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theclockworkmonk · 3 years

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Out of the Mouths of Babes - Chapter 1

Read on AO3 here

Prompt: “Uncle Ron said something about Harry knocking Ginny up, but I don’t know what he means,” Teddy said.

Ron was still huffing grumpily as he stepped forward and pushed the door of their flat open for Hermione, so she wouldn’t have to adjust Teddy in her arms. His gracious show of chivalry clashed hilariously with the sour look on his face.

“Honestly, Ron,” Hermione laughed, shaking her head at him, “One would really assume you’d be used to it by now.”

“I have gotten used to it!” he said defensively. “I keep getting used to it, over and over, but then they just keep getting worse! If you want to snog your girlfriend, snog your girlfriend, if you want to talk with your best mate, talk with your best mate, but it’s downright rude to try to do both at the same time. But was there a single moment today where they weren’t draped all over each other? No! I don’t even want to think about what their hands might have been doing under the table. I mean, shit… ”

“Ron!” Hermioned hissed harshly, quickly covering Teddy’s ears.

But it was too late. “What’s shit?” the three-year-old asked innocently. Hermione shot Ron a murderous glare.

“I’ve told you Ron, for once in your life, watch what comes out of your mouth! Teddy is at a stage in his development where he’s very observant and curious.”

“What’s curious?” asked Teddy.

“That just means you’re growing up to be the most clever boy in the world!” Hermione told the toddler sweetly. She lifted up his shirt and blew him a raspberry, causing him to erupt into giggles. She put him down and he ran off to sit on the sitting room rug and start playing with the toys they had brought out before taking him today.

Ron was still grumpy as he plopped down on the sofa and watched Teddy absentmindedly. In hindsight, Hermione saw that she should have given him some time to cool off between ending their double lunch date with Harry and Ginny and picking Teddy up from Andromeda, to give her a night off to spend with other adults unencumbered. But if they had delayed at all, Harry would have jumped at the chance and taken Teddy himself. He was always using his role of godfather to indulge his martyr complex, but Hermione had steadfastly reminded him that Ginny was off for the first time in weeks after the intense conclusion to the Quidditch season, and she deserved to have her boyfriend all to herself.

Hermione sighed as she sat next to her fiancé on the sofa, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You have to remember, Ron, that Harry is still learning how physical affection works. He grew up without anyone ever touching him except to control him or hurt him. It’s called being touch-starved, it’s a real phenomenon in psychology. It’s understandable if he over-corrects in the other direction and doesn’t understand that public displays of affection come with boundaries.

She turned her head to look at him kindly, but found him giving her a deadpan frown.

“Seriously, Hermione? Not everything is related to something you read in a book once but somehow remember years later. This has nothing to do with Harry’s Tragic Backstory, they get more and more handsy because they know that it drives me up the wall, they’re just fucking with me.”

“What’s fucking?” asked Teddy.

“Sorr— Ow!” Ron helped as Hermione elbowed him hard in the side.

“Behave yourself,” she told him. “And don’t sell Harry short, that is not why he does it.”

She settled back into leaning against him, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“....That is absolutely why Ginny does it, though,” she added, making Ron snort with laughter.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, content to just watch Teddy play with small smiles on their faces.

“Thanks for volunteering us to take him,” Ron said softly into Hermione’s ear. “Having him around, this time of the year….it helps.”

Hermione nodded somberly. “I know what you mean.” The next day was May 2nd. Three years to the day since the Battle of Hogwarts.

Hermione sniffed as she felt all-too familiar tears threatening to break free again. “Being around someone so young, someone who won’t ever remember how bad things had gotten, who would only know the new world we fought for. It reminds us that none of them died in vain.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed quietly. “I think the rest of the family feels the same way, they always get super clingy with Vic this time of the year. Me too, I’ll admit.”

“Oh yes, I’ve definitely noticed that,” Hermione nodded. “Even more so than with Teddy, since she’s a Weasley. She represents your family’s survival and healing, I suppose.”

Hermione chuckled at something she remembered. “The worst of them all is your mother. She’s really been cranking the doting up for Victoire, and between you and me, it’s driving Fleur absolutely mad.”

Ron sat up a bit to face her, smiling mischievously at the gossip. “Oh yeah?”

Hermione nodded and smiled back. “She won’t say anything until she figures out a way to phrase it passive-aggressively instead of bluntly, but Fleur is clearly feeling smothered by the pressure of being the mother of the only grandchild.”

Ron’s smile faltered a bit, and the same grumpy mood he had when they returned home seemed to return.

“Well, she probably shouldn’t worry,” he grumbled. “If my best mate and my sister keep being as insufferable as they are, it’s only a matter of time before Harry’s knocking Ginny up—”

“Ron!” Hermione growled angrily, shooting Teddy a sideways glance, but fortunately he seemed too busy playing with his toy dragons. She breathed a sigh of relief, then started giggling.

“What on Earth makes you assume that?” she asked him incredulously.

“Hermione, if they can’t control themselves in the middle of a sodding café, what makes you think they can when alone in their flat?”

Hermione snuggled back up to him, pouting her lip playfully. “Well if that’s the case, why them and not us? I’d like to think that we’re similarly…. out of control at times…” she slowly brought a hand to rub up his thigh. Then, suddenly, her eyes narrowed dangerously, she stood up, and put her hands on her hips.

“Unless you’re saying that you’re just not as attracted to me as Harry is to Ginny?”

Ron just raised a skeptical eyebrow at her. “You’re trying to trap me because you think I’m adorable when I’m nervous, but you have to be less transparent than that, love.”

“Shoot, it was worth a try,” laughed Hermione, sitting back down.

“You know that I meant that you would never allow that to happen,” pulling her close again. “You can’t even make noncommittal plans for drinks in a pub without triple-checking your schedule and giving it a color-coded entry in your planner, there’s no way you’d ever let something as important as…. that just slip your mind. But you know how reckless those two are, is it really hard to believe they would neglect the Contraception Charm once?”

Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. “No, I really don’t think so. There are some things that Harry and Ginny do take seriously, one of them is family, they wouldn’t be blasé about it. And don’t be so disgustingly modest,” she said, lightly swatting his leg. “I am not always meticulous, you know damn well you’re capable of turning me into a scatterbrained piece of goo.”

She wasn’t looking at him, but she could feel Ron grinning proudly at that.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured in her ear, and Hermione felt goosebumps erupt on her neck. He pulled her closer and Hermione felt herself blush scarlet as he whispered all sorts of things he planned to do to her to prove her right.

“What’s knickers?” asked Teddy, who apparently had very good hearing. Hermione blushed harder than ever as she elbowed her fiancé again.

It was after dark when Ron and Hermione finally stepped through the fireplace of the Burrow. They could hear the large, loud gathering in the kitchen before they saw it. They found Andromeda talking and laughing happily in the kitchen with Molly, Arthur, Bill, Fleur, George, and Charlie, all drinking either tea, firewhiskey, or some combination of both. But as pleasant as the evening had been, she still beamed when she saw her grandson running towards her.

“He wasn’t too much trouble, was he?” she asked apologetically as she scooped the toddler into her lap.

“He was a delight!” said Hermione cheerfully.

“Yeah, this kid stuff is easy!” said Ron dismissively. “And yes, that’s a git thing to say, feel free to saddle us with him until I regret it.”

Andromeda laughed and thanked them again. After Ron and Hermione returned home through the fireplace, Teddy rested his head on Andromeda’s shoulder. He was clearly very tired and was starting to get fussy.

“Well,” Andromeda sighed, “I guess I should get this one home. Thank you so much for having me, all of you.”

But then, Teddy spoke up in a sleepy voice.

“Grammy, what’s knocking up?”

There was a loud crash as Molly dropped the teapot onto the kitchen floor. Fleur gasped dramatically, Bill coughed and sputtered on his firewhiskey, while George just erupted into laughter.

Andromeda pulled the boy off her shoulder and looked at him sternly. “Edward Remus Lupin, where did you hear that?” she asked.

“Oh, I believe we know where” Molly growled as she flicked her wand to levitate the shrapnel on the floor and started to reassemble it into a teapot, “I honestly don’t know where these sons of mine got such foul mouths. I have half a mind to go after Ronald and remind him that he’s not too old for me to wash his mouth out with soap. I am so sorry, Andi.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” said Andromeda. “Harry can swear just as well as any Weasley.”

She addressed Teddy again, more gently this time. “Go on, Teddy, where did you hear those words?”

“Uncle Ron said something about Harry knocking Ginny up, but I don’t know what he means,” Teddy said.

The kitchen of the Burrow had never before fallen so quickly, completely silent. The only sound was another crash as Molly dropped the teapot again.

#harry potter #hp fanfic #fanfic #hinny #hinny fanfic #hinny fanfiction #hp fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry and ginny #romione

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null-whump · 3 years

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Whumptober 2021: Day 9

Alt. Prompt No. 8 - Comfort

Guess who completely forgot that whumptober was still a thing? Yeah that's why I didn't post yesterday. And I'm coming back today with something so disgustingly fluffy that I'm almost ashamed to include it as part of whumptober, but it technically does fill a prompt. So. Enjoy!

(This is a follow-up to day 5)

Warnings: Implied slavery, implied fantasy racism, an insufferable amount of flirting

Word Count: 849

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“You know, he would be a lot easier on you if you weren’t so difficult,” Whisper said. He finished tying off the last bandage and sat back on his heels. “I know you haven’t been here long, but if you’d stop provoking him then maybe you wouldn’t be in constant pain.”

Darion scowled. “I’m not going to just – give in,” they protested.

“Everyone says that,” Whisper countered. “Everyone is wrong.”

“What, I’m supposed to roll over and do whatever he says?”

Whisper gave them a withering stare. “Yes. You’re a slave.”

Darion flinched.

“Unless you’d rather die,” Whisper added. “Which you will if you decide to go full rebel. The Master only puts up with so much.”

Darion glared at the floor. “I’m not gonna die here,” they muttered.

“Then stop being stubborn.”

“I’m not –” they cut themselves off with a huff of frustration. “Is he ever going to let me out of this cell, at least?”

“He will,” Whisper assured them. “When he knows that you’re ready.”

He reached out and brushed his fingers across a bruise on Darion’s face, evidence of a backhand from Igneous. They tried to ignore the way their breath caught in their throat and their heart skipped a beat.

‘Stop being foolish,’ they scolded themselves. ‘You’re only reacting like that because he’s the only decent person you’ve had contact with in all the weeks you’ve been stuck here.’

“It’ll get better,” Whisper said. His eyes reflected the flickering light from the candle he had brought into the cell, silver and gold and glittering. “Being here…it’s not all bad, all the time. There’s…a balance, you could say.” He tilted his head and a gleam came into his eyes. “Besides, once you get out of here, you’ll get to see me besides when I’m patching you up.”

Darion felt their face flush and immediately cursed themselves for it. “That would be – nice – I guess.”

‘Great job dumbass. I’m sure he’s head over heels for you now.’

Whisper smiled. “I’ll look forward to it – I’m sure you’re more fun when you aren’t chained up.”

“Not always.”

As soon as the words left their mouth Darion wanted to bash their head against the wall. Then Whisper laughed, and they forgot about everything but the sound of it.

“I think you’ll do alright,” he said. “Try not to make the Master angry for the next few days; I would hate to see him beat your personality out of you.”

Darion found their courage to speak. “You like my personality, then?”

“Among other things.” He reached out, gently, and ran his fingers through a few loose strands of hair that had fallen over Darion’s shoulder. “Your hair, for instance.”

Darion nearly stopped breathing entirely. “Really?” They asked, trying very hard to keep their voice from cracking. “Now I know you’re lying. I haven’t brushed it in weeks. And I know a dungeon does nothing for cleanliness.”

“Considering the circumstances,” Whisper said, “I think it looks fine. I’ve never seen colors like that before…where do you get it from?”

Darion stopped themselves from flinching just in time. They looked away, the pleasure of the moment fading.

“It’s – uh –” they swallowed hard. “I mean – my parents –” they were aware of how they sounded, stumbling over their words and making a fool out of themselves. “I’m a – a half-breed,” they finally forced out. Better to get it over with. “That’s why – I mean – I guess maybe you could tell, already, but –” the old familiar feeling of shame was rising in their chest, and they bit their tongue to hold it at bay.

They hid their…condition…fairly well, most of the time. When they were forced to go out in public, they wore clothes that disguised their tail and some sort of head covering to hide the golden-black pattern of their hair. They could pass as an elf as long as they were careful.

“I’m sorry,” Whisper said, startling them out of their thoughts. “I didn’t know it was something you don’t like to talk about.”

He sounded…sorry. Not disgusted, or uncomfortable, or anything Darion had learned to expect from people. They felt their panic begin to dissipate, just a little.

“You don’t – uh –” they stopped and breathed. “You don’t seem…upset.”

Whisper frowned. “I’m not. There’s no reason to be.” He reached out his hand, hesitantly, then placed it on top of Darion’s. “I’m – I’m sorry, that you feel like I should be.”

Darion blinked, struggling to make sense of the response. “I –” they didn’t know where to go from there. “Thank you,” they settled for. “Most people – well. Most people don’t want to be near…someone like me.”

Whisper shrugged. “Their loss.”

Darion gave a short laugh. “You’re…” they shook their head. Saying ‘you’re nice’ seemed ridiculous, even for them. “You make being stuck here…less terrible,” they said instead, and still winced at the word choice. They had never been very elegant in speech.

Whisper rubbed his thumb against the back of Darion’s hand. “I told you. It’s not all bad.”

‘No,’ Darion thought. ‘I suppose it’s not.’

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Tag list! Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed :)

@starnight-whump @chifechi

#whumptober2021 #altno.8 #comfort #OC #fic #implied slavery #my ocs: darion #my ocs: whisper

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jojo-reader-hell · 4 years

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Heyyy I thought of something funny, it's not really romantic but how would the SDC crew react to their usually innocent and soft!reader curse for the first time? Like their curse words consists of "fudge" or "darn", but then they got frustrated one day and said "fuck!"

Aw yiss I must write for the bois. Honestly was itching to write something for Kakyoin and PolPol, also my wifey Joseph -3- I think as this blog progresses y’all will learn who I stan the hardest.

You and Jotaro Kujo were just trying to get some ice cream, because little does anyone know that your boyfriend is a gigantic man baby that gets hangry if he isn’t fed every hour on the hour. It’s been a thing since the two of you got together in secret. None of his fangirls have ever suspected the two of you were in a relationship. Always you’re the quiet little book worm that likes to knit in the back of the classroom, what a shock it would be for anyone to see you hanging on Jotaro’s arm at the end of the school day. You’ve tried to explain it to Mr. Joestar several times, you know Jotaro’s moods. He’s always skipping classes to enjoy the big lunches you always make for him, and since we are all in the middle of the desert and there’s no four burner stove tops the best way to soothe your boyfriend is to just let him eat crap and garbage to settle him down. It’s been really stressful, usually you have time to do your makeup and condition your hair and press your blouses but the whole mission hasn’t been very conducive to your usual sweetheart rituals. You’ve managed to gather a little bit of money to treat little Jojo to a frozen goodie or two, but when you’re trying to fumble for the change some pickpocket decided to try running off with your purse. Jotaro was about to call out Star Platinum to pummel this dude until he heard something that he’d never expected in his life:

“THAT’S MY PURSE ASSHOLE! I DON’T KNOW YOU!”

He’s honestly in shock. Watching you just beat the shit out of this poor son of a bitch who’s a grown ass man crying for his mama while some innocent high schooler with a wrinkled shirt will not stop wailing on him. He finally runs off, and Jotaro is just left speechless when he hears the expletives fly.

“Ugly ass motherfucker trying to steal MY PURSE THAT MY BOYFRIEND GOT FOR ME ON WHITE DAY! FUCK YOU!”

“Jesus Christ... He’s not even here anymore babe.”

If anything he’s more annoyed with the fact that you just will not stop screeching about the asshole trying to take your money, and shuts you up when he starts complaining about how hungry he is.

When you agreed to accompany Joseph Joestar on his “business trip”, you assured Suzie Q. that as his secretary you’d be absolutely sure that your husband and boyfriend didn’t get into any mischief like he usually likes to cause. You kissed Suzie Q. right on the mouth, trilled an “I’ll take care of him honey, please watch the house while we are away!” and packed the tiniest carpetbag anyone has ever seen. You had to go with him, because if you stayed to watch your over sixty year old girlfriend pretend like her daughter wasn’t dying it would only make things worse. You’ve been together with Joseph and Suzie since you were twenty two, you’re not about to sit by and pretend to be their little arm candy. It’s better for you to be with Joseph where you insist that you’re more than a cute face.

Eventually you proved it to him, before Polnareff joined up with the group it was you that faced him, not Avdol. You reasoned your Stand Queen of Swords was more adept, and sure enough, you managed to chill him to the bone with your ice power by matching his ruthless approach. It took everything you had to stop yourself from killing him when he made fun of you for being a gold digger hanging onto your sugar daddy’s arm. When you had him struggling under your boot, you leaned in very closely with the scariest expression Joseph has ever seen.

“I better not ever hear another sexist thing like that come out of your mouth again, you childish little shithead.”

Mark your sixty nine year old boyfriend down as scared and horny, because the worst he’s ever heard you say was “oh fiddlesticks” when you dropped a tea set.

You and Muhammad Avdol have only been married a year, and he’s had to be pretty gentle and nurturing with you considering how innocent you are. Your Stand Queen of Cups is more of a healer, and he only brought you along because he figured that you’d be heartbroken to be left behind to watch his shop. It turns out you’ve become an invaluable asset to the team should any injuries be sustained from enemy attacks. Often you’ll heal without question, but lately he’s noticed you’re starting to prickle up like a porcupine whenever one of the boys comes up to you with an injury. It has to be the stress of leaving your home above the shop, or the project of building a nursery that had to be put on hold once Dio disrupted your happy married life. It happens when Jotaro approaches you with an injury, telling you with his typical careless lack of manners to “get to work fixing it” that makes you snap.

“Why are you so goddamn careless you dumbshit?! Don’t you realize that you have to keep yourself in one piece if you want to help your mother?”

Avdol has to drag you away from letting loose on Jotaro, and he even notices the usual calm temperament of Queen of Cups seems more violent than usual. He’s less shocked about the language and more concerned about what got you to that point. Mark him down as even more worried when he realizes the current change of mood is due to the fact that you’re late.

Being Jotaro’s little sister, it was decided that you’d stay behind with Holly before Noriaki Kakyoin intervened on your behalf. He reasoned it wasn’t fair to leave you behind and watch your mother die, and selfishly he kept to himself that he didn’t want to leave behind such a pretty Stand User. He’s been attracted to your innocence since you took care of him after Jotaro extracted the flesh bud. You’re attached to him at the hip, worrying over him and hanging onto his arm. Now that he’s found someone just for him he doesn’t intend to let anyone harm you or take that innocence away. He’s always making googoo eyes at you no matter what you do, and you often gross out the other members of your group with how much you baby Kakyoin.

You’ve never said a bad word the entire time he’s known you, but Jotaro insists he knows his baby sister. You’re not as innocent as you seem. No matter what, you’re still a Joestar and the typical fighter is going to come out when he least expects it. Kakyoin laughed it off until you saw Iggy for the first time and climbed your boyfriend like a tree, screaming your head off because you have an irrational fear of small dogs.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! IS THAT A FUCKING GREMLIN?!”

“... honey...” Kakyoin has to try to be gentle to get over the shock of you saying fuck, “It’s a dog...”

“Son of a cunt, just nobody feed that fucking thing after midnight!”

Now as the comparatively insufferable fiance of Jean Pierre Polnareff, it’s no surprise that you’re just as much of a romantic as he is. There’s never a sentence that doesn’t begin with either “Well my fiance says...” or “Jean Jean and I think”... It’s honestly a little worrisome how you don’t make any kind of a decision without Polnareff’s input. More often than not he opts to have you wait for him in your hotel room, insisting that he’ll be by later to take care of his little cream puff (the boys know from experience that you don’t you dare ask him why he calls you his cream puff, because they’ve all been subjected to the horrors of Polnareff’s unusual willingness to go into detail about your sex life). But the one day he decides to let you go out with him happens to be the day he gets into the Alessi scuffle, and when you innocently ask him a question about who that lady was that was chasing after him, suddenly your face darkens and even Jotaro backs away when he senses your mounting rage.

“You said you touched her WHAT?!” you roar before turning your rage on the creep Alessi, “YOU NASTY MOTHER FUCKER! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU TO TURN MY JEAN JEAN INTO AN ADULTERER?! YOU DID THIS! YOU ALMOST RUINED MY MOTHER FUCKING FAIRY TALE WEDDING, YOU DISGUSTING CUNT BITCH! FUCK YOUR MOTHER!”

It was then Jotaro realized Polnareff was so disgustingly sweet and controlling of you because he was the only one who could soothe your temperament and turn you into a sweetheart with just a few words. Eventually your big French lover has you melting like ice cream on a hot day in his hands, insisting the woman meant “nothing to him” and “your chest is the only one I’d like to be pressed against” and “no one can clean his peepee like you can sweetie baby”.

Jotaro is traumatized for the rest of his life.

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littleredwritinghoodxx · 4 years

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#thirsty-and-in-denial-Zelda

Thank you @intangiblyyourswrites for the writing challenge.

Prompt:

The real reason Zelda initially shows such a abhorrence to Link is because she’s secretly heads-over-heels for him and refuses to show it. Her pride is on the line, after all.

Rules:

Must be set in the BotW timeline

When it’s set is up to you (e.g. Pre-Calamity or post, pre-Blades of the Yiga or post)

No chronology enforced, but I’m interested to see if we can get a somewhat coherent story out of this!

You may do however many posts/drabbles you’d like

Tag #thirsty-and-in-denial-Zelda so we can find your story!

This is set up pre Zelda’s Resentment, and lemme tell you, she is quite resentful.

Also... this is the most sinful thing I have ever written. Like, ye have been warned. This is rated M shit. And by shit, I mean smut. It’s low key smut.

Thank you @bhujerbanwrites for looking this over for me!

I’ve never written smut before.

Dear lord, please be merciful on me.

Alas: I’m not even sorry.

Please enjoy... The Tip of his Sword

There are rumors floating about the castle: rumors that Princess Zelda is head-over-heels for her appointed knight.

But of course she isn’t. She is the Crown Princess of Hyrule. It would be unseemly for her to think about her knight attendant in that way.

Indeed, it would be uncouth for her to think about the way his hands rest upon her hips, large and rough and hot, adjusting her stance during archery practice. It would be improper for her to think about his sharp gaze, those blue irises piercing straight through her, turning her legs to jelly and rendering her utterly useless.

It would be inappropriate for her to think about him pushing her roughly against her desk in her tower, knocking over all of her books and tomes on the Ancient Sheikah – priceless first editions, how dare he – as his hands grasp her hips, her thighs, her breasts. Absolutely unbecoming for her to imagine him trailing hot kisses from the curve of her jaw, all the way down, down, down the column of her neck, as his fingers trail across her skin like a serpent, sliding closer and closer –

Nope. She most certainly is not head-over-heels for Link.

Erhm… her appointed knight.

She turns over in bed and screams into her pillow, the sound muffled as she tries to clear her mind of him. He is always there, the insufferable thing. How dare he. She has much more important things to focus on, like unlocking her Sacred Powers – which, mind you, she is doing her very best at, thank you very much – or discovering more secrets that the Ancient Sheikah left behind in the wake of the prophecy.

She doesn’t have the time to be thinking about her knight stripping her down to her socks, pinning her to the wall – with his one hand tangled in her hair, the other touching her there, smirking against her ear as he whispers uncouth things to her, pushing into her from behind –

Nope. Definitely not head-over-heels for her knight.

She clearly isn’t going to get any sleep that night, and so she whips the covers off of her and swings her legs over the side of her bed, wincing as her warm feet hit cold, unforgiving stone. She fetches her robe from the bedpost, tying the thin, silk tie at the front and steps barefoot across her room.

A warm breeze drifts in from her open windows. Summer is in full swing, and it is no secret that it is one of Zelda’s favorite seasons. The warmer months mean freedom: it means adventures into the wild to study the fauna, expeditions with Purah and Robbie to some Ancient Sheikah excavation. Her father doesn’t approve, but he knows that mother would have said yes, and thus he doesn’t protest.

Guards patrol the courtyard beneath her balcony and bridge to her tower. Rather than being seen and causing even more rumors to float about the castle, Zelda sticks to the shadows. Summers spent with the Sheikah do wonders for her now, as she disappears in plain sight. Perhaps that had been a mistake for her father to send her away in the years following her mother’s death. Impa had been reluctant to guide her in the ways of the Sheikah, but where Impa was hesitant, Purah was awfully enthusiastic.

She makes it across the bridge, with the door to her study shutting with an inaudible click. Here, she lights a candle, her study awash with the flickering flame licking shadows up and down her body. She sits down in her worn out chair, her fingers trailing her notes from where she last left off.

Ah, yes. Academics. This was the one thing that her appointed knight absolutely could not touch – oh, how she desperately aches for his touch. She and Purah had last been studying the ancient shrines off in the Tabantha region. From their most recent research, they concluded that the shrines were meant to be accessed by the Sword’s chosen one.

And the Sword… had chosen him.

Not to be dramatic, but what in Nayru’s name was the Goddess Hylia thinking in choosing him? Everything came so naturally to him: his ability with the sword, his speed and strength, his stunning good looks… He hardly has to work for his success, and yet Zelda is stuck trying day in and day out to unlock a sacred power that she is starting to believe she didn’t inherit.

She sighs, tilting her head back on her chair. Ever since her father had appointed him as her knight, she hardly ever got a moment to herself. These days, field expeditions with the Sheikah included her, Purah, Robbie… and Link.

He really couldn’t take a hint, it seemed. Try as she might to make him feel unwelcome, there he was, always three steps behind her or standing just beyond their excavation, the tip of his sword digging into the ground as he looked coolly beyond.

Indeed, she has some better uses for the tip of his sword.

She sighs, her eyes drifting closed as her legs part just enough. She can think of some ways he might better utilize it. He might lift her so her ass is on her desk, her legs parted as he steps forward. Her legs would wrap around his hips as he presses his lips to hers, kissing her filthily, all tongue and teeth. He would slowly push into her, hissing into her shoulder while she suppresses her moan. They can’t have the castle hear them, now can they? Her pride is on the line, after all.

She might shove him down onto her bed – a place she’s told no place but her husband should lie – and straddle his hips, grinding hers in perfect, languid circles before finally – slowly – sinking down onto him, biting her lip as she watches his usually stoic facade crumble.

He might adjust the rotations of the Royal Guard – he is the Captain, after all – so that her bridge and the courtyard below are deserted in some part of the night. Then, with not a soul in sight, he would brace her against the railing of the bridge, fucking her senseless as she muffles her moans, his fingers digging crescent shape marks into her hips where only she would see –

She comes quickly – fingers moving desperately within her and practiced against her clit. She tilts back in her chair slightly, riding out the orgasm as a small moan escapes from her lips.

She tilts back in her chair too far.

She comes down from her orgasm as she comes down with a crash, a loud yelp escaping her lips as she rolls to soften the fall. She lays there, underwear tangled around her ankles as she breathes heavily, the sweet cerulean of the moon reflected on her stone bridge being replaced with the soft flicker of the candlelight.

Then: commotion.

“Princess?”

The voice is closer than she would have liked, and even more horrifying: it’s his. She stumbles to her feet, her eyes wild as she yanks her underwear up wobbling legs. Hastily, she wipes her fingers along the side of her nightgown, before running them through her hair, trying to make herself not look so… so…

Disheveled.

She hears footsteps on the bridge – running, she can tell. She hasn’t responded, and she knows that he has assumed the worst. Princesses only don’t respond when they’ve been captured or otherwise compromised.

Because apparently, just trying to work through her own frustration with her disgustingly perfect knight isn’t a good enough reason.

She is frantically replacing her chair on its legs and smoothing out her nightgown when –

The door to her study is whipped open. He stands there, his eyes dangerous and his sword unsheathed – stop thinking about his unsheathed sword. She stands there, trying and failing to control her panting, wide-eyed and guilty as fuck – don’t think about that, you terrible, foolish girl.

It’s him, because of course it’s him, it’s always him. He now looks relieved to see her – she’s safe, there’s no threat – but then those eyes squint in suspicion. She had yelled out but she was safe. So then, why?

Then, his nose crinkles.

And Zelda wants to drown herself in the castle moat.

Zelda speaks first and it’s more of a babble, “What in Hylia’s name are you doing here? I can’t get some late night studying in without being barged in by my knight? I’m not a child.”

“I heard you yell out and then a crash. I only came to make sure you were alright,” his voice is calm and leveled and she has to fight against her instinct to get lost in it.

“I toppled out of my chair while looking over the ancient Sheikah shrines in the Tabantha region,” She does not need to explain herself and yet here she is, chattering away at something his peanut sized brain couldn’t hope to comprehend, “As you can see, I am perfectly fine.”

He seems distracted, now that there’s no immediate threat. It’s odd, considering he is never distracted. His eyes dart around the small study, looking everywhere and anywhere except at her. Slowly, he sheaths his sword, and the moment stretches out, the only sound between them the grind of his sword against his scabbard.

She tries not to think about that too hard.

“I can see that.”

Oh?

“Then why are you still here?”

That reaction was uncalled for and she knows it, but she’s strung up and panicking and sweet Nayru just take her soul now.

Link blinks and he takes a step back. She can hear the gears shifting in his head. She hates how methodical he is, hates how thoughtful and polite he is.

She wants to make it perfectly clear that she cannot stand her gorgeous appointed knight.

“I apologize, Princess,” he murmurs, his eyes finally reaching hers. His sharp, blue eyes still her and she thinks that she can scarcely breathe. How dare he, “Do you require any further assistance?”

She would be lying if she said she doesn’t.

Instead, she draws upon her wrath, “I beg your pardon?”

“I can call on your maids to draw up a bath,” Link says, quickly, and though it’s dark, she swears she can see a distinct flush upon his cheeks, “Or call upon the kitchens to send something up to help you sleep.”

Sleep. Goddesses know she is the furthest thing away from sleep.

“That won’t be necessary,” she whispers, hoping that the venom on her tongue will hold his tongue. Oh – the things that man could do with his tongue.

Hylia preserve her.

“You’re dismissed, Sir Link,” she manages to say.

She walks past him, back across the bridge, specifically averting her gaze from the railing of the bridge, facing a perfectly full moon.

“As you command, my Princess,” he whispers, and she wants to scream.

She hates him so very much.

#thirsty-and-in-denial-Zelda #zelink #gonna go wash away my sins now #happy to contribute

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lokidokiliteratureclub · 4 years

Text

Healer

Kylo Ren x Reader (One-Shot for now)

Plot: Your planet has been destroyed, and as you are attempting to flee you are taken in by the New Order for your supposed healing abilities. With all the other nurses compromised, you are called upon to treat a very special, insufferable patient.

I am pretty sure this classifies as angst. It's less a romance and more an interaction.

Note: Sorry for those who are waiting for me to update the other story. I just needed to put something out to prove to myself that I'm not dead. Updates to Frostbitten coming! I'm doing my best :')

You should have never told these people you had any value. You should have pretended not to understand them. Look where honesty has brought you.

You are at the feet of the first order, a prisoner. A spare. A disposable remnant of the planet they destroyed in your wake. You are the only thing that remains of your people, and you are being dragged around in a lousy pair of handcuffs.

Figures approach as you and your guards turn through a hallway. You don't look up to see them, instead electing to listen to their voices.

"Is this the nurse?" A man in white asks the men in white behind you as you shift your hands around in their cuffs. "Assistance is needed urgently. Lord Ren is unaccompanied and mortally wounded."

That sounds bad, but you don't care enough to react. No one with the title 'Lord' has ever done anything good for you.

"Are there no others that can treat him? We have yet to test for experience. There is no way we can guarantee-"

"The nurses aboard our ships are either wounded or in shock. We need somebody now. These are our orders."

"What if this, this child kills him?"

Oh, please.

"I'm hardly a child," you speak up, looking up from the ground. There are no eyes for you to stare into, so you stare into the pits of the Trooper's mask. "And I know enough about you all to decide that murder is unwise. I'm sure a fate worse than murder would await me as a punishment for betrayal. I will treat whoever you wish."

At first, it seems they're going to take you seriously. Then, a short laugh.

"Do not be fooled into thinking you have a choice."

You are taken to a small quarters. The room is dark- not ideal for your work, but manageable. There is a man in black lying across a rectangular table in the center, and it is clear from the shade of his skin that he has lost plenty a lot of blood. With the urgency that you were rushed in with, it is clear that this patient is a patient of great value. You should be quick.

"All the tools you need should be here," a Trooper states. The handcuffs click quietly off your wrists. "Should you fail to save him-"

"I won't," you cut in. "But please, allow me the luxury of privacy. I cannot focus when I am being intruded upon."

The Troopers look at eachother, and then at the man on the table, and then, regretfully, step out of the room. Now you can begin working.

You strip the layers of bloodied clothing off of his skin, laying them at his sides and adjusting his body to reveal the worst of the wounds. Then, you glance quickly at the door to be sure you're alone, and close your eyes.

The energy begins to flow.

It flows out of you like a second language, striking home as soon as your fingertips touch his skin. The energy races to where he needs it most. His body begins to heal.

But then something odd occurs.

He pushes back.

Within his subconscious, the man on the table fights against your energy. His will rises to meet your own. It's as if to say 'I don't need you' even though he clearly does. You try to ignore it, but the longer you push the stronger the retaliation. You flatten your palms against his skin and focus more energy toward him. There is a slightly higher success rate, and then all his resistance falls back. You ease away from him, now physically drained from fighting, and you open your eyes. The worst of his wounds have sealed off. The only problems you have left are the wound on his face and the noticable blood loss. You decide to tackle the small problem first, and look toward his face.

He's looking right back at you.

An instinctive screech rises within you, but you push it down. You stare longer, silent. He's waiting for you to react. You don't. You take a deep, shaking breath inward, and straighten your spine, awaiting his words.

"Who are you?" He finally asks, faintly. His strength is still faltering, and you can hear it in his voice. He's lightheaded. He's weak. "What did you do to me?"

"I'm a healer," you state. "I healed you. It's kind of what I do."

"You used the force," he speaks, and he says it like a curse. "I felt it. I wanted to fight it- but you weren't trying to harm, were you?" He furrows his eyebrows. "Why can you do that? Who are-"

"I'm a healer," you repeat. You sense it makes him a bit angry. "I healed you."

"And what technique did you use to do so?"

"Unless you're a healer as well, not one that I'd expect you to understand. May I finish my work?"

The anger rises again, like a glowing ember. "I'll ask again. Are you capable of using the force?"

Still unfazed, you shrug. "The force is a part of the Jedi religion. The Jedi are dead. I heal people. I am not a Jedi."

The ember ignites. The man's hand jolts outward, and suddenly your airways are void of air. Your hands shoot to your neck, and you let out an unpleasant choke. "Yes or no," he repeats. His eyes are strong, demanding, but his grip is weak. He is still weak. "I'm not asking for much."

Your eyes trace his hand in the air. It has been far too long since you've seen another person exhibit your same power. Is this why the prisoner was held to such importance?

You stare him in the eye, face going red with lack of air supply. "You're not strong enough to hold this yet. I'd let go."

The grip tightens. There's pain on his face. He's still weak. "Yes. Or. No."

You shake your head, pushing a bit of what remains of your own energy outward into his. He falters, and then his hand drops, limp. "You're still healing. Give yourself time to rest." You reach a hand toward the wound on his face. "Let me finish."

He grabs your wrist. Not with any magical force this time, but with his hand. "You're not part of the Order."

You shrug. "I certainly don't support them. They blew up my home world, kidnapped me, and they are now forcing me to treat this asshole who thinks I owe him something." You shift your eyes back to him, and say with certain certainty: "I don't."

There's a pause, and you worry you pushed the wrong button, but he drops your wrist and closes his eyes, relaxing into the table.

Good. A moment of peace.

"Fascinating. You don't know why I am," he says, and he seems to believe it. "You'll regret saying all of that once you do."

You roll your eyes, placing your fingertips on either side of the man's head, near his temples. The energy begins to flow again. "No one can hurt me anymore. I either live or I don't. All I have left is to work. I left behind everything I had, so now I don't have-" you cut off, and as you stop speaking the energy stops leaving your fingers.

The man sees this weakness before you can recover.

"Anything left to lose?" He guesses. Suddenly, he has the high ground. All because of a falter. "You left? You abandoned?" He laughs. The entire table shakes slightly. "I don't see why they took you. We must be low on nurses."

You flinch. "I'm a healer."

"You're an asset." He raises both eyebrows, looking disgustingly smug. "There weren't many intelligent inhabitants on that planet. I'm sure you were very close to them."

Your hands tense. You feel your own ember begin to form, anger spinning a web. "That doesn't matter."

"Not anymore, I suppose." He opens his eyes, and you don't flinch when he looks into yours. "So, why are you here? Too much of a coward to die with them?"

The ember threatens to ignite. It begs to. You realize this, and take a step back, and close your eyes. And then you place your fingers back over the wound and continue healing.

"It takes one to know one," you say. "And that puts us in the same boat, doesn't it? From the looks of your wounds, you suffered quite a loss in battle. Why didn't you remain among the other men?"

"You don't know anything about me," he states in grim retaliation. "I'm not just some solider."

You laugh. "Clearly not. If you were a soldier you'd be wearing white armor and not a glorified bathrobe." Your hands rise from his skin, and the work is complete. "I'm done. I wouldn't move for a couple of days, as you lost quite a lot of blood." You turn, now eager to escape this tiny prison.

"Y/N," is all he says. You freeze on the way to the exit. "You're very difficult, Y/N."

You turn back around, limbs stiff. "How do you-?"

"I know the force. I can use it in ways beyond your imagination." He exhales deeply, frowning. "Your father taught you the ways of the force, didn't he? Who was your father?"

Your eyes start to sting, and you blink to keep tears from forming. "My father is dead. That's all you need to know on the matter."

"And whose fault might that be?"

That breaks you.

Your hand shoots out in front of you, and when it does the man goes flying off the table and into the wall, before landing on the floor with a dull thud. He laughs. "Good! You are powerful. In need of guidance-" He braces himself on the wall, standing up, clearly unstable. "I know a teacher who can help you use that power-"

You clench your outstretched hand. The man shoots across the room toward you, freezing in the air just a couple feet away. Despite the fact that you're in control, he looks very satisfied with himself. "The force is not a power. The force is a balance. As evil rises, an equal force of good rises with it." You open your fist, leading him back over the table and dropping him on top of it. "My father was not a teacher. He was a force that threatened the safety of others, and I rose up against him. That is all you need to know on the matter. Get some rest- whoever you are."

You're just about at the door when, as you expected, he speaks again. "My name is Kylo Ren," he says simply. From the silence that follows it is clear he expects a reaction. You look over your shoulder.

"No, it's not."

You leave before you hear his response.

#kylo x reader #kylo ren #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x reader #star wars #kylo ren x reader angst

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mintymiknow · 4 years

Text

Because I’ve been keeping you all waiting for a really long time, here’s a sneak peek of chapter 13. It isn’t much; it’s basically a part of what I’ve started during my hiatus, but consider it a little treat for my absence. I hope to finish the whole thing by the end of November to early December!

—————————————-

A part of you was expecting to see Minho leaning against the balcony rail, staring up at the sky and musing about something deep. You did not, however, even think about him talking with Jisung – one on one and all. Minho’s back is faced towards you, and his voice was softer than usual, but the smile plastered on Jisung’s face was enough to tell you that he was trying to make your best friend feel better. You decide to hang back, perhaps eavesdrop on their conversation just a little.

“Do you think you can do it?” Jisung asks, “I mean, I am aware, firsthand, of how capable you are in fighting, but…”

“But?” Minho quips, and you can already imagine him raising his eyebrow.

Jisung chuckles, shaking his head, “But can you do it? For one, you’re badly injured and still recovering. Secondly, there’s a huge chance you’re going to face him when the time comes to attack the castle – your father, I mean.”

Minho remains quiet for a few seconds; you observe how Jisung’s eyes are glued to Minho, his gaze intense and serious as opposed to his usual cheery disposition. With a casual shrug, the Magnetron responds at last, “Do I really have a choice?” he chuckles, the sound almost too bitter, “It’s weird since technically he is my father, but y/n, Changbin, and the rest have been more of a family to me than he has.”

Minho’s next words has Jisung smiling like a proud, enthusiastic child, “Back then, this would have been the biggest struggle for me, but after everything they’ve done, I’d pick my imbecilic friends over Father or the Council in an instant.”

“Back then, I think you still would have picked those ‘imbecilic friends’ over them.” Jisung beams, giving Minho a quick wink, “You lied to the Council for y/n’s sake and kept a lot of things a secret from them, am I right? You even said you’d keep the whole Yellow Wood incident a secret between us only. That’s saying something, considering you’re expected to be the Council’s pride and snitch, no offense.”

Minho airily chuckles, shaking his head lowly, “You truly are the most unpredictable person, Han Jisung.”

Jisung smiles, and there was no doubt that his simple gesture was enough to lift anyone’s spirits. His eyes are twinkling with a shimmer so wholesome, you want to just collect it all in a jar and keep it to yourself. Eventually, Minho speaks up again, slowly turning his body to reveal a smirk, “And you, y/n, are still horrible at sneaking up to people.”

Jisung snickers, waving at you giddily, “Heya y/n. Had a good sleep? I sure as hell slept like a log, you know?”

“Yes, Sungie.” you give him a high-five before playfully smacking Minho’s chest, “I wasn’t intending to sneak up on you two, idiot.”

“Hmm, sure.” Minho smirks.

Jisung’s grin grows wider, “I’m going to check on how their training’s going. You two should follow! And Minho, you’re free to spar with any of us. I’ll show you we can beat your ass!”

Before Minho can retaliate, Jisung bolts away for his dear life. You end up chuckling at his playfulness before turning to your best friend, “Feeling better?”

He offers you a gentle smile before saying, “I’d like to think so. You?”

“Much.” you smile back before releasing a deep breath.

He tilts his head inquisitively, “What’s gotten into you now?”

“Thank you.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, “For?”

“Being here.” you grin, “I know this isn’t easy for you. Well, it’s not easy for any of us because obviously there’s a huge possibility we’re running straight to our deaths by challenging the Council and Ho, but this is immensely much more difficult for you. You know what I mean, Minho.”

“I know.” he begins, “But like I said. Things are different now, and I’ve come to realize how blinded I was. Besides, keeping you – and the boys – safe at all costs is technically my priority. I’m not letting – ”

“ – what happened to your mom happen to us.” you chuckle, “I know, Min, I know. That’s why I’m saying thank you.”

“You are the most disgustingly sappy and soft person I have ever met, y/n.” Minho teases, flashing you a devilish grin.

“You are insufferable.” you counter, smirking in kind.

He shakes his head, “That’s my line.”

His smirk now fades as his expression contorts with concern, “Y/n, this isn’t a joke, alright? The Council and Ho are much stronger than we think, and getting into a fight with them isn’t going to be like how we used to train. I know you’re just as powerful as Changbin and I are, but you need to promise me you’ll be careful, ok?”

“You’re one to talk.” you airily laugh, “You’re the one with grave injuries, so don’t go dying out on me, got it?”

“Wouldn’t even dare.” Minho smirks.

“Come on. You should help them train.” you chuckle, looping your arm around Minho’s as you lead him to the backyard.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids scenario #stray kids imagine #scintilla #draft #sneak peek #preview #scenario #imagine

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vanaera · 5 years

Text

Just Say Goodnight and Go

Synopsis | The spirit of Christmas is yet to be felt as a blackout on a chilly December night becomes the icing on the cake of your horribly shitty day. You just really want to sleep tonight but your neighbor seems to have lost his mind again when he comes knocking on your door to demand for an uncalled sleepover. Said neighbor is Kim Seokjin, the famed crush of the university, and no, he’s not your friend. He’s most definitely not your crush and he’s absolutely not the reason why warmth invades your chest when it’s not even summer Characters | annoying neighbor!seokjin x tsundere!you Genre | Fluff and humor (college!au / neighbor!au) Wordcount | 4,237 Play goodnight n go by Ariana Grande A/N | Happy birthday to our one and only worldwide handsome! To @ifntelyinspirit, here’s your request! Thank you so much for your support! I love you, hon!!!

You know better than to expect you'll have a normal day—or even an evening—when you have a neighbor as obnoxious and infuriating as Kim Seokjin.

"But he's so nice and so good in swimming and if you cannot see–he's goddamn handsome!" your friends always reason, trying to prove you wrong that the university crush, the self-proclaimed “worldwide handsome” Kim Seokjin cannot be pesky and annoying as hell. In fact, it is quite understandable why they would think of him that way. Athletic physique, handsome face, stellar academics—who wouldn't fall for that? Well, not you. You'd like to put yourself in that seemingly aberrant category because you don't want to fall in the mainstream and oh, you know him better - better than anyone, actually in the university - because God destined him to be your fucking neighbor.

Just a half meter from your little home in Happy Apartelle resides the famed wonder boy of your batch probably cooking up some shit or dragging you into situations you didn't ask for. It ranges from being forced to be his unwilling food critic or his companion of the day in some hangout spot because "Damn it, Y/N you need to go out! You need the sun!" You'd like to say otherwise because technically, you have a 7 to 10-night shift at Annie's Diner just two blocks away but he's Seokjin and he wouldn't be Seokjin if he won't fiddle his way around you to tell you that your introvert ass only goes out during the night.

Your life unfortunately always starts on a bad note and adding him in the mix only worsens your depleting hope in the future. It only hit worst just two weeks ago when he was offered an internship in a local radio station and god only knows how the hell he made you agree to accompany him in The Bistro. You won't ever speak of that night again.

Seokjin always had this tendency to annoy you and make you regret your life choices and today—tonight—is no different the moment you heard four successive knocks at your door.

You turned to your side and pulled your blanket over your head, filling your vision with hideous magenta flowers that only irritated you. To say you’re fucking tired and upset would be an understatement. You spilled coffee on your favorite shirt first thing in the morning, the results of your Philosophy midterms did you quite badly, and as if to add salt to your injury, an insufferable customer called you stupid just because you stared at him dubiously when he uttered his order too quick for you to catch. You almost broke down in an angry fit in the diner so you did yourself a favor and clocked out two hours earlier than the usual. You’d probably regret your impulsive decision when you go to work tomorrow but tonight, you really didn’t care. You really just want to fucking sleep now but the other side of the door won't just stop.

It will leave soon, you tell yourself, turning and snuggling deeper in your fabric but after almost shut-eyes that occurred in five-minute intervals that are also consecutively disturbed by the persistent knocking, you already knew you had no other choice than to address the person that is already very unwelcomed in your humble abode.

Begrudgingly untangling yourself from your sheets, you treaded across the short expanse of your room in heavy stomps. Without even bothering to check your always-unruly hair and maybe-unruly face, you throw your door open and greet the person who’s been bugging you in almost fifteen minutes with the meanest scowl you can pull on your face.

“Hi?” Seokjin says with a sickening smile and makes a little wave with his big ass hand. You almost crushed his face with the slam of your door in an attempt to not deal with him before he found it actually intelligent to stop that from happening with his freakish big foot stuck between your door and the wall.

“Hey, you almost ruined my face!”

You roll your eyes, your left hand already positioned to push the door close. “Who cares, Seokjin? Just go home and let me sleep.”

“’Who cares’?” he repeats, eyes growing wide as if your statement is the stupidest remark a person could utter. “It’s my goddamn face, of course I care for it! Everybody cares about it! And why are you sleeping already, it’s like,” he pushes the door a little wider, his movement too quick for you to follow, and before you knew it, he’s already let himself in–to check the time on the wall clock he knows you hang on the wall above your door. “It’s eight forty-five. Too early to sleep!” he grins and you’re flabbergasted he’s fucking inside your home now. Maybe you’re really too slow to catch on things, fucking stupid, Y/N.

“Yeah, I know the time, Seokjin. I can sleep whenever I want so would you please let yourself out? I didn’t even ask you to come in.” You open your door this time, so wide that you wish your problems could go away with him.

His chestnut-dyed fringes sway when he shakes his head in a stubborn no. “I don’t wanna. Why do you always drive me away; aren’t we friends?” He asks, accompanying it with his swoon-worthy smile that makes the female population weak in the knees and oddly only irritates you.

“It’s my house, my rules, so I tell who and when to go. And who said we’re friends?”

“But we’re friends!”

“We’re not, okay. Just go, Seokjin.”

Seokjin does not relent and makes his intention to stay clear when he plops his fat ass on your chair by your small dining-study table. “Whether you deny it or not, we’re friends Y/N. We’ve helped each other too many times.”

“But that doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“But you didn’t deny we’ve helped each other too many times so that’s something, right?” he wiggles his perfectly shaped eyebrows.

You purse your lips. You can’t deny his statement when it’s actually true. Seokjin, quite questionably, always happen to be right there when you're in a sticky situation. That is really something as trouble attaches itself to you on more occasions that you'd like to admit. When your bathroom became infested with spiders, when you left your report about inflation push on your dining-study table, when you can't go home from the diner because you missed the last bus ride. Seokjin is just conveniently and undeniably, the person you could easily reach. He lets you stay in his much spacious unit, offering you to sleep on his bed no matter how many times you denied his generosity. He easily comes to your calls of "Hey, I know this sounds embarrassing but can you like—uhm, bring the document I left on the dining-study table? Fuck, forget it—okay, sorry, nevermind," with his ever carefree air and teasing that is also borderline flirty “Don't need to deny you actually need my hand. I got your back, mate." And an urgent call for a car ride is something he attends to at the speed of light. Hell, he even proposes to give you car rides to and from the university and the diner to which you adamantly refuse even though the offer is really tempting. No one in the university knows you're neighbors except you two and you'd like to keep your embarrassing situations to yourself, not to say you steadfastly hold onto the privacy to avoid drama from the hundreds of girls who'd probably skin you alive once they knew their Seokjin oppa is friendly with another girl, which is actually really normal for any civilized person.

Actually, you don't even get why the hell almost every girl you knew fawns over him. He has weirdly long limbs that he doesn't put into good use unless he's in his swimming competitions, his wide-as-the-fucking-Pacific-Ocean shoulders is too bony to give you comfort when he piggybacked you on that fateful night you sprained your ankle, and his attitude is goddamn annoying and frustrating. Daily life with him is tedious when he has to mutter stupid pick-up lines 24/7 anywhere any day, when he forces you to go with him at night markets to stuff your faces full, when he routinely insists his skincare regimen into your already hectic life, and when he pays for your lunch as if you don't have enough pocket money you actually worked for. He always greets you with stupid pick-up lines And he's painfully persistent to make you laugh at his pitiful dad jokes. You can’t even understand how the hell girls almost faint at the sight of his “washboard” abs when he disgustingly squishes his small belly fat to make faces to show you how flexible his tummy is, and he's so—

"So you're letting me stay, right?"

You shake your head and glance at his way again, recognizing how your arm has gone numb from holding the door open. You close the door and slid your hands inside the pockets of your hoodie to warm them up. Yeah, they’re trembling from the chilly December wind outside; why the fuck you just zoned out thinking about your overbearing neighbor, you don't really know. God, you just really want to just go to sleep. "No, you're not. I'm tired. Super tired," you repeat, "believe me so do ourselves a favor and go back to your unit."

If he actually noticed the irritation behind your sigh, he didn't acknowledge it as he comfortably sets his feet on top of your table. At the sight of your passively vexed face (which he thought was impossible until he met you), he gives you a lopsided smirk. "Why are you being so grouchy, Y/N? Let the Christmas spirit take over you and be generous to my poor soul."

You already feel your blood pressure spiking at an unreasonable level. "Hey, FYI, It's 21 days before Christmas–which is too early for the Christmas spirit, and I don’t want to be possessed by any spirit if you would mind. Also, what do you mean you have a poor soul? Your room is much expensively furnished than mine!"

He shrinks himself in your seat and if he's trying to make himself smaller, it's not really effective because the pointy edges of his shoulders just stick out more. "But I locked myself out.

"What's that got to do with me?!”

“Okay, fine. I’m scared of the dark."

“First, what you said doesn’t make sense. Second, you can just call management and then turn the lights on your room!"

He suddenly stretches and puts his hands on your table, looking at you bewildered. "Haven't you received the note?"

"What note?"

"The landlord sent a memo that there would be a blackout at around eight or something for safety, there’s a complication with the electricity supplier that they will fix tomorrow.”

Right after he closed his mouth, all the lights went off, the whirring of your heater can be heard as it starts to cool down, and the light of your phone turns after being denied any electricity from its charger. From your position, you can make out from the notification on your phone that you only have ten percent of battery.

You run your hand over your face, dragging it to prevent you from screaming. Why name it Happy Apartelle when you can’t be at least fucking satisfied with their services? As if your shitty day can’t get any worse, now you have to worry about your lack of battery charge and a cold room—

“See? Blackout.”

—and your fucking annoying neighbor.

You hold your tongue and onto your thin thread of sanity as you walk over to your cupboard to pull out some candles you store for emergencies. The mechanical sounds of your heater have ceased into quietness and you can only hear the sound of your heavy breaths as you navigate through the unit plunged in complete darkness. The -ber months had really fluffed up a thick blanket of darkness for nightfalls and the silence provided by your circumstance was almost therapeutic as quietness is always effective for your past breakdowns. You hope it is still effective now to prevent you from hitting your neighbor with some sense. You hear him shuffling around your room, the pads of feet heavy on the still tranquility. Lighting up your candle, you wouldn’t have cared to address his presence if his voice wasn’t shaky as he calls out, “Y/N, w-where a-are you? What a-are you doing? Hey, speak up-“

“I’m here, Seokjin,” you near his semi-crouched figure on the floor, bringing the lighted candle towards you to illuminate the black-dark room. You could see perspiration dotting his hairline and the slight quiver of his hand so you reach out, unsure, before you decided to hell with it and just hold it firm to provide some comfort. Your mother always does this right before bed when tales of Halloween painted your closet in nightmarish colors. You hope this technique could help thaw the cold trembles on his frozen hand even though you find it really weird you’re actually, voluntarily touching his hand—without complaining or sputtering obscenities. This is so not you.

Under the amber glow of the flame, you watch his eyes drift to yours and the air was really awkward but you notice how he seemed to be holding his breath, and his mouth slowly part as if to say something. Even though you find your situation with him quite stupendous, you still had the heart to listen to someone who’s in need of some kind of moral support. He motions for you to come closer and you adhere, barely noticing how your nose almost grazes his cheek.

You lean awkwardly waiting and before you decide to step back and regret what you did, you hear him whisper, “If you wanted to hold my hand, you could have just said so in the first place you know?

You hastily tear your hand away from his as if burned. “What the fuck? Do you absolutely think I actually dreamt of holding your-your-your gross, icky hand? Get a hold of yourself, Seokjin. Not everyone is a fan of your weird charms?”

He flashes you his toothy grin before breaking out into snickers. “But you recognize them as charms, hmm?”

Seeing no hope in him actually taking you seriously, you lean back on the floor, hands supporting your weight, to settle his deal once and for all. “Nonsense aside, why are you still here? Can’t you just goof off in your own unit?”

“I already told you I locked myself out.”

You don’t even want to ask how that happened. “How the hell do you manage on your own?”

It was actually a rhetorical question which he answers anyway. “I ask Hoseok to accompany me or something,” he says nonchalantly, attention focused on the shadows played by his huge ass hand on your wall.

“Then go ask him to be your buddy for the night! Why the hell are you even here—”

“Hoseok is away with his girlfriend and it’s my birthday today,” he stops his shadow play to look at you. “I don’t want to be alone on my birthday.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“I’m not!” This time, his eyes look like they’re going to bulge out of his sockets and even if your entire room is blanketed with darkness, the small light of your candle enables you to make out some reds forming on the tips of his ear.

He looks really ridiculous now with him all riled up and huge ass hands curled into tiny fists. What a baby. You try to hide your chuckle. “How do you expect me to believe this. You? Seokjin? The greatest boy in the university alone on your birthday, how—”

“Look!” He thrusts his phone towards your face.

There flashed on the screen is his Facebook wall, all decorated with birthday wishes from Yoongi, Namjoon, and the rest of the guys he hangs out with and some of the people you know at the university.

When you look back at him, he quirks his eyebrows, “Believe me now?”

“Guess so,” you shrug your shoulders, pulling yourself up on your feet. Well, it’s his birthday and he’s alone…with you now and it looks like he really doesn’t want to go back to his unit with the way he positions himself comfortably beside your dining-study table. You don’t have the heart to drive away a birthday boy who’s this desperate to seek a fellow human.

“So…can I stay?”

You sigh. “Does it look like I have a choice?”

With the sound of your passive-aggressive affirmation, he makes out an enthusiastic “yay!” He jumps on his feet to near the cabinet where you’re currently crouched in. You didn’t think the extra comforter and sheets you packed from home will be used for an unplanned sleepover, much less for your neighbor which weirdly makes your life a thousand times easier and harder for you at the same time.

“Just for the record, I practically have nothing in my ref now so I hope—”

“Don’t worry, I already had my celebratory feast with my folks.”

You tossed the bundle to his way without sparing him a glance before you marched back to your abandoned bed, ready to dive in your long-deprived sleep. So much has happened today and you can’t believe your annoying neighbor has settled on the floor just a few inches away from you. You’ve spent a night in his unit before when your room was subject to intense cleaning by the management because of the spider infestation. Even though you don’t completely know all his sleeping habits, you’ve got a glimpse of them that misty night of April – how he snores in intervals just like how he laughs, how he curls and turns and tosses in his sleep, how he clutches his blanket a little too tight. You weren’t really staring at him that night; you just observed his mannerisms which enabled you to conclude he is not the top candidate for an easy-to-get-along-with roommate. Anyway, you won’t see his face when you turn to your side so at least there’s that silver lining.

Just when you’re about to finally close your eyes, you hear him speak up.

“Y/N?”

You groan. “What now, Seokjin?”

“You know I am cold right?”

“But I already gave you sheets—”

“I want you to catch me.”

Ugh, the puns, the horrible puns. You don’t have the energy to deal with him. “Just go to sleep, Seokjin.”

“Y/N?”

“What?”

“I really meant it.”

“...whatever.”

Silence makes its way in between your exchange and you smile, finally happy of the opportunity to sleep. But just before your eyelids drift to a close, Seokjin starts again.

“You know, you smell like trash.”

You don’t even want to answer.

“Let me take you out,” he giggles and you turn further towards your side of the bed, almost planting yourself as close to the wall and as far from him. You could feel his fingertips reach for your back, beckoning you to face him, and you shook them off.

“Hey, don’t be like that. I just want to go out with you.”

“GOOD NIGHT, SEOKJIN!”

“Sweet dreams, YN~”

The seconds passed in silence with the tic-tocs of your wall clock filling the stillness of your unit. It’s only when you hear his soft snores did you finally relax your back and turn around. You can’t really sleep on this side of the bed so you’d rather bear the sight of your bothersome neighbor sleeping just an arms-length away from you. You dig your elbows on your mattress, pulling yourself up to re-position your pillow. Laying down much comfortable now, you look at your neighbor’s frame curled towards you. Oddly, you can’t feel the lethargy and the weight of the world that heavily hang on your shoulders a couple of minutes ago. You watch the steady rise and fall of Seokjin’s chest which is kinda therapeutic and really weird but anyway, you can’t sleep, so might as well help yourself to get sleepy again.

Looking at the tender slope of his neck, you remember the day you wrapped your arm around it in an attempt to not fall over on the thousands of boxes that you carried upstairs. It was some kind of a first meeting for two neighbors and it was somehow the premise that your college life will be far from normal. Sure, the tremendous workload and part-times are not a shocker, but you’ve never been this frustrated, conflicted, and confused with a person before. His outrageously ethereal looks that were just too stereotypically cliché when you first saw him in the staircase of Happy Apartelle was something you wouldn’t dare call attractive until now. His unbelievably good nature was too good to be true and felt too genuine to be mere heresy when he’s willing to go at lengths just to help you out at the slightest call of his name. His corny pick-me-ups in the hallways, in lecture halls, and doorsteps started to grow on you that you find it hard to admit how endearing they actually are.

Even when closed, you still remember how gentle his eyes look, how they crinkle in the slightest of smiles, how they sparkle when he talks about his dream of being a news reporter or when he pokes fun at you by telling you how pretty you looked. The former situation is unfavorable on your part but you can’t deny you’ve never seen such youthful glimmer in the eyes of others like his. It only makes it hard not to believe the compliments he showers on you when he looks at you with such tenderness unmatched by any person you’ve met in your life.

The pink flush on his cheeks was ever-present and sometimes it makes you jealous how he’s got a natural rose blush even though he denies it and opts to say that you’re the one who’s got the beauty of the rose. Although what he said never really made sense to you, your heart only softens how the pink tint on his cheeks deepened when he smiled after complimenting you. You even dare to say it looks cute how the warm color will be reflected by the tips of his ear, especially when your hands accidentally brush on one another during the dinner-outs he drags you to.

And his lips–the soft, thick plush of his lips that felt like velvet on your own when you unreasonably pulled him to you to to just feel if they were really as soft as they looked like. You don’t think if the sweetness that overwhelmed your being that midnight of November was because of your fruit cocktail or because of how he gently caressed your cheeks while he lays his kisses on your lips in soft feather touches and—

“You’re daydreaming about our kiss in The Bistro again, hmm? Don’t worry, I think about that a lot, too.”

You feel the temperature rising rapidly on your face. “N-no. I was just drunk that day, okay? Forget it! Goodnight!” You don’t particularly regret that night when you experienced so many firsts—your first drink in a bar, your first dance with a guy, your first time to realize your annoyance was practically unreasonable, your first time to view your wonder boy neighbor in a different light, and the first time you actually had the courage to act on your feelings without being contradicted with your words.

Turning around once again, you convince yourself that the rapid beating of your heart was because of your irritation. You can’t possibly have a crush on Seokjin—your stupidly handsome, stupidly nice, stupidly amazing, stupidly witty, and stupidly annoying neighbor.

Shaking your head, you closed your eyes taking another attempt to sleep. You’ve been thinking things that you’ve never minded before and you tried to tell yourself that it’s just because of your lack of sleep, not because of the certain someone who managed to place his open hand on your bed. You don’t have the heart to push it off so you fit your fingers in the spaces to intertwine them in a firm hold. For body heat, that’s all.

The night wasn’t too cold for your bare feet as the warmth on your chest and on your hand was enough to put you in the best sleep you’ve ever had in your life.

When you wake up, the subdued daylight fills your unit with the six o’clock morning haze. You find Seokjin’s house keys and two folded memos from your landlord from the day before beside his sleeping form. The after-effects of last night’s wondering bloom in the morning dew as summer-like warmth only seeps in the crevices of your chest.

Slipping on your shoes, you look behind your back before grabbing the knob of your door. He’s still curled up in your blanket, clutching the fabric painted in your favorite lilac clouds close to his chest.

You smile. You’re going to buy him a birthday cake and hot choco before he wakes up.

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sevenrelics · 6 years

Text

stick with me (just for a while) - 1.6k

[You think, shit, maybe this mentoring shtick isn't so bad.]

☀️✨Thanks for reading! Please leave a tag or a reply if you enjoyed it! Send in your thoughts, prompts, and headcanons here.✨☀️

As far as you can remember, you've never been great with kids. They're sticky and loud and like to dig their hands in things that don't belong to them (which, admittedly, is something you do too, but that's not particularly relevant). Kids don't appreciate the fine craft of anise snap cookies, and run up to you after shows and beg for chocolate chip instead.

Sure, most of the time you'd oblige, but regardless. Children... Not your area of expertise. You leave the nurturing schtick up to Magnus, who doesn't have a history of throwing brats off speeding trains.

All of which is why it's more than a little unusual for you to spend your valuable Tuesday evening instructing one in the ways of magic.

When the battered cat clock on your wall strikes one (you've got a strict 'not until I've had ample chance to sleep in' rule), Angus bursts through your front door. His hair's an absolute disaster, and, for once, he's forgotten to wear his full fancy boy ensemble. Luckily— or maybe unluckily, you're really starting to miss your afternoon free time— he's remembered his dinky neon star-tipped wand, currently perched upon a stack what looks like thirty pounds of books and loose-leaf paper that he's performing an admittedly impressive balancing act to keep from toppling.

A follow up to last week's admittedly overboard monologue starts formulating, but you silence it with a lazy smirk and a loose gesture towards your still open front door. Angus hurries to elbow it shut. The second it closes, he drops his supplies eagerly on your cleared out living room floor, and plops down right beside the stack, looking up at you with the most disgustingly sincere, cheesiest grin you've ever seen.

It's a little sweet, but you don't say that either.

You don't move to sit with him— you've got a persona to keep up, after all. He doesn't seem too perturbed. Actually, after that little Fantasy Shirley Temple stunt, he’s ignoring you a little. Flicking through papers with the expertise of the three-hundred-year-old librarian that shambles through the dusty Bureau library, he turns several brick-sized books to their opening chapter. Knowing him, he's probably read them cover to cover already, the goddamned nerd.

Angus performs an odd little shuffling maneuver and rolls his shoulders. "Ready for magic day, sir?" he asks, and doesn't wait for your response. "I think I'm really starting to get this down. I've done all sorts of research on Ray of Frost, and I think it'll be really helpful for—“

Gods above, sometimes, you wonder if he knows how to do everything but relax once in a while. "How about," you say, and slouch against the wall, "we try Mage Hand again."

"It's still got only one finger, sir. And last time we had to stab it. With a fork."

"Give me five, kiddo," you drawl, and your heart lurches a little oddly at the disappointment playing clearly across his face. That's... New. You're not particularly sure when the kid's feelings started mattering to you, but boy oh boy, something will have to be done about it.

...Eventually.

Maybe not today, though. It's magic day.

While you're having that little realization, Angus toys with his knock-off wand. "Like, literally, sir? I mean, I'm not so bad at learning, I'd like to think, but that's a pretty big jump."

The things you do for this kid, ye gods.

With a patented Taako sigh and eye-roll, you crouch to his level and rest one hand on your knee and hold the other up in the air like you're about to take an oath.

His eyes light up, and for a whiz detective or whatever, he sure is easy to read. Everything about him brims with excitement and anticipation, and a little worry, too, because Angus wouldn't be Angus without the qualities that make him far more responsible than the adults he's currently chosen to hang around. He scoots a tad closer to you, then sucks a deep breath in through his teeth. Maybe it's your imagination, but you think you see one of them wiggle.

You wait, teetering on your heels.

Nothing.

Though Angus furrows his brow tightly, and you mentally map where the nearest sharp object is, it doesn't look like he can even muster up last week's deformed monstrosity of a hand.

After a few disappointing moments of silence, you're about to let your palm drop to rest on your hip where it belongs when something blue shoots from Angus's palm.

Twirling in a steady stream from the center of his hand, a tendril of translucent, weak blue energy starts to take form. Angus, for all his self-proclaimed professionalism, beams so wide it threatens to spill across his face, brown eyes wide with excitement. "Look!" he gasps, and something pulls taut in your heart.

"Hush," you murmur, and muster up a sly grin. "Not 'til it's got fingers, genius."

If this were Magnus, you'd toe one of those insufferably big books shut, and throw a barb. But Magnus, as much as you mock him for squealing at puppies and buying candy at every stall in the market, is a grown adult, at least in human terms.

Angus is only ten.

The thought shouldn't come as a shock to you, not really, but fuck, he's really only ten, isn't he? You know that humans double, triple his age are still children compared to you, but Angus, a baby even by human standards. A child, determined to learn magic and wield a crossbow to defend himself, to chase down serial killers and thieves and grown criminals who could do far, far worse than toss him off a train. Sure, your own childhood wasn't exactly healthy, but you know that this isn't normal either, and fuck if you'll let this brat dig around caravans for food.

Suddenly, and a little unpleasantly, you're overwhelmed by this alien, paternal urge to just scoop him up and tear down the Bureau's campus with him in your arms.

When you've got that shoved away (because, no thank you, not today, you're great) you wonder, not for the first time, what the hell the Director was thinking-- hiring a failed chef, a burnout rebellion leader, a grungy old man, and a literal infant for her world-saving mission.

But, hey. You have better things to concern yourself with than the whims of an old woman on a fake moon.

The growing blue blob of gelatinous energy sways then stutters, and both you and the kid perched anxiously across from you hold your breath. Then, it sprouts one— no, two, three—five whole spindly fingers, twitching like some sort of Frankenstein's monster. Angus lets out a whoop, and even you, master of being disaffected, smile a little.

"Well, hot fucking damn, pumpkin," you remark, tone brimming with pride. "You did it."

"Hell yeah!" Angus exclaims, eyes bright, and you snort. Gods, that's precious. He flexes his fingers, and both of you watch as his successfully cast Mage Hand echoes the movement.

Then, it slaps up against your open palm with a resounding smack.

Angus cackles when you prop an arm against the carpet to pull yourself to your feet, and offers a hand. Literally. The misshapen blue fingers waggle, and though you stick your tongue out at him, you grab on and haul yourself up.

"Well," you say, and brush at some imaginary dust on your shoulder. "I'd consider that a success, huh?"

He grins up at you, and again, that odd protective surge springs up despite your best efforts. "You would?" he needles, and you elbow him as you stride by.

Damn kid. You really are a bad influence; he's picked up your compliment-fishing spirit already.

You tutt. "Don't get too confident, boy-o. We did have to stab your last one to death."

He laughs, and yeah, that tooth is definitely going to have to come out soon. You sidestep the piles of shoved aside laundry and magazines you've moved to make room for tonight's little lesson, and fish through the glass bowl resting on your kitchen counter.

"Snack break," you call, and toss a lightly bruised apple in the vague direction of the Mage Hand still trailing Angus. Without hesitation, the blue fingers curl around the bounty. Though it shouldn't be possible, Angus looks even more excited at this, eyes widening behind those big crooked frames he always wears. Are they even necessary for him to see? You squint at them. You think they might just be for the look.

"Snack break. The most important part of any study sesh," he recites back, and you lean over to fistbump his real human hand, this time. When your knuckles meet, you both pull back and waggle your fingers. Angus's little creation does too, and even though you're supposed to have cat-like reflexes, and Angus is like, right there, the apple falls to the tile floor of your kitchen before either of you can snatch it back up.

"Shit, here," you shrug and toss him another. He catches it deftly, and you whistle encouragingly. "This too," you add, and aim a second in his direction.

"Hey!"

"Merle's botany habits are out of control," you explain, lobbing another, as if it offers any real explanation at all, and Angus snorts.

As he's adjusting his new armful, you throw a fourth, and a fifth, until Angus's real and fake hands are full, and he's nearly collapsing from the balancing act he has to perform, and the absurd amount he's giggling, so raucous it seems like it threatens to burst from his chest. You feel whatever it was that pulled taut earlier spring back into position.

He’s got this.

"Taako," he whines through bursts of laughter. "Is this part of magic day training?"

"Fuck if I know, little man," you rib. "Summon some more Mage Hands and find out."

As far as you can remember, you've never been great with kids.

But shit, you think, maybe this mentoring shtick isn't so bad.

#taz fanfiction #taz balance #taz fic #taako #angus mcdonald #fluff #second person pov #this is a Very Strange new style for me and I'm not sure what I think so!! let me know!#I did plan on doing a few more parts but if this isn't well received Maybe Not #thanks for reading !!

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flightofaqrow · 3 years

Text

cold without you here

qrow + Qrow ( @littleblackqrow )

“so... still pretty pissed at Oz, aren’t you?”

“Aren't you?"

“don’t you think Oz had bigger things on his plate to consider than just trust? so when did yours for him become so fragile?”

“When did you become so forgiving?”

“heh. when i met him.”

“ ...I dont like this place.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

freezing cold air chills even deeper than bones. there’s hollow where marrow should be; holes in the soul; a heaviness in the very air where there used to be wings which could carry him through it. qrow wanders the grounds of brunswick farms alone with nothing to distract him. the wind howls and gates whine and wooden floorboards of an old barn creak, and the snow does not fall gently from the sky. no, it whips and bites, nips and stings not unlike the great black monster in his chest, consuming from the inside out.

“so,” even a soft grate of voice echoes loudly in the confines of his own head, “still pretty pissed at Oz, aren’t you?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Arent you?” Qrow asked himself. “All that time thinking that we were doing something worthwhile. Gave him our entire goddamn life, and he couldnt even be honest that anything was ever being accomplished. Raven was right, that insufferable bitch.”

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“harsh. but you’re not wrong. she was right. and maybe the work amounted to a whole lot of nothin’ so far, but tell me …what would have been the alternative?”

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“When I figure that out, I’ll let you know.” Qrow sighed heavily, and had the strong urge to hug himself. It just felt so cold to be this disconnected from everything he’d built his life on, and he couldn't help but wonder if it’d just be worth it to give up. “Oz just used us though. Didn't he? He spent all that time saying he trusted us but he really just was stringing us along.”

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“don’t… don’t do this. you always do this. don’t separate your logic and your heart.”

it wouldn’t feel so cold if there hadn’t been warmth there in the first place.

“okay, yeah, he lied. and kept secrets. but did it feel like being used at the time? did he ever seem so motivated by selfishness to you?” he takes a moment to quite literally stroke his own ego, “…you and your undeniably sharp-even-when-dulled-by-the-liquor observations and instincts? it’s never been about that kind of petty shit with him, you know that. you knew you were signing up to be part of the major league players here. don’t you think Oz had bigger things on his plate to consider than just trust?

so when did yours for him become so fragile?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“When did you become so forgiving?” he asked with a bitter laugh. “Oz knew all of this was pointless. He set us up with a good life, and for what? To watch Salem inevitably hack away at it? Raven’s gone, Summer’s dead, the girls aren't even old enough to drink yet and they’re out here fighting for their lives and with their own battle wounds already. If we’d never been a part of this to begin with, maybe we’d be better off.” He didn't really believe that, but now that doubt had been planted.

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“heh. when i met him. and Summer. they practically taught us how. don’t you remember? no, you conveniently forget because it hurts. but you want reasons, that’s fair. we can come back to that.”

his mind is spinning too fast again. spiraling. slow it down. it feels oddly slower already, even before the usual amount to drink… anyway.

“back to logic, then. like i asked before: what is the alternative? you have… whatever it is you want. you’re at the tribe with Raven. you’re in patch with Summer. your nieces are running around in a vast green meadow squawking like nevermores with too much energy and no direction because they’re not training for any fight. you all live in blissful ignorance. you don’t have to think about Salem, but guess what? she’s still out there, and she’s still closing in. think about it, man! that way you’re… doing what? you’re protecting what? sounds like you have just as much to lose either way, the landscape just looks different.”

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“What’s the point of all this anyways?” he asked himself, not quite knowing where it was coming from. Despite his semblance, and despite everything that he’d gone through, Qrow had never actually contemplated giving up before. But he couldnt quite shake the feeling of its not worth the struggle, join these other poor souls who’ve already let it all go.

He needed a drink. Maybe then those sorts of thoughts would stop plaguing him.

“She cant be stopped. The Relics arent the answer, and neither are the Maidens. What did we give up so much of our life for if there’s no end goal?”

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qrow has to admit to himself, it rings of truth in even in the scenario he just painted. always everything to lose, but a thousand different ways. his heart hurts. his head hurts. he’s tired. no choice seems to make a difference. no choice matters. he doesn’t have much of an answer for that one, just more muddy thoughts.

he presents the biggest dilemma of all, one everyone must face sooner or later. but still coaxing, leading, as gentle as that voice (beaten to shreds from screaming and crying out and burning his throat his whole damn life) can phrase. it is not a statement, nor concession. it is still a question, in want of an answer. even if he is not yet ready to find it.

“Salem or no Salem, what was ever the point of life if it just ends in death?”

but saying it is so hard. thinking about it is so hard. trying is so hard. he is tired, cold, and it is getting dark. he has to share his headspace with too many memories, and the sight of so many people he found in these buildings who look so disgustingly peaceful having laid down and given up, and too many encroaching shadows.

“…especially one as pathetic as yours.”

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“… My life’s never been that important. Especially not since the girls were born. Pathetic doesn't even begin to cover the bullshit we’ve been through.” Another outbuilding another set of corpses. At least Qrow had taken this responsibility on himself. The kids didn't need to see this, the didn't need to see the futility of everything they were doing in high def.

Again, dark thoughts seemed to press in with the shadows from sunset. He shivered, wondering why it still seemed so cold despite his aura being active. “I don't like this place. Something is super fucking wrong, even without the fact there’s no real reason these people should have died.” You cant leave, you cant struggle out there in the snow, the kids would never make it. Stay here, alone… No one will think to look for the Relic in such an isolated spot…

“… I don't like feeling like something is waiting to ambush us.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“…and yet you’re still here. hm.”

cold, slow, dark, tired. just like these bodies. it would be so very easy to join them. everything fades away, it is all just a matter of time. …and how much energy gets wasted in the meantime. that still sounds like a pretty good way to kill time until morning, too.

“something’s always wrong. something’s always waiting. especially with that relic around. what are you going to do about it?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

For a moment, the desire for self-preservation flared up in Qrow. If something felt off to him now, then he had to check every nook and cranny just to make sure that’s all it remained. A feeling.

There had to be some sort of correspondence laying around. Some sort of hint as to what happened at this farm. What Qrow ended up finding was an advertisement for the Brunswick Wine Cellar.

“Suppose we could drink until the feeling goes away. Its probably nothing.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

of course a farm would have a wine cellar. probably stocked to the nines too. feelings and intuitions are different, though. intuitions don’t drown as easily. but eventually…

“that would make it feel warmer for sure, huh?”

this is the last building on the farm. a wild goose chase, as everything, so far. dead bodies everywhere, lives gone for no purpose at all. but is it meaningless? there must be something. is it ever quite worth finding?

“don’t forget the kids are waiting for a report.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Alcohol is probably in the main house anyways. Wouldn't want just anyone to have access to it.” Qrow mused, and before he turned away from the last corpse, he sighed. “Poor bastards. Wonder if anyone else will ever come by here.” He looked around once more, marveling at how pristine the farm was. Aside from the disuse, everything looked like it was waiting for the farmstead to wake up and get back to work.

“Surprised the Tribe or some other scavenger group hasn't come through here already. There’s lien even if they didn't take the equipment with them.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“hm.” as if anyone besides himself would care about the wine. they knew better.

the bitter conditions outside wouldn’t even allow for a proper burial. but maybe that was for the best. to simply let time stop and drift away, safe in bed, asleep, not being a burden to anyone in life, death, or beyond… never having to worry about carrying the pain or inflicting it on anyone else ever again.

everything feels tight and heavy and choking. qrow has to fight to even pay that much attention to his surroundings.

“yeah, that’s odd alright. but counterpoint - the picture’s all wrong to be inviting, no matter the loot. we don’t even want to be here.”

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“There’s still food in the cupboards, and all of these bodies just laying around.” Qrow insisted. the feeling of something wrong pressed on him, able to keep the thoughts of whats the point? at bay for just a little while longer. “You’d think that scavenger animals would have been through here, but there isnt even mouse droppings on anything.”

Nothing but layers of dust and some cobwebs. Qrow didnt think he’d ever been somewhere that had just turned into a vacuum before. “… If the storm lets up, we should leave at first light. The less time we’re here the better.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“not even dead animals along with the people. yeah, the answers have to be back at the house, if there are any.”

he definitely hadn’t seen anything like this. and usually new places were exciting. this, though, this is just exhausting. food, drink, people… anything was starting to sound better than being in the middle of all this by himself and fading.

“agreed. at some point, maybe we should scrounge some of those supplies you were talkin’ about. but… later.” ugh, even any points he could find hardly felt worth acting on.

#* will i ever learn to listen = littleblackqrow *#* strain to see some fortune in tomorrow = vol 6 *#* how do you think legends and fairy tales get started? = thread archive *#good times good times #good thread

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janeykath318 · 7 years

Text

Kiss, Marry, Kill: Kirk x Reader

It all started as a joke: someone in the security department had done the Kiss, Marry, Kill, game with certain co workers and it had started to spread, even down to Medbay, where various nurses could be heard debating the merits of Scotty, Uhura, and even Chekov. The Captain ended up overhearing while he was getting patched up one day and you knew you were all doomed.

"So, Nurse Y/L/N, how am I faring on the lists down here? Did I make it on a lot of people's Kiss list?" "I hate to break it to you, captain," you told him, mirth dancing in your eyes, "you're actually leading in the Kill category. Dr. McCoy in particular was very vocal in his choice." "Of course he would," Kirk sighed, rolling his far too pretty eyes. "I did think some of you liked me better than that." He made a sad puppy face that was next to impossible to resist, especially for you who secretly had it bad for him. "Maybe if you wouldn't be in here so much, we wouldn't be so sick of you, captain," you said mischievously. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know." "So, if I stayed perfectly healthy, you'd respect me more?" He asked, half teasingly. "Possibly," you hinted. "Maybe acting less like a child when you're getting hypos would help too. Just a tip." You winked at him and walked out to get the doctor, leaving Jim staring after you, torn between being insulted and in love. The next few days, the Kiss, Marry, Kill theme seemed to really spread over the ship. In fact, someone in the bridge crew announced there would be a contest for people to submit their Kiss, Marry, Kill choices, (among the single officers) along with written out reasons to be judged by Uhura and Sulu. Those with the best reasoning for their picks would get to have dinner with the officer of their dreams. You rolled your eyes and wondered just how desperate the Captain was to be liked. "No way am I doing this!" You declared. It's utter childish nonsense!" "Oh, c'mon, Y/N, I thought you'd jump at the chance to go out with that corn-fed menace of a Captain you have a crush on," teased Dr. McCoy, hearing your rant. "Oh, puh-leeze," you snorted. "I don't have a crush on him. Just because I made one comment about his eyes once, does not mean I'm all lovey-dovey, lovestruck over him. Heck, even YOU admit he has gorgeous eyes, and you certainly have no romantic feelings for him." "Oh, there's a very big difference, Y/N. You haven't seen yourself when he comes in here. You're practically bowling over the other nurses to get to him." "I do not," you sulked. "Do I, Christine?" "Well......" she tried to hedge, and you put your hands on your hips, outraged at the lack of support. You pretended to utterly ignore the whole contest, but the endless chatter about Jim vs. Scotty vs. Leonard drove you up the wall, especially the guys in medical who talked about him like he was a piece of meat, ripe for the tasting. You hoped they were all horrible writers. Jim deserved better! At last, you got an idea. It would probably not win the contest, but it would make you feel better. You sat down after shift and started writing. Kiss, Marry, Kill, by Y/N Y/L/N Kiss: James T. Kirk Reason: 1. To shut him up when he drones on and on about the wonders of space 2. Those lips are too perfect 3. My gut tells me he's really good at it. Marry: James T. Kirk Reason: Because I worship the ground he walks on and he might be less of a reckless fool if he had a spouse to remind him how much he has to live for and how loved and needed he is. I’d love to pick that genius brain. Also: captain's quarters come with real water showers, a big plus. Kill: (Hypothetically, of course) James T. Kirk Reason: He's a aggravation to the nth degree. Examples include: Frequent Injuries, extreme stubbornness, Those ridiculous stupid smiles he gives that could cause dangerous heart arrhythmia, his bluer than blue eyes that cause people to lose their concentration when he looks at them, and the terrible dad jokes he cracks that he thinks are so funny and laughs so hard at. Despite being pleased at managing to refrain from mentioning Jim's other positive attributes (that ass!), you wavered back and forth before you finally sent in your entry. You'd kind of bared your heart, after all. However, Sulu and Uhura were both very good at respecting people's privacy and they wouldn't spill your secrets. Besides, the chances of you winning were very low, if not impossible, given that you'd used the same name for every slot. At last, however, you hit send, and went to bed very relieved. You'd almost forgotten about the whole thing by the time the winners were announced three weeks later and when you got a message declaring "Congratulations, Lieutenant Y/L/N, you were selected as a winner in our shipwide contest. Your entry was chosen as the best among those who put Captain James T. Kirk in the Kiss or Marry options." You stopped reading right then and there and began mentally freaking out. You'd only entered as a joke and a fun way to relieve your feelings. Guess they'd taken you seriously. Could you back out without looking like an idiot? Surely, the runner up would be more than happy to take your place. During lunch the next day, the winners were announced over the intercom by Sulu. You didn't know where to look when your name was read and all your friends turned to stare at you. (Thankfully, McCoy had other things to worry about, since someone had won dinner with him.) "Congratulations, Y/N!" Christine said, a pleased grin on her face. "I'll gladly offer my services to help you get ready for your date with the Captain." Your face felt like it was burning up, more so when you saw Jim Kirk ambling over to your table. "Hi, Captain," you muttered, wishing you could sink through the floor. "Nurse Y/L/N! This is a happy coincidence!" Kirk exclaimed, walking up to you, with that disgustingly contagious smile on his face. "How so?" You managed, even more nervous in his presence. "I've been trying to get up the courage to ask you out anyway." "Me?!!" You squeaked. "Of course you. You do know you're my favorite nurse, right?" "No......" you said slowly, processing this information. Jim liked you? Really? Surely it was too good to be true! "Yes, you are," he said firmly. "So, Are you going to claim your prize?" There went that cheeky expression again. "Insufferable egoist," Len muttered, rolling his eyes. "Of course she is!" Christine said for you. "Name the date, place and time, and she'll be there." While you were spluttering, they determined the dinner would take place in the small observation deck the next Friday at 1900 hours. "Great!" Jim exclaimed, "We'll see you then! Have a nice day, Y/N." "Traitor!" You hissed weakly to Christine, but the butterflies of anticipation dancing in your gut said differently. "Trust me, you'll thank me later. I wouldn't have done this If I didn't think he really cares about you," she told you. She did come through on her promise to help you prepare for the big date, and before you knew it, you were all dolled up in a green dress and cute updo style Christine saw in a magazine and thought would look perfect on you. "There! You look stunning!" She said at last, stepping back and inspecting you carefully. You smiled and gulped. "Let's hope the Captain thinks so, too." "Oh, he will," she assured you. "Now, shoo, have a good time!" More nervous than you'd ever been, you made your way to the agreed upon room, where Jim was waiting for you. Having rarely seen him in anything besides his uniform or a hospital gown, you were taken aback by the sight of him in a blue dress shirt and tie. "Wow!" You breathed. He cleaned up GOOD. "Wow, yourself," Jim returned. "You look amazing." "Thanks," you said, face warm with the compliment. "This was really nice of you to play along, but What if Cupcake had won?" Jim laughed. "I'd still hang out with him, but He's only likely to put me on the Kill list. Trust me, I'm not his type AT ALL." As the two of you devoured the food, which was very tasty, he asked you about what you'd written. "I actually didn't think I'd be considered eligible," you told him, "given how I made cases for why I'd want to kiss, marry, AND kill you. Somehow, it was rather cathartic." "I seem to inspire that reaction a lot," Jim said ruefully, buttering a roll. "Glad you came, though. So, tell me, what's life like working in Bones's domain? I hear he can be a bear at times." "Oh, he can," you confirmed. "You just have to use common sense and know how to placate him. He's a good boss, but he doesn't suffer fools." "That's very true," Jim said. "He's said several times that next to Chapel, you're the best nurse on Alpha shift." "He said that?" You asked, flustered again. "Yes, he did," Jim said. "And I think you're pretty awesome too--both as a nurse and a person." "Wow, You really are a smooth talker," you said, raising an eyebrow. "Let's see if you're still saying that once you've got to know me and my quirks some more." "Does this mean you're willing to go on more dates?" He asked, looking hopeful. "As long as this one ends as well as it started, definitely." "What do you say to this?" He asked, pulling the cover off of a plate containing two lovely slices of chocolate cake with caramel filling peeking out. "Poke cake?" You gasped. The man had done his research--this was your absolute favorite indulgence. The white frosting on top covered the caramel glaze that oozed down through holes poked in the cake and made it deliciously gooey and decadent. "Indeed. Made special by real people: not replicators." Jim looked extremely pleased with himself, eyes darting back and forth between you and the cake. Picking up Jim's hand, you kissed it dramatically. "My hero!" You explained in a staged breathy sigh. "That'll do the trick all right. The shyness disappeared along with the cake and you and Jim ended up laughing and talking and flirting until a late hour. "So, see you again soon?" He asked, when he walked you to your door. "Of course. Hopefully NOT in sickbay, though." You poked him meaningfully in the chest, then leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Goodnight, Jim." "Goodnight, Y/N" he replied staring after you with what Christine would have called "heart eyes."

@whatif-animagineblog @yourtropegirl @kirkaholic123 @southernbellestatues

@kaitymccoy123

#WhatIf-Birthday2k17 #my fics #birthday challenge #kirk x reader #James T. Kirk #reader insert #hope you enjoy it!

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nurseynurse · 7 years

Text

emergency

emergency chapter 4; read on ao3 here

Nursey doesn’t want to talk about it. Well, he does, hereally fucking does, but the idea of saying it, of finding the right combination of words to make Dex really understand how much he means to him…it’s daunting.

Light splashes across his room, illuminating his walls and leaving a kaleidoscope of colour against Dex’s skin. Nursey feels bad, momentarily, for watching Dex while he sleeps but, considering he woke up with the other boy pressed tightly to his side, one arm flung across his chest, Nursey gets over it. His head feels fuzzy, his mouth even more so, but the desire to stay in bed–to enjoy this while it lasts–overrides the part of him that wants to hunt down ibuprofen and brush his teeth. Dex shifts and his head is on Nursey’s shoulder; Nursey sighs, shuts his eyes tightly, before looking up at the ceiling in defeat. He can feel Dex’s breath against his jaw, he can feel Dex’s pulse against his heart.

He’s fucking sick of it. He thought he could handle spending time with Dex without the urge to kiss him rearing its ugly fucking head every ten minutes but…now Nursey knows what it’s like to wake up enveloped in Dex and he knows there’s no way he can go back to hanging out with him without making things unbearably uncomfortable. He knows he has to either come clean to Dex or never speak to him ever again for the rest of his life, ever. Both options make Nursey wonder if transferring schools halfway through the semester would be a bad idea.

Dex shifts again, but this time his arm is slowly pulling off of Nursey; Dex rolls into his back and Nursey scoots away, minutely, before Dex yawns, coughs, and blinks. He turns his head and blinks again, slow and sleepy, and Nursey wants to cry.

“Hi.” Nursey whispers and corners of Dex’s lips curl up.

“Morning.” He responds, sitting up slightly and leaning against the wall. Nursey stays laying down, watching Dex as he yawns and reaches for his phone. His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh my god, it’s almost ten.”

“S’cool,” Nursey mumbles and props his head up in his hand. “We’re just gonna dick around the city all day, so we have time.” Dex shrugs.

“Yeah, I just can’t believe how quick it took for me to fuck up my sleep schedule.”

“You’re literally the only person stupid enough to take classes at seven forty am so excuse me if I’m not concerned about the time.” Dex flicks his shoulder before looking back at his phone. “Ow. Is this domestic abuse considering we’re sharing a bed for the week?” Dex raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t think ‘sharing a bed’ really constitutes as a relationship, Nurse.” Dex says without looking up. “Besides, I’m a great fucking boyfriend and am honestly offended that you would insinuate I would ever hurt my partner.” Nursey scoots up to mirror Dex’s position against the wall and latches onto his arm. He can feel Dex tense, just barely.

“C’mon, Dexy, I didn’t mean it like that.” He whines, burying his head in the other boy’s neck. Dex breathes a laugh. “I bet you’d make a great boyfriend.”

“Alright, fine, fine.” Nursey tightens his grip, because he can, and is immediately regretful when he feels the slide of Dex’s muscles under his hands. “Let go of me, you leach!” And Nursey does, slowly and painstakingly. He flops back on the bed. “So what is the agenda for the day?” Dex asks, finally looking at him.

“Uh, I was thinking we get bagels and start at Central Park. Farmer’s gonna love it. We need to pick up some groceries because all we have is like, hard cheddar cheese and a few cans of this nasty excuse for lentil soup.” Nursey says, arching his back to stretch. Dex is still looking at him. “Um, and then, um.” Nursey closes his eyes tightly and hopes Dex thinks it’s just him thinking. “I want to take you guys to the Museum of Natural history–because it’s fuckin’ ‘swawesome, don’t laugh–and, like, the aquarium, because I know Chowder will love it. Probably not all today but…I don’t know, whatever you guys are in the mood to do. Like I said, we’ll probably take it easy for most of the week.” Nursey says and Dex hums in response.

“Sure. I’m game for whatever.” And Nursey can’t help but laugh because that was helpful.

“When did you get so chill, Poindexter?” Dex’s eyes widen. “Finally learned how to go with the flow?”

“You’re insufferable.” Dex groans before hoisting himself off the wall and collapsing onto Nursey’s chest. Dex continues scrolling through his phone, elbows digging into Nursey’s ribs. Nursey feels warm and safe in a way that makes his chest twist uncomfortably.

“I can’t breathe.” He gasps after a moment. Dex just digs his elbows deeper into Nursey’s sides.

_/ \_

Wednesday morning, Nursey introduces his friends to the wonders of Coney Island and the aquarium. The boardwalk was always a good idea with any group–because it’s a fucking boardwalk: there are rides and lights and screaming children and awful sunburnt tourists to make fun of and more sugar than Nursey thinks Bitty has ever seen in his life–and the aquarium was uniquely brilliant. Nursey got to watch Chowder light up in excitement over, well, everythingand listen to Farmer, who was majoring in marine biology, ramble on about ocean dwelling plants. It was incredibly endearing. What Nursey was least prepared for, however, was the way the light filtered through the tanks, casting blue-green shadows over Dex and bathing him in swirling, hypnotic patterns.

They were watching the seahorses careen around their tanks. The viewing holes for the seahorse tanks were small, little windows lit up with neon lights, and Nursey and Dex had to press close to get a look into the tanks. The tank they were at presently was flooded with purple light, which clashed wildly with Dex’s hair but seemed to make his freckles glow, turning his skin a translucent, otherworldly shade; Nursey found himself watching the seahorses reflected in Dex’s eyes rather than in real time.

“What?” Dex asks, seeming to finally realize Nursey was staring at him. Nursey can’t tell in the busy, jarring lighting, but he’s almost positive Dex is blushing.

“Your hair looks stupid in this lighting.” Nursey says, smirking. Dex shoves his shoulder hard and takes a massive step to the right so that he’s facing a different window. This one is a bright neon blue, and it paints streaks of cool light over his features, accentuating them starkly. Nursey feels frozen, the breath in his lungs a solid block keeping him in place. Dex looks over at him, then, a question in his eyes, before inching over and gesturing for Nursey to join him. He does, and Dex’s shoulder falls against his.

It’s too much.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he says. Dex nods.

“I’ll be…around here, probably.” Nursey locates the bathroom sign before darting around the corner and leaning against the wall outside the bathroom. He takes out his phone and sifts through his groupchats, finding the one he has exclusively with Chowder and Farmer. It’s mostly Farmer making fun of Chowder for being a lovable dork–they’re gag-worthy affectionate; Nursey kind of loves it–and both of them teaming up to tease him about Dex.

sos emergency he sends and within seconds there are little dots indicating Farmer’s response. meet me outside the bathrooms next to the seahorses he texts before her response can come through. A few minutes later, Chowder and Farmer find him, confusion on their faces, sitting in the alcove between the men and women’s bathrooms, next to the water fountain.

“Um, where’s Dex?” Chowder asks as Farmer crouches to sit next to Nursey. He doesn’t look at them.

“I need to make this happen immediately.”

“Ah.” Chowder rubs the back of his neck. “Why don’t you just, like, tell him?” He asks, as if Nursey hadn’t thought of that before. Nursey grieves a sigh.

“I don’t want to fuck–”

“Stop waiting for him to make the first move.” Farmer interrupts, an edge to her voice, and Nursey groans. “What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship!” Nursey shouts then, loud and angry, months of built up frustration directed at his friend. Farmer flinches and he drops his chin to his knees. They look kind of nervous, now, as he peers at them through half-lidded eyes. They don’t want to upset him; he sighs. “I’m being a baby about it, I know. He’s just…he means a lot to me, you know? I don’t want to mess that up. It’ll, uh, fuck up things on the ice.” It’s a reach: he knows it, Farmer knows it, even Chowder, who talks about hockey almost as much as Jack, knows it. They both roll their eyes, eerily in sync.

“You’re so into him, there’s no way he hasn’t noticed. Hell, the fishes here probably knows how much you’re gagging for him.” Farmer says, making Chowder choke and laugh, and Nursey can’t help but do the same. “All I’m saying is, he knows you like him and he’s not disgusted or offended or anything. He’s still your friend.”

“Nursey, he hasn’t exactly said anything, but anyone with a pulse can tell that he’s almost as disgustingly infatuated with you as you are with him.” Chowder says and Nursey knows he can’t refute that without getting absolutely chewed out by them.

“I’ll try to do…something–something by the end of the week.” He decides and they let out a sigh of relief.

“We’re holding you too that.” Chowder says, clapping him on the back.

“It’s exhausting watching you two tip-toe around each other like this.” Farmer adds.

“Exhausting.” Nursey agrees.

_/ \_

Friday night in New York City isn’t, really, that much busier than other nights; his city is always alive, sparking with energy, so the increase of people celebrating the weekend has a negligible impact. Still, it’s Friday, and Nursey is feeling sentimental. He decides to take them to a Cuban restaurant a few streets up from where he lives. Chowder and Farmer are a few steps behind, stopping periodically to take photos of the city. Nursey is pretty sure it’s mostly selfies and pictures of pigeons.

“I used to come here all the time with my moms.” He says as they’re walking. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling so sentimental, but he thinks it has something to do with the fact that he has one more full day to say something to Dex, one more full day until everything changes. Maybe he’s being dramatic; he doesn’t care.

“I’ve never had Cuban food.” Dex muses.

“Let’s hope your tragically Caucasian palate can handle it.” Nursey chirps and Dex snorts. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, so Nursey continues. “This place is really cool. After they stop serving food, it turns into a dance hall. Sometimes they have showcases there, like, professionals come in and dance rumba. Usually, they just have a house band, though, and anyone can dance.” He explains. “So, uh, if you want to dance. We could, um, do that.” Nursey’s knows how hard he’s blushing as he rubs the back of his neck. He chances a glance at Dex, who is looking ahead with a soft expression around his eyes.

“Will you teach me?” Nursey trips, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth, but catches himself on a fire hydrants before he can hit the concrete. Besides him, Dex is laughing; behind him, he hears Farmer’s honking laugh and Chowder mumbling something, which only makes her laugh harder. When he rights himself, Dex is looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, ah, yeah, of course, man.” He says and Dex’s lips curl up.

“I mean, if you don’t think you’re going to trip over your own feet…” Nursey gasps.

“I’m a great dancer!” He asserts. “It’s in my blood! How dare you insult my heritage like that.”

“Oh, gosh, I am so sorry that you tripping over thin air makes me a little less than secure in your teaching abilities.” Dex responds with an eye roll.

“Just you wait, Dex, I’m gonna sweep you off your feet.” He says with a nudge to the other boy’s shoulder. Dex laughs.

“I’m counting on it.”

_/ \_

“Okay, so, I have no idea what that was,” Chowder gestures to a half eaten plate. “But it was so, so ‘swawesome.” Nursey pushes it closer to him. At Nursey’s urging, they all shared a couple of different plates, that way they would get to try a bit of everything. It’s almost nine and waiters are already pushing tables out of the middle of the room, clearing a space and revealing sparkling wooden floors. Nursey watches as the band sets up in the corner and he feels a flutter of nerves; it’s one thing dancing at a Haus party, where he’s almost always a little buzzed and dancing almost always constitutes as grinding, but this is different. Dex’s knee, hovering dangerously close to his own, keeps reminding Nursey of the fact that he’s going to dance with Dex. He knows he’s too sober for this.

They pay soon after and head outside for some fresh air before the music starts. Groups of people, many of whom are speaking in loud, excited Spanish, start wandering into the restaurant-turned-dance hall. Dex turns to Nursey.

“So what are the…the basic moves?” Dex asks, wincing slightly at his word choice. Nursey grins and pushes himself away from the wall he was leaning against. Chowder and Farmer watch them curiously.

“Okay, so this is, like, one of the major thing you need to know, if we’re talking rumba.” He shuffles his feet a little. “It’s called a box step, uh, kind of like in a waltz.” He says, displaying the steps slowly, exaggerated. Dex is nodding, watching his feet.

“Okay, okay. I learned how to waltz once for a wedding.” Nursey can’t help but smile, imagining Dex all done up in a suit with his hair slicked back. Then, he remembers Dex mentioning how he had pierced ears as a kid and he wonders if he wore them to the wedding, if his hair was too long to slick back. Nursey snaps out of his reverie when Dex starts to step.

“Hm,” Nursey regards his movements. “You need to move your hips more.” Dex does.

“Uh, like this?” Nursey laughs as he jerks his hips in time with his feet. Hesitantly, Nursey steps closer and presses the tips of his fingers to Dex’s hip.

“You need to relax,” he says. “Put more sway into it.” With his hand still wrapped around Dex, he reproduces his steps from earlier. Dex’s eyes slide down Nursey’s chest, torso, and settle on his hips.

“Oh.” Dex says and slides his own hand, previously having been hovering a few inches above his waist, to Nursey’s lower back. It sits there, comfortably, fits perfectly in the groove of his spine. A dusting of pink spreads across his cheeks and Nursey hopes it’s dark enough that Dex can’t see the heat in his own cheeks. Dex’s hips are moving sinuously; Nursey only looks at them long enough to recognize that he’s actually dancing well. Nursey had seen him at kegsters and, for the most part, Dex either stuck to the walls or played drinking games; he always kind of assumed Dex would dance like a white dad.

“You’re actually dancing pretty well.” Nursey says and Dex breathes a laugh, leaning towards Nursey ever so slightly.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Dex’s hand tightens on his back. Nursey tries to ignore it. “I’m a great learner.” Nursey doesn’t know how he’s still standing.

“Um, do you guys want to go in?” Chowder asks and Nursey jerks, dropping his hand from Dex’s hip as if he had been burnt. For a moment, he had forgotten Chowder and Farmer were even there.

“Sure.” Dex says simply, his hand sliding, slowly, from Nursey’s back.

It’s hot inside the hall. The chandeliers had been turned off, the only light coming from the multicolored fluorescents behind the bar and a few spotlights on the band. Nursey could feel the blare of the trumpet deep in his bones. Dozens of people were packed into the small space, shuffling, laughing, sweating–many were singing along with the band. Nursey feels something in his chest give, like a floodgate opening, and warmth spreads through him to his fingertips.

He’s going to kiss Dex tonight.

It feels like a premonition, sparking across his skin like needle pricks, but it’s positive. Daunting, terrifying, but…positive. He looks over to Dex, who is eyeing the crowd with what looks like mild apprehension, and nudges him, catches his eye, before nodding towards the dancers. Dex looks like he’s trying not to smile when he nods roughly and follows Nursey to the center of the floor.

Dex stands there stiffly, eyeing the people around them awkwardly until Nursey wraps his fingers around Dex’s wrists, hips swinging and feet moving, before trailing them up to rest at his shoulder. Nursey is eighty percent positive he can see Dex’s pupils dilate. Dex mimics his movements, but loosely curls his hands against Nursey’s hips. The song changes, then, and Nursey speeds up to match the tempo. Dex does the same, laughing when he stumbles a little; Nursey can’t help but laugh back as instinctively presses his grin into the crook of Dex’s neck. One of Nursey’s hands slide down to Dex’s waist, his other arm hooking around Dex’s neck; Dex’s fingers crawl back to the base of Nursey’s back, long fingers digging into his skin, casting tendrils of warmth.

A few more songs pass and they inch marginally closer, grow marginally sweatier. Nursey recognizes a few of the songs and yells the words along with the dancers in the hall. Dex is grinning, carefree and wild, and Nursey has never wanted to kiss someone more. Dex leans in and presses his chest flush to Nursey, drags his fingers along Nursey’s back; Nursey angles his face toward Dex’s and–

“I need water.” Dex yells, loud in Nursey’s ear. He doesn’t let go of Nursey, just slides his hand down to pull loosely at his wrist, tugging him towards the bar. Nursey feels a twinge of disappointment tug at the very fibers of his being. It’s quieter at the bar, barely, but enough that they don’t have to yell to hear each other.

“I’m having a lot of fun.” Dex says honestly as he stirs the straw in his cup, making figure eights around the ice. Nursey finds it incredibly endearing, considering how often he does that, on a larger scale, during warm ups before practice. Nursey rests an arm on the flaking wood of the bar.

“Me too.” He agrees. “I’m really glad you came.”

“As opposed to what? Hang around your apartment?” He bumps Nursey’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to miss any opportunity to chirp you.” Nursey rolls his eyes.

“No, for, like, coming to New York with us. It’s cool…having my favourite people in my favourite city for almost a week.” Dex blinks.

“Oh.” He breathes and Nursey can’t hear it as much as he sees the twitch of Dex’s chest and the drop of his jaw. His eyes flit over the crowd before wandering back and catching on Nursey’s. “Wanna go back in?”

“Of course.” Nursey responds and they down their waters.

_/ \_

When they get home, it’s closing in on one am. Nursey’s legs feel like jello and his skin is tacky where his sweat had dried. As soon as the door shuts, the four of them collapse onto the couch.

“I’m so sleepy.” Farmer mumbles, curling against Chowder. He wraps an arm around her, presses his nose into her hair. “I could fall asleep right here, right now.”

“You smell ripe.” Chowder chirps and Nursey smiles tiredly as they giggle together. “I’m gonna shower and go to bed.” He says, carefully detangling himself from Farmer’s protesting frame, who makes makes grabby hands at him until he helps her up.

“G’night.” She mumbles as they head down the hall.

“Night!” Nursey and Dex call in unison. Dex’s head drops against the back of the couch, eyes fluttering closed as he smiles softly.

“I’m fucking exhausted. Do you want to head up?” Nursey asks, yawning.

“Probably.” Dex responds without any conviction. Instead, he flops over so that his head is in Nursey’s lap. “You’re comfy.” Nursey breathes a laugh and threads his hand through Dex’s hair, petting the curls that were beginning to gather around his ears. Dex hums.

“Can I kiss you?” Nursey says on an exhale before sucking in a sharp breath, hand freezing in Dex’s hair. Dex’s eyes open slowly, eyebrows threading tightly.

“What?” Nursey shifts awkwardly. He knows he can’t take it back, but he can sure as hell try.

“Nothing, fuck, uh, never mind.” He says, starting to pull his hand away from Dex’s hair; Dex grabs his wrist, stopping him.

“Wait,” he says and pushes himself up on an elbow. “Kiss me.” He says and Nursey’s breath hitches for the second time that minutes.

“Really?” Nursey asks in awe. Dex rolls his eyes.

“I swear to fucking god, Nurse, if you don’t–” Nursey silences him, pressing his lips to Dex’s softly, and his eyes flutter closed. “Again.” Dex breathes when Nursey finally breaks contact. He abides, curling an arm under Dex’s shoulders to lift him up as Dex fists a hand in Nursey’s shirt. It was kind of uncomfortable, Nursey’s back hunched awkwardly to reach Dex; he maneuvers them carefully as not to break contact, sliding so that his back is against the arm of the couch and Dex is pressed on top of him, lips sliding lazily against Nursey’s. Dex’s hands find Nursey’s face, his thumbs pressing lightly against his cheek bones, and Nursey’s hands find Dex’s back. He trails his fingers along the strip of skin where Dex’s shirt had ridden up and Dex shivers; Nursey thumbs at the hem of his shirt and slides his hands up, slowly, fingers driving into the coiled muscles of his back, rubbing the supple skin there. Dex groans softly and Nursey’s legs drop open so he can pull Dex closer against him.

“Fucking took you long enough.” Dex grumbles against Nursey’s lips. Nursey thinks he laughs, but it comes out more like a whine, making Dex laugh in response before licking along the seam of Nursey’s lips. His mouth drops open instantaneously, mechanically, and he changes the angle of his head, slotting their lips together perfectly. Dex’s tongue presses tentatively against Nursey’s and his whine returns, high and needy, before he digs his fingers into Dex’s back again, knees tightening against his thighs.

Their kisses don’t progress much past that: Nursey feels perfect, irrevocably content, and Dex seems satisfied with mapping Nursey’s face with his fingertips and his lips with his own. It feels like they’re one person, skin melting together and molding Nursey into something new and whole.

Nursey isn’t sure how long they’re on the couch until he wakes up the next morning, neck aching and skin warm. His eyes open blearily and he blinks a few times before he realizes: Dex is pressed against his chest, hips turned to face the inside of the couch, one arm curled under Nursey’s shirt, against his ribs, the other pinned between the couch and his own chest. Nursey kind of wants to stay like that forever, but the pain in his neck and his shallow breathing says otherwise. Nursey thinks about kissing him awake.

“Ow, what the fuck?” Dex mumbles after Nursey flicks his shoulder.

“I think I’m dying.” Dex glares at him before realizing that, yeah, he was kind of crushing the other boy.

“Oh. Oh, shit, sorry.” He scrambles up so that he’s sitting on his thighs, still resting between the v of Nursey’s legs, and regards him with an odd expression. Then, eyebrows quirking momentarily, he spreads his palms against Nursey’s chest and arches down to kiss him, slowly, softly, and, in an instant, he’s gone. Somewhere along the way Nursey’s eyes slip closed.

“You guys want coffee?” Nursey’s eyes shoot open. Farmer, rounding the corner of the couch and into Nursey’s line of vision, looks awfully pleased in the shark print boxers she stole from Chowder and the t-shirt she got from the aquarium, coffee mug steaming against her lips.

“That would be great.” Dex responds, voice steady, but the freckles on his ears have disappeared under a veil of red. “Two teaspoons of sugar, no cream and a splash of cream, no sugar.” He says to Farmer but his eyes haven’t left Nursey’s.

“Right.” She says, retreating back to the kitchen. Nursey thinks he can hear her whispering conspiratorially but can’t find it in him to care as he fists a hand in Dex’s shirt and pulls him down to meet him for another kiss.

“Can we talk about this?” Nursey asks a few minutes later, coffee mugs in hand. They’re sitting now, Nursey’s back against Dex’s chest. Dex lets out a soft groan.

“I mean,” he stops, sighs. “That’s probably a good idea.”

“I know you don’t like talking about your feelings because you’re an emotionally stunted American male, but, uh, I really, really like you–like really, really–and I was kind of hoping you’d be my boyfriend?”

“Kind of?” Dex chirps, empty hand skimming along Nursey’s thigh. “Does being your “kind of boyfriend” entail free fancy dinners and unlimited back massages?”

“God, now that dating is on the table, you’re cool with me buying stuff for you? That’s fucked, Poindexter.”

“I might be a gold digger, but I don’t do handouts.” He says with a shrug and Nursey feels lips brush against his neck. “It’s payment for unlimited kisses.” Dex says and Nursey feels his lips against the pulse point under his ear. Nursey feels teeth, then a pressure, and gasps.

“Did you just give me a hickey?” He asks, incredulous, whipping around to look at Dex. He’s shaking a little, laughing, and catches Nursey’s lips with his own, sidetracking Nursey again. “Wait, stop, come on. William Poindexter, will you be my boyfriend?”

“I’ve literally been waiting for you to ask since last semester, dude.” Nursey groans, dropping his head against Dex’s chest. “You’re a dumbass.”

“Yes, thank you, Chowder has reminded me on numerous occasions…I almost kissed you, that time we got frozen yoghurt after the park.” He thinks back.

“I almost kissed you, then, too, and, like, ever day since.” He says flippantly, as if Nursey’s heart didn’t just stop.

“You’re the dumbass.” Nursey says, affronted. “God, we could have been doing this for months, what the fuck.” Dex shrugs again.

“Got you now.” He says softly, and tightens his arms around Nursey’s torso.

\_ _/

“I’m not gonna lie,” Chowder says, dropping another Cliff bar and a diet Sprite onto the pile Nursey had amassed at the cash register. “I really thought we were gonna have to, like, tell Dex you were in love with him and then lock you two together in a room, or something.” Nursey swipes his card.

“I never go back on my word.” Nursey says sagely and Chowder cackles. They grab their bags before tossing back a “have a nice day” at the cashier and heading to the car.

“That’s the biggest fucking lie I’ve ever heard. You promised Bitty a new couch months ago and we still have that toxic monstrosity.”

“First of all, you love that couch, I’ve seen you whisper sweet nothings to it an inscrutable amount of times, both sober and not. Second, I’m sentimental.” He says with a shrug. “Third, Shitty would probably kill me, like, he’d probably get the rest of the team to kill me with the new couch.” Chowder’s eyebrows rise.

“Like, throw it at you?”

“Or something.” They’re laughing when they get back to the car, Dex still standing outside next to the gas pump, Farmer pulling her leg in a flamingo stretch. “Your spoils.” Nursey says in a pompous voice, handing the nondescript black bag to Dex, who rolls his eyes fondly before pulling him in to kiss his cheek.

“Can we fine them even if we’re on break?” Farmer whispers to Chowder, snickering.

“I bought all of these snacks, so I’m gonna kiss the fuck out of my boyfriend and you guys are gonna have to fuckin’ deal.” Nursey says before sliding a hand behind Dex’s neck.

\_ _/

“Oh,” Bitty says, surprised. “You’re alive.” He’s hunched over the kitchen table, a slew of papers before him. Dex snorts.

“Barely.” He says. “The drive back was hell.” Nursey agrees, kind of, because they got stuck in traffic for almost two hours, but he wasn’t driving and got to cuddle up with Dex in the back of the car for half the ride. Nursey punches him on the shoulder anyways.

“Did you bring back any souvenirs?” Bitty asks, now completely distracted from whatever he was working on. Dex turns to Nursey, raises an eyebrow. Nursey blinks.

“A boyfriend.” Dex responds.

#ITS DONE!!!!!!!!!! I can't believe it!#omgcp #check please #nurseydex #derek nurse #william poindexter #nursey #dex #my art #writing #emergency

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janeykath318 · 7 years

Text

The Trials Of Being A Bodyguard 5

Jemma’s tour of Europe left her with many new admirers everywhere she went. Her escapades were well-known to the British, as she’d spent a year there in college. If they were disappointed by her sedate behavior, well, they didn’t say anything. In between the official meetings and niceties, She dragged Bones to her favorite places and even though he didn’t care for the rainy weather, the way her face lit up with enthusiasm as she showed him her old haunts more than made up for it. He was finding it harder and harder to keep his resolve (and his heart).

The French adored her and she adored them in return. Leonard was kept busy keeping up with her as she saw the sights and swept through the city of Paris, from the Eiffel Tower to the Louvre. She was continuously stopping to send snapchats to Nyota and her other friends, which tried Leonard’s patience greatly, though she made an awfully cute tourist.

He grumbled about the food, complaining that the human body was not meant to digest that stuff.

“Who in the world thought snails or duck liver was a delicacy?” He griped. “Don’t they have anything ordinary here?”

“I’m afraid not, Bones,” Jemma chirped teasingly, amused at his disgruntled expression, “Just pick what sounds like the least crazy option on the menu.”

“Well, when I’m down with indigestion, you’ll know why,” he griped, staring at the menu with a puzzled look which told her he had no idea what it said.

The whole family took a tour of Versailles and Jemma was taken aback by the opulence and splendor of the historic palace.

“Isn’t it magnificent, Bones?” She told her bodyguard while staring at an ornate chandelier in an equally fancy room.

Winona and Pike strolled ahead of them, hand in hand, with Sulu tagging along. “If you like disgustingly gaudy, yes,” he answered somberly examining a gilded chair. “These things don’t even look comfortable. What was the point?”

“To show off how rich they were, of course,” Jemma answered, thinking how stiff and awkward it would be to wear a giant silk dress like Marie Antoinette.

“What a life,” muttered Bones. “I’d take my tiny apartment over this massive thing anyway. It doesn’t look or feel like a real home, just a ritzy hotel.”

“Excellent observation, McCoy,” Pike said from ahead. “Makes me appreciate the modern royal dwellings more. And my nice leather recliner.”

Jemma giggled. “Yep. I know how you’ll practically hibernate in a that thing and Mom has to drag you out.”

“Blabber mouth.” Chris retorted, “If you’d ever sat in it, you’d never get out, either.”

“He’s right,” Winona admitted. “I only agreed to marry him when he promised he’d give me my own for a wedding present.”

Leonard chuckled. They were a hoot. “I take it no one’s made you such a bargain, Princess?”

Jemma shook her head, enjoying the way he said her title almost like an endearment.

“Unfortunately, no. They were all insufferably boring or self-obsessed and I’d break it off pretty fast. Most Princes are actually highly overrated. Spock’s nice, but we both know we wouldn’t work as a couple, despite what everyone thinks.”

She stared pointedly at her mother. “Well, I had to try,” Winona defended. “I was seriously worried you’d elope with that chef you had a crush on.”

Jemma’s lips tightened. “Well, since you ran him off, that didn’t happen, now, did it?”

Pike sighed. “Let’s not bring that up again. You know exactly why I did that and I can’t regret it.”

Winona subtly intervened and guided her husband away before things could become unpleasant.

Jemma looked a little stormy as they strolled out into the elaborate gardens and fountains.

“It’s so frustrating, Bones. Every guy I like gets scared off by guard dog Chris, even if he’s a really great guy. It’s part of the reason I flirted with your predecessors so much on purpose.”

“You were rebelling?” He asked. She nodded, staring at water streaming from a stone cherub.

“You know, Jemma,” he said after a long pause, looking off into the distance, “When you meet the right guy, whether prince or peasant, he won’t be easily scared off. He’ll fight to prove himself worthy of you and work his tail off to figure out a way to be together, even if it’s highly frowned upon by society.”

He looked at her and Jemma saw a hint of what she’d wanted to see: longing with an intent purpose.

“Do you want to be that guy, Bones?” She asked hopefully.

He looked around to make sure Winona and Pike were out of earshot and breathed deeply.

“Yes, Jemma,” he said quietly. “So much it scares me sometimes. I’m still in the figuring it out stage and I sure hope you can help me.”

Trembling a little, she thought he looked so gorgeous with that bashful appealing gaze directed toward her.

“I’ll be happy to, Bones,” she replied happily with a slight blush, “I know this is really risky, but I’m known for not giving up on someone I value so highly. But I know there’s also Joanna in the picture and there’s no way I’d want to mess things up and hurt her, too. So I’m been trying to tone down my impulsive nature for once. I’m willing to do anything to have you forever, Bones.”

“Did I ever tell you you’re adorable, Princess?” he said fondly with his trademark lopsided grin.

“No, actually,” Jemma replied archly, “You’ve mostly gone with "annoying,” “insufferable,” or “infant,” except for that one time you compared me to Cinderella.“

Leonard flushed a bit and started to walk forward again. It wouldn’t do to get too far behind the others or Pike would get riled. Jemma hurried after him, cheeks rosy and countenance glowing with satisfaction.

The rest of their stay in France, Winona wondered at her daughter’s sudden non-stop bubbliness and chatter and grew more nervous. But, since Jemma wasn’t actively giving her grey hairs by acting up or running away from her protection detail, she’d let it go for now. There was only so long Jemma and Leonard could keep whatever it was up before Chris noticed.

Germany wasn’t as fun as they only had two days free, but Leonard didn’t grumble much here, finding food that agreed with him and he definitely agreed with. Sadly, he could not indulge in any beverages due to his rather important job, so he and Jemma had skype conversations with Joanna in the evenings.

"It seems like you’ve been gone forever, Daddy. When are you coming home?”

“Day after tomorrow, honey, as soon as the Queen finishes her business with the German leaders, we’ll be on our way back.”

“Good,” said the young McCoy decisively, “Did you have to beat up any bad guys?”

He shook his head. “I intimidate them so much with my tough guy stare, they don’t dare to try and kidnap the Princess.”

Joanna rolled her eyes and Jemma giggled.

“That’s actually pretty accurate, Jo. His scowl kind of scares a lot of people. Used to scare me before I discovered he’s really a giant softie inside.”

“Hey, don’t spill all my secrets.” He told the princess, pretending to be annoyed, “She’ll never respect me anymore.”

Joanna suddenly looked gleeful and a little crafty. “It’s not a secret, Daddy. Everybody knows you’re really nice most of the time. Don’t you think he’s nice, Princess Jemma?”

Jemma smiled at the smart young lady. “Yes, I most assuredly do, Joanna.”

As confident as it was, it was still a major understatement. Jemma was pretty certain now that Bones was as head over heels for her as she was for him, even though they hadn’t said the words.

“Good,” Joanna said with satisfaction. “Now, did you get me anything cool?”

#my fics #mckirk #genderswap #royalty AU

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