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luimagines · 3 years

Note

Hey, I was wondering if there could be a short drabble of the reader accidently hurting them? Have a good day!

Masterlist

Absolutely!

Part 1 will include Wild, Time, Twilight, Four and Wind

Content under the cut!

Wild

You held the arrow steadily in your grip, aiming as high as you thought you needed to go and released it.

You waited a moment for the projectile to make contact but the result sound was something you weren’t anticipating.

In fact, it was probably the worst thing you could have heard in that moment.

Wild cried out in shock and you heard a subtle thump, signaling his collision with the earth beneath your feet.

You put your bow away and sprinted to where you heard his cries come from.

When you found him, Wild was on the ground with the arrow right between his ribs on his unscarred side- you know he felt that one.

“Twilight is going to kill me.” You say and catch his attention. “Don’t move too much. Let me take it out.”

Wild grits his teeth and lets you get closer without question and opens his side more to give you easier access. “So I assume this is your doing.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t think anyone was nearby.” You say and flatten the fabric around the injury.

“I guess we’re even now.”

You pause and before putting pressure on the side of the arrow and yank.

It comes out and Wild rolls away from you with his hand over the injury before he summons a low health potion to treat it.

“For the record-” You say and twirl your arrow between your fingers. “I did not do this on purpose.”

“It’s not like I shot you on purpose either.” Wild growls through the gulps that he’s been taking. “Did you have to pull so hard?”

“I honestly thought you’d put up more of a fight.” You shrug and have at least the decency to look a little ashamed. “I didn’t want to take the risk of damaging anything else... Feel better?”

“I’m not that bad.”

“Sky would disagree.”

Time

This is bad.

This is so very very bad.

You are so dead.

Warrior is going to kill you.

You picked up as many pieces as you could and tried to dash out of the room.

You ripped the door open, using your full strength to do it... only to slam it right into Time’s face.

“For crying out loud! I can’t win today!” You dropped the pieces and stepped out from behind the door.

Time had his hands on his face, cradling the area where you hit him.

“Time, are you ok? I’m sorry. Is it bad?” You step in his direction and try to pull his hands away for you to get a better look.

He lets you, albeit slowly and you gasp at the single red line down his nose. “You’re bleeding!”

“I can tell.” He mutters and goes to pinch his nose.

“I’m sorry.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“Oh- uh... um...” You bite your lip and struggle to think of the next course of action.

Time however, takes pity on you and sighs. “I was coming up to get you but then I heard a commotion. What were you doing in there?”

Never mind, this wasn’t pity. This was a trap designed to be your demise.

“Uhhh.....” You answered intelligently. “I was writing my will.”

Time raises an eyebrow, disbelievingly.

Looks like you’re going to have to come clean.

Twilight

I want this apple, you thought to yourself as you hung from the tree, I’m going to get this apple.

It was just beyond your grasp and you tried your hardest to reach for it but the branch didn’t appear to be able to hold your weight any farther out than you already were.

But you wanted that apple.

You shimmied quickly and tried to get closer for your finger tips to brush against the skin of the fruit.

There was only a slight crack in the tree but you were determined.

Just a little bit more.

You scooted forward again.

THERE! Within your grasp was the red fruit and victory filled your veins as you broke out into a large grin. You got it.

Then the branch broke.

Now the time it took to fall wasn’t particularly long but landing was certainly surprising.

It was softer than you would have bargained for, and despite the sticks and leaves that were threatening to poke your eyes out, they didn’t do much damage to your body as you would have thought.

The mass underneath you groaned.

Loudly.

You scrambled to get up, getting your foot caught in the branch and dragging it with you only to fall down again.

You landed on Twilight.

“Oh my god, are you ok?” You blurt and feel stupid a second later.

He just had half a branch and a whole other body fall on top of him. You doubt he’s ok.

“Ok.” You get up, dust yourself off and try to help him to his feet. “Let’s get you to either Sky or Hyrule, yeah?”

“What were you even doing up there?” Twilight lets his head hang a little bit before putting his full weight onto you.

He’s heavier than you thought he’d be but this is the price you must pay.

“Getting an apple.” You mutter.

But he hears you anyway.

Twilight snaps his head up to look at you and you have to look away from his stare of neutral disappointment. “You’re as bad as the cub.”

“I resent that.”

Four

You were on a rampage.

This was an injustice.

An outrage.

You paced back and forth, twiddling your hands in front of you. “I can’t believe this. This is crazy. Who said this was allowed?”

“Calm down. We can work around this.”

“Calm down? Calm down?” You snapped and spun around. “How are we supposed to stay calm when they are people out there who-”

Time stands up and places his hands out in front of him, trying to placate you. “Take a breath and count to ten. We can figure this out but we can’t lose our heads.”

“Lose? Lose? I’ll tell you about loss-!” You swung your arms out, shouting at the man before you when your arm comes into contact with something solid.

Four grunts from next to you and you snatch your arm back into your personal space as you stare him in horror. Four folds over himself with his arm wrapped around his middle, right where you smacked him.

And it’s not like you were holding back the dramatics.

You know that had to hurt.

“I’m so sorry.” You breath and crouch over to try and look him the eyes.

“Will you calm down now?” Time raises an eyebrow.

“Yes.” You bite you lip and nod, taking a good step away from Four for good measure. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.” Four croaks and takes a breath. “I’m fine.”

Wind

“I bet I can make that throw.” You nod to yourself with your arms crossed.

Warrior, who’s next to you, scoffs. “Sure. And the Rancher is strong enough to wrestle a Goron.”

“That’s a different bet entirely Captain.”

“Fine. I’ll bite this one. I bet twenty rupees you can’t make the throw.” Warrior smirks and holds up a small cloth bag with the assumed equal amount of money.

“Deal.” You grin and pick up the tiny blue orb next to you as your ammunition.

You take a few steps to center yourself and aim your throw. You take a breath and reach your arm back.

With practiced ease, you launch it at your target.

Wind pops up from behind the wall, dead center where you were aiming.

“WIND-!”

It hits him square in the face and explodes in blue gelatinous particles. The two of you take out your respective hook to cross the distance needed to get to him.

“Oh my god, are you ok?” You sprint over to the boy and hold his head up, using your sleeve to get what you can off of him.

“This is gross.” He whines.

“I’m so sorry.” You say. “Does it burn? Are your eyes ok? We don’t know what it was made of...”

Warrior also frets next to boy and helps clean him off. “The bets off.”

“Warrior, I will smack you. I don’t care about that.” You snap.

“Get off of me.” Wind tries to push you away.

“No. Don’t open your eyes, ok?” You say instead and take out your canteen. “Let’s wash that off first. I don’t trust it.”

The boy groans but lets you.

While doesn’t appear to be anything too damaging, it does leave a rash and Wind’s face is completely red by the time you mange to get it all off.

“Time is going to kill me.” You bite your knuckles at the thought and pale harder. “No, Legend is going to kill me.”

“I’ll say some kind words at your funeral.” Warrior nods and tries to walk away.

“If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me!”

Part 2

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader

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hansolmates · 4 years

Text

jjk; angel’s trumpet [02]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut in future chapters w.c; 3.5k a/n; i know it feels like a lot of bg and internal conflict but y/n!! our girl is struggling! she’s processing and is going through some times BUT things will spice up soon so thank you for all the love +notes, see you again thursday!

[01] [02] [03]-> masterpost

The two most frequent contacts in your phone (you hope it’s your phone? It’s the same edition and everything) are Jimin and Taehyung.

Jungkook (or not-Jungkook) high-tailed it out of there as soon as he deemed your reactions unfit for basic human society. He muttered that you were crazy and probably under something, and sped off in his motorcycle just like that. Like you were a stranger.

It's not easy to ignore the aftermath of your heart after taking yet another rejection, but you're independent and you must stride forward in this strange situation. Taking a cautionary look around the area, you clutch your phone like a lifeline, tethering you together in this unfamiliar place. There's not many people around, but you spot a large library and a playground. Professionals are mulling from building to building, zombies in wrinkled suits and dripping iced coffees. Your phone displays an innocent 7:51, revealing how early it is. Toggling between the two friends in your contacts you take your chances and start with Jimin. The phone rings once, twice, before his dulcet voice chimes in your ear.

“Babe?” he croons, and your heart drops at the sickly warm tone, “you can’t get enough of me after what we did last night?”

You’re going to throw up. Scratch that, acid is already bubbling through your throat and you force yourself to tamp it down. There is no, no way in hell could you have hooked up with Park Jimin in your lifetime.

Unless this is hell.

“Jimin,” you steel your voice, hoping he can’t hear how absolutely mortified you are. You can picture this version of Park Jimin now, laying around in bed with crossed legs and casually enjoying how much you’re squirming on the other line, “I just need you to tell me where I live so we can move on with our lives.”

He laughs, giggles bubbling like soft pink champagne. “Wow, I really must’ve fucked your brains out if you can’t even remember where you live.” God, in what life would Park Jimin be “fucking your brains out”? Maybe you should find a trashcan just in case you do puke on the sidewalk. “Y’know, you signed your lease with Taehyung a month ago? You just moved in last week?”

“T-Taehyung?” you stutter, trying to imagine the notion, “I live with Taehyung?”

A beat passes, and you realize that just like you scared not-Jungkook away, you could be doing the same to Jimin.

He says your name softly, gone the cocky tone you were initially bombarded with. “Are you okay? You could’ve waited for me to wake up, y’know. We had a lot to drink last night.” he mumbles, almost cutely if it weren’t for the fact the he was insinuating sex two seconds ago, “Did you eat?”

“‘M fine,” you mumble, trying to chalk up your previous question with inhiberation. “Just loopy, I guess. I almost got hit by a motorbike, so my brain is probably just catching up.”

“You got hit? Did you call a hospital?” great, now Jimin’s panicked. “Where are you? I’m gonna go get you. Drop your location, I’m leaving now!”

“I’m fine!” you snip, and you feel bad for nearly screaming on the line. “I’m almost home, I’m just gonna lay in bed and sleep it off. I’ll call you later, okay?”

You don’t bother hearing his response, and you hang up. You then start to furiously scroll Taehyung’s chat wall, noting that he’s on an academic trip with his students until next week and you have the apartment to yourself. After a good ten minutes of scrolling and reading conversations that you can’t recollect you finally catch the address to your shared apartment.

The city is the same, fortunately. So are the bus stops, and you’re thankful that your bus pass has some fare money. Turns out you’re starting your journey at the University of Seoul. The bus routes are the same as well, and you manage to take a tour of your side of the city, noting the tiny differences in the town.

For example, there’s no BigHit Entertainment in its usual spot. Instead it’s an additional practice space for Cube Entertainment.

There’s no fanfare to your city tour, and it almost feels like you’re just a normal woman taking a ride home. There’s still the same trees and squirrels, familiar odeng stands and ice cream shops. It feels like you’ve been cut and pasted into this world with no rhyme or reason, a fever dream.

The bus circles around the usual route once more until you’re in front of your supposed home, only a twenty minute bus ride from where Jungkook almost ran you over.

It’s a lot, and you realize on the drive over that you’re probably in deeper shit than you could ever imagine. You pull out your keys, and instead of seeing the ramen keychain Jungkook got you when he went to Tokyo Disney, instead it’s replaced by a university ID labeled Assistant Professor under your full name.

You pin that new fact for later and focus on getting inside.

Your apartment is nice, you muse. Simple black and white furniture, but there’s a definitive home-ness to it. There’s a moss green afghan folded up on the couch, presumably made by the artist himself. You’re glad Taehyung’s appeal for the arts hasn’t been lost, as revealed by the frames on the walls detailing pictures of you and Taehyung’s families, and some of Jimin and Taehyung.

Deeper into the apartment you find your room. You choke back a sob at the familiar bedsheets your parents bought you at Target, and you even notice some familiar clothing pieces folded haphazardly in the corner. Instead of your bed being filled with shameless BT21 PR however, your RJ and Mang are replaced with simple panda and cat plushies.

Finally letting your tears fall, you sob loudly into your pillows, hugging and grappling at anything to comfort you. You feel achy and tired, as if your heart has fallen out of your body and nothing can fill the void. As much as your bed sheets feel the same, as genuine as those pictures are in your shared living room, this isn’t your home.

•━━━━━━»••»💮💮💮«••«━━•

Between your bouts of crying and forcing yourself to stomach cheap ramen, you find out a couple of things.

You’re an assistant professor at Seoul University. At least this version of you is. A little part of you is pleased by this, you have always wanted to teach at the university level before settling with BigHit. To your chagrin however, you’re not a language professor.

To your horror, you’re a pre-medical student teaching two “History of Neuroscience” classes. It’s only two classes because according to your Google calendar, you’re also balancing the completion of your final thesis on muscular dystropathy among low-income neighborhoods.

Dear god, if your parents ever found out you could’ve been a doctor in another life, they’d be surely choking on their own spit. In this world, you probably weren’t lazy and wholly capable of achieving the impossible.

You don’t know why you spend the next two hours sending emails to your students about cancelling the next week of classes. Fortunately all your lessons are neatly packaged in your drive, and you send out an email with said lessons citing your mental health and how you’ll resume direct instruction the following week.

From time to time, your eyes can’t help but travel to the frames and polaroids that decorate your walls. Some of the memories are vaguely similar, a house in the suburbs, an annoying cousin who can’t stop and won’t stop pulling at your pigtails, a movie night with unlimited pizza and breadsticks.

Some of them are far and beyond your state of recognition. Jimin and you playing hopscotch by the river, Taehyung stuffing his face with fried potato skins in a cheap hole-in-the-wall, you winning the blue ribbon at your high school’s science fair.

You could very well walk out of this life and just focus on going back home, but something tells you that you need to continue on with this life, at least for now.

It feels too real to be a dream. When you tug at your hair tie, it’s painful when it snaps across your wrist. Your skin blooms with color upon impact. Could you die in this world? If Jungkook had not skidded in time, would you have survived a motorcycle accident?

Three days pass like that. You’re contemplating, absorbing information. In-between pints of ice cream and crying your ducts out, you’re drawing conclusions. Could you be in a coma? A very realistic, painful coma? But Jimin and Taehyung are still sending you texts and the day turns to night as painfully slow as it always has. A coma can’t fake a forty person class, all of them vying for your attention through various emails and Zoom calls. It can’t be it.

And as you rummage through your drawers, check every bit of social media and even your yearbook photos, you also confirm that Jeon Jungkook has no place in this version of your life. It saddens you greatly, and reminds you eerily about the heated conversation you had before all of this. The Jungkook from days ago, the one who looked terrified when you tried to touch him, only met you through happenstance.

By day four, you get a phone call. There’s no picture next to the contact, only named Biggie Mentor. After a few rings, you finally get the courage to answer the call.

A deep timbre seeps its way through the line, and you almost whine at how much you missed him. “y/n,” Namjoon says, but he doesn’t sound happy, “tell me why our students said you cancelled all of your classes this week due to mental health?”

If Namjoon’s your mentor, that means you’re probably in deep shit for cancelling all your classes without his consent.

“Uh, exactly that,” you say, and it hurts how much you have to strain your voice, trying not to pour any type of affection into this version of Namjoon. You’ve always had a soft spot for his gummy smile. “I’m sorry for not telling you beforehand. Something really traumatic just happened and,” you choke back a sob, trying to cover the microphone, “and I really needed some space.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” his voice is like melted honey, and you close your eyes and picture yourself back at BigHit, Namjoon’s happy smile whenever he tries to cheer you up. It only makes you even more upset, and your mind is all shadowed and filled with fuzzies as you attempt to picture Namjoon as your boss, “I was just shocked, that’s all. Is everything alright?”

“No,” you reply truthfully, “and I don’t know if it will be.”

There’s a terse silence, both your breaths hanging on the line with no move to continue the conversation. If your personality here is similar to your true world, you would understand why Namjoon would have a hard time formulating a reply. You don’t even know how close you are with him here. What remains is that you’re the type to keep your secrets to yourself, and if they truly felt hindering, you’d tell somebody. Not to say you’re the suffer in silence type of person, but you weren’t one to immediately dump your feelings on someone.

Finally, Namjoon musters a reply, “I have a break at two. Why don’t you swing by our usual lunch spot and we can talk? Their sandwiches always cheer you up. ”

“Joonie,” your voice cracks, and you shake your head despite the fact that he can’t see you. A slip of the nickname comes out before you can help it, and you hope this Namjoon is fond of the manner. “I don’t know where that is. Or what our ‘usual’ spot is. I don’t know what sandwiches you’re talking about either.”

“Okay,” and you relax at the calmness in his tone, “I’ll swing by after my 5PM then. Set the table for us, yeah?”

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

Namjoon smells of dry-erase marker and antiseptic.

He’s bounding into your apartment like it’s his own home, carrying two paper bags and a stack of leather bound books. The items fly across your coffee table, and you two work together to organize both your dinner and the books. Namjoon looks like a textbook nerd, wearing shades of burgundy and burnt orange as he breaks into your front door. Gone are the boots and sleek outfits that trim his figure, and you can’t help but go a little anti-starstruck at how normal this moment is.

But what remains is the bumbly stance as he makes his way through your tiny space, long limbs and all flailing to help you place his work in a safe space. The curve of his nose and dimples so deep you could fill a lake in them, you can’t help but muster a shy smile as he takes notice that you’re staring at him a little too much for comfort.

The two of you eat in relative silence, and you gratefully accept the bag he pushes in your direction. To your surprise the sandwich inside is a favorite combination of yours, and you wonder if this restaurant exists in your world.

Your world.

“Namjoon,” you place your sandwich down, despite the fact that your stomach is protesting for you to finish the first real meal you’ve had in days, “you know that movie, Avengers?”

Namjoon’s face is puffed with bread, and you hand him a water bottle to chug it down. “Dunno,” he shrugs, “Marvel isn’t a popular franchise, so even if I had I wouldn’t remember.”

“Marvel isn’t popular—” what kind of fucked up world is this? Your Jungkook would have a field day if he was in your shoes. “Anyway. There’s a concept from Marvel that there’s multiple Earths. Like you can create a rip in space and land yourself in another dimension if you’re not too careful. Do you think it’s possible?”

Your tall mentor pushes his charcoal hair back, exasperated. “Is this why you’re taking off? Because you believe in some silly comic book series?”

You feel your heart cracking, desperately trying to keep itself together. In your haste you grip Namjoon’s arm, desperate. “Please, just hear me out.” you warble, “a few days ago I was out drinking with a friend. Next thing I know, I’m in another world where I run into a boy. That boy is my friend, but he says he doesn’t recognize me! But I don’t recognize this life. Namjoon I can’t even imagine you wanting to be a doctor!”

Namjoon is looking at you funny, and you know he’s really trying to believe you. Instead of the reassuring words you hope for, he instead says, “this isn’t even pseudoscience, y/n. This is supernatural! How could you possibly think you’re from another dimension? I just saw you last week and everything was fine!”

“I saw you last week too!” you exclaim, clutching your chest, “and you cried again for the umpteenth time because you lost another pair of custom Airpods.”

A pause. “That does sound like me.”

Hope blooms in your stomach. “Doesn’t it?”

“Well, in this supposed other life. What is my profession?”

Your face falls. “Uh, you’re in a worldwide K-pop band. You’re making millions and producing beautiful music.”

That sounded way better in your head. Out loud it sounded absolutely bonkers. You don’t even blame Namjoon when he bursts out laughing, wiping tears from his eyes. You let him, sinking further into your seat and hugging your knees. You really hoped Namjoon would’ve come through for you.

However you’re not laughing along with him, and he immediately stops at your teary expression. He pushes himself over to you with his long legs, quickly moving to prevent yourself from tucking into your shell. He sees how small your form becomes and he reaches over to place a hand over your hair. “You’re really upset over this, aren’t you?” he questions aloud, and he can’t piece it together, “did you hit your head or something?”

Defeated, you explain, “I may have gotten hit by a motorcycle the other day.”

“What?” he squeezes your shoulder, “well, that explains a lot! What if you’re hallucinating? What if you have a concussion? You could be suffering from short-term memory loss!”

You’re sure it’s none of those things, but you let him ramble. The explanation is clear-cut and so painfully normal that it’s the only conclusion that Namjoon will cling to. Your mentor insists you take a medical leave, and says he’ll take over your classes in the meantime. He gives you a number to call, explains there one of the best doctors for trauma and motor incidents. You don’t say anything to that, but you accept the number and lie when you say you’ll call them in the morning. Namjoon still treats you like a friend however, despite your fruitless confession, and you concede that his comfort is more than enough after such a rough week.

•━━━━━━»••»💮💮💮«••«━━••

It’s been nearly two weeks since you’ve contacted Jimin.

Sure, Jimin’s contacted you. A couple flirty texts here, some low-key sexy selfies there. Usually, you’d eat that up like honey and butter. Now, there’s only one-word replies and half-hearted attempts at continuing a conversation. He loosens his tie, thankful he’s working out of the office today. He can look at his phone all he wants, and no one will judge him.

Jimin finally looks up at the photographer his marketing company contracted, who’s still mulling over the contract. “We’re not trying to jip you, promise.” Jimin assures, and he almost laughs at the comical way the young man’s large eyes catch his concern. “You’ll get all that money, and then some if you need to work overtime. It’s a sweet gig.”

“Yeah,” the young man nods, and grabs the pen to sign at the bottom. “Looking forward to working with you.”

“Same to you, Mr. Jeon,” Jimin grins, meeting him halfway across the table, “I’ve seen your work, I’m sure the commercial will be beautiful.”

“You can call me Jungkook,” the new employee flashes him a quick grin, taking his palm in his. Jimin tries not to twitch at this cute kid, who is both devastatingly handsome and cute at the same time. He’s a little jealous, a little attracted.

“Great, because Mr. Park is my dad. Jimin’s fine.”

It’s then that Jimin’s phone lights up, both pairs of eyes darting to the picture of you decorating the wallpaper.

While it’s not a completely flattering picture (you’re asleep with your wire-rimmed glasses half-off and there’s drool dribbling down your chin.) However it’s definitely you, the person Jungkook nearly killed a couple days ago.

Jungkook’s mouth goes dry, and he lets go of Jimin’s hand like it’s fire. Jimin hardly notices, grabbing his phone in hope that you replied to his text. To his despair, it’s just Taehyung. He ruffles his hair in frustration, letting the slick ebony strands fall out of his hairstyle.

“Fuck,” Jimin curses, shoving his phone in his blazer.

“Everything alright?” Jungkook asks, trying to be polite. On the other hand, he’s rather curious about the girl from weeks ago, who still hasn’t left his mind.

In the heat of the moment, Jungkook left the scene with you blubbering on the road. How wide your eyes were with recognition, and almost mother-like as you coddled him like someone to protect. He’s felt bad about it since, but he had an interview with Jimin’s boss and he couldn’t blow a job opportunity. It couldn’t be helped that your sad expression has been his midnight fixation when he can’t sleep or has a creative block. He should’ve at least called a cab to take you to the hospital or something, you were clearly not in the right mind.

“Yeah, it’s just a friend.” Jimin forces a smile, not wanting to dump his baggage on the new employee. “She almost got hit by a motorcycle the other day,” Jungkook masks a wince, remembering the horror he felt when he saw you, just lying there across the street. “Ever since then, she just hasn’t been herself. I’m just worried. It’s like she’s seen a ghost or something.”

“Oh,” Jungkook steals a glance at Jimin’s phone again, hoping to see your picture light up again. He does feel a little guilty pushing you off him and running away, but then again it was you that started being weird.

How did you know him, and why were you so concerned for his well-being? Would he get fired if he asked Jimin about you? That would be the quickest job he ever got contracted for. Instead, Jungkook forces a smile and offers a neutral, “Well, I’m sure things will work out.”

“Thanks, I hope so too.”

Jungkook’s palms are sweaty, as if it’s a dark premonition that something will happen. With Jimin around supervising him, he has a feeling that if things don’t work out, things will happen regardless.

Maybe he’ll understand why you were so concerned for a stranger’s well-being, and why you looked at him like that.

Like someone in love.

#jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook fluff #goldenclosetnet #thekpopnetwork #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagines #bts fluff #jungkook scenarios

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fairknights · 4 years

Note

May I get dating headcanons for Seto Kaiba, Ryo Bakura, and Joey Wheeler with a female s/o who is charismatic, hot-headed, and goofy???

You may! As a goofy person who can be a bit hot-headed at times, I approve of this ask.

Yu-Gi-Oh!

Seto Kaiba:

This man takes a long, long time to warm up to anyone. The future s/o would have earned his respect long before he admits it to himself, it would take even longer for him to ever even consider admitting it to them. He definitely admires their attitude, though. How they’ve got the charisma that draws people to them in ways he doesn’t really know how to. He loves the sound of their laugh when they’re goofing around, and he loves their more hot-headed side also, since he appreciates people who don’t let others push them around.

When Kaiba first meets his s/o, he’s not sure how to react around them. One minute they’re not taking any of his crap, the next he sees them goofing around with their friends. They’ve caught his interest; though he’s not sure how to approach them. So he just doesn’t. I think it would probably take his s/o approaching him to move things forward.

Biggest Tsundere around, his own stubbornness might clash with his s/o’s hot-headedness. At first! Once the two actually warm up to one another though, there’s no stopping them. I think they’d bicker less and less as they got to know one another. Kaiba is super-secretly a softie, and the goofy side of his s/o might take pleasure in teasing him about this. Expect to be met with embarrassed anger if you choose to do this, though.

He doesn’t often have time to take his s/o on dates, and actually he’s not very good at the whole romance thing. His idea of a date at first would just be to do something that means they can spend time together and maybe have an adventure. Wanna go on a skiiing trip or skydiving? Something like that? Honestly less romantic dates are pretty much his preference. If his fiery s/o likes that kind of adventure then he’s happy about it.

Duel me? Does that count as a date? That’s Kaiba’s general attitude.

Once things get a bit more comfortable, and Kaiba gets more comfortable with a bit more intimacy, he’d prefer to have a night in with his s/o. He’d rather have dinner in his manor, or curl up on the couch with his s/o watching films. Or spend the night dueling them at home with no duel disks; just a table, old school. He really just prefers his privacy and a quiet evening with his s/o actually helps him to relax.

Ryo Bakura:

Shy boy Bakura is a bit intimidated by the hot-headedness of his future s/o. He’s not sure how to approach them, and he’s worried that he’s going to say the wrong thing and upset them. Once he realises his future s/o isn’t that kind of hothead, he’s drawn in by their charisma. Soft boy probably says something like “I’ve never met anyone like you before…” in that soft reverent kind of tone.

He’s a bit of a goof himself once he gets comfortable with people, so he gels well with his goofy s/o. He loves being able to just be himself around his s/o without fearing judgement.

Will absolutely nerd out about duel monsters with his s/o, if his s/o is into dueling as well. The two of them will open booster packs and compare cool cards, build decks together and duel all the time.

He finds he admires how his s/o isn’t afraid to stand up for themselves or speak their mind. His s/o will also defend him if they feel like he needs it, but they’re also able to give him the space to do so himself if he’d prefer to.

He wonders how someone like him manged to catch the attention of a fiery, charismatic, kind person like his s/o. None of that, Bakura. His s/o will assure him that he’s got plenty to offer, and that in turn, they admire how even though he’s generally a quiet and shy person, he’s still got the strong will to stand up and fight for his friends when he’s able to.

Arcade dates are a must! He’s really good at a lot of arcade games, especially shoot ‘em up ones and street fighter games. He wins his s/o all the good prizes to impress them, and he’s low-key smug about it whenever he beats his s/o at a game.

Joey Wheeler:

A goofy, hot-headed guy like Joey has a lot in common with his s/o. The two of them are always bouncing off each other, laughing and joking and just being a pair of goofballs. It’s enough to make their other friends feel a bit like spare parts sometimes, especially when the relationship is still new.

He loves it when his s/o stands up to people who deserve it (like if Kaiba tried to mess with him and his s/o wasn’t having it). He’s just beside them like “Yeah, you tell ‘em, babe!” He’ll jump in and defend his s/o in the same way if they’re the one being messed with.

He’ll take his s/o on all sorts of dates, really. He’s always looking to try new things, have new experiences and live his life to the fullest. With his s/o in his life, he wants to show them all of his favourite things and even discover a few new favourite things together.

A new restaurant just opened up? Let’s go eat! There’s a fair or traveling market in town? Come on, what are we waiting for? An s/o who can challenge him and keep up with him is pretty perfect for him to be honest.

He dreams of traveling with his s/o, and seeing as much of the world as he can. He’s not got a lot of money right now though, but the two of them will still find ways to have a good time together.

Will duel his s/o if they’re into dueling. He loves the thrill of the challenge and, though he acts frustrated, he’s pretty proud of his s/o when they win. He’ll always be their #1 supporter.

#yugioh #headcanons #Yu-Gi-Oh!#seto kaiba #seto kaiba x reader #ryo bakura #bakura x reader #joey wheeler #joey wheeler x reader #Jounouchi Katsuya #dating headcanons

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ghostsray · 4 years

Text

Ch5: Moon

(first - prev - next)

The siblings met on top a peeling billboard at the edge of town, which had become their sort of unofficial meeting place during Ellie's stay. Niel had suggested some other places nearer to human civilization, especially since Ellie continued to make him buy food for her, but Ellie had insisted that this was the perfect place because the lights were dim enough and they were high enough to see the stars--stars that were visible on this particular clear night.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Ellie said, gazing up dreamily.

"Who is?" Niel asked.

"The moon, of course!" Ellie replied, gesturing widely at the sky. "Of course, the stars are beautiful too. Venus is shining especially bright today. That's a planet, but she still looks like a star from this distance, so whatever."

"You're really enthusiastic about space."

Ellie stared at him like he'd grown a second head and said, "You mean you aren't?"

Niel shrugged. "Dad tried getting me into astronomy for some reason, but it never caught my interest that much."

"And you're sure you're a clone of Danny?"

Niel frowned at the incredulous look Ellie was giving him. "Come on, an interest in astronomy can't be genetic, can it?"

"Maybe not, but it sure as hell is the core of being a Danny."

This wasn't the first time she described herself as a version of Danny. Paired with her old nickname, Niel wondered if she felt the opposite way he did about being a clone: she wanted to be like Danny. He couldn't for the half-life of him understand why, but that was how she acted.

Niel ignored her statement and instead looked down at the comic book in his lap. Just like she had promised, Ellie was trying to get him into Marvel by bringing him issues in exchange for the food. When he asked her if she stole these comics, she didn't reply. (She stole them.)

"This makes no sense," Niel said, referring to the comic. "Radioactivity doesn't give you superpowers, it just gives you cancer."

Ellie chuckled. "It's fiction, dude. It doesn't have to be accurate."

"But they're spreading misinformation! What if a new ghost forms because some kid decided taking a swim in a radioactive vat would be fun?"

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Nobody will swim in a radioactive vat. You're sounding like an overbearing boomer."

Niel gasped and clutched his chest. "You take that back."

Ellie hummed like she was mulling it over, then said, "Nope."

Niel hid his grin by bringing the comic up to his face. He squinted at the page and tilted it slightly, like that would help him understand it better. "Seriously, though, this doesn't make sense. Spiders don't have a "spider sense"."

"You're just a boring science nerd."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying you're not, even though you like astronomy?"

"I am a nerd, and that's my point! What kind of nerd isn't interested in space?"

He shrugged. "I'm not saying space isn't cool, but studying it? Too much math."

A smirk formed on Ellie's face, and she swung her legs and said, "Speaking of math, how was school? Is it really true that you started a rumor about Vlad and Jack having an affair?"

Niel grimaced. "I didn't say anything," he said, then coughed into his fist and quickly muttered, "but I might have accidentally convinced the entire student body of that."

Ellie laughed and punched his shoulder. "Like I said: favorite brother."

"Even though I'm boring and don't like astronomy?"

"Hey, everyone has flaws."

A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the wind rustling the comic book's pages in Niel's lap. He took a break from reading Spider-Man to look up at the night sky. He had to admit, the moon did look beautiful.

"Vlad," he heard Ellie mutter contemptuously after a while. Then she whispered a string of insults that were much harsher than the names of English pastries.

Niel winced and fidgeted. "You know," he said hesitantly, "maybe...maybe Vlad might be able to change his mind about you." He shriveled under Ellie's glare, but he continued, "He told me he could fix unstable clones now."

"Really? Did he actually say he would fix any clone, or just you?"

"...Just me," he admitted.

The girl sighed. "Niel, you beautiful, naive baby brother--" baby brother?--"even if Vlad could change his mind, I won't. I'm much happier travelling around the world than being stuck inside some depressing mansion."

Niel glanced at her. The moonlight made her hair shine gray. He rubbed his neck and asked, "Don't you ever get tired from travelling? Or...lonely?"

Ellie turned her eyes away. She lowered her head and didn't speak. This time, the silence wasn't so comfortable.

Just as the tension between them was starting to become unbearable, Niel's breath suddenly misted over. Next to him, Ellie's breath was the same. They met eyes briefly, any hard feelings between them forgotten, then tensed their bodies and leapt to their feet.

"So this is where you've been?" a voice said. Niel turned and saw a metallic ghost with a flaming mohawk phase through the billboard.

Niel's jaw tightened. "Skulker," he greeted.

Ellie inched back. Skulker's attention turned toward her, and his steel features contorted into a grin.

"This is a pleasant surprise. I was sent by Vlad to find his kid, and instead, I find two."

"You brought him here?" Ellie breathed behind Niel. He turned around and saw her blue eyes wide and filled with horror and--betrayal. His heart squeezed.

"No! Of course not!" He faced Skulker and demanded, "What are you doing here?"

Skulker scoffed. "Did you really think your dear old dad wouldn't notice you sneaking off at night? He wanted to know what you were doing behind his back, and of course, he couldn't find anyone else to babysit you besides me." He snickered and said, "He was worried you might be sleeping in with that animal rights girl."

"He thought I was with Sam?" Niel said, blushing in spite of the situation.

"Oh, but this is much better. A family reunion?" His optics zoomed in on Ellie, who had backed up so far she stood on the edge of the billboard.

Niel placed himself between the ghost and Ellie and said, "I'll go back to Dad, but leave Ellie alone."

"Ellie? So the thing has a name now?" Skulker cackled. "No thanks. If I bring Plasmius two duplicates instead of one, maybe he'll pay me better."

"Why would a ghost even need money?"

Skulker's faceplate twisted into a scowl. "He pays me with materials. Do you think metal is easy to come by in the Ghost Zone?"

There was a flash of light from Ellie's direction, and Niel didn't need to turn around to know she had gone ghost. He didn't have time to. A net shot out of a compartment in Skulker's armor before Niel could blink.

In the span of one tense heartbeat, Niel lurched out his arm and blasted ectoplasm from his hand, shoving the net aside. It landed harmlessly out of range from Ellie.

Niel hadn't had much training in using his ghost powers in human form, and so his flesh felt like acid as his skin smoked where the blast was released. He bit back his pain and met Ellie's now-green eyes. Neither of them spoke, but a psychic message seemed to pass between them: Run.

Ellie pushed herself into the air and flew away. Niel yelped as Skulker's cold metallic hands wrapped around his neck and lifted him up.

"Not so fast," Skulker growled. "I've gotten close to catching the whelp many times--I'm sure I can mange to catch two knockoffs."

He held Niel to the side, where he dangled out of reach from Skulker's machinery. The ghost took aim at Ellie and released a missile. Niel shouted when he heard a small explosion go off and Ellie's cry as she was hit.

Ellie fell. Niel was certain she would descend all the way down to a painful impact with the ground, but apparently, Skulker hadn't run out of nets yet. He released another green mesh that snatched Ellie mid-air and reeled her in toward him. She wasn't struggling. She must have been unconscious (or dead--but Niel didn't want to think about that).

Niel thrashed in Skulker's grip. He tugged on his core and transformed into a ghost. Immediately, the pain in his hand receded. Skulker only had time to turn his face toward him before Niel fired an ectoblast right at his face.

Skulker yowled and let go. Niel hovered in the air with balled fists.

"What is wrong with you, you rip-off halfa?" Skulker snapped. "I'm working for your father."

"Let Ellie go," Niel demanded.

Skulker growled. "Don't let me go back on your father's orders and hurt you."

"I'd like to see you try," Niel taunted.

In retrospect, that probably wasn't the smartest thing to say. Yes, Niel trained everyday, but Skulker had existed far longer than him and was also the Ghost Zone's greatest hunter. Vlad wouldn't have hired him if he wasn't confident in the hunter's skills. Niel lasted about a third of a minute before he found himself tangled inside a net like Ellie's.

"Finally," Skulker grumbled. "You're as troublesome as the original ghost child."

The jetpacks in Skulker's armor fired up, and the ghost flew across the sky with two half-ghost clones in tow.

Niel tugged at the netting furiously. Of course, phase-proof. He glared at Skulker and shouted, "I'll tell Dad that you hurt me!"

"Oh, really? So you'd admit that you were unwilling to return to him?" Skulker replied. Niel hesitated. Skulker grinned and said, "I thought not."

Hopeless, Niel looked at the other net dangling beside him, where Ellie's form lay still. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Ellie did not respond.

#oh you thought that last chapter was lighthearted? yeah that was just a breather before the real angst starts #Danny Phantom #dannymay #dannymay2020 #niel masters #dani phantom #fic #fanfiction #writing #mine

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dominodebt · 5 years

Text

strange bedfellows

"Be with me when I lie down; you promised me this in an earlier life." –Mirabai

(Beds are not inherently sexual. There is nothing torrid or amorous about a bed. This is what Caleb is telling himself, anyway, when he agrees to share his with Jester.)

critical role | wc: 6,802

One hand scrabbles for his materials pouch on his bedside table, the other patting around desperately for his spellbook while his anxiety goes off the rails because someone tripped his Alarm spell someone tripped his Alarm spell someone tripped his—

A knock on his door. Caleb freezes in the act of reaching, hanging half off the bed, legs cocooned hopelessly in his sheets.

Someone tripped his Alarm spell and is now, apparently, informing him of this fact.

In hindsight, the spell is a habit—a ritual to soothe his paranoia. He doesn't need to cast it. The crew has proven themselves to be loyal and reliable, and the Nein wouldn't go poking around in his things. They're all past that point of reflexive mistrust.

Caleb did not cast his Alarm spell because he is suspicious of his friends, or doubts their honesty. He cast his Alarm spell because somewhere, out in the world, Trent Ikithon is looking for him, and some nights, one thin silver wire is the only way to pacify his anxious mind.

Nott is the only person he'd thought to name when designating who the spell would not affect—his small companion has a habit of coming and going as she pleases, and he has no desire to hear a ringing in his head all night each time she decides to go investigate something.

So since it is not Nott, and it is not Trent Ikithon, it must be another member of the Nein. Caleb sighs, sitting up in bed, willing the adrenaline to drain from his body.

Another knock. Caleb curses lowly in Zemnian.

"Come in," he calls through his fingers, rubbing his face with his hands.

It's Jester. Because of course it is.

She appears in his doorway slowly, listening to the ancient wood creak as she pushes the door aside. He watches her at the edge of his vision, struck—as he always is when he sees her alone—by how small she is. The faint light from the hallway she stands in silhouettes her as she peers into his room, eyes glittering like rock crystal in the low light of his room.

"Are you awake?" she whispers in that too-loud way of hers.

Caleb exhales deeply through his nose.

"Yes, Jester, I am," he replies lowly. "What are you doing?"

She slips inside, apparently declining to answer his question, and quietly shuts the door behind her. Her pink nightgown swishes at her ankles as she spins back around, quickly crossing the room to his bed, chattering lowly about something that Caleb honestly isn't sparing a single thought towards because why is she coming towards his bed—?

One blue hand appears his blankets, and Caleb realizes her intentions—

"Jester." Caleb's whole body has snapped taut like a sprung mousetrap. He sits rigidly in his bed, hands fisted below the sheets as he watches her at the edge of his vision.

Tension hangs for a moment as they stare at each other.

"Are you…?" Jester trails off, stilling her movements as if she'd just caught a glimpse of his uneasy stiffness. "Oh. Oh. Sorry. Does this make you uncomfortable? I should have asked."

Caleb opens his mouth to say yes, this does make him uncomfortable, thank you for noticing, and would she please take herself and that unnecessarily cute pink nightgown out of his room, now.

He forces a hard swallow down a throat that hadn't been quite so dry a moment ago.

He likes Jester. That isn't exactly a groundbreaking or controversial statement, because everyone likes Jester, but it's the truth. He likes Jester quite a bit, and he is all too aware of how absolutely fucked her last few days have been—from the small annoyance of putting up with Fjord's liaisons with Avantika to the true horror of being left alone in a chamber to face a godsforsaken dragon all on her own.

She stares at him, waiting—cutting such an impossibly small figure as she's bathed in the soft glow of his dancing lights that he feels his heart constrict. Such a large, loud spirit tucked neatly into someone so slight. She clearly is seeking something from him, and even though he has no idea what it is, he has already surrendered it to her.

Swallowing hard and listening to his anxiety wail like a siren's song in his head, Caleb manages a rough pass at an affirmative nod.

"Just…above the covers, ja?"

Her answering smile shames daybreak.

"Of course," she agrees, eagerly clambering aboard. He watches as she settles herself comfortably at the edge of his bed—legs crossed daintily beneath her as the blush silk of her nightgown pools across his blankets. She's within arm's reach—his bed isn't large enough to keep her out of it—but she's as far away as she can mange, and true to her word, she's seated primly above the various layers of sheets and blankets.

Her tail swishes idly above her shoulder as her gaze passes over his quarters.

"Where's Nott?" Jester asks, head tipped curiously as her darkvision fails to unveil a little goblin girl anywhere in the room.

Caleb shrugs—action still stiff with nerves. He hasn't quite recovered from her presence—the shrill chime of his Alarm spell is still ringing faintly in his memory. "She wanders, occasionally."

Jester looks back to him, nose wrinkling in telltale confusion.

"What?" she asks. "Like, around the ship?"

"Wherever she wishes," Caleb answers. He closes his book and lets it rest in his lap, feeling the most absurd need to put on more layers of clothing. His threadbare shirt is stained and worn and rumpled, but it isn't indecent. And besides, these are his quarters. He has nothing to be embarrassed about.

He glances back, sensing Jester's dissatisfaction with his answer. "I am not her keeper."

She nods, seemingly pacified, and Caleb waits for her to explain her presence—nothing is overtly wrong the way it usually is with Jester's problems. She isn't bleeding, or yelling, or babbling about how she had absolutely nothing to do with whatever catastrophe the group was about to see. She just sits there, idly glancing around his room.

Caleb shifts, feeling senselessly exposed.

"Jester…" he begins, lifting an eyebrow, drawing her earnest gaze. "It is quite late. Was there something you needed, or…?"

Some of the spark leaves her eye, and she looks away, visibly slumping at his pointed question. Caleb kicks himself, cursing his unwieldy tongue, scrambling for something else to say—

"I don't want the Gentleman to be my dad," she confesses quietly.

Caleb tips his head in acknowledgement. Ah. "I believe that is a reasonable thing not to want," he replies diplomatically.

Her blue brow puckers with a frown as she continues. "I mean…what are the chances, right? I spend my whole life looking for my dad and like—this first guy we come across is just him?" She looks to Caleb, expression distinctly discontented. "That's a little unbelievable, isn't it?"

Caleb stares back at her for a moment, listening to the way her lilting accent weaves through the air, turning her complaints into music. He declines to inform her that everything she does—absolutely every action he has seen her partake in—leans at least a little on the side of unbelievable.

She's a whirlwind, their cleric. A riot of color and sound.

Still, he offers his best response.

"Your mother could not confirm his identity for certain, and the Gentleman denied he had seen her," he tells her. "So long as those loose ends remain, there is no way to know, and no reason to worry."

She nods, still looking troubled.

"It makes sense though," she murmurs. Caleb is drawn to her hands. Small blue fists flecked with her colorful paints—kaleidoscope fingers that tug and twist at his blankets. "Him being my dad."

Caleb arches an eyebrow. "I don't quite see the resemblance," he replies, thinking of the dangerously calm and charismatic crime lord. He had been a cold man, in Caleb's own opinion—and clever enough to give even a student of Archmage Ikithon a run for his money. "There are many water genasi in the world, Jester."

Jester just sighs—a soft, small sound. Her shoulders sag, and Caleb frowns at the sight.

"Who would you rather your father be?" he asks. He sits forward, elbows on his knees, closer into her space, trying to catch her eyes. "Forget the Gentleman—surely you've imagined what your father might be like before him."

Jester seems to consider it for a moment—he watches her features scrunch up in that thoughtful way of hers—before her expression smooths back out.

"I never really cared who my dad was," she admits with a shrug. "I just wanted him to come back to the Chateau. I just wanted Mama to be happy."

Caleb quirks an eyebrow. "So…the fact that the Gentleman is a notorious, dangerous crime boss isn't what makes you wish he wasn't your father?"

Jester shakes her head, blinking at him like this should be obvious.

"No," she tells him. "I don't care who he is, or what he does. I only ever wanted him to be with my mama."

The simplicity of her desire—such a quiet, wholesome yearning—twinges at something deep inside Caleb. He clears his throat, shifting beneath the sheets of his bed.

"Ah," he murmurs, completely at a loss. He knew Jester loved her mother but…gods. "That's…that's incredibly noble of you, Jester."

The tiefling shrugs, ducking his gaze again, smoothing her colorful fingers across her rumpled nightgown.

"I don't know about that," she murmurs, bashful suddenly—like his simple compliment had flustered her more than her brazen move to his bed.

Something about her reaction—her sudden shyness of being called out for her selflessness, like she doesn't know what to do with the words, has never been given such praise—rouses Caleb's suspicion as he watches her. He has seen Jester take kind remarks about her clothes and her hair and her eyes all in stride—hardly ever blushing at a single one. But now he points out the very obvious, and she can't look him in the eye?

He frowns. Perhaps noble wasn't quite the word he was searching for.

"You don't value yourself."

Silence follows the statement, and for a moment, Caleb blinks, feeling the urge to search the room for the source before he realizes—with a dull kind of astonishment—that it was him.

Jester's eyes seem to glow in the dark—like a pair of cursed amethysts.

"What?" she asks, frowning hard.

Caleb considers walking his words back—he really, truly hadn't meant to say that—but his resolve hardens, and he gazes back at her.

"Jester you…" Caleb's tongue—cast with silver during his time under Ikithon—tarnishes as he struggles to articulate his point. "You're…you are never your first priority. Ever."

Jester blinks at the low intensity of his tone. He isn't yelling—Caleb actually can't recall the last time he'd raised his voice out of fury, his is a much softer, darker anger—but he watches as her hand rises to gingerly rest over her heart in an act of delicate surprise that reminds him so forcefully of her mother he thinks he might have a stroke.

"I am sometimes," she argues softly. "I've healed myself first, even when other people were hurt."

Caleb frowns, his memory pinpointing the exact moment she is referring to.

"Only after we convinced you to," he reminds her.

She rolls her eyes, looking away stubbornly. The most self-sacrificing person Caleb knows, and she can't stand to hear it about herself.

"Tell me something you want," he insists. "Not something you want for someone else. Something selfish. Something that only you benefit from."

Jester's soft, round features scrunch up in concentration as she considers Caleb's request.

"I…I don't know," she manages, shrugging in that charmingly inelegant way of hers. She peers at him through mussed indigo hair. "I want pastries, I guess?"

Caleb sighs.

"I was thinking something a bit…grader, Jester," he explains. He casts his mind around before it clicks, just as the boat rocks again, like the water is reminding him. "Fjord, for example. What we've been doing these past weeks—all this time at sea—this is all for him. This is his selfish request." He holds her gaze, imploring her to understand. "And that's fine, because we're here for him. Because we want to support him, ja?"

She nods a little unsteadily. Caleb pushes on.

"And soon, when we get back to land, it will be someone else's turn to be selfish, and we will go—I don't know—to Beau's family and—and bully her father for treating her the way he did, or to Yasha's homelands and aid her in putting whatever it is that haunts her to rest." He holds her gaze, willing her to understand. "Verstehst du?"

"Well, I want to spread the word of the Traveler, then." Her tone is somewhat smart, like she's proving she can beat him at his own game. Caleb levels a dubious look at her.

"That doesn't count, Jester. You're a cleric." He gestures somewhat uselessly with his hands, trying to explain. "Doing something you are duty-bound to do isn't a selfish action."

"But making the Traveler happy makes me happy," she tells him crossly.

"It's still inherently sacrificial," Caleb insists, choosing to dissect her attitude towards her favored god another day. When he has better control over his rogue tongue. "You're still serving him. It's an unbalance of power. It isn't strictly for you." He frowns

Jester huffs, the sound edged in frustration, and they stare at each other in the dim room, unsmiling.

"Well, maybe I don't want anything, then!" Jester's accent always harshens when she's upset, and Caleb listens to it ring out in his quarters. He just gazes back at her, declining to tell her what Ikithon always told him—swallows the words of his teacher's first lesson:

Everyone wants something.

Everyone—even little blue tieflings with sweet smiles.

"You're an exceptional liar," Caleb murmurs to her.

At the edge of his vision, Jester goes still.

For a moment, Caleb fears he's gone too far, and opens his mouth to apologize—

"I'm not nearly as good as you," she replies, in that deceitfully demur way of hers.

Silence fills the room—a natural reaction to the awkward exchange, but soon it grows stifling and uncomfortable. Jester hugs her arms to her chest, looking the other way, while Caleb's stare bores a hole into the cover of his spellbook where it lies on the floor beside his bag.

"May I ask you a question?" he ventures, what feels like an eternity later, trying to break the odd tension that's settled over the room.

"Of course," she agrees easily. She plops her chin in her hand, raising her eyebrows inquisitively as she stares back at him, seemingly just as eager to dispel the strange stiffness between them.

Caleb hesitates. For months he's spent nearly every waking moment shoulder-to-shoulder with the members of their little ragtag band, and while he has learned a great deal about his found family—and has systematically stored information pertaining to their likes and dislikes away for future use—Jester's preferences elude him.

She can be difficult to read, even for him—there's layers to their cleric, he's come to realize. What he hasn't realized quite yet is what layers are really her, and what layers are merely for show.

Jester is a whole play in and of herself, slipping effortlessly between roles. She's an actress, of sorts, but all her masks are so similar it took Caleb a moment to notice—and others, he assumes, may never catch on. Each version of her is just a shade different than the last—suitable to play the part she needs without drawing attention to herself.

There's enough common ground between all of them that it's difficult to track—she's always quick with a joke, earnestly determined, and just brash and proud and sarcastic enough for flavor, but what parts aren't truly hers? Where does the acting end? When is she just Jester?

Caleb shelves these thoughts for later.

Small steps, he reminds himself. Just one fact at a time.

"Most tieflings, as far as I've read and come to understand," he begins. "They—their blood, rather—it grants them the use and protection of fire."

He watches her closely, but she continues to stare back at him. He wonders if he can see it—wonders if he studies her diligently enough, he can watch her physically take on a different side of herself and present him with the most fitting set of characteristics she has.

Her phantasmal, duplicitous twin is not the only double Jester has tucked away. Of this, Caleb is certain.

But he drops his gaze anyway, not wanting to crowd her. He's already outed her as a liar, and she'd returned the favor. They both know this room is cloaked with dishonesty—both realize they use untruthfulness as a crutch.

He's hoping something small like this—an inconsequential detail—can help lure them both into some semblance of honesty.

"Yeah, of course," she answers in that wind chime cadence of hers. He glances up to see her already looking at him, smiling faintly. She appears no different, but he knows something's changed.

He nods. "But you…you seem to be more comfortable in the cold."

She nods back, though he senses a hesitation about her this time.

"Yeah," she says again. "I…I don't do as well with fire as other tieflings do." Her gaze drops once more. "I don't really know why."

Caleb knows exactly why—it's because her father is a damned water gensai—but he says nothing. Jester is nobody's fool. She knows that well enough, he's sure.

He racks his brain for something to say—something to keep that prickly silence at bay—when she speaks.

"I tried to make myself resistant to it." Jester is aimlessly braiding the tassels dangling off the edges of his throw blanket. Caleb nearly chokes.

"You what?"

Jester shrugs, unruffled. He watches her fingers weave the strings into a neat little plait. She won't look him in the eye.

"When I was younger, back at the Chateau. My mama, she used to—a long time ago, she had an act that involved fire. It was really popular—even more popular than her singing, I think. I don't really remember." Her brow furrows gently as she picks up more pieces of fringe to braid. Caleb just watches her silently.

"Anyway, I tried to recreate it." She pauses, briefly, apparently focused on her handiwork. Caleb doesn't push her. "It didn't work so well."

He has no such memory of the event, obviously, but his mind's eye quickly presents him with that exact scenario—a small blue tiefling, horns barely poking out from her tangled curls, eyes bright as she reaches out, grasping for a flame—

"It burned you," he guesses quietly.

She nods silently.

Caleb swallows hard. Considers telling her that he has had his fair share of problems with fire—that he knows what it feels like to be burned, that she isn't alone in her fear of flames, he too has overreached whilst trying to master an element out of his control, that he is haunted by ash and embers—

"I favor my mother," Caleb offers instead, surprising even himself. Since when does he feel the need to speak unnecessarily? Why is he suddenly obliged to fill the silence?

Jester brightens immediately, though, and he realizes he has no choice but to continue. Disappoint that face? He doubts he could even if he wanted to.

"Really?" Jester asks breathlessly, eyes shining in the darkness.

Caleb nods, lips pulling up faintly. Her cheer is catching.

"Ja. We both had red hair. My father, he was…" Caleb swallows hard. He has not allowed himself to revisit those memories in so long. "He was tall, and broad. A brick wall of a man, the way farmers tend to be."

Jester blinks with surprise. "You were a farmer?"

Caleb laughs quietly. "I was, a very long time ago." He skates his fingers across the cover of the Kenku book, idly lost in thought. "I wasn't very good at it."

"What did you farm?" Jester presses. She's scooted closer since Caleb began speaking, and he looks up to see her right beside him, entranced by his story, hands on her knees as she leans into his space.

"Ah." His brain stutters for a moment—caught like a wheel in a bog—before he stumbles on. "We grew wheat, mostly. We grew everything we needed but…wheat is what we sold to make a living."

"That's so exciting!" Jester gushes. "A real farmer!"

Caleb crooks an eyebrow. "As opposed to a fake one?" he asks, but she's waving his remark away, eyes bright with excitement.

"How do you say wheat in Zemnian?" she asks urgently, and he chuckles lowly.

"Weizen," he answers dutifully, his native language rolling smoothly off his tongue as always.

"Weizen." She tries to repeat it, but the Zemnian word clashes horrifically with her lilting accent, and it comes out all wrong. She wrinkles her nose at the sound of it, like even she can't believe what just came out of her mouth, and Caleb outright laughs.

"Wheat farmers!" Jester looks truly mesmerized, and Caleb can't help but smile back. "Tell me about it! What did you do? Did you have chores? Did you—" she cuts herself off with a gasp that would make Caleb reflexively reach for his pouch if Jester hadn't already seized his hand in both of hers.

He looks at her, bewildered, as she brings his captured hand up to her chest, eyes wide, mouth agape.

"Did you have animals?" she whispers, like the fate of the known world teeters on his response.

Caleb's entire conscious awareness has been narrowed down to the feeling of her hands holding his.

"Ja," he manages, the affirmative Zemnian word unusually clumsy on his tongue. "Ah, we had, um, a cow, and two horses, and—" she's squeezed his hand tighter, eyes like absolute stars "—chickens," he manages to rattle off.

Under her starlight stare, he stammers out more stories of his youth—giving life and voice to memories he's kept locked away for ages. She's enraptured by his artless tales, and Caleb feels the most irrational flush crawling up his neck. There is absolutely nothing of interest or consequence in the life of a simple Zemnian farmer, but she hangs on to his every word like he's the most talented bard in the world.

"Can we go?" she asks he's finished showing her the small scars on his hands from being pecked by chickens. She shakes his hand where she still holds it—where she hasn't let it go, all this time. "Caleb, can we go there next? To your farm? To your parents?"

The lightness he'd felt in her presence dims, suddenly. Caleb feels reality crash back into him, and he winces on instinct.

"My parents they…" Fire erupts in his mind's eye. A scream echoes distantly in his brain. He looks away. "They are gone now, Jester."

He feels her shrink beside him—watches her close in on herself at the edge of his vision. She drops his hand, and Caleb fights the urge to grab hold of hers again.

"Oh," she whispers. "Oh, gods, Caleb, I'm so sorry, I didn't—"

"I never told you," he interrupts her gently. "It isn't your fault."

They sit quietly beside each other. Caleb traces runes on the cover of his book.

"I want to make them proud," he murmurs. The truth burns where it lies coiled in his throat—his past clawing to escape, daring him to tell her, to see how much she cares for his silly stories and foolish tricks when she knows—

Caleb looks away. "That…that is my selfish request."

They're so close to each other now, on the bed. He's still beneath the covers and she's still above them but she's leaning towards him and he's facing her and it's all so…warm.

"That doesn't sound selfish to me," Jester tells him quietly. "And…if it helps at all, Caleb, I think we're all pretty proud of you."

He lifts an eyebrow, and she hastens to continue.

"Really! You—you're smart and you know what everything is and you decoded Avantika's journal and you put up the fire wall and you counterspelled her and you saved us from falling in the jungle and you're always using Frumpkin to see ahead and you listen to people and—" she breaks off, somewhat breathless. Caleb can only stare. "And you're really good at magic, Caleb."

Her compliment—earnest and eager—warms him gently, and he smiles despite himself. "Thank you, Jester," he answers. "You're quite good yourself."

She beams, basking in the glow of his praise

"It's nothing that impressive," she murmurs back.

"Oh?" he angles his head, tossing a wry grin her way. "You can speak with the dead. That's outlawed in the Empire, you know."

Jester goes stock-still, blinking. "What?" she blurts out.

Caleb just nods, maintaining a playfully serious tone. "Ja. Necromancy has been forbidden for decades." He leans closer—dizzying himself with his own proximity—to speak in a conspiring tone. "You're a criminal, you know."

She lets out a falsely scandalized gasp. "How dare you!" She's reared back, perched on her heels, drawing herself up as tall as she can on his bed, looking down at him with her nose in the air, fighting a smile.

"I will have you know, sir, that I am a lady of the highest integrity," she informs him archly, and Caleb snorts at her antics. "I don't know what sort of…nonsense you think someone like myself would get involved with. Me? Perform necromancy?" Her fake indignation is absolutely hysterical, and Caleb coughs he's so rusty at laughing. "Why, the next thing you know, you're going to accuse me of conniving with goblins and wizards."

Caleb falls back on his pillows—laughing and coughing—chest straining in a way it hasn't for as long as he can remember. The bed bounces as Jester follows suit. A companionable silence follows, and Caleb idly decides he could spend the rest of his life right here, in this room, with this warmth in his chest and this silly little tiefling beside him.

"Caleb?"

"Ja?"

"What if Uk'Otoa tells Fjord to do something terrible?"

And just like that, the mood swings again.

Caleb breathes deep, considering her question and ignoring the voice in his head that sounds traitorously like Eodwulf's as it mocks him for having a lovely girl in his bed asking about someone else.

Jester is a lovely girl, but this bed isn't his bed—not in that way. It's merely a shared space. A shared space where they both happened to be rather underdressed. Discussing very intimate matters. In very close proximity. That's all. Nothing odd or disreputable about it.

Caleb clears his throat somewhat awkwardly.

"Well," he begins, leaning back against the headboard, jolting slightly when Jester does the same, her head right beside his as they both stare up at the ceiling. "I imagine Fjord would—on some level—be inclined to listen. It would certainly depend on the severity of the request."

Jester hums noncommittally, and Caleb begins counting cracks in the ceiling, willing himself not to push, not to pry, let her work through her thoughts on her own—

"I don't think he's evil," she confides quietly. "But I also don't think he's good at being…good."

Caleb dips his head in acknowledgment, stark blue eyes tracing a particularly long, spindly fissure in the wood above him.

"To be honest, Jester, I don't know how good any of us are at that," he tells her, and she sighs, long and hard.

"Yeah," she mutters, disheartened. There's a pause. "Well, except Caduceus."

Caleb allows this with a nod. "That is true. Caduceus is certainly the best of us."

Jester hums again, and Caleb tries not to be unnerved by her lack of answers. She's given up a lot already. The last thing he wants to do is push her to give up more.

Another lapse of silence. Caleb wonders if it's a good silence or not.

"I thought of the selfish thing I want to ask for," she tells him after a moment, and Caleb blinks, straightening up a bit.

"Oh, uh, what is it?" He hadn't expected her to mull that question over all this time, and braces himself for a request he knows is far outside his meager capabilities—

She fusses with the hem of her nightgown, averting his gaze.

"I want you to call Frumpkin," she requests softly, a gentle lilt to her voice that ruins Caleb the moment he hears it. She chances a look at him, searching for his eyes from behind her wild, ink-blue curls. "Please?"

Caleb swallows hard. She is not—he is certain—trying to present herself in any particular way. She is not flirting, or being coy, or angling for some seductive tilt. She's just a girl in a nightgown, peering at him with such delicate, cautious hope, that he feels every single wall he built in the asylum crumble to nothing.

Eodwulf's voice is back in his head—low and humored, words tilted with his signature wry grin.

"You've got it bad, Widogast."

Caleb is inclined to agree.

Not trusting himself to speak, Caleb merely gives his fingers a practiced snap, and feels the tug of conjuration magic as his familiar appears seemingly out of nowhere to drop neatly into Jester's waiting lap.

The cat looks up at her, blinks twice, and gives his best mlep.

Jester's answering smile is dazzling.

"Hello Frumpkin!" she whispers excitedly, beaming as she starts to scratch the cat under his chin.

Frumpkin purrs, pleased, and Caleb watches as his familiar arches his neck back to give her better access. Nothing really happens for a while—Caleb sits beneath his blankets, chin resting on his propped hands as he watches Jester fuss over Frumpkin, listening to her murmur sweetly in Infernal.

After a moment, she scoops the cat up in her arms, and Caleb cracks a grin as his familiar's legs dangle a bit before she wrangles him comfortably into a hug, drawing him close to kiss the top of his head, between his ears.

"I don't want to fight Fjord." Jester's voice is muffled by Frumpkin's fur as she buries her face in his coat. There's a pause, and Caleb searches for what to say, assuming it's his turn to speak—

"But I will."

Caleb stares at her, openly surprised.

Jester hugs Frumpkin closer. "If Fjord does something bad—like, really really evil—I'll fight him." She stares off to the side—into nothingness—but her gaze is steady. "I don't know what will happen to him when we leave the ocean, but I don't think Uk'Otoa—" she mocks the name of the ancient demigod, and the boat rocks in response, though Caleb convinces himself it's a coincidence "—will be happy."

"Fjord's abilities comes from Uk'Otoa," Caleb supplies. "If he disobeys him, he may lose his magic."

"Then Fjord has to decide that we mean more to him than his power," Jester mutters back, petulant even to her own ears. She glances up at Caleb suddenly, and he blinks as the intensity her expression had held a moment ago melts away to uneasiness. "Was that selfish?"

Caleb reaches out, running coarse fingers across Frumpkin's head. His familiar mewls at the recognizable touch, tail curling at the end.

"Wanting your friends to not betray you in order to appease their evil, underwater demigod patrons is not selfish, Jester," he assures her. "That's…that's a very simple request. A baseline, really."

She nods, slowly, but the resolve in her eyes hasn't shifted. She means this, he realizes, in a way she means very few things.

His memory fashions him a scene that he hates the moment he sees it—Jester, on her knees, bloodied, bruised, weaponless, no spells left, defenseless as a Fjord-shaped figure looms above her, dark as pitch with glowing, yellow eyes, falchion in hand, water everywhere—

"It will not come to that," Caleb's tone is solid—as unshakable as any verbal component to any spell. "There will be no fight, Jester, I swear to you."

"I hope not," she whispers.

The silence lulls back over them, and Caleb is just opening his mouth with no godly idea of what he's going to say when she interrupts.

"Caleb?"

He smiles to himself. "Ja?"

"Do you have a spell that can put me to sleep?"

His smile freezes, before sliding off his face completely.

"What?" he repeats stupidly. He shakes himself, marshaling his focus. "Jester, if you have trouble sleeping, you should tell Caduceus," he informs her seriously. "I'm sure he has a tea—"

She flops over in that endearingly inelegant way of hers, burying her face in one of his pillows.

"I don't wanna drink dead people," is her muffled response, and Caleb watches her, some of his unease melting away.

"Fair enough, but I can't help you, I'm afraid. Enchanted sleep—at least the kind I am capable of—only last for a few minutes." He eyes her where she's spread out beside him and is struck with the sudden and most irrational desire to brush wayward strands of hair away from her face. He snatches up his book a bit wildly, frantically occupying his hands.

He swallows. Hard.

"You could—" bad idea bad idea bad idea bad idea "—stay here, for the night."

Jester perks up immediately, pushing herself up by her arms so quickly she nearly catches Caleb in the face with one curved horn as he leans away.

"Really?" Her delighted gasp startles Frumpkin, who arches up in surprise before slinking over to his master.

Caleb shrugs, as if his anxiety isn't unraveling his entire consciousness and asking pretty girls to stay in his room is a thing he does all the time. Or has ever done.

"Sure," he replies easily. "I, uh, I was mostly going to be copying spells and reading anyway."

It isn't true, but it sounds enough like something he'd do that Jester accepts it with a nod. "I'd like that a lot," she murmurs. "Beau snores and I…I think she needs some space too."

Caleb nods. Beau had leveled an entirely unfair amount of blame at herself after the incident in the chamber. She had no idea touching the orb would whisk her away the way that it did, and he knows she would have sooner died down there—standing guard as her friends made their escape—before she'd ever take the easy way out of anything.

"She'll be alright," Caleb assures her. "Beau's tougher than all of us."

Jester nods, and Caleb watches as she turns her head, adjusting herself to rest comfortably on his spare pillow. She still isn't under his sheets, and Caleb almost laughs—they've broken so many rules of propriety he isn't entirely sure how he's going to look the Ruby in the eye the next time they meet.

Still, he lays his down as well, and they stare at each other sideways like that for a long moment, swaying with the boat, lost in their own heads. Frumpkin settles down between them, curling up neatly.

"Do you want me to turn the lights off?" he asks quietly, hardly daring to speak, not wanting to break the spell. He gestures to the dancing lights that still circle calmly around the ceiling.

Jester shakes her head, and Caleb drops his hand.

"Jester?" There's something in her expression that hasn't been there all evening—a raw piece of honesty that draws his eye. He frowns, troubled. "Jester, is everything—?"

"I don't want to be alone." Her voice cracks, and Caleb's hands curl into fists. "That's my selfish request. That's the thing I want. I just…I don't want to be left."

Gods but she is going to be the death of him.

"Jester," Caleb murmurs. He wrestles with himself—he wants to touch her, wants to brush away her hair, her tears, her melancholy, but he cannot bring himself to do it. He settles with a gaze just this side of scorching in its intensity. "This whole group—all of us, every member of the Nein—you know we care for you, ja?" He searches her expression, suddenly concerned. "No one wants to leave you behind, you mean too much to us."

She just stares at him. Words keep spilling out.

"What happened back in that…that chamber, Jester—that place where Twiggy took us. It was a mistake. An accident." He feels warmth and realizes—belatedly—he's holding her arm tightly. He doesn't remember reaching for her at all.

Jester's eyes are slightly wide.

"The whole thing was fucked from the start. We were all disorganized and confused. No one meant to leave you behind—we would never do that, would never let that happen." The raw sincerity of his voice hangs heavy in the air between them. "I would never let that happen."

He feels overheated, suddenly—like he's burning alive. The idea that Jester doubts them—that she thinks that any force in this fucking universe could take her from them—rouses something bitter and furious inside of him.

And yet—it had nearly happened. She'd been the last one out of the chamber. The last one left facing a dragon. Caleb closes his eyes because who is he—of all people—to promise safety to anyone? Who has he protected? His parents are gone, Molly is gone, Jester was so nearly—

Her hand is cold against his cheek. Caleb blinks twice to find her staring back at him evenly.

"I know, Caleb," she whispers. "It's okay. I believe you."

He reaches up to place his hand over hers where she holds his face.

"It will never happen again, Jester," he vows quietly. "Not to you, not to anyone. We are all in this together, ja?"

"Ja," she repeats, smiling as she mimics his accent, thumb brushing across his cheekbone until she's suddenly pulling away.

"I am—" she hesitates, cheeks suddenly coloring, and Caleb frowns because she hasn't blushed once this whole time and now she's—?

"It's a bit chilly in here," she confesses quietly. "Even for me. Could I—?"

He reaches across her to grasp the other corner of blankets and sheets and pulls them back, allowing her to quickly wiggle underneath. When he drops his arm, she's back on his pillow, peeking out from beneath his blanket with a grin.

"Thank you, Caleb," she sing-songs, smiling to herself like a fool.

He tips her a wink, because he's feeling particularly bold. "Of course," is his measured response, even as his heart hammers away at his chest. "Gute nacht, Jester."

I swore off tumblr but was told there’s a strong widojest crowd here so I came crawling back just for this blueberry and her dirty wizard

I talk way more on my twitter (@reduxwriter) and have more widojest and crit role fic on my ao3 (MidwesternDuchess)

#critical role #caleb widogast #jester lavorre #widojest

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flora-jimin · 5 years

Text

No Place He’d Rather Be

Pairing: Daycare Teachers!Sope

Genre: The Fluffiest of Fluff| Domestic Vibes

Word Count: 5.3k

Prompt: Chocolate Covered Faces

Rating: G

Summary: Yoongi gets called to help out at Jin's daycare and the following is a small, fluffy oneshot of him realizing Hoseok's wonderful at childcare and that he's fallen head over heels for the man.

A/N: @apotatomashedbybts I’m so sorry it took me so long ; w ; this was changed and revised so many times but I hope the end result is still enjoyable. This was almost a Taekook easter bunny thing but i missed the window oops. Please enjoy and feedback is always welcome~

AO3 Link

Yoongi sighed as he nervously ran his hands down his pants leg. Today was his first day as a helper for a daycare owned by his close friend. He normally wasn’t much of a people person, and high-energy kids would surely take a lot out of him, but Jin, the owner and his friend, had all but begged him to help out for at least a month while he tried to find someone to fill in.

Worldwide Smiles was the product of all of Jin’s love and hard work, having invested all of his time and money to open a large daycare in Seoul that took in elementary school-aged kids. Jin had hired several close friends to take care of the kids with Namjoon and himself as the caretakers for the children from the fourth and fifth grade. Taehyung and Jimin for the first through third grades, while Jungkook and Hoseok had taken over the children in both pre-k and kindergarten.

Jungkook was going off to college, and since he had signed up for morning and afternoon classes, he wouldn’t be able to assist Hoseok anymore until he graduated.

That’s where Yoongi came in, as per Jin’s request. The older man had asked his long time friend to step in until he could find someone to permanently take up the position.

Yoongi stopped outside of the room with the sun painted on the door, lips pursed as he heard the chaos unfolding inside spilling out into the brightly colored hall. He inhaled deeply and twisted the door handle, taking a step inside.

Almost immediately, a hand shot out in front of his face and he flinched, letting out a startled scream.

“Sorry! Hey, I told you guys no throwing!”

With a hand over his heart from the shock, Yoongi took in his surroundings, seeing the children all scattered about the large room, some of them playing what looked like duck, duck, goose, and some of them playing with plastic food near a play kitchen area that was directly adjacent from the door. The hand in front of him retreated, revealing a plastic apple that had been lobbed through the air. Yoongi followed that hand to its owner, finding a warm, dimpled smile greeting him.

“Hey, Yoongs. Sorry about the chaos. It’s raining today so I had to reschedule today’s park trip, that means play time is indoors.” Hoseok explained, walking over to return the apple to the kitchen area. Some of the kids in the room had paused their ministrations, instead turning their attention to the lavender-haired man.

“Hobi-hyung! Hobi-Hyung!” One child tugged at Hoseok’s pant leg, pointing to Yoongi as he awkwardly shut the door behind him.

“Yes, Minhyuk?”

The child, Minhyuk, bounced on the balls of his feet, pointing more aggressively at Yoongi’s form.

“Who is that?”

Hoseok smiled, patting the child on his head before he raised his voice to get the attention of the other children who weren’t currently watching Yoongi with curious interest.

“Good question, Minhyuk. Kids! I have someone to introduce to you, huddle up!” Hoseok called, moving to the large circular carpet on the floor. Yoongi noticed it had a fantasy design instead of the usual ‘city with roads’ design.

Hoseok stood in the center, waiting for all of the wiggling children to follow suit. Once they had gathered for him, he wiped his hands off on the brightly colored apron secured around his waist and motioned to Yoongi.

“Everyone, this is Min Yoongi. He’s going to be filling in while Kookie is away at college, say hi!” Hoseok introduced the man cheerfully and Yoongi swallowed uncomfortably as he suddenly had several sets of eyes refocused on him. There was a beat of pause before he waved once.

“Ah...hello.”

The room exploded into chatter almost instantly, Yoongi was surrounded by nearly all of the children, with them shouting different questions and requests at him.

“Why is your hair purple, Mister Yoongi?”

“Where did you come from? Do you know Kookie? He’s my favorite!”

“Mister! Mister! I want some juice!”

“You look like a cat! Can I call you Mister Kitty?”

Yoongi’s eyes widened as he struggled to process the chaos around him. Hoseok chuckled lightly and clapped a few times to gain a bit more order.

“Alrighty now, kids. Let’s give Yoongi some space, alright? We can’t go overwhelming him on his first day, right? There’s 10 more minutes until nap time, how about we play a bit more while Yoongi gets settled in, hm?” He suggested, grinning as the kids eagerly dispersed.

Yoongi exhaled, smiling gratefully at Hoseok as the younger man handed him an apron.

“You may wanna put this on. It gets messy in here and you don’t want any stains on your first day, right?” He teased, clapping Yoongi on the back playfully as he motioned for him to follow him to the desk designated for them both.

Yoongi secured the light green apron around his waist, settling down in the extra chair beside Hoseok.

“I know you haven’t really taken care of children, but I’m sure you’ll get it in no time. The day usually starts with an hour and a half of teaching and helping them with homework, then we move on to the first snack time. It could be a little tricky since some of the younger ones like to play with food. After snack, we let them play. Kook and I would try to take them out to the park as much as possible, but obviously we have to keep them inside on cold and rainy days. After they’re all tired out, we put them down on the mats and blankets for nap time for an hour. Once that’s done, we get them up and let them eat a light snack one more time and usually that’s around the time their parents come to start picking them up.” Hoseok read of the days activities as per the planner on his desk, pointing to each activity and times. Yoongi scanned the schedule, nodding along as he listened.

Hoseok looked at their class with a fond look on his face.

“Some of them may open up to you a little slower than others, we do have a few kids that have a couple of special needs, but as long as you’re patient, everything will be alright. While they sleep, you can look at our full roster of kids. Obviously they respond much better if you famiralize yourself with them as opposed to calling them ‘kid’ or something, y’know? They may be kids, but they deserve some respect, too. A lot of people forget that, for some reason.”

Yoongi noticed the slight change in Hoseok’s tone and cleared his throat, gently elbowing his friend, now co-worker.

“You’re normally so spacey and out there, I didn’t expect this side of you, Hobi.” He teased. Hoseok blushed, running a hand through his hair.

“What can I say? Coming in to work and seeing these kids is my favorite part of the day.” Hoseok mused, gently pushing away from his desk to move to a small bluetooth speaker shaped like a blue and purple horse. He gently pressed the top of it’s head, and the kids perked as a tiny voice emitted from it.

‘Bluetooth mode, on! Hello! My name is Mang! Paired!’

“Alright everyone, Mang is on, so it’s time to get your blankets out of your cubbies while Yoongi and I get the futons, alright?” Hoseok spoke loud enough that everyone could hear as he pressed play on his phone, with the gentle sound of lo-fi music drifting into the room. Yoongi trailed after him, following him to the back closet where the futons were located, taking them out and settling them on different spots on the floor after they had pushed the tables aside.

“Okay Yoongs, we gotta tuck them in. Line up by me!” Hobi gently called to them and Yoongi watched as the children all waddled in line.

“Hi Lisa, I like your new blanket. The cats are cute!”

“Jooheon, you can sleep next to Changkyun again but remember not to chatter, it is nap time.”

“Hyuna, your mom brought your Pikachu plushie today.”

Yoongi stood back awkwardly, watching in amazement as one by one the children walked up to him, either giving him a hug, a high 5, or a kiss to his cheek (of which he returned with a kiss to their heads). In less than 10 minutes, the kids had all shuffled away to their futons, with Hoseok surveying all of them with a satisfied smile and nod before he motioned for Yoongi to follow him to the play area so they could clean up.

“I saw some videos on the internet of some schools in America having teachers use a little chart with their students so the kids can choose what kind of affection they recieve. Not everyone is comfortable with hugs or head kisses so I let them choose what they would prefer. We do this when they walk in, before bed, and before they get picked up by their parents. All of their parents enjoy this, too so it’s a win-win. Let’s clean up and I’ll show you all of their names.” He quickly explained, scooping up an armful of toys to gently dump into the toy box. Yoongi followed his lead, picking up several scattered toys and trying not to step on any of them.

Once they had straightened up everything, Yoongi sat down at the desk, opening the little photo album Hoseok and Jungkook had created for the class. Hoseok hummed along to the lo-fi music as he let Yoongi study, typing away at his own computer.

After about 15 minutes, Yoongi nodded, having confidence that he’d memorised all of the children by name and face.

“Didn’t it get overwhelming taking care of so many young kids?” He inquired, looking over Hoseok’s shoulder to find him typing out what looked like a permission slip for the kids so they could participate in a cooking activity. The younger man didn’t lift his eyes from the screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

“It does, I had no idea what I was doing at first but Kookie seemed to take the lead when we started, most of it is just keeping your cool and listening to the kids whenever they need something. Patience is the most important thing when caretaking. Show these kids you're willing to know them and things kind of fall into place later.” Hoseok responded quietly, and Yoongi could swear his heart stuttered for a moment.

He hadn't expected to see this calm, mature side of Hoseok, but it drew him in like a moth to light.

Well. That was unexpected.

Yoongi cleared his throat. He was here to help, not redevelop old crushes on his friend he thought he'd quelled years ago.

This shouldn't be too difficult.

-30 Minutes Later-

Okay, maybe he lied.

Yoongi grunted as Matthew climbed on his back, eagerly trying to play with the new aid as he tried to wake up other children.

“Mister Yoongi! Pick me up!”

“Matthew please, I'm trying to wake up Somin-”

“Move! I wanna play with Mister Kitty!”

Yoongi nearly toppled over as Bobby all but barreled into him. Below him, Somin cracked her eyes open, startling when she saw Bobby and Matthew pulling Yoongi every which way. Tears welled in her eyes and she burst into tears.

Instantly, both boys scattered and Yoongi frowned, kneeling down to her.

“H-hey, don’t cry Somin, it’s alright.” Yoongi gently soothed her, lifting part of his apron to offer to her to wipe her eyes. She sniffled, looking at him hesitantly before she took the fabric, bringing it up to her nose.

Yoongi watched in horror as she blew hard, the sound leaving her small nose nearly making him gag. Satisfied, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sent him a wide smile.

“Thank you, Mister Yoongi!” She cheered, bounding away to the table to join the other children. Yoongi looked down at his apron in clear disgust, slowly taking it off so he could discard it as soon as possible.

Hopefully Hoseok had some more on hand.

Yoongi noticed one more child still on the futons, clearly having no intention of getting up. She was small, her round cheeks cherub and slightly flushed as she followed Yoongi’s every movement. He walked over to her, kneeling down to her. He noticed the way her eyes narrowed at him, but he patiently smiled at her.

“Jennie, right? It’s time to eat snack, can you come over and join us?” he inquired. She pursed her lips, frowning in distaste.

“I want Kookie.”

Yoongi blinked in surprise, but tilted his head.

“I know it’s not fun to have your favorite teacher leave, but he’ll definitely come to visit. Maybe we can be friends, too?” He offered, holding his hand up patiently for a high 5. Jennie didn’t even spare his hand a glance, she snapped her head in the opposite direction, hugging her pink rabbit close to her.

“No! You’re a doo-doo head! I want Kookie!”

Yoongi sat there dumbfounded as the girl bounced up to her feet, rushing past him to sit at the table. Hoseok looked up from the fridge, frowning at her as soon as she sat down.

“Jennie! That’s not nice at all! You owe Yoongi an apology.” He told her firmly as he walked over to the table with one of the two containers containing the snacks for all of the kids. Jennie frowned, hiding her face in her rabbit.

“Jennie is only upset because she had a crush on Mister Kookie.” Hyungwon hummed, grabbing his sippy cup and avoiding Jennie’s sharp glare with a sassy head turn. Jennie went red in the face, slapping the table.

“I do not! He’s just not fun like Kookie-Oppa and his face is stupid!” She huffed as soon as Yoongi got close enough to the table. The other kids gasped and Yoongi blinked in annoyance. What was this girl’s problem? It wasn’t his fault Jungkook had to take college classes.

Before he could open his mouth, Hoseok swooped in, kneeling down to her level with a calm, yet stern expression on his face. Jennie frowned, shying away from her teacher’s clear disapproval.

“Jennie, I’m disappointed in you. Kookie and I always told you guys to be nice and polite to everyone. I know you’re sensitive to change, but Kookie has to do what’s important for himself and Yoongi volunteered to help out on such a short notice. You’re being very mean to him. You won’t get any cupcakes or cookies after dessert today, and please apologize to Yoongi.” Hoseok firmly told her. Tears welled up in her eyes, but they never fell as she snapped her gaze over to Yoongi, who had started passing out small premade sandwiches to each child.

“‘M’sorry.” she muttered, squeezing the paw of her plushie repeatedly. Yoongi nodded, bowing slightly. He couldn’t help but to feel bad for the girl. He and Jungkook had vastly different personalities and he was certainly no replacement for the high energy man.

“It’s okay, Jennie. I hope we’ll be friends soon.” was all he said in response. She only bit into her sandwich angrily, sniffing to herself.

As the kids finished eating and Jennie moved to the television to separate herself from the others (and their cupcakes and cookies for dessert), Yoongi joined her, sitting a few feet away. While Hoseok wasn’t looking, he grabbed a chocolate chip cookie, gently presenting it to the girl as a peace offering.

Jennie looked at the cookie in surprise before looking back at Yoongi, hesitantly taking it. She bowed her head slightly.

“....thank you.” she mumbled, eating the cookie quickly.

It was a start.

-1 Week Later-

“Okay everyone, we’re going to be cooking today. Split up between me and Yoongi so we can put your aprons on!” Hoseok ordered lightly, bringing up a little box with aprons in all colors for them. Yoongi smiled as he sat in one of the tiny chairs, beckoning some of the kids over to his line.

Kihyun all but bounded into the line first, having been the first child to take a liking to Yoongi when he came. Behind him, Hyunwoo, Jinhwan, Sunmi, Lisa, and in the back, even Jennie joined the line.

One by one Yoongi helped each child into their desired apron, rewarding them for sitting still with a high 5 or a hug. Hesitantly, Jennie shuffled over to him, not meeting his eyes.

“Can I have the red one?” there was a pause. “Please?” She added, still not meeting his gaze. Yoongi smiled softly and nodded, opening the pack with the red apron and gently draping it over her neck, securing the strings in the back. Jennie swished the apron around before she nodded once, leaning up to hug Yoongi for a brief second before she quickly hurried away.

Yoongi perked, a small bloom of joy filling his body. He turned to see if Hoseok had saw that Jennie was finally opening up to him and froze in place, transfixed on the scene before him.

Hoseok was kneeling by the first table of children, between Jisoo and Minhyuk, a small, calm smile on his face as he showed the children how to mix the batter while also telling them the desserts they’d be making today. The gentle tone in his voice, the way all the children obediently and happily listened to Hoseok’s instructions, all of it made a sudden, startling thought come to Yoongi’s mind.

Hoseok would make a wonderful father and husband.

Yoongi could swear he let out the most unattractive sound, instead pivoting on his heels to dart to the other table, seeing if any of his kids needed any help.

“Mister Kitty! I’m gonna make you into a kitty cupcake!” Lisa cheered, as she mixed the colors in the icing. From the looks of it, it seemed like she was going with a cupcake that would resemble Hello Kitty. Yoongi-though he hated the name at first, had come to enjoy the nickname the kids had given him. He sent Lisa a smile and gave her head a little pat.

“It looks great, Lisa. Do you want me to bring over some glitter sprinkles?” He inquired, chuckling when he saw how excited she and the other children at the table got. As he moved to grab the sprinkles and the other toppings for the finished treats, he looked towards the end of the table, watching curiously as Jennie started lining up some chocolate chips on the oddly shaped cookie she had placed on the pan in front of her.

Yoongi smiled and left to grab the rest of the toppings.

-30 Minutes Later-

He had chocolate cupcake batter on his nose and cheeks. Glitter sprinkles twinkled in his hair and honestly, Yoongi couldn’t think of anywhere in the world he’d rather be than right here in this daycare with Hobi and this class.

The kids had all finished their work (after the two adults had to rush around to prevent Chanwoo and Changkyun from starting a food fight with everyone) and lined up by the sink,with Yoongi helping them wash off their hands and faces one by one while Hoseok stood ready to dry them off.

Yoongi felt a tug on his shirt as he got towards the end of the line and after looking behind him, he found a shy Jennie holding her extra cookie out to him.

At first glance, it didn’t look much more than a brown circle with slightly overdone arms and legs and a toothy smile on its face, but Jennie shuffled and spoke up..

Yoongi smiled at the dessert in his hand.

“Good job, Jennie. It looks great-”

“He’s a cookie. His name is Shooky. I made him for you...because you’re always so nice to me and you always give me cookies and cupcakes...even when I’m not nice.” She muttered, looking from the ground to Yoongi several times. The man blinked, feeling touched.

Jennie, having said her peace, ran off to get ready for nap time, leaving Yoongi stunned. There was a small laugh from beside him and he looked up, seeing Hoseok looking at him with a hand on his hip and a dimpled smile on his face. Yoongi couldn’t help but to notice the chocolate high on Hobi’s cheekbone.

“I knew my cookie and cupcake counts were off on days Jennie was supposed to be on timeout. You keep rewarding the kids when they’re supposed to think about why they’re in timeout and they’ll get spoiled, hyung.” He playfully scolded him, though his tone and demeanor told Yoongi he probably knew full well what he was doing.

Yoongi stood up, trying to casally evade giving Hoseok a proper response in lieu of using the moist towel in his hand to wipe Hoseok’s cheek, probably standing a closer than necessary. Hoseok held his gaze as he did so, making the simple gesture far more intimate than Yoongi had intended. The older caretaker swallowed thickly unable to tear his eyes away from Hoseok’s calm, half lidded gaze.

“When work is out, we should hang out. ” he whispered suddenly as he leaned down to Yoongi’s ear before motioning for him to follow him so they could put the kids down for nap time.

If Hoseok noticed Yoongi trip over his own feet when he went to follow, he didn’t say a word.

-Later-

Yoongi curled up between Hoseok and Namjoon on Jin’s couch as the men waited for the oldest man to return with popcorn. Jungkook was seated on the floor, balancing a pencil on his nose as he bounced his leg, scanning the homework he was supposed to do over the weekend. Jimin had his head on the love seat’s arm, one of his hands dangling down to run through Jungkook’s hair while Tae idly rubbed the smaller man’s calves as they lay draped across his lap.

Yoongi honestly missed just hanging with his friends like this.

Though, he had begun to notice the way his heart fluttered when Hoseok smiled around him and how he woke up with an extra bounce in his step on days he knew he had work. Unconsciously, he pressed closer to Hoseok and the man noticed the subtle move. Hobi wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him almost flush to his side.

“You looked cold, hyung.”

Yoongi really wondered what were the chances of this couch swallowing whole as Jin plopped down on the other side of Namjoon, starting the dvd movie they were waiting to see together. Hobi rested the top of his head on Yoongi’s, his thumb idly rubbing circles on Yoongi’s arm that made butterflies flutter in the older man’s stomach. Yoongi tried to suppress the flush in his cheeks in lieu of paying attention as the opening credits played.

“So, I’ve got some exciting news! Someone’s inquiring about the caretaker position! Yoongs, you’ll be able to step down soon-”

“No!/Why?!”

Jin and Namjoon jolted as both Yoongi and Hoseok shot uprite in protest. Even Jungkook startled, dropping his book while Jimin and Taehyung observed the two with raised brows.

“Aigoo, you scared the shit out of me! What’s wrong? I thought you told me you were only helping out until I found someone to stay permanently?” Jin inquired, tilting his head. Yoongi shuffled in his seat and Hoseok worried his lip between his teeth, taking the man’s hesitance as a bad sign.

“Y-Yoongs is a great help though! And it’s not good for the kids if we keep switching teachers!” He started, using his hands animatedly as he spoke. Yoongi sat up straighter, nodding.

“Yeah. I actually don’t mind, and I’ve gotten used to the kids. Uh...I guess what I mean is, maybe I can have the permanent position? I-If that’s okay?” Yoongi mumbled. Jin looked between the two of them for a moment before he grinned, sticking his hand in the bowl of popcorn.

“Well, if you’re so passionate about working with Hobi, I couldn’t bear to split you guys apart.” He cooed in a teasing manner. Yoongi sent him a half hearted glare while Hobi only let out a small sigh in relief, putting his arm back over his hyung’s shoulder.

He pulled Yoongi a little closer to him unknowingly, but the older man only curled into his touch.

-Next Day-

Yoongi grunted as he stood on his tip toes, reaching for a box of construction paper for the day’s painting project for the kids. It was still early, so no one had arrived yet, which gave the men enough time to set up the tables before the small, adorable chaos poured in.

There was a shuffle above him as Hoseok placed his chin on his shoulder, effectively crowding against Yoongi. The older caretaker blushed, turning his head a fraction and regretting it when he noticed how close he and Hoseok’s faces were from the move.

“I’m happy I get to work with you, hyung.” he mused, his voice holding that tender tone that Yoongi had come to fall in love with all over again. The smaller man hadn’t noticed, instead fixing his gaze on Hoseok’s upturned lips.

This was a dangerous situation.

Hoseok noticed the staring and hummed, angling his head down until their noses were brushing against one another, making Yoongi’s gaze flick up to meet his. Apparently he didn’t mind the proximity, and Hoseok took that as a sign for what it was.

Yoongi craned his head up, pressing his lips against Hoseok’s cheek for the briefest of moments before he playfully put a hand on his chest, pushing him away lightly as he took a step back.

“I enjoy working with you too, Hobi. You’ll make a wonderful father one day.” He mused, cringing when he realized he had added that last part. Hoseok blinked in surprise, his brows going up in surprise at the sudden compliment.

“Yoongs-”

“The kids are gonna arrive soon. We’ll save this for later, alright?” Yoongi muttered quickly, ducking his face to hide his embarrassment. Hoseok put a hand on his hips, a crooked smile coming to his face.

“I’ll hold you to that, hyung.”

-Epilogue, 4 Years Later-

Yoongi grunted when he felt a tug on his comforter, lifting his head and blinking a few times to gather his bearings. There was a small form standing at the edge of his bead and after rubbing his eyes, Yoongi couldn’t help the smile that came to his face once the figure became clear.

“Appa, we have to brush our teeth or we won’t be able to eat pancakes. Appa Hobi is making them with chocolate chips!”

Yoongi nodded in understanding, already smelling the sweet scent of chocolate filling the house.

Rolling out of bed, he smiled down at the child waiting for him.

He and Hoseok had been together for four years now. They started dating not too long after Yoongi had accepted the full-time position at Jin’s daycare beside Hoseok. Three years later, the two had settled down and decided to create a family of their own, adopting their son shortly after being married overseas.

“Appa, pick me up please?”

Yoongi reached down without hesitation, picking his son Yeonjun up, balancing him on his hip like he had done countless times before. If you had asked Yoongi years ago if he believed would be in his early 30s, married to one of his best friends in the whole world with an adopted child of their own, he would’ve laughed in your face.

Now, he couldn’t imagine his days being anything else.

Yeonjun wrapped his arms around his father’s neck, tucking his face into his shoulder as Yoongi walked the two of them to the bathroom, grabbing the small Anpan rag to wash his son’s face to get him more alert and awake.

With that done, he assisted the child with putting toothpaste on his brush, mirroring him as they both lazily and diligently brushed their teeth, both of them sleepy with half-lidded eyes. Yoongi gently brushed down the wayward strands of hair both of them had acquired from sleeping and turned the faucet off, sending Yeonjun a small smile, giving him a small bunny kiss.

“Let’s go get breakfast.” He cooed, tightening his grip as Yeonjun wiggled about excitedly.

Together, the two of them walked out of the bathroom, inhaling the smell of various breakfast foods deeply.

There was a dual sound of stomachs rumbling.

Both of them exchanged a look before laughing heartily. Yoongi set Yeonjun down, watching as the toddler ran full speed into the kitchen, hugging Hoseok’s leg.

“Appa!” He cheered, trying to jump up to see what Hoseok was arranging on the plate. Hobi smiled wide, picking the toddler up and planting a small kiss on his forehead.

“You finally got up? Are you ready for Appa Hobi’s delicious pancakes?” He grinned, motioning to the stack of pancakes. Yeonjun’s eyes lit up when he saw the large, fluffy Japanese pancakes on the plates on the counter. He bounced and wiggled eagerly, reaching for the syrup bottle on the counter.

“I wanna put the syrup on! Appa, lemme put the syrup on!” Yeonjun cheered, plucking at the cap on the syrup bottle.

Yoongi smiled, rounding around to the other side of Hoseok to kiss his husband’s cheek.

“You made pancakes, Japanese ones, too. Is something special going on?” He inquired. Hoseok beamed, moving to set Yeonjun down in the only chair at the table with cushions in the seat. The toddler wiggled, hugging the bottle of syrup as Hoseok and Yoongi both set the plates of breakfast foods at the table. Once the plates were made and they were seated, the younger man spoke.

“It’s the anniversary of the day you started working at Worldwide Smiles. I wanted to celebrate!” He beamed proudly, gently lifting a fluffy piece of pancake into his mouth. Yoongi paused mid-bite, blinking in surprise as he saw the genuine, pure joy on his husband’s face.

“You remembered that? I didn’t even remember which day was my first day. Why do you just know that?” He squinted, pointing his fork at Hoseok. Hobi propped his cheek in his hand, a soft, sentimental smile on his face.

“Seeing you on your first day helping out and seeing how much you were willing to step out of your comfort zone to bond with the kids was really eye-opening to me. Suddenly my best friend was in a different light and even though you definitely looked like you were going through it the first month or two, I couldn’t help but to think ‘Yoongi would make a great father.’ I knew this was destiny when you said the same thing to me after taking the full position.” He mused.

The fact that the same words that had swirled through Yoongi’s head time and time again had also popped up in Hoseok’s had made the smaller man blush, hiding his face shyly.

“Ooooo, Appa Yoongi is blushiiiing!” Yeonjun chimed, swinging his feet as he danced in his chair. Yoongi blew a raspberry, but otherwise let the child tease him, glancing back at Hoseok after a moment had passed.

He hadn’t expected this when Jin had asked for his help all those years ago, but sometimes all it takes is one, tiny action, that can lead to a brand new chapter in life.

As they cleaned up half an hour later, with Yoongi washing the dishes and Hoseok cleaning chocolate off of Yeonjun’s hands and cheeks from the chocolate chips in the pancakes, there wasn’t a single place in the world that Yoongi would rather be.

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reyloshipper-starwars · 6 years

Text

Don’t you ever leave me.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Notes: I’m not completely sure where I’m going with this but I just wanted to switch it up randomly and write something different, so I thought I should post this just for the hell of it! Let me know what you think, and I really hope you enjoy it!

Frascati, Italy 1920

“Full name, Please.” It was horrendous, entering England at the border resembled being hunted and herded like sheep. There were thousands of us, immigrants, coming in from Europe. France, Belgium, Italy. It was true most Italians went to New York or America, but I didn’t want to go that far from home. Home being Frascati, as small town not far from the centre of Rome. It was silent, peaceful, the green rolling fields, relishing their beauty in the hot sunlight. The sound of seccada’s engulfing us. My family lived on a vineyard, and owned quite a lot of land, Papa was a successful business man. He never told me how we made our money. But Italian’s are obsessed with the idea of vendetta, worshipped it like it’s very own religion. I spoke English well, my mother practiced and taught in it so I was learning at a very young age. I loved it so, it was home, I missed basking in the sun’s heat all day long, with nothing but a book and a piano, which Papa helped me move outside, to keep me company. At nineteen marriage was off the cards I never wanted anyone, I was happy to be on my own. I was convinced that all there was in the world was heartbreak, and I couldn’t be bothered with it, I couldn’t risk it. And Religion, it was fucking pointless, useless to me, it didn’t answer a thing, not one single question about life or the things that really mattered.

Although, regretfully, the time had come to leave, apparently I couldn’t be safe there anymore, the fresh smell of grapes and pines was stripped from me as I took a long journey to the border and a ship into the Dover Port. Mama struggled to hold back the tears as she clung to my weak, feeble, little fingers that she’d nurtured for so long, she couldn't let go. Father gave me a pitiful sort of look, a secretive glance as he helped push my suitcase onto the carriage. I think I had disappointed them, and that is something a child never wants to do, disappoint their own parents. That’s what broke my heart as I watched the two of them disappear of into the majestic landscape. I hoped to God I would be back one day.

I did the journey alone, longing and wishing for some comfortable female company, none came. I was sat opposite a rather annoying man with his chubby son, sitting on his lap, crying and weeping bitter tears, so loud, the whole train could hear. I attempted to nod of pushing my head against the window, but the motion and constant banging and thudding from the engine prevented me from slipping into sleepy unconsciousness. It was chaos when we arrived in Britain, after the long journey, we were also forced to wait in line for hours, checking identification, and forcing us to strip if they thought we were not medically sound enough to enter the country. Luckily I escaped that check through the skin of my teeth.

“Freida... Freida Cicco.” He took my papers, looking me up and down with distaste and finally stamping the paper with much needed and well-deserved approval. Feeling the fresh air touch and brush against my skin was refreshing, I was so relieved I had made it through the checks and had been set free. I relished the sea breeze for as long as possible, before following others to the train station. Mama had manged to find me a space in a boarding house in... Birmingham. I struggled to read the small print of her writing that stained the now very crumpled paper. Somewhere called Small Heath, I tried to read it in an English to make sense of the name. The relief was only momentary as I was packed onto another uncomfortable train with more crushed and upset strangers. Birmingham that’s where I was headed.

A loud whistle woke me from my slumber. I opened my eyes to half an empty train, chaos ensuing as families trundled down the stairs, grabbing suitcases and belongings. Father’s in search of work, lifting their small children down the train steps that were a little to steep for their little legs to deal with yet. I faced it I would be off last, nerves tingled at my skin, but I was to tired to fully care. It was dark, I gripped the handle to my bag and dragged it onto the platform, staring through the steam looking for an exit. I manged to grab a few people’s attention, looking directions. The British weren’t particularly welcoming to say the least. Their accents were so thick and dim, and miserable. I suppose I had to respect this country had just endured war, they weren’t in the best state, that’s why I was happy to forgive the insolence. I guess my accent shocked em, not enough Italians over here. Beyond the station, were masses of streets that all looked exactly the same, smoke blighting the air, the smell was almost intolerable, and there was a lot going on in the streets, people fucking, prostitutes looking for their next victim to upgrade the money pot. Men were vomiting, to drunk to function.

That was the issue. He was drunk. I only had a few more streets to go if my calculations were correct, but unfortunately the one I had just entered was abandoned. If I wasn’t vulnerable before then I certainly was now. Shit I was terrified. He stumbled up to me in a hurry, I should’ve of ran, why didn’t I just fucking run? He grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me aggressively against the closest wall, his touch was harsh and hard.

My gloved hand was still gripping the handle of my bag, I was shaking, stiffening, my body couldn’t move. Panic ensued, my skin was whitening as his fingers dug into my shoulders. He pressed himself against me, and I writhed like a fish out of water. Finally my lungs found the power to scream and cry, his revolting face was so close and his disgusting breath repulsed me. It stunk of whiskey. He was groaning, he was hard, my body shrunk against the wall, trying to find or make space between us. I wanted to go home, I wanted to go home, I wanted to go home. That was the only functional thought running through my mind as I panicked frantically. The man was so drunk he couldn’t form words, but when he started searching to upturn my clothing, my skirt I had to react. With one bound of power I struck him in the side with the heaviness of my bag, it was enough to send him falling backwards and splashing harshly against the dirty ground. He made gargling sounds of anger and tried to get to his feet, I hit him again out of fear and he finally relented.

He looked up in my direction and instantly ran the other way. I thought it was me that had scared him. Apparently not. I looked briefly down at the bottom of my white skirt and my black boots which were now badly stained, what did it matter, I was so desperate for some rest bite, some warmth at this stage. I didn’t hear the man approach, his footsteps silent, undetectable. When I turned around my breath was stolen. I was met by a face, we were so close our noses were almost rubbing. After my past experience I decided it would be me to make the first move, taking a small step back. This handsome stranger didn’t return the favour, he didn’t change his expressions at all.

His eyes were so blue, so... I could feel my jaw hanging open, still breathless, the exhaled air staining my surroundings. It really was that cold. But this man, he bought a strange sense of warmth, of safety. A hat hung lowly from his head, it was peaked, sharp and piercing and intimidating, much like him. He scared me, I didn’t quite know what to do with myself when he was looking at me, yet I was drawn to him, I didn't want to leave. Caught, he had trapped me in this moment with him. His sharp grey suit, only showed off how slender he was, how handsome. His fingers pulled a cigarette to his lips, we were so close that the smoke was practically blown directly in my face. It snapped me reluctantly out of my daze, the striking appearance of this man becoming to addictive, like some sort of drug. I pulled my bag back up to my shoulder and tore my gaze away, looking back to the ground. I didn’t know if he was going to speak or just gawk at me for another half an hour. Not that I would have complained. I was happy to stand there for another few minutes in silence with him, the silence was only awkward for me. Clearly he didn’t feel the same, this was his kingdom.

“Are you a prostitute?” I must have looked clearly offended as I suddenly avoided his gaze. “I would have interfered but you obviously don’t need my help.” My expression didn’t change, but I managed to peer up at him courageously, in a childlike manner. His eyes inspected my features, they hadn’t left my face since I’d almost crashed into him.

“Answer me.” he stated, becoming impatient with me.

“No I’m not a prostitute.” I repeated shyly, this man had silently beaten me into a corner that I couldn’t escape from without his permission. He gave me one last look, took a pull of his cigarette, his lips opened as he considered speaking again. He didn’t bother. The man continued walking in the same direction that I had just emerged from. he didn’t ask if I was alright, or if I knew where I was or where I was going. The passing stranger just obviously wasn’t interested, I wasn’t worth his time. I looked in his direction for a few more minutes before snapping back into the real world. these streets were dangerous and I needed to get off them as soon as possible. It was almost midnight after all.

Tags: @prettieparker86 @the-writer-appreciation-blog @zazasblogxx

#thomas shelby #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby x #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #peaky fookin blinders

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ishouldbewritingblog · 6 years

Text

Lucky Jack

Lucky Jack was three days deep into the desert when the wolf found him. His canteen was drained to the dregs, filled with nothing but stale air, and the distant riders were growing increasingly less distant. He could see the little puffs of dust kicked up by their horses' hooves rising into the air. His own horse had collapsed in a heap of heaving, boneless exhaustion earlier that day.

How the wolf found its way this far into the desert was anyone's guess. It was of the timber variety, an enormous, grey, shaggy beast, which had no business in this dustbowl wasteland. He had noticed it tracking him just after his horse had died, and now it was watching him from behind a scrubby bush, sitting up on its hind legs like a dog, black eyes scrutinising him with a curiously intelligent gaze.

Jack wiped the sweat from his forehead with a corner of his faded red bandana. Now that he was on foot, the riders were gaining on him. He could almost make out voices carried on the breeze.

The wolf got up, shaking the dust from its fur and ambled closer. Jack watched wearily. The animal did not appear to be stalking him, its movements were too casual. But, this far away from its natural sources of prey, it must be hungry.

The way Jack saw it, he was going to die today. How and when, was still up for debate. Either his pursuers would catch up with him, or the desert sun would do their work for them, or… Like his water supply, Jack figured his luck had just about dried up.

Jack drew his revolver. He had only three bullets left, and he would prefer not to waste them on the wolf when there were other, more deserving targets on their way. But, he also preferred not to be devoured half-alive.

Jack stared at the wolf and the wolf stared back. It opened its mouth wide, tongue lolling out, almost seeming to laugh at his predicament. And then, in the space of a heart-beat, and in two gigantic bounds, the wolf was on him. Jack was quick off the draw, but the wolf was quicker. It was enormous, much larger than the scrawny creatures Jack had crossed paths with in the past. He stood perfectly still. If the beast chose to, it could tear out his throat before he had time to twitch his trigger finger.

The wolf wagged its tail and flopped over onto his feet, raising a sizeable cloud of dust. Jack gave a yelp of surprise and then automatically tried to take a step backwards, but the weight draped over his boots trapped him. The wolf wriggled around on the ground and raised its head, looking at Jack expectantly. Gingerly, he reached down and scratched the wolf's belly. It wagged its tail enthusiastically, and twisted its head to lick Jack's hand with a scratchy tongue.

'Well I'll be tarred and feathered,' Jack said, 'looks like old lady luck's still got a hand or two to deal me.' The wolf yipped as if in agreement and rolled over, sitting up again, ears pricked, staring intently towards the growing dust clouds.

Jack stood and waited for the inexorable hand of fate to catch up with him at last. In due time, the riders arrived in a swirl of red dust. There were five of them, and not a man was packing less than two guns apiece. Jack had only three bullets, and even he was not that lucky.

'If it isn't Jacky-boy,' one of the men said, his grin flashing gold, 'fancy meeting you out here.'

'What do you want O'Hanlon?' Jack asked, knowing perfectly well what the answer was.

'Well now, Jack-me-lad,' O'Hanlon said, 'I've heard some alarming rumours about you. Rumours that, if they were true, would put a wee bit of a damper on our friendship.'

'Oh,' Jack said, 'and what rumours might they be. Friend,' his fingers drifted down to kiss the grip of his revolver.

O'Hanlon clasped a large meaty hand across his heart, 'I can hardly stand to repeat them. So terrible they are. Folks been saying you stole from me Jack-lad. That you done taken what's mine.' O'Hanlon leaned down closer, his expression was not so friendly anymore. 'They're saying you stole away my wife, Jack. And I'd have to kill you if you did it Jack. It would be a crying shame, but I'd have to kill you.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Jack said.

Jack did know what he was talking about.

O'Hanlon ran the whole town, and everybody knew it. The sheriff was fathoms deep in his pocket, and the undertaker made a killing out of anyone fool enough to think there was any kind of justice to be found in the law. He was a big man, with a silver tongue and a ruthless soul. His wife was a tiny slip of a thing with a look of perpetual terror in her soft brown eyes and the bruises to explain why.

While Jack cheated far less than people thought, he did not exactly enjoy the reputation of an honest man. However, no-one would have accused him of being a heartless one. Travels had brought him through town enough times to notice the pale drawn face of O'Hanlon's bride, and the painful way with which she carried herself. So, Jack decided to do something about it. Partly, because he could hear the ghost of his dead mother scolding him from beyond the grave, partly because he had never liked O'Hanlon, and partly because he had an unholy urge to see just how far his luck would stretch.

Accordingly, one fateful night, he strolled up to the poker table and cheated like a politician. They didn't call him lucky for naught, and by the evening's close, he had enough money to buy the lady a new life. Despite the fact that after this streak, returning would be suicide, it had given him a particular kind of thrill, knowing he had paid for the flight of O'Hanlon's battered wife with O'Hanlon's own money. After all, the man owned the saloon and the soul of near everyone in it.

'I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding,' he said calmly, 'I don't make a habit out of stealing other people's wives. So perhaps you and your boys should turn around and ride back into town before someone gets hurt.'

'Oh, someone's going to get hurt sure enough,' O'Hanlon said, 'but not before you've told me where I can find that empty-headed little slut I was crazy enough to hitch up with.'

'I can't do that,' Jack said, 'because I don't know.'

'Oh and here I was hoping you might say that,' O'Hanlon grinned again. His eyes looked almost black. 'Victor does enjoy engaging in a bit of what you might call – friendly persuasion.'

Victor, a slouching, wiry man with a sallow, unhealthy complexion smiled, exhibiting his rotting teeth, like a row of tilting gravestones.

Beside Jack, the wolf began to growl. It was a low sound, which seemed to reverberate through the ground like a wave. One by one, the tiny hairs on the back of Jack's neck stood to attention. He looked down, and the wolf was snarling, lips peeled back over fleshy pink gums and long curving teeth.

O'Hanlon seemed to finally notice the wolf. He laughed, 'I see you've found a bitch of your own. When I'm through with your sorry hide, maybe I'll skin myself a fine new winter coat.'

Lucky Jack had always suspected he wouldn't die with his boots off, he had only hoped it would be the drink that got him, rather than a bullet. His fingers closed around the grip of the revolver, and he slid it out of the holster.

'Get to work boys,' O'Hanlon drawled, 'leave enough so's he can speak, but I've got no need of the rest of him.'

Victor swung himself down from the saddle with the agility of a man accustomed to fighting in alleyways. The other men followed.

Lucky Jack cocked his revolver and stood his ground. He weighed the odds and found them wanting.

The wolf was gone. It moved like a streak of liquid silver. Like a ghost. Victor went down hard, blood welling up from the piece of meat which was once his throat. He lay on the ground, his hands wrapped around his neck, trying to breathe his own blood.

Big Ned Foster fumbled for his revolver, but it had turned on him, a creature made of teeth and death. He screamed when it first pinned him to the ground, but the screams bubbled away into silence when those merciless jaws closed around his throat.

Wild Dan Harris manged to fire off a couple of rounds, but it was too fast and his terror had crippled his aim. In those final moments, it seemed to grow larger, a thing of monstrous proportions, and then Dan Harris knew no more of this earthly plane.

Ule Smith was on his horse by now, but the great grey head turned his way, the snout slathered with gore. The dust from O'Hanlon's tracks were still settling. As most bullies are wont to do, he had turned tail the minute the odds started to shift.

Ule made it barely one hundred yards when the fangs clamped down on his wrist. His horse shied and bucked, its eyes rolling back into its skull in a paroxysm of terror. The stone which broke his back as he landed was a mercy. He didn't even feel it when his hand was torn off. All he felt was the hot sun on his face, and then, nothing at all.

O'Hanlon fled across the wasteland as if the devil himself were on his trail. The only sound for miles was of hooves pounding against the sun-baked earth. His horse galloped at an incredible speed, fear, and the bite of O'Hanlon's spurs lending it wings.

Something caught his eye. A flash of grey and white – colours not usually found out here amongst the dust and the twisted scrub. An icy hand of horror gripped his chest as he looked to his right. The wolf was keeping pace with him. It seemed to have grown bigger, almost of a size with the horse. O'Hanlon was not a religious man, but at the sight of those calculating grey eyes he began to pray. The wolf rolled back its lip, and it seemed to O'Hanlon that it was smiling at him.

With an almost effortless bound, the wolf outpaced him. For a moment, he thought it might keep going, until it melted away into the desert air. Then, he saw what it really meant to do, and for the first and only time in his life, O'Hanlon screamed, as he felt the hot breath of death bearing down on him.

Lucky jack stared at the bodies lying around him. It had all happened so damn fast. He had his revolver in hand, ready to go down in a hail of bullets. But, before he even had occasion to fire a shot, it had killed them all. O'Hanlon had fled, the wolf had followed and now he was alone with the dead.

He saw it then, in the distance. As the wolf drew closer, he noticed something was hanging from its jaws. It trotted up to him, and dropped the canteen it was carrying at Jack's feet. He bent down and scooped it up, absentmindedly rubbing away the blood which clung to the strap. He took a deep swig. It was warm and stale, but it was still water, and out here, that meant more than a nugget of gold.

Lucky Jack hung the canteen at his side and walked over to what was left of the bodies. Methodically, he stripped them of anything of use – money ammunition and most importantly, water. The horses had all bolted, so he turned back the way he had come and set off on foot.

The desert sun beat down hard, but Jack's hat kept off the worst of it. He walked over the packed-hard earth, a wolf at his side, with enough water to last him and a rifle slung across his back. Things were looking up, Jack decided.

He heard the groaning from quite some distance away. Jack looked down at the wolf padding alongside him. It looked up at him and wagged its tail.

O'Hanlon lay in a pool of blood, pinned beneath the carcass of his dead horse. When he saw Jack, he let out a bitter chuckle.

'Well Jack, if I'da known you'd gone and sold your soul to the man with hooves, I woulda' brought a preacher along,' he coughed, spitting out a huge glob of bloody phlegm. 'Ain't a natural creature, driven out of hell most like. I don't know whether you've been blessed or cursed Jacky, but your luck won't hold. One of these days you'll fetch up with a bullet in your weasel skull and wherever I am, I'll be laughing.'

Jack pulled out his revolver and cocked it. O'Hanlon laughed, 'now lad, don't be hasty. I'm a powerful man here abouts. How would you like a job? Good pay, good lodgings and as many wenches as you can service.'

Jack shot him. It was a mercy really, no man deserved to die of thirst, not even a lying, murdering, low-down wife-beater like O'Hanlon.

Lucky Jack walked on, and the wolf followed. The desert stretched out dead and empty in every direction. Behind them, it had claimed five new sets of bones, waiting to be picked clean by the circling buzzards and bleached white by the sun.

Feel free to reblog but please do not repost.

#fiction #original ficiton #short story #my work #weird west #western #paranormal #wolf #desert #wild west #writing

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jusdanisha · 3 years

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A Trip Down Memory Lane in Zaldivar

Seems like the universe is getting bigger almost by the minute, and I am getting smaller. When I was a child, I had never met anyone from outside our house in Zaldivar Subdivision. It is a middle-sized area around City Heights with arduous paths and natural spaces, about only a small group of individuals living at peace. I was a homebody, that being so, I never experienced going out to play patintero or tumbang preso, or any classic Filipino street game with some kids my age. It was neither mine nor my parents’ choice, Mama also wanted me to experience a pretty ordinary childhood but unfortunately, I was diagnosed with severe asthma at a young age. My mother said that I inherited it from Lola Besing, my great-grandmother. Heedless of the misfortunes, the company of my family never made me feel alone in the four corners of the room. Up to the time that my Mama had to find herself and suddenly went away, Papa had to leave for work purposes and my older sister Ate Jea continued her studies at Miag-ao, leaving me and my younger sister Che behind, we had to transfer and live half of our lives in Cogonal, a small and serene district in Poblacion, Alabel.

All these years later, Mama decided to go back to our quaint and shuttered former home in Zaldivar and clean up all of the things that were left behind. I never had the opportunity to visit our used to be safe space again. We were all too tied up with our personal lives, I guess we never had the time to think of discarding some of our belongings. Honestly, I was not physically, mentally and emotionally prepared coming back to that house again. While I was busy making revisions for our thesis, my Mom reminded me that we should go back to the old house and declutter. “Mang hipos mo ug manglabay ug mga gamit na di na ninyo kinahanglan”, Mom told us to clear off all the superfluous stuff soon after. Annoyed to death, I could hear that line over almost twice or thrice a month. She also said that I should make sure that my schedule will be free on weekends so that there is no other reason that I could not accompany her and my Ate. Without a doubt, my older sister suggested that we should just avail for cleaning services around City Heights just to lessen the work. It has been already weeks since she came back home from Manila to spend Christmas with us. Mama’s eyes flashed exasperation for a moment, telling us not to spend too much money when we can do it ourselves. These past few months, she would always nag us for spending too much rather than saving. Also, Mom said that we should get some stuff that is still available for use, or else she would sell those old clothes, stuffed toys, bags and pair of shoes to our relatives in Bagacay, a local confined Barangay located also in Alabel. As much as I wanted to tell Mama that I do not have any intentions to go back there, I do not want to be scolded out and upset her once more. I already had too much on my plate that time, I was already thinking about college plans and future career goals as I enter twelfth grade the next few months. I was compelling myself all the while that I just needed to clean and get back to the home right away.

Ever since my Mom came back after she left us, we never had the chance to visit our old house. It was too painful for everyone of us, I presume. Reminiscing all the good times, thinking about how the circumstances would be if she has not left us, there was so much to unpack. I could still remember the day we transferred there, from living in an old cramped apartment to owning a large one story house, it was priceless. Waking up with a peck on the cheek and complete breakfast from Mama, tutoring session every after dinner with Papa when he is not onboard, Ate cooking some foreign delicacies during Saturday night and going all together to church every Sunday, these calm little moments before the storm which are engraved in my heart. On the contrary, looking over the other side was full of grim realities. In between these as good as perfect times, noisy disputes usually marked by anger and distress, screams and whispers that are both equitably blaring for days and nights on end were all heard out. They would tire each other out over the next few days, I take on oneself. I assumed right, Mama and Papa would just ignore each other after those times. If truth to be told, the silence was deafening. When all is said and done, my parents came to a parting of the ways.

On our way to the old house, the aroma of yore lingers as it evokes me a sense of nostalgia. Rough and grass-covered road, efflorescing flowers with petals of kaleidoscopic hues and century-old two-story houses were still there, I certainly missed this place. Still, it feels like home for me. I suddenly remembered while I was having a conversation with my Mom when I was in sixth grade, I asked her about the origin of this place. She told us that she do not have any clue about its whereabouts, it was just referred by a friend of my father who also lived nearby along with his family. Zaldivar is a good place for a new beginning, one of the most peaceful subdivisions in GenSan as people were only staying indoors but still manage to connect with their neighbors, the couple said. The area is owned by the Zaldivar family, however, they migrated in the United States in view of the fact that living there is a golden opportunity. Some Filipino families tend to wander in foreign places to live a better life same boat as them, Mama said. This subdivision was like their safety net, in case of having a hard time financially in States. Besides, they told us that this place is perfect for families who are starting anew, wanting to live a peaceful life away from the chaos and pollutants in the downtown. It was like country living in a highly urbanized setting, too good to be true. After almost eight years of living there, I could not deny the fact that Zaldivar is indeed a safe haven for its inhabitants, like how we used to live there before.

When we arrived at the place, Mama immediately told us to go straight in our old rooms and throw away such goods and chattels. By contrast, I instantly headed straight towards my parents’ room, which is my favorite space in the house. I could still see the view of solitary narrow side streets from the window pane, alongside with the natural scenic beauty. This place has not changed over the years, still it looks exactly the same. As much as I wanted to go back home instantly, I started picking up the boxes which contained some dust-filled seafarer essentials. After that, I also saw my Papa’s old clothes, which he used to wear all the time, disarranged. And so, I picked them up first and started to fold them. While I was folding some of his sweaters when he was still in college, I suddenly saw my Mama and Papa’s belongings when they were still high school lovers, which they kept inside a wooden jewellery box. Out of the blue, I went to where my mother is and asked her if she wanted to keep it, she said that I should ask Papa personally nor it depends on me and Ate’s decision because he might lash out on her, which made me dumbfounded. I wanted to ask her about it a long time ago, but I did not have enough courage. Growing up, I was afraid of my own father. He is known for being hot-headed, brusque, and tends to break things like a bear with a sore head when he is not in the mood.

According to Harvard Medical School, anger issues, in what appears like adult temper tantrums, it manifests itself. Throwing objects, picking a fight for no purpose, and aggressive behavior are some of the manifestations of it. Frequently, the meltdowns last less than minutes, as follows, an individual may feel a sense of relief after an outburst, preceded by remorse and humiliation. He has been overworking himself overseas, supposing that it is his own coping mechanism. After a couple of years, he did not come home. At that moment, I wanted to honestly ask him if I should keep or throw their things away, regardless of being keyed up of what he might say. But then, I decided to dial his number, hesitatingly. I was not expecting that he would answer that quick. In a fraction of a second, I asked him if I should keep his, or should I say their things, but then he also said the same thing. I should throw such things that does are not useful anymore, I shivered with fear as I hear his words with its usual outraged tone. He also mentioned about selling the house for it was about time for us to let it go and so on, his expression of views were already gut-wrenching. I had to end the call and immediately throw their things in a black plastic bag. It was already too suffocating for me to stay inside the old house, I was rushing to go home. I needed an air to breathe. This place has not changed over the years, still it feels the same.

On the spur of the moment, I came to think of the reason why is it so hard for me to let go of such things and places where bittersweet memories are on it. A memory hoarder, that is what they used to call me. Having a difficulty discarding or parting with milieu or possessions, regardless of their actual value, I know exactly how it feels. It is a normal human tendency to feel nostalgic from time to time, but, sometimes falling prey to feelings of nostalgia can hinder the progress. Nostalgia is a traitor, a sweet liar, and a feeling too distant yet familiar. It is a guilty pleasure to simmer the aftertaste of every memory stucked in a particular thing, or even a warm and abiding place. Basking in it has never felt so bad. Like how I used to visualize our old house in Zaldivar as a perfect place, but then, it is the exact opposite of what is in my mind and what others used to describe it. I tend to hold onto the fond happenings of the place, but later when I got back, I forgot about how the place felt like when I was a kid. As stated by Jerry Burger, Ph.D., in his research “Returning Home: Reconnecting with Our Childhoods,” returning to an old home is one way of addressing unfinished business from childhood. A childhood home is a certain place where one usually recall his or her never to be forgotten moments throughout life, after all, we must have a closure with those lingering memories. Genuinely marveling at the life I have spent in that particular place, and remembering all sorts of memories – the good, the bad, and everything in between, it was a bittersweet ending. Some things would not go away just because we pretend to forget all about it. Like a fleeting memory, past will always haunt us.

When we returned back home in Cogonal, I immediately rushed into my bed, bawling my eyes out. For sure Mom knew that I would react like this, leaving me alone for hours. In a split second, all the wounds I once thought were healed are not healed at all. Instead, I dug down deeper into its thin skin, causing it to bleed all over again. After everything we have been through, my parents decided to sell the house where we used to call it our safe space. Guess it was not a good place for a new beginning for our family. At last, living in Zaldivar was a beautiful memory that I had to let go. Beyond everything, still, it feels like home for me. “Mang hipos mo ug manglabay ug mga gamit na di na ninyo kinahanglan”, that would be my Mama’s favorite reminder, she would constantly tell us to throw such things away that are not useful anymore. In the long run, we still have to go back to the place we used to hurt for us to heal and move forward. Just like how we easily discard things when they are unused anymore, we must also leave behind a place to take yourself back to the start. At that moment, I mastered the art of letting go.

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shirley1us · 3 years

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How Much does it Cost to Build an Airbnb Clone?

Snippet: in this post we look at Airbnb, how it makes money and how much it costs to build an Airbnb clone script.

What is Airbnb

We all know that Airbnb is a peer to peer service sharing platform. It allows people list their assets (homes or properties) and allow others to pay for such temporary living accommodation. All this is carried out online – via both web and mobile apps. Airbnb has turned the hospitality industry upside down ever since it broke through the market in 2008.

Not only the rooms and homes are affordable (some are expensive, we agree), but the whole transaction happens so seamlessly as well. We have a very interesting account of how transparent and open Airbnb is, and what entrepreneurs in the sharing economy can learn from Airbnb – check this detailed post – we are sure you will like it.

How Airbnb makes money

So, how does Airbnb make money? It brings service providers (property owners) and travelers (who seek temporary accommodation) on their platform, and collect a fee from both parties. Easy, right? Yes and no.

Much like Uber, if there weren’t enough taxis on the road, people won’t use Uber. And the other way round is true as well. If people don’t know about what Uber is, then drivers simply won’t sign up. This dilemma was the crux of Airbnb (long before Uber’s).

Airbnb had to bring a lot of properties on its platform – for that, it had to develop trust with property owners. Only then 1000s could come on-board. At the other end of the spectrum, Airbnb had to market itself so that you and I knew what Airbnb is. With effective marketing and a breakthrough value proposition – it won over both suppliers and consumers.

This is how you create your own Airbnb

Today, Airbnb charges a nominal fee to hosts – for generating business for them, and levy booking or transactional charge fee to guests. With well over 4 million listings, and 150 million plus users, Airbnb has long achieved the economies of scale and is operating more efficiently than ever. Today, Airbnb faces challenges from its competitors who are successfully replicating its USP, and local governments who are getting tough with regulations. Even so, the company is well equipped with a great team lead by an intuitive leadership.

Is there room for more Airbnb like platforms?

Even in a global world, local challenges need localized solutions. This peer to peer platform, just like Airbnb, is disrupting markets in many developing economies – such as South East Asia. And it won’t stop there. If we just look at the hospitality industry alone, there is tremendous opportunity to serve new wave of first time travelers in the developing and the developed economies.

Air travel is getting more affordable as airlines need not pay the middle men to sell tickets. Today, most airline ticket booking happens on airline flagship sites. A platform like Airbnb creates a clutter free solution to rent anything, not just accommodations.

There are many companies who use the Airbnb clone scripts to rent parking spaces, coworking spaces, storage spaces, cars etc. The possibilities are endless.

What are the most important features an Airbnb clone script should contain?

A perfect Airbnb clone script should possess all the features necessary to build a successful platform. Let us look at the features which are needed for a modern day peer to peer lodging platform.

When you look through the internet to find the best Airbnb clone, there are five main segments which you need to pay attention to. The platform should be built with you (the entrepreneur), the service providers (the property owners), and users (travelers) in mind from the ground up. Let us look at five main aspects of a successful Airbnb clone script.

1 – Design

SEO built in: The script (both the website and the app) should infuse SEO standards from the ground-up. This helps you to attract more, regular traffic from search engines such as Google. You do not have to hire a digital marketing agency to tweak your site’s SEO.

Customization: What’s the use of a script which doesn’t allow you to put your own logo, change the color scheme or font? The clone script should be customizable – both on web and mobile platforms.

API integration: say if you want to use a local payment app and integrate it on your platform. The script should allow you to integrate any API and customize your service delivery.

2 – Secure and quick transactions

Payments: A clone script built on a strong technology stack makes it extremely secure and easy to transact on. Allowing users to pay via multiple payment modes securely on both the web and mobile platforms.

3 – Top notch user experience – UX

Responsive design: The platform should be responsive. This means users can seamlessly experience your platform on any device and any layout. Most of us use multiple devices during the day. So, if a user is checking for properties on a desktop PC at work, and on the phone at the end of the day, your platform will deliver similar experience without causing interruptions or asking the user to click a few more times.

Advance filter: Users should be able to select specific features such as properties with breakfast (or more) and get the desired results.

Host details: Host details with property features and ratings should be accessible easily. Allowing users to choose the best hosts.

Booking calendar: Users should be able to select dates using a calendar with minimal clicks. Just like on Airbnb.

Enable guest chat: The clone script should allow users to chat directly with the host with a clean UI.

Mange disputes: Managing dispute tickets and assigning them to staff to resolve should be enabled on the platform.

4 – Performance analytics

Revenue model: The platform should have a built-in Revenue Management System, allowing users (property owners or hosts) to analyze past performance and gain complete control in setting dynamic pricing to stay ahead of their competition.

5 – What about after sales service and upgrades?

Knowledgebase and Documentation: This is to offer you all the help in customizing your platform once you buy or subscribe to the clone script.

Tech support: The moment you buy the full version, you should be eligible for round-the-clock tech support till you go live.

Free upgrades for life: What about software upgrades? You should negotiate and get FREE software upgrades for LIFE. Once the platform is built, it wouldn’t take too many man hours for the developer to provide free software upgrades.

How much does it cost to build a clone script from scratch

A robust, modern clone script needs to be built on the latest technology stack. And add to it the resources you need to design, build, test, and launch the platform. In today’s demanding market, where it is a challenge to hire experienced developers, it will cost you anywhere close to USD 60,000 to develop an Airbnb clone script from scratch.

The best Airbnb clone script is already here for you

Instead of creating a clone script from scratch, why not buy it for far less?

A clone script which is 100% customizable

A clone script which has superior tech support

A clone script which has all the features of Airbnb

And that you receive FREE VERSION UPGRADES FOR LIFE

You don’t have to look any further than – RentRoom. RentRoom is a bespoke Airbnb clone script designed to be customized and comes with tremendous customer support and free software updates for life.

The wonderful thing is, you can check out the LIVE DEMO of the script or DOWNLOAD A LITE VERSION FOR FREE – to experience the platform before you buy it.

Ping us on WhatsApp with any query – we are available anytime and are more than happy to help you. At Rentcubo – everything we do, begins with you.

#rentroom #rentcubo #rental business #airbnb #airbnb clone #airbnb clone script

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