#i thought my first roll/spin of the wheel was a little too on the nose considering who i am SO

[simplepotatofarmer]

counting dogs

my piece for the 'first try techno challenge'! i actually got dream and decided to roll again and combine the next roll which was the hound army! anyway, written with two minutes to spare <3 <3

“There’s no way you know all their names,” said Dream. Despite the heavy armor and his wide-legged, firm stance, the mass of dogs was still pushing him around and he struggled to stand in one place. “I mean, there’s like—”

He paused, clearly attempting to count.

Techno let him, mouth pulled into a grin, one eyebrow shooting up as far as it could go. When the silence stretched on, Techno gave him a little nudge, metaphorically.

“There’s…”

Dream twitched, turning his head towards Techno.

“There’s like, forty of them,” he said. “No way you know all their names, Technoblade.”

“I mean, there’s actually about 180 but who’s countin’. Who’s countin’…” He reached down and scratched one of the dog’s ears as it wagged its tail so excitedly that its whole body went with the tail. “Well, you were but let’s just forget about that.”

“Oh my god…”

Dream’s ears – the only part visible beneath the mask and the hood – turned bright red. It was probably rude to laugh but Techno did anyway, the dogs barking at the sound, working themselves up. Reaching out, Dream caught himself on the wall as one particularly eager dog bowled into him.

“Hey, Em, easy girl,” said Techno, making his way over. The dogs parted for him easily, tails going a mile a minute, accompanied by quiet barks and whines. “See? Nothin’ to it, Dream.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because they’re yours so they listen to you.”

“That is usually how it works, yup.”

“You’re so annoying.” Dream steadied himself. “But there’s seriously no way you’ve named all the dogs.”

Techno held his hands up, chuckling.

“Okay, you got me there, Dream. I haven’t got around to namin’ them all.”

“So you don’t know all their names,” said Dream, tone of voice triumphant, pointing a finger at Techno. “Which means I was right.”

Lightly, Techno smacked his hand away and one of the dogs took the action as an invitation to play, jumping up on Dream eagerly, licking at the mask. Techno was expecting a harsh reaction, had tensed in preparation for it, but Dream only made a noise of vague disgust and pushed the dog away.

“Ah ah ah. I know all the names of the dogs that have names.” Techno knelt, ruffling the fur of the closest dog. “So technically I know all of the dogs’ names.”

“What? No! That’s not—” Dream sputtered, trying to find a way to argue, wanting to argue, and coming up short. “Whatever.”

“So, you admit that you’re wrong.”

He was wrong but Dream would never admit to it.

“Shut up, Techno.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said, patting the dog on the head as he got to his feet.

Dream watched him, head tilted to the side. With the mask, the effect was strange, almost childlike.

“You should let me name a dog.”

“You wanna name a dog?”

It wasn’t an immediate refusal, more like an offer, and Dream straightened.

“Yeah.” A short pause. “Name it… Name it ‘Dream Has a House’.”

Techno laughed, loud and booming, and set the dogs off again. A mass of dog flesh writhed in the small space and Techno reached out, trying to pat each one as best he could.

“Easy, Dice. Easy, Fossilnet. Easy, Max.” After a moment, the barking and whining died down. “Alright, alright, but only for you, Dream.”

[red-dead-sakharine]

Bring your devil to the circus

Raphael x Tav/Reader tags: gn!Tav, soft grumpy raphael, humor, fluff, tiny bit hurt/comfort

Who needs the orphic hammer, when you can negotiate a much sweeter deal? This is a silly idea that popped into my head, and I'm making y'all suffer through it as well.

"Done." you put the quill down, and Raphael immediately made the contract vanish - to his House of Hope, no doubt - the ink barely dry yet.

"A pleasure, little mouse. I daresay this was quite the bargain. Had I known of your proclivities, I would've--"

"Come!" you didn't even let him finish. He was just puffing hot air right now, and you just - could - not - wait - to get your part of the deal. Grabbing his wrist, you yoinked him after yourself out the door, dragging him down the stairs through Sharess' caress with glee.

He grumbled to himself but followed your lead. After all, he had agreed to this deal - although he was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake. There weren't any loopholes he might've overlooked, right? No, no, there couldn't be. He wrote the damn contract himself, after all!

Out of the door and up the street you went, still keeping his wrist in your clutches. He had fallen into pace, though he still tried to free his arm every now and again, but your grip was iron. The mischief on your mind was just too good.

"I am quite capable to walk on my own, little mouse." there was a warning in the way he said those last two words, but you ignored it. He had agreed to play along for 24 hours, and by the gods you would make the most of it. You had - both - insisted on putting in a clause preventing abuse, injury, and the like, but most other activities where fair game. If you wanted him to play on a seesaw, he would have to comply.

As you approached the entrance to the circus, realization dawned in Raphael, "Oh no. No!" You giggled, keeping your iron grip on his wrist. "You will not make me go to the damn circus!" "Oh, I very much will!" you turned to look at him, grinning from ear-to-ear. He looked like he wanted to protest but decided differently. He was bound by contract after all. Instead he gave you the darkest of glares, "Had I known what kind of a heinous sadist you are, I wouldn't have agreed to this." You just laughed gleefully, and approached the bouncer with his ghoul at the gate.

The ghoul, Benji, took one long sniff and started shouting, with a claw pointed at Raphael, "STINKY! SMELLS OF EGGS!"

You could feel Raphael vibrate with annoyance and barely contained rage, so you gave him a little pat on the arm with your free hand, "There, there. It's just a stupid ghoul."

"BENJI NO STUPID! THIS ONE'S STINKY!"

You were sure, the deep growl Raphael produced, could be felt through the ground.

Benji's human handler gave a nervous chuckle, "Oh well, smelling a bit funny isn't a crime. Come on in! Welcome to the Circus of the Last Days!" You could practically feel the annoyance radiating from Raphael as you dragged him through the gates.

"Look, it's not that bad." you tried to calm him down at least a little bit, "I promise, if a clown tries to boop your nose, I'll let you incinerate him." He groaned, but you could feel him grow a little less rigid, "How kind and utterly unheroic of you. And here I thought you were a committed do-gooder." "I have my limits. Clowns are one." you replied flatly, and it actually made Raphael give an amused snort. "Maybe there is hope for you yet, little mouse." He took a deep breath, letting his gaze wander over the dreadful place he found himself in, "Now what, pray tell, do you want me to do here?"

You gave him an impish grin, "First we'll go spin the wheel!" He rolled his eyes, as you dragged him forward, your hand still firmly clutching his wrist.

"WILL THE WHEEL OF WONDERS DUB YOU WORTHY? COME - SEE!" you heard the djinni yell as you made you way towards him, "BEHOLD - AKABI'S WHEEL OF WONDERS. SPIN TO WIN PRIZES BEYOND YOUR TINY MORTAL IMAGINATION." "YES, WE WANT TO SPIN THE WHEEL!" you yelled back, and you could hear Raphael's hand smack against his forehead as he facepalmed next to you. "AHA! FIRST YOU MUST PAY!" You looked expectantly at Raphael, who eventually looked up from his facepalming, his eyes finding yours. Then his expression slowly changed from an unspoken 'what?' to a glower, "Surely, you do not expect me to pay for this nonsense, little mouse." "Of course! You're the gentleman here, I'm just a mouse." you grinned at him, and you could see his jaw muscles clench. Grumbling and muttering curses in infernal, he dished out the money, so you could spin the wheel.

"LET US SEE IF YOU HAVE LUCK'S FAVOUR." Akabi barked, and the wheel spun. You side-eyed Raphael, who was watching the wheel and the djinni intently. When it landed on a blank, he scoffed, "I'm not surprised a djinni would stoop to rigging a game of luck. But this is just pathetic." "You would accuse me, Akabi: Destroyer of Planes - of cheating?" the djinni had lowered the volume to indoor voice for the first time you've seen, and it gave you such a kick to know that Raphael was the cause. You finally relaxed your iron grip on his wrist and instead slid your hand down to interlock your fingers with his - though he did not reciprocate, he also did not pull away. "I'm only pointing out the obvious, 'destroyer of planes'," Raphael managed to make the title sound like an insult, "Wouldn't it be such a shame, if everyone knew what a fraud you are. And pathetic on top, having to rely on a magic ring for your trickery." He scoffed.

You could see the djinni grow angry, and began to wonder who would win in a fight between the two. "How about you give my companion here one of your prizes and we'll just move on?" Raphael offered, and the djinni seemed annoyed but caved, "FINE! CONGRATULATIONS, MORTAL!" he chucked a ring at you, which you barely managed to catch with your free hand, "NOW BEGONE, MEWLING CURD!"

You grinned, and gently tugged Raphael away from the disgruntled djinni. It didn't take much to sense the ring was enchanted - you would let Gale have a look at it later, and pocketed it. This was never about any prizes after all. "That was brilliant!" you beamed at Raphael, who only gave you a sideways glance in return. But you could still see the slight smirk that was tugging on his lips. He sighed theatrically, "I'll admit, it was entertaining to put the puffed up windbag into its place." "I knew you'd enjoy yourself here." you replied with a grin, as you started wandering towards your next target, still holding the devil's uncaring hand. "Now, don't exaggerate - this entire place is still revolting to me." he wrinkled his nose, and you rolled your eyes.

You approached the dryad entertaining a small crowd on her wooden dais, and you could feel Raphael lag behind a little. You held his hand tighter - he still didn't reciprocate - and pulled him gently forward. "It's a dryad." he stated, as if this would deter you from your course. "I can see that." you replied simply. "Boring, plant-loving creatures. What could you possible want from one?" "You'll see." you dragged him up the stairs towards the wood-skinned woman, and you could all but feel Raphael's bored annoyance as he was contractually obligated to follow along.

"You return to me, stira. Have you brought the one you spoke of?" the dryad, Zethino, greeted you. Raphael gave you a look - something between anger and curiosity, but you deliberately avoided looking at him directly, instead focusing on Zethino, "I have. Can we do the thing?" "What thing?" Raphael cut in, tone harsh. "You were not told?" Zethino's melodic voice offered a stark contrast to Raphael's. "Told what?" The dryad looked at you and you held up your free hand, "It's a surprise?" you offered as a flimsy explanation. She looked back at Raphael, her eyes wandering over him, then back to you, "Stira, he is not what he seems." "Oh, I'm well aware." you assured her, "That's not a problem for you, is it?" She cocked her head slightly, looking between you two, "Not for me, no." "Okay great! Let's do the thing then." you tried to hurry this along, before the devil popped a blood vessel. "What. Thing." he asked again; his tone more menacing now.

"I will look into your hearts and see if your bond is strong." the dryad's melodic voice explained, and Raphael's brow furrowed, his eyes wandering from you to her now, "'Our bond'?" he echoed in confusion, and you tugged slightly on his hand, that you were still holding. He looked down to the joined appendages, then up to you, then to the dryad, then back to you. You've never seen a man this confused. "Let's just start." you stage-whispered, and the dryad smiled. "Close your eyes. Be still as stone to earth, and remember to breathe." she instructed with her melodic voice.

You did as asked. Technically, Raphael was obligated to play along - the contract made sure of that - so you hoped it would work.

"I see you." you heard the dryad muse, "Know you. But do you know each other?" You heard Raphael scoff. As you opened your eyes, you found yourself standing in front of a log, crossing a small creek, with a waterfall in the background. Raphael was on the other side, looking wholly unimpressed.

"Listen. Think. Raphael, the devil in disguise, what does he most desire in this world?" the dryad asked you in her singsong voice. You clicked your tongue, "Easy. The crown of Karsus, so he can stick it to his father Mephistopheles." Raphael raised a surprised brow, "How do you know who my father is?" "I asked Yurgir, why he was so afraid of a cambion, before I talked him into killing himself." you explained with a grin, and stepped onto the log. Raphael didn't say anything in response, but judging by his expression, he was impressed.

Zethino turned to Raphael, "And Tav, the unexpected hero. What drives them in their journey?" The disguised cambion snorted, "Low hanging fruit. Get rid of the tadpole, and make people happy along the way." He sounded dismissive, as if it was a damnable flaw of yours, but the fact that he knew it off the cuff like that, made you grin. "Quite right. Spreading a bit of happiness never hurt." you smiled. He scoffed. The dryad pushed him gently a few steps onto the log.

She turned to you again, "Your bond hums in tune. There is sunshine, but there is also rain. What does Raphael loathe?" You cocked your head a little and looked at him, thinking for a moment before you responded, "Chaotic, untidy disorder, and bad manners!" Raphael narrowed his eyes, "It's true. There are many things about your world that I loathe. Chattering children, litters of kittens, the noise, and the chaos of it all." You smiled and stepped forward, "You and me, both." He raised a brow and looked like he wanted to question that statement, but Zethino cut him off.

"And what does Tav despise the most?" Raphael looked at the dryad, then to you, "People who hurt dogs." You had to laugh, "It's true! There's nothing more deserving of punishment in the hells, than hitting a dog. But, how did you figure that one out?" Raphael brushed his nails on his doublet, looking as non-chelant as can be, "Oh, I just heard the Sword Coast Couriers are missing a kennel master." he looked at you with an impish grin that oozed approval. Likely more of your method, than your defence of animals though. And it was true. After seeing how the lady at the kennels had treated her dogs, and raised a hand to Scratch when you brought him by, it wasn't a hard decision to drive dagger through her eye. Raphael took a step closer.

"Your bond beats in pleasure. It is an honor to behold." the dryad sang, "But does it hold in darkness still? What is Raphael's deepest shame?" You could see the fiend's brow furrow, and heard him mutter something about stupid questions. The waterfall was too noisy to make out his exact words, as you regarded him for a bit, while pondering. He crossed his arms and stared down at the water while he waited. You had an inkling what the answer was, but you weren't sure if it was something you should say out loud. But in the end, you figured you came up with the right words, so you responded, "Being a cambion and not a true devil. But--" You could see the change in his expression, from grumpy to... alarm? to anger. And his gaze turned on you, burning hot. You held up a hand in a calming gesture, "--but I don't think it has to be. He's the most devilish devil I can imagine. And he'll always be a true devil to me." You offered a smile. It was genuine, and heartfelt, and honest. You meant every word of it, and you hoped he was able to see that. His eyes grew a bit softer, but you couldn't quite interpret his expression, and he didn't say anything. He did make a small gesture though, signalling for you to step closer. And so you did.

The dryad, perhaps wisely, did not comment on what was said and instead continued, "One more question remains, we move back into the sun - what was Tav's greatest joy?" You could practically feel Raphael's gaze rake over you, while he pondered. His arms were still crossed, but he lifted one hand now to rub his chin in thought. He hummed before he eventually offered a response, "Signing my contract." You couldn't prevent a wide grin from growing on your face, "I can think of a few other joyous moments in my life, but I'll admit, that was one of them." Raphael smirked and stepped closer, dropping his arms to his sides.

You stood in front of each other now, and you held his gaze. Looking into those big brown eyes of his. Smiling eyes.

"I press my finger to your bond and find a hidden shield - unrecognized yet, but impenetrable if embraced. It is... beautiful." Zethino mused in her melodic voice, and the meadow around you vanished - replaced with the circus again. "Go in peace, seedlings, and follow your hearts. The most unusual bond I have been graced to witness - it will be just as strong as it is strange."

"Thank you." you managed to say, and took Raphael's hand again to drag him away from the dais. You interlocked your fingers with his once more, and this time he closed his hand around yours, too.

[sleeplesssmoll]

Schneider returns as a Carbuncle.

This is the first chapter of the Schneider Caruncle fic I've been screwing around with. The whole thing may never make it online, but I can share this bit (until I get embarrassed and delete it).

The story is called Tarocco.

Orange orchards.

Doves in flight.

Bullets and bloodstains.

Her thoughts shifted into abstraction before she could collect them. The river of time flowed steadily and she drifted on its current along with trickles of Dust. How long has she been here? Perhaps she's always been here. It didn't matter since she will never know the answer.

Or so she thought.

A two-dimensional line appeared before her, beckoning her to grab hold. Someone's calling her. She grasped the line and it reeled her out of the currents of time. Dust convened around her, giving her spirit a physical body but it wasn't enough. She needs more before she reaches her destination wherever that might be–

Crimson eyes opened to the sight of a golden spinning wheel. The currents of time were neither cold nor wet as they receded away from her.

“The wheel summoned a Carbuncle?” A voice asked from behind her.

She sprung onto all fours–

Fours. That didn't sound right. She looked down at her chocolate colored paws and then behind her at a ridiculously fluffy tail.

She can't fight like this! She's no bigger than a kitten! How did this happen? She glared at two young women observing her. One's wearing a ridiculous top hat concealing her face. The other had a head of fiery long hair.

“Shall I take care of it, Timekeeper?” The redhead raised her wand. Green eyes honed in on the furball in front of her like a hound on a rabbit.

The Carbuncle extended her claws in response and bared her fangs. She won't go down with a fight against this! This! Old woman!

“That won't be necessary, Sonetto. The wheel must have brought her here for a reason.”

Her words failed to allay the Carbuncle’s hostility. She's been in this situation before. She can't remember when or how, but the feeling of being cornered felt at home in her anxious body.

She's going to slash that stupid hat into ribbons and scratch out her target's eyes the moment she gets closer. If she's lucky, the bodyguard will be too busy helping her friend to chase her while she makes her escape.

Top Hat crouched down on one knee like a prince about to propose. “Hello, my name is Vertin and this is my assistant Sonetto. We're not going to hurt you.” Sonetto nodded but her gaze didn't soften in the slightest. She tensed as Vertin lowered herself within the bristling Critter's reach. Sonetto's free hand gripped the back of Vertin's jacket, ready to yank her away at a moment's notice. What a protective little dog this “Vertin” has.

A memory laced in gold and coated in slime pricked at the back of the Carbuncle's mind but it refused to surface. She's too focused on the opening before her to dwell on them. She approached Vertin cautiously.

The gullible fool extended her hand. “Can you understand us? Nod your head if you can.”

The Carbuncle resisted rolling her eyes. What next, roll over? Play dead? She nodded and nudged the offered hand with her head. Feather light fingertips scratched under her chin in a way that was loathsomely comforting. Stick to the plan. Be strong. She's not a pet! Ugh, this form is messing with her mind and Vertin finding the sweet spot behind her ears wasn't helping her focus. A genuine purr escaped her throat against her will.

“See, Sonetto? She's friendly. We should bring her back with us.”

That snapped her out of her trance.

The Carbuncle locked eyes with her prey, finally able to see past the brim of her hat–

Hair like threaded silver. Tempestuous gray eyes rivaled storm clouds. A sweet splattering of freckles across her nose.

Oh no, she's gorgeous.

Vertin gave a small smile when the Carbuncle nuzzled her hand. “Would you like to come home with me?”

An echo of a memory played in her mind.

“What if I say, I can provide you with shelter?”

The Carbuncle pushed herself into Vertin's arms. Shelter. This person will protect her. She can feel it.

The scent of rain. A red umbrella. A stolen kiss.

Vertin scooped her up and held her against her chest. “I'll take that as a yes. You'll be safe with us while we figure out why you're here.”

The rhythm of Vertin's heart stirred something in the Carbuncle.

“Don't forget my heartbeat on the right.”

The memories slipped away as quietly as it came when Vertin pressed her face into her fluff. An interesting decision for someone she just met. Not that she was complaining.

“She's so soft! Sonetto, you need to feel this.”

Now she's complaining. She hissed as the other girl neared.

Sonetto yanked her hand back. “It appears she only likes you.”

“She'll warm up to you, right?” Vertin said, removing the fluff from her face. “Let's head back with the others and introduce our newest member.”

The introductions to the other members were anticlimactic. It seems as though a Red-Eyed Carbuncle isn't the strangest thing Vertin's brought home.

Vertin gave her a grand tour of her land. Apparently the entire space around them existed in her Suitcase and she provided shelter for her crew of arcanists. She gave them sanctuary like a benevolent lord over their people.

And now Vertin is her lord too.

“And this tower collects Dust,” Vertin explained. The Carbuncle perked up. Maybe if she gathers more Dust she can take on a more useful form! Seeing her excitement, Vertin shifted her in her arms to give her a better view. She knew she was supposed to be admiring the tower but now she's so close to her lord's face.

What a view indeed. Her eyelashes are so long. They reminded her of feathers when she blinked.

“A growing Carbuncle needs their fair share of Dust. I'll make sure you get get your fill.” Ah, what a generous lord. When was the last time someone took care of her? Memories of dollar bills and black coats spilled into her head.

Eleven older sisters. A stressed mother. An unanswered prayer.

She provided for all of them. Does that same family float amongst the currents of time like she did? Her ears flattened against her head as she struggled to put names to blurry faces.

Vertin stroked her head. “Are you alright?”

She isn't.

But she's better off with Vertin for the time being. She'll gather as much Dust as she can until she can find herself again. She purred to assure her keeper that she's fine.

Her lord didn't look convinced. “Maybe Mr. Apple can make a translator for you. He told me stories about a puppy he made one for in the past.”

“Vertin, are you still playing with that Dust bunny?” Regulus shouted from the direction of the main building. The self proclaimed rock pirate raised her shades. Amber eyes settled on the duo. “C'mere and crack open a Dr. Papper with me! It's a new flavor.”

“Ok, but let me show her the orchard first. Last thing, I promise,” Vertin answered. “She's one of us now so she needs the whole tour.”

“She?” Regulus balked. “How can you tell that's a little lady in your arms?”

Vertin looked down at the Carbuncle who met her eyes, just as curious. “I don’t know. It felt right.” She lowered her voice like a guilty child. “Did I get it right or…” The Carbuncle licked her cheek and extinguished her doubts. It's the closest thing to a kiss she can give. “Regulus, did you see that?” Vertin scratched behind her ears again. “I was right. You're such a good girl.”

Tingles ran down her spine. Perhaps life as a Carbuncle isn't so bad.

The burnette shook her head. “Yep, after seeing that I'm convinced that's another girly alright.”

“What do you mean?”

Regulus smirked without elaborating. “Don't keep me waiting too long!” She vanished inside before Vertin could respond.

Vertin tightened her grip on the Carbuncle. “One last stop.”

The orchard had a few different trees. A peach tree, an apple tree, a plum tree. However, near the back was an orange tree.

It smelled like home.

“Do you like this one? It's my favorite too. Tarocco blood oranges. They're supposed to be the sweetest oranges in Sicily.” She walked over to the tree and placed her palm against it with a somber shadow in her eyes. “Sotheby and Druvis made this orchard possible. The trees will bear fruit if we give them a special potion.” She glanced back at her fuzzy friend nestled in her arm. “Although, I'm not sure if you can eat these.”

The Carbuncle would have gasped if she could. She mewled and caressed Vertin's cheek with her own. Simply being near the tree brought her images of a grand orchard. Her…uncle's?

The branches were so high and her hands were so small. An older sister helped her pick the ones out of reach. Another helped her carry the overflowing basket.

The more she struggled the more formless the memories became.

This must be a sign that she is exactly where she is meant to be. Dust, shelter, and bridges to old memories. Vertin was right, she must be here for a reason.

“Are you trying to persuade me by acting sweet?” She received another mewl in response as well as another Carbuncle kiss on her jaw. It worked. “Alright, alright. I'll let you try a tiny bit. If all goes well, you can have more.” She made her way back to the main building. “I never asked your name. Do you have one?”

Probably. But she doesn't remember. She shook her head.

“Is it alright if I give you one for the time being?”

She nodded. Her lord could call her Fuzzball or Pochi for all she cares. As long as Vertin holds her like this, she can be anything. “Tarocco, because you're so sweet.”

It's sappy. Lame. Almost embarrassing.

And it made Tarocco melt in her arms.

[shoyoist]

thoughts on pottery date with hanma

it's such a domestic thing to him that he's a little put off by the suggestion at first. you're on the back of his bike, watching him smoke and racking your brain for something cute you could do with this man that wasn't illegal or bound to get you in trouble — and then it hits you!

you've taken a pottery class before, and it'd been fun. so when you remember that the art college nearby is having an open day, you make a decision. “so, shuji...”

when you give him the idea, he laughs at first. “you want me to walk in ‘n spin a lil flower pot with you? a vase? what, is this your way of tellin’ me i should be getting my pretty doll some flowers next time, hm?”

and then he realizes you're serious.

imagine him sitting awkwardly on one of the little stools by the wheel, watching you shape a blob of clay with the tools you'd been handed, content with just watching you bec each group that came in was given just a single wheel.

he's so cute 😭 with his knees to his chest because his legs are so long and he's sitting so low, not knowing what to do with his hands while he waits for your creation to take shape. he's so out of his element </3

everyone's quiet and playing nice at their own corners and shuji has never stepped foot into a college building in his life before, he just doesn't know how to act. he's quiet enough that you check up on him every now and then, wondering if this was really a good idea—

“shuji, baby, you alright?” “shuji, are you having fun?” to which he responds with a simple nod or tells you “dollface i hafta be doing somethin’ before i can say if it's fun or not.”

some of the others milling around the other wheels in the room have so many tattoos, and so many people have dyed hair and wild haircuts that he doesn't look out of place exactly, but his aura still has people glancing over at the two of you. not that he minds.

he watches you patiently, because hey, if you're okay with walking into underground fight clubs with him and watching him fight, and letting him into your house at 1am to patch up his bruises and injuries, he should be a good boyfriend and enjoy whatever you want him to do with you, too. and when you finally finish with your near-perfect bowl and let him try out the wheel and ribs himself, he ends up having more fun than he thought he would<3

hanma has big palms and long, deft fingers and so even though he's never done this before in his life, he gets the hang of it pretty quick. but he's still never done this before.

his brows furrow together with focus as he runs the sponge on the inside of his spinning clay and gently touches the sides of it with the ribs. he gets clay on his chin, on his shirt and it's all over his hands in a muddy mess 😭 ++ the work comes out little better than a wonky blob.

there's time for a clean up and a little tea break while the class waits for their things to dry, and hanma notices the much bigger, more complicated models people have made and feels sheepish as he stares at his blob. he feels better when you tug at his sleeve and giggle about it though, because even if you're making fun of him at least you're having a good time<3

“what's it supposed to be?” you ask, and he runs a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed as he admits in a gruff voice, “a flower vase. for you... don't fuckin’ laugh, baby.”

“for me?” you pout sweetly, and he rolls his eyes, snipping at your nose with two fingers and cracking a grin when you dodge with a yelp. and on the way home, with your bowl and his blob flower vase carefully wrapped in newspaper and stored in your bag, he tells you that he did have fun.

“we could... do more of that if y’like.” he blushes despite himself when you hug him from behind, half of your laughter lost in the wind as he swerves his motorcycle to take a right. he glances into the mirror, heart fluttering just a bit when he sees your smile. he's glad you can't see his face right now. he feels the heat on his cheeks well enough.

“never fuckin’ mind.” he drawls, teasing. “i'm never doin’ that again then. zero outta ten, dollface.”

“no!” you protest, grabbing his shirt and pinching his side a little, and fuck it fucking tickles, he almost crashes you both into a passing tree — and he tells you so.

“might as well die if you're never gonna make an ugly ass flower vase with me again,” you huff, moving your hands onto his shoulders instead. and he smiles, knows you feel his smile when you reach over to pull his cheek.

he really did enjoy it, so much more than he thought he would. and he knew you'd be displaying his ugly ass flower vase on the sill of your living room window anyway.

maybe next time he comes over, he really will get you some flowers — for you to put into it and look at them, and think of him whenever he's not around<3

[wynnyfryd]

working on a new fic bc when am i ever not lol whoops (tw: self-harm ideation; skip the paragraph after “his blood calms” if you don’t want to read that)

Eddie’s shaking on the front porch. Slight tremor in his left hand when he goes to ring the bell.

Nancy’s place is nice from the outside, a cute townhome in the artsy part of town with three stories, professional landscaping and a garage and second floor entry. The steps up to the front door left Eddie a little winded, and isn’t that pathetic? He fidgets with his rings, spins the hog around by its snout. He can hear people inside, a low thrum of happy voices and chill indie ambiance, and he kind of wants to throw up; wishes he weren’t so close to sober, only he didn’t want Nancy and her friends thinking he was some kind of stoner loser.

Oh, so just a regular loser then?

Eddie rings the bell.

The door swings wide, and Eddie’s heart lurches horribly in his chest, because it’s— because it’s him. Pretty boy. Guardian angel, the most handsome of his ghosts.

“Hey, welc— oh, shit,” the guy breathes, his face going slack in surprise.

Eddie blinks at him and chokes. “I- uh- I left something in the car,” he lies in a rush and flees down the stairs, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. All but runs back to the van with his heart in his throat.

He climbs into the driver’s side and shoves his vape into his mouth like it’s an oxygen mask and the cabin pressure just dropped. Sucks in smoke, sucks in more. Deep inhale that burns his lungs, leaves him hacking dryly into his fist. Inhales again, when he can.

His blood calms.

Slows in his veins, pools thick and wet as molasses. Eddie pretends he can see it, the lazy glide. He stares at the pale blue lines running the length of his bony wrist. Thinks of splitting them open like vanilla pods. The thought makes him smile.

He’s drumming his fingers on the wheel to some imaginary song, eyes closed and floating when someone taps on his window. His someone. Someone pretty.

“Angel,” Eddie greets with a soft smile when he rolls down the glass. His eyelids are heavy.

Angel doesn’t seem to like it. “Hey, uh— look, I just. Are you alright?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m just peachy, baby.”

“Don’t—” Angel frowns, so Eddie does, too. Pouts his bottom lip out.

“Oh, my god,” Angel huffs, frustrated but laughing. His smile’s so nice. “Do you still want to come inside? Nancy was worried I scared you off or something.”

Oh, right. Nancy Wheeler. Movie night. Movie and margs.

A margarita sounds delicious.

Eddie licks his lips and nods, shakes his head a little too roughly to wake himself back up, resists the urge to slap his own face and settles for blinking too fast and tugging his hair. “Mmhm, yep, I’m comin’, just, uh—” he pats his pockets, making sure he has all his stuff before he steps down “—just had to make a phone call first.”

“Riiiight,” Angel says. They’re standing so close now that Eddie’s out of the van, and Eddie wants to see more of those pretty boy teeth, so he raises a sluggish hand and boops him on the nose, pointer finger to the narrow tip, gentle press, like ringing a bell.

Angel laughs for real this time, takes Eddie’s wrist and leads him inside.

[bi-bard]

Taylor Swift Songs That Would Describe a Relationship with Nikolai Lantsov - Nikolai Lantsov Imagine [Shadow & Bone]

Title: Taylor Swift Songs That Would Describe a Relationship with Nikolai Lantsov

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov X Reader

Word Count: 2,242 words

Warning(s): mention of violence

Author's Note: Yeah, I know the lyrics I used for "seven" were a little on the nose. Don't talk about it.

Also, he would so be a swiftie.

--------------------

seven

And I think you should come live with Me and we can be pirates Then you won't have to cry Or hide in the closet And just like a folk song Our love will be passed on

Nikolai came from two different worlds.

I was never connected to royalty in any way.

Truly, there should have been no occasion where the two of us met.

However, Nikolai always wanted to find something new and exciting. It was a trait that could be seen vividly in his childhood. He would run from his home and find something that he found exciting and interesting.

I was the same way.

That was how we found each other when we were younger and it was how we ended up sticking together through most of our lives.

Until we got older.

We still saw each other, but our normal adventures slowed down as we each took on new responsibilities. But even then, I thought that we would always have each other in some way.

And then, he decided to leave.

It was a largely private thing for him. Just like how he used to sneak around and look for adventures when we were younger. He only told me because I was his best friend and he "needed to see that I was there" before he left.

He wanted my support. He would always have it.

I had only gone to say goodbye and wish him well.

Holding my tears back as I watched him get ready to leave broke my heart. I never wanted this day to come. I never truly wanted anything around us to change. I wanted to be the stupid, curious kids that we had always been without the pressure and responsibilities. It was so unbelievably childish, yet I couldn't stop it.

He looked at me from where he stood on the deck of the ship. I forced a grin and waved to him.

I saw something shift in his head. I couldn't place it, but I saw the look on his face change.

I was only more confused when he ran back down to me.

"What are you doing-"

"Come with me," he cut me off as he grabbed my upper arms. A wide smile was stretched across his face.

"What?"

"Come with me," he repeated. "It'll be just like when we were younger, but with more action... and maybe a little scarier."

"Nikolai, I can't just run off."

"Who says?" he replied. "Last time I checked, very few people would question it if you left by my instruction."

"You're pulling the royalty play?"

"Am I?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Please," he muttered. "I think we both deserve this."

I took a deep breath. I thought about it for a moment before nodding. "Yes."

"Really?"

I nodded again. "You owe me an extra set of clothes- Saints!"

"Deal!"

I let out a loud laugh as I was dragged into a tight hug.

I already knew that this was going to be the best choice I had made in my entire life.

I Think He Knows

I think he knows When we get all alone I'll make myself at home And he'll want me to stay

I don't know when my feelings for Nikolai changed. When I went from seeing him as a friend to seeing him as something else entirely.

I would love to say that it was a sudden thing. That one day I woke up and everything just changed. But I don't believe that's what happened. I think it happened very slowly over time and by the time I noticed, it was too strong of a feeling for me to avoid.

The first time I recognized it was soon after Alina and Mal joined our crew for a short time. At that point, I didn't have time to worry about my feelings. We had bigger problems on our hands than my little crush.

I wouldn't have to even think about confronting those feelings until we got to the Spinning Wheel.

It was after everyone had enjoyed dinner. After everyone had dispersed for the night, either to go to bed or to mindlessly toss and turn in some hopeless attempt of getting some sleep.

I was in the second party.

I had given up. Instead, I walked the halls until I found Nikolai's door. I hadn't been hoping to go there. It just happened.

He was still awake, sitting in the corner of his room, staring off into space.

"Not going to bed," I asked as the door shut behind me.

"Hasn't even crossed my mind," he admitted, standing from his spot. "What about you?"

"Dreaming of stopping the villains was much more fun when the villain wasn't real," I chuckled. "It was less scary to watch you fight air."

"Won every battle back then," he grinned at me.

I looked down for a moment, closing my eyes.

"Hey," my attention was drawn back to Nikolai when he spoke up. His hand touched my arm gently. "Everything is going to be fine."

"This isn't you sneaking in and out of your family's castle," I said. "This is going to be the worst fight that we've ever faced. I... I don't want to hear that everything's going to be fine. I want to hear a plan."

"Alina will find the third amplifier and then we can tear down the Fold," he explained. "That's all we can plan until that happens, but I believe that we will get through this."

I just nodded. "I hope you're right."

"Now, that didn't sound like you believed me."

I rolled my eyes.

"(Y/n)..."

His tone was teasing as I looked away from him. How could he change my mood so easily? It simply wasn't fair.

He was just too... perfect. He was too good to me. Even if I had known that I was falling for him, I wouldn't have been able to stop it because that damn smile would have dragged me in. I was hopelessly falling for him more and more each day and it felt like it was going to drive me mad.

And he seemed entirely unaffected.

And something about that made me upset. How dare he sit there and be completely calm while I struggle to not yell how entirely my mind has been consumed by thoughts of him?

Nikolai moved so he could look me in the eye again.

"Don't you trust me," he asked with that stupid old charming smirk that drove me up a wall sometimes. And seemed to be my final straw.

“No, you don’t get to do that,” I snapped before my brain could even comprehend what I was I was saying.

“Do what,” he asked.

“You don’t get to look at me with that little smile and charm in the hopes of comforting me."

"(Y/n)-"

"Also, You don’t get to be clever and funny and charming and kind. That’s just not fair! And honestly, very distracting. You are meant to have flaws- what are you doing?”

He was standing significantly closer to me than he was before. "Listening..."

He took another step closer, and I felt heat rush over my entire body as nervousness took over. I was suddenly far too aware of every word that had spilled out of my mouth. And now that they were there, I couldn't speak another syllable. Every word got caught in my throat like someone was strangling me. He was just so close to me. It was suffocating.

"I've never seen you speechless before," he muttered. He didn't need to speak any louder. He was close enough that I could hear him perfectly fine.

"You've never stood so close to me before," I pointed out.

"I see," he nodded. "So, it's simply my presence that makes you nervous. Why is that?"

"Nikolai," I forced a scoff and looked away from him. "I came here to have a serious conversation about what we're getting ourselves into-"

"You could have run," he stopped me. "You could have run after our first trip together, you could have run when I went out looking for the sun summoner, when we hunted the Sea Whip, or before we crossed the Fold. Yet, you never did. Tell me why."

I looked back at him, ready to lie straight to his face. To tell him that I was his best friend and I cared for him. Nothing more than strictly platonic protectiveness. But then, I saw that smirk again and I knew that any lie I constructed would be nothing short of completely pointless.

"I think you already know," I said quietly, embarrassed at how easy my feelings must have been to spot.

"Yeah, but I'd quite like to hear you say it," he shrugged. "Don't want to make too many assumptions."

I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "It doesn't matter, does it? You're going to be engaged. That's all that matters."

"Not to me," he replied. "Please, say it."

I paused for a moment before finally speaking up again, "I have feelings for you, Nikolai."

His smirk only seemed to grow, which I was convinced wasn't possible.

"Can I go now," I asked. "Are you done embarrassing me?"

"Am I done embarrassing you? Yes," he nodded. "Can you go? Not yet."

"Nikolai-"

My exasperated complaint was interrupted by Nikolai leaning forward and pressing his lips to mine.

I froze for a moment as he kissed me. Soon enough, my eyes fluttered shut and I found myself kissing him back. My hands reached up to cup the sides of his face. His hands touched my sides, pulling me as close to him as he could.

I pulled away first, grinning at him. He grinned back at me, leaning his forehead on mine.

"How long have you known," I asked quietly.

"I wasn't quite sure until a few moments ago. I've had my suspicions... and I've... hoped for a while."

"Oh," I mumbled.

"'Oh,'" he repeated, chuckling as he leaned in and kissed me again.

I smiled into the kiss.

It was a feeling of peace that I had never been lucky enough to experience before. And I never wanted to lose it.

King of My Heart

Late in the night, the city's asleep Your love is a secret I'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep Change my priorities The taste of your lips is my idea of luxury

Tearing down the Fold didn't come without its sacrifice.

That sacrifice seemed to make everyone determined to hold on tightly to what they still had.

At least, that was what I assumed led to Nikolai waking me up in the middle of the night to try to quietly get us from my room to his.

I couldn't have escaped him that night. Not that I wanted to. His arms held onto me so tight that I was convinced he was going to crush my ribs by accident. He hid his face in the crook of my neck, refusing to even flinch after he was comfortable.

It was the first time that I had truly felt like I was the center of someone's attention. I was the most important thing in the world in that moment. Even if it was just for him.

Waking up to Nikolai the next morning only helped to solidify that feeling.

He was already grinning at me. I smiled back.

"Good morning," I muttered, rolling on my back as I stretched.

"Good morning..."

I let out a chuckle as Nikolai pulled me closer to his side.

His lips touched my cheek and my nose and my forehead... light kisses until his lips found mine. I hummed against his lips, kissing him back slowly.

Through all the loss and the injuries and the fear, this moment felt like setting a broken bone. Nothing had quite been healed or fixed, but there were intentions. A future that could be seen where that pain wasn't as strong.

"I could get used to this," I muttered as he pulled away.

He chuckled, nudging his nose with mine. "Me too."

There was a moment of silence between us. A moment where we truly enjoyed being together. Relaxing and holding each other properly for the first time. I never wanted to pull away from him.

But I knew that I would have to eventually.

"How do you plan on sneaking me out of here," I asked. "It would be a bit of a scandal if someone were to catch you spending the night with someone other than your future queen."

I meant for it to be a joke, but some kind of edge must've snuck into my voice before I could stop it. Nikolai let out a sigh as a guilty look crawled over his face. His thumb drew a circle into my skin.

"I'm sorry," he muttered to me. "About all of this."

"We could have never happened anyway," I shrugged, acting like the fact hadn't left a permanent scar in my heart. "Not officially anyway. You're doing what's best for Ravka. I understand that."

"'Official' or not, you always have and always will have all of me," he promised.

My heart swelled as I smiled at him. "And that's enough for me."

I had no interest in having a crown or an audience around to prove it.

As long as I had these moments then I would happily exist just as I was.

--------------------

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

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[fandomfluffandfuck]

Please do the Chris Evans pottery fic! I legit have always thought about for years! Like him taking a night class or a private class for anxiety or hobby (that Scott guilted him to take) so he doesn’t get recognized and the reader (please preferably male) vaguely knows who he is and doesn’t care and teaches him and he falls in love with reader. Like a slow burn. Bro please I’m on my knees begging 🙏 your writing is god tier for Chris fics

related to this

First and foremost I have to say, goddamn, you really went back into the archives to find that post 💀💀 don't get me wrong, I appreciate the hell out of you for that but, also, oof, have I already been on Tumblr for 3 fucking years!?

What? When?

Second, I actually never thought too much about that idea haha. I just couldn't get past the idea of Chris using his hands in that way 🥴 because look, I'm much more of a sculptor than a potter, but it has never been lost on me (a) how much skill it takes to throw on the wheel, and (b) how fucking hot it can look lmao

So, because I never thought too deep about the idea beyond the look, I have to say That's A 👏🏻 Top 👏🏻 Notch 👏🏻 Idea 👏🏻

I love that idea, like:

Chris rolls up to a night pottery class with a baseball cap pulled down real low, trying not to be noticed, squeezing his shoulders in to be less big and noticeable.

You notice him though--he looks a little funny, trying so hard not to stand out and obviously not realizing that a long sleeve, chunky cardigan is 100% the wrong thing to wear when you're about to be playing with clay. But, you don't care about him being Mr. Movie Star (or dressed badly for this activity lol) because, obviously, if he's here for a class, he wants to learn

(Later you'll learn that Scott was the one to push him into it, telling him, lovingly, to quit just talking about beginning to work with his hands and actually Do It)

and so, he's gonna learn.

You are the teacher though, so... it's your duty to keep the secret that Captain America is in their midst.

(But that won't keep you from teasing him subtlety by asking him if he'd perhaps like a blue or red or clear glaze)

Chris might not pick up the skill of throwing as quickly as some of the others (mostly because he's never messed with clay before while many of the other students have even if it was years ago in high school or college or wherever), but he's dedicated.

He puts his all into learning throwing.

You learn quickly, instructing Chris, that he has this tendency to squeeze a little too hard and over-correct the clay. The strength he's got comes in handy with wedging clay and assisting in reconstructing the electric kilns by putting in the heavy shelves, but, when on the wheel, it's not about how hard you can press the clay, how hard you can squeeze it, or anything like that (unless you're working on huge, HUGE projects with massive amounts of clay... but, these students are not there yet). It's about letting your hands glide over the clay, it's encouraging the clay to stretch and compress delicately.

Pottery very much more finesse than force.

And you tell him that a lot in the beginning, "relax, for now, don't try to control it too much. Try to let go and just feel. Keep your elbows anchored in your hips and thighs, but, otherwise, stay loose and relaxed. Breath out. Sink into it, y’know? Relax."

Chris laughs, looking up at you from the little mound of clay he's been centering on his wheel head, "I didn't know this would be so... spiritual? I mean, shit, this feels like therapy."

"Ha," you say, "just be glad it's therapy and not Ghost."

Chris chuckles, "are those my only two options?"

"Right now, rookie? Yes." You point back at his unattended and still spinning wheel, "now, please put your nose back to the grindstone before I'm forced to saddle up behind you. I don't need to be shot in the streets before I get hands-on with my teaching"

You swear, under that cap and beard, Chris blushes. But. He also gets back to work, so... you can't be sure you're not just seeing things 👀

There are a lot of little moments like that throughout the class. Flirting. Maybe. Maybe not. Chris might just be that charming. You can't be too sure.

It's very charming to watch Chris pick up his wobbly creations after they've been put through the bisque kiln and laugh at their unstable bumps and lumps as he tries to set them flat on the table. Plus, when he sands his pieces, he murmurs to himself, talking about all the silly mistakes he finds. Nail marks. Dips. Bulges. Extra bits of clay he missed when trimming. You swear you hear him call himself a "meatball" once...

That is a challenge to not laugh at, but, you don't because you don't want him to know you're paying such close attention to him. (You can't have favorite students after all 😘)

And later, it's very sweet to watch him admire his first glazed pieces. He's very gentle with them, running his fingers back and forth, back and forth, over the smooth glaze. He seems to enjoy the smooth sensation.

Also, listen, I have no proof but I feel like Chris is gonna be the type of potter that gets Really Messy. Like, clay and slip all over his hands, of course, but also all up his forearms and flecks of it on his face and in his hair. His poor apron and shoes.

Also, I think Chris would be the type of potter that wipes their hands on their thighs over their apron 😮‍💨

Chris takes one class then another and another. He's getting much, much better.

But, he still looks like he's watching you perform magic when you quickly throw a vace or pie platter for a demonstration. It's really endearing. You'd love to see more of his face while watching you work, but, no matter how good you are at pottery, you can't do it without looking. Not yet... maybe someday, if you keep practicing.

And eventually, I'd like to think that you exchange numbers. Chris no longer takes your class and so it's fair game.

He comes over to your place and you cook a meal together because you already know each other well enough. So, you skip the more public dates that are better for strangers.

Chris seems mystified by the fact that ALL your plates, bowls, mugs, etc. are things you've made. Thrown on the pottery wheel. He just thinks it's very cool and personal. Also, he swears because of taking your class that he can't look at a factory-made plate or bowl or mug the same. They look so plain and lifeless now. In return, you tease that you'd offer to make him a set for his own home as a present (maybe for his birthday or Christmas) but, you're gonna insist that he at least try to make a set himself first.

And, hey, if he needs more encouragement maybe that Ghost option could come true...

Sorry, this is so short but I just had to get some real quick thoughts out between study sessions lol

Thank you so much for bringing this up again and thank you for reading!!

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

I have some other requests and projects that I ABSOLUTELY WILL GET TO! However, I did give myself the challenge of spinning the wheel once a week, and even though this should have been posted on Friday...😬 I’m hoping there’s no such thing as too late. 😅 So without further ado, I spun for myself:

Detective AU + Sharing a Bed

So this is a continuation from this ficlet for Fictober. Mafia!Thorin + Cop!Bilbo that is in fact on my WIP list. 👀 Only...I had a brain child last night about this AU and am about to change A BUNCH about it. SO NOBODY FALL IN LOVE WITH THIS FIC AS IS!! (Or if you do, please be open to change.😆)

Warning for sexual implications and language.

It took Thorin a little longer than he planned to get back up to his suite that evening. However, the mere image of his soaked little detective waiting for him was already starting to get him excited. He opened the door, immediately noticing the piles of empty plates scattered on his kitchenette’s countertops. He chuckled to himself while at the same time wondering just how long it’s been since Bilbo had last eaten.

Walking down the hall, he peeked into his bathroom to see that Bilbo had indeed taken a shower as there was a used towel dangling from the doorknob and soaked clothing hanging over the bathtub edge. Maybe he should send his personal maid up to throw Bilbo’s things in the dryer. Not wanting to breach their arrangement by doing something so…considerate, Thorin shook his head and continued on to where he was certain now a very naked detective waited for him in his bed.

He opened the door, only to be slightly disappointed by the sight. At least, he thought he was disappointed, but a small smile crept across his face. Bilbo was in one of his plush robes that he hardly ever used, curled up in a ball, fast asleep in the large king sized bed. In fact, he was on Thorin’s side of the bed. He was going to have to rectify that before…Thorin froze. Before he got in?! Before willingly subjecting himself to letting a cop stay the night in his bed with no sex? That wasn’t the deal. That wasn’t how this was supposed to be.

That’s when Bilbo made a noise, somewhere between a snort and a snuffle, before his body stretched like a cat’s, settling once more in sleep. It was the most ridiculous thing Thorin had ever witnessed, and it was his heart squeezing at the act that had him crossing the room and opening the door to his balcony. He leaned over the railing, cigarette already in hand as he tried to figure out just where exactly did it all go wrong?

He was down to the butt and was still no closer to an answer. He did know that he was closer to accepting an inevitable fact. He had come to care for the detective. The extent of that care would take him the rest of the carton though, and so he cut that train of thought off rather quickly. Balin was right…unfortunate, but usually the case. He had to break things off with Bilbo. Their lines of work were not sustainable for any committed crossover. 

When he made it back inside, he found Bilbo awake and watching him. His expression a bit miffed but still rather exhausted. Thorin smirked as he took his time slipping off his shoes and jacket before bracketing himself over the top of him.

“Well?” He teased.

Bilbo’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “You stink.”

“Jealous?”

“A bit, but not enough to not make you go brush your teeth first.”

Thorin rolled his eyes before sliding off him. “You and your rules.”

“My rules are perfectly respectable, thank you very much.” Was the snide huff in return.

Thorin was already backtracking to the bathroom, shedding his shirt and socks as he went. When he felt like the mint would at least overpower the smell of smoke, he returned…only for Bilbo to have fallen back asleep. Thorin deflated. Yeah, this was not happening tonight. He should probably wake Bilbo up and send him packing. 

His fingers ghosted through those ridiculous curls, tracing their way down to his jaw. Thorin leaned forward to plant a kiss there, when pain exploded below. He sank to his knees, clutching at his balls.

“FUCK!” 

“Thorin? Shit. I did warn you.” Bilbo grunted as he eased him up on the bed. 

“Yep. You did.” Thorin snarled sarcastically.

Bilbo scooted over, giving Thorin some space, his face stuck somewhere between apologetic and amused. The bastard. Thorin closed his eyes tightly as he leaned his head further back to bury itself in the pillow as he slowly counted backwards from one hundred.

“You want me to go get you some ice?”

“Just give me a minute.” Thorin groaned.

“I suppose there goes the evening.” Bilbo sighed.

Thorin peeked over at him at this. He may be in unspeakable pain, but Thorin was certainly not one to waste an opportunity. Very carefully, he rolled the both of them to the middle of the bed. 

“Thorin…” Bilbo warned.

“Kiss it and make it better?” Thorin asked cheekily.

Bilbo smirked. “You never miss the moment, do you?”

Thorin bent down, languidly kissing his way up Bilbo’s neck before finally landing on his soft, wet lips.

“How about a counter offer? Why don’t you stay the night here? You clearly need a good night’s rest. Your clothes will hopefully be dry by then. And we can have a very enjoyable breakfast together.”

Each statement was punctuated by another kiss, each deeper than the last. However, Bilbo now was pushing him away which meant Thorin was not going to like what he had to say. He closed his eyes, letting his forehead drop to lay on Bilbo’s chest.

“Thorin? You ridiculous man! Look at me.”

He slowly lifted his gaze, and he didn’t know how he felt about what he saw. The fear, the disapproval, but even worse, the longing.

“We knew what this was when we started it. No strings attached. Wasn’t that the deal?”

Thorin sighed. “I know.”

“And renegotiating the terms like this…we can’t. We talked about that too.”

“I know!” He snapped.

“So what’s changed?” Bilbo asked softly.

Thorin met his gaze. Frustration with frustration. Desperation with desperation. But most of all, hope with hope. 

“Bilbo.” He breathed like a caress and the man below responded with a shiver. “I think that…”

Thorin didn’t get much further than that. Glass exploded. A zip through the air. And a hole appeared in Thorin’s pillow, where moments before his head would have been. Sniper. Thorin didn’t even have to think about it. He rolled both him and Bilbo off the bed just as the next shot was made.

Spin the wheel for drabbles.

[rainandandy]

Chemtrails (Yelena Belova x reader)

Summary: You and Yelena are finally free from the mind control of being a black widow. How does everything fare out as you both return to Ohio to start a new life?

Pairings: Yelena Belova x reader, Natasha Romanoff x Steve Rogers (Kinda platonic, kinda not), Alexei Shoskatoff x Melina Vostokova

Word Count: 1,862

Translations: Malishka (Baby), Krasotka (Beautiful),  Liybimaya (My Love)

Masterlist

There were some people who had the idea that being on the run meant being scared, lonely, always on edge. Perhaps that is how it should have felt. You just felt like you were free. Free from being used in any way. They treated you as if you were just another pawn on the chessboard as if you were just another number to them. It is a piece that no one will remember.

Yelena too. The two of you had freed yourselves and the others from the harsh crutches of being a black widow. A killer and a trained spy in all the fields that a spy could be. Sly, sneaky, conniving, and murderous. There had never been a time when you had any control over your actions. Never being able to be yourself. Living life on the edge, skirting all over the world in a number of days. Killing people without a second thought, because you weren't able to control your mind. You weren't in control.

Until Yelena came along. Till she abolished the control over your mind and cut the tracker from your leg. Till she held you while your body wracked with sobs of finally being free.

She stayed with you, helped you recover physically and mentally. Patching up wounds with medical bits she found in gas stations. Driving stolen cars and motorbikes through the darkness of the night. A new city each day, hiding in rundown motels on the side of highways. Each one of them smelling worse than the previous one.

In the aftermath of Dreykov's death, you would keep your eyes on the news to make sure the black widows left over weren't doing any harm. Once you both reached Ohio, where she planned to meet up with her family and establish a base to free the black widows, you both could be free. Over the long nights of traveling and the days of laying low, you went from strangers to lovers very quickly.

You weren't sure when it happened, but she fell first. A glance at you that was once cold has become a loving gaze. As she learned what food you liked, she would be sure to bring it back from her grocery store runs. It was something you didn't notice at first. She changed her attitude towards you suddenly and when her touches on your wounds became lighter and she began to tell you more about her life, you too began to fall. You discovered why she was aiming for Ohio in the first place. In other words, she did not want to be what she was made to be. Both of your skills would only earn you dirty money, and she desperately just wanted to settle down. You did not talk about children between the two of you, but you frequently talked about a dog shelter.

As soon as you reached a small suburban home on the outskirts of Ohio, you and your partner quickly went into undercover mode. Posing as a newlywed couple, with her sister who is a part-time science teacher and her parents who are coming to welcome the new family. In the morning it appeared like bliss to the neighbors, but really it was at night when the family seemed to sit around and play Monopoly that they planned their roles for recovering the last of the black widows. The rest of the widows who had been freed would come over under the guise of being friends, but Yelena and you would give them money and new identification provided by Mason, so they could start their new lives. The widows wanted their chance to live a normal life, just as you and Yelena did. Many of those who rely on doing what they know only too well, choose to work with Melina in St Petersburg.

In less than a year, everyone was free. With the last of the widows freed, Dreykov's remnants were abolished. You and Yelena were finally free. As soon as the word was given you and Yelena marched straight down to the shelter where she picked a gorgeous American akita and Yelena straight away called her Fanny. When Natasha heard the name, she rolled her eyes and asked, "Really Yelena? I hate that name. You know how much I hate it. In response, Yelena hit back with an infamous "HA!"" and Fanny had now become a part of your dysfunctional family. Alexei and Melina flew in and out every few months, checking up on both of you or on some wild mission to find Captain America. It was much to Alexei’s surprise the day Natasha brought Steve Rogers home, posing as her husband.

“Papa, you remember Steve. My adoring husband" Each word spit back as fast as possible while making sure Alexei didn't start a mini war among them right under their noses. Natasha was extremely coy at first and you didn't know whether there was anything more than just friendship between them.

During their time at the Ohio house, Yelena and Natasha would relax in the small pool that is located out the back. Their tanned skin became more obvious as they raced in laps of the pool against one another under the scorching summer sun. The whole family had a good laugh when Steve wore swim trunks with the American flag on them and then had another fit when Alexei wore ones with the Russian flag on them. “I feel like all my dreams have come true” Yelena said hazily as she kissed your hand on the lawn chairs.

“What dream is that Krasotka?” you asked, smiling as you didn’t fully take in her deep words. “I have my family back” you felt the strings of your heart being pulled at the softness of the girl's words.

She pulled on your hand and led you to join her on the lawn chair, sitting in her lap. As she wrapped her arms around your waist, you looked up into the clear blue sky to see a distant plane leave a long white trail in the clear blue sky. “What are the white lines made of?" It was a question you asked aloud. "Maybe the government is slowly poisoning us with Dreykov's toxic chemicals," she said in a funny way, but you knew it was on everyone's mind. What if he wasn't really dead after all. What if the dream turned into a nightmare and you were no longer yourself. Your panic caused your breath to quicken its pace, and you touched the beautiful gemstones you wore around your neck. Some eastern culture your therapist had thrust onto you, rubbing some amethyst and turquoise would help ease the pain of the memories. In a manner of speaking, it did work, as it eased the nightmares little by little. There were times when holding those tiny stones felt like clutching a lifeline. You desperately try to hold onto this reality with Yelena as long as possible. The blissfulness of it all. Yelena became restless after losing the constant sense of action that had been part of her life. The excitement of going to the farmers market only lasted for a limited amount of time. It was one of those days when the rumble of an engine and the smell of gas broke your concentration from doing laundry, and you were met by a gorgeous vintage red Chevy pulling into the driveway. The look on Yelena's face was incomprehensible, which made you hard to believe that she had just went out and bought such an immaculate, expensive-looking vehicle. The car was a convertible and fanny sat in the back, her tongue hanging out, panting in the golden sun, as she sat there. "We are supposed to keep things on the low down" you whispered to your 'fake' wife, scolding her.

It's time to enjoy yourself, Malishka!"

You knew it was worth it when the rouge on her lips matched the color of the cherry red car. When she opened the passenger side door, she motioned for you to get into the car.

"No no, I think it's time for me to take this baby for a spin". You pushed her across the white leather as you got into the driver's seat and sat in it. There was a soft white leather under your grip on the wheel. "Don't you like it, sweetheart?" Yelena smirked at you as you adjusted the mirror while Yelena was chatting. Upon turning the key, the engine roared to life. "Shhh sweetheart, you'll pay for this later" and you took off racing down the avenues of white picket fences, passing children playing in the front gardens.

Families who seemed perfect on the outside but you knew that each one had their problems. As you reached well over the speed limit, with your hair blowing wildly behind you, you felt as if you were at liberty. It was impossible for those families to stop you from doing what you did. You could not be stopped by Dreykov. At that moment, all you wanted was to keep speeding along the winding roads while Yelena put her hands up, grasping at the invisible air. She was your sweet love. Your happiness. She made the freedom worth it. The winding roads soon gave way to a small clearing where you were able to park your car on the side of the road. The engine died slowly, and her smile was beaming back at you, pure happiness oozing from both of you. Fanny jumped out of the car, her paw pads crushing the gravel under her feet as she jumped. She trotted around sniffing at the new surroundings. In the company of Yelena, you made your way to a small bench that overlooked a valley. The sun was looking low and heavy as it was making its way towards the horizon for yet another day. The silence was relaxing, settling over you as you stared out at the sky. Yelena spoke openly from the heart or perhaps her soul when she said, "I am not religious, but if there is a god out there somewhere, I hope he lets it stay like this forever.". The truth is, she was never one to think of such things in this way, especially in regards to god, religion or even something as grave as losing what you had. "It's not going to happen. We have made it. Nothing could break us apart, Liybimaya”

I know, I know, I feel silly thinking about it when this perfect paradise is all around us; but I cannot help it.

"There is nothing wrong with contemplating God…. or our paradise…. If you have second thoughts-”

“No. God no.” She took a deep breath and replied, “That's not what I'm saying. I am terrified that I will wake up back in the red room. That all of this was just a dream"

You scooted over to her side of the bench and cradled her against you and said, "I'm real, baby.". The sun set, leaving you and your partner in the darkness, the streetlight flickering behind you. It is time for us to go home"

[soobmint]

paper hearts | choi soobin [f] ; [c] 80s! au, 9.6k words

s u m m a r y ; if there was one thing you wanted to avoid on valentine’s day, it was running into your ex best friend, choi soobin. but when a series of unfortunate events involving too much purple eyeshadow, drunken punches, and one stolen bicycle leads you right back to his side, you begin to realize that maybe you truly belonged with him all along.

c o n t e n t s ; soobin x fem!reader, 80s! au, valentine’s day, ex best friend! soobin, rich boy! soobin, but he’s a major dweeb and the biggest softie, yeonjun is a major prick (i’m so sorry junnie), reader is a part time worker, soobin is best friends with lee felix of stray kids, some themes of social classes, roughly inspired by the 80s movie “pretty in pink,” mentions drugs, alcohol, and single parent households, mostly just fluff, fluff, and more fluff, with a hint of crack/humor

n o t e ; hello friends! this was a very quickly planned, last minute valentine’s day idea, and it’s actually a collab with one of my dearest friends, @chanluster ! she posted her piece of the collab as well, you can check it out by going to the collab masterlist here! this was so much fun to write and i think that 80s! soobin was just too good of a concept to pass up! anyways, happy valentine’s day, i hope you enjoy this oneshot! do leave a like, reblog, or comment if you could, it really helps so much <3

[back to my masterlist] [oneshot playlist]

IF ONE MORE CUT-OUT, CRAFT-PAPER HEART HIT YOU IN THE FACE, YOU WERE GOING TO QUIT YOUR JOB.

Of course you would never actually quit. With your mother out of the picture and your father working nonstop overtime just to barely have enough cash to put food on the table for the both of you, you had come to rely on your minimum wage part-time hours more than you liked to admit. However, the handmade strings of paper hearts that hung from wall to wall throughout the entirety of the record shop you were employed at was enough to make you consider it; not to mention the Phil Collins record that had been spinning all day, filling your ears with melodies embodying the very air of romance, and the embarrassing pink sweater your boss had forced you to wear. You mumbled curses beneath your breath as you pulled at the collar, itching away at your neck.

When you made a step towards a crate full of records, ready to tidy it up after a customer had rummaged through it leaving it a mess, you were met with another face full of cheap red construction paper. With a large growl of exasperation, you swatted at the hearts and accidentally caused the entire string of them to fall to the ground. You cleared your throat, glad that no customers were present to see your little outburst.

Your boss, Jen, still saw it all.

“That’s not very festive of you, kid,” She said, taking a drag on her cigarette. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Lighten up.”

“Ah, my bad. I forgot that I was supposed to be overjoyed on the day honoring the execution of St. Valentine,” You said as you gave her a sarcastic smile. “I’ll make sure to smile at the next couple that walks in and ask them how they plan to contribute to the commercialization of a martyr’s death.”

“You must be real fun at parties,” Jen mumbled. She shook her cigarette at you from behind the counter. “You’re just bitter because you don’t have a valentine. I can’t blame anyone for giving you the cold shoulder with that attitude of yours.”

You scowled, picking up the string of hearts that you had sent crashing to the floor. “I’m not bitter, and I don’t want a date. Also, I told you to stop smoking inside! It smells awful.”

“Last I checked, this was my shop, not yours.” You rolled your eyes as you approached the counter, handing the discarded string to Jen so she could throw it in the trash. “Now you’re making me do chores for you too? You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that.”

“Jen, please, I’m really not in the mood for this today.”

Jen shrugged, bending towards the trash can to throw away the string of hearts when she paused and pulled something from the bin. You glanced over your shoulder and gasped when you saw what she held in her hand—a small red envelope with your name scrawled across the front and a pink heart-shaped sticker stuck on the back.

“What’s this?” Jen asked, opening the envelope and shaking out the contents. A single slip of paper fell out, landing atop the counter. You rushed to grab it, but Jen snatched it up just before your fingers reached the countertop.

“Give me that,” You insisted, face growing warm. “I threw it away for a reason!”

“It’s an invitation to a party?” She seemed beyond surprised, glancing back and forth between you and the paper several times. “You got invited to a Valentine’s Day party, and instead of going, you asked me to give you extra hours? Why?”

You looked down at your feet, digging the toe of your sneaker into the blue carpet. There were, in fact, many reasons why you did not want to go to that party. They were as follows:

One: Choi Yeonjun was the one who had invited you. After you had rejected his offer when he asked to take you to a basketball game a month before, you could barely make eye contact with him in the school hallway without feeling guilty. That and the fact that he was one of the richest preps in the school, you knew he had just been asking you out for some sort of prank or dare that you preferred to not potentially fall victim to.

Two: you needed to work as much as you could. Money, as always, was tight for you and your father. There was no way you would sacrifice precious hours to go to a party full of rich kids where nothing but humiliation was sure to await you.

Three: your old childhood friend and the one person you couldn’t bear to see was probably going to be there—Choi Soobin.

You had barely spoken to Soobin in the four years you had been in high school. Crossing paths with him in the cafeteria, turning down the same aisle of books as him in the library, all those tiny stolen glances and accidental encounters were the only bits of interaction you had kept throughout all that time. The worst part was, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

It was nothing but your own cowardice that had driven the two of you apart, and you were still too afraid to own up to it.

Instead of explaining all of this to Jen, you simply shrugged and said, “I dunno. It just sounds lame.”

Your boss sighed, holding the invitation out towards you. “Okay, I’m letting you off early. Go to the party.”

With wide eyes, you shook your head immediately. “Absolutely not. Why in the world would I go?”

“Well, first of all, it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity for you. Who knows when your next chance to go to a party will be.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at that.

“Second, it’s a holiday! The only reason I even opened today was because you were begging me for hours. I thought it was because you were bummed about having no plans, but clearly it’s because you wanted an excuse to be a recluse.”

“Hey, I’m not a recluse.”

“Clearly.” She shook the invitation at you once more, brows raised. “If you go, I’ll raise your pay by fifty cents for the next month.”

Your ears perked up at that.

“Well?” She asked, well aware that she had hit the jackpot. “What'd ya say?”

Weighing the risks against the benefits, you bit the inside of your cheek.

“Make it a dollar and you’ve got a deal.” 

-

“HAPPY VALENTINE’S, CHOI.”

When Soobin heard the sarcastic remark coming from his best friend, Felix, he had to fight back the urge to burst into tears then and there. He still wasn’t quite sure how Felix had convinced him to come, but he was already regretting it. The last thing he wanted to do to celebrate the day dedicated to love was spend it at a house party—or, as Soobin preferred to call them, any outcast high school kid’s version of hell on earth.

With a quick peek between his fingers, which he had used to cover his eyes immediately upon arriving at the site of the Valentine’s party, Soobin caught another eye-full of couples getting all too familiar with one another out in the open. He gulped, letting his hands grip the handles of the bike as he averted his gaze, choosing to cast his best glare at Felix, who was busy adjusting his ever-present beanie.

“Shut up,” he murmured, slowly sliding off the seat of his bike. He dusted off the worn, tearing cushion, glancing around the area. “Now quick, we gotta put our stuff somewhere safe.”

Felix looked aghast, making no moves to help Soobin in his search for a hiding spot. “What are you doing?”

“Tryna find a safe place for my bike?” He thought the answer to be somewhat obvious, but clearly Felix wasn’t on the same track of thinking. “You don’t know today’s world! Anyone is willing to steal nowadays.”

“Soobin, your bike is coughing up oil from its chains. It should be in its own care home at this rate.”

“I don’t wanna hear your slander, skater boy,” Soobin retorted, eyeing Felix’s ebony skateboard that he refused to be seen without. As if on cue, when he pushed his bike forward, the chains squealed, drawing the attention of a pair of particularly passionate individuals who had been wrapped up with one another moments before. Soobin ignored their annoyed stares, feeling his ears burn from embarrassment. He glanced back to Felix. “Help me find a hiding spot.”

Felix was anything but enthusiastic, but he began to help Soobin search nonetheless.

“Slide it in here, Soobs,” Felix called a few moments later. He was pointed to an empty space between the home’s perfectly trimmed bushes. Soobin pursed his lips together, pushing his large glasses further up the bridge of his nose—a nervous tick of his. Felix groaned, rolling his eyes. “Or you can leave it out in the open so it’ll spit more oil on the passersby? Is that what you want?”

“Fine, fine!” Soobin huffed, wheeling his bike over to the shrubbery, chains squeaking all the way. He carefully laid it beneath the brush and moved a few branches to cover it up nicely. He stood up straight, dusting his hands on the front of his loose blue jeans. “What about your skateboard?”

Felix gave the board a pat, awarding his most prized possession a dazzling smile one would expect to see a proud father giving his beloved son. But in reality, it was the school’s stoner grinning ear to ear at his old, dusty skateboard. “Nightrider stays with me.”

Soobin scrunched his nose, cringing on instinct. He still calls that thing by that stupid name?

Felix clapped him on the shoulder before he could make a remark, catching him off guard when he said, “Right. Let’s go and get your girl.”

There was nothing Soobin could do to stop the flush that rushed to his cheeks right away. Images of you, his ex-best friend and the only reason he had even come to this party in the first place, flashed through his mind. Had he not overheard Yeonjun invite you earlier that morning and then casually mention the encounter to Felix, there was no way he would have even stepped foot out of his house that night. Part of him was peeved, wishing he had never uttered a single word about you to his overbearing friend. Yet, deep down, there was hope within him—the tiniest sliver.

If there was even the slightest chance that he could talk to you that night, he would do anything. Even if it meant dealing with a stupid party, and the never-ceasing teasing he was bound to continue receiving from Felix.

“Don’t even say that,” He said, emphasizing each word as they walked up the front steps. Soobin had to glance down at his much shorter friend to see the devious grin on his freckled face.

“Say what? That she’s your girl, your woman, your one and only?”

The blush must have been creeping to his neck by that point. He could feel it. “I. . .” There were many things Soobin wished to say; angry words that would hopefully shut the blonde skater boy up real quick. But he couldn’t bring himself to say a single harsh word, so he sighed in defeat. “I can’t even say it.”

“That you hate me?” Felix only grinned even bigger, and Soobin couldn’t help the tiny defeated smile that slipped over his features. “Oh, I know. It’s because I’m too good of a best friend.”

They stepped into the house then, instantly being overwhelmed by loud music, boisterous laughter, and drunken yells echoing throughout the halls. Soobin latched onto Felix right away, gripping his friend’s sleeve as someone stumbled into him, a bit of beer spilling from their cup. He pushed his glasses up, only for them to slide right back down as he began to sweat.

“Maybe we should go home, Lix!” Soobin shouted to be heard over the noise as they travelled further into the house. “We can always try next year!”

“Stop being a scaredy-cat!” Felix shouted back, and Soobin thought he might actually begin to cry as they squeezed their way into the living room. Soobin nearly gagged at the strong smell of alcohol as it burned in his nose. The scene was nothing short of a nightmare to Soobin—loud voices, smoke rising in the air, vodka assaulting his nose and sweat beading on the back of his neck. He had never been one to drink, and he didn’t plan on starting that night; but he was beginning to understand what Felix meant when he had once told him it was nearly impossible to get through one of these parties sober.

He was about to make another complaint and beg to leave when someone from the crowd hollered his name, causing him to wince when he recognized that voice as the one that belonged to none other than Choi Yeonjun.

“Soobin! Where you been?”

Soobin smiled nervously at the school’s heartthrob—and textbook snobby rich kid—before he turned back to Felix. He didn’t want to leave his friend, but he knew that he would never hear the end of it if he ignored Yeonjun’s persistent calls. “I’ll be right back,” He promised Felix, still holding onto his sleeve.

“No, no,” Felix assured. “You go. You’ll probably find her around that place anyway.”

Soobin wasn’t so sure of that. You were definitely not of the right social standing to be caught amongst the circle of the school’s rich boys—which was why it had surprised Soobin that Yeonjun had invited you to the party in the first place. Your high school had its own caste system, and you were near the bottom of it.

And, as much as it pained him to admit it, Soobin was stuck at the very top with all the other rich snobs who cared about nothing more than their daily allowances that came straight from their daddy’s bank account.

“What about you, buddy?” He asked Felix, desperate for any excuse to remain by his friend’s side. He would have tried to bring Felix with him, but his friend was in an even worse social standing than you were—he was poor, and he was most known for being the school’s pothead. There was no way Soobin would willingly drag him into a situation where nothing but slander and torment awaited him.

“Me?” Felix shrugged, gripping his board tighter. “I’ll just smoke away the night.”

Soobin pouted, glancing back at the group of preps as they called for him once again. He sighed, clapping Felix on the shoulder. “Just make sure you won’t smell too much of it when I come back.”

Submitting himself to his doom then, he turned on his heel and slowly made his way to where the group of  boys sat near the sofa, giving them a half-hearted wave.

“Why were you hanging around that Felix guy?” Yeonjun asked once Soobin had reached their circle. “Did he blackmail you or something?”

Soobin frowned, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “He’s my friend.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes, brushing a hand through his perfectly-straightened ebony locks. “Sure he is. Tell me, do you see every kid you find on the streets as some sort of personal charity project? Or is it just Felix and—what was her name—” He snapped his fingers then before he said, “Y/N, right?”

Soobin didn’t respond—well, it was more like he couldn’t respond. By nature he was a very passive being, but nothing drew him closer to bouts of anger than when the people he cared about were being insulted right before him.

Especially when it came to you.

Yet, as much as he wanted to tell Yeonjun off or give him a nice shove into the smoke-stained walls, words failed him. They always did. Perhaps this was why you had abandoned him all those years ago. Nobody knew him better than you did, so of course you were able to see what he truly was beneath all the expensive clothes and nervous laughter—a coward.

He figured that he’d probably have left himself too.

“Drink up, buttercup.” The chipper voice that belonged to the other Choi in the small gathering of socialites, Choi Beomgyu, thrust a plastic red cup towards Soobin’s chest. 

He shook his head, throwing another wavering smile in his direction. “No thanks. I don’t drink.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. “Of course you don’t. Why are you even here then?”

Once again, Soobin chose silence as his only response. He swallowed, patting the front pocket of his denim jacket. As the group of boys began conversing once more, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander around the room, searching every drunken face for the features that belonged to you, trying to hear your name in every conversation, desperate for your voice to break through the blasting music and shouting voices.

“Who ya looking for there, Big Choi?” Soobin grimaced at the nickname. He was skinny, but incredibly tall, and nobody would let him forget that. “Big Choi” was one of his most common nicknames among the elitists. He despised it, but of course, he would never voice that aloud.

He glanced at Beomgyu and smiled nervously again, shaking his head. “Nobody.”

His eyes met Yeonjun’s and he gulped yet again as the latter eyed him with suspicion. It wasn’t as though he had anything to hide, but something about Yeonjun’s calculating gaze made his skin crawl.

He needed to escape. Just for a moment, at least.

“I’ll be right back. Going to find some water.”

He slipped out of the living room then, apologizing profusely to each couple he accidentally bumped into, bowing in remorse to each person’s toes his big feet happened to stumble over. He ached to be by Felix’s side—the stoned skateboarder had become somewhat of a security blanket to the taller of the duo—but his blonde friend was nowhere to be seen.

After snagging a bottle of water from the kitchen, Soobin managed to slip into an empty bathroom. He slammed the door shut and wasted no time in locking it. Letting out the biggest sigh of relief, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the door, taking a big gulp of the ice cold water.

He set the bottle on the counter and carefully reached into the front pocket of his jacket, his fingers finding the piece of paper he had been storing there all evening. He pulled it out and let his eyes wander over his middle school creation. It was a big heart, cut out from a scrap piece of red construction paper. Scrawled across it in his eight-grade handwriting were the words, Be mine this Valentine’s! His name was etched at the bottom, and at the very top, delicately printed in hot pink glitter glue, your name was written as well.

He had planned to give this to you four years ago on Valentine’s day. Everything had been planned out perfectly; he was to pick you up on his old, trusty bike. It wasn’t really made for two people, but the two of you had fashioned a makeshift extra seat for you to sit upon whenever you went places together. 

He wanted to take you to the Dairy Shack, which was the local ice cream shop where the two of you spent the most time together. You always got a large chocolate shake to share, playing a quick game of rock, paper, scissors to decide who got to eat the cherry on top. He was going to order a shake and specially ask for two cherries that time, and planned to give both of them to you before he would bravely present you with the handmade card he had spent all day working on.

However, when he waited for you outside your house that day, the red dusk turned to pitch black night, and you never stepped foot out your door.

He had even gone up to your door a few times and knocked, but there was no answer. Eventually he pedalled off into the night, back to his house. He was disappointed, of course, but more worried than anything else. He had hoped you weren’t sick.

But when he saw you at school the next day, he knew that hadn’t been the case.

And when you ignored him calling your name as you passed by him in the hallways, he knew that something had drastically changed.

For weeks, Soobin was in great turmoil as he replayed your last few encounters together before you had stood him up. Perhaps you were angry that he had won the last few games of rock, paper, scissors? If he had known, he would have given you all the cherries for the rest of time if it meant you would still talk to him. He didn’t care about them—he cared about you.

He missed you.

And as weeks turned to months, and months turned to years, you still barely spoke to him, and he missed you more and more. The best friend he had wanted to take a step closer to had taken a thousand steps back from him, and he still had no idea why.

But that night, he was determined to find out.

Well, if he could muster up the courage to get a single word out, of course.

He folded the heart back up and stuck it back in his pocket, taking a deep breath as he observed himself in the fogged-up mirror. He fixed his bright blue hair that Felix had helped him bleach and dye, making sure the pieces fell over the corners of his eyes just right. He straightened his white turtleneck and cuffed the sleeves of his denim jacket until he was at least somewhat content with his appearance.

“You can do this, Soobs,” He told himself, adjusting his big round glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “That’s what Felix would say.”

“Hey, rich boy!” A loud scream came from outside the bathroom door, accompanied by harsh knocking that sent Soobin stumbling backwards until he fell in the shower, pulling the curtains down with him.

“Hurry up in there! I’m about to piss myself!”

Soobin let out a shaky sigh, scrambling to his feet as he rushed to fix the curtain he had torn down with his clumsiness. “Sorry,” he mumbled, though he doubted the person on the other side of the door could hear him.

He realized then with an ever growing dread that it would be a miracle if he survived the night long enough to even find you, but it would take the work of God himself for him to actually speak to you.

He figured it was time for him to start praying.

- 

YOU KNEW IT WAS A MISTAKE TO LET JEN DO YOUR MAKEUP.

When she had stopped you on your way out the door with a compact of bright purple eyeshadow, you had turned her down right away. No way in all of creation were you walking in a party with such an atrocious color caked up to your brow bone.

“How can you say it’s gonna look bad if you haven’t even let me try?” Jen had asked.

You had given her a once-over, your lips pressed into a thin line. “If it’s gonna look anything like the way you do your own makeup, I’m gonna have to pass.”

After that snide remark, she had threatened to fire you if you didn’t let her apply the makeup. And so you obliged, though you didn’t have much of a choice.

The booming sounds of the party hit your ears before you had even reached the lawn. Screaming teens—well, there were probably some adults thrown in there as well—and the sound of music spilled through the open windows of the home. Couples and singles alike were scattered throughout the perfectly kept lawn that was now littered with empty cups and other assortments of garbage.

You looked down at your patchwork jeans and pink sweater, certain that you would be underdressed compared to the rest of the partygoers. But from the looks of things, as you carefully squeezed your way through the front door and into the home, everyone was probably too wasted to even notice your arrival, let alone care about your looks.

You caught a glimpse of your face in the hallway mirror, cringing at the sight of your eyeshadow. You had tried to wipe some of it away before arriving, but it simply smudged, giving you quite the shocking smoky, purple eye look. For someone who didn’t even know the difference between a paintbrush and a makeup brush, it was a bold look, to say the least.

If Soobin saw you looking like this, he’d probably have a heart attack.

Soobin.

In the midst of all your frantic preparation, you had nearly forgotten about the main reason why you had planned to avoid this party at all costs. With a quick glance around the room, you realized that he was nowhere to be seen. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he hadn’t shown up at all. He was never a fan of parties, anyway.

You crossed your arms over your chest and slowly slipped past the couples crowding the hallway with their limbs intertwined, mouths practically swallowing one another whole, until you reached the living room. Surprisingly, it was less crowded in here than you thought it might be. A few minglers were scattered about the room’s perimeter, but they all kept away from the center of the room, which was occupied by none other than Choi Yeonjun and all his brainless, rich-boy worshippers. You quickly scanned the group, not able to make out Soobin among them. When you realized he wasn’t there, you were partly relieved and partly disappointed. If was to be anywhere at this party, it would probably be with these guys.

With a quick turn on your heel, you planned to make your way out of the living room before Yeonjun could see you. The last thing you wanted was for the boy with a bruised ego to see you, regardless of whether or not he had been the one to invite you.

“Y/N? You came?”

Too late.

Plastering a forced grin to your face, you slowly turned to face Yeonjun, who had just called your name. He was eyeing you with slight surprise, but soon, a smirk slipped across his lips as he motioned for you to come over. You had to hold back your sigh, wishing there was some way for you to get out of this situation. It was all Jen’s fault that you had to show up in the first place. You decided you were going to demand an extra ten cents be added to your raise the next time you saw your pushy boss.

“Hey Yeonjun,” you said once you had walked over to him. “I figured I’d stop by for a minute or two, since you were kind enough to invite me.”

He smirked, glancing at a few of his friends. They shared a knowing laugh with one another, but the meaning of it was lost to you. You wanted nothing more than to get away from them, but that wasn’t an option.

“You’re too busy to go out with me to a basketball game but free enough to come to a party, huh?” He asked.

You blinked, digging your nails into your arms. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s fine, really,” He drawled, swirling his plastic cup of beer in his hand. “You didn’t think I’d be upset or anything did you? I only asked you out because I was dared to shack up with you. But I’m guessing you already knew that, since you’re so smart and all.”

Your eyes went wide, but you managed to control the rest of your expression. It was just like you had guessed—Yeonjun had invited you to the party with the sole purpose of making a scene.

If you survived the night, Jen was never going to hear the end of it.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” He asked, pushing himself to his feet. You could tell by the slight stumble in his step and his hooded eyes that he had quite a bit to drink. He took a step towards you, causing you to back up immediately. Your back hit the wall, and you placed your palms against it as Yeonjun towered over you. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know why you’re here anyways.” He leaned forward, his lips hovering near your ear. “You’re here to see Soobin, aren’t you? Since he’s the only one here willing to waste his time on filth like you.”

Your blood boiled, and you had to clench your fists at your sides to control your anger.

“Don’t,” You seethed, “Call me that.”

“Call you what? Filth? Or sweetheart? Why, is that something good old Binnie used to call you—”

He never got to finish that sentence, because with one big burst of anger, you stomped on his toe as hard as you could with your worn-out platform sneaker.

“What the hell!” He screeched, drawing the attention of several others in the room. His outburst even caused a few of the couples to pull away from each other’s faces long enough to eavesdrop.

Before you could even say anything back, lukewarm liquid was splashed up in your face, burning your eyes and nose. You gasped, running your hands over your eyes to see Yeonjun with his now empty cup of beer pointed towards you.

“Think twice before you act out against me next time, sweetheart. Never forget your place.”

Tears of anger burned in your eyes, and you scanned the room to see several people exchanging whispers and giggles as they glanced in your direction. You pushed past Yeonjun and quickly made your way out the back door of the house, unable to stand the humiliation for a moment longer.

Soobin arrived in the living room just in time to see you leave.

He wasted no time in rushing towards Yeonjun, grabbing hold of his arm. “Yeonjun, was that Y/N?” He asked, eyes quickly taking in the puddle of alcohol on the floor and the empty cup in Yeonjun’s hand. “What happened?”

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty blue head about, Big Choi. I just put her in her place is all.”

Soobin’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you ‘put her in her place?’”

Yeonjun laughed, giving Soobin a nonchalant pat on the back. “Just drop it, would you? It has nothing to do with you.”

“What did you say, Yeonjun?”

Yeonjun was growing irritated now. He huffed out a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “I said it has nothing to do with you, Soobin. I know you like to hang around people like that pothead Felix, but the rest of us live in the real world, where we’d rather not waste our time with those who have no future anyways. I bet he’s the one that got you to dye your hair that god awful blue, isn’t he?”

Soobin bit the inside of his cheek. He so badly wished to rip Yeonjun to shreds then and there. If he had Felix’s courage, the cocky bastard would have been knocked to the ground ages ago. But if there was one thing Soobin was sure he could never be, it was brave. And so, despite his rage, he remained silent, his eyes practically burning a hole through Yeonjun’s chest from how intently he was glaring.

It seemed as though Yeonjun was about to say something, but his eyes landed on the bit of red that peeked through the front pocket of Soobin’s denim jacket. Before Soobin had time to defend himself, Yeonjun had reached forward and snatched it from his pocket, revealing the large paper heart—his valentine for you.

“So this is why you care so much,” Yeonjun said, laughing as his eyes scanned the glittery words that decorated the page. “You want her to be your valentine.”

“Give that back,” Soobin said quietly, his hands beginning to shake.

Yeonjun instead lifted his eyes to Soobin, gave him a sickly sweet grin, and ripped the heart straight down the middle. He let the two pieces fall from his hands to the ground, and with them Soobin’s heart went also.

“You’re really willing to try and go against me, and for what? For the sake of a girl who can’t even afford a new pair of jeans and a boy that smokes his life away in the bathroom stalls?” Yeonjun took a slow step towards Soobin, his eyes glinting with a sinister determination. “You may be rich, Soobin, but if you choose to lower yourself to their standards, you may as well be dirt poor just like they are.”

With his hands clenched into tight fists, his glasses sliding down his nose, and his heart quite literally in two pieces on the floor below him, Soobin decided that he had had enough.

“I’d much rather be associated with people who are kind and have actual depth to their character than be lumped together with a bunch of pricks like you with no real personality—because that’s something you can’t buy with daddy’s paycheck.”

He had to physically restrain himself from slapping his hand across his own mouth in shock. It was as if the spirit of Felix himself had possessed him to say such harsh things. He wondered where Felix was then, wishing more than ever before to have his best friend by his side as he began to tremble from either the rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins, or from fear. Or perhaps it was both.

He didn’t have time to ponder it any longer before Yeonjun’s fist collided with his nose, resulting in a sickening crack as pain echoed throughout his face in tidal waves.

He stumbled backward as people began to shout, raising his hand to his nose and gasping when he saw that his palm was covered in blood. 

Beomgyu had his arms wrapped around Yeonjun, who was desperately trying to lunge towards Soobin once again.

“Knock it off, Yeonjun!” Beomgyu shouted, pushing the elder back. “His dad is on the school board! Are you trying to get expelled?”

Beomgyu looked over his shoulder at the still stunned Soobin, who was gaping at the blood that now stained his once white turtleneck. 

“Get lost, Soobin,” Beomgyu said, to which Soobin only blinked in reply, his ears ringing.

“Now!”

Head spinning, Soobin picked up the two halves of his paper heart, stuffed them into his jeans, and stumbled out the same door he had seen you go through just minutes before. After checking to make sure his glasses were still intact—they were, thankfully—he shook his head in an effort to clear his mind of the static, eyes scanning the front lawn looking for any trace of you.

It didn’t take long for his eyes to spot you among the now dwindling crowd of partygoers. Your bright pink sweater stood out against the darkness, so he was able to recognize you even with your back towards him. He sniffed, wiping the back of his hand against his dripping nose as he slowly made his way to where you sat on the curb, your feet planted on the asphalt street. He wished that he looked a bit more presentable—when he played this scene out in his head over the years in which he would finally reunite with you, he never imagined himself dazed and covered in blood.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, he supposed.

When he reached you, he simply stood beside you in silence for a moment, unsure of what to say. He could tell that you sensed his presence, but you refused to look up at him as you kept your face buried in your hands. He could have sworn he heard a few muffled sobs slip through your fingers, but of course, he wasn’t going to bring that up.

Eventually he decided to slip his jacket off of his shoulders, leaning down to drape it over you. You still kept your head down as he sat beside you on the curb, but he watched you grip the jacket and pull it tighter around your body. He smiled a bit, holding the collar of his turtleneck against his throbbing nose.

“Thank you,” you muttered, wiping your hand across your eyes. You finally looked over at him, and when you did, you couldn’t hold back your gasp. “My God Soobin, what happened to your face?”

“Oh, well, I might have gotten punched,” He said quickly, trying to wave off your concern. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Punched? By who?”

He looked down at the ground, sniffing as a drop of blood hit the pavement. “Yeonjun,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m sorry, did you just say Yeonjun? Are you insane? Why on earth would you butt heads with the Choi Yeonjun?”

Soobin didn’t say anything in response, he simply stared at you, eyes wide with beer dripping off the ends of your hair, makeup smeared across your face, your sweater stained down the front. It didn’t seem to take long for you to put the pieces together, as the shock left your face and was replaced with something akin to guilt.

“Oh,” You said, looking back down at your shoes.

“So she knows that I did it all for her,” Soobin thought.

For some reason, the idea of that both terrified and excited him.

A second later, he glanced over to see you ripping one of the hand-sewed patches of fabric off your jeans, leaving a square of your skin exposed to the chilly night air. You leaned towards him, pushing his hand away from his nose so you could use the patch to clean up some of the blood on and around his puffy red nose.

“Y/N, your pants!” He exclaimed, trying to push your hand away. “They’re ruined!”

“I’m not worried about my pants, you idiot,” You said, swatting his hand away as you continued to press the cloth against his skin. “You got punched in the face because of me, this is the least I could do.”

“That was my choice though,” He muttered, although he stopped trying to resist your touch. He ignored the way his heart thrummed harder in his chest, hoping that you couldn’t hear.

“Well, this is my choice too.” Your eyes flicked to his for a brief moment, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. “Why did you do it, by the way?”

“Do what?”

“Stand up to Yeonjun for me and get a nasty nosebleed as a result.”

“Oh.” He blinked slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on yours. “Just ‘cause.”

“Because . . . ?”

“Because of you.” He blurted, causing your hand to go still against him. He swallowed his fear, braving the best smile that he could. “Just you. That was my only reason.”

You didn’t say anything as your hand fell from his face, the cloth clutched between your fingers. The anxiety he had tried his best to suppress came rushing up all at once, and he was surprised that his ears didn’t begin to squeal like a tea kettle from all the pressure. 

“Y/N,” He said, gently placing his hand over yours despite how his fingers trembled. “Why did you pull away from me?”

“What?”

“Four years ago. Why did you stop talking to me?”

You were quiet for a moment, digging into the ground with the toe of your sneaker. Soobin held his breath until you finally replied with, “I was afraid.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“We were getting older, Binnie,” You said, and his heart skipped at the use of your old nickname for him. “You and I, we’re from very different walks of life. You get to hang out with people like Yeonjun, whereas I get a cup of beer poured all over my face just for existing, and you get a fist to the nose for trying to stand up for me. We’re from different sides of the track, one might say.”

“So?” Soobin asked, his hand tightening around yours. “Did you really think that would affect us that much, Y/N?”

You frowned, glancing down at his hand over yours.

“I thought you’d be embarrassed of me,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Embarrassed?” Soobin’s eyes went wide as he gripped your hand tighter still, pulling it into his lap. “Y/N, I would never, ever be embarrassed of you. Besides, have you seen my best friend? He’s on a first name basis with the principal because of how often he gets written up for smoking behind the school. If I’m not embarrassed of him, why would I ever be embarrassed of you?”

You laughed, wiping the back of your hand across your eyes once more. “I guess I was worried about nothing, huh?” You sniffed, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Soobin.”

He shook his head, squeezing your hand right back. “Don’t apologize. You’re here now, that’s what matters. Do think we could—you know—”

“Pick up where we left off?” You smiled, nodding vigorously. “I’d like that very much, Binnie.”

He beamed then, almost pinching himself to be sure that he was not dreaming, but the pain in his nose was real enough to remind him of that on its own. He jumped to his feet, pulling you right up with him.

“In that case, how about we finally go on that Valentine’s date I had planned all the way back then?”

“Date?” You asked, a brow raised. “Is it really considered a date if two friends are just hanging out?”

He didn’t respond as he pulled you along behind him towards the bushes where he and Felix had hidden his bike. He crouched down and moved the branches aside, feeling his heart drop to his stomach when he realized that his bike was, in fact, no longer there.

He shot up, turning to face you with eyes wide. “Felix—that bastard took my bike!”

You were quiet for a moment, but then, you burst into boisterous laughter, leaving Soobin utterly confused.

“It’s not funny, Y/N!” He whined, shoving your shoulder lightly. “I was supposed to take you to the Dairy Shack on my bike!”

“It is funny,” You said between bursts of laughter. “Only you would get such a rusty old piece of metal stolen from you.”

He pushed his lips out in a pout, sliding his glasses up his sore nose. “It’s a good bike, don’t make fun of it.”

You grinned, interlocking his fingers with yours, which was enough to instantly wipe the pout right off his face. 

“Let’s just walk, Binnie. The Dairy Shack isn’t that far anyways.”

You were right; the walk to your favorite milkshake place was very close to the house where the party had occurred. Although Felix stealing his bike had thrown an obvious wrench in his plans, it was a minor hiccup, and one he could most definitely handle. Besides, he wouldn’t have to see Felix until the next day anyways. He could deal with his frustration then.

At least, that’s what he thought anyways, until the two of you spotted Felix at the skatepark on your way to the dairy shack.

Soobin’s eyes took in the deplorable sight before him—from where he stood on the dimly lit sidewalk, he could see Felix and a girl he had never seen before, their faces nearly pressed together, and most importantly, with his bike discarded a few yards away from them.

“Soobin,” You said, tugging on his arm. “They look like they’re busy, let’s just go—”

But Soobin, who had little patience when it came to Felix messing up his plans, didn’t let you finish before he screamed, “Give me back my freaking bike!”

You had to hold back your snort of laughter at his choice of words. Even when he was trying to sound angry, he was undeniably adorable.

Soobin watched as Felix startled, clutching his spliff between his fingers as he glared daggers back at his friend. Soobin gulped, trying not to let his fear show on his face. What did he have to be afraid of, anyways? He was the victim of thievery, and his best friend was the offender.

Felix took a big step towards him, but he paused, his eyes landing on your interlocked hands. Soobin glanced down as well, his face growing furiously warm as he realized the situation he had gotten himself into. 

He decided to divert the subject before it could even be brought up by saying, “I can’t believe you stole my bike! All this time I was trying to hide it from strangers, but you, my best friend! I should’ve been hiding it from you!”

Soobin noticed Felix’s female companion step off the skateboard and walk over in his direction, and for a second he felt bad for possibly ruining her night with his best friend. However, his frustration was more prominent in the moment as he fixed his gaze back on his best friend, who had fixed a mischievous smirk upon his face that made warning sirens blare in Soobin’s head right away.

“Now, now, buddy,” Felix said, his voice calm and carefree as ever. It probably had something to do with what he had just smoked, but Soobin didn’t care all that much. “You’re just gonna have to let me borrow it for a little longer.”

Soobin nearly laughed at the audacity of such a statement. “You are gonna give me the bike, or—”

“How about this, Soobs?” Soobin’s lips clamped shut at his friend’s interruption, as the thief in question gestured with his joint to where Soobin’s fingers were locked with yours. “You let me keep your bike for the night, and I don’t tell your dad about you hanging out with the opposite gender.”

Unable to control yourself, you let out a big laugh. Soobin would have felt betrayed, but he was more terrified than anything else at the idea of his father finding out that he was taking a girl out without his permission. He would be grounded for weeks—no, months.

“You wouldn’t.”

Felix’s lips curled up even more into a twisted grin that Soobin wished he had the guts to slap off his face. “God, just imagine the look on Mr. Choi’s face. Imagine him finding out about your premarital hand holding.”

No. Not the hand holding.

Soobin almost felt faint, but he steeled himself to the best of his abilities as he cleared his throat. “One night, Lix,” he warned. “If I don’t see it on my porch in the morning, you’ll be sorry!”

“Oh, I’m so scared,” Felix teased. His expression changed a moment later though, when he finally noticed Soobin’s swollen nose and blood-stained turtleneck. “Wait, Soobs, the hell happened to you?”

Soobin, however, had already taken his first steps away from the skatepark, pulling you along behind him. “I’ll tell you later, bud. Enjoy your spliff with that kind girl who you probably don’t deserve!”

“Hey!”

Soobin couldn’t help but laugh as he swung your interlocked hands together, grinning as you let out a laugh as well. The anger that had seeped through him seemed to melt away in an instant as the two of you continued your journey to the Dairy Shack.

“Would your dad really be that upset if he found out about this?” You asked.

Soobin grimaced. “We should probably wait til next year to tell him about this outing. Or maybe the year after that.”

When the two of you had finally reached the Dairy Shack, you waited outside for him while he went in to order your drink. A large chocolate milkshake, with two straws, just like you used to get every time before.

When he had the drink in hand, he walked back outside and sat down beside you on the curb, smiling as you wrapped his jacket tighter around your shoulders. You smiled back up at him, your eyes creasing from the expression. Your smile had always struck him right to his core; he had missed seeing it every day.

He hoped he could see it every morning and every night from that day onward. There was no way he would let you go this time.

He just had to muster up the courage to grab hold of you first.

“You know what, Binnie, you turned out to be a lot taller than I thought you ever would be,” you said as you took one of the straws from his hands. “You’re actually enormous. It’s shocking.”

“Should I find that offensive? It sounds kinda like an insult.”

“Take it however you will,” You teased, leaning over as he popped the plastic lid off the milkshake. He grabbed the cherry by the stem and held it towards you.

“What are you doing?” You asked, holding out your fist. “We have to rock, paper, scissors for it. Remember?”

Soobin laughed as he shook his head. “I’m giving it to you this time. It’s what I planned to do all those years ago, when I asked you to hang out on Valentine’s.”

You seemed to be taken aback, but you simply shrugged as you plucked the cherry from his hand and pulled it from the stem with your teeth, glancing back over at him. It was silent for a moment, but then your eyes landed on the pocket of his jeans, where you could see a bit of red paper poking out. You leaned over even further, reaching your hand out to snatch the paper.

“What are you—hey! Give that back!”

Soobin desperately tried to take his Valentine back from you, but it was too late. You held both halves of what used to be a whole in your hands, your eyes scanning the words as you pieced them together.

“Soobin . . .”

He held his breath. Had his act of young love left you completely speechless? Were you so touched that you would burst into tears?

“This looks like a middle schooler made it.”

He let out the breath in the form of a long, long sigh.

“That’s because it was made by a middle schooler,” He said as he set the milkshake down beside him. “I made it back in the eighth grade. I planned to give it to you that Valentine’s.”

“Oh.” You ran your finger along the card’s surface, the smallest smile creeping across your lips. “Well in that case, it’s not half bad. Why’s it ripped though?”

“Ah—well, Yeonjun . . .”

You nodded, taking another glance at his swollen nose. “No need to elaborate. It seems you had a lot planned for our Valentine’s Day back then. Is there anything else you wanted to do?”

His mouth went dry at that, and he wished that you couldn’t see his face because he was sure that his expression was quite comical. All the way back then, four years prior, he had in fact planned the perfect, ideal day in his head. Picking you up on his bike, giving you the cherry from his milkshake, and presenting you with his hand made card.

There was only one thing left on his list.

He didn’t move at first, willing himself to have enough courage to even look back in your direction. But when he finally did allow his eyes to meet yours, he felt his shoulders relax and his heart rate became more manageable.

He took a deep breath, leaned forward, and pressed his lips against your cheek.

He lingered there for only a moment before he pulled back, daring to pry one of his eyes open to take in the look on your face.

The disappointment was palpable—from the way your brows furrowed together and the way you pursed your lips. His stomach dropped, and he scooted the tiniest bit away from you.

“I’m sorry,” He blurt out, his face growing warmer by the second. “I shouldn’t have done that, I just—”

“Is that all?”

Your question stopped him mid-ramble, his eyes growing wide. “Huh?”

“Is that all?” You repeated, closing the distance between you that he had created. “It’s Valentine’s Day, Soobin. I think we can do better than a peck on the cheek.”

The implications of what you were saying didn’t register with him right away, but when it finally did, he could have sworn his heart began to beat loud enough for the entire town to hear. His hand curled into a fist as he gripped the denim of his jeans. He leaned forward, keeping his eyes open just enough to watch you as he brought his lips closer to yours. He could feel your eyes on him all the while, causing his heart to pound fiercer still within him.

When he was just a breath away, he whispered, “Can you close your eyes?”

“Hm?”

He lifted his hand, gently placing it over your eyes. He leaned closer then, filling the space between you both as his lips met yours. You tasted vaguely of cherry and strawberry slice soda, and he found it quite nice the way his lips seemed to fit perfectly against your own. As the seconds drew on, your hands slipped around his neck, pulling him closer. He slowly let his hand fall from your eyes, tracing lines with the tips of his fingers down your cheek before he cradled your jaw, letting his lips part just enough to taste the sweet sugar on your lips once more.

He thought in a haze that it was a good thing he didn’t drink anything at the party, as kissing you was proving to be intoxicating enough on its own.

When you finally pulled away, leaving your forehead resting against his, he let his eyes flutter open enough to see the euphoric smile that adorned your features. He grinned as well, gently running his thumb against your cheek.

“I think that back then, I had planned to ask you this before kissing you,” He whispered, “But Y/N, will you be my Valentine?”

Instead of a spoken answer, you laughed, leaning forward to capture his lips with yours once again, and that was the only answer Choi Soobin would ever need.

-

WHEN SOOBIN ARRIVED HOME THAT NIGHT, HE WENT STRAIGHT FOR THE TELEPHONE.

It was kept upstairs at night right outside his parent’s door, to keep himself and his brother from using it in the late hours. Of course, this never stopped Soobin from sneaking it downstairs to his room in the basement to make late night calls to Felix.

And that particular evening, he really needed to give Felix an update.

He grabbed the phone from the small table in the hallway, carefully tiptoeing towards the basement stairs. Before he had even taken the first step down, the bathroom door creaked open. Soobin whipped his head around to see his brother Kai standing there, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he raised a brow at his older brother.

Soobin froze, blinking slowly as he realized the incriminating situation he found himself in.

“Please don’t tell mom,” He whispered, his eyes pleading with his younger brother.

Kai nodded, although Soobin wasn’t quite convinced that the boy was even coherent enough to understand what was going on. Soobin offered a rushed thank you, and ventured his first step down the stairs.

Well, he tried, anyways, and ended up missing the first step. He tumbled down the rest of the stairs, landing on his butt at the very end.

He winced in pain, glad to see that the phone was still intact in his hands. He glanced over his shoulders to see Kai staring down the stairway with wide eyes, his lips parted in shock. Soobin quickly put a finger to his lips, begging his brother for silence.

Kai simply shook his head and walked away, allowing Soobin the freedom to breathe out a sigh of relief.

He quickly ran to his bedroom and shut the door, collapsing onto his bed with the phone as his breaths came in ragged gasps as an aftereffect from his tumble down the stairs. He figured he should have dialed Felix’s number right away, but he couldn’t help but brush his fingers against his lips, remembering the feeling and taste of having yours pressed against them.

He was so caught up in his daze that he didn’t notice Felix calling until the third ring.

He picked it up, breathing heavily into the speaker as he rubbed a sore spot on his lower back. 

“Please tell me that panting is from running a marathon, and not what I think you’ve successfully tried.”

Soobin nearly gagged, holding the phone away from his face as he coughed, flustered by his friend's crude words. He brought the phone back to his face and said, “No, you sicko, I just fell down the stairs.”

“How the hell did you manage that with those long legs?”

“That’s not important, Lix!” He laid back onto his pillows then, twirling the phone cord in his hands as he stared up at his ceiling, the memories of his adventure with you that night flooding his mind once more. He couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear as he said, “Look, I need to tell you something important.”

If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that he could hear the smile in Felix’s voice too as his friend replied.

“Well buddy, I got something to tell you too.”

[coldsandfluff]

Friday Night Fever (F/M, Original, Illness Care-Taking Fluff)

Wrote this little original F/M care-taking fluff fic inspired by something that happened to me when I was in college (basically, caught a cold, three friends came over unannounced and insisted on me coming with them to the bar until one of them noticed the thermometer on my nightstand and realized I really was too sick to go). I've changed all the characters personality/appearance (including myself) so that we are completely unrecognizable, and added more to the story of course 😚

So if you like group of friends, platonic to maybe romantic care-taking fluff and F/M illness, read on!

--------------------------------------------------------------

Annabel left the sandwich shop at the end of her evening shift, feeling the cold autumn air seep through her jacket. Darkness had blanketed the town hours ago, and college students were already filling the streets on their way to the bars to celebrate the end of the week. Not that they’d really needed a reason to drink, of course.

As she launched the trash bags in the large dumpster in the back alley, Annabel felt an uncomfortable shiver running down her back. She’d been feeling under the weather for a couple of days, downing vitamin C fizzy drinks to stave it off. What she’d hoped would end up being a little annoying cold was turning out to be more than she’d bargained for. She could feel the icy tendrils of a fever crawling on her skin, and all she wanted to do was slip under the covers of her warm bed and sleep all weekend.

Her phone pinged as she started making her way back to her apartment.

Finn: We’ll be there in 40 minutes. Zack wants to pick up some pregame vodka from the store first.

Annabel sighed. She’d met Zack, Finn and Alex at her second job—a fancy new restaurant in the heart of town where she’d been waitressing part-time for the past two months. They’d hit it off on opening day, when Zack had accidentally broken a whole stack of plates. No one had seen what had happened but the four of them. Zack had gotten his dishwasher’s apron stuck on the door handle, and his hands had slipped at the sudden pull.

The crash had been deafening.

Right before the owner had rushed in to ask what had happened, Zack’s best friend, Finn, had kicked the wheel of the cart where the plates had been sitting a few moments ago, giving Alexander and Annabel a knowing look.

They’d all told the owner that the cart was broken and had tipped over without anyone touching it. Somehow, the owner had bought the lie. That night, Zack insisted on paying them a round of shots at the bar, and a tradition was born: The four of them. Every Friday. With lots of alcohol.

It was the only time Annabel let loose. With her two jobs and college, she was struggling to find free time, but Friday nights had become sacred. There was nothing like downing drinks and letting the buzz take over, following her three new friends wherever they wanted to go. It was always an adventure. Especially with Zack at the helm.

But tonight, there was no way she could make it.

Annabel: Actually, I can’t come tonight. Sorry.

She walked past a group of friends laughing and hollering, wishing she’d felt as good as they did. But the headache growing behind her eyes wasn’t going to let up, and adding alcohol to the mix would only make it worse. Not only that, but her nose had started running in the past two hours. She’d had to go blow it in the restroom every half hour, getting herself banished from the front of the store by the manager. She’d washed her hands so often that her skin was almost raw.

Just like her nose.

Finn: Nah, you’re coming. Nobody cancels Friday night. Come on.

Annabel couldn’t hold a smile. She typed back, sniffling. Her sinuses were prickling like crazy, as if she’d accidentally inhaled a cloud of tiny fireworks. She stifled a sneeze in the crook of her elbow, mid-word. “Ehh—Ehh’KSHHeeww!” Her eyes watered from the force of it. She wiped the tears away and resumed typing.

Annabel: I’ll make it up to you guys next weekend. Drinks on me.

She grabbed a crumpled tissue from her jacket pocket and dabbed at her nose. Her apartment was only a few blocks away, beckoning her. As she crossed the last stretch of sidewalk to the entrance, she kept checking her phone.

No reply.

Shrugging, she unlocked the front door and took the stairs.

***

Back in her apartment, she made a beeline for the bathroom to the right and used toilet paper to blow her nose, finally free to make as much noise as she wanted. She winced from the roughness of it on her chapped nostrils, but it was all she had. She wasn’t exactly the planning type. Her idea of a grocery list was memorizing the first three items and hoping the rest would come to her as she walked through the aisles. Most often than not, she’d have to make a quick run at the convenience store down the street to get what she’d forgotten.

She gathered her thick curly hair into a bun and looked at herself in the mirror. It was enough to confirm that she’d made the right decision. Her eyes were glazed over, her skin was so pale that her freckles popped like they did in the summer. Except for that slight flush high on her cheeks, of course. She popped a thermometer under her tongue and removed her work clothes, leaving them in a pile in front of the bathtub.

Shivering from the sudden change in temperature, she covered her arms with her hands and ran to her dresser. Her warmest, softest sweater was the first thing she grabbed and put on, before throwing on a pair of comfy leggings and wool socks. The thermometer beeped.

100.8 °F. Figured.

She rolled her eyes and shuffled over to the “kitchen” of her studio apartment, which was the size of a matchbox and only contained a mini fridge, a microwave and an old sink. She poured herself some water and walked over to the bed, placing her glass and the thermometer on her nightstand. She would have brought over medicine as well, but she’d run out last semester after catching the flu going around campus, and had forgotten to replenish her stash. No matter. She could sleep this off. It was just a cold.

She suddenly sneezed twice in a row, as if her body wanted to protest her minimizing her illness, then got under the cover. Just as she was getting a little warmer, propping up her laptop to watch a movie, there was a knock at the door.

Annabel sat up, startled.

“Anna, open up!” a voice said behind the door.

Zack.

Annabel chuckled. Of course they wouldn’t give up that easily. She groaned, getting out of the warmth of her bed. She considered rushing to the dresser and putting on cuter clothes—they were her friends, but they were still boys, and she didn’t want to look like shit in front of them—but the thought of it was enough to drain her energy. Screw it. She walked over to the door and opened it.

“Finn told us you don’t want to come,” said Zack as he walked in. It was her friends’ first time coming up to her apartment. They’d usually wait for her downstairs. “So we’re here to change your mind.” He didn’t look at her, too busy checking out her place. He was dressed for the night—a buttoned-up shirt, navy blazer, jeans and dress shoes. His casual chic style always stood out in the local bars filled with broke college students, but he liked it that way.

Finn walked in after him, a crooked grin on his lips. “See, I told you you can’t cancel Friday night.” His shaggy blond hair half-covered his eyes, as always. Finn and Zack had been best friends since high school, and couldn’t have been more different from each other. At least physically. Finn was tall and lanky, Zack was smaller and worked out a lot. But they were both party guys, always ready for a crazy night—even though Finn was a bit more mellow than Zack.

Finally, Alex came in, and Annabel closed the door behind him. He had a sheepish look on his face, as if apologizing for the other two. He was a lot more like Annabel. Quiet, chill, along for the ride—whatever it may be. His deep brown eyes held her gaze for a second too long, and Annabel noticed one of his eyebrow raise ever so slightly. She bit her lip, feeling self-conscious about her appearance. They’d never seen her in such a state before. Thank god she hadn’t had the energy to remove her makeup yet.

“So this is where you live, uh?” Zack said, sitting on her desk chair and spinning it around and around. “I like it. Dorms suck.”

Before she could reply, Finn tsked. “Wow. So no love for your roommate, uh?”

“Dude, I love you,” Zack said, “but between you and an apartment all to myself, the choice is obvious.” He stopped spinning and turned to Annabel, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what’s so important that you can’t come with us? Do you have a date?”

All three boys turned to her. Annabel almost laughed. Could they not see the condition she was in? She cleared her throat. “No, I’m just not feeling well.”

Finn sat on the edge of her bed and examined her from afar. “Like what? Stomach thing? Flu?”

“Probably a cold, I guess.” Annabel could feel Alex’s gaze on her at her side. She glanced at him, then looked down, feeling silly. Now that she was saying it out loud, it sounded like a poor excuse. But she did have a fever, after all. She just didn’t want to start listing her symptoms.

Zack clasped his hands together. “You know what will make you feel better? Alcohol!” He grinned, as if proud of his solution. “Didn’t they used to give brandy to people when they were sick? We’ll make a special mix for your throat. Something with lemon and orange juice. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know, I already have a headache…” Annabel said.

“Just take a couple of Tylenol. It’s like a hangover in advance,” Finn said with an encouraging smile. “One time, I went out clubbing with an ear infection and everything was fine. Actually felt better the next day, weirdly enough.”

“I don’t know guys, I won’t be much fun if—” Annabel was interrupted by a fierce tickle deep in her nose, spreading like wildfire. She ducked to her side, away from Alex. “Ehh’KSSHeeew! ‘KSSSHeeew!”

“Bless you,” the three boys said almost in unison.

“See?” Annabel said, pointing at her nose and sniffling. “You want me to sneeze all over you guys all night?”

Finn shrugged. “We’ll bring tissues. Whatever.”

Alex walked over to the bathroom and grabbed the toilet paper roll from the counter, then handed it to her. “Here.”

Annabel ripped a piece off and wiped her nose. “Thanks,” she said, sheepish.

Alex’s gaze paused on her for a few seconds before he turned to the other two. “Guys, she’s obviously sick. Let’s just go and let her sleep.”

“It’s just a cold,” Zack said. “She’s young and healthy. It’s nothing.” He got up and put his arm around her shoulders. “Come on. Give it an hour, and if you’re not feeling better after a few shots, we’ll walk you home.”

Annabel considered it for a second, trying to fight the shivers. Maybe if she wore something warm and took a few shots, she wouldfeel better. Numb the pain a little, at least. While she pondered it, Finn laid down on top of her bed spread and locked eyes with the thermometer on her nightstand. He frowned and sat up, picking it up.

He looked at her, thermometer in hand. His voice softened. “It’s that bad, uh?”

Annabel blushed. Why did admitting that she had a fever feel so vulnerable? She looked down and nodded. “Kinda.”

Zack looked at the thermometer, then back at Annabel. He narrowed his eyes and put a hand on her forehead. “Ooof,” he said, a hint of concern slipping in his tone.

Finn got up. “Let me see,” he said, walking up to her and placing his own hand on her forehead. His eyebrows shot up. “Yikes.”

“Yeah, you need to be in bed,” Zack finally said, guiding her back to bed. “Why didn’t you say you had a fever? Jesus, Anna.”

She shrugged, sitting on her mattress. “I don’t know. I just get fevers with colds. I guess it’s normal for me.”

“Fevers suck,” Finn said. “Last time I had one, I stayed in bed for two days and everything hurt.” He walked over to the front door. “We’ll miss you tonight, though.”

Zack followed. “Hope you feel better. We’ll text you all the crazy shit that’s going to happen so you don’t miss anything.” He followed Finn out of the apartment, leaving the door open for Alex.

Alex watched them walk by, then grabbed the roll of toilet paper on the counter where Annabel had left it. He brought it over to her nightstand and gave her a sad smile. “Do you need anything?”

Annabel shook her head, relieved that she was going to be able to stay in bed. “I’ll be okay.”

He seemed to hesitate for a second, then nodded. “Let us know if you want us to get you food later. I know I can never sleep when I have a fever.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. Her nose scrunched up, overtaken by another annoying prickle. “Ehh… Iihh’KSSSHHeeww!”

“Bless you.”

Zack’s voice sounded from the hallway. “Alex, you coming?”

Alex snickered. “I guess I should go.” He walked to the door, then turned back. “Feel better, okay?”

“I will. Thanks.”

***

Annabel tried to sleep, but her fever and runny nose kept waking her up, leaving her floating halfway between dreams and reality. It was clear that she wasn’t going to get any rest in her state. She needed cold medicine.

It took her a long time to finally convince herself to get out of bed and go to the convenience store, but she managed to push the covers away and get up. She shivered, causing another tickle in her sensitive nose—it had only gotten worse in the hour since the boys had left. She ducked at the waist in an exhausting triple. “Ehh… Hehh’KSSSHeeeew! ‘KSSHHeeew! Hiihh’KSSHeeew!”

Just then, another knock sounded at the door. Annabel frowned and made her way to the door, cracking it open.

It was Alex. Alone.

“Bless you,” he said with a shy grin.

Annabel let him in. “Aren’t you supposed to be out with the guys?”

He shrugged, closing the door behind him. “I thought you might need this.” He showed her a plastic bag filled with tea, tissue boxes, ramen, cough drops and—she gasped—cold medicine.

Alex chuckled. “So I was right. You don’t have any medicine, do you?”

Annabel laughed. “How did you know?”

“Your nightstand. You only had a thermometer on there. When I’m sick, I take Nyquil everywhere I go.” He handed her the bag. “And I wanted to make sure you had tissues instead of toilet paper. Your nose will thank me.”

Annabel touched her chapped nose, smiling. “That’s so sweet of you. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” He stood there for a second, as if not knowing what to say. “I’ll uh—I’ll let you rest.”

Before he could go, Annabel put her hand on his elbow. “Wait. Do you want to—” She stopped halfway through her sentence, her nose scrunching up yet again, her eyes fluttering. She spun around and sneezed, covering her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. “Hehh’KSSHH! Ht’Ksshht!” She turned back around, blinking away the tears and laughing. “Sorry!”

Alex laughed, too. “Bless you.” He held her gaze, then looked down. “What were you going to say?”

“Oh—I was just wondering if—maybe if you’d like to watch a movie with me. I don’t think I can sleep until the medicine kicks in.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted saying them. Of course he didn’t want to watch a movie with her. This was Friday night. What kind of college guy wanted to hang out with a sick, sneezy, nose-drippy girl on a Friday night instead of getting drunk with his friends. “Sorry,” she added quickly, “I forgot that the guys are probably waiting for you. I guess I’m kind of loopy from the fever.”

Alex took a step forward and placed his hand on her forehead. The gesture was so gentle, so soft, that Annabel closed her eyes, appreciating the coldness of his palm on her hot skin.

“You are definitely burning up,” he half-whispered, frowning. “I was wondering if the guys were exaggerating. Guess not.”

Annabel bit her lip. “I’ll be okay after I take the medicine. You don’t have to stay.”

Alex removed his hand. “I do,” he blurted. “I mean, I do want to watch a movie with you. And stay.”

“Are you sure?” Annabel asked through her blossoming smile. “Aren’t you worried you’ll catch my cold?”

“Actually, I have a confession to make.” Alex led her to the bed and placed the content of his bag on her nightstand. “Last Friday, I kind of had a cold. It wasn’t as bad as yours, pretty minor, but… Zack convinced me to come out anyway and I—I think I might have given it to you. You drank out of my glass and I didn’t have time to stop you.” He looked at her, his eyes wide with guilt. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Annabel laughed. “I can’t believe Zack didn’t rat you out earlier. It would have been the perfect example of someone going clubbing with a cold and ‘being fine’ anyway.”

“He probably knew it was partly his fault that you’re sick and didn’t want to admit it.”

Annabel shook her head. “Well, you owe me a Friday night.” She got into bed and patted the spot next to her. “That means I get to pick the movies.”

Alex grabbed the throw blanket at her feet and draped it over her. “That sounds fair.” He walked over to the other side of the bed and settled next to her. “But when you fall asleep, I can’t guarantee I won’t change it.”

“Deal.”

After taking a dose of Nyquil, Annabel started the movie, snuggling under the blanket. She wondered what kind of crazy adventures Zack and Finn were getting themselves into. She expected to feel FOMO, but instead, she shot a glance at Alex next to her, and realized she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Maybe it was the fever, or maybe it was Alex’s shoulder touching hers, but it felt like this was the start of a different kind of adventure. Maybe not alcohol-fueled, but Nyquil was pretty close.

All because they’d shared a not-so-secret cold.

And Annabel had a feeling it would be worth the fever. And the countless sneezes to come.

THE END

[openforjean]

aren’t you a pretty thing?

dark!bucky barnes x innocent!fem!reader

warnings: +18, dark fic, stalking, handjob, manipulation, praise kink, sexual thoughts, daddy kink, mentions of breeding, oral sex, anal sex, I think I got everything??

a/n: for my queen @sultrygoblin hope u like it

The smell of popcorn, the screams of riders and laughs of children run by-still doesn’t distract Bucky from you.

Ever since he saw you at the library, a year ago. He’s followed you everywhere. Your job, stores you visit and your home. He even watched you celebrate your twentieth birthday from his car.

Bucky’s eyes trail your body, slowly. Those white stockings make your skin tone pop. His eyes spend a little more time on your legs, he licks his lips. Your skirt barely reaches your mid thigh, his eyes shift to your backside.

He can just imagine pounding you from the back.

“Say it, sweetheart. Say you want my cock,” Bucky says, gripping your hips from behind. You whimper and respond “I want your cock daddy, please, please fuck me”. Bucky doesn’t waste a second, he penetrates your sweet, virgin hole and pounds into you.

His thought is interrupted by a ballon popping from a nearby game booth. His eyes snap back to you and you’re now sitting at a bench...all alone. This is Bucky’s time to bite.

Bucky makes his way to you and sits on the other side of the bench. His arms spread and “accidentally” brushes against you.

You look at him and he quickly mumbles an apology.

“It’s okay,” you say. Bucky nods. And from the corner of his eye, his eyes trail up your thigh. He groans and adjusts his jeans. “Your friends ditch ya?” Bucky asks. This is the riskiest question yet. “No, no, this boy stood me up. He was supposed to meet me here and he isn’t showing,” you answer, with your head down. Bucky tusks and tilts his head at you. “Boys are shit. Get yourself a man, all boys do is fuck everything up. A man with experience, will show you a good time,” Bucky says.

“Oh, well, I don’t...know any ‘men’, but I guess you’re right about boys,” you admit. “You know me, remember?” Bucky says.

“Umm, I don’t think I’ve met you before...I might’ve forgotten, what’s your name?” You ask.

Gotcha.

“Bucky. We met at that party,” he says. You nod, “wh-what party? Anthony’s?” you ask.

“Yeah! Crazy party wasn’t it?” Bucky asks. Bucky doesn’t know who Anthony is, all he knows is that he now has you in his grasp. “Must’ve been, I wouldn’t know. I left early,” you answer.

Good girl.

“Don’t be sad about the boy, he probably wouldn’t have showed you a good time,” Bucky says to ease your heart. You nod. “Wanna get out of here? I can take ya home,” Bucky offers. You smile and your heart melts. No guy has been this sweet to you. “Sure, thanks Bucky,” you say. Bucky stands up and you follow him to his car.

Walking to his car felt magical. The sunset was pink, the smell of cotton candy filled the air. He opens the door and you get in, he closes the car door. You strap yourself in as he makes his way over to the drivers seat. He gets in but he doesn’t start the car.

“Bucky? What’s going on? Is everything okay?” You ask with panic growing in your voice. He looks at you with a a sympathetic look. “I guess, I just feel bad that you’re not having fun. You came here to go on a date and have fun, and you’re not having fun. I’m sorry, I just feel bad,” Bucky says. “It’s okay, I’m still having fun! It’s not your fault, we can have fun together. We don’t need to be here, it’s okay, I promise,” you affirm him.

“As long as you’re sure,” Bucky says, gripping the wheel. “I’m sure, we can have fun at...my place, if you want. I have some board games, I can make us some cookies too...” you offer. You don’t know him and you’re inviting him to your place. What’s got into your head?

The drive to your place is relaxing. The windows are rolled down, the radio plays smooth jazz and his car smells like cologne. You look at him as his eyes watch the road. His hair, his arms and thighs, so pleasant to look at. His hair flows, his veins flex, his metal arm shines and his thighs look so good to ride. Your feel your private part tingles and you shift in your seat, squeezing your thighs together.

“I live on Maple, by the way. Good thing you’re already heading the right way,” you say. Bucky’s eyes widen and he nods. “Good thing, right?” He says. He’s slacking already, ah, what you do to him. “Thank you for taking me home, I really appreciate it. And thanks for cheering me up, I feel better. All because of you,” you say, looking up at him with the most innocent pair of eyes. He gulps and shifts in his seat. “Of course, anytime,” he says.

He makes the stop at your house and the driveway is full. Your parents must be home, shit. You undo the seat belt and look at him once more with those eyes. “Thanks again, the offer still stands to come inside,” you say. He wishes that meant something else but he’ll take what he can get. “I don’t know, seems like you have a packed house.”

“No, no, no! Come in, my family doesn’t mind, you’re a friend now. The least I can do is treat you for taking me home and making me feel better,” you assure. Bucky would love to go inside, but he doesn’t want to risk your parents becoming suspicious. “Okay,” he says.

“Mom, dad, this is Bucky. My friend, he drove me home cause that boy stood me up,” you announce. Your parents smile and thank him. Your parents are just as naive as you, huh sweetheart? Your parents head to the porch to talk and you and Bucky head to your room. Bucky is much more at ease knowing your parents are just like you. He enters your room after you and his heart flutters.

You’re so cute.

White walls, medals from former extracurricular activities, paintings and stuffed animals. A white and gold vanity, golden bed with fluffy white sheets. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air. Your curtains are light, you can see right through them.

“I have Uno, Sorry, Dominoes and-”

“‘S okay doll,” Bucky says. Your mouth parts as he paces around. “Are you okay, Bucky?” You ask. He stops and spins to face you. “No, I need to tell you something and I get it if you don’t feel the same or want me to leave. I will. But...ever since I met you that night, I-I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And when I saw you at the carnival, I knew I had to make a move and talk to you. I spent weeks trying to forget about you and I couldn’t. My mind couldn’t seem to forget you, I don’t think I can...forget you,” Bucky confesses to you. You stand in awe and your heartbeat quickens.

He likes me. A really, really cute guy, likes me! What do I do? I mean, he’s cute and is very nice and friendly. He hasn’t done anything wrong, and he met your parents and they seem to like him. He’s already passed the test, basically. What’s the harm in going out with him?

“You like me, like me?” You ask, stepping closer to him. His nose brushes yours and he nods. “I do, a lot. And if this going too fast, we can slow down. Don’t wanna rush you into anything you’re not ready for,” he says. Your heart pounds and your minds spins from excitement. Someone likes you! You smile and you lean in to kiss him. When his lips touch yours, fireworks went off in your body. Your heart flutters and stomach flips, you feel like you’re in a different dimension. You pull away and wipe your mouth, and you shy away from his gaze. “Don’t look away pretty girl, that was a good kiss. Was that your first one?” He asks.

“No, it’s my second,” you answer with a smirk. He smiles and pulls you to your bed to sit.

“What do you wanna do now Bucky?” You ask, sitting next to him. Bucky stares into your eyes, lovingly. He doesn’t blink. You begin to feel uncomfortable, and your stomach stirs.

There’s a lot he wants to do with you.

He wants to see your body. Kiss every inch, make love to it.

He wants to taste your lips. Have ‘em around his cock and have them on his. Your sweet, pretty lips.

He wants to eat you out til you cry. Swirl his tongue around your clit and finger fuck your tight cunt.

He wants to fuck you. So, so, so bad. He wants to stretch you out and have you scream his name. Cum in in you, raw. Knowing he can knock you up with his baby. 

He wants to make love to that sweet, little pussy too. 

And of course anal. Thinking about fucking your ass makes him shudder.

But we have to climb to get to the top, so for right now. He’ll just have a little fun and have you jerk him off.

“I want you on your knees,” Bucky says, his breath hits your lips. “My-my knees? Why?” You ask.

You are innocent.

“Here, I’ll show you,” Bucky coos. “Okay,” You say. You get on your knees, willingly and you flatten your skirt. He licks his lips. Bucky moves his hands to his belt and undoes it, he unbuttons his pants and pulls his zipper down. Bucky’s hand reaches into his pants and pulls his half hard member out. His cock is thick, veiny and uncut. Bucky pumps his cock, with pre-cum leaking from his tip creating a mess around his cock and hand.

You stare at his cock, this is the first time you’re seeing one too.

“Touch it,” he whispers. You reach for his cock, you grip his shaft.

He sucks a breath in between his teeth.

“Does it feel good?” You ask, as you slowly pump his shaft.

“Yes, it feels very good,” Bucky says with his eyes glued to your sparkling ones. You’re so cute. Pumping his dick like a good girl, your hand feels so good too. “Faster baby, you have to make me cum, I’m almost there,” he says. You pump his cock faster and you fondle his balls in with your hand. “Shit baby, you’re so good. You’re gonna make me cum,” Bucky says. Your thighs clench together and you bite your lip. “You like that huh? You wanna make me cum? You wanna make daddy cum?” Bucky asks as his mouth falls open.

“Yes I do, I wanna taste it. Is that okay? Can I taste your cum?” You ask.

“Yeah baby, you can taste my cum. You’re not only gonna taste it, I’m gonna dump it in you. Over and over again, full you up with my cum just like the s sweet baby you are,” Bucky says. Bucky’s eyes shut and his mouth spills curses as he releases in your hand. You don’t stop pumping him, Bucky grabs your wrist and stops you. Breathing heavily, he says “taste my cum baby”.

You take a lick of his cum in your finger. You like his cum clean off. “What do you think?” Bucky asks.

“I like it,” you answer.

“Good, now get on the bed. I’m gonna fuck you full of it.”

pls reblog with ur thoughts and feedback, it helps me write more :)) 

[crazywritertomboy1224]

(I feel you in the empty inbox too 😢 I have a deal for you, I send you this kirishima request since imma kirishima simp and you have something to write about, deal?)

How about this:

Kirishima and his girlfriend managed to sneak out of the UA campus for a night city date. They were all nervous about being caught, but those fears fade away when they started having fun. Like they went to the arcade were the tried their best to kick each others ass. (you can add whatever else you want to the date). They were having so much fun they almost lost track of time, then tried to sneak back to the dorms without being noticed, but obviously, they failed.

(if you don't mind I'll keep sending you requests :p)

I've been WAITING for a Kiri one! So happy to finally have found another Kiri simp! Sorry this one took so long, I had to get it just right, yk? (Plus I've been kinda busy ;-;) Anyways, hope you like it (and hope it brings Kiri justice)! (Also yes please keep sending in asks!!) As always, stay safe and hydrated and don't forget to eat! <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eijiro Kirishima x Reader

TW: cussing

Genre: Fluff, romantic

Word count: 1579

You cracked your door open, peeking out to make sure no one was around. After you assured the coast was clear, you slipped out, closing the door with a small click behind you.

You stood outside your dorm room, waiting patiently. A nearby door creaked open and you shushed him frantically. “Shut up! God, you’re loud.”

He just laughed quietly, pulling you into a hug and pressing his nose into your hair. You sighed in contentment, having missed these times when it was just the two of you.

“C’mon, let’s go.” He grabbed your hand and you both tiptoed down the hall, took the stairs down, and opened and closed the front doors, all with barely any noise.

Once outside, you turned around to see if you could see any lights turning on, just checking no one had heard you.

“It’s fine, babe. No one saw or heard us. We’re good, now let’s go!”Eijiro grabbed your hand and led you off campus and over to a nearby arcade.

He ran ahead of you and held the door open for you. “M’lady?” he says, a smile playing on his lips as he swung his hand in a semi-circle around, over his head, and under his other arm.

You grinned and walked in, giving him a cheek kiss as you passed. “Thhaannnkkk youuuu,” you said, drawing out your words dramatically.

He giggled and followed you in, trying to fight you to be the first to the counter. You elbowed him in the ribs, temporarily pushing him out of the running.

You ran up to the counter and slammed your hands down on the old, faded linoleum. “Two pleas- DAMMIT EIJIRO!” you screamed as Eijiro came up behind you and pulled you away by your waist.

He slid the money across the counter and turned back to you with a huge smile plastered across his face. You growled under your breath and walked up to him, looking straight up at his face, arms crossed.

“What, pebble?” he asked, tugging your hand up to the counter so the cashier could give you your band and cards.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that I feel bad for you.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because I’m gonna kick your ass.” You smirked, dashing off to find the first game.

You skidded to a stop in front of the only available skee-ball machine and swiped your card. Eijiro did the same on the one paired with yours. It beeped and the plastic shield above the balls slid back.

You picked up the first one and rolled it, landing it in the outer ten-point ring, Eijiro managing to make it in the twenty-point cylinder. You growled to yourself, knowing you’d have to up your game to beat him.

He glanced over at you and flashed you a grin as he rolled his second ball, making it into the ten-point this time.

You roll it with so much angry force that it actually makes it into the one-hundred slot. You freeze for a second, registering what just happened before Eijiro nudges you with his elbow.

“Great shot, y/n!” He beams a huge smile at you and you can’t help but smile back and hug him.

“Thanks, babe!” You roll another one, scoring a ten, Eijiro rolling a fifty.

“One minute left!” The machine squealed out.

You both made a show of quickly rolling all of the balls down, not really caring what holes they landed in. You ended up with 380, Eijiro with 370.

You met him halfway as your machines printed out your tickets and he wrapped you in a hug, breathing in your ear. “Good job, pebble.” He congratulated you.

“Thanks, you too," you replied, ripping your tickets off and shoving them into your back pocket.

“What’s next?” you ask him, since you picked the first game.

“Umm, air hockey? I’m not horrible at it,” he suggests, pointing to the left.

“Sounds good," you reply and he leads the way over.

You take your positions at either side of the table and swipe your cards. You place your hand on your paddle as Eijiro does the same. The puck falls out on his side and he places it in front of his paddle, swatting it over to you.

You swat it back at him, aiming for his pocket. You missed and he deflected it, shooting it back toward your pocket with a little wrist flourish.

You tried to defend it and send it back at him, but you missed and it landed straight in your pocket. You sighed as you grabbed it and placed it back on the table, cracking your neck.

Eijiro laughed. “Why- why are you-” He doubled over in laughter. “Why are you- why are you cracking your- popping your- your neck?” He asked, stuttering from laughter.

You glared at him playfully. “Because I’m about to beat your ass.”

His face suddenly went serious. “No way.” He deflected your shots and sent the puck spinning into your pocket time after time after time until the buzzer went off.

He won… 26-1. He laughed and hugged you. “I love you!” He said, grinning. You sighed in acceptance but were unable to stay mad at him.

“Why do you have to be so cute?” You mock-complained, pressing your face into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you tightly.

“Alright, let’s go. What’s next?” You stood up on your tiptoes and looked around, eyes scanning and mapping out the whole place.

“Hmm… bumper cars?” You suggested, lowering yourself back to the ground and shrugging.

Eijiro reached out and grabbed your hand. “Great idea! Let’s go.”

You dashed across the building and joined the line. You checked the time on your watch. “Oh, shit. Kiri, it’s already two am!”

“Oh shit.” He flipped his wrist to check his own watch and his eyes widened. “Okay, after this, we go back.” You nodded.

After what felt like forever, you were at the front of the line. You showed the nice girl your bands and she let you in. You sat down in the [____] one, your favorite color, while Eijiro chose the red one.

You zoomed around the track, waving pageant-style at him as he hunched over the wheel in the little bumper car that seemed way too small for him. You laughed, throwing your head back as you finished in third place all in all, first between you two.

You stood up, brushing off your clothes, and walked over to help a struggling Kirishima out of his doll-sized car. “Need some help?” You asked, chickling as you extended your hand to him. He took it with an annoyed face but you could see in his eyes that he was joking.

You pulled him up by his hand, your fingers lacing together by instinct once he rose completely out. He wrapped you in a hug as you waited in line to leave.

“Ugh, bottle-necking us like this isn’t cool.” He muttered against your hair, annoyed at the people who designed it with only one exit gate.

You giggled against his shoulder and pull away, leading you out in a hurry. “SHIT!” You yelled. “That took an hour!” Eijiro froze in terror, staring at his phone.

“Fuck. Kaminari and Mina have been texting me.” He said, tapping the screen.

“Dammit. Jirou and Momo have been texting and calling me.” You replied, opening the messages to tell them you’re fine.

You finished texting before him and grabbed the front of his shirt, guiding him out of the building and back to the dorms.

You pulled the doors open and saw Mina and Momo. They were sitting on the couch, sipping tea. Mina looked over as you two walked through the doors. “Care to explain where you’ve been all night?” She asked, raising an eyebrow over her mug.

“Uh- we were with… Denki and Jirou,” Kirishima tries to explain. You nod, thinking you might be able to get away with it.

Denki and Jirou pop their heads over the back of the other couch. Mina looks over with a pointed expression. “Care to try again?”

“We wanted to get away for a bit, just the two of us and have some fun before finals. We were at the arcade down the street.” You blurted out, ducking your head in shame.

“Why didn’t you invite us? We could’ve all hung out!” They exclaimed, clearly riveted that you didn’t invite them.

“Like we said, we just wanted some alone time. Sorry guys, maybe next time?” Eijiro responded, placing a hand around your waist and pulling you close.

Mina seemed satisfied with that answer and sent you off to bed while the four of them stayed downstairs, doing whatever the hell they were doing.

Before you went into your dorm, Eijiro pulled you close and smothered you in a hug. You pulled away, tired, but he gripped at the back of your hips and pressed a sweet, loving kiss to your lips and another to your forehead.

“Goodnight princess. I love you.” He whispered into your ear, hugging you tight one last time.

“Goodnight my manly man. I love you too.” You kissed his neck, which was the highest part you could reach.

You both turned around and went into your separate dorm rooms to sleep in your own separate beds that night. You fell asleep smiling and all the second thoughts you’d ever had slipped away. This was exactly what you needed.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Visibility (Good Omens Fic)

Written for Lesbian Visibility Day, 2021

(26 April, 1972)

“What did you szzay?”

Beelzebub glared at the empty space before zir throne, listening to a pair of feet shuffle awkwardly.

“I just…woke up like this,” Crowley explained, in what was probably supposed to be a casual voice. “At first, I thought I was coming down with something. Flu. Hangover. Allergies. All very contagious this time of year. Really, if you haven’t been to Earth before, April is – just wait at least another month. But then I realized, s’not going away, and I thought: curse. Definitely a curse. Probably one of those angels, thwarting and all, you know how they are.”

“An angel.” The Prince of Hell tapped one finger on the arm of the throne, swarm of flies flitting around, trying to make sense of what zir own eyes weren’t telling zir. “Iszzn’t that hideouszz pieczze of real esztate you live in warded?”

“Probably. You know how it is. Get home late, really tired, swear you locked the door, but…” The footsteps – echoing as those ridiculous heeled boots struck the ground – began to circle the room. Beelzebub didn’t keep many possessions – at least, not the material sort – but Crowley seemed determined to touch them all. “Anyway, you know angels. Clever bastards.” An ornate dagger on the far table began to spin. “Or witches. Not quite as bastardly, but they cause trouble. Oh, or a cursed artifact.” Papers began rearranging themselves. “I just…I haven’t been thrift shopping in years, you know, not really my scene, not anyone’s scene anymore, but I saw this really spectacular jacket, I thought, what the Heaven? Might have some age-old horrific curse, or bedbugs, but it’s going to look stunning on the dance floor.”

Pinching zir nose, Beelzebub tried not to imagine the foolish way she was probably grinning. “And by complete coinczzidenzze,this angel, witch or…garment, juszzt happened to make you completely inviszzible on the day of your department budget review?”

“Yup.” A selection of goblets toppled to the floor with a clatter, bouncing and spinning across the floor. One rolled as if kicked, but not even Beelzebub’s cleverest flies could locate the blasted demon who had caused the mess. “I mean, not just a coincidence. Plenty of reasons. Er. The angel. Just last week, that – uh, that Aziraphale, I foiled one of her plans. Thoroughly. Foiled like…like leftover chicken. So. This could be revenge. Very unfortunately timed, but you know.”

“Indeed.” Beelzebub rose, stalking from zir throne across the floor to the spot that most strongly radiated incompetence. “And the curszze breakerszz haven’t been able to turn you back?”

“I mean, they tried.” More footsteps, hastier now, so that the echoes made them harder to track. “Course they tried. But,” she clicked her tongue, “couldn’t do it. Said they’d never seen anything like it before.” Ze would have to speak with them. No, too much trouble. Beelzebub would send the Hellhounds to take care of those idiots. “But, they did say it should wear off in…twenty-four to forty-eight hours. You know. With bed rest. Pity about the budgetary review.”

“How szzo?” Ze asked, lip curling. Every twenty-five years, like clockwork, like the courses of the blessed stars, the day of Crowley’s review, something – something highly improbably – tried to disrupt things.

“Well. I mean. Bed rest. Suggested by your curse breakers. And anyway. Can’t go like this, can I?” One of the goblets floated up from the floor, spinning in an unseen hand. “Might be disruptive.Wouldn’t want to draw attention away from Dagon – I heard, she has some fantastic charts this year. Pie graphs. One of those ones with the dots and the lines. Look at this!” From behind Beelzebub’s throne floated a ceramic pot filled with tall green plants, three dozen flies happily flitting around the attractively scented leaves. “Is this dill? Excellent choice. I’ve been doing some gardening lately, too, and let me tell you—”

“I cannot imagine anything” Beelzebub snapped, snatching the plant out of her invisible hands, “that could make you more diszzzruptive than you already are. But it appearszz you can szztill szzee, hear, and – unfortunately – szzpeak.”

“Just lucky I guess.” More pacing.

“Szzo. Dagon will be exzzpecting you in…four and a half minuteszz. I’m czzertain everyone iszz eagerly awaiting your planszz for the coming quarter-czzentury. Dagon, at leaszzt, could probably uszze the…amuszzement.”

“Course. Right. Perfect.” The footsteps began to lead towards the door. “I’ll just—”

“Szztop.” Beelzebub’s hand flew out, snapping tight around the demon’s wrist exactly as she walked past. “The otherszz will need to szzee where you are.”

“I could whistle,” she volunteered, launching into something that sounded like a tortured bird.

The Prince considered ripping her arm off and stuffing it down her throat, but the last time ze did that, the satisfaction hadn’t been worth the days of cleanup.

“Juszzt put on a hat or szzomething.”

A snap of fingers, and a band of glittering silver cloth appeared around where her waist should be. “Better? Can I go now? I’m…extremely eager to start my presentation. Ngk. Everyone is going to be impressed. This – this decade is going to put me on the map.”

“Go.”

The silver band of cloth sauntered out of the room, echoing the moronic way the demon walked. Checking the dill plant for damage, Beelzebub lowered zirself back onto the throne.

Which had, inexplicably, moved several inches back, causing zir to fall onto the floor, the potted plant shattering. “Crowley!”

--

“Brilliant, just brilliant,” Crowley muttered, stalking down the hall towards the meeting room. She’d spent a week putting this curse together, combining ones from six of Aziraphale’s most obscure grimoires, and yet she still had to make her bloody presentation. “Next time, I’ll just give myself the plague.” That had almost worked in the fourteenth century. Just needed a more impressive plague.

Ahead on the right, a door with a piece of paper taped on it reading Temptation Department Budget Group Lambda. She hesitated, fingers hovering just short of pushing it the rest of the way open. Had Beelzebub warned everyone she was invisible? More often, ze expected demons to take care of such things themselves, on pain of pain. Two minutes to spare; might as well try.

Crowley dropped the silver belt on the floor outside and slipped through the partially-open door, transforming her extremely cool boots into a pair of quieter slippers. That, at least, she could do without being sensed; shifting the shape of her feet didn’t alert the other demons the way a real miracle would.

A dozen of them sat in chairs around the conference table, grumbling about their project proposals, miracle allotments, and soul quotas. An overhead projector sat at the front of the room. It was the one with the cracked glass, projecting a broken circle of light onto a white wall. Dagon stood beside it, shuffling papers.

Crowley could try writing dirty words on a couple of the pre-made transparencies, but that didn’t seem properly demonic. Scanning the room, she spotted the wheeled coffee cart tucked in the corner, laden with a coffee pot, Styrofoam cups, plate of pastries and various flavorings. Horrid stuff. All demons were required to drink three cups of it per meeting, and to eat one of the scones, which this time appeared to be…pickled herring flavored? With orange marmalade?

There wasn’t much she could do to make that worse. She grabbed a few anyway, tucking them down the front of her shirt, and dumped the marmalade into the molten coffee, turning the temperature up as high as it would go. She’d managed to grab a fistful of wet soil and some dill from Beelzebub’s plant. Most of that went into the coffee pot, a little into the sour creamer, and the rest into the alleged sugar – probably an artificial sweetener, those were all the rage lately.

What else? She stole all the spoons, then pulled off an earring and started poking holes in the bottom of the cups with it.

With the perfect sense of timing honed from millennia of avoiding one more second in the company of her coworkers than necessary, Crowley managed to slip out the door, put on the belt, and waltz back in exactly as Dagon demanded, “Where is the demon Crowley?”

“Sorry, sorry. Feeling a bit under the weather today.” Only about three demons glanced her way with some level of surprise; the rest just got up and headed over to get their first requisite cup of coffee. “You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had. And the traffic! The roads just get worse every year. Anyway, here now. Ready and eager. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She snagged an empty seat and dropped into it, crossing her boots on the table with a heavy thud.

Dagon sighed. “Do I even want to know what happened this time?”

“Pissed off an angel. Utterly ruined her plans. Cursed me out in the most unbelievable language, and then, well, you see. Or don’t see.”

It was certainly true enough. Aziraphale had been very upset when the “fine dining establishment” Crowley had selected for their meet-up turned out to be the hottest disco in the city. And the way she managed to express her disappointment while technically not swearing certainly strained credulity.

“Did you kill her?” Ligur asked. So unimaginative.

“No, I did something much worse.” She’d dragged Aziraphale onto the dance floor and managed almost twenty-three seconds of enthusiastic disco next to her before the angel – now bright red and flustered – had stormed out entirely. “But, we’re not here to talk about me. Let’s have it. Numbers. Spreadsheets. I heard a rumor we might see that climate change graph.”

A general groan ran around the table.

“Shut up,” Dagon snapped. “Listen up, you lot – all you idiots, and Crowley in particular. Every one of you worthless wastes of matter needs to explain what you’re going to do in the next quarter-century, how that’s going to secure souls for our Master, and why we should waste any number of miracles on your pathetic hides. Until then—”

With an icy shiver, Crowley felt her miracles vanish.

“Now. Let’s start on the success rate of last quarter-century, and if I hear one word of complaint, you can scream it from the bottom of a sulfur pool. And don’t forget your blessed coffee.”

As Dagon started her presentation, Crowley watched the coffee cart. Someone had helpfully wheeled it next to the conference table, so the demons could more easily torture themselves. Seven managed to soak their shirts and trousers from leaking cups before the marmalade clogged the pot entirely. That, however, would never be enough to cancel the meeting. Heaven, a few of them even said it tasted better than usual. Should have seen that coming.

Still. It was a start.

Crowley played with her earring, then grinned, thinking of a possibility.

“Ow!” she shouted dramatically. “Something bit me!”

“Wasn’t me,” Hastur said sullenly.

“W—no, I mean. Some kind of insect.”

“Don’t see one,” grunted another demon called Krang, sitting right beside Crowley.

“It’s right there!” Silence. Oh, right, no one could see her pointing. “There! On the coffee pot!”

Eyes narrowing, Krang leaned forward, glaring across the table at the pot, which was rattling slightly. Crowley jabbed them in the back of the neck with her earring.

“Arg! It got me!” Krang slapped at the spot, leaping out of their chair. “Did you see where it went?”

“There! On Hastur’s head!”

“Where—?” Hastur managed before Ligur swatted him so hard he fell out of his chair.

“Ah, shit!” Crowley shouted. “It got me again! No, wait, I think it’s a different one.” The demons anxiously glanced at each other, but no one else stood up. Not enough. “Oh, no! My…my hand!” Crowley tried to think of something suitable “It’s burning! Like Holy Water!” She jabbed the earring into the arm of the demon on her other side.

“Bloody—It got me too!” He was on his feet in an instant. “I can feel it burning already!”

“And me!” That demon wasn’t even near Crowley. She grinned. It was working.

“What are these things?”

“I can feel it crawling on my leg.”

“My neck is swelling up!”

“Sit down!” Dagon snapped, baring her teeth. “I don’t want to hear another word about bloody insects. You’re demons. Act like it! Or I’ll make it four cups.”

The room froze – silent, apart from the now-continuous rattle of the coffee pot – as a dozen demons weighed the fear of some sort of terrifying unseen holy insect versus drinking more of the vile brew.

So Crowley ripped a handful of scone out of her top and crumbled it. “What – my hair!” She tossed the crumbs across the table. “Are – are those larvae?”

Everyone shuffled back a few steps.

“I don’t think you heard me—” Dagon started, in a tone that suggested Crowley was about to lose the room. So she went all in.

“Oh, Satan!” She shouted, falling dramatically from her chair. “They’re – they’re crawling into my ears!” That earned a few nervous glances, so she took a deep breath and gave her best horror-movie scream. “That angel! She did something to me!”

“Crowley!” Dagon shouted. “Stop acting out right now,or I swear to Satan, I’ll—”

She never found out what Dagon wanted to do to her, though, because at that moment the coffee pot exploded, lid flying off, scalding brown liquid splashing in every direction, along with blobs of now-runny marmalade.

Never one to let an opportunity go by, no matter how unexpected, Crowley cried, “Eggs! They’re nesting in the coffee! Who drank that?”

A perfect panic set in, and there was nothing Dagon could do to stop all the demons – including Crowley – from evacuating the room.

--

In the confusion that followed, everyone lost track of a certain invisible demon. How sad. And totally unexpected, Crowley thought, climbing into the Bentley. Too bad I kept the radio off and didn’t go to the cinema. Otherwise, they could summon me back. If she were careful, she could have days to finish coming up with her proposal.

But first, a little fun. Grinning, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, wondering what kind of trouble she could get into next.

Well. One way to find out.

The London police were extremely disappointing that morning. It took nearly eight minutes of driving around at top speed, running red lights, and blaring her horn outside rich-looking homes before one finally started chasing her.

Slamming into top gear, she raced down the busiest streets, whipping around corners, weaving through traffic, making sure not to get too far ahead. The second patrol car joined in somewhere near Oxford Street, the third during a quick jaunt up towards Regent’s Park. When she’d collected four, sirens blaring as they struggled to keep up with her flawless driving, she spotted a side street and lurched into it with a complicated 270-degree-spin finished with the nose of the Bentley facing the approaching cars.

Then she settled back in her seat and waited.

--

The black monstrosity finally slid to a stop. Officer Mills kept her eyes on it while her partner slowed their own car to a stop.

“We sure he’s not just going to run?” She asked, trying to spot the driver. The glare off the windshield must be playing tricks on her eyes; she couldn’t see a thing.

“We surround it,” Harmon said. “Got to be enough of us, even if they try to make trouble.”

Six officers eased out of their cars, silently trying to decide who should approach the window. Mills won – or lost – and took the lead, Harmon close behind her. He was the only one armed; she felt a little better for that, in case the driver turned out to be dangerous, though most likely she figured he would try to plow through the police cars to get away. They couldn’t do much in that case apart from try to kick the tires in passing.

“Think it’s stolen?” Harmon asked as a few others moved to try and block the street beyond the idling nightmare. “Teenagers messing around?”

“Could be,” Mills said doubtfully. “It’s vintage, though. Really old. And whoever was driving knows what they’re doing.”

Anderson waved from the far side of the vehicle. Everyone was in position. Mills nodded and walked up to the window, prepared for a lunatic – or a drunk – or someone on an awful lot of drugs.

Instead, it was completely empty.

“What…” She glanced back at Harmon. “No one. Did he bail out?”

“We’d have seen. Check the back seat.”

“Nothing. Wait. There’s…a tin of biscuits. That’s all.”

Down the street, Anderson crouched, checking underneath. Nothing there, apparently. Slowly, the police approached, one by one relaxing as they confirmed that yes – the car was empty.

The driver side window was open. Mills stuck her head in, glancing up and down. Nothing. No sign of what had happened to the driver. The engine still gently rumbled, and the door was locked. She definitely would have noticed if someone had stayed there long enough to lock it through the window.

“I’ll call to have it towed,” Harmon said, stepping back. She could hear the confused frown in his voice. “Maybe we’ll find…something…when we search it.”

By this point, even the officers who had waited in the patrol cars had joined them, crowded along the sides of the black vintage monster, testing doors and peering through windows. Mills leaned in to unlock the driver side door. “But where could he have gone?”

“She,” a soft voice said near Mills’s ear, and something tapped against her nose. “And I haven’t gone anywhere.”

Mills stumbled back as the radio burst to life.

You know the day destroys the night Night divides the day…

Everyone spun in place, looking for the source of the music from a nearby window or door, shouting at shadows, so only Mills was watching as the pedals and gear stick moved themselves.

Tried to run Tried to hide Break on through to the other side Break on through to the other side…

The ghost car – what else could she be? – shot backwards up the street, faster than should have been possible, spun a full 360-degree turn, then straightened up and drove away, blending into traffic with a cheerful toot of the horn.

Mills finally blinked.

“Harmon?” She called. “You do the paperwork on this one. I need a drink.”

--

Crowley danced in her seat far more than she usually would, but for once no one could see her.

Made the scene Week to week Day to day Hour to – Crowley!

She nearly slammed on the brakes as Jim Morrison began to sound an awful lot like Dagon. Shit. Forgot about that.

“Ahhhh…speaking?”

“Who, exactly, gave you permission to leave?”

“Oh. Ahhh.” She glanced out the window at a row of businesses and pulled over in front of some kind of barber shop. “I thought, what with all the insects—”

“There were no insects!”

“There weren’t?” Crowley really needed to work on her innocent voice. “I must be hallucinating. Better go home and lie down until it passes.”

“Crowley. Your budget proposal is due by the end of the day. Do you want to be stranded up there without miracles? Do you know what we do to demons who fail to meet their quotas?”

She knew that. She’d been told, several times, exactly what to expect. “Nnnnnh…I’ve got – it’s going to be a big project. Very big. More souls than…than wasps have larvae. Just need to work on my proposal in a secure, bug-free location.”

“Crowley! Do you think for one second—”

“Ah! They’re coming out of the radio!” Crowley cut the sound.

She sat in the Bentley, tapping her fingers on the wheel.

I just hung up on Dagon. They’re going to kill me. Worse, they’re going to send me down to file in the archives for a thousand years.

Then again, they’d have to find her first.

And, she was finding, her current state presented the kind of temptations even a demon couldn’t ignore…

--

Graham Palmer had been trying to get into the barber shop for twenty minutes.

The door was stuck fast. No matter how he rattled and pulled, it wouldn’t budge, as if something enormous had pinned it shut. And yet, every time he stepped back to let other patrons try, the door opened easily, but slammed as if pulled shut whenever he approached. He even tried slipping through behind another customer, but then it stayed shut until Graham stepped back. There was just no way in.

Now he hammered on the window, trying to get his barber’s attention. “Stuart! Stuart! What the hell are you trying to pull?”

The barber looked up from his current customer, blinking in confusion, and jerked his head towards the door.

“I tried that, it doesn’t bloody work!” A young man half his age walked past, giving Graham a funny look, and pulled open the shop door. Graham dove to follow him, but again it snapped shut, almost catching his nose. He pounded the door with his fist, glaring at the customers inside. “I’m going to be late!”

Across the shop, Stuart put down his scissors and shouted something. All Graham caught was “…break my glass…”

There was an idea.

He crossed the pavement to where an ancient black car was parked, removing his jacket. Wrapping it around his arm for protection, he charged forward, bracing himself for impact.

The door swung open in front of him and before he could stop himself, Graham tripped over – something – there didn’t appear to be anything – and sprawled on his face, sliding across the linoleum floor.

“Watch yourself, dearie,” a cheerful woman’s voice said, but when he looked up, no one was there.

--

Crowley strolled around the park, her new domain, another time.

Over there, at the edge of the path, was the Strange Chill area. Anyone who paused there, perhaps studying the slightly askew sign that seemed to indicate the exit was in the fountain, would feel a touch on their shoulder, a tickle on the back of their neck, or hear heavy breathing with no source.

Over here, near the ice cream cart, was the Creepy Bush. Originally just generic ghost noises, Crowley eventually discovered what really freaked humans out was a disembodied voice whispering their name, or something they’d said in private a few minutes before. She followed strolling couples around, listening in on anything good, and when one stopped to by the other ice cream, just really let loose on the one standing by the bushes. They usually started clinging much more closely to their partner after that, so really, Crowley was doing them a favor. Instant relationship counseling.

Across from the fountain sat the Haunted Bench. Crowley really went wild with that one. Children’s songs in a creepy voice. Branches shaking with no wind. Possessions floating away from wherever they’d been set down. Really, anything was allowed.

The narrow path leading through the tulips was the Asshole Road. Anyone Crowley caught being an asshole in her park was subtly sent that direction, pickpocketed, and then beset by bees, or at least a very convincing humming and a few pricks from an invisible earring.

The fountain itself was Rare Coins and Lost Items. Her third pickpocket victim had been carrying a tube of very powerful epoxy, and it turns out the coin-stuck-to-the-sidewalk trick was even better when you glued it underwater. A few pieces of jewelry at the bottom were also glued in place, but most of the valuables were simply tossed in or – if they weren’t waterproof – hung from the sculpture of frolicking animals in an amusing way. Crowley mostly just kept the cash, and even then only if the Assholes had been particularly cruel. So far, she’d accumulated almost five hundred pounds.

It was either the best park in London, or the worst.

She leaned against the clock – now set forty-eight and a half minutes slow – and surveyed the chaos. Two teenagers were frantically trying to get something out of the fountain, while the Asshole who’d sworn at that lovely gay couple was now soaked through, desperately trying to get his watch back from the ear of a sculpted rabbit seven feet high. That had been hard to get into place, but certainly worth it. The couple, meanwhile, were hand-in-hand, clutching ice creams and hurrying away from what had been for them the Creepy but Oddly Affirming Bush. The lady with the dog that had made a mess by the roses was trying to report the Haunted Bench to a cop, who tiredly insisted it was her lunch break and that the lady would not believe the morning she’d had.

Crowley grinned up at the sky. This – this was what it was all about. Forget budget meetings and presentations. Who did that make miserable, apart from the demons themselves? This park had everything: temptation, fear, frustration, justice, ice cream, and perfect weather.

“Hey. Hey you feathered wankers,” someone shouted, followed by the sound of rattling pebbles and angry quacking.

Tipping down her invisible shades, Crowley spotted some young idiot chucking handfuls of rocks at the ducks. Most were fleeing, but one flapped her wings, panicked and possessive, over a nest. One of the eggs had already been broken.

Looks like another volunteer for Asshole Road. Crowley was already eying their watch.

--

Every bakery has that one customer. Probably every place that sold food.

The one that demands impossible standards, not because of any particular love of fine cuisine, but just because they can.

The one that counts the blueberries in their muffin and lets you know if there aren’t enough.

The one who spends five minutes shouting, “No, not that one, that one,” while providing no other information, until their server had touched everything in the display case.

The one who complains that their brownie is too chocolatey.

The customer who somehow gets away with murder on account of being someone’s spouse, or sibling, or old school friend.

Victoria Lockwood was that customer, and as Riley watched her approach, they held their breath in trepidation.

“This scone,” she snapped, dropping her plate onto the counter, “is not right.” Then she glared at Bailey, waiting for a response.

“Is it…” Bailey’s mind raced, trying to work out what might be wrong. “The wrong flavor?” Victoria’s face only darkened. “Um. Is – is it dry?” But most of that batch had sold without a single complaint. “Did you want…more lemon curd? Or—”

“It is not hot enough.”

“Ah.” Of course. They’d taken that batch out nearly an hour ago; the next was ready to go in. “If you’re willing to wait, um…twenty minutes? I can give you the first—”

“Twenty minutes? What kind of service is that? I want my scone now.” She glanced at the tray coming out of the oven. “Why are you making me wait? What are those?”

Bailey glanced back and relaxed for a moment. “Oh – yes, I can get you one right now. They’re Raspberry Almond Butterm—”

“Disgusting!” Victoria rapped her hand against the counter. “That is not what I ordered! I demand you warm this one up, immediately.”

“I…” Bailey glanced at their coworkers, but everyone was avoiding eye contact. “That’s…I can put it back in the oven but that would probably dry—”

“Fine.” She shoved the plate towards them. “Be quick about it, young lady, I don’t like to wait.” She clearly noticed the way Bailey flinched. “If you don’t want to be mistaken for a girl, I suggest you get a proper haircut. And not that hideous shade of pink.”

“Y’s ma’am,” Bailey muttered, because some arguments would never be worth it. They took back the scone and put it on a baking tray. Maybe if it was only in the oven for a minute or two—

“Victoria Lockwood!” Bailey spun around, searching for who had called out. Not anyone else behind the counter, they all had their heads ducked, concentrating on some other tasks. But there – on the counter – a scone sat on Victoria’s plate.

She looked up from her makeup compact, smiled triumphantly, and took a bite out of it.

Her face immediately went green, and she dropped plate and pastry, running out of the bakery faster than Bailey had ever seen anyone move. They rushed forward, ready to call after her, but very much not wanting to, and picked up the discarded scone – it smelled awful, like vinegar and fish.

There was also an enormous wad of banknotes on the counter, wrapped up in a scrap of paper with a note: Kid – Don’t take that shit from anyone. Flip off your boss when you quit. <3 C

The bakery door opened and shut on its own.

--

Well, there was an entire day’s pickpocketing gone in a moment, but it wasn’t like Crowley had a better use for it. She still had a few rare coins, but after the fountain, sticking them to the ground seemed an anticlimax. She’d had some fun modifying the haunting routine for the bus or Underground, but both would be filled with commuters now a ghost that swears when you elbow her in the ribs on a crowded train is…not as impressive.

Still. Not a bad day overall. The most expensive foods in the corner marked had all been re-priced, several examples of hostile architecture had been mysteriously destroyed, enough people would be sharing stories of “hauntings” that the whole city would need to be exorcised, and – just for the Heaven of it – she’d followed a particularly annoying human for almost an hour, up and down the streets, buzzing in his ear.

Really, it was the simple pleasures that made the world so enjoyable.

And speaking of simple pleasures, Crowley had left one particular part of the city for last.

Strolling down the streets of Soho, which was just waking up while more respectable – but far less fun – parts of the city were winding down, she kept her eyes open for anyone who might make a good target. A few possibilities presented themselves, but in the end her destination proved the stronger draw.

A. Z. Fell’s Bookshop.

It was just the right time of day, when the customers would still be bothering Aziraphale, and she would be running short of patient ways to refuse them and start turning to biting sarcasm and, on occasion, outright threats. She’d probably appreciate a little haunting to help chase them off, once Crowley had finished stealing her cocoa, moving her bookmarks, and changing the record in the gramophone.

But, glancing in the window, Crowley saw something that poured cold water all over her brilliant day.

Gabriel.

Michael and Uriel, too. Probably Sandalphon lurking around.

Aziraphale stood before her bosses, hands clutched anxiously, that eager, ready-to-please face that made Crowley’s chest ache. Some, when faced with the beings who had hurt them so many times, became afraid, or angry, or distressed. But Aziraphale…just wanted approval. A kind word.

Crowley glared at Gabriel. The Heaven are you up to this time?

For once, she would be able to find out.

--

“And, I really think,” Aziraphale said, hands twisting like captured rodents as she rambled, “that this past decade in particular,I’ve – I’ve accomplished many things. Um. I – I prepared a list…somewhere…” her eyes darted to the disaster she called a desk, and she started shifting material objects around, smiling nervously. Guiltily.

“Is this going to take long?” Gabriel asked with a pointed sigh.

“No! I just…one moment…”

“We’re already running late,” Uriel commented. “We’d expected you to be better prepared.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale snatched up a book and began flipping through it frantically, as if it might contain the answers she needed. “Only, ah, you didn’t actually say when you would be coming…”

“We did say between the 3rd of January and 28th of October,” Michael pointed out reasonably.

“Oh. Um. I…”

“Something doesn’t seem…right,” Sandalphon said, stepping close to Aziraphale, putting a hand on her shoulder. The book she held tumbled from her fingers. “This whole place has a…smell about it.”

The door slammed behind them. Gabriel glanced back, but couldn’t see it from where he stood. Sandalphon gave Aziraphale’s shoulder another squeeze, then headed over to check on it.

“I thought,” Gabriel said slowly, making sure the slow-witted Principality heard every word, “I told you to lock the door.”

“It was.” Aziraphale’s eyes had gone wide. “I – I mean I did.”

Gabriel pursed his lips and shook his head. This had been a particularly disappointing review. Disappointing in the sense that their agent had once again conclusively failed to present evidence of meaningful victories towards Heaven’s cause. Less disappointing in that, whether she knew it or not, Aziraphale had already given him what he needed to take the arrogant fool down a few pegs.

In six thousand years, she’d barely managed to do a single thing right, yet somehow always came to him simpering and smiling like she deserved all the accolades of Heaven. Well, he’d been patient, as suited an Archangel, as patient as he could. But once per century, he had the opportunity to make his opinion perfectly clear.

Take away her miracles for a start, he thought. Though that didn’t seem to work nearly as well as it had a few centuries ago. Maybe recall her to Heaven for a year or two, re-educate her on the basics of her duty. There might be enough for a period of isolation. With restraints. They’d done that once, about three thousand years before, after a particularly poor review. Seven years chained up in an empty corner of Heaven, and Aziraphale had been wonderfully pliable for centuries after. Perhaps it was time to revisit.

“Look – look here, I have a list of…oh.” Aziraphale held out her book again, which seemed to be filled with irregular scrawl instead of the usual neatly printed words. “I started a list of accomplishments, but ah…I became busy the last few years. Um. Quite a lot has happened since…”

Uriel took the book and studied it, face impressively calm. “Interesting,” they said, not giving anything away as they turned the pages over. Gabriel trusted them to spot anything useful.

As the Archangels waited in pointed silence, Michael walked her fingers across a table. She pressed a thumb against a book, sliding it to the edge. Aziraphale stared as it teetered, then found its balance again. Michael watched it, disinterested, then moved on to another book, sliding that forward as well.

Sandalphon stepped back beside Gabriel, shrugging his shoulders. No sign of anything. Well. More questions for later.

Uriel reached the final page.

“What happened in 1967?”

“Nothing!” At the panic in Aziraphale’s tone, all four Archangels raised their eyebrows. “I – I – I mean, yes, lots, many – many—” One of the books beside Michael fell to the floor with a slap. The Principality winced. “I – I’m terribly sorry, could you be more specific?”

“Your final entry,” Uriel held the book out to Aziraphale, “says 1967 – Prevented… Prevented what?”

“Ahhhhhh.” Aziraphale squirmed. “Well, I…I…there was…ummm…”

“As I recall,” Michael said slowly, “you briefly visited Heaven that year, but didn’t officially report to any of us. And then didn’t return for at least…six months? Very unusual.”

“You haven’t been hiding something, have you?” Gabriel smiled, his heart rising. More than isolation. He could probably take away this shop, for a start, give it to a more trustworthy angel.

“Nnnnno.” Aziraphale gave that particular smile, the one that meant she thought she was about to get away with something. The one she thought Gabriel didn’t know about. “But, ahhh, if you could, um, quite a lot happened in the world in the…the last ten years or so.”

Something crashed on the other side of the building. No, he’d have the place demolished. It was falling apart already. Aziraphale could watch. Maybe he could order her to help. An eminently suitable punishment for wasting his time. “As I understand it,” he said, taking a step forward, “the last decade saw…war, riots, assassinations…”

“Well, well, yes, I…but, if you look at progress with, um, civil rights, ahh…anticolonialism…”

More made-up human terms. Gabriel and Michael shared a pained glance. “Look. Aziraphale.” Gabriel pressed his hands together. “It’s not that we don’t appreciate you taking the initiative, but…what does any of this have to do with your orders?”

“Or, for that matter, with your visit to Heaven?” Michael moved her fingers across the table again, coming to rest on one of those stupid little figurines Aziraphale had accumulated. Like a packrat. A human depiction of an angel, as some kind of soft, happy baby with wings. Not a warrior at all. Michael’s finger tapped against it. “What were you trying to prevent?”

“Did it have something to do with…Holy Water?” Sandalphon suddenly asked.

“That’s right,” Gabriel said. Something clicking in his mind. “There was that storage jar that went missing.” Did Aziraphale look more guilty than usual? “What year was that?”

“1967,” Uriel said.

He couldn’t hold back the smile. If he could prove Aziraphale had taken Holy Water for some sort of personal use, well.

He’d pretty much be justified whatever he decided to do.

“I – I – I can explain.” The Principality tried to back away, but was stopped by her own desk. “There – there was this demon, an – an especially, ah, wily, cunning, um, crafty demon—”

“Was there?” Michael’s finger twitched, sending the false angel off the table. It fell—

Then hovered, halfway to the floor.

Slowly, it lifted, rightening itself in the air before them. There was no trace of a miracle, no power of any kind. It simply…floated. Drifting through the air to land on the desk beside Aziraphale.

“Clever,” said Gabriel, watching the Principality’s face for any sign of deception. “How did you do that?”

“I…”

The pages of a book, laid out on the stand behind her, began to turn, flipping faster and faster, slamming shut.

“This…isn’t me.” Aziraphale said.

Behind her, books began to float off their shelves. One rocketed across the room towards Gabriel. He dodged it easily, but it was followed by another, and another. The lights flickered overhead.

“If it isn’t you,” Gabriel began, but a small table by the door to the next room began to rattle. Atop it lay a black-and-white board covered with formless carvings, which lifted into the air, then exploded, pieces flying at the Archangels. Gabriel easily batted them aside, but now one of the armchairs began to shift.

Without a word, the four prepared for battle, Gabriel stepping back, Michael and Sandalphon moving to the front. At least, that was the plan – the moment he tried to move, Gabriel fell, his feet somehow tightly bound together. The same happened to Sandalphon and Uriel, and even Michael stumbled, knocking over a table in her haste to stay upright.

Glass rattled in the back of the shop.

“It’s…” Aziraphale cleared her throat. “It’s that same demon again! I thought I’d banished her!”

“What?” Banishing wasn’t exactly something angels did.

“The – the Holy Water!” A bottle of something hovered out from the back room, moving slowly but threateningly. “Did you bring any? It’s the only thing that can stop her.”

“What are you talking about?” Michael’s sword manifested in her hand. “What demon?”

“Crowley! She – she seems to have grown even more powerful!”

“Crowley?” Not that worthless snake again. How many times had he been assured – through Michael’s secret back-channel sources – that Crowley was the most useless, incompetent, lazy demon in Hell? And yet somehow, not a single angel had ever successfully dealt with her – except Aziraphale.

“I thought I smelled a demon,” Sandalphon said, pulling his shoes off and tossing them aside. “But I can’t sense demonic power.”

“Obviously not!” Aziraphale’s wings burst from her back, and she held out a hand towards the hovering bottle. It slowly lowered itself to the ground. “Why do you think she’s so difficult to defeat? The power she uses – it’s not of Heaven or Hell! I – I can barely counter it!”

“Let me, then,” Michael said, predatory gleam in her eyes. Like Sandalphon, she’d removed her shoes; Gabriel was working on his own, but somehow the laces had become wound together like snakes, something sticky sealing the knot shut.

Sandalphon and Michael stepped forward, swords at the ready. “No!” Aziraphale turned to block them, and immediately the rattling started up again – this time from the metal stairs to the upper floor. “You – you don’t understand! Wh – when she gets like this – the fires would only make her stronger.”

Something – horrible, screeching noises – began emanating from the back room, like some animal being torn apart.

“That’s – that’s why I need the Holy Water! In the proper ritual, it – it – it’s too complicated to explain!”

A cupboard burst open, revealing a display of holy items – consecrated Bibles, holy symbols, sticks of incense and jars of oil. “No!” Aziraphale shouted, genuine panic in her voice.

The largest, heaviest of the Bibles lifted and shot across the room. It didn’t reach the Archangels, but Gabriel could see smoke rising from its cover.

Next came a crucifix, spinning end over end, which Michael caught out of the air. The wood was burned all along one side.

“Don’t you see?” Aziraphale said, eyes round. “Nothing I have in there can stop her! What could a flaming sword even do? I need more Holy Water.” A jar of oil fell to the ground and immediately began to boil, bubbling and steaming. “I’ll try to hold her back as long as I can.” Aziraphale’s face furrowed in concentration as she walked across the shop. “Please, it – it’s far too dangerous for you here…”

“Right.” Gabriel glanced at the other Archangels. Something wasn’t right. But they couldn’t risk themselves against an unknown force. “We’ll…we’ll get some Holy Water. You do what you can.”

With a thought, the ascended to Heaven.

Gabriel quickly stood up, brushing down his clothing and trying to school his expression. “Well. I think the best course of action is to wait a day or two, then go see what the damage is.”

“And Aziraphale’s review?” Uriel asked, face somehow still calm, despite everything that had happened.

“I just hope we don’t have to give her a damn commendation again.”

--

The Arch-Wankers vanished in a shimmer of blue light.

“Ow, ow, fuck that hurts!” Crowley gasped, stumbling away from the spilled oil and shaking her hands. “What kind of stuff do you keep in there?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale started to rush forward, then froze. “Where are you? Can’t you – reveal yourself, or whatever?”

“Nnnnnnnnope. Rrrrrgh, how does this hurt more than walking in a church?”

“I…I’m sorry, my dear girl,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve been worried lately that if – if your side realized what was happening…I thought it best to have a little insurance of my own.”

“Well it works.” Crowley managed to reach one of the shop chairs and sank into it. “Over here…no, here! Where’s…” She nudged the rug with her least-burnt toe, folding a bit of it up. Aziraphale immediately ran over.

“That was – well, that was clever, Crowley, but highly unnecessary. I – I was only having my performance review. I thought I was doing quite well.” Her soft hands found one of Crowley’s and picked it up, fingers tracing across the palm.

“I…” Crowley had seen the way Gabriel’s eyes lit up at the mention of Holy Water, while she was on the ground gluing his shoelaces together, and she counted it among the most terrifying things she’d ever seen. “I’m sure you were, but vanquishing some super-powerful demon? Saving the Archangels? Well, that’s only going to help, right?”

“Hmmm.” Another brush of her fingers, and the sting started to go out of Crowley’s palms. “And, I’m sure, spark a few rumors that might help you?”

“Oh.” Crowley grimaced, looking out the windows. “Unless those rumors spread really fast, I doubt I’m going to get much benefit.”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale sank to the ground, patting around until she found one of Crowley’s feet. She gently lifted it, stroking from ankle to toe and giving it the same healing treatment. “And why are you like this?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

“Crowley.”

“Right. Um. I…may have…borrowed a few of your books and…designed a curse to get out of my quarter-century budget review. But in my defense – it’s so boring.”

Aziraphale sighed – or possibly blew a healing breath across Crowley’s feet. No, probably the sigh, but at least they felt a bit better. “My dear, it’s only a meeting. There’s no need for these – these histrionics.”

“Histri—Angel, that is – I am not – can you grab a dictionary? I need to know how upset I should be.”

“Extremely.”

“Right. I am. And…I thought it would only last a few hours. Have a bit of fun. But…I need my miracles for, you know, ambient healing, and…look, they cut off our miracles during the review, and only give them back once you’ve wowed them with your project idea.”

“And you don’t have one, do you?”

“Not…as such.” Crowley hung her head. “I…I thought I could get an extension. Just long enough to think of something.”

“So you cursed yourself.” That pained look, the I-hate-to-tell-you-how-much-you-failed-but-also-I-love-it look. Only slightly ruined by the fact that it was aimed somewhere over the demon’s left shoulder. “Crowley, did it never occur to you that in the time it took you create such a thing, you could just as easily have come up with a project?”

“Nh.”

“And did you come up with your brilliant idea during your delay?”

“Nnnh.”

“Well. At least you’re sorry now, I assume?”

“Nope.” If she hadn’t skipped out, Crowley wouldn’t have been here to help Aziraphale. She’d saved her friend countless times over six thousand years, but sometimes…she was quite happy the angel didn’t notice. “No, demons don’t get sorry. We get…” she grunted. “We get annoyed at ourselves for…ngk…for hanginupndagonnpissinheroff.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“For hanging up on Dagon and pissing her off.” Crowley rubbed her face. “Unless I can think of the greatest project any demon ever came up with…” Her stomach dropped as the reality of it hit. A thousand years in filing meant a thousand years without Aziraphale’s bastard looks and gentle touches. “I’m…probably going to be gone for a while.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale stroked her fingers across Crowley’s foot one more time. “No, that won’t do at all.” She looked up with that icy, determined look. The let-me-speak-to-your-manager expression that made Crowley go completely light-headed. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to do something about all this.”

“Like what?”

“How are your feet?”

“F—hmm? Oh, fine.” They were – Aziraphale seemed to have removed all the pain. Or at least, she’d removed some of the pain, and the fluttery feeling in Crowley’s chest allowed her to ignore the rest. “So. Um. What did you have in mind? Oh!” A grin stretched across her face. “Dagon and Beelzebub already think you cursed me. Maybe we can stage a second fight where they see it. I’ll definitely get an extension that way.”

“Or.” Aziraphale found Crowley’s hands again and laced their fingers together, pulling her to her feet. “We can go for a drive in that beastly car of yours and actually come up with a proper idea. Something convoluted, demonic, and with that…Crowley style.”

“I have a style now?”

“Hmmm. Yes. Not as refined as mine, but I think we can make it work.” Her right hand squeezed Crowley’s, and her left slid up the demon’s arm to her shoulder. “You know, I had a little over a century apart from you. And I have absolutely no desire to repeat that. In fact I…I rather think I prefer your company to, well. Anyone’s.”

“Nnnnh.” Crowley shuffled her feet and clutched Aziraphale’s hand back, guiding the angel to stand just a little closer. Needing to say something. Afraid to say too much. “Ssssss. Mmmm. Yeah. I, uh. I like it better up here, too. Y’know. Where you are.”

“Yes, I know.” Aziraphale’s left hand slid further up, coming to rest on the back of her neck. “I can see right through you. My dear Crowley.” With the lightest pressure, she tipped the demon’s head down.

And kissed her, soft lips covering Crowley’s shocked mouth.

“Oh…” Aziraphale gasped, pulling back slightly, hardly at all. “I, ah…I meant to…” Her breath still tickled Crowley’s lips. “I…forehead…”

“Nrrh.” Crowley’s free hand drifted forward, finding Aziraphale’s hip, resting on it, barely a touch. It was all she dared. “Ah…?”

Neither of them moved. Or both did. Or they stood still and the world around them shifted. Whichever way it was, their lips touched again, and held this time. Slowly, they drifted closer, caught in each other’s gravity, a decaying orbit. Crowley would surely burn up on approach, but it was worth every moment.

Eventually they parted, once more just enough to breathe, to speak, to remember that they were two beings and not a single, burning soul.

“Not…” Crowley swallowed. “Not too fast?”

“I…” Aziraphale bit her lip. “I don’t know. But…Crowley…I know…where I want to go. Eventually.”

Their foreheads pressed together. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Aziraphale nodded, dropping left hand falling away, right thumb rubbing the back of Crowley’s hand. Her eyes fluttered open and she gasped. “Oh, my word!”

“What?” Crowley glanced at herself, black cloth trousers flared wide at the legs, tight red sleeveless shirt cut scandalously low in the front and back, boots with heels that made her even taller than usual—

She was visible again.

“I…I suppose I was still healing you when we…oh…oh, Crowley…what are you wearing?”

“Angel, it’s – I look fashionable, you look – have you changed anything in the last century?”

“I…a few things! Were you honestly planning to give a presentation like that?”

“I was going to be invisible, yeah!”

“You…are…” Aziraphale pressed her eyes shut. “I am going to get my jacket. And then I’m going to get you a jacket, because it’s cold at night, and you are cold-blooded.”

“M’not,” Crowley muttered.

“And then we will go for our ride and determine what evil, dastardly plan I will spend the next twenty-five years thwarting. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” After a moment, Crowley said, “Ah, Aziraphale?”

“What is it now?”

“At some point, are you going to let go of my hand?”

Aziraphale glanced down. “Oh. Hmm. I suppose we’ll find out.”

--

(Fifty Years Later)

Crowley sat beneath the apple tree, her hand clutched tightly in Aziraphale’s, leaning back against her angel’s chest. “And that,” she concluded, “is why we call the 26th of April Lesbian Visibility Day.”

The Them stared at the two supernatural beings, mouths slightly open.

“You…” Pepper started, “are full of so much shit.”

“Oi!”

“Actually,” Wensley said, “that’s…one of the worst stories I’ve ever heard. How are you supposed to budget miracles?”

“If they could cut you off that easy,” Brian jumped in, “why didn’t they do it when you left Hell?”

“Oh, ummm,” she glanced up at Aziraphale.

“Tactics,” the angel said enigmatically.

Pepper didn’t even seem to be listening. “How did you know what all those people were thinking?”

“That’s right,” Wensley nodded. “Particularly Gabriel.”

“He…he has a very expressive face,” Crowley argued.

“How’d you actually move around like that, without anyone hearing you? The whole day?”

“Shouldn’t you’ve been, you know, way more worried about getting killed?”

“At least one of those bookshop attacks wasn’t even possible, unless you were in two places at once.”

“And how d’you accidentally leave your healing on?”

“How could you possibly mistake her lips for her forehead?”

“This was rubbish.”

“What do you think, Adam?”

The former Antichrist looked up from where he was playing with Dog. “I think…” He gave the angel and demon a penetrating look, then shook his head, smiling as if he’d just seen the joke at the center of the universe, and it had turned out to be a truly terrible pun. “I think you should just tell us the next story.”

“Which one’s that?” Crowley asked, settling back into the curve of her angel’s arm, fingers still twined together.

“The one with the greatest project any demon ever came up with.”

“Oh.” Grinning, Crowley tipped her head to meet Aziraphale’s shining eyes. “Wahoo.”

--

The song is "Break on Through (To the Other Side)" by the Doors, because Queen had not yet put out their first album, though there was a lot of pressure in the Discord to have Crowley dancing to Abba instead.

Final scene set next year because we'll all be sitting together under apple trees with our loved ones and telling BS stories to kids before we know it.

For everyone who contributed non-anonymous suggestions:

@amidst-innumerable-stars @tangle5ancer @fenrislorsrai @feuerkindjana @bowser14456 @taksez @yeahhiyellow @infinitevariety @gargelyfloof118 @lourek @soft-forest-rain @undertaker991 @jules-al-c @lov-lyness2 @thisleadstohollyhocks @marianrios33 @aux-barricades @lostmemimi @joybones @derederest @myusernameispie @mothmans-favorite-lamp and @n0nb1narydemon (yes I did find a way to level up the coin gluing!) and of course @5ftjewishcactus who encouraged me when you really shouldn't. Sorry I couldn't fit in everyone's suggestions!

[gureishi]

Saeyoung + 13? Or Saeyoung + 11?

[417]

Of COURSE, my friend~

Oh boy, this one was fun to do. I really hope you enjoy it ♡

thirteen: left your mark on me

Saeyoung X Reader, T, words: 2643

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

It’s the first time Saeran has ever texted you.

Technically, you think—heart pounding—that’s not true. Him texting you was, you suppose, the catalyst for everything that’s happened to you over the last few months. But the Saeran you know now—the quiet, tired boy who’s just recently started saying hello to you when you show up at his home—never. Certainly not.

Your hands tremble as you swipe to open his message. Something’s wrong, you think, because why else would he reach out to you? You feel your heartbeat in the roof of your mouth and say a prayer in your head. Be okay be okay be okay be okay…

“Come over,” says the text.

What?

“Is everything okay?” you text back with one hand, already tripping across your room, grabbing a jacket. Be okay be okay be okay be okay…

He answers immediately. He types fast, like his brother.

“Yeah,” he says. You let out the breath you’ve been holding. “Come talk to him. I don’t want to.”

You pause, one arm in your jacket. Come talk to him? That ambiguous phrase could mean so many things, and god, you want to know more, but you can’t want to press him—that he reached out at all is a huge step, one you wouldn’t dare jeopardize.

“Be right there,” you text back, stuffing your other arm into your jacket, slipping into shoes. You keep your phone in your hand as you throw the door open, taking the steps two at a time, but he doesn’t text you again. Of course he doesn’t—he’s said what he needed to say.

You put on loud music in the car, feeling the need to drown out the sound of your heartbeat. You roll down the window even though the wind blows your hair into your eyes, making it hard to see. You go over the messages again and again in your head: talk to him, he said. Talk to him about what?

Your music pounds over the speakers, rocking the car a little, and you grip the steering wheel slightly too hard. You’ve just missed rush hour and the traffic is dying down, so you make good time, driving just the tiniest bit over the speed limit. He’d scold you for it, you think—he’s always admonishing you for driving too fast, even though he pushes his fancy little cars to their limits on the empty dirt roads around the bunker. Hypocrite.

You take the exit, follow the street as it loops round and round, make the turn-off onto the unmarked road that leads to his home. The stars are starting to come out now.

You slow down as you see the bunker looming in the distance; from the outside, it’s ominous, and yet it fills you with an inexplicable warmth, flips your stomach around.

You shout the password at the garage without stopping, grinning as the first door opens for you. You half-expect to find him here, body mostly hidden under one of his cars, mysterious tools littering the ground around him. He’s often here when he’s sulking—today, though, the garage is empty, dark and dank. You pull into the one parking spot he’s left open for you—as far as possible from his cars, dressed for nighttime in their little protective hoods. I can park, you think grumpily. He doesn’t trust me.

But you know this isn’t true, and it’s confirmed again as you slip out of your car, keys in hand, and step cautiously toward his main door.

“Welcome,” it says to you in it’s robo-voice.

This is new.

“Šukran,” you say.

And without any further prompting—without questions, or quizzes, or nearly impossible translations, it opens. Almost as if it recognizes the sound of your voice.

Huh.

You kick off your shoes, tossing them into the jumble by the door. Saeyoung’s are heaped in a pile, some upside down and sideways; Saeran’s are lined up nearly beside his, in a perfect line as if to say “look, this is how it’s done.” This makes you smile.

Neither twin is in the living room. There’s a light under Saeran’s door, but you leave him be.

Anxiety building in the pit of your stomach, you pad down the hall in your socked feet. Saeyoung’s office is dark, but there’s light on in his bedroom. This, by itself, is unusual—without you here, it’s rare that he goes into that room at all.

You knock softly on the door, and when he doesn’t answer you push it open.

“It’s me,” you call softly, squinting as your eyes adjust. The room is as bright as the rest of the bunker is dark; all the fluorescent lights on are, starkly illuminating the black and yellow decorations. There’s barely any empty space on the walls, and it reminds you of his mind—so crammed with thoughts that there’s no place to rest.

In spite of his near-inhuman senses, he doesn’t see you at first.

He’s sitting on the floor, back propped against the side of the bed, headphones over his ears. His eyes are closed, knees tucked up to his chest. He looks small, like this—like you could scoop him up in your arms and carry him away.

“Hi,” you say, a little louder.

He jumps, eyes flying open, headphones slipping off one ear. He makes a spluttering noise that could be “huh?” or “hi” or just “haaaaah!”

You smile.

“Saeran didn’t tell you I was coming, then?”

“N-no, I…Saeran?” He blinks up at you as though he doesn’t quite believe you’re there. It’s then that you notice the sunken-in look about him: his eyes are clouded and sleepy, a little red-rimmed. His cheeks are pale.

You sink onto the floor beside him; you copy his posture, tucking your knees to your chest.

“Saeran told me to come talk to you,” you admit, looking down. You’re not sure why, but now that you’re here, you feel a little embarrassed. “So I did.”

“He…he…” Saeyoung looks lost for words. A part of you—a little bitter, self-conscious part—wonders if he wishes you hadn’t come. As if he senses what you’re thinking, he spins abruptly to face you, sitting cross-legged. He moves fast: in an instant, you’re almost nose-to-nose. “Sorry,” he says quietly, and you feel his breath on your face; your cheeks burn. “I’m soooo happy to see you, kitten. I was just…ah, surprised.”

It’s hard to breathe with him close like this. You bite your lip.

“I’m happy to see you, too,” you tell him.

And you are. His hair’s a little messed up, like he’s been running his hands through it, and there’s a sparkle in his eyes now—though he’s still got that harrowed, tired look about him.

“I, uh…” He looks down, his face reddening a little. “I was actually wishing you were here, earlier. I should’ve just called you myself.”

He pushes up his glasses and rubs his eyes with one shaky hand.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s wrong?” you ask.

He sighs, and you feel like maybe he’s been half-holding his breath all day.

“Not really,” he says.

“Saeyoung.”

He peers at you through his fingers; you feel you must look foolish with the stern expression you’re making, but he smiles.

“Oh, I just adore you,” he groans, now dropping his face into both hands. “I can’t resist you, you know.”

“I know.” Gently, you place a hand on his knee; he twitches in response.

“It’s something silly,” he warns, voice muffled by his hands. Suddenly, he tips forward; you realize what he’s doing just in time and shift your weight so his head lands on your shoulder. His breath is on your collarbone now, and a shiver runs through your body.

“I’m sure it’s not,” you say.

He exhales again, and fleetingly, you wonder if he’s doing this on purpose—breathing on the exposed skin of your shoulder just to tease you. Even gloomy like this, he can’t resist the urge to try and rile you up.

“I guess I sort of…realized something,” he mutters, voice low. You have to tilt your head down to hear him. 

“Yes?”

“Having Saeran here is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he murmurs. He’s almost whispering, as if he’s afraid to be heard. “One of the greatest,” he adds, grazing your wrist with his thumb, calloused and rough and wonderful. 

You hum your affirmation, not wanting to interrupt now that he’s talking.

“But…” He trails off as if he’s not quite sure how to explain it. His head is still on your shoulder and you can’t see his face; with your free hand, you gently brush his hair off his forehead. “My whole life,” he continues, a little more confidently, “I’ve just had one thing I’m trying to do. Everything I’ve done has been about making sure he’s safe. Now that I’ve got him, I…”

“Don’t know what to do next?”

He twists his head sideways—like a cat, you think, seeking out attention. You tangle your hand in his hair, pulling it a little, and you swear he purrs.

“Yeah,” he admits, voice breathy. “I’m not sure what I’m…here for, now.”

“Saeyoung.” You say his name firmly—something has dawned on you. You straighten abruptly and he pulls back if as startled. He’s still got that weary look, like he’s spent the day like this, buried under a pile of his own thoughts. “Saeyoung, has anyone ever asked you what you want before?”

“What do you mean?” He sits up straight too: faces you, fingers still gently gripping your wrist.

“Listen,” you say. “I know you want to live together with Saeran, and now you do. And you want him to be safe and happy. But aside from those things, what do you want?”

You can tell he’s puzzled; he cocks his head thoughtfully.

“I don’t, um…”

“Try to think.”

“I mean, I…”

He’s got this sort of helpless look about him, and you can’t take it anymore. You take his face in both your hands, gently holding his cheeks—which are flushed, almost feverish. Touching his face makes your body tingle.

“Let’s start small,” you tell him. His eyes are so big and bright behind his glasses and you feel a strange impulse to kiss his eyelashes. “Tell me one thing you want right now.”

His eyes lock with yours and then you see his face flush—if possible—even darker. His gaze trails down your face, lingering on your lips.

“Well…” he lilts, tilting his head to the side. “There is one thing I wanna do, but—I mean, ahh, I would say that I’m thinking about…”

“I’m gonna help you,” you whisper, hands still on his cheeks. “Tell me what you want and I’ll make it happen.”

His face is red—oh, so red.

“Well, the thing is, I…I really want you to kiss me,” he murmurs. Finally. The buzzy air between you was becoming almost unbearable.

You lean forward and he waits, patient, still, longing. He’s already so close; you ghost your lips over his and he melts into you instantly. You swipe your tongue over his bottom lip.

When you pull away he’s panting, eyes cloudy.

“Good,” you tell him. “What else do you want?” 

“I…ah…” His voice sounds almost slurred: he’s overwhelmed, you think, by the way you’ve taken control. There’s a sort of dazed smile dancing over his lips.

“Tell me,” you urge. “Think of this as practice. I’m gonna teach you how to ask for what you want if it kills me, Choi Saeyoung.”

Oh, the look on his face is wonderful: delighted and spellbound.

“I want, ah…um, th-this,” he says—which isn’t really a request, but it’s a start. He takes your hand in his and guides it upwards, pushes your fingers into his hair.

“You want me to pet you?”

“Yeah, like…like how you did before.”

You comb your fingers through his messy curls, separating the strands with your fingertips. And you face is still so close to his, and he looks so hopelessly adoring, so you lean forward and kiss him again: once, quick and soft.

“Can you, uh…can you do what you did before? With my hair?” he asks weakly. What you did before…? 

Oh.

You tangle your fingers in his hair a little more roughly, pulling it, and he squeaks and kisses you again, this time with unbound enthusiasm. You feel like you’ve unlocked a secret weapon.

Hand buried in his hair, you kiss just his lower lip, then the tip of his nose, his cheek, his jaw. You trail kisses down the side of his neck and he inhales sharply.

“Will you do that again?” he asks.

“This?” You kiss his neck again, gently, just under the curve of his jaw.

“Y-yes, but um…harder.”

Interesting. “Do you want me to?” you ask him—because this is practice, after all; you’re helping him—not just satisfying your own curiosity about how much he’d squirm if you just…nibbled him a little.

He giggles, high-pitched and awkward. “Mmmm…yes, I want you to,” he mutters, and that’s enough for you.

You take the smooth skin between your teeth, biting down, and he yelps. You were right—he does squirm, wiggling around like a fish. You suck the skin into your mouth, biting a little harder.

And by the time you pull away he looks dizzy; there’s a beautiful, silly grin on his face.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” you say softly, touching the already-reddening skin with your fingertip. 

“I…think I like that,” he says, with some surprise.

“Good job,” you tell him, opening your arms—he eagerly leans into you, rests his head on your chest. “That was, uh…good practice.”

He laughs, warm and open and sleepy, and you wrap your arms around him.

“Excellent practice,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna need a lot more practice, though, so…”

“I’ve got you,” you tell him. You plant a kiss on the very top of his head and he hums. “I want you to start thinking about other stuff you want too, though. Okay? Life stuff.”

He gets comfortable, snuggling sleepily into you. He’s exhausted himself worrying, you think; he needs to power down that gigantic brain.

“Aaaaanything?” he sings, his tone lighter now, more relaxed.

“I mean…” Oh no.

“I want a hundred cats!”

“Saeyoung.”

“I can get them and squish them all and have them all sleep in my bed with me?!”

“Saeyoung…”

“And make a cat army and ride into battle on the back of a giant cat?”

“No.”

“Heeeeey,” he whines, and you squeeze him tighter, stroking his beautiful, messy, overwrought head. “You said anything.”

“Within reason, honey.”

He murmurs something only half-coherent about horse-sized cats and nuzzles into your chest. You wonder how much he’s slept in the past few days, stewing over his future. It’s normal to worry about these things, you think—but for Saeyoung, who’s never once thought about his future, it’s nearly impossible.

But this is what you want for him. You want to see him make choices for himself—to learn how to put his happiness first.

“One cat,” you murmur into his hair. “Let’s start with one cat.”

He hums, head heavy.

“Three,” he mumbles. “One for each of us.”

“Sure, baby,” you tell him, curling a lock of his thick red hair around your fingertip. He’s so soft and helpless like this—dozing off curled up in your arms, humming softly as you pet his head. “If that’s what you want,” you say, “I’ll make sure it happens.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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[local-spoon-does-a-thing]

Found (Part 2/2)

[(Bayverse) Optimus Prime x Reader]

A/N: Woooo it’s finished! This part is going to mostly be about Optimus and Reader interacting. Hope you enjoy!

You can find the first part here!

Summary: You and Optimus Prime have a conversation under the starry night sky.

Soon enough, it was time to sleep and recharge. As the Autobots went into their alternate forms to recharge, your footsteps automatically led you to Bumblebee’s vehicle form as you had slept inside there for the past few years. Just as you opened the car door and sat down on the front seat, you were suddenly ejected out and had landed against the hard, rocky ground. You let out a small growl and turned around, only to witness Bee letting Cade, Tessa, and Shane entering inside. Oh, so they were allowed to sleep there but not you? Your eye twitched with annoyance but before you could call him out, Bee’s radio suddenly turned on.

“Turn around, bright eyes~” You knew the song all too well as it was the classic song, Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler.

You listened to the lyric that was played and whipped your head behind you. Optimus was in his truck form, his door open for you. Ohhh, right. You’ve forgotten that he was going to speak with you later. Seems like “later” was right now. Letting out a tired sigh, you were hesitating to walk to him. The nervousness drowned you once more like it had earlier. You still couldn’t figure out why you were nervous. Were you worried that you had lost your place in his spark? No, that was ridiculous. Why would he? It seemed like you were waiting for too long since Bumblebee turned on the radio once more and another old classic song played.

“Listen to your heart

When he’s calling for you.

Listen to your heart

There’s nothing else you can do.

I don’t know where you’re going

And I don’t know why,

But listen to your heart

Before you tell him goodbye.”

You looked back and glared at the sneaky little car, narrowing your eyes at him before walking to Optimus. As you got inside, a strong sense of nostalgia hit you like a truck. You remembered all the times that you would sleep, talk, and drive in here. Like the gentlebot he was, Optimus gently shut the door for you while you made yourself comfortable for one last time. Neither of you said a word. What were you supposed to say to someone you haven’t seen for a long while? A generic “hey” or “hello” was too lame and awkward. Damn it all, why did this have to be more complicated than it needed to be?

“[Y/N],” The old Bot spoke, “There are many things I wish to talk to you about, but it would take time, and unfortunately for us; time is the one thing we no longer have.” You remained silent, not knowing how to respond to that. Optimus was expecting something to be said from you but after a moment, he continued. “You are silent. That is unlike you. Is there nothing you would like to tell me?”

That was far from the truth. Like he wished to, you as well wanted to talk about many, many things. But you had a feeling that if you were to even try to get a word out, everything would just spill and flow out like a waterfall. Overwhelming emotions would just be thrown back and forth, incoherent words would spit out. You wouldn’t know how to deal with it and you doubted that Optimus would know.

“That...that’s not true. That’s not true and you know that.” You felt your throat start to clog up and tighten. Your eyes stung as tears threatened to fall. Damn it, now wasn’t the time to break down. It wasn’t your fault for feeling this way, you knew that. But if this was going to be your last time together with him, you didn’t spend the whole time crying your eyes out. The night could only go for so long and you hated it.

“I...I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to say first. I’ve always dreamed and imagined what I would do if I ever get to see you again. I thought that I would be excited and we would just talk about what’s been happening and what changed. But now, I’m...nervous? Scared?” You sighed. This wasn’t going like how you wanted it to plan. “I don’t know what I’m feeling. But I do know that I don’t want to lose you again. The last 5 years were torture to me. We...we lost Sam to the damn corrupt organization. I was forced to leave my home since Bee and the others weren’t the only ones being hunted down. I missed you, Ratchet, ‘Hide, Sam- and I don’t even know if my parents are still alive! I don’t- I don’t understand! I can’t understand anything!”

By now, the tears were pouring out. Each word took your breath away and you began rambling about how everything had broken you. Your sharp inhales turned into shaky sobs. You buried your face into the palms of your hands as you just couldn’t stop crying. Your whole world was spinning and turning upside down and you couldn’t take it-

“[Y/N], stop. Breathe. You need to breathe.” His voice was finally heard. Optimus had tried calling out to your name multiple times, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t hear him. Once your rambling had discontinued, he took a couple of seconds to gather his thoughts before speaking again.

“I understand that you have gone through a lot, I truly do, and you are not the only one who has felt this way. There has not been a single day gone by where I do not worry about you. If I had only known that this would happen...I wouldn’t have run away. I would’ve done everything in my power to protect you.” He told you. His soothing voice managed to help you calm your breathing and you continued to listen to what he had to say. “When this is over, I can't promise that your life will be able to go back to normal. But I can promise that I do not plan on leaving you any time soon. And if for some reason that does happen, I will find my way back to you. No matter how long it takes.”

And you knew that whenever Optimus makes a promise, he never breaks it. Every word that he said held meaning in them. You lifted your head and looked at the radio. Your eyes were red and puffy from all the crying, which you still had yet to stop, your face was slightly pink, and your hands were soaked from the tears. You haven’t even noticed that you’ve been repressing your emotions until the flood gates had opened.  Goddamn, it felt good to get everything off of your chest. With your breathing being much more stable, you laid your forehead against the steering wheel and closed your eyes as more tears were shed.

“I missed you, Boss Bot.”

“And so have I, Tiny Girl.”

The two of you remained there in comfortable silence, along with your occasional sniffs from your stuffy nose. A couple of minutes have passed by and neither of you said anything. Instead, Optimus adjusted his side-view mirrors slightly upwards towards the sky. It was a clear night sky, no clouds to be seen. The stars have been revealed and they were as clear as daylight. Whenever you had your sleepless nights in the past, you would usually come to him and he would tell you about his home planet, Cybertron. He told you about his glorious moments during the war but made sure not to get too into detail. Perhaps, stargazing one more time shouldn’t hurt.

“I recommend looking out the window, [Y/N]. The stars are clearer than ever.” Optimus said as he rolled down the window.

You opened your eyes and as you looked and poked your head out of the open window. When you turned your head upwards, your eyes widened in astonishment. It had been too long since you looked at the stars since you were too busy trying not to get yourself killed. A graceful smile slowly formed onto your lips and your whole face lit up. At that moment, Optimus saw the bratty little teenager he knew and loved.

“Hey, Optimus? Um, is it ok if you change out of your alternate form? Just for a bit. I want to see you…” Your voice quieted down when your sentence started to drift away.

Optimus didn’t want to accidentally awake the others from their recharge, but the puppy dog eyes he received from you told him to do it. Without another word, he transformed back to his original form as you steadily held onto him, trying not to fall. He kept you sitting on the palm of his hand and looked behind him. Good, no one was awake. Or so he thought. Hound had been awake for most of the time, briefly listening to the conversation between you and the Autobot leader. From what Bumblebee had told him, he knew that you two were close. But actually witnessing the bond you two had from his own eyes; it gave him a warm feeling in his spark. Sure, he displays himself as a bickering wrecker, but he deeply cares for his comrades. And seeing you finally enjoying yourself and being happy made him happy. With peace in mind, he slowly fell into recharge, awaiting for the next day.

Optimus slowly walked away from the camp so he was able to get a bit more privacy with you. He perched you on top of his shoulder and you balanced yourself. As he walked further away, you looked up as the bright moonlight shines upon the two of you. It felt like you were back in your teen years and damn it felt good. Once you two were far enough, he slowly sat down on the dirt floor with a bit of a grunt. He was getting old but not old enough. The weight of everything that had happened, spanning from the war to being hunted down by humans, was starting to take a toll on his body. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve told him that he was starting to act like a tired dad.

You sat down on his shoulder when suddenly, you felt something uncomfortably poking your back. Wincing a bit, you grabbed whatever was making you feel uncomfortable and to your surprise, it was your emergency gun. Throughout the whole day, you’ve forgotten that you kept one. Optimus turned his head towards you and once his optics landed on the gun, he almost flinched away. Let’s just say, despite his massive size, he didn’t like any weapons too close to his head. Also, the image of you holding a gun was something that was too strange for him and he did not like it whatsoever. To him, it was equivalent to giving a 5-year-old a rifle.

“[Y/N]...why do you have a gun?”

You turned to him as your eyes met with his glowing blue ones and a mischievous smile slowly crept onto your face.

“Oh, this old thing? Well, I did manage to steal it from one of the Cemetery Wind soldiers during one of our encounters. I’m pretty much a pro at using guns now.” You boldly said as you twirled it around your finger. 

There goes your inner arrogant self. Unfortunately for you, your little twirling trick almost led to you dropping your gun. You caught in time just as it flew out of your hand. Optimus deadpanned at you and had the urge to roll his optics. Yeap, even when you were in your twenties, you were still somewhat a brat.

“Well then, little pro, I’ll have you know that the safety is off.”

He smirked when he saw the semi-panicked look on your face and went to immediately check it, only to find out that the safety was, in fact, not off and he just wanted to mess around with you. To his amusement, you groaned and whined, almost like you were having a tantrum. A quiet burst of laughter erupted from him and his body slightly shook.

“I know that it is not my business to pry in, but aren’t you too young to be using a weapon as dangerous as that one?” He asked once he had calmed.

“Eh, I’ve grown. I mean, I’m already in my twenties and honestly, I did not expect to spend my early adult life as a fugitive with giant alien mech robots. I guess you can say that I’m no longer little.”

“Perhaps. But you will always be my little one.”

The both of you smiled at each other as you both wished for the night to never end. Then, a recollection of what he said earlier popped into your mind and your sincere smile faded. 

But when I found out who’s behind this, he’s going to die.

“Optimus? Do you really plan on killing the person behind all this chaos? The person who organized Cemetery Wind and KSI...are you really going to kill them? Does that mean you hate humans now?”

Oh no, has he frightened you? Once his face fell, he averted his gaze from you and stared at the dark horizon. Suddenly, he became serious. He had never wanted this; he doubted anyone did. But the humans had forced him into this twisted game and it was either he finally made his move or watched all the people he most cared about die.

“Both Autobots and Decepticons are Cybertronians. Both came from the planet, Cybertron. I fight the Decepticons for a reason, but that does not mean that I hate all Cybertronians. The same goes for your species. I do not hate all humans, but I do hate the humans who forced us to play their little game. If we do not do something about it, you will not be able to return to your parents and we will not be able to gain the peace that we deserve. There can be no winners or losers without a fight. I’m sorry, [Y/N], but this is just the way how things work. If there were any other options, I would’ve taken them.”

You stared at him in awe. He was right. This was a fight for survival, a fight they never wanted to be in. What kind of leader doesn’t lead their team to victory or even try to? The look on your face softened and you slowly stood up. Optimus looked back at you to watch what you were doing, but he was only met with surprise when you pressed your forehead against his. He closed his optics and did his best to reciprocate the kind gesture.

“Well, I’ll have you know that no matter what happens, you’ll always be my favorite Bot. Uh- don’t tell Bee I said that, by the way. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“Duly noted.”

The two of you spent a bit more time together under the stars before he went back to the campsite to recharge, much to your dismay. You protested multiple times even though he kept reminding you that the team had a big mission day tomorrow and that they were leaving early in the morning. He did not want to see you with low energy tomorrow just because you were being stubborn with sleeping. As he gracefully transformed into his vehicle form, you had a not so graceful landing with the seat cushions. Your betraying body forced a yawn to escape and you (badly) covered it up with a fake cough. Of course, that didn’t stop Optimus from saying “told you so.”

“But Optimuuuuussss! I don’t wanna go to sleep!” You whined. “What if I wake up and see that you’re not here? What if you get taken by Cemetery Wind? Or-”

“[Y/N], I assure you that I will very much still be here when you wake up tomorrow. And if by some chance Cemetery Wind does manage to find us, I will wake you up. We have a long day tomorrow. Please get some rest.”

You didn’t say anything else and continued to sit there, staring down at your lap. The night had gone by too soon for your liking. Despite Optimus’s reassurance, that didn’t dull down the worries that filled your head. Just when you were about to complain once more, the radio turned on and played a tune you knew all too well.

“You are my sunshine

My only sunshine.

You make me happy

When skies are grey.

You’ll never know dear,

How much I love you.

Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

It was a tune your mother would always sing to you when you were still a little kid. You didn’t know how he knew that was one of your favorite songs, but you weren’t complaining at all. In comforting defeat, you lied down on the cushions and stared at the ceiling above you.

“Goodnight, my little sunshine.”

“Night, Papa Bot.”

Checkmate. The truck then slightly rumbled and shook out of shock and surprise. You guessed that you managed to catch him off-guard, something that you’ve well mastered. He sputtered through the radio, trying to get words out. Now, this was better than any reaction you’ve seen from him. You laughed and laughed and laughed to the point where you were holding your stomach. Once your laughter died down, you patted the seat and waited to be whisked away.

“ ‘Papa Bot’? Really?”

“I love you~”

A tired sigh came from him. You were such a confusing child.

“I love you too.”