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the-witches-you-couldnt-burn · 3 years

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It started with a whisper

I originally wrote ‘Like I did with you’ as a one-shot but people wanted a sequel. This turned out to be waaaaay longer than expected (4.7k word count). Inspired by Everybody Talks by Neon Trees. I hope you lot enjoy!

Ao3

(Also this is Mari’s new outfit, all credits go to the original artist)

————

Two teens stood upon the balcony of a large banquet hall, exposed to the midsummer night air. The sky was a lilac blanket that hung over the Parisian buildings, speckled with glowing stars. The moon, with it’s crescent smile, beamed down of the young couple.

Hey, baby, won't you look my way?

Marinette’s eyes were closed as she rested her head upon his shoulder, relaxing after the night’s rapid escalation. Tonight she had arrived at the ball with the intent to be there for her friends, but somehow she found herself within the arms of Gotham’s (and probably Paris’) Ice Prince. She had overheard his nickname from the Gotham students, one of which being Jon, who was in the middle of mocking the young Wayne. She had never considered that nickname as suitable; sure he was temperamental & had a tendency to snap, but icey to the core? No.

I can be your new addiction

Damian was calm. For the first time in his life he felt like he could take a breath. His exhale was carried off by a small gust of wind, the bush over hanging the stone railing rustled. With his inhale, the scent of Marinette’s perfume became present once more. Mixed with the crisp night’s air, her usual scent of pastries was mixed with what could only be described as ambrosia. His phone vibrated within his pocket, it was never on volume due to the potential risk it caused during his heroic activities.

“Shit.” Notifications covered his screen, multiple tweets, Instagrams and Tiktoks in which he had been tagged in. But the alert came from his family’s private messaging chat. The whole thread was a shit storm, Grayson and Todd’s messages were completely capitalised (he learnt years ago this meant ‘to yell’ in writing form) and both had multiple ‘keyboard spasms’. Drake, like the thorough detective he is, had combed through the images and videos, investigating their validity. His honorary sisters had replied with ‘awwwww’(s) and ‘Omg we MUST meet this girl! I need to know how she tamed the demon!’. He could practically hear Brown’s shrill voice from across the ocean.

Hey, baby, what you gotta say?

No reply from his father or Alfred. The two of them were the only semblance of ‘normal’ paternal figures he had within his life, after the sham of a relationship he had previously held with his grandfather. Their silence unnerved him.

Marinette had noticed his attention had shifted to his phone, her own mobile was buzzing away within her baby pink purse. Messages, notifications of account tagging and comments galore. A sigh left her lips when she saw her parents seemed to be none the wiser. Good, she didn’t need to deal with future adoration for ‘The boy who swept our daughter off of her feet’ (or something along those lines).

Her cheeks regained some of the warmth they held before as she thought of her parent’s reaction. Scrolling through her Twitter she saw her friends had posted multiple images of the night’s events, majority being her shared dance.

Chloé Bourgeois @TheBestBourgeois

what kind of Disney shit is this? (Insert video of two teens dancing around an mostly empty dance floor.)

Alix Kubdel @Sk8trGirl

Replying to @TheBestBourgeois

I KNOW RIGHT?! THEY WERE FUCKING FLOATING!!!

All you're giving me is fiction

She was thankful that they hadn’t tagged her but she hadn’t been spared by others in attendance. Her post thread had blown up, thousands had commented and even more had viewed the evidence. There was no way she would come out of this unscathed.

“Has anyone been on Twitter today?” The blonde of the family asked as she walked into the dining room. Her eyes focused on her scrolling screen, brows furrowed in confusion. “Actually has anyone seen what’s happening on any of our socials?”

It was early in the afternoon and the family had recently returned home after a straining stakeout. The Joker had broken out of Arkham and the Batfam had to deal with his minions. Dick’s arm was in a sling (sprained from a grapple gone wrong), Jason was icing his hand, Alfred was stitching Bruce’s chest wounds while Tim and the girls escaped without severe injuries. All were still recuperating and finally able to recharge.

Alfred always enforced a strict ‘no devices at the dinner table’ rule; no matter how urgent it was, it could wait until after sustenance was consumed. Tim strongly opposed this, but there was no arguing with Agent A. This all surmises that probably no one had seen the crap storm on social media.

I'm a sorry sucker and this happens all the time

Bruce sighed, bringing his free arm up to rub his eyes. Tilting his head back to look at Steph, “Who was it this time?” Barbara quickly took out her phone to see what Stephanie was talking about, all the while glancing accusingly at Dick and Jason. Both of whom held up their arms (or in Dick’s case arm), declaring their innocence.

“It wasn’t fucking me!”

“Jason! Language!” Dick shot a glare at Jason and was met with one in return. “It wasn’t me either.”

“Then who-“ Bruce started before being cut off by his most rambunctious daughter.

I found out that everybody talks

Stephanie with a squeal, exclaimed that it was Damian. Visions of what the Wayne brat could have done flashed through the heads of everyone in the room. He had been sent overseas before the quarantines and lockdowns hit. During Damian’s first month in France he had been forced into online schooling and then finally when he got to go to in-person classes he hated it. Described the class as a kindergarten with petty and vindictive toddlers.

Had he broken someone’s arm? Was that person of such importance that it had spread over multiple social media platforms? France’s government had announced on June 15th, that teens were now being inoculated so him having COVID-19 was doubtful. Had he insulted the wrong person? Had he taken over the government? He certainly had the potential.

Everybody talks, everybody talks

What they saw stunned them, even Steph as she watched it for the 7th time. Damian Wayne was dancing. But not only that, he was dancing with a girl.

It started with a whisper

“What is this shit?”

No one verbally objected to Jason’s outburst but he was sent a harsh glare from Alfred, Dick and Bruce. Their focus soon returned to the images and videos before them. Babs’ and Steph’s phones were returned to them as the others ran to grab their own devices. They all met back at the table, comparing the posts and comparing their notes.

I can hear the chitchat

“There’s no way this can be real.”

“Jesus Tim,” Barbara rolls her eyes, “have you seen the amount of posts there are? You’d be an idiot to think otherwise.”

Take me to your love shack

“I’m with Tim, how do we know this isn’t some skit. I mean, Demon Spawn almost looks normal. That’s a matter of concern.” He almost dry heaved when he agreed with Tim. Damian couldn’t be capable of naturally exuding that amount of humanity unless there was something in it for him.

Mamas always gotta backtrack

“I was just saying Babs, that we should check the credibility of these images. For all we know they could be gorilla glued together and trying to get unstuck.” Tim cringed at his own reasoning, he really needed to either sleep (probably not going to happen anytime soon) or find his favourite coffee brand (which had been one of the first to vanish after the covid hoarders appeared).

When everybody talks back

Dick was too busy freaking out and spam messaging the youngest Wayne, to defend Damian’s humanity. The family saw this and followed suit, wanting to get information from the source.

Chat name: Alfred supremacy

BigBird: AHHHHHH DAMIAN!

BigBird: YOU LOOK SO CUTE!!!

BigBird: HAIFJDNDNFI

LittleWing: WTF HAPPENED DEMON SPAWN YOU LOOK ALMOST HUMAN

Babs: who knew the city of love would influence the brat

Blondie: they are so cuteeeeeee!

Blondie: We HAVE to meet her!

Silent-but-deadly: agreed.

Timbo: YO DEMON

Timbo: Apparently the videos are legit

Timbo: are you being blackmailed?

And it just devolved into more chaos from there, fueled by the fact that they saw Damian’s ‘Blood Son’ account appear online before vanishing once more. Dick shrieked, “I FOUND HER ACCOUNT!”

The family gathered around the eldest son, peering over his shoulder to view his iPhone 12max screen. They saw a young girl’s Instagram account. It was locked but they could see her profile pic, the girl had black hair and looked to be if Asian decent. They compared it to the videos but it was hard to see due to the hall’s lighting and the minimised facial features of the pfp. Alfred suggested that they search up her username and see who has tagged her, some might have other photos of her.

After research for awhile, the family began to get frustrated with lack of results.

Hey honey you could be my drug

You could be my new prescription

“Come on!” Jason complained, “What kind of teenage girl doesn’t post her life online?” He ignored the girls glares and went back to researching. How had the account by the name of ‘mariiiiinette’ to managed to prevent the entire Wayne clan from accessing it? Damn Instagram privacy settings. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “We are fucking stupid. Why don’t we just use the Bat-computer? It would be so much fucking easier.”

“It shouldn’t be used for civilian issues-“

Too much could be an overdose

“The girl could be a meta for all we know! We aren’t safe until we know who she is.” Jason points a finger at Tim, his paranoia flared up and even though he would never admit it, Jason would do anything to protect each member of his family (although Bruce is still debatable).

All this trash talk make me itching

Barbara and Tim took their usual positions as Oracle and Red Robin (who had been banned from patrol due to lack of sleep). The rest of the Batfam stood behind them either with arms crossed or still failing at researching.

Oh my my shit

“The account is owned by a girl called Marinette Dupian-Cheng. She is French-Chinese and her parents own a popular bakery. Also if it wasn’t already obvious, she goes to Collège Françoise Dupont, aka Damian’s French school.” Tim begun informing his nosy family, “But this account has been inactive for the past 6 months, which is strange due to her frequent posting schedule before hand. It seems she probably has a second account and this is her old one.”

Everybody talks, everybody talks

“Not only that,” Barbara interrupted. “There are unopened messages from other accounts that accuse her of being a bully. There is a whole Facebook page about this girl and how she has been hurting her old friends, but neither side seems reliable. The so called victims seem to be twisting the truth but there is barely any information about Marinette so we can’t disprove it either.”

“Read out some of the messages.” Bruce took a cup of coffee from Alfred and sipped it.

The main screen of the bat computer displayed a Facebook group with the banner picture being a photo of Marinette. “They are mostly complaints expected of teen girls when there is a girl they don’t like; ‘Marinette is such a know-it-all’, ‘She is constantly insulting Lila’s intelligence’. They go on to talk about how Marinette was briefly expelled from the Collège before being reinstated by the principle for a reason unknown to them.”

Everybody talks too much

“Her school reports up until this year were good. The newest one states, ‘While Marinette is a wonderful and bright student, I encourage her to settle her disagreements outside of class. This seems to only be a recent occurrence and I implore her to go to the guidance council if she is in need of help.’” A beat of silence echoes through the cave, Tim sighed. “Jason’s meta theory could be correct. She could have just recently started exhibiting her abilities and using them to get what she wants.”

“Bruce what do you want to do?”

“We’re going to Paris.”

She opened her eyes to the blaring morning light that streamed through the blinds. Her lashes still painted with mascara that refused to leave. She felt a pang of sorrow when she was removing her makeup and dress last night, she never wanted the night to end. She shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen, covering her mouth when she yawned. She greeted her mother as she entered the kitchen to get breakfast.

She glanced at her phone and there was the chaos that was started hours ago and it was still occurring. It was the weekend, she wouldn’t need to deal with her classmates until Monday. But she would still have to survive her parent’s interrogation. Out of the corner of her eye she caught her mother smirking at her.

Everybody talks

“Nadja told me some interesting news about last night.” Marinette held her breath, glaring at the toaster, willing it to hurry up so she could escape. “Well,” Sabine patted her shoulder before rubbing Mari’s back. “I know you didn’t want to go but I hope you had fun.”

With that she exited the kitchen, probably going to help her father in the bakery. The ravenette stared after her, eye widened in shock, jumping when the toaster went off. Buttering her toast she went over the conversation, her brows furrowed in confusion. She had expected a ‘When do I get to meet the oh so famous prince?’ or ‘Should I be expecting a new guest sometime in the near future?’ or at least a ‘Who was that young man, Bǎozàng (宝藏 it means treasure)?’ But she said nothing.

A small smile was plastered upon her face as she changed and went down to help her parents in the bakery. Her father didn’t say anything either, he gave her a knowing smile before continuing to kneed the dough. She sat at the the store front as the cashier whilst her parents were busy making ‘Paris’s Finest Pastries’.

Her musings slowly faded as she was brought back to reality by badly hushed whispers. Two young preteens were by the bread roll casing near the door. She had seen them come in before with their parents, the girls went to the prestigious international school over in the 16th arrondissement. The one with purple hair kept whispering to the brunette, both ‘subtly’ glancing towards her. Using her enhanced hearing she listened in on their conversation.

“That’s her, I swear that’s her in the video.”

The blonde’s face soured likes she sucked on a lemon. “No, it wasn’t good lighting there is no way he would dance with someone like her.”

Everybody talks

Marinette had tough skin but their words had an impact, only a small one due to her defence mechanism of repressing emotions. She stopped listening and went back to drawing in her sketchpad, she was in desperate need of a new school outfit.

The two girls eventually came up to the counter, goods in hand. Marinette rung up and bagged their items (paper because save the turtles sksksk) in a tired daze. A phone was shoved into her face, her eyes barely adjusted to view the screen before the blonde spoke.

“Is this your instagram?” She asked in a tone so snobbish that it should be illegal from a person her age. Marinette finally was able to view the screen that was barely an inch from her face. Her old Instagram ‘mariiiiinette’ was displayed on screen, she hesitantly nodded, gaze flicking back to the two in front of her.

The blonde’s nose scrunched up and the purple goth girl squealed in delight. They soon after left the store, their conversation had devolved into ‘See! I told you’ and ‘Yeah, yeah. You were right.’

Walking to school on Monday, she had finally come down from cloud nine. She still rode the tail end of her high as she rushed along her path to her campus, she wasn’t going to be late but she sure wasn’t going to be early. She had spent the better part of the weekend designing and sewing a brand new outfit. Her new look was composed of a black cropped singlet (L'amour gagne hemmed into it and it’s straps), paired matching peach plaid cropped overshirt and a-line miniskirt. Her hair was down, ballet flats were worn and her makeup was the usual with the added edition of a rose gold eyeshadow.

Even though her face was covered in a black and gold mask, she looked hot.

She reached the campus and the whispers started again, people were still buzzing from Friday night. Her classmates, the majority of her grade and the younger years seemed to gossiping before class about the formal’s events. She couldn’t spot any of her friends or the two Gotham transfers, so she was stuck listening the the chitchat. Why couldn’t she have been late like usual?

Damian had a fowl disposition and it showed in multiple icey glares (and that was before he even reached the collège). His family had made their appearance known in Paris at 1am Sunday morning. He could have used his dorm to escape but his family didn’t have the word ‘privacy’ within their vocabulary. He didn’t want to have to pay for a lock replacement due to his brothers’ (most likely Todd with Drake & Grayson laughing at him) lock picking habit.

The Ice Prince was back with full force. He had just been... influenced by all the other couples. Yes he did respect Dupain-Cheng and he appreciated her company & pleasant conversations. He would struggle to hide a small smile at the memory of the dance, even if he denied himself the happiness of normality, he felt content when reminiscing.

“Ooo the Ice Prince is here, did he have a fight with his princess or something?” The voice seemed to mock him.

“The Disney Magic is gone. The demon is back.”

Everybody talks

At the second jeer he shot a glare at the perpetrator. Jon held his hands up in an ‘I surrender manner’, laughing as he joined Damian at his side. The two entered the school’s large foyer and looked to see if any of the classes were open yet. Sadly they weren’t, before he was wrong and the his class was plain torture but this was truely hell.

He saw Dupain-Cheng sitting alone on the stairs, drawing within her sketchpad. He wondered how a girl like her, who always seemed to be involved in other’s lives (for the better) was ignoring all of the comments about her. She felt his focus centre on her, eyes flicking up to meet his, she provided him with a small wave before continuing to draw.

Jon nudged him with an elbow to his ribs and dragged him off to the side, into the boy’s locker rooms. Jon scowled at the door, “It’s a mad house out there. You’ve heard what some people are saying right?”

“Why would I care about these imbeciles?”

Jon jabbed Damian in the chest, causing the demon to stumble. Green eyes darted from blue eyes to the tan finger. “You care when lies hurt people you care about.”

The day began to rapidly decline once the two dance partners took their seats, next to each other. They had both been placed up the back of the class and them sitting together hadn’t been a problem until now apparently. She wasn’t even safe when the teacher started their lecture, whispers and glances were cast towards them. Once the two got to biology it was better, Ms Mendeleiev was a strict teacher and was able to control the class.

Everybody talks

But the recess came. When the bell rang she slowly started packing up her equipment, Alix and Max (who she shared biology with) waited for her; she watched as the Ice Prince left through the door. She knew she didn’t need to be concerned about her friends joining in with the gossiping, if anything they would dispel people and tell them to ‘Mind their own fucking business’ because this whole situations is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.

She did receive some slight teasing from Alix about being a Disney princess, but Marinette quipped back about the skater’s fairytale story being ‘Pinknette, the Geek and the Beast’. The three met up with the other two of their group, they had just come from geography. Kim was complaining that Argentina was a state in America.

“That’s Arkansas you idiot!” Chloe shrieked, lightly hitting his arm with her white handbag. Max held his head in his hand as he approached, how had his tutoring sessions failed so badly?

Chloe turned to Marinette, a smile forming from her glare. The blonde examined the designer’s clothing, nodding. “You look like you are about to have a hot girl summer.”

Marinette’s face burned, the tips of her ears coated in red. Alix chuckled and nudged her shoulder.

Everybody talks

“Look at her, she is so desperate for his attention that she probably copied those designs.”

“Why do you think he danced with her anyways? Maybe she has something on him? I mean, she forces him to sit next to her in class, who knows what else she has done.”

What. The. Fuck.

Chloe glowered towards Lila’s posy. “We have a fucking seating plan, those cretins-“ She made a motion to storm over but was caught by the ravenette, looking back to Mari, her rage decreased from a boil to a simmer.

“No Chlo. It’s fine, it’s not worth it.”

Everybody talks... back

The group walked out to the school’s front steps, it was a mad house... a mad courtyard? Students sitting on the stairs, on the grass and standing around mingling, all of them now were staring at her. She held her backpack close to her chest (she had swapped her signature coin-bag purse for the pastel pink bag), pretending its a shield. Her friends circled around her becoming an obstacle to prevent their stares. If people were afraid of a scowling Kim then they don’t know the scorn of Chloe or Alix’s bite. And Max, sweet quiet Max.... you better hope he doesn’t have blackmail on you (he probably does), he can dismantle your life with a single anonymous post.

Rushed footsteps approached them. The group was broken apart by a rude Wayne boy, he swept Mari away from the school and the gossip crowds within. Her four friends shouted at him and he kept walking, shooting a glare at them in response. He kept pushing Marinette forward with a hand placed on the small of her back, her backpack was now swung over his other shoulder.

They ended up in her favourite alcove. She had brought him here with the other Gotham transfers for a native’s tour of Paris. It had always been her safe place to be creative.

It started with a whisper (everybody talks, everybody talks)

“My apologises for our rushed departure but you seemed to want to get out of their anyhow.” His gruff tone danced through the silence, his head still peaking around the corner; watching for any unwelcome guests.

“Thank you.” She whispered, her voice almost being carried off by the gentle wind. A genuine smile illustrated upon her face.

“We weren’t able to converse after the events of the other night. I would like to formally apologise once more for my actions causing this adverse reaction. If I had kn-“

“You don’t need to apologise!” She squeaked, hiding her eyes behind her fisted hand. Her shoulders curled inwards as she tried to make herself seem as small as possible, a side effect of her common use of her secondary miraculous form: Multimouse.

“I chose to dance with you, you don’t need to apologise for my own actions.” He stared at her with confusion. He had taken the blame so she wouldn’t need to do so herself; but she had taken it anyways. He had given her an out. Why does she always take the blame, even for things out of her control?

“But if I hadn’t danced with you then you wouldn’t have been the focus of the entire school.”

Marinette stepped forward, her eyes hardened and blazing. “Damian Friday night I went there out of obligation to my friends, I didn’t want to be there. But dancing with you? That was the highlight of my week, probably my month too. I enjoyed our time together.” Her face softened, lips twitched downwards ever so slightly. “I don’t regret anything about that night, but do you?”

He was bad at comfort. Everyone in his family avoided him when they were in need, he plainly didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t visibly upset but he sensed that she is disappointed that he apparently didn’t share the same opinion of the night. The only thing he regretted about that night was letting Jon call him a coward, but then again if he didn’t he never would have danced with Dupa- Marinette.

He picked up her clenched hand, the tension in her body alleviated at his embrace. He remembered how Grayson would apologise to Kor’i or how his father interacted with Ms Kyle. He brought their hands up and placed a kiss upon her knuckles.

And that was when I kissed her (everybody talks, everybody talks)

“I do not regret anything either—“ he cleared his throat, “In fact, I’d appreciate if we would be able to interact more, especially outside of that cesspit.”

Was he...?

It didn’t matter.

She smiled the same dazzling smile she gave him at the dance. She nodded while laughing, “I’d love that.”

Everybody talks

The two stay talking, hidden within their secret alcove for the rest of the day. She texted her parents to say she was with a friend and would be back later that night. Damian didn’t bother texting his family, Marinette knew he had to be back soon due to his dorm’s curfew.

The sun was setting at they walked back together, he did the gentlemanly thing and dropped her off at her bakery door. She could see her mother behind the register inconspicuously looking over at the two of them. Damian’s lips quirked upwards, she was satisfied with his kinda-smile.

He walked back, hands in pockets and a neutral expression upon his face instead of a scowl. He reached his door and took his keys, he found that it was already open. Damn.

His family was splayed out within his two roomed dorm. Todd and Drake were fighting over a place to sit on his bed, whilst his father sat at his desk, watching the commotion. The three of them turned to him as he enter the room, they were the only family members able to attend on short notice; Cain had a ballet audition, Gordon & Brown had concert tickets for tomorrow, Grayson had to take care of Mar’i while Kor’i was on Tamaran and Alfred stayed to ensure no one died during their night time activities.

“We need to talk Damian.” His father stood, leaning onto the desk chair. “The school called and said you had an unexcused absence for half the day. Where were you Damian?”

Damian stared into his father’s eyes. He was fifteen, almost an adult, but was treated like he was ten again.

“I was with a friend.”

“Probably the girl from the dance. Marinette, right?” Todd mocked him. Damian snapped his head in the direction of his bed, glaring at both his brothers.

“That’s what I want to talk about with you Damian. Now I don’t know her personally but from what we’ve discovered through our investigation we have some concerns. What’s happened Damian?”

The youngest Wayne’s glare shifted off of his brothers to the floor, and then finally to his father; his family sitting in wait for his answer. Straightening his posture, his shoulders clicked as he rolled then back. His statement’s tone was sure and steady, “Everybody talks father.”

Everybody talks... back

#maribat #marinette x damian #mlb x dc #batfam salt #batfam is concerned #Daminette #the aftermath of ‘Like I did with you’#everybody talks by neon trees #max kante has blackmail and will use it #Alix will bite if provoked #dc x mlb #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a meta?#supportive Dupain-Cheng parents ❤️

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yeojaa · 4 years

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stay gold.

pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. explicit. tags. blond!jk being a good boy? idk. that’s literally it. wc. 3k. beta reader. @hobi-gif, ofc. author note. this was meant to be pwp but i cannot shut up so here is this mess that is neither pwp nor something with a legit plotline. 🤠 blame blondie.

Having a content creator boyfriend is fun. Usually.

You get to go on cool trips, he gives you all of the random shit his sponsors send him, and you get to preen like a cat that ate the canary when his DMs blow up with hundreds of messages.

Sure, there are the downsides. All his stupid pranks - the ones that piss you off when you’re trying to do your makeup, the ones that have him dunking ice cubes on you while you’re in the middle of a shower - and his perpetual recording, camera glued to his hand and if not that, then his phone. There are the rude comments - the oh, that’s his girlfriend? He could do better was a common one - and the long hours he spends editing, holed away in his office; the beyond inappropriate packages he gets in the mail, thongs and other things that he immediately tosses away with a reassuring tilt of his pretty head.

You don’t mind it though. He enjoys it, thrives on it, and you’re there to support him.

But you’d never expected this.

This Adonis standing in the doorway, freshly styled strands pushed back from his forehead, glimmering gold falling across his eyes. He looks, for lack of a better word, unreal.

(You’re not often speechless. Can’t be, when you’re dating someone like Jeon Jungkook and everything he does either makes you laugh or infuriates you. Boring isn’t a part of his vocabulary and you’ve learnt to keep up with his antics over the years.)

(Still, this comes close, stealing all the air from your lungs.)

“Hey, baby.” It’s his usual greeting, offered without hesitation as he crosses the threshold and tosses his keys into the catch-all by the door. Kicks off his chunky sneakers and peels his sweater over his head, effectively tousling the tawny threads.

He’s so handsome it’s outright disgusting, leaving you gaping up at him from your post on the couch. Gives you very little to work with as he shimmies down the hall, grabs an apple off the kitchen island, and then not-so-gracefully plops himself down beside you.

You still haven’t found your words by the time he takes two gigantic bites, flesh crunching between his teeth, big doe eyes sparkling like he’s stepped right out of a Disney film.

“D’you like it?”

Did you? Well, obviously.

You’ve never imagined Jungkook blond. He’d gone through a phase in college, colours of the rainbow rotating through the ends of his hair. Brown, red, orange, blue. You’d loved each hue but this was something else entirely. (Different even from the two months he’d spent as full-on ginger, committing far too hard to his Haikyuu!! Halloween costume.)

This version of him is steeped in some twisted fantasy, a dream crafted by years of bedtime stories and happily ever afters. It screams Prince Charming and has you reaching for him before you know what you’re doing, threading fingers through the surprisingly soft silk that curls over his ears and looks so lovely next to the silver of his piercings.

You mean to be gentle, to comb delicately through flax but fuck. He looks so good you want to devour him. (You can only imagine your face - a lovesick puppy brought home from the pound.)

There’s still apple in his mouth, juice tracking down his chin because you’re really making it quite hard for him to chew when you’ve got him like this, two hands on either side of his face, holding him in place. Inspecting him like a piece of meat as he peers at you, deceptively innocent and amused. “That’s a yes?”

An answer comes in the form of a kiss, of limbs rearranging and settling directly into his lap. Knees wide, chest to chest, you can’t even be bothered by the sickly sticky feel of his skin, the way his hands are too cold to be creeping up beneath the hem of your - his - shirt.

(Where had he put the apple? You know it’s not finished, two bites in and left to roll all over the rug. You’ll give him shit for that later, when you’re not so distracted.)

“You look like Barbie,” you mumble against his lips, into the warmth of his mouth. You ignore the way he laughs, swallowing it down with a pass of your tongue and too much spit swapped, a string of saliva caught between you when you come up for air.

Somehow, you’re still lightheaded, all your thoughts framed into the familiar silhouette of the boy beneath you. Cherry red lips - your fault, from all your biting and teasing and the balm you’d applied earlier - and blond hair. Who would’ve known that was your weakness?

(Deep down, you know Jungkook as a whole is the issue. That it’s your stupid handsome boyfriend with his lopsided smile and bunny teeth, dimples and that scar on his cheek. This is just a new layer to be explored, another reason you love him added to the Jungkook Best Boy jar that sits front and centre in your mind’s eye.)

“Don’t say that,” he groans, equal parts reproach and affection, palms resting where they belong, nestled over your spine. Long fingers toy with the soft cotton of your thong, brushing over the seamless material with small repetitive motions.

You realise then his hands aren’t the only things heating up.

The two of you have an understanding, an abiding awareness of the boundaries of your relationship and the roles you take on. Best friend, occasional sucker for the sake of a TikTok, lover.

He knows how much you hate your dirty laundry being aired - does his very best to never post anything that might be misconstrued, ensures he only ever portrays you in a good light because the internet could be cruel. (Even if he argued with you in the quiet of your home, he’d keep you safe outside of the four walls.)

You know how he needs his quiet time but that sometimes, a night out was unavoidable, a part of his life he - and by extension you - couldn’t always say no to. (Even if you were achy and tired by midnight, glaring down at your phone as he made his rounds, exchanged contact details and rambled about shit that meant nothing.)

He’s learnt to make your eggs the way you love them: soft in the centre, covered with too much pepper. He never washes your clothes in hot water (not after The Great Sweater debacle) and he always makes sure not to use your special memory foam pillow.

You kiss him goodnight without fail and play with his hair until he falls asleep; you bury your face against his chest when he’s had a long day, signing your love with the felt-tip of your lips. You bring him fresh cut fruit when he’s been working for more than three hours and wash his hair when he’s stressed.

Knowing each other was easy; loving each other was like breathing.

This, though, is different. New. Special.

He’s never been like this before, glazed over in the eyes, patience wearing thin. Sat so well, picture perfect beneath you and cornsilk crown lighting his entire expression up like a halo, he’s ethereal.

“Baby,” he whines, grits through his teeth as you roll your hips that much slower, the glide impossibly smooth thanks to the lychee watermelon lube he’d received to his PO box. (One of the items you hadn’t thrown away from that package, together with a handful of other toys that’d come in handy over the months.)

You’re shameless, soothing a hand across his cheek, thumb slipping past his lips. (You ignore the noise of indignation, meet it with a twinkling laugh of your own.) It sweeps over his tongue, pressing down in tandem with the second sound - one that echoes out of his chest, a growl that pitches into a whine and makes your ears buzz. “Hi, baby.”

“Stop teasing.” It’s practically begging - or as close to it as Jungkook will get. It draws a smile and another pass of your thumb, gliding across his gums to slot against the interior of his cheek. You’ve got him fishhooked, immobile, even as he glares up at you.

(He’s so, so handsome. Looks utterly out of it even as he tries to harden his gaze, coerce you into doing what he wants with that stare that makes your heart lurch pathetically in your chest.)

“You don’t like this?”

You know he does - that he loves being pampered. That he’ll rarely ask, instead pouting at you from wherever he sits until you turn to putty under his gaze and smother him in all the love you have to offer.

“I do. I just—” The rest of his words don’t come, stolen by a gasp when you grind against him, swollen head of his cock bumping against your clit. He’s making a mess of you both, back arching, hips rising, hands fisted into the sheets even as he chases friction like a dog does its tail. The warmth between your legs is so close he looks as if he’ll lose his mind, rutting against your cunt like just the right angle might get him what he wants. “Fuck, baby.”

“I’m trying,” you retort, mouthful of teasing that only earns you another glare, some poor semblance of one as he bites into the webbing of your hand, bucks up impatiently.

“Please.” He tries again, a different tactic this time, all sugar-spun sweetness. Strawberry shortcake rather than sour cherry pie, so eager to get what he wants that he’s not above pulling out all the stops. A hand risen from the sheets, digits decorated in ink swimming over your skin, sinking into the meat of your thigh.

(He doesn’t push though. Knows you’ll pull the moment he does.)

“Please?” An echo chamber, endlessly teasing, and a ducked head, lips finding the sweat-slick column of his throat. Just one drag of your tongue has him crumbling further, careful composure slipping with each swivel of your hips, the edge of your teeth. There’s nothing but desperation radiating off him, demand choked back when you drift lower, tracing over his chest, teasing him in the ways you know best.

It’s all so unnecessary, drawing out what he wants until he’s a goner, three seconds from combusting beneath you. You’d give him anything he ever asked for - offer it all up on a silver plate, a meal fit for a king. This is just fun, different and exciting.

You relent with a minor adjustment, settling yourself against him, face dropped into the crook of his neck. “Slowly.”

He repeats after you, uncertain and hopeful; his hand falls further, warmth descending to pull you close, hold you still. As much as he needs this - needs you - he loves the slow burn just as much. The stutter of his pulse gives him away, erratic beneath your touch. He’s a thousand miles above the clouds, floating on cloud nine; every second passed is another tingle of his toes, a tightening of the coil in his stomach.

When he aligns himself against your core, pre-cum pearling over his tip, he does exactly as you’ve asked. Sinks into you at such a leisurely pace you wonder if you might be the one who splinters apart, shatters into a million tiny pieces at the way he splits you open.

“Good?” Jungkook asks so nicely it’s impossible for you to say no, to deny him this tiny bit of reassurance.

(Maybe it’s the way he looks, crowned in glittering gold, painted by Fra Angelico. Or maybe it’s how his smile spills like sunshine, a peachy pink horizon dragging over the apples of his cheeks, burnt red like their namesake.)

(Whatever it is, it’s everything you want, packed perfectly and pouting.)

“Good boy,” you purr, breath hitching once he’s sheathed to the hilt, seated so deeply within that you swear you can feel him in your throat.

You’ve never felt so full before - close to overflow, taunted and taxed by ridges and veins, each flex of his hips that drives him somehow further within your fluttering walls. So full you might burst, that you can’t possibly hold yourself together when he begins to move, fucking you tenderly, as if he can feel the weight of the moment.

There’s something happening. A shift in the air, in the axis of your planet that revolves around him. It falls on its side, spins wildly out of control, and you’re emotional. It’s not just his hair - that gilded crown he wears, heavy heavy heavy like aureate coin - or the impossible dark of his eyes - blown out, an entire galaxy devoured by the supermassive black hole that is his pupils. It’s the things you can’t see, the pieces beneath skin, soft and jammy, the tongue-tart sweetness.

(The thing with Jungkook is that he doesn’t let go, refuses to fully submit, always so careful to regulate his voice when things get to be too much. He’ll blink back his tears, stifle a sob, even as his breath disappears from nothing but a delicate brush of his chest.)

You take his vulnerability as a treasure, hold it close and craft a chest for its home, promise to keep it safe even while you're the one who poses the most danger. When it’s your teeth and tongue that eviscerates the soft of his flesh, makes him keen and gasp, heart pounding like hooves, beat imprinted against, under, into your palms.

When he begs you to move - manages the request in a broken articulation that makes you giggle - you give, swivel your hips in a figure eight, an infinity of motion that never ends.

You take all he has to offer and sing your praise into the wet of his mouth. Lick over teeth and gums and trade spit for love; know there’s only more where that came from, that the fountain begs to overflow as he finally - finally - breaks that much more, gripping your hips gentle as can be. Hands soothe up and down, an unspoken plea in how he thumbs your hip bones, taps hopefully over the small of your lower back.

He doesn’t need to speak for you to hear him.

It’s more than a kiss forming against your skin. It’s a confession of adoration, sealed by the frame of his mouth, cemented by the sting of his teeth. It’s I love you without saying it, plastering the pecks along your spine, placing them safely in all the spaces you’ve created for him.

It’s also an apology, because he’s just torn your castle to pieces, shattered your entire fantasy into smithereens.

He hadn’t expected you to react the way you had, rolling off him as if he hadn’t just been chasing the sweet bliss of release, splitting your walls and making you wail above him. It has him pouting, utilising the one thing that melts you down like candle wax.

“Baby,” he whines, reaching for you, needy and horny and so hard he imagines all the blood has rushed from his head straight to his cock. Everything spins when he moves with you, scrambles across the California king to paw at your hip.

He’d been so good for you - wasn’t that enough?

“Don’t,” you grumble, searing his insides with just one look. (It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.)

“But—” A plea punctuated by groping hands, eager as always, smoothing over the swell of your ass, flesh squeezing between knuckles. He’d normally let this go - fuck into his closed fist in the shower after he’s done something to cut playtime short - but he can’t help it now. He’s been on the edge for so long, lit up in neon that demands to be seen, heard, felt.

“Don’t dye it again.”

Oh?

That has him reeling, laughing, such a stupid grin across his face. It devours everything else, spearing dimples into place as he pulls you against him. You can feel his smile forming against your skin, the wet drag of his tongue as he sucks a welt into the sensitive spot of your shoulder.

“You wanna play with Barbie, baby?” It’s such a stupid line - utterly sophomoric and riddled with teasing and yet the delivery has you shivering in his arms, equally childish huff splitting your lips.

Jungkook doesn’t listen to you often - not about silly things like this - but he figures he can, just this once.

“I won’t,” he chirps, sneaking another kiss, stamping another smooch. It’s working exactly as he wants, stilling your protesting limbs as he cages you to him, slips his hand back where he most wants to be. The glide is perfect, a mixture of arousal and fruity lubricant; he slips a finger in without resistance, grinding his palm against your clit.

“R-really?” Of course you don’t believe him. He messes with you too often, plays too many pranks. (He deserves that.)

His promise comes too easy, driven by how nice you feel, how pretty you sound when he presses another digit in along the first. The scissor of his fingers is languid, exploring for the spots that make you breathless as he hums a noise of affirmation against your neck; he fucks you open as if he has to, as if you aren’t already dripping, eagerly sucking him in. “Really.”

“Put it in then, Ken doll.”

He laughs - and then he does. In bed, with your knee hooked over his, pace slow and sure and sinful. In the shower, bent over with his hands bruising your hips. In the kitchen for a late night snack, another apple in his mouth and your hands in his hair.

Maybe blonds did have more fun.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle

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yamalegacy · 3 years

Note

This has been on my mind the whole day so may I please request Midnight with an s/o who's younger than her

Sfw and nsfw headcanons please

-🎴 anon

two of my favorite things, our lady midnight and age difference, all wrapped up in one pretty ask! if it's not the most perfect thing ever then idk what is! 💛 i hope you’ll enjoy reading it at least half as much as i enjoyed writing it!

cw: SMUT. nsfw banner image. filthy filth. mentions of dom/sub dynamic, spanking, face slapping, strapons. it’s just hard top/mommy domme midnight tbh, there’s nothing reasonable there

⚠️ MDNI reminder for minors to not interact with this post ⚠️

it's a secret for nobody who has ever talked to nemuri that she prefers younger partners; she's never tried to hide it because she's never been ashamed or believed she had a reason to be ashamed

there's just something about the naivete and energy of youth that she can't resist, and you have both those things and so much more than just that

nemuri is extremely protective of you, as she refuses to let the world taint you (more than it already has). sometimes she wishes she could just wrap you up in a blanket and keep you in her apartment, right by her side, forever

she is extremely dotting on you, she can't help it! you're her precious baby and she just can't resist spoiling you! you won't ever need anything because she'll just get it for you sugar mommy midnight seal of approval

her soft and dotting side also shows in how regularly she cooks for you and makes sure that she knows the recipes of your favorite meals, and maybe, maybe she's packed you a lunch or two so that you can have a reminder of how amazing a girlfriend she is when you're at work/university

even if she can appear a bit... eccentric and excitable at times, nemuri is a very mature partner and she knows when to be serious. you may be going through struggles that she herself dealt with when she was younger, and she is always willing to try and guide you through your issues, or at least to be by your side and support you

honestly? if you have some financial struggles because of rent or university, she'll straight up ask you to move it with her to lift that weight off your shoulders

so soft and cuddly when she comes back from work because she's exhausted?? kids at u.a. are her children, but holy shit, they're more than just a handful. please cuddle up with her on the couch or let her use your thighs as a pillow while she naps for a bit

if you want to be the big spoon, you'll have to fight her for it. and well, you're not going to win. she'll indulge you sometimes though, because she loves you too much not to

will tease you about your age and call you her baby (she calls you baby all the time though...). especially if you accept to hang out with present mic and eraser. aizawa doesn't care but local loud blondie? he'll tease the crap out of both you and nemuri — mostly nemuri by calling her a cougar, but you won't be spared, you cougar seeker!

seriously though, if you want an older girlfriend, nemuri is the ideal partner. she's kind, respectful, caring and just so loving. she knows when to set boundaries and when to prioritize you. you'll have everything you need with her

N/SFW UNDER READ MORE

you want to top? well that's a shame. you're welcome to try, but if she hasn't decided that you earned the right to fuck her? even all the luck in the world won't do you any good

consent is the most important thing. nemuri will never try to do anything to you if you haven’t talked about it together first. she regularly sits you down so that you can go over kinks that you want to try, or have tried and might not want to experiment with again, she just wants to make sure that you’re both enjoying your sex life as much and as safely as possible

you’re her baby and she expects you to act as such. be good for mommy midnight and everything will go smoothly, you’ll get all the orgasms you want/can handle. if you disobey tho? that’s not going to go well for you, my friend

this brat tamer knows exactly how to handle you when you’re in a mood to disobey and test her. you will not be able to walk. she has lots of ways to punish you, spanking ofc being one of her favorites because she loves the sounds you make

if you talk back to her and don’t apologize or try to make it up to her? you’re done for. either she will gag you to shut you up entirely or she will slap you until you understand and get back in line. she also doesn’t mind putting her fingers in your mouth and pressing on your tongue or just fucking your throat with her strapon so that you won’t be able to disrespect her anymore

if you’ve been too much of a brat, she’ll fuck you until you’re begging for release, she’ll edge you until you’re a sobbing mess. but she won’t let you come. she will make you watch her get herself off, and then let you go to sleep all pent up, horny and desperate

nemuri still knows how to be gentle with you and how to make love, which is something that she enjoys just as much as rough sex. there’s never a sex toy involved in those case, just her mouth and fingers

aftercare is really important; she knows how rough she can be with you, and she always takes care of you afterward. she enjoys applying lotion on your ass after a harsh spanking a bit too much tho... don’t let her get distracted or her fingers will wander between your cheeks

#mha x reader #mha x you #mha smut #midnight x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha smut #🔞 kayama nemuri ( midnight )#⚠️ mdni ⚠️#🍌 headcanons #🎴 anon

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neon-junkie · 4 years

Text

some shy!Flaco and gn!Reader for y’all

Also a modern setting cause I LOVE the thought of Flaco driving around in classic cars with big snazzy sunglasses on 8)

Modern Flaco is 100% a retired movie star. He used to play the antagonist role in classic western films. Whenever a western came out, people would say "I bet Hernández will be playing the villain again," and surprise surprise, he is. Everybody loves it though, he's good at what he does and very famous for it.

Only issue is, Flaco hates the fame. He played in those movies because he wanted to. The money was a bonus, but the fame is a downfall.

So many people would kill to be in the position he is/was in, and the thought makes him chuckle. It's funny how life works.

Flaco lives in Hollywood, as cliche as it is, but he loves being able to drive down scenic routes, to drive past his old studios and set locations, and to have everything he enjoys at his doorstep.

He owns a really nice 1961 Chevrolet Impala. It's black with a red interior, and he spoils that thing cause it's his one true love.

Flaco rides around often with the top down, cigarette in one hand, other hand on the steering wheel, with some big bad boy sunglasses on. He's quite the sight and he knows it.

But he ignores everyone. Bunch of women fawning over him at the traffic lights? Ignore. Idiot in the car next to him revving his engine, wanting a race? Ignore.

He once accidentally ran over Micah Bell and didn't give a shit. He shouted "watch where you're going, blondie!" and looked in his car mirror to see Micah picking himself off the road. He was fine.

Flaco has a loose routine, and every Wednesday, he picks up Black Belle from her fancy mansion and they go get something to eat. He always picks her up around midday, and their meetups can take anywhere from an hour to all day.

Belle met Flaco many years ago when they were put on set together, and they've starred in a few films over the years. Belle doesn't mind the fame as much, she's happy to sign autographs and pose for photos here and there.

The two usually get some form of lunch together, though most of the time they day drink and get hammered by 3pm. Flaco just gets a taxi back to Belles and passes out on her sofa, cuddling her Irish Wolfhound. He then walks and picks up his car the next day, or the day after, depending on the hangover.

"Where we going today, Hernández?" Belle asks as she gets in his car. It's her usual greeting for him.

"How about we do exactly what we do each week, and drive around until we pick somewhere?" Flaco suggests, as always.

So the two of them do exactly that. They cruize around, fussing over where to eat.

Flaco always keeps a carton of eggs in his glovebox, as gross as that is, just so him and Belle can throw one at Little Boy Calloway whenever they see him. He's a sellout, a washed-up, grumpy old man, and they love to torment him for being such a wuss.

Flaco drives by this small cliche American diner on the corner of one street. As always, the traffic lights change so he has to wait a while, but he'll peer in the window, eyes glistening at that young server inside.

"They're far too pretty to be working in there, BB," Flaco tells Belle, as always.

"Here we go," Belle mocks, rolling her eyes. Flaco does this every week, driving this specific route just so he can enjoy his five-second gaze at you through the window. You've never noticed, surprisingly.

"They'll be mine one day, just you wait," Flaco grins, pushing his sunglasses back up his nose as the lights change to green.

"How about today, huh? Let's go inside," Belle suggests.

Flacos gaze quickly flicks over to Belle. "You crazy?!" He shouts.

"I am, and so are you. Come on, pull up here," Belle points at the car park just down the street.

Flaco's mumbling under his breath but he does it anyway. Belle always gets her way, he's a sister to her, and Flaco's an only child so it's hard for him to deny his adopted blood.

"I'm not even dressed nice. I look scruffy. Why can't we just go another day?" Flaco grunts as he parks.

"You wear the same damn thing every week. Now come on, quit your moaning," Belle says as she gets out of the car.

"No, I don't! I'm wearing new pants this week, look," Flaco says as he points to his jeans.

"Oh wow. New pants that look exactly like your old ones? You're really dressed to impress here, ain'tcha?" Belle teases.

Belle leads the way, hurrying Flaco along, teasing him over and over. "You gonna ask for their number? Ask 'em out on a date? Maybe you can take 'em for a ride? Hm?" She pokes and prods at him. Flaco stays silent, frowning, his sunglasses covering up half of his sulky face.

Belle's energetic when she enters the diner, greeting you with a smile and asking for a table for two. You talk to them in your customer service voice, seating them at a booth by the window.

You know exactly who they are. Who doesn't? Though you haven't seen all of their movies, you know the stuff that they've been in is really good, classic western films. A genre that you've studied at college.

Flaco takes his sunglasses off, placing them on the table. He keeps his gaze down and tries to focus on the menu you've placed in front of him.

"Would you like anything to drink?" You ask them.

"A chocolate milkshake please, sweetheart," Belle smiles at you. You've heard that she's a kind woman but you weren't expecting her to be this friendly.

"Sure. And for you?" You ask Flaco, who keeps his gaze down.

"Ermm. Uhh. I'll just have the same as her," Flaco replies, quickly brushing you off.

You tell them you'll be quick with their drinks and leave them to it. You assumed Flaco was just tired, maybe his reddened cheeks is from the heat outside?

"A milkshake?" Belle mocks once you've gone into the back. "Hernández, you hate milkshakes!" She laughs.

"I panicked, alright?!" Flaco grumbles.

"Why don't we call her back over so you can fumble about even more as you change your mind?" Belle teases.

"No!" Flaco almost shouts. A customer nearby jumps out of his skin, intimidated by Flacos deep and sudden voice.

"Alrighhttttt," Belle grins. "You make sure you know what you really want to eat though," Belle talks to him in a baby voice. It always winds him up but since they're in public, Flaco can't make a scene and playfight back.

You bring the drinks over and the two of them thank you, Belle smiling up at you whilst Flaco keeps his head dipped down. "You ready to order?" you ask, and they both nod.

You take their orders and everything seems fine, so you head back into the kitchen to hand them over to the cook.

"You not want a side order of their number with that, Hernández?" Belle grins again.

"I should never have agreed to come here. You are the most embarrassing woman I've ever met," Flaco sighs, looking at Belle with the most blankly frustrated look he's ever pulled.

All Belle does is grin and enjoy her milkshake, urging Flaco to drink his own.

He does, and he can't handle the sweetness. But Flaco drinks it anyway, not wanting to make any more of a mess than he's already in.

The rest of their time there goes smoothly, enjoying their food and nattering away. Flaco slowly relaxes, but Belle notices the way his eyes flick to watch you every time you appear.

"So, you gonna ask? or have I gotta do it for you?" Belle asks.

"Why don't you feed me whilst we're at it? Maybe drive me to the bar so I can get blackout drunk and try to forget this humiliating experience?" Flaco groans, half chewing his food. He doesn't care and Belle's used to seeing him talking whilst he eats.

"Fine, I'll do it then," Belle rolls her eyes. Flaco goes to stop her but it's too late, she's called you over.

"We'll take the bill when you're ready, sweetheart," Belle tells you.

"Sure, no problem." You're about to walk off but Belle speaks again.

"Flaco, ain't there something you wanted to say?" Belle asks, grinning from ear to ear as the two of you look at him.

"Oh, erm..." Flaco mumbles, quickly wiping the ketchup off his stache with a napkin. "Could... could you send my compliments to the chef, please?" He asks.

"Of course! She'll be happy to hear it," you smile at him, quickly turning away to head into the back.

"Hernández!" Belle kicks him under the table.

"You can't put me on the spot like that!" Flaco frowns, trying to keep his voice down again.

"Fine, I give up," Belle sarcastically sighs.

"You do?"

"Yep," she shrugs. "You've won, Hernández. You'll have to pick them up in your own time," she sighs.

"Hmm. I've known you far too long to know that you don't give up this easily," Flaco squints.

"Nope, I've truly given up. No point wastin' my time when you won't co-operate," Belle shrugs again.

Flaco's suspicious but leaves it.

The two of them pay and leave, giving you a fat tip that makes your eyes sparkle. Belle insists you take it, Flaco nodding in agreement but still staying quiet.

Finally, they head off, leaving the diner and heading back to the car.

"Oh, shit! I left my purse in the diner," Belle sighs. "I'll meet you at the car, alright?"

Flaco's about to say he'll just come back with her but she's already ran across the street, flipping off the stranger that almost ran her over.

Flaco rolls his eyes and heads back. He starts the car, putting on his sunglasses and lighting a cigarette.

Belle comes round the corner, grinning from ear to ear.

'I knew I couldn't trust her, what's she done now?' Flaco thinks to himself.

"Why are you smiling?" Flaco snaps as Belle gets in the passenger side.

"This is for you," Belle mischievously grins, handing Flaco a piece of paper with your number on it.

"BB, why you gotta put me on the spot like this, huh? This is so embarrassing," he shakes his head, taking out his wallet so he can put the piece of paper away safely.

"Oh, don't you worry. They said they get just as nervous as you do," Belle tells him as she puts her sunglasses on, leaning her arm on the car door.

"They do?" Flaco asks, seeming surprised.

"Course. It's that natural attraction, Hernández," Belle teases.

"Oh, shut up you," Flaco swats his hand.

Maybe one day he'll be able to get her back, but for now, he needs to work up the confidence to call you.

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believeitseeitdoit · 4 years

Text

The Bed Issue

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: He wants you to be happy, but Bucky is really over the full sized bed in your new house

Notes: Photos are from pinterest, wayfair, the google, and the doggo is my own nugget Jaxon (he has a hashtag on insta if you would like to see more of his adorable shenanigans #jaxonthedormdog). Also, I am blonde, hence the blondie suggestion in le photos, HOWEVER we are all beautiful and idgaf what this reader looks like (also yes I am that short but if you’re nada myt height, please pretend reader is your size bebe).

Warnings: None? hint of an argument, some insinuated sexy times but no graphic dirtiness, a curse or two

Word count: 1270

Appreciations go to @thebescht for her beta’ing and perpetual support of my random bouts of written work.

The first time he noticed it, Bucky didn’t say anything. You two were a little busy doing the horizontal tango to discuss the fact that half his legs were hanging off your bed. Obviously, he simply needed to scoot up and get a better angle while screwing you into the mattress. You were far too engrossed in holding onto the headboard and wrapping your own legs around him to catch onto his momentary pause. Sure enough, a better angle, another 3 rounds of mind-blowing sex, and the length of the bed was long forgotten.

A few months later, the pair of you were laying in bed watching “Wheel Of Fortune,” because you were oddly good at it and Bucky loved to giggle at your reaction to getting the answers right before the contestants. Somewhere between the final spin and the start of Jeopardy, you had slipped down into the curve of his ribcage and fallen asleep. Bucky began to slide down next to you and realized his feet were again long off the edge of the bed. Even sadder, so were you, a miracle or insult considering your small 5’4” stature. Choosing to simply create a spooning opportunity, your personal space heater boyfriend curled himself around you and tucked you feet up in between his calves.

The third time it happened, you both had just gotten back from a 3 day mission chasing banditos in the jungle. After debrief, patch ups, and clean ups at the compound, Bucky tossed you onto his motorcycle and drove you back to your apartment. Dead on your feet, he carried you into your bedroom and unceremoniously dropped you into the bed. He threw the sheets back and the two of you slid into bed, quickly falling asleep. Sometime through the night, Bucky startled awake at the sound of your dog literally flopping onto the floor from the couch in the living room, and again found his legs hanging off the bed. Looking over to your side, Bucky found you sleeping on your stomach, arms crossed under the pillow and feet adorably poking out from the sheet…. And off the end of the bed. He made a mental note to have a serious conversation about your bed soon.

Maybe 6 months into living together, you and Bucky had finally organized the mutual space in a way that worked for you both. The living room had space for the team to visit, the kitchen had all the counter and cabinet space you could ask for, and the master bedroom was massive. The closet was big enough for both yours and Bucky’s gun safes (yes honey I need my own, and no you cannot put the grenades in it), and everyone's clothing of course. The master bathroom you did a few upgrades to, namely a dual shower head/ rainwater head, and heated flooring, but was equally as perfect once you had christened it in every way. Bucky had never voiced an opinion about that room, so you went on with your decorating and called it Gucci. Until one night, he apparently did and it turned into your first non-mission-related argument as a couple.

It started when the dog hopped into bed with you two, normal as any other given night. Wade got into his corner of the bed, you slid in next, then Bucky got in on the other side and everyone cuddled. The two of you were half-listening to CNN, half-chatting about the week when Wade shifted around and took up more than his designated space, shoving Bucky’s feet over and off.

“Damnit Wade, babe can you move him?” Bucky sighed and set his feet on top of the lab.

You looked over at your frustrated beau and reached your foot around the dog to jokingly drag him back over.

“I mean I can try but he’s not going to move Bucky, he’s comfy now.” You chuckled and went back to listening to Coumo take a jab at his governor brother.

Bucky shook his head and got up to get water from the kitchen. When he came back, he found his entire side of the bed overtaken by the bear-dog.

“C’mon man, get up. Off, shoo, ugh please Wade? Honey seriously get him off the bed, or at least off of my side.” Bucky grumbled at you.

“Up Wade, off. Over here bub.” You tapped your feet on your side of the bed to get the dog back over and you heard Bucky mutter something about a bigger bed.

“Got a problem Sarge? I don't understand mumbling.” You hit mute on the tv to hear him better.

He pointed to the bed and lost it, “Babe, we need a new bed. I cannot spend another night sleeping with my legs half off the end or scrunching up into a ball.”

“I don’t see the issue Buck, it fits in the room and we seem to function just fine in my bed. I’m not dropping 800$ for a bed when this one is perfectly comfortable!”

“How do you not notice your feet dangling off every morning? Or that one of us inevitably kicks Wade off in the middle of the night because any time we move, we hit him!” Bucky shouted at you.

“Oh so it's a dog issue?”

“No baby, I love Wade. But he’s huge, and I’m not exactly short either, neither of us were designed to fit in your tiny ass full sized bed.” He pleaded with you, trying not to dig himself into a hole.

“Fine, you want more space? I’ll take the fucking couch.” You weren’t in the mood for an argument, never were. Passive aggressive worked just fine, you wore that crown like the queen you were.

“No, you will not. That’s not what I meant, i just, ugh FUCK…” Bucky had given up the fight as well, petty wasn’t his style. He grabbed his pillow and trudged to the couch like a kicked puppy. He made it approximately 10 minutes before you wandered out and asked him to come back to bed.

“My feet are cold, please be my furnace?”

The next morning, argument still fresh but momentarily scabbed over, Bucky stumbled into the kitchen to get coffee for you both, leaving you in bed to get your ‘five more minutes.’ He couldn't help but chuckle when he set your coffee down on the bed as you looked up at him and then over to Wade.

“Well shit soldier. I want you right here, right now, but there doesn’t seem to be any room on this bed.” You had a weakness for that man when he brought you coffee… in nothing but boxers….

“Guess I’ll go drink my coffee in the barracks with my crew then ma'am. Wouldn’t want to interrupt the bear’s beauty sleep.” Bucky chuckled at the black dog rolling onto his back, legs splayed and fast asleep.

“I’m sure we can figure something out, I do need a shower before work.” You raised your eyebrows and gave him an obnoxiously fake sultry glance.

Bucky leaned down and started an assault on your lips, cheeks, neck, everything he could get his tongue, teeth, and mouth on. He wrapped your legs around his hips, pulled you up into his arms and began walking to the shower. As he set you on the counter and began stripping you of your pajamas, you leaned into him and quietly admitted with an innocent wink,

“I always knew our feet hung off the bed. It was just an excuse to get you to get closer to me, and force my knees higher babe.”

#bucky x reader #buckybarnes #marvel #bucky x you #Bucky Barnes imagine #marvel story

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bangtan-madi · 5 years

Note

First of all, I wish your new approach on your tumblr is a success! With that said, before you stop writing for MM, could you write a second part for the platonic headcannons with Seven and Yoosung, please? ♥️

For you, my dear, of course! 🙂 Thank you for being such a loyal reader and requesting so many headcanons/scenarios for MM. I really loved writing what you requested. Hope this is as cute as the last one turned out!

Yoosung

I can definitely see Yoosung being just as touchy as Zen, if not more.

This boy is such a cuddly little puppy, I swear to god. All he has to do is give you those damn doe eyes and you're being pulled into one of his many, many all-encompassing hugs. The kind that doesn't end for minutes at a time.

Doesn't matter where you are--school, work, home, with friends--Yoosung will take advantage of your touch any time it suits him.

Being best friends with this blondie means putting up with hugs that outlast what is useful. I mean, him holding onto you after hours or while relaxing is one thing. You don't mind the back hugs in the hallway or during a conversation with the other members of the RFA.

But when he refuses to let you move without him attached to you? That's when it gets both hilarious and slightly annoying.

Need to go to the bathroom? When Yoosung's in a clingy mood, not gonna happen.

In the middle of a research paper or cooking in the kitchen? You're gonna have to learn to move with a baby attached to your back and arms wrapped around your waist.

"Yoosung, you've got to give me some space. I'm trying to make snacks for when the group gets here!"

"You can do that with me here, can't you?"

"Not really...would you like to help? Then we can finish faster and go back to cuddling."

That's literally the only way you're going to get the toddler to detach himself. It's actually endearing, bringing a smile to your face.

But there are other forms of platonic affection that the two of you have.

When you actually set out time to study or get some other form of work done, whether at home or at the library, you can be sure that Yoosung is going to make sure you have everything you need.

Snacks? Coffee? Already taken care of. Can't quite reach that book on the top shelf? He's already pulling it down for you. Forgot to bring your notes on the assignment? He's sharing his with you, no objections allowed.

Reassurance comes constantly in the form of brief back rubs and knee pats. When you're struggling on a project or don't understand a concept, he's there to make sure you don't fall behind. Even if he doesn't quite understand himself, he'll make sure that you're confident enough to handle whatever the class or your boss throws at you.

I also see him being a shoulder to cry on, more than anyone else in the RFA (with Zen as a close second.) He's empathetic and knows how hard life can be sometimes. You can tell this boy anything and it stays between you two. Even if there's nothing he can do to help, he'll make sure you know you're safe and secure with him.

If that means staying over at his place for a while, so be it. If that means him helping you study or think out-loud on your assignment, he's there with you. If it's an issue with family, he'll be the anchor that keeps you from slipping into a darker place.

Basically, whatever you need, Yoosung is going to be one of the best friends you can ask for. This boy's the whole damn package, and now I want a Yoosung.

Seven

Having Seven as a best friend would be a wild ride, to say the least.

The boy's got so much energy, I only hope you can keep up!

That being said, all that energy gets focused on you more often than not. Rest assured that your friendship will be filled with plenty of activities. I'm talking amusement parks, water parks, sky diving (if you're up for it, if not, he'll probably do it himself lol), plenty of sports, snorkeling--this kid is gonna do it all. When the urge hits him to go out and explore, to try something new, rest assured he's gonna drag you along for the ride.

But there are few places you'd rather be than with the redhead when he's having so much fun his face turns the color of his hair.

Much of your friendship is based on experiences, but that doesn't mean you don't love a good night in, too.

I mean, the boy's kinda an enigma. One minute, he's ready to climb Mt. Everest because Zen dared him to. The next, he's curled up under a mountain of games and old movies, reclusively hiding in his signature hoodie.

He's more than happy to have you there for that, too.

It's in those times that you get to see the softer, less energetic side of Seven. You've spent entire weekends wrapped up with him, your head on his shoulder, watching the entire Star Wars saga from Episode I (a mistake, you both concur) to Episode IX (which you both end up debating quite ferociously.)

Seven isn't one for excessive skinship, unlike some of the other members of the RFA (lookin' at you, Zen and Yoosung!) That's something you pick up on pretty early into your friendship, and it's never really bothered you. You have your own ways of showing each other how much you care about the other. There's never been a doubt in your mind that your best friend is one of the most important people in your life, and vice versa.

However, when Seven is stressed about work or his relationship with his estranged brother, that's when he's more open to your touch. Not in an overly feely way, like Zen or Yoosung might be accustomed to, but he'll never push you away when you take a seat behind him as he works and play with his hair.

If this were the first few months, you might've asked him to put his work away and leave it be for a while. Seven doesn't work like that; he has to keep going until his genius brain figures out a solution. Now, you are simply there for him, reassuring him through your fingers along his scalp that he can figure it out.

You believe in him, and he feels that through your gentle caresses. In the end, when he does inevitably solve the problem, your rub the stress from his shoulders and let his head fall back into the curve of your shoulders.

"Thanks for just being here, babe. You don't know how much easier it is to focus when you do that."

To that, you smile and press a platonic kiss to his red locks.

"You do the same for me."

And he does. He's picked up on your stress triggers and anxiety warning signs. Whether it be from work, school, or some other source, he's concocted a few ways to get your mind off them.

For one, he returns the skinship you provide him. He knows how much you love it, and even if he's not the most comfortable person with touch, he'll do just about anything for you.

And unlike him, he knows that when a problem is irking you, it's best to put away the laptop and focus on something else. He'll gently push the device out of the way, turn off your phone, and bring your attention to him. He'll give you hand and neck massages until the tenseness shifts to relaxation. He'll drag you into a playful game of "who can create the most obnoxious snack" and force you to play games with him until you're completely occupied.

After the night winds down, he'll try his best to talk it out with you. You've found that, oftentimes, your issues are solved just by letting Seven make jokes about your classmates or coworkers. Even your boss gets made fun of every now and then. Even when he's kidding, Seven is a genius and provides plenty of ideas that return your spark and motivation.

He's not the best with advice, but if you need someone to get your mind off things, Seven is your guy. He may not be the most conventional of best friends, but you wouldn't change him for the world.

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rosepetals-flyingbirds · 5 years

Text

Lovely.

Pairing: Modern!Ivar x Reader.

Warnings: I’ve been thinking of reallyyy sad stories lately, but rather than kill the reader or give her some disease lets keep it lightly. :)

Word Count: 1.2K

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Say you love me.”

“I love you.”

She would ask that, she didn’t want to sound clingy, probably why the moments she asked those simple four words were always when they were the most intimate.

How beautiful she is. Ivar could never grasp why she was with him. Y/N would always laugh when he said something as cliche like “I’m so lucky to have you”,“you’re so beautiful, what are you doing with me?”.

The truth was that Y/N found Ivar extremely handsome. She could watch him all day if required. She loved his eyes, his lips, his facial hair which never seemed to grow, his soft hair, his jaw.

Everything.

But she also loved his personality. He was such a complicated person! Proud, stubborn, jealous, selfish, but… he was funny, so damn smart, sweet -only with her-, surprisingly romantic, and truly cared about her.

Both were too scared to start something when they first fell for each other. Ivar could be a flirt but his cockiness was surely a defense mechanism for his insecurities.

And Y/N had too much trust issues to trust a guy. Maybe it could be her father’s responsibility for cheating on her mother, hell, even her mother’s fault for cheating on her father!

Maybe it was all the men’s fault for cheating on their s/o and acting like it was okay… like it was some animal instinct that overpowered them.

Weak.

But she allowed Ivar in, how could she not? Never a guy has made such sweet displays for her. Flowers? Only the most distinct, at first Ivar would write down each one with a number, the number of times she refused his “date advance”.

Y/N thought it was amazing.

Once -while friends- they went to the movies, some geeky film was about to be released and of course, Ivar brought the tickets beforehand. In the place some blondie was too interesting on Ivar, Y/N could feel the girl’s anticipation to talk with him. He wasn’t stupid and had realized the girl’s glances, but he couldn’t be bitter and flirt with someone else merely to make Y/N jealous.

“If she keeps looking at you I’m sure a hole will burn in your head.” She mumbled while decided what she wanted to eat.

Ivar -on his cocky self- chuckled at her words. “Is someone jealous?”

Y/N scoffed, even though it was the naked truth. “Ivar, we are not together, I just don’t want you to leave me alone to go have your fun. Go grab her number if you want, but if you leave me here alone I’ll put you in a wheelchair rather than crutches!” Pointing down to his crutches he smiled at her answer.

Only his uncle Floki could make those types of jokes, he hated his condition and all the hardness in living that it accompanied. However, when the words left Y/N’s sweet lips with that jealous reaction, he couldn’t be mad, only amused.

And somehow she could always say anything to him. Ivar was observant and loved her deeply.

After what seemed like ages Y/N finally let him in.

And it was amazing.

… Meeting each other family took a bit longer than the ’normal’ couples take.

Y/N’s family lived far and Ivar really wanted to take her home and make all of his brothers drool for her, but he didn’t want to make her see the whole drama his relatives had, he didn’t want her to see Ragnar and Aslaug weird relationship, nor how stupid Sigurd was, or even having to watch over Hvtserk near her.

Gladly she didn’t start complaining about the wait, so when the right time came, Ivar took all his courage and took her there.

Ivar’s family adored her, even between the brother’s drama she always loved their interaction, and even if it pissed Ivar a little, Y/N knew his problem with Sigurd was individual “child jealousy” of his mother attention. They didn’t hate each other as both liked to believe so much.

Ivar has never felt so much like he did with her.

…

Dream.

Dream was the word Ivar could only imagine when Y/N danced for him. Her small satin dress covering her smooth skin, he loved how her hips moved so graciously how she could seduce him even without trying. He was sure that no one had ever loved someone as much as he loves her.

He could do anything for her.

On Ivar’s work, he was almost chewing his cheek at how he was controlling himself to not fight with his co-workers.

But Y/N often spoke with him that he couldn’t have an outburst on his job, that unfortunately everyone has those particulars assholes to annoy us on while working.

He was really close to yell at the man when his phone made a ping sound letting him know a message has arrived.

Hey baby, I hope you’re okay and you haven’t yelled at your co-workers! I’m watching you, mister! ;)

I’ll have to make a small trip with Lisa, she had a problem with her parents and she needs me to help her. I’m sorry but I really have to go. See you in a few days.

Ivar, I love you.

Ivar found it weird, Lisa’s family lived in another country, why she would make such travel in a hurry?

Of course, Y/N was a good friend, but she didn’t do such spontaneous things.

He tried to call her but her phone was off, he tried to calm his nerves down and finished his work. She had warned him after all, it wasn’t like she went without telling him.

At their apartment, he saw a few notes here and there, one in the fridge telling she left some leftovers for some days.

Another in the bathroom reminding him to buy shampoo and one on their bedroom saying “You won’t die if I stay a few days away.”

Silly girl.

But even if Ivar was suspicious of the sudden new he needed to trust her, he couldn’t be the crazy boyfriend who didn’t trust his girl.

However on the next day, he found it completely weird that she didn’t call him, she sent a text saying she was okay and safe but she couldn’t call him, he asked why but she just asked him to trust her and quickly stopped answering his texts.

Really really weird.

Was she cheating on him? Was she really traveling with her friend? His mind couldn’t stop making ideas up. Bad assumptions up.

Gladly Ivar had a great memory so he remembered Lisa’s apartment when Y/N went there a few months prior, he had to go there and see if Lisa was home, if his girl was there or if she was actually out of the country.

The way there wasn’t the best for his legs, the elevator wasn’t working and it would surely pain him deeply later on, but if Ivar was something, that thing was determined.

Finally reaching the 4th floor he knocked on the door praying the Gods for no one to be home, but after a few seconds, it quickly opened with Lisa showing him a confused face. “Ivar? What are you doing here?”

Fuck. “Hey, um, is Y/N here?”

“No, actually I haven’t talked with her for weeks now. Why? Did you guys had a fight?”

She lied, what the fuck was happening?

Knowing it wasn’t for the best to let her know about the situation he made a small smile. “Yeah, we did, I thought she was here. Thanks.” He hurriedly left not waiting for her response.

All the -painful- way home Ivar overthought his whole relationship, why would Y/N lie to him?

He couldn’t place a reason for it, the only thing that was hammering on his thoughts was the word: Cheating.

But why would she cheat on him?

Wasn’t he a good boyfriend? Does she suddenly feel ashamed of his crutches?

Was she tired of his hard personality?

Wasn’t he satisfying her in bed?

Why?

And most important… with who?

She wouldn’t be so low to cheat him with one of his brothers, right? Not Bjorn, not Ubbe, but what about Hvitserk and their stupid laughs on ridiculous jokes? What about Siggurd always saying how much better she could make?

Wait, it couldn’t be his father, could it?

Ivar’s mind was around doubts and adding all of his insecureness wasn’t helping much.

He didn’t even realize he reached his house until he saw his neighbor going for a walk with his dog. The whole walk he was pinned by fear and rage that he didn’t even count his steps.

To not help much his case he called her with no answer, he texted her with no answer either.

What could he do? He didn’t know where she was, or with who she was.

“What is happening, snuskebasse? Why are you lying to me?” He mumbled alone in his bedroom.

His heart cracking each thought he had.

After five longs and painful days, he received a text.

Hey Ivar. I’m going home we need to talk.

Ivar couldn’t answer, he couldn’t possibly ask what she wanted to talk about? Why would she leave him?

…

There she stood, a single suitcase in her hand and a tired face.

Ivar wanted to hug her, to get in his feet and to say how worried he was… but no!

He was mad.

“Hey Ivar we-”

“Who is he?” Without letting her finish her sentence or even getting up from the couch, he asked.

“What?”

“Do I know him? The guy you’re cheating me with, the fucking guy you ran away and lied to me saying you traveled with Lisa to Germany? Really Y/N?”

She didn’t argue, only let the suitcase on the floor and rubbed her face. And with her silent stare, Ivar knew the end was near.

Letting a sarcastic chuckle Ivar’s frustration over the last weeks started to show with full force. “You’re selfish! Throwing all we have away for someone else. What is that, uh? Am I not satisfying you enough? Or is the crutches? I bet it’s, I bet you’re tired of walking around with a cripple!” For more dramatically Ivar sounded, she knew he was self-conscious about his state, of course, he did therapy to help with his anger fits and self-loathing but seeing the most precious thing getting ready to leave was about to break his cold heart.

Making all his therapy process going to hell.

Y/N stood there, looking tired and staring at him. She knew he would be mad, she was mad at herself for lying so blatantly. “Are you done?”

He nodded, taking deep breaths and trying to control a possible tantrum.

“I’m not cheating on you, I never did, I never will.” She took her jacket off and walked to the couch.

Ivar looked at her carefully while she approached him, so HE was the problem then. “Tell me.”

“I’m not trying to break up with you, if that is what you think.”

He nodded and let a small sign let his nostrils.

“I… I needed some time to think, I didn’t want to lie to you but I really needed some alone time without you getting worried.”

Was she sick? Why was she so sad?

She sat by his side and looked at her lap taking a deep breath, her gaze met Ivar’s and she nodded her head almost telling herself it was the proper moment. “I’m pregnant.”

The time seemed to stop for Ivar, such a brilliant man and that was the only thing he hasn’t anticipated to leave her beautiful’s lips.

It made sense for him now, Y/N was always predicting the worst. Always waiting for the day he would grow tired of her and leave, or only try to have some “fun” and fool around with someone else.

She didn’t want to have a child because she was afraid she would have to do it all by herself.

“Y/N… baby, I’m-”

“I don’t want it.” Her answer was firm but her lips were trembling with nerves.

“I-” Her eyes filled with tears, even with the past days being of pure anxieties and sorrow, she still has tears left. “I can’t have it, Ivar. I- I-, I’m so scared.”

He couldn’t control his eyes when it glanced at her belly, his child was there, growing each day. He wanted the baby, wanted a boy or a girl to cherish and take care.

And only the thought of a baby so pure and ethereal as Y/N meant a lot.

It was his.

But he needed to focus on her.

“Will you try ab- abortion?” He didn’t want her to do that, he would try to change her mind if she said yes but he knew it was her choice.

“I- … I don’t know! I mean no I won’t. I can’t! But Ivar, I’m so so scared.”

“You think I’ll leave.” He said softly, she looked at him startled, but she shouldn’t. Ivar always knew her. “You know I would never abandon you, especially not with our child.”

She nodded, her heartbeat going faster and faster by the second. Apparently, the time to “cool off” didn’t help as she has thought.

Ivar gently held her waist and thigh and pulled her to his lap, Y/N hugged him tightly and started to sob. Ivar was her home.

And she was terrified he would leave her, especially with a child to take care of.

“Shh shh, pretty girl. It’ll be okay.” His hand started to caress her scalp softly trying to bring her some comfort.

Some minutes of pure comfortable silence passed before Y/N straightened her back and looked at the deep blue of his eyes. “I’m sorry I lied…” She murmured.

Ivar chuckled at the thought of how angry he was 20 minutes ago at her, now it seemed really stupid the way he allowed his demons to make him think the worst of his baby.

“I forgive you. Y/N,” He raised his hand and touched her cheek softly, she leaned in and kissed his palm. “I know you’re worried I’ll leave or that you will have to raise that child alone but I promise you that I won’t let you down! I won’t let our child down!” He placed his other hand on her belly, Y/N smiled at the vision.

Of course, she didn’t have a bump yet, but seeing Ivar’s hand touching a place where half him and half her was growing was a new comforting feeling.

Y/N nodded and smiled at him, lifting her pinky she pouted. “Promise?”

He chuckled at her cuteness, interlacing his pinky with hers he nodded. “I promise.” She leaned in and kissed him lovely. “And you know me, I might break-”

““A bone, but I can never break a promise!”“ She responded with a smile on her lips. "I know you too well!” She giggled.

“You do.” He gazed at her, the light of his life. “We got this, snuskebasse.” He affirmed his hands holding her face softly. “We do.”

…

<3 <3 <3

#ivar x reader #modern!ivar #modern!ivar x reader #she was staying in a hotel two blocks away btw #and she saw Ivar going to work everyday

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a-heist-of-words · 4 years

Text

A story about White Privilege and why we must recognize it in ourselves.

This story mentions current events regarding racism, the police, and guns, so please be advised.

Let me tell you a little story about white privilege and how I understood just how much of it I have.

Now, first of all: I am Mexican. Both my parents are Mexican from Mexican families. I was born and raised here; I have lived here all my life and I still do.

But for all intents and purposes, and due to sheer genetics, I am also white.

My skin is the lightest out of all my family, to the point where many people won’t believe me when I tell them that yes, that dark-skinned, black-haired boy is indeed my twin brother. My aunts and cousins will often put their forearms next to mine, comparing their darker skin to my light skin and fawning over how “pretty” mine is compared to theirs and how they wished they had my complexion.

When I am a tourist in my own country, I am often spoken to first in English, and then in Spanish. Wherever I go, I am “güerita” (blondie, even if my hair is light brown), and I have been told more than once that I look European, or Canadian, or from the US. It helps that I have been bilingual and bicultural since I can remember, speaking fluidly in an accent that shifts depending on what I’m listening to the most at the moment but is not the stereotypical “Mexican speaking English” accent, so I can “pass” fairly easily anywhere I go.

This story is from when I was a tourist in the US, specifically in Pennsylvania.

It was early November 2019 (yes, not even a full year ago), and my aunt and I had gone to a late night event for some belated Halloween spooky fun. Being tourists, we didn’t have a car, and we decided to walk to the bus stop and take the bus home (we were staying near a stop a few blocks away from U Penn).

Of course, we had no clue which bus to take, and my first instinct was to approach a police officer standing nearby: a short and rotund man, maybe in his mid 40s, and white.

I asked him which bus I should take to go where I wanted to go. Now I may have not communicated clearly, or he may not have understood me, because his eyes went very wide.

“Why would you want to go to there?” he asked me.

“That’s home,” I replied, a bit uncertain now. I didn’t want him to know that I was a foreigner, much less Mexican, as I am not completely tone-deaf about these issues and I didn’t know this man, so I didn’t elaborate much on that.

“... Do you have a gun?” he asked out of the blue. Out of sheer shock at the non-sequitur, I laughed nervously.

“No, Sir,” I replied, and he laughed a bit as he motioned towards the pistol hanging from his belt.

“Do you wanna take mine? It’s rough up in North Philly!” he said.

I then understood the misunderstanding, and clarified that I wanted to go to West Philly, that it was a perfectly safe neighborhood near campus, and he seemed to understand now. He gave me directions and told me which bus to get on (still the wrong one and we did end up in North Philly, but that’s a story for another time).

I thanked him, and was about to go back to my aunt, when he added:

“Seriously though, get a gun or something.”

I didn’t reply anything, and my aunt looked somewhere between terrified and relieved when I returned to her, and she scolded me for just “approaching a policeman like that” and told me never to do that again. Back then, I kinda brushed it off as her being paranoid.

Now, in hindsight, I understand why she was so scared. And I know that the color of my skin played a great part in how that cop reacted.

He didn’t see me (short, baby-faced, white-skinned me) as a threat when I approached, keeping a respectful distance but still close enough for conversation, walking confidently towards him because “hey, that’s an officer, officers are supposed to help!”.

He didn’t see me as a threat when he asked me if I had a gun as one would ask if I had a fridge at home, and he found it hilarious to offer me his “for my own safety”.

He didn’t see me as a threat when he told me, in all honesty, to get a weapon that can end a person’s life with one simple motion.

He saw me as this innocuous white girl, one of his own even if I wasn’t, not at all; he was concerned for my safety to the point of jokingly and then not-so-jokingly telling me to get a deadly weapon because he thought I was going to a rough (and, when we were on the bus, we realized that by “rough” he meant “mostly black”) neighborhood.

Had I been slightly darker-skinned, more Latina-esque, maybe he wouldn’t have been as helpful. Had my accent been slightly off, he maybe would’ve made some off-hand comment about my people. Or maybe he would’ve been nice, and made some comment on how good my English is “for a Mexican”.

Had I been black, I don’t think he would’ve laughed. I’m certain he wouldn’t have motioned towards his gun in that playful manner he did, like I was a curious little kid, but he would’ve reached for it as a precaution, or maybe even used it as a preemptive measure against a perceived threat.

Or maybe he would’ve been nice. I have no way of knowing. But because of the color of my skin, I never have to wonder about it; I don’t have to wonder if I’ll be next.

As I have watched the news (both recent with George Floyd and a bit older with Mike Brown and Tamir Rice and so many other people who were not doing anything or harming anyone), I realize that I will never be scared about being killed just because of who I am, because I pass. Because I look the part that fits nicely into their definition of “not a threat”. Because I have this undeserved white privilege.

I will never truly understand the fear and anger of a community that has mourned innocent men, women, and children who were “threatening” in the eyes of people who find guns to be a laughing matter. I will never be forced under the boot of someone who is so drunk on power that they think they can decide when and how a person lives or dies. I will never be questioned as to why I was out late, I will never be regarded as a threat or a suspicious individual if I approach a cop, and I will never have to exhaust all other possible ways before asking for help from those who are supposed to “serve and protect” as a last, desperate resort because it would be better for me never to interact with the police.

I have the white privilege of simply existing in peace in a system that helps some and murders others.

Why should I have that because of circumstances out of my control?

Why should others feel unsafe because of circumstances out of their control?

Maybe I will never understand how we got here, but I understand that this must stop. I stand with the protesters. Black Lives Matter.

#tw racism #tw cop mention #tw gun mention #white privilege #black lives matter

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sirenluna · 7 years

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After Happily Ever After, a Vampire Diaries FanFic (Post series finally)

Damon and I stuck around Mystic Falls for a year to help Caroline and Rik start the school. To this day I think it was most of Damon's involvement was to make sure his best vintages weren't snuck away by Rik in the moving process. Then it was time to say goodbye. My new Jeep and Damon's revived Camaro were packed with our most important belongings as we bid our nearest and dearest farewell's. The rest of the too large to fit in the car stuff had been sent by moving trucks to a storage place outside New York City.

Caroline was all tears and warnings of course. "But you guys don't even have a place in New York yet! I still say you should stay another few months." I looked at her with a knowing grin as she rolled her eyes and corrected herself, "Or forever…"

"That sounds more like the Caroline I know." I said and hugged my best friend. "Bonnie is off exploring the world and you and Rik are doing an amazing job with this place. It's just time Care."

Care sniffed, "I swear to god Elena, if you don't call me the moment you get there, I will vamp speed all the way to Manhattan to trample your ass!"

I laughed, "Yes Mrs. Salvatore." I said only slightly mocking her new role as the Salvatore School's head mistress.

Damon and Rik came out of the front door of the former boarding house. In Damon's arms was a large manila envelope. The two men chuckled as the approached us.

"What's so funny?" I asked as Damon came to my side sporting his telltale mischievous grin.

"Just man stuff,"

"Uh-ha, what's in the envelope?"

"A signed copy of Madonna's playboy issue, thought it would be best that I not forget it here and send one of these witchy kiddies into early puberty."

Caroline cringed. "Ew! How about you burn it?"

Damon looked at her like she had deeply insulted him. "It's Madonna and a signed issue blondie, have you no respect for art?"

I jumped in to derail the budding drama, "Ok, Madonna can ride with you to New York then she goes in the recycling pile, got it?"

Damon took me in his arms and kissed me, "Don't be jealous babe, the material girl has nothing on you."

"Aw, you always know what to say." I kissed him back and whispered, "But she's still compost."

He sighed defeated "Happy girl, happy world." We turned back to Care and Rik,

"So where are you guys staying?" Rik asked with an unusual eyebrow gesture that looked like a taunting challenge more than a question. Odd.

"I rented us a spot in the city while we look for a permanent place." Damon answered, giving Rik a look that read like silence, I kill you! Odder.

"Um, ok not sure whats going on there but we should get going." I hugged Rick.

"You guys drive safe and let us know when you get there." Rik and Damon bro hugged after I went back to Care.

"We will, Care already threatened me thoroughly." I nodded at my best friend.

Never being one to back down, Care nodded her head in agreement "Mm-hm, and I meant it."

We all laughed and Damon as usual made sure our departure was on a sarcastic note. "Ok, Dumbledore, McGonagall, try not to let Hogwarts explode while we're gone ok?"

Rik looked serious "I make no guarantees." Yet another round of hugs later and Damon and I were on the road. After 5 minutes I began to look back on everything we'd been though in this town. It was where we met, fell in love, broke up, got back together. Where we literally died, and came back in more ways than one. Where we met, and said goodbye to so many people who were so important to us. And even though it was centuries apart, it was where Damon and I were both born, where we grew up. Now we were leaving.

My phone started ringing from the holder on my dashboard. It was Damon. Putting him on Bluetooth, I answered, "Hey,"

"Put it away," he drolld

I smirked "Put what away?"

"The crease in your forehead."

He knew me too well, "It's just hard to think of leaving."

His tone went from playful to sweet, "I know baby, but we're starting our lives together. Human lives. Part of being human is leaving home and making your place in the world."

I smiled "You're right. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've mastered this whole being human thing."

"Took some getting used to but I think I'll be writing self-help books and blogging by next week."

That made me laugh. "The day you start blogging is the day I go vegan."

"Hey, don't knock the vegans, I think they have a hold on human immortality. I've already scoped out a few food coop's and organic grocery stores."

"Ok, have fun with your algae and tofu, I'll stick with my burgers and fries thank you!"

Damon signed, "Fries are something aren't they? I seriously have a new appreciation for human food since I lost my Vamp status." I could barely contain my laughter. I could practically hear the satisfied smile on Damon's lips, knowing he had successfully distracted me from my previous mood. "Feel better?" he asked,

"Ya, much. Thanks love."

"Any time, when you feel like you need a driving brake just honk ok?"

"Yea, you too."

"I love you Elena," He didn't say it in the typical emotionless way most guys said it to their girlfriends. Damon uttered those three words with his whole heart. Like it was the first or last time he'd ever have the chance to say them.

"I love you too Damon." We hung up and continued the long drive to New York City.

9.5 hours and 4 bathroom/food breaks later we had arrived in Manhattan NY. I followed Damon to a 24hour parking garage in the West Village. We took out the duffel bags we packed with our immediate essentials and hand in hand my boyfriend walked us to a building on the corner of Bowery and Broom Street. There was a busy looking bar on the very corner of the building that looked like a cool place to hang out. Maybe that would be our go-to spot eventually.

I noticed the manila envelope Damon had taken from the boarding house under his arm. "What's Madonna doing here?"

Damon shrugged, "Thought you'd like to be the one to toss her."

I rolled my eyes as we arrived in front of a classic looking building. Damon took the keys out of his pants pocket and unlocked the front door. The lobby was all marble and steel beams. The place liked like the perfect combination of modern and traditional. "Wow, this is something." I said admiring the architecture.

"Mm-Hm, wait till you see the apartment." Damon guided us to the old-fashioned elevator and together we rode it to the 6th floor, the top floor of the building. There were only 3 apartment doors on the floor, Damon guided me to the one at the very end of the hall. He opened the door and switched on a few lights.

"After you Mademoiselle," he bowed as he let me through the open door.

"Oh my-wow!" I said looking up at the vaulted ceilings. If I had ever designed my dream loft it would be this one here. The space was massive with floor to ceiling windows, a huge fire escape, fire place open kitchen and upper level that looked like it was constructed for bedroom space. Damon leaned against one of the exposed brick walls as I looked around.

"Oh, this kind of sucks." I said still in awe.

"Pardone moi?" Damon asked confused.

"Well, this is supposed to be temporary while we find a real place. But after this, every apartment we look at is going to seriously pale in comparison."

He stood off the wall, "Funny you should say that." He opened the manila envelope to my surprise pulled out a stack of white papers and a pen."

"I wasn't going to sign these until you saw the place yourself." He handed the papers to me. There were a purchasing agreement for a condo. Damon had applied and gotten approved to buy the loft we were standing in.

Shocked I stared at the words in front of me. "Da… those are not naked pictures of Madonna."

He smiled, "Caught that, did you? I had everything sent to the boarding house so I could surprise you when we got here. So, do you like it?"

"Like? I love it!" I jumped into Damon's arms and kissed him. "Wait, can we afford this?" As a vampire, Damon had endless resources for money. And while he did have one hell of a nest egg to start us off with we agreed to not go overboard and fix our spending with the intent of building our finances though real careers.

"Well… not originally but blondie may have been excellent at haggling the price down to our level."

"Caroline was in on this?" I asked, "But she was devastated when we left."

Damon mocked shock, "Have you seriously forgotten her time as a drama major?"

I laughed and kissed him, "So, this, is it? This is our home?"

Damon bight his bottom lip in a not exactly way, "Well, first you're gonna have to sign these." He handed me the stack of papers and pen. I rushed to the granite kitchen island and started signing away.

"Oh Elena?"

"Hmm?" I asked, completely focused on signing my name on every dotted line I could find.

"Just one more thing."

I turned to see what else he needed and was once again stunned. Damon was down on one knee with a velvet box in his hand. "Damon?"

"Elena Gilbert, from the moment I met you. I knew there was something extraordinary about you. From that day on, everything about you has amazed, enlightened and confused the hell out of me. I fell in love with you from that very first moment. I know what it is to have you and to lose you and I don't want to spend another second of this new short life without you. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?"

The tears that ran down my face were hot and full of joy. Damon opened the box to reveal a brilliantly cut white diamond in a platinum setting. I could hardly breath as I looked into the sparkle. Still on his knee Damon waited for my answer which was an absolute, unwavering…

"Yes,"

He slipped the ring on my finger and lifted me into his arms. Together we were everything and for the first time in our lives we knew for a fact that nothing could come between us ever again. This was the start of us, after Happily Ever After.

THE STORY CONTINUES ON MY FAN FIC PAGE, https://www.fanfiction.net/~sirenluna

#vampire diaries #nina dobrev #ian somerhalder #vampire #fanfic #delena

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