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mediumgayitalian · 2 months

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“Death Breath! Hey! Wait up!”

Nico bolts. He makes it about ten feet away from his cabin door before Will and his stupid long legs catch up with him, throwing an arm over his shoulder and then immediately tripping over his own foot and sending them both sprawling.

“I hate you,” Nico groans, curling up on the grass.

It’s too early for any of this. He was just trying to get back at Cecil for covering everything he owned in aluminum foil last week — and then he was going to go right the hell back to bed.

He knew he should have fucking shadow travelled.

“Aw, c’mon. You love me.”

Nico pretends to gag. The only thing he gets is Will’s crossed arms and raised eyebrow, so he doubles down and really starts to retch. Whatever. It’s eight thirty in the morning. He fell asleep at five. Rational thinking is a distant, distant memory.

“Whenever you’re done.”

“I will be sick at the thought for the next eight weeks,” Nico informs him. For dramatic effect, he looks up at Will’s face — which he cant even see, since the sun’s in his eyes — and shudders.

“You know, you have a genuine, beautiful talent for the dramatic arts, the likes of which I have never seen. Are you sure you’re not secretly an Apollo kid?”

I better not be, ‘cause then all the staring I do at your calves would be real weird, he thinks to himself, then considers whether he can convince Kayla to give him a lobotomy. He thinks she might like the opportunity.

“Piss off,” he says instead of that, artfully schooling his face into the aristocratic mask he’s perfected from his father, squaring his shoulders and looking at Will like he’s a pebble lodged in the flesh of his heel.

Will rolls his eyes. “Get up, Sharpay Evans. You’re gonna stain your shirt worse than you already have.”

Nico sniffs haughtily. “My shirt is perfectly fine, thank you very much. I order them in black for a reason.”

He notices a giant grass stain on the side when he stands. He ignores it. Will does not.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re the Goth King.”

“Ghost King.”

“Right, right. That helps your case.”

Nico shoves him, fighting back a grin. “Whatever, Solace. What are you bothering me for?”

“Oh, yeah!”

Nico is a deeply cheesy person. Down to the core of him, past all the sarcasm and prickliness and trauma, or whatever, he’s made of fucking mozzarella, because what business does he have comparing Will’s eyes to the morning winter sky? Huh? That’s embarrassing. It isn’t even original. If Nico caught anyone saying shit like that out loud in real life, he’s collapse into the shadows from embarrassment. He needs electroshock therapy.

“I was thinking —”

“Rare,” Nico quips, just to watch Will’s eyebrow twitch. It does. Nico smiles.

“I was thinking,” he repeats, mocking glare in Nico’s direction, “that you and me go to the city this afternoon.”

“You chased me across camp for that?”

“Oh, please, Zombie Face. I chased you maybe twenty yards.”

“I think all that time sniffing rubbing alcohol has deteriorated your brain.”

“I think I’m going to shove you in the lake.”

“Feel free to try. You will not wake up the next morning.”

“Nah.” Will shoots him a smug smile. Nico trips over air. “I can be as annoying as I want and you still won’t kill me. I have impunity.”

Nico rolls his eyes, refusing to dignify that with an answer. The less he acknowledges his own shame, the more likely it will go away on its own. Probably.

“Anyways. Guess what Cecil told me today.”

“His last will and testament?” Nico guesses, suddenly remembering his reason for being up this early.

“No, no, not that.” Will pauses. “Well, I mean, he did. I passed it on to Chiron. He has requested that when you maul him, you avoid his face, because he wants to be a sexy corpse and he can’t do that if you destroy his prettiest features.”

“Noted. Please inform him I will come for him within a window of the next fifteen hours.”

Theres a very particular face Will makes when he finds something genuinely funny. A smile a little more crooked than his regular one, teeth working at his bottom lip to hold it back, left dimple appearing in his cheek. It makes Nico want to do stupid things like press his thumb into said divot. He instead shoves his hands deeply into his pockets.

“I’ll let him know.” He clears his throat. “Anyways. You know what day it is today?”

Nico squints. “Tues…day? No, Wednesday.” He glances at Will. It’s been maybe….three days since their weekly sleepover? No, fuck, four. He thinks. “Thursday. Final answer.”

“Monday,” Will corrects, “and, gods, you need to sleep more. And a calendar. But no, that’s not my point.”

“Feel free to get to it.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Will finally explains. He tries for exasperated, but it doesn’t work — he’s clearly excited, bouncing on the balls of his feet and waving his hands. “And The Five Seasons is doing half off for couples, so you and I need to go!”

He waves his hands, as if tying off some grand reveal. His (blue blue blue blue) eyes are squeezed nearly shut by the force of his beam, which lessons slightly with every second Nico does not respond.

“William,” he says finally. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. “William.”

Will pouts. “What?”

“Explain how this is relevant to me, William.”

“Aw, c’mon, Nico! Don’t be difficult!”

“William,” stresses Nico again. “We are not a couple. Did you hit your head again?”

“Well, duh, Neeks, it’s about the scam!” He flaps his hand in a way Nico assumes is meant to convey something. “We’re gonna — eat! Cheap! By pretending to be a couple!” Now both hands are flopping, paired with wide, imploring eyes. “Obviously!”

“Obviously,” Nico repeats, slowly. He instructs one half of his brain to keep its focus on not melting into a puddle of blushing embarrassed goo, and the other to exercise restraint and not strangle the boy in front of him. A headache begins to press behind his eyes. “Will, what the shit.”

“You of all people!” Will throws his hands up. “You love scamming people! You hate corporate holidays! You frequently throw pebbles at people who look, and I quote, too obnoxiously happy! You’re the best hater I know! You should be on board!”

He makes a compelling point. Not that Nico is going to make that easy for him.

“You seem very invested in this,” Nico points out. He manages to keep his voice tastefully judgmental, which he’s very proud of.

“Of course I am! I want cheap Five Seasons food, godsdammit!” He pauses, switching tactics. “Nico,” he says softly. He puts a gently hand on Nico’s forearm, making him freeze. He is suddenly very, very close, and wow, did his hair always frame his face in gentle waves? Has that always been a thing? “I really, really want to scam a restaurant with you.” He smiles, small and crooked and gods, Will doesn’t look dangerous very often, but holy Hades when he does — “Will you make my Valentines, and scam a restaurant with me?”

His fingers begin to trace little circles in the inside of Nico’s wrist.

“Yes,” he squeaks, voice cracking.

“Yes!” Will cheers, pulling his fist. “Yes, hell yes, Nico! We are going to scam the shit out of this restaurant! Half off for couples? How about half off for heathens! Free money, baby! Fuck yeah!”

He turns back towards Nico, smile still wide and radiant, blinking eyes pools of sparkling excitement. Nico’s knees go a little weak. “I’ll come get you at 2! Thank you, Neeks!”

He runs off back to his cabin, only tripping twice. Nico watches him go, feeling a little like he’s tripping, too, with all the swooping his stomach is doing.

“Dude,” he mumbles to himself, shaking his head. “Be normal. Christo.”

It takes him ten straight minutes to get back to his cabin, even though he’s standing at the porch.

———

The obsidian handle of the Hades’ cabin door rattles.

“Neeks!” calls a voice behind the door, “you ready to go?”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Nico scrambles over to the mirror and stares at himself. He turns a little to the left. He scowls. “Shit!” Tugging the shirt off, he turns back to his closet, tossing the piece of clothing to join the rest of its brethren on the floor. “Shitfuck. Fuckshit. Shit.”

“Nico!”

“Coming!”

Tapping his foot rapidly, he looks harder, as if that will magically make the right shirt pop into existence, perfectly pressed, on a hanger. “Shit.”

“What could possibly be taking so long? You’ve had two hours!”

“I care about my appearance, Mr Flip Flops and Scrubs!”

“Bleh bleh! Hurry up!”

Nico bites his lip. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t, really. Five Seasons is not actually a fancy restaurant. He and Will just like to joke that it is, because it has tablecloths. They’ve gone there dozens of times before; they stop every time they’re in the city for supply runs or visits to Olympus or to harass their summer-only friends at school. There is literally no reason for Nico to be stressing about what stupid shirt he should wear. Gods know Will is wearing cargo shorts.

“Nico!”

“I’m coming!“

Scowling, he digs through the pile of discarded clothes until he finds the first shirt he’d put on — a dark green button up that was given to him, along with a bunch of other fancy clothes he never wears, by the Aphrodite cabin. He hastily shoves their buttons through their holes, cursing when he mixes them up and has to start over, and sprints over to the mirror to inspect himself.

The shirt looks good. It’s a little tight on the arms, which he suspects was on purpose, and the colour compliments his skin nicely. The buttons are a dark, shiny brown that match his eyes. They pair nice with his simple jeans and black vans, casual enough that he doesn’t look like he’s going to Prom, or anything stupid like that, but dressy enough that it looks like he put effort in. He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to make the staticky strands sit right, but gives up pretty quickly. It’s okay if one thing is a little messy, right?

“Finally,” huffs Will as the door swings open. He glances Nico up and down, then grins. “You look great.”

Nico was right. He is indeed wearing cargo shorts, although to his credit they are his one pair without various Head Medic stains. His sweater, too, is a pretty blue, V-necked, long-sleeved, and a completely different style than his shorts. It clashes horribly. His shoes are, for some reason, bright solid pink. Nico suspects Hecate magic. His hair is braided in two French braids, his favourite way to wear it. Nico believes he is also wearing a touch of sparkly eyeshadow.

“You look dorky.”

Will grins wider. “Thank you! I wouldn’t let anyone help me choose something.”

“You should have.”

“I wanted it to be authentic, Nico. Also, got something for you.” From behind his back, he pulls out a handful of daisies, black dirt clinging to their roots, like he plucked them straight from the ground. Nico is inexplicably endeared by the image, and prays the smile on his face is less soft than he knows it is.

“You got me flowers?”

“Well, duh, Avril Lavigne. We gotta sell the scam.”

Nico brings them close to his face and inhales deeply. They smell fresh and earthy and sweet.

“That’s a stupid reason to bring someone flowers.”

“Give them back, then.”

“No. Fuck off. They’re mine.”

Will’s eyes twinkle. “Okay.” He holds out his arm. “Ready to go?”

The jump is close enough that Nico can convince him to shadow travel, and not just because he sadistically looks forward to the shade of green Will’s face will get after. As dangerous as he knows it can be, he misses it, sometimes. There’s something comforting about it, something soothing and familiar. Shadow travelling to the restaurant eases any lingering nerves.

“If you’re gonna throw up, do it somewhere I can’t hear you,” he says as they materialize in an alley.

Will’s cheeks puff out. “I’m gonna do it on your fuckin’ shoes.”

“I will leave your ass here, Solace, I swear to the gods.” Despite his grumbling, he rests a cool hand on the back of Will’s neck until he’s recovered. “Good?”

“Yeah.” He straightens, dusting off his sweater. “Let’s go.”

Nico follows him down the alley and onto the street, elbowing past the crowd of pedestrians until they approach the familiar glass doors. He rolls his eyes fondly every time Will apologizes to someone.

“You need to be meaner.”

Will sticks his tongue out and tries to trip him. Unfortunately, he only manages to throw himself off balance, nearly crashing to the floor of Nico hadn’t caught him.

“Good gods, Solace.”

“That was your fault!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The doors of the restaurant are absolutely plastered in cheesy red hearts and bows and cartoon kisses. And, as promised, a giant sign promising couples a fifty percent discount on their meals.

“My love,” says Will dramatically, holding out a hand, “shall we?”

Nico sighs, resting his hand delicately in Will’s. It sparks with electricity, like it always does. “I suppose.”

“Party pooper.”

“I’m not hearing oh, Nico, thank you so much for doing this incredibly stupid thing with me, you are my dearest friend and I owe you one. Or three, for some reason.”

Will’s mouth twitches. “Oh, Nico, thank you so much for —”

Nico shoves him, laughing. “Shut up.”

They’re seated pretty quickly, server smiling when they take notice of their clasped hands. Will orders chicken tenders, like he does every single time without fail, and water. Nico orders from the adult menu and absolutely does not make any kind of show about it.

“There is nothing babyish about chicken tendies.”

“Oh, of course not.”

“Is this about you having a credit card? That does not make you more adult than me. It makes you a nepo baby.”

“Mhm. Sure thing.”

“Nobody likes a nepo baby, Nico.”

“Look, I think your drink comes with a complimentary sippy cup.”

Teasing and joking with Will is so easy that Nico forgets the core of their mission. The pink garlands hanging from the ceiling fade into the background — he’s too busy crying with laughter when Will nearly chokes to death on a french fry, too busy flicking a forkful of food at his shoulder just to make him shriek, too busy kicking his shin under the table. He catches Nico’s foot between his the fourth time he tries it, keeping it trapped for the rest of the meal. Nico finds he doesn’t mind.

“And your bill,” says their server when they’re done, setting down a slip of paper. “Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but do you two qualify for today’s discount?”

Will smirks widely. “We do,” he says, with no small amount of pleasure. He shoots Nico the least subtle wink of all time. Nico rolls his eyes, cheeks going a little pink.

“Great! You guys have a wonderful Valentine’s day.”

“You, too.”

The server hurries away, turning to their other tables. Will’s smile is wide and smug.

“I knew it would work.”

“Duh. Easiest scam in the world, Solace.”

He sticks his tongue out. “And thus the best payout. You’re welcome.”

“Blah, blah. Gimme the bill.”

“Um, no way, di Angelo. I’m paying.”

He opens his wallet before Nico can stop him, mouthing as he counts the bills.

“What? No! I’m paying.”

“Are not.”

“Am too!”

“Are not.” He sets down a couple twenties. Nico snatches them right back up. “You we’re just complaining about my credit card!”

“Exactly. Thus my need to continue to pretend you don’t have one, so we can continue our friendship.”

“Solace, I swear to the gods.”

“di Angelo, I swear to the gods.”

Nico stares him down. Will stares back. He doesn’t even try to hide his lazy grin, his laughing eyes.

“You’re not paying for this by yourself,” Nico says firmly. “You don’t have a job. My father invented being rich.”

“Sure, but I made you come with me.”

“Ugh!” Nico throws his hands up, imagining how satisfying it would be to wrap his hands around that long neck (followed by his teeth and his tongue and his —). “Why are you impossible? I would’ve gone with you no matter what, stupid!”

As soon as he says it he wants to stick his head in wet cement. For a brief second, something like surprise flits across Will’s face, before he schools it back into his teasing smirk.

“Well, obviously, Death Breath. I’m excellent company.”

“You’re literally the most annoying person I know.”

“And yet here you are, hanging out with me, of your own volition.”

“…I’m paying next time.”

Will grins. “Whatever you say.”

They walk around the city for a while before heading back to camp. Will says it’s because he needs the air, Nico knows it’s because he wants him to rest a little longer before trying to shadow travel again. He tries not to let himself get all melty inside.

(Nobody willingly hangs out around the city for the ‘air’. He’s a shit liar. Nico should be offended.)

It’s nearing curfew by the time they melt back out from behind Thalia’s tree, extra shadows of early evening making the trip easier.

“Those fries are going to make a reappearance,” Will grimaces.

“Not if you don’t want me to kick you in the face.”

“You’d never.”

He would indeed never. But he would rather pass away than admit it, so.

“C’mon, dot face. It’s getting late. You have a cabin to run.”

“Oh, Nico,” Will says in a breathy falsetto, “are you walkin’ me to my cabin? How chivalrous!”

“Nevermind.”

“No no no no no I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Nico allows himself to be tugged, weak to Will’s giggles. “Walk me to my cabin. C’mon.”

Sighing, as if he’s so put out, Nico does. Some point in between Thalia’s tree and the amphitheater, Will’s hand slides down from around his wrist to tangled in between his fingers. Coincidentally, his mouth goes dry.

As they approach the Apollo cabin, Will slows to a stop.

“Hey.” He squeezes their fingers together, smile soft in the dying light of dawn. “I had fun today. Thank you for coming with me.”

Nico swallows. One day, those words will be said in a different context, if everything goes well for Nico, and he’s not sure how the hell he’s going to handle it without bursting into flame. “Yeah, well. Anything to scam a restaurant.”

“Right.”

They walk the last few steps to the cabin, rickety porch steps creaking under their feet as they approach the open door. Will doesn’t let go.

“Hey, Nico.”

“…Yeah?”

Quick as a flash, Will leans in and presses the softest of kisses to his mouth. The noise Nico makes is practically punched out of his lungs, spine going rigid in surprise.

“You can pay for our next date, okay?”

He’s gone before Nico can respond, ducking into his cabin with a small smile and closing the door behind him. Nico stands there, like an idiot, for three solid minutes at the very least, distantly aware of the giggles coming through the open window.

His hand comes up, fingers brushing his bottom lip.

“The little fucker set me up.”

Valentine’s day scam. Please. The only scam today was the scam of Will’s sneaky asking.

Nico smiles.

“You’re a mess, Solace!” he shouts, knowing damn well Will is listening.

He’s right. “Goodnight, Nico!”

Shaking his head, Nico runs back to his cabin, entire body tingling and cheeks aching with his grin.

#they should argue more actually it’s so funny #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #will/nico #nico/will #banter #valentine’s day #fluff #fic #my writing #longpost #not established relationship but it might as well be

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eightyonekilograms · 2 months

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I went to the Apple Store yesterday to try the scripted demo of their VR headset. My overall impression is that it's the best possible execution of what might be a fundamentally flawed idea.

The passthrough video is pretty incredible. It's somewhat dimmer than reality, and the color accuracy is just OK, but it's more than good enough to feel like you're looking through clear displays at the real world. I'm told the passthrough on the Quest 3 is even better, but haven't tried that and can't comment. One thing is that there is a weird motion blur effect when you turn your head, I'm not sure if that's a display tech limitation or introduced deliberately by the software as a workaround for a different display tech limitation.

The resolution is 4K per eye, which, as mentioned, is more than enough for a powerful sense of presence in the real world. One of the nifty bits of the demo was when you turn the dial to tune out the world and suddenly you're sitting by a mountain lake, and the feeling of actually being there is overwhelming. The dystopian implications of needing a VR headset to sit at a mountain lake aside, it would be cool to have one just to have your office be anywhere you can imagine. Not $3500-before-tax cool, but cool.

Wow sports leagues are going to love this thing. I don't give a shit about sports and even I was thinking, "If the NBA put a stereoscopic camera courtside and sold you games for $50 a pop, I'd absolutely buy that"

But 4K per eye is not enough to do work, not even close. The experience of using normal computer-y applications on this was not unlike plugging your laptop in to a TV that's at the normal TV distance. You can do it, it works, but it's not anyone's preferred way of working. Text is amazingly legible, but only at sizes that are equivalent to having a single webpage take up your entire 4K monitor at normal monitor distance.

It is not particularly comfortable. Part of this might be that the store demo makes you use the "catcher's mitt" strap, which only goes around the back of your head and so gravity has to be countered only by the pressure of the thing against your face. Reviewers have said that if you use the other band that goes over your head the situation is better, but still.

A lot of early comments were making fun of Apple for having the battery be an external thing you put in your pocket and attach with a wire, but I think that's just fine: we all walk around with giant batteries in our pockets anyway, and anything you can do to have less weight on your head is a Good Thing. But then Apple took all those weight savings and spent them on making the stupid thing out of metal and glass instead of polycarbonate. It's nuts! It's like if you made a car that was 500kg lighter because you invented magical tech for keeping the engine somewhere else, and then went "great! with all the weight savings now we can build the body out of lead". Apple, you don't need to fear plastic. Plastic is good! Plastic built modern civilization.

You control it with a combination of eye tracking and pinch gestures. This is the main piece of evidence of my "best version of a bad idea" thesis: it works really, really well; so well that I can tell this is probably an evolutionary dead end. It's just fine— miraculous, even— for dragging windows around and doing the basic stuff the in-store demo has you do. It's amazing that you can more or less have your hands anywhere, including on your lap, and the recognition works perfectly (by contrast with the HoloLens I tried 5 or so years ago where the gesture recognition was total crap). But it's immediately obvious that you can never do serious manipulation of your computing environment with this.

The takeaway is that it's incredible for passive consumption of specifically-made media, assuming that ever exists at scale. But it will be a long time before we're gogged in like Hiro Protagonist to do our office jobs this way.

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ghostsvacuumcleaner · 9 months

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Metamorphose | 2k

my masterlist | ao3 ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader ✦ Summary: You and Simon deal with the pain of losing a baby. ✦ TW and general warnings: established relationship, angst, fluff, sensitive content (abortion), depression and eating disorder mentions, it's painful but he comforts you

A/N: Hi everyone! Since I'm working hard on some requests I've received and in the next chapter of Shades of Red, I decided to release this kinda old drabble of mine here. I'm not too satisfied with how it ended up but enoughly to post, so enjoy <3

I'd also like to mention that I have a taglist for my longfic Shades of Red but not one for my general writing and drabbles so I'll make a post for it, but till then, if anyone's interested in being tagged in my general posts and drabbles, please let me know <3

The sky is colored in blue, pink and purple.

Mostly blue.

You stare outside of the window while it changes, a golden yellow sun by the morning that rises; it spent too much time burning bright in the also bright blue sky. You counted the hours till it started descending. Now, the sun was nothing more than a little line by the horizon, and the sky was fading into cold colors, fading into the cold night.

You feel hungry, but it felt wrong to eat knowing you’d be sick of your stomach the second food hits it. You’re not in town anymore, Simon decided it would be better if the two of you took some time out in the country, where it was safe and you’d have time and space to do the things you loved. Running with your dog, swimming in the lake, breathing the fresh air. Truth is, you don’t feel like doing anything. Your legs are too tired, you’re sleepy, you’re tired. You’re very tired.

You heard him on the phone earlier. His voice was hoarse and low, he argued you wouldn’t want to receive visits. You could tell whoever it was - was insisting, pushing him too hard into allowing them to visit you. He blatantly denied, and you could feel his mood changing in a bit of seconds, his patience running low and the moment he turned off and let out a huge snort; and it had been perhaps two hours since that happened.

You let out a tired sigh, your empty sad eyes stare down at a small sign of movement under the window you were staring at. A little cocoon, seeming to be still inhabited, was hanging from a little line in there. You knew it was supposed to keep hanging till the moment that little caterpillar metamorphosed into a butterfly, and broke the shell, flying out freely. But for some reason you can’t understand - as well as many things in nature, this one cocoon is about to fall.

Your shaky hands reach out for it and before it hit the ground, you carefully pull it and it detaches without a second guess. You take a small look around the room and grab a small empty cup where the water you were supposed to have drunk evaporated, and place the small thing inside of it.

“There you go.” You mutter, the first time you hear your own voice in days, maybe weeks.

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. And you’re not supposed to die without being conceived the chance of living, even if only for a day.

You reach for Simon downstairs, minutes later. Looking pale for the lack of food you’ve been putting yourself through, tired for even standing, collateral effects of the strong medication you’re taking for the sake of your life.

“Baby.” You mutter, and he turns instantly from the alluring stare he was giving the fireplace. Your man’s sitting in a cozy armchair, drinking tea - cold at this point - and dissociating just like yourself. You blame yourself for a second: how can you put him through so much? Isn’t he suffering as much as you, why are you isolating him?

“Yes, my love?” He quickly responds, like he craves for hearing more of you. “Another nightmare?” he asks, standing to come closer to you.

You shook your head. “No… I found this.” you show the cup between your hands; Simon doesn’t seem to get it at first glance. “A butterfly. It’ll come out anytime, the cocoon is moving.” you state.

“Oh.” He raises an eyebrow, and sighs a little. “What a cute thing… Should we put it in the garden?” He asks, so much calm in his voice you feel yourself a little lighter.

“I want to see it.” You state. “The butterfly, I don’t know what type it will be, I’m curious.”

Simon looks at you like love would, if love was a person. He’s as tired as you, you can tell. Maybe his legs work a bit more than yours and his hands have the capacity of doing the hard work still, but his mind is as empty as yours.

“Of course.” He nods, and reaches for his own coat, placing it around your shoulders. You feel warm and cozy to the smell of him. “We can watch, come on.” he suggests, and grabs onto your hand.

His squeeze is light and calm, and your body follows him instinctively, not thinking about anything but the comfort you crave right now.

For the past few days, the only thing you could think of was the void in your belly. The void you haven’t felt in months; when you told him you were pregnant, Simon stared at you in complete despair and horror for at least ten excruciating silent minutes. You weren’t used to the idea as well, you’d have to interrupt your current work, you’d have to dedicate yourself to learn the slightest about being a mother.

It is a lie that every woman is born knowing how to hold a baby. When the two of you would visit some of your friends and their children, you’d try to picture yourself as holding your own baby instead of holding theirs. You couldn’t. They’d tell you that oh, god, don’t hold him like this, while laughing. But for you that was a sinful despairing moment.

Simon knew better than you, as a matter of fact. He held babies correctly, unintentionally - but very correctly.

You didn’t know if you were supposed to feel envious of his natural ability or proud of having this man as a daddy to your baby.

You learnt to love the little thing growing in your belly. He did, too. He would often bring gifts to you - keeping track with your cravings, and also buying things for the baby. Baby’s little room would be full soon enough. This little creature who wasn’t even born yet was everywhere around your house. The worries about conciliating Simon’s work with your pregnancy were starting to catch the two of you off guard, and soon as he asked for a license to take care of his pregnant wife, that day. That night. So much pain, so much blood. He wasn’t a small lifeless fetus anymore, it was a whole baby. It was a girl. She had a name.

Some things aren’t supposed to happen.

“Your parents want to visit.” He mutters, the two of you sitting in the swinging chairs by the garden, surrounded by dozens of different kinds of flowers. The weather is fairly cold, but you don’t feel it with his coat around yourself. “Told them you wouldn’t want to.

“I don’t.” You agree. “Tell them I need time.”

“I did.” He fixes the coat you have around yourself, and glares into you as the sky fades into deeper tones of dark blue. “I was a little less polite than that, but I did.”

“If you weren’t, they wouldn’t listen.” You argue, looking at him now, too. Your eyes fall deep into the void of his own.

For the first time in those two painful weeks, you can feel his pain flowing through his damaged soul. Like yours.

“I know. Terribly stubborn blood you have, dear.” he mutters, moving your hair off your face. “Did you manage to eat something today?”

“No. I’m sorry.” You mutter, your voice failing for the first time.

“Don’t do this to me.” His voice comes out pained like yours. He closes his eyes, and his jaw clenches in sadness when he sees the tears start gleaming through your eyes. “Don’t apologize. Don’t cry…” he asks in an almost begging voice.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, love, this is all my fault, it’s-” you catch your breath in your throat and suddenly, you’re falling apart. Days of nothing, weeks of not feeling anything but pain in your chest, despair, panic, and now you’re falling apart in front of him. Your tears stream down your face like overflowing rivers. “It’s my fault.” You say, grabbing handfuls of your hair and tugging your face on your knees.

Simon feels his own eyes get drenched as he can’t hold his own rivers by seeing you like this. He kneels down to the ground in front of you, pulling your hands from your hair, carefully stopping you from hurting yourself; feels excruciating to him to be able to do nothing.

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” He mutters, and you feel your body moving up. He holds you like you’re lightweight and takes his seat where you were sat at, now, holding you like a baby against his lap. You tuck your face on his chest now, the tears wetting his shirt, your painful voice coming out in low groans of pain, a painful cry of a mother who lost her children. The sad dead eyes of a father who watched this happening and couldn’t do nothing about it. The grief of parents, who didn’t have the chance of raising their children.

“Why? It hurts so much, so much.” You say beneath your cry, your eyes drenched, your face red from all of the crying. His hand is caressing the back of your head as he silently cries.

“I know. I know it hurts.” his voice is almost a blow of the wind, a whisper. “I can’t possibly know how it feels for your, my darling, but it feels bloody excruciating to me, everyday. I miss her all of the time.” He admits, his voice like the one of a kid who just lost its parents. “I miss talking to her, feeling her kick in. I miss her.”

For the past few days, the two of you seemed to be speaking in foreign languages.

Couldn’t understand each other. Couldn’t comprehend. He was in pain, so were you. None of you could see each other, understand each other. The two of you needed space. The fights, the screaming, his complaints about your refusal to get help and your anger for not feeling understood.

Right now, you feel understood.

Who could understand a grieving mother more, than the kid’s grieving father?

You miss moments that didn’t exist. That didn’t even happen.

You shouldn’t have died without even getting the chance of living. Even if for a day.

“I’d give anything to have a day with her. A fucking day, just one.” You mutter in admission, as you hug in his arms and feel his warmth start to make you calmer by the second. Simon closes his eyes in acknowledgement.

“Me too, darling. And I don’t know what can we possibly do so this hurts any less, but I’m pretty sure we can make it easier if we’re together in this.” He affirms, his hand reaching for your face and washing away your tears. You look at his eyes for the very first time in weeks now. “We face it together.”

The sky is painted in dark blue now as night approaches and the cold finally starts rising completely. You feel it hitting your skin, as Simon has you in his arms and you hum a low lullaby to the air. He runs his hand across your belly like he somehow tries to heal you from the void you’ve been feeling.

If she feels empty, then I’ll fill her with my own love.

You close your eyes and even though in this terribly uncomfortable position, you feel warm, and you feel cared. You rest. You fall asleep in a matter of seconds

None of you had awakened in time to see the cocoon hatch and the butterfly fly out. But for the past months, for the past years - when you were facing the task of emptying your baby’s room along with Simon, or when you were working - and even in other times, when you’d catch yourself thinking about her, you’d see a blue butterfly flying around you.

Simon was too skeptical to believe, but even so, he’d always catch every butterfly he’d see, and bring it to you. “Look, who’s coming to visit!”

#simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fic #simon riley fluff

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opencommunion · 4 months

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Hello, I really don’t want to be rude or anything like that but I would love to know any more information about the Christians in Palestine, Lebanon and Syria like, is it true Gaza had family lineages dating back to Jesus Christ? Asking because Ziocucks love making it seem as if Christians don’t exist over there

omg not rude at all, actually this is my favorite thing to talk about (it was a major focus of this blog prior to Al-Aqsa Flood) it's a huge topic so I'll link a ton of resources, but to answer your main question: yes, many Palestinian Christians in Gaza and elsewhere can trace their family history with Christianity back to the 1st century. the Christian community in Gaza is said to have been founded by the apostle Philip. the first bishop of Gaza was the apostle Philemon, the recipient of a Pauline epistle. a core zionist myth is the idea that contemporary Palestinians only arrived in Palestine in the 7th century or even the 20th century (see the links for debunking). but there's plenty of documentation of continuous Christian (and Jewish) presence in Palestine before, during, and after the emergence of Islam. Palestinians (and Levantine ppl more generally, but esp Palestinians because of the totality of their colonial dispossession—stories are often literally the only heirlooms refugee families have) typically have very strong family oral histories going back many centuries, so if a Palestinian tells you their family has been Christian since the time of Christ, take their word for it. community continuity is also about more than family trees—even if someone's family came to Christianity later, they're still part of the continuous living heritage of their community. the continuity of Palestinian Christianity is also evidenced by Palestinian holy sites. because Christianity was illegal in the Roman Empire until Constantine took power, dedicated churches weren't built until the 4th century, but many of these churches were built around existing sites of covert worship—for example the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem was built around a grotto that was already venerated as the site of Jesus' birth, the Church of St. John the Baptist in 'Ayn Karim (a forcibly depopulated suburb of Jerusalem) was built over a 1st century rock-cut shrine marking the site of John the Baptist's birth, and the Church of the Multiplication in Al-Tabigha (a destroyed and forcibly depopulated village on the shore of Lake Tiberias) was built over a limestone slab believed to be the table were Jesus fed the multitude. throughout the Levant there are also many ancient shrines (maqamat) that are shared sites of prayer for both Christians and Muslims; in Palestine many of these sites have been seized by the occupation and Palestinians are prevented from visiting them.

Palestinian Christian communities who are able to travel to the villages they were expelled from in the Nakba will sometimes return there to celebrate weddings and holidays in their ancestral churches, e.g. in Iqrit and Ma'alul (x, x). of course because the occupation heavily restricts Palestinian movement this isn't possible for most refugees.

here's some resources to get you started but feel free to hmu again if you have any more specific questions! Zionism and Palestinian Christians Rafiq Khoury, "The Effects of Christian Zionism on Palestinian Christians," in Challenging Christian Zionism (2005) Mitri Raheb, I am a Palestinian Christian (1995) Mitri Raheb, Faith in the Face of Empire: The Bible Through Palestinian Eyes (2014)

Christ at the Checkpoint: Theology in the Service of Justice and Peace (2012) Faith and the Intifada: Palestinian Christian Voices (1992) The Forgotten Faithful: A Window into the Life and Witness of Christians in the Holy Land (2007) Faith Under Occupation: The Plight of Indigenous Christians in the Holy Land (2012) Palestinian Christians: The Forcible Displacement and Dispossession Continues (2023) Donald E. Wagner, Dying in the Land of Promise: Palestine and Palestinian Christianity from Pentecost to 2000 (2003)—can't find it online but worth checking your library for

Pre-Zionist History James Grehan, Twilight of the Saints: Everyday Religion in Ottoman Syria and Palestine (2016) Ussama Makdisi, Artillery of Heaven: American Missionaries and the Failed Conversion of the Middle East (2008) Kenneth Cragg, The Arab Christian: A History in the Middle East (1992) Christopher MacEvitt, The Crusades and the Christian World of the East: Rough Tolerance (2007) John Binns, Ascetics and Ambassadors of Christ: The Monasteries of Palestine 314-631 (1996) Derwas Chitty, The Desert a City: an Introduction to the Study of Egyptian and Palestinian Monasticism Under the Christian Empire (1966) Aziz Suryal Atiya, A History of Eastern Christianity (1968) Michael Philip Penn, When Christians First Met Muslims: A Sourcebook of the Earliest Syriac Writings on Islam (2015) Early Christian Texts The Acts of the Apostles (1st century, Palestine. yes I'm recommending the bible lol but I promise I'm not trying to evangelize, it just really paints a good picture of the birth of Christianity in Jerusalem and its early spread) The Didache (1st or 2nd century, Palestine or Syria—the earliest known catechism, outlining how Christians were supposed to live and worship) Cyril of Scythopolis, The Lives of the Monks of Palestine (6th century) Sayings of the Desert Fathers and Desert Mothers (early Christian monastics)

for more resources specific to my tradition, the Maronite Church, see this post. for other misc Syriac tidbits see my Syriac tag. this is just scratching the surface so again, if you (or anyone else who sees this post!) have more specific interests lmk and I can point you in the right direction

#palestine #history #church history #library

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pennyellee · 8 months

Text

CHAPTER IV - ustulation

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, kidnapping, mentions of God, blood, incision wound, fictive mafia clan traditions, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of death, overwhelming, violence, threats, intimate encounter, kissing

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 5,6K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III GAME OF GO CHAPTER V

ustulation (n.) a burning lust

In the hidden embrace of a secluded mountain valley, a village of hanoks stirred to life on a tranquil winter's morning. The air was crisp, a symphony of silence. The Song of the Dead toned down for some time.

The dawn’s gentle light bathed the valley, wisps of mist from the frost-kissed earth, adding an ethereal veil to the scenery she watched carefully from the closed window.

The majestic mountains, ancient pines and stoic rocks stood as sentinels of the valley's serenity. She could see them from this side of the house. Y/N sighed, holding a cup of tea in her two small hands, warming herself up on this chilly morning.

“Is something bothering you, my love?”

Yoongi had tried his hardest the past month to get under her skin. There were times when he thought perhaps, she would welcome him into her heart one day. However, her repeated escape attempts made him think otherwise. He was giving her the space she needed with carefulness in every action he took. The young leader knew well that she wouldn't be able to escape while they resided here, in the core of the village. That did not stop her though.

As if nature herself wished to bestow a gift upon him, the first snowflakes began to descend from the heavens just as they were returning from that unfortunate, eventful day in Seoul. The snowflakes floated gently, even now, like fragile dreams.

“Are you feeling well? You spent a lot of time in the snow yesterday.” He murmured after she didn’t grant him an answer to his previous question. They had to postpone the wedding as the snow and frost reigned, making it unsafe to pass through the tunnels. The passage was being cleared by workers for more than a week now. Time seemed to stand still as they absorbed the grace that enveloped their world.

“I feel fine,” she muttered back, not even looking his way at the table.

“I’ve been good to you, haven’t I?” He asked, demanding to speak to her.

“After all the stunts you pulled, you’re still free to roam around without anyone guarding you. Not speaking of the fact that I’m letting you sleep alone—” he was going on rumble.

The young leader is patient, but he longed for her more than ever. The fact that they’re still not newlyweds, and he cannot show love to every inch of her body, make her swell with his child, was frustrating him beyond repair. She had let her guard down once and allowed him to take the chance and kiss her on the cheek, startling her yet again.

“—you’re so blinded,” she said suddenly, turning back to face him.

“Excuse me?” said he, very surprised.

“You go on about how you’re good to me, how this is God’s doing, and that I should be grateful—” she threw her hands in the air, frustrated by his demanding nature.

While the leader thought he was granting her the time she needed, Y/N felt more and more anxious every day. Her heart is still itching to be free, yet she cannot stop thinking about what her selfishness would cause if she indeed managed to escape.

“Well maybe if you didn’t run every time, I tried to show you affection, I wouldn't have to remind you of all this.” He spat angrily, smashing the chopsticks on the table, standing up.

“I’m patient—” said he, getting closer to her standing form by the large windows. “—but I swear to God, you’ll disobey me again, and that’s where my hospitality ends, Y/N.”

“I just—” she stammered, making him stop in his attempt to close the distance between them. “I’m scared,” she whimpered. Y/N didn’t know why these words came out of her, nor why there were tears. All she felt was exhaustion.

The scarred leader’s expression softened. Is she finally confiding herself to him, opening up?

“My love…” He approached her, taking the cup from her shaking hands, putting it aside and lastly taking her face into his hands, his thumbs wiping her tears away.

“I can make you happy. You just have to let me in.” He whispered, moving his face closer to hers. Y/N knows they will cross the boundary sooner or later. The winter is making it impossible for her to both run away and survive. Should Y/N listen to her mother’s words and let him make her his queen? The older female’s proclamation circled her mind at night while listening to the cracking of wood in the fireplace.

“Please let me in, dove.” He pleaded again, his eyes filled with sincerity and longing.

And once she nodded her head in approval, he didn’t hesitate to press his lips softly against hers. Time stood still, and the world around them faded into a blur of insignificance. Their hearts pounded in sync for a brief moment. She felt a warmth she couldn't admit, even to herself. Y/N wanted to hate him so much. Despite her inner conflict, she could sense the unspoken longings from his side, his desire to deepen the kiss carefully without overwhelming her. He wished to never let her go and feared that she would vanish in his hold. His lips were tender and tentative, like the brush of a butterfly's wings upon a fragile petal. Y/N knows he is holding himself back. The kiss was addictive, momentarily lifting the burden from her chest.

As he went to slide his hands on the swell of her heart-shaped bottom, a sudden cough interrupted the intimate moment. Y/N quickly pulled away, feeling shame and embarrassment wash over her caused by the sudden intrusion. She stole a single glance at the man standing by the door, grinning mischievously. Her cheeks turned crimson as she felt shy and exposed, but the young leader kept holding her in his embrace, not letting her go so soon after their first shared kiss.

Smiling like a teenager, he said: “What’s going on Hoseok-shi.” Y/N could imagine he is smiling widely as she had observed when she apologised to him for hitting his head with the stone. He waved it off quickly stating ‘I would be a fool to not forgive my new sister.’ She pretended not to be affected by his words, but it made the man she was to marry smile even more mischievously.

“I need to speak to you, and Y/N should get ready for Hyung’s wedding,” Hoseok said, his eyes gleaming with some secret knowledge.

Y/N exchanged a puzzled glance with Hoseok before nodding and extracting herself from the young leader's embrace, her cheeks still flushed from the kiss. Uncertainty hung in the air as Yoongi let Y/N go and walk away, admiring her graceful figure.

“What?” Yoongi asked, turning his attention to his trusted friend, who wore a smirk that hinted at hidden amusement.

“Nothing,” Hoseok replied, still smiling under his nose.

“Shall we?” Yoongi said, collecting himself and walking towards his brother.

“You won’t fancy what news I bring, brother.”

Silk banners fluttered in the breeze, announcing the joyous union to all who ventured near. The bride, a vision of grace and elegance, is adorned in a hanbok of flowing silk and intricate embroidery.

The groom, dressed in the timeless attire of a traditional hanbok, stood tall and resolute. His eyes fixed unwaveringly upon his beloved, as though she embodied the very essence of his being — a force that fuelled his heart.

Amidst the enchanting spectacle of celebration, the weight of tradition resonated with each uttered word.

The outside picture portrayed the unbreakable bonds of family and the beauty of two souls finding solace in one another. Y/N, however, couldn’t help but have a feeling that the poor girl the doctor was marrying did not find herself at the altar because of true love but fearful coercion. It reminded her of her circumstances — a pawn in a larger scheme.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow upon the snow-covered land, Y/N sat beside her to-be husband, observing his unusual joy. Accordingly. Today, one of his brothers was finally taking a wife and his bride in a momentary vulnerability that had allowed him to share a tender kiss with her, amplifying his joy to an even greater extent.

Her ears perked up once she heard the celebration of the union before her. She couldn't resist side-eyeing the other brothers she had encountered over the past month, and her gaze locked with Kim Namjoon, Kkangpae’s right-hand man.

Y/N remembers Kim Namjoon. His piercing, cold gaze bore into her soul, especially so during one of her escape attempts, when he forcefully brought her back to the main house, reprimanding her for disobedience.

‘I can either give up my life to save you or I can be your enemy Y/N.’ Namjoon had warned her on a night when she sought solace near the fireplace in Yoongi's office, wrapped in blankets to warm herself even more. She was rarely allowed in this sacred room unless her actions demanded attention.

That night, Yoongi was dealing with business matters. He came back to the main house to her shivering and crying form. It is breaking his heart every time he sees her in such a state but simultaneously, he wishes she would cross the border of submissiveness and obey him.

Y/N ignored his warning just yesterday when she attempted to run away again. Hence, the gaze. If she was afraid of his next steps, she wouldn’t let him decipher that.

She snapped out of her mind as Yoongi rose from his seat, taking her hand to help her up. Y/N looked at him with a mixture of confusion and concern. He gently nudged her behind him, positioning himself as a protective shield. She looked around her, seeing that everyone else was still seated. Their looks show emotions —excitement, joy, and pride.

Her confusion heightened when Yoongi began unbuttoning her fur coat that was hiding her long red qipao, and panic swelled within her.

"What are you doing?!” She whispered in distress.

“Behave.” He whispered back to her, leaving the coat open revealing her breasts and tummy.

Leaving her standing close to him, he held her hand tightly, as if afraid she might flee at any moment. Y/N noticed that Namjoon's attention had shifted to Seokjin's new bride. The bride's trembling form approached them, and Y/N observed the gleaming knife in Seokjin's hand, quickly realizing what was about to happen.

It whispered promises of power, of secrets that could be revealed with a single stroke, but it also carried the weight of consequences and a toll on the bearer's conscience. As the girl's hand was carefully sliced with the knife, Y/N couldn't help but empathize with her pain. Her father had a similar tradition; however, women weren’t involved; she was still left in the dark about her role in all this.

The girl then knelt, extending her bloodied hand toward the leader, reciting her pledge of loyalty to Kkangpae Min. Yoongi covered her hand with his other one, acknowledging her devotion and signaling for her to continue with the moving tradition.

The leader then used his left hand to guide Y/N forward, leaving her yet again puzzled and bewildered. A moment later, she gasped with shock as she felt the girl's bloodied hand touch her lower belly. Yoongi held her firmly in place, preventing any instinctual step back.

"I, with my blood, pledge my loyalty to you, Min Buin. Blessed be the fruit of your future legacy, Kkangpae Min," the girl recited, her words carrying both reverence and a touch of melancholy. The significance of the moment and the responsibility it bestowed upon Y/N left her grappling with a maelstrom of emotions.

“Well you handled that well,” a voice came from behind her, and Y/N turned to find Namjoon standing there, watching her by the fireplace in Yoongi's office. She had been curious when he would approach her, knowing that Yoongi had gone to check if the tunnels were passable.

Y/N couldn't quite discern the tone of Namjoon's remark—whether it held irony or genuine praise. Such was the enigmatic nature of this man.

“I suppose,” she muttered, hugging herself for comfort.

“I personally thought you’d slap her hand off. Such an act would undoubtedly stir up trouble,” said he as he settled down in one of the armchairs.

Her mind replayed the events of the pledge, and she confessed truthfully, “I was too shocked to do so.” The new bride's pledge of loyalty to her and her empty womb had caught her off guard, leaving her uneasy.

“Your father is not demanding newcomers to pledge loyalty?” He asked, curious about their inner circle practices. She smirked, sensing his attempt to pry.

“Yes, but not to my mother,” she revealed.

“You hold an important position within our ranks,” the right-hand man noted. “And that, my dear, is why we are having this little conversation.” Y/N looked up, finding him extending a glass filled with what she presumed to be rice wine or soju.

“I genuinely want to be your friend Y/N—” he said while passing the glass to her. “But you’re very hard to please, princess,” he exclaimed.

“By ‘wanting to be my friend’, you mean the part when you threaten me again,” she retorted with a scoff, alluding to his past warnings.

“That is a necessary evil,” he conceded. “But on a serious note, Y/N,” he drew closer, taking a seat slightly further away to grant her personal space, “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” she asked, feeling dumbfounded by his question.

"Is life here truly so terrible that all you can think of is escape?" he sighed, genuinely curious about her state of mind.

“Not all I can think of—” she began, trying to defend herself.

"Oh, so you did not attempt to escape just a day ago, and two days before that, and so on," he interjected, pointing out her recent attempts.

“What do you want to hear from me Namjoon?” she countered, feeling the pressure of his questioning.

“Hoseok hyung overheard your conversation,” he finally gave away the one piece of information he sought to address “What are you afraid of?”

Y/N gazed into the dancing flames, his words echoing in her mind. Memories of the recent kiss with Yoongi and the ensuing events flooded her thoughts. She felt her spirit on the brink of collapse, her attempts to escape repeatedly thwarted, causing harm to others in the process. Y/N was exhausted.

“I suppose I expected my life to take a different trajectory than this,” she admitted, reflecting on her circumstances.

“I can assure you that this will be the best that ever happened to you—” Namjoon insisted, trying to be reassuring.

“And that, Namjoon, is where my disbelief lies,” she interrupted him, peering straight into his eyes. He sighed, running a hand across his face, expressing a sense of frustration mixed with genuine concern.

“You didn’t give it a chance!” He raised his voice, unable to hide his emotions. He wanted this clan to function as it did for countless years and what’s more, he wanted his hyung to be happy.

“I’m going to ask you once again, and I want the truth,” he implored, trying to get to the heart of the matter. “What are you so scared of?”

Y/N decided to remain silent, knowing that her response would likely incite further frustration from him. "Is it sex?" he suddenly asked, shocking her with his explicitness. "Are you scared to be punished for your sins?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” she returned his rage, denying his accusation.

“Am I?” he continued probing.

“Yes, Namjoon! You are! You think I’m this shallow?!” she lashed out.

“No, but all you let us see is the shallow version of you. Apart from this morning,” he declared, referring to a rare moment of vulnerability she had shown.

“And it wasn’t meant for anybody to hear nor see that,” she snapped back at him.

“I understand your reasoning, Y/N. But we’re your family now, you don’t have to shield yourself against us,” he pleaded, hoping to break down her walls.

“He loves you, Y/N,” Namjoon continued, trying to make her see the sincerity in Yoongi's feelings.

“That’s very hard to believe too.” She remarked, still sceptical, looking right through his eyes. He took a deep breath, lifting his hand to touch his face.

“Alright, let’s make a deal,” he proposed, catching her by surprise and piquing her interest.

“About?” She asked, curiously.

“Give it a year,” said the right-hand man. By making a deal with her, he is going behind the back of his leader and, even more importantly — his dearest friend. Nevertheless, he felt obligated to do this for him.

"If you're still 'scared' of whatever you say you are, and this is not the life you'll be comfortable living, I'll personally see to it that you'll be transported to America," he promised, leaving her momentarily speechless.

“What is the catch?” Y/N wasn't naive. She knew there must be some ulterior motive.

"You'll stop being a flight risk. If you attempt to run again, the deal is off, and I will personally eliminate each person foolish enough to aid you since your arrival—one by one, ending with your cousin," he stated, laying out the condition.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she absorbed his chilling words. Her mind raced as she contemplated her choices. "That's the only condition?" she asked, ensuring she understood the terms before giving her answer.

"Well, naturally, I expect you to genuinely give it a chance, meaning that you will accept Hyung as your husband, leader, and lover," he emphasized the last noun, urging her to take his words seriously. Y/N stopped for a moment to collect her thoughts together.

“This is a one time offer Y/N. I won’t be this generous again,” he added. She struggled to read him, but she couldn’t. Namjoon was well known for being unpredictable — a quality that made him a perfect fit as the right-hand man. No one could ever say with certainty what his next move would be.

“Fine,” she finally relented, her voice barely a whisper. Namjoon extended his hand, sealing the deal with a firm shake. He leaned in closer to Y/N.

“I trust that you’ll be on your best behaviour from now on.” He whispered to her. There were so many emotions in her eyes right now that she was working hard to process. She barely nodded and averted her gaze down. Y/N couldn’t bear to look into his intimidating eyes no more.

“Very well,” he murmured, his gaze still fixed on her. “The tunnels have been cleared, and the wedding will take place this week." He told her.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the mention of the impending wedding. She was praying that perhaps she has more time to think of what to do with her situation. According to Seokjin, who came to visit and spent some time on occasion with her when his leader could not, the tunnels wouldn’t be cleared out until the end of December, giving her another month in total.

“Brother!” exclaimed Namjoon suddenly, breaking her train of thought. Y/N followed his gaze to the sliding door, where Yoongi stood, undoing the cufflinks of his shirt, the suit jacket already gone. "I was just telling Y/N the good news," Namjoon smiled at him.

Throughout this month, Y/N observed the strong brotherhood among Yoongi's most trusted and closest men. The deepest connection Yoongi shared was undoubtedly with Namjoon, which explained why he was the right-hand man.

Yoongi displayed a particularly protective nature towards his younger brothers. She had yet to meet Jungkook, the youngest, who had been recently assigned as captain of the front unit, as she overheard. On the other hand, Jimin was more involved in the open, managing the front business and whatever lay beneath it. The Chosen Hotel was highly popular among Koreans but was eagerly open to international guests too. Y/N suspected that the true core of the business was settled elsewhere, and she was eager to uncover it.

Seokjin, recently married, primarily served as the inner family's doctor. However, the Min clan also faced a shortage of actual medical staff like, so he had to run between the sanctuary, as she had learnt this place was called, and a front hospital.

Taehyung remained a mystery to her, despite seeing him in family pictures and hearing Yoongi mention him occasionally. He was supposed to represent the law in Yoongi's business dealings, ensuring the safety and legitimacy of their operations, including the handling of illegal earnings. Therefore, Taehyung is the safety pin of this organization. Whomever fucks up, he is there to defend them.

And lastly, Hoseok, a surprising contrast of joy and darkness. Y/N was taken aback that such a buoyant personality could be involved in such sinister activities. He was the arsonist who also took care of assassinations. Additionally, the clan engaged in money laundering, and Hoseok was responsible for collecting debts, often involuntarily.

Her eyes swelled with tears she was refusing to let out. Yoongi’s eyes met Y/N's, and she could see a mixture of concern and worry flicker across his face. A silent understanding passed between them, and they knew that they would need to have a private conversation later.

“Well, it seems you two need more privacy,” said Namjoon while he was collecting himself from the cushion he was sitting on.

“Did Tae call?” Yoongi asked before Namjoon could leave. “He did before Hyung’s wedding, to send his good wishes and—” he gazed over to Y/N who was carefully listening to their conversation, hanging on every word.

“—and?” Yoongi asked as he unbuttoned his shirt, a sight she had seen far too often for her liking. He was not shy with her; he could easily undress before her without a second thought. His attempts to walk in on her while she was changing didn't go unnoticed either, though she made sure to show her displeasure by throwing vases at him to keep him out.

Only now did Y/N remember the glass of alcoholic beverage that Namjoon had offered her, remaining untouched in her hands. She decided to take a sip, trying to ease her nerves before the conversation she was dreading.

“—and everything went well, as expected,” said Namjoon observing her as she downed the burning soju.

“Send telegraph to Wang and other families. We’re leaving for Chosen in two hours.” Y/N straightened herself, eyes wide open in disbelief.

“W-what do you mean in two hours?” She stammered. It was just past eight when she gazed at the clock on the wall. That would mean they'd depart at ten and arrive in Seoul around midnight.

"—I thought they just cleared the way. Why are we—" Yoongi cut her off abruptly. "I am waiting no more," he said firmly, locking his gaze with hers, leaving her in shock once again.

"On your way, please inform the maids to pack, and I want the cabin ready," Yoongi instructed Namjoon, who memorised every task with a sense of responsibility, seemingly disregarding Y/N's shattered spirit in the wake of this sudden rush.

“Can we at least talk about it?!” she raised her voice, causing the two men to stop in their tracks. They exchanged knowing looks, making it clear that this was non-negotiable. Yoongi clicked his tongue, biting his cheeks from inside, then turned to face his fiancée with a deceptive sweetness in his tone.

"Of course, my love," he said.

He nodded to Namjoon, who immediately took off, glancing at Y/N with a silent reminder to behave.

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asked nonchalantly as if this were a perfectly normal scenario.

“I don’t know, do you think this is right?” Y/N kept her tone tense, signalling her discontent.

“Nothing is more right than this,” he answered, pouring himself a drink while taking her empty glass and refilling it with soju.

"Yoongi—" she began to protest, but he didn't let her speak further, having heard her excuses countless times.

“No Y/N. I’m not negotiating this time. We’re getting married tomorrow afternoon and that’s final,” he stated sternly.

"You could at least wait a day! Do you think everyone will just jump because you said it's happening right now? And more importantly, let me mentally prepare for it?!” Her frustration grew, and she gestured wildly, almost knocking over the refilled glass that Yoongi handed her.

“They are already in town. The telegraph is just a confirmation that it will happen tomorrow.” Her distress and panic were understandable; she had believed she had more time than a few hours.

“And you didn’t think of telling me first?!” she raised her voice even higher. That she was in distress and panic was very understandable. Y/N thought she had more time than a few hours.

“No, because you were finally letting me in—” said he, downing the contents of his glass in one go.

“You knew this would happen for a month, and you would have had more time to prepare yourself if running away fifteen hundred times a day wouldn’t be on your mind,” he fired back, raising his voice at her, and immediately asserting dominance.

"I'm getting very tired of this. One step forward and ten million miles back, damn it!" he cursed, slamming the glass down on his desk in frustration. The tension in the room was palpable, and Y/N felt her heart sinking as she realized that her hopes of a slower pace for their relationship had been shattered.

“I have a very easy solution to that—” she said, raising herself to stand up to him.

“—Let me go,” she emphasized every single word, her frustration boiling over, and momentarily forgetting about her deal with Namjoon.

Her emotions were running high, and she went to pull the ring off to prove her point, but he forcefully grabbed her right hand, stopping her in her tracks. Anger filled his eyes as he crossed his other hand, grabbed her by the back of her neck, and crashed his lips onto hers, pressing their bodies against the nearest wall. He didn't give her a chance to catch her breath as he passionately bruised her lips.

He let go of her hand once he was sure she wouldn't resist. With his now free hand, he lifted her leg, wrapping it around his waist, squeezing her ass cheek, making her yelp and by that creating an opening to slip his tongue into her mouth. Y/N had no idea how long their intimate encounter lasted, but she could feel her head spinning from the lack of oxygen. Just as she managed to stop his other hand from slipping under her dress, aiming for her pulsing heat, he parted from her, both of them breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry. I got carried away,” he apologised, his eyes fixed on her now swollen lips. Y/N was taken aback, her head still spinning, and she couldn't think straight. He had such a powerful effect on her, and this aspect of life was entirely new to her, having been kept away from such experiences.

"I wish, —" he started, nibbling at her lower lip while he continued to speak, "—you would acknowledge my love for you." Yoongi kissed her again, not giving her a chance to recover or speak up, moaning softly into her lips.

"We are too close. I will never give you up.” he declared, wiping her tears away gently.

“I can’t have you running though—” he leaned into lavish attention on her neck, placing butterfly kisses up to her jaw and stopping at her lips again—

"I'll overlook this lapse of senses if you keep up this good behaviour, my love, but the next time you disobey me, I won't only discipline you; someone will lose their head.”

She trembled against him, feeling lost, scared, and vulnerable. Her breath hitched as she tried to speak up. Yoongi was beyond himself for getting her into this state where she didn’t dare to oppose his words and stopped fighting him. If she won’t let him in willingly, he will force her to open up to him.

“I told you to not take that ring off your finger ever again.” She remembers the words he uttered to her in the garden where he proposed to her. That she agreed still feels surreal to her. Running got her nowhere, but she still had a selfish feeling inside her that he was bluffing and wouldn’t dare to seriously hurt anybody.

“Now be a good girl and apologise for disobeying me.” He tightened his grip at her waist, finally staring right into her teary eyes. Y/N felt lost, scared and vulnerable. Her lips were trembling, and her breath hitched again once she opened her mouth to speak.

“Shhh, it’s okay baby, just say it.” He cooed, lifting his hand to caress her cheek gently.

“I-I am sorry,” she finally sobbed. If there was one thing the scarred boy excelled at, it was getting his way. He smiled at her, pleased with her response.

He smiled at her. “That’s more like it, baby.”

Y/N longed to curl up in her small apartment, where she resided while studying at college. She desperately wished she could turn back time.

“I have something for you,” he said suddenly, looking for any sign of curiosity from her. Yoongi stepped away to his desk, leaving her pressed against the wall, hesitant to move an inch. He opened one of his drawers and pulled out an envelope. Y/N couldn't make out the handwriting, but her eyes widened as she recognised it.

“Your aunt entrusted me with this letter when we came to the conclusion that you should be mine one day,” he said, holding the envelope in his hands. Y/N desperately wished that the answer and a solution to her fears would be contained in that envelope. She was mulling over the platform of this match-making her aunt orchestrated.

Wang Xiaoqing very much upheld the meaning of her name in the time she lived. Blessed with intelligence. And she was a fearless mafia wife who brought pride to her late husband. There are other intriguing things about Y/N’s beloved auntie. Xiaoqing is by far the only member in her large family tree that married for love. Y/N admired her aunt and, perhaps, seeing that it was possible to marry for love, made her blindly believe she could also have the freedom to choose her partner.

She dreamt of a little house in the woods, not far from a lake or a small town. Growing some goods in the garden, by night sitting near the fireplace, the love of her life holding her. She would work in a nearby hospital, or study overseas to become a doctor were all part of her fever dream. She knew it was unlikely to come true, given her family's ties to the syndicate.

But she could least dream about it. For a moment, when she was on the ferry to Jeju Island, she thought she would make it. Y/N knew the risk she was taking once she entrusted her well-being to Chan-yeol. She knew his role was insignificant and not a threat to any syndicate and it wouldn’t certainly attract Yakuza, but she was also aware that he could have been the only one to send her to the far land. She believed that God chose this path for her instead of being an arm jewel to some Yakuza brute.

Reality snapped her back from her swirling thoughts as he put the envelope back in the drawer.

“W-what are you doing?” she asked, taking a step forward.

“I will give it to you—” he promised “and tell you everything you want to know—” locking the drawer with a key.

“—After you’ll walk the aisle to me, without any of your misfits,” he finished his sentence.

"To strengthen your cooperation for tomorrow, I'm having your cousin and her husband at gunpoint during the ceremony," he added, making her scream in protest.

"I won't do anything stupid," she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Just let them be, please. They have little son, Yoongi.”

“I know, that’s why they are the perfect bargain to make you obedient. If this doesn't work, you still have other family members—," Y/N couldn't bear it any longer; she closed the distance between them, standing just inches away from him.

“If you would love me—” she started but before she could finish, he grabbed her waist and pulled her even closer, pressing his body against hers. She could feel his torso and lower body. He bowed down next to her ear.

“I’ll stop this necessary coercion when you’ll learn your place, my love.”

Yoongi loved making her squirm and overwhelm her. He was basking in the effect he had on her. The fact that she will be his wife in less than twelve hours was a source of satisfaction for him.

“You were my woman for a long time now, and you will be my woman till death do us apart.”

I N T E R L O G U E

“—And you’re certain that the man is on his way to Seoul.” The leader inquired of his trusted friend and partner, seated in the quiet confines of his home office.

“Yes,” Hoseok affirmed with a nod.

"Is there any additional information that I need to be aware of?” Yoongi's voice carried a hint of tension, his teeth gritted in anger.

"As of now, there's nothing more to report," the younger male replied, keeping the conversation concise.

“Do you want me to eliminate him?” Hoseok offered, waiting for his leader's command.

“Not just yet, I was hoping to have the pleasure myself.”

to be continued

author’s note: so here we are at chapter IV!! ♥ Thank you all so much for for sticking around chummers ♥ They kissed and much moreee!!! We'll see what we'll happen next. I hereby promise to post the chapter sooner than the end of Semptember, or I hope so xD Tho I have some wips to write and if I'll finish some then I'll post something new too ♥

Massive shout-out to Bex, the queen @chaoticpuff17, for beta another chapter!

Love you!!!!

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love,

𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

taglist: @beautifulcloudfestival - @chaoticpuff17 - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss @secfir @btspurplesky @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin

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cowgurrrl · 8 months

Note

Okay this is soooo very out there in actual probability of this being logical but the idea of a pool in Jackson or like people are allowed to go out to lake or something or they dig a lake like idek but something that involves reader in a swimsuit and Joel like 😳 in public so maybe a lil bit of jealous Joel in there, I just think it would be so cute and fun and spicy and idek if this makes sense hahaha, I’m so sorry for being awful at explaining ideassss🤦‍♀️🤣

The Snake River actually runs through Jackson so it’s entirely plausible (yes, I did do research for this)

Surprise

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author’s note: I didn’t go into this wanting to write smut but it happened and I don’t hate it?? Please be nice to me I’m just a girl

Summary: Joel has something planned for you [3.3k]

Warnings: language, murder jokes, Joel being a little insecure, Joel the Menace making a return, smut (18+ MINORS DNI), fingering, dirty talk, sex in a semi-public place??, almost getting caught, brief mention of a safe word

Joel Miller is not a spontaneous person. It was one of the first things you found out about him. He hates surprises almost as much as he hates planning them. He's someone who likes to know what's happening and when. He loves a plan. But he loves you more.

Everyone has gone back to school, and the seasons are in a neverending battle of when one begins and the other ends. The hazy August heat permeates the windows of your house as you lie in bed, hiding from the sun and the rest of your responsibilities. This time of year makes you especially grateful for your early morning patrol shifts. You get to finish up your work before the world has the opportunity to finish preheating, and then the town is quiet after that, with people shuffling off to work or school. Maybe that's why Joel wanders into your shared bedroom with your backpacks in hand.

"Are you doin' anythin' for the rest of the day?" He asks, and you give him a confused look.

"Besides waiting for our daughter to come home from school? No, I didn't have any major plans." You tease, and he rolls his eyes before tossing your bag at you.

"Meet me downstairs in five minutes." He says.

"For what?"

"It's a surprise."

"Are you finally going to kill me?" You ask, and he scoffs.

"Honey, if I was gonna kill you, I woulda done it a long time ago."

"Fair point. Suspicion always points to the spouse first," you say, sitting up in bed. "Where are we going?"

"Does the word 'surprise' mean nothin' to you?"

"Only when it's coming from your mouth."

"Downstairs. Five minutes." He says, effectively ending the conversation by turning on his heels and walking away. You groan in protest but get up anyways. If it's something he planned, it's probably worth getting out of bed for. Still, you shuffle your feet lazily as you put more distance between yourself and an afternoon nap.

He's almost giddy as you walk out of the house and into the blaring sunshine. Ellie still has a few more hours of school left, and even then, she's gotten over you and Joel walking her to and from class. She's becoming more independent as she gets older, which is fine, but seeing her not need you as much hurts. You talk about it on the way to wherever you're going. Joel says he's noticed the same thing but doesn't want to pry too much and risk being labeled "uncool." You have to literally bite your tongue to keep from asking when he was ever cool.

When you're far enough outside Jackson's walls, Joel grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers, swinging them a little as you walk through the fields. Rock jasmines and asters shake in the window around you, painting the world in shades of white, blue, pink, and yellow. Sometimes it's easy to forget just how beautiful Wyoming can be, but when vast meadows stretch out to the mountain slopes, and the sky is unbelievably clear, you remember. You look over at Joel with his long, graying hair and scruffy facial hair and smile. It's also easy to forget just how beautiful he can be with his gentle hands and crooked nose. He turns to meet your eyes, taking away your view of his side profile, and gives you a look.

"What?" He asks, and you shake your head. "You're starin'."

"I just like looking at you." You admit, making him scoff. Joel is probably the only person in this world who's unaware of how attractive he is.

"Needa get your eyes checked." He mumbles under his breath.

"Big talk coming from a man who refuses to wear his glasses even though he desperately needs them."

"I don't desperately need 'em."

"Really?" You ask, and he hums. You lift your free hand away from your body and hold up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?" He tugs on the hand he's holding and pulls you against him until your chest collides with his. The wind gets knocked out of you, either because of the impact or because you can see all his freckles when you get this close to him. He smirks as he stares at you, glancing between your eyes and fingers.

"Three." He says easily, leaning in to kiss you. You move back enough to make him huff in annoyance.

"That's cheating."

"Mm, I think it's called bein' resourceful."

"Is that right?" You ask, and he hums as he finally kisses you. You indulge him for a second or two before moving back again. "Could you really not see that far?" He sighs and mumbles your name, but you refuse to let it go. "Joel, if your vision's that bad, you need to be wearing them on patrol. I don't want you to make stupid mistakes because you can't see six feet in front of you."

"Look, I hear you. I do. I just..." he trails off, and you raise your eyebrows at him. "It's stupid."

"Stupider than not wearing them at all?" You ask, and he rolls his eyes—the drama.

"They make me look old, okay? That's why I don't wanna wear 'em," he says. Once again, you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from making a snide comment. "I'm already one of the oldest guys on patrol, and that's enough for the younger guys to make fun of me. If I start wearin' 'em on patrol, I'll never hear the end of it, especially from Tommy."

"You really care what they think about you?" You ask.

"No," he starts, but quickly shakes his head. "Yes. It didn't bother me, but then they started sayin' they didn't know what you see in an old buzzkill like me, and I just... I don't know." He says. You take a deep breath and wrap your arms around his neck.

"Does this have anything to do with you suddenly planning surprises for me?"

"I told you it was stupid." He avoids the question, but you still find an answer. He tries to hide his face in your shoulder, embarrassed, but your hands find his jaw and stop him.

"I don't think it's stupid. I think the other guys on patrol are stupid for saying that and making you think I'm anything but grossly in love with you. I think they don't know what the fuck they're talking about," you say, your thumb brushing against the patches in his beard. "And I think you don't realize just how hot you look wearing glasses," he scoffs, but you don't let him wiggle out of your grasp. "I'm being serious, Joel." You assert, and something behind his eyes shifts.

"Really?"

"Are you kidding me? It's, like, annoying how good they make you look," you say, and he smirks. "It's also sexy for you to try to stay alive. So, it's a win-win." He laughs, the sound making the sun shine a little brighter.

"I mean, who am I to argue with my wife?" He asks, relenting, and you hum.

"Exactly," you say as you kiss him. It was supposed to be quick, a passing kiss to remind him you love him, but when you try to pull away, he's back on you. His big hands snake their way into your hair as he kisses you like he's drowning and trying to pull the air from you. The buzzing bees and chirping birds of the field disappear, and all you can do is hold him. His body is firm against yours, and the soft flannel of his shirt feels perfect beneath your palms. "Was my surprise making out in a meadow? That's pretty romantic, even for you, Joel." You ask as you break away to take a breath that's not his. He groans and rolls his head back to look at the cloudless sky.

"Almost forgot bout the surprise," he says, looking back at you. "You're distractin' me."

"What did I do?" You ask. He grabs your hand and starts leading you through the flowers.

"You were tryna use your woman powers on me."

"Please, explain to me what 'woman powers' you think I possess."

"If you don't know, I can't tell you." He says like he's answering a riddle, and you laugh. The rest of the walk is spent hand-in-hand with his shoulder bumping yours occasionally as your feet walk over the summer grass. As soon as you hear water lapping over smooth rocks, you look at Joel, who pretends not to hear the same thing. He smiles when you hit the break in the trees, and the crystal water of the river sparkles in the sun.

You've heard rumors about the water being safe to swim in, but you didn't trust it. Not that it mattered. You and Joel have swum in way dirtier water than the winding blue river in front of you. Still, you were sure that it was a set-up by Raiders. But now, with Joel by your side, in the daylight, it's taking everything in you to not jump in the water. "I thought it might be nice. Just the two of us." Joel says. You nod and rest your head on his shoulder, looping an arm under his and holding his bicep.

"It is nice," you agree. "But we don't own swimsuits," you say, immediately clocking the excited expression on his face. "You're a menace."

"What? I planned a very nice day for us, and I just... forgot we needed swimsuits."

"Oh, you forgot?" You ask, and he nods.

"I told you, I'm an old man. I forget things easily."

"Give me a break." You roll your eyes before letting go of his arm and walking over to a big tree. You bend down to take off your boots and socks, and Joel quickly follows suit. His eyes stick to you as you pull your shirt off your head, faded scars catching the sunlight. Once you're left in your bra and underwear, you pause and look at Joel. He's stripped down to just his underwear, too, and you have a full view of his broad frame.

His muscular chest is littered with scars, some old and silver against his tan skin and others new and still raised and angry. Your favorite is from where he got caught under some fence a million years ago. It vaguely looks like a thunderbolt striking from his collarbone to his shoulder. You can see the goosebumps rising on his thick biceps from where you're standing. His hands are relaxed and open at his sides, visible veins thrumming blood through his body. His belly has rounded just a little since you've settled in Jackson, something he grew insecure about while you reminded him every day that you loved the softness of his body. His strong thighs are a little paler than the rest of him, considering his patrol schedule in the summer, but they're still freckled and scarred like the rest of him. Your breath catches in your throat when he pulls down his underwear and stands fully naked in front of you.

I guess we're actually doing this, you think as you unclasp your bra. You leave your clothes in a pile under the tree before darting into the cold water together. He ducks his entire head under while you tread, letting yourself get used to the temperature and laughing when Joel comes up with a sharp gasp. "Oh, you think that's funny?" He asks before shaking his head in your direction, frigid water droplets landing on your skin. You shriek and splash at him to get him to stop. He splashes back, making huge swells with his arms, and you have to dive under to swim away.

Once you call a truce on the water fight, you just swim together. You alternate between floating on your back, watching the clouds float by, and diving deep under the water to see what might be down there. After a few minutes, your bodies adjust to the water, and you can actually enjoy the river currents working against you. It reminds you of all the summers you spent in pools, the ocean, rivers, and lakes before the Outbreak. The memory presses on a familiar bruise in your chest, but it doesn't hurt. At least, not as much. Not when you're here with Joel, making new memories in a new world.

You swim over to where Joel is standing, his long curls touching the water as he looks up at the sky. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist once you're close enough, and he meets your eyes with a smile. His hands grip your thighs and trace patterns into your skin, the warmth of his touch a welcome relief in the cold. You play with the hair at the nape of his neck as you stare at him. "This a good surprise?" He asks, his voice low in his chest, and you nod.

"I like doing things like this with you," you say. "But I also don't want you to worry about keeping me interested in you," he sighs at your words but doesn't break away from you. "We've been together for years now. We went halfway across the country together. We have Ellie. You're it for me. I don't care what the younger guys on patrol have to say about it."

"You don't think I'm an old buzzkill?"

"Not all the time."

"Alright, smart ass."

"I mean, I don't know a lot of buzzkills who go skinny-dipping with their wives."

"See? Gimme a little credit here." He says, pinching your thigh, and you laugh. As the sound dies in your throat, his gaze hangs heavily on you. Suddenly, you're all too aware of his sturdy body under you and his hands on you. You get a little closer to him, and his stomach brushes against your core. A quiet, shaky breath leaves you, and Joel hears it. His lips ghost over yours as his hand dips down, a deft finger grazing your clit.

"Joel," you cry softly, clinging to him tighter when he presses a little harder. He shushes you as his middle finger ventures lower and just barely pushes into you. More. You need more, and he knows it. Asshole, you think to yourself, but your brain shuts off when he inches a digit into you so fucking slowly. You can feel his smirk when he leans down to mouth at the column of your throat.

"That good?" He rasps in your ear, and you nod as his hand adjusts to thumb at your clit. You jump a little at the molten pleasure pulsing through you. He chuckles lowly and nips at your earlobe. "I've barely touched you, honey, and I can already feel you squeezin' me." You can't even formulate a response once he starts moving. The slow drag of his finger against your walls is enough to drive any sane person insane. You whine when he pushes another into you and claw at his shoulders.

Your heart is fast against his chest. Everything you breathe, hear, and feel is Joel. You can't think about anything other than the weight of his hand working you over in the broad fucking daylight. You're close enough to the shore that anyone would be able to see you, but you hope you just look like a clingy couple enjoying a mid-day swim. It's a long shot, especially since he's mumbling absolutely filthy things to you. "You always sound so damn pretty." "Gonna let me fuck you like this?" "You're so good for me, baby." Every syllable makes you feel like you're burning from the inside out. His fingers languidly move in and out of you like he has nothing better to do before stopping completely, and you whine in protest.

"You're f," your sentence breaks off when he quickens suddenly.

"What was that, sweetheart? Where's that smart mouth now?" He asks. Your hips start moving in time with his ministrations, and he watches you like a man starved. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer as his fingers move faster inside you. You think your blood is thundering through your ears as bliss overtakes your senses, but you quickly realize it's hooves. You don't know if Joel hears it, but if he does, he doesn't stop.

"Joel, I think, fuck," he rubs at your clit with more fervor, making you see stars. "Someone's coming." You breathe, and his teeth scrape under your jaw. It's all too much. You moan and drop your head to his shoulder, losing all motivation to get him to stop.

"You gonna come for me?" He asks, and you nod. "C'mon, I know you can do it. Come for me." He hooks his fingers, nudging that spongy part inside you, and that's all it takes. Your mouth falls open, and fuzziness takes over your senses. You hold Joel closer as he works you through your orgasm with encouraging words and gentle strokes. Finally, you have to reach for his wrist to stop because you're so overstimulated, and he would live between your thighs if he could.

"Y'all alright?" A voice comes out of nowhere, and you jump. You and Joel turn to see one of the patrolmen from Jackson, James, on his horse a few hundred yards away. He's far enough away that he wouldn't be able to see you're both naked, but he can clearly see your clothes and backpacks on the shoreline.

"Yeah, we're alright. Just... havin' ourselves a date." Joel says, his voice annoyingly even. James looks confused, so you nod in agreement even though Joel still has two fingers knuckle-deep inside you. If he doesn't kill you, embarrassment just might.

"Well, then," James says awkwardly. "Y'all don't stay out too long. Maria'll have your ass if y'all come back hurt or somethin'." Joel shifts his hand as he nods, and you choke on a moan but try to play it off as a cough. Still, James gives you a look. "You good?"

"Yeah, are you alright, honey?" Joel asks in a mocking tone. You grit your teeth and dig your nails into his arm before nodding at James.

"All good. Just had a little tickle. We'll start heading back to town now. Thanks for checking on us." You quickly dismiss the patrolman, who is more than happy to get the hell out of Dodge. Even if he didn't suspect anything was happening, you know he's terrified of you and Joel. His ideal patrol is not having to deal with either of you and now he just got the whole package plus some. As soon as he's out of earshot, you smack Joel's arm.

"Are you fucking insane? He could've heard us!"

"Us? I'm not the one who was screamin'!"

"Okay, first of all," you start, holding up one finger. "I was not screaming. Second of all, I told you someone was coming, and you kept going!" He doesn't exactly look apologetic, but then again, you're not really mad.

"You know the safe word just as well as I do, sweetheart. I woulda stopped if you said it," he says, and you sigh. He's right. You hate it, but he's right. You try to hide your smile and shake your head as he kisses you. Slowly, he pulls his fingers from you, swallowing your over-sensitive whines down with gentle licks. A stupid thought wiggles its way into your brain, and you laugh against Joel's lips. Once you start, you can't stop, and Joel looks at you like you're a crazy person. "Now, what is so goddamn funny?" He asks, and you compose yourself enough to look at him.

"Think they'll still tease you over being old after you just made your wife come faster than they ever could?"

#can you tell I’m queer because all my smut is focused on female pleasure #mom June’s being a lesbian on the internet again #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of request #joel miller requests #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller the last of us #joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #joel the last of us #the last of us fluff #the last of us smut #the last of us x reader #joel tlou

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jamespottersmixtape · 5 months

Text

rosekiller microfic: goldilocks 1,632 words

a bit of soft rosekiller!! this is inspired by @myrows rosekiller art which you can find here! it made me want to weep a little when I first saw it, so naturally I had to write something haha :) ngl this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and it's by no means perfect but enjoy!! <3

Barty has always cherished quiet nights at Hogwarts.

When the chatter in the halls finally dies down enough for his thoughts to come back to him and homework has been carelessly tossed aside to save for tomorrow.

There’s a sense of serenity to it all that Barty rarely finds elsewhere. A break that he craves most at the end of a particularly stressful day.

Sixth year courses have been—to put it lightly, beating his ass—no matter how well he does. Today, it had taken him ten tries to get the nonverbal spell to work in Transfiguration. Ten.

Usually Barty needs no more than six tries for complicated spells, less than that for complex potions. Disregarding that he still did it faster than over half the class, now he’s just fucking tired.

He groans and shoves his schoolbag off the bed, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud, then flops backwards dramatically onto his pillows. The dorm room is dim, save for a few small candles on his bedside table. Cloaked in various shadows that dance around the room from the flickering flame.

Barty closes his eyes, taking a spare second to just breathe. There’s the soft white noise of the shower running in the background—Evan is taking forever, as usual—and sometimes Barty imagines he can hear the push and pull of the black lake against their walls. Lack of windows be damned.

It isn’t long before the water shuts off, and Barty feels the smallest smile tug at the corners of his mouth. It’s just the two of them for now, Regulus off doing god knows what at this hour. So naturally, a lot of built up restraint is needed for Barty not to rip open the bathroom door. To go and take in the sight of a freshly showered Evan and gather him in his arms before he can be stopped.

He’s been in there for less than thirty minutes but fuck it, Barty misses him.

Grumbling, he goes to change into the first clothes he can find. Settling for some years old joggers and a loose tank top, the soft fabric already making him drowsy.

The bathroom door creaks open and his head snaps up, immediately catching Evan’s eye. Barty really can’t help it when his heart skips a beat.

Evan raises his eyebrows, chuckling when Barty takes no subtlety in checking him out. His hair is dry, most likely done by magic. A thin blue t-shirt hangs off his shorter frame and each step taken towards Barty casts golden shadows over his skin.

Looking like everything warm and comfortable; the smell of his shampoo in the air so familiar that it hurts.

Barty’s smirk is wicked when he tugs Evan by his shirt into a light kiss. He makes a startled noise but melts into Barty’s touch regardless, fingers cupping his chin. The kiss is short but effective in making Barty’s head go all fuzzy.

“What happened to hello?” Evan asks when they pull apart—though not very far—now standing chest to chest. Evan’s bare feet fit in between his socked ones.

Barty makes sure to slather his words in extra charm, grinning. “Hello, gorgeous.”

“Wow, smooth talker,” Evan deadpans.

“You know you love it, Goldilocks.”

Barty takes a blonde strand between two fingers, tugging lightly at the end and earning him a deep scowl.

“I told you that nickname is stupid.” Evan rolls his eyes but Barty catches the blush high on his cheekbones. A light dusting of pinks and reds that work to compliment his freckles. Barty pokes him on one cheek.

“And I told you I don’t care.”

“Brat.”

Barty hums noncommittally, threading their fingers together. Warmth settles in his chest from the steady weight of Evan’s hand.

He leads Evan past the emerald green curtains of his bed and down onto the soft mattress. It’s a routine they’ve created over the last few months, and every time Barty wraps the covers around them it becomes harder and harder to let Evan slip back into his own bed. Something about having him in his arms means a night free of restless tossing and turning.

They lie facing each other for a few minutes, minimal space between them and their heads resting on one pillow. Quiet voices and even quieter laughs, a sacred bubble that neither of them dare to pop.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Barty laughs, his voice barely above a whisper. “You told Cresswell what?”

Evan frowns, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I told him…that if he feels the need to keep staring at you in class then maybe I should tape his fucking eyes open. You know, that way he wouldn’t miss it when I inevitably snog you right in front of him.”

“Evan!” Barty can’t help it, his laugh is loud when it bursts from his chest.

“Well, maybe I left out that last bit…”

It takes him a minute before his laughter dies down, the quiet settling back in. “You jealous?” Barty teases, raising an eyebrow.

Evan purses his lips. “No.”

Barty stares at him knowingly.

Silence.

Evan averts his eyes.

“Mhm sure, come here.”

He drags Evan in by his waist, the pair of them fumbling around until Evan’s head relaxes in the crook of Barty’s neck and his forearm rests over his chest. Their sides pressed together, Barty smiles—fully content now.

Wordlessly, Barty ghosts his hand over the warm skin, relishing in the way Evan shivers from the cold metal of the ring on his middle finger.

There’s silence for a few minutes. Evan’s hair brushes the side of his face and his warm breath fans across his chest, their hearts only slightly out of sync as they beat so close together.

It’s a lot for Barty to take in sometimes—the whole idea of them. Having someone so delicate, yet so utterly untouchable, be his. If anyone took the time to ask him, though, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Barty knows Evan’s eyes are closed, can see the shadow of his eyelashes. He takes the opportunity to trace over his freckles; a messy constellation that follows the high points of his cheeks, crosses sporadically over the bridge of his nose.

Evan scrunches his face up, which should not be so endearing. “That tickles.”

Barty turns his head, placing the quickest of kisses atop of Evan’s forehead, debating whether or not he should just give in and lick the side of his face. Then ultimately deciding against it—Evan did just take a shower—he’ll be nice for once.

“I wasn’t jealous. I don’t get jealous,” Evan mumbles, his voice lulled and tired sounding.

“Of course not, Ev.” Barty resists rolling his eyes, Evan can’t see his face anyway.

“Besides,” Barty continues, “If you were jealous, I don’t mind you threatening people for me…it’s kinda hot.”

Evan smacks him lightly across the chest, but snuggles deeper against his shoulder. Which definitely does not do a weird flippy thing to Barty’s stomach. Nope, not at all.

“Mm okay,” Evan yawns. Which, Barty can’t blame him. Exhaustion is slowly taking over his body the longer they lie here. At this point all he wants to do is blow out the candles and fall asleep. Keep Evan next to him the whole night.

“Hey Goldilocks.”

“Mhm…” Evan must be too tired to even rebuke the nickname.

“Reg is going to freak out if he finds you here in my bed.”

Evan huffs, not very different from a petulant child. He makes no move to get up or even open his eyes. “I don’t care.”

This time Barty can’t hold back his yawn. He shuts his eyes and allows his body to sink further into the bed. Further into Evan. “Maybe we can tell Potter how madly in love with him Reg is. Then they can finally leave us alone.”

“Payback,” Evan snorts.

They both fall asleep without really meaning to. Tangled limbs beneath the covers and hands that aren’t inclined to let go. As his mind quiets down, something in Barty feels settled. A puzzle piece slotting into place after searching and searching for the edge that matches. Evan tends to have that effect on him, he’s come to notice.

All is quiet for a while, the whole school in a coinciding state of slumber. A time when portraits snore softly and only ghosts roam the halls, the usual lively presence of magic at bay for now.

But not even thirty minutes later they’re awoken with a loud thud and a significantly darker room—Barty had blown the candles out after all—just in case.

“Lumos,” someone whispers.

Regulus stands at the end of Barty’s bed, hands on his hips and a look of annoyance on his face. His wand is now lit and shining far too bright for Barty’s liking.

“What the fuck, Reg?” he asks groggily. Evan groans beside him and tries to hide his face.

“Not my fault I tripped over your fucking books, Barty,” Regulus hisses. “And you guys are gross. You said no PDA in the dorm.”

Barty squints and gestures for him to lower his wand. Regulus does so slowly. “Yeah, well I’m a fucking liar. Let us sleep.”

It’s with a lot of grumbling and a sharp glare that Regulus turns and stalks to his side of the room. When he shuts himself in the bathroom Barty reaches for his own wand and spells his curtains closed.

He has Evan back in his arms in no time, steady and real and here. Absolutely not going anywhere, if Barty has a say in it. His fingers resume their path over his arm, tracing nonsensical shapes that neither can decipher. Before they both drift off again a thought pops into Barty’s head.

“We are definitely getting him back for this.”

#ahhhh another microfic i missed them #this is silly and self indulgent but i love them sm #so soft i'm kinda dying #shoutout to evan's freckles for being the sole inspo #and myro's lovely lovely art ofc #rosekiller #rosekiller microfic #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #barty x evan #evan x barty #rat's silly microfics

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aziraphales-library · 9 months

Note

Hey lovely people! It would mean the world to me if you could recommend some fics in which there is excessive PDA! if you can’t that’s perfectly fine, thank you! Have a good day!

Hello! Not sure about excessive, but here are some fics featuring public displays of affection...

Serenade by Aegopixel (G)

Crowley was startled from his slumber by the sound of something playing outside his window. At first, he was willing to believe that it was just the music drifting from someone’s car window as they drove by. Turning over onto his side with a loud grumble, he tried to go back to sleep. The music didn’t go away. It got louder. Either the car playing the music had decided to park beside his building and purposely piss him off, or… Actually, that was starting to sound like the only plausible option.

It's Valentine's Day, and in preparation for a lovely night out with his one and only angel, Crowley has decided to get a few winks of sleep beforehand. It should be easy to do - except that there's music blaring directly outside his window, and it sounds oddly familiar...

Getting Off by HopeCoppice (T)

After the apocalypse, they decide to try some human delights they've never tried before - like taking a train during rush hour. The results are... sub-optimal, but there's always a silver lining.

dearest love by asideofourown (G)

Crowley probably should have seen it coming, in hindsight.

He shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was, at any rate. It had been three months since the Apocalypse, after all, and almost two months since he and Aziraphale had officially gotten together romantically. They were still very much in their honeymoon phase (which Crowley thought was completely justified— he and Aziraphale had spent six thousand years denying feelings for each other, scared of the consequences, so he figured they were entitled to at least a few centuries of shameless PDA).

But still, despite the fact that he and Aziraphale hugged each other and kissed each other all the time, and Crowley knew for a fact that Aziraphale loved him, he was stilled floored the first time Aziraphale called him ‘dearest.’

[Aziraphale and Crowley try out some new endearments]

Sweet lovers love the spring by HolRose (G)

Crowley had to lean in and almost shout at Aziraphale, who was standing near the side of the lake looking around at the scene with a very strange expression on his face.

‘What the fuck is going on, Angel?’

‘Oh dear,’ said Aziraphale, looking rather pained and guilty.

When I Touch You by Kat_Rowe (G)

Aziraphale no longer feels shy about expressing his feelings in public, or about simply stating them outright. To Crowley, the fact that his angel enthusiastically does both within the course of a few minutes during a morning at Saint James's Park feels like both a major victory and a natural result of their evolving relationship.

(The fact that it also serves as a teachable moment is simply a bonus to the Guardian Angel of the world's queer and questioning community.)

By the way, holding hands? Waaaay better than Crowley thought it would be.

The Taste Of You by teardrops_on_ghostly_wings (T)

5 times Crowley kissed Aziraphale and 1 time he got a kiss back

Wrapped Up In Love by Kat_Rowe (G)

When Crowley shows up at the bookshop during a record cold snap, half-unconscious and barely coherent with the effects of torpor, Aziraphale does his best to help him get back to a comfortable temperature.

Cuddling with his favorite lanky redhead becomes cuddling with a rather large snake and, for the first time in their friendship, Crowley is comfortable remaining in snake form around his angel.

Their relationships is discussed, some past regrets are laid aside, company is enjoyed, and a bookstore customer is rendered first terrified and then delighted.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #fluff #kissing #cuddling & snuggling #public displays of affection #mod d

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houseofhollows · 2 years

Text

august

pairing: theo nott x reader

genre: fluff?

notes: i’m so used to writing angst that i don’t even know what genre this is. fluff? romance? something of the sort.

Summer was always too short. It seemed that it only lasted a couple of months out of the whole year, while the rest of the year was filled with cold, windy, rainy days. Of course, Y/N loves those sorts of days; while studying in the Hogwarts library, the only light being from the candles or the too-yellow lamps, the rain falling down the window in a hurry. Despite her admiration for gloomy days, she just wished summer lasted a little bit longer.

The sun was brighter than it had been all summer, promising a beautiful day. It had rained the night before, and so the earthy smell of the grass was wafting through the open window. The air from outside blew Y/N’s hair in a gentle way, a caress of the wind. The bay window had always been her favorite place to sit. It had a view of the garden, where lush trees and fully bloomed flower bushes stood. She would sit at that window and either admire the planet she got to call home or she would curl up under a blanket and spend her days reading.

Today, though, her friends were coming over. It had been a while since they all got to be together; strict parents or family vacations always had people busy. But there was only one week before they all had to go back to Hogwarts, so what better way to spend the end of summer than with your friends?

Below her window, Y/N saw her best friend, Pansy, waving her arms above her head, shouting for her to come down. She smiled at her goofiness and headed to the garden.

“Blimey, swear I’ve been doing that for hours. How didn’t you hear me?” Pansy gasped.

“Sorry, I was thinking,” Y/N replied.

“Clearly. You think way too much by the way. All the time. You never stop.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Y/N challenged.

“Just distracts you is all,” Theo interjected. It had been a couple of months since they last saw each other and Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if he had gotten prettier.

“It does not. If anything distracts me it’s you or Pansy.”

“Oh? I distract you. Am I just that handsome?” Theo replied, a smirk growing on his lips.

Yes, she wanted to reply.

“You wish,” she said instead.

Theo licked his lips.

“Will you two stop flirting? I’d like to go down to the lake,” Pansy rolled her eyes.

Y/N looked away from Theo and began to follow Pansy towards the lake.

–

The quiet lake sat nestled in the forest beyond Y/N’s house. The water was clear, and the reflections of the trees could be seen in the dark water. There was a small wooden deck from which you could jump.

Pansy and Blaise were quick to remove their clothes, excited to relieve themselves from the summer heat. Draco was mumbling something about them being too childish, but he too undressed.

Y/N laid out a large green and white plaid blanket onto the ground and sat down. Theo sat down beside her. The damp grass smelled sweet. The wind blew a gentle breeze and the sound of the leaves rustling sent her into a state of calm. Her white sundress billowed up her thighs and she was quick to push it back down, oblivious to Theo’s gaze on her legs.

“Are you two losers getting in or what?” Pansy yelled from the water.

“I’m good for now, Pans. Maybe later,” Y/N replied. “What about you, Teddy?”

“I think I’ll stay here with you for a while.”

The two looked at each for a moment, their gazes darting from mouth to eyes. Y/N looked away before she got too entranced. Theo always had that effect on her. His beauty never failed to make her eyes linger.

Pansy and Blaise were embracing each other in the water, Blaise’s lips lingering on Pansy’s forehead. Y/N felt envious when she saw her friends together. The two had been in love since the very beginning, and their feelings had always been obvious; not just to those around them but to each other. It hadn’t been hard for them to admit their love because they had always just known. It was different with Theo, however.

Ever since Year 3, Y/N could not stop falling in love with him. It wasn’t just his looks, but his calming voice, his carefulness, his love for those around him. Everything about him was a reason for her to love him. But there was no way he could love her back.

Needing a distraction, she removed her dress and began to make her way to the lake.

“Finally,” Draco said.

“Oh, be quiet,” she replied.

“Come on, Theodore. Don’t be a loner.”

He finally obliged and soon enough, all five of them were splashing each other, Blaise pushing Draco underwater.

–

The time had passed quickly and the sun was beginning to set. Theo and Y/N lay together in the field of grass, shoulder and thigh touching lightly. Pansy sat in Blaise’s lap beneath a tree, the two whispering to each other and giggling. Theo’s hand had moved towards hers and she felt her heart begin to beat. His fingers brushed over her own until they were entwined. To feel him against her, to be holding his hand. She had always wanted to stretch out her hand and touch the warmth of his skin. She felt herself yearning for more. She wanted his hand to touch her cheek, her waist, her hips. It hurt to know she couldn’t have that.

Y/N removed her hand from his and turned to lay on her side. It was rude of her, she knew that, but she couldn’t bear the pain of that longing, that feeling of desire. It was too much.

“Are you okay,” Theo whispered to her, leaning on his elbow. His face was right about her ear, and his breathy voice only had her feeling more.

“Never better,” she replied, trying to keep her tone neutral.

“Come on, Y/N/N, I know you. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Theo. Stop.”

She rarely ever called him Theo, and she knew immediately that she had said the wrong thing.

“I’m not going to leave you alone until you tell me, you know that.”

“Guess you’re going to have to bother me forever, then.”

“Is this about me holding your hand? Did I cross a boundary? I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to, I swear.”

Her chest suddenly ached. That’s not what she wanted at all.

She sighed and turned herself around until they were face to face.

“No, it’s not that,” she whispered, looking into his eyes.

“Okay, so what is it?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything.”

“No, not this, Teddy,” she smiled sadly.

“I don’t understand,” he frowned in response.

She gulped.

“You remember that time you asked me what love was?”

“Yes.”

“I couldn’t respond then, but I have an answer now.”

“And what is it?”

“Love is something that we take with us wherever we go. We take it into the next world and carry it from one life to the next. And I believe that everyone has a certain person that they belong with in every life; whether they find that person or not, whether the person they are with in this life is truly the one for them. And sometimes I hope that the one I love is really the one for me.”

Theo was silent for a moment before he replied, “And who do you love?”

Y/N hesitated. She had already said too much.

“You, Theo. I’ve only ever loved you.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’ve only ever loved you, too,” he smirked.

Y/N let out a sigh of relief and tipped her head back.

“Merlin, I thought I had fucked up,” she laughed.

Theo’s hand found its way to her cheek, his soft fingers caressing her jaw.

“I’ve been dreaming of this moment for a long time,” he said. He kissed her cheek slowly, wanting to relish the first moments of confession. It was true; ever said that night he looked into her eyes for the first, he had been addicted to her.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, her eyes slowly closing.

He did as he was told.

It was her first kiss. And it felt different than what everyone had described. People had said it would be wet, quick, awkward. But this felt like fire was erupting within her bones. Like everything around her had slowed to make that moment perfect.

#Theodore Nott #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #theo nott imagine #theo nott x reader #fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter #writing #theo nott x fem!reader #theo nott #theo nott x you #theodore nott x fem!reader

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allgearlit · 7 months

Note

Hello ! I wonder if you're new on tumblr. If yes then i'd like to welcome you and i just read your work with starscream and it was super adorable and also heart warming😭��️

If it's okay i'd like to request a small drabble with g1 Starscream and female human reader first contact au where a fem reader was taking a walk and suddenly finds abandonet jet and decides to take a look and then i'll leave the rest to you <3

OR something a bit more dark with also g1 Starscream and fem human reader where reader is being an unwilling captive and he decides to explore her organic nature ( could be a little non-con/nsfw-ish if that's okay if not then i comepletely understand <3)

You can pick between those two any you like more <3 thanks a lot for reading ans i hope you'll get a warm welcome🥰❤️

Hello! Thank you so much for the ask - I'm not new to tumblr per-say, I started as an art blog and decided to pivot to writing since that's more of my passion anyhow. Though I appreciate the welcome! <3

I love both ideas - I hope you won't mind if I maybe make the latter at a later date (with credit to you for the idea). The first one though; that screams (heh) mini series. I love the BumbleBee movie so much and fantasize about Charlie's scenario with other bots, so I'll make this into it's own little drabble series. I hope that's acceptable! ☆

G1!Starscream x Fem!Human!Reader: The Starscream Movie AU Pt1

I couldn’t tell you the time if I tried. I needed peace, freedom from my thoughts. A walk late in the night was my best solution. Anyone could tell you I haven’t been feeling my best recently, though to pin-point the problem would be an anxiety riddled mess in of itself. I walked down by the nearby lake that always looked so much bigger at night. Perhaps it was the contrast between it’s glistening blue water to the velvety black sky, or the way the stars hit the rippling water, creating a galaxy effect. Regardless, it was one of my few favourite spots in the area.

There was a bench that was almost always vacant, near the centre of the lake, just where the bend dipped over the shore in a gentle fashion. As I approached, something else caught my attention. A ship, or jet? I couldn’t quite tell in the light. It looked like something straight out of the military. I took in a sharp breath as the curiosity bubbled in my throat. I wanted to inspect the craft, anxiety and logic going out the window as I approached. It was a slender build, likely only able to house one person at best. The thought of there potentially being a body in the cockpit made me shudder, but I knew I had to check.

Reaching over with my shaking hand, I rubbed over the golden paneling, to my good fortune, it was empty. However, this lead to a new line of questioning, where had it come from?

I continue inspecting the craft, my hand gliding over the metal nonchalantly as I analyze it like an artifact. Something else catches my eye, a purple symbol - almost like a horned creature. Instinctively, my fingers glide over the etching, mesmerized by its rich colouring and definition. Whatever it meant was unfamiliar to me.

After my thorough inspection of the exterior, a little click and hissing noise arises from the cockpit, opening the sealed space. It was as if I was being invited into whatever this machine was, and I couldn’t help my temptations to peek. Climbing up onto the jet, I shuffled into its cockpit, as quickly as it had opened for me, it slammed shut.

An involuntary yelp escapes my lips as I hear the lock click into place, it was as if the jet was alive. Pressing my palms onto the panel, I whimper as I try to get it to open. A sudden noise fills the air, it sounded like robotic laughter. The noise startled me, and promptly caused me to land flat on my bum in the seat.

“Who’s there?”

Despite attempting to sound confident, my voice comes out as a weak whimper, panicked and unsure. The robotic laughter stops, and a voice comes out instead.

“Stuck on this wretched planet for less than half a cycle, and already an inhabitant has decided to be stupid enough to touch me.”

The voice was snivelly, snarky, and cybernetic. The kind that makes one a pinch uneasy. It filled the air almost too evenly, as if the words were coming from the jet itself. In my moment of logic, I begin trying once more to push the panel up, when the voice mocked me once more.

“Don’t bother, I’m keeping you in here so we can have a little chat.”

Defeated, I let my frame sink into the rather uncomfortable seat. Frustration bubbles within me as I look around the tiny space.

“Alright, let’s talk.” I speak up, my voice hoarse with that anxiety. “What are you?”

A light on the console shines as he prepares to speak, though nothing is obvious or makes any sense to me. Perhaps I was too oblivious to notice it at first.

“The name is Starscream, second in command of the Decepticons. Though, I don’t think your puny little flesh-bag brain can handle all of this info, I’m a Cybertronian.”

Every word that Starscream speaks makes me doubt him, as if the word Decepticon wasn’t already suspicious enough.

“So, you’re a race of alien jets?”

This prompts a grunt, and I swear if he had eyes they’d be rolling.

“No fleshie. We’re robots who can change our forms. This jet you’re in is my alt-form.”

Before I can even ask, I’m suddenly shuffled inside the cockpit as it literally changes shape with me inside. I roll around like a towel in the washer, when suddenly it finishes with me in the palm of a massive robot's hand. Starscream looks down at me with piercing red orbs. He has a smirk on his face as he looks at me, before proceeding to tousle me in his hand.

“You’re cuter than I thought, I might just keep you.” His voice is the same snarky tone as before, though now it’s clear that he is far more comfortable with me. I feel my face grow pink at the prospect of becoming his - human pet? I’m not sure what he’d make me, but regardless, I try to refute.

“Now wait a second -”

However, He places his thumb over my lips to promptly silence me, walking to where who knows where until he stands still and look down at me.

“...Where is your home fleshie?”

#starscream g1 #starscream #starscream x reader #tf g1 #transformers #transformers x reader #reader insert #g1 starscream #allgear drabble #sfw

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lunchboxpoems · 8 months

Text

PRISM

1. Who can say what the world is? The world is in flux, therefore unreadable, the winds shifting, the great plates invisibly shifting and changing–

2. Dirt. Fragments of blistered rock. On which the exposed heart constructs a house, memory: the gardens manageable, small in scale, the beds damp at the sea’s edge–

3. As one takes in an enemy, through these windows one takes in the world:

here is the kitchen, here is the darkened study.

Meaning: I am master here.

4. When you fall in love, my sister said, it’s like being struck by lightning.

She was speaking hopefully, to draw the attention of the lightning.

I reminded her that she was repeating exactly our mother’s formula, which she and I

had discussed in childhood, because we both felt that what we were looking at in the adults

were the effects not of lightning but of the electric chair.

5. Riddle: Why was my mother happy?

Answer: She married my father.

6. “You girls,” my mother said, “should marry someone like your father.”

That was one remark. Another was, “There is no one like your father.”

7. From the pierced clouds, steady lines of silver.

Unlikely yellow of the witch hazel, veins of mercury that were the paths of the rivers–

Then the rain again, erasing footprints in the damp earth.

8. The implication was, it was necessary to abandon childhood. The word “marry” was a signal. You could also treat it as aesthetic advice; the voice of the child was tiresome, it had no lower register. The word was a code, mysterious, like the Rosetta stone. It was also a roadsign, a warning. You could take a few things with you like a dowry. You could take the part of you that thought. “Marry” meant you should keep that part quiet.

9. A night in summer. Outside, sounds of a summer storm. Then the sky clearing. In the window, constellations of summer.

I’m in a bed. This man and I, we are suspended in the strange calm sex often induces. Most sex induces. Longing, what is that? Desire, what is that?

In the window, constellations of summer. Once, I could name them.

10. Abstracted shapes, patterns. The light of the mind. The cold, exacting fires of disinterestedness, curiously

blocked by earth, coherent, glittering in air and water,

the elaborate signs that said now plant, now harvest–

I could name them, I had names for them: two different things.

11. Fabulous things, stars.

When I was a child, I suffered from insomnia. Summer nights, my parents permitted me to sit by the lake; I took the dog for company.

Did I say “suffered”? That was my parents’ way of explaining tastes that seemed to them inexplicable: better “suffered” than “preferred to live with the dog.”

Darkness. Silence that annulled mortality. The tethered boats rising and falling. When the moon was full, I could sometimes read the girls’ names painted to the sides of the boats: Ruth Ann, Sweet Izzy, Peggy My Darling–

They were going nowhere, those girls. There was nothing to be learned from them.

I spread my jacket in the damp sand, The dog curled up beside me. My parents couldn’t see the life in my head; when I wrote it down, they fixed the spelling.

Sounds of the lake. The soothing, inhuman sounds of water lapping the dock, the dog scuffing somewhere in the weeds–

12. The assignment was to fall in love. The details were up to you. The second part was to include in the poem certain words, words drawn from a specific text on another subject altogether.

13. Spring rain, then a night in summer. A man’s voice, then a woman’s voice.

You grew up, you were struck by lightning. When you opened your eyes, you were wired forever to your true love.

It only happened once. Then you were taken care of, your story was finished.

It happened once. Being struck by lightning was like being vaccinated; the rest of your life you were immune, you were warm and dry.

Unless the shock wasn’t deep enough. Then you weren’t vaccinated, you were addicted.

14. The assignment was to fall in love. The author was female. The ego had to be called the soul.

The action took place in the body. Stars represented everything else: dreams, the mind, etc.

The beloved was identified with the self in a narcissistic projection. The mind was the subplot. It went nattering on.

Time was experienced less as narrative than ritual. What was repeated had weight.

Certain endings were tragic, thus acceptable. Everything else was failure.

15. Deceit. Lies. Embellishments we call hypotheses–

There were too many roads, to many versions. There were too many roads, not one path–

And at the end?

16. List the implications of “crossroads.”

Answer: a story that will have a moral.

Give a counter-example:

17. The self ended and the world began. They were of equal size, commensurate, one mirrored the other.

18. The riddle was: why couldn’t we live in the mind.

The answer was: the barrier of the earth intervened.

19. The room was quiet. That is, the room was quiet, but the lovers were breathing.

In the same way, the night was dark. It was dark, but the stars shone.

The man in bed was one of several men to whom I gave my heart. The gift of the self, that is without limit. Without limit, though it recurs.

The room was quiet. It was an absolute, like the black night.

20. A night in summer. Sounds of a summer storm. The great plates invisibly shifting and changing–

And in the dark room, the lovers sleeping in each other’s arms.

We are, each of us, the one who wakens first, who stirs first and sees, there in the first dawn, the stranger.

LOUISE GLUCK

#louise gluck #poem #poetry #summer #summer poem

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nczennie · 10 months

Text

summer 1963.

Part One of She's Like The Wind

Pairing: Reader x Stray Kid's Lee Know AU: Summer love, based on the film Dirty Dancing Genre: Angst, Fluff (this part) Preview: “Yeah, I carried a watermelon.” The words tumble out of your mouth before your mind can comprehend them. At this, Minho spares you a judging glance that makes you feel small, not bothering another word before turning and walking back to the dance floor. Words: 7.9k *Warnings under cut

Warnings: Some curse words, mentions of food, eating, and being full, mentions and allusions to drug use and bad side effects of said usage, overall mature themes.

Your head lulls softly to the side, pulling your gaze to the window- the same green stretch of grass stuck in your view for the past couple of hours of your drive. The deep colors seem refreshing even in the summer heat, much more appealing than the grey concrete that you were accustomed to.

Looking to your right, you see your older sister trying for the fifth time this hour to paint her toes a deep red without messing up with the occasional bumps on the road. In the passenger seat, your mom flips through a home decor magazine- one of the hundreds she brought to keep herself busy during the long ride to the countryside. Driving, your dad stays concentrated on the destination all while humming along to the songs coming from the radio.

You’ve come to love the idea of spending your last summer with your family at a resort a couple of hours away from the city. When your parents first mentioned the idea, it seemed less than appealing- being more focused on quality time with your friends before everyone moved away for college. But now that you’re here, you’re glad to have this time with them knowing once you leave to the college an hour from home- everything will be different.

You push those thoughts away for now- the inevitable change that is making you more nervous by the day but you want to focus on what you have now.

Not a half-hour later, the car makes its way on the dirt path to the large buildings surrounded by vast fields of green. The many guests loiter around outside, walking to their next destination or sitting, soaking up the sun. The closer you get, you spot a large lake just down the hill, complete with some volleyball nets and kids splashing in the water while their moms try their hand at tanning.

The scene is so different than the summers you’re used to and suddenly you can’t wait to see what else there is in store here.

Pulling up to the front behind several other cars, your dad parks and gets out, everyone else following in suit. A worker, no doubt a high school student with a summer job, quickly comes to assist with taking your luggage out of your car. You let your eyes wander to him, feeling bad as he’s left to heavy bags by himself as your family follows your father- he’s just spotted the owner of the resort and his old friend and excitedly makes his way to greet him. Staying behind, you make your way to the back of the car and start to hand bags to the boy. He gives you a genuine smile, his eyes nearly closing as he does and you can’t help but return it.

“You really don’t have to help, it’s my job, ya’know. You’re here to relax.” He claims as he places the bags on the bell cart. You smile softly, “I know, but it’s the least I can do. My sister tends to overpack, that would explain why we have eight suitcases when there’s only four of us.” You chuckle and the black-haired boy joins in. “Well, thank you for your help. I hope you have a wonderful stay.” He says piling up the last of the bags. “Thanks,” you let your eyes wander to his nametag, “Jeongin. Have a nice day.”

Jeongin waves you off as you make your way to find your family. You’re thankful you don’t have to go far when you see them standing in front of the resort, your dad still talking to his friend. At your presence, your father puts his arm around you bringing you closer into the view of his friend, introducing you as his youngest daughter.

“And this is here is my roommate and dear friend from college, Max Kellermen. He also owns this lovely place and invited us here for a stay.” Your dad smiles brightly as he talks about his friend. The middle-aged man politely shakes your hand as he smiles just as bright, the two of them clearly excited to catch up.

“I have no doubt you and your family will have a life-changing experience here. This vacation will be like no other.”

After a slow afternoon of settling in and wandering around the property, you find yourself sat between your dad and sister at the dinner table. One of the nicer dresses you packed feeling much harder to breathe in after the five-course meal that was presented to you. Dinner at the resort was held in a fancy ballroom-like hall where all the guests gathered to be waited on by the multiple waiters from the kitchen. The whole thing was enjoyable but the events from the day were starting to wear on you. You quietly stir at your coffee, barely listening to your father who loudly babbles on to Max who has joined your table for dessert.

“Is there anything else I can do for you all?” Your waiter for the night, a polite, handsome young man with an enjoyable sense of humor, asks checking in on you all once again. Max and your father smile up at him, “I think we’re good, Chan.”

Chan smiles his charming smile and you speak up before he can leave, “Actually, can I have a box for my leftovers. I wouldn’t want to waste,” You finish off bashfully almost embarrassed by your comment. Your father nearly rejoices by it though, “That’s right, Chan. We could all use some boxes. Wasted food and hunger are the worst problems in our country, could you believe?” You feel second hand embarrassment by your fathers words, clearly being affected by the wine he had for dinner. “You see,” he speaks to Chan and Max, “My youngest here is going to change the world. She starts college this fall and then after that, the Peace Corps that President Kennedy founded” He smiles proudly at you and you feel nauseous by the statement. You grew up close to your father, whereas your older sister enjoyed tea parties, ballet, and shopping trips with your mom, you tended to golf and volunteer with your dad. You suppose your closeness has allowed for him to push his views on you, so it shouldn’t surprise you at this point how much faith he puts into you and your nonexistent aspirations.

You hate it.

All this he talks of, college, peace corps, those are his dreams not yours. You fear that after all this time you lost a sense of who you are without your father's interference. You love the man to death, but hate the fact that you are living under his idea of a perfect daughter.

Max merely smiles at you before turning to your sister, “Well if she is going to change the world, what are you going to do, Daisy?” Your mother chuckles speaking up, “Oh, she’s going to decorate it.”

It takes you all by surprise when Chan speaks up as he clears the used dishes, “I think she already does.” He smiles at her before excusing himself. You giggle at the redness of her face and give your mom a look knowing just how much your sister loved it.

The conversation drags even longer between the two and you’ve even ended up asking Chan for another cup of coffee to help keep the sleep off of you.

Sometime later, a young man comes to your table seeking Max out, “Uncle, there you are. I’ve been waiting at our table or an hour now.” He chuckles and you glance over him. Max lights up at his presence and stands to wrap his arm around his nephews shoulder, “Everyone, this is my nephew, Neil. He is one of the managers here at the resort.” He proudly smiles at the boy. Neil politely greets everyone before taking an empty seat next to his uncle, “You must be the family my uncle has been talking nonstop about all summer. He’s so excited you all could finally make it out.” He keeps a wide smile on his face, letting his eyes wander over everyone at the table.

You keep a small smile on your face but inwardly groan at the thought of the conversation continuing any longer. The next fifteen minutes are spent with your dad being utterly impressed with Neil as he talks nonstop about himself and his accomplishments for being so young. You don’t think you've ever heard one man talk for so long about only his own matters and it didn’t take long for you to be completely put off by the boy.

Your relief came not long after when the boy stood, “Well, it was so nice to meet you all but I must be going. I’m due in the lounge to watch over the dancing.” He politely smiles. “There’s dancing?” Your sister asks curious about the activity she has yet to see at the resort. “Oh, yes. Every night we have a live band in the longue and most guests come to dance the hottest dances- from the foxtrot to the mambo. We even have professional dancers staffed that can teach and demonstrate to the guests. It’s really great.” Neil explains the situation and Max nods along proud of the popular activity the resort could provide.

Your mom and sister look to each other clearly interested in the activity whereas you could care less, never really have been much interested in dancing yourself. You look up with a start as your dad calls your name, “Doesn’t that sound fun? You know, Neil, maybe you should take her over to check it out, I bet she would love it.” Your dad smiles excitedly and you realize quickly he was so impressed with the boy he’s started to play matchmaker.

Trying your best to keep your emotions contained, simply looking to your father. “I don’t know, daddy. I’m quite tired from traveling today.” “We don’t have to stay long,” Neil smiles at you, “You can just check the scene out that way you know where it is for other nights.” “That’s a good idea, sweetie. Why don’t you go check it out for us and let us know if we should all go over tomorrow night.” Your mom speaks up nodding at you.

The longue is much bigger than you expected and the dimly lit room made for the perfect atmosphere. The live band continuously played upbeat and slower tunes to appease the large crowd of dancing guests. Though, much to your dismay, Neil insisted on having one dance with you and yet here you both were three songs later. You were never much of a dancer, not even interested in the deed during your final prom in the spring. Not much has changed as you stand swaying boringly back and forth with your partner. Though all the people around you seem to be having the time of their lives lazily moving to the music, you were bored from the moment you started.

As Neil continues his nonstop talking, you begin to think maybe it’s your partner that is making the dancing so miserable. The owner's nephew was very polite, but it didn’t take long for you to realize just how full of himself he is. The past fifteen minutes were full of him going on about how amazing he is to have started managing- not one but three resorts, at such a young age. You were able to slip in a few words about how hardworking he must be but other than that, he seemed to be content with you just listening to his whole life story.

The song finally comes to an end, the crowd stops their movements to applaud the band. You’re thankful for the opportunity to prepare yourself to tell Neil just how tired you were, but the band starts again- playing a much more upbeat tune than that of any you have heard the time you’ve been here.

You look on with curiosity as the crowd starts to cheer and clap as a couple makes their way into the center of the circle the guests have carved out for them.

Your eyes follow the couple in awe as they command the spotlight and start to dance, clearly much more advanced than anyone else in the room.

You’re unable to even find it in yourself to leave Neil as you’re absolutely captivated by the way the pair move across the floor all by themselves. Eyes wandering to the boy as he swiftly and gracefully moves across the floor, effortlessly gliding his partner.

A smile pulls on your face as he lifts her slightly, spinning her around letting the coral dress she’s wearing flow freely around her. The two were clearly professionals and watching their dance brought you joy as well as all of the other guests who stayed aside to watch their show. You had never seen professional dancers before but watching them now you were allured by their talent, unable to take your eyes off of them. Every part of their bodies seemed to move to every beat, everything about what they did seemed natural and intentional at the same time. “They’re amazing,” you let out as your eyes continue to follow the couple whose looks are as beautiful as their movements. Neil scoffs from beside you, “Yeah, well they should be we pay them for it.” He shakes his head as he continues to watch their routine, “They’re supposed to be selling lessons to the guests but they’re just showing off.” You want to argue that everyone around them is clearly enjoying the act but you don’t bother using the energy to talk to the boy.

You stay watching the couple, unable to tear your gaze away from every twist and twirl they make. They eventually end and bow respectively to the crowd who cheers loudly for their talents. Even then, your eyes stay focused on the gorgeous girl and boy who shines just as beautifully. You watch as they go their separate ways, making their way in the crowd to politely dance with some of the guests- a clear part of their attempt to sell lessons. You follow the boy’s head until you can no longer see it, mind wandering to ask your father to pay for dance lessons this summer. That would be a great idea, you thought, if only you liked dancing.

The next couple days of your vacation were uneventful- relaxing but nothing too memorable. You often found yourself wandering the resort by yourself as you parents partook in the multiple activities offered and your sister spent as much time as she could with the waiter, Chan.

This night wasn’t much different as you wandered around the different paths of the resort after dinner, picking daisies that littered the grass. The sun had fallen long ago but you couldn’t find it in yourself to stay cooped up in the room when Daisy had gone into town with Chan and your parents were watching a screening of a new movie in the small theater within the hotel. So, much like any other time, you found your feet carried you outside and simply walked where you could.

You hum along to a song that’s tune has been in your head all day as you hop along the rock-paved path going to the bottom of a hill you have yet to explore. Half way down, you notice the presence of another. It was a boy who seemed to struggling to carry something as he walked further in front of you. Squinting your eyes, you notice the boy is familiar. “Jeongin! Hey!” You call out with a smile, happy to see another person you know. You jog briskly down the hill to meet him where he stopped with a smile. You hold your white dress to keep it from flowing too far up and you make your way to the black haired boy, sending him a big smile as you finally reach him. “Hey,” he returns your smile and you look down to see him struggling to keep his grip on a couple of watermelons. You automatically go to grab one with a huff as it’s much heavier than you first expected, “Where are you going? I’ll help take this there.” Jeongin chuckles at you, “What? Don’t you have to go meet your manager boyfriend?”

You frown at the mention of Neil, the boy clearly having seen your parents attempt of having you spend time with the conceded boy. Rather annoyed by his comment, you roll your eyes, roughly pushing the watermelon back into his arms and turn around to take your leave, disappointed by the boy you were originally pleased to see.

“Hey! Wait! I was messing around, c’mon I could use your help.” You spin around, sending the boy a glare as you pull the extra fruit from his arms. Jeongin laughs and hoists the fruit he still has further up in his arms, “Well, let’s go then. But don’t you dare even mention what I’m about to show you.” he says the threat with such a light tone that you barely register what he was saying. “What do you mean?” You ask as you follow him further away from where you met. “Where we’re going is only for staff members, so you’re not even allowed to be there.” He says nonchalantly and your confused as to whether he is being serious or not. “And when I say that, I mean only certain staff,” he huffs as you two make your way up a hill, “So don’t mention it to nobody, especially not the manager.” You roll your eyes but refrain from biting back at the comment about Neil once again.

Finally making your way to a small wooden building, Jeongin roughly shoves the two doors open using the back of his body, making sure one of them stayed open long enough to safely let you in. Yet you’re so surprised by your new surroundings you can’t even find it in yourself to thank him.

Though the lighting is dim just like the dance lounge on the main resort - that is the only thing that you find familiar. The room is hazy and filled with smoke and there is a loud booming from the speakers playing music from the record. A completely different genre from that of the live music you enjoyed at dinner and in the lounge. It sounds much like the music your peers listened to on their own record players when you visited their homes.

As you try to keep your gaze on Jeongin to follow him to the designated destination he had in mind, you find it nearly impossible. The room was crowded with workers who are enjoying their time off, dancing to the loud beat of an unfamiliar song. And though you try your hardest to keep your eyes on Jeongin through the tight-nit crowd of people, you can’t help them wandering to take in just how the people around you are dancing.

Never in your life have you seen just- frankly to put it; crude dancing. You weren’t really sure if you could call it dancing at all.

Pairs of people who pressed together so tightly it was nearly difficult to tell where one body ended and the other began. There was groping with wandering hands and groins pressed and rocking together. Your cheeks flushed as were almost certain these moves were only meant to be done in private.

Finally reaching your destination, you place the watermelon on an empty table beside Jeongin's. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he chuckles probably taking in your flustered reaction. “Do you like the dancing?” he moves a bit to lean back against the wood, moving his view the the crowd of moving people before you both.

Following his actions, you move closer to him, making sure he could hear you even with the blaring music, “So they are dancing?” You aren’t even sure yourself if your question is facetious or not. Jeongin merely lets out a laugh, “Could you imagine if people danced like this out on the main floor?” He shakes his head just thinking about it, “Max would have all of our asses out on the street.”

You smooth the fabric of your dress down, suddenly feeling self conscious of how you're dressed. Compared to those around you, you feel like you're dressed for church. "Wanna try?"Jeongin speaks up from next to you, raising his eyebrows, as you swiftly shake your head. There was no way you would dance like that. Not only did you not believe your body would move like that, but you were sure you would be far too embarrassed.

Your attention is drawn back to the crowd when everyone seems to let out a small cheer, looking you notice they make way for a new couple to join the dancing right in the center of the room, where everyone can see them.

Immediately, you recognize the pair.

It was hard not to, with the man striking features and the smoothness in which both of them move. Though this dance is completely opposite than that of what they danced to the last time you saw them. You enjoy watching them nonetheless, you could hardly keep your eyes off of them, absolutely captivated by their swiftness. Automatically, your head starts to bob to music. “They’re incredible!” You lean closer to Jeongin to express your fondness. “Right? They’re the best this resort has. That there is my cousin, Minho. And his partner is Momo!” The boy has a smile on his face as though he is proud to introduce you to the talented pair he happens to know very well.

“They make such a great couple.” You let out, even you could see their chemistry.

“You would think so, huh? They’re not romantically involved though.”

Pursing your lips, you look at Jeongin after his comment, blown away with the information he just shared with you, “Seriously?”

He nods quickly, crossing his arms, “Oh, yeah. They tried it out once in high school, ended it two days later. Momo actually has a boyfriend who lives in town.”

You let out a small hum of acknowledgment, letting your eyes stay focused on the pair you two talked about, “And what about him, your cousin?” The younger boy laughs beside you, “Oh he’s single, alright.” The current song comes to an end and some pairs start to break away. Almost as if he knew you were talking about him, his cousin's eyes wander over to where you and Jeongin are resting.

And much to your dismay, he starts to make his way over to you both.

As the boy makes his way in front of you both, you realize how intimidating he was. His dark eyes are sharp and unimpressed, sweat lingering on his face from dancing in the hot, crowded room. Maybe it was because you were aware you weren't supposed to be here, but you swear his gaze was intense enough to make you sweat yourself. You do your best to keep your eyes locked on his chest, his arms, his neck, anywhere that kept you from meeting his eyes. All the while you could feel his own locked on you.

“What is she doing here?” The older boy questions his cousin. “Oh, she helped me out on the way here. Saw me struggling and all.” Jeongin trails off as if to observe what his cousin’s reaction would be. “Yeah, I carried a watermelon.” The words tumble out of your mouth before your mind can comprehend them. At this, Minho spares you a judging glance that makes you feel small, not bothering another word before turning and walking back to the dance floor. And as soon he turns your eyes rolls and you mumble to yourself about your idiotic words, shaking your head with a sigh as you wish you could forget the awkward encounter.

The next couple of songs play without incident; you stay by Jeongin's side, making idle small talk as you enjoy the music. All the songs being played are quite different from those that the live band play on the main floor, but you might even enjoy these songs even more. As each melody goes on you find yourself subconsciously moving and bobbing to the beat, especially as you watch everyone around you flowing along with the instrumentals.

Continuing your small movements with a small smile upon your lips, your eyes wander around the room, taking in how the crowd changes their movements when a slightly more upbeat song starts to play. As your eyes make their way back to in front of you, the smile you once sported falls just as you still your body. You find a familiar dancer making his way straight towards you.

He makes his appearance without a word, simply reaching out to grasp your hand with his nimble fingers. Minho gently gives you a tug, head nodding towards the dance floor as he walks you there. You feel your mouth slightly part in surprise but you find yourself unable to protest, head glancing back as Jeongin as he merely gives you a shrug, looking almost as confused as you are.

Minho doesn’t stop until you’re both in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by the other moving bodies. He makes his way in front of you making sure he has your attention, “Watch.” You swallow deeply as the taller boy starts to move, simply swaying his hips back and forth to the beat of the song. “Go on.” He states again and you bite the inside of your cheek questioning if you would rather run back to his cousin than to attempt to dance in front of him, but you figure you can attempt this basic move he basically saw you doing before he dragged you out here.

You start to move after a deep breath, following along the best you could though you could already tell you were not nearly as smooth as the dancer.

“Good,” he nods his head “Now bend your knees, lower your hips.” He taps his pelvis to draw attention to the next move, his body now lower even as he continues his swaying movements.

Your body awkwardly lowers to try to match him and you suddenly become aware of how foolish you must look. A fish out of water compared to how smooth everyone is around you. Quickly glancing around you, you try to see if anyone else is seeing how awful you’re doing.

“Hey, look at me. Keep your eyes on me.” You draw your eyes back to Minho as he attempts to keep your attention on him. You do your best to keep everyone else around you out of your mind and hope you don’t draw their eyes in with your bad dancing. “Now roll your hips right,” he demonstrates slowly, “And then left.” He smoothly rolls his hips in a circle, alternating sides as he told you.

When it was your turn to attempt you furrow your brows clearly having to concentrate more to get it done. He chuckles slightly at you but still praises, “Good, that’s it.”

The two of you continue that for a moment before he creeps closer, grabbing your waist and pulling you flush against him. Your breath hitches in your throat as he holds your hips to his, having to place one of your hands on his bicep to keep you from stumbling, both of you still moving with the flow he taught you moments before. You can feel your face flush at the proximity and the mere movement you both are doing together. The only other time you can think of doing something similar involves the last boy you were with and being between the sheets, the movements could almost be the same you find yourself thinking. Only the thought flushes your cheeks even more.

As the two of you fall into a more comfortable rhythm matching the song, Minho starts to move more. He skillfully sways you both side to side even dipping you back slightly, your hand finding its way to his shoulder to steady yourself. It’s all much funner than you expected and you can’t help the smile that finds its way onto your face along with a giggle that breaks through your lips as he pulls you closer to him.

Unfortunately the fun and the song have to end at some point, Minho separates from you, magically twirling you around as the last notes of the song play. The crowd around you stops dancing and the room fills with claps and cheers end off the music.

Still giddy, you clap along turning around with a smile only to find the boy was nowhere to be seen.

Awkwardly stopping your movements, you flatten your hair and start to move through the crowd looking to make your way back to Jeongin, suddenly feeling red and flustered, your heart still pounding in your chest from the small dance you just shared.

It’s only a few short nights later that you find yourself in the presence of Minho once again, but this time the circumstances are very different.

You stand under a well lit gazebo along with your parents and Max. The large platform acts as a dance floor, many bodies dancing classically to the soft music, a change of scenery from the usual ballroom floor. The fairy lights are bright enough to brighten up the whole area, the music plays from a record player in the corner; a contrast to the live band, and being outside once the sun goes down allows for a coolness to cover the space. It’s not much, but you are glad you decided to wear your cardigan.

You stand closely to your mother, both of you keeping an eye on your sister who dances in the center of the place with Chan, who had the night off. Glancing up at her you both give each other a knowing smile at the kind boy that has caught Daisy’s eye this summer.

As they move a bit from out of your sight, you bring your attention back to your father and Neil as they talk of their old college days.

As the bodies continue to sway and move you can’t help but notice Minho among the crowd, his expert moves sticking out like a sore thumb. You watch as him and his partner move closer to the corner where you stood. You look at the girl in his arms and notice it’s not his usual partner Jeongin introduced to you as Momo. Instead this woman you could immediately tell was much older than Minho in age, that was obvious in appearance. And unlike Momo’s professionalism, this woman seemed much more interested in staying close to the boy rather than any real ballroom dancing.

“Hello, Ruby. How are you doing?” You turn your head towards Max who speaks to the woman in Minho’s arms. She gives him a cunning smile, resting her head on the dark-haired boy’s shoulder, “I’m doing just fine, Max.” Max keeps a smile and nods as the pair continue their dance moving on along the room.

Once they’re far enough you hear Max sigh, “That’s what we call a Bungalow Bunny here.” This has the attention of both you and your parents, “They come every summer with their husbands, though their husbands only come down on the weekend. Ruby’s husband pays for her dance lessons,” he puts out his head to where she was with Minho. “It’s a difficult situation, she must be lonely.” He states and you swallow at his implications; that Minho is offering much more than dance lessons to this married woman.

You find yourself getting sleepy the more you stand there, no longer interested in any of the conversation your father and Max find themselves having. And just when you thought your mood couldn’t be more sour, you spot Neil entering the gazebo and make his way over to the corner. You politely greet him but you dread it when he asks you to join him for a dance, “Oh I don’t know, Neil. I’m practically falling asleep here.” You force out a giggle to keep the atmosphere light. “Well how about a walk then? There’s a full moon tonight and the view will be beautiful by the lake.”

You’re just as ready to turn his offer down again, but you feel your mom slightly push your lower back. You know right away what this means, go on with him. Though you dread it, you know it’s the right thing to do when his uncle is standing right next to you and he being the one to invite your family to stay at his resort.

So that’s how you find yourself walking along the grass towards the lake, the moonlight being the only form of brightness in the night. Neil has been dragging on about how he got in an argument with one of the lifeguards and you haven’t been able to get a single word in since you started your walk. Finally getting to the dock, you take a deep breath and enjoy the view trying your best to block out Neil’s ramblings.

Your view seems to almost be ruined though, when you feel the boy place his arm over your shoulder, “And I said, you know what Jimmy doesn’t have? Three hotels!” The boy laughs at his own joke and you give him a tight lipped smile to keep your rudeness at bay.

But that seems to be getting harder to do when you feel Neil start to play with the ends of your hair, taking it softly in the tips of his fingers. “You know, when it comes time, there are much more important things than looks when choosing a man is involved.”

An unamused laugh leaves your lips as you slip yourself from out of his grip, “You know Neil, I’m actually kind of hungry. Maybe we can head back so I can have a snack.” He smiles at you, not at all fazed by your actions, “No problem at all, there’s actually a small kitchen for the staff in this building, we can grab you something there before heading back.”

You follow him to the small building by the lake, you look around the dark building as Neil points out the sights. “And here is the kitchen, it’s pretty small but it’s usually just for the staff to have their lunches when they’re working around the lake.” He stands by the doorframe as you walk in the narrow kitchen. The boy continues to talk about some of the different staff schedules as you hear a small whimper coming from the corner.

Looking alarmed at Neil, he doesn’t seem to notice as he continues his talking. Carefully you move further into the room pretending to look at the different arrangement of snacks. Finally you hear the sound more clearly and look in the corner, someone is hunched between the fridge and the wall. The person looks up and you fight the gasp that threatens to leave your throat. You make eye contact and immediately know who it is, you would recognize his partner anywhere.

Momo looks up from you, whimpering and shaking, clearly having been crying for who knows how long.

You swallow quickly and trust your gut.

Turning around you make your way back to Neil, grabbing an apple in the basket by the door, “I think it will do, Neil. Thank you for showing me this, and for the snack. I think we should head back now, I wouldn’t want to worry my parents.”

“Of course, let’s go.” He shuts the door behind him and you make your way back to the gazebo as quickly as you can.

Your heart is in your throat and you consider yourself lucky that Neil has separated himself from you by the time you get back to the gazebo. You try to think of the best way to approach the situation and decide it’s best not to interrupt Minho, whom you still barely know, especially when he’s with his client in the middle of the dance floor. Recalling from earlier in the night, you remember you saw Jeongin in the opposite corner from you, doing his job of handing out drinks to the guests.

Relief floods your system when you see the dark-haired boy in the same spot as before. Rushing over as quickly as you could without drawing attention to yourself, you finally place your arm on his shoulder. A friendly smile starts to form on his face but before he could even greet you, you bring your mouth to his ear, hand cupping around them both in order to tell him of the questionable situation you were in before finding him.

His eyes widen at your words and he quickly makes his way to Minho in the middle of the floor, obviously not having the same worries as you did about interrupting him. You keep your eyes on the two boys and you notice Minho becomes just as alert as Jeongin when he tells him. There’s a part of you that is relieved you told the boys, it seems as though you made the right decision with how they’re reacting as you watch them rush out of the busy gazebo.

And before you can tell yourself any better, you follow them.

The adrenaline is still high in your bloodstream as you follow both of the boys as they nearly run to reach Momo. You’ve realized long ago you really have no place to be here but your curiosity gets the best of you once again; you need to know what’s happened to the girl and you can only hope it’s nothing bad.

“Do you know what happened?” you ask and they get closer to the location and Jeongin looks back as if he’s shocked you’re still there. He answers nonetheless, “She’s having a bad high.” The older doesn’t seem pleased by the information his cousin disposed and he nearly yells back at him, “Fuck, Jeongin! You can’t just go around telling people that shit.”

Your heart is stuck in your throat as you feel you’re being told off, perhaps you now know why curiosity killed the cat.

“Now she’s going to off to tell her manager boyfriend, gonna get us all fired” Minho mumbles even further and you can’t help but your blood to boil at the underming comment. “I would never tell anyone, I’m not some kind of snitch.” You bit back not even getting the chance to explain your nonexistent relationship with Neil before you’ve reached the destination.

You stay put outside with Jeongin and Minho hurriedly picks up Momo and comes out to continue along the path.

Figuring you’re already in deep enough, you continue to follow them to where you assume is their home for the summer.

Further down the dirt road, you’re met with a series of small apartment-like houses; there’s a sign further up the hill reading “Staff Housing”. They’re quaint and obviously not as well taken care of as the main resort. The porch creeks under the weight of you all as you make your way into room numbered 143.

You stay put by the door you’ve closed behind you, keeping your hand on the handle; ready to leave if the hosts deemed your presence unnecessary (though you already knew it was).

Watching quietly, you take in how Jeongin brings her a glass of water and Minho wraps her in a blanket, sitting beside her on the small couch and urging her to drink.

Momo must’ve had been alone for some time because she already seems to be sobering up and paying attention to Minho who rubs her back comfortingly.

“You have to do the program, Mo.” He speaks softly to her and you listen carefully to their hushed conversation.

Jeongin, who had made his way back to stand closer to you whispers to you, “There’s a program she’s found out about that could help break the addiction.” You nod at him, silently thanking him for explaining to you once again.

The girl finishes her water and the boy beside her repeats himself once again, softly removing the hair from her face in order to look at her properly. She scoffs in return, turning her head away from his hands, “You know I can’t.”

“Why not?” You speak, what you meant to be a whisper where only Jeongin could hear but your voice comes out much louder than you intended. The couple on the couch look at you and your face flushes with the feeling you don’t belong.

“The program costs a lot of money,” Jeongin murmurs, still answering your question whether the other two wanted it to be known or not.

Momo, who seemingly just noticed you were here, stares at you for a second before speaking up herself, “Yeah, try three hundred dollars. That’s a whole summer’s worth of paychecks.” She leans back into the couch but keeps her cold gaze on you, “But you wouldn’t understand that, would you? Must be nice to have access to daddy’s money.”

It’s clear the words are spoken with the purpose to hurt you but you don’t make a move, not giving her the satisfaction. It feels as though you both are in a staring contest until Jeongin makes the first move, “I’ll make you a sandwich, you should eat.” Momo turns her eyes to the younger boy, giving him a smile and you take the chance to quietly leave the room you were never welcome in.

You knew you shouldn’t let the words Momo said affect you so much, she had not been in the right state in the first place. But nonetheless, her comment played through your head as you toss and turn in bed that night.

The next morning you found yourself trekking to the golf course bright and early to find your father. Walking along in the cool morning you’ve tried to justify your actions by convincing yourself what you’re about to do is for the sake of helping someone else. But no matter how many times you repeat it, you know that’s not the reason at all for your petty actions.

“Daddy!” You call out finally locating your parents practicing their putting. Grabbing his attention, he looks up with a smile, “Good morning, my love. Did you already have breakfast?”. Keeping the bright smile on your face you go to hug him, “I was on my way to but thought I would say good morning first since I didn’t see you last night.”

He hums, taking another hit at a ball. “Daddy, about last night,” you start recalling the lie you’ve made up, “I made a friend and she’s trying to buy a place ticket. Her mom is sick and she wants to go home and see her but she has no way of affording it.” He silently looks at you and you take the chance to continue, “She’s a worker here and they don’t pay enough for her to buy it herself.”

He nods and hits another ball, “And what do you suggest we do?” You make your smile a bit smaller, “I was hoping we could help her, daddy. As a doctor I know you always help people in need so I thought this could be my way of helping her, wouldn’t that be nice?”

Knowing you’ve hit a soft spot with him as he tries to hide his smile, you keep your own bashful. “I suppose you’re right. I’m so lucky that my daughter has a good heart like you. I’ll write you a check at lunch.”

Walking into the workers lounge late that night, you feel almost powerful with the check in your hand. You confidently make your way in, moving through the bodies closely dancing together until you spot Jeongin on the side of the room.

You make your way to him giving him a smile which he returns. Just to the right you notice Momo dancing with Minho to the calm song playing over the speakers and you take the chance to approach her. Jeongin follows closely, either curious about what you have to say or worried she won’t be happy to see you.

You slightly tap Momo on the shoulder, grabbing both her and Minho’s attention. Motioning for them to follow you, you go to the edge of the dance floor where they could hear you better.

The pair follow without question, obviously curious about what you have to say. They stare at you for a moment and you hold out the check to her, “Here.”

She cautiously grabs the paper and looks shocked when she realizes what it is, “Are you serious right now?” Minho looks just as surprised, grabbing the check to look at it himself. You merely nod at her, keeping your face serious. “How did you get this?” The dancer speaks up as he examines the check and you keep your gaze steady, “It was easy, all I had to do was go ask my daddy.” You look at Momo raising your eyebrows, “Right?” You can’t help but the petty comment to slip your lips but you thought it was the least she deserved.

She bashfully looks down and takes the check, passing it back to you, “Thanks, but I can’t take it.”

Your eyebrows furrow, “Why not?” Your confusion grows as even the man beside her looks shocked, “Yeah, why not? You need to take it, Mo.” She merely shakes her head and it’s Jeongin who finally speaks up. “The program takes place on Thursday nights,” at the comment Minho seems to understand, a frown forming on his face.

“What does that mean?” Jeongin looks at you, “They both have another gig at a hotel a little away from here. If they don’t show up they lose their spot not only this summer but next summer too. They need the money,” he trails off.

You think quickly, “Well can’t someone else take your place?” Minho rolls his eyes at your suggestion, “No, no one can take her place. Everyone works around here but that’s not something you would know about.”

Eyebrows furrowed, you feel fed up with the comments about your work ethic and you’re half tempted to grab the check and leave, never having to talk to them again.

But before you can even process, Momo lights up, “That’s right! It’s perfect, everyone does work but she doesn’t! She can take my place!” You already panic at the weird idea and you can see right away Minho does too, “What, absolutely not! She’s not a dancer!”

His cousin on the other hand seems to agree with Momo, “I think it’s a great idea! I mean, you were literally just teaching her how to dance the other night, weren’t you?” Jeongin states almost smugly. At this Momo turns her head to Minho, raising her brows, “Well, then that’s that.”

Taglist: @linocvp1d @blankdyean @adeards @lomllino @brooklynie @noellllslut @djeniryuu @eternitywaveshello @drhsthl @urmomma0324

🌼 All feedback is appreciated and welcomed 🌼

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yourfavoritewitchbitch · 7 months

Text

Only the Night Knows

This little baby blurb popped into my head, and I just had to get it out to kick off this spooky season! Enjoy!

Word Count: 735

Not long after the gates were finally closed, you began having dreams where he visited.

These dreams were so vivid, you still felt the effects long after waking.

You couldn’t tell the others, they already worried too much over you as it was. This would just be another reason to fret over your fragility. Just another nail in the coffin, confirming you actually were certifiable.

“Hey sweetheart. Missed you.” He smiled up at you as you walked over, taking the seat beside him on the bench overlooking the lake. It was dusk. You’re favorite time of the day. The sun setting over the water’s edge with the most brilliant colors of golden hues dancing on the glassy surface.

“Hey Eddie.” It went like this most nights, small hellos. Not many words shared between you. The presence of each other had always been more than enough. But tonight was different.

“They all think I’m crazy.” You were looking out onto Lover’s Lake, afraid to meet his gaze. He took your small hand in his. His fingers seemed longer; nails almost claw like. His skin was colder, but his touch still comforted you. Grounding you there as you continued to speak.

“When you…” tears beginning to well, biting back a sob threatening its way through, as the acidic bile tried to rise in your throat. You still couldn’t say it out loud.

“When it happened, they had to tear me away from you. I thought I was going to go right along with you.” He squeezed your hand a little tighter. “But now, they’re all worried about me because this is the only place I can find you and all I want to do is sleep.”

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He took his free hand, lifting your chin to meet his gaze.

He was Eddie, but somehow changed. His eyes, those warm, inviting orbs had lost their light. They were almost black and you could have sworn you saw flecks of red glinting back. His teeth were longer, sharper. Almost threatening. Although he had always been pale, his skin was so white you could see the blue of his veins as if he were almost translucent. But he was still your Eddie, at least what was left of him.

“I love you more than I loved anyone else in this world. Even now, you’re the only reason I’m still here. If it weren’t for you, I would have fully turned by now.”

You looked up at him, confusion written all over your face.

“I know you don’t understand, but you will soon. I’m sorry. Just know that I will never hurt you.” He leaned into your space, moving his hand to caress your cheek, kissing your forehead with parched, cool lips.

“Eddie, what does that even mean?”

He stood then, letting go of you entirely. As he walked away, you shouted after him.

“Eddie, please! Don’t go! Please. I love you! Please just take me with you.”

He looked back over his shoulder, his teeth had somehow lengthened, and his grin looked even more deadly. The red in his eyes now more prominent.

“Soon,” passed from his lips as you startled awake.

You were trying to catch your breath, body sweat soaked and heart beating too fast as you sat up in bed. Alone once more. You looked around the room, trying to take in the now familiar surroundings.

No, you couldn’t tell the others. They wouldn’t even believe you at this point. After all, they’re the ones that committed you to this place. Padded walls, barred windows. No, they wouldn’t believe you. Maybe they would once the carnage began. They would realize all too late.

You stood and looked out onto the lawn of Pennhurst. The moon shining bright enough, you could see his silhouette by the gate. Those same eyes from your dream already on you, glowing blood red. You watched in awe as he unfurled and stretched out his massive wings taking flight into the night sky. You thought he was beautiful in life, but he was magnificent in death.

For the Eddie you knew was long gone, but this Eddie would bring Death in his wake with you by his side. You would gladly follow him into Hell.

You could hear a faint echo in the back of your mind as his wings carried him further into the darkness.

“Soon.”

#vampire!eddie munson #eddie munson #kas!eddie #eddie munson blurb #vampire!eddie x reader #kas!eddie x reader

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leslie057 · 1 month

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17a and 3b?

hii, thank you for the prompt!

prompt game posted here

17a + 3b = the semantics are totally outdated + but they can’t talk

word count: 3.4k | pairing: jonathan x nancy

but i can't live by those stakes, the semantics are totally outdated -sam fender, last to make it home

Her summer, china shop. Lowe and Holloway…two biggest, most aggressive bulls a matador could wish for.

And even that is such an undeserved accreditation, that semblance of animal majesty and dominance and punch, since her china’s literally in mint condition. She’s doing just fine, the guys don’t scare her. They’re not capable.

Her issue isn’t fear, it’s rage. More rage than Jonathan knows what to do with at times. The flush of red on her face, the urge to choke in her hands, the hair-pulling (his hair, not hers) and the pacing, all too wayward in his pen, burning up each of the four corners at once. Not that he’s much of a firefighter—pretty clear that he likes for a girl to take everything out on him, as long as her methods are nonverbal. He’s not gonna smother a flame when he could just let the flame smother him. He loves a good path of least resistance.

Things are different between them, inside the Hawkins Post. She can see him struggling with that, with meanings lost and rules rewritten, her amendments unfairly implicit as she switches up on him, forcing her sweet mariner into the Atlantic with his map of the Pacific. No, his map of the Wabash River. She doesn’t mean to respond differently to him, it’s just that she has to be careful with the way she carries herself here because no one wants to take her seriously. There aren’t many wins to be had by a teenage girl in this building, and there really aren’t many wins to be had by a teenage girl who lets her boyfriend dote on her in this building. The pep talk thing, the passive pity, the hey come here you’re okay after any negative reaction she has…he’s making it worse without realizing.

She’s making it worse, too, though. In her own way.

Keeps getting them in trouble, for example.

Today they're in trouble because of what she convinced him to do yesterday. Apparently, leaving work ten minutes early is really a no-no. Her bad. (She needed out, Lover’s Lake was calling to her. They don’t go much, but when it’s raining? When it’s raining that lake belongs to them. No other couple in town is weird enough to go in thunder and lightning, it is their thing, they own it. Privacy is a guarantee. Never mind that inducing the feeling of drowning has been a secret placation of her survivor's guilt lately, a quiet way to exhaust herself and surrender to nature's embrace for a while, to let it take her over, knocking her down a peg as it comes down in heavy sheets. It should have been her on that diving board two years ago, it really should have.) She never said their date habits were healthy. Oh, except the splashing, the splishing. That’s a normal couple thing. Very healthy.

They’ve been given different punishments for slipping out; he’s meant to be folding all the newspapers, she’s supposed to be stapling reports. It’s 4:45, and they just started. They usually use this time to clean up, but whatever doesn’t get done before five is unpaid work.

So that’s fun.

In the main room they serve their silent sentence, each stationed at opposite ends, less than consumed by their tasks. There’s an early golden hour effect outside; she can tell with the warm glow that’s seeping in between the window blinds, teasing her, testing her, tempting her to just walk out again. Despite her best efforts to focus on work and keep her distance from Jonathan, she does think about him a lot under this roof. And other roofs. And every roof. Like now, she’s thinking about how he’s staring at her and how strange it is that she knows he’s staring at her even with her eyes cast down.

I can feel that.

She combats the softness of the sentiment with a hard press on the stapler. Loud click is overly loud. Obnoxious. Swiping the heavy thing across the desk, she lets it clunk against the lamp’s square base. If he wants to daydream about her, he’ll have to romanticize her inclination towards inanimate object abuse. (Imagine the emotional release in banging that ashtray on this typewriter. Personally, she’s imagining it.)

She tips her head up to check on him. Okay, he is romanticizing how pissed off she is. Blinks at her like she’s some unusual celestial something at the end of a telescope, pretty and rare. He brightens up over there as he realizes that he got her attention, making a small posture adjustment, leaning her way. Still slouchy, of course. She wants to glare, she does, but the edges of her gaze are being anonymously softened and all that’s left behind is a tender, conflicted expression. What do you want from me, it says. This is intern detention after all. Not social hour.

With a gentle glance he offers her some support, devoid of any pressure or demands. Nothing, Nancy.

She ducks her head and goes back to her report stack. But as quickly as she dives back into the task, she comes out again. He has something to tell her—she can feel it. When she looks up, he's tapping his thumb at the base of his throat, which is kind of weird even for him. His hand hovers near his collar before he motions to her, a silent prompt. She takes the signal and touches the same spot on her neck, brows knit together. Your necklace, he’s trying to say, miming the action of spinning it around, repositioning the clasp and extender so that they’re at the back and hidden away. Your necklace is backwards. She fixes it accordingly, embarrassed by nothing in particular it’s just…yeah, Bruce Lowe definitely doesn’t need to be provided with any joke bait below her neckline.

Bonus points for the ever attentive boyfriend. Just this once, his tendency to space out and stare at her has gotten them somewhere. Good boy.

She busies herself with the stapler, determined to get them out of this place sooner rather than later. Count, separate, slide, straighten. Staple, stack, repeat. Repeat repeat repeat. She wishes she had someone to compete with, to race against. Her brother, maybe, because Jonathan isn’t competitive. Then this would go faster. In the warm office, heat sprawls on top of her, slowing her movements. Sweat has already pooled at the small of her back, gathered behind her ears, formed a light sheen along her jaw. So much for box fans.

Her mind strays away from the chatter around her, a few abrupt fantasies now steering her thoughts. Hormonal thoughts. She’d ignore the love rush if she could, but it’s on her, on her like a sticky lotion in June weather, soaking slowly into her skin. Being seventeen is—yeah. Difficult.

Crazy difficult, once you factor in the need to be a professional mini-adult and not associate with the person you take to bed.

There’s just…it’s her, and Jonathan, and the necklace, and she’s taken off the necklace, held it taut against his neck, not choking him per se, no, but softly sawing at him with the chain until there are faint red lines impressed in sensitive flesh. Who knows where this came from; she’s never done anything like it. Doesn’t typically play so rough with him that there’s physical evidence more severe than your average hickeys or scratch marks. This job is turning her into a hazard.

She indulges for a couple seconds longer in the dumb image that had momentarily eclipsed her reality. He’s not looking at her when she looks up at him, but somehow it feels like their telepathic dialogue is still going, born from shared frustrations.

I want to be done here.

I know, we’ll be done soon. We’re fine, keep stapling.

And maybe she wouldn’t have to take off the necklace. Because he has his tie, his not-so-nice tie. Okay, without sugarcoating, it’s ugly. The one that’s currently loose, gray with diagonal brown stripes, pencil-thin stripes; it would be way more fun to pull across his throat compared to her necklace. Of course, she wouldn’t lead with that, she’d be counteracting with the super soft services of a needy mouth, settling on the kindest way to release her anger and affection in one fell swoop. (Why is it that the uglier the tie design, the bigger her heart? She’s wanting him bad this afternoon.)

In a moment of distracted clumsiness, she knocks over her box of staples, several of the refill strips breaking apart on the ground, their clatter piercing through whatever awful discussion was being had by these overpaid husbands and fathers.

“Wuh-oh,” Bruce interjects before carrying his conversation on. Not as big of a deal as when she fumbles a lunch order, but bad nonetheless; she’s on her knees in a dress, catching everyone’s double takes. A sideshow act to glance at intermittently between unrelated one-offs and cigarette drags.

Jonathan’s soon kneeling by her, ready to lend his assistance. Yeah, absolutely not.

The more he helps her, the more of a girl she is. Her eyes plead with him, begging him to remember that any perceived dependence on him will undermine the tiny shred of social authority she has here.

I love you, but get away from me.

Pouting, he backs off, an achy longing lingering between them. He chooses instead to go tend to the coffee grounds she’d yet to throw out.

Despite the distance enforced by circumstance, and her annoyance, she remains fixated on him, finding some solace in that mental landscape. When they leave this place within the hour, everything will go back to the way it was, and she can go back to speaking in a language they both understand.

She scoops up the staples and tidies the desk. Resumes her work without a second thought, waiting for the embarrassment to bleed out of her.

By five after five, they’ve almost finished up their punishment tasks. The office is more peaceful than before, hushed and dreamy, as their older colleagues file out, letting paper cups and gum wrappers fall into trash cans whose bags she and her boyfriend replaced an hour ago.

Tom switches off a couple lamps, touches his watch (with that bizarre air of supremacy and boredom). On his way out, he claps her chair on the back. “Keep up the good work,” he says. “No more sneaking out early.”

At least she’s getting credit for something. For leading the rebellion.

She watches Fallon, the receptionist, push in her desk chair and begin to pull at the hem of her skirt. As she passes by Jonathan, she carelessly drops a keyring into his lap, instructing him to lock up when they go. She also calls him Jordan. Not a thought in her head.

“Yes ma’am,” he mumbles, “have a good night.”

They’re left all alone when the last footsteps fade away, and she shifts in her spinny chair. For possibly the first time today, she takes a deep breath in, a deep breath out. This is good. This is better.

It’s sort of warm and sweet and spongy—cakelike, she’d say—the growing sense of comfort she has in the privacy that’s been laid upon them. That, or she’s hungry. They should pick up a cupcake from the bakery downtown. Key lime, lemon, one of their seasonal flavors. No, wait, the bakery closed a few minutes ago. Not that they get much business anymore. (If they shut down and the mall ruins her and Jonathan’s cupcake sharing thing, she might choke someone. She might kill.)

Though her gaze is locked on him, he keeps his head slanted down, not acknowledging her or their privacy.

She taps the desk, slides her tongue behind her teeth, resentment creeping in amid neglect. This is the part where their tension falls away, right? The part where he apologizes for overdoing the boyfriend thing, and then gives her his undivided attention until one or two in the morning, thus overdoing the boyfriend thing, but in the right place at the right time. Trying to make up for the shittiness of their internship, trying to help her bubble wrap all the china in her china shop before morning comes around again.

He’s slumped down over there, sleeves cuffed, collar half-popped, movements slow as he calmly creases his final papers. The box fan’s soft currents delicately ruffle through his hair, and at first glance, he doesn’t have a care in the world. At second, though, he’s wearing a bit of a frown, moodily refusing to acknowledge anything but himself and his newspapers.

And yet. She can’t deny the magnetic pull drawing her that way. With a defiant flip of her hair, she sets out to close the big gap between them and put an end to the ridiculousness. They shouldn’t be ignoring each other upon being given total privacy, not even for a second. Reaching his space, she stops in front of his chair, leaning back on the edge of the desk. She’s the wall between him and his paper stack.

He sighs, eyes cast up to her. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she parrots.

“You’re done?”

“Pretty much.”

“Me too.”

He’s still in that place of self-minimization, that corrective headspace following the staple incident. He’s stuck on being quiet and invisible and adult and the absolute opposite of lovey and dovey. It’s no longer necessary.

She fidgets with her ring blindly, an anticipatory energy working itself up inside her, right under her ribcage. He opens his mouth to speak. Closes it quickly. Guarded, he averts his gaze.

“You’re allowed to correct her, you know.”

“Huh?”

“Fallon. You don’t have to let your name be whatever she decides.”

The silence stretches between them, a tight wire, trembling faintly, a few touches away from snapping. She’s unsure if he’s playing a game here or if he simply doesn’t feel like talking. You never know with him (but she does).

“We’re allowed to talk now, you know,” she adds.

A beat.

“Your dress is messed up,” he says, to himself more than her.

“What?”

“The hooks on your dress. You accidentally skipped the first one.”

“I—” she starts. Her jaw hangs. Curious, she feels for the mismatched hook and eye clasps below the frilly collar of her dress, and she finds that the bottom one did get skipped over. This is what happens when you don’t get enough sleep, wake up late, and have to dress yourself in sixty seconds. She huffs. “Well come fix it?"

Because he has to want to. He likes this dress a lot, he’s never said anything, but he does. It’s white and yellow, not any yellow, but like a buttercup yellow, semi-sheer with an open ruffly collar and wide sleeves. He would want the excuse to touch it. He would want that sense of purpose, that delegation of mess-fixing. She’s so rarely a mess when there are no monsters to slaughter. He’s usually the one with the inside out shirt, the smudge of lipstick on his face. This is his one chance.

His bottom lip curls, and his shoulders shrug. “Thought you wanted to pretend like we don’t know each other.”

“Jonathan…please come fix it.”

She reaches out, and without a word he holds her hand, standing up. He bites down on his tongue, presses it against the side of his mouth, looking like he knows how cliché this is but is too sad to complain. He moves closer, his hands gentle as he begins unfastening those top four hooks so he can fasten that fifth one, the one she’d skipped before she also skipped breakfast. Her eyelids sink, wispy bangs brushing the tops of her eyes as the fan’s whisper of a breeze plays over her.

He’s still working with the clasps when her hands find his neck, tickling their way to the ends of his hair, curled by humidity.

To her surprise, he doesn’t flinch when she sneak attacks him, stealing a kiss off his mouth. Just makes a huffy sound afterward, all judgy eyes and short breaths and pinked skin. “Does that mean you like me again—”

She guides the slipping of their lips, a soft sensation of stickiness lingering in the inbetween. “Shut up,” she murmurs, “I never stopped.”

“Yes, you did.”

Plush lip tissue gives way between her careful teeth as she nibbles, trying to draw out a whimper or a groan or some other noise of desperate compliance. She thinks she hears an ow, and if she did, that’s good. His ow isn’t code for hey that hurts, his ow is like a regular boy’s don’t stop, I need more.

“I did not,” she argues.

“You did, you said so.”

“When?”

“With your face.”

She tightens her grip on the back of his collar and pulls. Seeking a diversion, she peppers his mouth, the tip of her tongue relaxed, impressively subtle. A muffled squeak leaves him as the collar tightens around his throat, and she lets go, releasing him. Maybe she does feel a little bad. “Don’t be so sensitive,” she says, but her words lack conviction, and her heart’s not in the dig. “I know I’ve been acting weird. It’s not about you.”

He rests his forehead on hers. “It’s only about them?”

“Duh, it’s about them.”

They put the conversation on hold among their shared prioritization of making this into more of a makeout than just a way to argue. Kissing mainly because it feels good to kiss, and bad to not. Their age demands this, pushes them. (They’ll grow out of the phase someday…she assumes. If she ever learns how to control herself. Perhaps.) She noses her way to his jaw while getting wrapped up in a hug, the gleam of sweat under her lips pleasantly salty. “So sweaty,” she teases (though she’s burning up, too). His breath hitches, and he doesn’t start the banter back up, doesn’t say what’s on his mind which is probably: I didn’t ask you to come over here and lick me like a cat.

Eventually they do separate a few inches, significantly more satisfied than before, significantly more pink in the face. Her head tips, and her tired eyes follow the path of daylight pouring in through the window, casting long shadows across the office floor as he distractedly massages her shoulder.

“Not that I’m complaining…” he begins, and her lashes flutter, her ears tune in, “but you are sending me mixed signals here.”

He’s right. Her professionalism has come at the price of his trust and certainty. She’s still adjusting to the job, getting used to the fact that she’s not particularly needed, wanted, or respected here. Jonathan doesn’t get it, and a Jordan wouldn’t get it, or a Josh, or anyone else who has never been on the receiving end of that coffee maker too tricky for you, sweetheart?

His concern is being obedient, being good, getting paid, keeping to himself, not making a fuss. It makes sense that he’d want to pep talk her out of her anguish, but it’s not healthy for her reputation. She thinks he owes it to her to roll with the punches for a little while.

“I know. I’m still figuring all this out. You’re gonna have to buckle up and settle in for now.”

“Do you think I could have a…handbook, or something?”

“A handbook?”

“I want the dos and don’ts. I want to know what you think makes you look bad and what doesn’t.”

She laughs softly. “That could be arranged. I’ve always wanted to write a book.”

After they’ve hesitantly split up and attended to closing tasks, she takes pride in the fact that they’ve only had to do twenty minutes of unpaid work this evening.

The remaining lights get switched off, and they gather their things, ambling to a door whose glass promises the return to a nicer world, a return to wide prospects—night drives and music, dinner and shared showers, lakeside commitments and homemade cupcakes.

“Hey,” she murmurs, hand curling around a few of his fingers, “just so you know, about that handbook: I haven’t forgotten about the darkroom.”

“What about it?”

“Nothing, I just mean that I don’t think any of the rules would have to apply to the darkroom. It’s private, it’s safe, it’s…rule-free, isn’t it?”

“Umm…”

"You can pick up as many staples for me as you want in there."

creds to @musicalchaos07 for helping me come up with this idea, and creds to @wanderleave for picking his tie color for me

#*fic #jancy fic #stranger things #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #jonathan x nancy #prompt fill #*ask #fanfiction #st fanfic #lyrics #songs #they lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship #faithfulcat111

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