#I’ve been so nice to her and I’ve been patient despite her tossing me through the same fucking loop over and over and over again…

[puppynosed]

I am so tired of having weeks. and months. and years. and decades. yeah. but anyways…

#tonight was unfortunately taken over by none other than toxic friend who kept putting me through the same loop #bc she was away from the person that she likes and didn’t have service to use to talk to them with. so already she was in a mood and thennnn #she was telling me about how she’s been getting hit on by a creepy guy at work who is a frequent customer of hers #and I suggested that she talked to her boss about it so that maybe they could ban him from the store or something like that. #and she got really pissed off at me for NOT just that… which I don’t understand why???? #but then I added on that I felt like she didn’t deserve to feel unsafe at work and then #she threw a whole fit and put me to blame for the fact that she was having a shitty night and couldn’t sleep #I’ve been so nice to her and I’ve been patient despite her tossing me through the same fucking loop over and over and over again… #idk what I’m doing wrong but this is EXACTLY why I struggle with talking to people #it’s like everything I say is wrong and harmful… #so when I go to talk to other people #I’m scared that opening my mouth verbally or virtually will inflict harm on someone <3 #I’m so fucking tired of this #as if life hasn’t been enough hell lately #there are so many things that she has no idea about that are going on with me and yet here she is putting me through more of the same #personal

[erodasfishtacos]

It’s Just Me (mini blurb)

if you enjoyed this fic - PLEASE reblog, rec, like, and come chat with me about the fic!

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———————

It was a terrible twos kind of day. The kind of day when YN can’t tote Ivy along to a charity organization brunch because she would meltdown.

Harry had her in his office with him, she was sitting on a blanket Harry had laid out, and was quietly playing with her stuffed animals (mostly seals.)

Occasionally, she would babble to herself and get pissed of at her inatimate playmates, ending in her tossing it to the side.

He caught himself just staring at her, smiling as he watches the little human he and his soulmate created right in front of him.

When his phone rings, he automatically picks it up, professionally stating, “Styles.”

“Hi, this is Dan from Payroll,” The guys voice was already shaking and Harry knew he was about to get really pissed off.

“How can I help you?” He asks in a tone that’s was definitely did not sound like he wanted to provide any assistance.

There is a pregnant pause before Dan nearly stutters, “Er, I accidentally missed reviewing the marketing departments hours and they did not receive their last paycheck.”

Harry takes a very deep breathe because he wants to do what he normally would - scream through the phone at this idiot.

However, he can’t because his curly haired little baby is playing with her toys in the middle of the office with a smile.

“Please come up to my office,” Harry replies curtly before hanging up.

He gets up, goes over to his daughter, and squats in front of her, “Ivy, baby.”

She looks up at him with a toothy grin before reaching over to hand him a stuffed seal, “Play, daddy.”

Harry thumbs over a stray curl on her forehead, “Daddy can’t, my love. I need y’to go with Granny Dor for a little.”

Ivy had been very clinging to both YN and Harry recently. She had a fit when YN dropped her off, despite how happy she was to see her dad.

Her brows furrow, lips purse, and Harry has to laugh because she looks like a carbon copy of him with the sour face.

“Oh, no mean looks t’daddy,” He hums with his own frown, “S’just for a moment, m’dove.”

“No.”

“Ivy, y’need to listen.”

And Harry knows it coming, she sucks in a huge breathe and then just lets out a scream in protest of him.

“Ivy Elizabeth Styles, y’do not scream. Y’know better. Are we going to have to take a timeout or are you going to go sit nice with Dor?” Harry’s voice is still softer than he’d use with any of him employees but extremely firm to her.

“No timeout, daddy,” She mumbles, her volume decreasing significantly as she lowers her gaze from her father’s.

“Alright, then c’mon. Thank you for listening,” Harry praises, gathering up her toys for her and leading her into his waiting room where Dorothy is typing away on her computer.

“Dor, Dan is coming up and I need to have a private meaning. Will y’watch her for a little?”

Ivy is already clambering up into her lap, into the warmth of her arms, and nuzzling in - because Granny Dor spoiled her silly.

Harry rolls his eyes, muttering, “And you and YN say I spoil her too much. Bloody ridiculous.”

Dorothy just shoos him away, readjusting Ivy’s bow, and combing through her hair softly to simmer her down a little.

Dan trails in solemnly soon after to face his inevitable doom.

He sees his boss’ daughter perched on the secretary’s lap and he wonders how such a sweet little thing could be created from the demon of a man.

As Harry and Dan meet, Ivy gets wriggly and squirms off of Dorothy’s lap.

“Stay close,” She murmurs to the toddler as she picks up her phone to answer a call for Harry.

Of course, Ivy doesn’t listen, and she noticed that the door to her father’s office is cracked open just the littlest bit.

It’s enough for her to slip through the space between the heavy doors and toddles on, she’s blocked by the leather couches so Harry can’t see her.

“I have givin’ you so many fuckin’ chances!” Harry seethes angrily at his employee. His tone was more like a growl than anything else.

Ivy pauses, eyes widening in fear as she hears her dad speak in a frightening manner she’s never heard before.

“I…There was a coding error that I had been distracted with, it won’t happen again,” Dan insists, knowing he had actually committed a fireable offense.

“You are absolutely correct because you’re fucking fired,” Harry replies, no wavering in his raspy register.

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Dan explodes, “It’s unfucking fair treatment! It was one mistake, you fuckin’ asshole!”

There’s a moment of silence.

“I can fuckin’ show you unfair treatment. Get the fuck out of my office and learn how to do your goddamn job,” Harry retorts, his voice rising as well.

Ivy is stuck in her spot, frozen in surprise at hearing the arguing and how mad her father sounded, voice echoing through the room.

“You listen to me-“

“Get the fuck out of my office!” Harry booms furiously, this employee managing to get a rise out of him.

“I was ju-“

Both the men pause when they hear a wail from behind the sofa and the sound of Ivy plopping herself on the ground.

Harry instantly is out from behind his desk and going to round the sofa in a flash with a rose of panic in his chest.

His heart drops when he sees his baby looking up at him with fear in her watery eyes and she’s literally shaking.

“Oh, baby. Did y’hear daddy bein’ loud?” Harry murmurs in his sweetest, comforting voice - uncaring of his employee hearing him.

Harry expects her to nod sadly and ask for a cuddle but she instead wriggles backwards when he goes to reach for her - out of his reach.

“Ivy, little dove, s’just y’daddy,” He tries again, sitting down in front of her - doesn’t even look up as Dan leaves quietly.

She’s scared though and has had never felt worse in his life as his daughter backs away from him until she’s getting to her wobbly feet.

He tries again, reaching his arms out, “Ivy Elizabeth, s’just daddy. M’sorry I scared you, bub.”

Ivy doesn’t budge, crying loudly with her face pinched up as hot tears run down her soft chubby cheeks.

Dorothy appears with a worried look, “I apologize, I thought she was by the table.”

“S’not your fault I’m a shitty father,” Harry mutters, standing back up and roughly brushing off his trousers.

“Oh Harry, she’s just a little frightened,” Dorothy hums, picking the girl up when she toddles quickly over to her.

Her dad trails over, “Ivy, m’love. Can you look at daddy?”

She refuses, digging her face into the woman’s shoulder, curls bouncing fiercely as she clings onto her.

Harry loved to be feared. Not like this though. Not by the child he’d literally jump in front of a train for without a second thought.

He would rather have her screaming, pitching fits, throwing toys rather than this. She was so scared that she wouldn’t even look at him.

“Let me take her on a little stroll, okay? See if I can calm her down a bit.”

—

Harry waits patiently for Dorothy to arrive back but he automatically hears his daughter’s steady stream of sniffles and whimpers.

He goes out to the waiting room to see her reentering the room, she sighs, “I think it’s time to call mummy.”

Harry had no idea how he was going to explain this to his wife. He was I trouble and he knew he deserved it.

“Hey H, is the bab okay?” YN greets warmly, chattering in the background.

“Er, she’s okay, just upset. Ivy accidentally walked in on me flipping out and firing an employee. Now she’s scared. Dor tried to calm her down and she doesn’t want to be near me right now.”

YN’s next words were calm, Harry however did not miss the sharp edge when she replies, “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Then she hangs up on him.

Which she really never does unless she is really really upset.

—

When YN arrives, Ivy is sat on Dorothy’s lap with puffy eyes and her thumb tucked between her full lips, popping it out when she sees her mother.

“Mumma!” Ivy shrieks, tears beginning streaming down her face as she impatiently waits for her to cross the room and gives her a soft kiss to the forehead.

“Hi baby, give mummy one minute and then we’ll leave okay?” YN murmurs soothingly, thumbing of some of the tears.

Ivy nods but is standing next the secretary’s desk, waiting patiently with her thumb going right back between her lips again.

Harry’s sitting at his large oak table, looking like a guilty puppy as his wife comes in with a disapproving look on her face.

“Baby, m’sorr-“

“What the fuck, Harry? Why is our daughter out there terrified right now?” YN demands, crossing her arms to prove her anger.

“Some fuckin’ idiot messed somethin’ up and Ivy walked in while I cursed him out and fired him. She was hiding behind the couch. It was an accident,” He defends, bristling a bit.

“Even if the door was shut, she would have still heard you. You knew better than to act like that around our daughter.”

“I had to fire him,” Harry makes the lame excuse because he knows he’s in the wrong and he’s not always great at admitting he is.

“You were supposed to have Ivy for two hours and this happens. I have her all day everyday and I’ve need had an issue with controlling myself in front of others!” YN yells (quietly) at him.

“What the fuck is tha’ supposed to mean? Y’calling me a bad father? Y’have her all day with her because I work so that you can stay at home with her.”

YN rolls her eyes, “Well thank god for that, she’d be cursing and screaming at people all day everyday if she was with you all the time.”

Harry is thoroughly pissed at his wife and she is equally just as furious with him - it doesn’t happen often but when it does it’s bad.

“Y’got some fuckin’ nerve. Our baby is polite, well-mannered because of me too! Not just you, fuckin’ claiming all her good qualities,” He replies with a snarl.

“Don’t talk to me that way,” YN bites back, “I’m not one of your employees. Neither is Ivy despite you talking like that in front of her.”

Now she was just trying to push his buttons and it was well onto it’s way of working.

“Y’bein’ fuckin’ ridiculous! It was a accident and you’re acting like I did it on purpose! Fuckin’ hell!” He raises his voice in frustration.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are raising your voice at me but I’m leaving,” YN tells him, giving him one final glare before storming out of the office.

“Fuck!” He grunts, smacking cup of pens from his desk before slamming his fist on the desk.

—

Ivy was waiting patiently, whimpering when she sees her mum, and gesturing to be picked up, “It’s past your nap time, Vee.”

“Nap,” She lisps sadly, instantly curling into then familiarness that is her mother. Eyes instantly fluttering shut.

“Thank you, Dor,” YN whispers, blowing her a kiss, before trekking out of the office with the exhausted little girl.

—

Harry can’t handle the rest of the day, wants to go home, and make amends with his wife which leads him to heading out only an hour after them.

He finds YN in the den with the baby monitor propped on the coffee table, she’s watching a horror movie with a smoothie in hand.

“Hi, m’heart,” Harry murmurs cautiously, loosening up his tie until it falls limp around his neck.

She glances over at him, sarcasm lacing her tone,“So you do know how to talk without yelling at me, hmm?”

His face falls, frowning, “Hey, lovie - don’t be like tha’. Y’gonna let me apologize?”

“Come scratch my back and I’ll hear you out,” She hums, keeping a serious face.

“Y’drive a hard bargain, m’heart. Show me y’tits,” Harry begins to smile, striding over and getting her no time before he’s pulling off her shirt and sports bra.

He sits down then gently lays her down on her tummy and she rests her head in his lap, cheek pressed against his thigh.

“I shouldn’t have done that, I wasn’t thinkin’. Now I’m worried she’s gonna hate me forever,” Harry mumbles, using his blunt nails to trace up and down her back.

“You’re her favorite person. She’ll always love you more than anything,” YN tells him seriously, arching when he scratches an extra itchy spot.

“I hope so. I love her more than anythin’. A little mixture of how much we love each other. How much we worked to get her,” He sighs softly.

—

YN dozed off and Harry tucks a blanket around her bare chest.

When the baby monitor alerts that Ivy had woke up after quite a long nap, he takes a deep breath before walking up the staircase to his fate.

He’s preparing himself for her to scream and cry when she sees her monster of a father because he’d scared her so horribly.

But his mini just widens her green eyes and he looks at his world with bated breath, waiting for the scream or tears.

Instead, she just dimples happily at her father, and squeals with excitement, “Daddy! Hi Daddy, miss you!”

And just like that….

They’re best friends again.

—-

Enjoy! Come talk to me!! 💕❣️💕❣️💕❣️

#harry styles #ceo!harry #harry styles writing #update #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fic rec #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #ceo!harry blurb #ceo harry masterlist #ceo!harry masterlist #harry styles imagine #harry styles huband #husband!harry #dad harry #dad!harry #dad harry styles #harry styles husband #Harry styles fluff

[forever-rogue]

Hi love!! I know I'm sneaking it in under the wire, but congratulations again on your milestone! You deserve ALL the good things, honeybunch! For your prompt requests can I please get a fluffy something (maybe a lil unrequited-but-really-requited) friends to lovers with our hot daddy Marcus Moreno?? With the prompts:

“Stay. Please.” (prompt list 3) and 79. "I can't get you out of my head" (prompt list 1).

Feel free to get as creative or flexible as you want with this. Love you bb 💜🌿

I love you too bb! I am so in it for one (1) Marcus Moreno! Enjoy!

Marcus Moreno x Fem!Reader ; warnings: none

Pedro Character Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

Dating was hard. Dating was even harder when you’d been out of the game for years. Dating was hardest when you were a single, widowed father who doubled as a superhero. 

Yeah, dating was hard for Marcus Moreno. 

Even with all the support from you. 

“Marcus,” you scoffed at him as you picked up around the kitchen, sighing at the small disaster that had occurred when he had tried to cook. He knew that tone of voice very well, and he took a step back and offered you a sheepish grin. You grabbed a dish towel and threw it at him as you gestured to the mess, “how? How does this even happen? All you did was make pasta and salad!”

“I don’t know!” he insisted meekly. It was true - the man was a walking, talking disaster when it came to anything related to cooking. But he tried, gods knew he tried so hard. He was trying to do good, to be better - his best - for Missy, and himself. And you. You just weren’t exactly privy to that fact just yet. He cleared his throat awkwardly before he got too caught up in his little daydream fantasies, “it just...happened. You don't have to clean it swee- it’s okay. It’s not your mess.”

“It’s alright Marcus,” you promised him as you threw all the trash in the can and set the dishes in the sink to rise, “besides you made dinner and dessert. It’s the least I can do.”

“I burned dessert…” he pouted slightly as you laughed, causing his heart to skip a beat at the magical sound. You watched as he came over and started to load the rinsed dishes into the washer, giving his hip a small bump with your own.

“You tried,” you shot him a quick wink, “that’s what counts. Besides, you had ice cream as a backup to save the day.”

“Luckily,” he agreed, pausing for a moment as he tried to choose his next words carefully, “umm...can I ask you for a huge favor?”

“Anything,” you promised softly as you finished stowing away the leftovers and wiping down the counter, “what’s up?”

“Can you watch Missy tomorrow night?” he asked quietly, almost as if he was embarrassed by his request. You quirked an eyebrow at him before leaning against the counter and offering him a curious expression, “I-I asked my mom but she’s got poker night with her friends. I can order pizza or whatever you want for dinner and-”

“Of course, Marcus,” you interrupted him before he could stammer further, pressing a finger against his lips. If you hadn’t been so caught up in your own feelings, you’d have noticed the ting of pink creeping into his cheeks as he tried not to focus too much on the feel of your touch, “you know she’s my favorite person on the planet, right along with her dad. Just let me know the time and I’ll be here - but I want Thai, including dessert!”

“Whatever you want,” he grinned softly, “you’re such a lifesaver, and I just...I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I know,” you teased, “what’s the occasion? Another date with Katie?”

“No,” he admitted, as you offered up a look of surprise. You’d met her for all of about five minutes the first time he went out with her as you’d arrived to hang out with Missy. She was nice - pretty, funny, warm and despite the bit of a jealous twinge in your stomach, you could see why Marcus would fall for her. You were surprised to hear that things didn’t work, “she umm...it was fine. It just...I can’t see myself with her, you know?”

“You just gotta test the waters and see how it goes,” you swallowed the lump that had welled up, “you never know until you know. Who’s the lucky lady? If it’s a date - I shouldn’t just assume. Perhaps you’re busy saving the world?”

“I think those days are past me,” he admitted, “we leave that to the kids - with guidance of course. I..yeah it’s a date. Her name’s Stacy.”

“Oh, another first date?” you tried to keep your tone light and teased as he focused on the floor and nodded, “how very lucky she is. Hopefully she knows that and hopefully you’ll have fun! That’s what? The third first date this month? Things are looking up Mr. Moreno!”

“It’s nothing,” he swore as he shook his head, “obviously they’re first dates and they stay first dates. It is what it is.”

“Hey,” you reached over and gave his arm a squeeze, “you’re amazing Marcus, and you deserve the best. One day you’re going to meet another woman that will knock you off your feet. You just have to be patient. What is it that they say? Love is patient, love is kind? Or something like that!”

“Yeah,” he agreed as his heart dropped slightly. If he was a brave man, a bold man, he’d have dropped to his knees and confessed his love for you then and there. He’d have told you that it was you, always you, that you were the only one he wanted. But...he didn’t. Instead he swallowed his pride and his nerves and offered you a nod, “I guess we shall see.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

But just as Katie had came and went, so did Stacy. And then Maria. And then Stefani. And then…

"Hey," you greeted Marcus as he came in the door, a dejected look on his face. You were sitting on the couch, doing some work on your laptop as you ate some ice cream. It wasn't terribly late, but Missy had already gone to bed, leaving you to your own devices. You'd gone and picked up around the house before settling on the couch, knowing Marcus had had an incredibly busy week. 

"Hey," he let out a long sigh, immediately putting his feet on the coffee table. He looked at your laptop before holding his hand in front of the screen, "its late. No more working!"

"I'm multitasking," you insisted with a grin as you held up your ice cream and pointed at the television that was playing reruns of the Office. He tutted anyway and eventually you gave in, closing out your programs before closing your laptop, "fineeeee! So, how was it? Tell me everything!"

"Not much to tell," he shrugged softly as he took off his glasses and tossed them onto the table before pinching the bridge of his nose. You offered him a small smile before holding out the remainder of your ice cream to him. He looked at it as a smile tugged on the corners of his mouth and he took the bowl from your hand, "I don't think there's going to be a second date with her either."

"What? I thought Carla seemed lovely!" you were surprised by what appeared to be another failed date. You had liked her from all the things Marcus had told you about her, and you were positive that she would be the one, "what happened, Marcus?"

"I don't know," he shrugged lightly before taking a big bite of ice cream, "I don't think it was her. I-I think it was me."

"You didn’t like her?"

"I did," he swallowed thickly, feeling his heart rate pick up wildly, and he was positive you could hear it. Why, why, why couldn't he just tell you? Why couldn't he suck it up and open his heart up and confess his feelings? It would have been so easy, "its just...I umm…"

"You don't have to explain it to me," you insisted, reaching over and giving his arm a reassuring squeeze, "if you don't click, you don't click. Patience, my love, patience. There's no rush to get anywhere.

"Listen," he set the bowl down and turned towards, a serious look on his face, "I have to -"

Before he could say anything else your phone started buzzing on the table. You sighed lightly as you saw your boss' name light up the screen. You grimaced before grabbing it and offering him an apologetic look, "I should go and take this. I've got a big presentation tomorrow…"

"Oh yeah," he gave you a meek smile as you grabbed your laptop and bag before leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head and promising him you’d text later, "see you…"

You were quietly answering the phone as you rushed out of the house, leaving Marcus sitting there by myself. He let out a long sigh as he leaned back and tried to calm himself. Of course, of course, of course, the one time he'd gathered up some courage, something interrupted him.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Soon he'd finally tell you. He wanted to, desperately so. Every date he went on that wasn't with you just made him realize that he wanted nothing more than you. He wished it had been you on all those dates. 

That made him realize he needed to do this. Marcus Moreno was going to make his move - finally.

»»————-　♡　————-««

And then he didn't.

He just...never seemed to get the timing the right. Every time he finally plucked up the courage to finally say something, he was interrupted. It was like the entirety of the universe was against him.

Eventually, he reluctantly gave in and decided to go on a second date with Carla. It was a combination of things, namely her asking him, but he gave in and said yes. It had killed him a little bit as he'd responded to her text; he'd been out with you and Missy doing some grocery shopping, watching as the two of you tried to pick a cereal (it was time for something other than Great White Bites, Missy had insisted). You'd caught his eye and smiled, but he still sent the text.

Anything to get his mind off of you. 

But as soon as her excited response came through, Marcus felt like the worst person. Still - maybe he could make this work...maybe Carla wouldn't be so bad for him. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

It wasn't too late when Marcus came home after his date. He'd thought about texting you to see if you wanted him to bring ice cream, but had decided against it. His mind was made up and set on one thing.

You.

His second date with Carla had taught him that despite how kind, funny, and pretty she was, she would never be the one for him. The one for him had been right in front of his face the whole time and he finally knew what he needed to do.

Even if you rejected him, he had to tell, to get it out in the open once and for all.

When he got home, the house was quiet, with only the soft sound of television signaling that someone was up. You'd left one of the lights in the living room on, creating a soft glow in the quiet space.

Then he spotted you and was left breathless. There you were, curled up on the end of the couch, a warm, thick blanket draped around as you slept. What a pure, innocent sight, and yet - he still felt like his heart was on fire.

Almost as if you sensed some sort of disturbance, you slowly opened your eyes and blinked away the bleariness to find Marcus watching you intently. 

"Hi," you smiled lightly as at him, "didn't mean to fall asleep. Long day...Missy's off in bed already."

"Okay," he whispered gently before coming closer to you, "listen, I have to tell you something. And I'm afraid if I don't say it now then I'll never have the courage to do it again."

"Of course," you slowly sat up and gave him the megawatt smile he loved, "but first, tell me how your date was! I bet she was so excited to see you again as she should of course because-"

"I'm in love with you," he cut you off before you could ramble on, surprising the two of you. A warm, wicked flush of red colored his features as he clamped his hand over his mouth and breathed deeply, "I...I didn't mean to quite say it like that. I just...I can't get you out of my head. I realized that every date I had didn't work out for a reason - because they weren't you. I wanted it to be you, and well...I wanted to ask and just never got the nerve."

"Oh," you tried to suppress the smile on your face, but it was futile effort as you watched him closely, "you know you're my best friend, and I supported you going on those dates because you deserve the world, only the best, but to be honest, I'm glad they didn't work out…"

"W-why?" he stammered nervously as his whole body vibrated with energy, humming like wildfire as he anticipated your next response.

"I think you know why…"

"Will you say it...please? I want to hear it...to know I'm not crazy. I can't be the only one feeling this…" the look in his gentle brown eyes was nervous, more so than you had never seen. You threw off the blanket and slowly stood up, taking a few steps closer to him so there was almost no distance between your bodies. 

"I'm in love with you too," you promised softly, as a grin broke out on his face, "I have been for a very long time and I was never sure if you felt the same and didn't want to ruin anything…"

Before saying anything else, Marcus reached up and delicately placed his hands on the sides of your face as he studied you. It was long before he moved closer, and then even closer before you finally closed the gap and kissed him softly.

It wasn't some big grandiose thing, rather it was soft and gentle - a longing kiss between two people who had been waiting on this moment for a long time. And it was everything. Marcus kissed you until you were breathless, leaning into his touch and chasing after him. It was just...utterly perfect. 

When you broke apart for a breath of air, he pressed his forehead against yours, giving your lips another saccharine little kiss. It felt natural for him to hold you like this, his large hands on your waist as your arms wrapped around his neck.

“I should have done this a long time ago,” he whispered softly, to where you could barely hear it and in some ways, you wondered if it was even intended for your ears, “I’m sorry I waited so long.”

“It was worth the wait,” you promised him gently, “you’re worth the wait.”

“Will you stay?” he asked softly as you gave him a confused look, “stay. Please…”

“Tonight?”

“Forever,” he closed his eyes as he kissed you again, holding you gently in his vice like grip, “I love you.”

“Of course,” you nuzzled your nose against his, before touching over his face gently and giving him a gentle smile, “of course. There’s nothing I’d rather be than your forever.”

“My forever,” he repeated, “you are everything.”

“Can I ask you for something Marcus?”

“Anything.”

“Please kiss me again.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #wcbh #forever-rogue's follower celebration

[n00dl3gal]

Like Old Times (Father-Son Bonding AU)

A direct sequel to the “Expiration Date” fic, which I’ll link in a reblog. I’ve also posted all my fics in this AU to AO3!! Thanks again to @thetriggeredhappy for their help and just generally being a cool dude, and the Scoutsune Discord server for indulging my brainrot

No warnings beyond family schmoop!

Less than an hour after the bread monster incident, the Administrator called for a ceasefire. “Only while your base is repaired,” she said over the TV screen. “BLU is quite disappointed in this negligence- as am I. Regardless, you may use these three days as you see fit. Go home, stay here- whatever you do, no more bread monsters.” The screen turned off with a click. 

Scout exhaled through his nose. He was thankful there was no mention of him or Miss Pauling’s woodchipper. 

Spy decloaked behind him. “Less time than I wanted, but c’est la vie.” Scout looked at him over his shoulder. “I’m meeting with an old contact during our break,” Spy said in Italian. “Would you like to come along? It’ll be like old times.” 

Scout’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. At least this way, he’d get out of helping Engie and Heavy with repairs. And possibly meeting Miss Pauling’s woodchipper. 

“Excellent. Our flight is at 7 AM tomorrow.” 

“We’re flying commercial?” Scout asked, also in (more hesitant) Italian. 

“Our destination is continental. We’ll leave the base by 5:30.” Scout groaned as Spy started to leave. But- wait, he hadn’t- 

“Oi, where are we going, anyway?” he called back in English. 

Spy paused to look at him and smile. “Boston.” 

“Why do we always get the ass-crack-of-dawn flights?” Jeremy asked groggily, reclining his seat.

“They are the ones with first-class seats available,” Raphael replied. He took a sip from his mimosa. 

“Yeah, cuz God forbid you fly coach for once.” Jeremy shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Hey. Have I ever been to Boston before?”

Raphael didn’t answer immediately. His lip sucked in, as if in thought. “Yes. When you were very, very young. You wouldn’t remember.” 

Jeremy nodded. He wanted to ask more, there was something Raphael wasn’t saying but… well, he was never a morning person. He fell asleep before the plane even took off. 

. . .

It was mid-afternoon by the time they landed in Boston. Jeremy was never fond of long flights; having his legs cramped like that for extended periods of time was murder. He was half tempted to take a jog around Logan International. Raphael, on the other hand, was ushering them both to the car rental. “Can’t even get a stretch in, huh?”

“Unfortunately, we are expected by 4, and I would hate to keep my contact waiting,” Raphael explained in French, accepting the keys from the girl at the counter. “She’s not a very patient woman, in some regards.” 

Jeremy huffed but didn’t argue. He just followed his father to the rental, tossing his suitcase in the backseat. “Y’know, the girl at the counter-” 

“We will not have time for you to go out on a date, Jeremy.” 

“No! No, it was- her accent’s kinda like mine, it’s weird,” Jeremy said. Raphael started the car. “Cuz I’ve only been here as a baby, and I got mine from TV and shit. It’s just… really strange, is all.” 

Raphael made a quiet noise of agreement. “Some of the shows you watched as a child were filmed here. It’s not as complex as you think it is.” 

“Yeah, probably not…” 

The pair lapsed into silence as Raphael drove. Storefronts and high rises morphed into houses. It had been a while since they were in a residential area. RED, for understandable reasons, kept away from civilians. 

Raphael took the roads with practiced experience. Sure, it had been implied he knew the area. If he had a contact here- one with a house, presumably- he must’ve spent time here. But this- this was far too familiar. A bit suspicious, actually. 

Eventually, Raphael slowed in front of a more rundown Brownstone. Still quite nice, just needed a little work. It felt… welcoming, in a way Jeremy couldn’t name.

“Lotta cars,” he observed as Raphael parallel parked. “Must be a party going on somewhere.” 

“Hmm, perhaps,” Raphael said, turning the car off. “Would you mind ringing the doorbell for me? I need to grab something from the trunk. Ask for Sara Jane.” 

OK, now Jeremy knew something was up. He was never the one to make the first contact, that was always Dad’s job. Jeremy might be a full-grown adult, but there were some things that didn’t change. This was one of them. 

Still, he nodded. He climbed up the front steps and ringed the doorbell. He heard- multiple voices from inside, predominantly male, but they quickly silenced themselves. A TV, perhaps? They really ought to get that flower box on the second story window fixed- 

The woman who opened the door was a bit shorter than him, though not by much. She was wearing a simple dress, hoop earrings, and flats. Her hair was dark, curved to her chin. But her nose and earlobes felt… achingly familiar. Like Jeremy saw them all the time. 

“Um, hi, I’m looking for Sara Jane? My name’s-” The rest of his speech was knocked out of him as the woman launched herself at him. Jeremy braced for an attack, but quickly realized she was… hugging him. 

She was hugging him, sobbing, and choked out the word “Jeremy.” 

Wait. He knew that voice. He had only heard it a few times in his life, few enough he could count them on one hand, but he knew it. “M-Ma?” he whispered. 

The woman- Sara Jane- Ma looked up at him, still crying. Her hands found his face as she observed him. “Y-yeah, sweetie, it’s me, it’s-it’s your ma,” she said. 

“Ma!” he laughed, tears of his own dancing down his cheeks. He hugged her back, practically lifting her off her feet. “Oh my God, Ma! I-I never thought I’d-” 

“Oh Jeremy, sweetie, look how tall you’ve gotten! Last I saw you, you fit in my arms! My baby, my handsome baby,” she spoke over him. She rubbed circles into his back as they embraced. It felt so, so right. 

Jeremy laughed even harder. “Are you kiddin’? I got it from you, you’re beautiful, Ma!” He stared at her, trying to commit every mole and wrinkle and perfect flaw to memory. “I can’t believe- oh my God, I’m actually meeting you!” 

“It was long overdue,” another voice said, as Raphael joined them on the front stoop. “I had put it off for safety reasons, but considering our current, ah, situation… I felt it was worth the risk.” 

Sara Jane squealed, pulling Raphael into the hug as well. “You’ve been taking good care of my boy, you promise me, Raphael?” 

“Don’t worry Ma, he’s the best dad I could ask for, considering,” Jeremy teased. 

“Oh, don’t I know it. Called me up last night and told me to get the whole motley crew together. Even managed to get Melvin to bring his twin daughters, bless his wife’s heart,” she explained. 

Jeremy blinked. “Uh- Melvin? Daughters?”

Sara Jane laughed. It sounded so much like Jeremy’s it practically hurt. This was his mother. Lord, he’s finally seeing her. “Melvin’s your older brother, sweetie. Eh, sixth oldest. Bobby’s the oldest.” 

“I have a brother?”

“Oh honey, you’re the youngest of eight,” Sara Jane said plainly. 

“...fuck,” Jeremy whispered. 

. . .

He didn’t just have seven brothers. He had seven brothers, four of which brought their wives, one who brought his boyfriend, and three who brought their kids. And the kids totaled to an additional six, counting the babies. 

It was… an admittedly tight squeeze in the living room. 

Sara Jane introduced Jeremy. Jeremy had been expecting to be treated like a stranger. He had vanished when he was a baby, after all, and his younger-older brothers probably wouldn’t remember him at all. 

And yet, it was like he knew them all his life. 

They teased him and punched him playfully and acted so friendly, so familial it nearly made Jeremy break down. He was still crying from meeting Ma, but being dogpiled with so much affection was suffocating. In a good way. He had seen on sitcoms the intrinsic bond between family, and while he felt it with Dad, they also risked their lives nearly daily. But it was real, it was here, and it was wrapping him in a warm blanket. 

Despite the chaos and the sheer number of people, Jeremy didn’t feel overwhelmed. He laughed and played along with their jokes, cracking some back when he could get a word in. Scott ragged on his dog tags, he countered by pointing out the hole in his pants. Michael told him he was still a shortass, he replied with “it takes one to know one.” Elliot and Ricky were the closest to actually getting hurt, and that was only because Jeremy elbowed them both so hard they nearly fell over. 

For the first time in 25 years, Jeremy understood what “home” meant. 

The kids were especially curious, eager to meet their uncle and step-grandfather. Within seconds, young Rebecca- only four years old- was challenging Jeremy to a race around the house. “I’m the fastest kid in the world,” she bragged, puffing out her chest. 

“Oh yeah?” Jeremy asked. “That a fact?”

“You wanna test me? I beat Johnny Three-Legs at running, and he’s got three legs!” Jeremy laughed and stood from the couch, letting her lead him outside. “On the count of three, OK?”

“You’re on, pipsqueak,” Jeremy teased.

“Onetwothree GO!” Rebecca yelled, taking off in a sprint. Jeremy knew that, by all accounts, he should beat her. His legs were longer, she didn’t have the proper running stance, and it was his job to be fast. That’s what he got paid to do. But some small voice was telling him to let her win, so he did. “Ha! I told ya!” 

“Ya sure did,” he replied, mock panting. “Look at you, a freaking blur on the green. You’re goin’ to the Olympics, kid.” 

Rebecca beamed and hugged his leg. “Promise, Uncle Jeremy?” He nodded because, after that display, there was no way he could speak without squeaking like a chew toy. 

Rebecca skipped back inside, past Raphael, who was watching on the stoop. “You’re a natural with children,” he observed. “I used to do the same thing when you were that age.” 

“Wait- wait, really? You sure fooled me,” Jeremy said. 

Raphael rolled his eyes. “What’s my job again, mon lapin?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jeremy leaned against the railing, watching Raphael’s cigarette smoke in the wind. “Hey. Uh… thanks for arranging all of this. You really didn’t need to.”

“But I did. I meant it when I said this was overdue. I’ve been wanting to introduce you to the rest of the family for a while, but have been unable. Then that whole ordeal with the supposed tumors, and-” Raphael exhaled slowly. “It wouldn’t have been fair to you if you died without knowing them. I would’ve never forgiven myself.” 

Jeremy punched his shoulder lightly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, pops. It all worked out, we’re still kicking, and that roast chicken Ma’s making smells incredible. Everything’s perfect.” 

Raphael finished his cigarette and smiled. “Oui. It is.” 

. . .

While Sara Jane had been able to get the rest of the family here, it was a school night. Kids needed to be tucked in by 9:30, so most of Jeremy’s brothers were gone by 8. Elliot was staying overnight, as was his boyfriend. Otherwise, the house quickly went from bustling to barren. 

It gave Jeremy a chance to explore his would-be childhood home.

He made his way upstairs, pushing open one of the doors. It led- to little surprise- to a bedroom. It was set up like a nursery, with a crib in one corner and a toddler bed in the other. Toys were scattered about across the floor. 

He heard Sara Jane sigh behind him. “This was your room, you know.” Jeremy turned to look at her as she flipped the light switch. “That crib… I had put you to bed the night your father planned to fake his death. I was in on the whole plan, naturally. He wanted to hold you one last time, so I said OK. When I woke up the next morning… you were both gone.” She exhaled slowly, grabbing onto his shoulder. “I wrote both of you off as dead, but I knew what had happened. Honestly, should’ve figured it out before then. You hadn’t woken me up crying,” she joked. Her eyes were watering. 

Jeremy hugged her, pulling her close. “You never took the crib down?” 

“By the time I was ready, Bobby’s wife was pregnant, so I kept it up for my grandbabies. I knew- I knew you were out there, sweetie. Both of you.” She kissed his cheek, squeezing him.

“I-I never got to be a normal kid, really,” he confessed. “I mean, Dad did his best, gave me comic books and board games and stuff, but-but I never went to school or made friends or anything like that. I-I didn’t even know I had a family. It took me forever to even realize I had a Ma. An-and everything I did-” The tears were flowing again, more freely than earlier. “Ya missed me losing my first tooth, and potty trainin’, and all that stuff parents should know about. I-I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Sara Jane wiped his cheek dry. “Don’t apologize for what your father did, Jeremy. And definitely don’t apologize for me not potty training another kid. Besides… hold on, I’ll be right back.” She made her way down the hallway. Jeremy didn’t follow, instead deciding to examine the crib. This was where he grew up. It was a simple crib, obviously well-used. Not worn-down, mind, just… used. It had a history. A history that Jeremy wanted to decode, but unlike his dad’s ciphers, he didn’t have the key. 

“Took me a second to find it,” Sara Jane said. She handed him what appeared to be a scrapbook. “Raphael- he wrote when he can. Taught me some basic codes, would send out letters whenever you’d leave a town. Never left a return address, but…” Jeremy flipped through the pages, moving to sit on the small bed. The letters were all coded but appeared to be about how much Raphael missed Sara Jane. Updates on Jeremy’s growth. Letters from a father to his lover and son’s mother. 

One page jumped out to him, though. “I remember this,” he said, running his fingers against the paper. It was a simple drawing of a young boy, holding a catcher’s mitt, and a taller man next to him. “I drew this after Dad took me to my first baseball game, for my eighth birthday. I thought I lost the drawing after we skipped town, but- he sent them to you?”

Sara Jane nodded. “And I kept them all. Oh, honey, the day I first heard your voice on the phone- Mikey can tell you, I damn near fell over. You sounded so happy, and even if I couldn’t see you, that’s all a mother wants.” Jeremy leaned against her and she shut the book. “That’s all a mother wants, sweetie. To see her kids be safe and happy.” 

“I am, Ma,” he assured her. “I promise.” 

They sat like that for a while, with Sara Jane commenting on various letters and drawings in the scrapbook. Apparently, Raphael sent her money when he could- more frequently now that Mann Co. paid so well. She also had a rough idea of their current occupations. “I figure, if you and your father are working for the same company- with his skills, there’s gotta be a whole lot of nonsense going on out in that desert.” Jeremy laughed at that because she wasn’t wrong. “But I also figure since he raised you right, he’ll keep the both of you safe.” 

“I keep him safe too, don’t worry,” Jeremy added. “Uh- listen, it’s touching and all you kept the crib, but I don’t have to sleep in it, right?” 

They both had a good chuckle over that. Their laughs were in perfect harmony. 

. . .

The next two days were a mix of learning the family history and exploring Boston. It was the offseason, so there weren’t any games going on at Fenway, but Jeremy still got a picture in front of the park. Sara Jane took the pair to a restaurant that served “the best damn clam chowder in the contiguous United States.” Which, incidentally, led them to discover Jeremy was allergic to clams. Thankfully they didn’t have to go to the hospital- he just sort of immediately got sick before it passed- but it did suck.

It was damn good chowder, though. 

They went down to the harbor where the Boston Tea Party happened. It was crowded with people, resulting in them not staying long. Jeremy was a bit better with crowds than Raphael, but neither was great with them. Came with the job. Getting overpriced memorabilia from a nearby gift shop, though, went over much more smoothly. 

When not out on the town, Sara Jane dug out more scrapbooks and photo albums, catching Raphael up on what his stepsons had been up to. She showed Jeremy pictures from Ricky’s first school play to Scott opening up his butcher shop. Graduation pictures, wedding pictures, baby pictures- it was all there, and Jeremy devoured it. He wanted to know these people. He wanted to know his family. And he did. He learned about Michael’s stint in the Navy, Melvin meeting his wife, how Bobby’s son could dribble a basketball for twenty minutes straight. He learned about how his parents met. How Raphael loved each of Sara Jane’s children, even if they weren’t biologically his. How Jeremy wasn’t planned- few of the kids were - but they were both so, so happy to realize he was coming. 

He also learned that, while diner food would remain the undisputed king, homemade meatloaf came pretty close. 

. . .

The only problem came when it was time to leave. It wasn’t that Jeremy didn’t want to return to work, or leave his Ma behind. Sara Jane wasn’t even torn up over losing her son and lover again. It just felt like there was so much left to say, to do. There was uncertainty as to when they’d be able to return. “We get time off for Smissmas, I know that’s months away but I’ll be here, I promise,” Jeremy swore, hugging Sara Jane for the eighth time. 

“You better,” she said, squeezing him tightly. “You have 25 years worth of gifts to catch up on, not to mention birthday gifts-”

“Ma, you don’t have to go that far,” he whined. He was touched, sure, but the thought of that much luggage was truly frightening. Oh God, he was going to have to get gifts for everybody, wasn’t he? What do kids even want for Smissmas? 

“Hush, let me spoil my baby,” Sara Jane told him, kissing his cheek. “Oh, Jeremy…” 

Jeremy nodded. “I know, but I’ll call. I’ll write, too. Send pictures if I can.” 

“I’ll make sure he does,” Raphael assured her. Sara Jane stood to kiss his lips, with Jeremy looking away pointedly. “You have my word, ma petite chou-fleur.” 

“Alright, alright- now get going, I don’t want you two missing your flight. That boss of yours sounds like she’ll tear you both a new one if you’re late,” Sara Jane said, shooing them away. “Love you boys!” 

“I love you too, Ma!” Jeremy shouted back, for the very first time. 

The drive back to the airport was quiet. Jeremy stared out the window, watching his hometown- he had a hometown- pass by. “Hey, dad?” he asked, still looking outside. Raphael grunted to acknowledge he was listening. “One of these days, our contracts with Mann Co. are gonna expire. We’re gonna have to find new jobs.” 

“Yes, that’s correct,” Raphael said. He tapped a rhythm against the steering wheel. 

“And-and I was thinking when that time comes… maybe we could come back to Boston. Find some gigs out here,” Jeremy suggested. 

Raphael sighed. “Unfortunately, being a spy means that you don’t have the option of retiring, Jeremy. Not until you’re unable to complete your job. At that point, though, you’ve probably died a dozen times over,” he explained. “Even if I could retire, settling down somewhere so close to people I care about- I would still have enemies.” 

“Right. ‘Course,” Jeremy said. “It’s OK.” 

“That being said,” Raphael continued, “you have the luxury of youth and not being tied down to such a career. If you want to find a job in Boston after we finish with RED, there’s nothing stopping you.” 

“But people will still be after me, since I’m your son. And you wouldn’t be around.”

“Every child leaves their parents someday. And you’re strong, Jeremy. You can protect yourself and your family.” Raphael smiled. “I don’t believe Sara Jane needs much protecting, but I do worry.” 

Jeremy laughed. “I mean, did ya see the muscles on Scott and Michael? Guys can probably bench press a tractor!” 

They both chuckled before settling into quietude. Eventually, though, Jeremy had to break the silence. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, mon lapin.”

“...so your nickname for Ma is fucking ‘little cauliflower?’ What the hell, Dad?” 

#father-son bonding au #Team Fortress 2 #team fortress 2 au #tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #tf2 scout's mom #dad spy #thetriggeredhappy #spy x scout's ma #noodle writes

[skzsauce01]

A Good Man

Anniversary Request Special

Description: Seungmin loves you so much so that he wished he was the one left behind in the plane crash, not your late husband.

Warning: guilt, plane crash, death

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: fem!reader x Seungmin

Chan was a good man— loyal, loving, reliable. Seungmin is a good man too, but Seungmin is not Chan, and he knows it. He knows it well.

He approaches you, bouquet in hand. You turn and smile when you hear him.

“Hi, Seungmin.”

“Hello, Y/N. Where’s Miyeon?”

“I left her with her grandma. She isn’t quite old enough to sit still for stuff like this yet.”

“I see.” He set the flowers by the picture of his late leader. “I should leave the two of you alone then.”

“No, wait, Seungmin,” you stop him. “Would you like to have dinner with us this evening?” 

You’re inviting him to dinner? His eyes slide to Chan’s framed smiling face. No, he mustn’t get his hopes up. There probably isn’t something more to this invitation. You probably just don’t want to be alone on your late husband’s fifth death anniversary. “Sure. Where? I’ll see if any of the boys are free too.”

“No, I meant just the three of us at my place,” you clarify. “I… I have something to say.” 

Seungmin can’t stop his heart from accelerating even though he knows it’ll hurt more later. “O-okay.”

You nod and turn back to the memorial. Seungmin watches as you whisper something into the single white carnation in your hand and set it on the altar before he himself turns to give you room.

He finds it ironic that he was actually the reason why you and Chan were together. You were his classmate whom he reunited with when Stray Kids did a reality show at a site you worked. He was even the best man at your wedding. He remembers that day clearly— that day when he saw you walking down the aisle dressed in white. He’d never felt so sick as he did then when realization and regret hit him all at once. He loves you. Since when, and for how long, he didn’t and doesn’t know, but it was and is too late. 

He finds it even more ironic, however, that he is the reason you two are now torn apart.

He raises his finger and presses the bell. Within seconds, the door is thrown open wide and a bubbly five year old greets him. “Hello, Uncle Seungmin!”

He automatically bends down and scoops the child up. “Hi there, Miyeon. Have you been a good girl today?”

“Uh-huh! You can ask Mommy!”

As if on cue, you pop out from the kitchen. “Yes, she’s been a well-behaved angel. Welcome in, Seungmin.” 

You take the melon he’d brought while he takes off his shoes. Seungmin’s a bit surprised to see three lit candles on the dining table when he walks in, but says nothing of it. He does, however, raise an eyebrow when you off-handedly mention you baked his favourite chocolate cake. He knows the recipe calls for red wine, and for a single mother such as you, anything that does not involve your child usually does not fit into your schedule, let alone cross your mind. 

After dinner, you take your daughter to her playroom upstairs with a large plate of cookies that are obviously meant to keep her distracted for a while.

Seungmin watches as you scurry back downstairs afterwards. You’re wearing a skirt. He doesn’t remember you wearing a skirt since you gave birth. He thinks you’re gorgeous in anything, but the effort you put into looking nice makes him blush a shade darker.

“Shall we?” you dramatize, pulling out the dessert.

Seungmin helps lay out two plates while you serve a slice onto each.

“You mentioned you have something to say?” he asks as you both tuck your chairs in.

Are you blushing, or is it just the heat from these candles?

“I, uh… Let’s eat first.” You smile sheepishly. “I haven’t had this in so long.”

Despite having his favourite dessert, Seungmin cannot concentrate on its taste at all. He watches as you cut through the moist cake with your fork. He can tell you’re nervous by the way your joints are turning white by your grip on the utensil. He’s used to being the anxious one, so this is new. What could have gotten you so on edge?

At last, you’ve scraped every last drop of cream you can procrastinate with into your mouth. Seungmin takes the plates and sets them into the sink before sitting back down in front of you, waiting patiently.

“What I want to say is,” you begin carefully. 

He nods once and leans forward, letting you know you have his attention.

“We’ve known each other for a while now, haven’t we?”

“Yes, why?” Goodness, this sounds like a line from every other friends-to-lover romcom skit. Not that he would mind. As long as you tell him you feel the same way he does, he wouldn’t care if you quoted “Twilight” verbatim. Oh, to be in a lighthearted romcom with you, Seungmin dreams of nothing more. Then again, he reminds himself, these are just dreams.

“Ever since… ever since Chan passed, we grew closer, and I depended on you a lot. You’ve been my cornerstone, and I wanted to say ‘thank you.’”

He nods again, but doesn’t say anything. He knows you enough by now to recognize you have more on your mind.

Indeed, you continue. “And over these past five years, my heart has—”

“Mommy!” A sudden cry sends you both to your feet. 

“I’ll tell you later,” you toss over your shoulder to Seungmin who’s running right on your heels towards the cry.

“Miyeon!” you gasp, seeing the state of your daughter. Somehow, she has managed to squeeze through the gaps between the railing of the stairs and is hanging from the second floor. Below her, her stuffed monkey lays sprawled out on ground level.

“I’ll pull her up,” you decide, but Seungmin stops you.

“It’ll be hard to fit her back through those rails, and she’s crying too much to cooperate.” He stands under your daughter and extends his arms upwards. “Miyeon? Miyeon, let go. Uncle Seungmin will catch you. You’re going to be alright.”

The little girl stops wailing for a moment and looks down only to cry again from the intimidating height.

“Sweetie, it’s okay. You can do it. We won’t let you fall,” you add in. “You trust us, don’t you? You trust Mommy and Uncle Seungmin?”

She quiets down again and sniffles as she looks at you and Seungmin now instead of the floor. Her tiny arms are shaking, and you brace yourself, knowing she’s going to fall soon whether she wants to or not.

Miyeon whimpers once more and closes her eyes. She then finally releases her grip and lands squarely into Seungmin’s awaiting arms.

“Oof. There we go. Safe and sound,” he assures her. 

Once she’s set on the floor, Miyeon again begins to bawl from shock. “Mr— Mr. Bananas wanted to climb. Mr. Bananas wanted to climb!” she sobs, gripping the stuffed animal you’ve returned back to her arms.

“Okay, okay, we understand. Still, no more climbing for you or Mr. Bananas, alright?” hushes Seungmin.

You pick up your daughter and bounce her on your shoulder. “I think she’s learned her lesson. I didn’t think we still needed baby rails, but I guess you can never be safe enough.”

Seungmin reaches for Miyeon. “Let’s put her to bed. She must be exhausted after all that.”

You nod and let him carry the five year old up the stairs once more. You have him wait downstairs though as you change the child, so he heads back down and makes himself comfortable on the couch. On the lamp table beside him, there’s a photo of you and Chan excitedly holding up an ultrasound. It is the only picture of the three of you together.

He runs this thumb over the other man’s face, wiping it free of any dust. “I’m sorry…” he whispers. “I know it’s not worth much, but I’ll keep Y/N and Miyeon safe and happy. I promise.” 

He quickly sets down the picture and stands when he hears you closing the bedroom door. 

“Is she alright?” Seungmin asks when he sees your head appear from around the corner.

You nod, descending the steps quietly. “She’s sleeping now. She’ll forget all about it by tomorrow morning.”

“I wish I could say the same when I get hurt. I can’t even sit in certain positions anymore,” he jokes.

You laugh lightly. “I’m glad you were here, Seungmin. Things could have been a lot different if it were just me.”

“I’m always happy to help. I should get going now though. You must be tired too.”

“Wait.” Your voice stops him at the front door. “The accident… I’m thankful you were here, and I realized it had to be you. You had to be the one to do it.”

His stupid hope is rising again. He can feel it in his chest. “Y/N, what are you saying?”

“Miyeon, she wouldn’t have trusted anyone except you. She needs you, and I… I need you too.” 

Is he hearing incorrectly? His silence and bewilderment prompts you to explain. “The thing is, ever since Chan passed five years ago, you were the only one who’s been by my side, supporting and caring for me, and slowly, I’ve fallen for that. Seungmin, I know I come with a lot of baggage, but would you be willing to give us a try?”

He wants to jump, he wants to cheer, he wants to accept your confession, but none of this makes sense to logical Seungmin, so he restrains himself.

“Y/N, do you realize what you’re saying?”

You nod. “I-I know it’s sudden, but I like you, Kim Seungmin.”

“But you love Chan.”

You hesitate but nod in agreement anyway. “I’m not going to put you second. I—”

“Y/N, I killed Chan. Don’t you see? You should hate me instead. If it weren’t for me, you’d still have your husband, and Miyeon would still have a dad. If I hadn’t stood under that propeller after the plane crash, Chan wouldn’t have had to push me and get crushed in the head. I killed Chan, and no matter what I do— no matter how much I love you too— I can never stand in his place.”

You take a moment to stare at him, trying to read his body language after that confession of insecurity. After a while, you straighten your back and look him right in the eyes.

“You’re right.” He’s startled by your sudden firm tone. “You can never be Chan. You’re not a music-producing insomniac. You’re not Australian. You’re not born with curly hair.”

He swallows and hangs his head.

“But,” you continue. “I’m not looking for another Chan. I’m not looking to replace him; I’m looking for you.”

“Y/N…”

You soften your voice. “When I found out how he passed saving you, I knew I was going to be okay. I knew Chan wouldn’t leave me and his unborn child to fend for ourselves. He saved you because he knew he could count on you, and it’s why I trusted you from the beginning and why I let myself fall in love again.”

You walk up to him and take his hands. “Let me ask this again. Will you, Kim Seungmin, stand by my side, not as Chan, but as someone who loves and is loved?”

His heart pounds in his head, yet he cannot take his eyes off of yours. His throat is tied into knots, yet he cannot stop the words from tumbling out.

“Nothing would make me happier,” he breathes. 

You smile and wrap him in a hug, which he finally returns. Just then, footsteps thump down the stairs and a five year old child waddles into view.

“Mommy?” she calls. She then takes a moment to look around before her eyes land on Seungmin. “Daddy?”

#kim seungmin #seungmin #stray kids #seungmin fic #seungmin imagine #stray kids fic #stray kids imagine #seungmin angst #seungmin fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #fem reader #anniversary special #20210820

[professional-benaddict]

okay so idk too much how the whole residency thing works for doctors and shit but i like the idea of peter who’s a resident and tony who’s his supervisor ??? whenever they have the chance,,, dr. stark ensures that peter’s working and studying hard to become a successful doctor one day through some hands on action 👀

i sUck at smut bUt i tried my best sksk jae aka queen of smut pls like it😭😭💗💗

Attending surgeon Tony, resident surgeon Peter, hospital AU, surgery, workplace romance, power dynamics, arguments, hints at past sex, making out

Peter loved the OR before, but now he adores them.

Peter knows a lot of surgeons like to play music during their surgeries, like Doctor Quill in peds and Doctor Strange in neuro. Peter is starting to discover that he might be the type of surgeon who prefers a quiet workplace. Doctor Stark does too, and it is marvelous to watch him work.

The sounds of the machines and ventilator, the metal instruments clinking softly, the squishy sound of heart muscle between the clamps. It’s a beautiful melody, and Doctor Stark is leading the show gracefully. Peter watches his every move.

Some of Peter’s fellow resident surgeons say he is copying Doctor Stark shamelessly. Doctor Stark’s speciality is cardiac surgery, Peter wants to pick cardiology too. Doctor Stark doesn’t like music during his surgeries, Peter doesn’t either. Doctor Stark likes sex in the afternoon in an on call room, Peter does too… That last one only Peter and Doctor Stark know about. Or that’s what Peter hopes. Because his fellow residents look mighty jealous up in the gallery, watching as Doctor Stark lets Peter do a running whip stitch on a heart.

“Peter’s doing a running whip stitch on a heart…” MJ gapes, pausing with her notes.

“I guess that’s the perk of sleeping with your boss.” Flash says, snacking loudly on his bag of chips.

Down in the OR below, Doctor Stark lifts his head to look at the gallery and the audience there. His headlight is blinding, but one can still see his angry eyes above his surgical mask.

“Flash, Jesus-” MJ curses, jumping up from her seat to turn off the intercom in the gallery.

Everyone in the OR heard Flash’s comment.

Except Peter it seems. The young surgeon is so focused on his stitching that he didn’t hear Flash. Once done with his sticth, Peter looks up to see what his mentor will say.

“Doctor Stark?”

“Doctor Parker, you’re done here.” Stark says, his tone flat, but with an edge of anger.

“What? The stitch is holding.” Peter says, checking his work again. The stitch is holding. It is the best running whip stitch Peter has ever done.

“Doctor Parker, get out of my OR.” Stark rephrases, his voice louder. It is impossible for Peter to read his facial expression. He tries once more to argue, but it only angers the attending surgeon even further. “NOW!”

Despite his own bubbling anger, Peter drops his instruments nicely. In reality, he would very much like to toss the bloody instruments in Doctor Stark’s face for treating him this way. They had had such a nice time in the on call room earlier. Hot bodies pressed together, their lips in sync… He had even promised Peter he could try stitching the heart muscle in surgery later.

But, disrespecting his superiors would get him kicked out of the surgical programme and the hospital. Peter steps away from the OR table and their patient, ripping his gloves and gown off in a hurry. He doesn’t let the others see him crying in the scrub room.

An hour later, Peter finds Doctor Stark by the surgical board, making notes in a chart. The surgeon still has his surgical cap on his head. Peter remembers the way he had tugged at those black and grey hairs, and how he had faintly smelled the doctor’s oak shampoo. He bets Stark doesn’t remember what he had said.

“You feel so good…”

Peter swallows thickly and walks to the surgical board to study it while ignoring the man behind him.

“Doctor Parker, I was about to find you. Parker?”

Only now does Peter turn to face Stark, his face hard, but not too emotional. All he wants to do is cry. Or scream. Or both.

“What for?”

“To talk. About your progress.”

As if you care, Peter thinks to himself. Peter follows the older doctor, and if someone were to ask why, he would say only because the doctor is his superior. No other reason.

Doctor Stark leads him into an empty on call room. They have been here before, but the atmosphere is completely different. There’s not enough air for Peter to breathe, and he feels lightheaded with the anticipation. He lets Stark speak first, like always.

“Did you tell them about us?”

“What?”

“What Thompson said earlier, in the gallery, that-” Stark points a finger at him, as if he is a child. “That sorta shit can get me fired. Do you understand?”

“And not me? We’re in the same boat here! I don’t get why you’re so fucking mad at me cause I didn’t tell anyone anything!”

“How can I trust you?”

“Wha- you question my surgical skills all day, and that’s fine, I want that, but don’t question my honesty!”

“Your honesty is a part of this job! I can question whatever I like!” Stark yells. Peter scoffs at him angrily, his smile fake and disappointed.

“You’re one hell of an attending…”

“You’re the most annoying resident I’ve ever met.”

Like magnets, they are drawn to one another. Peter’s lips crash into Stark’s, and they both fight for dominance of the kiss. Their anger is fuelling them, and Peter pushes Stark’s surgical cap of his head. He tugs backwards at the strands of hair, grinning with mischief at seeing Stark expose his throat.

“Fuck!”

Stark uses his bodyweight to push Peter onto the bed behind them as revenge. They quickly find each other’s lips again, and the fast and hungry kisses continue.

Peter loves this place. The OR, the hospital, everything. And he might love Doctor Stark too.

#my prompts #cutie jae #starker #ironspider #tony stark x peter parker #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #peter parker #tony stark #ask

[agustdakasuga]

A Place Called Home | Chapter 15

Genre: Hybrid!AU, Poly!AU?, Soulmate AU, romance, fluff, humour

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: vet!reader, Arcticfox!Seokjin, Panther!Yoongi, Goldenretriever!Hoseok, Wolf!Namjoon, Calicocat!Jimin, Tiger!Taehyung, Rabbit!Jungkook

Summary: Having saved your own injured hybrid, you were determined to try and help any other hybrid that crossed your path who needed saving. But being a vet in a small hospital wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to do more, you wanted to make a difference. You wanted to give them a home.

Now that you’re at home, you have been spending every waking moment with the boys. It’s not easy hiding your presents from curious hybrids. You look forward to spending your first Christmas as a family.

“Flip it!” Jin laughed and you held the handle of the frying pan with both hands, your tongue sticking out from the corner of your mouth as you focused. Tossing it, you watched the pancake lift off and land back in on the uncooked side. 

“Yeah!” You and Jin hi fived each other.

“Kitten, just what the hell are you and hyung doing at 9 am that has you cheering like Korea won the World Cup?” Yoongi stood at the doorway with arms crossed and raised eyebrows. You smiled sheepishly, the excitement making you forget about how loud you were being. 

“Making pancakes! I finally flipped one on my own!” You showed him proudly like a child showing her drawing to a parent. 

“Wow, kitten. You’re amazing.” Yoongi gave you an amused smile and wrapped your arms around your waist, leaning down to kiss your cheek. 

“Is everything okay?” Taehyung came down, yawning. 

“Yes, baby. Sorry for waking you up.” You giggled. Taehyung shook his head and came over, stealing you from Yoongi. He yawned against and pressed his cheek against the top of your head. 

“I smell pancakes!” Hoseok dashed down. 

“Good morning Hoseok!” You greeted as Jin poured more batter onto your frying pan. Hoseok waved and came over to observed the stack of chocolate chip pancakes you and Jin made. Yoongi yawned as he stood over the coffee machine to fix a brew for everyone. 

“Shall I cut some fruit?” Hoseok offered. 

“Yes, please.” You nodded and he walked over. Taehyung still clung onto your back like a koala. You were even convinced his fell asleep for a moment. 

“Good morning...” Jimin entered, rubbing his eyes, his hair all messed up. Letting Jin take over, you peeled Taehyung’s grip off of you and walked over to Jimin. 

“Morning, Chim.” You ran your fingers through his slightly tangled hair. He tiredly, wrapped his arms around you, letting out a tired whine. 

“Are you making pancakes?” He asked. You nodded you head and he looked over to see Hoseok cutting fruit. Taking a small paring knife, he wordlessly began to help slice the bananas, strawberries and kiwi. Two hybrids were missing. Seeing that Taehyung was helping Jin, you washed your hands and went upstairs. 

“Joonie?” You knocked and entered. Namjoon was sitting on his bed, having just woke up seconds before you entered.

“You’re awake.” You smiled. Namjoon nodded. 

“You have flour in your hair, my love.” Namjoon cracked a smile as his arms circled around your waist and he pulled you towards him. He pressed his face into your stomach, inhaling your scent. 

“The others didn’t even tell me I had flour in my hair.” You pouted and tried to get it off with your fingers. 

“Don’t worry, you’re still beautiful.” Namjoon teased. You threw your head back in laughter, slapping his shoulder lightly. Since he was awake, you went to wake Jungkook. The bunny was still sounded asleep, bundled up in a thick hoodie and pants. 

“Bunbun, time for breakfast.” You whispered. He stirred a little but didn’t make any other movements. 

Kookie, bunbun.” You called a little louder. A few seconds later, he let out a whine and stretched his arms and legs.

“(y/n)?” He croaked in his morning voice, peeking one eye open. 

“Good morning.” You laughed. Holding his hand, you pulled him into a sitting position. He frowned slightly and looked around, as if unaware of where he currently was. You combed his messy hair back and kissed his forehead. He hugged you, falling back on the bed. You let out a squeak in shock while Jungkook was slowly falling back asleep. 

“Hey! I’m not your pillow. And wake up or your hyungs are going to eat all the pancakes.” You hit his chest. 

“You can make me more if they do.” Jungkook mumbled, eyes still closed. 

“Nu uh. Don’t get your hopes up.” You rolled your eyes. Holding his hand, he let you drag him to his shared bathroom with Hoseok. You put tooth paste on his toothbrush for him, letting him brush his teeth.

“Aigo.” You wet a face towel and wiped his face. He let out another yawn, blinking his eyes with a blank stare. 

"Finally.” Taehyung groaned. 

“Morning, hyungs.” Jungkook grumbled out. The two of you took your respective seats and you all started eating. You sipped your coffee and cut into your pancakes. Taking the bowl of strawberries, you scooped generous portions for Jimin and Jin, who you know love strawberries. 

“Thank you.” Jimin smiled. You patted his head. 

“How’s rehearsal going?” You asked Yoongi. You knew it was different practicing at home compared to the school. The school had a grand piano while you had a regular piano at home. 

“It’s been good. I’m looking forward to it.” Yoongi nodded his head. 

“Can we all go watch hyung perform?” Hoseok asked excitedly, his tail wagging for emphasis. 

“Yes. I’ve ordered 7 tickets.” Yoongi informed. 

“I’m going to have a bath to get the flour out of my hair.” You announced and went upstairs. As you picked out your clothes from the drawer, you heard the door open. Arms wrapped around your waist. 

“Jinnie?” You smiled and turned around to face him. He smiled softly, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“I love you, snowflake.” He whispered. 

“I love you too.” You replied. He hugged you and you squeezed his waist. You were so grateful for Jin. He was so patient and helpful with caring for the others, especially the younger ones. Turning your head to him, Jin pulled you closer to give you a loving kiss. He left you to let you have your shower. You soaked in your tub with a nice lavender bath bomb. 

Before you could fall asleep, you rinsed yourself off and got up. You wore one of Yoongi’s hoodies and slipped on some fuzzy socks,

“Shall we get more heating lamps?” You asked as you saw Jimin and Taehyung cuddling on the futon, fast asleep under the comforting warmth of the lamps. Yoongi shrugged. 

“Yeah. Jungkook and Hoseok may need to use it as it gets colder.” Yoongi said and you nodded. 

“I’ll order it, kitten.” He took his phone out. 

“Thank you. I love winters as much as the next guy but it makes me feel so lazy and tired.” You yawned, stretching your arms. Yoongi chuckled, still typing on his phone. His tail came to rest on your thigh. 

“Kitty.” You stifled a laugh as your stroked the soft fur, remembering the little girl at the beach, Hyejin. Yoongi stopped and shot you a nasty glare. You returned an innocent smile but snickered to yourself. Yoongi dropped his phone and tackled you onto the couch, tickling your sides. 

“Stop!” You laughed. 

“Not so tough now, huh? Apologise!” 

“Never!!” You squealed, laughing out loud. He scrunched his nose and just continued tickling you. 

“Who’s the kitty?” He asked again, the gummy smile on his face only growing bigger. You were so adorable when you tried to be rebellious and tough around him. 

“You! Min Yoongi!” You giggled. 

“Wrong answer~” 

“Okay! I surrender! White flag!” You shouted out random surrendering words. Yoongi stopped as you panted. He hovered over you and you met his eyes, even with his fringe covering them. You laughed, reaching up to cup his cheek. Slowly, he leaned down to press his lips against yours. When he pulled away, he laid down on top of you.

“Did you lose weight again? You feel lighter.” You asked as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“No...” He mumbled, placing his face on the side of your neck. When you found Yoongi, he was underweight and you learnt that it was hard for him to put on weight despite eating more. So him losing weight concerned you. 

“Relax, kitten. I’m just not putting my full weight on you. I don’t want you to be squished.” He chuckled when he heard your accelerated heart rate. 

“Okay.” You nodded. 

“(y/n)?” The two of you turned to see Taehyung and Jimin awake. You hit Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Look what you did.” You blamed. 

“You were the one shouting.” He pushed it back at you. You glared at him, sticking your tongue out at him. Taehyung wanted to come over to cuddle but Yoongi let out a low, warning growl. Taehyung whined but backed away with respect for the older. 

“Possessive much?” You snorted. 

“Hey, I’m allowed to be possessive over my woman. I mated you for a reason.” He scoffed. Your cheeks turned red at his bluntness.

“Now I wanna have a nap so hush.” He cooed in a teasing matter. You shook your head, he was seriously going to nap on top of you, in the living room where the others can see you. 

With Yoongi’s steady breathing and warm breath against your skin, you were also soon lulled into dreamland.

“Let them sleep.” Namjoon told the younger ones and draped a blanket over you and Yoongi. You and Yoongi just tightened your grip on one another.

--

Before you knew it, Christmas rolled around. The days leading up to today were definitely chaotic. You had to make sure the boys didn’t try to sneak into your room to get a peek at their presents. And as a family activity, all 8 of you bought a big Christmas tree and decorated it together. 

“Merry Christmas!” Your bedroom door opened and your 7 hybrids spilled in. You whined, hiding under the covers. 

“Come on, kitten. You told me I cannot be a grouch on Christmas so you can’t be one too.” Yoongi grabbed your hands in his and gently tugged you into a sitting position. 

“But it’s too early.” You whined. 

The 7 boys all sent you soft smiles, loving how precious you were. Jimin and Taehyung tackled you back into the bed with hugs. 

“Alright, alright.” You chuckled and finally opened your eyes to face them. You took your time to scan all of them, taking it all in. The fact that all of them were here with you. 

“Merry Christmas, boys.” You greeted with a smile. You gave all of them hugs but no kisses since you had yet to brush your teeth. All of them, except Taehyung and Jimin, left the room to let you wash up. You wore your Christmas jumper and brushed your hair. Finally, Taehyung stepped closer to you with a smug smile. 

“What?” You stopped and faced him. He shrugged, eyes going up. You followed and looked up, seeing the mistletoe he held over you.

“Now, where did you learn this?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yoongi hyung said it grants us unlimited kisses for the day.” Jimin spoke from his seat on the bed. Shaking your head, you looked back at Taehyung, who tapped his lips. 

“You’re learning too much from Yoongi.” You rolled your eyes but tip toed to give him a peck anyway.

“My turn!” Jimin grinned. Taehyung did the honours of holding the green over your heads. You pinched Jimin’s cheek lightly and kissed it. When you pulled away, he gave you a kiss on your cheek as well. 

“Yah! Stop hogging her and let her come out!” Jungkook shouted from outside the door. Chuckling, you held their hands and went out with them. You couldn’t say you were surprised when you saw the boys with their own mistletoe leaves in their hands. 

“This is your fault.” You glared at him. 

“One at a time.” You sighed. The boys obediently got into a line and waited for your hugs and kisses. 

After that, you enjoyed a nice breakfast together, with egg nog that you made. You made an alcohol version and alcohol-free version for those that didn’t want to drink so early in the day.

“Hoseok, you’re glowing.” You cupped his warm, red cheeks. He giggled. The rest of the day was spent together, the 8 of you spent some time outside and then watched a movie together. It was a shame that snowfall was late this year.

“Are we going to open presents now?!” Jungkook asked excitedly. You nodded and went upstairs to get all the gifts down. 

“That’s a lot.” Jimin said in awe as you arranged everything. You laughed and patted his head. This was your first Christmas with Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung so you wanted it to be as memorable for them as possible. 

“Let’s see who we have here. Chim.” You took the bag and gave it to him. He opened it and his eyes widened. 

“I know you like your sweaters.” You smiled. 

“They’re so soft.” He gasped as he felt the soft material under his fingertips. After thinking about what Jimin would like for his present, you decided to get him some high end sweaters. 

“They fit perfectly.” He slipped one over his head, snuggling into the warmth of them. You melted at how adorable he was and he hugged you gratefully. 

“Hoseok.” You took the next bag.

“No way!” Hoseok has been eyeing the new limited edition off-white sneakers. They were so difficult to get but thankfully, the store you called had one last pair in the colour and size he wanted.

“How did you get this?!” He was so excited, his tail showed it.

“A magician never reveals her secrets.” You giggled. He squeezed you as the big smile on his face never faltered. 

“Joonie. I really hope I got it right.” You joked as you gave him his. He unwrapped it and saw that it was a limited edition figurine. Namjoon was starting to get into collecting his favourite figurines and you wanted to get him a special one. 

“This is the exact one. I have been looking for it online but it’s been sold out everywhere. ” He looked at the box. 

“Thank God then.” You let out a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you, my love. I love it.” He gave you a peck, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. 

“Me next!” Jungkook complained. 

“Alright, alright. Here’s your, bun bun. Be careful.” You slid the wrapped box over to him. Jungkook clapped his hands happily and began to shred through the wrapping. It was the latest gaming console. Jungkook really loved his games so you thought it was a fitting present for him. Jungkook shouted happily and jumped into your arms. 

“Oof! I take the reaction as you liking it.” You wrapped your arms around him as you steadied yourself. 

“I do! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” He chanted. 

“We’ll go to the store to pick out more games soon.” You ruffled his hair and he nodded his head, giving you a bunny smile. 

“Jinnie, you’re next. Be careful.” You cautioned as you handed the present to him. From the size of it, Jin already knew what it was. There are only a few things that are shaped like that. 

“I promise I’ll go fishing with you next time and you can try it..” You said as he unwrapped the new fishing pole. 

“You always complain that it’s boring.” Jin snorted.

“I promise I’ll only complain for 5 minutes.” You promised. Jin shook his head with a smile and wrapped an arm around your waist. He puckered his lips and you shyly leaned in to give him a kiss. Seeing your red cheeks made him laugh and squeeze your waist. 

“My baby is next.” You passed the paper bag to him. Taehyung tore the paper open and his eyes widened as he went quiet.

“Is this really for me?” He whispered in disbelief. 

“Of course, silly.” Taehyung felt tears well up in his eyes. He had expressed an interest in photography so you bought him a Leica camera, which has been on his wishlist. 

“I love it.” He wiped his tears. 

“Aww, don’t cry, baby.” You cooed and reached out to wipe his tears for him. He put the camera down and wrapped his arms around you, burying his head into your shoulder. Seeing Taehyung cry almost made you cry as well but you held yourself together. Yoongi still had yet to get his gift and you weren’t going to ruin the moment for him.

“Last but definitely not least. Yoongo Boongo.” You called. Yoongi rolled his eyes at his hated nickname. 

“There’s a reason I blocked this half of the living room.” You had blocked it off with folded screens, telling the boys it was a surprise and they couldn’t go see what it was. Thankfully, they listened to you and didn’t peek. 

“Close your eyes and follow me.” You held your hand out to him. He closed his eyes and let you lead him. The boys helped you remove the folding screens. 

“Wow.” The other 6 gasped when they saw it. 

“What? What?” Yoongi was curious as he stood there with his eyes still closed. Bringing him closer, you placed his hand on the material. 

“What-” He opened his eyes and froze. 

“Surprise.” You said. Yoongi just stared at what was in front of him, thinking that this could be a dream and when he woke up, it wouldn’t be here. He looked up at you and you just gave him a crooked smile. From his long silence and lack of reaction, you grew worried about what he was thinking. Did he not like it? Did you get the wrong present?

“Kitten...” Was all he said. 

“Is this the wrong one? I-I’m not really an expert on these things so I just gave the model number to guy and he got it for me-” He cut off your rambling by pulling you to his chest. 

“It’s perfect, kitten. I don’t even know what to say. Thank you.” He let out a deep breath.

“You’re welcome, Yoongs. Merry Christmas.” You said, muffled against the material of his hoodie. You knew one of Yoongi’s dreams was to have his own grand piano. So you felt that this Christmas the perfect timing to get him a white grand piano. You had the space for it and he deserves it.

“I love you.” Yoongi whispered. 

“I love you too.” You looked up at him. Cupping his cheek, he brought his head down to give you a kiss. 

“Wait, there’s still one more present.” You moved away and went back to the couch area. Digging through the bags, you took the envelopes out. 

“Hoseok, Jimin and Jungkook.” You handed them out according to the names you scribbled on top. The three received them and opened them. They read the papers quietly. The other 4 hybrids curiously looked over their shoulders to see what it was. Even they were shocked. 

“If you’d allow, I would like to adopt the 3 of you.” You felt tears well up in your eyes. The 3 hybrids were speechless as all of them started crying. You pulled them into a big hug. 

“All of you are already family so might as well make it official.” Your voice cracked as you wiped your tears, stroking Jimin’s head.

“We are getting adopted.” Hoseok smiled through the tears. Jungkook was crying so hard he couldn’t even speak. He knew you would never let him feel abandoned again. All your hybrids pulled you into a big group hug. 

“I love you all so much.” You told them. As they all continued to embrace you and each other, your eyes moved to the window and you gasped. 

White flurries slowly drifted down from the sky. It was the first snow, falling on Christmas day. 

“It’s the first snow!” You grabbed Yoongi’s hand and pulled him to the backdoor. The others just followed you, wearing their shoes. Namjoon, Taehyung and Jimin have never seen snow before. You wore your own boots and dashed out, feeling the snow fall on your skin.

“Kitten! You need a jacket!” Yoongi shouted. You giggled and you jumped around.

“It’s the first snow!” You continued to cheer.

“Got you!” Namjoon held your waist and spun you around. You laughed as you placed your hands on his shoulder. Everyone had run running around and playing in the snow.

“Why is the first snow so special?” Jimin asked. 

“There’s a belief that if you experience the first snow with someone you love, you’ll stay together for a long time.” You held his hand with a soft smile. Jimin smiled at your words, he wanted to stay with you forever, and hugged you as the snow continued to fall. Jungkook removed the snow from your hair.

“May I?” You pointed to his long ears. He nodded, leaning down so you could help him brush off the snow.

“This is really Christmas.” Jin wrapped his arms around you.

~~~

Tag List

@beach-bitch-bitch-beach​ // @vbmnl​ // @zingapinga​ // @georgie-me-myself-i​ 

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[tothemeadow]

‘the doctor’ / Midoriya x Reader

Uwu, this is the first official post that hasn’t been imported from the other blog     ( ´ ω ` ) Also, this has been sitting around on my computer for the past two months, so enjoy these crumbs while I strive to finish up the semester!

warnings: NSFW, doctor/patient relationship, grinding, heavy petting, fascination for hybrids?, y’all fuck but I didn’t write the whole thing

words: 3,752

(a/n): hehehehehe add this to the list of taboo relationship works I’ve done

-

“The doctor will see you now.”

The secretary sitting behind the desk flashes you a smile as you pass by her. The two of you are already on a first name basis, considering that you have biweekly checkups. With a quirk like yours, it can be detrimental to your health if it goes unchecked for too long. You have enough meds in your system to possibly knock out a small child, but you’ve long since grown used to it.

Still, as you pass from the waiting room and into the hall leading to numerous checkup rooms, your palms feel impossibly clammy. Your previous doctor recently retired after spending so many years in the field, and now you were supposed to meet your new doctor. Granted, your previous one told you many great things about this new kid, about how he’ll take great care of you. You’re not too confident in the sudden change, but it can’t be helped. Unless you wanted to suffer horribly, you had to seek some type of help.

Shuffling to room number six, you silently close the door behind you and take a deep breath. Your intestines feel unusually tight, ache with an indescribable force. Despite your quirk being a relatively simple one – doggification, which essentially means you have the characteristics and properties of a dog – your body could never get quite a grasp on it. Despite looking entirely like a human, your telltale features are the ears and tail protruding from your body. Even now, you can tell your ears are flat against your head and your tail is tucked between your legs.

Gently, you sit on the table, the parchment paper crinkling under your weight. Wringing your hands, you will your breathing to ease, your mind to relax. It’s only the doctor’s office, nothing more, nothing less. You’ve been here practically all your life, so what gives? Oh, that’s right – a new doctor who you’ve never met before.

A few minutes pass; nothing happens besides the tick tock tick tock of the lone clock hanging from the wall, the slight hum from the lightbulbs. Your nerves feel raw, your heart frantic, your breathing irregular. You constantly remind yourself that you’re fine, you’re just nervous. You’re here for a reason, after all. If you want to continue living healthily, you need this treatment. There’s no point in chickening out now.

Just then, the door swings open; you jump in your place as you snap back to reality. Pulse quickening, you’re left wide-eyed as the doctor comes in. He’s nothing like you were expecting – instead of some elderly gentleman like your previous doctor, this new guy is young. He’s ridiculously cute, a mess of green curls piled on his head and a burst of freckles adorning his skin. For a doctor, he surprisingly has an athletic build, so you’re left wondering if he exercises regularly or played a sport in school. But oh, the way his scrubs cling to his meaty arms, stretch over his thick thighs. It’s almost ridiculous how baby-faced he is, especially compared to his Adonis-like body.

Without you knowing, your ears and tail stand to attention, curious about this newcomer.

The doctor flashes you a pearly smile as he reaches a hand towards you. “(y/n)? I’m Doctor Midoriya. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Doctor Midoriya.

Yeah, you like the sound of that. And the way your name rolls off your tongue? Perfection.

Hesitantly, you reach out a hand and grasp onto his for a handshake. His hand is large, fingers long and spindly, and his grip is strong. They’re actually pretty, dotted with freckles and striped with scars. Interesting, you muse, wondering just exactly what he did to get scars like that.

“So,” Doctor Midoriya starts, pulling away and planting himself on the stool stationed by the counter, “doggification, huh? You have a typical hybrid quirk, so it seems.” Pausing for a moment, he glances at his notes attached to his clipboard. “But, since you’re part Doberman pinscher, you suffer from dilated cardiomyopathy. The breed usually has problems regarding that, right?”

You nod in confirmation. “Yeah. Apparently, many owners don’t know their dogs have it until they collapse on the ground. I uh, I’ve been dealing with this my whole life, so….”

You really, really like the gentle expression Doctor Midoriya gives you. His cheeks look squishy despite his sharp jawline, lips a delicate shade of dusty rose… Shit, he’s beautiful yet he chose to become a doctor.

“Doctor Torino left his previous files, and I’ve been studying them before he retired,” he explains, drawing himself to a stand. “He was great, wasn’t he? I’m sorry if I don’t own up to your expectations.” Crossing over to the table, he unloops the stethoscope from around his neck and sticks the buds in his ears. “I need you to breathe in and out for me, nice and slow,” he tells you, pressing the cool metal to your chest.

You go through the usual routines, inhaling and exhaling deeply. Doctor Midoriya hums in which you assume is a good way; you can feel your skin heating up whenever large green eyes flick to your face, digging in right to your soul.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” he says, voice low. The deep rumble sets your nerves alight, your insides pulsing. Dare you say it, but you’re disappointed when he pulls away, looping the stethoscope back around his neck. He scribbles something onto his clipboard, his lips pursed in thought. You take the opportunity to study his side profile, the dainty curve of his nose, the angle of his jaw. How big is this guy, anyway? He’s huge for a doctor.

“I’m six-three, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he chirps, tossing down his pencil. He laughs at the startled expression playing on your face. “Sorry, sorry… A uh, a lot of people ask me that, you know? And I typically get a good read on what people are thinking, so… Yeah! Some people used to call me tree in med school! You know, because of the green hair and all…” Clearing his throat awkwardly, he walks back over to where you sit. “How have you been feeling since your last visit?”

Subconsciously rubbing at your chest, you send him a mere shrug. “I’ve been better, I’ve been worse. I’m just bummed Doctor Torino left on such short notice.”

“That makes two of us,” Doctor Midoriya admits, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. “He’s such a great mentor and all, don’t get me wrong, but it sucks that his time is up.”

Cocking your head, your ears twitch with interest. “Mentor?”

At that, Doctor Midoriya’s face lights up. “Oh! Yeah! I had my internship with Doctor Torino, and he taught me so much!”

“Internship…? Really? I don’t remember seeing you around whenever I had appointments with him.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. I would’ve remembered seeing someone like you!” He giggles – giggles – at his own words, but then it quickly dies down as realization crosses his features. “Wait, wait!” he says frantically, waving his hands before him. “I didn’t mean to sound creepy or anything like that! It’s just that you don’t see hybrids very often, and you’re a dog, and I happen to really like dogs, and I-“ His yammering turns into an incoherent mumble, then, as he awkwardly wrings his hands together.

Heh. He’s pretty cute.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” you say, shooting his own words back at him. “You’re a newbie, right? You’re awfully young for a doctor.”

To your pleasant surprise, Doctor Midoriya blushes. Instinctively, he claps a hand over his mouth and looks away. Again, he clears his throat. “I graduated last year, actually. So yeah, I’m still new to this whole thing, but I want to help as much as I can!” Turning back to you, his flustered expression melts into a determined one. “And since you’re my first serious patient, you can rely on me. I promise to take real good care of you, mark my words.”

You smile. “I look forward to it, Doctor. I expect you to keep that promise.”

-

Three months. Three solid months.

Hypothetically, you should be thrilled being in Doctor Midoriya’s presence so often. Realistically, it’s pure torture.

How this guy doesn’t realize he’s easily the hottest person in the room is beyond you, plus his personality is downright adorable. It’s funny, really, how you’re the one with the dog quirk yet he’s the one who acts more like one. He gets excited over the simplest of things, and you were quick to realize that he’s a giant nerd. It’s clear that he’s got a brain in that skull of his – and, if you’re being entirely honest, it makes Doctor Midoriya that much more attractive.

His constant murmuring and chippering never fail to put a smile on your face. With every appointment you have with him, you purposefully bring up a topic he’s bound to show some interest in just to hear him talk. So yeah, you might be infatuated with your insanely hot doctor, but who can blame you? He’s kindhearted, smart, good-looking, has a good job…. Okay, and maybe he’s packing down south. It’s not your fault that his scrubs clung to his body that one time. You just happened to notice it.

You doubt he’s doing these kind of things on accident. Hell, Doctor Midoriya blatantly flirts with you, for crying out loud. Well, it’s actually more subtle than that, but the point still stands.

“(y/n)?” Doctor Midoriya calls out as he enters the room, the door sliding shut behind him. Warmth floods your chest as your tail sets off in a slow wag. He laughs at your reaction, that toothy smile of his forming on his face. Just like every other time he shows it, you fall a little bit deeper for him.

“Doctor Midoriya,” you greet. Your fingers dig into the table as you bite down on your bottom lip. He looks good, dark blue scrubs shaping his figure nicely. You, on the other hand, stick to a simple pair of gym shorts and t-shirt. It’s a hot day outside, after all.

As Doctor Midoriya scribbles something down on his handy clipboard, you slowly spread your legs further apart. It’s a slight bit, nothing more, but the movement seems to catch his attention. Setting down his pencil, you notice how his eyes linger on your bared thighs for a moment longer than what’s considered appropriate. Slipping the stethoscope from around his neck, he gets up from his stool and crosses to wear you sit.

“Any problems lately?” he asks, voice as professional as always. Sneaky bastard, trying to pretend like he wasn’t just staring at your thighs.

“Besides the weather, not really. The heat makes things a bit easier, though,” you tell him.

Doctor Midoriya hums. Pressing the end of the stethoscope to your chest, he tells you to breathe in and out, nice and deep. “I’m not hearing any abnormalities in your breathing,” he says simply, switching to your back instead. “Besides the DCM, you’re in wonderful health.”

“That’s a relief,” you mutter.

He continues to go through the regular routine of your biweekly checkup. Soon enough, he’s looking through a scope at your dog ears, checking for any signs of an incoming infection. Try as you might, but you enjoy the way he caresses your ear, leaning into his touch as your tail takes off wagging. Doctor Midoriya chuckles, indulging in your wants and giving your ears a proper scratch.

“You really are like a dog,” he points out, his tone lighthearted. “A cute little puppy.” And there he goes, blessing your ears with his giggle. As you glance at him, you see the pretty blush adorning his cheeks, the gleam of mirth in his large eyes.

Puppy.

For some ungodly reason, you really like the way it sounds coming from his mouth.

“You shouldn’t be referring to your patients with a pet name, Doctor,” you drawl.

The blush on his face darkens. In true fashion, he hastily looks away and awkwardly coughs into his fist. “My apologies,” he murmurs. “If… If it’s any consolation, your ears are really soft…”

A small smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “I’m only teasing,” you reassure.

He flinches.

Teasing.

“Besides, you said you really like dogs, right? I think puppy is cute.”

Doctor Midoriya looks back to you. “…Really?”

You nod. “I do.”

For a moment, neither one of you say anything. The look in Doctor Midoriya’s eyes is unreadable; whether that’s a good thing or not, you’re not entirely too sure. He’s usually easy to get a read on, but like this… It’s nearly impossible.

“Do you mind if we check your flexibility? It’s just touching your toes, nothing more. If your back is out, I’ll recommend some chiropractors.”

Okay, strange. You figure he wants to change the subject – you know, and do his job – so you do as he says, hopping down from the table and stepping away. As you bend over, your fingertips skimming the toes of your sneakers, large hands splay out on your back. You jolt from the contact, your breath catching in your throat. Their movements are calculated, feeling along your spine for any sort of abnormality. You can practically feel Doctor Midoriya’s eyes boring into you; the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck come a stand as you wait for him to do something, anything.

“Your spine feels fine,” he tells you. “You feel a bit tense, though. Do you bend over a lot?”

Excuse me?

You scoff. “I’m bending over right now, aren’t I?”

Doctor Midoriya makes some weird choking sound. “No, no, that’s not what I meant! I meant when you sit or something like that…!”

“I’m teasing, Doctor. Relax.” You wiggle underneath his touch. “Am I allowed to stand straight now?”

You can practically feel the tension radiating off him. “I… Not yet. I need to check one last thing, okay?” Again, he uses that low, husky pitch, the one that reverberates deep in his chest. This is only the second time you’re hearing it, but fuck does it make your insides squeeze and your breath hitch.

Before your mind can completely register it, Doctor Midoriya’s large hands are on your ass, kneading the ample flesh through your shorts. A slight groan slips from your mouth at the unexpected contact. Shit, his hands are even larger than you originally thought, his grip rough and demanding.

“Does it hurt?” he continues, his voice staying as it is, making your brain turn delirious.

“N-no,” you stutter. You immediately cuss yourself out internally. A sharp gasp breaks from your throat as one of his hands grips the base of your tail and gives it a slight tug.

“How about now?”

You wince as he does it again. “Yes, okay?” you seethe through clenched teeth. “Just don’t… Don’t tug on my tail like that.”

“So, your ears and tail are sensitive,” Doctor Midoriya mumbles to himself. “Interesting.”

“Doctor, what are you even going on about-“

At that very moment, those strong hands of his yank you backwards, your ass colliding with his pelvis. Heart leaping to your throat, you’re left scrambling for a shred of reality. Doctor Midoriya leans over you, his muscular chest pressing into your back. He’s so warm, and he oddly smells like mint, but it’s not like you’re going to complain anytime soon.

“This is such a bad idea,” he confesses into your ear, “but you’re just so cute, puppy. You like it when I call you that, right?”

“Doctor-“

“Tell me to stop,” he continues, a frantic edge to his voice now, “tell me I’m a disgusting pervert. I shouldn’t be doing this, but shit… I’ve been fantasizing about holding you this close.” Subconsciously, he rocks his hips into you, his engorged cock grinding into your ass.

Shit, shit, is this really happening? Your doctor has just fessed up to fantasizing about you, and, to be quite frank, you’re a bit too happy to hear that. It’s not like he’s the only one feeling this way; you’ve had your fair share of dreams over the months, most of them with him in between your legs in some fashion.

Straightening up, you reach back and grab him by the back of the neck, balancing yourself in his grip. A breathless noise fills your ear as you grind back against him, your nails scratching into his nape.

“O-oh,” he says, the sound delightfully raspy as it fills your ear.

“You aren’t the only one who’s been thinking of things,” you confess, your voice sounding equally as strained. Again, some unholy noise slips from his dusty lips, the grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.

“Puppy… Don’t say things like that.”

You bark out a laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re going soft, Doctor. Acting like you’re in charge one moment and then like a scared little bunny the next. A big boy like you should choose one and stick with it.”

Now you’ve done it. Like merely flicking a switch, Doctor Midoriya moans into your ear as he spins you around and stumbles backwards, ass landing on the examination table with you in tow. You squeak in surprise as he easily drags you into his lap, lifting you up as though you weighed next to nothing. The lustful haze in his eyes is evident, the blush adorning his face making his freckles pop.

“Shit,” you curse, eyelids fluttering as his cock rubs frantically against your ass. Again, another surprised noise escapes your mouth as he bounces you in his lap, his clothed erection grinding against your ass and sex. A sliver of tongue peeks from between his teeth, the gleam in his eyes nothing short of determination.

“This is so wrong,” Doctor Midoriya murmurs, his fingertips digging harshly into your ass. “But you like it, right? Right, puppy? You want me to fuck you, right? Right?”

Goddammit-

“Yes,” you grit, fingers clutching at his broad shoulders while your tail impatiently smacks against his thighs. “Come on, Doc, treat me like the good little puppy I am.”

You should’ve expected this, really. An almost animalistic whimper bursts from the back of his throat as he surges forward, shoving his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like cherry lip balm and the lingering sweetness of a cough drop – it’s an odd mixture, but not one that you dislike. Months of built-up tension are finally breaking free from the dam, desperate movements and slurred words quickly taking over your mind. Doctor Midoriya is somewhat sloppy with his kisses, but the way he sucks on your tongue and grinds his cock into you is heavenly.

Fingers skimming over the swell of his pecs and the rigid lines of his abs, Doctor Midoriya shudders at your fluttering touch. You swallow his moan as your hands drift under the shirt of his scrubs, heated skin and a fine trail of hair greeting your fingertips.

Pulling away, Doctor Midoriya pants heavily as you continue to pet his lower abdomen, his cock twitching beneath you. “Wait, wait,” he breathes, hands inching around towards your front, “can we – Can we touch each other?”

“As long as you keep quiet,” you murmur, tongue flicking across your lower lip. “Don’t want the others to know that Doctor Midoriya is a bad boy, hmm?” At that, a high-pitched groan emits from his chest as you shove your hand under the band of his underwear, hand circling around the base of his cock.

“Fuck, puppy, that feels good…”

Quickly following your lead, he slips a hand into your undies; his strong fingers immediately seek out the sensitive spot of your sex, causing your back to arch into his touch. A low, drawn out curse seeps from your mouth as you feel your arousal starting to coat his fingers.

“I guess being a doctor has its benefits, huh?” Doctor Midoriya mutters, tone dropping into that husky pitch once more. Even more of your arousal practically gushes over his fingers, your insides tightening around nothing. Two can play at this game, dammit.

Soon, the two of you are heavily petting each other, wrists flicking and fingers digging into sensitive flesh perfectly. Both your ears and tail lay flat as you pant into his neck, your thighs beginning to quiver with want. Doctor Midoriya isn’t fairing any better, his cock weeping precum as he mumbles incoherently. Maybe it’s the enticing little pants breaking through his puffy lips, or maybe it’s the sinful schlick schlick of your hand around his fat cock, but fuck do you want him inside of you, fucking you stupid.

“Doctor,” you purr, pushing yourself up onto your knees. “Have I been a good puppy? Will you fuck me with your cock and make me yours?” You nearly smile as he twitches in your hand at your filthy words.

Feebly nodding, Doctor Midoriya reluctantly pulls his hands away from you, opting to yank down his bottoms and underwear so they’re stretched around his meaty thighs instead. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of his cock – darker than the rest of his skin and veiny like his hands, he’s just as big as you expected, maybe even bigger. Still, you hastily yank down your own offensive clothing and slip back onto his lap, hovering over his twitching cock.

Doctor Midoriya thickly swallows. “I’m… I’m clean. You don’t have to worry- Fuck, oh my god!” Slapping a hand over his mouth, he groans deeply as you sheathe yourself on him, eyes nearly rolling towards the back of your head at the stretch. Yeah, he’s definitely huge.

For a moment, you allow yourself to grow used to the feeling of him inside. This is really happening; all caution is being thrown to the wind, repercussions be damned. He’s finally in your grasp, and you don’t plan on letting him go any time soon. “You said you wanted to fuck me, Doctor,” you mutter into his ear, your hips beginning to swivel. “Do it like you mean it.”

Again, that determined expression crosses his features. “With a challenge like that, who I am to decline?” Adjusting his grip on your ass, he easily lifts you up and drops you back on his cock, eliciting a breathy moan to fall from your swollen lips. “Don’t worry, puppy – as your doctor, I’m going to take real good care of you…"

#mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader #midoriya x reader #deku x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya #mha midoriya #bnha midoriya

[dakotacrisis]

Topsy Turvy (3)

By popular demand and my current Ladrien fixation I bring to you part 3 of this fluff fest. Enjoy!

---

Plagg was this close to throwing an extra large wheel of cheese at Adrien’s head. After Ladybug left last night he had been skipping around his room with the biggest, dorkiest grin imaginable. Every once in a while he would stop to contemplate how hurt his friend Marinette would be about this before he perked up again. Now he was standing in a pile of clothes trying to pick out an outfit for the movies tonight.

"What about this?" Adrien held up a black button up. "It's nice but understated and it would match Ladybug’s costume. Or is it weird to coordinate? Or maybe too fancy for a movie date? I have a black v-neck that may be better. What do you think?"

"It all looks the same to me," Plagg answered, not bothering to look up from the comic book he was reading.

"Plagg! Come on! Just give me an opinion. This is a big deal for me!"

Plagg grinned, a wicked thought entering his brain. "Oh I just don't know, Adrien. I don't wear clothes so I don't have the best source of judgement. Why don't you ask the designer friend of yours? I'm sure she would love to help you."

"That's actually a great idea--hey, wait a second--Plagg!" Adrien torn the comic out from under him like a tablecloth, "I can't ask Marinette for help regarding my date with Ladybug! Are you mad? Did you forget that she's the one that I need to reject after this?"

"Oh? Is she?" Plagg feigned ignorance. This was just too good to pass up. If only this poor little kitten of his knew the truth. He was rejecting the same girl he was going on a date with. He had to mess with him a little.

"Yes, Plagg, I have gone over this at length already." Adrien sighed, with a shake of his head, "Just work with me here and say button up or v-neck."

"Nude,"

Adrien tossed the comic back down. "You’re not funny."

"Really? I'm pretty sure I'm hilarious. You are just too young to appreciate my humor."

"Yeah, sure, that's the problem." Adrien looked between the two shirts he had before tossing the one aside. "V-neck. Definitely the v-neck."

He cradled the shirt close to him and Plagg had a moment of sincerity. Adrien was really happy about this date. He had never seen him so excited before. For decades Plagg had watched humans fall in love over and over. He could never really understand it since kwamis were incapable of the romantic love humans felt but he knew what familial love felt like. He knew that he loved Adrien as his chosen. If romantic love was anything like that then he wouldn't spoil the experience for Adrien anymore today. Tease him about any funny slip ups he may experience later, yes. But for today he would let the boy be. He deserved it.

---

"You really didn't have to see me off for my date, Alya." Marinette said, "I'm fine."

"You know I had to come. It's your first date with Adrien. No way was I gonna miss this." Alya kicked her feet excitedly, "I wanna hear all about it when you get back."

"What? Are you just gonna hang out here until I get home? Are you that interested in how my date goes that you’re going to wait up for me?"

"Duh, was that not obvious?"

"Well then," Marinette transformed, "how do I look?"

"You look like Ladybug."

"Right…" Ladybug looked at herself in the mirror before pulling the ribbons out of her hair to let it loose. "There, a little more casual. Right?"

"Sure, girl, a superhero wearing her hair down. Casual to the max." Alya rolled her eyes. "Now get going or you'll be late."

"Okay, see you later." She jumped through the trapdoor of her balcony and was off. Her heart was thundering loud in her chest the closer she got to the theater. She stopped at the building across from it and searched the faces heading inside. Then like a beacon under the neon lights she saw him. Adrien.

Okay. Be cool. Don't do anything stupid.

She fixed her hair and jumped off the building. She landed in her best hero pose across the street from him. When she looked up he was staring at her in awe.

Nailed it!

She then promptly tripped on the curb crossing the street.

"Watch it!" Adrien caught her by the arms before she could collide with the concrete, "You okay?"

"Yeah! Thanks! I've taken much worse tumbles than that." she laughed it off. "Guess you saved me this time."

"Uh yeah, I guess," Adrien fidgeted with his ring, "You look really nice. You're wearing your hair differently."

"Heroes gotta let their hair down sometimes, huh?" she chuckled to herself. "Consider it my unofficial off-duty look. Not that I'm ever really off-duty but you get what I mean."

"I get what you mean." They stood for a moment just staring at one another in mutual lovestruck awe before either of them remembered they were here for a date.

“Should we head in?” Adrien pointed back to the theater.

“Right, yes, we should do that.” they wandered inside and immediately gazes were drawn as they made their way to purchase their tickets. Despite her arguing that she could buy her own ticket Adrien insisted on getting it for her. She played truce and bought the snacks instead.

They followed the crowd into the theater. A few people stopped Ladybug to get some pictures or an autograph. Adrien patiently waited with the snacks as he scanned the room for good seats. It was surprisingly packed for such a late showing. “Uh Ladybug,” Adrien called for her attention, “I’m gonna go save us some seats so you come by whenever you’re done.”

“I’ll be right there. Thanks.” she gave him a thumbs up before going back to her fans. She really didn’t mind when fans came up to her, she was always honored, but she was here for a date. It didn’t feel right to let him go off on his own so she could take pictures.

The lights started to go down and she used that as her excuse to take her seat. She edged past the other theater goers and sat down in the chair next to Adrien. “Sorry about all that,” she whispered as the movie started, “You have my attention for the rest of the night. Promise.”

“Don’t worry. I totally get it. People stop me when I’m out with friends from time to time.” Adrien assured her. “I’m just glad to be here with you at all.”

Marinette blushed red hot and she found herself thankful for the dark theater. “I’m happy to be here with you too.”

The movie started in ernest and they drew their attention to it. Every once in a while she would catch him watching her instead of the movie or he would spot her staring at him. They’d quickly look away and smile, trying to keep their attention on what was happening on the screen. At one point she went to put her arm on the arm rest between them and nearly jumped out of her seat when she fully laid her hand overtop Adrien’s without noticing.

“Sorry,” Adrien blurted out but was quickly shushed by the audience, “sorry,” he whispered in a quieter voice, “you can have it.”

“No, no, you can have it--I just--”

“No. Really, I’ve been hogging it all night. You take it.”

“I don’t need it. Please, just take it--”

“One of you had better take it and shut up already.” someone behind them hissed.

“Sorry,” Ladybug squeaked. She moved to put her arm back and bumped into Adrien who was doing the same thing. They giggled for a moment. Then Adrien rested his arm on it with his palm facing up.

His eyes met hers with a shy, expectant smile. Oh! She bit her lip and laid her arm on top of his and interlaced their fingers together. Tonight was the best night ever just for this!

They stayed holding hands for the rest of the movie and when they got up to leave they were still interlocked. Neither wanted to let the connection break just yet. They walked out of the theater and into the cool night air.

“This was a lot of fun.” Ladybug said, “I’m glad you agreed to come out with me.”

“I’m still surprised you asked me out in the first place.” Adrien said, his gaze traveled down to their interlaced hands, “This was really nice.”

“Do you have a ride home?” Ladybug asked.

“No chauffeur tonight,” Adrien looked down the street then back at her, his voice dropping low to a whisper, “Between you and me, I’m not supposed to be out here.”

“How rebellious!” Ladybug scoffed, with a mock scandalized face, “Did you sneak out to come here tonight? I don’t know, Adrien. That’s top tier felon behaviour. I may have to turn you in.”

“Oh please, Ladybug, have mercy.” he pleaded with the same level of theatrics, “I meant no harm! Don’t send me to the slammer!”

“Oh alright,” Ladybug giggled, “I can’t throw a pretty face like yours in jail. You wouldn’t last ten minutes with all those other big bads. All those jaywalkers and litterbugs, they’d tear you apart.”

“You underestimate me, I could have control of the yard in five.”

“I bet you could.” she shook her head. “So since you don’t have a ride home did you need a lift? I can get you back lickety split.”

“How about instead of a lift you give me an escort.” Adrien asked, his big green puppy dog eyes blinking down at her, “As fun as the movie was I didn’t really get to talk to you which is the one thing I wanted to do most tonight.”

“How can I say no to that?” she squeezed his hand tighter, “I want to get to know you better too.”

They left the theater on foot back towards Adrien’s house. Neither had anywhere to be and no rush to end their date just yet so they kept the pace slow and let themselves take the long way around.

“Let me start simple,” Adrien said, “What is your favorite color?”

“Pink. But not like a hot neon pink, more of a soft sunset pink. What about you?”

“Blue. It’s just so relaxing to look at in almost all its forms. I think my favorite shade would have to be a soft sky blue though.”

“That’s nice. Alright, my question.” Ladybug pondered it for a moment, “What is your most treasured memory?”

“Wow. Starting off strong huh? I feel kinda ridiculous with my color question.”

“Don’t be. Sorry. I should have said something a little simpler, shouldn’t I?”

“No. I like your question. I just need to think about it. Gimme a second.” Adrien said as he started to think. He was really thinking this through. “I think my most treasured memory would be Christmas Eve when I was six.”

“Not Christmas morning?”

“The morning was great but I’ll never forget the night prior.” Adrien’s eyes took on a far away look, “It was as basic as Christmas Eve’s go. I wanted to stay up so I could meet Santa. My parents said that he wouldn’t come if I stayed up though and sent me off to bed. It was around midnight and I heard a noise coming from downstairs. I assumed it was Santa so I swung out of bed and raced out of my room to catch him before he could leave.

“I got down there and I found presents under the tree but no Santa. There was a light on in the kitchen and I figured he must be getting his milk and cookies. I go up to the door and push it open. There’s no Santa in the kitchen but there are my parents. My mom is sitting on the island munching on a gingerbread cookie, father is looking in the fridge, there’s quiet Christmas music playing on the radio next to them.

“My father closes the fridge and holds up a piece of mistletoe he must have hidden in there. Mom laughs and when he went in to kiss her she held up the gingerbread man so he kissed that instead. Father looked grumpy and bit the head off. Mom gasped and was all like, “I cannot believe you decapitated Mister Gingy! He had three kids you monster!” which made me laugh. Of course now they know I’m there and father picks me up and tells me I should be in bed and all that stuff. I wasn’t listening and instead I grabbed the mistletoe and held it up to mom. I meant it so my parents could kiss but instead they both kissed my cheeks instead. We stayed up for at least another hour eating cookies and drinking warm milk and hot coco before I fell asleep and they put me back to bed.”

“That is so cute!” Ladybug gushed, “I can see it all in my head. Squishy faced kiddie Adrien sneaking out of bed and eating cookies with his parents. That’s a really sweet memory.”

“I’ll never forget it.” Adrien sighed. For a moment he looked so sad and Marinette wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have asked him. The memory of his mom probably hurt to think about. “What about you? What’s your most treasured memory?”

Now that was a tough one. She couldn’t really go into childhood stories since it would give away too much as to her identity. It was then she thought of the perfect story. “There is one memory I hold really close to my heart.” she said.

“I was on patrol one evening by myself. It was raining but I didn’t want to go home cause I was going through some stuff emotionally and I didn’t want to be cooped up. So I’m running and running and I almost slip off the roof. I realize I should take a break so I huddle under this awning of this closed cafe to catch my breath and see if the rain lets up. I’m waiting for maybe five minutes and because I’m not moving my emotions from before I starting to catch up to me. I’m on the verge of breaking down when out of nowhere Chat Noir lands on the sidewalk in front of me. I say land but he more or less faceplanted. He has a box covered in a plastic bag to keep it dry that he’s holding off the ground. He pulls himself up like he didn’t just have an intimate meeting with the concrete and walks over to me like it is the most casual thing in the world. Now mind you, I was not expecting to see him. I didn’t tell him I was coming out here nor did he have any idea where I was but he found me nonetheless.

“He huddles under the awning with me and takes the plastic bag off the box. I realize at this point it is a wrapped present. I ask him what this is supposed to be for and he tells me that since we don’t know when each other’s birthdays are he was going to pick a random day to give me a birthday present. And apparently this rainy evening was that day. I tried telling he didn’t need to but he insisted so I take the present and unwrap it. When I tell you, this idiot actually gifted me a black cat onesie with a cat ear hood and little toe beans on the feet. I started laughing and asked if he had a matching ladybug onesie and he told me he did. I start laughing harder and I can tell he thinks that I’m laughing at him so I quickly assure him I’m not. I tell him I really love the gift and I give him a hug. To him he probably thinks that he just gave me a nice present but in reality he pulled me back from a really sad place without even knowing it.

“Of course the second I got home I put the onesie on and started thinking of a birthday present I could get for him. I wanted it to be perfect as a sort of thank you for cheering me up when I was in a really bad mood. I never told him just how much that one little present, that one encounter, helped me but it did. I like to think about it whenever I get in a bad mood. Remembering his mop of drenched hair and that big expectant smile never fails to cheer me up.”

When she looked back at Adrien he looked close to tears. “Oh hey, are you okay? Did I say something? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he wiped at his eyes with his free hand, “It’s just, your friendship with him is great. I think that the next time you see him you should tell him how much that meant to you. I’m sure it would make him really happy.”

“I think I will,”

They got to Adrien’s house and they both stood frozen on the sidewalk. “Guess it’s time to say goodbye now.”

“Guess so,” Adrien stared up at the tall stone walls. “All good thinks must come to an end.”

“There are always more good times to come though.” Ladybug said, “Speaking of which, would you be interested in going on a second date sometime?”

“I would love to.” Adrien answered with a bright smile. “How do I get a hold of you?”

“I’ll come to you.” she let go of his hand to wrap around his waist. With a flick of her wrist she sent her yo-yo up and pulled them off the ground. They swung into his room and she deposited him back down safely. “Goodnight, Adrien. I had a wonderful time and I’ll be by to see you again soon.”

“Goodbye Ladybug. Tonight was...it was perfect.” He leaned in closer or maybe it was Marinette that leaned in but one of them leaned in. Then just as quickly they withdrew. Arms hugged close to their sides.

“I should get going,” Ladybug stumbled back towards the window. She poised to throw her yo-yo but she made the mistake of taking one final look back at Adrien. He was watching her with such a soft and loving expression. She couldn’t just end it like this.

She rushed back to him and kissed his cheek. “See you later, bye!” she fully vaulted herself out the window the next instant and booked it as fast as she could back home. She dropped down onto her balcony. Her heart was beating fast and her face ached from how hard she was smiling.

---

(Part 1) (Previous) (Probably another part cause I know no self control and you people enable me)

#long post #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #plagg #alya cesaire #ladrien #topsy turvy #writing

[n0-eyedtaissa]

Don’t You Forget About Me (Outer Banks OC x The pogues): Chapter Five

tagging: @hughstheforcelou @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle@cactiem& @kazinejghafa.

(the updated fic masterlist can be found here)

Part Two: One Year Later 

key event: first introductions

Clementine had never moved before, so she didn’t know how much work it was. Alternatively, she didn’t realize how bad moving sucked. Her and her father eat all of their meals at the cardboard box coffee table, staring at the blank white wall where the tv would go once it got there. There was nothing on the walls yet and the few pieces of furniture that they had with them sat sadly in the middle of the living room until they figured out their permanent places throughout the house. Gat would be there tomorrow with the big moving truck with the rest of everybody’s belongings and Clementine couldn’t help but laugh about how this was the first time in her life that she’d ever been looking forward to seeing Liam Gatwin. She stopped hanging up the clothes in her closet, unfolding the handful of shirts and sweaters that she poached from Kimber’s room. The lingering smell of the jasmine oil her sister always wore was a bittersweet reminder of how far away from home Clementine truly felt. 

It was late afternoon and the sun was setting, reflecting burnt orange shadows on the hardwood floor and baking the white walls. Clementine squints and puts her sunglasses on despite the fact that she was barefoot and in her pajamas. She slides down the dining room wall and sits down, closing her eyes to take in the sunlight and feeling like a small, cozy cat. She feels the shockwaves from her dad’s footsteps as he makes his way down the uncarpeted hallway, stopping short of the dining room where she was sitting crisscross applesauce on the floor. Lyle laughs as he watches his daughter bask in the sun, a wave of fondness rushing over him as he takes a moment to appreciate her cooperation with moving, trying to be more aware of just how hard it had been for her. His knees crack as he bends down to sit on the floor next to Clementine and he exhales loudly, feeling some of his tension alleviate. Clementine scoots closer to her dad and pulls out one of her earbuds to offer to him. He accepts graciously and the two of them sit next to each other in comfortable silence in their new home. 

“You think we’re gonna be all right here?” Lyle asks out into the open room.

Clementine has to think about the question for a moment so the two of them sit quietly. She could make a list of everything that’s wrong in the world, everything that she could be angry about (and God, there was a lot), but Clementine was tired of that. She was tired of being sad and jaded and just wanted to relax now. She takes a breath and reminds herself to think of the good things. She had her dad and the two of them were closer than ever. That was definitely a good thing. It was good that they had a new house, and that her dad got a new job doing something he loved and that would pay him better for his efforts. Selfishly Clementine couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that she would be able to reinvent herself in the Outer Banks, no longer having to be the girl with the missing sister. She scolds herself for being relieved. Her heart hurts when she thinks of Kimber and she’s not immune to the gut wrenching curiosity that comes with not knowing what happened to someone. Would she ever know what happened after that last conversation with her sister, what happened to Kimber in between getting into Gat’s truck and wherever she ended up? 

Clementine shakes the thought from her head, knowing that her dad was still patiently waiting for some sort of answer. She has to clear the tightness in her throat so she coughs, takes a long, deep breath and says,“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see”.  There’s a beat of silence before the two of them both start laughing, the boisterous sounds echoing around the empty room and warming up the house. 

~~~

That next morning Clementine is woken up by her dad playing music loudly over the speaker system he insisted in installing first thing when they moved in. It was the loud guitar riff from the beginning of ACDC’s ‘Back in Black’. Classic Rock meant Lyle was excited, and Clementine didn’t know if it was because the moving truck was coming today, or if it was because Gat was the one who was driving it. Gat had been an honorary part of the family for years so everyone with eyes was aware of just how deeply Lyle thought of him as a sort of surrogate son; Clementine thought it was obnoxious but Kimber always thought it was endearing, shooing away Clementine’s pessimism with something like “When you have a boyfriend, Clem, you’ll see,”. After the past year of being around Liam Gatwin, Clementine hoped that if she ever ended up with a guy like him, someone would try to knock some sense into her. Yes, Liam Gatwin was a vital piece of the crew on the Vita Caprice, but he was cocky. And he was mean-spirited, always poking at Kimber just enough for her to snap before retreating and claiming he was just playing around. Clementine didn’t like him and he knew that.

She rolls out of bed and plants her feet on the cold hardwood floor, goosebumps erupting over her bare legs as she leans over to rifle through half-unpacked boxes in order to find something to wear for the day. Clementine gets dressed for the day, clipping on her overalls and tying on her hightop sneakers before gathering her belongings up into her backpack and figuring out where her skateboard ended up being thrown in the shuffle. She grabs her stolen gas station sunglasses and puts them on despite being inside. 

“Going somewhere, Cool Guy?” Lyle asks Clementine as she rounds her way into the kitchen. 

“Thought I’d take in the local flora, you know, really appreciate our beautiful new home” Clementine rolls her eyes with a laugh, grabbing a bruised banana from the bowl on the counter. She tries to jump up on the counter but it’s too tall and she’s not, so she lands back on the ground with the dissatisfied smack of her sneakers against the hardwood. Lyle holds back a laugh and Clementine looks up at him sharply, only making him want to laugh more. “Don’t you start” Clementine warns her dad. 

“I’m not starting!” Lyle laughs, wiping toast crumbs off of the kitchen counter. “Hey uh, Liam’s supposed to be getting in around 6. I was thinking we pull out the barbecue and cook up something nice for him, how’s that sound?” 

“I’ll pass.” Clementine mumbles through a mouthful of banana. 

“And where do you plan on going otherwise?” Lyle raises one of his bushy eyebrows at her, clearly amused.

Clementine shrugs, tossing her banana peel in the garbage can before tucking her skateboard under her shoulder. “I’ll figure that part out on the way.” She walks out of the kitchen and towards the front door without waiting for so much as a response from her father. 

The minute she steps  outside Clementine is affronted by a wave of hot, sticky air. She thought the Florida heat was bad? It wasn’t much better in the Outer Banks. The heat hung low and made the air feel heavy, like Clementine had to work twice as hard to move through it as she walked up the dirt driveway and the small hill towards the main road up the Cut. The ground is too rough and rocky for her to be able to ride her skateboard without worry so she struggles to carry it comfortably, the grip tape scratching at her arms. Clementine takes a second to stop and look around, familiarizing herself with the area that was now her home. Immediately she liked how green it was, how much nature was consistently around her. She took a detour to walk along the rocky shore of the marsh, picking up smooth rocks and dropping them in the front pocket of her overalls. Clementine decides to take the long way (which is what she called it when she got lost), but finally makes her way towards the small central town hub. 

As she walks past the rows of small shops, Clementine can’t help but think it strange that everyone waved at her as she walked by — it was like they could tell that she was out of place. Or maybe it was that the town was so small they could recognize new faces if and when they came around. Or maybe they were just nice people, unlike the people back home in Florida. Clementine wanders towards the open-air farmers market, looking at the tables filled with fresh fruit, homemade jams and pies, beeswax candles and chapsticks. As much as Clementine wanted to support the local economy, she didn’t have the pocket money for the artisanal offerings of the farmer’s market so she ducks inside Heyward’s Seafood, a small grocery store and fish emporium. Clementine walks down the few aisles, looking at today’s fresh catch as it cooled on thick ice and crunches up her nose at the briny, fishy smell. There’s only a small array of snacks and other treats to choose from so Clementine grabs herself a glass bottle of lemonade and some sunflower seeds before making her way to the cash register. 

“You know, we don’t get a lot of new faces around here” The man behind the counter says as he punches buttons on the register. If he wasn’t smiling Clementine would have thought it sounded sinister.  But he had a quality about him that immediately put Clem at ease, he seemed personable, knowledgeable, like the kind of person you’d want to befriend on this island. 

  “Me and my dad just moved here a few days ago, he works over on the Vita Caprice” Clementine smiles politely, handing over her sweaty five dollar bill. 

“Ah, what’s his name, ah, Adams?” The man asks with a knowing smirk and Clementine nods at him. “I’ve known all the men he’ll be working with for years, he’ll be in good hands” He promises. It seemed like he was someone who was in the know about what happened around Kildere, which Clementine couldn’t help but be intrigued by. 

“Well, that’s always reassuring!” Clementine puts her change in the tip jar on the counter. “I’m Clementine. Clementine Adams” She offers her hand for the older man to shake.

“You got a good handshake, Miss Clementine! Nice to meet ya, dear, they call me Heyward.”

Clementine’s eyes go wide at the realization that this was his store. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Heyward” She smiles at him again as she gathers her snacks and heads back towards the swinging door.

“Welcome to the island, Miss Clementine” 

~~~

Deciding to wander some more, Clementine loops her way through the narrow streets, trying to find new places to visit and try now that she's officially a citizen of Kildere County. She passes an ice cream shop she promises she’ll check out someday soon, and a surf shop she hoped sold skateboarding gear but sadly didn’t. She skates up and down the streets of new home, weaving around the small crowds of people who all seemed to know each other by name. She wonders what it was like to live in the same small town your whole life, going to school with the same people from kindergarten all the way until the end of high school, how families in the Outer Banks probably went back for generations upon generations. Clementine can’t help but wonder about Florida, if there was anything that changed since she left. She thinks about her old childhood home, now abandoned and empty, a ghost of everything that once was normal to her. She wondered if a family had moved in, or when one would. Who would move into her bedroom? Would they like the way that the mid-morning light came through the window? Did they notice that the third stair creaked just a little louder than the others, that the front door stuck when it got too hot outside? Would they paint over the height chart that was scrawled onto the door jamb by the kitchen? Maybe they would be able to feel that something happened there, something still unresolved. They’d board up Kimber’s old room so that nothing bad could happen to their children, to make sure the depression or the restlessness couldn’t slip through the air vents or through the cracks in the floor boards, so that no one else can sneak out through the window, never to be seen again. 

Clementine was always wondering about her sister. Kimber was always floating at the back of her mind, waiting around every corner when Clementine wasn’t looking. She might have been missing, but Kimber wasn’t forgotten. No matter what Clementine said, no matter what Gat did, no matter what Lyle wished, none of them could move past the hole that Kimber left in all of their lives. It had been a year and everyone said that it was time to start moving on but Clementine disagrees. To move on meant to forget Kimber and everything that she was…and no one wanted to do that. In Clementine’s mind, Kimber was just one bedroom over, or reading a book at the breakfast table, or tucked into the corner seat of the couch watching reruns on the history channel with dad. Kimber wasn’t missing she was away at college, she finally got out of Florida. In some of Clementine’s more imaginative scenarios, Kimber was studying abroad in Europe, drinking cafe au laits in lush patio gardens and reading books by people who were long gone. Or she was on a beach somewhere, South America maybe; Or backpacking across somewhere foreign and beautiful. In all of Clementine’s scenarios her sister is alive and well and Kimber was always on her way home. But that’s all they were, made-up scenarios.

~~~

Deciding to be over with her little pity party, Clementine decides to look up from her shoes and notices the busy restaurant in front of her, immediately intrigued by the ‘help wanted’ sign that was taped in the window. The Wreck, Clementine didn’t know it yet but it was another Outer Banks staple. It was always busy, always filled with people from both Figure 8 and from the Cut. There were always tables to wait on, tips to pick up, and a line of people waiting to be seated. Noticing the expensive cars in the parking lot, Clementine thinks that this might be fate. She didn’t have any friends yet in the Outer Banks, but she could get a job and save up her money for when it mattered. A job would be good for her, she’d stay busy, out of the house and out of trouble, so Clementine opens the door to the restaurant and walks inside. 

“Welcome in, sit anywhere” The dark-haired waitress says, not bothering to look up at Clementine as she moves from table to table with her busboy tote. The two of them looked to be about the same age and Clementine wondered if she would see the girl around school when it started up that fall, if she’d also be a junior.

She clears her throat, not interested in sitting down, getting a menu handed to her, or hearing about the lunch special that day. “No, uh, I actually came to see about the help wanted sign that you guys put up?” 

The young waitress turns back to Clementine and looks at her quizzically, Clementine can’t figure out if this is because the girl can recognize that she’s new in town, or if she’s just surprised that someone new wanted to work at the restaurant. The girl looks up from the stack of dirty dishes, wiping her arm on the bandana wrapped around her head that was keeping her long, curly hair out of her face. “You’ll have to talk to the Boss” She gestures to a stressed out looking man who was working in the kitchen, handing freshly prepared dishes of food to waiters to dole out to their respective tables. Clementine takes one look at him and it’s clear that the “Boss” was this girl’s father, the resemblance between the two of them was undeniable. Something about that made Clementine like this place a little bit more, that there were dads and daughters working side by side just like at her house. 

“Thank you” Clementine mumbles. “Oh, uh, I’m Clementine by the way. Just moved here…” 

“Kiara” The girl, who now has a name, smiles at Clementine “Don’t worry, it only sucks here sometimes”

Clementine laughs, appreciating Kiara’s honesty. “I’ll have to keep that in mind” She says and Kiara politely excuses herself to get back to waiting tables. Clem walks up to the small kitchen window in the restaurant, trying to wait for a moment to catch the owner’s attention. 

“Can I help you?” Someone asks from behind Clementine and she whips around. It’s an older woman, a mother’s age; older but young enough to still look pretty, just more tired. Anna, her name tag said, owner. Clementine can infer that this is Kiara’s mom by the way that the girl looks at the woman. There’s something about the way that Kiara rolls her eyes when she’s told to get back to bussing tables, though there’s still a whisper of a defiant smile on the corner of her lips. 

“I noticed that you guys had a help wanted sign in the window and I wanted to see if I could apply for the job.” Clementine gives Anna a tight-lipped smile as she tries to stand up a little straighter, to make herself seem more adult and not a sweaty teenager carrying a beat-up skateboard.

Anna gives Clementine a secret once-over, her eyebrow arching up in question when she turns to ask “Well do you have any experience?” 

“Oh yeah, tons” Clementine answers. “Back in Florida my sister and I used to work at this steakhouse, Rusty’s.” Clementine had worked there one summer, so it was only really a half-lie.  

Anna looked pleasantly surprised. Just as she goes to open her mouth and say something, she’s cut off by the welcome bell and a big group of people walking into the restaurant in their varying shades of pastel shorts. She exhales a big breath and turns to Clementine with a sheepish look on her face. “How soon can you start?”

“Right now?” Clementine asks, not sure if that was what her new boss was alluding to.

“Perfect” Anna exhales. 

She unties the apron from around her waist and thrusts it into Clementine’s hands, handing off her pen and pad of paper. Anna pastes on her fake smile as she goes to greet the group, scooping up an armful of menus. “Welcome in everyone, welcome, welcome! Let’s get you seated over here!” Anna puts on her perfectly crafted customer service voice as she corrals the group towards a long table. “This is our new trainee, uh…” Anna has to pause, realizing that she never asked Clementine her name. 

“Clementine” She smiles at the table full of people, “What can I get you all to drink this afternoon?”

~~~

Clementine actually likes working, though she’d never admit that to her dad or anyone else. She liked being able to put herself on autopilot, to focus so hard on so many things at once that her eyed glazed over and she ran on pure instinct alone. A pitcher of sweet tea for the table, a round of waters, would you like to hear about today’s lunch special? Table five wants an order of ceviche for everyone, the kid at able three wants an extra packet of oyster crackers to put into his bowl of clam chowder. Clementine scrawls down orders in her small, slanted writing and hands them over to Mr. C, Mike Carrera, her other Boss. Clementine shadows Miss Anna all day, helps Kiara clear off tables and wipe them clean. She stays there for hours, impressed with herself and how she was able to walk her way right onto a job. When the lunch rush ends and the bulk of the customers had managed to roll out, Miss Anna walks up to Clementine and hands her a bundle of crumpled up dollar bills; tip money for her efforts. 

“Thank you girls for your help this afternoon” Anna says, addressing Clementine and Kiara. “You two head out for the evening. Clementine, you’ll be in tomorrow for an actual training session, right?” 

“Yes, ma’am” Clementine nods. 

“Bye mom!” Kiara says, already turning on the heels of her high tops and getting ready to walk out the back door. She stops short and turns to Clementine. “Aren't you coming?”

“Oh!” Clementine is surprised that Kiara was talking to her. “Definitely” She responds quickly, picking up her skateboard and her backpack and following her outside. 

Kiara leads the way outside and neither of them say a word until they make their way out of earshot from the customers sitting on the patio. The two girls walk towards the parking lot with the gravel crunching under their feet, sounding deafeningly loud in the mutual silence. They stop short at a beat-up looking SUV with a wicked dent in both the front and back bumper. Clementine thinks the juxtaposition between the expensive car and the dents is sort of funny, but she doesn’t want to say anything and piss off Kiara — who had been rather nice without particularly needing to be. Kiara opened the back hatch of her car and invited Clementine to sit in the laid-down back seat.

“I can’t believe my mom just threw you to the wolves like that,” Kiara laughs, “That feels illegal as shit”

“I’m just impressed that I actually managed to keep up” Clementine reveals. “At one point it literally felt like my brain turned off and I was operating like this little capitalist robot” She wiggles her fingers and Kiara laughs at her, knowing the feeling. 

“At this rate, you’ll be employee of the month in no time” She tells Clementine matter of factly. 

“Ouch, I didn’t mean to knock you out of your spot” Clementine jokes, hoping that since Kiara was playing around with her a little bit she would be able to play back. 

“I never even stood a chance…” Kiara laughs. 

“Sometimes not even nepotism can save you” Clementine shrugs and the two of them look at each other and start laughing. 

“So how long ago did you move?” Kiara asks Clementine as she crosses her legs and makes herself comfortable in the trunk area of the car. She pulls out her sunglasses case and picks a joint out of it, offering it silently to Clementine and trying to see if she would take it.

Clem realized that Kiara was trying to gauge her and her interests to figure out that she was into and if she was cool enough to hang around. She retrieves the lighter that she always kept on her and sparks up the joint before answering “Three days ago”

Kiara blows out a big breath of smoke. “Fresh meat” She chuckles, handing the joint over to Clementine. 

“I guess so” Clem laughs. “What about you, how long have you lived here?” 

“My whole life” Kiara answers. Clementine can tell that she’s not a fan, though. There would always be something about hometowns; they restricted you. They were a lethal mix of claustrophobic and nostalgic, with memories all ready to peek their heads around unsuspecting corners. Looking around Outer Banks, Clementine wasn’t yet able to distinguish the good from the bad but she knew that in time she would.

“That bad, huh?” 

Kiara shakes her head. “Only sometimes” 

The two pass along the joint until it burns down to a small roach, making small talk. Kiara was from here, born and raised. Big house on Figure 8, which Clementine found out was the name for the rich neighborhoods built up with white marble McMansions. Her parents were Mike and Anna Carrera, owners of the Wreck, both alive and well and grossly happy in their marriage. No siblings, though Kiara said she used to beg for a little brother or sister all the time when she was younger because the house was too big for just the three of them. She’s a socialist who swears up and down that she hates rich people (despite being one). She’s a pescatarian and a virgo, she likes surfing, swimming, and political activism. Kiara realizes that she’s been talking about herself for quite a while now and she laughs it off nervously. “Sorry, the weed’s catching up to me…” The two of them laugh and then it was Clementine’s turn to share:

She was Clementine Adams, seventeen, born and raised not that far outside of Miami. Her dad was Lyle Adams, he worked as a commercial fisherman on the Vita Caprice. Her mom was gone, her sister wasn’t with them right now. She doesn’t say the word missing, just that Kimber didn’t move with the rest of them. Clementine hopes that Kiara doesn’t read too much into it. She tells her that she’s a cancer, though she doesn’t agree with how emotional her horoscope makes her out to be. She likes soccer, skating, reading books and riding bikes with her sister. She tells Kiara that she doesn’t know anyone in OBX yet and that was why she decided to get a summer job to make some money while killing time. This part, of course, was a morsel of information that Clementine threw out there in hopes that Kiara would ask to hang out again or something (though she’d never be the first person to initiate the conversation). 

The sun had started to lower in the sky and the two of them were still talking. It was nice to have someone new to talk to, no one who’s opinion of you was already tainted by things that they’d heard about you from someone else. Neither of them seem to realize it but it was like they had this innate need to talk to one another, to purge some of the energy that was bubbling up inside each of them and threatening to boil over. Clementine and Kiara sit side by side with their legs swinging over the trunk of Kiara’s big, dented up car. They trade stories, small ones, bullshit moments that didn’t really mean much in the long run but were memorable enough to share with someone. There were lots of faceless names thrown around: John B, Sarah, JJ, Pope, Kimber, Gat, but it didn’t really matter who these people were, just that they mattered enough to be mentioned by Kiara and Clementine, even if only in passing. 

“So can you ride this thing?” Kiara asks, spinning one of Clementine’s skateboard wheels with her hand and watching as it rolled, fast and smooth, before stopping. 

“Only sometimes” Clementine laughs, calling back to Kiara’s comment from earlier. She points out a handful of scraped and bruises on her knees and lower legs that prove her point. “What about you, ever ridden one?”

“If you count a surfboard, then yeah” Kiara laughs.

“I don’t count that, no” Clementine grabs her board and tosses it on the ground with a clatter. “Like at all actually” She laughs and gets up from her spot next to Kiara and puts one foot on the old, beat-up skateboard, pushing off and rolling around the back parking lot area of the Wreck. Clementine shows off a little, popping an ollie or two, getting all four wheels of the board off of the ground and actually landing them.

“Okay so how do you do it then?” Kiara asks, her curiosity getting the better of her as she stands up, going to stop Clementine’s skateboard with her foot. 

Clementine looks up eagerly. “You want to learn?” She’d been skating for a handful of years now, since she was going into her freshman year of high school and she decided that she was too cool for a beach cruiser. She remembered how many summer afternoons she spent in the driveway with Kimber and Gat (back then when he was Just Gat, a friend of the family and not Kimber’s boyfriend), falling and getting back up, laughing and getting laughed at. But she got the hang of it and gained a little confidence and soon her skateboard became her main method of transportation. 

Kiara jumps up. “Why the hell not!”

Clementine beams at her, hoping that this was some sort of inclination that the two girls could end up being friends, not just coworkers who spent the lunch rush together pulling their eyes as they handed out hot plates to hungry tables. She holds the skateboard steady with her feet so Kiara can get on it, offering her hand to hold onto as Kiara finds her balance. She’s a little wobbly at first, clutching onto Clementine’s hand with a shaky smile. “Spread your feet like you would on your surfboard” Clementine instructs, pushing Kiara’s feet further apart so that her front and back foot were in line with the bolts on the skateboard. “Bend your knees” 

“Like this?” Kiara bends her knees, immediately feeling the burning in her thighs. She makes an uncomfortable face and Clementine laughs. 

“If your legs aren’t on fire, you’re not doing it right” Clementine laughs, grabbing Kiara’s shoulder and giving her a light little push so she started rolling across the parking lot.

Kiara lets out a little yelp. “Oh shit, I’m doing it!” She throws out her arms to keep her balance and Clementine runs across the lot, trying to catch Kiara in case she fell. 

Clementine tries to kick any big rocks and pebbles out of the way of the skateboard wheels so that there was nothing to potentially trip her up. Back towards the restaurant Miss Anna peeks her head out of the back door and watches as Clementine and Kiara run across the parking lot riding along on the beat-up skateboard.

“Kiara! Are you corrupting my new employee already?” Miss Anna scolds, her hands on her hips as she stands out on the back stairs. Part of her feels conflicted, it was good for Kiara to make new friends but she didn’t know Clementine, so she didn’t know what kind of kid she was, if she was anything like the usual company her daughter kept. But she wonders if this was a good thing, a new friend for Kiara, maybe someone who would help her break the rebellious streak she’d been on. It was nice to see her daughter smile though, Anna could admit to herself. It had been quite some time since she had seen Kiara do anything but scowl, too mad at the world and everyone in the Outer Banks. 

Kiara stops smiling just as quickly as she started, taking a shaky step off of Clementine’s skateboard as she planted her foot on the ground to stop herself. “We were just messing around” She scoffs, freezing up like Clementine had seen a handful of her friends do around their mothers. There seemed to be something about the way a mother could judge you so deeply and fully in the least amount of words. With a gesture, or a look; the sharp uptick of an eyebrow or the rude quirk at the corner of her lips. Kiara deflates and rolls the skateboard back to Clementine. 

Clementine has an idea, though. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and see’s that it’s going to be 6:30 soon, so Gat should be there with the moving truck by now and her dad said that he was planning on barbecuing to celebrate his arrival and the beginning of the move-in process. She knows that it’s presumptuous to think that her and Kiara are anything more than co-workers, but she wanted to make a friend that day because she deserved to have someone to hang out with and confide in. Given the way that the two of them had been faring, why couldn’t it be Kiara? 

She clears her throat and just asks the question: “Do you wanna come to my house for dinner? The moving truck just got here and my dad was supposed to barbecue, could be good. If you’re not busy, I mean” Clementine tacks that part onto the end of her sentence, giving Kiara a caveat in case she had somewhere better to be.

Kiara looks over Clementine’s shoulder, back towards her mom and the restaurant. She doesn’t answer right away and that made Clementine think that Kiara was surely going to turn down the invitation. But she doesn’t. “Sure, I could eat” Kiara shrugs off her mom’s comments and her shitty attitude and Clementine watches her light up a little easier. 

The girls load up into Kiara’s expensive (but dented) car and take off. Kiara has no problem getting around the island, she knew the place like the back of her hand. She liked to brag about her sense of direction and how if she’d been somewhere once, nine times out of ten she could remember how to get there again. Kiara maneuvers her car easily through back streets and residential areas to avoid the traffic and the stoplights and soon they’re pulling up in the gravel outside the Adams household and parking next to the half-empty moving truck. Clementine gets out of the car first and Kiara follows cautiously behind her, not a fan of venturing into uncharted territory. There’s stacks of boxes on the front porch, with some propping open the screen door so Lyle and Gat can have a clear path as they bring in the bigger furniture — the entertainment center, the dresser, the kitchen hutch — all those kinds of things that you apparently needed “man power” for. The love seat is sitting on the lawn, little divots being dug into the grass from where the wooden legs sunk deep into the storm-saturated earth. Clementine gestures to the couch and Kiara follows her over to it, where both of them sit down and groan as they drop down into the plush cushions. 

“Well, look who finally decided to join us!” Lyle calls out to Clementine as he hops off of the front porch step and crunches his way across the dried grass. He’s surprised to see a tangle of long dark hair next to Clementine as she splays out on the love seat, though he tries not to make a big deal out of it. “Who’s your friend, Tiny?” He asks, using the childhood nickname the Clementine was never fond of. Back in Florida he was always trying to encourage Clementine to go out and make more friends, or to invite the girls from the soccer team over for a barbecue or a sleepover. He wanted her to have more friends and be more social, wanted her to rely less on her sister. Clementine was always shy but after Kimber disappeared it was like what little light was left behind his daughters eyes went out completely. 

“This is Kiara” Clementine gives her dad an awkward, closed-mouth smile. She stiffens up at Lyle’s use of the word friend since she’s not sure if that’s what her and Kiara were. “Her parents own The Wreck” Clementine adds.

“How nice, we’ll have to go and try it sometime, won’t we, Clem?” Lyle smiles at the two girls as he goes to pick up another packed cardboard box. 

“Yeah well, I have to be there again tomorrow any ways, so…” She shrugs, thinking of getting an actual work training session from Miss Anna and not just being thrown to the wolves during the lunch rush again. Lyle raises his bushy eyebrow at his daughter in hopes that she’ll further explain, so Clementine continues, “I got a job there. That’s where I was today” 

Lyle drops the big cardboard box, the contents inside rattling as they hit the ground. He’s clearly shocked by the idea that Clementine left the house to go on a walk and explore, only to come home with both a new friend and a new job. “A job? Wow, look at you, Tiny. I can hardly believe it!” He laughs. Clementine can feel her face go red and she looks over at Kiara, who’s toying with her phone to avoid overstepping into this weird, familial moment. 

“It’s not a big deal or anything,” Clementine shrugs. “Hey dad is there food ready?” 

“Yup, everything’s in the kitchen, you girls go on and help yourselves.”  Lyle groans as he reaches for the box again, his back screaming at him to take it easy. “Make yourselves useful, though, and take a box with you when you go”

Clementine rolls her eyes as she goes to pick up a box labeled C’s Room. Kiara goes to pick up a box like Lyle suggested and Clementine panics. “Oh no, no, you don’t have to do that!” She insists but Kiara shrugs her shoulder and send her a quizzical look.

“I got it” She says casually, picking up the box like it’s no big deal. 

Kiara follows Clementine up the porch and into the half-assembled house, dodging her way around randomly placed furniture, stacks of boxes, and other big plastic storage tubs. Clementine leads her down the long hallway and into what was becoming her bedroom. The girls drop the boxes in the corner, next to the other stacks of boxes, next to Clementine’s mattress that was on the floor. Kiara looks around the room, taking in what little was there and trying to figure out more about Clementine from the things around her that she could see. There’s a fish tank fully set up in the corner of the bedroom, where Clementine’s four fish are swimming along happily. Kiara walks up to the tank and touches the glass, watching as the fish follows her finger. 

“You can feed them if you want” Clementine laughs, pointing to the little container of fish food off to the side of the tank.

Kiara accepts and drops a pinch of the funky smelling flakes into the water, watching the fish corral as they flapped their mouths open and closed. There’s a beat of silence as the girls watched the handful of fish, but Kiara eventually pipes up and says, “Your dad seems pretty cool”.

“He is, yeah” Clementine agrees, not caring if that was something that made her seem uncool. Her dad was trying really hard to be there and be present for Clementine, something that didn’t go unrecognized or unappreciated. 

“Is it just you guys here?” 

Clementine nods, knowing that this conversation would come up eventually. “Yep” She swallow hard and takes a second to figure out just how much detail she’s willing to divulge to Kiara after only a few hours of knowing her. “It’s just me, my dad, and Gat here right now.”

“Is that your brother?” Kiara asks again, and the mere idea of being related to Liam Gatwin was enough to make Clementine want to gag. 

“God no,” She shakes her head, her short hair falling into her eyes. “He works on the Caprice with my dad, unfortunately the two of them are sort of a package deal. Gat and my sister dated for a really long time” 

Kiara nods her head as she follows along. “So is she here? Your sister, I mean…” As an only child Kiara always thought the prospect of having an older sibling (or any sibling at all) would make life better. Especially a sister; Kiara thought having an older sister would be great, there was always someone there to keep you company, always someone there to show you cool new things. 

“She’s not here right now, no” Clementine says simply. Because in Clementine’s mind, Kimber was never that far away, and she was always coming back. 

Kiara seems to be satisfied with the answer to her question so the two girls go back to making small talk before heading to the kitchen to snag a bite to eat. There’s a plate piled high with chargrilled hamburgers and hot dogs ready to be fixed up to everyone’s liking, and a big family size bag of chips on the counter nearby with the bag left open crumbs spilling out. Men, Clementine thinks, swiping away the crumbs and getting a plate for herself and Kiara. Before Clementine hands off the chipped ceramic plate to Kiara, she remembers something that she said earlier that day:

“Aren’t you a pescatarian?” Clementine questions, suddenly nervous that she’d made some sort of grave mistake by inviting Kiara over to eat. 

Kiara waves a noncommittal hand before grabbing the plate and loading it up. “Only when it’s convenient…”

A set of footsteps ring out from behind the two girls and Clementine turns around to see Liam Gatwin trudging towards the kitchen from the laundry room, where the side door led outside to where his trailer sat parked atop cinder blocks in the side yard. 

“Nice of you to finally bless us with your presence, Clem” Gat rolls his eyes and scoots past Clementine, hip-checking her out of his way as he grabs a beer from the refrigerator. Clementine scoffs at him and hip-checks him back, because two can play that game, and she grabs herself and Kiara each a beer out of the soggy cardboard carton. Kiara starts to laugh but covers it up with a cough, suddenly becoming very interested in the food on her plate, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. 

“Rake it in while you can” Clementine deadpans, handing over the beer to Kiara while knowing that Gat wouldn’t tell on them. That was one of the rules that Kimber taught Gat if they were going to date while he worked for their dad. Rule #1: Whatever happens, we don’t tell dad. Gat mutters something rude under his breath and trudges back the way he came, leaving Clementine and Kiara in peace. Clementine hopes to god that it’s not awkward, that she didn’t make things weird by inviting Kiara back to her house and introducing her to her embarrassing dad and her sister’s jerky boyfriend. Just as she’s about to say something, to interject and ask if there was something she wanted to do or if she had someplace better to be, Kiara’s phone vibrates on the table. 

She picks it up and reads the message, smiling, before turning to Clementine to ask “Do you wanna go to a party with me?” Before Clementine can really process the question, she feels herself nodding because yes, she does want to go to this party with Kiara. Clementine had already taken her fair share of risks today, what harm could one more do? It was going to be different now, here in the Outer Banks. Clementine was making sure of it. 

#fic: don't you forget about me #dyfam #outer banks fic #outer banks oc #obx oc: clementine adams #kiara carrera x oc

[kitkat1003]

Where the Sea Meets Earth

Ao3 Link

Summary: 

Tang's life has fallen into a steady, comfortable routine, one he feels no need to change.  

So he doesn’t.

Until he has to.

Note: Hi!  Lowkey used an idea from @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off  when it came to Pigsy's rival.  They make great content, give them a look!  As always, shout out to my beta reader, @imnotcameraready, the most kind and patient editor out there.  She edited this all in one night, the mad lad.  Send love her way!!  She goes by UncrownedKing on Ao3, check out her stuff!  Anyway, have fun!

Tang’s routine is simple.  Get up, watch Pigsy make breakfast.  Steal an egg or two that Pigsy definitely didn’t make in preparation for such thievery.  Follow Pigsy around as the noodle shop is set up for the morning.  Listen to the hiss of oil in a hot wok, water bubbling in a tall pot, knife against the wooden cutting board, each slice precise with practice.  

Admire the way Pigsy’s arms bulge with muscle as he lifts heavy boxes of spices, meat and vegetables.  Watch the sweat on his brow build up as he tosses the ingredients in the wok, stirs the broth, sticks a pinkie in before pulling it out to taste the concoction, tilting his head to the side in thought every time before reaching for a different spice—

Chuckle when MK scrambles down the stairs, a second before being late.  Wave back when MK greets him enthusiastically.  Listen to Pigsy bark orders.  Watch MK vanish out the store door, listen to the sound of the delivery cart starting up.  Wait for the customers to come in.

Sometimes, between the breakfast and lunch rush, he will vanish into the town.  He’ll peruse the shelves of a bookstore, maybe get a book or two.  Then, he’ll come back to the restaurant and watch Pigsy work until closing, with the occasional interruption from MK or Mei.  Pigsy will make dinner, and they’ll eat while watching TV before ending the night, asleep next to each other.

It’s a steady routine, one Tang feels no need to change.  

So he doesn’t.

Routines are brought on by repeated motions and consistent action.  He finds himself considering them more and more, these days. Tang follows the lines back, through time, to trace where each routine began, as Pigsy yells at MK to get going.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He lives off a trust fund from his late parents, as well as a few checks from his work in historic preservation.  His family has passed down the stories of old for years, and he knows them well and by heart, because at 18 his memories had come flooding in, and suddenly he was older than time itself and yet just old enough to have sake enough that creating books and speaking on historical inaccuracies is easy to turn into a living.  

A few years ago, he gave it up because it hadn’t seemed important to bother anymore after his parents died.  The next year he’d wasted time coasting through town after town, sharing random tales for a meal, trying to forget that he was alone, until….

Two years ago, he watched Pigsy throw a customer out of his shop, threatening the unruly guest within an inch of his life, and thought Well then.  Something interesting.

Tang had actually gone to the rival noodle shop first. It seemed a bit more inviting.  Pigsy, for all his culinary achievements, is still very closed off, and his shop certainly reflects that.  Sometimes, Tang wonders if Pigsy would get more customers if he’d change his attitude, but he never brings it up, because what would Pigsy’s Noodles be without Pigsy?

He watches from afar a few days, until the Pigsy’s rival shop owner not so subtly nudges him over, and the moment he walks in, he’s knocked to the ground by a very exuberant noodle delivery boy.

“Oh my gosh!  I’m so sorry—are you alright?” Tang sits himself upright to the sound of frantic apologies, seeing a kid no older than 18 fretting over him as if he’d been stabbed instead of simply knocked over.  

“It’s fine,” he starts, a little annoyed but not rude enough to make the boy more panicked than he already looks to be.

“MK, what did you do?!” Comes the familiar gruff voice from the kitchen, and the boy—MK, Tang has gathered—helps him stand as the chef walks out of the kitchen, hands on his hips.

“I didn’t notice him coming in—I just knocked into him—it was an accident!” Tang worries, then, because MK seems scared, but those worries are swept away when the chef takes a deep breath and slowly, his stance relaxes.

“It’s fine, kid, just get those deliveries out, ‘kay?” his voice is so gentle, Tang remembers now he was taken aback. Now it feels so natural for Pigsy’s voice to be gentle.  “I’ll take care of this.”

MK nods to that, jittery and anxious, and walks out with a forced slowness that Tang can tell is from worry and guilt.  Once he’s left, Tang turns back to Pigsy, who lets out a breath and mutters something about how ‘this kid is gonna be the death of me’ before looking up at Tang with what Tang later learned is his customer service expression.

“Alright, c’mon in.  Welcome to Pigsy’s Noodles, home of the longest noodles.” 

At that, Tang has to snort.  He saunters over to the barstools and sits as Pigsy goes back behind the counter, into the kitchen.

“I don’t know if long is the metric you want to brag about,” he snarks, settling easily.

Pigsy grunts in reply, already back to cooking.

Two minutes later, Tang gets a bowl of noodles placed in front of him.

“On the house,” Pigsy grouches, before Tang even thinks to reach into his coin purse.  “For the trouble.”

“That doesn’t seem like a very sound business practice,” Tang laughs, taking a sip of the broth after it cools a little.  

It was the best he had ever tasted.

“Don’t get any ideas about it.” Pigsy fidgets with his chef’s hat, face settling into a scowl, and yet Tang can tell it was all bluster with no substance.

He pulls a pair of chopsticks out of the free container, snaps them apart, and eats as customers flit in and out of the shop.

Despite the fact that he never stays in one place for too long, Tang finds himself sticking around more than just a few weeks, trailing through the streets and eventually finding himself back at the noodle shop.  The noodles are delicious, cheap, and he finds the company of the chef a comfortable one.

Things get far more interesting when the delivery boy, MK, comes down late and gets an earful for it.

“Sorry—I stayed up late drawing the autobiography of Monkey King and I missed my alarm!” MK bows in apology, frantic, and Pigsy runs a hand over his face, pointing MK to a dirty table to clean.  

MK gets to work quickly, but Tang turns to him with a curious expression.

“You like Monkey King?” he asks, and he hears Pigsy groan from the kitchen.

“Here we go,” Pigsy mutters, but he does nothing to stop MK from turning to face Tang with a wide, blinding smile on his face.

“Do I!  He’s so cool, and strong, and handsome, and interesting!  I’ve watched the animated series like, fifteen times!” he rushes up to Tang, pushing a very worn, bound together book.

Tang flips through it, more out of politeness than anything else, and finds himself pleasantly surprised by the intricacy of the sketches, the love poured into pages, notes on the stories themselves scrawled out next to the drawings.

“This is...surprisingly accurate,” He glances over at MK, who preens at the praise.

“Thanks!  I’ve been drawing these, since, like, forever!  It’s going to be Monkey King’s autobiography.  Uh, unofficially, anyway,” MK rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.  Tang pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“It’s always nice to see the younger generation so interested in history,” Tang grins with pride as he adds,  “You know, I know essentially every Monkey King story.  I even wrote an academic paper on them.  Published.”

He watches MK’s excitement grow. “Really?!  Oh my gosh, that’s so cool!  Can you tell me one?  Pretty please?!” He’s bouncing on his toes, and Tang can’t help but chuckle.

“I could tell you a tale or two,” he starts, watching as the shine in MK’s eyes grow.  “But I need something in return.  A bowl of noodles, perhaps?”

MK’s smile drops, and he fidgets.

“I don’t know if I have the money…” he mumbles, mostly to himself, and then he turns to Pigsy, a question in his eyes.

“No,” Pigsy says, immediately. 

Tang has never seen someone use puppy dog eyes like a weapon before, but MK pulls them off like a pro.

MK’s hands are clasped together. “Please?”

“I got bills to pay, kid!  I can’t be giving free meals to strangers!”

“Well, I’m hardly a stranger,” Tang teases, smile widening when Pigsy reddens.  “We met yesterday, remember~?”

“Shut yer yap,” Pigsy grinds out, but Tang has seen Pigsy far angrier, from his reconnaissance days at the shop across the street, so he isn’t worried.

Pigsy turns back to MK, mouth clearly open to rebuff the kid, but MK’s puppy dog eyes have been turned up past 100%.  Tang watches as Pigsy crumbles beneath their gaze.

“Fine,” he grits it out between clenched teeth.  “But this is a one time thing!  I don’t have time for freeloaders around here.  And not now!  I got ten orders to make, that you have to take out,” he points to MK, who is nodding his head so quickly his face becomes a blur.

“Okay!  So, in like an hour, okay Mr.Tang?” he turns to Tang, who grins, calm as ever.

“I’ll be here,” he responds, voice even, and MK busies himself with cleaning up the tables before Pigsy hands him the orders.

When MK disappears, Pigsy sighs.

“You know, pretty sure it’s rude to use kids to get free food,” he says, and Tang can only chuckle again.

“I’m not sure what you mean.  I’ve used my knowledge to score many a meal before, this is no different.  You’d be surprised what people will give for an interesting story.”

Pigsy snorts, at that, and rolls his eyes.“You a good storyteller, at least?” he asks, and Tang puffs out his chest proudly.

“The best.” After all, his papers got him a pretty good amount of wealth, so he’d hope he’s good enough to earn that.

Pigsy turns back to his prep work, shaking his head, but Tang sees the barest hint of a smile, before Pigsy turns away.

Despite protests from Pigsy, Tang comes back the next day with another story and receives the same free bowl of noodles.  He doesn’t get noodles every day, not stupid enough to think that Pigsy could afford to give him one daily, but he appears at the noodle shop every day regardless, if only to watch the hustle and bustle of the place, watch Pigsy work.

Pigsy works with practiced motions, not a single measuring cup or spoon appearing in his hand.  Pinches, handfuls of colorful spices thrown in with fresh vegetables.  Tang watches him string out the noodles from fresh made dough, dropping them in the broth, stirring, always test tasting, constantly adding something else, another pinch of spice, until he’s only somewhat satisfied.

It’s a familiar feeling.  The need to constantly make better, the chase for perfection.  Is it any wonder, then, that Pigsy’s shop thrives?  Customers learn that deliveries are often better than eating in, because Pigsy’s attitude is abrasive and he’s loud in the kitchen. Regardless, he runs a big enough business and makes good money, enough to keep MK as an employee despite MK’s many missteps.

Tang learns, through snippets of conversations, that MK lives upstairs.  Pigsy gave him the job and the room.  MK doesn’t talk of his parents, or any of his family really, but he has a friend, Mei.

Mei is as loud as MK is, and she’s familiar in the same way Pigsy.  These people he meets at the noodle shop who come for company just like he does, lives slotting into each other with ease.  Talking to them is like picking up a conversation left off a thousand years ago, stumbling only for a second before falling into the familiar groove.

Tang slowly learns the group dynamic, learns that MK’s parents haven’t spoken to him since he was kicked out, that Mei stays as far away from her home as she can for as long as possible, that Pigsy has nothing to his name besides his shop and himself.

Sees the family, the foundation, centered around the little hole in the wall restaurant, and keeps himself rooted, just for a little while.

The shop is closed every third Sunday of the month.  That is the only day that it is consistently closed.  Pigsy works seven days a week, twelve hours a day, without fail, except for that third Sunday.  Tang forgets, one month, and catches Pigsy heading out in the early morning.

“What, forgot you can’t steal food today?” Pigsy greets him with a frown that softens into something like a smile.

“Maybe I don’t come for the food,” is Tang’s snappy reply, and he watches with satisfaction as Pigsy pauses, thinks, and then turns a dusty rose color.

Turns out, Pigsy’s ears blush with his cheeks.  “Anyway, going on a walk?  I might join you,” he turns.

Pigsy stares at him, as if he can’t tell if Tang is serious or not, before he sticks his hands in his pockets and starts walking.  “I’m going shopping.  Don’t get in my way,” is the response, and Tang takes it for the acceptance of the company that it is, and catches up to Pigsy with ease, stepping in time with him.

The perks of having long legs.

Tang watches as Pigsy charges his way into the market, eyes sharp for the best ingredients, the ripest vegetables—or, the vegetables soon to be ripe, to save for the later weeks.  He gets a practiced amount for every ingredient that goes into his food.

“Have to get the meat weekly, but the produce can last if I make it,” Pigsy explains, and Tang nods.

“That makes sense.  I never notice a drop in quality, regardless of the week,” he comments.

Pigsy rolls his eyes. “Pretty sure anything tastes great to a freeloader,” he grumbles.

“I’ll have you know I have a refined palette,” Tang huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Pigsy laughs then, raucous and loud, a sound Tang has never heard from him before.  His heart pitter-patters quickly in his chest, and he thanks everything that his scarf hides his face and that Pigsy is short enough to not be able to spot his blush.

“Okay, wise guy,” Pigsy’s voice draws him back in.  “You ever cooked yourself a meal before, then?” He elbows Tang gently, or as gentle as Pigsy is able to be, and Tang stumbles a bit before replying.

“Well…,” his voice alludes to the obvious answer, and Pigsy laughs at him all over again.

Tang decides he likes the sound.

A few months after Tang has cemented his spot at the noodle bar, Pigsy goes to usher him out of the shop one evening as he closes for the night and stops, right before heading up the stairs. He turns to Tang with an unplacable look.

“Where are you even staying?” Pigsy asks.  “Not a resident, I think I’d’ve noticed a newcomer that was moving in.”

Tang shrugs at the thought. “Wherever.” 

Typically, he’ll head out to a busy bar and ingratiate himself to someone, convince them to let him join their party, and sleep on a random couch.  He’s always gone before anyone wakes up, to be sure he misses the questions that would come from the house’s inhabitants.  If he can’t manage that, well, he’s not above sleeping on a bench somewhere.  It isn’t cold out yet, so he doesn’t worry about it.

Tang very well could get an apartment, with the amount of money he has saved.  He could, but then he’d be trapped.

He’d have to say that he’s settling down, that a place is going to become home.  And no place has really been home, not since his parents died and he walked through empty hallways and empty rooms that once meant something and now meant nothing to anyone besides himself.  He’d sold the house, stored the memories away, burned the rest and ran before the smoke cleared.

How could he stay, when there was nothing left? He’d settled in for the long hall, cemented himself as something soft like the earth, and then it had been ripped away from him like roots, tearing up the soil and leaving a mess in its wake.

So he became stone, and left without a word.

Pigsy stares at him, something almost like concern on his face.  Tang watches Pigsy’s eyes glance up towards the stairs, and then back to him.  Deliberating.  Tang tilts his head to the side, ever curious about the concern.  He knows Pigsy cares, and he knows Pigsy, beyond the gruff exterior, is pretty soft, but he’s surprised by this development.  He didn’t think that care would be extended to, in Pigsy’s words, a freeloader.

Then, Pigsy sighs.

“I’ve got a couch, if you’re interested,” he says, and Tang

Tang just follows Pigsy up to his apartment.  There’s a hallway at the top of the stairs, a door they pass by that Tang can hear pop music playing in.

“MK’s place,” Pigsy says, before Tang can ever ask the question.

They reach Pigsy’s apartment door, at the end of the hall, and head in.

It’s a cluttered space.  Well, everything save for the kitchen is cluttered.  The kitchen is pristine, so much so that the rest of the apartment pales in comparison.  It’s not dirty, there’s no trash or dishes left out, but there are just random items, magazines, cookbooks strewn about the rest of the living space.

“Sorry about the mess.” Pigsy says as he pulls off his chef’s hat and coat, hanging it up by the door. He takes off his dress shoes, and pulls out a pair of slippers from a bin, putting them to walk on the carpet.  He glances back at Tang expectantly.  Tang pulls off his scarf and hangs it up.

“It’s no problem.  I wasn’t an expected guest, I’m guessing?”

Tang takes off his shoes and pulls a pair of slippers from the bin.  He isn’t surprised by the kitchen being clean, but he is a bit confused by the clutter.  Pigsy takes care to keep his work space pristine, scrubbing it to sparking at the end of each work day.  Perhaps this is a product of that, and Pigsy just is too tired to care as much in a space that is more his than it is his profession.

Somehow, that makes Tang concerned.  He can’t pinpoint why.

Pigsy pulls off the random items from the couch, throwing them aside but scattering them further.  He grunts in response to the rhetorical question.

“I’m gonna get a pillow and blanket.  Don’t break anything.”  Pigsy trudges off, and Tang looks at the clutter, and then at the perfectly good, half empty bookshelf.

By the time Pigsy gets back, Tang is sliding the last book onto the shelf.  There’s still the other items that are less easy to categorize, but Tang would be remiss if he left perfectly good reading material to collect dust on the floor.

Pigsy opens his mouth to say something, and then abruptly closes it.  He tosses the pillow and blanket on the couch.

“Uh...bathroom’s down the hall on your left.  Night.” 

Then, he vanishes into his room.

Tang finishes cleaning, and then goes to bed himself.

It becomes part of the routine.  Pigsy never demands he come upstairs, but he never shuts the door on Tang, either, and Tang will never shoot down a free place to stay.  Pigsy gets used to him, even.  Sees Tang sitting on the couch, makes dinner, hands Tang a plate whatever it is and drops down on the couch to watch TV.

If it isn’t making fun of trash TV, Pigsy screams at cooking shows.

“You can’t just throw onion in it and expect it to work out!” he shouts.

Tang laughs.  “Very bold from the guy who only serves one type of dish.”

Pigsy turns red.  “I can make other food!” The argument is sound.

“I know,” Tang assures him, taking a bite of the steak salad Pigsy prepared.  It’s the best he’s ever tasted.  “You just choose not to, which I don’t understand.  Why only noodles?”

The question throws Pigsy off guard, and Tang waits patiently for him to collect his thoughts.  Finally, Pigsy sighs.

“They’re what I like to eat, I guess.  Besides, if I made a full scale restaurant, I’d hafta get more cooks, hire waiters, ugh,” Pigsy looks disgusted just thinking about it.  “The kitchen’s my place, I don’t trust any two bit cook to get it.  I mean, just look at the ones on TV!” 

He gestures to the television, as if Tang hasn’t been watching. Tang nods, glances at the screen anyway.  “I like how the shop is.  It’s small, but it’s good.  Bigger doesn’t mean better.” 

At that, Tang has to laugh.  “You would think that,” he responds, and at Pigsy’s confused look, he gestures to Pigsy’s stature.

“Shut up,” Pigsy says with a blush. Tang can’t stop laughing, and Pigsy cracks a smile.

Living with Pigsy, Tang finds out, means dealing with all of Pigsy.  This includes the moments where Pigsy can no longer keep a lid on his already hair-thin temper.

The clutter of the house suddenly makes sense when he comes up to the apartment to see Pigsy throwing books around the room, raging face red and pained and furious in a way Tang has never seen before.

“Bastards!” Pigsy shouts, voice hoarse.  

He’s been clearly shouting for a while.  His knuckles are bruised, and Tang spots a few dents in the wall.  

“I’ll kill em!  I-,” He freezes, upon seeing Tang standing by the door.  

Tang watches as Pigsy reigns in his rage, somehow, forcing his shoulders to drop, standing up straight, letting out a breath.  It looks painful.

“I see something’s bothering you,” Tang comments, direct and gentle as one can be when trying to talk to someone on the precipice of blind rage, as Pigsy breathes heavily.

“Leave.” Pigsy spits it out with a vitriol that is not aimed at Tang, but at something Tang isn’t a part of.  

Tang knows this, and he won’t let Pigsy drown in it.  He stands still, as the storm rages in blue eyes.

“No,” he is stone, hands clasped together.  Pigsy grits his teeth, clenches his fists.  The wave rises and crashes down.

“GET OUT!”

It’s loud enough to make Tang wince, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

At that, Pigsy goes boneless, slumping down on himself.  Tang steps forward, carefully, quietly, and directs Pigsy to the untouched couch.

Untouched because it’s Tang’s bed, Tang’s space.  Because Pigsy would only destroy himself and his things, would only rage at the things he deems worthy, and Tang wonders, why does Pigsy think himself worthy of this hatred, the anger that sits in Pigsy’s heart?

Pigsy sinks into the cushions.  Tang takes his bruised hands and holds them, letting Pigsy breathe.

“MK’s folks,” Pigsy finally spits out.  “They found out the kid’s got a good job and an okay place, and now they want a cut of his earnings.”

The tone of Pigsy’s voice is nothing short of derisive, and Tang understands the fury now.  It’s funny, that he knows Pigsy enough to tell the difference between rage that’s performative and fury that’s real, but it’s not that hard for him.  

Fury like this comes from care, and there is no one Pigsy cares more about than MK.  MK, the boy with the sunshine smile who likes Monkey King and drawing and will work himself to death for anyone’s approval.

“I’d have told em to shove it, but MK’s got a soft heart, and they told him it was paying back for all the trouble they had raising him.” Pigsy laughs, and it’s very, very bitter.  “Like they raised him.  Mei probably was a better parent than they were, and she’s his age.  Bastards.”

Tang swallows the information, takes a deep breath.  He wouldn’t consider himself easily angered, but this?  This makes him furious.  He doesn’t express his fury like Pigsy does, isn’t destructive, is cold and quiet and deadly.  But he saves that for later, for when he can look up MK’s parents and figure out how to ruin them when it comes to their jobs, their social standings, their lives.

“Technically, that could be charged as harassment,” he suggests. 

Pigsy snorts at that, at least.

“Yeah, but MK’s only 17.  He’s turning 18 in a few months, but until then they could drag him back, charge me with kidnapping, ruin his whole life just because he isn’t their fucking lap dog,” The rage returns, and Tang watches as Pigsy carefully clenches his fists, as if he were too quick about it he could hurt Tang. 

It strikes Tang, then, that he has never been afraid that Pigsy would hit him.  It never crossed his mind.  Because how could it?

“I’m gonna commit a felony,” Pigsy mutters.  

Tang snickers.  “I’ll drive,” he responds.  

Pigsy looks up at him, and Tang hopes the expression on his face bleeds the sincerity he feels.

“As if I’d let you anywhere near the driver’s seat of my car,” Pigsy smirks as he says it, and he relaxes a bit more, the anger draining out of him like water through a sieve.

Tang wasn’t aware that he was tense himself, but he relaxes a bit, too.

“But you’ll get blood on the steering wheel.  And besides, it’s no fun not having a criminal record.  I ought to start it sometime, right?”

“You don’t know anything about me, if you think this’ll be the beginning of my record,” Pigsy half laughs.

Tang shrugs. “You’re right.  But, I’d like to.” 

Pigsy looks up at him, then, the red in his face smoothing to something dusty and rosy and beautiful.  Tang looks away first.  “But, first, you need some ice and bandages for your hands.”  He gets up to grab it.

When he comes back, Pigsy tells him all about the boy who would come in with exact change for the cheapest bowl of noodles, once a week every Friday.  How the boy would ramble on and on about everything, and Pigsy would listen out of politeness, and somehow that turned to a fondness he couldn’t shake.  How that boy came rushing in, half soaked in the rain, hiding out just for the moment before he was going to keep running. How Pigsy had thrown caution to the wind and moved mountains to get the kid to stay.

Tang listens, disinfecting the areas on Pigsy’s knuckles that are cut instead of just being bruised.  He wraps them, gentle, and places ice on both.  Even then, he doesn’t let go of the hands, lets them settle in his grip like they’d always belonged there.

“You’re a kind person, you know,” he says, when Pigsy is done.  And he means it, too, thinking of MK alone on the streets, thinking of MK turning out like he did but without the funds to support him, a drifter with nothing and no one.  It makes his stomach churn.

“Nah,” Pigsy shrugs his shoulders.  “Just had a lot of time to get into practice with it.”

He doesn’t elaborate.  Tang lets the conversation end, and turns on the TV.  He cleans up the room when Pigsy falls asleep.

Pigsy makes him noodles the next day, without comment.  Tang smiles and eats.

A lot of people miscategorize Pigsy as fire.  Tang would like to propose a different point of view.

When he sees Pigsy, he sees the sea.

The ocean is never calm, but it can fall into a rhythm.  Small waves, rippling waters.  Crashing against the obstacle that is land, constantly pushing, constantly trying, constantly moving.

Pigsy will rage like a storm, he will shine like water in the sun, and he will fall into a rhythm as he works.  He will push back against the rock that is indifference, and, like the ocean, he surrounds anything and everything, connecting every person he comes into contact with, as if they were the continents themselves. He ebbs and flows, forcing himself into the issues that plagues those he cares about, and yet pulls back and gives them space, never demanding anything other than their time, if they could give it.

The ocean is not harsh, nor is it merciful, but it is a force of nature all the same.  And, if you weather its storms, it will carry you wherever you need to go.

And Tang sees a man who gives MK a reason to stick around when all MK wanted to do is run, Tang sees a man who never lets Mei skip a meal regardless of her status and wealth, Tang sees a man that makes sure Tang has a warm and safe place to stay, and sees the ocean carrying battered ships to shore.

Learning about MK’s family has opened up certain topics.  Tang knows it’s only a matter of time before Pigsy asks about his life.  That doesn’t stop him from stiffening, from going stone faced, when Pigsy finally brings it up.

“I don’t hear you talk about your folks,” Pigsy mentions offhandedly.

When he turns around and sees the expression on Tang’s face, he frowns.

“No,” Tang responds. 

He says nothing else.  Pigsy doesn’t press.  Just turns back to making dinner.  And Tang stares at his reflection in the teacup.  He takes a sip.  It burns his tongue, but he doesn’t feel it.  

“They died.  Nearly two years, now,” he finally says, and it’s like dropping a weight off of his shoulders.  

Pigsy grunts in acknowledgment.  Doesn’t give him the sad stare, the ‘oh I’m so sorry’, he just glances back with something softer than pity and closer to empathy.

Somehow, it lessens the dull ache in his chest.

“They good ones?” Pigsy asks.

Tang smiles, just a little.  “Yes,” he breathes, and it hitches, thinking about how they pushed him forward, how they never demanded but always encouraged.  Tang wasn’t good at making friends, not close ones anyway.  But that never mattered, because his parents were there.

And now…

“Mine are gone too,” Pigsy says, after some time and mostly as an afterthought.  “It ain’t easy, dealing with it.”

Tang huffs a wet laugh, pushing up his glasses to wipe his eyes.“No, it isn’t,” He responds.

Pigsy slides a bowl yanduxian soup, with some some skewers of meat, and sugar coated haws for dessert.  Quite the array of a meal.  Pigsy sits across from him, and starts in on his own meal.

Tang eats.  It’s the best he’s ever tasted, as always.

Looking up at Pigsy, something in his chest warms.  He thinks about his parents and it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.

“I think they’d have liked you, if you’d met them,” he says, softer than he feels, because he’s never said anything about love but this is as close as he can get.

Pigsy looks up, cheeks glowing, and he smiles and Tang melts, just a little. 

The apartment becomes lived in.  During one of their shopping trips, Pigsy gets Tang a different outfit, muttering something about Tang needing something to wear when his clothes are being washed.  Two outfits becomes three, becomes four, all hung up right beside Pigsy’s sleep shirts and chef coats.  Tang gets his own toothbrush.

He buys himself books and they fill up the empty space on the bookshelves.  He buys alcohol, stores it in Pigsy’s fridge and laughs off the comments about his poor taste in baijiu.  He was never one to settle in, he never thought he could again, but slowly Pigsy’s apartment becomes their apartment and the change in his mind as he thinks of it leaves him wide eyed and spiraling.

Pigsy takes it all in stride, greeting Tang in the morning with something on his face that looks...pleased?  Tang doesn’t understand it, and yet it makes his face feel warm when he thinks about it.

The winter months roll in, because while they have a weather tower to regulate weather it does not mean that they can ignore the need for seasons, and the apartment becomes colder.

“Do you not have A/C?” he curls up tight, beneath his blanket, and still shivers.

Pigsy rolls his eyes.  “Maybe if you didn’t freeload all the time, I could afford to use it!”

Later, Tang will find this all as a facade.  He knows Pigsy would never blame him for being without the funds to pay for heating.  In fact, the noodle shop does better in the winter months, because of the desire for warm, filling food to combat the chill.  He will later find out that Pigsy forgoes the A/C in his apartment to save up money to give MK a yearly Christmas bonus, both as a present and so MK can heat up his room.

In the moment, however, he just turns away with a huff.

Pigsy sighs.  “The bed’s warmer,” he says. 

Tang stares, blankly, until it finally hits him what Pigsy is suggesting.  “Why, you cad!  Trying to bed me when we’ve barely courted!” He leans back on the couch dramatically.

“Shut up!” Pigsy looks very flustered, and Tang grins, leading Pigsy to snap some more.  “You were the one complaining about being cold!”

Tang sips his tea, and shrugs.  Pigsy turns back to dinner to hide his blushing face.

That night, he moves to sleep in Pigsy’s bed.  It’s a pretty large one, it isn’t as if there isn’t room for the both of them.  The move is purely practical, after all.

Pigsy sleeps in a tank top and boxers.  Tang wonders if the tank top is for his sake.  They both get in the bed very stiff, neither wanting to acknowledge what’s happening. Tang curls up under covers, back to Pigsy.  The bedroom is indeed warmer.  Tang imagines the small heater sitting in the corner is likely the reason.

He turns his head.  Pigsy is already asleep, trails of light from the outside signs segmenting his face.  He’s snoring.  He looks calm.

Tang stares for longer than he thinks he should, before he lets his eyes slide shut.

It becomes routine.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As whole, as Tang reminisces on the moments bringing him to his position, he’s quite glad he decided to stick around.  It’s a strange place, this city, full of danger and mystery, now that MK is the monkie kid, now that the demons are free, but at the same time little has changed, and that is something Tang can appreciate.  Every morning he settles at the noodle shop and lets life continue, predictable, comfortable.

And maybe that’s his mistake.  That he thinks he can coast forever.  The sea is many things, but predictable is not one of them.  

The downfall starts when Mei mentions that one of her aunts has been trying speed dating.

“She made the mistake of signing up for the straight couple’s night.  She told me that when she realized, she left faster than the speed date itself!” Mei taps her fingers on the noodle bar, giggling along with MK at the thought.

“Speed dating doesn’t make sense.  I mean, how can you figure out if you like someone in a minute?” MK crosses his arms over his chest and ponders.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I knew I liked you in sixty seconds,” Mei boops Mk on the nose, and he laughs, before making a face.  There’s a mixture of emotions there—disgust, confusion, fear?

“Yeah, but that’s different.  We’re friends,” he stresses that last word, looking at Mei expectantly. “Just friends.”

“Well, duh!  I was just saying,” Mei rolls her eyes.

Tang watches the tension roll out of MK like a breeze.  He wonders...but will never waste an opportunity to snark, so he sets the thoughts aside for a moment and leans back on the counter.

“I’m sure I could charm anyone in sixty seconds.  Where is this happening, exactly?” he asks.

Mei gives him a look. “I’m pretty sure speed dating isn’t for people who are already taken,” she tells him, and Tang blinks, confusion painting his features.

“What do you mean?” he asks.He jumps when Pigsy’s knife slams hard against the wood of the cutting board, harder than normal.  

Tang frowns. “Pigsy, you alright?”

“Peachy,” Pigsy growls out, from the kitchen.

Tang stares, before shrugging it off.  Pigsy’s moods aren’t entirely predictable, after all, and it isn’t as if anything terrible has happened today.  Pigsy’s cooking smells as heavenly as ever.

He turns back to Mei and MK, but they’re disappearing out the door, MK with the next batch of deliveries in hand.  Tang tilts his head to the side in confusion, before shrugging.

Oh well.

Pigsy is still stilted, when they head upstairs that night.  He’s quiet during dinner, quiet after dinner, and instead of watching TV he goes back to the kitchen to make a dessert.  Tang follows, sitting at the kitchen island, watching how Pigsy shuffles about, glancing occasionally at a recipe.  Cocoa powder, flour, eggs, different ingredients come out.  The oven is preheated.

“Something’s clearly bothering you,” Tang says, finally.

Pigsy stiffens.  Runs a hand down his face.  Sighs.  

He keeps working, throws the dessert in the oven, sets a careful timer.

Tang waits, and waits.

The kitchen is silent, save for the ambience.

“What is this, Tang?” Pigsy’s voice is hard, hands resting on the kitchen counter, shoulders hunched as he finally speaks up.  He sounds exhausted, from days and days of work.  Tang frowns.  “You steal food from my shop, you sleep in my house—you live with me, for pete’s sake, you—what is this that we have?”

And Tang, Tang doesn’t know what to say.  

“Is this even something?” 

He’s basked in the freedom to be himself, with Pigsy.  A label defines, a label makes you inseparable.  Tang comes and goes as he pleases, he doesn’t get pinned down, he’s one and alone, with Pigsy by his side.

He has called himself a ‘father figure’ to MK, but that is inherently different.  There’s a degree of separation, with that label.  He can still leave, and MK will not be too bereft.  MK has others, Tang is just one.  Pigsy wants more than that, he doesn’t want the separation, and Tang is always unsure.

“I just—” And there’s something quiet and breaking in Pigsy’s voice.  

Tang says nothing.

“Whatever you want from me, Tang, you have it.  I’ll-I’ll give you everything, just—” 

Blue eyes, like the constant tide of the ocean, meet earth in Tang’s brown ones.  

Tang is afraid he could erode.

If he stayed.  

What would he become, if he shifted his foundation?  

“Is there a point to this?” Pigsy asks.  “Or am I just something you keep around?  To say you have one?”

Tang knows that he is a man of words, of stories, knows he is Triptaka, is Tang Sanzang, and myriad others placed in the body of a single man, knows he has more knowledge in an inch of his brain than most gain in their entire lives, but he has nothing to say now.  

His thoughts halt at the wounded expression on Pigsy’s face.

More than just anger and softer than just hurt, settled between an aching heart and a broken one.

“I…,” he starts, and then his mouth clicks shut, because he is, before and now, a coward eventually.  

Whether he is captured by demons or putting his foot down against others’ bad behavior, he falters.  And he is terrified, because the swell of his heart, the affection that warms him enough to burn, is too much to bear, to articulate.

So instead, he says nothing at all.

And he knows he’s erred, because Pigsy turns his back as the timer dings.

He pulls the set of mini cakes from the oven, sets them down on the counter with forced gentleness.  Tang flinches at the harsh bang of the oven closing.  Watches Pigsy’s chest rise and fall with harsh breaths that hitch with an emotion Tang can’t place, before Pigsy swallows, steels himself, stills.  Clenches his fists as if readying himself for a fight.  Tang doesn’t know what the battle is, wonders what side he’s on.

“Forget it.” He hears, finally, and Tang feels his heart jump in his throat.

The words sound like a relent, like something giving way.  It strikes him like a spear through the chest, and he suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

The mini cakes cool in a few minutes, but it may as well be hours with how silent and still the kitchen is, and Pigsy sets one on a plate for Tang, placing it in front of him with a fork. Chocolate lava cake, something Tang had mentioned off handedly as an interesting dessert to try.  Of course Pigsy remembered.  Why wouldn’t he?

Pigsy vanishes into his room.  The door slams shut.  Tang eats.

It’s the best he’s ever tasted, like always.

He sleeps on the couch.  It’s cold.

Pigsy doesn’t open the shop, the next day.  Tang leaves early in the morning, before breakfast, to give him some space, and comes back from his leisurely morning walk to a closed sign hanging on the door.  Unlike the last time, MK waves at Tang, hopping down the stairs excitedly.  Pigsy gave him the day off, because Pigsy isn’t feeling well, apparently.

Tang sees the worried lines in MK’s expression and promises he will make sure Pigsy is okay.  MK runs off, to meet Mei at the arcade, and Tang heads up the stairs.  He passes MK’s apartment door and stands in front of Pigsy’s door.

He knocks.

“Pigsy?” He calls, loud enough that he can’t be missed.  “It’s me.  Can I come in?”

Silence.

Tang doesn’t know how to handle rejection, didn’t think it possible, from Pigsy.  In the two years they’ve known each other, he has never been rebuffed.  Has never been told, in no uncertain terms, to leave.  Pigsy has shouted it without heat, before, but it has never rang true.

He stands outside the door for twenty minutes, trying to swallow something akin to fear crawling up his chest, as he slowly realizes the door isn’t going to open.  He waits another ten minutes after that, processing the realization, the pain in his chest.

“Alright,” He says, finally, and he prays Pigsy doesn’t hear how his voice shakes.  “Get well soon.  I’ll see you in the shop.”

He should demand to be let in.  He should kick down the door, do something.  Be bold, be brave, courageous.

But he never was a fighter, so he turns on his heel, and leaves what is left of their relationship on the welcome mat.

He walks through the city, again, because he has nothing better to do now.  There is no comfort from stepping into the noodle shop and feeling like home.  There is no barstool with his name on it, no random bowl of noodles appearing at his seat inconspicuously, no begging for a story from MK, no fond looks from blue eyes in the kitchen.  

Tang had settled into routines and expectations.  The rug has been pulled from beneath his feet as he tries to grasp the idea that the comforts have crashed into dysfunction.  He tracks every minute of the two years he’s spent here, tries to trace the beginning of the end like a true crime investigator, and still, he can’t decipher why the equilibrium shattered.

Change is a product of existence, Comes a memory from his days as a monk.  You must let life flow like a river, accepting the directions it will take.

But Tang isn’t a monk anymore, and he is not flowing like a river or any such nonsense that sounds far more like what Sandy would say.  He is analytical, he is intelligent, he is knowledgeable.  Despite all of that, he is stumped by this situation, by what he is to do.

The answer, of course, is the simplest, but Tang is pretending not to be ignoring it, because acknowledging the solution means making a choice he can’t undo.  To decide if he wants this to be set in stone.  Can he tie himself down like this, can he make that choice to stay, forever if it comes to it?

At the same time, hasn’t he already?  Just a day without being able to go into the noodle shop leaves him aimless.  A day without Pigsy and he is lost, without much to do or see.  He has centered himself about the warm air of noodles and the gruff smile of the chef making them.

And that is so, so terrifying.  When you give everything, when someone is your everything, what happens when they leave?  He’s dealt with that enough with his parents, and to become a pair, to be a part of something, he doesn’t think he has the strength for it.

But Pigsy gives and gives, and promised Tang everything, if only Tang would stay.  And Tang is a coward, but not enough to ruin something so simple, so kind, and so honest.

He makes a decision, and heads to the bank.

The next day, the noodle shop opens.  Tang is there when it does, settling into his barstool without fanfare.  He follows Pigsy’s movements with sharp eyes, notes the rumpled form of his shirt, how his pants aren’t tucked into his dress shoes, how his feet shuffle against the tile instead of stomping with purpose.  Pigsy moves slow, turns to look at Tang and has bags under his eyes—or could they be red from crying?  Tang isn’t sure.

His heart aches, as Pigsy regards him with something like heartbreak.  Pigsy says nothing, turns back to his work, and Tang watches.

Step one.

He heads to the market between the lunch and dinner rushes, picks out the ingredients from memory.  He’s walked with Pigsy enough times to know what it is that he has to get.  He comes back to the shop with an armful of grocery bags, heading upstairs to their apartment.  Pigsy never locks it during the workday, and Tang uses that fact and knowledge to his advantage.

He has no idea how to do this, but he chops the vegetables and meat and sets the water to boil.  Brings forth the memories of two years of watching Pigsy make the same thing over and over, and maybe looks up a recipe or two on his phone for reference.

By the time Pigsy comes upstairs, when the shop closes, it’s ready.  Tang pours the servings into two bowls, and nearly jumps and drops everything when the door opens.

“Welcome home,” he says, braver than he feels.

Pigsy stares at him, at the bowl of steaming broth, and sets his chef’s hat on its hook.  He pulls off his shoes, puts up his chef’s coat, leaving him in a t-shirt and slacks.

Tang watches Pigsy’s movements instead of thinking about how to approach the situation.  He gets a little distracted, until Pigsy hops up onto one of the island chairs, pulling a bowl towards himself.  Tang sits across from him, waiting for Pigsy to take a sip.

Pigsy takes the chopsticks offered, as well as the spoon.  He takes a sip.  His face remains carefully neutral. 

Tang takes a sip a few moments after.  He promptly sputters into his bowl, and laughs.

“God, this is terrible!” he can’t stop laughing, and he can see a smile peeking at the edges of Pigsy’s mouth.  “I tried to make it like yours, but I guess I’m coming up short,” he glances at Pigsy, looks him up and down.  

Pigsy’s face is dusted with a pleased blush.  “Shaddup.  And hey, it ain’t worse than my first attempt at cooking.” 

Tang snorts at that one.  “I doubt that.  But, do tell.  I don’t think you’ve ever told me why you decided to become a cook in the first place, anyway.”

This is the start.  Tang makes Pigsy a meal, and Pigsy tells him a story.

That night, he sleeps next Pigsy, like usual, and traces the way the moonlight sets upon Pigsy’s face.  He needs to do more.  He needs to be more, and he’s pretty sure financial support would be somewhat helpful, so he schemes.

Step two.

A few days later, as the air between them settles into something like normal, he appears one afternoon, change in his pocket and bills in his wallet.

“A bowl of noodles, please.” He sets the money on the counter.  It’s enough for at least three bowls of noodles, but that’s by design.  

“Keep the change.” He evene winks, like it’s a joke

Pigsy eyes the money and then gets the most offended look on his face, as expected. Before he can make a move to either argue or even respond, Tang pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and explains.

“Didn’t you know?  This month is my charity month.  I go to different establishments and pay to keep them afloat.”

Pigsy rolls his eyes.  “Pshh, I don’t need your charity to keep this place runnin’!  Pigsy’s Noodles is a thriving establishment,” he rebuffs.

“So you’re refusing my service?” Tang responds, like a challenge.

He raises a brow, and watches as Pigsy gets redder and redder.

“One bowl of noodles, coming right up,” Pigsy manages through gritted teeth.

Tang hides a laugh behind his hand as Pigsy scoops up the money and grumbles, shoving two of the bills into the cash register and one into the tip jar.

Because MK had been bemoaning a lack of sketchbook paper, a lack of money for replacing such, and just like every time MK talks about something he wants, off handed or to complain because that’s how he deals, Pigsy will take some of the money that should go to the shop into the tip jar when MK doesn’t look, smiling to himself when MK excitedly realizes that, thanks to the tip jar, he can get what it was he thought he couldn’t—

Because Pigsy gives and gives and gives, pieces of himself scattered across and holding together the people he’s chosen to keep close, regardless if Pigsy is the one who ends up falling apart in the end, and Tang wants to fill up the spaces that Pigsy has lost from his generosity.

Tang takes his bowl of noodles and smirks, like he’s won.  That night, when they’re sitting on the couch and watching TV, Pigsy leans his head on Tang’s shoulder.

“You coulda just said you wanted to start payin’ rent,” he mutters.

Tang snickers.  “Where’s the fun in that?  You got so red, I thought you were going to become a tomato.”

At that, Pigsy sits up.

“I’ll show you a tomato—c’mere!”

Maybe it’s a bit dangerous to challenge someone who knows all of your ticklish spots.  Tang laughs until he cries, and concedes to Pigsy’s victory. 

Step three doesn’t really register.  He doesn’t think about it, because the first two steps have brought him back into that comfortable routine.  Maybe he might have fallen into the same bad habits, if not for his hyperawareness of Pigsy’s moods in the following weeks.  He doesn’t want to miss something, like he did before.  He wants to be attentive, be kind.

He wants Pigsy to never again think of or ask the questions he did, that night.  He wants Pigsy to know, immediately, what they are.  Even if Tang is afraid to define it.

It’s a typical day at the shop, but Pigsy is a bit more tired than normal.  Some days, this happens.  Pigsy would never hire another chef, even though he has enough business to afford it, and being the only cook in a bustling restaurant means little breaks and consistent exhaustion.

Tang still makes them dinner, most nights.  He tries a new recipe each day, because why not?  Pigsy takes to each one like a food critic, and his descriptions have Tang in stitches every time—

“I never thought you could turn broccoli into soup.”

“Okay, so I cooked it too long!”

“You liquified a vegetable!  Without blending!  That’s like...did you use magic on this?  Tang, did you use magic on this.”

—He’s not a very good cook, yet, but Pigsy eats anything he makes anyway.

Today, Pigsy is already tired, and he clearly doesn’t have the energy to deal with an annoying customer.

He has to anyways.

“This isn’t what I ordered last time!  I ordered your original noodle bowl two weeks ago, and it tasted far better than this!” The irate woman slams her empty bowl on the counter.

Tang wonders if she understands the irony of complaining about a meal she finished.

“Ma’am, I make every bowl of noodles the same.  I’m the only cook here.  You either ordered somethin’ else, or your taste buds changed in two weeks.” Pigsy isn’t polite to customers like these, but Tang has to commend him for holding back, for still calling her ‘Ma’am’.  Tang has a few different names he’d call her.

“I know what I ordered, and my tastebuds didn’t change.  You clearly made it wrong!  I demand a refund immediately!” She shouts in his face.

Pigsy goes from pink to red.  “Look, lady, you finished your meal.  I ain’t giving you back the money for shit you ate.” He spits, and she leans back, aghast.

“The nerve!” She leans back, aghast.  “I don’t know what I expected from a pig—” 

She freezes as a pair of chopsticks sticks its way between the two angry faces.

“Excuse me,” Tang starts.  

His glasses flash, and he doesn’t bother standing.  His arm divides the space, as he leans back in his chair with a bowl in his free hand.  He pushes her back, ignores the look of confusion on Pigsy’s face.  “I suggest you get over yourself.  This behavior certainly isn’t doing anything for your looks.”

The woman leans back, crosses her arms.

“And you are?” She hisses.

“I’m his partner,” Tang says, and surprises himself with how easily the title falls out of his mouth.  “And you don’t get to talk to him that way.  If anyone is acting in poor taste, it’s you.”

Pigsy’s face is slack, his eyes are wide, and the red of anger on his face has given way to the dusty rose Tang has come to expect as Pigsy’s blush.

The woman opens her mouth, finger raised.  Tang raises his eyebrow in waiting.  But then she huffs, turns on her heel, and leaves.

Tang doesn’t give her a second thought, turning back to his own bowl of noodles—which have tasted the same in the two years he’s been eating here, so she’s full of it, clearly—before glancing over at Pigsy, who is staring at him with eyes full of something.

He has never seen Pigsy’s eyes shine like that before.

His face warms, and he buries it in his scarf and bowl.  Pigsy smiles, and turns back to work.

That night, they’re sitting on the couch after eating another concoction that could barely be called food— “You’re getting better at this.”  “You don’t have to lie to me.”  “Bold of you to assume I would spare your feelings when it comes to your cooking skills.”—and Pigsy’s hand slides away from his lap and rests on top of Tang’s.  Casual.

“My partner, huh?” Pigsy says over the buzz of the television.  

Tang flushes. “It seemed an appropriate word to use.”

“Sure.”

Pigsy’s voice holds a laugh, and Tang could leave it here, he could.   It would be far too easy to settle, to let it fall complacent.

But Tang has let the ocean lap at his heels, and now all he wants to do is dive.

“Hey,” he turns Pigsy’s face towards his, and—

Pigsy’s lips are warm.

Pigsy’s eyes are blown wide, and Tang closes his quickly, worried about the response, worried about Pigsy’s reaction.

Dimly, in the back of his head, he thinks ‘It’s the best he’s ever tasted’ and he has to squash the laugh that bubbles up his throat, because it isn’t appropriate right now.  Pigsy's snout practically crushes his nose, and the sharp hairs on his face prickle Tang's skin. 

He breaks away.  Pigsy’s smile is blinding, a rare event.  His face is flushed, both of them are flushed and Tang fidgets with his glasses.  There’s a beat of silence, as they stare at each other, before they both turn back to the TV to avoid the ever so awkward eye contact.

They watch whatever’s on, for a minute of crushing silence.

“Alright,” Pigsy finally sighs, long sufferingly fond, and he leans against Tang as if tang were his rock.  The ocean crashes against the sea, and the rock stays steady.  “Guess I’m stuck with you.”

Tang inclines his head so it’s resting on top of Pigsy’s.  The rock erodes, and becomes something new.  Moves with the ocean, given enough time.

“Where else would I get free food?”

Pigsy laughs.

#lego monkie kid #freenoodleshipping #Tang #Pigsy #kitkat1003 #monkie kid tang #monkie kid pigsy

[jackie5656]

Five More Minutes With; Diego Hargreeves

A/N: Hey again! Another little imagine I’ve had in the drafts for a while. This came a little later than I thought it would because I have the idiotic and infuriating tendency to not save my work when adding onto drafts. So I had to write half of this shit over again and I was pissed. On another note, there’s a POV change once the reader wakes up, because writing in third person gets annoying and mundane sometimes. Anyways, I know it’s kind of not supposed to happen in writing but...There’s no rules here! Enjoy!!!

*Gif by @sebastianstaan

Diego’s eyes flutter open, blinking quickly in an attempt to get used to the morning light shining through the room’s window. The alarm clock beside him lets him know it’ll sound in twenty minutes. There’s really no point in even setting it, he thinks, because waking up with the sun is just about second nature by now. The habit of waking up this early has been instilled since childhood, so why bother trying to rid of it now? Besides, getting up at dawn means at least half an hour of just laying in bed. Which might be completely mundane and boring if it weren’t for her.

She has a leg thrown over his abdomen and an arm haphazardly splayed across his chest. Her skin is hot, despite only wearing his shirt and some shorts. It’s a bit suffocating, the way she’s rolled practically on top of him during some odd hour of the night and found it comfortable enough to stay there. But Diego doesn’t mind. With her face on his chest, he can adjust himself just right to admire her squished left cheek and pouted lips against his skin.

He glances at the alarm clock one more, letting out a sigh knowing he may as well turn off and get up considering it’ll sound in another seven minutes. He moves his hands the her waist, gently pushing her in an attempt to move her sleeping form off of him. It takes a little effort considering the dead weight from her slumber, but he’s almost moved her enough for him to be able to squirm out from under her. Just a smidge more and-

“Mmmph” Her frustrated huff startles him, but he grins anyway as her long eyelashes begin to flutter open. She rubs her eyes with a yawn, squinting her eyes as she looks up at him with a tired smile.

“Watching me sleep Hargreeves?”

“Can you blame me? Look at you.”

You roll your eyes with a scoff, knowing damn well you look like a hot mess with your curls all over the place.

“Ever the flirt. Are you leaving?” You can’t help but let your smile drop when he nods.

“Gotta get a workout in before I run some errands. But I’ll be back in an hour to shower before then.”

“Errands?” You question through a yawn, narrowing your eyes when he shifts uncomfortably underneath you before he speaks.

“There was a home invasion last night, and I think it might be connected to a break-in from the other wee-”

“Save it Batman, can’t you just sleep in for one morning? It’s Sunday, normal people don’t wake up at the ass crack of dawn on Sundays.”

“Well I’m not normal baby, I’m Batman.”

“Just five more minutes, please Di?” You’re still groggy, but that doesn’t stop your arm reaching up to run your fingers through his bed head, smirking triumphantly when he hums at your touch.

“You’re evil, you know that? You know exactly what you’re doing right now.” He rasps as you giggle, shuffling so you’re back on top of him as you were before. Tracing soft kisses along his jawline, the familiar sensation of his morning stubble soothing you.

“And you haven’t slept past 5:30 since you were born, just rest baby. The gym and the cracked out criminals will still be out there when you wake up.”

“Fine. But j-just five more minutes.” He manages to mumble out as his eyes close, the steady work of your fingers and lips lulling him to sleep before he can hear your response.

“Five more minutes.”

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

Diego stirs to the sound of humming and a familiar blend of scents permeating the room. Is that bacon and...pancakes? A surge of panic momentarily floods his senses, anticipating his father’s shout calling him and his siblings to rush to the table for breakfast before morning training.

He’s reminded of his surroundings mere seconds later when he opens his eyes, stretching with a dopey smile as he stares at the woman in front of him. Bare feet pattering around his kitchen as if it’s her own. His shirt on her just covering her shorts, the fabric swaying with her as she moves her hips and bobs her head softly to the music playing through her headphones.

“Shit! Oh, sleeping beauty rises. You know, I’m starting to think you have a staring problem.” She teases as she looks up after knocking a measuring cup on the ground.

“Just taking it all in baby.” She feels her cheeks heat up under his gaze, head propped up in his hand as he lays on his side to admire her. Skin illuminated by the morning light in an angelic golden brown glow.

Y/n opens her mouth to quip back but is interuppted by the mans sudden panic once he glanced at the bedside clock.

“Shit! It’s half past ten, why didn’t you wake me?” He scrambles out of bed as he speaks, hurriedly tugging on the sweats he had discarded the night before. Frantic movements coming to a haunt when a steady hand is placed on his chest.

“Hey, relax. Just sit and have breakfast with me for a bit. Gotham won’t fall apart with a couple hours to fend for itself.” His mind is still racing with things he has to do while she speaks, tasks he’s been meaning to get to for the past week whirling through his head. His troubled thoughts are ceased when her soft lips connect with his.

She’s evil, because he’s melting into her touch when she wraps her arms around him. Deepening the embrace and effectively consuming each and every one of his senses. Pushing against him lightly so his knees hit the back of the mattress so she can settl herself on his lap. Neither pulling away for air as his fingers trace the soft bare skin just under the hem of her shirt.

“Morni-oh! Kinky!” An all too familiar voice calls out as they burst though the doorway. Y/n pulling away with a chuckle as Diego groans.

“Morning Klaus.” She chuckles, not having to turn around to know the eccentric number three has already thrown himself into the armchair by the stairs and made himself comfortable.

“Go away Klaus.” Diego grumbles, frowning when the woman above him dodges his attempt to continue their make out session.

“Seriously, don’t let me interrupt. I’m fine to watch if-Christ on a cracker!” Klaus is interuppted by the whizzing of a blade just barely missing his ear and hitting the wall behind him with a clink.

“Diego! Play nice, I invited him.”

“Yeah Diego, play nice.”

The knife wielding brunette rolls his eyes at Klaus’ childish echo of his girlfriend’s scolding, tugging on her forearm and pulling her back into his lap when she tries to get off of him. She narrows her eyes at his actions, but leans in to place a couple short pecks to his lips nonetheless.

“Again, I hate to interrupt you two horny love birds...But I think the bacon is burning.”

“Son of a bitch!” Y/n scrambles off of Diego, him letting her get fully off his lap this time as she rushes over to turn off the stove. Tossing the contents of the pan into the trash bin and putting on a new batch with an exasperated sigh. Diego hurriedly searches for a shirt while her back is turned, thinking he can sneak out the door whilst she’s distracted.

“Diego Hargreeves, if you leave this room without eating you’ll be a very horny lovebird for the next two weeks.” The woman informs him without looking, Klaus giggling as he ceases his search for a shirt with another groan. The two brothers silently fighting to sit at the head of the small table. Klaus able to dig a bony elbow into Diego’s stomach and sit down as he blows a raspberry at him. Offering his brother’s girlfriend an innocent smile when she turns around with full plates in her hand.

“Eat.” She mumbles to a very grumpy looking Diego as she kisses the corner of his mouth. He sits down with a huff, willing his pink tinged cheeks to return to normal as Klaus smirks beside him.

“Alright, bacon will be a bit late but the waffles and hashbrowns are done. Klaus put more on your plate, when was the last time you had a hot meal?”

“Hmm, I don’t know...What year is it?”

She rolls her eyes, but adds another waffle onto his plate anyway. Smacking his hand and ignoring his cat-like hiss when he tries to scrape the assortment of chopped fruit off his plate.

Diego can’t help but let his heart swell when she ruffles Klaus’ hair as he stubbornly shovels a forkful of strawberries into his mouth.

Even when they give her shit, she truly cares about them. She’s much too good for him, too patient, too kind. He has to take her out more, he thinks. Buy her dinner, a new dress maybe. But all the money in the world wouldn’t be enough to express how he feels about her in this moment. Wearing his shirt, sleeping in his bed, it’s all too much for his heart to handle.

“Take a picture Diego, it’ll last longer.” Klaus teases through a mouthful of waffle, whining when Diego smacks the back of his head at his words. Was he staring at her for that long?

Y/n sits beside him, taking a bite of her food in hopes that it will hide the blush of her cheeks at Klaus’ words.

“Is the food okay?” She inquires when Klaus begins bickering loudly with the wall behind him, Ben no doubt having scolded Klaus for his comment.

“Hmm? Yeah, it’s great. Really good.” Diego rushes out, mind trained on the thought of her always being here instead of staying a few nights a week.

“Good, I presume it’s better than raw eggs and-”

“Doyouwanttomoveinwithme?”

“W-what?” Y/n raises her eyebrows in shock, not sure if she’s heard him right since he’s blurred the words out so fast.

“You know, do you want to stay here. S-sleep here. Not just sometimes, l-like every day. Do you want to move in?” He stutters out, the arguing going on only white noise as he tries to read her facial expressions when processing his words.

“You don’t have to, I-I I’m just saying you’re here a lot and...I like when you’re here. And I w-want you to be here not just sometimes, I want you here all the t-

“Yes, yes I’ll move in with you Di.” She interrupts with a laugh at his rambling. The man no doubt looking and sounding like a nervous wreck at his attempt to find words.

“Cool.” He deadpans, grinning when she giggles more at his change in demeanor. Nerves washing away when she kisses him.

“Now help me with the dishes Hargreeves.”

Maybe sleeping in isn’t so bad after all

#imagines #fanfic #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves imagines #tua ben #tua s2 #tua fanfic #tua netflix #tua klaus #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy netflix #number two #number three #vanya hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader

[masonscig]

water

wayhaven summer fic #5

pairing | nate x ramona

word count | 2.1k

warnings | mention of sex, an innuendo

author’s note | i tried to figure out how to get around nate’s aversion to water, and i hit a wall so... i dug around it and decided to write an actor!au !!!! i’d seen a comic months and months ago by @/pvnkvampr and another one that i can’t seem to find again, but i wanted to take that and apply it to nate and ramona! nate’s the type to fall in love with his costar after years of working together and you can’t convince me otherwise. also, to clarify !!! the beginning of the fic is supposed to be like nate x ramona’s romance route so any of the exposition centered around their relationship being fleeting/him being deeply in love with her is nate the character rather than the actor! (you’ll see lmao i’m definitely overexplaining) this is a bit of a stretch bc they’re on the water... and ramona drinks water. but whatever it works !!!!!

•─────────────────•

She was standing on the edge, looking out at the glimmering water, the sun, high in the sky, skipping off of each wave like a smooth rock.

The wind whipped her hair, tossing her short curls until they were unruly, and she was smiling.

Her grin was wide, eyes closed, as she inhaled, drinking it all in – the sunshine fueled her.

Half of Unit Bravo were under the deck, quietly stewing in annoyance. They’d given up complaining to Ramona, though. Frankly, she didn’t care.

Farah was passed out on the floor underneath a sliver of shade at the top of the yacht, chest heaving as she slept soundly. Ramona had taught her how to swim earlier, and she’d used all of her energy flailing around determinedly in the relentless July rays.

Nate watched her as she held her arms out to her sides, fingers outstretched, chin tipped towards the sky.

She was unbridled joy held together by the strings of her bikini, and she radiated a warmth that could rival even the summer sun itself.

So unrestrained that changes didn’t phase her – most conflict rolled off her shoulders in a way that startled Nate, a being who’d existed for hundreds of years and had seen the best and the worst of it.

Nothing baffled him more than this part of his existence.

The way love fell into his lap and he didn’t have to try anymore. 

But despite it all, he’d deluded himself into thinking it was permanent – they were permanent. And they weren’t. And that was okay.

“Oh, you’re back!” She grinned, stretching her arm out until her fingertips grazed his bare arm, her palm warm against his skin. “I was wondering what you were up to.”

“I had to do a quick wellness check of our crew –”

“– Oh my god, are Adam and Morgan still seething down there?–” She asked, cutting him off with a laugh.

“– Very much so, I’m afraid,” he said, his mischievous smile betraying his tone.

“I thought a tiny little shindig would be better than a huge shebang, you know?” She turned in his grip, back against the railing, his arms curled around the bare skin of her waist.

“You’re still trying to stump me? Give it a rest, love,” Nate laughed into the thick mess of curls at the top of her head, pressing a kiss to her sun-warmed strands.

“I will say a phrase you don’t know and then you’ll owe me some juicy Agency secrets,” she giggled, snaking her arms around his neck.

“Like what?” He asked, lips straining at corners, his grin threatening to falter.

“Like how the hell does Morgan wear jeans and no underwear? That’s something I can’t for the life of me wrap my mind around,” she all but shuddered.

“That’s an answer you’ll have to coax out of her, unfortunately.” He said, a bit distracted.

“You know you can keep your Agency secrets, mister secret agent. I have no need for ‘em,” she stuck her tongue out, still stained bright red from the margarita she’d finished hours before.

He must’ve looked puzzled, because she continued, inching in closer until he could feel her everywhere and it wasn’t in the least bit appropriate.

“We both know you have even juicier secrets to spill,” she said, before leaning in to whisper the last bit, her fingers tangled through his hair.

“And I’ll lap up every last drop of ‘em,” she murmured, kissing his earlobe.

The pads of his fingers were sunken into the flesh of her hips, and he tried desperately to anchor himself to spare the others, but he couldn’t get a grip on anything but her warm, warm, sunkissed skin –

He blanked.

His thoughts were scrambled and he couldn’t form words. Couldn’t recall the words he needed to say. But he could see the paper so clearly –

“Line?” He mumbled, feeling her go limp with disappointment in his arms.

Farah groaned from across the deck.

“Cut!” The director yelled, and all but stormed over to him. “What happened out there? You were on a fuckin’ roll! The chemistry was insane. God, I wish you could’ve been watching –”

“Don’t make him feel like shit over it, Craig,” she gently warned, stepping forward just a bit until she’d angled her body between them. “I flubbed my lines all last week and he was so patient with me.”

Craig sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, the wrinkled skin between his brows crinkling even further. “Alright, alright, I get it. Not gonna hound you over one take, but I need you to get it in gear, man. We’ve only got a couple more hours of sunlight in this godforsaken shitheap, and we’ve gotta wrap this part up so we can film the sunset kiss –”

“I understand. I won’t mess it up this time,” Nate promised, glancing over to his co-star with an apologetic smile.

Ramona shrugged, waving his statement away. “It’s fine, seriously. I’m totally okay with running that again.” “Speak for yourself! I’m dying out here,” Farah called from across the deck before turning back to the hair and makeup people, pursing her lips for more lip balm and sunscreen. “Please get it right this time, Agent Sewell.”

“That’s just the name of my character –”

“I’m well aware of that,” she yelled, cutting him off. “Method acting. You get it.”

His co-star shook her head, patting him on the back. “Don’t mind Miss Hauville. She’s just upset she was dragged out here to lie down on a hot sundeck like a dead body for half of an episode.”

He laughed at that, relieved that his co-star was keeping things light.

Truth be told, he’d had a rough time getting his on-screen family to cooperate with him, much like the character Nate Sewell.

Adam’s actor was a notoriously nice guy, but he had a knack for intense method acting, so he’d been a stoic asshole for months – there was no getting through to that guy when he was in filming mode. Morgan’s actress was a bit of a wildcard. She was fucking the executive producer and everyone except Craig knew it.

Farah’s actress was arguably the biggest success of them all – she was constantly booked and busy and effortlessly making headlines. And it was becoming increasingly obvious that she was only there as a favor, not because she wanted to.

She was a film star who never touched TV, but hell, she was half the reason millions of people tuned into the pilot episode.

The Wayhaven Chronicles wouldn’t be the same without her, or Ramona’s actress, the fan favorite. Yeah, she was the protagonist, but the cast, crew, fans, and everyone alike loved her.

And he had a bit of a crush.

He was aware that on set romances usually fell apart before they could really begin, but he couldn’t help it.

Not only did he spend nearly all of his free time with her running lines and hanging out in her trailer, but to make matters worse his character was canonically falling for hers, and… he found himself enamored with her, too.

He’d never admitted it out loud, and probably never would, but it was getting harder and harder to push those feelings away when they had to share an on screen kiss.

Season one wasn’t too bad, considering they were just testing the waters to see who the fan favorite love interest was out of the four of them, but by the end of it, social media had all but rioted to lock in the “Natemona” romance plot.

And there they were, well into season two, a handful of kisses shared (a lot more than that considering the reshoots and the practicing) and a plot decided.

And he was into her – way more than he’d like to admit.

The rest of filming went pretty smoothly. He got over his nerves and kissed her like a champ, and they got patted on the back for their realistic chemistry by all the execs and producers on set.

When they finally broke for a quick food break, she followed him to his trailer.

“People are gonna eat this episode up, huh?” She asked, closing the door behind them and grabbing a water bottle from his fully stocked mini-fridge.

“Surely they will,” he agreed, stepping around her to grab his salad from the fridge. “If they were rallying for the relationship before, they’ll be vindicated this episode.”

She laughed into the rim of her bottle before chugging it. “So why were you frazzled today? Something at home?”

He eyed her, raising a brow.

She held her hands up in mock surrender, before plopping onto the couch across from him. “You don’t have to answer, dude, I’m just lending my ear.”

He chewed thoughtfully, trying to choose his words wisely. He swallowed, took another bite, chewed.

His mind was just as blank as the deck scene.

He shook his head before setting his food down. “I’m sorry I’ve been off today.”

“I don’t care if you’re not feeling like yourself. It’s normal to have an off day. I just wanna know if you’re okay,” she said with a tenderness that he’d never heard from a co-star before. 

“To be quite honest, you’ve been distracting me,” he admitted, timidly.

She pursed her lips. “What can I do to fix it?” 

He squirmed in his seat. God, this was a lot harder than he thought it’d be.

“It’s, uh, nothing you can really fix. It’s all me.”

“Well, what can I do to help?”

He shook his head again, glancing away from her.

“Look, I know Craig’s been rough on us this week, but don’t let it get to you. We can practice more –”

“It’s not that, I promise.”

She waited, sensing that he had more to say. He took a deep breath, then continued.

“It’s something I don’t want to admit to you. It’s embarrassing.”

“Honey, my last job involved waxing places that would make your grandmother gasp. I promise nothing phases me,” she joked, running a hand through her hair.

“There’s… quite a few lines Nate says this season that I’ve resonated with,” he started, trying to figure out what he was gonna pull out of his ass.

She sipped her drink, waiting.

“Things like… ‘I care for you, Ramona’ and, uh, ‘You’re important to me’,” he said, twisting the ends of his summery button up shirt between his fingers.

“Yeah, same here. We’ve become really close –”

She stopped abruptly the moment she noticed the look in his eye. And the subtext hit her like a truck.

“The things Nate feels for Ramona… I find myself feeling for you,” he admitted, hesitantly, looking anywhere but her face.

“If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I’ve just developed a bit of a workplace crush that I can’t quite shake, and that’s my fault –”

She stood from the couch, and he glanced up at her, finally, nervous to see how she’d taken it.

And before he could register what was happening, her lips were on his – a sweet tender kiss. 

One that, scarily enough, felt exactly like the last time they’d kissed. And the time before that. And the time before that. And the time before that. 

When she pulled away, she cupped his cheeks with the softest touch in the world, gazing down at him with an expression like she’d gotten the best news of her life.

“Those kisses weren’t just practice to me, either,” she whispered, stroking the pad of her thumb across his stubble. “I just wasn’t sure if you felt the same.”

He blanked. Again.

He couldn’t find any words, so he did what Nate would do. What he wished he’d had the courage to do for over a year.

Gently enclosing his arms around her waist, he tugged her down to the couch with him, planting kisses across her face, cheeks, nose, lips, over and over and over, revelling in the broken giggles that erupted from her.

Maybe allowing the essence of Nate Sewell and how he loved pervade his life over the past year and a half of filming was the right step. It’d gotten him the girl, after all.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #nate sewell #twc detective #my fic #wayhavensummer #nate x ramona #detective ramona guerrero

[tommodirection]

The Wedding

Louis Tomlinson x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Uhm, mentions of death, maybe some swearing?

Masterlist

A/N: Heylo! This is a little Valentine’s Day blurb I whipped up! The idea was requested by @ladytommomomoa ! I hope you all enjoy! Thank you, and have a nice day!❤️💕🥰

—

You had dreamed of this day since you were a little girl. You’d imagined walking down the aisle with your father, following the trail of rose petals to your betrothed, a beautiful bouquet that would match your spouse’s tie.

You had never imagined that the fantasy would come to life, but here you were, getting your hair and makeup done, the guests already arriving and your fiancé waiting for you at the altar.

They were putting finishing touches on your makeup, repinning your hair to perfection, despite the dull ache on your head. Your maid of honor was in the room over, grabbing your dress from your mother.

The stylist applied another layer of hairspray, probably the hundredth layer, which you were sure wasn’t healthy, but she seemed as nervous as you.

Everyone was waiting on you now. The guests had arrived, Louis and his groomsmen were already ready, even little Freddie was ready, he was being entertained by Phoebe and Daisy.

Riley, your maid of honor, came in, a soft smile on her face as she held up your dress bag, hanging it on the door as she unzipped the cover, revealing your dress.

It was a beautiful cream color, white was never an option for you, lace trim with a small train, small enough to not need people carrying it, long lace sleeves, an off the shoulder dress really.

You slipped into the dress with the help of Riley and your stylist, it fit perfectly. You turned to the mirror, a sense of overwhelming washing over your body. You put your hand on your stomach, trying to calm the butterflies that had risen.

You had no doubt in your mind that this is what you wanted, you couldn’t be happier.

You were ushered to the line, everyone taking their places as the piano began, your mother stepping out first, followed by Louis’ step-father, and they took their seats at the front, along with Louis’ siblings and your other family.

Then came your bridesmaids and his groomsmen, only eight of the in total. You were up soon.

You gripped onto your father’s arm, placing your head lightly on his shoulder as the last pair reached the end of the aisle. “I love you, dad,” you said, chuckling when he kissed the top of your head.

Freddie and Lily, your niece, began making their way down the aisle, Lily tossing her petals out and Freddie glancing around the crowd nervously, making you giggle. Your turn.

You stepped out, watching as Freddie and Lily reached the end of the aisle, both darting to your sister and wrapping their arms around her legs, making the guests and you chuckle.

You finally looked at Louis, standing there patiently, trying to bite back a smile, but failing miserably. You treaded your way down the aisle carefully, not looking away from Louis as your father led you.

After what felt like and infinity, you reached the end, only a few feet away from Louis now. You gave him a subtle nod before turning to your father, giving him a kiss on both cheeks. You turned and took your place in front of Louis, standing a little straighter as you did so.

He grabbed your hand and quickly pressed a kiss to the back of it, bringing it down, but never letting go.

The official went through his small speech, finally asking you to exchange your vows, Louis was to go first.

He let go of your hand to reach behind him, his best man handing him the small piece of paper. Louis unfolded it, clearing his throat before he began. “Y/N L/N, my heart and my soul. I’ve been waiting for this day since our second date, right after I watched your trip over nothing. I knew right then and there, that you were it for me. I don’t know what did it, but I just knew. A few months later, we went shopping, and we passed a jewelry store, you kept walking, but I was standing there, looking at all the engagement rings. Each one I looked at, I imagined it on your finger, each thought made me happier and happier. I didn’t buy the ring until a few months later, and even then, it took me a few years to propose, but it was never about being ready or not. It was about timing. We started dating right before I had Freddie, and you treat him like your own son, and at this point, he really is. Shortly after that, my mum died, I bought the ring right before she passed, and I wasn’t in the headspace to propose,” he brought his thumb to his eye, brushing a stray tear away. You grabbed his hand, giving him a small squeeze of reassurance. “Then, after I finally got back on my feet, Felicite died, and I came crashing down again, but you were there for me every step of the way. I recovered again, and I knew that it was the right time, I knew that no matter what came my way, I’d want you to be here with me, and I want you to be the one I wake up and see every morning, I don’t want to live without you.” He finished, handing the paper back to his best man as he wiped tears from his face, glancing at his family before turning his attention back to you.

You took a shaky breath, trying to regain your composure as you exchanged your bouquet for your vows with Riley. You cleared your throat, exhaling before starting, “Lou, my whole world, my light, I’ve been imagining this day since I was a little girl, the perfect scenario in my head. Of course I had everything picked out, but there was one thing I couldn’t account for, but knew I wanted. The perfect husband. I always imagined him standing in front of me, but nothing I could ever imagine could live up to you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, funny, kind, smart, and you aren’t bad looking either,” Louis let out a low chuckle. “But more important than any of that, you are strong. So strong Louis. We’ve experienced many tragedies since we’ve been together, your mom and your sister, but you got through it each time, and you still tried to focus on others. You focused on your family, your fans, and me. You always try to help others, even when you’re hurting, and that’s why I fell in love with you. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, and even though it’s cheeky, you make me strong,” you finished, a soft smirk on your face as you watched Louis’ eyes crinkle in laughter.

Now, the moment you’d been waiting for since you said yes all those months ago. “Y/N L/N, do you take Louis Tomlinson as your lawfully wedded husband?” The official asked, his eyes darting to Freddie who had just handed the rings to his father. Louis handed you his ring, grabbing your hand, your ring dancing above your fingertips.

“I do,” you said, excitement bubbling up in your stomach. Louis slid the ring onto your ring finger, a small smile on his face as he held out his hand for you.

“Louis Tomlinson, do you take Y/N L/N as your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do,” he said, very softly as you slipped the ring onto his finger, your hands shaking slightly.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss the bride.”

Louis wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you against him as he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, obviously trying to keep it PG with the dozen children watching the ceremony. It wasn’t your first kiss with Louis, it wasn’t your most passionate, and it definitely wasn’t the last kiss you would share, but you knew that no matter how long you’d be together, no matter how many times you’d kiss, each one would still feel like fireworks.

Permanent Taglist (If you want to be added just let me know!): @notsosmexy @ladytommomomoa @franchesca-791 @alwayshave-faith

#louis tomlinson #louis tommo #louis tomlinson x reader #wedding #valentines day #single awareness day

[theonewhoimagined]

SO I FINALLY FINISHED TOWER OF DAWN

BUCKLE UP, BESTIES, THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG RIDEEE.

Warning: This is not a Chaol Westfall stan account. These are my thoughts alone!

Edit: This is a late post! Already halfway through "Kingdom of Ash" <3

Okay tbh, I still hate Chaol even after reading this lol my great dislike for him actually grew even more after TOD despite this book being his redemption arc. This is the first time I’ve ever hated a fictional character with so much passion lol I hate myself because of how much I shipped Chaol x Celaena back then.

Lesson learned: If a book is longer than a trilogy, then don't ship anyone until book 3 or 4.

Yrene is pretty cool because she doesn’t tolerate Chaol’s never-ending bullshit of an attitude. Loved seeing him get the kickback he deserves for projecting his anger towards people who have been nothing, but nice to him. But meh for her, she still fell for Chaol when Kashin was there. 😶 also, ngl I'd probably be happier if Chaol and Dorian ended up together hahaha

I absolutely cannot stand Chaol. If he’s not brooding and lashing out at everyone trying to help him then he’s either daydreaming about his old, comfortable life with Dorian or lusting after other girls AFTER LEADING NESRYN ON or being bitter and blaming Aelin for every shit that had happened. He couldn’t even end things with Nesryn before going after Yrene. I mean Nesryn is a smart woman so she knows, but Chaol was so preoccupied with his head is in his pants that he couldn’t be bothered. I swear he is even more notorious than Dorian. 🙄 He keeps saying Dorian is infamous with women, but Chaol, honey, you’re worse. While Nesryn is out there risking her life, Chaol is getting some. What an asshole. Lol I’m running out of colorful words to describe Chaol.

The reason why I despise him so much is because of the narrow and close-minded mindset that he has which blinds him from facts, and how easily he tosses aside, hurts and blames his friends once they don’t fit in with his rigid notions. I mean I’m glad he finally made peace with himself after, but his character is beyond saving for me. 😬

I just hate how he treated Aelin and I'm never gonna let it go. And don't get me started on when Chaol kept on painting Aelin in a bad light even all the way South. I would never forget how he kept on undermining Aelin and calling her a "monster" straight to her face. He just can't accept it when his (or ex) lover is more powerful than him because it hurts his male pride. Chaol hated Aelin because he gave up so “many” things for her. Okay, first of all, that was your fault, not hers because she never asked you to do anything. He hated her, but at the same time, he knows she's the only one who can win the war and keep Dorian safe. 🙄 WHAT A USER.

No way am I gonna let y'all forget Asshole! Chaol (oh hey it rhymes)

This is not even his worst, but ya know the effect is still the same. YEAH, BLAME AELIN AGAIN, CHAOL. THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE GOOD AT.

I mean he’s not even an outright villain unlike say The Darkling, but he is the worst. Irdk why, but Chaol Westfall really reminds me of Nate from The Devil Wears Prada, the fragile, soft boy who resents his partner's success:

Putting everything aside, this book was pretty meh saved for Nesryn, and Sartaq’s adventures. I hope their backs are still okay after carrying this book so hard. Nesryn and Sartaq’s story was far better and exciting. Not to mention, Borte and Yeran omg the palpable tension every time they appear!! WE NEEDED MOREEEE!!

Meanwhile, Yrene and Chaol’s story was bland and already a tried formula – a snarky healer fixes the broken patient, both fell in love, and emerge together in the light. A recycled trope used in just 2 books prior. I can’t believe it was used again 2 books later when the execution of the trope in "Heir of Fire" is already top tier. TOD also gave me Crown of Midnight vibes zzzz 🤐. Not to mention that Yrene's sassiness is patterned after Celaena/Aelin though it's a bit understandable given their connection. Wait, there's a word for this. That's right, it's✨ PREDICTABLE.✨

Honestly, the need to pair people up is getting a bit tiring with a new couple springing up every chapter/book. I mean it is equally powerful to see the characters find healing on their own.

But all in all the best part for me is how everything and everyone is connected! From Falkan to Yrene's connection to Aelin. It's just so heartwarming to read how Aelin's momentarily kindness goes a long way and finds its way back to her. She gives without expecting anything and yet people and the ancient ones still shit on her. As expected, TOG's worldbuilding is still top-notch. Congrats to myself for finishing this cheesy and cringy book. I can't believe I actually dedicated a whole ass post for Chaol 🥴

That mf ending though. While Chaol was having a grand time, Aelin was definitely NOT.

#throne of glass series #throne of glass #tower of dawn #queen of shadows #crown of midnight #heir of fire #empire of storms #chaol westfall #yrene towers #nesryn faliq #sartaq #nesryn x sartaq #aelin galythinius #celaena sardothien #dorian hallivard

[fandom-puff]

Hi! I've finally narrowed it down to 53 and 54 on the smut list for a Tommy Shelby x reader. And if it's between mild and spicy smut, FOR SURE SPICY. I was thinking maybe there was like a family meeting (or any sort of meeting), and the reader "misbehaves" or does something that maybe annoys him? And then smut in whatever office they're in. No worries if you don't want to do it btw! And if you totally wanna change the concept that's cool too! 53 and 54 are just such good prompts. 🥺💖

Yay!! Buzzing to write this! Hope you enjoy <3

Gif creds to owner

Behave

Warnings: hella smutty, swearing

You were in a FOUL mood. It was Saturday, which was normally your day off anyway, but earlier in the week, Tommy had promised he’d take the day off to spend time with you. Yet here you were, choking on smoke in the betting shop, slumped over the books with a face like thunder. He hadn’t even looked at you all day, and his brothers, who were usually up for a bit of banter with you, had been in Tommy’s office since 9:30. 

You sat pouting, arms crossed, glaring at the books you were meant to be adding up when the door opened and the brothers poured out. Seizing your opportunity, you called out, “Tommy?” he turned around, eyebrows raised and cigarette hanging from his lips. “I-I was just wondering if you... wanna go to that nice restaurant- after work, I mean?” 

He rolled his eyes slightly and stared hard at you for a moment before turning away. You furrowed your brows, about to call after him again when he said bluntly “Family meeting,” 

“Go on then. I’m going to pick up some lunch,” you said, unable to keep the bite out of your tone. 

“Family meeting. That includes you,” he said stonily, still walking. 

“For fuck’s sake, Tom! Fine!” you hissed, storming ahead of him to the adjoining kitchen. John snorted with laughter at his sister in law’s temper, but you threw him a middle finger over your shoulder and called “Piss off, John,” 

Tommy glowered after you, shaking his head as Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. “You in the doghouse, brother? Take her out to dinner after work, eh? Might calm her down,” he said, grinning. 

“Fuck off, Arthur,”

You took your usual seat at the table, arms crossed and pouting. Polly glanced at you. 

“What’s up with you?” she asked, sliding you a teacup and offering tea. 

“Your nephew’s a dick,” you said, allowing her to pour it for you. 

“You’re going to have to narrow it down for me, YN, though I have a good idea who you’re on about,” she said knowingly. 

“Tommy!” you exclaimed. “I’m not arsed about having to work on my day off- I’m pissed at him for breaking his fucking promises. Again.” you ranted. Pol patted your shoulder. You both straightened up when the Shelby boys entered the room. They sat around the table, Tommy next to you, resting his hand on your thigh. It wasn’t a tender gesture like usual; it was firm and unmoving, and he was ready to squeeze should you get ahead of yourself. 

“Finally,” you hissed. “Hurry up then and get this over with,” you said, not looking at your husband. 

“No. I’m waiting for Johnny Dogs and Uncle Charlie to get here,” he said, and you rolled your eyes. He arched his brows at your attitude. 

“Waiting for someone to come? Never stopped you before,” you snapped, and Arthur and John choked on their drinks. 

“Watch it, YN,” Tommy said darkly, grabbing your cheek with his free hand and squeezing your thigh tightly with the other. “You’ve been running your mouth all day and you’re skating on very thin ice, My Girl,” 

You snorted at the nickname and shook your head, pulling away from his grip.  “’My Girl’? You better start bloody treating me like it, Thomas,” you growled. The family watched- Arthur and John exchanged a few shillings under the table on the outcome of the argument. 

“Thomas, eh? You must be in trouble, huh?” Johnny Dogs’ voice cut through the tension. You stood up. 

“Thank fuck for that. You can start your meeting now,” 

“YN, sit the fuck down, this includes you too,” Tommy said, stubbing his cigarette out. 

“Shove it up your arse, Thomas,” you hissed, but he pulled you back down to sit in the chair. 

“Stop making a show, YN,” he growled. 

“Stop being a twat then,” you countered and pulled away from him, scooting your chair away from his side. 

The meeting wore on, but you weren't paying attention. You were too busy glaring at the table, a slight pout on your lips. Admittedly, you were being childish, but it had been ages since you and Tommy had properly spent time together. For the past fortnight, you had gone to sleep with an empty bed, and woken up just as he slipped out of the room. Today was meant to be a day for you both to relax and spend time together- and maybe get intimate for the first time in about a month. 

The meeting ended, and you stood up quickly, wanting to leave as soon as possible, but Tommy grabbed your wrist and began dragging you upstairs like an unruly child. “For Christ’s sake, Tom, let me go and fuck off to your precious office!” you complained. Having enough, you were slammed against the wall. 

“Right, YN, I’ve tried to be patient with you. But if you’re going to act like a little brat, then I’m going to treat you like one. Now fuck off upstairs, and when I get up there, I expect you stripped down and on your knees,” 

You were about to argue back, but you looked into Tommy’s eyes, blown wide with lust, and nodded, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, rubbing your thighs together. 

“Good girl,” he said gently. “Off you go,” 

You practically ran to Tommy’s old bedroom, tossing your clothes off and slamming the door. You glanced at the pile of clothes on the floor and quickly folded them up, knowing you’d get a telling off for being messy. You knelt down beside the bed, hands folded in your lap and eyes down, a healthy blush rising to your cheeks as you tried not to fidget. Five minutes later, the door opened and Tommy walked in, jacket abandoned and sleeves rolled up. You licked your lips slightly and resisted the temptation to stand and attach your lips to his. 

He looked down at you, slowly walking over, stroking a hand over your flushed face and pushing a stray strand of hair off your forehead. You hummed, leaning into his gentle touch, letting your eyes flutter shut. “Been feeling a bit neglected, my girl?” he asked and you whined softly and nodded, nuzzling your head against the luxurious, slightly scratchy material of his trousers. He chuckled slightly, the sound low, rumbling from his chest. “Nevertheless,” he said, voice a little harder. “Your behaviour today has been less than satisfactory, hm?” you blushed and nodded, looking down and mumbling. “What’s that?” he coaxed, tipping your face up to face him. 

“Said ‘m sorry,” you said, a little louder this time. He smirked and knelt down so that he was eye level with you, dropping the gentleness. 

“You will be,” 

You whimpered as he pulled you up. “Right, over my knee. I think 15 should do, don’t you?” you nodded and settled yourself over his knee, his trousers scratching your bare belly, his belt buckle digging into your waist. You shut your eyes as Tommy instructed you to thank him for each hit. 

SMACK! “Thank you,”

“Thank you what?” SMACK! 

“Ah! Fuck! Sir! Thank you, sir!” you cry

Tommy doesn’t get you to count- he’s capable of keeping count himself. He admires your arse, watching as it reddens and rubbing away the sting each time. By the last hit, a tear slips down your cheek and drips onto the floor, but you’re moaning and writhing, and Tommy dips his fingers between your legs after the last spank, smirking. “What do we have here, hm?” he asks, pulling you up to sit on your lap, pressing you down so your raw arse rubs against the rough tweed of his trousers. You gasp and whine as he strokes his index finger languidly up your soaked heat before pressing his slicked up finger to your lips. You take the digit into your mouth and suckle eagerly, squirming on his lap, thighs brushing against his tented trousers. “Somebody enjoying herself?” He smirked and you nodded, the bobbing of your head around his finger causing you to gag slightly. You groan and he helps you up. 

“Now, part of me wants to choke you with my cock and leave you like the little slut you’ve shown yourself to be...” you look up at him with wide eyes, shaking your head slightly, though you don’t dare open your mouth to beg. “However... you took your punishment so well... and as naughty as you’ve been today, I have been neglecting my little girl, haven’t I, darling?” you nod and he smirks, starting to unbutton his vest. You lick your lips and watch, fingers itching to help- he’s unbuttoning each button torturously slowly, but you don't want to earn yourself another punishment when you're already so close to pleasure. Once shirtless, he looks at you, nodding to the bed. You scramble to lay on your back, already spreading your legs eagerly. He laughs slightly and lines himself up, cock throbbing with need. You buck your hips despite yourself and he pushes in slowly, stretching you deliciously. You groan lowly, the burning stretch making you see spots- he hasn't even started yet. 

Tommy starts a brutal pace, hooking your legs around his waist as he thrusts into you, his cock bumping a deep spot inside you that made your eyes roll back. “Fuck! Tommy!” you cried out, reaching to scratch your nails down his back, the stinging scrape causing his to hiss and fuck you rougher. Your cries came in sharp bursts, increasing in pitch and volume as you chased your climax. 

“Fucking hell, YN, love, you better be quiet or everyone's going to know what a naughty little slut you are,” you groan in response and arch your back, pinching your nipples. 

“Good! I’m y-yours, Tommy!” you cried out, your walls throbbing and clenching around him as your pleasure peaked. Sensing this, he didn't even bother to hold off your climax, instead ramming his cock into you harder, faster, grabbing your hand and telling you to rub your pulsing clit. “Pl-please! Please, I’m gonna- gonna-” 

Tommy grunted, hair plastered to his forehead. “Cum,” he demanded. “Come on my cock, good girl,” he instructed and you yelped, screaming for him. He pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your moans as he pumped you full of his seed, riding out your pleasure. he gathered you into his arms and, still trembling, you snuggled into his side. Your makeup was ruined, lips swollen and eyes glassy. You looked dazed, ragged and well-fucked; just the way he liked it. 

You pressed a kiss to his chest, tasting the salty tang of sweat, head swirling with the heady scent of sex. ou shivered and he rubbed your side gently. “My girl,” he murmured. “I'm sorry for... being a dick,” he whispered. “Go clean your face, then I’m taking you for lunch. Pack a bag... I’m gonna take you to London for a bit- nowhere near Camden Town, don't worry,” 

you look up at him and kiss his lips sloppily. “Anywhere’s fine, so long as I’m with you,” 

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders smut #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x you #smut #request #prompt