow.

The fact that he had created vampires, believing they could live compassionately like him, and promised them they wouldn’t have to kill people, only to be proven so wrong, and so cruelly at that... he would not recover.

#twilight meta #twilight #twilight renaissance #twilight vampires #carlisle cullen #rosalie hale #edward cullen #alice cullen #renesmée cullen #bella swan #jasper hale #emmett cullen #esme cullen #Anonymous #ask

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fairytales-and-folklore · 2 years

Note

I don't care what you think (as long as its about me) 👀 Ohhh do tell!!

Omg this one. This poor fic has been sitting in my drafts collecting dust for nearly a year now, glaring at me while I finish newer WIPs first lol but I'm super excited to write it, because it was the first smutty sterek fic I ever planned. It's titled after a Fall Out Boy song and I feel like the sentiment fits our idiot boys nicely 😂

Essentially, Stiles and Derek have been bickering nonstop and the pack is sick of their shit. The Hale pack has two group chats — one that includes everyone in the pack, and one that distinctly does not include Stiles and Derek, which is primarily filled with complaints of oh my god, just fuck each other already, vomiting rainbow emojis, and a betting pool to predict how long it'll take for the two of them to get their heads out of their asses and finally get together.

Cut to a scene of Stiles and Derek bursting through the door to the loft. Another night, another mission gone rogue, another near-fatal incident with a gang of hunters that encroached on their territory and attacked without warrant. They're at each other's throats the moment they cross the threshold. Stiles almost died and Derek is pissed. Big argument culminating in the two of them accidentally shouting their feelings at one another, then smut.

Cut to a scene from the next morning. Isaac strolls into the loft to find the two of them tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep, Stiles sprawled out on top of Derek, his face pressed against Derek's chest, mouth wide open and snoring, Derek's nose nuzzled into the top of Stiles's head, arms wrapped around him protectively. Isaac smirks and rolls his eyes.

"About fucking time," he says, and texts the group chat a photo to let them know he won the betting pool.

Thank you so much for the ask! <3

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sabraeal · 2 years

Text

In Plain Sight, Chapter 5

Written for the third and last day of the Guilty Project challenge! This was another obiyukiweek fic that didn’t make it to the finish line and had to get cut from the plan when other submissions started getting HEINOUSLY long. I’ve also almost made it to the end of what I wrote in the very first draft of this fic, thinking I’d make it all into one chapter...haha. ha ha ha

[Read on AO3]

Obi’s coworker had planned for most of her kitchen needs-- there were enough dinner plates to seat twelve comfortably with mismatched but complementary place settings; plus a few good, solid casserole dishes with spoons sized to serve-- but when it came to a Ladies’ Lunch, her cabinets come up woefully short.

I don’t mean to bother you. Shirayuki’s fingers anxiously trip over the screen. but do you happen to know where a decorative platter might be?

It’s a long shot; even if his coworker did manage to buy one, she probably didn’t give him a map with the locations of all the dishware. He may be her handler, but this was a reach too far to be a part of his, er, handling duties.

platter?

A (...) hangs at the bottom of their conversation, long enough that her stomach twists, certain she’s keeping him from actual work. One of this handle-ees is out there being chased by the mafia, or meeting someone from their past life, or -- god forbid-- finding their face on the morning news. And all she wants is a plate with decorative trim.

like for turkey? 🤔

“Well, that’s a little long for three words,” Shirayuki grumbles, keying in, More for cookies. Do you think you could ask your coworker if she isn’t busy?

The ellipsis hangs for long this time, appearing and disappearing no less than four times before he says, coworker says she didnt expect you to be such a social butterfly right out the gate

Shirayuki squawks at the screen. “I wasn’t planning on it!”

no decorative platter didnt plan on a nosy neighbor real amateur hour huh?

Her mouth pulls into a forbidding line.

Tell her she did just fine. The plates are pretty enough as is.

(...) ill let her know

Chocolate chip cookies-- the good kind, the ones that taste homemade but look like the ones on the Toll House commercial-- aren’t visually impressive, like a pinwheel or a checkerboard. But Shirayuki has to admit, stacked nicely up on bright teal plate, they certainly look inviting. They would have looked even better on Grandma’s plate, the white one with cherries painted around the rim; it’d been her mother’s before hers, bought just after the war. Every snack time from kindergarten to college had been on that plate, sitting right at the kitchen counter as Grandma asked about her day.

She’d always thought if the day came when she had her own kids, she’d ask her for it. That it would sit in her own cabinets, ready for the perfect snickerdoodle or ants on a log or one of those apple-bunny things, if she ever learned how to properly skin them. But now it’s in a box, hidden away in a storehouse to collect dust until--

Ah, well. It doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe Claire Roos has never had a homemade cookie until she learned to bake them for herself.

Shirayuki grimaces. She needs to workshop this whole backstory before she commits to it. Childhood of only store bought cookies seems a shade too dark to debut at a ladies’ lunch.

Sweat gathers at her back, collecting in the divot of her spine, and for once she can’t wholly blame the heat. She’s only been Claire for three days; it’s too early to be put through her paces like this, to have to know how to be her for an extended period time. If she doesn’t know her position on cookies, how will she ever answer something personal--

The door swings open, revealing Mrs Kino-- Martha, standing in a gingham-checked blouse, the house behind her looking like a cover from Better Homes & Gardens. “Oh, Claire, you’re here! And you brought some cookies! How thoughtful.”

“Um!” She blinks, shaking herself on the stoop. “Yes. Thank you for having me! I, um, brought cookies.”

It takes her a single, wide-eyed second to realize: Martha already said that. The cellophane wrapping is barely wrinkled on Claire Roos, and already she’s just as hopeless as Shirayuki ever was.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest?” Winkled hands slip under hers on the plate, lifting it straight out of them under a smile far too warm, too fond for a woman she barely knows the name of. “Don’t worry, honey, I got it. Why don’t you just follow me while I get this on the table. Thought I might put us on the patio, considering how nice the breeze is.”

Shirayuki blinks. Maybe she hadn’t been outside long enough, but there wasn’t anything like a breeze. Only the constant humid oppression she’s beginning to realize is their everyday. “That sounds...nice?”

Martha gives one of those firm grandmotherly nods, the kind that says I knew I was right but I’m glad you see it my way. “I like to think so. Come on now, it’s just back here.”

‘Just back here’ involves something closer to five minutes of walking, though most of that time is spent being introduced to Martha’s much extended family through the collage of fames hung up on her wall. Shirayuki might only have known her name and address when she walked in, but now she knows all three of her now-grown kids (Luke-the-pilot, Travis-the-programmer who does ‘only god knows but makes more money than Croesus doing it’, and Amanda, whose defining feature is not having given her grandbabies), her five grandchildren, and an assorted number of sisters, brothers, and cousins.

“Small family?” Martha asks with a grin, leading her past yet another picture of her youngest grandson, a bouncing baby boy that has more cheeks than hair. “You have that deer-in-headlights look. Just like my husband at a family reunion.”

“Ah...” She does, but does Claire? “I was an only child. Of, um, two only children.”

It’s the truth, but liar’s guilt gnaws at her, makes her want to say, the only family I ever knew was my grandparents, and now I don’t even have them. But that’s...specific. A life detail it’d be too conspicuous for Claire Roos to share.

“Well, that’d do it.” Her smile slants, and oh, Shirayuki is not used to a woman her age looking sly. “Ain’t nothing wrong with that. But as I’m always telling my Amanda, if you ever change your mind, you can always start your own.“

It’s a good thing they haven’t made it to this storied patio, because she’s doing just fine choking with only air. “I’m not-- that’s not--”

Anywhere in the cards. Between her PhD and post-doc, she barely trusted herself to pick dinner, let alone a life partner. And now--

Well, she doesn’t know the exact procedure when it comes to dating under witness protection, but it probably involves background checks. Some governmental breaking and entering. Having to tell her handler that she wants to have sex with someone.

Her stomach clenches just thinking about it. She might have stumped Obi with her papers problem, but something tells her that he’d have all the answers when it came to the witsec protocol for hook ups. Probably more advice than she’d ever want to know.

Not that it’s going to be a problem any time soon. It seems impossible to submit to the terrible ordeal of being known when any partner she has wouldn’t even know her real name.

“Come on now.” Martha’s already halfway down the hall, words echoing faintly back. “It’s just over this way.”

For once, it is ‘just over this way.’ Shirayuki hurries after her, certain that there will be yet another room filled with more relatives, but Martha takes a quick turn out of French doors, and suddenly, they’re back in the heat.

“Oh,” she murmurs, chin tilting up. “There’s a roof?”

“Well, of course,” Martha clucks, bustling over to a tiled table. “Can’t sit out in this sun.” Her mouth twitches into another one of those sly grins. “At least, not without a margarita. Aspen, if you’d do the honors.”

Shirayuki’s eyes drop, just in time to see a slanted smile stretch across a face that would be right at home on a billboard. “It would be my pleasure.”

That’s right, this isn’t just a, er, personal call. This is a ladies lunch, one that is apparently attended by three women who Shirayuki can guess would fall into the category of improbably beautiful. Not something that would typically give her pause, but left-footed as she is in this place, it leaves her underdressed just wearing her own skin.

“I see you’re all unacquainted,” Martha hums with with a strangely satisfied smile. “Ladies, this is Claire. She just moved into 115, Pamela’s old place, if you remember. Been empty for a little bit, you see-- broke her hip a few years back and her daughter took her in, they had a helluva time selling the place. Something about an easement--”

One of the women-- the tallest one, her hair knotted up it the sort of wind swept up-do brides spend hours to make look half as natural as this-- clears her throat with a gentle, if pointed, cough.

“Anyways, not something you’ll have to worry about I’m sure.” Martha stands behind a chair, sweeping her hand toward the table. “But never mind all that, take a seat.”

It’s an intimidating prospect with this many sets of eyes watching her, three different hues of blue following each movement with uncanny precision. She manages it, only fumbling around the leg of her chair once before settling in.

The billboard girl-- Aspen?-- doesn’t waste time once she is, elegantly efficient as she pours something pink-ish and slush-like into a wide glass.

“Here.” Her voice sounds like how she moves, smooth and effortless. Their fingers brush as she presses the glass into her hands, cold against her skin. “You’ll need this.”

“Ah...” She manages to get her fingers to close, wrapping around the slippery stem. “Thanks?”

“You’re lucky,” Martha tells her, suddenly loud against the hush of Aspen’s murmur. “I’m sure you didn’t expect it when you bought the place, but this neighborhood is quite young! Lots of ladies just around your age.”

“Because people keep dying off,” one girl deadpans. Her hair’s black, so thick and straight it falls like sheet, only split by the reality of her shoulder. She’s a relief; the only one that breaks the mold of summer blonde and barely sun-kissed. “So there’s lots of empty places.”

“Kihal,” Martha chides, with all the comfort of a long-suffering relative. “There’s no reason to try to spook our guest.”

Her eyes are so purely blue that they almost look fake when she rolls them. Shirayuki’s half-convinced they’re contacts until they land on her, bright against the bronze of her skin. “If I wanted to scare someone, all I’d have to do is recite the HOA bylaws.”

Martha ignores her cheerfully, instead gesturing to the tallest girl, her gaze assessing over a close-lipped smile. “This is Haki. Her family’s been here since she was just a little thing. A mover and a shaker since she joined Junior League a few years back.”

“A pleasure,” she says speculatively, as if the truth of the matter has yet to be decided. “So nice to see a new face around these parts.”

They don’t have these sorts of niceties where Shirayuki comes from; the most polite way to handle a new face in the lab was to pretend they’d always been there, maybe sparing a smile and a do you need help with that if they looked particularly lost. But here, sipping on frozen strawberry and tequila-- oh my, a lot of tequila-- it’s hard to tell whether she should be thankful for being called a pleasure, or happy to be a new face.

“Nice to meet you, too,” she decides, hoping it turns out to be true. “I didn’t think they, um, did organized sports for people our age. Is it a, er--” she takes in her hands, manicured but nails pragmatically short, the biceps just barely concealed by the position of her arms-- “softball team?”

Haki’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. Right, not a softball team.

“Oh, Junior League isn’t--” Martha nearly trips over a giggle-- “it’s not like little league. It’s a program for civic betterment, run by women.”

“It’s focused on volunteerism,” Haki informs her, expression smoothing from surprise to sophistication. An explanation directly at odds with Kihal’s sarcastic, “It’s a sorority for adults.”

Something ripples beneath Haki’s prefect skin, something that looks a lot like impatience and frustration, eyebrows drawing into a thunderhead above her nose--

“And this is Aspen.” If Martha says it with a little more enthusiasm than strictly needed, Shirayuki can’t blame her. “She’s new here too. Her and her husband Scott just moved here last month.”

With a second look, Shirayuki can see Aspen’s less billboard and more Vogue, her stern features more haute couture than commercial. At least according to the half season of America’s Next Top Model she managed to watch in undergrad. “Scott...?” she murmurs, thoughtful. “Oh, Scott. I think I just saw him on recycling day.”

Martha coughs around a corn chip. Ah, right, that’s probably not the sort of neighborhood ritual she should mention in front of his wife.

Aspen, however, just smiles like she has a secret. “You and every other woman on this block, I’d guess.”

“Oh!” she squeaks, hands clapping to her mouth. “I wasn’t trying to, um, ah...”

“Ogle him?” Kihal suggests, mouth twitching.

“No, I was just there!” She turns to Aspen, hands fluttering uselessly. “I promise. He’s not even my type.”

Now that makes her blink. And then, inexplicably, grins all the wider. “You don’t say.”

“And this,” Martha interjects, perhaps a little more harried than when they first sat. “Is Kihal. She’s--”

“My family’s been here since the last Ice Age,” she informs her with a tone that could cut glass, “and we still had to buy our land off the government.”

“Well then!” Martha claps her hands together, smile too wide to sit quite right. “Who would like some sweet tea?”

Sweet tea takes some time to settle out; Aspen keeps to her margarita, Kihal has specifications about the sweetness, and Haki professes that although she’d appreciate a non-alcoholic option, the guacamole is getting low. By the time their hostess has all her party needs straight, Aspen’s pouring another round of strawberry slush-- a little less solid now, from sitting out in the sun-- all the way up to the top of her glass.

“Ah, that’s maybe a little too much?” Shirayuki hums, looking for a convenient sink. Her vision blurs at the sides, taking a minute to catch up with each swivel of her head, but that’s...probably fine. “Maybe I should--”

“Oh no,” she hums, too low for any one but her to hear it. “That’s just right.”

Shirayuki gives it a dubious glance, then bends to sip safely off the rim.

“Try the mole too.” Aspen edges a bowl toward her, filled with a brown sauce far less appetizing than the salsa. “It’s good.”

Picking up one of the proffered corn chips, she does, dunking it with cautious reserve. It’s definitely more liquid, dripping down with an alarming speed when she tips it and-- oh, she’d going to need to eat this right away if she doesn’t want brown to drip on her neighbor’s nice table. She stuffs the whole thing in her mouth, and it’s--

It’s delicious. Sweet and bitter and savory all at the same time, a bit of heat creeping over tongue as she--

“So, Claire.” It’s a miracle she doesn’t choke, coughing corn chip shards and delicious sauce over all and sundry. Especially with the way Haki stares her down over the table, like a rat about to run a maze. “What is it you do?”

“Oh,” she manages around her mouthful, before remembering it’s rude to talk and eat. She swallows too soon, chip scraping down her esophagus, heat blazing a trail behind. “I’m a biology professor. Or, I’d, ah, like to be. I haven’t found a position yet, but I’m sure it’ll come along soon.”

As soon as Obi managed to get her more than a fourth author lost in a sea of collaborators.

“Oh my, that’s quite bold of you, isn’t it?” Haki sips at her glass delicately, eyes never moving from their target. “Most people move for a job like that. And you’ve already bought a house. You must be quite confident in your prospects.”

Shirayuki’s smile turns brittle. “Yes, well--” I didn’t have a choice-- “I like to think my body of work speaks for itself.”

“Definitely an import aspect.” Her mouth curves, though not with anything like humor. “Though I’ve found more often than not that it’s names that open doors more often than talent. Where did you go to college?”

Bile burns in her throat as she says, “Cornell.”

Somewhere in a vault, her Columbia diploma withers.

Haki nods, brows scraping up an inch with tacit interest. “Definitely a place that could open doors.” From down the hall Shirayuki can hear the clatter of glasses against a tray, a sure sign that their hostess is making her way back. “Just who did you work un--?”

“Martha!” Aspen calls out, voice raised louder than she’s heard in the hour since she’s been here. “Did you hear? Claire doesn’t have a job.”

Shirayuki never had siblings, but in the shocked silence that follows, she thinks she finally understands tattling.

“Yet!” she adds, casting a confused glance at Aspen. “I’m sure I’ll be...gainfully employed any day now.”

“Oh my, oh my!” Martha sets down the tray, tall glasses of tea already sweating. “With property values like they are! That husband of yours must make you quite comfortable.”

“Husband?” Kihal says, the same way a shark might scent blood on the water. “You’re married?”

“Oh no, I’m not--” Heat creeps up her cheeks, licking at the tips of her ears. There’s no husband!”

“Come on now,” Martha cajoles, settling down in her seat. “There’s no need to be shy. When I took tea over to the boys putting your house together, they told me a man hired them.”

A man. Because of course, Obi saw to all the arrangements. Sweat beads at her brow, and she wonders whether blushing hastens heat stroke. “Ah...”

“Does he work around here?” Haki asks, a purebred dog who’s caught the scent. “What does he do for a living?”

“He’s not my husband!” she blurts out, which only makes them stare more. “That’s my, um... my fiancé.”

“Fiancé,” Martha gasps, hand pressed to her breast. “Are you going to have a wedding?”

The table erupts.

It’s impossible to make heads or tails of any of it, not with the way they all shout over each other, wanting to know about venues and showers and invitations. Shirayuki makes an effort to follow, she does, it’s just...difficult with the way the patio sways in the breeze.

Oh. She blinks, staring down at her hands. The mole on her thumb sickeningly rolls in and out of focus. She’s drunk.

Obi will never let her live this down.

“So.” Shirayuki startles, running right into the steel trap of Aspen’s smile. “When’s the wedding?”

#guiltyobiyuki22 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #witness protection au #ans #it was between this and Age of Reason to get this last spot #that is after I decided to do TiM for day 2 #and i knew which one most people would be excited to see 🤣#i have once more scene written from that first draft that i didn't get to here #i was gonna add it in #but i realized it would be SO much funnier if I could take my time with drunk Shirayuki #trying to explain what she just did to Obi #so you all can LOOK FORWARD to that 😂

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junhuiste · 3 years

Text

break the code (ex-wip)

pairing: soonyoung x fem!reader

wc: 1900

tags/warning: basketball!soonyoung, college au, slightly suggestive language, cursing

a/n: this was something i started way back in 2017 when i was 15 lol and i tried going back to it and finishing but i just can’t seem to continue it!! but i don’t want it to just sit in my drafts so i’m just going to post the unfinished wip! i might do this with a lot of wips i’ve had collecting dust over the years (and they’re like 99% svt lol); if i ever do find some stroke of inspo to finish it i might but for now enjoy the 1900 words i wrote when i was a sophomore

“But babe, you’ll sit on my side, right?” Soonyoung continued to pester you with countless little questions to which he knew the exact answers to.

You pursed your lips at your boyfriend; mild sorrow and guilt clouded your eyes. In return he pout your favorite pair of plush pillows to kiss, with dull bleakness and dismals fogging his irises. It was hard, really, to resist the pull of a magnet, who was trying every trick in the book to coerce you to sit on his school’s side of the bleachers for the upcoming basketball game on Friday.

Had it been that both of you were just your run-of-the-mill university couple, tachycardia would’ve caused you to blurt out “yes” instantaneously just by being gazed upon by Soonyoung, but alas, the big guy upstairs made it to be so that you technically couldn’t through the rulebook of the sibling code.

A flushed palm extended to your denim-covered thighs, with the utmost desire lacing his fingers.

“Pretty please? With a cherry on top?” His digits creeped towards your inner thigh, getting closer to the actual cherry he wanted on top.

“Soonyoung, no matter how well you do me, I’m still obligated to sit on my side of the bleachers.”

None of Soonyoung’s coercions could persuade you to decide about where to sit. You really would’ve preferred to sit on his side, but with your current situation, none of that was possible. It was a precarious oscillation between blood and water, and neither did you want to drown in with regret for embracing one over another.

“Fine. If you can’t cheer me on–which is a pitiful shame–let me take you out to eat after the game. And we can make out in my car or something so he won’t have to know.” Soonyoung’s gaze no longer held flashes of fervor, but rather a decadent gleam of sheer admiration.

“It’s a done deal, but you better promise me to dunk on him, or be prepared to get dunked on by him. As of right now, however, you owe me some kisses for making me wobble continuously back and forth between your side and his before I go,” you taunted, “come here you little rascal.”

Soonyoung gleamed at you piercingly, yielding you to lean forward against him as a shock of joy sparked up your back. His hand feathered along the back of your thigh, brushing it so longingly, with a tinge of impertinence here and there. You could feel the urgency radiating from him as he struggled to press you even closer to him, as there were no more gaps to be filled. He grasped your chin gingerly, before connecting his lips with yours, wanting to revel in dire coalescence he’d been awaiting upon your arrival.

Soonyoung is the warm bath you dip yourself into after constant exhaustion, the meager yet compelling and needed breeze as the sun beats down you, the red mark that’s actually relieving and boasts “A+” on a hard worked assignment, the last basket shot as the clock dashes away with the snickering seconds, and he is what has you torn on where your loyalty stands, but you can’t thank him enough for that strife.

You pulled away first because getting you two to separate would be a long ass haul, and maybe it was also getting late, just maybe. Your eyes glimpsed at the badgering hands that indicated 11:35 PM, and nothing but a sullen sigh managed to escape your lips.

It wasn’t fair, how time sashayed away, but there were no seconds left to spare to sulk about it, so you caressed the tranquility Soonyoung’s face possessed and left a lingering peck upon it. Knowing him, you’d expected him to grip your waist and pull you down with him into the waters of his joyous yet yearning ways but the coal haired boy enveloped you in an enticing embrace and with his lips hovering slightly above your ear, whispered, “Tell him to get ready.”

“I swear to God, I hate basketball,” your brother exhaled out in utter annoyance, to which you furrowed your brows at.

You always shifted in your seat restlessly, your heart palpitating at an ungodly speed of McQueen, eyes sought frantically to avoid meeting your brother’s, upon the dreaded word of “basketball” ringing in your ears. It wasn’t that you abhorred it, no, not at all; you absolutely appreciated the art of dunking and the pleasing note of swish through the hoop, but just not the people you knew personally who partook in it.

There’s always a Montague and Capulet narrative happening somewhere in the universe, always, and it just so happened that you were struck with the curse by some godforsaken entity of destiny of landing a role in your life as the fresh faced, ever so naive, youngest member of the Capulets–Juliet. And you dreaded the direction your supposed fairytale was headed the first time your boyfriend asked you to watch his basketball game, which oddly enough, was the same one your brother requested you to “bring all your hot friends” to.

As strange as it sounded, it wasn’t your brother’s undeniable libido for your friends that irked you and made you hesitate going to a basketball game, to which you’ve never thought twice about before, but it was the statement of, “God I am going to crush number 10’s ass.”

Number 10. Number fucking 10. Of course, it had to be the player that sweat through blue polyester and nylon, donning number 10 in white on the front and back. It could have been player number 13 or 17, for God’s sake it could have even been a negative number sported on the jersey, yet it all had to align in the cosmos to be player number 10.

You didn’t certainly deem ESP to be something legitimate, but on that day you swore to god your mind fucked you royally in the ass and placed you in Soonyoung’s dorm room the night before. It was nothing out of the ordinary, really, nothing but the sight of a teenage boy’s niche, because a lot of basketball players had to have chosen the number 10 for their jersey, right?

The environment malfunctioned instantaneously with the repetition of “I am going to crush number 10’s ass” circling about a short circuit in your mind. From that moment onward, the sight of the jersey was unquestionably more radiant that it could have ever been, with the blinding, white number ten atop Soonyoung’s chair cackling obstreperously at your oh shit moment. Tuning in to your brother slander your university’s rival, Soonyoung’s school, was always such a joy (not) to participate in.

Every “basketball” here and there snagged you by the ear and dragged you to hell and back with it, provoking the cracks of your palm to drench in sweat and legs to quiver more than you had felt around Soonyoung before dating him.

“Yeah I mean it’s not like you’ve worked your entire ass off the past 4 years or so to even set foot on the college court you've been dreaming of since you were 13!” Diverting your brother’s mental debate on his love of the sport, it was a necessity to pluck something else from thin air to talk about, and not your school’s rival when they had games against each other, which was seemingly a bloodbath in their perspective.

Trying to escape your brother’s trash talk of Soonyoung’s team was walking through an eternal, pitch black, underground tunnel, no goddamn escape.

“They only got us last time because of number 10’s foolery. Jesus Christ, the kid better slow down or he’s wasting stamina. Can’t believe he holds the title of captain, like me. I motherfucking swear to God if I have to listen to his loud ass winning chant–” yadah yadah, number 10 this, number 10 that.

You would have dozed off to your brother’s lovely lullaby of scorn towards your boyfriend had it not been for a text…from your boyfriend.

[spoonyoung]

hii hiiiii heyyyy hello bby Hhhii babe i miss youuuuu hi!

[y/n]

i can tell u’re tired :( don’t be

[spoonyoung]

he's going to crush me dang flabbit

y/n

so ur nervous ??? bby it’s just a game istg,,both of you treat it like warfare

[incoming call: spoonyoung]

Shit, what the hell? This bitch, right now? In this economy, at this time?

Inside your chest was a drumline pounding, giving it their all, threatening to burst out and announce to your brother that “Hey, your rival is dating your sister! They’re probably going to fuck later but you don’t know about any of it!”

You would plummet into poignancy if you didn’t pick up his call, because there was no chance you could see him everyday, so honestly fuck that you guys attended different schools, and resorting to calling each other did bring both of you to ease, but not at this goddamn, forsaken time, with one you love phoning you with 17,000 vibrations per second, and the other idiot you were practically forced to love, perched next to you, indignantly gripping the wheel with such force you couldn’t decide which one generated more turbulence within you.

Tensely clutching what was now a scorching piece of metal, you held it up conscientiously to your ear, and forced yourself to breathe out calmly and collectively. Every single mention, tidbit and strand, bob and fragment of Soonyoung that was mentioned around you when you were with your brother grabbed your trachea in its firm hold and forced the wind out of you.

“Hey, Hoshi,” you managed to choke out in a level headed manner.

Hoshi. That was what you and Soonyoung agreed to nickname him if you ever picked up a call from him around your brother or his teammates, but god forbid you were actually allowed to have a life of any sort!

“Babe,” Soonyoung mewled out from the other line, “I actually can’t do this. Don’t tell him, but your brother is really good...of course he is.”

Frowning because of Soonyoung’s lack of usual mirth and brimming confidence, you sighed, “If you let it get to you, then your thoughts affect your actions, and you don’t want that to happen right? You’ll be fine...and I’m not just saying this to say something, but you’re really good too, and you can’t let one person bring your entire mood down...even if...you know…”

“Will you at least come with me to my dorm after the game?”

“Oh you know I’ll be doing more than that,” giggling into your phone, trying to sound as enticing as possible, completely engrossed in this very conversation, as it was all the time talking with Soonyoung.

Both of you had a habit of drastically turning your talks from upside downs to those of obvious elation. They were conversations sometimes needed to be kept in the comforting privacy, selfishly not wanting to let anyone else in on the baby i missed you’s and the do you need anything from the boba shop’s and literally you don’t have the right to look this good’s.

Startled by the grunting and hacking oh so wonderfully expired by the total jackass to your left, you contended to the third degree, with the patience that was never really there starting to thin out, “Do you need something?”

It wasn’t uncommon for Soonyoung to call coincidentally at the times you were with—more like right next to—his rival, probably because his

#seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #hoshi #hoshi imagines #hoshi scenarios #soonyoung imagines #soonyoung scenarios #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #hoshi fluff

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tomdiddlyumptious · 3 years

Text

T.H| the cliché coffee shop

Summary: tom owns a coffee shop, and then you walk in?

Warnings: love and first sight?

Im actually just emptying my drafts

Tom smiled, holding the news paper in his hands as he sat at the small black table, the radio playing and he connected his foot with the ground a few times with the beat, a coffee mug with the avengers on it, hes such a big fan.

Tom had always been a cheerful person, a calm and collective person, all he really wants in his life is a kid honestly, a little boys hair to ruffle and a little girl’s armpits to tickle. But he was waiting for the right one, for the right one to notice him and ask him how his day is going, no he isnt a virgin, he just wants the actual wake up feel, this is the one feel.

So when he heard the bell ring for the front door, an immediate smile came on his face, looking at the woman who was clutching her purse, her hair flat ironed at its own length and a yellow and white poke-a-dot dress, a white sharp collar and white pumps, a nice smile on her red colored lips from her matte lipstick.

“Hello” he said, setting down the newspaper, his eyes meeting the females as she gently waved “hi! I just wanted a cup of coffee”

“Well come on!” He chuckled, standing up and walking behind his stance, putting on a pink apron making you smile.

“Pink?” “Ehh my daughter chose it for me” he smiled, “thats cute!” You both laughed, usually any other woman or man would ask how old he is and hes pretty young to have a child, so a gentle smile stayed on his face when he noticed you know how to keep boundaries.

“How do you like your coffee?” You shrugged at his words “ive never drank coffee before” his mouth dropped at your words “never?” “Never” you giggled. “Im gonna make you the best coffee youve ever had, just sit over there” he smiled, pointing at the table he was at and you nodded your head, walking over and sittting down.

You bobbed your head a bit to the tunes, humming with a smile on your face, tom turned back to you while he was running the espresso machine “your a nice singer” and you jumped with that, looking over at him while your eyebrows furrowed.”i hummed?” “you know what i meant!” he groaned making you both laugh. he continued to make it and decided to make you some fancy bread with some chocolate dip on a small white glass before sitting across from you, “carefull, its hot” he chuckled, placing it infront of you with a wide smile on his face. “thank youuu” you smiled, before a small human came in through the door, the bell ringing “princesss!” tom said, holding out his arms “Daddyyy!” a small high pitched voice yelled, jumping in toms lap and hugging him tightly, you smiled watching as you waited for the coffee to cool down.

“hiii darling? how are you?” he said, looking down at the girl. “im good! hazzy took me shopping!” she cheered, lifting the small bag. “shes cute” you smiled, the little girl looked at you before waving with her eyes closed and her mouth open with a wide smile, her two front teeth missing making you coo “aww”

she has long hair, just below her small shoulders, hair golden brown, her nose like her fathers, just if it wasnt broken, she didnt have the same eye color though, its blue, her bottom lip bigger then the top one. “i know, shes such a sweetheart” tom said, watching as his daughter took the bread and chocolate “hey! thats our guests bread!” tom said, she let out a small sorry as her bottom lip quivered. “its okay, you can have it” you smiled at her, before lifting the coffee to sip, but instead you accidently spit it out, his daughter laughed while toms eyebrows furrowed in panic, you looked up at him with a crooked smile “its hot”

tom let out a sigh of relief, holding his heart with his empty hand “thank god, i thought you were thinking it tasted bad” “never!” you smiled, the small princess grabbed hopped out of toms lap to grab the brown napkins as you made conversation with tom. “shes a sweetheart” “ehh i do my best” he shrugged, looking at you with a side smile. “my names tom by the way” he offered a hand over the table “my names y/n” you placed your hand in his with a smile.

“my names Cameron!” she picked in, handing you the napkins “nice to meet you cameron!” you smiled, taking the napkins trying to clean up the mess before tom grabbed your wrist “oh-” “sorry, you know you dont have to do that” he smiled at you, unconsciously hanving his hand ontop of yours. “i-its fine! i want to” you smiled at him, “you sure?” “yeah” you nodded, cameron turning on the radio. Smiling when her favorite song came on, no it wasnt the song now-a-days it was the song in cinderella.

So this is love?

Cameron danced around the shop while tom watched you finish, you felt his eyes burning into your soul so you looked up at him, a smile on your face as you shyed away, he grabbed the napkin away from you to throw it away. “You and y/n should dance to this song!” Cameron said, smiling at her dad while his face turned a shade red.

“I dont think y/n would like that” he chuckled, looking at you while you shrugged “it doesn’t matter to me” a light chuckle left your lips. And with that Cameron raced to grab your hand, tugging you to her father and pushing you into him “oh!-“ you fell in his chest and he held you, you looked up at him and he had a faded smile on his face.

“You know how to dance, right?” She asked you, and you nodded “i think we both know daddy cant dance” she said making you and tom laugh, Cameron took his dads hands, placing them on her hips “hold on them tight!” She ordered.

So this is what makes life, divine?

Your hands came onto his shoulders, smiling at him. “Alright! Sway sway!” She ordered, you and tom started to do the classical dance, just slower. Making eye contact and searching in them for any kind of answer, Cameron smiled and ate the bread while she watched.

And then he got a cold chill. Are you the one?

No, that wasn’t possible. You only met today and your both dancing to a childish disney song, his hands are on your hips....your noses basically touching...is this love?

You on the other hand werent really worried about it, you already knew you had a small thing for him after he put on his pink apron with a smile on his face, such a charming one.

Tom dipped you making you panic a little, before coming back up a little to fast making your lips touch, tom didnt know if it was on purpose but he took the chance, he kissed you, his hand on the back of your head while your eyes widened before you closed them, kissing him back and holding onto the back of his neck. His lips soft, feeling like clouds.

Soooo this issss loveeeee~

Loud claps were heard in the background, some childish laughs leaving the girls lips as tom slowly pulled back, opening his eyes and looking at you. “I-uh sorry-“ “nono...I enjoyed it” you patted his chest, dusting off the apron he still had on, “more then the coffee?” Laughs left both of your lips. “Wanna-wanna go on a date sometime?” “Heyyy! Im still here!” Cameron waved. “With Cameron of course” he smiled, and you nodded. “Yeah- why not?”

#tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x black!reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland au #tom holland blurb #dad!tom holland #dad!tom #tom holland smut

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the-modernmary · 3 years

Text

my best habit || aaron hotchner x reader (ch. 8)

Chapter summary: When Aaron gets stuck at work late and Jess has to go help out her dad, Aaron has nobody else to turn to but you to watch Jack. The only problem? Up until now, Aaron has been keeping his home life completely separate from you, and you have no clue how this will effect your already precarious relationship with Aaron.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: This was not part of the original plan at all for this story, but I couldn’t get it out of my head.

masterlist || read on ao3

In between What I find is pleasing and I'm feeling fine Love is so confusing, there's no peace of mind If I fear I'm losing you it's just no good You teasing like you do - Blondie, “Heart of Glass”

~~~~~~~

You were on your couch doing homework when you got the call from Aaron, and you frowned in confusion when you saw his name flash across your cell phone screen. Aaron never called you while he was working, and you especially didn’t expect a call from him today. He was doing a custodial interview with an inmate sentenced to death somewhere in Virginia, and you figured prison didn’t have the greatest cell service.

“Hey there, jailbird,” you greeted. “Are you inviting me to the dance?”

“Very cute, Elvis,” Aaron joked, but it was half hearted. You could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I need to ask you for a favor, and I want you to know that I wouldn’t be asking you if I had any other options.”

“Mhm, I love being the last choice,” you mused sarcastically. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, Aaron.”

Aaron elected to ignore your last comment. “The prison just went on lockdown, so I’m going to be stuck here for at least a few more hours,” he explained, and there was an unnatural nervousness to his voice. “And Jessica has to go deal with an emergency with her father.”

You frowned to yourself, unsure of where Aaron was going with his explanation, and even more unsure of who this Jessica person was. A pang of jealousy shot through you, but you quickly bottled that feeling.

Aaron took a moment to compose himself before continuing. “Would you be willing to watch Jack for a few hours? I know it’s not ideal, but it would just be for a little while until either I get out of here or somebody else from the BAU gets off of work. I would even be willing to compensate you for your time.”

Oh.

OH.

Silence crackled through the phone as you took in his request, and you could practically feel Aaron’s nervousness. It shouldn’t have been as big of a deal as it was. It had been two months since you’ve been with Aaron, you slept over at his house enough, and you worked in the same building as him. It was pretty inevitable that of course you were going to meet Jack at some point, but you always figured it would be with Aaron there to mediate. You had pictured that it would probably be accidental, maybe Jack would wake up early and would catch you sneaking out of Aaron’s house. Or you would be invited to one of Rossi’s famous dinners and the kids would be there and then there would be no questions asked. You definitely didn’t expect to babysit.

“Yeah, of course, I can watch him,” you said finally, and you heard Aaron let out a sigh of relief. “And you don’t have to pay me… or worry about finding a replacement. He can hang out with me for as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” Aaron told you, still sounding completely drained. “I will send your address to Jessica, and she will drop Jack off at your place in about half an hour. I really owe you, Y/N. I have to go talk to the warden now, but please call me if you need anything, okay? Bye.” Before you could even answer, Aaron hung up.

You took a deep breath as dread settled in the pit of your stomach. How hard would babysitting be, really? You’ve babysat before - Aly had a little brother who basically became your little brother. However, a weird part of you was nervous that Jack wouldn’t like you, which was ridiculous. It didn’t matter whether or not Jack liked you.

Right?

Deciding that you couldn’t just sit there and panic, you chose to use the time to tidy up your apartment, just to make it extra presentable. The organized mess that was your homework space was quickly arranged so that all of your notebooks and papers were in a neat pile. You took down the half empty tequila bottle from forever ago that was sitting on the top of your fridge and shoved it into a cabinet somewhere. The throw blanket that you had been wrapped up in was refolded and placed on the arm of your couch. You wanted to at least give the illusion that you were prepared to babysit Aaron’s son, and not completely freaking out inside.

Right on schedule, knocking came from your door, and you rushed to open it. You were greeted by a blonde woman, probably a few years younger than Aaron, who you assumed to be Jessica. Next to her was the elusive Jack, with his blonde hair and missing front tooth. You had seen a few photos of Jack in passing, hanging up around Aaron’s house and whatnot, but you never got a good look at the photos.

“Y/N?” Jessica asked cautiously, and you nodded slowly. “Hi, I’m Jessica, Jack’s aunt.”

Jack’s aunt. A million emotions hit you at once. Oh god, she was Haley’s sister. Your stomach started to feel queasy, and it took you a second to realize that it was guilt, although you weren’t quite sure what you felt guilty about.

Logically, you knew Aaron had a life outside of you. Hell, you had slowly become part of that outside life now that you were friends with his coworkers, but you really tried to avoid thinking about Aaron’s home life. When he wasn’t with you, it was out of sight, out of mind. He was his own individual entity.

Now you were face-to-face with just how insignificant you were in the grand scheme of Aaron’s life. The fact was that you were probably no more than a side storyline in his life, a character created just for Aaron’s own development. He had a life and a family that you barely knew about. There was evidence of his home life everywhere - the bins of toys at his house, drawings on his fridge, family photos in matching frames in the hallway, even a small jewelry box on his dresser that looked like it had been collecting dust for a few years - but you had gotten good at averting your eyes.

“Hi, yes, that’s me,” you replied, shaking Jessica’s hand. Then you bent down so you were closer to Jack’s height. “Hey dude, I’m Y/N,” you introduced, giving him a small wave.

Jessica took the backpack she was carrying and helped Jack slip it onto his shoulders. “Thank you again for doing this on such short notice. Aaron should have sent over my phone number if you need anything, but Jack’s a good kid. He just has some homework that he needs to get done,” she explained.

“It’s no problem,” you told her, giving her your best reassuring smile. “He’s in good hands here.”

Jessica smiled gratefully at you before kneeling down to say goodbye to Jack. You stood in the doorway awkwardly as you watched the interaction curiously. It was as normal as it could get, Jessica telling Jack to behave and that she loves him, but it also fascinated you, like you were watching a movie and all of the characters had popped out of the screen.

Jack gave his aunt a hug before she left, and the two of you stepped into your apartment. That same nervousness came back in full force. What kind of games did he like to play? You didn’t have any toys for him. What if you couldn’t help him with his homework? Do kids his age learn fractions yet, because you did not remember fractions. What if-

“Woah!” came Jack’s voice, breaking you out of your spiraling. “Can I please sit on the bean bag chair?”

Well, Jack certainly wasn’t nervous, which offered you more relief than you thought it would. “Yeah, of course, you can. It’s my favorite place to do my homework.”

Jack flopped onto the bean bag chair, his tiny frame almost completely consumed by it. You could see the confusion growing on Jack’s face. “You have to do homework?” Jack asked.

“Yup,” you told him. “And I know you do, too, so we can do homework together.”

Jack jutted out his bottom lip in a pout. “Will I have to still do homework when I’m old?”

At that, you let out a genuine laugh, even if you were a little shocked. The kid had personality, you had to admit. “I’m not that old,” you halfheartedly protested, “And maybe. It depends on what you want to be when you grow up.”

“I want to be a superhero,” Jack said matter-of-factly. “Like Spiderman.”

You nodded, the movement playfully exaggerated. “Oh, well Spiderman is really smart. I’m sure he does a lot of homework, so you better get to work. Let me know if you need any help, okay?” You chuckled again at Jack’s increased pout, obviously disappointed in the fact that even superheroes had to focus on school.

Jack reached into his backpack and pulled out a pencil and a brightly colored folder with papers sticking out of it every which way. He started on his worksheets, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration, and it hit you just how much he looked like Aaron. The blonde hair threw you off, but you had seen that exact look on Aaron’s face many times, eyebrows together and lips pursed ever so slightly. Like father, like son. You had to resist the urge to audibly coo at the sight. You were only human, after all.

You tore your eyes away from the boy and glanced over at your laptop, which was sitting open on your coffee table, the cursor blinking back at you teasingly, reminding you that you also had to get to work. You had essays to write and practice contracts to draft up. The two of you did your work in comfortable silence for a while, Jack occasionally asking you to help him read the instructions of his worksheet.

“Done!” Jack exclaimed proudly after a while, holding his packet of papers high in the air.

Just in time, too, because if you had to do any more criminal tax litigation work, you were going to pull out your hair from boredom. There was only so much corporate fraud you could read about in one sitting.

“With all of your homework?” you clarified, and he nodded so fast that he looked like a full-on bobblehead. “Good job, dude!”

“Did you finish your homework so that we can play?” he asked you.

“Yup, I’m all done,” you lied. Your paper wasn’t due for another week, anyway. “So what do you want to play?”

Jack tapped his finger on his chin as he thought about it. You were aware that you didn’t have much in the way of kid’s toys, but you had stuff to color or paint or play board games, and you were confident enough in your imagination to come up with a game if it came down to that. Jack looked around and suddenly his eyes got wide and he pointed to your Switch.

“Do you have Mario Kart?” he asked hopefully. “Can we play that?”

“That sounds like fun, let’s do that,” you told him, making your way to set up the console. “I’ll even let you be player one.”

Jack was practically bouncing up and down in his seat now. “I’m really good at this game. I can even beat my uncle Dave!”

You laughed as the two of you picked your characters. Jack chose Yoshi, a solid choice, and you went with Toad. “You can beat your Uncle Dave? Wow, that’s impressive. I have to warn you, though, I’m also very good at this game. Do you think you can beat me?” you teased.

“Definitely,” Jack challenged, and the game began.

The two of you played for a little while, and Jack’s mind was blown when you told him about the shortcuts on each track. After about three cups and you telling him where every shortcut you knew was, the 7-year-old was starting to get antsy just sitting, so you decided to switch gears.

You brought out some leftover paints and canvases you had from a paint night with your friends, and you and Jack laid on the floor and did some painting, although you were not prepared for how messy it would get. Somehow, Jack ended up with his fingertips covered in blue paint, and you had a streak of green on your cheek from where you mindlessly brushed hair from out of your face. As you placed the artwork to the side to dry, Jack had already decided on the next game - the floor is lava.

Before you even realized it, three hours had passed and it was time to make dinner. Jack chose pizza, which you luckily already had in your freezer. The game was still going, but you and Jack agreed that the kitchen was the only safe place without lava, considering there were too many dangerous things in that vicinity.

Babysitting Jack was easier than you expected, and much more fun. Even in his more playful moments, Aaron was always a little bit guarded and on edge, so you had a hard time imagining what his child would be like. A weird part of you almost imagined a mini adult in a child-sized suit and a briefcase full of fruit snacks and crackers, as ridiculous as it sounded. But Jack was just like any other 7-year-old - goofy, a little loud, and excited about the world.

You wondered if Aaron was like that as a kid, or if that part of Jack’s personality came from his mom. Maybe Jack was a mini version of his mom. Now that you had gotten the tiniest taste of Aaron’s home life, you found yourself craving to know more, to see Aaron in dad-mode.

Selfishly, you also wanted Aaron to watch you interact with Jack, just to see his reaction. It was a gamble and you realized it. Best case scenario, Aaron would be able to breathe a little bit easier. There wouldn’t be that half second of awkward silence between the two of you every time he mentioned Jack’s name. That stupid guilt you felt so often would dissipate because, hey, you met Jack and now that was out of the way.

On the other hand, everything could come crashing down. Aaron could walk in, see you with Jack, and immediately regret his decision and regret you. It would solidify in both of your minds that you were no more than somebody he could call and fuck when he felt himself on the verge of breaking down. Any self-imposed importance you had placed on yourself in Aaron’s life, no matter how small it was (and it was pretty small), would be a lie. He had a shorter temper now than before, and maybe this would be the exact thing that would set him off.

You didn’t want that, of course, but you really did want to know what would happen, to see where you stood with him. Call it morbid curiosity.

You were pulling the pizza out of the oven when you heard the knock on the door. “Coming!” you called.

“Don’t touch the lava!” Jack reminded you from his spot on the coffee table, just as you were about to leave the kitchen. Your method of movement to and from the kitchen was the rolling chair from your desk and a broom so that you could push yourself where you needed to go, which you had to justify to Jack as being a lava boat.

You “rowed” yourself over the door and looked in the peephole. Aaron was on the other side, nervously rubbing his thumb over the rest of his fingers. It took some work, but you were able to open the door without falling off the chair.

“Hey, I know you,” you greeted Aaron, but your smile fell when you took in his appearance. His whole body was tensed up, like a rubberband about to snap. He didn’t have his tie or blazer on, and the cuffs of his shirt were undone.

“Dad!” Jack shouted, waving excitedly.

“Hi, buddy.” Aaron smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was scanning the room, studying the scene in front of him. Aaron’s expression slowly shifted to confusion as Jack bounded across your furniture to get closer to his dad. “Jack, what are you doing on the table?” Aaron’s eyes shifted to where you were, noticing for the first time that you were kneeling on a rolling chair, holding onto the broom like a trident. “And why do you two have paint on you?”

“The floor is lava,” you explained nonchalantly.

“And you’re going to get burned!” Jack pointed out.

You chuckled and swiveled your chair so that you could get a better look at Jack. “How about we give your dad a minute to find a spot, okay dude?” You turned back to Aaron, lowering your voice. “The kitchen is a safe zone, if you don’t want to have to crawl around on furniture.”

Aaron frowned, and you could see the wheels turning in his brain. “No, I should take Jack home anyways,” he finally said. “You’ve helped enough today and I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing,” you insisted. “Besides, we just made a pizza that I’m not going to be able to eat by myself. Come in, have dinner. You look like you need it.”

He really did. You were certain that he hadn’t eaten anything the entire time he was at the jail. He looked exhausted, too, and it was taking every bit of his energy to keep his usual stoic and stony composure.

Aaron wanted to argue, but instead, let out a resigned sigh. “Thank you. You, uh, said that the kitchen was a safe zone?”

“Mhm, and you might want to hurry because Jack is in it to win. Already tried to sabotage my chair boat.”

While Aaron’s face remained emotionless, his gaze softened as he stepped into your apartment. “Jack, did you have fun with Y/N?” he asked, making his way to the kitchen.

Jack hopped from the coffee table to the couch and onto a trail of pillows he had made. “Yeah! She taught me how to cheat in Mario Kart!”

You rolled your way back to the kitchen, chuckling sheepishly. “Shortcuts aren’t cheating, it’s playing smart,” you defended.

Jack just giggled and continued to animatedly tell Aaron about his day at school as you each started to dig into dinner. Well, Jack and you dug into the pizza, while Aaron took all off two bites and pushed his plate to the side. You had originally thought that it was the interview that caused Aaron’s tenseness, but you realized with a start that Aaron was completely focused on you. He was watching you curiously, like you had subtly changed your appearance and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was different.

He was just intrigued by your interaction with Jack as you had been with Jack and Jessica’s interactions. You had thought that he was going to make a snap judgment and decide if he was ever going to want to see you again the second he saw you with Jack, but he was taking his time. He was profiling you.

“Hey Jack,” you interjected once he finished eating. “Your dad and I are going to do dishes, but I need you to do me a big favor. I can’t win Bowser’s Castle no matter how hard I try. Do you think you could do that race for me while we clean up?”

Aaron looked at you in confusion, but you kept your eyes on Jack, who was all too happy to have an excuse to get out of cleaning and go back to playing video games. He practically bounced back into the living room, leaving you and Aaron alone.

“Do you want something to drink?” you offered. Aaron was watching your every movement, studying you carefully. “I have tea, coffee… Irish coffee, if it’s that kind of night.” You added the last part as an afterthought, only partially joking.

The corner of Aaron’s mouth twitched upwards so subtly that if you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t have even noticed. “No thank you,” he answered formally.

You mindlessly traced circles on the tabletop with your finger, keeping your eyes downcast. You knew you couldn’t just outright ask what was on his mind, he’d never answer truthfully. “Do I want to know what that creep did to be put on death row?” you asked, keeping your voice as indifferent as possible..

Aaron shook his head. “I wouldn’t tell you even if you did,” he admitted and the two of you fell into silence again. It was the answer you had pretty much come to expect from him.

Despite the fact that, as a lawyer, you’d have to hear about all these awful things and see the evidence, Aaron tried to shield you from his work. He didn’t talk about cases, didn’t glamorize the work he did the way some younger agents would. In all the time you’ve known him, you could count the number of criminals you knew he took down on your fingers, and some of those were only because you learned about them in class.

That was fine. You didn’t want Aaron to have to bring that to your bed, not when you were supposed to be his distraction from all that mess. And what a fun distraction you were.

Aaron looked at his watch, effectively ending the conversation. “We should go, it’s getting late. Thank you for watching Jack. And for dinner.”

You paused, debating your next move. “It’s no problem,” you said sincerely. “And if you need anything else from me… I’ll be awake for a while.” You let your offer hang in the air for a few moments, watching as Aaron seemed to be weighing options in his head, you just didn’t know what those options were.

You were just about to rescind your offer when he opened his mouth to speak. “Are you sure you don’t want any compensation?”

You waved off his offer. “I’m positive.”

Aaron shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “Then let me buy you dinner sometime this week. It’s the least I can do.”

You paused, trying to keep your expression as neutral as possible. Aaron had never made an offer like this before, never took steps towards anything that could push this into something even remotely considered a relationship. It was easy to explain the constant sex. You could even justify the lingering morning-afters or the nights spent hunched over your textbooks while Aaron wordlessly refilled your coffee cup without you having to even ask by claiming that it all happened organically. It’s not like the two of you planned to stay up and debate the lost history of the term “beyond a reasonable doubt”. It just sort of happened, and who were you to turn down free coffee?

Anything more would complicate the carefully curated system, and neither of you had the time or energy for complicated.

Despite every logical bone in your body screaming at you to walk away and leave while you were ahead, you couldn’t help the soft “Yeah, I’d really like that,” that slipped past your lips.

You could have sworn Aaron smiled at your answer, but he didn’t say anything more.

The two of you walked back to your living room in silence. “Alright buddy,” Aaron called, ruffling Jack’s hair. “It’s time for us to head home. Say thank you to Y/N.”

Jack pouted as he exited the game. “Can Y/N watch me again soon? Please? It was fun!”

“We’ll have to see, she might be busy,” Aaron mused, looking at you so that he could gauge your reaction. It was enough of an answer to not crush Jack’s hopes, but vague enough that it gave you room to deny the offer. He was letting you choose how much you wanted to be around Jack, if you wanted to be around him at all.

You grinned down at Jack and held out your hand for a high five, which he took as an invitation to try and slap your hand as hard as he could. How could you say no to him? “Of course I can watch you again. I’ll even have Legos next time.”

For the first time that night, Aaron gave you a real smile, one that you could actually see. It was small, but it was genuine. “Thank you again. Goodnight, Y/N,” he told you and Jack echoed the sentiment, waving at you as they walked out the door.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #jack hotchner #my writing #my best habit

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mea-s · 3 years

Note

heyy i just saw your post about having random drabbles in your drafts and I was wondering if you wanted to share one? If you’re comfy with it ofc :) I love all your fanfics btw💕

oh sure! lol why not

Here’s some random kagehina smut I wrote a few months ago that’s been collecting dust for the past however long lmao

A/N: For context, they’re in college and they didn’t know each other in high school. This is, like, they’re first time speaking with one another, essentially, and they’re at a frat party.

The sound of the music raging beyond the bedroom walls is nothing compared to their heated breaths against each other.

Kageyama kicks the door closed with his foot as he and Hinata stumble into one of the vacant bedrooms. Their teeth awkwardly clack together and their noses bump as they press their lips harder against the other’s, trying somehow to both walk and kiss simultaneously.

Hinata exhales into Kageyama’s mouth, his hands grasping at the taller man’s back, shoulders, neck—his fingers searching for purchase.

Kageyama’s hands tug at the bottom of his shirt, and Hinata—realizing his intent—separates to let him remove the apparel. It’s gone in a matter of seconds, and Hinata blinks rapidly to clear his foggy vision, trying to get adjusted to the dark. In his drunken haze, his thoughts feel muddled, but it’s hard to tell if he feels sluggish due to his lack of sobriety or the sudden arousal thrumming in his body.

He pauses when he realizes that Kageyama has gone rigid, making the ginger cock a brow at him.

“What are you—“

“God,” Kageyama chokes out, voice low and raspy, as though this is his first time using it in months. Hinata swallows, color rising to his cheeks. “You’re beautiful.”

Hinata catches his bottom lip between his teeth, his breath getting caught in his throat.

The air between them is suddenly suffocatingly hot.

He swallows thickly and then grabs the collar of his shirt and yanks Kageyama’s face towards his own.

Their lips crash together, and through their drunken stupor, they topple back together and manage to clumsily make their way towards the bed.

They collapse, Hinata landing with a tiny umph, and Kageyama’s lips depart his as he uncoordinatedly begins to press lips all over his face. To the corner of his lips, the dive above his upper lip, the bridge of his nose, a spot underneath his right eye, his forehead—before, finally, blessing him with a kiss to the lips again.

The sound of the music pounding throughout the house seems to be the only thing that manages to ground Hinata—informing him on the fact that this is, in fact, happening. He is kissing Kageyama Tobio right now, and yes, they are both at a party, and yes, they are both drunk off their asses.

Kageyama’s hands roam his body like he isn’t too sure on what part he should give the most attention to, before, finally, his large bear-paw-like hands halt on his right pectoral. Hinata’s breath catches in his throat when a thumb finds his nipple, Kageyama’s forefinger and thumb rolling the hardening bud between them as they pull away with a wet smack of lips. Hinata whines, yearning for more attention, but his breath cuts short when Kageyama’s face dives between the crook in his neck, latching onto his clavicle to leave markings for the morning—evidence.

“F-Fuck,” Hinata gasps, hands reaching up, holding his back. God—he might just come from this alone.

It isn’t that he’s sensitive, but rather, it’s the alcohol in his system that’s dulling his tolerance and the fact that he is with the Kageyama Tobio that’s suddenly making him….

Okay, so maybe he is a bit sensitive.

But still! Christ—just Kageyama touching him alone is pure heaven. He can’t wait until he gets his fingers inside him.

“Seriously,” Kageyama says, his throat pressed to his stomach. The way it vibrates sends chills up his spine. “I can’t believe—“ a kiss above his bellybutton, leading down to his dick, “—that I am about have sex with—“ a kiss to his inner thigh, his lips latching onto the skin there, leaving a red welt to be revealed later, “—the Hinata Shouyou.”

Hinata bites back a moan. “I see you all the time around campus,” he gasps, fingers reaching into Kageyama’s dark locks. “Always thought you didn’t notice me—thought you didn’t—“ he pauses, forcing back a whine, not wanting to seem too desperate. “—Thought you didn’t care.”

Kageyama chortles, and the chuckle rolls through his entire body, into Hinata, and he shudders. “I really don’t care. But you…” he pauses, “how could I ever ignore you? You—you’re—God Hinata, you have no idea how badly I fucking wanted—no, how badly I want you.”

Hinata’s eyes flutter shut to the sound of his voice, lips pressing tightly together as he moans. It slips from his, unbidden, and he only seems to register it after it’s left him.

His eyes pop open, face flooding deeper in embarrassment as he peers down at Kageyama. The latter’s cerulean orbs stare at his ambers—captivate him—just as amusement flashes through them.

“Excited?” It sounds both as though it’s a question and a declaration.

Hinata gulps. Not trusting what sound he’d make dare he open his mouth—he just nods slowly.

“So am I,” he says. “God I’m so fucking ready for you.”

“You have no idea how much I want you,” he exhales. “Please, Kageyama—I—I need you.”

Kageyama nods like he knows all too well how desperate he is. But Hinata can’t imagine this man has any idea how many nights he’s woken up and had to thrust his own fingers into his ass to relieve the tension he feels upon just thinking about him. Hinata can’t imagine that this man has any idea how fucking badly he needs him.

“Kageyama I—“ Hinata bites his lip.

“Tobio,” Kageyama corrects. “S-Say Tobio.”

Hinata nods. “T-Tobio—“ But then his words cut off when Tobio’s hand grazes across his chest again.

This man—boy, really—may not know how badly Hinata needs him, but maybe, he can show him.

His legs wrap around Tobio’s waist, tightening around it before he lifts his hips upwards. His groin is met with the hardened bulge in Tobio’s jeans, and the contact against his own erection sends his mind spinning.

“Fuuuck,” Tobio groans against him, burying his face in the crook of his neck. “Do—Do it again.”

Hinata nods, tightening his legs even more and forcing himself to lift his hips. “Oh god,” he sobs into the open air. Tobio meets his action, gyrating his hips down for friction.

“Please—I—“ Hinata begs, “—I need you, Tobio.”

Tobio nods. “I need you—fuck—I can’t wait to feel you around me.”

Hinata gasps at the thought. “Yes,” he sighs, lowering his legs and pulling his pants down. Tobio helps, and they soon become a mess of fingers and arms and hands as Hinata tries to shimmy out of his trousers.

Tobio’s hands slide towards the smaller boy’s briefs when his jeans are down to his ankles, and the contact is enough to make a shiver ripple through his spine.

“Are you okay with—“

“Yes—“ Hinata whines. “Yes—fuck, Tobio—please—don’t make me wait.”

Tobio swallows before sticking his chin out in a jerky nod. His fingers slip past the fabric of his briefs, thumb finding his cock. His fingers wrap around the hardening length, sliding the briefs away to pump Hinata with ease, using the precum at the top of his cock as a lubricant.

The ginger boy yelps at the contact, his hips jerking into his touch as a gasp snags itself in his throat.

But then Tobio’s movements come to a slow, his hand falling away from his dick and finding his entrance beneath it.

Hinata’s world spins, every thought too loud, too much—he’s unable to focus on anything but the fingers teasing him.

“Mmn—“ he moans, head pressing back into the bedsheets. “Tobio, please.”

Tobio nods against his neck, pressing kisses along the length of his shoulder as he slowly sinks a finger past the ring of muscle. Hinata offers him an absolutely divine moan in response, his hips spazzing as the finger reaches deeper into him. Tobio is quick to add two more digits and curl them, hitting the ragged spot inside of Hinata which forces him to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from mewling.

“Damn—” Tobio murmurs. “You have no idea how much I want this.”

Hinata sobs his pleasure into the open air around them, unable to find a care in the world for the fact that the other partiers can probably hear his desperation through the walls. “Please,” he begs, the feeling of him stretching his open excruciating. “I need—inside—now.”

Tobio groans. “Fuck I—I can’t. Not yet.”

Hinata sobs incoherently. “Please Tobio,” he keens. “You have no idea how—mmn—how long I’ve waited for this.

Tobio holds his breath and that’s it—he’s gone. His fingers slide out of him, leaving Hinata clenching around nothing as he fumbles to undo his belt.

He curses when his fingers slip, wet and slippery, but he manages to slide them down from his waist. Sitting up onto his knees, he slides his pants down and grabs the condom from his back pocket before completely extracting his trousers, and Hinata gapes at his dick.

“Fuck,” he sighs. “H-How the hell do you walk around with that all day?”

Tobio goes bright red. “Stop teasing me,” he grumbles, tearing open the foil wrapper of the condom.

“Well sorry,” Hinata grunts. “But it’s not every day I see a monster come out of a man’s pants.”

Tobio sucks in a sharp breath, his grip slipping, and then the condom falls from his hands. “Dumbass,” he gasps, grabbing it from when it fell onto the comforter. He lifts his gaze, eyes narrowing as they lock with Hinata’s. “Y-You don’t just say that shit!”

Hinata purses his lips together. “Sorry,” he says, sounding genuinely remorseful. For a second, Tobio regrets chastising him so harshly.

“I just don’t know how that thing is gonna fit inside me,” he murmurs.

Tobio’s brows furrow, and then his regret is gone. “Just wait,” he sighs, sliding the condom on himself. “Soon, you won’t be asking how it’ll fit—you’ll be asking for more.”

Hinata worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he starts to kick his pants off. “Is that a threat?”

“No,” Tobio says, waiting until he’s finished to grab his wrists and pin the smaller boy down to the mattress, “a promise.”

He tilts his hips, holding his dick and positioning it at his entrance. He pushes forward, and his tip is first met with pressure, and Hinata gasps unabashedly, his fingers gripping the sheets.

“G-God, Hinata, you’re so—t-tight,” Tobio gasps, trying to push further.

“Shou—ah—Shouyou,” Hinata keens. “My—given name. Say—nghnn—it.”

“Shouyou,” Tobio utters, like a promise—like a prayer.

At that, Shouyou fists the sheets, tossing his head back as Tobio sinks further. The heat of his walls clamping down on him nearly sends him over the edge right then and there, but Tobio holds his breath and forces his hips to still, wanting this to last much longer.

“Pleaseee—” Shouyou whines, shifting his hips. Tobio gasps and leans down, placing his hands on either side of his head as he hovers above his.

“If you do that,” he groans, brows furrowing. “I won't last long.”

“You won’t last long either way,” Shouyou says, and it’s meant to be a tease, but it instead comes out shaky and desperate.

Tobio raises an intrigued brow at this in spite of Shouyou’s failed attempt at a taunt. “Is that a threat?” He asks, probably mocking him earlier.

Shouyou grins at him, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him down. Their noses knock together, their lips inches apart, and Shouyou fears Tobio might hear his beating heart from their close proximity.

“No,” the ginger gasps, voice low and so quiet, it might’ve been mistaken for the whisper of the wind had they been outside. “It’s a promise.”

Tobio tilts his head down, their lips connecting just as he plunges forward. He sinks into him—buries himself to the hilt—and Shouyou feeds him a watery moan that only heightens his libido.

“So…” Shouyou gasps, burying his face into the juncture between his shoulder and neck, “so big.”

Tobio’s arms slip around his torso, holding the boy closer to his body as he slowly pulls himself out, tantalizingly slow. Then, he pushes deeper, and Shouyou sobs against him.

His hips fall into a rhythmic pace, slow but steady, and Shouyou’s brain short circuits. His hands trail down to his back, searching for purchase and slipping underneath his shirt, grasping at the skin.

“Faster,” he gasps against his neck. “Please Tobio—this is torture.”

Maybe, under different circumstances, Tobio would have paused; waited until Shouyou became a whiny babbling mess—begging for him to continue—but he would only still his hips and watch as the smaller boy’s face contorted into a mix of both pain and pleasure. Maybe he would’ve waited until tears shone in his eyes, and when he finally did plunge back deep into his, pounding relentlessly in and out of the boy, finally answering his plea for more, he would savor Hinata’s expression as his mouth would fall open and he’d scream his name.

But alas, tonight, he is just as desperate as he is. He has been watching this boy around his college campus and on the court for months now—admired him from afar in the library for far too many evenings in a row. Tonight is the night he has dreamed about the minute he laid eyes upon this unruly mess of orange hair, and he is too fucking needy to be a tease right now.

Next time, he tells himself. Next time, I’ll give him so much more.

And that thought—that simple thought of there being another time in the future (in the near-future, hopefully) in which he’ll be able to savor each part of Shouyou and make him scream his name makes his limbs go weak.

Tobio readjusts his hips and hits that spot deep within him, making Shouyou’s back bow and mouth fall open and head fall back. He keens as his hips thrust in and out of his erratically, fast yet unsteady, his thighs trembling as though he is on the brink of orgasm.

“Fuck—yes—“ he groans, his stomach twisting and gut tightening. “You feel—nghnn—so fucking good, Shou—Shouyou.”

“Shit,” he gasps, eyes rolling to the back of his skull. “Fuck—I-I’m gonna cum,” he cries.

His back arches off the bed, hips lifting weekly to start meeting his thrusts as he climbs closer to sweet fucking release.

“Don’t stop—“ he gasps. “D-Don’t fucking stop.”

“Wouldn’t—hah—dream of it. I’m—“ Tobio swallows, “—gonna cum.”

“Fuck—yes—ohh—just like that! Right there right there—FUCK YES!” Shouyou sobs, babbling nonsensical pleasure at this point. “Keep going! Ohmygod—please don’t fucking stop—you feel so good—mmhmm—yesyesyesyes—fuck!” Shouyou cries, continuing to sob about how fucking good you feel and ohmygod I’m aboug to cum so fucking hard holy fuck you’re so big oh my god please please please—

And maybe it’s the alcohol—or maybe it’s his exhaustion—or maybe it’s the fact that he’s being fucked by the man whom he’s been yearning for since this semester started—but Shouyou swears he’s about to have the biggest fucking orgasm of his life.

“I’m cumming—“ he gasps. And then, much louder, wanting the entire fucking frat house to know, he yells; “I’m gonna cum!”

“Fuck—“ Tobio gasps. “God—you’re so… fucking—perfect. Shouyou—I-I’m…” his voice trails off, white spots crowding his vision as pure ecstasy kicks in. Stuffing away all his thoughts, overriding his senses—the exhilarating moment that precedes an orgasm floods through Tobio and he loses himself to fucking Shouyou senseless.

The drunken boy sobs, his nails indenting crescents into the skin of Tobio’s back as he comes, spilling white ribbons of cum between both his and Tobio’s body. His body tremors from head to toe as his brain fails to register the cry of pleasure that tears itself from his throat as he buries his face into Tobio’s neck. White-hot heat floods his system, fills his core as his orgasm rolls through him like a wave, drowning him. It isn’t long before Tobio’s erratic thrusts come to a stuttering stop as he buries himself to the hilt and comes, spilling into his condom and groaning his release until he’s been milked completely.

They stay like that, frozen in place before Shouyou kisses the skin on his neck—pulling both him and his away from their land of bliss and grounding them back into reality. Finally, he sinks down into the comforter, boneless, and Tobio pulls out. Being emptied so abruptly leaves him shivering, and as Tobio pulls the condom off his cock and ties it off, a tired laugh escapes the exhausted boy.

“Wow,” is all he says.

Tobio nods slowly, leaning across the bed and tossing the condom into the trash can across the room. “Wow, indeed.”

“We… really did that,” he says. “Holy fuck. We actually did it.”

Tobio collapses on the bed beside his. “We did.”

Shouyou turns to him, and with the heat and pressure and moaning gone, he’s able to savor each piece of him. He smiles at his face, scooting closer to him to press his lips to his sweaty forehead.

“We should probably apologize to the house owner for having sex in their bed,” he says.

Tobio shrugs. “It’s a frat house—this is expected.”

Shouyou sighs. “But… still.”

“Does it concern you that much?”

Shouyou gapes at him, mock aghast. “Of course it does! I actually care about other people, unlike you—Bakageyama.”

Tobio narrows his eyes at him. “Hinata boke,” he mutters before snaking his arms around the smaller boy's waist and shoving his body into his, ignoring the indignant squawk of surprise he receives from Shouyou. “Fine, we’ll apologize.”

“Right now?” The ginger asks, voice muffled from having his face smothered into Tobio’s chest.

“Later,” Tobio murmurs. “Let’s just stay like this for now.”

And maybe, being like this is too much. Because they just had sex, and they are both sweaty and hot messes, and Shouyou could probably use a shower—but since he is with Tobio, it isn’t that much.

“M‘kay,” he says, only because he is madly captivated by this man. “Later, then.” he snuggles up impossibly closer to him, resting his head on his chest as they let their exhaustion from the sex and the weariness from the alcohol sweep them away into a peaceful realm of post-orgasmic, hypnagogic bliss.

#my writing #haikyuu!!#kagehina #gay smut #hq smut #kagehina smut #fanfic #kageyama tobio #hinata shouyou #thank you anon #anon ask #lovely anon #anonymous

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solllaris · 4 years

Photo

boys like you — bobby mckenzie.

summary: despite only knowing him for a week, it never entered fallon’s mind that bobby might not be as genuine of a guy as she thinks he is. but that’s before the mean tweets challenge and now her mind is completely consumed with thoughts of him being a player.

pairing: bobby/mc, mentions of bobby/lottie

word count: 2424

note: i cannot even tell you how long this has been sitting in my drafts just collecting dust. but!! the release of s3 really gave me the inspiration to finally finish it and after some editing i’m pretty proud of it! pleeease go easy on me b/c it is my first bobby fic so if he’s ooc please tell me and i’ll work on it. anyway i hope you guys like it!! :)

The strings of words on the page before her blurred together as her mind continued to drift. She was stuck in a never ending cycle of rereading the same lines over and over again, her brain never quite able to comprehend their meaning. The unwarranted, dangerous thoughts seared through her as her eyes, once again, shifted to the gentle lapping of the clear pool water against the coping. On any other Spanish night the sound of tranquil water would’ve soothed her to no end but the claws of self doubt and anxiety had sunken into her too deeply and there was no way for her to return. She was at their mercy and she despised it.

A loud resigned sigh huffed between the redhead’s lips, her berry colored lipstick having faded from the nights earlier festivities. She tipped her head back until it rested on the lounge chair she sat upon as she attempted to relax and loosen her tight muscles. The days busy events of the ‘mean tweets challenge’ and two boys — Rocco and Lucas — being dumped from the island had successfully wound her up until her nerves were shot. Yes, she was admittedly a bit sad to see the latter leave the Villa so soon but she was not as concerned about that as she was the challenge.

Her belly fluttered and twisted painfully as the tweet plastered onto the board flashed behind her eyelids. The words “player” and “Bobby” were never ones she’d even considered putting together before that challenge; but suddenly the ginger couldn’t drive them from the forefront of her mind and the seed of doubt in her body couldn’t be unplanted. It had sprouted its roots into her gut and raised tiny red flags where they hadn’t been previously.

Before, the teasing and little touches with Lottie had been easily brushed aside, reassuring herself that they were only friends; Bobby was a very friendly and affectionate guy to begin with, so it came as no surprise he was the same with his mates. However, as the redhead watched the way his muscular arms wrapped up her friend, peppering kisses to the top of her head to comfort her as Rocco left the Villa behind, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering. Was it all platonic? Did he really need to kiss into her hair? Did that simple act of affection mean anything? The questions were never ending, bouncing and ricocheting off either side of her skull until a dull ache began to split across her forehead.

Just when she’d snapped her book shut, the pages thumping together harshly as she swung her legs off the side of the chair, a tanned and defined chest came into view. He was still dressed in one of those wacky printed button-downs that only he could pull off. Only four buttons were done up, the remaining ones popped open and left his delectable pectorals on display for everyone to admire. His freckled cheeks were tinged pink from probably one too many drinks and she kind of hated how good he looked; it made it all the more difficult to be a bit distant and leery of him — especially with the way he gazed down at her, hazel irises holding all the affection and tenderness in the world.

With downcast eyes, she watched his feet move until he settled onto the lounge chair beside hers. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his widely spread knees and he was close enough to reach out and touch. The twitch of his clasped fingers suggested that the same thought had flitted through his mind, so she was a bit disappointed when he didn’t move towards her.

“Hey,” Bobby murmured in his sweet Scottish twang that the redhead absolutely adored. “Fallon, are you feelin’ okay?”

Fiddling with the paper cover on the hardback book in her lap, Fallon hesitantly glanced upwards to look him in the face. God, he looked so, so pretty in his outlandish shirt that hugged his biceps perfectly — like the seams around the arms would burst and unravel. His short dreads were a little disheveled from who knows what and although all of his physical attributes were beautiful, Fallon was always utterly enamored by his eyes. They spoke the words he couldn’t illiterate, the vulnerability that he found it difficult to express oftentimes. As he looked at her by the pool that night, the twinge in her chest worsened because how could he be a player and look at her like that?

“I’m fine, love, I promise,” Fallon reassured and forced a smile that she hoped solidified the white lie she’d told.

Bobby cocked his head a bit to his right and studied her, his gaze flickered over the entire expanse of her face. She knew he could see straight through her; he always could. “Are you sure?” A mischievous, teasing smile stretched across his face. “Usually I can’t keep you off me, lass. Practically jumping my bones all t—“

Fallon’s foot knocked against his leg, shoving him back lightly as she laughed for the first time in a while. “That is so not true,” She giggled.

He beamed at the sound of her musical laughter, his lone dimple cratering itself deeply in the surface of his flushed cheek. He quirked a brow and his innocent grin morphed into a lopsided smirk, “S’not what it looked like this morning in the sh—“

“I will shove you in the pool, Bobby, I swear.”

Chortling, he caught her hand that had shot out to strike his shoulder and ran his thumb along her skin delicately. The playful pool-side atmosphere slowly filtered itself out as the couple fell into a few beats of silence and his smirk faded into something softer, something that Fallon quickly picked up as concernment. The gentle but firm squeeze he gave her significantly smaller hand had her heart thrumming a bit more heavily against her rib cage and she knew the conversation she had been dreading was looming over them. Truthfully, she had hoped their short moment of joking with one another had successfully diverted the focus off of the distance she’d put between them the entire day, but she should’ve known better; he was a person of validation, craving it to ease the insecurities in his mind from past relationships, so of course he’d picked up on her guarded behavior and wanted to fix it.

Dipping his head low, Bobby pressed the softest of kisses to each of her knuckles and she couldn’t help but watch in awe of the man across from her. His lips lingered against her last knuckle for a few seconds longer than the rest and with a cute nuzzle of his nose to the back of her hand, he rose back up to look at her properly. Vulnerability was written all over his normally smiling face, brows drawn together to form a tiny crease between them, and Fallon despised the fact that she was the cause of his worry.

“What did I do, lass?” He asked quietly, barely to even be heard over the lapping pool water.

The clear-cut sadness in his voice sent a ripple of a throbbing ache through Fallon’s chest. She suddenly felt really silly for worrying about that stupid tweet because how much could an absolute stranger know about someone they’d never met anyway? It was complete stupidity on her part for believing a random person on the internet over the man she was undoubtedly falling for after only eight days.

Fallon set her book aside and dropped Bobby’s hand just long enough to move to the lounge chair opposite her, sitting so close to him that every inch from their knees to their hips touched. She pressed her cheek against his left shoulder as their hands found each other’s again, digits slotting together like they were drawn back by an invisible force.

“It’s dumb, really,” She admitted shyly, a tinge of shame coating each word. “I feel stupid for worrying about it.”

“M’sure it’s not dumb.” He shifted his body to face her a bit more, his free hand cupping her jaw reassuringly. “I never want you to feel like you can’t talk to me about how you feel.”

She tilted her head to the side and pushed her lips to the warm skin on the inside of his wrist where his hand held her cheek. “I know,” She hummed softly. “I just… I dunno why I didn’t pull you aside to chat about it. I guess I just needed some time to clear my head. Figure out what I wanted to say and how to say it.”

Bobby’s heart plunged dangerously low. The cogs in his head whirred startlingly fast as he immediately assumed the worst. He wore his fear and insecurity plainly on his freckled face and Fallon instantly squeezed his hand, beginning to backtrack before the poor Scottish boy had a heart attack.

“Hey,” She whispered as his hand dropped from her cheek. “I’m sure it’s nothing, okay? It’s just about that stupid challenge…”

Her soft, musical voice trailed off and loud bursts of laughter from somewhere in the Villa carried across the lawn to fill the deafening silence. The ginger haired girl studied the side of Bobby’s face and watched as his slender fingers slid over his plump bottom lip. His dark brows scrunched together in contemplation, recalling the mean tweets they’d read earlier in the day before realization dawned on his face. When he turned his face to look at her again, there was a subtle glint of disbelief twinkling in his amber colored eyes.

“Ah. The infamous player tweet, huh?” His bare knee knocked against hers and a small amused grin ghosted across his mouth in spite of himself. “You know me. Player is my middle name.”

Fallon’s stomach twisted and she was sure her expression mirrored the irritation she felt. Moving her leg away from where it was pressed against his, she pulled her body up off the lounge chair with a frustrated sigh but she didn’t make it very far. She’d taken maybe half a step towards the villa when his warm fingers latched onto hers, gently tugging her back.

In his haste to get her to stay, Bobby had quickly stood up to catch her. The hand that wasn’t softly stroking over her knuckles came up to rest on her jaw, tilting her head up slightly to meet his gaze. Fallon felt a tug at her heart when she saw how alarmed and afraid he looked, a vulnerability that she caught quick glimpses of in only the mere week they’d known each other. It made her physically ache to consider the woman before her and what she had said or done to make him feel so afraid to lose what they’d built together.

Her resolve softened and her very short-lived irritation melted away; she could never stay upset with Bobby for long. It was like attempting to be mad at a puppy—a physically impossible feat.

“That is why I’m upset about it,” Fallon said quietly, making a conscious effort to keep her voice calm and level. “You keep cracking jokes about it but it’s not funny to me.”

His pretty, freckled face pinched in shame at the prospect of his thoughtless actions hurting her the entire day. “M’ sorry, lass,” He murmured. “It's just the idea of me being a player is so off-base that I thought it was funny. I forget sometimes we’ve only known each other for a week and you wouldn’t really know that about me.”

The redhead’s stare fell to the exposed skin of his chest where the top buttons were popped undone. She found herself instinctively tracing the clusters of freckles scattered along his sternum, collarbones, and pectorals—as if it were second nature and she’d been doing it her whole life; maybe she had been in another life and the familiarity of it bled into the one she was living.

When Fallon spoke again, she noted how her voice sounded tired. “You should’ve just told me that instead of laughing about it.” And then even weaker— “I was starting to believe that maybe you were just playing the game after all.”

Bobby’s thumb stroked along the curve of her cheekbone attentively. “Hey,” He hummed and the tenderness in the way his Scottish twang caressed that one word was enough to draw tears to her waterline. “Hey, baby, look at me.”

Embarrassment crept onto her cheeks and she felt her sun kissed skin burn against the palm of his hand but she obliged and the second her watery blue eyes peered up at him, all rounded out and doe-like, he felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. His brows scrunched together and his heart tugged. Seeing her cry because of him was absolute torture.

“I’d be the dumbest bloke around if I screwed us up.” The tip of his thumb caught the one stray tear that slipped over the rim of her lower lash line and he dipped lower to kiss it away. “I decree that you let me see that pretty smile of yours right now.”

The tiniest of smiles quirked up the corner of Fallon’s lips at his silly decree and Bobby frowned, clearly unsatisfied.

His expression softened into a loose smirk that reeked of mischief and the glint in his pretty eyes had her stomach flipping in anticipation. “Shame. I guess this calls for more extreme measures.”

With a brow arched in confusion, she started to curiously ask what these extreme measures were but the question died in her throat when he stooped to press his forehead against hers. The pace of her heart picked up in her chest and she was pretty certain she was holding her breath until the tip of his nose bumped hers. Fallon’s breathy, blissful laugh filled the silence between them and his grin only grew wider as nuzzled her nose with his, back and forth a few times like an Eskimo kiss.

For a few content moments, her eyes fell shut and the worry weighing her down lifted. Bobby’s gentle Scottish lilt whispering a cheeky ‘boop’ had her lashes fluttering and she was met with one of his radiant smiles. There was no doubt in her mind that his smiles could rival those of the sun.

A boy like him with sunshine for smiles could never be a player. He was sunshine embodied and he was the sweetest, most beautiful boy she’d ever known.

#bobby mckenzie #bobby mckenzie imagine #litg bobby #bobby mckenzie x mc #litg bobby x mc #love island the game #litg s2 #litg #litg imagine #litg bobby imagine #bobby x mc #litg fanfic #love island the game fanfic #love island the game imagine

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drcrushers · 3 years

Text

something i wrote on just for fun. it’s probably a little dumb, but here we are.

Your smile could out-shine the sun.

It had started out innocent enough. An envelope tucked into her momma’s mailbox and addressed to her while she’d been out. Not one to get messages except from Hermes, she’d opened it with some curiosity. A letter, beautifully written in an unfamiliar hand and unsigned at the bottom. Not quite a love letter, but something almost like it. A request to write back, to put it into the mailbox and it would get to the secret author in return.

Fuck it, why not?

She knew it was probably a mortal just showing fondness; she’d gotten letters like it before. But there’s something rather . . . fine. Poetic, in a sense. Kind. Made her feel a bit silly reading it over and over again, but Persephone is in a decent mood and decides to write back to at least thank them for the lovely letter.

So she does.

She keeps it simple. Nothing flowery. Thanks the supposed author for the flattery in the way she does all the mortals when they give her offerings. It’s nice to write a letter; she ain’t in a while. She and Hades ain’t exchanged them in years, he doesn’t have time for them. Much like he doesn’t have time for her, but that’s neither here nor there.

She writes back, signs it sloppily and tucks it into the mailbox.

Persephone doesn’t expect another one back.

I can’t stop smiling when I read your letter, so I hope you don’t mind my reply.

But there it is a few days later, the same handwriting with her name on the front. Which is strange - mortals tend to refer to her by titles, not her name. Afraid of saying it, they’d said once. Invoking her wrath. She’d called it a load of horse shit, but mortals tended to do things their way and she was content on letting them keep up that practice long as they wanted.

This one seemed different.

The letter was a direct response. The same flowery language, delicate and sweet. Flirty, if she didn’t know any better. How flattering. But now she’s just curious - and part of her is spiteful, too. If Hades knew, she could only imagine his fit of jealousy. Good.

Persephone replies.

And so a summer long fling begins. In words of course, nothing more. The letters become a brightness in her days of work. She looks forward to getting them, reading them, and drafting up replies. She develops a collection of them in her vanity drawer and the stack only grows as the summer goes on. A hidden secret, almost. Something her momma or Hades can’t intrude on or say she can’t. Maybe it’s selfish or stupid, but she doesn’t care. Not like it’ll matter come winter. The poor mortal will be dead or have forgotten her, surely. They often do when she goes down to the underworld. Back to her husband who’ll no doubt drive her to the depths of insanity again.

Hell, she might not even make it to the end of the summer. Maybe he’ll come get her early - again. She tries not to think of it, and spends her days bringing the summertime to those who need it most. That’s how she operates. The letters are a nice break and she loses herself in them late into the evenings. Rereading them. Writing back. Pretending she has a friendship-maybe-more with someone who certainly doesn’t build capitalistic hellscapes for what is supposed to be her benefit.

It’s not the butterflies she got from first meeting her husband, but the feeling is something similar. She can’t deny it. She genuinely smiles for what feels like the first time in years when she reads the letters or replies.

We should meet before you go.

The request comes as the summer begins to fade. Fall and winter are close on it’s heels. She thinks immediately it’s a bad idea - but Hermes, who knows now, only encourages it oddly enough. A night out before she’s confined in darkness for six months. It’s not a bad idea.

So she accepts.

---

Persephone hates her reflection.

It shows too many lines, too many wrinkles that have shown up over the years. Her hair is unruly, curlier than her momma’s and it snags everything in the fields in it’s grasp that leaves her plucking foxtails and other burrs out of it for ages. Even down to the shade of her skin - none of it seems particularly beautiful compared to her momma or their other relatives up top. Most of the time she doesn’t give a damn; some days she stares at her reflection and wonders what others must see in her. What her husband had seen in her that day in the garden some centuries ago. What made her so different? So beautiful when there were a plethora of other nymphs, demi-gods, and outright goddesses who outranked her in that regard.

She huffs, drags her fingers across her face. She’s getting old. Too old. Vaguely she wonders if, as a goddess of life, if she’ll end up grey and decrepit and still trying to garden? An old crone, meant to be the embodiment of life. Hera is as old as her momma and still somehow looks decades younger - then again, Hera doesn’t live in the mortal realm, and doesn’t do physical damned labor. Frankly she wonders how a woman like her survived ten years of war, but that’s besides the point. Much as she loathes her own reflection, Persephone would rather be wrinkled and grey than live on that mountain half the year.

She toys with a small pot of dark charcoal eyeliner, well used and worn before picking up a small brush with which to apply it with. She remembers using wild berries to stain her lips long before her momma ever let her near an ounce of make up, trying to make herself look like what she imagined the ones up on the mountain looked like. Ethereal, beautiful, striking women - as a girl she’d had no idea how awful and cruel they could be at the time and simply wanted to embody them. Now she mostly tries to be everything they aren’t out of sheer spite. She uses a rich plum color against her lips, and decides she looks decent enough in the reflection that blinks back at her.

She doesn’t know why she’s doing this - it’s stupid. But she’s just bitter and angry enough at her husband to spite him, too, and Persephone ain’t always made the best decisions sometimes. Hermes had only encouraged her, clearly eager to get her out of her own mind for a night and forget about her crippling marriage.

Harmless night of flirting could do her good. Remind her she ain’t an old washed up hag. Morale boost and all that. Not as if she wasn’t spending the evening in his bed - though the more bitter part of her says it might do her husband some good to think so. Sober his ass right up to keep him acting like a damned moron. Besides, she’s been writing with this stranger all summer. The letters have been her life and Persephone would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious and intrigued. Eager to meet this stranger who’d spent his summer writing to her as well. Clearly he cared and if Persephone could give him a night of enjoyable company (sans anything below the belt) before winter claimed him, so be it.

Huffing, Persephone tries to fuss with her hair - and decides it’s a lost cause. Why does she care so much? She shouldn’t. But she tries. Because Hades ain’t given her the excuse in a while. Might as well enjoy the night, even if it won’t lead to nothing. She ain’t that type - even if she wanted to be. Persephone has been fiercely loyal to her husband and knows he’s the same; they’re just a damned wreck when it comes to communicating. Maybe she can practice on this little date.. It’s the first time she’s given in to Hermes’ encouraging in a while - who she knows would rather see her happy than anything and thinks Hades is the source of all her misery. He’s half right. Truth is she does a lot of misery to herself because she can’t swallow her own damn pride or some other bullshit. Much as Hades has built the wall between them, Persephone’s been supplying him with the bricks for years.

She doesn’t dress fancy. Her usual is good enough, still smelling of the flowers and pollen and the warmth of the sun stitched into the fabric. It’s her favorite. Maybe that’s why Hades had replicated it in black for down below, the dusting of diamonds a nod to how he viewed her as a gem to be displayed. A gown of darkness that was everything her favorite summer dress wasn’t. She doesn’t remember where she got it, just that it’s comfortable and flows freely enough not to restrict her. In the other she feels caged, chest tight and pained when she tries to breathe too deeply. It’s in her head, she knows, but the difference still matters.

Satisfied she looks semi-decent enough to mingle with mortals, Persephone half gallops down the steps in the way she always has at her momma’s house. Ain’t been her house in a while. Ain’t felt like home since she ran off down below. Still, it serves as a roof over her head when she’s up top and her momma is still kind enough most of the time, eager to have her home. Demeter is out in the fields so she isn’t there to throw a comment her way as she leaves the house, the evening air slightly more crisp than usual. A sign that winter would be coming on soon - a sign that she’d be headed back down below in the not too distant future. Frankly she’s surprised Hades ain’t come for her already. Her stomach twists at the thought.

Hermes’ bar isn’t far, the town a small scattering of lights in the growing dim light of day. Small houses gathered together, a quaint little place that had been perfect for Demeter, apparently. The bar was one of the larger buildings, music and voices already adrift out the open door. She can’t remember a time when it wasn’t crowded. Since she’s frequented crowds have only grown - Persephone remembers being worshipped at altars carved of marble and stone; now there’s only the bar that carries her token of favors, her mortals far too eager to buy her a drink in some parody of once bloody sacrifices. She doesn’t complain; they’re good at picking wine.

As always there are gazes that turn her way as she approaches and Persephone plasters a smile across her face. She’s well practiced these days, pretending to be happy. The mortals don’t notice and greet her as always. Raise their cups, toast to their patroness who tries - but it’s hard when old man winter comes early and won’t let her go until late. Hard to keep an entire world going when she gets a fraction of time to bring decent harvests. Still seems no matter how hard she tries there are always ones who don’t make it through the winter. The ones missing from the tables in the bar. She may not remember their exact faces, but she knows they’re missing. Knows these places should be filled by healthy warm bodies - and instead there are only fleeting ghosts in the chairs instead.

“Was wonderin’ if you’d show up.” Hermes remarks lightly, pouring her drink before she can even reach the bar proper. “I always do. Show up. Reckon it’s like clockwork these days.” Persephone replies, grabbing the glass as he finishes and taking a long swig. Immediately the warmth spreads from her belly out, and she knows she’ll be numb by the end of the night. Hopefully.

“Sit yourself down. Or make the rounds. Whatever ya like. Your friend ain’t here yet.”

She snorts. “Of course not.”

Holding tight to her drink, Persephone does a turn about the room. The mortals are usually pleased to see her, leech off the warmth she naturally radiates. A smile, a laugh, a dance - it’s all too familiar to her and she’s happy to help in the ways she can. If they’re gonna die, they might as well die happy. Either way in the end they all come to her in the underworld. Once she could have granted them some semblance of the afterlife, but now they all toil away in those damned factories and mines. But they don’t need to know it. Not yet. Not now.

She loses track of time as some point, because Hermes suddenly grabs her by the elbow and they do a little twirl. Her body is less tight, the alcohol already working easily into her system to let her at least enjoy the night without struggling to forget about her shithole marriage.

“Your date is here.” He grins.

“Ain’t a date.” She teases. “Least, better not let my man hear you say that.”

“Won’t hear it from me, sister.” Hermes winks, and turns her nearly into the arms of another. A sharp, delightful feeling races up her arms and down her spine the second her hands touch the rough ones of the other figure.

She knows who it is without question, without even looking up. A smile comes unbidden before she can stop it.

“It’s you.” She whispers, one of those hands coming up to tuck beneath her chin, to bring her gaze to his. Her heart races and she wants to laugh.

Hades smiles.

“It’s me.”

#hadestown #inspired by the pina colada song ngl

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maevemarethyu · 3 years

Text

Unexpected (5/?)

(Not my GIF)

(This is my shitty border though. First try and all.)

You weren’t expecting it. Neither of you were.

That didn’t mean you weren’t happy with how it ended.

Bucky Barnes x Reader Fic.

Warnings: I don’t think there are any in this one? Sad Boi Hours, Firearms?

“That went well.”

Before the last word can leave your mouth, the newly familiar feeling of being wrapped in Bucky envelopes your senses. Your arms wind themselves around his large torso and relief seeps into your veins as you hold each other. It was really over. You and Patrick, he and Claire. It was done and you should be relived.

You weren’t. You felt sick and in pain. It hurts. Its terrifying. And James…

He was shaking in your grip. Or was that you?

Claire’s vicious words rise in your mind and you instinctively grip Bucky’s shirt tightly.

“It’s not true.” His voice reverberates in your ear and you pull your head away from his chest to look into his ice-blue eyes. “What he said. I don’t believe a word of it.”

Instead of trying to find words, you barrel back into his chest, nearly knocking the both of you onto the floor. After silently standing there for a few moments, your mouth opens on its own accord.

“They’re wrong about the both of us. They’re bitter and scared.” As they should be. There was no mercy for them in New York.

A chuckle rumbles around you and you finally peel yourself away from the giant of a man. “Frank.” He says after a moment. “Frank Castle. So you’re?”

“Y/N Castle. I’m sorry for not telling you before. Frankie made me promise to not make it known for my own safety. Started going by Patrick’s last name when Frank was drafted into special ops and, after the trial, we kept it even more on the down low.”

You had to assume the Avengers were briefed on your brother. It didn’t seem apparent that a mass murdering anti-hero wouldn’t be on their radar.

“Nat’s gonna lose it. she used to have an interest in your brother if you know what I mean.”

You do. You do know what he means and the mental image of your brother and the Black Widow together sent a shiver down your spine. The world would never be ready for that.

The words please god no are cut off by the sound of your phone ringing followed closely by Bucky’s and, with a simultaneous sigh, you both pull out your respectful devices.

“Barnes.”

“Dr. Castle.”

Matt mumbles something incoherently from his end of the line before the familiar voice of Karen tells him to shut up. “Hey Y/N. Not to worry you or anything but, Frank just called and he’s fully intent of going to prison so if you could-“

“How’d it go?!” Foggy yells, drowning out Karen’s plea and you rub your forehead with your free hand. They know how much you hate when they talk over each other. It always resulted in an instant headache.

A gentle hand on your shoulder draws your eyes back to Bucky who appears to be getting his own array of questions. He keeps his voice low to prevent any eavesdropping.

“You okay?” The warmth in his eyes offset their icy color and you feel the tension slip from your body before nodding.

“Don’t like to me Doll.” With a grumble, he takes the phone from your hand and turns on the speaker, then doing the same with his phone. A cacophony of your friend’s voices echo through your home and overwhelm you. You loved them, really, but right now all you want to do is curl up on the couch with Laysa (who somehow managed to sleep through the entire ordeal) and maybe drink yourself into a stupor.

As if reading your mind Bucky clears his throat loudly and the voices fall silent.

“We appreciate you all but, I think Y/N and I agree when we say we need some time to-“

“Unwind.” You supply when he falters and he gives you a bright smile. “Things got a bit heated and we want the time to process everything before we tell you guys what happened.”

“And maybe get you some ice for your hand.” James adds under his breath and you nearly snort from trying to hold back a laugh.

“We get it. Just call us when you’re ready.” A man says from Bucky’s phone and you let out a breath.

“Thanks Stevie. We’ll talk to you soon.”

“Let’s just hope its before your brother goes on another spree. I won’t be able to keep him out of prison this time.” Matt mumbles before ending the call.

James doesn’t give the Avengers time to question, quickly hitting the end button and turning off his phone.

You both let out a collective sigh of relief at the sweet silence.

“I’m glad Matt didn’t dial in Fr-“

A loud bang on your door causes a shriek to erupt from your throat and, before you can fully process what’s going on, a metal arm grips your arm gently and moves you away from the noise. Bucky tucks you behind him and draws a pistol from the waistband of his jeans. His movements are so fluid that you’re almost at a loss for words.

Almost.

“James Buchannan Barnes you brought a gun into my home?!” You keep your voice low despite your anger and he throws an apologetic look over his shoulder. You open your mouth to berate him some more when the door is thrown open, the lock doing nothing to prevent the force behind it.

A rain of dust from the sheetrock causes you to cough uncontrollably and cover your eyes but, the sound of an angry growl forces them open again. You knew that noise.

“Frankie?!” You sputter, walking out from behind the wall that was Bucky Barnes.

Lo and behold, there he was, your brother in all of his furious glory. You’d only seen it yourself maybe once or twice and, for some twisted reason, you found it comforting.

To your relief, James drops his weapon instantly and moves out of the way as Frank storms into your home. You had to admire your brother’s one-track mind as he completely ignores the other man and focuses on you.

“Where is he?” He was seething, red in the face, and breathing heavily.

“You broke my door.” You deadpan, crossing your arms across your chest. Sure, he was set on murdering your now ex-husband but, that didn’t excuse property damage. “You have a fucking key.”

“Y/N.”

You know he means business when he uses your full name instead of the various nicknames he had given you throughout your childhood.

“Long gone. Took his shit and ran when I called yoU!” Before you can finish your sentence, he pulls you into a tight hug and fresh tears spring to your eyes at the familiarity of it. It hadn’t been long since the last time he held you like this, barely a week, but the circumstances couldn’t be more different. You couldn’t be more different.

Last week you had been happily married and wanting to start a real family. Now you were divorced and seriously needing your brother to come cheer you up.

A tiny squeak breaks you from your thoughts causing your eyes to fly open and lock on Bucky’s ocean blue orbs as he bends down to pick up a whining Laysa. He nods towards the hall with the nursery and coddles her into his chest before leaving the living room quietly. The way it became second nature for James to care for the little cub leaves you with a fuzzy feeling in your chest.

Frank placing a kiss on your temple brings your focus back to him and he eyes you curiously.

“Is there a reason the Winter Soldier is in my baby sister’s house minutes after I get a call about her scumbag husband?” He questions lightly.

You scoff at the thought. You know your brother and you know his question is anything but innocent as his eyes watch the hallway like a hawk.

“The woman Pat was…” You can’t finish the sentence, not in front of him. “James’ wife. He caught them on camera. Ran all the way here when he found out Patrick was married. We wanted to confront them together.”

You can’t be sure but, an almost appreciative look enters your brother’s dark eyes and a warm feeling floods your body. For some reason the idea of Frank and Bucky not hating each other hadn’t crossed your mind. You assumed that they would instantly butt heads as most Alpha males did when in the same room.

Your thought may sound primitive to others but, reducing people down to their most basic forms came with the territory when you spent all your time studying the animal kingdom.

What you had in front of you was incredibly rare and you watch with wide eyes when Bucky emerges from the nursery and Frank releases his hold on you to properly greet him with a firm shake that probably would have broken Patrick’s hand.

Two Alpha males who’re not related coexisting peacefully. Your coworker Whitney wouldn’t believe you.

“Your sister has a mean right hook.” Bucky’s soft as velvet voice forces an embarrassed snort from you despite your brother’s proud look and when Frank looks between you and Bucky with a single raised brow, you cave.

“Okay! I may have hit her but, she deserved it.” You defend and, for the first time since he entered your home, Frank cracks a smirk. “And Bucky threw Patrick!”

“It was more of a toss really.” The world renowned and feared Winter Soldier shuffles his feet shyly, refusing to meet your eyes and Frank’s smirk widens into a full blow grin.

You shake your head with a laugh before your mind wanders to the little cub in the nursery. “How is she?”

James perks up instantly. “She’s good, fell asleep as soon as I put her in the crib.”

You can feel your brother’s eyes on you but, you ignore it in favor of wiping the residual tears from your eyes. “That’s good. It’s a wonder she can fall back asleep after being so rudely awoken.”

Frank has the decency to look properly admonished and you have to mentally take a step back. You currently had two of the most dangerous people in New York in your house and yet you had both of them shuffling their feet. You were definitely telling Sam about this.

“Sorry sis. I’ll fix it later.” Frank mutters, shaking the dust off of his jacket before turning towards the door. “Right now. I’m going to go hunt down your piece of shit ex and do much more than toss him around.”

With a fearsome grin, he flashes the two firearms on his belt and you huff in exasperation. “I told you I don’t want any guns in my house! Now, there’s four.”

Both men stare at you in confusion and you roll your eyes. “Buck you have another strapped to your right ankle. You’ve been favoring that foot since you walked in. I’m not dumb.”

The blue-eyed man’s face reddens when he realizes he’s been caught and Frank barks out a harsh laugh.

“There she is.” He smiles proudly. “I’m serious about the door though. I’ll fix it later. I’ve been waiting too long to put Patrick in his place.”

“No! You’ll fix it no-“

He’s out the broken door before you can finish your sentence and a frustrated growl erupts from your throat. Once again, your brother’s one-track mind ceases to amaze you and Bucky barely manages to catch the heavy oak door before it completely falls off of its hinges.

“I’m going to beat some sense into him next time I see him.” You vow, causing Bucky to grin sheepishly as he sets the door against the wall.

“So that was Frank Castle?” James laughs lightly.

“Yeah.” You hum. “That was Frank Castle.”

Chapter shorter than I hoped but, It was necessary for the story to flow better

Tags: @luthien-t @vicmc624

#Bucky Barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader

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definitely-not-an-alb · 3 years

Note

fanfic tropes! identity porn, friends to enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, coffeeshop au (don't have to answer them all, pick what you like). hope work went by quickly :)

Ahhh! Thank you, anon!

Identity Porn

How likely am I to write it: Identity porn isn’t really a narrative kink for me, so I wouldn’t go out of my way to put it into anything, if it didn't come up naturally. Or if it would be funny.

What characters/ships/fandoms would I write it for: I don’t really have a lot of fandom I could do identity porn for, too, so that's the next problem I have. RoL doesn't go for it much, and neither do TMA or Witcher or SGA. In the MCU/marvel comics I'm kind of only invested in Characters that just superhero under their legal name, zero fucks given in all canons I'm aware of, so oops there. Hannibal, maybe? Hannibal might work. Altho I prefere season 2 era, with everyone vague degrees of aware of each other's bs and scheming like petty murder divas.

Friends to enemies to lovers

How likely am I to write it: Very unlikely. I think the only thing with this dynamic I like is Hannibal, as in, both Hannigram and Clannibal and Clannigram, but I don't think I'd really seek it out in fic or write it. I don't even know why, I should be into The Drama Of It All, but I'm just not.

What characters/ships/fandoms would I write it for: Like I said, Hannigram/Clannibal/Clannigram, if it's something that retells an arc. I don't really do Ironstrange, but enemies to lovers or friends to enemies to lovers might be the only way I would, probably. They just don't get along in canon, and I DO NOT UNDERSTAND why people ship it so much. Also why is their Doc always ooc. Enough moaning, I'll stop, I'll stop. Have fun ya'll, but stop the goddamn cross/mass-tagging. There shouldn't be that much Ironstrange in the gen tag, ya hear me?

hurt/comfort

How likely am I to write it: VERY LIKELY. Hmmmmmm give me that good hurt/comfort.

What characters/ships/fandoms would I write it for: Basically everything, lol. All my faves are idiots who need to be shipped with therapy and tortured with hugs. The Bev & Thomas fic is very hurt comfort-y, as is the Nonromantic-Soulmates WIP. Yes I know I never finish anything, shhhh. There's also an unfinished Strangewong fic in my drafts that's technically sick!fic (I MEAN ... what else lmao) and involves cuddling and soup and being sad about Endgame, so. Which, btw, is THE ONLY reason I will ever acknowledge that dumbassery masquerading as plot. To mine it for FRIDGE HORROR *evil laughter*. And then hand out soup.

coffeeshop au

How likely am I to write it: Relatively unlikely? I don't really do fluff without plot (and I'm down with emotions as plot or snapshots that reveal something halway and sideways), and incidentally the only version of this trope I ever started would need a Graphic Violence tag lol. (If it wasn't LANGUISHING IN MY DRAFTS.) So I think I might be doing this trope wrong. Also doesn't help that I have experience manning a beer-counter / drink station, so I fall hard in the camp of 'that's an awful place for cute/fluffy shenanigans, have ya'll ever worked customer service lol'-camp. I see the appeal, but I also ... don't.

What characters/ships/fandoms would I write it for: Like I said, the only one I ever started was low-key a joke, because I don't do the trope and the fandom didn't have (and still doesn't have) one, and also because, you know. Graphic violence.

Have the first four or so paragraphs of the very unfinished RoL Demi-Monde Coffeeshop ... pre-canon canon divergence. Is there even a tag for that kinda thing? Anyways. I think the best part about this is getting to write a snotty totally-an-adult!!!-Peter who has zero respect for anything and thinks Thomas is the most ridiculous person he ever met. No graphic violence yet, only canon-typical ableist language.

There’s a lot of reasons people hate working in customer service; The bad pay, the atrocious hours, the customers, the service.

I did about two year of it, first on-and-off positions in some retail shops around where I grew up, punctuated by getting dragged along to my mother’s cleaning gigs, and then later, about a year in a not-actually-fancy Coffee House near Russell Square. And I figured afterwards my stint in customer service and retail had, at the very least, taught my younger self some much needed humility and compassion.

I’m kidding, of course. It just confirmed the suspicions I held towards my fellow humans. Especially the kind that start magic duels in public.

Now, I worked in a Coffee House, not a coffeshop, which meant Management got to price everything even more ridiculous then the rest of the world, we played wannabe-jazz elevator music instead of pop and our clientele wasn’t weird and crazy but more slightly bizarre and very deranged.

Like that one vaguely East-European guy who thought combining windowpane and paisley was a grand idea and who we – that’s the staff – did certainly not call Dracula, or the posh black lady who came to pick up her coffee before heading into the City every morning, except for that one time when, I swear on my dad’s record collection, she was wearing a diving suit under her costume, and of course Mister Stranger-Danger, who was the reason younger cousins didn’t get to do their homework behind the counter any more.

Of course we got your everyday stroll-by white girls and hipsters, but our regulars where, as far as I could tell, decidedly posh, but mostly not yet fully upper class, and also completely batshit looney, is what I’m saying. No offence to actual crazy people, because they certainly don’t dress that badly.

That’s why I didn’t even bat an eyelash when one day someone walked into the shop who was either a time-travelling noir-spy or a runaway extra from Downton Abbey.

He was a white guy, in that inexplicable past-40 age range where I can’t tell their age for the life of me, with a side sweep that must have been held in place with actual pomade, and dressed in one of those sleek looking, old suits with the broad, deep lapels and incredible narrow waists. To round off the impression that he’d come over, lean homoerotically close and tell me the name of the Kraut’s informant any moment now, he’d draped a Burberry over his arm and lugged an actual, honest to god walking cane around the city. It seemed impractical to me, but who am I to judge people’s fashion choices; I’m only the barista.

He also had that stiff demeanour about him, which I’d taken as a sign of something shifty going on anywhere else. Here, in seven out of ten cases, and even more with posh dudes, it meant that he longed to order something utterly ridiculous, with a long name, six ingredient and maybe some speculoos dust uptop, but didn’t have the courage too. Honestly, the way grown men start acting once there’s pumpkin spice on the menu is hilarious – you’d think we’re selling sex toys under the table.

#ask games #Ask game #anon #rivers of london #since there's you know actual fic in here

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