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anonymooseforever007 · 11 months

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Ring Around the Roses

(Alfie Solomons x female reader)

Summary: Attempting to get away from the Shelby party chaos, Alfie and his wife sneak off into Tommy's garden for a little fun. It isn't until the next morning they discover the consequences of their actions and Alfie has to remind his wife what their marriage is really about.

A/N-Hi Y'all! Possible TW's for only the end of this include Mentions of death, Unhealthy coping habits and self blame! Also this is for K's (@runnning-outof-time) 3K celebration! Congratulations you're amazing and I love seeing you on here❤️❤️❤️ I hope you like this! I haven't done a celebration before really but I saw your theme and the idea spring into my head. Despite the warnings it's mostly fluffy until the time skip! Also there's one part that implies smut but none actually written! Enjoy ❤️

WC- 6.6k

Main Masterlist

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"Are you sure we can do this out here?"

"Do what dovey? I'm just taking a nice little stroll with my darling wife aren't I? Letting her get a quiet break from all those heathens inside."

You scoffed, knocking into your husband's side gently as the pair of you walked through the garden. For a man who seemed particularly fond of dark colours, Thomas Shelby's garden was particularly vibrant.

"Oh hush, you only call them heathens because you're too scared to use the word friend."

"FRIEND!" Alfie scoffed while kicking at a particularly beautifully tulip that just happened to be nearby, just to prove his point. "No no no Dovey, THEY are not my friends, yeah. If I were to pick anyone to be my friend it certainly would not be ANY of them."

You only rolled your eyes and shot a knowing smirk in his direction. For all your husband's spite and trickery, you knew he really did have a soft spot for the Shelby family.

"Alright love, I believe ya. That's absolutely why you immediately declined the invitation to come here tonight isn't it. Burned it in the fireplace correct? Told me not to put it in the calendar? Because you don't have plans at being anything other than vicious enemies is that right? The pie I brought tonight was a death threat wasn't it? Did you slip in some arsenic into the powdered sugar?"

Rolling his eyes at your teasing, Alfie couldn't help but smile as he watched you laugh at your own joke. Continuing your path through the garden you mindlessly reached back a hand for your husband a few steps behind. A clear indication of what you wanted. What you always wanted. Slipping his hand between yours, he let you drag him through the bushes, further from the party. With each step he could see you relax a bit more, as you enjoyed the scene around you.

"Is it quieter out here Dovey?"

Smiling softly, you only nodded your head before reaching out gently to touch the leaves of a nearby bush. Though the party was fun, it had gotten a bit loud and in the growing chaos you needed some air. So while Tommy and Polly were distracted trying to convince Arthur and Finn not to throw Michael in the lake, you and your husband had slipped outside.

"Alfie, we should plant a garden of our own I think."

"Is that right Dovey? Does my lady want some bushes of her own to trim doesn't she?"

"I think we could get some nice rose bushes. I've always loved those."

"Roses, is that it? You got a feeling about those prickly little parasites don't ya Dovey? I never got why you liked them."

Chuckling you sat on the edge of a nearby wall as your husband dug his feet in the ground. You knew exactly why Alfred hated roses, and it still amused you to this day.

It happened years ago, around the time you'd first gotten together. This was before Alfie was even able to grow a beard, and all his kisses resulted in a scratchy scruff that prickled your face. Way back when boxing was still his main pastime instead of "baking", both kinds actually and these days your husband finally knew how to make a decent muffin. In an effort to be romantic, he'd shown up at your work one day with a nice bouquet of roses. They were lovely flowers and you were immensely elated by the gesture, and especially amused since he'd bought the flowers from that very shop only the day before too.... However it was a shame you never got the chance to put them in water. See, somewhere between the ten steps it took to get from the door to your table, he had tripped and fallen flat on the ground. Don't worry, his face hadn't hit the hard ground, it was cushioned....by the thorny roses. Maybe it was a good thing the thorns had left so many bloody scratches. It meant you weren't able to tell his face had turned as red as the roses petals now surrounding him. Instead of the romantic date he wanted to take you on, the evening was spent with you dapping the cuts on his face with a damp cloth while he started at the wall, contemplating every life choice he'd ever made. That was the night Alfred Solomons decided he'd never trust a rose ever again. Not even the ones his darling wife sought to plant in her gardens.

"Alfie, come on! Roses aren't that bad, just because you had a little slip up years ago doesn't mean they all hate you."

Standing by up again, you held out your arms towards Alfie as music began to reach the garden. Shaking his head lightly, he set down his cane and took your arms, fully confident you'd be there to support him if his hip got too bad. You and Alfie had yet to dance tonight, caught up talking with others (which was really just your doing) and pointing out everyone who'd gotten too drunk and was trying piss in the plants. It wasn't something either of your minded to badly, the large crowds of people tended to make you feel a bit nervous and Alfie occasionally had a hard time keeping rhythm because of his hip. So most of your dancing was done in the back corners of the ballroom or privately in your kitchen, waiting for the midnight snacks to be done.

However tonight, it seems you'd be dancing in Thomas Shelby's garden. Slowly but happily, you waltzed closely with your husband, stepping around the fountain and laughing as he stopped to twirl you ever few seconds. Other than the music from the house and the gentle crunches of your shoes beneath the gravel path, the world was silent. When the song ended your husband gave you a gentle kiss and stepped back, though he was still holding you in his arms. Looking up above yourselves, you saw the constellations fitting the night sky.

"Ohh Alfie! Look at them! Aren't they beautiful?"

Beaming, you grinned up at the stars twinkling down on you before moving from your husband to a smaller empty plot of ground. You suspected that something was to be planted there soon, but paid no mind to the grime that would get on your skirt as you settled down to sit in the dirt. It was a nice little spot, right next to the rocky path and dug out in a manner that was lined on three sides by tall hedges. To anyone looking out if the mansion, the little alcove would have been completely invisible.

"What are ya doing now Dovey? Is this the thing you said we shouldn't be doing?" Alfie teased you from where he was still standing.

"I just wanna sit and watch the stars for a bit. Come," remaining seated you patted the spot next to you, "Join me."

Alfie walked over to the spot but when he got there, he only raised an eyebrow at you and tapped his hip with the cane. You stared for a moment and then it clicked. Laughing slightly at your forgetfulness, you stood up, bowing dramatically, and held out your arm.

"Right right, I forget you have the hip of an overworked, ninety seven year old parlor dancer. Shall I assist you to the ground my dear sir?"

Alfie only grumbled, but his eyes twinkled as you teased him. If anyone else had made the comment they'd have been dead before they blinked, but you were different. Alfred Solomons was capable of many things, but some nights when his hip got bad, he needed help moving around more, especially if it meant going from standing to sitting on the ground. You were happy to help of course, but being married for over a decade didn't mean the pair of you were above lightly poking fun of the other. Only two years ago, you had accidentally scratched part of your eye and needed to wear an eyepatch for five weeks. The first thing Alfie had done when you walked out of the examination room and asked if he could get food for dinner, was reply with "does patchy wanted a cracker" in reference to the one eyed parrot you'd seen in a film the month before. It was just something you'd always done together even before you started dating. A dark humor you both shared, as if joking about the hurt could make it better.

Holding his other arm, you gently helped your husband lower himself to the ground, squeezing his hand comfortingly when he let out a small groan. After helping your husband take a seat, you settled into your own again, leaning your head on his shoulder as you looked to the heavens.

"You aren't really gonna plant roses are ya Love? What if something happens to them?"

"Like what? You assault them with your face again?"

"....Maybe? But like why do you really enjoy them? I still don't see the charm."

Sighing, you shifted your gaze and looked your husband in the eyes. One of your hands moved up to his face, as you gently caresses the one spot on his face that refused to grow hair like the rest of his beard. You knew it was another old war wound, but this was actually one he had yet to tell you the story of. Gazing into his eyes a few moments more, you then changed positions so you were seated across his lap, one leg in either side of his.

"Why do I love roses?....Their petals are as soft as their thorns are sharp and given the right hand, their climb up any wall in their path. Not only that but their petals can have many uses for food or paint or even my blush. That means they are able to change their usefulness based off their situation at hand. They are able to adapt, nor are the helpless. Some people say the point of the thorns is to choke out anything else threatening to take the roses' livelihood." you gently held your husbands face between your hands as you continued, "I like roses because they remind me of you Alfie. Because they are beautiful, and strong, and dangerous. You are a gorgeous and strong man, and I know how badly you try to protect me every day. You are so kind to me, but I know how far you'll go for me. I would go just as far for you. You are my rose Alfred Solomons and so I love them as all they remind me of you."

Alfie was quiet for a moment, observing what you'd said. His hands sat on your waist, thumbs rubbing gently in your sides.

"You saying I'm like a fucking flower Dovey, is that it?"

"Yeah, you're my flower though."

"....Alright."

"....You know why else you're like a rose love?"

"Why poppet?"

"Because it can be a pain in the ass to keep you alive sometimes."

Alfie only put his hand to his chest in mock offense, while your grinned up at him mischievously.

"Oi, now you better watch your words there Dovey."

"Make me Rosie," you whispered, grinning as your leaned closer to your husbands face, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw.

Gently Alfie leaned back, taking you with him until his back was on the ground. Hands, still on his face, you could feel the smile on his face. Slowly one of his hands moved to your head bringing you down so he could kiss you again. Sweet at first but it quickly increased in passion and vigor. Though eventually you had to pull back for breath, and it was then you realized his hands had already rearranged your skirts in a way overnight you both.

"Alfred? I know we can't do this out here?"

Your husband only laughed, reaching towards his belt as he pulled you close again.

"Slide down a bit farther and I think you'll see we definitely can Dovey. It's only a matter of being quiet enough to evade capture."

It was a nice little spot, right next to the rocky path and dug out in a manner that was lined on three sides by tall hedges. To anyone looking out if the mansion, the little alcove would have been completely invisible. And luckily, the music was loud enough to hide the sounds of rustling bushes...

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It wasn't until the next morning when you realized what went wrong...

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After making it back to the house last night and finding half the dog food "mysteriously missing", the pair of you had decided to call it a night. And since business was going so well Alfie had elected to take a few days off, hoping to spend more time with you. It also meant he'd finally be able to sleep in.....or so he thought.

A sudden crash woke Alfie from his slumber the next morning.

Shooting up, he automatically looked to his right, and his heart stopped for a moment realizing you weren't there. Another clatter from downstairs and a frustrated scream from you had him practically jumping out of bed and grabbing his gun. You usually like staying in bed for a few more hours, especially when he was there, so the fact he could hear your distress from upstairs made him worry.

Carefully Alfie snuck down the hall, peaking in rooms to make sure no unsavory figures were lurking behind the door. Another annoyed groan accompanied by various curse words hurried him to his final destination.

"Love, are you alright?"

It was a stupid thing to ask as you were very much not alright. The kitchen was a mess, looking like every cabinet had been opened and all the contents pulled out. Pots and bass were laud hurriedly across the counters as you rummaged through every nook and cranny. A quickly glance into the living room told Alfie it was scattered in a similar state. But you hadn't responded to your husband, not the first time or even the second. It wasn't until Alfie stepped right up behind you, putting his hand on your shoulder, and turning your around to face him when you responded.

"I can't find it."

Your voice wavered as you admitted the truth. Looking down like a small child about to be told off, you averted your face from your husband's. Alfie was still confused, but he could tell whatever you were rallying about was obviously important.

"Can't find what Dovey? Whatever it is it's probably isn't too bad. I can help ya find it righty?"

"No Alfie you don't undertstand."

"Then help me understand Love. Let's get through this together like we always have yeah? Come on, tell your husband what we're looking for." Carefully cupping your face in his hands, Alfie guided you to look at him again. He could see the tears welling in your eyes as you spoke.

"....I.....I lost my wedding ring Alfie."

"Oh."

It was the simple oh that broke the dam. Stepping back from your husband, tears began to stream down your face as you shoved your fingers in you hair as if trying to hold in the stress.

"SEE I told you it was terrible. I...I woke up this morning and went to the bathroom and noticed it missing when I went to clean my hands. I figured I'd just taken it off la... last night but it wasn't by the bed table like I usually put it. Then I went through the bathroom and it wasn't there. I've gone through every room in this hours and I can't fucking find it!!! I don't ....I don't know where it is Alfie. I just... oh god."

Covering you mouth with your hand, you realized where you lost the ring.

"Alfie the fucking garden."

"The garden? Love you haven't made the garden yet, how could it be there?"

"No, TOMMY'S garden. It has to be there. It fell off last night when we were rolling in the dirt. I've been meaning by to get it resized. Oh fuck this is awful"

Alfie actually chuckled at your realization. Of course the ring would fall off in the most inconvenient place possible, but he wasn't about to tell you that.

"Thats alright Dovey we can just..."

Throwing your hands in the air you interrupted your husband, frustrated at yourself for a number of reasons. It stung Alfie's heart to see you like this. Carefully he dragged your hands from your face and pulled you into a hug. Soothingly his hands ran up and down your back as he tried to comfort you.

"We can just what Alfred? Waltz back over and demand he let us dig up the plants for it? He'd probably ask why and what are we suppose to say then huh Alfred? Oh you know, we lost it in the garden you see...Well what were you doing there Y/N? ...Nothing much just fertilizing the soil, pollinating the flower, playing like the rake and ho, rustling the bushes, sowing seed in the garden, FUCKING IN THE FLOWERBEDS!!!! No we can't do that Alfie we just can't! It's probably gone forever... I'm so sorry."

Alfie was the one to hide his face this time. He knew you were in distress but he was amused by one of your last sentences. You always were good with the innuendos. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to get you to calm down. He knew at this point you weren't so mad about the ring, as just overwhelmed by the lack of success you'd had in finding it.

"Yes love, we can tell him all those things and if he'd got any sort of romantic bone in his tiny, banged up little body he'd offer us shovels to dig if we need them. And if not then I'd wager every deal I'd ever have with his lot is out the fucking window isn't it. We've been married since before the little one of them was teething haven't we? It's not like they don't think we're fucking. Besides it's a decent fucking garden, Tommy should have know what he was doing when he made that little hidey spot didn't he? It'll be fine. And if I find it then I'll get to propose to you all over again won't I? I think if I got one wish left in the word it would be to do that again. Ask if you'd be mine forever and let you know I'll always be there. Love I promise. It's alright Dovey, it's ok. No need to get worked up about it's not such a big deal."

Thought he was trying to help, his last sentence only made things worse. Stepping pack from Alfie you threw your hands up again.

"IT IS OUR MARRIAGE ALFIE! And I've practically lost it like it means nothing at all! How can you say that!"

There it was. The really reason you were so worked up. Not because you'd lost the little ring. It was because somewhere in your mind, over the years you'd been together, you'd gotten the idea that if you didn't have it on your were almost betraying everything you held dear. As if you thought without the ring, all the vows you'd mad together were nil. Alfie couldn't help but laugh at that. He laughed hard too, like you'd told the funniest joke in their world.

"You think that ring is our marriage?"

Stepping closer again Alfie took your arms and pulled you closer.

"Our marriage is so much more than that fucking ring love," he said, cupping your face between his hands again. "Our marriage is me stealing Ollie's shirt before every lunch date because his is cleaner than mine and wanna look my best for the best, that's you by the way. It's you grinning at me through the glass window at fuck O'clock in then morning when I've taken the dog out for a piss since you thought it'd be funny to lock me out in the cold in my fucking skeevies again. It's me paying a fuck ton of money to the flower shop down the street so you could get a rose every week I was away fighting. It's you spending hours patching me up after I had a bad fight even though blood makes you gag yeah. When you refuse to give me dinner until I give you a kiss and when I won't give you a gift until I've gotten a hug? Sharing a bath after a hard day? That's our marriage. You interrupting my meeting because you're so excited to show me a new book? Me interrupting your book club because I've just gotten back from a business trip? You demanding I come to bed and cuddle up, only to shove me off of you later when you're too hot? Me tightening jars in the pantry so you have to get me to open them? Making fun of each other's injuries, patchy? Don't you see it? You. Me. You. Me. You. Me. WE."

"Alfie..." You couldn't help but smile at your husband's words realizing he was right.

"Dovey, It isn't defined by a thin piece of metal with a tiny fucking stone that I stole off a rich toff at a boxing match one day. Our marriage is YOU and ME and every little moment in between. And I promise it's always gonna be just that. And do you know why that is Treacle?"

Alfie had moved his hands again, now resting them on your hips. Gazing at you lovingly he waited for your answer.

"Why Ally?"

"Because I'm your flower remember? I'm your fucking rose.... and you're fucking my sunshine, Dovey. I have no chance of living without you."

Wrapping your arms around your husband, you buried your face into his neck. Losing the ring you'd worn almost every day for years didn't seem so criminal anymore.

"Alfred Solomons when did you learn to say something so romantic."

Your husband only chuckled as he step away, grabbing some of the boxes you'd pulled out in your panic.

"A master never reveals his secrets Dovey. Now come on. Let's clean this up and then we'll go get you a new ring eh? Wouldn't want any gangly miscreant thinking they've got a chance with you would we?"

Looking at the damage you'd done, you couldn't but sigh, maybe it would have been better to wake your husband immediately before diving head first into your expedition. Now you were kicking yourself since you'd just redone all the work you'd don't last week reorganizing every thing.

"I'm not sure the jewellery shop will still be open today by the time we finish Alfred. I'm not even sure we'll be able to finish this in a week with the mess I've made."

Your husband just bonked you lightly with the broom he handed you and nudged you in the direction of the living room.

"That's alright Dovey. Because unless you've got some nefarious little plans I haven't heard of to steal my dog and run off, I don't think either of us is going anywhere anytime soon aren't we?"

You could only smile and kiss him on the cheek.

"I suppose you're right. We've got all the time in the world...."

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Two years later...

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"Shelby, I want my dog."

The Shelby in question turned around, eyeing the woman before him. He knew this day would come. Only he expected it to be sooner, a few days, maybe even a week later...but now it was four months. Four months since he....despite his feelings towards the man, Tommy couldn't help but feel slight regrets for what he'd done. Especially seeing the state of her now, standing in his garden.

"He's just gone on a walk with Charlie and Finn. They should be back in an hour or so."

"I'll wait... I see you filled in that empty plot of ground. They're lovely flowers, I don't remember them being there two winters ago."

Tommy averted his gaze to the bushes you were pointing at. Indeed the small alcove where you'd hidden with your husband had been filled. In its place grew a thick rose bush, blooming with life. You smiled, and to anyone else, they might have thought your look truthful. And some of it was, thinking of the happy memories connected there. But Tommy could see deeper than that. Behind the smile he could see the same pain he had when he looked in mirrors. The pain that came from losing the thing you loved most. For as different as you both were, he knew the tactic you played, though the mask you wore was much brighter than his. And for now he decided he could respect that. He could pretend just for a moment, if only to help you. It was the least he could do, seeing as he was the reason you wore it... He was the one to pull the trigger.

"You're right. The gardener put them in almost two years ago, right after the party where Arthur and Finn tossed Michael into the lake. Do you remember that one? I saw you talking to my sister but never saw you leave that night."

A genuine chuckle left your mouth hearing his words. You played with the ring on your left hand. Only two years old and very expensive, but in that moment, it felt like you were wearing another ring again. One that was much older and worn, that you hadn't seen in years.

"I do. That was certainly a night I'll remember forever. It's a shame you got rid of that little alcove. It was a nice little spot away from the world wasn't it."

Tommy could only nod and take another drag of his cigarette.

"Did Alfie ever tell you about the first and last time he gave me roses in person. I mean, of course he probably didn't and I'll have to tell you sometime, but I think you might find it funny. There's a lot about him I'm sure he hasn't told you. But then again, knowing him there's probably a lot he did..." You trailed off, staring at the flowers a bit longer, remembering that day over a decade ago, not really meaning to tell Tommy that, doing so anyway. After all, no one had heard from you in months, so it made sense to him, that you'd be eager to talk to anyone. Even the man you should hate most in the world.

Silence descended on the pair standing tense in the garden. There was so much to be said, but neither knew where to start. Truthfully, you'd only talked to Tommy a handful of times, but he felt like he'd already known you like his sister. He couldn't help but scoff, thinking of all the times Alfie had gone off on a tangent about you during a meeting. Sometimes, your mention had nothing to do what was being discussed at all, Alfie just liked to brag about the good he had. In the end it was Tommy who spoke up first, the guilt of his past actions finally caving in on him.

"Y/N, I'm sor..."

"Don't. Thomas, I don't want you to say sorry," turning from the vibrant blooms, you faced the capped man. "I don't want you to say sorry, because you know what? I don't blame you. You're completely alright. I'm not mad at you.... It's my fault I suppose. I could have stopped it."

Tommy raised his eyebrow, curious to what you meant, and also concerned. There was something in your eyes that made his stomach turn slightly hearing those words. But he couldn't exactly place why.

"What's that suppose to mean Y/N?"

You only let out a bittersweet laugh and stared out into the garden again, sitting on the edge of a familiar fountain before you revealed the truth.

"It's my fault he's gone I think. I should have known. I should have never left that day and I could have stopped it."

Tommy's brows furrowed as he sat down next to you.

"What's that mean? You couldn't have known what his plan was? It's not your fault."

Absentmindedly, you picked at the leaves of a nearby bush. Though your voice was even, Tommy could practically see the war inside your head.

"It's how he kissed me when I left that day. I was only going to be gone a few days to visit my friend who was suppose to have her baby soon. Nothing dangerous. But it's the way he kissed me that should have tipped me off. He kissed me the way he did when he got on the damed train, in that damned uniform. He kissed me like he didn't think he'd see me ever again, going to die in the war. And I guess he didn't."

Tommy didn't say anything. He just let you continue. Something in his head told him, he needed to let your speak, he needed to keep you here tonight. If he let you leave today, no one would ever see you again and something in Tommy told him not to let that happen.

"You know I still haven't admitted it to myself just yet... The truth," standing up you began to pace around the fountain, circling the water. "Since I first got the call I haven't picked up the phone anymore, I'm scared of what I'll hear. I haven't opened any letters, because I don't want to see what they'll say. I still haven't even gone home yet. I've been paying for a hotel room by my friend's house and only leaving by when I need more food. I know it not good for me, but it's all I can find I can do. I've been telling myself it's just that. He's gone to the war again and he'll be back in a few months." Though you spoke with a smile as if talking about the weather, it was easy to see the pain in your eyes. You thought denying the truth would make the hurt go away. But it wouldn't, Tommy knew it was only a matter of time before you broke. And like with Cyril, he felt like he was the one who needed to help. So he decided to play along for now, letting you keep your act up. Atleast until he could figure out the best way to fix the mess he still felt he'd made.

"You tell yourself it's the war eh? Do you write him letters."

"Yes, I write him one almost every day. But I haven't sent any. Did you know that I was rarely able to send them to him during the war. Something about his post being secretive, and no one should know where it really was. So I'd just... write a letter everyday and when I got a letter that his squad was resting at a safe camp every few months I'd just send the packet of them.... If I was lucky I'd get one back, but most of the time I just had to wait. I learned a lot about waiting then. I learned it was better to laugh too. Laughing helped me stay sane."

Standing up, Tommy began walking with you as you stepped deeper into the gardens.

"Laughing eh? Well I guess it's better than what I did. Almost drunk myself to the grave and then fucked off in a caravan with my son for a month. Seems you're handling it better than me."

You could only scoff at his response.

"Oh don't worry, there's been plenty of drinks for me too. I'm a happy drunk though, so I guess it helps my plan. After all, as long as I'm laughing, I don't have time to cry. I don't think I'll be able to stop crying the day I begin. So I'm just trying to hold off as long as I can."

"Aren't we all."

Silence fell in the garden again, and the two widowed souls walked back to the house. It was starting to get back and Tommy had noticed Finn's car pull up a few minutes ago. When you reached the back door you were met with a fluffy beast knocking you over as soon he'd caught sight of you. Cyril was happy to have at least one of his masters back. The man taking care of his now treated him well, but he still missed life with his old owners, even if he couldn't express it in words.

While you reunited with Cyril and applauded Charlie on the tricks he taught the dog, Tommy went to gather some of Cyril's things and have Francis prepare a room for you. Tommy had no clue where you'd take the dog, but seeing as you seemed adamant about staying away from Margret, and apparently didn't despise Tommy (somehow), he thought it made sense to let you stay the night for a bit. And something still told him to convince you to stay even if just for one day.

On his was back down the stairs he noticed something sitting on the table and there was a click in his brain. He remembered the curiosity brought to him that morning during breakfast, and suddenly a lot of odd business meetings made sense. He finally realized who'd messed up the empty dirt patch that night two years ago. Grabbing the object off the table, Tommy headed back to the drawing room. Inside you were still petting your beloved dog, even though Finn had taken Charlie to get ready for bed.

"Y/N, I went up to grab some of Cyril's things, but I think it may be better for you to spend the night here. It's getting late and I don't think either of us wants the dog getting hurt if you were to crash."

You laughed gently at his words, not caring to ask about the hand behind his back. Not thinking much about his words, you accepted his offer. You knew you should be mad at him, hate him, even what to kill him, but you couldn't. You were too tried to be mad at anyone right now. Besides, it wasn't like you knew where you were going anyway. You just wanted to see your...his dog again. Maybe if you had that little piece left, it would make it easier to move on. It would make it easier to pretend you weren't alone now.

"Alright. I'll stay. But only so Charlie can give Cyril a proper goodbye. I'd hate to tear them apart, it seems they've made close friends."

"They have," Tommy smiled, genuinely happy thinking of how closely his son had bonded with the dog. "Cyril's stuff is in Charlie's room now infact. They've taken such a liking, I can't keep them apart. We can get his stuff tomorrow, but I do have one thing I think you may want now."

You looked towards the Shelby man curious. "What is it?," you questioned.

Silently Tommy extended his hand to give you the object he'd snagged from the table.

It was a single rose... But something was different about it. The stem seemed to have grabbed something buried within the dirt to take along as it began to grow. Twisting and turning all the way out of the dirt, outwards towards the sun, as if offering the shiny object up. An ages old promise from the rose to the sun of an endless truth, never broken even in death...

The rose was offering his sun a ring.

And not just any ring. A wedding ring. Simple and worn, it had been stolen off a rich toff from a boxing match many years ago. It had survived work and war, seen blood and lust, and so many other things. And while the ring didn't define the marriage it represented a promise you thought you'd never see again. But here now, seeing how tightly the rose stem had grown around it, you knew you'd never have to worry about that again. Not even death could stop the love the rose proposed to his sun. Even in death he'd still offer her life.

You couldn't even take the rose from Tommy's hand before you finally broke. Laughing at the irony, Tears streamed down your face as you sunk to your knees, all the pain you'd been bottling up coming out. And thus you sobbed, hard. So hard in fact, it felt like you couldn't breathe. And you sobs were still mixed with laughter of disbelief as a million memories ran through your head, but none as loud as the one of that night and the morning after.

Two years ago you'd lost that ring. Alfie promised that he'd look multiple times whenever he went back to the house, even if it meant having the meeting in the garden like "a bunch of prissy ladies at a fucking tea party" as he'd called it. And for two years he'd had no luck until now. But today, your rose had finally found the lost ring, even if you'd lost him months ago.

Setting the rose gently on the table, Tommy sunk to his knees too. Letting you grab onto him, for a shoulder to mourn on. He knew you needed it. For so long you'd shut yourself away, denying the truth and trying to act like it didn't affect you. You wanted to pretend your world wasn't falling apart and now you couldn't any more. He'd been he same way, except he didn't have anyone to help him. He couldn't burden his one year old son with his grief and he knew most of his family still resented Grace to some degree. They hadn't been as destroyed by her passing as he had. He didn't want you to be alone like he had. For as many terrible thing as Tommy had done, he couldn't bring it upon himself to leave you alone now. And so he sat on the floor, holding you in his arms as the cracked dam finally broke.

That night, until the early hours of the morning, Thomas Shelby sat comforting the wife of the man he'd killed. And he would until she'd fallen asleep, finally worn out from her grieving. In the morning he'd offer breakfast and they'd get to talking about the loves they lost. They were still both hurt and broken and mourning what they'd lost, but they weren't alone now. For two people so different they both knew what the other felt so deeply. Little snippets and stories about happier times, while watching a little boy play with a big dog, laughing as the pair rolled in the grass. And while both still grieved, there was a peace to be found in being with someone who knew how they felt.

And while they talked, Y/N played with the ring on her finger. It was new and expensive and fit just right. This one was only two years old and didn't have many memories but she loved it just the same. And upstairs by her bed sat another ring, but this one was held tightly by a rose she'd placed in a vase. This was the ring that she loved more, and the one she really wanted to wear, but she couldn't bear to tear it from the rose just yet. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to. Maybe she'd let the rose dry out and preserve it like she use to do someone's at the flower shop when she was young. But for now she's let it live as it was.

Holding on tightly to a promise that not even death could divide...

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

While all this happened a mailman was headed towards Birmingham with a letter from a dead man, asking about his dog and looking for his wife....

#Alfie Solomons x reader #peaky blinders x reader #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders #alfie solomons #tales from the flower garden

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krirebr · 8 months

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I Know I Should Know Better 1

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Female Reader, minor Colin Shea x Female Reader

Word Count: 2,873

Summary: Curtis has been working as your body guard for almost two years now. Standing by and watching you work and party your life away is becoming more and more difficult, but is there anything he can do about it?

Warnings: Angst, adult themes, minor age difference (not explicit in this part, but reader is mid-twenties and Curtis is early thirties), drinking, sex mention, exhibitionism (from unhappy observer's POV), explicit language, bad boyfriend, self-destructive behavior, anxiety, negative self-talk. The reader's having a bad time, you guys. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist

A/N: Alright you guys, prepare yourselves for a lot of angst and a sloooow burn. The focus and goal of this story is definitely Curtis x Reader, but as it starts, Colin x Reader is the actual couple. This first part is in Curtis’s pov, but the plan is to alternate povs by chapter.

I hope you love this Curtis as much as I do. If you could let me know what you think with a comment or reblog, I'd appreciate it so much. Thank you for reading, lovelies! 💜

Curtis hated this job.

The sounds of lewd moans and the repeated banging of a headboard hitting the wall filtered through the bedroom door into the common area of the large hotel suite. The new guy, Jensen, shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the small bar off the kitchenette, his eyes frequently cutting to the bedroom door.

“Just ignore it. It’s none of our business.” Curtis growled from his place at the island.

“Right. Sure,” Jensen nodded and just kept looking towards the room. Curtis rolled his eyes. He’d get used to it.

The stylist and hair and makeup people were already set up in the 2nd bedroom. They’d been due to start 20 minutes ago. Michelle, your assistant, came careening out of that room and stopped dead in the center of the living room, locking eyes with Curtis. “We don’t have time for this!” she pleaded with him.

Curtis sighed and nodded and walked over to the bedroom. He banged on the door three times with the side of his fist bellowing, “Time to get going!” He really hated this job.

“What the fuck???” cried a masculine voice from inside, quickly followed by your own uncontrollable giggles.

Five minutes later, you finally came out dressed in a robe from the hotel, your hair all over the place. A man followed you, dressed only in his boxers. Colin. He’d been around for a few months. He was a rockstar, but in Curtis’s opinion, everyone was using that term loosely. He was in a band that was working on its sophomore album. Curtis only knew this because the guy wouldn't shut up about it. He wasn’t any worse than the other fuck boys you usually dated, but he certainly wasn’t the best of them either. Colin collapsed onto one of the loveseats, legs spread wide, and helped himself to the fresh fruit that was laid out on the coffee table.

“Ok!” you said when you got to the center of the room, hands on your hips, megawatt smile fully on display. It was always so blinding, even when he was annoyed with you, like now. “Where am I needed?”

“Go in there, please!” Michelle pointed. “We’re running so late!”

You just laughed. “Which is why you always build extra time into the schedule. Calm down, we’re fine.”

Curtis walked over to Colin and nudged one of his shoes with his own foot to get his attention. “Get dressed,” he growled. “It’s time for you to go.”

“Oh! He’s coming with us,” you said, just as you disappeared into the room, Michelle right on your heels.

Colin smirked obnoxiously up at him and wiggled his eyebrows. “Yeah,” he said, “I’m coming with you.”

“Fine,” Curtis gritted out. “I assume you’ll be wearing clothes when we leave?”

Colin stood up and slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry, Curty boy, I’ll get myself all pretty for you” and then went back into the main bedroom.

Curtis ran his hands down his face and stared up at the ceiling as he tried to calm himself. He hated this job. Maybe it was time to get into corporate security. Anything had to be better than this.

As he was thinking, Jensen cleared his throat behind him. “Is it always like this?”

“Yes,” he growled out without turning around, and then went to get an updated ETA from Michelle.

Curtis had been with you for almost two years now. Your team had brought him on during the stalking incident at the MTV Movie Awards. That situation had luckily been resolved quickly, but he'd stayed on after.

On paper, the job was simple. Keep the house secure. Make sure strangers don't get close enough to touch you. Keep your parents as far away from you as possible. Always know the exits. Easy enough.

And he’d been surprised to find that he actually liked you. Outside of the clubs and parties, the VIP sections and private rooms. When you were easier to imagine as just a normal person. You weren’t as entitled as he’d expected. You worked hard and seemed to want to do a good job, even if you couldn’t keep to a schedule to save your life. Sometimes he felt like the wild streak was just something you put on, an obligation. But that was a ridiculous observation. He just worked for you. He didn’t actually know you.

So it’d been a good job for a while, but at some point the balance between wild child and committed actress started to shift. And with that, the hours got longer, the entourage got bigger, the parties got wilder. The fuck boys got worse. It was taking its toll on him and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could do it.

Curtis was standing in the green room of the talk show, watching your interview on the large TV mounted on one wall. Tanya, your publicist, stood near him, her arms crossed and brow furrowed as she watched, while Michelle sat on the couch, going through emails, and Colin parked himself in front of the food that had been laid out, now on his third beer.

“She’s stiff,” Tanya remarked to no one in particular.

“Yeah, cause you wouldn’t let her have any of that,” Colin said, gesturing with a piece of meat in his hand to the ice bucket full of alcoholic drinks on the coffee table. Tanya had instituted a strict ‘no substances before interviews’ policy after the last time you’d done Kimmel and the interview had gotten a little too loose.

“She’s doing fine,” Michelle said, without looking up from her computer, but Curtis had to agree with Tanya. You did seem stiff. Uncomfortable. But he knew it had more to do with the current topic than any external factors. They’d dedicated an entire segment to the show you were on as a kid. It’s what made you famous. You never really talked about it. Didn’t seem to like to, but it almost always came up in interviews. Sometimes you laughed through it and it was fine, but other times it was more like what was happening now. He wouldn’t say that he knew or understood you, but he could read you and right now he could see, under your smiles and giggles that would fool anyone who didn’t spend their days watching you, that you were coming apart at the seams. He prepped a text to Jensen, telling him to pull the car around and saved it so all he’d have to do was hit send. Then he just waited for the interminable interview to end, clenching and unclenching his fists as he watched you put all your energy into just getting through it.

Finally the conversation wrapped up and the host threw to a commercial after announcing the next guest. Curtis sent the text, grabbed a bottle of water from the ice bucket, and was already almost through the door and into the hallway when Colin exclaimed, “What the fuck?! She was supposed to mention my tour!”

Curtis was sure there was some sort of reaction to that, but he wasn’t around to see it because you were already coming around the corner, being led by a PA. You locked eyes with him and as soon as you were close enough for him to hear, you whispered, “Get me the fuck out of here.” He nodded and herded you down the hall, around several corners, until you got to a little enclave under a set of stairs with several plush armchairs.

“Jensen’s bringing the car around,” he said gently, handing you the water bottle he’d been holding. “We can go out the back way. But I figured you might want a few minutes by yourself first.” You nodded absently, clutching the bottle of water in both hands. “I’ll leave you alone, but I’ll be just over there if–”

“Can you stay?” you interrupted, gazing up at him with pleading eyes.

Surprised, he asked, “You want me to?”

You nodded again and said softly, “Please.”

“Ok. Of course I’ll stay.”

You just stood there for a moment, gazing down the dark hallway in front of you before you finally said, “I don’t get why they always have to ask about it. It ended over ten years ago. Like, who fucking cares? And the show was shit anyway.”

Curtis just stood and watched you, not sure what you wanted him to say, if anything at all.

“Like, I was a kid. I wasn’t even any good, you know? I’m just so fucking tired of talking about it. I don’t know why anyone wants to talk about it. It’s not like I have any good stories. Nothing good happened.” You seemed to catch yourself there and cut a wary glance to Curtis then shook your head. “I told Tanya that I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. That I wouldn’t answer any more questions. And she said that was ‘unrealistic,’ so here we are.”

Curtis let the silence carry for a moment, making sure you had nothing else to say, then, softly, "I'm really sorry you have to do that. That isn’t fair to you."

You looked up at him at that, something akin to shock on your face and you shook your head at him. “What? No. No, It’s fine. I’m– I’m being dumb. It’s not that big a deal. I’m just being ridiculous. Like always.”

He really hated it when you did that, wormed your way in and made him feel deep, unrelenting empathy for you. It’d been happening more and more often lately. He needed to get out. “I don’t think you’re being ridiculous.”

You just stared at him for several moments and for the first time in ages, he couldn’t read what was on your face. Finally, you shook yourself out of whatever had been happening and said, “We should really get going, shouldn’t we? Can we go? I’m just making everyone wait, like usual."

His hands itched to reach out to you, touch you, but you didn't need that right now. Maybe not ever. Not from him. So instead he nodded and said, "Yeah, we can go," letting Jensen and Michelle know you were on your way.

"You're such a fucking asshole!" you yelled in the alley behind a club in West Hollywood, hours later. You were drunk. Very drunk. Curtis really hated this job.

"I didn't do anything!" Colin threw his arms up in exasperation.

"She was in your fucking lap!"

Curtis was standing by the door for now, hoping he wouldn't have to hold you back. Or, he thought, as he watched you sway dangerously, hold you up.

“She just sat down. What was I supposed to do? Push her off?”

“You certainly weren’t supposed to put your arms around her!” You were getting really worked up now and Curtis readied himself to intervene. Jensen was supposed to be bringing the car. Where the fuck was he?

“I was being nice to a fan!” Colin shouted when Curtis saw a light out of the corner of his eye at the mouth of the alley. When he turned to look, there was a man standing there with his phone out. Shit.

He walked along the wall of the building, trying not to draw attention to himself. Luckily you and Colin were providing plenty of distraction so he was able to get close and snatch the phone away before the man noticed him there.

“Hey!” he shouted. “That’s my personal property! You can’t do that.”

“Uh huh,” Curtis said as he stopped and permanently deleted the current video and went back into the man’s photos to check for anything else. There were two more videos and a smattering of pictures. He’d gotten the whole fight. You did not need that all over the internet tomorrow. He deleted it all and then handed the phone back to the man who’d been yelling and swearing the whole time. Curtis pulled himself up to his full height and loomed over him, then said, “I better not see you again. You have a good night.” He glared and waited for the man to back down and walk away then headed back to you. You and Colin were still screaming at each other, but the topic seemed to have shifted.

“You’re so fucking selfish, you know that?” Colin yelled at you. “I ask for one thing and you can’t even do that.”

“It was my job! I was there to promote my movie, not your failing tour!”

“You’re a fucking bitch,” Colin said, as Jensen finally pulled up in the SUV. Thank god, because every muscle in Curtis’s body wanted to lay the asshole out flat, and if he’d had to wait one more moment for the car, he might have.

“Hey!” Curtis yelled. “That’s enough!” he said to Colin and then turned to you. “Are you ok?” You nodded, but brushed a tear away. Fucking asshole. Keeping his eyes on you he asked, “We’re going now. Is he coming with us?”

“No!” you snarled. “Definitely not.” He nodded and opened the back door of the car.

“You’re just going to leave me here?” Colin pouted. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t care!” You yelled over your shoulder as you got in the car. “Get a goddamn Uber!”

Curtis was about to check in with you one more time, but you’d already slid to the other side of the car and were now staring out the window, so he shut the door and got into the front seat with Jensen.

You were quiet on the hour long drive back to your house. Curtis looked back frequently to make sure you hadn’t passed out, but you were just staring out the window as the city zoomed by. He let you be while he conversed softly with Jensen about the rest of the night and the agenda for tomorrow.

When they got to your house and Curtis opened the car door for you, you looked up at him, surprised. “Hey,” he said quietly, “we’re here.”

You didn’t really respond, just kept looking at him for a few minutes. Then your gaze shifted to your back door and your lip quivered. “You’re coming in, right?”

He stifled a sigh. He was really hoping he’d be able to get away with just dropping you off tonight, maybe doing a quick walk-through to convince you all was well and then finally taking off. It’d been such a long day. But instead, he nodded. “Yeah, I’m coming in.”

Jensen poked his head out the driver’s side window as Curtis helped you out. “Do you want me to wait?” he asked.

Curtis shook his head. “No, it’s late. You go ahead and put the car away and take off. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jensen nodded and gave him a quick wave.

Curtis guided you inside and turned on the lights. He checked your security panel to make sure everything was as it should be and then guided you to the kitchen. “You want something to eat?” he asked and you nodded. He wasn’t used to you being this quiet and it was throwing him off.

He went to the fridge and pulled out one of the dinners your housekeeper had left for you. He threw it in your microwave and then grabbed you a glass of water.

“I’m so tired,” you said.

“I know,” he said, “you can eat this and then go right to bed.”

“No,” you shook your head, “that’s not–” You frowned but didn’t say anything else, just placidly looked around yourself.

The microwave beeped and he took your food out, putting the dish and a fork in front of you.

Staring into your living room, you said, “I kind of hate this house.”

He had no idea what to say to that. He looked through your open plan first floor. Everything was gray and glass. Fresh flowers on multiple surfaces made it seem slightly less empty, but he’d always thought it felt cold. Cavernous. “You could move.”

You just hummed and turned to your food. You ate a few bites and drank some water. Just as he was gearing up to tell you goodnight and get out of there, you looked him dead in the eye and said “I think you might be the only person who actually cares what I want.”

The shock that flooded his system must have registered on his face, because you immediately started backpedaling. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so out of it. Just ignore me. I’m fine. Just ignore me.” He whispered your name and you shook your head. “No, you’re right. I should go to bed. I’m sorry. Goodnight Curtis.” And with that you got up and went upstairs to your bedroom, leaving him dumbfounded, standing alone in the middle of your kitchen.

After a few minutes he pulled himself together, put your leftovers in the fridge and your glass in the dishwasher. He turned off all the lights and let himself out.

He paused on your step and leaned his head against your door.

He really fucking hated this job.

But he knew he’d never be able to quit.

Part Two

#curtis everett x reader #bodyguard!curtis #bodyguard!curtis everett x actress!reader #curtis everett x you #curtis everett x female reader #curtis everett #snowpiercer #fanfic #bodyguard au #series #i know i should know better #kris wrote something #reader insert #chris evans #cevans

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ja3hwa · 1 year

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Day 16 : Sadism - Yeosang

「Title」 : Nothing but Disrespect

「Word count」 : 2.05k

-> Genre: Fantasy, Smut, Angst.

Paring: Alpha!Yeosang x Luna!Reader

[Warnings] : Objectification. Swearing. Hate sex. Spanking. Using a belt to tie the reader up. Fingering, dirty talk. Pet name. Use of the words slut, whore and bitch. Heavy degradation. Choking. Crying kink. Yeosang laughs at the reader. Little cum eating. Lots of body fluids. Pussy slapping. Big dick Yeosang cause why not. Angst. Angry Yeosang. Fighting. Some fluff at the end I guess. Let me Know if I missed anything.

Note: I seem to be really bad at Sadism, but I hope I did it alright in this ♡♡

February Filth Fest Event Day Calendar

Frustration brewed in Yeosang as he paced the halls of the pack grounds. He didn’t mean what he said to you. But his pride refused to let him apologise first. Yes, you were both in the wrong, and you both were well aware of that. But the heated argument didn’t stop until you walked out of the room. Storming to your shared living quarters without him. He stays in the main hall for a while. Keeping his distance from anyone. And if anyone dared to speak to their angry leader, he would growl in a tone that scared anyone's wolf away.

It had only been a couple of hours. Four? Five? Heck, it was probably going on six at this point. His wolf was howling, begging for him to just give up this silent no-talking game that you and Yeosang had started. But no, he needed you to apologize first. So, after finally stopping his frustrated pacing, he went to his study to try and get work done in order to distract himself. It worked for maybe five minutes before he threw some papers—that were most likely important— on the floor.

Fuck it. He thought, getting up to make a quick stride over to his living quarters but when he aggressively opened his study room door he is suddenly met with a sight he didn’t know he was going to witness for another week.

“Y-Yep...” It was you. Carrying a sad pout and clenched thighs. He could smell your arousal leaking out of you. Your eyes were already glossed over and full of desperation. Through the fight, he completely misread the date, forgetting your heat was approaching. It took every fibre in his being not to pounce on you then and there. God, you smelt amazing.

“Come to apologize, I see.” His cockiness grew, knowing you would have to apologize now, and then you can both just forget about the silly fight. But little did he know you weren't going to give up that easily either. Even if you were on your heat and desperately craved him. Two can play the game, and by swearing to the moon goddess herself, you were going to try everything in order to win. Even if that means you make him even madder than he already is.

“No. It's you who should apologize.” You bit at him, while his hands snaked around your waist, pulling you inside the room before closing the door with your body. He had you pinned. Unable to move. Just how he liked it. His cocky smile stayed plastered on his face, tilting his head slightly he whispered against your neck.

“Hmm from what I can remember it is you who started this. And besides, it seems you have a problem only I can fix. So I think you better start begging for forgiveness.” His hot breath tickled your skin, he was teasing your body, wanting to bend you. Break you. But you pushed him away slightly, showing fire burning in your eyes.

“I swear to fucking god Yeosang if you don’t do something, I will go to your fucking beta and ask him to fuck me.” you pulled him by his collar so your lips could graze his ear while his cocky expression slowly turned into one of anger. “I’m sure as hell he would be more than happy to oblige and make me cum.”

Oh, that sent him over the edge. His vision turned red, as he gripped your waist before lifting you up over his shoulder. His hand landed a harsh smack on your ass sending a shiver down your spine. Your heat surge threw you like a sweetened pain, making you grip the hem of Yeosang’s shirt. You tug it up seeing his toned back with your upside-down view. It didn’t take long for your lover to make it to your bedroom, practically throwing you. You land on the soft comforter on your bed, pushing your face against the fluffy duvet as you watch Yeosang with hooded eyes. All your anger and frustration was gone, and suddenly the only thing you cared for was to have him in anyway, shape or form.

“Sangieeee…” you groan, wanting him near you. He watched you with a smirk like he was enjoying your struggle. The tilt of his head proved just that, bending down to grab your chin, pulling you towards him. You thought he was still mad, unaffected by your heat. And you were partly right, he was still angry about what happened, but his mind was slowly losing control the more and more he takes in your scent. He had always been caring, and sweet in and out of the bedroom. He never wanted to hurt you in any way. But now. Now he saw raw anger-fueled lust, and he needed to release the emotions and your body seems to be the perfect toy for it.

“You know that I respect you right?” He whispers in a softer tone than before, almost as if he held perfect composure. His fingers that gripped your chin moved to squish your cheeks together. Your lips pouted from the action, making you look pathetic to him.

“Yes,” You tried to speak but his grip was tight. Your hips wiggled in anticipation, seeing his free hand reach for his belt, undoing it with ease.

“Because I’m about to fuck you with nothing but disrespect.”

Your hand were tied with the very belt he wore. Your naked form was on display just for him while he was still in his dress pants. You wanted to see all of him, have all of him. But you knew you shouldn’t dare ask for more. His fingers were sitting deep inside you, fucking you through yet another orgasm. You were so desperate for more, but you also begged for him to stop. But he didn’t listen. Your sweet scent, rich cherry with hints of vanilla, is infused in his veins and lingers on his skin like a tattoo. Those soft, whimpery sounds you make when his fingers are inside you are most alluring as the way your eyes glazed over, rolling back when he finds an especially good spot. It’s almost as irresistible as the way you cling to him, clawing his back when it all becomes too much for your body to handle while he fucks you hard.

He’s so greedy for all of it, he can’t get enough of you. No matter how much you give, he wants more, wants to give you more of himself in return.

And it’s all your fault.

“You dirty fucking slut. Wanting another man to please you when you know for a fact I'm the only one who can make this pussy come.” He growled, leaning over your thrashing body, licking your mate mark, and taking in your scent. You didn’t even try and make a snarky comeback, just moaning out a choked please over and over like a broken record instead.

“Who knew my precious baby liked to be fucked like a whore.” He smirks feeling you clench around his fingers “You want that Darling? Want me to use this body as a toy? Fill it up with my cum for my own pleasure?”

“Yes Yes Yes Please! Fuck Yeosang!!” You screamed, cumming for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. Tears ran down, staining your cheeks. Your lips were puffy and red, swollen from the makeout. God, you were so beautiful in this moment. He wished he could print this image in his mind forever. He pulled his fingers out from your leaking hole, seeing your cum spill on the bed. He had to chuckle at how many times he made you cum just with his fingers.

“Pathetic.” He taped your lips with his cum soaked fingers, wanting you to take them in your mouth. You obeyed the silent command, sucking your release off while he uses his free hand to unbuckle his pants so he could be free of them.

“Turn around now. And I swear to god, if you try and run, I’ll tie you back down and leave you here with a vibrator connected to you. Understand.” He spat out, growling in his alpha voice, making your wolf howl in a plea. You nodded but he wanted words, so he slapped your pussy, making you jump at the shock. “Words. Bitch.”

“Yes!”

“Yes, what?” He reached for the belt, waiting for your response before he opened the clasp.

“Yes, Alpha.”

“Good Girl.” The clasp clicks, freeing your red and soon-to-be bruised wrists. You take no second chance, turning around, lifting your ass in the air for him to see you in full. He stood at the end of the bed with a smirk plastered on his face. You were presenting yourself just for him.

Yeosang could barely stand any more brief seconds his cock was not in your warm, tight pussy, immediately getting on the bed before rolling his hips to get deep inside you with one swift motion. There’s no way he’s stopping now, he can’t stop, not until he’s gotten orgasm after orgasm after orgasm out of you, like before.

He drops his weight on top of you, and his sweet scent, smoked Maple, and spiced citrus drifts around you in hazy waves, you could get high off his smell alone. Teeth graze your bonding mark, the wide pad of his thumb finds your aching clit, ruthlessly circling it, sensations skitter across your skin and he grinds into you, your pussy stretched tight around his thick cock, the veiny ridges sliding against your velvety walls, leaving you so full you don’t know if you want to push him out and beg for a reprieve or clench down and beg for more.

“Cum for me? there you go, give it to me. My dirty little slut,” he grunts, “Gonna fill your tight little pussy again and again and then I’m gonna shove every drop of my cum back inside you, gonna keep you. Yeah, that’s it, fuck– such a good baby, giving me what I need, so fucking tight and warm and soft, fuck fuck I can't-,”

He breaks off, losing control for a moment. The frustration finally started to wash away. His right hand, retches upwards, snaking around your throat in order to pull you up along with his body. But his grip tightens, making your head spin in pure pleasure. You clenched around him from his actions, letting him know you enjoy the feeling just as he enjoys the feeling of his fingers wrapped perfectly around your fragile neck. His filthy words had pushed you to the brink, blinding hot sensations flowing through your veins but it’s the way he loses control, his words slurring together, his pace quickening, becoming erratic and sloppy, thrust after deep, smooth thrust that set off your orgasm.

An indescribable noise escaped your slacked mouth, your vision blurring, and your body tensing as Yeosang fucks you through. His moans stream in your ear, pushing you higher and higher until you break with a quiet sob, falling back to the sheets, pliant and sated when he finally lets your neck go. Yeosang is quick to follow, chasing his own high as soon as he felt your orgasms, warmth flooding your body as he cums. His hips jerked once, twice, three times, desperately trying to push it back inside you even as it seeps around his cock.

A moment of silence is finally placed. No more anger. No more wild emotions. Just heavy breathing and fast-pumping hearts. He slid his cock out of you, swiftly turning you around so he could cage your body under him in a tight, warm hug. Was he now the one crying?

“I’m sorry…” He finally said, giving up on the whole fight entirely. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer. Enough for your face to slot against his neck, feeling safe in his arms, surrounded by his scent.

“I’m sorry too…”

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graneymar · 1 year

Note

middle of the night smut with ney

#10. NEYMAR: AFTERPARTY

SUMMARY: above

WARNINGS: smut

PAIRING: Neymar x fem!reader

(okay this is my first smut ever and i hate it, probably deleting later lol)

It was 3am when you heard the main door swung open. Hearing your boyfriend stumble and mumbling portuguese curse words while going upstairs, you were sure he was more than just a little bit tipsy.

Neymar was at one of his best friends birthday party. It was a boys night out, that’s why he didn’t take you with him, but you honestly didn’t mind. You’ve been exhausted from the amount of work this week.

You were relieved when he was finally home. In fact, you couldn’t sleep - or at least slept very badly - when he wasn’t next to you. The last few hours you kept on dozing off and waking up again, at least once or twice an hour.

The bedroom door slowly opened. Your eyes were still closed, making Neymar think you were asleep. In order not to wake you up, he tried to quietly walk up to his side of the bed, but bumped his knee into the nightstand, letting some more curses escape his lips. "Boa noite", you chuckled [good evening].

"Desculpa meu amor, did I wake you up?", he asked [sorry my love]. Slowly opening up your eyes, you finally turned around to face him. "No, didn't really sleep anyway. Just can’t when you’re not there." He threw his jacket onto chair in the corner of the room. "How was the party?"

The room was fully dark. Shining through the curtains, the moonlight helped you watch your boyfriend teasingly slowly taking off his clothes as he smirked at you.

"It was okay, but I missed you. Would’ve rather stayed at home with my girl." Yeah, he must’ve really missed you. It was proven by the huge bulge he didn’t even try to hide when he got out of his black jeans. Almost fully naked, in his underwear only, Neymar dropped himself right on top of you. You giggled as you ran your hand through his hair, pulling him down to place a short but sweet kiss onto his lips. As if it was an invitation, he started covering your neck in kisses, pulling up your nightgown. "Ney, not now. I'm too tired", you told him. He didn’t really seem to care - he continued kissing your neck, one of his hands finding it’s way to your breast. "You don’t have to do anything bebê, let me take care of you", he whispered into your ear, your body covered in goosebumps now. One hand started massaging your breast, while the other one was going further down. "Ney", you tried to stop him again, but at that point, you didn’t even know if you wanted him to stop. "Shh, I just want to make you feel good. That’s what I was thinking about the whole night." You felt his dick getting harder the moment his finger slowly rubbed your clit through your thin panty. You bit your bottom lip, your breath getting heavy. He smirked as he watched you slowly burning up for him, "Still too tired?" You rolled your eyes at him - in both annoyance and pleasure. Pulling your panty to the side, his fingers went up and down your naked, wet pussy. "So wet for me already baby", he said softly. He loved teasing you, he always wanted to see how bad you needed him. You stared into his eyes - his beautiful hazel eyes, that would usually shine from all the love he had for you; now turned fully dark in lust. Your eyes fluttered as he kept on teasing your entrance. He gave you a short kiss before going down, gently sucking on your breast, his tongue swiping against your nipple every now and then. "Neymar, please", you somehow managed to sigh out. You felt him smirking against your breast, but he wasn’t done with the teasing. His eyes wandered to your face. The sight of you desiring his touch, desiring to finally feel him inside of you, simply drove him crazy. He crashed his lips onto yours, your tongues playing with each other. Without any warning, he slipped two fingers inside you, causing you to moan out loudly. "Baby you’re so fucking tight", he groaned. He increased his pace, making you whine in pleasure and frustration as you needed more of him, which he immediately noticed. "Do you want me babe? Do you want me to fuck your tight little pussy?", he mumbled inbetween his groans and your moans. "Y-Yes, Neymar… please", you breathed out. He licked his lips, enjoying how desperate you were for him. "What did you say? I couldn’t hear it. Say it. Say it again", he demanded. Of course he heard you the first time, all he wanted was to hear how much you wanted him. You tried to speak up, but the moans escaping your lips making it nearly impossible. "Fuck me Neymar, fuck me please! Please!", you finally cried out. He pulled out his fingers and quickly slipped out of his boxers. You hear him moan quietly as he slowly puts his huge, hard cock inside, inch by inch, letting you adjust him. Your lips were pressed together, whimpering as he slid through your walls. Once he was fully in, the both of you moaned out, looking into each others eyes. You pulled him down to kiss him while he repeatedly thrusted in and out of you, starting slowly but his pace kept on increasing. You digged your nails into him, leaving red marks on his back and shoulder. He groaned louder as you did so, you felt your walls slowly tighten. "N-Ney, I'm close", you whined out. His movements got faster, you weren't even able to let out a sound anymore. He covered your face with sloppy kisses, his breathing got faster and louder. You literally felt his cock twitch inside of you, letting you know he was close as well.

A pile of tingling ecstasy streamed through your body as you finally felt yourself releasing. Neymar thrusted into you a few more times, riding both your orgasms out. He dropped himself right next to you, both of you trying to catch a breath. After a few seconds of complete silence, you heard Neymar chuckle to himself. "What’s so funny?", you asked. "This was more fun than the actual party", he replied, gently kissing your cheek.

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yoonieper · 8 months

Text

Pecattiphilia— Part 6 | PJM

Pecattiphilia is the sexual arousal from performing an act one believes is a sin.

✽ Pairing: Jimin x Reader

✽ Genre: Angel Au, angst, fluff, smut (yep, we’re here now!), this is a slow burn (kinda?)!

✽ Rated: M for Mine

✽ Series Warnings: This series will include discussion of religious aspects such as the afterlife and concepts of heaven and hell (There are no direct ties to any specific religion besides the mention of angels and demons— all aspects of religion was created by me for this series), this series includes a lot of violence (sometimes graphic depictions) and gore (nothing extreme, Jimin and the boys fight monsters sometimes), and mentions of sin (particularly revolving around sexual topics)

✽ Chapter Specific Warnings: jealous Mimi, Mimi’s going through a bit of a crisis, drama!, smutty elements– making out, grinding, etc~ green flag chapter!

✽ Word Count: 12.5k

✽ Summary: Jimin is sent to watch over you and as the years go by he gets more and more curious and sometimes just wishes he could get to know you. But he knows that’s forbidden, it's sin. However, a freak accident somehow causes Jimin and your eyes to meet for the first time with purpose. He knows it shouldn’t happen but he doesn’t want to break away. He wants you to look at him, wants you to touch him, wants you to be with him. The problem is none of this should have happened in the first place… what’s happening to him?

✽ Now Playing…: We Go Down Together by Dove Cameron & Khalid, The Girl is Mine by Michael Jackson (with Paul McCartney), ALL MINE by Brent Faiyaz— visit the masterlist for the full playlist!

✽ Author’s Note: Eeee already, the two parts I hoped to get done this year! Now I also hope to post part 7 this year! It’s already started and I have it all planned out and should be a shorter chapter than these last two~ I’ll let you know more info later on in the year, but hopefully it comes out soon because I hate to have a big gap from where this leaves off 😭 Hope to be back soon guys AND hopefully I’ll finally make the Spotify Playlist before the next part comes out! Also if you see any mistakes this was a tiny bit rushed so I will be coming back and fixing whatever I missed! Anyway, enjoy~

No reposting, modifying. Translating is not allowed unless given explicit permission. Thank you so much :D

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Human vs Angel.

It was a battle that relentlessly raged on with an alarming ferocity in his mind. The damage at this point was catastrophic, no clear winner, only bloodshed and more to come on the horizon.

Human or Angel? Who was he?

It’s not like Jimin or any P2 angel could remember what their experience was like as a human, yet they still weren’t seen as entirely angels either.

That’s because they weren’t.

They still had wants, desires, cravings, needs, and they even maintained the vessel that once contained their souls. Their souls were long gone, now replaced with the angelic light that gave them the power to fight against sin, but that still wasn’t enough. Something that forever confused Jimin was why they still bleed— all higher up angels didn’t bleed, why did they need to? It was messy, unnecessary, red, too human for exalted beings like them.

From the very moment they opened their eyes there was this immediate barrier preventing them from being like the other higher up angels. They sometimes certainly didn’t see them as such— they were impure, sinful, depraved, degenerative creatures who would be better off joining the cycle then working with them.

It was a bit of a shock at first hearing this when their team was first allowed to wander through the winding halls of H.E.A.V.E.N. Celine and Atara had tried to warn them of the higher up angels, yet during their lessons it was hard not to admire them.

Their capabilities were beyond anything they could ever do and they had every right to have the very air they flew through worshiped. Maybe that was why Jimin and the rest of his team were a little too optimistic when Celine and Atara gave them the tour and some would pass by.

They heard the comments— Taehyung had even tried to go up to one in his excitement and was immediately met with the repercussions he deserved.

This first encounter was all it took for their team to want to put as much distance as they could from their human past— a past they couldn’t remember, but resented because they truly took the higher ups' words to heart.

And that proved to be successful.

Their numbers topped many of the leaderboards, the less human they were the better they did— the more they truly helped the goal of maintaining the balance of the universe.

However no matter how well they did they would never be truly an angel. To be so pure and in control to the point where weapons weren’t necessary, a single glance at a sinful creature was enough to vanquish the being from existence.

Namjoon was rare in the sense he was one of the few P2 angels that had gotten the chance to experience something similar. However he still needed the bandages wrapped tightly around his hands to prevent him accidentally blasting a hole through spacetime, doing far more damage than just demon blood on his hands.

He was respected a little more than the rest, but there was always this wall that even he could never cross.

Not entirely human yet they certainly weren’t people. No one could remember what it was like to have a soul anymore.

They were too “human” to be an angel but too powerful and glacial to have that same passion that humans live with.

It was confusing and while Jimin never truly felt like a real angel the gap felt even wider when he was around you. The reason was simple, Jimin would never be able to feel as much as a human could. He was and forever would be detached from the human experience.

That much was just a fact.

He would be called emotionless in comparison, a husk of the vibrant soul that once inhabited this vessel, built solely for the purpose of vanquishing sin from this world. All emotions besides the blissful sensation of purifying his enemies was practically reduced to nothing.

That was how it was supposed to be at least.

With each day you’ve been in his life, it was like a distant memory was returning to him. Never clear enough to fully remember, but the warmth that bathed him whenever he was in your presence was oddly familiar. You’ve given him the opportunity to feel more than he thought he was capable of anymore.

It was a little confusing to navigate through, but you were there to ground him and despite his growing concerns at least he was here with you.

With you this beautiful orchestra of emotions would sing anytime he’d just gaze upon your beauty. You were honestly beyond words, your enchanting presence was enough to rival the angels he worked with. It was mind boggling that you were human.

But as much as Jimin just wanted to ignore the obvious, that more sensible half made sure he never forgot.

He couldn’t even if he wanted to, but that created this strange fire that burned brighter, hotter, and more violent with each and every one of your meetings.

The emotion that seemed to dominate his mind anytime he was with you these days was this searing, unexplainable antipathy— or better put— the closest thing he could experience to it.

Jimin hated you with every fiber of his being and you were completely unaware.

It was obvious as the weeks passed by he needed to talk to you. He honestly had no right to hate you, the issues being completely unestablished to you and there was no way you could have known, but that didn’t matter. Jimin still found this confusing flame growing hotter and hotter and it just got worse each time you’d meet in your dreams.

You didn’t do anything wrong, you still thought he didn’t even exist so of course you would never think anything of it.

You were more so caught in the crossfire of his frustration with himself. He thought he was stronger, but time and time again you proved to be the one human who could bring a superior being like himself down to his knees. It was always so easy for you, you weren’t even aware you were doing it.

Jimin’s tried so hard to make this work.

He saw you every night and he’d always try to plan these elaborate dates to distract his troubled mind. They worked most of the time and proved to be fun just having you by his side. But that didn't completely stop the days you’d stay and relax underneath the big tree you first met under, which was oftentime a request made by you to just talk and admire the clouds passing overhead, but Jimin tried his best to avoid dates that were so casual because they usually never ended well anymore…

Were things different now because you were together? He didn’t know what changed but instead of the tranquil moments where you’d gaze upon the setting sun, Jimin practically had his tongue down your throat every time he’d see you.

One minute you were discussing the most obscene thing ever, mole science it happened to be that time. You had sat up so you could be closer to his face while you examined every dot across his skin and attached this arbitrary symbolic meaning behind their placements. It honestly didn’t make any sense to him, but you were so pretty and cute as you gently poked the dots and explained what each and every one meant.

You must have noticed he was confused because suddenly after you explained what the one on his cheek meant, you leaned down and kissed it. He was left giggling like a schoolgirl when you pulled away, the tingles, butterflies, he just felt so whole in that moment. The cute instance was short lived because the next one you went for just so happened to be on his neck (something that may or may not was on purpose), in a spot he quickly learned was so fucking sensitive the minute your lips met his skin.

He couldn’t even describe what came over him. It was this rush that flowed through his body to pull you close because how were you real and how were you his? You both had been laying on the picnic blanket but suddenly you were on your back staring up at him with those eyes he couldn’t help but get lost in.

All he wanted to do was kiss you, he felt like he had to in the moment, but once your lips were on his the harder it became to pull away. How could he?

The way you made him feel was so complicated, he honestly didn't have words but this fuzzy feeling mixed with just this innate, carnal desire he knew was a vestigial emotion from when he was still human. It was overwhelming almost, the need to have you, to claim you.

It proved to be one of the most revolving yet exhilarating experiences everytime that rush would hit. Your touch, your lips, your body, he just couldn’t get enough.

And each time it was getting harder to stop, to remember it was sin and that promise he made to his team that he absolutely couldn't, under any circumstances, break.

It was so pathetic, he was horrified every time he’d come out of your mind and back to the reality he faces.

What was he doing?

This road was a path filled with sin and he was still choosing to go down it?

What was wrong with him?!

Jimin wanted to have more faith in himself, that this was just the ‘honeymoon’ phase of your relationship and things would settle down eventually, but as the weeks passed it was just getting harder and harder to stop himself.

As much as he loved to pull you close anytime you were near, it was impossible to deny he wanted you closer. He wanted to feel you, touch you, love you in a way he knew how to.

You’d manage to stir awake a beast that had laid dormant for eons and Jimin didn’t know what to do.

The more logical side was saying as much as he loved being with you, this wasn’t healthy and he should stop now before things get any worse. Yet every night, he was back with you.

He couldn’t leave and he didn’t want to either.

Every time you’d fall asleep and that smile on your face when you’d finally notice him, he never wanted to stop seeing that.

It was almost hard to forget the times you’d gaze right through him, never once being aware of his presence. How could he go back to being nothing to you?

You were his and he was yours. He’d find a way to overcome this, if it’s the last thing he does.

That doesn’t mean it hasn’t been hard.

You made things hard.

You and your filthy mind.

You’d think about him all day, it would catch him off guard every time when he would watch over you at your job and you’d be so innocently sitting at your desk, like you weren’t thinking about the night before, in a scenario where you never woke up.

Your thoughts, painfully loud as you shifted in your seat. That date where you both rode on the backs of unicorns, you pictured his physique as you clung onto him that night as you and the herd rode into the sunset. It would just get worse, so much worse as you thought about when you both ended the ride, how he held you in his arms.

You wanted him to take you right then and there. It played so vividly in your mind, just like the countless other sinful fantasies that bounced around in your head all day. And he knew exactly how hot they would make you feel, the special bond you have making it all so clear what you wanted.

It was torture.

Jimin was forced to sit there and he couldn’t do anything about it. He’d even considered on a couple of occasions, merging down to the normal plane just to beg you to take pity on him.

Jimin hated you for it, it was pathetic.

You never realized it was Jimin’s doing, you always would curse to yourself whenever things got too hot and then you woke up in your apartment once more. You simply thought you got yourself too excited and would wake up as a result every single time.

In actuality it was the most speedy way to stop himself from going any further than he has.

He’s tried so hard not to go beyond kissing, so hard, and it was so pathetic that he wanted more every time. Every single time.

One day you had asked Jimin to take you back to the diner because you were craving their breakfast. The date had gone similar to the first time he took you, Laura served you a mountainous amount of food as you chatted about anything that came to mind. You were a little braver this time in getting up to explore the diner, wanting to see the extent your mind came up with the smallest details.

You went over to the jukebox they had sitting in the corner and bet that nothing would play because none of the songs were ones you recognized. Low and behold the random song you picked ended up overcoming the murmur of the other customers at the diner.

You were stunned but that officially meant you lost the bet. Jimin knew you would, but his wish was simple. He just wanted you to dance with him.

He laughed at your defeat but didn’t hesitate in pulling you close as you both began to sway to the soft strums of the guitar and drum of “My Girl,” one of his favorites from when he visited the time period. The moment had been a chance to have you in his arms, the others in the diner disappearing as you both just enjoyed the moment.

It was perfect, you were perfect. A warm feeling spread in his chest as he held you, that Jimin used his hand to make you look up at him so he could just kiss you.

It should have been a perfect, sweet moment— it was all up until your filthy mind was back and he knew you wanted more. The warm, sweet feeling turned into something darker almost instantaneously.

At this point he had it.

Jimin knew you were confused when suddenly you were pinned up against the counter a couple had been eating ice cream at only moments prior.

If things had gone your way he would have taken you right then and there. He would have had your dress bunched around your waist and fucked you so maybe then you would learn to behave.

And he nearly did, he nearly took you right against that counter. His hand on your waist had been shaking because just a thin piece of fabric was in the way of having you like he wanted. And your mind… you just made things worse.

That’s how every meeting would go between you these days. It was horrible and it was all because of you.

If you hadn’t done this to him he wouldn’t be in this position.

If you just listened to me you wouldn’t be in this position.

If he wasn’t so weak he wouldn’t be in this position.

But at the end of the day, he made his choice, and he continued to make the same one every night when he visited you.

No one was forcing him to continue this. You still thought he was just a dream, you would eventually forget about him and things could go back to the way they should be.

You were innocent in all of this, yet this fiery heated emotion was constantly directed towards you. He hated it, he hated all of these new emotions. As beautiful as the orchestra was, all of them felt strange, unnatural, dangerous even.

Jimin shouldn’t be feeling anything. He should be the soldier he was trained to be, obedient and with only one thing in mind— maintaining the balance and continuing the cycle of life in the universe.

A new emotion manifested all on its own as a result.

A gray cloud of gloom would storm, thunder, and pour continuously over his head when he watched over you throughout the day. Jimin couldn’t control it, and that just made things more confusing.

Was it sadness, depression, maybe some watered down version of it? What if it was something else entirely?

As happy as he was to be with you, it wasn’t right, nothing was right anymore.

Jimin had disobeyed the commands of his leader and now he was struggling to keep the one promise that his team had made with each other and had maintained for eons.

Jimin wanted the solution to just be that he had to stay in line, but that line kept being moved and manipulated. He just knew things would only get worse.

Was this what happiness was meant to feel like? All the humans he looked after, was it always this confusing for them? This pain that just didn’t make any sense— no end, no beginning, no wound, no blood, he could never place it… it just hurt all over.

Was this what he wanted when he decided to be with you?

He was happy, he was sad too, he was angry, he hated you, he hated himself more. It was all too much and Jimin felt like a hurricane was whishing and whirling around in his head— his mind was a horrible, tumultuous storm and maybe if he was human he would understand how to navigate this.

If he was human the problems he faced wouldn’t exist, he could be with you no consequences whatsoever. But at least if he was human he would be used to these strange feelings.

Maybe the answer would be clearer.

But every night Jimin came back to you and he never wanted to stop, because through the storm you were his beacon, his lighthouse, his safety, his refuge.

You were the only thing that made sense anymore and he just wanted to be with you, even if it was from far away it was still something.

Jimin hoped it would have stayed that way, he wasn’t entirely content but he respected the boundaries your relationship needed to have.

It was fine, and everything would have continued to be fine if he didn’t exist.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

You were enjoying your lunch break that day by yourself. Your friend Mina had been at home sick so you were eating your tteokbokki alone and mindlessly scrolling through your phone to occupy your time.

You weren’t truly alone though, you never were.

The cafeteria was minimalistic— the white, sleek, modern walls and tables, contrasted nicely with the bright chairs and accents throughout the room. It was a style something your office loved as they were a fan of bright colors, that being evident even in the office space.

Jimin sat with you at the table in the blue chair and you were in the red one right across from him.

You were completely unaware of his existence or all the rain that flooded the cafeteria as the cloud above his head continued to storm. Jimin was soaked but he’s grown used to it at this point.

He felt numb, but sitting here with you was nice.

Maybe in some other world you both might have been coworkers, a secret romance that blossomed between you two that eventually you couldn’t keep a secret any longer. The storm wasn’t overhead instead you both were sharing a meal together as everyone around you sighed at how single they were.

They were jealous and you would always laugh because you both really were lucky.

He couldn’t help but wonder sometimes, if you met while he was human would you have liked him? What if the only reason why you said yes was because you thought he was a figment of your imagination, your desires making you look past the glaring fact you didn’t find him dateworthy if it were real life?

Would Jimin have been a nice human? One your eyes would have been instantly drawn too? Would he have been charismatic, would he have you laughing with each and every joke he told?

He was human once, surely out of all the lives he lived at some point there was one that would make you fall for him.

But here right now? The Jimin you would have met, would you like him?

Jimin’s thoughts were interrupted when he noticed you turn toward the sound of the clicking of shoes against the tiled floor— ultimately looking at the guy who was walking over to your table.

Name: Pyeon Jin-Sang

Age: 28

Occupation: Lead Financial Officer at Divine Pharmaceuticals

He was a fellow coworker and you both had spoken on a couple of occasions. It was mainly about work, you both didn’t see each other much working in different departments.

It was why you were a little shocked to see him coming over to you.

Jimin instantly felt his blood run cold because he knew what he wanted.

“Hey Y/n…!” He was a little awkward, maybe nervous, but he was still cheerful as he took a seat at the green chair in between you two.

Jimin didn’t like him.

“Hi!” You smiled back as pleasantly as you could considering your mouth was full of tteokbokki.

“How have you been?”

“Ummm….” You were definitely confused, you normally didn’t have these casual conversations like this.

“I’ve been ok I guess, things have been a little busy in marketing, but I’m making it.” You were wondering if this was about work or something along those lines.

“I heard things were busy over there. You’re doing ok, right?” Jin-Sang seemed genuinely concerned.

You nodded. “I’m fine, but I think it was a little too much for Mina— she got a pretty high fever after staying late the other day.”

“Is that why she’s not here today?” Jin-Sang asked, looking around.

You nodded once again, taking another bite of your tteokbokki.

“Mmm well, you take care of yourself, alright? Seeing you around the office always puts a smile on my face.” He cheesed, cheeks dusting pink in the process.

You only halfway picked up on the flirting attempt— noticing it, but choosing to ignore it because no way was Jin-Sang trying to flirt with you.

Your face flushed nonetheless.

The conversation grew more natural with the uncomfortable icebreaker out the way.

You both talked a little more about seemingly anything and everything that came to mind, a little work, but you mainly focused on the personal details that you both just never seemed to discuss before.

He was a nice guy and a lot more interesting than you would have guessed from your brief interactions in the past. You laughed as he told you about the time he and his friends went kayaking down the rapids in Australia and how they nearly went down a waterfall after they made a wrong turn.

Jin-Sang was exciting, nice, and really funny.

The more you talked the more you picked up on his shy attempt at flirting with you. It was cute, he was cute.

He wore a suit that nicely fitted his frame, his sharp eyes would crinkle up anytime he’d smile at you, his dark hair neatly styled with a sharp undercut on display, but his cute round glasses and soft pink cheeks just made him look like a teddy bear.

There was no denying it, he was handsome.

You both talked for pretty much your entire lunch break and it was just as you were about to leave when he finally asked you the question.

“Uh… Y/n.” Jin-Sang called out to you as you started getting up. His voice wavered slightly and he quickly started playing with hands.

“You probably already know I didn’t just come over here to talk about my Australia trip or the logistics of blue cheese…”

It had been a strange conversation looking back on it now.

Jin-Sang paused and looked around like he was trying to find the right words.

“Alright, fuck it. I meant what I said in the fact I look forward to seeing you everyday, and even though we only talk on rare occasions, I really want to get to know you more.” Jin-Sang paused once again to gauge your reaction and you couldn’t stop the smile on your face growing even wider when he noticed yours.

“Uhhh…” He giggled as he scratched his head.

“Sorry you’re really pretty…” He tried to laugh it off, but you heard it and you couldn’t deny the butterflies you felt at the compliment.

“I really came over to ask if you wouldn’t mind hanging out with me outside of work.” He smiled at you.

Oh that smile could kill someone.

“Like a date?” You asked, a giddy feeling spreading in your chest.

“Yeah, a date.” You noticed his smile grow wider at your mention of it.

This should have been easy. Obviously there was enough chemistry here that trying things out would be worth it in your opinion. It was on the tip of your tongue to ask him for the time and place and tell him you’d be there.

Maybe things would make a little sense if the only reason for your hesitation was your concern of pursuing a workplace relationship. Those can get messy and there should be a little caution before being ready to take that short of risk. But that’s not why you hesitated.

As much as you enjoyed Jin-Sang’s company, a certain angel that made his way into your head every night was what ultimately stopped you in your tracks. What you actually were about to say, was that while he was a nice guy, you had a boyfriend already.

But that just served as a reminder that Jimin was nothing more than a figment of your imagination. As much fun as you were having with Jimin, at the end of the day, he was just someone who lived in your head.

And maybe this was a sign. You thought you had sworn off relationships for a while, but Jin-Sang was nice and a date or two wouldn’t do any harm. If things worked out then that’s great, but if they didn’t then so be it.

Jin-Sang noticed the way your smile started to drop as the proposition lingered in the air.

“Uh— you don’t have to respond right away! This was pretty sudden so I can give you some time to think!” He panicked and you instantly felt bad. This wasn’t fair.

“Oh yeah… um— can I have your number so we can talk?” You asked and he was quick to give you the digits before you could even open up your contacts list.

It was cute.

He gave you a slightly awkward goodbye as he made his way back over to his table of friends who had been eying you both intently since he walked over here.

As soon as he was gone, the guilt you felt nearly overflowed. To make matters worse you didn’t know who you felt more bad for, the fact you didn’t give Jin-Sang an immediate answer because of a figment of your imagination or… did you feel bad for what you might be about to do to Jimin?

It was crazy right?

Maybe you might have been, but you didn’t know that the Jimin that had stopped you, wasn’t in your head but sitting across from you.

From where he sat the storm that had poured over his head had filled the entire room, lightning flashed, and thunder crashed, as the wind blew everything around.

Jimin could hardly see you anymore, the rage he felt burning from within making a hollow gaze settle onto his blue eyes.

He didn’t scream, he didn’t yell, none of that would have done anything anyway.

Instead he let the embers burn, catching ablaze faster and faster and faster. It was a new emotion— it wasn’t rage, hatred, or anything in between but he knew it came from a place he didn’t like.

His confusion didn’t help but the storm raged on anyway and by the seconds grew even more powerful somehow. He couldn’t think straight, only one thought seemed to pierce through the storm.

You were his.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Jin-Sang texted you by the time you made it home for you to tell Mina he hoped she felt better soon and also invited you out for coffee or ‘your preferred drink of choice’ on Saturday. Apparently this new cafe had opened up and everyone was talking about it. You wanted to text him back and tell him you were down and you were excited for Saturday, but it was like this little nagging voice in your head anytime you tried to type anything out would stop you.

Jimin.

It was stupid, incredibly stupid.

You knew Jimin only existed in your head, but sometimes it was so easy to forget that. Jimin was unlike any other person who’s made their way into your dreams, especially as someone you never met before, he felt very… real.

Maybe it was because of how vivid they always were, but Jimin felt like a real person. He had likes and dislikes that didn’t match your own, he had stories to tell you that you don’t remember, and something about the way he’d look into your eyes.

It felt real, too real that you often wondered if you had actually lost your mind.

Maybe you had and Jin-Sang was a sign you needed to wake up.

You had been lying on the couch trying to come up with an excuse why it wouldn’t be a good idea to go out with Jin-Sang besides your make-believe boyfriend, but apparently your mind was tired from the day, too much had happened. It also didn’t help that you had ASMR playing in the background, you were out before you even realized it.

You don’t know how long you were asleep for, but eventually you opened your eyes to find yourself looking out to the familiar field you found yourself at every night.

But things were immediately off.

You were propped up against the tree like you had been sleeping under it, and from this view you could see… well, you couldn’t see.

A thick gray fog covered the field so you could hardly see in front of you, thunder rumbled in the distance, and a light rain steadily started to sprinkle across your skin.

It was pouring though, you could tell in the heavy pitter patter sounds of the rain hitting the tall grass of the meadow, but you figured the large tree overhead was what was giving you a little coverage.

What was going on? The weather was usually so nice when you came here.

You looked around a little confused, things weren’t normally like this. But just as you were about to start calling out to him you were shocked when you finally noticed Jimin sitting around the tree.

He had his knees to his chest and his head was buried down in between.

“I’m sorry… the clouds just seem to follow me these days.” Jimin sighed.

And he was off too. Jimin was usually so happy to see you, always greeting you with a hug knowing how much you love them. It was clear something was bothering him.

You scooted closer so you were sitting right next to him.

“Are you ok?” Your voice was soft as you rested your hand on his shoulder.

You didn’t get an answer right away, instead the rain filled the growing silence once more. Part of you thought he might not have heard you so you were about to ask him again, but slowly Jimin lifted his head to look out to the foggy meadow.

You could see his eyes now, the vibrant blue looked like a violent storm at sea, the waves reached astounding heights and the rain poured overhead— the chaos of nature itself. Yet it was a quiet storm, one not a soul on land was aware of.

“Please don’t tell me you’re thinking about it.” Jimin sounded like all the life had been sucked out of him, his cheery smile gone and instead this plain, dead expression on his face.

For a second you had no idea what he was talking about, but the moment was truly small because of course the Jimin in your head would know about your dilemma with a certain coworker.

“Jimin—“

“You told me you were mine, that we were going to try…” If you didn’t know any better you thought he sounded like he was on the verge of tears, but your angel couldn’t cry, instead a heavy emotion with no way of release was filling his head.

In the distance the rumbling thunder grew a little louder.

You sighed and scooted even closer so you could put your arm around him.

“Please tell me you aren’t going.” Jimin tried again, this time finally turning to face you. For some reason he seemed slightly agitated, his gaze dark but filled with a pain that made your heart ache.

“Jimin… I’ve enjoyed our time together. Shit, you have no idea how much I wish you were real— actually, you probably do, you know everything I think—“

You took a deep breath.

“But you’re not. None of this is real. I can’t go out and introduce you to people. We can’t walk down the street and hold hands. Jimin you don’t exist, you’re just a figment of my imagination.” Your words were a little harsh but he had to understand.

You finally turned to him and you hated the look on his face, you could tell he was hurt. If that wasn’t a sign enough rain suddenly started pouring down from the sky.

It was violent, the cover of the tree wasn’t enough to shield you from the droplets that continuously hit your skin. You were soaked in seconds.

“Jimin!” You exclaimed, just a little annoyed he was reacting this way, but you felt bad as well.

“I’m sorry…” He grumbled the apology yet he didn’t feel bad at all.

He hated you.

He hated you because you were right in a way. He was real but he couldn’t do any of those things with you. To you he might as well be a part of your imagination, this is the farthest your relationship could go.

You could tell he was upset so you scooted closer and wrapped your arm around his shoulders.

“I wish so fucking much you were real and we could do all those things. The fact that I’m even contemplating this date over someone who doesn’t exist should tell you that much.” The pain in your voice, the sobs, you hoped he could feel how much you wanted him. Your tears ran down your cheeks, but you were thankful for the rain to cover it up some.

This was the perfect opportunity.

Everyone was right.

Jimin couldn’t even look at you, the grass that was being flooded by the rain held his attention. He watched as the water would try to soak into the ground, but too quickly there was more to take its place.

The grass was drowning.

This was one of those moments Jimin wished he could cry, something, because the reality of the situation was too much to handle.

He didn’t want to say goodbye, he didn’t want to let you go.

But it made sense.

His other half was right, this was the perfect opportunity.

Jimin knew Jin-Sang wasn’t a bad guy. His intentions were pure and he knew the date you would have would go well. You shared a lot of interest you’ve yet to discover and he would treat you well. He worked a well paying job, he would love you— he almost did already.

Jin-Sang could be the one.

Maybe things would be easier if he was sure, if he was like the higher up angels and he could know what stopping you from going on that date would do. He could be stopping you from your chance of happiness, something that he could never give you.

But he only knew the now and now hurts so much.

He didn’t want to let you go.

“Jimin… say something.” You cried seeing he was just playing with the grass underneath him.

The rain just got harder and harder. You were almost in a hurricane.

Now was the perfect opportunity.

He could say goodbye to you right now. He was only a dream to you. You would forget about him eventually. He could right the wrongs of this situation and go back to his position as it should. He was meant to be your guardian, nothing more.

Things would fall back to line eventually. Maybe with Jin-Sang there you would move on more easily. You would be happy and he would just be forced to watch it happen.

He wasn’t meant to be part of your life.

He didn’t belong here.

It might be hard now, but he would have had to say goodbye to you eventually. This was his opportunity.

It might hurt for a while, maybe even forever, but you would eventually fade into all the other souls he watched over and guided into the beyond.

Things could go back to normal, he could make his team happy, he could finally follow his leader’s orders.

This was it.

Jimin just needed to say goodbye.

But…

The clouds that raged around you almost dissipated instantly, the dark gloomy overcast replaced with the shining sun you were used to.

You looked around confused before turning back to Jimin wondering what was happening.

His head was still buried in his knees, but slowly but surely he lifted his head to finally meet your eyes again.

You certainly weren’t expecting to meet his dark gaze. His light blue eyes that reminded you of the ocean were replaced with something dark, black, a void almost. It’s like the storm itself had condensed small enough to rest behind his sad gaze.

It was scary only for a second.

“You’re right… I just… I don’t want to say goodbye.” He sounded like he was about to break. It’s like you were looking at a dam seconds away from exploding. Even though you knew he couldn’t cry it almost sounded like he was but the tears never flowed.

“Y/n, I’m sorry, it hurts and I don’t— don’t know how I— how to—“ He didn’t know what to say, how to articulate these feelings. All he knew was that it hurt somewhere deep inside to look at you right now.

You quickly pulled him into a hug.

“I get it… it hurts too.” Your voice was shaky as the tears streamed down your cheeks.

Jimin didn’t like the way this felt, you shaking in his arms, the ache he just couldn’t pinpoint in his body. It felt worse than a darkened blade piercing his skin. He wanted to scream but instead he just stared off into the endless meadow you meet every night.

When you pulled away, your tear streaked face made it hurt even more.

He didn’t know what to do, but seeing you like this, he would do anything to take the pain away.

Jimin cupped your cheek lightly and pulled you close. He was so gentle as his thumb lightly wiped away the tears.

You stared into his dark orbs and you could just see the pain on his soft features. It was so hard to remember that look was nothing but your imagination being cruel to you. It hurt worse knowing you were the one who caused this.

More tears slipped past your eyes and Jimin wiped every one away.

He was so sweet and you nearly melted away when he finally closed the gap between you two. His lips were so soft and kissing him felt like touching a live wire at the way your body tingled.

How could you let this go? You didn’t want to—

Suddenly your eyes shot open and you were staring up at your living room ceiling. It took a second to process where you were, to calm your heavy breathing, and to realize the fact you were soaking wet.

You hurriedly looked around and noticed the glass of water you had sitting on the coffee table was knocked over, but you were soaked. Just as soaked as you felt in your dream with all the rain pouring over you.

You looked around confused, but decided not to think about it too much as you steadily got up to grab a towel.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

“What do you think about Pyeon Jin-Sang?” You ask absentmindedly to your friend who was sitting right in front of you.

You and Mina had gone out to this cute cafe for your lunch break instead of staying in like you usually did.

Mina had been sipping on her strawberry latte, something she claimed was the cure to getting rid of her sickness entirely. You doubted it, knowing your friend, you knew she just wanted something sweet.

“You mean that guy from finance?” You knew it took a second for her to remember who you were talking about.

You nodded, picking up your galaxy lemonade. It had been a new addition to the menu and seeing the pretty colors, you just had to try it.

“Ummm… I guess he’s nice, pretty good looking, I don’t know we haven’t really spoken much. Why?” She was genuinely confused, you couldn’t blame her though, this was coming pretty out of nowhere.

“The other day while you were out sick he asked me out.” You watched her face intently and you see the shock on her features almost double at the news.

“What?!” She nearly screamed, making you quickly need to shush her.

“What?” Mina tried again, this time only a little quieter, emphasis on little.

You nodded.

“And you’re just now telling me?!” She almost sounded a little hurt at this.

“I would have said something sooner, but…” You started but trailed off.

“Are you thinking of not going?” Mina’s attention turned to the little tea cakes you both were sharing.

“That’s the thing, we talked that day and he was really sweet, funny, and I think I’d be willing to try out the date…”

“I’m sensing a but coming.” Mina knew you too well.

You had to think about how to phrase this without sounding absolutely crazy.

“Well there was this guy that I really, really like who I was already kinda dating—“

“WHAT?!” Mina definitely screamed this time as she firmly slammed her hands on the table. “And you didn’t tell me??!! Who is he? Do I know him? Why didn’t you tell me you liked him, let alone dating?!!”

“Let me finish first!” You tried to calm her down.

She had to take a deep breath before finally letting you continue. You didn’t blame her though, maybe this wasn’t the best way to go about this.

“Well he lives far away and as much as I like him the relationship just can’t work.” Your heart pained at the thought of Jimin so far away you can’t reach him. You miss him so much, you didn’t see each other yesterday.

“Oh…” You knew she had more questions but she was letting you finish first.

“Jin-Sang is nice and I want to go on that date with him, but as stupid as it may be, I—“

“Keep thinking about this mysterious man from far away?” Mina finished it for you and you nodded at her words.

Mina took a minute looking out the window, trying to find the right words.

“And you can’t do long distance?” She asked but you quickly shook your head.

If only it was as simple as a few hundred, you would even take thousands of miles in between you and Jimin. Unfortunately he wasn’t of this realm, only accessible through your mind.

Mina had more questions about that but she stopped herself again.

“We broke up when I told him about Jin-Sang.” You threw that in but did you and Jimin truly break up? It just felt like your relationship just started. The words still hurt.

“Oh…”

“Like it was fun while it lasted, but Jin-Sang is here. It’s not worth continuing something that can’t go anywhere.” You doubled down, but your hands were shaking in your lap. You didn’t mean anything you said.

“Well then I don’t know what’s so complicated, go on the date and have fun. One date never hurt anyone and if things have ended between you two it shouldn’t be a big issue. Like you said, you had fun, but if things aren’t going anywhere why waste your time.” Mina made it seem so easy.

Maybe it really was that easy.

It should be that easy.

“I get maybe you’re struggling because you still have feelings for this mystery guy, but they’ll eventually fade and going on that date might be a great start to putting that all in the past.” She smiled at you, taking another sip of her strawberry latte.

You didn’t want to move on. You didn’t want to let him go.

Your mind had been filled with his eyes right before you woke up from your dream, the pain and hurt in his dark orbs. You actually felt like you betrayed him.

But she was right.

You could be missing out on a really good guy for someone that wasn’t real. It was ridiculous.

“But this is the step in the right direction. I’m honestly a little shocked after I thought you said you swore off dating.” Mina recounted with a chuckle.

She had been by your side after your last relationship and had been that shoulder you cried on while you were going through the breakup. She knew how bad things were and the pain you felt that made you swear off from dating entirely.

“I’m proud.” And this was the nail in the coffin for you as she reached her hand over the table and rested it on yours that was playing with the edge of the napkin your drink sat on top of.

Mina was right.

You really have come a long way.

The fact you were even considering going out again was a step in the right direction.

Jimin… you knew he was there because no matter what you said about dating being a thing of your past, you still craved the touch of another human being. You had shut out everyone after your last relationship and after your time with Jimin you truly felt like you could try and let someone back in.

Slowly, you knew the relationship would have to move slowly. You weren’t there entirely yet and especially after Jimin— moving on would still be hard. But you were willing to try.

It just sucks you can’t thank the person who’s gotten you this far.

“It was him.” You tried to smile but your heart still hurt.

“Even though we were separated. He was truly there for me. It just sucks it didn’t work out, but I think you’re right. I should give Jin-Sang a try.” As much as it hurt now you didn’t regret your decision.

This felt right.

You and Mina clinked your drinks together in celebration and on your way back to work she helped you draft up your message to Jin-Sang after you told her how awkward things got after he asked you out.

By the time you were back, you and Jin-Sang were on for Saturday.

Jin-Sang [1:46pm]: can’t wait :3

And as much as you couldn’t stop thinking about Jimin, you honestly couldn’t either.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

You couldn’t see him but Jimin was right by your side every step of the way. He was there with you and Mina sitting at the empty table beside you both.

For some strange reason he’d hoped your talk with Mina would deter you from going through with this, that for some reason she would say to choose him despite it being impossible. Even in the vague way you explained your situation, she still chose Jin-Sang.

Jin-Sang was the correct choice after all.

Jimin had taken a small break yesterday from watching over you in order to get his head back in the game. That weird pain he felt deep down just got worse anytime he’d look at you.

He’d tried his best to convince himself that this was the right choice, that saying goodbye was what you should be doing. It was easier to accept when he was far away from you, in the refuge of that forest he found himself at whenever things got too hard.

It was easier to look at things objectively and accept that he had his fun with you, but now it was time to say goodbye for good and for things to go back to normal between you too.

Jimin only saw you briefly yesterday, anytime there was a sin that he would detect he was back next to you in a flash and taking all his frustration out on the monstrosity.

Today he thought things would be different, he thought the day yesterday was enough to get past the worst of it and for you both to begin your path to normalcy again.

But hearing you and Mina talk… when you said that you and this ‘mysterious guy you couldn’t be with’ had broken up he nearly lost it entirely.

A violent tornado formed around him in an instant and he just screamed out into the void that he lived in. Hearing those words made the realization hit him so much on how you would go back to staring right through him.

You were so close yet so far.

He would be nothing to you.

He remembered the pain he felt only months ago watching you live your life and he couldn’t be a part of it no matter how much he wanted to.

He didn’t know what to do.

He knew you texted Jin-Sang about the date but he was gone to the forest all over again. His head was swimming with all these unfamiliar emotions and he didn’t know what to do.

He had no one to talk to, he couldn’t tell his teammates— they all thought he was done with you already and certainly if he revealed it now he wouldn’t be granted with the advice he craved for.

Instead in his rage he nearly turned to the most drastic measures.

Alone in the forest, he felt cursed. He detested the life he lived, if he was normal, if he was human there would be no reason you both couldn’t be together.

His handle had turned into a small blade, his shirt had been discarded somewhere in the brush. The words that painted his skin all were blackened out and he still had healing scars from all the repenting he had to do.

At first this was only meant to be a reminder of the reason he needed to leave you, to see the damage you had caused him. But he wanted it to hurt, to hurt more than this burn he felt more from the inside because even then he still wanted to be with you.

Jimin had unfolded his wings and had them resting in his lap with the blade only centimeters away. He’d gotten as far as the knife had managed to graze the delicate feathers and it sent him screaming.

His knife had managed to put a slight tear in one of the feathers and that alone made him pass out.

He’d wanted them off entirely but his wings were too sensitive to try and do it willingly. Apparently his body rejected the idea.

Or really he didn’t want them off, he just wanted to be normal so you both could have your life together.

When he woke up merely seconds later Jimin felt different.

It was strange.

Beforehand, despite all the pain, he was going to try to leave you alone. He was going to try to say goodbye, no matter how much it hurt.

But now… His other half was silent and for once he felt like he could think for himself. Suddenly it all made sense now and what he wanted became so clear.

Why couldn’t he be selfish for once?

You were his after all.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

It was the big day, Saturday.

Jimin had been watching you as you started getting ready. Your date wasn’t till four but since it’s been a while since you’ve gone on a first date, you were feeling nervous with an extra need to make yourself look presentable so you started the process early so you didn’t have to rush.

Jimin hated the way he felt, he hated the way you felt even more.

You were giddy, eager for tonight— for a man that wasn’t him.

Jimin had no right to be upset.

But he was.

This flame just grew as he watched you get ready steadily. And you looked so good too…

You always did…

The situation just felt unfair.

Why did Jin-Sang get to have you?

The whole argument centered around the fact you thought he wasn’t real, but he existed just like anyone else in the world? Why did he have to give in for the sake of some human?

He would be better to you, he knew he would. So why did he need to be the one to let you go?

It just pissed him off even more. Were you so easily forgetting who you belong to?

You were his and he was yours. Why did he need to suffer and watch you live on? It was unfair, this shit was so unfair.

He’s sacrificed so much for you already and now he was the one who had to give up?

Jimin didn’t like the nasty emotion that just kept growing as he watched you.

Anytime you’d text Jin-Sang about later he felt like he wanted to slam himself into a building. He felt an even greater urge to fly over to his apartment and set things straight. He didn’t know what came over him.

This was meant to be the right choice yet it didn’t feel like it.

And then…

Though he was here with you, he knew at the moment Jin-Sang was on the phone with his friend about whether it was weird to bring condoms on the first date or not. Jin-Sang was saying “what if she thinks that’s the only thing I want?” but his friend was saying to bring them “just in case, you never know how this date might go.”

Jimin wanted to go over and slap him for even thinking about it, but again he had no right. It just made him think back to what things were like with your last boyfriend. It was hard then to manage, but now… now…

Anger cursed through his body the closer the time got because it wasn’t fucking fair.

You were his. He was your boyfriend, you were his girlfriend.

He should be the one you’re so giddy to see later, he should be the one you’re so tentatively getting ready for a date for. It should be him, it should be him, this wasn’t fair.

Because it truly wasn’t.

If things were different— no fuck that.

Jimin should have left, given himself another day, maybe to cool off. Maybe even a more official break would have been the best thing to do to give himself time to reset. He shouldn’t have stayed but it was that same strange, nasty emotion he hated that brought him into a whole new problem.

It was only a few hours to your date and you were chilling on your bed, a silk robe the only thing covering your body. You’d already showered and done all the pampering you needed to. You even had your dress laid out on the bed beside you after you spent nearly two hours on the phone with Mina about what to wear.

You both decided on something casual enough since you were just going out to coffee, but still was sophisticated in its slight pretty elements. It was a simple, black, short sleeve dress that had cute heart shaped buttons going down about halfway, its white collar and the way it gently hugged your curves gave it that level of spice that Mina said it would be perfect for the date. You also had this tiny white purse and fun, cute shoes that also had hearts on it to match.

It was very different to how you dress at work but that was exactly the point.

All you needed to do now was get your clothes on, do your hair and makeup and then you were out the door. It might seem like a lot, but you knew you wanted to give yourself some time to make sure everything was perfect.

Laying here though after all the hectiness of trying to get ready, it was only for a split second did you feel sleepy. You didn’t think too much of it though, you were about to get up soon anyway, but it’s like this wave suddenly overtook you and before you had time to react you were out cold.

You didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep until suddenly your eyes shot open and you were back underneath the tree you used to find yourself every night under. It had been a few days since you’d last seen Jimin, nearly a week at this point since that emotional fiasco happened last time.

Even though you’d tried to end things with Jimin, you were honestly glad to find yourself back. Last time just didn’t feel like the right place to leave on.

You looked around a second wondering where he was until suddenly you heard footsteps on the other side of the tree. You moved around and low and behold there was Jimin leaning against the tree with his arms crossed.

“Jimin?” You tested already sensing something was off.

“So you’re really doing this…” His voice was low and you sensed the attitude behind his words.

“We talked about this already, as much as I want to be with you, you know that can’t happen.” You sighed, slightly annoyed you needed to repeat yourself but understood this was hard. But why was your consciousness doing this to you?

Jimin finally looked over to you and he was staring at you with that same dark gaze that you saw last time. You could still see the raging storm in his eyes, you could see the pain and hurt you’d caused.

Jimin started walking closer to you.

“And after everything we've been through, you still think I’m not real?” The question seemed to ring in your head as the words settled in the air.

Jimin kept moving closer and you were just stunned because you didn’t know what to say. Of course this wasn’t real… it couldn’t be real.

You never stopped him as he came close enough so your back was against the tree, his arms coming up by your head, effectively caging you in.

“You really still think that…” He looked shattered as he stared into your eyes.

“Jimin…” His name fell from your lips unintentionally, it was almost a sob seeing that look in his eyes. He backed up slightly, disappointment written all over his features. He paced around for a few seconds.

“Or is that what you want that to be the case?” Jimin suddenly turned back to you, he was angry, malice laced in his words.

“What?” Your eyes were teary but you were confused. Where was this coming from?

“Jimin you know—“

“Do I?” He laughed.

“You just keep telling yourself that I’m not real so you don’t feel guilty about doing shit like this.” The accusation was insane and entirely unfair, but Jimin wanted it to hurt as much as you hurt him.

You had been sympathetic at first, but that quickly was wearing thin the more he talked, because this made no sense.

“What the fuck are you talking about? For someone who’s always in my head, this one time you’re choosing to ignore any it and make these stupid fucking claims?” Now you were angry, more than that actually because why was Jimin making this so hard for you?

“Hard for you?! Do you even know—“ Jimin had to stop himself real quick, the pain was overwhelming at this point. Why did this hurt so much? He didn’t know how to handle this at all.

“You promised we’d try…” You don’t know how much those words meant to him back then. To hear that you’d be willing to put up with his incompetence when it came to this type of relationship, it meant the world to him. He’d been so scared of messing things up, he’d already had but you’d so easily forgiven his mistakes and he thought things were going good so far.

“I did! But… Jimin we tried, and we tried as far as we could. I love the time we spent together and I wish, Jimin please hear me, I wish we could try more— into the real world. I wish I could go out and introduce you to people as my boyfriend, but I can’t! Look around, we’re in my head! This isn’t real, none of this is real and as much as I’ve enjoyed my time with you Jimin this is just a sign I need to move—“

The pain just got worse and worse.

“That would make things so much easier.” His attention wasn’t on you anymore, he couldn’t look at you, instead he stared down at his bare feet in the lush green grass.

“What are you sayi—“ Before you could finish he took a step closer to you once again.

“It wouldn’t hurt as much seeing you go off with him.” He’d gotten real quiet, but you could hear the quiver in his voice.

He took another step closer so he was standing directly in front of you. His hand came up steadily to intertwine his fingers with your own, so soft and gentle.

“I’m sorry… it just hurts so much and I don’t know what to do.” He steadily lifted your hand so it was resting on his shoulder. He finally raised his head to look up at you and you could have broken down right there seeing how dark his eyes had grown.

“Jimin…”

“I’ve never felt like this before and it just hurts so fucking much. I’m sorry.” He truly did feel bad about what he said. It wasn’t right to take this out on you. But he was still mad, this was all so unfair.

“I wish— I wish things were different.” You looked up at him with sad eyes, hoping he could sense your own pain in this.

“Why couldn’t you be someone I knew— a coworker, a highschool classmate I forgot about, a stranger I pass by everyday on the way to work— anything.” You sighed, frustrated honestly.

Even if the real life Jimin wasn’t anything like the one who’s made his way into your dreams every night, it still would be a relief to know he was there, that you could actually reach out and touch him, that you haven’t gone absolutely crazy over a person who didn’t exist.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Jimin cried once again in your head when he shouldn’t be.

“Because it’s the truth—“

“I wish this wasn’t real! If I didn’t exist then I wouldn’t have to live like this— watch you run off with some other guy because I can’t be with you. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much…” It really would be better.

Every time you’d leave the dream he wouldn’t know what was happening, he would cease to exist until your mind conjured him up once again. Things would be so simple, wouldn’t it? He wished that was the case. Did you seriously not know?

He already knew that answer.

“Jimin… you seriously can’t tell me you think this is real?” Your eyes were sympathetic as you lightly ran your finger over his shoulder, before moving up to rub his neck.

Your words flipped a switch inside, you saw it happen with your own eyes, his sad gaze turning dark all in a second.

Suddenly Jimin started leaning in close, he was only centimeters from your lips.

“Is that what you want?” His voice was low, dangerous, like that was a challenge.

“Huh…” You were out of it, you couldn’t concentrate with him so close.

“Is that what you want— you wanna run off with him?” He was pissed again and back with the outrageous claims.

“Jimin—“

Suddenly you felt your other hand being lifted to rest on his shoulder as well, to which you finally wrapped your arms around his neck.

“This isn’t real?” He looked you right in the eyes.

“You’re trying to tell me what I feel for you isn’t real?” You hurt him again and you didn’t know what to say. Of course to him this was his reality but for you—

“Stop doing that!” He exclaimed, his gaze staring right through your soul.

You didn’t know what to say and Jimin didn’t want you to anymore, instead he finally closed the gap that was between you. His soft, plump lips melted against yours as you felt that fiery explosion of butterflies you did every time you and Jimin kissed.

You tried to pull him as close as you could, you wanted him to feel how no matter what, you truly did wish you could be with him.

But then he pulled away enough to separate the kiss, making a whine escape your lips.

“You’re mine.” He breathed out as his hands traveled down to rest on your hips.

“Jimin—“ Before you could finish you were silenced by his lips on yours again.

“Shut up— please, please shut the fuck up.” He sighed in between kissing you.

And this time you listened. For all you knew this might be the last time you’re seeing each other and there was no point going back and forth like this. Instead you wanted to leave this off on a positive note.

“You’re mine.” Jimin reiterated again because apparently you weren’t understanding.

This just made you kiss him harder. It quickly grew hot, heavy, and needy because you just wanted him close and this just wasn’t cutting it.

“Fuck—“ You moaned as he hurriedly pulled on his sweater.

“Do you understand? You’re mine.” He needed you to understand. He was tired of playing the act that he was fine with letting you go— no you were his. It was just that simple.

Jimin had your back pressed hard into the bark in the tree, one hand on your waist the other sliding up your arm to finally cup your cheek to angle you just as he needed you.

His body was on fire faster than he could handle and he didn’t know why. This strange rage just made him want you even more than he could process. It almost hurt— he needed to slow down—

“Jimin, please— fuck, please!” You cried needing more. You didn’t have to ask again before suddenly you were falling once again and your back was against the soft grass with Jimin hovering right on top of you.

Your breathing was heavy as you stared at each other, his dark eyes staring right into your own, a pained expression on his features.

But the moment apart was short lived as Jimin dove straight down to your neck, hastily planting kisses across your hot skin.

“You’re mine.” The grit in his voice, it was almost if he growled right in your ear and you nearly lost it all together.

Your legs hurriedly came up to wrap around his waist to pull him closer.

It was then when Jimin panicked a bit— you were so close— sin, so much sin, he needed to stop he should stop but—

Jimin’s lips were back on yours in a hurry, you moaned lightly as you felt him start to rock into your heat. So good, it felt so good.

Your hands, your hands coming up to quickly tangle in his hair, this— then your lips were on his neck, kissing, sucking, marking him up like he hoped it would.

Jimin let out a pained moan because the words on his body were burning so much it hurt but you felt so good. This strange mix of pleasure and pain had his body confused and he bucked faster into you because fuck—

He should have stopped, he needed to stop but it just never felt like it was enough. He needed you to know who you belonged to.

By now he would have stopped because the longer you kissed the more excited he knew he was getting. He never wanted things to get that far, scared he might reach a point of no return, but something about today was different, he wanted you to feel just how much he wanted you.

And it didn’t take very long for that to happen…

It was too much. Every touch, every kiss he gave to you, he could feel it all. The connection you shared allowed him to feel for the both of you and it quickly got overwhelming.

He couldn’t control it and it just made that fire burn uncontrollably as your fervent hands ran down up and down his back and through his hair.

He loved kissing you, he loved touching you and he loved how it felt when you did it back. And to think this was sin— it was, it had to be in the way you practically bewitched him.

“Jimin…” You moaned softly because you could feel it now.

Jimin broke away from you slightly to grab your hand and trailed it down over the fabric of his toned chest, down to his waistband of his sweatpants, and then you could feel the outline.

Jimin groaned as he lightly rubbed himself along your hand.

“Does this not feel real to you?” He could hardly get it out, his mind was fuzzy and he was screaming at himself not to push this any further but he just couldn’t stop.

Your eyes stared right into his with pain because as much as you wanted to—

“Stop doing that!” He whined, your hand was right there.

He couldn’t think straight anymore, he wanted to fuck you, he wanted you to understand how much he wanted you, he wanted you to realize it.

Jimin quickly pulled your hand away and was kissing you once again with even more ferocity. He had to make you understand, he couldn’t lose you.

He pushed into you, faster, harder, so fucking desperate.

You weren’t quite understanding the situation, you honestly thought that this was just going to be a heated goodbye. You thought this was your consciousness giving you one last hooray with Jimin before you needed to come back down to reality.

You just knew if you both weren’t naked in the next thirty seconds you were going to lose your mind. But Jimin thwarted any attempts you made at pulling down his sweatpants, even taking off his sweater proved to be an impossible task and you might have been more confused if Jimin didn’t make sure your attention stayed on him nonetheless.

You had never felt this turned on yet sexually frustrated simultaneously, but you enjoyed the grind, the hurried pace he set and you just wanted him too—

Suddenly a pain whined left his lips and you felt his hips falter slightly.

Oh? Was he close?

You pulled him closer, needing him as close as he could get.

If only—

You were so distracted by Jimin you hardly noticed things started to change around you. The beautiful meadow in your mind slowly started to drift away but all you could focus on was Jimin’s moans and his lips on yours.

It didn’t dawn onto you until it steadily started to realize you didn’t feel the grass against your back. The thought was brief compared to the feeling of Jimin hastily pulling off of you.

You finally opened your eyes and you were shocked to see you were staring up at what you quickly recognized as your bedroom’s ceiling.

You blinked a couple of times before you finally turned beside you where all the commotion was coming from.

Someone was beside you.

It almost sounded like they were in pain at their low groans and how they almost seemed curled up beside you. And it almost sounded like—

You hesitantly sat up and low and behold you saw Jimin’s pained face as he was clutching onto one of your pillows.

It was Jimin but he looked slightly different, gone was his blue hair, matching sweater and sweatpants— instead he was wearing a white, short sleeve shirt, with matching white flowy pants, he was also blonde again.

What was going on?

“Jimin?’ You finally said something.

The longer you sat here the more you realized something was off. That haziness, dreamy, whimsical feeling you always felt when you were with Jimin wasn’t here.

You looked down and you weren’t wearing your pretty white dress, instead your silky olive green robe you had thrown over the lingerie you had put on.

You looked around more and in fact this was your room, it looked exactly like your room eerily similar. Even the clothes you had set out for your date crumbled up underneath Jimin’s feet.

This seemed real… too real.

You felt awake.

“Jimin…?” You tried again, this time lightly placing a hand on his shoulder.

You weren’t seeing things, you could feel him, and at your touch he finally looked at you for a split second.

Light brown eyes looked back over you.

You could touch him, he was warm, and his pained whines…

Suddenly your whole conversation came back to you.

“And after everything we've been through, you still think I’m not real?”

You sat there waiting for you to wake up for real but the more you stared at Jimin the more you felt like that wouldn’t happen.

“Are—are you happy now?” His voice was muffled beside you by the pillow.

“I told you, you were mine…”

Suddenly it slapped you in the face.

You weren’t dreaming… were you?

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peach-fiz · 5 months

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I actually didn't even bother watching the second season of Loki because of the cheap marketing and inconsistent storytelling.

It just felt like the plot was lifted off somewhere it would have made sense, and a character with a similar ego was replaced with Loki and goes through an arc that might have made sense for a blank slate character, but not someone who already has a backstory.

Loki doesn't even feel like Loki after three episodes in S1. The whole point of having a show like that just seems to be about the TVA and Sylvie.

Also the whole genderfluid thing. They 'confirmed' it in the promo and had a line in the script that went completely against anything they just said.

I knew at once that the writers, directors and other parts of production were really just pulling it in different directions and it would probably sound like a jazz trumpeter and a metal guitarist trying to improvise after knowing each other for 15 minutes.

I've been meaning to watch it just so I can have educated opinions on all of it but it's just,, so hard to get into. I definitely agree the marketing was cheap, they did with the 80s McDonald's like they did DB Cooper!Loki and made it centric to the advertising because McDonalds was also getting something out of it which is kinda ass seeing as realistically Loki Laufeyson would burn 6 of them down before he ate in one 😭

I personally don't like either of the major ships in the show but the forced Sylki shit in season 1 really got to me. Like not only did she completely replace him as the main character in HIS show, she's also a variant of him who he wants to make out with and overall it just reads as lazy writing and it's extremely disappointing that Mike Waldron has been put in charge of Multiverse of Madness and The Kang Dynasty since, due to the popularity of the Loki TV show. I was talking to my boyfriend about this last night but it kinda reminds me of the complaints people had ab the last Indiana Jones movie but opposite? Like everyone complained his best friend's daughter was gonna replace him bc she's a Mary Sue and she rlly isnt, she's more reminiscent of Marion in Raiders of the Lost Ark she just doesn't wanna fuck him. But the difference is Indy is a character who's majorly blank for little boys to project themselves onto. Which is great!! It works for those kind of movies, but they're not character development centric like the individual mcu movies tend to be. Loki is characterized in a way that he's drowning in identity issues and family problems and he experiences growth in every installment whether it be positive or negative. It doesn't make sense to take the formula of an Indidna Jones movie where he meets up with a woman who's typically a love interest and has her own issues that are only slightly touched on because that's not the focus, and they go do the plot.

Sylvie is not an Indy Girl, they straight up are trying to replace Loki with Sylvie. And you can tell the character wasn't supposed to have as much importance as she does in the show bc the character was worked on more after the actress they chose was buddies with a producer ( and this is no hate to the actress I'm sure she's delightful everything I've seen her in in terms of interviews has been lovely ).

I also absolutely agree they should've just made a tva mini series to introduce the tva rather than bringing back a dead character who soon will not make much sense anyway because Tom Hiddleston is getting older (and also he deserves to branch out in his career).

The genderfluid thing was a cash grab and it sucks ass, they just want money for acknowledging things already canon in the comics, same with confirming him as bisexual.

My boyfriend is actually writing a fic on ao3 called Find Me that's rlly good if you want Loki content that isn't related to the show.

(YES this is shameless promotion sshhhhshshsh) but fr the loki TV show makes me more confident in my screenwriting bc t h a t got put on disney plus. I'm also working on a Loki show rewrite in my spare time!!

#kid loki #loki (marvel)#loki and thor #loki laufeyson #anti loki show #anti lokius #lokius #anti sylki #tom hiddleston #screenwriting #fic rec #loki fic #logyn #logyn fanfic #mike waldron #peachy rants #long post

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thecooler · 7 months

Text

Interstellar Molecular Cloud

It ends with Bonnie and Marceline clinging to each other as they fall towards their deaths. It begins with two lost girls, alone in the wasteland, finding hope in each other. An exploration of Bonnie and Marcy's early relationship in the Alternate Universe presented in "The Star".

Relationship: Princess Bubblegum / Marceline

Tags: Vampworld!Au, Vampire Hunter PB, Angst, Friends to Enemies, Post-Apocalypse

Word Count: 5,930

A03 Mirror

Bonnibel Bubblegum is thirteen years old when she meets her for the first time. She is thirteen years old, and she has blood on her hands. This isn’t something that bothers her, really. Vampire blood isn’t like regular person blood. It’s a mark of honor, if anything, a badge she wears with great pride. She’s snuffed out more vamps than anyone she knows.

Not that she knows many people.

She’s picking her way through what used to be a convenience store. For the most part, it’s long since been picked clean, but Bonnie is resourceful— has to be, to make it out here. She sets a sensor at the main entrance, then two more near the broken windows, and then she gets to work. She breaks tables apart and whittles their legs into stakes. She takes apart broken down cash registers and pockets parts that have even the slight possibility of being useful.

One of her sensors goes off, and her blaster is out of her pocket before she even turns around, gripped confidently as her other hand falls to one of the stakes lining her belt. She falters when she registers what’s in front of her.

She’s a girl. Around Bonnie’s age, by the look of it. She has short cropped black hair, pointed ears, and slate-gray skin. She’s wearing a deep, dark purple dress with black lacy bits around the skirts, and if Bonnie were to allow herself to stop and really look for a second, she might note that it’s pretty on her. But what really stands out about her is the long, exposed length of her neck. Bonnie lets her blaster fall to her side and uses her free hand to tug her scarf up over her nose.

“Uh. Hey,” the other girl says, taking a step closer when Bonnie begins to rifle through her bag. She pulls out a spare scarf— a tattered old thing with more than a couple mysterious stains marring the ruddy surface. She shoves it towards the stranger.

“You should really cover up,” she says curtly.

The girl looks down at the offering, and for a moment, the only sound is the distant, familiar sound of oozers groaning a few blocks away. And then the girl’s lips quirk up into a smile, and to Bonnie’s outrage and horror, she laughs. Not just a little chuckle, either. This girl is full-on guffawing. She’s loud about it too, like she doesn’t know how dangerous it is to be heard. Bonnie moves faster than she can think, smacking her hand over the other girl’s mouth.

And she licks it.

“Uhg!” Bonnie pulls back, nose wrinkling in disgust, and the girl laughs even louder.

Bonnie’s hand clamps down on the handle of her blaster until it hurts. She takes a step back, glaring daggers in the girl’s direction. Once she manages to stop laughing for two seconds, pausing to wipe tears from her eyes, she has the gall to extend a hand towards Bonnie. Her smile is crooked and it’s not even a little bit charming. “Name’s Marceline,” she says, like Bonnie cares.

“Well, Marceline,” Bonnie forces as much contempt as she can muster into the name. She hates how it feels on her tongue, “a vamp’s gonna use you like a ding—danged juicebox if you don’t cover up your neck.”

“Uh, yeah,” Marceline rolls her eyes, which makes the fire in Bonnie’s chest burn and lap up her throat, “I wouldn’t worry about that, princess. Vamps won’t even think about touching me.” She says it with this maddening unearned confidence, and Bonnie thinks she’s never been so angry in her entire life. She shoves her blaster roughly back into its holster. She should just leave, let Marceline get what’s coming to her. She’s never paused for anyone else before.

But she’s watching Bonnie with these big brown eyes, and that stupid crooked grin hasn’t left her face. Her posture is relaxed, hands dug into pockets that look hastily patched onto her skirts. “Sooooo—” she says, tilting back on the balls of her feet, “where are y’off to now?”

None of your business, Bonnie thinks. “My tank,” she says out loud. She’s disarming her sensors and popping them back in her pockets. The sound of the oozers is closer now. She might need to move the tank for the night.

“Woah, back up— your tank?” Marceline echoes, suddenly right over Bonnie’s shoulder. “Nuh-uh. You can’t just say something like that and then not show me. C’mon, princess—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then tell me your name.”

She pauses, looking over Marceline. How has she survived like this? She seems so carefree, like she’s not even a little bit scared. She finds she can’t stay mad about it. There’s something entrancing there— something that Bonnie finds she can’t define. And she isn’t used to not knowing things. It makes her want to talk to Marceline more, to find out how she ticks. “Bonnie. Follow me, and keep up.”

Her tank— which is a bit of a misnomer, if she’s being honest— is parked nearby. It’s really more of a pick-up truck rigged with traps and reinforced windows. As she approaches she reaches into her left pocket and taps a code into a remote, deactivating her security system so that she and Marceline can clamber inside. Bonnie climbs into the passenger seat and watches through narrowed eyes as the other girl ooos and ahhs over her equipment.

“What’s this do?” she asks, picking up one of her more recent projects, which will hopefully sense vampiric presence within a three kilometer radius once finished.

“It’s a bomb,” Bonnie says flatly, then snorts when Marceline drops it in a hurry.

“Kidding. It’s a sensor I’ve been working on.”

Marceline blinks at her, then her face breaks into a smile again, and this time it makes Bonnie’s heart skip. Bizarre. “I didn’t know you joked.”

“You don’t know me at all.” No one does. She tries to keep it that way.

“Okay,” Marceline leans closer, propping herself up against the armrest, “then let’s get to know each other.”

Bonnie knows she should say no. Instead, she says, “Alright.”

☆

In one of the seats of her truck, under a section of peeled leather, Bonnie keeps a thin stack of papers and a collection of pencils. The paper is gray, thin, and worn from countless times being drawn on, then erased. When she’s alone in her truck at night— when Marceline goes home, or she finishes scavenging on her own, she’ll take out the paper and use moonlight to sketch little candy people. She imagines what they’d be like, what their hopes and aspirations would be.

She’s never breathed a word of it to anyone, much less shown them. To be fair, she hasn’t really had anyone to tell. But one day, when Marceline stays a little later than usual, Bonnie pulls out one of her drawings, and she tells her friend about a sentient Root Beer who’s an aspiring crime novelist, and Marceline listens.

☆

Bonnibel Bubblegum is fifteen years old when she figures out what a crush is. She’s fifteen years old, and she’s running for her stinkin’ life through a crumbling alleyway with Marceline’s hand clutched in hers. They’d been sitting in the back of her truck, like they did all the time, and clearly, Bonnie had let herself grow complicit, unobservant, because one minute she was listening to Marceline read out one of the kissy bits in an old romance novel they’d scavenged, and the next she was looking around and realizing there were about twenty vampires lurking around the corner.

She should’ve just gotten in the truck. If she’d given herself a moment to think, they’d both be safe in the vehicle and bookin’ it down the road, knocking vampire heads along the way.

But instead she’d panicked.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

And now Marceline’s in danger, too, and she’s giggling as Bonnie drags her along, like it’s some sort of game. Like there isn’t a gaggle of parasites looking to leech their fluids. Bonnie skids around a corner and throws both of them against a wall, arm slamming against Marceline’s chest. Her breaths come out heavy and ragged, and her free hand begins to pick at her belt.

Four stakes, a garlic bomb— she doesn’t even have her blaster.

“Bonnie?” Marceline looks worried— which is the response she should have been having from the start. For her part, Bonnie jerks her arm away from her chest and adjusts her scarf in hopes of covering the blush she knows is creeping up her neck. Marceline always teases her for how obvious it is when she gets flustered.

“They’re probably still on our tails. Dang nabit! I shoulda been paying more attention. You distracted me!” she points an accusing finger at Marceline, nearly poking her in the nose. But the other girl, unperturbed, bats her finger away.

“Look! We’re fine. I’m telling you, Bonbon, vamps never mess with me.”

She says that a lot. Whenever Bonnie brings up the subject of vampires, she hedges, changes the subject. She’s never pushed it, because she figures that she’s just putting on her little tough girl act or whatever, but right now Bonnie’s pumped on adrenaline and her body wants to feel a million intense emotions at once, so she settles on anger.

“Why?” she asks, crowding Marceline up against the crumbling brick. “Why don’t they mess with you, Marceline?”

Marceline blinks, her cheeks flushing dark, something that Bonnie doesn’t think she’s ever seen. “Uh— do you need to be so close for this conversation?”

“Answer me.” She is so done with this. She’s watched vampires drain hundreds of people. They don’t even hesitate, so what makes Marceline so damn special?

Marceline laughs nervously, eyes darting away, her blush deepening. She waves her hands in vague gestures and makes a couple aborted attempts to start a sentence— well, uh, you know— before eventually pushing out. “I mean, I haven’t died so far, right?”

She looks tense, and her voice wavers as she speaks. She seems almost scared. And that, at least, makes sense to Bonnie. That, at least, is familiar. She breathes out a long, heavy sigh and takes a step back, then another. Her back hits the opposite wall and she slides down until she hits the ground and her baggy cargo pants immediately soak through with what she’s going to assume, for her own sanity, is water. “I worry about you, you know.” She can’t meet Marceline’s eyes when she says it. Doesn’t need to. She can vividly imagine the wrinkle of her brow, the way her lips tug into a tiny frown and her deep brown eyes take on that almost pleading look. Bonnie crowds her knees to her chest and focuses on a random brick in the wall instead.

“Bon,” Marceline’s voice is soft, barely audible over the persistent noise of the dead city— the wind rattling dilapidated architecture, the skittering of mutated rats. Her hand falls on Bonnie’s shoulder, causing her to tense, “you don’t need to worry about me.”

Hot, fiery indignation rises in Bonnie— it burns through her chest and prickles uncomfortably up her spine. “Of course I worry about you, you- you nimrod!” she lets out a frustrated growl when Marceline has the nerve to snort at the insult, “you’re the only person I have in this place— you’re my only friend. If you die because you couldn’t be bothered to take care of yourself, then—” then she’d be back to the way she was before. The way she’d been for as long as she could remember. Alone. Surviving.

She doesn’t understand how she can be just fine on her own for thirteen years, and now, after knowing Marceline for two, she can’t even conceive of going back to that. She stands, and Marceline, for once, is stunned silent, mouth hanging slightly open. “If you’re not gonna take care of yourself, at least let me protect you.” She knows immediately that it’s a silly thing to say. Marceline is all she has, but she knows that she isn’t all Marceline has. She has a dad, somewhere. She’s never met him, because Marceline insists she wouldn’t get along with him. She doesn’t need protection from her, specifically.

It’s also silly because she knows good and well that Marceline can brawl with the best of them. She’s seen her smash a mutant rat skull under her steel-toed boots more than a few times.

The weight of just how much she doesn’t need Bonnibel sits like a rock in her stomach. Her shoulders sag, and the fire snuffs out in her. All at once, she feels exhausted.

And then Marceline’s arms are around her, and she’s being drawn into a hug, and an altogether different sort of flame lights up her chest. It makes it hard to breathe. Her hands hover awkwardly over Marceline’s back for a moment, before settling gently against the soft fabric of her tank top.

“You know, for a total braniac, you can be a real numbskull.”

Bonnie pulls back, intending to glare, but when she’s met with a signature Marceline grin, her heart skips a beat, and she knows the look she ends up shooting her is nowhere near intimidating. Marceline tilts her head and hums quietly. “Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll let you play knight for me, alright?”

“That’s not—”

“And I’ll be more careful. If it pleases the lady.”

Bonnie's shoulders box up around her ears, and her fingernails dig into her palms, “It does.”

“Alright then,” Marceline reaches over and attempts to tousle her short-cropped hair, only to pull back. “I, uh, sometimes forget you’re like, actually made of candy.”

And then they both snort, and the tension evaporates. There’s a moment of silence, before Marceline pats her on the back and gestures with a wave of her hand. “C’mon, all that running around made me hungry. I think there’s an old soda machine nearby. Bet we could smash it up and get you some parts while we’re there, huh?”

She punctuates the sentence with another lopsided smile, and doesn’t wait for Bonnie to respond before sauntering off. Bonnie watches her go for a moment, her heart still thumping loud enough that she’s surprised Marceline doesn’t hear it. Or she would be, if she was less aware of how her own cardiovascular system worked.

She thinks back to the romance novel they’d been reading together. She has a stack of them in the glove compartment of her truck. A lot of them are missing parts, or are partially rotted. But she cherishes them anyway— she cherishes the flowery prose, and the silly, saccharine protagonists. But she doesn’t think she’s ever fully understood them until now.

The revelation takes all of ten seconds. And then, Bonnie straightens her back, adjusts her scarf, and follows behind Marceline.

☆

Marceline never brings her back to her house. She says that her dad likes to keep it a secret, that he’s real paranoid. Bonnie asks where she gets her attitude from, and Marceline tells her she’s a wild child. And the next day, she brings a red bass guitar in the shape of a labrys.

She tells Bonnie that she can’t bring her home, but she can bring Bonnie something of hers.

And then she sings, and it’s awkward, and fumbling. She keeps stopping to laugh and apologize, adjusting her instrument or clearing her throat before continuing on, or starting a new song altogether.

She sings about making it on your own, and busting up oozers, and day-old fries. She sings about sweet candy, and she looks into Bonnie’s eyes while she does it.

☆

Bonnibel Bubblegum is seventeen years old when everything changes. She’s seventeen years old, and she’s pretty sure she’s gonna die for real this time.

She’s in an old storm drain, up to her ankles in stagnant, tepid water. Marceline’s breathing heavily next to her, and for once in her life she actually looks properly scared. She doesn’t have time to be vindicated now, though, because at their back is a wall of rubble, and in front of them is an army of huge, mutated, six-legged squirrels. Their teeth are long and gnarled, their eyes bulging and blind. They can barely keep themselves upright as they lumber towards them, and if there weren’t so dang many of them, maybe there’d be a chance of fighting them off.

Bonnie feels cold, but she feels calm, too. She’s read, before, about people getting all calm before they die. Like— there’s nothing more you can do, so you might as well close your eyes and accept it. Like your brain is giving you one last moment of peace before you bite the big one.

She looks over at Marceline, awash in pale gray light filtering through tiny holes in the ceiling, and she doesn’t completely think through her words before she says, “Marceline,” she reaches up and presses her palm to Marceline’s cheek. Deep brown eyes, wild with fear, soften minutely when they meet hers. “Before we get all mashed up into squirrel chow—” uh “— can I kiss you?”

Marceline stares at her, slack-jawed, and it lasts for maybe five seconds, which is more than enough time for Bonnie’s mind to start panicking. She flips through apologies, she contemplates going out in a blaze of glory smashing squirrel skulls just to have something to distract her in her final seconds. Her hand jolts away from Marceline’s cheek, but the other girl grabs her wrist and holds it in place.

And then she says, “My dad’s the Vampire King.”

The squirrels are going to be on them in less than thirty seconds. There’s a huge pile of rocks behind them. Bonnie has never been more fucking angry in her entire life. A loud, guttural, “WHAT?” rips from her throat, and it doesn’t even sound like her. In that moment, Bonnie realizes that she has to get out of here alive, because there’s no way she’s going willingly to any dead world with this as her last memory. She whips her blaster out of its holster, tugs Marceline roughly behind her by the arm, and begins to blast the top of the rubble pile.

Bits of stone shoot like bullets, scraping against their skin, “Ow! Bonnie—” Marceline starts, but she’s interrupted by Bonnie hooking an arm under her legs and hoisting her up and through the narrow hole her blasts have managed to create. “Climb, you dink!” And, to her benefit, Marceline climbs, Bonnie hot on her heels.

The two of them fall in a heap on the other side, and Bonnie is ready to tear Marceline a new one right then and there, but one of those freaky squirrels is shoving its grubby mitts through the hole, dislodging more rocks. “Book it, Marceline— this conversation isn’t over,” Bonnie says, shoving Marceline along, which evokes a hiss from the other girl, but she doesn’t argue.

Water soaks into Bonnie’s cargo pants— it seeps into her boots and drenches her socks as they slosh through the tunnel, fighting towards the light at the end. Sunlight breaks upon them, and they don’t stop running. The grass is slippery under their feet, but they climb their way to the top of a hill, so they’re at a vantage point, in the shade of a solitary oak tree, alive against all odds. Kind of like them.

Bonnie’s hands are gripping her knees as she catches her breath, and her jaw is tensed so hard it’s starting to hurt. When she glares up at Marceline, the vampire hugger at least has the self-awareness to look ashamed, for a moment, before she looks away.

“Don’t—” Bonnie huffs, “—don’t look away from me. You have a whole world of explaining to do, like, yesterday.”

“Orrrrr we could go back to that bit about kissing?” Marceline hedges, but Bonnie is having absolutely none of that. The part of her who’d asked for that, minutes ago, is as good as staked through the heart. The look she’s giving Marceline must convey at least some of that, because she swallows, presses her back against the gnarled oak tree, and slides down. Once she hits the ground, she starts bonking her head gently against the tree. “Well, what do you want me to tell you?”

“Uh, how about you start by telling me how long you’ve been rubbin’ shoulders with bloodsuckers?” Bonnie snaps, sitting cross-legged and straight-backed across from Marceline. All business. Marceline looks at her with her biggest puppy-dog eyes, and Bonnie does a valiant job at pretending to be unaffected. “Talk.” She says through gritted teeth.

“I mean—” Marceline clenches her fists, looks at the ground, “I knew you were gonna be weird about this.”

“Uh, no doi? I’ve been staking those suckers since I was old enough to walk— they’re crashing the mammalian population of this continent into nothing, Marceline. It’s not sustainable, and it’s not right.”

Marceline’s shoulders tense, “Oh yeah, because it’s always Bonnibel Bubblegum who gets to decide what’s right.”

“Oh, can it, Marceline! It doesn’t take a masters’ in ethics to figure out that slurpin’ people’s juices up nasty style isn’t a cool thing to do.”

“And so what are we supposed to do—”

“Oh, so it’s we now?” Bonnie is aware that her voice is higher than she’d usually allow it to go. At this volume, they’re bound to draw attention, but she’s past caring about that.

“Yeah— we— because my dad is the Vampire King,” Marceline is standing now, forcing herself into Bonnie’s space. She responds by standing straight and tilting her chin up. She forces herself to look into Marceline’s eyes as she tears their relationship up from the inside. “We don’t have any other choice. We have to feed somehow.”

“Have you tried anything else?” Bonnie’s voice is ice cold. She knows the answer to the question, but she feels no vindication when Marceline averts her gaze. “Of course not.”

Silence hangs between them for a moment, and Bonnie hugs her arms around herself, busies herself by checking the perimeter. The squirrels must’ve found something else to focus on, or they couldn’t manage to get through the opening she made.

“What do you want me to do, Bonnie?” Marceline’s voice is defeated, and sadder than she’s ever heard it.

Bonnie’s grip tightens around herself. She bites down on her tongue and does not let her frustration bubble up into tears. She won’t give Marceline the satisfaction. “I want you to be better than them,” she says, “vampires can’t keep feeding like they have, or you’ll run out of food before the end of the decade, and then,” she shrugs. And then, it didn’t matter. The vampires would turn on themselves, or they’d starve. Either way, it ends in desolation, unless something changes.

She manages to look at Marceline again, and she knows immediately that it’s a mistake. She’s never been able to keep up her walls when those big brown eyes get watery. “You’re not a vampire yet,” she says, reaching out tentatively. Her hand hovers over Marceline’s shoulder, hesitant but inviting— practically begging for her to move into her space. To give her something, anything. Bonnibel Bubblegum has never been one to beg, but the words crowd now at the back of her throat. Please, she wants to say, I don’t have anyone else. Don’t turn your back on me.

Marceline stares at her hovering hand, then meets her gaze. She steps back, and Bonnie’s hand falls back to her side. “Not yet. He isn’t gonna turn me until my eighteenth birthday.”

She says it like an inevitability, like she’s already made her choice. In six months, unless something changes, Marceline is going to build a wall between them that can never be surmounted. Bonnie feels her airways tighten. She should have seen this coming, really, so maybe it’s her fault. It all seems so obvious in retrospect— the secrecy about her dad, the nonchalance about vampires. How did she never see it?

“I think being around you makes me stupid.”

Marceline flinches back, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bonnie doesn’t respond. She turns away from the girl she thought she knew, and begins her walk home.

“Goodnight, Marceline,” she whispers, and she doesn’t look back.

☆

Bonnie spends the next six months dedicated to her work. Marceline comes by a few times, tries to start up a conversation, like nothing’s changed. She doesn’t bring up her dad, or anything they talked about. Bonnie ignores her until she leaves, and ignores the way doing so makes her chest ache and burn. She finishes building her tank, and she shows it off to no one.

☆

Bonnibel Bubblegum is eighteen years old the first time she tries to kill Marceline.

She’s been avoiding her. They’ve talked very briefly a couple of times since that day on the hill, but Bonnie isn’t willing to let her guard down again. She keeps thinking about all the sides of herself she’s shown Marceline over the years— about all her silly little passion projects she’s shown off. She let her read her corny romance novels— she wanted to kiss her. She doesn’t understand how she’d miscalculated so severely, but she knows she can’t let it happen again.

Marceline’s birthday grows closer. Usually, on the night of, after Marceline was done spending the day with her family (she thinks, now, about how she was never invited and why, and she bites down so hard on the inside of her cheek that she tastes thick, syrupy blood), the two of them would sit up on a rooftop and watch the sun dip behind the hazy horizon. Bonnie didn’t know when her birthday was when they met, had never thought it mattered. So back on the first birthday they spent together, Marceline declared they could share one.

They would sit, year after year, and exchange gifts, and talk until their eyelids were droopy and they were one good yawn away from passing out in the open.

It was all so miserably soft.

Tonight, she doesn’t bring a gift. She has eight stakes in her belts, and some flash bombs and a pocket knife in the deep pockets of her best cargo pants. In her back pocket— the one that zips up— is the keys to her tank. She’d come here to answer one question, and she’s prepared for whichever answer Marceline has to give her. At least, her mind is ready. Her heart will just have to tough it out.

She doesn’t even make it to the roof before she bumps into Marceline, in the dingy bottom floor of the abandoned house. Half the floorboards are missing, and the ceiling is partially collapsed onto what used to be a couch. Marceline is in a form-fitting knee-length red dress with long sleeves. She looks good. “You came,” she says, sounding breathless. She holds out a tiny box wrapped in newspaper. Bonnie doesn’t take it.

“You said that your dad would turn you when you were eighteen,” she glances at Marceline’s neck, exposed as always, and finds no marks.

Marceline swallows, and Bonnie has to look away again, “I asked him to wait,” she says, “I wanted to talk to you first.”

She knows that she shouldn’t let hope take root in her, but she can’t quite hide her yearning flinch at the words. They hang above her, ripe with possibility. But she won’t be reckless, like she had been before. “Talk to me about what, exactly?” and she makes herself meet Marceline’s eyes as she says it, even if doing so makes it feel like she’s being torn apart and left out in the sun for the vultures.

“Bonnie,” Marceline says carefully, like she thinks Bonnie might break. She steps forward, and Bonnie steps back. Marceline’s eyes are big and brown and beautiful, and so, so sad. “I want to be your friend. I miss you.”

I miss you too, she doesn’t say, because what she really misses is ignorance. But damn if her heart doesn’t twist and burn with desire. Damn if she doesn’t want to push herself into Marceline’s arms and take whatever she’ll give her. But it isn’t just about the two of them. It never has been.

“Marceline, I have one question,” she doesn’t move to grab a weapon yet, but she does adjust her feet for better motion, “do you still plan on becoming a vampire?”

Marceline’s breath hitches, and her eyes dart to the side. Her brows furrow, and again, that pesky little seed of hope threatens to take root. But then, she speaks, and she says, “Yes, Bonnie. I do.”

Bonnie stares at the person she once called friend, and it looks like she’s pleading, though for what, she can’t be sure. Their friendship, maybe. Or maybe just mercy. In either case, Bonnie can’t offer her what she wants.

“Okay, then,” Bonnie says, and she rips a stake out of her belt and bursts into motion.

Her body collides with Marceline’s, and surprise offers her an advantage. Marceline lets out a sharp yelp and crashes against the rotten wood underfoot. She bites out the first part of Bonnie’s name, but is cut short when Bonnie’s palm collides with her forehead and slams her head back.

Tears blur Bonnie’s vision. She wants to get this over with quickly. She’s spent days thinking about how it’ll play out, and days weeping pathetically in her tank when she considered the thought of Marceline’s blood under her fingernails. A necessary evil, she told herself over and over, hoping that in doing so she would solidify it as a truth.

I’m hurting you because I love you, bounces loudly in her skull, but all that erupts from her throat is a formless, pained caterwaul as she slips her pocket knife out and flips it open. She sounds like a trapped animal in its death throes.

“Fuck you, Bonnie!” Marceline cries, and then she jerks up and bites hard where Bonnie’s thumb joint meets her palm. Bonnie’s body reacts before her mind can catch up, and she stumbles backwards, giving Marceline the opportunity to clamber on top of her, legs bracketing her hips. She has a stake in a white-knuckle grip, and Bonnie isn’t sure how she got it, but she’s holding it over her head and shaking, and tears are running down her cheeks and falling onto Bonnie’s scarf.

Something she learned early on, before Marceline was a name in her head, is that hesitation is what gets you killed. Vampires can move lightning quick, and if you pause for even a second, that’s ample time for them to get their fangs in you. Marceline won’t ever be a vampire if she can help it, and right now she’s trembling and clenching her teeth, and her cheeks are flushed with frustration. Bonnie refuses to look in her eyes. She slams a fist against the other girl’s temple and doesn’t waste time watching her roll.

Her legs shake despite her best efforts as she hauls herself up. “I’m doing you a favor, you know,” she says, and she hates that she can hear a waver in her voice. She hates that tears are stinging at the backs of her eyes and her throat is tightening painfully.

“You tried to stab me.”

She isn’t going to get it, and there’s really no point in explaining herself. Marceline has proven she’s too far gone. Years under the Vampire King’s influence has poisoned her mind, and the only antidote is a swift and merciful death. Bonnie clenches tighter around the handle of her knife. “Vampires don’t make it past the first dead world,” is all she can manage to say, and then she has to move again.

Hesitation is what gets you killed. If she pauses, she might change her mind, and she can’t afford that.

She lunges again, but surprise isn’t on her side this time, and Marceline may not be a Vampire, but she was raised in the wasteland, same as her, and for all the worries of her youth, she’s always been a good fighter. She won’t go down without a fight. Good— Bonnie wouldn’t have it any other way.

She’s fast, always has been, and even if she’s rattled from being tossed around, she doesn’t show it. Bright blood trickles down a cut on her forearm as she walks a slow circle around Bonnie, eyes still wide and pleading. “Just let me go, Bon. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Does she think that Bonnie wanted this? “I’ve been killing vampires my whole life,” she grits out. Marceline knows this. It’s never been a secret. How must it have felt, sneaking around with a vampire hunter, then going back to her den at night. Did she tell the others about her? Did they laugh together at her naivete? Has everything about them always been one big joke?

She’s been killing vampires her whole life, and it’s never hurt like this.

A familiar burn rages through her chest, laps up her throat, and emerges as a deafening roar as she charges, slamming her forearm against Marceline’s chest. Her teeth clack together painfully as the two of them crash into the wall, which creaks under their combined weight.

She presses the blade of her knife to Marceline’s throat, watches as bright red droplets run down steel. She’s stalling. She knows she’s stalling. She could slit her throat in one fluid motion and have it be done with.

The next part happens too quickly, and it’s over in an instant. The hand with the stake— she’d forgotten the stupid stake— flicks up, and then the sharpened end is piercing her eye with an awful pop, and Bonnie is collapsing on the floor, ears ringing and vision swimming. Her hands scramble desperately at her face, and distantly, she hears footsteps against the floor, the clattering of wood on wood. Her breath is coming quick and painful. It burns in her throat.

All at once, half her world is gone.

She looks down at her own trembling hands and finds them coated in her blood— a deep, dark purple. She gasps and flips onto her rear, wildly swinging her head to and fro to find where Marceline might be now.

But she’s nowhere.

She’s gone— fled into the night. Lost to Bonnie forever.

And so Bonnie sits in that old house for a long time, breathing, trying not to cry, trying even harder not to throw up. A parcel wrapped in newspaper lay on the floor, and despite her better judgment, Bonnie unwraps it. Inside is a mostly-intact photo frame, and enshrined within that is a photo of the two of them that Marceline took with an old camera nearly a year ago. In it, Marceline’s arm is slung over Bonnie’s shoulder, and they’re both laughing.

She’s never hated anything more.

She has to patch up her face, to get a good look at it and clean it out before infection sets in. But it’s hard to think logically when she feels like her entire life has been torn to shreds from the inside. She breathes, and she breathes, until the pattern of it is slow and regular and she’s only trembling slightly. And then she stands, wipes blood on her cargo pants, and begins her walk back home. She leaves the gift behind.

She’s eighteen years old, and she has to learn to be alone again.

#adventure time #atimers #fionna and cake #bubbline #marceline abadeer #marceline the vampire queen #princess bubblegum #writing tag #hiiiiiiiiiiiii

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pink-strawberry-kissess · 1 year

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Leon x ships (and why I don’t support anything other than aeon)

THIS IS MY OPINION, you are free to ignore this. But these are my particular reasonings as to why I do not enjoy the other ships for Leon and why I find them incredibly problematic.

❤️ Aeon (Leon x Ada)

I started this blog because I fell in love with the ship. It has the right amount of hurt/comfort that I was desiring at the time, and when I really broke down all the intricacies of the ship, I couldn’t get over it.

To get things as crystal clear as possible. MOST AEON shippers do not think that aeon is a healthy relationship. It’s very much a push and pull of two people that realistically shouldn’t be together but find each other in each other’s lives. 20 years were spent to work through this “relationship.” (think batman and catwoman)

re2 we have the meeting. The way they gravitate towards each other, but the way that Leon changes Ada. Only when she realizes that he’s simply a good person wanting to do the good thing, she struggled to finish what she needed to do. Which was HER JOB. It’s not too far to say that she WOULD’VE maybe been killed if she didn’t complete her job. She’s not in a safe position. People don’t realize that. When Ada “dies,” a part of Leon dies with him.

re4 we have another meeting. Leon’s hurt. He’s confused and all of sudden Ada is alive again. He had years of mental anguish and survivors guilt. He holds a lot of resentment towards her. And yet Ada still finds the desire and need to want to protect him. She protects him during her entire campaign. (Play Separate ways before speaking to me..) and at the end, he lets her go with the virus. He doesn’t want this to happen but he can’t stop her. They leave each other in less that desirable circumstances. But he still doesn’t stop her.

off screen re5 we have simply, “the night,” they spend together. Romantic, maybe in a hotel. How we go from re4 to this is never expanded on and since it’s off screen, we’re only here to speculate on what could’ve happened. (They had sex) which is implied in-

re damnation “the sexy one.” a film in which they simply flirt with each other the entire time. The “so when are we going to um, carry on from where we left off that night?”

“So you missed me huh?” Even in this film, we have Ada saving Leon AGAIN. “You owe me one,” before she’s off again.

we have to remember that between re4 and damnation there’s SEVERAL YEARS for them to have potential other meetings that are simply not explored on screen.

more time passes and we have re6 “the aeon fanservice one.” I won’t go into too much detail for this one, but re6 aeon is still superior to me. we have established a sexual relationship at this point, we don’t know if they’ve explored more, and yet Leon’s willing to jump off a burning building the second he see’s Ada needing help? This is the Leon we know. Also they just have each other’s contacts at this point?? They leave again and this is the final time we see them together in the franchise.

“See you down the road, Leon.”

❌ cleon (Leon x Claire)

Now to be completely honest. I DON’T HATE THE SHIP. I think it’s a delusional one, but the main reason I dislike the ship a lot, is actually because of the shippers. It’s a constant, “claire better,” fight. (I don’t have to say that Claire is a shitty character for me to not ship them etc. which seems to be the core of what cl*on shippers do, which is *drumroll* shit on Ada.)

And I find that most of these shippers are younger, white, and conservative and or naive. And also tend to lack in their abilities to read characterizations and understanding the complexities of morality.

The shippers have lowkey ruined the character of Claire for me. And I always thought she was a cute character. Not my favourite, but she’s fine. I just never thought of her characterization or storyline to be particularly interesting. But what I do find interesting to me that most Leon x Reader fics simply have a character similar to Claire written in as reader instead.

The idea of two morally good characters together is simply not as interesting to me. It’s always been like this. They are not pulled to each other in a sexual or romantic way which is why I mostly think the ship is delusional. There are SEVERAL instances of this.

Claire does flirt with Leon briefly in re2r. However it’s very clear on Leon’s side that he does not read it as flirting. He barely spends any time with her, and at the end of it, Claire suggests that it “would’ve been one hell of a date,” not knowing that Leon spent more time with Ada for the entire duration of re2r.

I don’t count degeneration since there’s a weird moment with Angela which I also don’t really count since she’s never heard of again.

The only other time is infinite darkness. In which Leon refers to her as “a kid.” And that he doesn’t see her “as a woman.” OR to put it more clearly, he does not see her as a love interest. Not to mention the one scene cleon stans cream themselves over, in which Claire falls on top of Leon, where she’s like visibly disgusted.

And to put the cherry on top, at the end of infinite darkness, they are no longer on speaking terms, and or no longer friends from what we can see. I’ll give cleon shippers one thing. They had a potential moment. “A dinner,” that could’ve happened and yet Claire and Leon both do not see eye to eye. They disagree morally (which is actually interesting) and so they separate. And as for the timeline now, they are no longer friends.

One final note, is that I find cleon shippers INCREDIBLY racist and misogynistic. OBVIOUSLY NOT ALL OF THEM. But all men, until it’s not all men. A large portion of cleon shippers use Ada is a scapegoat for their ship. Painting Ada as a sexual, manipulative, con woman that “steals,” Leon away from Claire. It’s so laughable when Leon was never Claire’s.

When you have to resort to pinning women against other women, then I just simply do not care to interact with that.

I also find the whole “caring mother figure,” to be incredibly gross. It’s the same kind of incel talk that guys use to declare what is desirable in a woman. That if you’re not good at being a mother, caring, nurturing etc. Then you’re just NOT DESIRABLE. That being a “pure, wholesome, good girl” is the only reason why you deserve a man, is something YOU need to work out on your own. Maybe do some soul searching on why you think that’s the only reason why you deserve love.

❌ Leon x Ashley

Similarly, Leon speaks of Ashley as “a young girl,” or a “kid.” “Is this what they’re teaching kids these days?” He does not see her as a love interest. Sure, Ashley does flirt with him a lot. Who wouldn’t?

But at the end of the day, Ashley is a 21 year old girl in university. Still figuring out her life and what she wants. While Leon is a 27 year old trained special agent, whose boss is Ashley’s FATHER. Sure you can get into that fantasy all you want. I totally get that and I’ve been into that ship before. And as you age, oh boy does that ship dynamic not age well.

There are huge age gap and dynamics that will not work. And I totally get people wanting that type of ship. But it’s REALLY GROSS FOR ME.

But again, Leon turns her down multiple times, and rejects her as well. Ashley is also no longer seen in the canon.

❌ Leon x Helena

NOW BEFORE PEOPLE SAY ANYTHING. I ACTUALLY DON’T HATE THE SHIP. It’s when it comes down to the fact they have a 12 year age gap that makes me a bit barfy. But furthermore that Helena is younger than SHERRY.

Now if I were to exclude the age gap, I think that they’re VERY HOT. I really enjoy Helena’s character model and them in re6 is SO FUCKING FINE. BUT yup, I can’t get over that age gap. But one of the main issues is that Helena is also canonically an aeon shipper. Which I kind of find adorable? It definitely adds to the aeon storyline in re6.

Helena being 24, while at this point Leon is 36-37. And during re6, Sherry is 26-27. And KEEP IN MIND. When Leon met Sherry, he was 21 and SHE WAS 12.

So when Leon was 21, Helena would’ve been 9 YEARS OLD.

And I won’t even justify Leon x Sherry because

When Leon met Sherry, he was 21 and SHE WAS 12.

And all other ships I honestly do not care for or think are fine.

I’m also supportive of Chreon, metaltango, serrenndy. I read them occasionally but I’m just not that personally emotionally invested in them. I find them cute, and I support people who want to write lgbtq ships. Also chreon shippers are typically also Aeon shippers and I find they mingle well together in the same spaces sometimes.

#aeon #leon x ada #ships #resident evil ships #my opinions #you're free to ignore this #leon kennedy #Leon Kennedy x ada Wong #leon s kennedy #ada wong #ada wong x leon kennedy

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docholligay · 2 months

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LOVED Mercymorn. To the point that I know I will think of her long after every other bit of this book has passed from my mind. I don't know if you saw my post, that I made while I was reading the book, about that monologue, but I understood her so keenly in that moment, i have had this EXACT experience standing in front of the city council or whatever. I will be sitting in my Purim committee next week, and I know the phrase 'I have learned not to do any of these things, because I hated the acid you put on me' the whole thing makes me laugh, 'I often think about this' echoes through my head in such a specific way that I cannot describe to another person.

But when she DESTROYS for me is at the end, when she kills God, and you see all grief that has been converted into anger, and resentment, and it's this clear, beautiful, rage that burns so hot it's not even ANGER anymore, it's been clarified into a simple, clam, need to destroy, paired with this knowledge that is not now nor will ever be the best loved of anyone. I love her SO much.

I definitely do not like Gideon at all, and it made the first one basically unliveable for me. I would consider reading on if I knew for sure that she was the real kind of dead and I would never have to hear her stupid memeing bullshit anymore ('I often think about this') This one, I don't like Harrow, but I don't hate her anymore. I don't have deep emotional feelings about her. I like reading about her! But I don't...cherish her or anything, but I actually don't feel like I had to, in order to get something out of the book. So in that way, it was a really different experience from the first one.

I haven't read the whole series, obviously, so i can only speak for these two books, but: Not liking Gideon and not being the slightest bit inclined to feel bad for Harrow hurt my experience of the first book. I mean, it made it not work for me. Not liking Gideon annoyed me minorly in this book, and the narrative seemed fine with me not being inclined to feel bad for Harrow...which ironically made it easier for me to feel something for her. So, I can't speak to the whole series, but for me it's a little bit of a coin flip, whether you need to feel for them or not.

I am interested in, and do like, the idea that this is a story about devotion and what that can look like, and what it drives us to do. I would have to reread these with more intention, now that I have the storyline itself, but I don't dislike as an idea, and i don't see any reason off the top of my head that doesn't work (excepting my lack of knowledge about the third book, obviously). As always, I am more interested in the side characters than the main ones here, but there's a lot of good possibilities.

Also, I think it is a kind of violence you do that we will never see that.

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nabtime · 9 months

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Our Empty Graves XIV

Fandom: Danny Phantom / Batman: Under the Red Hood

Pairings: Danny Fenton/Jason Todd (Dead on Main)

Rating: Mature

Tags: batfamily, hazmat AU, Nobody Knows AU, Mute!Phantom, potential ghost king danny, slow burn?, DC means Disregard Canon, AU means AU nothing is exactly the same, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, more than canon typical violence, danny is a Halfa and also a Fetch, no beta we die like basically everyone

Summary: They say that Red Hood has a loyal mutt. The man rules his territory in Crime Alley with an iron fist and a guard dog at his side. They say that Hood calls him Fetch, sometimes Fetcher. No one's ever heard him speak. Anyone who's ever seen him says he looks like an experiment gone wrong, that Hood picked him up somewhere unspeakable. They say he'll do anything Red Hood asks of him and he'll do it well. That he's strong and fast and probably inhuman. The girls say he's sweet; quiet but charming in his own way. Rival gangs say he's vicious; that he'd sooner rip your throat out than let you go.

Jason just wants to help him.

Chapter 14: i wanna build my house inside your heart (and make you love your scars)

Chapter Summary: Bruce isn't happy with his research, Danny has a crisis over hands, and Tim is determined to help despite the consequences.

Chapter Notes: title from Bravado by Yoke Lore // Betaed by Garden from the BatPham server!! Links: AO3 // Chapter 1 // Chapter 13 // Chapter 15 // Spotify // Art!

Bruce went over the research again. And again and again. He was hoping he’d find something different after the sixteenth read through, but it never changed. What Tim found… he didn’t like it.

He’d been antsy this past week. Terrified about what it meant that Red Hood hadn’t been seen on the streets since the explosion at the docks. The explosion that Bruce had seen his son previous Robin horrifically injured by. That he’d been too late to rescue him from. Again. The one where he’d seen an Unknown, the one Jason worked with, standing at the edge and watching the flames.

So he dove into the research Tim had been able to dig up from the Drs. Fenton and tried to ignore everything else. Tried to ignore the guilt at leaving Tim alone to his own devices in the mean time when he’d only just returned from the Titans. Tried to ignore the admonishing looks Alfred sent him every additional day he stayed holed up in the Cave. Instead he sunk deeper and deeper into a haze of reading paper after paper, and rereading paper after paper. And, what little of it he could find in the first place, was all pointing in a direction he hated.

The Fentons… were odd scientists. To say the least. And he really was saying the least. But their research, without an outside source to better verify it, was sound. Thorough. Horrifying.

Ghosts, or ectoplasmic entities, were non-sentient. Non-sapient. They were impressions of emotions left after death. Unfeeling. Unthinking. Driven by nothing but the deceased’s final thoughts and emotions. Often violent ones. Thoughts of revenge, of regret, of nothing but the pain surrounding their death.

Monsters seeking nothing but to spread the pain that had been imprinted upon them. And territorial. If both Fetcher and Jason were nothing but ghosts, did that make the fire a fight for the right to haunt Park Row? A dispute that- that Jason lost?

He knew they could be harmed. Could be hunted. That much the Fenton’s research made clear. They could be captured and studied and released back into some vague mention of a Ghost Zone. Supposedly the place where they originated.

That part wasn’t very clear. They spoke of ripping a tear in the fabric of the universe, of punching a hole into some flipside dimension that was something of an Afterlife. They seemed to hinge all their research on it. What they called the Ghost Portal. There was no record of it existing, no patent for its schematics. No proof that they’d succeeded. Yet, a chunk of their research acted as they had. As if it went without saying that the “ghosts” they studied emerged from the portal they’d successfully built.

Like they’d scrubbed that particular piece of research from existence. A lot of it was struck through. Much of it was missing. There were holes everywhere.

It didn’t help that after a certain point, it all disappeared. What he could find himself had to be recovered from deleted files. And then there was no trace of anything . It all just cut off. Abruptly and coincidentally in line with their signing on with an unknown government agency.

Dr. Maddie Fenton’s last published paper- one that had been erased, mind you- had been about their study of a smaller blob of a ghost. What happened when they cut into it, what happened when they brought it from inside the Zone to out (and that in itself was curious, did they have a lab inside the Zone?), and what happened when they injected it with different forms of ectoplasm. She’d made notes to indicate they planned to do more but that had been the last piece of research. Months ago. He’d been unable to find anything else after they signed with the mysterious GIW.

He’d gone back, then.

They had papers from college, barely acknowledged and never published. Papers they turned in in tandem with one Vladimir Masters, of all people. His school records at the University- disappeared after a certain point. He didn’t graduate early. He didn’t transfer. He didn’t withdraw. There were mentions of something, or more, the shape around that something. Records of the school repairing the classroom the three had done most of their research in. Vague condolences in the school paper. Professors continually marking Masters absent after a certain point in the semester but never docking points for it. But nothing further. No hospital records. No information on what happened; what caused the classroom to need repairs and what caused Masters’ continued absence.

His best guess was an experiment gone wrong. But he didn’t know.

The amount of things he didn’t know with this case was driving him to the brink. It was giving him hives.

He couldn’t find record of where the Fentons lived. He knew they lived in a town named Amity Park, they’d mentioned the place often enough in their research- touting it to be the most haunted town in America. But he couldn’t find it. No map could place it. No government database had it cataloged. No post office had an address for it.

Amity Park didn’t exist. Older maps, scanned in and therefore not originally digital, placed it somewhere in Illinois. So it did exist. Theoretically. Elmerton, supposedly its sister city, refused to acknowledge it, despite the fact that half of Elmerton itself had been blown off the map- everything going up in flames if it was anywhere in the radius of what was supposed to be Amity. Social media made no mention of it.

He looked into the GIW instead. And found nothing of use. He was a fair hand at hacking, but not near the level of Tim or Barbara. He loathed the thought of asking either of them for help on this, but he couldn’t crack their codes, could barely even find them at all. Their firewall was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Maybe it would make a good distraction for Tim. All he found on his own were a few vague mentions of an Anti-Ecto Act. A warning about an entity at large but with no description.

There was something more going on here. Something he very much didn’t like. But it would have to wait. He’d have to see the town in person at some point, maybe let Tim or Dick investigate. Dick had been pestering him about what was going on recently, maybe he could distract him with this. It would take him out of town and Bruce could even convince him to take Tim with him. That way he’d be alone for what was going to have to happen next.

They didn’t need to be here in Gotham when he went after Jason. Or, the thing that was what was left of Jason.

His ghost.

The mindless, twisted version of his second Robin- hellbent on revenge against the one that killed him and the one that failed to save him.

It would explain how he came back when even Ra’s didn’t know for sure. And if he’d had a dip in the Lazarus Pit it would explain even more. He knew from the research that ghosts could be tangible, frighteningly solid and destructive. And he suspected from the descriptions of ectoplasm that Lazarus Water was just another form of it. Making him stronger. The twisted after-shocks of the emotions he’d died with stronger. What Ra’s had brought back wasn’t Jason. Just a ghost- but worse.

It made Bruce feel entirely guilty. And sick. He’d only just accepted that Jason had returned. That he was alive. That he hated, rightfully hated, Bruce for what happened. But now? Jason might not be back at all and he’d have to learn to accept that all over again. Grieve all over again. Bury him all over again.

(He had yet to check the coffin. Yet to check the grave. If he’d had the thought to look inside, he might have changed his mind about it all at finding it empty.)

═════ ◈ ═════

Danny shifted nervously, acutely aware of how he balanced on Hood’s thighs ( and man, did he have thighs for days ), and waited for some sort of reaction. He was unsure as it was about being able to heal Hood’s hands, he didn’t need anxiety about the man’s reaction on top of it all. He’d offered because he couldn’t stand to see the look of resignation, of helplessness, of pain on Red’s face when he talked about them. Like he thought their loss was inevitable. Like he thought it was his own fault they’d taken so much damage- that losing them, their function, was his punishment. Like he wanted to forget the pain of gaining those wounds altogether, the fear and desperation surrounding their creation, but kept pressing on the bruises anyway because that’s what he thought he deserved.

And Danny couldn’t stand to allow that look on his face remain for a second longer. His own hands were frigid and monstrous and soaked in blood. The hands of a dead man- brittle and cold and far too clumsy for something as sacred as healing. But they were all he had and damn if he wasn’t going to use them for Hood- to hold something gently for once.

The problem here was that he had… made a pretty bold claim. Saying he could fix Red’s hands.

There wasn’t a guarantee that manipulating his organic ectoplasm into becoming the regenerative type- assuming he could even manage that outside of the ecto-rich environment of Amity- and applying it to his hands in order to boost the healing process would work. It might not even do anything. Or it might just backfire. But… Hood was also some sort of ectocontaminated undead being- far more human than Danny would ever manage to be, sure- but still a guy that had ectoplasm running through him, which meant far better chances at absorbing the Good Goo. Yes, sure, the ectoplasm was some weird rancid variation of the combative stuff that he really needed to figure out how to fix, too.

But still.

He’d managed with the people of Amity, he could manage with Hood. It didn’t matter that these were completely different situations. Didn’t matter that the artificial liminals of Amity Park had been contaminated with pure ectoplasm. That when he’d healed them it was usually on instinct, sloppy and desperate, and usually with the regenerative ecto already on hand from his own wounds. Didn’t matter that he didn’t have the first clue on how the poisoned ectoplasm within Red would react to the healing. All that mattered was that Red had just looked so damn sad about it all and Danny had something that could help. So he would. He’d do anything.

Hood still hadn’t said anything.

He lowered the board, erased it, and started writing anew.

I don’t know if it’ll work. It might even make them worse. But there’s a chance- a small one- that I can patch them up. I don’t know what I’m doing here though so it’s pretty risky.

He flipped it over and waited again. He watched Hood’s eyes trace along the words, reading them agonizingly slowly. His turquoise stare was intense when his eyes flicked up and met Danny’s own.

Red leaned forward, intent, and said, “Do it.”

Danny huffed soundlessly in disbelief. He whacked Hood in the chest lightly with the whiteboard and then tapped at his own temple and made a sharp, sweeping gesture with his palm up. Think about it first, idiot.

“I don’t have to think about it!” Hood insisted forcefully before his tone turned plaintive. “Fetcher, Spooks, Jellyfish- you don’t understand. I don’t care about the risks. Hell, I don’t care if you fail- but if there’s a chance that you can fix my hands; fix them now- I’m going to take it.”

Danny sat the whiteboard between them for the moment and crossed his arms, regarding the pleading face of his boss, friend, savior . He hadn’t expected a reaction as... vehement as this. He’d expected skepticism. Expected a careful measure of consideration, suspicion even. Or… honestly, a flat out rejection. Not… this.

“I need to get back out there, Jelly,” Hood whispered, leaning in so their noses were inches apart and Danny could see the intensity in his eyes up close. “I need to help my people. Save the Alley. I-,” he paused and looked away, a bitterness showing in his gritted teeth. “I have to get back to my plan. I can’t do that without my hands. Not without taking too much time. The people of the Alley don’t have the luxury of waiting for me to relearn everything from scratch. Black Mask is getting bold. Messing with kryptonite . I need to know what he plans to do with it. I need to get back out there now .”

Danny did not like the desperation there. The slightly frenzied gleam to his eyes. He could also tell that there was something unspoken underneath his words. That there was something more to this “plan” that Hood wasn’t telling him. Something, probably, that had to do with why he got his hands butchered in the first place. I have to strike now, he could almost hear, they already know who I am and I can’t wait any longer when the answers I need are so close. Red was thinking so hard it felt like he was projecting them into the little air between them.

Danny, already thinking this was a bad idea, grew more uncertain. This felt reckless, too rash in respect to Red’s health. Like they were playing with fire and Hood almost wanted to get burned.

But he couldn’t go back on it now. Couldn’t stand to see Hood disappointed in him, in his hands, in himself. Couldn’t endure seeing Hood in so much pain again.

His shoulders sagged in a soundless sigh. He straightened his back and gave a determined nod. He would do this. For Red. And just pray to whatever Ancients were feeling merciful right then.

Gently, he held the other man’s hands between them, slowly unwinding them from their bandages. He’d helped change them before, the motion soothing and familiar. Something about the ritual of it all both mundane and divine. Watching as white fabric revealed mottled flesh. Bruises and lacerations breathing in fresh air again. He watched them shake- ever so slightly- as he traced with a feather-light touch along the crooked fingers, the dips and lines of the palms, the bony jut of the knuckles. He bent his head and placed a reverent kiss- the barest brush of lips against skin, to a bruise that painted the meat of his thumb a dark yellow-brown. Hood watched, gaze fixed, remaining silent the entire time save for a single hitched breath.

Carefully, he lowered those precious hands and then leaned back for some space ( neither one of them saying anything about the fact that he hadn’t moved from Red’s lap this entire time ) before reaching into his chest and pulling out a knife. A special knife. An athame magicked to rend through spectral flesh. Which is why he kept it sheathed in its protective case and hidden nice and safe in his chest. Didn’t need any assholes getting hold of it. It’d been a bitch and a half to wrestle it away from Plasmius in the first place.

“Why the fuck do you have that in there?” Hood questioned, words spilling out of his mouth and looking surprised but unrepentant with them.

Danny shrugged, holding the knife aloft carelessly. Convenience. I have more.

“What-,” he sputtered, “How many do you have?! Where did you get them?! Are those from when we were patrolling? Have you been keeping them in there this whole time?!”

Danny flicked his wrist, waving off the man’s question, and used the incredulity as a distraction so Red wouldn’t stop him from what came next. To potentially heal Hood’s hands, he needed regenerative ectoplasm. The only way to get it without finding a way into the Realms, was to make it himself. He couldn’t just do that on demand, though. He was sure there were some ghosts that had that ability out there, but he’d never met them and he was sure they probably wouldn’t be willing to share their methods with him.

So, knife time. Athame time. Whatever.

He sliced along his palm, a dull green blood rising to the surface. He pulled a rag from his chest as well, cursing himself for not thinking this through and grabbing it before this. He felt Red lurch under him, thighs bucking up in an aborted move to stop him.

“Fetch,” the other growled, tone a warning. “What the fuck.”

He rolled his eyes. The fact that Hood had stayed still after his knee-jerk reaction told him that the other had figured out what he was up to. The grumbling was just because he didn’t like the method or the execution. He shook his head a bit. Big baby.

He put the rag to his palm and let it soak up the initial flow. The darker green ecto was useless to him, it was just the stuff he was made of peeling away from itself because of the blade’s magic. It let the regenerative ectoplasm bubble up from beneath in order to try and heal the wound. He mopped it up and used the athame to hold the wound open, waiting for the color to turn. Once it was a vibrant, toxic green he dropped the rag and let the “ectoblood” drip and coat his hands.

He looked up and almost laughed at Red’s disgusted look. Yeah, it was pretty gross, but there wasn’t much of a better way to go about it. That he knew of, at least. He wiggled his fingers towards Red’s face mockingly and repressed a laugh at the other’s returning scowl.

“Don’t make it weird,” he said with a grumpy protest.

Danny rolled his eyes. In what world would this not be weird? They’re both undead and Danny has to bleed all over him. They’re beyond weird at that point.

He gave the other no warning before picking up Red’s hands and holding them between his own bloody ones. He really, really wished he knew a better way to do this. Wished he knew what he was doing at all in the first place. But this was as good as it got, fumbling around in the dark and just praying anything would work.

He held Red’s hands as gently as possible while still making sure his ectoblood coated all of his injuries, his bruises and breaks. He would envelop the other in everything he had, surround him with his soul and sooth away all of his aches and pains.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, focusing on his core. He thought about healing, about mending, about soothing, and pouring his very being into fixing every break and every bruise. He could feel the ectoblood warm up under his fingers, glow brightening as it bent to his will. He could hear Hood hiss as it all seeped into his skin and dug into his bones, the heat of it intensifying as the ecto went to work.

It’d been a hell of a time learning how to do this for the Amity Parkers back home, especially when they would run and scream at the sight of him. Thankfully he hadn’t usually needed the athame to help, he was just already injured from one fight or another when he’d check on the bystanders. They hadn’t really liked it either when he’d bleed on them, but they always stopped screaming at him once their wounds sealed back up. He hadn’t even meant to do that the first time, he’d just been so panicked when he’d found Sam buried under rubble after an attack. He’d been freshly dead; his first year as Phantom. He didn’t think she even remembered what happened, but he did.

When his ectoplasm had sunk deeply enough into every part of Red’s broken hands, he could start to feel the extent of his injuries. The old breaks, the chronic damage, the new fractures and lacerations. And carefully, so carefully, he willed the ectoblood to stitch every one of them up.

He… struggled. More than usual.

He’d tried to heal someone without ecto-contamination once; an out-of-towner that’d been visiting family and had been caught up in an attack at the wrong time. Buried under rubble that most natives knew to avoid. They’d reacted a little bit like this. A rejection of the ectoplasm, where the human body recoiled and tried to destroy the foreign substance. Where it reacted so violently that the body started attacking itself in order to be rid of it. Their wound had already been fatal, his interference had at least made it quick. That didn’t stop him from feeling guilty afterwards, feeling the weight of their death on his shoulders and their blood and viscera on his hands.

Red’s body wasn’t reacting... quite so violently. But it wasn’t reacting like it should either. The ecto was oozing into his bones and binding the breaks together, but it wasn’t sticking, for lack of a better word. It was healing him, but it also wasn’t. Like wrapping a band-aid around a cut that needed stitches. Better than nothing and not necessarily useless, but not enough to fix it completely either. Something was stopping it from doing its job. Like there was a layer of ectoplasm already there, fighting it off- not taking kindly to the foreign ecto-signature. Danny didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t even know where to begin to address that, let alone fix it.

The heat of the ecto was starting to become too much to handle, a sign that it had done all that it could. But Danny tried to push it just a little bit further. Just enough to maybe get it to hold.

He and Red both hissed when the ecto bubbled and burned them. Danny dropped his grip and immediately blew a cooling breath over Hood’s hands in order to get the temperature down and cement the ectoplasm in place. What he didn’t expect was for it to make a makeshift icy shell. That was new. He knew that if he concentrated he could make the cold of his ghost sense come forward, but it’d never done that before. He couldn’t complain, though, because this way it would keep all the ecto in until it could properly adhere and do its job.

“Huh,” Red said, staring down at his frost-encased hands, turning them this way and that and watching the dusky sunlight streaming in through the window glint off the thin layer of ice as he moved them.

Danny nodded, wiping down his own hands with the rag and mopping up any excess ectoplasm. He’d already irrevocably stained the couch so he wasn’t worried too much about dripping any on the upholstery, he just didn’t want to leave a mess. He skimmed the rag over the cut he’d made on his palm, the wound already stitching itself together now that he was done using his ectoblood to heal. He didn’t really understand how it worked, but he knew, instinctively, that ectoplasm was ruled by feeling and intention . So if he was willing the cut to stay open and using his blood to heal, the ectoplasm would obey. Most of the time. It wasn’t an exact science, by any means.

He watched Red warily, hoping the man knew better than to immediately try to use his hands for anything while they still had the ice around them. He didn’t have much faith in that. Red had a horrible track record for recklessness.

He slumped his shoulders in a small and silent sigh and pulled out his whiteboard again. Better make sure Red knew what he was dealing with. That, while he’d pieced him back together- he could still fall right back apart. That Danny might have just failed him after all if it turns out the ecto didn’t stick. He felt a terrible lurch of guilt at the thought.

They’re still really fragile. Don’t push too hard. Something was wrong when I tried to heal them and I think it might be the Bad Goo you have going on. What I did might be temporary.

He watched, squirming, as Hood read over the words, waiting for the anger that was sure to follow when he realized that Danny had lied to him. Danny had told Hood that he could fix his hands, that he could absolutely heal him. And he’d failed. Sure, the bones might still stick together and he might have managed to actually do something there. But it wasn’t enough. It was half-assed and slipshod. Just like everything else he’d tried to accomplish in his life. Imperfect to the point of catastrophe. He might have even ruined any progress his hands may have naturally had.

At this point, if Red lost the use of his hands after this, it would be all his fault .

“Fetcher,” Hood whispered, voice full of an awe that made Danny flinch. He startled at the cold feeling of ice against his skin as Hood gently cupped his cheeks and tilted his head up so their gazes could meet. “ Thank you. ”

He keened, the sound emanating from deep within his core; a small and pathetic sound. Hood grinned at him but he backed away, swaying back from his reach and getting perilously close to falling off the other’s lap. He picked up the whiteboard again. Red didn’t understand. He didn’t deserve his thanks. Didn’t deserve any sort of awe. He needed to make him understand.

It didn’t work like it should have! If you break them again the damage might be worse! Don’t thank me for fucking up!

He was near to tears when he flipped the board over.

“Jellyfish,” Hood said sternly, the sharp tone making Danny flinch again. “If I break my hands again, that’s on me . Not you. You told me from the beginning it could backfire.”

The frost on Hood’s hands was beginning to melt, allowing him to flex his fingers and clasp Danny’s chin with a better grip, tugging him back towards the inferno that was Red’s chest. He planted his hands against Red’s pecs ( and he would not think about that ) in an effort to keep some distance between them and from just melting against him. He felt far too guilty for cuddles. No matter how much he really, really wanted them.

Hood sighed, releasing Danny’s chin when he refused to make eye-contact- instead staring at the whiteboard that was resting on his thighs.

“You and I both know that the damage done to me was extreme,” he said, voice measured and tired and Danny still refused to look up. “That if something went wrong with my recovery, I might have needed to have one or both of my hands amputated.” Danny winced, but he kept going. “Especially since I can’t see a specialist. I don’t care that you couldn’t heal them all the way, the fact that you were able to do anything for them at all is a miracle to me.”

He finally looked up, making tentative eye contact and getting caught by the look of conviction on Hood’s face. He really thought that Danny had done something profoundly good for him. That he hadn’t just fucked up his hands monumentally. He looked at them where they laid on Danny’s thighs, holding him in place with a gentle grip.

They were still mottled with bruises, yellow and deep purple splashed in contrast to tan skin turned sickly pale from being covered for so long. Angry red scars stretched across their surface in jagged lines, crisscrossing each other with no rhyme or reason. He could feel them shaking, ever so slightly. They were still broken, still fragile. But they were also still there. Still functional. Still whole.

Danny, reluctantly, gave in. He knew how stubborn Red was. There would be no convincing him otherwise about Danny’s mistakes.

He let his shoulders drop and gave in to the warmth that was beneath his fingertips, head curling into the now familiar crook of Red’s neck. At least this way he wouldn’t feel so guilty about not being able to face him fully.

Chilled fingers carefully wound themselves within his hair, gently threading through the foggy mass that was slowly growing past his shoulders. He was trying his damnedest to repress a purr at the feeling. Why the hell were ghosts so much like cats in the first place? It didn’t make any sense at all and he resented the purr that was building in his core without his permission. He hated how easily it gave him away.

“I’ll take another week,” Hood murmured, voice a pleasant rumble Danny could feel more than hear with how he was pressed against the other’s throat. “I’ll stay in and be careful with my hands for another week. And then I’ll be extra careful with them when it’s back to business, okay? Does that sound alright to you, Ghost Doc?”

He huffed and gave a small nod, lightly pushing at Red’s shoulders at the same time. He shuffled around and maneuvered the both of them, Hood just bemusedly going along with his manhandling, until they were lounging back on the couch again. He didn’t want to think about it anymore, didn’t want to feel about it anymore either. A nap was what he wanted; to sink into blissful unconsciousness, and if it meant cuddling on the couch with Red? So be it.

He could feel the slight shake of a laugh in Hood’s chest once they’d fully settled. “If you wanted to sleep with me that badly, Fetch, you could have just asked.”

Danny lazily brushed an intangible hand through Hood’s stomach and relished in the startled yelp it elicited.

Asshole.

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Something was bothering Bruce about the case, the one that Tim wasn’t allowed to look at. He knew this because Bruce kept looking for something, looking so relentlessly that he didn’t notice the times that Tim would sneak down to the cave to check on him. It’d been another week. Two weeks since he’d come back from confronting Ra’s and two weeks since Tim had shown him the similarities in hazmat suits.

And he knew that his case with Fetcher was connected with Bruce’s case with Red Hood. Fetcher and Red Hood worked together. But this seemed… worse. More intricately entwined. Bruce, who had offloaded the Fetcher case to Tim in the first place, took over both and booted him from the cave.

Not that that would stop him. Never had before.

No, Tim was going to help whether Bruce liked it or not. It’d been hell and back to get Alfred to agree, but he’d come up with a plan to get B out of the cave and himself down in it so he could get a closer look at the Bat-computer. Alfred was all for anything that would get B to take a nap for once in his life, he just didn’t like that Tim was going behind B’s back.

But Tim was determined.

He was going to find whatever the hell B was looking for and he was going to prove his worth again. If Jason was back- if one of the Robins that he’d looked up to so much was back- the one that he’d replaced… He’d have all that much more to prove. To show both Bruce and his predecessor that he was capable. Bruce had barely acknowledged him when he’d gotten back and he knew Jason wasn’t likely to even care who he was, let alone how good at his job he was. But Tim wasn’t one for complacency either, even when no one else paid any attention. That wasn’t anything new, anyway.

So. Tim drugged Bruce’s cookies.

B trusted Alfred, and usually he would be right to trust Alfred. But he should know not to underestimate Tim. Or Alfred when he was really truly worried about B. So, with Alfred’s supervision- if not express permission, he drugged the cookies. And Bruce took a nap.

He was going to be pissed when he woke up, but Tim was hoping to temper his ire by finding stuff and solving part of his case for him. Also, it’s not like Tim was doing anything new, not when Bruce had pulled the same drugged cookie trick on Tim. Multiple times. So, really, Tim was just using the lessons Bruce had taught him. Turnabout was fair play or whatever the hell. Tim may or may not have needed a nap himself.

So after shoving B onto the couch they kept in the cave specifically for situations like this, he cracked his knuckles and got to work.

And fuck was it work. After finding what Bruce had been toiling over the most, going back to over and over and over again, he hit the same wall that must have been driving B insane. He didn’t know who the hell the GIW were, but their firewall was like nothing else he’d ever seen. It was like it was alive . At least he knew why Bruce was so frustrated now, if whatever he was looking for was locked behind it, he’d be pissed too.

If Tim didn’t know that Bruce was going to be out for a solid twelve hours, he’d be worried. Fighting the firewall of some unknown government agency (if they were even actually with the government) was not what Tim thought would be one of the hardest won achievements of his career as Robin, and yet. It didn’t work the way code was supposed to work. It moved and shifted in a way that it most definitely should not.

At one point he could swear it growled at him.

Numbers would change value right before his eyes. The line of code he was working on would disappear. The more he worked the less it made sense. He thought he would have to give up (but he couldn’t, he couldn’t ) before it all snapped into place. The code suddenly seemed less like a wall and more like a cage. He couldn’t explain how he knew this when nothing had actually changed while he hacked, but he did. The growling grew in volume, like a guard dog snapping warning bites. And the more he worked, the more he realized- whatever was protecting the database wasn’t just protecting it. The servers the GIW worked on- they were insulated. Isolated.

Whatever caged the GIW database grew more frantic the more he dug in. Working faster to patch what holes he poked rather than attack him and kick him out. Like it was worried more about what was inside getting out , than him finding his way in.

It took him ten hours. And he could swear he heard screaming when he finally broke through.

The heavy weight of an admonishing hand on his shoulder let him know his time was up in that regard as well. But he’d gotten through at least. Even if he felt sick in the aftermath of it all (that scream).

Bruce didn’t say anything, just stared up at the files upon files now available for them to rifle through. Gently, he pushed Tim out of the chair and took a seat himself, pausing only long enough to give Tim a hair ruffle- the only sign of affection or acknowledgment he’d gotten from Batman lately, before setting to work and clicking away.

Tim- Tim left the cave without another word, feeling oddly guilty and bereft. He couldn't figure out why.

#naps fics #dp x dc #Our Empty Graves #im going back and fixing all the broken links i promise #dpxdc

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