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youarejesting · 3 years

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Hope in the sheets.10

[Masterlist]

Beta: N/A Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Soft boy, Fluff, SMUT, Friends2Lovers, Words: 5k

Summary: You held many titles: his neighbor, colleague, wing-man… well, more likely a wing-woman, yet most importantly, you were his best friend. You had been friends since you were born. Between the two of you, you were younger; barely, but he never let you forget it. He always seemed to ruffle your hair and tease you, which could get rather annoying but he made up for it by treating you to things.

What if a drunken one night stand between you and your best friend Hoseok leads to more complicated situations? Your reckless twenties are cut short as you find yourself suddenly responsible for something a little more.

Warning: Implied sex, pregnancy, implied reader has baby.

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Hoseok and the others were eventually led into the birthing suite; the entire place had been cleaned and only the bare minimum of staff stayed behind. They were sorting out equipment and monitoring your current state. When his eyes landed on yours he felt emotions bloom in his chest. There you were laying in the bed, a small bundle of soft blankets nestled delicately in your arms. You had showered and dressed in a nightdress that had been packed in your hospital bag.

Hoseok’s lip curled. He was trying to hold his expression, giving you a forced smile before he broke out into tears. Holding your free arm out to him, he stumbled into your embrace kissing your forehead and telling you how much he loved you.

His words were broken by the force of each sob. “Are you going to hold her, or do we have to hold you?” Yoongi playfully teased. Hoseok wiped his eyes taking a few shakey deep breaths trying to calm his emotions.

When you moved the blanket to show your daughter laying gently against your chest, he was a mess once more. “Hobi, you want to hold her?”

“I can hold her?” He hadn’t even thought that far ahead. He could hold this baby, his daughter, he could hold her in his arms and she was real.

“Of course you can hold her.” You laughed, reaching up to wipe his tears away. Hoseok remembered everything he was taught from the birthing classes, practically reciting them out loud. You placed his daughter in his arms and his bottom lip fell.

Tears were his automatic response. There was nothing else, this miracle, this symbol of his love for you, his best and longest friend. This was his child, his flesh and blood and he couldn’t thank you enough for giving him such a gift.

“You have to stop crying Hobi, we need a nice picture for your family.” You smiled and he tilted his head back sniffing.

“I love you so much, and I love her, I just can’t stop crying.” The words broke again Hoseok turned to show off his daughter to his friends. They were some of the people he was closest to and when he looked at them they were all crying. Jungkook’s wet cheeks and red nose, Jimin’s sweet puffy eyes bubbling with tears, even Yoongi let out a stray sniff.

By far it was a sight to see big burly Namjoon openly weeping like Hoseok and cooing over how precious she was.

“Look how little she is,” Namjoon whimpered

“Her hands are so tiny too,” Hoseok said back. The two were just making it worse for each other, a back and forth of doting comments of your newborn each statement causing a fresh cycle of tears.

The nurse who had been checking your vitals waiting to take you back to the ward rolled her eyes. “I have seen some sappy fathers but you brought a whole troop.”

“Gentleman it’s time to let mum and her baby get some sleep, the father can come back tomorrow morning any other guests can come two at a time during visiting hours.” She ushered the other six males from the room, Hoseok kissed you his cheeks were wet.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Get some sleep Hobi, get the house ready. If all goes well I will be out of the hospital soon.” The nurse took your daughter from Hoseok’s arms.

“Wait, can I give her a kiss?” You whispered. The nurse nodded bringing your daughter over allowing you to kiss her goodnight before she was wheeled down to the nursery.

“Are you ready to go back to the ward? You should get some sleep. Your body will be exhausted. We will bring the child in when she is hungry.”

“Okay Hobi, I have to go rest now you head home and make the house all ready for when we come home okay.” You waved goodbye to him and watched as Jimin took his hand leading him from the room. He seemed reluctant to take his eyes off of you, his hand coming to lay flat under his heart.

You touched your collar bone watching him mouth the words 'baseline'. It was like everything you ever wanted but such a weird and obscure way you got there. You wanted to be with Hoseok and cherish him and be loved in return, but you never thought you would get there by completely derailing your relationship and almost ruining your life.

It was like you had to destroy what you had to build something better. It seems counterproductive and a step in the wrong direction but somehow you were able to shape the rubble of your friendship into a relationship stronger than before.

You love Hoseok with all your heart and he only has eyes for you. It seems you were both delusional to believe that you weren’t in love. Everyone could see it except the two of you and now it was painfully obvious.

Being a mother was kind of a shock. Scared when you woke up to cramps, only to remember you had already given birth, you were also woken throughout the night to feed your daughter. A part of you worried about taking care of someone, the responsibility setting in as being a mother was a full-time job.

“You are doing wonderful.” The nurse gave you some pain killers for your cramps, your uterus was slowly shrinking back to its regular size and you were uncomfortable. “Would you like me to get you anything?”

“I would love something to drink.” Voice hoarse from sleep, she nodded before setting off for you. You sat up watching the sunrise, your daughter sleeping soundly on the bed in front of you. She was so precious. Even with closed eyes she still wiggled and stretched her hands out to the warm glowing orb.

“Seonhee, do you like that name?” You whispered, taking out a small outfit: a white onesie with sunflowers and bright yellow footed pants with soft yellow ruffles on the butt. “Jung Seonhee.”

“Ah, is that her name?” The nurse smiled, placing some apple juice and water on the small bedside table. She sanitized her hands and began helping you with the baby's clothes and diaper, bagging the old clothes and disposing of the soiled diaper. She smiled down at the little girl in her bright outfit. “I think it suits her, Seonhee”

The doctor came by on her round, her hair pulled into a tight bun and her scrubs pastel blue with stalks. “You are looking better, how are you feeling?” There was no messing around, she was straight to business, checking for any concerns or pain. Your stomach was being palpated while she brought up things to look out for. “Ultimately if anything happens that you are unsure about, even if it is something silly like, should I have coffee while breastfeeding, call this number here, they are a great service and they will help you.”

“Thank you so much.” Taking the card you were handed and a little care package from the hospital, the nurse placed the card into the baby book which had accompanied you throughout pregnancy and after. “Am I okay to go home today?”

“You are all clear. Let us know what time you want to leave and we can have all the paperwork ready.” Pausing in the doorway, a young nurse almost bumping into her, she spun around, her coat swishing with her. “After giving birth a lot of women become a little moody, fatigued, or cry. This is totally normal as your hormones will be dropping back to a normal level. It is perfectly normal to feel these things during this time.”

“Ah, that’s good to know.” You replied while searching through the care package, glancing at some of the booklets and information sheets. There was a number for a community service where mothers take their babies to be weighed and receive checkups. The nurses had few information sessions on feeding techniques and developmental leaps.

Looking forward to being a part of a group of new mothers, you knew you would have a lot of questions eventually. It would be nice to know if other mothers have similar concerns or effective tips for any future problems.

Hoseok arrived with a big smile, kissing you sweetly before heading over to scoop up his daughter. “Wait Hobi,” you stopped him, “I need to talk to you before you get all teary-eyed again.”

“Okay,” serious expression on his face he gave you all his attention.

“We need to agree on her name and sign the birth certificate.” The smile returned to his face, the twinkle in his eyes never dwindling since the moment he stepped into the room. “I like the name 선희 (Seonhee) written as 善 meaning Good or nice and 希 as in Hope”

Hoseok watched you write an example on a scrap piece of paper, and began nodding enthusiastically. Hands shaking the two of you eyed one another passing secret smiles, the taste of giggles on the tip of your tongue. Once the document was completed Hoseok’s hand swooped up into your hair, cradling your nape as he kissed you.

Neither lazy nor heated, the kiss was full and romantic, his lips telling a story against yours. The world stopped and only Hoseok existed. Until a shrill cry broke through the silence and the two of you apart. The cry brought with it the sound of machines and nurses walking down the hall.

“You want to go home,” Hoseok raced around the hospital bed towards your daughter, wiggling in the tiny hospital portable bassinet. His style was honestly amusing. Strips of fabric hanging from a graffitied shirt with a cargo jacket and sneakers. Strange to see him holding a baby but you loved it so much.

Just because you were parents didn’t mean you had to get rid of everything you love. Sure you had to grow up and it was extreme. The transition you made while pregnant felt like your life was ending. That you would live to serve a tiny being. But seeing Hoseok still smiling the same, still wearing the same street hip hop style reassured you that you still had a life outside of being a mother and that would never change.

Of course, the two of you probably wouldn’t club anymore. It would be unfair if either of you went out without the other and unfair on your daughter if you were not there for her. Not to mention the cost of babysitting and the trust you would need in order to leave Seonhee with someone who wasn’t you or Hoseok.

Hoseok helped you with your bags packing the car, he had borrowed Jin’s for a smoother drive. Always thoughtful even on the littlest details. Sitting by the baby's car seat while Hoseok drove you home apologizing for every speed bump and every turn.

“Hoseok, I would like to go home before it is dark. You don’t have to drive that slow.” You laughed, he was being so serious like a knight or warrior preparing for battle to protect those he loves. In the reflection of the rearview mirror, you saw his lips twitch in amusement, the sun shining on his shaggy hair. “I love you.”

“Babe,” He whined, “you can’t say that when I am driving, I want to kiss you and then we really won’t get home before dark.”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours in the mirror before concentrating diligently once more on the road. He was singing softly to the radio as he crossed town, you must have fallen asleep as you were woken by his sweet laugh and some kisses on your cheek.

“We are home Lil darling.”

Breathing deeply trying to clear your head from your nap, as the fog in your mind disappeared your hands were secured in Hoseok’s as he helped you out of the car. Standing patiently for your body to catch up, the tender sensations in your stomach leaving you stiff.

“Seonhee, time to see your new home.” Hoseok scooped up the infant holding her to his chest as if it was the most natural thing like he had several years of experience. As opposed to this child being his firstborn. He took the soft yellow muslin wrap and covered her protecting her eyes from the afternoon sun.

Opening the door, you weren’t surprised, (mostly because you had spotted their cars on the curb) to see the boys sitting on your couch equally as excited to see you as they had been the day before in the birthing suite. Hoseok was placing your bag on the table when Seonhee started crying.

“Hey, sweetheart what’s wrong?” Hoseok patted her bottom to a steady rhythm hoping it would lull her back to sleep. Her crying continued and you felt your shirt grow damp, taking a seat you held out your hands for your daughter and nursed her while the boys kept their eyes firm on one another to respect your privacy.

“Are you drinking or are you sleeping?” You giggled at your daughter who was milk drunk. Burping her gently she wiggled releasing a few loud burps and spitting up a little onto the back of your hand and the small burp cloth you had been holding to her clothes.

“Let me take her while you clean up.” Yoongi smiled, scooping up your daughter, holding her so her head was supported, her arms and legs draped over either side of his arm. His other hand rubbed and patted her back gently as he swayed.

“You look like a squashed pie.” He smiled cheekily talking to the baby in his arms. “Cute bow shape lip from your mum, and your nose is very cute like Hoseok’s.”

“How dare you call her a squashed pie.” Namjoon tried to defend but when Yoongi turned he showed the infant, her cheek squished up against his arm, her drool slowly seeping between parted lips. “Okay, maybe a little but she is also adorable.”

“All babies look like aliens when they are born,” you grinned.

“But do you love her, more than anything else in the world?” Jungkook giggled trying to make small talk while also projecting his newfound love for such a tiny being.

“We just met, I need some time to get to know her some more.” You joke playfully curled up on the couch Seokjin handing you some dinner and a cup of tea while the boys took turns meeting your daughter.

“It says in the paperwork she can have a bath tomorrow, and that her first poo might be really yucky.” Hoseok read the take-home leaflets from the hospital and constantly checked on his two girls making sure they were both safe and sound.

“Put her in outfits you don’t care if they get destroyed,” Yoongi was singing something to the child. It was low and rough. He was talking about dreams, freestyling about how your daughter didn’t need to go to university and that she didn’t have to know everything right at this moment.

Placing the little girl into Jimin’s waiting arms. His eyes sparkled and his lip dropped as he turned soft for the little girl.

“Hello, I am Uncle Jimin and I am going to spoil you so much.” His sweet voice gasped. He practically wiggled on the spot when she brought her fists up to her closed eyes and yawned. Taehyung was quietly snapping photos, careful not to use the flash as he didn’t want to hurt the baby's sensitive eyes, even while they were closed. He assured you, that he would get photos of everyone holding Seonhee. He had already captured Yoongi and was taking a few extra of Jimin with the small bundle.

It was honestly nice to see them all so supportive and there for your daughter. Images in your mind blooming of her first Christmas and birthday and all that would follow. Namjoon would buy her a green bike with flowers and tassels on the handles and Yoongi, helping assemble it before she woke up, attaching the training wheels for her safety.

Learning how to wrap people around her finger from her Uncle Jimin and then using it against them. She would be a dancer like her father and would light up the room. You could see her performing on a stage with the eight of you waiting with flowers to throw on stage. Maybe she wouldn’t win the first prize at her first show but they would still take her out for pizza and celebrate. Her skills would improve and the day she wins the trophy she would be lifted onto Seokjin’s shoulders.

Not noticing you had started crying until Namjoon pulled you into a hug. “Hey what’s got you so upset.”

“No, I am not upset, I was told that as my hormones go back to normal, I might cry and be more tired and moody and upset and I just,” Sniffing Jungkook handed over some tissues and hugging your back. The newer of the group Taehyung and Jungkook had just fit perfectly into the group, it was like they were always meant to be.

“Hey love,” Hoseok said, coming over to kneel at your feet holding your knees softly. "Tell me what made you so upset."

“I was thinking about her first Christmas and her first birthday and how you would all be here and she would be loved and…” Taking a sniff and pushing the tears from your eyes you looked up at them seriously. “You can never leave now, we are going to be one big family. I hope you know you are now each my daughter's uncles and therefore responsible to attend events. If you didn’t want to be a part of the family, I am sorry you are now my family.”

More tears shook your form. “You're the only family I have, I wasn’t exactly disowned more than I left when my mother told me not to have my sweet daughter. My precious baby deserves a big happy family and so I am sorry you are stuck with me.

“And don’t even think you are getting out of it.” You pointed at Taehyung and Jungkook, “You are my family now. Seonhee needs lots of uncles to protect her.”

“We aren’t leaving,” Seokjin grinned, taking a turn holding the wiggling bundle, smiling for a picture, and looking at her. “She will be a heartbreaker.”

The first couple of weeks were a learning curve filled with broken sleep, reheated meals courtesy of Seokjin, and constant fatigue looming over your head. Jimin appeared one-afternoon Taehyung, Namjoon and Yoongi apprehended your daughter. Settling her into a baby carrier strapped to Namjoon’s chest. The thick bodyguard looked a little silly with a tiny child nestled against his pecs.

Seonhee was wearing a new outfit from her uncle Jimin. It was a sweet-footed onesie with bear ears warm enough for a day out in the park. Kicked out of the house by Jimin who stressed how much you needed a break. Hoseok was at work while you were still on leave which meant you took the larger portion of the home and baby duties.

Mostly because you were at home all day, but also not wanting to interfere with his sleep schedule seeing as he was going to an actual job that needed proper attention. There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation from Jimin as he dragged you into the bathroom and started the bath filling it with a generous amount of bubble bath. It was the sleepy-time product you had chosen for your baby, emitting a soft lavender scent.

“You relax and I will wash your hair.” He smiled and he massaged your scalp to help relieve any tension, after washing out all your hair products he took your skincare products letting you lay in the bubbles as he pampered you. “You are such a good mum, you are doing amazing.”

“I hope so,” you yawned.

You stepped out of the tub, quickly wrapping yourself into the fluffy robe you hadn’t used in a while. Then sat down on your bed whilst Jimin dried and styled your hair. The others had returned, poking their heads into the room and smiling at your new refreshed look. You quickly fed your daughter while Jimin braided your hair securely.

“You rest okay, we will watch her until Hoseok comes home. Don’t worry we will come to you if we are unsure about anything and for food times.” Yoongi said playing some soft tranquil music on the small speaker by your bed.

It seemed pointless. Laying there believing it impossible to fall asleep. As you walked past the clock reading half-past one, your stomach rumbled in a gentle protest. Before you could even think of the food you wanted to get dressed, pulling on a white crop top and a baggy overall dress. Something easy to breastfeed in. It was definitely time as your breasts were heavier with milk.

Walking out you poured yourself a glass of juice and scooped up your fussing daughter, stomach growling again. Yoongi stood up marching into the kitchen, rapidly chopping ingredients. Soon the house was filled with a savory aroma and the glorious sound of oil sizzling.

Hoseok was having his first afternoon with Seonhee. You were going for a checkup. Jungkook was free and agreed to accompany you to your appointment, he almost paled when he saw the equipment on the table for your checkup. It made for a good laugh and endless teasing during your small coffee date afterward.

Jungkook’s phone buzzed and he grinned texting back quickly. “Ooh, what or who is making you smile so big?”

“Uh, I just got a funny text from Namjoon. Apparently, Hoseok asked for company so Namjoon and Yoongi stopped by the house after their errands.” He laughed, nose scrunching showing off his front teeth. “And well, your daughter may have accidentally had a poo explosion. So far from the pictures I have seen, Yoongi and Hoseok are covered in it. And while trying to help Namjoon dropped a whole bottle of baby powder and they are vacuuming the carpet.”

“Jimin and Taehyung agreed to pick up some more and I have been asked to keep you busy,” Your smile growing the more you heard, of course, they would make a mess on your first day out. Expecting something chaotic to happen but never something as funny as this.

“I am just glad it is something like this and not that someone is sick or hurt,” You smiled while eating a strawberry cheesecake and sipping coffee. Not making any move of leaving early and relieving them of their duty. It was a right of passage and showed just how much you trusted them. Hearing that something happened and not jumping to take over.

“They said not to tell you, but how could I not?” Jungkook turned his phone showing you some photos worthy of scrapbooking, the kind you would take out for Seonhee’s twenty-first and a story she would get sick of hearing at every family gathering. “Look at them.”

“Well while they are busy, how about we go grocery shopping? I think perhaps we can make something delicious for dinner,” Standing and collecting your jacket from your chair, and leading the way. Jungkook followed listening to your concerns about your weight and figure, he assured you how good you were looking and even offered to personally train you at 21, the gym.

Seonhee was growing steadily. Each milestone leading into the next, she would roll over and had started to crawl. Finding herself putting things she shouldn’t in her mouth. Going back to work was hard for the first few days, leaving Seonhee at the daycare was easy but she became more clingy when she came home. It was her way of coping with the separation that came with daycare and full-time work but eventually, Seonhee got into a routine.

Understanding that her parents were always coming back made everything in the house run a lot smoother. She had a small handful of sounds, mostly eomma, appa.

Work was a lot more tolerable and dare you to say fun. Jimin had quit his sugar baby gig and joined the company working alongside you. Sure he had broken a few hearts by canceling his service but he was happier. He never explicitly said it but you believed he was trying to be more independent and above everything else make himself more approachable to Taehyung.

Taehyung however left for a while, he had been away working with a few celebrities and luxury brands, photographing concepts, photos, and more. He had been pushing and working harder and harder as the days passed until he traveled away for his latest project.

It was a little sad that they weren’t together but you could see the longing in Jimin’s eyes whenever he replayed Taehyung’s Instagram story. Dragging him from his desk to have lunch together and distract him from the thoughts spinning around in his head.

December marked eleven months since Seonhee was born. Cruising against the couch and cabinets opening things she shouldn’t. You had invested in baby locks and a small playpen. Neither really did much as she knew how to push the whole contraption across carpet and tiles to get into things.

Mostly she would follow you to the kitchen hoping to get teething biscuits or any other treats her father would sneak her. He was never able to say no and you often found them sneaking snacks together where he would give you his big eyes and pouty lips claiming that she deserved a snack.

Christmas had your house filled to the brim with presents and boys, Seokjin was cooking in the kitchen with Yoongi’s help while Jimin and Jungkook were playing with Seonhee. Hoseok was helping Namjoon into a Santa costume in the backyard. No one had heard from Taehyung. You assumed he was busy with work and that he would be unable to make it.

There was a knock and Jungkook raced to answer it and laughed, “Finally, I thought you were skipping out on the family Christmas.”

“I wouldn’t skip out on the family Christmas, you are my favorite family,” Taehyung said handing over a suitcase to Jungkook and carrying in some bags of wrapped gifts, placing them under the tree. “Look at you, you have gotten so big!”

Namjoon Santa came in and delivered gifts and ran off getting changed only to come back and watch the gift unwrapping. Jungkook went to collect the two eldest from the kitchen, pushing Seokjin before dragging Yoongi out the two stopping in the archway.

“Hey, you are under the mistletoe!” Jimin giggled, proud that his trap had worked, he was hoping that some people would get stuck under it. “You are going to have to kiss.”

“We don’t have to, we are watching Seonhee open her gifts,” Jungkook said only to be grabbed by Yoongi who kissed the younger male and pulled away.

“Satisfied.” Yoongi turned back to the young girl opening her presents, Namjoon got her some picture books and a few educational toys. Seokjin had wrapped a small toy kitchen that was her size. Yoongi brought her to everyone’s surprise a little clam pool and some plastic toys to play with.

Jimin brought her a whole lot of princess dresses, tiaras, and fairy wings. Jungkook got her a cozy coupe red and yellow plastic car that she could push around with her legs. Taehyung handed her the small gift bag and inside was a night light that made the roof look like a galaxy and played soft music.

After Seonhee’s gifts from the boys, Hoseok brought out a box. He was struggling with it but when he opened it out popped a little dog who began licking her cheeks and wagging his tail intensely amongst the large group. “His name is Mickey.” Hoseok grinned watching Taehyung taking pictures and smiling fondly as she giggled.

Other gifts were exchanged, the most notable was Seokjin giving everyone matching sweaters with his face on it, and Taehyung’s gift to Jimin. It was a small bag and inside was the signature Tiffany blue colored box.

“You didn’t have to,” Jimin said softly and Taehyung smiled.

“I told myself I would support you, and I know you didn’t want to be treated like a sugar baby, I just told myself that I wouldn’t allow myself to date until I got you those earrings you really wanted. I wanted to give you something you could be proud of.” Taehyung explained, “And it was so hard to resist you when you kept inviting me over.”

Opening the box Jimin saw the earrings he had once mentioned ages back, the exact earrings Taehyung had handmade for him. “Now you can get rid of the ones I made you, they look horrible compared to these.

“I still love the ones you made and I will keep them forever.”

“I won’t treat you like a sugar baby anymore, I wanted to ask if maybe you wanted to go on a date.”

“Well, these earrings will get you about five dates.” Jimin giggled cheekily

“Five I thought for sure it would be five and a half?”

“Five and a free butt grab?”

“Deal!”

The nine of you were walking through the kid's attractions at the theme park seeing some familiar faces, you were having lunch when some music started playing. It was the theme park's dance parade and Hoseok was dragged into the dance by Taeyong.

You were giggling when WinWin dragged you up dancing with you and turned to see Hoseok on one knee, a ring box opened in his hands. You felt your chest about to explode as you tackled him to the ground sobbing in his chest. “Hoseok really, you mean it?”

“Of course, I mean it, I have loved you for years.”

“I love you so much, hell freaking yes put that ring on me, quick quick.” You kissed his face nonstop giggling between your tears. He was finally able to get the ring onto the designated finger standing and pulling you onto your feet. He kissed you passionately, you pulled back burying your face in his chest squealing.

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your-1up-girl · 3 years

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When you remember their Starbucks order: 1A girls Edition

Okie dokie so the sweet @tryingmyves let me do a version of her Starbucks series on her blog but with the 1A girls. I hope you like it Ves and thank you again for giving me permission to write this.

No warnings (other than it bearly being proofread) for this one and a gender nutural reader. Also, I'm trying something new for this, instead of saying Y/N, I'm using Y/C (as in your character), just to see how I like that. anyways, please enjoy.

Characters: Tsuyu Asui, Ochaco Uraraka (I will write for the other girls don't worry)

Tsuyu Asui

Okay, I have never done headcanons like this before soooooooooooo……yeah just be kind please? Also these are headcanons (using that word loosely) but I couldn’t help but turn it into a small fic.

Anyways, we know Tsu can’t handle the cold weather but I like to think that she enjoys cold drinks, especially during the summer

She isn’t much of a coffee drinker nor a tea drinker but she does like fruity drinks

So, her favorite cold thing to drink is a grande Iced Guava Passion Fruit with light ice. While she likes a Venti (she gets the larger size when it’s cold) Vanilla Crème Steamer as her hot drink

You noticed that when you went out with everyone on the bi-weekly Class 1A groceries run, she would get one or the other depending on the season.

You, being the loving significant other that you were, took this to memory and even if you didn’t go out on very many “Coffee Shop dates” together, you still kept the drinks in the back of your mind.

One afternoon when people were staying in the common room, the weather was bad with rain and it was surprisingly cold that day

So, everyone was vibing to the rain against the window, the soft sounds of Lo-fi that Jiro set up with her portable speaker, and the game that played on TV

Well, everyone except Tsu

She was currently struggling to stay awake as she glanced at the video game that flashed on screen. Wrapped in the fuzzy socks, plush blanket, and hoodie you got her

Anyone would have thought she was just sleepy; it was getting late and she’d been working hard all week but you knew that wasn’t the case this time

Her quirk makes it so she gets tired when it's too cold

So she tries to combat it at times like these so if this was a fight and she was battleing in the colder weather she would stay awake. But clearly she was losing.

The way Tsu’s head would gradually lower and closer to Kirashima’s arm. But when her temple just barely pressed against him, she would shoot back up again eyes wide, only for it to happen again. You watched this for a solid minute while trying to explain the point of the game to Todoroki. All you wanted to do was go over there and cuddle up next to her to maybe provide a bit of body heat. But she would always deny you.

“I need to be able to warm myself Y/N. It’s very sweet of you to help me but, I think I can do this if I just focus.”

And it seemed that Tsu was getting the hang of staying awake during the cold because she was able to focus on the screen and talk to Kirishima. Your focus returned to Todoroki after that and he had a plethora of questions that you happily answered with a few laughs in between.

That’s when you saw from the corner of your eye, a flash of green drop followed by a soft “oof”. Tsuyu had fallen asleep against Kirishima. A sigh escaped as you dug through your pockets. Finding a few dollars, you got up and shook your girlfriend awake.

“Hey. Hey, Tsu.” A small hum left her lips as she groggily looked up at you.

“Oh, I guess it’s colder than I thought ribbit.”

You and Kirishima both laughed, “Don’t worry about it sweetie you’ll get it. I just woke you up to let you know I’m heading out for a minute.”

“What?” That woke her up but not enough to get the sleep out of her eyes. “Then let me go with you.”

“No, no. It’s okay. It’s raining pretty bad out there and I’d hate for you to get worse.” You put a kiss on her forehead and she gave a content smile as you looked at Kirishima. “Try to make sure she doesn’t fall asleep again, yeah?”

With a signature shark-tooth grin, he gave you a thumbs up, “You can count on me boss.”

You left after sending Aizawa a quick text letting him know you would be out and grabbed your raincoat, boots to brace the elements. Luckily, the Starbucks wasn’t too busy. But, it was busier than usual considering that it is practically raining buckets outside. After ordering the steamer and leaving a tip for the barista, you nearly ran back to the dorms (just for good measure you ordered it extra hot so it would be good for Tsu).

Upon entering the dorms, the class was still scattered about the common room and Tsu was making light conversation with Kirishima. You ditched your coat and boots for your slippers and walked over to your froggy girlfriend and handed her the drink.

“Oh, Y/C, did you go out to get this just for me?”

“Yup, venti Vanilla Crème steamer. I also got it extra hot so that it wouldn’t get cold when I got here.”

Tsu took the cup with slightly shocked eyes but after the first sip, a content smile found its way to her lips. “I didn’t expect you to remember my drink. I didn’t think you even knew what I ordered, ribbit.”

You laughed softly, “We’ve been dating for a year now, I noticed that you get this one when it’s cold and the guava drink when it’s hot.” Said in a proud matter-of-fact tone you couldn’t help but smile at the blush that came across her cheeks.

“Aww Tsu, you’re blushing.” Kirishima teased. You carefully undid the blanket that she had wrapped herself in and got comfortable with her as she sat between your legs.

“Thank you for the drink Y/C; it makes me happy that you noticed things like that.”

You kissed her shoulder, “Anything for you Tsu.” Kirishima put an arm around your shoulder to offer more warmth and you all set your attention back to the screen; giving playful teases to Sero couldn’t find his way.

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unbridgeabledistances · 4 years

Note

i love ur new fic! only a couple of requests - more parts to it! and...more softness between the two of them 🥺 we hardly get given any in the show </3

:)) ty so so much, anon!!! as requested, here’s another installment of the alternate POV fic (this time from tami’s perspective) and a whooole lot of domestic gallavich softness (featuring very sappy kitchen slow dancing)

Tami knew that the pandemic had taken a toll on its fair share of relationships— hell, hers and Lip’s included. But as much as she and Lip bickered and miscommunicated and regularly put up solid walls of lies between each other, at least, the very least—

At least they weren’t like Ian and Mickey.

At some point between being head-over-heels, fuck-all-night crazy for each other and getting married, something between Lip’s brother and his stellar choice of a Southside boyfriend had definitely changed. Tami wasn’t really close to either of them, other than Ian’s borderline obsession with Fred and her gratefulness for the cooing baby voice that came over him every time Tami thrust her tired arms out for him to take the screaming toddler in her arms, and she barely crossed paths with Mickey in a situation that wasn’t coordinating frozen waffles for breakfast or sitting across from him in the living room during Gallagher family movie nights that always inevitably turned into a passionate thirty minute screaming match about which movie to pick— but ever since the first time she set foot into the slumped and sagging Gallagher house, Tami knew that Ian and his choice of a prison-break boyfriend were something special, at least at the beginning.

She’d seen it the first time she met the two of them, when these two grown men were willingly crashing in that shitty single bed in the boys’ room while she and Lip were slumming it in the ever-so-spacious privacy of the cramped room with the accordion door, back when the halls were crawling with strangers making tamales and Fred was barely weeks old and Tami was inches away from losing her shit; Tami couldn’t imagine being in a smaller and more confined space than the one that she was in, locking herself in the bathroom behind an actual fucking door every chance for some peace and quiet, distancing herself from Lip every chance she got— and then there was Ian and Mickey down the hall, sleeping pressed together on a concave mattress meant for a single teenager, pouring each other coffee and trading glances as they sat next to each other at the breakfast table, and pulling each other closer every second they had the chance despite the fact that they’d just gotten out of a months-long prison stay together. There was something so earnest, and so weirdly romantic, about seeing a hardass like Mickey Milkovich, someone with “Fuck U Up” tattoos on his knuckles and more of a sailor’s vocabulary than Tami had, turn to putty whenever he was in proximity to Lip’s little brother. Tami had to be honest—she was kind of impressed. These guys clearly had the teenager, puppy-dog kind of love for each other that hadn’t really gone away, something that she didn’t think that she and Lip ever really had, or ever really would— so as much as she felt like her life and her relationship with Lip was spiraling towards a series of cascading failures, it was nice to know that at least someone in the Gallagher house had a sturdy, stable relationship.

And then, of course, the pandemic hit.

When all this COVID shit started, Tami had counted her infinite blessings that she and Lip had gotten a place of their own outside the Gallagher house before all the sprawling weeks of lockdowns; Tami couldn’t imagine the kind of unforgiving hell on earth it would be to quarantine in that tiny slumped house, in a tiny cramped room, for months on end until the U.S. tangentially got its shit together. So it made sense, really, that everything between Ian and Mickey had changed.

She’d noticed it that first morning, when she and Lip finally dropped by the house after weeks of hunkering down to have breakfast with everyone, carrying a box of cheap pastries they’d gotten on the walk over— and the first thing she’d noticed when she walked into the kitchen was how far apart Mickey and Ian were sitting, on opposite ends of the rickety kitchen table, any scarce dialogue between the two of them turned brittle and stale.

There were spats, now, and gentle shoves that turned less gentle; she and Lip weren’t around the house much anymore, thank fucking god, but what few conversations she did see between Ian and Mickey always ended with raised voices and them both practically having steam coming out of their ears, or with some stray bystander needing to plant themselves in the middle of the married couple to tell them to calm the fuck down. Tami would lock eyes with Lip as they scuffled in the kitchen, her eyebrows raised in a message that she knew Lip understood: “See, this is why I never want to get married.”

So that was pretty much the situation Tami expected to be walking into, late one afternoon when Lip was presumably off doing some shady shit with those stolen bikes and Tami was stuck at the Gallagher house waiting to meet up with him so they could keep working through “Operation Sell the Gallagher House to Gentrifiers.” Tami had expected Lip to be here a couple of hours ago, and was honestly debating just saying fuck it and going home— but Fred had passed out in Tami’s lap as they were sitting on the couch a couple of minutes ago and Tami was not going to wake this monster child up before he was ready and took another hour of crying and writhing to settle down again. Tami was leaning back, closing her eyes and enjoying a rare moment of peace in this godforsaken house… when she was snapped back into reality by the sound of a kitchen cupboard slamming shut.

Huh. Tami had apparently drifted off, but Freddie was still sound asleep in her lap, pinning her down. It was definitely the early evening by now— the sun had started to set, glowing purple from behind the thin curtains.

A clang came from the kitchen again, and Tami craned her neck as much as she could without stirring the sleeping toddler in her lap to peer into the kitchen from the open doorway to see if Lip was home— and instead, she saw Ian standing by the counter opening something with a can opener, and Mickey beside him.

It looked like they’d been in the kitchen a while—from the corner of her eye she could see Mickey perched on the countertop sipping a beer, his legs swinging while Ian milled around him pulling things from the cabinets and manning the stovetop. She knew both of the boys weren’t much of a cook, and from what she’d seen Ian’s culinary abilities didn’t exceed heating up canned soup or spreading butter on toast— but it looked like he was chopping onions and opening a can of black beans for something, which struck her by surprise. There was music playing low from a little portable speaker in the kitchen, presumably something Ian had brought down from the bedroom— right now there was some 80s hit playing that reminded Tami of the music her dad used to listen to while he was putzing around in the garage when she was little, if she was bring totally honest. But Mickey seemed to be enjoying it, his head bobbing slightly to the beat while he scrolled through what she recognized as Ian’s phone.

“Okay, the recipe website says you’ve gotta add cumin now. What the fuck is cumin?”

She could hear Ian’s dry laugh. “A spice? I think? We probably don’t even have it, I’ll just add a shit ton of chili powder and it’ll taste fine.”

“Whatever you say, Rachel Ray.”

Tami could see Ian lean to flip Mickey off, then turn to poke through the cabinets. Weird. Ian had flipped Mickey off, sure, but there wasn’t any malice in it; for the first time in a while, it seemed like the two of them were actually coexisting peacefully for once— which, thank god for that, at the very least because it meant Fred would stay sleeping on her lap for a while until Lip got home.

Now that she thought back on it, Ian and Mickey had seemed a bit more settled lately— she’d heard bits and pieces about all the stuff with Mickey’s abusive asshole of a dad moving in next door, and about the two of them starting a security business together in that random ambulance that was always parked in the street now (Tami wasn’t even going to ask)— she could imagine that running errands around Chicago together all day long in matching jumpsuits would bring anyone closer together. This was the first time she’d really seen them enjoy being in each other’s space since the pandemic started, just casually hanging out around the house without something fiery about to erupt between them, whether from anger or passion— and honestly, it was kind of nice to by in proximity to, just listening to their chatter floating back and forth and the sizzling of onions and chili flakes in a pan while the music drifted between them.

Tami sat there for a while, closing her eyes again as the shadows in the room grew deeper, listening to some Bon Jovi song play low in the background and feeling the solid weight of Fred breathing evenly pressed against her chest.

A couple minutes of minutes later, she heard the stove being turned off, and the clanking of plates being taken out of the cabinets as the song ended.

“Hey, can I pick a song?” Ian asked, over the sound of him putting the sizzling pan into the sink.

Mickey burped loudly, and Tami could see that he was still perched on the edge of the kitchen counter by the stovetop.

“Yeah, but put on something good, man. None of your techno bullshit.”

“Pass me my phone.”

Ian fidgeted with the phone for a moment—and then a familiar song, a lot softer than the cheerful drumbeats of the melodies before, came streaming through the speaker.

“I found a love, for me…”

Immediately, she heard Mickey chuckle loudly, like he was surprised.

“Fuuuucking softie,” Mickey groaned, but when Tami craned her neck again to slyly peer at the two of them in the kitchen she could see that he was grinning. At first Tami was confused, but then a memory started to stir— this was their wedding song, wasn’t it? She remembered hearing it waft through the front hallways of the dingy polka house while she and Lip were having their screaming match over Fred. Ah, good memories.

Ian stepped closer to Mickey, and Tami promptly heard the pad of Mickey’s feet hitting the ground as he slid off of the kitchen countertop.

“Dance with me?”

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Mickey breathed, and then they were silent. From where she was sitting, Tami could see Ian’s broad shoulders standing in front of where Mickey had been seated— his head was curled downward slightly, and Mickey was pinned close against him, his face pressed into the upper half of Ian’s shoulder.

Well, damn. Tami smirked to herself. I guess that security business has worked some magic after all.

Out of nowhere, Fred started to stir and wriggle in Tami’s lap.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. She didn’t really want to break up the sappy moment, but Freddie was definitely due for a diaper change and was going to be a fussy mess in about five seconds if she didn’t scoop him up right now.

She quickly rose from the lumpy couch, cradling the back of Fred’s head in her hands and beelining through kitchen doorway.

Instantly, Mickey nearly jumped out his skin when he saw Tami— he immediately detached himself from Ian’s shoulder and detangled himself from Ian’s arms. Ian just grinned sheepishly and leaned against the counter, letting Mickey ever-so-slightly slump against him.

Tami paused, taking the scene in and trying to hold back a knowing smile as Freddie fussed on her shoulder.

“The fuck’re you looking at?”

Mickey’s neck turned blotchy and flushed, and he darted his eyes to Freddie and then back to Tami.

Tami knew she had a sloped, sappy smile on her face. “Nothing. Just good to see you guys not ripping each other’s throats out for once.”

Mickey let out a slight breath, slumping back towards Ian’s chest even more— then he rolled his eyes, but the gesture was light and fond.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said dismissively. Ian was still practically beaming, and draped a hand across Mickey’s waist— and Tami watched as he slowly, slowly pressed a kiss to Mickey’s temple and Mickey’s posture immediately softened, like the air was being let out of him.

Wow. Okay. Guess the old Ian and Mickey are back.

Tami raised Freddie slightly onto her shoulder, then pushed past the two of them towards the back stairs, where Tami could hopefully go up and change her son’s shitty diaper in peace— and as she started to climb the stairs, she heard one final quip from Mickey:

“Your brother can’t sell this house fast enough, man.”

#okay rori u wrote two fics in one day & now u must lesson plan #lol #but i hope u enjoyed!!!<3 #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian and mickey #tami tamietti

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artxyra · 4 years

Note

Ok so I don't know if your still taking requests but if you are it's daminette and marinette is over so the whole wayne family and her are chilling and they think they hear someone so they do a heartbeat scan and they count an extra one so they're searching they manor and they're on guard they alfred ask all the girls if they're pregnant and the guys are nervous because one of them could be a father so they scan all the girls and they find out mari's preggo and it's a whole chaotic ordeal

Note: Sorry this took so long, I was trying to figure out the best way to tell this story and I finally got the idea after watching TT episode Fear Itself.

Whoever’s idea was it for the family to watch a horror movie during a fucking thunderstorm, Marinette just wants to end their lives. She was having a good day despite feeling sick in the morning, so being informed that tonight’s movie was horror-based was interesting. The majority of the time, a horror movie wasn’t a bad idea, but the moment the film ended, and the lights randomly shut off, the screaming begins.

For a house filled with heroes vigilantes, they sure do know how to scream and act like they’re in a horror movie real quick. Marinette could feel the need to throw up grow as the sense of someone watching her suddenly grows. At first, she thought that it was Damian or any of his brothers, but how could that be when everyone disperses the second, they heard movements that were not from either of them. Damian was reluctant to leave Marinette to her own device, but since the manor was so large splitting up was the best option.

“Come on, Mari, you’re Ladybird, stuff like this is nothing.” Marinette murmurs to herself in an attempt to keep her nerves at bay. That doesn’t go well, as the creaking noise suddenly fills the hallway. She sure hopes that it’s the air conditioner making those sounds. Marinette was slowly regretting not taking Alfred’s lead and follow him to the kitchen, at least she knows the kitchen area better than the damn halls. The amount of time she still gets lost in the halls just to find the gym is an outlandish number.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Clenching her teeth, she fumbles to unlock her phone. Despite using it as a flashlight, she also didn’t want to accidentally turn the only source of light off. The second her phone unlock, thunder and lightning decided to join forces making her jump at the sudden flash of light and a loud boom.

“I am so killing Jason…” She mutters. Finally, she is able to see the notification. It was a series of messages stating clear and the location. There were at least five out of the nine that were currently in the manor. They had invited Duke, but he opted out the second he realizes who was picking out the movies. Apparently, any movie chosen by Jason could only mean bad things and Duke, surprisingly, wanted nothing apart of it.

The creaking noises remain active, something that made walking down the hall and looking for a potential intruder much more difficult. Had the creaking stops, this would have been much easier to delegate which room needs searching.

Back downstairs, the Bat-family all decided to meet up in the living room. Marinette had yet to make an appearance. Damian was growing impatiently worried for his beloved, so much that he was practically stabbing the ground with one of many katanas.

“Master Damian,” Alfred chastised seeing the new marking on the floor. Great another reason to keep buffering the floors at least twice a month. Alfred knows that everyone’s worries were running high. They still had yet located the cause of the sound—a potential intruder—and it’s not like they would go into the Batcave without a problem, but they didn’t want to take that chance.

“She should have been here by now,” Damian grumbles placing the sword back into its sheath.

“Demon, we’re talking about Pixie, the girl literally has problems getting to the gym every once in a while, and that’s with light.” Jason’s words slowly dawned on the family. He’s right. Marinette may be officially apart of the family now, but the designer literally stays in like five places within the manor: hers and Damian’s room, the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom nearest to her, and the Batcave. Beyond those options, it’s better for Marinette to have a guide, which is usually Titus, and sometimes Alfred when he doesn’t have anything to do.

“I got the tracker ready, sir. Should I place it on heartbeat mode?” Alfred shows them the tracking device with a knowing look on his face.

The Batbros race to the device only for Tim to grab it and put it in the right settings.

“Hold on, wouldn’t it better to search for heat signatures?” Dick asks—well he was thinking aloud for the most part.

“Ideally yes, but the readings can become messy if we’re all in the same room or if what we are dealing with doesn’t radiate heat. It’s best to go with a pulse or in other words a heartbeat. Got any more questions, Dick.” Tim states glaring at his oldest brother. They were all worried about Marinette, but it was upped times ten. “Now are we going to try and find ‘spresso and whoever even dared to enter the manor?” Tim was a man on a mission. In fact, they all were.

No one dared to object to Tim’s claims. Damian was impatiently tapping his feet against the ground, and soon there were thirteen pulsing dots going off the tracker. Tim mentally did a headcount, with him included there were nine people in the room with him which means four of the dots are in unknown locations.

“So, which one do we follow?” That was the question on everybody’s mind.

“We go to the one that is alone, with a faint pulse.” On the device, several feet away is a flickering dot as if there was some interference in picking up the heartbeat. It wasn’t stable.

“Damian, where are your animals?” Barbara asks typing away on her phone. She may not be at the bat-computer, but she can still manage with Wi-Fi and a portable device.

Damian wasn’t sure where his animals are. He knows for a fact that Alfred the cat was in his room, Titus disappears to hang out with Ace every now and then. The rest of the animals are most likely outside in their miniature houses that he keeps at the manor for nights like these.

“No time to argue, we got to move.” Tim was already ahead of the family following the path guided to him by the tracker.

The bat-family follow the strange signal until they reach a dead end. All the doors were shut, and the thunder was booming with no means to stop. They haven’t seen or heard from Marinette since they disbanded earlier that night. Soon, the faint pulsing signal grows stronger as they approach the final door. No one, aside from Alfred, could remember what was behind that door. It was a bedroom.

“Whoa” Tim yelps, looking down at the tracker. There are now twelve pulsating dots on the device. They all filter into the room. It was practically empty which put them all on edge. Marinette was somewhere in the manor and now there were in an empty room with no clues on where to start.

Using their flashlights, they scan every inch of the place and still found nothing. Alfred takes the device away from Tim who protested but when he realized that it was Alfred he calms down.

“I don’t think there is another person in the manor,” Cass states looking around the room. She was eyeing the large wardrobe. If her hunch is correct, then she knows where the newest pulsing signal is coming from and that makes her giddy.

“I concur with Miss Cain.” Alfred walks over to the second door that is in the room and opens it revealing a certain black Great Dane wagging his tail happily yet protectively. He barks but upon seeing his owner, he calms down. “It appears that one of the signals is Titus and with him being her it only means that Miss Marinette is in this room. Perhaps in the wardrobe.”

The second the word “wardrobe” escapes the butler’s lips, all the bat-bros rush over to the item. Damian was quick to open it and there she is. Marinette’s small enough to fit comfortably on the base and stay hidden had there been any clothes on the rack. In her arms is a small pup, probably the intruder that has been haunting them. The pup’s nails are long and need to be cut. Marinette was sleeping which made it easier for Damian to scoop her into his arms.

The pup wakes up and begins barking yelping up a storm causing Marinette to stir in Damian's arms. Her eyes flutter open and a yawn escapes her lips.

“Is it morning already?” She yawns once more rubbing her eyes. Damian shakes his head causing Marinette to pout and try to find comfort in Damian’s arms to fall back to sleep to, but the pup in her arms wasn’t having it. “Oh quiet, you.” Marinette laughs and tightens her hold on the pup.

“That doesn’t explain the strange pulsing signal?” Steph states looking over Alfred’s shoulder and once more a signal was faltering without a constant beat.

“That’s because I believe, Miss Marinette is currently with child.” Alfred places the device down for everyone to see. “We have the heartbeat tracker on pulsing signals that can be easily translated to a heartbeat. If Miss Marinette, is indeed with child, the interference to this signal is the pulsing from the fetus.”

Alfred pause for a second giving everyone to process the news. Damian’s exe. was broken as he stares at his wife with love and shock. The rest of the family, aside from Cass, was blinking away the shock. Five, four, three, two…one. Then they all break out in shouts of excitement.

“Oh my god, we’re going to be uncles!” Dick exclaims bouncing in place. He even wraps his arms around Damian, who was still frozen and gives him a side hug knowing full well that he can’t protest.

Jason looks like he was about to kill someone—more or less Damian for a matter of fact. Marinette was his sister in everything but blood. Yes, he’s excited for the incoming member of the family, but he doesn’t know what to do.

Tim was trying to wrap the news around his head. He hadn’t had any coffee since before the movie night started and with the power being off, there’s no way for him to make his usual late-night cup of coffee.

“Will you shut up; I’m trying to sleep here,” Marinette growls bring the attention back to her. Damian did the only thing that came to mind, he places a kiss upon her lips. Marinette moans and she would have playfully hit him had her arms weren’t holding the pup.

“So, no one is going to question how a puppy got into the manor?” Steph asks pointing to the pup still in Marinette’s arms. She was tempted to coddle the pup and leave the room to return to her own and news come back to life in the morning.

“Titus’s doggy door, most like. I won’t know until I check all the cameras.” Barbara says wheeling herself over to the couple, “Congratulations Damian…I’m going to bed.”

“We are so talking about this in the morning,” Dick claims as he walks out the room pushing Jason and Tim along with him.

Soon it was just Marinette, Damian, and the dogs alone in the room. Damian had a few options to consider, stay the night in this room or walk through a series of halls to return to their own bedroom. It’s late, so he chooses the former. Placing Marinette on the bed was easy once the newly introduced pup jumps out of her arms and onto the bed.

He makes sure she’s comfortable before joining her. Titus curls at the foot of the bed barking at the pup to come to him to which the pup did. Damian pulls Marinette into his chest and whispers, “Thank you, Angel,” into her ear.

“You’re welcome, Demon.” Marinette murmurs back before going off to sleep.

Who would have thought that this is how his family would find out that Damian and Marinette were expecting? This would go down as the best accidental reveal in their family history.

Tag List: *View my Tagging System guidelines for how to to be properly tagged or removed.

#maribat #daminette #ml x dc #mlb x dc #ml crossover #dc crossover #damimari #marinette x damian

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shhh-no-ones-home · 3 years

Text

how to save a life bucky barnes x reader

+++++++++

Good old whump 😌 this is so fucking long (wc: 2113)

also i know some people are weird about dogs so just know reader has a very large typically seen as aggressive kind of dog (but hes not, just a little slobbery and awkward lol)

Song: say something by danny worsnop and matty mullins

tag list: @cynic-spirit

+++++++++

"I can't take your shit anymore. If you won't do anything about it then I will! I quit!"

I yelled, untying my apron and tossing it at my manager. One of the cooks had been harassing me for the last couple weeks and he refused to say or do anything. But I had reached my breaking point.

"Come on y/n, we need you! You can't leave me short staffed like that."

He whined and I shook my head, making my way to the back door.

"No, fuck you Rodney, you can find someone else to deal with it."

I said annoyed, clocking out, grabbing my stuff and storming out the back. I gave him the finger as the door slammed behind me, sighing angrily at myself for not finding a new job sooner.

"Fuck!"

I yelled, kicking the brick wall before leaning into it, shoving my head in my hands. Then I heard a harsh cough. My attention snapped towards the man limping through the alley way, seemingly clutching at his side.

"Hey, are you okay?"

I asked, reaching into my bag and gripping my pepper spray tightly.

"Sir?"

I asked again, moving closer to him in the darkness. When he looked up at me I realized who it was. I had seen pictures of him before. What was his name? James? Yeah captain Americas bear friend. From the museum.

"Help."

He managed before falling face first into the dirt. I gasped as I watched his body go limp. In that moment I wasn't quite sure what to do. I couldn't call someone cause I didn't know who to call, and God it was gonna take everything in me to get him back to my apartment. But I couldn't just leave him here. Shit. I sighed before kneeling down and rolling him over. His face was bruised and bloodied, the same as the knuckles on his hand. He must have really gotten into it with someone. I bit my lip before sitting him up with a groan.

"Okay james, work with me here."

I sighed out, going around him and picking him up. He made a soft noise and I looked at him, his eyelids bobbing open for a second.

"Two blocks, that's all it is."

I told myself more than anything, slinging his arm over my shoulder and walking with him dragging his feet. The whole walk was labored breathing and groaning. He was heavier than he looked but then again he was pretty much solid muscle. And though he wasn't much help I could tell he was trying. That endurance was paying off a little bit. But as soon as we were to my apartment he was out, practically falling through the door after I opened it. I only just caught him, laying him on the floor gently and dragging him to the couch. As I tried to put him on it I could hear my dog whining and tapping his toes in his crate.

"Give me a minute Wolf."

I said half annoyed as I got James flat on his back. When I was content with him laying there I let my massive akita-rottweiler mix out of his crate. He immediately went to James and started sniffing him excitedly until I snapped my fingers at him.

"Hey, leave the nice man alone. Let's go potty."

I said, him barking and running towards the door. I quickly got his leash on and took him down to the streets of new York. We walked a good block before finally heading back to my apartment. After I took Wolfs leash off he was right back in James' face.

"Hey, what did I say? Go lay down."

I instructed, him making a sad sound before pouting his way to his large bed in front of the window. I sighed, looking over James with my hands on my hips. Then I noticed a darkened spot just under his jacket and immediately began to worry.

"Shit. Is that blood?"

I said, stepping closer. I watched his face as I knelt down, pushing the coffee table further away from the couch.

"James I don't know if you can hear me but I'm gonna undo your jacket."

I said in a clear voice, watching to see if he moved but he didn't, prompting me to go on anyway. When the front of it was undone I gasped. He was indeed bleeding. It took me a minute to get it fully off, his shirt following right after. To my surprise his whole torso was covered in scrapes and bruises, along with what seemed to be a gunshot wound. Luckily it was only a graze. That I could treat.

"What the hell were you doing?"

I asked out loud even though I knew he couldn't hear me. I shook my head before going to get the first aid kit from under my bed, wolf following me around my apartment. I guess lucky for him I went to medical school, I mean I flunked out my last semester, but still. That's only three months I'd have to finish before I'm a licensed nurse. I had this. Right?

"God I hope I don't have to sew this man shut."

°°°°°°°°°

The next few hours I just sat at my breakfast bar staring at him in the living room, sipping coffee and trying not to wake Wolf who was now fast asleep at my feet. I was waiting patiently for him to wake up, to make noise, to move even an inch. but it never happened. He was however still breathing, the portable heart monitor I had attached to his finger beeping softly.

When the sun started peering through my curtains though I figured it was best to check on him again. After all, I would need to change his bandages soon so whatever it was that hit him didn't get infected. Wolf for one was very excited again for me to be working on the stranger, running to him and getting in his face again.

"Wolf!"

I scolded, James jolting upright as I pulled the collar back on his large black neck.

"Sorry."

I said through a nervous laugh. He looked around for a moment before looking down and wincing in pain as he touched his abdomen.

"Go lay down."

I said harshly, wolf not quite budging at first. But going when I nudged him with my knee.

"Um, I hope you don't mind that. I did as best I could but it's been a while. I was gonna come change them."

He stared at me, looking to wolf in his bed when he sighed.

"Thank you."

He said softly and I nodded.

"Do you mind laying back down? It's a little easier."

I said and he did, slowly, watching my every move as I knelt beside him. I dug into my kit to get new dressing, peeling the old off and shaking my head. It was still bleeding but there wasn't much I could do about it.

"Do you remember much about last night James?"

I asked and he shook his head no, the dog tags around his neck shifting. I focused intently on what I was doing, hearing wolf sigh again. I rolled my eyes, sending him a playful look.

"You aren't afraid of dogs are you James?"

I asked and he shook his head again.

"Okay wolf, come here."

He stood quickly, panting as he came over and stood beside me, looking like he had a wide smile on his face as he sat down. James looked up at him and smiled back, bringing his right hand to scratch at wolf's head. It was a good distraction as I fixed his wounds for a second time. As I put the stuff away I was forced to remember he was still shirtless.

"Oh uh, I washed your shirt too, it was pretty soaked through."

He nodded, making a pained face as he moved to sit up, letting me help as he did. Wolf took that as an invitation to get on the couch, his large dog body taking up a good portion of it as he laid across James' lap. I looked to the ceiling as he laughed, petting him some more.

"I'm so sorry. If you want him off all you have to do is tell him to get down."

I said standing up, going to the kitchen to wash my hands.

"I don't mind it, he reminds me of an old friend."

He lamented as I came back, wiping my hands on a towel.

"They must've been one hell of a friend."

He nodded slowly.

"Hey uh, you can call me Bucky. if you want."

I reached for his hand and shook it.

"Y/n."

"Thanks for this y/n."

I nodded, crossing my arms over my chest.

"I'm not gonna lie James, uh Bucky, I was a little shook up last night. I had just quit my job when you came stumbling down the alley I almost wasn't sure what to do with you. And I know as a citizen I probably should have called an ambulance but as an ally..."

I paused. he looked a little more into what i had to say now.

"I've, well, I've been around the block with a string of heroes before and none of them could ever actually get help from paramedics. So I did what I could."

He nodded.

"I really appreciate it y/n, I must've been desperate after all, to go to a complete stranger."

He laughed.

"I'm just glad you found me and not someone else. Or who knows what could have happened."

"those were my thoughts exactly."

there was a long pause, me standing awkwardly and both of us staring at the floor. then Wolf barked, taking both of our attention as i jumped at the sudden sound.

"guess he agrees."

i said and he laughed again.

"ya know i really appreciate this. is there a way i could repay you? some how?"

he asked and i shook my head.

"no, i couldn't let you do that. really."

i said quickly, holding my hand out, watching as he struggled to stand.

"i want to."

he insisted, stumbling forward and i caught him. he panted out a pained noise.

"knowing you're safe is enough. come over here, lets get you something to eat."

i said, walking him slowly to the bar i was just sat at and feeling his back muscles strain against my palm as i held him upright.

"careful, you keep taking care of me i might never leave."

he said through a wince as i placed him in the chair.

"promise?"

i laughed and he sent me a soft look before smiling. i could feel the blush run across my face as i moved to the fridge, making a face like i was an idiot for saying that.

"uh i went to school to be a nurse after taking care of my last boyfriend. he was terminally ill but didnt want to stay at a care facility. i guess ive kind of been missing it since he passed last year."

"im sorry."

he said quietly as i pulled things out of the fridge for breakfast.

"its alright. ive been getting by. plus i have wolfie over there to keep me busy."

i said with a smile, the large dog wagging his tail as he sat at the edge of the kitchen.

"im sure he appreciated all you did for him."

bucky said and i nodded once, moving to the stove.

"uh, how do you like your eggs?"

he turned in the chair to look at me.

"what's your specialty?"

i laughed.

"anything but poached."

he smiled widely at me.

"over easy please."

"great. that i can do."

there was another long silence as i began frying the eggs. then he cleared his throat.

"would it be a little Stockholm syndrome-y to ask you out after saving my life?"

i let out a short, loud, laugh before looking at him.

"oh you're serious?"

i asked and he scratched the back of his neck nervously.

"unless youre not looking but the least i could do is take you to dinner."

i nodded slowly, plating the food and setting the plates on the counter.

"im not but i wouldnt say no to dinner. and who knows, maybe id be open to seeing you after. maybe with a shirt and not bleeding on my couch."

he picked up the fork and raised it in cheers to me.

"ill take it. and its the least i could do. as a thank you."

"its a date then."

#wattpad #x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier #one shots #imagines #captain america #White Wolf #marvel #331

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werezmastarbucks · 4 years

Text

portland

honeymoon masterlist

word count: 2731

music: silently by axel flovent, tear in my heart by twenty one pilots

You got tired of driving at around two in the morning. Somehow Kennewick did not satisfy neither of you in terms of sleeping. Perhaps it was the road, nervousness of traveling, and Kai’s indifference about the current situation you got stuck in, but as soon as he snuggled against you at eleven o’clock, you felt all the sleep has escaped you like a butterfly that leaps away. He was already deep in sleep, when you decided you wanted to drive at night, and Parker was sorely unhappy about getting out of bed. While you still had moral high ground as leverage on him, while it worked, you elected to use it. Then, a couple of hours later, the tiredness returned in full swing, and you stopped in the middle of the highway (the liberating truth was that you could now stop at any point while driving, without even thinking) and made him switch seats with you.

The portable loudspeaker he had manufactured out of a big boombox was incredibly loud and workable, and you prepped it just below the windshield. As you drifted into sleep you were thinking about how practically useful this boy can actually be, and how underrated his skills were back in the real world. Even without magic he was extremely handy. He was an amazing cook, he was insanely masterful with electronics, he was more savvy about the internet than you, the child of the web world...

You woke up because he whispered right into your ear, the most gentle order you’ve ever received in your life,

“Wake up now”.

Your neck ached, crooked unnaturally, but, as you opened your eyes, you saw what he woke you up for. Kai seemed relatively unaffected, probably having seen this a million of times; perhaps there was already an alarm clock in his head going off when it was the time for sunset. It was a first for you, though. You were already in Portland, and the car was lazily crawling along the street as the sleepy houses passed you by. Bright pink and raspberry was blooming in the sky indicating the new day, again. The light was so intense that, when you caught the reflection of yourself in the rearview mirror, you saw the shade of red on your own face. Your eyes looked sleepy and foggy.

“Are we there yet?”

“Yeah. Are you hungry? It’s almost time for breakfast”.

You looked at the electronic wristwatch you nicked from an Epson store. It was a real nineties neat cute wrist watch, and it had lighting button which drove you insane.

“It’s not even five yet. You’re always hungry”.

“I’ve been driving for nearly three hours. It’s draining. You fell asleep in my car, I drove the whole time, but that’s okay, I’ll just avoid the holes, so you sleep fine”, he declared. You couldn’t hold back a chuckle. He gestured towards the speaker.

“That was a good song”.

“It’s my car”, you argued benevolently, feeling very kind after three hours’ sleep. Due to the fact that Kai has been decent enough to just drive the car without waking you up. And the fact he even turned down the music a little.

“I stole it”.

“You didn’t steal it. It had no owner”, Kai replied.

He stopped the car in a romantic gesture, and you two drowned in the morning silence, ever quieter than it even was before. The wind lay still, and no bugs buzzed in the grass. You left the car just to be in the moment, to step on the ground and feel its matter, and raised your face to the sky. This was all for you and you only, and that was the first time you asked yourself,

why do they even consider this torture?

The Parker house turned out to be more like a palace. Your head swung back and forth comparing Kai with the wedding cake looking family dwelling, trying to picture him on the porch. There was a traditional old oak that yearned swings, and the big lawn, greener than that of the Salvatore’s possession. There was whiteness of the façade and the depth of the invisible basement.

Soon Kai crawled up the stairs, and sighed, in the yellowish glow of the waking skies.

“Welcome back home”, he murmured. You tried reading his face to see if it’s hard for him, but then reminded yourself he’s been here already, probably many times.

He’s been suspiciously tolerable these first days, you thought to yourself quietly as you wandered wordless through the living room. The first red flag fluttered in your mind when you threw a look at the banisters of the stairs leading up, and saw two ropes tied to them; they hung down, empty, with loops, like dead cat tails.

“Kai, why is it here?” you asked. The boy was already head first into the fridge in the kitchen.

He walked back to you, and sighed knowingly.

“Oh, yes. They kept the house as I left it at night. As a reminder. Go up the stairs, there’s still blood on the walls, and everything. Let’s go”.

He suddenly grabbed your hand with determination, and you sensed, on the run, like he needed to hold it. Not to guide you. You ran up the stairs, and you threw a quick look at the living room, amazed at the normality of it. One would think Malachai Parker’s house would look horrific, but his tragedy was very American. Pretty cover, bloody insides. The living room had two big couches (big family, it used to be), a very curious L shaped coffee table, and a fireplace. On the shelf above, there was a neat row of photographs of the family: everyone but Malachai, of course. They wished to forget he existed, for one reason or another. Kai’s hand led you on and you went into the long, spacious wooden hall of the second floor out of three: the blood on the walls was fresh, it glistened in the first cloud light. The patterns were thick and wide, like Kai’s been deliberately pouring it around; on the floor, there was a faint trace of his bloodied steps and something else, like he was dragging... a baseball bat? with him.

You tried not to step on the blood. The little window at the end of the hall was covered with a curtain, so it was bleak.

“Here”, he said enthusiastically. It was obvious Kai has been psyched that someone would share the whole thing with him. No matter what part of prison it was: whether the beautiful sunrises of Washington, or the evidence of the massacre he conducted in his own house.

“Wow, whose room was it?”

“The twins. Luke and Liv”, he pushed the door to let you in. The bed was turned on the side, and there was a puddle of blood under it. The wardrobe was thrashed.

“This is where I stabbed Jo. She hid them from me with the cloaking spell. I made her talk...” Kai muttered. His eyes were opaque, and he was focused on the memory. His sight shifted under the window.

“The-ere it is”, the witch stepped to the dark spot and picked up the bat, wrapping his fingers around the handle. There was blood on the tip of it. He swung the bat in the air in a motion that made you understand he could be a baseball star. Could have been.

“And the banisters? Who was there?”

“I hung Ashley and Sam”, he said, putting the bat back against the wall. You observed the room. His siblings, they all had names. Ashley, Sam... those who made it to the future, the twins and his own personal enemy, Josette, felt more real because you have met them. You were there when Kai merged with Luke, you witnessed his death. But to think that some of the Parkers were left in the ninety-four, hung down from the stairs, and they were children who had names... Ashley and Sam. You didn’t even know whether Sam was a boy or a girl. You asked him.

“They were best friends, Sam and Ash. Samantha was two years older than Ashley, and she was so uptight I think somebody would have killed her one way or another. She was unbearable. So bitter she didn’t have a twin, she told everybody Ashley was her age, and that they were twins, although everyone in the coven knew they weren’t”.

“She was just a child, Kai. She wanted to be a part of this important thing, too”, you shrugged.

“Yeah, so did I. You wanna see my parents’ bedroom?”

He probably saw it in your eyes that you were slowly growing anxious about the whole murder night replay.

“What did you do to your mom?”

“I stabbed her in the throat. She had to go first, she was a very powerful witch”, Kai said quietly, watching you closely. He was cruel in a way, leading you deeper into the bleak reality of his, trying you, curious as to how much you can take.

“I made a mistake with dad. Should’ve stabbed him, too, but I thought I’d be untrivial, and I poisoned him. Which obviously backfired right into my face”.

Kai put his hand through his dark hair, and you realized his eyes are glowing nervously.

“What made you snap?”

“When our birthdays were coming up, I realized they’d never let us merge. Even Jo herself didn’t want it. Just so you understand, merging and even dying, as a Gemini twin, is the biggest event of your life. Even if you lose, you’re not gone. You live through your twin. You give them your power”.

You weren’t saying anything. He went on,

“You think I’m inherently evil?” there wasn’t a trace of indignation in his voice; just sheer curiosity. He never had a chance to ask that anybody. He never had this conversation. He just didn’t know at all. “They always told me I was”.

“There’s no such thing as evil, Kai. It’s a tale created for kids, to make them afraid of giving in to their instincts. There’s only pain and its consequences”.

You looked away not to seem too invested. You wondered how one can let a fellow human go on for nearly fifty years with such a grave misconception about themselves; how one can allow such violence upon their own child. Violence and negligence so intense it makes them act out so aggressively, so loudly. Every single blood stain, every broken wooden thing, every swing of a bat in the hands of now twenty-two year old Malachai, was a cry, not a roar of evil deed. He was so disfigured. He was so wounded he had to inflict pain on others to be heard. And yet they didn’t hear anything except their own screams.

You wanted to ask him the same question, am I bad for liking you so much? But you knew he had no answer. Kai was very knowledgeable about many things; he understood many things you didn’t, but he knew nothing about the philosophy of morale. He had no deep feelings, he had no deep core in him. It was burnt clean long time ago.

Am I evil for not feeling sorry for the kids you hung from the banisters?

Am I bad for rooting for you when you were merging with Luke?

Am I bad for siding with you against my oldest friends?

Am I bad for being the only one who gave you the benefit of the doubt, just for the sake of being the only one?

After all, it takes just one person to keep someone from breaking. But when Malachai finally killed his family, when he reached the breaking point to never be innocent again, you were still a month away from being born.

“Take the books outside”, you asked him.

Kai looked up from the table. He was reading diligently, not skipping pages, and watching him got tedious after three hours. While he was on it, you trod through the front and back yard; made sandwiches; studied the pictures of the kids; sneaked into the basement and got horrified at the sight of Kai’s ‘room’ there.

(Yeah, it became my room for a while, he yapped from the kitchen. He laughed at your eyes, widened in horror, yeah, it was real pain. They kept me there when they had people over... pretended I don’t exist)

His real room used to be upstairs, underneath the roof, but it became Jo’s space eventually, and there was no trace of Malachai there. It was sad how there were so very few signs of the oldest child in the house. No posters, no shoes at the door, no jackets, no used tissues, no sports awards. No clothes, no mess, no boy things, no magazines, no CDs, no skateboard. There was a TV in the basement, and a bed, a nightstand, and a couple of comic books in the drawers of it, and you felt there was a huge chunk of Kai missing, as if they had got rid of all the things reminding of him, as if it was him who died.

“Take the books outside”.

“Why?”

“I’m tired. I want to sleep. Let’s go into the city, find a hotel or a big house, and you can read there”.

Kai looked around as if saying, isn’t it the house enough?

You didn’t know how to explain to him that staying in this place was terrible. Kai clearly missed this place although you didn’t know what he was holding on to. The family he missed was clearly an illusion. He craved the real bond, the concept of loving community, not the actual Parker people.

“I want to burn down this house”.

He tilted his head and his mouth twitched.

“Have you ever done it?”

“Why would I burn my own house?”

“You’ve spent eighteen years here, and...”

“Look”, he put up his palms defensively, “obviously, you are a very creative individual with a different way of thinking, and I haven’t done half of the things you come up with, while I was here, but if you’re gonna ask me this question every time you have an idea...”

“You know fire is cleansing, right? You should know, you’re able to control it. Isn’t fire an important element of witchery?”

“Mhm”.

He wasn’t offended by the idea. He was just a little susprised.

As Kai stepped outside, bringing the last books into the trunk of the (ugly) Buick parked in the driveway, you watched him there on the lawn. Maybe he really was the cancer his family made him to be. He looked like a hyena looking around for a dying animal to chew on. He despised this place, and its lightness, and the fact his surviving relatives thought of the exquisite way of reminding him about what he’s done. And he went around busily, like a bee mama, at the same time.

The house still reeked of blood, and frankly, you didn’t know how he could even think about sleeping here.

You threw a match on the couch, and another one down into the basement. You knew the house would restore as soon as midnight comes, but by that time you’ll be far away from here. Wherever the books send you to.

You’ve never seen a house on fire so close. The heat was burning your face, and you knew it burns Kai, too, so you pulled on his hand to make him step away.

“What sucks the most is that I had every right to merge with her”, Kai said suddenly. You had to step closer to hear him over the immense screech and cracking of the house.

There was deep, pure hatred in his voice as he spoke about his sister. You realized that his bitterness about her betrayal is still fresh, and the merge did nothing to heal it. It was personal. She was his to kill.

“I would’ve shown her if she only had given me a chance. You know? Nobody believed I could win, because I’m a siphoner. But if they only gave me a chance, I would’ve tried my best and I would’ve been a good coven leader”.

“You are already”, you said. Kai squeezed your fingers with his stiff palm.

“Once we get out”, he said, dead eyes staring into you, “there’ll be no coven. I will end every single one of them”.

#kai parker #kai parker imagine #kai parker x reader #vampire diaries imagine #tvd imagine #vampire diaries

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mustyrosewater · 4 years

Text

𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦. 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

𝘫𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘢 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ( 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 )

𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 : 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘴 𝘫𝘢𝘷𝘪, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯.

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 : 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 : 4,620

you'd never pictured your brush with a dea agent to have left you feeling so satisfied and yet so unsatisfied all at the same time. if somebody were to ask you what was on your mind a week ago, you'd most likely give them an answer about your job, or your shitty landlord; you wouldn't have answered that for the past week you'd been unable to get the man you only came to know as 'javi' off of your mind. it had been exactly eight days since your encounter in that prison cell, and for every single one of those eight days, it had been the only thing you'd been able to focus on. you hadn't gone one day without touching yourself to the memory of him buried deep inside you, the memory of sucking him off and making him react the way he did; every single time the memories found there way back into your head, you'd been unable to resist. most times it was when you were showering, your hands would develop of mind of their own which led to you imagining him presses you up against the shower walls and taking you from behind as your hand was buried between your owns legs. it was hard to ignore the emptiness you'd felt upon each release, the absence of him actually being inside of you was painfully obvious. you'd had casual sex before, and yet none of the men you slept with had left such a lasting effect as javi had. you were unable to forget the way he'd make you feel, and just physically, emotionally as well. no man had made you feel like such a goddess in the way that that man had; the images of him stroking your hair and looking down at you with such a soft smile and look of pure adoration were burned into your mind, unwilling to let you forget. you had to momentarily push those thoughts into the back of your mind as you entered the convenience store, the soft electric bell chiming upon you opening the door. "solo un momento!" you heard your boss voice sound out from the back. he was no doubt still deeply buried in one of the many telenovela's he was obsessed with; from what you could remember, the one he was currently elbow deep in was about a girl named carmen who came from a wealthy family and had fallen in love with a pauper boy. there always seemed to be some form of forbidden love in the telenovela's he watched, some off fascination he'd developed for the cliche. "solo soy yo!" you called back, informing him that it was only you. you quickly poked your head into his office, mainly to confirm that your suspicions were indeed correct; he was still staring at his portable tv, barely even sparing you a second glance as you wished him a good morning and placed your bag on the small set of hooks in the office. this was hardly different from any other day, he was always fairly lazy in the early morning that you arrived, mainly just because of the fact that the store was always practically a ghost town at such early hours. your head briefly swerved over int he direction of the digital clock sitting on his desk, informing you that it was around six fifty five in the morning. once again, you were five minutes early. you couldn't help it, you lived so close and had a terrible habit of wanting to leave early no matter how much time you had, absolutely hating the idea of being even five minutes to a shift. because of this, in the almost three years that you'd worked at the store, you had not once been late to a shift. you saw no point in dawdling, so you quickly got to work, slipping on the blue vest that had the store's logo stitched in and headed into the back to grab a spray bottle and rag. you wasted no time before starting to wipe down the door and windows, one of the few things you always did in the morning to pass the time. only on occasion did people actually come inside this early. a majority of the time it was just border patrol agents or cops getting a coffee before heading to work, a few of those agents you had come to know by name, always greeting them with a friendly smile and asking if they wanted their usual order. in turn they were always friendly to you, happy to make small conversation about their wives or children. it was a pleasant routine, one you were content with; it was your small way of reassuring yourself you were still sane after working here for so long. after about and hour and a half, the store was slightly less quiet than before but still enough so that you found yourself growing bored quite quickly. so now here you were, sitting behind the counter on a stool, mindlessly flipping through one of the many lifestyle magazines that were up for sale on the racks beside you. you'd never exactly cared much for these types of magazines, all of the 'advice' spewed throughout them all sounded the same to you, the only part of them you actually enjoyed was the horoscope part; that was always the part you scrolled to first. you will find that something greatly unexpected is coming your way. perhaps a promotion at work? a business opportunity? or perhaps a lover? be patient, good fortune will find it's way to you. you couldn't help but let out small chuckle at your own expense. you had certainly crossed paths with something unexpected, but you weren't sure if you were able to call what it left you with good fortune; more like the universe's sick joke with you, maybe a way to get back at you for something you'd done in a past life. honestly, who knows, certainly not you. you'd heard the familiar electric chime of the door to alert you that somebody had entered. though you didn't bother to look up, a majority of the time, people would poke around the shelves looking for what they needed before actually coming to the counter for what they needed. only when things were actually placed in front of you did you ever actually look up to see who it was. it was maybe another minute of whoever had entered poking around the shelves before you actually heard footsteps approaching the counter. "perdóneme." a voice sounded out from in front of you, a woman voice, definitely not a native speaker. you put lazily threw the magazine back onto its rack before looking up at the woman with a kind smile, if her accent hadn't given away the fact that she definitely wasn't from here, her blond hair and pale skin just might have. "como puedo ayudarte?" you asked, making sure to speak clearly and ever so slightly slower than you normally would. she seemed to pause for a moment, and you could see her mouthing the words to herself, obviously having rehearsed how to ask for whatever it is she needed, that and the spanish dictionary poking out of her purse. you couldn't help but feel your smile grow slightly "what can i help you with?" you asked in english. you watched as relief seemed to flood her face and breathed out a small chuckle. "do you have any cat food?" she asked, her american accent standing out like a sore thumb. you nodded quickly and stood up from your stool "yeah, my boss just prefers to keep it in the back. how many?" you asked, already heading around the counter and towards the back, gesturing for her to follow you with a small wave of your hand. "just one's fine." she quickly said, nodding as she spoke. you simply nodded in return and fished your keys from out of your pockets, unlocking the door to the storage room and quickly heading inside, briefly turning your head to see the blonde standing by the door frame. "what're you doing in columbia?" you asked, partly out of curiosity and partly out of the need to fill the awkward silence as you cut open the large cardboard box of baby formula. "my husband's work." was all she said, keeping her answer simple. you knew better than to pry, if she didn't want to detail what her husband did for a living there was obviously a reason, so you saw fit not to ask. simply nodding in reply, you pulled out one of the boxes of cat food and stood, kicking the larger back into its place before walking back towards the door and closing it behind you, holding the box of cat food in your arm. quickly locking the door back up, you walked back around to the register and scanned the box. "you been here long?" you asked, taking the cash she'd given you and placing it in the register, fishing out of he change. "just under a month." she replied, taking the change you handed to her. you were about to reply when the door opened again, another voice ringing out, this one sounding awfully familiar, though you couldn't quite place it. "christ connie how long it take to buy cat food, we've been waiting for ten minutes." the voice didn't sound angered by this, more like he'd been stressed by whoever else was waiting to come in and hurry it up. as you turned your head to see who entered, you made sure to hold back the expression you wanted to show so badly. now standing behind the woman, was the same dea agent who'd apologized to you about his partner being an asshole. "tell javi i'm sure he can wait ten minutes." she replied sarcastically, not turning to look back at the man who you now realized was her husband. now you understood why she'd been so secretive about where her husband worked. so much so that you'd almost glossed over the fact that she'd mentioned the name that stuck out to you oh so much. javi. out of pure instinct, you turned your head towards the window beside you in the hopes that maybe you'd be able to catch a glimpse of your one time lover and current source of your fantasies. your eyes quickly landed on a car sat by the entrance. the drivers seat wasn't facing you but you definitely recognized the silhouette sitting in the backseat, his image had been burned into your brain so much so that you don't think there would ever be a time where you were no longer able to recognize even the smallest of details. you could just make out the shape of his hair, looking to be messy just like it was when you'd first seen him. you felt your breathes becoming shorter just from the sight of the back of his head and you wanted to scold yourself right then and there. it made you feel like a pathetic school girl with a crush on her history teacher. you wanted to look away but found that for those last few moments it was oh so hard to do so, you wanted to keep staring at his silhouette for as long as time would let you, you didn't believe you would ever get sick of the sight of him. you were only brought out of your fantasies by the sound of connie's voice still playfully bickering back and fourth with her husband, her voice was the hard wrench back into reality that you knew you needed. your eyes snapped away from the window and back to the couple. noting how annoyed her husband was beginning to become even if the bickering was all in good fun. he didn't seem to recognize you, which wasn't surprising seeing as he'd barely even looked at you the entire time. you still didn't even know the name of this mysterious dea agent; for a moment you wondered if he knew yours. surely if you'd been released the next day that would have to have meant that they'd successfully looked you up or at the very least done some research about you. this thought led you to realize that there was no telling what they knew about you, hell, they probably knew your madre and papa's names as well. you seemed to snap back into reality when the woman you'd now identified to be connie apologized to you for her husband interrupting, it was only then that he even bothered to look at you; when he did you could just see the hint of surprise on his face, but he hid it well, no doubt having had lots of practice over the years. "you two have a nice day." you said smoothly, giving connie a smile before turning your eyes over to her husband, who you raised your hand and gave a mock salute to, not to dissimilar to the way that you'd done so the week before. he said nothing to you but only gave you an awkward nod of acknowledgment; you didn't blame him. it wasn't exactly the most pleasant of interactions on his part, you knew that, you expected that. what you didn't expect was for them to turn away from and head to the door, only for the very object of your steamy sessions in the shower to walk right through the door and pass them. "we were coming javi, keep your pants on." was the only word connie's husband gave while patting him playfully on the shoulder. "i just need cigarettes." god, even the way he said that one small statement was enough for memories of that night to come flooding in all over again despite the fact that you'd tried so very hard to push them far, far down into your subconcious. "yeah well, you'd best hope connie's patient enough to wait for you." her husband poked, only to receive a slap on the shoulder from the very woman he just spoke of, before being quickly led back to the car by her, obviously sick of spending any more time in the store, which you didn't exactly blame her for, seeing as you spend upwards of eighteen hours in a day in there. you watched the two of them out of the window for a few moments, unable to hold back a small smile at the site of them still bickering back and fourth, even without hearing their voices you were able to tell. it was a healthy bickering, no malice behind it, just playful jabs back and fourth at one another. you were briefly reminded of the way your madre and papa behaved around each other, always making fun of one another, since you were a small child they always knew how to keep their relationship alive, something you'd occasionally found yourself envying them for whenever you thought back to the whole reason you were still even living in columbia and how things had turned out with him. the only thing that managed to get your attention back was the sound of boots clicking along the linoleum floor getting louder and louder as the man you had been both dreading and clamoring to see finally was approaching you. always having a flair for the dramatic had been a vice of yours since childhood, and it seemed to dawn on you that old habits die hard as you quickly turned away from the counter, pretending to rearrange some of the cigarette boxes behind you. as you did so, you'd grabbed a pack that you remembered to be the ones he smoked, though, that wasn't exactly a challenge seeing as you'd sucked him off for one of them. the footsteps finally stopped and you knew he was standing barely five meters away from you on the other end of the counter; the very idea that he was that close to you again after what felt like so long was already making your breathing hitch, once again making you feel just as pathetic. you found yourself wondering what you could even say to him; what does one say to the man who'd fucked their brains out just over a week ago and hadn't been able to stop thinking about since them. oh, hi there, long time no see. i've spent every night this week masturbating to the thought of you. yeah, no thanks. you were unable to rearrange the cigarette boxes more than you already had, you had to just turn around and face him. so you did, you turned quickly and looked down at the packet of cigarettes you'd picked out, partly to insure that they were indeed the same brand but mainly just to find something that meant you could avoid eye contact just for a few more glorious seconds. when you finally did look up, you dropped the cigarettes down on the counter in front of him before he could even speak a word to you. within seconds, any plan you'd made of what to say had completely and utterly been thrown out of the window. it was as if your mouth had been welded shut at the mere sight of him. the fact that he was wearing a pair of aviators making it unable to actually see his eyes only helped a small amount. the only thing you could do was say the first thing that popped into your head, and that was "hola extraño" hello stranger. if you'd have known at that point how notoriously hard it was to catch agent javier peña off guard, you would have celebrated the expression that befell his face when he saw you. it was the sort of face where you could tell he was trying to hide, the beginnings of shock appearing before being quickly snuffed out by whatever pokerface he deduced would be enough to hide how much you'd really managed to catch him off guard. "hola." was the only word that left his mouth, his voice low and monotone. you weren't sure what affect it was that he had on you, but the fact that he'd given you such a pathetic reaction only seemed to make you want to up the anty; it seemed that the man across the counter seemed to bring out a side of you that you hadn't even been aware existed. and it was this side of you that had you assuring yourself that if he wanted to play this game, you weren't going to lose. putting on your own poker face, you took the packet of cigarettes and scanned them with a soft beep, barely even looking at him now as you looked across at the monitor that brought up the price. you repeated it to him in just as monotone of a voice he'd given you. as he began to reach behind him to fish out his wallet from his back pocket, you decided to pull a move that you knew full well was risky, especially while you were at work. you peeled the plastic from around the packet, making a show of doing it slowly and making it so that the sound of plastic being unwrapped was loud and noticeable. just as you'd suspected, his head shot up at the sound. you watched as his brows furrowed and his eyes traveled from the packet of cigarettes up to your face which now sat with the ghost of a smirk tugging the corners of your mouth. "what do you think you're doing?" he asked, arching one of his brows at you. you were silent as you opened the packet and took a single cigarette out, holding it up for a few seconds to make sure that he could see before placing it snugly in the front pocket of your shirt. "tax." you replied, quickly closing the packet and sliding it across the counter annoyingly slowly, keeping up eye contact with him the entire time. "and what exactly am i paying tax for?" his brows rose slightly as he asked the question. his head tilted and you'd be lying if he didn't make it look horrendously sexy; though that may have been a partly untrue statement, mainly because of the fact that at this point you were certain this man could do anything and you still be willing and ready to let him bend you over a table on any holy day. it was your turn to tilt your head as you leaned forward, resting your forearms on the counter and doing nothing but simply staring at him. on the outside, it may have looked like you were riding out the silence and what was at this point undeniable sexual tension between the two of you. in reality, you were really just thinking of what to say. with all the time you'd wasted trying to come up with a reply, the one you finally settled on was cliche at best. for a moment there, you felt like a character in the telenovela's your boss loved so much. in fact, you'd be lying if you said this entire situation didn't feel like it came straight out of one of those very telenovela's. "for making me wait over a week before i saw you again." the way you said it was smooth, but you certainly didn't feel smooth in that moment. it didn't help that his years of being a dea agent and possibly going undercover had lead him to master his pokerface and thus you were unable to gage him for any reaction that he wasn't willing to let you see; the only thing that was able to do was drive the anxiety you were already feeling about this interaction to go up the wall. at first, you thought he was going to walk out right then and there when he grabbed the packet of cigarettes. his movements caused you to sit up straight and your flirty attitude to began to evaporate. it was only when you watched him pull out his own cigarette, never once taking his eyes off of you as he placed it in his mouth. as he took out his lighter, you almost wanted to tell him that he couldn't smoke inside, but you decided to stay silent, knowing full well that your boss blew through at least two packets of cigarettes a day in his own office. as he lit the cigarette and took a long drag, you felt your own anticipation building and had to fight to keep a giddy grin off of your face, not wanting to break your own attempt at a pokerface which you were almost certain he'd been able to see though at least twice already. he finally blew out the smoke, almost making a point to blow it in your direction. you were unable to stop yourself from taking a deep breath as the smoke hit you, some part of you desperate to get some of his second hand smoke in your own lungs, some part that was easy prey to his purely intoxicating presence. "i'll let you keep the cigarette, only if you answer one question." he tilted his head down for a moment and stepped forward, placing his hands flat on the counter and finally turning his head back up to you. due to the fact that you were still partially leaning on the counter, your faces were only about eight inches apart from each other, so much so that you could smell what you knew to be traces of mint gum that he'd been chewing earlier in the day. the air of silence was painful as you waited in great need for his question. you had no clue what he was about to ask you and if you were being honest, you weren't entirely sure if you'd be able to answer whatever it was he asked. "have you been a good girl?" within seconds, your legs felt like pure jelly and you quite certain that if you hadn't been leaning on the counter and putting the majority of your weight on it, you would have fallen over right then there. the question itself was surprisingly difficult to answer at first, had you? you found your answer as you quickly remembered the fact that each night this past week had been spent with your hands between your legs imaging him taking you every which way, over his desk, in the shower and the worst fantasy that had popped into your head thus far, in the storage room of this very store. it was then and there that you found your asnwer. you faced little hesistation and took the cigarette from his own hand, bringing it to your lips and taking a drag of your own. javi didn't seem to protest, instead he only watched you; watched you in a way you could have sworn looked eerily similar to the way he'd watched you last week, the way that resembled a predator and its prey. but now, you weren't so certain who was meant to be predator and the prey in this game, the lines were certainly getting blurred. repeating the way he'd done so to you, you blew the smoke back into his face. you wanted to believe you'd seen him take in a deep breath not so dissimilar to the way you had moments ago, but you were sure that you were seeing things. you handed the cigarette back to him and only spoke one simple word. "no." the seconds the word left your lips, you noticed the way javi's demeanour changed, the way his eyes seemed to darken through his aviators and the almost silent grunt he let out. just as he opened his mouth to reply, the electric door chime sounded out causing the two of you to whip away from each other and turn both your heads to see who had just walked in. you weren't entirely surprised when you saw the blonde agent, javi's partner, standing at the door and giving javi a more than unimpressed look. "javi, if you don't get your ass back in that car we're leaving without you." for a moment, the blonde agent looked between the two of you. you wanted to say that he hadn't seen the obvious flirting, if you could even call it that, happening between the two of you, but you knew better than that. javi seemed to wait a moment before letting out a long sigh and turning back to you; you could still see the lingering look in his eyes, something that made you want to smile, but you held yourself back from doing so, knowing it would only reveal what was happening between the two of you to his partner, as if it wasn't obvious already. "adios." was all he said before turning on his heel and walking out of the store with his partner trailing behind him, no doubt scolding him about his shameless flirting or something along those lines. sitting up straight, you turned your head to peer out of the window, shamelessly staring as javi and his partner got inside the car that was still parked in the same spot and continued staring until they drove away and were permanently out of your line of site. as you turned your head back to face the spot where he'd been not even a minute previously, your smile was finally able to make itself known. you reached up to pat your hand over your front pocket, reassuring yourself that the cigarette was still there waiting for your break.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena fic #javierpena #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #narcos #narcos netflix #narcos fic #steve murphy #connie murphy #fic #smut

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aquietwritingcorner · 4 years

Text

Comfortember 2020 Day 15: Campfire Word Count: 998 Author: Katie/Ally (aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl) Rating: T Characters: Team Mustang Warnings: Summary: Just another typical evening around the campfire. Notes: Oh look, more “going back to Ishval” headcanons.

Campfire

“You know, you’d think having the Flame Alchemist around would mean that we would have a campfire lit faster,” Havoc said as he settled down on the bench that was next to the fire.

Mustang glared over at him from where he was still squatted down, having just made the second bench. “Would you rather have the fire, or a bench? Because I don’t have to do either. I could make you do all the work.”

“Nah, I’d just pass it off to Fuery,” Havoc said.

“What?” Fuery blinked over at Havoc. “For your information, I was busy helping Captain Hawkeye.”

“Yeah, but you won’t be all the time,” Havoc said with a grin.

“Knock it off, boys, and be grateful we have what we do,” Hawkeye walked over, interrupting the complaining as she did. She was carrying a pot, and Falman was right behind her with a contraption to put over the fire so they could warm it up.

“Aww, but mom,” Havoc whined, teasing her.

“I’m not your mom, but if I was you wouldn’t be getting any coffee,” she said to Havoc.

“Fine, fine,” he said, holding his hands up.

“Is that coffee?” Mustang asked, eyeing the pot.

“It will be,” Riza confirmed.

“Good,” Mustang said. “I could use something to drink.”

“I could use something stronger,” Breda said, coming up and settling next to Havoc.

“We need that for disenfectants,” Falman informed Breda.

“Yeah, I know, but still,” he said.

“You can make it a little while longer,” Hawkeye said with a smile.

A sense of ease was settled over the group. This was a typical night for them on this journey. They were going to meet with some of the elders of Ishval, to work towards ovatures of peace, and a plan for the rebuilding of Ishval. Already there were supplies and a group of soldiers waiting to be used and put to work. All that had to be done, was to reach an agreement with the Ishvalan people.

That was what the team was on their way to do.

But the journey was long, and one can only travel so far in a day. Sitting around a campfire at the end of the day, spending some time stretching legs or taking care of things before you went to bed, it had become part of the routine.

“Hey—Falman,” Mustang said. “Do you still have that game? The one the guides introduced you to?” Mustang asked.

“I do,” Falman confirmed, just finishing setting up the scaffolding that would hold the coffeepot in place. “Would you like me to get it?”

“If you don’t mind,” Mustang responded.

Falman nodded and turned to go get it, although he paused for a moment before he left. “Breda? Do you want to play too?”

The red-headed man shook his head. “I want to finish this book first,” he said, patting a book he had sitting beside him. “I’ll learn the game afterward.”

Falman nodded and went to retrieve the game.

Fuery, meanwhile, had been playing with a portable radio. It didn’t always catch anything this far out in the desert, but there were times that it did. This appeared to be one of those times, and with a cry of triumph, he found some music for them.

“Oh, good,” Hawkeye said as she finished setting the coffee to boiling. “I was hoping for something good tonight.” She sat on a bench next to Havoc and rummaged through a small back, coming up with a hair brush. She reached to take her hair down. “Its nice to have some music.”

Havoc tilted his head back to look at the stars. “Anything is better the Breda’s drunk singing.”

“Hey!”

And easy sort of quiet settled over them then, Falman and Mustang going over the game, learning the rules of it and how to play; the sound of pages turning in Breda’s book; Fuery tinkering with something; Havoc letting out puffs of smoke as he enjoyed a cigarette; Riza’s gently humming as she ran the brush through her hair. It was simply a nice, quiet evening.

When the coffee was ready, several of them took a break to drink a little of it. Breda put his book down and wandered over to the game that Falman and Mustang were learning, asking questions and offering his input. Havoc motioned to Hawkeye to turn around, and he took her brush, gently brushing it back, and working it into a braid. Fuery and Hawkeye started up a conversation about radio stations that they used to like to listen to.

Finally, Falman stood up, stretching. “I think I’ve had enough for one night. You’re welcome to keep playing, sir, but I’m going to head to bed.”

“No, thank you,” Mustang said. “Rest is probably a good thing for me too.”

��I’ll take first watch,” Breda said. “I want to do some more reading.”

“Want me to leave the radio?” Fuery asked him, and Breda nodded.

“Wake me for the second watch,” Havoc said, standing. “I’ll probably be up by then anyway, needing to stretch my legs.”

Hawkeye had gathered her things. “I’ll take third, then,” she said. “It’ll give me some time to clean my guns.”

“Nice braid,” Mustang commented as he held out a hand to Hawkeye, and then looked back at Havoc. “All that practice on your nieces really paid off.”

“Had to do something to pass the time,” Havoc said with a grin.

“I’m sure it will sleep very well,” Hawkeye said, accepting Mustang’s hand. “Thank you, Jean.”

“Hey anytime. Gotta keep my skills up for the future.”

They all drifted back towards their tents, settling in for the night, except for Breda, who settled in front of the campfire instead.

And the campfire burned on merrily, until the morning when it would be put out, only for a new one to be started in a new location the next day, and provide a new place for the team to relax.

#comfortember #comfortember 2020 #team mustang #Roy Mustang #riza hawkeye #jean havoc #heymans breda #vato falman #kain fuery #FMA #Fullmetal Alchemist #fma fanfiction #fma fanfic #Fullmetal Alchemist fan fic #fullmetal alchemist fan fiction

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nrth-wind-a · 4 years

Note

Hidden, designer au skraelroc but Bellroc is the one to iniate

Kiss Meme // No Longer Accepting // Well... This was supposed to be between 100-500 words but it... is not. I hope you still enjoy nonetheless! // Thank you for this very compelling ask! It was extremely fun to write! --

Coffee. It was only coffee. He could do… coffee. Sitting together, pointedly across from each other, with a cup to place between them was a degree of separation that Skrael could handle.

Sweetening the deal was that it was entirely professional. There was no reason to cross into the territory that they had an unshakeable habit of crossing into, the way they clashed words as fencers did blades.

It was supposed to be easy. A simple discussion of particular business matters, and then they’d be on their separate paths again.

Bellroc slid into the chair across from Skrael, looking, unfortunately, incredible.

He frowned, “I’m fairly certain that I requested you be subtle.”

Bellroc’s grin was positively vicious, “Then you should have taken your own advice.”

Skrael rolled his eyes. “You are in bright red.”

“And a vision, I’m sure.” They smirked. “But we have business to attend to, Skrael. Focus.”

It was only coffee… it was only coffee…

Skrael took a deep breath, bit down on what he’d wanted to say, and did indeed focus up. He reached into his backpack for a manilla folder that felt more like he’d been carrying certain doom on his back, than what its contents really were.

With a gentle push, the thing sat between them, and it felt stark; a fresh morning pot of coffee, the blazing tail of roman candle firework.

“That’s them, then?” Bellroc hummed, staring at the folder.

It was odd how inconspicuous it looked; how utterly unremarkable it was in impression.

“The drafts, at least.” He said, taking a careful sip of coffee, to hide the twitch at his lips that threatened an anticipatory smile.

Merlin be damned, he felt that these designs were good. They were unfinished, but… well. There was a reason he was passing them on to Bellroc, now, wasn’t there?

It happened as Bellroc accepted the folder and began to put it into their own bag.

Skrael caught someone staring.

Now, someone staring wasn’t necessarily an issue in and of itself—even if their faces weren’t recognized, the two of them looked good, and he knew it; he knew people on the street knew it. They weren’t exactly wading through interested strangers, but they certainly could turn a few heads on occasion.

No, it was the notable lack of embarrassment when they were caught. The glint in their eyes that felt like a bird of prey’s. The pen being juggled between two fingers. These were all enough to raise suspicion.

The truly damning piece, however, was the portable recorder attached to their hip.

Skrael’s next movements were carefully calculated.

He slid his eyes casually out the window, acting as if his accidental eye contact with the journalist had hardly fazed him; the last thing they needed was the reporter realizing they’d been smoked out.

Because Skrael was also fairly certain—by the look on the person’s face—that they were still trying to parse out if they really were sitting in the same café as two nationally-recognized designers, or if the pair of them were lookalikes. Which meant that he needed—

“Do not turn around.” He said softly, over his coffee cup. “If you do, we’ll be caught by the press. No offense, but you rather have a… recognizable look.” He said, tapping his finger to his temple to indicate their sunglasses.

They scowled, “As if you don’t, Mrs. Elizabeth Bennet?”

He blinked. …They had an unfairly good point.

After a moment’s deliberation, he sighed, tucked his hands under the table, and slipped off his gloves, immediately feeling underdressed.

Bellroc’s face was woven in surprise. Their eyes lingered a little too long on Skrael’s fingers—long, bony, almost ethereal—before they snapped themselves from their stupor and reached to do the same with their glasses.

Skrael held up a hand—still hating how exposed something so simple as not wearing gloves could make him feel— to stop them. “No. You need those to see, and we need two pairs of eyes on lookout.”

They were taken aback a second time, which gave them no small amount of irritation, that Skrael could do that to them so easily. They mumbled, “How did you know that?”

Skrael’s answer was disarmingly honest, given that he was too distracted to consider lying, “You’ve always hated contacts.” He said casually, eyes trained on the journalist, who was staring at their phone, likely looking for anything that could prove their hunch about the designers to be true.

“We have to hurry.” Skrael continued. “We’re close to being recognized.”

Bellroc looked as if they were considering something, but evidently chose not to share, as they stood sharply, causing Skrael to do the same.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the reporter noticed their active departure, and, while they were trying to be subtle, they did begin to pack up as well.

Skrael grimaced, tucking his hair underneath his coat to obscure its length, “The jig might be up…”

Bellroc paused, then, and the fire in their eyes made Skrael do the same.

“Do you trust me?” They asked suddenly.

Skrael blinked. He glanced to the reporter—still packing up—and then back to Bellroc. “Wh- In what context?”

They huffed, “Skrael, we don’t have time to get into the technicalities; do you trust me?”

Skrael paused for only one moment longer. “…I trust that you have an idea that will get us out of this without ending up on the front-page news.”

It wasn’t the answer they’d expected—a resounding ‘no’ would have been the most predictable—but it was –

“Good enough.” They said, voice low, nearing a growl, as they took his hand—oh…—and dragged him outside.

The reporter was not far behind, and Bellroc knew they had to sell this.

There was one thing that the pair of them were most known for, in junction with the other, according to the public. Their absolute and utter distaste for the other was not obscured, and in fact, encouraged, even; it made staying away from the other easier.

So, if they were to prove that they were supposedly not themselves…

Thank god the alley’s empty, they thought, as they tugged Skrael into it, and, with little warning, pressed him up against the wall of the coffee shop they’d just exited from.

Skrael hated to admit that he caught onto their line of thinking nearly as soon as his back met brick. It was rare when it happened, but even now, that he could—in the important moments—practically read their mind, gave him a painful twinge that came from memory of the past.

Lucky for him, his mind was evacuated as soon as Bellroc’s face was the only thing he could see. They gave him one last chance to say no.

They breathed a quiet, “May I?” and Skrael’s eyes nearly slipped closed from that alone. The tone in their voice, the way they were crowding his space, and the way he didn’t even have it in him to mind—

He didn’t take it.

“Yes…”

Bellrocs’ lips were soft, and the pressure was simultaneously too much and not nearly enough. They’d opted, perhaps thinking themself merciful, for a gentle, sweet thing. Skrael appreciated the gesture, but they needed to properly deter anyone from trying to disturb them. He reached up with both hands, sliding them up the sides of Bellroc’s face to slip their glasses off. He could feel their hesitation, rather than see it, by the way the kiss stuttered.

They started to pull back, but Skrael wrapped his arms around their neck, glasses still in one hand, and he mumbled against their lips, “Not enough. Too easy to interrupt.”

They did manage to lean back enough to shoot him a skeptical look, but he grinned, reached down, placed their glasses in the inside pocket of their coat—one hand still pointedly holding the back of their neck—and said, “Don’t you trust me?”

He was challenging them.

…Hm. Fine.

They didn’t give him time to prepare, then, as they gripped his hips and leaned back in, and oh the cropped shirt had turned out to be a very bad idea, Skrael thought, as he could feel their thumbs almost absentmindedly rubbing the exposing skin there.

He suppressed a shiver and moved to press closer to them, trapping their bottom lip between his own. As much as he was trying not to enjoy this—it was purely professional, he insisted—he couldn’t help but wonder why they’d never done this before. If it was this…

Footsteps approached the alley, paused for half a second.

He turned his head so that the reporter would only be greeted by the back of his—a move to ensure that Bellroc’s lack of sunglasses was visible and that no distinct facial features could be made out—and reached to cling to Bellroc’s coat with both of his hands.

The footfalls sounded almost like running.

Good, Skrael thought. Maybe they’d think twice about following strangers—even famous ones—again.

But, now that the reporter was gone, the fact that Bellroc hadn’t yet pulled away was now—… it felt different.

He regretted it even as he did it, but he sighed against their mouth and ended the kiss.

Their breaths wove together. “I think…” Skrael grinned, “I think they’re gone.”

Bellroc’s eyes held a look that Skrael had never seen before. “Yes…”

A horribly awkward silence settled in the minimal distance between them, calling their attention to just that. Skrael noticed, then, and quickly let go of Bellroc, stepping back— only to be greeted with brick. Right.

Bellroc looked flushed as they, too, stepped away, royally embarrassed. “Ah… Thank you—” they flinched at their words, “For humoring me, I mean. No one would ever…” they trailed off.

“Suspect that we’d be caught kissing in an alleyway?”

Bellroc looked almost sheepish. “…yes.”

Skrael tilted his head, looking them over.

…And, ah, he couldn’t resist. He hiked his backpack onto one shoulder, and began to exit the alley, tossing his words out as he left, “That’s alright. It was fun.”

By the time they unfroze, Skrael was long gone, leaving behind only a tingle on their lips, and a manilla folder in their bag, which promised that they’d be seeing him again.

#// hoo boy this was a fun one #// these two idiots i love them #// bless u anon #// this ask was delicious thank you #ask #anon #fashionista how do you look? - rival designers au

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respawnstory · 5 years

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Summer was a great time for us. Not due to being out of school or the weather being warm enough for us to swim, but rather that both of our birthdays being in the first two months. Calvin’s birthday was June eleventh, today. Streamers hung from the ceiling all over the living room with a banner hanging before the kitchen area that read “Happy birthday Calvin!” in big, bubble letters. Calvin had had friends from school over earlier for a party. Plates and cups with remnants of the food and drinks that they had were on both the dining table and the coffee table. There was gift wrapping paper littering the living room floor with a large empty box labeled “Telescope” that our dad had gotten him. That would be fun for me to clean later. He had saved up for four months to buy him such a thing, but I guess nothing was too good for his perfect little son. I had been forced to save up for a little portable radio for him. Currently, Calvin was sitting out on the balcony, listening to the radio and looking through the telescope. For now, my father and I sat at the table with a half eaten cake, playing a one on one game of blackjack. “Hey, Kris,” My dad started, “Go check on him, see if he wants to play too.” Sigh and get up, I guess this day was all about Calvin so I could deal with it. My feet brush past the abundance of wrapping paper on the floor as I make my way to the balcony. He seemed so focused on whatever he was looking at through it. I place a hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump a bit. “Hey man, dad wants to know if you wanna play blackjack with us.” “Nah, the next report on that planet is coming in soon!” He has a big smile on his face. “What’s so special about a silly planet?” Oops, shouldn’t have said that, his smile turns to a pout. “Haven’t you been listening to all the reports and stuff? It isn’t orbiting anything and it straight up looks like it’s being controlled! And they think there could be life on it!” His eyes sparkle, “don’t you think that’s really really cool?!” “They’re probably just trying to hype people up, it’s probably just nothing” “No!! I can see it! It looks like there’s life or something! Just look!” He scoots over, motioning for me to look through the scope. I move over, looking through it “You better not bump it! I’ve got it set perfectly!” “I’m not gonna bump it!” I reply, slightly annoyed. Through the telescope I see a planet, it was quite blurry so I could only assume it was really really far away. “Well? What do you think?” He said. As I look out, I see a big goofy smile on his face. “What do you think?” “I think it’s really really cool! I they’re saying it’s going to miss us by a long shot but like,” He pulls out a notebook, flipping over to a page with with drawings of the planet, along with a lot of weird trajectory stuff, “It looks like its gonna get really close! Kris!” His eyes sparkle. “What if there are aliens! What if the whole things like a ship and they visit and stuff!” He bounces in place, practically vibrating with excitement. “That sounds pretty cool man” I smile, I figure he and his conspiracy theory friends had come up with all of that. It was possible there was life on the planet, but it was very unlikely it was any intelligent life. It’s probably just some rogue planet and we’re lucky it isn’t on a collision course with our own planet. I sit back from the telescope, feeling the warm outside air in front and the cold air of our air conditioning on my back, mixing to make something that was honestly quite comfortable. Despite the warm air, Calvin still wore a large winter jacket. Though if you looked at the two of us side by side, you’d think that it was I who needed the jacket. Our body types contrasted similarly to the air that we currently felt before and behind us. Calvin scooted towards me, obviously wanting to look through the scope again. I move over due to his silent request, and sit close to the radio. Our dad would just have to wait for me to get back in later if he wanted to play. After a few more minutes of commercials, the radio station that Calvin was listening to came back to its main content. The station wasn’t the clearest, but hey, what were you gonna do in our day and age. “Tonight on NYSN, we have a very special report on the rogue planet: TARPT-R5F. Our sources have been following the irrational trajectory of this planet for the past seven years and we are still unsure of what causes it to accelerate and decelerate as it does. However, through observations, the planet seems to be in a tidal-locked state despite not orbiting any known object. On the subject of theorized existence of flora and fauna on the planet, supported by the blotchy green and tan surface and what we can only assume to be two large oceans, our sources have come to the conclusion that there is a high probability of intelligent life on the TARPT-R5F. Furthermore, there is continued investigation on what the odd corona around the planet seems to be. As the planet gets closer to entering our solar system, our knowledge on the planet only expands more and more, and we will continue to update the people on any further discoveries.” Calvin was squirming with happiness next to me. “Kris! There might be aliens!!! Oh my god aliens!” He said, getting up and running inside. “Aliens dad! Did you hear that! Aliens!” We were gonna be hearing about this for the next few weeks, if not months.

#Respawn #June 11th 2069 #prologue 2

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aperfecttimeforscreaming · 5 years

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AN EXCHANGE OF MEAT

Late valentines day ZADR drabble, extremely nsfw, takes place in the #izspacetrash universe NSFW 18+ Warning: Petplay, Zussy, Choking, Power play, Power theft, Over-stimulation, flirtatious bullying

Back on Irk, coupling is illegal. It’s a big deal for humans because they can’t name a rock without forming an emotional attachment, for Irkens however, there’s no reason for the law to even be in place. As a species we have evolved past the need to interact with others. Every individual in the empire has the potential to be a sturdy, self sustaining island unto themselves. We’re built better than every sentient stain in all the known everything!! We have YET to encounter anything that even compares to our size and MIGHT. The last fertile cluster of Irkens died out a thousand decades ago. Every irken is cloned and easily replaced if not functioning at maximum capacity.

So, the desire to do more than indulge yourself is...low. There’s no reason to involve another irken in the matters of ones…..self congratulation.The practice of an EMOTIONAL and spiritual coupling fell out of favor long before we learned to control our natural impulses.

If this is all true (and it is), how can I feel so much for the vicious neanderthal that calls me his? Dib was working on one of his drones as I sat in the dark pocket of the lower bunk bed, the bed itself built into the wall of a home on wheels. Dibs white rectangular fat assed Arr Vee was parked behind a dunky doughnuts so that we could stay out of the sightline of main roads and siphon power to recharge the vehicles battery. See, the outside of Dibs roaming home looks like any other shitty old caravan. In fact, it is more like Dib’s own mobile base. The battered shell outside the chrome and black and blue innards of the crisp sterile mobile lab are no more than a clever disguise. An infuriatingly smart trick. It’s a trick wrapped around stolen Irken technology and it’s to our collective benefit that everything stays hidden. It’s more comfortable being a prisoner, knowing that Dib has become secretive of his most prized belongings. Legs crossed, back pressed to the wall, chin in hand I was thinking my thoughts.

My hand drifted down my neck to trace the soft top edge of the lined matte black metal collar locked around my neck. I felt at the difference in texture between the soft barely there fuzz on my skin and the smooth cool metal. It had been locked there for thirty one days, ten hours, six minuets and eleven seconds. It’s some fluke of nature that Dib is as smart as he is. At one point in my career as an invader I theorized that as humans grew taller, their brain shrunk to make up for the increase in body mass. With Dibs lineage, this is less so. As an adult he is only more cunning, more dangerous, more cloyingly obsessive, more driven. He neglects his sleep to work. He works with the single minded diligence of an Irken researcher. His drive to excel in his field transcends the greasy smelly differences between our kinds. The efficiency he commands my own technology with rivals that of a practiced PAK technician. He’s studied the things I left behind on earth for 14 of his years, and it shows. With a single steady bare claw I traced the shape of the emblem embossed onto my collar tag. Dibs skull shaped symbol, displayed in shiny silver across the front of my neck at all times. An unnecessary humiliation that marks me as one of many stolen treasures. I feel its shape on the bare pad of my finger and silently kiss my teeth, stung by the reality that Dib thought of it first. If the world was just, if things made sense, things would have been flipped, things should have been different. If I really am the more advanced life form, I have no excuse for his subjugation. Thirty one days, ten hours, seven minutes and forty fucking seconds.

From my dark hideaway I could see him, hunched over his desk with the posture of a scoliosis king. A bright white desk light illuminates the front of him and reflects off the cobalt blue shine of his protective eyewear. The blue strips of emergency LED light that mark out the floor area catch the underside of his form, and stripe the wrinkles of his sloppy mechanics smock in toxic blue slivers. Through the gap in the curtains in front of him, I could make out a flickering yellow street light. Dibs sigh broke through the silence. He set down his tool and leaned back in his chair, away from the open shell of the drone he’d been repairing. I watched him drag a long fingered skeletal hand back through his greasy weird hair, and watched the unruly sprig of bone and black people fur spring back up as his hand passed it. “You’re quiet.” The human announced, obviously. Before he could twist the rotating chair around to face me I let my hand fall into my lap and folded both hands neatly together. “My brain is loud.” It needed no explanation, but Dib had demanded the cause. Slouched back in his chair, I watched him copy how I had my fingers folded into each other. His eyebrows arched high on his forehead and crinkled his sweaty brow. “You’re thinking? You’re capable of thought?” He’d lick his loathsome incisors and grin. “Damn, I’ll have to correct my notes. I thought the metal parasite on your back did all that for you.” “IT’S NOT A PARASITE! I TOLD YOU! It’s as ME as the rest of ME!” The corners of Dibs eyes crinkled with delight as he watched me retrace the fact. “MY PAK stores the thoughts of my brain jelly- it’s not responsible for my depthy, nuanced original thoughts. It’s all to my benefit. Your simple animal mind can’t BEGIN to perceive the archives of information, understanding and theorizing, locked away between my two magnificent thought centers.” On my knees at the side of the bed, I pointed to my skull, illustrating the thing Dib wished to understand but could never fully unravel. He reached up to peel the lenses of the goggles from the hollows of his eye sockets. As Dib deftly replaced them with the large circular frames of his glasses, he spat noise at me. “You’ve beaten that dead horse to a pulp, Zim. I don’t think your PAK is any different than a circuit board hardwired to the brain of a roach. You’re just as animal as I am. Only, your issues stem from being part evil cyborg, and mine stem from trauma.” Sunny as a blistering summers day, he grinned at me. Smugness radiates from him like pulsar blips, and my innards are assaulted by tight gripping trembles. I tense my core muscles to keep my tymbal from rattling at the slightest provocation. With my antenna pitched slightly forwards, I can smell the pheromones on his sweat. I crossed my arms over my chest, raised my chin, curled my lip at him to flash fangs. “Tch. Zim is no creature. You’re the animal here. You have the technology to advance yourselves into a race of space faring monstrosities, and yet all you want to occupy yourselves with is the pursuit of earthly pleasure. Your kind construct elaborate rituals just to try and rutt against each other. It could be so much simpler!!!” Dib scratched his chin, nonplussed. “Yeah, I never really got all that either. We do have dating apps and that can simplify things if you don’t account for catfishing, and people who straight up lie about themselves just to get their dick wet.” I grimaced at the mental image of a wet human phallus. I re-contextualized the image in my head and imagined the organ as Dibs. I bit the inside of my cheek. “Sooooo… what? As you get older you stop exchanging meats, and instead swap false personal information?” Dib laughed, quick and dry, brimming with unearned superiority. “Oh, fuck- what you mean like what we did back in grade school?” He sat up, leaned in closer to me. Elbows folded on his knees he hunched closer. I could smell his breath on my antenna. Coffee and sugar and bacteria filled my senses and the stalks flicked quickly backwards at the olfactory intrusion. “Yeah I don’t really know why we did that. I have a theory it’s all metaphorical, some kind of mind manipulation game the government was playing with kids to get them to associate “love” with “flesh”. I mean, you know what “meat” alludes to, right?” My face screwed up as I searched my brain for obvious answers. “MMHhn. HHHMN. Pain? Obviously, pain. Emotional...badness.Maybe hormone tampering. Disease?” Dib was already getting out his phone, snickering to himself as he does when he knows something I do not. I kept going. “Death? Blood? Salt? Disgust? The inevitability of the cycle of consumption? How you’re all doomed to be slaughtered by a greater predatory force?” “No. No- what?” He cocked an eyebrow as he looked back up at me. I wanted to rip the piercing out of it. “No. Shut up and look at these.” Dib held out his portable telephone slab to me and on it I saw a digital gallery of meat related memes. The phrase “beat my meat” was prevalent. There were photos of hammers pounding sickly off grey slabs of deceased pig muscle, and a man dusting a sprinkling of salt or spice over a carved rib of bovine corpse.

My head pulled back, giving me the appearance of multiple chins of disgust. My gut churned as I turned my head away. “Why would you show me those??! THEY’RE REVOLTING!!”

Dib frowned, irritated, and put his phone away. “The “meat” those memes are talking about? It references human JUNK- y’know, genitalia? The memes aren’t talking about actual dead farm animals. And, that’s what I’m saying.” He put his large warm hand on my shoulder and continued, sure to hold my eye contact as he put the curl of his thick broad thumb against my cloth covered collar bone. I tensed my guts to keep my tymbal from rattling. “The government has skool children trade literal meat, so we get the idea early on that we’re supposed to exchange our "meat" with people we're attracted to. So that way, we learn to breed, and the men in power get more workers and soldiers and grease for the wheels of their self destructing machine.” My eyes flicked to look at his hand- the long pale olive fingers, the beaten fight scarred knuckles. My gaze then returned to Dibs humorless expression. “That’s a… problem?” Dib groaned, he rolled his eyes, he took his hand off my shoulder.

It slid down to my hip, his free hand mirrored the motion and I was lifted up from the bed and onto my humans lap. He held me there and growled at me in frustration. “YEAh! Zim! It’s a problem! If people are going to have sex it should be their own choice to do so, it isn’t something we should be culturally brainwashed into accepting! And we don’t NEED to do it! Some people are asexual- some people don’t want children and-” Dib rambled, on and on, laying out the injustices of an archaic capitalist system reliant on the breeding whims of its workers. I couldn’t help but wonder how much of the argument was fueled by Dibs xenophilic leanings and revulsion towards his own kind. I gave less than a quarter of a shit about the very political tangent my human was going off on, but I did like how Dibs lap made for a nice sitting surface, and how the heat of his angry body felt against my skin. As Dib spoke I smoothed out the front of his damp black wife beater absentmindedly, my expression unmoved. As my hand rested in the center of Dibs chest, I patted him, I then mock pouted at him. “Poor Dib, how he’s been rejected by his own kind at every turn. How hard it must’ve been for you! Brainwashed into needing the fuck, harassed by the need for fuck with noooo options for how to obtain it!!”

That got him to glare at me, and my spine tingled for it. I grinned as he countered; “You’re missing the point.” And I kept going. “Addicted to the unknown feeling he can never hope to attain, his vile monster meat might have shriveled up without the wetness- like an unwatered flower! Like a rotting length of carrot! Like a bundle of seaweed on a beach, growing drier and nastier the longer it’s left alone, collecting nothing but mold and botfly eggs and-” Dib grabbed me by the throat. His hand closed around my throat. He gave a warning squeeze as he told me to shut up and I peeped in response.

Lowly, my tymbal rattled.

Dibs narrowed angry eyes softened as he caught the surprised chirp of arousal.

The words on my tongue stalled at the tight curling of his long fingers as they overlapped my neck.

“Even if that was how things worked, I’m not at risk of that anymore, am I?”

Dib looked at me with a gaze that implored an answer, and I shrugged coyly. As he frowned and squeezed harder I gagged, my stomach fluttered and a chirp rattled out of me far clearer than the first.

"Mhhn. That's what I thought."

Dib hummed, his human purr was deep and infuriating. He used his free hand to shift my placement on his long thigh, so that I straddled his thigh as he choked me. My eyes began to water as he raised up his knee and gently bounced my vent against his leg.

There is nothing playmates can do for eachother that a squidgyblit cannot also achieve the end goal of. However, being choked while your nemesis grinds your pleasure center against his leg hits differently.

I moaned with a grimace. I scowled at him as he drew another choked out squirm from my body. Unpleasant as the sensation of constriction around my throat was, we both knew the short term strangulation wouldn't kill me. It was a comfortable routine and Dib continued his gloating games.

"You think you can resist all this? You think you can resist the urge to get absolutely wrecked- by someone who's going to lovingly put all your pieces back together when he's done? You need me as bad as I need you, you fucking moron."

He’s wrong. I don’t need him. But, his games are so amusing, they’re so entertaining. It’s such a thrill to be obsessed over. If he ever knew that, it would all go to his head. As bad as he already was, there was ample room for things to get worse. Dib pressed his fingers up underneath my jaw and held my mouth shut. My growl came out as a choking sound, I tried to open my mouth wider and he put his free hand on my shoulder as a threat. “Shhh. You don’t need to talk right now. Why don’t you show me what you want?” I glared, I tried to hack out a rebuttal, but he didn’t want that. Pink heat spread across the skin of my face plate, I chirped and ground my slick vent slowly against the black jean fabric of his thigh. In doing so, I inspired an unhinged smile to pull across his gaunt snout.

He released my throat and my posture bent, towards him as I gasped. My throat opened back up, and my PAK hummed softly as it began to replenish its oxygen reserves.

Dib patted my warm cheek with his hand. “That’s a good boy.” He mocked softly. I was well within my right to bite him. His hands settled on the bone of my hips, I watched his eyes pass over my head and point towards the bunk behind me. The curious gentle twitching of my antenna caught the heat of his words as they stood on end, and I lifted my chin to glare up at him. “Is that really what your brain was being so “loud” over? You’re still angry about our arrangement?” My lip twitched, it’s downwards arch could not have been more dramatic. “HOW could I not be mad about it? You know better than ANYONE what a powerful beacon of mayhem my existence is- that I can be controlled by someone as misshapen and weasley as you is a blistering amount of shame for Zim- full offense.” As I spoke his fingers laid over the small of my back, he rubbed along my tense lower spine and his gentle ministrations forced my aggressively postured antenna to lower. “Oh, full offense taken. But I know you’re happy about it. Deep down, somewhere in your cold blooded brain, there’s a tiny Zim just glowing over how it feels to be fully appreciated. You’re a hideously evil space terror, I can’t take that away from you by loving you. And I wouldn’t want to.” The heat in my face wouldn’t stop, the fluttering sickly feeling in my guts wouldn’t go away. Like knotted strings being unwound or spider web being gently tugged by a trapped fruit fly, the vibrations of his words unwound my nerves. I had to look away from him to speak, the weight of his useless human affection was too heavy to bare the brunt of head on. It was blasphemy that something a horny ugly alien said to me could mean more than the approval of any tallest. “MMMhhNNG. Stop making words.” I growled politely. Dib chuckled without malice, he curled in over me to press his lips to the crest of my skull. “You love serving me.” “Phheh. Zim loves nothing.” “You love what I’ve done to you, Zim. And I can prove it.” Dib lifted me up to move us onto the bunk bed, and bumped the front of his proportionally massive head against the shelf of the top bunk. “Fuck-ow,” “HAH!”

I reached up to hit the button on the bottom of the shelf, and the top bunk folded up against the wall behind it. As the mechanical components hissed, Dib rubbed his five head. “Yeah? That’s funny? You think your master getting brain damage is just hilarious don’t you?”

“If my “master” (I used my fingers to make mock air quotes) is dumb enough to turn his brain to garbage when we aren’t even under attack, he’s not showing mastery over anything, is he?” Dib dropped me out of his arms and onto the bed, I landed with a yelp of surprise though the impact came painlessly. “HEY!”

With his teeth clenched and his eyes narrowed Dibs hands flew over my body, grabbing and groping, pulling off boots and leggings, striping me of the new uniform I’d been given, replacing dark blue cloth with an expanse of green skin. There was ample evidence to suggest Dibs need was as urgent as my own, from his feverish actions to the telltale tenting at the front of his tight emo boy pants. He needed me. I gave a quick shiver twitch at the feeling of air on my exposed skin, and hissed at him. He pinned my chest down with one hand, and sneered at me as the other cupped over my pelvis. “Your standards are way too fucking high for someone who screws up constantly.” I grinned at him with challenging eyes as my legs folded up and opened. “Where would your challenge be if I lowered them, Dib?” His middle finger split the wet slit of my vent open. He traced the sensitive pink interior and I had no choice but to draw in an afflicted breath. The finger slid deeper, he brushed the base of my wriggling dwarf ovipositor, and the distraction sent my antenna fully back. “You, crave conquest.” I crooned, distracted. Sensations continued. I felt the shivers of pleasure in the back of my teeth, my tymbal rattled with quick twitching clicks each time his middle finger teased the inch length of my pink wiggly hot button. “You don’t know what I crave, Zim.” I cackled, light and airy and I gripped the blankets beside my face. I bit my lip and looked at him. His thumb slid into my slit and he gently pinched his fingers around my “dick”. I gasped sharply. I kicked out a heel as he pressed firmly enough to make me whine. I could not help how my eyes wanted to roll back into my skull at the continued friction, but I swear I caught the reddening of his cheeks before vision became meaningless. I do know. I chirped, I moaned, I rubbed my cheek into the soft blankets stained with floral detergent as the tingling feeling of goodness rolled from my loins up the rest of my body. I felt good, and I made it LOOK good. Dib likes to watch me writhe, and in return he rubbed over and over, again and again he rubbed, till it seemed I was breaching a new level of tingly bliss with every passing second. “But, I know what you want, don’t I?” I groaned in disagreement, his fingers stalled on my sex, then his thumb rubbed small twitching strokes at it’s base. I trembled all over at the teasing agitation, and breathed out hard. “MHn, you’ve… got AN idea, of it.” Dibs motions were less practiced as he set out to release his tube steak from it’s denim cage, but he didn’t move his hand from the source of my sultry keening sounds. He wouldn’t, I had been so SO fucking good to him. Letting him work uninterrupted without a single complaint of boredom. I hadn’t tried to attack him in DAYS. It was a personal best record at the time. I was overdue for a reward.

“UHM, EXCUSE YOU??” Dib took his hand out of my vent and I sat bolt upright on my elbows, glaring at him in a sex flushed daze as I watched him inch the clothing down his nearly non-existent ass. “I WAS BUSY. Who said you could STOP?”

He pushed me back down, grabbed my leg and sharply fixed himself between my open thighs. “I’m not stopping, you know I’m not stopping you shrill shitty bedbug.” It spiraled into more routine. In the act of copulation I could always count on the sensation of his fingers sliding into my orifice to pull it’s tight walls steadily open. I could feel all the bumps and ridges, the rough calluses, the finger pad curling around my core and pulling delicious sensation from the thing inside me that made my guts twitch and tremble and rattle like a sack of angry crickets. It didn’t take much. I didn’t need long, and he wasn’t willing to hold off from indulging in the ambrosial clutch of a wanting Irken tunnel. I groaned as he withdrew three of his fingers from me, pulling with them a thin strand of pinkish slick that broke and collapsed over my cleft. I trembled, I hissed in disgust with myself as Dib aligned the head of his extraterrestrial shaft with it’s destination. As he looked down on me, he commanded. “Beg.” “What?” My head cocked, one antenna lifted while the other lowered, my hand reached up to wipe the pearling sweat from my brow. “Really???” He ground his length into the gooey mess he’d left my vent in, I grit my teeth as my tymbal rumbled. “Yeah. Really Zim.” “Mhgghh.” Eyes closed I tensed as the friction of dick on dick action swayed my compliance. “ Plleeeeeaaaase.” “Please what?~” I tried to scowl at Dibs goading, but his grinding made me bite my own tongue. “You have to say it, pet. I won’t give it to you unless you ask properly.” The nickname is a scorning stinging wound that burbles and pops like a pollution born wound, it feels like a hot sudden burn, it catches me the way his fingers do when they clamp around my most intimate points. In the most pathetic of tones and volumes, I answer my mate; “Please, please fill me with your cum, master Dib.” I was rewarded by a hand coming to stroke across my skull. He cradled the dome of my head and caught one of my antenna stalks between his fingers. With the same care he gave my cock, he gently strokes the black hairs to reward me. “Good boy. Good bug.” When the rutting commences sense tumbles out the window in a broken screeching fury, like an escaped chimp on meth, like a rat on fire making a break for water. I lose my fucking mind to the reactions of my body. The vehicle rocks under us with the power of Dibs mighty thrusts.He fills me so deeply with his oversized ovipositor, I can feel his pulsing want bulging against the skin of my stomach at full hilt. When he finally spills in me I am so wound up that I have already hit my climax twice over. I snarl, I lean into him and the lips I have put to his salty skin part so I can taste his sweat on my tongue. My jaws open wider, and as Dib grunts, at the height of his peak, I bite hard enough to puncture his fragile skin on the edge of my teeth. The red taste of metal is smeared over my lips, on my tongue, over the pasty tan palette of his shoulder muscle. Dib hisses air in through his teeth. “You couldn’t- you couldn’t help yourself, could you?” His panting breath stalls his words, a red tinted smile spread across my fuck drunk face. I licked my lips as I replied, and watched a thin trail of human red meet up with the black fabric of his shirt and diffuse into it.

“No, no I couldn’t.” I hummed back at him. In the state of high endorphine swing I am not fully myself. Everything was brighter, lighter, more exciting. A hazy happy drugged exisence takes hold of me and sways me to Dibs whims. As he pulls out of me, he sighs with a shivering buzz. “Then, you’re not done yet.” In a matter of minutes Dib is redressed while I remain naked, wrists and ankles shackled to the four rectangular points of the bunk via metal shackles that the walls of the Arr Vee spat out. I was only just beginning to come out of my fogy mental state when my human retrieved a black blunt vibration wand from a drawer of tormenting devices. Over the following hour I grew more and more delirious as Dib wrung my body out for increasingly mind crushing orgasms. Things stopped having meaning, Dibs taunting words lost their sense, and I rattled straight through to my bones. That I could not pull my limbs in towards myself and protect my body from the assault of sensation had at one point been disquieting, but then and there, it encouraged me to let go of my resistance. I had let go of my fruitless delusions, I had given myself up to Dib, and Dib did not stop till I was crying with the intensity of multiple peaks.

It made up for everything else that had happened. The blinding beacon of his smothering affections absorbed me in it’s garish embrace as he unshackled me from the walls. He cleaned me, he held me in a folded blanket till the shaking of my overwhelmed body stopped. My prickly insults bounced off him like harmless pebbles of sand. The Dib stroked over my antenna, groomed them with the sex scented oils of his fingers, the Arr Vee reaked of the smell of our sins. Accepting Dibs terms of affection is illegal, but I’m defective anyways, aren’t I?

#screaming//#izspacetrash #zadr #zadr fuck fick because in this they bone #no fuckin minors allowed

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sarasmallmanwrites · 4 years

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A-Level Playing Field

Nobody wanted my opinion on this, but it’s hard growing up poor.

1988. It’s that damp kind of evening outside, clouded by condensation on the single glazed windows, and the smoke from my Nan’s Benson and Hedges. We’ve just had tea – this is North, of course – and everything is accompanied by slices of springy bread heavily lacquered in ‘soft spread’. The gold foiled butter is, usually, saved for my grandad, who works at a fibreglass factory. It’s a very long way away (actually 3.7 miles) and he leaves on his bike every evening with three rounds of tinned ham sandwiches in his bag. Tonight, my mum is out until half nine, working in the care home in the next town, picking me up at ten-ish, depending on how fast she walks. My mum is 27. Five years out of a loveless marriage, living in a council house, she has no qualifications but is working for her City and Guilds and her English ‘O-Level’, GCSEs haven’t hit our vocabulary yet, and won’t until my second cousin Mark does his two years later.

Tonight is Thursday. Nan goes out on a Thursday, which means she will leave the house at half seven in a haze of Vitapoint, Elnett and Lily of the Valley, to play Bingo at the local club. I am being looked after by Alan, my mum’s younger brother, living at home, working in the Mill that overlooks the town below like a stern Victorian overseer. He’s always grumpy, stuck in a town that has no opportunities, and no visible exit. The eighties have been cruel to young, working-class men. The vehement cry of ‘get the fuck out’ hasn’t reached our town but will do in eight years time, on a wave of Britpop, New Labour, cigarettes, and alcohol.

My uncle looks to the television for nightly escape. Thursday is Blackadder, it’s Not The Nine O’Clock News, it’s Comic Strip, it’s A Bit of Fry and Laurie, it’s Red Dwarf, it’s shipwrecked and comatose, and me engrossed on the couch, not sipping mango juice, but milky tea (the North!), as my uncle laughs his head off in between cigarettes. My mum returns, smelling like TCP and the outside, with salty, vinegary chips, and we eat them as we walk the newly tarmacked paths under the orange street lights. I ask her what a goldfish shoal is. She tells me to shush.

I decided that weekend that I wanted to be funny. I mean I could make people laugh when I did my Cilla Black impression, so surely that was a start, and thank to Carry On films I was brilliant at ‘Infamy, Infamy!’, I knew this because my grandad (the cleverest man I knew) had told me so. Even though I was only in Junior One, I knew that you had to be taught how to be funny, that there was definitely some kind of class that you would have to take to learn it, because I had never really been a natural at anything; apart from whistling, which I did with gusto in shrill, high- pitched tones wherever I could.

I read a lot, especially the paper – particularly the Daily Mirror, which probably explains why I am always heavily weighted to the left, and not just because of my ineptitude in heels – and found out that Hugh Laurie, who is obviously the funniest man I have ever encountered, went to Cambridge and was in something called ‘The Footlights’. Then was it, I decided. I was going to go to Cambridge and join ‘The Footlights’ and be funny like Victoria Wood and Dawn French. I imagine ‘The Footlights’ to be a rag-tag theatrical group living on their wits, humour, and more importantly, Pot Noodles. I tell my Grandad that I want to go to Cambridge. He tells me not to be daft.

Now, when I think about it, wanting to go to Cambridge was not a preposterous idea for any child at the age of seven; you are at the start of your education journey. There is plenty of time to get better at things, to practice, to be coached, to improve yourself; but for a working-class girl, who would eventually be the first member of her family to go to university, I might as well have said that I wanted to fly to Mars on fairy wings. But, children who attend private schools are told from the age of four that Oxford or Cambridge are the end goals for their education, with any of the higher-performing Russell Group universities being something that they could settle for, at a push. I didn’t even know what a Russell Group University was until about three years ago, and why would I? For me, in my small artsy primary school with forty children across four year groups, a dismissive attitude towards formal English education, and a liberal fancy for devoting the whole of the summer term to the end of year show, this was not something that was even thought about. Oxford and Cambridge were places printed on the back of books, they weren’t places that you went to university. In fact, most of my primary school teachers hadn’t even been to university but received their qualifications at the local teacher training college; the only exception is a brown jumpered gentleman with a penchant for using cupboards as a disciplinary technique.

We’ll skip forward a few years later, and high school is a vigorous mixing bowl of talents, it takes until at least year nine before anyone even notices who I am amongst the squall of kids churning about in KS3. Dinner is pink sausage meat wrapped in a translucent puff pastry duvet, a treat even on the hottest days when the fat sticks to your lips; and the terms pass in a haze of cheap cider (the kind that tastes like sick), the floral pout of Cherry Lypsyl, and Chris Evans on the Radio One Breakfast Show; who is hastily snoozed every morning before I smell the lukewarm coffee my mum has left by my bed before she goes to work. At this point my mum is a newly qualified nurse at the hospice two towns over, her fingers raw from hand sanitiser, but with rolls of antiseptic scented micropore tape that I use for a cacophony of projects. She is on nights right now, spooning gravelly granules of instant coffee into a mug, blurry from sleep, I am cobbling together a mask out of old Cornflake packets, stuck together with nursing supplies and painted with nail varnish that went past its best around the same time as the Thompson Twins. It is 1995, and the country feels like it is on the cusp of something. I don’t know what, but I’m looking forward to the Year 2000 because I will be fully grown. Well, nineteen.

But what about Oxbridge? Well, for starters, if you attend a state school you have to be so immediately impressive to your teachers that they discuss you in the staffroom. It’s not enough to be good at one particular thing, you have to excel across the board. You have to be so amazingly shiny, that even the most jaded teacher in the school cannot fail to be dazzled by your brightness. For state school kids, Oxbridge is not something that they suggest to the average 10 A*-C kids, it’s not something that they even dangle in front of 10 A*-B kids who are pretty good. At state school, you have to be exceptional for your teachers to even consider you as a candidate, and then you have to achieve enough A*s in your GCSEs that you might as well open a Planetarium. Even then, all they can really do is say ‘I think you could go to Oxford or Cambridge, you know’, or flag you up to the local authority careers service as ‘potential Oxbridge’. There is no Oxford Fast Track programme in state schools, even for exceptional kids.

In a recent social media fracas, one lady proclaimed that if you gave kids a level playing field then poor kids would always triumph because they were more resilient - all those Crispy Pancakes, surely? But for children from a working-class background, we’re not even on the playing field yet; we have to borrow trainers with non-marking soles, scrape around for a quid for the bus. By the time we get to the playing field, we have already been running around for half the day trying to get there, we miss the warm-up because we were late and, honestly, by this point, we’re just knackered because we’ve had to work so much harder just to get there in the first place.

The warm-up is a given to those whose parents have been able to pay for their education – they even get complimentary orange slices for afterwards, just for extra pep and vigour. There are Oxbridge prep classes, extracurricular activities slanted towards the Oxbridge admissions interviews, and chances to take unpaid internships during the summer using family connections. It’s not just that though... it’s little things like knowing it’s pronounced ‘Barkshire’, not Berkshire, it’s when you use a napkin, it’s spending a week skiing at Courchevel. It’s olives.

In 1998, I don’t know any of these things and, even if I did, my accent with its flat vowels and its Lancashire intonation would give me away in a heartbeat, because I sound like I’ve fallen off a pit pony on my way back t’mill. Things change quickly though. My mum has a baby. A screaming, mewling little boy born during The Simpsons on a Friday evening in October. Now there is absolutely no money for luxuries, and when our TV gets nicked, we end up using the small portable from upstairs. My Nan lends me money here and there to get to college, but it only covers the bus fare, and the small endowment that I receive - supposedly to cover driving lessons - gets swallowed up with everyday things that seventeen-year olds shouldn’t have to pay for. I’m working for 4 hours a week in Woolies too, £3.10 p/h to stand around the toy department in a slippery polyester blouse the colour of synthetic mint ice cream, before skulking off to the bookshop to spend that money on things for college. Nothing fancy but, by this point, I am well on my way to being a ‘Funny Girl’, studying a raft of ‘arty-farty’ A-Levels and English thrown in for good measure. The Cambridge Footlights hardly crosses my mind anymore, because Oxford and Cambridge are reserved for the kids doing the hard sciences, maths, law, politics, things that you need a calculator for. You don’t get into Oxford with A-Levels in Theatre Studies, Media, and Performing Arts, despite what they tell you about diversity.

Oxford or Cambridge do not offer a typical British university experience, and how can teachers who have never passed through the rigorous and exhausting Oxbridge admissions procedure be expected to offer any kind of advantage to their gifted and talented students? If you are a working-class parent relying on underfunded, underpaid and overworked FE lecturers to help coach your child through this, then you are immediately on the backfoot compared to a child whose parents can afford private tutors, admissions booklets, and interview coaches. This is no reflection on sixth form teachers in FE establishments across the country, who do all they can to nurture the kids with Oxbridge potential, but when some classes haven’t received new textbooks for two years, where students are encouraged to photocopy their own materials to save costs, you can see where the class difference begins to draw attention to itself without the need for neon yellow highlighters.

My UCAS book arrived in September; an impressive, thinly papered tome with a glossy black and white cover, University Colleges and Admission Services stamped across it in orange. It smells like a cross between the Argos catalogue and a phone book, which I feel is rather apt given that it contains the codes of institutions and courses that will break me out of this godforsaken town: a cypher that I etch out on the application form in black biro.

London

Southampton

Buckinghamshire

Preston

Liverpool

Manchester.

I don’t want to go to any of the bottom three, of course, far too close to where I came from to be relevant. My second cousin Mark’s stint at Sheffield Hallam seemed to be an excuse for his mum to visit his ‘digs’ once a month with catering sized tins of Nescafe, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t quite looking forward to edging the lid off with a knife and stabbing through that ridged foil. My mum writes a cheque out in her secondary modern handwriting, crossing her fingers that they won’t cash it until after payday.

The discrepancies between low-income working-class families and those with a better income also show here too - this can be something as simple as slow internet connection, not having a working laptop and doing work on smartphones, access to transport, costs for travel to visit universities. Things like this are not included when factoring in costs for students from low income. How can you visit all the different university campuses, with all the travel costs and maybe even overnight accommodation, when your parents can barely afford to keep the lights on? There was only one institution that I wanted to go to. London Institute, a glamourous collection of art colleges that included the London College of Fashion, Central St Martins, and, more importantly for me, The London College of Printing. The competition was fierce, but I was shortlisted for an interview in the capital with a former editor of the Daily Mirror. My house was showered in happy expletives that day. Even in 1999, tickets from Wigan to London were over £50 for a pre-booked return. My mum cashed in all of her Clubcard points for the ticket. But, just for me, because she hadn’t bought enough milk to cover the cost of two tickets. However, I must have impressed Tony Delano in that office in Clerkenwell, because he gave me an amazingly lowball offer meaning that my A-level results became a terribly graded self-fulfilling prophecy.

Oxford is different from usual universities in that there are colleges, thirty-nine in total. You might have seen them on University Challenge – Balliol, Trinity, Emmanuel, Brasenose – or from reading the Wikipedia pages of any of our last three Prime Ministers, including the incumbent Boris Johnson, who graduated with a 2:1 in 1987. That’s the other thing – you don’t study something at Oxford, you read it – you don’t start your studies, you matriculate, for which you need a robe. Now, I have been told by helpful and obstinate alumni via social media that Matriculation Robes are £25, ex-hire. However, I have also been told by a current Oxford student that the robe cost is £50 minimum, and no-one would dare wear a secondhand robe as ‘everyone would know’. It’s immediately singling yourself out as a Weasley in a room filled with Malfoys.

The accommodation costs are comparable to London prices; however, this does not cover the Christmas break, which means everything needs to be packed up and stored. Not only do you pay for the storage, but you pay for the boxes too. Much to my disappointment, no-one nips out for a Pot Noodle either, students are expected to dine ‘in hall’ (again, more cost!) where you can choose between an informal and a formal sitting – where your gown is required. I imagine for a working-class kid attending Oxford or Cambridge is very much like cosplaying on a Harry Potter set, but without the magic of a bottomless purse. There are balls too at the end of each term, formal affairs with ticket prices over £50. Again, said the former alumni, you don’t have to go! It’s not obligatory!

But let me tell you a harsh reality. Nothing ostracises a poor kid more than not being able to join in because they can’t afford it. Nothing. And we might have great friends who would all chip in and pay for our ticket, or lend us the money, but there is something very working-class about not wanting people to know that we can’t afford it. Surely we should not be asking these young adults who have studied and worked against all odds, to have a second class university experience because they know their parents won’t be able to help. You can’t even get a job to supplement your income either; the majority of colleges stipulate this, and as someone who had to work two term-time jobs at a much less prestigious university to live (even with the glorious student overdrafts of pre-austerity Britain), this really hit home at how much I would have struggled financially if I had gone to either of these institutions.

Recently my daughter applied for university. We get in the car and visit a university each week, driving miles up and down and across the country. We fight over choices and analyse each course based on employability, and whether or not she would like it. The process is completed in clicks and feels much more clinical than twenty years earlier, but rather than heading into unchartered waters, I have a map. It might be old and tattered, but I have a much better idea of where we are going now. My daughter believes that the meritocracy is a lie, and she tells me this in sharp, pointed tones as we receive her A-level results on a rainy Thursday morning. She goes to University in September and spends the autumn sending me videos of the Minster, or tutorials on how to swear in Japanese. She is only the second person in our family to continue on to higher education. I don’t just mean in her generation. I mean in total. We are the exception, not the rule.

One of the first questions someone at Oxford was asked by a fellow student last year was ‘private or state’, she replied ‘private’ and was met with a smile. There was no need to ask who the state school entrant was, as she queried the partridge and asparagus served for dinner – ‘this chicken is tough. Is that grass?’- and arrived for the formal sitting with her gown covering a denim skirt and shimmery top underneath. Private school teaches these things, no desperate faux pas for Isobel or Jeremy, whereas state schools do not have the resources or the knowledge to run classes on etiquette for the small number of their students that make it through the intense application procedures. This is not saying that low-income children should be discouraged – not at all – instead, it is saying that there is something inherently wrong with the system. At private school, you are disappointed if you don’t get into Oxbridge, whereas the state school child who gets in is an extraordinary anomaly talked about for years in hushed tones of reverence by the faculty.

And this is the issue with saying that children are on a level playing field, that everyone is measured on their own merit; because it is not true. For children on very low incomes, the odds are unfairly stacked against them, and the issues such as 2020’s disastrous A-Level results just add more bricks to an already near-insurmountable wall.

#opinion #exams #growinguppoor #lowincome #councilestate #councilestatekids #alevels #nineties #Oxbridge

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skelebitty-store-and-shelter · 5 years

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Bitties List 2.0

Finally, i shall list all the bitty types that can be adopted! More will be added eventually, but for now, this is the official list!

The list will include every bitty type and variants that they come in, including what sizes and amount of recommended professionalism you need to adopt them, don’t be afraid to ask about bitties that are unheard of, I will be happy to explain and answer any questions you all may have! Warnings will be applied to every bitty when necessary.

Decided to add extra info so that way its a little easier to decide on who to choose, so this is gonna be lengthy.

Disclaimer: if you have a history of abusing bitties, we, as a shelter, have the right to refuse your attempts to adopt a bitty.

Bitties are not things, they are living beings that love, cry, and get angry, they are sentient, they are basically people, treat them as such. Again, they are not things, nor pets, they are sentient beings, and should have a say in whatever you do, including adoption, if the bitty refuses to sign the adoption papers with you, then you cannot adopt the bitty, they are basically tiny roommates

kudos to you if you get them into collage or get a job.

Available bitty types for adoption (Basic Bitty types):

Undertale Sans:

comes in bitty and full-size,can have wings or be an lamia,

perfect for beginners.

Undertale Papyrus:

comes in bitty and full-size, can have wings or be an lamia,

perfect for all types of people and beginner bitty owners

Underfell Sans (Red Variant):

Comes in BItty and Full-size, can have wings or be an lamia

More suited for more experienced people, as they’re very aggressive at first, basically a tsundere asshole, they will bite if picked up without permission or if they don’t trust you. Very flirty as well, but are easily flustered.

Underfell Sans (Cherry Variant):