#I’m gonna get emotional because we are almost approaching one year of the fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dinosaurtsukki · 3 years

Text

⸺𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀 27: i should be over all the butterflies (finale)

i should be over all the butterflies | a chuuya x gn!reader smau

a/n: wow, so here's another smau coming to a close. this ended up being much longer than i thought it would be but it was entertaining to write until the very end. i hope you guys like the final chapter and please let me know what you think of it !!

also, i'm sure some of you have been curious about the title. well, it's actually based on the song 'still into you' by paramore. when i first listened to that song i kinda imagined vocalist!chuuya (it's because of the orange hair). if you like, give it a listen while reading this last chapter

ever since he first started performing with the mafia dogs, chuuya had never felt stage fright or even remotely anxious before singing onstage. he even surprised himself when he came to the realization that performing was just second-nature to him.

but god was he nervous now.

usually, he was the one who hyped up the crowd before playing but right now, chuuya busied himself with fiddling with the height of the mic stand as tachihara and dazai took on the role.

"hey everyone!" dazai yelled into the microphone. the crowd in front of the stage cheered in unison.

"you may know us as the mafia dogs," tachihara continued. "but right now, you can think of us as the newest members of the journalism club."

"yeah, we actually just sent our application forms earlier," dazai laughed, glancing sideways at chuuya with a look that expressed 'dude, your turn to say something.'

"so, uh," chuuya cleared his throat. "we're actually going to perform a new song."

the crowd cheered once again and that put a smile on his face. he scanned the people standing in the front row until his eyes landed on you. chuuya bit back a laugh at the matching mustard shirt and pants you were wearing that made it impossible for him to spot. right beside you was ranpo, in crutches but mostly leaning on oda for support.

chuuya took in a deep breath and calmed himself down. having akutagawa right next to him, who looked the happiest he's ever been as he fiddled with the buttons on his keytar, definitely helped.

"this song is actually dedicated to someone. well, two people," chuuya clarified after exchanging a look with dazai. "and, i hope our thoughts come across in this song."

chuuya nodded at dazai and akutagawa, feeling his breath swell in his chest as he began to sing.

"can't count the years in one hand that we've been together. i need the other one to hold you, make you feel, make you feel better"

the roar of the audience gave chuuya a surge of confidence and he grinned widely as he continued to sing. it was always a bit nerve-wracking performing a new song and hoping their fans would like it. after all, he and dazai just poured out their raw emotions into the lyrics and hoped for the best.

for a split-second, chuuya's eyes darted over to make you out in the front row of the crowd again. was that a grin on your face or was he just imagining things? chuuya tried not to let the anxiety grip him.

"because after all this time, i'm still into you"

but at the end of the day, chuuya knew he would "perish and die", in the words of dazai, if he never let you know how he felt.

"i should be over all the butterflies but i'm into you. and baby even on our worst nights, i'm into you."

chuuya could tell that everyone was getting into the song by the time the chorus hit. the audience was jumping up and down in unison to the beat. dazai was leaning into the microphone singing the back-up vocals. tachihara had a wide, gleeful grin on his face he played the drums. even akutagawa was bobbing his head up and down to the music.

seeing all of them getting into the song gave chuuya just a bit of courage to lock eyes with you in the crowd as he sang the next line that condense all of his feelings.

"yeah after all this time, i'm still into you."

...

as soon as the mafia dogs started playing the song, one of the first thoughts in your head was "damn, chuuya's pants look really tight" and then "damn, chuuya looks really good onstage."

you've known him practically your whole life and even though back then he demonstrated no inclination at all for being a band vocalist, it looked like chuuya was born to be one. on the one hand, you felt bad that you two weren't close for the past few years. you would have enjoyed watching their earlier band practices and showing up for his first gig or watching him brainstorm new songs.

but getting to know chuuya again, especially this side of him, wasn't so bad. he was your best friend after all. and thanks to that little introduction he made before singing the song, chuuya's intentions were now clear as day to you.

"let them wonder how we got this far 'cause i don't even need to wonder at all"

you weren't sure if he could make you out in front of the crowd all, even if your mustard ensemble, much less see the expression on your face. there were probably hundreds of students in the campus square all watching and cheering to the mafia dogs' new song. but maybe, just maybe--

and there.

chuuya unmistakably met your gaze in the crowd and you smiled broadly at him in return as he ended the first chorus.

"yeah after all this time, i'm still into you"

'jesus christ, chuuya,' you thought as you smiled to yourself. 'you could have just sent me a text.'

...

"just so we're clear... you do know the song is dedicated to you, right?" ranpo said.

"i'm not that fucking dumb," you scoffed, flicking him on the forehead. right after the talent show, the three of you gathered near a bench just outside your dorm building. the crowds were slowly starting to thin out as well.

"is it... safe to assume that," oda spoke slowly beside him. you laughed slightly at the apparent hesitancy in his voice. "the other person is... me?"

"oda, i'm proud of you," ranpo grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. as if on cue, a text notification from oda's phone rang.

"you should take that like, right now," you insisted.

"really?" oda looked between you and ranpo. "do you need help with--?"

"i'll make it up the stairs on my own," ranpo huffed. "i'm not that helpless you know."

"right," you rolled your eyes. "says the guy who--"

"uh, y/n?"

you turned around to see chuuya approaching the three of you with his hands in his pockets and his guitar in its case on his shoulder. ranpo pushed you slightly forward before hurrying back to the dorm building in his crutches. oda waved goodbye before heading off in the other direction, leaving you and chuuya.

"so."

"nice... outfit," chuuya nodded at your shirt and pants.

"well, i've always had a thing for monochrome," you laughed, placing your hands on your hips. "look at your outfit though. i mean, can you even breathe in those pants?"

"not going to lie, i almost passed out on stage," chuuya joked and the two of you laughed in unison. "so... what did you think about the song?"

"hmm," you cocked your head to the side. "i think that whoever that song is dedicated to must be very lucky."

"really? then does that mean--"

"ranpo would absolutely love to be your boyfriend. or tachihara's. or is it akutagawa?" you interrupted him. chuuya stared at you with his mouth open before you burst into laughter.

"you should have seen the look on your face!" you pointed teasingly. "like your mouth was all open and everything. i gotta say chuuya i really--"

before you could even finish your sentence, chuuya had wrapped a finger around one of the belt loops of your mustard pants, pulling you close and kissing you right on the lips. instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck and you felt both of chuuya's hands on your waist.

"you should see the look on your face," he whispered in a low voice as soon as you two parted. the smirk on his lips was enough to make you want to cover your face with your hands.

"i hate you chuuya," you whispered back much to his amusement.

"oh yeah, it sure seemed like you do." he flicked you on the forehead for good measure before walking off, leaving you to catch up to him.

"hey, hey. how did that song go again?" you asked, skipping next to chuuya. "i should be over all the butterflies... it's pretty catchy! you're gonna sing it for me again, right?"

"i literally just sang it for you."

"aw but i want one that's just for me. please chuuya?"

"...fine. maybe tomorrow."

a/n: and that is the end of the series! what happens to the characters next is all up to you guys (i do love an open ending for my fics). let me know what you all think and thank you for reading my series!

⸺𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

@kiyoobi @atsumusdomain @laure-chan @goodfoodxoxoxo @guardianangelswings @kei-ya @loisuke @whootwhoot @liz-multifandom-hotel @kac-chowsballs @violentfarewll @fyoyacanruinmylifethanks @nightmare-light @miyakiyo0mi @whorefordazai @rirk-ke @cross-crye @alohablue @duhsies @alittlesimp @tetsustation @https-inarizaki @himboos @magpiemissy @hanazou @monochromaticelliot

reblogs and comments are much appreciated

166 notes · View notes

shewhotellsstories · 3 years

Note

i really dont wanna annoy you but you post about racism in fandom sometimes so i thought you'd be the right person to ask. i hope this doesnt come off as expecting u to be my teacher. yesterday someone said they didnt trust white zk shippers and i thought it was mean but then people started sending the them all these nasty messages and i started to worry maybe op was right. honestly a lot of this stuff is pretty new for me. i think our fandom is inclusive & unlike the rest of the atla fandom we actually like katara. but i'm trying to learn.

why would it be a problem that a lot of zk fics have katara looking after zuko? i always just felt like he needed it more bc he was abused and kataras better at dealing with feelings and she's good at taking care of people. is fire lady katara still ok? is there racism in our fandom? there are a lot of woc zks and i've seen them get hate for it. but the messages op got were pretty bad too. i know i'm asking a lot of questions i just hate the thinking that we might be as bad as the z*kka stans have been saying all year.

This is gonna get long so I’m just gonna jump right in. When I listened to fansplaining’s episode on fandom racism one of the guests said white fans who can acknowledge that fandom racism exists tend to frame it as “just a few bad apples” and get caught up in worrying about not looking like a “bad apple” instead of making fandoms spaces that aren’t hostile for BIPOC. Jag offs hiding behind anon to tell women of color who ship zutara that we have a creepy fetish for imperialism and colonialism suck, but your biggest concern really shouldn’t be the optics or if you can claim superiority over zukka stans.

Yeah the “katara’s a homophobe” nonsense didn’t come from our end of the fandom, but it feels naive at best or dishonest at worst to act like the zutara fandom is uniquely immune to fandom racism. A creator I follow made the excellent point that allyship conditional upon if a poc talks "nicely" about racism is still white supremacy. I believe poc need to be allowed to vent and be salty or angry without being tone-policed. I definitely have my days where I’m like “ugh white people,” or "why must white fans be like this," so I get where the OP was coming from. Ironically the folks that sent them anon hate proved their point. You can always count on hit dogs to hollar.

Fandom is only escapist for some people. It doesn’t exist in a vacuum so you’ll find racism in fandom because there’s racism in the world. Navigating that gets exhausting. There are certain things I enjoy, but for the sake of my sanity I'll only talk about it with friends in real life or only follow fans of color. Before I follow white fans I need to see first that they’re not the kind of person who inspires posts about fandom racism. A good friend of mine loves Star Wars, Kpop, and gaming but after years of attempts at calling in she decided that she’d only interact with woc in those spaces. Again, you get tired.

ATLA wasn’t on my radar until last year so I definitely haven’t read every zutara fic out there but I have noticed a lot of fics do tend to have Katara being the one comforting and supporting Zuko. It’s not inherently wrong of course, it’s just in the grand scheme of things in fiction woc are often cast as eternal caretakers and confidants in fiction:

“How characters of color are portrayed in fanworks, especially fanfiction, is worse than the actual films. They are portrayed as supportive, almost invisible understudies. Any characteristics which they possess in the [MCU] films are stripped and given to other white characters. It is not only erasure. It’s a theft of identity.

Characters of color are positioned within storylines to support the main, white characters. Even within the slash biracial pairings, the character of color is underdeveloped and in a position of servitude within the relationship.”

TheNavyLanguage, Fansplaining

As the quote above points out this honestly happens in a lot of fandoms. I’ve read fanfic for books, movies, tv shows, and comics and I can’t help but notice that in fics the writers often have the non-white character or-- if neither character is white--the darker skinned character being the care-taker, the bodyguard, or the person who is performing all the emotional labor. It’s not inherently wrong to have a character of color have a nurturing personality, you just have to remember that since Black and brown folks have been saddled with narrative after narrative where we exist to serve leaning into dynamics where the non-white or darker skinned character is providing all the emotional support and getting very little in return has some unfortunate implications.

It’s not better if instead of being defined as the avatar’s girl, Katara’s the fire lord’s girl. Part of the appeal of zutara for me is the idea that Katara could lay down some of her burdens and get some much needed support. I always imagine she’d have some major issues after the war.

"i always just felt like he needed it more bc he was abused and kataras better at dealing with feelings and she's good at taking care of people."

I’m going to push back against that statement. Yes, Katara didn't grow up in an abusive household but she has pain and trauma of her own. In fact I’d argue that her believing it’s her job to take care of everyone is rooted in her trauma. Katara needs support and care just as much as anyone else does.

Having read a lot of fics revolving around abuse victims in different fandoms I’ve observed that if fans feel a character’s trauma wasn’t properly addressed in canon, they’ll give them a lot of TLC in fics. But again, reducing the non-white or darker-skinned character to a glorified therapist has some implications.

I feel like the Fire Lady Katara headcanon's been talked to death so long-story short, it’s not inherently racist but it can problematic if it's not clear that Katara is Katara of the Water Tribe wherever she lives. Fics and art where her crown has a crescent moon, she wears blue, or Zuko wears blue when she's in red are the executions I'm fondest of.

When in doubt just listen when poc talk about uncomfortable trends in the fandom. Give fansplaining’s episodes on fandom racism a listen here, here, and here. And very loosely quoting my favorite professor just remember that if a marginalized person says they’re distrustful of a group of people or institution it usually happens after a lot of bad experiences. Don’t center your own comfort and hurt feelings.

“If we truly believe in fandom’s progressive credentials, then perhaps it is necessary for us to listen to critiques that make us uncomfortable rather than those that keep arguing that the status quo is perfectly acceptable—even as there is plenty of evidence to the contrary. Perhaps then we will be able to come at these, yes, these very complex and nuanced discussions with the type of openness and good faith that is required for them to succeed, rather than approaching them with hostility.”

-Rukmini Pande, Fansplaining

#asked and answered #zutara #katara #atla fandom crit #fandom racism

251 notes · View notes

beifongsss · 4 years

Text

jealousy [sokka]

Pairing: Sokka x firebending!reader

Summary: You like Sokka. Like, reaaaaally like him. However, any time you feel like you’re ready to confess your feelings, it seems as though he finds himself wrapped up in yet another romance.

this was originally the first atla fic i ever wrote and it was inspired by Dreamer Boy’s song “Puppy Dog”!

.masterlist.

The first time you decided to tell Sokka how you felt about him was when the Gaang had finally reached the Northern Water Tribe. You had been debating over whether or not to confess to Sokka for weeks, ever since you had visited the village where Aunt Wu resided. She had told you that you would be a powerful bender and that your love life would be immensely successful because you were meant to end up with a guy with a heart of gold and the spirit of a warrior. When she had added that he would be a nonbender, you had just known it was Sokka and all the skipped heartbeats and butterflies you felt around him finally made sense. As the waterbenders opened the gate and Appa drifted through, you had asked to talk to Sokka. Katara and Aang were distracted by the snowy city around them and Sokka had obliged, sitting beside you as you took a deep breath to ready yourself.

“Sokka,” you began, nervousness coursing through your veins as you took a deep breath. “Listen, I li-”

“Look!” Katara interrupted, pointing at an ornate looking building. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Sokka, who had been leaning over Appa’s saddle to get a better look at what his sister was pointing to, sighed dreamily as his gaze settled upon a teenage girl in a gondola. “Yeah, she is.”

Following his line of sight, you sighed in defeat before bringing your knees up to your chest and hugging them.

You decided not to bring your feelings up again until the Gaang got to Ba SIng Se safely. You were feeling more confident by the minute, at least you were until you reached the ferry station.

Your confidence dropped back down when you discovered that Suki and the rest of the Kyoshi Warriors were there as well, noticing the way the pretty girl looked at Sokka. The whole time you spent in the ferry station and the beginning of your journey through the Serpent’s Pass was spent in silence, causing Katara to worry. Eventually, she had coaxed your secret from you, looking at you with a mix of amusement and repulsion when you told her you liked Sokka.

“Really? Him?” Katara asked, looking at her brother who was currently arguing with a twelve year old. You blushed fiercely and looked away. Noticing your expression, Katara quickly tried to fix her words. “I mean, him? Yeah, he’s a dream.”

You stifled a laugh as you noticed Katara’s pained expression. “It’s alright Katara, you don’t have to be nice about it. We can’t control who we like.”

“I’m sure he likes you too,” Katara said softly. “He’s just a little slow. Plus, you’re pretty good friends, he wouldn’t know how to approach you romantically.”

You opened your mouth to reply but instead found yourself letting out a sharp yelp as the ledge you were standing on gave out.

“(Y/N)!” Katara screamed as you plummeted, making everyone stop and turn around. “Toph, do something!”

Your fall came to an abrupt stop as you landed on a flat piece of earth. You felt the slab of rock begin to slide upwards as Toph brought you back up to where everyone else was standing. Silently, you walked up to Toph and engulfed her in a hug, shaking slightly from all the adrenaline. The hug didn’t last long however, and you were soon pulled away from Toph and brought into another tight hug.

“Are you okay?” Sokka whispered as he hugged you. “Geez...what happened? You scared me to death!”

You didn’t reply, instead meeting Katara’s eyes as she gave you a knowing look. Cheeks blazing, you pulled away from Sokka and brushed yourself off. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going. We can’t waste any more time.”

After making sure that you truly were fine, Aang encouraged everyone to continue. Eventually, night fell and you all decided to stop and rest for the night. You placed your sleeping bag down next to Katara’s, only to find it being ripped away from you.

“Not too close to the edge (Y/N/N)!” Sokka exclaimed, laying your sleeping bag right next to his. “You have to be more careful.”

You rolled your eyes before walking over to him. “Ok Sokka. Whatever you say.”

“Wait!” Sokka screamed suddenly, holding his arm out to stop you from moving forwards.

“What?” you asked, slightly exasperated.

“Oh, nothing,” Sokka replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought I saw a spider.”

Shaking your head, you curled up in your sleeping bag, once again rolling your eyes at the way Katara was looking at the close proximity between you and Sokka. “Good night everyone.”

You struggled to fall asleep, tossing and turning until you felt Sokka get up from his spot next to you and walk off. Turning once more, you noticed Katara waving at you and trying to catch your attention. When she got it, she motioned for you to go after Sokka. Quietly getting up, you began to walk off, ignoring Katara as she whispered, “Go confess!”

Nervously wringing your hands, you made your way over to where you knew Sokka would be, once again building up your confidence. When you finally got there, your heart dropped as you saw Suki and Sokka inches away from each other.

“Oh!” you gasped, loud enough to draw their attention. They flew apart immediately, turning to look at you with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t know.”

“(Y/N), wait!” Sokka shouted, looking after you as you fled. You didn’t go back to the campground, instead choosing to wander off on your own. You could feel your palms heating up, faint curls of steam escaping your nostrils as your emotions overwhelmed you and caused your bending to act up. Breathing deeply, you sat down and looked up at the moon. You stayed there all night, sighing softly and suppressing your fire as the moon seemed to glow a little bit brighter.

After walking in on Sokka’s almost-kiss with Suki, you decided to give up on confessing your feelings. You had all been quite busy anyways, what with trying to tell the Earth King about the upcoming solar eclipse, running from Azula, and trying to come up with a plan to invade the Fire Nation. With all that had happened, you and Sokka had drifted apart, the sudden distance between you two a little intentional on your part. Maybe it was for the better, at least that way your heart wouldn’t ache every time he smiled at you after telling you one of his jokes.

Eventually you began to wonder if Aunt Wu’s prediction was wrong. Or maybe you just hadn’t met the boy with a heart of gold and the spirit of a warrior that you were meant to end up with.

After the Day of Black Sun, the younger members of the invasion army found themselves settled into the Western Air Temple. It was there that everyone unanimously voted to have you become Aang’s firebending teacher. You had initially refused, not wanting to teach Aang firebending the way you had learned it; by depending on your emotions. You tended to have trouble controlling your fire when you allowed your emotions to take control, which wouldn’t help Aang in any way. You had only agreed to teach him after stating that you would only do it if they allowed Zuko to teach Aang as well.

Sokka had been the loudest to complain about Zuko joining your group, claiming that he was evil and that they didn’t need another firebender running around. You had been slightly offended by his comments and continuously vouched for Zuko, seeing that he had truly changed and that he wanted to help Aang. As a result, you ended up spending most of your time with the prince, offering him friendship when no one else did. A problem soon arose however, when you actually began to teach Aang how to firebend.

~ “Listen everybody, I have some pretty bad news. I’ve lost my stuff,” Zuko announced, walking into the courtyard where everyone was. You were trailing behind him quietly.

“Don’t look at me,” Toph said immediately, raising her hands in defense. “I didn’t touch your stuff.”

“He’s talking about firebending,” you stated, laughing at her words. “And he’s not the only one.”

Katara’s snickering stopped as she looked at you with wide eyes. “Not you too!”

You shifted uncomfortable as everyone stared at you. “Well, I can still bend. The issue is that my flames are too big and destructive. I’m having quite a bit of trouble trying to keep them controlled.”

“Wouldn’t big flames be a good thing?” Sokka asked. “Just teach Aang how to do it and he’ll burn the Fire Lord to a crisp.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” you said tiredly. “A lot of firebenders draw their energy from their emotions but when they’re too strong, their bending gets too dangerous and out of hand.”

“Strong emotions?” Sokka whispered, his heart speeding up slightly as he stared at you.

“Yes,” Zuko answered. “For me, it used to be anger and hatred. For (Y/N), it stems from great love or sadness.

“Zuko!” you hissed, flushing as you faced him. Zuko stared back at you, a teasing smile on his lips. You shot him an alarmed look before glancing at Sokka.

When he first arrived, Zuko had had no trouble figuring out your feelings for the Water Tribe boy. Much like Katara, he had been put off by your feelings, always having thought of Sokka as nothing more than an immature boy.

Sokka, on the other hand, had not seen the panic behind the look you had aimed at Zuko and he felt an uncomfortable feeling settle in his chest at the way the prince was smiling at you. He kept noticing the glances you were sending towards Zuko, unaware that you were actually trying to burn a hole into the side of his head with your glare. In Sokka’s head, your recent aloofness towards him was starting to make sense.

“Look,” Zuko said, drawing the attention back to him. “I don’t want to rely on anger and hatred anymore. There has to be another way to regain my bending.”

“You’re gonna need to learn to draw your firebending from a different source,” Toph said, leaning back on the rock she was sitting on. “I recommend the original source.”

“How’s he supposed to do that? By jumping into a volcano?” Sokka asked, sounding way too happy.

“No. Zuko and (Y/N) need to go back to whatever the original source of firebending is,” Toph stated once again. “For earthbending, the original benders were the badgermoles.”

You and Zuko exchanged uneasy looks before you spoke. “The original firebenders were the dragons.”

“And they’re extinct,” Zuko added, annoyance creeping onto his face when Aang mentioned that Avatar Roku used to have one. “But maybe there’s another way. The first people to learn from the dragons were the ancient Sun Warriors.”

“Yeah, but they died thousands of years ago,” you said, cutting Aang off when he began to speak. “But their civilization wasn’t too far from where we are now.”

“Maybe we can learn something by poking around their ruins!” Aang exclaimed.

“So what?” Sokka asked, standing up. “Maybe you’ll pick up some super old Sun Warrior energy just by standing where they stood a thousand years ago?”

“More or less,” you replied quietly. “Either we learn a new way to firebend, or Aang has to find a new teacher.”

In the few days that you had been gone with Aang and Zuko, Sokka had been in a rotten mood. Everyone else had noticed it and Teo and The Duke had even started a game to see who could annoy Sokka the most without making him explode.

It was only when Momo began to avoid him as well that Katara had finally had enough.

“What is going on with you Sokka?” Katara finally exclaimed. “When Haru tried to ask if you wanted some meat, you threw your boomerang at him!”

Sokka grumbled something under his breath, causing Katara to roll her eyes.

“You’ve been acting this way ever since (Y/N) and Zuko-” Katara trailed off as a smirk spread across her face. “You’re jealous!”

“W-What? No!” Sokka exclaimed, stumbling over his words as his face turned bright red. “Why would I be jealous? Who would I be jealous of?”

“Zuko,” Katara stated dully. “You’re jealous of Zuko and (Y/N)’s relationship.”

“They’re in a relationship?” Sokka screeched as he jumped to his feet and began pacing.

“No!” Katara said. “I was referring to their friendship.”

“Oh,” Sokka breathed, coming to a stop and running his hand through his hair, pulling it out of his warrior’s wolf tail in the process. The more he thought about how you and Zuko interacted, the more bothered he got. Katara watching him struggle with his emotions with amusement, wiping the smile off her face when he finally spoke. “I guess...I am jealous.”

Katara rolled her eyes before standing up and facing her brother, her expression becoming serious. “We know. When she gets back, just tell her how you feel. Remember, we’re up against the Fire Lord and things can change in a matter of seconds. Don’t leave things unsaid.”

Sokka sat back down and pushed his hair away from his face, thinking about Katara’s words. He stayed there for a while, smiling when he looked up and saw Appa’s silhouette growing closer and closer. Taking a few breaths, he began to hype himself up.

“Ok Sokka,” he whispered to himself. “You got this. Just tell her how you feel and everything will work out.”

He leapt up when Appa landed, immediately climbing up to reach his saddle. He was shaking with so much nervousness at what he was about to do that he didn’t notice Aang looking down at him.

“Sokka!” Aang whisper-yelled, shooting him a bright smile. “Where is everyone else?”

“They’re in the sleeping hall. It’s pretty early,” Sokka replied normally, only to be shushed by Aang as he finally reached the saddle.

“Don’t be too loud,” Aang whispered, motioning to you. Sokka felt his heart drop to his stomach as his eyes landed on you. You were sitting next to Zuko, the two of you curled up against Appa’s saddle.Your head was resting on the prince’s shoulder, his head resting on top of yours as you both napped peacefully. One of Zuko’s arms was wrapped loosely around your waist to make sure you didn’t topple over, not that Sokka was aware of that.

With a hurt expression, Sokka climbed off of Appa, dejectedly making his way into the sleeping hall. Noticing his downcast expression, Katara made her way over to him. “What’s wrong Sokka?”

“What’s wrong?” Sokka repeated sadly, walking past her. “What’s wrong is that I was too late, Katara. She likes Zuko.”

Katara looked at Sokka in confusion as he curled up in his sleeping bag, turning to face the wall. She straightened up as she heard voices approaching and turned to face you and Zuko, who was smiling at something you had said as you rubbed at your eyes sleepily.

“You’re back!” Katara exclaimed, making her way over to you. You hugged her tightly before replying.

“Yeah, we are. It was an interesting trip,” you said, smiling softly.

“It was!” Aang exclaimed, walking in. “It really helped (Y/N) and Zuko bond over these last few days!”

Sokka grumbled faintly at Aang’s words, not turning to face the group.

“We also learned a new way to firebend,” Zuko added. “A more traditional technique.”

“You should show them!” Aang said excitedly, turning to face you. “Please?”

You hesitated before nodding, not being able to deny Aang anything. Zuko agreed when he saw you nod. Quietly, the two of you made your way to the courtyard, followed by everyone else. Even Sokka had joined, being dragged along by Katara.

“Alright,” you breathed. “Here goes nothing.”

You and Zuko stood a few feet apart, breathing deeply before launching into the perfectly practiced routine you had learned from the dragons. The routine went smoothly and it was dead silent in the courtyard, apart from the occasional huff from you or Zuko. The routine came to an end when you and Zuko ended up chest to chest, the two of you breathing heavily as you looked at each other. With a small squeal, you launched yourself at him, smiling widely. You threw your arms around his neck and he grabbed your waist, stabilizing the two of you.

“We did it!” you exclaimed, only to hear soft claps from everyone else. You pulled away from Zuko in time to see Sokka storming off. Everyone’s clapping died down at Sokka’s departure, an awkward silence taking over.

“Go to him,” Katara said softly, urging you out the door. You looked back hesitantly, only to see Aang waving you off and Zuko giving you a thumbs up. You awkwardly shuffled off to where you expected Sokka to be, finding him in the sleeping hall where he was throwing his boomerang around.

“Sokka, are you okay?” you asked quietly, approaching him slowly. You’ve been acting weird and everyone’s worried about you.”

Sokka caught his boomerang once again and put it down, standing up from where he had been sitting. “What? No I’m perfectly fine.”

His response was short and you couldn’t help but flinch slightly at his sharp tone.

“You can go back to your good ol’ pal Zuko.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at his words and you crossed your arms in front of you. “Is this what this is about? Zuko? Are you really still upset over the fact that we accepted him into the group?”

Sokka stayed silent as you started walking closer to him, waving your arms in exasperation as you spoke.

“Why can’t you just accept that he’s changed? He’s clearly not the same person he used to be and now Aang has a firebending teacher. Him joining us is a good thing and you’re over here acting like-”

Your words were cut off as Sokka cupped your face in his hands. The words that were on the tip of your tongue died down as you looked into his bright blue eyes.

The two of you stood in tense silence for a minute. You felt your cheeks heat up under his touch, neither one of you saying anything as you looked at each other. Sighing softly, he rested his forehead against yours. You closed your eyes, your whole face now burning brightly from the close proximity between the two of you. You felt Sokka nudge his nose against yours and you opened your eyes to see him raise an eyebrow, an unspoken question hanging in between you. Closing your eyes once again, you nodded softly, your head spinning as Sokka’s hands began to tremble slightly before he pressed his lips to yours.

You held your breath, not fully believing what was happening. The kiss was nothing more than a brush of his lips against yours, over way too quickly as Sokka recoiled and let his hands drop before turning away.

“S-Sokka, I-” you began, stumbling over your words. Your heart was racing as you gently touched your lips, wondering if he really did feel the same way you did.

“Save it,” Sokka replied, his tone softer than earlier. “Go back to Zuko and forget I ever did that.”

“I can’t,” you replied softly, walking over to him. “I can’t forget you did that Sokka. I’ve been waiting for a sign that you might like me back for the longest time and now that I finally have it, you want me to forget about it?”

Sokka turned around, disbelief clear on his face. “You like me? N-No. You like Zuko.”

Your face softened at his words. “Is that why you’ve been in such a mood? Because you thought I liked Zuko?”

Sokka bowed his head down in disappointment. “He’s a prince (Y/N). He’s a prince and a firebender and how could I ever compete with that?”

“You don’t have to,” you replied immediately. “I like you, not him. I’ve liked you ever since I joined you guys on your journey. Zuko and I got close because we’re both firebenders and because we know what it’s like to be considered traitors to our nation, not because we like each other.”

“You don’t like Zuko?” Sokka asked dumbly. You shook your head.

“No. I already told you, I like-” you were cut off yet again, this time by Sokka pressing his lips to yours in an urgent manner. You wasted no time in kissing back, your hands coming up to rest on his chest as he grabbed your waist tightly, pulling you impossibly close. The kiss was desperate and slightly messy, the two of you pouring all of your emotions into it. You could feel his heart pounding underneath your hands and you were almost certain that he could feel yours as well.

Pulling back, you kept your eyes closed as you hesitated to ask the question on your mind. “What about Suki?”

Sokka kissed you once more before answering. “I don’t like her. I love you.”

Sokka’s eyes widened at his unexpected proclamation and he looked at you in panic. Your eyes shined brightly and you replied quickly before he could try to stutter out an excuse.

“I love you too.”

You hugged him tightly before kissing him yet again, his arms winding around your waist again as he responded enthusiastically. This was what you had been waiting for, and the safety that the two of you felt in each other’s arms was comforting.

“It took us long enough,” Sokka muttered against your lips, causing you to laugh softly.

“You talk too much,” you replied before reconnecting your lips.

The two of you only pulled away when you heard Toph’s voice, followed by multiple footsteps.

“I found them! They’re in here kissing, my feet can feel it!”

taglist!

@musicalkeys, @mywigglybaby, @bubblebars, @iguessthefloorislava, @dekahg, @boxofteenageideas

#sokka x reader #atla sokka x reader #sokka #atla sokka #zuko #prince zuko #atla zuko #aang #katara #toph #haru #teo #the duke #avatar #avatar: tla #avatar: the last airbender #avatar x reader #atla

2K notes · View notes

plaidbooks · 3 years

Text

Friends

A/N: Okay, so sometimes I write incredibly self-indulgent fics to process shit happening in real life. And I almost didn’t post this, but I feel like if it can help someone, then it’s worth it to post. I promise to work on other things shortly, but here’s a short thing until then.

Tags: none, just loneliness

Words: 1041

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas @reading--mermaid @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

It was your third week in Manhattan SVU, and you were still coping. You had moved from California to New York, and you missed your friends back home. Sure, you kept in touch—when you could—but it wasn’t the same. And though the squad you now worked with was friendly, you felt out of place. The last new person, Sonny, had been there for two years already and you could see how close all their relationships were to each other.

They had invited you out for drinks and get togethers, but you always came up with some excuse. You were always too nervous, too afraid of what they’d think of you. So, you instead spent your nights at home, alone, catching up on whatever hobbies kept you entertained. But eventually, the soul-crushing loneliness ate away at you.

You were in the breakroom, grabbing a snack from the vending machine. There was laughter behind you, and you glanced over, seeing Fin, Sonny, and Amanda talking and joking with each other. You tried to ignore the stab of sadness, tried to blink away your tears before they fell. You were so wrapped up in your own emotions that you didn’t hear anyone approaching.

“Hey, are you okay?” a voice asked. You recognized it as Sonny, and you quickly wiped away your tears before giving him a fake smile.

“Yep! Fine! How’re you?” you replied, voice a little too high pitched.

Sonny’s brow was furrowed with concern. “Are ya sure you’re okay? Wanna talk about it?”

That was the last thing you wanted to do. But him asking if you were alright with that look of deep concern made your nose burn with unshed tears. “I—I’m fine. Back to work,” you said, giving up on the snack and practically running out of there. He watched you go, wondering what just happened.

***************

You had been able to compose yourself the rest of the day, but there were a couple times you came close to breaking down again. If I can only hold it until I’m home, I’ll be fine, you thought. Though, you caught Sonny glancing at you every now and again.

Just when you were getting ready to leave for the night, a small emergency came in. Liv apologized to you before asking if you could pull an all-nighter in a stakeout—to protect a victim. She offered to give you tomorrow off, to catch up on some sleep, and you accepted; you weren’t going to be doing anything, anyways.

But your heart sunk when Sonny volunteered to join you in the stakeout. Liv agreed, and Sonny shot you a big smile, which you tried to return.

***************

“Are we gonna talk about the breakroom?” Sonny finally asked. It was nearing 3am; you had endured most of the night without him bringing it up, and with three more hours ahead of you, you had hoped he wouldn’t.

You swallowed. “Nothing happened in—”

“You were crying, doll,” he said softly. He let the silence drag on for a moment before continuing, “look, I don’t want to pry into your life or make ya uncomfortable. But if you wanna talk about it, I’m all ears. No judgement, promise.”

You took a deep breath, looking out the window, away from Sonny. “I miss my friends, Carisi. I’m…I’m lonely.”

You weren’t sure what he had been expecting, but from his shocked silence, you guessed not that. “I guess you would be a little homesick, being so far from home,” he muttered.

“I’m not homesick; I am heart-breakingly, soul-crushingly lonely! I don’t know anyone, don’t have anyone to talk to or hang out with! They’re all across the country from me!” you took another deep, shuddering breath, wiping away the tears that had appeared.

Silence reigned as Sonny thought through his words. “I’m sorry, doll. I’m sorry that I haven’t made more of an effort to hang out with you. But I do count ya as a friend, if that makes a difference to ya—”

“The last thing I want is you blaming yourself, or any of the squad. It’s my fault; you all have been so sweet, so accepting. And you’ve asked me to come out multiple times.”

“Yeah, but you’re always busy. I should try and wait until you’re free—”

“I’m always free, Sonny. I’ve been lying to you. You’ll ask me out to drinks, and I’ll lie and say I’m unpacking; I’ve finished unpacking weeks ago! In reality, I go home and sit alone, doing nothing.”

He looked stunned as he took in this information. “Then why don’t you want to go out?”

A few more tears escaped your eyes as you looked at him, begging him to understand. “Because I’m afraid—afraid of butting into all your relationships. You’re all such great friends with each other and I don’t know how to approach that.”

“You know, I had trouble making friends, too,” he mused, a small smile on his face.

You scoffed at this. “You? Mr. Social Butterfly?”

He let out a chuckle. “I know, shocking. But I had ta force myself to become like that. I went through four departments in less than a year; I had ta make friends over and over again. And like you, it was hard to insert myself into established friend groups, but I did. It may seem like I’m used to it now, but it wasn’t always like that.”

“I—I just don’t know how to change…” you whispered.

Sonny smiled at you. “Well, you come hang out with me one day. Liv gave us both tomorrow off. So, after we sleep for a little bit, why don’t you and I go out and do something? It can just be us, if that makes ya more comfortable. Or, if ya want, I’m sure I can get Rollins and/or Fin to come, too.”

“I…think I’d rather just one person first,” you said sheepishly.

He nodded. “Understandable. So, just you and me. We can do whatever you want: bowling, hiking, checking out a museum, whatever. Just come hang out with me, okay?”

You wiped away what remained of your tears, giving Sonny a bright smile. “Yeah, okay. No excuses this time. Let’s be friends.”

“Absolutely, doll.”

#sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fanfic #my writing

64 notes · View notes

ushidoux · 3 years

Text

Be My Last - Iwaizumi x Reader (Pt. 5)

Summary: You have trouble getting over a past relationship and it’s preventing you from moving forward. (~1.6 words)

Warnings: angst, mention of kid and implied marriage.

A/N: We’re at the end here! I hope you’re okay with the way this ended, and if not... *shrug* LOLLLL, we can talk about it. Thanks for reading up to now!! <333 See you in my next fic!!

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

Iwaizumi returned late that evening to realize that you were nowhere to be found.

It shouldn’t have been this alarming for him to not see you hanging upside down off the edge of the couch watching tv, futzing around in the kitchen, maybe staring out off the small balcony or snuggled up under the covers.

But you were absent, and on top of everything, the sight of a dark home proved to be too much for him to handle. Moreover, the home hadn’t always really been his, had it? It was yours and Ushijima’s far before he’d even come into the picture.

He had just been filling a space, just as he’d promised you.

He checked his phone only to be further defeated by the lack of a text message to let him know you were going out. You always let him know.

Iwaizumi turned on his heels and went back to his car. The roads were clearer now and he needed to drive. He needed to go, somewhere. It didn’t matter where to.

Years pass.

“Hot cocoa, please!”

Your daughter collapsed in your arms as she made this request, having run in your direction from the opposite side of the sitting room. She grinned widely, her brownish-green eyes seeming to sparkle despite the low light of the room. She is truly the happiest child, you thought for a moment, smiling as you mussed her hair affectionately.

“Okay, baby, we can get some,” you agreed, pulling her close for a kiss on the forehead, because how could you say no to that pure joy on her face?

“Did you have fun with your new friends?” You asked, rising.

You’d been watching her for a while now, seated in an overstuffed armchair by a roaring fire, thankful to be insulated from the frigid winter weather (turned out the cold of Eastern Europe was an entirely different type of cold than you were used to). It was a pleasure to see her discharge energy, bouncing around the other little kids at the ski lodge resort you’d been residing at since this past weekend.

She nodded. “That’s why I’m gonna drink it really fast so we can play some more!”

You chuckled, and held her little hand tightly. At least someone was having fun.

You on the other hand had decided you hated skiing with a passion six hours into the vacation after spilling spectacularly more than enough times on one of the beginner slopes. Not wanting to ruin your husband’s fun, you’d convinced him to let you stay behind with your four-year-old so that she could socialize, you could have a break, and he could try one of the more exciting slopes.

Everyone won.

Well, sorta. He’d pouted as he set out on his own, and now you felt a little bad. Maybe you’d try again the next morning for him after you left your little one at a kids’ event.

“Is Daddy coming back soon?”

Your little princess’ legs swung excitedly as she sipped her hot cocoa with far too many marshmallows, just after you’d blown at it a little to make sure she didn’t burn herself.

“Daddy will join us soon,” you assured her, your own hands warm with a cup of tea.

---

“I’m sorry.”

Before you is a glass of water with too much lemon. You’re seated at a diner, the very diner where you’d first confessed your feelings for him, and he’s speaking to you but you barely hear him - all you hear is the rushing of blood in your temples.

Why now? What do you do with sorry after all this time?

Wakatoshi sees your expression and cracks a weary smile.

“I shouldn’t say that, should I? It’s too little, too late.”

He’s right but you don’t answer.

It’s weird to see him after all these years, seated just across from you as though you were on a date as usual. You can imagine a heaping stack of pancakes between you, covered in too much fruit and too much syrup and him chastising you before you force a berry into his mouth. You can imagine laughter. You can imagine gentle touches, kisses, hugs. You can imagine the words ‘I love you.’

Is that what he’s sorry for?

“To-... Wakatoshi, why did you message me?” You don’t mean to sound curt, but if you speak longer you feel as though your voice will give out.

He winces almost imperceptibly at the use of his full name. But he’s always been steadier than you, emotion-wise. At least you think so.

“I wish it had been different.”

“So do I,” you say, quickly before thinking. But you don’t really, do you?

There’s a man who loves you, possibly more than he loves himself, than he loves anything in the world. And if it weren’t for this, for Ushijima ‘releasing’ you, no matter how harshly, you wouldn’t have had the experience to be loved by him.

“I was wrong.”

He was. He was absolutely wrong. But what’s wrong and what’s right no longer matters. What matters is what is.

He pauses and sighs. You can see his hands now grip the end of the table as though to keep steady.

“Thank you for coming.”

There is another pause, one that is suddenly too great for you to handle, where you want to sigh but instead you draw in a double breath.

You’re embarrassed because you do not intend to cry. Not after all this. Not in front of him.

“You didn’t love me enough to compromise,” you end up sputtering out.

Your tears aren’t falling yet but your eyes swim and you blink them back furiously. “Why all this? Why now?”

He blinks once and you can see his fingers tighten around the edge of the booth, knuckles white.

“I was stupid then. I’m different now.”

The fact that his eyes are so sincere makes your heart wrench. You know that he doesn’t lie, he’s never felt a need to.

It’s a response that infuriates you but your anger is cool rather than hot and it’s diffuse, deafening and directionless. There’s no one to be mad at except the very fabric of time.

What do I do with this? What can I do?

Your heart settles, and you measure your next words carefully.

---

“Daddy!”

Your daughter’s eyes widened immediately as she saw him approach behind you, and in mere seconds, she jumped out of her chair to embrace her father, nearly knocking over her hot cocoa in the process. You managed to salvage it to your credit, and you turned in your chair to flash a teasing grin.

“How were the slopes?”

---

“There was once a time where I would have followed you anywhere if you asked me to. Maybe it was unhealthy, maybe it was naïve, but I truly loved you to that extent. I would have left everything behind if you asked.”

The solemn look he sports on his face, so stoic as a defense mechanism that it seems almost caricature-like, only confirms that he knew. He knew that every word you said was true, and yet...

“I thought it was the best decision at the time. I didn’t want to hurt you anymore.”

Maybe he was right. That sort of reckless love, especially when not reciprocated in earnest could only result in pain.

His intentions were good. They were good. That’s what matters.

He had a reason.

----

Hajime frowned at you, which in turn made his little princess, now perched on his hip frown as well.

“Your mother’s not being very nice, now is she?” He murmured, as he approached, now settling her back in the chair across from you. “She didn’t even want to ski with me!”

His arms crossed over his chest as he stood beside you now, a pretend-grumpy look on his face.

Your four year-old gasped. “What?! Mommy’s mean? Are you a bully?”

“Hey!” You nudged Iwa in the ribs. “Don’t make me out to be the bad guy! I’m coming with you tomorrow!”

To this, your husband’s eyes lit up, and he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, resting his chin on your head.

“You’d do that for me, my clumsy little penguin?” He whispered, just low enough that your little girl, who had now contented herself back to drinking her hot cocoa couldn’t hear.

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“If you keep making fun of me, you’ll be on your own again, and possibly so for the rest of this vacation,” you grumbled back, but he laughed in earnest to your threat, pressing a quick kiss on your cheek before dragging the nearest chair towards your table to complete your circle.

“So what do my favorite girls want for dinner?”

---

When Ushijima’s hands finally relax, and he places them clasped together on the table, you find yourself reaching for them. It’s no longer a natural, intrinsic movement of the arm and hand, the way it was years ago when you always yearned for physical contact. It’s now measured and intentional.

You squeeze his hands and they feel different. They’re larger, colder, rougher than Iwa’s are. It’s not a bad thing; just not the same. You can imagine that intertwining your fingers with his would feel imperfect, maybe even wrong.

You’ve changed. And he’s changed.

“Wakatoshi…”

You pause, and your hands linger.

It’s hard to look in his eyes when you say this, but you do anyway. Their eyes are almost the same color, but Iwa’s are greener. An old idiom comes to mind and you banish it from your mind.

“You will always be my first love, but Hajime will be my last one.”

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwa x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #tw angst #tw breakup #series: be my last #mae.writing

121 notes · View notes

spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

I'll (Never) Know What It's Like Not to Love You

Summary: Spencer finds his old journals in the attic, and he and Derek reminisce on the days they used to pine for one another. Luckily, those days are over, and they have forever ahead of them.

Tags: tooth-rotting domestic fluff, past mutual pining, past hurt!spencer, cuddling & snuggling, late canon

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 1.3k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Happy Bonus Fic Thursday!!! This was written on a whim after listening to "When I'm Older" by Ashe on repeat one morning. I think it's cute though and I do love to give these two a happy ending <3

Spencer has just turned thirty-nine when he finds the journal. It’s only November, but he’d ventured into the attic to dig out the Christmas decorations while Derek was out running errands — he can’t complain about it if he’s not here — and he’d stumbled across boxes full of stuff from Spencer’s old apartment that he took with him when he moved into the house Derek renovated for them.

He finds trinkets and books he’d almost forgotten about, old letters that he never sent, the small remnants he has left of his childhood, and he spends almost an hour sifting through the boxes as he sits on the floor of the loft, barely registering the frigid air around him.

Eventually, he stumbles on the box full of his old journals, and his heart stops at the sight of them. They’re a random assortment of hardback and paperback, colourful and plain, too many different fabrics to count, and they document every day of his life from his first day at university up until around 2009. After he got together with Derek, his life had grown too full and busy to chronicle each and every day, and he switched to only journaling through the really significant moments of his life.

He lifts them out of the box, fingering the spines tenderly as he holds them with the reverence he feels they deserve, until he comes across a fat, purple, leather journal. Jan-June 2004, it says on the spine in Spencer’s neatest print. His stomach tumbles as he remembers what’s written on these pages, and — his world suddenly zeroing into the book in his hands — he opens it.

23rd April 2004

We didn’t have a case today. Derek brought me coffee and ate breakfast with me in the break room and, even though I was smiling the whole time, it hurt so badly. I don’t think I’ll ever not be in love with him. Certainly not when he’s this close to me; not when he looks at me like he did when I knocked the stapler off the desk today; not when he places his hand on my hip and calls me ‘pretty boy’.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I think that the most I can hope for is that in thirty years I don’t still feel like this. Maybe when I’m older, I’ll finally know what it’s like not to love him.

Spencer’s heart clenches as all the emotions he’d felt when writing that entry rush back. Almost all the pages from 2003-2006 are filled with his lamentations about his feelings for Derek. He’d documented other things too at times, if a case was particularly interesting he’d write down his thoughts and observations, and he’d written about the trip he’d taken in 2005 to go and see Diana after the Fisher King case.

Largely, though, he wrote about the way Derek’s eyes looked in the sunshine, the difference in his first and last smile of the day, the gentleness in every strong and powerful muscle of his body. He wrote about the way his heart broke each day at the sight of him, how he would cry at night when the knowledge he’d never know how it felt to be wrapped up in his arms hurt too badly. He wrote about the men he slept with in a vain attempt to forget him.

As soon as the rush of emotions subsides a little, a smile crosses his lips. Tears shine in his eyes as he thinks about how wrong this Spencer was.

He is older now. He wrote these journal entries in his twenties, and now he’s fast approaching being double the age he was then, and still, he has no idea what it’s like not to love Derek Morgan. The only difference is that the hurt it used to bring has been replaced with a kind of joy Spencer never could have expected he would experience.

It’s not something painful he wishes he could forget anymore; it’s the very root of everything so wonderful about his life, and where 2004 Spencer Reid wished he could cut himself open and gut out all the love he held for Derek Morgan, modern day Spencer Reid only wants it to replicate, duplicate, overtake his body until it’s more himself than he could ever be.

⭐️

“I found something interesting earlier,” he tells Derek later.

Their empty pasta bowls are discarded on the coffee table as they sit cuddled up on the sofa and the TV is muted, playing Spencer’s favourite sitcoms across the screen, the sound of the November rain coming down outside filling the room. The Christmas decorations are still in the attic, but the journals are tucked under their bed upstairs.

“What’s that, baby?” He turns his head slightly to see Spencer’s face resting against his shoulder, tightening his grip on his waist, pulling him closer into his warmth.

Spencer looks up to meet Derek’s eyes, and he can’t help but immediately smile. They’re still the same shade of delectable honey brown, still the same ones that melt him every time he meets his gaze, but they’re a little more lined these days. Spencer always tells Derek that age looks good on him, and he means it. He looks older, wiser, safer, and Spencer still wants to melt into his embrace every moment of the day.

“I found the journals I wrote in when I first joined the BAU.”

Derek chuckles lowly, bringing a hand to Spencer’s curls. “Those must have been a good read.”

“They were.”

“What cases did you write about?”

“Not many,” Spencer admits, sliding down the sofa until he can rest against Derek’s chest more comfortably. “I mostly wrote about you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. When I was young and in love and it hurt so badly because I thought I would never have you, the only thing that I held onto was that maybe when I was older, I wouldn’t still be in love with you. And it’s sort of funny, because I’m older now, and if anything, I’m only more in love with you.”

“Oh, baby,” Derek sighs. “We really were a mess back then, huh?”

Spencer laughs. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Penelope was my journal when you first joined,” Derek recalls, tracing his fingertips over the exposed skin on Spencer’s waist where his t-shirt’s ridden up. “I would go into her office at least three times a day when we were home complaining about how much I liked you. And she’d get even more calls if we were on a case.”

“Wait, is that where you used to go when we shared a room? You always used to wander out of the room at random hours making phone calls. I thought it was weird.”

Derek laughs at that, and Spencer likes the way it makes his chest rumble underneath him. “That’s exactly what was going on, genius.”

“When she and Emily come this weekend I’m gonna get her to tell those stories,” Spencer teases.

“Let her,” Derek laughs, “I’m not embarrassed. The whole world can know I was and still am madly in love with my pretty boy, I don’t care.”

Spencer’s heart warms at that, and he marvels at Derek’s ability to still make him soft and mushy after all these years. He sits up properly, shifting up the sofa until he’s straddling Derek’s hips, cradling his face. “I love you so much,” he whispers, leaning in to press his lips against Derek’s.

“I love you more.”

“I’m pretty sure that reading even a single entry of one of those journals could convince you otherwise.”

“Oh, I will absolutely be reading those journals, baby, do not get it twisted.”

Spencer smiles, sliding off his hips to curl up next to him again, resting his head on his shoulder. “You’ve made me so happy, Derek,” he murmurs, connecting his right hand with Derek’s left.

“And nothing makes me happier than hearing that,” Derek murmurs back, caressing Spencer’s thumb with his own. “I’m gonna continue making you happy for the rest of our lives, you know that?”

Spencer sighs, content and warm and loved. “Yeah. I do.”

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @moreidstrobed

#criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #cm fic #cm fanfiction #cm fanfic #moreid #derek morgan #spencer reid #moreid fic #moreid fluff #derek morgan x spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #spencer reid x derek morgan #spencer reid/derek morgan

79 notes · View notes

alldayangst · 3 years

Text

gold rush (Tom Holland)

All of my fics are LGBT and PoC friendly. Inspired by gold rush by Taylor Swift. Everybody wants Tom, but you don’t like a gold rush. WC: 2.7K words.

“Y/N, I just wanted to say again, thank you for coming in today and doing this for us.” Tom’s dad, Dominic, said as he displaced papers across desks, earl grey swaying like an angry lake in his mug. Approaching footsteps hinted that the star of the show was soon to be hold. In other words, Tom was running behind.

The door creaked and light from the corridor crept through like Sun peeping through curtains of the Night. It refusing to shut after Tom budged and pushed was maybe divine punishment for him being so late, and maybe provided the bit of laughter you needed after rolling out of bed at 6am for this, for him. When the door eventually did close, Tom turned around and saw you in all your glory; much taller than he remembered, more assured than he’d imagined, and more gorgeous than drowned out and half forgotten memories of you could ever fabricate.

You and Tom ran in the same social circles, but hadn’t seen each other since Tom’s career imploded when you were both nineteen. As much as Tom felt he owed his heart and soul to the UK, he maintained an almost permanent fixture on the States. It started to feel like his trips back to England were in fact actual holiday. At one point, you were in love with Tom, but meeting became a constant battle of ‘here, not there’ and your heart grew tired of the duck and goose chase. The gravity of the situation was too much for you, whom hadn’t even tasted their twenties yet.

“Y/N!” Tom launched at you and held you in tight embrace. You let go of the hug, but he didn’t. And his dad watched on in momentary awe as you wrapped your arms around Tom once again, who breathed in every part of you with unwavering adoration.

“Tom!” You rubbed along his back as he hummed. “When I was told we were gonna have a ghost writer, I had no idea it was gonna be you.”

Tom and his dad (being an author) were collaborating on a book, a million dollar idea that’d been years in the making. Tom had stalled it, his dad told you out of simple insecurity. Now that the world was a stage, he was worried people would criticise his dyslexia with every line he wrote, that every stroke of his pen would reveal him as a rare type of monster that lacked intellect, he pondered that he wasn’t insightful enough in some way. His dad may have written a book about Tom outfaming him, but Tom felt like he’d always live in Dom’s shadow in this respect. Fresh from Oxford with an English Bachelor’s degree, Dom employed you to get grease on the gears to commence writing. Tom had always come out of his shell when you were around.

Your writing session lasted from 8 til noon, when Tom had promo with LadBible or Entertainment Weekly or whoever had bid the highest from his presence that day.

The door swung open and three men in all black and mics saddled around their waists called for and led Tom out of the room.

“Tom, session’s over. We need to get you to your BBC promo in 30 and we’re already running behind schedule.’ One cloaked Tom in a jacket you were sure was more expensive than your own home and another whispered something into a walkie talkie: “Holland is on the move. Check the back entrance is clear.” With that, Tom rose to his feet and left completely opposite of the way you came in. Without a word, no goodbye.

You and Dom left the building together around ten minutes later, where ten men with large cameras stood, lenses focused on you, glaring at you, not sure what to make of you. One of the men screams “Hey! You dating Tom Holland” and after that all you hear is clicks and all you see is bright flashing lights and Dom clenches your hand and leads you to your taxi cab.

The next time you see Tom is sooner than expected. The Hollands were hosting a last minute dinner party and you found yourself sitting opposite Tom, feeling his hard, hot and heavy gaze on you. The tension in the room was so thick not even a chainsaw cut through.

“Next topic,” You picked up a card from the deck and read it aloud. “Politics!” You said devilishly as you sip on what was left of the white wine in your cup, and now that your thought process is blurred; Tom’s longing gaze puts you at dismay.

“Fuck!” Harry exploded, and you hear their mother hiss. “Fuck I hate politics, there’s no making it out alive!” he remarked as he drummed on the table cloth, drunken excitement brewing a new energy in the room.

You go on like this for hours until dinner party is dinner party no more. And while Dom, Nikki and all of Tom’s siblings have chosen to exit stage left, it’s 1am and you and Tom have yet to leave the scene.

Tom sets down your deck of debate cards in favour of a genuine moment.

“What are you doing these days, Y/N?” Tom’s not looking at you, he’s looking at your knee as he rubs circles on it. You want to look down there too, see what he finds so intriguing; but you decide against it in fear you might spontaneously combust. You don’t know if this moment’s supposed to be intimate or innocent and you’re not sure if you want to find out.

So you put up a wall.

“I should be asking you the same thing, Holland.” You say sarcastically. “What have you been doing these days? I haven’t seen you around.” Your eyebrows scrunched up together but you’ve got a big, idiot grin on your face that’s more than telling. Tom giggles at your facetiousness.

Tom scratches his head in mock thought. He never clocks out, always putting on a show. “I don’t know - uh.” You’re laughing before Tom has even told the punchline, ‘cause I guess anything’s funny when it’s said by the one you love.”I’m kind of -” He snatches an old Spiderman comic off the floor. “I’m kinda doing this acting thing at the moment. Playing, y’know, this guy.”

“Well I wish you better luck in the future.” Tom has stopped rubbing circles but instead places his two hands on your knees as you rock back in laughter.

“I’m serious, Y/N. What do you do now?”

“Um.” You suddenly forgot your entire career as Tom, with no shade of subtlety, stares right into your soul. “I got my degree. I write like little stories, y’know? Have you ever heard of folklore?”

Tom shook his head.

“They’re like these little, old beautiful myths. And I write them for a living. And if I’m lucky, they get published in The Times. If I’m even luckier, I get to work with my old best friend - ” You feel your world stop temporarily as you call Tom your ‘best friend’ and you pause for all of 0.3 seconds to register Tom’s reaction but his face doesn’t flinch. “-Writing a book with him and his dad.” And that makes Tom smile. So he doesn’t have to tell you he missed you, you just know.

‘Undivided appearance’ and ‘undivided attention’ don’t necessarily mean the same thing in Hollywood as they do in real life, and you learn that the hard way in your writing session.

Tom may have been sat right next to you, but he was miles away. He was doing press with Cosmo, who hadn’t stopped tagging him with blue hearts on his Instagram, Twitter and Snapchat stories, causing his phone to go off every two seconds. You looked at the phone and then at him who then got the hint and put it on silent. Then there was a knock on the door. Tom rushed to open it, expecting that Dom had sent down a food delivery to egg you on finishing this chapter. You rehashed his childhood like a million times - in fact, you were part of it - so when it came to writing the parts that hurt, where you took a more supporting role in his life, you needed his help. The fact is, the knock at the door had come from one of Tom’s men (Tom liked to call him Man In Black no. 3) who hadn’t said as much as a ‘hi’ before he made his announcement. “Tom, you’re on the line with Cosmo in 10.” The man stepped back and pulled out his walkie talkie, “Holland knows he’s on the line with Cosmo at 10.” And then continued to pace around the hallway.

Cosmo called as he said they would and you almost felt for. second like tom might enjoy an entertainment magazine’s company more than yours. The interviewer made glaring comments and passive flirts at Tom who just blushed and chuckled and sipped his water like the woman on the phone calling him ‘hot’ was just too much to handle. At one point, she says: “What must it be like to grow up that beautiful, Tom? With your hair falling into place like dominoes.” You’re not expecting it when Tom tilts the phone so you’re in view. “Well I’m with the most beautiful being on Earth right now so..” Tom looks at you as if to ask ‘is this okay?” and you know it’s too late for these kind of questions, because that moment is headline fodder, so you smile not to make him feel bad for opening Pandora’s box. But Tom is merciless and likes to rub salt in the wound. “This is Y/N! Y/N’s helping me write the book with my Dad! We go way back.” He covers his mouth as soon as he says it. “Shit! They’re not supposed to know about the book yet.”

This is the moment, you think, where you believe when they say your first love is the one you never let go.

And you can’t think of anything purer than the love you have for him.

Tom thinks being on land is boring. He likes being strung from chords 30 feet in the air, and drowning in despair through scenes of emotional turmoil. You want to tell him you’re an arrow from Cupid’s bow about to reach him, but you couldn’t recover from the splinters if Tom shut you down. After all, Tom was a gold rush. A treasure that everyone had discovered but nobody owned. How precious is a jewel that anybody could take home with them?

Tom had invited you to a visit to Brighton with him, a city near the coast, for some inspiration on writing his section of the book.

You accepted. And because you did, you found yourself at the beginning of the end, on Tom’s boat in Brighton. “We don’t have to talk about the book right now.” Tom throws a stack of blue tinted paper on the floor. His dyslexia meant that spelling and reading was so much easier when done on blue pages, and you could only guess that was the reason the body of water around you brought him so much peace. So when you saw that something might compromise your best boy’s happiness, you point it out. To give Tom a little bit of time to exit before things got ugly.

“Tom, I see someone in the bushes.”

“Yeah. It’s a pap.” Tom mumbled nonchalantly.

“They’re here to get pictures of me,” He turned to face you. “and you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, the fans ship us. Think we’d be a good couple after that Cosmo stunt. We would have been a good couple when we were like, 18.” He laughs.

“Huh, yeah.” You look down.

“The best one around.” And you can’t tell if he’s serious.

You rip off one of his blue sheets. “I’m coming. I got hit with inspo.” And you trail to a different section of the boat. A very obvious click of the camera from a shrub nearby coaxes your pen to write without a second thought, How is he so accustomed to this? Fake private moments, protected by sheer glass curtains?

You scrunched your paper, well his paper, into a ball.

Your mind had turned his life into folklore. You weren’t sure if that was crossing a line, so you just put the ball into your bag and hide it until he hits you with the spark again.

“Let me see it.” Tom says.

“No.”

“You ran off to write it and won’t let me see it?”

You held your bag at your hip in defence. “No, Tom. Drop it.”

Tom’s face drops a little bit, but then he reaches into his own bag and reveals a deck of your debate cards. “I know what will cheer you up, good ol’ Y/N.” He sets a card on the wooden table between you two.

“Do you believe in a higher power?”

You toyed with the pendant around your neck which revealed your faith. “Do you?”

“I don’t. But I believe in soulmates.”

You look to the left to really ponder on what Tom is saying, and a paparazzis captures another photo of you in the corner of your eye.

“And you don’t think there’s a higher power that manufactures our souls to make our soulmates?”

Tom feigns a scowl. “That’s ridiculous.”

You scoffed. “How very contrarian of you.”

“What the fuck does that mean.”

“It means you contradict yourself, Thomas.” You laugh as he holds his chest in fake hurt.

“Are you implying I’m anything less than perfect?”

“Never.”

Never. Because you didn’t believe that to be true.

“Good. Cause you’d have to be punished.” Tom picks you up and throws you in the water below before jumping in with you.

On your way home you stop at the yours and Tom’s writing booth, scavenging through your bag to drop off Tom’s notepad, some scrunched up blue and white papers you and Tom thought could still help you write his book. You’d made an addition to your love-hazed scribblings about Tom and reckon you’d die if he found it. You managed to throw the other in the water, excusing yourself with “It’s utterly awful.”, to which you and Tom agreed you wouldn’t throw any more paper in the ocean cause the poor fish already had it hard enough.

You and Tom had a session the next day. Tom was excited for the day, and you could tell because he’d given his phone to one of his big babysitters for the time he had you.

“I think that’s all of yours.” You and Tom made a business out of unscrunching your paper balls to see if they had any useful ideas. You were certain you reached the end of Tom’s. All of his notes had ‘T.H’ written on the back in big and were scribed on blue paper. When it came to your little ‘secret admirer’ notes you weren’t worried - you had an English degree and were quick to think on your feet and was ready to make something up when it came to opening it.

“No, this one’s mine.” He’s confident, so you let him have it. He goes to pick up your tea and then realises it’s nowhere near warm, and was the one you made for yourself when you crept in yesterday evening. Tom has a smile on his face, and then he doesn’t. Before he goes to read it aloud, his eyes tell you he’s reading it again and again and again. “At dinner parties, I’ll call you out on your contrarian shit, and the coastal towns we wondered round will never see a love as pure as it.”

The look on Tom’s face gives you the splinters. He tries to look at you but you know he can’t. You don’t blame him. You can’t look at him either. “I really thought this was a good friendship.”

You hum and nod your head in agreement, pull your lips into a thin straight line as streaks of tears abandon your eyes. This was worse than Tom rubbing salt in your wounds. He’s rubbing dirt in your painful fucking gashes and you are reminded of why this didn’t work before, why it will never be.

And you wouldn’t dare to dream about him anymore.

Masterlist

Upcoming Works

160 notes · View notes

watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

Text

And I always will - Tom Holland

❄️ FANFICmas 2020 ❄️

Read more about FANFICmas here!

week 3 babies! it’s been so long since i last wrote for Tom and this story just screamed for him when I made up the plot. so here is some cute friends to lovers christmas edition! updated the fanficmas post with next week’s fic and added another one for the 24th, check it out if you are interested!

word count: 4.2k

masterlist

It’s not a date, it’s not a date, it’s not a date!

That’s your mantra for the evening and the closer the time is coming when Tom is picking you up, the louder you’re shouting it in your mind. Well, while it was sure he was nowhere near your apartment you physically kept telling yourself, heart pounding in your chest with each passing moment, but when he texted you that he’d be there in five you shut yourself up.

Stepping to the mirror you take one last look at yourself in your simple black dress and red blazer, a simple but fitting look for the annual Christmas party of the company you’re working for. You tug your hair behind your ears to make your earrings more apparent, they are like little red Christmas ornaments, the perfect touch up for the occasion and you also happen to know Tom loves how you wear them around the holidays every year.

This whole thing started a week ago when he was over for a movie night, something you often did when he was in town and you whined about having to go to the company party alone again and listen to your boss comment on how she was already married at your age. She is a very old school woman with strong beliefs that a woman should be able to catch herself a man at an early age if she doesn’t want to end up alone for the rest of her life.

You were only twenty three, not at all in rush to settle down, but you hated the teasing and commenting every year. It happened all through the year, but it was the worst at the Christmas party, because then she had the time to talk to you without the distraction of work, so she was able to touch on more personal topics as well.

Tom listened to you patiently, letting you rage about the irritation even the thought brings to you every year before proposing his idea.

“I could go with you and pretend to be your boyfriend.”

The words rolled off his tongue so easily, like it was nothing at all, when in reality it put your stomach into a knot immediately. It might have not mean anything to him other than just a friendly request but it meant so much more to you, being in love with the man for years.

Cliché, right? Falling for your best friend and keeping your emotions bottled up because you’re too afraid to come clear and possibly ruin your friendship. It sounds like a horrible teen movie, but this is the truth. It’s not something you can just blurt out without having to overthink about all the possible outcomes that would send you into a rabbit hole of the worst case scenarios until you are scared to talk about your feelings for life.

You were hesitant about his idea, but like every time, he managed to talk your ears off and convince that it would be a great idea.

“Lots are already thinking we are a couple, it would be easy!” he assured you, and he gave you a sly, cocky smirk, one you can never resist. So naturally, you said yes at the end and that brings you to this evening, when you’re nervously waiting for him to arrive to pick you up so the two of you could go to that stupid party together, pretending to be a couple.

You keep pacing back and forth in the small hallway as you wait for him to arrive and when you hear the knock on the door you jump.

It’s not a date, Y/N! Just pretentious!

You keep telling yourself your little mantra as you stride over to the door and open it for him. And there he is, handsome as ever, wearing black dress pants and a nice, crispy looking white shirt under his wool coat, the top buttons of the shirt left undone to let your greedy eyes a little hint of his toned chest underneath the fabric. You need to stop yourself from sucking on your breath, he looks so great, not just now, but all the damn time, making you feel lightheaded with just a simple smile.

“You look beautiful, girlfriend,” he tells you, putting a teasing tone into the last word and though it was just a joke, it made your heart flutter for sure.

“Thank you, boyfriend,” you shyly smile, the word tastes so sweet on your tongue, but there’s some hidden pain behind it.

“Ready to go?” You nod and grab your coat and purse before shutting the door behind you and locking the door.

The ride is short, but feels like forever. You’re anxiously chewing on your bottom lip, heart pounding in your chest and you fear that Tom might hear it and question you about it. This is so nerve-wrecking, and so not how you imagined to be his girlfriend for the first time.

Though it’s the closest you’ll get to the title, probably, you tell yourself, stomach churning at the thought.

“Hey,” Tom’s soft voice grabs your attention when he stops at a red light. “Nervous?”

“Just a little,” you nod shortly. “I just… want to my boss to take me seriously for once,” you lie, because there’s absolutely no way you are telling him it’s him that makes you shit your panties.

“I’ll be right there with you and we’ll charm the shit out of that woman,” he smirks making you laugh at his words.

“Hope so,” you mumble with a sigh, turning back to stare out the window.

Tom parks down in an empty spot near the venue that holds the part and he helps you out of the car giving you a hand, but he doesn’t let go of it once you are standing on your feet, holding your hand and even lacing your fingers together. When he gives it a gentle squeeze you peek up at him and notice that he is looking down at your with a warm smile as if he is trying to tell you that it’s gonna be alright without words. You try to swallow your anxious thoughts and hope he doesn’t find your hand too sweaty as the two of you head inside.

You work for a huge marketing company, one of the biggest ones in London. You landed an assistant job two years ago, fresh out of college and worked yourself up to be a fulltime graphic designer, mostly working on visuals for smaller campaigns running in the company, but you were proud of your work and enjoyed it to the fullest. One of the lead designers is rumored to retire sometime next year and you were hoping to be considered for his spot, thought there are quite a lot who has been working there for a longer time, but you felt like you have proven yourself to be suitable for the job. Tonight you are praying to charm your boss so she would move your name forward in the process and earn you a few good points at the admission, but this meant that you have to make her believe you are the definition of couple goals so she would get off your back and finally see that you are trying your best to move forward in life.

The venue is one big ball room, several tables set on the sides with the department’s name on the table to let people know where to sit, the luxurious decoration making the whole place appear like Winter Wonderland straight out of a fairytale. There’s a stage at the very back with a DJ already playing and a dancefloor in the middle, some guests are busting their best dance moves there, while others are enjoying the open buffet that runs along the two sides, tables filled with the most delicious looking meals.

A waiter greets you both, offering you champagne and you gladly take a glass while Tom shakes his head with a soft “I’m driving, thank you”.

Looking around you see some familiar faces but there are a lot new ones. The company has a whole office building with five floors and one usually stays on their own floor throughout the working days, you don’t interact much, so it’s hard to tell who you are working with on a wider level.

“Do you know where we are sitting?” Tom asks leaning closer to your ear so you hear what he is saying over the music and as his hot breath hits your neck it sends a shiver down your spine.

He is so close and his hand feels so warm on mine, you think to yourself while your eyes scan the place, trying to find your colleagues. When you spot them you pull Tom in their direction, plastering a nervous smile on your lips.

“Hi everyone!” you greet them arriving to the big, circular table. You work with a team of ten designers, some of them are older, but there are two around your age. Sally is twenty-five, her desk is right across yours and you’ve become closer, eating lunch together almost every day, and then there’s Owen, who is basically the office’s gossip source, always knows what happened to who and he makes sure to give the word away to the right people. Your older colleagues find him nosy, but you think it’s funny how he can still get any information from anyone even though he is known to have a big mouth. There’s just something about a tall, gay dude who approaches you with a sly smile, it’s like he puts a spell on people and they magically start talking. He often joins you and Sally for lunch, the three of you forming a club of young, ambitious people, holding each other up so you don’t get crushed by the judgy thirties.

When Owen looks up from his cocktail he almost spits it out seeing Tom standing next to you, holding your hand firmly.

“Little miss Y/N?! What is this supposed to be?” he gasps dramatically and you just chuckle shaking your head at him.

“This, is my uhh—This is my boyfriend, Tom,” you nervously introduce him and he waves around politely.

“Hi, nice to meet you all,” he calls out and most just acknowledge him with a nod and a hello, but Owen is over the roof that you just appeared with Tom Holland by your side.

“Why haven’t you tell me you were fucking Spider-Man himself?” he continues to rage and you almost choke on your own saliva hearing his words. Your cheeks start to heat up, but seemingly Tom doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as you, he just chuckles lightly, before pulling out your seat to help you sit before he takes the seat next to you.

Sally, who is sitting between you and Owen just slaps his chest in a warning manner.

“Control yourself!” she scolds him, but it only earns her an eye-roll.

“I’m sorry, but I feel offended I didn’t know about this,” he explains pointing at you and Tom.

“I hope you understand that I like to keep my private life, well, private. So it’s my fault Y/N hasn’t been bragging about us.” Tom rescues you from making up some stupid lie and you’re happy you didn’t have to say a word, so you just chug down half of your champagne in hopes it would ease your nerves a little.

Surprisingly, Owen backs off immediately, giving you a knowing look, as if he understood so well the life of a well-known actor even though he was far from being one.

“Oh, totally. I get it, don’t worry about it, Tom. Though I’m sure she’s been dying to talk about you all along.”

“Has she?” Tom teasingly looks down at you and you just let out an awkward chuckle nodding.

“Yeah. Exactly,” you mumble finishing off your champagne and putting it to the table. Tom can easily tell how nervous you are, so he puts a hand to your knee under the table and gives it a gentle squeeze, leaving it there afterwards, but it just rises your anxiety level. You are highly aware of every touch and look, as if your senses became hypersensitive all of a sudden, but only to Tom.

“So how long you two have been together?” Sally asks with a warm smile, trying her best to steal the opportunity from Owen to talk so he doesn’t say anything inappropriate and you are endlessly thankful to her for that.

“Um, couple of months,” you say the first thing that comes to your mind and from the corner of your eye you see Tom just nod along your words.

“And how do you know each other if I might ask?”

“We’ve been friends for a long time, actually,” Tom speaks up this time. “Y/N’s dad used to work with my dad when we were younger and we sort of became friends. I was always in love with her, though it took me a long time to grow the balls to ask her out.” You are stunned at how easily he is talking about something that’s not real, as if he has been building up this story in his mind for a while, but that can’t be the case of it.

“Oh, this is so cute! And did you feel the same way?” Sally asks you. Licking your lips you glance over at Tom.

“Yeah. Loved him all along,” you softly say and it’s the truth, however he will probably never know about it.

“It’s like in the movies!” Sally gasps, holding her hand to her chest.

Tom’s eyes still hold yours and he gives your knee another squeeze that makes you take a deep breath before you tear your gaze away from him, feeling giddy and lightheaded.

You stay at the table a little longer before the two of you head to fill your plates before everything is fully gone. It’s kind of a relief to get away from Owen and Sally, you hated lying to them, but you had no choice.

“Everything alright?” Tom asks, brushing a hand against the small of your back as the two of you stand at the buffet, looking at the food.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you nod with a weak smile. “Just a little nervous,” you admit.

“Don’t be, we are doing just fine,” he smirks and leaning down he kisses your forehead gently. It’s nothing new, he often does this and the gesture always manages to pull you out of your boiling thoughts and it has the same effect this time as well. You feel like you can breathe again after holding it in for a long time.

You carelessly glance over your shoulder as you wait for Tom to finish packing his plate up with veggies when you spot your boss talking to a guy who you recall works as an accountant on a higher level. Her eyes move just enough to meet yours and you suck on your breath when she spots Tom next to you, right when he reaches out mindlessly sliding a hand to your waist.

“Oh God, she saw us,” you mumble under your breath as you watch her excuse herself from the guy and head in your way.

“Hm? What?” Tom lifts his head and his eyes quickly find the tall, lean woman walking towards you with ambitious and confident steps. Mrs. Winston is the kind of woman that could easily intimidate any high power man in the industry, and she worked hard to be where she is now. However, you don’t necessarily always share her beliefs of the world and life, for instance her vision of a woman marrying a man as young as possible.

“Y/N? Who is this handsome man you brought tonight?” she asks right away, eyes landing on Tom who has put his plate to the table behind him and circled an arm around your waist. Before you could even get a word out, Tom extends his other hand out for her, with a charming smile.

“Tom Holland. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Winston. I’m Y/N’s boyfriend.”

Oh God, you’ll never get used to hearing him say that and you’re amazed he remembered her name even though you just mentioned it earlier.

“Nice to meet you too. Call me Carol,” she smiles, seemingly already loving Tom and honestly, you can’t blame her. “I saw that you were bringing a plus one, but I was expecting a relative,” she comments finally paying you a glance and you can feel the sharpness in it, how she partially meant it as an insult, but you just smile at her widely.

“Oh, no. Hope you don’t mind it.”

“Not at all. So tell me, why do you look so familiar, Tom?”

“I’m an actor, you might have seen me in movies.” It takes Mrs. Winston to put the picture together, but when she eventually does, she gives you a highly approving look.

“Well yes! Now I remember! I think my son in law is a big fan.”

“Give him my best wishes,” Tom nods with a warm smile.

“You know, I’m happy to see Y/N finally with a worthy man by her side. I always told her to grab herself a good one before she runs out of time,” Mrs. Winston starts her usual sermon.

“Oh, I think Y/N is perfect on her own, I think she is an amazing individual,” Tom replies and your and Mrs. Winston’s eyebrows rise at the same time. “I don’t think a woman needs a man by her side to make her complete and I admire her strength as a person on her own, not just in a relationship.”

“Don’t you think a woman needs the support of a man to succeed in this man dominated world we live in?”

“Not at all,” he shakes his head confidently and you feel him pull you closer to his side while you listen to his words curiously. “I think women deserve the recognition of them and their work and not to have it overshadowed by any men. I’m proud to be Y/N’s boyfriend and I’ll support her through everything, but I would never let anyone think of her as just a part of our relationship, or the person connected to me, because she is so much more than that and I want everyone to recognize that.”

You are at a loss of words, you knew Tom was a feminist, supporting women’s rights passionately, but you never heard him talk about it in a close relation with you. His words twisted your heart in the best possible way and though tonight is all about faking, something is telling you that these are his genuine thoughts, except the part about your relationship, but he could easily mean just your friendship under that.

Mrs. Winston seems stunned at the honest and forward answer, though you can tell it surprised her that someone went against her beliefs. However, it doesn’t seem like she is upset about it, more like she appreciates the balls that someone spoke up.

Her eyes fall back on you and there’s a small smile tugging at her red lips.

“He is a keeper, Y/N,” she simply tells you before walking away.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out when she is far away. Tom gives your waist another squeeze as he glances down at you with a smirk. “It’s like you put a spell on her!”

“I’m a charming bastard,” he shrugs smugly before grabbing his plate from the table and the two of you make your way back to the table.

Following the little talk with your boss you feel a lot more relaxed, knowing that Tom charmed the shit out of the woman. Now you are starting to enjoy the party, laughing with Sally and Owen and you’re happy to see that Tom is getting along with them pretty well too.

When the DJ starts playing All I Want For Christmas, the whole room cheers as one and most guests rush to the dance floor, that includes you and Tom as well.

He keeps you close, twirling you and moving around with you to the song, even singing it just like most people around you. Looking around you spot Mrs. Winston dancing as well, a lot more reserved than you, but she looks like she’s genuinely having a good time. She winks at you when your eyes meet and she sees Tom wrap an arm around your waist. You feel yourself blushing and you turn back to him, earning a sweet smile from him as he is enjoying the party.

When the song ends, the DJ slows it down a few knots playing Christmas Lights by Coldplay, people start to leave the dancefloor, only couple staying to slow dance to the song. Your eyes meet Tom and you thought he might want to go back to the table, but instead, his arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you to his chest, starting to sway to the rhythm.

You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you feel his body pressed against yours, his hands holding your waist firmly, and you cheek is next to his, occasionally brushing in the motions. You run your hands up his broad shoulders and rest them behind his neck, a shiver running down your spine when you hear him sing the lines into your ear:

“Like some drunken Elvis singing, I go singing out of tune, saying how I always loved you darling and I always will.”

You lean back just enough to look into his eyes, feeling like the words he sang were a message addressed straight to you and you needed to see it in his look. When your gazes meet your heart skips a beat when they validate your thoughts. He sang those lines on purpose and he wanted you to hear them, but still, you can’t bring yourself to say or do something. You just stand there, wrapped in his arms, eyes lost in his, swaying gently to the song.

He brings a hand up to your face and tugs your hair behind your ears, his yes fall to your earring and he can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips.

“I don’t know if this is the right time, but I feel like it is,” he softly starts, seemingly having a hard time to find his words. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you breathe out faintly.

“I love you.”

The words almost push you out of your balance, and you feel like you are falling down in a deep, endless hole. He said the words you’ve been aching to hear from him for so long, he really said them and he is looking at you with eyes you’ve only seen in the mirror when you were thinking about telling him about your feelings. But this time the look belongs to him and he is breathlessly waiting for you to say something in return.

“I love you too,” you softly tell him, brushing your fingers gently along his jawline. He breaks a relieved smile, but then furrows his eyebrows in a serious expression.

“Just to make it sure, you are not talking about a friendly love, right?”

You can’t help but let out a chuckle, shaking your head at him.

“No. Not friendly,” you assure him and he sighs in relief again.

“Great, because it would have been really awkward.”

You bite into your bottom lip, shyly staring up at him, a little lost about what should be said or done next, when you hear Owen call out from behind you.

“You guys are standing under the mistletoe! Kiss!”

First you turn to look at him and then you follow the direction where he is pointing and you see that you are in fact standing under a little mistletoe, hanging from the ceiling. Turning to face Tom you shyly smile at him, while he looks way more confident in himself.

“We can’t break the rule,” he chuckles teasingly, making you laugh as well before leaning down he captures your lips in a sweet, breathtaking kiss.

You feel like a teenager again, the butterflies are going wild in your stomach and you’re pretty sure your hands are shaking, but you couldn’t care less. All you could think about is Tom and that you were finally kissing him. Teenage you would lose her mind knowing you finally got to kiss him, after all those years of secretly dreaming about it.

Tom kisses you again and again until you both are breathing heavily, so he pulls back a little, resting his forehead against yours, his hands keeping you close to him.

“Wanna get out of here?” he breathes out and you nod your head eagerly.

“Fuck yes,” you chuckle making him laugh as well before he grabs your hand and pulls you back to the table to grab your stuff and then head out.

You don’t bother to say goodbye, or tell anyone you’ve left, you were busy feeling Tom’s hands touching you wherever he could, his lips finding yours every other minute. You both are a hot mess in the car on the way home and when you finally reach your apartment, you turn on the Christmas lights in your room, before Tom pulls you down to the bed and makes love to you all through the night.

general/forever taglist for Tom Holland

i do separate taglists for different people, but not for different works of mine! if you ask to be on my Tom taglist, you’ll be tagged in all of my Tom fics!

@zaahidahhh @shawn-youth @wildflower-cth @imaginashawnns @haute-shawn @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @cutepenguin1 @madatmendes @harrysleftchelseaboot @sarcasticallywitty15 @dontworrysunflower

if you’d like to be taken off or added to the list, please let me know!

#tom #holland #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland au #tom holland fluff #tom holland oneshot #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fictions #fanficmas #fanficmas2020 #fanficmas 2020 #watchmegetobsessed fanficmas #watchmegetobsessed fanficmas 2020

226 notes · View notes

willow-tree-writes · 3 years

Text

✾Arcade✾

Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Your relationship to King Steve Harrington was just a game for him. Now that he’s learned to play fair, can he win you back, or lose everything?

Request: N/A

Author’s Note: I think I like making song fics a little too much. There’s just so much inspiration that comes from them! Also, I’m still more than open for requests, so feel free to message me or anything. (Can we just talk about this gif? I’m not a smoker, I don’t condone smoking, but hot damn...)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Jerk Steve, Cursing

!I don’t own this gif!

A broken heart is all that’s left I’m still fixing all the cracks

Nancy tapped your shoulder for what seemed like the tenth time in five minutes. “Sorry, one last thing.” She paused, glancing around the classroom. “You sure you still want to come over tonight? Steve’s going to be there…” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

It was kind of her to ask, and her tone was soft enough as she tried to beat around the bush, but it still stung a little.

“It’s been a couple years, Nanc. I’m sure.” You weren’t sure. Not completely.

I spent all the love I’ve saved We were always a losing game

You knocked on the door, almost immediately pulled inside by Nancy.

“I thought you weren’t gonna make it!” She led you downstairs into her basement, where everyone else was.

You laughed a little. “Like I’d miss a Halloween Movie Night.”

You didn’t even make it to the last step when you felt yourself come to a halt. Everyone was here - the Party was laying on the floor, candy and popcorn all around them. Jonathan was on the couch, a spot open for Nancy beside him. And Steve was here. Just like she said he would be.

Small-town boy in a big arcade I got addicted to a losing game

“Come on, Steve! One more game!” You begged, tugging at his arm a little.

Steve sighed as you pulled him back inside the Arcade. “Y/N, this is the seventh time you’ve played it tonight. We both know you always lose.”

You laughed a little as you pulled a quarter from your pocket. “Okay, but it’s so worth it!”

He stood back with crossed arms as he watched you play the game for the eighth time now. It went like every other round - you made it so, so close to the end, only to lose.

“See?” He uncrossed his arms and started back outside.

With a smile, you quickly followed after him. “Practice makes perfect, my King. Isn’t that how you got good at basketball?”

The playful chatter between you two was just so effortless. Ninth grade had been the best year of your life.

I saw the end before it began Still I carried, I carried, I carried on

“Tommy, give that to me.” Steve took the basketball from his ‘friends’ hands.

Tommy laughed and rolled his eyes. “What? Don’t want someone to take your b-ball title from ya?”

You were hesitant to approach the car, but you had to - Steve was giving you a ride home. “Hey, guys…”

You didn’t look at her, but you could feel the roll of Carol’s eyes.

“Y/N…” Steve sounded a little awkward for a moment, like there was something he wanted to say but didn’t know how to. He cleared his throat a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey.”

Biting your lip, you try to ignore the fact Tommy and Carol were ignoring you. “So, my mom isn’t going to be home in time, so we’ll probably have to look after Jenna for a couple of hours.”

The awkwardness in Steve’s stance seemed to upgrade.

He opened his mouth to say something but Tommy put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “Have fun with that kid-killing duty.” He said to you before looking at Steve. “That party starts in about an hour, and this girl needs to change. Let’s get a move on.”

Tommy walked around and got into the passenger's seat of Steve’s car and Carol got in the back.

“Sorry, Y/N, but I got to go.” With his key in hand, Steve moved up and kissed you quickly on the cheek.

Forcing a smile, you shake your head a little. “It’s fine, Steve. Have fun.”

He smiled back, thanking you before getting into his car.

You stepped back and watched as Steve pulled out of the parking. Pulled away from you.

You let the smile drop to a frown as you started your walk home. Alone.

All I know, all I know Loving you is a losing game

“I love you, Steve-” The phone hung up before you could finish what you were going to say. Before he could say anything back.

“I love you-” The front door closed before you could finish what you were going to say. Before he could say anything back.

“I love-” The car door closed before you could finish what you were going to say. Before he could say anything back.

“I-” He walked away before you could finish what you were going to say. Before he could say anything back.

Summer had started a month ago, and Steve didn’t make one effort to hang out with you. He didn’t even call you.

You knew exactly why that was - he was hoping that if he ignored you enough, you’d get the hint and not try to get close to him. He was hoping he didn’t have to break up with you face to face.

But you chose to block away that knowledge. He was still Steve, right? Under all that high school fame, he was still Steve Harrington, your boyfriend…

That’s what you thought as you knocked on the front door of the house you visited so many times. That house that was currently full of people and booming with music. A house you hadn’t been invited to in a while.

Steve opened the door with a smile on his face a beer in hand. He had just finished laughing at what someone told him as he made it through the crowd.

His face and drink fell when his eyes landed on you. “Y/N…”

“We need to talk.” This was the first time in a while you felt like you could solidly say something.

He nodded a little and walked out of his house, closing the door behind him.

You wanted to ease into it. To ask him how he’s been. Ask if he’s been actually, genuinely having fun.

But pleasantries go out the window when you’re in front of the person who’s been chipping away at your heart. “Are we breaking up?”

There might have been no emotion in your voice, but you had to stop yourself from breaking down at even the thought of asking.

He sighed and you knew the answer. “Y/N, this just isn’t working for me anymore.”

“It would have been nice to be told that instead of figuring it out myself.” You couldn’t discern the tone of your own voice. You wanted to cry, but you wanted to slap him across the face with your words.

“Y/N, don’t be like that.” He reached out to grab your arm.

But you pulled away as fast as you could. “Have fun with your new life, King Steve.”

You don’t listen to him saying your name as you turn on your heels and walk down the driveway to go home.

I don’t need you games, game over

You tried to pretend as if you didn’t see him. Hell, you wanted to pretend he didn’t even exist. But that was asking too much.

Nancy handed you a bag of candy her mom put together and you sat down on the floor with the Party.

You opened it up as you sense Dustin peak over your shoulder. “You can have my nougat if you get your cat to stop chewing my socks whenever I babysit.”

“Deal!” Dustin spoke and grabbed the candy before you could even finish.

You laughed and shook your head. You could have sworn you saw Steve smile out of the corner of your eye.

Get me of this rollercoaster

“Y/N, wait!” Steve rushed out behind you as you started down the Wheeler’s driveway.

You closed your eyes and sighed. You had succeeded with ignoring him for the whole night. Now, when you were taking your victory home, he had to ruin it.

You stopped walking, but didn’t say anything or turn around.

You heard him jog up to you, stopping a couple of feet away. “Can we talk? I feel like you’ve been ignoring me all evening.”

“That’s because I have been…” You shrug a little.

It was silent, and you could tell Steve was trying to figure out how to respond to that.

You sigh again and turn around, looking at Steve for the first time. He had definitely grown since ninth grade.

“I don’t want to hear some bullshit about you being sorry.” You say, catching him off guard. “You made your priorities clear enough I’d say.”

Steve stepped forward towards you, reaching to grab your arm. You take a step back, shaking off a flashback.

“I was a dick, I know.”

“I don’t care if you’ve changed.”

“But I have, and I want to explain-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” You snap. Every emotion you pushed down for years flashed in your eyes, making Steve stare.

You bite your lip, crossing your arms. “All I know, all I care to know, is that loving you is a losing game.”

All I know, all I know Loving you Is a losing Game

---- ----

Tag List - @cheshirecat107 ♛ @killj0y2019 ♛ @Ashleyleblancx ♛ @andrewdrea99 ♛

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington one shot #stranger things #stranger things one shot #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n

125 notes · View notes

nol-an · 3 years

Text

it was good until it wasn’t || n. patrick

inspired by the prompt, “please don’t make me choose.”

2k worth of A N G S T!! um yea haven’t written in over two years and this is my first hockey fic so bear with me. feedback is always appreciated! (this is not proofread and im sure there are probs some plot holes- oops)

__________

For so long, everything had felt too good to be true. Nolan finally accomplished his dream of playing in the NHL, and you had gotten into your dream school in Philadelphia. To you, there was nothing more important than pursuing a career in the medical field and being able to do that with Nolan on your side.

At times, the long study nights, missed plans, and occasional stressed-induced breakdowns made you question if you were ever going to meet your end goals. That feeling was definitely not foreign to you, but it didn’t necessarily make coping with the thought any easier. It was a weird feeling — four years of undergraduate school almost felt like too much yet not enough time. There was so much you wanted to accomplish, and you sometimes wished you weren’t so ambitious because the days where you felt incapable of being successful were the days that you wanted nothing more than to wallow in your fears alone.

Luckily for you, Nolan was incredibly understanding of your fears. While he knew his life as an athlete was drastically different from your life as a student, he tried his best to understand your thoughts and always told you how much he admired your drive to reach your goals. No matter how often you tried to internalize your emotions, Nolan knew better and never hesitated to be your rock. Be it in the form of verbal or physical reassurance, his presence radiated a sense of comfort that always brought you out of any illusion of doubt you may have conjured.

He doesn’t tell you enough, but you have a similar effect on him. Your gentle touches, cute pre-game texts, and warm hugs never fail to bring a smile to his face. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s not quite sure what he would do without you. It’s not really a thought he has to worry about, though, because for what felt like a blissful eternity, the stars aligned for you two. There were undoubtedly times when Nolan and you would run into disagreements, but the desire to make things work seemingly mended any issues in the relationship.

That was, however, until everything seem to come to a head. With your MCAT exam date approaching very soon and Nolan’s season with the Flyers starting just as quickly, it was hard for the two of you to bask in each other’s presence like usual. It wasn’t something either of you really noticed, as you both understood how important the other’s career was. You knew how important this comeback season for Nolan would be, and you tried your best to let him know that you would support him no matter what. He didn’t have to say it, but you knew a lot of doubts were rushing through your boyfriend’s head and you almost mistook his increasingly reserved demeanor as nerves.

In fact, you didn’t really give it much thought until Nolan came home from his fourth game of the season. As badly as you wished you could have attended, the remaining hours you had to prepare for the MCAT were previous and you reassured Nolan that you would be his number one cheerleader again as soon as you got the dreaded test out of the way.

Your nose was stuffed into a psychology textbook until your trance was broken with the slam of the front door to you and Nolan’s shared apartment.

“Hi, baby,” you greeted as you got out of your seat to hug your freshly-showered boyfriend. If the sound of the front door was any indication, you had a feeling that the game didn’t go as desired, and you didn’t want to push any touchy subjects. On more than one occasion, Nolan had told you how much he liked how he could escape from hockey in your presence. He loved that he could escape from that part of his life, loved how you made him feel like a normal guy. You thought this would be one of those nights where even the word “hockey” wouldn’t be uttered, but you were wrong. So wrong.

“You’re not gonna ask how the game went?” Your boyfriend pressed, his tone bitter. Pulling away from your hug, he turned his back to you all too soon and he walked towards the kitchen.

“I-I mean, you know I’m always here to listen about your games, but I just thought you wouldn’t want to talk about it?” you meekly replied, unsure of where he was going with the conversation.

You weren’t entirely sure what the outcome of the game was, but you were definitely confused. Nolan usually didn’t like talking about the Flyers’ losses, but you were so sure something went wrong based on his dramatic entrance into your shared home.

Prompted by his silence, you continued, “Um, so was it a win?” you uttered, regretting your words as soon as they slipped off your tongue.

Slamming his water bottle on the countertop, Nolan’s actions caused your words to dissipate. Silence filled the room, the tension almost palpable.

“Well you would know if you were there, wouldn’t you?” he replied, clearly annoyed by your seemingly stupid question.

Alright, so definitely not a win.

“Nols,” you tried to reason, “You know I wanted to be there so badly, but I couldn’t. The MCAT is almo-” you were abruptly cut off.

“I know. The MCAT is only two weeks away and it’s super important for you. It’s been the same thing for weeks now, you don’t have to remind me,” Nolan finished your sentence, his monotonous and resentful tone making it clear that he had already heard the same words from you numerous times before.

Had it not been for this same tone, you would have brushed off his comment. You would have instead attributed his harshness to tonight’s loss, which would have been the third one in a row. However, his response felt condescending — like he was downplaying how important the MCAT actually was to you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you quipped. It felt like you just recited the most cliche line in the book, but your brain and heart had already started functioning at two different rates. If you attempted to say any more, your stress from the upcoming exam mixed with the rising argument you sensed would have surely sent you into a pool of tears.

“It’s just exhausting you, know?” Nolan started, “I know you’re busy with your own things, but it sucks seeing all of the other guys getting to hug their girlfriends and wives at the tunnel at the end of games while I know I can’t have the same with you. I mean, is it so much to ask of you to just be there for me? How am I supposed to believe that you want the best for me when you aren’t even acting like it?” he argued.

“‘So was it a win?’” he bitterly recited your earlier question, scoffing at it. “You could have at least Googled the score and pretended like you were keeping up.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your confusion immediately turned into anger and shock — you thought Nolan, out of all people, would have understood your situation. Not being able to wrap your head around his current state of irrationality, it felt like hours passed before you willed yourself to reply.

“I've attend almost every game of yours. I’m sorry I haven’t been so good at that recently, but you know how much I want to do well on this exam,” you seethed.

You were trying to stay level-headed, but anger consumed any possibility of making the discourse calm. “My life does not revolve solely around your career, and I’m sure as hell not going to always be able to put my life on hold to make sure I know what the scoreboard of every game is.” You couldn’t help but let every one of your words become coated in frustration. You thought everything you were saying was so obvious, and you couldn’t help but become more upset with the fact that you even had to reiterate these points to Nolan.

“Sometimes it feels like I’m not even dating someone,” Nolan dryly responded. “Feels like all you do nowadays is drone on and on about this test. Is this what the rest of our relationship it gonna be like? I mean, I can’t imagine what things are gonna be like once you’re in med school,” he hastily commented, pacing around the kitchen.

Every one of his words felt like a punch to your gut. His words hurt more than your face let on, every instinct in your body asking —no, begging— you to flee your current predicament.

“I don’t know what to say,” you truthfully replied.

“Is there even room for me in your life anymore?” he questioned, adding fuel to the fire. “It feels like I’m always second to your fantasy life as a doctor.”

This was your last straw. Sure, you could have tried to see the validity in his initial argument if you gave yourself time to cool down. But now, it felt like he was mocking you. The same person that made your goals feel attainable was starting to break down your confidence. The confidence that he helped you construct was now crumbling, brick by brick.

“Nolan, you mean so much more to me than that. Please, I would never want you to feel this way, and I know we can work this out we just need to tal-” you were cut off once more.

“I don't know if I can do this anymore,” he cryptically stated, letting your worst fears fester around the kitchen that felt way too cramped now.

“Nol, please,” you pleaded. Your anger immediately shifted to dread.

“I want you to achieve your dreams more than anything, but I don’t know if I see myself in these future plans if this is what the rest of your career is supposed to be like. Do I even have a place in your future plans?” Nolan sighed.

Your stomach dropped. Even though he didn’t explicitly state it, you knew what he was hinting at. It was your career or him, and he was making it clear that having both in your life wouldn’t be feasible. As if he pulled out the last brick, you finally let all of your walls down. Tears freely flowed down your face, as you tried to convince yourself that you were hearing wrong. You wanted to scream it at the top of your lungs. Of course you saw Nolan as part of your future. Hell, he was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. However, his seeming disregard for your career aspirations was off-putting and made you reconsider everything.

Your eyesight, blurry from your tears, tried to focus on the hockey player. Your dejected state urged you to reason with him, but you were unsure of what to do.

“Please, Nolan. Please don’t make me choose,” you pleaded. In comparison to your vulnerable state, Nolan was composed. It was as if he rehearsed this, his blank stare void of emotion. You tried to come closer to him, but his body language told you that your touch wasn’t welcome.

“I don’t have to,” Nolan pushed himself off the counter, “The fact that you don’t already know your answer already tells me what I need to know,” he stated. Grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter, he headed to the front door before you could gather your emotions and form words.

Your anger, confusion, and hurt seemed to weigh you down, gluing your feet to the ground. As much as you wanted to stop his exit from the apartment, your body kept you in place. With a second slam of the front door, the gust of wind from the heavy door whiffled through your long-forgotten textbook, the sound of the pages ruffling mocking you. The silence following Nolan’s exit was deafening. You never thought Nolan would make you choose between your relationship with him and your career. You thought you knew a lot of things about life, really, but this was certainly something you were not prepared for.

Your world was spinning, orbiting into a field of anguish and heartbreak. As if your brain hadn’t quite registered the turn of events, you almost thought about calling for Nolan until you were cruelly reminded that reaching for him was no longer an option. Your rock was gone, and you were lost.

#nolan patrick fic #nolan patrick imagine #nolan patrick #nhl imagine #nhl fic #my writing

139 notes · View notes

thishintoflove · 3 years

Note

For the bobadin prompts; maybe something angsty with a little fluff?

I feel like a lot of fics don’t do enough exploration into the ‘caring Boba’ side - the one that decided ‘I’m just gonna help this random stranger save their child because why not?’ - and it always warms my heart when I find a fic that does.

Oh I feel the same way, anon! Don’t get me wrong, I love rough!Boba fics but I also truly believe that the man has a deep, caring side too.

Here’s some soft!Boba helping Din during an anxiety attack, shortly after losing Grogu on Tython.

Boba Fett decided that he needed more information.

The Slave I was on autopilot, headed to Nevarro at the request of the silver Mandalorian. Fennec was off somewhere in the ship, probably polishing her weapons, and Boba decided to go track down Mando. They’d barely exchanged more than a few sentences, but here he was, piloting his ship at the direction of some Mandalorian he’d just met all because he’d willingly given Boba his armor back.

Bounty hunters lived in a world of exchanges: everything came with a price and Boba always paid his debts. The feeling of pure relief he felt at putting his father’s armor on again was so strong that the least he could do was help this fellow bounty hunter out.

He shook his head as he quietly made his way through the passageways of his ship. No, it was more than that. If he was being honest with himself, he felt some deep, innate need to help the silver Mando due to his unique situation. He was a father and his child had been stolen. Instinct took over when Boba realized the situation, and he’d immediately offered his services to help the guy out because the mere thought of walking away knowing that he did nothing would have driven him mad with guilt. How could he purposely leave a child in the same situation that he himself had been left in? Boba Fett was not a man to leave a child fatherless when there was something he could do to help the situation. Apparently that meant he’d offer his ship and his services without thinking twice, all because the thought of separating a father and son made his stomach churn with unaddressed feelings.

And now here he was, serving as a taxi service and a hired hand to a Mandalorian he didn’t really know or trust yet. So he needed more information. Surely Mando would be able to explain the whole situation, and then Boba could feel better about what he was doing instead of just feeling like a bit of a sucker.

Boba climbed down the ladder into the cargo hold and immediately picked up on the sound of heavy, modulated breathing. He quietly moved toward the sound and peered among the crates to see Mando doubled over, his hand gripping at the beskar chest plate as he tried to control his rapid breaths.

What was going on? Was Mando injured? He hadn’t seen any blood as they’d boarded the ship. Boba quickly ran through every single possibility that might have brought on this clear anguish that Mando was experiencing, and he quickly came to the obvious conclusion: the man was having a panic attack.

Slowly, Boba approached the hyperventilating man and cautiously called out so that he wouldn’t frighten him,

“Mando? It’s Fett. Are you alright?”

It didn’t work and the man jumped anyway. He quickly whipped around and stared at Boba through his visor, one hand immediately going to the blaster on his hip. But the movement seemed to be too much for him and he wavered, gripping the edge of the crate to hold himself up. Boba quickly stepped forward and grabbed Mando’s shoulder, squeezing it in his strong grip as he helped the man sit down on the edge of the box. The gesture was meant to ground the other man, and he hoped he could convey a sense of calmness through the touch rather than frighten the man even more. A visible shudder rippled along Mando’s arms, down his chest, and through his entire body. After a few seconds, he was finally capable of taking a full breath.

“That’s right. Try to take deep breaths, my friend. In through the nose, out through the mouth.” Boba coaxed, hoping his presence was helping Mando and not adding to his stress.

He knew what it was like to feel small and desperately alone. Being a bounty hunter was a solo profession- there was no room for long-term relationships or building bonds with others. After all his years traversing the galaxy alone, Boba was self-aware enough to know that he didn’t react to kindness and touch in the same way that most people did. He assumed Mando was the same way. The armor they both wore put out a menacing image to others, but it didn’t change the feelings of the person inside it. They were both human, and sometimes humans needed to feel like they weren’t alone in the world.

“It’s alright, you’re safe here,” Boba continued, speaking softly as he tried to think of what he’d like to hear if he was in this situation. He’d learned the steps necessary to regain control of his mind and body under the worst of situations and he hoped his methods would work on Mando too. “You’re safe. Take all the time you need.”

Still sitting down, Mando’s hand landed on top of Boba’s that was settled on his shoulder. He kept his head tucked down toward his chest, still concentrating on his breathing, but his hand squeezed Boba’s in recognition and gratitude. They stayed in the same position for what seemed like an eternity before Mando finally drew his head up and turned to look at Boba through his helmet.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice so small and tight that Boba could practically hear the tears in his eyes, even if he couldn’t see them.

Mando’s other hand found its place on Boba’s forearm. While holding on tightly, the younger man emanated the gratefulness he felt at Boba’s touch. Honestly, Boba was surprised that it seemed to work so well. He wasn’t exactly known for his emotional intuition, but he was pleased he was capable of calming and resetting Mando. It confirmed his suspicion that they were more alike than he originally thought.

“How are you feeling? Are you alright?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even but a hint of worry floated beneath it.

Mando swallowed hard before answering, “I am now. Whatever you did or are doing... it’s helping.”

He took another deep breath, still trying to regain complete control. Boba slowly ran his hand down from Mando’s shoulder toward his lower arm, preparing to pull away, but as Mando felt him withdraw he rushed to grab his hand back, ensuring they maintained contact. Boba was surprised- expecting that Mando would want the physical contact to end as soon as possible. But maybe the man was finally being honest with himself and his own needs. It’d certainly taken Boba a long time to do the same thing, and he knew this probably wasn’t easy for Mando. If the man was asking for comfort via touch, Boba was not about to deny him.

Mando grabbed onto his retreating hand, while the other hand gripped Boba’s forearm even tighter. Boba merely nodded and squeezed back, hoping to reassure the fragile man.

“Please… don’t leave yet,” Mando said quietly. His voice was almost pleading, surprising Boba once again. He was pleased that Mando seemed to recognize that he would not judge, ridicule or shame him for his current weakened state. There was a new feeling in the pit of his stomach too- a gratifying, contented sensation that seemed to bloom when Mando admitted he needed him.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, slowly reaching up to rub the back of the other man’s neck, “I’ll stay.”

Mando hummed and let his head fall forward again, and Boba imagined his eyes falling shut in relief. Boba massaged Mando’s neck, trying to stay focused on comforting the younger man while ignoring the new feelings growing in his own chest. He realized he wanted to take care of him. He’d never felt such an immediate desire to protect someone before. Now was certainly not the time to dwell too deeply on that, but later Boba would reflect on the satisfaction he felt at being needed.

He watched Mando’s hands clench and unclench, and finally the man tried to speak again, “I’m not usually… I never…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Boba replied, “Especially not now. I know you’re hurting.”

Mando nodded, but he glanced up at the ceiling of the ship and spoke anyway, “I had one job. One mission: to protect him. And I failed.”

His body began to shiver again, and Boba moved to sit beside him, wrapping one strong arm around the other man’s shoulders as he continued. “I failed him, and now he could be hurt or… or worse…”

“You haven’t failed him,” Boba said sternly, “A terrible accident occurred today, but you haven’t failed him and you won’t fail him.”

“But the Moff-”

“Do you want to get him back?” Boba asked, knowing the answer but wanting Mando to say it outloud.

“More than anything,” Mando replied without hesitation.

“Then we will. We will find him and we will get him back to you.”

Hearing the conviction in his voice must have helped, because Mando finally slumped against him, practically collapsing into Boba’s side. It was more physical contact than Boba had received in months, and he was surprised at how normal it felt-- as if it were the most natural thing in the world for this random Mandalorian to slot into his side like a puzzle piece.

“Today, you’ve done enough,” Boba told him, hoping to keep the tension from creeping back into the other man, “There’s nothing else we can do until we reach Nevarro.”

Mando was silent, so Boba continued, “Say it with me. You’ve done enough.”

“I’ve done enough.”

Boba let out a pleased hum when Mando obeyed him. He even managed to sound sure of himself, which was definitely a step in the right direction. Boba reached down and patted the man’s knee with the hand that wasn’t still wrapped around his shoulders. He heard Mando sigh, just the softest of sounds, and Boba wished he knew what the man looked like so that he could properly imagine the way his lips parted at the sound.

“I don’t know how to repay you. For taking me to Nevarro and for… this.” Mando said, sounding a bit more like his normal self.

“You do not need to repay me,” Boba told him, meaning every word. For once in his long life, he truly didn’t want anything in return. All he wanted was to make this strange yet familiar Mandolorian happy again. Maybe it was because he saw himself reflected in the younger man or maybe it was something more, but all that mattered was that Boba Fett was now dedicated to helping him find the foundling.

”I will stay as long as you need me.”

#bobadin #I love being a Din multi shipper #boba x din #the mandalorian #boba fett #din djarin #tw: anxiety attack #my fanfic #ask #fanfiction tag #din djarin x boba fett

79 notes · View notes

tatooedlaura-blog · 3 years

Text

Interim

set somewhere around Unrequited, that interim time when fighting fear in the daylight is one thing but battling it alone in the dark is another ...

Our Moment Chapter 1: Five Words (post-Leonard Betts) Chapter 2: Sidebar Nonsense (post-Memento Mori) Chapter 3: Interim (floating somewhere around Unrequited)

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

It had been a longer case than normal, draining in every sense of the word: physically, mentally and emotionally, but they were almost there, he could feel it. Finally seeing a connection, everybody moved, organized chaos, Mulder and Scully amongst the throng of officers storming the building, guns out, ready for anything.

As with everything they ever did, it wasn’t easy. The suspect ran, hid, fired, threatened, ran again, fired some more, was finally taken down by one of the local cops but there was a foot chase first, that had them all running, searching, wishing his ass would just collapse and die in the middle of the street.

But it was done and sooner rather than later, they were de-briefing in the conference room, getting their paperwork in order. Looking around for Scully, to ask her what his writing said, he saw a glimpse of her back as she disappeared out the door. Usually she would have said something about going so, instead of letting her be, which she probably wished he would, he stood to follow, excusing himself from the talking crowd.

Scanning the front parking lot, he didn’t see her but deciding he might as well enjoy the unseasonable warmth of a Tennessee winter, he turned left, following the sidewalk around the building. Another turn left and he spotted her, sitting on the hood of their rental, facing away, small, hidden by a sea of police vehicles and employee parked Fords and Chryslers. He measurably widened his stride when he noticed her hand held up to her face.

He could see the blood dripping from between her fingers and down onto the pavement. Making it to her side, he pulled out one of several handkerchiefs he’d taken to carrying in his pockets and held it out to her, “take this.”

They had a routine, he helped, she let him.

It wasn’t long before the handkerchief saturated, Mulder touching her shoulder, “I’ll be back in a second with something else.” Seeing her nod, he ran back to the front door, asking calmly for some towels and getting them almost immediately, thanks to the helpful front desk officer and his mad organizational skills. Heading back Scully’s way, he was breathing heavy by the time she took his offering and dropped the soggy handkerchief to the ground. “Is it slowing down any?” Muffled ‘yes’ reached his ears but behind the wadded green towel obscuring half her face, he saw her skin sallow, white and translucent, veins beneath a blue map of fear. Now in front of her, he rested his hands on her thighs, leaning forward to kiss her forehead, smelling the iron tang of blood four inches below his nose, “do you want to go to the hospital?”

“Probably but I’d really rather just lay down for a few minutes, then get some orange juice or something, anything with some sugar in it.”

One last kiss and he pulled away, hand off thigh and up to towel, holding it for her so she could put her arms down, which she was grateful for. Every few seconds he’d move and check, finally finding the flow had slowed to a trickle, then finally stopped all together. Gently wiping away the smears from her chin, “I need maybe another half hour inside, then we can go or I can drop you at the hotel and come back.”

Desperately wanting a bed, she shook her head, “if you could just go find me something to eat, I’ll stay out here and wait for you.”

As he held her elbow, watched her slide from car to ground, “are you sure you don’t want a hospital?”

“I really don’t but thank you.”

“Fair enough.” Soon, she was settled in her seat, tilted back, coat near in case she got cold, “I’ll be back in a few. Don’t go anywhere.”

Eyes already shutting, “I won’t.”

&&&&&&&&&&

Tossing out the browning handkerchief, he carrying the clean towel he still had back to the station, having left the other with Scully. Handing it back to the officer, “thank you. I think we’ll need to keep the other one so if you’ll let me know what I owe you for it, I’d appreciate it.”

Shaking his head, “they’re just shop towels. We have boxes of them in the back.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you need any help out there? Something happen with your car?”

Another shake of his head, “no, we’re fine but thanks.”

Mulder then headed back towards the room of officers, finding the meeting over and the chief watching him approach, “everything all right? I saw your partner go, then you.”

Needing to be blunt because she wouldn’t be back in to help them finish, “I’d like to keep this quiet but Agent Scully has a medical condition that caused severe nosebleeds and she felt one coming on so she left. She’s out in the car now and I need to get her some juice first, then I’ll be back to finish up our end of the paperwork.”

Everyone had been cooperative, treating them well and even now, instead of irritation, the chief showed genuine concern, “is she alright now? Do you need to take her to the hospital?”

Looking around quickly, “she actually has cancer and the most the hospital could do would give her some juice and remind her that this kind of thing will happen.”

The chief liked the pair of them and crossing his arms, attentive, “is she getting treatment?”

Mulder really didn’t want to talk about this anymore, his mind divided between juice, Scully, paperwork, and Scully, “she is but with her type of tumor, surgery isn’t an option and the treatments aren’t doing much.” Needing to extract himself before he began sobbing in the large man’s arms, he inhaled slowly, “but we deal with it. Do you have anything I can take out for her?”

Having lost his wife to cancer several years ago, the chief recognized the look in Mulder’s eyes and knowing to end the conversation, he nodded, “come with me.”

Soon, Scully had her juice and crackers, Mulder returning inside yet again, this time determined to finish everything in under 30 minutes. As he watched Scully drink, he could see her color wasn’t returning as quickly as it should and the vacant look in her eye told him to hurry the hell up.

Thirty-four minutes later, he was shaking hands with the chief, accepting the man’s ‘good luck and God bless’ before leaving for the last time, opening the driver side door and driving off, his partner asleep in the seat beside him and even though he would never tell a soul, he actually checked to make sure she was breathing before anything else.

That action would haunt his sleepless nights for weeks to come.

She stirred once the car hit a pothole and looking up at his, blinking, “are you done?”

“Yeah. I’m going to pick us up some food first, then I’ll get you home.”

“I’d like a cheeseburger, if possible.”

Bag of food in hand 10 minutes later, Scully was nearly asleep again by the time they got to the hotel. Getting out of the car, she stumbled her way directly to her door, leaving behind bag, coat, shoes, and food. Smiling as he gathered their things, he followed her through her still open room door, shutting it with his foot, “do you want to change first or eat?”

“Eat, please.” Holding her hand out, “sorry. I didn’t even think to grab the bag. I just thought door and bed.”

“I’m keeping track. Once you get better, you’ll be my slave for a few weeks and we’ll call it even.” Saying it with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he handed her a napkin, “you’re gonna need this.”

Dinner was quick, inhaled more than chewed, Scully unfocused as she chewed, her body exhausted, her mind slow enough to allow sleep if she could just lay down. Halfway through her second burger, she suddenly put it down, “I need to go to sleep.” Mulder tossed her the pajamas from the top of her luggage and after quick changing in the bathroom, door open, who cared, she crawled under the covers, apologizing as she went, “I’m sorry. I just … I need to lay down.”

“It’s fine.” Continuing to eat at the small table, “I’ll clean this up when I’m done and go back to my room but I’d like to leave the door between us open, if that’s all right? If you need anything, you can just yell for me.”

She was already halfway to dreaming but pretty sure she mumbled ‘okay’, she stopped caring, her muscles relaxing, finally, horizontal so much better than vertical.

Good to his word, he ate, cleaned up, covered her better with her blankets, kissed her twice on the forehead, then disappeared next door, opening the door between their rooms enough to hear her but not enough to disturb with the light of the TV.

&&&&&&&&&&

Her clock read 11:52pm when she woke up. Groggy math concluded she’d been asleep for about five hours and rolling over, she saw the adjoining door open as promised, faint light fluttering from some late-night B-movie Sci-Fi flick no doubt. She tried to go back to sleep, but a restlessness had settled, her mind beginning to churn with thoughts she didn’t want and emotions she didn’t need. Another glance at the clock told her she’d killed six minutes.

God-dammit.

Standing, she shuffled her way over to the adjoining door, pulling her side open more, then slowly pushing his, standing for a moment, watching him read the book propped on his vee’d knees. Leaning on the frame, bringing back a rush of memories from their first night together, years ago, running request submitted and denied in the middle of the Oregon wilderness, she cleared her throat, causing him to turn in her direction but not startle, which she would question at another time. Once he’d focused in on her in the darkness, she asked quietly, “want to go for a drive?”

He was having the same flashbacks and tilting his head at her, “you okay?”

“Can we just … I want to get out of here for awhile … ignore my brain …” head now against the frame, “I woke up and now … … … yeah.”

Tossing his book to one side, he stood, grabbing his wallet and keys, “let’s go.”

She loved that he didn’t ask anything, didn’t inquire, didn’t turn loose his psychology degree on her midnight suggestions, but instead, reached for her back and held the door.

“Any destination in mind?”

Settling into the passenger seat, shoes off, feet tucked under her, crisscross style, “anywhere but here.”

“Midnight wandering. Excellent.”

They drove in their typical silence, comfortable, comforting, depending on Scully’s frame of mind, for almost ten minutes before Mulder reached over, tapping her thigh, “how’s your head?”

“Attached.” Eyeing his hand, now dangling over the console, fingers still easily within tapping range, “nose is stuffy but the taste in the back of my throat is gone, so that’s something.”

Finger against her again, this time fingernail catching on the fuzzies of her flannel pants, “you scared me. A lot.”

Left hand shifting so she could stoke his knuckles, weaving in and around them in soft, satin fashion, “I’m sorry. I was doing fine. I felt fine until it just … happened.”

Hand finally moved enough to squeeze her knee, both shocked at his action and both wanting him to stay, “just … don’t do it again, okay?” Now he slid his hand over to wedge in at the bend behind her knee, “fingers are cold.”

They were most definitely not cold.

Another five in quiet, Mulder shifting to get more comfortable, left hand lightly on the wheel, right hand firmly on her and she returned to his knuckles, ventured to that little round nubbin’ bone in his wrist at times, until, “what will I have to do while I’m your slave? Are you going to make me clean your bathroom and feed your fish? Or will it be more of a Princess Leia thing? Gold bikini, ball and chain, looking hot in the corner when your friends come over?”

How he didn’t crash, he would never know, “do you own a gold bikini?”

“Like I’m going to answer that.”

Genuine grin out the windshield, “I think it’ll be more that I’ll make you watch movies with me and go play miniature golf and maybe, just maybe, I’ll force you to go to dinner with me.”

“Oh, the perils of slavedom in Mulderworld.” Resting her head back against the seat, “huh. Did you realize,” reaching her hand to the ceiling, pushing a panel back, “that we have a moonroof.”

Quick glance up, “I did not. I wonder if I paid extra for that.”

“The Bureau may have and I’m okay with that.” Studying the sky above, “I’m thinking that we should find a nice, quiet sideroad and turn the car off and open this up and see what there is to see.”

Giving her leg another squeeze, “I believe when I was sixteen, that was the line I used to get to second base.”

“I’ve always enjoyed baseball.”

He looked at her, face turned up still, smile faint but there, “how can you still shock me after all this time?”

“I’m amazing.”

Finding the sideroad and turning, “I’ve known that since the beginning.”

Her smile grew wider as he turned off the car, “you were weird at the beginning but intriguing enough to keep around.” Finally looking at him, “and I guess I’d use the word amazing … at times.”

Restarting the car just to get the roof open, he turned it off again, the sounds of night filling the car, “I’d like to talk about baseball again.”

Now she laughed, putting her seat back, “talk to me about the stars.”

Hating to do it, he removed his hand from her and matched her tilt back, scooting a little to the right so his head was near hanging off the rest, pretense of seeing out the roof better and all. She did the same and soon their forehead were almost touching, shoulders were. His hand missed her so it went searching again, this time finding her upper thigh, resting lightly, not allowing gravity to work in his favor, to pull him closer to third-base territory, “what do you want to hear about them?”

“Everything. Nothing. I just like to hear you talk, especially in the dark.”

Wondering if confessions were the name of the game tonight, “Sam once told me that she made a wish on every star, not just the shooting ones.”

“That’s an awful lot of wishes for an 8-year-old.”

“She had a lot of time on her hands apparently.”

Turning her head so she could kiss his nose, she returned to her side of the car quickly, “I wish I had that kind of time. I don’t think we’ve stopped long enough to have an actual conversation in months.”

Finally connecting his forehead to hers, “is that why we’re out here talking about stars?”

“Possibly.” Silence reigned again until Scully’s hand shot up, “shooting star!”

“Make your wish.”

Once she’d squinched her eyes shut, made her plea to the starry gods, she said, absently, into the shadows, “I know it won’t come true but I don’t think it hurts to ask.”

Twisting to his right side to face her, switching hands on her leg, quiet cursing that the console separating them dared to exist, “it never hurts to ask. I’ve been screaming the same wish for months. Someone’s bound to answer me, if for nothing else, just to shut me up.”

If she looked at him, in this instant, in this universe, she would fall apart, cracked pieces in his hands with no hope of re-assembly. Keeping her eyes on the sky, “my favorite constellation is the Southern Cross. You can only see in in the southern hemisphere but one day, I’m going to go to Australia and I’m going to sit there, on a beach, all night long, just to stare at it.”

“Whirlwind world tour?”

“I’d like that. I’ve got six other continents to see. Might have to start as soon as I can.”

“If I offer to provide breakfast and lunch, can I come?”

He watched her nod and smile in the starlight, “I never thought you wouldn’t.” Catching his gaze at her out the corner of her eye, “you’re not looking at the stars anymore, Mr. Mulder.”

“I’ve got a better view down here on Earth, Miss Scully.”

Shaking her head, “the things you say sometimes.”

“Hey, I’ve slept in your bed. I’m allowed to call you ‘pretty’.”

Shifting to face him instead of the stars, she wondered if she dare share how much those nights still sat in the forefront of her mind, first before her diagnosis and second after he’d driven her home, taken care of her as she was sick, kept her warm as she came off her first round of chemo, “twice, actually, I’ve let you sleep in my bed.”

Moving his hand from her leg to run along her hairline, brief stop to rest his palm over her neck, “I think, someday, we should do that again, have a sleepover of epic proportions: scary movies, ice cream, pizza, and pillow fights. What do you say?”

Instead of the smile he’d been hoping for, he watched her face tighten, forehead wrinkle, nose flare, then contort back to normal Scully, just as her eyes filled with tears, which began falling immediately, “I’m scared.”

Sliding himself forward, hand still on her, he tugged gently at her neck until she moved towards him, “come here.” Meeting her lips for a brief moment, he went back in for another before resting forehead against hers, “I’m scared enough for both of us so maybe we should take turns. I’ll be scared Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and you can do Tuesday and Thursday.”

Wanting another kiss, she remained still, “what about the weekends?”

“We can share those. We’ll stay at your place one weekend then at mine the next. We’ll deal with it together. How’s that sound?”

Still crying, she almost laughed at the depth of the burden of solitude she didn’t know she carried until Mulder offered to carry it with her. Desperation nearly moved her to his mouth again but fighting it, she let out a wet, crackling sob before sighing, “thank you.”

“You’re not alone, I promise.”

Another shuddering breath out, she forced herself to back up, return to her own space, but found she couldn’t get far, Mulder’s hand still firmly on her neck, “Mulder.”

“I think we should talk about baseball again.”

Shutting her eyes against his searching look, she ignored the sudden tingling up her spine, “my head’s a mess right now. I don’t think I could separate ‘baseball’ from fear and I don’t want to ruin … it can’t be done like this. I’m sorry.”

She felt him pull away, then kiss her forehead lightly, talking into her skin, “you’ve got a dirty mind. I just wanted to discuss this year’s lineup for the Sox.”

Finally, she did laugh, gently bumping into his head with hers, “I’m more of a Cubs fan myself but talk away.”

“The Cubs? Really? What the hell is wrong with you?”

As they both separated, settled back into their own seats, Mulder’s hand back on her leg, “to be fair, that’s the first team I thought of.”

“Thank God. I thought I was going to have to rescind everything I just promised you. Although now, our Sunday fear sharing is going to be filled with baseball games, both live and from my couch.”

“I’d like that.” Silence between them filled with crickets chirping and frogs croaking, Scully reached down her leg to find his hand, lacing fingers together, pulling his knuckles to her mouth to kiss them, one by one, before, “I’d like that a lot and by the way, pretty sure you already rounded first.”

“Ahh, yes,” grinning upwards, “yes, I did.”

“Mulder.”

Her voice pulled him back from his amusement, “yeah?”

“I’m finally tired.”

With a chuckle, he looked over at her, “ready to go back?”

“No, but we probably should or we just sleep out here tonight and pray we don’t get eaten by bears or overzealous hunters.”

Mulder snapped his seat back up, “home it is.” It took twice as long to find the hotel because Mulder hadn’t paid attention as he was driving but eventually, they found their home away from home. Both were sleepy at this point and once inside Mulder’s room, Scully headed, heavy-lidded, to the adjoining door but stopped when Mulder spoke, “thanks for asking me to go for a drive.”

“Thanks for driving me.” Knuckling a knock on the door frame where she’d been leaning a few hours earlier, “it’s Friday now, right?”

“Yeah. My day to worry. Now go to bed before you fall down.”

With a nod and a smile, she disappeared into the darkness.

#cancer arc #msr #MulderNScully #My writing #our moment series #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #txf fanfic #rounding first

76 notes · View notes

ancientwastedlores · 3 years

Text

Undone by “Darling”

REQUEST (from @november-solarstorms): Celebrating another year of this earth being braced by Tom Hiddleston's presence! Lol. Might I make a prompt request? I feel as though it would be interesting to read from Loki's POV to explore the dynamics between him and a human female who is just as intelligent as he. She has a sharp wit and even sharper tongue. Her sarcastic and clever nature enable her to out-banter Tony Stark, the king of snark himself (may he rest in peace). But she is also just as flirtatious and salacious. She never blushes, never falters, and is incredibly clever. You can decide the nature of their encounter. Really im just in it for a good game of cat and mouse.

A/N: Okay, I had SO MUCH FUN writing this!! And yeah, this will run a bit longer than my usual fics lol. Also, there IS a Loki POV, just keep reading thaaanks <3

WARNINGS: none.

WORD COUNT: 1,932

____________________________________________________________________

Undone by “Darling”

17 hours and 6 white chocolate mochas later, it was finally ready - an upgraded version of Corvus Glaive’s glaive, this one spec-ed out to your fancies and requirements. It was a beast, and definitely not something Nick Fury would ever let you play around with, even if you made it.

Satisfied with your work, you remove your safety goggles and grin at Stark, who is working on his own weapon he scavenged from the Black Order.

‘I’m done!’ you say triumphantly, causing him to look up and groan. ‘How did you finish before me!?’ he lowers his glasses and looks at your weapon. ‘I’m smarter’ you say. ‘I went to MIT’ ‘And I didn’t, yet here we are, both in the same lab’.

He shakes his head, not unlike a petulant child, causing you to laugh.

‘How far along are you?’ you ask. ‘Still running diagnostics’. ‘Still!?’ ‘Have you seen the size of his hammer?’ he gestures to Cull Obsidian’s chain hammer on his work table, but the innuendo doesn’t escape you and you grin at him. He facepalms. ‘Y/n, for god’s sake...’ ‘You’re just tired, or you’d appreciate the joke too’.

You stretch your weary body and let out a deep breath. You’d test the weapon out tomorrow, but for now, you need a nap.

‘Take a load off, Stark. Hammer’ll be there tomorrow’. ‘Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you...’ he puts his goggles back on and get to work.

Loki’s POV:

Humans are surprising, but I always knew that. I never thought them boring, even if my brother says I do. Humans are of so little power but such incredible resilience that it’s frankly astonishing. I am inclined to believe that sometimes resilience is just stupidity... in most cases, I am right. But that’s not to say I haven’t come across some truly brave people.

Take the Avengers Tower, for example.

Just in here, you have Y/n, a brave soldier with the mind of an intergalactic scavenger, and I do mean that as a compliment. She’s awfully clever, she can build better than Stark, and has a track record of finishing every mission to perfection and before time. And then you have the Super Soldier Steve Rogers, a big muscled, big hearted idiot who often mistakes challenging our enemies for bravery and morality.

The two couldn’t be more different, but they get along like siblings. Not siblings like Thor and I... better adjusted, perhaps.

They sit in front of me, talking about some mission while they play Chess. Her moves are quick but calculated, his take more time because he’s more interested in telling his story than playing the game.

‘...so there I am, no weapons, no shield, bang in the middle of the Serpent Citadel...’

He’s a good storyteller, I’ll give him that. But not as good as Y/n. She paints quite a picture, full of delicious gory details and horribly dark jokes.

‘Steve, you have to pay attention, you’re losing’ she says. ‘Yeah, I don’t actually know how to play chess, I just wanted you to listen to my story’.

She looks up at him, almost offended. ‘STEVE...’ ‘Cool, I’m gonna go wrap Stark into a game of Battleships and tell him about my fight with Copperhead’.

She laughs as he leaves the room, and she puts the chess pieces away.

‘We could play?’ I ask her. ‘Is the God in a mood to lose?’ ‘Over confidence isn’t attractive in anybody’. ‘Oh darling, neither is telling someone what is and isn’t attractive’.

She’s never called me that before, and in the context it should seem cutting, but it isn’t. ‘Darling?’ ‘Problem?’ ‘It’s quite a term of endearment to set someone straight’.

She says nothing.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ I tease her. She only smiles and continues putting the pieces away neatly. Stark’s chess set is gold and black, all individually carved pieces. The pawns are all Iron Man suits, but that’s to be expected. She handles them with the care Stark would.

‘I mean...’ I continue, ‘honestly, if someone heard, they’d never let you live it down’.

And she carries on, unbothered.

‘Y/n!’ ‘Oh dear, look at you come completely undone with just one term of endearment’ she comments, shutting the chess set. ‘Whatever would happen if I held your hand?’

The very thought of it seemed to drain my brain of blood. I unwillingly glanced at her hands, working the lock mechanism of the box, her blue veins prominent.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ she asked.

I stood up, the human emotion of embarrassment becoming too familiar for me. ‘I’ll have to see you at lunch’. ‘Sure, darling’.

Oh, I hate how she’s enjoying this.

----------

The next day, Y/n booked a training room to test out the Glaive, and Stark had a rusty but working chain hammer. Steve insists on trying it out anyway, and now our breakfast is being spent on discouraging him from doing that.

‘Guys... if nothing else, I’ll still have my shield. Let me test it out!’ ‘Y/n’s glaive cuts through Vibranium, you know that, right?’ Stark says. ‘Y/n wouldn’t do that’. ‘Oh yes she would’ Y/n says nonchalantly as she sinks her teeth into a bacon and egg sandwich.

As she does, the yolk runs down her fingers. She makes a sound at the inconvenience and sets the sandwich down, then grabs a napkin. I’m hardly ever crude, but the energy it took not to take her hand and lick off the yolk myself could burn every star in the galaxy.

Captain America scrunches his nose at her remark, severely offended.

‘In any case, that shield barely covers your giant body. It will force Stark to make you a new one’. ‘What do you care about his giant body’ Stark says. ‘It’s America’s ass, Tony’ she takes a sip of her iced coffee. Steve blushes, and Tony rolls his eyes.

----------

The training facility is magic, of course, somewhere between a mirror dimension and Wanda’s reality powers creating a safe cocoon inside the building so no one can be harmed. Y/n hardly trusted anybody to fight with her except Thor, but given the nature of Corvus’ Glaive, she knew magic would be required.

And so she called me.

After getting into my battle armour, I stepped into the facility, equipped with my sceptre and the teachings of the witches of Asgard.

She whistles as I walk in. ‘Trying to distract me from killing you?’ ‘Are you?’ I ask. She’s dressed in a black bodysuit, details of purple in her belt and weapon harnesses. ‘Why yes, I am. Glad you noticed’.

The glaive is on the floor, and she stomps her foot on one part of it so it swivels up and neatly places itself in her hand. She smiles.

‘Try to keep up. I’m not just looking for eye candy in a training partner, darling’ she says, getting into battle stance.

With nothing left to say for the second time this week, I aim the sceptre at her and the stone at the end glows.

She charges and I shoot at her, but she spins the glaive and creates a shield which absorbs the energy.

She continues to charge at me. I shoot again, and again the glaive takes the hit. Not a scratch on her.

Once she comes closer, she simply places the flat end of the weapon against my chest, sending me hurtling back into a wall.

She spins the glaive and laughs.

‘Compliments of Wakanda. It absorbs any hits and charges up with kinetic energy’.

I get up on my feet. This is far from over. I create multiple illusions to surround her, all of them brandishing knives, Chitauri tech, and sceptres.

‘Damn, suddenly my whole evening has opened up’ she says, looking around.

Even my clones look around at each other puzzled.

‘Come on then, who’s up?’ she spins the glaive around. ‘One at a time or all at once, baby’.

They charge at her, and I expected her to fight them off at once... instead she plants the staff on the ground and ducks, and a semi-circle shell grows from the top of the staff, down to the floor... like a mini fortress, completely impenetrable. It could, no doubt, continue to take hits and build up kinetic energy, so I call off the clones.

She gets up and retracts the shell. ‘Nanotech’ she grins at me. ‘The whole shell sits in a disk. It can withstand bombs and even a moon’. ‘Is there any tech you haven’t adopted?’ ‘I’m an intergalactic scavenger, aren’t I?’

I stare at her, horrified. Can she read minds?

‘Maybe I can. Or maybe I heard you tell Stark when he was complaining about me finishing my weapon first’.

Silence.

‘Also, darling, you’re awfully predictable in your fighting’.

She picks up every trick and tech she sees, so beating her is less about weapons and more about cunning.

No problem. Cunning is my specialty.

‘Ready now?’ she asks. ‘Mhm’.

She takes a deep breath to ready herself, her eyes shutting slightly. Once they open back up, she stares in shock.

In my Jotun form, I give her my most menacing smile.

She cocks her head to the side, studying my icy blue skin.

The illusion I cast of myself approaches behind her, dagger in hand. Once it’s close enough and I can almost taste my victory, she raises the glaive and in one swift motion, sticks it into its abdomen.

The illusion disappears into green light.

‘Cute’ she remarks. She points the glaive at me. ‘What else you got for me?’ I shift back to my Asgardian form and sigh. ‘You win’.

Y/n laughs and lowers her weapon. ‘Oh darling, I won the second you walked in wearing all that leather’. She winks at me, then walks out of the facility. I feel a blush creep to my face, much against my will.

-------------

‘Maybe you should stick to your guns, Tony’ Y/n says, ‘Fancy suits is it for you, chain hammers may be overshooting it’. ‘Is that what they taught you in the back alley you learnt ironmongery from?’ ‘Yes! Do you want their number, I’m sure they’ll have a spot on the waiting list for you’.

Ah. Y/n’s relationship with Stark seemed more like mine with Thor. While they banter, Steve and Natasha tear up from laughing. I wouldn’t go so far as to call this domestic, but it certainly is comfortable.

‘Come on, the glaive can’t be that good, right Loki?’ Stark asks.

The company looks at me expectantly. ‘To say her weapon isn’t good enough means to insult your own tech, Stark. Everything about it is founded on your theories’.

‘So technically, it’s my brain that made the glaive so cool’ he tells Y/n. ‘Yeah, you could say that. The glaive comes from the same mind that manufactured Captain America’s dinner plate’.

Steve doesn’t find that one funny, but Natasha does, sending her into peals of laughter.

‘Oh whatever’ Tony huffs. ‘I’m going back to the lab’.

He stands up and Y/n grabs his arm. ‘Aww Tony, I’m just kidding!’ she pats his hand, ‘Look, you’re a brilliant inventor, we all have our slow days’.

He sighs and nods, and holds her hand. ‘Thanks... I guess I’m just not in my element, you know?’ ‘Yeah...’ she keeps patting his hand.

And the feeling of domesticity creeps in. We really are all a family. Y/n smiles encouragingly at Tony, and Tony seems more relaxed.

‘So, you want me to get you the number of that ironmongery, or...?’ ‘OH FOR...’ he snatches his arm away and storms out of the room, with Steve and Nat losing it all over again.

___________________________________________________________

Ah this was so fun!!!!!!!! I hope you guys liked it <3

MASTERLIST HERE

ASK BOX OPEN FOR FIC REQUESTS. Find GUIDELINES HERE.

#loki x you #loki pov #loki x reader #loki marvel #Marvel Avengers #avengers tower #avengers fluff #tony stark #loki fanfic #loki fluff #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston birthday #fic prompts

91 notes · View notes

munamania · 3 years

Text

happy hawkins holiday hiatus to @mikewheelerthepaladin !! here’s a lighthearted fic + a playlist of songs i listened to a lot while writing, i hope you enjoy 🥳

& a big thank you to @sevensided for putting this together, it’s been super fun <3

It’s the first time he’s been in over a year, really, but he’d entertained the thought of asking Will over the summer, for one last challenge before he left. It never happened, everything went by too fast; and, honestly, Mike didn’t know how to talk to him with the goddamn weight of everything - hi, we’ve barely spoken in the last year and we just almost died, again, and now you’re moving away forever - wanna hang out?

It’d never been that hard.

And it sucked. The whole thing. Now that Will is gone, it gnaws at him daily that they could have had more time together. Or a proper goodbye, at least. Instead, he spent a lot of time last summer sitting around, figuring out how to approach El and his feelings toward her, and most of all, alone.

But now the Byers are coming home for Christmas. And staying with The Wheelers, on top of it all.

So, seeking some sort of cryptic universal answer to his life problems, Mike returns to the place of a lot of younger memories, of crowding around machines with Lucas and Dustin and Will, a conglomeration of shouting and booing and cheering when one of them topped a high score, of frantically patting down their pockets for a few extra coins.

All of these wistful memories come to halt, however, when he finds a familiar redhead occupying one of their favorite games.

Max glances at him through the screen. “What do you want?”

“Uh, to play?” Honestly, he doesn’t care; he’s not sure he could focus enough to win much anyway. “Kicking your ass would be a plus.”

“Yeah, as if.” Her gaze fixes back on the colorful pixels dancing in front of her face.

Okay, well, she’s not moving anytime soon. He could probably just walk away, but a part of him wants company, even if it’s from someone hellbent on disagreeing with him.

Even when the Party hangs out now, Mike finds himself bickering with Max over what movies to see, where to eat, nearly anything, even when he doesn’t really give a shit. It’s the principle of the thing, and she gets under his skin.

Maybe it’s a good thing.

Mike sighs, leans against one of the neighboring games, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I don’t really know why I’m here.”

“Well, if you’re looking for me to throw pity money at you, it’s not happening.” After a beat, and losing the level, she kicks at the machine and turns to him. “Now look what you made me do. All your moping and talking - I could’ve beaten that if you would just leave me alone.”

He offers a quarter.

“Forget it.”

“I’ll buy you a pop, then.” She glares at him. “Seriously, okay, this is the first and only olive branch. Take it or leave it.”

After a moment of scowling at him, her arms folded, she slowly concedes, a smug look taking over. “Okay. I’ll take it, Wheeler.”

“So, you’re stalking me at the arcade because… of nothing?”

Mike presses his lips into a line. “I’m not stalking you,” he says, “and it’s not - it’s not nothing. I was gonna ask Lucas or Dustin to come, but… I felt like I needed to be here alone.”

Max sips on her drink. “That didn’t work out.”

“Guess not.”

“So you did need to talk to someone.”

“Guess so.”

God, this is borderline painful. Sitting in a shoddy little booth across from Max, whom he never once intended to have a heart-to-heart with, is a new level of desperation. But here they are.

With the most grandiose sigh he’s ever heard in his life, Max straightens in her chair. “Well, I don’t love giving advice to annoying teenage boys, but I’ve been told I’m good at it. Advice, you know.”

Mike raises an eyebrow. “Was it El who said that, by chance?”

“Bite me.”

Amused, Mike smiles, and he slides the near-empty cup between his hands like a little game, something else to focus on. “Okay, fine, give me some advice.”

Max frowns at him like he’s the biggest idiot in the world. “Maybe give me a situation to work with?” She mutters something under her breath that he doesn’t bother with.

“Well, the Byers are coming home and staying with us, and I wanted to come up with something really nice to do, you know. I know that they’re really nervous because it’s… the holidays have been rough, the past few years.” He finishes his drink and stares at the lid. “They almost refused. So, I dunno, I figured I could do something to make them feel like it’s still home.”

“Oh,” Max nods, finally breaking into a slight smile, “well, cool, you could set up something really romantic for El! She’d love it.”

Right. The girlfriend.

He had no clue where the hell they left things when the Byers moved. About a month ago, Mike called to tell her the distance was confusing and they might need to take a break. He figured she would’ve told Max because, from his understanding, they spoke on the phone on an almost daily basis.

“Sure - yeah, yeah, that’s - it’s a good idea. For sure.”

Max falls back into a confused squint. “Was there something else you had in mind?”

Mike isn’t sure how to get it out without sounding like a total airhead. So he copes with it the best way he can. “You know what, this was dumb. I’ll figure it out myself.” He grabs his jacket and stands to leave.

“No, no, Mike - I want to help.” She’s looking up at him with a genuinely nice expression, holding out a hand to stop him from fully up and leaving. “I’m really good at this stuff, just let me know what I can do. No judgment. I swear.”

“I have to get home tonight anyway,” Mike says cautiously. “Told my mom I’d help with dinner.”

“Can I come over tomorrow?”

He frowns, and something digging at his stomach makes him respond with, “Why do you care?”

Max’s jaw sets. She stands up to meet his eye level and sets a look on him. “Even if I didn’t, even if I couldn’t care less about you, Mike, I care about El. And Will. And I want to be a part of their homecoming. So maybe you could figure out a way to not be a dick about it.” She snatches her drink cup and storms off from the table, leaving Mike to scramble after her with more apologies.

He’s gotta get better at this whole ‘girls’ thing.

He catches up to her outside. “Okay, listen - come over after school tomorrow. We can meet outside by the stairs.”

She barely turns to him, says, “Fine,” and then hops on her bike and rides away.

That’s how Mike ends up with Max in his basement, slowly walking and examining his things, but not touching any of them, thankfully.

It’s going alright, thus far. A part of him feels like he should reach out to Lucas and Dustin, too, since they’re also Will’s best friends. But something about this… works. He and Max can’t seem to stay entirely civil in each other’s company, but she gets something. And she hasn’t brought up El even once since yesterday.

“So, I’m gonna come up with a really cool campaign - well, I’ve been working on it, and I can tell you about it - “ Max lifts herself on tiptoe in his peripheral vision, “ - but anyway, we can pull an all-nighter, if everyone’s up for it, and make snacks and drinks and stuff, and we can have movies on for you guys, and I thought I might even look for some costumes because I really think Will would get a kick out of it. I can put lights up, too - “

“You draw?”

Max’s back is to him, as she’s looking over his wall of posters and pinned pictures. As he steps closer, he realizes her eyes are fixed on a sketch that definitely bears some resemblance to him.

“No, Will sent me those,” he says quickly, not wanting to seem like a giant narcissist, because Will’s drawing is - how can he say it - beautiful. “He’s been using charcoal a lot recently, he told me he got some new art stuff. I think he wants to send one of all of us.”

Max turns to him, and he can’t tell if she’s tearing up for some reason, but she quickly wipes any sign of tears away. “That’s so neat,” is all she says at first. There’s a small silence between them, and she’s just looking at him, and he has no idea what the hell he should say. “He’s such a good person,” she adds quietly, “I wish I got the chance to really know him.”

Mike’s breath hitches for a few seconds. “Yeah. I mean, he mentioned hanging out with you a few times.”

A smile lifts the girl’s cheeks. “Yeah, to bitch about you, mostly.”

“Hey!” he protests, but he can’t help but smile too, this time. This might just be their most pleasant interaction to date. “He never mentioned that.”

“I don’t know how he could, all you freakin’ do is talk.”

“Whatever.” Mike messes with some Christmas crafts on the table, holding them up in his vision to see where they might fit in the basement. He clears his throat. “You know, El and I, uh - we split.”

Max nods slowly. “She said you guys don’t call much.”

“No, we didn’t. I mean, I don’t even call Will, we just write.” He leans against the table, eyes glazing over as he looks over years of memories, dorky craft nights, and shitty school projects that he or his mom made a point to keep. “It’s too hard to talk - to either of them, you know. I didn’t think I could hear their voices without…”

Max cuts him off. “I get it.” She crosses over to the table, helping him pull apart old paper snowflakes. “I’m just the opposite. I’m scared if I don’t talk to them, I’ll convince myself it was all fake. And maybe it’d be for the better, but I’m glad I knew them. Even if only for a little while.”

Mike bites down on his lips, attempting to bury all the emotion threatening to spew out of him. “Yeah.”

Max finally looks up at him, and though they seem to have shared a moment, she snaps back out of it. “All offense, Mike, these are ugly as shit. I’m helping you make new ones, okay?”

“It’s for the memory!”

“No more living in the past.” She raises her eyebrows at him, and he pinches his face in annoyance, so she says, “Okay, you can put them up, in like, little corners, but we’re making new ones. Surprise. Work with me here, Michael.”

“It’s my basement, Max.”

“Did you or did you not ask for my help?”

Mike blinks. “Not really.”

She throws a crafty paper star at him. “Shut up, you’re glad I’m here.”

He shakes his head and moves on, but though he may never admit it, a part of him really is glad.

Weeks pass in what feels like a span of days or maybe hours, with Mike and Max sorting out their surprise plans with a typical amount of bickering - but hey, they get it done. Max has lots of opinions about decorations and music that make Mike roll his eyes, but she’s got a good eye and she offers to help with baking, which is not a strong suit of his. Yes, they throw a lot of streamers at each other, and threaten to storm out every other hour, but it gets done.

And the day is finally here.

Mike pulls himself into his best festive sweater and eyes himself in the mirror. He messes with his hair, though the long, wavy curls never seem to fall exactly into place - maybe growing it out was a mistake - and tugs at the creases of his sweater, letting out a huffy breath. None of it is working with him. When he can’t stand looking at himself anymore, he dashes down to the kitchen to help his mom with desserts.

She smiles when he plops into a seat. “You okay, honey? You seem a little tense.”

Mike jolts. “Uh, yeah, just excited.”

“Good! Joyce said the kids haven’t stopped talking about the trip for weeks.”

Great. “I hope we live up to the hype.”

“Oh, Mike. You know you don’t have to try that hard.” Karen stops frosting for a moment to look at him. “Will’s your best friend. El is excited to see you,” she nudges at him, and he coughs out a nervous laugh, “and Joyce thinks you’re an angel-”

“God, mom-”

“I’m serious. Don’t worry so much.” She leans forward on her forearms. “I know you think every problem in the world is on you, but it’s not. It’s enough just to be around the people you love. If anything, you’ve gone overboard.”

Overboard. Hopefully, it’s not too much.

Finally, he caves, exhaling slowly with a simple, “Okay.” He stays beside her, tapping his fingers, and eventually ruining a gingerbread man’s face until she notices and smacks his hand away.

There’s a knock on the door, and while Mike hops to his feet, his mother calls out, “Come in!” earning a panicked look from him. She mouths, ‘Chill,’ but he still half-jogs to the door and throws it open.

Nancy calls down the stairs, “Who is it?”

It’s Max, brandishing a few small wrapped gifts.

“Hello, sunshine,” she says. After a moment, “It’s great to see you too, Michael, allow me to invite myself in.”

“It’s just Max,” Mike calls back. He steps aside, and Max brushes past him, dropping her gifts by their tree and running into the kitchen.

“Hi, Mrs. Wheeler!”

“Hey, Max, Merry Christmas!”

Mike’s mom seemed to think Max was one of the most charming people on the planet, something they frequently disagreed on, but he can’t be mad at their pleasant chatter right now.

Especially not when the next knock comes so soon.

Probably just Lucas and Dustin, dragging their feet as usual.

Mike opens the door, prepared with a quippy remark for his friends, but his stomach drops immediately.

It’s Will. Holding a bunch of luggage.

Mike is caught up in everything about him. He’s taller. New, floppy hair, tousled and messy in the biting snowy winds. His forearms exposed as his bags push against his jacket. Will.

The boy smiles at him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Mike manages.

Will looks past him with a tiny wave, and Mike turns to see Max beaming and waving back, and then Max slips back into the kitchen and Will returns his gaze to Mike. “Can I come in?”

“Hey, Mike!” Joyce interrupts from the car, straining to grab something in the backseat. “Merry Christmas, honey!”

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Byers!” Mike, finally catching up his brain-to-movement reactions, moves to let Will in. “Yeah, come in. I’m gonna, uh, go help your mom.”

“Cool.”

He immediately forgets why he’s moved and attempts to step out as Will crosses the threshold, almost knocking him over, so Mike grabs his arms to stabilize with a, “Sorry - uh - whoops, haha, don’t fall,” and Will chuckles and shifts a bag to his shoulder, saying, “It’s alright,” and Mike spends his walk to the Byers’ car trying not to curse himself out.

“Oh, Mike, thank you, sweetie,” Joyce grunts, pulling a heavy tote bag from the floor of the car. “Can you carry this?” Mike nods and takes it from her easily, offering his arms out for extra luggage. Together, with Jonathan, who greets him with a, “Merry Christmas, man,” they manage to get everything inside in one trip. Mike hardly notices El rummaging through the trunk until she comes stumbling along with a basket full of gifts.

Finally, they’re all inside, and only a beat goes by before Nancy comes bounding down the stairs to greet Jonathan, and Joyce is grinning around at everybody, and then Karen rushes in from the kitchen with excited greetings.

“It is so good to see you,” Joyce says, opening her arms up to Mike for a hug. “You’ve grown so much-'' she looks at Karen and mutters, “-so much-” then looks back at Mike. “We’ve missed you all.”

“I’ve missed you guys too,” Mike says, “I’m glad you decided to come.”

“We couldn’t miss it. Figured it’s best that we’re together, you know.” Her expression falters, but she takes a breath and carries on with moving bags and ‘Merry Christmases.’

Joyce and his mom wind up chattering, and Karen takes off her apron to help transfer some luggage to the spare room. Nancy takes Jonathan’s hand and heads upstairs, grabbing one of his bags from the ground.

Will seems to have disappeared into the kitchen with Max, leaving his things behind, so it’s just Mike and El.

Mike takes in a deep breath.

It wasn’t an ugly breakup; honestly, El seemed unfazed. Their calls were little more than small talk about their days, most of the time, and even though he thought they might hold onto their past, everything they’d been through… it seemed to work best that they didn’t.

“Hey, Merry Christmas.”

El smiles easily. “Merry Christmas, Mike.” She lifts the basket slightly for acknowledgment. “Can these go by the tree?”

“Yeah, yeah, go for it.”

El nods and slips by the couch over to the tree, carefully laying out the gifts. After a few moments of Mike awkwardly leaning against the couch arm, thinking up something to say - thank god she didn’t seem too focused on him - Max walks in, her mouth stuffed with a truffle.

“El!” She darts over to the tree, and El jumps up, eyes bright, immediately throwing her arms around the girl’s shoulders. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” El giggles. “I brought you a gift.”

“You too. I can’t wait for you to see it. But first, you have to try one of these sweets Mrs. Wheeler’s making. They’re like frickin’ heaven.” She holds out the last bite of her own, and El takes it from her hand, eyes lighting up mischievously as she bites into it.

“It’s amazing.”

“I know. I think we should go sample some of the others.”

Mike calls out to their backs, “You guys better leave some for later on,” and in response, hears Max mimic him. He rolls his eyes and stands up from the couch.

And then it’s just him and Will, who’s beaming at him, seemingly amused by their banter.

Okay, Mike, now or never. “Uh, I’ll show you downstairs.”

“We’re not staying in your room?” Will asks simply, crossing over to retrieve his duffel bag.

“We totally can, I just have something I wanted to show you.”

Will nods. “Oh, okay, cool.”

Mike assists with a smaller bag and leads him to the basement door; before he runs down the stairs, he catches Max’s eye, and she gives him a thumbs up and mouths, ‘You got this.’ Deep breaths. At that moment, he’s incredibly thankful for her presence.

He watches as Will follows him down, slower, glancing around at the familiar surroundings. His eyes catch on everything Mike and Max put together over the past few weeks, and his footsteps grow slower as he takes it all in.

Streamers of all festive colors and off-balance fairy lights hang along the corners of the basement, phrases of ‘Welcome home,’ hand-cut and pasted on the front wall; at the table, a game mat and figures sit in wait, silly hats placed in front each chair; even the TV is prepared with a Santa hat, the couch covered in blankets and pillows, a few sleeping bags folded on the floor.

“Mike,” Will says quietly, stepping in a small circle, “what is all this?”

“Your homecoming party.” Mike is all jitters; he leans against the wall and shoves his hands in his pockets to disguise any visible shakes. “You like it?”

Will finally looks straight at him, an indiscernible look painted on his face. “Yeah,” he says, nodding rapidly, “yeah, it’s great - but we, uh,” he swallows and shakes his head, “we don’t, um, have to play D&D. I mean-”

“I don’t know, Will,” he ventures to step away from the wall, taking slow steps over to the table. Will follows every move. “I mean, I was really excited to have you back, even just for a little bit. We all were.” He reaches the table and leans back on his hands. “Figured having our cleric back warranted some festivities.”

Will shakes his head, runs his hands along his face, and turns away. The bit of confidence Mike has slowly starts to trickle.

“Is it okay?”

Will shakes out of his stupor and chuckles. “It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. You’ve truly outdone yourself, Michael.” He lifts himself on tiptoe to look at decorations on top of Mike’s shelves. “Are these from our big craft night, like, years ago?”

The horrible crayon work makes Mike smile - they made half of the snowmen evil, citing a Great Abominable Snowman War, and gave them wicked frowns and smiles, claws on their stick hands. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know you kept them.”

“I keep everything.” An awkward chuckle breaks from his chest. “Not everything, like, a hoarder or whatever, but - “

Will simply smiles and pushes himself forward toward the back wall, brushing past Mike, to his different pinups. He fixates on the sketch of Mike that he’d sent about a month back. “You know, you should probably take this down. I don’t think you’ll hear the end of it from Lucas and Dustin if you don’t.”

“Screw ‘em.”

“Right.” Will quirks his eyebrow and moves to sit in his designated chair, right next to where Mike is currently resting. “So, they know about D&D?”

“They know.” Mike smiles, and looks at the floor, right where their legs brush up against each other. “They seem pretty excited to have the party back together. To remind you of how badass your first one was,” he adds.

Will peers up at him for a moment before quietly saying, “I never joined another one.” Mike meets his eye for a moment, then, threatened by the silence that follows, clears his throat and distracts himself with a particularly interesting notch in the wood paneling. “Did you guys find someone else?”

“No, no,” Mike assures him. “We haven’t touched any of this stuff. It’s not the same.”

A silence settles between them, one that neither seems to know how to navigate. But Will keeps his gaze steady on Mike, trying to breach some barrier, to fall back into their usual ways.

Something is different, though; it’s not uncomfortable, it never could be, but it’s something intimidating. Will seems more comfortable, at least; he’s not shying away from anything Mike throws at him.

And he tries to break the silence first. “Y’know - “

“Will,” Mike cuts him off, and he’s not sure what he’s saying, or where he’s going with it, but he knows he’s supposed to say this. His name. “I need you to know that I missed you.”

Will blinks at him, cocks his head. “I missed you too,” he says matter-of-factly.

The words are eating at him, right there on the edge of his mind, and Will looks almost concerned and now Mike just wants to drop it because that’s not what he wanted. But he can’t, not now. “I missed you the most.” It sounds so juvenile. “More than everyone else. I missed you before you even left. I just didn’t know how to say it.” He breathes in and out, focusing on Will’s cheeks, the tip of his nose, anything but his eyes. When Will doesn’t say anything, the rest just spills. “I missed you when our first first day of school apart came and passed, and I didn’t even call. I missed you at homecoming. And,” he licks his lips, not really sure where his speech is heading, “I know you had to go, it’s fine. We’ll figure it out. But I feel like we haven’t been on the same page in a long time. So, I missed you, and I love you, and that’s that.”

Will looks at him funny, and then his face softens into something like laughter, and Mike is genuinely about to run and throw up somewhere, but then the boy closes his eyes and says, “I love you too.”

Mike blanches. “I don’t think I said that.”

“Oh, you definitely did.”

“Oh,” he nods, mind spinning, “well, you know…”

Will stands to be at Mike’s level, leans forward on his knees. Mike stops breathing. “I do,” he says, “but tell me again.”

Mike swallows down a breath of courage and suggests, “I think I might like you.” His eyes flit to Will’s lips, then back to his eyes. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll allow it,” Will says, a bright smile causing lines near his eyes. Mike smacks at his arm, nervous laughter coming out with a quiet, ‘Shut up.’ Will moves so he’s resting his fingertips on the table. Inches away.

“Same page, then?” Mike asks.

“Same page, yeah, for sure.”

Mike nods absently, distracting himself with the strings on Will’s sweatshirt. “So I don’t sound crazy?”

Will laughs. “I dunno. I always counted on us going crazy together. Figured we might have a few extra years, but hey, I’m all in.”

And then Mike is flashed back to a night on his couch just over a year ago. Knees knocking together, shared smiles. A promise.

So much has changed.

He wants to know what Will meant. A future of being in each other’s lives, maybe, getting old and senile and batshit crazy. Always being there.

He never dared to think about it before.

“So what now?”

Will shrugs. He dips his head to meet Mike’s eyes with his own. “What do you want, Mike?”

And finally, he thinks he might know.

Or maybe he’s always known.

He scoots forward, takes Will’s face in his hands, and kisses him. It’s just a quick press of their lips, but in that moment, he knows a few things for sure. His heartbeat is going a mile a minute, and Will must be able to feel it; it’s absolutely exhilarating, surreal, insane that he’s kissing his best friend; and, he is definitely in like, or maybe love, with Will Byers.

He’ll probably love him forever.

When Mike pulls back and his eyes flutter open to see Will, flushed, blinking back at him, slightly dazed, he doesn’t want to pull away at all. He did that. Mike’s hand remains on his jaw, lax, and he runs his thumb along Will’s bottom lip, curious to see his reaction, curious about a lot, now.

Will lets out a breathy chuckle. “Wow,” he mumbles, “that’s new.”

“Yeah.” Mike exhales shakily, takes one of Will’s hands, and says, “Merry Christmas, Will.”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas.”

The world doesn’t seem to fall apart like Mike thought it might if he ever got to this point, so, that’s nice.

“So…” Mike begins carefully, “you’re gonna have to be slow with me here. This is sort of a lot for me.”

“Me too,” Will replies simply. He squeezes Mike’s hand. “But we’ll figure it out.”

“Totally.”

Will takes his cheeks in his hands and smiles into a very gentle kiss, his fingers curling into the hair at the nape of Mike’s neck. It’s soft and sweet and lingering - but not for too long, as moments later the door upstairs busts open and shouts of, “BYERS!” from their dear friends sound through the air, and Mike and Will jump apart, equally startled and laughing.

“Down here!” Will calls out. He looks at Mike, smiles, offers, “To be continued?” and as he walks past, he leans in, just to leave a quick peck on Mike’s cheek.

And all Mike can do is laugh and shake his head and run after him to meet their friends; Lucas and Dustin are horribly late to the surprise, but they collide into Will the second they see him, shouting over each other, ‘What’s going on, dude?’ ‘Merry Christmas!’ ‘You’ve missed so much,’ and everyone is grinning and chattering, and it’s awesome.

Max approaches him, watching all of the madness, smacks a hand to his shoulder, and says, “You did good, Wheeler.”

“Yeah, I did.” She punches his arm lightly, laughing, so he adds, “thank you for everything. Seriously.”

“I think we should work together more often.”

Mike scoffs into a laugh, and says, “Yeah, guess so.”

Max rolls her eyes, but at least now they’re actually laughing in each other's company. It’s great progress from just a few weeks ago.

After a minute of watching the boy’s shenanigans, Max smiles. “Well, Merry Christmas, anyway.”

“Merry Christmas,” he responds, and he watches as she jumps up onto a kitchen stool, chatting and giggling with El.

With everyone back together again, finally, Mike feels really alive; so, he jumps in with all the excited shouting and group hugs and bickering, and celebrates the merriest Christmas he can remember in a long time.

#stranger things #hawkinsholidayhiatus #tuserjake #byler #byeler #mike wheeler #will byers #fanfiction #playlist #ik it might be a lil cheesy/dorky BUT i hope it makes u smile it was written w a lot of love <3 #mine

70 notes · View notes