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13uswntimagines · 4 years

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Your Ass Is Out of This World (Kelley x Reader)

Request: alex or kelley or sonnett x reader where they've been dating for a few years R is an astronaut for NASA and she gets to go to space

Author’s Note: Special thanks to @literaryhedgehog cause without her, none of this would have happened.

Kelley wasn’t quite sure how she had ended up standing next to a dive bar sipping a lukewarm beer on a Friday night. In her defense, Ali and Ashlyn had convinced her it would be fun and had promised to pay for the Uber rides both ways. It had been fun for a while, dancing with them to some old 70s songs on the light-up dance floor, but half an hour ago they had disappeared off into a hallway somewhere, and she had no intention of third-wheeling (she knew she should have convinced Alex to join them). But she also wasn’t going to leave without them, because she wasn’t convinced either of them were sober enough to take any kind of transportation safely (someone needed to be there to make sure they didn’t puke in someone’s car).

So here she was, standing by the bar waiting for her friends’ sexcapades to be over, nursing her drink. The clink of a glass settling in front of her caught her attention. She blinked at the bartender. “I didn’t order another one,”

The man’s lips ticked up and he shrugged. “Lady on the end paid for it. Said you looked sad,”

Kelley looked up, following the man’s eyes towards a woman standing a few seats down the bar from her. She was also standing alone but was dressed as though for a different event altogether. Kelley had embraced the 70s theme of the bar slightly, wearing a jumpsuit and a scarf around her head, but this woman had just thrown a white NASA shirt--like the one Kelley got for her little cousin at Target-- over a pair of black jeans. As she bobbed her head to the music she met Kelley’s eyes and smiled.

Kelley took that as her invitation to approach. Kelley’s eyes traced her form, lingering on the white material. She didn’t know those came in adult sizes...

“You must be a star, I can't stop orbiting around you” Kelley smiled charmingly as she approached you, setting her beer on the bar beside you and settling in the seat to the left of yours.

“I do believe I was the one to buy you the drink…” you said, your lips twitching as you tried to keep a serious expression. “Shouldn’t I be the one throwing pickup lines here?”

“You bought me the drink, so I get to be the one to woo you. I’m Kelley, are you from Mars? 'cuz I wanna explore you with curiosity.” Kelley said, wiggling her eyebrows at you, enjoying the light blush coloring your cheeks.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, “that was terrible. I mean really good but absolutely awful.”

“At least I got you to smile, but you still haven’t told me your name.” Kelley laughed, taking a sip of her beer. She was prepared to lay on the horrible pick up lines for your entertainment.

“I’m Y/n,” you said, putting down your drink and holding out your hand, “pleasure.”

“They call me the milky way...Pleasure You Can't Measure,” Kelley smiled, shaking your hand as you laughed and pulling you a little closer “Why look at the moon, if I can’t touch it? Why look at your lips, if I can't kiss them,” she said, winking so you knew she was completely joking.

“How do you know so many of these?” You said, shaking your head in awe. “ All I know off the top of my head is ‘do you work for NASA? Because you’re out of this world!’”

“Ah, a magician never reveals her secrets,” Kelley whispered conspiratoryly, bringing her hand up to cover her lips. “but my team and I have definitely had flirt offs for bonding nights,”

“Your team?”

“Yeah, I play soccer for the US and Washington,” She shrugged as if it wasn’t a huge accomplishment.

Your eyes widened and you nearly spat out your drink. “Didn’t they, like, just win a World Cup?”

“Yeah, No biggie,” Kelley said, side-eyeing you as she took another sip.

“No biggie? I’m surprised you don’t have a swarm of paparazzi shadowing you, that’s incredible! Weren’t the USWNT like the most successful US team in soccer?’

“Hm, there’s not enough drama for them, but we don’t mind. How about you? What do you do beautiful?” Kelley hummed.

“Oh. I work for NASA,” you said, gesturing at the shirt. “I can’t wait to bring some of those lines back to work.”

“What??”

****

“So do they at least give you a good choice of flavors? So you don’t get bored and stuff?” Emily asked from across the table, licking her dripping I cream cone.

When your girlfriend decided to introduce you to the team after their match against Colombia, you were quite surprised she had chosen an ice cream shop as a venue. But with how food motivated the youngins seemed, you realized how appropriate it was.

“I mean,” you said, your spoon suspended in the air as you blinked at Emily, “ice cream isn’t the only thing we will eat. I’m going to be on the station for like 8 months. Ice cream is not a balanced diet.”

“But it’s the only one they sell in the stores. You don’t have to lie cause the veggie lovers are here,” The defender said, leaning across the table, as though it would prevent the rest of the table from hearing her.

“Babe, you literally love most veggies too,” Lindsey rolled her eyes, using her thumb to wipe a spot of chocolate ice cream from Emily’s nose.

“Actually, I heard they’re a pretty good selection of dehydrated fruits and veggies and MRE’s and Tortillas and stuff. Plus I get to take a few things from home…” You mumbled, leaning back.

She couldn’t be serious right? There was no way she thought you were supposed to sustain yourself on horrible freeze-dried dairy products for that long. Not to mention, freeze-dried ‘astronaut’ products for the most part weren’t actually possible to bring to space, with how crumbly they are. You were more likely to eat actual ice cream on the space station (less chance for an errant crumb being inhaled or destroying an important piece of equipment) than that gift shop garbage.

“Oh yeah, MRE sounds way more likely than just eating the stuff they literally label as being for astronauts…” Emily said, rolling her eyes. “What does that even stand for? ‘Must reject Emily?”

You opened your mouth to answer, eyebrows furrowed, only for Kelley to nudge you softly.

“It’s not worth the fight babe, trust me. Not the brightest lighthouse if you know what I mean,” Your girlfriend made a swirling motion with her finger next to her temple.

You leaned in closer so your lips were nearly touching her ear. “She’s not serious right?”

“I never joke about ice cream,” Emily answered seriously.

You blinked at her, looking to your girlfriend who just shrugged and raised her eyebrows.

“I’m, I’m not sure if they have a flavor rotation system for ice cream flavors. We haven’t been… briefed on that yet,” you nodded seriously.

…...

“Can you hear me?” Kelley said, tapping her fingers impatiently as your face appeared in the video call.

“He- -utiful,” You smiled through the glitchy computer screen. Your waving was broken up like a bad claymation. You leaned in to make out the fuzzy figures standing behind your girlfriend, assuming she was at camp or something.

Normal long distance sucked, but literally being off-planet really made things difficult. It wasn’t like Kelley could just text you when she missed you, or randomly call you when she missed you at 3 am. Sure, she could email and you made a tremendous effort to schedule calls once a month, but it was still incredibly difficult (and slightly weird that a NASA tech dude had to monitor each call to make sure the connection stayed up). And sometimes even the best video-calling technology had issues. Like today (when a giant satellite or piece of space trash would block the signal).

“Are you hav- -un at -amp?” You asked, grabbing your floating water pouch pushing out a sip sized water drop.

“Yeah, it’s great,” Kelley said, watching you munch on your water. When you first got on the station you sent her pictures of artwork you made out of different drops of colored water- specifically making a giant water ‘soccer ball’ for her. Then you tried to boop it around and ended up losing control, amusing all your crewmates who watched you trying not to run into too many walls. “We’re looking forward to playing against Brazil on Friday, should be brutal.”

“We’re set to be ov- Florida on -day, so I’ll try and tune into the ga-. Catch a nice - view,” You nodded, wiggling your eyebrows (which looked more like you having a seizure due to how badly you were pixelated).

While Kelley wasn’t entirely sure what you were saying, she went ahead and nodded. “Let me know what you think!”

“Wh- color -it are you w-ing? Y- look -uper s-xy in the -ue,” you said, floating up in a ‘draw me like one of your french girls’ pose.

“You’re favorite one,” Kelley said, winking at you.

“-es!!” You cheered “-ake p-ture -or -“ the screen flickered dangerously for a second. Before a wobbly picture returned.

“Babe you’re breaking up, I can’t tell what you’re saying. Y/n. Are you there? UGh. I love you! We’ll talk soon.”

“-ove y- -oo”

Kelley blew a slow kiss to her camera before she heard a deep voice saying “Sorry ma’am. The connection was lost. Y’all still have five minutes on your scheduled call- Want me to try calling again? See if the signal improves?”

“Yeah,” Kelley shifted, rubbing the bridge of her nose as typing sounds echoed through the speaker. How she was going to make it through four more months of this she had no idea.

“What if like the ship was attacked by aliens or something,” Sonnett whispered from her left, staring at the blank screen with real trepidation.

“Not possible ma’am,” she heard him laugh. “But I doubt I would have the right level of security clearance to know.”

“great.”

Kelley grabbed a pen and marked a day off the calendar hanging on her wall. So much for ‘phone call with Y/n.’ She sighed. Just a few months to go.

****

Gravity fucking sucked. It was disorienting and heavy and made you sick to your stomach. Space station alums always talked about re-entry and how bad that was, but you thought sitting in a NASA hospital bed while your equilibrium readjusted was way worse than your fireball craft plummeting into the ocean.

“This fucking sucks,” You groaned, again throwing your hand over to pull out the IV. You hated how hard it was to move (and how you actually had to hold up a cup of water to get a drink but that was beside the point).

“Whoa babe, I know you’re a little out of it right now, but that has to stay in. Just try and relax for a little while,” Kelley said, grabbing your hand and kissing the back of your knuckles.

You frowned at her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Don’t wanna be here. Wanna be home with you.”

“I know, but you gotta stay here until the re-entry symptoms have worn off a little more,” She said again. She knew that you weren’t going to be 100% when you stepped out of the spacecraft, but she hadn’t expected you to be so out of it. You were sick to your stomach and entirely unable to walk without assistance.

The doctors assured her that you would be fine (residual effects from not being in gravity for so long and the impact of the landing or whatever), but it was still difficult to watch. It didn’t help that you were a horrendous patient.

“Just watch the game. The US is even in Blue,” Kelley tried to coax. Even she was beginning to grow restless. But you couldn’t leave until you could keep down solid foods.

“I don’t want to watch. You’re not in it,” You said, grabbing the remote from her and turning the television off. Then you tried to set the remote in the air, but instead of hovering like it should have done, it dropped to the ground.

“Alright, commander Y/l/n. It’s dinner time,” one of the NASA hospital nurses said, bringing in a tray for you. Kelley thanked them as they left since you were too dazed to think of it.

“God this food sucks, I hate jello ” you grumbled, lifting the spoon in front of your face (fully expecting it to float so you could take your bite) and dropping it as you want to open the pudding packet instead. “I just want a big juicy cheeseburger. With bacon and onions and-“ You trailed off, your mouth watering at the thought. You hadn’t had proper food in 8 months, and it had been your major cravings food.

“A side of diabetes” she scoffed, picking up the discarded remote and spoon, “And are you going to keep dropping things everywhere?” She asked, carefully filling a spoon with chocolate pudding and guiding it to your mouth.

“Fuck Newton. Things are supposed to float,”

****

You loved the soft skin behind Kelley’s ear. It was so smooth, and it always smelt like a mix of her perfume, shampoo, and something inherently Kelley. It was a bonus that your exploration of the area always sent a shiver down her spine. You ran your nose along the skin there, nibbling on her ear before moving down her neck. Leaving little kisses along your path. Kelley sighed, sleepily scratching your scalp and tilting her head to the side to encourage you to continue.

“You,” Kelley said. “ I like you.”

“Hm, I’m glad. It would be kinda scary if you were doing this with someone you didn’t like,” you mumbled against her skin, unwilling to part with it for even a moment. Kelley giggled at the tickling sensation. How you still had so much energy after you had thoroughly worn her out getting… reacquainted she would never know.

“But what do you like most. Tell me, babe,” You said, moving your lips a little lower, towards where her shoulder and neck met.

“I love… your ass. It’s out of this world.” She said sleepily, reaching around to grab her favorite asset of yours.

“Well, it has been,” You laughed, pulling away reluctantly so you could look her in the eyes.

“Shut up you goof,” She rolled her eyes, grabbing a pillow and whacking you lightly. You fell over dramatically, pulling her so she was on top of you.

“Hm, I’m your goof,”

“Yeah. You are. And babe?” She smiled down at you, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

“Hmm?” You hummed against her lips. She leaned back to look you in the eyes, one forearm across your chest and her other hand beside your head supporting her.

“No more space travel for a while?”

“Pinky promise,” You said, wiggling your hand so your littlest finger connected with hers.

“Good. I can’t believe I was dating someone from TEXAS for a while.” Kelley pretended to shudder. “Jus think, one of your coworkers might have been a Houston dash supporter!”

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #literalhedgehog #kelley o'hara x reader #kelley o'hara imagine

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hansolmates · 4 years

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jjk; off-league

summary; you decide to do a little boudoir photoshoot for yourself—a little sexy lingerie, some bunny ears, maybe even a little nudity to make you feel more body positive about yourself. that little photoshoot doesn’t end up being for yourself anymore when you accidentally send those sexy pictures to your stupidly hot, stupidly talented childhood friend who you haven’t spoken to since middle school graduation. pairing; photographer!jk x fem!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers!au, flangst, mutual pining, feelings of insecurity and body image, suggestive language, nudity w.c; 6.2k a/n: i was feeling a lil meh about this fic after finishing it but a month later it finally makes its debut! for @btsghostiewritersnet BGW Bingo Bash! today’s trope is “childhood friends to lovers” which surprisingly isn’t a favorite of mine so it was definitely a challenge to write!

“C’mon, I need your opinion. Deadass. Don’t just say shit to make me feel better.”

“Gimmie those nudes, baby girl,” Johnny makes an impeccable fuckboy impersonation, making you feel a little squirmy to your stomach.

It’s an hour away from being the ass-crack’o-dawn and your impromptu pin-up photoshoot just needs the sexy-star-of-approval from your best friend. Johnny Suh is also up for reasons unmentioned, but you had a feeling his pretty boyfriend is fifty percent of the reason.

You look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your frame against the black bodice of the sheer teddy. The only parts that are fully concealed are the parts that don’t matter. The sheer bodice reveals your pert nipples concealed by a thin black mesh, coupled with the deep V in the sweetheart neckline, accented by a little black bow in the dive of your highlighted cleavage. The silky a-line raceways to a set of black garters hugging your thighs, barely hanging onto a pair of lace thigh-highs.

It doesn’t leave you butt naked, but enough to make you feel confident about yourself. These pictures are for you, and Johnny. And Johnny’s boyfriend if he’s being nosy.

You tug off the silk bunny ears from your head, flinging it somewhere in your room. The wire started to dig in your brain, giving you a major headache.

“Sending them now,” you hang up and start compiling the pictures in a folder on Google Drive. Once that’s done you copy the shareable link, sending it to Johnny’s number. It happens all so fast, and you feel kind of giddy. As you were posing for the camera, taking your time to find all the right angles, you felt good, you felt sexy in your little get up. Channeling your inner Ariana Grande was one of your childhood dreams, your fifteen year old self would be proud.

Five minutes pass, fifteen, and by the twenty-five minute mark you’re pissed. What’s taking Johnny so long?

Makeup scrubbed clean and face bare, you shuffle in your duvet, far too tired to be waiting up this long. Punching in his number once more, you cry, “Hey! Why haven’t you looked at them yet?”

“What?” your friend’s voice sounds pebbly through the line. Was Johnny sleeping? “You never sent them!” he whines tiredly.

“No, I definitely sent them!” you pull the phone away and keep Johnny on call, ready to prove him wrong.

But to your surprise, the last message you sent to Johnny was this afternoon.

The most recent message is to a person named John Kook.

You scream.

Johnny screams back at you with an equal amount of force, “What the fuck? Did someone break in? Are you being mobbed? See, this is why I wanted to put the baby monitor in your room—”

“Worse!” you’re well prepared for any break in, but not for this. “I sent my pics to the wrong John!”

“Well… is he at least cute?”

“I mean, in the fourth grade he looked pretty cute with that front tooth missing,” you find your output of frustration, your bunny plush, pulling it by the ear and hitting it against the bed. “His name isn’t even John! It was just his English name for a silly project we did in middle school. This is so embarrassing, all I can picture is a twelve-year-old Jungkook mortified from sexual harassment. I basically sent him nudes!”

“Tasteful nudes.”

“I’m gonna die.”

“He’s gonna die, of happiness.”

Jeon Jungkook was a classmate from elementary through middle school. Time and time again was he the object of your affections, from the first grade at the roller rink to the speech he made at graduation. But really, who cares? You’re old and have a job, and it’s not like you’ve communicated with any of your former classmates.

Your horror amplifies when the Delivered receipt is changed to Read 3:41AM.

“Fuck! Fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget he saw it!” you cry, “does he still have my number? What if he deleted my contact, would that be even weirder?”

“Girl, stop.” Johnny sighs, and you can already picture him running his thumb between his brows. “This doesn’t change anything, alright? You two don’t know each other anymore. Block his number and go to sleep.”

Johnny leaves you alone after that, and you’re left alone to mull over the implications of sending Jeon Jungkook your nude photoshoot.

You do block his number, knowing that waiting for a reply would drive you nuts. The one thing that you do which is possibly worse, is look him up on Instagram.

Of course, he’s stupid hot.

He doesn’t seem to like being on the receiving end of the camera however, in favor of his timeline being filled with romantic shots of the beach and city. In between the picturesque views and watercolor sunsets do you see glimpses of him and his current life. You can’t help but smile when you see him with his brother and parents during his college graduation, easily towering over all of them. He looks tall with fluffy cocoa hair, big pearly whites gleaming proudly at the camera. He grew up well.

To torture yourself even more, you even look through his story. Twelve hours ago, he was at the gym lifting weights. Normally, you’d be disgusted by people trying to show off their grunt faces drenched in sweat, but of course Jungkook has to have on a silly smile and pump his fist up after he deadlifts. The sweat clinging to his shirt is also a high plus. His gorgeous display of abs has your hands fluttering over your own belly. Maybe you need to exercise more.

Four hours ago, you see him and a pretty woman with their cheeks squished together, using the puppy filter. Of course he has a girlfriend.

Reluctant, you open up your Google Drive and scroll through your photoshoot. Deflated, you frown at the pictures that once made you beam with pride, picking at every little detail that bothered you. You really can’t believe you sent these to Jeon Jungkook, no longer a fourth grader with one front tooth, but a man way out of your league.

By the time you will yourself to sleep, the sun peeks from the horizon, telling you to move on.

“Hey Gyu,” you tiptoe over to the table much too small for Mingyu’s frame. The string bean is slumped over his iPad pro, drawing intently at some chibi OCs. “Got a plot for that one?” you ask, pointing at the little pink and blue creature decorating the screen.

Mingyu grunts in reply, obviously engrossed. It isn’t until you slide him a matcha frappe from Starbucks that he becomes intelligible, muttering a “thank you” as he blends with his pen.

Sensing that it’s going to be awhile before you get through to him, you take your usual rounds around the front desk and lobby of the cosy photo studio. There’s pretty pictures of Mingyu’s work, along with the other employees Minghao and Hoseok. Each section of the wall features a different taste of each person’s interest. Mingyu is a divine lover of soft bed sheets and hot tea, many of his photographs and paintings featuring cafes or perfectly messy beds you’ve seen on hotel advertisements. Minghao is a tasteful artisan, splotches of color retaliating against neutral backgrounds. Finally, Hoseok manages to find balance in the people, large cityscapes telling both large and small stories.

“Alright,” Mingyu’s deep voice forces you to curl your head, where he’s sipping at his drink with haste. “What’cha here for?”

You frown, “Don’t you remember? I told you last week I’d be stopping by to get my photos developed,” you gesture to the Pentax in your hands, an heirloom from your great-aunt. While you did take digital photos for sending them to Johnny, the ones you wanted developed were taken side-by-side with the film camera. You figured that film would give a little more authenticity to your photoshoot.

“Shit, that’s today?” the camera falls like deadweight, slapping against your sweater as you watch Mingyu frantically look through his digital calendar. He looks at you, dejected. “How many prints?”

“I don’t know, maybe like six. Or eight?”

“That’s gonna take too long, I’m heading down to Hidden Grounds for a vision meeting at two.”

“Alright, I’m free all day. What about after?”

“Nah, you came all this way. I can just let the new guy help you.” and Mingyu makes a show of cupping his hands in the direction of the open hallway, “Yah, Jeon Jungkook! Get your cute ass out here!”

The Pentax around your neck suddenly feels like weight akin to a two-ton boulder, and you surge forward, not caring that the corner of the table is digging into your belly. “Mingyu,” you garble, and Mingyu is shell-shocked by the desperation in your eyes. “Isn’t Minghao around or something? Or I can come back another time? These photos are really personal and I don’t feel comfortable having a stranger see them.”

“What? We’re professionals, don’t belittle us.”

“No, seriously,” you whine, you tug at the collar of his denim jacket, noses practically touching. “These pictures are different. My tits are out and my legs are spread—”

“—interrupting something?”

You hear some shuffling, and you turn around to see Jeon Jungkook’s back, comically turned to face the entrance.

And damn, he did have a cute ass. Nothing is going to hide the glory in those jeans, absolutely nothing.

“Hilarious,” Mingyu drawls, and you push him away. “Forget it, Kook. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger develop her photos.”

Sensing that it’s safe to turn around, you watch as his black bangs flutter as he faces you. You hope your body language doesn’t betray how you’re really feeling, because you are a mere mortal and you’re weak in the presence of god-like figures.

“Oh, what a relief then,” he smiles at you, and his voice sounds like honey. If there was malice or surprise in his tone, his good-natured expression betrays it. “Because I’ve known this friend since elementary school. We go way back.”

You ignore the burn in the back of your head, as you are positive Mingyu knows you’re hiding something.

“Really, what a coincidence.” Mingyu replies carefully, and you feel utterly stuck between these men and their banter, locked up like cream in an Oreo cookie.

Nothing argues against Jungkook as he easily weaves through the thick wave of awkwardness, hands reaching out to touch your camera. “Wow,” he marvels, holding the object in his hands, “my dad has one of these.”

“A-ha,” you take a step back, only to bump into the corner of the table, again. Ouch. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I’m actually busy today so I can come when Mingyu’s free–”

“Oh, I thought you were free all day,” Mingyu drawls, looking up through his lashes as he sips languidly at his drink.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says good-naturedly, as if Mingyu just didn’t out you. “We got a lot of catching up to do anyway, c’mon.”

Jungkook moves to place a hand in the small of your back and that’s enough to get you to rev up. Refusing to let any contact get between the two of you, you zip ahead down the familiar hallway, turning your head to catch Mingyu grinning with all canines, shooing you with his fingers like a puppy.

You send Mingyu a stream of “fuck yous” into his inbox for later, unwilling to settle with this curse. Busying yourself with your phone, you avoid eye contact with Jungkook until you reach the dark room. The red light turned off at the top of the doorhenge signals that the room is not in use. Jungkook makes a move to open the door and that’s when you pounce, blocking the doorway with your small body. It’s comical, really.

Jungkook raises a brow at you, but says nothing.

“I really can wait, Jungkook,” you steel yourself, forcing a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you developing my pictures—”

It’s then that his pretty cupid’s bow unfurls into a full-fledged grin. “Girlfriend... you’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“Fuck, well I had to!” your face is as red as the dark room’s alert light, now on because Jungkook flicked the switch and he’s between your arm to unlock the door. Your hand brushes his as you both reach the knob. “I’m really really sorry I sent those pictures. They were for Johnny—you remember Johnny Suh from English class? And I saved you in my contacts as “John Kook” so it was an honest mess up.”

Jungkook hums, so light that the breathiness in his chords flutters your grip on the knob. He forces the door ajar, and you’re left to follow him in the dark room, cluttered with solutions and fancy equipment.

“Thought so,” Jungkook shrugged, giving a one-over at the materials in the room, mulling over his next steps in developing your film.

You’re still petrified at the doorway, holding your Pentax between both hands like a lifeline. Jungkook’s head lols to you, and you get a pretty view of the way his bangs brush over his forehead, Adam’s Apple bobbing. His expression is a little tired, but overall unreadable. He sighs your name, lethargic.

“We’re already here, so might as well get this done,” he gestures to the camera in your vice grip. “Do you wanna pick the shots or do you want me to?”

He’s already seen the digitals, what’s so different about getting a couple prints? With a slight pout you drag your feet over to him, relinquishing your camera. “I’m thinking you have a better eye for this than I do.”

“You think right.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Cocky, but what you’ve seen on Instagram definitely justifies his sentiment. Jungkook pays no mind to you, busying his hands with the various containers in front of him, measuring the solutions for the developer, stopper, and fixer. You were always entranced by the process of developing film, especially in highschool where their photography club holed themselves in the darkroom like a secret lair.

“Alright,” he pops open the canister, carefully laying out sections of the film in groups of four. “Want me to pick a random one for a tester?”

You frown, “At least put some thought into it.”

“Always,” it looks like he already decided way before he popped the question, immediately taking a negative and placing it in the carrier.

His fingers are nimble as he takes the time to clean off the dust and any debris that could potentially ruin the image. Then he turns off the lights and begins the process. You dive around him, trying to keep your distance but still too curious to leave his side. If he’s annoyed he fails to show it, in favor of humming whatever song comes from his Echo Dot.

You always got the solos in choir. You wanted to reminisce, but you’re too nervous to say it out loud.

Even though it’s his job and he’s being a professional, you romanticize the experience, watching as he carefully puts the print in each liquid process. Your image blooms to life, and you feel your stomach churn as the photo develops before your eyes.

After a final dip in the solution stopper, he places the first product in a bath of water. Even though you are mere centimeters away, you can clearly see the image of you swimming around the container.

“Alright!” Jungkook hangs the finished picture on a pastel pink clothespin, tacking it in place. “Whaddya think?”

Your breath catches in your throat, feeling heavy as you look at the image of you reflected in the glossy paper. You’re perched on your bed, a hand splaying between your legs as the other hand toys with the silk bunny ears. You’re leaned slightly, giving an ample view of your cleavage. However, the image of you is definitely different from being blown up in comparison to the negatives, and you squirm uncomfortably at your full display.

“I look,” you bite your tongue, internally debating whether you like it or not. Not to spare Jungkook the theatrics you shrug, “It’s good.”

The lack of enthusiasm seems to dissatisfy Jungkook however, as he has to take a double take and look back and forth between the image and the real thing. “What’s wrong with it, do you think Johnny’ll not like it?”

“What?” you furrow your brows, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Johnny has a boyfriend. I just wanted his opinion. This photoshoot is for me, y’know? Just something to make me feel good about myself.”

Jungkook’s lips morph into a little ‘o’, and you see a little bit of the child you once knew in the way he’s mulling over the situation.

“Then can I give you my honest opinion?” Jungkook clips off the half-dried photo, holding it between you two. “Stop thinking so hard about every little thing you don’t like about yourself. If I was your boyfriend and you gifted this to me, I’d be creaming my pants. You look fucking sexy, all grown up since you cried in the fourth grade.”

You’ve just been flung a litany of words you have no brain capacity to digest. Along with that, the immense heat you didn’t know you’ve been suppressing surges to your belly, low and simmering. Jungkook stares at you in earnest, despite his sudden gush of honesty, you don’t know what to say. There’s a dash of pink staining his cheeks, betraying the confidence he previously displayed. He stiffens when you don’t reply immediately and moves to clean his materials, his sudden bout of bold honesty quickly shrinking.

“Y-you know,” you look down at your feet, “the only reason why I cried in the fourth grade was because you told me Santa wasn’t real.”

Jungkook softens, tilting his head. “Sorry about that.”

“Thanks though,” you gently reach for the photo in Jungkook’s grasp, looking at it without contempt. “But won’t your girlfriend be upset if she knew you were saying things like this about someone else?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you looked through the rest of my Instagram story,” Jungkooks cards a hand through his already mussed hair, splitting the ends. “You would see that she’s not my girlfriend, but my tattoo artist.”

For added measure, he wiggles his fingers in front of you, revealing pretty ink and silver bands across his knuckles.

“Oh,” your voice is feather light, and you’re sure you’re drooling as you stare far too long at the letters that mark his hands, curious as to what they symbolize.

“So, as a singleton telling another singleton,” he continues, “I know it’s meaningless if you don’t believe it yourself, but I’m telling you, you’re attractive.”

“Thanks,” you hold the picture tightly in your grasp, eyes flickering to the negatives in the room ready to be galvanized into a full-fledged picture. “Why don’t we wrap this up, huh? We can continue another time.”

If he notices how much the paper wilts in your grasp, he doesn’t comment on it. “Are you sure? I know it takes a lot of time, but I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure,” you force a smile, one hand on the lightswitch. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?”

Jungkook swallows, nodding mechanically. “Okay.”

“It was really nice seeing you, Kook.” you blurt before you could chicken out, letting the room bask in darkness a little longer so he can’t see your flustered state. “I’m not even going to downplay it, you look great.”

You half-expect a cocky remark, or a little chest pumping from the compliment. At the sound of his nickname however, 4th grade Jeon Jungkook resurfaces and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, so do you,” he replies easily, sending you a soft smile and opening the door for you.

The door closes shut behind you and you exhale, patting your cheeks and willing for the chilly air to calm you down.

When you get home that day, you shuck off all your clothes and crawl into bed. You cry out when the metal framing of your bunny ears stabs you in the back, and you fling it to some unmentionable part of the room. You reach for a bag of half-opened sour gummy worms, flipping open your MacBook to continue streaming the soft magical girl anime you’ve been hooked on these past few weeks.

Not even Sailor Uranus can distract you; however, by the time it’s dark and you’ve run out of distractions, you finally pull the plug and unblock Jungkook from your list of contacts.

Your phone buzzes, the incessant vibration relaying all the messages you’ve missed.

[March 12th, 3:53AM]

You: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/0343…

John Kook: ???

John Kook: you probably sent this to me by accident… sorry i clicked on it

John Kook: is it weird if i said you’ve done a massive glow up since the middle school dance?

[March 12th, 12:02 PM]

John Kook: are u mad

John Kook: you’re mad

John Kook: am i makin this weird by continuing to text you

John Kook: im making it weird.

[March 31st, 6:24 PM]

John Kook: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/049…

You tilt your head at the folder link, it was sent only a few hours ago. With a click, you’re enlightened to a set of digital photos. Your photos from your photoshoot, but not quite. They’ve been expertly edited, not too much to distort your looks, but only to enhance your features. A small, barely there smile creeps from your subconscious, ultimately touched by the gesture.

John Kook: sorry if i pushed too hard today.

Guilt overrides your nerves, prompting you to immediately press the call button on his contact. Not to your surprise, Jungkook’s light voice calls your name through the line after the second ring.

“Don’t be sorry,” you blurt, forgoing the hellos. “It was the right amount of push, I feel better, really. If anything, I’m sorry. I blocked your number because I was scared to read your reaction.”

You hear him sigh along the line, and you feel that breath ripple through your nerves, as if he’s right next to you. “It’s fine, I would’ve done the same thing.”

“The pictures you just sent, they’re really beautiful. You did a good job.”

“Thanks, I had a bit of help. I didn’t have to do much.”

“Oh, did Mingyu come back from his meeting?”

"No, I uh," Jungkook chuckles, and while you don't really know why, the sound is nonetheless pleasant. “It was mostly the lighting and coloring I fixed up. Didn’t need to do much since you already looked so pretty as it is.”

You choke on your saliva.

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you cough, “just choked on a snack I was eating.” he hums in reply, and you pray he doesn’t hear your stomach fervently retort that you haven’t eaten since lunch. “So, I think I’m up for developing more of the film. When can I drop by?”

“I’m free Saturday,” Jungkook chirps, “I have a shoot until noon but you can come anytime after that.”

“Sounds good, I’ll be there,” you clutch the phone with both hands. “I can bring lunch. What do you like to eat?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’m already buying for Minghao,” you lie, “do you like burgers?”

“I can’t say no to a good burger,” Jungkook’s smile feels almost palpable against the line, “do you remember our field trip to the national museum of history? We had burgers on the street!”

“Oh, those were so good,” you moan, fuzzy memories of a middle grade field trip resurfacing to clarity, “but you ate like, ten of them!”

“I still get nightmares,” he warns, “don’t let me go to bed like this.”

You giggle, letting your body meld further into your warm mattress. “Maybe I’ll just show up with ten burgers for you tomorrow.”

“I’ll throw up on you, try me.”

Minghao’s adjusting the frames on their display wall by the centimeter, and it’s pissing him off.

“Ah, it’s off,” he mutters to himself when you walk in, indicated by the electronic bell. He turns to you briefly, pulling a leveler out of his overall pocket. “Doesn’t this look off?”

“Uh,” you look towards Mingyu at the front desk, who is paying no mind as he continues scribbling on his iPad. You tilt your head towards your former college classmate. “It doesn’t look off from over here?”

Tacking the leveler on one of the frames, he whines, “It’s five degrees off.”

Mingyu puts his pen down to reach over the counter and grab the paper from your hands, steaming with the scent of fast food, “He’s been like this for hours, don’t mind him.”

He doesn’t even ask whether the food is his, Mingyu sees grease and he claims. Reaching for an oil-wrapped parchment, he unfolds the paper to reveal a handsome burger with all the fix-ens.

Barely satisfied, Minghao steps away from the art display. There is a sizable gap in the display, now divided between four artists instead of three. You wonder how Jungkook’s work will look amongst the other artists.

“Cute ‘fit.” Minghao mumbles, nodding approvingly at your clothes as he digs into the bag for his own burger.

You send a half-smile his way. If an outfit is Minghao-approved, that means you’ve gone above and beyond. At least, you tried to play it off like you didn’t try to look cute. It’s not like you’re intimidated by Jungkook, living with a major fifteen-year glow up. After all, he’s already seen more than you can imagine.

Mingyu takes notice, eyes going south to where your white blouse meets your cleavage. You hurl a fry at his face, “Eyes up here, perv.”

He scrunches his nose, lifting a greasy thumb to slide a manila envelope over to you. “Here’s the developed pictures. Intercepted Kook and I finished them this morning.”

You frown, “Jungkook’s not done with his photoshoot yet?”

“Oh, he’s been done.” Mingyu’s eyes roll back to one of the studios. “But I’m saying is, you got what you needed. So you can leave if you want,” but he grins at you, canines so sharp you feel his stare jabbing you in the proverbial neck. “Unlesssss you want to go in and say hi.”

If he has any inkling of what’s going on in your head, it’s definitely confirmed when your face turns hot. Damn body, you’re betraying me! With a flourish you grab the fries from under Mingyu’s nose, along with whatever’s left in the fast food bag.

Minghao’s smiling through his burger, knowing if he pulls any type of savagery his lunch would certainly be pulled from under his chin.

“Whatever you’re thinking, drop it or the burger will be going in your ass instead of out.” You mean to sound menacing, but the Min-squared and their boisterous laughter follow you down the hallway and into the occupied studio.

“Hey Jungkoo—wow.”

You’re sure you look like Alice, enthralled by the little wonderland she just stepped into. The set is beautiful, right out of a fairytale. It has a very old-romance vibe, like Morticia and Gomez Addams. There lay a couch made of the darkest, richest wood, with velvet red cushions covering the body. Across the floor laid hundreds of black rose petals, blanketing the floor in a sea of ebony.

“It’s for a wedding, gothic themed.” Jungkook supplies helpfully, still fiddling with whatever he was looking on his digital camera. He’s looking utterly soft in a matching grey sweat combination, something that would easily disgust you during high school, but unfairly works with him.

“The shoot must’ve been beautiful.”

“It was.”

“I uh, got this for you.” Your fingers start to sweat from clutching the bag so hard, and you place it on his work table.

He finally looks up from his camera, giving you a wan smile. “I thought you got those for Minghao.”

You mentally slap your cheeks, trying to ignore the way his smile made your stomach do somersaults. “He got his own. Your portion has a cookie in it, so.”

His cute teeth unveil themselves at the mention of sweets, and you can’t help but smile back at the familiarity.

The two of you take your time in enjoying your lunch, not meaning to stay but the very back of your mind hoping he’d like to share a meal with you. After all, Mingyu and Minghao are probably at the front relishing in your very obvious attraction. What can you say, first crushes never die.

Between sips of your milkshake, you’ve taken to flipping through Jungkook’s portfolio. There’s a myriad of different subjects: beaches, people, the occasional squirrel. Each section of the portfolio feels like you’re being transported to a new side of Jungkook and his artistry, and you ached to know more.

“Wow,” you point at an action shot of two girls in a dance studio, “this duo looks like Chungha and Hyoyeon.”

He swallows his (second) burger, having the audacity to sink sheepishly in his sweater. “It is Chungha and Hyoyeon.”

You nearly choke on your cookie. “That’s amazing.” you say breathlessly, looking closer at the image. In fact, the beautiful women photographed are famed hip-hop choreographers Chungha and Hyoyeon. You can’t imagine how good Jungkook must be to manage a photoshoot with them.

As proud as you are of Jungkook, it reminds you that since middle school you two have lived completely different lives. You wonder if Jungkook gets these kinds of gigs all the time, hanging around with gorgeous, talented people like himself.

Jungkook says your name once, twice. He looks at you concerned, and you’re melting in his large carmine eyes. If he notices your usual overthinking, he doesn’t say anything, and gestures to the section at the end of his portfolio. “This isn’t my best work, but it’s one of my favorites.”

There’s something familiar about this set. A playground with a busted swing set. Children riding on bikes and colorful class shirts. Ice cream melting on fists.

Thirteen-year-old you hanging on top of your middle school’s leafless tree, clutching your baseball cap as you shade yourself from the sunset.

“Was this the first time you took pictures?” you ask, thumbing the picture of yourself.

“Yeah. It’s when I decided it’s what I wanted to do the rest of my life.”

“I know we didn’t know each other that well and we’ve only recently connected but,” you give him a shy smile, “I’m really proud of what you’ve grown up to be, Jungkook.”

He looks like you’ve hung him the moon and stars, his half-eaten burger loosening in his grasp. His lips are parted cutely, like a kitten who’s just been offered a fresh glass of milk. You cough at the sudden pause in conversation, feeling self-conscious of your impulse confession. You don’t even have it in you to be disgusted when Jungkook hastily shoves the second half of his burger down his throat, tips of his ears pink.

Leaving him be, you press a palm to your cheek, looking at the wedding set.

Jungkook downs half a water bottle before he speaks again. “Y’know, it would be a shame to clean up this set already. It was kind of expensive.”

“Yeah,” you echo, standing up and kicking off your slippers. You kick your feet in the air, watching the black petals kiss across your ankles.

“I have an idea,” he wipes his hands on his sweats, “why don’t you go back home and get an outfit you really like. Lingerie, a cute outfit, whatever. Let me give you a photoshoot you’d love.”

You look up from your petal dance, balking. “Jungkook! That’s not necessary, I told you the photos I took were okay.”

“Yeah but, you didn’t seem entirely happy. C’mon, I got a camera and a beautiful set. Why waste it?” his hands naturally gravitate towards his charging camera, already turning it on. “I can do lighting, I know all your good angles. What’s stopping us?”

Really, what’s stopping you? Your hands fiddle with your open flannel, the soft material comforting you as you look across the set. You try to imagine yourself, your body draped across the velvet pillows and black petals. Would it look good? Would you feel good? You think back to how you felt the first time, how scared you were when someone other than Johnny would be looking at your photos. You remember how something weird and sour contorted in your stomach when you scrolled through Jeon Jungkook’s Instagram, no longer the little boy you knew but a man who could have everything he wanted—

“Stop thinking about it.” Jungkook suddenly snaps, and you break from your reverie to catch him looking upset. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him like that.

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinking that you’re out of my league.”

“Excuse me?”

“You were like this the other day too,” and he looks sad, and puts his camera down to come closer to you. “Why are you feeling this way. Is it me?”

“Not necessarily,” you huff, hugging yourself.

“Do you not feel beautiful? Do you not like your body?”

“No, I do.” you say to yourself, and you mean it. Even though there will inevitably be days where you may not feel one-hundred percent positive about yourself, you know at the end of the day, you love you and all its parts. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I had no problem letting Mingyu develop the photos originally, because he knew me in college and I was already sure of myself back then. But I guess when I sent them to you, I felt like I did when I was a little girl, y’know? Going through puberty, and worrying about what other people think.”

And it’s not like Jungkook teased you or made you feel lesser of yourself. In fact, Jungkook was the student you wanted to be when you were younger. Someone sweet and caring, and unabashedly confident about himself.

“I guess seeing you so successful and the fact that my stupid childhood crush came back from a time where I always felt low, made me feel a little insecure again.”

Something sinks in and you feel hyper aware of how crushed Jungkook looks at your declaration. “There’s no leagues, you got that?” he says quietly, walking so close that he’s hovering over you, sneakers brushing. “I get it. I get unsure and insecure just like you. Hell, I was nervous this morning, wondering if you’d really come. We may not feel insecure over the same things, but middle school wasn’t that great for me either.” He makes a funny face, and you feel a smile twitch across your lips. “But it’s okay. Because we’re human and we grow. But now, you are successful. You’ve grown from your time growing up and you’re a wonderful, powerful person. I’m proud of you too.”

“I know,” you mumble, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms wrap around you in response, holding you snug.

“And for the record, I thought you were the most beautiful person in the world in fourth grade. Even though my world was pretty small back then, I can say now that what I thought back then still stands true.”

You look up from his embrace, where he’s leaning down to press a slow, cotton soft kiss to your forehead. He backs up a little to read your face, and you give a tiny nod in response to signal it’s okay. Jungkook exhales in contentment, relaxing against your frame.

“Thanks, Kook,” you crack a smile, feeling your insecurities slowly evaporate. You feel better, light, knowing that these negative feelings are only temporary, and you’re not alone. Being in Jungkook’s arms, an honest boy turned man you’ve known all your life, it feels almost like home.

You two stay like this for a while. Exchanging feather-like kisses, feeling irrevocably young and hopeful. Suddenly feeling emboldened, you tug him by the strings of his hoodie to press a long, hot kiss to his lips. There’s a stutter, and you’re pretty sure Jungkook choked on his saliva at the sudden change of pace but you continue, letting Jungkook catch up and follow your lead.

“Wow,” Jungkook pulls away and his lips are shiny and flushed. Adorable. You think 7th grade Jungkook would be rolling in his Naruto sheets if he knew you two would inevitably end up together. Conversely, 7th grade you would be squealing in your kitten plushie, proud that you managed to nab your childhood crush to live out all the fantasies you’ve imagined since the 4th grade.

“Jungkook,” you let your flannel fall to the floor in a heap, only leaving your baby blue top in a thin ruched camisole. “I think I want to do the photoshoot. Can’t pass up these pretty petals, y’know?”

He runs a hand through his hair, gaping. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you press a wet kiss to his neck, “anyway you want me, baby. Full creative control. I want you to like this as much as I do, okay?”

With the permission to hold the wheel, Jungkook’s lightheaded and spinning. His eyes rake up and down your gorgeous form, wondering how many good deeds he’s done in his past life to earn a right just as this.

“In that case,” he presses a palm to your shoulder, pushing you to sit along the velvet cushion, “strip for me.”

#jungkook fic #btsghostiebingo #goldenclosetnet #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #bts fic #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader

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spencerscoven · 4 years

Text

— dreams of another

about ; Since that night in the office you wander onto Spencer’s mind at all times, like clockwork.

gif by saramichellesgeller

CONTENT WARNING: unedited, smut, oral sex (male&female receiving), choking, unprotected sex, cheating, angst

a/n: view part 1 here.

The second time it happens, it's only a week that passes before Spencer finds himself on the floor of the humid conference room, his limbs entangled with yours, while the cool air settles on the sheen of sweat coated on his forehead. In the corner of of the room, he watches the navy blouse discarded carelessly on the top of a chair, similar in color to the marks between your breast.

The third time it happens, he tells you it's the last time, with his back facing you and his eyes gazing at entirely nothing.

The fourth and fifth time, Spencer doesn't say anything in the tiny space of your bedroom as he overlooks the buildings surrounding your apartment, then all the way to the concrete foundation down below, studying how insignificant everyone looked. How unknowing they were to the moral wrongdoings happening all around them.

"You live so high up. I live four floors down from here in my own building." You listened as he said those fruitless words.

"What does that mean?" You questioned, lips pursing together while your finger nails caught on the creases of the cream duvet beneath you where he laid only minutes before.

“People like you are meant to fuck people like me.” He mumbles, smirking, the vibrations of his voice upheld by the enclosures of cheap plaster walls.

The only thing left to do was to watch as the muscles of his back contracted, dancing in the lines of the darkness with the patter of his feet coming towards you. You monitored the direction of his hand as it reached for the band of his briefs, the other already latched around your neck.

The sixth time it happens, it’s in the bounds of his own apartment where he presses peppery kisses along the sides of your face, assuring you in confidence that she wouldn’t catch the two of you there. And he reassures you the only way he knows how, his fingers plying at your zipper and kneeling like he would at an alter, guiding the arch of your hips closer.

Two weeks from then was when the phone calls started. You began to understand the pattern, laying awake until the sweet pinnacle of dawn where he’d whisper your name through the receiver, exhaustion tainted in Spencer’s voice when he’d ask, “how was your night?” before he began to speak. You’d listen to Spencer talk about the good and the bad. About his mother, vintage cufflinks, and the bookshelf he wanted. Sometimes about the glasses or earrings in the store had reminded him of you. Often about how pretty you looked latched onto his cock. You wanted him to want to keep you.

You wanted him to want you first, to touch you before you even had to lay a finger on him, to grab the back of your neck and kiss you first. Anything he could do to prove that he wanted this too. Something in your head told you it was wrong to long for such a furtive thing. But you found yourself willing to be second best anyways, head stuck below sub zero while you prioritized the taste of his lips along with everything else that made him, him.

So in the shadows this thing between the two of you remained.

And the team began to realize Spencer now had a thing with being late.

They also began to realize that you didn’t drink nearly enough coffee to warrant all of your disappearances.

JJ malignly embarked on the observation of the two of you during meetings, where you never met Spencer’s eye properly but unconsciously leaned your body towards him with each interaction. And all at once it made sense to her, why he was more drawn to his phone, departing from bed at night in preference of hushed ringtones, his growing fondness to late nights. They had never agreed to a proclamation of love, not even on the days she relaxed on his dingy apartment furniture. JJ figured it was his way of waiting on her to feel the same as he might’ve, when in reality it was Spencer’s way of making sure you still remained in his life.

It was a Tuesday when she let the structure of your sin unravel in the bleak corner of the hallway with Spencer, confessing “i know” and chastening him,

“How many people are you willing to hurt?”

With the unequivocal decision pinned to the front of his brain, Spencer told you he didn’t want to hurt anyone else during the last call the two of you shared at night. The words became lost from your ears as you feigned deafness, thinking about how stupid you were to take him in the only way you could, thinking one-third of him be adequate enough.

So you hung up before he said goodbye, and it was easy to do solely because if love couldnt suffice, hate would have to.

It was odd to overlook the call that came immediately after, your eyes unblinking at the white screen. The weeks after that only came to demonstrate that finding a home within someone was overrated, even if you knew who was behind the blocked numbers that caused your phone to viberate so often it would fall off your nightstand.

Little by little you figured you’d forget and move onto your own devices, exhausted by the ability that you still moved through life, yet experienced none of it without itching for him next to you. You lusted after the idea you’d wake up with the intensity of it all slipped from your mind, forgetting how his arms felt, skin, pulse, the sound of his voice, or the soft ringlets of his hair that continued to grow as you wilted.

A harder idea to get out of your head was if he was okay, followed by if he ever thought of you at the same time you thought of him. Did he know you wouldn’t have minded resigning to another team? Or that you considered doing it, even now?

Spencer spectated your life, the base of his throat becoming caught when he watched you get worse, speak less, become smaller. You’d shrunken within yourself. Months passed, with him having too many inquiries about you to Morgan, who always gave him a disappointing look, but told him about you each time. That you hadn’t been sleeping, internal clock stuck on keeping you up until the crack of dawn, your mind regressing backwards solely because of him. He gave up on leaving those stupid sticky notes in your books that said “call me!” or even the ones that asked if you were okay, asking if you able to stand on your own.

He watched you so long that he began to see you get better, more social as you expanded, becoming a part of the team again. You were different, but you were you again. It was a bitter pill to swallow when he took heed that your life no longer included him, keeping his lips sealed at any revelation that would show he was still devoted.

So it was dull-witted when he found himself outside the door of your apartment, swaying back and fourth because every night since the last call his world had been spinning faster and faster, trapping him inside as a prisoner. For weeks straight Spencer had awoken with the feeling of bile ready to rise out of his throat, your presence always lacking even if you controlled the beat of his heart.

He knocked. And thought about how angelic you looked when you answered, the confused expression not going unnoticed by him as a celebration sounded somewhere in his mind because you looked as if you weren’t expecting anyone else. And Spencer knows he’d collapse right then and there if you had been.

“I’ve been thinking— it’s not like I can really stop it— for months. It’s been around sixty eight days since we last spoke,” He began, taking you in, enstilling trust in his brain to get a photo of you so well that he could have it forevermore if you didn’t want him anymore. If that had ever been the case he’d leave. He’d leave the state if you asked him to.

“Why are you here?” You only had four words to say out loud, the rest buzzing around in your head safely, unauthorized to rise out of your throat.

“We never really said anything about it but I think we both knew how we felt.” Spencer leans closer just in time for his lips to land beside your ears, lighting a match inside your chest that had stayed extinguished for far too long.

“Speaking was never our strong suit, anyway.” You replied, your lips pursed while your arms took on a defensive stance, pushing him back gently.

You were shipwrecked inside, pushing him back again, this time firmly because you knew you couldn’t stop him from coming closer, even if you wanted to. You were at a standstill as his hands brought yours to his shoulders, drawing circles on your hip with the tips of his fingers. He was in your doorway asking if he was yours, not trying to eloquently wrap you around his finger.

Your limbs acted before your mind did, digits moving across his adam’s apple and holding tight, restricting his airflow like he had done to you so many times while he fucked you into the mattress. You gleamed at him with not much in your eyes, trying to remembering when you had tried to cross the thin line between love and hate for him. Spencer’s eyes were soft and adoring, a look which he had a tendency to give you. So you held tighter. And he did nothing, knowing you wouldn’t go far but willing to die in your hands if you truly wanted to.

“I don’t know if you deserve this anymore,” Your lips ghosted over his, reprimanding him that he’d forgotten that this had began in a game of adultery.

“I don’t.” Spencer’s voice came out as if he was parched and you had been refusing him of a drink. Your hands released his neck and instead grabbed at his jaw, allowing his lips to mend together with yours, unable to speak back.

“If I loved you any less, I’d be able to talk about it more.” He pulled away just enough to whisper those words.

“You love me?” You questioned, a bit timid in the way it came out.

“It’s more than that. I adore you. Worship, even.”

You felt yourself moving the both of you into your apartment, swapping the publicity of the hallway for the privacy closely afforded to you. Your bodies only got so far, pushing each other against the wall next to the enterence, Spencer’s hands helping to arch your body into his, hands pressing down the curve of your back.

You enjoyed feeling him subtly grind his hips against you while he let out little whimpers, remembering the way he was so vocal and sensitive, yet dominant when he laid between your legs. You drew in a quick breath as he bit down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw the red liquid that ran through your body, conflicted as to why it only drew you closer, want intensified.

“I missed you so much,” Spencer’s voice ghosted in the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking along your throat and collarbones, pushing the palm of his hand harshly against your damp cotton underwear, drawing a shiver from you. “Are lilacs still favorite flowers?”

His fingers played along your slit, the pads of his thumb pressing on your clit and rotating above the fabric, watching your hips jerk from the subtle pleasure.

“I think you missed me too,” Spencer held you, switching places so you now were encased between him and the wall, knowing that soon enough your knees wouldn’t be able to hold you up. His index and middle finger filled you up in a way only he could, the tips of them curving in his direction as he hit the bumpy ridge inside of you.

You held his shoulder, uncaring that your nails dug into the expensive button up he wore, admiring that he always preferred quality over quantity. Your face contorted in pleasure as his fingers only pumped faster inside of your vagina, only smirking at the sorry attempt of a nod you gave to answer him because he had rendered you speechless.

You felt the climb of your orgasm rise in your stomach, reaching all the way to the rest of your limbs, making them feel as if they were just static attached to your body until his fingers ceased, sensing how you clenched around them desperately. Your mouth opened, protests ready to fall out while he grasped the back of your knees, signaling you to jump so he could carry you to your bedroom.

“Why are you always such a tease?” You groaned, endearingly grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I can’t just let your greedy pussy swallow my fingers and cum from just that...” he tosses you into your sheets gently, leaning down to take your top off and throwing it somewhere to be rediscovered again.

He watches silently as you lift your hips off the mattress, panties sliding down your calves to your ankles, and finally off. Spencer gazes down at you, your jaw in his two hands, staring up with puppy eyes. He let a line of swears spring from his mouth, wondering why you looked so innocent when your hands were planted on his hips, licking the precum that made a wet patch on the side of his pants.

“Quite unfair that I’m the only one with my clothes off, don’t you think?” Your hands settled on his belt buckle, the jingle of metal filling the room as you undid the button to his slacks as well. Tugging him by the band of his boxers to lay on the bed with you, Spencer caught the cue and laid against the headboard. He trailed his left hand along your thighs, lifting you to straddle him as his right latched onto your breasts, squeezing.

“Please sit,” He said, taking a nipple into his mouth, “On my face.”

You sat in a slightly worried daze, Spencer catching the clue to just move you into the position. You found yourself facing the mirror at the foot of your bed, your ass in his face as he grabbed at your hips, trying to bring you higher and get a taste.

“Are you sure?” You apprehensively twisted your torso to eye him, taking note that the two of you had came across something you’d quite done before.

“Yes, I need you to.” Spencer reached his arm around, gently rubbing your clit, and feeling how your whole body relaxed from above him, as he repeated affirmations against your back.

You watched from the mirror, your ass propped up in his face and lips swollen. You could even see when you began the swivel of your hips into him. He didn’t need to say much else before you arched your back, planting your pussy right above his lips.

“You’re so pretty.” He whispered, before running his tongue flatly against your pussy.

Your hips jerked back and fourth, riding on the surface of his tongue that enveloped your clit, sucking on it harshly until he flatly ran it up. His fingers were back at work, touching the places where his tongue couldn’t reach. You determined that this position was now one of your favorites, your hands that were once placed on the tops of his thighs reaching for the bludge in his boxers.

You tried pulling them just far enough so you could begin to run your hands up and down his cock. Spencer’s tongue only assaulted your clit harder when you leaned down, allowing him a new angle so you could push him into your mouth, collecting the precum that had spilt, humming in delight.

Spencer couldn’t stop the thrusting of his hips upwards, burying himself deeper down your throat, both of your moans viberating off the atoms in your room. Your eyes wandered up as you watched, hypnotized at the reflection of you two. It made you wanna take his dick deeper, taking him to the back of your throat as you felt his cum ripple out.

Your orgasm only took a few more seconds to follow his, your moan muffled from your jaw expanded around his cock. Your hasty breaths harbored his while you saw stars. You were casted out of your stupor when you felt the palm of his hand rub circles into your ass, hand coming down in a smack.

“This fucking pussy has me whipped.” Spencer sighed, pressing a kiss exactly where his hand last struck.

When you positioned yourself back across his abdomen, you kneeled, kissing him. You felt him twitch under you from tasting himself on your tongue, reaching down to line up his cock to enter you.

Spencer stared up at you, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of you slowly descending your pussy on his cock. His hands traced the hickies that dawned on your chest, then to his on his lower stomach, watching how the two of you connected. These were marks of possession— ones that he could finally show off.

You rolled your hips against his, slowly circling them and allowing him to hit the most sensitive parts of you. You felt so much fuller than usual, the feeling taking your breath away. Nobody else could reach those heights that Spencer gave you. Maybe it was also because nobody else could occupy your mind like he could, either.

He pulled you down so the two of you could reunite your lips, wearing away at the callouses that had formed around your heart. His thumb drew slow circles on your clit, pulling your orgasm out so you could cum above him. It took a few more thrusts before he came inside you, continuing to fuck his seed back into you from below for just a while longer. When Spencer’s hips stilled, he kept inside, basking in the embodiment of you that wholly consumed him.

He silently traced the outlines of your features, your eye lids fluttering as he reached to them. His fingernails scratched your scalp im a rythem that lulled you into hazy exhaustion. You feel his stare on your face as it occurs to him that he was doomed from the start. You were a wonder to behold.

“Spencer?”

“Yes?”

“Did you forget all of the things I remember?”

“I don’t think I could even if I tried.”

masterlist

#spencerscoven #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #mgg #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x reader #angst #bau #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic

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ninzied · 4 years

Text

a kiss pressed to the top of the head.

Karen gets the call in the middle of their lunch hour.

She’s playfully tossing a fry in Foggy’s face, laughing at something he’s just said as she picks up her phone and looks down at her screen.

“It’s a Metro-General number,” she says, bemused. She looks up at Foggy and Matt. Both of them shrug. Anyone the hospital’s likely to be calling her about is already sitting right here in front of her.

“Hello?” she says into the phone. Confusion registers on her face first. And then she goes very, very quiet.

Foggy’s not able to make out what’s being said on the other line, but judging from Karen’s expression—Matt’s expression, too—it can’t be anything good.

“He what?” Karen puts a hand up to her mouth, and Foggy notices that her fingers are trembling a little. “Is he okay? Is—yes. Thank you. Yes, I’m going to head there now.” She hangs up, looking like she’s already a hundred miles away—or at least the three it will take to get to the hospital.

Matt puts a hand on Karen’s shoulder. “Foggy will drive you there,” he says.

“I will?” says Foggy. “I mean, yeah, of course I will, but what’s going on?”

Karen grabs her things, and Foggy rushes to follow suit, saying a hurried, “Thanks for lunch, I guess” to Matt, who waves them off and helps himself to one of Karen’s fries.

She’s silent in the passenger seat, gazing distractedly out the window as Foggy drives. He looks at her with growing worry, but every time he starts to speak, he’s less and less sure what to say. He’s never seen her so pale. He’s never seen her so determined to hold herself together.

There’s only one person he can think of that could get this kind of reaction from her.

The local station is on at low volume, and Foggy strains to hear anything newsworthy. But there’s nothing about shoot-outs, or robberies, or any other sort of public disturbance that could give him the information he’s looking for.

At one point, Karen reaches over and squeezes his hand. He squeezes back, and doesn’t let go until they’ve pulled into the emergency department entrance.

He ends up valet parking his car, wondering briefly to himself if he can charge it to the company card that they’d opened up last year. Considering what—or who—is waiting for them inside.

It wouldn’t be the first time, which is all he has to say about that.

A woman in scrubs looks up from her computer as they approach the front desk. “Can I help you?”

“Yes.” Karen clears her throat. “I’m here to see Pete Castiglione.”

“What’s your relation?” says the woman, searching his name on her computer screen.

Karen draws in a breath. “He, um—listed me as his emergency contact.”

The woman hands her a visitor’s badge, and then looks expectantly over at Foggy.

“I’m—his lawyer,” Foggy blurts out. He doesn’t know what’s landed Frank in here this time, but it doesn’t hurt to cover his bases. The woman raises an eyebrow, but thankfully doesn’t press him for any more details than that.

She gives them a room number and then points them through a set of double doors. They give an audible click before swinging wide open. The walk is short but tense, Karen visibly steeling herself once they’re just outside the room. It’s a sliding glass door, but the inside has been curtained shut.

“Do you want me to wait out here?” Foggy asks.

“No, it’s okay.” She gives him a wan smile. “Thank you. For coming.”

“Sure, of course,” says Foggy, attempting a small but comforting smile back.

Karen slides the door open and steps inside, drawing the curtain back behind her. Foggy follows her in, unable to keep from thinking about all the other times they’d walked into the Punisher’s hospital room together.

There are a few notable differences, this time around.

The first is that Frank Castle is not in handcuffs, nor is he strapped down to the bed. The only things attached to him are a few colored wires, snaking out from under his gown and winding up to plug into a monitor that’s beeping steadily above him.

The second is that there are no bruises on his face, when he turns toward the door and sees them there. He looks like he hasn’t gotten much sleep, but other than that, his face is clear—cleanly shaved, even. In fact, Foggy can discern no obvious injuries on him at all.

The only thing that hasn’t changed is Karen.

She walks straight up to his bed, past where the red tape would have been. Foggy sees her hand start to reach out for Frank’s, but then she’s pulling up a chair instead, taking a seat next to him.

“Hey.” Frank’s voice sounds a little rough around the edges, but that could also have something to do with the fact that he can’t seem to take his eyes off of Karen. “I didn’t—wasn’t sure I’d see you here.”

“Of course I’m here.” Karen has been making a similar assessment of his state, because the next thing she says is, “Where are you hurt? They wouldn’t give me anything specific over the phone.”

“’M fine,” he says, gesturing down at his leg. “Waiting on some x-ray reads. Didn’t even see the guy till it was too late. Wouldn’t’ve come in for this, but EMTs showed up fast, and I didn’t want to—you know. Make a scene by refusing.”

Foggy blinks, not sure if he’s just heard him right. Frank Castle. The Punisher. Didn’t want…to make a scene?

Karen is evidently thinking along the same lines as him. Her voice is carefully light as she asks, “Turning over a new leaf, Frank?”

“Something like that,” he says.

Frank’s watching her as she bites her lip and glances down at her hands for a moment.

“It’s, uh. It’s good to see you,” Frank says quietly.

Foggy can’t help but notice it’s the only thing Frank has to look away from her for. LIke he wouldn’t have been able to find the words if she’d been looking back.

“You clearly had my number,” Karen chides him, but gently. “You didn’t need to get hit by a car for an excuse to finally use it.”

The corner of Frank’s mouth turns up. “Figured you were more likely to pick up this way.”

She gives him a fondly exasperated look. “Seriously?”

“Nah.” Frank smiles sideways at her. “But this was as good a place as any to make the call. You know, for old times’ sake.”

She shakes her head at him, but her voice has gone soft when she speaks again. “And here I was about to say that we have to stop meeting like this.”

“Well, there were…” Frank swallows, looking back down at his hands. “There were some things I wanted to get right, this time.”

He looks like he wants to say more, but then his gaze shifts over to Foggy, still lingering awkwardly by the door.

“Are you, um.” Foggy holds out his hands, palms up. He finishes lamely, “In any trouble? Legally speaking?”

“Not that I know of,” says Frank. “Unless there’s something illegal about crossing the street when the light tells me to.” He squints up at Foggy, who laughs, and then immediately wonders if that was how he was supposed to react.

“Foggy was with me when they called,” Karen tells Frank. “He offered to give me a ride.”

Frank regards him a moment longer, then nods at him in a grave kind of way, which Foggy takes to mean thank you.

“It was nothing,” he says. It was Matt, actually, but Foggy doesn’t mention that part out loud. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He goes on standing there, watching the way Frank and Karen keep not-quite making eye contact in the small glances they steal at each other. “Right,” says Foggy. “Coffee, anyone?”

As it turns out, coffee is not really a thing that the emergency department has on hand. After several uncomfortable inquiries, he winds up with a cup the size of his palm that’s filled with lukewarm water, which he sips on in the waiting room.

Matt calls when he’s halfway through a crossword puzzle, much to Foggy’s surprise.

“How is he?” asks Matt, before adding, unnecessarily, “Castle.”

“Alive and kicking,” Foggy reports. “Well—to be determined on the kicking part, he might have a broken leg. So not a lot of kicking in the foreseeable future.”

“That’s good,” comes Matt’s voice after a moment. “I mean, that he’s—you know what I mean.”

“I do,” says Foggy. “And I’ll send him your best.”

“I’m sure that would go over well.” Matt lets out an audible breath. “Send them to Karen, too, okay?”

“Of course,” says Foggy. He pauses, wondering how long Matt has known. After seeing them together today, Foggy realizes just how obvious it must have always been, and marvels that he hadn’t picked up on it sooner. “I’ll keep you posted. See you tomorrow?”

“You owe me lunch,” says Matt, and hangs up.

Foggy’s on his third crossword when the double doors open, and Karen walks out—then stops, turning around before taking another cautious step forward.

Frank comes limping out behind her, dressed in his street clothes. There’s no cast that Foggy can see, but Frank has a pair of crutches in one hand, face set in grim lines as he sinks his weight back onto his injured leg.

Karen frowns and says something to him, gesturing at the unused crutches. He starts to argue with her, but she holds out a hand, a command in every line of her body. Frank finally relinquishes one of the crutches to her, and she helps to steady him as he positions one underneath each arm.

He pulls a face, but she only smiles at him as she touches her hand to his chest.

“Better?” Foggy catches her asking.

Frank says something that makes her laugh, and the sound of it seems to catch them both by surprise. Karen lets her hands drop, folding them carefully together, and she glances down for a moment, looking almost uncertain.

Frank is gazing at her with such quiet intensity that Foggy almost slides down in his seat and raises his newspaper up to eye-level. He feels like he’s intruding. But he also feels like he can’t look away.

Frank leans in, until his cheek is resting just over Karen’s temple, on the side that Foggy can’t see. But then his mouth brushes against the top of her head as he’s ducking back, and better does not even begin to describe how they’re both looking right now.

Foggy grabs his valet ticket, and goes to have the car brought back around for them.

#kastle #kastle ff #kastlenetwork

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fanfic-collection · 5 years

Text

Loki x Reader: Quarantine

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‘And this is Captain America, signing off, reminding everyone once again, stay safe, stay strong, and stay true to America. Please, buy only what is necessary, if you’re quarantined, stay home for the assigned days, get a lot of rest if you’re sick, take the necessary precautions, and we’ll get through this, we always do.’ Steve smiled, saluting the camera on his laptop then looked at Bucky.

Bucky gave a tired thumbs up.

'Signing off, I’ll see you all tomorrow.’ Steve clicked the end transmission button and the feed ended. 'That was really good Bucky, I really think we’re making a difference, I hope we can keep people calm in this trying times.’

Bucky raised his eyebrow and leaned back in the seat groaning as he covered his face, 'Are you seriously going to drag me through these podcasts every day?’

Steve stood up and stretched, 'Until the quarantine ends, it’s the least we can do for the public, so yes, yes I am.’

You snorted into your vitamin enhanced energy drink, watching the two super soldiers across the counter.

'Don’t start.’ Bucky muttered, looking at you, raising a warning finger.

You set down your glass and held up your hands defensively, 'Not a word.’

'It’s day two and I’m stir crazy already.’ Bucky groaned, running his hand through his hair as he stood up and began to pace.

The big screen turned on and Tony appeared, poolside with a margarita in hand, shades halfway down his nose as he squinted at his phone to see the three of you in the kitchen. 'Cap! Other soldier, teddy bear.’

'Why does he call you teddy bear again?’ Bucky asked, glancing at you.

You sighed and shook your head. The automatic kitchen doors slid open and the two norse gods walked, mid conversation, stopping only when they saw Tony on the monitor.

'Oh excellent,’ Tony continued, 'thunder bros, anyways, Steve, loved the pep talk, my stocks stopped their nose dive, they’re still dropping but not nearly as bad, I heard one of the local grocery stores even had toilet paper on the shelf too.’

Steve rolled his eyes, 'What do you want, Stark?’

'Can’t I check in? One quarantinee to another?’

'You’re pool side in Malibu.’ Bucky grumbled.

'And you’re in Stark tower with tons of friends in New York, your point?’

'Tony? Lunch’s almost done!’ You heard Pepper call from somewhere within the house.

'Yea just a second honey.’ Tony grinned, 'Quarantine is awesome, am I right?’

Thor grumbled, 'I don’t see why I have to be stuck in this building.’

'Thor, we’ve told you countless times, people are worried you could transmit the disease.’ Steve replied.

'No Midgardian illness is a match for me.’ Thor replied, fist on his chest.

Loki rolled his eyes, 'And yet, the disease may cling to you and travel to the mortals, brother. How our physiology is compatible to theirs is unknown, must we go through this again?’

You made eye contact with Loki and smiled softly.

Loki’s irritation seemed to fade somewhat and a faint smile touched the corner of his mouth before he turned his attention back to Thor, folding his arms.

'So are you guys going to have a party then?’ Tony asked, 'Wait, where’s Hawkeye? Two of you are missing.’

'Hawkeye and Nat are around.’ You replied. 'Nat was taking a nap last I knew and Clint’s… lurking.’

Tony shook his head before abruptly touching his phone, 'yes, what is it? Kid, I told you to only call in emergencies. What, wait, say that slower. You’re quarantined? Do you have enough supplies to get you through the next two weeks, just calm down. No, I’m on the phone with the other Avengers. Yes, most of them, the ones that are quarantined at the tower. Yes that includes Loki. Why do you call him Mr. Loki. Kid… Focus. Yes, ok good, you have supplies, yes you’re not sick, I know, Aunt May is pretty young, yes I know, she’s fine, you’ll both be fine, it’s just a quarantine, keep entertained with Cap’s podcasts, they’ll keep you calm, he posts them each day, yes you’re talking too fast for me to understand you. Kid. Peter. Listen to me.’ Tony sighed. 'Kid.’ He sighed again. 'Listen. I will hang up on you. Kid. Listen, stop it. Stop. I’ll send over a suit with groceries. Yes, I’ll send toilet paper. Yes, I know all the stores are out, I have connections.’ Tony smiled weakly, 'I got you covered, you’ll be fine. You’ll get through this. Now all of you, I’m hanging up and getting lunch with my hot date. Bye.’ The screen went black.

'That spider kid got quarantined?’ Steve asked, looking around the room.

You blinked, 'I guess so.’

Loki crossed the room, moving away from Thor and came over to sit beside you. He left a respectable distance, peering into your glass curiously before easing himself into the chair next to you.

'I could bring him supplies.’ Thor grumbled.

'Brother we have dealt with plagues, as has humanity before, if their response is to lock themselves away to deter the spread of it, we are not to interfere. Their healers, doctors, have made their demands,’ Loki looked up from your drink, 'We do not interfere.’

'We are protectors of humanity, we must safeguard the realm in whatever way possible.’ Thor urged.

'You cannot fight a disease with your hammer.’ Loki replied. 'Or are you suggesting culling the sick to limit its spread?’

Thor creased his brow.

Loki raised his eyebrow, 'Such action has been taken in the past and will likely take place in the future.’

Steve and Bucky watched Loki uneasily.

Loki continued coldly, 'Tell me brother, would you risk more lives or take them because you are uneasy with patience?’

'Loki…’ You said slowly.

Thor growled softly before turning and stomping from the room.

'He’s never patient.’ Loki muttered, shrugging.

You sighed and touched his forearm hesitantly.

Loki glanced down at you somewhat surprised. You slowly pulled your hand away as Loki’s eyes trailed your hand, watching where you had been and slowly staring at your hand where it lay a few inches from his arm.

Steve cleared his throat. 'Well I was thinking I might start drawing again, I haven’t had a chance to sit down and just sketch in a while.’ He managed a smile, 'Anyone have any suggestions? Maybe I’ll do some skylines…’

Bucky sighed, 'I haven’t had a lot of time to hone any hobbies.’

'Well now is a great time to start!’ Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder, 'C'mon, Stark is bound to have plenty of things lying around this musty old tower. Let’s go digging.’

You finished your drink, staring at the empty mug. 'Do you think there will be a culling?’ You asked, looking at Loki.

Loki shook his head, 'Not at all. Thor is too quick for action, this disease is easily controlled by your mortal means. Stay clean, take care of yourself and avoid too many people. The spies staying to themselves are smart, the three of you are the only regular humans in this tower, otherwise it’s nearly empty on the top floors. Between the soldiers and myself and my brother, you’re the only mortal really.’

You nodded slowly, staring at him with concern.

Loki carefully touched your hand, a bit of color rising to his cheeks, 'I doubt with the chemicals running through their bodies and my brother and myself and our genetic make up, we seem to be safe from this disease. I fear only for you falling ill, but we will keep you safe and even so, there are many more cases of recovery than there are fatalities.’

You nodded, 'Yea, you’re right.’

The black screen flipped on. 'What motherfucker, is stealing all of SHIELD’s motherfucking toilet paper?’ Nick Fury’s voice roared over the speakers as he glared out around the screen, staring down at you and Loki. 'Where is Rogers?’

You blinked, quailing beneath his glare. 'He went looking for art supplies, sir.’

'Someone got it in their funny little head that it would be a good idea to ransack the SHIELD bathrooms for toilet paper and now I got nothing to wipe my ass with. HILL, get me Hill on the line.’ Fury continued, barking orders at someone out of view.

Loki rolled his eyes, 'I don’t know what you expect us to do about it, we’re under quarantine.’

You snickered, fighting back a laugh.

Fury looked down at the two of you, 'Oh right, I’d forgotten.’ He sighed, 'Do I have any Avengers or SHIELD agents I can call into duty?’

'Not that I know of, sir. I’m pretty out of the loop.’ You waved your hand, indicating the quarantine.

'Fine, fine, carry on.’ The screen blanked out again.

Loki looked at you and you looked back at him before the two of you started laughing weakly. You both quickly looked away.

'Want to go check out the library? It’s going to be a long quarantine.’ You offered your hand to him.

Loki looked at your hand hesitantly before taking it, 'Certainly.’

It might be a long quarantine, but perhaps not a terrible one.

#Loki x Reader #ficbit #quarantine fic

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scribbling-stiks · 4 years

Text

Puppets Extras - Just a Bit of World Building

-Giving a creature a name gives it more power, hence why many of the creatures go unnamed

-Everyone's face is the flag of the country or state they are a resident of or were a resident of.

-If someone is not a resident of any country, they are blank until they become residents. ie. if they are born on a plane.

-If a person has dual citizenship, their flag will change based on which country they are in or stayed in most recently.

-The main visual difference between personifications and citizens is the eyes. Personifications have eyes that have a slight yellow glow, and the citizen's eyes are plain white.

-A second visual difference is that, for personifications, their flag's design can extend past their face.

-Simpler, color-based flags show up more vividly than the more complicated, picture-based ones.

-First-generation immigrants often, but don't always, keep their original flag. Second generations have fewer ethnic flags and third generations are completely based on their current citizenship.

-English is the language of international policies, hence why countries without a large population of English speakers can still communicate in fluent English

-Personifications and citizens alike can have the ability to do magic. The ability is not common.

-Personifications have stronger magic/more potential strength than citizens

-The states all have their own homes in their respective state. They only stay at the main house together during holidays or emergencies.

-The nickname "Mass-hole" came about during Thanksgiving when Massachusetts insisted on calling Pennsylvania "Penny." Eventually, Penn had enough and he shouted, "Shut the f*** up, Mass-hole!" It stuck and the states have used it ever since.

-All states know how to cook their regional food, and America knows how to cook any American based dish or popular dish that the states make.

-Some states are fluent in more than one language and America is as well. This is based on two reasons

>The current languages spoken by their citizens

>Any past mass immigration of foreign people

-Australia and New Zealand have met the states, but because of distance, they do not visit much

-The states call Australia "Spider-Man"

-Most countries have scars from a history of violence in their land. Russia keeps his arms covered because the scars on them are sensitive to touch. Most of the time, long sleeves are good enough, but if unavailable, he'll wrap them in dry, clean bandages.

-New York has a prosthetic leg. He lost his right leg and nearly lost the other during the events of 9/11/2001. His leg ends just below the knee and both legs are heavily scared. His prosthetic is life-like, and you wouldn't notice it was a prosthetic unless he exposes his legs.

-America made sure that all the states know how to swim. Hawaii is the best, closely followed by California and Florida.

-The monsters seen attacking Russia are not necessarily doing it for the same reasons.

-While America is gone, Dixie has attempted to take over his duties. Unfortunately, New York often has to get involved because of the arguments Dixie's involvement has caused with some of the other countries.

-Monsters can not perfectly imitate a person. The ones that are the most accurate at copying faces can not do it for long, and the mimicking cries of others always have strange distortions. Most of the monsters are imitating things to lure people toward them, but only have the intelligence of a wild animal.

-Most of the monsters that roam the North American continent are monitored by the personifications representing the different Native American tribes recognized by the Federal Government. These personifications do not typically interact with America or the states, but if worse comes to worst, they are willing to help.

-New York and New Jersey have the strangest relationship out of the states. The two are opposites but act as best friends. They will go from insulting each other to defending each other if anyone else tried to insult one of them. Jersey's more obnoxious tendencies are only tolerated by New York because he's New Jersey. If any of the other states tried blasting music into New York's office or room when he was on the phone, they would get a much larger reaction than just an annoyed look.

-Wisconsin is in charge of getting cheese, end of story.

-Most midwestern states know how to ride horses, and the southern states know how to grow produce and hunt.

-If someone finds a snake in the Big House, its Florida's problem to get rid of it.

>Alligators go to either Louisiana or Florida.

-During Hurricane season, the states that are heavily hit(Like Louisiana) get sick and are often bedridden until the damages begin to be fixed.

-New York handles most of the logistical things for his family.

-Florida was terrified the world was ending the first time he saw snow.

AND SOME MORE

America's magic runs on the same logic as Massachusetts, just to a lesser extent.

Nations heal the fastest, followed by states, and regular people heal the slowest. Sidenote: Texas, California, and Hawaii heal faster than the other states.

Alabama owns and modifies old cars. Most end up with rocket boosters attached. Indiana occasionally helps.

Countries(and states) all have at least one home in their country, but many have family homes centered between relatives. The larger the country, the more homes they own.

The idea that the USSR crumbled because of new freedoms giving to citizens is where I get my interpretation of Soviet. I read it as he was controlling when his kids were little, but once he realized his kids weren't happy, he backed off, and the USSR fell apart.

America was severely neglected as a child, so when he started finding states(small children) as a young teenager, he wanted to get rid of them. He didn't want them. But when he turns his back on Delaware, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey, their cries draw him back. They sounded so much like his own.

-"Daddy! Come back! Please." -"Where are you going? Why can't I come with you!" -"Daddy, wait!"

He vowed from then on to raise these kids as best as possible, and he made it a goal to do better than UK or England ever had. He likes to think he succeeded.

If a personification dies, their country crumbles. If the country crumbles, but the personification is still alive, they will become less powerful, but still amortal(meaning unable to die of disease or age).

Nevada and New Mexico are NEVER to be left alone together. Chaos ensues.

Florida has several pet alligators that live in a moat around his house in FL. His siblings don't visit often.

Georgia and North Carolina make Moonshine and fight over whose is better.

California is the worst driver.

New York has an attitude that demands respect, even if he's in pjs.

Colorado, Florida, and California do parkour. Texas won't admit that he does too because he doesn't want to have anything in common with Florida and California.

New York and New Jersey like to race each other across rooftops in NYC. New York normally wins, even with his prosthetic. Jersey always demands a rematch.

Louisiana and Georgia can tap dance. New Jersey can breakdance.

Florida can play the grand piano, but his siblings say he can't play any "good music." Even still, he insists that "Never Gonna Give You Up" and "All Star" are perfectly reasonable choices of music.

West Virginia always has a few marbles in his pocket. Always.

Instead of faces, different people have different face shapes, eye sizes, and slight alterations to their flags, mostly colors. Flags keep the same shape.

Extra Facts:

-Had a horrible childhood full of neglect. He was left to fend for himself in brutal winters of the northeast or the brutal heat and humidity in the south east. UK does not know how to be a parent and didn't want to learn.

-America doesn't ever want any of the states to feel the same kind of doubt about themselves he felt, so he showers them with affection as much as he can. Unconditional love.

-The states, though they are a big group, are one of the most functional family units. They can work as a (sometimes) well-oiled machine.

-Philippines was taken in and treated like a state for a while, so he fits right in.

-America allows his states to do as they please, but insists that they have nothing to do with international affairs.

-He knows the states can handle themselves, but if they need help, he'll run in behind them, guns blazing, no questions asked. And he knows the rest of the states will follow him in the same fashion.

-He doesn't really remember birthdays. Instead he will just randomly mail them gifts that remind him of them. So it's like surprise birthday presents.

-The states love him, and will support him no matter what. His asking is the only reason they haven't mobbed a nations' meeting to beat the crap out of the people making fun of their dad.

-America is hyperactive and forgetful. New York took on the logistics early on because he saw that though his dad wouldn't mean to, America would often forget important meetings and dates in time.

-Texas was scared to join another family, but found himself in a group that looked up to him and laughed with him and he was happy. He doesn't care that he was a country(unless it's to tease his siblings), his is one of the states and will deal with anyone who messes with his family.

Table of Contents

#countryhumans #statehumans

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fuckwritersblock · 4 years

Text

I’ve seen a few posts asking for recommendations for romance interactive/visual novels and finally I decided it would be better to just post about it rather than replying. Note that I have been playing this genre for years but I also am picky. There are some games that I have played which I would not necessarily rec*.

Interactive Novels (Purely text based)

The Wayhaven Chronicles (Mobile, Steam)

Creme de la Creme (Mobile, Steam)

Tally Ho (Mobile, Steam)

**Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Mobile, Steam)

Visual Novels

Arcade Spirits (PS 4, Switch, Xbox One, Steam, itch.io)

Choices (Mobile)

Dream Daddy (PS 4, Switch, Steam, Humble, Mobile)

A Rose in Winter (Steam, Itch.io)

You should also watch out for “Best Friend Forever” (Switch/Steam/Itch.io) and download the demo. I also personally have not yet played “Butterfly Soup” but I hear great things about it.

If you want to know more about the games along with the pros and cons are for each game (in my opinion) check under the cut. but it is. Long.

Interactive Novels

The Wayhaven Chronicles - Fantasy/romance. You play as a detective who has been tasked to solve a murder in your small town of Wayhaven. You have been tasked with agents from a mysterious agency, Unit Bravo, to help you. But are they all that they seem?

Pros:

Sexy vampires. (This is not a spoiler it’s literally in the description of the game.)

The writing is incredible. Mishka Jenkins knows the tropes and uses them expertly.

The romances are all very good in their own unique way.

All of the characters are well developed and interesting.

There are two books of this series out!

Cons:

ACAB. And you play a detective at a station where there’s literally a state where you either are “by the book” or “bend the rules” so like. Not great.

There are two books out of seven for the series so know you will be left wanting more.

You can play as non-binary and there are a couple of background non-binary characters in the story but there are no non-binary romances.

Creme de la Creme - Adventure/romance (if you’re into dark academia, this is for you). You play as a student sent to a finishing school and are expected to bring prestige back to the family name.

Pros:

This plot takes some turns y’all.

You can play as non-binary and there also can be non-binary romance options!

There is aro/ace representation!!

Hannah Powell-Smith is married to a woman so like nice.

Cons:

There is some commentary that sometimes works well and sometimes falls flat. Mainly the critique on power and the upper class works well until the endings where many still benefit from this without characters putting much more thought in it.

Tally Ho - Comedy/Romance. Inspired by Wooster and Jeeves. You play a servant living in London during 1930′s. You work for Rory Wintermint, and must accompany them to their Aunt Primrose’s estate. Hijinks ensue.

Pros:

Light and fun and adorable.

Romances

There are some really funny moments in this.

Cons:

This was one of my first interactive novels and I have spent hours and hours on this game and there are still achievements that I have absolutely no idea how to achieve.

It’s a light and airy game so know that if romance is your thing, it doesn’t delve as deep into those relationships as other games on here.

You can play with they/them pronouns but there is no other non-binary characters.

Fallen Hero: Rebirth - Action/Superhero. You play a former hero that has started acting on your plan to become a supervllian. You must work against your original crew and that gets. Complicated.

(**Heads up, this is a very good game it’s not romance-focused. I also have not replayed it in some time. and other people could describe it better than I have. So if this short description sounds interesting, I recommend looking it up on tumblr + other areas.)

Pros:

Immersive and thoughtful small details.

The romances are complex and certainly not easy, but that’s certainly a strength of the writing.

Malin Rydén self-describes as “unapologetically queer”

Cons:

Not so much of a con but something yall should know! This game handles heavy topics as your character descends into villainy. Your character experiences depression and a variety of Rough Stuff. Keep that in mind if you are also in a rough place mentally rn.

I’m gonna be real with ya fam and I think this could just be me. There were multiple parts of this game that I felt lost in. I could not fully understand what was going on. BUT I also feel like in many places that is the intention for the character to feel disorientated so take that what you will.

Visual Novels

Arcade Spirits - Dating Sim/Comedy. You play as a depressed person who was just fired. You are convinced you are suffering from a generational long curse. Your phone matches you with a job at the Funplex arcade with various characters. Will you ensure the arcade survives? Will you find love along the way?

Pros:

this is GOD-TIER visual novel content y’all!!

The system that they use for stats are unlike anything I’ve ever seen but it’s leagues ahead. You do not have to be constantly monitoring your stats as you would typically for other games.

Made with so much love for the content and attention to detail.

Diverse cast that are all so fun and lovable in their own way.

You get to create your MC’s hair/skin/clothes color and then you’ll see them throughout the game?? WILD.

Cons:

BECAUSE this game was made with love and and attention to detail, if you have absolutely no interest in the world of video games you may feel detached.

The character creator is very limited. Which I do get to a certain extent with all of the different shots they draw the MC in. But I hope you want your character to be thin with a lot of angular facial features

Choices - An app where there is a series of stories you can play “chapters” of using keys, which replenish every couple of hours.

Pros:

It’s a very focused on modern romance stories, but there are also such a variety of different genres of books! Fantasy (Blades of Light & Shadow), Historical fiction/romance (Desire & Decorum), Thriller/Horror (It Lives in the Woods). I have PLENTY of recs if you hmu.

There are...Many a good romances in these tho like I have blushed and sighed and daydreamed about these stories.

Cons:

You need patience for this game. It’s a free app and therefore has a system where you need to understand the key system and be patient to collect “diamonds” to purchase premium choices.

Many of the books are gender-locked where you can only play as a woman.

Choices has been criticized that they need better treatment/more screentime for their characters of Color. They have said they are committing to do better, but we will see.

Same has been said about their wlw romances.

Just as there are good stories, there are also stories that have something to be desire. I have varying issues with some books that have plot holes, unengaging writing, etc. These are good for you to play to earn more diamonds though.

Dream Daddy - Dating Sim/Comedy. (This game was the talk of the town when it came out in 2017 but in case you weren’t in the genre at the time!!) You are a single dad who is moving with your daughter Amanda to Maple Bay. You meet other single dads and date them while also trying to be a good father to your daughter.

Pros:

This writing is sharp as a tack. The comedy is on point and this game does a great job transitioning into serious moments.

There are awesome little mini-games that you’ll find in these!

The characters of each datable dad first seem like caricatures, but their backstories are complex and have depth.

The character creator is chef’s kiss v good. AND you can play as a trans dad like how neat.

Cons:

There have been plenty of conversation about cons for this game but frankly I don’t truly believe it has a con for what it is.

If you’re not a pun person this game will be. Difficult.

A Rose in Winter - Romance. You are playing as Rose, a girl who determined to prove herself as a knight. She has found herself at an inn and must choose between a series of Princes to help on their journey.

Pros:

Cute stories!

Except for the green prince which is heart-fluttering. (and if you play, I recommend playing last)

Adorable art.

Cons:

This reads more like an ACTUAL visual novel. Your choice (besides the initial choice you make on which prince you pursue) means little, if there is choice at all.

It’s definitely simpler than other games on this list but that’s not a bad thing as much as you should know!

*Please know that I did not include The Arc*n* on purpose! I used to really love that app but the way certain things were handled (both IRL and in the plot) I would not recommend it now.

#the wayhaven chronicles #creme de la creme #dream daddy #a rose in winter #playchoices #arcade spirits #cog #hosted games #Let me apologize if you're going through these tags and don't think this should be in there #that's valid and I struggled with that!#however i came to the conclusion it's the best way for people who are looking for new things to enjoy to find something

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diethylzinc · 4 years

Photo

Wanted to try out a coloring technique that Mohammed Agbadi on youtube does. I have been wanted to do a series of pinups of my favorite league of legends characters in terms of design (I will have ones that I love to play as well). This was an interesting experimental piece and I want to expand this coloring technique more.

I feel like this piece looks really different from my drawing tablet screen than it does my monitor and then phone. I hate the constant consistency. What do you guys do to help with this issue?

#league of legends #kda #evelyn #league #lol #all out #kda all out #villian #video game #digital art #my art #my artwork

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secondgenerationnerd · 4 years

Text

Not Her Too

You know what we need? The Joker fucking up. Enjoy!!

----

People assume a lot about Dahlia when they see her. Mainly because she can’t see them. How sad, they sigh. How pitiful, they whisper. What bullshit, she thinks.

“Gracie, I don’t know if you’re smart or stupid,” Dahlia laughs into her phone, unlocking the front door. The groceries rustle in the paper bag,

“Whatever,” Her cousin snorts, “My Dads say I’m brilliant.”

Between clicks of her tongue, listening to the way they bounce around the tiny apartment, Dahlia teases, “Those are two different versions of a similar lie.”

“Fuck you, Todd.”

“No thanks.” She sets the bag on the counter. “Any word from Tio Tim?”

“Yeah, Dad said everything went great. They’re over at Uncle Dickie’s place being weirdos.”

“What does that say about us then?”

“Well, with my other Dad and Aunt Cassie, I stand something of a chance. You on the other hand—”

“Remain as the prettier of us.” Laughing with her cousin, Dahlia shakes her head. “Alright, I’ll call you later.”

“Sounds like a plan. Love you, Dahli.”

“Love you too, Gracie.”

Setting her phone in the charging dock, Dahlia starts putting the food away. Papa hasn’t changed the lay out since they moved in. Makes it easier for her. Sure fingers run over boxes, can, and jars, running down a list in her head of what to make. Wonders if she should try to call her father to see if he wants--

A creak from the front area makes her slow for a moment. A insane heartbeat that she’s never heard before. Pretending everything’s okay, shrugging it off, she continues walking around the kitchen. Before she can reach the emergency button in the knife drawer, every muscle in her body tightens painfully, electricity pulsing through it. She can’t even scream. Dahlia collapses on the ground.

“Well, well, well.” She knows that cackle. Heard it in recordings for years. A gloved hand grabs her face, “Look at what I found.”

“Fuck you, Drake!” Jason laughs at his younger brother.

“I’m just saying you could do worse than—”

“I am just happy with how my life is.” Jason assures him. “I’ve got a home. I’ve got you dumbasses for family. I’ve got my Llama. I don’t need much else.”

Before one of his brothers can say something back, Dick’s phone buzzes. He reads it with a frown. Tim chuckles into his coffee mug, “Uh-oh, in trouble with the Missus.”

“Babs is saying we need to turn on the tv.” He reaches for the remote.

“What channel?”

“Any.”

The screen flickers to life and their hearts stop at that fucking high pitched cackle from the screen. Joker’s ghostly white face and bloody lips take up the entire screen. Soft groans from the background sound so, so familiar.

“Hello to all just joining us.” The psychotic clown “I’m not typically one to redo performances, but this one was just too tempting.”

He moves back from the camera. Curled on the ground, hands bound behind her, a teenaged girl groans. The soft brown curls cover her face until Joker slams his foot into her stomach. Clouded gray eyes widen as she gasps and Jason’s on his feet.

No.

Not her.

Not her too.

“Now, now.” Joker tuts, “You really need to help me here, kid.”

“Go to hell.” Dahlia spats. Joker yanks her up with a fist in her hair, not even blinking as she spits blood at him.

“That’s just rude.” He smashes her face into the concrete. “You remind me of your dad. He was just like this. Wonder if he remembers this.”

Joker disappears from the screen. Coughing, Dahlia manages to sit up. Bruises cover her face and neck, blood dripping from her nose. Metal scraping along the ground makes Jason’s heart stop. More so the words that Joker says, “You and I are going to settle a debate your dad and I couldn’t. Which feels better: A or B.”

As Joker brings the crow bar down, Dick turns the TV off.

“Turn it back on.” Jason growls.

The first Robin crosses his arms, “No.”

“I said, turn. It. Back. ON!”

“No.”

“THAT’S MY DAUGHTER—”

“So, do you want to keep wasting our time arguing or do you want save her?” The question cuts through his anger instantly, along with his brothers’ clenched jaws. Jason blinks until he continues, “Babs has already traced the signal. We leave now, we can be there in less than ten minutes.”

“…He’s hurting my little girl.”

“We know, Jason.” Tim pulls their spare uniforms from the cupboard.

“I’m going to—"

“Todd.” Damian’s even tone does little to hide the anger in his jade eyes. “Do you think any of us aren’t thinking about the same thing?”

His brothers each give him the same look.

They’ve got his back.

More than that, they’re on his side.

Sour breath burns her nostrils. Every tiny movement makes her want to cry. Another sharp blow from the crowbar hits her shoulder. “Now, now. We aren’t done yet.”

“Fuck. You.” Dahlia coughs, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. Another blow to her unbound legs.

“Now, I would have though you’d be nicer by now.” Joker tuts. She mumbles into the concrete. Yanking her up by her hair, the pyscho tuts, “What was that?”

“My Papa is going to kill you, puta.” She lunges forward, sinking her teeth into his nose. His yell of pain makes her bite harder, until he hits her again. His retreating footsteps give her her chance.

A door slams open in front of her. She barrels forward into one of the henchmen. Tio Dick wouldn’t be impressed with her landing, but she’s thinking more about not dying. As she stumbles away, Dahlia brings her hands up then down to break the zipties digging into her skin. She uses the echo along the walls to figure out where Joker and his henchmen are. Her head starts spinning the more she tries to breathe.

Don’t pass out. If you do, you die. Dahlia repeats that to herself, listening to the henchmens’ yells as they search for her. Hiding behind what feels like wooden crates in a corner, she covers her mouth. Every breath feels like a stab, forcing her to fight back tears.

She’s going to die here. She’s going to die here. Maybe she’ll get lucky and come back. Like Tio Damian and Li-Li. Like Papa. Papa… He’s going to

“Get back!” A henchman yells in pain.

“Where is she?!” Dahlia looks up. Tio Dami?

“Dahlia! We’re here!” Tio Dickie shouts, voice bouncing off the metal walls.

“Dahlia! ¡¿Dónde estás?! ¡Estoy aquí! ¡Estoy aquí!”

“Papá?” Dahlia whispers.

“LLAMA!”

Whimpering and holding her side, Dahlia pulls herself up. She leans against the wall as she limps towards the noise. “Papa...Papa…”

“Ooo, lookit what the bat dragged in!” Joker cackles. Her father roars and she hears the familiar sound of fists against flesh. Forcing herself to take the next step, she focuses on the sound of her father’s hits. The way his voice cracks with the next yell.

“WHERE IS SHE?”

“Who?” Joker cackles, “Oh! The sightless bird? Ya know, I think she was around here somewhere—"

“Papa…” She mumbles, mouth painfully dry. “Papa…”

A body slams against metal walls, Papa snarling, “If you don’t tell me where the hell she is—”

“Hood!” Tio Dickie. They’re here. They’re here for her. “Hood!”

“WHA—" She can hear his breath catch. Another step, Dahlia, almost there. There’s a loud thud and pained laugh from Joker. Heavy footsteps run towards her. “LLAMA!”

“Papa…Papa…” She reaches out for him, stumbling over her feet.

As Dahlia stumbles, he lunges forward. Her whimper of pain as he eases her to the ground makes his teeth grit. Dark bruises blossom up her collar bone. Every breath she takes cracks. The fucker.

“Dahlia?” He murmurs, pushing her hair from her face. Dahlia’s head falls against his chest, eyes drooping shut, “Llama. I’m here. I’ve got you…”

“Papa…” She whimpers, “Hi, Papa…”

“Ohhhhh, seems the little bird isn’t feeling too good.” Joker cackles. Damian presses his katana into Joker’s throat, drawing blood.

“Redhood, she needs to go to the hospital.” Nightwing says. Jason fixes his gaze on the pyscho clown. His older brother grips his shoulder, “He’s not getting away with this. Not this time.”

“We’ve got him.” Tim’s Red Robin voice used to piss him off. Now, Jason can hear the fire in his little brother’s voice. Hears the promise in it. Nodding, he lifts her up, like when she was little bitty.

“Hold on, Dahli. You’re going to be okay. I promise. I promise.”

He’s not sure how long it’s been. Time doesn’t pass normally here. He knows the nurses have changed shifts 8 times. Knows his brothers have called for updates three times. Knows the doctor has come by twice, taken her for tests too many times to count. The only thing keeping him sane is each beep of her heart monitor.

“‘People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends,’” The Book Thief isn’t his favorite book, but it’s the last one she had been reading. “‘but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors--'”

Dahlia’s cloudy eyes fly open, hands reaching out in front of her, “Papa! Papa!”

The book drops from his grasp. He brings her hands to his face. Since he adopted her, touching someone’s face has always calmed her. Even with the scars and oddities of their family, their faces calm her. Frantic hands feel his face until she starts crying.

“Estoy aquí, niña. Estoy aquí, te tengo,” Jason holds her close, kissing his daughter’s curls over and over, “Estás a salvo, Dahlia. Estás seguro.”

For a few minutes, Dahlia can’t speak as the cries wrack her body. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know what she needs to hear. So, he holds her. Holds her and holds her and holds her tighter with each fresh cry—a terrible mix of pain and sorrow and fear.

“I-I’m s-s—”

“No. Dahli, no.” He lifts her hand back to his face, holding it there. “You don’t apologize for jack shit. Not for a damn thing.”

“I tr-tried-tried to st-stay bra-ave.” She hiccups, nails dig into his arm. “I-I tried.”

“I know. I know.” He hugs her tighter. “You’re alive. You’re alive, Dahli, that’s all I care about.”

The teenager cries in her father’s arms for hours.

And he doesn’t let go until she’s ready.

It’s been two weeks. Dahlia had finally been released from the hospital with many follow up appointments with a new therapist. Her family had visited every day, Grace asking what the other guy looked like. Alfred sent her favorite desert. Her aunts made Papa go home for a day to shower and eat. Aside from that day, which Dahlia had to force him to agree to, Jason hadn’t left her side. All their visits remind her why she’s lucky to be apart of their family. Remind her why she wants to go home. Jason had offered to find them a new place, but Dahlia shot him down. She grew up in that apartment. Joker doesn’t get to take it from her.

She had just one stop she wanted to make first.

The electronic beeps and creak of the security door make her straighten up. Even his sour breath and cackle can’t phase her. He’s seen the bruises.

Good.

“Well, look what the bat dragged in.” Joker cackles.

“Wow, thought the infamous Joker would be more original.” She raises an eyebrow. “Whole world of blind jokes and you go with ‘look.’”

“See someone got their daddy’s bite.” The metal legs of his chair creak as he leans back. “Where’s he at? Thought all the Boy Blunders would have their kids under lock and key.”

Leaning forward, Dahlia removes her sunglasses. Grace told her once that her cloudy, unfocused gray eyes unnerve people in the best way. More creaks in his chair as Joker adjusts himself.

“I was nine when Papa told me what you did. Younger than that when I heard his nightmares, but nine was when I learned about the monster in my father’s head.” Dahlia keeps her voice even. “Growing up, I heard all the stories and rumors about you. Heard all the things you’ve done—to strangers, to your enemies, to my family. I heard all the horrible things you did--”

“Nice story, but get to the point, sugar.”

“My point is that every story about you makes you out to be a monster. Which is a fucking lie.”

“That so?”

“It is. You are a psychopath sure, but you rely on fear to keep your power. That’s how you keep your hold over people.” Dahlia smiles softly. “That ends now.”

His laugh, the one that’s haunted her family for decades, deoesn’y even make her flinch. “And they say bats have no sense of humor! Oh, you’re killing me—"

“No, but my papa will.”

“Your family doesn’t kill—”

“See, you’re right to a point. But you messed up when you hurt me—”

“Always take the weakest—”

“I’m not weak.” Her even voice breaks, years of her family building her up spilling through. “You messed up by thinking that. Signed your own death certificate.”

“I’m so sc—”

Dahlia cuts his sarcasm short with a wave of her hand, “You’re going to rot here. For years and years and years. You will rot and die here. If you ever step foot out of thise building, you will die. Papa will make sure of it.”

Metal creaks as he leans forward. “Bold talk for a blind girl, sugar.”

She leans forward, “I don’t need my eyes to see through your bullshit.”

Clicking her tongue, she walks to the door. The Clown scoffs, “Really? That’s it?”

Dahlia doesn’t answer.

“Hey! I know you hear me! Hear me better than anyone else!”

The door opens and a guard’s gentle hand wraps around her forearm.

“I’ll see you on the other side, sugar! Just you wait!”

His leg bounces as he waits for her. Jason still can’t understand why she needs to see him. Looking up as the door opens, Jason sees Dahlia thank the guard. The bruises along her arms, face and chest make his heart ache. But she wears them with pride.

“Papa?” Dahlia clicks her tongue, walking towards him. Jason opens his arms for her. She walks into them without hesitation. The shuttering gasp she gives has him hold her tighter.

“You get what you need, Nina?”

She nods, gripping his jacket tighter, sniffling, “Thank you, Papa. Thank you for letting me do this.”

“Dahlia Noelle Todd, no one lets you do anything. You do what you want and always have.” Jason chuckles, kissing her temple, “I’m proud of you. You know that? No one could have done what you just did. Estoy tan, tan orgulloso de ti, mija.”

“Te amo, Papa.”

“Te amo tambien.” Jason holds her face in his hands. Where did that scrappy two-year-old go? The one who babbled to a stranger about her missing toy, who ran to his arms when he’d get home, who’d sit on the counter while he’d make dinner. When did this young woman take her place? Jason just smiles, “You ready to go home, Llama?”

“Depends.” Dahlia takes his arm as they walk down the hall, pulling her sunglasses down, “Is Grace going to be there?”

“Pretty sure she and Asha have a whole party planned for you.”

“Can’t wait to see this dumpster fire.”

Jason chuckles, “That’s my girl.”

#Jason Todd #dick grayson #Damian Wayne #joker #Tim Drake #dahlia todd #the red hood #nightwing #robin #Red Robin #sims 4 #not my poses or cc #all credit to their creators!!

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404fmdhaon · 4 years

Photo

self para & aesthetic & playlist — v live blues

summary: gyujeong does a solo vlive for the first time in two years — not mandated by the company, just because he’s tipsy and lonely. it’s where he suggests a playlist for those feeling down. playlist summary: feeling down, and gyu suggests his go-to songs for the moments you need a pick me up. (explanation of each song weaved in the self-para). warnings: alcohol wc: 1368 (this accounts for the playlist summary too)

it’s obvious when he stumbles through the hallways of his apartment — staggered steps, a palm pressed against the walls when he takes his shoes off, tosses it out. he’ll save the cleaning for another day. times like these, it’s the taste of alcohol that lingers on the tip of his tongue and he forages the pieces of things to do for the next day: another recording inside the walls of his studios, and another meeting. no new friends, just the same old people roaming around.

he flicks his gaze towards tokki, snuggled up against her corner of the room (warning: danger territory, he never encroaches towards that facet of her space). instead, he slips a lighter out of his pocket nested deep, lights the candles one by one in his room as he enters — finishes it all off with an incense.

the aroma of the room slowly dissipates into his comfort scents. forces him to relax his shoulders as he hangs up the jacket wrapped around his body, and by the time he throws his back onto the bed and stares at the ceiling — the realization hits.

loneliness feels foreign.

not the gaping hole throbbing inside a void, but the kind that slowly reaches its hands and warps him new. he’s never been the pitiful image of harrowing loneliness, jaded and skewed, no — that’s not his niche. yet, it’s this subtle difference where he’s strung thin from one place to the next and suddenly, he’s screaming out to an empty abyss and alcohol rings his thoughts louder.

gyujeong figures — this kind of night isn’t smoothened over by forcing his eyes shut, shuffling inside his bed for empty hours on end. he needs an escape, and the last form of escape doesn’t come to a call to a friend in the welcome of “what’s up” but instead, the last lapse of his judgement: v-live.

his feet slide back over to his desk, phone positioned against the screen of his monitor. ceiling lights on, he hums to himself the beginnings of the song recorded earlier (drunken state still clocks him, and spoilers would yank the tether around his neck closer in).

instead, he turns in on, presses his beanie further against his head. four in the morning, and the numbers start trickling in when he stares blankly, full-transparency to a phone with a sea of empty faces.

haon, vlive? our oppa is treating us! what’s wrong with his expression? is he drunk, he’s red ㅋㅋ handsome even when he looks tired happy fans from indonesia!

he doesn’t greet them, doesn’t say hi. the most he makes is when his cheeks puff out, and he squeezes his lips together shut, blowing out when his hands roll around the mouse. in comes the clicks onto a screen, when the first words he speaks air: “i like these songs — just sit and listen.”

roses by finn askew

the first few sounds of the beat come in before the voice entrances — he sings along. a song about roses, he thinks of yeseul — the eleven roses, one short of a dozen when he waited for her in the corner of a neighborhood (the first time he buys flower for a girl, another first she takes away from him). give you all my time, if you wanna take it slow. you’re my little pick-me-up, yeah. you fill my cup — he stops his cover short when the notion that his pick-me-up becomes a fragment of the past and he’s still jaded by the aftermath.

strawberries and cigarettes by troye sivan Remember when you taught me fate Said it'd all be worth the wait Like that night in the back of the cab When your fingers walked in my hand Next day, nothin' on my phone

he doesn’t sing along, only sulks back into his chair — his hands come across his chest, and he basks in each word flowing past his speakers. thinks of each instance of fate, and how it all slots itself together when he least expects it. one strike of fate after another, and now he’s ten years past his own first steps into the decision that changes him. no longer worth the wait, he shakes his head drowning in the whiplash of missteps sliding from one phase to the next.

it’s his sad boy blues, he knows. doesn’t care when warmth and red-tinges across his face beg to differ.

good news by mac miller When it ain't that bad It could always be worse I'm running out of gas, hardly anything left Hope I make it home from work Well, so tired of being so tired

it’s an ode to one of the greatest inside his head — mac miller. the gentle lull of mumbles and the easy-listening, he’s reminded once more of why healing comes in the form of music. gyujeong continues, follows the play of the song when he raps along in a sing-song motion of when it ain’t that bad, it could be worse. (inside his mind’s a replay of the past few years where bad judgement and whiplash of bc’s constant meetings play.)

remembers the day of trainee life when the first release of mac miller soothed tired nights in the training room, beads of sweat ceased by the empty echoes of mac playing inside the dark room. “rest in peace, mac miller” he whispers by the time the song ends.

changes by lauv I'm getting rid of all my clothes I don't wear I think I'm gonna cut my hair 'Cause these days, I don't feel like me, mm I think I'm gonna take a break from alcohol

his eyes rove over each comment, a stream of consciousness that leaves each blank face behind a username calling out for a talk. he subdues their woes when he reaches out in the first question of the night — “should i cut my hair?” and in surfaces the cheeky smirk, pulled lopsided when the heartless laughter stems out of his chest heavy soul.

there’s no happiness inside changes, just the same monotony that drags from one day to the next. he’s thought of it, thought of the times he’s wanted to burn his clothes, start anew. leave the life behind him — yet, it’s the effect already set in stone where he no longer feels like himself. lost his self in the process, and perhaps, it’s what spurred the loneliness in the first place.

blue by keshi Don't hit my cell There's an unknown number on my phone I don't need your help Just let me lay down on the floor

gyujeong paints himself blue. drowns himself in a sea of dark waves, tempest patterns — he sits, throws his head back when he picks up the phone and draws it closer to his face. up-close, personal. yet, there’s a lapse of personal touches when it feels like a narrowing chasm of cctv maximized as the eyes watching glue to each of his moments.

he doesn’t want their help, he just wanted an escape. lying on the floor, sitting on a chair — the act of nothing: he’s numbed out by now.

pink skies by lany

when his eyes flit over to the window, there’s a ribbon of pink in the horizon. the mood down low, he clicks to the next recommended song on the side bar — listens to it for the first time. it draws a picture of a road trip had he ever been served with unrestrained freedom leaving him out in the open (mental note: a road trip might be the answer during the next bolt of loneliness wedging itself deep).

gyujeong stays in his chair, tapping his fingers against the desk. this type of music becomes background noise when he reads out loud, the comments one by one — brows raising in a faux show of interest inside the monotones that wring out the ambivalence.

“what is your favorite color.” “yellow.” “what are you doing” “listening to music.” “where is knight?” “inside bc entertainment.” “what do you smell like” “roses.”

october eyes by alt bloom All the lack of symmetry fits you so perfectly lady Yes I fall with your clothes take em' off hold me close, baby Those October eyes Keep me up all night Darling, my sunrise is when you go

the last song he shares in the night, skims past the comments. a farewell to the loneliness still persisting, and he sings along — it all comes full circle when the first and last match up to the one figure lodging herself deeper inside his chest. his october eyes no where to pierce him with the same tempest stare and coy smile, yet he still stays up all night — the sun rises, and that’s when she leaves and fatigue takes over.

he heaves a heavy breath, chest out. exhale then inhale — the breathiness takes over when his voice shakes, and the room starts spinning. (he still sings along anyway).

by the time it’s over, he doesn’t manage a heartless look. humanized, he offers solace in a dulled out curl of his lip, bares out a “thank you for today,” and in case somewhere fate slides yeseul back to him, he adds the postlude to her.

“take a listen again, and you’ll know where i stand.”

#속마음 — 셀프 #노래 더 크게 — 음악

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skepticalcatfrog · 5 years

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Among The Stars Chapter 4

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Summary: Logan Watts is a famous scientist, known by almost everyone in the galaxy. His most famous invention is his friend and assistant, a healthcare android named Patton. When they are called to another planet for a meeting with the local ruler, they're expecting a completely normal trip. Little did they know, this trip would send them into a daring adventure to protect their galaxy and stop a war. Teamed up with unlikely friends, including a runaway gladiator and an infamous crime trio, Logan and Patton have to figure out how to make peace and save their universe (and beyond) from being destroyed.

Pairings: (Eventual) Logicality, Prinxiety, and Demus

Word count: 3,068

Author's Notes: The last three chapters were mostly introductory, but in this one things are finally starting to come together!

Logan stared at the sky, dumbfounded. His last chance of escape was gone. Patton was gone. He had to do something, to figure out how to get off of this planet. He speed walked out of the parking lot, not wanting to run so he didn't draw too much attention to himself. He walked up to the first person he saw, a woman with purple crystals around her eyes.

"Excuse me, does this planet have any type of public interplanetary transportation?" He asked.

The woman glanced at him and walked away. He figured that there wouldn't be any point in following her, because if she didn't answer the first time then she wouldn't answer if he asked a second time. He approached a second person, a man whose eye color shifted through different shades of pastels and had round glasses resting on his nose. He kind of reminded Logan of Patton.

"Hello, I apologise for the interruption, but is there any public transportation on this planet?" He asked.

"You're Logan Watts, right?" The man asked. Logan nodded. "I'm sorry, but we're not supposed to talk to you."

"What? Why?" Logan furrowed his brow.

"None of us know, if I'm being honest with you." The man shrugged. "The president broadcasted a city-wide announcement a few minutes ago, he told us not to talk to you."

Logan let out a cry of frustration, which caused the other man's eyes to widen. "Of course! Of course this is his fault."

"O...kay?" The stranger raised one eyebrow. That also made Logan think of Patton, because the android would always make fun of him for his inability to raise only one eyebrow. "I have to leave, I'm really not supposed to be talking to you right now."

The man took a few steps backwards before turning around and speed-walking away. Logan couldn't blame him. He looked around at the surrounding buildings. A library, a supermarket, the presidential building, the arena… a mechanic. He sprinted down the street towards the shop. He burst through the front door to find the mechanic inside, with no other customers.

"Can you get me a ship?" Logan said, trying to catch his breath.

"Who's asking?" The mechanic crossed his arms. Apparently this guy didn't recognize him.

"Logan Watts." He answered. The mechanic started to say something, but Logan held up one finger to stop him. "I know what you're about to say. You aren't supposed to be talking to me. But I really need your help, and if you just give me a ship then I'll be out of your hair in five minutes. I promise that no one will ever find out."

"I don't sell ships, but chances are I can get you the parts to build one." The mechanic told him. "That is, if you have the money."

"I do, and I'll pay in full as soon as I get what I need." Logan shot back. He knew how to build a ship, he just needed supplies.

"I have a shipment of parts coming in next week. Think you can wait until then?" The mechanic asked.

"Alright." Logan nodded. The circuits on his face started glowing, and he made a digital note on the mechanic's computer. It was the code for his phone. "Contact me when it gets here."

He turned around and walked out the door. Everyone seemed to be ignoring him, which was actually very helpful. It would make it easier for him to keep a low profile that way. He went to a few stores to buy supplies, then to the edge of the city. He walked far enough away that he'd go unnoticed, but close enough that he could still see the city. Then he used his supplies to build a small shelter. That would probably last him a while.

Sure enough, a week later he got a notification on his phone. The message was an unknown number, saying that the parts for the ship had arrived. He went back into town and back to the shop. There were two large boxes next to the front desk that hadn't been there last time.

"Welcome back." The mechanic said. "Everything's here, and there's a blueprint in the box."

"Thank you." Logan nodded. "How much will it cost?"

"6,000." The mechanic answered. "Plus an extra 100 if you want something to carry the boxes with."

"Done." Logan's face began to glow again. A little machine on the desk beeped, and the parts had been paid for. He left with the boxes, which were sitting on a metal plate floating behind him. He brought them back to the shelter he'd built and got to work.

~2 months later~

Logan wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. He stood up and looked at the ship. It wasn't anything special, but it was done. There wasn't even a second seat. Hopefully it would start. He opened the door on the side, sitting down and hanging his jacket on the back of the seat. Then he shut the door. He took out his phone and made it track his ship. Not the pod that had been stolen, but the main ship where his lab was. He balanced his phone on the steering mechanism. He pressed the button next to it, and he heard the engine start up. A rare smile crossed his face. The ship lifted off of the ground and he travelled out of the planet's atmosphere. Finally, he was on his way back home.

It didn't take long to get back to his ship, only as much time as it had taken to get to Xialea VII in the first place. He was lucky that his ship was stationary most of the time. He parked the new pod in the space where the old one had been previously. The second he was safely inside the ship, he practically tripped out of the pod and bolted to the stairs up to his lab. He fell into his desk chair in front of his computer and began typing frantically. He had given Patton a built-in tracking device a long time ago, if he could just get the signal then he'd be able to find him. And Logan knew how to get the signal in under a minute. A map appeared on a screen, with a tiny blue dot in the middle. That dot was Patton. Logan never knew why he decided to make it blue despite the fact that Patton was gold, it just felt like it should've been blue.

Based on the location displayed on the screen, Patton was currently located on Planet #739049287193. It didn't have a proper name because of the non-existent population. But now Patton was there, which meant that other people must've been there as well. However terrible the situation was, it was admittedly smart of Patton's captors to bring him to such an isolated planet. The trip would take two days, but he didn't have that kind of time. He would have to take the whole ship, that way he could travel using hyperspeed. Plus Patton would have a home to come back to right away. It was a flawless plan, in Logan's opinion. He transferred the data of Patton's location to the monitor in the pilot's bay.

Once he got there, he sat in the chair at the front of the room. He turned on Autopilot and typed his desired location into the search bar. He switched the ship into hyperspeed. The surrounding landscape became blurry as the ship began moving faster. Within minutes, everything returned to normal. He looked at the surface of the planet below him. It could only really be described as unpleasant. A shroud of gray storm clouds covered the sky above him. The ground below appeared to be solid rock, stalagmites rising from the ground. Some of them were taller than others, some even looking like mountains.

Logan opened up a screen that would give him a closer view of the ground. It was the same all around, and it was so boring that if he wasn't doing something important then he might've fallen asleep. It took a while to find anything. And when he finally saw something, it wasn't what he expected. Near the base of one of the taller stalagmites, he saw what looked like a person cleaning a motorcycle. He stopped the ship, and the person looked up at him with wide eyes. Apparently a giant ship being parked above you is easy to notice. He opened the trapdoor that was behind his chair and climbed on to a ladder as it was being lowered to the ground.

When his feet touched the ground, he started walking. The stranger in front of him stood up from where they'd been kneeling next to the motorcycle. Upon closer examination, Logan noticed that this person had scales. But only on half of their face. Logan approached them and held out his hand.

"Hello. My name is Logan Watts. Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?" He requested, waiting for a handshake and an introduction.

"Dalton Sanders. Sure, shoot." The stranger answered. Logan quickly drew back his hand. He was talking to Dalton Sanders, the infamous thief. He narrowed his eyes.

"Have you seen an android around here recently?" Logan asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Took you long enough." Dalton snickered. Logan tensed up at the sight of his fangs. "Come inside, he hasn't stopped talking about you for two months."

"Are you serious? No protest or anything?" Logan raised his eyebrows. That only made Dalton laugh even more. Logan was already starting to get tired of this guy.

"Not at all. We'll give him back, we just needed you for something. He was actually really nice to have around, he's good company." Dalton turned around and started walking away. Logan followed him through a door that he hadn't noticed before, into a large cavern.

"Logan!" He heard Patton's voice from the back of the room and saw him jump up. The android ran towards him and tackled him in a hug, holding on tight. Logan was surprised at first, but soon settled into it. "I missed you."

"I can tell." Logan said, a hint of happiness in his voice. "I came to bring you back."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Patton pulled back with a smile, which quickly shifted into a frown. "But… there's just one thing I need to talk to you about. I-"

"Hey, hi, I'm Remus. Sorry for the interruption, but I have a question for you Mr. Scientist." A new person said, his tone revealing that he wasn't actually sorry. "Why do you not have an accent, but the android that you build does?"

"What? He doesn't have an accent, I would know, I programmed him that way." Logan frowned.

"Okay here, we just listened to you talking, now listen to him talking." Remus gestured to Patton.

"I don't have an accent. At least, I didn't think I did." Patton said. Turns out Remus was right, Patton had a very light Southern accent.

"How is that possible?" Logan muttered, talking to himself. "He developed feelings a long time ago, but I never expected this many changes to his programming…"

"I'm sure it's not that big a deal, Logan. Everything that's happened so far is minor." Patton reminded him.

"I suppose you're correct." Logan nodded. "There isn't a point in dwelling on minor issues."

"Speaking of issues, can we go back to what I was talking about before? Even though this is kind of a big issue." Patton requested.

"Of course, what is it?" Logan regained his focus.

"So, you know how a while ago I was talking about wishing I could meet another android? Well, it happened. But he really needs our help." Patton told him.

He brought Logan further into the cavern, stopping in front of someone sitting in a desk chair. Logan could tell immediately that he was looking at an android. A very damaged one, from the looks of it.

"Can he speak?" Logan asked. The android's eyes began to glow purple. Patton pointed to the computer.

"No I can't. But I can do this if you want." Words appeared on the screen.

"He can connect to the computer." Patton explained quickly. Logan nodded.

"Alright. Firstly, what is your name?" He asked.

"I don't have one. They call me Anxiety, but I have a number too." Anxiety told him.

"And what is that number? It could be a code for something." Logan looked at the computer screen as numbers started appearing.

"229187912."

"Okay." You could tell Logan was concentrating. "If you split that up into sections, it could be letters. 22-9-18-7-9-12. If this is intentional then those numbers could turn into a name. The 22nd letter in the alphabet is… V. 9 is I, and that appears twice. 18 is R. 7 is G. 12 is L. So when you put those together in order, it becomes V-I-R-G-I-L. Virgil."

"Virgil." Anxiety smiled widely. He'd never had a real name, only ever his nickname.

"Do you want us to call you that now?" Dalton asked.

"Definitely." Anxiety (or Virgil, rather) smiled even wider. Dalton's heart soared seeing him so happy.

"Now, on to the next order of business." Logan brought them back to the current task. "What specifically is wrong with you?"

"I can't talk, or move. I have a glitch in my programming, but I don't think that's fixable." Virgil told him. "Basically, what I was built to do is predict outcomes. But the glitch makes it so that I can only see the bad ones."

"And how long have you had that glitch?"

"I've always had it. That's why I was a prototype."

"So, can you fix him?" Remus asked, a hint of hope appearing in his voice. Logan realized that all eyes were on him.

"Yes, yes I can." Logan sighed. "Patton, the ship is outside. Can you bring them to my lab, and make sure they don't cause any trouble?"

Patton nodded. "Come on, guys. We can take the motorcycle up to the ship, that'll make it easier."

As they left the cavern, Logan couldn't help but wonder why Patton was being so nice to them. They were criminals, not to mention the fact that they'd literally kidnapped him. It was just like Patton to remain optimistic in the face of danger.

Once everyone else had gotten to the ship, Logan took out his phone. He'd gotten to Patton, but he still had one more thing to find. The stolen escape pod. When he got the tracking signal, he couldn't believe what he saw. For one thing, the escape pod was on the very same planet. But the dot that showed its location was jumping around the screen. It didn't seem to be going in any sort of pattern, but it would occasionally come back to the same spot. Logan decided that must've been where it was. It wasn't even that far away, only a couple of minutes of walking. Once he got to the ship, he saw it right away. That was one thing he expected. One thing he didn't expect was to have a sword pointed at him right away.

"Who are you and why are you here?" The stranger asked. Based on his appearance, he was from Xialea VII.

"My name is Logan Watts. I believe you stole my ship." Logan answered. The stranger's eyes widened, and he lowered his sword.

"I did, and I'm really sorry about that, but I promise I had a good reason." The stranger explained.

"And what exactly is that reason?" Logan said skeptically.

"I… needed it." The Xialean said. Logan rolled his eyes. "It's true! It was a matter of life and death. You see, I'm… a prince! And I really needed to leave the planet, because I didn't like it there at all."

"But you're Xialean. They don't have royalty, they have a president."

"But you see, that's the thing. I'm not from Xialea VII, I'm from Xialea VI." He lied, hoping Logan wouldn't catch on. "That was the original kingdom, then some of the citizens broke away and made the city that became famous. I recently took a trip there, but apparently they still have some sort of grudge against us. I'm Roman Northbrook."

Roman was telling so many lies, and he knew it. But it wasn't like he was ever going to see this guy again. This was his chance to be who he'd always wanted to be, even just for a few minutes. At least he'd told the truth about his name.

Logan didn't acknowledge the introduction, simply moving on to examine the escape pod. It was completely broken, and had clearly been crashed. No wonder the tracking device hadn't been working.

"Okay, you know what?" Logan turned back around to face Roman. "Come to my ship with me. I'll bring you home, and you clearly need supervision anyway."

"Please don't take me home! I can't go back, they'd probably kill me for running away in the first place." Roman told him. At least that last part was true. "I can be useful, I'll be like a security guard or something!"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Logan began walking back towards the main ship. Roman followed him, not really knowing what else to do. The moment they got back to the ship, everyone was staring at them.

"Who's the new guy?" Dalton raised his eyebrow, pointing to Roman.

"This is Roman Northbrook, he is the person who stole my ship. He'll be staying here for a while." Logan explained. Roman waved awkwardly.

"Cool." Remus smiled. "Don't worry, some of us steal things too."

Virgil didn't have a computer to connect to, but he would've been to busy staring to say anything anyway. It was quite possible that this was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. He looked away quickly. If androids could blush, he'd be as red as the streaks in Roman's hair.

Logan looked around at the group in front of him. He'd come to this planet expecting to get Patton and be on his way. Instead he'd gotten Patton, two thieves, a broken android, and a runaway prince. What was he getting himself into.

Taglist: @idkwhyimhere0o0 @icequeenoriginal @mostpeopleannoyne @007ardra @logan-is-my-spirit-animal

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keatonphjo076 · 4 years

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luckyspike · 5 years

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Eleventh Hour Admission - A Good Omens fanfiction

Hey guys remember when I talked about writing a hospital AU

i did it but no one is a doctor they’re all nurses

title refers to literally getting an admission during the eleventh hour of your shift, possibly a fate worse than death

CW: hospitals, medical procedures, automobile accidents, the joint commission

this will never be continued (probably) or posted to AO3, so enjoy it

Ari Fell liked it his job. That wasn’t sarcasm. He really, truly liked his job: he liked helping other people, he liked watching the sickest of the sick get well again and, when he couldn’t do that, he liked being there for them, trying to help them peacefully and painlessly move on. He liked meeting the families of his patients, he liked getting to know his patients when they could talk, and he liked that every day was a new day, something different and unknown and rife with opportunity to learn something new, or to help someone.

He liked his job, but he didn’t like 6am admissions.

Which, he had a feeling, was precisely why his ASCOM phone was going off at 5:55am. The caller ID informed him that it was Gabriel, the charge for tonight. He winced and the other nurse working the east pod with him tonight, Tracy, nodded sympathetically. He picked up the phone, and answered the call.

“Ari!” Yes. Yes, that was Gabriel. By the sound of it, he was in the cafeteria, likely having coffee with the other charges during their morning “bed meeting”. Ari had long since suspected that “bed meeting” was an excuse to get coffee and kvetch for the last hour of their shift, but he’d never really had the opportunity to find out, after he’d refused the offered charge position last year.

“Gabe.” He stared gloomily at the empty room before him. It had been empty all night, after he’d packed the last patient off to IMC to make room for a possible admit. He had known it was too good to be true, known with a sort of icy certainty that a quiet night would never last, and soon enough there would be some kind of admit rolling up. He’d hoped it wouldn’t be an hour before shift change but, well …

Maybe it would be an intubated pneumonia. Sedated, even. That would be nice.

“Got an ED trainwreck coming up. You heard them call that level 1 trauma, yeah?”

His heart dropped into his stomach, which dropped all the way to his Danskos. “Yes.”

“MVA, lady was flying and ran off the road into the orchard. Hit like three of the apple trees, Bee told me. Anyway, she’s a hot mess. I told them they could call report and bring her up any time.”

“I’ll need to stock the room -”

Gabriel ignored him. “I’d love to help get her settled but we’re gonna be in bed meeting until 6:30 and then I have to do the board for day shift, but I’m sure you and Tracy’ll have it in hand. Holler if you need anything!” The line went dead.

“What do you need?” Tracy asked, already half out of the pod, aimed toward the supply room. The supply room, Ari knew, where the housekeeper usually hung around this time of the morning, surreptitiously drinking instant-brew coffee behind the Pyxis.

Ari sighed. “A whole set-up. I don’t have report yet, but it’s a trauma. Probably need suction and the whole nine yards.” The ASCOM chirped again. “That’ll be report.”

“I’ll get some culture bottles and extra red tops as well.” He nodded to her as she vanished around the corner, and picked up the phone. “Ari Fell, ICU 4 East.”

“Ari!” He might have groaned. “It’s AJ!”

“Great. You’re calling report, I assume?”

“Well, yeah, but also I was just thinking I’m off for two days after this, and I don’t have any plans after my shift, was thinking about kegs and eggs at the place across the street. Care to join?”

“Somehow,” Ari said with rather more chill to his tone than usual, “I think I’ll be getting off my shift late.”

AJ laughed. “Oh, yeah. I’m bringing up the hot mess express.”

“Oh, boy.” He half-sighed, half-groaned. “I’m ready.”

“Right, patient’s still a Jane Doe but ID in her purse said Eve Smith, 22 years old, just waiting on family to confirm. Chaplain called her parents but no answer yet. Anyway, adult female, unrestrained driver in car-versus-tree MVA, GCS of 3 at the scene, flown here, went into SVT on the way but we’ve got her on amio now at 0.5mg/hr, pan-scan showed a left-sided pneumo -”

He rattled on, Ari jotting down notes as AJ moved through the systems. At least there was that: report from AJ was, usually, good, although he did like to linger on the gory details a little longer than necessary sometimes. If he was going to get a 6am admit, at least he’d have a good report to hand off to the next shift when he inevitably presented them with this hot disaster.

Tracy was back from the supply room, a suspicious damp spot on her scrub top. The navy blue shade hid the color of the spot, but if Ari had to guess, it would be the color of Svanka instant coffee. “Enough?” she asked, holding up two bags of supplies and a handful of lab tubes. He cupped a hand over the phone.

“Two straight poles and an IV pole,” he whispered. “And an EVD hookup for the monitor.”

“Gotcha.”

“Anyway,” AJ was saying, “she’s got a Foley, so you don’t have to worry about that, and, ah … Hm. Multiple lacerations and abrasions spread out all over, but no pressure wounds or anything otherwise. Right. Anything else you need?”

“Ah …” He looked at the report sheet, the notes about infusions and lines and testing left un-done, and shrugged. “You’re coming up with her, right?”

“Oh, yeah. It’ll be a miracle if she doesn’t crump on the way up. I’ll probably be bagging her when we get there.”

He grimaced. “Wonderful. I’ll have RT ready. Otherwise, uh … no, I think I should be alright. Whenever you’re ready, we’ve got the room stocked.”

“Okay.” A little distantly, as if he’d moved away from the receiver somewhat, he heard AJ call, “Hey, you ready Erica? Time to move!” And then, back into the phone. “See you in ten.”

Ari ended the call, placed a quick SOS to respiratory for a vent delivery, and tossed the ASCOM onto the desk. One last chance to check his other patient - a post-op heart cath they’d sent for access site observation overnight before planned discharge in the morning - and then he headed into the empty room, fussing around with the lines and waiting. The vent was there, already pre-programmed with the settings, blue screen glowing in the dark room as it waited. Tracy returned with the required equipment, and rolled a pole across the room, around the end of the bed, toward Ari.

“Disaster?”

“Complete train wreck.”

She patted his shoulder. “My two are primped and propped and ready for seven. I can help all you like, dear.” She was always nice like that, calling him ‘dear’. He supposed it made sense, given that Tracy was old enough to be his mother, but he had noticed she never used the term for anybody else. He’d never asked her about it, though, mostly because he was sort of afraid that if he pointed it out, she would stop.

“I think we just wait, now.”

“Fresh meat coming?” The gruff voice of the custodian drew their attention to the doorway. “I’m off duty at 6:30, so if you think I’ll be coming in here to clean up whatever mess you and those hideous interns make -”

“I’m sure your relief will have it well in-hand, Mr. S.” Tracy fluttered her eyelashes, and leaned across the bedside table, the front of her V-neck scrub top gaping open just enough to draw the housekeeper’s eyes. “You know, I was thinking of getting breakfast and coffee at The Pantry across the street after shift … been craving their waffles.” It was a statement, but it hung open like a question. Mr. S blushed a little.

“I … I’m a little hungry myself. Could go for a nice thick pat of scrapple.” He cleared his throat. At the far corner of the ICU, Ari heard the elevator - the direct-from-the-ED elevator - ding open, and the distant sound of alarms suffused through the early-morning bustle of the unit.

“Think they might have two seats at the breakfast bar?”

“Maybe.” He smiled a little, and then remembered himself and glowered. “If an educated woman’ll deign to eat with me, that is.”

“Mm, I think I might be able to bring myself to slum it this morning.” She waved a hand. “Here she comes, move over, there’s a love.”

And come she did, in a wail of alarms and machines and, Ari was both relieved and exasperated to see, AJ, who had, as long as Ari had known him, struggled with the concept of ‘reserved’. “Heyo, told you so!” AJ was, as promised, bagging the patient, his arm snaked between various lines and tubes, the critically-ill human attached to them almost so covered as to be invisible. “Ari.”

Ari looked at the lines, horrified, and then to AJ. “What happened?”

“Huh? Oh. She came back from radiology like this. Didn’t have time to untangle everything.”

“Nothing’s even labeled!” He waved his hands at the mess. “You’ve got fluids and pressors and is that blood? What’s going where?”

“Ah. All in the subclavian, I’d imagine.” The redhead added, with scathing sarcasm, “Pretty sure I didn’t hook anything up to the EVD. Got a slide board?”

Tracy had, and she and Ari tucked it under the unconscious young woman as AJ and Erica rolled her to the side. “Hang on, let me check her back while she’s there.” There were abrasions, and lacerations, too many to count or list as part of a specific area, and then, between her shoulder blades, was an apple blossom. He plucked it off. “Really, you couldn’t clean that off?”

“Had bigger fish to fry. You done?” AJ raised an eyebrow at him, visible of the rims of his dark-tinted glasses, and Ari nodded. AJ and Erica let the woman down. “On three -” She was light enough, and with four of them they had her slid into the ICU bed in one smooth motion, still piled with a tangled mess of lines and tubes.

“You really had to bring this mess up,” Ari griped, trying to decide where to start first. His eyes widened. “You left the EVD lying under her pillow!”

“It’s clamped!” AJ replied with an exasperated groan, gratefully flicking on the vent and plugging it into the ET tube.

Erica rolled her eyes. “You done here? I’ve got to get back to the department.”

“Be right behind you,” AJ said, waving the other nurse off. “I’m gonna help whiny here get organized.” He pulled the EVD from under the pillow, carefully threading the buritrol back through the other lines until the tubing lay neatly over the rest of the tangled mess. Carefully, he hung it on the straight pole, leveled it, and opened the clamp. Pink-tinged spinal fluid started to drip out. “Come on, hand me the cable, I’ll even hook it up for you.”

“How charitable,” Ari grumbled, tossing the cable behind the headboard and bouncing it off AJ’s shoulder. “Bastard.”

“Now, boys,” Tracy admonished from the foot of the bed, where she was busying herself with untangling the Foley and the SCDs*. “Let’s not argue.”

[* Are SCDs really that important in a fragile immediately post-trauma patient, you may ask. To which the answer is: only if the Joint Commission is there.]

“Oh, we’re just having a good time.” AJ was tracing the IV tubing containing the fluids down through the sheets. “Alright, so this is going to the peripheral, just untangle this -”

“You know,” Ari said, as he fiddled with the monitor and the arterial line, trying to check for level in spite of the level being, as always, conspicuously absent. “I’m sure you have patients back down in the department. You don’t have to help. I was just giving you a hard time.” He ended up seizing a length of blood pressure cuff tubing and eyeballing the line between the transducer and the phlebostatic axis.

“Well, what if I want to?” He snorted. “My only other patient down there is a kid with a head lac, and he’s on ice until the LET kicks in and we can do staples anyway. Which will be, fortunately, after shift change. He looks like a screamer.” He smirked at Ari, and passed the IV pump with all of the various central line tubing across the bed to him. “Never let it be said I’m not occasionally nice.”

“You’re not.”

“Hey.”

At the foot of the bed, Tracy shook her head, tapping in the vital signs as she did. “Did anyone page the fellow to let them know she’s arrived?”

“Not yet,” they replied, in unison. And then exchanged a look, very briefly, before Ari looked away to busy himself with setting the monitor alarm parameters and AJ became absorbed in scribbling labels for the IV tubing.

“I’ll do it, then.”

It was quiet for a minute while they worked, but after a time, Ari realized the white sheet atop the woman was clear, the lines were meticulously untangled and laid properly, with messily-written but legible labels. It would have done the Joint Commission proud.

“Think she still needed cultures,” AJ muttered, grabbing the bottles off of the counter. “Where do you keep the tourniquets up here?”

“Here.” He set to checking orders, with the black-clad invader from the ED pulled the first set of cultures on the first stick. Ari frowned, impressed. “Nice one.”

“Eh, you get good at ‘em when you have to get a line in anything.”

“Seriously,” Ari said, more quietly now, noting that for the most part, all of the ED orders had been cleaned up, taken care of, and signed off before the patient had arrived, “you can go. Really, I’m grateful, but I can handle it and you don’t have to -”

“I know. But this is really selfish for me.” He tore the tip of the index finger off the fresh pair of gloves he’d donned, the better to palpate a vein in the opposite arm, where the splint would allow. “Don’t wanna eat breakfast alone.”

Ari stared at him for a minute. Blinked. “Seriously?”

“Well, yeah,” AJ replied, tone flippant. “I think it counts as alcoholism if you drink alone too much. Have to keep up the facade of being a normal, healthy, functional adult.” He winked at Ari over the rim of his glasses. “You know how it goes, choir-boy.”

“I -” he glanced into the hallway, where Tracy and Mr. S were chatting. Mr. S had clocked out - was it past 6:30 already? And Tracy had her ASCOM in hand, although by the looks of it she hadn’t yet called. If she waited much longer, the fellow wouldn’t arrive with new orders until after shift change. He could have laughed. What an angel. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. You want to get a pitcher?”

Aj laughed, although he was watching intently as the second bottle filled. “You know, I have two days off coming up - what the hell? Let’s do it.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #human au #crowley #aziraphale #hospital au #i did it i did the thing #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much

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cinanamon · 6 years

Text

fortune cookies — wyk

pairing | yukhei x reader

genre | fluff, employee!au, customer!au, mutual pining!au

word count | 1.8K

synopsis | You ate so often at the little Chinese restaurant around the corner that flirting with the boy at the counter became a regular occurrence.

warnings | none

“Welcome to the Red Sun restaurant!” You heard the older woman’s voice crackle through the phone and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread on your face. “What would you like to order?”

“Hi, I’d like the General Tso chicken, shrimp lo mein, and two egg rolls.” You glanced down at the list you wrote for your friends hanging in the living room.

“What type of rice?”

You moved the phone away from your mouth and peeked out behind the wall. “What rice?”

Chenle looked over the edge of the couch enthusiastically. “White!” When no one objected you nodded and brought the phone back, repeating the order.

“Any drinks?” You heard her faintly shouting your order but you moved to your fridge and checked that you had soda’s available.

“Ah, no, I think that’s it.”

She told you your total and said it’d be about a twenty minute wait before it’d be ready. You nodded and thanked her before ending the call.

You left the kitchen and sat beside Chenle on the sofa. “I don’t know why you didn’t want an egg roll,” He had been saying crossly.

Jisung, on the other side of the room, shrugged. “I just don’t want one; besides, they put too much lettuce in theirs.” You rolled your eyes and laughed lightly.

“Okay, but they’re good that way,” you objected with a pout. Jisung gave you a look of distaste before going back to his phone.

You sighed and shook your head, checking the time on your phone before standing. “I probably should go ahead and head there.”

Chenle looked at you in confusion. “Aren’t they only, like, five minutes away?”

You moved to the closet and pulled on your jacket, shrugging even though he couldn’t see you. “I mean, if there’s traffic it’ll be longer. And I’ve been going there long enough to know that it doesn’t take as long as they say.” Chenle gave you a look of suspicion but just waved you goodbye as you left your apartment.

Like you predicted, the traffic was a little stocked up, which was normal for nighttime rush hour, but it ended quickly and you showed up within a quarter of an hour. You pushed open the red door and smiled at the receptionist politely.

You had always enjoyed this restaurant, hence why you came so often. It was quaint; small and a little tucked away, but warm and nicely decorated. It had red wood paneling and a dark carpet, a small crystal chandelier in the center of the room, drawings of the Great Wall Of China spanned one wall above the booths and tables. Shelves and thin paper separators sectioned off the different areas, and you enjoyed the scented candle on the counter.

It took only a few seconds before a tall, broad frame pushed through the back room curtain, a box in his hands. Wong Yukhei.

He had flirted with you since you first came to order food; or at least, since he came to take up the job to help his grandparents’ restaurant. You would admit, he was definitely cute and you could tell he was hardworking, but you felt it was just harmless teasing. Who knew how long he’d be working here? Who knew how many other girls he tried to get the numbers of? So you found it fun to reply but never carry out.

His smile only grew wider when he saw you, and he quickened his pace to get behind the counter, taking the girl’s place. “(Y/n), h-hey!”

You smiled charmingly and leaned against the counter slightly. “Yukhei! How are you?”

His eyes met yours and you took note how his grin never once faltered, his hands moving on the monitor without his watchful eye. “I’m doing good; you haven’t called for a bit! How’s life for you?”

“I have a couple friends over right now who were craving some Chinese so,” You gestured to yourself vaguely and laughed, and it must have been contagious because he chuckled too.

His hands slowed on his work and you didn’t miss how he slightly frowned, reluctantly telling you your total, which you readily fetched and handed over. His cheeks flushed lightly when you brushed your fingers over his palm and he retracted his hand back nervously, causing you to bite your lip not to giggle.

“Well, um, have a good night.” He grinned briefly, his eyes locked on you hopefully as he handed over the box. You nodded and wish him the same, turning to go. “Wait, um,” You looked over your shoulder, your eyebrow cocked playfully. The apples of his cheeks colored as he tried to not show how far he leaned over the bar. “Um, come back soon, yeah?”

“Of course,” You tried not to smirk as you pressed on the door and exited.

Maybe you did like him, and maybe he did like you, but where’s the fun in not playing with him a little?

- - -

You had been planning on having leftovers, but Chenle and Jisung seemed too unapologetic when they finished off the food you ordered. You had scolded them but couldn’t say that you weren’t craving Chinese food the next night.

You sighed and looked through your fridge for the third time. Nothing looked appealing. Would it hurt to order Chinese again? You took only a second before you crumbled, grabbing your coat and heading out to your car again.

It was a little later than the night before, allowing you to reach the restaurant in less time. When the bell chimed, signaling your arrival, you moved to the counter automatically.

“Hello! Are you dining in or did you order?” The young man smiled at you. You told him the former, and he reached under the surface to grab a menu before leading you a few steps away to a table with two seats. He sat down the menu and took your drink order before departing.

You glanced at the contents of the menu for a short while before decided on the sweet and sour pork; you hadn’t had that in a while.

“One Diet Coke—(y/n)?” You glanced up and smiled at Yukhei’s shocked look.

“Hello there.” You giggled out the words, closing the menu and placing your hands on your lap. He blinked and hastily placed down your drink, pulling a straw out of his apron.

“I know I said come back soon, but I wasn’t expecting you to come back the next day.” His loud laugh rang through the rather quiet restaurant and you tried not to shrink in embarrassment when another couple looked at your amusement.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting my friends to finish off my leftovers.” He whistled and pulled out his notepad.

“Dang, I feel that.” He clicked his pen and shone a brilliantly genuine smile on you. “Do you know what you want to order?”

“The sweet and sour pork, thank you.” He wrote it down and took your menu.

“It’ll be right out! Especially since you’re a favorite customer.” He flushed right after saying that and excused himself, hurrying behind the curtain. You furrowed your eyebrows and tried to shrug it off. You guessed he probably meant since you came so often.

And like promised, it was out after only a few minutes, and Yukhei presented it himself. He lingered by your table, his mouth pursed. You paused in reaching for your food. “Is something wrong?”

He seemed to come alive again, shaking his head but looking at you with those same hopeful eyes from the day before. “It’s just...would you mind company? My shift ends in a few minutes so I just thought…”

“That we could eat together?”

He blushed at that, a hand coming to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “...yeah.”

“I don’t mind,” you found yourself saying, dropping your hands back to your sides. “I’ll wait for you.”

“Really?” He perked up, a foolishly big grin spreading on his features. “I mean, you don’t have to but...awesome. Yeah, I’ll be quick!” He practically bounded back into the kitchen, stripping off his apron as he went. You couldn’t hold back the chuckle that bubbled in your chest.

You looked up from your phone to the welcome sight of Yukhei holding another drink and plate (something steak, you presumed), and it was a nice change to see him in just regular clothes and messy hair. He sat down happily across from you. “Sorry for the wait.”

“You’re fine!” You picked up your chopsticks and looked at him expectantly. He really was always smiling, wasn’t he? Or at least always smiling at you. He lifted his to clank with yours before you both dig in.

You shared small talk, but overall, it seemed you were both too hungry to spare too long on conversation. He cracked a few jokes here and there, making you choke on your food and you’d send him a playful glare over the table, but he’d only chuckle in delight.

When you finished, you leaned back with a hearty sigh. He rubbed his stomach and hummed, “The food is good, right? My grandfather really is a good chef.” You smile softly at the comment, nodding in agreement. “Oh! And, uh, this,” he picked up the two fortune cookies from his hands, laughing at the silly addition some restaurants had taken up. He outstretched one to you, and you took it delicately, unwrapping the crisp cookie carefully. Across from you, Yukhei counted down for you to break them at the same time. You smiled lopsidedly as you withdrew the slip of paper.

“Read it aloud,” he prompted.

You sighed in joking exasperation, but cleared your throat. “‘A potential relationship is just under your nose.’” You looked up at Yukhei and both of your cheeks colored a deep red that matched the wood paneling.

“Well that wasn’t very subtle, was it?” He tried to play it off, but you could tell even he felt shy.

“T-that was the fortune cookie!”

“Of course! I’m just playing with you.”

“Well read yours.”

He cracked his fingers and took a deep breath, his dramatics of such a simple action making you laugh again. He grinned back goofily before opening the slip of paper, and his smile dropped instantly, leaving him slack jawed. You furrowed your brows.

“What does it say?”

He tore his gaze away to gape at you, and he slowly turned the paper so you could see it.

It was the same one as yours.

“You’re joking,” you reached for it and brought it closer to your eyes, laughing in disbelief.

“I’m not!” He chuckled reaching across the table to pluck it back from your hands. You made eye contact with him and you both are still laughing and blushing. “The cookies have spoken; would you like to go out with me?”

You shook your head but couldn’t help your foolish smile. “Please never say that again but…yeah, I think going out with you would be nice.”

And when Yukhei blushed the prettiest shade of red, you couldn’t help but cheekily add, “...wouldn’t want to upset the fortune cookies—“

“Please, I knew it was stupid as soon as I said it.”

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