#perfect mixture of the cute and the ominous

[why4anne]

Money Power Glory

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Category: Mafia! au

Part: 3/?

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Kidnapping, Torture, fighting

Summary: When you accidentally found yourself in the middle of a mafia show down you had no idea that your life was about to change, forever. For better or for worse.

Masterlist

The earthy scent of basement was the first thing you noticed as you came to your senses. With your head pounding you opened your eyes. Thankfully the room was dim, the only light source being a floor lamp in the corner. You looked around, taking in your surroundings. The room was empty except for the chair you were tied, the lamp and some form of AC unit, the cold concrete walls and the lack of windows made you feel claustrophobic. Where the hell are you? 

Your heart raced as panic began to set in. Memories of being attacked on the street flooded back, and you struggled against the restraints binding you to the chair. The room felt suffocating, and the realization that you were trapped in an unknown location only fueled your fear.

You took a deep breath, attempting to calm yourself. Panicking wouldn't help, and you needed to assess the situation. As your eyes adjusted to the dim light, you noticed a door on the far side of the room.

The sound of footsteps approached, echoing in the cold, damp space. The door creaked open, revealing a figure in the shadows. You strained to see who it was, but the dim lighting obscured their features.

A man with black hair and a suit walked into the room, followed by two other masked men, his bodyguards you assumed. “So this is Leclerc’s new plaything? Pity you chose the wrong man, you are a cute one” He snarled, grabbing your chin with his rough hand and looking you over with a condescending gaze.

You recoiled instinctively at his touch, the feeling of his rough hand on your skin sending a shiver down your spine. Fear pulsed through you as you struggled against the restraints, desperate to break free from the chair that held you captive.

"Who are you? What do you want?" you demanded, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance.

The man's lips curled into a cruel smirk, his eyes glinting with malice. "You don't need to know my name, sweetheart. All you need to know is that you're in a world of trouble now."

He circled around you, his footsteps echoing ominously in the small room. "You see, Charles Leclerc made a big mistake by letting you go. He thought he could protect you from afar, but he underestimated me. And now, you're going to pay the price for his arrogance."

Your mind raced as you tried to make sense of the situation. Charles had warned you that his world was dangerous, but you never imagined it would lead to this. Trapped in a basement with a man who clearly had ill intentions, you knew that you were in grave danger.

"What do you want from me?" you repeated, your voice more desperate this time.

The man leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to send a message to Leclerc. I want him to know that he can't just walk away from killing three of my best men. And you, my dear, are the perfect pawn to use against him."

Panic surged through you as his words sank in. You were nothing more than a tool in this man's twisted game, a pawn to be sacrificed for his own agenda. But you refused to go down without a fight.

"Please, you don't have to do this. I’ve only met him three times, I’m not important." you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper.

The man's smirk widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Oh, but you are. Charles Leclerc has not shown any interest in anyone since he took over as the head of the family. Yet, for you, he not only actively sought you out. No, he offered you his protection, he offered you a place in his home. He has an obsession with you and I plan on using that to my advantage.” 

“What are you going to do to me?” Your throat dried up at the thought of what he may do to you in his sick need for revenge.

The man chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Oh, darling, the possibilities are endless. But rest assured, it won't be pleasant for you."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you wracked your brain for a way out of this nightmare. But with your hands tied and surrounded by armed men, escape seemed impossible.

“Let’s see, I don’t want to ruin that pretty face of yours” He feigned puzzlement, rubbing his chin as if he was thinking. “Ah, I know, let’s see how you like the cold.” 

He motioned for his men to open the door before he walked over to the AC unit and turned it on. The air coming from it was freezing and you were suddenly aware of your lack of clothing you had on. All you were wearing were a pair of shorts and a tank top. 

“The temperature will continue to drop until you inevitably get hypothermia. I have a live feed sent to the Leclerc’s so don’t worry, he will have front seats for this” The man smirks cruelly before turning his back on you and walking out of the room with his men.

As the door creaked shut, leaving you alone in the cold, dimly lit room, the reality of your dire situation set in. Shivering in the frigid air, you strained against the restraints, desperate to find a way to escape the impending torture.

The chilling air gnawed at your skin, causing goosebumps to rise, and your breath became visible in the icy atmosphere. The room felt like a prison, and the cruel intentions of the man who held you captive loomed over you like a dark cloud.

Your mind raced, searching for any possible escape plan. The chair was sturdy, but you wondered if you could somehow topple it over, using the impact to break free. With each futile attempt, the cold seeped into your bones, making your movements sluggish.

The seconds felt like hours as you fought against the numbing cold, the fear of hypothermia looming over you. Your thoughts darted back to Charles, wondering if he had received the live feed and if there was any chance he could intervene.

As the temperature continued to drop, your teeth chattered uncontrollably, and your body trembled. You couldn't help but wonder how much longer you could endure the bone-chilling cold. The pain in your extremities intensified, and you felt a growing sense of helplessness.

Hours passed and just when you thought you couldn't bear it any longer, the door creaked open again. The man returned, without his bodyguards this time. A sinister grin was plastered on his face as he observed your suffering. The fucker was wearing a heavy coat as well as a pair of gloves and a hat, as if to taunt you with the prospect of warm clothes.

"Having fun, sweetheart?" he taunted, reveling in your distress. "I hope you're enjoying the preview. Charles needs to learn that his actions have consequences."

You mustered whatever strength you had left to glare at him defiantly. "You're a monster," you spat, your words barely audible through the chattering of your teeth.

The man chuckled, seemingly amused by your defiance. "Monsters are subjective, my dear. I'm just playing the game, and you happen to be a pawn. Now, let's see how much longer you can endure this before begging for mercy."

You continued to endure the bone-chilling cold, your body trembling involuntarily. The room had become a frozen prison, and the man's sadistic amusement only fueled your determination to survive. 

The man circled you, his eyes glittering with malevolence. "You're a tough one, I'll give you that," he remarked, his gloved fingers tracing a pattern on the back of the chair. "But toughness can only get you so far in my world."

You gritted your teeth, refusing to show any signs of weakness. The pain in your extremities had become unbearable, and the cold seemed to seep into your very core. Desperation clawed at your mind as you tried to devise a plan to escape this frozen hell.

Just as you thought you couldn't endure it any longer, the sound of chaos erupted on the other side of the door. The sound of gunshots and screaming got closer and closer until, at last, the door smashed open once. This time, however, it wasn't the sadistic man who entered but a figure you didn't expect. Charles stood in the doorway, his expression a mix of anger and concern.

"What the hell is this?" Charles demanded, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene before him.

The sadistic man grinned, reveling in the surprise on Charles's face. "Well, well, if it isn't the great Charles Leclerc himself. I hope you're enjoying the show."

Charles's gaze hardened as he assessed the situation. "Release her. Now."

The man laughed, seemingly unfazed by Charles's commanding presence. "Oh, I don't think so. You see, Leclerc, you made a mistake letting this one go. And now, they're going to pay the price for your arrogance."

Charles's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. "You're playing a dangerous game.

The sadistic man shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "It's only dangerous if you lose, Leclerc. And right now, it seems like you're losing."

As the standoff unfolded, you felt a glimmer of hope. Charles was here, and maybe he could put an end to this nightmare. The room seemed to hang in tense silence, the cold air thick with anticipation.

In that moment, Charles's eyes flashed with a resolve that sent a shiver down your spine. The room erupted into chaos as Charles lunged at the sadistic man.

“I should shoot you right here but that would be too easy for you.” Charles spat, holding the man down. Men filed into the room and fear filled your senses before you realized that they were Charles’. He let his men handle the man, taking him away, before quickly moving over to the chair that you were tied to. He made quick work of the ropes that were digging into your skin before he took you into his arms. 

You started sobbing both from relief but also from all of the pent up fear finally releasing. He sank to the floor, holding you close and you savored his warmth. He took off his blazer and hung it over your shoulders to try and get you to warm up. The smell of his cologne was oddly comforting.��

“I’m here, I’m here. You’re safe now” Charles continued to whisper in your ear. His voice was soothing and you felt your heart slow at his comfort. “Let’s get you out of here, darling” He coos before scooping you up in his arms, carrying you bridal style. The warm air of Monaco in the late spring hits you as you’re carried outside. You couldn’t believe that it was this hot outside while you were freezing to death in that basement mere minutes ago. The shivering finally subsided and you felt yourself relax in Charles’ arms.

“I’ll take you to my house, you’ll be safe there. It’s too risky for you to be by yourself right now, sweetheart, but I promise that I’ll protect you from this ever happening again” Charles vowed as he carefully put you down in the backseat of his Escalade. He rounded the car and sat down in the other seat before his driver turned on the engine.

The drive was peaceful, not a single word being uttered between the two of you. Charles’ hand found yours, rubbing gentle circles in your palm, as if trying to sooth you and keep you calm. The soothing sensation lulled you into a light sleep, the events of the day crashing down as your eyelids become heavy.

“We’re here sweetheart.” Charles whispers in your ear some time later. Your eyes blink open and you’re met with his gorgeous face smiling down at you softly. “Hi there, you slept well?” He chuckles at your tired expression.

“Yeah” You answer in a soft voice, happy to finally be safe and sound in the protection of his home. 

“Good. Do you want to walk or should I carry you?” He asks as the heavy gates in front of his estate opens and the car rolls into the long driveway. 

“I can walk, thank you” You answer him, not taking your eyes off the huge mansion in front of you. You are in awe, this is the biggest house you’ve ever seen. 

 Charles helped you out of the car, his arm wrapped protectively around you as you stood on shaky legs. The grandeur of his estate loomed before you, and you couldn't help but marvel at the opulence of the surroundings. The worry and fear from the basement began to dissipate as you entered the safety of his home.

As you walked through the luxurious halls, Charles guided you to a spacious bedroom. The room was adorned with elegant furnishings and soft, comforting colors. It was a stark contrast to the cold, dimly lit basement you had been trapped in just moments ago.

"Feel free to make yourself at home," Charles said, his voice gentle. "I'll have someone bring you something to eat. You must be starving."

You nodded gratefully, still processing the surreal turn of events. As Charles left the room to attend to your needs, you took a moment to appreciate the warmth and safety that surrounded you. The trauma of the basement lingered, but being in Charles' care provided a sense of solace.

After a warm meal, you found yourself sitting on a plush couch in the living room, wrapped in a soft blanket. Charles joined you, his expression a mix of concern and relief. He took a seat beside you, his hand finding yours once again.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for any signs of distress.

You managed a small smile, appreciating the genuine concern in his gaze. "I'm better now, thanks to you. I can't believe you came for me."

Charles sighed, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand. "I told you, I won't let anything happen to you. You're under my protection now."

You nodded in understanding. Your own stubbornness put you in this situation in the first place. If you’d just accepted Charles’ care from the start none of this would’ve happened. But, you knew better now and you were not about to turn his protection down a second time.

“I need you to understand that what happened today was not an anomaly in my world. People get hurt, kidnapped or even worse on a daily basis. So I need you to stay here, in the house, where I can keep you safe. Do you understand?” Charles explains in a voice that leaves little room for negotiation

“But what about uni?” You ask the first thing that comes into mind.

Charles sighed, his expression softening. "I understand the importance of your education, but your safety comes first. We can arrange for online classes or find a way to make sure you don't fall behind. Right now, being out there alone is too risky. I won't let anything happen to you."

You nodded, realizing the gravity of the situation. "I trust you, Charles. If staying here is what it takes to be safe, then I'll do it."

A small smile played on his lips. "Thank you for understanding. I'll do everything in my power to make sure you're comfortable here."

As the evening wore on, Charles remained by your side, offering comfort and support. Despite the harrowing experience, you found solace in his presence. And as you drifted off to sleep in the comfort of his mansion, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the unexpected turn of events that brought you into his care.

Tag-list: @cmleitora @anne1444444 @halover13 @buendiabebeta @buttfug213

[phoenixkaptain]

I love Tim’s first appearance in comics. I love it. I adore it. God it’s so perfect in every single way.

First of all: stalking. He’s stalking Bruce, he’s taking incriminating pictures (this is where the photographer Tim thing comes from), he’s stalking the Teen Titans, he knows where Starfire lives. Good golly he’s stalking everyone. Like a little mini Bruce, stalking away. Kori: “How did you know where I live?” Tim: “No time for questions, I’ve got to find Nightwing.” Kori: “???”

I love that Kori’s kind of creeped out. I would be too! A kid just knocked on my door and basically said “Yo, Starfire, do you know where Dick Grayson, known to some as Nightwing, is? No? See ya.” Kori’s right to be creeped out.

(God god god I want I need I yearn please tell me the first time Starfire sees Robin III she says something like “I feel like I’ve met you before…” I need Starfire to realize that Tim is the creepy stalker kid. I need Starfire to be like “Dick, not to judge you or your family, but what?” I neeeed iiiiittttt)

Tim 1.) knows about Dick living with Kori, 2.) knows that Dick kept another apartment, 3.) broke into the safe in Dick’s apartment then replaced the wall that was in front of it, and 4.) it’s heavily implied that he has been doing all of this on his bike with a backpack. Tim has been biking across the country with his dumb little coat and his not very big backpack or, at the very least, he biked all the way to where Haly’s Circus was set up. Maybe he did both! This kid is an absolute maniac and I adore him.

I love that Tim makes every single thing he says as ominous as possible! He’s just: “Dick. You need to return to Batman. He needs your help.” No wonder Dick is confused and a bit concerned and kind of creeped out!

Also, I really like the Haly Circus bit, if only because Tim spends most of his parts of the comic internally fanboying over how cool Dick is, and it’s super cute. Tim at one point is just like “Wow, Dick Grayson really is the very best!” and he’s so happy to spend time with Dick, why is he so cute???

Tim saving Batman and Nightwing from the rubble of a building is a very good visual representation of Tim’s ongoing thematic struggle to keep Bruce and Dick from collapsing under the weight of Jason’s death. It’s hanging over both of them, everything is different, Bruce keeps trying to lock Dick out and pretend everything is find and Dick is trying to help him but can’t do anything because Bruce never gives him the opportunity to. Bruce is on the second floor and Dick is in the basement and Two-Face blows up the building and they’re nearly crushed under the rubble.

Tim coming in at this point is great, because he uses a mixture of what Bruce and Dick both did to enter the house. Dick comments, in the comic directly before this one, that he’s too big to fit in the coal shaft, a narrative mirroring of Dick being too old to be Robin anymore. He doesn’t fit in the costume, but more than that, he doesn’t fit in the role anymore, and nothing can force him to fit. He goes in through a window instead.

Bruce breaks through the front, through a window, as subtly as a bull in a china shop (thank you, Dick Grayson, for your incredibly on the nose comments in times of great crisis). Bruce is trying to hurt himself, he’s been trying to hurt himself for the past issues since Jason’s death, and this is just compounded by the way he’s chasing the feeling of being happy again, the feeling he gets when he swings through the air, the feeling that isn’t the same without Jason by him. This is furthered by him mistakenly calling a young boy “Jason,” and him almost calling Nightwing “Robin” multiple times. He’s stuck in the present while the past haunts him and the future looms in front of him, and he wants to be happy again but can only see making himself happy as hurting himself.

Tim doesn’t take out Two-Face, but Tim does sneak into the rubbled building through the coal shoot that Dick couldn’t fit in (and he’s in the Robin costume! He’s so cute!!). Then, when he finds Batman and Nightwing stuck under the rubble, he’s forced to brute force his way out and move the rubble off of them. It’s a mixture of how Bruce and Dick handled things, but more than that. Bruce went in through the window, a distraction, in a Robin-like move. Dick snuck in through the window, in the shadows, in a Batman-like move. Tim manages to take both roles and mix them together, coming in sneakily but brute-forcing when there’s no other option. Tim has always been the Robin the most similar to Batman, but it all begins here, with Tim being the most prepared character in the comic. More than just the most prepared character, he’s doing the opposite of what Bruce and Dick are doing. While Bruce and Dick keep disappearing without another word, Tim keeps appearing right when the narrative has forgotten him. Instead of being an outright distraction like Dick and Jason were in the past, Tim plays a diversion.

Tim’s whole character in this storyline is someone desperate for things to be balanced again. He’s scared for Bruce because Batman is his hero. He’s scared for Dick because he doesn’t want Dick to hate him. Tim doesn’t want anyone to hate him, which is why, earlier, he’s very polite even as Dick is like “Alfred, this is Tim, he showed up after stalking me for a while and he knows our secret identities.” Tim wants Bruce to keep living. Tim is the one who says the hard truth to Bruce, that he isn’t acting normal and that everyone’s noticed. Tim says it because Alfred and Dick both tried and failed.

And the panel of Tim, in the Robin outfit, standing shadowed by Bruce as Batman is just a brilliant piece of visual storytelling. Even without the captions, you can see that Tim is standing up to Bruce, is out-stubborning Bruce by being simultaneously brutally honest and clever. Tim is supposed to be the ray of light at the end of the tunnel, the light in the darkness, the Robin to Batman, and it’s so good.

Anyway, I really liked this storyline and I really liked Raven appearing to just be like “btw Nightwing, we all love and support you, but we’ll back off if that’s what you really want.” Also the throw-away line in front of Commissioner Gordon: “he found it out while he was inside of your body.” What was Gordon thinking right then? I love it.

I also love Tim, but that much is obvious, let me explain. He took a bunch of pictures of Batman being beat up by Ravager just to show them to Dick to get Dick to realize there’s a problem. Tim does not actually interact with Batman or Bruce Wayne in any way until he rescues Batman and Nightwing. Tim doesn’t set out with the intention of becoming Robin, he sets out with the intention of making Dick Robin again because he believes that Robin is what Batman needs. Batman needs something that makes him stop and hesitate. Something that reminds him that he’s more than just Bruce Wayne.

It also has the unintended side effect of Tim saying the funniest fucking line in the whole storyline: “This was the best day of my life.” Like, excuse me??? You almost died! Multiple times! You drove from Haly’s Circus to Bruce Wayne’s house in the morning, presumably in awkward silence because you told Dick you’d tell him everything on the way to Gotham, but only actually tell him anything when he’s with Alfred. When Dick shows up with Tim, Dick tells Alfred that he barely knows any more than Alfred does! Alfred just met the kid, he only knows his first name! Tim did not tell Dick one single thing on the entire ride to Wayne Manor, he didn’t even tell them his name was Tim Drake! Every single bit of information they get out of Tim is pushed and prodded and pulled out, Tim is the least forthcoming character of all fucking time.

Dick shows Tim the Batcave. For what purpose did he do this? Just to storm out dramatically? I have no idea, why did Dick show the child this, I’m lost. Tim has been sitting with Alfred for hours by the time he finally convinces Alfred to drive him out! Alfred gets a single phone call from the Teen Titans and Tim is still there, so we know he didn’t leave or anything. What were they doing? Did they talk at all? Or was it another Nightwing situation where Tim just sat there in awkward silence?

Not the point, Tim almost gets beaten up by Two-Face, gets yelled at by his hero, has to berate his hero, and he’s still like “What a chamring time this has all been, thank you for the experience, hope Dick has fun being Robin again.” Tim is a maniac, he’s nuts, he’s absolutely buckwild, I love him more than oxygen.

Side note: I love when Alfred (while Tim is berating Batman, like you do) says “The kid would make a good politician.” And Dick says “He’d do more good by Batman’s side.” It made me laugh. I also love Dick: “I couldn’t let a twelve-year-old wander around a circus all by himself!” Tim: “I am NOT twelve! I am thirteen.” Tim also introduces himself to Alfred like “Hello, Mr. Pennyworth, what an honour to meet the man who Batman confides with, the stories you could tell!” and then walks in like that won’t raise any questions. Alfred is confused, Dick is confused, Bruce is confused, Kori is confused, the circus people are confused, the only one not confused is Tim himself because he’s a wild child and he probably had ten contingency plans up his sleeve, just in case.

10/10, pretty good storyline. Batman #440-442 and the New Teen Titans #60-61. It goes like: 440, 60, 441, 61, 442, making it a five parter. It came out in the nineties, I believe, and yes, Dick is wearing his silly little flared collar

[justonemorechapternicercy]

ALSO sending the last ask, I actually saw your pinned post aaand can I puppy-dog-eye my way into a Halloween themed Malace maybe? Magnus' masked Halloween party, featuring a cute puppy?

Not as Halloween-y as I would have liked, but oh, well... :P (You will have to wait for the other you asked for :P That is... well, I have plans for it u.u)

When Jace dressed up as a puppy for the Halloween party, trying to seduce the handsome warlock and the perfect parabatai he wanted so much, he didn't expect this.

He was hoping for eyes burning with lust, seething jealousy for daring to flirt with others, hungry kisses shared on the dancefloor, and lots of kinky, passionate sex in the luxurious bedroom.

Not... Not this.

When he arrived at the loft, where Magnus’ usual Halloween party was organized, everything seemed promising. The whole loft was wrapped into darkness; the colorful, magical sparkles and mists only gave out limited light. He could almost feel the loud, yet mystical, enthralling sound of the music, created by Magnus’ compositor friend only for this night. The slutty puppy costume he wore as an acknowledgment and acceptance for all of the teasings he received from the pair for behaving like an excitable puppy turned many heads towards him. Especially the heads of those two he planned to seduce for the night.

Looking over them, he licked his lips. His parabatai and his boyfriend wore a less revealing, but just as interesting matching outfit. Alec, over his usual black clothes, wore a simple red leather jacket, that strangely made him even more delectable. Magnus, on the other hand, went all out: red, velvety suit accentuated with black lace, high collar decorated with black feathers, head, neck, and hands full of heavy, silver accessories. The perfect Once Upon a Time couple, if Jace was not mistaken.

Their eyes immediately found him, taking his figure, his clothes - or lack of thereof - with a famished look on their faces. They kept him captivated, pulling him closer like the opposite poles of magnets. He resisted, of course, wanting to attract them to him. He took a glass of something alcoholic, and after swallowing it without tasting it, the pulse of the music lead him to the dancefloor, surrounded by people decidedly not the two people he wanted. People, who could not keep their hands to themselves.

But, it was part of the plan: making the pair so jealous so they would have no other option than finally end all of their misery and fuck him so hard he would remember even when the two of them left him for good.

It...

Did not go according to the plan.

They were jealous, all right. The green-eyed monster was a good look on them; he felt so good knowing that they really wanted him. Without even a word, even excusing themselves from the party, they pulled him out of the crowd and ushered him to their bedroom, closing and locking up the door behind themselves, shutting out the outside noises. The sudden silence was deafening.

The first part of his plan worked - they behaved as he dreamed of. The three of them, alone. The next steps should have worked just fine, but-

Nothing happened.

Fucking him senseless?! Tying him to the bed, or spanking him for being a bad puppy?! Ordering him not to touch himself while Alec rode Magnus like there was no tomorrow?! Stuffing him full from both ends?!

No. Nothing like that.

What he got instead was-

Love.

Alec gently sat him down on their beds, snuggling closer to him, while Magnus made sure nobody would interrupt their time with their lovable puppy, by not just locking the door with a key, but with magic as well. They did not want anything to interrupt their time with their puppy.

Their puppy, who needed to be reminded of something.

"You worth so much more than this," Alec said finally before the silence could turn into suffocating, instead of just confusing. Jace glanced at him, puzzled. Worth more than what?

"You deserve respect, care, love... Not grubby hands taking what is not theirs," Magnus added, but Jace still felt disoriented. What happened with the plan?

Why were they talking about respect? Love? About caring for him? Why-?

His mind was full of mixed thoughts and unnamed emotions, not believing what was happening. He loved them, all of his heart, but he never expected that they would care for him like this. He was so sure that their night would be just that. A night. Not something entirely else. Dreamed of? Yes. Hoped for? Also yes. But logically thinking about the chance of this happening? No.

Never.

Yet, there he was, sitting between the pair's loving embrace, feeling inadequate, and so ready to run. Run from them, from their emotions... From his emotions. This was not what he signed up for. This was... This was scary. Scarier than any foe, any uncertainty, any unexpected trauma he faced before.

But before he could move even a muscle, his literal soulmate, the only person who knew him better than he knew himself, gently took his hands into his.  Pulling them up to his lips, he pressed a kiss to each knuckle, his calloused fingers caressing Jace's sensitive skin on his wrist, his expressive, adoring eyes holding the blond captive.

"This is a promise," Magnus' voice purred into his ear. Jace didn’t even notice when he got closer, but now every cell of his body paid attention to the warlock sitting behind him, almost enveloping his smaller frame. "A promise of our eternal adoration."

Jace felt himself shivering. He felt like he was the deer looking into the speeding headlights, ready to be run over, not capable of moving his muscles.

Hands still in Alec's palm, the black-haired Shadowhunter dragged his lips along the side of Jace's palm, until he reached the thin, sensitive skin on his inner wrist, pressing a sweet kiss over the rapidly pulsing artery.

Magnus lightly grazed his neck with a finger, leaning closer to his ear, breathing in the sweet scent of the blonde Shadowhunter. "Kissing someone's wrist is a sign of affection," the warlock whispered. Lips still pressed to the vulnerable skin, Alec could feel Jace's heartbeat speeding up, and as the blush blooming on his cheeks darkened, he wanted nothing more than be the reason for Jace's excitement for the rest of their lives.

"It is the sign of our passion for you," Magnus added, then lightly nibbed on the blond's ear, teasing it with small bites and sweet kisses. "This one is for teasing - teasing a lover, to show that not everything has to be serious. That we will bring playfulness into your life."

"Am I not playful enough already?" Jace tried to joke, but it fell flat as his mind was so clouded with confusion, hope, and want. Magnus still chuckled, the sound so close to his ear felt like loving fingers caressed his whole body.

"You are. You are our playful little puppy," Alec murmured, pressing a soft little kiss on the tip of Jace's nose. The blonde blushed so prettily, the red color spread all over his cheeks, neck, and even his chest. He may have planned to have kinky sex, which would not have made him embarrassed, but this?

This was new for him. Unknown territory.

"And what does this mean?" He asked, voice cracking.

"Sweet, innocent adoration," Alec explained, while Magnus traced down the redness with his finger, making Jace almost losing his mind. The mixture of arousing touches and sweet words felt too much, yet, at the same time, not enough. He wanted to run, away from his feeling, from their feelings, yet he wanted to stay. To bask in their love, to be surrounded by them.

"Alec," he breathed. He didn’t know what he wanted, but he knew Alec would know. He always knew.

Without conscious thought, he closed his eyes, giving an opening for Magnus, to peck his eyelids, first on the left and then on the right. "This means devotion. That we cherish you and want to protect you from everything. We know that you can protect yourself, but we want to love you. Take care of you," Alec whispered.

The whine that came out of Jace was suspiciously puppy-like. He felt like he was floating. He wanted more-

No. He needed more!

He tried leaning forward, to kiss Alec, but Magnus' embrace pulled him back before he could reach his target. Thankfully, he was not long without another teasing kiss, now pressed on his naked shoulder. Magnus' facial hair left a red mark in his wake, making Jace wishing for more.

More kisses, more marks, more-!

"A shoulder kiss is a promise for more," Alec smirked, winking at Jace, but before the blond could think of anything with his slow, foggy mind, his parabatai's lips found a sensitive spot on his neck.

A loud moan tore from Jace. His head rolled back, helping Alec to find a better position, jaw slack, eyes glassy with pleasure. He felt teeth marring into his skin, not tearing, just holding, worrying - working on leaving a mark that would show everybody that Jace was theirs.

"Possessiveness," explained Magnus, leaving his own mark against Jace's skin. The blonde Shadowhunter floating in ecstasy looked utterly debauched, making it almost impossible to resist him. But it was not the time for it - not yet. They had one last kiss to share with him.

"This," Alec took Jace's right hand into his," is a promise. No, not even a promise. This is a fact," he said almost ominously. If the blonde would have had more brainpower to think about these words, he might have found them confusing and strange, but as he was halfway gone, he could only stare at his parabatai in awe.

"A kiss on the palm means," Magnus continued, taking his left hand, then pressing a feather-soft, almost not-there kiss to the center of Jace's palm. "My heart... Our hearts are in your hand."

"You have our heart. You have had it since the beginning, and you will have it until you decide you don't want them anymore," Alex finished with a last kiss on Jace's palm.

The silence that fell on the room was heavy, yet neither of them tried to break it. The pair already said what they wanted, and the blonde man, dressed as a puppy?

He had important things to wrap his head around. But one thing he was sure of: he would guard their hearts they offered him as an overprotective dragon forever. They were his - and he was theirs.

[welcometothecrockpot]

Hi again! Also, top 5 pretty scenery in Midnight Mass?

Hello again! Thank you for sending me asks! Oooo this is a good one!

I feel like Crockett Island itself is one of the characters- it has its own face and presence that changes as the story goes on and I just love that

5. The Crock Pot Luck

The set for this scene is just so cute. And it kinda tricks us! It takes this place where horrible things are happening and are going to happen and it wraps it in this colorful and quirky package, it’s great

4. Warren riding his bike through town

These shots are our into to Crockett and I love this sequence! Especially with Neil Diamond playing, it’s perfect. We get to see how weathered everything is, it’s kinda ominous

3. Bev’s final moments on the beach

Holy shit this shot is beautiful. Ok yeah it was filmed on a set but still, it’s such a weird mixture of sorrow and hope and satisfaction seeing this gorgeous shot of the sunrise bringing Bev what she deserved.

2. The aerial shot of Crockett in episode 1

Yes, it’s CGI but damn, it really drives home how isolated this place is and sets a tone for the rest of the series. Tiny island, nothing around it, no one to hear you scream. Such a good vibe.

1. Saint Patrick’s church

Literally any shots in or around this church. It is its own character, just like the island. It’s old, it has a long history, so many holy words seeped into its walls, and now it’s the center of so much horror and so much hope at the same time. I feel like it embodies Father Paul’s good intentions gone horribly wrong, Bev’s fanatical turned despicable devotion, and stands there so foreboding, like it had some kind of influence on everything that happened. That’s good stuff.

Thank you again for asking! I could talk about this show all day, every day

[secondhand-trash]

Banana Split

Kinktober 2020 — food play

A/N: yes I’m aware that the title and the banner pic doesn’t match I just think it looks cute alright?? and that cream tho oooo

Pairing: Miya Osamu x reader

Description: After having to stay behind for extra hours on your birthday damped your mood, Osamu decided to step in with the sweetness in life to make your day better.

Warning: food play, body worshipping, oral (giving)

Word count: 3318

-

It all started when you stumbled across Not Another Teen movie on your Netflix recommendations while lounging around with your boyfriend one night.

You had heard vaguely about it and mostly seen screenshots of that one scene with the whipped cream still floating around the internet even though it was almost two decades since the movie came out, but you had never thought of actually watching it until now. It was harmless fun, and you two were just trying to find something to serve as background noises while you cuddle anyways. You had your head on Osamu’s shoulder, fiddling with his fingers mindlessly as your mind shifted away from the movie.

Then one and only scene that you could quote from the movie came up, and you perked up temporarily from the comfortable position on Osamu’s chest to see what the hype was about. You snorted when you saw the actor walking out with whipped cream very hintingly located on the body, “God, that is stupid.”

You shifted around, leaning on his arms as you laid down, your attention on the screen weakening now that the one thing that piqued your interest was done and over with. What you didn’t saw was Osamu’s eyes lighting up at the scene, sitting just a little bit straighter as he started scheming in his mind.

His schemes were usually... questionable but for now, you were in blissful ignorance as to what was starting to brew up in his running head.

-

The movie itself was not life changing by any means and you quickly pushed it to the back of your head. You hadn’t thought of the whipped cream scene ever since you absentmindedly laughed about it that one night and it didn’t come up in any of your conversations either. 

Until the night of your birthday came around the corner.

You had tried so hard to arrange a day off but it seemed like the hr department was not in your favour. Not only did you not get a vacation, but you were also told that everyone in your department was to stay behind until all work was cleared. Needless to say, this had severely dampened your mood. 

You kept whining to Osamu throughout the day, lashing your exhaustion out into your texts. Being the one to stand right in front of all the customers, he could not check his phone often and the number of unread messages he saw when he finally got the time to take a breather had him shook. He stared at the walls of emojis and incomprehensible noises converted into words that were on his screen, his phone still buzzing from time to time as he was scrolling down nowhere near the bottom of the chain of texts.

He had had other plans on what to do that day until everything was blown off because you were stuck at the office, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do something to make it end on a bang. He thought long and hard, watching as new messages pop up in the chat every now and then, each one with your frustration dripping off of every word.

There was something he had been tempted to do and the idea slowly resurfaced in his head as he tried to think of something worth doing. He had put it off, thinking that it would probably be too strange to do out of the blue but wouldn’t that make today the perfect time to bring it out? 

He typed out a short message to break off the large block of texts from you, making sure to put a cheeky wink at the end for the sake of atmosphere, before opening his notes app to put canned whip cream into his shopping list for later.

-

Hang in there bbg, I have a surprise for you when you come back;)

The ominous message he sent you before dropping offline completely was what got you through the rest of your day. You had your guesses on what it would be that he was acting all mysterious but nothing came up in your head.

Osamu was full of surprises, you realised that going along with it couldn’t be wrong a long time ago.

You twisted the doorknob to open a small crack at the door only to see that it was complete darkness inside. Anticipation rose in your chest as you pondered what he could possibly be doing inside. Carefully opening the door wider, you reached your hand inside, kicking your shoes off as you fumbled to find the switch at the side of the frame.

You had made many wild guesses but it turned out that none were as wild as what his “surprise” actually was.

You should have seen this coming. How did you not think of this? 

Standing in front of you was Osamu standing right at the hallway, his arms crossed under his chest as a teasing smirk danced on his features. His muscles flexed as he took a step closer to you, his smile widening at your dumbfounded expression. He was very much so naked except for the three pints of whipped cream that were skillfully covering his nipples and groins, the ambiguous shape of the slight tent just enough for you to know that he was definitely bare beneath the white clouds.

“Surprised?” he tilted his head, slowly unfolding his arms and letting them drop to his side. His stomach tightened as he spoke and it took all the self control in your to not stare at the peaks of cream right at the center of his chest.

You gulped, avoiding his eyes that were searching for your skittering gaze.

It took you all your strength to hold back the snort that was stuck at the back of your throat and threatening to let slip at any second.

It was... well, you couldn’t deny that he looked really good, and you would argue that seeing someone else did it on screen had an impact nowhere near the one it gave when you saw it right up close in person by your own man whose physiques were definitely on par to any actor. His hair was a bit messy, a few strands of his hair falling aimlessly on his face and behind were the strong arch of his eyebrows that were quirking up in amusement. The cream did little to cover him up, the swell of his strong chest and the defined dents that trailed along his stomach being out for your eyes to drink in. The sharp v at his hips pointed right down to the pile of cream between his thighs and you were sure that it only took a thin layer for it to look so packed.

You let out a shaky breath, the corner of your lips curling up uncontrollably at his antics.

He was a bit of a dummy whenever anything edible was involved, but you signed up for this, didn’t you? 

Dropping your bag on the floor, you carefully pulled him closer by the arm for a soft peck on his lips. He smiled into the kiss, careful to maintain some distance so the cream wouldn’t stain your clothes.

“Happy birthday,” he winked and you chuckled between kisses, “have fun with your surprise...”

“Oh, I will.”

Your grin spread wider on your face when you trailed your finger down his chest, pushing the bit of cream around and flicking his hardened nipple in the process before bringing it up to your lips. His breath hitched at the stimulation but more so at how you graphically swirled your tongue around your white-coated digit, your eyes now bearing into his as you tormented him.

You were going to have fun with him, alright?

It was rare for him to be the one that had to stand still while you did whatever you want on him and you intended to make the most out of it. Holding onto the side of his waist, you bent down until you were face to face with the stiffened peaks at his chest. You pressed your tongue flat at the center of his breast, licking a long strip up and watch as his chest rose while he tried to control his breaths. 

Sweetness expanded in your mouth when you swiped your tongue over the tip of the dollop of cream, going slow and light on him on purpose as you denied him the feeling of being touched. The slightest bit of saltiness lingered within the sugary taste from his skin. His throat bobbed up and down as you planted kitten licks all over his chest, not shying away from putting on a show to rail him up as you let the white cream melted on the tip of your tongue before slipping it back into your mouth. His skin was looking shiny from the grease, accentuating the twitching muscles underneath as the bits of half-warmed cream slid off his abdomen.

“Don’t move,” you said, your lips ghosting over the other side that was still covered in cream as the pad of your finger hovered over his nipple, rubbing against it softly as you looked up at him with a mischievous smile.

“I’m not moving...” his voice came out as a shaky whine, feeling chills running down his spine at the cold air fanning across his bare skin now that the cream was starting to be lapped up and your breath against his chest with each huff.

“Mhm," you hummed, your fingers tapping at the side of his forearm as you lowered your lips down. You dived in right away this time, your tongue swirling around it and licking up the sweet mixture with a loud slurp. Osamu bit his lips, finding it hard to keep it in when your finger traced the mounds of his abs.

“What an eye candy,” you mused, smacking your lips as you savoured the cream in your mouth. He was a complete mess, his eyes fluttering to shut tight as he looked like he was about to draw blood from his lips with how hard he was biting down. A lovely flush dusted across his cheeks and his stomach clenched with each brush of your digits on his now sensitive skin.

He shuddered at the butterfly kisses you planted along his stomach. “This body is wasted being behind the counter all the time,” you paid attention to each bump and swell of his body, your tongue darting out to swipe against each spot your lips just touched. The sequence of actions repeated until you reached to where his waist started narrowing down into a deliciously contoured v, mumbling praises against his warm skin along the way.

If he was going to be at your service for the day, the least you could do was to worship your present properly.

“Pretty boy...” you left trails of wetness on his skin, reflecting under the light and forming an erotic picture as his muscles flexed with each inhale from his trembling lips.

Having a hard-on while being covered in whipped cream was not a pleasant feeling at all, Osamu made a mental note of that at the back of his head. 

A whimper let slipped from his clenched jaw when you turned your attention to his crotch. His breath hitched at the light chuckle from you as you slowly but firmly started lapping up the cream right under his v line. You knew exactly what you were doing, your hands wandering from his waist to the small of his back before finding leverage on his ass. He let out a slight yelp when you palmed him from behind, feeling the curve under your hands as you gently kneaded his cheeks.

You were dangerously close to where he had been itching ever since your endeavors started but as if you were aware of how much he was struggling to hold himself back, you took an agonisingly slow pace while you cleaned up the area on his pelvis where the cream was blotched around.

The pile of cream did nothing to hide his shape, if anything it definitely made the print all the more obvious. His erection being covered in cream and poking up for attention should have been an amusing sight, but you were far too occupied by how much you wanted to get him in your mouth to even process how comedic this must appear to be. 

He finally snapped when you got on your knees completely and licked a long stripe up the very base of his cock, a loud groan slipping out of his lips as a vibration that hit you right in the core.

“Easy on the eyes and taste sweet too,” you teased, your tongue swiping from the corner of your lips to the other side as you stared at him through your eyelashes, “what a steal...”

You tilted your head, contemplating how you were supposed to take him in without making an utter mess. He looked down at you with a look of pleading, his jaw clenched tightly as his hands curled into fists by his side. You could see the muscles of his thighs flexing, his feet that were planted on the ground looking like he was trying very hard to not shift from side to side as he got antsier and antsier by the second.

Ah, fuck it.

You gripped onto his sides to balance yourself still as you took him in your mouth bit by bit, the cream getting onto your cheeks and leaving a greasy feeling on your skin as your lips couldn’t quite accommodate all of it. Pulling back, you couldn’t care less about the mess it would leave behind as you whipped off the cream around your mouth with the back of your hand before diving back in. Osamu’s head fell back at the feeling of your warm mouth around his cock, your tongue pressed flat on the underside of his shaft and cleaning him up from the stickiness that lingered on his skin. 

His palms hurt from how his nails were digging into the center, the pleasures brought by your touch numbing the back of his neck like jolts of electricity. He wanted to grip your hair and make you go faster badly but this was about you, and he did say that you could have as much fun as you pleased.

You felt your jaw going slack as you bobbed your head, following his cheeks at the feeling of him filling and warming up in your mouth. You held onto the base of his cock, fisting where your lips could not reach as the other went to fondle his balls. The moan he let out when you cupped him was pornographic and heat rushed to your core at the lewd noise, making you pressed your thighs together and egging you to pick up your pace just to see him fall apart. 

His skin felt slippery with the cream that was left and the stickiness transferred to your fingers when you held onto his hips before sinking down all the way, leaving prints of white on his skin with the cream that was on your hands. The soreness in your throat when you gagged around him gave you a high that was unmatched by any sugar rush, the saltiness of the pre leaking from his cock mixing now apparent on your tongue as the sweetness slowly faded away, creating a whole new flavour in your mouth.

“You taste so good, Samu,” your lips ghosted over his tip as you spoke, drool that was pooling up in your mouth from the gag reflex threatening to leak down your chin when you licked his tip much like the way you lapped up the cream on his body earlier. “better than any dessert I can get.”

He did not dare to look down at you, knowing that he would not be able to hold himself back if he saw the look in your eyes when you said that to him with a tone as sweet and pouty as that. A soft whimper trembled off his lips when you wrapped your lips around him again, sucking him off as the sloppy sounds of muffled groans and slurping filled his senses. 

You must be looking so pretty right now, he knew you were.

Curiosity got the better of him and with a brief flick of his gaze down at the flutter of his lids, the wire in his brain snapped and left the dull ache between his legs burning through his system. There was cream all over your chin, the milky substance of the melted drops meeting the trail of drool at the side of your jaw. Your lips were puckered out, coated by the white that reminded him of something much less sweet as they wrapped around his girth. His toes curled at the sight of his cock disappearing deeper into your mouth before you pulled back to gasp your air, jerking him off with a few frantic flicks of your wrist before taking him in again,

But when you looked up at him, your eyes glassy and pupils blown out in lust, he came crashing down.

“Fuck-” his hissed, his muscles clenching as he pulled himself back from snapping his hips forward. You moaned around him when you tasted his cum, the warmth pouring down your throat as you tried to gulp down while he pulsed against your tongue. Your fingers were digging into his thighs, each flex and twitch of his muscles obvious under your touch. You gave a light tap at the side in approval as he grunted, a choked moan ripped from the back of his throat as he thrown his head back.

He was still heaving when you released your lips from his length with a pop, feeling a bit light headed at the sight of the drops of his load that you couldn’t swallow down now rolling down your jaw and you collected it on your fingertips before licking them clean. You were grinning from ear to ear as you stood up, still calming your breaths down but very much so enjoying yourself as you swiped your tongue over your bottom lip with your boyfriend looking on in awe.

You nearly lost your footing when he held your face in both hands and pulled you in for a forceful kiss, his lips smacking against yours messily as he prodded his tongue through at the gap of you gasping in shock. He could taste himself in your mouth, the sugar and sweet scent of milk lingering between your teeth as he greedily savoured it with each opened mouth kiss that you gladly returned.

You did not bother to hide the fact that you were very much so hot and bothered as you pulled back, your hands wandering all over his strong arms as you eyed his naked body up and down. You gave him one more peck on the lips, chuckling when he lingered on you.

“Go wash the grease off,” you purred and you could see his throat bobbed at the tone you used, his hands that were now on your shoulders tightening, “we’re continuing this in bed.”

Letting out a full body laugh when he dashed away, you shook your head as you calmed your laughter down, your gaze still fixed at the direction that he disappeared at. 

To think that you thought your day was ruined just before that, you smiled to yourself as you made way to the bedroom, pulling your shirt off over your head and throwing it into the laundry basket before flopping onto your shared bed while the distant sounds of shower running tickled your eardrums.

If this was the type of celebration you could get then maybe you wouldn’t even need a birthday cake from now on.

[blkpnkwriting]

first time | sadism/masochism | gags | baths

jennie x f!reader

NOTE: this is a little longer than the rest will mostly likely be because i wanted to honour the request someone made literally years ago for jennie x reader first time (i.e. i’m the worst)

Red splashed up the far wall of your bedroom, crawled over the carpet as Jennie switched on the small light source. So, it was a lava lamp. Someone sue you, you liked having it as a lamp even if it wasn’t the 90’s anymore. But there you went overreacting to the littlest thing again, and a lava lamp was the least of your worries. The clock read a late hour, but not late enough to condone Jennie facing back to you in evident puzzlement. Since the pair of you had left the house party, you could barely string enough words together through the muddle of your brain to explain why you had to leave. You just did.

“Are you okay?” the brunette asked, shrugging off the fur bomber jacket she wore against the nip of night air. Underneath was a sheer top that soaked up the ebbing glow of the lamp with an eerie crimson aura. The juxtaposition between the ominous light and the concern etched on her face was only furthering your confusion.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good! I — well, I just… forget it.” It came forth as a scramble of syllables. You were pacing, running a hand through your hair and deciding it was best you took something off, too. Your fingers could barely undo the clasp of your skirt but was stopped when Jennie was suddenly at your side, taking your hand, turning you back to her. Your best friend knew you better than you knew yourself most times, and even if she didn’t, it wasn’t hard for anyone to discern you were downright flustered.

“Was it that girl? The redhead? What did she do — I’m going to ruin her life if she—!”

Jennie was on the right path, but leave it to her to jump to conclusions, hand squeezing yours protectively.

“No, no! It wasn’t like that…” You interrupted. You were going to have to explain the tangle of emotions if you wanted her to relax. And you did owe her an explanation for blanching abruptly and dragging her out of the building before either of you had finished your first cocktail. Now, you could feel it filtering out of your system, eased on by the anxiety pushing your blood faster through your heart. “She was… nice. Really nice. I think she might’ve even liked me?”

The look on Jennie’s face was cute. Cocking her head, “Why the hell did you run away then?”

You flapped your arms, appearing like a petulant child for a second. Then, “I don’t know what I’m doing!”

Jennie glanced around the dim room before landing her eyes back on you. “You’re in your room, talking to me?” A hand met your cheek. “Are you feeling alright? How much did you drink?”

“I’ve never had sex, Jennie!” You blurted out. It came with a heavy pant. Honestly, you could’ve done better explaining it with less simple terms, but it was the truth and it was out. Not like it was shocking. Jennie was the first person you told after each time you made out with a stranger in a bathroom or that one boy back in high school under the bleachers. There was no way she would have missed you having sex for the first time somewhere in there. “I don’t know what I’m doing in the bedroom…”

It still surprised Jennie. She blinked, open her mouth. Shut it. Finally, “She wanted to sleep with you?”

“No,” you admitted, sagging slightly. “I could just tell we were clicking and she was putting on the moves. She was interested. And I’m not sure what happened but it just got into my head that it could… lead to that. Sex. And I just sort of panicked.” It was your turn to blink. “Oh my god, I just walked away from her…”

Jennie’s giggle was enough to draw you back to the moment with her. Watching her, you knew the girl at the party didn’t amount to much in your world. Not when so much of it was occupied with your best friend. It wasn’t your typical ‘in love with your straight best friend’ bit, considering Jennie wasn’t exactly straight herself. But there wasn’t a whole lot to base any idea that she felt attracted to you. It wasn’t like you were freaking out about trying to impress Jennie in any bed with your utter lack of experience.

As the thought ran through your head, Jennie seemed to think the opposite. A step closer, she was reaching up to take a lock of your hair and twirl it around her finger. Those eyes, so dark, looked ever deeper as they lifted to catch yours. A cruel grin on her lips. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it was only because she was drunk that she was approaching you like this. Invading your space like this. Making your body vibrate like a magnet as she neared.

“You know,” she started, voice deeper. Sultry. You felt the urge to take a step back but a much stronger yearning kept you rooted to the spot. “We are in a bedroom.”

There was little more you could do than just nod.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” she continued. Shapes shifted in the red of the wall, slow, tantalizing. “You can say no to me right here and now, and we’ll pretend that I never said anything at all.”

Bone dry, you couldn’t speak to any sway in the decision. Jennie took that to mean you didn’t quite understand, and in keeping with the theme of complete clarity, she whispered.

“Do you want me to teach you how to fuck?” The hand playing with your hair now rested on your shoulder, fingertips warm and gently kneading the tense muscle there. “Do you want me to show you how to please a woman?”

All you could do was nod.

Something told you in the moment Jennie pressed her lips to yours and sought to make them pliant that she had been looking for this opportunity. It was almost too perfect.

It was a spell, how she kissed you. Made all those meddlesome thoughts and emotions that liked to control the heart disappear. Made your body respond before you could comprehend the way the two of you fitted together. Made time flit by from the second she started to peel your clothes off and you for her. Maybe those montages you saw in films held some measure of truth in the fluidity they portrayed sex. Abruptly kissing and then naked and then—

“On your bed,” Jennie instructed. A tone of voice unlike you ever heard, and had you backing toward the furniture obediently as she kicked off the last article of clothing around her ankle.

Aware that you were nude and about to part from her, that she would be able to see you in all your glory, you suddenly stilled. Nervous. What would she think? You couldn’t compare to some of her past partners, the men and women she’s bedded that she could have easily pulled from fashion magazines. That apprehension started its beady crawl back into your throat.

A gentle touch. Fingers on your chin. Bringing your eyes from the floor to hers again. Still just as excited about the prospect but with a blanket of care.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmured, kissing you again. Reading your thoughts. “I am attracted to you, mind and body.” Tongue lapping at your lip. “You have the power to stop whenever you like.”

As though the words thawed your insides with security of your bond, you broke the kiss and found yourself sinking down to the bed. Looking at Jennie expectantly. It must have been a sight she liked. A smile spread across her lush lips and she placed a hand on your shoulder to ease you back on the sheets. A pause taken to marvel at your form, one that gifted you the ability to do the same of her.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” Jennie inquired, face glowing in the light. It saved her the satisfaction of seeing you blush profusely at the question. Nodding, a hand smoothed up your thigh. “Then I want to begin with something you haven’t had the chance to practice yet.” Slinking upon the bed to level herself with your waist, “It’s better to show than to tell.”

Teeth tickled at your navel. You whimpered, silently chastising yourself for breaking so easily, and could hear Jennie chuckle darkly. Kissing, nipping, licking, she teased at your waist, biting tenderly at your hipbones, licking the invisible line of your waistband. The sensations unraveled low in your stomach, better than anything you could have ever made yourself feel, and she wasn’t even where your fingers had wantonly explored. Chestnut hair brushed over your skin, heightening the act, and when you started to writhe mindlessly did she take that as a sign you were ready. A hand splayed over your hip, holding you still, and then she was drawing lower.

You strangled out a gasp as you felt Jennie lave from your entrance to your bud. It was a good thing she had prepared with the hand on your body for you immediately tried to buck. The idea alone would have been enough, but for Jennie to demonstrate so willingly had you like putty. How did you taste? Did she like it? Or did she just enjoy how you responded? The questions started tallying up in your brain, losing track when she did the same ministration again, and then again, and fuck, again. The sounds of her mouth and you were obscene, the flush on your face a mixture of embarrassment and lust. And she was only picking up momentum. The dips into your folds came faster. Held more pressure. And she paused at your clit, sucking it between her lips, groaning from the den of her chest when a cracked cry fell from your mouth.

You wanted it to last forever. But it felt like no time at all before you were fisting up the sheets and openly moaning, attempting in vain to ride her tongue as she held you below and ate you like she was addicted. Blame laid on the virgin nerves driving you beyond sense. There was no moment wasted to ask what you liked, what she could do better, what more you needed. Jennie was bringing you close to an imperceptible edge composed all of her own and you wanted to fall already. Tossing your head to the side, chest heaving with a great inhale, legs shaking… it was approaching. Oh, you wanted it…

“Jennie!” You gasped out when she departed before finishing the climb. As if you had any jurisdiction to criticize her.

All she did was smirk that damned way that she did.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, baby,” and the way Jennie said the pet name so casually made you want to keen. “That wasn’t even the main event.”

With surprising strength, Jennie cupped the back of your head and drew you into a kiss. So that’s what you tasted like. An unfamiliar taste but not one unpleasant, and she didn’t seem to mind sharing. Distracted, you complied as she skillfully switched your positions until you broke apart and noted how she was now the one lying on the bed. Jennie was stunning, gentle curves and unobstructed flesh. A shine of the light and you were swallowing a knot to see how wet she had become from the opening act.

Reaching up, Jennie took a spare pillow at the head of the bed and brought it down so that she could fit it under her hips. You watched absently, brain fog too dense to allow any real thoughts to form. The cushion lifted her, and when she spread her legs for you to join her, it exposed more than your dreams dared picture. It was almost comical how your jaw dropped in increments. Hands gripping your hips, you allowed her to usher you closer.

“Put your hands on my knees, baby.” Were you trembling? Doing as instructed, thankful your hands could still, you listened as she continued with, “You can push them apart or up toward me if you need the space.” What was she talking about, so unabashed? You glanced down between your bodies and shuddered. Your cores so close to touching. And to drive home the point, Jennie pulled you tighter.

Stars sparked in your vision as you bumped clumsily together. Despite your copious desire, you could still feel her own hot, wet slick. God, you wanted to be closer, and following her advice, you gently urged her knees further into a fold toward her chest so you could press in earnest against her. Jennie hummed, eyes fluttering shut, hands never leaving your hips as she locked you there.

Eyes still closed and voice breathier, “Start grinding, baby.” You did, sighing out. “Yes, just like that… mmm, that’s good. You’re doing so good.”

The viscosity of the lava lamp trailed over your room, over your bodies as you worked up a rhythm. Abiding Jennie’s every instruction. You tried not to think about the awkward beginning, the uncertainty of what you were doing, what it could mean now that you had both passed a threshold of no returning.

It was easy when Jennie started to lose the ability to speak. Words ceased, coming in intervals of “Faster!” or “Like that, like that…” until they weren’t being spoken at all. At least not coherently. Tuned to her frequency, you began relying on the moans as they came to know what to do, and often found it correlated with what you wanted yourself. Jennie working you as close as she did with her tongue made holding on difficult, because there was no way you were about to finish before she would. Perhaps that had been her goal from the start, but grounding your hips into hers, the only thing that would bring you to that end would be hearing Jennie cry out her own climax.

When the jerk of Jennie’s hips to meet yours started to become unhinged, and the hands bruising your hips slackened with one coming to rest on your lower abdomen, digging nails, did you notice she was about to come. It made your chest tight, panting, beads of sweat running down the rivulet of your spine, and you just had to hold out. Head thrown back, you focused on keeping the pace as Jennie scratched at you, volume rising, whines sharpening and cracking. Then, your name, like she was calling for you. A quake ran the length of your body, and you cried out, unable to stop yourself if you had all the strength in the world.

Dark hair splayed over the sheets, hands scrambling on you for anything to anchor her in reality, Jennie came with nearly enough force to push you off her. You tried to fight it, keep her legs open just long enough to keep rutting until you were both finished. Ribs expanding to accommodate the inhales, Jennie tapered off into deep breaths. When she could manage, she opened unfocused, bleary eyes and smiled wide up at you. You were barely able to hold yourself up, setting her legs down slowly on the bed to stretch after holding the position for so long. Losing contact, you immediately missed the feeling of her against your centre, but couldn’t go another round if you wanted to. The second your high was finished, you were far too sensitive for anything else, and positively a mess.

Jennie didn’t care about the mess. A hiss escaped your teeth at the agony of having her grab your bruised hip again to pull you down onto her body. Sticky, hot, you laid together to catch your breath.

“I don’t think you’re going to have any problems,” Jennie finally said, laughing sheepishly at the end. Now that you were done, Jennie had lost the confident façade and became the mild kitten you had always known her as. It made your head spin.

You couldn’t voice it, even as she hugged you close and played with your hair to drift into sleep, but you weren’t sure you ever wanted to hear another person moan your name that wasn’t Jennie.

[this-solaris-life]

I Heard A Noise

These Moments Here with You || Pairing: Pha x Yo "Can you grab the cheddar salt, Yo? I forgot it on the counter?" E'Mon asked as Yo stood up to go grab his charger as the movie started.  His phone finally died from playing his game while they were downstairs getting their snacks for the movie. He really didn't want to watch The Countdown but Jenny, Mon, and Yolanda were so excited to see it. He didn't want to be the buzzkill and tell them that he didn't like scary movies. Honestly, he didn't like being scared at all and this ominous opening sequence was already causing goosebumps.

"Sure." Yo nodded as he got up thankful for the perfect excuse not to have see the woman die horribly. He quickly made his way downstairs. He grabbed his portable charger box and cable from the dinning room table where he had left his backpack. Yo plugged his phone up then laid it on the table to charge while he went into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Yo found the salt shaker easily on the white counter top with it's red and white popcorn box shaped design. "This is cute." Yo muttered picking it up.

"Just like you." Pha said with a happy tone causing Yo to so not jump. He nearly dropped the glass shaker.  His heart feeling like it was about to jump right out of his chest. He turned around to see his boyfriend leaning against the door frame of the kitchen.  His arms crossed over his chest with a playful smirk on his face.  He was a mixture of annoyed and curious as to why his boyfriend was here. Tonight was supposed to be a night of just him and the girls. Plus, this is E'Mon's condo.

"What are you doing here?" Yo asked as Pha pushed himself off the door frame uncrossing his arms "How did you get in?"

"I was worried when you stopped messaging me and the front door was unlocked. I did knocked though but no one answered." Pha answered with a shrug as he walked over to him.

"Oh, I'm sorry for-" Yo started but stopped when he heard the sound of Yolanda and Jenny calling for him. Yo's eyes widened as a blush spread across his cheeks. As much as he loved that Pha was here he didn't want to explain it to the girls. They'd be squealing and Pha would never be able to leave. So quickly, he grabbed Pha tugging him into the walk-in pantry closing the door behind them as quietly as possible.

Yo ushered Pha up against one of the shelves trying to hide them in case they got near the double fogged glass pantry doors. His arms on either side of him keeping the taller man in place. They shared a look of understanding to keep quiet as the girls entered the kitchen.

"A'Yo?" Yolanda called for him.

"Where did he go?" Jenny asked when Yo didn't answer Yolanda. "He left the salt here?"

"The bathroom probably. Let's go back." Yolanda replied.

Yo let out a soft sigh of relief as he heard them shuffling out of the kitchen. He turned his head to look up at Pha. He'd expected to still see that smirk from earlier on face but what he saw in those beautiful brown eyes was a desire. Yo swallowed watching as Pha's eyes trailed down to throat before rising to meet his eyes again. The no that Yo mouthed went ignored as Pha leaned down to kiss him softly.

Yo could feel the smile spreading across Pha's lips as his brain began to check out like it always did when his boyfriend was kissing him. He moved his hands to wrap around Pha's neck and accidentally knocked off a cake mix box off the shelf. The sound had both of them freezing. They could hear someone coming back into the kitchen.

"Did you hear that?" Jenny's voice said awfully close to the pantry.

"Hear what?" Yolanda asked.

"I thought I heard a noise."

"Really? It's probably just one of the cats. Come on before we miss the good parts. You know that E'Mon doesn't like to pause movies." Yolanda stated.

"Okay." Jenny replied.

"You should go." Yo whispered even still they'd finally heard the two clambering up the stairs "We can do this later."

"I will but I want my goodbye kiss first. " He leaned back down pressing their foreheads together before kissing him again.

The Prompt/Drabble List 

[stars-and-rose]

Through Different Eyes

Soi sat down and wrote the first thousand words of the next part of Cursed Kingdom, and I couldn’t finish it because I was distracted by this little one-shot drabble so here we are! this was inspired by this prompt. i saw some comments about it being a perfect prinxiety prompt. agreed, but I put my own spin on it.

my lovely friend @fuzzylittleb drewPatton from his au! (you can see it here)

Fandom: Thomas Sanders/Sanders Sides

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality if you squint

Summary: Virgil Tenubrum has been a knight for years, and since being assigned to protect Prince Patton, he’s had to save the prince from the random kidnappings by a powerful warlock. But, apparently, the situation is much more complex- and sweeter- than he thought.

Word Count: 2,051

Trigger Warnings: Cursing, Fake-kidnapping

Sir Virgil Tenebris was really getting sick of this game. He slid down from his raven-colored horse, staring up at the tower before him. How many times had he come to his tower? It had have been at least thirty now. It would be the same routine as always. Challenge that dramatic warlock, disarm him quite easily, save the prince and go home. The whole situation was odd. First of all, the warlock kept the prince in the same tower, in the same location, every single time, like he wanted the prince to be found. Secondly, the warlock never injured Virgil. The magic-user was more than capable of hurting the knight, hell, he could have killed Virgil by now, but he never did. Third, Prince Patton never seemed uncomfortable at the tower; he'd never been hurt or forced into anything. Which made the whole thing even stranger, as the kingdom's main theory behind the constant kidnappings was that the warlock was in love with the prince. Virgil shook his head, clearing his thoughts. No time for pondering.  He walked up to the tower, knocking on the door. "Oi! I'm here, can you just hand over His Highness now?" No response. 

"Really? Come on, at least come out here at face me." Still no answer. Virgil sighed, attempting to open the door. It was surprisingly unlocked. Virgil entered the tower; he never had to enter the building before, Patton always exited the tower to meet him. A large spiral staircase reached upwards. Sighing, the knight climbed the stairs, cursing under his breath every step of the way. When he reached the room at the top, his mouth dropped. He had been expecting towers of musty spell books, stored body parts of animals, and possible chains, all lit by ominous candlelight and reeking stench of boiling potions. Sure, he had been stereotyping, but he had not been suspecting this. Flowing lights danced around the room, giving it a cozy glow. The walls were covered in paintings- some of the sky, some of various magical creatures. A ladder was leaning against one wall, leading upwards.  Some herbs were hanging from the walls, and crystals were lined up in jars based on their color. Journals covered a desk hidden in the room's corner, and the whole place smelled like vanilla and roses. Virgil brushed his hand against one of the murals, making sure that it wasn't an illusion. No, it was real. Somehow, it felt like it matched the warlock- Oh right, the warlock and the prince. They weren't in the room, and a quick look up the ladder (which revealed a loft bedroom with two beds) proved they weren't there either. Had the warlock finally switched up his plan? Virgil ran his hand through his dark locks. What was he going to do kno- Hold on, were those voices coming from outside? Virgil ran up to the tower's window and looked down. His jaw dropped. He thought the décor of the tower had blown his mind. No, the image before him now is what was blowing his mind. Prince Patton and the warlock were walking from the woods, chattering excitedly, and carrying flowers. Was his vision working correctly?  The prince had a bouquet of cornflowers and baby's breath; the warlock held peonies and daisies. Both had flower crowns circling around their heads. What. The. Hell? The knight studied Patton first. His Highness seemed unharmed, as usual, and was wearing a sky blue dress that was cut past his knees. That wasn't shocking for Virgil, he was aware of the prince's affinity for dresses, but he was a little surprised that warlock allowed him to wear it. Most miffing, however, was how happy the prince looked. Virgil saw the prince smile all the time, but a vast majority of those smiles were fake smiles saved for the King and Queen. The last time Virgil had seen Patton this happy was when he was taking with the new knight with a passion for books. Then, Virgil's eyes strayed to the warlock, and his breath hitched in his throat. Sure, he had known that warlock was attractive- they had fought many times, giving Virgil amble opportunities to study him. But now, the warlock looked absolutely, breath-taking, gorgeous. His eyes, which were usually burned like an inferno with the course of magic, were now flickering playfully like a campfire. The poppies and marigolds in his flower crown pinned down the locks of his honey-colored hair. The white tunic and black riding pants (the warlock must have left his signature red cloak in the tower) gave him a simpler, less threating appearance. Then he had the audacity to laugh, and oh god, Virgil would sell his soul to hear that laugh agai- No. No. No. No, he was on a mission, and that mission required saving the prince, not swooning over the warlock. "So, Roman, you know what you're going to do this time?" Patton asked, looking at the warlock as they neared the tower. Roman? Was that the warlocks name? "The same thing I've done the past thirty times and hope it plays out differently?" Patton smacked his face with his palm. "No. You're going to look Sir Virgil in the eye, and say 'So, I've been kidnapping-" "Hey! You came willingly every time after the first! And, to be fair, I found you cornered by the Dragon Witch that time and the situation was an extreme one." The warlock- roman, his name was Roman (Virgil's traitorous mind that name suited the warlock) replied. "Yes, because you actually treat me like a person and allow me to eat all the cookies I want."  Patton agreed. "But, anyway, you're going to say, 'So, I've been kidnapping the prince because you're cute, and apparently that was the only way to get your attention.' Apologize for any anxieties and panic you probably caused him, and throw in a sweet nickname to finish the deal. That's how you make him realize how you feel, Roman Lux" "He doesn't like my nicknames." Roman pouted. "That's because your nicknames are a bit condescending. 'Emo nightmare'?" The warlock winced. "I see your point." Virgil's head was spinning. Was the warlock serious? This whole ideal was not a plan for Roman to court Patton, but for him to court Virgil? The warlock, who bent the forces of the universe with a flick of his hand, who's eyes reflected fire itself wanted him? Or was this just a trick- "Well, I was not expecting this." Virgil was brought back to reality by a familiar voice. The knight spun and made eye contact with the warlock. The prince was right behind the magic-user, his soft eyes filled with a mixture of shock and amusement. "Neither was I, but here we are." Patton flashed Virgil a smile. "You two need to talk. Ro, is there any chocolate left?" The warlock, who was staring at the floor with apparent fascination, muttered an affirmative, and the prince wandered over to the loft ladder. Virgil and Roman stood there in silence, Virgil's hand gripped on the hilt of his sword. It was less of a move to defend himself, and more to just have something to ground him. The feeling of the worn leather of the hilt returned Virgil's focus, and he spoke. "I overheard what you said to His Highness. Were you- were you telling the truth?" Roman snorted. "It's so odd hearing you refer to Patton as 'His Highness'." "It's a symbol of respect." The knight responded. "He hates it. The title." Roman whispered, the statement almost inaudible. "He hates being royalty. Patton just wants to help people, and he hates that he can't do anything until his father hands down the crown. Hell, he hates that he needs the crown to be able to anything." Virgil was honestly so surprised, he took a step back. "You seem to know the Prince well." His nemesis (that really wasn't the right word, was it? If they were truly nemeses, wouldn't they be fighting in their usual routine?) let out the same god damn laugh. "Well, when the two of you are in the middle of nowhere together, you end up staying up late and spilling your secrets and gushing about cute boys." Roman looked up and finally meet eyes with Virgil, the fire in his eye' soft and comforting, like the flames of a hearth on a cold winter day. Virgil blinked. "Are you telling me…. You two have practically been having sleepovers this whole time?" "Pretty much." Virgil pressed his fingers to his temples. "I've been having endless anxiety fearing for His Highness's well being, and you two have been gossiping about your various love interests? And picking flowers?" Roman made a face. "Goodness, I didn't mean to cause you so much panic! You see, Patton and I have this system, he gets in contact with me when his parents are being overwhelming and I 'kidnap' him. We were going to tell you, but Patton said you'd think he was under a spell." Virgil's shoulder's tensed. He was starting to believe the warlock- there was too much earnestly in his voice. But what if this was just magic? What if his words were- "I'm not casting magic right now. I'd need my staff." That was true- the violet flowers in Roman's hands were not his wooden staff. The warlock seemed to remember the flowers, and a beautiful red crashed over his cheeks. "Um, these were for you…" The knight felt his cheeks flame. "You were telling the truth then?" He asked, almost breathlessly, remembering his earlier question. "I was." The warlock stepped forward, and so did Virgil and then Roman stepped even closer and they were practically breathing on each other. Roman offered Virgil the bouquet with his cheeks still flushed and eyes still warm. The knight accepted the flowers, breathing in the sweet smell of them. "They're pretty." Virgil mused. Another sentence formed on his lips before he could think it through. "Just like the man who picked them." Roman cheeks were as bright as the poppies in his crown, and he replied simply with the words, "Not as pretty as the receiver." A blush coating his face, Virgil realized he had two choices. He could continue with the same routine, bringing Patton back to the castle, but without the fear of danger. Or he could try this, this dangerously crazy, whirlwind romance (could it be considered a romance? Maybe not yet, but…) with the magical, extremely gorgeous sorcerer with the flaming eyes and the addicting laugh. Damn, he was absolutely smitten. If it was anyone else, Virgil wouldn't have even considered straying from his exact duties as a knight. Following a combination of the knight's code and Virgil's personal (and slightly paranoid) laws had gotten him this far in life, why change what worked? That was before seeing the softness in the warlock's eyes, and hearing the emotion in his voice. Virgil's mind was sent back to a conversation he'd had with Patton about a year ago. The Prince had been watching some of the newer recruits train, his eye's forced on the knight with the sapphire gaze and the wicked-sharp intellect. He had turned to Virgil, and asked a simple question, "Do you believe in soulmates?" Virgil had answered, "I'm not sure." Now, he was starting to believe- because nothing else could explain the sudden pull in his chest. Seeing the warlock- seeing Roman in this new light had opened something in Virgil's heart, and for once, he wasn't afraid to take action. Virgil ran a finger over one of the purple petals. "You know, I got here earlier than usual. The kingdom will only start to panic if I'm not back in five days. It's only a three-day trip." The shocked expression on Roman's face was something Virgil would remember until the end of time. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?" "We have two days. For these two days, let's forget it all. We're just two people giving each other a chance." Roman grabbed Virgil's free hand, and raised it his lips, pressing a soft kiss that sent Virgil's heart racing. "You won't regret this." Virgil gave him a hesitant, soft smile. "You just might be right."

[nth-generation-kpop]

So Nothing’s Left Unturned

Word count: ~1800 Chapter 2/? AU Summary: Bang Chan is dense, Kim Woojin is soft, and Han Jisung Knows. What's. Up.

Chapter II: Flaws

At first he was clueless.

Chan’s arms were wrapped around Woojin, his face buried in Woojin’s shoulder as the other boy laughed. “Channie, that's so great! Now some poor bastard is gonna be sent over here to bring you coffee instead.”

“God, I don’t ever have to balance 12 cups of coffee at once again. Or kick the elevator button because my hands are full. Or bring that idiot Park a croissant because ‘he switched to tea.’” Woojin rubbed his back and Chan let his eyes fall closed for a second. He felt such an incredible sense of relief.

“Slow down there, you've still got 2 months of summer left,” Woojin cautioned, pulling away and causing Chan to take a step back and realize he was full on koala bear-ing the poor guy.

“Yeah, they said they'd start training me on some stuff early though. Ease me in, let me do some shadowing. Plus I'll be training the new guys!”

He must have looked… mischievous, because Woojin’s expression turned disapproving. “You know if those kids show up and talk about what an asshole Bang Chan is I'm gonna get the dirt and then tell them all the embarrassing stories about you.”

“Fiiine, I'll be nice,” Chan said, winking.

Woojin paused. “Hey, so you should let me take you out for coffee sometime. To celebrate.”

Chan wrinkled his nose. “Don’t you get tired of coffee?”

Woojin smirked. “Well, I could take you to dinner instead, if you'd prefer?”

“No, no no no,” Chan replied quickly, shaking his head. “That’s too much, I was just teasing. Here, or…?”

“Not here, no the guys would never let me live that down. How about that place on 6th Avenue, by the College of Pharmacy building?”

“Yeah, okay!” Chan looked down at his phone, noting the time. “I've gotta get back, but text me about the time and stuff. Thursday’s your day off right?”

“Yep, does that work?”

It was Chan’s turn to flash a suave smile. “I can make it work. I'll see you Thursday.”

If Chan would have been paying attention, if he wasn't dense and perhaps a touch sleep deprived, he might have noticed the pink in Woojin’s cheeks.

He didn't.

~~~~~

Over the next week. Chan found himself looking forward to Thursday. Thinking about Thursday. Planning out Thursday. Just generally being excited about Thursday.

He'd have to go into work a little early and stay later than normal, but his bosses gladly granted him two hours off in the afternoon. To be honest he hadn't spent much one-on-one time with Woojin-- he was a little nervous. It was easy being in the cafe together because they were always caught up in the banter and the joking and the laughing that was almost constant with all the other boys-- Woojin was going to realize that Chan was actually pretty shy and not very funny. His horrible dad jokes and innuendos would come off abrasive and uncomfortable if they were alone. It's not that Chan wasn't a genuine person, he was just... anxious. In fact the more he thought about Thursday the more anxious he got-- partially the fear of messing things up and partially the fear of being truly himself around someone he admired. Thursday began to loom ominously ahead of him.

Chan’s closest friends tended to be his oldest friends. He didn’t make friends easily and he simply couldn’t bring himself trust new people. He got himself so worked up about things that he’d said, things they said, and his mind would take over. He would replay conversations in his head only to think up ways they could have been better, things he could have said that would be smoother or less embarrassing or more interesting. With his longtime friends he had overtime been able to take most of the pressure off, mostly by reinforcing over and over again how he didn’t have to be interesting and smooth and not embarrassing around them. And when he did backslide, they’d freely offer the sort of validation that was exactly what he needed.

But new people were hard, and Woojin was new, and that made everything messy. Chan really liked him, really really liked him. It would have been much easier if Woojin was just a cute, funny barista; but he was sweet and kind and caring as well. He asked Chan about his day, fussed over him a bit on extra stressful days, and genuinely tried to take care of Chan where he could. It was a strange feeling, being taken care of by a friend, as Chan was the friend who took care of everybody. Sometimes he felt like he held the weight of them all on his shoulders, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything-- in turn, they held him up as well. Kim Woojin was refreshing in a way that Chan hadn’t experienced before, and he was terrified of fucking it up.

That’s why he latched on to none other than Han Jisung on Thursday.

“Hey, I haven’t told you. Uh, if you need me this afternoon I’ll have my phone on me, but I have to be out of here at 11:50 until about 2. I’m meeting a friend or coffee,” Chan told Jisung, sitting on the empty desk beside the high schooler.

“Oooh, a boyfriend?” Jisung replied, wiggling his eyebrows as he sorted through a giant stack of papers. Ahh, the joys of internship clerical duties.

“Haha, no.” Chan deadpanned. “Just a friend. You might have met him if they’ve sent you to get coffee over at Rosetta? Kim Woojin?”

Jisung smirked. “They don’t send me to get coffee anymore. One time I dropped an entire tray in the BYG lobby. Right on someone’s expensive fancy leather shoes. He kicked up a fuss and so… yeah I sort papers now when I’m not shadowing.”

“How… how did I not hear about that?” Chan demanded.

“I may have told you I spilled one coffee… at the time. Shut up, I was embarrassed. I do know a Kim Woojin who goes here. A writer? Blonde, about yea high” Jisung gestured vaguely.

“Yeah, that sounds like my Woojin. You met him at the coffee shop?”

Jisung frowned. “No, I’ve never actually seen him there. We met last summer in a writing class, he was kind of a mentor.”

“Thursdays are his days off so I guess that makes sense.”

“It’s too bad, I really liked him. We lost touch after the class, but we used to just sit around and write together. He’s fun.”

“Do you, uh, want to come? Get coffee with us? We’re celebrating, I got the internship position for next year so I’ll be actually making music and learning from the people here.”

“Chan, that’s so great! Yeah, I’d love to come! Do you think he’ll mind?”

Chan considered it for a moment before shaking his head. Woojin was pretty easy going, Chan figured he’d actually be happy to see the high schooler once again. Woojin was just...  like that. Plus, Jisung would keep the mood lighter. Chan wouldn’t have to worry about one-on-one time or making a fool of himself because Jisung had the habit of playing everything off as a joke. He was like the other baristas-- yes, Jisung is exactly what he needed. The anxiety in his stomach dissipated a bit; and while he knew he would still replay all the conversations in his head and mentally smack himself for this or that, he’d be more calm in the moment. Less panic meant less embarrassment which meant less retrospective horror. This was good.

He grabbed Jisung before he left and they headed around the corner to the cafe they were meeting Woojin at. Jisung asked why they wouldn’t just go to Rosetta and Chan brushed the comment off, saying Woojin probably just wanted a change in scenery. When they arrived, the genuine surprise in Woojin’s eyes made Chan smile. He was totally caught off guard, and after shooting a confused look at Chan, his normal smile fell back into place and he pulled Jisung in for a warm hug. Everything went so smooth, and having Jisung around kept a lot of the attention off him. The mixture of celebrating, Woojin and Jisung catching up, and them all exchanging stories was easy and comfortable and perfect.

By the time Jisung left, Chan was confident and calm enough that he only felt little flutters in his stomach-- no shaking hands, no racing mind. It was a good sign. Maybe Woojin’s smile was a little more tight-lipped than normal, and maybe Jisung jokingly texted him ‘dude did you invite me on your date????’ and a bunch of laughing emojis; but Chan put that all out of his mind and considered it a success. It definitely wasn’t a date, that’s for sure. His social anxiety gave him a one-up on other people, and usually he was the one over interpreting social cues. Still, he went to sleep that night thinking yeah, it might be nice to date Kim Woojin one day. Maybe that was in the cards for him.

~~~~~

Kim Woojin 4:21pm … You didn’t crash anything per say, I really enjoyed seeing you But yes, you kinda did crash our date which means he didn’t think it was a date. Which is awkward.

Han Jisung 4:22pm :( sorry hyung…. but maybe u should ask him point blank if he likes u?

Kim Woojin 4:24pm You’re cute, it’s okay if he doesn’t like me! I’m fine with it, we’ll just be friends. 

Han Jisung 4:24pm BUT WHAT IF HE DOES LIKE U AND HES JUST DENSE

Kim Woojin 4:25pm He doesn’t, you know he doesn’t. You were there on our not-date. He’s not interested and that’s okay

Han Jisung 4:25pm But… :(

Kim Woojin 4:25pm There’s other fish in the sea. They may not have those dimples but I’m gonna have to settle Seriously, it was really good seeing you kid. Let me know when you’re going to be here again

Han Jisung 4:27pm Okay hyung, if you insist ;) I missed you, it felt like old times 

Kim Woojin 4:27pm You’re the silver lining for the train wreck that was today Can you… not tell anybody about it? I’m a little embarrassed… 

Han Jisung 4:28pm My lips are sealed!! 

Kim Woojin 4:29pm Thanks, have a good train ride home, text me when you get there safe

Han Jisung 4:30pm <3<3<3

Read on AO3

[exothermic-filth]

I Owe You

A slightly darker reader x Junkrat! Non-binary reader as always :) SFW (but lots of swearing and mild violence and mild gore warning!) I wanted to put the reader in a more commanding/authoritative/badass position and integrate them into the world and story line as well! Enjoy~

“You stay where you are and don’t you move or else I’ll blow your fucking knee caps off,” you aim your pump-action shotgun, steady and true at the intruder’s left leg. 

A tall, thin figure stands at the gate, hunching slightly. The porch lantern’s light didn’t reach out that far, but you could swear there was a soft glow coming from their head. 

No one came out here with good intentions. Especially in the dead of the night. No one but desperate Junkers that the Junkertown medics won’t touch or dying Junkers with nothing to lose. Occasionally, a mutated dingo. 

The figure emits a nervous giggle, “Darl’, I have a whole lotta’ explosives on me so unless you want a matching peg-leg, you shouldn’t shoot me either.”

You scowl. You knew that laugh. Lowering your gun and taking the gas lantern off its hook, you step forward, gravel and sand crunching underfoot, “Well I’ll be damned, if it isn’t the infamous Junkrat himself at my door.”

He spits out a mouthful of blood and gives you the brightest grin, “The one and only.” 

The gentle glow turned out to be the singed, smoldering embers of his hair. The modified bandolier he’s so famous for sporting lacks several of his bombs; in fact, he’s missing that notorious grenade of his too. The lantern’s light reveals a host of injuries: a blackened swollen eye, bloodied nose, bloody spittle dribbling from the corners of his mouth... he’s clutching his side and there’s blood, there’s so much more blood. 

“...Does the Queen know you’re here?” You grimace, turning his chin with your thumb, perusing the damage in the low light, 

“Fuck, I hope not,” he staggers, leaning against your gate. “Then again, I kinda’ left an obvious trail to follow.” 

You pause. The Queen and her goons know better than to come around here. But Junkrat had recently gone and gotten an international bounty placed on his head. You don’t need this mess right now. You turn away. 

Junkrat takes in a sharp breath, “Look, please, *your name*!”

Your eyes widen and you turn back so sharply he almost fell back. You hiss, more venomously than you realize, “How. the. fuck. do you know my real name?”

 He gulps, “Mako.”

A “tch!” leaves your lips before you could stop it.

The young Junker lurches forward, grabbing your shoulder with his free hand, “I didn’t know who else to ask. He told me about you before passing out, now won’t wake up or nothin’. Please. He’s all I got.” 

Mako Rutledge. That was a name you didn’t hear for a long time. That was a name you had hated, cursed, and spat. A name and a person you didn’t know you could forgive. His rebellion took everything from you. Your parents stood by his side and for what? An irradiated wasteland. You didn’t get to bury them. Their ashes mixed with the rubble of the Omnium and now, their crushed bones are the foundation of Junkertown. Vile fiends and murderous thieves pass over their pulverized remains everyday. Pissing, puking, shitting, fucking, and god knows what else over their remains...Over the countless remains and ashes of dozens of good people. 

But he survived. Why did he survive?

With a frustrated groan, you open the gate and stoop under Junkrat’s frame, taking his weight onto your right shoulder. 

“No, we gotta’ get to Roadie,” Junkrat cocks his head back, towards Mako’s farm. 

“No. We need to stop your bleeding first,” you push the door open with your foot.

“I’m fine,” he coughs, spraying you with his bloody spit. 

“Yeah, sure,” you lay him on your bed. You strike a match and light the gas lamp by your bedside. The gentle flickering flame make the shadows dance ominously in your shack. Thick bundles of dried herbs hung above the bed, their fragrance soothing you, focusing you. 

You pluck a broad leaf off the closest bundle and press it to the Junker’s lips.

“Chew,” you command. 

He hesitates for a brief moment but opens his mouth and takes it, making a small noise of surprise at its tastiness. 

“Move your hand, I need to see the wound,” you bring the light closer to his side. He obliges, slowly, wincing. The cut runs along his sides, but thankfully the knife seems to have glanced off the ribs. Superficial damage.  

“Some little shit had a knife, I didn’t see it.”

“And if you had seen it, you would’ve be more careful?” You raise a brow, rummaging through your med kit. 

“...well.. yeah,” he murmurs, still having enough energy to muster indignation. 

“You can spit the leaf out once it loses its flavor,” you bring the light closer, double checking a bottle’s label.

He spits it out right next to you. You make a face.

“What?”

Resisting the urge to hurt him more, you uncork the bottle with your teeth and soak the gauze, rubbing the pungent alcohol all over your hands as well. You lean in, “Ready yourself, this is going to burn.”

“Trust me, I’ve been through- FUCK!” He howls as you lay the gauze into his bloodied side.

“Shut UP before you get us killed,” you hiss. 

“Give a man a better warning next time!” He hisses back. 

“Oh trust me, the next part is going to be worst. Got any black powder?”

“Plenty, check me belt, should be a small pouch there... why?”

You wipe the gauze over the wound, removing as much of the caked on blood as you can. The air sours with the smell of coppery blood and pungent alcohol.

“We’re going to seal the wound. I don’t have a good needle or any thread to patch that up,” you rifle through his belt’s pockets, finding the pouch easily. You sprinkle the fine powder on the cleaned wound. 

Junkrat’s good eye widened in horrified realization, “Fuck... fuck. Fucking hell. No wonder no one comes out here.”

You strike a match and pause, a look of utmost frustration on your face, “Want a stick to bite on?”

“No, just-just gimme’ that,” he takes the bottle from you and takes a deep, deep swig. “Do it.”

You gently touch the flame to the black dust and it crackles, lights up, pops! Junkrat screams, his hand grabbing your forearm, his frame buckling on the bed. You wait for his thrashing to subside before grabbing fresh (well, relatively fresh) gauze to bandage the wound. 

He’s panting, swearing in between each breath. The wound looks good, the fire cauterized the cut and you could see no fresh blood seeping out.  You pluck a few more leaves from the hanging bundles and chew them into a thick paste. He sighs with relief as you spread the mixture onto his wound and a bit on his black eye.

“You’re a fucking demon that’s what you are,” he pants, taking another drink. 

You take the bottle back, “And you’re drinking all the disinfectant I have. You’re welcome by the way.” 

You soak a rag with the alcohol and begin dabbing his face. A gentle pinch of his nose bridge (he protests with a scowl) confirms it’s not broken. Thank heavens for small miracles. 

“Fuck. Mako, we need to get to Mako,” he tries bolting upright but winces at the pain, falling back down. 

“No, you need to lie down and I’ll go to see Mako... his, his farm is still in the same place, yeah?” 

“Her lackeys might be there, waitin’ for him or me,” Junkrat protests. 

“I can shoot, but I can’t babysit an injured idiot and shoot at the same time,” you adjust his pillow for him. You go to your crafting table and rummage the drawers for more ammo. 

“What’ll you do if they outnumber you?” He calls after you. 

“I can handle it. I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” you slip some homemade smoke bombs into your right pocket.

You refill your kit, throwing in another bottle of “disinfectant” and a bundle of herbs. You grab some pale pink blossoms off the potted plant on your windowsill and return to Junkrat’s side. 

“Chew and spit?” He stares at them in your palm.

“Eh, you can eat these,” you shrug. “Should help you sleep.” 

He leans over and you expect him to take the flowers in his hand. Instead he just pulls your palm in closer and laps them up with a quick lick of his tongue. You shiver a bit and feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You could swear his grin turned just a little wicked. 

Without missing a beat, you wipe your palm on your pants, “I’ll go check on... on Mako. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

The flowers are already working and he nods groggily.

Just as you turn to go, you hear him call out, “Wait... wait...”

“Hmm?” 

“Take this,” he taps his bandolier. “There’s still a couple live ones.”

You step back towards him, “Which ones?”

“These...” his good eye flutters, trying to keep open. He chuckles, “It might be the flowers...or the drink, or both, but you’re a real looker when you’re not mad at me.”

You pause briefly before unclipping the bombs and dropping them into your satchel’s side pockets. You give him the gentlest of slaps, “It’s the head injury talking. Sleep.”

You can’t tell if its the drowsiness but he leans against your hand, nuzzling into it. You lay him down gently. He’s kind of cute. When he’s not talking. 

Stocked and ready to go, you lock the door and get on your motorcycle. It’s time to pay Uncle Mako a visit. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

You stop a good hundred meters out from the edge of Rutledge’s farm. Sure enough, a bunch of the Queen’s goons were in front of the front porch, speaking in hushed voices. You chew your lips pensively. They all sport the Queen’s mark: a black armband with a crowned skull. 

“Everything’s cleared?” The center-most man asked. 

“Yeah, we checked the perimeter and everything. All of the traps are deactivated.”

“What about the porch?”

The group coughs and shuffles about. 

“...I’ll go check the porch,” a twiggy fellow approaches the porch, slowly, carefully. 

You pause, sliding a hand down into your bag. Licking your finger, you test the air. No breeze, perfect. Now, just to get closer. You creep along the abandoned shed, coming closer to the group. 

“Any minute now, Crusher,” the man in the center said. 

The tiny, wiry fellow, apparently called Crusher gave an indignant whine. You hear a click. He scampers back to the group, “Done, that was the last one.” 

You almost chuckle out loud. No that wasn’t. 

“Alright, move in, we’re gonna’ be 25 million dollars richer tonight boys,” the leader calls. He hauls his weapon upward and blasts a grenade into the door. 

Wrong move. The wooden exterior shatters to reveal a steel plate door behind. 

“Fuck’s sake, they’ll know we’re here now! Alright, bring out the big stuff.” 

A very strong-looking woman hoists a crude rocket launcher onto her shoulder. You take a deep breath, no time to waste now, so you sneak closer and closer until you are meters behind them. You strike the bomb along the dry wood of the shed, friction igniting the match-like wick tip. With a grunt you chuck it square in the middle of the group. 

“What the fuck is that?” The leader stomps towards the little thing. It’s leaking spurts of gray smoke.

Come on, come on. 

“Spread out! Someone’s here...” The leader stomps on the bomb’s wick, trying to put it out. 

Oh, bad idea, friend. The moment his boot came into contact with the bomb, it exploded into a giant plume of gray-blue smoke. The scent of burnt pine needles filled the air. Taking advantage of the situation, you dart past the group, striking another smoke bomb and dropping it in the thick of it for good measure. You step onto the porch and your finger tips scramble for the secret latch. 

“They’re on the porch! I heard foot steps!!” A voice shouts amidst coughs. 

Oh god, not like this. Come on, come on. The door slides open and a heavy hand pulls you inside. You tumble inside and spring to your feet, one of Junkrat’s bombs in your hands. 

“Long time no see *your name*,” Mako stands before you. 

“Uncle,” you nod. This. This is awkward. “How’d you know it was me?”

“There’s only a couple people who know how to make an herbal smoke bomb like that.”

“Yeah, and most of them are dead,” you couldn’t resist commenting. 

Mako’s quiet for a moment, “...yeah, how’s Jamison?”

“Jami-who?”

“Junkrat. His name’s Jamison. Jamison Fawkes.”

“...He’s... he’s one of the Fawkes’ kids?”

“The only one that survived. Doesn’t remember anything. Took me years to track him down and turns out he got himself into royal shit.” 

“Well, fuck,” you pace about a bit, “He’s uh, he’s fine. He lost a fair amount of blood but got that patched up, and he’s pretty bruised, but nothing’s broken.”

“Ah, good, good to hear,” Mako limps back. 

“What about you?” You observe his gait. 

“I’m fine,” Mako takes a seat and sighs. 

You cross your arms, and peer at him through the mask. You barely remember what he looks like without it. You were so little back then.

“You’re staring,” he remarks. 

“Yeah. Jamison... Jamison told me you’re hurt.” 

“It was that nonsense,” he gestures towards the kitchen table. “How many of them outside?”

You move towards the table, “Five. I dropped two bombs, that should be more than enough.” 

“Good,” he grunts. 

You examine the crude little darts on the table, “Barbaro sap?”

He nods. 

“Must be concentrated if a couple are enough to knock you out, Uncle,” you chuckle and immediately bit your tongue. It was so natural, so easy to talk to him. 

“Jamison overreacts. I’m fine.” 

“You can say that. Fucker staggered all the way to my place, bleeding as he went.”

Mako shakes his head.

You walk back and do a quick walk-around, “You sure you’re alright?”

“I have the worst headache on earth...probably the darts, but I’m fine.” 

He’s telling the truth. For the most part, “And the limp?”

“Hip’s killing me. I’m getting old.”

You flip open the satchel and produce a couple herb bundles, “For the pain.”

He grunts, motioning towards the kitchen. You place the bundles there, and find yourself leaning against the table. Pausing. Fists balled up.  

He sighs, “Just say it.”

You march back to him, holding back the hot angry tears that threaten to spill, “You had no fucking right to tell Junkrat about me. You’ve been dead to me ever since that day. How dare you tell anyone about me? About us?”

Mako nods, speaking softly, “I owe it to the Fawkes to make sure he wasn’t going to die. I told him to go to you.”

“I almost did it, you know?” You’re shaking. “I almost turned him away. Almost let him die at my door step” 

Mako’s quiet, before speaking firmly, “You’re too good to do that.”

You collapse to the ground, crying, “This isn’t fucking fair. Every time I put the past behind me, it fucking comes back. You come back.” 

Your tears soak the dirty, dusty floors and the sobs come out in heaves. You cry for what feels like an embarrassingly long time. Mako is quiet the entire time. Finally the sobs subside into exhausted sniffs. You’re taking deeper breaths.

“... We have probably 20 minutes before they wake up,” he gets up and opens the door. 

You mentally kick yourself for being so vulnerable in front of him and pick yourself up off the ground. 

Outside, Mako is... or rather, Roadhog, is gathering the limp bodies and piling them together. 

“Are you going to kill them?” You ask. 

“Nope, tie ‘em up and leave 'em at the gate.”

You nod, “Let the Queen kill them herself. Nice.”

“Thank you,” he grunts. 

The two of you set to quiet work. With rough cord, you secure each goon’s hands behind their back, bind their ankles together, and Mako dumps them into his motorcycle’s sidecar. 

You give him one final look, too tired to be angry. 

“Here,” he hands you a grenade launcher, “It’s Junkrat’s.” 

“I’ll... I’ll return Junkrat when he gets better. I’ll see you...Roadhog,” the name is unfamiliar in your mouth.   

He nods and you turn away. Time to get back.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You return to your shack. The sky begins to pale and brighten, foretelling the sun’s arrival. As achy and weary as you are, you can’t afford to slip up. You check the perimeter of the shack and the stone fence. No tracks, good. You push through the gates and do a quick walk-around of the shack. Only your tracks and Junkrat’s tracks where you dragged him. Very good. 

 You push the door, still locked. Sighing, leaning into the frame, you unlock the door and stagger in. The junker is still knocked out, you hear his gentle snoring. You practically collapse into the chair by the bed, letting the weapons and bag tumble to the ground with a clack and a thump. 

“Oh, Jamison,” you sigh, gently turning his head with both of your hands. 

He’s not bad to look at when he’s sleeping. His wild expression calmed and soothed by the medicinal flowers. The swelling around his black eye had gone down significantly, not bad for a night’s rest.  

“No one messes with the Queen around here, you know that,” you murmur, gently feeling the bones in his face. Your thumb pads trace the edges of his jaw, looking for bumps. Your fingers move to his eye socket: gently, gently tracing around the black eye. The herbal paste had dried and chipped off in his sleep. He’s lucky, nothing’s broken. 

He blinks and shuffles beneath your touch. You retract your hands quickly. 

“Good morning,” you clear your throat.

“‘Ow’s Roadie?”

“He’s fine. You were quite dramatic. You were far more hurt than he was.”

“But the? But he...he wouldn’t wake up, even when I punched the bastard square in the face.”

That explains the headache. 

“Yeah, tends to happen when you get shot with one of these,” you shuffle in your bag and produce a crude dart, “Careful with the tip.”

He chuckles, “Phrasing.”

You roll your eyes but allow yourself a smile, “I have something for you.”

“Hmm?”

You lift up the grenade launcher. It’s a bit worst for wear, but nothing a bit of love and affection can’t fix. 

He gives a dramatic gasp, feigning a tear wipe, “I could kiss you.” 

“You definitely could,” you nod, exaggerated solemness in your voice. 

His breath hitches for a moment, smiling at you, “Wow, you really are a looker.” 

You smile, far too much for your own liking, “How are you feeling?”

“Slept like a baby,” he grins, “I don’t know what the fuck you smeared on me but m’side feels much better.” 

“Good,” you’re smiling like an idiot. Is it because of the sleep-deprivation? It’s certainly not because Jamison, er, Junkrat is looking at you. You tell yourself it’s because of the sleep-deprivation. 

“Sorry, by the way,” he clears his throat. “I know you and Roadie have bad blood and whatnot.”

“It’s fine...” your voice softens. “Your real name is Jamison?”

He scratches his head, “Yeah, only thing I really remember from when I was younger.”

You feel something catch in your throat, something like sadness. Something like nostalgia. You lean in and take his lips in yours. You could feel him hesitate, stunned, before melting into the kiss and kissing you back, greedily. He tastes sour and fresh, like the herbs you gave him to chew. 

When you finally pull back, he has the toothiest grin on his face, “Now, what did I do to deserve that?”

“I owed you for that,” you point at his side, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“Oh well, darl’,” he pulls you in closer, onto the bed with him. “If we’re talking about what you owe me... I’m going to need something for the disinfecting, that nose pinch, and something for leaving my poor injured self all alone last night.” 

You’re laughing fully, genuinely, the first time in a long time, “I’m sure we can think of something. And while we’re at it, you owe me for patching you up.”

He runs a rough thumb pad across your cheek, “Right, right. Does Roadie need me back soon?”

“I said I’d bring you back as soon as you get better,” you nuzzle up close to him, letting him drape his arm around you.

“Well, let’s take our time gettin’ better then, shall we?” He peppers your neck with kisses. 

“I owe myself that much,” you smile, pulling him in for another kiss. 

[scalira]

Don’t kiss me, I’m sick

Pairing: Stenbrough, Reddie (background), Ben/Mike if you squint Words: 3700 Read on ao3

Stanley Uris wouldn’t necessarily call himself dramatic, though basically all his friends would have to disagree.

Richie’s favorite way to describe him is Stan the Drama Man, closely followed by King of being Dramatic and Dramatiqué (Richie refers to that one as Stan’s possible drag name). Most of the others agree with Richie, except Bill. He might secretly think Stan is a big ol’ drama queen, but if he does, he doesn’t show it.

So, when Stan gets a mild sore throat and immediately cancels all his plans on Halloween just in case he’s coming down with throat cancer, Bill is the only one who doesn’t roll his eyes at him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go?” Bill asks him on his doorstep, the other losers waiting impatiently behind him. Stan glances over Bill’s shoulder, noticing how Richie is provoking Eddie and Eddie being seconds away from hitting him on the head with his lightsaber.

“I’m sure,” he assures Bill. “You should really get going now, before Eddie murders Richie and puts his corpse in someone’s front yard as a Halloween decoration.”

Bill turns around and groans, almost like an annoyed dad would. It brings a little smile to Stan’s lips.

“Okay. I promise we won’t have too much fun without you,” he says once he’s turned back around to look at Stan.

Stan rolls his eyes.

“Sure you won’t.”

Bill offers him a bright smile and taps his fingers against Stan’s, something they’ve been doing since kindergarten. Stan repeats the action before taking a step back into his warm house.

“Seriously, go,” he insists. “Don’t let Richie drink too much alcohol.”

“Why do you ruin good things?” Richie shouts from Stan’s front lawn. Stan flips him off.

“Get off my property, asshole!” He yells at him. Richie lifts his hands to form a little heart in response.

Bill sighs deeply and walks towards Richie, taking him by the arm to drag him away. The sight of Bill dressed as the Terminator pulling Richie, dressed as princess Leia, away from his house is almost enough to instantly make Stan feel better.

He watches his friends mount their bikes and then closes the door, making his way to the living room to bury himself in a mountain of blankets and drown himself in a shit load of tea.

***

The party is… well, it’s a party.

Josh’s house is already packed when the losers arrive. There are girls dancing on the dinner table, costumes so short Bill catches glimpses of their buttcheeks whenever they roll their hips. More people are dancing and talking in the living room, passing cigarettes back and forth and sipping from red solo cups. The entire house smells like a mixture of cigarettes, weed, stale beer and sweat.

“This is gonna be so much fun ,” Eddie deadpans, bending his body away from a drunk girl trying to cling onto him. Richie wordlessly pushes her away and gives her a stern look.

“Come on, Eddie Spaghetti. Lighten up a bit, will you?” He asks once the girl is out of their orbit.

“Don’t call me that.”

Richie grins at him and throws an arm around his shoulders. Eddie would’ve shaken it off if it were anyone else, including any of the losers, but with Richie he just gives him a mild shove.

“Anyone want a drink?” Ben offers. He and Mike are already making their way to the kitchen.

“Bring me a beer, Benny boy,” Richie says. Eddie asks for some soda and Bill declines the offer all together.

They push their way to a less crowded area in the living room and plop onto the couch, sitting so closely together they’re touching from shoulder to ankle. Eddie has to partly sit on Richie’s lap, which he pretends to hate while Richie takes the opportunity to wrap both his arms around Eddie’s waist and pull him closer. Bill is positioned between Bev and Richie, briefly thinking about how uncomfortable Stan would be sitting like this. Bill’s mind flashes back to any of their sleepovers, where Stan would only ever curl up against Bill’s side.

“I’m gonna try to get laid tonight,” Beverly announces.

“Oh, trying to find the John Bender to your Claire Standish?” Richie replies, referring to Beverly’s costume.

“You know damn well I don’t swing that way,” Bev says, slightly offended.

“Do you know any girls who swing your way?” Bill asks.

“A couple. There are more lesbians out there than you think, Billothy.”

“That sounds so ominous,” Eddie says.

Richie puts on a reporter voice, “ten more girls have gone missing during the lesbian frenzy. We beg everyone to stay inside and for the love of god, do not engage. There are more lesbians out there than any of us think.”

“A lesbian frenzy is the only way I wanna leave this world,” Beverly says.

“I wanna leave this world during a zombie apocalypse,” Richie says.

“ Why?” Eddie asks, appalled. “That sounds disgusting.”

Richie pulls Eddie even closer to him and bites his neck. Eddie squirms, but not enough to free himself.

“What’s disgusting about cool zombies biting the flesh off your neck?” Richie wonders, sounding genuinely surprised.

Eddie elbows him in the ribs, finally jumping off Richie’s lap.

“Everything! You’re so weird, Richie.”

Richie grins and stands too, taking Eddie’s hand.

“Thanks. Come on, Mike and Ben seem to have lost their way back, let's go find them.”

Bev and Bill watch them go, and then Beverly sinks further into the couch.

“They’re definitely sneaking away to go make out,” she states.

Bill chuckles and leans back into the couch too.

“Probably,” he says. Those two act as if nobody knows they’re totally into each other, but they’re so obvious about it. “Ben and Mike too, let’s be real.”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Beverly laughs. “‘Getting drinks’, yeah, right.”

She sighs and puts her head on Bill’s shoulder. “What about you, babe?”

“What about me, darling?”

Beverly pokes him in the ribs.

“You know what I mean, Denbrough. Why are you here when you could be taking care of your sick loverboy?”

Bill hates how he can feel his cheeks flush.

“He’s not my loverboy.”

“ Yet,” Bev adds.

“No, period, Beverly. We’re not together.”

“ Yet!”

“Beverly, I swear to God if you say ‘yet’ one more time -”

Beverly laughs and nudges Bill with her shoulder. “Fine, Mr. Grumpy pants. But you know what I mean. You have a massive crush on him. And taking care of him when he isn't feeling well would be the perfect opportunity to swoop him off his feet, and yet you’re at this lame Halloween party.”

“Who says Stan wants me around when he’s sick? You know how he gets.”

“Yeah,” Bev nods, “our residential drama king. But he never complains about your presence like he does about ours when he isn’t feeling well.”

“I guess,” Bill shrugs.

“Oh my god, are you actually that blind?”

Beverly groans. She gets up and jabs a finger in Bill’s direction, putting on her Mom Frown. “I’m really gonna have to spell this out for you, don't I? You’re the only one Stan can stand to be around when he’s sick. He has never cuddled up to any of us the way he cuddles up to you on movie nights. Mr. Uris is currently sick and home alone, and the only person he enjoys spending time with when he gets like that is you. So fucking go over to his place, take care of him, make him some fucking soup or whatever and live happily ever after.”

Bill thinks about it for a second. What’s the worst that could happen? Even if he doesn't come clean about his feelings, they could still just hang out together. Alone. Watch some movies, share a blanket… Honestly, even just the prospect of cuddling with Stan sounds double as appealing as staying at this party.

“Don’t let Richie eat too much candy. He gets so hyper he doesn't sleep all night,” he tells Beverly as he gets up. Bev grins and gives him a high five.

“No problem, captain! I’ll look after him like he’s my son.”

Bill nods and says goodbye, craning his neck to look for the others. When he can’t find them, he just makes his way back to the front door.

***

The last thing Stan is expecting when he answers the door is Bill Denbrough in full Terminator costume, holding a pizza in his hands and wearing the Derry Pizza Delivery hat.

“Hi,” he greets, as if this isn't the weirdest thing Stan has seen all night.

“Uh, hi,” Stan replies. “What are you doing here? And why are you holding a pizza?”

“I caught up with the delivery boy on his way here and paid for the pizza so I could bring it to you.”

Stan leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn't miss the way Bill’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows.

“What if I wanted to see the delivery boy?” He asks. “He’s cute.”

Bill’s cheeks flush. Stan has to bite his lip in order not to smile.

“N-not as cute as m-me, though,” Bill tries. His stutter betrays how nervous he suddenly is. It always does.

Stan takes his sweet time moving his eyes over Bill’s body, as if he doesn't already check him out whenever he’s not looking. He has to admit the all-black outfit looks really good on him.

“I suppose,” he eventually says, when his eyes reach Bill’s now bright red face. Then he takes a step back and gestures inside. “Come on, then. I’m hungry.”

Bill grins and steps inside, his arm brushing against Stan’s chest as he passes him. Stan’s heart clenches painfully at the contact, but he ignores it. Not now .

“So,” Bill says once he’s in the living room, “why order pizza when you’re sick? Shouldn't you be eating soup or something?”

Stan makes a face and takes the pizza from Bill.

“You know I don't like soup.”

Bill rolls his eyes.

“Right,” he says, taking the box back from Stan to put it on the coffee table. “You think it’s unnatural.”

“Food is supposed to be chewed!”

Bill shakes his head and laughs lightly.

“You’re ridiculous, Stan.”

Stan nudges him. “Shut up, dick.”

“Okay, fine. Let's just eat your greasy pizza and watch bad horror movies on TV.”

“That’s the best thing you’ve said all night,” Stan grins. He pulls Bill down onto the couch and pulls up his knees, settling against Bill’s side. He sits like that for approximately five seconds before he groans and sits back up.

“Your Terminator jacket is uncomfortable,” he complains. “Take it off.”

“Well, damn, aren’t you demanding tonight,” Bill says. He slips out of his leather jacket, revealing the black sweater he’s wearing underneath. Stan is delighted with this development; sweaters are a lot more comfortable to snuggle up to than leather jackets.

“That’s cheating,” he says, pointing at the sweater as if he cares even one bit about Bill not following the strict Terminator costume. “I’m sure Arnold never wore a sweater underneath his badass leather jacket.”

“Shut up, Stan. It’s freezing outside.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s just a bit chilly.”

Bill shoves him away from him. “Says the person who stayed in because he had a bit of a sore throat!”

“I might be dying, William! Be nice to me.”

Bill snorts loudly. Stan chuckles too, moving back to his position against Bill’s side.

“Okay, I might be a bit dramatic,” he admits. “Maybe I’m not terminally ill. Maybe I just have a cold.”

“I’m glad you came to that conclusion all by yourself.”

Stan looks up to Bill. “If you already knew I was barely even ill, why did you come to check up on me anyway?”

Bill’s cheeks flush again. Stan secretly finds him extremely adorable when he blushes, but of course he would rather die than to admit that out loud.

“Because I’m a good friend who doesn’t want his friends to be all alone on Halloween.”

“It’s Halloween, not some important holiday like Christmas or New Years. I would’ve been fine.”

“I can leave again,” Bill suggests, already moving to stand. Stan grabs into his sweater and pulls him back.

“No, you’re already here now. Might as well keep me company.”

“That’s what I thought,” Bill says, a bit too happy with himself as he settles back onto the couch. He kicks off his shoes, enduring Stan’s annoyed groan about how messily he kicks them away, and gets comfortable, wrapping an arm around Stan’s shoulders.

Stan enjoys cuddling with Bill. Like, he really enjoys it. He’s been getting comfortable with Bill’s touch since they were three, and now he’s one of the only people Stan can stand to be touched by. Even his parents mostly get short semi-hugs. Richie is the only other person he allows to touch him, but never to the same extend as Bill. Richie enjoys kissing his friends on the cheek or forehead whenever they say goodbye after a day of hanging out, which is also something Stan had to work up to. He can now comfortably let himself be kissed by Richie without flinching, but whenever he tries hugging him for more than a few seconds, Stan starts squirming.

Not with Bill, though. It’s been a very long time since he last squirmed underneath his touch - Stan can’t even remember the last time touching Bill had made him uncomfortable. It just feels so natural: knocking their knees together when they sit together in class; tapping against Bill’s fingers with his own; pressing together from shoulder to knee when watching movies. Stan even occasionally puts a hand on Bill’s thigh in class when he gets called on to speak and he gets his nervous stutter.

In fact, Stan has caught himself thinking about touching Bill more and more lately. And more often than not, his mind wanders to the less… innocent form of touching. Whenever he can’t sleep, he finds himself imagining Bill by his side, warm hands moving over his ribs and side. He thinks about tracing Bill’s jaw with his fingers, over his cheek to his lips. He wonders what it would feel like to be pressed against Bill with less layers between them. Not naked , per se, but maybe shirtless. Being able to feel Bill’s heart beat against his. Stan wonders if their hearts would beat in sync with each other. If their lips would slot together perfectly, or if they would bump noses and laugh about how clumsy and inexperienced they are.

That is, if Bill is inexperienced at all. He never really talks about his love life, but Stan knows he’s kissed some girls behind the bleachers at school. Maybe his hands have already slid over ribs and sides. Maybe someone already traced the path from Bill’s jaw to his lips. Maybe there’s nothing left for Stan to explore. To discover. Maybe all secrets of Bill’s body have been revealed to someone else already.

Stan doesn’t realize he’s completely tensed up until Bill’s fingers stop tangling themselves in his curls. He hadn’t even realized Bill was stroking his hair, so used to the touch he sometimes didn’t even register it anymore.

“Everything alright?” Bill asks. His chest vibrates against Stan’s ear. “You’re not gonna throw up, right?”

Stan pushes himself up to look at Bill.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, I was just… uh - thinking.”

Bill raises his eyebrows. “About what?”

Now it’s Stan’s turn to turn red. Bill raises his eyebrows even higher, sitting up straight too. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. Damn it, Stan doesn’t blush easily. Bill must know something is up.

“Stan, were you thinking… filthy thoughts ?” Bill gasps, acting scandalized. Stan hits him.

“No, asshole! Your presence sucks every ounce of possible horniness I might possess right out of my body.”

Bill wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“I could suck something else out of y- ” Stan hits him with a pillow before he can finish that sentence, pressing it against Bill’s face in a minor attempt to suffocate him.

“That’s such a Richie thing to say,” he complains, hitting Bill with the pillow again. “You really need to stop hanging out with him so much. He’s rubbing off on you.”

Bill tries to snatch the pillow away.

“You like it,” he says, struggling to take the pillow from Stan. Stan knows Bill is stronger and will eventually get the upper hand in this, but he isn’t going down without a fight. Stan shifts on the couch until he somehow manages to straddle Bill, yanking the pillow out of his hands to hit him over the head with it. Bill makes a small oof sound and shoots out his hands to grab Stan’s wrists.

“Okay, okay, truce!” He laughs. Stan smiles victoriously and drops the pillow, but doesn’t make a move to get off Bill’s lap. Bill doesn’t seem to mind either.

He lets go off Stan’s wrists and lets his hands rest on Stan’s sides instead. Stan is absolutely not painfully aware of Bill’s thumbs resting on his exposed hipbone, his sweater having ridden up in their struggle.

“Seriously though, what got you so distracted earlier?” Bill asks. The teasing tone has disappeared from his voice.

“I was just… I don’t know. I was just thinking about... kissing, I guess,” Stan confesses. Damn it, Bill Denbrough is like his own personal polygraph. It’s impossible not to tell him the truth when he’s staring at him with those big, bright eyes.

“Oh. That’s a weird topic to think about on Halloween.”

Stan rolls his eyes, trying to hide his embarrassment behind feigned annoyance.

“Sorry I wasn’t thinking about torture techniques on this Holy Night of Horrors,” he says sarcastically. Bill squeezes his sides in response and Stan squirms, but not because he doesn’t like the touch. If anything, he squirms because he likes it a bit too much.

“Why were you thinking about kissing, then?” Bill pries. Jesus, the guy really can’t let it rest. As if Stan isn’t already embarrassed enough.

“I was just wondering... What it feels like. I don’t know, it’s stupid. Don’t tell anyone or I’ll strangle you in your sleep.”

Bill decides to ignore the last part of Stan’s confession and focus on the first part instead.

“You never kissed anyone before?” He asks. Stan tries to find the judgement or amusement in his voice, but he can’t find any.

“No. You know stuff like that grosses me out.”

Bill’s hands settle more firmly on Stan’s side as he swallows thickly. His ears turn red.

“N-not with me, th-though,” he says softly.

“No,” Stan smiles, feeling a blush of his own set high on his cheeks, “not with you.”

Bill moves his hands over Stan’s back and up his shoulders, lingering on his jaw. He grazes his fingertips over Stan’s jawline, thumbs moving up to press gently against his cheeks. Stan stares at him and leans into the touch without really meaning to. His heart is racing so fast he’s sure Bill can feel it.

Bill cranes his neck and brings Stan’s face closer, slow enough for Stan to tap out if he doesn’t want to do this. Stan’s mind is going a hundred miles a minute, trying to register what’s happening, trying to react to it, but the only thing he manages to do is bring up his hand and hold up a finger.

“Don’t kiss me, I’m sick,” he tells Bill, though he really wants him to fucking kiss him.

Bill blinks at him, then smiles.

“Is that the only reason you don’t want me to kiss you?” He asks.

Stan chews his lip. Bill’s eyes automatically dart to his mouth.

“Yes,” Stan breathes.

Bill takes away one hand from Stan’s face, leaving a cold imprint on Stan’s skin. He takes Stan’s held up hand instead and intertwines their fingers.

“What if I don’t care about getting sick?”

Stan makes a face.

“You should. It’s not fun.”

Bill shrugs, gently tugging at Stan’s hand.

“I wouldn’t have to take that Geography test on Monday,” he reasons. “And you could skip school to come over to my place and cuddle.”

“Are you encouraging me to miss out on my vital education?”

“If that means I get to kiss you, then yeah. Fuck school.”

Stan chuckles. He looks from Bill to their intertwined fingers and back, pressing harder into the touch of the hand still resting on his cheek. A quiet permission.

Bill gets it. His smile turns shy when he pushes himself up just enough to reach Stan’s lips, lingering for a second. Stan is afraid to move, scared that he’ll ruin it somehow, but allows himself to let his eyes travel over Bill’s face. From his nose to his parted lips up to his eyes. He’d never noticed the brown flecks in his eyes until now.

Bill’s breath tickles Stan’s cheeks. It’s something else Stan can only stand when it’s Bill; people noticeably breathing on him. He usually finds it disgusting to feel someone else’s breath on his skin, but with Bill, all he feels is excitement.

Stan’s eyes flutter shut when he finally feels Bill’s soft lips on his own. There’s some pressure against his mouth, an unfamiliar but not necessarily bad feeling. Bill moves his lips against Stan’s, obviously more experienced than Stan, and slides his hand from Stan’s cheek to his hair.

Stan is normally very calculated about everything he does. His mind is constantly working overtime to think through everything he does; each step he takes and each movement he makes is thoroughly thought out. He always thought kissing would be the same as any of his other actions, but his brain seems to completely shut down with Bill’s lips on his. For a few moments, Stan forgets how to think and just lets Bill lead him wherever he wants to go.

Bill skillfully pries open Stan’s mouth and slips in his tongue. Stan jerks back for a brief moment at the new sensation and Bill immediately pulls back, looking at him with concern. Stan offers him a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “With tongue feels kind of weird.”

Bill chuckles.

“Yeah, I didn’t like it at first either. It takes time to get used to.”

Stan hums, sliding his hands over Bill’s arms to his chest and tugging at his sweater to bring him to his lips again.

“I think I need some more practice,” he murmurs against his mouth.

Bill huffs a laugh.

“I think so too,” he says, and then he kisses him again.

[marichat-sins]

Breaking The Ice

First chapter of the new story I am writing!

Summary: Lucy always dreamed about having that cliché love that seemed to come straight from a cheesy Hallmark movie. But clichés are overrated. Especially when you have a pink haired pyro catch you in that cliché fall. “How ya doin’ down there?” “Oh, me? I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” Now, Lucy is caught up in her own adventures with Natsu, and a few friends they meet along the way.

Read the story on FF.net

That is where I will be posting the whole story.

New day, same old routine.

Lucy grimaced at the thought as she blankly stared at herself in the full length mirror, eyeing the outfit she was wearing to meet her father in his study. A dark purple pencil skirt was wrapped tightly around her curvy waist, clinging to every movement she made, tucking in her frilly white blouse that only accentuated her already generous chest. She adorned a matching purple jacket and her black high heels tied the professional looking outfit together.

It was beautiful, sure, but it just wasn't her. She loved her skirts, but not this kind. Lucy preferred shorter, more free skirts or even shorts or skinny jeans! But she was just not one for this uncomfortable and stiff outfit. She'd much rather be in her leggings and a tank top, curled on her bed with the new book she had bought recently, not going to her father's office.

"Miss Lucy? You're father would like to see you now." A pink haired maid, who had been the blonde's friend for as long as she could remember, popped her head through the gap in the door, blue eyes looking at her mistress. Lucy's shoulders slumped before she immediately straightened herself up, readjusting the bun perched on her head before turning to greet Virgo.

"Thank you Virgo. I will see myself there." Virgo nodded once in affirmation before she ducked out of the door, disappearing inside the vast halls inside the large Heartfilia manor. Lucy looked herself over once more before following in suit.

Walking down the halls, Lucy's face darkened as the sound of her heels clicking against the hard marble filled the empty corridor. No matter how big this house was, there was nothing that could squander the feeling of loneliness and sadness. Lucy took a deep breath as she approached a large wooden door at the end of the hall, an ominous cloud radiating off of it.

Hesitantly, she knocked and got a quiet response from her father, Jude Heartfilia. "Come in."

Doing as she was commanded, Lucy pushed against the heavy wooden doors as she made her way in. Her father was sat behind a large desk in a fairly empty room, clad in a dark brown tweed suit, his dark blond hair gelled back as he regarded Lucy with empty seemingly black eyes.

"You asked for me, father?" Lucy's voice was tight, almost sounding strained as she felt his cold gaze fall upon her. After years of practice, she's perfected this routine.

"Ah, yes. I have received news from Gerard Beradik that he has accepted the invitation to have dinner with you tonight. He will pick you up from here promptly at six tonight. I expect you to be properly dressed and on time, seeing as he has shown interest in having your hand in marriage. Is that understood?"

Piercing coals burned their way onto Lucy's delicate skin as Jude's dominating aura dared her to challenge him. She swallowed thickly before nodding, accepting defeat.

"What have I told you? Speak when spoken too."

"Yes, father." Lucy corrected her mistake as she focused her brown orbs on the sparkling white marble she was standing on in these god awful heels.

"Yes, what?"

Grinding her teeth, Lucy bit back the sarcastic response she had conjured, opting to go for what she knew her father would want to hear. "Yes, I will meet Mr. Beradik for dinner tonight."

"Good. You are dismissed." Finally… Lucy thought as she hightailed it out of the office, darting as quickly as she could in her uncomfortable shoes to her room. She snatched her pink phone off of her desk, where an untouched stack of letters sat, before she dialed the number that she knew like the back of her hand.

The dial tone sounded in her ear. Lucy didn't have to wait long as the person on the other side of the line picked up after the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey Levy. Can we meet at Mermaid Heel in a half an hour?"

After Levy agreed to meet Lucy at the popular cafe, the blond immediately took out the firm bun on her head in exchange for pulling all of her long hair to the right side of her head, tying it with a simple white ribbon. Once that action was done, she set out to walk to Mermaid Heel instead of asking Capricorn to drive her.

Plus, it would give her time to finally read that new book she bought a few days ago with Levy.

Too bad she didn't realize just how icy it was outside. The preposterous heels had no friction or support as every step she took made her slide. It wasn't very pleasant, to say the least as she felt the chilling wind bite at the parts of her skin that weren't covered. She mentally cursed herself, wishing that she wouldn't have stormed out of the manor fast enough to forget her winter coat and was now stuck in this paper thin outfit.

Lucy sighed, a white cloud puffing from her parted lips as she walked as fast as she could in the current condition of the sidewalks. She was halfway to Mermaid Heel, and Levy was expecting her in ten minutes. At this rate, she was going to be late. And she was the one who initiated the meet!

Not paying close enough attention to her surroundings, Lucy was caught off guard when she felt her footing slip. The sudden momentum of her leg sliding against the ice threw her weight back onto her other leg, causing her to fall back. Lucy prepared herself for the harsh impact of the cement, but instead of the feeling of her body slamming against the sidewalk, Lucy collided with something warm and fleshy.

With her body slanted in an awkward position, a tan arm was wrapped around her curvy waist, and it could almost be passed off to onlookers that she was doing the dip.

The man who's limb she was currently being held up with gazed down at her with curious yet cocky olive green eyes. A white, scaly scarf was wrapped around his neck and the tips of the worn down scarf dangled in front of her face, emitting an aroma that Lucy had never smelled before. The first thing she thought of when she saw him face to face was pink. He had pink hair. That had to be the strangest thing Lucy had ever seen on a man, probably ever. Yet for some odd reason, it worked for him with his tan skin and sparkling white teeth and with the pair of green eyes thrown into the mix only added to the man's unique look. He was pretty hot, if Lucy did say so herself.

The man flashed his canines down at Lucy, a wide grin making its way onto his face where she noticed a pink scar on the right side of his jaw that followed every movement his lips made. He opened his mouth to speak and Lucy had been expecting something charming to fall from the handsome man's lips.

"How ya doin' down there?"

And instead she got that. Her heart dropped and the small glimmer of hope that she had maybe found a prince charming went along with it, leaving behind a speck of disappointment. Remembering that the man had asked her a question, Lucy blinked before she responded.

Okay Lucy. This is your time to say something cute, so don't screw it up.

"Oh, me? I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

And you screwed it up.

The man laughed before he righted her, keeping his hand on her waist until she was firmly planted onto the ground. "Ah, man! Ya didn't twist yer ankle, didja?" His green eyes that were once filled with curiosity were now filled with concern as he stared down at her heels. Cocking a brow, he continued. "I mean, with those shoes, I wouldn't be surprised."

"No, I'm fine. Thank you…?" She trailed off as she glanced up at the pink haired stranger, fully expecting him to continue on with her sentence.

"Natsu. Natsu Dragneel."

"Thanks Natsu. I'm Lucy He- Lucy."

"Well, talk about breaking the ice, huh?" Natsu laughed at his own joke, either completely oblivious or just ignorant of her eye roll. Suddenly, he quieted down as a frown replaced his smile. Pointing at the street he cleared his throat. "I hope that wasn't yers."

Following to where Natsu was pointing, a gasp escaped from her as she stupidly ran towards her book that she had been so excited to read. It was lying open, face down on a sloshy snow-water mixture in the middle of a street. She ignored Natsu's yell as she dashed onto the road, bending to reach for the book when she heard the loud honk of a car coming her way. Caught like a deer in the headlights, literally, Lucy froze in terror as the vehicle neared her at a high speed.

"Woah! Wait!" Natsu's arms encircled Lucy's waist once more as he pulled her away from the street, yanking her from danger as a speeding car raced past them, running over her precious book. Natsu and Lucy watched as the car that had nearly ran her over turned around the corner with no intention on seeing if the blonde woman was alright or not. "Are you crazy or something? Is a book more important than your life, Lucy? Ya can't just go runnin' into a busy street like this without lookin' first!"

She didn't respond as she stared in horror at her destroyed book, barely acknowledging the fact that Natsu was shaking her shoulders like a madman. Not only was her book destroyed, but she had just very nearly lost her life to a man who didn't give a damn on whether she was hit or not. A part of her was glad that the whole cliché where your life flashes before your eyes when your close to dying didn't happen to her. It wouldn't have been a very happy flashback, not for her.

"Lucy, answer me. Ya can't just stand there in shock all day. Ya'd freeze ta death."

"..."

"Is it about that book?"

"..."

"I mean, if it's about that book, I can take you to the bookstore across the street. Ya know, just to make sure ya don't slip again, or get ran over. That, and the book ya had is destroyed." His offer seemed to have knocked her out of her thought, as she looked up at him with watery brown eyes that stung from the unshed tears.

"L-Lucy? Th-there's no need to cry now! Yer safe and- and we're gonna go ta that bookstore and I'm gonna buy ya a new book! So it's all good so just stop cryin'!" Saying Natsu didn't like to see people cry was an understatement. Understatement of the year in fact. He absolutely hated it, especially when the person crying was a woman.

Not because he was sexist or anything!

Natsu shrugged his black jacket off before hanging it on her shoulders, figuring that she was probably freezing in the outfit she was wearing. The same smell from his scarf surrounded her, enveloping her in a woodsy, fiery scent that for some reason was the best thing she had ever smelled before.

What does fire even smell like? I feel like this is what it would smell like.

At first, Natsu was confused as to why he had even offered her his coat in the first place, even though his odd body temperature would have kept him warm. It was just not something that he did! After a moment, he shrugged it off, seeing as Lucy seemed to be warmer.

Planting a wavering grin on his face, he turned her around so they were both facing the store on the opposite side of the street. Keeping one secure arm around Lucy's waist, he looked both ways before the two crossed the street. His grin grew more confident as he saw her watery eyes begin to dry as a smile smile began to appear on her face, growing with every step they took towards the bookstore.

"Thank you for saving me again." Natsu turned towards her as she shook her head, blinking away her tears. "God, that was terrifying."

"Yeah, well, next time ya should be more careful kay? I don't wanna see ya get crushed." Lucy laughed, causing him to chuckle along with her.

"Oh wow Natsu. Such a way with words." She threaded her arms through the black jacket that Natsu had placed on her shoulders, thanking him for the jacket as she wallowed in the extra warmth it gave her. Her legs still felt shaky from the near death experience, but she did feel a lot better as she walked with Natsu towards the bookstore across from them.

"Y'know, ya say thank ya too much, Luce. Just go along with it, because it's all a part of the adventure." Natsu adjusted the scale-like scarf wrapped around his neck, tugging it down a bit. He held the door open for Lucy as they came in front of the bookstore called Amorem Libros. Lucy sighed as the warm air covered her face, her eyes lighting up as she saw the shelves of books. Not waiting for him, Lucy dashed in toward her favorite section, only turning back for a second to see if Natsu would follow her.

He did catch up, after she had gone down her third aisle though. In her arms she held a replacement for her ruined book along with a few others. "Why do ya love books so much anyways? They're just a bunch of words. Now, comics. That's where it's at." Lucy stopped her browsing to glare up at the perpetrator, looking more offended with each word that the rose-haired man spoke.

"I can't believe you just said that. I will tell you exactly what there is to love about books. And comics? Those were so 20 years ago."

"Little Miss Feisty, aren't we Lucy?" Natsu snickered as the blonde grabbed his hand, her smaller one wrapping tightly around his larger and more calloused one as she tugged him along, dragging him to god knows where. "I'm sorry Luce, but comics are way better. Not only do ya have cool pictures, but ya also get awesome fightin' scenes!"

"You can get that in books too, Natsu." Lucy ignored the fluttering in her chest as she was dubbed the nickname 'Luce' and continued to pull Natsu along to a certain aisle that she had in mind. "And you can get so much more from them too! You can get romance, and adventure, and mystery, and humor! Oh, and don't forget about fantasy!"

Lucy's chocolate orbs shined in a certain light that was hard or just any person to describe as she talked about her love for books. "Oh yeah? And what's your favorite genre to read?"

"... I can't decide between adventure and romance! Though books that have both of them are definitely the best!" Finally the duo came to a stop as Lucy began to search through the stacks, looking for a specific title. Finally spotting it on the top shelf, much to her dismay, she saw the label Pride & Prejudice.

Cursing her short stature, she placed a hand on Natsu's shoulder, before jumping wildly for the thick book, using Natsu's height to her advantage.

A swing and a miss later, Natsu found himself chuckling as he reached for the book he suspected she was trying to snatch and easily plucked it from its perch before offering it down to the petite Lucy. When she didn't take it but instead pushed it back to him, he looked at her in confusion.

"Pride & Prejudice. One of the greatest books that I have ever read. I want you to read that, and if you can tell me that comics are still better than books, then…" Her tone faltered as she realized that she didn't really have anything to offer to this man, if he actually won, that is.

"Then, ya have to go on a date with me."

"What?"

"Well, if I win, I want ya to go on a date with me. But in return, I want ya to read my favorite comic." Lucy's face turned a unique shade of red as Natsu told her his end of the bargain. She began to sputter out nonsense words as she stared up at the guy in embarrassment.

"W-Why do you w-want to g-go on a date with me?" Lucy wasn't flustered at this, no. She was beyond flustered. Never had any man been so bold with her, yet here was this pink haired man, barely past the stranger phase, asking her out on a date. She had never felt so flattered yet so embarrassed before!

"My cousin's been buggin' me 'bout never gettin' a date lately, so I'm gonna prove him wrong." Natsu declared with a proud punch to his chest as he smiled down cheekily at her. Though his boyish grin quickly morphed into a cocky smirk as he tilted his head to the side, leaning in closer to her face. "And, are ya that scared of losin' yer bet? Not confident enough in yer book, huh?"

He was challenging her. Lucy knew that. But that little stubborn part of her personality, okay big stubborn part, did not take challenges lightly. She was competitive, a trait she had unfortunately earned from her father. She never backed down from a challenge, so who was she to back down from this one?

"You know what? You have a deal, Natsu Dragneel. And if I end up winning, I get to choose 10 books that you have to buy me."

"You're on, Luce. Now come on, I have to go buy you that book that got ruined and a comic book for you to read."

If she took a long time looking for her books, well then Natsu spent an eternity browsing for a single comic book, that Lucy was certain of. Because next thing she knew, the two were bustling to the cashier as they told them that they were going to close in ten minutes. Natsu, being somewhat of a gentleman, and also noticing that she didn't have her purse on her, paid for all three items.

"He's a keeper, sweetie. It's good to know that chivalry isn't dead in all men." The elderly lady said behind the cash register as she rang their books.

"I-It's not- we're not- I just met him! We aren't dating!" Lucy spluttered as her cheeks turned a pink that could rival Natsu's hair. Speaking of, he was no help at all. All he did was laugh obnoxiously.

"Ah, well you should snatch him up quick before someone else does hon, you're gonna regret it otherwise." Lucy's blush darkened by several shades as Natsu's laugh grew even more obnoxious.

"I uh, sure." Lucy waited as patiently as she could. The lady couldn't have bagged slower before she handed the plastic sack to Natsu. Not helping in any way possible, Natsu threw an arm over her shoulders, pulling her taut against him.

"Ah, Luce is cute, isn't she ma'am? It would be an honor, to date someone as pretty and nice as her." Kissing Lucy's cheek, the elderly woman behind the cash register giggled as she nodded in agreement with him, oblivious to the slap at the back of his head that he had received from Lucy.

After the slap, the two dashed out of the store in a hurry.

"Well, that was nice huh?"

"Nice? That was embarrassing Natsu!" He laughed once more as she told him to shut up. Lucy stared at the night sky and puffed out a breath of semi-annoyance. "Why would you do that?"

Natsu shrugged as he walked forward, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"Why not? It was fun?"

Lucy scoffed but didn't push his arm off of her.

"Yeah, so you should let me walk ya home. It's late, and yer clumsy self is gonna slip again." It was more of a demand rather than an offer, but Lucy was happy that he at least seemed to care about her safety, even if he had to throw in an insult. She just figured that that was how Natsu was, going by the past couple of hours she has known him.

"You can walk me to the bus?" Even though Natsu was nice, it didn't mean she was comfortable enough to let him know where she lived, seeing as Heartfilia was plastered on a giant golden plate in front of the gates in her house. She just didn't like having people know her as a Heartfilia. It was unpleasant, as she was usually being used as a gateway for cash.

That had been a particularly bad time in her life, and when she thought she had finally made a friend around her age, everything had backfired on her, and in the end she was the one left. She was used and abused and then abandoned. And not even Levy, who had somehow helped break down some of her barricades, could pick up all the shattered pieces from her past.

Natsu's face visibly paled before turning a sickly shade of green. "Uh, Natsu?"

The man tried his best to straighten up, reminding himself that he wasn't even on the transportation device.

"Ugh… Motion… Sickness…" He gurgled out as the thought of riding on one of those metal death machines overpowered him.

"Seriously? You aren't even on a vehicle!" Though his sickness did help her stop thinking about past experiences, as she laughed at the poor man who was starting to tilt over in nausea before she decided it was time that she helped him upright.

After Natsu had gotten over his moment of weakness, or as Lucy called it his 'Overdramatic Act', they had began their trek to the nearest bus stop, being wary of the now invisible ice. Every minute or so, one of the two were slipping and had to rely on the latter to help keep them steady. The walk there was silent, but not an awkward silence. Much to Lucy's relief seeing as this was the first time she's talked to a male that her father hadn't introduced her to.

Once they finally reached the dreaded death machine's stop, Natsu took out Pride & Prejudice, and handed Lucy the light brown sack that had held the comic book and the new book he had bought her. He almost made his curses known as the bus pulled up the exact moment she took the bag from his hands.

"I guess I'll see you around Natsu."

"Yeah, and don't go slippin' in places where I can't be there to catch ya Luce."

"Shut up!" Natsu only laughed at her non-aggressive retort before he waved goodbye as the bus doors closed on Lucy. It was only when she had sat down and the bus began to move did she realize that she still had Natsu's coat wrapped around her shoulders.

Even as she asked the bus driver to stop and ran off the bus to give the rose-haired man his coat, Natsu had disappeared, almost as if he hadn't existed in the first place. And the only proof she had that he did, was tucked away in her arms as if it were the most fragile thing in the world.