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precious-little-scoundrel · 3 days

Text

|| Radio ||

Requested plot points? ☑️

Circa: early February 1944

Immediate previous fic: Favorite Escape

Summary: when your hodge podge radio won’t work, who should ya call? Probably the flight engineer

Warnings: usual universe warnings apply, 18+ but nothing very alarming really happens in this one, references to others are made, some potential slut shaming in the beginning if ya squint? perhaps some queer baiting but it’s the Buckies rolling around on the flooor, they’re one massive queer bait lbr, it’s not me. Also. My shit Crystal Radio making descriptions- don’t come for me I haven’t made one and I spent five hours falling down a rabbit hole as to how the guys made them in the camps and at the end of the day I said: screw it! And went with one of the Brit’s scenarios 🍻

Edited only by my tired little eyes, full warning and have mercy 💋

Also, just a note I feel compelled to make- this fic centers around women in the army, in a war, which they’re spending under dire conditions in a POW camp. Yes there is love here, there is also hierarchy and discipline and the enforcement of that does not make one character or another necessarily callous or less loving. They are their ranks first and foremost as all signed up for.

“They’re forging papers, you know.” Maureen broached the topic to Egan one day, late February and when her cheeks were still bruised from Ida’s book.

Bucky paused his tracing of a map, sooty finger trailing along a river with the same incomprehensible name as its twin running parallel, he didn’t know anything about papers or anyone making them and she knew that. “Who?”

“Good ones. Identification, passports.” She enumerated.

“Who?”

“The Poles. The ones with the-“

“-the liquor.” he finished for her, remembrance and condemnation heavy in his wry tone. “The ones you stayed out all night with.”

“Stayed long enough for them to get drunk enough to show me.”she replied, without heat, which was surprising.

“Some grand plan of yours, huh?” He bit back a laugh, it was a fine way to cover her ass for being insubordinate. It was a way he’d likely try if he was in her place.

“No.” she swore instead. “Just luck, I happened to see them. They got careless. Maybe an answer to all Jack’s prayers.”

“Yeah. Anything to give that rosary a break.”

“Yeah.”

“You asked them?”

“What for?”

Bucky regarded her with thinning patience but something kept him from snapping, the feeling of a riddle still to be solved. “For some papers.” he clarified, measured and intent, she knew how much easier that would make their plans for Ida.

Maureen shook her head, glancing down at her twisting hands, “I didn’t want to-“ her mouth twisted too, “-I wanted to ask a superior first.”

Bucky considered that for a moment, slightly touched at her newfound wisdom, “Why not ask Buck?”

She shook her head again, auburn hair curling under her chin just so, even here in the stalag she had some traces of the old charm. “He’s got too much to worry about for me to be bringing in hypotheticals.” she was so upset by something she would not even meet John’s eye and he felt a slice of remorse for how he hadn’t even noticed the ground down change in her since she got here, his drinking buddy and the soft fleshed rival of merry old English days was a gruff and battered and sullen woman; being a red blooded American male, he regretted that dismal change. “And I'm worried about what to bargain with. What can I promise? We haven’t got much and I don’t have— there’s not much anyway, but what we’ve got I didn’t wanna promise. Not without-“ she still hadn’t met his eye, he tracked hers; a furious roving of pale blue back and forth across the floorboards and it made Bucky itch.

“Who signs these papers?” Bucky asked, thinking the logistics through, knowing she’d perk up if he brought them up.

“Haven’t a clue. Maybe they haven’t figured that part out yet. I don’t know. I just know they’ve got papers.”

“Good ones.”

“Yeah.”

“We haven’t got much.” he agreed, clicking his teeth in thought, “What’d you give them for the liquor?”

“They just invited me.”

“Didn’t have to lend a hand or nothin’?” he balked and Maureen threw him a glare that seemed more hurt than rage, and chastened by a voice inside that sounded much like his mama’s, he amended with sheepish humor, “Hell, feel like lending a hand myself these days, if it’d get me a whisky.”

Her gnarled fist curled white in her lap, she managed hoarsely, “They just wanted to talk about home. To someone who hadn’t heard about it a million times before.”

“They got cigarettes?” he asked.

“As most common payment for their booze -they’ve got enough to insulate their shack three deep.”

“Cigarettes won’t cut it then.”

“I’ve been thinking.”-

“Yeah?”

“The radio. I’m the only one who doesn’t think it’s worth the risk but, I know, it doesn’t matter, it’s happening. Gale’s going to keep trying. And if it works-“ she rubbed at her eyes, tired and unsure, “-that’s quite the bargaining chip.”

Bucky nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as his smile grew a touch broader, “News of the outside world.” he was half in agreement, “Buck asked for a week. Been four days.”

“He’s stumped.” Maureen retorted instantly. “And he’ll stay that way and he’ll go nuts and you’ll go die going over the fence and then he’ll have no reason left not to die too.”

Bucky whistled, low and chiding, “You’re full of rainbows today, Candy.”

“You know who he oughta ask.” she shook off the barb. “But he won’t. And I don’t want him risking it for this thing anymore than anyone else, but you all want it so bad, and they’ll shoot us for it if it works or not. I’m not asking her. But you would. Might as well get shot for it working, right? Isn't that what you said yesterday? You know who he should ask.”

Bucky’s keen eyes showed the moment it dawned on him, his eyebrows shot up and his mouth sagged and he ran a weathered hand over his face, “Awww shit, Candy.” came garbled behind his palm. “Ah shit.” he said again with conviction as he shoved the hand into his pocket, wretched acknowledgment of her point clear on his face.

“I didn’t want to suggest it, told Ida it’s a fucking dangerous thing and I’ll never forgive if— but you all—“

Bucky grounded aloud, “Nah, nah she’s -Lu would solve it.” he muttered, shushing her. “Demarco really pummeled you the other day, huh?” he added, and that got her to meet his eye, she looked spooked and a little incensed, “Saw him fuckin’ you up behind B compound but sheesh, s’like he hollowed you out worse than a jacolantern; yer shifty as hell.”

“He-“ Maureen still felt like blanching at the memory of Benny’s terribly correct opinions, his disappointed eyes and his fist full of her flight jacket asking her what in the living fuck was wrong with her besides a concussion, a sick childhood and an ever nauseating jealousy of Buck Cleven’s paternal time and effort, “-he had some admonitions. After…after the other night.”

Bucky hummed, shitty smirk taking up residence on his face, “How ‘bout that.”

“I’m gonna be better.” she muttered and Bucky felt for her, could almost taste the echo of his identical and hollow determination to climb the mountain of bad habits when weak from spuds and pneumonia. He told himself the same every morning and fell into bed condoning his failure every night, like a ritual.

“You’re gonna get us those papers.” he corrected, shoving off the wall to come near her, give her the full Major treatment and maybe a friendly hand, “And you can promise your drinkin’ buddies news from the radio.”

Maureen nodded in understanding, no joy or animation left in her green eyes. She used to enjoy a bit of subterfuge, now she only felt hollow misery at the thought that she'd dragged Lu into this, too. This risk she hated so much and yet no one cared. Lu would be glad to be dragged in, it’s true, she was itching at the chance to be useful and to make Gale proud, it’s how the girl was wired. It’s how most girls were wired, Maureen supposed, desperate to make Gale Cleven approve. Lu’s enthusiasm wouldn’t make the sight of her being made to kneel in the mud and have a bullet put in her head any easier, wouldn’t make Maureen feel any less responsible for it when her lifeless body thudded to the earth.

All that lovely goodness stamped out.

Over a radio.

Bucky’s hand felt too hard and too big on her shoulder. He had gone before the vision cleared, mud and wire and the freezing main square at Ravensbruck fading back to the musty bunk room. Maureen shook herself and stood up to make herself somehow appealing, reamniante some semblance of the cheerful rashness that had led her to the Polish combine in the first place: she found it hard to inspire. She’d like to count that a victory but she knew better, she wasn’t reformed she was just tired.

A washed face and a fake smile and the promise of news from outside would have to be enough to bank all their risks on, it would have to be.

“Crank,” she greeted the man in the hall, flashing him clean, water brushed teeth and her gentlest, freshly soot lined eyes, “I’ve been tasked by Major Egan with an errand, spare a minute to babysit me?”

__________________________________

Bucky finds Buck Cleven in his own bunkroom, Demarco outside on watch and that’s all Bucky needs to know to guess the radio is out and Buck’s working like a fiend yet again to make it work. Sure enough, he’s hunched over the table with it, mittened hands shaking from cold and exhaustion and a sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the paltry sweater he wears.

Bucky walks in and Gale gives him a soft, acknowledging glance before continuing to his work. Bucky takes up his usual place behind Buck’s left shoulder to watch and Buck, being used to it, goes on.

“My little Kriegie Marconi, huh?” Bucky allows the nagging impulse he has felt for weeks while standing in this position to finally exert itself, and his forefinger lifts and swirls in the curling gold strands of hair at the nape of Gale’s neck, his friend almost bolts away but then seems to choose a prey’s tactic and just stills, goes very still and Bucky scritches the scalp beneath his grab in assurance he don’t meant anything by it. He doesn’t think he does, at least.

Gale, wary and with a voice close to mechanized it’s so stilted, inquires with ever-present politeness, “You alright Bucky?”

It’s better than that whole ‘major’ business; getting called Major as if that meant shit anymore. “Yeah, ‘course I am.” Bucky rakes his fingers through the hairs there at the nape of that dainty neck, scritches the scalp with all four of his main ones, and uncovers a white long scar sliding round once he lifts the hairs there. “Why wouldn’t I be? Gonna be a father soon.”

Buck does jerk then, away from his touch and wheeling his chair around to glare at Bucky; it’s an impressively executed little pirouette and John misses the feel of his warm neck and oil soft hair. “Jesus John.” he reprimands.

“We’re gonna get outta here Buck.” John swears, he’s so sure of it because he cannot in all his thinking and predicting ever imagine a scenario where they don’t, and he chooses to think it’s not delusion but a good omen. “Ida’s gonna have that baby and when it’s safe we’ll all meet up.”

Gale is looking at him like he’s his own father again, Bucky knows that look, it always makes him equal parts ashamed and desperate, “Jus’ like that.” Gale mocks in a husky gust.

It’s devastating, and it’s intended to be, and Bucky could bear that with better humor if he could still touch Gale and his hair. “Just like that.”

Gale hums and it’s a mean sorta vocalization that makes Bucky’s heart thud and his skin prickle hot, it’s the kinda noise you kiss off a person, he thinks, but it’s Buck and so he doesn’t know what to do with it. “It’s gonna get you killed.” Buck is saying instead and Bucky lets him, “I know you all think she’s cracked up and maybe she has but it wouldn’t hurt to listen to Kendeigh sometimes when she’s tellin’ ya shit that a five year old could accurately guess, -goddamn it.”

His voice rose to a strong rage by the end and Bucky takes a chair opposite him, sick of standing there like a dumb dog waiting for his scolding to be over. “So what.” Bucky challenges him, “We just wait around and Brady pops out a child and the krauts let us keep it and it’s our new mascot and we all sing zippidy doo da, huh? Huh, Buck?”

Gale’s hands fell away from his face with a slam to the table, a shocking degree of anger showing for a split second and it gave Bucky an odd degree of gratification. “I jus’ want you to find a plan with better odds.”

Bucky sniffed and leaned forward, went in for the kill and Gale was looking at him like he expected it, like it was his turn to play daddy to everyone here and Gale for once was so beaten down he wouldn’t just allow the changing of the guard, he was close to angry at its lateness. It made Bucky’s heart thud.

“I’ve been listening to Kendeigh.” Bucky refuted briefly, “And we’ve got a plan.” Gale gave him a tired look of encouragement to go on, “How long’s it been since you slept? Huh, well, we got a plan. Practically perfect, or it will be, just need the radio.”

“Ain’t giving this away.” Gale said, “Not for anythin’, even useless.”

Bucky patted the table top in easy assurance, if he could have reached Buck’s thigh, he’d have patted that instead, “No, no, don’t need to give it away, just need it to work. So,” he softened his voice and his eyes tightened, “I’m callin’ Lu in.”

Oddly, Gale does not fight it. Not aloud, at least. There’s an anguished look of hate on his face and Bucky mirrors it. It’s for this place and the fucking awful choices they have to choose from every goddamn day.

“You run this by Ida?” is all he asks.

Bucky pops his flaking lips audibly, “What, need us both gangin’ up on you to agree? She’ll sign off. Smith’s an officer. Gotta remember that sometimes, Buck.”

The way his Buck swallows hard and dry contradicts his words, “I do remember that.”

“Really?” Bucky’s mouth gives a soft smile of doubtful incredulity and Gale’s mimics it, mournful but a smirk all the same, “Feel like she should answer to ‘Gale’s Baby’ these days. Lieutenant Smith who?”

Gale scoffs, “Careful now.”

“No really, she’s an officer and she wants to be treated like one. It’ll do her good to have work. Her kinda work.”

“Could get her killed.”

“Layin’ in her bunk could do that.”

Gale grunts, its sounds like an agreement.

“So I say Lieutenant Smith gets put on radio detail. Like her goddamn job description suggests. Huh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Gale lets out a shaky agreement.

“Aaaaand,” Bucky draws it out as he rises again and saunters over to Buck who is ready for him and loose this time, “how bout I go back to bein’ the one you’re frettin’ ‘bout all the time. Got me almost jealous of the girl. How ‘bout I do. Huh?”

Gale’s scoff is fond as anything as he looks up at John with cheerful derision, “And you ‘bout to be a father? Make me an old man? Fuck no, ya looney.”

“Alright.” Bucky concedes with hands up in surrender before lurching forward and grasping Gale’s rickety chair back by its wobbly spokes and hefting it partially off the ground, beautiful and outraged prude of an occupant still seated in it, “Then I’ll play daddy and put you to bed, how ‘bout that.”

“John Egan for fucks sake-“ Gale’s fists pounded on the meat of his shoulders and his outraged protests wafted against Bucky’s neck and his jabbing knees collided with the meat of his thighs and Bucky hadn’t felt so close to him or so happy to be alive since England.

“Major sir, the hell is goin’ on?” Demarco’s tame inquiry from the safety of the doorway made them both lose their grapple and they collided together onto the floor, bunk bed barely missed by their heads and the hapless chair mixed up between their limbs.

Bucky grinned, hip sore from his fall and kidneys suffering from Buck’s trapped elbow there, “Puttin’ Goldilocks to bed.” he replied.

DeMarco processed that and the scene before him with grave sobriety before saluting lazily and turning to go, “Right on, sir.”

John did his best to rise up without further pinching Gale who was indeed trapped beside him and beneath him, chair legs wound between a lanky human leg in a puzzle that Bucky realized might take some caution to untangle without harm. Strangely, Buck wasn’t moving, he was just looking up at him like a cat would their clumsy master who has done somethin’ stupid which was a surprise to neither. It was so innocuous a look and so nostalgic, it winded Bucky with the realization he hadn’t seen it in ages, just as he hadn’t felt his boney ribs against his own and the feel of his elegant hands yanking him around in a fight. This miserable place really was stomping out the glow in the best people.

“Ya know Buck,” he ventured, clearing his throat for extra casualness, “I’ve missed you.” When Gale only kept looking up at him, perfect porcelain face with its unsettling scars and wary eyes without a lick of storm in them, John Egan grabbed his shovel and dug his own grave a little deeper, drug a finger down his cheek. “Missed all this.”

Bucky didn’t know what he meant by “this” but it felt safer and worse all at once, since he did miss Buck but he and Buck never used to hang out on floors with a chair as chaperone. Mercifully, Buck neither points that out nor moves away, acting very much like he needed to heaped on the floor with Bucky and a stray chair every bit as much as John did. Like it’s doing him good.

“And you couldn’t’ve jus’ said.” Gale murmurs with the softest eye roll of the century and Bucky feels like beaming and it must show in his face so strong and bright after a sunless winter that after a flash Gale’s cheeks flame from it and he averts his eyes.

“I dunno Buck, could I?” Egan asks one blushing cheek and Gale hasn’t got a good reply for that, so they just lay there on the floor.

“Go on now, get off me.” Gale doesn’t shove at him, he presses his hand to John’s forehead like he would a dog and John goes, obedient as one.

———————————————————————-

They found Lu with Murph and Benny and Brady, measuring out what seemed to be lot lines between Love Shack #9 and the next combine, boot scuffed perimeters already visible in the light snow and drawn in a decently tidy rectangle. There were guards loitering nearby, nosey as always with their cigarettes and their antsy dogs anytime someone did something out there besides piss or pace or stare at the fence.

“What’s all this?” Bucky inquired cheerfully, coming up to them with Gale, bundled and shivering behind him.

Benny looked up from tilling a furrow with his boot, right where Lu’s mittened finger pointed out. “It’s for the garden. S’posed to be spring before long.”

“A Chicago man oughta know better, Benny.” Egan snarked.

“Need us?”

Bucky sniffed, a casual set to his body that belied his quest, “Just the little one.”

Smith promptly looked startled, then eager. “All well Majors?”

“Need your advice on the color of my cufflinks with this suit.” Bucky extended his arm and beckoned her, “C’mon back in for a minute. One of you too, need a watch to go with the cufflinks.”

———————————————————————

With Benny on guard, Brady and Kendeigh having excavated the radio’s shell from the floorboard and table leg in which it resided, the Buckies stood over Smith’s small frame as she sat at the table and inspected the simplistic device with keen eyed appreciation for the construct.

“It’s really marvelous.” she assured Cleven, running her fingers over the carefully coiled wire and precarious pin.

Gale didn’t even crack a smile. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked instead.

She shook her head, a frown gathering. “Never made one-“ she cautioned.

“-but you get the idea.”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“So what’s wrong.”

Lu ran her fingers over the wire, again and again, the dusty metal not insulated, just bare copper, likely stripped from somewhere. It reminded her of early days as a cadet when they threw chicken wire mixed with hydraulic lines at herself and her fellow rookie engineers and told them to sort it, testing to see if they knew which was which. It had been so rudimentary she had wanted to laugh until she realized others were being flunked.

This was so basic she was stumped.

“Take your time, Lu.” Bucky spoke up after a burdened pause during which she could almost feel Major Cleven breathing down her neck.

“Candy, can I try with the headphone?” she asked at last, frustrated and out of her element, just a few months out of a plane and she had already lost her touch.

Maureen passed it over and Lu pressed it to her ear, not to discern what was quite obviously radio silence, but to imagine the whole process in reverse, track it down the cord all the way to the base, each possible breakdown of the conduction.

She fingered the ramshackle diode with burgeoning suspicion. “What’s your crystal?”

“That’s just…lead.” Cleven muttered.

“From?”

“Ground pencils.” Bucky supplied cheerfully.

Smith bit her lip, “We need sulfur added. Lead won’t conduct on its own.” She figured Cleven knew that, the grim and unmoving set of his mouth suggested so.

“Just- sulfur?” Maureen asked.

“If I had sulfur we could add it to the lead dust, ignite it and-“ Smith grinned at Kendeigh, knowing that she alone may have shared her enjoyment of a small conflagration from time to time, “burn it down and you’ve got something close enough to Galena. Just need a pinch of it should work.”

Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and surveyed the mostly morose room. All except for the two girls grinning at each other over the hypothetical of a little chemistry experiment in a highly flammable wooden combine.

“We’ve got sandy soil.” Buck’s contemplative drawl spoke up, “Dunno if we could extract enough pure sulfur.”

Maureen stared back at Egan instead, “Other sectors have gotten portions of kits, chemistry kits, radio kits, they’ve been smuggled in with all sorts of stuff. Inside of a violin, oat bags. Nothing to fully build something. They might have sulfur. I could make inquiries and- well, Jack could pick it up next time the band goes over C compound to entertain the poor Aussie bastards.”

“How do you kno- nevermind, actually. Nevermind.” Bucky broke off, “Alright. Sure, why not. Ya sure that’s it?” he asked Lu once more.

She gave a helpless little shrug. “Gotta be. Or the wire’s dirty. Where’d it come from anyway?”

Gale gave Bucky a long suffering look as Bucky seemed to swell a couple inches and bounce back on his heels at the mention of his scrounging prowess. “The lamp.” he nodded above them all.

Jack Brady scoffed, short, clipped, betrayed, “That why it cuts out all the time? Strobed us so bad last night -thought the room was possessed.”

“Sacrifices Jack, sacrifices.”

———————————————————

Benny had hauled in enough water buckets to elicit some negative attention from the guards, and when the inspection came the inmates of the Love Shack insisted the drenched floors and table of the Majors’ barracks were due to sanitation post regurgitation. At night, with only one stolen torch light from Combine 15 to illuminate the endeavor, a basin of water beneath a smaller bowl in which lay their precious and recently procured ingredients, a science experiment began. The Majors and Ida gathered round, all looking as ghastly and spectral in the light of the flashlight as Brady’s fake ghost. It held the thrill of a bonfire night except for the stakes, which all in the room did their best not to dwell on.

“Zippo, Candy.” Lu gave the word and Maureen, with only the protection of Ida’s bent aviators to keep from a scorched cornea, flicked on her lighter and set the mixed powders ablaze.

It flamed up high and smelly, making Benny gag and mutter something about Meatball’s gas to a tittering Brady, and then died down to a yellow smoking ember.

“We should let it sit.” Lu surmised with a squeeze to Maureen’s only somewhat singed hand, her big dark eyes surveying the burnt bowl and their smoking experiment with glittery excitement at the possibility of success, “Let it cool, settle, maybe strain it. Can you get me a net? Oh Candy come now, get me a strainer?” she begged with a laugh as Maureen rolled her eyes at the idea of yet another trip to the Stalag Market for the most random items imaginable. If they hoped to not be suspicious, they’d need better lies or more money.

“How about cheesecloth?” Kendeigh tried not to grin indulgently- and failed- in the face of Lu and having recently been allowed to set something on fire

Lu kissed her cheek. “Cheesecloth would be perfect.”

In the end, cheesecloth did indeed prove perfect, and amongst the burnt dust of the combined minerals was a gritty little pinch full of the needed crystals. Or so Lu said, Gale agreed but the crease between his brows hadn’t lifted for two days; Bucky’s fingers had begun to twitch in antsy need to manually smooth them out. He imagined Maureen felt the same but she hadn’t said, uncharacteristically forbearant now she had some job to keep her sane. Even if it was playing fetch for Lu.

—————————————————————

“Well, this is it.” Gale muttered when the watch had been set once more, Murph and Hambone on the steps, Crank inside, Brady at the door, Benny at the window. Even Major Clark had joined them in the barracks for this final try and Lu’s cheeks were maroon from the attention even as her deft hands steadily pressed her concoction beneath its intended rod.

“Pass me the pliers, sir?” She asked and for a moment, the teacher became the apprentice and Gale fetched her the stalag forged tool, rudimentary like everything here yet the gripped and pulled and lifted same as the pliers back home. “You could check your look in this wire’s reflection.” She complimented Gale’s buffing of the copper wire.

He shrugged in turn. “Didn't wanna leave anythin’ to chance. That it?” he asked as her hands stalled and she surveyed her work.

Lu nodded solemnly. “Yes sir.”

Gale picked up the headphone from in front of him on the table like it was a gun he was about to bring to his head. “Here.” He extended it to her instead, “S’right, it was your job, you should be the first. Cmon.”

Despite her voiceless protest he pressed the headphones into her hands and Lu, never knowing how to disobey an officer, folded immediately.

For a good ten seconds everyone in the room held their breath as Smith pressed the headphone to her ear and gently wiggled the clothespin along the wire, searching and tuning, her face holding that old peaceful concentration they hadn’t seen since the last mission. She was at home with her mind tuned to another dimension. The pilots in the room knew that look, that was the look of someone at home with something that terrified them all the same, the gut swooping feeling of clearing the take off and sledding along the tops of the clouds. Wrong and strange and utterly incomparable to others, it was the closest to home one’s mind could be. Lu belonged somewhere on those electric currents and searching them out was like finding oneself again.

Then at last, Lu’s eyes sharpened out of their dreamy haze of concentration and she said, gentle as always, “It’s the BBC sir.”

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# 𝗙𝗖𝟰𝟯 ─── MAKE IT UP OFF-TRACK MASTERLIST . . . REQUEST ME . . . TAGLIST . . . AO3

YOU'VE RACED WITH HIM AND you've been under him. still, it hurts you when he outqualifies you. it almost hurts as much when you both still think you're just fuck buddies. ────── original prompt req.

PROMPTED DIALOGUE . . . # “You’ve been staring for a while” PROMPTED TAGS . . . # praise kink, rivalry, friends with benefits, jealousy ADD. TAGS . . . # quickie vibes, sex in the hospitality, author has a language kink, but also deepl translations WORD COUNT. . . # 1.6k

────── AO3 VERSION

P11. Fucking P11.

Everyone else is in the garage as you come in, all angry and disappointed. You were tenth of a second behind P10 and you weren't able to push it on the last lap because you went off track limits.

What’s done is done. You can’t work with a car that clearly doesn't wanna work with you. The better part of you wants to let this go and simply rest for tomorrow. Call it a day. Think of how to dominate tomorrow. Sleep it off.

But Franco walks to the garage at P7 and proceeding into Q3. The plan gets thrown away immediately.

You don’t hate the guy, of course not. You’ve met him times before when he was still in F2. If, of course, meeting him included hotel rooms and secluded bathrooms. You met him a lot, if so.

It’s not his fault that he’s better than you, as of now. You should be happy, really. But fuck, it should hurt how some rookie is better than you in a car you’ve driven for a year.

Despite all of this anger bubbling in you, you can’t stay mad at him. You could never stay mad at him, you think. Yet it hurts all the same.

You look away as your eyes meet. Not giving him a chance to even confront you or attempt to comfort you, you leave.

It’s pivotal now to talk with your strategist. He’s expecting you, unfortunately. Knowing damn well that your next duty was to come to him to see how to improve your performance, he already had your data pulled up.

Your, and their, wrongs are being talked into your ear and out the other. The farthest screen turns black, and you see Franco in the reflection. His blurred figure is towards you, his panting from the race still evident on him.

It’s difficult to pretend to care about racing right now. It’s not like they say anything different anyway. The rear wings are fucked, the tyres are fucked, the wheel can’t turn, and your head is just in the wrong direction. All the same things said before.

To the driver’s room you go. Q3 starts and you don’t do anything. The TV screen shows the delayed race as the crowd cheers from the opposite sides of the wall. Franco is in danger, with Mercedes finally coming out from the pit—you don’t expect anything more.

After the stretched minutes alone in your room, a knock comes on your door.

You say, “I’ll be out soon, tell James to get some patience,” with your head in your phone. No fucking way you’re going to be dealing with them while you’re still pissed.

The door opened and you grunt. Looking up, Franco was grinning at you.

“I’m also hiding from Jego,” he says, the grin on his face annoying, “can I come in?”

“And we both get caught?” It doesn’t matter what you think, he puts his feet in anyway.

The couch is uncomfortable. If they aren’t spending money on the car, they might as well spend it on the seats. With you laying across the couch, he kneels between your legs. You raise an eyebrow at him as he undresses his fireproof suit.

You ask, “You seriously wanna fuck?” and he laughs.

“¿Me dirás que no? (Will you tell me no?)” he murmurs, getting on top of you with his hips pressing against your ass. “Did you know I placed 6th today?”

“Mhm.”

“No?” He places a kiss on your cheek. “Didn’t watch me? What were you doing in here?”

His lips ghost over your neck, the warmth of his breath sending a small shiver down your fine. You know he felt it when he chuckles in your skin.

“Getting fucked my brains out,” your voice is flat. “What were you doing out there?”

“Ah, amor (love), you won’t get me like that,” he whines and kisses you once in one side. Then twice the other. He says, “You are so mean though, telling me things like this. Do you wish you were with someone else? Hm? ¿No me querés más? (You don’t want me any more?)”

Franco comes up to part your lips open with his tongue. You gasp a little, your arm limp over his back. His mouth wide open, chest pressed against yours, tongue just brushing against your lips, he says—

“Quiero coger. Te quiero comer a besos. Quiero que me hagas tuyo, mi amor. Don’t go making me jealous because you are.” (I want to fuck you. I want to lavish you with kisses. I want you to make me yours, my love)

His hand is gentle on yours, playing on the hem of your pants as his kisses turn wet. Desperate. Loving. It hurts you how careful he is with you when you spent the past hour hating him in your head.

And he’s always so gentle. He always used to ask you if you liked it, his words almost always in Spanish. As if he’s lost in you, he doesn’t know what words to use.

He no longer needs your permission now. A finger rubs between your clothed cunt as his hand pushes your shirt up to hold your tits. He moans more than you, in love with your body.

“So good,” he murmurs, “don’t ever look for anyone else. For me, please?” You moan against his cheek as he focuses on rubbing your clit through your pants. “I can make you feel so good. Amor, I can be yours.”

In moments like this, he’s too drunk on sex to know the words he’s spewing. He reaches for the lube and condom hidden in your desk. His movements are sloppy. You swear he struggles a little in opening the cap up.

He asks you something in Spanish. It’s out of your vocabulary, so you tilt your head.

“I don’t need to prepare you, right? You’re still loose?” You can see his hips grinding against the palm of his hand. His cheeks are flushed, and you see drool coming down his chin. It’s pitiful.

You nod. “Yeah, just give me a bit to adjust if you wanna—fucking hell.” It’s out of your control when you laugh. Franco eagerly shoves his pants down alongside yours.

“What has gotten you so eager?” you ask.

“I got P6,” he smirks. That little fucker.

His cock is rubbered and wet when it enters you. He moans loud as your hand comes to his cheek. It’s catlike, the way he goes soft against your hold.

Shifting slowly, he grinds inside of you. The soft rubbing inside your walls almost has you mewling. But you keep your eyes on him, ignoring the pooling pleasure between your legs.

Telling him, “You’ve been looking at me,” has his lips pouting. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were in love with me.”

“I am in love with you,” your cheeks flush, and you’re not sure if it’s the sudden thrust of his cock or his words. “I’m in love with the way you race, how you over-perform a dying car, how you move.”

His eyes drop to where you two meet, jittering his hips a little. With the quick thrusts, you’re caught off guard and moaning out his name. He looks very satisfied with it.

“Oh, amor—” his words turn gibberish to you as he starts to move. His pace is uneven, driven by the thought to take you carefully and the urge to bring the both of you to climax. Not a single word is getting into your head.

But his voice is so loving. He’s panting between every other word, lips pouted and eyebrows furrowed. His voice is getting louder, and you put your hand against his mouth.

“Shut - oh, God… Shut up,” you whine, feeling the cockhead rub against your g-spot. “You’re so fucking… good. Just like that, fuck me.”

He shuts up when he goes down to kiss you. Both his arms wrap around you, embracing you as he finds the right angle to make sure you’re still getting stimulated. His hair is rubbing against your clit, the little tickle in them getting you to moan a little louder.

You feel dizzy. It’s not the lack of air during the kiss, you know it. He’s just holding you close to him while he takes you like you’re his lover. Your heart curls in itself, punishing itself for its own stupidity.

But fuck, you want to focus on the now. The way his hands are going up and down your back, soothing you as you get lost in the pace of his thrusts. The way his body towers over you, completely enveloping you in his hold.

“I’m gonna—” he gasps, his pace barely slowing as you assume he cums inside of you. You whine when he bottoms inside.

Franco knows you. He knows you too well. He grinds inside of you before pulling out. Still, he doesn’t let you think another thought before he’s flicking your clit.

“Shit, fuck, Franco!” he smiles under your silent praise as his other fingers tease at your hole. “I’m gonna cum too. Just like that. Don’t fucking stop.”

He only leans down to spit on your pussy, easing the rub as you’re moving your hips along him. You cum with your back arched and your hips off the couch. His hand stills on your clit as his eyes are fixated on the way cum leaves your pussy.

You drop back down when he places your hips on his lap. “Don’t get it dirty,” he reminds you, tying the condom and throwing it in the bin. “It’s embarrassing to explain to the cleaners.”

His humour comes in at the worst moments. You grunt and he only laughs. “It’s not even funny. You’re just telling the truth.”

“It’s funnier in Spanish,” he promises.

You think about how it probably sounds just about the same.

🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . first time writing for bro ! i'm so open to writing more of him so i added him in my taglist options, so if you wanna be tagged for future fics of him 👀 you know what to do . if you already sent me a form before , you can resend another with him included ! anyways , fixing up the next few fics soon . ˎˊ˗ ᝰ. ──── 📨 @delululeclerc @hiireadstuff

you support me best on tumblr with reblogs and comments ! ── by andcars ⟡

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ohtobeleah · 3 days

Note

continuing that drabble you just did for dofp. Logan returns to the future and while he's walking around the school seeing everyone he's lost. He sees the reader again 😭

Previous Concept

Logan sees you talking with the Professor about something you can't figure out about one of the new student's mutations. You'll need to borrow Hank for a little while too.

“Logan? Honey, are you alright?” You coo as you round the desk and waddle towards him. You're alive. Your unborn daughter is alive. Logan got his family back. The family he thought he'd never see again. The family he created.

“I love you so much,” Is all he says as he brings you into a warm embrace. “Ive missed you is all, how are my girls doin’ today?”

“We’re in desperate need of a soft serve ice cream but other than that, we’re doing alright,” Its the way your hand immediately finds his as you intertwine your fingers with his. “Starting to think this little girl has Adamantium bones like her dad.”

Logan smiles at your gentle tease. He's just so happy to have you back. “Ive gotta talk to the professor about something, but the second I'm done here we’ll go track down some soft serve.” He says gently but reassuringly. The way you look at him like he hung all the stars in the night sky just for you, would never get old.

“You know how to make a girl wet, James.” You were the only person alive that ever called him that. It made Logan's heart melt as he kissed you tenderly.

He actually felt really bad for punching your younger self right in the nose.

#logan howlett fanfiction #james logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #x men fanfiction #days of future past

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katebishopsbaefy · 2 days

Text

Shoot Me

billie eilish x reader

𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚

summary: you and billie both get your periods at the same time and are the definition of miserable

word count: 1219

You roll over with a groan, pressing your face back into your girlfriend’s side, clutching your stomach. You feel her arms wrap around you. She obviously wanted to feel you as much as you wanted to feel her.

You and Billie had been unfortunate enough to get your periods at the same time, so now here you lay, sprawled on your bed, clutching your stomachs, groaning occasionally. Somehow you’d managed to not only lose track of your heating pads, but you’d also completely run out of pain relief medication, and neither of you felt well enough to drive to the store to get some.

Billie gently kisses your forehead when you press into her. She grunts as she reaches one arm over to the nightstand to check her phone, muttering out a low “shit” upon seeing the many texts and missed calls from her brother, who she was supposed to meet up with today.

You rub your eye and look up at her. “What’s wrong?” you mumble.

She swings her arm back over to hug you tighter, deciding to deal with Finneas later. “Nothing,” she whispers, starting to rub your back. You hum at the touch. “How’re you feeling?”

You grumble out something about feeling like shit, but it comes out muffled due to your face pressing further into her. Your hand finds its way underneath her loose t-shirt in search of more comfort.

This time, she hums at your touch. The weight of you laying on top of her serves as a weighted blanket, and although it’s comfortable, it doesn’t do much for her cramps. “This sucks,” she states. You hum in agreement.

Your short conversation is interrupted by multiple aggressive dings from her phone. She groans again and reaches back over, checking the new texts from her brother.

“Who’s that?” you ask.

She lets out a huff. “Finneas,” she mumbles, “I forgot I was s’pposed to meet up with him today.”

You whine and grip her tighter in response. “Mmm, don’t leave me.”

“I don’t think I could go anywhere even if I wanted to,” she says, giggling quietly at you.

She hadn’t realized that she forgot to respond to him yet again, getting distracted by you, until the sudden alarm of her ringtone and buzzing of her phone forces her to finally respond. You both jump at the sound before she answers. You can hear a faint “hello???” from the other end.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to ignore you,” Billie says, exhaustion lacing her voice. “I’ve been asleep all day, me and y/n have the worst cramps ever.” She shifts a little and waits for Finneas to respond. “Actually yeah, that would be super helpful if you have time.” Another pause. “Can I send you a list?” Short pause. “Okay, great, see you later.”

The loss of her warmth makes you groan as she flips you off of her to sit up. “What’d he say?” you ask.

“He said he has some time, so he’s gonna pick some stuff up for us,” she responds. Taking your shared blanket with her, she gets out of bed. You groan for probably the 500th time, but she ignores you and grabs your arm, effectively dragging you out of bed too. “Come on, we’re gonna go sit on the couch.”

“Just shoot me instead,” you mumble. You clutch your pillow to your stomach and trudge your way down the hall with her to the living room.

She laughs at your remark. “At least we get more time to hang out,” she says, gently bumping her hip with yours. You smile at her and bump her back.

It feels like an hour has passed by the time you make it to the couch. You flop down, immediately leaning into Billie’s side, and you feel her do the same. She sits up for a moment to wrap you in the blanket again before snuggling back into you. “Wanna watch something?” she asks, to which you shrug, and she flicks on a random channel.

You completely lose track of time sitting with her. You have no idea what show’s playing, being too distracted by her hands, which you had taken into your lap. Fingers laced together, palms pressed, her warm hands warming up your cold ones. You’re so spaced out playing with her fingers that you don’t realize you’re starting to fall asleep until she giggles at you.

“Sleepy?” she asks. You look up at her, noticing her eyes starting to droop as well.

“No,” you whisper, reaching a hand up point at her jokingly, “are you?” She shakes her head.

At some point, you had both begun to shift around, so uncomfortable from your cramps. When Finneas arrives at your place, he finds you passed out, sprawled on one side of the couch, gripping your pillow. Billie hogs the blanket on the other side, and your heads meet in the corner. He smiles and snaps a quick picture to send to you later.

He quietly makes his way over to your kitchen, careful not to make too much noise with his bags. Ice cream, chocolate, and other comfort foods are unloaded into the fridge. Despite how quiet he tries to be, the soft rustling is enough to wake Billie, who quickly sits up and pads over to him, dragging her blanket behind her. “Hey, you don’t have to do that,” she says quietly.

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. Go sit back down.”

“But I feel bad,” she mutters. She plops down onto a seat at the kitchen island, resting her head on her arms.

Finneas slides her a container of pain medication over the table, which she gratefully accepts, downing a couple of pills. “If you wanna do something…” he says, rifling through the bags, “go pop these in the microwave for a minute.” He pulls out two stuffed animals, unzipping them from the back to take out the pad to be heated up. Billie audibly sighs at the sight.

“Oh my God, you’re literally a life saver,” she breathes. After heating them up, she makes her way back over to the couch, where you’re still sound asleep.

“Y/n,” she whispers, gently rubbing your shoulder to wake you up. Your eyes flutter open and you smile at her. “Hi, my love. I’ll trade you,” she says, referring to the pillow you’re still clutching. You gratefully switch with her, pulling the stuffed toy to your stomach and letting out a breath at the relief it provided. “Better?” she asks, kissing your forehead softly as your eyes close again.

You hum. “Thank you,” you say to her, and, louder this time, “thanks, Finneas.”

He and Billie talk for a little longer, deciding to make up the work they were supposed to do another day, and she thanks him excessively, to which he shrugs every time. Then he leaves, leaving the two of you alone again.

As she sits back down, she pulls your head into her lap. Her hand in your hair, yours on her back underneath her shirt. A few short minutes later, your fingers stop tracing patterns into her skin, and she knows you’d fallen back to sleep. She scoots around, getting more comfortable before falling asleep too.

No matter how shitty you felt, she always made you feel better.

#billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x fem!reader

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atzaurora · 1 day

Note

a cute date with mingi involved painting his nails and picking rings to go with the nails

ahhhhhh it would be so cuteeeee i bet he blushing so hard

[˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗] 𝒩𝒂𝒊𝒍 𝒫𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉.﹙송민기﹚(0.9k)

𖥔 afab!reader x mingi ; dating ⸼જ Having a date with Mingi, where you get to paint his nails... ➤ imagine (fluff) .ᐟ.ᐟ >none< .ᐟ.ᐟ

꒰🖇꒱ such a cute idea! hope you like it :3 enjoyyy

if you have any ideas or wishes let me know, requests are open

here's my [𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕]! ; [𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕] here! ; [about me] + [guidelines]!

reblogs appreciated

You sat on your soft bedspread, sorting all kinds of nail polish in different colours. You and your boyfriend had agreed to say home tonight, instead of going out for a date.

"So, what's the plan tonight?" Mingi asked, peeking into the room with a gentle smile.

You looked up, meeting his eyes. "Just a little surprise for us," you said, holding a finger to your lips. "But you have to sit down first." ── ࣪˖ MORE BELOW

He obeyed, curiosity piquing as he sat beside you. The room was filled with the faint scent of vanilla candles, casting a warm glow around the space. You'd spent hours preparing for this moment, hoping it would be something special and fun to do together.

Mingi's eyes widened as he saw the nail art supplies laid out. "You're going to paint my nails?" he asked, his cheeks already beginning to blush.

"Only if you want me to," you teased, holding up a bottle of shimmering blue polish. "It's your choice, after all."

He didn't even have to think and immediately nodded. "Of course, I want you to," he said, extending his hand. "But only if I get to pick the design."

You took his hand carefully, inspecting his nails. They were clean and well-kept, perfect for you to get started. "Alright," you said, "what colour would you like?" He chuckled, admiring your excited face for a moment before deciding. "Mhm...maybe black." You sighed, giggling at his obvious choice.

"Of course. But pick another colour for the details and extras, it can't be all black," you said, smiling up at him. You appreciated that he let you do this, even though he liked to keep his nails simple and natural most of the time.

He nodded, looking around at all the colours. "This one looks nice," he responded, pointing at a wine red polish. You gasped dramatically, surprised by his good colour matching. "Ooh, very nice. These two go well together."

He laughed, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "Okay, hands please." You stuck out your own hands to grab a hold of his.

Mingi's blush deepened, but he didn't protest. He watched as you painted the first nail with careful strokes, the black polish gliding smoothly over the surface. The silence was filled with the comforting sound of the TV playing a random sitcom in the background. You both chuckled at the occasional laugh track, the tension in the air easing slightly.

"I think I'm done with the base. Now we're going to let them dry for a bit," you said, looking at what you have done so far with a satisfied smile. His hands glid out of your grip as he lifted him to get a closer look.

"You did good, baby," he praised, poking out his lips for you to kiss. You laughed softly, gladly accepting the offer by pressing your lips against his.

You two continued to watch the TV for a bit while waiting for the polish to dry. Your head laid on Mingi's shoulder, while he watched out for his nails so they wouldn't get smudged. Your gaze drifted away from the TV and landed on your desk where a box of jewellery was placed.

As Mingi stayed on the bed, you made your way to the desk, suddenly having an idea in mind. You rummaged through the box, looking for rings that matched the nail design.

You found a a few that you thought would look good with the black and red, carrying them over to him. "Look what I found," you squealed, opening your hand to show him the rings.

"They look really good, sweetheart. I'll wear them once my nails are done, okay?" he asked and you nodded, placing the jewellery on the bedside table.

"Alright, then I should get these done." You took his hands into yours again, making him sit up properly again. Mingi felt his face heating up again, simply by having your hands holding his. He was down bad...

He watched closely as your face grimaced with concentration, trying your hardest not to mess up the lines. It only took you a few more minutes, till you giggled excited, finally done with your work.

"Look!" He immediately held out his hands in front of him, looking at your designs carefully.

"I love them baby! You're really good at this." He smiled from ear to ear, seeing how your face lit up once you heard he liked them too.

You got up, collecting the rings from the table. "Now...," you sat back down again, signaling him to stick out his hand again. "...the final accessory."

You slid the silver ring onto his ring finger, before placing the other two on his other hand, on both the index and middle finger. You held his hand up to the light, admiring the final result. "What do you think?" you asked, your voice full of excitement.

He stared at his hand, the rings glinting in the candlelight. "It's perfect," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You couldn't help but smile at his reaction. The evening had turned into something even more fun than you'd planned, but you loved it. You liked seeing Mingi this way, vulnerable and open and not trying to hide his true excitement.

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 21 hours

Note

I have vague memories of a blog with I think was yours where the reader showed Klee the thumb tricked, She freaked out because she thinks reader just got hurt and runs to Jean to tell her what happened. And Reader had to awkwardly explain to Jean what happed. Yeah So I request that but for Clara and Svarog.

(Honkai: Star Rail) Clara thinking Reader's thumb is gone

That sounds like my blog, perhaps in the Blog-That-Was (the old one before it got banned). Can't seem to find it on this one, though I am also blind.

Svarog's monoeye flickered the moment it detected Clara's heartrate spiking up.

Before a second even passes, Svarog is already at the door with weapons powering on.

By the time three seconds have passed, Svarog bursts into the room, scanning Clara and (Y/N) in the room with no signs of intruders or anything amiss.

(Svarog) "Both your vitals are significantly high. What is the situation?"

Svarog zoomed in closer to examine Clara's face and noticed that she had tears in the corner of her eyes, making its' prediction algorithms activate and try to find the source of her distress.

Though it was unnecessary as Clara immediately responded.

(Clara) "Mr. Svarog! (Y/N)'s thumb is hurt!"

(Y/N) "H-Hang on a second!-"

Svarog's head whirred towards (Y/N)'s direction and analyzed their physical state. Nothing appeared wrong upon initial scan-

(Clara) "T-They removed their own thumb!"

(Svarog) "...Likelihood of prosthetics: Low. Explain, (Y/N)."

Even though Svarog's voice modulator did not fluctuate once, (Y/N) felt a cold sweat run down their head sensing they were getting angry for making Clara cry.

(Y/N) "Sorry! I was just doing a little prank! S-See, look!-"

(Y/N) quickly showed the monoeye currently burning a hole through them with its gaze their hand, putting their thumb into their hand and repeating the motion in a panicked state.

(Clara) "You're...not hurt?"

(Y/N) "No, Clara! Promise! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you like that!"

Though they were apologizing to her, they were also apologizing so that Svarog didn't crush their skull.

Svarog remained quiet for a few more seconds before powering down its equipment, moving closer to Clara as she wiped away her own tears.

(Clara) "It's...it's okay. But...that was a neat trick!"

(Y/N) chuckled nervously before they immediately silenced themselves, Svarog's head suddenly turning towards them once again and startling (Y/N).

(Svarog) "Refrain from scaring Clara like this again."

(Y/N) "Y-YES SIR!"

(Clara) "Um...do you want to go outside with Perkins and I?"

(Y/N) "S-Sure, come on let's go!"

Svarog's mechanical head tracked (Y/N) the entire time, watching them leave with Clara and Perkins in tow.

Saying nothing else, it stood up and went back into its room to continue their scanning of countless areas.

Though, it did make a note to itself and any other robot accompanying Clara.

(Svarog) [Prevent pranks on Clara from (Y/N), Members of the Astral Express, and the Moles. Updating movie database to exclude scenes that may cause distress.]

#platonic honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail headcanons #honkai star rail imagines #clara honkai star rail #svarog hsr #svarog honkai star rail

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yayll · 1 day

Note

Hi!! It’s my first time requesting something so I dont know how that works.. um I was thinking of some mission like some kind of ball that dazai and y/n has to go and y/n has to seduce someone to get information out of them. You know those masquerade balls? Yeah I think that really goood!! And dazai gets sooooooooo jealous and after she got the information dazai kiss her infront of that person to show him that she’s his😭😭😭😭😭😭omg

HIII angel sorry this took me a while, but i hope you like it :') i tweaked your idea a lil and fingers crossed this is what you so graciously asked for. i tried to put my best jealous goofy ass dazai in there along with the absolute MUSH his brain turns into when he has you to himself mixed with a lil........ fucked in the headness. i love requests! this was soooo fun to write i love youuuuuu <3

~ a little something about Dazai and his uncharacteristic jealousy ~

"Osamu, come on... You're my only sweetheart, you know that."

You call out half sweetly and half out of breath as you follow him down the hallway of the lavish event you were currently attending, dressed to the nines and trying to remain undercover. You were coming to realize why people didn't date within the workplace as he walked ahead, grumbling to himself. He's trying to remain unfazed, pretending to still be upset as he shrugs with his back turned to you.

"Hmph. I dunno, I don't feel like I'm your 'sweet' anything..."

This causes you to roll your eyes affectionately and pick up the pace, placing a hand on the back of his shoulder to finally stop him in his tracks. You flash him a sincere smile, and speak softly.

"I'm really sorry you had to see that. I didn't know that asshole was going to kiss me after he let me go. I also didn't think you'd ever get jealous..."

You say that last part with a more playful tone, treading dangerous waters of your unpredictable lover's emotions. As expected, he sighs dramatically, casting you a look of disgust.

"Ugh, of course I'm not... That's honestly sooo lame and pathetic. I can entertain jealousy as much as I can entertain one of Kunikida's little speeches on morals, or whatever."

"You mean his 'ideals'?"

You chide, stifling a laugh. He glares at you, his eyes narrowing as he scans you for a moment.

He can't find a single flaw on that precious face, not a single stray hair or stain on your exquisite outfit. He should change that by the end of the night.

"... You're always so negative, correcting me and whatnot. Isn't it tiring being so irritatingly superior in every way?"

This one gets a laugh out of you, You can tell he's slowly lightening up his mood by the way you both begin walking side by side once again.

"Yeah well, if it weren't for that little kiss earlier, we'd both still be all tied up in the wine cellar of this wonderful party."

He flashes you a pout, and shrugs dismissively.

"And here I thought you of all people would like the idea of being tied up with me. Hmph, wrong partner, I suppose."

Now he was starting to pick back at you, though it was cute. Jealousy looked cute on him, it was something you didn't think he was capable of. It was a pity it had to be during a mission where your main asset was your seduction skills and his was mental instability. You hated every second of it, but you also wanted to make sure you both made it out with the secret intel alive.

You make your way into the grand ballroom, the gala is in full swing, and your eyes dart around to find a proper escape route. Just as you see an exit, a handsome and well dressed young man blocks your view, sticking his hand out.

"Hi. You're gorgeous. Care for a dance?"

You stare down at his hand and then back up at the stranger, your face flushing as you're caught off guard.

"Me? No, no I-"

Dazai immediately interjects, sloppily holding a glass of champagne that somehow manifested in his hand and pretends to be drunk. He loved his theatrics, especially when he was desperate.

He bumps harshly into the young man's shoulder, the alcohol sloshing out of the cup as he slurs, but not before he flashes you a wink to tell you to play along.

"Sooo sorry, pardon me. This indeed beautiful angel is quite busy you see... Taking care of me that is. Ooh, I'm a wreck! I'm nothing but a sad and lonely dog.. In this sad and lonely world-"

The man looks at Dazai skeptically, and huffs into a chuckle. He shoves him away, and turns his attention back to you. Your eyes dart nervously between the two, wondering what Dazai will do next.

"Shut it, clown.. Anyway, I think this further proves you should be in the company of a gentleman like me tonight rather than this wet mop-"

The sound of a champagne flute soaring through the air and connecting to the man's skull is suddenly heard, interrupting him and sending him falling to the ground along with broken glass and liquid everywhere. In one swift motion, Dazai is at your side with a premature victorious smirk, but before you can both be on your way, the man regains his posture and spins him around, punching him square in the face. Dazai's not scrawny or weak, but he isn't the most skilled fighter, relying mostly on his special ability and intelligence to get him out of things.

You gasp, instinctively grabbing Dazai by the collar of his suit and dragging him away to get lost in the crowd of concerned people. You finally make it outside and you both collapse onto the soft grass just outside the venue. It's decorated with all kinds of flowers and fragrant rose bushes, it almost looks like you're at the garden of Versailles. You look over at Dazai, his nose bleeding all over the place, but he looks completely unbothered by it. As you reach over to touch the bridge of his nose, he grabs your wrist and holds it away gently. He waves a finger at you.

"No touchy, I've got it."

He does not, in fact, got it. He looks around until he plucks a rose petal and uses it to wipe his nostrils. You frown, getting all up in his space within an instant.

"What on earth are you doing, Osamu? Let me help, you goofball. Your nose is a mess thanks to that stunt you pulled."

You tear off a bit of fabric from your outfit and dab his skin tenderly, holding his head on your lap now. You can see some blood has trailed down his neck, staining the bandages there along with the collar of his crisp white dress shirt you picked out for him this morning. Dazai perks up, his voice slightly strained but full of lightheartedness.

"How does it feel to work with the agency's most tactical and covert operative? Eh?~"

You bite back a smile, and shake your head. You murmur.

"Feels like he's asking for a death wish a little more than usual."

Your lips soon become a thin line, realizing your statement hurts a little more in the context of the situation than it usually would. He notices your mood shift as his eyes flicker from your concerned eyes down to your lips and back up again. He knows it hurts you when he's like this, reckless and acting out on the impulses of his own plans. He wants to sit up and close the gap between you, kiss you until you drop down those brave walls you're putting up for the sake of the mission. For the sake of your feelings for him. He knows he's careless with it all.

He hums, eyes trained on you as if burning the image of your heavenly self into his mind, where you always deserve to be. In the distance, a bulky sketchy looking man runs out of the venue frantically, looking around wildly and you both get the impression it's the guy from the cellar earlier who kissed you in exchange for your freedom.

Shit! You could have sworn you knocked him out cold. Dazai sits up from your lap and you two scoot more into the bush, trying to hide from him as he makes a call. You mutter under your breath, turning to Dazai as you begin to type something out on your communicator.

"Now's the perfect time to let the others know we're ready for extraction."

He's already looking at you, or gazing admiringly more like. He knows he can fuck up everything, pay any consequence, but the thing he needs to get right for the selfishness of his wretched little heart is you. He scoots a bit closer, hearing the sounds of both your shallow breaths harmonizing. He mutters, softly.

"It would also be the perfect time for you to kiss my face better. You know, for my wellness and all that. Besides, that guy wasn't very nice to us earlier and we need to get rid of any traces of him from those lips. Yuck."

You roll your eyes yet again, despite the fluttering that won't let your stomach rest.

"Who cares about that, we have a case to close first."

He smirks, voice dropping low and provocative.

"I care."

He leans in even further, practically caging you with both arms on either side of you. He can feel your breathing become more erratic, his own filled with a pathetic sense of need he always has when he's with you. Dazai's hand reaches out and grabs your chin, turning it up slightly to face him, making sure you drop this silly act once and for all. His voice comes out gentle, firm.

"I need you to physically push me away, or I swear I'm going to kiss you right now, cutie."

Your eyes widen as you let a shaky breath escape your plush lips, murmuring in return.

"I'll.. punch you in the nose again, you know..."

His hand moves from your chin to the side of your face, cupping your cheek as he takes another breath, his body aching to be as close to yours as possible. His eyes are fixed on you, tearing you apart right then and there, but not before putting you back together so nicely. In that moment, he knows you don't mean that, and he knows he can't resist anymore.

He then whispers with a finality, the anticipation torturing him like you do on a daily basis.

"I don't think I'm going to listen to that..."

You break into a faint smile as you perceive him back.

"You've still got a little blood on your-"

Without another word, Dazai closes the remaining distance between you and him, kissing you with fervor as his soft whines reverberate against your lips. You taste sweetness and then... metallic as your lips mesh together for a heavenly moment. He feels alive, this was what he needed, the soothing balm for his soul and any other wound only you could provide. He's like a vampire, a parasite leeching off of your very essence so he could be himself around you. Cowardly burrowing into the safety of your heart. You squirm just a tad, your fingers carding through his brown hair as you try to keep up. He pulls back after his nose can't push more air through and keeps his lips hovering over yours, feeling the heat from your mouth mingle with his as he sees your lips stained red with his blood. Just as he's going to comment on how disgustingly erotic it is to see you like that, he pushes away the indecent thoughts, using the bandage on his wrist to wipe your mouth instead.

"Okay, I'll be good for now. You can call for extraction.~"

It was a dumb thing to do and could be seen as him being territorial or jealous, but the reality of it was that it was the natural order of things when it came to the way he processed his affections. Someone gets in between the two of you in any way?

An uglier and more dangerous past version of himself would have called for an immediate execution, there was a reason he held the titles that he did. He did his very best to keep that mentality at bay, rebuking it every time he felt a dark urge that he felt needed to be dealt with, mostly for your sake and for the sake of the promise he made to a friend once. Though he can't lie and say that's not who he is anymore, he can always find a better way to get his point across... even if a wishful bullet to the head comes out in the form of a kiss on your precious lips. He'll try for you. He'll wear the fastidious label proudly and be Dazai, a jealous man.

#im going to hell and so is freaky obsessive dazai on a mission with U #he is 100% a jealous man and he wilk never admit to it because for him jealous just means murder #and to not have to go that far he has to accomodate dumb archetypes and labels like JEALOUS ewww #in his mind he has to be a good boy and he chooses his battles #you being the biggest of them all #i hope u guys like the way i wrote his loser in love ass dazai with irrational lovesick thoughts and CANONICALLY THEATRICAL PLANS #i don't like toxic masculinity and i just dont think dazai thinks of this in that way it's more of like. nothing should ever touch you #to dazai he knows you love him and doesnt need to exploit that fact but he WILL find a bonkers way of dealing with it in his own way wjdje #my ex port mafia male wife #bungou stray dogs #dazai x reader #osamu dazai #bsd dazai #dazai x you #osamu dazai x reader #bsd x reader #dazai imagines #osamu dazai fluff #dazai fluff #ada dazai #anon #requests #asks #gn reader #bungo stray dogs #dazai osamu #fanfic #drabble

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powderpinkandsweeet · 1 day

Text

Abby x Reader

Some sfw hurt comfort since I was craving it. Unoriginal but we ball. Abby keeps getting held up at work, missing date nights and coming home at all hours of the night, and you’re getting sick of it.

The waitress had refilled your glass three times now, and the wine stopped burning on the way down by now. Abby was late. Over an hour late, but it felt like so much longer. Each minute going by slower than the last, especially with the repeated visits from your over-attentive waitress. 'Abby oughta learn something about attentiveness from her' you joked to yourself bitterly.

You tap your phone screen to check the time once again. Opening it, you see no notifications from Abby and your long string of worried texts.

5:25PM - Hey! I got us a table :) see you soon <3

5:37PM - Are you on your way yet? I can order you a drink

6:00PM - Everything okay?

6:10PM - Abbyyyy

6:11PM - Abby

6:35PM - Abigail.

6:45PM - Abigail Anderson.

You decided it was the last straw, and prodded her once more.

7:00PM - I'm so done. If you're not here in the next ten minutes I'm going home.

You practically threw your phone at the table, and crossed your arms to wait out the next ten minutes, just you and your fourth glass of wine. Ten minutes later, your glass is empty and you're flagging down the waitress for the check. You pretended not to notice the pitying look she gave you.

7:04 - I'm venmo requesting you for my drinks

You called an uber and steeped in your anger all the way home. Wine-drunk and pissed off, you kicked off your shoes and fell into bed, still dressed up with nowhere to go. Your phone buzzed, and you were on it immediately.

Abby, 7:30PM - Held up at work for a bit, check in just a sec

"Oh you've got to be kidding me," you blurt out loud, "you didn't even read them, did you?" you called to the empty room.

You, 7:31PM - cool, have so much fun

Abby, 7:40PM - ???

Abby, 7:52PM - We were getting drinks tonight?? Where at? I can still meet you there if you give me just a bit.

You: 7:53PM - Dinner, not drinks. Made a reservation 3 weeks ago and sent you the invite. It's on the calendar on the fridge."

You: 7:54PM - And don't bother, I'm already home.

Your message was read instantly, but you couldn't see the three dots so you knew Abby wasn't typing.

'You fucked up. Fucked up real bad this time' Abby thought to herself as she grabbed a bouquet of grocery store flowers and a tub of ice cream from the passenger seat of her car. She took deep breaths as she climbed the steps to your shared home. After the door locked behind her and she'd toed off her shoes, Abby checked her phone for the time, '8:48PM.' "Fuck..." she whispered under her breath. Hours late for your date, and it took her far too long to get out of the office, pick up the flowers and ice cream, bear through Seattle traffic, and make it home to you.

The lights were out and the house was silent as she made her way to your bedroom. She saw you through the partially opened door, flopped face down in the bed, wearing a dress and stockings that were far too formal for bedtime. Maybe it was a little too late for flowers and ice cream. Abby pushed the door open, and it gave her away as the hinges creaked.

You stirred, tiredly lifting your head to turn and glare at Abby. She had to hold in a wince at the two tracks of mascara down your cheeks. You didn't seem excited to see her, rewarding her presence only with a "hmph" and dropping your head back onto the bed. Muffled, she could barely make out your complaint of "bout time you showed up." She held in a chuckle at your stubbornness, knowing it would only get her in more trouble. It didn’t help that you were so cute when you’re angry.

Abby sighed and started to peel her blazer from her broad shoulders, "I know I'm late, I didn't mean to let this happen. You know I hate disappointing you, honey."

You sat up quickly, "oh don't you honey me, Abigail."

"Mhm, so we're using government names now?"

"Yep," you quickly replied.

Abby called out for you with a pleading tone, "Listen, I'm sorry. I got wrapped up at work and-"

"They needed you, yes, I know," you looked her straight in the eyes, "we've been here before, Abby, but it never changes. No matter how many times you say sorry, it's not worth much unless you actually change the action you keep being sorry for."

"Baby, you know I never want to disappoint you."

You sat upright and threw your hands in the air, “then stop doing it! Yeah okay your job needs you, but I need you too. I don't think it's selfish of me to want one night alone with the woman who claims she loves me.”

Abby stepped closer to you and pointed an accusing finger in your direction. “Don’t. Don’t say that, you know I love you more than anything.”

"Then act like it!" you sob, "because sometimes it feels like you love your job more. Because this isn't the first time, Abby, and it obviously won't be the last." You had realized right when you said them that your words were too harsh, and choked on your next breath.

Abby was hurt but overcome with shame at the realization that she’d been hurting you consistently. For you to feel second to her hit her like a ton of bricks. Abby sat beside you on the bed, leaning forward with her head in her hands. After a heavy sigh, she looked up to meet your eyes, "how long did you wait at the restaurant for?"

You chuckled humorlessly, "psh... nearly an hour and a half."

"I see... well you look really pretty if that's worth anything."

"Ha! You should have seen me two hours ago when my mascara wasn't on my chin."

Abby smiled. Even though it was sarcastic, you still kept your humor, and that was a good sign. "Well, I think the mascara tracks bring the whole look together."

You chuckled again, "you really think so?"

She smiled wider, dimples showing on her cheeks. "You look gorgeous, sweetie. Now come on, up up, gotta get you ready for bed." Abby gave your wrist a gentle tug, but you groaned and remained firmly in place. Your many glasses of wine must have caught up to you. Sliding her arms under your limp frame, Abby lifted you from the bed and carried you to the en suite bathroom.

You sat on toilet lid as she ran a hot bubble bath. While the tub filled, Abby grabbed makeup wipes from your drawer and set to cleaning you up. She held your chin gently with one hand and wiped the smeared makeup from your eyes and cheeks. You had relaxed into her touch and let your eyes slip closed while she wiped them, being drawn from your reverie by a kiss on the nose. "There, all clean. Lets get you in the bath now."

After you had submerged your aching muscles in the water, you looked up at Abby expectantly. "Need anything else, princess?"

"I need you to come sit in the bath with me."

Abby couldn't stifle a laugh, making out through chuckles, "baby, I'd hardly fit in there, plus there's too much water in it right now. It'll overflow if I try to get in there with you."

You pouted and looked away at her refusal. After a moment, you pulled the plug from the bottom of the tub to lower the water. Abby smiled, thinking she must have earned back your favor if you were being this stubborn for her company. She couldn't resist when you looked up at her and plead "I just wanna be close to you." Abby's heart thumped in her chest at you admission, so she undressed.

She was right that the bath would overflow, even after you had drained a few inches of water. But it didn't matter when you were snug between Abby's spread legs, back pressed to her front and your head resting against her shoulder. Her fingers scratched at your scalp and played with her hair as she hummed. You melted into her gentle touch, content. All you had wanted was her time, and her presence.

#tlou 2 #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #abby x reader #wlw #hurt comfort #fluff

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nativegirltapes · 2 days

Text

⸻ ┊͙ overhearing rafe and barry talking about you !

warnings: bad girls club, mentions of fingering, rafe and barry being freaks. reupload from my old acc ! not proofread cuz i am lazy !!

rafe and barry had been blowing up your phone all day, asking if you wanted to come over to barry's trailer and smoke a blunt with them, your shared groupchat with both of them was very rarely ever dry.

smoking with them usually was kind of boring, you'd all get high and then they'd start talking about some stupid shit that you had no interest in and then you'd threaten to leave, and they'd beg you to stay a little longer. but today you felt like getting some attention from your two favorite boys.

you finished final touches, putting on your favorite mini denim skirt and tossing on one of rafe's hoodies he'd left over from a few nights ago and headed outside to the door to the uber that rafe had paid for.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 🍰 ⟡˖ ࣪

just as you were about to walk into barry's trailer you dropped your lipgloss. bending over to pick it up, you could hear rafe and barry talking about you through the screen door. you stopped in your tracks to listen, you always wondered what they said about you when you weren't there.

"she let me finger her once." you heard barry say, immediately getting flash back to the night when rafe left barry's early, leaving you and barry alone at his trailer.

"you're fucking lying." rafe scoffed, setting the shared blunt down in the ashtray on the coffee table in front of him, taken aback by what barry said. he had to be lying, you were untouchable in his head, but there you were letting yours and his bestfreind touch you? "when?" rafe questioned, sitting back on the couch.

"why the fuck would i lie bruh?" barry copied rafe's moments, now too laid back on the couch, both of them forgetting about the blunt on the table in front of them. "she was all begging for it and shit."

rafe chuckled to himself. you? the beggar type? he didn't see that coming. when he thought about how you were in bed, you figured you would be the demanding and bratty type, because of how you talked to him and barry; always bossing someone around. but there you were begging for some dick. the thought of it made his dick grow hard. "when was this?"

"i dont know man, few weeks ago." barry scratched his head. you knew barry and rafe were practically bestfreinds, although they'd never say that, but you didn't think barry would go tell rafe your business.

"wow." rafe raised his eyebrows, partly still surprised, but mainly jealous. why were you letting barry touch you and not him? it didn't make sense.

you'd gotten down right nasty with rafe over messages before, too many times to count on both hands, but you never let him finger you or touch you. why?

"hi guys." you opened the door, walking up the trailer stairs, your short skirt riding up your thighs.

"there she is," barry grabbed the blunt back, trying to act occupied, like him and rafe weren't just talking about you. "our girl."

"what have you guys been up to?" you took a seat right next to rafe, so close to him that you were basically sitting on his lap. you confused him so much, did you want him or barry?

rafe wrapped his arm around you, bringing you somehow even closer to him. "just waiting around for the princess."

#bookshelf #bad girls club #rafe x reader x barry #rafe cameron x you #barry x reader #barry outer banks x you

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 7 hours

Text

V The Ghost in the Manor

Dick Grayson V Gotham - Chapter 4

Danny was not lost. He was… momentarily disposed.

It certainly wasn’t his fault. All the halls looked the same, with walls covered in paintings and a red runner down each hallway. At least he knew he was on the second floor–peeking out a window showed a garden that he did not see from the entrance, so maybe he was in the back of the house?

Reasonably, he could probably yell for help. He’d only run off ten minutes ago, and there had to be someone around to hear him. Even if it was only the ghost.

But considering he’d been tracking the ghost with no sign of them yet, he didn’t think that likely.

He wasn’t sure about it at first. There’d been no trace of a haunting when he arrived, but the sensation of a ghost–a tickle in the back of his throat, like a cough that refused to come–got stronger and stronger as breakfast concluded. It wasn’t attached to the building. Even as weak as Danny was, he’d still be able to sense a proper haunt, so that meant there was a free-roaming spirit loose in the building. And it felt a lot stronger than a Shade.

Danny cracked open a door to see another library. In his search, he’d moved past the bedroom area and onto the business-related rooms. There had been multiple libraries, and earlier he’d found a room with multiple computer monitors on desks covered in snack residue; Tim’s room, he presumed, and didn’t touch it. But as he looked further into the manor, the stronger the ghost felt. He was getting close.

He wished they’d just show themselves. He wanted to go back to working on Tim’s case.

At the end of the hallway he found a grand study. Danny wrinkled his nose. All dark hardwood and beige, the room was centered around the giant desk facing towards the door, a computer chair tucked underneath with a window behind it. At least there was a computer on the desk, with a sleek and modern monitor.

Passing the grandfather clock, Danny hoisted himself up into the chair when suddenly, a cold puff of air escaped his mouth and a voice behind him said, “Wow, burglars are getting smaller and smaller every year.”

Danny swiveled the chair around. Leaning against the window was the ghost, far more colorful and substantial than any of the Shades or Wraiths he’d gotten used to seeing. Her skin was a light blue with black freckles and her hair was a firey purple that flowed out from under her hood. She was wearing a superhero outfit–jumpsuit, utility belt, boots, cape, and hood–comprised of white, ectoplasm green, and hints of yellow, with a white neck gaiter over her mouth and throat, and a green bat over her heart. Her eyes glowed bright yellow.

She was a hero. She was a Phantom. She was a ghost hero.

Danny wanted to be sick.

“You can see me,” she realized. She crouched down in front of him, their gaze never breaking. “You can see me.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Danny spat, tramping down his own instinctive urge to cry. Stupid, worthless baby body, this was not the time! “Why don’t you take your sterling silver deduction and shove it up your ass.”

She reared back. “Whoa, kid, you kiss your mom with that mouth?”

“Ain’t interested in necrophilia, hoe-bag, sorry you can’t get your rocks off.” He swiveled back around. He didn’t want to look at the dead teenager. It hit too close to home.

Laughing, Danny felt her drape herself across the back of his chair. “Holy shit, kid. Bruce really keeps adopting them crazier and crazier.”

“Who the fuck said I was that bastard’s kid?” Danny wiggled the computer mouse and the monitor immediately woke up to the home screen. “He doesn’t even have a password,” Danny said, shocked.

The hero peeked over his shoulder. “If you’re not Bruce’s kid, then you’re a thief. And Brucie probably didn’t think he needed to defend against corporate espionage in his own home, little baby thief. He’s not too bright.”

“I’m not a thief,” he grumbled as he clicked on Bing. There were no other search engines on the computer, not even Google. That, more than anything, is what convinced Danny that Bruce Wayne was secretly a monster. “I’m just living here for a few weeks, that’s all.”

He typed “Bruce Wayne Wikipedia” into the search bar and started reading.

“So you are Brucie’s kid!” The ghost concluded, snapping her fingers. “Or his ward, at least. Come on, squirt, there’s no reason to lie to your pal, Spoiler–”

“Not his kid,” Danny hissed, his voice warbling and resonating with the ectoplasm of the room. Wayne had a wiki page a mile long. The majority of it was compiled under the label Scandels. “Dick’s”

She laughed. “You’re Dick’s kid!? God, out of all B’s kids to inherit his adoption thingy, I didn’t expect Dick of all people.”

Danny looked up from the computer. He’d only just gotten to Wayne’s Guardianship over Dick. “You say that like he’s got more than two.” Dick and Tim. “Does he have more?”

Spoiler shook her head, chuckling. “You haven’t met Bruce’s daughter yet, have you? And then there’s all the kids he hasn’t adopted. Wayne loves kids.”

“...In a weird way, or…?”

“Normal way! He loves kids the normal way!” She laughed again. “Geeze, kid, you’re a riot. What’s your deal, anyway? You a medium?”

“Something like that. I work as one, at least.” He said with a shrug. “Why are you hanging around the Waynes? Were you investigating him when you died?”

“Nah, just doing my regular patrols. Nothing else I can really do. Ghost on ghost crime is at an all-time low.” She sighed. “The name’s Spoiler, by the way.”

“You can call me Danny.” He stopped reading for a second before turning the chair around so he could look at her. “Is there anything I can help you with? Unfinished business, arresting your murderer, messages to loved ones?”

“Is that what you normally do as a medium?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I fake seances to scam stupid people out of their money. Not everyone comes back as a ghost, but a lot of people feel entitled to the dead’s time, and I still need to eat.”

“And you just automatically assumed I was murdered just because I’m a ghost? I’m mean, you’re right, but I’m pretty sure that’s stereotyping, punk.” She leaned back against the window, crossing her arms.

“I’m sorry. I’d assumed that because you’re a hero, not because you’re a ghost. You don’t have to tell me anything more about your death; I know how much that hurts.”

Spoiler studied him for a moment. “You’re a good kid. Dick got lucky with that.”

Danny opened his mouth to respond, but his ears pricked. Someone was walking down the hall. Danny quickly closed out of the wiki page and searched for “ice cream near me.”

Dick poked his head in. “There you are! I was worried you’d squireled yourself away in… somewhere you weren’t supposed to go.” Danny cocked his eyebrow, and Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “Bruce has some… adult things lying around that I don’t want you to get an eyeful of.”

How incredibly suspicious. Dick was clearly protecting Wayne out of love for him. In a deadpan voice, Danny said, “you don’t have to worry; I already found Wayne’s sex dungeon.”

An incredulous laugh escaped Dick as Spoiler howled with laughter. Danny did his best to tune her out as Dick walked around to his side of the desk. He rustled Danny’s hair. “You really intend to make me get you ice cream? After all those reporters this morning? You’re cruel, kiddo.”

Danny shrugged. “We can go in disguise. And Tim’s coming with us, so while they’ll be looking for a group of two, we’ll be a group of three.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “He is? I don’t recall inviting Tim.”

“Tim’s lonely.” Smart or not, Tim still willingly spent over an hour voluntarily hanging out with an 8-year-old. Danny couldn’t imagine doing the same when he was Tim’s age. “You really so cheap that you can’t treat your brother to some ice cream?”

“Cold-blooded,” Spoiler scolded, unheard by Dick but unwilling to be left out of the conversation. “Honestly, Dick, I am ashamed.”

“So ashamed,” Danny agreed. Dick shot him a confused look. “Tim would cry if he heard you say that. Do you want Tim to cry?”

“I think he wants Tim to cry!” Spoiler gasped.

“Stop!” Dick held up his hand. “Danny. Is there a ghost in the room?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy.”

“It’s ‘weather man-’ You know what? It’s not worth arguing. Danny, I thought we had a deal; you need to tell me whenever there’s a ghost in a room, understand?” Danny scoffed. Dick pressed on, “Do you understand?”

“It’s a stupid rule.”

“It’s an important rule,” Dick countered. “I can’t protect you from ghosts, and they can hurt you, Danny. Not every ghost is a good person.”

Danny rubbed a scar on his arm, a souvenir from a particularly nasty poltergeist he’d tried to deal with on his own. Dick had a matching scar on his back from stray glass; he’d found Danny in the middle of the storm and dragged him to safety. Then gave him a two hour lecture about handling things on his own and that Danny was only a child while Dick had years of experience and blah, blah, blah. Danny refused to admit that Dick had a point–he was 18 in mind, if not body, and he’d dealt with infinitely more dangerous ghosts than one barely material poltergeist. Just because he didn’t have most of his powers didn’t mean he was useless!

“...There’s a ghost,” Danny admitted. “But she’s just passing through; this isn’t even her haunt.”

“And does she need help?”

Danny looked at Spoiler. His offer from before had never been answered. She shook her head, looking genuinely regretful. “I’m good for now, kid. My murderer is way above your paygrade, and the Bats are already gunning for him.”

“She’s fine, just chilling. Can we go get ice cream now?”

“It’s still–” Dick checked his phone– “9:30 in the morning, kiddo. We’ll go after lunch though. Now!” He clapped his hands together. “I came up here to get you. The detectives finally got to Mrs. Bennett’s apartment and we set up a video call for you to consult with them.”

“Really!?” Jumping up from the chair, Danny rushed to the door, almost falling flat on his face. “What are we waiting for!? Her son-in-law is going to get away with it if we don’t hurry! Come on, Dick!”

“Wait! Danny, you don’t know where you’re going, come back!”

“Then come on!”

@starlightcat04 @maeashryver @widderwise @darkstarsapocalypse @sisma @luminanightfall @storm-fire98 @amyheart19 @collectingthegoods @redhoneysugarorange @lordfirecat2004 @screechingnoises @meira-3919 @dannyphannypack @satisfactionbroughtmeback @rowanaway-fromthisbs @i-always-say-yea @avelnfear @some-rotten-nest @ark12 @heirxofxtime @akikkobara @blep-23 @skulld3mort-1fan @markus209 @stargirl1331 @onlyhereforthechaos @inth3world @awkwardmaiden @fantasticbluebirdfan @currant-owo @alice-hazelwood @screamingtofillthevoid @crystalqueertea @gaelicholiday @gmkelz11 @mattybook1987-blog @bytheoldwillowtree @apointlessbox @chemical-pepis @ghostface3100 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @bathildaburp @boo-ghosties @bubblemixer @halfalix @lyra689 @dragon-dancer16 @lunadoll36 @mimilikey @hellomygay @frogs-are-pretty-awesom @overtherose @cyrwrites @your-emo-nightmare @lexdamo @roman4517 @a-slytherinish-gryffindor @raginblastocyst @thegatorsgoose @fisticuffsatapplebees @olivethetreebitch @vixen-uchiha @ae-vixrose @joseph557 @kisatamao @gin2212 @thewondersoflebanon @d4ydr34min9 @malice-of-the-sunrise @tiblii @that-awkward-fae-nerd @aph-mable @dolfay @ghostreblogging @wackyattack @writer-extraordinaire @boo-ghosties @coruscateselene @emergentpanda-blog

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #dpdc #dcdp #c: danny fenton #c: dick grayson #c: stephanie brown #constantine jr au #canon divergence #dead stephanie brown

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lovemyromance · 2 days

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What do you think about the argument that azriel infantilizes elain?

I think people are using the word infantilizes very liberally, lol.

People like to argue that Azriel saying "Elain should not be exposed to the dangers of the trove" = Azriel infantilizes Elain.

And I want y'all to really think about that. Because that is C-R-A-Z-Y

There is a clear spectrum of protective behavior: being protective, being over-protective, infantilizing someone, and then being borderline abusive.

Antis like to claim Azriel is all of the above. They say he's "Like Tamlin" and "abusive" because....what....he didn't "let Elain scry?"

Let's repeat that over. Are we really claiming someone is ABUSIVE because they ONCE said "hey - I don't think someone should be exposed to this dangerous trove item" ....???

Is that so? Then Fuck, we better add Cassian to the list of abusers too then! Because he also immediately followed up Azriel's statement with "And Nesta should (be exposed to the dangers of the trove)?" Sounds like he has a problem with it too.

And honestly? They SHOULD be concerned about the safety of Nesta and Elain. They're out here trying to track down a dangerous object. The cauldron is literally a volatile crockpot that has harmed Elain before. Azriel being cautious over its proximity to Elain is not ABUSIVE, it is the LOGICAL response. He's the only one voicing some common sense in that room.

That is also the only time Azriel has even said anything about Elain getting involved. He's never stopped her from doing anything. It was Nesta who didn't want to get Elain involved, not Azriel.

Let me remind everyone that Azriel literally gave her Truthteller to use in ACOWAR. He gave up his most prized possession, one that nobody else has even touched in 500 years – and people are trying to tell me he infantilizes Elain? Newsflash: you don't hand infants weapons. It's not like Azriel gave her TT because it matched her fucking earrings. He gave her a weapon to use. To defend herself with, if needed. That should shut down any stupid argument of "he infantilizes Elain".

Azriel is protective of Elain. He is not infantilizing her.

Being protective is NOT a bad thing. And Elain is literally untrained, both in her powers, and her physical abilities. Azriel and Nesta being cautious about her safety is NECESSARY.

I don't know why people are acting like just because he's protective means he doesn't respect her. That he doesn't admire her. That is not the case. He has feelings for Elain, so it is natural he wants to keep her safe. It's not a hard fucking concept to grasp

#elriel #acotar #elain x azriel #elain archeron #azriel #pro elain #elain #pro elriel

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delusionalbitchinthehouse · 14 hours

Text

Okay, this is the second part of this, because I had so much fun writting this dynamic. Outlaw Dewdrop x Sheriff Swiss except he's also a retired legendary outlaw himself. Might not make sense without the first part.

Dew will admit it, he's a bit of an adrenaline junkie. In his line of...work...it makes sense. Close calls and near death experiences leave him thrumming with energy, giddy and exalted. But his favorite thing, oh, it's the thrill of the chase. Wether he's hunter or hunted, it never fails to get him going.

Knowing the Multi-Faced Thief is after him sure feeds into that particular addiction of his. Helps that the man is easy on the eye.

The memory of the Thief - Swiss, he learned - all up in Dew's space, leaning against the barrel of the gun, discarting the threat like one would bat flies away, his sparkling grin too bright in the low light, followed Dew even after he put miles between them.

More than a few nights, that memory, as well as many others of Swiss' voice, his amused chuckle, his careless stance, drove him to buck into his fist, spilling all over his knuckles while clutching the necklace - Swiss' - in his free hand.

And, look, Dew is smart, he trusts his guts, he's quick to get back on his feet no matter what the situation is, usually comes up on top of any face off with any other criminal, but he knows, deep down, that he's up against one of the most remarkable individual he's ever met. The Multi-Faced Thief's reputation is one for the archives, as well as his track record.

It sparks a feral kind of delight in Dew.

To be this man's sole focus - and it might be presomptuous of him, but Dew believes he is -, to occupy his thoughts...what a thrill.

Swiss finally catches up to him just as the sun is kissing the horizon, setting alight the small, inconspicuous town Dew snuck in, taking care of hidding his face.

It's the sudden agitation of his mare that alerts Dew from where he was starting to arrange the straw in a somewhat acceptable mattress for him to spend the night on - renting a room, with his infamous scar giving him away, is not an option.

By the time he's precipitately turned around, it's too late. Swiss is on him in an instant, a shadow pouncing with the efficency of Death itself. One hand one Dew's belt, the other on his shoulder, and he's thrown out the stall, rolling in the dust.

Accepting the movement is the only way not to get hurt ; Dew let himself fall, uses the momentum to immediately push up on his feet again. He doesn't get to draw his gun, though, before a strong hand wraps around both his wrists - both ? Hot. - and he's bullied against the back wall of the stable, arms pinned above his head, the cold steel of a blade kissing his throat.

The grinning face that haunted Dew's dreams for weeks is hovering above his, Swiss' eyes glinting victoriously as his chest heaves up and down.

"Hi, Dewy."

Adrenaline, sweet sweet adrenaline, has Dew's ears ringing, but it can only do so much in this position. A bit of wiggling only gets him a warningly stronger press of knife against his bobbing adam apple, so Dew resolves to snark back.

"Didn't know we were on nickname basis."

Swiss' smile widens. The hand holding Dew's wrists shifts, until he can run a thumb over the man's delicate bones there. Dew's breathing hitches the slightest bit. Swiss is warm, pleasantly so, he notes absent-mindedly. The rapidly fading light shines on multiple gold jewlery at his ears, highlights the thin sheen of sweat on the man's skin.

"I think we are," Swiss argues, voice low, close to a purr, "you know quite a lot about me, don't you ? Really studied my case, mmh ? As for me..."

Swiss tilts his head, the brim of his hat casting a deep shadow over his face, though it does nothing to hide the "cat that got the cream" expression on it.

"After following you for this long, I feel like i know you better now. You're a clever one, aren't you Dewy. Slippery little fuck."

It sounds almost fond.

Dew gives a half shrug, careful not to disrupt the blade where it sits snug against his skin.

"Didn't build my reputation on lies."

He gives it a shot then, if only for the sake of his pride, twisting his leg to try and trip Swiss. The man is too quick though, pins the offending leg with his knee, tutting.

"Now, now. Behave, will you ? I'd hate to have to damage that pretty face of yours."

"I doubt that," Dew huffs. It's a bit of a shot in the dark, but something is telling him he's right, so he pushes on. "You'd love to stake your claim, wouldn't you. Leave me with a premanent reminder of our...encounter."

Oh, the sweet way Swiss groans, throwing his head back. Looks like Dew hit the nail right on the head. Then those burning eyes are back on him and Dew is hit by the overwhelming need to keep them that way.

Swiss pushes even closer, until their chests are brushing with each breath they take. Something like hunger basks his features in feral need.

"Maybe I'll leave you with something sweet, after, but first, we have business to settle, don't we Dewy ?"

In answer Dew grins, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah, business."

He dares to lean a bit more into the knife, chasing the high of being so close to the blade, so close to Swiss, both dangerous in equal measure. The buckle of Dew's belt clinks against Swiss'.

The evening air is heavy, a powder keg only needing the slightest hint of a spark to explode.

Around Dew's wrists, Swiss' hand flex. He twists his knife until Dew has to tilt his chin up, throat even more exposed. Swiss' eyes stray on the smooth skin bared by the movement.

"My necklace, Dewy."

Oh isn't Dew going to have fun with that.

"Eager to stick your hands under my shirt, Swiss ?"

"Sure am."

In a swift motion, Swiss slices Dew's poor shirt open, slipping the knife back in his belt once it's done. The rush of air against his now bare chest has Dew involuntarily arching.

"I quite liked that one," he protests half heartedly, even as a traitorous shudder wracks through him. Swiss hums, wrapping his hand around the necklace. Now would be a good time to try something to break free, but if he's being honest, Dew's mind is far away from escape plans.

"So you did keep it...was worried you'd just sell it off somewhere."

Dew grins. Swiss' eyes flick up, back to him. Up close, he's even more beautiful. The scruff on his cheek must feel wonderfully scratchy, the two moles under his left eye too charming for such small details, the few patches of grey at his temple- far too attractive, that.

"Wanted you to keep looking for me," Dew admits, a bit breathless.

He sways and nearly falls head first into Swiss's chest when the man let go of his leg, tugging him flush againts him by the necklace, still holding his arms up.

"Oh, Dew. Wanna know a secret ?"

Without waiting for an answer, Swiss tilts his head, breathing almost directly in Dew's mouth.

"I would've kept chasing you, with or without the necklace."

That's what does it for Dew, self-control snapping. Before he's even realized what he's doing, his mouth is on Swiss'. For a split second, apprehension wraps around his spine, but then Swiss is half slamming him back against the wall, lips working against Dew's with equal frantic energy.

And oh does Swiss know what he's doing. Cupping his face with his free hand, angling it so that he can deepen the kiss, nipping at Dew's lip before swiping his tongue over it to dissipate the sting.

They're panting by the time they pull away. Slowly, Swiss releases Dew's wrists. He let his arms fall to his side, reaching for his weapon not even crossing his mind. Instead, his hands find Swiss' waist. The man grins, dark and hungry, taking his hat off with a flourish to set it on Dew's head.

There is not much sleep involved that night.

#I love their dynamic in this i'm sorry #also just cowboy swiss does things to me #cowboy au #swiss ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #nameless ghouls #the band ghost

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beneaththebirches · 3 days

Text

Liability: Part 1

Pairing: College Student!Rafe Cameron x Cousenlor!Reader

Summary: Rafe gets himself into a bit of a bind with one of the professors at Duke and is forced to see an on-campus counselor, someone he was very set on hating. But she’s extremely hard to hate.

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence, mentions of drugs.

A/n: First of all, I want to mention that this fic is an AU type fic; it will only include Rafe’s mildly destructive behavior and daddy issues but this does not follow allow with the Outerbanks storyline. This is a repost from my original account @sublimecatgalaxy!

“So, what brought you to Duke?”

My head tilts curiously at him, eyes trailing over his frame as he desperately tries to not tremble like a leaf. He’s either drunk, high or anxious (or all of the above), his eyes flickering around the dimly lit room, his eyes momentarily locking with the lava lamp in the corner of the room. When he looks around, he chooses to not look directly at me but instead at the wall behind me, knee bouncing anxiously as he reaches up to rub at the back of his neck.

He resembles something close to agitation or anxiety and has since he walked in the room twenty minutes ago, not caring to say hi or introducing himself but instead just sat down on the couch across from me and decided to take his sentence in silence. It’s to be expected, especially from someone with his track record. I heard a little bit about him from the other faculty in the office and his professors, mixed reviews on his behavior but how, miraculously, his grades show the opposite.

Crossing my legs, I ready the notebook in my lap, pen tapping against the paper as I wait for him to answer my nth question of the night. After a few minutes of uncomfortable and unfortunate silence, he clears his throat and takes a deep breath before adjusting himself on the couch, eyes flickering up to look at the ticking clock on the wall.

“‘s a good college.” He shrugs simply, eyes flickering up to mine briefly as I let out a small sigh of relief at the sound of his deep voice. His back cracks as he leans back into the couch, biting at his lip as he watches my pen scribble aimlessly across my notepad. I can tell he wants to ask what I’m writing, which is the reason why I lifted the pen to draw a simple smiley face in the first place, knowing the thought of me analyzing him would drive him crazy.

“I’ve seen your grades, you should be proud.” The shocked uptick of his brows makes me laugh quietly to myself, taken back by his response to the simple praise. He nods sternly, a faint blush spreading across the tops of his cheekbones. “So why the self sabotage?” I quiz and his brows furrow cutely.

“What?”

“Keying a professor’s car?” His eyes immediately roll at the recollection of his transgressions, the events that brought him to my office three times a week. There’s a part of me that thinks he’s embarrassed, eyes low as he toys with the thick ring on his thumb but I can see the desperate need to defend himself behind his eyes, but instead he chooses the path of least resistance.

“Got angry.” He answers simply but it’s not enough for me.

“Yeah, you have a history of that.” I sigh, placing his records on the table in front of him, giving up the gimmick of ‘good cop’, trying to get through to him as a counselor, but it took very little time to realize my coworkers were right- he’d never trust my authority- the little authority I have. He picks the papers up tentatively, almost looking at me with a ‘should I be seeing this?’ look but indulges anyways, flipping through the pages with a tight jar.

Folding my legs beneath me, a sad smile spreads across my lips as he tosses the sheets back onto the table in front of me, his fists clenching in his lap. I can’t tell if his anger stems from insecurities regarding his own actions or if he’s angry that others have had a view into his darker past. I can tell that he’s a closed off guy, that he doesn’t open up unless it’s mandatory and even then, he attempts desperately to not share, to not open up.

“Look, Rafe, you have to do this- talk to me, I mean. You’re lucky you got mandatory counseling instead of mandatory jail time.” I laugh, trying to desperately ease the tension in the room but he doesn’t crack, just stares down at the packet of paper between us with uneasy eyes. But after a few minutes, my staring breaks through his tough exterior, a heavy sigh leaving him as he finally looks up at me, taken back by my comfortable stance. He mirrors me, folding a leg over his other before tossing his hands up in surrender.

“What do you want from me?”

“Answer the questions I’ve gotta ask you, ask questions of your own- hell, talk about football or something that’s bugging you.” He cringes at the offer, his eyes fluttering shut to briefly imagine what it would be like if he had taken the punishment the professor originally wanted to force upon him but instead he’s stuck with the peppiest counselor he’ll ever encounter.

“Are you an actual therapist?” He asks curiously, attempting to take a jab at my credentials but my smile only grows, happy that he’s taking a step in the right direction.

“I have a masters degree in psychology.” My finger jabs up at the wall to his left, blue eyes following my direction to three diplomas on the wall.

I certainly never expected to end up in a university, tending to the most fucked up age group in the country- my generation. I wanted to go into forensics, to get into the grittiness of the mental psyche but you’d be amazed by the messed up shit you see on college campuses- the dorms, the streets late at night, the blackmail and betrayals. Some of the students that I see, like Rafe, are in mandatory counseling, probably to heal from academic issues or destructive tendencies. But others are girls looking for a way out of toxic relationships, young students who wish so desperately to come out to their parents, or the occasional meltdown where a student just needs me to listen.

Maybe Rafe needs someone to just listen.

Either way, I’d never go back and change anything that led me to this couch right now.

“A masters- how old are you anyways?” He asks, suddenly confused at the math as he leans towards the diploma to look at the year it was dated. With a shocked huff, he turns back to me with wide eyes, elbows resting on his knees and I let out a small bashful laugh.

“I’m 23.”

“Oh.” He mutters, shifting in his seat before adding, “I’m 20.” A fond smile stretches across my lips at his subtle attempt to connect, his quiet voice almost boyish and innocent. I’m not sure the connection was intentional or if he’s sizing me up but either way, the realization in our closeness in age sparks something in him, his discomfort seeming to fade more and more as our times goes on.

“I know. I have your chart.” I lift the binder from beside me into the air, waving it back and forth.

“What else is in there?” He asks, fingers rubbing along his jaw as his eyes seem to focus on his name that’s spelled across the front of the binder in big black letters.

“You’re 20, you have a 3.6 GPA, you’re majoring in Developmental Psych- which is interesting to me.” I snort, wanting nothing but to dive deeper into his psyche and understand why a smart, handsome athlete is majoring in something as specific as developmental psychology. They say people go into a psych degree to learn something about themselves, their past or their family. So, in Rafe’s case, which is it? “You’re a tight-end on our varsity football team, you came from the Outer Banks-” There’s a sense of tension that thickens the atmosphere around us at the mention of his hometown, his shoulders rolling and head tilting so he can direct his attention out the window to look at the setting sun, his strong jaw squared. “I can also see that you spent two nights in jail, you’ve been arrested for drug possession and illegal possession of a weapon-”

“You’ve got my full rap-sheet over there?” He snaps, voice no longer playful but instead he’s seething, brows furrowed as I pause, eyes widening at him briefly, almost asking him ‘may I continue’ without actually saying it. I fight the urge to ask him all of my questions at once; ‘why are you such a troublemaker?’, ‘why the need for drugs?’, ‘why’d you leave your hometown?’- but instead I bite my tongue.

“You’re not giving me anything else to go off of.” I whisper tiredly, anxiously looking up at the clock, wondering if we’ll even end up getting anywhere in this session and/or if I’ll be able to count it as a part of his punishment. A look of realization passes through his expression, his handsome face relaxing with a gentle nod. “You’re not exactly an open book.” He smiles sadly to himself, eyes focused down at his lap.

Take the path of least resistance, Rafe.

“What do you wanna know?” He gives in, clasping his hands in front of him as I grin, prepared to take full advantage of my power and make him laugh, something I’ve heard he doesn’t do often.

“What’s your favorite color-”

“Oh now you’ve overstepped.” He says, dead serious, but after a few moments of silence he breaks into quiet laughter, a shocked scoff leaving me at his teasing. “My favorite color- really? I keyed a car and this is my punishment?” He asks incredulously, scooting to the edge of his seat, the distance between us only lessening as I bite back a nervous smile, focusing on the job at hand- my job at hand.

“The point of counseling is to have breakthroughs and to form a relationship based on trust and open communication.” He cringes at my explanation, a look of discomfort passing through his eyes as he sucks in a breath. “You don’t seem like the trusting type but I’m willing to take my time.” My voice comes out ten times more flirtatious than I intended it to but it causes his whole body to pause, eyes looking up at me with a teasing look, the gears behind his eyes to turn. “To be honest, I have a bit of a habit of growing on people.” He snorts, biting at his lip.

“I gathered that.” He breathes, running his fingers through his hair before giving it a small tug.

“Are you saying I’m growing on you, Cameron- it’s been like a half an hour.” I tease, loving the innocent blush that covers his pale cheeks as he instantly tries to deny, head shaking immediately in defiance. It’s hard to imagine him doing all of the bad things I know he’s done, things that are more extreme and way beyond vandalism. He seems almost awkward at times, boyish and bashful as he’s slowly sinking into the comfort of my office and my prying- far from the man depicted in his records.

“New record?”

“New record for sure.”

“Does that mean I’m free to go?” He quizzes and he blows out a breath, rubbing his clammy hands against the tops of his jeans. I ponder letting him go ten minutes early but there’s a part of me that isn’t quite ready to set him free from my clutches just yet.

“Sure.” His eyes light up at my agreement but before he can stand, I hold up a pointed finger at him, urging him to sit his butt back down. “On one condition.” He agrees almost immediately before knowing my true demand, head bobbing in an agreeable nod.

“Shoot.”

“Hand over your phone.” His face pales at my instructions, eyes staring at my open palm that sticks out to him, waiting for him to do what I said. He looks like a deer in headlights right before a catastrophic crash, tongue slipping out to wet his cracked lips as he stutters.

“Wha-”

“Give it.” I ask again, stern voice forcing a shaky, nervous laugh from him as he goes fishing in his pocket. He hands it over to me without any questions, his eyes watching me like a hawk as I go into his contacts, adding myself as ‘best counselor’. “Only call or text if you’re having an emotional emergency and/or feel like doing something mildly self destructive.” I laugh but as I hand back his phone, he just shakes his head, brows furrowed in confusion as he stares down at the contact.

“Why?”

“Why what?” I ask and he shrugs. “Why care?” The nod he gives me is almost sad, my heart aching in my chest at the thought of him being so out of touch when it comes to having people that care about him, people that want to see him succeed and to not key professors’ cars. “Because, it’s what I do. Get used to it.” Slipping his phone back into his pocket, I make my way to my feet and he does the same, awkwardly shuffling towards the door. His hand hesitates to reach out towards the handle, neck craning to look back at me with a desperate expression.

“You know that’s like asking a fish to breathe air, right?”

“Better learn.” I shrug, crossing my arms across my chest as he huffs, pouting like a child. Reaching out, I push him playfully towards the door as he groans, head tilting back at his steps out into the busy hallway. “Behave!”

“You got it!”What a liar.

#rafe #rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #au!rafe au!rafe x reader #the outerbanks #the outerbanks fic #the outerbanks au

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snzluv3r · 2 days

Text

i feel like the worst person in the world for this thought, but i am SO excited for it to get cold enough for my neighbor’s flowers to die…and i think these self obs from today help me explain exactly why.

cw for descriptions of allergic sneezing + mess

i feel horrible for wishing death on this little old man’s plants, but his garden is full of an entire rainbow of multiple different flowers that have made me sneeze every single day i’ve walked passed them since april.

even on the good days when i manage to hold back an immediate sneezing fit, they still make my eyes water and my nose run, forcing me to try (and fail, almost always fail) to balance sniffling back the mess and trying not to sneeze long enough to make it inside my own place, which is not only a race against the clock but a race against nature itself imo.

i felt especially silly and embarrassing today as i fought against what felt like two different seasons of allergic affliction. it was as if my melodramatic nose couldn’t pick just one allergen to contend with, let alone to publicly humiliate me with—so, even as friday brought with it a merciful conclusion to a long work week of fall allergies, i ended up breathless and sneezy once more, my nose caught off guard after passing by these brightly colored remnants of spring and summer. the comforting, crisp chill and damp smell in the air of the incoming autumn had almost made me forget about the flowers and their threat to my already sensitive nose, until their bright colors caught my eye, in stark contrast with the grey evening sky.

i tried so hard not to inhale until i was past the stretch of flower-garden-allergy-torture, but somehow i forgot that sniffling is a form of inhaling, and the strong, floral scented air managed to hit me even through the double-layered protection of my mask and my existing mild congestion. i don’t think i even got to fully sniffle before my eyes were filling with allergic tears and my breath was hitching, the tickle too deep in my nose to hold back.

like all my allergic sneezes, especially the ones that start when my nose is already drippy and sniffly and dramatically irritated, these were bound to be wet, and there was no time to even pull down my mask, let alone scramble for my travel pack of tissues. in a panic i tried to stifle, which only made everything so much worse and only actually worked for about three poorly stifled sneezes before the first desperate, unrestrained sneeze ripped through me. obviously it didn’t have far to go, given the mask still hugging my face and caging my mouth and nose, but there was no way i was taking off the mask now. the damage was done, and i couldn’t risk the embarrassment of anyone seeing me like this.

not when the more i sneezed, the more mess i could feel run down my chin, completely coating the lower half of my face and inside of my mask. feeling the spray of each sneeze against my mask only made my embarrassment about yet another public sneezing fit worse, my ears and cheeks reddening even more than my nose. i tried stifling again but realized it was pointless, resigning myself to walking as fast as i could while remaining upright as my body snapped forward with harsh, uncontrollable allergic sneezes. my only solace was the slight muffle the (now drenched) mask provided, keeping my head down and towards my chest as i sneezed and shuffled my feet clumsily along the sidewalk. i only ended up having to stop my awkward, sneezy speed-walking once in the remaining two blocks home, for a rogue rapid fit that came so fast, all i could do was stop in my tracks to sneeze over and over again into my mask, my chin tucked into my chest as i instinctively held my elbow up as if to cover the fit despite the mask.

by the time i got into my apartment i had sneezed probably 35 times into my mask and the mess trapped inside was clinging awkwardly to my ever flaring nostrils, making the still unsatisfied itch even more unbearable. it felt almost like purposeful torture, as if the sensation of the mask’s now cool, damp fabric against the existing need to sneeze had become someone who was lightly tickling my nose with a feather, playfully torturing my glistening nostrils as they twitched. my nose was so unbelievably itchy and impossible to ignore in those last few steps to my apartment that i couldn’t help but try to rub my nose against my chest as i fumbled with my keys to unlock the front door. it didn’t even register with me that i was doing it until i had the door open and realized how ineffective of a handsfree nose rubbing method that had been, my desperate attempt at relief only bothering my nose more.

i didn’t even get the door all the way closed behind me before i was sneezing again, my walk up the stairs made difficult by more sudden rapid-fire sneezes, but i was determined to make it all the way home before i lost complete control. even though i was virtually alone, i still had no intention of taking off the mask until i was truly alone and behind a closed, preferably locked door—the thought of anyone seeing how much of a mess i was behind the mask was unbearable, somehow even more embarrassing than all the actual public sneezing itself. it couldn’t have taken me more than seconds to unlock my apartment door, the final destination and end to this nightmare, but it felt agonizingly long as i sneezed in rapid sets of 3s that felt like they echoed up and down the stairs. literally all i could think about was ripping the mask off, finally freeing my nose of the sort of self-inducing allergic torture chamber my mask had become and burying my mouth and nose into about a dozen tissues at once to have the fit of my life (or at least this week 🤣),

i truly applaud this man for not only keeping these flowers alive but THRIVING to the point they’re still pollinating, even as the temperatures drop and leaves fall in the same backyard, but i can’t deny that i daydream about the day i don’t have to try to hold my breath as i walk down that block…

so yeah, i guess in the nicest and gentlest way possible, i can’t wait for this man’s flowers to die (or be moved to some nice imaginary greenhouse in a land far away)

#self obs #allergy self obs #sneeze obs #snzbian #for those whove asked for more self obs #here is one from friday that i rambled way too much in haha #hope at least somebody enjoys #sorry it’s so long #first day of fall and those damn flowers are still bringing spring hayfever to my life lol

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pichiru · 1 day

Text

The Sun Also Smiles - Chapter 4

Chapters - [1] [2] [3] [4]

Summary - With Mabel and Dipper's 16th birthday party on the horizon, Grunkle Stan takes to online dating to find a date for the party. But who he meets isn't who she thinks she is. Things start to get weird.

Word Count - 3,035

Pairing(s) - Stan Pines x OC

Genre(s): Romance, Comedy, Mystery

A/N: There is a bit of verbal sexual harassment in this chapter! So please tread lightly if that's something you're sensitive to!

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"S-Solanaaaaaa! H-Heeyyyyy," Stan said nervously, avoiding eye contact with her completely. He was looking at every single spot but her eyes or her boobs, er, her body. Fuck.

"Wow. You really are a shy old guy," she giggled, covering her mouth a little. "This is why I didn't want to meet you so soon. I knew that you would start treating me differently immediately."

"N-No! I'm not!" Stan said quickly, looking into her eyes instantly when he spoke. "I just wasn't...expectin to...see ya so soon."

"Ah, so you weren't being a creepy stalker and this is just pure happenstance?" She joked, folding her arms across her chest which made the cleavage in the keyhole of her shirt push up.

Stan's eyes trailed down to her chest then swiftly back up at her face. "Yeah, exactly! Nothin crazy like that. My niece wanted to come here for uh...reasons that aren't important right now."

While Stan was talking, Solana was twirling her hair around her right index finger, which, again, pushed her boobs up into the keyhole even further. She was enthralled by how stacked Stan was in person. He looked like he worked out more than just a couple times a month. His stature was thick but tall of course. Couldn't have been shorter than 6'2. For an older man, that was certainly impressive.

A laugh suddenly came from Stan. "Who's the one eye fuckin who now?" he laughed once more.

Solana shot him a smirk before licking her lips subtly. "Look, I never said I was above doing it," she responded with a light shrug of her shoulders. "You certainly are sexy though. Pictures don't and never will do you justice. And the gold chain? Ooh," she shuddered before giggling.

Stan's entire face was red now. He didn't think she'd be so straightforward in person but she definitely did match his energy at least. He clenched his cane to keep himself tethered to what little bit of sanity he even had left from years of bullshit. She was so very beautiful so-

"Why are ya...so..."

"So...what?"

"Avoidant about bein seen?" he asked curiously.

"I told you. People start to treat me differently when they see me," she said, shrugging slightly.

"Why?" He was so confused about this entire concept. "Isn't it a good thing for a dame like you to get all the attention?"

"No. It's...different. Very different," she replied, a sad tinge to her tone.

Just as Stan was about to ask her another question, Mabel and Maze came shuffling over to him to show him a basket of treasures they found in the store so far.

"Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Stan!" Mabel squealed happily as she practically vibrated out of her skin. "Look, look!" she said, holding the shopping basket up to him.

"Those little trinkets are 50% off to the cutest kid in the store," Solana said matter of factly to Mabel with a genuine smile.

Mabel stopped in her tracks and slowly turned to look at Solana. "Shut...UP!!!!" She screamed excitedly, jumping now. "That's definitely me!!"

"We're literally twins," Maze chimed in, rolling his eyes.

"Fraternal!" Mabel reminded with a cheeky grin, twisting her index finger into her cheek.

"Well 50% off to everyone who's a twin!" Solana laughed.

"Hey, I'm a twin. Does that mean I get the discount too?" Stan chuckled.

"Hmm...I'm gonna need proof of that statement," she said as she squinted at Stan, not truly believing him.

"Hold on!" Mabel said as she pulled out her phone and started looking through her massive collection of pictures. Selfies specifically. She scrolled furiously until she found a selfie with her, Maze, Ford, and Stan. She showed Solana the picture and Solana bent down slightly to look at the screen.

"Oooh, okay. He wasn't lying. Two identically handsome men. Interesting," Solana mused with a purse of her lips as she peeked at Stan out the corner of her eye briefly. "Discounts across the board then!" She nodded and turned to the twins to get a good look at them.

"You two are actually adorable. Like actually," Solana complimented.

"Thank yooouuuuu!" Mabel said gratefully. Meanwhile, Maze was hiding behind his hair, blushing furiously. Mabel nudged him. "Say thank you," she grumbled to him quietly.

"T-Thank you," he murmured shyly as he shoved his hands into his pockets so he couldn't fidget anymore.

"Uh, kids. Are you done shoppin or do ya need more?" Stan asked them. He really just wanted to be alone with Solana for a moment longer.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." Mabel droned as she leaned her head back to think.

"You seem like the type of girl to enjoy a good mini cat figurine," Solana surmised. "Am I right?"

Mabel looked up at Solana with big eyes. "Yes..." She said in a serious tone that showed just how excited she was.

"Aisle 21." Solana gave her a sweet smile as Mabel grabbed Maze and drug him over to the exact aisle that was mentioned.

Stan was impressed with how well she handled the kids. She was so motherly and kind. His heart started racing at the thought of her genuinely being interested in him. Her motherly tendencies did something for him. Did he have mommy issues? Fuck.

"You think a lot, don't you?" Solana asked, breaking Stan's train of thought. "Allow me to remedy that," she cooed as she walked closer to him. "May I?" She motioned with her hands that she was asking to touch him.

He couldn't do anything but freeze in place once she moved closer. "Y-Yeah," he stammered, nodding quickly.

Solana smiled at him then stretched up onto her tippy toes to place a kiss at the corner of his mouth, leaving behind a bit of the lip gloss she had on. "Better?" she asked.

Stan had a love stricken expression written plain as day across his face when he processed the kiss. "Yeah. Better," he said in a dreamy voice.

"You're so cute," Solana chuckled. "Haven't you been married before?"

"Nah, I...I got dangerously close but it didn't pan out. It's fine though," Stan said, brushing it off. He didn't want to talk to his new flame about his old flames. Felt weird.

"Something tells me it isn't fine but I'll let it be. For now." She turned to the mess on the ground behind them and began to pick the stuff up. She crouched down and put everything back on the lower shelves from where they fell, humming as she did so.

Stan looked around, not knowing what to do or say to her at this point. He was going to speak but a voice boomed through the store. He groaned in frustration at being interrupted for the millionth time with her.

"Solana!" the voice yelled. "Where are you?"

She sighed and murmured under her breath before standing back up and flattening out her clothes. "Yes, Chip?" she called out, walking past Stan to the end of the aisle where she knew he was going to be.

A lanky, lightly tanned man with perfectly coiffed hair and a pair of black sunglasses walked up to Solana. Even though he had the sunglasses on, you can still tell he was looking at her in a way that would make anyone, woman or not, uncomfortable as hell.

"You look good today," he said with a shit eating grin. "Loving the new and improved uniform on you. What you did with it is so...mmm! You know?" he said to her quietly.

"Chip, I don't have time for you right now. I have a store to run. Your store. You know. The one you opened?" She said as she rolled her eyes at him. "Why are you even here today? You come in on Sundays and Wednesdays. It's literally Saturday."

"I gotta be honest. I wanted to see you," he said, holding his hands up in defense, still smiling that stupid smile.

"Well good for you because I definitely don't want to see you," She said as she turned to walk away from him before he grabbed her arm. Almost immediately, Stan was standing between the two of them, towering over Chip and facing him.

"The lady said she doesn't wanna be bothered. Ya better leave 'er alone or I'll have to intervene," Stan said, standing directly in front of Solana to protect her from even being looked at by that disgusting...

"And who are you?" Chip asked, looking up at Stan, never once dropping that smile.

"He's my boyfriend and he doesn't take lightly to someone touching me," Solana said quickly.

Stan faltered slightly, not expecting her to say that so freely. He immediately regained his composure and looked at Chip sternly, his eyebrows flat, mouth set in a hard line. He wasn't about to show weakness to this...this dickhead.

"Boyfriend? You never mentioned that," Chip said, adjusting his glasses. "Kinda old."

"She doesn't have to," Stan said curtly, cutting him off and leaving no room for ifs, ands, or buts about it. "Leave."

Chip tried to peek around Stan's large shoulders to see Solana but Stan blocked every advance he tried to make.

"I said, leave," he said in a much more firm tone as he leaned down closer to Chip's face.

Chip threw his hands up in defeat. "This is my store after all. I'll definitely be back. Don't you worry about it." He kept that same smile on his face as he turned and left the store. He hopped into his sports car, started it up, and drove away at a blinding speed.

Solana was breathing heavily behind Stan, starting to have a bit of an anxiety attack. Stan swiveled around on his heels to meet her face to face.

"You okay?" he asked in a concerned voice. He didn't know how to deal with his own anxiety let alone someone else's.

"Yeah, I..." She said as she looked down at her clothes in disgust. It was very obvious that Chip had a hand in how she dressed at this job. It was awful for her.

"Are the kids ready to check out?" She chirped, trying to change the subject.

"Solana-" Stan started.

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine," she said firmly. "It's fine. I'm fine. Everything's fucking fine!" she snapped before adjusting her clothes and walking off.

Stan stood there in disbelief. He didn't think negatively about her. In fact, he felt an insatiable urge to protect her. Protect her from this creep, protect her from all men, from everything. Of course he ogled her when he first saw her but he reigned it in the moment he felt that twinge of loyalty to Solana before he knew it was her. He didn't want to be like Chip. He wanted to treat her nicely and treat her the way a beautiful woman like her deserved to be treated.

After gathering himself and flattening his suit coat, Stan walked out of the aisle to go find the kids only to find Solana checking them out at an impressive speed. He walked over to them slowly in silence, not wanting to disturb the flow.

"Grunkle Stan, Miss Solana is giving us so many discounts! I got sooooo many mini cat figurines. She was right. I do love a good mini cat figurine," Mabel rambled excitedly.

Solana was avoiding eye contact with everyone, especially Stan. She couldn't stand to see what he thought of her after that.

"So we're having a grand opening sale for 20% off of most things and then I'm giving you my employee discount of 30% which means you're getting everything half off," Solana explained as she started bagging everything up since she was done scanning. "So your total is $615.03."

Mabel and Maze froze in their places at the mention of that number. They slowly turned to look at Stan who looked completely disinterested in whatever was being said. He was focused on Solana and how avoidant she was being. Maybe she was doing it in front of the kids for their sake but he knew it wasn't that.

Stan pulled his wallet out and opened it to grab a stack of money. He whipped out a couple of hundreds plus a few more smaller bills to cover the price. He handed it all to Solana who took it without hesitation and put it into the register.

Solana handed the bags to the kids and smiled at them. "I hope you have an amazing time creating whatever it is you're creating. I hope to see it floating around the town one day if possible."

Mabel cheesed hard at Solana's words. "Thank yooouuuu!" she said loudly as she grabbed two bags and left the other three for Maze and Stan to take. Maze, being the good brother and nephew he was, took two of the heaviest bags to spare Stan from hurting himself. Or so he thought that's what he was doing.

"Kids, I'll meet you at the car," Stan said calmly, looking directly at Solana who was still avoiding his eye line.

"O...kay?" Maze said as he looked between the both of them then walked off with Mabel towards the entrance of the store. "What the heck was that about?" he murmured to her quietly, making sure neither Stan or Solana heard him.

Stan placed his hands flat on the register table they were at, his eyes never leaving Solana. She fidgeted so incessantly that it made him feel weird for even looking at her.

"I'm sorry," Stan said simply.

"For what? You didn't do anything wrong," she responded, tucking hair behind her ear as she spoke, still not looking at him.

"The way you're actin got me feelin like I did. I'm sorry for interferin."

Solana sighed and looked at Stan finally. "It's not that. I feel..." She groaned slightly. "Disgusting. This is exactly why I didn't want to meet you in person. Yet. I always have interactions like this with men specifically."

"Why?" Stan asked curiously.

"I don't know. I genuinely don't know. It's..." She laughed bitterly and shook her head. "At least you did it in your head and not outright."

Stan's face heated up. He wished he never did that in the first place and she brought it back up again. "I'm sorry about that too. But you know what's funny?"

"What?"

"I stopped cuz I felt this...connection to ya last night and I felt like I was...bein disloyal in this...'talking stage'? Or whatever my niece called it," he admitted, grumbling at the end.

Solana's heart melted at Stan's admission. She smiled at him and reached over to place her hand on top of his. She squeezed it thoughtfully. "Yeah?" She asked with a crooked smile.

His eyes briefly dropped down to their hands touching. "Yeah," he confirmed, leaning forward towards her a bit.

"I mean I should have expected this much from my boyfriend," she teased while giggling.

Stan laughed at her bringing her own words back up. "That...That got me when you said it. I thought I was goin insane when I heard it."

"No, not at all. I wouldn't mind it becoming reality one day," she paused. "Soon." Her eyes dropped to his lips for but a moment but he caught the gesture almost immediately.

"May I?" he asked, echoing her from before things went haywire. His own eyes were wandering over the features of her face. He couldn't help it. Her beauty rivaled even the mermaids he saw on his voyage with Ford.

"Such a gentleman for asking," she cooed. "Of course," she allowed.

He leaned down to Solana until their lips finally met. Their eyes closed immediately to truly lose themselves in the kiss. She squeezed his hand tightly, showing that she was restraining herself from doing much more than a simple kiss. She couldn't help herself and deepened the kiss a little more before Stan politely pulled away from her lips slightly.

"I'd be willin to continue this somewhere private if I wasn't babysittin right now," he whispered against her lips before kissing her a few more times.

Solana hummed into the subsequent kisses, her eyelashes fluttering at the same time. "Got any free time tonight?" She asked boldly, trying to catch her lips between every word she spoke.

"I might. I'll text ya and let ya know. Sound good?"

"Yeah. Sounds good," she said in a hurried tone.

Stan gave her a few more kisses before pulling away completely and fixing his clothes.

Mabel and Maze were standing outside Stan's car with their jaws dropped to the ground. Mabel dropped her bags. They slowly looked at each other in complete shock. They saw the entire encounter.

"Did Grunkle Stan just..." Mabel asked.

"He did..." Maze responded.

"Here he comes, here he comes! Act natural!" Mabel said quickly and quietly. She scrambled to pick up the bags.

When the doors opened, Stan walked through them and looked at the twins in confusion.

"The car was open," he said to them slowly, not completely sure why they were still standing and waiting.

"Oh! hahahaha!" Mabel laughed awkwardly as she scrambled into the car. She didn't really give much more of an answer than that, leaving Maze to pick up the pieces instead. Maze looked at Mabel with an expression that disapproved of her immediate betrayal.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." Maze said before he suddenly retreated and got into the backseat with Mabel.

"I thought you wanted to sit in the front, kid?" Stan said as he approached the driver's side and opened the door to get in.

"Naaahhhhh. I decided I wanna sit with Mabel," Maze said quickly with a nod.

"Gotcha," Stan said as he got in and closed the door. He pulled out his keys then started the car up.

"Your old grunkle got a date tonight. So I want you two to take care of each other and Sixer while I'm gone for the night," Stan said as he put the car in reverse and turned around to back out of the spot.

The twins sat in their seats, frozen. A date? They thought to themselves.

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