#for those bewildered by bambi

[freeuselandonorris]

top 5 pieces of bambi inspo 🎤

jfsdjjkfd couldn't look directly at this one yesterday it was like staring directly into the sun

okay deep breaths. (original posts are linked under the gifs but i'm not tagging the makers because i'm sure half of them have no interest in my unhinged bimbo lando thoughts)

1. this whole gifset from grill the grid makes me INSANE - this is my favourite bambi moment of all. absolutely nothing going on behind the eyes, brain is just the spinning beachball of death, tongue moving, mouth open, learned helplessness kicking straight in

2. festive finger sucking - the combination of the blank stare into the middle distance, being COVERED in cream and chocolate sauce (irl this level of stickiness would give me anxiety but i appreciate the bambi metaphor potential) and the way he's practically deep throating his own fingers? god tier

3. from mclaren unboxed - he's soooo pretty but there are no thoughts happening here, slow blink, slightly parted lips, head tilt ✅✅✅

4. when he forgot jesus' name - fun fact, i affectionately tagged this "is it still dumbification if he starts out this thick?" way before i ever saw the hypno fic prompt and bimbo lando ate my brain. it was percolating!!

5. and a photo to finish - this is his bambi sleep trigger phrase where the bambi personality has been triggered and he's docilely waiting for commands TO ME

[ikarakie]

the first time wayne meets steve is actually far before the events of '86. in fact, it's in winter of '85.

he's on his way back from work when he pops a tire. he's pissed off, it's cold, still dark, and the beginnings of fucking snow are falling around him, and he doesn't have a spare. the nearest payphone is probably three miles walk, and he's just readying himself to make the journey when, miraculously, a pair of headlights turn onto the back road.

the car slows to a stop behind wayne's, and he's struck by how fucking nice it is. a brown bmw 733i, one he thinks he's seen around a couple times. when the driver steps out, he realises that, yes, he has seen this car. because the boy behind the wheel is the harrington boy, and wayne curses every god out there.

he expects some snark. a good attitude and for the kid to make him grovel for help or outright deny any assistance. instead, he approaches with these wide bambi eyes, the absolute picture of concern.

"are you alright, sir?" he asks, perfectly polite. wayne huffs.

"popped a tire, ain't got a spare." he doesn't- doesn't know why he's telling him. really doesn't. but something about the kid makes him falter, makes his steely exterior give way ever so slightly. the boy crouches down to the tire in question, frowning as he inspects it. then nods, grinning. he says nothing to wayne as he heads back to his car, and for moment he thinks the kid's gonna leave him in the dirt. but, instead, he pops the trunk and hauls out a spare, rolls it over to the car.

wayne only watches, fascinated, as he jogs back to retrieve a little set of tools. sits his ass by his tire and starts going at it. he's in a thin, short sleeved tshirt and jeans. he must be fucking freezing- wayne is, and he's got a thick coat, gloves and a hat on.

"what're you doin', boy?" he asks, unable to sound anything but bewildered. the kid blinks at him.

"changing your tire, sir?"

"i ain't got anything to pay you back with." wayne warns, wary. the kid shrugs, continues his task.

"that's okay, i wasn't going to ask you to." he pulls the popped tire off and lays it by his side. "it's just a good thing we have the same size, huh?" he grins, a little shy. wayne has never felt so thrown off in his life.

was this really james and cynthia harrington's boy? would someone of those people's blood really sit in the cold to change a strangers tire? expecting nothing in return? "where's your layers, kid? it's cold as ass out here, you'll catch a chill."

"oh, i gave it to my friend." seriously? seriously? "i'm alright sir, not to worry." he says this despite his red cheeks and reddening knuckles.

he finishes fitting the tire a second or two later, and once he's inspected it, gives wayne an endearingly dorky thumbs up. it reminds him of eddie in all the best ways. "all done, sir!" he collects up all his tools and threads an arm through the hole of the tire, balancing it on his shoulder. "i'll take this for you, i have to drive by the junkyard anyways." he doesn't. wayne knows the harrington's live in loch nora, and that's the opposite goddamn direction.

"you really a harrington?" he asks, not missing the confusion and maybe even slight disappointment he's met with. "just- no offence, son, but i always thought they were nothin' but bad." he deflates even more, if possible. "how did they raise such a kind boy?"

it's such a sudden change, how quickly he's smiling, bright enough to light the damn road if he wanted. it's all bashful and excited, it makes wayne wonder if he's never heard a good word about himself in his life, which seems insane.

"i still got a bit of an asshole gene," he jokes, a little dry, "but i'm trying to be better, you know?" he motions to the tire. "if you can help, why shouldn't you?"

wayne wants to squeeze him, but refrains. thanks him a couple times over and forces the boy to take his hat before he goes, (despite his complaints). harrington bids him farewell and a safe drive home, and he's driving off before either realise they never learnt each other's names.

(wayne finds his out later, though, when eddie meets him at the door, worried that he's late. only after he's walked his nephew through the story three times and sworn up and down, yes, it was true, and yes, it was definitely harrington. steve harrington.

when they meet again after '86, in eddie's hospital room, that boy from all that time ago holding his nephew's hand, he does give him that hug. thanks him, for both this time and the last.

steve wears the hat in winter of '86. it makes wayne smile.)

[katyawriteswhump]

(You’re just) too good to be true 

For @astrangersummer week 3 prompts, flowers and/or hugs. Thanks to bananas and yesdanger on discord for the extra prompts to get me going. I have tried to get as many in as possible. 

Summary: Steve wakes up in hospital after everything is over and can’t quite believe how well everything has turned out…

Rating: T. WC: 1460   CW: None. Other tags: Steddie, platonic stobin, angst, sickfic, hurt/comfort, temporary amnesia, fix-it fic, everybody lives.

…

Steve flutters his eyes open and spies Robin sitting by his bed. Mascara streams down her face, and her hair’s a literal disaster zone.

“Steve! You’re awake!” She grabs his hand. “You’re gonna be okay. The doctor should be here any minute.”

Doctor!?! Where the heck am I?

His throat proves too dry for words. Robin garbles way too fast for him to understand and she’s wringing his fingers ever tighter.

If she’s touching me, I guess it can't be rabies.

His memory triggered, the shitshow slams back. First, the bats, the bites. Then everything that happened after, until they journeyed again into the Upside Down to try to kill Vecna.

Oh hold on, scratch that. 

To fail to kill Vecna.

Staring blankly through Robin, he fixates on the terrible parts. Eddie lying bloodied and dead in Dustin’s arms. Dustin sobbing his eyes out. Max was pretty much lost too, and Vecna was alive, gone to ground, and…

What happened next? Why am I in a hospital bed? Jesus, I was fine! 

There’s one of those IV thingies in his arm. He shivers though can’t tell if he’s cold or hot. The doctor arrives, jostles him, talks at him, shines lights in his eyes. He’s not in pain, but his brain is all woolly, and he’s confused and weak and lost.

He needs a hug more than ever in his life. Robin peeps at him over the doctor’s shoulder, bouncing like a spooked bunny-rabbit, then she’s gone.

It’s all too much.

He quits, sinking back into the darkness.

…

When Steve next pries an eyelid open, he spies Eddie breezing into the hospital room. Eddie joins Robin, who has moved to the window to pick at her nail polish.

Eddie is gone, which means… Oh, no, no, no, no, no! I’m dead too? Or dreaming?

His throat is achy and tight. He closes his eyes again, hot tears welling. More memories trickle back.

“Make him pay,” Eddie had said.

He recalls that last, lingering look between them. The one that slammed him like a freight train, because... Wtf? For some strange reason, that moment doesn’t feel like the end of a story anymore.

It feels like a beginning. Which is just dumb. 

Eddie is no more.

He peeps again, watching a dude who is very definitely Eddie pouring bottled water into a vase of flowers on the windowsill. Robin seizes the bottle from him: “What are you doing, shit-bird? Those are silk—his mom brought them. They don’t need water.”

“Riiiight.” Eddie pulls a silly face, which Steve finds freakish levels of adorable. Suddenly, he wants to crush Eddie to him, tell him that he’s insanely happy he’s here, even if this is some crazy dreamworld, and…

… he wants to shove his tongue into Eddie’s mouth and kiss him stupid.

Huh?

Steve licks dry lips. Most bewildering of all, he somehow knows how awesome kissing Eddie is. As if they’ve done it before.

More than once.

Eddie sneezes dramatically. “If those flowers are fake, I’m allergic to WASP chintz. Which checks out, I guess.”

Robin laughs, though it’s sad and nervy. He catches a glimpse of Eddie’s bambi eyes, and they’re anxious, haunted, too. Then Lucas and Max walk in.

MAX? She’s in a coma!

Steve’s head throbs miserably from trying to make sense of this mad place. 

He quits and drifts back to the darkness.

…

When he next peeps, Robin and Eleven are sitting by his bed, sharing a packet of cool ranch doritos. 

Which makes less sense than ANY OF IT.

Robin’s gotten real picky lately about sharing food. At least, with anybody but him. He’s vaguely pissed, because these two hardly know each other. The way they’re huddled on the same chair, like close buddies, suggests otherwise.

Yeah, he’s vaguely pissed. And kinda jealous. He sort of hates himself for being needy... but he really wants that hug. 

Then another memory flashes back. Some alien desert landscape, with Eleven blasting Vecna with everything she’s got. Eddie sprinting toward him—tailed by what looks like a medium-to-large demogorgon with at least a dozen extra flailing limbs—and Robin yelling, “Steve! El’s got this—help Eddie!”

He finally forces his eyes wide enough for them to see he’s watching. “R-Robin?” he croaks.

“Steve!” She leaps to her feet, nearly knocking El and the chair flying. “You’re really, actually awake this time? Please say yes.”

There’s noise and confusion. The doctor arrives again, checks Steve’s vitals, then bitches that there’s too many kids in the room: “It should be family only,” she says.

“We’re his family,” argues Robin. “His parents only come during official visiting hours.”

Robin is allowed to remain. She helps him sip water, and then he says, “Look, I think was dreaming earlier, or off my head on meds, because I saw you with Eddie, and I know that’s impossible, because…” He swallows hard, mumbles the hateful words: “He's gone, right?”

“Oh my God, you don’t remember?”

“Jesus, Robin! Remember what?”

“We won, Steve. Everyone lived. We even got Crissy back. Vecna’s the only one who’s history. If you hadn’t got hurt, it would’ve been the perfect revenge.”

This time, he manages to take more of her story in. He gets lost in the part where Robin and Dustin figure out time travel—some crazy shit about the proximity of alternate dimensions causing rumples in the space-time continuum. The rest of her tale unleashes a slew of badass memories that squish all the terrible ones into the dirt. Instead of Eddie being dead, he recalls…

“You and Eddie totally slayed this nasty-ass demo-squid-monster,” says Robin. “It got pretty intense, and when you survived, you had, like, an EPIC hug. Aaaand might’ve kissed. Then, later, you threw yourself at Eddie to save him from flying debris, then you rolled into a crater, and he wound up on top, and…”

Steve suddenly recalls that moment vividly. Eddie straddled his hips, and his own hands landed not entirely accidentally on Eddie’s butt. Once they’d gathered their breaths, Eddie leaned forward, swiped hair from his face, and whispered:

“About what you said to Wheeler. If you still want to win her back, that’s fine, I’ll back off, but… just so you know, six kids is cool with me, Stevie. Not like we need to adopt. When you’re around, they simply rock up.”

“So, yeah,” Robin says, ripping Steve from these mind-blowing revelations, “it took us half a dozen attempts to get things right. In the final boss-fight, it was just you, me, Eleven and Eddie. We were lost in the Upside Down for weeks, before we exploded Vecna into a billion disgusting pieces. Because you're you, you were closest, got caught in the blast. You lost a lot of blood, but all important appendages are still present and correct, including, um… any important appendages you were particularly worried about. Not that I’m saying you were, but… Ugh!” She facepalms. “This so isn’t where I meant to go with that.”

He faintly smirks. “You dug that hole, not me, Buckley.”

“No need to gloat. You’re gonna be fine. Everyone is going to be just fine.”

It’s still too much to take in. One question bugs him the most: “Eddie and me, erm… How far did we..?”

“I didn’t stand there and count the bases, Dingus! He’ll be back in five. Ask him. But, you know, there was talk of picking out rings, getting matching tats and—”

“You’re kidding?”

“A bit. Seriously, by the third week, you two seemed chill. Happy. I really hope you remember it all soon.”

He takes a beat. Warmth pools in his chest, because everything Robin says sure as heck feels true. He gives her hand a little pulse, and their fingers intertwine.

“Robin,” he says. “At the risk of sounding downbeat, it’s all a bit too perfect. I’m kinda worried I’m dead.”

“Oh! You’re really, really not. I’m all sticky and gross 'cos I was here all night, but… would a hug help?”

He nods, levers himself up a little, suppressing a wince at the effort. He wraps the arm unencumbered by the IV around her, and she awkwardly cuddles him. He rests his cheek on her bony shoulder, and breathes deeply, while she rubs juddering circles in his back.

She’s sweaty and clumsy and real.

“You’re not dead, I promise,” she whispers. “If you were, I’d be so mad with you, after all that effort to fix things. Besides, you still got hurt, and we were all out of time travel opportunities. Long story. Anyhow, it's been hell, till the doctors said you’d be okay, and even then… We’ve been so scared.”

Her trembling shakes through him. He tries not to sniffle, but he can't seem to help it. Everyone survived. Eddie’s alive. Eddie and he are…

His heart gives a crazy squeeze that says everything he needs to know.

“As soon as you’re out of here,” whispers Robin, “this summer is gonna be the best ever.”

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

[queenofthursday6599-blog]

Disney's centennial movie Wish is infuriating in every way as an artist.

Like the art direction legitimately pisses me off.

The 3d animation elements look bad, because it looks unfinished, because by modern 3d theatrical release standards it is unfinished.

2d animation might not have animation blur the way 3d does, but it does have stuff like smear frames, to help smooth out character movement, while also having different frame rates. So they really should have just used the motion blur, or gone further using 2d animation techniques the way spider-verse did.

The background looks like absolute shit at least 90% of the time, because they keep trying to pull off Sleeping Beauty's background vibe. Without actually trying to properly emulate the artstyle, while also trying to invoke the completely wrong medium for said style and vibe.

Why they tried to make the backgrounds look like they were done in watercolor is completely bewildering, because only 3 Disney animated films have actual full watercolor backgrounds. And none of them are Sleeping Beauty. They're Snow White, Dumbo, and Lilo & Stitch for those who're wondering.

[Pinocchio used a mix of watercolor & tempura paint/poster colors, so it's background paintings fall into mixed media paintings rather than watercolor paintings.]

Nearly all of the other background paintings for the old Disney movies from that era were done in gouache paints (Bambi wasn't, it was oil on glass because of it being shot using the multi-plane camera).

Which while able to get a watercolor kind of effect if properly used, could also be built and layered in a way watercolor can't, along with able to be made completely opaque, and thus create more depth.

These are watercolor backgrounds (lilo and stitch):

These are gouache backgrounds (sleeping beauty):

Please take note the considerable amount of literal pitch black in the gouache painted backgrounds, and it's complete absence in the watercolor backgrounds.

You just can't get that deep black using watercolors, because watercolor paint is translucent so the color of the paper it's painted on always shines through the paint to some degree.

If Wish really wanted to look like the old classic Disney movie, it should have gone for a gouache paint style instead.

Except it didn't, it wanted to look like an old story book.

Except not really, because the "old story book style" is done by way of relief printing, and the background doesn't look anything like that either. Because that artstyle also uses a considerable amount of black.

Which Wish's art direction seemed terrified to use due to stubbornly sticking to the "watercolor" background art style, even though the backgrounds don't look anything like a properly composed watercolor paintings.

And I have to stop here because I'm getting a rage headache because I'm on my cycle.

[therealityhelix]

By Talos, This Can’t be Happening pt 15

It’s Tamriel Tuesday! A distant tragedy, that has long-reaching effects.

Rated PG13 for: Blood, violence, sexual situations, bad puns, and other poor life choices.

@cardwrecks @captainbaddecisions

                                                  ?~?~?~?~?

People scurried to and fro in the streets, greeting each other quietly, embracing, rushing back to their homes. An atmosphere of hushed anxiety hung over the city. Something had happened while he was inside the Fire and Steel, but people merely hurried past him, paying no attention to the stranger in the street. The area around the Great Oak had cleared out, and he hastened into the mages guild.

Every mage in the guild, as well as several guests were all gathered around Teekeeus, who held open a bulletin, reading aloud.

“-Emperor's murder, and the murder of his three sons, is a terrible crime, and a great tragedy for the Empire. Battlemage Ocato assures us that all the resources of the Elder Council, the Legions, the Guard, the Arcane University, and the Imperial Battle College are being employed to bring the assassins to justice. But, in the meantime, the greatest tribute we citizens can offer to the memory of our beloved Emperor is to go earnestly and diligently about our daily affairs, honoring the life of the great Empire he loved so much, and served so faithfully for so long.”

Oh. That sounded...kinda bad.

“Stendarr's mercy...” Alberic whispered. “What are we going to do? The Dragonfires...who will...”

“May Arkay guard their tomb.” Teekeeus rumbled. “We must go on. We may be called upon at any time.”

Everyone looked shocked, distressed. But Helix...Helix looked absolutely bewildered. Swag sidled up next to her, took her hand.

“Hey.” he said quietly. “Lets go downstairs and talk, alright?”

Helix nodded.

“Yes.” Teekeeus said. “Everybody...take these moments with those close to you. I am closing the guild to visitors for the day.”

Swag led Helix downstairs, sat her down next to her alchemical experimentations. She was shocked near silence, consternation carved between her eyebrows.

“Talk to me, Starlight. This is something big, isn't it? Bigger than maybe they know?”

“It's...the Emperor is dead.”

“I gathered.”

“Uriel Septim the seventh has been assassinated.”

“Okay. Real sad. Tragic. Is that gonna cause us any problems?”

“I-I don't know how this could have happened.”

“Babe, anyone can die. I didn't know you cared.”

“No! It's...”

She gestured, spinning her hands in confusion.

“When I was here before...Uriel Septim had been dead for two hundred years.”

He leaned back, trying to figure that out.

“You mean we're in the past?”

“I don't know! You know, not all worlds are contemporary. They don't always line up. I mean, Bambi's world is almost twenty years behind yours. Verdancy is only eight years old. It doesn't even have a calendar. If this world really forgot me...We could have been dropped in at any time, and it would only be the 'present'. But I read about this. This assassination is hugely significant, but it's been so long, I can't remember exactly what it was. A major war, I think. I didn't read the whole book, I should have read the whole book...”

“You didn't know it was gonna ever be important. I mean, two hundred years?” Swag swung his hand in a circle. “It would be like watching the White House burn and lamenting that you hadn't studied the War of Eighteen-Twelve enough to know it was gonna happen. When was it ever gonna come up?”

“Maybe more like just now learning about atomic weapons because you never finished a book on world war two.”

“Happened on your world too?”

“Nope. Well, the war definitely did, but the atomic weapon thing didn't. We were only in the earliest stages of understanding nuclear energy when I was young. I'm talking like, the radium paint stage. The things you can do...with your cellphones, and satellites, and computers? That looks like magic to me.”

“It that why you text so shitty?” he teased. She rolled her eyes.

“There's not even any buttons!” she protested. “You live in a cyberpunk dystopia!”

“Sure do! But, seriously, do we need to run?”

Helix shook her head.

“There's nowhere to go. This thing spreads out over the whole continent. It wasn't a war of succession, it was something else, some kind of invasion. I really should remember this. Something that was biding its time. Why don't I remember?”

“Don't worry about it.” Swag shrugged. “We'll find out eventually.”

“That's what I'm worried about.”

He looped an arm around her shoulders and she huddled against his side.

“So we navigate this together. Just like everyone else is gonna have to. Grab up whatever spells you can, and me, I got some armor on order. We just try to make ourselves as safe as possible. Oh, did I tell you? I saw the best armor while I was out. It was green and shiny. I want it.”

“Oh, glass? Of course you do, you magpie! Have to trawl around in the ruins though. That stuff don't come cheap.”

“So I hear. Well, there's a lot of adventurers around town right now. Maybe we could get some advice. Not this moment though, I think everyone's taking an evening to themselves, and I think we should too.”

“I think you're right.”

She retrieved a small vial of pale oil from where it was distilling, swirling it around in the light.

“Lavender oil.” she said. “Would you go get us some food?”

“Sure thing.”

He opted for more simple finger foods, taking a guess at what she had in mind, though he nearly tripped over Teekeeus in the process.

The lizardman looked a bit rough, at least as far as Swag could tell. Argonian expression was  something of a mystery to him, but the slumped shoulders were readable in any body language. The normally bright patches of neon green around his eyes were pale. Even his horns seemed to be drooping a bit.

“Oh.” he rumbled. “You are still here.”

“Should I be gone?” Swag asked, still holding up the plate. Surely he hadn't run out his welcome already.

“No, I mean...No one would blame you if the two of you sought to return to Skyrim. Or High Rock. To be with family.”

“Ah. Well, lemmie be straight wit'chu then. We don't have any. It's just us against the world.”

And how!

“Wherever you lay your head is home? It's a terrible kind of freedom, isn't it?”

The weary Argonian seemed a little different in that moment. For all his cushy job and strict attitude, he hadn't always been here, had he? Helix had thought they were rare in the Empire, and why might that be?

Helix hadn't mentioned prejudices, but why should she have to? People were people everywhere, and Swag didn't have the same optimistic outlook about them as Helix did.

“It's not ideal, no. But we've lived like this for some time.”

Helix, a multiversal nomad. Himself, setting up little rat's nests all over the city. Eventually settling down into something that pretended to be routine, only to have it all ripped away, if only temporarily.

It had to be temporarily.

Helix would get herself around to all the cities she needed to. She would get them into the University. And she would find what they needed to get home.

All while there was a major war going on. While an empire was in the throes of a huge political upheaval.

Shit.

“You may be better suited to survive the next little while than the rest of us then. But do remember; while you are here, you are one of us. We will not abandon you. But we expect the same treatment, to the best of your ability.”

“That is...incredibly fair.”

It really was. Helix might fit in just fine, but he was no mage, and no warrior. He was kinda dead weight, if he was to be brutally honest about it, but he didn't want to think about that for too long. Helix would deny it up and down, and she would never even entertain the thought of leaving him behind. It was good to know these folks might feel the same.

Maybe people weren't always what he expected them to be.

“Go on.” Teekeeus waved him away with his russet claws. “She awaits, no doubt. Tell her I wish to see her potions tomorrow. Make things feel...normal.”

“Gotcha, boss.”

Man he was taking this hard, wasn't he? Maybe Swag should pretend to actually care, if people loved this dead emperor so much. He did not want to become a target for other people's grief-anger.

He snagged a jug of water on the way back downstairs, past Angalmo, a very tall elf who didn't even take a moment from staring despondently out a window in order to acknowledge him, down into the cellar.

Helix had a new solution distilling, and the lanterns draped with thin cloth, dimming the light.

Their clothes must have come back from the cleaners, because she was wearing his purple shirt and...next to nothing else.

He took a deep breath, and set the food down on a small table.

“Sure you wanna eat first?”

She nodded once, all kinds of hunger in her eyes, so he brought the plate over to the bed and cuddled up with her on top of the blankets. There they traded bits of fruit and kisses, until some slight little nagging curiosity broke his silence.

“What are we gonna do if we can't get back home?”

“We will.” she insisted.

“I know, but what if we can't?”

He plucked a salad tomato from the plate and popped it into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully.

“You and I have both built new lives before. We can do it again. We both have skills that are useful in this world.”

He gave her a Look.

“I call bullshit. I'm a drag on you and we both know it.”

“You're not! Maybe you aren't much of an adventurer, but that's just because you purposefully buried or excised most of the parts of you that had any adventurer experience. For, you know, Reasons.”

He wasn't sure he'd call being a homicidal terrorist 'adventuring experience', but...actually, maybe it wasn't all that different. Crawling around in weird places, always on the move, making contacts, making enemies, bashing things in the head, annoying the shit out of local authorities...Yeah, okay she had a point.

“If it became clear that there is no way out, we could easily settle down basically anywhere. I'm an herbalist, I can make potions and medicine, I can heal people and animals. I even know a bit of midwifery. That knowledge is valued literally everywhere. There is no city or settlement that would refuse someone with those skills.

And you know how to do so many different things! Beyond your incredible sewing and styling skills, or being a fashion influencer, you also know how to run a successful business. You get the logistics, the strategy, you know finance, you understand economics. That's why you handle the money. You know how. I look at numbers, and they tell me to go fuck myself. You look at numbers and they dance for you. You're charming, you have presence, and you know how to work people. You're a genius, and it still shows. So I think, whatever happens, we'll be okay.”

He squirmed under the compliments, unreasonably pleased. Of course, he knew all of those things, but damn if they didn't become somehow more real coming from someone else.

“Now why don't you let me get some of that stress out of you? Get out of those clothes.”

He growled playfully.

“You're so forward! You too. Although, you look cute in that shirt. Who's your tailor?”

Actually, his shirt fit her very poorly. It was too long at the hemline and cuffs, too tight around her upper arms, and would never be able to close over her breasts. But that wasn't the point. The point was that it was his shirt, and she was wearing it.

“Oh, just some guy!” she laughed, retrieving the little vial of lavender oil she'd showed him earlier. “This first.”

“Some genius, you mean. You just said it, too late to take it back!” He stripped out of the nice new clothing pretty easily, but he drew it out once he noticed how her eyes lingered on him. He knew he cut a good figure for the body type he had, and he did everything possible to keep it that way.

Considering the amount of damage that body had taken over the years, it was as much a matter of health as it was vanity.

He slid back into bed as she shucked his ill-fitting shirt, and she shoved him over onto his stomach, straddling his rear.

“Okay.” he said, amused.

It was always a little funny when she got physically rough with him, considering what she could usually do with her magic. All the amazing, terrifying, sexy things she could do with her magic.

Total spacial control. Think about it.

She drizzled the oil onto his back, its clean floral scent floating through the room, and spread it over his skin with warm, slightly rough hands. Helix was a clumsy masseuse, but she put her whole body into it, and she didn't need to be a professional for her touch to be soothing.

There was something better about knowing they could get by. Even if they were stuck forever, as awful as that would be, she was right. They had both rebuilt themselves from the ground up before, and as hard as it was, they could do it again. It was all about survival. They were good at survival.

And this time, they wouldn't even be alone. He would follow her lead, and she would never leave him behind.

Her lips brushed up his neck, into the short hairs at the base of his head, drawing out a delicious shiver. Now was the time to forget about things.

He flipped over beneath her, spreading her oiled hands out over his narrow chest. Then he grasped her by the hips, and they went to town.

                                             ?~?~?~?~?

[thirstyforbishiesimagines]

Anonymous said: Are you taking requests? I recently downloaded the game and am loving every bit of it. Ah! I was wondering if you could a nsfw scene between Y/N and Zion. Based on the text messages shower between the two, it seems he walks in on her getting dressed after the shower because he heard a thud amd couldn't get a response. Is it possible to do a nsfw scene where she is still in the shower when he barges in?If not, no worries!! Thank you!!

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Hi Anon, I replied to your msg a while ago. I hope you enjoy this spicy little piece inspired by the shower messages 🌶 😘 Let your imagination run wild 😏

x bambi

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Shower Room - Zion x Reader

* image from LucyDreams, Dangerous Fellows

Word Count: 637

NSFW

Warning: Smut . Profanity (18+)

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THUD!

“Y/N?” Zion whipped his head towards the door. “Shit!” The worst-case scenario instantly popped into his mind. What if you were in danger? What if one of those things were hiding in the shower room?

Without hesitation, Zion burst through the door, ready to take on the undead, only to find you standing there with nothing but your cotton underwear on and a horrified look on your face.

HOW COULD HE?! HE SAID HE WOULDN’T PEEK!

Just as you were about to bawl at him, Zion scrambled towards you in a panic, tripping over his feet before pining you down between the wall and himself. 

“Shhh!” He hissed. You felt his warm breath fan the skin of your lips.

Red-faced and mortified, you screamed. “ZION, GET OFF -”

Hot, supple lips silenced your outburst as the redhead kissed you.

Bewildered, you stared at each other, taken aback by this sudden act of intimacy. If you weren’t so thrown off by the situation, you would have enjoyed your first kiss with him. After all, you did like him, and you knew deep down he liked you too.

There was always flirting between you and Zion.

Always banter during night patrols… and that hint of sexual tension.

Zion pulled away abruptly, flustered and waving his hands in front of you as he began to ramble nervously. “Wait! It’s not what you think! I heard something in here and thought you were in danger, and then you were about to -”

Does he ever shut up?

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a passionate kiss. You felt Zion’s body tense for a moment before melting against your lips as he slipped his tongue into your mouth to deepen your embrace.

“Pervert…”

Breaking away from his lips, you dragged him down to sit on the bench below. Flushed and dishevelled, Zion watched you eagerly. A flare of desire burning within his gaze, anticipating your next move. You drank in the sight of this gorgeous man. Biting your bottom lip as you eyed the sizeable bulge beneath his trousers. The outline of his cock left nothing to the imagination. It was glorious, delectable, and you couldn’t wait for his length to fill you whole. 

“You just wanted to see me naked, didn’t you?” You teased as you climbed onto his lap. Purring blissfully, you began to roll your hips, feeling your arousal dampen the fabric of his pants. Zion hissed through gritted teeth, pleasure flooding through his entirety. He gazed at you longingly, running his fingers through your hair before kissing you once more. Your tongues danced salaciously, saliva bridging between each kiss as you continued to grind over his cock. His free hand caressed your side, squeezing at every curve. 

“I swear that wasn’t my intention,” Zion murmured as he held your body down, halting your movements. He began to unzip his pants, freeing his dick from its confines. “But I wasn’t expecting it to turn out like this either.”

A lustful moan escapes your lips as Zion’s cock rested against your sex - erect and strong. Delicious pre-cum trailing down every pulsating vein of his length.

Zion cupped his hand to your cheek, caressing your skin ever so gently. You were captivated by the intensity of his fiery gaze. “I want you, (Y/N).”

Seduction evident in your smile, you stood up from Zion’s lap and turned away from him, hinging forward at the hip. You slid your underwear down your thighs, displaying a glistening view of your cunt before your newfound lover. You could hear the sound of skin slapping along with grunts and growls, knowing full well what he was doing.

With two fingers, you massaged your pussy lips before spreading them apart, mewling lewdly.

“Then fuck me, Zion.”

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A/N: What can I say? I like my MC’s more horny and forward 😏🤷🏻‍♀️😆

x bambi

[jeonqquk]

racket | jjk

↳pairing: jungkook x reader ↳genre/tags: badmintonplayer!jungkook and badmintonplayer!reader, barely any badminton related stuff, rushed asf, accidental confession-?, they dont even kiss wtf ↳rating: everyone <3 ↳wc: 6k

Jeon Jungkook was capable of being the eighth wonder of the world. He may not have come into existence in the 1700s but his ability to do almost everything perfectly was bewildering. Whether it be eating an entire cake in the span of a half-hour or defeating even the coaches at badminton. 

Everybody loved Jungkook, his sweet and caring nature paired with those godly features attracted everyone to him- in many ways. Unfortunately, you weren’t part of the everybody lot. 

You hated Jungkook. Absolutely despised his abhorrent ass. So much so that if he were the last person alive, you’d even kill yourself just to stay away from him. But that was highly unlikely, so you weren’t going to kill yourself. 

The hatred had just always been there, his competitive side seeming fucking atrocious to you. The feeling was mutual, though, so you didn’t feel as guilty as you would’ve if you just detested him while he behaved politely with you.

Jungkook was petty, even you knew that by now. His competitiveness always getting the better of him and turning him into someone with a completely different persona. Losing was not something he was used to. Maybe that’s why he had only a handful of friends, he would do anything to win. It could be a silly bet or even a tournament- Jungkook just had to win.

All the people he was friends with though, their relationship was beautiful. There were only 4 or 5 boys he actually got along with and their adoration for each other could be seen by anybody. 

This wouldn’t have been a problem if you weren’t also as competitive as him. You’re technically in no position to say that Jungkook’s hatred towards losing was unhealthy because you hated it too. You thought it made you seem weak, incapable- and you supposed that it was the same reason as to why the youngest Jeon son hated losing as well but you never tried understanding him. Let alone let him speak for a minute if he was in a 10-foot-radius of you. 

It was better this way, you thought. It was better to hate him than actually trying to befriend him and catching those unwanted feelings. Hating Jungkook was simpler, easier. Or so you thought for the 10 years of the two of you attending the same badminton academy. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the two of you were in the same class at college as well. So you had to deal with his annoying self for the larger part of the day. 

It was around a month before the annual badminton tournament of your state and obviously, you and Jungkook were taking part in it, more intent on defeating each other rather than the opposing teams. This wouldn’t work though, your coach had called the two of you after practice one day and had said “Listen, Jungkook, Y/n. I know that you’re both really good players and also hate each other.” he sighs, “I’m not asking you to befriend each other, no. I just want the two of you to get along for the tournament. For the sake of our school.” The coach makes a pleading face and you just nod, looking over at Jungkook to see his reaction. He hums and looks down. 

After the coach has walked away, you look at Jungkook again, getting ready to tell him that this wasn’t really going to affect the way you behaved with him but he beats you to it, his voice reaching your ears as your lips stay parted midway.

“So, I guess...no more arguing?” Jungkook finally looks at you with a slightly questioning face and you’re left momentarily blank, his proposition seeming so out of character that you’re at a loss for words. This wasn’t expected out of Jungkook. What was expected was that he would just scoff before glaring at you for no reason and stalking away. Him asking you if you wanted to stop the childish arguments the two of you had was not expected. 

It takes you a minute to comprehend that Jeon Jungkook was actually trying to put an end to those mini-wars of yours. Your reply is dumb “Uh- okay.” You’re still in a daze from what he said and it’s only when he snaps his fingers in front of your face that you immediately want to spit out a sassy remark but bite your tongue on it, not wanting to disregard Jungkook’s suggestion just after seconds of it having come out of those pink lips of his.

Not knowing what to do, you nod and turn around to get into the locker rooms before heading home. You’re oblivious to the fact that Jungkook almost called your name, wanting to talk to you more, he didn’t know why, but decided against it. You wouldn’t accept the offer anyway.

The walk back to your house is quiet, you’re humming a random tune and there aren’t many vehicles on the road, except for school buses dropping kids home. Unlocking the door, you step into your house and close it behind you before keeping your bag in your room and changing out of your clothes. After all that is done, you check the time and see that it’s 3:18 pm, you have around 2 hours before badminton coaching and suddenly feeling motivated, you heat up some leftover pizza and walk into your room to paint something. 

You may not be good at art, you admitted that without any shame because there were a lot of other things you could perform flawlessly. Playing badminton, whining and being able to smell any fried food from miles away to name a few. But you didn’t want to do art because you’d get good at it or something, it was something you genuinely enjoyed and the comments from other people didn’t matter as long as you were satisfied with yourself. And that meant your circles not looking  like amoeba.

You take out a drawing book that had been laying in the third drawer of your desk for months and dig up some paintbrushes and watercolour tubes you had left before sitting at your desk to finally start your work. You let your fingers guide you, not thinking much about what you were doing and what the outcome would be. Occasionally dusting your hands from the pizza crumbs, you were quite focused on your work.

30 minutes later, you’re leaning back in your chair and surveying your painting. Woah, it looks pretty-

Wait is that fucking Jungkook you see? “Huh?” your forehead is creased in perplexity, did you just paint a goddamn Jungkook? It looks like Jungkook, though...the bambi eyes and that tiny pout on his lips. How did you-

You were so confused right now. What were you thinking? Well, you obviously weren’t thinking.

Wow. Apparently, you had drawn Jungkook, your sworn enemy, without knowing. Not knowing what to do with the average portrait that didn’t do any justice to his actual features, you quickly clean up your stuff and keep it all back in its respective drawers. 

It’s now 4 and you get out your books to get some homework done before leaving for coaching. Ugh. You’d have to see Jungkook there too. You wonder how he’ll behave with you, hopefully, he won’t come anywhere near you. 

Sighing as you finish the assignments before stretching back in your chair, you get up to change into your sports clothes before grabbing your bag and water bottle, looking at yourself once in the mirror before walking out towards the pleasantly close by badminton academy you had grown way too accustomed to. 

Upon reaching the building, you walk through the reception and smile at the elderly lady who sits there every day. You push the door that leads to the courts and walk on the side, greeting your friends that were warming up. You don’t see Jungkook anywhere right now so that’s a good sign and you bow slightly at your coach in respect although the many years of being taught by the man have obviously gotten the two of you very close. Your bag is kept near a bench in its usual place and you put on the shoes you could wear only on the badminton courts before picking a corner on the side of the court and begin stretching. 

You’re walking to get your racquet when you see Jungkook jogging up to your coach, saying something to him with an apologetic look before getting a  playful shove from sir as he nods towards the benches where Jungkook would most probably keep his stuff and do some quick exercises before joining the rest of you. 

Said boy’s gaze meets yours and he smiles. You don’t reciprocate the gesture, scoffing and moving over to Jihye who’s already looking at you with a cheeky smile adorning her face. “What?” you question, not understanding why she was acting so weird “Don’t pretend you don’t know.” she gives you a playful shove to which you reply by tch-ing and rolling your eyes, done with her childish behaviour. “Seriously Jihye what th-”

“I saw Jungkook smile at you.” 

The look on your face is an accurate representation of what you were thinking right now. So what? That smile was nothing, he was just acting upon what he had said earlier. “Yeah, so?” you reply boredly, watching as Jihye’s mouth open wide- wide enough for her to fit her entire fist inside.

“Yeah, so? Are you shitting me Y/n? Jeon Jungkook just smiled at you and you didn’t even do anything in response?” you’re still watching her blankly. Although you admit that it’s not her fault entirely, even you were shocked, very shocked when he first told you about the no-more-fighting pact. 

“He just said that we shouldn’t argue now, because the coach at school said that it was going to be bad for our team. You know, in the tournament.” you simply shrug, trying not to make a big deal out of the fact and Jihye is about to reply before the coach is calling all of you for a shadow drill. 

Shit.

You are given one side of a court and by some way or the other, Jungkook is opposite to you, his black pants sticking to those fleshy thighs so deliciously and hi-

What?

What is wrong with you? You’ve been thinking about Jungkook unconsciously- first drawing him and now this. Get a grip Y/n.

The whistle of your coach sounds throughout the entire room and your chain of thoughts is broken as your run towards the left side of the net from your position in the centre of the court before picking up one of the shuttles and running back to the centre, moving to the right side of the net now and doing the same as you continue the drill. Jungkook is swift, his feet are balanced and he still manages to look so graceful as he runs around his side of the court. 

You’re finally done with all the corners of the court twice as you move to sit in the space between the two different courts as you pant. The two people who were waiting now go to your and Jungkook’s positions as they begin the shadows drill now. You’re surprised to see that Jungkook has opted to sit next to you, you with your bright pink skirt sticking to your skin in all its glory.  

“Hi.” he smiles and turns towards you with his hand outstretched in front of your form. With a questioning look on your face, you shake his hand. How far was he planning on going when he said that the two of you wouldn’t be having those silly arguments anymore? To you, it meant that the pair of you would just stick to your own places and not interact with each other or do anything that would result in the bickering to resume. 

“Hey..?” Jungkook retracts his hand, leaving yours in mid-air. “So you uh wanna like hang out..um..like somewhere?” This boy had been taking you by surprise too much lately, why would he randomly ask you to hang out?

Sure he had said that he didn’t want the two of you having those little fights anymore but this? This was unexpected- really fucking unexpected.

“Uh...so suddenly?” he slightly frowns “Why?  Are you uncomfortable with it? That’s totally fine though!”

Jungkook was being too friendly, a little too friendly, you were confused and shocked at his tactics but tried not to show it on your face. “I mean, yeah, okay.” The words came tumbling out of your mouth before you could even realise it and his face was now bright. His smile so sweet, you feel a cavity forming and he nods. “Cool! After practice then..? He trails off, suddenly hesitant and you’re still dumbfounded by how quickly things had taken a turn, for the better you supposed. 

Not even a day ago, the two of you were ready to claw the other’s eyes out and now, you were agreeing to go out with him. This is not a date though. Jungkook and you are just going out to bond as friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Nodding, you smile lightly, trying to reduce some of the awkwardness from your face as you suggest a cafe to meet up at. 

Practice is over and you are walking out of the academy with Jihye chattering beside you. “Oh! I almost forgot, so about that  Jungkook thing. I saw the two of you talking also.” she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, or that’s what she thinks it looks like. Turning to face her, you sigh at her usual habit of sticking her nose into others’ business and tell her simply that he had just asked you to meet up at the cafe so you could just chill. 

“Holy shit, it’s a date!” Jihye seems more excited about the meet-up, not date, her hands coming up to join in front of her chest as she looks at you in bewilderment. “Why are you so passive?” your friend is way too excited for something so normal but then again, this was you and Jungkook. The two of you could never go a day without insulting the other before. Now you were meeting up with the same guy at a cafe in another hour or so. When you tell Jihye this, she stops walking, putting her hand on the left side of her chest- where her heart was. Her dramatic behaviour was now normal now and you knew the reason for her overreaction. 

Your love life was drier than the Sahara Desert in a fucking draught. You had been on just a handful of dates in your entire existence, only 5 or 6 of them ending up with you fucking the guy. The others had just been awkward, mainly because of your edgy self. 

It wasn’t that big of a problem though, you were too occupied by your college work and badminton tournament preparations that anything else just seemed like a waste of time. For instance, instead of going out with some guy, you could stay home and binge-watch Stranger Things. There were a lot more practical things that could be done without the company of males. 

The only reason you agreed to go out with Jungkook was that you wanted to see how it would end up. There was a very slim chance that your meeting would go very well but if Jungkook kept behaving as sweet as he was now, you wouldn’t even have a solid reason to be rude to the poor fellow. Nevertheless, you were not going to completely relax because one never knows. 

“I’m coming over to pick out your outfit!” Jihye is excited, jumpy because this is new- you going out with someone of the opposite gender. And although it was completely normal for someone else, you just looked at your friend judgmentally, feigning annoyance and earning a light shove from her that has you stumbling on the sidewalk. 

“‘Kay'” she squeals when you agree and invites herself to your house, saying that you should take a shower while she picks out your outfit. You trusted her though, Jihye’s fashion sense was really good and you knew for a fact that whatever she would pick out would be trendy. 

Unlocking your house with the bronze key, you walk in and keep your bag in its place before walking to get a glass of water for Jihye and yourself. She accepts and plops down on your couch before you pull her up by the arm, a disgusted look on your face. “Go wash up first.” she pouts but heads into the bathroom near the hallway nonetheless to wash up. You shout to her from your room that you’re heading to shower and she shouts back an “Alright.” from downstairs as you open the door, heading in for a steamy shower. 

40 minutes later, you’re getting out of your bathroom, content, to Jihye’s shrieking. Something along the lines of missing the date and you roll your eyes when you hear the last word. It was not a date for God’s sake!

You nonchalantly nod at no one in particular and apply your cream before heading out in a bathrobe. She’s sitting on your bed with some outfits placed on your bed. At first glance, they all look colour-coordinated with some accessories here and there but upon closer inspection, you see that every piece of clothing on your mattress was one of the shortest you had in every category. 

“Do you want me to look like a slut?” you ask with your arms folding in front of your chest, and Jihye looks at you with wide eyes, offended that you even had the nerve to comment on her outfit-picking skills. 

“No! These are all fine for a meet-up.” She uses finger quotes for the last word and you smile to yourself, “Uh, let me just stop you there. I don’t really know what people mean when they use this.” you make the finger quotes and she gasps “Did you just-” your shoulders raise and as the laughter dies down, you walk closer to the bed, mentally evaluating each outfit she had oh so carefully picked. They’re all really stylish, you gotta admit that but you’d never say it to her face. The one closest to the headboard consists of a full-sleeved plain white turtleneck that had a greyish-brown dress that reached your mid-thigh laid on top of it. It was something you could wear, maybe with some electric pink leggings. You see that Jihye, who is now rummaging in your collection of shoes, has also laid some black boots in front of the bed that matched the first dress. 

Your gaze travels to the one on the middle one and you immediately furrow your eyebrows, already ruling the strapless crop top and ripped shorts out. Too much skin. 

The one to the far left is also decided to not be inappropriate for the occasion as you didn’t think Jungkook would want to see you in a burgundy top with spaghetti straps. The jeans that had too many huge holes in them didn’t even look cool at this point. What were you thinking when you bought this.

Jihye comes out with some heels for one of the outfits “Why are you even putting so much effort into this? I can just wear a shirt and sweats.” She huffs out, unamused, as you giggle at her annoyed face. “Kidding. So, I really like this one.” you point at the dress and she smiles slyly “Showing off your long legs I see.” Punching her shoulder, you make some place to sit on the bed, glad that you shaved today. “Now, get out of my room. I need to change and apply make-up.” She nods and you watch her close the door behind her, getting up to lock it for extra safety measures. 

Not like she was gonna barge in and catch you in your star printed underwear anyways. Changing into the turtle neck and then the dress, you look at yourself in the mirror and if it wasn’t your frizzy hair, you would even think you looked cute. You brush your hair and settle for a high ponytail. Putting on your shoes, you apply a little bit of make-up, not wanting to seem overly eager but the excessive amount of perfume may or may not give you away. 

As you open the door and walk down to where Jihye has changed into some sweats she had kept in your house for times like these, she gasps upon seeing you, chip almost falling out her mouth and chews it before widening her eyes comically “Babe! You look so good.” you smile at her compliment, giving her a twirl as she gets up to probably to hug you before deciding against it, shaking her head. 

“So, is my make-up looking fine?” she nods furiously and you pick up your purse that was on the dining chair before looking at the clock to see that you only have ten minutes before Jungkook arrives. You bid Jihye goodbye, not worried in the slightest bit about her being alone at your house. 

As you’re walking, the cafe comes into view and you spot a familiar figure walking into the shop as well and you increase your speed to enter at the same time as Jungkook to make it seem as if you weren’t even slightly late. He doesn’t notice you even when you’re right behind him and walks to a table to sit down as you sit opposite him immediately, realising that he had walked to a two-people table in the corner of the shop. 

His eyes widen and he stutters out in shock, “O-Oh, you’re here,” Nodding, you hide a smile and greet him back, trying not to get into an argument with him. It’s silent for a while, you think of anything to say to break the awkward atmosphere but just as you’re looking up from the ground to speak to Jungkook, his voice is filling your ears. “Do you want to order?” He waits and you simply nod, “Okay, I’ll come to get my coffee.” 

Just as you’re getting up, Jungkook keeps his hand on you without warning, head shaking frantically. “No! I mean, I can get it for you.” Looking up in surprise, you’re unable to speak for a moment. Did Jeon Jungkook just say that he would buy you coffee?

You shake your head and snap out of your trance. Or at least you try to. “No, it’s alright. I can get it myself.” Jungkook rushes to quieten you again and looks like he won’t let you win, so you sigh and back down. “Fine.” He giggles and walks off to the counter while you take your phone out to kill time. Getting bored when you see that there are not any notifications, you switch the device off and look out of the window, watching as people get out of their cars for a pitstop at the cafe before driving away again. 

“Here are the coffees.” You turn your head and see Jungkook setting two cups of coffee on the table before sitting himself. Looking at what he got you, you thank him for bringing the correct order and he just sends a light smile in your direction, rubs his hands together and picks up the cup with both hands. You almost coo, but hold yourself together. This was your enemy. 

That reminds you, “So, why are you suddenly being so kind to me? It’s really weird to experience you treating me nicely.” You hadn’t meant for your tone to come off as accusing, but it does, and you have to watch Jungkook’s eyes flash with hurt for a second before shaking his head lightly. He places his cup back in the small saucer and his hands on either side of it. 

“I knew you would ask me this.” egging him on with a raise of your eyebrows, you take a sip of your coffee “Remember how Coach said that we should stop arguing?” At your nod, he licks his lips and continues on with his explanation, “Well, I thought about it-” “You told me to stop arguing right after he left.” “I thought about it and I decided that we really shouldn’t be having these fights. Like, what’s the point? I’m not getting anything out of it. You’re not getting anything out of it.” He ignores your words and when you hear his, ask yourself why you hadn’t tried to put a stop to the childish arguments you had with Jungkook. 

You don’t know why you ever fought back. Well, you did hate losing and Jungkook did everything to rile you up- so he was at fault too- but there was no specific reason as to why you hated Jungkook so much. “I don’t know, you were the one who started them. I don’t have a problem with becoming friends.” 

Jungkook looks at you, looking as if he’s trying to figure something out, pouty lips looking kissable but you quickly brush those thoughts off. “So..” his hands come closer to yours and you’re shocked to feel your heart starting to beat faster, its pace picking up as Jungkook’s hand comes closer to yours. “..friends?” his pinky intertwines with yours and you feel your face turn red, the action igniting something in you. 

Looking down at your fingers intertwined seems to be a big mistake as you gasp, the sight just overwhelming you. His hand fit in yours perfectly, and even if he meant it just as friends, you couldn’t help but imagine how it would be to be loved by Jungkook.

No! You two just started behaving normally around each other and you’re already thinking about loving him?

A voice in your head sounds as Jungkook retrieves his hand to pick up the call that had distracted you. You take your hand back and keep it in your lap, tingling sensations till lingering. 

Jungkook looks at you apologetically for a second, and you reassure him that he could take the call but he tells whoever was on the other side of the line that he was busy, cutting the call after he told the person that he would call them back later. 

“Sorry about that.” you barely catch his mumble and shake your head, “Don’t worry.” As you finish your coffee and make small talk with Jungkook about random things, you start growing more comfortable around him, cracking jokes and laughing at his lame ones. You’re discussing some things about the upcoming tournament when Jungkook suddenly leans in closer. 

You move back out of shock and he stills, eyes suddenly going wide as his breathing halts. Your own starts getting heavy, his sudden action having caught you terribly off guard. After partially having gained your composure back, you see that Jungkook is still in the same position, “J-Jungkook?” He takes a moment to snap out of whatever trance he was put in and blinks once, twice before gasping loudly and jerking backwards. His back hits the chair and his mouth is still open in shock at what he did. 

“S-Sorry..” he trails off, chewing his lip and your eyes follow the motion carefully before darting them back to his face quickly. He furrows his brows and starters ahead of you before shaking his head, murmuring something to himself. “You ok there?” you try to keep your voice soft, soothing as Jungkook shifts his gaze to you, wide eyes looking absolutely adorable. 

You question him again, worried, “What wa-” “I like you.” 

Silence. 

You sputter, his words having caught you off guard and if Jungkook’s eyes could go any wider, they do, his hand instantly coming to slap over his face and he curses, “I-fuck.” You’re still shocked by his confession and your brain takes time to process what he said, the three simple words not registering in your mind until suddenly,  Jungkook’s voice brings you back to the present. 

“Y-Y/n?” He sounds hesitant, and your face must be an accurate representation of what you’re feeling right now because Jungkook begins speaking again, his eyes filled with worry as he tries to fix his mistake. “No. I mean, yes, I like you-” Your face portrays horror at his words again and he rushes to correct himself, hitting himself on the head once. 

“You what?” Your voice is hushed for unknown reasons and Jungkook looks around, trying to calm himself down by breathing in and out and you use the time to do the same, the initial shock having worn off as you exhale loudly and take a bite out of the cookie from the small plate he had gotten. 

“I like you, Y/n.” Jungkook’s tone is more serious this time, and you try maintaining  a straight face, his words finally sinking and you choke on your saliva. “Like like me?” you question dumbly and he nods desperately, licking his lips and drumming his fingers on the table, a nervous habit of his. 

“Oh,” Jeongguk tilts his head at your response and you muster the courage to ask him a question that had been lingering on your mind ever since he confessed. “Since..?”

He coughs loudly into his mouth, trying to hide the blush that creeps up his cheeks and looks at you with a suddenly brave gaze, “I’ve liked you for a long time, Y/n. The reason I started annoying was because I wanted you to notice me, not because I disliked you...And better confess now instead of regretting not doing anything before right?” Your mouth is left hanging at his confession now, the real reason for his pestering finally coming out into the light. 

“Why would you annoy me, though? You could've just come up and talked to me, it would've been way easier for us.” At this, Jeongguk blushes, trying to cover his burning cheeks from you and cups his face in  his hands. “I don’t know..you were really annoying, to be honest.”

“I was annoying- you asshole!” You lean over and hit his arm, much to his chagrin and he frowns before swatting your arm away. Silence falls over the two of you, but it's not the awkward kind, you just sit quietly, drowning yourself in thoughts about Jungkook. 

“So…” Beside you, Jungkook shifts shyly and lowers his head when you look at him, the sight igniting something warm inside you. “Can I ask to ask you out?” His hair sits prettily atop his forehead, hands on his lap and his lips are scrunched into the cutest pout. 

“Why don’t you ask me and find out?” You aim for a teasing tone, but miss by a mille, instead sounding breathless and at this, Jungkook smiles before leaning in closer. “Will you go on a date with me?”

Even though you knew he was going to ask you, the words still send tingles throughout your entire body, heart racing and you nod before you can even think.  

It has you suddenly thinking about the drastic turn of events. The guy who was once (not even a few hours ago) your biggest enemy had just confessed to you and was asking you out. You’re thinking if it was a bad decision, but with Jungkook looking so innocent and just, like a child, it’s hard to think straight. Your heart beats erratically as Jungkook gives you one last soft smile before getting up and walking to pay, and you try chasing him and stopping him from paying for both your and his drinks but as much as you want to, you’re still stuck in place, everything that happened recently replaying in your head. He comes back in a few minutes and holds out his hand for you to take, and as you’re getting up with his help, your heart can’t help but flutter, the feeling of his warm hand encompassing yours turning you mushy like dough. 

“Seriously?” You can’t help but scoff, and beside you Jungkook lets go of your hand to feign an offended face. “What! You said you liked Call of Duty!” Jungkook defends himself and you stare blankly at the venue of your first official date with Jeon Jungkook. 

The baby pink blankets that adore his couch look inviting, so do the various snacks on the coffee table but still, this was your first date. You had really expected him to go all out and take you to dinner at a classy restaurant. And then maybe have ended with a drumline playing on a bridge. Ok, maybe that was too much. 

This doesn’t mean that you’re disappointed, though. Nope. This- a date on Jungkook’s couch with Call of Duty and snacks- was perfectly fine. Great, even. You finally crack a smile, nudging his shoulder and muttering a ‘Just kidding.’ under your breath when his face turns sad. 

You grab his arm and sit on the couch, patting the space beside you for him to occupy as you shuffle through the unhealthy packs of chips and nachos to find your favorite one. Jungkook grabs a drink and you shuffle under the soft blanket, curling up and look at Jungkook, trying to act cute as you prepare to embarrass yourself. 

“Cuddle with me?” Jungkook almost spits his drink out, surging forward as his head turns towards your direction you’re positive he gets whiplash. “W-What-Did you..” Nodding, you try pouting but know for a fact that it looks more awkward than cute and huff out, “Just-” Jungkook nods suddenly, “Ok.” and gets under the covers. Your face heats up when you finally realise that you just asked The Jeon Jungkook™ to cuddle with you, and as he ever so slowly crawls towards you, your body turns stiff. 

“I-Is this okay?” Jungkook hovers his hand over your waist and as you look at him with wide eyes, you nod lightly, indicating the green signal, his body heat not helping at all. Jungkook’s soft voice filters through your ears, and you swear you could listen to him forever. Even if he was making fun of your obsession with hard peaches. Yes. 

“We can watch a movie if you want..and then play COD?” he suggests and you mumble out a “Sure” and watch as he picks up the remote to scroll through the various apps whose subscriptions he had. 

He pauses at Netflix. “Can we watch Full House?” his voice is timid, and you turn to furrow your eyebrows at him, wondering why he would seem hesitant while asking that. Everyone loved Michelle. 

“Why not?” At your words, Jungkook’s eyes light up and he smiles widely, turning towards the TV to play the show. 

You rip open a packet of Cheetos and Jungkook tries (keyword: tries) to slyly wrap his arm around you from behind but doesn’t go unnoticed, and you move forward for him to easily slide his arm around you, not even bothering to look at his red face because there’s a really high chance that you’ll combust. 

2 episodes into the new season, you turn to Jungkook and he notices, eyebrows raised as you gulp, 

“I think I like you too.” 

“That would’ve been really romantic if your Cheetos breath wasn’t hitting my face.”

epilogue 

“Yesss, get it Kook!” Jungkook comes running up to you and you slap his arm in enthusiasm. He hugs you, tight, and your arms wrap around his body as well, congratulating him in his victory. His last hit had been a smash, one his opponent hadn’t  been able to defend and the match had indeed with your school winning, the trophy yours for the third time in a row.  

“We won.” The words coming out of Jungkook’s mouth urge you to hug him tighter, and you do, nodding although he probably can't see you. “We did.” Your boyfriend lets go of you to embrace his teammates and you laugh with all of them, and when your eyes meet Jungkook’s, realise that he may not be as bad as you first thought him to be.

tysm for reading whatever the fuck this is <3 send in feedback, if you want!

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[starkerforlife6969]

Starker - Accidentally Perfect

It all started with a bet.

And Tony hates how much of a cliche even that is. A bet. He's let himself get dragged into a bet by a fresh-faced eighteen year old who has a walkman ironically and brings a dictaphone into every lecture.

Goddamn, he hates Peter Parker. He seethes furiously at him from across the quad, the hot summer sun beating down on his shoulders. His blank tank top is helping keep the heat off, but it's still almost unbearably warm. Sticky with the promise of the summer holidays only a few weeks away.

"Do you actually think you can stare him out of existence?" Rhodey asks, a cool, amused voice from back in the shade of their stand. Tony turns and glowers, pulling his sunglasses off.

"He's such a little shit."

"He's eighteen, Tony. All eighteen year olds are little shits. We were, remember?"

Tony doesn't remember them ever being as unbearable as Peter. His face must say as much, because Rhodey sighs.

"We're twenty-seven." He says gently. "We're getting a little too old to keep blaming college wars on the freshman."

He barely resists the urge to stomp his foot. "He started it!"

It's true, Tony thinks. He can't really remember how it all started. He remembers the beginning of the semester, deciding to take a break from the all-consuming robotics thesis of his doctorate and go and drop in on a lecture. He remembers a bright-eyed boy with fluffy hair stumbling through a presentation in front of his peers. He very vaguely remembers calling out one or two inconsistencies with Peter's presentation. He remembers the bright red flush that had spread across Peter's cheeks, and the way he'd stumbled quietly over his words, and- okay- in Tony's defence, he was sleep deprived- trying to think up his proposal, still trying to get his second phD started and-

It had turned into all out war pretty quickly.

Turns out, Peter didn't respond well to being picked on.

Not that Tony had picked on him, just-

"Gluing all my furniture to the ceiling? Selling my text books? Hiring someone to fire a paintball at me every hour for four days?!" Tony runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head. "He's evil!"

Rhodey barely blinks, eyes on his phone. "But..."

Tony's shoulders droop. "...But I started it." He mumbles under his breath.

"What? I didn't quite catch that."

"I started it, alright? Jeez," he winces, "I said sorry."

"No. You didn't."

Okay fine, he's not big on apologies.

Whatever. It doesn't matter anyway. They're where they are now. The bet. Whoever raises the most money for the oil spill just off of Mexico's coast wins. Their two stands sit opposite each other on the quad, six hours to raise money, loser has to get down on their knees in front of the entire student body and declare the other their superior in every single way.

That's why Tony's here. In a tight black tank top, muscles on display, sunglasses on, hair messy, grinning at everyone who passes.

"How much have we got, Rhode-aroo?"

There's a gentle clatter as Rhodey checks the basket. "Uh, $12?"

Tony winces. That's not great. "Whatever. It's gotta be more than Parker has anyway."

Rhodey hums.

***

As the third hour ticks by, Tony slinks back into the shade of their stall and dozes off a little. It can't be more than fifteen minutes, but when he opens his eyes, there's a trickle of students leaving their classes and walking through the quad.

For some bewildering reason, they're all walking to Peter's stand.

Tony frowns, tiptoeing over to enemy lines.

The first thing he sees is that Peter's money basket is full. Not just one money basket, but four money baskets. At least $100 in change, loose bills and Starbucks vouchers.

What the fuck?

And then- then he sees why.

MJ, the equally annoying friend, is manning the booth. She's concise and thoughtful and armed with scary statistics as she neatly collects money and scares more into baskets.

But Peter, Peter is all cream silk shirt and tight blue shorts, and big eyes and enthusiasm.

"I just keep thinking of the baby seals," Peter whines, rocking on the heels of his feet, pink converse scraping against the grass. "Those poor animals, all covered in oil..." he bites his lip, bats those eyelashes, and the tall jock who's leaning over him, nods, already fumbling for his wallet.

"Yeah totally, the-the seals."

"Right? Oh, thank you," Peter sighs, voice a little wanton moan, touching the guy's elbow, leaning in. "You're a hero."

The guy tosses in another twenty.

Jesus Christ. Tony can't help his grin of disbelief, even as irritated as he is that he didn't come up with it first.

Devious little shit.

***

When the crowd has dispersed a little bit, and the dynamic duo have bled most everyone dry, Tony makes himself known, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

"Wow, Parker. We're more alike than I thought."

Peter turns, looking up at him, eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Oh yeah? How's that? Did you actually start caring about the oil spill?"

Tony hums, feigning nonchalance. "I just mean, I thought your standards were a little higher."

The boy frowns, little face scrunched up in confusion. It's annoyingly endearing. "Huh?"

"C'mon, no need to hide now. Playing dumb and pretty to get donations? Way to care about the animals."

The outrage that flits across that expressive face is way too believable. "Pretty anddumb? Screw you, Tony. You're just jealous I'm winning." Peter humphs, crossing his arms. "Is surly know-it-all not enticing the crowds the way you thought it would?"

Tony shrugs. "Maybe. Because I won't reduce myself."

"What are you talking about?!"

"Come on, Peter. You know what you're doing to people." Here, Tony raises his voice. Hopefully, he'll be able to steer people away from here and over to his own stand. Though, Rhodey's death glare from across the quad is making him think maybe that's not an excellent idea- why, he's not sure. He barrels on, attention on him. "You're doing that thing- with the big sparkly brown Disney eyes and the scandalously short shorts and the elbow-touching. You're fake laughing at bad jokes and fluttering your eyelashes and selling your torturous mix of princess and bombshell that none of us can resist to trick people into giving you their money, admit it!"

Peter gapes, mouth in a delicious 'o'. "I am not!" He shrieks: scandalised.

Tony scoffs. "You expect me to believe that you're thisfucking irresistible on purpose?"

The boy doesn't seem to know what to do with that. He scrambles, blushing under the stare of the passers-by. "I'm...I don't...um...thank you?"

Tony stares. No way. No fucking way is this not an act, it can't be or-

"Yeah." MJ sighs, the sigh of the long-wearied, as she unfolds another dollar bill into the pile. "Join the club."

***

Tony's pacing back stage, still trying to understand everything in his head.

The entire student body is waiting on the other side of that curtain, mostly drunk, hopefully too drunk to remember this in the morning- to see his apology act.

"Big sparkly Disney eyes," Rhodes hums, re-watching the video on twitter. "I'm surprised you went with that one, you're always going on about his Bambi eyes. What's the difference?"

"I swear to god, if you keep talking-"

"I think my favourite bit is where you basically announced to the world that your kink is sexy princess."

"Oh my god-"

"Uh- T-Tony?"

Tony whirls around to see Peter standing at the curtain, and Tony can't help the groan of embarrassment.

"Look, Pete, I'll do it, alright? Just give me a second to shed the last of my dignity."

"No, it's not..." Peter blushes, and Rhodey lifts his hands, shuffling away to give them some privacy. Peter edges closer, stupidly gorgeous with all of his freckles, a fucking dandelion crown perched on his chestnut curls, like he's just trying to press all of Tony's buttons and- "Look, Tony," Peter murmurs, all sweetness and loveliness, "I was thinking, you don't need to- you don't need to go out there and say anything." He wrings his lily-white hands, silvery bracelets hanging at the wrist, "Really. I feel like- the fact that video from the quad went viral was- that's more than enough."

Tony doesn't know what to say, but it doesn't stop him from trying. "Pete, about what I said..."

"I really wasn't doing any of that stuff- I-, I wasn't trying to play dumb, or- I mean, maybe I was? I didn't- I didn't mean to, I just wanted to help the seals, and I've already bought my ticket to volunteer for seal cleaning over summer break and-"

Tony laughs, shaking his head. Because he knows. He sighs, meeting those lovely brown eyes. "I know you weren't. You're not- I was just- I'm sorry, Pete. For all of it. For the day we met."

Peter looks shy, but pleased. "You were an ass." He agrees amiably.

"I was. Am. Trying not to be."

Peter chews on his bottom lip, accidentally embodying Tony's every wet dream. "You could buy a ticket for the summer seal cleaning task." Peter shrugs, eyes darting away. "If you like."

"With you?" Tony wonders aloud, "with you being so...unintentionally you? Not sure I could cope."

"True," Peter whispers coyly, "imagine if I was actively trying to seduce you. You wouldn't last a minute."

At that, Tony laughs again. Loud and delighted. Head tipped back, unaware to how Peter drinks in the sight. "Is that a bet, kid?"

Peter beams.

[imnotwolverine]

The Englishman Jack - Eve’s Apple

Henry as Jack x OC - multi-chapter

< Chap 9 | Chap 10 Eve’s Apple

Disclaimer: NSFW - reference to smut, some strong language, but also some fluff to make up for the previous chapter (sorry not sorry)

Summary: When dreams may come? It’s all a question of time and one well placed advertisement. 

Word count: 2.521

Reading music: Rita Hayworth - Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

(Link to my Masterlist)

--

Porcelain tinkled and laughter sprinkled as the lavish crowd conversed over their posh little lunch meetings. The whole room emanated richness; from the tuxedo clad waiters, their long tail coats swishing behind their stiff legs, to the curl of smoke that lifted from thin cigarettes all the way up to the high baroque ceilings, making the occasional person cough in dismay.

‘Bunny,’ The cough returned, this time closer by, ‘are you alright?’

‘Alright?’ I blinked my attention back to my friend and sat back in my slightly uncomfortable chair, my hand tapping my cigarette’s ash onto the crystal ashtray, grey dust falling in burning orange onto the cold glass. ‘If anything, I feel 10 pounds lighter!’

‘Well, it sure was one hefty ring he got you.’ The woman, Miranda, snorted, returning her gaze to the dapper old men who ogled her from the table nearby. Miranda may be older, but she sure was sex on legs, her short red curls coifed just so you couldn’t see the wrinkles that were starting to show on her Italian olive-hued skin.  

‘And I don’t miss it..or him..even one bit.’

‘You’re damn right darling, damn right.’ Miranda winked at one of the men and looked back at me, piercing brown eyes giving me a pitiful look. ‘You tell me if you need anything, yea? I can’t smell, but I can tell.’

‘I told you to get back to that surgeon!’ I deadpanned, before I burst out laughing along with her as we were reminded of the irony of her 3rd mildly botched nose job.

‘Let me first save up a few wrinkles before he lays a hand on me again.’ Miranda’s eyes wandered back to the reception door, interest sparking in her Bambi browns.

Oh, Miranda! 

‘You are incorrigible, you know that?’ I rolled my eyes at the way she lured like a predator on anything with deep pockets, her glossy pink lips smacking in delight.

‘And I don’t even have to work for it! Act normal. He’s coming our way.’

I scrunched my nose and killed my cigarette before I languidly turned to look over my shoulder, my eyes meeting with an apparition of 6 ft tall, a svelte long winter coat hanging from his muscular shoulders as he greeted a waiter, signalling he knew where he was going.

Of course, he knew where he was going. I knew those electric blues and they knew me, their owner’s lips curling in a sly grin while he traversed the packed lunch room. Even with our years apart, he had changed little, except of course for the silver that now dusted his temples, the line between his brow slightly deepened.

He looked good.

‘Jack,’ I whispered beneath my breath, suddenly forgetting how to act normal as I turned back in my seat, finding Miranda’s telling gaze of just how flustered I must have looked.

Old ladies don’t blush, Bunny! Get it together!

I straightened my poofy white blouse, my bracelets dangling on my wrists, when I noted the appearance of two pairs of snow kissed Oxford shoes next to me, followed by long legs that reached up to..

‘Ladies,’ He bowed his head slightly before he aimed his attention at me. ‘Henry Walker. I’m sorry to be of disturbence to your..-’

‘OH PLEASE! Mr….Walker. Do sit, do sit.’ Miranda interjected before his British accent could roll smoothly of his curled up lips.

‘Thank you, madam.’ He kissed the hand she proferred, Miranda’s chuckle filtering through the lunchroom chat like a bee’s buzz was to be heard in a flowery field. Jack, or..Henry..turned and gave me a warm, yet hesitant smile, my body unmanaging to even offer him my hand as his scent drifted into my nostrils. Suddenly it felt so very silly to have set out an advertisement to find an investigator. I mean, what could have been the odds of…

‘Bunny,’ He whispered quietly, leaning forward as if wanting to kiss my cheek, but then halting mid-air as he instead masked the move by settling down in a chair with a smooth pull of the armrests.

‘Henry.’ I tasted his name on my lips and was met with those electric blues again, his hesitant smile growing slightly.

Before we could continue the conversation, a butler halted his step next to Henry, the quick order of tea (sugar and milk separate) made with a smooth nod of the head. The butler disappeared and Miranda also killed her cigarette, intrigued by the new guest at our Thursday lunch table.

‘Well then…’ Her voice trailed off as she made little effort to hide her curiosity, my voice finally managing to reach through the ice that had frozen my limbs.

‘Yes. Eh..I set out an advertisement for an…’

‘Investigator.’ Henry nodded professionally, manufacturing two white with gold lettered cards from his suit jacket, scripting Henry Walker - Private Detective, his hand pushing the two cards to both of our plates before he filled himself a glass of water and took a sip from it.

Fair. He had changed a little. He seemed more sure of his business. Or, perhaps I had to take him on a nerve wrecking car ride to learn if he still had a mild nervousness somewhere in those strong bones of his.

I smiled at Miranda, then nodded: ‘We’ll talk business later, our lunch was just about to arrive. Do order along if you so wish.’

And he did. We had lunch, we walked, we dined, talked and fucked. Because that’s what --

--

‘Wait, grandma. Are we..are we talking about…’ Your voice lowered until it was but a mere whisper, your eyes keeping close watch on the kitchen door, grandma’s back turned to where grandpa could appear from any minute. ‘..grandpa Henry?’

Grandma chuckled and tapped her marital ring on the newspaper that lay before her, her finished breakfast moved to the side. ‘Ding ding ding,’ Her laughter warmed grandpa’s lips as he made his entrance, his knowing blue eyes appearing from behind a lifted up eyebrow.

‘Good morning..mi amor.’ He leaned in to press a slightly too erotic kiss - slip of the tongue - on grandma’s lips, your eyes quickly averting before you’d get a sense of what your grandparents did when you weren’t around. ‘Talking about me?’

‘Indeed, quite right.’ Grandma chuckled as grandpa grinned, picking up grandma’s coffee cup before he sauntered over to the kitchen island, hand grasping for the coffee machine.

‘Want some too?’ He asked, but you quickly shook your head, your eyes finding the mischievous glint in grandma’s eyes.

Oh god, now you had to think of old people sex. Your grandparents..like...OH MY...

Grandma’s smile grew as she casually brushed her hand over the newspaper that read: “Australian fires running wild.”

‘I mean. Henry sure left an impression on me before we went separate ways...’

--

The pool house was the nearest shelter Jack could find, ash falling down from the house that was slowly burning up to a crisp. Morning was soon to arrive, the sky burning along with the flames as emergency services came to rush and save what little there was left to save; a bunch of coaled up dead bodies and some ridiculously posh Italian decor. Nothing truly worth saving your life for.

And so here we were, hidden from the passing of firemen's feet, Jack’s hand twisting the lock of the pool house, where pink, blue and green pool floaties stacked like a generous bed beneath my stretched out limbs. I was still a bit frozen, dazzled and overwhelmed, my eyes blinking up at Jack as he kneeled down on the squeaking plastic, hands roving over my goose fleshing thighs.

--

‘Grandma..’ You cleared your throat as grandpa offered her the refilled cup of steaming coffee, before he too settled down.

‘What is it dear?’

‘You..you..made love, I guess? I don’t really need to hear all the..*aherm* details, yea?’

Grandma blinked and you gave her an exasperated look, after which grandpa burst out in a fit of giggles. ‘She’s a handful, always has been. Hahaha.’

‘Henry! This was just a good part!’

‘I know dear, I know. And you are most definitely going to tell me that again, some time later, but ..it isn’t the end of your tale yet, right?’

‘Oh no!’ Grandma sat up from her chair, making it squeak, her nimble wrinkly fingers wrapping around the hot mug. ‘You see we weren’t in love..’

‘Yet -’ Grandpa interjected, settling back in his chair and blowing over his coffee as he waited for grandma to continue.

--

I hadn’t been the only one who had dreamed of the land of the free; the US of A. From Georgio’s dying hands, Jack had confiscated two tickets. Boat fare for a cruise that would cross all the way over to the ports of New York City. The transatlantic escape I had dreamed off for so long.

And so, after we left the wreckage of my parents house, the two of us disappeared into thin air for a short while, only to arrive a week later at the Barcelona Harbour where a cruise ship the size of a sizable flat awaited us, white plumes of smoke dotting small clouds in the pristine blue skies.

People were all smiles here, suntanned faces hiding beneath large white hats as their elegant boat shoes stepped onto the walking planks before the personnel could drag up their heavy bags, packs and suitcases.

Me and Jack had very little to bring with us, and so we skipped most lines, finding the suite that had initially been Georgio’s great plan in prying my mother away from my father’s clutches. It was a wonderful suit. Heavy dark mahogany wood made out most of the wall panels and furniture and a large comfortable bed welcomed my travel weary back, quickly followed by Jack.

--

‘We made love again.’ Grandpa smiled from behind his coffee cup.

Grandma offered him a mischievous smile: ‘And not just that..Hmhm..’

‘Grandma..pa...PLEASE!’

‘Okay, okay. Yes, yes. So..’

--

The cruise offered us ten sweet days in heaven, my initial anticipation that we would get caught all for nothing. Jack appeared to be a good forger of fake papers and nobody ever seemed to check us, other than whether we wanted extra service when we were found in bed at 3 pm in the afternoon. The days were long, luscious and over far too soon, when Lady Liberty welcomed us with her dust green arm raised up high.

It was everything I dreamed of, and yet I felt sad when the ship reached the harbor and the rest of my life, alone, would begin.

Jack had been clear on his intention to separate ways, and I had foolishly agreed. I wanted to make myself believe that this was but a fling thing. That I needed time to settle down in a life of my own, like I had so long wanted. In the land of opportunity, it would be terribly immature to drag myself behind someone I barely knew, only because the people who had forced my life were suddenly gone.

I had grown wings and I had to learn how to fly, the wind caressing my brown tresses as we both put our travel bags down, which held the few items we had bought before Barcelona.

‘So. I guess this is it.’ I took a breath as I looked up in those electric blues, Henry’s jaw clean shaven, as seen in magazines. He nodded and quickly averted his gaze, his eyes looking up at the large white ship that pulled on the large ropes that had bound it to shore.

‘This is it.’ He smiled, hiding the slightly sad tinge in his eyes.

‘Freedom.’ I breathed, looking out over his shoulder, seeing the silhouette of the statue of the lady liberty, proud and dollar bill green in the late afternoon sun. It was quite hot that day, or perhaps it were my shattering nerves, but either way I felt a little sweat coat my palms.

‘The American dream.’ Jack licked his lips and looked at me, my lips, before haphazardly clearing his throat and picking up his bag.

‘Wait,’ I breathed before he could sling the brown leather pack over his shoulder. My fingertips grazed over his cheek before they hesitantly tangled through the back of his hair, pulling him in a rushed and heated kiss. One that would have felt so natural hours earlier, now felt desperate and breathless, our lips searing in something we both didn’t want to end until I did have to pull away for air.

Jack let out a soft pant and used his hand to pull my chin down, his nose resting against mine before he pressed his forehead into me, our eyes looking down at our feet.

‘I won’t forget you, Bunny.’ His voice was a little hoarse and rough with emotions that he didn’t want to share, his hand now tipping my head up so he could press one more kiss on my welcoming pillows. Our last shared breath before he stepped back and smiled, pulling up the facade of the smooth city man: ‘If it’s meant to be, Bunny, we shall meet again.’

--

‘It took him 7 years, and for me two failed marriages and 3 kids, but..there we were, in that lunch room.’ Grandma sniffled at the good memory and emptied her coffee cup in one big swig, a relieved sigh escaping her smacking lips.

‘And I remember it like it were only yesterday,’ Grandpa smiled, putting down his cup as he continued. ‘You see, I had been in these high bound places a lot. I knew the people. Knew how to play out my cards. But as I walked up to that brown mane, a nervous foot tapping on the floor, it was like I was back in Italy again; again the young man who was kind of hoping things would play out well. I could swear I could feel the mists lick around my sun kissed skin, could hear the children run after each other, screaming as their little school uniforms were but blurs of navy. I could hear the grumble of the bodyguards, speaking in hushed tones, their faces stiff. I could taste the coffee, but most of all I could feel my heart and its gentle drop for that one hot second as our eyes met.’ He looked at grandma and smiled.

‘Quite an investigator, that man. The only mist there was cigarette smoke.’

‘Ain’t all the rich folk but living a life of smoke and mirrors?’

‘Quite true, husband, quite true.’

‘And, in all those years, the most important thing I learned was that I didn’t want riches, fame or endless female company in a cold lonely bed. I learned, with the death of my mother and the slackening of contact with my brothers and sisters, that all I truly wanted was a family. I changed. I grew. And I came to the realisation, as I wandered through the streets of the Great Apple that all I wanted..was the apple of my eye..you.’

--

The End

--

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[crazyforhorror]

I love the way you portray the boys in yur stories, it’s so cute! Can you write an imagine about how the boys like to play around to get you to laugh?! I’m sure they’d have a million tricks up their sleeve xD

Aww, I’m glad you like how I wrote our boys! I am very excited to do this one because I need a little funny in my life right now as I’m sure we all do. So I hope you enjoy this and thank you for your request hon!

———

You had been having a particularly hard day, you just couldn’t get the gumption to smile. Paul did not like this so he and Marko decided to take matters into their own hands....oh dear....

It started with Paul making the illusion of David getting turned into a chick in granny clothes, Dwayne was in a Disney princess costume and Marko was illusioned as goofy the dog. You almost let a small chuckle slip when you saw how mad David was and how awkward Dwayne looked. Marko have not a single flying flip. The ante was upped by David when he got his revenge on Paul and made him dance in heels on ice, he looked like Bambi and you had to bite your lip to prevent the smirk from forming. You did t want them to stop yet so you pretended not to care. Dwayne decided to conjure up an imaginary small dog to chase Marko and Paul around, those two screamed like little girls you soon learned, them jumping into each other’s arms in fear. But really did you in was when David made duplicates of Paul and Marko flirt with the real them; confused blondes looked at the others with bewildered faces.... who was the real deal? And then Dwayne spoke up, “we can’t handle four of those nut cases David! They will kill us all with their lunacy.” Protests came from the boys and their fake clones. And just like that you were on the floor laughing, the bottom of the old fountain cold and dusty but still you rolled, tears out of your eyes, sore and red cheeks, cackles of delight. The mission was completed and everything turned back to normal while the boys all praised each other for a job well done. You loved these men and you made sure they knew it.

A/n: I hope this was ok anon. Thank you all for being so sweet and thank you for all of your asks! ❤️

[symphonic--chaos]

Always By Your Side

A little Marqueliot fic I wrote about the trio that should have had more time together because they’re angels. Margo’s got ice magic up in this bitch.

"Quentin, no!" Margo's words echoed through the clearing, desperation too late over Eliot's yelled 'Don't!', the third of their trio already stepping forward as his fingers moved quickly to form a less harmful offensive attack from magic they'd learned to protect themselves. The single blast of energy magic from the creature across from them prevented Quentin from finishing, his body caving inwards as he flew backwards, his body hitting a tree with a thud. Eliot was quick to move next, his own fingers tutting up a defensive shield when Margo could only stare in shock at Quentin's unconscious body. "Margo, we need to go now." Eliot's voice whimsically called back, his calm demeanor wavering to betray the panic that was brewing within him as he kept his eyes on the ‘woman’ in front of them.

Straggly black hair framed a sickly looking face, pale, skin taut. Her eyes glowed yellow, a strange white smoke or fog was coming from her mouth whenever she exhaled, along with the quick flick of a forked black tongue. They’d looked at each other, bewildered, as this was a human-like creature that they’d done nothing to and none of them could identify. They’d simply been walking through the forest and into the clearing to get to Fillory when she’d sprung out of a tree at the edge of the field and come sprinting at them. "Q, hey, baby, come on, wake up." Margo said as she knelt beside Quentin, shaking his arm gently before patting his cheeks to try and get those eyes to open. "Wake up, please wake up, we gotta move."

A movement in their peripherals caught her attention and she swore as she realized there was another figure coming towards them, his hands wielding a power that burned blue like his companions. Time seemed to slow as she realized his focus was on Eliot and the female, that she and Quentin meant absolutely nothing to him right then and there. Margo's eyes swept the area as she tried to find a way they could get out while being encumbered with carrying Quentin. "Holy shit... El, it's a nest! It's their fuckin' nest!" Margo called to him as she watched the glowing eyes from the thick of the trees across the way, too short to be like those attacking them. Quentin stirred and groaned behind her and she looked back at him briefly as her hand moved out to touch Eliot's shoulder as he backed towards them with the shield magic barely holding up against the barrage of energy magic the female creature was throwing at them. This led to their downfall, as the female's mate moved in with her distraction, bee-lining it for Eliot to distract and break the shield. "Watch out!" Quentin's voice wavered from beside them as he struggled to push himself up from the ground, wincing from the pain emanating from his back. Margo turned her head quickly and yanked Eliot back, the male barely missing her best friend and stumbling past him, only to wheel around swiftly and crouch, ready to strike again. Margo moved in front of Eliot with no hesitation, her fingers already moving with the first step as she recalled everything she'd read before. Even though she recommended book after book in the scifi and normal fiction section to Eliot, there were a massive amount more in the Brakebills library that she'd read during free time, including spells. The ground began freezing beneath the male creatures legs, icy tentacles weaving up his feet and calves, soon immobilizing his knees and thighs as he let out a confused and enraged screech. Margo's hands were shaking, she was terrified of Eliot and Quentin getting hurt more, terrified that anything could happen to any of them. "Get Q and get a head start, I can run faster if I'm not helping with him." "I am not leaving you here alone with them." The protest was firm and she knew Eliot meant every word, even Quentin's voice chimed in after. "I'm okay, I can manage, let's all just go, okay? Look, it was just a mistake, we didn't mean to walk into your nesting area, okay?" Quentin looked at the creatures, not even sure they would understand what he was saying, but judging by the female's face, they weren't going to accept an apology. Eliot worked quickly on forming another shield as the male began struggling, the female watching between he and Margo as if she expected him to break free any moment and attack them. A single call from the treeline nearby, sounding like a mix between a birds cry and a hiss had the female in a protective stance again. "Oh, fuck me." Margo muttered as the ice around the male cracked, Eliot yelling for Quentin to run as he moved forward to help shield Margo so she could stop trying to keep the spell climbing. A single blast of the females energy hit the shield, the male hurtling his body at it, distracting the two enough that Quentin's yelled second warning was too late, fangs of the female creature sinking into Margo's arm. Margo shrieked in shocked pain, ripping her arm away and lifting her other in a fist, swinging it to send a right hook directly into the female creature's jaw. "You bitch!" The hand that swung immediately went to cover the fresh wound, Quentin moving in front of her as he sent hit after hit of the missile battle magic they'd learned. Eliot soon dropped the shield as he watched Margo stumble back, her hand moving to her head, the dizziness clear in her face. One final hit to the female had her spiraling back, the male running to her side as he hissed at the trio, his body stance over her fully defensive. Quentin kept his hands lifted, ready to fire again if needed, but his steps carried him slowly back towards where Eliot was now holding Margo up bridal style. "I think they're poisonous, we need to get her to Brakebills to see if Lipson can help her." Eliot said, his voice wavering as he pressed his lips to her forehead when she whispered his name, her body soon going limp in his arms. ~~ "Sweet dreams, till sunbeams find you... gotta keep dreaming, leave all worries behind you. But in your dreams whatever they be..." Eliot's voice was soft beside Margo, the faint beep of her heart being monitored to her other side. A slight shift of her hand had it moving away from whatever it touched, her eyes parting just enough to find out it was Quentin's hair. Her fingers moved out again to brush through the brown strands as best as she could, her other hand soon squeezed by Eliot's fingers, which had been wrapped around them for a while judging by how clammy her hand felt. "You're not allowed to scare me like this, Bambi. I need you. We both do." Eliot said softly as he lifted Margo's hand to his lips, pressing his lips to her knuckles. "Listen, El," Margo rasped out, her brows furrowing at the state of her voice. "Was I snoring?" "Uh huh." "Mouth open?" "Like a fish out of water. A beautiful fish." Margo's face scrunched up as she smacked her lips and swallowed a couple times, her tongue and mouth dryer than the Wandering desert. Her head fell towards Eliot, still heavy from whatever drugs were being pumped into her right arm, her left brow raising slowly. Maybe. Or it wasn't and she probably just looked ridiculous, fuck if she knew. "What's a bitch gotta do to get some water and chapstick?" Eliot's laugh was like music in the mostly silence of the room, the chair silent on the floor as he slid back enough to grab the pitcher of water on the table, pouring her a glass and bringing it back. She sipped from the straw as he held it, taking another sip or two until the glass was gone and she took a deep breath, leaning her head back, her eyes closing for a moment. A light, slick pressure on her lips had them peeking open, Eliot was standing now and carefully applying chapstick to her lips, then to his own. "That was real warm..." "It was in my pocket." "Wait, can I have some?" The two turned their head to Quentin, who had apparently woken at some point and was now looking at the chapstick in Eliot's hand like a puppy that wanted a treat. Eliot nodded and leaned across the bed, applying it on Quentin's lips as well before pressing a kiss to his forehead and leaning back. "I'm sorry if I made you both worry, but I wasn't letting that Fillory freak hurt you, El." Margo finally finished her previous attempt of an apology, both hands now taken by Eliot and Quentin, the latter's chin lightly resting on them- he still looked exhausted. "How long was I out, anyway?" "Almost a week." Eliot said hesitantly, opening his mouth to speak again, but Margo had already started and was lifting her head, which wobbled around like a toy before falling back against the pillow. "Almost a week?! Oh, that Voldemort bitch is dead for biting me." Margo's voice was low as she glared up at the ceiling, but Quentin brought her attention back down as he rubbed the spot where she'd been bit. "Lipson was able to stop the spread of the poison, but we actually had to have some of the medics from Fillory come. I guess the poison was a lot like rattlesnake venom, only... Fillory rattlesnake...people." Quentin's eyebrows furrowed before he gave a crooked smile and squeezed her hand. "But you're back now and they said it shouldn't scar much." "Not that I wouldn't rub some shea butter on it for you, you know. As your best friend, that's my job." Eliot chimed in and stood, deciding to climb onto the bed and lay with Margo, her arm shifting slowly, carefully, around his shoulders. They stayed that way for a minute before Margo turned her head and looked at Quentin, almost expectantly. "Well? You coming up here too?" "Oh, I mean, I just thought because of the IV and the medicine that-- I just don't want to--" "Shut up and get up here, Q." Quentin's lips formed a small 'o' before he nodded and moved up carefully onto the bed, mimicking Eliot's position of laying on his side, his arm soon moving out to lay over Margo and partially on Eliot's side. Eliot's arm slung over as well, a gentle squeeze given to Quentin's side. "Thank you both for saving me. Thank you for... really being the best friends a bad bitch like me could have. Yes, even you, Q." Margo knew Quentin was looking up at her in that cute, tried-to-hide-it surprise that he normally did, which faded away into a soft smile at her confirmation. They'd been close since their threesome and, as much as Margo tried to deny it, she liked keeping Quentin close, too. He was a good person to be around, he had a good heart and strong feelings- he fit in just right with she and Eliot, who shared the same personality. They were often separated from Quentin, but they were a force when put together, and they were all grateful and had nothing but love for each other. "Nap time?" Eliot asked as Margo tried (and failed) to suppress a yawn, successfully triggering Quentin into yawning as well. "Nap time," the two said in unison.

[nancywheelxr]

this year’s love had better last ( read on AO3 )

“Quentin Coldwater?” Eliot asks, just to be sure, just to catch his attention and hold it forever, possibly, just to fill out the air buzzing around them.

Quentin nods, mumbling an incoherent string of sounds.

“I’m Eliot,” he says, and puts out his cigarette, drops down from the school sign. “You’re late.”

Under his assessing gaze, Quentin is obliviously still looking around, and Eliot finds his lost lamb-ness strangely endearing.

This year just might turn out to be interesting, after all.

or, the one where Fillory isn't real and a world of problems is avoided, Quentin still finds his way to Brakebills, Eliot still falls in love. Destiny is bullshit, but some things are constants.

*

It’s in the early days of Fall, where the leaves are still green and safely tucked in their trees and pumpkin hasn’t quite taken over the season yet, that Dean Fogg hands Eliot a white card with a name and tells him to show the first year around, and in the interest of keeping up the Physical Kids parties reputation, Eliot squints critically at the name written in black ink and magnanimously agrees.

How thoughtful of him, really. Eliot remembers being guided by an utterly bored, utterly boring student on his first day. Now, to have Eliot as a guide– this Quentin Coldwater has lucked out twice already. In a way, at least.

So he drapes himself over the Brakebills sign, lights a cigarette and contemplates the sky, the season, the still-green leaves, and a whole lot of nothings, and waits. Somewhere across campus, Margo is already showing her first year to the building because her first year isn’t late, he saw them walking past him a few minutes ago, and Eliot watched with disinterested jealousy as her own boring task slips away faster than his.

Eliot waits and smokes, and when Quentin Coldwater stumbles out of the woods, clutching his bag’s strap like a lifeline, eyes darting around in such sincere wonder– Eliot thinks oh.

“Quentin Coldwater?” Eliot asks, just to be sure, just to catch his attention and hold it forever, possibly, just to fill out the air buzzing around them. 

Quentin nods, mumbling an incoherent string of sounds.

“I’m Eliot,” he says, and puts out his cigarette, drops down from the school sign. “You’re late.”

Under his assessing gaze, Quentin is obliviously still looking around, and Eliot finds his lost lamb-ness strangely endearing. 

This year just might turn out to be interesting, after all.

*

It’s mid-season and Quentin did get in, placed in the Physical Kids Cottage along with the pretty blonde he seems to be always trailing after. At this point, Eliot is surprised they’re not fucking yet, but in the business of not dwelling too long in the matter of Quentin’s painful straightness, he opts to be selfishly glad.

What’s it with you and the flavor of the month, Margo had asked nearly a month ago, and Eliot had given her a superficial non-answer at the time, unwilling to admit there’s something bright and tempting in Quentin that just calls for Eliot’s attention. But that was then and this is now, and Margo has since given up on questioning Eliot’s reasons and simply adopted their dorky first year in their fold.

Part of him wonders if Margo’s readiness to accept Quentin has something to do with the other half of his package deal– well, the other-other half, since Julia also seems to be a vaguely permanent presence at his side, but it’s Alice that catches Margo’s eyes.

“Ten bucks says they’ll fuck in Brakebills South,” Margo says one day over the brim of her glass, and Eliot follows her gaze to find Quentin and Alice bent over a book in the living room couch. There’s nothing particularly bitter about the way she said it, but Eliot knows better, even if it’s the first time he’s seeing her stay fixed in someone like this. It might be easy for him to see, perhaps, because of the mirrored way it must show on his own face, to her at least. There’s no precedent on this for him either. “Earlier, even.”

Eliot thinks of the Trials, fast approaching. “If they get paired in the spell, maybe,” he allows, carefully keeping anything from his voice too, but still watching the way Quentin laughs and Alice shyly tucks her hair behind her ears. They do make an attractive couple, he supposes, in the sensible way most stories go. “I’m not sure I’ll take you up on this bet, Bambi.”

“I’m sorry,” she falls against his chest with a sigh and Eliot wraps his arms around her, presses a kiss into her hair. It’s just like them, really, to manage to catch these pesky feelings at the same time, over the same set of people. Misery does love company, it turns out.

“Why would you be?” Eliot replies, floating up a wine bottle for them to share. Nothing like good alcohol and the promising prospect of a party later on to distract them from this little hiccup in their good judgment. “Here, nothing to be sorry for after drinking this.”

She drinks it straight from the bottle and Eliot nods in approval– this feels like an appropriate evening for foregoing glasses, and out of the corner of his eyes, he catches Quentin looking. Eliot raises the bottle in a salute, and Alice frowns disapprovingly at their day drinking. 

“We do love those,” Margo sighs.

Quentin still smiles, though.

*

It’s the start of winter and the cold weather is beginning to seep in even here, even in Brakebills, and Eliot revels in missing his morning classes, staying in bed until the sun has warmed the Cottage into something less reminiscing of Brakebills South.

The walk down to the Cottage’s kitchen feels oddly like a walk of shame, even though there’s barely anyone around at this hour, and Eliot shakes his head, amused at himself.

“Coffee?”

The voice startles him, Eliot hadn’t noticed he wasn’t alone, and he wonders when did Quentin learn to blend in so well into the background. “Yes, please,” he answers on semi-automatic, busy taking in the messy kitchen and the messy Quentin standing in the middle of it. There are books scattered around the table and a notebook with a giant coffee stain next to them, and when Quentin moves into the light, Eliot can see the shadows under his eyes and the ink smudges on his hands. Eliot wants to gather him in his arms and wrap him in blankets– this is seriously getting ridiculous, the wet dreams were definitely easier to deal with. Instead, he asks, “did you stay up all night studying?”

Quentin shrugs, seemingly unsure if he should be apologetic or not. “I– maybe. I have a quiz later, I’m not– I was revising,” he hands Eliot a mug, his forehead creasing a little in the way it does when Quentin frowns without realizing. “But hey, did you– do you know what happened to the toaster?”

As a matter of fact, Eliot does know what happened to the toaster. Eliot and Margo after a night in London two days ago happened to the toaster. They had been spectacularly, deliciously drunk and decided to try to make the toaster run with magic instead of electricity. You know, in favor of the general cause of saving the environment and fleeting, unshakable curiosity. 

The toaster had not survived their attempts.

“No,” he lies, sitting down on the closest chair and making an effort not to add anymore spills into the notebook’s already impressive collection. “Perhaps Todd broke it?”

“Maybe,” says Quentin, dubiously, because he has not yet cottoned on the fun of shifting the blame into an unsuspecting Todd. “Also, we’re somehow out of bread? How– actually, who’s doing groceries? I’ve never seen anyone buy things but there’s always stuff in the fridge– should we, should I be contributing? That’s– whatever. Somehow there’s no bread anymore, maybe that’s why the toaster is gone.”

With a subtle flicker of his wrist, a pile of takeout containers someone left in the sink falls to the trash can, hiding the copious amounts of toasts Eliot and Margo had burned down to a crisp after trying to make toast with magic since the toaster was no longer working. “I have no idea what happened to all the bread,” Eliot tells him with an innocent face. The coffee burns his tongue, but he doesn’t flinch. “What I do know is that you are in desperate need of a break, Q.”

Like a bursting balloon, Quentin deflates with a noisy sigh, collapsing in the chair across Eliot. Somewhere inside his ribcage, something aches. He reaches to pat Quentin’s hand in silent comfort. “Maybe you’re right,” Quentin mumbles, rubbing at his eyes before something seems to occur to him. “Wait, don’t you have classes now?”

Eliot shrugs disinterestedly.

“How come I never see you or Margo in class, ever?” He continues, head tilting like an adorably confused puppy, squinting, “I’ve seen even Todd already– do you guys even attend lectures?”

They do, of course. Taking mandatory attendance loosely, of course. And studying in hidden nooks of the library and behind closed doors of his bedroom, of course. Eliot could tell Quentin that, of course. “Now, where would be the fun in that?” But it’s so much more fun to let him go on thinking of them as sort of cryptids. And Quentin does look pretty with that suspiciously bewildered look on his face.

“I,” Quentin shakes his head, huffing a laugh, and the line of his shoulders no longer looks about ready to snap. A small victory, if Eliot says so himself. “Nevermind. I think I’m gonna get some sleep– there’s more milk in the fridge, by the way.”

It suddenly dawns on Eliot that the coffee he’s drinking already has, in fact, milk. And sugar, just how he likes it.

“Thanks,” he says faintly, watching Quentin nod and haphazardly gather his things, pens and papers spilling out of his arms. “You know, you are one of us, Q. You could work on levitating spells.”

As the books and fallen pencils all float up at Eliot’s command, a shadow flickers behind Quentin’s eyes. “Not really, don’t have a Discipline, remember?”

“Nonsense,” Eliot shushes him, lets Quentin take over the spell, “you are here, aren’t you? You’re in the Physical Kids Cottage, therefore, you are a Physical Kid.”

“That’s not how–” 

He lifts a finger, Quentin falls quiet. “Nap first,” he tells him theatrically stern, “existential crisis, later– much later. After your mid-thirties, preferably.”

It brings a laugh out of Quentin, and Eliot smiles, chest growing tight and warm like summer is blooming early around his heart.

*

It’s the middle of winter, nearing the turning point of the season where temperatures will begin dropping less and less and snow won’t be a permanent feature, but for now, Brakebills is blanketed in white in a way that Upstate New York has no business being and Eliot has a sort-of boyfriend.

Mike is– he’s Mike. He’s a warm, pleasant distraction that Eliot finds easier and easier to keep around. He’s funny and charming and refined, and he likes Eliot, gives him his undivided attention, kisses him like he means all his sweet nothings.

Not that Eliot believes him just quite yet, but– he could, in time.

There’s disappointed jealousy in Margo’s eyes and she refuses to like Mike, which is not fair at all because Margo had her fair share of distractions after Quentin and Alice upgraded from emotionally-stunted fuckbuddies to officially a Thing a few weeks ago. She has Ibiza, and Madrid, and London, and the Naturalists parties, and Rio, and Eliot has Mike.

I only have one Bambi, he had reassured her, and he meant it. No one could ever replace Margo’s place on his heart, not even Quentin– she was the first person Eliot learned to love and there’s no erasing that; Margo’s his Bambi, that’s all.

Still, Mike is the closest thing he has to a boyfriend and he thinks he could learn to love him too, with time, so when Margo sighs long-suffering and weary but thaws her cold stare to allow Mike into their little group, Eliot smiles brilliantly and kisses her forehead, thank you.

Maybe she’ll never quite warm up to Mike, maybe she’ll keep thinking it’s a mistake, but compromises are compromises and Eliot opens a portal to their favorite bar in Amsterdam over the weekend– Margo grins and kisses his cheek.

All is forgiven.

*

It’s the end of winter and the Woof Fountain is cracking, melting under the fine frozen surface. The pale sunlight hits the ice and turns the crystals in tiny rainbows every once in a while and it’s surprisingly mesmerizing to watch the ice fracture bit by bit.

Eliot isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting at the bench, smoking a cigarette and listening to the splintering noises behind him, but it’s long enough that morning classes are dismissed and students start to filter out, eagerly running off towards their houses and portals.

Among them, there is Quentin and there is Alice– although, interestingly enough, there’s no Quentin-and-Alice. They walk close, but the awkwardness around them is not the we-just-had-sex-oh-my-god-i’m-sorry-you-heard-it-didn’t-you that usually lingers. 

Don’t be foolish, Eliot tells himself. This means nothing.

Quentin spots him first, raising a hand to wave but deciding against it halfway and clumsily lowering it again, settling on a smile before turning to tell Alice something. She doesn’t frown, only nodding jerkily and making a sharp left in the direction of the Cottage.

“Hey,” Quentin says, a bit out of breath as he stops in front of Eliot with an undignified high pile of books on his arms. “What are you doing here?”

The late morning light is hitting Quentin’s eyes in the exact angle to turn them into that lovely chocolate color, honeyed with warmth, and now it’s Eliot’s turn to be breathless. To stall, he blows a puff of smoke, shapes it into a bunny and lets it run a lap before dissolving in Quentin's face. “Spending time not in the Cottage,” he finally answers, “I wouldn’t recommend going inside just yet. A few third years have decided to try their hand at transfiguration. It’s been going as well as expected.”

“Oh no, Alice– she’s on her way there,” Quentin frowns, charmingly worried, eyebrows knitting, and his books sway with him. 

“No need for that, between all of us, I’m sure Alice is the most capable one to defend herself against a half-tiger, half-chair.” Besides, the thought of Alice Quinn, hands on her hip and armed with her self-righteous fury lecturing some cocky third-years on how not to fuck up spells is endlessly funny. It serves them right, he thinks. 

“Oh,” he says again, conceding the point, and shuffles a little. “So, uh. Not a good idea to go back for a while?”

“Probably not,” Eliot half-smiles, putting out his cigarette and waiting amusedly for Quentin to finish his thought.

“Then, lunch?” Quentin asks, followed by more self-conscious shuffling. For a moment, Eliot considers declining. He thinks of Mike, off to Portland in a work trip for the next couple of days, and he thinks of Margo shaking her head infuriatingly knowing, and he thinks of his own breathlessness just a few minutes ago. It would be, perhaps, the kinder, better choice to say no.

“Then, lunch,” he agrees, getting to his feet and claiming half of Quentin’s books.

Oh, well. Eliot has never been very good at being kind to himself.

*

It’s spring and the days are warming up, color blooming around the lawns and bushes and even the accidental, occasionally cared for, tiny garden in the Cottage’s backyard. Eliot’s not sure the marigolds will survive the summer.

It’s also Spring Break, and the campus is blessedly empty, with only a few scattered students still hanging around, no drawn-out lectures or dull homework to get through. Normally, Eliot would have been the first to step through a portal with Margo, ready to lose himself in the best possible ways, but this year is– things are different.

For one, Margo is upstairs, having a crisis over her wardrobe and pretending it’s not because Alice asked her where she bought the tacos from last week and somehow got roped up into showing the twitchy little bird around New York. Good for her, Eliot thinks, although he hasn’t made up his mind yet how he feels about the latest Quentin-Alice break up.

It is a travesty that nearly six months in and Alice has not taken a tour around the real New York, though.

Maybe, and this is perhaps the wildest thing to date, so he’s taking it with a grain or two of salt, but maybe, they have changed a bit, too. Eliot does have a boyfriend now– a boyfriend that has a steady job, and pay taxes, and drinks moderately, perfectly reasonable amounts, and who has parents he wants Eliot to meet someday soon, and for some unfathomable reason seems to genuinely like Eliot even after learning the Sparknotes about Indiana.

“When did this happen,” he muses out loud, leaning against the railing and taking a swing from his flask.

“When did what happen?” Quentin asks, sounding mildly alarmed, and Eliot doesn’t bother turning around, waits until Quentin quits hovering at the doorway and joins him in the porch, tentatively hopping up to sit on the railing. “So, hm. Something happened?”

Yes, we grew up, how dreadful. “Not yet,” Eliot says, looking up at the sky. From here, they could see the sun and the tree line and if it weren’t for the multitude of spells keeping Brakebills separated from the rest of New York, the countless grey buildings, probably. “But something might– Margo has her eyes set on your, well, ex-girlfriend. Sorry, that came out harsher than I intended.” There was supposed to be a question there but it got lost somewhere between his thoughts and leaving his mouth, and Eliot kind of chickened halfway and overcompensating for that isn’t the smoothest way to choose words. Still, there’s a question hidden in the middle. Can you find it, Q?

He gets an answer in return– not the one he had been expecting because you have to know the question in order to expect something about the answer. That being said, “oh, thank god,” is still fairly shocking as far as responses go, “I wanted to talk to you about this sooner, but it wasn’t my secret to tell– and, and Alice was being so stubborn about this, you know? I told her, I told her, to go for it, but she wouldn’t listen and I’ve never been more stressed in my life– El, she kept chickening out every fucking time and I– it’s been weeks!”

“I don’t– you’re not upset?”

Quentin laughs. 

“I was upset, yeah,” he shrugs, fiddling with the end of his long sleeves, “but then I was relieved, to be honest. We– Alice and I, we’re not very good at being together? I– that’s not. We work better as friends. Besides, it wasn’t really fair to anyone to keep, uh, dragging out something that was clearly over. And she’s been crushing so hard on Margo, it’s– it’s kind of sweet, actually? I don’t know, we were thinking of starting a club for bisexual disasters. There would be t-shirts involved.”

So much to unpack there. So much, like, wow– Eliot decides to wrap it all up and zip the suitcase back closed, to be dissected at a later date, preferably without Quentin’s soft, earnest eyes catching all of Eliot’s attention and sending his heart into a spiral on his chest. “As Margo’s best friend, I have to ask,” Eliot settles on the easier route, the one that doesn’t acknowledge the fact that Quentin is– that he isn't –  “because if Alice’s only using her to rebound–”

“Oh, no, no,” Quentin nearly falls off his perch in his rush to stop Eliot’s train of thoughts, gripping the banister with white-knuckles to stay upright. “She’s not– Alice really likes her, there’s no rebounding, or second best, or anything like that. Margo’s the real deal for her, you know?”

Yes, yes, Eliot knew which is exactly why he had to ask. “In that case, I’m happy for them and their cute Taco Tuesday date.”

“Are you giving them your blessing?” Quentin’s eyebrows raise and amusement spills from his smile like sunshine after rain.

“I’m being a concerned friend, that’s all.”

“I know,” Quentin’s smile gentles, tugging at Eliot’s every heartstring and making his ribcage constrict painfully because he sounds as if he means it in the honest, unadulterated way only Quentin could ever be.

Eliot clears his throat. “Anyway. Are you sure you’re okay with this new development, Q?”

“Yeah,” he says, without missing a beat, “I really am. As I said, it’s been over even before we broke up. It’s fine, I’m happy for them too.”

There’s something in his voice, though, that nags at Eliot’s mind, but he shakes the thought off, slips it into the stack of things not to obsess over right now, and simply passes Quentin his flask even though it’s the middle of the afternoon, only beginning to tip towards evening, and Quentin doesn’t always partake in day drinking as often as Eliot does. 

“Thanks,” Quentin murmurs, taking a big swing before handing the flask back, and his hair falls in his face like it always does, and Eliot sighs inwardly like he always does in response. “Hey, so. I’ve been talking to Julia and she thinks– I mean, that’s not. Nevermind, it’s stupid.”

“Q,” Eliot shifts, turning fully to look at Quentin, frowns at his tone, wishes he could erase the worried crease on his forehead, “come on, what’s going on?”

“No, it’s fine, really. And it’s not about Alice and Margo, either, don’t worry. Julia’s wrong anyway, there’s no point.”

Eliot wants to argue, press him for details, remind Quentin that Julia is an irritatingly exceptional Knowledge student and thus, is rarely wrong, but his phone goes off with a text, reminding him he has to hurry if he wants to make it in time to his date with Mike in fifteen minutes.“I have to meet Mike now,” he explains slowly, studying Quentin’s face for any signs he would not be okay on his own, “but we’ll talk later, when I get back, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Right, you should– I’ll be fine. Have uh, have fun on your date?”

The last part is said in his usual awkward, cringing self and Eliot can’t help the rush of fondness even as he walks back in the Cottage. With one last look behind him, Eliot leaves Quentin in the porch, silhouetted by a halo of sunlight and Spring.

*

It’s a little after the halfway mark on the season when the world is blooming in color and the breeze is a light perfume that Mike finally breaks up with him. 

Do you honestly see a future with us in it, Eliot? With me? Mike had asked looking worn out and heartbroken, and Eliot had never wanted so badly to say yes but– his eyes must betray the hesitation inside his chest and Mike has enough of an answer. I’m not a consolation prize, I deserve better than to be someone else’s second choice.

And how could Eliot argue with that? He lets him go and selfishly doesn’t apologize, watching Mike leave with a sort of dispassionate emptiness. His world turns a little grey at the edges, dulled with an aching sadness, but it’s not off-kilter.

Mike is gone and Eliot– Eliot’s not nearly as heartbroken as he wishes.

* 

It’s summer and spring has slipped away to give space to higher and higher temperatures. The heat is merciless and the sun is barely even in the sky when Eliot wakes up, too uncomfortable with the too warm weather to go back to sleep.

The Cottage is still stuffy even after he opens every window and door of his bedroom, so he admits defeat and takes a shower, climbing down to the kitchen once he’s done with his hair still dripping and his polo shirt sticking to his back.

He doesn’t expect to find anyone else awake at this hour, and yet–

“Oh,” Alice breathes, looking up at him like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, and Eliot thinks too early, too early, too early, but it’s also too late, so he steps into the kitchen pretending the air isn’t suddenly awkward. “Good morning,” she offers.

“Morning,” he nods, making a beeline for the fridge and taking out the orange juice he saw Todd hiding behind the milk yesterday. Resisting the urge to look for his flask, Eliot forces himself to sit at the table with a polite smile. Margo likes her, it’s the least Eliot can do, and besides, he can’t fault her for falling in the same rabbit hole as him. If anything, Eliot should be asking her for tips on how to dig himself out. “Early morning or late night?” 

Alice twitches, eyes darting at him and away, back down to her mug, but her lips quirk into what resembles a small smile. “I couldn’t go back to sleep,” she explains with a shrug, “and didn’t want to wake Margo up, so.”

Now, his smile turns more genuine. To be honest, Eliot had been a little wary of their relationship, in the beginning, always hovering in the periphery of things, worried Alice didn’t feel half as much as Margo did, but– he sees it now, he really does. Alice is still a bit too uptight, and twitchy, and not too comfortable around Eliot, but it’s in the little things that show– the concessions, the smiles, the I didn’t want to wake Margo ups. 

“Well, cheers, then,” Eliot raises his glass in salute and Alice clinks her mug against it amusedly, clearly recalling Todd labeling the orange bottle with his name yesterday. He winks at her and she laughs. 

It’s in the little things, you see.

“What, uh, what about you?” Alice asks, adjusting her glasses. “I’ve never seen you up so early.”

With a theatrical groan, Eliot leans back on his chair, “it’s too hot upstairs! Impossible to stay in bed! It’s a disaster– there goes my beauty sleep.”

“A tragedy, truly,” she agrees, mockingly serious, and her eyes gleam with mischief he hadn’t realized could spark there. Hmm, yes, perhaps he sees how she could work with Margo. “Would knowing Q is due to come back from his pastries run anytime now help lift your spirits?”

A whole minute ticks by while Eliot stares at Alice, frantically searching for the right words for an answer that wouldn’t come off defensively rude or desperately indifferent until she takes pity on him. “Eliot,” she says, smiling gently, “I’m not blind. And I also don’t mind,” Alice adds, meeting his eyes head on, bolder than he’s seen her in– ever, perhaps. “I’m in love with Margo and– I like to think we’re friends.”

Friends don't let friends drink Long Island Iced Tea, he recalls with a tentative grin of his own. 

“So, the point I’m trying to make is– don’t be stupid,” she sips her coffee primly as if giving out love advice at the crack of dawn is a thing she regularly does, and hey, for all that Eliot knows, it might as well be. It’s not like he’s ever awake at this hour. 

But wherever else their conversation is idling to go, it gets abruptly cut off by the sound of the Cottage’s front door opening and closing and Quentin stumbling inside, paper bags gathered in his arms like precious cargo.

“Oh, hey, you’re up early,” he grins, his whole face lighting up and bringing the sun inside with him and setting Eliot on fire. The bags are set on the counter and Quentin starts to unload them, oblivious to it all. 

“A blueberry muffin, a croissant, and a soy latte macchiato for you and Margo as requested,” he hands Alice a box and a paper cup, “bagels and a latte for me,” another box is set aside, and then Quentin is looking up at Eliot again, holding the last plastic box towards him victoriously, “scones and chocolate chip cookies– which is terrible breakfast food, I know, but you said they were your favorites, and they were there, so I figured why the fuck not, you know?”

Eliot takes the box numbly, carefully peering inside to find exactly what Quentin had listed, but his brain loops uncomprehendingly around the concept. “How did you know–” He trails off, unsure how to end the question.

“I didn’t know you were already up, I was gonna leave it here and hope for the best, to be honest,” Quentin shrugs, snickering at his own idea, like that would make it any less thoughtful, like Eliot could think any less of it. 

How did you know it was my favorite is what he truly wanted to ask, he realizes.

“Thank you,” he says honestly, swallowing around a lump he hadn’t noticed forming on his throat.

Quentin ducks his head, smiling.

A bit of rustling at his left reminds him they’re not alone and Eliot shouldn’t work himself up over every little crumb of affection, but the look Alice throws him as she takes her and Margo’s breakfast upstairs is pointed and sharp. To Quentin, she gives a different sort of glare over the kitchen counter. 

Eliot is not sure what to make of any of this.

Not that it matters, of course, as Quentin is soon launching into a story about his trip to the nearest coffee shop and Eliot eats his scones and listens, listens, listens, watching the rising summer sun filtering through the window and reflecting off Quentin’s eyes.

It’s in the little things, alright, and he wants to know them by heart.

*

It’s Autumn again and Eliot is smoking on top of the Brakebill’s stone sign, watching the clouds slowly paint the sky in shades of grey and pondering on the past year. He watches the tree line with an almost nostalgic feeling, catching himself expecting Quentin to come bumbling out of the woods and crashing headfirst into magic and Eliot’s life and a whole new world for him, for both of them, if Eliot’s being honest for once in his life.

“I’m having a deja vu,” Quentin announces and for a second Eliot wholeheartedly agrees, but there’s no mistaking this Quentin for past-Quentin, and it’s not just his hair– shorter, less tangled, hiding less of his eyes– or the lack of his messenger bag. This time around Quentin is smiling at Eliot and leaning against the stone sign, none of the nervous ticks he gets around other people, only his usual earnest, open self– and Eliot’s heart skips so many beats at the idea of how much trust is there for Quentin to give Eliot unrestricted access like this. Doesn’t he know by now? Eliot shouldn’t be trusted with breakable things, Q, don’t you know? 

“Careful,” Eliot says around his cigarette, knowing fully well his eyes are doing enough smiling on their own, “Dean Fogg might hear you and decide to stick you with the Psychs and then where would you be? Penny just might murder you in your sleep if you room with him again.”

“Yeah, it’s too late for that now,” Quentin says, carelessly happy to let the words spill, “turns out I really am where I belong.”

“You got your discipline?” The surprise in his voice is impossible to mask, but Eliot knows Quentin hears the genuine happiness along with it.

“Yup,” he grins, excited and bright, impossibly gold in a greying season, “it’s nothing flashy, but– “his grin goes impossibly wider and how overwhelming it is to be smiled at fully by Quentin Coldwater. Eliot had been doomed from the start, really. “Repair of Small Objects.”

“You’re a Physical Kid,” Eliot tells him with a proud grin of his own.

“I’m a Physical Kid,” Quentin agrees.

“I told you belonged here,” he allows himself a second to be soft in disguise of being smug. 

“You did,” Quentin agrees again, suspiciously mellow about it, and then goes on overly casual, “but in hindsight, that’s kinda obvious. You’re here, after all– where else would I belong?”

Eliot’s heart stops beating, stops being, stops– “Q,” he sits up, pauses, lost as to how to explain how terrifyingly bad Eliot could fuck this up if Quentin means what Eliot thinks he means, how fear is seizing up his bones in an unshakeable grip and clenching Eliot’s jaw shut, grinding down any words that might be brave enough to try and escape past his lips.

“El,” Quentin counters softly, slipping between Eliot’s legs and resting his hands in Eliot’s knees, and Eliot is sure he must be burning hand-shaped holes into his jeans. He looks at Eliot and he’s still smiling and he’s still the brightest, most beautiful thing in any room and Eliot– he’s terrified. “If you don’t want this, you don’t want us to be a thing, that’s okay, really, nothing has to change, but, uh– this is me, choosing this, choosing you. Sorry, I had to tell you or I would go insane, you know? I’m so in love with you, and you’re one of my best friends, and I don’t want to fuck this up, but– Julia thinks– she wouldn’t leave it alone, she says you’re in love with me too, and I– yeah. I wanted to believe in that so bad.”

There are so many ways this could blow up in their face, so many reasons Eliot should walk away, stop this before it wrecks everything, but Eliot is only human, and isn’t human nature to be selfish? He’s not strong enough– fuck that, he doesn’t want to be strong enough to turn Quentin down, turn his shot at something great, at the kind of love he’s only ever allowed himself to wonder about at the dead of night and inside his thoughts. 

So instead, he tells himself to be brave and reaches for Quentin with shaking fingers and his heart on his sleeves, says, “haven’t you learned, Julia is rarely wrong,” and Quentin grins, grins, grins, leans up, and Eliot meets him halfway. “How could I not fall in love with you, Q?” He whispers against Quentin’s lips, drawing Quentin closer, closer, deeming every inch between them an unforgivable crime, “I love you, of course I love you,” Eliot says, feels Quentin wrapping his arms around his waist and shivering against his chest, “I met you and I loved you, and I’ll have you for as long as you’ll have me.”

Quentin kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him.

“Forever, then,” Quentin decides and means it.

“Forever, then,” Eliot agrees, and hopes. 

[thirstyforbishiesimagines]

Hehe “Nice buns.” Thank you for your kind words and the request, Anon. T’was very creative xx

.

500 Followers Prompt Request

Zion x Reader

Sinful Smut

“Is your father a baker? Cause you have two nice buns.” / “Are you a gun? Cause I’d bang you every day.”

Warning: Smut . Profanity (18+)

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The warm winter sun shone through the boarded windows of the hallway as you made your way to 1-C. You spotted Zion leaning up against the entrance of the classroom, looking like he was waiting for someone. You gave him a vibrant smile, greeting the redhead as he combed his fingers through his hair; a seductive smirk on his face.

“Hey, (Y/N).”

You stopped in front of him, tilting your head to the side, “Hey, what’s up?”

“So, I wanted to know…”

You nodded in response, encouraging him to continue.

“Is your father a baker? Cause you have two nice buns.” He raised an eyebrow flirtatiously, reaching out to caress your lower lip with his thumb. You stared at him, slightly confused - your father was a banker.

“Nice buns? Oh!” Your eyes fell upon the two cream buns in your hands, “You mean these? These were from Eugene… but, thanks~” You walked away with a spring in your step as Zion watched you, wide-eyed and completely stupefied.

.

The dinner meeting ended and you paired up with Zion for night patrol on the rooftop. The both of you peered through the fence, surveying the schoolyard.

“I wished we had decent weapons to kill those monsters. Like, guns… They would be handy but I guess it would be super dangerous, as well.” You sighed heavily, grasping your fingers around the thin wire.

Zion suddenly grabbed your wrist and pulled you into an embrace. His hot breath tickled the cool skin around your ear as he spoke, “Are you a gun? Cause I’d bang you every day.”

You shoved his chest away, horrified at his words, “You… You want to shoot me?”

Perturbed, the redhead just stared at you; annoyed that you really had no idea what his intentions were.

“Are you serious, (Y/N)?” He groaned, exasperated.

“Are… are you?” You stuttered, searching in his golden eyes for solace.

The intensity in his bright orbs burned with raging desire as Zion clasped his hands over your cheeks, “All day, (Y/N)! How can you not get it? I’ve been hinting to you that I want to fuck you!”

You flittered your eyelids, still baffled, “You want to fu-“

“OH, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!”

Zion crashed his lips to yours; desperate, needy and determined. Your eyes, once more, bewildered before falling under the heat of his passion. Your eyes fluttered shut and you gave into his lustful kiss; tongues dancing within each other's mouths.

Impatient, he removed your bottoms and then fumbled to unzip his pants. He hoisted you up against the fence - your legs spread out wide, “I can’t wait…” Before you could even blink, Zion plunged his full length into your cunt and you bit your lip, suppressing a sudden gasp.

After a few dry thrusts, you soon became slick with arousal - pleasure sweeping through your veins. You clung onto the crimson-haired male’s neck, moaning lewdly into his ear. This only turned him on and he began to pound you with all his strength, seeking release from pent up sexual frustration.

Your walls clenched around his throbbing cock; a fire blazing in the depths of your core.

“Ohh, Zion!” Your mewls were music to his ears, sending a shiver up his spine.

“Fuck! Oh Fuck, YEESS~ Your pussy feels so good…”

Your orgasm hit the both of you in unison as a slurry of juices oozed out of your tensile sex. Zion held you close, resting his head in the nook of your shoulder - chest heaving from exertion.

You smiled affectionately, finally realising that all he wanted was you.

Zion planted a soft kiss on your supple neck, giving you a tiny nip in the process, “Next time, don’t make me wait so long."

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Mod Luna Notes: I fucking ugly snorted at her cluelessness! This is pure gold  😂

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x mod bambi

[littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog]

His Brother, The Lover

Explicit | 4,099 words | Derek is Scott’s brother | archive of our own

Summary: Stiles meets Scott's older brother for the first time, who just so happens to be a scruffy, shaggy-haired, perpetually grumpy pornstar that ends up peaking Stiles' interest....

“Harris is fucking with my G.P.A, Scott.” Stiles argued, shifting impatiently as he stood behind Scott on the front-porch of the McCall residence, waiting for Scott to hurry up and open the door. “And I’m not going to stand for it.”

Scott scoffed, opening the front door. “What are you planning to do about it, though?”

“I’ll write a letter to the mayor and tell them that one of the jerk-off teachers at Beacon Hills High is trying to screw up my grades right before graduation.” Stiles explained, following Scott into the foyer of the house. “And they’ll have to believe me, because my dad’s the sheriff.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’ll work out—”

The two momentarily settled into the living room — dropping the weight of their backpacks down onto the carpeted ground. Scott dove onto the couch and immediately started to surf through the channels for something entertaining to watch as a way to de-stress from the exhausting day at school. All the while, Stiles barreled upstairs to the bathroom before he pissed himself.

Stiles made it upstairs and made his way towards the guest bathroom, but then noticed that one of the guest bedroom doors was shut — with a bright light beaming out into the hallway from underneath the door. Not only that, but the shadow of somebody walking around and the sound of somebody rustling through dresser drawers was enough to make Stiles’ ears perk up.

There was somebody else in the house….which, wouldn’t have really been a big deal if it had been one of the days of the week that either of Scott’s parents had off from work. But it wasn’t — Melissa and Mr. McCall were both supposed to be off at their respected jobs until six o’clock, which meant that somebody else was rummaging through a bedroom’s dresser.

Stiles timidly gripped his hand around the doorknob to the bedroom, despite the fact that all of his father’s lessons about running away from danger knocked around inside of his head. He turned the doorknob as quietly as he could, pushing open the door just enough to peer inside and snap a picture of the trespasser with his memory so that a description could be given to the police department later.

But what Stiles didn’t expect was to see a totally ripped, totally fresh out of the shower, totally naked man putting on a fresh pair of boxers. It took Stiles by surprise at knocked the air right out of his lungs, making him accidentally yelp out the words: “holy shit” —and unintentionally alerting the intruder to the fact that he was being watched.

“What the fuck?!” The intruder angrily called out, beaming his dangerous gaze at Stiles.

Stiles jolted back — shutting the bedroom’s door with a loud bang. He raced back downstairs, crying out for Scott to call the police. Once he made it downstairs, Scott was already up and off the couch, completely confused and worried as to why his friend was freaking the hell out instead of using the bathroom like he was supposed to.

“What happened?!” Scott questioned worriedly.

“Th — there’s — a naked burglar in the bedroom.” Stiles breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath. “He saw me and now he’s about to come down here and kill us.”

The heavy patter of frantic feet stomping down the upstairs hallway and the staircase caught Stiles and Scott’s attention. Frozen in fear, the two watched anxiously as the intruder made his way down the stairs to the bottom landing — still only wearing a pair of tight plaid boxers, but obviously angry and laced with the visible desire to commit murder.

“What the fuck, Scott?” The intruder boomed, stepping closer to the two frightened high school seniors. He shoved the palms of his hands against Scott’s chest, pushing him back. “Tell your pervert of a friend to keep his eyes out of my shit.”

“Wait—you know him?” Stiles questioned, turning his attention away from the intruder’s rock-hard abs to Scott’s distressed face.

“Unfortunately…” Scott admitted, rubbing at his chest. “He’s my older brother.”

“That’s Derek?!” Stiles’ eyes widened in shock, momentarily glancing back to Derek and then back to Scott. “He doesn’t look like a lawyer.”

“I’m not a fucking lawyer.” Derek corrected, glaring at Stiles once more before turning his attention back to his little brother. “You’ve been telling people that I’m a lawyer?”

Scott crossed his arms defiantly, unwilling to further comment on the situation out of anger and embarrassment. His brother couldn’t just pop up into his life again, shove him around, and then demand answers. But what was worse was that Derek wasn’t the only one waiting around for an explanation. Stiles was also waiting.

“No, he’s not a lawyer.” Scott mumbled.

“Then—what do you do?” Stiles turned his attention to Derek yet again, hellbent on keeping his eyes situated on Derek’s instead of all of the very wet and very nice nakedness.

Derek scoffed. “I fuck people for a living…on camera.”

A brief moment of silence fell upon the three. Scott was annoyed, Stiles was completely about to implode, and Derek seemed to be perpetually done with existing around other living creatures. Nobody really seemed to want to be the first person to follow up with conversation after Derek’s reveal. Despite the fact that Scott had already known—it was still embarrassing.

“What are you even doing here, Derek?” Scott started. “I thought you were all happy down in LA.”

“I got evicted from my apartment, so I’m staying here until I score another place.” Derek explained shortly. “Now, stay out of my room, be quiet, and tell your bambi-eyed twinkish friend that this is our house—not his!”

Derek stomped right back upstairs and into what was apparently his old bedroom prior to moving out. He was a completely different person compared to what Stiles had always imagined Scott’s older brother to be like. Stiles had always pictured Derek being some sort of charming, upstanding lawyer with a picture-perfect life, a wife, some children, and a nice house.

In actuality, Derek was a tough-looking scruffy dude with shaggy black hair, piercing shadowed eyes, lean muscles, and an attitude that was so explosive that it could probably set houses on fire. Not to mention the fact that he was a pornstar somewhere on the internet….Derek was everything parents warned their young about.

And yet, Stiles couldn’t fight the appeal of Derek’s dangerous charm. Derek was basically a walking wet dream. Stiles couldn’t get the scorching visual of Derek’s body out of his head…plus, the image of those tight boxers slipping up and over the round curvature of Derek’s ass was forever seared into the back of his brain. Stiles wouldn’t forget, even if he tried.

+

That night, Stiles found himself locked up in his own bedroom—door locked, lights low, and laptop front and center. As an avid porn-watcher, Stiles couldn’t believe that he had never managed to stumble upon Derek. But now that he knew, Stiles knew that he had to find him around somewhere. He needed to see a scene, or five, or maybe a couple dozen….however many Derek had filmed.

Stiles scoured through the internet, carefully scrolling through some of the professional studio websites that he frequented. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find anything conclusive. The hunt quickly began to seem like a tireless effort. Perhaps Derek had lied just to be funny. Maybe he wasn’t actually a pornstar. Maybe he really was a lawyer. Maybe Stiles was wasting all of his available masturbation time searching for something that wasn’t even a real thing.

And if he wasn’t going to be able to find confirmation of Derek being a pornstar somewhere on a reputable site, Stiles figured that there was no use in wasting the available private time he had set aside for himself. Porn was still something to enjoy. And if Stiles was lucky enough, he figured that he’d be able to find some obscure video somewhere on PornHub with at least one performer that resembled Derek in some way.

After scrolling through pages and pages of semi-interesting thumbnails and titles, Stiles eventually landed on something that both looked and sounded interesting. The motion thumbnails barely showed anything—besides a few zoomed in snippets of bodies slamming up against one another inside of some polished up dorm room set.

The title was enticing….

“Wolf Timbershaft NAILS a Tight Twink College Boy”

Stiles clicked on the video and settled back against his headboard, resting his laptop to the side of his legs. As the video started to play, Stiles eagerly pulled his cock out of his boxers—giving himself a few solid strokes, letting the establishing shots play out. All good pornos set the stage and whatever adventure Stiles had just clicked on was certainly taking it’s precious time.

Eventually, some lean-muscled blond guy with a tight shirt and even tighter jeans dramatically groaned out and tossed a crumbled piece of paper off of his desk. Homework trouble, obviously. Stiles could relate. The blond dude muttered some poorly acted complaints about how hard college was and then the dorm room’s door received a few knocks.

Stiles perked up — excited to finally get into watching some kind of interesting action. He watched as the blond dude on the screen opened up the door to reveal Mr. Wolf Timbershaft in all of his dominant glory…which, much to Stiles’ bewildered shock, just so happened to be Derek….Scott’s brother…the overbearingly gruff and perpetually angry dude that Stiles had accidentally snuck a peak at back at the McCall house.

It was like the gods above…or the devils below…had fought to reward Stiles with what he had already spent half an hour searching for. Stiles hadn’t been able to find Derek’s porno career with what he had personally felt to be a good investigative session. And then all of a sudden, a scene of Derek’s managed to drop right down into Stiles’ lap.

Immediately, Stiles found himself unable to do anything other than pour all of his attention into watching Derek fiercely maneuver himself through the scene. It was amazing….beyond amazing. Whatever re-uploaded video Stiles had managed to stumble upon definitely wasn’t Derek’s first game. He knew exactly how to take control, work over his scene partner, what kinds of dirty talk sounded the hottest when sprinkled throughout the scene….it was all perfect, calculated, hot as fuck….

Stiles didn’t even last until the mid-point of the video before he ended up coating his stomach and knuckles with his load. What he would give to get just a taste of Derek. It was bad, sure. Stiles knew that he probably shouldn’t lust after his best friend’s older brother. It was definitely breaking some kind of “bro-code” by even thinking about it…but Stiles couldn’t help himself. The fantasy was just too much.

+

The next day, Stiles drove over to Scott’s house with legitimate intention to ask if he could borrow a extra pair of lacrosse gloves from the upcoming big game. Seeing as how it was only five o’clock and Scott didn’t have to clock in at the Animal Clinic until six-thirty, Stiles had no reason not to think that Scott would be home and available to answer the front door.

But much to Stiles’ surprise, Derek was the one who answered the door. Apparently, Scott had been called into work an hour early, allowing for certain dominoes to topple themselves over into creating a situation that Stiles didn’t even know how to properly navigate his way through. He didn’t even know how or where to start.

“What?” Derek barked, leaning against the threshold of the front door.

“I—uh, I was just—” Stiles babbled nervously, unable to stop himself from raking his eyes down Derek’s body, right down to the bulge at the crotch of his jeans.

“Spit it out!” Derek growled, spiking up the volume in his voice. “Jesus Christ, why does my brother pick up the weirdest fucking people to associate himself with?”

“I was looking for Scott.” Stiles said, finding his footing in the unsteady conversation. “We have a game—a lacrosse game on Saturday night—and I really need to see if he has a spare pair of gloves.”

Derek settled his uninterested gaze on Stiles. He rolled his eyes and huffed out a frustrated exhale of breath, reluctantly shifting where he stood to allow Stiles to step into the interior of the house. Derek figured that if Stiles just hurried himself up and found Scott’s spare pair of gloves, then he would be out of Derek’s business for the rest of the week. And that’s really all Derek wanted.

Stiles made his way up to Scott’s bedroom. He carefully searched through the places where he knew Scott usually kept his sports equipment. Meanwhile, Derek watched from the hallway—peering into the room to watch and make sure that Stiles wasn’t about to make a huge ass mess that Derek would get blamed by Scott for later.

“I’m just—I know he has them somewhere.” Stiles explained nervously, stumbling around the expanse of Scott’s room whilst innocently looking over to where Derek stood. “I’m not like, trying to steal anything or something like that.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Derek confirmed dryly. “Now hurry up.”

Stiles nodded, crashing down to the carpeted floor in a mad dash to scan under Scott’s bed. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome, and as much as he wanted to stick around and oogle Derek’s hot body, he didn’t actually want to get dragged downstairs and thrown outside on his ass. Derek didn’t seem like he was in the mood to wait around.

The moment Stiles dropped down onto all fours, Derek felt a twinge of interest spark inside of his body. He raised in eyebrow, analyzing the way Stiles’ back muscles flexed and moved underneath the loose flannel shirt that the boy had on. But Derek’s eyes kept falling down to look at Stiles’ ass—which was practically falling out of the boy’s sagged pants.

“Fucking cute.” Derek noted sarcastically, walking over to stand where Stiles remained on the ground.

“Uh — what?” Stiles questioned, halting his little search, looking up to where Derek was towering above him — all dark, and muscular, calm and casual.

“You think stumbling your way into my house with some bullshit excuse about needing gloves is the way to get what you want?”

Stiles looked around the room in confusion, unsure as to what Derek was trying to say. Sure, he stumbled around — but that was only because he was naturally clumsy and totally freaked out about being in the presence of his best friend’s pornstar brother. But yes, he actually was looking for gloves that he actually did need…so he didn’t understand what Derek was going on about.

“I’m not lying.” Stiles argued, crawling up to rest on his knees. “Call Scott if you don’t believe me. We have a game on Saturday and he knows that I lost my gloves somewhere last week.”

“Yeah, I believe it.” Derek crossed his arms, scoffing at what he believed to be a flimsy excuse. “And that’s why you came around here when Scotty was at work, right? Cause you knew I’d be here. And you’d be here. And you’d get to put on your little show.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Stiles cried out. “What show? I didn’t know Scott went to work early!”

Derek let a subtle grin tug at the corner of his pressed lips, beaming down to where Stiles remained on his knees. The boy’s bright eyes and flushed cheeks were captivating, but all Derek really wanted to do was see what a nice, hot load looked like dripping off the boy’s button nose and blurring all of the dark moles that were splayed across Stiles’ face.

“And then you just accidentally forget to wear a belt, let your pants slip down just a little, and make sure that I can see everything when you bend over.” Derek asserts. “I might fuck people for a living in all kinds of dumbass scenarios, but that shit doesn’t fly in real life.”

“Look, I — I think you’ve got me all wrong, Derek.” Stiles said, standing up from where he had been knelt down. “I didn’t come here…I’m not trying to…I barely know you, dude.”

“So, you didn’t see me getting dressed yesterday and then immediately run home to search the internet for some of my scenes so you could jerk off and think about me?” Derek quickly questioned.

“Yeah, but like—No! It wasn’t like that—”

“I get it.” Derek revealed. “You just needed to get it out of your system.”

“Yeah, honestly…that was it.”

“Well, did you do it?”

Stiles shifted around. “What—did I do what?”

“Get everything out of your system?” Derek leaned forward. “Or is that why you’re here? Because you need some help?”

The gravity seemed to shift in the room. It felt heavy. Stiles found himself drawn deep into the shadows of Derek’s sharp eyes. Everything that Derek was saying was so overwhelming. Some of it was true, but the other half was a complete misreading of the situation. And either Derek was too dumb to realize it, or he just didn’t care, because he had already made up his mind as to what he wanted.

“Are you suggesting—” Stiles started.

“ —that you get up on Scotty’s bed and pull down those pants?” Derek’s voice was calmed and smooth. He watched as his words poured right into Stiles’ head. “Yeah, I’ll give you a ride….if you keep up the whole ‘innocent virgin’ act. I like that.”

Stiles’ eyelashes fluttered in disbelief. He looked over to Scott’s bed and then over to where the bedroom door was still open. It was a now-or-never kind of situation. All of the ingredients seemed to fall together into a perfect opportunity. Scott was at work. Scott’s parents were at work. Stiles had nowhere else that he was supposed to be.

It was now or never….

Stiles swallowed down his nerves and walked over to the edge of Scott’s bed — shooting inquisitive looks over to where Derek remained, as if to mentally ask questions about whether or not he was setting the moment up correctly. But Derek just watched. So Stiles lifted himself up onto the mattress, getting onto his hands and knees—feet down towards the bottom edge of the bed and his head pointed to the headboard.

Derek watched as Stiles set himself up into position, offering no words as Stiles looked back for further instruction. Instead, he flicked his head upward —eyeing down to where Stiles’ jeans were slipped halfway down the curve of the boy’s ass. Unsurprisingly, Stiles took the nonverbal cue—letting his upper body crash down into the blankets of Scott’s bed, whilst he reached back with both of his hands and tugged down his pants and boxers.

Once the roundness of Stiles’ ass was out in the open, Derek clicked his tongue in smug satisfaction. He reached down to his own pants and quickly undid them, pulling out his hardening cock. And as Stiles remained laid down against the soft mattress of his Scott’s mattress, Derek stepped closer to the tight piece of ass he couldn’t wait to tear into.

With a rough slap, Derek palmed down onto Stiles’ ass—squeezing away the momentary sting of the spank. Derek then situated himself behind where Stiles was bent forward, spitting down onto his fingers, and then softly prodding them into where Stiles was untouched, flushed hot, and undeniably tight. It was a prize to explore and Derek was more than happy to take it.

“Have you ever been here like this before?” Derek questioned softly, sinking a couple of his fingers into Stiles’ receptive warmth. “Don’t tell me Scotty got you first.”

“Gross — no.” Stiles groaned, mouthing at the blankets beneath him. “Scott’s my friend….current Biology lab partner…lacrosse co-captain…that’s it.”

“Good.” Derek breathed down against the back of Stiles’ neck. “Then you’ll have to figure out a way to look Scott in the face knowing you’ve fucked his older bro.”

By the time Derek was satisfied with the amount of finger-fucking he had done to Stiles’ hole, the boy was a blubbering mess — soaking the bedsheets underneath their bodies with slobber from Stiles’ perpetually open mouth and from all of the precum that Stiles couldn’t help but let leak down.

Stiles couldn’t help himself. The feeling was so incredible, so overwhelming…he could feel Derek reach deep inside of his body. Derek’s fingers were reaching in, prodding and massaging places that not even Stiles himself had had the opportunity to touch. It was like he could feel Derek’s precision and heat flood into his body and wrap itself around his bones, his heart, and his mind.

“I think I’m ready.” Stiles murmured.

“I can feel that.” Derek smirked, watching how easily his wet fingers slid into the puckered tightness of Stiles’ ass. “Now get undressed, take everything off, and get on your back —legs up, spread and open—and keep that bashful expression of confused puppy wonder on that pretty face of yours.”

Stiles hopped off of the bed and kicked off his pants and boxers, not even bothering to watch them fly across the room and knock over a couple of Scott’s elementary school baseball trophies. He tugged off his flannel and did away with his undershirt, and then hopped back onto the bed—getting into the exact positioning that Derek had instructed him to get into.

Derek finished undressing himself and then slotted himself in-between Stiles’ spread legs, pulling the boy’s ass closer to the side edge of the mattress. He let the fat head of his cock bat itself teasingly against Stiles’ fingered hole. And when he saw Stiles’ body shiver and quake with anticipation, Derek dove inward into Stiles’ welcoming heat —melting into the slick slide of his bare cock as it squeezed itself into Stiles’ virginity.

Time dealt the cards — it dictated the speed and the brutality. Things started slowly, but quickened with haste. Stiles just seemed to eager take everything that Derek delivered. Derek could actually feel the boy’s hunger for more. Stiles didn’t want it soft. He didn’t want it slow or sensual or any of the things that virgins typically kept themselves on the fence waiting for.

Stiles wanted everything and then some.

“Right there—fuck—keep hitting it right there!” Stiles groaned, holding the sides of his own head. Almost as if he were trying to keep all of his overwhelming emotions from spilling out. “Jesus holy fucking motherfucking Christ. You feel so fucking good.”

Derek pretzeled Stiles, keeping the boy’s lithe body pressed together tight and locked under his strength. He powered onward—drilling harder and harder into the receptive tightness of Stiles’ body. All the while, Stiles screamed out in explosive pleasure, loud enough to rattle the windows and surrounding furniture inside of the bedroom.

“Where do you want it?” Derek breathlessly asked. “I’m gonna cum. Where do you want this?”

“Everywhere.”

Derek pulled out of Stiles’ hole, grabbing a firm hold of his throbbing cock. He stroked himself quickly, desperately clawing towards a release. And as he stared down at his own cock, watching the way that its weight shadowed over the sweaty expanse of Stiles’ beautiful body, Derek orgasmed—wildly spurting heavy pumps of sticky cum down to gloss atop Stiles.

Stiles kept his legs spread open, watching the way that Derek’s load slung around and rained down onto him. He felt each spurt strike against his body. The initial surprise of wet and sticky heat pouring onto him was satisfying and comforting. And all that Stiles could really do was stare up into the blaze of Derek’s eyes whilst his own orgasm washed over him like a tide of pleasure.

Stiles’ body convulsed. He hurriedly stroked at his cock, groaning and shouting out as he watched his own cock follow Derek’s lead. It was hot…so unbelievably hot. When it was all said and done, Stiles just stared down at his body— breathlessly examining the obscene amount of cum that pooled into the slight ridges of his abs and his navel.

“I—uh,” Stiles started, loosely sliding his fingers through the collective amount of cum that started to cool on his skin. “—I’m still going to need to find those gloves.”

[clownsgobeepbeep]

Let's carve a scary face this time what if... Davey and Schrader?

Davey and Schrader it is!~

But also Cordie X3

There was no doubt about it, the weather was practically at its best.

There was orange nearly everywhere, hints of blacks, purples, greens, all sorts of wonderful colors that made it clear that it was very much fall time. One of the strongest indicators being the spread of pumpkin patches absolutely everywhere that each included pumpkins of all shapes and sizes. Of course, a massive amount of said pumpkins were purchased by a certain family.

“Wow Schrader! You’re so strong!”

“Nah, it’s just a super light pumpkin.”

Cordelia walked alongside Schrader who had decided to visit Cordelia’s home, both to spend time with her and Davey as well as help with decorating for the Halloween season, including the upcoming party.

“But it’s so big!” Cordelia continued as she watched him carry a rather large pumpkin that he had unloaded from a truck, walking around the house until reaching the backyard where several other pumpkins already were. In between those pumpkins was Davey who was admiring each one.

“You haven’t seen the one I still haven’t unloaded.” Schrader chuckled as he walked back to the truck with Cordelia, indeed picking up an even larger pumpkin that made her gasp. “See?”

“Wow!” Cordelia’s eyes were wide as she watched Schrader reach over to grab it, carrying up before placing it back down a tad bit roughly before he gave a bit of a groan. “Schrader? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.” Schrader dismissed, then picking up the pumpkin before giving the truck a tap with his boot. Soon enough, the truck drove away and the pair walked back to the backyard once again, Schrader placing the pumpkin down before giving a crack in his back. Once done, he sat down on the ground next to Davey who turned to him, a pumpkin in his lap.

“Is that the one we’re starting with?”

“Oh yeah. This seems like a good start.” Davey pat the pumpkin before placing it in front of him and Schrader. “Ula is gonna love all of these.”

“She sure will.” 

“Schrader, did Ula ever call you pumpkin?” Cordelia asked as she held a small pumpkin, playing around with it before Schrader gave a chuckle.

“Funny you ask, she actually called me that once. After that, never again.” Schrader shrugged as he grabbed the kitchen knife that was on a table nearby, starting to cut into the pumpkin. “She said she was saving it for ‘somebody else’ or something. Don’t know for who, especially since I know it’s not Atlas.”

“He’s Bambi.” Cordelia giggled, then watching as Schrader pulled the pumpkin’s top open. “I wanna take out the guts!”

“Alright then.” 

Cordelia was handed the pumpkin before Schrader grabbed another, starting to carve its top.

“So, how are you two feeling about Halloween?”

“So excited!” Cordelia exclaimed as Davey gave a nod.

“I’m excited to scare people, especially with Ula, and her rules of Halloween.” Davey smiled as he placed another pumpkin in his lap. “But first comes her birthday of course. The party is going to be awesome. I think this is the first time there’s hundreds of pumpkins everywhere.”

“Finished!” Cordelia announced as she handed Schrader the pumpkin back, her hands messy with pumpkin inside which made him give a small laugh.

“What should this one have?”

“A funny face!” Cordelia giggled as she took the next pumpkin, reaching inside and taking everything out of it. After a few moments, the siblings were surprised to see Schrader present a pumpkin with a well done silly face.

“That was so fast.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve been practicing.” Schrader handed the pumpkin over to Davey who ran his fingers through each of the carvings, impressed at how smoothly and rapidly Schrader finished it. “What about this next one?”

“Let’s carve a scary face this time.” Davey suggested. “Make it have huge teeth, and scary eyes, so scary it’ll scare people, especially when we light it up.”

“You got it.” Schrader nodded, soon carving the pumpkin. “So, are you guys going to wear your costumes to the party?”

“Uh huh!” Cordelia eagerly nodded her head. “I’m gonna be Wonder Woman! Finished the costume last month!”

“That’s so great Cordie, and what about you Davey?” Schrader handed the pumpkin over to Cordelia who gave a shocked look.

“Whoa! So scary!” Cordelia showed the pumpkin to Davey who nodded in agreement, glad that it was carved with a scary face.

“I’m gonna be...Cthulhu.” Davey replied as he handed another pumpkin over to Schrader. “My mom bought me some pajamas, so I’m also gonna be really comfy.

“What about you Schrader?” Cordelia leaned in towards Schrade who tilted his head in confusion. “What are you going to dress up as!?”

���Oh, dress up...”Schrader looked down at the pumpkin, scraping his knife against it before giving a small shrug and speaking softly. “I...don’t have anything planned.”

“But Schrader!” Cordelia loudly gasped, even Davey giving a surprised look at Schrader. “The first rule of Halloween is to always wear a costume! And! And! You need to dress up for Ula’s birthday party!”

“I’ve just...nothing ever really came to mind, and I guess I just somehow forgot.”

“Forgot!?”

“Yeah, and I don’t have any ideas-” Schrader spoke before being interrupted by the sound of a crow’s caw. The trio looked up at a nearby tree, a crow swooping down and landing on Schrader’s shoulder, the kids’ eyes widening in complete surprise at the sight.

“How’d you do that?” Davey pointed to the crow who gave a soft purr.

“Do what?”

“That. How...crows don’t really just land on anybody’s shoulder.”

“Oh.” Schrader chuckled as he set down his knife, reaching up to give the crow a pat on the head with his finger. “This little birdie constantly does that.”

“Yeah, I noticed...”Davey leaned somewhat closer as the crow now turned its head towards him, tilting its head in curiosity. “I’ve seen it...or another...just...follow you...is it your pet?”

“Is he your friend?” Cordelia then added on as she leaned close to Schrader and the crow as well . “Does he talk? Because I have heard so many crows talk, but wait! What’s his name?”

“Well, this one’s a girl.” Schrader reached a finger up to the crow who then perched itself on it, feeling as Schrader now held it in front of him and the kids. “From the time she’s followed me, I haven’t heard a single word from her. And no, she doesn’t have a name because I don’t consider her my pet. She’s just a friend who likes to tag along with me.”

“Why? Or what did you to get it to follow you?” Davey stared at the crow who shifted its wings, staring at him and then Cordelia who had leaned in extremely close.

“Nothing, really. She just...started following me one day and never stopped since.”

"Really?”

“Uh huh.”

“Can I pet her?” Cordelia pointed to the crow who turned to her, no doubt bewildered at such a request.

“I mean, I’d say go for it but who knows how she’d feel about it.” Schrader moved his hand closer to Cordelia. “I’d say, give her a pumpkin seed first. Thankfully we have plenty.”

Both Davey and Cordelia gathered up a few seeds in their hands, excitedly yet calmly offering them to the crow who gladly accepted them.

“Oooh! Schrader!” Cordelia gasped. “What if, what if! What if you dress up as a scarecrow!? You have your crow friend here who would make you look great!”

“I’ll take that into consideration.” Schrader gave a chuckle before turning to Davey. “Hey, hold a finger out.”

“A finger?”

“Uh huh.” Schrader nodded before Davey did as he was told, seeing as Schrader brought the crow close to his hand. The crow eyed Davey’s hand, then carefully climbing off Schrader’s finger and onto Davey’s.

“Whoa...whoa, oh my...” Davey breathed out, watching the crow in awe as it comfortably perched itself on his finger, holding on tightly.

“Ooh! Ooh! Schrader! That reminds me!” Cordelia hopped onto her feet before bouncing around excitedly. “Do you want to see my gift for Ula!?”

“Oh, sure.”

“Okay! I’ll be right back! Make sure your crow friend doesn’t leave!” Cordelia soon ran off which made Schrader give a laugh before turning to Davey who was gently petting the crow’s head. “Pretty nice, huh?”

“Uh huh.” Davey nodded, then smiling as the crow nuzzled into his touch.

“Do you have your gift for your sister ready?” 

Davey turned to Schrader, having been too focused on the crow before he gave a nod.

“Oh yeah.” Davey then scoot closer towards Schrader, leaning in to whisper. “I’ll tell you what it is...if you promise not to tell anybody.”

“I promise. Cross my heart.” Schrader motioned an ‘X’ over his heat before Davey gave a nod.

“I made...some miniatures for her.” Davey whispered again. “Tiny, little sea creatures for her. Some of them are from other planets that I visited with my dad, and two are Mana and Kala.”

“That sounds wonderful, I’m sure Ula’s going to be overjoyed when she sees them.” Schrader ruffled Davey’s hair.

“I’m back!” came Cordelia’s voice as she ran outside of her house and plopped down right next to Schrader. “I haven’t wrapped it yet, but my mommy’s gonna help me later.”

Cordelia then presented a large canvas, every inch of it painted. She proudly pointed to each part of the painting.

“I painted Ula with Mana and Kala, see?” she started, then pointing to the rest of the picture. “And, heheh, right here I painted me as a viking! And Davey’s right here as a pirate, and my mom and dad are right here holding hands! And there’s you!”

“Me?”

“Uh huh! And you have crow wings!” Cordelia rapidly nodded her head, right before hearing the crow on Davey give a caw. “Yeah!”

“What do you have for Ula?” Davey then asked, Schrader turning to him. “You do have something for her, right?”

“Oh yeah, of course. I just haven’t finished it, it’s been crunch time for me and really hard to keep it a secret from Ula.”

“Well what is it?” Cordelia leaned towards Schrader, both her and Davey giving him attentive stares.

“Well...how about instead of telling you, we take a tiny break from pumpkin carving...and if you both promise to say not a single word about this...I go show you guys?”

[yellowmotomami]

Chocolate shop // chapter 2 - Connection

Foxxay | 2k words

The two women practically leapt out of the shop, impatient to find out what they would do next. The street was now crowded, and Misty held the other woman’s hand firmly and lead her through the crowd, making sure she didn’t let go of her. Cordelia stopped suddenly, causing the swamp with to turn around.

“Where are you taking me?” She asked with a small smirk, raising her eyebrows. Misty simply smiled as a response, she pulled Cordelia closer as an attempt not to lose sight of her.

They both made their way through and soon ended up in a much less busy street. Slowing down their pace, they stopped in front of a small café, letting go of each other for a moment. Cordelia followed Misty inside, shifting her hand to the woman’s back and pushing her softly so she’d go in first. Misty turned around to take the witch’s hand as they entered the coffee shop.

The energy that radiated from their connection was magical, dazzling like a ray of sunshine, which caused more than one person to turn around and stare at them. Slightly blushing, they walked to the back of the café, looking for a quiet place to sit. Misty spotted a booth in the corner and glanced at the witch suggestively. Cordelia nodded and swiftly seated herself on the sofa as the swamp witch lifted her shawl slightly so that she could sit comfortably. They both remained silent for a moment, gazing at each other.

Cordelia absent-mindedly placed her hand on Misty’s, gently caressing it. She smiled sweetly before she looked down, trying to hide the fact that her cheeks were reddening. The woman opposite her reached across the table to tilt her chin up, pouting sweetly as she looked her in the eye. Bambi eyes looked back at her, the woman was now blushing fiercely as she caught her lower lip between her teeth.

The touch of the other witch made a light spark, causing them both to briefly feel a little dizzy. The chemistry between them was so powerful that they both seemed to lose sight of what was happening around them. They were sinking into a place which felt like a different dimension, where time seemed to be an illusion. The warm and charming atmosphere prevailing in this place made the moment even more enchanting, and neither of them were willing to escape. It seemed as if they were two lost souls which had finally found a purpose.

Misty grinned sheepishly, completely lost in brown eyes as a waitress walked up to their table, momentarily interrupting their connection.

“Are you ready to order?” Cordelia looked up and glanced at the taller woman.

“Sure.” Misty replied shyly, her sight going back down to her fidgeting fingers. Her face lit up as Cordelia looked at her with stronger intent, she couldn’t help but grin at the witch’s sparkly eyes.

“I’ll have… hum… what’s a chai latte?” Misty questioned the café employee, gathering her thoughts as she went through the menu. Nodding throughout the elaborate answer, she tried to concentrate on the waitress’s word, but simply couldn’t take her eyes off of the gorgeous woman sitting just across her. Just a shot away from me.

“Well, let’s try that!” Misty came back to reality. Her enthusiastic tone made Cordelia smirk a little, she couldn’t get enough of her. She was full of life, so radiant, and that was trait that the supreme truly admired.

“And I’ll have a cinnamon spice latte” Cordelia spoke softly. “With almond milk please.”

The waitress nodded in acknowledgement and hurried to the counter, leaving the two women alone again. Blond locks swayed gingerly, Misty shifted slightly on her seat, not daring to say a word. Cordelia gathered a strand of hair behind her ear, all sorts of thoughts running through her mind. All she wished for was to get if only a little closer to the curly haired witch.

The waitress soon arrived with their beverages, placing them on the table and vanishing almost instantly. Cordelia watched the woman walk away, eyes quickly coming back to the sight for sore eyes sitting opposite her, she thought.

Misty grinned in content at the sight of the drink, overexcited about the fact of tasting something new. She downed half of the cup in a few seconds, gulping noisily, while Cordelia watched her with amusement. Misty looked up, soon realising what was causing the giggling.

“Sorry.” She mumbled, shifting around on her seat and fiddling with her shawl in a nervous manner.

Cordelia took her hand in hers and squeezed it slightly. “That’s okay, it was kind of cute.” She spoke faster than she had expected, her cheeks immediately turning red.

Misty started to blush and put down her drink. Cordelia took a sip of her latte and watched the swamp witch lick her lips to wipe off the foam, fascinated by the woman’s shimmering eyes. She seemed so innocent and just acted naturally, the Supreme could see that her soul was pure of all dark magic. Is this real or am I just dreaming? She wondered.

“So, maybe you could hum… tell me a little bit about yourself? Cordelia asked, laughing in embarrassment. She wanted to learn more about the fascinating woman sitting before her, but definitely didn’t want to be too intrusive or sound indiscrete. She barely knew anything about her, yet deep down, it felt like they’d know each other for ever.

“Sorry, I’m not very good at this.” She said with a smile. Misty smiled back at her, relieved to hear that the woman was about as nervous as she was. Cordelia’s smile was honest, Misty could tell, and that made her feel a little bit more at ease.

“Well, I’ve been living here for almost two years now. I had to move from Louisiana because there were a lot of toxic people back there. I just needed some fresh air, you know. Misty stared in the distance, trying to avoid the woman’s gaze as her eyes started tearing up.

Cordelia stroked her hand softly. “I’m so sorry.” She said, feeling genuine concern about the woman. The swamp witch simply shrugged her shoulders and smiled.

“I’m glad I left actually, cause now I have my own healing business here.” She said, taking care of the not revealing the true nature of said “healing”.

“That’s wonderful!” Cordelia gave her a wide smile, squeezing her hand a little more. “What kind of healing do you do?” She asked in a playful tone, raising her eyebrows and squinting her eyes slightly, in a way that could be interpreted as quite flirtatious, although the innocent Misty did not take it that way.

Misty was sipping on her hot beverage and nearly spat it all out at Cordelia’s words, she had been hoping not to talk about that. She had dealt with witch hunters all her life, and she hadn’t moved to England just to get caught again. Cordelia was trust-worthy, there was no shadow of a doubt, but witchcraft wasn’t always very well seen. She didn’t want to reveal the fact that she was a witch, and she especially didn’t wan to ruin her chances with this woman. Chances? She thought. What am I thinking? I only met the woman an hour ago… But she’s so mysterious, and fascinating… And her eyes… No. I can’t. No. She’s way too out of my league.

It took her some time to reply, as she was completely lost in thought.

“Hum, well… what I do… It’s a little bit complicated to expl…” Her mumbling was interrupted by the other woman.

Cordelia could see that she was hesitating, but she new better. She could sense it. She was the Supreme after all. She had to say something to reassure her. Taking both of Misty’s hands in hers, she looked her in the eye with strong intent.

“I know. I know everything. Don’t worry Misty, you’re safe, I won’t let anything happen to you again.” She said in a calm tone.

Misty’s eyes widened as she listened to her and tried to absorb the words that echoed in her head. She pulled her hands away suddenly as her heart started to race. Noticeably startled, she sat up straight in a position which would enable her to run away, just in case.

Cordelia’s immediate reaction was to stop the witch from leaving, she wanted nothing less than to lose another witch. She reached for Misty’s hand as an attempt to keep hold of her.

“I too am a witch.” She stated, still with a remarkably soothing voice. “I know you are, and I know your intentions are good. I know we both practice white magic.”

Misty stared at her, bewildered and still worried about where this conversation was heading. “I’m sorry… I’m not sure I should… maybe I should just” She was interrupted once again.

“I know this may seem a little bizarre, and you absolutely have the right to leave any time you want. But know that our coven can protect you and you’re welcome to join us. I just want you to feel safe.”

Squinting her eyes and frowning, Misty tried to figure out if the woman opposite her was telling the truth and was an actual witch, or if she was manipulating her. She had seen too many of these people who pretended to show interest in her craft, only to trick her into revealing her powers so that they could denounce her. She has managed to survive until now.

“I know it may be hard to believe, but I can help you.” Cordelia tried to reassure the witch the best she could. The thought of losing that connection she felt with her shattered her.

“And I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you, I just want you to know that you’re safe with me. I’ve been through the same things as you have, you know. Witch hunters make it hard for us witches to practice our craft.” She smiled softly at Misty, who slowly placed her hands back on the table, almost touching Cordelia’s.

“People tend to hate what they don’t understand.” Misty dared to speak while Cordelia nodded. She seems so different from those people, she thought. She really seems to care. How can this even be true?

“But well, all that’s behind me, now I’m just trying to focus on my incantations. “ Misty sighed.

“This drink tastes really good by the way.” She smiled as she fidgeted with her pendent. Cordelia noticed the picture on the necklace as she did so.

“Who’s this?” She asked as she pointed at the woman’s neck.

“That’s Stevie!” Misty exclaimed herself, her face lighting up as she said it. “Have you heard of Fleetwood Mac?” The light in her eyes made Cordelia fluster a little.

She had guessed that Misty was a fan of the band as soon as she had first seen her. Her style and free spirit were a clear indicator. Misty started explaining all about how she’d grown to love Stevie, talking about how inspirational she was to her.

“The lyrics are so meaningful. When they perfectly apply to you, it feels as like the song was written especially for you, you know? It just pierces your soul in an extraordinary way.” Misty was speaking with such thrill enthusiasm, as brown eyes gazed into hers. The Supreme was listening to her carefully, simply fascinated. Her voice is like a tune whistling threw the air, she though.

Cordelia took a last sip from her drink, not noticing that the cup was now empty as she was completely lost in ocean eyes.

“And have you already seen her on stage?” She asked.

“I wish. “She sighed. “Someday, maybe I will. That’s like, my dream.” The spark in Misty’s eyes was heart-warming. Cordelia nodded, and idea starting to bloom in her mind. The swamp witch finished her drink and put her cup down, smiling back.

“Now it’s your turn.” She grinned as she pointed at the woman. Cordelia looked down, blushing.

“What would you like to know?” She asked, looking up shyly. Misty took the woman’s hands in hers, wishing to fall into the cosmic connection once again. Cordelia’s heart skipped a beat at the soft touch.

“Everything.”