#then realize the person laughing was one of those pesky ghosts you keep trying to ignore?

[heybiji]

My dungeons and dragons bard's backstory involves her having had a meltdown on stage in front of an audience of aristocrats. See, she thought she heard people laughing and whispering in the crowd—turns out it was one of those ghosts she's been ignoring for years. The sheer embarrassment was enough for her to skip town for a while.

#dungeons and dragons #dnd #dnd character #dnd oc #dnd art #bard #human #clarette chaleur #college of spirits #ever hear someone laughing in the audience at your operatic performance and have a public meltdown on stage as the spotlight follows you #then realize the person laughing was one of those pesky ghosts you keep trying to ignore? #some other factors went into this meltdown but the giggling and whispers she thought she heard set it off #sketch #oc #clarette

[thefanficmonster]

Lucky Me (Sequel To Unlucky)

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff

Summary: You aren’t always born with luck. Sometimes, you meet people who bring it to you. In short, they are your lucky charm.

Requested: Yes, but not in a typical way. A big thank you to all the wonderful people who read, liked, reblogged and commented on part one - Unlucky.  

@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @itsminniekat  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  and many more ❤❤❤

They are the reason this story is being written. What was originally supposed to be an elaborate one-shot turned into the most liked piece I’ve ever written. I can’t thank you enough, guys. You are amazing and I hope you like this one just as much or even more than the previous. Love you ❤❤❤

Y/N’s POV

I’m grinning at my reflection in the mirror as I put on a pair of earrings. My face is already touched-up with a little make-up and my hair is looking on point. I can almost see my own reflection in the shine of excitement in my eyes. I take in my upper body via a quick once-over in the full body mirror opposite me, and I finally relax my muscles that I didn’t ever realize I was tensing.

“OK, now I’m ready.“ I say as a form of encouragement as I reach behind me for my phone that’s sitting on my bed.

You might be wondering where I’m going? Who I’m going with? What’s the occasion behind this many preparations and pampering?

The answer: Nowhere. No one. Nothing. I’m literally not even going to leave my house.

It might seem ridiculous to someone else, but to me, to my hypnotized mind, it’s perfectly reasonable to be getting so amped up over a FaceTime call. Yeah, you heard me correctly - a FaceTime call. 

Well, you see, this isn’t the first time we FaceTime, but it will be the first time we’ll see each other’s faces. I wanted to level the field so I didn’t let him on to what I look like, where exactly I live, etc. Basically, he only knows my name, which I am still prepared to call unfair, considering I don’t know his real name. 

A brief backstory to my first ever real interaction with Corpse: I was introduced to him by my friends. They are the ones I always turned to with all the scary shit happening in my life. Often times they didn’t know weather to comfort me or laugh at my curse. My friends suggested I start sharing it to a youtuber named Corpse Husband. You see, I love YouTube narrators and I’ve always been a fan of Mr. Nightmare and I, to be perfectly honest, always kept the idea of sending him my stories in the back of my mind. Nevertheless, I bit the bullet and checked out on of this Corpse Husband guy’s videos. And then another. And another. And before I knew it I was having a marathon after which I was too paranoid to get online, walk home alone at night, leave my curtains open etc. It wasn’t all thanks to the stories themselves. A lot of the fear factor these stories strike with should be credited to the way they are read. Let me tell you, this guy had it all figured out with the reading. Not sending him my stories would just be wrong. So I did, I sent him my first ever creepy encounter which was with a stalker from my high school and it took me only two days to forget about it. It only crossed my mind when my friends blew my phone up, demanding I watched Corpse’s new video. I kid you not, I got more scared by the story when he read it than when I lived it. That’s what settled it for me - I decided to send him each and every story.

And then one day, out of the blue, my life changed for the better in more ways than one. It got turned completely upside down, like a rollercoaster, and I just had to hold on and enjoy the ride, embrace the adrenaline rush and excitement, knowing full well that I chose to get on and there’s no way I can get off halfway through. 

I’m being too metaphorical. He sent me an email. He freaking reached out to me. And I was posed with a rough choice. Took me a minute, but I chose to reply to him, I chose to trust him, and I couldn’t just leave him on read one day simply cause I chickened out. Yes, I’m unlucky and these things don’t happen to unlucky people. I mean, they do, but they are nightmares disguised as a dream come true. I’ve lived all my life cautiously: if something sounds too good to be true it’s either not as good as marketed or not true at all. If it’s dark and late and there are no people around, FaceTime someone. If your Uber driver’s sketchy, cancel the ride. I take all the precautions and I still find myself in the worst situations. Or at least...

My thoughts are interrupted by the ringing of my phone. A simple ringtone I hear every time he calls me. A simple sound that causes me butterflies when I hear it and ultimate devastation if the caller ID doesn’t read the name I want. It always gets me excited, probably more than it should. This time is different, however. It’s scary almost. I’m nervous, anxious, scared, hesitant - all things I never feel when I’m about to answer his call. 

With shaky hands I pick up the call and find myself looking at the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. Now I know why I would have never initiated this meeting, because I know what color my face is right now. I know my voice has let me down before I even attempt to speak. I know I look like a mess. I know my obvious crush is showing.

Corpse initiated this meeting. He said he was getting too curious and he wanted one of his best friends to see him and for him to finally see her. It’s been about seven months since we first started texting and I haven’t let out a single peep about it to a single soul. It’s just between him and I. We are each other’s safe space away from the rest of the world.

“Thought you weren’t gonna pick up for a second there.“ His voice is not as confident as other times when we’ve talked. His trying to hide his own nervousness and all I wanna do is hug him and tell him he doesn’t have to. I kept telling him over and over again that we don’t have to do this if he’s not sure that he actually wants it. I even offered to show him what I look like, not expecting to see him in return but he declined, saying it was now his turn to even the field.

“I was in another room.“ I manage to say, my voice only shaking a little.

We spend a few moments just looking at each other. Admiring one another. For someone who prefers digital interaction, I am surprised to realize I wish he was actually standing in front of. I wish I could hug him. A long hug of comfort, mutual understanding and hidden feelings.

He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head which causes a few strands of hair to fall over his eyepatch, “I’m sorry...It’s just-...Fuck I’m stumbling.” He chuckles nervously, “I just...can’t believe you are real. You are a real person. And the most beautiful person I’ve seen. That’s corny, isn’t it.” He looks away from the screen, his face now a shade of red. “But I mean it. I’m embracing my corniness. You are beautiful, Y/N. Not that I’m flexing or anything, but I’m lucky to have met you.”

I laugh, feeling my eyes stinging from the tears that have suddenly formed. I don’t want to let them fall, but I don’t have much say in that. “Well, mister Corpse, I can’t begin to compare. I mean...that hair! I still cannot believe it’s you. You are not just a deep voice in my mind. You are....you are...”

“Everything you imagined and more?“ he jokes, making my whole body heat up. “I told you you could trust. I mean, if the hair doesn’t confirm I’m who I say I am, I don’t know what will.”

“Actually, I never tried to imagine what you looked like. I knew those visions...I knew they didn’t matter. Faces don’t matter to us, Corpse. I think you realize that.“

And just like that, all I’ve been keeping hidden is pouring out. I don’t try to stop it - you can’t stop a hurricane with bare hands.

“I never needed a face to imagine us. I always saw as talking on the phone, playing Among Us. Reading scary stories to each other on Discord. I never needed a face to imagine your company. To imagine what we could be...“ I trail off, letting the first tear slip down my cheek.

The most sincere look appears in his eyes, “Fuck, I wish I could hold your hand right now. Never mind, I wish I could hug you, Y/N. Hug you and not let go for a long time.”

I laugh halfheartedly, my chest burning from the intensity of this moment’s intimacy, “I can always tell you where I live.” I’m only half-joking. I really want to see him in real life, not just through a screen, but even this call is out of his comfort zone, let alone a physical meet up.

He surprises me yet again, “Saturday. I’ll bring the take out, you pick the movie.” he says with a smile that is literally saying ‘you didn’t see that coming, did you?’

“How are you sure I don’t live in a different state, or a different continent all together?“ I tease, making an attempt to put my composure back together.

He smirks, “I pay way more attention to your stories than you’d think.” I laugh, shaking my head as a pointless method of fighting the pesky tears that he has 100% noticed by this point. “By the way, just because we’re....” he thinks for a second, “in a weird zone between friendship and...something more, doesn’t mean you have to stop sending me stories. I absolutely love reading them for my audience. They love em too.”

I just realized I am yet to tell him the crazy miracle that has happened. “Well, the thing is...I don’t have any.” His eyebrows shoot up in shock which makes me laugh, “Yeah, I know, it’s crazy. Since the day we started talking I have not experienced a single scary thing. Deadass. I swear on my life.”

If I wasn’t so head over heels for this man already, the baffled expression on his face would definitely send me falling for him. He’s just that adorable. “Wow.”

“I know right.“ I nod, “Seems to me you have enough luck to share with me.“

His eyes light up at that comment, showing just how meaning full it is to him.

“You’re my lucky charm, Corpse.“

“I will never be more proud of any other title, Y/N. That I can promise you with no hesitation.“

“Deadass?“

“Deadass.“

#corpsehusband #corpse husband #corpse simp #corpse husband fanfic #corpse x reader #corpse husband fanficiton #corpse #husband #x reader #reader #reader insert #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband x reader #request #requests open #love #fanfiction #fanfic #corpse fanfiction #among us #e girls are ruining my life #unlucky

[7team7]

Choosing Fate: Chapter 8

A surprise leaves Sasuke and Sakura alone for a while. // Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

A/N: thank you everyone for your encouragement and kind words on this fic. I’m trying to dedicate myself to it and finish it before moving on to new stories, but sometimes that’s still a slower process than I expect? And the plot seems to want to complicate itself more, but I promise more ss moments are coming!! Hope this chapter is ok, the slow burn is still burning

.

.

Tsunade was relentless in her tutelage. Sakura’s tutoring sessions with Sasuke were idyllic in comparison. The older woman pushed and pushed and pushed. 

But the discipline and hard work only served to strengthen her. Tsunade raised a brow when the petite woman cracked her knuckles before getting to work everyday. She knew she had found a determined student, but her dedication was truly something remarkable.

And it yielded results. 

Once complicated combinations became embedded in her memory and her hands were able to move without thinking. Tsuande stopped lecturing and started questioning, pushing the envelope: What if we did this? What do you think of that? How would you approach it? 

What started as a favor she agreed to do on a whim became a cherished relationship. Maybe Konoha wasn’t so bad. 

Sakura greatly respected her teacher, but she barely knew the first thing about her. She used to keep her chatter to a minimum while they worked, but she had grown much more comfortable in the Senju’s house. “Tsunade-sama, you were never married, right?” For once, a woman’s professional work had superseded her romantic history. 

Tsunade paused in the middle of tidying up some papers she pulled out for reference. The question wasn’t necessarily unwelcome, but it took her by surprise. No one had asked her about that in a long time. “No. There was someone I would’ve married, but we never got the chance.”

“Did he have to marry someone else?” Arranged marriage was awkward at best, but it would’ve been downright heartbreaking if she was already in love with someone else. 

“He was hurt in battle. And I couldn’t save him.” She sighed heavily, “After him, there was no one else. Why do you think I leave the village so often?” The ghosts of her past would never stop haunting her. Her ties to Konoha weighed heavily. 

“Oh,” she bit her lip, “I’m so sorry.” She assumed Tsunade was just a wild spirit, but the reality was much more tragic. 

She shrugged. Time to change the subject. “And you? Was there someone else before that sulky brat?” 

Sakura opened her mouth to protest, he was not a sulky brat! But then she remembered the way he would hang around outside Tsunade’s house if she wasn’t home before the sun set. “No, I was too young and too busy with my household chores to find someone else. But Sasuke’s not so bad…” She blushed a little; before, she could hardly fathom getting married to Sasuke but now, she couldn’t imagine marrying anyone else. She couldn’t fault him for their circumstances, even if he was a little rough around the edges. 

“And your parents?”

“Ah, they were actually childhood sweethearts. Lucky them,” she said weakly. 

“Well, I guess Sasuke’s good enough for you to stay.” 

“What do you mean?”

“You could always leave. Plenty of women do it.” 

“Oh,” she said, taken aback, “I had never considered that. Where would I even go?” She didn’t think she had a choice in the matter, or any other real options. 

Tsunade raised a brow, “You could go home. Have you been home yet?”

Sakura laughed bitterly and confessed, “Actually, no. It’s not that I don’t want to, I guess I...just haven’t gathered the courage.” Was it her home there anymore? Was she a wife before she was a sister? She started fiddling with a stray herb that had escaped a jar.  

She continued, “I miss my siblings dearly, but it’s easier to just stay away. If I visited home and saw everything I’ve been missing...it would be too hard to come back here. I don’t know if that makes me a good wife or a terrible sister.” She had assumed she was leaving for good after the wedding. Life as Uchiha Sakura might still be new and full of surprises, but it wasn’t completely miserable. Should she expect more? The leaf in her hands was completely pulverized after she worked her anxieties out on it. 

Her mentor nodded in understanding. “You won’t figure it out in a day. And when you feel like you’ve got it, something will change and you’ll be back at square one. That’s life.” 

Sakura nodded glumly. She supposed being young almost always meant standing at a crossroads. They got back to work.

.

Training and learning took up the majority of her time lately. She was exhausted, but not unhappy. Most days she stayed at Tsunade’s for long hours, only returning to frantically complete some chores. Today, Sakura slapped her palm to her forehead when she remembered that she had promised to help Mikoto fold dumplings. She all but flew out the door, shouting, “See you tomorrow!” before heading home. She rushed into the kitchen and greeted her mother-in-law. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to help with lunch-” she started, but Mikoto held up a hand to stop her. 

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad you’ve found something to keep you occupied. Tsunade is a formidable woman, history or not. There’s no reason for a young girl to be cooped up forever.” Her daughter in law always put on a brave face, but she could tell there was something missing. 

Sakura breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank you for understanding. Still, I’ll try to be home a bit more.” She didn’t remember when she started calling this house her home, but she did have a certain obligation to maintain it. She would be so upset if Mikoto suddenly started abandoning her duties! Who would pick them up? Certainly not Fugaku.  

Mikoto shook her head, smiling, “I’ve become content with being at home with my husband and children. But until that day comes for you, just lean on me. Go rest, I’ve got it.” Even as she spoke, she kept deftly folding dumpling skins like it was second nature. 

“A-are you sure?” She had realized she was treated like a strange, permanent guest in the Uchiha household. In her childhood home, she was anything but a guest. “I’m sure. Sasuke’s home, by the way.” Sakura nodded and ventured off to find him, starting with the bedroom. It felt like ages since she’d last seen him. 

“Where have you been?” 

“Excuse me?” His tone was accusatory, but hers was incredulous. “I thought you supported me going? Don’t tell me you changed your mind.” His hot and cold personality was jarring.

“Didn’t think you’d be gone so often,” he grumbled. Those precious tutoring sessions together had been cut short by her lessons with Tsunade, but there was nothing he could do besides walk her there and back. He had half a mind to offer her another trip to the market just to get her to do something with him, but he couldn’t bring himself to impede on her schedule for such selfish reasons. So he sulked, even if he didn’t quite understand why he was so upset.  

He had just finished getting dressed, perhaps taking a bit of extra time smoothing down his hair and clothes in an attempt to get her to look at him. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Go where? What makes you think I want to follow you anywhere?” If he felt like being a jerk, she would stay home and fold dumplings, thank you very much!

He sighed, like the answer was obvious. “We’re going to Itachi’s. Apparently Izumi’s been feeling off lately. They requested your presence.”  

She perked up slightly but then remembered she was supposed to be mad. As maddening as her husband was, their fights were usually small and quickly diffused. “Fine, I’ll go. But are you sure it’s alright for me to leave the house instead of waiting on you hand and foot?” 

“Annoying,” he muttered, leaving the room but not before he made sure his wife was following him.  

.

Knock, knock, knock. Tsunade pursed her lips, who would be calling on her at this time of night? Everyone should be sitting down for dinner. She set down her cup of tea to answer the door.

To her pleasant surprise, Sakura stood at her doorstep looking breathless and bright-eyed. “I thought I sent you home hours ago?” Tsunade raised a brow at the girl. 

“You did. But I have news! And because of that news I can’t stop for today. There’s more to do.” The words tumbled out of her mouth and if she didn’t slow down, she might just swallow her own tongue. 

“More? But-”

“Izumi is pregnant!” Sakura blurted. A grin overtook her features, “Isn’t that exciting?” She pushed her way into Tsunade’s house for the second time that day. They had work to do! Sakura had so much to learn! Babies were so complicated. 

The older woman sighed. Uchiha or not, it would be useful for Sakura to learn about midwifery and the like. Really, she couldn’t say no to her favorite student. She closed the door and rolled up her sleeves again. 

.

“She started out weak, you said?” Tsunade was mulling over which round of roots and herbs to send with Sakura first. Izumi’s pregnancy was still new, but was already proving difficult and draining. Even a placebo would help reduce the expecting mother’s nerves.  

“Mm, I had a suspicion that she has some kind of illness, and the pregnancy is just making things more difficult for her. I think she can carry to term, but she’ll need lots of rest. I want to do whatever I can to make this easier on her.” 

Smart girl, she praised internally. She finally picked out the jars she was looking for, “Here. Crush that bottom one up and mix it with her tea, the other is an ointment to rub on her ankles when they swell. She should be resting in bed, but there might still be pain. And tell everyone to stop hovering, they’re so pesky.” 

Sakura practically saluted her teacher, “You’ve got it, Tsunade-sama! I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

“Oh, I know you will,” she laughed affectionately. Her little apprentice was really something. 

.

Between caring for Izumi and learning from Tsunade, Sakura barely had a moment to rest. While Sasuke initially made a few more snippy comments about not being home, he couldn’t help but feel the pride welling up inside of him. Other women had started seeking her advice and she earned a reputation as Tsunade’s apprentice who would one day surpass her. He felt smug thinking about how good of a mother Sakura would become, but then he reprimanded himself. He really needed to stop thinking like that. 

When a contraction ripped through Izumi’s body, she immediately gasped, “Get Sakura.”

Sasuke all but sprinted to Tsunade’s house, but somehow, by the time they got back, half the clan had gotten wind of the labor. They had to shoulder their way into the house just to get a glimpse of the expecting mother. 

“I thought you said you brought the best,” some grumpy old auntie eyed Sakura skeptically. 

Sasuke narrowed his eyes at her, “Sakura is the best. Now everybody out, let her work.” No one dared question the authoritative tone in his voice. Sakura brushed past him after squeezing his arm in thanks.

Sakura thought she could be calm, but all sorts of emotions bubbled up inside of her when she knelt next to Izumi’s tense body. Her face twisted in pain and shone with sweat when she panted desperately, “I can’t lose this baby.” The implication was clear: or else she would prove useless as the one to produce the next heir.

And it broke Sakura’s heart. As a mother, she would naturally be worried about her child, but this was unacceptable. 

“Everything is going to be fine,” she reassured her, even as her voice shook and she could barely believe her own words. “Now if someone could please get me some water.” Itachi practically tripped over his own feet fetching the water. She had never seen the man so on edge. 

Sakura couldn’t help but let out her own sob when the baby’s first cry pierced the air and Izumi slumped back in relief. 

.

After a tense eight months, Itachi and Izumi’s son is born, small but healthy. The clan breathed a collective sigh of relief. It was finally time to celebrate. 

Once a few weeks passed, it is agreed that the new little family should visit Izumi’s parents for a while. After only exchanging letters for the past three years, it is only right that they got to see their new grandchild for a while. They were only distantly related to the Uchiha and had established residence in a different village. The journey would take a number of days and Mikoto and Fugaku insisted on going along.

Which meant the main house was left to only Sasuke and Sakura for at least a month. 

.

.

A/N: HAHA THERE’S ONLY ONE HOUSE!! AND THEY ALREADY SHARE A BED!! Pervsuke incoming also hopefully it goes without saying that Time is Passing so ss are getting a teensy bit older. I kind of liked how this chapter flipped it so that sakura is the one always gone but even if he’s grumpy at first he’s like damn..she rlly did that LOL you like her don’t u ssk /.\

#sasusaku #fan fic #my writing #arranged marriage AU #um um tags? do not remember anything else

[exitableunderpants]

mark me as your favorite memory

A/N: This is another rewrite from my old blog @editableunderpants. I wrote this after buying some Hawkeye socks and realizing there just ain’t enough Clint online. That is still true online. I need hella more Clint fics, btw. So, if anyone knows of some good ones, please send them my way. More rewrites are coming and some new stories as well. Are there any from my old blog you want to see me rewrite? I plan on doing them all, but have no idea of the order ATM. 

Pairing: Clint Barton & Reader 

Rating: Hella M for smut and my potty mouth. 

--

She was thankful for the empty room, giving her a chance to escape from the rest of the group. She loved most of them dearly but needed a break from them. The only noise around her was the cracking from the fire she had started. She watched the flames dance around as she sipped on vodka from the blue painted mug, the one he had picked up for her from one of the missions he was assigned to go on without her. She wondered how she got here, the turns in her life leaving her confused as ever, which she hated. Her life spiraled and everything shifted and was now spinning around, making her dizzy. Life for her was once simple, but all of that changed.

Because of him.

She had her share of ghosts that haunted her, and she was used to trying to outrun the ghosts, demons and skeletons that were hidden deep in her closet. Although she didn’t like to admit it to anyone, especially herself, there was a lot in her life that she was running from. She didn’t stay in the same place for long, and the people in her life often changed frequently, one face being swapped for another. She didn’t trust and was weary of leaning on anyone else. She had her own back, and didn’t really let her guard down enough to let anyone else in. Life was cruel and she knew that she could only count on herself, and that anyone could betray her.

Everything in her life was her own fucked kind of normal, until that asshole with his bow and arrows came to talk to her about joining Shield. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like if that never happened. Her life would have remained the same, which was neither a good nor a bad thing, but she knew it was preferable then the bullshit she was dealing with now. Her life had been turned inside out, and it left her confused, dizzy and dealing with all these warm and fuzzy feelings for the first time in her life.

Somehow, her dumb ass managed to fall in love.

Maybe she’d feel better if she cursed the moon or sucked screamed about how love sucked. Everyone already knew that though. Love was a losing game that you just played forever on repeat. There was no real winner in the game of love, just slow losers. It was quite the game though, she realized, because everyone kept lining up for another turn.

And in the end, she got a taste of it. She’d probably be foolish enough to line up for it all over again too.

That fucking asshole and his stupid bow and stupid arrows.

It had happened all too quickly, so fast that she never had the chance to realize what was going on. It started like it so often did, with the two of them as just friends. It took some time, but she found a new comfort with him and in time she learned how to trust him and to lean on him. In her first months as a new agent, the two of them had bonded and while friendship didn’t quite come naturally to her, but Clint was patient with her, letting her know it was okay to let him in at her own pace. He eased her into the idea of letting him in, and in time she let her walls come down around him. He took that and ran with it, introducing her to the rest of the team. Slowly, she was learning how to let them in too.

Like fools, they played with fire one night, both of them with an itch that needed scratched. While she maybe had imagined sleeping with him, there was no fantasy that would ever live up to the reality. She wasn’t scared to admit that he had straight up rocked her world that night, and though it was only supposed to be one night, they both ended up coming back for more. Neither of them had been in a hurry to put any kind of label on it though. Which, she was thankful for. Hooking up with him was one thing she was able to process and accept but coming to terms with it being anything else was another story. Instead, they continued in secret, keeping whatever this was behind closed doors. It was enough for her.

It was more than enough.

That was until her heart got in the way.

She never expected to fall in love with Clint Barton. She’d grown to care for him, and that was one thing. Loving him was completely another. It had hit her like a ton of bricks, leaving her breathless. She never really loved anyone else before, and suddenly her heart and her life had become entangled with the mighty Hawkeye. She had tried to keep her feelings to herself, not eager to rush off and ruin the little bubble they had created. She was happy with things as they were and didn’t want her heart to go and ruin that for her.

Only she had managed to open her big fucking mouth and tell him that she loved him, just before he left for a dangerous mission.

He had just started at her in shock before she quickly backed away before she took off running, leaving him to call after her. She didn’t want to hear whatever words came next from him. All she could think of was the upcoming pain and heartbreak that was headed her way. She never meant to put her heart on the line and was on the verge of her first real heartbreak. Clint Barton was a lot of things to her, she just didn’t expect him to be the man that broke her heart.

So, she sat here by the crackling fire, drinking vodka from her favorite mug.

It wasn’t a cure, but at least it had helped some.

His mission had ended, and he was on his way home now. She usually looked forward to those times, because it meant celebrating the return in bed, with his head between her thighs. She personally loved the way he celebrated, but her excitement had dimmed this time. Dread had filled her, and she hated it. Her heart was the source of the entire mess, and she hated it. She felt all over the place, and damn near unstable. This wasn’t like her. In the presence of Clint, she altered from the trained fighter and sniper she was to some lovesick fool.

She had become so lame; she just wanted to roll her eyes and mock herself.

“Hey, Babe.” His voice was low, and the dread that had filled her multiplied. She didn’t look to him though, avoiding him for as long as she could. Seeing him would make this even harder.

“Welcome home.” She tried to keep her voice even for as long as she possibly could. She could only hope that whatever came next was over quickly, a mercy killing on his behalf. She knew that this was supposed to be just sex, without her pesky feelings becoming involved. Although, she didn’t really need him to tell her that. She already knew how much of a mess everything was.

“I missed you.” He said sitting next to her on the couch. He said that after each mission, and she returned those words wholeheartedly. It wasn’t until late that she realized how much she did miss him when he was gone. It felt like a part of her was missing. She chalked it up to nothing more than worry and stress, but she knew there was a lot more underneath that she just wasn’t admitting.

“I missed you too, Clint.” She slowly spoke before turning to face him. He had a nasty purple bruise on his eye, under his face from someone that had gotten just a little too close. She reached over, the pad of her thumb gently tracing over the bruise. “Does it hurt?” She asked as his hand fell over herd, holding it for a moment before bringing it to her mouth and placing a soft kiss to back of her hand.

“Not anymore.” There was a grin playing on his lips and she was reminded on how honest he was with her. She had a history of being with men that tended to feel the need to boost their ego and say there was no pain at all. She’d been hit before and knew that no pain was a fucking lie. She knew it had to hurt to be hit as hard as it was to leave a bruise like that.

“You make it pay for him?” He laughed at her question before nodding.

“Of course.” He spoke before reaching for her mug, his nose wrinkling at the scent. “Babe, it’s still pretty early.” His eyebrow was raised, and it was so typical of him to worry and want to take care of her. He’d been like that since she finally agreed to join Shield. He was protective and had her back from the very start. It wasn’t something that was easily forgotten.

“It’s happy hour somewhere in the world.” She mumbled as he stared at her for a moment, she knew he was trying to process just how worried he should be. He reached over before tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, his eyes never leaving her.

“I think we should talk about when I left.” He started, and she felt all the air leave her lungs. She thought she had a grip on this and tried to brace herself. Those words were going to break her heart, and she wasn’t sure if that was something she was going to be able to manage.

She was still beyond pissed that she had to go and fall in love. No good ever came from that.

“Oh.” She took a big chug from her mug and he just raised his eyebrow again. She didn’t know what to say next.

“You love me.” His voice was calm and even, with no trace of anger and disgust in his words. She was thankful for that, at least.

“Look, I know the timing was terrible. I didn’t mean for it to slip out and I have just been sitting here for days.” She sighed, fingers playing with the fabric on the couch to distract herself from him. “I just—I tried Clint.” She was rambling, not even sure what it was that she was trying to say. She created a huge mess, and she wasn’t sure to go about tidying it up.

“I love you too, Babe.” His words shut her up. She just blinked as she stared at him, trying to process if she had heard him correctly.

“Oh.” It was all she could really muster. “Oh.”

“Babe,” his voice was soft as his fingers were under her chin, raising her head to look at him. Their eyes locked and she took the moment to memorize the color of his eyes. “I love you, you goof.” Those words caused a smile to spread across her face, reality sinking in. His hand now cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. “Say it again.” He urged and she didn’t need a prompt of what he wanted repeated; she knew what he wanted to hear.

“I love you, Clint Barton.” The words barely left her mouth and his lips were firmly pressed against hers in a kiss that left her head spinning. One hand of his was resting on the side of her neck, the other now tangled in her hair. She let her hands roam down his chest, feeling each toned muscle under her fingertips.

“I really like hearing that.” He whispered in her ear after he broke the kiss. She let out a shaky laugh as his mouth moved down her jaw and to her neck. She now liked saying it, now that the fear was gone and this wonderful knowledge of him loving her back had washed over her. She had no idea why he loved her, but she was not about to start questioning it. The fear of her words on top of worrying about him while he was gone had left her on edge for days, all she wanted was to just in lost in the man she loved for a moment.

The man who loved her back.

“I love you.” She repeated, now aware that he liked hearing it. He hummed his approval against her throat, the vibration pulsing through her and causing her to shit her eyes in the pleasure. His teeth grazed and nipped against her skin, a soft moan leaving her at the sensation as his tongue darted across the skin he had nibbled at with his teeth. While he was careful to never leave any marks, she wasn’t too sure she cared in this moment if any evidence was peppered across her skin.

She reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up as far as she could before his hands grabbed both of her wrists gently. “Easy, Babe.” He pressed his lips back to hers, holding her hands still as she tried to fight to reach for his shirt once more. “We are in a public area. We may be alone for now, but this is still an easily accessible and popular room.” She wasn’t sure why her little hideaway was as popular as it was, it was just one of the little corners in the tower she found and liked well enough.

“You are no fun.” She huffed, causing him to laugh.

“You are aware of just how fun I can be.” He placed a soft kiss to her forehead, standing up and offering his hand to her. “I just am not goanna share you. Besides, if they don’t know, then we don’t have to deal with any of the dumb jokes Tony is bound to come up with.” She immediately thought of Wanda and Vision, who after months were still hearing jokes about the two of them being together.

“It will be worse if we don’t tell them and they manage to find out on their own.” She warned, placing her hand in his. He helped her to her feet, his arms around her waist letting his hands grab at her ass. It seemed to be his favorite spot for his hands to rest.

“You’re right.” He admitted, a grin on his face. “So, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen by not getting caught in here.” Standing on her toes, she brushed her lips against his.

“Well, you might want to get me upstairs soon then, because I have these wicked thoughts about how blowing you in this room could be fun.” His laughter filled the room as he gently tugged on her arm, leading her out of the common room and to the bedroom that he usually stayed in. The moment the door closed behind them, she was pressed against it and his mouth was once again connected to hers. This kiss was rougher, and full of heat. She loved it.

“This is about useless.” He lifted her tee over her head, leaving her in only her black bra. He cupped her through the fabric, causing her to bite down on her bottom lip. He loved the fact that her breasts were very sensitive, and often used it against her to drive her wild.

“So is yours, Barton.” Her fingers played with the hem of his shirt once more. This time he didn’t stop her as she pulled it up his body, exposing his toned stomach. She bit down on her bottom lip again as he helped her get the shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor next to hers. His stomach was covered in deep purple marks and she sighed heavily as her fingers lightly traced over the bruises, noting when he winced as her fingers brushed against his bruised and possibly broken ribs. “Clint, you look like shit.”

“Too bad you never got the chance to see the other guy.” He snorted at his own joke, cupping her face in his hands.

“If you say so.” Her eyes didn’t leave his bruises, and she felt worry pit and bubble in her stomach. She knew the job and the life they led, but she hated the times he returned to her all battered and beaten up. He wasn’t invincible, and that fact scared her to her core sometimes.

“Instead of sassing me, Babe, why don’t you put that mouth to better use?” His voice was low and commands, and she just gulped as a wave of heat washed over her. She nodded her head, not sure if she trusted herself to speak yet. No words were really needed as she dropped to her knees, her fingers unbuttoning his jeans. He was already semi hard, and that was no surprise really. Wrapping fingers around him, she pumped a few times and earned a groan from him before she replaced her fingers with her lips.

“Mmm.” She mumbled, with a mouth full of him. It was a common scene between the two of them, with her on her knees. She loved it. It was a power play and Clint held most of the power behind their closed door, something she didn’t mind in the slightest and loved the way he took control. It made her heart flutter and heat pool between her legs with each command from him. This was the one time that she was able to hold some of the power, while still handing it over to him. She loved as he unraveled in her mouth.

“Fuck, Babe.” He groaned, his hips jerking to their own rhythm as she hummed around him. Looking up at him, she saw him gripping the wall with his eyes shit and his mouth hanging open slightly. “I love that pretty little mouth of yours.” He remarked and she hummed her approval as his hips jerked once again. She loved watching the mighty Hawkeye become a moaning mess in her mouth. Though he rarely finished in her mouth, always stating he’d rather wait. She liked the times he had spilled in her mouth, because she liked watching him lose control under her touch. He always had her moaning and crying for more, so it was a nice change of pace sometimes. As his fingers gripped her hair, she knew that it wasn’t going to be the case. He pulled her up and crashed his lips against hers, turning them so she was firmly pressed against the wall. His hands undid her pants, before sliding under her underwear, two fingers parting her before stroking her.

“Damn,” she whimpered under his skillful touch. He just chuckled before connecting their mouths again, his fingers stroking at a pace so slow it was almost maddening. She tried to protest, but his mouth swallowed the sounds. He finally broke the kiss, pulling her pants and underwear down and tossing them aside to be forgotten. He kicked his own jeans off, before lifting her in his arms and grinning as her long legs wrapped around his waist.

“I love you, Babe.” He repeated once again with a soft kiss to her forehead as he laid her down on the bed. She grinned at those words, there was no way she could ever be tired of hearing them. They were to music to her ears now, and they played her favorite melody.

“I love you too, Clint.” She reached for his face, fingers tracing over the bruise again before he closed the distance between them, kissing her again. She wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers playing with his soft hair. The kiss only lasted a moment before he trailed his lips against her body, leaving soft kisses.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen some of these body parts…” he trailed on, a soft kiss against her stomach. “There is one area I missed quite a bit, and I plan on taking my time getting reacquainted.” She gasped at his words as he spread her thighs, placing gently kisses to her inner thighs before his tongue came in contact with her aching center.

“Oh fuck, baby.” She whimpered as she arched her back and rocked her hips forward. She heard his chuckle as he pushed her hips back down to the mattress, his hands remaining there to steady her.

“Patience.” He said, and she just snorted.

“Fat chance, Barton.” He chuckled against her, the vibrations flying through her, causing a loud moan to leave her mouth. There was something sinful about the way he made her feel when his head was between her thighs. His tongue swirled over her, keeping on a steady pace as she started to feel herself lose her control. She could feel the hot build up in the pit of her stomach, but he backed off just as she approached her edge.

“You taste fantastic, Babe.” He mumbled as he pulled his mouth away from her, whines of protest leaving her. He soothed her with a soft kiss to her inner thigh.

“Stop teasing me, asshole.” She grumbled, and he laughed before biting down gently on the skin of her inner thigh that he just kissed.

“You’re a handful, aren’t you?”

“You love it.” She said as she opened her eyes, looking at him.

“Yeah, I do.” She watched as he took himself in his hand, pumping himself a few times. Her mouth watered at the sight, trying to be patient for what she knew came next. He aligned himself wat her entrance, and she pushed her hips forward, causing a groan to leave him as he entered her. His hands gripped at her hips as he gave her a moment to adjust, which she was always thankful for. After several moments, he started to rock his hips at a pace that left her gripping the sheets of the bed, her eyes closed in pleasure. “You are so fucking beautiful, Babe.” He whispered as he lifted her leg slightly, allowing him to hit her at a new angle.

“Oh fuck.” She whimpered as she back arched off the mattress. She was already so fucking close. He knew it, because he increased the pace before reaching between her thighs, this thumb circling her clit.

“Come for me, Baby.” He whispered, and she was powerless against his command.

She cried out as her orgasm washed over her, leaving her gasping for breath and wildly bucking underneath him.

“Fuck.” He grunted as his speed increased as he hit his own climax, coming inside of her. He rolled off her before covering his eyes with his forearm, heavily breathing. Once both of them were able to catch their breath, he pulled her against him, and wrapped his arms around her.

“We are going to have to tell everyone eventually.” She said after a moment, looking up at him. “I mean, right? Is this something to tell, because I know we are just fuck buddies—”

“Is that really all you think this is?” She wasn’t expecting the confused and hurt look on his face.

“Well, not really. We just called it that, and never actually discussed anything else.” He sighed, placing a soft kiss against her temple.

“Babe, you never were just a fuck buddy to me. I don’t mix sex and friends—this was always something more for me.” He said, and it was her turn to look confused.

“You never said!”

“You always liked the idea of no-strings.” He pointed out, causing her to sigh.

“You were always different though, Clint. I don’t want you as just some fuck buddy.”

“Babe, are you asking me to go steady?” He had a stupid grin on his face as he mocked her, and she just playfully jabbed his arm.

“Oh, shut up.” She mumbled as he leaned down to kiss her.

“I like the idea of being more than your fuck buddy, Babe.”

“Good.”

“It’s settled then.” He hugged her closed to him, his eyes closing. It was typical of Clint to doze off after sex, not that she was any different. She could feel sleep trying to claim her as her own eyes got heavy.

“Clint?” She asked with a yawn. “It was never just fuck buddies for me either.” She admitted before closing her eyes, falling asleep in his arms. After all, this was her favorite place to be.

#clint barton fanfiction #clint barton smut #clint barton drabble #clint barton x reader #clint barton imagine #hawkeye x reader #hawkeye drabble #hawkeye imagine #hawkeye smut #hawkeye fanfiction #avengers x reader #avengers drabble request #avengers smut #avengers drabble #avengers fanfiction #avengers imagine

[wordsturnintostories]

show me your rosettes, baby (g)

summary: The world tour is over and the Bangtan Boys finally get their well-deserved break. When Namjoon suddenly can’t find Jimin anywhere, things take an unexpected and pretty unbelievable turn. “Kim Namjoon!” “Hyung. How common is it for people to turn into cats?” word count: 2.3k note: ahhhh. this is one of my favorite bits. wanted to post this later but then decided that @justanemptydream needs a little fluff today. hope it helps, darling ✨

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

[ prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven ]

Bathing Jimin turns out to be a surprisingly easy task. Namjoon knows plenty of people (okay, maybe not plenty, but at least Hoseok’s sister and then a few) whose cats go batshit crazy at the sight of a filled bathtub. Kitty Jimin is a completely different story.

Maybe one part of the reason his curious blue eyes always find back to the tub is that he’s (been?) turned into an inexperienced cub who has never had a first bath and who has therefore not made any bad experiences with it in the past. Maybe he just doesn’t complain because he’s Park Jimin, a person who generally likes water and being in it, be it a pool, an ocean or an aquarium (only the one they’d tried and failed to raise some pet fish in (they’d needed fake ID’s to buy those, what the hell) that they had finally given to Bang Sihyuk as a belated birthday gift and that after a couple years of standing next to his desk got transformed into one of those fancy floor-to-ceiling aquariums).

The younger doesn’t mind the bathtub and is quick to run circles in it, excitement overflowing before there’s even water in the tub. Yoongi and Namjoon both stand outside in swimming trunks, amused at the innocence before them. They are holding their respective yellow-patch-jeans in their hands, trying to get the pesky pee-stains out over the sink. Thanks, Jimin.

Deciding to let the liquid laundry detergent sate the textile, they drop the clothes and finally let water in the bathtub. It’s a little strange, bathing together (they’ve probably never done that before) in swimming trunks (that they have). They have seen each other naked plenty of times, side-effect of sharing showers in their pre-debut and debut dorms and even Jimin hasn’t been a stranger to these occasions (which doesn’t legitimize staying naked around each other, though). Still, he’s tiny right now and if his hyungs sit down, he’s exactly on crotch level. So. Swimming trunks it is. You could call it Child Protection Services.

To their surprise, Jimin becomes oddly vocal as soon as the warm water sloshes around his paws and legs and soon, even higher, up to his underbelly. Excited little squeaks pour out of him and turn into pants whenever the water sloshes into his mouth. But the cub splashes and paddles, a little whirlwind of yips and soaked fur.

“Hyung,” Namjoon requests, “do you want to wash him?”

“Sure,” Yoongi says and fishes the rascal out of the water. Jimin paddles even as they lift him into the air, tail swinging left and right like a rudder. The kitty gasps and meows, whipping around his head as if he can't decide whether he would like to be let back down into the sloshing tides or not. Yoongi holds him against his belly and hasn’t even reached for a shampoo bottle when Jimin starts climbing his body. At first, Yoongi gently puts his hand under Jimin’s ass, receiving a raised eyebrow-look by Namjoon.

“So he doesn’t fall,” Yoongi argues, “could you please hand me Jungkook’s soap?"

“Why Jungkook’s? He won’t like you using his.”

“Because it’s without perfume. Cats have better noses than humans. I don’t want to use scented shampoo on him.”

Namjoon nods, grateful that his hyung keeps the important things in mind. No matter how cheesy it might sound, the members are better together. They complete each other. Like the dough and the filling in a bungeoppang.

Jimin stays elated until the last second of the bath, blessed with an entire new slice of life and two hyungs that serve it on a silver platter. Even with countless mouthfuls of water, the cub doesn’t seem to mind the liquid. His little tail points straight at the ceiling and shakes as he explores. It’s honestly endearing to watch him and Namjoon wishes the others could be here right now too so they could all share this memory. Who knows, maybe it’s even physically benefitting to watch our little dongsaeng like this, he thinks, with the way the kitty makes his hyung’s hearts beat faster and gives them something to laugh about. It’s utterly adorable.

Yoongi asks Namjoon to hold out his hands and lowers Jimin into them so that his belly rests on Namjoon’s fingers like they are a carrier so that his thumbs can support the cat’s sides. Namjoon feels the little wet tail fall against his wrist. When Yoongi gently cards his fingertips against Jimin’s fur, working the soap in, the leopard cub relaxes and even the thumpy heartbeat that hits Namjoon’s middle finger calms down. The hyungs are quiet as they take to washing their dongsaeng. The new, unfamiliar rumbly sound that emerges doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Is he-“ Yoongi says with big eyes.

The other rapper nods, closer to the source. To his hands, it’s like touching the delicate skin of his studio’s woofers. Jimin’s whole body vibrates with every raspy purr.

“He’s purring, hyung. He purrs.”

"I didn't know leopards could purr..."

"They... can't, normally. But you're special, huh, Jiminie? You're so special."

While Namjoon keeps cooing at the younger, Yoongi has got a bright smile on his face as Jimin's direct response to his touch encourages him to keep going. The entire time, the cub doesn’t move a muscle, may it be a consequence of being physically suspended in Namjoon’s hands or just of happy hormones being released. Even as his older brother lets the warm water wash over Jimin’s body to free him of the rest of the washing lotion, the cat remains absolutely still.

Finally, Namjoon just lets the smaller one sit on his thigh. And even then, despite his enthusiasm earlier, Jimin just stretches and plops down. His legs don’t even reach the sides of his hyung’s thigh so he looks like a pancake (flat and spread out) as he falls asleep.

In all honesty, it takes a lot to be manly and Yoongi and Namjoon both seem to not own that much of manliness yet because as soon as they realize that their kitty is sleeping, they both coo without shame.

“He must be drained,” Namjoon whispers, “turning into a leopard baby is probably stressful.”

“He looks so small. Let’s take care of him well.”

“Of course, hyung. But what if-“ Namjoon is afraid to say finish that idea. He doesn’t want to ruin their happiness. But he’s got responsibilities. And carrying responsibility means looking at the future and making good decisions in the present. He wants to make good decisions, for them all, for Jimin, but especially in this time when the younger can’t make decisions on his own. 

“What if he stays like this?”

“Would that be so bad?”

Whatever the leader expected Yoongi to say, it isn’t this. Never in a hundred years. He has to be careful not to break the whisper.

“Yoongi-ah! Don’t talk like this. How could that be good? Jiminie turned into a cat. How can he perform like this?”

The elder looks almost stoic; not displeased, not joyful, just… calm. Like the issue at hand can’t bother him.

“I didn’t think that far ahead yet, to be honest. I don’t think he’s even gonna stay like this until then. He’ll probably come back soon. I just meant for now.”

“What is different between for now and the next months? Jimin can’t do anything like this.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to at the moment. We’re on our break. This couldn’t have happened at a better time, Joon-ah. Imagine if this would’ve happened at the beginning of our next tour.”

Namjoon stays quiet. That would have been horrible. He hopes Bangtan will never have to pause a tour because of something like this. Or lie to ARMY about it. Because that would be even worse.

“What I’m saying is,” Yoongi eyes seem deep and full of wisdom, “maybe this is exactly what Jimin needs. Look at him right now, he’s sleeping so peacefully with you. I bet he’ll eat better too.”

“You think his body can use this to recover?”

“Yeah. We all know he’s not fine right now. Maybe his body is even responsible for this. Maybe he would have gotten really sick if he hadn’t turned. You know how poorly he takes care of himself sometimes. Maybe the ghost of Taehyung’s halmoni felt sorry for him and turned him into a cat.”

Namjoon snorts but tries to not wake up Jimin. The little one stays asleep, only his tail curls up and Namjoon knows he will be watching documentaries all day long tomorrow so he’ll know how to read a cat’s body language. He needs to be able to communicate with his dongsaeng.

“You’re good at comforting me. Thank you for being my friend,” Namjoon says and Yoongi sends him a rare, deep smile.

“You’re a great friend too, Joon-ah. But the water is getting cold. Let’s wash up.”

They do, after each other, and lift Jimin out of there so he can’t get in the way. The kitty seems displeased with the cold surface of the counter, mewling, which makes the boys hurry up. Soon, they pat their brother dry with a warm towel.

---

The first mistake was forgetting to bring their clothes. The second one is leaving the bathroom to get them. Together. When they come back, all they see in the suspiciously quiet room is streaks of bright, glittery galaxy-blue toothpaste (thank you for your taste in paste, Taehyung-ssi) decorating the counter. It winds and runs along the sink and some even hangs off the edge, dangerously close to dripping down. It looks like a freaking toothpaste explosion, with how lushly it is spread out and smeared across the marble. The whole room smells like mint.

Yoongi cackles while Namjoon frowns. What the heck is what goes through his mind. On first glance, he’s alarmed. On the second glance, he finds the guilty suspect - animatedly chewing on the plastic tube of toothpaste down in the sink, looking quite galaxy-blue himself. When he notices his hyungs, he looks up wide-eyed, going for his cute-innocent look (typical Jimin). It doesn’t take (thank you, self-control media training), but it does make them want to whine. Too much cuteness. It almost hurts.

“Oh Jiminie,” Namjoon laments, “why are you making such a mess?”

The sticky cat meows absentmindedly before making more toothpaste squirt out of the container. The little one gets up and rolls in the stuff, happily spreading it everywhere with his tail.

Yoongi giggles at the sight, shamelessly taking pictures. A second later, he’s got a new wallpaper. “Maybe he just liked the first bath a little too much.”

They wash Jimin again. But this time, in solitary treatment, cold water, and the sink, which seems to be a new favorite spot of the little leopard’s (despite the fact that this is supposed to be a punishment).

“C’mon, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi nudges the cat that seems to doze off every time he’s left alone for a second. “We’ll eat something and then you can find a sunny, warm spot and sleep, yeah?” Jimin yawns wide, showing off all his sharp little teeth.

“Oh, look at you, you’re so tired. Come here,” Yoongi knows he’s talking to Jimin like he’s a baby but the little one does need some babying right now.

His suspicion (hope?) from earlier turns out to be right. As soon as there is food, Jimin devours it, not caring about his diet plans and the company’s ideas about his figure or even the public’s words. He just eats like he’s never eaten before and when he’s done, he crawls away to lie down and lick after lick, cleans his fur.

“You might be right,” Namjoon says. “Maybe we shouldn’t interfere and just wait what happens.

“Yeah. Don’t pick the flower before it blooms. As long as we’ve got time off, it’s all good.”

Namjoon nods. “Fine.”

---

They watch a couple episodes of some new drama on tv when suddenly, Taehyung calls. Of course, they’ve all texted and talked the last couple of days, none of the members familiar or comfortable with that much distance between each other, but right now, Namjoon wishes he wouldn’t have to take the call. He feels oddly unprepared for an inquisitive Taehyung and he doesn’t want to tell the youngest Kim off, let alone make him sad. His attempt at handing the phone to Yoongi fails. Yoongi is asleep. Typical.

“Heeeeey,” Taehyung drawls, sounding happy and excited. He’s probably having a blast back home.

“What’s up, Tae?”

“I miss you,” he says, a little more quietly, and adds, “and I miss my Jiminie, is he better?”

Namjoon swallows. Should I tell him? He decides no. No, they should see that for themselves instead of hearing it over the phone. It might sound a little too crazy.

“Aw, it’s only been a couple of days, Taehyung-ah. But we miss you too. It’s strange, everything is so quiet, right?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung mumbles.

“But yeah, Jimin is better. He’s uh, he’s running around again.”

“That’s great! Can I talk to him? He’s not answering his phone.” That’s… because of reasons. Namjoon isn’t sure what to say. He looks at Yoongi, who looks so at home with Jimin on his chest. He can’t expect any help from them, obviously.

“Um, he’s with hyung right now. They’re busy, sorry Tae. Maybe you can talk to him tomorrow. You’re gonna be back soon, right?”

“Mh,” Taehyung says, obviously unhappy with the answer. “Tell him I said hi and that I miss him a lot. I wish he could be here with me.”

“I’ll make sure to tell him.”

They talk for a little more, about all the nice things Taehyung’s been up to during his time with his family, on the farm in the countryside (I like countrysiiiiideeee, Namjoon’s mind yells out of nowhere, spooking him). The call ends when Seoul dips in darkness and rises as a sea of lights and Namjoon wonders if he should just let Yoongi sleep on the couch.

He does in the end, not keen on disturbing either hyung or dongsaeng. With compassion in his heart, he pulls a blanket over his two brothers and goes to bed.

[ prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven ]

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

tags: @xmagicxshopx, @taeshuworld, @justanemptydream, @hoodmeup, @gingerpeachtae

#park jimin #pjm #show me your rosettes baby (g) #smyrbg #bts #bangtan #kim namjoon #min yoongi #jimin #rm #suga #kim taehyung #v #supernatural au #bts fanfic #wordsturnintostories #oct6 #oct11

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

uGH PLEASE DO MORE DEMON N ANGEL

ENJOY :-)——He would definitely flaunt the fact that he knows she likes him.

When they first met, she could barely stand to be around him because of who they are and the history behind both of their creators, but as time went by, she’d slowly let down her walls and warmed up to him a bit and he couldn’t be happier to take advantage of it.

“You like me.” He’d say it with that cocky smirk she hates so much where one of the corners of his lips is tilted higher than the other, biting a single dimple into place. His hands cross over his hard chest as he tilts his head to the side slightly, as if trying to gauge her emotions by reading her body language.

“No I don’t.” She scoffs, crossing her own arms across her body to seem intimidating, refusing to be seen as less of stature. But in reality, she’s doing it to hide her shaky hands, balling them up into tight fists and tucking them against the inside of her elbows, lifting her chin up slightly with a confident, defiant air. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Harry quirks one of his eyebrows, licking across his plump lower lip, running it between his teeth, loving the way she’s trying to avoid squirming but he can see her knees beginning to buckle.

He pushes off the wall he’d been leaning on with the heel of his boot, heading towards her with slow, smooth movements that remind her of how a snake would move when trying to hypnotize its prey (a fitting analogy, if you ask her).

Harry is moving gradually with his long legs, heel first, then toe, making sure that the his boots echo against the ground. The muscles of his crossed arms flex and contract with every action, shifting under the thin, sheer material of his black button-up, the silky fabric shimmering faintly under the buttery light of the lamp at the corner of the room. His hips sway ever-so-slightly as he moves, rhythmic and entrancing, annunciating his every motion to intensify his affect on his target. He walks with a nerve-grating tone of haughtiness, self-righteousness, and smugness, as of aware that he’s everything anyone could ever crave. As if aware that he’s absolutely, intoxicatingly enthralling.

Harry is standing before her now, his frame towering above her’s, gaze flickering over the tops of his cheeks in order to keep his chin tilted up in a condescending manner that gives the impression of having the upper hand in the encounter. His grin is viscous and predatorily amused, dimples winking into place to taunt her. It’s preposterous that a person— no, that a rodent such as himself would be endowed with features that signify beauty and pureness.

He’s vile, wretched and he only cares about himself. He’s cold, lustful, violent, arrogant, and rude. He embodies the worst characteristics known to man and celestial beings everywhere, yet he has the looks of an angel and that in itself is a giant stain on the fabric of the logic that makes space and time work.

Harry can see all of these thoughts going through her mind. He can see it in her eyes— in the way they flash with unhinged hatred and unshakeable disgust. He’s not backing down, though. He’s seen this same sheen across her glossy stare many time before, but as he looks upon her now, there’s something else under all of those default emotions that have been wired into her brain. There’s a certain curious sparkle teeming in the golden specks around her pupils, shimmering in the depths of her irises with a form of undeniable craving. This is enough for him to go off of.

“You’re right.” He deadpans suddenly, shrugging his eyebrows dismissively.

“I…am…?” The way he had given up so easily leaves Y/N uncalibrated, her comment sounding more like a question rather than a statement. She had been ready to fight for herself and her morals, but he had simply swept the ordeal under the rug and now she is left with all of this pent up adrenalin buzzing in the tips of her fingers and jittering around the inside of her skull.

“Yeah, you are. You do hate me.” Harry says, his attitude towards the subject heavy with disinterest. “It’s pretty obvious, wouldn’t you say?”

He’s toying with her. He must be. There’s no way he would give something like this up— torturing people is what brings him the most joy and he knows just how much discussing this would torment her. There’s something else coming, and Y/N tenses up just at the sheer notion of what it could be.

“Yes.” Her voice is tight and rough when she answers, shifting from one foot to the next and keeping her big doe eyes pinned on him in a cautionary glare.

“Exactly.” Harry wags one of his index fingers at her, but then he begins to shake his head lightly. “But here’s the thing, darling,” he puts emphasis on the word because he’s aware of how much she hates it when he calls her pet names, “that’s not all that’s there. Not anymore, at least.”

“What? What do you mean?” Her vehement gaze falters for a second as she blinks at him in confusion.

Harry draws closer to her— close enough that she anticipates her back hitting the nearest wall if he takes a few more steps forward.

“When I first met you, it was pretty obvious you hated me. Like, really hated me. When we shook hands for the first time, you nearly broke my fingers! They would’ve self-healed, being a demon and all, but it still would’ve been a rude gesture, especially since we didn’t know each other at all and you were already trying to hurt me.”

“Your point?” Y/N pushes in the form of an exasperated sigh, arms tightening across her torso anxiously.

“I’m getting there. It’s rude to interrupt, y’know that?” Harry tuts disapprovingly, lips plumping into a faux pout that makes her blood boil angrily.

She gulps slowly, breathing out and reigning in patience.

“When I looked into your eyes then, all I saw was spite towards me. Nothing out of the ordinary considering what Daddy has probably told you about me. But when I look into your eyes now, there’s something else under all of that anger and distaste.” The edges of Harry’s mouth tilt up triumphantly, celebrating a win that isn’t his to claim. He blinks all slow and sensual, taking his lower lip between his teeth and grinning mockingly. “Desire.”

Y/N can’t help the snort that escapes her. One of her hands comes up to cover the lower half of her face as she giggles, the idea he’s suggesting seeming too idiotic to be palpable. It’s hilarious. “Yeah, okay.”

Harry doesn’t let her reaction deter him, though. He expected nothing less.

“Yeah, yeah, snicker all you want. Laughing is just a coping mechanism, y’know?” He rolls his eyes as Y/N shakes with glee, her body slowly calming down enough for him to finish his analysis. “In the end, sweetheart, I’m right. You wanna know why? Because if there’s one thing in particular demons specialize in, it’s desire.”

His dark emerald eyes flit an ominous black for a second and that manages to stifle the last of her giggles.

“Over the centuries, I’ve seen that same glint in your eyes show up in the eyes of the many, many, many women and men I’ve been with. They’ve all had that same curiousness flashing across their irises, that same glimmer of want fogged over the whites of their eyes. I’ve seen it grow and grow as I bent them over a bar counter or strapped them to a bedpost, pushing inside each one while murmuring sweet nothings into their ears.”

There’s no trace of humor on Y/N’s face anymore, but rather a stinging in her cheeks at the actions Harry is mentioning. She backs up further, her spine finally hitting the cold surface of the wall and now there’s no where left for her to go as he continues inching his way towards her, chest ghosting over her own.

“Just face it, angel,” Y/N winces at the name because it sounds so dirty coming from his mouth, “you like me.”

She begins to shake her head, refusing to believe it. There’s no way she could ever fall for a demon. Never for a creature of such vile origins and with such negative consequences as him. Not in a millennia. She was one of her dad’s favorites for a reason: because she could see reason better than all of her other siblings. And as of now, there’s an evident reason as why she should smite Harry here and now and get his pesky presence out of her life for good.

“I don’t like you.” Y/N huffs, straightening her back and pushing her chest forward a bit to seem in control. “I never could and never will.”

“Oh, really?” Harry counters, a dangerous simper toying at his rosy lips, the bronze specks in his dark jade eyes glinting challengingly. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I did this.”

He pushes forward, their chests finally touching as he slams her into the wall, resting the palm of his hand against the curve of her neck and tucking a thumb underneath her clenched jaw, forcing her head to turn at an angle. Harry trails his hot lips over her simmering skin, the static of her celestial energy burning his mouth. But he loves the pain— lives for it. When it comes to love, if it doesn’t hurt, it isn’t fun.

“Harry—!” Y/N tries to go for an authoritative voice, but it comes out as a watery yelp that causes him to chuckle deep in his chest. Her shoulders buck against him, her thighs being trapped between his as he straddles her standing up, his huge hands going up to cup her trembling jaw.

“If you want me to stop,” Harry bites into the flesh along the dip of her shoulder, resulting in her jerking in his hold, “just say so and I will. I’ll drop all of this and leave you alone for the rest of eternity. Just say it— say you don’t like me.”

Her stomach suddenly fills with an overwhelming sense of dread, her disdain threatening to make an appearance in the form of bile. The dread molds into self-hate, the raw emotion writhing at the pit of her tummy and causing her to whimper without consent.

She hates herself because, as Harry smooths his intoxicatingly soft lips up her battering pulse and across the shell of her twitching ear, she realizes that everything he’s said is true. She does have an interest in him.

Y/N wants to scream out that it’s all fake— that she could never have feelings for someone as horrible and disgusting and evil as Harry, but she finds herself at a loose for words because if there’s something angels can never do, it’s lie.

So she resigns, her body slowly seizing its fight against him, and rather inviting him in. Her quivering hands trail up his hips, snaking their way across his back hesitantly, her nails digging into the hard muscles that flex at her feathery touch.

Harry nibbles at the curve of her flushed ear, the corners of his lips jutting upwards with victorious glee. He got her. He finally got her.

He brushes his nose across her thumping temple and down her jolting cheekbone, the tip coming to rest against her own as she pants heavily against his parted lips, their breathing mingling in the space between their mouths. He looks at her— really looks at her— and the whites of her eyes are starting to glow faintly.

Harry thumbs over the slope of her shaky jaw, eyeing her trembling mouth with raw desire and utter need. Her lips are so colored and flushed and swollen and he just has to have them.

Has to feel them against his own as she gasps his name onto his tongue and whimpers shy pleads against his hot skin. Has to feel them against his own as he forces her to swallow his heavy grunts as he slams his hips against her soft, supple thighs. He just has to feel them against him anywhere. On the pulse in his neck, sucking at it as if trying to wean the life out of the beating of his black heart. Against his ear, whining about about how good he feels inside her and how big he is and how she can’t get enough of him and to go faster and harder and deeper. Wants them kissing sloppily down his chest, tickling the wings of his butterfly tattoo and the tips of the ferns across his pelvis as her hand dips inside his tight briefs and tugs him into a frenzy.

Harry has to have her and it has to be now, or else he’s going to go absolutely mad. He swears it on Lucifer and on the universe and even on God himself that if she doesn’t give herself to him, he’s going to rip Hell a new one.

“Tell me…” He gulps thickly, licking his burning lips in anticipation, “tell me you want me. Tell me this— whatever this is— tell me it’s real.”

Y/N shudders out a nervous sigh, praying (ironically enough) that her dad isn’t seeing any of this. “It’s re—“

“No.” The harshness behind Harry’s words causes her to swallow her own. He caresses his thumbs under her wide, innocent eyes, loving the way they’re glowing for him. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it right.

“Tell this me it’s real.” His eyes grow black, as if someone has splattered ink across his pretty green irises, his furrowed brows framing the soulless color almost angrily. Then something happens that she’s never seen before.

It happens in a millisecond, but the sight makes it feel like an eternity.

Harry’s face begins to morph, his skin peeling off into itself, revealing bloody muscle tissue beneath it. His pretty cheekbones become more rigid, sharp enough that they glint like the edge of a knife. His eyes sink further into his skull, making his face look ghastly and undead. His lips turn charred, the pretty ruby redness she knows so well fading away into a burnt shade of dark brown. And his eyes— they’re bleeding. Trails of the crimson liquid stream down his face, dribbling down his neck and staining the collar of his sheer dress shirt.

It’s horrifying, to say the least. Y/N had heard the stories of what demons’ real faces looked like, but she’d brushed them off because she never thought she’d have to encounter a real one. Yet here she is, with Harry’s crooked nose pressed against her own and his void gaze biting into her, full of all the pain and turmoil known to all of the universe, devine and not.

She feels like she’s going to throw up again. Is she really about to allow herself to kiss this? A creature so hideous and full of hatred, created in the deepest pits of the worst place in existence with the intention of bringing pain and misery to everything God had created?

Y/N is about to push him away and admit that she was wrong. That she couldn’t do this. That it had been a fleeting moment of weakness in her mission in life and that it would never happen again. But then she sees, just out of the corner of her eye as it peaks out through the fabric of the demon’s sheer shirt, the tip of a butterfly tattoo.

And that’s enough to reel her back in. The thing before her isn’t just any terrifying creature— it’s Harry. Harry, who was nice to her even after she was so cold to him because of what he was and because of who she was. Harry, who smells like Tom Ford cologne and chamomile shampoo and chews too much mint gum and likes to wear heeled boots even though they’re uncomfortable and overpriced. Harry, who wears ridiculous Hawaiian dad shirts that cost more than a gastric bypass surgery and jeans so tight they make him look like he doesn’t have any male reproductive parts. Harry, who slept on the couch in the hotel room in order to give her the needed space she wanted and who, when she couldn’t find her Bible, helped her look for it rather than telling her to rot.

He was a demon, yes, but he was also Harry.

And not just any Harry, but he was her Harry.

Y/N surges forward and before she can interpret what her body is doing, her lips are pressed to his and her arms are wrapping around his broad shoulders, pulling him deeper, wanting to feel him against her.

The gory roughness of Harry’s flesh melts away into its usual tone and texture, the blackness in his eyes dissolving away into nothing. His cheeks have that healthy flush again rather than bloody skin tissue, and his cheekbones are back to their normal sharpness. Everything grisly about his appearance fades away, leaving behind the beautiful, curly-haired young man she knows so well, his eyes wide in shock.

“It’s real.” She mumbles against his mouth, diving a fist into his silky ringlets, kissing him rougher and deeper and whimpering at the back of her throat when his warm hands grab at her hips all needy.

A big, goofy, loved-up grin spreads across Harry’s stupidly perfect teeth as he chuckles into the kiss, all wispy and dopey and unbelievably happy. When he speaks, his voice is muffled by her mouth and by the giant smile that’s making his cheeks hurt. “Say it again. Wanna hear you say it again.”

“It’s real.” Y/N giggles softly, gasping against his tongue when one of his big hands squeezes her bum, sliding onto the back of her thighs to hook it over one side of his hips.

“Mm,” Harry roughly hikes her other leg around his waist, using the wall as a reinforcement as she crosses her ankles behind him, “Again. But moan it a little this time, yeah?”

“Shut up.” She laughs, breaking the kiss to look at him as he grins naughtily, nudging the underside of her jaw with his nose and pooling little sucking kisses at the center of her throat.

“Fuck, I need you.” He groans against her heated skin, feeling her center snug against his as he stumbles over to the bed in the center of the large hotel room. “Need me too, yeah? Need me inside you, making you forget the good girl you’re supposed to be.”

“H-Harry…” The word comes out as a wispy breath as his lips claim a particularly soft spot just under her right ear, “Harry, I don’t think I’m ready t-to…y’know…Oh, wow…”

She feels bad for not being able to deliver her end of what she had initiated, but she just isn’t ready for something so intimate yet. Something she’d been conditioned to never need or desire.

Harry pauses for a moment, the only sound echoing off the walls of the room being their bated breathing. Then, he speaks up.

“S’okay,” he whispers assurance to her as he moves to lay her onto her back on the bed, snuggling between her thighs and sponging his lips across the faint outline of her collarbones. “We can just kiss. Kissing’s good…S’really good, actually…”

Y/N nods her head with a surge of relief, sighing dreamily as Harry brushes his soft mouth over her shoulders. “Thank you f-for understanding. It’s not that I don’t wanna, I just…I don’t know if I’m ready for…I’m sorry—”

“Hey, hey…” His voice is soft and caring (something very rare for him, to say the least) as he cradles her closer to him, swiping his index finger across the bridge of her nose. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, alright? When you’re ready.”

With a final nod, she tugs him back down to her upper chest, feeling empty without his hot mouth taking her skin.

“Mm.” He suddenly pulls back from her neck again, causing her to yawp in protest. He digs his two front teeth into his bottom lip, the edges of his mouth tilting up mischievously. “I was serious, though. Lemme hear you moan it this time. And add my name in there while you’re at it.”

#drabble #demon!harry #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine

[blossom--of--snow]

Maura and Mr. Gray, after the kids leave the nest. “So...what do we do now?”

Sorry it took so long, and I apologize profusely for any errors! S/o to @okaynextcrisis for taking a look!Happy early birthday to you, my darling friend!

Maura hadalways appreciated that Mr. Gray’s arms enveloped her in an embrace rather thana hold. Always available for comfort, not in constant need of it. As Maurawatched Blue drive the dream Camaro away from Fox Way, she had no problemaccepting help alleviating the pain. Every summer break ended too abruptly,since everyone avoided the subject of Blue’s return to school until the morningof, when the raven boys arrived to help Blue load her car down with textbooks,mismatched luggage, and coolers full of yogurt.

“Maura?” Mr. Gray’s breath ghostedover her ear, but Maura’s emotional distress and the Henrietta heat eradicatedany sex appeal.

Maura swiped angrily at her damp,pink cheeks. “I’m fine. Let’s go in before we become permanent fixtures on theasphalt.” She squeezed the last of her tears out when Mr. Gray kissed the crownof her head. This was only his first time seeing Blue off to college, his firsttime watching Maura melt down over a pesky few weeks between daughtersightings. Witnessing vulnerability did not scare Mr. Gray; neither did itscare Maura to show it. However, since Mr. Gray returned, Maura had beenpositively spoiled by happiness, and she wanted to be blissfully happy for aslong as she could be. While Mr. Gray made elation more easily accessible, makingMaura happy had been Blue’s joy for twenty years.

Like every summer, 300 Fox Way wasonly about ten degrees cooler than Henrietta. The unpredictability of the airconditioner remained its only consistency, and the quantity of fans depended onthe meager availability of outlets. Today, the heat was mitigated by theabsence of half the household. In anticipation of everyone’s emotional distress,the psychics took a day off, in a manner of speaking. Maura, Calla, and Jimiagreed that they would not give readings today, but, after spoiling Blue allsummer, they couldn’t afford a complete day of rest. After saying their goodbyesto Blue, Jimi ventured into town to run her errands, and Calla drove to work inthe sky blue Thunderbird that Ronan dreamt the family for Christmas. Orla had saidher goodbyes the previous Thursday, before embarking on a week-long beachsidevacation with a decidedly richer and more intelligent boy toy than her usualbrand.

It may have been colder in theSahara, but Maura and Mr. Gray had the luxury of an empty house.  

“So? What do you want to do now?”Mr. Gray asked, leaning against the hallway doorframe.

Maura gulped half the water in herglass. Damn that man and his biceps, that perfectly parted hair that she lovedto muss under any circumstances. “I suppose crawling into bed and delving intoa deep depression is too dramatic.”

Mr. Gray shrugged. “Crawling intobed sounds fantastic,” he teased. “Mental health issues may put a damper on themood, but I can still take you there.”

Rolling her eyes, Maura drainedher glass and added it to the ever-growing pile of dirty dishes Orla neglected toclean before she left. She wouldn’t pass up the enticing possibilities an emptyhouse offered, but she would have to be cheered up first. Something about havingsex to keep from missing Blue seemed… grotesque, and Mr. Gray leftgrotesqueness behind when he became Brenin Thames.

Oddly, Blue chose his new name.Shortly after he arrived on Christmas morning, everyone crammed into thekitchen so Mr. Gray could present the family with five different identities,claiming in that nauseatingly sentimental way that if they were to be part ofhis new life, they should help shape its first step.  

Calla chokedon her own bile.

After significantly roastingBarney Klempt, Asher Copperbottom, John Smith, and Thad Duke, Blue preferredBrenin Thames.

“It’s Welsh. For ‘king,’ I think,”Blue explained, legs dangling off the kitchen counter.

“And it doesn’t make you soundlike a pedophile, a closeted frat boy, a painfully obvious member of thewitness protection program, or a racist,” Calla sniggered from behind her thirdWhite Russian.

The Gray Man then turned to Maura,who toyed with her cards at the kitchen table and pretended not to devote herattention completely to her boyfriend. “What say you, noble blade?”

Thankfully, he knew better than to take her hand, to open Mauraup to any psychic revelations. The last time he asked her such an important question,he asked if he would come back, and neither of them wanted an answer. Mauraknew that he’d spent his whole life confronting the plausibility of death, orwishing for it, and that he thought it better to make her see that death didnot bother him than force her to confront the possibility of his death again.Brenin Thames would live the rest of his days with Maura Sargent, writing forthe Henrietta newspaper and even occasionally writing for pleasure.

Maura, completely unabashed,fearless, and mischievous, met his gaze. “Sounds fated to me.”

Now, eight months later, Brenin worethat exact expression. “I think I know exactly how to lift your spirits,” hesaid, uncrossing his gray sweatpants-covered ankles.

Maura sauntered over with thefurthest intention from compliance. “Cocky,” she snickered as she passed him.Despite her best efforts, she giggled when Brenin reached under the Kinks T-shirtshe’d stolen from him and skimmed his fingertips up her ribcage. “You dorealize this is only a temporary fix?” She squirmed away from him and towardthe stairs. “Try harder.” She had bounded up four steps before she heard Brenintrying to catch up. Unlike Maura, he always wore shoes. After a lifetime oflurking in dark corners, he could be as loud as he wanted in this house.

Maura cursed in compounds as she tripped over one of Orla’slaundry baskets at the top of the stairs, and squealed when Brenin seized herankle. Wrenching her leg free without breaking any bones in Brenin’s face, shemade a beeline for the nearest room with an open door, cackled after sheslammed the door in his face, and locked the door.

Brenin pounded in mock ferocity, and even though she knew hewould never break it down, Maura teased, “You break it, you buy it!”

“You said to try harder, darling.”

Before she could retort, Maura realized whose room she’dviolated. Despite almost four years’ worth of dust, no one could bring herselfto empty Persephone’s room. Jimi frequently struggled for the right turn ofphrase, but last month, she couldn’t find a better way to suggest that theyclean out the room and store Persephone’s bright beads and flowing skirts and wispyscarves and tarot cards.

It had onlytaken a few minutes for the five of them, Orla, Jimi, Calla, Blue, and Maura,to end up in a blubbering pile on Persephone’s bed.

Since her friends were out, and Maura had never liked cryingalone, she unlocked the door before collapsing on the bed that no longer held Persephone’sscent. At least the pillow was still as soft as Persephone’s voice.

Hugging the fluffy pillow to herchest, Maura leaned into Brenin’s side as soon as his thigh touched hers. “I’mnot usually this bad, sending Blue off to school,” she said.

Brenin tucked a few rogue strandsfrom Maura’s jostled ponytail behind the ear not resting against his shoulder.“You’re not bad, Maura. Just a littledown.” He gestured to the empty room; even with all of Persephone’s belongings,it was empty without her. “This makes it a harder.”

Maura sniffled and drew her legsinto his lap. “Don’t think for one minute that you don’t make everythingeasier,” she whispered. Maura considered herself an independent woman, and lovehad not taken that from her. It had only added a few components, fear for thelife of yet another person. For most of her life, she had been teetering on atightrope of bliss and devastation. She had long since quit counting on hergift to predict every tragedy—when she could avoid it, she preferred not toknow. But since her happiness usually correlated with her family, unexpecteddepartures always shook her. That question, lurking in the depths of her mind,after ever past tragedy and before all those unknown: Should I have seen it coming?

The threeyears before Brenin came home were hardly different, just more intense.

“You mean to tell me that youdidn’t appreciate my letters?” Brenin asked, running his hands up and downMaura’s thigh.

Maura tried to snicker, but withher runny nose, it came out as a watery snort. “Irregular postcards with linesof Old English poetry hardly count as letters.” When Brenin didn’t immediatelyrespond, Maura nuzzled his neck. “What is it?”

“You didn’t answer me when I askedif I would be back someday,” Brenin began.

Maura stiffened, hoping she’dmisunderstood his meaning. “It wasn’t fair of you to ask.”

Hugging her tighter, Breninfulfilled yet another of Maura’s hopes. “No, it wasn’t,” he admitted. “Even ifyou’d answered me, I’m not sure I would have known for sure.”

Again uncertain of his intent,Maura opted for teasing since her skepticism had failed her. “You don’t trustme?” she teased, lifting her head so that he could see her sparkling eyes.

Brenin cradled one of Maura’scheeks in his hand and smiled, but his eyes couldn’t quite manage to catch up.“I trust you with my future,” he said. “And I don’t mean that in the corny,punny way.” The smile finally reached his eyes when Maura laughed. “No, it’s apersonal failure. No one could have made me believe I’d see you again until Iset eyes on you myself. If I couldn’t do that, I needed you to know I wasthinking of you.”

To alleviate the weight in herchest, Maura kissed Brenin, weaving her fingers through the hair that wasfinally starting to match the rest of his wardrobe. By the time she straddledhis lap, they were breathing the same air, only pulling away for brief gulps ofhumid oxygen. Running her hands under his shirt, Maura traced Dean Allen’sscars and longed for the billionth time for Brenin to feel saved, even if shehad been too late for Dean. Brenin Thames, Mr. Gray, Dean Allen—they all madethe same man, no matter how much he wanted to distinguish between them, betweenevery new identity, every new life. Those identities simply contributed to theevolution of a man who desperately wanted to stop running for good.

“What was it that you were goingto do to cheer me up?” Maura asked. She panted with her sweet, wonderful manwho left everything he’s ever known (however unpleasant) to start a new lifewith her and her family.

Grinning wickedly, Brenin slid hisfingers underneath her shirt again and stroked her hipbones with his thumbs.“Go wait in the bedroom, and I’ll show you.”

Maura arched an eyebrow, butcomplied by backing toward the door. “How transparent,king of swords. I’m disappointed in you.”

“I always make it up to you.”

Maura hummed, running her fingersover Persephone’s untouched desk (housing, of course, her unfinished PhD) onher way to the door. Biting a swollen lip, she hesitated, remembering Brenin’s“personal failure.” When Persephone died, Calla and Maura were lost. Inaddition to the confusion of their own grief, their psychic connection had beensevered. It took years to align their abilities with Jimi’s, to replace a bondthat had come so naturally. If she could avoid it, Maura would rather notreplace another.

“I do hope you trust me now,” she said, leaning against thedoorframe. “Now that you’re safe, here with me. I may not always be right, andI may not always tell you what you want to hear, but I think you know I willnever tell you something I don’t truly believe.”

“I do,” Brenin said. “You make me see life…as somethingbetter, instead of expecting the worst.”

Maura hummed again, but this time, she slipped out of theroom, her former urgency restored. “Don’t make me start without you.” To hersurprise, Brenin did not immediately follow her, even when she began to leave atrail of clothes on the staircase.

Brenin obliterated any sensuous visionMaura had of what was coming to her when he burst into the bedroom wearing thelegendary tan bell-bottoms and orange disco shirt, complete with a poppedcollar and dipping neckline. Maura, who had stripped down to the thigh-skimmingT-shirt, gasped upon his entrance. “My God,” she giggled. She pushed off themattress and danced a slightly distorted version of the Macarena on her way tohim. “How do you make this hot?”

Brenin hoisted Maura into his arms,fastened her legs around his hips, and spun to face the wall adjacent to herbedroom door. He had only just started to smirk when Maura gripped the sides ofhis head and kissed him hard. Her sharp bite to his upper lip told him heshould stop smiling and put his tongue in her mouth. Always defiant, he nippedback and pulled away in the same half a breath. “What time is Jimi supposed tobe back?”

Maura flung the cracked door wideopen and let it bounce off the back wall.

“Don’t care. Got it.”

#cheese and rice i hope you like it #ask and you shall receive...eventually #blossom writes #the raven cycle

[ihavethatthingwithlies]

Five (5). Times. Kissed.

send me the words for the thing

THE FIRST TIME john young kisses emma swan, it isn’t in any romantic setting, it isn’t borne of desire or hunger —though it does convey a kind of NEED. 

they haven’t been in the same home for very long, weeks maybe, but they’ve already formed the kind of bond that can’t be broken —the kind of connection that kids think will last forever. they’re the oldest, and it makes them the caretakers — in a sense — since their actual caretaker doesn’t do much taking care of any of them, but neither of them had been prepared for the way the younger kids would come to rely on them. 

it’s late when she wakes up; middle of the night but she has no way to tell the actual hour without walking out to the hallway, and she wouldn’t DARE do that at this time of night. stubborn as she may be, emma doesn’t want to provoke the man anymore than she already seemed to just by EXISTING.

the sound that had brought her from her slumber reaches her ears once more, and she realizes it’s john, restless and murmuring something in his sleep. without hesitation — though had she given it more thought, emma might  have stopped herself from invading his space and privacy in such away — she climbs out of her own bed and into his, curling up beside him and placing her hands along either side of his face. he freezes, then relaxes almost immediately as if he can feel that its her before he even opens his eyes. when he DOES, her name is a question on his lips and she just smiles.

‘  it’s okay, i’m here.  ’

he’d been there for her so many times already, it seemed only fair that she return the favor when he seemed to need the comfort — even if she doesn’t know the reason for his restlessness.

she pulls him down to her, not to kiss him, but to rest his forehead against hers ( as he’s done for her, to calm her, in the past ) and sighs, breathing him in, repeating her reassurances. 

when he kisses her — on the tip of her nose, her cheek, her forehead — it’s a silent thank you plus so much more emotion that she doesn’t quite understand yet.

THEY’RE A LITTLE OLDER THE SECOND TIME — and they’ve been inseparable for long enough that the feelings that develop aren’t a surprise to anyone around them. but there’s a noticeable shift when holding hands isn’t just something they do because they’re friends, the only family each of them has ever had, and their closeness is almost a necessity. 

it’s spring, and winter hasn’t quite relinquished its grasp on the small town in which they live — warm enough to forego the mittens, cold enough that her hands are FREEZING. he notices  ( he always notices her discomfort, no matter how brief or how minimal ) and pulls her close, taking her hands in his. it’s the first time she feels that SPARK that everyone talks about — in stupid movies and the romance novels that always sit on the end-cap at the grocery store. all of a sudden it isn’t so stupid, and there’s a fluttering feeling in her chest that makes her eyes widen when she looks at him.

he notices, she thinks, as they huddle there in such close proximity, clouds of cold condensation clinging to their breaths as they hover between them. there’s something different about the way he looks at her — something different about the way she FEELS when he does ——it’s the only thought she has before he leans down and presses his lips to hers, and every cliche first kiss story she’s ever heard, read, or seen replays in an instant in her mind because she feels every single one of those SPARKS.

when they pull apart he wears that stupid crooked cocky grin on his face — as if he hadn’t be just as surprised as her, as if he had done it on purpose. she knows better, but for a moment she wonders if she’s just a bad kisser — it HAD been her first kiss, and her brow furrows before he says nothing more than  “well, then..” and leans in to kiss her again.

SHE’S WASTED. utterly, sloppily, and incoherently wasted. there’s no other way to slice it. at this point, she doesn’t remember whose idea it had been to sneak into the UMASS party  ( though all signs point to the 15 year old girl sloshing beer out of her red solo cup and barely standing ). 

she’d lost john a while ago, but something tells her he’s around somewhere — close enough to keep an eye on her, just like he always does. she doesn’t remember exactly what had caused her to start pounding cups of beer in the first place ( though tomorrow she’ll remember the pretty brunette who was all legs fawning over john, she’ll remember how her own personal response had been to make a FOOL of herself and how she’d subsequently retreated into the kitchen where the keg sat waiting for her, seemingly with open arms ).

she’s heading that way now, and oops the floor is a little uneven with its pesky wobbly-ness, and she would have ended up face down on the floor if not for a pair of strong hands — one at her elbow and the other wrapping around her waist. assuming — incorrectly — that it’s john, she leans her head back against a muscular chest and mumbles something that sounds like my hero. 

emma realizes her mistake moments later when she’s pulled away from the stranger’s embrace and watches in a BLUR as the real john — her john — delivers a hard right hook to the guy’s jaw.

clarity  ( definitely not sobriety ) hits her when he turns and tells her that they have to go, and somehow unsteady legs become strong enough to RUN. they’re all but flying out of the frat house, running as though their lives depend on it. it isn’t until they stop, on the bridge over the freeway that she realizes she’s laughing almost uncontrollably. 

he’s not, he’s mad — she can see it in his eyes as he looks at her, then away, then grips the railing, his jaw clenching as though he’s trying to keep something in that wants to be blurted out. she hovers toward him, hand moving to his shoulder and tugging insistently.

'   hey, what’s your deal ?   ’

in one fluid motion he turns and pulls her into his arms, and when he kisses her THIS time it’s possessive and needy and for a moment she’s sure she can read his thoughts — or maybe hers are mimicking them — because there’s an echoing voice in the back of her head whispering mine mine mine. 

too soon he pulls away full of apologies and seems no less angry than before, she’s left with fingertips ghosting over her lips as though trying to determine if it had been REAL. “we’re going home,” he grumbles at her, and she doesn’t want to go anywhere, she just wants him to kiss her like THAT again.

SHE LOVES HIM ——it’s the first time the word has ever meant anything to her, and she finds it in the most unusual of places. they’re not stealing stolen kisses in the dark, or holding hands as they walk through town. he’s in the yard, kicking a ball around with some of the younger kids and she’s just sitting on the porch steps WATCHING them as she doodles in her notebook.

he’s laughing as they play — a rare moment of joy in a place filled with such dread and pain — and the way it lights up his face strikes her as one of the most amazing sights emma has ever seen. something warm and indescribable blooms in her chest and its so strong it kind of TERRIFIES her when she realizes what it is.

a small voice reminds her that everyone in her life that was supposed to love her had LEFT, but she pushes it aside. john would never leave her, they were put there together for a reason — fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it, she believes  ( now, more than ever )  that whatever force had brought them together had done it for a REASON.

with a patience befitting someone much more mature than a teenage girl, emma waits until the rest of the kids go inside to find a snack, she waits until he picks up any remnants of playtime that remain in the yard and deposits them in the shed, she waits until he plops down beside her on the steps — a sweaty mess that he thinks will somehow ANNOY her when he wraps his arms around her and pulls her closer. 

it doesn’t. 

she giggles — not unheard of but somewhat uncommon and nuzzles into his shoulder for a bit before pressing her lips against his neck right below his ear and murmuring her revelation.

'   you know —— i love you.   ’

the words are muffled against his skin, but he hears them — she knows it by the way he pulls back with this grin that’s so wide she doesn’t think she’s ever seen it. he kisses her then — and its soft and sweet until in true john form, he begins to TICKLE her. she’s all peals of laughter and yelling his name, curling up against him and halfheartedly hitting his shoulder, but he’s laughing too — demanding she say it again and again.

by the time he relents she’s laying back on the porch laugh-yelling i love you i love you i love you! before he’s kissing her again, and she doesn’t want him to ever stop.

there’s a lot of history between them — but also a decade of time that’s passed since she’s SEEN him. so far, since his arrival in storybrooke there’s been nothing but teasing and harmless flirtation between emma and john.

they’d been watching a movie with henry — emma had attempted to cook something resembling an edible dinner, and it had turned out surprisingly well. she’d just gotten the kid to go to bed when she sat down next to john on the couch, giving him a small smile.

'   this was almost some sort of normal, huh ?   ’

there’s laughter wrapping around her words, and she kind of leans into him a bit and the air around them shifts. it’s not as though they haven’t TOUCHED since their reunion — not in any way that meant anything beyond casual brushes of hands in normal circumstances — but that’s what this had been, too. she FEELS something there, that spark — almost forgotten by TIME and while she’s processing that, and everything it means, her gaze is caught and held momentarily captive by his lips.

hesitation exists for mere seconds before she leans up to kiss him — impulsively — and then pulls away, thinking perhaps it’s a bad idea, and shaking her head with an apology on her lips. the apology seems out of place, though, and she looks at him one more time with another bout of laughter before throwing the rest of her hesitation to the wind and kissing him again.

there’s little to no hesitation in response — for his part — his arms wrapping around her to tug her into his lap, and she’s missed this more than she’d realized until it was tangible again. a flawless transition between being some sort of ex-something until in the blink of an eye nothing had ever changed. as if there hadn’t been ten years separating them plus a whole lot of nonsense. 

when he kisses her back its so normal that she wonders why they’ve waited so long — she should have known it would be nothing less than perfect, it had ALWAYS been perfect.

#anaxpraetor #s.❥ & i was a heavy heart to carry; but you never let me down 「 &john 」 #hello here i am to deliver all of the feels and let me tell you #i have ALL OF THE FEELS LINDS #ALL OF THEM #I MISSED THESE TWO DORKS SO MUCH I CANNOT BELIEVE #it's so fucking long lmao

[piesforjack]

3. “We’re both baristas and sometimes I have trouble reaching for things and I show up to work one day to find a personalized stool with my name on it i hATE YOU but also thanks” I forgot to add, Zimbits please

oooh this one is so flippin cute!! y’know how some fics just…get away from you? me, with this fic. it’s SO MUCH LONGER than i intended it to be oops!!

 okay here we go…this is an AU where jack never went into the NHL and never wanted to, they both still go to samwell etc., just no NHL. warnings for wildly inaccurate barista knowledge and teeth rotting fluff ahead!!

The first day Bitty noticed the stool was a groggy Tuesday morning that had him out of bed far earlier than he would’ve liked. Bitty was southern as all get out, so he knew passive aggressive like no one else, but this didn’t scream passive aggressive, oh no, this shouted chirp chirp CHIRP. He knew he was being chirped, but for the love of all that is holy is that a label with MY name?!

Sure enough, placed right beside the tall cabinet where they stored all their syrups and toppings and spare cups and straws, was a little two-step stool emblazoned with a white label with big black font reading “ERIC”. Bitty grumbled to himself. Everyone he worked with had made the short jokes before at one time or another, but there was only one person who worked at Mon Petit Choux that still–annoyingly, stubbornly–called Bitty “Eric”. This joke had Jack Zimmermann written all the fuck over it. Jack Fucking Zimmermann, big ass, bigger biceps, blue as the sea swim-worthy eyes, shoulders broader than they had any right to be, thick thighs worthy of a worship, and a sense of humour drier than plain toast. Basically, a nightmare disguised as Bitty’s Godforsaken dreams.

“Technically, it has your name written all over it but…” Chowder snickered, Bitty hadn’t realized he’d said any of that out loud. Electing to ignore Chowder’s sass, Bitty went to the break room to plop his stuff down, grab his apron, and check the to-do list for the day. He didn’t have time for this pedestrian humour, Bitty had a job to do.

“Oh, would you look at that! Jack’s on the schedule today, says he’ll be here from one ‘til close!” Chowder flashed the work schedule towards Bitty as he spoke, a smirk becoming clearer and clearer on his face. Jack typically worked evenings, that wasn’t too much of a shock, as Bitty was usually right there alongside him, using and abusing Jack’s height and musculature to his advantage (not in all the ways Bitty had imagined, mind you…) But as the world would have it, with the change in season, the cafe owner had hired a new kid, someone who went by “Tango”, and he’d swapped Bitty to the morning shifts while Tango got settled in. Tango’s first shift was today, he remembered only because Jack had brought it up two days ago when they were closing up.

“I noticed we won’t be working together anymore,” Jack started slowly. “At least, for a while. For the new guy, I guess.”

“No, I purposely switched so I don’t have to put up with your chirps about my stature anymore, Mister Zimmermann.” Bitty smiled softly as he propped up the chairs onto the table tops.

“But who will reach all the syrups when the ones we have are empty? Who will haul the box of cocoa powder up and down at your every beck and call?” Jack challenged with an even softer smile, the kind that gave him soft lines around his eyes. Bitty rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Chirp, chirp, chirp, honestly, I should’ve asked to switch sooner!” Bitty rolled the mopping bucket towards himself. Jack’s face took a slightly sour turn, his smile flagging a little, his laugh lines retreating. Bitty wanted to say something, needed to say something, but Jack had become engrossed in sorting the receipts instead of looking at him. Bitty felt his heart twinge. There was a brief lapse of silence, the only sounds being crinkling paper and the slosh of the mop. Jack broke the silence, suddenly but softly.

“Could always sit on Lardo’s shoulders, the two of you are probably about normal height when stacked on top of each other.” Bitty could see Jack’s smirk as he kept his eyes trained on the pieces of paper he was shuffling.

Bitty huffed out a laugh, his stomach swooping as Jack looked up to double check that his joke had landed, locking his eyes with Bitty’s.

“Well I never,” Bitty daintily placed his hand to his chest, his other hand coming up to fan himself dramatically. “I do declare, you Monsieur Zimmermann, are…are…deplorable!”

“Oh no, not deplorable.” Jack teased as he started to count change in the till.

“I do declare! Deplorable, incorrigible, unfathomably rude! Wait ‘til I tell the bridge ladies about this, they’ll be in such a shock! Good heavens, Mary-Lou might just faint!” Bitty continued his dramatic southern-belle facade, if only to keep Jack’s eyes on him and to keep the grin on his lips. “How very dare you tease me in such a way! Do you converse with your mama in such a manner? Simply uncouth!”

“Sprout a few inches taller and I’ll lay down my armour at your feet, ma’am.” Jack teased back. Bitty couldn’t hold it in any longer and let out a full on snort, laughing harder than he had in a while, his southern-belle facade crumbling with each hearty chuckle. He would miss this, the lighthearted chirping, even if it was just a temporary change.

“Would that I could, Jack, would that I could,” Bitty wiped at the few tears that had escaped from his laughing fit. “Maybe I’ll invest in those platform shoes, or maybe a nice pair of heels, that might do the trick.” Bitty joked as he finished mopping up the floor. Jack’s face shifted slightly, quicker than Bitty could catch, before it returned to its smirking exterior.

“I’d love to see you try to work a whole shift in heels.” Jack’s cheeks tinged a little pinker, hands fumbling with some bills. Bitty felt his breath catch before covering it up with another rambunctious laugh, Jack joined in this time. Yeah, Bitty was gonna miss this.

Jack still working the closing shifts and noting Bitty’s shift change definitely explained how the stool appeared here just in time for Bitty’s first string of morning shifts.

“Great, I can give him his fuddy duddy stool back and tell him where to shove it.” Bitty smiled all too brightly. Chowder only laughed, rolling his eyes a little.

“Oh as if, you and I both know that stool is a Godsend. You can finally stop using Jack as a personal butler. Oh Jack, darlin’, can you fetch me some more straws! Oh Jack, sweetheart, can you put this box of napkins back in the cabinet? Jack? Honey, can you please fetch that pesky box of lids? Gosh darn Jack you’re so big and strong!” Chowder teased with an over-zealous and over enunciated attempt at a southern accent. “Not like you really want to stop, but.” Chowder waggled his eyebrows.

“Oh you shush your mouth, Jack is my friend and just like any good friend he helps me out, and doesn’t chirp me to death before 7AM!” Bitty huffed, he knew his cheeks were tinging pink but he couldn’t help it. Having a woefully unrequited crush on a straight co-worker was very much not the kind of thing Bitty ever wanted for himself, and yet, here he was, flushed up to his ears at some light chirping from Chowder of all people. Chowder was the one co-worker and friend of Bitty’s who routinely apologized after making jokes. Apparently, sweet and kind Chowder didn’t make an appearance until after the cafe was open.

Attempting to stave off further teasing, Bitty went ahead and started popping the pastries that Jack and Lardo had prepped into the oven. Jack’s lattices on the mini pies were coming along nicely, although he could still tell which ones were Jack’s and which ones weren’t, which said a lot for how much farther he had left to go in terms of improvement. Bitty was proud nonetheless.

“Dear Lord, mister Zimmermann, it’s like you’ve never used your hands for anything other than carryin’ history books and typin’ history papers!” Bitty huffed, a little chortle as he watched Jack clumsily fumble with the delicate strips of pastry.

Jack’s cheeks tinged a soft pink, the kind that made Bitty think of carnations and candy floss, but his lips curved into a gentle smirk.

“I could tell you a lot about what my hands can do, but I think it’d be better to show you,” Bitty’s heart stopped beating for a moment, he felt like he could fall over at any second. “Things you can’t even imagine, Eric.”

Jack was already standing so close, rather, Bitty was already standing so close to Jack. Jack turned his body to face Bitty more fully, he leaned closer and rested his hands on the counter Bitty was leaning on, effectively boxing him in between his arms. Bitty licked his bottom lip before biting down on it. He could feel Jack’s breathe ghost across his face and his eyes fluttered in anticip–

Jack reached up and grabbed a jar of preserves off the top shelf, bringing it down to Bitty’s eye level. Bitty choked on air before huffing out a surprised and somewhat manic laugh. Another short joke, he should’ve known.

Jack’s eyes crinkled as he took a step back. His cheeks were still a pleasant rosy shade, maybe even a bit more crimson. He was chuckling along with Bitty, a twinkle in his eye.

Bitty’s daydreaming was interrupted by Chowder calling up for his help.

“Bits, can you do me a favour and grab some new cups? The delivery guy is here,” Chowder only looked a little bit smug. “Unless, of course, you’d rather haul four 25 kilogram sacs of flour up the stairs and into the stock room?” Bitty was going to file for workplace harassment the moment his shift ended.

“Be gone with you, child.” Bitty shooed him off as he dusted his hands off on his apron. Chowder chortled as he slipped into the back to greet the delivery man. 

Stepping into the front of house, Bitty turned to face The Cabinet™. With his hands on his hips, Bitty tilted his head back to find the shelf so kindly and artfully labelled “CUPS” in a swirly chalk print, courtesy of Lardo, the fellow Short. He sighed inwardly, trying to determine how much of a running start he could get to try and jump to snag the box. It was a stupid idea, he knew that, but he would not use the stool, no sir, no ma’am. Bitty stared challengingly at the cabinet, willing it to shrink a foot or four.

Just as Bitty was about start jumping for it (as if that idea was any better) he felt his phone buzz in his apron pocket.

Jack: Good morning, Eric. How are things? :-)

Bitty grumbled at how endearing Jack’s stupid smiley face was. He tapped out a quick reply, huffing as if he was truly annoyed.

Bitty: It’s not even 7AM, shouldn’t you be asleep, unconscious, unable to chirp?

Just as Bitty was about to slip his phone away another text came through.

Jack: Did you get my gift? Custom label, just for you :-) 

Bitty softly sighed, no matter how infuriating (read as: nauseatingly adorable) the relentless chirping may have been, he had to admit Jack was darn cute when he thought he was being clever.

Bitty: What gift? The step stool? Oh I threw it out. Into the dumpster. Gone forever. Rude and unnecessary, Mister Zimmermann. The bridge ladies will be appalled.

Bitty slipped his phone away, sighing heavily as he silently admitted defeat. Reaching out, Bitty snagged the step stool and placed it in front of himself. Bitty ran his thumb along the label, it was an embossed label, clearly not one of the cafes kind. Bitty idly wondered where Jack might’ve gotten it from.

Bitty didn’t hesitate too long, afraid he might get caught by Chowder at any second. Ascending to the steps, Bitty grabbed one of the boxes before descending and placing it on the front counter, he repeated it with each cup size until he had them all lined up to be unboxed and tucked away.

Eric went to check his phone to see if Jack had replied, with no such luck he tucked it away and turned to the counter to start unpacking the cups.

Just as he finished up the first box, Chowder came back and looked between Bitty and the step stool, a cheesy smirk taking over his face.

“So. You actually did it,” Chowder began to unpack another box of cups. “I was half expecting to come back to find Jack himself reaching for it.” Chowder chuckled lightly, nudging Bitty’s arm with his elbow.

Why didn’t I think of that!? Bitty thought. Would serve him right, bringin’ this godforsaken stool around here…

“Oh please, he doesn’t work mornings and you know that.” Bitty refrained from mentioning that he knew Jack was awake, even though he definitely didn’t need to be. Bitty pieced together that maybe (probably, most likely) Jack was only awake right now for the exclusive purpose of chirping Bitty. The thought of that alone made Bitty feel flustered in a way only Jack Zimmermann could make him feel.

“Can you finish this up? I’ve gotta get the rest of the breakfast pastries in the oven.” Bitty excused himself, slyly checking for a new text from Jack before he slipped into the back room. With nothing to be found, Bitty accepted that maybe Jack was genuinely awake this early for a real reason, maybe he was busy with whatever that was right now. Bitty didn’t let himself dwell on it, these pastries aren’t gonna heat themselves.

_X_

The morning rush was in full swing, today even busier than usual. The sun had decided to make an appearance for the first time in what felt like forever, so more people than usual were popping in for a morning brew and a fresh pastry to kick off the day. You could tell it was well and truly busy because neither Chowder nor Dex, the second morning helper, said a word when Bitty plunked the stool around to grab various refills for syrups and straws and napkins.

With the constant movement and persistent case of morning scatterbrain, Bitty didn’t even notice Jack stroll in and wait in line until it was too late. They locked eyes: Jack, smug as he could be. Bitty, perched on his tiptoes on the stool reaching for the spare cinnamon, caught red handed.

Jack’s smile brightened somehow. Bitty felt himself turn pinker than raspberry coulis.

“I’m glad you didn’t throw it out,” Jack started, stepping out of line to lean right up against the counter. “I was getting worried that you were being serious.” Jack’s lips were particularly pink, as if he’d been chewing on them all morning. The cafe chatter and bustle carried on around them, but Bitty couldn’t pay anything else any mind with this Adonis of a man standing before him; His hair was slightly flopped, still damp, as if he’d just taken a shower before coming here, his t-shirt clung pleasantly to his chest and arms and waist, by God those silly work polos don’t do his waist a damn justice, the kind of fitted tee that made Bitty’s mouth drool on a bad day, but on a good day? Oh Lord save him. Bitty was at a loss, trying to tear his eyes away from Jack, Jack’s puffy, supple, spit-slick lips, his sharp, clean-shaven jawline, his high cheekbones…it was…a lot.

“I–I…” Bitty didn’t know where his sentence was going, he was momentarily stunned. Working with Jack in the evenings had never afforded him the privilege of seeing morning Jack with his tousled hair and his casual attire–as if seeing Jack in the standard work polo wasn’t also a struggle in its own right. Bitty was stunned.

“Do you…do you really hate it?” There’s an edge of worry in Jack’s tone as he leaned closer to the counter to lower his voice. Brows furrowed, Jack began to fidget with his fingers, a nervous tick Bitty could spot a mile away. “I mean, it was…it’s a silly joke I’m–I’m sorry if it really upset you, I thought it might help? If you…I guess if you need it? I just. Crisse. I–I didn’t mean to–” Bitty was quick to cut him off, not allowing himself to linger on the way Jack smelled. Absolutely ridiculously unfair.

“Where’d you get the label?” Jack’s eyebrows furrowed further still.

“Where’d I–what?” Jack was a little thrown off by the question.

“The label, it’s not one of ours, the cafes. Where’d you get it?” Bitty didn’t know where he was going with this either, but Lord have mercy he was not about to admit he found the stool gesture unfathomably endearing but he also couldn’t settle for Jack apologizing and feeling terrible when he really really didn’t have to.

“I–Lardo. Well, actually, Lardo’s boyfriend, euh, Shitty? He has one for…God knows what, but, he, euh, lent it to me. Just for this.” Jack swallowed self-consciously, fingers picking at the napkin display, fiddling with the cup sleeves.

“Well, thank you, I guess,” Bitty started, his own hands feeling clumsy and unsure. “I guess now I don’t need to bother you all the time for things,” Bitty let out a fake, humourless laugh that sounded dead even to his own ears. “That’ll be a nice change for you I guess.” Bitty had never really thought about it like that before, maybe it was a little childish to flirt with Jack when he knew he had no chance, no less by using him for his height. As if Bitty constantly needed to count and recount and double-triple-quadruple check their powders and spare straws. Maybe it was a little too…obvious.

Jack’s eyes sought out Bitty’s almost frantically. 

“T-that’s not what I meant, at all, Eric I–”

“Bitty! Can you–oh heeeeey Jack,” Chowder drawled, his whole posture screaming I TOLD YOU SO, even though Bitty wasn’t sure what Chowder had told him so about. “What brings you in so early? You don’t start until one, big guy!” Chowder was in the middle of restocking the pastry case. Bitty hadn’t noticed but the line had died down significantly, Dex was idly wiping down the front counter, whistling all nonchalant-like. Bitty felt himself swallow a lump in his throat.

“Uh, hey Chow. Yeah, I know, I just…uhm,” Jack trailed off, scratching the back of his head in such a way that put his beefy bicep on display in the best possible way. Bitty had not been prepared to be attacked in such a way.

“I saw your gift for Bits, it’s really great of you to do us all a favour like that. Hey! Now you don’t have to be his personal tall slave!” Chowder was teasing, Bitty could tell, Jack on the other hand seemed to stiffen up, his shoulders hunching in such a way that made Bitty want to reach out and squeeze the tight muscles in his neck and shoulders to get them back where they should be.

“I don’t mind doing those things for him, for you, Eric. I–” Jack stopped his eyes flicking to Chowder then Dex and back to Bitty again, almost like he was calculating the risk of his next words. “I like doing it for you. I just. I don’t know, I thought it would be a fun joke. I…to be honest, I didn’t really expect you to use it.” Jack shook his head, looking away as he spoke his next words. “Chirping you and getting things down for you a hundred times a day, no matter how unnecessary I know it is, it’s–it’s my favourite part of this job. The best part.” Jack’s eyes uncertainly looked up for Bitty’s. Bitty felt his mouth go dry at such a blatant and honest confession, in broad daylight in the middle of a very crowded cafe. This was nothing like how he’d imagined this going, not like he’d imagined it extensively, of course. No, no not at all. “I wouldn’t keep doing it if I didn’t want to, Eric, if I didn’t like doing it. Like…you, I–I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t like you.” Bitty felt his jaw drop a little, his mouth slightly gaping.

“Oh Bitty look at that, it’s time for your break! Shoo, get out, carry this conversation on far away from here. Might I suggest the kitchen? The break room? The storage closet? Somewhere private and not here.” Chowder pushed on Bitty’s shoulders guiding him out and away from the front of house. Bitty went along without any resistance, even full well knowing he didn’t have a break for at least another hour and a half, his mind was still reeling from Jack’s words, a big ball of mush completely incapable of coming up with anything clever or intelligible to say.

It wasn’t until they were both in the kitchen, the door swung shut, that Bitty truly felt the weight of Jack’s words sink in and register.

“Eric, I–” Jack started.

“W-when you say,” Bitty started, his voice coming out cracked and hesitant. Bitty leaned on the counter for a little support. “When you say you like me, do you mean…like? H-how…what does that mean to you?” Bitty tried to force himself to make eye contact with Jack, but both him and Jack were having a hard time locking eyes with how nervous they both were.

“I–I meant it…exactly how I think you think I meant it.” Jack scratched at the back of his head again. Bitty took the opportunity to bravely test the boundaries of this new, tentative confession; reaching out, Bitty placed his fingers along the bulging muscle of Jack’s upper arm. Bitty gave a gentle squeeze before running his hand across the length of Jack’s arm to grab at his hand and bring it down for him to hold between them.

“Can you…tell me more?” Bitty started, slowly tangling his fingers with Jack’s, meeting no resistance or hesitance to indicate that Bitty was reading this wrong, oh no, Bitty was right on the money.

“I…think it might be easier if I–” Jack paused reaching his hand out to brush his fingertips across Bitty’s lips, his jaw, before settling on the crook of Bitty’s neck. “If I…show you.” Bitty only gave a slow nod, his eyes wide and sure.

Before Bitty could build it up too much in his head, Jack’s lips were softly pressed against his, just a press, but Jack was holding his jaw, and Bitty’s hand was still tangled in Jack’s and it felt wonderful. With a bout of bravery, Bitty pushed up onto his tiptoes, pressing into the kiss a bit more and allowing Jack to shift and adjust to the new angle, their lips sliding together in a seamless, effortless, simple, perfect way.

The kiss went on, lips gliding and shifting to make room for tongues and soft sighs. Bitty teetered on his toes ever-so-slightly and before he knew it Jack was picking him up by the hips, resting Bitty on the counter that he’d had been leaning against. Bitty fervently tried to ignore how good it felt to have Jack’s far larger hands clinging to his hips and waist in such a way that felt equal parts reassuring and possessive. Bitty’s mind drifted to other places he’d like Jack’s hands to go, but he didn’t linger on that thought for too long, this is our place of work for goodness sakes. Bitty reached out to tangle his fingers in the curly wisps of hair at the back of Jack’s neck, shivering at the low groan that escaped Jack’s mouth at the initial tug.

“Hey–oop!” Bitty and Jack sprung apart at the sound of the kitchen door swinging open and suddenly shut again, Jack still kept a hold of Bitty’s hips, Bitty still keeping a grip on Jack’s shoulders.

“Uh, hey bros, sorry to like…interrupt? But uh? I need to get into the break room so…?” It was Ransom’s voice, tentative and smug all at once. Right, Ransom, he’s our third for the mid-morning. Bitty felt silly for forgetting, maybe the storage room would’ve been a better option for this…

Jack pressed his forehead to Bitty’s for just a moment, dashing a quick kiss to his nose before backing up and letting Bitty hop down off the counter.

“I–I should probably go, anyway. I have a paper to do for Atley still.” Jack reached out for Bitty’s hands, tangling their fingers together briefly, squeezing lightly. This boy.

“I should be, like, doing my job or something, I guess.” Bitty chuckled lightly, his eyes downcast as he felt himself blush yet again.

Jack’s eyes softened around the edges, his smile glowing, his lower lip getting chewed on as he hesitated moving away just yet.

“I’ll see you later, yeah? You’ve got me for an hour before your shift ends,” Jack reminded him. Bitty grinned something soft and radiant.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” Bitty leaned up, requesting another kiss, this one much shorter but equally as sweet. “But not for any canoodling in the kitchen, and don’t you dare think I’ve forgotten about that fuddy duddy stool of yours.” Bitty poked at Jack’s chest lightly, only slightly unhinged by the muscle he prodded at. Jack laughed, quiet and low, before pressing a gentle kiss to Bitty’s cheek.

“I’m forever in your debt for the stool prank, how can I possibly repay you?” Jack smiled into another sweeping peck, this one to Bitty’s forehead.

“You can start by getting rid of that ridiculous stool…once my rotation of morning shifts ends, that is,” Bitty smiled again, booping Jack on the nose and watching the way Jack’s face went from confused to pleased to glowing in a short span of seconds. “And then you can be my personal tall slave, as Chowder put it, until the end of time.”

“Sounds like a fair trade to me,” Jack slowly released Bitty’s hands, taking a few steps back towards the door. “I’ll even throw in some kisses, for interest, of course.”

“Mmm, yes, of course. I’ll have to let the bridge ladies know to call off the wanted posters and smear campaigns.” Bitty teased, winking at Jack as he retreated.

“I’ll see you later, Bits.” Bitty was taken aback, Jack had never called him anything but Eric since…well, since always. Jack was out the door and gone before Bitty could respond, a little too stunned to act quick enough.

Bitty could hear Ransom high-fiving Jack on the way out, along with Chowder and Dex making kissy noises and singing hum drum children’s rhymes. Bitty blushed, smiling coyly to himself. God bless that stupid stool.

#Anonymous #mine #my fic #this is SO LONG #i'm sorry it took so long to write!! #but as i said it got away from me and just....yeah!! #i REALLY hope you like it!!!! #i hope i did your prompt justice!! #zimbits #fic #ficrec

[datingadviceonreddit]

Okay, so this is going to be long and complex, but I believe it is all necessary to get a complete picture. This post is part advice seeking and part I would just like someone to listen. I’ll try to get in as much as possible, but I’m sure I’ll inevitably miss something. I am using an alt account since several people know my main and I’m a little embarrassed of some things.Date #1: Ok, so to start, I am M/24, she is F/18. We met on Tinder, I asked her on a date immediately and she accepted. This happened about mid December, right before Christmas break (we are both college students at the same school... well technically, more on that in a minute). So, we go on this date and it’s great, similar interests, taste in food, travel, and humor. She is intelligent and beautiful. What more can you ask for? I’m immediately struck. I am a bit of a hopeless romantic/fall hard and fast type (INFP, lol), but this is something I have come to recognize and I try my best to keep it in check.The first date ends, as we are leaving, it came up in conversation that I am about to catch the bus (my vehicle was broken at the time and I live off campus), no big deal, I’m used to it. She offers to ride me home. Now, normally I wouldn’t accept this offer (I’ve declined similar ones before this) as, while I wasn’t ashamed of taking the bus or too masculine to be driven by a female, those thoughts, unfortunately, still persist (“would I be seen as a loser for relying on a girl for a ride?” etc.). However, with her, I didn’t care... I rather have the extra 10 mins with her even if it meant looking like a loser.So, we ride to my apt, as we pull up I ask if she wants to do another date... she is interested. I ask for the following day (it is the last day before Christmas break and we both had plans to go home for break), she says she can’t do that. Obviously, that stung a bit (I know it was truly that she just didn’t have time, but still, you know?). However, on the bright side she does give me her number. We begin texting, but something becomes immediately evident. She is very slow to respond. Again, my hyper-emotional self begins to worry (“is she not interested?” “did she not mean it when she said she had a good time?” “Is she going to ghost me?” etc.).Now, this is the part where I’ll enter that I have suffered from depression for a lot of my life (never been clinically diagnosed, but, I mean... let’s be real, I think I know my own personality enough... and I think about loneliness, death and depression a bit too much to not have some form of depression). Anyways, I recognize some of the thoughts have in these situations can be irrational and again, I’m working on that (which is why I have yet to have a gross overreaction in this situation and there were/are actually more dates and more to this story).We continue texting, very slow on her end, but it is there. I begin to realize, she isn’t looking to ghost me, she is just truly bad/slow at responding. A month passes, we get back from break. I start to build up the nerve to ask her out again (it takes some time, and it should also be noted I am SUPER busy with school myself, a lot of extracurriculars). But I finally work up to it and try to set something up, however when I do I went roughly a week without a response (I didn’t want to message again too soon to seem too desperate... which is related to one of my main questions which I’ll get to in a minute... oh, also, I should note there was no kiss on the first date, that’ll be important later too).Date #2: She finally responds and apologizes, which, of course, I tell her no problem and am just happy to hear from her. We finally get a date set up for roughly a month after getting back from break (better late than never!). Dinner and a movie (or rather, movie then dinner). We go out, I have a great time, she appears/says she did too. She picked me up (vehicle wasn’t fixed quite yet... it is fixed now though, Woohoo!), drove us and dropped me off again (I did pay for everything, as I have with all our dates, not bragging or asserting that means anything, just thought I’d add it in case it helps with any advice). We get to my apartment and I immediately tell her it can’t be so long between our next date and she happily agrees. I’m so ecstatic with the thought of another date, I cheerfully tell her goodnight and get out... not thinking to read the situation if I could have made a kiss happen. That’s okay though, I figure, third date, this is going to be it. I’m going to make it happen.Our plans? One week later. Rock climbing (indoor) and dinner. The week passes (I’m gleefully counting down the days), it gets to the day before, she tells me she is at home (like, parents home, about 1-2 hours away), for a “stupid” reason, but she will be back for our date and she will explain then (bonus points if you know where this is heading... I had an idea at the time, but I tried to remain positive). Anyways, next day comes, date day, and I am all ready for the date, about to leave and meet her, when she texts me and asks if we can skip the rock climbing and just do dinner. She says she was really tired and didn’t get much sleep. I, obviously, told her yes. I added that she didn’t have to feel obligated to do dinner, that if she needed sleep I’d understand. After a bit of texting, I convinced her I was truly okay with it, so we rescheduled for 2 days later.Date #3: Ok, so the real date #3 comes. I meet her at rock climbing and it goes great as usual, I love talking with her, and we got a bit competitive (in a good way) with the rock climbing (she kicked my butt for those keeping score). After that we headed to dinner, on the way there, we were discussing our competitiveness and how we admired it in each other. I also knew she has played a decent amount of board games, so naturally, I get a great idea for the next date, game night! I mention it to her, and again she is immediately on board... except... yep, you remember that pesky little issue from earlier. For reasons (I know some of it, not all of it, but obviously don’t want to share any of it out of respect for her and her privacy), she is returning home for the rest of the semester and won’t be back until Fall (for those who called it, well played). Clearly, this is a bit of a bummer. She said she was leaving in a week, but that we could still do the game night before she left. I obviously agreed (remember, any time with her is better than none). We continued with our date and on our way to dinner... on the way, I basically brought up the fact that I really, really liked her, (she expressed the same, thank God), and that, if she wanted, I had my vehicle back and she didn’t live THAT far... that we could still try to make it work, if she was even interested. She said she had a similar thought, but wasn’t sure if I would be interested (can you say, “uh, duh?”).We continued and finished the date, it was great. However, as I knew she was/is going through a lot... I didn’t go for a kiss. We already had plans for a 4th date (game night) before she went back though. But, right after the date ended, I texted her and asked if she had heard of/seen/wanted to see the movie Game Night, because it would make a great lead up for our own game night. She did/didn’t/did. So it was another date, back to back, 4 and 5. Originally it was for this past Th/F, however, she had to move them up a day though, because she had to leave a day earlier than she thought. This was a bit difficult as it meant I had to shift some things on my schedule around, but I made it work (again, if it is to spend time with her, the “duh?” still applies). The only problem, none of my friends who originally planned to attend game night could make it (which is fair, because it was a last minute change). I was worried she wouldn’t want to do it just me and her, but she still agreed.Date 4#: We go see the movie, again, good time (we laugh at all the same parts, make some witty banter during the movie... but not too much as to be annoying/disturbing, all around great). Movie ends, I ask if she is hungry and offer to buy her dinner (wasn’t originally on the agenda). She says she is but unfortunately she has to pack still and needs to get back to her dorm. I completely understand and wish her a goodnight. Again, no kiss (I read the situation and I could clearly tell she was a bit preoccupied, which is totally fair given her current situation, so rather than try and make it awkward or make her uncomfortable or more stressed, I simply wished her a goodnight and told her I was excited for tomorrow/game night).Date #5: Game Night! I had a meeting (on campus) right before our date and so I said we could ride together after the meeting (in case you aren’t notice the theme, any extra time together is a bonus, even a 10 minutes drive). I said I could drive or she could, she offered (she has driven every time we have been together, and if her driving makes her more comfortable, then that is a-okay with me). We get back to my place and we get right into the games... however, in order to make up for the lack of people, and in order to give her a really good time before she left, you know I had a few surprises in store. Firstly, while bragging rights were on the line... I also got some other little prizes for the winner, to make it more fun. The next surprise will come at the end. Oh, and also dinner (pizza, because... pizza). We begin playing the games, she beats me at some and I win some (never let her win, because she has made it very clear she does not like that)... I obviously try to find a way to slip her most of the prizes though, because, come on, we know the prizes were mostly for her. Another amazing date... we played and talked for hours. We finish our last game, before she leaves though, I ask her to wait a second. I run and get a little “going away” gift bag I made for her (it included several things she likes/things from our dates... she likes books and she also mentioned she hadn’t read Ready Player One yet, so I got her a copy of that; she also likes coffee so I got her a Starbucks card, plus a few other small things related to our dates; and, of course, a short note wishing her safe travels). I go downstairs and give it to her, but tell her she can’t open it til she leaves.So, moment of truth. I know what you are all thinking (the two of you that are still reading at this point), did I kiss her?! The short answer: no. As we moved towards the door, preparing for our goodbyes, I mentioned that we had now had 5 dates and that I had an amazing time on all of them (she says she did too) and asked if it was fair to say we were dating and if she still wanted to continue to, which she said she did (this is when I gave her the gift). However, she said something along the lines of “well, I’ll see you again sometime,” (don’t remember word for word, but along those lines) and she seemed a bit distant, she didn’t really come in for a kiss, much less even a hug goodbye (I know the onus is “typically” on the man, but usually there is that 80/20 or even 90/10 rule, there wasn’t even a 1% here). On top of this, it was really late, we were both super tired; I did recognize she was likely still somewhat occupied by the move; I also was kind of afraid of a kiss in a sense, because what if it was amazing but then we never did end up seeing each other again? (Silly I know, but this is the brain I am working with). All these things combined, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I opened the door for her and said my goodbyes (all and all, still a great night... but do I regret not trying the kiss? Of course).This week/weekend I’m at a conference, so no chance of meeting up, plus I also recognize she probably wants time to get home/get settled before trying to work anything out between us, which, again, 100% understandable. So I plan/planned to give it at least until next weekend before I try to plan anything. However, I still continued to text her. And for the first few days it went really well (nothing crazy, but I actually got like 3-4 text from her each day). Then, it comes yesterday, where I didn’t hear from her once. And all that leads me to right here. Haven’t heard from her in over 24 hours (which isn’t unusual for her, but again, just trying to contextualize the situation). Also, to make it clear, my last message to her was a direct (not intrusive or anything like that) question, so it’s not like I was just like “hey.”All of that brings me to my two main questions. 1. Did I screw up by not kissing her? Has it been too long now? Or was it the right call given the circumstances? (Would love to hear from some female perspectives, especially). 2. What is the appropriate amount to text/message her? I don’t want to be (and am not, so appear to be) needy/clingy by any means. But I also want to keep the relationship/communication alive. I don’t want to let the flame die, so to speak. I know this is a tough line to tow, as too much messaging is needy (or worse, psychotic), but too little can lead to a weakening of that connection we have built and possibly yet another fizzled out relationship. So, any thoughts on how much to text? (And also appropriate things to say, other than just the constant “how are you today,” which I know is nice/sweet, but is it too repetitive/plain)? Also, any other general tips would be most appreciated! What’s in my head? What’s not? Am I worrying too much? Or just the right amount? Thank you so much for reading this far and for any potential advice! (Achievement Unlocked Ramblin’ Man: Listened to the problems of a hopeless romantic). via /r/dating_advice

#dating #dating advice #reddit