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californ1asnow · 6 months

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Call Me Up Again - pt. 2 Mike Schmidt x Reader

Part two of All Too Well Angst!!! So much angst everyone I've decided to turn this into a miniseries, this post being the second part. I'll continue to link chapters as I post them This is also being updated on ao3 (cough cough) No warnings this time 1.9k words

Snowflakes fall silently, coating everything around them in a white dust. The wind blows with a crisp chill, nipping at all the rose-pink noses. It sends shivers down the backs of those who dare be out in this weather. The pumpkins and fake graveyard decor that had once littered every home’s front yard has long since been swapped for tinsel garlands and pine wreaths.

The Schmidt residence beams with colored string lights and holiday music. A tall, sturdy evergreen sits patiently by the window. Its branches are decorated with years worth of homemade ornaments, ranging in all size and age from both Mike and Abby. The red skirt beneath it falls relatively empty of presents, only donning the few small ones Mike could afford to buy this year. They’re wrapped pathetically in an old birthday paper, the only wrapping Mike could find to reuse.

Usually, the tree is so full that he’s had to store things in his closet, but that was when you were still a part of their Christmas. Stockings hung happily above the fireplace and a love so innocent it wraps the house in a warm glow. However, it’s void of that feeling now, instead Mike is left to pick up the pieces that you once fit together. Abby doesn’t understand why you don’t come over anymore, or why Mike has been so quiet lately. All she knows is that something went wrong, and now everyone is upset. She’s stopped bringing up your name in conversation when talking to Mike, because it always ends with him withdrawn and retreating to the solidarity of his room.

That didn’t stop her from drawing you, though. Sometimes she’d sit at her desk, tears collecting in the well of her eyes, and doodle old memories of the three of you. She remembers them being happy, but by the time the crayons were set aside and the picture was finished, it was a glum mess of dark blues and frowning faces.

After a drawing is finished she’d slip past Mike’s room, quietly tiptoeing out the front door, and make a break for the house across the street. Your house. She’d work fast, her feet carrying her quickly to and fro. It was unclear from her perspective whether you paid attention to what she’d give you, but by the time she slipped a new piece of paper underneath your door, the old one she had gifted you was gone.

Mike was unaware of it all.

He had found a new job in town where he could bury all his thoughts. It was working construction for a local contractor, a job that certainly wasn’t ideal but it paid better than what he’d been used to. Unfortunately, it required longer hours and ate up all his free time, meaning Abby needed a new babysitter. A job that was once happily filled by your company, now replaced with an afterschool program suggested to him from a flyer he found at work. He hated the thought of her sitting in essentially another classroom, surrounded by strangers and snotty kids, but it was his only option left.

With a third of his paycheck dedicated to it, Abby now spends her weekdays at the nearby YMCA.

The first time he told her about the new program didn’t go over very well. He remembers it clearly.

“Abby please,” his irritated voice interrupts her incessant protesting, “listen, it’s the only place that can watch you.”

“No it’s not!” She yelled at him, her finger pointing to your house across the street, “I want her back!”

A pang of guilt struck his chest at her words. The lack of your presence has clearly been taking a toll on the both of them, but it’s the first time Abby’s ever been so vocal about it. He crossed his arms with a sigh, watching his little sister stare up at him with solemn eyes. Her lip quivering ever so slightly, evident that she’s holding back tears.

He crouches down to her level, just like he had done to you so many nights ago, “I’m sorry,” he pleaded with her, “but she’s not coming back right now.”

Her head shook with disbelief, stubbornly stuck in her spot, “Then make her come back.”

–

You’re not sure when the Mike shaped hole in your heart stopped aching, but it’s significantly less sore compared to a fresh wound. That’s not to say the constant reminder of him and Abby living across the street from you doesn’t sting. It’s hard enough to ignore all his calls, but trying to get to your car while avoiding his gaze is even worse. Eventually, he gave up on contacting you by the third month of radio silence. It hurt both of you, but you knew deep down neither of you could continue functioning like how you were.

The back and forth pull of his affection took too big of a toll on your mental well being. You can remember every moment down to the exact detail of how much you craved for him to just do something, anything.

All those times you held him in your soft embrace whispering sweet nothings in his ear, reassuring him everything will be okay, just for him to turn around the next day and never bring it up again. Or when you’d run your warm fingers through his hair to calm him down after a panic attack, and he’d let his head rest in your lap. Words of affection dripping off his lips like a rich honey, warming you up from the inside out. Then he’d disappear for a while, claiming he needed some space to figure stuff out, all the while you’d beg and plead for him to tell you what’s on his mind, only for him to give you nothing back.You stood by him regardless though, keeping a silent promise that you’d always be there for him when he needed it, a love that was never reciprocated back.

A long sigh escapes from you, eying the new delivery that just appeared by your door. You shuffle towards it weakly, unsure if you really wanted to torture yourself by looking at it. It’s one of those things that curiosity will drive you to do, unable to ignore it like a pedestrian passing by a car crash. The paper crinkles under your touch, unfolding it reveals the familiar childlike style of Abby’s drawings. A man drawn in green crayon frowns up at you, holding hands with an equally sad looking child. Your gaze drifts over to the other side of the paper, highlighting a person relatively similar to you standing alone with their arms crossed, angry. Your heart hurts at the sight of it, knowing that Abby is implying that you’re angry at the two of them. You shake your head quickly, trying to evade any tears that threaten to spill. It’s not fair for Abby to be caught in the middle of whatever is going on between you and Mike, and you realize that.

The sound of your phone ringing breaks your train of thought, and when you check the caller ID your breath hitches. Standing in the middle of your living room frozen with indecisiveness, you stare at the screen while chewing on the bottom of your lip. Without thinking, you accept the call.

“Hello?”

There’s a sound on the other end of the line, somewhere in between a choke and a gasp, and then your name is mumbled out in disbelief.

“I didn’t think you’d actually pick up…” Mike’s voice is still a little startled, mimicking the internal panic in your chest.

You suck in a deep, steady breath before answering, “Yeah, I didn’t think so either.” There’s a slight pause from both of you, unsure how to continue the conversation. It’s felt like years since you last heard his voice.

“Are you…doing okay?”

“...Yeah.” Your answer is unconvincing, but Mike doesn’t have any ground to be able to question it. So it’s left like that, timidly dangling in the air between you both.

You hear shuffling in the background, and a smaller voice asking a question before he dismisses it. Your heart lurches thinking about how Abby is there, trying to figure out who her older brother might be on the phone with. It almost makes your cool demeanor crack, urging you back into your savior complex.

“Uh, sorry about that,” your phone crackles back to life, “anyways, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh okay.”

“Can you,” he stops, leaving you on edge, “meet me somewhere?”

The lack of response from you causes him to start rambling, going on about how it would be better to talk in person, and how it would be easier if you could see each other’s expressions. Soon afterwards, a string of apologies ensue, and you pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration.

“Okay Mike. Promise me this will be worth it.”

“I promise.”

–

A young waitress stares nervously at your booth. Orders continually piling up, hungry customers giving her rude looks whenever she ignores their impatient huffs. It’s been a good thirty minutes since you first showed, and she’s checked up on you at least a handful of times by now. Mike had suggested this little diner down the street from your house, and you agreed to meet here.

However, it seems like you’re the only one who showed up.

Your back is pressed against the uncomfortable foam board of your seat, a leg bobbing rapidly out of habit. You pick at the pills on your sweatshirt sleeve, trying to avert your gaze from the sympathetic waitress. Prior to your predicament, she had asked if you were dining alone, and you told her no. However, It’s starting to look like you just might be. With anger bubbling inside of you, a voice in the back of your head is saying you should have seen this coming. It’s so typical of Mike to make promises that he’s unwilling to keep.

The air smells like grease, mostly from the old fryers sitting in the back of the kitchen. Oil bubbling and brooding in their tanks, waiting for someone to drop a morsel of food so it could shrivel in the scalding lard. Stomach stirring with disgust, a wave of nausea washes over you. It’s unclear exactly what’s causing it, you’d like to give credit to the sleazy restaurant, but something deep down points to the lack of a certain person’s company.

You keep your attention trained on the dwindling heat of your coffee. Both corners of your mouth scrunch downwards at the smooth ceramic now held in your cold hands. When did watching a cup of coffee become so interesting?

“Would you like some more?” The sweet but timid waitress asks you, now back at her spot beside your table.

A joyless smile flashes across your face, a futile attempt at masking your dejection. Pushing the cup forward, silently accepting a fresh refill from her kettle.

“He’s not worth it.” She adds, tipping off your mug. Her eyes refuse to meet yours as she does so, and you are thankful for that fact.

“No,” you respond back, “he never is, I guess.” Your voice is shaky, as are the hands that are folded in your lap.

Mike is not worth the years of being hurt and pushed away. Not worth the tears that fall after coming home from a night spent at his house, inconsolably sobbing because you know no matter what you do it leads back to the same thing. To give up all your time, love, and patience just to receive nothing in exchange.

It’s not worth the unrequited love.

“Can I have the check please?” You ask quietly, still avoiding the gaze of the girl next you.

Her head shakes with pity, fingers wrapping around the arm of the kettle, “it’s on the house.”

TAGLIST - @wriothesleysbimbo @psbc @victimsofadownn @that1lxnlybxch @callsignwidow

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt angst #josh hutcherson #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x y/n #taylor swift #all too well #angst #fnaf

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allysunny · 18 days

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Heartwired Love

Pairing: Bale!Bruce Wayne x Engineer!Reader

Synopsys: When Bruce surprises Lucius with a visit to his department, he wasn't expecting to find a beautiful woman there. He asks about her and that's how he discovers she's not only pretty, but extremely talented, an engineer who's been working under him for years. He's immediately mesmerised.

Words: 6.1k words

Warnings: Not much, I'd say? There's a lot of fluff, and a lot of funny moments, and like, one suggestive moment? One twinge of angst, but it lasts like two minutes. Maybe some inaccuracies about engineering? I really don't know much about it so I kinda went with my gut and holy fuck I hope I don't get it wrong or upset / offend anyone.

A/N: Hey everyone!!! So, this is a funny story, because a while ago I got an ask. And I thought I was writing that ask, but turns out I got everything mixed up, and this is not really what my sweet anon requested of me. So, while I work on that piece, have what I ended up writing! I think it's rather fun. I'm sorry to my anon, I'll get started on their request right away!

I hope y'all enjoy this!!! <3

You were brilliant.

In fact, if there was a word for anyone better than brilliant, that’d be you.

Bruce first saw you when he visited the Applied Sciences Department. He was quite sure Lucius was the only one who actually did any of the important work there, but boy was he wrong.

He was just visiting the floor to ask Lucius for some help (his suit needed improvements), when he spotted you under a flurry of blueprints and reports. There was a pencil on top of your ear, and you were nibbling on another one as you erased something on the paper in front of you.

“And who might this be?” He asked no one in particular, eyes trailing the way your eyebrows furrowed as you wrote and sketched away.

You told him your last name, not even daring to look up. You were far too busy - a new particle reactor was being built, and it had fallen upon you to build its security system, something that’d keep the machine should it fall on the wrong hands. Bruce leaned over and looked at your sketches, observing the careless handwriting and the doodles and the little comments you had on top of each calculation. “Not good”, “doesn’t work”, “tested and failed”.

“And how long have you been working for me?” He inquired once again, still looking over your blueprints. Your calculations were good - far too good. Where the hell had Lucius found you?

“Lucius,” you mumbled, removing the pencil from behind your ear and drawing a big cross on top of whatever you were writing.

“Excuse me?”

“I work for Lucius, not you,” you said, not even bothering to look up.

“Lucius works for me, though.”

“And I work for him.” Finally, you looked up, and what you saw did not surprise you. You knew Bruce Wayne’s voice, after all, Lucius did work for him, and you’d overheard them talking once or twice. You looked up to him immensely - he was an insanely smart man, you knew what he had achieved in your department (or at least you knew he had something to do with it), and you wanted to cause a good impression. It also did not help that he was extremely attractive, and you were afraid your body would betray you and give you away. It was nothing, really, just a small little crush. It was harmless, really, and you’d rather be noticed for your work, than anything else. You wanted him to see how smart you were, not notice just how much you admired him.

“Are these for the particle reactor?” Bruce asked, leaning against your desk, hoping to hold eye contact with you for a little longer. He liked that look on you, that focused gaze of yours. It reminded him of himself.

You nodded and shook your head with a sigh.

“I’m working on the security system. But so far, it’s been a bust. I can’t find any combinations that allow Wayne Enterprises full access to the system. Full and only. I'm trying to come up with an algorithm that’ll prevent third parties from accessing whatever services the reactor might have, but it’s tough.” Bruce nodded.

“How long have you been at it?”

“Two weeks, give or take. I managed to write a short thing for the opening sequence, but that’s about it. I still have to come up with the rest, and it’s killing me.” You leaned backwards in your chair and stretched, letting out a groan. “And my back hurts like a bitch.”

Bruce chuckled ever so slightly - he wasn't used to this kind of honesty and openness right off the bat. He supposed anyone who worked under Lucius’s supervision would be just like him, honest and truthful.

“How about you take a break?” He crossed his arms, tilting his head. You looked away - was that the famous Wayne Charm he put on every time you watched him on television? You weren't going to be fooled. You didn't want to be just a number on his list. You admired this man far too much to get your heart broken by him - not to mention your job at Wayne Enterprises was a dream, and you did not want to risk that. Did all of that even make sense?

“Mr. Wayne, I don’t think I can afford the luxury of taking breaks,” you chuckled, turning back to your blueprints.

“And if it’s an order?”

“You wouldn't do that. You have far better things to do than order some random nobody to take a break.”

“You don’t seem like a nobody to me.”

“Up until today you didn't even know who I was, and I've been working for you for about two years.”

“For me.” “Huh?”

“You said you were working for me.”

“Under Lucius.”

“Same difference.”

You chuckled at his smugness and let your eyes return to his handsome face. The magazines did not lie - he was even better-looking in person. Sharp jawline, chocolate-brown eyes, he was an absolute dream, and he probably knew it too. Which is why it felt wrong to be laughing along with him. You didn't want to taint the image of Bruce Wayne you had in your head. He seemed like an airhead in public, but you knew just how much he did and contributed to your department - not every airhead can do that. The little crush you’d allowed yourself to develop should remain just that - a crush. People say never to meet your heroes - well, you didn't want to date them either. You thought it would end just as badly.

“Looking at security algorithms all day isn't going to make you come up with them faster. Take a break. I know a nice coffee place not far from here, I'm sure it’d help. And after that, if you want to, you can come back here, drown in blueprints, and never be disturbed again.”

You eyed him curiously, raising an eyebrow.

“Why?”

“Because you look like you’re a sketch away from having a mental breakdown, and despite what everyone says, I do care about my employees’ health.”

You weighed your options.

You could either get coffee with your super hot, super intelligent, super incredible boss, maybe talk to him a bit about your work and prove that you’re an amazing employee, or -

Yeah, it’s not really a hard choice, is it.

That's how you got yourself seated across from Bruce Fucking Wayne, yapping away about your ideas and projects. And surprisingly, he drank up every single word.

As cliché as it might sound, the rest was history.

Bruce took a liking to you almost instantly. You were so smart, so full of ideas and so innovative. It also helped that you were strikingly beautiful, and that he felt himself drawn to you every time you were near.

You allowed yourself to fall for Bruce. Slowly, but you did. Only after he proved to you that he was a good person, that he was nothing like the man people saw on TV and gossip magazines. He was more, much more than that. He was extremely intelligent, being an incredible match for whenever you wanted to discuss any new technological advances, and a very good conversation partner. It helped you two had a shared interest in applied sciences - soon, spending time together also doubled down as him giving you a hand with your projects, and you with him.

It was a win-win situation. You enjoyed spending time with him, he enjoyed spending time with you. You liked doing a good job, he liked helping you. It was perfect.

And it wasn't just about work, of course, you just liked being with him, in his presence. He was comforting and so very funny, and your heart could about burst with joy whenever he was near.

You had that same effect on him as well. During company dinners, he started paying attention to you more and more, dragging you away to dark corridors and telling you jokes and anecdotes about other workers and people he disliked. He'd place his hand on your lower back and bring you close so you could hide your face in his chest and giggle into it. It felt natural to be in his arms, like nothing had changed and nothing ever would.

About three or four months after you began talking and hanging out, he officially asked you to be his girlfriend.

You knew it was a big deal - normal people could date and fool around all they wanted, but not Bruce Wayne. So when he took your hand and looked into your eyes, you knew it was serious.

It had been a lovely evening. A dinner at some nice restaurant you’d always wanted to try but could not afford, a stroll in the park, and his sweet confession under the bright lights of Gotham. It was perfect, and you’d kissed him and thus sealed your romance.

Work became easy to manage after that. You could often be found at Lucius's department, and were often buried with a thousand different projects, so you really didn't have the time to miss Bruce. It's not like you didn't miss him as a whole - simply that you knew the both of you had business to tend to, and the quicker you got it done with, the quicker you could meet up after.

But that’s not to say you didn't spend time together at work. Bruce visited you on your lunch breaks more than often, the two of you pressed against each other as you spoke and ate your respective meals. There was nothing Bruce wanted more than to bring you to his office and spend time with you there, but it was risky. No one knew you were dating, and it could mean trouble for your department and his company. You didn't mind it - your space felt like home, and having Bruce there just added to its charm. Besides, you felt like some sort of character from a movie, hiding your secret relationship with your boss from the entire world. Well, not the entire world. Lucius found the both of you quite often, shooting you Bruce a wink, and you a knowing smile, and telling his boss about how “real smiles look good on him” and how he should smile them more often.

Speaking of home, you got to meet his. Bruce took you to his Manor a few days after you’d started dating. He wanted you to be around his place more often. Being Batman was lonely - being Bruce Wayne was even worse. He had to go home to an empty Manor pretty much every day, with only Alfred for company. And no offense to the older man, he had taken care of Bruce his whole life and he was extremely grateful for that. But the Wayne heir did not exactly want to come home to his butler sleeping on his bed, clad only in one of his shirts. It was a vision he never wanted to have.

Instead, he gave you a set of keys and told you to make yourself at home. If you didn't know just how serious he was about the two of you, you wouldn't have accepted them. And it’s not like you’d be moving in right away - the keys were simply so you could come in and out as you pleased, spend some time with him, spend the night if you wanted to.

He had rules, which you understood. No going in the piano room - that was his father’s old study and he did not want anyone in there. It seemed inviting, and the books on the shelves tempted you, but you did not want to break Bruce’s trust and never entered it.

You made friends with Alfred rather quickly. You found the way to his heart was fixing the coffee machine he so loved and refused to replace.

“Miss, with all due respect, do you know what you’re doing?” He’d asked in that low British voice of his, somewhat worried.

“I promise you, it’ll be good as new.”

To your credit, it was. You'd fixed it after a few minutes, and Alfred marveled as the machine he’d tried to have fixed about seven times the past month worked flawlessly before him. When Bruce got home that day, the butler turned to him with a proud nod and declared you were the one for him.

Bruce thought so too.

That’s why he began planning how the hell he was going to break up with you before things got too serious.

He knew he liked you - that much was obvious. He liked you very much. He liked you, and your personality, and your voice when you chastised him but also when you praised him and told him you loved him, loved your sarcastic sense of humour, loved the way you made his heart leap out of his chest with a simple smile. He thought of all the reasons that made him like you so much, and they only reminded him of why you couldn't be together. He couldn't have you in his life - not when he had a double identity, when he kept a secret as big as life itself. He couldn't drag you into his mess of a life.

Which is why breaking up hurt him a thousand times more than it did you.

He sat you down in his living room and spewed some bullshit about not being able to give you the future you wanted, something about not being a good person and you deserving better. He wasn't very clear, kept it short and concise, and confined himself to his bedroom after it was done so you wouldn't see him cry.

It broke your heart to say the least. You'd come to know this man and learned to love him so deeply, and to have all that happiness taken away from you was devastating. You wanted to follow him to his bedroom, ask why the hell he was doing that to you when you loved each other so much, when you were sure your love was stronger than any force in the world.

But something inside you made you hesitate in front of his father’s study. You were told to never enter that room, but right now, all you wanted to do was go against each and every one of Bruce’s rules. You wanted to love him, to be with him, to go inside the stupid room and play the piano he told you never to touch.

You walked inside, marveled at how pretty everything was, how right. Everything was in its right place, and the room seemed like a very soothing room to be in. You imagined yourself, sitting by the window, book in hand as you sipped your coffee. You could get used to that.

Bruce clearly had no idea what you were up to, because if he did, he wouldn't have let you wander around the room, looking through bookshelves to find out what kind of reading his father did, and finding a weird contraption that seemed far too odd to belong to a bookshelf. That sort of mechanism belonged in doors, in gateways, in entrances - more specifically, to the kind of hidden doors Lucius’s office had.

Bruce clearly had no idea what you were up to, because if he did, he would've found you as you figured out how the hell to open that mysterious door that posed as a bookshelf, and would've stopped you before you could enter the elevator inside.

Perhaps he shouldn't have let an engineer and a technology prodigy alone in his most forbidden room.

Bruce clearly, most assuredly had no idea what you were up to, because if he did, he wouldn't have let you wander around his cave, eyes wide in surprise and amazement. You looked around, wondering why the fuck your boyfriend had a whole ass dungeon to yourself. So you got busy. And it didn't take much for you to understand exactly just what the fuck was happening there.

You looked through the blueprints, through the prototypes, through the endless stashes of papers. You eyed every sketch for gloves and utility belts, and confusion clouded your brain until your eyes laid on top of a cowl. A very familiar one.

Holy shit.

Your boyfriend is Batman.

And then suddenly, everything clicked into place.

The weird schedules, the missed dates, the exhaustion, the odd bruises you managed to get glimpses of.

The breakup.

It all made sense now.

And when Alfred confronted you a few minutes later, having found the secret entrance to the cave open and having quickly followed inside, you frowned and asked out loud why Bruce had hidden such a thing from you.

“I think that is something you should discuss with Master Wayne himself,” was what he’d told you, and you were quick to cradle the cowl next to you and run back upstairs.

You knocked on Bruce’s bedroom door incessantly, and for a while you thought he had gone out or abandoned you for good, but after an assertive “I know who you are”, he opened the door at the speed of light, eyes widening once he took note of the cowl tucked under your elbow.

It was an extremely awkward conversation - for him, that is.

While half of you was freaking out because your boyfriend (you refused to call him your ex. You were not breaking up with Bruce Wayne.) was the fucking Batman and he’d never told you, but the other half told you that everything wasn't always what it seemed, and that you should let him explain himself.

He did, very awkwardly. He wasn't expecting you to find out - not at all. So, this whole “you-found-out-i’m-a-masked-vigilante-after-i-broke-up-with-you” atmosphere was one he was simply not used to. And he hated it! He’d just told you a bunch of bullshit about the two of you not being able to be together - somewhat true - and he’d tried to erase you from his mind. And now you were sitting in front of him while he tried to explain everything to you.

It took a while to settle in, but once it did, it was easy to understand why he did what he did. He told you how afraid he was to lose you, should any of the criminals he fought against get a hold of any personal information on him. He told you about how it was already hard enough to trust Alfred, the man that had raised him his entire life, the man he saw as a father figure, too afraid something would happen to him. The more you knew about his double-life, the more it’d put you at risk.

Still…

You grabbed a nearby pillow and hit your boyfriend on the head repeatedly.

“You - “ HIt. “Are - “ Hit. “Such - “ Hit. “An - “ Hit. “Asshole!” Hit. “What the hell were you thinking!” You hit him once again for good measure and he removed the soft weapon from your hands, tired of being hit.

“I was thinking that I had to protect you.” Bruce said calmly. He’d be lying if he said a massive weight hadn't been lifted off his shoulders. He loved you, truly. He wanted to keep you safe and away from harm and away from him, from Batman, from the one figure that could doom your life forever. But he also trusted you and wanted to share everything that was his with you. He wanted to show you everything, to show you who he truly was and what he did and just trust you because it felt so nice to have someone like you. Someone he could trust. “You shouldn't be with someone like me, with someone that could endanger you so easily.”

“I think I can make that decision by myself,” you retorted, reaching for the pillow again. When it was clear Bruce was not relenting it to you, you scoffed and playfully pushed at his chest. “You're an idiot, Bruce. I thought you didn’t love me anymore.” It seemed like a playful remark, but Bruce could make out the sadness in his voice, and kicked himself mentally for causing it.

“How could I not love you anymore?” He asked, caressing your cheek with his hand. “You’re everything to me. That's why I was willing to let you go, so you could be happy.”

“I can’t be happy without you,” you mumbled.

“You'd learn how to. Find some nice man with no secret identities, who spent his night doing something normal like puzzles or crosswords, whose life would never put you in harm’s way.”

“Puzzles? Crosswords?”

“As long as he didn't go outside dressed like a bat, I'd be happy.”

“But I don’t want that. I want you.”

Bruce sighed and looked away, but his hand never left your face.

“You shouldn't. It’s not good for you to be with me. Hell, look at me. I'm Bruce Wayne. my whole life is under scrutiny and the public eye is merciless. How can I willingly let you be put under a microscopic lense just like I am?”

“That’s not your choice to make, Bruce, and you know it. I don’t mind. I don’t care whatever I go through, as long as I go through it with you,” you held his hand with your own, and placed a few soft kisses on his.

“Still. You just saw my cave. That's not exactly boyfriend material now, is it?”

“I’d say a sex dungeon is worse.”

This earned a chuckle out of him, and for a brief moment, he got lost in your gaze, as he often found himself getting.

“Only you could make me laugh at moments like these.”

“And I'll be here too do that for many more years to come.” You scooted over, and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Just… Don’t shut me out, Bruce. I love you. We can do this together, and I'll be fine, I promise. And honestly, you don't even have much of a choice here, because you said yourself you didn't want to break up with me, so, well, there’s no real reason to do it.”

He sighed, and after a while, nodded. He was allowed to be selfish, wasn't he? To take you for himself, to allow himself the comfort of being loved.

He didn't have much of a choice, it seemed. You were intent on being with him no matter what, and despite a little voice in his head telling him that was a terrible idea, he let himself smile and agree to whatever you had to say. He always would, really.

“So you just weren't going to let me break up with you?”

“Pft,” you scoffed, kissing him softly. “I wasn't. You’re mine now, Wayne. Or should I call you Dark Knight from now on? You gonna save me or something, Batman?” You chuckled slightly and something dark flashed in Bruce’s eyes. With one swift motion, he had you pinned down to the mattress, and your giggles had evolved to full on laughter.

“Pretty cheeky, aren't we today?” He asked with a soft smirk, the one you recognised not from the tabloids and the gossip magazines, but from time spent with you. “You seem awfully into roleplay.”

“Nothing of the sort. Just wondering if having a goal such as rescuing the fine maiden would improve your performance.”

“Improve my performance, huh?”

Bruce reached down to spread your legs and slot himself in between them.

“We’ll see.”

Now that Bruce could be completely open with you, life was good.

He'd no longer come home to an empty Manor and even emptier bed, but you working on some sort of new prototype by the fireplace, or reading about some new technological advancement in bed. Such sights made his heart melt. It was all worth it. The sleepless nights, the bruises, the exhaustion. It was all worth it for you.

Your time together went by quickly, and before you noticed, you were celebrating your second year as a couple. It was a lovely celebration, quiet and private - the way you two liked - a nice dinner by the river, music, some champagne, promises of a future together, and a question to move in with him.

The answer was more than clear. You already spent a lot of time at his Manor, so moving in felt natural and comfortable. You wanted this. Wanted to move in with the love of your life, wanted to wake up to his lovely face every day, wanted to teach him how to make coffee and laugh as he gets it wrong after all this time, want to massage the knots caused from stress off his shoulders, wanted to be with him at all possible times.

Moving in was extremely fun. You had some stuff from your apartment that you simply had to keep. Old memorabilia or some furniture you were super attached to. Items and clothes and such. But aside from that, you simply sold everything else and began your life inside Wayne Manor.

It was great. It was perfect, even. Bruce still came home rather late sometimes, and he still cancelled your days ever so often, but at least you knew where he was, what he was doing. Sometimes, you’d go down to the cave and talk to him, ask him how patrol was doing through the intercoms and ask him to drive home safely. He always complied.

One night, he came home to you fiddling with some of his old grapple gun prototypes. Useless, he thought them, having only kept those for spare parts.

“What’re you doing?” Bruce asked, walking up to you as he removed his cowl.

You smiled. Seeing him in his suit did things to you - it reminded you he was the just vigilante that kept Gotham safe, risking his own life for others, of course - and you gave him a head to toe look, clearly enjoying the view.

“Working on something,” you said simply.

Your boyfriend walked up to you, looking over your latest creation. It was still his old grapple gun, and yet it looked different.

“I implemented two other grapples.” You handed him the object, crossing your arms over your chest. “Was a bit tricky, but I managed to do it. The line is strong to handle five times your body weight now, and you can use it not only to holster yourself up in the air, but also pull heavier objects towards you. What do you think?”

Bruce took the gun in his hands and examined it. It was slightly heavier, but you’d managed to keep it small and efficient. It would be of extremely good use.

“Thank you,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to your head. “You're brilliant, really. What would I do without you?”

“Probably die in a ditch.”

“Probably.”

At first it was hard convincing him that it was totally okay for you to help him in his endeavours as Batman. You told him over and over again that there was nothing wrong with it. You weren't out there, you weren't actually out there, it’s not like you were in danger. No one could hurt you so long as you were in the safety of your shared home. After a few helpful tips and some upgrades on his gadgets, Bruce relented.

And it was when you began to slack off at work that he realised that something had to change. He'd find you asleep on the job, too tired from having spent the night working on some new concoction for him. You couldn't keep your eyes open during meetings, and would fall asleep during every single ride you took.

You told Bruce you were fine, of course. You'd been a college student once, and you’d survived. This was nothing. Still, your too sweet boyfriend would force you to stay home for days on end just so you could get some rest. He needed you not only safe, but also healthy, even if his demands for you to take a break were met with groans and eye rolls.

One night when you were huddled up in bed, you confided in him that you loved helping him out as Batman. It was a way for you to be involved in his life, do something nice for the city, and put your inventions to test.

That's when he came up with the idea.

It took a while for him to confess it, after all, he knew how much of a hardworking woman you were. You wouldn't simply abandon your job to help him out, now would you?

To his surprise, you did.

You loved the idea as much as him. Sure, you loved your job at Wayne Enterprises, and were extremely proud of what you had achieved so far. But you had to admit you were stretching yourself too thin. Between your job and your little side gig, you had no real time to rest and it was killing you. So, you accepted.

You handed in your resignation letter to your boss, billionaire Bruce Wayne (who smiled and spun you around in the air as he kissed you. You teased him about his lack of professionalism and he reminded you the company was his with a pat on your backside.) and headed home.

From then on, you made being Batman’s sidekick (a title he hated, really. You were much more than just a sidekick) your full-time occupation. You had your hobbies, sure, and your interests, and you went out with friends and made the most out of your life. Only this time, instead of working a 9-to-5 job at your boyfriend’s company, you remained inside his cave, crafting new objects and tools for him to use during his nightly duties.

You created an explosive gel for him, a tool he could use to blast doors down and even stun enemies with. You were quite proud of that one, laughing loudly when you heard him use it for the first time through the intercoms. All you’d heard was a loud “boom”, and Bruce’s voice muttering a husky “fuck”. That was how you knew you’d done a good job.

The Remote Control Batarang was one of your finest inventions. Bruce first asked you what he hell he needed a remote control Batarang for (he also hated the name Batarang - truly, no fun), but it proved to be useful real quickly.

“You have two men to your left, one of them has a gun, the other has a bat.” Chuckle.

“Very amusing,” Bruce whispered.

“I think it’d be a good time to try the remote control Batarang,” you said, eyes flicking between the screens in front of you. “The one with a gun seems confident, but the other one not so much. If you tackle him down, he’s sure to not put up a fight.”

“You were dying for me to use this, weren't you?”

“So much.”

You heard him remove the Batarang from his belt, and the few beeps informed you he was done setting it up. The slight woosh as the object cut through the air, and a distant man’s scream of agony was enough for you to know you’d succeeded once again.

“Now who doesn’t need a Remote Control Batarang?”

“Don’t call it that.”

“Love you too. Coast is clear though, go ahead.”

Maybe the Shock Gloves were your favourite. They were a quick and easy way for your boyfriend to stun his enemies and leave them unconscious long enough for him to do whatever he had to, while not taking their lives.

You took Bruce’s no killing rule extremely serious. While you thought some of the people that terrorised Gotham most certainly deserved a fate worse than prison, you thought it was noble of him never to take a life for himself. His moral code was commendable and something you loved about him.

And it goes without saying that after you finished the first prototype for the shock gloves, you made a smaller, daintier tool that allowed you to playfully shock people when you greeted them. Alfred was your first victim and later that evening, he cut off your hot water in retaliation. Touché.

Your freeze blasts were quite useful as well. He'd used them only a handful times, but as long as he did and they helped, that's all that matters.

Sometimes, Bruce would come home in the late hours of the night (or perhaps the early morning), and find you doubled over your desk, sketching prototypes or putting pieces together.

It warmed his heart to see you were working so hard just for him, but tugged at it because you needed sleep. You needed rest, and here you were, working away for him. Creating new “toys”, as you’d so often call them.

“What’re you still doing up?” He asked one particular night/morning, after having taken off his suit, and resting his head on the juncture between your shoulder and your neck. You sighed at the gesture - after such a tiring day,Bruce’s comfort was all you needed.

“Working,” you mumbled, fingers moving with dexterity, tugging and twisting at some cables.

“Isn't it a bit too late for you to still be working?” He replied against the skin of your shoulder.

“Isn't it a bit too late for you to be coming home?”

“I’m not working anymore though. Coming to bed.”

“Are you? Goodnight then.”

Bruce shook his head and you could feel his brown locks brushing against your skin, tickling you.

“Look at how far we’ve come. I used to be the one abandoning you in bed.”

“You're lucky I found a new hobby.”

“Hm.”

You remained in silence for a while as Bruce watched you work. He had no idea what this new contraption of yours was, but he was sure it’d be brilliant, as they all were. As you were.

“This,” you said, voice only above a whisper, as if to not distract you, “Is a remote electrical charge.”

“Interesting.” What was interesting though, was that he began pressing kisses to the column of your neck, hands wandering to your waist. “I can’t wait for you to tell me all about it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes. Because now, we’re going to sleep.”

You scoffed.

“I have to finish this Bruce, I'm sorry.”

“You’re stubborn. So very stubborn. Why did I hire you anyway?”

You turned to face him and feigned a thoughtful expression.

“Because I'm really hot and you love me?”

“Damn it. Both of those are true.”

You chuckled and leaned in to kiss him, sighing as soon as his lips slotted against yours. You'd never get tired of kissing your boyfriend, that was for sure.

“Fine,” you mumbled.

“Hm?”

“Take me to bed, Batman.”

“No. No Batman here. With you, I'm Bruce.”

“And that's what I love the most about you.” You smiled and lifted your arms, a silent plea for him to carry you. He rolled his eyes but did so effortlessly nevertheless, happy to obey your every command. And he of course was a sucker for having you near him at all times.

“Let’s take a shower first. You reek, Batguy.”

“Whatever you say.”

Needless to say, the Remote Electrical Charge was extremely efficient.

You were the perfect pair, really.

Although you joked about being Bruce’s sidekick, you felt more like a partner, really. You'd go and make the tools, he’d go out there and use them to kick some ass. It was a perfect situation. A win-win. And you didn't mind not working at Wayne Enterprises anymore, not really. You still visited Lucius often, and, when you weren't too tired, you’d help him out with certain projects. Your ideas and skills had only gotten better after all the things you’d help build, and your former boss appreciated the effort.

You helped Bruce with pretty much everything.

Helped improve his suit, fixed his car (more than once), his motorcycle, and even made a few prototypes for other means of transportation. He’d tested everything from jetpacks, to something that weirdly resembled a rocket and a flying suit. There really was no limit to your imagination.

Your life as Bruce’s girlfriend was eventually discovered, shortly after you two moved in together, and you decided to take in a “secret” identity, just as he did. To the public, you were Bruce Wayne and his dumb girlfriend who spent her days inside his mansion, sunbathing and spending his fortune. To those who knew you better (so, like, about two or three people), you were the Caped Crusader and his inventor girlfriend.

Although that title didn't stick for long, because after a few years, Bruce asked you to marry him.

That’s when you became his inventor wife.

And that was a life you were happy to lead.

A/N: And that's it!!! I hope you guys enjoyed this! Once again, I'm so sorry to my anon. I've been super busy and tired, and I got the requests mixed up. If it helps, I really enjoyed writing this - Bruce and an engineer girlfriend who builds stuff for him sounds like a pretty cool idea.

Well then, that's all for today!!!

I hope y'all have a wonderful day ahead <3

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #bale!bruce wayne #bale!batman x reader #bale!batman #bale!bruce wayne x reader #the dark knight #the dark knight trilogy #the dark knight fanfic #the dark knight fanfiction #nolanverse #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne x fem!reader

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trashpandato · 6 months

Text

Art

Kara is a doodler.

Anytime she has a pen or pencil in her hand, she doodles. Initially, it started off as a way for Kara to find a credible explanation for when she was drawing Kryptonian symbols on the edges of her school work in high school.

“Kara likes to doodle,” Jeremiah explained to her teacher who had pointed it out during a parent-teacher meeting.

Kara had to ask Jeremiah what doodling meant, and then vehemently disagreed with him that that is what she was doing. But then Jeremiah reminded her, again, that she could never let anyone know that she wasn’t human and really shouldn’t be writing Kryptonian words on anything that could be seen in public.

From that moment on, Kara learned to stay away from words and began to try and capture her memories of Krypton as images. She still doddled, as Jeremiah called it, because all anyone not familiar with Kara’s background would see on the page were circles (not Krypton’s moons) or abstract shapes (not the skyline of buildings Kara remembered seeing from her bedroom window).

Over time, Kara’s doodles became less about Krypton and more about things she had seen on Earth. Cat Grant famously asked her about a scribble of a cat in a tree that showed up on the upper left edge of a printed press release Kara had handed to her. Kara stammered her way through an apology and explained that she had rescued a cat during her lunch break and the image must have stuck in her head somehow.

Most of the time, Kara’s doodles are about food, though.

She draws little pizzas, dumplings still in their steamer baskets, croissants that make a decorative edge around the notes from her latest interview. It’s mindless fun and keeps her hands entertained when she’s bored or needs some release valve for her extra energy.

“It’s almost Freudian with you” Alex joked once when she found a small ink pen drawing of a box of donuts on a few notes Kara made while listening to a briefing at the DEO.

“I told you not to schedule the briefing over lunch,” Kara shot back and then immediately launched herself into the skies in search of her favourite donuts in National City.

And then she meets Lena, and it doesn’t take long for Kara’s doodles to include little chess pieces, loops that remind her of the earrings Lena wore that day, sharp lines that look a lot like a certain building with a large L on its facade.

It’s years into their friendship when Lena finally asks her about it.

Kara is sitting at her kitchen island, lost in thought. She’s spent the last few days frantically trying to help organize Alex and Kelly’s wedding. She’s exhausted, and Lena has offered to make them some tea to help Kara relax when she turns around and asks.

“What’s that?”

Kara frowns but looks up at Lena then.

“What’s what?”

“You’re, I don’t know, scribbling something. Or drawing. I’m not sure because it almost didn’t look like you were even paying attention to what your hand was doing.”

“Oh,” Kara feels a little like Lena caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. “It’s nothing. Just a doodle.”

Kara wants to cover up the paper in front of her but Lena is already there, craning her neck to see the small image that has appeared on the edge of Kara’s to-do list for the wedding.

It’s a small portrait of Lena. Next to a larger doodled heart.

It’s not subtle, but then again, none of Kara’s doodles ever are. It’s just that usually no one else sees them. But when Lena does see this one, she freezes. For a brief moment, Kara wishes a portal would open up in her kitchen so she could disappear rather than have to explain. But then, Lena turns to face her, eyes wide but oh so full of hope and Kara knows this is it, the final step for them.

Years later, Sam finds the framed doodle in Lena’s and Kara’s apartment, hanging just to the side of several photos they’ve taken over the years of their friends and family. Sam turns to Kara and smirks.

“This is high art. You should feature it more prominently.”

Kara smacks Sam’s arm but can’t help the broad smile overtaking her features.

“I’m sure if I move the Kandinsky to hang this one up by the fireplace instead, Lena is going to divorce me.”

Sam laughs but then says: “Lena loves you so much, she would let you doodle on that Kandinsky.”

And Kara isn’t so sure about that. It’s an original, after all. But she is sure that Lena loves her, so she just nods and pulls Sam back into the living room to re-join their friends.

Kara does draw a small portrait of Lena on the side of her Yahtzee score sheet later, though.

#supercorp #kara x lena #supercorptober2023 #supercorptober

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wonwoonlight · 2 years

Text

between season | lee jihoon

A/N: i do not know what this is. but Jihoon has made me feel more like myself after so long and I truly owe him for everything and that's how I ended up with this work. i hope you enjoy nevertheless!

➝ Jihoon x Reader (ft. Seungkwan)

➝ word count: 6.5k~ words.

➝ slice of life // angst // breakup!au // non-idol!au // hurt comfort // it ends happily tho, i promise

➝ inspired by: Taeyeon - 11:11

➝ tagging @boowanie @nothingbutadeadesceane @lily-blue and @hoe4wonwoo thank you for talking to me in the dms when it was hard for me ♥

계절틈에 잠시 피는 낯선 꽃처럼 like a bizarre flower blooming between seasons 하루틈에 걸려있는 새벽별처럼 like a morning star caught between the days 이 모든 건 언젠가는 다 everything that's happening right now 지나가고 말겠지 they will all pass

The calendar in your living room is mocking you.

You frown at the red circle around 18 November, a Friday, doodled over and over again with a little messy heart on the corner. Below it, your own writing reads: “Gapyeong!!”.

It’s a promise. One that you made before the bridge collapsed, not knowing it would happen. Because, surely, you don’t make a promise to go on a trip with someone expecting the relationship would fall along the way, do you?

You bite down your lips at everything; your calendar, the streaking red marker glaring at you, the memories of him. Everything.

Despite the way you almost draw blood at how hard your teeth are digging into your lower lip, the tears fall down and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Just like how you can do nothing but stare at the date in front of you with blurry sight like it would magically disappear.

It didn’t.

“You’re really going?” Seungkwan frowns, his worried eyes wouldn’t stop following you as you continue to pack for your trip.

“Why not?” you shrug nonchalantly, as if you weren’t panicking about your decision just last night. As if it wasn’t Seungkwan who had to force you to eat because everything tasted bitter so you didn’t feel like eating after the break up, if you can even call it that. As if it wasn’t Seungkwan who patiently picked up the pieces of your broken heart, hoping that at least gathering the pieces together in one place would make it easier for you to get back again and fix it at your own pace.

As if it wasn’t Seungkwan who hugged you to sleep last night because you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“I already took the day off. Might as well.”

Your friend bites back a sigh, his brain turning, trying to convince you that it might not be a good idea.

“You can just go somewhere else?” he tries once again, like he hasn’t been saying it since the moment you tell him about the trip. “Or you can just take a rest, you know. You deserve it.”

“I already booked the train ticket, Kwan,” you answer softly, knowing full well that you’re just looking for reasons. You could’ve cared less about your booking even though it means your money would be gone just like that.

You don’t even know why you try to lie to Seungkwan of all people. Maybe you’re trying to make yourself less pitiful.

He looks at you with a knowing look, and you sigh before putting in the last of your clothes to your small luggage then meet his worried gaze.

“I just… Maybe this would be my closure? One last thing I’d do for our relationship, you know? Going through the last plan I made with Jihoon might help me let go?”

You don’t even sound sure, much to Seungkwan’s distaste and concern. He would’ve come with you if he could, but his cousin is getting married on the 19th and he can’t possibly miss that because he’s been made best man. He doesn’t know what other reason he could use to convince you not to go.

“You do realize it’s only been a month?” he finally says, regretting it a little at the sight of your eyes tearing up. Still, he doesn’t think he should stay silent when his best friend is suffering, and he feels like going on this trip by yourself would just be another form of torture because you’re just going to think of Jihoon the whole time and he wouldn’t be able to be there for you when the situation calls for it. “It’s normal that you haven’t moved on. You were together for four years. You don’t need to rush it.”

A very uncomfortable silence envelops the both of you, but you pull yourself together before you break down into tears yet again, and you exhale a long breath as you start busying yourself to get back to packing.

“I promise I’ll be fine.”

Seungkwan doesn’t say anything, knowing that it’s not him you’re trying to convince.

You grip the shirt in your arms as you press your lips together when you say the words to him, the words ringing in your head: you’ll be fine.

“You’ll be out of town during your birthday?” you pouted, pulling away from his embrace.

Jihoon nodded with a sigh and his arm that was around your waist tightened a little. “Seokmin… got a call from a very big agency and, as his main producer, I’m obliged to attend the meeting with him and his manager. He… he said he’d only consider the meeting if they let him bring me into the possible team of the agency.”

“But it’s two months from now?” You made sure, confused. Who grabbed a date for a meeting from two months prior?

Jihoon said something about the CEO of the agency wanting to meet them personally, that his schedule was packed and that he’s out of the country, so the soonest possible would be then.

Despite your dismay at not being able to celebrate his birthday together, your heart bloomed with pride, knowing full well Seokmin and Jihoon deserved it. Seokmin had been growing slowly but surely as a singer, together with Jihoon who would produce his songs and help with the chorus from time to time–feeling more at home in the studio rather than the stage.

Seokmin was easily one of the most talented and hardworking people you’d ever encountered in your life, along with Jihoon himself, and to know he’s being scouted by a big agency and he insisted on bringing Jihoon with him… You couldn’t help but swell with pride. This might be it for both Seokmin as a singer and Jihoon as a producer.

They had worked too hard with as an independent artist with minimal management. It’s about time they got an actual agency backing them up.

“Should we celebrate it early then?” you suggested as you unlocked your phone and opened the calendar app, your back against his chest. “You’re leaving on your birthday, right? The 18th is Friday, I can take a day off and we can go on that trip to Gapyeong that we’ve been talking about.”

Jihoon hummed, looking at your phone as he dropped his cheek on top of your head. “Sure. We can go back on the 20th. I’ll tell Seokmin I can’t do any preparation during then.”

“Should we book the train now?” you asked, though Jihoon knew you’re talking to yourself–it’s an endearing habit of yours that he’d always found adorable. Sometimes he’d annoy you by answering even though he knew you’re not asking for one, you’d glare at him and he’d plaster his palm over your face just to annoy you more, his laughter rumbling against his chest. “Eh, let’s wait for a discount instead. I think Jisoo said something about it the other day.”

“Ow!” You shout as you fall forward, hissing at the hot coffee spilled over your hand, your elbow holding your weight, and your knees hurting from the way it’s also taking in your whole body. Honestly, how can so many things happen in the span of two seconds?

And who on earth let their stuff scattered on the ground where innocent passerby could trip over and–

“Oh my God, I’m sorry, are you okay? I–Oh… [Y/N] ?”

You still at his voice, the dull pain on your elbow, knees, and even the burnt on your hand suddenly do not feel as prominent as the loud beating of your heart.

“Jesus, I’m so sorry,” he snaps back to reality, quickly helping you off the ground and wincing at the way your face turns into a grimace when your ankle moves. He looks at the spilled coffee on the ground, steam still coming out of it, your hand must’ve been burnt. “Shit, I’m sorry. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

It’s so natural that it hurts–for him to hold you by the arm, to help you sit down on the bench and rummage through his bag to look for anything that might help even though you know, you fucking know there’s no way Lee Jihoon, of all people, would have first aid kids in his bag. You were the one who had to bring it around for the both of you–have always been since before.

You softly let the strap of your backpack down as a silent message, and Jihoon bites his lip before he nods in understanding, fully familiar with this backpack that you always use for your short trip. He knows where you’d pack the first aid kit.

He rummages through your backpack, taking the small bag and kneeling down in front of you to inspect your legs after making sure your elbow is not scratched.

You bite down your lip to start your eyes from watering, hoping that if Jihoon notices the quiver of your lips or the tears lining your eyes, he’d be kind enough to pretend that you’re close to tears because of your presumably bruised knees instead of whatever the fuck is happening right now.

“Does it hurt a lot?”

God. His fucking voice.

You don’t trust yours, so you shake your head in hope he’ll leave you alone after this. He won’t though, you know he won’t.

But still.

He softly calls your name, and you shake your head harder, putting the first aid kit back to your backpack when Jihoon gently grabs your arm and takes a look at your burnt hand.

“Let’s take care of this, yeah?”

“I can do it by myself,” you say, your small voice stinging his heart.

It’s the first time he’s heard your voice since the break up, the first time he sees you since then too; in a busy city like Seoul, it’s unsurprisingly hard to bump into you by accident even though he knows your routine by heart.

Or at least your old routine because you never seem to stop by the usual coffee shop at 7.30 in the morning again, nor do you visit the dessert house that sells your favorite lemon meringue tart according to the much too happy cashier when he dropped by last week (“Oh! Hi! Your girlfriend hasn’t been coming in these days, is she okay?”).

Maybe you’re refusing to bump into him.

His heart cracks a little more at the thought.

“You can barely even walk,” he says sternly, his inside twisting in ways that he doesn’t understand. He just understands that it hurts seeing you hurt and closed up. “Let me help you. Please?”

You want to say no, but you honestly feel like crying because of your knees and his presence, and your ability to walk on your own isn’t exactly existent right now, so you stay silent when he takes your luggage with him and helps you to stand up.

You almost let out a sob at the tender way his arm wraps around your waist.

Jihoon helps you to the restroom, tells you to cool your burn with cold water and that he’ll be waiting outside with your luggage so you don’t have to worry. You’re glad for the time alone at last, and you finally wipe away the tears threatening to fall down and you get yourself together as you hiss against the cold water.

It’s ironic, to be honest, but you’re not going to dwell on it and you’re going to step out of the restroom and thank him for the help then part your way after. You’ll figure out how you’re going to walk to your train later because, frankly, it’s your problem, not his.

It’s almost ten minutes later that you emerge from the restroom, and you turn to see Jihoon leaning by the wall, your luggage mixed with his on the ground with your backpack hanging off his shoulder. You snap out of it before your thoughts get everywhere, and it’s when you limp your way to him and try to take your luggage from the ground that Jihoon looks up from his phone and asks you what you’re doing.

You look at him, confused, and you thank him for the help but that you’ll manage from here.

You sound almost robotic, as if you’ve practiced this (you have for the last 6 minutes), as if it’s the most comfortable way for you to address him–like he’s a stranger who you bumped into in a train station. You would’ve seen the obvious hurt flashing across his face if your eyes hadn’t been busy burning holes into the strap of your backpack.

The whisper of your name falls off his lips again, your deluded mind registering it as desperation even though you’re sure it’s nothing but. He was the one who asked for the breakup anyway. There’s no reason for him to sound desperate with you, you think bitterly to yourself.

“At least let me help you to your train. When is it departing?” he tries, hating the way you’d rather suffer by yourself than accept his help when you obviously have a hard time walking.

And whose fault is that? Something within him voices.

He doesn’t even ask where you’re going–of course he knows where you’re going, you planned this trip after all. He just didn’t expect you to still go, much less (finally) bumped into you here.

He was just over the nearest tap water when he heard a soft scream, filling his bottle with water because he figured it’d take a minute and he didn’t think the strap of his bag would be a catalyst to any kind of accident, though he wouldn’t know that it happened because you were zoning out and you didn’t see where you’re going.

He bites his lip in frustration at your silence, but he really can’t blame you for not wanting to see him (yet?) after the whole thing. He did cause this mess after all, letting his stress and anger get the best of him and lashing on you when all you wished to do was to take care of him.

How much of an asshole can someone be, really?

The sound of an announcement snaps you both out of trance, telling you the train you’ll be departing on has arrived and that it’ll be 30 minutes before departure. Jihoon curiously turns to you to see if it’s also your train, even though he knows there’s no reason for you to be here this early if you’re taking the other train, which is an hour away.

You’re still refusing to meet his gaze, but when he asks if it’s your train, you timidly nod and he can see the way your fingers are digging into your palms.

“It’s mine too. Please, let me help you to the train?” he stubbornly asks despite the gentle tone he’s using. If Soonyoung has seen him like this, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t believe what he’s seeing. Lee Jihoon isn’t exactly famous for patience and continuous prodding upon turndowns.

He takes your silence as a yes, even though he still wouldn’t let you carry your luggage by yourself if you say no. You can barely even walk.

He turns to you in confusion when he feels a pull from behind, and he finds your fingers wrapped around the strap of your backpack, a silent request to let you at least carry it yourself.

“It’s heavy,” he shakes his head, but he knows you won’t back down so he gives you his small luggage instead. It should be easier for you because it has wheels, would probably help you walk too even slightly. “Take this instead.”

You grab the handle of his luggage, and for the first time that day, you actually look at him. Jihoon has your medium sized backpack on one shoulder and another small bag on the other. His macbook, you assume, he can never go anywhere without that gadget with him even though he’s told you he wouldn’t be working during this trip.

Maybe that changed. You’re not going on this trip together, anyway, you think as your heart clenches at the reminder.

Anyhow, he looks a little all over the place, and there’s also your small luggage still unattended on the ground. (Why did you pack so much again?) So you pull on your bag to get his attention, not having it in you to call his name.

“Yes?”

“Give me your bag,” you say softly, looking at his shoulder instead. He blinks continuously, but you say it should be light enough for you to take and he has way too many things to hold on to already. “I can put it on the top of your luggage. I’ll just hold on to the strap so it won’t fall down.”

Jihoon tries his best not to smile, heart a little giddy at the prospect of you still being considerate to him. God knows why you still care, he deserves your glare and maybe even a slap on the cheek. He looks at you, eyes casted down and fingers wrapped around the strap of your bag. It still hurts though, how much you’re refusing to meet his eyes and how small your voice is–as if you’re not sure anymore how to talk to him.

Maybe you don’t. He knows he doesn’t.

And so the both of you make your way to the train like that; with him carrying your stuff and you carrying his stuff. No words exchanged though you can’t help but glance at each other from time to time, missing the other’s eyes in a matter of seconds.

You can’t help but think: this isn’t exactly the paint of a broken couple.

Unfortunately, his seat isn’t next to you. Though, thankfully, you’re still in the same compartment and you’re sitting a couple rows in front of him on the other side, so he’s still able to see you from where he’s at.

He knows you’re uncomfortable, so he can’t press you to sit with him or the other way around despite his worry. He’s just going to watch you and maybe help if you ever need him to. He doubts you would though, this is just an hour long ride anyway. But you’ll surely need help in getting your luggage that’s slotted safely in the overhead compartment.

He sighs softly. He can only see the back of your head and the side of your face if he leans over a little. But he knows you’re silently listening to something on your earphone–probably Taeyeon, he muses, you’ve always listened to her music during a trip. He smiles to himself at the thought, though his heart twists a little at the empty space beside you, resided by your bag.

It would’ve been him, had he not been stupid enough to let his ego get the best of him at you that day, telling you that you’re exaggerating and he didn’t need you pampering him. And perhaps it was a bad day for you too, because you had laughed incredulously, the sound of it annoying him by the seconds.

“Maybe if you had cared enough to at least take my call I wouldn’t be here thinking you’re dead? Is your work the only thing that matters?”

He rolled his eyes at your dramatic words, shaking his head before he muttered something to himself that he never thought would sound loud enough for you to hear.

“Maybe if you stop being annoying I would’ve finished faster,” he grumbled. “Leave me alone for once.”

“Sure, if that’s what you want.”

Your voice was barely a whisper, and it’s so cold it still haunts him at night. It didn’t help that it took him a minute to realize that you’d heard him and you’re walking out after that. That he had asked you to leave him alone and you agreed with him. His heart was beating so fast he felt like throwing up at what he might’ve done without meaning to.

It had only been one minute at most, but he had lost sight of you and he panicked at the slow lamp indicator of the elevator going down, his finger frantically pressing the button to no avail. He ran down the stairs, three flight of stairs shouldn’t take that long, but the security guard told him you had just left with a taxi so he opted on calling you instead.

Quite obviously, his call didn’t go through, his texts wouldn’t get delivered too, and he was just about to call for another taxi when Seokmin came in and told him they needed to go meet one of the representatives before meeting the CEO, a meeting that he had completely forgotten would take place.

He asked if it’s possible to reschedule, or if his attendance was necessary for this particular meeting. Seokmin looked at him in surprise, obviously feeling the panic in his voice, so he shook his head no and that it should be okay if Jihoon couldn’t come today.

Seokmin didn’t manage to ask, the older guy already out of the door in seconds.

Jihoon blinks at the robotic sound of the announcement, and he looks up to see people getting ready because apparently his destination is 5 minutes away. Has it really been an hour? He leans to the side to catch a glimpse of you, scrolling through your phone without a care in the world.

God, he’s missed you so much it’s not even funny.

You haven’t been answering his calls, and for good reasons too, though he’s stopped calling you a week after that, knowing full well you don’t like it when people force you to take their calls. He had texted you instead, his words you can recite in your sleep.

[02:11] Jihoon☁ : I know this might not mean anything to you, but I’m truly sorry. I don’t mean what I said though it doesn’t change the fact that I said them and I hurt you. I’ll give you space and stop calling, okay? Not because I want to but because I know you need it. Please just… talk to me whenever you’re ready? I’ll be waiting.

[03:32] Jihoon☁ : I love you.

Little did he know, Seungkwan has been trying his best to convince you to talk to him. His concern of you going on this trip by yourself goes as far as him not being able to be there for you if you fall down into the rabbit hole of your own thoughts. You’re not someone who can be alone at times like this, and Seungkwan knows you’re aware of that tendency of yours.

He can only guess you purposefully go on this trip to walk down the memory lane, though he doesn’t see how it would work at all. You want to think of Jihoon, and maybe going on this trip, the last one you planned with him, would help you let him go even a little.

Seungkwan doesn’t know either why you’re already jumping into trying to move on. As far as he’s aware, the both of you aren’t officially broken up yet. Yes, Jihoon fucked up (and he already gave the older guy a piece of his mind when Jihoon asked him to meet not long after he stopped calling you), but no one asked to end the relationship and it’s obvious that you both still love each other.

But, then again, you’ve always had a problem dealing with your feelings when you’re overwhelmed. Plus, his words have always been your biggest insecurity: being too much of a bother for someone you hold dear.

As much as you’re the type to confront people when something bothers you, you’d go radio silent when the feeling is too much and you don’t know how to take it anymore. Jihoon knows you’d have days when you think like you’re a burden for everyone. And it’s okay, as he will never get tired of reminding you that he’s lucky to have you by your side and you’re never a bother to him.

Yet there he goes, spewing those words like a foolish man.

Seungkwan can only guess the fight affected you too much and that’s how you ended up where you are.

“Let me,” Jihoon says, not letting you take the luggage down by yourself. Everyone else in your compartment has gotten off the train, and Jihoon has purposely waited for them to get out of his way so he can help you better.

“I can do it though,” you whisper stubbornly, though you let him be anyway.

You let him carry it to the front of the train station, let him force you to share a taxi with him to the guest house you’ll be staying at, let him help you check in to the place, and let him talk long enough to remind you to get something for your burnt even though it’s not severe and it just stings a little now, and tell you to be careful with your knees.

This much, you let him.

“Thank you,” you say at last, because Jihoon has run out of reasons to keep on staying here when he has his own hotel to check in to and you don’t look like you need his help anymore. It hurts though. The words sound like they hold more meaning than what they appear to be, and Jihoon presses his lips together to appear calm despite the cracking in his heart. “I’ll be fine on my own now.”

It’s selfish, but he doesn’t want you to be fine on your own.

You don’t know who you are lying to by saying that out loud.

“You–what?” Seungkwan almost screams, making you wince at the loud sound blasting through your ears. Thank God you decide to use your earphones before calling him, having the whole cafe listen to Seungkwan nagging you is not on your list during this trip. “And what happened?”

“Nothing,” you answer nonchalantly, the pretense of being okay now coming in quite automatically even though you almost burst down into tears the moment Jihoon kneeled down in front of you to see your legs. “He helped me and I thanked him. Then we parted ways.”

“Are you dumb?”

“Hey!”

Your friend sighs, trying his best to rub away the incoming headache. You can’t see it, but you know Seungkwan is probably massaging his temple at the moment, and you can’t help but feel guilty because you know it’s because of you.

But, eh, he has caused you quite the same headaches just the same.

He huffs softly, and you know whatever he’s going to say, he’s saying it seriously and it’s out of the goodness of his heart. You play with your straw, and your eyes focus on the way your drink is swirling with the movement as you listen to Seungkwan talk.

Your eyes water at his words, and you immediately wipe away the tears before you actually break down in the middle of a cafe. His voice is hushed, because Seungkwan knows it’s the way to make you listen, and as much as you’ve already thought about the words he’s telling you, having someone actually tell you is quite something.

“Maybe talk to him? You’re both on a trip where you’re supposed to be together anyway. I don’t know why you’re pretending like your relationship is over when none of you ended it. Yes, you fought big, and he’s an asshole for taking it out on you that way. But you’re suffering with your own thoughts, and as much as I love you, this isn’t something that I’d be able to help you with. You know I don’t like to meddle and I’ll respect your decision no matter what, but I know you both. Maybe you’re disoriented because you’ve never fought this big, and it’s okay, but it’s been a month and listening to him might do you more good than bad. I don’t want you to end a relationship where you’re the happiest you’ve ever been like this–without clear words and over misunderstandings. You know I won’t say this if I don’t think it’s worth it, right? If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for the sake of your relationship with him. You barely even fought for the four years you were together, please don’t make hasty decisions because of this, okay? Do what you always do when you find a problem: talk through it and find out what’s going to happen next.”

You blink back your tears as you lay on your bed, Seungkwan’s words and Jihoon’s face filling your mind.

“What you have with him is much too precious for you to easily let it go, and I’m saying this as someone who’s known you for a decade. I’ve never seen anyone love you as much as he does. Nor have I seen you loving someone as hard as you do him.”

You close your eyes as you feel the wind grazing your face, thankful for the weather. Autumn is here after all, and you’re glad that today isn’t as cold as usual and the sunlight is hitting just enough for the day to be sunny.

You’ve always wanted to visit the flower garden, though you would’ve preferred it if you’re here since morning. But it’s your fault for sleeping in so now here you are, at 2 in the afternoon, walking through the beautiful garden as you lose yourself in the sight.

You slept at 2 in the morning, thinking over Seungkwan’s words and reflecting on what you have had with Jihoon. It’s true what he said, you barely even fought for the four years you were together, because you’re both cold headed people so you talk when something bothers you.

But it’s always been your weakness–being afraid that you’re a bother for someone close to you has always been your poison. Jihoon knows this, knows that it happens because of something in the past, and he has been nothing but understanding, always reminding you that you’re the best thing he could ever invest his time in and never tires to tell you that everytime it happens.

So to hear Jihoon, of all people, saying that, it’s almost like whatever’s holding you together is being ripped apart just like that.

You know he’s had a bad day, that he probably doesn’t mean it, and you have no reason except that you’re afraid for confronting him just in case your assumption is, for once, true. What if he wanted to talk just to clarify that, yes, he wants to end it?

Might as well run before it happened.

It’s a stupid decision, you know, even more for someone like you who’s always believed communication is key. But it scares you to lose him, and the possibility of him uttering those words to you… You think it’ll haunt you for the rest of your life if you ever have to experience listening to Jihoon explain to you why he thinks it’s for the best to end your relationship.

“Oof–” you jump as you bump into someone, luckily this time without falling face first into the floor. But you freeze just the same when you see who you’ve bumped into. “Oh… Hi.”

Jihoon looks at you with disbelief, blinking continuously as if unsure it’s really you he’s seeing. A month of not seeing you and suddenly he bumps into you when you’re both out of town? Given, he knows you’ve always wanted to visit this place, but he doesn’t exactly know when you’d go here.

He’s thought you’d go in the morning, and he did plan on coming then just to see if he’d see you in the sea of people. But his online meeting in the morning lasted longer than he expected, and he figures he should just go for the sake of your memory.

He snaps out of it when your soft voice apologizes and you excuse yourself from him. He panics a little for some reason, and he reaches out to grab your arm only for you both to look at each other in surprise.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, unsure.

You don’t know why you’re disappointed at the loss of his touch.

“It’s okay.”

Then you’re both frozen there, eyes locked on the ground instead of each other and no words were spoken. Like you both want to say more but don’t know how to.

You wait for a few seconds, for Jihoon to say something–anything–but he doesn’t and you’re not sure what to say either. You want to believe this is a sign you shouldn’t ignore, even more after the talk with Seungkwan last night.

Truthfully, you thought of texting him last night. But you cowered from the thought and instead chose to prepare your heart first before talking to him. Apparently, the universe has another plan. The question is: do you have to go with it?

“Umm…”

“Can I walk with you?”

The both of you say at the same time, an amused chuckle coming out of your lips before you realize. Jihoon almost sighs dreamily at the sight of your smile, how the fuck did he survive a month without seeing it once?

“Yeah, sure,” you tell him, much to his surprise. Did he expect you to reject him? Maybe. Either way, he’s glad you say yes and now you’re both just awkwardly walking through the path laid out through the garden. He’d rather be awkward with you than not with you at all though.

“Did you sleep well?” he tries, wondering why you’re here at this hour.

“Umm… I slept late because I was talking with Seungkwan on the phone.” A beat, then. “Did you?”

He feels hope blooming a little at your question, at least you’re not shutting him off and you’re not making him talk to himself.

“Not really. I had to wake up early for an online meeting,” he sighs, and, as if he forgets you haven’t been talking in a month, he proceeds to tell you about how the meeting went and which part pissed him off. Maybe he’s rambling, because he’s been wanting to talk to you all these time, or maybe he just wants to talk as much as he can before awkward silence envelops you once again.

Your presence next to him shouldn’t be in the same sentence as the word awkward.

“Did you just arrive?” he decides to ask. “I thought you’d be going in the morning.”

The familiarity hurts, and you know whatever talk Seungkwan told you to have, it’s going to come up sooner or later because you can’t pretend like you’re not bothered.

“Yeah. Like I said, Seungkwan talked my ear off last night. He’s nervous because it’s Seungcheol’s wedding today and he’s best man.” You joke a little, hoping to ease off the awkwardness somehow. Should you go for it?

Jihoon doesn’t seem to mind though, and he instead asks why you’re not going.

“It’s in Jeju,” you shrug. “And I already booked a train and the guest house for this trip.”

He bites his lips, not expecting you to be this bold out of nowhere. Still, he doesn’t know if you want to talk about it or if you’re just saying it.

You spend another moment in silence, and it’s about five minutes later that you exhale a deep breath and finally turn to him. He looks surprised at the sudden movement, his eyes meeting yours for the first time that day. He can easily detect the determination flashing through, and he readies himself for whatever you’re going to say.

“Can we talk?”

Jihoon holds his breath before he nods, and you both make your way to an empty bench beneath a huge tree nearby. It’s empty enough for you to talk, and maybe the peace of this place would hopefully bring one into your talk too.

“I… Sorry for ignoring you,” you start, your fingers digging into your palm. Jihoon notices this, and it takes everything in him not to pry your hand open and slot his fingers between yours. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable though, so he settles for intertwining his fingers together instead.

“No need to apologize for that,” he says, and you almost cry at how gentle his voice sounds to your ears. “I told you I’d give you space.”

“Still…”

“I don’t want you blaming yourself over something that I did,” he says, his voice firm but not scolding. His hand is already reaching for yours without him realizing and, much to his relief, you grip his hand instead of pushing it away. “And I did say I’ll wait for you. I understand. I said some hurtful things and you need time because of that. I should be the one apologizing to you.”

The words flow rather easily after that, because, apparently, all you needed was his tender eyes and the warmth of his hand covering yours. You almost cry a few times, because how can you not when he’s looking at you like that and you’ve missed him like crazy?

He apologizes, tells you about the stress that day and how it still doesn’t mean he has the right to say those things to you. And you tell him how it makes you feel, why you ignored him, and it hurts him to hear this directly from you even though he knows (and Seungkwan made sure how big his fuck up was) already. He can’t feel much shittier about himself than he’s feeling right now.

You barely even make sense, because talking as you try to hold back your tears isn’t the best way to talk. But Jihoon patiently listens to you, and when it’s clear that you can’t hold it back anymore, he pulls you into his embrace and you sob into his chest as you finally feel the warmth that you’ve been longing for.

Jihoon doesn’t say anything, but he gently shushes you and you can feel his lips on top of your head. His hand cradles your head as you continue crying like you’re not out in the open. Thankfully not a lot of people pass by this section, and the few people who do just look at you in concern before going on their way because this guy holding you seems to be what you need anyway.

When your tears finally die down, you feel his arms tightening around you, but you pull away a little to look at him. A small smile graces his face when you do, though there’s a prominent frown on his face and his thumb immediately wipes the remnants of your tears because they’re the bane of his existence.

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper softly like it’s a secret, and his lips bloom into a smile before he leans forward to kiss your forehead, heart beating in giddiness at the way your fingers are gripping the front of his shirt.

“I’ve missed you too,” he exhales, relieved that he can finally say it out loud. Jihoon has never been good with saying things out loud, but it’s you in front of him and you’ve always been an exception in his life. “Can I kiss you?”

You smile despite the tears in your eyes, and you relish the feeling of his lips against yours as your own words just a few days ago ring through your mind.

You’ll be fine.

You’ll both be fine.

A/N: i told you idk what is this lollll hope you enjoyed this anyway. please drop by my ask/replies/anything and tell me how you feel about it <3

#woozi scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fic #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenario #seventeen x reader #jihoon scenario #woozi fluff #woozi imagines #seventeen au #svt fic #woozi x reader #jihoon oneshot #jihoon scenarios #jihoon imagines #jihoon fluff #woozi oneshot #seventeen angst #woozi angst

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frodo-with-glasses · 1 year

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So, what’s next?

We’ve reached the end of the book, but the fun is just getting started! Here’s what to expect going forward.

Phase One: Reblog Marathon

First things first, I’m taking a short break from the daily doodles. For a couple weeks, this blog will be all reblogs of meta posts and gifsets; I’ve been storing them up for the past year and a half, and I’m taking the opportunity to share them all now!

At the same time, I’ll be running a BRAND NEW ASK GAME that I’m calling the “Artist Commentary Game”! Keep an eye out in about three hours for a post explaining it!

Phase Two: The Epilogue

This phase will be much slower-paced than the previous ones. This past year and a half has really helped me hone my ability to keep a schedule and be creative on demand (without burning out, amazingly!), but there’s only so much time in the day; and I want to focus those skills primarily on my original writing for a little while.

But that doesn’t mean I’m abandoning this blog! I’ll try to have something new posted here at least once a week, including:

A review of the epilogue found in The End of the Third Age (this one’s for you, @lady-merian!)

Any art inspired by that epilogue (watch me try not to draw the whole chapter haha)

Some bonus “after the war” comics (mostly featuring my two favorite families, Sam’s and Beregond’s, to nobody’s surprise)

Some Magnolia AU stuff

More lyric comics set to Hamilton songs

And more!

I still have a few of the Word Asks left over, so I might answer those as well. (To the anon who sent me a bunch of words for Frodo and Sam: I love you, I haven’t forgotten you, and I’m just saving the best for last ;-3)

Phase Three: The Digital Age

This one will run congruently with Phase Two, but it might outlast it.

As many of you know, I plan to set up a Redbubble store (by popular demand), and part of that process is turning my doodles into digital art in full color. As each of those new digital pieces is finished, you’ll see them posted here! I’ll try to have at least one published every week as well.

Phase Four: Deja Vu

At some point—perhaps September 22nd, because Important Dates—I want to start the book over again. There’s a lot of things I’d want to draw for, say, the Mines of Moria that I feel I could do a lot better now that my art has grown.

Again, I don’t know when this will start—between my original writing and setting up the store I already have a LOT of work on my plate—but I intend to do it at some point!

Phase Five: Bilbo-With-Glasses

Depending on the workload of Phase Four, I might run this one at the same time; but in any case, one day I will create a separate blog giving the patented Lady Glasses treatment to The Hobbit!

In conclusion…

This past year and a half has been really fun, and the future of the blog looks bright! I’m excited, and I hope you are too. ^-^ See you there!

#blog maintenance #lady glasses speaks

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moral-terpitude · 11 months

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Misadventures - Part 8

Here we are • crashing once again into the center of your moonlit face • our caved in ribs • your tears, they fall on my tongue • and our lips are letting go • as we laid on the side of the road

[Masterlist] [Series Masterlist]

Warnings: sexual themes, swearing, cops off duty, adultery, discussion of sexual harassment/ unwanted sexual advances, puking.

A/N: I added more doodles this time! That’s really all I have to add.

Summary: Being the youngest means Quinn gets picked on the most.

Word Count: 6,282

The crackling and flickering of the bonfire, the blended conversations of everyone lingering in the backyard, and smell of the fresh air and smoke was something that, until she experienced it each time, always surprised Quinn that it reminded her of comfort.

It was truly what home felt like.

She had pulled an old blanket out of the closet, surprised that they had reached the point where running out of lawn chairs was an option.

It was strange now, when they were kids it was always a yard filled with their friends on nights like these, but with her sisters and their husbands, and their kids, cousins, aunts and uncles, it was more full than it had ever been.

Anna had been wandering around the yard with sparklers off and on, drawing hearts and flowers in the air with the sparks, and Tommy noticed how diligently Quinn watched her.

She seemed to watch all the kids in that way, really. It was as if she had a running headcount, making sure everyone was where they should be.

Quinn yawned, pulling the sweatshirt tighter around herself as she let her head fall back against Tommy’s shoulder. She tried to keep reminding herself to act how she usually would, but the hardest part was remembering all the things she would usually do.

Some of the things she would usually do were just because she had been a young, dumb, overly affectionate, hormonal teenager.

“Tired?”

She shook her head, hair tickling in the crook of his neck, “Not really,”

“Aunt Quinn,” Anna sat at her feet, sandy hair a mess from running and sweating in the cool summer night, trying to use her flat palm to brush the strands out of her face, “did mommy tell you I want a horse.”

Quinn laughed, reaching out to pull the girl into her lap before continuing the conversation, “No, ma’am, she didn’t. Where would you keep a horse at? You live right downtown!”

“Opa-opa said I could keep it at his house,” her small fingers pulled at chunks of the grass, letting the pieces float back down to the earth when she let go of them.

Quinn leaned back, her voice barely above a whisper, “Opa-opa is my Opa.”

Tommy chuckled.

“Well,” Quinn smoothed Anna’s hair as she spoke, tucking her under her chin, “Opa-Opa isn’t going to take care of a horse for you, you would have to go out there every day to feed it and take care of it.”

“Horses are a lot of work,” Tommy chimed in.

Anna’s brow furrowed as she turned to look at him, a curious look on her little face at him speaking.

“Do you want to see a few pictures of horses?” Tommy asked, surprised when she broke out into a somewhat toothless grin at the offer, and answered with a quick nod.

Quinn felt her eyes growing heavy, the unidentifiable pattern Tommy’s thumb was rubbing into her thigh and the rumbling of his words through his chest as he detailed the names, breeds, and other facts about the horses to her niece had her closing her eyes regardless, nestled into him as the warm air of the bonfire lapped at her bare feet.

She hadn’t realized that she had started to fall asleep until she heard a laugh followed by Rebecca, her oldest sister, yelling a bit away from them, “Five bucks says Quinn wakes herself up snoring!”

Quinn opened one eye, earning a wave from her niece’s mother, to see Anna still in her lap, and Tommy holding up the brunt of their weight.

“Sorry,” she took a deep breath and took in her surroundings before straightening up, her niece running off once again to play with her cousins in the dark of the yard, “Do you want something to drink?”

Stiffly rising, she led the way toward the well lit garage, more of a large shed than anything, off to the side of the house.

“Quinn!” Wyatt waved across the garage, Rebecca’s rather tall and tanned husband, before crossing in a few steps, and pulled her into a hug.

“What?” She squirmed in his grip to offer an awkward pat on the back before he let her go.

“How have you been!”

Quinn nodded, startled by how loud he could be once he had a few drinks, before she answered.

“Good, busy with work, you know, the usual.” She shrugged, “Tommy, this is my brother-in-law Wyatt, Wyatt this is Tommy.” She gestured back and forth vaguely between the two of them, something she determined was going to be a common trend throughout the weekend.

Wyatt handed her an unopened beer as Tommy shook his hand, and Quinn choked down a laugh at the small amount of surprise on his face as Wyatt pulled him in for a hug.

“Nice to meet you!”

Tommy nodded, “Yeah, you too.”

“He’s a hugger.” She explained, as he wandered back off and a round of laughter came from her brother in laws once again.

Quinn opened their old house fridge (that had been relocated to the garage when the new one was delivered) and squatted to dig through the bottom shelf, procuring two Diet Cokes, stuffing the beer on the shelf with the others.

“Unless you want it?” She asked, drumming the can with her fingernails.

Tommy shook his head as she cracked open the can, taking a sip of the pop.

“He’s a copper, too, yeah?”

Quinn blinked, brow furrowed, as they exited back into the dark yard, now able to converse easier without the loud music playing on the stereo, the ringing the chime at the beginning of Metallica’s For Whom The Bell Tolls echoing through the air before she spoke (was it 10 o’clock already?).

“Did he go earlier with you guys? He acted like y’all hadn’t met.”

“We haven’t. Earlier I gathered from conversation that a few of them are cops.”

Quinn nodded, “Yeah,” she swallowed thickly before continuing, “two of them. David and Wyatt. David is who Emily is marrying.” She hesitated again before she spoke, “and Gerard. Apparently.”

Tommy hummed as she slipped her shoes back on, having made the whole journey barefoot, “Seems like some fucking nepotism to me.”

She smiled, a small laugh escaping, “Sure fucking does, you got that right,” she bumped him with her shoulder before picking up the blanket,”c’mon, there’s something I want to show you.”

Tommy trailed behind as Quinn walked with the blanket over her shoulders as if it were a cape, until they reached the clearing in the middle of the trees, the chatter and crackling of the bonfire long gone.

“This,” she declared, holding her arms out on either side of her, “is one of my favorite places in the whole wide world.”

She spread out the blanket, kicking her shoes off to the side before sitting in the middle of the blanket.

Tommy followed suit sitting next to her, but he understood. He didn’t ask her to elaborate.

One of his favorite parts of the caravans as a child had been taking off into the woods, camping out on his own to look at the stars, the fresh air of the country free of the city smog.

Quinn flopped back, arms behind her head, the following thought she shared making Tommy wonder for a second if she could read his mind, “The light pollution is so minimal out here, it’s nice to actually see the stars. I thought it would be cool to share the secret, but I just remembered you didn’t always live in the city, so you’ve actually seen the stars to their fullest potential before.”

“I have, but it’s been awhile. Always nice to see, eh.”

There was silence for a moment. He had waited until they regrouped that afternoon to tell her how their adventure at the shooting range had turned out.

“I’m sorry for wrapping you up in all of this.”

Quinn had a feeling it wouldn’t be an amicable guys day out sort of trip once she knew Gerard was involved, and she would have liked to think Gerard had maybe gotten better as time had gone on, but if it was at all possible he might have been worse.

“They’re not as crazy as you think. They have their hearts in the right place.”

Quinn chuckled. “I don’t know if that’s the way I would put it, but sure.”

A comfortable silence surrounded them for a while. In the distance there was still the hollering of children and parents laughing around the fire. Music playing from the garage was almost audible, even at their distance.

She enjoyed the seclusion. The privacy.

“I used to come out here all the time as a kid. I’d bring a blanket and sit under a tree. I’d usually read a whole book in an afternoon if no one came to bother me.”

Sometimes she wished she could go back to then, live in the easier moments forever.

She didn’t expect him to be so close when she turned to look at him. He'd been watching her talk, listening intently. Little flecks of lighter colors in his eyes the most apparent that they had ever been.

He was pretty, not that she wasn’t already hyper aware of the fact. Handsome was probably the correct word she realized, a deep breath filling her lungs, some kind of instinct taking over. It must have been, because she didn’t feel in control of her limbs, his nose tracing the bridge of hers before their lips met.

Tommy was gentler than she had thought he would be, lips soft as they molded against her own.

And, had she really been daydreaming about this before without realizing it?

Somehow, she realized, it felt like time was faster rather than slower.

She couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped as he licked into her mouth, strong fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of her neck.

Does he seriously remember after two years how fucking good that feels?

He was strong but not rough as he pulled her to straddle his waist.

She let her hands roam the planes of his chest through the cotton shirt, a fidgeting hand eventually settling against the pulse point in his throat, fingers ghosting against his jaw as one hand palmed her ass through the light washed denim.

Fuck these pants, if we were the only ones outside he could put two of his thick fingers right inside—

“Okay, we,” Quinn chuckled, their foreheads pressed together as she took a shuddering breath, hyper aware of the way his hands were kneading at the bare flesh of her waist beneath her shirt, “should probably quit while we’re ahead.”

She didn’t want to. At all. The burning ache in her gut told her that much, but for as daring as Quinn could be, she also knew if it went on any longer that she wasn’t quiet, and her family didn’t need to hear that as they sat around a bonfire.

“Fair.”

The grass crinkled under the blanket as she lay back down, curled into his side with her head situated on his shoulder.

It could have been twenty minutes, it could have been an hour or two later when Tommy shook her awake to tell her they should go inside and go to bed.

The next morning felt significantly less rough.

Quinn woke up, before the sun was coming in the window, Tommy up against her with his arm slung over her waist.

She was able to enjoy the silence and revel in the warmth for around 30 seconds before the prior day flooded back in to her mind.

She didn’t know how to feel about all of it.

She felt guilty for not feeling guilty about Tommy being married. She believed him that they were actually separated, but Dalton’s reaction had planted a seed of worry in the back of her head that was now starting to grow.

Last night in the clearing under the stars had been too perfect. Too right.

It was like something out of some cheesy romance movie she had vowed to never watch again.

Fuck. She realized the reason it all felt so confusing, I’m fucking falling for him.

She was in the midst of the free fall. She had already jumped, it was already done. It just was a unknown period of time before it ended messy, quick and fast like a body smashing into the concrete after they jumped.

No, you idiot. That isn’t how everything has to be.

If Quinn did anything right she knew it was that she loved people hard, far much more than they deserved at times.

So part of her confusion, stemmed from the guilt and unrealized jealousy of Tommy having something she had always wanted.

He was standing in the mirror of a life she had always dreamed of, a married life, a couple of kids.

Regardless, she knew it was ready to crack and break at any moment for him.

She couldn’t be the one to force his hand with the decision and have it all ripped away. It would be too much.

But part of her realized she, while yes she was pretending because they weren’t actually together, didn’t have to force the affection. It wasn’t an act.

She sighed, wriggling out from under his loose grip and slipping on the sweatshirt from the previous night.

Quinn checked the time, seeing it was a little before 6 am. She was never up this early of her own volition, and she sensed it was doing Tommy some good to actually sleep in.

She stood at the coffee pot, watching the liquid drip into the pot before she poured herself a cup, the steaming liquid warming her hands as she let herself quietly onto the front porch.

The wicker furniture creaked as she sat on it, blanket pulled over her legs as she took in the colors of the early morning sunrise blazing through the sky.

Maybe life does put people in the right place at the right time.

She shook off the thought as she sipped from the mug, nails clicking on tbe cup as she tried to let herself wake up.

After everything that had happened with Gerard, she didn’t really believe in right place right time. She had always felt like she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Her solitude was interrupted some ten minutes later, the door clicking quietly closed, as she turned to look and see Tommy, barefoot in a clean tee shirt and sleep pants with a similar cup and disheveled hair.

“Morning,” she smiled, situating herself on the couch so there was room for him next to her.

He hummed, sitting, and letting Quinn toss the blanket over him before she tucked her legs under herself.

“It’s kinda cold, do you want this?” She plucked at the collar of the stollen sweatshirt but he shook his head.

“C’mere.”

He shifted enough so she could sit between his legs without being leaned back too far, still able to drink the scalding coffee from the cup.

“This is nice.”

“The view?”

She felt him shake his head, “All of it.”

She dozed back off after a while, the empty cup sitting in her lap, her grasp on it gradually loosening.

It wasn’t long and she was awoken to the sound of the screen door being thrown open, her mother peeking out, shockingly without makeup yet on, with the house phone in her hand.

“Quinn, it’s for you. It’s Hannah.”

Her stomach sank as her brows drew together, “Shit. I only gave her the number for emergencies.”

Taking the phone, she crammed it between her ear and her shoulder as she headed back inside to refill the cup.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m sorry. I think I woke your mom up,” Quinn took a sip from the mug as Hannah spoke. She could hear the warble in her voice and Quinn could tell something wasn’t quite right.

“She’s fine, she’s usually up. What’s going on?”

“I tried calling you first, I know you said only to call in an emergency—“

“Is Mr. Bee okay?”

“Yeah, Quinn, he’s good. It’s not that. I need you to check your phone; I sent you some screenshots that got sent to me last night. I just saw them.”

She took the basement stairs two at a time, hearing the screen door once again close as Tommy came in the house. At this rate they would have everyone awake in the next 10 minutes.

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to open today,” Hannah continued as Quinn ripped her phone from the charger.

No. No no no.

“ ‘I don’t want to throw anyone but who is responsible under the bus. Please, please, do your research before going to White Rabbit Tattoo on 14th—‘“

Quinn took a shuddering breath, turning to see Tommy standing in the doorway before she continued.

“ ‘Chris there is an absolute pervert. Told me I needed to have my whole top of for a shoulder tattoo when I specifically wore a tank top. Not my first tattoo—‘ “

She could feel the room getting fuzzy before she sat down on the bed, trying to take a full breath with the tears welling in the corner of her eyes.

Skimming further down she picked back up where her eyes focused again.

“ ‘I eventually messaged a friend to come pick me up after he purposefully touched me inappropriately multiple times. I hate to think what would have happened if I would have finished the appointment.’ “

Quinn could feel all the color drain from her face as she took the short amount of steps to the bathroom, tossing the phone on the sink before emptying the few contents of her stomach into the toilet.

“The google reviews are tanking by the hour. People are leaving reviews that have never even been there—“ Hannah had put the phone on speaker, but Quinn wasn’t sure if she sounded further away because of that or because of the rushing of her pulse in her ears as her heart hammered in her chest.

“We are not opening today. Post on Facebook, Instagram, everything.” Quinn pulled her legs to her chest, leaning back against the bathroom vanity before tearing off a stray piece of toilet paper to wipe her mouth before flushing it all away, “Start canceling everyone’s appointments, just do it from the apartment if you want to. I’ll call Dante. I’ll have him pack up his shit and take it to him; The cops need to be called but I need to look at the cameras first.”

Quinn sighed, ruffling her hair, trying to take deep breaths and keep her own recollections at bay.

There isn’t time for that right now.

“I’ll see what I can pull up on the cameras. I’m not sure if that one is angled right to be able to see in there or not.”

“Okay. You got it. Sorry, by the way, I thought I could handle it, but—“

“No, it’s fine. Don’t be sorry. Let me know what you find out.”

Quinn ended the call before there was any more chance for deliberation.

Standing on shaky legs, she brushed her teeth, looking at herself in the mirror and trying to convince herself that this wasn’t some karmic reaction smiting her for the previous 24 hours.

“You alright?” Tommy asked as Quinn reappeared in the bedroom a moment later, digging into her bag for clean clothes as he buttoned up his jeans, pulling on a black tee shirt.

She sighed, hands on her hips, not quite sure how to answer the question.

“If I can get this sorted, I will be.” She swallowed thickly, gathering up the phones and her iPad in an attempt to head back upstairs, “I hope.”

Quinn kept herself held up in her father’s office until around noon. Damage control on something this severe hadn’t been in her plans for the day, but it was something she couldn’t ignore either.

“Right…there.”

There was a knock on the door as she paused the footage, the woman from the Facebook post standing at the front desk. It was around 8pm, so Hannah would check her in and then leave for the night, leaving the woman and Chris in the studio alone.

“Yeah?” She called, grabbing for the coffee mug and seeing it now empty.

“Everything okay?”

She smiled as Tommy padded barefoot across the wood floor, closing the door behind himself, before she realized he was in swim trunks and a tee shirt.

“Oh no, they’ve gotten to you.” Quinn laughed.

“Yeah. I’ve been sent to retrieve you. Really, though, is everything okay?”

She sighed, leaning back in the chair as he looked over her shoulder at the screen.

She had already watched the whole night in reverse. Already witnessed the worst of it, the grabbing, the groping, what looked like yelling and screaming between Chris and the client, before she took her stuff and left.

“Yes. I’d much rather fire someone. I can’t stand for letting them have their way with someone. I just have to send the time stamps to Hannah so she can call the cops and…that’s all I can do from here.”

She sighed, typing out a quick message to Hannah:

Here’s the clip of the night. Call the cops. And please, if you can get ahold of her, just send a message and let her know whatever the tattoo was, if she wants, I would love to finish it at no cost. It’s the least I could do.

“Cam-cam you are slippery!” She blew a raspberry at her nephew as she hiked him up on her hip, oblivious to how intently Tommy was watching her as they ran around the yard, bubbles from a wand trailing behind them as she did.

Something about the scene pulled at his gut. She looked good with a child on her hip. Barefoot. He liked to think the two piece bathing suit had nothing to do with it, but maybe it did.

Both of them laughing as the breeze came through again, the toddler with his arms wrapped around her neck.

“Okay, Bud. Off you go. I can’t run like that.” She sat the boy on his feet, ruffling his hair before he took off across the lawn.

“They look so small in the pool,” Tommy remarked, itching for a cigarette, as the kids dove to the bottom in search of a diving stick that Roy had tossed in.

“In my family, if you can walk you can swim.” She noted, picking up Anna, who ran to her aunt with her arms raised, before unceremoniously tossing her in to the pool like it was nothing.

“So, everyone can swim?”

“Yeah,” she reiterated as Liam ran across the concrete, wet feet slapping as he stopped in front of Tommy.

“Me next! Me!” He jumped a few times before Quinn nodded and Tommy tossed the boy, squealing with delight, into the pool.

Quinn failed to note the mischevious glint in his eye as he continued, closing the space between them, taking in, in what he hoped was a subtle manner, the peonies that adorned her ass, peaking out from the black bathing suit bottoms, “That means you can swim.”

“Yep.” She beamed, and in two more steps she was starting to realize what happen as he had finally grabbed ahold of her.

“Tommy! Thomas Michael! Put me down! Right now!”

He had ahold of her around the middle, not letting her squirm out of his grip before he threw her into the water, pulled down with her as she managed to keep ahold of him.

“Are you sure you can swim?” Tommy joked as they resurfaced, holding both their weight with her legs wrapped around his waist before finding a spot where his feet could touch the bottom.

“Yes,” she sputtered indignantly, wiping water out of her eyes before tucking her glasses into damp hair, “but just because I can doesn’t mean I wanted to.”

Quinn tried not to smile when he did, taking the opportunity of her closeness and grumpy demeanor to give her a quick peck on the lips, pulling back to see if her mood had softened any.

“No?”

Quinn tried to keep her lips pressed into the same thin line, but it was no use. He continued to pepper her face and neck in delicate kisses before she finally broke, laughter filling the air.

“Get a fucking room!” Rebecca yelled, pelting her sister with a pool toy before Tommy sat her gently on the edge of the pool.

Quinn stuck her tongue out, taking her hair down in order to wring it out, purple dye dripping onto the concrete.

“Quinn, did you do that?”

Rebecca, her brown hair plopped on top of her head, waded through the water, pulling Anna in the pool floaty next to her.

“Yeah, I swear no one listens to me. That’s how we met.”

“Wow, how long did that take?”

“Seven or eight hours,” Tommy answered, water dripping across the concrete as he swiped Quinn’s pack of American Spirits from the table, lighting one, and standing far enough away that the slight breeze wouldn’t blow the smoke towards any of the kids.

“Are you going to let her finish it?” Rebecca laughed, leaning next to Quinn on the concrete surround.

“Hey, now, he knew what he was getting into when we started, don’t talk him out of it now,” Quinn turned to look at him, “but did you put on sunscreen?”

Tommy nodded, as if her constant questioning while she was getting changed and her own assistance needed with the task hadn’t made him remember.

Rehearsal dinners, Quinn decided, were the worst thing ever.

Not because she was jealous, but because her family was all in one place and wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

All of her sisters had their husbands and families, all different variations of the same person, subconsciously modeling themselves after their mother.

Quinn was the black sheep. Her aunts and cousins almost clutched their pearls around her. Not that her sisters were all as innocent as they looked, they just received the benefit of the doubt when they got DUIs as minors or caught doing coke in the bathroom at the golf club.

Not that she hadn’t. Gerard’s dad usually dropped her on the doorstep from whatever shenanigans she had gotten up to as her younger self.

They all bow their heads while the preacher says the prayer before they eat, Tommy earning a light kick from her under the table as he doesn’t clasp his hands immediately.

“I am going to get violently stoned in the hot tub later if you’d like to join me,” Quinn whispers. He holds back a laugh.

“Won’t your parents get pissed?” He asks as a resounding amen comes from the crowd of people.

“They won’t be there. Well it’s their house, they’ll be there, but they’ll probably stay inside honestly.”

“Quinn,” Madelyn, a year her senior and sitting across from her begins with an evil twinkle in her eye, “did you ever tell Tommy about the time—“

“Nope!” Quinn knows the story, Madelyn knows the story, all of the girls and even her mother know the story.

“No. We are not, absolutely not, sharing that right now, Maddie!”

“Oh come on,” Amanda continues, “now I know where your head is! She wasn’t talking about that one she was talking about the bicycle story!”

Surprised blue eyes met hers and a quirked brow appeared before a grin, “How many stories are there that are that story, Quinn?”

“At least seven.” Monica chimed in from the other side of her.

“Jesus Christ, I should have put you at the end of the table…” she whispered, grasping for her glass as some form of distraction from the impending line of questioning.

“So, eight.” He whispered.

Her grip on his knee tightened, “Don’t you dare, Tommy.”

Her sisters clucked like hens trying, and succeeding, in trying to find a way to embarrass Quinn.

“Fuck this,” she pulled her purse from under the table, “I’m going to have a cigarette, yeah?”

Tommy didn’t immediately follow, much to her relief, and somewhat to her disappointment. The air was hot and the humidity clung to her skin. It didn’t provide much in the way of comfort to pace the sidewalk, staring at the well manicured shrubs, just silence.

“Fuck,” he sighed standing next to her, “give me one of those, eh, I can understand why you moved a 10 hour drive from them.”

“They’re not always like this,” she sighed, “it’s like they all take a day or two to acclimate to someone new being around I swear.”

“I can already tell they think somethings up,” Quinn blew out a cloud of smoke as she let her feet float in front of her in the hot water.

“Well, Monica informed me in your brief absence earlier that the last family function you were at, by this point, they had already caught you fucking the last guy you were with in a coat closet twice. Suspicious may be an understatement, eh?”

He said the words without looking at her, both of them staring into the starlit sky as he took another drag from the cigarette and she hit the remnants of a joint that truly wasn’t doing the trick.

Old ass shit. Quinn coughed, catching her breath before giving an exasperated sigh, “Yeah, it seems I’ve set a certain precedent for myself, huh?”

His eyes wandered her face before speaking, “So let’s fuck.”

“Right here?” She challenged.

She had passed out on his couch or crawled into bed while being there and he had never made a move, never showed interest much further than some fast friends with flirty jokes and sexual tension you could cut with a knife.

Until yesterday, that is.

“Still better than the bar bathroom.”

“We didn’t make it out of the bar?”

“After the first time, yes.”

She rolled her eyes, glancing at the lights, muted by pulled curtains in the house, “What If they see?”

“Isn’t that the point? You want them to be jealous, I’ll help you make them jealous.”

Floral adorned legs wrapped around his waist as he stood before her but no further move was made.

“We don’t have to.” Something in the look on her face made him back off.

“You’re still married, Tommy.”

He shook his head, “I’m just waiting for the paper in the mail that says I’m not. It’s not stopping her, anyway.”

“Well,” with a roll of her eyes she let her head drop back, realizing they’ve already done whatever damage could be done once, “I haven’t said no.”

“Well you haven’t said yes either.” How his eyes could be so bright in the dark baffled her. She trailed the lines in his arms that weren’t marked by her, covering the scars from fights and broken bones.

“Did I say yes last time?” Wet fingers found his cheekbones, tracing a path to push hair off of his face.

“Yes,” he whispered, hot breath trailing her neck, one hand grasping the cool concrete that surrounded the enclosure, the other on her lower back, the heat of the water no match for the temperature now coming from her skin, “quite a bit. Usually strung together with a few other words, like please,” her breath quickened as lips trailed her skin, “and Tommy, and fuck me harder.”

He could tell she was visibly flustered.

The glass rattled in the picture window as two sets of hands pounded on it.

“Bingo,” he pulled back enough for her to see that twinkle in his eye before they both snapped to the window before it was cranked open.

“Hey!” Amanda leaned against the screen, Erica giggling and drunk next to her, “mom said no fucking in the hot tub unless you’re going to pay to have it cleaned!”

“I’m sure that is not what mom said,” Quinn whispered.

Dried and changed into something that could be used as pajamas, Quinn lay on the bed on her stomach, drawing on her iPad, while Tommy sat in the patio chair outside talked on the phone to Charlie. It was early morning there, but he seemed more than excited to talk to his son.

“Bitch,” she hissed, as a firm hand came in contact with her ass.

“Who the fuck is he talking to this time of night?” Amanda questioned, flouncing on the bed.

Tracing the digital red pencil lines, Quinn didn’t look up, as the tv continued talking in the background, “His son.”

“Oh! Fuck! You know how to pick ‘em, don’t you!” Amanda lay her head on her sisters shoulder, watching her draw, before continuing, “Did you tell mom and dad? Fuck, Quinn. You’d be a stepmom.”

“Can you not be so fucking loud, please.”

“Fuck, you really do like him.”

Without her sister having the full context of the situation, the words really did make Quinn take a second and think about it.

She cared, maybe too much, for someone she was convinced she was only friends with, but the nights spent sharing a bed and pretending it was just because the movie they were watching wasn’t over yet or because it was just too late were something that she would be sad to see quit if the feeling wasn’t mutual.

Waking up and finding herself being held, bare chest pressed against her back this morning was an entirely different matter.

She really did like him.

“Yeah. So don’t fuck it up for me, okay?”

She huffed, leaving the room in silence as Quinn buried her face in the covers.

Her playing hard to get was going to bite her in the ass.

“Ruby, make sure you’re good for your mom,” the words got louder as he got closer, “okay? I love you, sweetheart.”

She could’ve melted. A man good with kids was a damn weakness.

“‘Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling.��” His words caught her off guard as he took a hold of her leg, reading the words that ran along the back of her calf, blackletter text adorning it.

“Oscar Wilde.” She continued working, “It’s only half the quote, ‘and Domine, non sum dignus should be on the lips and in the hearts of those who receive it.’ Lord, I am not worthy.”

His thumb traced the skin where the words sat.

“You are.”

She shook her head, not yet turning to look at him. “They bet me that I wouldn’t have someone decent by the time my sister got married, and they were right and I couldn’t face it, so here we are. Don’t you have some fucking paperwork to work on…”

She mumbled the last of the words into the blankets before feeling the bed sink.

“We weren’t a good match.” Tommy paused, trying to decide if now was a good time to get into the semantics of the way his marriage had withered away over the last few years, “Lizzie and I only got married because she was pregnant, she was a family friend that would go to business dinners with me before I hired her to be me Secretary. Before me brothers and I left to go to the airport to go to Louisiana, we had an argument and she told me she wasn’t sure if my daughter is mine.”

Quinn felt the tears well in the corner of her eyes, the quiet gasp leaving her mouth involuntarily.

“Ruby had just turned six years old. I was angry. She told me to go do whatever I wanted, as if it was some sort of consolation, to even the playing field. Before I moved for business we had been living separately in the same house. The divorce papers are just waiting on Ruby’s bloodwork to come back.”

“It took you two more years to decide to get a divorce?”

“Well the middle of a pandemic didn’t seem like the time to try and rearrange me family, eh?”

She leaned her cheek on her arm to look at him. “Fair.”

“Are y’all fuckin’?!” Madelyn announced her presence far before making it to Quinn’s bedroom door.

“No!” Quinn’s yelled response was hard to not laugh at as her ears flushed bright red.

Tommy thought three brothers and a sister were bad enough, he couldn’t imagine growing up with six sisters.

Madelyn hung on the door frame as she popped her head inside, “Want to be sociable and come play cards? They’re setting up card tables and mom ordered food. She even got those southwest egg rolls you like.”

This seemed to be the olive branch of the issues of the last few days, as the usual spark she seemed to have was slowly returning.

“Are they playing something easy?” Quinn questioned, shifting to cross her legs on the mattress.

“Euchre.”

“I said easy, not something that’ll make me cry. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to explain it well—“

“I’ll play,” Tommy interjected.

Quinn turned to him with her brow furrowed, “You’ve heard of Euchre?”

“We play it at the holidays,” Tommy confirmed, not entirely sure what the confusion was about.

“British people play euchre?” Madelyn took the turn to be in disbelief now.

“Yeah, It originated in Germany, I think,” he clarified, “we’d bet money on games as kids when we traveled. My brother Arthur wasn’t great at it, and my brother John would always lose us points not following suit.”

“Well, I’ll watch but count me out, I’m worse than the both of them combined.” Quinn confirmed.

Well, they’ve survived this long! Now to see how much further through the weekend they can make it before chaos ensues!

#tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky fucking blinders #peaky fookin blinders #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic #fanfic #quinn meyer #misadventures #modern tommy shelby x oc #modern peaky blinders #modern day au #modern au #modern!tommy #modern!tommy shelby #modern thomas shelby #modern tommy shelby

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row-boats3 · 11 months

Text

A piece I wrote in like 20 minutes because I have Encanto brain-rot and I started thinking of how Mirabel got her “gift” in a Celebrity!Madrigals AU

……..

Mirabel returned home sluggishly, tossing her bag to the couch as soon as she crossed through the door of their home.

Unsurprisingly, the house was empty.

Mama had gone to an interview for her new cook-book, dragging Papa with her as even with her collected front she hated doing interviews alone. Tia Pepa was working hard on recording her next album with Tio Felix. Dolores was at a meeting for her cover art, Luisa at training for the athletic event, and Camilo at a table read for a new, exclusive movie he wasn’t allowed to tell her about yet.

Even Senorita perfecta Isabela would be welcome right now, but she was out too, negotiating a contract with a new, up-and-coming fashion boutique.

Once again, ordinary Mirabel was left alone as her extraordinary family won over the hearts of the public.

It wasn’t like Mirabel resents them for it.

(Well, maybe she did - just a little - but she really didn’t mean to.)

Mirabel loved her family more than anything, and they loved her. She knew her family loved her, they showed it every day. They were just so busy with interviews, and work, and fans, and fame.

(And yeah, maybe things have been tough for a couple years since Camilo had started getting serious acting work. Maybe Abuela was starting to pressure Mirabel, or asking her why she hadn’t started working on something impressive like her sisters or cousins. Maybe Mirabel felt just a tiny bit alone every time her parents, or sisters, or cousins were too busy to ask about her day or help with homework. That didn’t mean they loved her any less, right?

Right?)

She turned the TV on, just to drown out the silence of the apartment. It landed on an old rerun of a talk-show from last week, an interview of Dolores quietly teasing her new album. Mirabel left in on, the familiar voice always calming.

There she was, home alone, given full range of the top floor apartment building her family owned.

She was was wholly, completely, unequivocally bored.

With nothing better to do, she decided to actually do some homework, pulling out notebooks of her bag and flipping to the next clean page of her math one. Her eyes wandered, smiling at the paper.

Just before it was a page full of doodles from when she got bored in class, all symbols important to her family. Herbs for Mama, A thunderbolt (the name of Tia Pepa’s first solo album), a chameleon for Camilo, Flowers for Isabela who always said she wanted to be a florist before modeling took off. Beside the individual drawing had been a smaller sketch, the markings inside a pair of pants.

Mirabel paused.

She glanced down at her own, suddenly very plain skirt.

Her private school had many rules on dress code - no colored hair, uniform below the knees, black shoes.

They said nothing against modifying the turquoise uniform, did they?

In a sudden moment of weakness and ADHD hyperfixation, the teen shot up. Papa kept some extra sowing supplies in the back of his closet, didn’t he?

Somewhat quickly, with only a small fight with a jacket, she’d gotten the sowing kit and changed clothes to pull her skirt over her lap.

She sowed, carefully working the needle in and out of the fabric in a focus she’d never had before.

So often, she was “the other Madrigal”, the boring one, the child left to herself. So, if she had to be plain Mirabel, the least she could do was have a not-so-plain skirt.

Two weeks full of lonesome days passed by thanks to that needle and thread before the skirt was done, and she was no longer so plain.

She had no idea almost a year and a half after that, she sold her first fashion design, catapulting herself from ordinary Mirabel into the spotlight as one of the Magnificent Madrigals.

#encanto #ao3 author #mirabel madrigal #I had to write this just so I could go to bed #celebrity au #camilo madrigal #felix madrigal #pepa madrigal #agustin madrigal #dolores madrigal #antonio madrigal #julieta madrigal

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urprinceoflove · 11 months

Text

One Kiss

Pairing: Misa Amane x GN!Reader

Summary: You walk Misa Amane home after school one day and something you never thought would happen occurs…

Warnings: Fluffies

Word Count: 1,060

A/N: i would like to thank my friend for semi-giving the plot and also forcing me to write this for them

Deathnote Master List | Full Master List

—

You slammed your locker shut as you clenched your notebook with your free hand. The opposite hand was placed on the locker. You sighed. Lunch had already passed and you were down to the last class of the day. “Hey, Y/N!” A cheerful voice called from behind you. You stood up straight and turned around. No one was there. “Er… Down here…” The voice said again in a more quiet tone this time. You looked down.

“Not too bad.” You replied. “You?” “Exhausting!” Misa blurted out suddenly. “School is a lot of work…” She pouted.

You smiled to yourself, listening to Misa’s cute voice. You only had one thing in mind and that was her . Well… at least for the next four seconds. In which, the bell rang just before you entered your next class swiftly.

Misa also shared the same class as you and the both of you sat in close proximity to one another. The two of you shared Art class. It was a simple class that was mostly laid back. The teacher would go over a warm up; followed by a project that would be due the following week and you would set off to draw whatever you would like.

Once the warm up was finished, you shifted to your notebook and began mindlessly doodling. A small note made its way onto your desk. You looked up, noticing that Misa was pointing down towards the note with a cute smile on her face. You shook your head and grabbed the note off the desk. It was folded into a layer, so you unfolded it to read what was inside. ‘Busy after school?’ It read on a small piece of paper. You took your pencil into your hand and wrote on the paper back; handing it back to Misa informing her that you, in fact, were not busy at all and inquired that she joined you after school to escort her home.

Misa shot you a message instantly again. ‘I’d love that.’

It wasn’t long before the day finally ended. The final bell rang and you found yourself being the last to leave the Art room. You were having trouble packing your notebook back into your full backpack before you eventually found a way to fit everything. Misa came up next to you, grabbing onto your arm and pulling you to the side. “Come on, Y/N. Could you be any slower??” You chuckled, shaking your head. “It’s not my fault our teachers pack loads of homework.”

“You are taking four APs, what do you expect?” “True…” Once you threw your backpack over your shoulder, Misa helped lead you out of the Art room with her hand locked with yours. She pulled you throughout the building until you were finally out in the sun. When you stepped outside, the bright light caught you off guard. You had felt like you had been in doors for days until you stepped outside. It wasn’t long before your eyes finally adjusted.

You hadn’t even noticed that Misa had let go of your hand and she was now far ahead of you. “Y/N,” She called. “Let’s go!”

You jogged up to her until you were right next to her. She sighed. “The school day finally being over is a miracle.” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah…” She looked down at the pavement. “I may not be in all the smart classes like you are, but I do find most of the classes I have difficult.” “Like…?” “Well, math for one. I feel like math gives everyone issues!” You shrugged. “You wouldn’t be wrong. What makes it so difficult?” Misa looked up, now keeping her eyes in front of her. “Mostly the teacher explaining the stuff.” She said simply. “He totally has no idea what he is talking about.” You laughed. “It’s true!”

You threw your hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I believe you.”

Misa shook her head and your hands fell back down to her sides.

It was silent for a moment.

The both of you came across bumpy terrain, the sidewalk’s pavement was not leveled and most people would find themselves tripping over the cement (if they were not paying enough attention). You found yourself looking over to Misa occasionally to make sure that she was able to step over the needed parts of the pavement, so she would not fall flat onto the ground.

“What are you doing?” She finally asked. “Huh?” “You are watching the ground like it’s going to come alive and bite you.” You turned away, feeling your face flush with warmth. “No way.” “Yeah way-!” Misa cut herself off, you turned right as she tripped over a rather sharp, sticking up portion of the pavement. Your reactive instincts took over immediately and you bent one knee down, catching Misa in your arms as she was still partially standing.

The two of you looked into each other's eyes for a good solid second. Her eyes flicked to your lips for a moment before they were shot back up to your own eyes again. You smiled smugly as you leaned in closer to her. You kissed her softly on the lips and she returned it. It was a swift, yet gentle kiss that left you… wanting more. You went back in for a second round, now your hand was on the back of your head as her own hand was placed on your chest. The kiss was deep and passionate. Her lips felt perfect for yours; they were soft, warm and… “Hey you crazy ass kids, get a room!” An older man shouted from his truck. He was just coming in from turning on the light until he saw you both. He scoffed as he floored the pedal to the gas and drove off in a hurry. His car made a skrrt as his vehicle got smaller off into the distance. You scratched the back of your head at the situation, looking down at Misa you noticed that her face was flushed red and she was smiling awkwardly.

#deathnote #misa amane #deathnote x reader #misa amane x reader

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fensherohair · 8 months

Text

The Marauders & The Metamorpmagi Part 3

Detention that night had been a little more event than both (Y/N) and Sirius originally thought. James had been given detention by one of the headboys running out, as had Allegra by McGonagal. The four had spent detention together in the transfigurations classroom, McGonagal overseeing the progress of each after she had set them tasks. James and Allegra had been sat at individual desks and given lines to write repeatedly, ensuring both learned from their mistakes. Sirius too had been sitting at one of the desks, his only task was to properly brew the potion he'd turned into an acidic sludge.

(Y/N) on the other hand, had been given the task to repair any of the school books in the closet at the back of the room. After which she would be on to polishing the goblets. If she had finished that before detention was over, then she would be sent to help Sirius with his potion. Of course, Allegra had complained about how unfair her punishment was, having to sit in silence and write the same words over and over again. She'd been forbidden to speak unless it was to ask for a small break or to use the bathroom. James didn't complain all that much, the only comments were directed towards Sirius and (Y/N), telling one not to read the potion instructions carefully and wishing the other luck when it came to her clumsiness.

"Gosh this is pointless" muttered Allegra, when she put her quill down and shook her cramping hand. She'd only written a few lines, already bored of the task and wishing she could just get up and leave. But at last, she knew that was impossible, given McGonagal was her head of house. Professor McGonagall on the other hand merely sent Allegra an unamused glare, until the young girl picked her quill up once more and began writing again, sighing loudly as if to protest against such a boring task.

"You can always spend detention in Mr. Pringle's care, Miss Smith" spoke Professor McGonagall, her words sharp and suggested she was in no mood for the attitude Allegra had thrust far fearlessly displayed. Allegra soon froze, thinking over her options as McGonagall glanced at the other three in the room. Picking up on how each followed her instructions without question. How James sat quietly on the opposite side of the room to Allegra, continuing to write the lines given to him, the only sound from him besides his earlier comments was the quill dipping into the ink pot.

Sirius was quietly brewing his potion now, occasionally looking back to the book close by to ensure he was putting the right amount of ingredients in. Whereas (Y/N) sat quietly on the floor at the back of the room, two piles of books in front of her. One of the books already repaired and the other waiting to be done. On one of the desks, she'd already put the goblets and polish out, ready to do her next task. Neither of the two spoke a word, although Sirius had become distracted by (Y/N)'s a few times, mainly from the length and color changing. Even McGonagall couldn't suppress her grin, even more so when it appeared (Y/N) wasn't aware she was using her metamorphic abilities, instead minding her own business while occasionally humming Hogwarts songs.

"Mr Potter, you may take a break from your lines" started McGonagall after walking around the room. She'd completed her own task of marking the first year's written work. After which she'd walked around the room, finding James had written two full parchment pieces of lines and was halfway down his third. Allegra wasn't even a quarter of the way down her first, instead, she had started to doodle and then protested her detention by laying her head on the desk.

James simply nodded before standing to stretch his protesting limps, a small request of going to the bathroom soon escaped him, a request that was silent granted as McGonagall walked to the back of the room. (Y/N) was now polishing the goblets, still humming away to herself, although the tune had changed to a made-up one. Sirius carefully continued his potion while moving to the song (Y/N) hummed. Occasionally he looked to the potion recipe to ensure he'd gotten it right this time.

"Miss Wolffe" called McGonagall, noticing neither Sirius nor (Y/N) had noticed she'd left her desk, both being too preoccupied with their tasks to notice. "After you've finished polishing the goblets, please see me at the front" requested the head of Gryffindor's house, receiving a silent nod from the young metamorphic student. With that McGonagall waltz off to the front of the room once more, picking up a thick book from her desk and slamming down next to Allegra. Startling all three students still in the classroom. Her gaze was hard and unyielding as it landed on the now jumpy form of Allegra.

"Tell me Miss Smith, how is it Miss Wolffe and Misters Black and Potter can complete their tasks without complaint while you can not?" asked Professor McGonagall, quickly slipping into her teacher mode and ensuring her voice matched the sharpest of her eyes. Allegra had tried to say something in response, opening and closing her mouth several times. During this time James had returned and gone back to writing his lines, unknowingly proving McGonagall's point.

"It's not my fault it's so damn boring" confidently spoke the muggle-born girl, feeling as if she was on top of the world, although that feeling vanished as quickly as it came when her eyes landed on the professor overseeing detention. "I have to write boring lines, while Sirius gets to brew a flipping potion and (Y/N) does meaningless tasks. It's not fair, I shouldn't even be here in the first place, I didn't do anything wrong" complained Allegra, comparing her punishment to that of both students at the back of the room. As if somehow believing she was somehow above the school rules and resolved any responsibility.

"I didn't see anything right with your behavior either Miss Smith" commented McGonagall, turning her attention to the remaining three students. "I have yet to understand how you believe bullying Miss McKinnon and trying to force others to say you're the most powerful witch at Hogwarts is anything but wrong" she continued, as if finally revealing what it was that had earned Allegra such a boring detention in the first place, although now looking back on it, McGonagall was questioning if writing lines was a suitable enough punishment for Allegra. Especially when the wiser witch was questioning whether Marlene was the first Allegra had bullied.

"Mr Potter is here for his actions regarding Mr Snape and Miss Evans. His punishment would have been worse had he not taken responsibility for his actions. In contrast, Mr. Black is here to brew the potion he purposely messed up correctly, so he can catch up and move on with the rest of the class" started McGonagall, as she listed why both boys were there. Although she was at least thankful James had owned up to his actions and accepted what he had done was wrong. Even if it was after encouragement from Remus and a few other friends. "Miss Wolffe is here because of something out of her control, nevertheless she has accepted not all will understand her abilities or the side effects of it" she added, informing those there why (Y/N) had simple but meaningless tasks to do.

The moment Professor McGonagall had returned her desk, Allegra pulled a face at her, as if believing she wouldn't see her act of defiance. Something she had been mistaken about, as McGonagall wasted little time in sending another glare in the direction of the disobedient child. (Y/N) soon appeared at her desk too, listening carefully to the instructions given before nodding and leaving, a small smile painted on her lips at knowing she'd be free from detention once the task given was completed.

"James, Sirius" called Allegra, once again completely disregarding the rules put in place and actively ignoring McGonagall, instead choosing to do her own thing and hopefully escape from the boredom to haunt her. "Want to hang out sometime? Maybe walk around the grounds or just talk?" she asked her eyes focused on James, not seeing the horrified look to pass over Sirius' features, as if the very thought of being around her was worse than spending summer holidays with his parents. As if the thought was a nightmare filled with torment.

"I'd rather kiss a niffler" commented Sirius from the back of the room, refocusing on his potion now it was almost complete. A yawn soon escaped him, the boring class with Professor Bins still plaguing him, as if it had drained him of all the extra energy he normally had. The sudden quietness did nothing to help, now (Y/N) wasn't there humming away to herself, time itself seemed to stop or at least slow down enough to become a painful drag.

James couldn't hold back his chuckle over Sirius' comment, how he'd said it so quickly and with nothing but a serious tone. No humor ringing through it or sarcasm. McGonagall could only shoot a soft warning glare in Sirius' direction, ensuring he understood his comment wasn't appropriate although she couldn't blame him for not wanting to be around Allegra. A lot of students had come to the same conclusion regarding the muggle-born witch, although most were a little more subtle about their avoidance.

"Mr. Black when you're finished with your potion you may find Miss Wolffe and return to the common room" announced Professor McGonagall, suspecting Sirius was close to finishing the task required of him, thrust his only task after that was to find the mischievous and clumsy girl she'd sent off to deliver something. There was little doubt Peeves would collar her at some point, the poltergeist seemingly attracted to the chaos so often associated with her.

The moment Sirius quietly left the classroom, Allegra soon began to complain again, stating it was unfair both (Y/N) and Sirius could leave while she was stuck there doing something she had no interest in. Shortly after her complaints turned to how James and Sirius had ignored her question and replied by with a rude comment. Clearly not understanding her constant complaining and self-entitlement didn't endear her to anyone, nor did her lack of attention help her when it came to future plans and career unless her plan was to reintegrate into the oblivious muggle world.

Masterlist

#part 3 #wizarding world #wizarding world fanfiction #cross posted on quotev #cross posted on wattpad #cross posted on ao3 #sirius black #james potter #metamorphic reader #metamorphmagus reader #reader interactive #x reader #female reader

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waterfall-ambience · 1 year

Text

additional thoughts re: ex instrument discussion

was actually decent at piano before stopping lessons. managed to move beyond the beginner lesson books with really short pieces (hot cross buns -> yankee doodle). probably would've played minuet in g at first recital. got good enough to do 'welcome the the black parade' once, but never performed again.

spent most of his 'practice' time outside of lessons messing around and trying to play familiar songs by ear. either that, or messing around with the metronome. it's actually a miracle they managed to get anything done.

struggled a lot with proper hand positioning due to hypermobile fingers. they're naturally very flexible but this is where their little "'hey check this out' *bends their fingers back a full 95 degrees*" trick comes back to bite them.

has no experience with wind instruments / voice but hypothetically would've found that his breath control would've turned ass in the winter due to untreated asthma (has a relief inhaler but no preventative due to impression that his condition is "mild", despite waking up coughing and feeling like shit for most of his life (conditioned to accept the horrors). the revelation does not prompt the several years-overdue doctor's appointment.)

would be pretty ok at singing- has perfect pitch (helped by years of piano lessons) but the quality of their breath control depends greatly on how cold it is, for the reasons stated above.

once ordered an otamatone online for the sole purpose of being insufferable around xisuma. it worked.

#evil xisuma #this is projecting its all projecting

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nonhumanresources · 7 months

Text

Ponytober Day 5 - Accidents Happen

And Fall Dawn is nothing if not accidents happening.

Another really fun collab with Maru! Once again he did the illustration and I did the story. Find his piece here!

As always there's a Google doc view of this story here!

Summary: the ponies and co. go camping. Surely nothing can go wrong with lighting a campfire using your face.

What to expect: it's horses

Length: 2.1k words.

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

“I got it!”

The back of the truck dipped down as Ash planted their hooves on the tailgate, Their horn sparked, wings unfurling and arching upwards with focus. A deep bluish-purple light enveloped the bundle of wood towards the back of the pickup. It shook as it lifted upwards, listing to one side.

“You sure you can carry that one?” Gorchard asked, standing next to the truck nervously. He held his hands up underneath the bundle, tensing every time it tilted too far.

“G-got it…” Ash mumbled, tongue sticking out between their teeth. It shook, bumping up over the lip of the bed. They dropped their hooves down, the truck raising back up with the weight gone, and followed after it, almost pushing it through the air as it glided down and dug into the dirt beside the circle of stones they had for a campfire. The pony’s legs shook, but they stood with a wide grin on their muzzle regardless.

“Told you!” they sang.

Gorchard let out a sigh of relief. “I could have just carried it over, you know.”

Ash practically waltzed past him, flipping their mane. Their tail flicked his legs as they passed. “Yes, but this way, you can say you helped me practice!”

Gorchard rolled his eyes, turning back to the trunk. He’d have preferred to get the wood himself, rather than risk Ash dropping it over the side and scratching up the rental car, but it was hard to wrangle in the unicorns. Maru had had a pad and paper drifting somewhere near his head all day, and Ash kept trying to lift bigger and heavier loads to push themselves. Considering the fact that he would have been doing the same himself, Gorchard couldn’t really blame either one.

Dusk hung in the air as the trio settled in for the night. Maru and Ash had been finishing washing and drying the dishes from their camp dinners, made on a small camping stove and served in small, tin bowls. It had been too hot for a campfire, but now that the sun was setting, it was the perfect time to get it going.

A couple of weeks had passed since the last ponyfication incident. After some time getting used to it, Ash had texted (very slowly and carefully, according to them) and expressed interest in getting away for a while. Their main limitation was the hooves; it was, unfortunately, not easy to drive when you were barely four feet tall and not built to sit upright. A few hours later and the planning was in full swing, with Maru getting roped in as well.

“You brought the marshmallows, right?” the pony called, horn currently dim as he’d stored away his notebook while working with the water. Gorchard expected it would be back out soon enough; he’d been unable to stop doodling as soon as he had figured out how to hold a pen without tearing holes through anything he tried to write on.

“Should be in the food bag,” Ash grunted. Gorchard glanced over and saw them with their horn shoved under the plastic holding the pieces of wood together, twisting back and forth to try and rip through it. He sighed, turning back to the truck and grabbing the aforementioned bag himself.

“We have knives too,” he commented, sitting down on a log next to the circle of stones. “You’re getting woodchips in your hair!”

Ash paused for a moment to give him a sideways grin. “I’ve got a head-knife, what else do I need?”

“Restraint?” Gorchard offered.

With a quick jerk, they managed to tear through the wrap, a few strands of blond and blue hair getting caught on the wood. “OW.” They kicked the wood pile and a few logs tumbled out, over the lip of the fireplace, landing with a puff of ashes and charcoal.

“Told you. You’re the fire expert, what do we do now?” Gorch asked, reaching out and standing the small logs upright in the pit. Maru wandered over from the tent and the folding table beside it they’d used for food prep.

“How close are the smores?” he said eagerly.

Gorch held up a log. “You tell me.”

Now with two ponies and a human crouched around the firepit, it was getting a little crowded. Ash backed up, once again brushing against Gorchard’s arm. Their fur is so soft. It wasn’t like a regular horse’s; this was soft no matter which way you rubbed your hand along it, accompanied with soft feathers and a luxurious mane. Of course, this one was currently full of dirt and splinters, but after a solid brushing, it would be good as new. He’d never had long hair, but he reasoned if it had such bright colors, maybe he’d enjoy it.

He’d been doing that a lot, lately—wondering what it was like to be a pony. With two friends now changed, everyone was probably thinking it. Hooves instead of hands, wings, tails….

Gorchard shook himself out of his stupor as Ash began speaking again. “...Like a little log cabin,” they explained. He’d missed a few words, but he figured it was still about fire building. Ash was scraping sticks towards themselves, carefully levitating them up and onto each other, crossing back and forth to make a square-shaped tower. “That way it’s got stability and it won’t choke itself out.”

He nodded, turning back to the fire and rearranging the logs there to match the shape Ash had shown off. “Then we just have to light the kindling right?”

“Right. After that the fire will do all the work.” Ash trotted away from the fire pit and went back to the truck, horn lighting up to see better. Had it really gotten dark that fast? “Anyone know where we packed the lighter?”

“No need!” Maru said, spinning a rock in the air beside him.

Ash’s head popped up from the truck bed, wings flared. “This had better not be another illusion spell.”

“Of course it’s not!” Maru retorted. “Fire is way different. Here, watch!”

Much as he’d been wondering about being a pony, Gorchard had heard enough about Maru’s previous spell attempt to know that he probably should not be anywhere near it. He hastened backwards, letting the stallion work.

On second thought… he quickly jogged back over to the folding table and grabbed a thick glove they’d used to hold the pots. He put it on and waved to Maru.

“In case your mane blows up,” he offered. Maru frowned at him, and he shrugged defensively. “I’m not gonna be the one responsible for letting the whole fucking thing burn off!”

“I appreciate the confidence,” Maru grumbled. “Listen, it’s easy. You just gotta warm it up like this….”

Ash watched from the truck, lighter held in their mouth, seemingly forgotten for now. Gorch held the fire glove at the ready; he’d been serious. If Maru was sticking his head into the fire pit, there was no way this was gonna go well. The purple pony crouched down, the ghostly glow from his horn lighting up the crooked stack of wood. There was a sound like a click, and suddenly the glow was filled with a warm, amber orange. Maru backed up fast, pulling his horn out of the wood stack.

“Aha! Told you!” he called triumphantly. “I’ve been practicing that one for a week straight. Who’s ready for s’more’s?”

The other two were too busy watching in mild horror to respond. Maru’s unicorn horn was lit up again, but this time, it was a ball of fire, not a magic aura. Gorchard felt his stomach drop. Of course.

“Should have practiced longer!” Ash yelped, dropping the lighter and scrambling from the truck bed.

“Stay very still!” Gorchard said simultaneously, rushing forwards. He glanced down at the fire as he passed—it was, in fact, already crackling merrily, but once again, the use of magic was causing all sorts of accidents. “I, uh, I-I’ll put it out, just—”

“Wait, put what out?” Maru gasped, raising a hoof to his mouth. “It’s not my mane, is it?!”

“No!” Gorchard stuttered, weight shifting from foot to foot. How did one put out a fire that was already ON someone?

“Then what? Am I—”

“You’re fine, it’s fine—”

“Just—just put it out!”

Spurred to motion, he leapt forwards and grabbed the pony’s horn, wrapping it in the glove. It was fireproof; his best bet was smothering it entirely. It sizzled, and smoke twirled up from the palm of the glove. It had worked, thankfully.

Of course, no one was expecting the glove to suddenly erupt into flames.

Gorchard screamed, stumbling backwards. Ash bolted over, and Maru danced on his hooves, trying to find an opening to get in and help, but neither one could approach as Gorchard waved the flaming glove to and fro. He tipped backwards, straight into the fire pit itself.

He landed hard, flames roaring up around him immediately. He’d already felt the burning heat through the glove; now it swarmed him on all sides, licking at his clothes and skin. He writhed, knocking over logs in his panic, trying to roll out, to stand, anything to try and put it out.

It took him several more seconds to realize that, despite the intensity of the heat, it wasn’t actually burning.

“I’M ON FIRE!” he shrieked, voice high and shrill. Through a haze of bluish smoke, he could see his friends staring with shock and horror. He managed to push himself up to his feet, legs shaking, surely from the campfire-gone-wrong burning away the muscles, and—

And… he was… okay?

“I’m—shucks, I’m on FIRE—I mean, shit! Shit! Shucks!” He ranted and raged, but his words came out strange, and his voice whistled and pierced the air in a way wholly unlike what he was used to.

Something is very, very wrong.

He looked at the fire he was desperately trying to swat off of his arms and legs. It roared blue and red around him in a vortex of heat. That wasn’t… right. An niggling piece of his brain told him to reach upwards. When he did, he heard a clink, and his head tilted sideways.

“I… oh.”

Gorchard dropped from the Nirik form onto all fours, standing directly in the middle of the campfire. “Oh—oh. Oh! Woah!” She lifted her hooves, watching coals cascade off of them, their cobalt blue reflecting the firelight. He skipped from the fire, prancing in a circle and laughing.

This was… this was amazing. It was exactly as exciting as he’d thought it would be. His legs sprung him high in the air as he danced. They weren’t all the way under his control; he stumbled into the folding table, knocking it down, and bumped into the side of the truck at least once, but he didn’t care. His tail wagged and swiped back and forth through the dirt, and embers sparkled in his coat. It didn’t even matter that he was a girl.

“Guys! Look! I—”

Her eyes went wide, two bright moons shining in the night.

She stumbled into Ash, her legs going rogue, suddenly everywhere except where she needed them to be. The pony grunted, digging their hooves into the ground to stay upright. “Woah, hey, careful, we’re both gonna Fall Dawn like this!”

Her left eye twitched. Something in her brain shifted. “W-what in f-fluffing Celestia’s name did you say?”

“I said, you’re gonna knock me over!” Ash retorted, before their face softened. “Ooooh. Wait a second. He’s—”

“Fall Dawn,” Maru squeaked, hoof covering his shocked mouth. The name made her brain shudder. It was hers. It was delicious and terrifying and made her want to scream with every emotion in the world. “I am so sorry.”

She felt Ash’s flank shift as they chuckled. “Welp, there goes our ride home.”

Fall stumbled a bit, pushing herself off of them. She attempted to walk forwards, but her hooves still betrayed her, and the heavy weight atop her head made her feel unsteady and unbalanced. She opted for very small, scraping steps to drag herself back to the side of the firepit, where the flames washed familiar heat over her fur and scales. Scales. She had SCALES!

She took a deep breath, swallowing it. “C… can we, um…” her light, effeminate voice almost killed her as she spoke. It was perfect. “S’more’s. Can we s’more’s before I go Nirik again. I need my face stuffed with chocolate right now.”

And so they did. Despite the lack of hands, it was by far the best (and first) campfire night Fall Dawn had ever had in her whole life, ever.

#writing wyrms #ponytober2023 #ponytober #mlp #kirin #unicorn #alicorn #tf #transformation #mlp tf #tftg #tg #nirik #rosa #maru

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