#also worth noting he makes copies of himself and says something like ‘imagine what I can do with all of these’ what do you mean by that. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cornishkat · 2 years

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Midnight Kiss

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x F!Reader

Warnings: None just pure fluff

Summary: A fancy dress New Years Eve party and a red dress might just get you a midnight kiss with Hangman.

Notes: Juts a quick fluffy little New Year one shot.

The Hard Deck looked great, shining and sparkling with decorations for New Years Eve. You were looking forward to seeing in 2023 with the other Daggers and also seeing the back of 2022, it had be a hard year, but the past few months back at Top Gun with the Dagger Squad had made it better. You were looking forward to all of you being able to cut loose after the last mission and just enjoy yourselves knowing that you had at least the next few days off.

Payback and Fanboy had called fancy dress and you didn’t even mind that, it had been fun going to find your costumes with Phoenix. You were also looking forward to seeing what everyone else was going to turn up wearing, though you couldn’t even begin to imagine what Mav would turn up as.

Phoenix had gone with a Great Gatsby flapper dress, and she looked stunning, you had thought about doing the same but then you had seen a copy of Marilyn Monroe’s red dress from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. The red sequins glittered and shimmered and you had stared at it so long that Phoenix had made you go and try it on.

“Oh, my good you look amazing, you have to wear it”

Turning around in the mirror you looked at yourself from all angles, it was so beautiful, but it was also slit all the way up to the to the middle of your thighs and neckline plunged down to almost your waist.

“I really don’t think I can pull this off”

“Believe me you can more than pull it off and I can’t wait to see Hangman’s face when he sees you in this dress”

“I have told you before, Hangman is not interested in me. He flirts with everyone, I’m nothing special”

“He may flirt with everyone, but he doesn’t look at anyone else the way he looks at you”

“Quit it Phoenix, I am sure he will find himself a stunning woman to kiss at midnight”

“I am willing to bet money on the fact it will be you he is kissing at midnight”

“You can make that bet, and I will be more than happy to take your money”

“$100 says I’m right”

“I’ll feel bad about taking your money, but you’re on”

Now as you stood in the bar you were starting to regret your choice of attire, you felt like a million dollars, but you also felt nervous as the rest of the crew had never seen you in anything other than a flying suit or sports kit. And no matter how much you had protested to Phoenix earlier you were wondering how Hangman would react. You couldn’t deny your attraction to him, but you were also well aware he could have his pick of women and there was no way you could measure up.

Before you could consider further if you had chance to go home and change into something less conspicuous before anyone else arrived you heard a low whistle from behind you.

“Phoenix, Merlin looking hot”

Turning you saw Rooster walking across the bar in a full Elvis jumpsuit with Payback and Fanboy behind him rocking very cool pirate costumes.

“So, I take it the fancy dress call was just so you two could live out your pirate fantasy?”

“Hell yes, but Merlin it was also worth it so see you in that dress, you are looking damn fine, who knew you could scrub up so well”

“I’ll take that as a compliment I think”

“Ok make away the drinks are on the King”

“Why do I think that costume is going to be an excuse for you to start singing later Rooster”

“It’s Now or Never”

Groaning you all moved to let Rooster to the bar, that was not going to be the last Elvis song used in a cheesy line tonight by him.

“Anyone seen Coyote or Hangman?”

“Properly still doing their hair and waiting to make big entrance”

“Well, it isn’t easy to look this good all of the time”

Peeking out from behind Rooster you saw Hangman and Coyote sauntering over to the bar. They had both gone full cowboy, plaid shirts, jeans, finished off with waistcoats, cowboy boots and hats and gun holsters slung on their hips.

“Looking good Hangman”

“Feeling good Rooster, you getting the drinks in?”

“On it”

As Rooster stepped to the bar, he cleared the path between you and Hangman.

“Holy Shit Merlin, that is one hell of a dress”

“Well allegedly gentlemen prefer blondes”

“Yes, we do”

“Hangman are you classing yourself as a gentleman?”

“Sweetheart for you always”

Despite your initial nerves as the drinks flowed and the music played you were really enjoying yourself. Everyone hit the dancefloor and Rooster had jumped onto the piano and given his best Elvis rendition. As you leant again the piano you looked out at the rest of the squad enjoying themselves and your heart swelled. Smiling as you saw Penny and Mav at the bar dressed as a Pink Lady and a T-Bird.

Hangman couldn’t take his eyes off you, that dress was positively sinful, and you had gotten every detail perfect from the red satin shoes to the way your blond curls formed a shining halo around your face. He needed to be kissing you at midnight, come hell or high water his lips needed to be on yours. His stomach flipped as he watched you leaning up against the piano, you were radiant. He knew his feelings for you had been developing over the last few months but his usual confidence with women seemed to desert him when it came to you. And he didn’t want to just turn on the charm and get you into bed for one night, he, Jake Seresin actually wanted the whole world with you, all of it. Tonight, was going to be the night, fortune favours the brave and with you looking like that he couldn’t afford to wait around for some other guy to sweep you off your feet.

As Rooster finished singing and the music was put back on you felt someone come over and stand by your side.

“So, Marylin, do you have a dance for a cowboy”

Looking across Hangman was stood next to you in a mock bow holding his hand out to you.

Smiling you placed your hand in his and let him lead you to the dancefloor, as he swung you into his arms you caught sight of Phoenix dancing behind him, smiling she winked at you, and you rolled your eyes back at her. As the song ended and a slow song began neither of you moved, he pulled you closer and swayed you gently against him. As you felt his body against yours and rested your cheek on his you felt like you had come home, and you never wanted the dance to end. But eventually the song ended, and he released you.

Hangman glanced at his watch, there was five minutes until midnight, and he needed to make sure he was with you. When he had danced with your earlier and held you in her arms he knew his fate was sealed. Scanning the bar he searched for you, he could see Phoenix and Bob over by the bar, but he couldn’t find you. He could feel his heart sink as he scanned back around the room,

“You ok man?”

“Coyote, have you seen Merlin?”

“Ahh, getting ready to make your move at midnight?”

“Not if I can’t find her”

“Last I saw her she was over at the bar with Mav”

Hangman swung around again and there you were, laughing with Mav. As he started to move his way across to the bar, he heard the countdown begin. He strode across the bar; his only thought was to get to you before the clock struck midnight.

As you took the glass of champagne offered by Phoenix you couldn’t help but look around for Hangman, the thought of your dance echoing through your mind and as the countdown began you realised, he was the only one you wanted to be kissing as the new year began. You saw him making a beeline for you across the bar as the countdown continued and you could feel the smile spreading on your face as he grew closer. Your eyes met with his and the look of determination on his face made you smile even more. He didn’t seem to even notice the women trying to get his attention as he moved through crowd and you realised, he only had eyes for you, and it made your heart soar. He came to a stop in front of you as the countdown finished, five, four, three, two , one…

Cupping your face with his hands he pressed his lips to yours, gently at first but has he felt you respond he deepen the kiss. There might as well not have been anyone else in the room in that moment, just you and him. As you eventually broke apart to catch your breath,

“Happy New Year Merlin”

“Happy New Year Hangman”

The rest of the squad surrounded both of you,

“About time”

“Thank god, I thought they were never going to get there”

“Merlin, you can keep the $100, it was only an incentive to give you a little nudge”

Hangman looked at you with a quizzical look,

“$100?”

“She bet me $100 that we would kiss at midnight, as she seemed to think you wanted to kiss me” “Well she had that right, sweetheart I have been wanting to do that for months”

“I never thought you saw me in that way”

“Are you kidding me I was in love with you even before you wore that dress”

“Well cowboy best you take me home tonight or lose me forever”

“Yes Ma’am”

#hangman top gun #hangman fanfiction #hangman x reader #Hangman x Y/N #Jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader

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goldenagenonsense · 1 year

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Action Comics No. 1 [June 1938]

The OG. The first true-blood superhero. The big man himself, Superman. From what I’ve heard, any physical copy of this issue in good enough condition can be worth a couple million dollars. Can you imagine, something that once cost a dime worth more than most people’s annual income?? Bonkers.

Anywho, let’s get into it.

Have to admit, the thing that catches my eye here is that logo on his costume. The rest of it is the same timeless classic design everyone knows, but that logo... not gonna lie, it looks weird. Kind of a little flick-and-swish instead of the blocky print of more modern superman logos.

I suppose the other big question is, who the fuck are these dudes. Why is Superman smashing their car. Why are they in the middle of the desert in Arizona. All mysteries that will probably never be solved.

Moving on, we’re given Superman’s origin story: A distant planet was destroyed by old age, so a scientist placed his infant son within a hastily-designed spaceship and shot him off to Earth! When it landed, a passing motorist discovered the sleeping child and turned him over to... an orphanage? Huh. Huh.

Like, I do get that this is well before any comic books cared about things like ‘backstory’ and ‘civilian lives’ and whatnot, but I admit I’m so used to the whole ‘taken in by Martha and Jonathon Kent’ thing that him initially being an orphanage kid is downright bizarre. Like, could you even IMAGINE trying to pull that in a modern day comic? Impossible. But at the same time, so compelling... hmm...

The backstory continues with baby Clark’s impressive feats of strength - as a baby, he could lift a reclining chair with one arm. By maturity, he could easily:

leap an eighth of a mile

hurdle over a twenty-story building

raise tremendous weights (pictured holding an I-bar over his head with one arm)

run faster than an express train

and “nothing less than an exploding shell could penetrate his skin”

I checked the stats for the train thing, and in 1938, the best in the line steam trains (in the US) had an average operating speed of 100 mph [160 km/h] and a top speed of 125 mph [200 km/h]. So I imagine that those are OG Clark’s ‘run’ and ‘sprint’ speeds as well.

We conclude the backstory page with a note that early on, Clark decided to turn his titanic strength into channels that would benefit mankind. Thus: Superman! Champion of the oppressed, the physical marvel who has sworn to devote his existence to helping those in need!

Also, oh my god, it has a blurb about the ‘scientific explanation’ for Clark Kent’s amazing strength.

Like, is this still nonsense? Yes, but I mean. Technically, it’s nonsense with some science to it. I kind of like it - it’s impressive, but not fantastical.

We finally move on to the action: Superman, racing through the night, a blond woman bound and gagged under his arm. When he reaches the governor’s house, he leaves her sitting under a tree, telling her to make herself comfortable, since he doesn’t have the time to.

Superman knocks on a door, and someone (an aide? a butler? IDK man) answers. The doorman demands to know why Superman is knocking at such a late hour. Superman states that he has to see the governor - it’s a matter of life and death! The doorman closes the door and says to come back in the morning. Superman refuses, smashing his way in and saying he’ll see him now.

The doorman is shaken, stating (fairly) that this is illegal entry, and he’ll have Supes arrested. Supes again demands to be taken to the governor. When the doorman refuses, Superman just picks the guy up and holds him overhead while marching up the stairs, ignoring the man’s cries for help.

A new obstacle appears - for some reason, the governor’s sleeping room is locked AND made of steel. The doorman is smug as he tells Superman that he won’t get away with this outrage, and that there’s absolutely no way this door can be knocked down-

Ah, cinematic poetry. Gotta love it.

The governor, woken by the chaos, turns on his bedside lamp while demanding to know what’s happening. Superman, holding a rolled up paper, tells the governor that Evelyn Curry is to be electrocuted in fifteen minutes for murder. However, he has a written confession that’s proof of her innocence!

The butler (aha! Finally, confirmation!) pulls out a gun, convinced Superman is a madman threatening the governor. He tells Supes to reach for the ceiling; Supes tells him to put ‘that toy’ away. The butler warns Superman he’ll shoot, and then proceeds to do so - to no effect, as the bullet ricochets off of Superman. Superman steps forward to take away the gun, stating it’s no time for horseplay, then returns his focus to the governor.

As the timer counts down to nine minutes left, Superman tells the governor that only he is capable of saving the innocent woman. The governor asks for the papers, and then makes a call to the penitentiary. The next panel briefly hops over to the execution room, where Miss Curry takes massive relief in the news that the governor has pardoned her. She had told them she was innocent!

(I wonder - if the governor had refused, would Clark have rushed to break the woman out himself? I would think he would, but it would probably be breaking the law a bit more than he already has with the whole ‘breaking and entering’ thing happening here.)

When we return to the governor’s house, Superman has already disappeared. However, he did leave behind a note stating that the real murderess would be found bound and gagged on the lawn of his estate.

We have a brief time skip to the next morning, when Clark Kent is leaving for his job as a reporter for the local newspaper. His neighbor is reading the morning paper, telling Clark all about how the Curry girl was found innocent. When Clark asks to read it himself, he’s inwardly relieved to find he’s not mentioned anywhere.

However, things aren’t that simple. At the same time, over in the governor’s private chamber, he’s meeting with several other important people, telling them all about how the man who had broken in was definitely not human! The only relief to be found was that said man seemed to be on the side of law and order.

When Clark enters the Daily Star - wait, what? Alright, I know it’s literally inconsequential, but that’s still an interesting difference between then and now. I wonder when that was changed and why?

Anyway! Clark is called into his boss’ office; the boss asks him to sit, then wants to know if Clark has ever heard of ‘Superman.’ When Clark expresses his shock/confusion, the boss clarifies - reports have been streaming in about a fellow with gigantic strength called Superman, and he’s making it Clark’s ongoing assignment to cover these reports.

Clark, with a totally not shit-eating grin, states confidently that if he can’t find out anything about Superman, then no one can!

Like look. Listen. That is the face of a man who has just been gifted the perfect alibi/cover for all his nonsense, and is barely keeping himself from cackling in delight. You know he’s internally rubbing his hands together in glee.

As Clark leaves the boss’ office, one of his co-workers lets him know that a tip was phoned in - a wife-beating on 211 Court Ave! Leaving aside the fact that said tipster should have probably been calling the police, Clark accepts the tip and hurries off.

[Insert from friends:

[Tyler] I mean historically domestic violence was treated differently to today, maybe it made sense to call the newspaper back then?

Wikipedia seems to be suggesting that while the cops would stop a wife beater by that time, there was a low chance of arrest, so maybe a newspaper article makes sense as a longer term punishment if the cops won’t help?

[Solem] I'd assume that the police were called first, and that it's someone from the police calling the paper -- dunno if they still do this, but it used to be that newspapers got bulletins like that so they could add the crimes to the public record and write up the police blotter. Hence why it was the perfect incognito place for Clark to work and keep his ear to the ground for trouble.]

When he arrives at the scene, he’s already changed into his costume and demands the man to stop. The man is holding a belt and standing over his wife, who is lying on the ground, covering her face, but stops to turn and demand to know what Superman wants, and to not get tough. Superman grabs him by the throat and lifts him up, saying that tough is a mild way to put the treatment the man is about to get. He then throws the man at the nearby wall, stating that he’s not fighting a woman now!

It seems that Supes is holding back, because the wall is undamaged, and the man is still conscious, choosing to attack Supes with a knife. However, the man has even less luck than the butler on that front - the knife breaks on Superman’s skin, leaving the man no recourse but to recoil in fear, and then faint.

Superman hears police sirens and quickly changes back into his civilian clothes, thinking of how bad it’d be if they searched him. By the time the officer steps in through the busted door, Clark Kent is kneeling over the unconscious man. The officer demands to know what Clark is doing there; Clark replies that he arrived to find the place like this, and that it seems that Superman had dropped in for a visit. [Also, gotta love that ‘tho’ is used in this panel.]

Another time skip, and we’re back in the office. This time, however, we see Clark awkwardly asking Lois out on a date, and her deigning to give him a break for once. Good to know that Lois hasn’t changed one bit in the past 80-something years.

That night, Lois and Clark are dancing together at some kind of... I guess restaurant? A party or event? There are tables for dining, but there’s also couples dancing, so like. It’s probably some kind of event, but I couldn’t tell you more than that. Clark asks why Lois always avoids him at the office. Lois tells him she’s been writing sob stories all day, and doesn’t want to dish out another.

[Insert from friends:

[Delci] You watch a lot of old black and white movies and this is shown all the time, dancing was a very big thing back then, like the only time to really socialize lol. Basically a club, eat, dance and listen to live entertainment.]

Over at one of the tables, three guys are chatting about her. Green suit thinks she’s nice looking and decides to cut in. Blue suit is cautious, worried that her escort [Clark] won’t like it. Green suit says it doesn’t matter, he’ll just punch Clark’s face in. Yellow suit is just excited to be here.

Green suit marches over and demands Clark leave. Clark notes that this isn’t a robber’s dance, and green suit gets annoyed, asking if he’s trying to be ‘flip’ (which i guess is shorthand for ‘flippant’) and again tells him to get moving, quick. Lois demands to know if Clark is going to stand for this. Clark reluctantly plays into his weakling persona, asking her to give the guy one dance so they can leave quickly.

She is having none of it, hands on her hips as she tells Clark that HE can dance with green suit, but she’s leaving now. Green suit is annoyed at her flippancy, and tells her he’ll dance with him and she’ll like it. Lois, done with this man’s shit, slaps him in the face. Clark gives a quiet cheer for her, then more loudly frets for her to stop.

Green suit probably caught the mutter, because he shoves a hand in Clark’s face and demands he fight (calling him a ‘weak livered pole-cat’ in the process, a fantastic insult); Clark demures and deflects.

Lois, already in her evening coat, is already heading out the door. Clark follows after her, asking her to wait. She doesn’t stop even after she gets into a taxi, telling him the reason she avoids him: because he’s a spineless, unbearable coward! (Yeowch.)

Back inside, green suit is pissed, rallying his friends to go after her and show her that she can’t make a fool of Butch Matson. Dude, I hate to tell you this, but she already did. Sucks to suck, man. :/

A few minutes later, Superman is on the scene, watching a familiar green car leave the roadhouse with three hoodlums inside. The car quickly catches up to the taxi, ramming into it and forcing it into a ditch. The suits pull her out of the taxi and force her into their car, while she demands they let her go. As they drive away, Butch complains that he let her boyfriend off easy. Blue suit states that they might meet again, and Butch replies that he hopes it’ll be soon.

As the car speeds forward, Superman stops in the road in front of it, hands on his hips. Blue suit(?) warns him of the guy ahead, while Butch just laughs and says that he’ll scare the guy a bit. Blue suit is worried about hitting him, though, especially as they approach and Superman doesn’t move.

At the last moment, Superman leaps over the top of the car without touching it, then starts dashing in pursuit, freaking out blue suit. Blue suit tells Butch to step on the gas; Butch compares Supes to the Devil himself. Despite their speed, Superman catches up easily, and holds the car over his head. He dumps all the occupants out - Lois included, double whoops! - and then smashes the car into bits against a rock. Which is the cover scene! Just with different clothes for the ‘civilians’.

After the car is dealt with, Superman chases down Butch and leaps up with him to the top of a power pole, hanging the man by his suit jacket to one of the parallel planks. When Butch demands to be let down, Superman offers to cut him loose, which has Butch backtrack immediately.

Superman then approaches a shocked Lois, gently telling her that she doesn’t need to be afraid, that he won’t harm her. (Definitely thinking this is a whole angel/Bible reference with the whole ‘be not afraid’ bit.) He then picks her up in a bridal carry and rushes her back to the city outskirts, advising her not to print anything about what happened.

The next morning, Lois is raving about it to the editor, trying to convince him that she saw Superman. The editor is skeptical, asking a bit mockingly whether it wasn’t pink elephants she saw. This honestly just had me realize that when said editor put Clark on the whole ‘Superman’ thing, he probably was skeptical, and considering that it’s only been a day since said assignment, said editor probably is still skeptical of Superman’s existance.

Anyway, that little segment ends with Clark trying to apologize for the previous night, but Lois is having none of it, outright icing him out.

Clark soon enough recieves a new assignment - the front page is getting dull, to the point of headlining card games. Apparently, there’s a war going on in a small South American republic, ‘San Monte,’ and he’s sending Clark there as correspondant. He tells Clark to take along a camera and to try to send some good shots with his articles.

Instead of going to San Monte, Clark goes over to Washington DC. Which I can’t blame him for, since that’s definitely a scandal in the making far closer to home. Clark attends a session of Congress, watching from the gallery. After recieving confirmation on the identity of Senator Barrows, Clark discretely follows up post-session by snapping a picture of Barrows speaking to a shady character about meeting up that night at at his home. He then goes to the local paper to learn more about the shady man, and finds out his name is Alex Greer, the slickest lobbiest in Washington... and no one knows who backs him.

By the time 8:30 PM rolls around, Superman is clinging to the side of a skyscraper, multiple stories up, eavesdropping on their conversation. Which is hilarious for many, many reasons. Mostly because it’s now no fucking wonder he and Bruce are friends when they pull the exact same snooping nonsense.

Barrows reminds Greer that he’s supposed to be avoiding him in public. What would people think if they knew they knew each other? Greer tells him to stop sputtering, he had to see him. He has to know if the senator will succeed in pushing the bill through. Barrows confirms it will, well before its full implications are realized. Before anyone knows it, the country will be embroiled with Europe!

...wait. Wait wait, this is a bill about joining the war in Europe? No, this was before World War Two started! So what, is this trying to kick off a war? Or just getting economically bogged down with Europe in general? I admit I’m not sure, but in that context, yeah, this is definitely something to be concerned about.

Greer is pleased, stating that Barrows will be financially compensated for this. Barrows rhetorically asks whether Greer is getting taken care of as well. Supermna, listening in, thinks that he definitely will - though probably not in the way either of the two are thinking.

On leaving the building, Greer is confronted by Superman, who wants to know who’s backing him. Greer tries to deny the accusations, but Supes is having none of it, grabbing him by the hand and saying they’ll see whether he’ll talk. When Greer demands he let go of his hand, Supes just grabs him by the foot instead and takes off in a huge leap.

Master of malicious complaince, Clark is.

Greer panics about electrocution as they come in for a landing on some telephone wires. Superman assures him they won’t - birds sit on wires all the time, and they aren’t fried - at least, not unless they touch a pole and are grounded! Superman then leaps over a pole with an ‘oops!’ that’s all about fucking with this man.

Again, I am very quickly realizing how this man and Bruce ‘I dangle criminals over the edge of buildings’ Wayne are besties. It’s all about the subtle death threats with those two.

Superman points out the capitol, suggesting they pay it a visit. Greer is still demanding to be put down, but Clark just wants to admire the view from the top of the White House. He then wonders out loud whether they can make the jump all the way across to the building, ignoring Greer’s increasing panic in order to do so - and apparently misses.

...and this concludes issue 1, or at least the part about Superman. The end of that last panel gives a little ‘to be continued’ note, followed up by a panel reminding readers to not miss an issue so as to keep on reading about Superman. Man, what an adventure.

Have to admit, I was genuinely surprised by some of this. Like, I knew Superman didn’t start out with the thousand and five powers he has in modern comics, but I wasn’t expecting it to be so... grounded? Kind of wild. I could easily see a lot more ways this version of him could be challenged meaningfully beyond just ‘the enemy has Kryptonite and/or magic to weaking him’ and/or ‘it’s a situation where he can’t bruce force it without things going horribly wrong.’

Likewise, orphan Supes has some kind of compelling art to it. While I definitely favor Ma and Pa Kent as a reason he grew up kind, and I also get how there’s no way the whole ‘random motorist runs into a baby in a spaceship and just takes them to an orphanage’ thing would work nowadays, it’s still interesting to consider how such a backstory would have to be adjusted to at least be plausible.

Also, I know I made a joke earlier about ‘get me photos of Superman’ but like. Oh my god, Peter Parker isn’t the neighborhood menace, fucking Superman is. Breaking and entering, eavesdropping, destruction of property; this man just cannot be stopped. Truly, an auspicious start to one of the most iconic superheroes of all time.

Can’t wait for the next issue!

#superman #action comics #dc comics

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swimmingclassicrockpizzawombat · 2 years

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Ok, so @beetled-juice, @batxmasisrjuice, @diaryofassortedimagines and I have a discord server where we started thirsting for the trash goblin and we've been brainstorming/writing some stuff that's just to good not to share:

Note: I will revise it and edit it later, for now I just copied and pasted my side of the conversation.

Note 2 to the person who asked me to write a fic of Beej getting pet: I haven't forgotten, I'm on it, I've just been really busy.

First off, look at the way he squirms.

Well, Imagine him doing that thing with his leg and that expression with his face while trying to get himself off as you tease him but don't touch him/allow him to touch himself 👀

... God I really wanna fuck him, I want to grab his stupid mug and kiss him (and love him and take care of him an hug/cuddle him, and why am I such a simp for him?)

On a slightly more sweet note, he's totally clingy afterwards and won't let you go, he's a sucker for after sex cuddling sessions/soft make out sessions where you just remind him how much you love him and how much he means to you and vice versa (beyond just having sexy times with him, you love having him there, you love, accept and want ALL of him), I don't recall if cock warming was already mentioned... But that, he's a sucker for that, desperate for any kind of touch he can get, and not breaking away any contact he has with you like... He hasn't gotten any kind of touch for a milenia (I imagine his love language is physical touch) he expects a milenia's worth of affection now UnU

@beetled-juice wrote a tiny bit/fic of that so I'll let him upload it here without taking too much credit, but building on what he wrote:

He's also kinda turned on by the idea of having you lay there with his cum still in/on you... just smelling like him... and will try to keep you from cleaning yourself afterwards.

He's happy to have you there knowing that you're not going anywhere, you're not leaving, not like other people in his life.... He feels safe with you <3

He'll even go as far as laying ON TOP of you, just to keep you trapped in there with him like a big cat, to the point you have to convince him to let you go and clean yourself bc you don't want a) any UTIs afterwards and b) to have to clean the cum once it's dry

In any case, he might still not let you go, he will simply magic his cum away, to take away any excuse you might have to leave and keep you as close to him for as long as possible.

You end up going to sleep with your head resting on his soft chest, maybe playing with some of his chest hair (at this point all of his hair/body hair has taken a baby pink color), his arms tightly wrapped around you protectively and your legs tangled. He's mostly holding you there like a big Koala bear, he may even go as far as summing extra arms and legs just to wrap himself around you like an octopus.

You're not going anywhere now, not now that he's found you <3.

And if you do want to go pee or something you have to be careful with your wording since he gets all sappy afterwards. If you say something like "Lawrence, let me go" while trying to free yourself from his embrace, he will just chuckle and reply with something like "never (not now that I found you)" and nuzzle into your neck wrapping himself even tighter around you.

(Eventually if you really have to go pee he will let you tho lol

"Babes, I'm a demon, not a monster UnU. Besides, pretty breathers like yourself need to take care of yourselves... Specially if I'm gonna make you pay for teasing me like that later 👀")

All this sweet stuff having been said, he's totally getting his revenge afterwards. You don't get to just tease him like that and get away with it. He's gonna make you pay. Perhaps with something involving the clones and endless edging idk

On top of that he'll always try to hold you when you do chores or work!

Trying to cook something? He'll be there nuzzling your neck and groping you or just holding you from behind as you cook.

Working on your computer? He will either try to have you sit on his legs or sit between you and the chair/couch/bed (wherever you're working) or try to lay his head on your lap and have you pet his hair while you work (idk if You've ever seen cats lay on your keyboard while you're trying to work to demand attention but I can totally see him tryin something like that)

And imagine his hair glowing pink wherever you trace your hands or leave a kiss (like, it's already pink, but he's getting so overwhelmed that your hands/kisses seem to leave glowing spots of pink on him)

(and he's of course already sporting a boner before you even get to finish)

(I imagine once he's alive he's so sensitive that he cums on the spot lol)

PS: I can also imagine him getting overwhelmed not just by the physical touch but also by feeling so loved, and bc he has some insecurities about his body (I mean he does slightly hint towards having an eating disorder, in the musical?) and the fact that you're there worshipping his entire body is too much

Okay, now I really want it fill his entire body and particularly his tummy with love bites <3

#beetlejuice x you #beetlejuice x reader #my writing #pizzawombats writing

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mickey-henry · 3 years

Text

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐈 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝

pairing: bucky barnes (bookstore au) x reader

summary: eager to escape the heat, you find yourself in the presence of a mesmerizing bookstore and an irresistibly beautiful man.

word count: 2.3K

author’s note: hello! welcome to my third fic😊 I’m eager to share this with you all! I now have a taglist (the link is also in my bio) if you’re interested🥰 thank you to @certainaesthetic for helping me workshop this idea, @fuckandfluff for the grammar help, and @midnightf for hyping me up as I wrote it! likes, reblogs, messages, replies, and comments are cherished! the header images are from pinterest and the divider is from here. I hope you like it! 💖

You’re desperate to escape the smoldering heat. It’s too hot to rest in the car; it’s been baking all day beneath the sweltering summer sun, parked just outside your place of work. If you attempt to sit in it now, you’d only be greeted with a wave of torrid air, stung with the touch of your seatbelt, and burnt from the searing leather of your steering wheel.

You’re off from work earlier than usual—the blinding sun is usually long beneath the horizon before you head home for the day. The pathetically small sun visor does nothing to shade your eyes from the blazing sunlight. Rather than driving half-blind, you decide to wait out the setting sun.

As you ponder how to spend the rest of your afternoon, you realize that now is an opportune time to visit the new bookstore, The Book Haven, that opened last month. After changing out of your uniform and throwing your work stuff in the trunk, you walk across the plaza to the shop entrance.

The bookstore greets you with the chime of a bell and a rush of cool air as you step in, a blissful contrast to the scorching outdoors. The welcoming scent of coffee grounds and the tangy aroma of old books accompany the refreshing breeze. You take a deep breath, appreciating the convivial atmosphere. The bookstore is a sublime sight; words almost can’t describe its charm.

Shelves like skyscrapers—stuffed to the brim with books, magazines, and comics—graze the ceiling. An intimate reading nook lies next to the door; an inviting window seat dwells beside a floor-to-ceiling window. Clear mosaic window clings cover the glass, casting beautiful rainbows throughout the store. Stringed vintage light bulbs illuminate the shelves; candle-lit sconces adorn the top corners of each one. Oriental rugs lay between the shelves, covering a dark mocha floor. Tucked in the back of the store is a small coffee cranny, hidden at first glance. Frank Sinatra’s charming, rich vocals travel through the air, tickling your ears. The owner clearly put the utmost time, energy, and love into the creation of their shop. It is unequivocally perfect and already one of your favorite places.

You wander to the classics section, enthralled by the exquisite covers. Sensing someone nearby, your eyes glance at movement caught in the corner of your eye. Your stomach somersaults at the stunning stranger. The instant you lay your eyes on him, you forget to breathe for a moment—your breath engulfs your throat. You’re astounded by the Adonis of a man before you.

Bristles of scruff grace his defined jawline—his low man-bun neatly styles his dark chestnut hair. A grey short-sleeve button-up shirt hugs his toned arms; a white tank top clings to his lean, fit frame; cuffed slim-fit khaki pants, help up by a bronze braided belt, embrace his thick thighs; and weathered, chunky brown leather shoes don his feet.

Through the rose-colored glasses that surround your heart, your soul imagines a life with a perfect stranger. The hopeless romantic in you can’t help but steal glances, hoping to catch a better glimpse of him. The moment he turns to walk away, your heart sinks to your stomach. You hope this isn’t the last time you see this gorgeous man.

A few minutes later, you’re mulling over a collectible edition of The Catcher in the Rye, attempting to justify purchasing yet another copy of your favorite book. A melodic voice interrupts your pondering. “That’s a pretty edition of The Catcher in the Rye you’ve got there.”

You turn towards the charming voice. Lo-and-behold, it’s the love of your life: the handsome stranger you’ve mentally lived a lifetime with. His beauty is even more profound up close: now you can see that his eyes are a lovely shade of blue. His eyes, haunted by a subtle sadness, draw you in, unlike anything you’ve experienced before. You find yourself entranced in his sea-blue current; you could easily drown in his gaze. You attempt to hide your awestruck expression and converse with him like a normal human being. “I agree! I already own a copy though, do I really need a new one?”

“I think we both know the answer is always yes,” he assures.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. I'll get it! Thank you for justifying my unnecessary purchase.”

Your words hang in the air, everything going quiet as you wait for the ravishing stranger to introduce himself. The two of you stare in silence at each other, the tension thickening as the seconds pass by. After a few moments, his face flashes in realization—you were waiting for his name.

“I’m Bucky,” he offers with an enchanting smile, extending his hand out to you. You share your name as the two of you shake hands. Your eyes stare down his veiny arm to his ring-studded fingers grasped around yours. You allow yourself to imagine for a few moments how amazing those fingers would feel tracing your arms, tangling your hair, and teasing your inner thigh. Your lustful reverie comes to an abrupt halt at the sight of the book nestled inside the crook of his elbow: The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, the bane of your existence. You scoff with furrowed brows; of course, Mr. Handsome Stranger would be interested in the one book you despise.

“Got something to say there, sweetheart?” he questions with an amused grin.

“Out of all the classic novels in this entire store, that’s the one you chose? The Metamorphosis?”

“What’s wrong with this one?” he jives.

You pause for a second, debating whether it’s worth it to argue with a stranger. The pondering lasts only a few seconds; the exhaustion from your day disintegrates your filter. Besides, you loathe The Metamorphosis.

“What isn’t wrong with it? The dude wakes up thinking he’s an insect? The reader has to sit there throughout the entire book, wondering whether he’s a man or a bug? What the actual fuck? I didn’t appreciate the existential crisis that book gave me at fifteen; if I can help someone else avoid the suffering caused by that monstrosity, I'm going to do my part,” you huff, unamused by the joy Bucky seems to gain from your zealous analysis.

“Wow, what a passionate review! Perez Hilton would be envious of your slander. Okay then, what classic would you recommend instead?”

You cross your arms, expecting him to challenge your response. “The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde.”

“That’s a play,” he counters.

“It’s published as a book; it counts! It’s witty, playful, and has a happy ending, which is the most important point of all. It also doesn’t make you want to pull a Fahrenheit 451 and burn every copy in existence,” you attest.

He steps closer to you, tucking loose strands of his hair behind his ear. “Life doesn’t always have a happy ending, sweetheart.”

Great, there he goes again with that freaking pet name; it’s going to be the death of you. He knows your name, you just gave it to him, yet here he is, infuriatingly insisting on calling you sweetheart instead. Stupid pretty boy with his ocean blue eyes and amorous smile.

“That’s exactly the point,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “So, why would I want to read something that doesn’t end well? If I’m going to escape this reality for a while, it better be for a happier one.”

“And if it's not?”

“Then I’ll throw the book across the room and make up my own happy ending!”

“Ooh, aggressive,” he tuts. “The owner of this place might not be too happy with you if you’re throwing books all over the place; it’ll scare away the customers.”

“Then it’s a good thing the owner isn’t here,” you interject confidently, knowing full well you have no idea who the owner is.

“Well, that just isn’t true, sweetheart. You’re looking right at him.”

He’s lying—he has to be. Why would a dreamboat like Bucky own a bookstore?

You scoff, “you’re not the owner of this place.”

“I’m not? What makes you say that?” he banters.

“People like you don’t own bookstores!” you exclaim.

“People like me?” he goads, cocking his head to the side. The action erupts butterflies in your stomach.

“Attractive people!” you groan.

“So you think I’m attractive?” he plays, stepping to close the gap between you.

“Psh, no, you wish,” you muster. The heat spreading across your cheeks betrays your bluff.

There are mere inches between the both of you now; you hope he can’t hear your racing heartbeat. You watch his eyes go down from yours to your mouth and back up again. He eyes you with a smirk, his teeth playfully tugging his bottom lip. It takes everything in your power not to give in to his spell.

“I’ve known you for what, five minutes? I don’t go around kissing strangers, Bucky,” you falter, taking a step back from his closeness.

“Then let’s not be strangers, sweetheart. Grab a coffee with me; I know a nice place, not far from here,” he flirts, gesturing to the counter at the back of the store.

“Let me learn more about what goes on in that pretty little head of yours,” he purrs, his breath tickling your cheek.

“Okay, fine. I’ll have a coffee with you,” you surrender.

A bright, honeyed smile dons his face.

“It better be good, though. Not the stale crap you usually get in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I’d only give you the best, sweetheart,” he winks, extending his right hand. You take it; he gives you a soft squeeze before weaving you through the towering shelves.

Your discussion continues with another passionate book review as he prepares your drink. He’s a sucker for gritty dystopian novels while you gravitate towards sappy romances. He shares his passion for painting as he guides you to the reading nook. The artwork hung on the edges of the bookcases is crafted by him—a detail you hadn’t noticed at first glance. His stunning work features both landscapes and people. He loves to sit in a picturesque landscape and paint for endless hours. Occasionally, he takes his old polaroid as he explores the town, snapping moments between strangers, translating their intimacy to canvas when he gets home.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the reading nook before handing you our steaming cup of joe. You sit with your legs crossed, your hands hugging the mug in your lap. Bucky sits with his leg draped over the side of the bench, his left foot pressing into his right thigh. The conversation shifts topics; the two of you divulge your desires and unfulfilled ambitions. You aren’t sure if it’s the look in his eyes, the sweet cup of joe in your palms, or the aroma of coffee surrounding you, but in his presence, your senses feel wide awake.

Before you know it, the mesmeric moon replaces the sizzling sun, melting away the blistering heat, and the steaming cup of coffee in your hands has long chilled. Bucky’s employee interrupts the blissful rendezvous, informing him that all the closing duties are complete, and he’s headed home for the night.

You stare at your watch in shock—it's five past nine. Where did the time go? You apologize profusely to the poor kid who had to close up alone; he assures you it’s no problem.

A melancholic pit in your stomach forms as you turn back to Bucky. He’s nestled himself into your soul; you don’t want to say farewell to him so soon. He has a sad glint in his eyes; you hope it’s because he’s also dreading the end of this perfect night.

“Can I walk you to your car?” he asks timidly, his earlier suave demeanor gone from his voice. He stands up in front of you, offering his arm to escort you.

“I’d love that,” you reply with a shy grin, grabbing his arm and hugging it tightly.

In the blink of an eye, you’re in front of your car. You let go of his arm and lean against the trunk. You stare into his eyes, hoping that he can see without the use of words how much you don’t want this moment to end. There’s a few moments of painful silence before Bucky clears his throat.

“So, now that we’re not total strangers, how about that kiss?” he flirts with pleading eyes.

“Okay,” you reply with a bashful smile.

He slowly reaches his hand towards your cheek, softly stroking it with his thumb. He presses his forehead against yours. “Are you sure you want to do this? ‘Cause if we do, you might not be able to get rid of me, sweetheart.”

“Yes I do, Bucky,” you giggle.

He grins as he gently presses his pillowy pink lips on yours. The kiss steals all the air from your lungs—his touch sends tingles throughout your body, electrifying your veins. You’re breathless when your lips finally part.

“Let me get your number before I let you go,” Bucky insists. You nod and hand him your phone, unable to form a coherent thought. The ghost of his lips and fingers trace your figure. You’re barely acquainted with his tender touch, yet you feel naked without it, yearning to once again be within his grasp.

You exchange phones—adding your number and name with a sparkling heart emoji and swiftly passing his phone back before you can change your mind. Bucky snaps a quick selfie for his contact, smirking for the camera. You grin when you see he also put emojis by his name: a beetle and a kissy-face.

He pecks your cheek before opening the car door for you. “Hope to see you around, lovebug.” The new pet name burns your cheeks and erupts butterflies in your stomach.

He doesn’t leave the parking lot until your car disappears completely from his view.

You drive home with thoughts of Bucky swirling in your mind. You send a silent thanks to the universe for bringing this beautiful man into your life. His voice, touch, and smile echo in your thoughts for the remainder of the evening—his presence paving its way through your dreams. You’re falling hard and fast; you only hope he’ll be there to catch you.

tagging a few mutuals who expressed interest in this story🥰please fill out the taglist form if you’d like to be tagged in the next story! 💖

@ritesofreverie @midnightf @certainaesthetic

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #mickey-henry #my fic: you're the best book I ever read #mel's writing

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cassandraclare · 4 years

Note

I'm sorry to hear that your hard work was leaked but I was curious about what happened. I hope the person faced consequences because that was a very selfish thing to do leaking your work like that :(

I haven’t taken action against the person who leaked the book. I know who they are, since they uploaded the page I signed for them, and I was able to match that against my records.

I haven’t refrained from taking action because I feel sympathy for them. I don’t. It’s beyond shitty behavior to receive an early, signed book as a gift, and to then leak the entire book online. It’s a shit thing to do to the authors and an equally shit thing to do to other fans. However, I don’t want to put myself (and Wes) through the exhausting, grim and expensive process of legal repercussions. It doesn’t mean what this person did isn’t horrible, and it doesn’t mean they haven’t cost the entire fandom any chance of there ever being an early contest giveaway like that again. They did. There never will be. There will be no ARCs of Chain of Iron, either, and you can thank them for that, too.

Part of what makes piracy such an issue for authors goes far beyond the individual assholes who upload and distribute and translate stolen books. It’s that the whole system is set up to make it incredibly difficult for us to do anything about it. Publishers do little to nothing to prevent piracy, and authors shoulder the entire burden of searching out and reporting illegal copies of their books. And even then, we’re dependent on whether or not the reported website feels like complying with copyright laws or not. Twitter is incredibly slow to respond, Tumblr is about fifty-fifty on bothering at all. They’re legally required to take action, but they also know that the effort of doing something about it if they do not falls on exhausted, overburdened artists who often can’t afford to follow up with a lawyer’s letter.

And like, I get being broke and wanting to read books; there were a lot of books I had to pass up reading when I was broke (I will be forever grateful to the library system of New York and Brooklyn, which is how I read books at all from about 2001-2004.) I was broke enough that I slept on a bare mattress because I couldn’t afford sheets, but I’m pretty sure if I broke into Bed, Bath and Beyond and stole a bunch of fitted percale bedding I wouldn’t have encountered much sympathy if I got caught.

I talked about this on Twitter before, and I’ll say it again here though I know it will make very little difference: pirating books doesn’t just hurt the author of those books. It hurts everyone at the publishing company, where the margin of profit is razor-thin (and yes, publishers should do more to protect themselves against piracy; I agree there); it hurts bookstores, especially indie bookstores (I remember doing an event at a store that told me, sadly, that they were likely going to have to close because people “came into the store, looked at the books, took notes, then went home and pirated them.”) It hurts libraries, who rely on circulation for funding, and the shutting down of libraries hurts people who actually can’t afford books.

Now, I know is no way to talk people out of piracy; the internet has normalized it, and besides, people will generally do the cheaper, easier thing — you can’t talk people into not doing something they want to do by telling them it’s wrong, in my experience. They’ll find ways to justify it, whether it be that they can’t afford the book or it isn’t yet available in their language or that they find the author “problematic” and this is the way they’ve chosen to punish them.

The reason I put “problematic” in quotes is because yes, of course you can read and enjoy work that has problematic elements. Pretty much everything has some element that’s going to be found problematic by someone — which is exactly why deciding that it’s morally excusable to steal from people you think are creating flawed work is more than problematic. Holding creators accountable for their work means critiquing that work, not stealing it.

I listen to a lot of political podcasts, and some of them review work by extreme right-wing politicians etc. who have written books that the podcasters find morally despicable but wish to, or need to, review and discuss. Since they don’t wish to give money to the authors, they buy second-hand copies or take the book out of the library. They certainly don’t steal, translate and distribute copies of the books because they genuinely do not like them and do not want more people reading them. That’s what it looks like when you have an actual moral problem with a book or author.

However, running multiple fan accounts for a book series, naming your internet identity after characters from that book series, and talking endlessly about “your favorite parts” and how this is “your favorite book” entirely invalidates any argument that you’re doing this because you think the books are bad, evil, etc. If you claim a book is actively homophobic or racist but are so desperate to read it that you’ll steal it, so excited about it that you’ll share that stolen copy, so obsessed that you’ll illegally translate a whole book and provide that stolen translation to as many people as possible, and so dedicated to the fandom that you’ll name yourself after the characters in the books and write poetry about them, I have to tell you: the last thing that looks like is that you actually find the books problematic, regardless of what you say to the contrary. It looks like you like them but don’t want to pay for them, because in fact, that’s the case. (Either that or it looks like you’re really into racist, homophobic books, and making sure as many people read them as possible, which is your problem.)

One of the issues I have with piracy is that it teaches you to hate creators. You have to hate them, because you’re doing a fucking awful thing to them and you have to justify it. This results in lying about creators — about their process, their translations, their research — as if somehow, even if they were bad researchers, that would justify widespread theft. (It doesn’t.) Those who steal books wind up in a headspace where they are obsessed with the content of the books, and entirely unwilling to accept the reality that those books were created by a real person that they’re really harming. It encourages the mentality that I didn’t create Jem or Magnus or Will or Cordelia: they came from some kind of sparkly outerspace planet and I was just lucky enough to get to write down their adventures. It invalidates the hard work creators put into what they create, and in fact, erases their very existence. The internet attitude toward creators is already incredibly toxic (especially if they’re women, LGBT+ and/or BIPOC) and the feeling of entitlement to free content, and vicious hatred toward those who aren’t providing it (even though a lot of creators, me included, provide a great deal of free content) contributes to that. Genuinely, if you’re stealing someone’s work, the least you could do is not also be an asshole about them. (Or pretend you’re Robin Hood. He stole from the rich who had taken property and goods from the poor, and returned that stolen wealth. He didn’t steal from artists and independent bookstores and use that stealing to benefit himself and his friends. The idea is actually kind of funny.)

I understand there is a pressure to be up to date on the books that are being released so as to participate in fandom, and I do get that. Unfortunately, piracy has real consequences that stretch beyond just hurting me and Wes. Because LGBT+ books are pirated at such an incredible rate, and we’ve definitely seen that with TEC, I am left wondering if there will ever be an actual Spanish translation of TEC, or whether the publisher will decide not to bother because it’s already been so thoroughly pirated in Spanish. I have to wonder if there will even be a third book of TEC at all, or whether publishers will feel it isn’t worth doing. And I have to wonder why the people who create this situation so often have usernames that include Jem or Magnus or Alec or Cordelia or Julian or Tessa. What an incredible misunderstanding of those characters, to imagine a world in which Will Herondale or Magnus Bane or James Carstairs would approve of stealing books and harming writers. And why name yourself after a character who absolutely couldn’t stand you? I don’t know. I don’t get it, any more than I get hating someone who provided you with something you claim is your favorite book.

That was a much longer answer than you were probably expecting or hoping for, and I know I’ll get yelled at quite thoroughly for writing it. Writers always do, when we engage with the issue of piracy. I know most of you reading this acquire your books honestly; most of you are not like this at all. But like most things on the internet, a small amount of people really do have the power to make things pretty rotten for everyone else.

#brother-sixpackariah-carstairs #piracy #tda #tlh #tec

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lithemochi · 3 years

Text

⥇ scared of falling in love | draco malfoy. ™

↬ summary: destiny can transform someone with an empty past into one with emotion and affection.

↬ featuring: draco malfoy x fem!reader

↬ recommend song: radio by lana del ray, or ava by famy.

Draco never learned to love, always told that love was a sign of weakness. From a father that wants him to be a perfectionist. To a mother, that became absent. They deemed something that is worth showing affection unnecessary and ineffective. Until he saw you. You were new, a modest but attractive transfer student; in the same year as him. One day, you spun around in potions class to talk to Ron. Draco turned to tell something to Goyle when he locked eyes with you; the feelings manifested themselves.

There at that moment, his bitter expression grew softer and a light pink shade imprinted on his face. Those few seconds felt like hours, a magnificent millisecond that translated into an unforgettable interaction. The world paused, and everything seemed unreal. Your eyes painted an image of pureness, innocence, and most of all, beauty; that Draco could imagine in his mind.

After that incident, you kept appearing in Draco’s life. When going to class, the atmosphere, your aura, would illuminate and get rid of the dark cloud hanging over people’s heads. Or when visiting the Hog’s Head, awaiting his friends to show up, you’d walk in. The same smile that flourished on your face, copied and pasted onto his.

Lunch and dinner were his favorite time of the day. Draco would look at you from afar and admired your delicacy. The way your hair curls in a specific way; or when you’d tilt your head to the right when puzzled. His eyes would linger upon yours. The bags under them would be very noticeable. Some days, more than others. It induced to him you are a hard worker. Maybe someone that pulls all-nighters or maybe you’re very sleep-deprived.

He would also recognize patterns of yours. The way you covered the mole; one of your cheek; shielding it from society. It could be with makeup or a hand being there. His favorite habit of yours would be when your hair would get in the way and you’d blow it aside, making the hair flick in the opposite direction. His favorite element of you would be the freckles and beauty marks scattered around your face, creating a masterpiece.

Draco realized deep down he was a hopeless romantic, but he never revealed it. All those so-called emotions never stuck with him. He’s never cared about someone so much besides you. You are the light to his darkness. You are the queen of his kingdom. He would do everything to protect you and honor you. Nurture you, even though he never experienced it.

Whether or not it’s crucial to tell you right now; Draco knows it’ll all be worth it in the end.

The sound of laughter: the sweet sound that could be construed as a lullaby, soon interrupted his thoughts. He leans on the cement wall, head down, arms crossed at his chest. Something told him to look up.

He did, and Draco made eye contact with you. The same notion of sympathy and hospitality filled his pallet. This time, he waved and smiled back; chuckling when realizing your face flustered. You wandered with delight, grinning.

Pansy nudges him. “Are you going to talk to her? Or do you think Blaise can take her for himself? I heard he asked her out-”

Draco ignored the comment and peeled himself off of the wall and away from the howling that his friends were making. He couldn’t grasp the idea of you being with someone else. Walking endlessly, trying to get his mind off of you. He made it to the astronomy tower, cold and windy on a Saturday evening.

why blaise, out of all people. why not me? i knew i should have asked her earlier! ; echoing the phrase in his mind. Draco created a sort of doubt in his head; reminding himself that what he’s doing is poor and uncalled for. As if a devil and an angel were hovering over his shoulder, he needed to do something. You have him wrapped around your finger without you even knowing. You were the only person who could make him feel this way. The only person who made him feel loved. Even though he didn’t know you personally, he knew the image of you and how you portrayed yourself. Which is the only thing that mattered.

Draco walks over and sits on the rear bench, parallel to the stair and the globe in the center.

He lies there constructing scenarios in him that would fit the situation that he is in; overthinking it.

Maybe I should just talk to her. I don’t know what I would say, should I be casual or should I go with a more flirty approach. She doesn’t even know who I am. How should I address myself “hi my name is Draco. I’ve been admiring you for the past seven months.” -no, that’s weird. Maybe just “hi my name is Draco, what’s yours.”

He shielded his eyes with his hand, his fingers grazing on the side of his eyebrow. He sweetly whispers “Oh Merlin, why can’t I say what I feel.”

“Draco?”

Quickly Draco got up and pulled out his wand. “Who’s there!” delivered in a forceful tone. Angry an emotion he knew how to express boiled inside. He wasn’t in fear of his life; felt as though something has invaded his privacy.

There, a figure stood in the corner, slowly walking towards him. Like any normal person, he backed up, hitting his back on the railing. With the wand positioned at the said person, he spoke again, yelling, “Who are you and why are you here?” He can make out two hands raised as the shadow came to light.

They spoke, enchantingly, “I finally found you.”

to be continued. heheheh

#draco #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco imagines #draco malfoy fic #draco fuckingmalfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco angst #draco fluff #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter x reader #draco drabble #draco oneshot #slytherin #draco x female reader #harry potter imagines #harry potter headcannon #Draco Malfoy

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icequeenbae · 3 years

Text

Girl, I’m Your Catnip (m) | BBH

Pairing: wolf!Baekhyun x caracal!Reader

Hybrid AU, slice of life, some fluff, PWP, smut

Warnings: altered mental state (in a way?), Baek snapped, rough sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, knotting, cross-breeding?

Word Count: ~3.4k

Summary: You’d been pretty stressed at work lately, so your boyfriend decided to bring something special to help you unwind.

Author’s note: I’m back with... Catnip. Seriously. I’m not even a cat person 😅 This was something quick and out of the blue. But I really enjoy hybrid aus, and this is definitely not the first or the last one I’ve written… It’s quite different from my other stories so far (pls read the warnings). Expect minimal plot (minimal… for me) and lots of feral sex unconventional stress relief lmao P.S. Thanks to @baekshoney for being quick at reading through when I come at her with these, even when they’re out of her comfort zone <3

It’d been weeks since you came home early enough to really hang out with Baekhyun. The closing phase of your project lasted longer than anticipated, and it was taking a great toll on you, both physically and mentally. Working long hours was one thing, but the atmosphere was not the greatest either. A couple cutthroat colleagues kept compromising the team’s integrity, creating additional stress for the hardworking and meticulous people like you. There was literally no time to deal with the internal drama while you had a deadline approaching fast.

Luckily enough, your significant other was most understanding during this time. Running you a bubble bath to soak in for twenty minutes after especially tough days, feeding you delicious late-night dinners… Or holding you in a tight lock of his arms when you broke down right at the threshold from exhaustion and nerves. He went as far as doing all the chores and grocery shopping by himself, which left you feeling rather guilty for not being able to reciprocate his care. What kind of shitty girlfriend were you? The constant nagging of the inner voice in the back of your head was making the anxiety grow.

Although Baekhyun assured you time and time again that it was fine, you kept insisting that you were going to make it up to him. Which nearly made you cry on the spot. Your usual way of giving back was making him a nice dinner, organizing a cozy movie night with his favorite snacks, or even bringing your favorite almond oil to give him a relaxing massage. All of those scenarios inevitably ended with the two of you tangled up in bed till indecent hours of the morning, having a whole lot of steamy sex. These days, however, you were unable to recuperate and loosen up enough to do any of it. You’d not been intimate with your partner for at least three weeks, and while he was a complete sweetheart (he usually was) about it, that made you feel even more burdensome to him.

So much so, that you promised your boyfriend to get drunk the first night following submission of the presentation, to take the edge off, and simply allow him to do whatever he wanted with you. Baekhyun insisted that he didn’t have much use of you while shitfaced, and would rather have you well-rested and enjoying the process. Still, you were set on having no more delays, so you informed him that you’d finally be free from the project this Friday, and he should be pouring champagne for you as you walk through the door. Taking his previous comments into consideration, you ruled out the hard liquor and decided to only get heavily tipsy. Being horribly drunk did not seem like an arousing option you should be presenting your overly patient and caring boyfriend with.

Come Friday, as you finally submitted your presentation, you texted Baekhyun at least two hours in advance that you were definitely on track to spend the evening with him. Fortunately for you, he was going to come home a bit late, so you even had a head start to do all of the necessary preparations. That’s to say, you were stuck in the bathroom for over an hour and a half. You were ecstatic to finally have enough time to groom properly – your caracal nature always called for it. Pleased with how smooth and refreshed your skin looked after the long-awaited pampering, you exited the bathroom to go pick your poison for tonight.

You were so ready to get your drinks and relinquish all control to Baekhyun that you got startled when you saw him already heading towards you.

‘Oh! I didn’t hear you come in,’ you chirped.

‘Are you already drunk?’ He sniffed the air, shaking his head. ‘I guess not. You smell good,’ he smiled as you reached him and wrapped your arms around his neck with all the feline grace you had in you.

‘I really missed you,’ you purred as his warm hand settled on the small of your back comfortably.

His scent made you want to rub your face on him, to get more of it on you. How terribly you must’ve missed him! In the beginning, it took you a bit to get used to the notorious ‘smell of a dog’ inevitably coming off of him. But you’d strangely grown to like it a lot, despite being the very whimsical wild cat hybrid that you were. Now, however, you’d stayed away for a while, and the scent lingering on his skin seemed so pleasant that you wanted to cover your entire body in it. But then again, it’d been so long that the desire to pounce him mixed with the fear of not being able to do well. What if you took longer to get ready now? Or to come? What if you couldn’t make him come? Surely you needed to take good care of him to repay all the weeks he’d been an angel for your sake.

‘I missed having you all to myself too, honey,’ he smiled crookedly, leaning in to give you a kiss. ‘You seem a bit tense,’ he noted when you swerved your short tail with slight agitation. ‘If it’s about sex, I told you we don’t have t-’

‘I want to!’ You quickly interrupted. ‘I don’t want to wait anymore, Baekhyunie. Just a little help to relax my stressed mind and body is all I need. Then we’ll get to it.’

Baekhyun sighed, shaking his head, allowing you to pull him back into your bedroom.

‘Doesn’t your head always hurt after you drink?’

‘It’s worth it,’ you replied firmly and turned to him. ‘Let’s just treat it as a celebration. I’ll bring the bottle here.’

He grabbed your wrist swiftly, before you took another step towards the door.

‘I-’ he looked away, tail stilling as he was considering something. ‘I have another idea, actually. You trust me, right?’

Giving him a curious look, you nodded. Of course, you trusted him; more than anyone in the world, more than yourself at times. Although he was a ‘big bad wolf’ (still, only bad enough to eat the last slice of his absolute favorite Hawaiian pizza while you weren’t looking), and your relationship wasn’t very ‘likely’… He’d managed to charm you, and you’d been together for a long time since. And your wolf’s embrace made you feel so tiny and secure, that you couldn’t imagine being with anyone else at this point, all initial reservations evaporated.

‘We can try something else. Something that shouldn’t be as toxic as drinking, but also have you release the tension and relax. I got it on my way here,’ he began, making you even more interested in what it was.

Taking notice of your stare, he continued.

‘Um- I just need to be sure that you want this. Your unbiased decision. Like I said, we don’t have to f-’

‘Don’t feel bad about it, making it up to you will make me happy,’ you raised an open palm in front of his chest when he tried to protest. ‘If it can help me make you feel good, whatever it is, I trust you. I missed being… close to you.’

He chewed on his lip, and nodded.

‘Alright. I’ll use the bathroom for a sec, and you can get on the bed, okay?’

Somewhat surprised that he didn’t tell you what exactly he was planning, you complied, lying down on your belly to wait for him. It took him a few unbearably long minutes, during which you stared the door down, tail swinging impatiently. He made minimal sound after the water was turned off, so you had no idea what was happening in there.

‘Babe, need some help in there?’ You offered and sat up just as the door flew open.

He emerged from the bathroom shirtless, sporting nothing but sweatpants. His skin was shimmering slightly, and you licked your lips at the sight of his lean torso. All of the events and worries of the past few weeks were instantly forgotten.

‘Took you long enough,’ you mumbled grumpily. ‘What were you doing in there?’

He tilted his head to the side, a textbook sign of puppy confusion.

‘Do you… notice anything?’

You pouted, unsure as to what you were supposed to notice. He looked the same. A bit freshened up and half-undressed, but still the same.

‘Ah- maybe it doesn’t work on you,’ he scratched the back of his head sheepishly, halting an arm’s length away. ‘My bad.’

‘What doesn’t wo-’ as he turned around to supposedly walk back to the bathroom, it hit you.

Oh, it hit you, indeed.

Before you could think, you gripped his wrist to prevent him from moving away.

‘W-what- is-’ you stuttered, pulse suddenly escalating.

Baekhyun gulped at the sight of your dilated, almost shaking pupils. You tugged him closer after you moved up to the edge of the bed. The scent that penetrated your nostrils almost took you out.

‘What is that?’ You finally managed, swallowing the saliva that was rapidly collecting in your mouth.

Jerking him forward, you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck.

‘Do you like it?’

You didn’t answer, too busy running your tongue over his collarbone with a long groan. Without even noticing the death grip you had on him, you dragged him onto the bed as you swallowed his scent and tasted his delectable skin, going increasingly mad from the sweetness.

‘What is this, Baekhyun,’ you sobbed, covering his chest in frenzied kisses, while the burning arousal made your insides constrict. ‘Oh god- I want all of you. On me. And- in me. Oh fuck,’ you were almost feverish as you pushed him in the chest to get him to lie back, and ripped his sweatpants off without a second thought.

‘Y/N, slow down,’ your boyfriend warned, and you didn’t care.

You wanted that taste in your mouth again, the one that was all Baekhyun, but sweeter, more intense. Nibbling on the gentle skin under his belly button, you quickly found your way down to his balls. Whimpering at the addicting taste, you took one in your mouth, playing with it diligently, sucking and licking, while your boyfriend stirred underneath and reached for your hair to get it out of the way. Your tongue on his most sensitive spots quickly made him harden, and you waited no more than necessary to stuff his entire cock in your mouth.

At that, you both moaned.

Frantically bobbing your head, you sucked harshly on it, making him thicken further. You shoved it in your mouth almost aggressively, choking on him, chasing the feeling that lingered in your throat after your nose met his smooth skin. He prepared too.

Swallowing around him, you groaned as you kept moving your head, spit mixing with precum and collecting at the corners of your mouth.

‘Fuck, kitten- you’d be mute tomorrow if you keep at it,’ Baekhyun gritted, pulling you off of his dick by the hair.

You wailed, like a cat being dragged by its tail, and clawed at his thigh for interrupting. His pained grunt went unnoticed since you immediately moved on to exploring the taut skin of his stomach all the way up to his pecs. Rubbing your face onto it, tonguing his abs and his nipples, you shuddered as the dreamy haze of desire surrounded you like mist.

It would’ve definitely been scary had Baekhyun not prepared in advance. Still, seeing you this out of your mind for him was nothing like he expected.

‘Please fuck me,’ you muttered into his sternum after ripping the last of your clothes off. ‘Scent me, come inside me, knot me. Make me raw. I don’t care. I want you,’ you sobbed, gnawing on his shoulder impatiently as his arms pulled you closer.

‘Don’t fret, you know I’m gonna take good care of you, baby,’ you jolted as his fingers slid between your wet lips to check.

Your arousal was already dripping out, so Baekhyun mercifully spared you any additional foreplay, simply sinking you down on his cock.

‘Agh!’ Your inner walls instantly contracted around him. ‘Yes, yes,’ you mouthed into his neck, licking at it as he bottomed out again and again.

Unable to hold back, you responded to his movement by slamming your pelvis down onto his repeatedly, with enough force to hurt, so he had to brace you by the hips to prevent you from injuring yourself. The smell of your overwhelming arousal made his mind blurry too, so he kept watching you with heavy-lidded eyes while you bounced on him like your life depended on it.

Scratching at his skin, you kept whining for your boyfriend to get closer, to scent you. He finally gave in, biting down on your neck gently to distract you and then flipping you onto your back promptly. Ignoring the feral hiss that escaped your mouth, he leaned forward to grant you full skin to skin contact while his hips continued jerking in and out of you.

Your mind went blank from the building pleasure. It was filling your entire being with desperate anticipation, the taste, the smell, all of the sensory feedback was elevated. Only your vision seemed impaired since you couldn’t blink away the thickening red fog of lust.

The divine smell was all over your skin now, and Baekhyun’s pelvis was almost glued to yours, grazing over your clit with every sway of his hips. He growled at how slick it felt between your bodies, and how deliciously lewd the sounds of him fucking you were. He knew the essential oil he used didn’t have much effect on him, only felines could fall under its spell. But he hadn’t been intimate with you for a long while now, and, frankly, he’d never seen you like this before. You were absolutely wild underneath him, clawing at his back like an angry cat, moaning and whining so loudly, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. He’d never heard you sound like this, so irrepressible and untamed, and it was incredibly sexy. In a way, it triggered his more primal side to take control.

Suddenly feeling the power he had over you, he angled his hips and rammed into you, skin slapping your puffy lips repeatedly as you cried out in despair.

‘I’m not gonna stop,’ he leaned in and growled almost animalistically into your ear. ‘Before I ruin your little hole. You’ve been on the edge there for a while, haven’t you, kitten?’

Reveling in the mewl you responded with, he slid two fingers into your mouth and kept talking.

‘All helpless and needy underneath me. Entirely at my mercy,’ he pressed down on your tongue, making your throat relax to accommodate. ‘Do you enjoy being destroyed?’

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your orgasm hit. A muffled scream drowned out by his palm almost made his own release hit him, but Baekhyun had other plans.

Pulling out for a few seconds, he wiped away the sweat that was dripping from his forehead to his eyes, and rolled your limp body over. Allowing you a few seconds to cool down, he gripped his rock-hard flesh at the base and landed a sharp slap onto your supple ass cheek.

‘Baek,’ you squealed, registering the shuffling behind. ‘Wait- no,’ protesting weakly, as he got on top of you again. You took notice of the way his dick was nestled snugly between your bodies and guessed his intention.

‘You didn’t think we were done, did you, baby?’ He gave your ear a long lick, causing you to shiver.

‘B- Baekhyunie,’ you puled pathetically, still too overwhelmed. ‘I can’t-’

The sentence was drowned out by his growl. Your state pushed him too far to just stop now.

‘You’ll comply and come again, all while I load you up, got it?’ He slipped back inside, testing your body’s response.

As expected, you were still soaked from your previous activities, so he ignored the instant jolt of your body. It wasn’t something you did often, overstimulation, but your partner knew he could make you come like this if he hurried up, so that was exactly his plan.

‘No,’ you whined capriciously, your cat instincts making you protest against the intrusion while too sensitive. Your tail patted against Baekhyun’s side relentlessly, although most of it was trapped between you.

‘I can make you,’ he rolled his hips, knowing that in a few minutes you would beg him to make you come again, even though it seemed more like torture now.

‘Ah it hurts!’ You cried out, latching onto his thigh, claws out.

‘Oh, so you’re gonna be like that?’ He growled lower, making you hiss in a natural response and draw blood with your sharp nails.

He licked a sensitive spot between your shoulder blades as a warning.

‘Don’t make me do this,’ he snarled, but you kept trying to shove him off of you. ‘Okay, you fucking got it.’

Baekhyun snapped, locking his sharp teeth on your withers – the magical spot on your spine, just below the neck; your feline heritage. Instantly, your fingers grew weak and you whined feebly as his hips moved again. He picked up his pace gradually, readjusting your thighs to have more of a room to increase amplitude. You trembled helplessly, pinned down his weight and wailing into the pillow as his determined ministrations had the anticipation build once again. With the discomfort you initially had subsiding, you’d given up on the attempts to escape your lover.

Feeling the tight pulsation around his flesh, Baekhyun released your skin and started licking over the teeth marks right away.

‘That’s more like it,’ he hummed in your ear as you whined pathetically, feeling your eyes water from the intensity of the impending release. ‘I’m going to fill you up. Yes- come like this,’ he urged, intertwining his fingers with yours, and you could not disobey.

‘Baek-’ you squealed, your entire body shuddering underneath him as your muscles contracted once again from a mind-blowing wave of pleasure.

He delivered a few more quick, shallow thrusts before his hips stuttered and he moaned lowly as thick warmth flooded your insides.

You felt full and content, the fogginess of your mind clearing up slowly. Belatedly you realized that he actually knotted you – something he didn’t do often since you weren’t the same species (or trying for a baby at this point). But it felt good, and your walls were still pulsating around him, electricity jolting through you with every gentle lick of Baekhyun’s tongue over the spot where his teeth had left a reddish mark.

‘Mhm,’ you hummed, and Baekhyun shifted his weight to his elbows.

‘Sorry, I got a bit carried away,’ he admitted, planting soft kisses along your spine.

‘It was great,’ you yawned, noting casually. ‘You knotted me.’

‘Yeah, it will deflate soon,’ he rubbed his face between your shoulder blades affectionately, and you squirmed. ‘Does anything hurt? How are you feeling?’

‘Um- no, nothing hurts. At least not yet,’ you chucked, assuming that the soreness would come tomorrow. ‘I’m just exhausted. And still a bit… dazed?’

‘Yeah, I think it’s all evaporated from my skin. Or licked off,’ he snickered. ‘Still smell the remnants of it in the air, but to me it’s not as prominent as your arousal.’

‘What was it, actually?’

‘You didn’t get it?’ Baekhyun laughed, finally slipping out and rolling off to the side, allowing you to glance at him. ‘Catnip. I got a little roll-on thingy with the essential oil. Didn’t realize it’s that strong though.’

‘Are you serious?’ You smacked him on the top of the head in a very feline way. ‘That thing is like a drug for cats!’

‘It’s safe. You were under supervision, and it has no lasting effects. And it’s not addictive,’ he clarified. ‘I consulted.’

‘Always prepared, aren’t you?’ Smiling, you shoved him in the chest. ‘I can’t believe you drugged me with catnip to fuck me. Tsk, what a jerk you are,’ you purred, scolding him.

‘Don’t act like we’re not doing this again soon,’ Baekhyun smirked, planting a quick kiss to the tip of your nose.

‘I’m so going to get you for this, Baek. I will!’ You threatened, allowing him to sneakily drag his tongue over your lower lip in a playful apology lick before you pushed him away to yawn again.

‘I’ll be waiting,’ he chuckled and moved closer again to stroke your back tenderly. ‘Just have some rest first, kitten.’

A/N: Whew, my first hybrid au posted 🤗 I hope you guys love the multi-faceted wolf!Baekhyunie haha Let me know whether he was different from what you’d expected. And I’m still encouraging you to share your thoughts on what kind of aus / tropes you enjoy 😊 It’s always interesting to find out what my readers like. Thank you for sticking around and welcome to the blog if you’re new!

#baekhyun smut #hybrid!baek #icequeenbae fics #baekhyun x reader #exowritersnet #wolf!baek #baekhyun x you #baekhyun fic #baekhyun scenario #Girl Im Your Catnip

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fandomscombine · 3 years

Text

It's the Lease I Can Do

Platonic! Weasley Twins x Reader

BG: The Weasley twins are so close to having their joke shop become a reality. They had found the perfect location but they had hit a minor problem that could cause them everything. You want to help, but how can you when they, the birthday boys themselves had given up?

a/n: I had this idea for a almst a year now and waited til ther twins bday to write it. I hope you enjoy.

WC: 2111

>>>MASTERLIST<<<

Fred and George causing a ruckus in the common room is a daily occurrence that everyone is accustomed to. However ever since the start of Year 7, the amount of commotion these two had caused can be counted in one hand.

At first glance, it could be attributed to NEWTS or in this year's case-to a pink toad acting as High Inquisitor. Still, more and more nights the twins had claimed the back corner of the common room.

The last remaining batch of students were making their way through Filch's checkpoint (an added security protection which also serves for Umbridge having a list of names on who comes in and out of Hogwarts). You glanced down at your watch- 2:27pm, they’re late. Weird, the twins never pass a chance to go to Hogsmeade.

You hear the castle door open behind you. Thank Merlin, you thought but instead you were greeted with a disheveled Angelina. “I’m coming! Wait!”

“Have you seen Fred and George?” You called as she ran past you.

“I think I saw them in the common room!” Angelina shouted back.

The common room? “What are they up to now?” You sighed. Stomping heavily up the stairs. “Ditching me….”

“Oi Weaslebees! I know you’re in here!” You rounded the corner of their secret spot. “AHa!”

You caught them red handed, midway into shoving papers into their “Weasley & Weasley'' Trunk. Though what they were hiding, you weren't exactly sure.

“Y/N!” Fred greeted, grabbing onto your shoulders, effectively covering George and the table. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Narrowing your eyes at him. “Really?” Hands on hips you blatantly say “2:15 am, courtyard?? Ring any bells?” Fred shook his head.

Meanwhile George’s head shot up. “Oh shit, y/n we’re so sorry!”

Fred turned to his brother, still clueless on what the heck George was talking about.

Abandoning the trunk, George gave his twin a classic smack on the head. “Hogsmeade, you idiot! We were supposed to all go together.”

“OHHHH FU--” Fred knew he was screwed. “I’M SO SORRY! WE’RE SORRY.” Seizing the messy trunk, he strategized. “Right, here’s the plan: I’m gonna quickly drop this off back in the dorm while you two make your way to the gate. If you run, I guess you can make it. I’ll catch up with you two then.”

“Fred….. We’re not gonna make it” you argued.

“Not if we don’t try.”

“It’s almost 3, Filch would be closing the gates by now.” You sat down on Fred’s empty seat. “Besides we can go to Hogsmeade next time, we could just hang out here. I miss having my best lads around.”

“Awww…we’ve been upgraded from annoying pricks to best lads!” Gushed George, pulling you into a side hug.

“Yea, I could help in whatever it was you guys were doing before I came. I don’t mind.”

At that, you could feel George tense up, his arm around you dropping. “Uhhh…” He looked to the older twin, silently conversing.

You gaze between the boys, sometimes they get so caught up in their scheming that they don’t notice that to others, especially those who had known them for years that their non verbal communication is not so sly.

In the end, Fred gave his brother a subtle shake. “No, that’s alright. I’ll just put this back and we could play gobstones or something, anything you like.”

As Fred headed up to his dorm room, you noticed a piece of paper under the table. Picking it up, the header caught your eye. RE: Lease Agreement. Were the twins looking for a new home after graduation? You didn’t mean to pry. You were close friends, they would tell you if they were moving right? This is big news….you decided to brush it off until another line caught your attention. The shop premise located at Number 93 Diagon Alley. Shop? They are trying to set up shop? That’s brilliant! The twins would get to showcase their inventions to the world! You could feel your pride swell. Leasing Agreements would not proceed if tenants, Mr. Fred Weasley and Mr. George Weasley, are unable to provide an endorser by the date of 31st of March.

“Where’d you get that?” George standing across from you, gobstones on one hand and another pointing at the document. There’s no backing out now.

“It was under the table.” You explained. “I didn’t know you were this far along with the shop.”

“Yea, well it’s not happening now is it?”

“What?”

“Cmon y/n. I know you read it.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright. We aren’t getting the place anyway.”

“Wait what? Why?”

“No endorsers.” George stated matter of factly but you sense the pain in his voice.

“How about your parents surely-”

George laughed. “As if mum would suddenly have a change of heart. You knew how she disapproves of our inventions, calling it a waste.”

“Arthur then.”

“Mum won’t let him.”

“Anyone then?” George huffed in defeat. “How about me! I could back you up.”

“You have to be an adult with a proven financial stability.” He stated, effectively shutting you down. “Forget it y/n. The hold ends in 3 days. We’ve tried everything. Just don’t let Fred know that you know. He’s devastated. Promise?”

“I promise.”

“And no pity, sad eyes!” He added as footsteps are heard descending the staircase.

“But I suck at poker faces!”

“Then let’s hope that Freddie is distracted even to not notice.”

It’s been 4 days since you had sent the letter to your father.

“Dear papa,

I know that this is a huge favour to ask but I believe it would be worth your while.

So remember back in the summer when you caught Fred Weasley, George Weasley and me snooping around with the Extendable Ears but let us go because you were so enamored?

Well turns out the twins and trying to get a shop up and running! How amazing is that?

The only problem is that they need an endorser to back them up in order to proceed with the lease agreements. The are currently on hold for the Shop Number 93 in Diagon Alley until the 31st.

This is where the huge favour comes in. Could you please be their backer? You did say that you’d love to help in some part in their invention, be an investor of sorts. Please papa. I would love to do it myself but I have to wait a couple more months to qualify. Plus it’s their 18th birthday on April 1st. Imagine their surprise if it were to come through.

I’d love to hear from you soon, regardless of your choice.

Your favourite child

y/n.”

The twin’s 18th birthday was spent with absolute love and madness.

Lee had unloaded his stash of butterbeer and firewhiskey, Fred had slipped Angelina with one of their new prank inventions- which changes the person into a sickly color of vomit green, a perfect way to ditch class or events.

Upon learning that the color would last for a few days and would only fade with the ingestion of an antidote, antidote that George said they still had yet to create. Angelina (understandably) threw cake at them. The Gryffindor chaser with perfect aim, hits its mark. However, Fred using his beater skills, instinctively blocks the incoming cake.

Resulting in a wide splat zone. Fred’s arm was covered in frosting, having sprayed everyone around him in whipped cream during the impact. George wasn’t safe too, despite being across from Fred, the rebounce of the cake had made him the new target.

You had just changed into your pajamas when a tapping sound came from your window.

Your family owl, Lanny, was outside carrying a large yellow envelope.

Quickly letting him in, you gave Lanny a gentle pat and brought out some owl treats for the tired bird.

Unscrolling the note tied to his leg, you begin to read.

“My dearest y/n,

My sincere apologies for the late reply, it’s been quite hectic at work.

In regards to your favour, you need not worry. Everything is taken care of. I had met with the landlord of Number 93 Diagon Alley and had all the documents settled. I had also gone and checked to make sure the two lads aren’t being ripped off. Fred and George had picked a nice prime location.

Greet them a happy birthday for me alright? And tell them that I look forward to witnessing them succeed in their endeavors.

They would undoubtedly be bringing a lot of much needed joy into these darkening times. The people would be thankful for them.

I also had Lanny bring the twins’ copy of the Lease Agreement.

I can’t wait to see you all soon.

Much love,

Papa.”

Fred was grateful that their friends had retired into the night, leaving him and George to sulk into the dreadful reality.

“We were this close Georgie, this close!” Fred winced, pinching his fingers close without touching.

“I know but there was nothing else we could have done.” consoled George but even he himself was having a hard time. Number 93 was the perfect location for their joke shop. But now it’s gone.They are back to square one, scouting for locations.

“Fred! George! There you are! I have great news!” You yelled, not caring if you could wake up the other students.

“Oi Y/N! Be careful!.” Even in a bad mood, Fred Weasley couldn’t help being protective.

You banged the envelope on the table. “Surprise! Happy Birthday! From papa and I.”

“Another gift?” wondered George.

“So you don’t want it then?” You challenged, crossing your arms. You tried to look intimidating but the pajamas weren’t doing any good. “Cause I bet a hundred galleons that you’d shit your pants if you were to reject it.”

“That confident eh?” Smirked Fred, taking the contents of the envelope out. “ What do you think is so grand that Georgie and I would---BLOODY HELL! Y/N!” Fred kept looking down at the paper and up to you, unbelieving.

“What is it Freddie?” asked George leaning over to read whatever it was that left his brother speechless.

Re: Lease Agreement

Mr. y/l/n has submitted his endorsement to Mr. Fred Weasley and Mr. George Weasley.

The turnover of the leasing property of Shop Number 93 Diagon Alley would begin on April 1st …..

“Oh My- Y/n? Is this real?” George whispered, afraid that if he were any louder this dream would end.

“Yes, absolutely, 100%.” You affirmed. “The shop is yours! Opff-”

George embraced you tight, catching you off guard. You could feel your right shoulder getting wet. “Heyya big guy, don’t cry.” Running a hand up and down his back.

“But how?” Fred with brows creased was still stuck in a trance, you could see the paper shake in his grasp.

“You left the agreement noticed a couple of days ago. I might have accidentally read it. George said to not let you know cause you might get angry-”

“YOu KNEW?!?”

“George only knew I saw the paper. Nothing else.” You defended. “I thought i might try and help, so I called in a favour with papa. You knew how much he was impressed with the Extendable Ear, so I mentioned if he wanted to back you up. I only got his reply just now, said he’d love to and got onto ironing out the paperwork and viola!” Pointing at the document. “Oh and he also said Happy 18th Birthday, looking forward to your success and the people would be thankful for bringing a lot of much needed joy into these darkening times.”

“Thanks Y/n but this is a lot we can’t possibly-”

You cut Fred off before he could say more. “Oh please, you have done countless things for me. And I know what you’re gonna say- but see you would do the same for me. Besides think of this as your first investors. We want to help. We see your potential, we know you two, Fred, George, are gifted with bringing laughter and joy to people with your inventions."

"Thank you, truly y/n and to your dad too." Fred admitted, opening himself up. "No one's really backed us up with our inventions before, we've been always told off for being childish. It really means a lot."

“Hey, it’s the lease I could do.” You replied, causing the twins to chuckle immediately lightening up the mood.

It's great to see them relax again after weeks of stressing over the shop. Times might be changing but at least tonight, you got your best lads back.

Everything Taglist : @gruffle1

HP Taglist: @onlyfreds

#fred weasley x reader #george weasley x reader #fred weasley #geroge weasley #fred weasley imagine #george weasley imagine #fred weasley fluff #george weasley fluff #weasley twins #weasley x reader #fred and george weasley #fandomscombine writes #fred weasley angst #george weasley angst

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miss-choco-chips · 4 years

Text

Bird Watchers

It was something like an open secret in Gotham, that even though all it’s heroes were open to help no matter the situation, each one of them had a special affinity to certain matters.

For example, children from all districts knew to yell for Nightwing if they found themselves lost and scared. Small business owners often painted little Oracle symbols on their doorsteps, to warn away possible thieves with the knowledge that Gotham’s cryptic hacker had their eye on them. Working girls would send a quick prayer to the Red Hood before seeing their seediest clients; and as such, knew who to call for if things took a turn for the worst.

And Red Robin… well. His was a very specific bunch.

---.---

Warnings: depression, suicide attempts, overdose comic-typical violence (discussed, not explicit). Hurt-comfort all the way, baby. There’s also one scene, with the redhead, that I copied from the comics.

(it’s almost 2 am, I wrote half of this in one go, don’t @ me for mistakes. I’ll edit tomorrow. Maybe.)

---.---

The first time he stopped a suicide, he had just turned thirteen. The suit still felt wrong, too loose in all the places where Jason’s bigger presence would have been a better fit. Too small, too brainy, not brash enough, not good enough.

He would never think himself worthy, but he was all Batman had. There were no other candidates, not ones he could have thrown the job at without risking Bruce’s identity, so he’d have to make do.

But even so, he had been gaining a little confidence over the past few months. His training with Shiva, and Dick’s and Bruce’s focus on making him as ready for the streets as humanly possible, had ensured he never encountered a situation where he couldn’t handle himself, or get back up in time to avoid any casualties.

Except for right now.

“Hey! Don’t do it, please!”

Yeah, maybe yelling at the man precariously balanced on the edge of a how many feet tall building wasn’t his wisest moment. He’d berate himself later. Now was freak out time.

Said man stumbled for a second before regaining his footing and turning to look at Tim. He couldn’t be more than forty, with a bit of an overgrown beard and tired eyes. He had something clutched in one hand, tanned and calloused from work, the other over his chest, probably due to the scare of having a bat suddenly appearing behind him.

“R-Robin…”, he gasped, shook out of whatever reverie he was going through for a second. “W-what… I mean, why are you…?”

‘Okay, Tim, breath. Can’t call B, he’ll notice, get startled and jump. Can I catch him if he does? My grappling hook is made to withstand more than my weight, but if I can’t handle the strain of swinging us both to safety…’

He couldn't risk it.

“Good evening, Mr…?”

Surprise and good manners made the man automatically answer, “Ed. Ed Harrinson.”

Encouraged, Tim took a tiny teeny step forward. Ed’s entire body shock and he leaned backwards. Tim froze, fear keeping his breathing and heartbeat hostages for the time being, stopping the first and kick starting the second.

“Mr Harrinson, I’d like to ask you to step away from the edge? I’ll call an ambulance for you, and…”

“No!”, the man screamed, suddenly over his surprise, a look of determination trying to masquerade his obvious exhaustion. “If you call an’one, I’ll jump.”

Tim wisely kept the ‘you were gonna do it anyway’ to himself. He nodded slowly, hands emerging from the confines of his cape to show Mr Harrinson the lack of a communication device.

“I won’t, then, but may I come closer? Please?”

It was on the last word, high pitched and wavering, that the man cracked. With wary demeanor, he waved him over, pointing to a patch of rooftop a little far but close enough for Tim to feel comfortable- or as comfortable as he’d get, in these circumstances.

As he approached, he could feel the man analyzing him. The little gasp when he stood by his side didn’t go unnoticed.

“You are… smaller than I imag’ned. Too small for a bat. My boy’s taller than you” he mused, likely to himself, but Tim grasped onto that bit of information and clutched at it with both hands, desperately.

“I’m short compared to my peers, so maybe I’m the same age as your son. How old is he?”, he asked, in his most conversational tone. Fear still had a grasp over both his lungs and heart.

Something in the man’s face shifted.

“He… he just turned fifteen.” Older than Tim, then. Ed continued, “He’s… ”, in a second, the sadness was replaced by pride, “he’s grown up p’tty well, if I say so m’self. A fine young man, that kid. He’ll go places.”

For a beat, Tim tried to imagine his own dad here. As much as he’d hate to see Jack in Mr Harrinson’s place, he couldn't help but wonder if he’d be talking about him the same way Ed spoke about his son.

He… didn’t think so. If on the verge of death, thoughts about his son would probably be the farthest from his dad’s mind.

“You sound like you love him very much. He’s a lucky guy” he said sincerely, a tendril of hopefulness still twisted around his stomach. His hands weren’t shaking any longer, finding solace in the fact that the man in front of him didn’t look like he was about to jump right that second.

Mr Harrinson’s face fell.

“Got served an’ unlucky hand, with an old man like me”, his eyes went back to the abyss, to the empty, poor litten streets below them. “Go ‘way, kid. Leave m’ be. Notta business what I do. Gotta do this f’r my kid.”

Fear came back, full force.

“I- Sorry, but I can’t help but think about your son”, he blurted out, the only bit of information he had about the man was his only tendril of hope. “Someone who loves his child as much as you seem to must be a good father. A father that… would be missed dearly, if lost so young.”

Mr Harrinson looked even more devastated. Tim was doing this all wrong, wasn’t he?

“There’s no other way t’ keep’im safe!'' he yelled, and for a minute Tim thought he had decided to jump then and there. Instead, he dropped to his knees, hands to his head, paper still clutched in one fist. “They’ll get to him if I don’t! Once I’m dead, they’ll just leave’im alone!”

Tim crouched next to him, tentative.

“Who is ‘they’, sir? Maybe I could help…”

Ed was already shaking his head.

“Nay, they said not to go to the bats. Kill my boy, they will, if I do. Seen them offing others for less, so I believe them.”

“Ah, but I’m too short to be a bat, am I not?” he smiled, wobbly at best but sincere. “Besides, who’s gonna tell them you spoke to me? I”, he gestured to his mask, “know how to keep a secret.”

He considered for a beat, before tired shoulders fell, defeated. He offered the slip of paper towards him, unseeing eyes on the street below.

Robin read the note carefully, noting the sloppy penmanship and cheap paper as well as the message itself.

“Mr Harrinson…”

“I know”, he whispered, “I know working for the Black Mask wasn’t my best idea. But m’boy needed to eat, and the landlord was gettin’ impatient. And now, for whatever reason, boss wants me dead. And if I make ‘im dirty his own hands, he’ll dirty ‘em twice and send me with my son for company to the other side. Felix is too young, and he’s good. Can’t let ‘im pay f’ his old man m’stakes, ya hear me?”

Tim thought his words over carefully.

“Mr Harrinson… I don’t think this comes from Black Mask himself”, for one, Blackie wasn’t one to avoid blood on his gloves, nor to send such a shitty note. The man lived for the drama, like most A-listers did, and he’d never forgo the aesthetic of an expensive peachment and beautifully worded threat. Also, if he wanted this man gone, he would have put a bullet in his head the second he clocked in; and if it were revenge he was after, he wouldn't have gotten a warning note but his son’s head sent to him instead.

He folded the paper and put it into one of his multiple pockets, free hand going to the man’s shoulder.

“I know Black Mask’s M.O, mister, and this is not it”, no need to spook him further by describing what it was, though. “Probably just a colleague who wanted your position, or has a grudge for whatever reason. And that, I can help you with. If you work with me on this one, we can both make sure Felix has his Dad making breakfast for him tomorrow morning, and all the days after that. After all”, he smiled, no longer uncertain now that he had firm ground to work with, “your son is going places, and he’ll have to be well fed to reach them, right?”

Mr Harrinson’s smile must have had magical properties, Tim thought. There was no other explanation for the way it returned his breath back to his body.

---.----

The next time he saw a jumper, a few months later, he was slightly more ready for it. Bruce had congratulated him on his work with Mr Harrinson, and the subsequent raid they could make on one of Black Mask’s warehouses thanks to the man’s information, but Tim hadn’t been satisfied until he had read every single mission report on the batcomputer about attempted suicides. And succeed ones, too. Need to know what went well and what didn’t, after all.

So when he saw the fifty-something woman crying on top of a tower in City Hall District, he didn’t almost-crash in his attempt to get there in time. He landed softly, making just enough noise to let her know she wasn’t alone, but careful to not startle her.

“It’s a little cold up here, Lady. If you’d like, I can walk you home?”, he tries for cheeky, despite the cold fear nesting in his stomach like a grumpy, spiteful bird.

The woman, sitting by the edge, turned her head to look at him. The movement called attention to her long, strawberry blonde hair, neatly braided, and her pretty diamond earrings. The face under her perfect make up was gaunt and pale, tear tracks cleaning paths of skin to his trained eye.

Despite him interrupting what probably were very private thoughts, she smiled at his approach, kind and polite. It didn’t reach her eyes, but the intent to put him at ease was generous enough.

“I may be a lady, but any adult worth their salt would insist on walking the young child home, instead of the opposite. Besides”, she patted the rooftop under her,” I live here, so it’s not a long walk at all.”

Tim stepped closer, carefully.

“May I sit?”

“I could use the company for a bit”, she accepted, head turning back to the city below.

They sat there for a few minutes in silence, before Tim’s soft voice broke it again.

“Is there anything I can do to help convince you not to do it? Please?”

The lady smiled. “You are a very sweet boy.”

“That’s… not an answer. Can I at least know why?”

“Won’t it torment you, in the future, if we speak now?”, she asked a question of her own, turning to face him again. Despite her words, there was nothing but kindness in those deep green eyes. “If you don’t know me, I’m just another one who jumped. If we talk, I’m afraid I might stay with you long after I’m gone. You are too young for that kind of weight.”

Tim swallowed.

“That’s easily solved, Miss;”, Dick’s rule of thumb; if unsure, always call a lady Miss before Mrs “don’t do it.”

She spared him a long, meaningful look, and he slumped over.

“Not my best, I know, but I’m kinda freaking out now?” She wasn’t like Mr Harrinson, no motive he could see, no strand to pull and unravel her pain. “Please, just… why?”

She patted one of the hands gripping his own knee. His other hand rushed over hers, sandwiching her cold, slim fingers between his gloved palms.

“There’s nothing left for me. I have a nice job, live in a pretty side of town, have friends, and still… it feels so empty. So… Meaningless. Why even bother?”

Tim chewed on her words silently. He was way out of his depth. A tangible, physical problem? He could solve those, no biggie.

Depression, though… that was a different giant to tackle. Was he even prepared enough to?

A strong gust of wind made the lady with braided hair shiver. Without thought, Tim unclasped his cape and draped it over her slim shoulders.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, head tilted like a curious woodland animal. Tim felt strongly protective of her, of this kind, sweet lady, who said she had it all, except the one thing that mattered to her.

“I’m used to it”, he shrugged. “This suit is very warm, but cold air often trickles down from the neckline and… well. Gigs of the job and all that.”

The lady tutted, frowning for the first time since Tim arrived.

“That won’t do, young man. You need a scarf. The nights will only get colder from now on.”

He shrugged again.

“I just… don’t have the time to buy one. And I had one, but… There’s these kids who often hang out by the park, and they were so cold, I just couldn't swing by and ignore them. So I gave them my scarf to share between them. I’m just kinda bummed that I don’t have more to make sure they all stay warm.”

The braided haired lady hummed for a second.

“Well… I knit”, she started, carefully. “I don’t have children or grandchildren to give my final products to, so they’ll go to waste after I’m gone. If you’d take them out of my hands, you’ll do me a favor.”

Tim wanted to say no, unwilling to make this any easier for her, but the chance of getting her away from the edge was enough to quell his voice.

She went and came back within minutes, a big cardboard box balanced over her shaky arms. He rose to help her, meeting the woman halfway through the roof, a good distance away from the abyss.

“This red one would look good with your suit… oh, and the green one, to keep with the theme! Or maybe the yellow one… Shame pink would be such a bad fit for your colors, because that wool is the best I worked with…”

Tim’s hand carefully took said carf out and looked it over. There were about six others in the box.

“I could take this to those kids I mentioned before… It’d still not be enough for all, but more to share between them means less cold.”

She hummed again, looking at the unfinished projects on the bottom of the box.

“If… If you give me a few days…” she muttered. “I mean, I’m in no rush”, a hand vaguely gestured towards the rooftop’s edge. “I could spare a few days finishing those, and you could take them to these kids you spoke about… and maybe, I can help make a few children less cold with this silly hobby of mine.”

Elated beyond words, Tim nodded vigorously, waxing poetry about her work and about just how excited little Ellie would be with this soft, pretty pink scarf.

His patrol route could use a few detours, after all, if that meant keeping Braided Hair Lady away from her roof.

---.----

He was just returning from a late supply run when he bumped into The Cats.

It was in an alleyway, a block off from Mrs Eloise Denvarow (formerly known as Braided Hair Lady). The older woman had caved after three months knowing each other, of Tim passing by her apartment once every other night to pick up her baked goods or knitted masterpieces, to distribute between street kids and working girls, and told him her name. It was said in passing (“Stop with that ‘Lady’ thing, honey. It’s Eloise”), as if lacking importance, when in reality it meant the world to him. Sure, he’d already known, having run a background check on her the minute he came back to the cave after stopping her from jumping, but there was that implicit vow between them, that she wouldn't tell him her name and jump, wouldn’t make him carry its weight on his shoulders forever, so it was… it was a promise, on her end, a reassurance, and Tim wasn’t even embarrassed that he cried in her arms like a baby for ten minutes.

So here he was, a month after that, still riding that high, when the desperate call from below caught his attention.

There were two teens on the dirty ground, nested among cracked bottles and old newspapers. The girl was lying in the boy’s arms, with him screaming for help.

“Robin! Thank fuck!”, he almost sobs, arms visibly tightening around the girl. Tim wants to ask how he knew to call for him, and if the proximity to Mrs Denvarow’s place was luck or not.

But it wasn’t the time to ask.

The girl was pale, which only highlighted the bruises on her face. Someone with a big fist punched her. It doesn't seem likely, considering just how distraught the other kid is, but he checks his hands just in case; fortunately, too small for that kind of damage.

She’s also breathing erratically and, when he puts a gloved hand to her neck, he realizes just how crazy her pulse is.

Fear Toxin? Except Scarecrow is still in Arkham as far as he knows, and even if he had gotten away recently, he needs time to develop his precious chemicals. Joker’s Venom and Mad’s Hatter drugs don’t have quite this results, and Ivy doesn’t usually attack street girls just for kicks; they are also too far from her usual turf for her to be a viable suspect.

So, that leaves very few choices.

“Overdose?”, he ventures a guess, hand already fumbling through the pockets on his belt.

The other boy sobs harder, nodding while looking down at the girl in his arms. Tim gently takes the girl from him to position her straighter, to help her down the vial he finally found in his belt. It was supposed to help flush out any chemical in a few minutes, tops; they usually used it when a new type of Crazy Criminal Drug made its way to the streets and they didn’t have the time to properly prepare an antidote. It was strong, and vicious in its path to devoid the body of any and all external agents, which was why it wasn’t a preferred method; who’s to say the civilian in need of a flush isn’t in some important medicine? The Big Flush, as Dick calls it, lacked any kind of finesse or discrimination.

But it was their best shot right now, so there goes nothing.

There’s silence while they watch the girl’s progress. He doesn’t bother asking if he called for an ambulance; they are obviously minors, probably homeless, and even if the Wayne Foundation takes care of children’s hospital fees, they’d avoid it to keep themselves out of the foster system.

But then, the kid kept talking.

“I… I found her near Grant Park. I… I didn’t know what to do, so I dragged her here. She/” and then he breaks again, hands grasping one of hers, as if letting go meant he was giving up on her and he couldn't bear it.

“Grant Park is only five blocks away,” Tim thinks out loud, mind already a mile away “and Moench’s Row illicit night clinic is about the same distance from there as this place. Why did you bring her here?”

“She… Alley… Oh, her name’s Allison, by the way. And I’m Thomas. Tom.” Introductions, miraculously, seem to do the trick here and calm him down. “Nice to meetcha.”

Tim’s not deterred by his toothy grin, but he has to admit he’s kinda cute. Like, stray cat cute.

Huh. Alley, Tom, cat… Yeah, that checks.

“What happened with Allison?” he presses softly, one arm still keeping Alley up and against his chest, the other hand on her pulse point, taking note of the way the heartbeat seems to be stabilizing. The puking fest was gonna start soon.

“She… It was on purpose.” Tom confesses, eyes going clouded for a while. “She tries to not be home, yknow? I met her in kindergarten, and even then she’d try to hide behind the teacher’s desk in hopes they’d forget about her and close the building with her inside. Anyway, we pretty much live on the streets these days, and Alley… she’s very depressed. I convinced her to see someone a while ago, even stol/ I mean, earned the money for it myself”, he’s quick to correct, eyes glancing up to see if he was smooth enough to cover it; which he wasn’t, but Tim was in favor of letting that small one go, “and they gave her a prescription for antidepressants. She’s been kicking it down the road, but she’s gotten a lot worse and I wouldn't lay off her case about it, so she sneaked back home to get some money from her folks to pay for it.”

By the way the kid looks at her bruised face with unmeasurable guilt, Tim knows she didn’t go unnoticed.

“And… I don’t know. We were supposed to meet up by the Commerce Street Highway, but she was late, so I walked around for a bit and… I saw her there, on a bench. She was/ she was still conscious then, and she told me… she said ‘these aren’t what the doc gave me, but they took the pain away all the same’.” Again, Tom chokes on his own emotions. If he had any free hands, he’d try to put one on his shoulder for comfort. “I don’t even know what she took, or where did she get it from!”

Tim has heard whispers of loan sharks and drug dealres camping toghter by the Fashion Distric, just north of Grant Park, so he can make an informed guess as to how that happened. Also, he now knows what he’ll do the rest of the night, once these kids are safe.

When Tom has gotten a grasp of himself, he pushes again.

“So, why did you bring her here?”

He shrugs, a bit abashed.

“Well… I mean, everyone knows about how Mrs Denvarow is the one giving clothes and food away, and that you help her distribute it. Well, not everyone, but… you know, the street kids. We flagged her building with a yellow skull and everything.”

A yellow skull grafitti, Tim’s mind translates, is the street equivalent of a ‘don’t fuck with this place’ sing. A sort of protective sigil. He wonders how he missed it.

“And… This is kind of your thing, right? So I figured you’d be better prepared to deal with it than some overworked clinic that might even not have enough free equipment to help us. Good think I did, too” he gestures at his friend, whose face is now looking flushed; a sign both of growing health, and of the upcoming puke. Tim’s quick to turn her so her back is to his chest, head tilted down just in case.

As if rehearsed, Alley chose that exact second to empty the contents of her now flushed stomach. Tim would need a sample of that, to catch the responsible dealer.

Tom held her hair away from her face while Tim kept her steady, and she blinked bearily at them after it was done, still not completely lucid but a world away from the girl she was ten minutes ago.

“She’ll still need a hospital.'' Tim informs Tom sternly. The boy had taken his friend in his arms again, softly rubbing her back to help with the uncomfortable ache leftover after puking your guts out. “The Moench’s Row clinic should be able to help with any side effect, but she’s safe for now.”

He nods, thanks Tim again and again and politely refuses his help to take her to the clinic. They part ways, both parties probably thinking this would be the last time they saw each other.

Still, their situation sticks with Tim during the rest of his patrol, and he decides to stop by the clinic, just to check on them. His knuckles still ache from the absolute beating he delivered to the ones who gave Alley the money and sold her the drugs, so he’s in better spirits and hopes to spread it to the kids.

Alley is awake when he visits, and her shy, little smile is enough for the rage inside of Tim to die down. The bad guys dealt with, the civilians safe, everything in its proper place.

He sleeps a bit better that night.

---.----

He almost doesn’t see him.

Actually, he probably wouldn't have, deeply lost into his own head, had the guy been anything other than a redhead. That exact shade of orangy-brown auburn, that he would have to pick up from his workbench at Titan’s tower after Bart had decided to ‘keep him company’ during his all-nighters.

It was ironic, how now he would give anything in the world to have those same strands of hair fucking up his experiments, if only for the impish, ‘please-don’t-kill-me-I’m-an-angel’ smile he would receive in exchange.

“Hey”, he greets, landing softly at the man’s right, sitting a few feet away from him, too tired to even stand up on common ground. “What’s happening?”

He shouldn’t be doing this. He really, really shouldn’t. His own mental health was less than stellar, and even thinking about it made him feel worse. He didn’t deserve to feel bad, not when civilians were in the hospital after his latest fuck up, Cass was missing, Cassie barely hanging in there, the family a mess with Damian’s lovely introduction, and… well. Every other person he knew…

Point being, there must be someone else, in a better inner place, that could speak to this guy. But since no one seemed to be patrolling this route, Tim could only hope to stall him long enough for a more capable vigilante to show up.

The guy looks startled, then angry. He has green eyes, he notices, under the glasses. Not sure why that sticks to him.

“What are you doing here? You’re not going to try to stop me, are you? You’re not going to swing down and catch me in mid air or something, are you?”

He seems defensive, but Tim notices a bit of hesitancy. He has worked with less.

(He wishes he had more energy to do more with what little he has)

“No. If I did, what’s to stop you from doing it again later, or tomorrow? I can’t be with you every second. If you want to do this, you are going to, no matter how much I don’t want you to. And I don’t want you to, just so we are clear.”

The guy still looks suspicious, but he hasn’t taken that last step forward, so… a win?

“I just needed to sit down for a minute. ‘been thinking about all the ways I’ve screwed up lately, and…”

Auburn-hair deflates a little, turning away from Tim to examine the night sky. “Well, that makes two of us.”

The bat signal lights up the night. His newfound companion looks at it, then him. “Do you need to get that?”

“Nah. Batman will, and if he needs help he’ll call me.” Tim shrugs. He needs a coffee-power-up. He needs to sleep. He needs for his loved ones to not be dead.

He needs to see if there’s anything he can do for this guy.

“So, do you want to tell me why you’re doing this? So someone can go to your family and friends to let them know?”

After all, if it was him who did it (and… wasn’t that food for thought?), he’d like Bruce and Dick to know why. To not… to not blame themselves.

Redhead looks annoyed again. Uh. A short fuse, this one.

“Don’t try any psychology, or try to make me feel guilty about hurting anyone… this isn't about anyone but me.”

He shouldn’t say it, but… “That’s pretty naive, but whatever. Tell me anyway.” He smirks a bit, then “Unless you’re in a hurry or something.”

He hears the guy (he really should ask his name) as he tells his story. A cold, clinical part of his mind recognizes the symptoms described almost unconsciously by the guy as depression. He would know, after all. The other part of him, the part that made him Robin, that made him human, discarded the label; there was much more to this guy than his illness, and he would treat him like it.

“So here I am,” he finishes, now sitting side by side with Tim, both their legs hanging above the bustling city. “Now’s when you tell me how stupid this is. That other people have much bigger problems, there’s hunger and war, and I’m weak because my problems are nothing next to stuff like that.”

Tim thinks of a father, desperately thinking his death would save his son’s life, when in fact it would have only made it worse. He thinks of a woman, so full of love and warmth, looking into the abyss and feeling empty inside. He thinks of a couple of kids, one hanging to life with nails and teeth, the other hanging to her just as fiercely.

He thinks about himself. About looking at a future version of himself, hating what he sees, and deciding to drown the bud before it can even flower. He thinks of sickly green water, of cloning equipment in a laboratory, of a phone falling to the ground after delivering him with more bad news.

He’s still in a bad place, still probably not the most capable person to be doing this, but a part of him is sure this is the right answer. The only answer.

“No. Your problems are worse than anyone else’s, because they are yours. I’ve... felt bad like you have, and some pretty bad things have happened to me.”

Red hair looks as tired as Tim feels, so it’s a surprise that he has enough energy to glance at him worriedly, hand stretching a bit in his direction in a half-formed attempt to comfort.

“You guys make it look so easy, swinging around, having fun… Things get bad for you, too?”

Tim looks down, and smiles. It’s a sad, bitter thing. He thinks about parents lost before ever connecting to them, about a girlfriend going away, a sister lost to the madness of their lives, about two best friends gone, one even dying in his arms.

He gives no details. Doesn’t talk about it all, just shares a little bit of himself. It’s only fair, after hearing about this guy’s demons. Misery loves company, doesn’t it?

“So what do you do? How do you deal with it?” the guy asks when he’s done, looking at Tim by the corner of his not-very-dry eyes.

Tim forces himself to remember. “One of the things I’ve learned is that it gets bad for everyone sometimes, Superman, Batman… everyone. I remember that I’m not alone, that things do get better. Sometimes on their own, most times when you work at them. And when I have trouble remembering those things, I find people to talk to.”

Most of those were dead, but Tim is hit with the epiphany that not all of them are. He still has people. He still…

“And you’ve got people like that? That you can talk to?” asks the guy, tone both worried and hopeful. Tim stands up, does his best to look calm.

“Yeah. Your folks, and old friend, even a trained counselor you’ve never met before… someone who has a totally different perspective because they’re not as close to your problems as you are. Maybe they give you advice, and that’s great… or maybe they just listen. Sometimes, that’s all you need. Anyway, that’s how I deal with it when things suck. And it works. Want to come down from there and give it a try?”

The guy gets back to his feet, as Tim watches from behind. Having been in this situation before, the fear grabbing a hold of him isn’t new, but it's different. He thinks he's too worn down. It takes the edge off of any emotion.

Except hope. Hope still hurts like a sharp knife when it’s snatched away. He prays it won’t be, right now.

Green eyes (Jason- that’s who they reminded him of) look down, deep in thought. Then he turns, smiles at Tim. There’s hope in him too.

“Yeah, why not?”

They get down together. He gives him a few numbers and they have breakfast together. The guy promises to call his English teacher, at least. Tim promises himself to call his brother.

At least, he still has Dick.

---.----

He’s been putting off doing his rounds since he came back, he knows. But…

It changed him, a bit. Going around the world, dealing with his grief while staying on his toes, ready to break down one second and having to field off attacks from all sides the next, with the Demon’s honeyed whispers echoing in his ear and mind.

He’ll never tell anyone, just how tempting it had been. How much he had wanted to reach for that offered hand. To lay his head on someone’s shoulder and let the responsibility bleed from his.

Tim will never tell anyone, but he’ll always know. And it’ll always make him hate himself a little bit more.

So, he’s different now. And he’s scared- that the people he gave hope to, that he talked with, that he could never stop thinking about, even halfway across the world- that they won’t like this new, worn down him.

That Mr Harrinson the Good Father, Braided Hair Lady and her sweaters, the inseparable Stray Cats, the girl with the bright yellow cardigan, the kid with the scarred wrists, the woman with beautiful star-like freckles that she’ll hopefully pass on to her baby, the gentle giant man with calloused hands, the petite but fierce young teen with defiant eyes and dead name, the soft spoken girl with the loudest laugh, auburn-haired boy and his hopeful and sympathetic green eyes… and so, so many more. They all knew him, maybe not at his best, but certainly better than now. The boy that kept them from jumping had been a bright, magical Robin. The teen that came back to their city was dark, weary Red Robin. It felt kinda like he had cheated them, returning this broken version of himself to their doorsteps.

But he had to go check on all of them. Even if Cass (and it was such a relief, that even after he lost everything else, the return of his sister could at least be a speck of light in the mist of misery surrounding him) had promised to do so, there were so many of them… and she couldn't possibly remember everyone, all the time. And if anyone had fallen through the gaps… if anyone had stood on a rooftop, waiting for their Robin to save them, only to think ‘nobody cares’ as he didn’t show up…

Tim gets sick only thinking about it. If it did happen, then he needs to know. He has to carry their names with him, that’s the least he can do for failing them.

So he’ll go check on them… anytime now. Soon. The moment he gathers enough energy to climb back to his feet and get his grapple hook out.

...The city looks full of life, beneath him. Like it feels the return of its Knight. The end of the internal quarrel among it’s vigilantes, that almost tore it all apart. The relief in Nightwing, the hesitant peace in Red Hood, the mellowing of Robin.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the worst ways)

Maybe it also feels Red Robin’s emptiness. Maybe that’s why it's so lively down there, like the ground is calling to him, just as it did when Ra’s broke the window with his body.

He thinks... he won’t have to check on anyone, if he jumps. And that way, there will be no name to carry with him to his grave.

“Robin!”

“Stop!”

“Don’t do it, please!”

He startles. Hadn’t even noticed when he got to his feet, nor that one of them was hanging over the abyss. The fact that he wasn’t alone on that rooftop any longer hadn’t even breached his usually perfect spatial awareness.

They didn’t call for him, but the voices sounded distraught, they were close, and he was a former Robin, so he turned around, tired, but with obedience and service too ingrained in him to consider denying help to whoever it was.

It turned out, he wouldn't need to go make his rounds any longer. His rounds had come to him.

There were… too many people on this roof. It was way too crowded.

“Robin!”

It was one voice now, not a mixture of them, so he could identify the one yelling his former alias. Allison broke from the mob of people (and there were more still, filling in from the open rooftop door, like a never-ending stream…) to run to him, looking like she might have just jumped into his arms, if not for Tom clutching her hoodie to stop her a few feet from him. Good move, considering he was still balancing precariously on the edge.

“Alleycat?” he whispered, a little blown. She looked so different (magenta looked amazing on the tips of her hair, and she totally pulled off that lip piercing), but he’d recognize those eyes anywhere. He’d been so relieved, when she first opened them after that dangerous overdose.

“We were so fucking worried, dude”, came from Tomcat just behind her, still gripping her hoodie (still keeping her safe; some things never change).

“I…”

“Where were you?” Maddie, not longer yellow but still wearing a cute cardigan, stepped up too.

“I’m… I’m not Robin”, he blurts out. They… knew it was him? It… like, obviously there was a new Robin, Damian was (still, but probably not for much longer) smaller than him, but to immediately know that he was…

“Yeah, no shit. I’d know that long hair and noodle limbs of yours anywhere, kid. Known you too long to be fooled. And the new kid’s really trigger happy with that lon’nife of his... You’re still the Robin I prefer, and fuck if I understand the name passing you heroes do” Mr Harrinson spoke from the back of the crowd, one hand clutching his kid’s shoulder, the other arm around…

“Braided Hair Lady?”

Eloise smiles at him, soft and warm as ever, a little shy when his eyes go to the arm hugging her close and back to her. He recognizes some of her handmade scarfs around the necks of plenty of people on the roof.

“I… wasn’t aware you all knew each other.”

A petite young teen steps forward, walking until they were shoulder-to-shoulder with the Strays.

“Most of us met through the app, and then introduced the others. There’s more, of course, but not everyone could meet here. Samantha’s baby was born just two months ago, so she chose to stay home, but we promised her pictures, so you’ll have to say cheese soon birdboy. Also, I found my name. I’m Cal.”

Allison’s smile broadened and she sneaked an arm around Cal’s waist.

“They are the new Straycat. Calico cat’s are the cutest shit ever, aren’t they?”

Well… Having someone as badass as Cal watching Tom and Alley’s back would sure make Tim feel a lot better about both kids being out in the streets.

Were they still on the streets? He’d need to find out and fix that, soon.

Then it hit him. “What app?”

Auburn-hair smiled from his place, at the front of the crowd just behind the Cats.

“Felix over there,” he pointed over his shoulder at Mr Harrinson’s son, who smiled shyly at Tim, eyes shining in gratitude and admiration like they always did when Tim did his rounds and checked on his dad, “defended you in a GothamHeroes forum once. Some bratty douchebag was complaining about you landing over his car or something and this kid went for his fucking troath.”

“I was in that chat too,” spoke Tom, smiling a little too savagely for a kid that sweet. “He tore the idiot to shreds, speaking about how you saved his dad’s life and took it upon yourself to make sure he was still okay even weeks after you met. I mentioned how you saved Alley and Mrs Denvarow, we exchanged numbers… then we met Cal during one of our rounds handing out Mrs D’s scarfs and food. They were weary of everyone else, but trusted us because they heard you talk about the clothes and baked goods... And Cal’s friend Gina worked with Samantha on the streets and told them about her story...”

“Soon, it seemed like people personally saved by you were just… popping out of the snow like daisies” Blair laughed, and it was still the loudest, brightest noise. The night seemed a little clearer, the air a little fresher for it. “Felix made his own private chat and added us, and we added everyone else we knew… The word went around about it, and more and more people joined in…”

“It’s really a wonder how you had any time to fight crime, seeing how often you were apparently comforting jumpers on the roofs” Ailbert, still as gigantic and gentle as always, raised a hand from the middle of the group. He had a little girl on his shoulders, probably the baby niece he had taken in after his sister’s death.

“Then the new kid appeared and Gotham went to hell on a basket, and no one saw you around any longer”, Elijah, wrists no more scarred than the last time he saw him, his arm tangled with Maddie’s, went on. “We were… well, we were a bit confused.”

“Speak for yourself, Cal jumped Red Hood one night, held him at knife point and demanded to know what the fuck happened to our Robin. We were like, zero chill.”

“Sorry, they did what?” Tim was definitely in the twilight zone now.

“No thoughts, head empty, only murder”

...Tim needed to give Jason a quick call. Also sign Cal up for anger management. And probably, judging by the way both Alley and Tom were looking at them, get one of the adults to give them the talk.

Mrs Eloise smiled at him, and like always it served to calm his nerves. That woman was a different kind of magic than Alfred, but magic indeed. “Anyway, dear, what matters is that we were worried about you. And then this incredible young man, Aaron,” she waved at him, and he winked one of his green eyes in response, “suggested we kept in closer contact with one another, so anyone who spotted you could inform the others.”

Aaron shrugged, his auburn mane of hair bobbing with the movement. “It just seemed like it’d be easier to have an alarm set up, since messaging everyone would take so long… and then someone suggested making a map of Gotham so we could have clearer routes for the kids handing out Mrs Denvarow’s stuff… and someone wanted a shared blackboard to write theories on where the fuck you were with others… and a few demanded a space to share photos, possible sightings or old selfies with you… It kinda spiralled and I thought it’d be less of a chaotic mess if I made an app that could do all of that, instead of all of us using multiple apps for the different fixtures everyone asked for… Since this is Gotham, we also added some Rouge Alarm for whenever a criminal was set loose. It helped keep us safe, and if we knew when crime was happening, we could pay attention to which heroes answered the call…”

“And then, you fought that firefly guy the other day”, Felix said, still by his dad’s side, still looking as awed as ever when looking at tim. “I was in the crowd, and I recognized you within a minute.”

“I don’t really understand technology that well, and the group chat was such a mess that day” Ailbert lamented, but he was still smiling. They all were.

That hit Tim then, hard.

They all looked so happy to see him. To have him back. They had been waiting for him to be back, banded together to make sure they’d all know when he did.

“You looked so sad the last time we saw you” Blair added softly, sadly. “And… when you saved Aaron, you told him about such sad things…”

Elijah winced “And I heard the Midnighter fell from Wayne Tower a few weeks ago, but then he was never seen around again, and your suit looks kinda similar, so that was probably really you… and, that fall…”

“We were very worried” repeated Eloise, but her eyes didn’t lose their warmth. “But you’re back now, and we can keep track of you and each other now, so it’s all good. It’s wonderful to have you back, love.”

This was an out of body experience.

Something must have shown on his face, because Cal snorted.

“We adore you, you dumbass. You are our hero.”

Alley smiled. “You are our Robin.”

Tim fell into her arms, and away from the roof’s edge. The rest of the crowd was upon them in seconds, all eager to pat his back or joke about the cowl hiding his hair from their hands.

He met eyes with Aaron, over Alley’s shoulder. He looked like the hope Tim had helped plant in his heart all those months ago had flowered, and the petals filled his heart.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the best ways)

“You should download the app too, so you always have someone to talk to. Look it up. It’s called BirdWatchers, because we’ll always look up and out for you. Because when we wanted to jump, you lended us your wings to fly instead.”

It was like this fucker wanted Tim to cry.

“Welcome home, Red Robin.”

#My writing #Tim drake #batman fanfic #red robin #trigger warning:#depression #suicide attempts #discussion of suicide #overdose #mental illness #hurt comfort #Tim doing the comfort and being the hurt #until he gets the comfort #happy ending #wholesome #I swear the tags are scary but it IS wholesome #Tim drake centric #my writting

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bubblesuga · 4 years

Text

Special-Tea

Summary: Yoongi’s always been a coffee man. When stuck at the studio in the early hours of the morning, he craves caffeine. The only problem with that is there’s no coffee shops open at three in the morning. So, he finds himself at the next best thing, a 24 hour tea shop where he finds you.

Warnings: cussing, smut, shower sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), oral (f receiving)

W/C: 4,798

It’s too early for this.

Or maybe it’s too late.

Yoongi isn’t sure. In fact, he’s pretty sure his clock stopped working three hours ago. Unless the last few minutes have felt like hours, then Yoongi was on the verge of tearing every piece of equipment from the wall and smashing it into a million pieces.

Yoongi’s been working on this album for far too long. His fingers are cramped from continuously playing the same three notes over and over just hoping and praying that something will come to him. He’s confused more than anything. Before he had no problem spitting out 2 or 3 songs in a day, recording demos and having the studio ready to record for the other members the following day.

Lately, however, he’s lucky if he can even get a concept for a song down. It’s like his mind has been clouded over with writers block and he’s not getting anywhere. Like someone sucked his ability to compose music right from his brain with a straw.

He tosses the pen he had been anxiously tapping on the desk into his bag, along with his notebook, and he stands abruptly.

Scoffing at his phone, he glares at the black 4:37 on the screen while the elevator in the BigHit offices slides downward. There’s no coffee shops open yet, there has to be something though. He just needs caffeine, though he could really go for an iced americano with-

“Special-tea...?” He raises an eyebrow at his phone, Google holding up options for the nearest place selling caffeinated beverages. Rolling his eyes, he begins the short journey to the one 24 hour shop within a five mile radius.

What kind of a name is ‘Special-tea’? Who sat in an office and thought, ‘ah you know what? Let’s name a tea shop but make it punny.’

“Stupid.” He grumbles to himself. He’s well aware that he’s far too tired to be having human interaction right now but he needs to get some progress done. At this point he’ll take a ghost of a song.

Stepping into the tea shop, he’s overwhelmed by the smell of flowers. Undeniably strong, he takes a moment to collect his thoughts before stepping all the way in. As the door chimes, he hears a gasp and a patter of foot steps.

“Welcome to Special-tea! How are you doing today?”

The voice is loud, echoing off of the various shelves scattered around the shop with loose tea for sale. He whips his head towards the register, spotting you.

“I’m fine, thank you.” He didn’t realize how sore his voice was from attempting to record backing vocals earlier in the day, but it came out gruff and quiet. A stark contrast to the bubbly barista in front of him, her nose dusted in flour and a messy apron protecting her clothes. Well, attempting at least, because Yoongi has to hold back a smile when he notices hand prints of flour on your backside.

“What can I get you this morning?” you question, leaning over the counter and causing Yoongi to blush when he notices the way you’re smiling. When you meet his eyes, Yoongi can tell you recognize him. For a moment he feels the need to brace himself, but soon realizes you’re calm.

Yoongi returns a smile, haphazardly running his fingers through his hair. “Dumb question, but do you guys sell coffee?”

“Coffee? No, but we do sell black earl grey. I’m told that’s a close comparison as far as bitterness goes,” You explain, turning to the shelf behind you and pulling out a bag of tea, “you’re welcome to smell it if you like.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning forward and sniffing the bag. He backs away quickly and watches you bite your lip to stifle a laugh, “It’s not exactly a new tea drinker’s type of tea.”

“I’m not really a new tea drinker,” he grumbles, wiping his nose, “I’m a tea drinker only in times of desperation.”

She smiles again, “What causes said desperation?”

Yoongi rolls his neck, “I’m trying to write another song. Get the ball rolling to finishing up an album.”

“BE, right? I’ve heard good things about the process,” you say softly, surprising Yoongi by your admission to being a fan, “I figured it would be finished already?”

His eyes stay trained on you as you turn back to the shelves, rummaging through various boxes of tea. It takes him a moment to realize what your question was, so he sucks in a breath, “Ah, yeah. It’s nearly there, we just need one more track because one of them got trashed.”

Why is he revealing so much to a stranger? Namjoon is going to kill him.

“Trashed? Why’s that?”

“We realized the song itself didn’t follow any of the messages we wanted to put out there.”

Damn it, Yoongi. Stop talking.

You finally stop rummaging and pull out a bag of tea without showing Yoongi. He tries to catch a glimpse but instead watches as you boil more water and begin steeping the tea.

“What kind of message did it have?” You ask, leaning backward against the counter and crossing your arms. Having expected a follow up question, Yoongi swiftly dismisses it, “What kind of tea are you making?”

“The kind you drink.” You smirk.

He lowers his gaze at you, “It’s kind of your job to tell the customer what they’re getting.”

You laugh, “Alright. Jasmine green tea. It’s subtle enough that it won’t get your coffee loving tongue in a twist, and has enough caffeine to keep you up to finish whatever you’re working on.”

Yoongi is happy with this response, taking the time to lean away from the counter and gaze around the shop. It’s small, something he’s definitely not used to from coffee shops. The earthy smells from earlier have dwindled down to a nice summery scent, lavender filling his nose the closer he got to the register.

As much as he tried to keep his eyes away from the cute girl behind the counter, he couldn’t help but turn back and watch you as you organize various things. Something about the way your hair slips from the messy bun it’s in and your charismatic way of helping him while also providing a sense of normalcy drew him in in a way he has never experienced before.

“Order up, Suga.”

He shakes his head from his gaze, walking back up to the counter and pulling out his wallet.

“On me,” you say, “besides... don’t want to make you pay for something you may not like.”

Yoongi nods, murmuring a small ‘thank you’ and bringing the cup up to his mouth.

Without missing a beat, he reaches for his wallet and pulls out a 10000 won bill, stuffing it in the tip jar. He gives you a small smile, thanking you again as he turns towards the door.

“Wait!” you call, “What do you think?”

Yoongi raises his hand up just before he walks out of the door, “It’s delicious!”

The smile on your face was worth Yoongi’s little white lie.

~*~*~

“Alright, this is great! We’ll record tomorrow, yeah?” Seokjin speaks for the entire group as Yoongi plays them the demo of the song he was finally able to right. There were a few jabs here and there about the auto tune Yoongi likes to utilize, but other than that it was well received.

The only person he could think was you, though, because if he hadn’t have tasted that tea he would have never thought of writing what he did.

“How did you manage to spit out something like this in a night?” Jungkook teases, patting Yoongi’s shoulder softly.

“What do you mean?” Yoongi chuckles, clicking sound files around and creating a copy of his demo.

Jungkook grins, “Who’s the girl that made you think of that?”

“No girl,” he defends, “a good writer doesn’t need actual experiences. All from the imagination, young Jungkookie.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, “I’m pretty sure that’s not the case at all.”

Yoongi shushes him, saving his project one more time before deciding to kick everyone out and lock the studio.

Of course they’re going to find out eventually what happened. Especially since Park Jimin follows Yoongi to the elevator. Once they’re the only ones inside, Jimin turns to his Hyung, “Tell me about the girl.”

Yoongi, knowing that no one else could read him better than Jimin, sighs in defeat. “She’s gorgeous. Her nose had flour on it, her hair was messy, and she was everything that I’m not used to. She has a smirk- god the way she smiles- it just makes me melt for her.”

Jimin seems pleased with this answer, “and you’re going to see her now?”

“Yep.”

The bell above his head is a welcoming sound. This time you’re not waiting in the back. Instead, you’re counting money at the register as he enters. This time you wore a purple apron, and it’s clean compared to a couple of days ago. You still haven’t looked up, so Yoongi walks slowly up to the counter and taps his fingers twice.

“Ah- Yoongi! Good evening, what can I get you started today?”

“The same as last time, please.” Yoongi grins, watching you carefully as you nod at him and turn on your heel and kick on the kettle. The way the straps of the apron tie right above the curve of your back has Yoongi’s mind beginning to wander. It’s been years since he even thought of looking at a woman like this in person, but for some reason when it comes to you he just can’t stop.

“So,” you break the silence, “how did that song writing go?”

“Oh,” his cheeks are a rosy pink, “it went well. I showed the other members the demo and we’re recording it tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait to hear it.” You grin, pouring the water over the tea bags. Yoongi thanks you quietly and pulls out his wallet once more. You shake your head, “Nope. Your last tip was enough to cover your next 3 drinks.”

Yoongi nods, “Oh okay.” but then ignores you, slipping another 10000 won bill into the tip jar. Just as you’re about to open your mouth in protest, Yoongi sends you a wink and salutes on his way out before he closes the door behind him.

~*~*~

Your alarm is too loud.

It’s like a banshee screeching in your ear, like a baby crying, like a rooster crowing. You groaned loudly at the sound and threw your hand on top of it, rolling out of bed to drag yourself to the shower.

It’s been a few weeks since Yoongi became a regular to your work. The initial star struck feeling you got when you were around him had dwindled away, and now you feel you can call him a friend.

Your routine was as follows: Yoongi enters the shop, you make him his drink, and he stays and distracts you for a while. Much against everything you stand for, you drop everything to talk to him. It causes you to have to move much faster than usual on your prep work but you didn’t mind, because you loved seeing the way Yoongi would laugh at your jokes.

You feel like you know the man beyond the idol. The person who hides under the shadow of a stoic demeanor is bright. The way you perceived him prior to actually knowing him was wrong. He is, without a single doubt in your mind, the most interesting man on the planet.

When you arrived at work, your evening worker is already willing to go.

“I counted the safe and there’s some money missing. If Summer asks, it wasn’t me.” Flora says, shrugging her shoulders.

“Okay,” you raise an eyebrow, walking towards the back, “any orders?”

“Uh, yeah!” you hear her call, “chocolate covered strawberries for 6!”

“Awesome-- thank you!” You call back just as the door dings and Flora exits the store. You take a moment to walk through the kitchen to make sure everything is set up and then you pull your apron over your head.

The doorbell dings and you can’t help the smile that stretches across your face.

“What’ll it be today, Mr. Min?” You still stand in the back, glancing in the mirror to make sure you look your best.

“Honey butter croissant,” he yells back, “how did you know it was me?”

When you’re happy with your look, you finally walk to the front and smile, “So we’re changing it up today, are you okay? You sick or something?”

“I just wanted something new,” Yoongi looks different today. He’s dressed in a cream cardigan and black jeans, the usual rose tint to his cheeks is a bit stronger today.

“Okay, I’ll have to bake some new ones. It’ll take about 20 minutes if you’re willing to wait.” You explain, with an unsure smile.

Yoongi looks around for a moment, “Ugh, I guess I can wait.”

“Awesome,” you speak, “I’ll be back in a moment.”

As you walk towards the back, Yoongi listens carefully to you humming along to a song that’s been stuck in your head for days. You pull out a couple of fresh croissants and prep a baking sheet. Sticking it into the oven, you brush the flour from your hands onto your apron and walk back to the front.

Yoongi jumps up from his phone when he notices you standing in front of him. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him, the freckles across your nose easing him into a sense of comfort. “Do you plan on telling me why you kept ordering a drink you hate?”

Yoongi’s eyes widen, “Now why on Earth would you think that I hate it?”

“Welp,” you laugh, “you’re usually my only customer at night, and every morning I would check the outside garbage to see if it needed to be changed, yet the only thing I would find is a full cup of tea, with your name on it.”

For a moment, Yoongi was silent. He stumbles over his thoughts in an attempt to come up with some type of excuse. Something to hide why he had been coming here all this time. Yet, he couldn’t. So instead he looks up from his chair and smirks, “How else was I supposed to talk to the pretty girl at the tea shop?”

You swallow, your mind racing a million miles a second. Before you have the chance to respond, he stands. His body is close, and he smells so good. His cologne is expensive, herbal and earthy, and it makes you want to bury your nose into his neck and inhale. His eyes, the usual dark brown has turned into honey, drawing you in and keeping you there.

“You could have asked me on a date, we could have gone from there.” You shrug, feeling Yoongi’s calloused hand gently push away a stray hair behind your ear. He doesn’t move it afterwards, though, instead his thumb finds home on your cheekbone, stroking gently. His face has shifted, and he laughs. Almost bitterly, causing your heart to sink.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be interested in the types of dates I get. You see,” his other hand slithers around your waist, “we get long walks in the park but we have to wear a mask and a hat. We get picnics by streams late enough at night that we know no one will be around. Sometimes we can slip away to another country where we pray that no one recognizes us, but with my schedule that thought is laughable at best.”

“What if I like long walks in the park with masks and late night picnics?” You breath, the look in your eyes stirring Yoongi’s heart.

“Then I guess we’d have to give it a shot, wouldn’t we?” He whispers. Your eyes flutter from his eyes to his lips, silently begging him to close the gap. You could sense his hesitancy, though. It blossoms from his chest and heats up his entire body but for some reason he’s frozen, completely still. He’s fighting, urging himself to lean forward and kiss you but he can’t move.

Good news for him, though, because you take a moment to lean up and press your lips against his softly. It’s gentle, easing him into the feeling of you so close to him. His lips taste of mint chocolate, causing you to smile into the kiss. It takes a moment, and for a second you’re hoping that you didn’t read the situation wrong until finally, he kisses back. It’s eager, introducing his tongue to yours and grinning idly into the kiss.

You allow him to back you up against the counter, boxing you in and surrounding you completely. His hands move down and pull your hips close to his, feeling the strain of his cock against his jeans.

“We’re entering dangerous territory here, baby.” Yoongi speaks, pulling away just a little bit. His eyes stay closed and his breath is hot on your face.

“How so?” You whisper, afraid of the answer but also intrigued. He doesn’t respond, instead capturing your lips and breaking the kiss repeatedly. Your fingertips dig into his shoulders and he smiles at the knowledge that you’re enjoying this just as much as he is.

A groan fills the air when you finally buck your hips towards him. In a feverish attempt to feel more, you wrap your legs around his waist and hang from his shoulders. Just as you’re about to slip your hand between your bodies, the timer on the oven blares through the building, shattering the small walls you built around the two of you.

“Fuck--” you gently pull away, “I’m sorry. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Quickly, you slip off the counter and rush to the oven. You pull out the croissants and douse them in honey butter from the fridge. You watch the butter melt for a moment, collecting your thoughts.

Did that just happen? Did that actually hap-

When you walk back out, Yoongi’s hands are clasped behind his back. He mutters a small thank you as you hand him the plate. He rips off a corner of the pastry, and pops it into his mouth.

There’s a beat of silence. One-- two-- then he speaks.

“It’s delicious.”

“Thank you, I work hard on them.”

~*~*~

“And you just left her?!”

Oh god. Yoongi has never seen Jimin so angry before. The small man can yell louder than ever imagined, and Yoongi would be lying if he said that he wasn’t scared.

A mere 30 hours ago, Yoongi had his tongue buried in your mouth and he was the happiest man on the planet. Then it changed quickly once he realized what exactly this could entail. Even though he wanted nothing more than to bend you over the dough table and take you roughly while you scream his name, he couldn’t help but over think.

Standing in Jimin’s living room, he expected to be comforted and given some nice advice from his friend. Instead he’s learning that he pulled a bad move.

“You’re supposed to be giving me advice, not yelling at me!” Yoongi yells back, gesturing his hands wildly. Even though he’s scared, he can’t help but defend himself to a certain extent.

“Hyung, I thought you’d have enough intelligence not to kiss her and run!”

Yoongi groans and drops onto the couch, his face falling into his hands, “The things I was feeling scared me.”

“Oh my god, go to the tea shop!”

~*~*~

Yoongi spots a customer at the register. He opens the door quietly, the break of dawn just behind the mountains. This was different to Yoongi’s usual time and you know that, your eyes going wide in surprise while you finish ringing up the last customer.

Once Yoongi hears the heels clack against the tile and the door open, he rounds the shelf and walks up to you.

“I’m sorry I left so quickly yesterday. I just- I got scared. I wasn’t sure how to approach the situation but after thinking over it I realized that I really need you to kiss me again,” Yoongi speaks fast, quicker than you’ve heard him before and it takes a moment for the words to settle in your mind, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You breathe out a laugh, leaning forward and pressing your lips to his again. This time it’s slow and soft, different but Yoongi loves every second of it. The minute you kiss him, you taste coffee. You hold back another laugh, pulling away with mock hurt, “You cheated.”

Yoongi brows furrow, “I don’t follow.”

“You drink coffee and then come try to sweep tea shop girl off her feet? Cheater!” You tease, putting your hand on your chest as though you’re in pain.

Yoongi grins, “You’re crazy. I would never drink coffee, not when I can taste you. You’re probably going to have to kiss me to make sure.”

You gnaw your lip, leaning upward and pressing a kiss to him again. He giggles against your lips, a sound that you will never get sick of. You pull away much to both of your dismay, “Let me take you back to my apartment. It’s small but it’s big enough for the two of us.”

He agrees instantly.

Yoongi waits in the car while your relief shows up and you clean up. He taps his feet against the pedals anxiously, the thought of what could happen exciting him. You have clouded his mind for a weeks now and as you skip out of the building and hop into Yoongi’s passenger seat, he can’t wait to get his hands on you.

He follows your directions, his hand resting on your thigh as he tries not to speed. When he pulls into the parking lot, you lead him up the stairs to your apartment.

Nervously, you toss your bag onto the couch, “It’s not much. . . but it works for me.”

Yoongi grins, “It’s quaint. Cute.” He reaches forward and wraps his arms around you in a back hug. You welcome it, craning your neck to kiss him.

“I need a shower. Join me?”

Yoongi nods, “Yes please.”

There’s a thumb in your chest louder than you’ve ever felt before. This is actually happening. Min Yoongi, is being lead to your bathroom and you’re about to shower with him.

Yoongi doesn’t waste much time once the door is shut behind you. He latches his lips onto your neck, tugging at the hem of your shirt and easing it over your head.

“I want to make sure you want this as much as I do.” Yoongi says breathlessly as he catches a glimpse of your bare chest. You don’t respond verbally, but you look him directly in the eye as you slip your pants and panties off in one swoop.

You stand in the shower, turning on the water and peaking your head behind the curtain, “What’s taking you so long?”

Yoongi moves fast as he tears off his own clothing, and you close the curtain so you don’t spot his body too quickly. Building suspense for yourself, you wet your hair under the warm water and feel your muscles relax after your long day of work. Although your eyes are closed, your ears are trained on Yoongi. He steps behind you, continuing his assault on your neck.

You sigh happily, but everything changes the minute Yoongi opens his mouth.

“Spread your legs, baby. I’ll hold you up.”

Instantly you feel your cunt clenching around nothing (unfortunately). You immediately allow Yoongi to guide your leg to the edge of the tub. He slides a finger in between your folds, collecting your wetness all while his lips trail kisses across your chest.

Finally you allow yourself to open your eyes, gasping at the image in front of you. Yoongi’s body is as rosy as his cheeks, his knees on the bottom of the floor and his face level with your heat.

“Ah, now you open your eyes.” He smirks, and doesn’t give you much warning as he licks a long stripe from your heat to your clit. You instantly moan, tossing your head back and bracing yourself against the wall of the shower.

He moves ruthlessly, consuming you like a starved man. The feeling of him against you doesn’t compare to the imagine in front of you. His fingers reach between your folds and pump in and out of you while he continues to nip and suck mercilessly at your clit. He looks up at you through his lashes, and you swear you feel him smirk against you as he speeds up his thrusts and sucks as hard as he can.

“You look so good like this,” you moan, “your tongue feels so good.”

Yoongi pulls away to let out a groan, “Fuck.” His chest is heaving and he reaches a hand down to squeeze his shaft for a moment of relief, then he stands.

“Think you can hold your leg up for a moment, baby?” Yoongi instructs, laying a kiss on your forehead as you spot his hand pumping himself a few more times. You nod silently, allowing yourself to relish in his glistening skin as he runs the head of his cock over your slit. You appreciate his concern, and you know he’s going to take care of you after he’s finished ruining you. You couldn’t be more excited as Yoongi’s cock continues to slip over you.

For a moment you feel him enter, both of you gasping at the contact but just as quickly as he enters, he slips out.

“No,” you shake your head, “please no teasing. Fuck me.”

Yoongi gives you a devilish grin, his hand holding up your thigh once again as he finally begins to push into you. He takes pleasure in the way that your lips part with every inch that he pushes in. Yoongi was proud of his size, and your reaction further fuels his ego. Finally, he bottoms out and you’re rewarded with being filled to the hilt with nothing but Yoongi.

He moans your name in your air after you adjust to his size, beginning to thrust faster. “So... tight. Fuck.” He sinks his teeth into your collarbone, relishing in the feeling of your nails scratching into his back. He can’t bare to leave your cunt for more than a few seconds, because the way you clench tightly around him was the closest thing to Heaven on Earth that he’s ever experienced. Every one of his thrusts is meant with a rewarding moan from you, your juices coating his cock more and more and fueling his pleasure.

“Ah,” you moan, “Yoongi. So good.” Your brain was absolute mush. You couldn’t think of anything else but him.

“So good at taking my cock,” he laughs breathlessly, “I can’t believe how well you’re doing.”

You surrender yourself completely to Yoongi at his words, his encouragement pushing you closer to the edge. “I’m close.”

“Good girl, cum for me. Cream on my cock.” Yoongi praises, kissing your lips tenderly as you feel yourself clench tightly around him. White hot electric shocks rush through your body, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

He breaks the kiss with a bite to your bottom lip, “Take my cum. Take it- fuck fuck-” Yoongi’s cut off by his orgasm taking over, and you open just in time to see his jaw drop as he rides out both of your orgasms with increasingly slow thrusts until finally, he slips out, the feeling of his release dripping down your thighs.

He rests his forehead against yours, suddenly hyper aware of the water dripping down your bodies.

You lower your legs onto the floor, Yoongi holding you up while you struggle to regain your balance. The two of you giggle, sharing kisses for a moment as you both work off the pleasure.

You reach behind Yoongi, squeezing shampoo into your hands and massaging it through your scalp as Yoongi takes your soap across your body. It’s such a simple move, but even though you’ve already had sex he still is taking the time to take care of you. It’s endearing, and it fills you with hope for something more with Yoongi.

As you both finish the shower, you step out of the bath tub and reach for a towel.

“Oh, by the way, Yoongi?” You say as he runs a brush through your hair. You bite your lip to hold back a giggle as he stops, “Yes baby?”

“I still tasted coffee.”

Yoongi laughs, “God damn it.”

#midway through this i lost everything and had to start over lmao #that was a fun journey but bc i could actually sit and write i wanted to get something out for y'all #ty for reading!!#min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #bts #yoongi x reader fluff #yoongi x reader smut #yoongi x you smut #suga x reader #suga x you

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oddshelbyout · 4 years

Text

Dance With Me // John Shelby X Fem!Reader

Summary: Your childhood friend John promises you a dance at the pub you work at but he disappears. You spend the night worried about him until he shows up at your door, wounded.

Warnings: Swearing, Drinking, Description of wound (slightly graphic), Blood

Word Count: 2304

Author’s Note:

I decided I wanna write for John more so here is another one. I liked the idea but I’m not sure how it turned out, some parts can be a little too vague and rushed. I still hope you’ll enjoy it!

English is not my first language and I’m not always confident about my work so please let me know if I make any mistakes or anything I can fix in my writing.

You can ask to be added to my taglist. You can be tagged to works on a specific character or just any of my works. Please dm me or send your wish to my ask box if you’d like to be added.

Requests are open. You can request any Peaky Blinders related imagines or prompts for me to write. I’m a minor so I don’t take NSFW requests, please keep that in mind.

———————

Friday nights were always the busiest at the pub you worked at. You were busy filling up pints. You were also bopping your head to the song the pretty lady on top of the chair was singing.

It was a joyful night, everyone was singing and you loved Friday nights for that. You left the bar and started wiping the tables. The tables were sticky from all the spilled drinks, as usual.

As you were minding your business, enjoying the next song that lady was singing, everyone just shut up. The pub went all quiet. You heard the door close and you looked up. There stood John Shelby.

“Go ahead people, continue.” he said and people started singing again. You left the cloth you wiped the tables with on a table and ran to John. You threw yourself in his arms.

“I haven’t seen you in weeks! Where have you been?” you asked. If anyone else asked him that, he would be furious but it was you. You grew up together, you were basically a Shelby and he thought you were the only one worth telling where he was.

“Had some business in London.” he said, he held your hand and dragged you to a table. He sat down and put his tab of cigarettes on the table.

“I’m working.” you smiled. He just turned to your boss and said “She’s taking a break.” you chuckled, sat down to the chair beside him.

“I’d rather you work in one of our pubs.” he told you, the only thing you did was roll your eyes. “I’m good here, thanks though.” you said a moment later, just to fill the uncomfortable silence between you.

“So you were in London for almost 3 weeks?” John nodded to your question, that was unusual. He usually never stayed in London for that long, “It should be serious then.” you said and he nodded again.

“Is something wrong? You’re a little too silent.” you asked. “Uh no, I actually wanted to ask you if you’d like to dance.” John smiled. You didn’t know if he genuinely wanted to dance or if he just didn’t want to talk about what he did in London.

“No, I’m at work!” you said, he smiled. He wasn’t going to let you go without a dance. “Come on Y/N!” he encouraged you. You would love to dance with him but not at work.

“My shift ends in half an hour, what if we dance then?” you ask, John looks happy to hear that. He looked at his watch, he got on his feet. “I’ll be back in half an hour.” he promised and left the pub.

You got back to wiping the tables. The time passed quickly and you didn’t realise how fast. The music coming out of the record player replaced the lady’s voice, who seemed to leave.

You dropped the dirty cloth into the bucket of water. You looked around the pub and then the clock on the wall. John hadn’t came, it’s been more than half an hour.

“Is it okay if I leave?” you asked your boss. The pub wasn’t as crowded as it was earlier and it was obvious he could manage on his own.

“See you tomorrow Y/N!” he shouted behind you, “Good night.” you shouted back before opening the door. You walked down the dark alleys of the city, your steps were slow. You weren’t afraid of the dark nights of Birmingham, you knew how to protect yourself well.

When you finally got to your home, all you wanted to do was go to sleep but your mind was busy with John. Not showing up was nothing like him. He had never stood you up. If he said he’d show up and dance with you, he was going to. You could feel something was wrong.

You just changed into your night dress and went to bed immediately. You lied in your bed, closed your eyes but you couldn’t sleep. Normally you wouldn’t be worried but this time was different.

You also really wanted to dance with him. You danced together a lot when you were younger, then both of you started seeing it as something more romantic. You were best friends, you didn’t want to seem romantic.

You couldn’t sleep. You wondered where John was but also you wondered the reason behind him offering that dance. That occupied your mind so much that sleep seemed impossible.

Was it because he didn’t want to talk about London like you assumed or was it because he wanted to dance with you like you hoped? You didn’t know how long you have been trying to go to sleep either.

Your tired body started giving up and your loud thoughts faded. You were finally falling to sleep and you would if someone didn’t knock on your door.

Your eyes opened wide, you jumped out of your bed. John didn’t show up like he promised you and spent 3 weeks in London for ‘business’ so you just assumed you were in trouble.

It wouldn’t be the first time you were on a kill list because you were so close to the Shelbys. You took your paper knife from the desk in your room, it was your best choice as a weapon at that moment.

You held the knife tight and stood behind the door. “Who is it?” you said, ready to stab whoever was behind your door. “Y/N just open up!” you heard John say, he sounded like he was trying to speak with his teeth clenched.

“Thank God!” you dropped the knife on the floor and opened the door. What you saw behind the door made you take the thanks back. John stood still, blood dripping behind his white shirt. His jacket was missing and he had no gun on him.

“What the fuck happened?” you asked, you pulled him in. You shut the door and made him sit on the floor, he was losing so much blood that he was dizzy and couldn’t stand up properly.

“You fucker!” you shouted at him, John looked at you not getting why you were angry at him. He was shot on his left arm, the bullet missed his heart with only a few centimeters.

“Just take this bullet out now!” John shouted, “Don’t you have a whole family who can do that better than me?” you asked in horror. “Just do it!” he shouted back.

You ran to the living room, grabbed the single bottle of vodka you had. You handed the bottle to John but he drank it instead of showering his wound with it.

“That’s not why I gave it to you!” you shouted at him. You were sure the neighbours were going to complain a lot. You took the bottle back as soon as he finished his sip.

You sat down on your knees. You took the paper knife again, first cut the sleeves of his shirt and then poured the vodka on. “Don’t waste it, I need it!” John told you. You just chuckled and carefully put the knife on his skin.

“Yeah, drinking is more important.” you complained while you tried to dig the knife under the bullet. John screamed in pain, “I thought you were tougher than that.” you laughed.

“Shut up!” he shouted back, scrunching his face from the pain. You finally pushed the bullet out, piled the cut sleeve into a ball and started pushing it on the open wound.

You took a sip from the vodka, “I thought it wasn’t to drink.” John mumbled while still being obviously in pain. “I need it because you showed up wounded in the middle of the night and stood me up earlier.” you said and John’s face just relaxed.

“You waited for me?” he asked simply, you hated that he had the balls to ask that. You ignored the question, “You should’ve gone to Polly, I’m sure she would be better at taking it out.” John squinted his eyes.

“No I couldn’t, nobody can know I fucked up.” he said, you knew what he was talking about. He fucked the ‘business’ up with whatever he did in London. “And couldn’t let the kids see me like this.” how could you forget about John’s kids, apparently they were with Polly when he was in London.

John took the ball of shirt from you and started pushing it himself. “If you did something wrong, they’ll know sooner or later.” you said, almost pitying him. You knew very well how an angry Tommy Shelby behaved.

“I’ll tell them, just not like this.” he said but that made you a little uneasy. “So why did you come here? To put me in danger too?” you asked, still bitter about the dance.

“No because I wanted to apologise.” you took your gaze away from him. “For what?” you asked like you didn’t know. “For not being there to dance.” he said, you looked back at him.

“I thought we didn’t dance, friends don’t dance like that, remember?” you asked, trying him and searching for the answer you hoped for.

“You were willing to dance when I asked you at the pub.” you nodded, had nothing to say. “And also for not keeping my promise, you were probably worried.” he confessed, you once again nodded. “Obviously I was right to be worried.” you pointed at his left arm.

He laughed, you assumed the pain had faded. “I’m sorry Y/N.” he apologised sincerely, his impression said it all. “It’s okay, you never stood me up.” you sounded sad.

John took a deep breath, “Dance with me.” he said. You were surprised to get that offer at that exact moment. “What?” you asked, he tried to stand up but he felt too weak to do so.

“Dance with me like you promised me, I came all the way here.” he said smiling softly. “You came here because you were shot.” you answered, “So you’re not gonna dance with me?” you copied his smile and helped you get up.

“My record player is broken though.” you said while walking him to the living room in your arm. You looked down to the floor worrying about the carpets. All of your carpets now had blood stains on but it didn’t matter. One of the things Shelbys thought you was how to take blood stains off, you were in luck.

“We’ll dance without music then.” he said, he stopped pushing on his arm even though it was still bleeding. He wrapped his arms around you even though it caused him pain.

You started looking deep into his green eyes, they hadn’t changed a bit since the day you first met him. Neither of you were over the age of 10, kids playing together, sharing anything. Your parents passed away and your aunt who was your guardian was absent. You grew inside the Shelbys and that was the best thing that happened to you.

Looking deep into his eyes made you remember the day he married Martha and how happy he was. You saw the same happiness in his eyes that day. “Are you happy?” you asked him, totally unintentionally.

“I am when I’m with you.” he said and started whistling a tune. He kept whistling and you moved your body in sync with his.

“John Shelby, do you love me?” you asked and he stopped whistling. He didn’t stop dancing though. “Is that even a question?” he asked and you thought he didn’t get the exact question.

“But do you love me?” you let your arms go, you stopped dancing and stood before him like a statue. “I do.” he said, you weren’t convinced. Your brain just couldn’t accept that your love wasn’t unrequited.

“Do you love me like you loved Martha?” you asked, he licked his lips and blinked. “Maybe even more.” he confessed, your knees got weak.

You looked on your right arm, it had stains of blood from John’s wound. You still weren’t convinced that he loved you back. You thought best friends could be the only thing you’ll ever be.

“What took you so long.” you swallowed, you should’ve been happy but you weren’t. You’d rather not learn about his feelings this way. You would rather learn it at a time when he wasn’t wounded and came to you for it.

“Denial.” he said, “I didn’t believe we could be anything other than friends.” he confessed. Hearing that made you smile, you didn’t even realise you were smiling until he copied yours.

“So what now?” Do I let you kiss me?” you raised your eyebrows and asked. “Yes and maybe more?” he divided his lips like he was asking for the kiss.

“I just took a bullet out of you!” you exclaimed, “That never stopped me!” he replied back. You laughed, “Fucking hell!” you gave up and pushed your lips on his.

This was surprisingly your first kiss with him. As teenagers you two had debated if you should try kissing but that seemed too dangerous for both of you. Neither of you wanted to risk your friendship.

What made you risk your friendship at that moment was a mystery. You didn’t think a moment about that because after that one moment of shock, you were finally happy to get that confession.

His lips were better than what you imagined. They were soft even though they looked rough and chapped. His lips were cold most likely because of all the blood he lost.

You parted from him to take a breath and slipped an “I love you.” before you kissed him again. Knowing he wanted more, you didn’t care about his wound and pushed him on the couch. You knew exactly what he wanted and you would give it to him.

#john shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders x reader #john shelby fanfic #john shelby oneshot #john shelby x reader #john shelby x you #john shelby x y/n #john shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #joe cole

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